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Will loves staying with his grandpa on the weekends both his parents are out of town, and not only because the man spoils him relentlessly. Will has never wanted for anything, not in his sixteen years of life and he imagines he won’t ever, so long as his grandpa has his way.
Hannibal has money in a seemingly endless supply, and he dotes on Will without shame much to the chagrin of Will’s parents. They accuse him of overindulging Will, of making him petulant when he’s not with Hannibal and they’re forced to deny him something. But Hannibal doesn’t stop, Will’s not even sure he could stop if he wanted to; and no one makes Hannibal Lecter do anything he doesn’t want to.
“You’ll burn it at that high heat, darling boy. Here, let me show you.” Will is snapped from his thoughts by a large palm settling against his hip, drawing him close and Hannibal’s body molding to Will’s back. The heat radiating from the stove before him is nothing compared to the furnace of his grandpa’s body; the warmth of Hannibal’s breath fanning out the fine baby hairs at his nape sends a shiver spilling down his spine, despite feeling rather flushed overall. Soon enough, his grandpa’s other hand is reaching around their bodies to take hold of Will’s wrist, and every sensation beyond his skin drawing danger-warm and silk-soft across Will’s flutters away.
It’s possible Will appreciates time alone with his grandpa a little too much, but he refuses to allow himself to dwell on thoughts such as those for too long. He’s sixteen, after all; isn’t it perfectly natural for his hormone-addled brain to shift to inappropriate territory at the drop of a hat, regardless of his current surroundings? He can’t bring himself to analyze what he feels in moments like these, simply forces his over-eager mind to shut down and experience them.
His traitorous brain latches on without reprieve this time, Will full of pent up energy and no where for it to go. He feels overwhelmed by the feel of Hannibal’s solid frame behind him; so much larger and stronger than Will even in his fifties. Will’s not blind, he knows his grandpa is in perfect shape and plenty attractive for an older man - a dangerous, dark part of his mind whispers to him that it’s precisely because of his grandpa that he’s so pent up anyway.
He’d been at a party the night before, slipping out into the night once Hannibal had gone to bed. Alana had tried to kiss him and, instead of reciprocating, he’d pushed her away with a flush and a jolt of Hannibal like a flashbulb on the backs of his eyes. It was perfectly natural, he reminds himself now, for your first crushes to come from those most familiar to you. It’s okay that he likes girls and boys, and it’s okay that he likes his grandpa; the second point he just won’t act on.
Hannibal pulls Will’s hand down to the knobs on the stove, twisting to the left until they lower the heat by nearly half. “Cooking is a delicate art form, my love. You must be patient.” His voice is a gentle murmur, close to Will’s ear as he rests his cheek against Will’s curls. The most soothing admonishments Will has ever received have slipped from tongue and teeth in that rumbling purr.
Will’s throat grows thick at the sound of it, choking on the scoff he almost wishes he could release. He knows damn well Hannibal is the type of man that exudes patience only when it will irritate all but himself. He shakes himself free of the cobwebs in his mind and clears his throat; horrified by how hoarse he sounds.
“Sorry, grandpa. I’m just hungry.” Hannibal releases an amused hum near Will’s ear at his whining tone, guiding his hand back to the pan to shift it slightly against the stovetop, readjusting the heat distribution.
“Impatient creature, it’s no wonder your parents believe me to be a bad influence if this is how you behave at home.” The words are teasing and light, not accusatory in the least. Will is more than aware his grandpa likes him like this, loves bringing out his most demanding traits.
Will hmphs, shaking the pan on his own this time, watching the light layer of oil slip around the curved edges. It glistens enough he can see their reflection in it, etched into the oil and limned by the lights embedded in the kitchen ceiling. “Pre-heating is awful. Why can’t we just toss food into the pan with the oil rather than waiting for some ridiculous perfect temperature that is seemingly never to be reached?”
Hannibal doesn’t answer, instead he squeezes Will’s hip in punishment, pulling a hiss from between Will’s teeth. “Are you alright, darling? You seem stiff.”
