"Shhh…", Hannibal scratches his fingernails over his pet's scalp, watches Will look up, blinking away tears while his pretty, swollen lips stay wrapped around Hannibal's shaft. He's beautiful and still not completely broken, his precious teacup, which somehow came together again after he had shattered it completely.
It's something which always surprised him – that Will, although he had worn him down, had ruined him, had rearranged himself, had grown stronger instead of falling apart. And if possible, it adds another layer to all the things Will is, and makes Hannibal want to take him apart even more.
He's done it once before after all.
More than four months ago, they had seen each other again in Florence, a city as radiant as the stars and as changing as the sea; their eyes had met at an exhibition, across the room. Just for a second, before Hannibal had vanished again, but it had been enough to kindle that flame that had never really went out, to set him alight once more. Set both of them alight.
A few hours later, he had allowed Will to find him in an empty alleyway, filled only with soft-falling rain and cheap, yellow lights, and Will could have shot him, but didn't. And in that moment, when their eyes met again, Hannibal had known he had caught the other once more.
They aren't in Florence now, but in Dresden instead, where pain is etched in every stone, fills every breath of air, and although they have only been here for a few days, Hannibal is already thinking about where to go next. He'll show Will the world, even if only to make the other see him more clearly.
But for now Dresden is enough, and Will kneeling at his feet, wet eyes wide, is enough, and Hannibal's hand pushing Will down to swallow more of his cock, is more than that even. He wasn't a natural at this, not like he was at reading people, later at killing them, but Hannibal doesn't mind that much – he has trained Will to be so many things, to do so many, and he is going to train him to perfection in this field too.
For now, though, he's satisfied with pushing Will down, watching him sink down and down and down until the head of his cock is hitting the back of Will's throat. It's power play, that is what all of this is, about watching how far he can push Will, about what he can make him do.
And he can make him do a lot, because Will chokes and gags and yet still doesn't pull back, the muscles of his throat spasming around Hannibal's cock. But it's the way Will looks which makes Hannibal groan, how much he fights against his urge to pull away, how much he wants to please.
He doesn't let Will pull back until he can see that the other can't breathe anymore; almost comes when Will still stays where he is for a second longer, then still only pulls back slowly, even though his chest has to ache with the need to breathe.
Will looks beautiful, flushed and heaving with heavy breaths, all Hannibal's and hardly himself anymore.
Although he's still hard, and although his body is telling him to ignore whatever it is Will needs, Hannibal gives the other enough time for his breathing to even out, but stopping him when Will tries to reach up and wipe the tears from his cheeks. They look good there, wet and shining on the other's flushed skin.
"Come back", Hannibal says, ever so softly and yet commanding; they are far past the stage where Hannibal has to raise his voice for Will to obey.
And obey he does, without a moment of hesitation; although his spit-slick lips are still parted wide to let Will breathe, he moves back between Hannibal's legs. Kissing the head of his cock, just like Hannibal has taught him, a small sign of gratitude for the privilege to suck his cock.
Will's tongue comes next, most likely because the other is still having problems catching his breath, licking and prodding at the slit, a small, pleased sigh escaping Will's lips when he tastes precome. He's almost broken, and Hannibal can't wait to finally pick up the pieces and put them together in the way which suits him best again.
"Will", Hannibal mutters a few moments later, when the other doesn't do what he should, just continues to lick, to suck, instead of sinking down on his cock like he was taught to do. And Will knows it, because he looks up at Hannibal sheepishly, guiltily, before he finally wraps his pretty, pink lips around Hannibal's shaft, waits.
Waits until Hannibal puts his hand into his hair again, wraps the silky strands around his fingers and pushes Will down. Because Will is not allowed to move on his own, is not allowed to decide the pace and the suction and how long he will stay in this position; like everything else, it is Hannibal's decision.
After two, three moments, Hannibal starts to apply some pressure and Will sinks down easily, without any hesitation, lets Hannibal pull him up once more, repeating the motion until Will is bobbing on his cock. It feels good, but not good enough, so Hannibal puts his other hand under Will's chin, the sign for the other to use his tongue.
And he does, pushes his tongue hard against the underside of Hannibal's cock, traces the thick vein on the underside. It makes Hannibal groan softly, grip Will's hair tighter so he can increase the speed.
"Good boy", he praises, because Will needs that, bucks up slightly to slide his cock deeper into the other's mouth, making him gag. And in the end, it's always that, what Hannibal needs, the feeling of Will submitting his whole body and his whole soul.
Again, Hannibal thrusts up and Will gags, doesn't pull back, even if there are tears running down his cheeks, mingling with spit and precome. And Will has never looked more beautiful.
With every pull and every thrust, every of Will's pitiful, choked sounds, Hannibal is getting closer to his orgasm, pleasure tingling up and down his spine, sparking heat in his stomach. He only needs a bit more, and yet Hannibal draws it out longer, just enjoys the slick heat of Will's mouth, the feeling of his lips wrapped tight around his shaft, the occasional sting of the other's teeth, because Will is still not perfect at this.
And then, when the pleasure is so intense it's almost pain, Hannibal pushes himself over the edge, grips Will's hair so tight it has to hurt and pushes him down hard, until Will is gagging again, his nose pressed into Hannibal's stomach.
The muscles of Will's throat are fluttering around his cock, massaging the head, and Hannibal can feel the first tendrils of an orgasm reaching out to him, but it only really washes over him, drowns him, when Will can't breathe anymore, even worse than before, starts trying to pull awayBefore long, Will is thrashing, pushing against his knees, and Hannibal fucks up into his mouth, fills Will's mouth with hot come
It's overwhelming, like it always is, and for a few, beautiful seconds, he loses himself. His mind comes to rest, his body taking over and thrusting into Will's mouth without showing mercy.
He rides out his aftershocks, only lets go of Will's hair when the last sparks of pleasure have died down and faded.
This time, Will doesn't wait, doesn't slide off gracefully, but reels back, coughing and spluttering and panting, as if his lungs had to make up for the minutes they could hardly fill them with air at all. He's spitting out come, letting it dribble down his lips and chin, and Hannibal just watches, waits until Will is breathing regularly again, looking up at Hannibal with wet, pleading eyes.
But Hannibal isn't, hasn't ever been a merciful man, so he shakes his head slightly. "Clean up your mess, William."
The other is still trembling, but still bends down, laps up the drops of come from the floor, licks his lips and scoops whatever dribbled down to his chin back into his mouth. After all, not one drop should go to waste.
Will only sits back on his heels when every streak of white is gone, and Hannibal grants him a small smile, watches the other relax. He's so good, such a precious, clever pet.
"Well done. I'm so proud of you, you know that, don't you?", Hannibal says softly, and Will nods, licks his lips and clenches, unclenches his hands. He's hard, Hannibal knows it, and he's been good enough for Hannibal to grant him release.
"Touch yourself", he commands, and Will sobs in relief, hands shaking and trembling when he scrambles to get his pants open. While he has tried so hard when sucking Hannibal off, he doesn't seem to care now at all, wraps his hand around his cock and stroking frantically; it doesn't even take a minute until he is coming, spurting all over his own hand and the floor.
Hannibal watches, and smiles, and when Will's body has stopped riding out his orgasm, repeats, "Clean up your mess."
And Will obeys.