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Anal sex had always been a bit of a mystery to Will. It wasn’t that he had deliberately avoided it, so much as never having had the opportunity to explore it. Actually, for a long time the potential for ‘another kind’ of penetrative sex hadn’t even crossed his mind.
In his youth, his relationships had been laced with the hurried groping of inexperience, sloppy makeouts and blundering handjobs, and it wasn’t even until college that he had officially ‘lost’ his virginity with penetrative sex. Eventually, between the easily accessible porn on the internet, and more attempts at physically connecting with another human being, other avenues of sexual gratification were opened up to him (like blow jobs and doggy style!).
But, somehow, anal sex never… happened for him. Or to him. Whatever.
There had been some curiosity, on his part, to see if it was something he could do, but he never got past the initial press of a single finger against the ring of muscle, refused entry for a lack of anything to ease the way. That had been some years ago, and he gave up mostly out of embarrassment, even though no one was around to judge him for it.
More recently, he hasn’t been able to get the idea out of his mind, and he blames Hannibal entirely. They have been forced into close quarters more often than not while on the run since their Dance with the Dragon, as Will likes to frame it, which wouldn’t have been a problem at all except for one, nagging detail: he knows Hannibal is in love with him.
He remembers Bedelia asking him if he felt the same, and his answer hasn’t changed much from what it was then, which is that he has no fucking idea. Yes, and no, and how could he possibly, but how could he not? It’s infuriating, partly because he thinks he should have figured it out by now, after several weeks of proximity and healing and pain, and he had made his choice when he dragged them off the bluff, hadn’t he?
Well, not exactly, he corrects himself. He had made a choice and indeed it was to be with Hannibal, even though it wasn’t supposed to be in life, if one was being technical. With the way his life has been since meeting Hannibal, though, he thinks he probably shouldn’t be surprised that they survived after all.
Scrubbing a hand across his face in an attempt to clear the less pleasant memories from his head, Will gets up off the couch (he’s taken to calling it the ‘Throne of Will’s Mind Palace’, if only to get Hannibal to roll his eyes at him. Hannibal rolling his eyes is one of his very favourite things), padding barefoot across the open-concept living area to grab another beer from the fridge. It’s his fourth for the evening.
They’re both still in the process of healing, but Hannibal and Will had managed to make it down to Panama over the last few weeks and rent a fancy (of course) condo. And finally, just over the last several days, they’ve felt well enough to go out and explore Panama City, sometimes together and sometimes (to Will’s occasional relief) apart.
Today is one such day where Hannibal has gone into the city for something or other, Will hadn’t really been paying attention, but he does remember that Hannibal won’t be back for some time yet. And, after a few beers and some navel-gazing, his mind has wandered to the topic of how maddeningly careful Hannibal has been around Will since their necessary cohabitation, only touching when redressing wounds, only speaking when there is a need for basic communication - ‘do you need the bathroom?’ or ‘will you be home for dinner?’
Sometimes Will still finds it difficult to read Hannibal, but one thing he’s sure of is that Hannibal can’t read Will, either. It makes for some really awkward dinners, when they’re caught in each other’s gaze and completely uncertain of what is passing between them, and it really doesn’t help that Bedelia’s voice flits around in Will’s head with the constant repetition of ‘do you ache for him?’
Well, he’s aching for something, if only to disrupt the fictitious accord between them, and so what if some of that ache is in his cock because it’s been a really long time since he’s even touched himself, let alone been touched by someone else. And it’s that train of thought that only contributes to his current predicament, buzzed on beer and thinking about revisiting the idea of anal sex, which he reminds himself again is entirely Hannibal’s fault.
Actually, Will realizes, that’s probably what Hannibal intended all along, the bastard. He’s probably been biding his time, deliberately acting against Will’s expectations of casual touches and perhaps glances filled with adulation, and hands and tongue and fuck, is he seriously fantasizing? Is he disappointed that Hannibal hasn’t been worshipping him - and had he really been expecting that?
