Work Text:
Transporting them had gone surprisingly well. While waiting for an official sentence, they were to be held in a high-security facility, similar to the BSHCI, but more remote, so that if they were to, somehow, escape again, it would be a long trek on foot before they approached anything usable, and the cavalry would overtake them before they could.
Jack supposes the reason they're playing along and being relatively docile is Will. He is, in Jack's opinion, the more dangerous one. He's the one that's more difficult to predict, that doesn't play by the rules and would just as soon break a man's neck as bare his own and beg for mercy. But Will isn't in great shape right now; his eyes are hazy and ringed with gold, sweat dampening his hair and making it cling to his forehead. His shirt is soaked under his arms and across his collar with preheat sweat, his cheeks flushed with fever.
And Hannibal, red-eyed and overcome with the instinct to take care of his mate, is perfectly content to remain cuffed and calm at Will's side, providing no rival Alpha gets too close, and Will keeps his whimpers of distress to himself.
Jack has to give Will credit where it's due; he's remaining impressively stoic, considering the circumstances. It's likely that Hannibal's proximity to him is the only thing keeping him calm – that, and the occasional nuzzle and tender brush of Hannibal's fingers against Will's, over the backs of his hands, down his wrists. Placating and soothing gestures, promising physical closeness in exchange for obedience. It makes Jack's stomach twist to think about, even worse to see Will fallen so far.
The facility itself is high in the mountains, a long winding trail that goes up and up and up, and then plummets, suddenly, down, into the gaping maw of the hollow mountain. There are three sets of gates they drive through and each has electric wire and a twenty-four-seven patrol of armed guards. Around the first perimeter is fifty yards of barren grass so that no one can sneak up on the facility and, should someone breach the gates, they wouldn't get far without earning a sniper to the back.
This place is not like a prison, nor a care facility for the mentally ill. There is no illusion about it; each room exists at the end of a long corridor, with no hidden sight lines, and cameras every ten feet. The rooms are steel boxes buried in stone and steel, so they can't be tunneled out of. The doors to each room are thick bulletproof carbon fiber, almost as wide as the room itself, and transparent, so that the prisoners held within it have nowhere to hide.
The transport vehicle pulls up on the outside of the main facility, and the driver cuts the engine. Jack gets out of the passenger seat, nostrils stinging from the scent of Alpha and near-heat Omega. Will's scent is almost unbearably thick, coating his mouth like honey. Hannibal's, in comparison, like pepper and chili flakes, making the back of his tongue sting. He prepares himself for an encounter that will be tense and complicated; Hannibal may take it upon himself to attack, but Jack doesn't think he would leave Will's side. Will might lunge, though, and Hannibal would be compelled to protect him, and Jack would have no choice but to put them both down in a rain of gunfire.
He would like to avoid that, if only for the pleasure of watching Lecter, once again, stew in captivity.
A guard opens the panel doors and Hannibal's eyes flash, his entire body tenses and, though he doesn't snarl, it's clear he's ready to leap from the truck and attack whoever gets too close to him or Will. Jack presses his lips together and holds his hands up in a placating gesture. "Get out, Hannibal," he says. "You can bring Will with you."
Hannibal's nostrils flare, his eyes dark and fixed on Jack with predatory intent. But he nods, because when all is said and done, he plays by the rules and knows when not to get into a fight he can't win unless he is given no other choice. If Will were in full-blown heat, enough to send Hannibal into rut, the odds of him playing nice would be far worse. It's unlikely they would have even managed to arrest them at all.
Hannibal turns away and nuzzles Will, tucking his nose beneath his ear as Will's lashes flutter, his lips part. They are red and bruised, like he's been biting them to swallow his sounds. Jack isn't stupid; there were no guards in the back of the van watching them on their way to the facility, because there's no way a man like Hannibal would tolerate another person so close to his vulnerable mate. And Will is vulnerable, right now, sweet and quiet as he helplessly turns his head and nips at Hannibal's shoulder.
