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Golden, flickering light danced across Hannibal’s face, a reflection of the fire he was so intently staring into. He told himself he was only lost in thought, and not concentrating solely on not losing himself in the man beside him. He sipped his wine, slow, savoring the bite on his tongue before swallowing it altogether. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, setting the now empty glass beside him—beside Will’s on the table between them.
He noted Will’s glass was equally empty.
What was this? The fourth glass? Hannibal blinked, realizing the count had somehow escaped him.
“Can I get you another?” Will’s voice was low, thickened from the alcohol. He looked over at Hannibal, who was still fixated on the glasses, gaze locked in on the condensation slipping down the crystal and onto the scratched wood. He wet his lips, raising his gaze to Will’s, amber settling on cerulean.
“I’d have to open a new bottle,” Will gestured to the one they’d drained already, “but it’s no difference to me. It’s not like I have anyone else to drink it with.”
He blushed and snapped his mouth closed, clearing his throat. The corner of Hannibal’s mouth quirked upward into a hungry smirk.
“If you are offering, I will not decline,” his voice had seemingly returned to him, “but I must express my concerns about how I will get home. It would not be wise to drive in my condition.”
Will faltered, and Hannibal swore the red flush crept further down his neck. “Oh. Right. I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry. You can always sleep on the couch,” he laughed, “to be fair, you probably shouldn’t drive at this point anyway. So what’s another glass?”
It was Hannibal’s turn to blush. He hoped the glow of the flames on his skin concealed it well enough. Perhaps he could blame it on the wine if Will pointed it out.
“Clever boy,” Hannibal dipped his head to the side. “I suppose you are right. Then sure, what’s another glass?”
Will nodded, standing all-too-quickly, swaying for just a second. He let out a puff of air as he steadied himself, hand shooting out to clutch the arm of the chair. Hannibal’s eyes followed, watching the bones beneath his skin flex as his fingers dug into the leather. Will righted himself, clearing his throat.
Hannibal only lifted his chin, dragging his eyes up Will’s form—the clothes he still wore from the work day, the way his tie had become looser and looser around his neck, the way his shirt hugged his shoulders—before resting on his face. Hannibal all but batted his eyelashes at Will, blinking slow and long, lips parting almost imperceptibly.
And Will stared right back, pretty pink lips and cheeks emphasized in the light, curls falling across his forehead. His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, and Hannibal watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed dryly. He shook his head, much like one of his dogs, taking the emptied bottle and turning quickly toward the kitchen.
Hannibal watched Will move, gaze flitting down his form, settling on his hips. He rose without thinking, stalking behind Will like predator to prey.
He knew Will could hear him, and the thrill of Will allowing the hunt only drove Hannibal closer. Will stayed turned around, setting the bottle on the counter, acting greatly interested in the selection of three remaining bottles that rested atop his fridge.
When Will finally did turn around, he didn’t startle at Hannibal’s sudden appearance behind him. He only tilted his head upward, eye contact unwavering now as he asked whether Hannibal would prefer a red or a white.
Hannibal’s hand snaked outward, wrapping around the silken fabric of Will’s tie, wrapping the length of it around his fingers once. He tugged, and Will stumbled forward, nearly into the man before him. He caught himself, mouth inches from Hannibal’s, though he didn’t pull away or jerk backward. He only breathed and held his gaze, pupils widening. Will’s breath ghosted Hannibal’s bottom lip; Hannibal’s grip tightened.
“Hannibal,” Will breathed, finally, a rush of air and Hannibal’s name all at once. His voice was higher, carried on the whisper of a whine. The ache in his voice sent sparks down Hannibal’s spine, familiar warmth spreading in his gut. For a brief moment, Hannibal considered things—searching Will’s eyes for any trace of hesitation or confusion. He found only desire, black consuming blue as Will returned the fixated stare.
Lips and teeth and tongue met all at once; heat and pain and wetness. Will made a broken, needy sound, somewhere deep in the back of his throat. Hannibal returned it with a low moan, the hand that wasn’t entwined in Will’s tie pushing into his curls. At the same moment, as though he remembered he had them, Will’s hands landed on Hannibal’s shoulders, grappling and desperate to find purchase on his jacket. Hannibal shrugged his hold off, releasing Will except for his mouth, hands now tearing at his own shoulders as he slipped out of the jacket. He heard the fabric hit the floor, and he and Will both stepped around it as they stumbled backward.
Hannibal took a step forward, and Will back—Will’s waist knocked into the counter top, earning another whimper from him. Hannibal smiled against his mouth, taking an additional step forward, caging Will against the granite. Will’s hands found their place on his shoulders, digging into the shirt that still remained between them and the muscle beneath. He dragged them downward, over his chest and to his ribs.
“Stupid fucking three-piece suit,” Will muttered, fingers blindly sliding over the buttons of his waistcoat.
