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The memory recovery session with Alana was a mistake. Will realized that now. It wasn’t that it hadn’t worked; maybe in the moment his mind had spat out the same old monster and his grotesque dining table display. But in his sleep, an important piece of the puzzle fell into place. Will remembered.
Truth be told, he did a lot more than that.
He couldn’t say where it happened and he could barely say when. He didn’t wonder how Hannibal had managed it, why he hadn’t resisted more, no, he had a pretty good idea now of what he’d been like. The fever, the sleepwalking and lost time, and this, he was sure this had happened after the seizure. He remembered the sting of a needle and resultant burn of god knows what flooding his veins. He remembered Hannibal’s face in flashes, disrupted by the flutter of his heavy eyelids, his eyes rolling back to escape the scene before him, soon to be inside of him.
The tube loomed larger than life for a precious second. He remembered Hannibal’s hands, firm, but not as rough as he’d have expected, keeping Will afloat against the sea of drugs and sickness Hannibal himself had created. He cupped Will’s chin, holding him in place as the tube breached his open mouth. He’d barely had time to anticipate it before it was sinking into him, the spasms of Will’s throat useless against Hannibal’s ruthless thrust. It hurt. It was disgusting, unnatural. But despite the way his body fought against it in desperate gags that only punctuated the intrusion, Will felt a familiar, undeniable warmth as his blood rushed treacherously to his cock.
By the time the tube had reached its destination, he was fully hard, twitching against the fabric of his boxers. He was too far gone to even be ashamed. Hannibal’s hands left him, just for a moment; there was no question of his going anywhere, doing anything other than breathing raggedly, head thrown back, throat bared and full. When they returned, one was cupping his mouth, steadying the tube as he folded what Will now realized was Abigail’s ear. At the time, though, it had been nothing more than a blurry shape and then another intruder. He felt the weight of it falling into him as Hannibal pushed it down. The seconds crawled as Will gave in to the pleasure and pain of it, overwhelmed and utterly at the other man’s mercy.
Then Hannibal was pulling the tube out; Will would have moaned if he could at the drag of it against the inside of his throat. He was sure that now he would properly black out, but even as his eyes rolled with the shock of the tube’s movement and the rush of relief at its absence, he remained more or less conscious. Hannibal’s hands held his face at the base of his jaw, thumbs over his cheekbones and Will’s skin burned pleasantly at the contact. Then his head fell forward and Hannibal was gripping the back of his neck, running a hand over his forehead, pushing his damp curls aside, no doubt to check his now open eyes.
Their gazes met, and Hannibal cocked his head almost imperceptibly, and he breathed in deeply. That damn sense of smell. His eyes went straight down to where Will was still straining against his pants, obvious and wanting, unable to move enough to do anything about it. Will watched as Hannibal looked him up and down, pleasantly surprised. He took Will’s chin in his hand again, adjusting his face until their gazes were level, and there was such a hunger in his eyes that for a moment, Will was sure he had taken him then and there.
Then he turned away, just slightly, rearranging his face, letting go of Will, and getting to his feet. And in the absence of contact, Will imagined desperately through the drugs and the fever, what might have been.
He woke up to his own cum pooling on his stomach, seeping through his undershirt. He gasped, gagged, just as he had when the tube was removed from him, but didn’t get up. He just shut his eyes again, trying desperately to reach a place of safety and simplicity, to wade into the quiet of the stream. But his anger kept him from it, burning, itching under his skin. At last he had something to back up the truth- meaningless, maybe, to others, but precious to himself. Or at least, it should have been. Now, though, what Hannibal had done to him was overshadowed by his reaction to it.
He laid still for the better part of the day, afraid to give in to his new restlessness. The closest he got to peace, to his stream, was a half waking image of himself laid out on Hannibal’s dinner table. It was no good to pace, it would’ve been no good to run, even if he could. He could not escape his anger, or even direct it where he wanted it to go. He couldn’t dispel the heady vision of his own submission. If he could really leave this place, step into the water and cast his line like he had countless times before, would it even matter? Could anything distract him from his fury, his want?
When the footsteps began, echoing from the far side of the room, Will knew who it was immediately. It seemed inevitable, or maybe he had just resigned himself to wait for it to happen. Regardless, there was Dr. Lector, standing at a polite distance from the bars of Will’s cell, looking as calm and immaculate as he would have during one of their sessions. Will sat up while he was still debating whether or not he should. He caught himself just in time to refrain from standing directly across from the man. Instead, he remained seated on his cot, refusing to give Hannibal his full attention.
As if he hadn’t had it all day.
“You’re back,” he said, when Hannibal declined to break the silence.
“I remain as interested in your search for truth as I am faithful,” said Hannibal.
“Yours is not the professional interest others have shown,” said Will, a dry smile coming to his face aside a new wave of anger. “You are curious, as you’ve always been, about what I will do.”
“And how was your session with Alana?” asked Hannibal. “Speaking of professional interest.”
