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Will Graham is used to being tested by Hannibal Lecter. But to live the life they have chosen for themselves, he has to let a few things go. One of them being the fact that Hannibal had intended to gut him the night he turned up at his house and discovered Abigail still alive. The man had been angry. So Will did what any other Alpha would have done when faced with an angry opponent. The two of them had wasted precious time fighting until Abigail risked getting between them, imploring them to stop. We have to go. All of us. But just when he thought the dust had started to settle with a safe house routine in some cold, forgotten corner of the world, Hannibal does it again. And this time, Will can’t just let it go.
++++
Day 1. Evening. The shed.
When Hannibal opens his eyes, it’s to a wooden floor that he knows doesn’t belong to the house. Its surface unfinished and rudimentary. There is a dull ache in the back of his head. Contact with a blunt instrument, he surmises. The last thing he recalls is entering the house and walking through the kitchen threshold. Now he’s sat on a chair in his shirt and suit trousers with his hands bound behind his back and ankles bound before him. When he cranes his neck to look back over his shoulder, he follows the length of rope running from his wrists, up through a heavy duty eye plate bolted to the overhead beam, then down and through a matching plate fixed to the ground at a safe, unreachable distance behind him. The excess rope knotted expertly at the metal loop appears to remove the means of escape. The product of practised hands.
“How was your trip?”
At the mild sound of Will’s voice, he brings his head round, eyes travelling across the floor until they stop at hiking boots.
“Pleasant enough,” he answers, gaze scaling crossed ankles and the full length of his legs to reach the familiar sight of arms folded before a flannel covered torso.
“How was the fishing trip?” he asks in return.
“What do you think.”
Hannibal opens his mouth and keeps his lips parted thoughtfully before answering.
“I like to think Abigail finally managed to catch…a little something?”
He looks up to find Will regarding him with feigned indifference as he leans against the wall. The subtle flexing of his rugged jawline a sign, however, that he could be suppressing a violent outburst. Hannibal likewise suppresses the urge to smile.
~+~
Will remains calm. Tries not to think about standing waist-deep in the river, calling after Abigail as she waded further out. Where are you going? She had been too distracted to answer. Abigail! Pausing without looking back, she’d cried hesitantly over the sound of rushing water: Stay back! He had waited, giving her space. What’s wrong? And then she was down, submerged with her hand still gripping the rod as the line trailed helplessly in the current. Shit! He’d started hurrying over until she’d resurfaced with a gasp. Her eyes wide as she stared at him with her dark hair plastered to her pale face. You don’t feel it? She’d asked. Feel what? He’d asked back. You really feel nothing at all? She’d persisted, sounding more desperate the second time. I don’t know what you mean, he’d started to say until she’d interrupted in a half whisper that was almost lost to the babbling. You will. Her face had pinched painfully, then. The picture of anxiety.
“Was it not the case?”
Hannibal’s voice brings him back to the silence of the shed, though he fails to shake her shivering form from the forefront of his mind. Pushing off the wall, he keeps his eyes on the door as he paces towards the other, avoiding those cunning black depths lest he empathises too keenly with their predatory fire.
~+~
He doesn’t need Will to meet him in the eye to confirm things have been set in motion.
“You’re thinking about it now,” he says. “Her body.”
There is a loud scuffle of shoes before hands catch his throat with enough force to jolt the legs of the chair on which he is sat. “How it would feel,” he grunts against the restricted airflow. At the same time, he can hear Will drawing a steadying breath through his nose. Looks up whilst being throttled to meet that seething stare.
“You’ve done a lot of things,” the man grits through his teeth. “But this-”
“Is biology,” Hannibal finishes his sentence raspingly.
~+~
Releasing his throat, Will moves back to the wall. To the wooden crate standing against it. With an angry flip of his wrist, he dislodges the lid and it hits the floor with a noisy clatter.
~+~
Swallowing against the phantom sensation of Will’s fingers, Hannibal watches the other’s back, eager to learn the contents of the box.
“We fear it at times,” he says, voice a little scratchy. “For what it brings out from within.”
Will turns around and Hannibal’s eyes fall to the rude instrument clasped between his hands as the man comes his way.
“But it’s pointless to fear what is a part of us,” he continues to say, wondering what had inspired the other to fashion such a contraption. As Will draws near, he looks up from leather straps and forged metal. “It’s a waste of your seed,” he says simply just before the ring is forced into his mouth, clicking against his teeth as it’s pushed into place. A hard yank on the strap at the back of his head digs the four prongs, two on either side of the ring, into his cheeks.
~+~
Breathing deep through the nose, Will jerks open his belt.
“What was that?” he utters under his breath. Tugs down the zip and pulls out his turgid member. “I wasn’t listening to your bullshit.”
Grabbing Hannibal’s head with both hands, he pulls him down the same time he shoves his length up through the ring and begins immediately to rut. His engorged knot slamming into the circle of metal while his cockhead ploughs the warm wet depths of Hannibal’s throat. The shed fills with the sound of lungs playing catch-up on thwarted breaths – the truncated attempts to snatch air between the merciless pistoning of an Alpha’s cock. Will growls as he rams again and again into Hannibal’s mouth. The doctor speechless for once as drops of saliva, dislodged from his jaw by the force of the thrusts, begin to fleck the floorboards. Without warning, the urge to climax surges through him like a white hot knife.
~+~
As the hefty appendage unplugs his mouth, Hannibal sucks air like a landed fish. Feels the dense weight of Will’s cock, wet with his own saliva, shoving into his face as the man falls to manual stimulation, his knuckles grazing Hannibal’s lips. He listens to the animalistic grunts catching in Will’s throat as he forces his own release. Then it happens. Despite being directed into the cavity of his mouth, Will’s explosive load strays from his aim long enough to lash Hannibal in the eye.
~+~
Pushing the old single mattress against the wall, he pulls an old sheet out of the trash bag. Fits it over the mattress, then pulls out an old pillow and chucks it onto his temporary bed before diving back into the bag for an old towel and blanket. All of them things that weren’t thrown away because Abigail had said they could be useful. I doubt this is what she had in mind, Will thinks to himself. And yet, as ridiculous as this self-imposed segregation in the shed feels, he is glad to have these items that, at the very least, won’t aggravate his inflamed senses with her scent.
~+~
Will had kept his back to him the entire time he fetched and constructed his bed. A meagre nest within the lair two predators have been forced to share. Not blanket, pillow, nor even the mattress, however, will provide any comfort to an Alpha with only one thing on its mind. Hannibal, of course, wishes to remind Will of this. Explain in layman terms the simple logic of their biology while privately cursing the same rules that make ignoring the pungent smell of a rival’s seed impossible. He would not be surprised if he is left this way as punishment. Gagged and drooling all that he refuses to swallow. Wearing it on his face. In his mussed hair. Made to endure the humiliation of being marked by another Alpha all because of his mistaken anger. Oh, Will. What a silly boy you are.
~+~
It is true, of course, what Hannibal had said. Since Abigail’s heat began, he can’t stop thinking about it. Even after his forced ejaculation just now, his body is raring to go again. His dick already rock hard. His heart having migrated from beneath his ribs to between his legs. His knot desperate to slot itself somewhere tight. He hears a noise, but keeps his eyes closed as he lies there, facing the wall. The noise persists, louder this time, but still Will doesn’t move. He thinks of a river. Tries to focus on the sound of babbling water. Wade into the quiet of the stream… But is interrupted by the sound of his name being called. Or as close to it as Hannibal can manage with a metal ring in his mouth. As Will continues to ignore him, the man continues calling his name. Each time he does, Will’s hand stills. Goddamnit, Hannibal. Shoving aside the blanket, he rolls off the mattress onto his feet. In a few heavy strides, he is standing at the source of his vexation.
~+~
The huge cock jutting out from Will’s open trousers and bobbing from its own weight with each of the man’s hurried steps is suddenly back in his mouth. Fucking the breath from him as hands pull the matted tresses of his hair taut. Will says nothing as he breeds his mouth, grunting with each slam that pushes him harder and faster down Hannibal’s throat until he’s choking on the second flood.
~+~
Putting himself away, Will starts turning from the sight of Hannibal catching his breath when the dogged sound of his name being coughed makes him stop and look down at the other. Grabbing and tugging on the straps, he pulls the gag off Hannibal’s face as it trails strings of saliva and seed.
“What.”
“I need to urinate,” answers Hannibal breathlessly. Will narrows his eyes at dishevelled hair.
“You expect me to fall for that?” he says contemptuously.
“I could go here, but the smell will be unpleasant.”
Hooded eyes look up through the fallen spikes of his hair.
“Especially if you’re planning on staying here,” the man adds. Will scoffs despite Hannibal having a point. They are stuck here together until Abigail’s heat ends. Marching to the corner of the shed, he picks up a bucket. Marches back over and drops it down in front of Hannibal with a noisy clatter.
“May I have a hand?”
Will almost picks the bucket up to bring it down on the other’s head. Instead, he eyes that bulge with a frown. Reaches for the zip and even goes as far as pulling hesitantly against warped fabric when his Alpha sensibilities make him jerk back in disgust. No.
“It can’t be helped,” says Hannibal.
Will scoffs.
Because you made it that way.
Turns and starts walking away.
Sick bastard.
“I can’t go like this.”
“No shit,” he snaps disdainfully.
“If you just free me from my garments-”
“To piss in your own face?”
“To wait for it to go down, first.”
Will stops.
~+~
There is a pause. Then Will turns around. Walks slowly back up to him.
“Wait,” the man echoes, lifting his foot to rest it between Hannibal’s legs. The heavy sole of his boot weighing on his trapped penis. “Sure.” Will presses down. “You can wait.” The pressure builds between thick rubber and the tenacity of an Alpha’s arousal. “You can wait all night.”
Hannibal closes his eyes, his face a-twitch as Will steps on him with increasing force.
“Please,” he utters lowly, and suddenly the tension is replaced by a hand shoving itself into his trousers, its fingers closing like a vice around his knot.
“What’s that?” he hears Will say and slowly opens his eyes to the other’s glare. Before he can respond, another hand grabs him by the throat. “Are you begging?” Will continues in a voice that’s light yet laced with scorn, his first hand squeezing Hannibal with such bruising force, a small sound escapes past the tight line of his lips. That head of unruly curls leans closer as blue eyes stare into him. “Abigail would have begged,” says the man through his teeth. “For me to stop, you sick sonuvabitch.” Swallowing against Will’s iron grip, Hannibal licks his lips delicately.
“She would have begged,” he repeats, adding, while holding that burning glare: “For you to fill her cunt.”
~+~
Despite the absence of mouse traps in the shed, Will distinctly hears the snap of a spring loaded bar. While he may have taken the bait, it’s Hannibal’s neck that’s once more between his hands – the act of strangling the man a testament to muscle memory. Seconds in, however, he regrets his assault when Hannibal ejaculates without warning. It sends him staggering back as the heady, obnoxious scent of another Alpha’s seed infiltrates his nostrils. Looking down at his chest, he growls in disgust at the fluids seeping through his shirt, and starts to tear it off.
Balling up the garment, he hurls it towards the sink before snatching up and forcing the gag back onto Hannibal’s face. Fucks him brutally in the mouth, then pulls a cleaning rag from his back pocket. Cramming it through the ring, he then returns to the mattress, lies down, and drags the blanket over himself. Facing Hannibal with his back, he promptly falls asleep.
++++
Day 2. Morning.
Hannibal opens his eyes to faint morning light that, having broken in through the dirty old window, bleeds through the dark to illuminate the shape lying on the mattress beneath the blanket. The quiet, rhythmic snoring tells him Will is sleeping rather soundly. He himself had dozed throughout the night, albeit uncomfortably. The shed’s proximity to the house is a tantalising knife’s edge. It wouldn’t take much at all for a couple of Alphas to burst through its simple structure and race across the grounds towards the prize. The restraint, however, lies not in the excess of rope. He needs simply to find a way of severing them from Will’s dogged stubbornness. From the rock that keeps them bound. Speaking of. He glances down at his morning wood. The need to urinate returns with a vengeance. Thankfully, he is already sitting down. One needs simply to relax one’s bladder like so, before pushing with some force...
~+~
Something hits the back of his neck. Jerking awake, his hand flies to his nape. Finds moisture beneath his fingertips as his nostrils flare from the stink of Alpha piss. Hannibal. Pushing aside the blanket, he stands up from the mattress, watching where he plants his feet. Eyes following the droplets trailing across the floor, they find the perpetrator sitting with his dick out and standing to attention. His cockhead wet in the weak morning light. The red fog descends then dissipates as Will stalks through it towards the other. Snatching up the bucket, he fights the returning urge to crack open Hannibal’s skull with it and makes his way over to the sink.
