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When Hannibal asks Will to come to dinner the night before they're to have their fateful meal with Jack, Will thinks maybe it's one more evening of planning, another few hours for Hannibal to be sure that Will is really ready to do what he says he will in regards to Jack's murder. As usual they talk around each other, neither one admitting anything, touching on things just enough to avoid being untruthful, never really saying anything. But the nothing they say is heavy with intent, and the moves they make are like a game for which neither of them knows the rules.

Hannibal asks about Jack, finally, and the question is framed in such a way that Will can easily deflect rather than answer directly. But even as he says what he does, about Jack's fate being preordained, he thinks that there's a part of him that could do what he's told Hannibal he can, could help Hannibal kill him. He doesn't cherish the idea of murdering Jack, doesn't imagine it will give him the rush of power he felt when he put ten bullets into Garrett Jacob Hobbs, when he nearly shot Clark Ingram in the head, when he broke Randal Tier's neck. But he's started to lose sight of where his reality ends and his deception begins.

Letting Hannibal in, giving him permission (and invitation) to be close, has given Will new insight. There's something in the vulnerability they've shared, even if some of it had been manufactured on Will's part, that makes some part of Will loathe to turn on Hannibal as was his initial design. It's not as if he's forgotten what Hannibal did to him, because he hasn't. But he's starting to understand why, to see the flesh and blood behind a man who is most certainly a monster. Hannibal can be cold and calculating and cruel, but he's passionate as well, he has the ability to be broken hearted, and the capacity for love.

Before he'd brought up Jack, Hannibal had talked about an imago, and the more Will considers it, the more he starts to realize that maybe Hannibal is hinting at something. He has in his mind his ideal for Will, a partner, Will thinks, someone he can share his intellect with, his thoughts, dark and light, someone who can and will understand him. But it makes Will wonder if Hannibal's seen through the cracks of Will's deceit, as fine as they are, if he knows betrayal awaits him when Jack arrives tomorrow night. It makes bile rise in the back of Will's throat, not because he's afraid of what Hannibal will do, but rather because the idea of hurting Hannibal in that way squeezes at his heart in a manner he never thought possible.

Will takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to wash the guilt down, but it sticks in his throat, burns in his sinuses. He can hear the intake of Hannibal's breath, ready to speak, but the words that come out of his mouth aren't what Will expects.

"We could disappear now, tonight," Hannibal suggests, his voice low and honest in a way that Will can feel vibrating in his bones. "Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."

There's a long silence then, spun out between them, and Will's instinct is to deflect again, say something that isn't a no or a yes, just words to fill the space. But, in his heart, all he wants is to agree, to leave all of this behind and run away with Hannibal, for better or worse, whatever that means. Jack would see him as a traitor, a liar, Alana would know it was weakness, giving into Hannibal's designs (because she knows exactly what that feels like), but, besides having to leave his dogs, Will has nothing to lose. He doesn't feel loyalty to the FBI, he doesn't have Jack or Alana's complete trust. He doesn't have Hannibal's either, and there's always a chance that Hannibal will kill him as soon as they get away, but Will suddenly understands that he doesn't care. This life, the one he's been pretending to live these few months, is what he wants. He's never felt more alive, has never understood himself better, than when he's with Hannibal.

"Yes," Will says quietly, his eyes meeting Hannibal's as he nods softly, his gaze clear and unburdened for the first time. "Let's go tonight. I want to," he adds, wanting his intentions to be completely understood, nothing disguised by the veil that usually hung between them.

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Hannibal smiles at Will's difficulty undoing his tie. He knows and uses a variety of knots: the windsor, the eldridge, the trinity, the balthus. Right now he's wearing the balthus, a knot that looks simple yet requires a fair amount of skill to produce its smooth elegance. His ties are another subliminal message revealing part of his true nature. Like so many aspects of his presentation, one may feel unsettled yet have no true understanding why. The traditional men's necktie is a dark symbol, a noose around one's neck, and his command of the knots suggests his abilities to bind his subjects and render them helpless.

Hannibal recognizes Will's desperation, and decides to take advantage. He pulls back, locks his eyes on his friend's, and undoes the knot in very slow, very deliberate motions, watching Will's torment to determine when it would be even more intense to slow down further. He wants to see how Will reacts to the languid delay of satisfaction.

