At some point, maybe I'll eventually write a non-challenge piece for these two… *hits PLAY on S1E1 for the nth time* And I know I'm like 2 weeks behind and it's all this dude's fault. It was ridiculously hard to write?
Cross-posted from AO3 same day.
Day 13: Medical play | Rimming | Titfucking
Will Graham was one of the most lovely collections of contradictions and neuroses that Hannibal had ever met. Even when he finally lured the lamb to his bed, the den in which the lamb could let down all of its guards, Will Graham did not.
There was no position of their bodies that remained unequivocally suitable: he could not bear to have Hannibal at his back on a particularly stressful day, where the nape of his neck was vulnerable to the teeth of a predator, even though he still did not know what Hannibal truly was; he rarely rode Hannibal, as if being on top, even in a penetrative position, placed the reins too near his grip when he was so determined to have Hannibal hold them; a particularly self-reflective mood could have him refusing Hannibal's desire to curl up at his back and take him while they laid on their sides, the intimacy too deep to accept; and when he acquiesced to being placed on his back, he refused to meet Hannibal's gaze unless commanded otherwise, preferring to keep them closed or fixated on the ceiling with a distant glaze.
Because of course Will was still most decidedly resistant to eye contact, even in the depths of their combined passion, even at the current point of their relationship, gaze skittering away should Hannibal manage to catch it. If Hannibal commanded his attention, he was met with resistance, even when he baited his instructions with a reward. Attempting to please Will orally was an exercise in patience and persuasion like no other: Will frequently only tolerated Hannibal's mouth and tongue on his cock for a few brief minutes before he squirmed away, silently insistent that he did not deserve such a pleasure in the way he fell to Hannibal's feet and worshipped his cock instead. As for getting his mouth… other places, well, attempting to convince Will to allow Hannibal to perform anilingus on him was possibly the most difficult challenge Hannibal had ever encountered, and an even rarer event than catching Will's gaze.
Even with all his insight into Will's psyche, Hannibal still did not know if Will rejected such a sexual act because he felt unworthy of it. Or perhaps if he felt it was beneath Hannibal, placing such a refined palate against such a filthy place. However, it was because of his palate that Hannibal enjoyed it so, as well as the reaction he received in return. Unfortunately, because of Will's reticence, Hannibal had only lain eyes on the beauty of Will falling apart in such a way just the once. He had tried many times since, but such a thing required a great deal of preparation and mental manipulation. Will had to be worn down to his core, so he did not have the energy to fight back. All it took was several murders and some medication designed to keep Will awake, exacerbating his sleep deprivation, his exhaustion, his pliancy.
Will was nearly sagging in on his own bones when Hannibal opened the door to his tired knock a week and a half later, only slightly longer than Hannibal had anticipated, even taking Will's stubbornness into account. The bags under his eyes were not traditionally attractive, but as Hannibal himself was the cause, it made them, and Will, beautiful, his prey marked indelibly by his influence.
"Good evening, Will," he greeted, stepping aside. "Please, come in." Will blinked slowly at him, but thankfully not in the manner that indicated sleepwalking or disassociation. Hannibal typically enjoyed such moments, knowing that Will came to him, trusted him subconsciously, but it only created an exhaustion that had Will rejecting any and all sexual advances in favour of true sleep. Still, a moment later, he stepped inside, and then into Hannibal's space, dropping his forehead onto Hannibal's shoulder.
Hannibal quietly shut the door and settled a hand into Will's hair, pushing his fingers into the dark curls. His other hand he slid around Will's waist to the small of his back, exerting a gentle pressure to encourage the full press of Will's body against his own. Will resisted for only a moment, a token resistance, as usual, and then he sunk fully against Hannibal, his body warm and heavy against Hannibal's chest, a comfortable weight. A deep sigh was released against his shoulder, hot breath he could feel even against his skin through his suit.
"Long day?" he murmured, even though he knew the answer.
"Long week," Will mumbled back.
Hannibal wanted to whisper words of comfort to him, carve it in his skin. He wanted to break Will so that the man never rejected his care again. He didn't want to strip him of his agency, not precisely, just wanted to bend him to his touch. He would have to settle for assumptive commands.