The conflict in him flares in the form of arousal and anger, and he realizes that the answer is yes, fuck, YES, to all of those questions. He also realizes that he’s been daydreaming in the kitchen, so he returns to the couch and drops himself onto it, letting himself sink back against the cushions as he takes a swig of chilled beer.
An image of Hannibal on the floor, on his knees between Will’s legs materializes before him, a little hazy at the edges, and he can hear in Hannibal’s voice: “What would you like me to do, Will?” and Will groans, switching his beer to his right hand so his left can slide down into his boxers.
The Hannibal in his mind wraps his hand over Will’s as it rubs down against his hardening dick, and Will bucks up his hips, paying no mind to the splash of beer he spills on the cushion. His eyes are half-closed to allow his imagination to sharpen the image, make it a little more real, and he continues the slide of his hand down to his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze along the way, then behind to his perineum. He knows that a little pressure there can feel good, and it does, drawing an involuntary buck of his hips to press back against his fingers.
He imagines the fingers are Hannibal’s, and he draws them back to suck them into his mouth, coating them in an excess of saliva. It isn’t ideal, he knows, but he doesn’t feel like searching around for something better, especially when Hannibal would notice if anything is moved or missing.
When he believes his fingers to be sufficiently slicked, he slumps down so that his ass is slightly off the couch and reaches behind himself, underneath the boxers, teasing his index finger against his hole.
It’s different than the last time he had tried, it has to be, because he doesn’t remember the illicit shock of heat that fills him at the first touch, and he can’t help the little wiggle of his hips that causes him to bear down, and suddenly his finger is breaching past the ring of muscle and he cries out in surprise, his body clenching with the thrill, and he drops his beer.
“Shitshitshit!” He jumps up in a panic and grabs the bottle, though there isn’t much left to salvage - it’s all soaking into the cushions. He runs to the kitchen for paper towels, setting the bottle down on the counter.
It’s this moment that Hannibal chooses to return home, and he arches an eyebrow at the sight of Will, red-faced and half-crazed, blotting paper towels all over the couch with dismay.
“Hannibal,” Will starts, grateful that his flushed countenance can be played off as embarrassment at ruining the furniture, rather than his arousal. He hopes the smell of beer is strong enough to mask any other scents he might be… emanating.
“Will,” Hannibal replies. “What in the world are you doing?”
“I, uh, spilled beer on the couch. I was… dozing and I had the bottle in my hand. Sorry,” Will grabs some more paper towels as an excuse to look away, dabbing at the cushions with renewed determination.
With an audible tut, Hannibal sets his grocery bags on the kitchen counter before rummaging for something under the sink. He approaches Will wearing rubber gloves (which gives Will more ideas, like he fucking needed them) and holding a bottle of vinegar.
“I have never known you to be so foolish, Will,” Hannibal says with a disappointed tone. “Move aside, now, and clean yourself up. I’ll take care of this.”
It’s still embarrassing, but Will is relieved that Hannibal is distracted with the task of salvaging the upholstery on the couch. If he notices anything, Hannibal doesn’t acknowledge it. Dinner’s still going to be pretty awkward.
Being flustered only keeps Will from trying anything again for a few days. He’s pretty sure Hannibal knows that Will was lying about how he spilled the beer, but Hannibal still hasn’t asked about it, so he is comfortable in assuming that the incident has been forgotten, or at least politely ignored.
This time, Will decides on less beer, and more lube. Rather than searching through the condo, he had actually gone out and bought some lube the day prior during one of his own excursions into town, knowing that Hannibal had planned to be out today.
He feels a bit like a kid waiting until his parents are gone to do something naughty - he actually watches Hannibal leave until he turns the corner at the end of their walkway and out of sight, and even waits another twenty minutes before starting anything, just to be sure Hannibal is out.