Will tenses at the innocent question, stomach plummeting at the possibility of being caught sporting a semi while pressed so intimately to his grandpa. He blinks several times to dispel the fear, realizing Hannibal is referring to his stiff shoulders and straining muscles. The discomfort in his gait caused by muscle strain and nothing more; his grandpa has always been disturbingly aware. “Gym was killer yesterday. We did a bunch of lower body exercises but today everything hurts. I feel ancient -” he pauses, an unseen smirk on his lips. “Is this how you feel everyday, old man?”
Hannibal swats at his upper thigh with a tut, but then his hands are moving, more exploratory than steadying, and Will’s muscles pull taut for an entirely other reason. Logically, he knows his grandpa is only feeling out his body to find the source of his pain so he can eradicate it, always so overprotective, but it’s impossible to reason with his deceptive, hormone fueled mind in moments like this.
His instinct is to grow more tense under the older man’s scrutiny as he starts to compulsively wonder what it all means. Once more, Will pulls in a steadying breath, shoos away the thoughts that threaten to clutter his mind, and just allows himself to feel.
If he ever realized before that the only time this practice of calming down actually works is when he’s near Hannibal, well…he doesn’t allow himself to analyze that either.
He slips into himself like slipping into a warm bath, the loudness in his brain quieted to nearly a purr. They stand in a comfortable silence, Hannibal the only person Will can manage silence with without his brain filling the void with vivid images and bursting thoughts that are never totally his own.
Hannibal’s hands move all along his body, fingertips tapping in every spot where he finds Will’s tangled, aching muscles beneath his touch. It’s as though he’s committing each spot to memory so he can destroy them.
“Perhaps a trip to the hot tub tonight would be pleasant?”
Will shivers, not at the suggestion, but at the way his grandpa’s breath feels where it’s warm and comforting at his nape, every centimeter of his skin feeling like a live wire beneath Hannibal’s regard. Their closeness becomes oppressive in its obviousness when Will’s cock stirs again.
He wants to be mortified, but the jolt of adrenaline is too much of a shock to his overwhelmed system and he stutters out something sounding close enough to yes to appease Hannibal’s question.
“If you find it too painful, darling, you can sit at the counter while I finish up here. It’ll be another hour at least before dinner is ready.”
Will’s eyes cut to the pan of oil still clutched in his fingers, his grandpa’s longer ones entwined. Then he looks to the meat - lamb - something he only ever has an appetite for when Hannibal cooks it. The meat doesn’t taste like any other meat he’s had, and his brain illogically fixates on how excellent Hannibal’s butcher must be as it short circuits with the sustained confusion of his arousal.
“Sure, grandpa. Maybe I’ll just sit this one out and watch the master work.” He makes to move from between Hannibal and the stove but his grandpa keeps him held in place for several seconds longer than is appropriate. A flash of something like hope sprints through Will’s brain and then Hannibal is releasing him, stepping fluidly into the gap left in Will’s absence.
“Of course, sweet boy. You rest. We have all weekend to work on your form.”
---
Will stumbles on Bambi legs into the water, watching as it splashes over the lip and down the sides. He grips along the edge and centers himself, taking a jagged breath before sinking beneath. It’s salted - better for the skin - and Will can’t help but feel as though he’s being cooked to the same precise specifications as any other meal lovingly prepared and consumed by Hannibal.
When his grandpa had suggested the hot tub Will had nearly declined, though he decided the denial would be even more obvious as he never turns down an opportunity to hop in the warm, soothing water.
He’s glad he said yes now, the warmth radiating into his bones and unwinding some of the tightly woven knots of muscles along his spine, thighs, and midsection. His cock has already softened, and as he sinks even deeper into the water he thinks maybe he’s finally in the clear. Just a one-off freakish accident that he can put out of his mind - like all the others before it.
