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It wasn’t so much that Will needed to have sex to be happy; he knew that. People were difficult and rarely worth the effort, and he had a lot on his plate since becoming Jack Crawford’s personal bloodhound, so hook-ups weren’t exactly his number one priority. But, even he knew that there was more than just stress and a poor work/life balance contributing to his mounting agitation.
The sad fact was, not getting laid was causing Will to become an asshole. Even Beverly, the one person at Quantico who would take the time to try and understand her sullen colleague, had slapped the back of his hand with a ballpoint pen after one too many sarcastic remarks. If he was pissing her off, he needed to start investing in some self-reflection.
But before he could start looking into dive bars situated in a state far enough away to ensure that he wouldn’t get recognised, Bev had successfully roped him into attending the FBI’s annual ‘look-we-do-nice-things-so-please-stop-hating-cops’ charity event. She’d described it as a good distraction from whatever was making him a ‘pissy little Princess’, and he felt too bad about annoying her to refuse.
So that’s how he found himself standing with his back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, in some sort of community centre in Virginia, watching FBI agents from an array of different departments pottering around with tables, setting up stalls.
“If you smile pretty at the table selling homemade baked goods and compliment their tablecloth, you can get a free cookie,” came a familiar voice as Will glanced over at Bev approaching him with a coy little smile, lifting her hand in the air to present her prize.
“I’m not sure if I have the kind of face that gets freebies,” Will muttered, waving vaguely at his visage.
“I don’t know, you’ve got those big baby blues,” Bev said with a little shrug before taking a bite of her white chocolate chip cookie, moving to stand next to Will and join him in people-watching.
“What exactly is the charity they’re raising money for, anyway?” Will asked, glancing sideways at her.
“Animals in need, I think. Or children. Or children with animals in need? One of those,” Bev said, nodding towards their two approaching colleagues.
“Have you seen that your psychiatrist is here?” Jimmy asked, sticking his thumb towards the back of the hall where people were assembling a small stage for an auction. “Tall, broad shoulders, nice sideburns, European accent—”
“Yes, I know what my— he’s not officially— I know what he looks like.” Will felt his cheeks warm slightly as he replied. There was something peculiar about the idea of Hannibal being there instead of confined to an office, like seeing one of your teachers outside of school. “Jack must have invited him.”
“Roped him in for free labour, more like—” Brian scoffed, “—the man is a machine. Is he a personal trainer in his free time or something?”
Will furrowed his brow, looking decidedly puzzled. Hannibal Lecter? The man who wore three-piece suits to nearly every occasion, treated opera like a life-changing event, and was a walking encyclopedia on classical French restaurateurs? In the nicest way possible, the man was kind of a dork.
Unable to resist the curiosity tugging at his brain, Will took a few steps forward, then found himself weaving past a few tables so that he could get a closer look. Sure enough, there was the man himself.
“Dr Lecter! Could you give me a hand with this platform?” Jack was barking out requests, waving his hands around as though haphazardly conducting an orchestra.
“Yes, of course,” Hannibal replied with a courteous little nod of his head. His jacket and waistcoat had been neatly folded over the edge of the half-built stage, his tie rolled into a perfect ball on top, leaving him in just suit slacks and a plain white dress shirt that probably cost more than both of the two suits that Will owned put together.
His cufflinks had been removed, the sleeves folded up past his elbows, and Will found his gaze lingering on the Lithuanian’s forearms. It was like seeing a Victorian lady’s ankles; inappropriate somehow, a glimpse into something forbidden and unexpectedly alluring.
His eyes never left the other man’s form as Hannibal bent down to lift a large, long-legged stage riser, standing back to full height like someone who knew their proper form, not what he had expected from a psychiatrist who spent his spare time pencil sketching.
Will’s mouth went dry as he watched the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt constrict around his biceps with the lift, boasting firm musculature that the very seams of the lavish material seemed to struggle against. He tried to swallow, his tongue suddenly sandpaper in his mouth, as his eyes travelled to study the way Hannibal’s neck flexed.
He was sharply awoken from his reverie by the distant sound of a faint little ‘click.’ Blinking rapidly, he spotted something flying off of Hannibal’s torso and bouncing across the ground. It was quickly followed by a second object, and as it caught the light Will realised what they were.
Two mother-of-pearl shirt buttons.
Will stopped breathing as he slowly lifted his chin, allowing his sight to behold the vision from across the hall; white cotton split open to reveal a landscape of olive-kissed skin. A layer of salt and pepper hair trailing up from a soft midriff to cup perfect pectoral muscles.
“Fuck,” Will whispered as the air left his lungs, his clothing suddenly ill-fitting in inconvenient places, his heart trying to burst through his rib cage.