Will watches Hannibal's hands as he unties the knotted fabric at his throat, doing it in such a manner to cause the action to take as long as possible to complete. It's a tactic, like everything Hannibal does, designed to see how Will will react. Part of Will wants to show Hannibal that he can control his impatience, that Hannibal's holding out on him doesn't affect him, but he knows even as an act of defiance he'll be seen for his true nature. Hannibal's perceptive in the way Will is; he can see the way Will's nostrils flare as he tries to control his breathing, he can smell Will pent arousal, can sense the tension in the room between them.

So Will doesn't try to hide it. He stands still but his breathing is raucous, his pupils dilated, his body shaking. He bites down on his lower lip as he watches Hannibal's hands untwisting the noose, and he wonders if Hannibal has imagined putting one around Will's neck, if Hannibal knows how excited the idea makes him.

Will's mouth is dry and he swallows around it, the drawn out anticipation sending more tremors through his frame. He wants Hannibal's hands back on him, now that he knows what they're like this way, he needs Hannibal's mouth. He knows all of this is showing in his eyes, the expression on his face, and it only makes Hannibal delay all the more. It's like the sweetest, most painful torture.

Hannibal has imagined many ways of bringing Will's life to an end, and various manners of strangulation have been among them. The man Will had sent to murder him had utilized a noose himself, and Hannibal had dangled for a few agonizing, ecstasy-filled seconds before he was rescued. He wonders if Will knows how thrilling, arousing, Hannibal found both the attempt on his life and the method Will's cat's paw had chosen.

Hannibal slows as Will suffers sweetly before him, keeping him on the razor's edge of insanity for those pregnant moments as the knot comes apart beneath his fingers. Once it is loose he slowly pulls it from his collar...

...then swiftly loops it around Will's neck, twice. He grips the ends with one hand and yanks Will closer to crush his mouth to his.

Sometimes, despite the knowing he and Hannibal share, Hannibal still manages to surprise Will. He doesn't know if Hannibal could read what he was feeling in his eyes or if he's just that attuned, but the fact that Hannibal wraps the tie around his neck just as he considers what it would be like is astoundingly arousing. It pulls across his throat as Hannibal tugs him in for another string of messy, wet, biting kisses, and Will chokes even as he kisses Hannibal back.

The lightheadedness comes quickly, and both of Will's hands catch Hannibal's shoulders, fingers digging in to the fine fabric of his shirt as he fights to keep himself focused enough to remain standing, to keep his mouth moving against Hannibal's hard kisses and plunging tongue. His cock aches in his pants, harder than he's ever been in his life, and he wants all of this, the violence, the pain, the bliss of giving in, of submitting. He wants Hannibal to have him, to take him, however he desires. And he wants Hannibal to give back, to show Will that he wants this just as much.

Hannibal is just as achingly hard, and for a moment he continues the hard kiss, firmly grippung Will's ass with his free hand and grinding against him as his air slowly runs out. Then, just before Will is about to lose his battle against unconsciousness, he eases the tie, giving Will permission to take a breath while Hannibal still held the ends and the control.

"Unbutton my shirt," he commands in a low purr as he works Will's belt and then fly loose with nimble fingers.

Will's head spins as Hannibal cups Will's ass and hauls him close, pressing their pelvises together hard and firm so Will can feel the delicious ridge of Hannibal's full, thick cock. Never in his life has Will been interested in experiencing another man's erection, but he wants everything he can have with Hannibal's, the desire so intense it makes him ache.

For a split second Will wonders if Hannibal's going to let oxygen deprivation claim him, if Will will wake up tied down somewhere or drugged to a place where he can't move, leaving him to any and all of Hannibal's possible devices. But at the very last second the pressure lets up and Will gasps a lungful of air, his survival instinct not letting him do it carefully. Blood rushes back into Will's head and it makes him dizzy, and his head spins even more when Hannibal's hands move to his waist, opening his belt and his pants, his fingers so close to Will's full fledged arousal that he can't contain the whimper that comes out of him.