Jack is flanked by two guards, armed and aiming at Hannibal. Jack wants to warn them to keep their sights on Will as well; he's the dangerous one, the unpredictable one. They think he's weak because heat tends to make Omegas uncoordinated and pliant, but Will hasn't been that stereotype for many years. He can't afford to be, mating to a man like Lecter.
"Come, darling," Hannibal coaxes, taking Will's hands. Will is cuffed only because Jack got to him before Hannibal did, and they managed to arrest and bind them separately before leading them to the car. Hannibal has cuffs around his wrists too, and his ankles, to prevent him getting the stance and lunging capacity to be any trouble.
Will bows his head, breathing out, a sweet and soft whine spilling from behind his teeth as Hannibal kisses his cheek. Jack's stomach turns, disgusted at the sight of these two monsters; uniquely suited to each other, yes, but there was a time when Will was one of Jack's pack, and his responsibility. He'd failed him, and now Will has a bite in his neck and a bone-deep loyalty to a murderer, and there's not a damn thing Jack can do about it.
Hannibal stands, nosing at one of Will's sweat-drenched curls and tugging him upright. Will goes, the insides of his thighs, his lower back, most of his shirt sodden with sweat. With his movements, more of his preheat scent stirs, and Jack swallows back a growl. Beside him, the guards ready themselves for a fight. He can smell how nervous they are. Lecter and Graham are legends to men like them. The mandatory Neutral shots guards take in a facility like this will stop them reacting to Will's heat scent when it takes him, which is good, because there's no way in Hell they'll be able to give him or Lecter Neutral now.
He steps back, making room for Hannibal to exit the vehicle. Hannibal does, his hands splayed out wide on Will's legs, up his hips to hold him steady as Will stumbles out of the truck, almost falling to his knees. One of the guards step forward to help him instinctively, and Hannibal's head snaps up and he lets out a snarl that sends a chill all the way down Jack's spine.
"Give him space," he snaps, holding out his hand to stop the guard getting closer. He steps back immediately, and Hannibal calms, shoulders lowering from his aggressive stance, but his eyes are narrowed with a single-minded intent on the other Alpha, ready to rip into his throat and tear him to shreds if he gets too close.
Will whines again, forcing himself upright. He tucks his nose to Hannibal's neck and shoves himself close to his mate, trembling as Hannibal nuzzles him. They can't embrace, the cuffs won't allow for that, but Will's knuckles are white where they have curled around Hannibal's shirt.
"This way," Jack says, gesturing for them to follow. "Flank them," he commands the guards, and they take up positions at the back corners. Jack walks backwards towards the building, keeping Hannibal and Will in his sight at all times.
They get Hannibal and Will to their cell without much fuss, and Jack makes sure Hannibal can see him, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the handcuff keys. He crouches down and slides them over. Hannibal's nostrils flare again and his upper lip twitches in a snarl.
"Unlock them, and slide them all back," Jack commands, putting the Alpha Voice in his tone to encourage Hannibal to obey. Hannibal merely stares at him, every muscle of him tense, not willing to let Will go for a second in order to retrieve the key.
In the end, Will does it. He peels himself from Hannibal's chest and reaches with shaking hands, falling to his knees when straightening proves too difficult for him to manage. Hannibal goes to him immediately, crouching down and rubbing his forehead to Will's hair as he takes the set of keys from him. Will's hands are shaking, his wrists loose and pliant as Hannibal uncuffs him, and then himself. He gathers each set and the keys and throws them at Jack's feet.
Jack takes them, and steps back as the door slides closed and the mechanism locks in place. He can still see the pair; the door is wide enough that there are no hidden corners and he'll be able to watch everything that happens when he checks the cameras. Each box has a guard stationed to watch it, in case any prisoner gets it into their heads to harm themselves or cause some kind of disturbance.
He smiles widely, letting himself enjoy the victory. "Right back to where we started," he purrs. "No one's coming for you, this time."