Every inch of Will which had managed to go lax in the warm, bubbling water tightens once more as Hannibal steps out of his attached bedroom and shrugs the robe from his shoulders. The older man turns to drape it nonchalantly over a nearby patio chair as though he’s not clad in the most scandalously obscene speedo known to mankind. Every shift of muscle beneath powerful thighs has Will nearly whining with a need to feel them beneath his fingertips, wrapped around his body and keeping him close; keeping him safe.
Hannibal climbs into the tub, completely unaware that Will has an entirely different reason for feeling overheated now, and settles on the bench across from him with an irritatingly fluid ease. His thick but compact torso gives a leonine stretch as he sinks into the water, his arms expanding to drape along the edge of the tub on either side of him, and he allows himself only the span of a single inhale-exhale with his features shuttered and peaceful before he seemingly sinks back into himself and opens his eyes to pin Will with an excruciatingly knowing gaze. Whiskey swirling on rocks, peering well past any flimsy facade Will can manage.
“You’re just as tense as you were before dinner,” Hannibal points out in a blithely off-handed manner, as though the state of Will’s being is more a curiosity than a concern. As though he’s not the entire reason for it.
Will has the sudden urge to point out that he’d likely find himself more relaxed if he wasn’t currently face-to-face with his grandpa in a swimsuit so tight he can make out the exact outline of the man’s twig and berries, even obscured as they are by the foaming water between them, but swallows the words down at the last minute.
“I pushed hard yesterday, and it’s been a long day,” he explains, painfully aware that both he and Hannibal know he’s obfuscating around the current subject in his fervent desire to ignore it entirely.
“Perhaps a more direct approach. Heat therapy is more effective when combined with physical manipulation, after all.”
It’s all the reason he provides as he beckons Will to draw nearer, and all the reason Will needs before he finds himself removing the distance between them to settle on the step beneath his grandpa’s bench. He’s on the tall side for his age, but perching on that ledge and allowing himself to relax towards his grandpa’s touch already has the water level nearly to his neck.
When Hannibal’s hands meet his shoulders once more to give a testing squeeze and then deliberate knead - like an overgrown cat - Will fears allowing himself to melt into the touch can only result in his drowning.
“It’s alright, mon coeur ,” Hannibal assures him in a rumbling murmur as the pressure of his thumbs increases with gradual intensity, drifting lower to work between his shoulder blades. “You keep yourself so guarded at all times. You needn't be with me; you know that.”
It’s another gentle admonishment, one which has Will’s stomach clenching briefly with guilt before quickly being overshadowed by a wild fluttering as his grandpa leans closer, lips nearly brushing his ear as he adds softly, “I’m always here for you, Will. Whatever you need.”
Will wants to tell Hannibal that he knows that, that he always has. That it’s a knowledge as instinctual as breathing to him. That it terrifies him almost as much as it comforts him. The idea that he could ask anything of his grandpa and Hannibal would destroy the world in an effort to give it to him makes him dizzy with something far closer to want than it has any reason to be.
He takes a steadying breath and releases it slowly, closing his eyes and systematically focusing on each muscle to actively relax it, from the base of his neck, down to his shoulders, slipping down his spine. He allows himself to melt into the touch behind him, no longer caring when the action briefly sends his chin dipping below the churning water.
Hannibal won’t let him go under.
His grandpa releases a pleased hum at Will’s efforts, thumbs digging purposefully along the edges of his shoulder blades. “There we go. Doesn’t that feel better?”
Will himself can only give a hum in response, eyes still closed as he rocks with the movement of Hannibal’s hands. They drift lower, down either side of his spine, and Will gives a sigh and pushes back to encourage a deeper touch. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that gym class had put him through the ringer the day before.
“Lower?” Hannibal questions in response, and when Will only nods and hums again, his grandpa’s hands shift to under his arms and tug lightly to guide him up. “Move up to the bench; I’ll work your lower back.”