But Will does what he's told, reaching out and opening the buttons down the front of Hannibal's shirt one at a time, slowly revealing more if his well muscled chest and the mat of chest hair that adorns it. When the shirt is open, Will catches Hannibal's wrists one at a time, opening the cuff buttons. But he doesn't push the shirt off, wants to wait to see if that's what Hannibal wants him to do next.

While Hannibal isn't above drugging people, even lovers, he prefers not to remove Will's agency quite so completely, at least not right now. They will doubtless have long conversations about desires, fantasies, ground rules. For the moment, he will keep things relatively straight forward. They can explore more baroque scenarios when they have more time.

He smiles at Will's whimper. With one hand he winds the tie slowly, tightening it again but not enough to fully cut off Will's air, while with the other he brushes his fingers lightly along the hardness under Will's boxers.

"Undo my trousers," he murmurs. The shirt can wait.

Hannibal pulls at the tie around Will's throat, though not as hard as the first time, making it difficult to swallow and restricting his air just a bit, but not enough to choke him. The feeling of the fabric there sends little sparks of arousal through Will, being at Hannibal's mercy like this, knowing now Hannibal would rather fuck him that kill him, at least in the moment. It's exhilarating, and Will can't get enough of it.

Hannibal touches him, then, just a bare graze of elegant fingertips along the line of Will's erection, and he shudders out a broken breath, wanton and desperate for this, for Hannibal. He reaches out to do what he's been asked, his fingers finding Hannibal's belt and threading the end through the buckle, keeping his eyes locked on Hannibal's as he does.

Hannibal's gaze is predatory, hungry, and Will wants to be devoured in this way. He licks his lower lip as he draws down Hannibal's zipper, then moves to open the button, the front of Hannibal's pants splitting. He knows he should wait until he's told, but he lets his hand fall past the open fly, his palm connecting with the girth and heat of Hannibal's cock, feeling it fill up the hollow of his hand, knowing Hannibal is aroused because of him.

As Will cups his cock, Hannibal draws a slow breath, his eyes drifting closed, savoring the sensation. When he opens his eyes again his pupils are wide with heightened arousal.

Then he grips Will's shoulder and spins him around, pressing his body firmly against his back, cock against his ass. He keeps hold of the tie so the ends are now at the back of Will's neck and the tie is tight enough to make Will rasp. With the other hand he reaches around to cup Will's cock through his underwear.

"Have you ever had sexual relations with another man before?" he breathes in Will's ear as he massages his cock firmly.

Will can see action in Hannibal's eyes just before Hannibal's muscles contract and Hannibal's hand catches Will's shoulder, turning him so swiftly Will's surprised he doesn't stumble. One of Hannibal's hands is still clutching the ends of the tie around Will's neck, effectively controlling him, and Will doesn't fight against it, his chin tipped upward as Hannibal pulls his body back so their pressed tightly together, Will's shoulder blades against Hannibal's chest, his ass pressed right against Hannibal's pelvis.

The feeling of Hannibal's cock there against him, hard and hot right in the cleft between his buttocks, is jarring and arousing all at once. It speaks of what Hannibal's designing for them, and while the mechanics aren't a mystery to Will, he's never been on either end of anal sex. This act between them so far has been rough, and though Will hopes Hannibal will at least start out kindly, he can't deny the anxiety he feels at this kind if potential physical violence.

Having Hannibal's hand on him helps to calm him a measure, however, distract him, and Will's eyes drop closed, arching into Hannibal's palm, chasing the friction. "No," he breathes out in answer to Hannibal's question, his voice thick with the pleasure Hannibal's giving him.

The way Will arches into Hannibal's hand is so delightfully needful that Hannibal hums in approval, moving his hand with the yearning motion of Will's hips, slowly flexing his own hips to glide his cock up and down Will's cleft. He enjoys creating a need that he subsequently is often begged to fill, and there are few things more suited to the tactic than sex.

Will's answer makes Hannibal smile. "It pleases me that I will be your first," he croons, then leans in closer, until his lips are brushing Will's earlobe. He twists the tie just slightly.

"I intend to likewise be your last."

Will's eyelashes flutter closed as Hannibal begins to stroke him through his boxer briefs, and he begins to rub against him from behind, their two bodies moving together, neither one directing the speed or rhythm, falling into a natural cadence all their own. Will knows it's dangerous to relax into this in any manner, but even if he doesn't, Hannibal has every upper hand here. There's no benefit for Will to fighting against his enjoyment of this moment.

