Hannibal knows, he sees, and he takes advantage. It's Hannibal's way, as ingrained and automatic for him as breathing, well trained in knowing out to read people and manipulate them for his own purposes. In this instance, however, Hannibal's purpose and Will's are the same, and even as Hannibal slows his movements, gives Will less of what he wants, Will knows the end result will be worth the torture Hannibal is putting him through here and now.
Hannibal's voice, when he speaks, is the one he uses in his office, even and curious and calming as if he isn't working two of his fingers up Will's ass, gently easing the stretch of Will's hole so he'll be loose enough to take Hannibal's cock. The question he asks is simple enough, but it's not easy to answer, the sensations difficult to make into words. His first response is a rough sob, letting his head roll center as he presses his eyes closed, his muscles aching a little as he bends his knees more deeply, the soles of his feet anchoring on the tabletop as he arches down to feel more of Hannibal inside him.
"It, it's like..." Will tries, his eyes fluttering open to stare up at Hannibal's ceiling, lashes clumped and spiky with saline. "Like the itch, at the back of your throat," he says, and it's not at all like an itch, the way it feels, the tight ball of desire pulling in at Will's center, but the sensation of not being able to reach is similar.
"Where my body is clinging to you," he says, starting from somewhere else, "it feels good, your fingers feel wide, I like it, I like the stretch. It doesn't hurt, but it aches, I want more." Will swallows hard as he finishes, takes a deep breath. "But it's... I want to be touched," he groans, his voice edge with a whine. "Deeper, something deeper, I need more in me, I need more of you," he attempts to clarify, and it's not begging exactly, but it's extremely close.
He takes another deep, shuddering breath, his eyes falling to Hannibal's face. He knows his skin is shining with sweat already, darkened with a flush, that tears are collecting in his eyes, pupils blown wide. "How does it feel for you?" he asks, his body trembling, his words breathless.
no subject
Hannibal's voice, when he speaks, is the one he uses in his office, even and curious and calming as if he isn't working two of his fingers up Will's ass, gently easing the stretch of Will's hole so he'll be loose enough to take Hannibal's cock. The question he asks is simple enough, but it's not easy to answer, the sensations difficult to make into words. His first response is a rough sob, letting his head roll center as he presses his eyes closed, his muscles aching a little as he bends his knees more deeply, the soles of his feet anchoring on the tabletop as he arches down to feel more of Hannibal inside him.
"It, it's like..." Will tries, his eyes fluttering open to stare up at Hannibal's ceiling, lashes clumped and spiky with saline. "Like the itch, at the back of your throat," he says, and it's not at all like an itch, the way it feels, the tight ball of desire pulling in at Will's center, but the sensation of not being able to reach is similar.
"Where my body is clinging to you," he says, starting from somewhere else, "it feels good, your fingers feel wide, I like it, I like the stretch. It doesn't hurt, but it aches, I want more." Will swallows hard as he finishes, takes a deep breath. "But it's... I want to be touched," he groans, his voice edge with a whine. "Deeper, something deeper, I need more in me, I need more of you," he attempts to clarify, and it's not begging exactly, but it's extremely close.
He takes another deep, shuddering breath, his eyes falling to Hannibal's face. He knows his skin is shining with sweat already, darkened with a flush, that tears are collecting in his eyes, pupils blown wide. "How does it feel for you?" he asks, his body trembling, his words breathless.