“Damn,” came Bev’s voice from behind him, causing him to almost jump out of his skin.
“Fuck and damn,” Jimmy said with a low whistle as they gathered around. “Do you think he can give me some workout tips? Though not from his tailor.”
“See? I told you, Jack has him up there like a pack mule,” Brian chipped in.
“Oh, I bet he’s packing like a mule alright,” Jimmy muttered under his breath, causing Will to choke on his own saliva as Bev elbowed him softly in the side. “Oh, come on! A wide frame like that? It’s not hard to imagine.”
“I’m imagining it—” Bev quipped, raising a brow when Will’s cheeks started to burn, “—and I don’t think I’m the only one.”
“I’m not—” He stopped mid-protest as Bev’s brow rose higher, a silent challenge. He let out an indignant huff, turning away from the trio of trolls, only to find himself once again facing Hannibal’s direction.
Hannibal stood in front of Jack, looking demure and apologetic as the FBI agent slapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. Will felt his stomach do a bizarre little flip. He suddenly couldn’t wait for their next appointment.
“Will, I don’t mean to tamp down your natural urges, but I fear that if you keep pacing like this you are going to wear a line in my Kashan rug,” Hannibal murmured from his usual seat, peering over his wine glass at the profiler pausing mid-step in front of his desk.
“Right, yes, sorry, right,” Will mumbled as he made his way over to the opposite chair and seated himself with a deep breath. The appointment had been going for twenty minutes and all he’d managed to do was mention the weather, say that the charity event had been bearable, and spend every single second trying not to look at the other man’s groin.
It wasn’t that he had a type, not exactly; it was just that he had an itch that needed to be scratched and he knew that the only tool for the job was something sizable. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it— what might be concealed within those fancy clothes. Especially while in the shower. God, his water bill was going to be ridiculous.
“It seems as though you are preoccupied,” Hannibal said as he placed his glass softly on the small table beside his chair, elegantly crossing one leg over the other, inadvertently making it harder for Will to try and sneak in another assessing glance. “Perhaps you’d like to talk about it.”
Will wasn’t sure that, ‘I’m preoccupied with your dick’ would go over too well, but the temptation was certainly there. No, he had to be coy about this; tactical, subtle, suave.
“I’m having trouble with sex— uh, my sex life, I’m having trouble with… my sex life,” he blurted out, feeling his skin rapidly burning with embarrassment. ‘Good job, Graham.’
“Ah,” was Hannibal’s simple response. Will caught a minute flicker of surprise in the widening of his eyes and the twitch of his lips, but he recovered so quickly that Will wasn’t entirely certain if he hadn’t imagined it. “May I ask what particular element of your sex life is causing you issues? I was not aware that you were engaged in physical intimacy with a partner; you’ve never mentioned a significant other.”
“Well, no, that’s kind of the problem,” Will muttered, looking down at his lap and awkwardly pulling at his shirt sleeves. “I don’t really have much of one. At all.”
“I see,” Hannibal said as he uncrossed his legs, momentarily placing a finger to his chin as though in contemplation. “Given your penchant for interpreting how others think and feel, I would imagine that physical relationships can be challenging for you.”
Will was hesitant to respond. Hannibal was right, of course, but he’d had enough time to learn how to shut those feelings out, at least for long enough to allow physical sensations to take over. Finding truly suitable partners had been difficult, but that sweet, brief moment when two bodies succumbed to raw pleasure was when his mind felt the most free.
“That might be a bit of an understatement,” he murmured, slowly looking up but not quite meeting Hannibal’s eyes. “But there is a positive side to that. I have a knack for knowing what partners want, and how they like to be handled.”
“Yet you find that others are not so inclined to understand your needs in return,” Hannibal stated bluntly, the truth of the matter feeling like a punch to Will’s gut. He watched Will with a hard, scrutinising stare.
“I have particular tastes that not everyone can cater to,” Will admitted in a soft voice, his hands idly sliding down his thighs, smoothing out the invisible creases in his clothing. He forced himself to meet Hannibal’s eyes, flecks of amber amid umber, and the realisation of just how attractive he found the other man made him light-headed.
“Everyone deserves to be satiated,” Hannibal said, his voice lowering to a quieter tone, almost a suggestion of indiscretion. “Meeting one’s physical needs has proven to be beneficial to improving one’s mental well-being.”
“As a therapist, I imagine you’ll always be an advocate of such treatment then,” Will suggested, cocking a brow as he leaned forward slightly in his chair, as though compelled by some unseen force urging him to move closer.