"Come," he said. "I'll draw you a bath."
He could feel the same resistance in Will for a moment, but then Hannibal let the curls around his fingers slide free so he could settle his palm against the back of Will's neck, a firm weight keeping, conforming, convincing. He stepped away from Will as he pressed down, but Will stayed in place a moment longer, head still bowed, shoulders hunching up as if to protect his neck, swaying on his feet.
"You really don't have to," Will said after a moment, as if they were nothing more than acquaintances.
Hannibal tsked softly, disapprovingly, and Will's shoulders rose higher. "Come," he said again, tugging carefully with the hand around the back of Will's neck.
This time, Will obeyed, trailing after Hannibal up the stairs and into the bathroom. The space was not traditional for the west, and so the tub and the shower were separate. He directed Will to shower as the bath filled, and he kept a careful eye on both, occasionally going as far as to wrap a hand around Will's wrist to move his hand to Hannibal's will, cleaning spots that had been missed, or giving others more detailed attention. His skin was already red when he finally stepped into his bath, both from the heat of the water and the weight of Hannibal's focus. Hannibal said nothing, simply let the silence reign as Will settled in the tub and Hannibal settled on the edge, one hand on Will's head, smiling at the way Will leaned into the touch.
Yes, tonight he would be successful.
Will complied without complaint or hesitation when Hannibal directed him to lay face-down on the towel on the bed. Even though Hannibal had no doubt that Will would put up little to no fuss as he was now, but Hannibal took good care of his possessions and there was no reason to cease that practice with his only living one.
Hannibal sat astride Will's hips and poured warmed massage oil onto the pallid skin beneath him. Will made a questioning noise that Hannibal ignored as he went to work, kneading the hard knots of Will's muscles. They were so tight that Will went tense with pain as Hannibal loosened them, eyes scrunched tight close, but as each one was worked free, he began to relax the further Hannibal moved down his back. Not once did he make a sound, because Will only made noises when pleasure was inflicted upon him like a wound; pain was expected, but pleasure hurt.
By the time Hannibal had finished turning Will into a loose pile of bones and skin on his bed, every muscle on his back side unknotted, Will was panting quietly into the towel, fingers twitching but body still and pliant. He did nothing to stop Hannibal from pushing his thighs apart, forcing his knees up the bed on either side of his ribs until he had to shift his weight and push his ass into the air, baring himself like a gift for Hannibal's perusal. A gift Hannibal would gladly take.
Although the massage oil he'd used was one of his own recipe, and wholly edible, Hannibal did not pour any more onto Will's skin, preferring to taste the man as he was. One might have thought that the flavour of it, with his sense of smell and taste as strong as they were, would have been unbearable, even freshly cleaned, as Will was now, as Hannibal had made sure of. However, the flavour was only an intensified musk, deeper and earthy than that found in sweat or semen, particularly when one was well-cleaned. Hannibal considered that the end result may have been worth it, even without prior cleaning.
The first swipe of his tongue over Will's hole prompted a slow exhale from near the head of the bed. Will's toes twitched, one foot shifting, but he didn't try to uncurl from his position. The second had his fingers curling up, not quite fists, not quite a flinch, more like the legs of a spider as it dies. His arms were still at his side, leaving Will to rest his weight on his shoulders, a position that would not be comfortable for long, but he made no effort to move, either to dislodge Hannibal or to push back into the lave of Hannibal's tongue. He did not push in, did not apply teeth, did not move his hands from where they'd settled on Will's ankles after pushing him into position; this was a marathon, not a race, and Hannibal had plans to strip Will of all of his stamina long before his own was in danger of running out.
In many times past, Will had been unable to bear the sounds of their copulation, echoing in the silence, and had often attempted to persuade Hannibal to put on a record, something to mask their sounds. Today, Will was too exhausted to make any such request, and so Hannibal was left only with the delightful sounds of his tongue against Will's skin and Will's slow, steady breaths. The pace of Will's breaths were a telling metronome, a sign of the way he was trying to hold himself in check, of how he was trying to keep himself from feeling too much of anything, the way he was trying to hold himself back from the pleasure Hannibal was so determined to provide him.
