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"You seem so damn familiar," Will narrowed his eyes, studying this stranger's face while wracking the memory vault. He'd certainly never heard the name before, Hannibal Lecter. Sounded foreign and derived from wealth, that's as much as he could gather, "you famous or somethin'?" His question was met with a particularly devious smile, followed by another sip of that fancy California wine.
"I suppose you could say that." Oh, how mysterious. His accent was near-unidentifiable, alluring and warm. Will raised a brow, knocking on the bar for another straight whiskey. "And you are?" The stranger, Hannibal, continued, removing his black Stetson and placing it down beside Will, keeping a hold so that he loomed over the younger man with one arm on the bar. Even if Will hadn't been sat on a bar stool while the other stood, he could gauge from his stance that Lecter would tower over him anyway.
"What's it to ya?" He wasn't playing, turning away and picking up his newly poured drink, taking a deep swig and sucking air in through his teeth at the burn. He dug a hand into his breast pocket to pay, beaten by Lecter who paid and ordered two more. Will looked at the stranger with an unreadable expression, curious to see where this would go but entirely unimpressed by the forwardness. Was this an outlaw he had helped put away back for revenge, was that where the familiarity lay? Or, was this simply someone who knew of his...condition, and wanted to try it on?
"It's only fair, I told you mine."
Will scoffed, "fair? I'm being held verbally hostage because you decided to tell me your name?"
"What a rude boy you are." The smile wouldn't leave. Will thought about beating the expression away for good as he downed his drink, but instead, he spoke.
"Will Graham." He said, shoving the empty glass away and reaching straight for the next one. Hannibal seemed satisfied, taking his time with the wine in his glass. Will hadn't even known they served wine here, and he certainly didn't know anyone who drank it, anyway. Perhaps it would make the night more interesting, to entertain this dark stranger -- clad in completely black attire and a cut nose to match. He was the image of danger. It was either the first whiskey or the second, but something switched in Will's brain and he decided to have his fun.
"Y'ain't from round here," Will observed, circling the amber liquid in his glass as he stared deep into Hannibal's eyes for the first time. They were entirely indecipherable, though luckily that meant there was nothing within them to distract him. Graham disliked eye contact usually, far too absorbed in discomfort to remember what he was trying to say. Hannibal's eyes were easy to look at.
"No, I am not." Soft, firm, and unopen to further prying. Got it. Will polished off his third whiskey, a pink hue of intoxication flush on his cheeks. He couldn't help but notice how not drunk the stranger was. Suddenly feeling the need to slow down, Will savoured the fourth and final drink.
Quantico's local saloon was relatively crowded on most nights, absolutely bursting at the seams on this particular evening. The lush swell of rowdy energy breathed life into even the most lonesome patrons as a rag-tag band played butchered renditions of classics. Chatter and comradery saw drunkards and officers of the law engaging in passionate discussions of life and personal philosophies. It seemed to get louder and louder the longer Will sat down, all voices blending into one endless buzz like flies to a horse. He felt himself growing irritated, skin prickling with the sudden desire to get out of here. What he feared most was recognition. All it would take is one man identifying him as the freak of nature he was and then fists would fly. He didn't want to leave, not entirely, but he couldn't stay any longer. Hannibal appeared to sense the shift in Will's mood, sitting closer and tilting his head so they were on the same level.
"Forgive me if I have misinterpreted, but I assume you hitch your horse to the same post as mine?" The stranger enquired, an earnest expression on his face. Will was both galvanised and terrified at such a bold statement.
"I hitch my horse to lots of posts," Will cast a lingering glance over Hannibal, devouring with his eyes, "but I suppose yours will do for tonight."
"I would like to go home with you, Will Graham," Hannibal purred, and it was a purr, placing a hand on the back of Will's neck, "would you let me?"
"Sounds tempting, but I'm afraid I don't have the right...parts...for your proclivities," Graham spoke hesitantly, averting his eyes to Hannibal's polished black boots as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He felt beads of sweat spring on his neck, the beginnings of adrenaline pumping into his system. There was a moment of confusion on Hannibal's face, before clarity hit.
"Ah, I see. You are a hermaphrodite?"
"Yessir." Will winced, tensing and awaiting the inevitable blow that was coming his way. He was used to fighting by now, confident in his ability to win whether he was defending himself from bigots or perverts who wanted a taste of him, but it still scared him shitless every time.
A beat of consideration, and then: "I don't see how that changes my proposal."
