Will nods, and the response spawns a dozen more questions, Will's mind
moving to create scenarios based on not much more than his
imagination. He has a feeling, if he asks, that Hannibal won't balk at
telling Will anything he wants to know. Hannibal's not the type of
person who feels shame or embarrassment about the things he's done or
the choices he's made. Whether that has to do with his being a
psychiatrist or a psychopath, Will isn't certain, but it does make for
an extremely open dialog.
Will's fingers are still stroking around the rim of Hannibal's hole,
rubbing little circles and feeling it, the texture and rebound of the
muscles, the way it reacts, how Hannibal shivers or arches toward him
depending on what he does. He's never spent this much time with this
part of anyone, including himself, and he's a little surprised that
his clinical mind hasn't taken over here, cataloging biology or
thinking too much about what all this means. But he's not thinking of
anything here but pleasure, but what it might feel like to slip inside
and feel Hannibal's heat, to be encased within Hannibal the way
Hannibal has within him, coming together viscerally and bodily to
become one being. It's all new to Will, and he wants desperately to
take his time, to feel and remember each step along this path, to burn
it into his mind and keep it in perfect clarity forever.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, Will nudges just the very end of his
finger into the clench of muscle, not bully his way in but taking as
much as Hannibal's body will allow easily in this position unaided by
lubrication. "Was it just this?" Will asks carefully, not pushing
deeper but sort of pressing and releasing, the very beginning of
something like penetration. "Fingers," he clarifies, his blood rushing
in his ears and making it a little hard to think. "Or was there more?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-05-31 07:34 pm (UTC)Will nods, and the response spawns a dozen more questions, Will's mind moving to create scenarios based on not much more than his imagination. He has a feeling, if he asks, that Hannibal won't balk at telling Will anything he wants to know. Hannibal's not the type of person who feels shame or embarrassment about the things he's done or the choices he's made. Whether that has to do with his being a psychiatrist or a psychopath, Will isn't certain, but it does make for an extremely open dialog.
Will's fingers are still stroking around the rim of Hannibal's hole, rubbing little circles and feeling it, the texture and rebound of the muscles, the way it reacts, how Hannibal shivers or arches toward him depending on what he does. He's never spent this much time with this part of anyone, including himself, and he's a little surprised that his clinical mind hasn't taken over here, cataloging biology or thinking too much about what all this means. But he's not thinking of anything here but pleasure, but what it might feel like to slip inside and feel Hannibal's heat, to be encased within Hannibal the way Hannibal has within him, coming together viscerally and bodily to become one being. It's all new to Will, and he wants desperately to take his time, to feel and remember each step along this path, to burn it into his mind and keep it in perfect clarity forever.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, Will nudges just the very end of his finger into the clench of muscle, not bully his way in but taking as much as Hannibal's body will allow easily in this position unaided by lubrication. "Was it just this?" Will asks carefully, not pushing deeper but sort of pressing and releasing, the very beginning of something like penetration. "Fingers," he clarifies, his blood rushing in his ears and making it a little hard to think. "Or was there more?"