Hannibal let out a soft, half laugh. “Treatment makes it sound as though I am going to write you a prescription for sex, Will.”
Will’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and he didn’t fail to notice the way that Hannibal’s eyes tracked the movement. “You’re supposed to be my paddle, Dr. Lecter. This growing frustration has left me feeling unmoored. How would you propose I find stability?”
“Stability of this particular matter can be sought in many places; surely you know this,” Hannibal answered with a twinge of uncertainty in his tone. “I assume that you are not asking me to sign you up for a dating website.”
Will’s lips pulled into a smirk at the thought. “No, I was thinking that you might have a solution a little closer to home,” he explained as he tilted his head ever so slightly. This time, as he allowed his vision to slip downwards to observe Hannibal’s body, he didn’t feel the need to disguise his studious gaze. He took in the way that the doctor’s hands clutched at the arms of the chair, how well his pants hugged his thighs as his legs sat slightly parted.
“You are asking me to engage in unethical practices,” Hannibal suggested; a statement, not a question. His voice sounded just a touch strained, as though his usual flawless control was beginning to slip. That thought excited Will immensely.
“Am I?” Will asked, bringing a hand up to his face to delicately press his thumb to his bottom lip, peering at Hannibal from beneath his lashes, the perfect picture of feigned innocence. “Is that what I’m doing?”
Before Hannibal could answer, Will was up on his feet. This time, his restless energy was accompanied by a buzz of excitement as he stepped over to Hannibal’s desk, his back to the other man, placing his palms down upon the dark wood as he pretended to examine his ridiculous letter opener. He leaned forward, just a little, just enough to accentuate the arch of his back. “Has this office seen much in the way of unethical activity, Dr Lecter?”
The fact that Hannibal didn’t respond straight away sent a thrill all along Will’s spine. He was so glad that he had decided to wear slightly tighter pants today.
“It would appear that you are determined for that to be the case regardless,” Hannibal replied and Will could hear him getting out of his chair, causing the skin on the back of his neck to prickle with goosebumps.
“Well, I’ll be blunt, you’ve got this big, sturdy desk and I hardly ever see you using it. I just think that it could probably be used for better things—”
Will felt all of the air being pulled from his throat, and his words were lost to a stuttered gasp as the warmth of a taller body pressed up against him. Large, slender-fingered hands held his waist as soft breath tickled over his ear from behind with a murmured, “You are testing my resolve, Will.”
Will could feel Hannibal’s ‘resolve’ lightly nudging against his backside, and it had him momentarily forgetting the English language. All of the blood in his body seemed to rush southward in an instant, leaving him a little hazy in the best possible way.
“Live a little, won’t you, Doctor?” Will muttered, unable to stop the little smile tugging at his lips. He felt the soft huff of hot breath across his skin as Hannibal’s professional self-restraint crumbled further.
“Not on my clean desk.”
Suddenly, Will was spun around and hoisted into the air, a firm grip clutching the backs of his thighs as he flailed to find and grab onto Hannibal’s shoulders, laughter spilling from his lips as his heart beat rapidly against his chest.
“I have a perfectly good chaise longue; it would be a terrible waste not to use it,” Hannibal declared as he carried Will across the office in his strong arms. Will was fairly lean, his own musculature nicely honed from old police academy training habits and hauling around boat motors, but it made him feel shockingly light. His cheeks burned so fiercely that he was convinced he must have resembled a pomegranate.
As Hannibal went to lay him down on the chaise longue, his arms instinctively wrapped around the psychiatrist’s neck, pulling himself up until he was inches from Hannibal’s face.
“I’m an old-fashioned date, Dr Lecter. I like to kiss a man before he ravages me,” he said, almost surprised by the huskiness of his own voice.
Hannibal’s eyes narrowed affectionately with a warm sort of desire, embers only barely kept at bay before a full-blown forest fire. “I hadn’t taken you for a traditionalist, but in that case, might I suggest that you also call me by my first name?”
“Hannibal—” Will uttered the name with surprising reverence, feeling the weight of it on his tongue, “—if you play your cards right, I’ll be screaming it.”
There was that fire; Will could feel the swelter of it as Hannibal’s lips plunged down against his own, kissing him without restraint. Soft but insistent caresses turned into nips of teeth against his bottom lip, before an eager tongue was sliding across the seam of his mouth and silently begging entrance.
He allowed Hannibal to pin him down against the soft furniture as their tongues melded together in a frantic exploration, hands clumsily seeking out slithers of skin as shirts were pulled untucked and buttons came undone. He couldn’t help but wish that Hannibal wore a fewer layers.