The ride to Will's farmhouse was mostly in silence, broken only by occasional flirty quips. Graham rode Brandy as he always did, fast and wild with no bit or stirrups -- though his inebriated state saw a few near misses with the merciless ground and his face. His once-wild Clydesdale pounded heavily on the dirt paths, aggressive as ever but never towards Will, towering over Hannibal's gorgeous, and definitely incredibly expensive, Friesian. Will had never seen such a beautiful horse, but then again, all of his were wrangled from the plains and guessing their breed was almost impossible. He had ascertained that the great beast was called Vytis, a name completely alien to Will. There was so much about this stranger that was entirely perplexing, but Will always had been curious. The cacophony of barks that arose once he turned a particularly sharp corner signalled the beginnings of his quaint land. His large pack of strays bolted from the porch and followed him all the way down the dirt path.
"All yours?" Hannibal asked with a hint of disbelief in his voice. Will wasn't entirely sure if he meant the land, the dogs, or the field of horses.
"Yessir." A simple, yet true response to all three.
"It appears you prefer the company of animals, Will."
"Count yourself pretty damn lucky, then." Clicking with his teeth and tugging sternly on the reigns, Will slowed Brandy to a trot and led her into the pastures with his other half-broken horses. Lecter stopped just before the wooden gate, clearly hesitant to introduce Vytis to the others.
"Ain't no class ranks with horses," Will started, jumping from his horse and landing with a stumble, "just bitches and bullies. I hope you don't expect your Friesian to get special treatment." He finished while slinging his saddle over the side of the fence. Hannibal seemed to consider, eventually squeezing the sides of his horse so he ventured into the enclosed field.
"Why, of course not," the stranger dismounted in a far more elegant manner than Will had, removing the reigns, "Vytis is what you call a...bully." There was that smirk again.
"Yeah, we'll see." Will scoffed passively, striding past Hannibal and waiting by the gate. Once Lecter, and all the dogs, had left the pasture, the younger man swung the gate closed and tied it up tight. He cast a glance over the other, finally feeling the nerves that had been buried the entire night. He wasn't reluctant to bringing people home with him, there was just something about this man that put him completely on edge in the most delicious way. Will offered Hannibal a drink inside, and the stranger agreed.
The ever-looming cry of cicadas, broken only by the whinny of a horse or bark of a dog, accompanied the sound of the lazy stream beside Will's house. On a hazy summer's night like tonight he often enjoyed sitting on the porch, shoddily rolled cigarette in his mouth and a glass of whiskey in hand, listening to the sounds of Wolftrap and watching his dogs potter. There was something else entirely on his mind tonight.
To avoid interruption, Will had locked the dogs out on the porch, ushering a sharp 'AT!' whenever they scratched at the door or cried too loudly. This seemed to amuse Hannibal endlessly, until the strays grew bored and wandered off. With no distractions to hinder him, Will explored his hunting grounds. He was a natural at one-night stands, knowing exactly what to say and when so he could get what he wanted. Even with such an enigma as Hannibal Lecter, once he had poured the drinks and removed his riding jacket he became a different creature entirely. The whiskey seemed to be bolstering Graham's confidence, considering his purposefully close proximity to the other. For lack of better words, he was near enough to sit on Hannibal's lap as he sipped at his glass and eye-fucked the other. He saw the insatiable lust in the stranger, the deeper breaths and the way his eyes never left Will's face. It wasn't surprising at all when Lecter roughly took Will's glass, slamming it down on the table, before wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist and neck and kissing him hungrily.
It was impossible to describe, what with his brain overcome by drink and sex. The kiss was everything he needed and yet nowhere near enough to satisfy him. Each grew more impatient than the other, blindly ripping off clothes as the air turned hotter and hotter. Will already felt the suffocating prickles of sweat along his forehead, sighing heavily each time the kiss was broken to better remove a piece of clothing. With his shirt removed, Will straddled Hannibal and kissed him with the restless vigour of a damned man. He wanted more, needed it. But what he wanted most, was to make sure Hannibal needed it, too. Just as the older man made to unfasten Will's trousers, he stood up and backed away. An insolent smirk found its way on his face once he saw the anger rise and then fall behind Hannibal's eyes. He was quick to defuse himself, this one. Will didn't like that one bit.