~+~
Hannibal follows Will with his eyes. Watches him leave the bucket to fill up in the sink before making his way over to the crate. He sees the man bend over. Reach in. Then straighten back up again before turning around. As he starts walking back towards him, Hannibal’s gaze falls to the folding penknife clasped in Will’s right hand. It remains closed as the Alpha storms past, and Hannibal waits until the heavy tread of boots is directly behind him before pushing off the floor with his bound feet. His attempt to ram the chair back into the other fails, however, when the furniture is caught last minute then pulled out from beneath him.
As he falls onto his knees, the rope tugs on his bound wrists, forcing his arms up behind his back. Then the rope at his ankles suddenly falls slack before another hard yank forces him up onto his feet.
~+~
Putting the penknife down on the draining board, he turns off the tap and picks up the bucket while grabbing a handful of rags from the side. Dropping it all in front of Hannibal, he picks up the fallen chair and walks round to set it down in front of the eye plate. Then he takes a seat in it and leans over.
~+~
Without the drone of running water, Hannibal can hear the rasp of rope as Will works free the knots. He gives it a moment. Then bolts for it. Barely steps past the bucket before the rope pulls taut, stopping him in his tracks.
“Clean the floor,” comes the cool command.
If I don’t?
“If you don’t,” says Will calmly, as though having read his mind, “I’ll make sure you’ll never be a threat to Abigail again.” The shed falls silent as Will gives him time to consider the significance of his threat. “Maybe it’ll take ten ties to turn you,” he drawls lowly. “Maybe just the once.” The creak of wood tells him Will is leaning back in the chair. “Either way, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the smell of your piss then.”
Still gagged, Hannibal does not attempt a smart alec retort. Instead, he decides to play Will’s game – for the time being – and starts toeing off his shoes and socks.
The water is cold, and there is no soap, but he does what he can. Rinsing being quite impossible, he mops up the excess with the remaining rags until he hears the creak of Will’s chair. Knows the rope is being secured again before the other comes to remove the rags and bucket.
Standing there, he observes Will emptying the bucket in the sink before leaving it to refill. Sensing the attention, the man watches back from the corners of his eyes, their blue depths smouldering, still, with Alpha aggro as they give him an angry once-over. Hannibal does his best to appear nonchalant as the other sizes him up. Would tell Will he looks positively Neanderthal if not for the gag hindering his eloquence.
~+~
He had chosen the words to intimidate, but only ended up aggravating the fire in his blood with the thought of stripping a dangerous Alpha of its dignity. Or rather, stripping Hannibal Lecter of his dignity, to be precise – the thought of which is enough to deliver an electric shock to the most tenacious part of Will’s anatomy until, jaw flexing, he looks away from hooded eyes to glare instead at the water.
~+~
The bucket is placed before him with fresh water sloshing against its sides.
“Rinse your feet,” Will orders. Hannibal glances up from the bucket to watch the man bring his chair round to stand opposite him. Then, arms folding, Will seats himself in the chair once more. Looks up at Hannibal. Then down at the bucket.
Very well.
He puts his foot in the water. I shall play your little games. Moves it about. Pulls it back out. Does the same with his other foot. When a rag hits his feet, he dries himself off with it until, seemingly satisfied, Will inches his chair forward. Leaning back, he holds out his hand. Hannibal looks at it for a moment before meeting that glare. Using the tension of the rope to maintain his balance, Hannibal lifts his leg and, driven by his own curiosity, rests his ankle in that waiting hand. Watching him closely, Will pushes his free hand down the distended front of his trousers and pulls out his cock. Hannibal feels calloused fingers closing like iron around his ankle and pulling on it until he almost loses his footing.
“One wrong move,” Will warns, and Hannibal lowers his gaze to his own foot as it’s brought close enough for him to brush his toes and ball to the velvety underside of that heavy shaft. “You hear me?”
Hannibal looks up in answer. Why of course. Then returns his attention to those thick veins beating visibly beneath the skin. The knot whose mere sight alone is enough to make even an experienced Omega swallow in trepidation. He targets this impressive specimen first, rubbing its bulbous body all over as Will spits from above. The first grunts leaving his lips as Hannibal massages his way up the meaty column, toes lingering on the spot beneath his crown.
~+~
He can’t deny that it feels incredible. Keeping his grip on Hannibal’s ankle, he pulls him closer still until the man is using the entire sole of his foot to pleasure him. That’s it… Each time his knot is given attention, his eyeballs start rolling and his lashes flutter involuntarily. Mnph! With a little more pressure, and a bit more speed, he is sure to relieve himself of this infuriating ache. His loins having become an inferno of all the lust he didn’t even know he had inside of him.
This is your doing.
He narrows his eyes at Hannibal.
Now deal with it.
“More.”
~+~
The man groans as Hannibal rubs him harder. Faster. His foot pushing against an appendage that pushes back whilst choking on its own copious flow of precum. He watches Will grow impossibly big just before his coveted release, and when he comes – his voice and seed exploding out of him – Hannibal jabs his foot into the nearest chair leg.
~+~
There is a sharp crack before the chair suddenly loses balance, pitching Will out of it. As he stumbles down, Hannibal kicks him hard in the face, then again when he falls onto his hands and knees. Sensing a third kick, Will’s hand shoots up, catching Hannibal’s ankle. Blood flows down from his nose over snarling lips as he slowly lifts his head.
~+~
Outside, the sounds coming from within the shed are incessant yet muffled. Birds, indifferent to the new development, remain perched on the roof, dozing as they huddle for warmth.
Inside, the once cool air is made warm by fevered panting. Beneath the beam and metal loop – the pivot between capture and escape – Hannibal sits facing the wrong way astride the now three legged chair as it rocks back and forth upon its hind legs. One hand gripping the rope, another keeping a tight hold of soft tresses, Will drives his cock in and out of Hannibal between the jagged edges of his torn trousers. Snaps his hips until he hears the doctor’s muffled grunts.
This is your doing.
With Hannibal being so tight, however, Will keeps popping out in the thick of it until the repeated thwarting of his efforts finally makes him hook his arms under those thighs.
You only have yourself to blame.
Straightening up, he lifts the man against himself, back to chest. As the chair topples over, he holds those long legs open and resumes thrusting, Hannibal’s stifled grunts echoing his own each time he rams himself to the knot.
“Urgh!”
“Mnph.”
“Fuck!”
“Mnph.”
Impatient, his hands move down to pull on either side of that stuffed hole. Spreads Hannibal open that much more before proceeding to drill into him.
Fuck!
~+~
Hannibal feels Will pulling out abruptly and dropping him. Is catching his breath and steadying his legs when he feels the rope tethering him falling slack, and immediately makes a break for it. Straight away, he hears the heavy pounding of rubber soles on wooden floorboards before a weight slams into him from behind. As he pushes up from the ground, he feels hands fisting the shirt at his back before he is dragged up and thrown over the fallen chair. Feels its hard edges digging into him as he is mounted in the next breath and filled to the brim with Alpha cock.
Ngh!
Trapped beneath Will’s weight with his bound hands pinned behind his back, there is little he can do except feel himself stretching wide open as his captor bears down. His hole straining painfully against the enormous width of the other’s knot.
He’s going to tie with me.
Panic lodges last minute in his throat, but does nothing to stop a groan from escaping into the rag the same time he hears Will’s feral growl and feels his body splitting open.
~+~
Their cries, one loud, one muffled, mingle in the humid air as Will stiffens bodily. His knot, swallowed whole for the first time by an Alpha, proceeds to pump the virgin passage full of his hot and plentiful seed. Thus occupied with the sheer power of his orgasm, Will does not immediately notice Hannibal falling unconscious beneath him.
++++
Day 2. Midday.
When Hannibal wakes, it’s to a strange empty feeling, and the growl his stomach makes is loud in the silence of the shed. The shed. Lying covered up on his side, he gazes through half open eyes at the chair toppled across from him and the length of rope suspending from the beam. Still here. He is conscious of the mattress beneath him and the soreness of his body. His anus and rectum one persistent throb. Their discomfort the reason, he suspects, for the absence of arousal. Breathing in, he catches the scent of smoke and roasted flesh in the air, and turns his eyes to the thin strip of light at the foot of the door. As the saliva flows, he realises there is nothing to soak it up. Neither is there anything keeping his jaws spread. Opening his mouth wide to give them a stretch, he starts to push up, and stops when he realises both his wrists and ankles are bound.
Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching the shed outside, he lowers himself back to the mattress just as the door opens and Will walks in wearing his shirt untucked – the salmon fabric woefully creased with the cuffs unbuttoned and shoved up to the elbows, out of the way of sinewy forearms. Clasped in Will’s right hand is a thin branch with the roasted carcass of a small animal threaded through its middle. Hare, presumably. Hannibal swallows convulsively. He caught it, killed it, skinned it and gutted it before cooking it over an open fire. Abigail, my dear girl, you should see what your heat is doing to the man. Our Will is turning positively troglodytic.
~+~
Pushing the door shut, he watches down at the other from the corners of his eyes. Outside, whilst he’d crouched before the growing fire, his mind had been on the shed and its sole occupant. As his hands had busied themselves pulling off the hare’s skin, he’d imagined doing the same to the blanket covering the sleeping body beneath. Had looked down at the pink flesh of the animal and thought solely of Hannibal’s asshole and the way it had stayed open after his knot had finally slipped out of his unconscious body.
Pacing slowly to the mattress, he lowers himself into a squat across from Hannibal. Close, but not too close as he meets that hooded gaze whilst peeling off a sliver of flesh. The doctor is silent as he watches him eat. Will can sense his hunger, however, even if the man seems too proud to admit it. Eyes falling to a half close, he holds the next morsel towards the other’s mouth. Waits for those dark eyes to attempt to read his own, and for those lips to part and that head to crane closer before moving his hand away and popping the meat into his own mouth. Hannibal says nothing. Peeling off another piece, he holds it out again, a little further away this time. Hannibal studies his hand for a calculating moment, then thrusts his head at it, only to have Will snatching away last minute. As he brings the unclaimed prize to his own lips, he can see impatience building in that deceptively smooth brow. Correctly anticipates Hannibal pushing off the mattress the next time he teases him with the meat, and takes a half step back. Hannibal lands on his elbows between his legs, and he stares down at that mildly indignant expression with one thought only: its close proximity to his trapped arousal. Setting the stick down out of the other’s reach, he slowly sucks his fingers clean. Then reaches out to clasp the back of Hannibal’s head the same time he plants his knees to the floorboards.
~+~
As his face is pushed into the crotch before him, he hears a low murmur from above:
“How much do you want it?”
Has not finished inhaling Alpha musk before Will’s freed member is pressing over his face again. One long stroke of silk wrapped steel and, unbidden, the emptiness from earlier rushes in like an unexpected tide. As it bursts the banks of his reason, Hannibal becomes driven by a vague awareness – a somewhat alien anticipation – of the contentment that’s to be had from being full-bellied. And as a result, falls to sucking on Will’s cock like an animal ready to expire from thirst.
~+~
He doesn’t know what game Hannibal is playing, and he doesn’t want to drop his guard. But there’s no denying the man is currently sucking cock like a shameless whore. Plus, the thrill of not knowing when those teeth may clamp down only gives the pleasure an extra edge. So much so, he can already feel himself thickening inside that ravenous mouth. I guess he’s hungry…
Fisting Hannibal’s hair with both hands, he pulls the other off his dick. Pushes the Alpha down onto his side then drops onto the mattress behind him, gripping his shaft with one hand while his other grabs the dense globe of Hannibal’s right ass cheek. Spreading it open, he rubs his head into the escaping mess and begins to push his way back inside.
~+~
He bites back a groan as Will snaps his hips and breaks the silence with the first of many wet squelches.
“Fuck,” he hears the man pant whilst his dick starts ramming Hannibal in the bowels. Eyes snapping shut, he keeps his cheek pressed to the mattress and moistens his parted lips with a quick swipe of the tongue, his own breaths escaping him in ragged snatches as he struggles with how quickly the pleasure muddies the pain. Tries to concentrate and will his body to compose itself as it rides out the sacking. But the more Will’s cock slams into him, the harder his ass sucks onto it, pulling ever closer to that formidable knot regardless of what his thoughts are on the matter. It’s incredibly distracting, and for the first time in his life, Hannibal can’t think straight.
Then, all of a sudden, Will pulls out with a frustrated grunt, and Hannibal listens to him scrambling off the mattress as a strange sensation racks his body. He waits for it to subside as he lies there watching Will stride over to the sink and begin hurriedly to masturbate, the glimpse of the man’s jerking arm causing his back passage to spasm as though possessed by misplaced palpitations. Tearing his eyes away, he looks upon the branch. Is tempted by both the gnawing emptiness and his returning voice of reason to crawl towards it while Will is occupied. And yet. This feeling… He finds himself tempted, too, by an inexplicable urge to stay put and wait.