“Hold on—” Will murmured breathlessly as he pulled back for air, his pulse racing as he saw how Hannibal’s usually perfectly styled hair fell loose across his forehead. “Get that suit off before I lose my mind.”
“As you wish,” Hannibal said with a teasing little smirk, climbing off Will with a slight reluctance as he undressed in earnest.
As Will pulled his own shirt off, his gaze fell to Hannibal’s still-concealed groin and his jaw dropped. He had hoped the man would be sizable, but the barely restrained bulge straining the fabric of his pants bordered on the obscene. He had to remember to close his mouth as he felt himself starting to salivate.
“I take it you approve,” Hannibal said, cocking a brow as Will blinked up at him.
“I— how do you fit that in your pants!?” Will blurted out.
“I have a very good tailor,” Hannibal smirked with a casual little shrug of his shoulders.
Will swallowed, his hands a little more haphazard as he tried to get his clothes off, alternating between shyly looking away and desperately trying to catch more glimpses as Hannibal revealed more and more skin.
By the time they were both in their underwear, his hands did the thinking for him. He pulled Hannibal back towards the chaise longue, greedily running his fingers across the man’s biceps, his shoulder blades, and the surprisingly soft, heart-shaped tuft of hair across his chest.
“You’re supposed to be letting me take care of your problem, Will,” Hannibal purred as he seized the brunette’s wrists in one hand and pinned them up above his head, leaning down to press a kiss against his jaw.
“But you’ve been hiding all of this from me. I need to make up for lost time,” Will protested, gently wriggling against the hold, desperate to get his hands back on that body.
Hannibal hushed him, tilting his head to nip at the column of his neck. “Let me take care of you, stubborn boy,” he whispered, releasing Will’s wrists to instead reach down and tug at the waistband of his boxers.
The profiler instinctively lifted his hips, worrying his lip between his teeth. A low, appreciative groan rumbled from Hannibal’s throat as he slid the garment off of his legs and took in the sight before him, gazing at Will’s aching erection as though it were classical French cuisine.
“Not the only one concealing something delectable, I see,” he said as he ran a finger from base to tip, teasingly sliding it against the leaking slit.
“Christ—” Will gasped, twitching and arching his back. “I hope you keep lubricant in your office because if you don’t fuck me soon I am actually going to spontaneously combust.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Once again Will was briefly abandoned and devoid of Hannibal’s warmth as he watched the Lithuanian traipse across his office, retrieving a small, non-descript bottle from one of his desk drawers. He had to bite his tongue, resisting the urge to ask exactly what Hannibal got up to between appointments.
But all thoughts quickly slipped from his mind as Hannibal stood by the chaise longue, watching Will’s eyes on him, and pushed his (silk? That was another conversation to be had later) boxers down his hips, letting them pool on the ground before stepping out of them.
“Oh,” said Will intelligently, his lips parted as he stared, unable to disguise his surprise even if he had wanted to. It wasn’t just that Hannibal was large; he was thick. We’re talking, ‘illegal to carry lest it be mistaken for a deadly weapon’ big.
There was a little flicker of concern in Hannibal’s eyes. “It can be a struggle for some—”
“No!” Will quickly interrupted, shaking his head. “No, no, no. I can take it.”
“Far be it from me to underestimate your capabilities,” Hannibal said with a note of amusement as he perched on the end of the chaise longue. “May I prepare you, Will?”
“Please,” Will breathed, bending his knees and spreading his legs as Hannibal began running a hand along one of his thighs in a soothing motion as he single-handedly popped open the cap of the bottle. He pulled away his hand only to coat his fingers with the clear, thick gel, warming it between his digits.
Hannibal placed his index finger between Will’s legs, just lightly stroking the slick tip in suggestive circles to begin with, massaging the tight ring of muscles before nudging slowly inside. Will’s head tipped back as a shaky sigh escaped his lips, feeling Hannibal’s finger pushing in to the knuckle. God, it had been a while.
“Is that alright?” Hannibal asked, his free hand sliding along Will’s stomach and up to his ribs.
“Yeah, it’s… more than alright,” Will said, taking deep breaths to encourage his body to relax as he felt Hannibal very gently adding a second finger.
The preparation was slow, careful, and considerate. Almost to the point of being frustrating, though Will knew that it was important. Two fingers became three, stretching and working him open.
“Are you ready, darling?” Hannibal asked as he carefully pulled his hand away, and Will felt his stomach do a strange little twist at the unexpected endearment. He nodded his head, wetting his lips as he watched Hannibal thoroughly slick his cock with the lubricant.
“We’ll go as slowly as you need,” Hannibal continued as he moved up Will’s body and between his legs, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, propped up on one hand as the other guided him.