The first tether to snap from Will's restraint took the form of a stuttered inhale. Not a gasp, nothing so obvious, just a brief pause in the middle of an intake of breath, like Will's lungs forgot their function for just a moment. A moment later, Will's hips twitched forward with his exhale: the second tether fraying to the sound of thousand-count sheets shifting against a towel. Will was only partially to where Hannibal planned to drive him, but he had taken those first steps from nothing more than the slow swipe of Hannibal's tongue. Hannibal rewarded him with one last, long lick, and then pressed the tongue of his tongue to the loose muscle, the ring parting easily around him. This time, Will let out a long, low breath, like a sigh. Not yet a moan, but more than an exhale; a third tether.
Hannibal set up a slow, steady rhythm, piercing Will with gentle pushes of his tongue over and over and over again, until Will's breaths were unsteady and the pulse under Hannibal's fingertips, still wrapped - perhaps painfully, bruisingly, tight - around Will's ankles was a rapid beat. Every time he loosened his fingers, Will's heavy pants paused, his body going tense until Hannibal tightened his grip again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd left a mark on Will, nor the first time Will had wordlessly encouraged it, nor would it be the last.
Even at his slow, steady pace, Hannibal's jaw began to ache long before Will broke, but pain had always been easy to ignore and it was such a minimal thing that it hardly counted in the grand tapestry of his life. Still, the first time Will whimpered, hips bucking, made even that minor pain well worth it, and Hannibal smiled against Will's hole as he pushed his tongue in as far as physics would allow before pulling back. Retreating made Will produce that delightful sound again, and curled his fingers so tight against his palm that the skin over his knuckles bleached white.
The sound Will made when Hannibal carefully set his teeth to the loosened ring of muscles sounded like he'd received a wound, the sound Hannibal imagined Will might make if Hannibal were to reach into his chest and cup his still-beating heart. The image of his fingers slipping past Will's ribcage, Hannibal's white shirt soaked to the elbow in the brilliant red of Will's blood, made his second nip sharper than he intended, and Will's foot jerked against Hannibal's hold. There was a faint line of red from his canine, a light scratch that didn't break the skin, but still, he would have to be careful not to inflict an open wound on the delicate skin. As much as he fantasized of sinking his teeth into Will's skin, he wouldn't want to do it here - it would almost be dishonourable, and for all that Will deserved to be a canvas on which Hannibal could paint a masterpiece, he did not deserve to be mocked, insulted, at Hannibal's hand. He had earned more than that, had earned the right for every part of him to be treasured and honoured, in death as well as in life, however long the latter may be.
For all that Will craved intimacy, for all that Will understood about others, there was much that he did not understand still about himself and what he really wanted. He needed tight arms, so tight that they crushed his bones into dust; soft kisses, and sharp teeth; proprietary hands that would both know his limits on handling touch as well as push them by leaving phantoms for the times when he could not bear the reality. What Will needed… was Hannibal, whether he accepted that or not, whether he had come to the realization that he would never be whole again without Hannibal. And what Hannibal needed… it would be false to say that he needed Will, but he appreciated the company and the mental and physical companionship that Will provided in a way that he had never appreciated with another human before.
Hannibal nipped at and tugged at and scraped his teeth across the muscles of Will's sphincter until a soft sound was leaving Will's throat with every exhale. A fine tremble had begun in Will's thighs, travelling easily down to Hannibal's grip at his ankles, but he only held tighter, keeping Will from shaking right out of his own skin. He began to alternate between bites, licks, and light sucks, establishing a pattern by way of a lack of pattern, forever keeping Will from guessing what would come next by alternating pace and intensity.
The tremor spread from Will's legs up his spine to his arms, making his fingers twitch relentlessly. His hips kept stuttering, pulling him away from Hannibal's mouth before pushing back into it, needing more stimulation on both sides of his body. When Hannibal pulled far back enough that his sense of smell wasn't overwhelmed by the scent of Will's hole and his own saliva, he could smell how copiously Will's cock had begun to drip, a small pool of precum forming on the towel's soft threads. Hannibal smiled and leaned back in.
