Fat, heavy droplets of oil spatter the surface of the table when Hannibal coats his fingers in it, and Will wonders if Hannibal has ever been so careless when preparing a meal, from slaughter to carving. Will had seen Hannibal's kitchen in Baltimore many times, and every single one, even when Hannibal was in the midst of cooking, there hadn't been a surface that wasn't immaculate. Of course this isn't the first mess they've made together, just the first one in the kitchen, and Will finds a giddy part of himself hoping it won't be the last,
Will shifts to lower his back to the tabletop when Hannibal reaches for him, his breath shuddering out of him as Hannibal's fingers trace the line of his inner thigh, his following inhalation rough and audible when Hannibal's touch wanders over his genitals, paying service to each part of him before dipping lower, finding the tight bundle of muscles below Will's balls. Licking his lips, he tries not to arch into the touch, wanting to feel Hannibal make the decision when to push, giving Hannibal every ounce of control. His head is tipped so he can watch Hannibal's face, can see the hunger and the lust, the desire and love in his darkened eyes. He blinks and he sees images of Hannibal, moments in Hannibal's office, at the FBI, on site at a crime scene, and it's all fractions of that same expression, a yearning long held and finally realized.
It's the same for Will, though he didn't really understand it at the beginning. Hannibal has been opening him up since the day they met, preparing him for this, leading him down a path that had the potential to bring them here. There are other outcomes, of course, if Will had taken a left where he gone right anywhere along the way things could be very different. But as Hannibal's oil slickened fingers trace over one of the most intimate parts of Will's body, Will is more than a little grateful their decisions have brought them to this place, one of love and equality and trust and knowing, sex and companionship and so much more on the horizon. Will doesn't speak, but he hopes Hannibal will see all those things he's feeling in his eyes, in the way his breathing shakes and his body trembles, wanting more, needing everything.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-04-22 05:32 am (UTC)Will shifts to lower his back to the tabletop when Hannibal reaches for him, his breath shuddering out of him as Hannibal's fingers trace the line of his inner thigh, his following inhalation rough and audible when Hannibal's touch wanders over his genitals, paying service to each part of him before dipping lower, finding the tight bundle of muscles below Will's balls. Licking his lips, he tries not to arch into the touch, wanting to feel Hannibal make the decision when to push, giving Hannibal every ounce of control. His head is tipped so he can watch Hannibal's face, can see the hunger and the lust, the desire and love in his darkened eyes. He blinks and he sees images of Hannibal, moments in Hannibal's office, at the FBI, on site at a crime scene, and it's all fractions of that same expression, a yearning long held and finally realized.
It's the same for Will, though he didn't really understand it at the beginning. Hannibal has been opening him up since the day they met, preparing him for this, leading him down a path that had the potential to bring them here. There are other outcomes, of course, if Will had taken a left where he gone right anywhere along the way things could be very different. But as Hannibal's oil slickened fingers trace over one of the most intimate parts of Will's body, Will is more than a little grateful their decisions have brought them to this place, one of love and equality and trust and knowing, sex and companionship and so much more on the horizon. Will doesn't speak, but he hopes Hannibal will see all those things he's feeling in his eyes, in the way his breathing shakes and his body trembles, wanting more, needing everything.