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The quiet, muffled notes of a piano, otherwise calming and soothing have never been more grating to Will's ears. The whole scene was awfully deceptive, the warm, dimmed lights, and the delicious smells would usually lull him into an easy sleep pretty fast, if it wasn't for the itching cheap fabric of his suit and the tense pull of the bandage on his forehead.
And of course, Mason Verger sitting at the end of the table. Hannibal, infuriatingly unbothered, reaches for his wine again, a delightful expression on his face, as Cordell rounds the table and disappears from view.
"You boys remind me of that german cannibal who advertised for a friend, and then ate him, and his penis before he died." Mason continues with his anecdotes, raising his eyebrows in incredulous amusement.
Since his face became the only mobile part left on him, he draws out and exaggerates his expressions to a comical degree. He doesn't have dignity or pride to lose anymore, he reasons with himself. He might as well show his enjoyment loud and clear.
However the overly indulgent, ecstatic chuckle from Dr. Lecter does make him frown. Maybe it's just the fact the doctor wasn't this liberated and carefree the last time they met, but it does seem a little odd how much he enjoyed that fleeting joke. Mason wouldn't take him for someone who would please his captor so transparently hoping for a better fate.
"Are you going to eat him, with my face?" Graham's quiet, quivering voice interrupts his train of thought.
"Yes." Mason growls, savoring the idea on his tongue. "I got a taste for it after you two had me eat my nose."
"You must be terribly proud that you could bring this off." Lecter muses, scraping his fork on the plate absently. "It's dangerous to get exactly what you want. What will you do after you've eaten me?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"You could wreck some foster homes, and torment some children." Graham remarks sarcastically.
Mason hums appreciatively, playing around with the idea. "And drink martinis made with tears."
He's gotta give it to them. These boys are much more entertaining than any of his guests, especially more than Margot. Not passive endurers, but active participants in this light, witty dinner conversation. Mason is brimming with excitement at the possibilities. Graham, who - unlike Dr. Lecter - sits obviously annoyed and tense, and still engages in this play, especially delights him.
"Uhm, Cordell, Mr. Graham's looking very dry, a little moisturizer please." He nods towards Cordell with his chin.
Will shifts uncomfortably in his restraints. He definitely does not want Cordell to touch him, and the thought of the moisturizer, for Mason's sake especially, makes his stomach twist.
"I'm curious what will be the first cuts of me you'll serve?" Hannibal inquires. Will grits his teeth in frustration, - he really shouldn't enjoy himself this much, - but when Cordell turns his attention to the doctor, Will swallows back a relieved sigh. A little time won.
"The first course of course will be your hands and feet-" Cordell clasps his hands in front of him. His smooth, pretentious tone is highly irritating. "-sizzling on a Promethean barbecue. The coal is white and very hard, makes a clear ringing sound when struck."
He smiles, and Hannibal turns back to Mason proudly. Will seriously can't tell if he's acting or not.
"You've thought of everything." He praises. Mason shrugs theatrically.
"And after that, we'll have a little pajama party, you and I." He teases. Cordell finally turns towards Will and he starts panicking.
"You can be in shorties by then. Cordell's going to keep you alive for a long time." Mason continues, a perverted joy in his tone.
Cordell's round face appears in Will's field of vision, and driven by a sudden impulse, Will lashes out, sinking his teeth into his cheek and bites. Cordell shouts, the can of moisturizer lands on the floor, and Will spits the warm chewy piece of flesh on the plate.
The taste is revolting. He swallows and licks to diminish the coppery flavor from his mouth, and he’s only grateful it wasn't Mason's face he had to bite. Imagining the rough, wrinkled texture of the patchwork skin on his tongue nearly makes him gag. He can feel Hannibal's eyes burning into him.
Mason, not really startled by the sudden intervention, is still staring curiously. Graham is a rebellious little brat, but Dr. Lecter has an unexpected flaming shine in his eyes as he looks at the man, admiring, almost longing, to Mason's surprise. Interesting. Very interesting.