He's not surprised to learn that Hannibal will find pleasure in deflowering Will in this way; he's already enjoyed getting inside Will in so many other ways, being the first presence in so many corners of his mind.

He also assumes that Hannibal has more than an inconsequential amount of experience with his, sex with men. Hannibal's not beneath using anything at his disposal when he needs to manipulate a situation, and Alana is evidence enough that sex is one of those tools. Will only wonders how often he's used it with another man, what sorts of things he's done in the name of deception, if he's ever engaged in any of it out of something more pure, like desire, or love.

There's like some of that involved here, at least desire if nothing else. Because this isn't manipulation, it's consummation. Will, with an economy of words, has agreed to belong to Hannibal, and Hannibal is simply claiming what's now his. The extra pressure on the loop of fabric around Will's neck is proof of Hannibal's ownership, a threat, and also a promise. A dizzy, delirious part of Will's brain revels in all of it, the idea that his body and his life, in both the literal and figurative sense, are Hannibal's to do with what he pleases.

"Yes," he groans lowly, equal parts acquiescence and encouragement.

Hannibal is pansexual, finding beauty and pleasure and utility in sexual encounters regardless of sex or gender. There have been times when he's seduced men to prey on (or at times relieve them of) their fears of being homosexual. He enjoys exploring the dark recesses of the sexual mind, savoring the many ways that people are aroused, at times finding his own satisfaction in helping patients accept the depths of what society would call their own depravity. He finds beauty in that darkness, and encourages it to flourish, even (perhaps especially) when it results in such things as murder for the sake of constructing a skin suit to become the opposite gender.

For Hannibal, there are few times when sex is done without some utilitarian end. Occasionally he will indulge in desire. But in Hannibal's life, there have been three people he has truly loved: his sister, Abigail, and Will, and the former two were not sexual interests. Now, as he savors the sensations as he and Will move against each other, there is the strange feeling of deep-seated satisfaction of sharing this with his friend. He has not had an experience quite like this with anyone else, in large part because those anyone elses are interchangeable. Will is not. Will matters. Hannibal desires him, but it matters that Will desires him as well. Hannibal is taking his pleasure, but it matters to him that Will is pleasured as well, even when that pleasure isn't a part of a larger campaign of manipulation. Hannibal cherishes Will's presence, his touch, his desire, his regard. He wants to be united by what they do, their souls woven together in this consummation, this communion. Will is his, but he is also Will's, even when he is the one holding the tie around his lover's throat.

He allows their slow, grinding dance against each other to continue until they are both breathless and wound tight with need. Then he stops, steps back, and slowly pulls the tie from Will's neck.

"Remove the rest of your clothes and kneel on the bed," he orders softly.

Despite being held in place by Hannibal's noose, the longer they move together, the more the lines between them blur, the less Will feels like a submissive in this moment and the more he feels like an equal participant. Hannibal's breathing is very telling, the heaviness of it, the way every few breaths catch making a sound like a muted moan. The tenor of it sends hot tendrils of pleasure down Will's spine, his body riding back against Hannibal's cock with nearly the nearly frenzied desire to keep Hannibal making those sounds, to incite him to make more.

His own voice is much less restrained, every exhale a rough groan, every inhalation a gasp. His skin beneath his underwear is starting to feel a little raw from Hannibal's firm attention, the cotton fabric damp with Will's sweat and pre-come. His esophagus is swollen from the tension of the tie around his neck, feeling thick with every swallow, his lower lip bee-stung and bitten from the abuse caused by Will's upper teeth.

Will wonders a bit wildly if Hannibal plans to finish it this way, quick and dirty, half dressed and standing in the middle of Hannibal's bedroom. But then Hannibal's hand stops moving on him, pulls away, and then Hannibal's warmth leaves him entirely, and Will panics for a heady second, missing every touch so viscerally it brings tears to his eyes.

