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"Ah, ah. No, Will." Hannibal prevented Will from squirming with a hand on the back of his neck, forcefully pushing him down into the bed. His other hand is curled over his hip, clutching him tight as he fucks him. "You only move, when I say you can move." He manages to infect his voice with a certain venom, despite his breathlessness.
Will is on his stomach, and his back is damp with sweat. The bed creaks in an obnoxiously loud manner with each slow, deep thrust, setting a frustratingly pleasurable pace. Before Hannibal, he had never been into this sort of thing. Never enjoyed being fucked in the arse, hands bound behind his back. But now he realised it was the perfect escape. The most enjoyable escape from the worrying, the thinking. The self-doubt. Even he wondered if he was crazy sometimes, if he was a killer.
Fucking Hannibal had grown to become his little window of escape from reality itself.
Now Hannibal paused to shove a pillow beneath his crotch, propping his ass up, handling him like was nothing more than a toy created solely to satisfy his needs. He settled onto his knees above him, hands on either side of his head, as if he were to start crawling.
Then pounded into him like today was his last day.
Will gasped out a little ‘ah’ on each down stroke, unable to contain himself. The friction he was getting against the pillow was too much but not enough, and Hannibal knew it.
“You like this, do you?” Hannibal grunted. “You like being pounded so hard you won’t be able to walk straight for a week. Like someone else to do the work for you, the thinking. You crave the submission, Will.” He spat. Will liked the way his name rolled from his tongue, like it was dirty, forbidden.
Will didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. They both knew only too well that he spoke the truth. Will pretended he didn’t like how much Hannibal saw, how much he really knew about him. But really, it pleased him to finally have someone who understood, to let someone in after all these years spent alone inside his own head.
Not that he would ever admit to that. But Hannibal knew, all the same.
“Sometimes you question even yourself, Will. Sometimes you look in the mirror and wonder if that’s a killer staring back at you. Sometimes you loathe your abilities, wished you didn’t see as much as you do. But with me, you forget all that.” He winds one hand into his hair, gripping tight a pulling his head back to hiss into his ear. “When you’re with me, Will, you don’t have to hide anything. So let go, Will. Let it all go, for me.”
He angled his hips down, pumping into him rapidly and shallowly, each thrust nudging right into his prostate. Will came with a groan, hips jerking into the pillow, Hannibal spilling into him soon after.
After cleaning up, Hannibal curled up against Will, an arm slung over his sated and limp form. “Thank you, Hannibal.” Will murmured.
“Always, Will. Now go to sleep.”
So he did. And for the first time in a while, the nightmares didn’t come.