So it wasn't just his imagination after all? Could it be that Graham wasn't just an accidental player in Margot's pregnancy, in Mason losing his face, not just a colleague to Dr. Lecter during his time at the FBI?
Graham averts his eyes fast, his pretty face uncomfortable and twitchy after catching Lecter's lustful gaze, and Mason bites back a satisfied, excited grin. Oh, so Lecter would enjoy eating that penis. His mind is racing, and he's getting giddy, like a little kid when an opportunity for unpunished mischief presents itself. There is more fun waiting for him than he imagined.
"Well, there could be a pajama party for you too, Mr. Graham. You're lucky I'm in a good mood tonight."
"I hope that little accident didn't upset you too much, Cordell."
The man hisses as he cuts the surgical thread, turning the small mirror in his hand. It's gonna scar in an ugly circular mark on his face. Alana Bloom sits in the corner, unimpressed. Mason throws a suspicious glance at her.
"I am still perfectly able to do the transplant, if that's what worries you." Cordell pats the wound with a small sanitizing wipe. Mason rolls closer in his wheelchair, inspecting the sutures.
Cordell was always a talented surgeon, and Mason is calm and satisfied seeing the precise work he did on his own face. Mason's is safe between his hands.
"Hmm, surgery can wait. I have a small change of plans I want to bring to fruition." Alana stirs in the corner, frowning.
"What do you have in mind, Mason?" He grins, thick face twisting into tight folds.
"You'll see Dr. Bloom, you can attend if you're interested. At least we'll all have the chance to witness how talented Dr. Lecter really is, how deep he can sink into people to keep them as blind as he did with you." Dr. Bloom is a composed, proud woman, but she can't hold back the concern and suspicion that flashes across her face.
"What do you mean?" Mason turns, nods to Cordell, and quips back over his shoulder.
"Oh well I shouldn't spoil the surprise should I? Where's the fun in that?" He disappears down the hall, chuckling, snorting to himself.
It's been hours upon hours, and Hannibal's shoulders are unbearably sore, twisted and bent in this undignified position. The brand on his back is still fresh, skin raw and sensitive, stretching and pulling horribly with each breath.
He is a patient man. He won't give them the satisfaction of seeing him hurting. He takes another deep breath to calm his nerves, shutting his eyes against the screaming pain.
He will get out of this, he has no doubt about that. The only concerning aspect that's bothering him, flaring anger and impatience from time to time despite his best efforts, is Will.
Hannibal would not admit it, not even under oath, but it awakens an irrational rage, the not-knowing, what state they keep Will in, what are they doing to him while he's not there, the knowing, Mason's plan to feed him to the pigs, to remove Will's face. That beautiful face.
Suddenly the barn door opens wide, and Cordell - now with a patched up cheek - strolls in with two armed guards behind him. Hannibal waits in silence. Not enough time has passed to complete the operation, so where are they taking him?
Cordell cuts the ropes, letting Hannibal fall face forward, and he takes it with a soft grunt. His hands are cuffed, and the guns are aimed at him. Mason should hire better guards if he's going for intimidation, he thinks.
They lead him out of the barn by his collar, dirty, naked, feet cut up from the rough wood shavings in the pig pen. Hannibal walks with a straight spine, chin up. He is getting increasingly curious.
They step through the door and instead of the expected operating room, it's the master bedroom, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a king-sized bed in the middle.
He looks around and finds Alana Bloom, arms crossed in front of her, and a restrained, exhausted Will Graham sitting at the wall. With his face on.
Hannibal exhales in relief. His cheeks are a little bruised and bloody, and the skin around his eyes is red, but he looks healthy and beautiful as usual. And sincerely confused.
"Welcome, Doctor!" Mason rolls in, and the guard closes the door behind him, leaving Cordell and the others outside. Alana looks at Hannibal warily, and her eyes don't wander under his chest, but Will, sweet, brave Will's gaze settles unashamedly on Hannibal's cock, and while he enjoys the attention it does irritate him that Will's eyes don't betray anything.
Not a twitch of disgust, nor a flicker of interest, nothing. Just a clinical, indifferent observation.
