Will loves to suck Hannibal's dick, he likes to just have it n his mouth aaaaaaaand Hannibal like the strokes will's hair ahhhhhhhhhh ;-; pls write something that involves that I need this like air
Ummmm, so this got angsty? Hope you like it anon - thanks for the comment! (Set in S2.)
The first time was the night they took Peter Bernadone’s social worker out of a horse; a day with the bar set high for weird experiences.
Will’s brain had been closing in, the splintering panic pushing, herding his thoughts and the anger, the rage against… all of it. Hannibal. The world. The FBI. Himself, being there, when he could have been in Florida or Alaska or Colombia or Spain, or anywhere but trapped in a barn with two psychopaths, one covered in amniotic fluid.
Hannibal’s hands had come in, though. Hannibal’s hands, one to the gun and then the other to his neck, and slow and steady, and cool - Hannibal ran cold to his hot, always had, there was a metaphor for you, and the equalisation when they touched was only the first law of thermodynamics.
Hannibal knew Will wanted to kill him - had said as much - and had cradled his head and called him a butterfly.
And the next decision Will made had been to accept the offer of dinner - not an inappropriate pace for their new association, Hannibal invited everyone to dinner, of course he did - and the one after that, somehow (give or take choosing an oyster dish over crab and refusing parmesan-scattered parsnip crisps) had been to go and stand by Hannibal, as he cooked, making his body open, and wait to be kissed.
Of course Hannibal wanted to kiss him. Will had known that from when they met, except he hadn’t, because Hannibal wanting to kiss someone and Hannibal wanting to dissect someone under a microscope is the same look, and Will’s only ever observed it directed at himself.
He hates Hannibal Lecter. He wants to kill Hannibal Lecter.
None of that conflicts with kissing anyone - he’s worked enough homicides to know that - and it had made sense, hadn’t it? This is his trap to bait and here’s the bait he’s using, and maybe it’s more than he needs but why not? When he’d talked to Jack about it, they’d agreed he might end up having to kill, and that his undercover work would excuse it - so why not this too?
They’d kissed for ten minutes or so, and then the oven had to be turned off. Will had been aroused, more aroused than he’d expected, and less embarrassed. Then they’d eaten dinner, and Will had gone home. Before Will left, Hannibal had kissed him again next to his front door, and used his tongue to open Will’s mouth, and Will had stroked it with his own, and Hannibal had laughed, and so Will had held his gaze and lightly taken Hannibal’s wrist, drawn his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers, salt and citrus and something metallic from the cutlery, or maybe blood, soaked deep, coppery.
Hannibal’s mouth opened a bit, then.
After Will put Randall on Hannibal’s dining table, Hannibal crowded up close, and kissed him again. Will had known that would come, or thought so, or hoped so - he had to hope so, because Hannibal wanting him was Hannibal trusting him, at least enough to slip up, at least enough to miss the sight of the noose till he was strung.
Will’s glad Matthew Brown failed, really. He needed to be there. He wants to be there. He will be there, when the reckoning comes and Hannibal - imagine Hannibal, naked and dangling and trembling and bloody.
Hannibal trembled when Will took his wrist again - only for a moment, only as much as anyone might, but Hannibal isn’t anyone - before Will had even got the fingers into his mouth. Hannibal had been reading, his fingertips were ink and paper, and when Will had killed Tier he’d tasted Hannibal’s skin in the back of his throat. Part of him wanted to be sick, and he brought his teeth together - just like Tier never would again - and Hannibal let him, like some sort of teething puppy, smirking the way he did, Will’s prize - Hannibal’s prize - on the table still beside them.
So Will had put his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders and dragged him down, down, until Hannibal was lying on the floor, and then Will got his trousers open and then his own mouth.
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