Hannibal blinks at him, as though Jack just told him the sky is green. "Why would I leave?" he asks with a wide smile, and a purr of his own. Will jerks in reaction to the sound of his voice, lifts his head and rubs his cheek against Hannibal's shoulder. His eyes open to slits, and fix on Jack, and Jack almost takes another step back, for Will's eyes, his golden iris and sharp look, hold nothing human in them.
Jack huffs, and turns away, pocketing the cuffs and keys. "I want to make myself perfectly clear," he tells the guards as they make their way out. "No one is to speak to them. Don't get near them, don't touch them. Leave them alone and let them rot. If I hear of anyone talking to them for even a second I'll have that man's resignation on my desk before he can blink."
"Yes, Sir," one guard says, his face pale. Jack looks behind himself, over his shoulder, and sees Will still staring at their retreating backs. He shivers, and forces the anxious needling from his mind. They caught them, finally, and sealed them so deep even the Devil can't find them now. Finally, the monsters are behind bars, once and for all.
Hannibal waits until the door at the end of the hallway closes, a claxon signaling that it, too, is locked. The hallway dims to ambient light, a red blinking light from a set of cameras telling him they're still being watched, but that hardly matters to him. He is no stranger to captivity.
And, he must admit, the circumstances this time around are much more attractive.
Will catches his attention by whining softly again, entire body trembling as another series of cramps starts in his belly, clawing their way up his spine. Will reeks of preheat, slick to the bone and shivering with fever. Hannibal sighs. In the end, biology had betrayed them; they had gotten comfortable enough for Will's body to be convinced it was safe to go into heat, and when Hannibal had gone to try to source him some Neutral, Jack had descended with his pack of vultures to capture them yet again.
Will's body, as his brilliant mind always has, doesn't care to play by the rules of evasion. He is, at his core, a creature of survival, and there is no deeper biological imperative than the compulsion to eat, and to breed, and to build himself a nest.
Hannibal cups his face and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of Will's slick and his sweat. Will has always smelled so wonderful, since he stopped wearing that ridiculous aftershave; mint and lemongrass and sugar, mojitos and iced green tea, refreshing and crisp on the tongue.
The room itself is sparse and utilitarian. It's clearly meant for a single occupant, judging by the width of the bed and the single pillow and thin blanket, but Hannibal has no issue with providing his body as a source of heat and a pillow for Will's weary head. For the next few days, at least, rest is going to be the furthest thing from Will's mind. He regrets, only, that there is not enough bedding and additional blankets to fashion a nest for his mate as Will deserves.
He cups Will under his arms and pushes them upright. Will goes, pliant and easy in a way Hannibal has seldom been allowed to witness, his eyes glazed and blackened. "Lie down, darling," Hannibal coaxes. Will's head tilts blindly towards the sound of his voice, even as Hannibal peels the blanket and sheets back and rests Will down on the narrow, hard mattress.
His lips twitch in a smile. "Better than the Ritz," he teases, voice low and raspy, and Hannibal cannot help answer in kind. The fact that Will is in control of enough of his faculties to speak, to joke, is promising. There will be a few more hours before he succumbs to heat entirely.
The concrete wall provides a barrier, a thing for Hannibal to press Will into and crowd him against. Will's mouth twists in displeasure, even as his lashes flutter and he tilts his head forward, nose tucked beneath Hannibal's jaw and breathing him in, greedily.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, as Hannibal wraps an arm around his shoulders. Will trembles, another fresh wave of his heat scent thick in the air. "I should have gotten more suppressants in France. I didn't -." He stops, whining harshly, knee twitching forward and knocking against Hannibal's thigh. After a moment, he lifts it, sighing as he's able to pull Hannibal closer to him with his heel behind Hannibal's knee. "You didn't get it, did you?"
Hannibal shakes his head, unable to help feeling like a failure at Will's soft, disappointed sound. "I'm sorry, darling," he replies, and curls his hand in Will's sweaty hair. The scent of Will is maddening, tugging at his chest and his stomach and his teeth, urging him to sink into his mate, whatever part of him he can touch. His teeth in Will's neck, hand in his hair, knot between his pale thighs where he's undoubtedly wet and open and empty. "Forgive me."