"I hope for your sake Mason, this isn't the operating room." Hannibal speaks, his tall, muscular form dominating the room, and foreboding goosebumps crawl up on Will's neck as Mason scoffs.
"Well of course not. Not a quite sterile environment. But messy is what we're going for tonight." The guard steps forward, freeing Will from his restraints who swallows tensely.
"Mr. Graham gets to keep his face a little longer." Mason cocks his head, eyes wide and blown with a dangerous glint. Alana steps forward.
"Mason what is this about?" Will's eyes are flicking between her and Mason, and the concern painted on her face only increases his anxiety. This wasn't a part of a plan. Mason licks his non-existent lips, and turns towards Hannibal.
"I have begun to suspect there is some underlying-" He tilts his head dramatically, as if tasting the words before speaking them. "-connection between you two. Now, I don't want to be left out of the fun." Will's eyes find Hannibal's and behind the anger Hannibal sees the worry.
"Take it as my gift, for taking care of Margot, for changing me in this particular way." Mason is nearly salivating.
"And what would be that gift?" Hannibal asks, eyes never leaving Will. The guard raises the rifle aiming at Hannibal.
"I want you to fuck Mr. Graham, on this bed, until both of you finish." Mason spits, grinding his teeth in sadistic pleasure and Will pales to a concerning color.
Hannibal watches him silently, drinking in the sight of his trembling, pink lips, his wet blue eyes, the twitching of his fingers. The situation is beyond absurd, and it is annoying and extremely discourteous how Mason thinks he can play around with them like dolls, but Hannibal is hungry. He has been for a long time, and a hungry man doesn't think rationally.
He was ready to eat Will's brain in Florence, his betrayal still an exposed nerve coiled around his heart, but if fate presents him with such an opportunity he would be foolish to deny it. A pleasant, satiating revenge on dear, dear Will.
"No." A shocked Alana interrupts. "I will not allow this." She states firmly, her hand shaking on the handle of the cane.
"I don't need your permission, Dr. Bloom. I invited you as an act of courtesy, but if you want to leave, Cordell will escort you back to the library." Mason rolls his eyes.
Will is breathing hard, knees unsteady and wobbly. No, no, no, how did this happen? He was supposed to get his face cut off, not raped for Mason's entertainment.
He looks everywhere but at Hannibal, as the man stands still, eyes boring into him intensely, and Will doesn't want to see what's sparkling in them. But he has suspicions, and that makes everything so much worse.
Hannibal isn't consenting to this either, he probably wouldn't want Will sexually, but by Mason putting him in a more dominant position, - The Chesapeake Ripper, the sadist, - it's once again Will, who will no doubt suffer the worst of it.
Why is fate so adamant on punishing him? Why is she always so partial to Hannibal?
Alana's voice is garbled as she argues near hysterically, then storms out of the room in the next moment, but Will can't make the words out. Mason is speaking now, and slowly the sounds clear up again.
"...if I'm going to wear your face Mr. Graham, I need to know what your expressions look like in every context. Especially when you orgasm." He draws the words out long, with venom, and fury flares in Will.
"Not like you'd ever need it. I'm no doctor but I highly doubt you feel anything below that ground meat you call a face." He spits.
Hannibal chuckles, but the sound is drowned out by the gunshot ringing through the room, and Will collapses on the floor with a cry, hands grabbing his wounded calf.
Hannibal purses his lips. Well, that's unfortunate for Mason. Blood is flowing at an alarming speed, but it's not an arterial spray. The guard keeps the rifle aimed at Will, but steps behind Mason not to obscure the view.
"You have a filthy mouth Mr. Graham." Mason tuts, watching the squirming Will on the floor. "No wonder you and my sister got along so well. I'm curious to hear who brings you faster to completion, the dear doctor or my Margot. I only tried one of them."
Hannibal's eyelid twitches, but he stays calm, and focuses on the present. Whatever fate Mason will earn for himself by the end of this, the gasping, disheveled Will Graham has his full attention for now.