~+~
Turning off the tap, he leans his wet hands on the edge of the sink. Takes a slow breath as he stares through lidded eyes at the plughole. He’d gone against the grain and stopped before he could go all the way again with Hannibal. But for what reason, he cannot adequately explain, and neither does he have answers to questions such as why he should feel troubled by the prospect of being responsible for an Alpha’s emasculation. Whether there’s even a place for conscience when said Alpha is Hannibal Lecter. He doesn’t deserve pity. His eyes narrow at the thought. But whether he deserves to be stripped permanently of his dignity... His frown deepens as his body rears its head at the suggestion of another power struggle ending with yet more violent sex. Calm down. You’ve only just come. Closing his eyes, he runs his hand over his face. Slowly turns his head to look back at Hannibal lying on the mattress and licking his lips before swallowing. His hooded eyes on the branch. He’s hungry. I made him wait. Pushing off the sink, he slowly starts making his way back over. It’s only fair I give him what he needs…
~+~
His stomach is full, but the nagging feeling remains. As Will moves back to the sink with the branch and its picked bones, he pushes himself up into a stand. Tries to hop towards the other and ends up falling over with a grunt. Looking up from the ground, he sees Will watching down at him.
“What are you doing?” the man asks flatly.
“Getting a drink,” he answers whilst pushing up unsteadily. Will comes to take his arm and half steer, half drag him to the edge of the sink. He can smell ejaculate from the plughole as he reaches for the tap with his bound hands. Is aware of the other’s close proximity as he lets the stream flow freely for a few seconds before bending down and tilting his face.
~+~
Knot throbbing from his last minute betrayal, he stares at Hannibal’s ass when a movement in his peripheral vision draws his attention to bound hands slipping the folded penknife from the draining board.
~+~
Expecting Will to grab his wrists, Hannibal faces and headbutts him hard while flicking open the penknife. The air fills with copper as blood gushes again from Will’s nose, and as he reels from the impact, Hannibal throws himself back against the sink before jerking up his knees and kicking at the other’s torso. While the man staggers back and trips over the fallen chair, Hannibal cuts through the rope binding his wrists, and is about to do the same for the rope at his ankles when his opponent is up and tackling him onto the floor.
~+~
As soon as Hannibal’s back hits the ground, Will sits on him to pin the Alpha down with his weight. He pushes down on Hannibal’s head with one hand and uses the other to try and wrest the penknife from his grasp. When a fist connects with his dick, however, Will snatches a wrist in each hand and lurches forward to slam his ass onto Hannibal’s chest the same time he slams the man’s wrists to the ground above his head, dislodging the penknife with a clatter.
~+~
Swallowing, he feels the tip of the blade digging into his throat. The sound of their heavy breaths combining as he looks up at Will’s bloodied face and holds that half drawn stare. His nostrils flaring from the close proximity of the other’s sex.
“Say you manage to escape,” comes the murmur, low and breathy. “Then what.”
“You know what.”
Metal presses into him.
“You’re not going near her,” says Will.
“One of us will.”
He does not grimace when the knife punctures his skin. The tiny rivulet is warm as it runs down his neck.
“So this is how it’s going to be?”
Hannibal lofts his brows coolly at that frown.
“Why fight it, Will?” he says lightly. “I’m sure Abigail is more than willing to be bred by the both of-”
The blow of a backhand cuts him off. Leaves his face tingling where it met knuckle. He hears the sound of fumbling and glances down to see Will’s meat springing free before it’s brought right up to his lips. As Will crams it forcefully into his mouth, Hannibal immediately begins to suck where instinct should’ve told him to bite down.
~+~
Exhaling raggedly, Will continues to glare down at the other in disgust. At those sharp lips wrapped around the girth of his dick and creating a perfect seal to the most infuriating suction – infuriatingly good, that is. Fuck. I’m going to come again. Driven by his jealous knot, he pulls out and moves back. Keeping the knife to Hannibal’s throat, he reaches down to hook an arm under those knees before lifting and pinning them to the man’s chest.
“Oh Will,” sighs Hannibal condescendingly. “Abusing my infertile rectum is hardly conducive to your fantasy of fucking our dear-”
~+~
He grunts as the blade is stabbed into the top of his thigh. Leaving it there, Will uses both hands to pin Hannibal’s wrists to the ground before leaning his weight onto them. His huge cockhead jabs again at the clenching bud of his entrance, but before he can be fully penetrated, Hannibal kicks out. Sees a hand grasping the knife’s handle, and a low growl escapes through his teeth as the blade twists in his leg. Despite this, he pushes off the floor, hands breaking free to grab those dark curls the same time he brings their skulls together again, this time with enough force to crack through cartilage. As Will leans back with his hands to his face, hampered, no doubt, by mild concussion, Hannibal throws his weight into the Alpha, knocking him into the wall. Pulling out the penknife, he cuts his ankles free in time to deliver a hard kick to keep Will down before running for the door.
~+~
It has snowed overnight, and the ground is covered, obscuring the rope laid earlier by Will. Abigail had watched him from her window. Has been trying her best to keep watch despite the circumstances. When the door of the shed suddenly opens, it catches her off guard.
~+~
As Hannibal runs ahead of him towards the house, Will dashes for the cluster of trees to their left. Spotting the right one, he squats down to wait for the other to cover more distance, his eyes darting to the marked tree further down. Then back to Hannibal’s running figure. Now. Boot planting against wizened bark, he thrusts his hands into the snow. Brings them up with the rope coiled tight before yanking hard.
~+~
Within the circle of the scope, she watches Hannibal trip over. Sees Will running towards him as he falls down into the snow. And pulls the trigger.
~+~
A sharp pain in his upper arm makes him grunt in surprise as he pushes up from the snow and looks to its source. Hand closing around the tranquiliser dart, he pulls it out while looking towards the house. Sees Abigail lowering an air rifle at the window. A scoff leaves his lips in a white flurry.
“Clever girl,” he utters while scrambling onto his feet. Before he can pick up speed, however, he is tackled back down into the snow.
~+~
To stop Hannibal trying to escape, he gets him in a submission hold. Waits for the man to finally pass out from the rear-naked choke before picking himself off the frozen ground and dragging his limp snow dusted prey back into the shed. Pausing at the door, he glances up to see Abigail watching from the window. The dark thought of taking her while Hannibal is knocked out flits briefly through his mind before he turns in.
~+~
When Hannibal opens his eyes, he finds himself facing a different way. The back of the shed, to be precise. Once again, he is lying on his side with the blanket pulled over him. His rear end, however, hangs exposed and cold off the edge of the mattress. The chill air invading his body through an asshole that aches anew alongside thigh and arm where blade and dart had entered. Shifting upon the bed, he confirms his freshly bound state: legs bent knees to chest, his arms once more behind his back. Both wrists and ankles locked in their respective pairs.
Besides the physical restraints, he is conscious of a returning emptiness. It was a small hare, I suppose. There’s something else, too. A hairline fracture in his composure. Its cause? He is almost embarrassed to acknowledge. It’s merely the fear of not knowing how long one is to be left in such a way. Words such as anxiety and abandonment are excessive and unnecessary, he tells himself. Just as not knowing where Will is and not sensing his presence in the proximity are unnecessary concerns. The man’s scent, or rather, the smell of his cum, however, has not left, and Hannibal pushes experimentally. Feels fluid running out of his hole and surmises Will must have abused him while he was unconscious. What a cunning boy you are. He thinks of Abigail standing at the window with an air rifle. Commends her skill in shooting on target despite the distraction of a heat. He presumes they view this as a punishment of sorts. How terribly misguided of them. As he lies there, talking to himself, he comes to the conclusion that there is little else he can do, trussed up like a turkey. So he waits.
A long time passes before he ends up drifting off again. And this time, he is woken up by the smell of blood and musk. It is growing dark inside the shed as evening approaches. When he hears the door opening, he shifts against the mattress to see Will walking into the dim with the body of a small buck over his shoulders. His face clean and sporting a bandage over the bridge of his nose. Hannibal’s eyes drop to the new source of blood: a series of dark, jagged scratch and, or, bite wounds spanning Will’s forearm.
He doesn’t speak as the man pushes the door to a close then makes his way over to the sink. Putting the deer down over the drainage board, Will fetches a square of folded material from the side. As he shakes it open, Hannibal recognises tarpaulin from the rustle, and continues to watch it being laid out on the floor by the sink before the deer is picked up and deposited onto its waterproof surface.
Will then washes his hands before pulling out the first aid kit and opening it on the drainage board. He unbuttons and takes off his – Hannibal’s – shirt, barely flinching as the sleeve is dragged over the torn flesh. Takes a large bottle from the kit. Saline, Hannibal presumes, as he studies the gashes in the other’s arm. Listening to the rinsing, he finally breaks the silence.
“What was it?”
“Wolves.”
Watching Will pat his arm dry, he imagines the man competing with other predators and feels a sudden stab of excitement.
“Did you kill them?” he asks casually.
“One.”
He feels his lower bowel clenching involuntarily.
“Perhaps the pack will track you down.”
“Not if they want to live.”
Eyes lidding, his gaze travels the length of Will’s bare back. Lingers on the round of the Alpha’s buttocks as he wonders whether the throbbing in his rectum is really happening or merely a vivid memory of its violation.
Turning from the kit with gloved hands and a folding knife clasped in his right, Will bends down towards a cooler box sitting beside the sink. He opens the lid then tends to the deer. For a while, the silence is interrupted solely by the sounds of skinning and the cracking of joints followed by the thunk of a quarter being chucked into the cooler. Then a shoulder. Then a backstrap. He watches Will slowing down to carefully pull out the tenderloin without puncturing the stomach. Then it, too, is tossed onto the pile. The slap of meat on meat only too familiar.
Since Will has chosen to use the gutless method, it doesn’t take him long to remove the best flesh from both sides of the animal. And while it is unusual for Hannibal to go without speaking in the other’s presence, he has thoroughly enjoyed observing the man’s skill at dressing the deer in such a quick and efficient manner. Satisfied he has taken what he wants from the carcass, Will drags it on the tarpaulin towards the door. Opens it. Then drags it outside. As the door closes, silence is returned to the shed.
With nothing else to do but wait, Hannibal lies there, watching the darkness take over. Tells himself if the shed door were to open now, he would not be able to visually distinguish Will from a stranger. Yet there’s no mistaking his Alpha scent. Equally, Will would recognise the scent of an Alpha that doesn’t belong, and make his return to the house, first and foremost. Protect the Omega. Though he imagines Abigail would fare better holed up in her bedroom with an air rifle than he would in his current state. Who’s to say he isn’t with her now? An unwelcome voice pipes up in the back of his mind. With you incapacitated, he has her all to himself. You’ll be here a good while. Forgotten about as they forge their bond. Staring at one another with an almost pained expression as their joined bodies dictate their mutual allegiance. Half panting, half whispering one another’s names as they lie clasped together upon the tossed sheets of her bed – both wondering why they had resisted their natural calling all this time.
“How nice,” he says monotonously to the silence.
Time passes and he spends it thinking about Will and Abigail having sex. Outside, the clouds must have shifted as a bar of ghostly moonlight filters in through the window. He eventually hears the sound of familiar footsteps. Then, where the glow is at its weakest, the door opens, and in Will tramps. He heads straight for the sink again. Turns on the tap and leans over to fish out a modest strip of meat before giving it a quick rinse. Afterwards, he uses his free hand to secure the lid on the cooler, then heads back out with it. Breeding makes one hungry, Hannibal speculates privately. Vigorous breeding, especially.
The clouds must have resumed their migration across the sky. He imagines them smothering the moon to leave the earth in darkness again. While common belief has it that losing one sense can result in the sharpening of others, Hannibal can’t be sure whether it’s the pitch black making him focus more on the smell of cooking, or simply his returning hunger. He hears the door opening and closing. Listens to the sound of footsteps approaching together with the smell of roasted tenderloin. There’s a quiet scuff of rubber against wood as the other stops, followed by a faint rustle of trousers.
“Don’t move if you don’t want to get burned,” Will instructs, and Hannibal can tell from the sound of his voice that he has squatted down to address him. Can feel the heat radiating off cast iron as the image of a skillet – the one Will likes to take on their fishing trips – materialises in the dark. Anticipating being fed, he asks if he may be untied and is answered by a hand clasping his chin before warm flesh is pushed into his mouth.