"You think I'm some whore, that you can take me on my own couch?" Will hummed, slowly walking backwards towards his bed. Once he made his way to the doorway separating the two rooms, Hannibal stood and moved towards the other. The tension was thick enough to choke on. Will had a sneaking suspicion that the stranger remained silent so as not to growl abuse at him, considering his gait was entirely predatory. Once his legs hit the side of his bed, Will slumped down onto the mattress, eyes never once leaving Hannibal's. He wanted the older man to start, to initiate, to seize a false sense of control. How much more fun would it be to rip it away?
Hannibal stood in between Will's spread legs, looking down at the angelic figure below and appearing almost unsure as he no doubt weighed up whether to make an attempt at freeing Will from his trousers again. Lust won, and he hastily took the damn things off. Graham made no attempt at fighting him this time.
What a sight; pale skin all flushed from drink, small framed but powerful from years of horse wrangling and labour. From his face and chest, one would assume Will to be a man, but the soft curve of his hips and the enlarged clit put a question into one's mind. The only question bullying its way to the forefront of Hannibal's lustful mind was whether he could get the other pregnant, and the thought thundered through his lower belly and settled like fire.
"I have never seen such beauty," he breathed, more to himself than Will, "I shudder to imagine what you would taste like." Then, something entirely unexpected to the younger man in a way that thoroughly disrupted his plan for the night: Hannibal lowered himself to his knees and placed his mouth around Will's clit, using his tongue both gently and roughly over his most sensitive area. Will couldn't control the embarrassingly loud moan that escaped from his lips, both at the shock and the sensation. No one had ever done this before. It was good, too good, and he feared coming undone at the hands of this man so soon before he had had his fun.
"St-stop," Will gasped, placing a palm over Hannibal's forehead and pushing, "I don't like that." He lied through his teeth, shuffling backwards slightly and crossing his legs. The anger flashed again, but just as soon it was gone. The fruit had been taken from Lecter's mouth as he savoured it, and Will felt satisfied at that, opening his legs again. "Just fuck me, none of that weird shit." The expression on Hannibal's face was difficult to discern, but Will could've sworn there was a hint of amused disbelief. Still, the stranger complied and removed his suffocating pants. He was thick and curved, not what Will would describe as beauty but the closest thing to it. Graham positioned himself so that his head was on the pillow, and he felt a familiar hunk of metal underneath -- his little surprise to rival Hannibal's. That could wait, for now, he needed the other to quicken the pace so he gripped with nails and pulled Hannibal towards him. His face said it all, hurry the fuck up. Lecter smirked that damn smile as he paused for a second longer, Will letting out an irritable huff of disapproval and gripping tighter. Hannibal's expression remained cryptic as he leaned in to place a kiss on Will's sweet lips.
"I must properly satiate my hunger, Will. To feast slowly is to devour." Will's face was all petulance. Whether it be the alcohol or his less-than-subpar education, he didn't understand.
"Just fuck me." He demanded, wrapping his legs around the other's hips and rocking back and forth in a fevered lust. Hannibal became entirely readable when he pushed himself inside Will. The fit was tight, wet and it meant everything. There were barely any precautionary thrusts before Hannibal was rutting into Will like a dog in heat. Will's moans rose and broke off in filthy gasps, music to Hannibal's ears as he railed the other -- caring little for the poetic now.
When Lecter's thrusts gained momentum, becoming so aggressive Will felt as if a beast was taking him over a man, the younger man reached under his pillow and placed a firm grip on his LeMat Revolver, whipping it out and holding it against Hannibal's head.
"Just because I have a pussy don't mean you can treat me like a bitch." Will grinned, cocking the revolver with a satisfying click. The cool metal of the muzzle pressed into the side of Hannibal's head, leaving an imprint of Will's insanity at his temple. Still, the stranger was calm and calculated, slowing his thrusts to a gentle rhythmic pulse as he considered. Will softly ghosted the tip of the gun to Hannibal's lips, shallow breaths betraying his excitement, "put it in your mouth." That was unexpected. Hannibal complied, what else could he do? He took the muzzle of the gun into his mouth and stared into Will's defiant eyes with yet another indiscernible look. The younger man brushed the fingers of his free hand along Lecter's side, earning a slight shiver, before digging his nails into his back. "I'm going to ride you like one of my wild horses, Hannibal Lecter."
With that, Will shifted from under Hannibal and forced him down onto his back with the revolver. The older man remained silent and obeyed, an expression that could only be described as pride on his face as Will straddled his hips. With the gun to the centre of Hannibal's brow, Will began to ride, to break, to tame Hannibal.