"Dr. Lecter, go help Mr. Graham out of his pants, he won't need them anyway." Mason orders and the gun points at Hannibal now. He feels his blood pumping with demanding arousal but he needs to seem at least a bit hesitant for Will's sake.
Looking at the man whimpering on the floor, lips parted temptingly, pale shaking hands covered in crimson blood, it's going to be a hard act to play.
“Would you really kill us if we don’t comply, after preparing possibly for months just to savor me?” Mason answers with a freaky grimace.
“You know some people would call me untrustworthy, but I would rather refer to myself as adaptable. With each game different rules apply, and if I enjoy this game more,-” Mason cocks his head. “-then you need to be adaptable as well if you want to keep living.” Hannibal nods. He crouches down, hooks his hands in Will's armpits and tugs him up, propping him up on the edge of the bed.
Will grunts, feeling the bullet in his leg with every move, trying to ignore Hannibal's warm, firm hands around his waist, working his belt open. No, he's going to be inside Will in a minute, and he's worried about hands. If only he died in Florence.
Dining on his own brain in benumbed bliss seems like a mercy compared to this. Pain stabs again as Hannibal tugs his pants off along with his boxers. Will shuts his eyes, clenching his teeth not to make a sound, not to seem pathetic, gasping from shock as the cold air touches his freed cock.
"Don't waste my time Dr. Lecter." Will's eyes snap open, just in time to catch a glimpse of Hannibal's tongue running along his bottom lip, looking at Will's cock.
"You've never been fucked before, am I right Mr. Graham?" Mason coos. The guard approaches holding the rifle to whoever Mason addresses. Will is panting through his nose. "When I ask a question, you need to answer, otherwise I'll blow your other leg off too. You won't look so different from me then."
Will shakes his head frantically. Mason hums, smugly satisfied.
"Then Dr. Lecter here will be the first to be inside of you." Hannibal takes a deep breath, but Mason spelling out that fact makes his cock fill out in seconds. Mason inhales loudly.
"Kiss him Doctor, don't test my patience." Will's lips twitch in not a necessarily disgusted, but still exasperated manner, and Hannibal is trying really hard not to take it personally. He's been waiting for a long time to taste him, that want tearing at the stitches of his person-suit several times, and common sense or not, it hurts a little to see Will not reciprocating that want.
"I didn't take you for a romantic, Mason." He tries, for Will's sake.
"I am most certainly not, but I do enjoy watching Mr. Graham squirm." Mason rolls closer, and the man uncocks the gun. "Do it."
Hannibal rakes his eyes over Will's delicate features, now tainted with fear and indignation, and hooks a gentle finger under his chin. Will closes his eyes, breathing heavily.
Hannibal licks his lips, getting them soft and wet, then leans in, capturing Will's in a tender kiss. Will is shaking slightly, but, to Hannibal's delight, he tentatively kisses back, and whether it's an automatic reaction, the gun to his face, or something else, he doesn't care as long as he can feel that warm, sweet mouth on his own.
"No, no, not like trembling virgins for God’s sake." Mason complains, straining his neck in lack of an ability to lean forward.
"Kiss him like you want him Doctor, make him gag on your tongue!" Hannibal was never this grateful for Mason running his mouth, and he grabs onto Will's face with both of his hands, crushing them into each other painfully, forcing his tongue past Will's quivering lips.
Will whimpers into his mouth, and he nearly forgets about his feigned reluctance, barely keeping himself back from pulling him on his cock immediately. He licks in again and again, thrusting in with his tongue until Will can barely breathe and Hannibal's drunk on the taste of his mouth.
"Good, good, now that's more like it." Mason hisses through his teeth. "Now we wouldn't want Mr. Graham's behind to feel left out, would we?"
Will inhales sharply as the barrel almost touches his temple, and looks at Hannibal in a "don't-you-dare" and "help-me-please" way all at once. Hannibal grabs him by the hips and tugs him further up on the bed, laying him out with a firm hand on his chest. He can feel his heart racing under his ribs.