Will eats with him this time. Hannibal can hear him chewing as he alternates between them until the skillet must be empty. Having swallowed his last mouthful, Hannibal gazes vaguely in the direction where he imagines Will’s frown to be.
“What did you do with the rest of the deer?” he asks curiously.
“Returned it to the wolves,” comes the disinterested reply.
“You weren’t apprehensive of the pack?”
“Apprehensive.”
“In case they attacked.”
“Why would they.”
He hears Will slowly straightening before his voice travels down to him from above, low and authoritative:
“I’m the Alpha.”
While his expression had remained indifferent, his body had underperformed miserably, failing to stop the hot bolt of interest that leaves him clinging to the very coat-tails of composure. How humiliating.
~+~
“May I be helped up?”
Disembodied, his voice stands out even more in the dark. Accented. Nonchalant.
“What for.”
“I would like to quench my thirst, if that’s quite alright.”
Without responding, Will turns and heads in the direction of the sink. Reaching out, he finds the handle and turns on the water. Washes his hands in the flow, then bends down.
~+~
The fingers that grasp his face are cold while the brush of Will’s lips are warm and wet. He parts his own hesitantly beneath the slow flowing trickle. Is patient in the back and forth until the other deems he’s had enough. Swallowing and licking his lips, he looks up searchingly into the gloom, unable to resist testing this show of kindness.
“It is rather cold when one lies exposed,” he says in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to cover me up.” He waits a beat before adding:
“Unless you plan on raping me again, of course.”
“You speak of it like it’s nothing.”
Reading upset, still, in Will’s wooden response, Hannibal lofts his brows.
“Is it rape if she wants to be bred?” he says dismissively.
“Her body wants to be bred.”
A hand gropes his uncovered ass before a thick digit pushes into him.
“Like this one,” Will continues to say, his probing making Hannibal shudder involuntarily though he continues speaking with the same composed cadence.
“I see you mean to bend my biology to your will. But while my emasculation is no doubt very entertaining, it doesn’t alter the fruitlessness of your being here.”
“I admit,” Will begins to utter whilst pushing in another finger, the added presence creating something of a distraction, especially when they start moving in and out of him with disturbing ease.
“I didn’t think it’d be this entertaining.”
Will’s voice is a quiet drawl from above. Irritatingly confident. But Hannibal doesn’t interrupt, occupied as he is maintaining a show of indifference to those violating fingers.
“Did you anticipate your big, strong body sucking like a whore on by cock?” the man says lowly, and Hannibal presses his lips together as those digits, having absorbed his internal temperature, begin slowly to withdraw before thrusting back in to the last knuckle.
“Stretching as wide as an Omega?”
He feels Will pushing all four fingers inside.
“So much so, your tight little pussy starts keeping its own open door policy?”
Hannibal bites back a grunt as the fingers spread inside his passage. Swallows quickly before delivering his retort.
“I suppose you find it titillating, speaking so crudely-”
Something pinches his nipple.
“Nn!”
“You’re clenching,” states Will calmly. “Is it because I’m pulling on your tit, or because you want my dick back inside you.”
Hannibal says nothing.
“I heard they become sensitive,” the man continues to taunt, his voice remaining close as Hannibal finds himself being spooned again. Feels arms folding around his shoulders before Will starts rolling, his abdominals bunching against Hannibal’s back as he is dragged on top of the other, facing away. The heat of an Alpha’s cock and knot radiating beneath his exposed ass.
“Let’s see if it’s true.”
With his knees bound to his chest, there’s nothing Hannibal can do when Will pushes a hand between his thighs to grab and pull on his member until it hangs down in his grasp.
“Did you get this hard just from having your tit played with?” Will murmurs as he tugs on it hurriedly with the tight tunnel of his hand. Then lets go abruptly to slap his knot. Crying out in surprise, Hannibal jerks against Will’s chest while fingers pinch and twist the hard peaks of his nipples until he arches uncomfortably.
Mn.
“You’re squirming like a fish, doc.”
A hand wraps around his cockhead and he hears the scoffing tch before it lets go again.
“And leaking like a juvenile.”
Without warning, he is dealt a blow so hard, it makes him cry out again as he pitches to the side into steadying hands. His knot smarting.
“What’s the matter? Too much for a big Alpha like you?”
His nipples are caught again, defenceless under the barrage of flicking and twisting, pinching and pulling. I can’t… hold it back… Unravelling at an alarming pace, Hannibal can feel the pre-ejaculate rolling in waves down his shaft as his climax crests uncontrollably. I’m going to-
~+~
Will hears Hannibal making a choking sound the same time he feels his body tensing above him. Instantly catches a whiff of Alpha ejaculate and is spurred by the competition in his blood to reach down, grab, and start hurriedly cramming his own dick back inside the other, barely recognising himself in the groan that tumbles loud and lascivious from his lips.
~+~
He can hardly believe the position in which he currently finds himself. Trapped in the shed for the duration of a heat. Bound with his hands behind his back. His knees to his chest as his asshole is worked loose by a pistoning cock. His own dick growing hard again despite the prospect of being split open for a third time. There is nothing left for him to do, but to see it through and hope he doesn’t embarrass himself any further.
Unfortunately for Hannibal, however, the moment Will’s knot explodes into his rectum, he cries out exactly in the manner he had wanted to avoid: loud with surprise, like an inexperienced virgin. As the other floods his insides with more Alpha seed, Mother Nature takes it upon herself to add to his humiliation by casting a lunar spotlight on his degeneration. Looking down his body, at the quick rise and fall of his chest, Hannibal can make out his own ejaculate gleaming wetly in the moon’s glow.
“What a mess,” he hears Will breathe. “Shame there’s none left for Abigail.” Without giving him time to retort, the man starts drilling into his ass so hard and fast, his bound body begins juddering from the impact.
I have enough for the both of you, he would retort if wit and thought wasn’t succumbing so rapidly to sensation. But… he’s hitting so deep… Stretching me so wide… Consumed by the unnatural, chaotic pleasure of being fucked, Hannibal’s eyes flutter to a close as his whole body vibrates from Will’s doubling efforts. The shed is full of the sounds of a fast and furious rut when, in the midst of it all, an exclamation escapes that blends pain and pleasure so seamlessly, it becomes indistinguishable.
~+~
He didn’t expect Hannibal to cry out like an Omega being bred for the first time. Didn’t expect the man to keep making such sounds as he continued to breed him into the night. His arms clasping the Alpha to himself as they lie on their sides while his hips rock to plunge his cock deep into that thrice stuffed passage. The pounding force of his efforts smearing and flecking escaping cum all over the doctor’s ass. Any that manages to escape the mashing of his hips run down his skin to be soaked up by the already damp towel. As the early hours begin their approach, it gets easier and easier to give Hannibal his knot. His hole slippery with seed and growing looser with each tying until Will finds himself slotting into the other with the ease of breeding a wet, heat swollen orifice. The easier it got, the more willing he was to ignore the question of Hannibal’s dignity. He lost it when he made it clear he won’t leave Abigail alone, Will tells himself as he lies there, half dozing against Hannibal’s back. His knot still beating inside his warm passage. He only has himself to blame… Eyes drifting to a close, he wills himself to sleep before his conscience finds itself and tells him he didn’t do this just to keep Abigail ‘safe’. That he did it because it felt good. Because the self-righteous part of him believes Hannibal owes it to him, while the primal creature wearing his skin continues to lust for power and control like an animal that has found its favourite thing to eat, having been made aware of its existence.
++++
Day 3. Early morning.
Hannibal finds himself being fucked awake. Can hear the wet churning of last night’s load as Will’s cock moves in and out of him. Feel his hole streaming like a fountain past the edges of that relentless shaft. Already aroused, Hannibal bites back a groan as the need to urinate causes him discomfort in the sudden frenzy of bucking hips and shallow panting that dampens his nape. He’s close.
He would prefer to remain silent. Pretend to be asleep. But when arms wrap around him, cinching tight over his folded legs, he can’t help but let slip a grunt as Will drives hard and deep into his guts. The violent breeding making him desperate to both piss and come – so much so, he can feel moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.
++++
In the midst of his own grunting and groaning, he hears a noise, but doesn’t stop. Grabbing hold of those wet globes, he spreads them wide open. Bucks hard and sharp to spear his knot back into that gaping hole, and hears the noise again. Brief and suppressed, it sounds very much to Will like a sob.
++++
Tied once more, he lies on his side like he has done for the whole night as Will pumps him full again. The Alpha’s pleasure in direct contrast to the unpleasant pressure on his bladder. As he listens to the other catch his breath, he doesn’t move while those arms remain locked around him. Eventually feels them easing their grip and falling away with hands that don’t know where to rest when not grasping or restraining.
“You didn’t come,” he hears the unexpected murmur.
“I need to urinate.”
“You managed it last time,” comes the quiet scoff.
“Different circumstances.”
When Will says nothing, he asks idly:
“If Abigail needed your help right now, what would you do?”
“Pull out.”
“At the risk of harming yourself?”
“When I’m practically falling out of you?”
++++
Silence.
That was rude.
He glances askance.
“Are you still harbouring unsavoury thoughts?” he utters. You can just say it. The pause brings his eyes to the back of the other’s head. Are you still thinking of forcing yourself on Abigail?
“Not this moment in time,” comes the answer.
After slipping out, he adjusts the ropes while hooded eyes watch. Can tell by that measuring gaze that the man knows he doesn’t intend to free him just yet. You broke my nose last time, what do you expect? Opening the door, he steps out into the early morning with Hannibal following in tow, his hands tied before him and a length of rope running from his bound wrists to Will’s fist.
“Here,” he says, stopping to wait as Hannibal eventually frees himself and pulls out his flaccid member. Eyeing it, Will’s brow contorts. He turns his face to look towards the house. Spots the empty pillowcase hanging out of Abigail’s window. As it billows gently in the icy breeze, he is reminded of their discussion. I’ll give you a sign when it’s over. Her signal has come earlier than expected, but it doesn’t mean immediate freedom – certainly not for Hannibal.
++++
“So,” he says to himself in the silence of the shed. “There appears to be no end to this wanton humiliation.” There is no retort, of course, for he has been left on his own, strung up again while Will makes his way back to the house. Alone once more, Hannibal finds himself visited by new unwelcome thoughts. Namely jealousy. Rearing its ugly head together with his earlier fear of abandonment. It could be a premature signal. A way of luring him to her. Hannibal glances askance. Of course, it would be utterly unfair if he manages to breed her first, is what I meant, the voice adds quickly.
When Will returns, he is dressed in his usual attire. His hair looks washed and he smells clean. In his hand is a black trash bag. When it drops to the ground, Hannibal glimpses its contents and chooses not to comment on the undignified presentation. It’s preferable to walking out in these ripped trousers, he tells himself. Even if Abigail had already witnessed his dishevelled state the last time he tried to leave the shed.
Untied, he gets dressed in front of Will as the man stands there with his arms folded. Says nothing as he’s marched back to the house. Entering the kitchen through the side door, they are greeted by the sight of Abigail standing at the wooden worktop, preparing ingredients for breakfast. She looks up as they come in, kitchen knife pausing mid-slice.
“Abigail,” he says politely in greeting, eyes briefly meeting her vigilant stare before he walks on. He doesn’t need to look back to know the two of them are exchanging glances. I shall deal with them later, he tells himself. First, he must blast away the grime of the shed with a scalding hot shower.
++++
At first, Abigail is wary of his presence. But as the days go by, she seems to grow more at ease around him, more confident. He suspects the change has something to do with Will’s reassuring talks, having once overheard the man claiming he won’t be so inclined anymore. Believing him to be out of earshot, Hannibal surmises. And yet, the thought of the Alpha making open jibes at his emasculation makes him long to throw down his composure like a dirtied apron and pick up their largest kitchen knife.
If remaining calm and collected during the day comes with its own challenges, it is worse come nightfall when, for the first time in his life, Hannibal has trouble sleeping. It has been the same for each consecutive night since their return to the house. He would be lying awake in his bed long after he’d heard the doors of their bedrooms shutting firmly, waiting for them to open again. Sometimes they did, and he’d follow the sound of Will’s heavy tread to the bathroom. Of him urinating. Flushing. Making his way back. As he listens to those footsteps approach the bedroom doors, he holds his breath, expecting them to divert. The sound of her door opening and closing. But it’s only ever Will’s door that he hears. And vice versa if it’s Abigail needing to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Tonight, however, he hears nothing for the longest time, and, driven by this inexplicable restlessness, he leaves his bed to stand on the landing, staring upon the closed doors of their bedrooms. He doesn’t withdraw when one of them opens. Will emerging for a piss. The man freezes when he sees him standing there. Frowns at him as they look at one another from across the way. Until Hannibal breaks eye contact first to turn and go back into his room, pushing the door shut behind him.