Hannibal took this rare opportunity to take his time pleasuring Will, feasting on him in the only only way he might ever feast on him. He licked and he bit and sucked until Will's rim was red and raw and Will was whimpering and panting and rutting as if he could stimulate his cock against the towel, even though his hips were held too far off the bed. He feasted and he savoured and when Will stopped trembling and started shaking, he began to hum, stimulating Will's oversensitized skin until Will's hands were curling and reaching as if he could pull Hannibal closer or perhaps push him away. Still, he made no move to reach under his belly to push himself closer towards release.
By Hannibal's internal clock, it had been near three hours since Will arrived at his door, and an hour since he first pushed up Will's knees and began to worship, before Will's pants began to take the shape of Hannibal's name. Though it would have pushed Will closer faster, Hannibal kept his sedate pace, It would result in a better orgasm for Will, but more importantly, it would allow Hannibal to hear Will falling apart for longer. And fall apart he did. It was almost another half hour later that Will began to plead, begging to be pushed off the precipice he was standing on. Hannibal absorbed it as delightedly as he ignored it.
Will's slow rise to his current state took a quick, fast turn into an incoherent decline, the sounds leaving his mouth no longer set syllables or recognizable meanings. Other than a clear cry of need, for Hannibal to fulfill. For Hannibal to fulfill him. Hannibal only pulled back once more, when Will's tongue began to slur, to smell the scent of tears mixed in with that of Will's precum and musk. The combination was a heady scent that made Hannibal painfully aware of the arousal between his legs that he'd been carefully ignoring, the one he'd had to ignore in order to get this far because he wanted to press into Will every moment they were together, scalpel and cock oscillating constantly at the base of his desire, sometimes twining together in a delirious want. He had made a place for himself in Will's mind and his body, and one day he would carve a niche into his skin as well.
Silence fell in the room when Will suddenly stopped his body and his lungs and his throat thrown into completed stillness as the tide of his orgasm finally took him over. Will breathed out with it, the sound more sob than exhale, and Hannibal closed his eyes to memorize the sound as he pushed his tongue into Will for the last time, delighting in the muscles rippling around him. He slowly increased the pressure of his hands around Will's ankles until the contractions around his tongue began to slow, and then he squeezed once, hard, hard enough to feel the bones shift beneath skin and muscle, and then, just as slowly, eased his grip.
When Hannibal finally sat back on his heels, Will's expression was glazed in the fashion of his dissociative episodes, and Hannibal took the opportunity to slip away to the bathroom to brush his teeth and swish about a healthy amount of mouthwash. Will was only just stirring as he returned, sluggishly pulling his arms from his sides up under his shoulders to relieve the stress on his neck the position had caused. Hannibal rolled his unresistant body onto his back and used the towel to clean the remains of Will's release from his belly, and then he bodily maneuvered him under the covers. Hannibal was still hard, but he had no interest in somnophilia, not when he so much more preferred to hearing what sounds he could coax from Will's hesitant mouth.
He was still settling under the covers and against the pillows when a hand flopped down onto his stomach, jerking downwards and brushing his erection. Will was staring up at him, the post-orgasmic haze slowly fading from his eyes and the skin between his eyebrows furrowed. Hannibal took the hand on his thigh in his own and kissed the back of Will's knuckles.
"If you feel well enough when we wake, I will take you in the morning," he said, and Will's eyes predictably shifted away, the red across his cheeks spreading to his ears and his neck.
"Alright," was all he said in response, curling up against Hannibal's chest, hiding his face. He did not argue, not this, because to Will's mind, Hannibal taking Will was for Hannibal's pleasure, not Will's, and thus, something he could allow. That did not mean that he did not know how much attention Hannibal would devote to him when he did so, only that it was secondary to Hannibal himself.
Yes, Will's body belonged to Hannibal, and it was only a matter of time before his mind did as well.
FIN
Jfc I think this is my longest Kinktober yet, it took me 2 weeks to power through because I apparently find Hannibal difficult to write, and I hate it. Hopefully it does something for one of you out there tho.
Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, tagged/To-Subvert-Resistance).