Hannibal - naked, bloody and massive looming over him - nudges his legs apart softly and Will turns his head away. He knows he doesn't have a choice either, but he can't help but feel vexed about Hannibal complying so easily.
He will bleed, no doubt, and he will hurt for possibly days judging from the anticipation on Mason's face and the lack of lube, and despite all their fucked up boundaries and violations against each other, letting Hannibal Lecter in his body is not something he's prepared for.
These aren't the elegantly outrageous rules they usually play by, these are Mason's, ugly and filthy and vulgar like the man himself. Will grabs a fistful of the expensive sheets to brace himself.
But instead of the violent intrusion he's expecting, Hannibal is lifting his hips, planting his feet on the bed, and ducks his head between his legs. Will jerks and whines embarrassingly as fingers pull his cheeks apart, and a muscled wet tongue latches onto his hole.
"Hmm, seems like I'm not the only one enjoying this." Mason clicks his tongue, disgustingly delighted. Will's legs are shaking so hard from the circles Hannibal licks around his sensitive hole, he closes his knees around his head while simultaneously trying to squirm away from that prodding tongue.
The obscene wet sounds of Hannibal licking, sucking, tenderizing his tight flesh, occasional satisfied moans bleeding into it makes Will's brain come to a screeching halt. He nearly lets a high-pitched moan slip himself, when Hannibal's tongue presses inside, working him, getting him soaking wet from there.
Tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes, so defenseless, desecrated, used he feels, but he won't cry he promises himself. He won't let Mason Verger defeat him. Hannibal looks up at him with flaming eyes while he lets a fat drop of spit fall from his lips, and leans down again, stuffing the saliva deep inside him.
It won't be enough, but Will tries to focus on the helping aspect instead of coming apart at the seams at the sensation.
"Alright now, he's ripe and mellowed, get on with it before I'll blow his balls off too." Mason chimes in, and Hannibal straightens up, catching his breath, cheeks flushed red, chasing the flavors on his lips with the tip of his tongue and Will can't bear to look at him.
He hides his face in the duvet, reddening in shame, but Hannibal apparently disapproves as he grabs his jaw, and jerks his face back, stealing his breath in a searing wet kiss.
It confuses Will more than anything and this one more unreliable factor - let it be a relatively small one compared to everything else that happened - makes him freak out even more. Can he trust anyone in this room to behave like he expects them to? Tears are flowing down his cheeks and finally he breaks.
"Please." He whispers into Hannibal's mouth, his words slurred by the hot press of his lips. "I- I can't-" Hannibal pulls back for a second to look at him, then kisses him again more gently.
"I won't let you die here Will. Not on my watch." He murmurs, inaudible to Mason's ears who's getting frustrated, and the gunman who strikes Hannibal on the burn mark on his back with the barrel.
Hannibal, wincing despite his best efforts lines himself up with Will's hole, massages around it with his tip for a few seconds, trying his best not to thrust in that tempting heat immediately, and catches Will's eyes with his gaze.
Will isn't a small, or a weak man. He is a wild, passionate thing who lashes out at the prodding hands like a scared, but vicious animal, flashing his teeth but not daring to truly use them. But now with his ruffled dark curls framing his storming eyes and rosy cheeks, shirt torn and bloody, chest heaving delightfully, laid out before him like a feast, Will looks so vulnerable and delicious Hannibal gets dizzy for a second.
He curses Mason for taking this opportunity and spoiling it with his revolting presence, but his vision is narrowing down fast, Mason and the gunman fading into a distant blur. Keeping up pretenses seem less and less important by the second, his several trains of thought merging into one singular goal; fucking Will senseless.
Is this how average people feel every time when presented with the opportunity for sex? Those common pigs, driven by vulgar, tasteless desires, thinking only with their cocks? Hannibal isn't usually this lost in the experience but it's not an unwelcome feeling. It's a forbidden, visceral hunger not Alana, Bedelia, nor Antony, nor any other was ever able to cultivate.
He spits into his palm, coating his cock with the saliva, and looks deep into Will's eyes one more time.