++++
In the morning, at breakfast, Will asks him point blank about their encounter.
“What were you doing last night,” he says without looking up from his cereal.
“Last night,” Hannibal echoes, returning his gaze to the inky depths of the small cup sitting in the espresso machine.
“You were standing there when I came out of my room.”
“What do you think I was doing?” he says casually while lifting the cup to his lips.
“You tell me.”
As Abigail walks into the kitchen, he takes a sip from the cup. Swallows and licks his lips before answering, “I guess I was sleepwalking.”
“Are you having trouble sleeping?” she asks. Turning to face her, he pretends to give the question some consideration.
“I wouldn’t say so.”
“Suffering from stress or anxiety?”
“Neither, Dr Hobbs.”
“Alcohol abuse?”
“I believe we are still out of wine.”
“Drugs?”
“Dear girl,” he says patiently. “I could kill for some just now.”
“Slippery slope.”
“Very slippery.”
Lifting the cup back to his lips, he smiles at her before strolling out of the kitchen.
++++
Will takes over the role of contacting suppliers. Or rather, sourcing new ones after Hannibal’s trespass. He lets the man get on with it. Leaves discussions over Abigail’s pill to the two of them while he himself makes secret contact with an old friend who runs a delicatessen. On the day Will’s order arrives, so does his. Under the Alpha’s scrutiny, he opens his box of treats from the deli. Picks up each jar to read off the label. Opens the lid of a few. Lets Abigail have a closer look at the items.
“I make the orders now,” he hears Will say, and picks up another jar to study its label.
“Surely you will not deny me this small pleasure after-”
“What.”
At the hardness of his tone, Hannibal glances at the man standing with his arms folded at his elbow. Blue eyes boring into him.
“Go on,” says Will, his voice dangerously low, and despite himself, Hannibal swallows. Masks his hesitation with the lofting of his brows.
“I can return it if that’s what you wish,” he says calmly.
“Some of these sound amazing.”
Despite Abigail’s interruption, they continue staring at one another. In his peripheral vision, he sees her reaching into the box. “What are pearls of Aphrodite?” she asks.
“Snail caviar,” he answers.
“Wow.”
“Sounds expensive,” Will remarks.
“It was a gift,” says Hannibal.
“Open it,” the man orders.
“I don’t wish to.”
“Why.”
“It will spoil the product.”
Without breaking eye contact, Will takes the jar off Abigail. Holds it out to him.
“I said open it.”
Open it yourself. The retort is ready, but instead, he looks down at the jar. Takes it. Gently twists the lid open before lifting it away. Abigail leans closer.
“They really do look like pearls,” she says.
“Why did he gift you them?” says Will.
“It’s a sample of a new product,” he answers. “I am… was… a loyal customer.”
“You got the was part right.”
Jaw flexing at Will’s dictatorial tone, Hannibal holds his tongue as he secures the lid on the jar and sets it down on the table before continuing to empty the box under the Alpha’s watch.
“And it’s a she,” he says without taking his eyes off the items.
“Did I ask?”
“You asked why he gifted me the pearls. Could it be that you’re jealous?”
He hears a scoff.
“There’s really no need to be,” he continues breezily to say. “After all, what gift could possibly surpass being split in half by your-”
Hands grab him violently by the front of his shirt, pulling him close to that angry countenance.
“You really are shameless,” Will utters under his breath. Licking his lips, Hannibal lids his eyes.
“Like you?” he murmurs, hand darting forward to grab the Alpha between his legs. He sees lips pressing into a tight line before his wrist is caught. Catches Will’s as the man raises his hand.
“You see he wishes to bitch slap me, Abigail.”
“Shut up.”
“Back to the shed.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“So he can over-compensate for being the twitchy little man that he is-”
++++
Will answers with a growl and they end up fighting in the kitchen, shoving one another into cupboard doors, against the edges of worktops. Knocking things onto the floor. Something smashes, but they barely notice. It’s not until Abigail bends down in their peripheral vision do they pause to look her way with hands full of one another’s shirts as one pins the other against the fridge.
“I was hoping to try this,” she says, picking up the broken base of a jar and gazing down at the surviving pearls. Letting go of Will, Hannibal makes his way over to Abigail. As they clean up the mess together, Will also starts collecting things from the floor and putting them back in their places. For a moment, nobody speaks. Then:
“I handle the orders. No exceptions.”
Straightening up, Hannibal runs a hand over his hair, smoothing down tresses that escaped during the tussle.
“As you wish.”
++++
Thanks to the ruckus, Hannibal is able to slip away a small jar of black glass and large decoy label. In his room, away from vigilant eyes, he opens the seal and takes the first pill dry. Swallows with it an Alpha’s pride that is already in tatters, and continues to do so for the following days. Each time he takes the medication, he tells himself it’s not dissimilar to the act of consuming vitamins in the attempt to ward off illness. It is merely precautionary.
As weeks pass, however, he begins fixating on their shared proximity. Starts to experience displeasure whenever Will moves away from him and closer to Abigail – relief when it’s the other way around. The first time he noticed this, he had been dismissive. Then he realised it was a constant preoccupation, like a broken switch that cannot be turned off, whether they are in the house or out fishing, hunting, stalking human targets. With his concentration thus impaired, he suspects something to be amiss with the medication. While trying to hide his distraction from the others, he soon comes to terms with the fact that this precautionary force field is proving inoperative, and that immediate action must therefore be taken before the arrival of crisis point. It is time, therefore, to move into the reactionary phase.
One that ends up being positively Neanderthal. He must be rubbing off on me, Hannibal thinks to himself as he relives standing with his back to the wall, waiting for Will to walk past before knocking him out with a sharp blow to the head. After dragging his limp body out of sight, he did the same to Abigail before leaving her gagged and bound in bed with a note that read:
Apologies, dear girl. This is a matter between Will and I. Do not be alarmed. It is not my intention to kill him. We will remain a family, of course. That will never change. I beg your patience while this matter is being resolved. You will be freed soon enough.
Closing her bedroom door, he then made his way back to the unconscious Alpha.
++++
Waking to the familiar sensation of terry cloth and the less familiar one of being probed, Will lifts his head. Finds himself lying naked on his back upon the edge of a bed with his knees bent to his chest and his feet up and framing the figure kneeling close. Those hooded eyes watching down as the cold, invasive touch of fingers makes Will jerk against the restraints keeping his knees up and spread out to either side. He knits his brows at the object to which his ankles have been secured. Recognises their broomstick with its head removed as the much handled pole rests across the backs of his thighs below his balls while his wrists are bound together at its middle.
“Where is Abigail,” he grunts, beginning to arch up when a hand plants itself to his chest.
“Safe.”
Smoothly pushes him back down.
“She’d better be,” he says lowly as he tries to ignore the digits moving inside him.
“You’re not in a position to threaten me, Will.”
He waits for dark eyes to look up.
“I’m in this position because you’re afraid,” he says.
“Of you?”
“Of yourself.”
“You sound confident despite being compromised.”
Hannibal meets his stare.
“Perhaps you will feel different by the time we’re finished,” the doctor continues to say in a voice both mild and threatening. “Perhaps it will be you who becomes afraid of yourself.”
Will scoffs contemptuously. Does not react to the object being brought into view.
“Did you know she had this?” Hannibal asks as he opens a condom and starts rolling it down the dildo before applying plentiful translucent gunk from a tube.
“Are you sure it’s not yours?” Will retorts flatly as the doctor wastes no time pushing the slick end into him. The sensation not so much painful as unpleasantly unnatural. Like having a shit in reverse. He tries not to grimace.
“Soon you’ll be sweating, shaking,” says Hannibal thoughtfully as he forces the hard shape further up his ass.
“Mnph.”
“Begging me for more.”
“You’re describing yourself,” Will grits through his teeth as the top of the imitation knot pushes against him, unable to breach. “Lying face down, ass up.”
“Would you prefer such a position?”
“I don’t know,” he says as lightly as he can manage under foreign invasion. “I’m rather enjoying watching an amateur.”
“It’s nice to enjoy things while you still can.”
Watching up at Hannibal, Will tilts his head and lofts his brows.
“Are you saying that because you miss sitting down?”
No change in that mild countenance as the man answers in smooth accented syllables:
“You will miss more, I can assure you.”
“The suspense is killing me.”
++++
Finding Will’s taunting off-putting, Hannibal gags the man before proceeding to fuck him. Lifting the pole and the limbs bound to it, he thrusts slowly as blue eyes scowl up at him. He had started working on that unyielding passage before the other had come round, but he hadn’t got very far. Alpha orifices are not designed to accommodate, after all. And on top of this, with Will being such an uptight individual, even when unconscious, his body had seemed to work actively against invasion.
++++
Before being gagged, there was one thing Will had chosen not to comment on. In case it influenced the other’s actions. Yet it seems something has already beaten him to it. And it needs not the provocative power of words. He had not noticed his own arousal until it had started slapping against the doctor’s belly. Confident its cause lies not in the jabbing of his guts, there can only be one reason for his engorged cock. A deduction that grows increasingly convincing when he catches a split-second flicker from hooded eyes. Fast. The briefest down then up again. But not fast enough. Using the friction of the towel beneath him, he starts rocking to meet the other’s thrusts. The harder Hannibal ends up fucking him, the harder he is slapped by Will’s cock until fine threads of precum begin to stretch and shrink between their bodies. He continues to hold that black stare. I saw you look. Observing the faint twitch of fair lashes as that dark gaze begins ever so slightly to narrow. It must be unsatisfying. The only sounds that of their heavy breathing. Seeing it on the wrong side of your belly… The double whap of skin on skin. Wouldn’t you rather it was sliding in and out of you? Stretching you open? Rubbing you just right? Are you getting wet, doc, in those little silk panties of yours?
Abandoning the staring contest, Hannibal abruptly withdraws, dropping the broom before walking out. Huh, Will scoffs to himself as he lies there on the bed, watching the back of that hurriedly retreating figure. I guess he heard me.
++++
Behind the locked bathroom door, Hannibal is bent over the sink, splashing water onto his face. Turning off the tap, he leans his hands on the sides. Stands there with his eyes closed as he swallows the indignance rising up his throat. It’s ridiculous. When he opens his eyes again, it’s to an unhappy expression in the mirror. Preposterous. Snatching a nearby hand towel to dry his face, he drops it in the basin before making his way over to the bath. Lowering himself into a sit upon the mat, he leans back against cold porcelain while freeing his hastily tucked member.
Try as he might, however, he cannot make himself come. Preposterous. Hand stilling on his swollen knot, he takes a slow breath and holds it as his middle finger stretches down. At the taste of a mere graze from its tip, his body immediately craves more, and before he has time to think, he is feeding three fingers into his greedy anus. When that is not enough, he starts massaging his knot the same time he adds a fourth. As he attempts to stretch himself open, a terrible need flows through his veins, muddying his logic with the demand to be satisfied. This is… preposterous… He thinks of Will’s cock. Pre… Of the pre-ejaculate oozing from the slit, and the hefty weight of it all slapping against him. Shutting his eyes, he licks his lips and swallows hard at the alternative materialising behind his eyelids. The product of an increasingly feverous mind.
++++
After he heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, Will had pulled himself up into a sit and looked around the room to see if there was anything he could use. Finding nothing, however, he had eventually lain back down with an exhale, wondering how far he’d get trussed up to a broomstick. Not very far. A sound makes him pause and listen hard. When he hears it again, quiet and deliberate, he gets the impression that whatever is causing it does not wish to be detected. Slowly pulling himself back up into a sit, he looks down from the bed to see Hannibal on his hands and knees having crawled past the bedroom threshold. Sensing his discovery, the man holds still.
++++
Will grunts something through the gag. What are you doing? Swallowing the last of his pride, Hannibal reaches out to pick up the fallen toy. Standing up, his free hand runs down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the creases as he turns and forces himself to walk slowly out of the room. His steps back to the bathroom are hounded by Will’s muffled cries. Come back here, he imagines the Alpha growling. Yes, a voice joins in as he grasps the door handle and hurriedly pushes his way into the bathroom. Shove him onto his back. Pushing the door shut, he leans against it, hand gripping the handle as his eyes fall to a half close. Kneel facing away as you reach behind you. Swallowing convulsively, he licks his lips that remain parted to his quickening breaths as the voice tells him to feel the stroke of damp velvet between your cheeks… The wet kiss of precum on your twitching hole… Snatching a sharp breath, he locks the door and pushes off it.