He started slow and deep, taking the stranger's full length into his cunt and enjoying the sheer power of the moment. The sounds coming from his lips were soft and quiet, much like the hushed moans beginning deep in Hannibal's throat. Will sped up gradually until his pace was akin to a canter, bouncing up and down on the other's manhood with the determination of any other horse wrangler. His breathing quickened, too, catching in his throat as his senses overwhelmed him. It burned in the best way, he felt so full in the best way, he closed his eyes and let his head loll to the side as he rode the stranger with vigour. He was coming dangerously close to his undoing, gasping in these short bursts of air as he geared up to the climax. He was so close, so stupidly close that his hand went lax on the gun and he rocked his head backwards.
Hannibal did not miss his moment.
Disarming the younger man was easy, uncocking the revolver and throwing it across the room with enough force to shatter the floorboards. Time seemed to slow as Will's entire body froze in a mix of fear and arousal. His eyes opened wide, locking with Hannibal's and that damn smile. The stranger seized Graham and more or less threw him onto the mattress so that his front was squashed against the bed and Hannibal could loom dangerously over him. Pinning the other, one arm across his back and one along his shoulder blades, Lecter pushed himself inside Will again and brushed against his ear: "My dear Will, guns lack intimacy, I much prefer the use of my own hands." With that, he took Will's neck in both of his hands and squeezed, choking and crushing and owning. The younger man couldn't move, held down by his throat as his wetness was relentlessly pounded into. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he gasped and heaved. Hannibal couldn't help but notice the way Will's back arched deeper, how his hands clutched onto the mattress instead of his attacker's hands, and how his legs spread wider and wider with each thrust. Even the sounds he made were entirely sinful in their urgency, wanting and needing interlacing with pure fear.
Hannibal's thrusts slowed to hard, deep ruts as he neared his climax, hands gripping tighter around Will's throat. His orgasm was essentially forced out of him when Graham came before him and his cunt pulsed around Hannibal's cock. He slumped to the side, hands loosening and allowing Will to heave these huge, body-wracking lungfuls of air.
After a moment of collecting himself, the younger man turned onto his side, facing away from Hannibal, and sighed a shuddering breath. There was silence for a beat, tension lingering in the air, before Will shuffled backwards until his back was flush against Hannibal's front. He snaked a hand behind, grabbed one of the stranger's arms and pulled it across himself. He could feel Hannibal's smirk without having to see it.
Sleep came quickly to both men, and the night was vacant of night terrors for Will. In all his excitement, he had completely forgotten to let the dogs back inside.
They spent the night sleeping in the tall grass by the porch.
Will awoke with a heavy head and an even heavier heart, noticing the empty space beside him. It was stupid to believe anything could've come from this -- lord knows what happened to cowboys who enjoyed the company of men -- but he couldn't help feeling bitter all the same. Hannibal could have said goodbye, at the very least. Especially after leaving such an ugly bruise around his throat. What happened to courteousness? Sighing deeply, Graham swung his legs over the bed and stretched his aching back. Why did he insist on arching like a cat every time he brought someone home? He wasn't so young anymore and one of these days his spine would snap in half. Still, he rubbed a hand down his face and sighed again.
He was supposed to drop by the sheriff's, Jack Crawford, and aid in catching this week's bounties. He certainly needed the money after last night's bender. But the sun had already risen high into the sky and there was no way he could ride there before dusk. Will could hardly tell the man he'd spent all night fighting for dominance with Lecter and, naturally, slept in. As much as he'd like to. That was an issue for the very near future, what present Will needed to do was change and water his horse. Casting a surveying glance over the room for something, anything, he could wear that wasn't last night's clothes, Will noticed a piece of parchment on his bedside table that certainly hadn't been there before. Suspicion crept through his frame and settled like a guard dog in his chest. His hand instinctively reached for the revolver under his pillow, realisation dawning when he felt nothing but worn sheets. Oh, yes, that gun had been disarmed and thrown with force across the room during his fevered lust.
Picking up the folded parchment with a gentleness and hesitance he forgot he possessed, Will opened it and almost dropped the damn thing in shock. There he was, Hannibal Lecter, drawn almost exactly if not for the bandana hiding his nose and mouth. In great, big print read: WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE, THE CHESAPEAKE RIPPER, $50,000.00 REWARD. and just below in smaller print, 'for the murder, mutilation and cannibalisation of MIRIAM LASS at Virginia territory.' There was further writing in beautiful, cursive penmanship at the very bottom of the page, 'I hope to see you again, my dear Will, I'm certain the feeling is mutual.'
Will needed another drink.