Will laughs, though it's shaky, more an exhale than anything else. His breath ghosts along Hannibal's sensitive neck, teases at the scarred mating mark which, while old enough not to be open and actively hurting, is not so old that it has faded. It stands out just like Will's does, albeit Will's flushed neck hides more of the purplish color of Hannibal's teeth marks.
"This," Will murmurs, his hips twitching again, thigh tense around Hannibal's leg, "is not exactly where I imagined we'd be the first time I went into heat for you."
Hannibal shivers, fighting back the urge to snarl, to yank Will's head back and bare his throat, to roll him to his belly and take the sweet offering his body is so eager to give. As Alpha, Will's body, the authority to breed him, are Hannibal's by right. And he's sure no one here would stop him if he chose to act on that right.
He won't, of course. Will is beautiful in his suffering, glorious in his pain, but his willing surrender could keep Hannibal alive when food grows scarce and all the water in the world runs dry. Let the sun burn itself to ash and every mountain crumble, as long as Will still reaches for him, still smiles at him, still loves him.
Until Will, sex was not an act of love. At best, it was an activity meant to pass a boring evening or sate an errant physical urge. At other times, it was an alibi. When Hannibal was younger, an experiment to see if it changed the taste of his food.
Now, though. Will's touch burns him, even when he's not in heat. He can drive Hannibal to a senseless, animal place with just a look, just a subtle quirk of his lips that brings out the dimples in his cheeks. Will is so beautiful, so tempting, brilliant and lovely to behold. The kind of natural splendor that begs to be touched and held and carved into. He is glittering rock in a mountainside, a roaring waterfall that will beat down and sweep away those who try to sink into him. He is cliffs and ocean tides and Hannibal aches whenever they are apart.
He can say this for captivity, at least; Jack isn't stupid enough to try and separate them.
He hasn't touched Will like this since the day prior, when Jack finally caught up with them. That morning, Will had been drunk on preheat and unable to do much more than moan and arch into Hannibal's searching, gluttonous, greedy hands. The memory of Will's kiss, how he clings to Hannibal with everything he is, like he doesn't exist as a single person without Hannibal there to complete him, haunts Hannibal, burns the back of his throat with outrage. His mate is here, and he is Hannibal's for the taking.
He cups Will's nape and kisses him, and Will moans, a shiver running down the length of his body. His hands flatten on Hannibal's shirt, drag down, dip under so they can touch skin to skin. The sweep of Will's sweaty palms feels like a wound to Hannibal's gut, a hook caught behind his ribs, compelling him closer.
Will moans again, but when Hannibal rears over him, ready to put Will on his back and split him apart, he breaks the kiss with a gasp and shakes his head. "No," he hisses. Hannibal freezes immediately, pulling back. He's not that kind of monster, he never could be, especially with Will.
Will's eyes flash to their wide transparent door, and darken when he sees the blinking lights of the camera. In comparison, they are lit in almost blinding contrast. No shadowy corners in which to hide, no privacy at all.
Will swallows harshly, petting a shaking hand over his throat. "I don't want them to see," he confesses, wincing even as another shiver runs down him, another helpless arch of his chest and hips, seeking friction against Hannibal's body. "Not like this."
"It will be some time before anyone learns something has happened to us," Hannibal warns. They were due to rendezvous with Chiyoh in Scotland, for their annual combination of making sure they're alive and to update their aliases, bank accounts, and provisions for the next stretch of time in hiding. It was the only reason Hannibal sought Neutral at all, instead of remaining with Will in his nest to ride out the storm.
He tucks a curl of sweat-black hair behind Will's ear, and Will bites his bruised lower lip, lashes fluttering as he tilts his head helplessly into Hannibal's touch.
Hannibal resists the urge to say more, sure that this cell has microphones in place so that their conversations will be overheard. Part of him feels the same visceral outrage at the idea of every moment he spends with his mate being recorded, watched, and analyzed. Another part, one that he does his best to quell, is proud. Let Jack see them. Let him see just how far Will has fallen, how wholly and eagerly he gives himself over to Hannibal.