++++
Behind his lids, he watches his own figure - naked and unbound - from behind as it stalks its way to the bathroom. Sees his own hand pushing on the door that stands ajar. The sound of panting suddenly loud as he enters. The frantic squelching. It makes him look over to the bath and the bare leg draped over its edge. To the naked figure reclined against the slope. Hooded eyes closed, mouth open. Will observes himself stalking over and planting his knees to the bath mat before reaching into the tub to take hold of the dildo. Grabbing that throat with his free hand, he holds that cloudy gaze as he pulls on the toy. Then rams it back in. The sweet choke of surprise spurring his arm until he has the other arching off the slope, fuzzy pectorals a-judder as his hips move despite himself to meet the rough pumping – his face pinched with unbearable pleasure. Yeah? Will’s turn to lid his eyes. You like that? Head bending towards the nearest tit, he catches a stiff peak between his teeth and sucks on it until the doctor is forced to come, his voice the dregs of his former self. Will doesn’t wait for him to finish before dragging him out of the tub. As soon as Hannibal’s back hits the floor, he pins open those long legs. Yanks the toy from his convulsing passage before throwing it aside and plugging that vacated hole with his own cock. Holding onto the man’s waist, he proceeds to pound into his worked passage, pulling the Alpha onto each of his thrusts as he lies there helpless to his own body’s relentless hunger for cock. A far cry from the Hannibal Lecter everyone knows and fears.
Go on, doc…
Those eyes watching up at him. That face.
Beg me like the Alpha bitch that you are.
In the quiet of the bedroom, Will suddenly curses before biting back a growling groan of pleasure.
++++
Hannibal does not come out of the bathroom for three days. By the time he returns to Will, the room reeks of Alpha piss and the man himself is covered in dried semen. After freeing Will, he is grabbed by the front of his shirt, his eyes on the fist that jerks up, ready to launch itself at his face. When he turns his gaze on that angry scowl, however, there is a brief pause of staring blue and flexing jawline before the fist lowers and Hannibal is pushed away. Listening to the other storming across the landing, he turns back to the task of stripping the bedding.
++++
After the incident, the doctor starts going off on his own killing sprees. Probably to get a sense of his old self back, Will presumes. Or some drugs to revert the process, if any exist. For despite what happened, Hannibal remains a proud Alpha. Sometimes, Will has nightmares of the other slipping into his bed in the middle of the night and chewing off his dick as he lies there incapacitated by the drugs coursing through his veins, yet wide awake to the horror of revenge.
The following month, however, Hannibal locks himself in the bathroom again. Stays in there for three days, during which Will camps out in the shed lest he becomes frustrated enough to break down the bathroom door. Or worse, start looking at Abigail in the wrong kind of way. Though Abigail is now taking the correct medication, Will does not wish to subject her to his animalistic behaviour during Hannibal’s so-called heat. The constant sweating, panting, groaning as he fucks his hand. He’d asked their supplier if there was anything he could take to alleviate the itch of being in rut, but was ultimately too proud himself to try any drug that comes with the risk of dampening an Alpha’s potency.
“Is it because you still harbour the hopes of becoming a father one day?” Hannibal had asked one night after he’d returned from the shed and they were having dinner around the table. The man had watched him shrewdly past the edge of his wine glass as Abigail returned from the bathroom. Slowly turning the fork in his hand, Will had imagined stalking to the opposite end of the table and knocking aside plates and cutlery to make space for the Alpha being shoved face down against the tablecloth. The sharp crest of his cheekbone digging into the hard surface of the table as Will pins his head down with one hand while his other tugs free the back of Hannibal’s shirt before shoving itself past belt and underwear. The tip of his middle finger finding and rubbing teasing circles against the puffy bud of his anus as he murmurs lewdly from above, “I think your body is still hoping I’ll put a baby in it, doc. Your heat might be over, but your swollen cunt is still ripe for a good pounding…”
“Will?”
The sound of Abigail’s voice had scattered the fantasy and returned him to polite company, though the sight of Hannibal pushing delicate morsels of food into his mouth had continued to provoke him. Especially when the man swallowed or licked his lips, for even those ordinary actions had the power of evoking the most vivid memories from their time spent together at the shed.
Tonight, however, he eats facing an empty chair.
“Did he say what time he’d be back?” asks Abigail. Swallowing a mouthful, Will picks up his glass of water.
“No,” he answers before drinking. Putting down the glass, he picks up his fork. They continue to eat in silence until the distant sound of a vehicle travelling their way makes them pause and move into practised position. As soon as Will glimpses the familiar fake license plate past the edge of the curtain, however, he’s outside the house, closing the door behind him. The headlights and engine have only just turned off when Will marches up to the driver’s door and grabs the handle. Before he pulls on it, the window lowers enough for Hannibal to be heard. Through the gap, Will can smell his expensive aftershave. It does nothing to mask the Alpha’s altered scent. Sweeter than musk, yet not entirely without, it would be enough to attract the attention of any curious Alpha.
“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you,” says the man calmly.
“Get out of the car,” says Will, tugging on the handle to find it locked.
“I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“I don’t appreciate you coming and going as you please.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t recall being a prisoner.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You really believe I would jeopardise our location?”
“You know fine well that’s what you’re doing,” Will snaps as he leans closer.
“And what is it that you imagine me doing, Will, when I’m not under your constant watch? Curb crawling the city, picking up Alphas to fuck and kill?”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“Don’t be so jealous, Will. You know I would fuck and kill you in a heartbeat.”
Pushing off the door, Will starts storming back to the house, the taunting words ringing in his ears. Don’t be so jealous, Will. Stopping, he turns around as the driver door opens. Watches Hannibal climbing out of his seat to stand by the car. Dressed to impress. Jaw flexing, hands bunching into fists at his sides, Will marches back up to the Alpha. Breaches the man’s personal space to bring his face up close, his nostrils flaring as he breathes him in. That scent… Enough to attract the attention of any curious Alpha…
“Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?” he utters reproachfully under his breath. Eyes lidding, Hannibal leans closer, their lips almost touching as he half whispers:
“I already did.”
He kisses Will, then. A soft, almost chaste meeting of lips. It’s entirely unexpected, yet Will finds himself responding instinctively, his hands snatching those upper arms as his body presses into the other’s. With uncharacteristic passion, he kisses Hannibal back, groaning lustfully as his hips rock on their own to rub his rapidly ballooning arousal against the doctor. Only to be kneed so hard in the same place, he doubles over, unable to breathe. Eyes squeezed shut, lips pulled into a tight line, he waits for the pain to subside whilst listening to the tread of expensive shoes making its way towards the house.
“I told you not to get too close,” he hears the man shout before the sound of the front door opening and closing leaves Will standing outside on his own with the painful reminder to keep his distance.
++++
Ever since Hannibal talked about fucking and killing Alphas, Will can’t stop thinking about it. Whenever Abigail is not around, he feels like backing the man into a corner and firing questions like, “Why aren’t you on meds? You could get hold of it easily enough on your trips to the city. You’re using it to bait your victims, aren’t you? How many Alpha dicks have you had inside you? How many knots? Do you moan for them like a little Omegan whore?” Aware of it becoming an unhealthy obsession, he tries to keep a lid on it by reducing his interactions with the doctor and keeping his distance. When the three of them go out, he doesn’t instigate or partake in conversation unless it’s Abigail asking him a question. If Hannibal has a dig at him, he ignores it, unable to deny the fact that he’s grunting more than he speaks these days.
“Why do you persist in behaving like a spurned lover?” Hannibal asks suddenly whilst driving. Glancing in the rear view mirror to see Abigail asleep in the back, Will returns his gaze to the dappled windscreen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You avoid conversation like it’s the plague.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“To me.”
“You’ve said enough for the both of us.”
The words come out too fast, his voice betraying some of his frustration. Taking a breath, he turns his face to the passenger window. I changed you, you changed me. Nobody wins, yet I still feel like an idiot. Frowns at the memory of grabbing the other by the arms and kissing him with more feeling than when he’d kissed both Alana and Margot combined.
“In what capacity?” Hannibal asks, adding when he doesn’t immediately answer, “Suppressing one’s feelings is never a good idea.”
“What do you care?”
Don’t. Closing his eyes, Will takes another breath. You sound like you want him to. Opens them to gaze through his lashes at the darkness beyond.
“It’s not your concern,” he tries again.
“On the contrary.”
“I’m going to sleep.”
Arms folding, he closes his eyes.
“If this is about being kneed in the balls.”
Will says nothing.
“I would like you to know that if there was any lasting damage, it wasn’t intentional.”
Silence.
“It was merely a knee-jerk reaction, as they say.”
“That’s not funny,” Will murmurs without opening his eyes.
“Like I said. It wasn’t my intention to render you impotent.”
“If you’re trying to apologise, can you just do it like a normal person.”
“Alright. I apologise, Will, for kneeing you in your big Alpha balls.”
++++
“Whatever,” he hears the man say. Then, after a moment, in a quieter voice: “I probably deserved it.”
He takes his eyes off the road to glance at unruly curls. The face turned stubbornly away. Eyes lidding, he looks ahead again.
“So was there?” he asks.
“…what.”
“Lasting damage.”
“What does it matter.”
“Just curious.”
“Just drive.”
++++
Just when things seem to have settled back into some sort of murder family routine, however, a hunt goes wrong, and they end up on the run, unable to return to their base. Without their medication and a viable means of obtaining the type they need in their limited scope of operation, Hannibal knows there will soon be a further challenge added to their plates. So, one night, as they’re lying low for yet another day in the abandoned garage, before anyone has the chance to react, let alone protest, he grabs Abigail from the backseat of the car. Picks her up as she gasps, arms swinging and legs kicking from the dual shock of being woken up and abducted.
++++
Aided by the low beam of a torch left upon the garage floor, Will had looked through the greasy office window and spotted Hannibal making a move in the dark. Without thinking, he’d bolted out of his chair, yanked open the door that he’d kept locked, and started running towards them just as Abigail was dropped into the trunk. Only to realise, once he was out, that he’d made a mistake. She’s not in danger. But it was too late. She… He had already breached the thick of the fog. They’re both… And there was no putting the genie back in its bottle.
++++
He has just pulled the lid down on Abigail, shutting their faces from one another’s view when a familiar weight slams into him from behind. Standing with his hands braced against the trunk, it’s as though the impact had knocked all sense from him, but one. The same that not only keeps him grounded as his assailant pants open mouthed against his nape, but makes him grasp his own belt with dusty hands as the hard shape of an Alpha makes its presence known against his ass.
Working together with Will, he listens to the twin click of metal, the double rasp of zips. The harmonious yet frantic rustle of garments being shoved out the way before the wet squelch of penetration. Bent over the trunk by the other, Hannibal closes his eyes and bites his lip to stifle the sounds threatening to escape his throat, deep and guttural as Will falls immediately to rutting. The hands gripping his waist like a couple of over tightened vices are as hot as the cock drilling in and out of him, spearing over and over the thick of that eye-watering shaft up his defenceless passage as his sphincter is forcibly worked open. It feels… incredible… Fucked like an animal against the car, Hannibal’s shallow breaths are drowned out by Will’s heavy panting and the creak of corroded suspension growing ever the louder until, all of a sudden, it stops, and he feels Will pulling out the same time he is grabbed by the upper arms. D-don’t stop.
Thrown onto pitted concrete, Hannibal just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees before he is pinned down by the heat of an Alpha mounting him from above. As Will’s cock pushes back inside, he feels a splayed hand pushing down on the middle of his back. Finds himself chest down, ass up as his wrists are caught and pulled to straighten his arms out behind him. Held in such a position, his body surrenders all too easily as Will resumes his rut, the aggressive breeding leaving Hannibal gazing blankly through his lashes as he grows increasingly oblivious to the animalistic utterances escaping his own lips. Under normal circumstances, such things as embarrassment and shame may flit across his mind, however brief. Being so far removed from the norm, however, his awareness is limited to that of sensation; the taller the waves of pleasure grow, the harder they batter and erode intelligent thought until he knows nothing beyond being a coveting receptacle to an Alpha’s seed. Which is precisely how he finds himself just moments later as Will barks his warning the same time his entire knot punches into Hannibal – the abrupt pressure of it forcing their release as though from open hydrants.
Feeling as though he won’t stop ejaculating, Hannibal eventually brings his eyes round from the back of his head to gaze heavy lidded at his own mess on the floor. Illuminated by torchlight, the splatter reminds him vaguely of an inkblot. I am… a psychiatrist. Surgeon. He blinks slowly as his stretched passage continues to spasm around the hefty appendage keeping him impaled. The Hannibal Lecter, he tells himself on trembling hands and knees beneath the other’s weight. Formidable Alpha turned pile of quivering limbs and a well-bred hole.