Will does without a thought, only realizing as he settles perched on the edge of the bench how much closer they are this way. Hannibal had spread his legs to accommodate him into his space, but as soon as Will settles, he draws them close again, bracketing Will with the firm thickness of his thighs.
Will shifts as well, searching for balance in the precarious position; any closer to the edge and he’ll topple straight off, any further back and he’ll essentially be sitting in his grandpa’s lap. If his own legs spread out to press against Hannibal’s, it’s completely unintentional.
Hannibal’s hands are on him once more immediately, dropping further down his back where he had no access before. His thumbs work down the ropey muscles on either side of his spine in search of their target, only pausing to dig in once more as they land just above Will’s tailbone.
Will gives a groan and arches back, unthinking, bringing his shoulders into contact with Hannibal’s broad, furred chest. He allows his head to drop back to rest upon his grandpa’s shoulder, relaxing into the touch as the soreness in his muscles gives way to pleasure. “The right side,” he sighs, and Hannibal adjusts immediately, his left hand moving to grip Will’s hip firmly for traction as his right digs into the requested area.
He’s vaguely aware his dick is twitching in his swim shorts, but chooses not to pay it any mind. It’s only a result of the heat of the water, the increased blood flow from the massage, and there’s no way his grandpa would find out anyways. He wonders vaguely if either of them would care even if he did.
Hannibal turns his head slightly, bringing his nose close enough to Will’s neck to brush against it, and takes a slow, deep inhale. It’s the kind of breath Will has seen him take with his nose buried in a wine glass; eyes shut, face peaceful and contemplative, seeking and analyzing the scent he finds. Savoring it.
Will shivers at the thought, tips his head away slightly to give further access to his neck. His grandpa accepts the invitation, nuzzling closer, his lips brushing against the vulnerable skin of Will’s throat as he speaks. Beneath them, Will’s pulse gallops wildly.
“Your parents believe I spoil you,” he begins in a murmur so low Will would scarcely be able to hear him if they weren’t pressed so closely together. “And perhaps I do. But is it so wrong to give my only grandson all he desires? I only wish to make you happy, show you all life has to offer.”
Will is fairly certain most grandpas aren’t quite this indulgent or hands on with their grandsons, but he keeps his lips pressed tight. Hannibal’s fingers start shifting to the right in their work as he speaks, following the curve of Will’s hip until his hand settles curled around his side in a mirror of his left. “It’s not as though you don’t deserve it. You’re a good boy.”
Will’s breath catches in his chest as he chokes down the whimper threatening to burst forth at the endearment. He’s fully hard now, not only uncaring of the situation but desperate for more of his grandpa’s touch. He shifts further back in his seat to erase the last of the distance between them, breath hitching again as his rear meets his grandpa’s groin and discovers the damning evidence of how affected he is as well.
Hannibal’s hands loop around Will’s waist to drift slowly, teasingly, across his abdomen. “Tense here, too,” Hannibal murmurs, though he doesn’t sound surprised or offended in the least about it. Will gives a lazy nod and barely stops his hips from rocking forward. “Something should be done about that, yes?”
Yes. Will barely stops himself from moaning. Touch me. He wants to beg. He knows it’s wrong and he doesn’t care. Perhaps his parents are right and his grandpa has spoiled him; Hannibal’s hedonism seeping into him, hooking around his cock and tugging.
He rolls his head back towards Hannibal’s face, a shiver rocking his body as it draws the man’s lips against his neck once more. “Do it,” Will urges on a shaky breath, still too close to a plea but it’s all he can manage.
His grandpa doesn’t hesitate once permission is granted, his left arm looping around his waist to hold him close as his right hand slips beneath the elastic of his swim shorts and covers the aching erection straining against the wet material.
Will’s moan is immediate and he can feel a rumbling response from his grandpa’s chest, the vibrations in his back causing his toes to curl. “Fuck,” Will keens, leaning harder into the embrace while also bucking his hips into the loose hold on his cock.