"Exhale." Hannibal says and as Will does, he pushes all the way in. It's nearly blinding, that tight soft heat, and Will's painful moan that lights up his brain like fireworks. He plants his hands on the bed, breathing heavily, just being this close with Will under him, all over him wherever he looks and touches nearly makes him cum right there.
"Good, Doctor, now move. I want him as vocal as he was when he got that bullet."
Hannibal leans down, planting another gentle kiss on Will's sweaty forehead, and pulls out, just to slam into him again. Will whimpers, chewing on his bottom lip to keep himself quiet, and Hannibal revels in this chance to shamelessly indulge, with the gun pressed to his temple acting as the perfect permission.
He starts fucking him slow, but deep, aiming for his prostate with each thrust, and Will rewards him with beautiful moans and tears of pain, his pliant body convulsing with the force Hannibal's driving into him with.
"Yes, yes. You know Cordell told me, if I waited long enough, he could grow me a new face from my own cells." Mason muses out loud, his voice getting repeatedly interrupted by the groans of the two men and the vulgar sounds of skin slapping.
"But I was adamant it was your face I wanted Mr. Graham. I was looking at your face while you were watching me cut mine off. And I thought,'That's a nice face'." He enunciates with that syrupy disgusting tone even Hannibal has grown tired of.
The eyes in Will's nice face roll back with a harsher, well aimed thrust, and Hannibal drops his weight on top of him, sliding arms under his back to pull him into a tight embrace. He buries his nose in Will's neck, licking, sucking on the fevered skin with an insatiable appetite, feeling the rumble in Will's throat on his lips whenever another breathy whine is punched out of him.
"We'll see if Dr. Lecter is just as eager to take you after we cut yours off." Mason snarls. Hannibal moans into Will's cheek. He would prefer if Will lived, but just the idea of having him without his face, seeing the very machinations of Will, his Will, tasting the surface of those bones that keep this pretty face together makes his cock throb. He got so close to opening his skull in Florence…
"Hannibal-" Will breathes, the mix of stretching agony and involuntary pleasure slowly becoming unbearable, but those strong arms only hold him tighter. He tries desperately to plant his heels on the bed, to regain some foothold against that unstoppable force pounding into him as if he was a ragdoll, but his wounded leg doesn't allow him.
"As you so aptly pointed out, I don't have much sensation below my neck, credit goes to you two of course." Mason looks down at them from uncomfortably close.
"But maybe you could describe it to me. Tell me Doctor, how does Mr. Graham feel?" He snorts. Will hides his face in Hannibal's shoulder from Mason’s eager eyes. Hannibal stops sucking a mark into his neck, and whispers into his ear, weirdly more to Will than to Mason.
"You feel so good, Will." Will shudders as his rough voice speaks directly into his brain.
Mason hums. "And how does Dr. Lecter feel huh? Tell me, does your body fight, or welcomes his fat cock?" Mason flashes a wicked smile, as if the answer wasn't obvious, and Will digs his nails into Hannibal's back aggressively. He won't come from penetration, but he can't do this for much longer, he can't. Hannibal's hot lips leave burning wet kisses at the corner of his mouth.
"I want you to touch yourself, Will." He gasps at the quiet order murmured into his lips between soft kisses, and shakes his head frantically. No, he won't debase himself like that, not in front of Mason, not in front of Hannibal. At least Alana isn't here anymore.
But then Hannibal pulls away and bends Will's legs, fucking into him from a new angle where Will can't hide from his eyes anymore, hitting that magical spot everytime with a faster pace, and Will sees stars, arching against the bed.
"Listen to the good doctor, the sooner you both finish the sooner it will be over." Mason's pent up voice suggests the exact opposite but Will takes his chances and wraps his fingers around his cock.
He hates that he's hard, he's disgusted by it. He's once again back in Hannibal's office, and standing next to the totem pole, and waking up at a roadside fearing the unknown, with his agency ripped away from him.
And Mason Verger is a way more malicious cultivator than the encephalitis.
