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“You know what was fucking awesome?”
A deep, put-upon sigh precedes Hannibal’s response: “What, Will?”
“Fucking Panama. Panama was fucking awesome,” Will’s voice carries a mix between bitterness and resignation.
“Yes, Will.”
“We had a great fucking house.”
“Will.”
“With one of the best fucking views of the ocean.”
“Will.”
“And fucki-- OW --” Will’s words are cut off by a hard pinch to his backside, which draws more than a few stares.
“You would do well, my darling brute, to cease your foul-mouthed whining,” Hannibal captures Will’s arm in an unforgiving grip, to reinforce his point.
“What the fuck, Hannibal,” Will grits out between clenched teeth. He doesn’t feel up to playing nice, not when they’ve been wandering Bogotà for hours, touring houses that Hannibal thinks might be suitable. So far, Will has rejected them all.
Instead of responding, Hannibal drags Will into a nearby alley and, as soon as they’re out of sight, slams him against the wall with a hand pressed against Will’s throat. Will can feel his blood pounding in his temples, but he’s still able to breathe and therefore speak.
“I guess the honeymoon is over, huh?”
Hannibal’s upper lip curls into a snarl, and Will thinks it’s just as sexy when it’s drawn by anger as it is with arousal. Psychoanalyze -that-, Will doesn’t say.
“Your tantrum, although adorable, is drawing much attention, Will.”
Restricted airflow makes it difficult for Will to laugh, but his shoulders shake with the intention as his mouth twists into a grin.
“Are you shitting me? Your fucking outburst at my outburst drew way more attention,” Will says with some effort. He relaxes against the wall and lets his arms hang at his sides as Hannibal leans forward to pin Will further, chest to chest.
“There is no need to be crude.”
“Need is often confused with desire,” Will pants. “And vice versa.”
“And what is it that you desire, dear Will,” Hannibal asks, squeezing against Will’s throat tighter, his other hand tangling into Will’s curls.
With a lopsided grin, Will arches and flexes his neck in an attempt to make his position more comfortable. “What I desire, Hannibal, is more than a few months in one goddamn place. You know, you act like you’re so fucking above it all. You confuse desire and need, too. You say you kill just because you want to, but you just can’t fucking help yourself.”
“Will, it is in your best interest to stop, immediately,” Hannibal tightens his grip in Will’s hair. As expected, Will refuses to relent.
“Fuck you, Hannibal. You couldn’t just enjoy what we had, you had to go and fucking intimidate the neighbour for asking too many questions, you had to be all ‘you don’t know what I’m capable of, blah, blah, I’m a scary monster’ and freak the guy out,” Will places both hands on Hannibal’s forearm, giving him a dark look that dares Hannibal to choke him harder. “And then we had to fucking kill him, because you--”
He’s cut off by a sharp tug at his hair, and Hannibal twists so that it brings Will to his knees, grunting with exertion.
“Must I shut your mouth myself?” Hannibal asks, crouching down to meet the dangerous look on Will’s face with his own.
“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Will replies, his tone laced with resignation.
Hannibal looks away, and Will can sense the tension that settles between them, heavy and tangible. It’s gone quickly, however, and Hannibal stands up straight, maintaining his grip in Will’s hair to keep him kneeling.
“I suppose you’re right. If you are determined to defile the English language, then perhaps you won’t mind if I defile your mouth.”
Well that’s not the response Will expected. “Wait, what?” he asks, eyebrows knitting in confusion.
Before he’s given a chance to protest, Hannibal’s cock is forced into Will’s mouth, breaching all the way in and making him gag. Hannibal only eases up enough to allow Will to adjust to the intrusion (as much as he can), then shoves himself in again, tugging Will forward by his hair.
Will’s hands fly up to where Hannibal’s is grabbing his hair in a futile attempt to extricate himself. He looks up, blinking through the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, trying to somehow communicate to Hannibal that they are still in public, in an alleyway, so what the fuck are you thinking, Hannibal?
Unconcerned, Hannibal continues to fuck Will’s mouth without mercy, breathing through his nose with some force to try and minimize his own grunting and moaning. Bracing his free hand against the wall, Hannibal adjusts his grip on Will’s hair so he can angle Will’s head to his own satisfaction. Judging by the reaction at each thrust, Will is certain that Hannibal likes it when his cock hits the back of Will’s throat. Jerk.
It’s obvious that their location is of no interest to Hannibal, and he’s not letting Will go, so Will tries to at least concentrate on what he’s doing. Hannibal isn’t making it easy, of course, since he’s intending this as some fucked up form of punishment, probably enjoying being selfish about taking his pleasure from Will.
Will settles on clutching the back of Hannibal’s thighs, gasping around his cock when it’s far enough out of Will’s mouth to actually get a breath. He keeps glancing at the entrance to the alleyway, excited at the prospect of being seen even while there is a buzz of humiliation underneath it. He can see people walking by, unaware of what’s happening just a few feet away.
Just as Will thinks he might pass out, saliva dribbling down his chin, knees aching, Hannibal gives a final, brutal thrust, and Will can feel warm fluid filling his mouth and throat. He’s not given the opportunity to do anything but swallow, as Hannibal doesn’t relent until he is completely spent. When he is let go, Will crumples against the wall, almost jumping in surprise when he feels Hannibal’s hands on him again.
“You did very well, Will,” Hannibal strokes Will’s face and head and kisses his forehead.
“Shit,” Will gasps.
“Will.”
“Heh, I’m probably not going to stop,” he lolls his head back to look down his nose at Hannibal, making a weak attempt to place his hands over Hannibal’s. He considers it a victory when Hannibal rolls his eyes. Still his favourite.
Hannibal helps him stand and smooths as many rumpled parts of Will as he can, for what good it does. Will’s laugh is bordering on hysterical as he leans against Hannibal’s chest, warmed at the fact that Hannibal is trying to make Will more presentable.
When Hannibal seems satisfied, he winds an arm about Will’s waist, taking some of his weight. “You were right.”
“Probably,” Will says, grateful that Hannibal isn’t making him walk out of the alley on his own.
“What happened in Panama was… impulsive. And irresponsible of me.”
“Wow. Yeah, it was.”
“It won’t happen again.”
At the threshold of the alley, Will stops them and turns so he can touch Hannibal’s cheek, running his thumb just underneath his eye. “Let’s find a new home, then. And maybe then, you’ll fucking let me suck your cock properly.”
“Will.”