Anticipation courses through Will, hardening his cock as he takes the small bottle of lube from its hiding place in his underwear drawer. His imagination is running wild again, desire prickling at his skin when he pictures Hannibal sitting on the bed, Will’s bed, behind him. To his knowledge, Hannibal hasn’t been in his room since they officially moved in, so it turns him on to imagine Hannibal there, once again invading his personal space.
It really shouldn’t be exciting, but there has been a gradual shift in Will’s mind toward making peace with all the fucked up things that have drawn him to Hannibal over the years. Of all the things that Hannibal could do to him, especially in regards to invading his personal space, finding him sitting on the bed barely registers as a violation at all. That Hannibal could be there for reasons other than violence… well. That’s the preoccupation that started all this in the first place.
The Hannibal of his mind shifts back on the bed as Will climbs onto it, knees astride Hannibal’s legs. He begins by touching himself through his boxers, rubbing and squeezing his cock while thinking that Hannibal’s eyes would be on him, looking up at his face, and his hands would probably be on Will’s hips, or maybe his ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh.
He lets out a breathy moan and slides down his boxers, dropping forward to his hands, then his elbows, so he can open the bottle of lube and drip a generous amount to the fingers of his left hand. He wonders what it would be like, to have Hannibal touching him between his cheeks, fingers brushing against his hole, where he’s never had anyone touch him before.
Slippery fingers make their way behind him, and he teases himself first, one finger circling his hole, gentle and reverent, the way he thinks Hannibal might. His finger slides in with more ease than he expected, and he lets out a stuttering gasp, pushing in further to the second knuckle, then all the way, resting his forehead on his arm.
It feels odd, just shy of too much, as he wiggles his finger around experimentally, sucking in a sharp breath when he manages to crook his finger and brush over his prostate. He arches his spine to touch his chest against the bed, his free arm splaying out, the change in position making it feel like his finger is even deeper, and he can feel himself clenching around it.
Encouraged, he tries for a second finger, grunting with the effort, and though there’s a little discomfort at the intrusion, it also feels amazing. He recalls a few porn videos he had watched that involved anal fingering, and he tries a few of the motions on himself, though some are more difficult to achieve than others. He thinks of Hannibal with his rubber gloves, and his other hand bends to tug at his cock, reaching back to gather some of the lube that has dribbled down his perineum to his testicles.
It only takes a few more strokes to bring him over the edge, and his release surges onto the comforter and into his hand in considerable bursts, muscles clenching hard around the fingers still inside him. It really had been a while since his last orgasm. And this one was really, really worth it.
Through the hazy afterglow, he thinks he’s really glad that he decided to do this in his room because he didn’t think of putting down a towel or having tissues nearby. There’s a slick, sucking sound as he pulls his fingers out, and he lets out a breathless laugh at his own poor planning.
At least his room connects to the bathroom, though it also connects to Hannibal’s room on the other side. Which wouldn’t be an issue, except that he hears the front door open, which means that Hannibal is back, and Will’s a mess and probably looks and smells like all the things he’s been doing, so he bunches up the covers and crams them in the hamper before rushing into the bathroom and locking both doors to wash away the evidence in the shower.
It occurs to him, as he's washing away the evidence of his most recent endeavor, that his answer to Bedelia's question is much clearer, now. Yes.
As it turns out, Will thinks he might like anal sex. He’s taken to fingering himself open in the shower when the mood takes him, though only when he knows Hannibal is out. Just in case he returns sooner than expected, Will comforts himself with the idea that the shower gives him plausible deniability for his loose limbs and flushed skin.
Fingers can only do so much, however, and the continuing situation of living with Hannibal has only wound him up more. One of the worst developments is that Hannibal has been altering his wardrobe over time, replacing old staples like waistcoats and ties, with items more suited to the climate - and atmosphere - of Panama. The result is Hannibal wearing light, airy fabrics that accentuate his physique, leaving his shirts with the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and Will never thought of Hannibal as sexy, per se, but damn. Along with the longer hair wisping about his face and neck, Hannibal has cultivated an image of a rich gigolo on holiday, and apparently, it’s totally Will’s thing.
