Chapter Text
There are things Will wants that he doesn't confess to anybody, because they are the type of things one doesn't talk about, not even in therapy. He's not a good boy, because a good boy would have gotten his dogs fixed, removing all temptation. A good boy would have kept his Internet history clean so nobody else would be able to find it. A good boy wouldn't have gotten wet when Hannibal asked if he'd ever had sex with his dogs.
"Why?" Will deflects out of sheer panic. "Have you?" Leda and the Swan is displayed on the wall; obscene, some say. He likes it. He wants to be Leda, and he wonders if Hannibal would find that arousing.
"We are talking about you, Will," Hannibal says, in that overtly familiar tone he uses that suggests he already knows. Will should be offended that Hannibal sees this part of him, at the violation he must have committed for him to discern this information, but he's aroused at the thought of sharing this dirty secret with someone.
"I've never done it. I have fantasies sometimes. I've watched pornography about it, but there's a line I can't cross." Why is he sharing this information? He musn't. Hannibal could get him thrown out of the FBI for this, and it's probably not covered under patient-doctor privilege.
Hannibal scribbles notes and Will is as afraid as he is aroused. These sessions have become dreamlike lately; downright bizarre. He's been drawing clocks and he's sweaty all the time. Sometimes he wakes up smelling like wet dog and he wonders if he's crossed the line after all. The toilet paper comes back goopy when he wipes his cunt but that's just slick from arousal, isn't it? Wet dreams and filthy figments have been tormenting him lately, the forbidden fruit just out of reach.
There's something else out of reach, too, and he finally grasps it; a vision of being on all fours on his living room floor. It's dark outside, but he barely notices because there's a dog thrusting into him fast and hard. He's whining, because it's so good, it's better than he ever could have imagined and he doesn't know how he hasn't done this sooner. The knot's pushing at his hole and it's going in, stretching him wide and locking him in this compromising position.
There's a shadow in the doorway, watching. He can't see who it is. He's so sweaty and so overwhelmed by the orgasm shattering his mind that he doesn't care if someone's watching. The post-nut clarity will hit him later but right now he's riding a wave of pure orgasmic bliss that reduces him to sobbing
Something is stuffed in his mouth and he adjusts to the size and shape of it. A cock, a human cock. He can't go anywhere because the dog's knotted inside him and he has no will to do anything anyway. He's worthless, a disgusting dog fucker who crossed a line he shouldn't have crossed. How would Alana feel if she knew about this? But he likes the dog cock. The human cock. Being used like this is so satisfying and he's needed it all his life. To be a hole for cum. To submit. To let others pin him down and fuck him hard.
The cock almost chokes him and he coughs, coming back to awareness on Hannibal's couch as the doctor clicks his fingers. He's choking on his own drool, and he blinks, swallowing.
"You fell asleep," Hannibal remarks, the faint hint of a smirk crossing his lips. "We should reconvene at a later date. Tomorrow?"
Will groggily gets to his feet. It all felt so real, but he was just having a wet dream about being fucked by a dog and sucking Hannibal's cock all while sitting on Hannibal's couch.
Fuck, he really is playing with fire.
"Tomorrow," Will mutters breathlessly. He needs to go home and masturbate. He's so wet he can feel it soaking his underwear, and he wonders if Hannibal can smell it.
"Bring one of your dogs," Hannibal suggests off-handedly, and Will blushes. He doesn't mean it like that. There's no way he actually knows anything. He asks all these weird questions to throw Will off-guard, that's all. It's probably a therapy technique designed to measure his responses.
He's still going to bring his biggest dog.