Hannibal is a proud man, a monstrous man, and delights in the idea of Jack bearing witness to Hannibal's influence over the Omega Jack once claimed as his.
Will sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring wide, hissing through his teeth. Even as he shakes his head again, he slides his hands up Hannibal's stomach, flattens over his heart, which while not beating fast, is pounding heavily in anticipation of the physical strain of mounting an in-heat Omega.
Will swallows, a flush of humiliation staining his cheeks, souring his scent. He seeks closeness, everything in his lizard brain compelling him to appease and sate his Alpha. He tucks his nose to Hannibal's throat, beneath his head so his face is hidden from the camera's view. His fingers curl in the back of Hannibal's shirt and tug him closer.
"Close your eyes," Hannibal coaxes, as another rush of heat runs through Will's body. His clothes are utterly soaked with sweat and slick, clinging to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination. Will is hard, his erection shoved insistently against Hannibal's trapped thigh, grinding in short twitches of his hips. "Let it all fade away, Will. It's just us."
Will whimpers, and bares his teeth.
"Do you remember the house in England?" Hannibal whispers, and flattens his hand on Will's shoulder, cupping the back of it. He hooks his chin over Will's shoulder and slides his hand down further, until he reaches the jut of Will's hipbone. Will whines, softly, straight into his ear, and it makes every inch of Hannibal tremble and tense in readiness. Their house in England had been cramped and small, their bedroom not much larger than this cell. With its stone walls and thin windows, the chill was much the same, and compelled them to seek each other's body heat to weather through the long nights.
Will nods, after a moment, as Hannibal kisses his red neck. "I'm so cold," he whispers.
Hannibal breathes in, mentally reassessing the timeline. He would be surprised if Will made it more than an hour before he succumbed to his heat. Despite the situation, this place is safe and cramped and only smells like them, and the Omega in Will can choose to interpret that as a nest, in a way. His body is safe, he's with his mate, and it's only natural to want to show his Alpha how much he appreciates making a space for themselves. To offer his body and his heat and his open, empty stomach as payment for Hannibal's protection.
Hannibal closes his eyes. "Come," he purrs, worming his other arm beneath Will's neck. The angle is awkward, but he manages to slide his fingers into Will's hair, bringing him closer by the hip with his other hand. "Come join me there."
And there they are. In that little house on the English moors with sightlines for miles and no one around to bother them. In their mental palace, there are no cameras and no cell doors, nothing but the freedom to enjoy each other. There was a room, in that house; an intimate study with dark shelves and a roaring fireplace. Will is there, when Hannibal arrives, panting and painted in golden firelight.
Even as Hannibal goes to him, in that shared mental place, he coaxes Will to roll beneath him, onto his belly, and pulls the blanket over their bodies. Will moans weakly, arching up into the weight of Hannibal's body on top of him even as, in that study in England, he lunges for Hannibal and kisses him fiercely.
Hannibal covers Will's eyes, in the real world, so he cannot be ripped from the illusion. His fingers tug at the soaked waistband of Will's jeans, the material so weak with slick that it peels easily from his skin. It is likely they will be sedated and provided fresh clothes once Will's heat passes – these are certainly a lost cause.
Will writhes against him, knees spread as far as the narrow mattress and the confines of his clothes will allow.
Hannibal adjusts his position, one hand over Will's eyes, the other in his hair to keep his head down, to get him to bare his nape and allow room for him to kiss and bite as he pleases. Now that Will's body is bare enough to mount, the scent of him is maddening, so powerful that Hannibal, for a moment, can only pause and breathe him in.
In their shared mental space, Will pulls back from him, flushed and dark-eyed. His gaze gravitates to the black window, through which no outside light shines and the world exists as a void. "They're watching us," he murmurs.
"Do you want me to stop?" Hannibal rasps, and kisses him when Will arches up against him and lets out a weak, desperate noise.