And he stays this way, too. His body unplugged only to be plugged again as soon as Will is ready. He could be lying on his side upon the floor as the other holds on to his leg, spreading him open for better access. Or flat on his back with his legs bent to his chest as Will drives into him deep. Those blue eyes staring down at him with the glazed intensity of an Alpha drunk on heatwaves emitting from two sources at close proximity, yet seeking relief from just the one. The old Hannibal liked to consider himself unbreakable in all senses of the word. But now, lying on cracked leather upholstery with his knees pinned again to his chest, he gazes listlessly upon the dirty windscreen ahead. His lips hanging open to his ragged breathing as his body dutifully endures its role as slave to Alpha cock and knot while his own throbs with oversensitivity. His last load, following a furious flurry of forced ejaculations, clings to his chest hair, trembling viscously as hips smack tirelessly into him. Only when he drifts off, with Will’s knot beating in his rectum, does his brain return some logic to him in the form of dreams. And equipped with this half-baked awareness, he wakes suddenly at some unknown hour, ready to escape the pursuit of uniformed men. Forgetting his tie, he disturbs the other with his struggling until the man forms a straitjacket with his arms. There is no need for words of reassurance or otherwise as, clasped against Will, Hannibal is soon coaxed by the smell and feel of the Alpha to resume a placid state. Ready for his next breeding.
As the heat begins to fade by the third day, the effects of dehydration start to take their toll. In the thick of it, they had not broken from one another long enough to source even a bottle of water. Thinking about it, Hannibal believes he may actually have left all the remaining water they had in the boot with Abigail. It’s been rather quiet back there. Who cannot physically get out without assistance. We ought to check on her. Slowly, he starts pushing up, only to feel the arm on his waist constricting like the coils of a snake, keeping him pressed against the other’s chest.
“Where are you going,” he hears the sleepy murmur. Lowering back down, Hannibal rests his head upon the backseat and lets his eyes fall to a half close in the dark. For a moment, there is only the sound of their breathing, and he begins to suspect Will has fallen back asleep when his voice disturbs the silent interior of the car. The syllables somewhat hoarse from what must be a combination of dehydration and days of bestial grunting.
“Why did you put Abigail in the boot?”
The question is warm as it brushes the back of his ear, but lessens not the sting of accusation.
“To protect her,” he answers simply and both hears and feels Will’s scoff. “You don’t believe me,” he adds.
“No,” says Will bluntly.
“Why do you think I did it.”
“Because you’re a jealous bitch?”
Hannibal resists the urge to purse his lips.
“Always have been,” Will continues to utter.
“Is that so.”
“You’ve destroyed every relationship I’ve tried to have both in the present and the future.”
“I admit I took the gift of fatherhood from you. Yet presented once more with it, you show no interest.”
“It’s not yours to give.”
Mouth opening, Hannibal hesitates as he fails to find an adequate retort. Breathing in, he exhales instead:
“I suppose not.” Licking his lips after the reluctant admittance, he goes on to say, “Perhaps I have been over zealous. A gift to one may not be a gift to another.” The rawness of that night rushes in, hurling itself against him like a wave in the pitch black. “I gave you a rare gift,” he adds, voice husky with pent up emotion. “But you didn’t want it.”
“You think I’d be here if that was the case?”
The flatness of the other’s tone does nothing to alleviate the memory of betrayal overspilling like a bleed to the brain. Faced with the breached walls of his mind palace, he is left with only one palatable response.
“You’re here because of biology,” he says coolly. “I suppose that’s one gift you’ve had no choice but to accept.”
“Did you plan all this.”
A beat at the unexpected accusation. The imaginary shield knocked out of his hands.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says loftily.
“To keep me bound.”
The stutter beneath his ribs is regrettable indeed.
“You really think I’d be desperate enough to sacrifice my own,” he begins hurriedly to hiss then stops as emotions rise dangerously to the back of his throat. Swallowing them down, he keeps his lips pressed together in a tight line. Abandons the attempt to justify his actions and starts pushing off Will’s body.
“Don’t,” he hears the grunt, but keeps trying to pull himself free whilst fighting the other’s grasp. “Hannibal, stop-”
++++
In the struggle, Will receives a fair few blows. Even combined, however, they do not compare to what comes next as Hannibal successfully breaks their tie.
++++
Abigail is woken up by a loud cry coming through the trunk wall. Will? Eyes roving anxiously in the dark, she lies there debating whether or not to make her presence known by kicking and hammering on the inside of the trunk. Hannibal? Wanting to call out to them, yet afraid there could be assailants, the words struggle to leave her parted lips as her ears strain to listen. But she hears nothing more.
++++
After the incident, they make it back to their uncompromised safe house and attempt to resume life as a happy murder family. Will and Hannibal continue as though everything is normal, and they embark on their next murderous quest as they would have done had they not been caught out previously. Nothing is said about the breaking of the tie. Or the extent of their injuries. Their evenings are spent quietly, with Abigail giving Will a hand cleaning knives and firearms while Hannibal peruses various articles on his tablet. A handful of times, Will had taken himself to the bathroom, locked the door, and proceeded to make disconcerting noises behind it. The first time they had heard the loud thud, Abigail and Hannibal had paused what they were doing to look up towards the sound.
“What was that?” Abigail had asked, adding when Hannibal had been slow to answer, “Should I go up?”
“I will.”
By the time he’d reached the bathroom door, his knock had been answered by the sound of the shower coming on, and any further attempts to get the man’s attention had been ignored.
Once, in the middle of the night, he’d lain in bed waiting for Will to venture out of his room. Had waited for the sound of the bathroom door being eased shut before slipping out onto the landing and making his way silently towards it, avoiding the creaking floorboards. Stood right up to the door, he’d pressed his ear to the wood and listened carefully. For a while, there had been nothing, not even the sound of urine hitting porcelain. Then, just as he had been ready to straighten up, he’d caught the phlegmy sniff followed by a laboured sigh. At the sound, his hand had grasped the door handle by itself, but after a moment of consideration, he’d finally let go and made his way back across the landing. The temptation to say something had risen the morning after when Will had joined them late for breakfast, only to be put aside as he’d looked upon the man standing there ready in his tactical gear while he and Abigail were still in their pyjamas. He’d recognised the restlessness to get away. The behaviour not entirely dissimilar to his own after he’d found himself humiliatingly compromised. And as a result, he’d chosen not to ask questions, but to give Will the space that he clearly wanted.
Months down the line, Abigail surprises the both of them with her suggestion of a vacation that doesn’t involve fishing.
“Do you remember that hot spring out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yes,” Hannibal answers without looking up from the chopping board.
“Do you think we’d be able to find it again?”
“Probably.”
Sensing her eyes on him, he pauses slicing to look up. There’s a grin on Abigail’s face as she twirls the dishcloth between her hands.
“I think it’d be nice to swim there.”
“Do you have a bathing costume?”
“Nope.”
The door opens and Will tromps in from the outdoors, smelling of engine oil.
“Figured I’d go in naked,” she continues with a lofting of her brows.
“Where,” the man grunts, adding himself to the conversation as he moves to stand with his back to Hannibal. Opens one of the overhead cupboards to remove a glass.
“The hot spring,” says Abigail brightly. “Hannibal said we can go.”
Hannibal opens his mouth but is interrupted by a wooden:
“Have fun.”
“We’re going together,” says Abigail. “All of us.”
For a moment, neither of them say anything as they watch Will fill his glass at the sink and gulp slowly from it.
“It’ll be relaxing,” she continues to say. “Just what we need.”
He glances askance at Will lowering his glass while his gaze continues to avoid their general direction.
“So what do you say?” she presses excitedly.
Blue looks her way. Looks his way briefly before moving away again.
“…alright.”
“I’ll go pack a bag!”
After Abigail bolts excitedly out of the kitchen, Hannibal picks up another tomato.
“Did you put her up to this?” comes the muttered accusation from beside him.
“The place has clearly left an impression on the dear girl.”
“Did you.”
Knife’s edge poised on the tender skin of the tomato, Hannibal pauses before making the incision.
“No, I did not.”
Seemingly satisfied – or dissatisfied – with his answer, Will walks out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with the methodical sound of chopping.
++++
Driving to the intended destination is like driving into a dream. The air is so thick with vapour, it is almost impossible to see what lies directly ahead. After changing, they set off with their rucksacks, leaving the car on the periphery where it remains obscured from the view of unexpected company.
“We’d better not lose the car,” Will mutters while trudging across the uneven terrain in sliders; he hadn’t even known he’d owned a pair until Hannibal revealed his summer mis-purchases. The air is warm, but he still feels underdressed in just a tee and some swimming trunks. Next to the others, however, his preoccupation is practically Victorian. Strolling beside him in nothing but a small pair of blue swimming shorts, Hannibal looks as though he has just hailed from a hotel room for his first swim of the day. Abigail is wearing nothing but a towel.
“Stop worrying, Will,” she says with confidence. “We have our compasses!”
++++
First to reach the edge of the spring, Abigail looks back at them excitedly.
“I’m going in,” she announces before hurrying off again.
“Where are you going?” Will shouts after her.
“In!” she shouts back without stopping.
“You should stay where we can see you!”
“I don’t think so!”
“Abigail!”
“I’m not going far!”
He starts stepping in her direction.
“She hasn’t got a bathing suit,” says Hannibal as he approaches from behind.
“But you remembered the sliders.”
++++
After the remark, he expects Will to continue heading in the direction Abigail had disappeared. But instead, the man drops his rucksack and steps out of his footwear. Hannibal watches him climb down into the water still in his tee until he is just a floating head of curls.
“How is it?” he asks.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself,” Will mutters before swimming out into the white.
++++
It is almost unnaturally silent at the spring. Without even so much as a bird call, the sound of water droplets returning to the larger, steaming body is crystal clear, making it impossible to miss the first ripple of trouble. Floating on his back, he finally pulls himself upright when he hears Will’s voice in the distance, calling Abigail’s name.
++++
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I made us come all the way. You and Will should still enjoy yourselves. I’ll just have a nap in the car.”
“Are you sure?”
Will pushes off the car and looks past Hannibal’s shoulder to Abigail sitting on the backseat in tee and shorts, hugging her knees to her chest.
“I’ll stay with Abigail,” he says.
++++
“I don’t need babysat, Will.”
“You passed out.”
“In the water.”
Turning from the car, Hannibal starts walking away.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he says.
++++
Perhaps it’s the warmth or the lack of stimulating conversation, but Abigail soon drifts off in the back, leaving Will sitting in silence. Arms folded, eyes closed, he stays reclined in the passenger seat. Imagining, as he often does when alone with Abigail, how it would feel to escape Hannibal. How it would feel for Hannibal to see them try. His wrath enough to turn the entire spring red. I gave you a rare gift. The kitchen materialises in the forefront of his mind. The pistol heavy between his hands. But you didn’t want it. Those black eyes heavy with understanding. An Apex predator preparing to lash out from wounds it never dreamt could be possible. Fighting to break their tie as they continue to bleed and fester. Hell hath no fury like an Alpha scorned. If the man had said it that night. Accused him outright of rejection. He would’ve told him, then and there. Didn’t I? Actions, the preferred method of communication from that night onwards, have clearly not been speaking louder than words. Or have they? Did you plan all this. The chrysalis has not emerged deaf and blind. Yet. To keep me bound. But it will do if he allows his stubbornness to continue hardening like an impenetrable shell. Hardly a fair fight…
Opening his eyes, he realises his hand is already gripping the handle of the door.
++++
He hears it first. Movement in the water. Closer than expected. Pulling down his goggles, he slips beneath the surface. Sees swimming trunks and a white tee. Watches them wading out before slowly swimming after.
++++
Sitting with his arms folded and back to the rock face, he waits as though having cast his line. Gaze on the slow shifting walls of steam, through which he is able to catch intermittent glimpses of the doctor swimming towards him. As the distance is closed between them, Will remains still. Watching with feigned disinterest as goggles are pushed back onto water slicked hair, and hooded eyes regard him unblinkingly. Dark and full of unreadable intent. He holds that stare until Hannibal is standing right in front of him. His arms trailing water as he plants his hands to the wall on either side of Will’s head.
“We should talk,” he says mildly.
Ignoring the breach of personal space, Will looks past the man’s ear.
“What about.”
“The garage.”
“What about it.”
“I wanted to know…”
He trails off and Will keeps his eyes on the vaporous masses as he waits for him to finish. In his peripheral vision, he sees a hand moving off the rock and down into the water. Feels it palming the front of his swimming trunks.
“What are you doing,” he murmurs, remaining still when the other leans close.
“Finding out,” Hannibal murmurs back, his lips close to his ear as his hand starts slowly rubbing.