“Such a filthy mouth, sweet boy. What should we do about that?” His words are pure sin dripping from plush lips, and Will wants him so badly his stomach clenches. He wants to taste him, to kiss him, to suck him down and have him fuck him. He wants everything with his grandpa, and he should be shocked by all the filthy images swirling in his mind but he can’t be bothered when it feels so good.
“Grandpa -“ he groans, and again Hannibal makes a noise with him. It’s that small act that truly has Will understanding his grandpa wants this just as much as he does, and he smirks at the realization, latching onto it with his teeth.
“You’re filthy. How long have you wanted me? Wanted this? How many nights did you lie awake with me just one room over and contemplate coming to me. Touching me?” The words sound like a purr coming from Will’s mouth, filthier and far sexier than anything he’s ever even contemplated before. But it all feels so right, and the reaction he gets is enough to soothe any remaining jagged edges of his insecurity.
“Cruel boy, you know perfectly well what you do to me. You’ve wanted me just as much - always so eager for my touch, for my praise. Your beautiful body just as tempting as the fruit of knowledge. And that sweet mouth, so devilish without even realizing it.”
As if to demonstrate his raspy cajoling, the fingers of the hand not currently buried in Will’s pants traces a pathway to his mouth, pushing past his pliant, unresisting lips and sliding against his tongue. He massages against the writhing muscle, spreading his fingers to rub along the sides of Will’s tongue to the same cadence as his cock.
Will moans around the intrusion, his brain filling in the gaps and imagining his grandpa’s dick instead, his mouth watering and spit dripping from the corners of his stretched open lips.
He grunts when Hannibal’s hand tightens around his length, picking up a nearly punishing pace - if it weren’t exactly how rough he usually was with himself it would be cruel. It’s almost disconcerting how easily his grandpa manages to figure out his every turn on, how his body sings for the other man’s touch.
Will collapses fully back against the solid form behind him, unable to maintain the remaining tension in his frame any longer. His entire body trembles with arousal, pleasure mounting so quickly and intensely he can scarcely catch a breath. He’s well aware that young men his hormone-riddled age are generally preoccupied with sex and physical attraction, but he’s also certain no other sixteen year old has ever experienced the undeniable connection and euphoria flooding him now.
It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong on so many levels.
And he doesn’t care.
How can he, when it feels so right? Not just because he’s about to blow his load in his grandpa’s hot tub; this feeling goes beyond physical stimulation. Hannibal understands him, more than his parents or peers could ever hope to. They’re just alike; two sides of the same coin. There was a reason Hannibal never pursued a relationship with Will’s grandmother beyond the unintentional conception of Will’s mother -- he’s never been one to seek meaningful connections.
Will is only glad he bothered to develop a relationship with his daughter rather than turn his back completely on the whole fiasco. He can’t imagine a life without Hannibal in it, and he’s certain his grandpa feels the same way, though he could never have imagined how meaningful having a grandson might one day be for him, Will’s certain.
Will moans again around the fingers idly stroking his tongue, hollows his cheeks and sucks, working the muscle against Hannibal’s digits as sensuously as he can consciously manage. Between the heat of bubbling water and the inferno of his grandpa against him, Will feels liable to pass out in short order.
Hannibal’s hitched breath only stokes the flames of Will’s pleasure, his voice rolling smoothly and smokily from his mouth as he murmurs against Will’s ear.
“What a wanton little thing.” It sounds like a rebuke, but Will can feel the curve of Hannibal’s smile as he noses down the column of his neck. “You’re so close, aren’t you, darling? Just begging for release. For all this to end, though the both of us know an end between us could never be anything other than temporary. You’ve always been drawn to me,” Hannibal accuses smugly, his fingers petting one more time along Will’s writhing tongue before retreating from his mouth.
His hand strokes along Will’s jaw, cups his chin briefly before drifting down to wrap loosely around the column of his neck, tipping Will’s face closer yet to his own. “You’ve never been able to fight the pull to me and what’s more...you’ve never wanted to.”