Will swallowed hard, focusing on pulling his face back to a colder, blanker position, as if this could make up for the twitch in his boxers.
“I found something,” he said, carefully. “I told you I would.”
“You don’t need to prove anything to me, Will.”
“I’m not,” said Will, his hands curling into fists at his sides, irritation clawing at his chest, at Hannibal, yes, but at himself too, already feeling the words spill out of him, clumsy.
“You should consider my every word to you a threat, Dr. Lector.”
Hannibal hummed softly, a light, thinking noise.
“You’ve threatened me before,” he said, after a moment. “You are not threatening me now. Tell me, Will, what have you found?”
“This isn’t-” started Will, faltering in his control again, rubbing his face hard, trying to see a way back to solid ground. “We are not having one of our… conversations.”
“A pity,” said Hannibal. “I find that I’ve missed them.”
“Really?” hissed Will. He got to his feet, and found Hannibal much closer than he had been when he walked in. He stood across from the man, jittery in his anger, the blood boiling under his skin when his eyes fell on Hannibal in ways they hadn’t before. Appreciative ways, wanting ways.
“You might have thought of that, before putting me here,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You remain convinced that these killings were my work, not yours,” said Hannibal, stepping still closer.
“I understand now,” said Will, following suit, “How far you were willing to go.”
“I’m disappointed,” said Hannibal, his eyes tracing over Will’s face in a way that made him flush under his coveralls. “That Dr. Bloom has not yet led you to clarity.”
“I have clarity,” Will snapped. He lowered his voice, quietly pleased when Hannibal leaned in to hear him speak.
“You planted evidence,” he said, practically under his breath. “In my home… In me.”
In the small space between them, Hannibal smiled the way he had when he first saw Will behind bars, and Will felt gutted. It had to be all over his face. It was true, then. He already knew it was, but in his anger, in his need, he hadn’t recognized that until now that he could have written off the incident and his perverse reaction to it as a troubling fantasy. Hannibal’s lips curved into a minuscule, intimate admission, and now and forevermore, Will would be the man who came to a memory of himself completely at another’s mercy, forced into cannibalism so much more roughly than the others who’d sat at Hannibal’s table.
“I don’t take kindly to hypocrisy, Will,” said Hannibal.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he breathed back.
“If you are to pursue the truth about me,” said Hannibal, quietly, “About what you believe I did, you must try to accept the truth of how you felt about it.”
“I hated it,” said Will under his breath, wishing he could tear his gaze away from Hannibal’s but finding their eyes locked together. “It hurt.”
“Tell me the truth, Will.”
The anger that had consumed him all day began to falter, giving way to the desire beneath. Will was completely hard now, desperate to ignore the brush of dirty fabric against his erect cock.
“I liked it, too,” he said, pressing himself obscenely against the bars, trying to erase the space between his confession and Hannibal’s patient, eager face. He’d have said it directly into his mouth, if he could.
“Tell me why,” said Hannibal, just as close, the hungry glint in his eyes the only crack in his composure.
“The fullness,” said Will. “The stretch of my mouth, my throat. The image of you above me, your hands on my face. And the pain. Maybe I… I have never actually wanted anybody to be gentle with me.”
Hannibal reached between them and traced Will’s jaw, making him shudder harshly, but not pull away.
“I may chastise myself for sending you away,” he said, cupping Will’s chin. “If you continue to surprise me like this.”
The admission hung in the air and Will should have felt enraged, vindicated. He should have wanted his hands around Hannibal’s throat. Maybe he still did. But mostly he just wanted.
“I could have grown to love it,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “The way you wiped clean my mind, replaced my inner voice with yours.”
Hannibal’s thumb ghosted over Will’s lips and he couldn’t bear to think about it, any of it, any more. He just opened his mouth. Hannibal’s thumb slid over his teeth and tongue, as far back as it would go, then twisted around to feel the roof of his mouth as he pulled it out. Will whined in the back of his throat and was rewarded by Hannibal’s index and middle finger pressing into him at once.
He let his eyes fall shut as they made the same journey, not stilling until he could feel Hannibal’s knuckles against his lips. Hannibal began to draw them out again, and Will responded by hollowing his cheeks, sucking hard in an attempt to prolong the encounter. Heat and gratitude swelled inside him when Hannibal didn’t remove his fingers all the way, rather, drew them out just enough to press in again, fucking his mouth in slow, smooth movements.
Will bit down, carefully at first, then harder when Hannibal moaned, a quiet but no less obscene sound that sent his eyes flying open. Hannibal’s face was so close to his own, such hunger and affection in his eyes that Will thought again of serving himself up to the man. The thrill this thought sent through him made him angry again, and he bit harder, not enough to do real damage, but enough to break skin and draw blood for him to suck out of the wound. A self-satisfied grin spread across Hannibal’s face, and again, Will bit harder, in the face of his pride.
