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Thursdays at seven. He wasn't entirely certain what deal Will had hammered out with Chilton, what devils handshake had been made. But his entire week now revolved around waiting for Thursdays at seven, and then playing back every memory, every sound, taking each scrape of sensation and trying to fashion a cloak from it to keep the darkness out.
It was nearly enough.
The process began at five in the afternoon. That was when the orderlies, a quiet lot since they had been forbidden to ever speak to him under threat of immediate dismissal. He still had favorites though, the one with short nails on his left hand always slipped two fingers under the restraints. The man with a scar on his left cheek he mostly hide in a short beard once placed a hand on his head as he laid him back on the gurney. Such small moments of thoughtfulness were remembered.
But Chilton didn't trust Hannibal, which showed more sense then he would have expected, so he often would not see the kinder orderlies for months. He highly suspected Chilton choose the ones sent to collect him specifically from his more sadistic staff members. So most Thursdays when the warning alarm blared he had low expectations and they were met. At the grating sound of the klaxon he'd turn his back on the door to his cell and place both hands though the window the was open to accept them. He could tell which orderly had come then, because a kind one would swiftly put the shackles on, the cruel yanked his arms to fully extend them before doing the same. He’d then step forward, turn, and sit, slipping his feet through a lower passageway for the same treatment. Shackled he’d then shuffle to the back of the cell. Three orderlies would enter, one each to take his arms and drag him out, a third to watch. In a way he was pleased there was so many, abuse was harder to hide within groups. All three might hate him but they more likely hated each other, if one was to drop him down the stairs the other two might be more tempted to get the first fellow fired than to enter a pact of secrecy.
He was then strapped down to a gurney, with much shifting and transferring of chains so he was never allowed a moment of total freedom. His clothing removed, his body thoroughly searched. He found the entire process distasteful, strange gloved hands running down his body, cupping his genitals, often a finger up his ass. Thankfully there was a camera in the room, knowing they were watched was likely all that prevented further abuse. When done with that clothing was slipped back on, so many clever ties just for the purpose of undressing and redressing a man tied down, and he was strapped to the gurney to be wheeled into the private room.
Will was undergoing a similar treatment in another room, only without the restraints.
He’d be left in the room with no camera at six fifty nine, gurney securely latched in against the wall, the orderly closing the door behind him as he left. Will had been very insistent about that, Hannibal was not to be brought to a room with no cameras until the last moment possible. If it was fear for his safety or of what he could accomplish had never been made clear. That minute between Hannibal being left and Will walking in was the only moment he had each week in which he was truly alone.
At seven Will came in for his therapy session.
Something fond came over Hannibal, just a bit, even after three years of weekly meetings, to see Will shutting that door behind him. They wouldn't let Will wear his clothes inside, sometimes Hannibal considered how different this would have been if he'd not exposed so much of his intelligence to everyone else. Will would have own his own special version of the orderly’s cloths on, a pale green so he couldn't be mistaken for one of them. When Will bent down to unfasten the Hannibal would close his eyes and breath as deep as he could, past the stark chemical cloths from the laundry and smell the outside world on Will’s skin. Sweat from sunlight, wet earth after rain, his dogs running around in a maddening pack, the soft scents of those who'd brushed by him in the day. In the first days of this Will had showered before coming here, but he'd noticed how Hannibal was inhaling his skin, and he’s started taking long walks outside before entering the institute. The visit Hannibal had realized Will was doing this on purpose was a glittering gem in his mind.
There was so many straps it took three minutes to remove them, in the end Hannibal would still have his hands and legs on chains that limited his reach. But he could sit up, move, touch Will. That was enough to keep him content.
Will would often submit quietly to whatever ministrations Hannibal felt like bestowing on him. He found his desires running a varied gamut. Some days he wanted to feel Will’s flesh twitch under the pads of his fingers, the lightest touch only. Other days he pulled Will onto his gurney, the pressure of another body on his the only thing that satisfied. Days in which they fucked were always pleasureable, Will’s mouth guided to this dick, his shackles just long enough to get a hand in Will’s hair, pulling and pushing until Will understood the pattern he wanted. Fucking Will could only properly be done when Will climbed on top, straddling Hannibal, his hands on Will’s hips as he thrust up into him and heard Will gasp and moan. He always liked to come on Will’s body, knowing his scent would be there when Will got home, that would linger until Will showered. He often wondered if Will delayed showering sometimes, but thought it to gaunch to ask.
Today Will unstrapped him and stood by his side, waiting for Hannibal to touch him, to guide his body to where it should be. The first time Will had him brought here he'd wondered if he was to suffer at his hand, if ignore his pains would have been bought off with whatever Will had bargained for this space, this time. But Will had merely unstrapped him, then stood still as he'd maneuvered himself to a sitting position, chain and gurney still new then. They’d regarded each other a moment, then Will had asked “What do you need, Hannibal?”
Hannibal had cupped Will’s face, and the man had leaned in to accept the caress. No offer had ever been refused. However Will never asked anything, never reached first, never touched except where invited. Hannibal wondered if Will got pleasure from the direction, or if this was his penance.
On days like today when he wondered he liked to feel Will’s pleasure. Head bowed forward, arm lifted as far as he could reach allowed him the space to lick his hand. Will’s breath hitched a little, enough, at the sight, and he stepped closure so when Hannibal reached to pull down Will’s already tenting trousers he was correctly positioned. Will always stiffened when Hannibal began to touch him, not while unstrapping him though. Hannibal found that considerate, although likely unconscious on Will’s part. A few good strong strokes and Will was as hard as he could be, Hannibal bent down to the limit of his reach and gave the head of the cock a few good swipes with his tongue. Sadly there was no good position for him to suck cock, it was annoying to be denied full use of his abilities even in this. Will’s breathing got heavier. Hannibal laid back and spread his legs, letting go of Will as his knees spread open.
Will removed his pants, Hannibal shifting his ass up in a way he never did for even the most respectful of orderlies. WIll then climbed onto the gurney, and operation that would be impossible if they didn’t brace it against the wall, wheels locked. Will folded Hannibal’s pants up and slide them under his hips, a slight cushion. He then entered him slowly, scraping his tongue with his fingers and trying to transfer as much to his dick as it slowly entered him. They were used to this though, sex with only saliva as lube. The trick was short, quick thrusts, a heartbeat rhythm to follow. Hannibal squeezed Will with his thighs as he began to jerk his hips, sliding in and out. Will fell forward onto him, his breathing quick, and Hannibal took advantage to kiss Will, taste his tongue and lips, lick the sweat from his neck. This would be the best thing he tasted all week, the flavor now familiar and welcome.
It was over quickly, it always was, they did not have a luxury of time and their bodies knew it. Will collapse down on to him, overwhelmed and still panting. Hannibal took advantage of the pressure, trusting between their bodies, and came as well. When Will climbed off there was a sticky smear on both their stomachs. Hannibal brought a hand up to the mess and began to massage it into his skin. Will leaned against the gurney and did the same. It was seven twenty, there was time for it to dry before they got dressed. By the time the door opened they both would be settled, hair in place, Hannibal strapped down, Will walking out without looking back. But that was forty minutes from now.
“Tell me Will, how are you this week?”
“I’m doing alright, Dr. Lecter.”
Their session wasn't over yet.