“You couldn’t just ask…”
“I didn’t think you would answer. At least this way…”
Feeling himself growing hard, he takes a deep breath.
“There’s no need to,” the murmur continues, sounding relieved.
Relieved I can still get it up?
“You’ve picked a pretty place to finish the job,” Will utters.
“And what job would that be?”
“Castration.”
“Is that what you think I want?”
He looks at wet tresses from the corners of his eyes, then looks away again.
“I dream about you biting it off.”
“I see.”
His hand continues to move.
“And how does that make you feel?” he goes on to ask in a hushed voice.
How does that make me feel?
“What do you think.”
“I think it excites you. Perhaps you are thinking about it right now.”
“You keep rubbing my cock, what am I supposed to do,” he scoffs, and to his surprise, Hannibal slides onto his lap underwater. The sound of water being disturbed again as hands take up their former position on the rock face.
“Me.”
The accented syllable deceptively short and simple.
“You’re on meds.”
“There’s enough heat here.”
“It’ll still be painful.”
“An eye for an eye.”
“Is this your idea of an apology?”
“Would you prefer I apologised like a normal person?”
“Yes.”
Hesitation. Then, sounding a little stung:
“Alright.”
Pushing away, the man looks aside as he pulls the goggles off his head. Runs a hand through his slicked back hair.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Will,” he says quietly, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before starting to swim away. Unwinding his arms, Will grabs his wrist. Pulls him back onto his lap. Face turning towards wet tresses, he presses his lips to Hannibal’s ear.
“I can’t say I’m sorry if this hurts.”
++++
Hands tug down the waistband of his shorts, exposing his behind to warm water. Holding that half drawn stare, he takes over removing the garment before the same hands return to grab and spread his cheeks. He allows himself a moment to savour the weight of that smooth column pressing between them before reaching back to grasp and hold it in place underwater. Leaning up so that formidable head is pressing against his entrance, he watches down at Will. Reads a loftiness in his frown that borders almost on disdain, as though the man cannot wait to destroy him. Yet also wishes to watch him struggle. Taking pleasure in it as a predator would toying with its prey.
++++
He hears Hannibal take a breath as his head pushes inside. The unyielding ring of his sphincter snug against his frenulum and making the bulbous part of him pulsate. Holding his breath in anticipation, Will clasps the points where thigh meets waist. Pushes down to speed the process, and is met with resistance. Did he heal back tighter than before? He moves a hand down to grab the other’s knot, squeezing encouragement the same time he puts his mouth on a tit and starts sucking. With a low groan, Hannibal sinks forcibly down his length, opening his pucker on Will’s girth as the same spreads his passage wide apart. A ragged exhale slips past the doctor’s lips. Makes Will snap growlingly at a defenceless earlobe.
“How does it feel out of heat,” he mutters around the delicate flesh. “Must be overwhelming…” He gives Hannibal another squeeze, fingers milking his rotund anatomy until he can feel the Alpha squeezing back.
++++
Lips press themselves once more to his ear. The voice that strokes its shell a harsh rasp of, “Ready or not,” before Will grabs him by the waist and pushes off the rock face. Cock still buried inside him, the man steers them round to the bank of mossy lava rock. Half thrown upon it, he barely has chance to catch his breath as Will starts moving between his legs, his wet curls dripping spring water with each slap of skin on skin accompanied by a loud grunt as, lying just out of water, the Alpha drives into him as fast and sharp as he likes. Mind beginning to grow as hazy as their surroundings, Hannibal gazes back at the other through heavy lashes. Licks lips that have grown dry from the drag of shallow breaths.
“You’re too big,” he pants.
“Never stopped me before,” Will grunts while continuing to pound into him, his brow creasing with concentration as he plunges sinewy arms past Hannibal’s head. Tilting it back, he watches those hands holding on to jagged black mounds. Feels his breath catching in his throat as Will gains leverage to ram even harder into him. He’s going to split me open.
He groans.
“Should I stop?”
“No.”
He feels Will pulling hard on the rock. His knot beating against his entrance. So close to tying.
“You’re going to have to help me,” Will pants. “If this is what you want.”
Reaching down, Hannibal exhales as he pushes his fingers past the pistoning sides of Will’s shaft. Holds that stare as he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and pulls to force himself open. Tear me apart, Will.
“Do it.”
Growling, the man slams into him hard, the widest part of him pushing along the backs of Hannibal’s fingers. You know you want to. Before the bulk of him slots suddenly into place.
++++
When the last of their echoing cries are absorbed by the steam, and his body has finally stopped convulsing, Will lifts his head from Hannibal’s shoulder to see hooded eyes staring vacantly at the sky. Oblivious, it seems, to the lashings of ejaculate clinging to his features.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
No response.
“Hannibal.”
A beat. Followed by the delayed acknowledgement:
“Will.”
“…you alright?”
Nothing.
“You’ve got something on your face.”
Stirring himself as though from a daydream, Hannibal brings a hand up to paw searchingly at his cheek. When his fingers do nothing but smear the mess, however, Will bats them away before tucking an arm around his waist to pull the doctor down into the water with him. As Hannibal washes his face, Will notices faint tendrils of colour shifting around them in the water, and cranes his neck to look past the shoulder in front of him. Unable to get a clear view, he unwinds his arm and uses it to keep them anchored to the bank while running the flat of his free hand over the surface of his back. Cuts. His brow furrows. A few. Scattered and shallow. His eyes fall on the bank and the dark carpet of lava rocks until his scrutiny is interrupted by Hannibal slumping against him, his chin on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he utters, arm winding back around his waist. “Don’t pass out on me…”
“Just resting my eyes,” comes the murmur.
“Sounds like passing out.”
“Do you suppose being tied increases the chance of drowning?”
“Not if survival mode kicks in.”
He glances aside before adding, “You’d find a way to separate.”
“I suppose,” says Hannibal in a quiet and thoughtful voice.
For a while, there is only the brush of legs underwater and the steady stroke of steam. Warm and damp against their skin, it coaxes open their airways with each breath that draws it deep into their lungs. Pressed this close, he can feel each of Hannibal’s breaths. Believes it is the effect of being in a hot spring that alleviates, to a degree, his struggle with prolonged intimacy. Provided the doctor remains silent for the remaining duration of their tie.
“You know…”
He just can’t help himself.
“…what,” Will mutters.
“Nothing comes from breeding a bitched Alpha.”
“Yet all I ever do is come,” he scoffs.
“It’s a waste, I mean.”
“It does what it says on the tin.”
“What does it say?”
“Cum dump.”
Pause.
Was that rude?
“Well. Should you ever wish to deposit in fertile pastures…”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Please do.”
“I think I’m alright for now.”
“Nothing left to confess?”
“I confess to feeling content.”
Hannibal hums.
“Now that I see what you really are,” he adds lowly.
“And what is that…?”
In contrast to his half whisper, the words that leave Will’s lips are flat and sarcastic:
“The gift that keeps on giving.”
Meant as a joke.
“…funny.”
But not received as such.
He sounds hurt…
“I look forward to my next suture,” Will continues to jest, too stubborn to change his tone.
“You never did let me see.”
“What.”
“After I broke the tie.”
Will watches the fog.
“Most people prefer to nurse their egos in private…”
“I would have been a good nurse.”
“Smiling down at me as you sew up my dick? Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You could have lost it to infection,” says the man innocently. “It could have dropped off.”
“You probably hoped it would,” Will scoffs again. “Won’t need to borrow Abigail’s dildo anymore.”
“Crude.”
Eyes lidding, he takes a deep, languid breath.
Maybe it’s the heat and being tied, but… somehow…
“Besides, I prefer it attached,” says the voice at his shoulder.
“You and I both.”
It feels… comfortable… if that’s really possible…
Slowly, he lets his chin drop to Hannibal’s shoulder. Lets his eyes slip to a close.
“…do you really dream about me?”
Did I say comfortable?
“Biting-”
“Stop talking.”
The pressure disappears from his shoulder before soft lips touch the shell of his ear.
“If you’re polite, I might just,” he says.
Has his accent always sounded this suggestive?
“Wouldn’t that be a relief.”
“Use my mouth, I meant,” Hannibal continues to murmur, ignoring Will’s sarcasm. “You seemed to enjoy doing so when I was last at your disposal.”
++++
Will sighs, but Hannibal had already felt the throb of interest. Chases it like a shark having scented blood.
“Would explain why you always stared so intently across the table,” he goes on to say. “Watching me open my mouth to a morsel instead of your meat...”
“Stop.”
“Tell me, Will. When did you realise?”
A hand grabs his hair. Pulls to bring up his chin.
“What?” he hears the man utter in a dangerously low voice, grimacing when he’s pushed into the bank. “That I want this gift you’ve been dying to give me?” Grabbed by the throat, he feels Will trying to pull out before it becomes impossible. Grunts from the sudden release as that semi-hard bulb tugs itself free. “This gift that you’ve forced on me?” His words emphasised by the thrusting of his knot back inside – the burst of pressure making Hannibal gasp.
“Oh I’ve wanted it,” says Will huskily as he pulls out.
“Mnph.”
Then rams back in.
“Ngh!”
Bigger than before.
“Since you first stepped into my house.”
Having forced the words through his teeth, Will proceeds to force his knot repeatedly into him until Hannibal can no longer feel his legs, but a building throb of pleasure that threatens upon the next cresting wave to explode out of him like never before.
“Yes,” he breathes, eyes fluttering to a close as he holds on to the Alpha’s back. “Don’t stop.”
They hear Abigail’s voice calling in the distance.
“Don’t stop,” he pants, last word muffled by the wet hand clasping over his mouth.
++++
He feels himself hardening to the point of no withdrawal – the process slowing his thrusts as Hannibal’s worked hole strains under the near complete size and weight of him.
“It’s going back in,” he grunts, voice strained from the torment of holding back. I need to come NOW. The responding muffle sounds equally pained, making him move his hand from Hannibal’s mouth to neck as he stares into black eyes screaming for release. Feels the hard swallow before the man pleads in a desperate voice:
“Tie with me, Will. Make me pregnant.”
Jaw flexing, he bears down on the Alpha. Drags them immediately underwater to stifle their cries.
++++
Heads bursting through the surface of the water, it takes them a moment to realise Abigail is stood at the edge of the lava rock, watching down at them.
“When you’re quite done killing each other,” she says with lofted brows and folded arms. “Can we eat?”
Swallowing, Hannibal replies breathily, “Of course,” and they watch her walk away until her figure has melted into the surrounding steam.
“Should’ve told her to start without us,” he hears the utter, and answers with a nonchalant, “That’s not necessary.” Gently but firmly pushing against the other, Hannibal manages to unplug his passage with barely a grunt from either of them, and before Will has the chance to fear a repeat of the accident at the garage.
“Was it meant to come out that easy…?”
“No,” he says simply as he faces the bank to pull himself up. On his knees upon the lava rock, something grabs his ankle. He looks back at that head of dripping curls and lidded blue eyes. “It’ll tighten back up,” he explains as that gaze falls on his ass. “Hardly an injury,” he goes on to say dismissively, facing the front again when hands suddenly grab and spread his cheeks.
Mnph.
“This is the most open you’ve ever been with me,” the man murmurs.
Funny.
“You have rather shucked me like an oyster,” he says flatly. Hears Will hum and looks back to see the Alpha transfixed by the sight of his own hard work.
“Best eaten raw…” the man muses aloud.
“While they’re still alive, yes.”
“Never liked them.”
Hannibal opens his mouth, but not before Will does.
Oh.
He brings his face back round to hide his surprise from the other.
His tongue…
“I prepared some for Jack, once,” he begins immediately to babble.
It feels so...
“With pancetta and…crayfish.”
Mn!
“You would’ve been in hospital, then…”
Please don’t stop.
++++
Coming up for air, Will pulls himself onto the bank behind Hannibal, mapping his dripping body to the one in front and leaning close until his still erect cock juts up from between the Alpha’s cheeks. Pressing tantalisingly against that bitched and gaping hole. Have you always been this fucking sexy? Arms sliding around the doctor, he gropes his tits through their wet and matted pelt. Yes. But even more so now that you’re mine.
“Thing about oysters,” he says under his breath as he catches and pinches Hannibal’s nipples hard enough to draw an excited gasp. “…they don’t fucking talk when you’re eating them.”
++++
Back at the car, Abigail is stretched out on the backseat, enjoying a post banquet-for-one snooze. A single grape – the sole survivor – hangs on the stem in danger of slipping from the loose clutch of her fingers. The words you snooze, you lose are uttered breezily in her sleep whilst in the other land of fog, ignorant to the pillaging of the picnic basket, a couple of Alphas make filling meals of one another.