The sensation of the tie sliding away from Will's neck causes goosebumps to rise along his arms, his nipples going tight, and Hannibal's command causes a wave of arousal to wash over him with enough intensity that he feels suddenly lightheaded. His fingers are shaking as he bends down to unlace and remove his shoes, then he stands, taking off his pants, then his socks. His back is still to Hannibal when he takes a breath, working his boxer briefs over his erection, pushing them down and stepping out of them, leaving him bare.

Will shivers, able to feel Hannibal's eyes on him as he moves, walking slowly toward Hannibal's beautiful bed. If he didn't know they were leaving this place forever after this night, he'd worry about soiling the expensive duvet, but he knows it won't matter, and the idea of leaving evidence of their coupling behind in this place, in this bed, makes his cock ache with pleasure.

Climbing onto the mattress on his hands and knees, he crawls to the center of the bed, facing the headboard, his back to the enormous, high mounted mirror. Once he's centered, he pushes up onto his knees, back straight, and waits, counting the length of his breaths in order to calm his mounting anticipation.

Hannibal watches his lover, his gaze caressing Will's body, savoring the lines and curves, the play of shadow and light, the ripple of muscles beneath skin. He has long contemplated what Will might look like were his clothing shed, were he to stand before Hannibal in the quiet glory of nakedness, and now, seeing him, he was not disappointed. Of course, he only sees Will from behind, and with what he's intending, he will not have the opportunity to drink the aesthetics of his front, his chest, his shoulders, that exquisite cock that Hannibal has only yet experienced by touch, and that shrouded in cotton. However, he also intends for this encounter to be far from the last, and he knows he will be able to enjoy the frontal view soon enough.

As Will moves to the bed, Hannibal's view of him shifts. He becomes the Wound Man, pierced and clubbed and stabbed and slashed, the weapons still in motion. Then he separates into parts, butcher's cuts, his round and rump and flank and shoulder bloodlessly separated. And then as Will crawls onto the bed, he becomes the magnificent Stag, blood-black with quivering raven's feathers.

Once Will is kneeling, Hannibal slowly, soundlessly, removes the rest of his clothing, shirt slipped off, shoes carefully unlaced, then socks, then trousers, then at last silk boxers. He folds everything as a matter of course, and leaves them in a neat pile. Then, tie in hand, he approaches. When he passes his dresser he pauses, slides open the top drawer, and retrieves a small tube of lubricant.

Once he reaches the bed he moves to kneel behind Will, his body pressed warmly into his lover's, and sets the lubricant down beside him. Slowly, almost reverently, he once again wraps the tie around his lover's neck.

"I am going to fuck you," he murmurs, his voice smooth and cultured even with the profanity, "unlike you've ever been fucked before. Once I am inside you I will fuck you without mercy, until your orgasm is the last thing you feel before you fall into unconsciousness."

As he murmurs the words, he slowly draws the tie tighter, and pays attention to every little reaction from his lover, from trembles to gasps to moans.

Will can feel Hannibal's gaze like a physical touch, every inch of his back hungrily devoured. There are faint sounds of Hannibal removing his clothes, only noticeable because Will is listening for them, holds his own breaths for long seconds so he can hear Hannibal's, trying to guess what's happening behind his back. He imagines what Hannibal must look like as he strips, perfunctory and efficient, neat and careful with his clothing where Will was careless with his own. He wishes that he'd sat the other way so he could watch, so he could see what Hannibal looks like this way, naked skin, body hair, muscles, all things of which Will has seen almost nothing and now undeniably desires.

He doesn't hear Hannibal's footsteps, but the sound of the drawer opening is easily recognized, and Will is almost certain what Hannibal's retrieving from inside. He takes a breath as he feels the mattress dip beneath Hannibal's weight, and he's aware then that he can smell Hannibal, his aftershave, whatever products he uses in his hair, his skin, the musky smell of his arousal. Will is trembling with desire by the time Hannibal touches him, their bodies pressed up against each other again like before, but this time skin-on-skin. He can feel Hannibal's bare cock against his tailbone, hard and thick and hot, the tip leaving a wet smear across Will's spine.

It's already almost too much, and then Hannibal loops his tie around Will's neck again, leaving it loose at first as he speaks. Will's own heart is pounding, and he can feel Hannibal's against his back, the heavy thud of it beneath the strong muscles of Hannibal's chest. Hannibal's words sound easy, like everything else Hannibal has ever said to Will, but they're heavily loaded. Will thinks that a normal person might be terrified in this moment, but Will is only all the more turned on. He doesn't know what it will feel like to have Hannibal's big, thick cock inside him, but he knows he wants it more than he's ever wanted anything sexual in his life.