Waves of boiling pleasure are flowing through him, the tingles starting at his ears and ending in his toes, but he strokes himself relentlessly through tears and snot, fixing his eyes on Hannibal as the thrusts start coming more brutally. He is frightening in absolute control, handling Will's uncooperative body like a beast enjoying the last screams of his prey. He looks at Will as if he wants to eat him whole, his fingers digging into his waist.
"Harder, harder!" Mason shrieks, the gun presses into Hannibal's skull, and Will cries out loud and desperate as Hannibal slams into him, rolling his hips, and the world finally whites out, as searing hot ecstasy explodes inside of him, and the walls around them crumble to the ground.
Hannibal fucks him through his orgasm, also very very close as his shaking groans and jerking hips grow more erratic, and as Will is still grasping for consciousness, crying from pain and humiliation, suddenly the tall door flies open with a bang.
Alana Bloom rushes in with a gun in her hand, Margot and a few guards behind her, and in a surprising second she shoots the guard aiming the rifle at Hannibal. Mason disappears from the side of the bed, backing up into a corner, gasping in surprise and panic. Hannibal stills, still buried inside Will.
"That's enough." Alana's voice thunders. Margot looks tense, but relatively indifferent taking in the scene, probably more used to unpleasant surprises at the hands of her brother. Mason barks an ugly laugh, spit bubbling at the corner of his shapeless mouth.
"You can't kill me, then sweet Margot won't have a penny to her name." He hisses. Alana shoots a look at the pair still panting on the bed, drying cum coating their chests.
"Hannibal, get off of him, now." She says, revulsion obvious in her voice. Will, lying boneless and limp blinks heavily at Hannibal, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Hannibal’s jaw is tense, elbows trembling, still balancing on the edge of his own release, clearly torn between common sense and chasing his carnal needs. And as he finally starts pulling out, slowly and carefully, Will, under Alana's cold gaze grabs onto Hannibal's ass and pulls him in deep.
Hannibal lets out a choked sound, and the dam breaks, filling him to the brim with his hot release. Will closes his eyes in defeat, letting Hannibal sag against him as the waves calm down, letting him empty himself into his own bruised, broken body. How will he ever recover from this? How will their conflicted relationship continue after they were forced, threatened into fucking? For once, they were both victims in this situation, not suffering from each other, but from a third big bad thinking he can play with them as he likes. And he did.
Hannibal presses a tender kiss on his slack mouth, and rolls off of him carefully. Alana eyes Will's naked, bloody thighs and flaccid cock with poorly concealed shock. She turns to Hannibal.
"Can you fix his leg?" Hannibal nods, licking his cracked lips. "Find some clothes for him first. And for yourself." Alana purses her lips. Hannibal strolls to the giant wardrobe in the corner and fishes out pants and shirts for both of them.
Mason sits quietly, tensely, waiting for how things will turn out. Hannibal makes his way back to Will who pulls himself up to a sitting position, chin ducked, trying to ignore Hannibal's cum dripping from his abused hole. Everything hurts and he just wants to disappear. Hannibal takes his shoulder gently, starting to peel off his torn, sweaty button up, but Will swats his hand away.
"Don't touch me." He whispers shakily, and thankfully Hannibal doesn't try again. Instead he walks over to the drawers and pulls out an ornate dagger with the Verger name engraved on it. Mason's small pig-eyes widen in fear, but he's stuck in the corner in his wheelchair with no escape.
"You can't kill me, you can't kill me." He screeches in panic. "You need the money don't you Margot?" Will, now fully dressed and boiling with white hot rage, stumbles forward and rips the dagger out of Hannibal's hand. He misses his dogs. He’s not gonna miss this. He’s done playing everyone else’s games and coming out of them as the only person injured. He doesn’t want to think about any of this anymore.
"As far as I remember you didn't die the last time you lost your face." With that, he lunges at him, and sinks the blade deep into the wrinkled flesh, as Mason's screams echo hauntingly between the cold walls.
By the time Cordell gets there, his boss sits drenched in blood in his wheelchair, fingers curling and clenching in agony, his slowly healing face he put so much time and effort into is scattered on his lap in peeled off chunks.