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the first time they had sex wasn’t anything like hannibal thought it would be.
he had imagined, of course, fantasized and planned and dreamed of a beautiful moment in which will would be stretched out in all of his powerful glory, awash in a golden glow and more stunning than lucifer.
he imagined worshiping him all over, kissing fading scars from the white lash of the bone saw on his forehead to the soles of his feet that still bore tiny, jagged divots from stumbling through the woods, barefoot and drugged.
he imagined coming over him and pressing into him, filling him up in the single way that could even begin to make tangible the way in which will filled his entire being.
but it wasn’t like that.
it was will kissing him suddenly in the middle of the night after redressing the gunshot wound that was still ugly and raw on hannibal’s stomach, in a dark room, on sheets that still smelled of sickness.
it was the touch of will’s lips turning him hungry and desperate, all thought lost but that of primal need, pristine fantasy gone under the wreckage of fading violence and burgeoning desire.
then, it was will’s breath shuddering and heavy against his mouth as he pressed hannibal to bed with a certainty that removed any lingering doubt and any question of whose mouth would be the first to twist open with the pleasured cry of orgasm.
it was will’s fingers slipping under his waistband, tugging away his clothes. will’s head going down to the space between hannibal’s hips. will’s mouth hot, so hot and determined. his hand stroking and twisting at the base until hannibal’s balls seized in the fondle of his palm.
it was the lustful, wet suck of will’s lips, accompanied by the rough swallow of pre-cum, in his ears; the dizzying swirl of will’s tongue circling his crimson cockhead; the torment of the wriggling tip against his leaking slit and the sensitive bundle of nerves at his frenulum.
finally, the plunge inside again, against will’s cheek and across his bewitching tongue; hannibal’s eyes rolling back; the choir in his head rising to a glass-shattering pitch. he felt fractured into a thousand crystal shards, a prism of light and color and air.
when he came, it hurt, his wounds screaming to the writhing of his body. he had no strength and no will to stay the utterly devastated cries issuing from deep within his chest, and he held onto will’s hair, the soft, auburn waves he’d caressed so many times, as he spilled out.
he’d only ever touched will with a steady hand, but he quaked now as he never had before. the desire and pleasure suffused through every cell of his body, unlike any other sexual experience. in this too, will was singular.
afterwards, will crawled back up and sank against his chest, and hannibal felt him shaking too, his breath rough and hot against hannibal’s throat. he put his arm around him, found his shirt damp with permeating sweat between his shoulder blades .
the simple manifestation of will’s effort to please him turned hannibal’s tongue to lead. neither of them spoke, listening to each other’s exhales in the dark. and that was not how hannibal had planned it either, but he realized his plans had fallen to ruin long ago.
now, there was only will.
*****
their first time wasn’t how will had imagined it either. he’d imagined something bloodier, a forceful physicality to put to action those immense and often violent feelings that had haunted him to the depths of his soul since he’d recognized what hannibal was…
since he’d recognized what he was for wanting him.
but once the dragon was a tableau of rent flesh and gushing fountains of blood and they were much the same at the bottom of the cliff, he experienced a most sublime clarity – that which he wanted traced atop that which he’d just had.
seeing hannibal had always been that way. negatives and positives. that which came easily and that which he had once only been able to long for.
the desire steeped and simmered while they suffered and healed, and he was half certain still he would damage hannibal’s recovery and half hard at the prospect of hannibal vulnerable to his touch when the need finally rushed out under the cover of darkness.
he felt shaken and broken open and naked afterwards, despite being the one clothed and hard still. he couldn’t remember giving so much of himself to anyone else, no matter how many times he’d gone to bed with them. giving to hannibal required more.
he felt like he was floating and heavy all at once until hannibal fingers slipped beneath his jaw and tilted his face up to kiss him hard. they shared the taste of hannibal’s cum, licking into each other in hungry turns that hannibal made certain were thorough.
then, hannibal was the one pressing will onto his back, his mouth trailing down will’s neck and down and down, tasting the trail of hair above his waistband until that too was gone and will was truly bare before him.
and will found himself with his hands over his eyes, panting and choking on sudden tears that escaped down his temples as hannibal took him in his grasp and stroked him, kissing the crease of his groin and his balls and his thighs, kissing everything he could touch.
he kissed until will was aching and leaking with bursts of jagged panting and strangled groans, then he spread will open, knees pinned to his ribs and put his mouth to the one place that no one else had ever touched and will heard himself crying out in relief and pleasure
— begging without prompting, without need, without any reason but his own desperation
but for once, hannibal was silent, silent save for the patterned exhales between the slick work of his mouth, the wet licks and the obscene splatter of spit, the squelch of his tongue plunging in
so that when hannibal finally lifted his head to suck his fingers into his mouth and put them, drenched and hot and deft, to will’s hole, he was dripping and quivering and open, so fucking open.
no fantasy, violent or otherwise, could have compared to the sensation of hannibal reaching inside his body which had only ever been violated. he received him with a shocked gasp and a mangled cry, a twist of his upper body to grope the sheets to his face.
he lost track of his body, his mind; his existence collapsed to the size of the pleasure point inside him which throbbed under hannibal’s caress, coaxed to fullness then overflowing. pre-cum drooled and spurted from his cock, pooling on his trembling stomach
and will forgot to want touch there, forgot everything but the hypnotic circle of hannibal’s fingers, everything but the pleasure that could’ve only ever come from hannibal, until the orgasm gripped him.
his cock jerked hard, untouched and pulsing out more than will thought he could give, more than he’d ever wanted to give anyone — but it didn’t leave him empty. in this too, hannibal was different.
when hannibal came over him, gently moving his hands away from his face and petting him and whispering assurances, will felt full, so full it hurt. in a murmur, hannibal asked him if he was all right, and he could only shake his head and wrap his arms around his neck.
he couldn’t lie anymore. he wasn’t all right, and he’d never been more content. he didn’t want to be all right ever again.