He's shaking, forcing himself to stay still, to not arch back against Hannibal's body, and he knows Hannibal can feel it. The tie pulls tighter across Will's throat and he groans, tipping his head back a few inches, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He wants to touch, but he doesn't know if he's allowed, so he bows his back just a little, pressing his spine into Hannibal's sternum. He swallows thickly and says Hannibal's name, just once, a trembling plea.

The way Will's body is reacting is delicious. Hannibal can feel his lover's heart pounding, his muscles quivering, can hear the way his breath catches and the rumble of the groan in his chest. But then Will says his name, his voice trembling, and Hannibal finds his own breath hitching involuntarily. It's a very strange reaction for him. He's heard his name said a variety of ways in a variety of situations, including pleading for one's life, and aside from a certain sense of victory to bring someone to beg, it doesn't affect him. But now, hearing it on the lips of this man, his friend, his lover, he's struck, his heart aching.

Hannibal leans his head forward and tenderly nuzzles into the hair at the back of Will's head, while wrapping an arm around his waist. He doesn't move to touch Will's cock, but rather just holds him close. He is not abandoning his plans to fuck and strangle Will into unconsciousness. Rather he is taking a breath, and addressing that ache by allowing himself to be tender and loving for a moment, and by letting Will know the depth of his affection before the violence.

Will feels Hannibal's breath against the back of his neck, humid and warm, Hannibal's mouth and nose buried in Will's curls. The arm across his waist is an embrace, not a manipulation, and the muscles in Will's abdomen flutter beneath it, something squeezing around his heart.

Hannibal is cherishing him, in this moment. He's showing Will his true self again, the things buried deepest, his ability to be tender, his capacity for love. Will risks moving then, uncurling the fingers of one hand and covering Hannibal's where it rests on his belly. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of what he's sure will be a fleeting moment, feeling Hannibal's exhalations against his skin, the tie slack around his throat for the moment. It's quiet, and they're unmoving, so Will can count the beats of their hearts, perfectly in sync now, as are the risings and fallings of their respirations, like they're one being, sharing the same breath and blood.

Will doesn't want it to end, but even if they don't have to hurry, their time here is not infinite, and Hannibal has made promises that Will is ready to have fulfilled. His fingers curl around the width of Hannibal's hand, not moving it, but letting Hannibal know he's ready for more.

Hannibal will remember this, every aspect of this moment held precious in his memory; the smell of Will's hair, his sweat, his arousal, the feel of his skin, the sound of his breath and the beating of his heart. If there comes a time in the future when they part (Hannibal has no plans at the moment to kill Will, but that doesn't mean such plans can't develop in the future) he will be able to conjure this memory when he wants to hold Will again, to cherish him, to love him.

But now it is time to move on.

Hannibal pulls back with the arm around Will's waist while simultaneously pushing Will's head down to the bed via the hand behind Will's neck that is wrapped in the tie. The end result is Will with his chest to the bed and his ass in the air. Once he is positioned Hannibal holds him in place with that hand at his neck, while with the other and his teeth he opens the tube of lubricant. He squeezes a generous amount into his hand, and slicks his cock with a few long, firm strokes. Then he slides his fingers, still with plenty of lube on them, into the cleft of Will's ass, finding his entrance and gently circling the outside with his fingertips. People unfamiliar with the sensations of anal sex can sometimes be overly sensitive, so he's easing Will into it, so that he's able to open up and take Hannibal's cock inside.

"Relax, Will," he purrs, then slides one finger inside his lover.

Hannibal doesn't waste any time, once their tender moment is over. It's not cruel, but it's not gentle either, the way Hannibal pushes Will down to the mattress, his face and chest pillowed against the duvet. Just by the mechanics of his body this leaves Will's ass angled upward, open to Hannibal's scrutiny and his touch. Will wonders if Hannibal finds this attractive, the way Will's positioned, utterly pliant and at Hannibal's mercy, his asshole and genitals obscenely exposed.