And Hannibal has to have noticed, obviously, because it started out as Sunday wear, but over the weeks since their arrival he has filled his entire wardrobe with white and tan pants and boat shoes and those damn shirts, and now it’s all he wears. It doesn’t even cross Will’s mind that it could be any other reason, he’s convinced that it can only be because of him. He’s probably been staring at Hannibal without realizing it, and he’s already aware that he’s been doing a lot of staring.
On the bright side, Will appreciates that Hannibal has been giving him the time to get comfortable with the idea of a physical side to their relationship, even though the distance Hannibal insists on maintaining has been frustrating at times. Will didn’t realize how much he depended on Hannibal’s casual touches and proximity until it was gone, and he really wants to be able to show Hannibal that he wants it back, and more. If he can do it without acting like a virgin on prom night, that would be ideal.
It’s this particular hopeful vision that has Will buying a dildo, and a butt plug. It had been a concern at first that he might have to figure out a way to order something online without Hannibal finding out, but he had discovered a sex shop on one of his walks in the city. He had planned it so that he knew Hannibal wouldn’t be home when he got back, so he could be discreet when smuggling the items into the house.
He sets the items out on his bed, considering, running a finger over the contours of both. He’s trying to work his way up to actual penetration, so he hides the butt plug in his underwear drawer for another day, and takes out the lube.
Only slightly intimidating, Will thinks, regarding the toy.
He conjures up the image of Hannibal he’s favoured as of late, with his shirt completely undone, hair falling about his face unstyled, pants unzipped, and he strips off his own clothes, approaching the bed.
The design of the dildo is less realistic than Will wanted, but in his mind’s eye he overwrites the pearlescent green hue to something a little redder, perhaps in line with how Hannibal’s cock might look. He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself onto his elbows and knees, pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, and begins working himself open. Will assumes that Hannibal will probably be slow and deliberate, at least the first time, because he’ll want to appreciate every part of him. Will groans at the thought, removing his fingers to pour an even more generous amount of lube over the dildo.
He teases the tip of the dildo against his opening, imagining Hannibal below him, and he angles it so that he has to curve his hips down to lower himself onto it. The stretch is definitely more than three fingers, but it’s incredible, exactly what he wants, and he lets out a soft moan on every exhale as he tries to take more of it in. Since the toy is wider at the base, Will is able to prop it against the bed and use both arms to brace himself, aligning the tip against his hole.
His imagination goes a long way to calm any doubts he may have had about starting a physical relationship with Hannibal. Somewhere along the way, Will had begun to find Hannibal attractive. Detecting the sexual tension between them is a more recent development (like dancing with a dragon on a bluff recent), but Will can at least admit to himself that it’s there, and that he’s more interested in relieving it than ignoring it, anymore.
Imaginary Hannibal is smiling up at him, worship and love in his eyes, and Will’s cock twitches with need. Using his hips to ease the dildo further inside, he manages to get it about three inches in before it feels like a little too much and has to ease off. He tries again, and the second time is easier, the third attempt even more so, and he begins testing out a rhythm that he’s comfortable with.
A creaking floorboard outside his room makes him freeze, and he realizes that he’s forgotten to close his door. But that shouldn’t matter, it’s probably just the house settling as houses do, and he hadn’t heard the front door so Hannibal can’t be home yet. He’s about to resume his attempt to get the dildo all the way in when he hears another creak, and this time he turns his head to look back over his shoulder to the bedroom door, and shit, he’s there.
Hannibal’s face, for once, is an open book - his lips are parted, moistened when he flicks out his tongue, the colour of his eyes hardly discernible for the dilation of his pupils. There’s a very obvious bulge in his trousers, and there’s a substantial weight to his lean against the doorway, which is probably what caused the floorboards to creak.
“Don’t stop on my account, Will,” Hannibal says, an uncharacteristic rumble in his voice.