At last Hannibal withdrew, taking a small step back from Will, as smug as ever. Humiliation sent blood both up into his face and down into his cock, and, in an attempt to break whatever spell Hannibal had over him, Will spat his blood onto the cell floor. But Hannibal just looked down at it, then back up at his face pointedly, and before he knew it, Will was lowering himself to his knees, collecting the blood and saliva on his fingers, slipping the mess back into his mouth and swallowing it.
“Good,” said Hannibal, the first word spoken since they’d crossed whatever line it was they had just crossed. “I have to think Frederick would object to you making a mess in here. We wouldn’t want you losing your visitation privileges.”
“That wasn’t enough,” said Will, trying to ignore what Hannibal was implying, and the heady roughness of his voice, yet another crack in that perfect composure.
“What do you need, Will?”
“To choke,” said Will. “To have you deeper inside me. As deep as you can go, as close as possible to the last time.”
Hannibal nodded, again closing the gap between himself and the bars. Will remained on his knees, shifting his weight and straightening up as he undid his belt and opened up his pants. He was pleased to see that Hannibal was already hard when he pulled his cock out from his boxers. He licked his lips at the sight of it, pressing himself to the bars shamelessly, his mouth falling open.
He didn’t have to wait long. Hannibal pushed the head of his cock against his lips, teasing him with it for just a moment before pressing in wantonly. He slid over Will’s tongue, back and back until he brushed the back of his throat. Will gagged, surprising himself at how much the spasm shook him, pulling away automatically. Hannibal let him go, looking down with dark amusement.
“Not as easy as you expected, then,” he hummed. “Is this your first time?”
“Hardly,” Will snarled, humiliation racking him again, making him mad.
“Out of practice, maybe,” said Hannibal, egging him on like he knew the humiliation only made him harder. Maybe he did know.
“I can take it.”
“As I said, I remain faithful.”
“You misunderstand me,” said Will, clenching his teeth again. “Make me take it.”
Understanding flashed through Hannibal’s eyes, followed by fresh arousal, killing the humor, the pride. He reached through the bars and buried his finger in Will’s curls, bringing his face back up against the bars as Will nodded eagerly, mouth open, anger again forgotten. With his free hand he guided his cock back into Will’s mouth, pushing again, faster this time, as unforgiving as he had been with the tube. Satisfied, Will went slack around him, trusting Hannibal to keep his head in place, allowing the rest of the world to fall away. He seemed to start drooling at once, his open mouth becoming steadily wetter and messier around Hannibal’s cock as he repeatedly pulled almost all the way out and then thrust back in until Will’s nose was pressed against his pelvis. The metal bit into his face, cool against his skin, meaningless compared to the stretch of his jaw, the fullness of his mouth.
For the first time that day, Will felt the peace he had sought on all his mental fishing trips, in his visions of himself laid out on Hannibal’s table. He savored the ability to do nothing but breathe through his nose and occasionally, uselessly, gag. Then he began to listen, to think of something beyond his ravaged mouth and hear Hannibal’s ragged breathing, the way he moaned from time to time, always despite himself, curling his fingers ever tighter into Will’s hair. Will began to suck, greedy, moving his tongue as best as he could to encourage the onslaught.
He considered himself extremely fortunate to be looking up through his lashes when Hannibal finally looked down at him. Their eyes met as Hannibal again hit the back of Will’s throat, and he came with a loud, unexpected groan, his own forehead coming to rest against the bars with his final, clumsy thrusts. Will swallowed his release eagerly, and pressed carefully with his teeth as Hannibal pulled his spent cock from his mouth, earning a dark and affectionate look.
“You took every drop,” remarked Hannibal, tucking himself away again, straightening his suit jacket and tie in a way that would have been flustered on anybody else.
“Like you said,” said Will, wiping his mouth pointedly as he stood. “Wouldn’t want to lose my visiting privileges.”
“Indeed not.”
Will returned to his cot under Hannibal’s curious, newly wanting gaze. He was still hard himself, and certain that Hannibal could tell, but the weight of their encounter, of his own words and actions, was settling in. He needed to sort it all, to reconcile his anger and captivity with the satisfaction of his worn out mouth. He shut his eyes, knowing that Hannibal would get the hint.
“You said that the light from friendship wouldn’t reach us for a million years,” said Hannibal, already a couple steps away from the sound of it.
“I did,” said Will, opening his eyes again, looking at him over his shoulder.
“And is that still true?” asked Hannibal. “Are you so certain that the two of us are not friends?”
“Yes, Dr. Lector,” said Will, swallowing hard, determined to get back to choosing his words carefully, despite the lingering taste of Hannibal's cum on his tongue. “I’m sure.”
Hannibal nodded minutely, turning away from his cell.
“Maybe,” said Will, making him pause his exit, already regretting the words before they left his mouth. “Maybe we can find something else to be.”
Hannibal didn’t have to turn around for Will to know that he was smiling again.