Will feels thrilled at the idea of being desired this way. It's nothing like he's ever had with a woman, always in some part dominant, ultimately the aggressor. But here, on his knees, he's subservient, a veritable buffet of vulnerability upon which Hannibal can feast.

Will hears the cap on the lubricant open and his body tenses involuntarily, every muscle clenching. He knows the more wound he is the more uncomfortable this will be, so he breathes deeply, imagining what expression might be on Hannibal's face, if he looks focused, intent, or if there's something more open, emotional, because Will can't see it. The thought that Hannibal might be looking at him with love in his eyes makes something in Will break loose, his body relaxing further even as his heart aches.

Still, he jumps very slightly when Hannibal's fingers first make contact with his skin, slick fingertips ringing his hole, a gentle touch to acclimate Will to the sensation. Will's first impression is that it feels good, far less weird than he expected. He trembles as the feeling makes his cock twitch where it hangs heavily between his thighs, goosebumps rising along the backs his legs, his buttocks.

He doesn't jump when Hannibal's fingertip dips into the center, and he takes a breath when Hannibal tells him to relax, holding it during the long drag as Hannibal slides one entire finger into him, not stopping until the width of his hand prevents further forward progress. The penetration feels unpleasant at first, not painful as much as deeply unusual. A place low in Will's belly feels hollowed out by it, raw, and he breathes shakily as he works to isolate those muscles, clenching and releasing around the width of Hannibal's finger until the scraped feeling inside him recedes, heat filling the void.

This is when Will pushes back, just a little, causing a broken sound of pleasure to come from him, the feeling overwhelming. His fingers curl into the blankets beneath him and he shudders, aching in a different way now, suddenly needing more.

Hannibal sees beauty in many things others might think of as profane, and Will splayed open like this, on display and utterly vulnerable, is deeply beautiful. The depth of his trust, the coaxed openness of his body, the needful arousal, it all works in exquisite harmony, and Hannibal watches with appreciation, admiration, and deep affection.

Will's initial reaction to the penetration is not unusual, nor unexpected. Hannibal has deflowered a number of men in this way, and that first touch, that first penetration, is often a difficult thing. Often men have an aversion to being in this position, being the one who will be taken, penetrated, fucked. Their bodies react to the subconscious fears of vulnerability and submission, and they jump or flinch or clench. Will is actually reacting better than most, and Hannibal slowly strokes that one finger in and out as his lover's muscles get used to its presence. When Will pushes back, Hannibal hums in approval, his tone entwining with Will's moan of pleasure. He responds with adding another finger, sliding the two in deep, then stroking gently for a moment before adding another. He works those three fingers in, massaging the muscles inside Will, spreading him apart, widening the passage in preparation.

Each time Hannibal adds a finger there's a new, intense burn that comes with the stretch, and while it's not what Will would consider painful, it's certainly uncomfortable. But Hannibal eases his fingers in with a great deal of consideration, taking his time and waiting until Will's body accepts the width before he pushes deeper, before he adds more. By the time Hannibal has three fingers inside Will's dizzy with euphoria, an undercurrent of discomfort buzzing along his nerves but very closely paced by pleasure, a combination Will's found he enjoys immensely.

He's panting loudly, his entire body shaking, fingers gripping the duvet so hard his hands are starting to ache from it. He's half blissed out already and Hannibal hasn't even moved on to the main event yet. He's never felt so content to give himself up bodily to another person, to stay here in this position, resting heavily on his chest and the side of his face, his knees and hips aching as he holds himself up and open for Hannibal. He makes a sound like a broken sob when Hannibal's three fingers start fucking into him steadily, not rough, not yet, but thorough and firm, working Will's muscles loose.

It's good, it's so good, and Will knows if he can get to a point where having Hannibal's dick inside him feel like this, that there will be no looking back. He's already so ready to give up everything to Hannibal, heart, body, and soul, and he wants to want this, wants to need it like he needs so many other things from Hannibal. He doesn't realize it until he focuses, but he's started to say 'please' with every breath, not even knowing for sure for what he's begging.