Will squeezes his eyes shut. It’s with a little hysteria, prompted by mild humiliation, that he thinks: My name is Will Graham, I’m in Panama City, it’s some fucking time in the afternoon, and I’m on my bed with a dildo shoved halfway up my ass, and I'm being watched by Hannibal Lecter.
Letting out a shaky breath, the initial embarrassment gives way to increased arousal, knowing that Hannibal is there. There’s also relief, he realizes, at having this out in the open; it was a little stressful trying to think of how he might approach Hannibal with all the things Will has been considering, and now it’s out of his hands. He can still see his imaginary Hannibal underneath him when he opens his eyes again, but he dismisses the vision when he gets an intriguing idea.
“Can you… uh. Talk to me? Please?”
He can hear Hannibal move behind him, and he starts at the feel of Hannibal’s hands roaming over his lower back and hips with a teasing gentleness, stroking down his buttocks and easing them apart with his thumbs, and Will can just about feel the caress of Hannibal’s gaze at the point where the dildo disappears into his own body. He can’t help wiggling his hips just a little, lips parting with an audible sigh.
“You can take quite a bit, can’t you?” Hannibal murmurs, squeezing and kneading with appreciative touches. “You’re even more beautiful than I had imagined.”
The verbal praise is… very unexpected, and Will keens even as the words make him blush, writhing his hips down to fuck himself with renewed intensity and purpose.
“Have you been practicing for me, Will?” Hannibal keeps his thumbs between Will’s cheeks, just on either side of his hole, massaging around it.
“Oh fuck,” Will groans, thighs shaking with exertion. “Y-yes.”
There is a thoughtful hum from Hannibal, and Will feels branded with the combination of the heat of Hannibal’s hands, and the soft rumble of his voice. The stuttering movement of Will’s hips alters the angle of the dildo so that it hits his prostate, and he can't suppress a shuddering cry. He slams his hips down onto the dildo, chasing the feeling with his other hand over his own cock, but one of Hannibal’s hands swoops in to stop him. The maneuver also means Hannibal is bent over him, chest to back, and Will can feel Hannibal’s breath over his ear.
“Let me,” Hannibal whispers, and Will gives a shaky nod of assent, resuming the fervent surge of his hips as he drops his hand back to the bed. “Good boy,” Hannibal says, approval in his tone, and the hand he still keeps on Will’s backside adds emphasis with a firm squeeze.
Climax overwhelms Will before long, it only takes a few strokes to have him spilling into Hannibal’s hand, collapsing forward with his face on his forearm, panting. Hannibal pulls back to get a good look at Will again, hands at Will’s hips, to keep his backside angled upward. Will burns with embarrassment when Hannibal slides the toy in and out of him, drawing a sound from Will that is far too close to a whine.
“Magnificent,” Hannibal declares, which does nothing to mitigate the flush of provocative shame that’s taking hold of Will. The full brunt of Hannibal’s attention is more exhilarating than Will had predicted, after being so long without it.
He never did get used to Hannibal’s praise. Even years ago when he had convinced himself he didn’t need nor want it; it had given him an intense thrill when Hannibal called him ‘radiant’, with his eyes so bright and sincere.
Will collapses onto the bed, boneless, sighing when the dildo slides out of him with a slick sound.
“You knew all this time, didn’t you,” Will accuses, though there is no weight behind it. He rests his cheek on the crook of his elbow, facing away from Hannibal.
He can feel the mattress dip beside him as Hannibal sits, caressing a hand down Will’s back in an idle motion.
“I did not,” Hannibal admits. “But I must say that I am very touched that you’ve worked so hard for me.”
Will is glad that Hannibal can’t see his face, because he’s certain that he’s blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal continues. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Few weeks,” Will says, muffled by his elbow.
Hannibal ghosts a kiss between Will’s shoulder blades, humming with contented approval. Will squirms.
“My dear Will,” Hannibal says, and adjusts his position to cradle Will in his arms.
Will is pretty sure he won't have to endure any more of Hannibal’s carefully maintained distance, and the thought makes him smile.