"No," he whispers. He pulls Hannibal to him in the study, coaxes him to sit on the floor beside the fire. He smiles, cupping his face with both hands, pushes his hair from his forehead and, slowly, slides into place on his lap. Hannibal reaches for him and Will catches his hands, their fingers lacing, even as, in the cell, Will brings a fist to his mouth and bites down to stifle a wanton noise.
In their mind palace, things like clothes are as easily willed away as scenery. Hannibal spent many a night in that house, on his back with Will wild and desperate atop him, or laying his mate out in the warmth of the fire and driving him insane with his lips, his tongue, his fingers. Will's body might have been made for him, for how uniquely and eagerly he responds to Hannibal's touch. Certainly, whenever Hannibal was inside him, Will fit him like a puzzle piece, like a glove, clinging and wet and blister-hot on the inside.
Hannibal has to release his hair, as Will nuzzles him, noses brushing, lips touched to the corner of his mouth in their study. In the cell, Hannibal yanks at the button of his suit pants, rips the zipper down so hard the tab snaps off. He reaches into his clothes and pulls his cock free, and it aches at the touch of his hand, knowing that his mate is close, so sweet and pliant beneath him.
In the study, Hannibal rolls Will to his belly and mimics their position, heads angled towards the black window. Will whines, and then snarls in readiness, lifting his hips just as he does in reality, and Hannibal growls against his nape, parts his jaws wide and settles his teeth at the tendon just shy of his spine, where he has learned Will is particularly sensitive.
Will cries out loudly as Hannibal penetrates him, a full-body tremor running down his spine. He curls his fingers into the edge of the mattress and moans, his ass clenching up tight around Hannibal's cock, already bearing down with the promise of his orgasm. The first time Hannibal had gotten him like this, Will had been lax with pleasure, shaking and spent before Hannibal even got inside him. Still, it had only taken one thrust, the tease of his knot, for Will to come again.
Will's heat-drenched body is eager for him, welcomes him in so easily. Will's moan is ragged and high, his face twisted up in exquisite agony. He rolls his hips and Hannibal answers him, relishing how Will clamps down so fiercely around him. Even a day was long enough for Will's body to grow tight, so slick and desperate that already, Hannibal feels the compulsion to knot.
He bites down harder on Will's neck and Will moans, raking his nails through his hair to push it up from his nape, baring more of it.
"Harder," he demands, and Hannibal snarls, obeying eagerly. The mattress creaks beneath his weight as he draws back and fucks into Will. Beneath the blanket, thin though it is, he's sweating and stifled, soaked in Will's body heat. He smells so sweet, he's so breathlessly lovely in his abandon. Hannibal's heart was steady, before, but now it races.
Will arches against him, desperate for more friction. He claws at Hannibal's wrist at the side of his face, braces himself on the edge of the mattress so he can fuck back. Their bodies collide in a chorus of loud, wet sounds, stuck together and ripped apart only to collide again. "Harder," Will hisses, and Hannibal snarls, and bites down until he tastes blood.
Will moans, trembling, body tense as a bowstring as he bears down around Hannibal, the friction of the mattress giving him enough sensation to achieve orgasm. The scent of his come is like honey on Hannibal's tongue, sweet and thick, it makes his mouth dry. He bathes his tongue in Will's blood and sweat as he presses in deep, savoring, for just a moment, how tight and wet Will is around him.
"Don't stop, Hannibal," Will snarls, his Voice powerful and raw and compelling Hannibal to obey. He rolls his hips, chasing the itch at the base of his cock that is his desire to knot. Objectively, resonating like a dim, far-away drum, he knows he shouldn't knot Will. Will is fertile, if he's in heat, and they don't need the additional complications of a potential pregnancy. But Will's body and his heat and whatever legacy they sire is his by right, and Hannibal won't let anyone, not Will or Jack or himself, deny him that right.