Will’s hips buck into Hannibal’s grip on his aching cock, the pace growing frantic between their movements. His breath spills from his mouth in shallow pants, his lips forming words he can’t hope to voice around the reedy gasps erupting every time his grandpa’s fist curls around his sensitive head. He can feel the ghost of Hannibal’s lips mere centimeters from his own as he dips closer, and the temptation to close the scant distance between them is overwhelming.
His grandpa, it seems, has much more self control. He merely tilts Will’s head until they’re practically sharing a breath and murmurs, “It’s alright, mon coeur. Let go for me.”
“Oh -- Grandpa!” Will groans gutterly through clenched teeth as the building tension in his stomach draws painfully tight and then unspools all at once. His cock spasms in Hannibal’s grasp, the resulting moan that bursts forth muffled when his grandpa’s other hand travels up from his neck to seal over his mouth.
“Shh, shh,” Hannibal soothes, his lips now at the shell of Will’s ear. He continues to work his fist even as Will squirms and whines into his palm, until all he can do is collapse into pliancy against his grandpa once more and hope for mercy to arrive in short order.
“There we go. See? Much more relaxed now,” Hannibal praises softly. He removes his hand when he seems to trust that Will can keep himself quiet -- it wouldn’t do to alert the neighbors to their activities, after all. Privacy fences can only block out so much.
Will rests languidly against the solid form behind him as he struggles to control his breathing, shaping ragged gasps into something more calm and collected. Seemingly satisfied with the reaction he wrenched from him, Will’s grandpa merely loops his arms around Will’s midsection, tucks his nose into the crook of Will’s neck, and breathes with him.
He has no way of knowing how much time passes this way, caught between the hazy pleasure of release and the tilting surreality of what just transpired, but when Will next shifts he’s reminded of the way his grandpa was affected by the moment as well.
Still affected, actually.
Will squirms in Hannibal’s grasp, attempting to turn around to face him. When his grandpa’s hold on him tightens, Will makes an impatient noise and reaches back between their bodies to palm at the erection pressed against his ass.
“Now you,” Will insists, and his voice is low and rough, nearly unrecognizable.
“Stay put,” his grandpa commands, and a shiver ripples through Will when he hears Hannibal’s tone sounds just as wrecked and raw. The hands around his waist find his hips, tug at the elastic of his swimming shorts. “Take these off.”
Desire and anticipation clench tightly in Will’s stomach once more, his limbs nearly numb with tingling excitement as he hastily obeys, lifting his hips just enough to push his shorts down and peeling them off quickly. He tosses them right over the edge of the tub, and the splat of the wet material slapping against the concrete is nearly deafening in the night, even over the ever-present rumbling of the hot tub jets.
Will wets his lips and swallows around the lump in his throat, desperately attempting to soothe a mouth immediately gone dry with nerves. He wants Hannibal in every way; he’s known that for a while, even if he couldn’t always admit it to himself. But allowing fleeting thoughts to cross his mind as he jerks off is entirely different from being nude in the man’s arms, open and vulnerable as he draws his own stiff cock from the confines of his speedo.
Will’s expecting the hardness to press more insistently against him, waits for the moment Hannibal angles his cock to nudge entreatingly against Will’s hole until Will can do nothing more than relent and allow it entry.
He’s surprised, then, when Hannibal merely grasps his hips again and pulls him further back into his lap, angling himself not so that he has access to enter Will, but slipping between his thighs instead.
Will startles at the unexpected sensation and glances down, choking on a whimper as he catches sight of Hannibal’s cock speared between his legs.
“Stay still, darling,” his grandpa instructs, and his tone is so fond and familiar they could be back in the kitchen together, with Will nearly ruining dinner and Hannibal guiding his hands to success. “Squeeze your legs together. Nice and tight, there we go.”
Will shudders as the praise spills against his ear in a hot breath and endeavors to clench his thighs even tighter as Hannibal starts working his hips in steady thrusts.