Within all his gentleness, Hannibal is also engaging in a bit of torture and manipulation. He's bringing Will to the edge, both to get him used to the sensation and to open his body so that what is to come is pleasurable and doesn't damage him overly much, but also to draw out of him that yearning, that need, that desperation for Hannibal's violent cock. Otherwise Will could, if he chose, block out the sensations of his rough claiming as he could block out any pain. With this, however, Hannibal has sunk deep roots into Will's mind and senses, and he will be all but unable to ignore what is to come, to feel anything less than the full impact. Those whispered pleas are delicious, because it means that he has succeeded in reaching the depths of his lover's sensual psyche. He smiles and begins to murmur back.

"Yes Will. Yes."

Satisfied with the preparation, that Will's body is not only able to take but also hungry for his cock, he withdraws his fingers and positions his cock, the head nestling at Will's opening. He takes hold of Will's hip in a crushing grip, and flexes his hips, once, twice, the head of his cock rubbing against Will's entrance.

Then, with one quick, hard, brutal thrust, he impales his lover.

The tone and timbre of Hannibal's voice resonates through Will's entire being, bringing back memories of recent moments shared in Hannibal's office, the discussions they've had about Will's becoming, the low and visceral admissions Will made about his true nature. And while in the moment Will had allowed those things to surface as a means to an end, he hadn't invented them, hadn't been falsifying the guttural reaction he'd had to Hannibal's encouraging replies. Some of those words had been haunting Will for weeks, sinking more and more deeply into his psyche, allowing for the eventual rewiring that lead them to this moment, to Will craving this life so deeply that the last tethers of his morality had broken loose, leaving him broken open for Hannibal's ministrations.

Will manages to silence a cry when Hannibal pulls his fingers free, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation of being stretched and empty, suddenly cold and gaping. He knows what's coming before he feels Hannibal's hard grip on his hip, before the slick, blunt head of Hannibal's cock bumps against him, and he's stretched enough that it sinks just a bit even before Hannibal presses against him.

The first few pushes are careful, the very subtle feeling of shallow penetration, like a tease. It makes Will feel a little strange, the same sort of anticipation before a not quite pleasant medical procedure widening in him, causing a hollow feeling in Will's belly, an ache in his jaw. But it doesn't last long, Hannibal's fingers digging into Will's flesh hard enough to leave bruises as he tenses and pushes all the way inside without a single additional moment of caution.

This is painful, enough so that Will is unable to fight his instinct to retreat, his spine caving as his body tries to get away from the stinging hurt raiding out from the point of penetration. Will grits his teeth, cutting off the injured whine he's making, the sound like a wounded animal. He pushes up on his arms just slightly so he can move his head, press his crown against the duvet and breathe, his body shaking hard as the intensity of the pain fades out until it's just a steady throb around the girth of Hannibal's dick inside him.

Taking a shuddering breath, Will shifts his perception, imagines what it must look like from Hannibal's vantage point, Will's hole tight and clinging around the width of the base of Hannibal's cock. It's dirty, pornographic, and it makes Will groan, his inner muscles fluttering, squeezing, feeling every inch of Hannibal inside him. He swears roughly, and a fierce wave of pleasure rolls through him, making him moan wetly, tides undeniably turned.

As Will's body fights the pain, Hannibal keeps him in place with the tie around his neck and the fingers digging into his hip. He breathes, waiting for the reflex to subside, for his lover to surrender to the pain and let the pleasure come crashing through. When Will finally swears and moans, Hannibal smiles in triumph. In that moment Will is his, entirely his, body and mind. And he will take such great pleasure in taking him, body and mind, right up to the brink of destruction.

Hannibal winds the tie in his hand, tightening the loop around Will's neck. He does it slowly to give Will a few moments to contemplate the situation Hannibal is putting him. Hannibal leaves unspoken, yet heavily implied, that he could kill Will right here, right now. He's already told Will that he will fuck him to unconsciousness. There is nothing keeping him from fucking him to death. For Will it would feel exactly the same, the last of his consciousness obliterated by the crash of his final and most intense orgasm. All Hannibal would need to do is keep the tie tight for those extra moments that would starve Will's brain of oxygen to the extent that he would not resume breathing when the tie is released.

Then, just as Will has had sufficient time to contemplate his fate, Hannibal begins fucking him, hard from the beginning, his cock powerful and merciless.