In the study, Will lifts his eyes and sets them on the black window. "He's watching," he rasps. There is no face in the window, but when Hannibal pulls his teeth from Will's neck and looks up, he sees that Jack is, indeed, standing there on the other side of the cell door. His eyes are black, expression twisted into a disgusted scowl. Hannibal snarls at him, daring him to say anything, to come closer. Only a fool comes between an Alpha and his prize.
Jack doesn't do anything. Coward. Hannibal's lips stretch into a wide, victorious smile. He purrs, and makes sure he keeps Jack's gaze as he wraps his hand around the front of Will's throat, because he knows Will likes how well they fit together. He lifts Will's chin, showing Jack the bites on his neck, the small bead of blood dripping down from Hannibal's mouth and staining Will's clothes.
"There's no one there, darling," he purrs, the lie coming easily. Whether Will believes him or not, he's sure Will is past caring. Omegas are sensitive to the gazes of Alphas, and Hannibal could not convince him that no one is watching if Will listened to his instincts hard enough.
Will growls, baring his teeth, and turns his head away, apparently content to believe Hannibal's falsehood. Hannibal smiles, and licks over the back of Will's neck, making him shiver and clench up tightly again. He keeps his hand over Will's eyes and drags his other from Will's throat, down beneath his belly. Will's heat has come, now, full-force, and he's hard again. He won't be satisfied until he gets Hannibal's knot, and Hannibal fully intends to give it to him, with or without their audience.
"Hannibal," Will whispers, whining as Hannibal wraps his fingers around Will's leaking cock. He strokes his mate slowly, his thrusts going deep and slow to match. Long, forceful thrusts to get Will's body to part for him, to cling to him. Hannibal's eyelids go low and heavy, a rumble in his chest caught as Will twists in his grip. "Hannibal, please. Please, fuckin'. Please knot me. I need it."
Hannibal's smile is wide and wolfish. He meets Jack's eyes, basking in the outrage, the heat of his ire. The way his fists are clenched by his sides. That's what he gets for trying to dissuade Hannibal from taking what is rightfully his.
Will's arms stretch out in front of him, hearing the catch in Hannibal's throat, the snarl built up behind his teeth. Behind Hannibal's fingers, he feels Will's warm tears of frustration. His stomach tenses and Will arches again as Hannibal brings him to orgasm a second time with a low, stuttering cry.
Will collapses beneath him when he's finished, spent and panting, just how Hannibal likes him. Hannibal purrs loudly and rakes his dirty fingers through Will's hair. He closes his eyes and sucks a dark, bruising kiss to the side of Will's neck.
"Shh," he murmurs, when another whimper of distress escapes Will's battered lungs. "It's coming, darling. That's it."
He blinks, once, slowly, forcing himself as deep into Will as he can get. He plasters himself over Will and wraps his free arm around Will's head, hiding him from Jack's view. There are some things even his desire to show off will not allow for, and the compulsion to protect his mate from lecherous eyes is a powerful one. He bites down on the arch of Will's ear as his knot swells, locking them together, and Will lets out a single, weak, punched-out sound of relief as Hannibal goes still and begins to spill inside him.
When Hannibal looks up again, Jack is gone. He smiles, and presses a kiss to Will's hair, content to bask with him in their mind palace while Will trembles beneath him and tries to catch his breath. He laces their fingers together on the edge of the mattress and Will clings to him so tightly his knuckles go white.
There is silence, in the observation room, as Jack returns. One of the guards clears his throat. "Seems kind of unfair," he says lightly, earning Jack's sharp gaze. "Not much of a punishment if they get to stay together."
Another guard snorts. "Yeah, they're suffering so much," he adds sarcastically.
Jack arches a brow, and gestures down the hallway. "You go ahead and try to separate them," he challenges. "Be my guest."
The guards go quiet, at that. Hannibal, in his cell, protectively hunched over Will, is staring directly into the camera, with low-lidded eyes and his wide, bloody smile. Much like he always has; proud and patient and utterly in control of his environment. It makes Jack shiver, even as his stomach clenches and rolls with revulsion.
No additional protest of challenge comes, and Jack nods to himself. "That's what I thought."