He’s grateful for how tightly his grandpa holds him, the other man’s hands on him the only thing keeping him from flying apart. His body is still alight with the pleasure of his recent release, and he feels oversensitive and more than a little overwhelmed by the gentle thrusting between his held together thighs.
The water is so warm, and he recalls in a bit of hysterical pondering that someone once told him staying in a hot tub too long would make you pass out. He feels like he could, now, if not for the steady hands and panting breaths against his nape keeping him firmly planted in the here and now.
“Grandpa…” he moans, and Hannibal shushes him softly, pressing a reassuring kiss to Will’s sweaty shoulder.
“It’s alright, sweet boy. I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you.”
Will wants to argue they’re currently taking care of Hannibal, but he can’t truly bring himself to complete full, coherent sentences as Hannibal speeds up in seeking his own pleasure between Will’s muscled legs; his physical activity garnering him a well earned body and still with an ass that would make anyone jealous.
“You feel so wonderful, my love, as though you were made just for me. I can’t wait until I can sink inside you, feel you from the inside and keep you full of me always; I want to compare the sensations and see if you truly are made to be mine.”
Will keens, rocking back to meet each of Hannibal’s thrusts. He’s desperate now to bring his grandpa to his orgasm, wants to feel him spill between his thighs and filthy the water like Will had done under his touch, using Will’s body to pleasure himself. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel warm from the inside out to imagine being a vessel for his grandpa’s pleasure, but if he hadn’t come moments before he’d be hard again. And he’s in real danger of getting it up regardless.
“Please, wanna feel you come,” Will begs, and he really believes he’s never meant anything as much as he means this. He needs it. Can imagine how Hannibal will shake and his fingers will go bruise-tight around Will’s hips.
“You tempting creature, you know I can deny you nothing,” Hannibal breathes into Will’s ear, and then he’s increasing his pace, cock slipping effortlessly between where Will squeezes around him. Will trails teasing, seeking fingers between his thighs and lightly touches Hannibal’s cockhead, and that seems to undo Hannibal, the man shaking to his completion against Will’s back with a stuttered groan, nails digging bright white half moon marks into Will’s heated flesh.
They remain in silence for several extended moments, both of them trying to catch their breath and recover their minds. Hannibal never lessens his hold on Will, and Will is so thankful he could sob from how close and cared for he feels in the moment.
Once he’s composed himself he’s surprised to find not an ounce of guilt or regret. Or perhaps he’s not truly surprised at all, always knowing his grandpa would be it for him, maybe for longer even than he’d been willing to admit.
He turns enough in Hannibal’s grasp to be sitting sideways in his lap, and contents himself with nuzzling into his neck and looping his arms around him, being held close and secure.
“My darling boy. I’ve exhausted you, haven’t I?” He chuckles good naturedly, surprising Will by sweeping his arms underneath him and picking him up effortlessly in a bridal carry. Will doesn’t even protest, only cuddles closer and remains still as his grandpa climbs carefully out of the hot tub and carries him across the porch.
In a rare show of flagrant disregard, Hannibal strolls through the garden doors into the house and through the dining room with the both of them dripping steady streams of water all the way. He pays no mind to the mess they leave behind, so neither does Will. He merely allows himself to be carried up the stairs, curled close and relaxed against his grandpa’s broad, solid form.
He’s already half asleep by the time Hannibal deposits him onto the soft, satin sheets of his massive bed, and Will barely has the wherewithal to reach out for him before the lights are snapped off and Hannibal is climbing into bed beside him. His grandpa isn’t hesitant in the least when he slips his arms around Will and pulls him tightly against his body, so neither is Will when he allows himself to be maneuvered and snuggles closer still as the two of them settle into one another. In the end, Will is tucked against Hannibal’s side, legs tangled together and head resting on a thick, furred chest while his grandpa curls protectively around him.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but his last conscious memory is of lips pressed to his forehead, and murmured endearments whispered into his curls, no worries for tomorrow lurking in the satiated corners of his mind.