“I’m not inexperienced, Hannibal,” Will tried to protest, yet his breath immediately hitched in his throat as he felt the hot head of Hannibal’s cock being pressed between his legs, the tip nudging slowly inside, breaching his entrance at an almost agonising pace.
“I don’t— doubt that,” Hannibal grunted softly, his eyelids fluttering as he pushed in small increments, his skin beginning to take on a slightly pink hue.
“Fuck,” Will breathed, a slight whine forming in his throat at the overwhelming sensation of being filled. “God, that’s so good, you feel so good, Hannibal…” He wrapped his arms loosely around Hannibal’s neck.
“I’m only halfway, Will,” Hannibal said with a twitch of a smile as Will’s eyes widened at him, his mouth agape.
“Sorry, you’re— what?” Will swallowed.
“We can stop if you need—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Will hissed, pressing his fingers into Hannibal’s shoulder blades. “Keep going.”
Hannibal simply watched him for a moment, not disguising the doubt in his expression, before giving a small nod. He continued to push his hips forward, his guiding hand moving to hold Will’s hip instead. The younger man had to bite back a whimper as he felt the burn of the stretch, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, determined to endure.
He felt like he was being slowly torn open, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he’d be damned if he was going to miss an opportunity for the best dicking he’d had in years. He could tell when Hannibal had finally bottomed out by the ever so slight tremor of his hand and the deep, gruff groan that escaped his throat.
“You feel sensational,” he muttered, his breathing getting a little heavier. “Are you alright?”
“I think you’ve probably reached my rib cage,” Will said with a small huff of laughter, his voice a bit strained.
“It’s not quite that substantial, thankfully, for your organs’ sake,” Hannibal replied with a flash of his teeth, a brief hint of a grin showing his canines.
With a deep, steadying breath, Hannibal slowly pulled out part of the way before sliding back in with a shallow thrust, causing a string of helpless curses to escape Will’s mouth. Hannibal repeated the motion, clearly entertained by the way it seemed to shortcircuit the smaller man’s brain.
“Will,” he whispered softly, “give me your hand.”
Will blinked at him for a moment before obliging, and Hannibal guided his hand to the bottom of Will’s abdomen, pressing his fingers down just above where his own erection was curved hard against his stomach. Hannibal slowly pulled out and thrust back into Will’s searing heat again, and Will’s eyes widened as he felt the slight bulge of Hannibal’s girth pressing out beneath his skin.
“Fuck,” Will mumbled. He’d never known anything like it, he could feel him inside and out. Before he could recover from the discovery, Hannibal was setting a pace of small thrusts, his hands set one on Will’s shoulder and the other on his hip. Will kept his own hand on his stomach, his lips parted in silent wonder as he felt the movement.
His silence didn’t last for long, as the thrusts gradually became deeper, small gasps turning into stuttered moans as Will wrapped one of his legs around Hannibal’s hip, any sense of pain rapidly melting into utter pleasure.
A particularly deep thrust hit that sensitive little nub of nerves inside Will and he cried out, digging his nails into Hannibal’s back as his vision turned into a void of shimmering white. From that moment on he couldn’t get enough; he wanted it harder, deeper, rougher, and he wasn’t quiet about letting Hannibal know.
Demands eventually became wordless cries and moans, intermingled with Hannibal’s grunts and groans, their skin starting to gleam with a thin layer of perspiration. Hannibal’s eyes were constantly roaming Will’s body and face with a look of desperate captivation.
“Hannibal, Hannibal, I’m not going to last, fuck—” Will managed to force out the words between a half-choked sob of overwhelmed bliss.
“Let go, let me feel you,” Hannibal panted, his speed intensifying as he watched Will wrap a hand around his leaking cock, panting and whining as he stroked himself to completion. It took barely any time before he was shuddering with his release, coating his hand and stomach with thick ropes of come.
His muscles flexed and clenched, causing Hannibal’s eyes to widen and his lips to part in a quiet, stuttering gasp, Will’s orgasm pushing him over the edge. He dug his fingers into Will’s hip, his upper lip twitching in a snarl as his thrusts became unsteady and erratic as he filled the younger man.
They were both slightly shaky as Hannibal slumped over Will, careful not to crush him as he tried to catch his breath. For a little while there was just a comfortable silence, with Will wincing slightly as Hannibal carefully pulled out so that he could settle between the smaller man’s legs, wrapping an arm around him.
“You took that so well,” Hannibal praised in a soft, hushed voice and Will found his cheeks heating in a surprised blush, returning the gentle kiss that the psychiatrist pressed to his lips.
Without missing a beat, Will looked at him, raised his brows and uttered, “...Same time next week?”