Hannibal dragged his teeth across Will’s bottom lip, biting down lightly. A punishment for his rudeness. Eventually, Will got the vest unbuttoned, forcing it off Hannibal’s shoulders as hastily as Hannibal had shed the previous layer. Hannibal’s own hands busied themselves with undoing Will’s tie, sliding it off his neck and casting it to the floor in one fluid motion. For a fleeting moment, he regretted it, images of where and when exactly he could utilize the soft fabric, fantasies of restraining Will with his own clothing almost too tempting to resist. But then Will’s hands came to rest on his waist, and he realized how horribly he’d be missing out if he deprived himself of his touch.
When Hannibal’s fingertips brushed the skin of Will’s throat as he reached to undo the buttons of his collar, Will whimpered, a beautiful, perfect sound that Hannibal wished to hear again and again. Experimentally, he rested his palm flat against the front of his neck, just barely wrapping his fingers around the base where his collarbones met his shoulders. Will made a desperate, breathy sound, pushing against Hannibal’s hand, chasing more pressure and tightness with need. Hannibal felt lightheaded as the blood rushed from his brain to his cock, tightening his grip just once. Will moaned, broken and unguarded, into Hannibal’s mouth.
“Bedroom,” Will whispered, fingertips finally reaching the hair that gathered on Hannibal’s chest; Hannibal had only just realized Will had managed to undo his shirt in the meantime. Hannibal hummed in response, breaking the kiss, only to mouth at Will’s jaw, tongue flicking out against the stubble that had grown there.
“Hannibal,” Will hissed, “please, baby? Come on, my room’s right there, just a couple steps and you can put your mouth wherever you want it.”
The pet name went straight to Hannibal’s cock, and his mouth hung open for a brief second and he exhaled against Will’s thumping pulse. He pressed a final kiss to the underside of his jawline before pulling himself away—which he thought was perhaps the most difficult thing he’d yet done in his life.
“Show me,” Hannibal murmured, dragging his thumb over Will’s bottom lip. Will caught the tip of it between his teeth, savoring the taste and the promise of more.
Clothes, useless layers now, were shed as they stumbled together, Hannibal behind Will as they left behind the fire and wine. Will cast his flannel aside, leaving him in only an impossibly tight white shirt that hugged his arms in such a way that Hannibal wondered how it wasn’t tearing at the seams. Hannibal had discarded his own shirt, thanks to Will’s hasty unbuttoning, and silently thanked his past-self for opting to wear nothing underneath it.
Will turned on his heel, taking in the sight of Hannibal before him, unabashedly dragging his gaze up the shape of his body. His hands, less shaky now, rested on the buckle of Hannibal’s belt. His stare was unwavering, resting entirely on Hannibal’s face as he slid leather through metal. He hooked his fingers through his belt loops after removing it, pulling Hannibal closer so they were chest to chest. Hannibal’s hand came to rest on Will’s face, cupping his jaw, thumb smoothing over the expanse of his cheek. Will’s lashes fluttered as he sighed, soft and breathy, relaxing into his touch.
“How beautiful you are,” Hannibal murmured. “Exquisitely reactive to the lightest of contact. I can only dream of how stunning you’d look beneath me, dear Will.”
Will’s lips parted as if to respond, but the only sound that escaped was a cracked, thready whine. Hannibal couldn’t help but smile, pleased with both himself and his subject. He leaned in, predator closing in on prey, mouth pressed to Will’s with a harshness that could only be driven by carnivorous desire. He dragged his tongue across Will’s teeth, hand tightening where it slotted around his ear and the base of his skull.
Will opened to him, tipping his head back, tongue sliding against Hannibal’s in a filthy, wet mess. He groaned, fingers fidgeting against the buckle of his pants, desperately undoing it as he tried to keep up as Hannibal consumed him whole. Hannibal’s own hands departed from Will’s face, much to his disappointment, and found their place on his shirt, tugging at it until Will got the message. He stepped back, only willing to break the contact if it were absolutely unavoidable, and lifted his shirt up and over his head with ease.
The sight of Will, now bare and on display, made Hannibal dizzy with want. His mouth hung open, and he was obviously staring now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Taught, smooth skin spread over hard, rippling muscle, which flexed in time with Will’s movements as he tossed the shirt somewhere in the corner of his room. He smirked, understanding fully that he was on display to Hannibal’s great delight, and took it a step further, undoing his belt and kicking off his pants in one motion. He stood in front of the older man, in nothing now but tight black briefs, proud and melting under Hannibal’s stare all at the same time. Anyone else would’ve found themselves feeling threatened under the intensity of his watchful eyes, but Will knew better. Hunger and desire and lust were all the same for Hannibal, particularly when it came to him.
“You can touch, baby,” Will’s voice cut through the silence, and Hannibal’s shoulders jerked, the movement so slight Will knew he was lucky to catch it. Hannibal, in turn, moved forward at once, though he didn’t stop once he was pressed to Will. Instead, he pushed, and Will fell, landing flat on his back on his bed, curls pillowing out around his head. Hannibal crawled on top of him, and Will spread his legs, ever the lamb submitting to the lion. He buried his face in Will’s neck, sucking and biting and kissing his way down the curvature of it. Will moaned, louder now, or maybe it just felt that way because he did so practically into Hannibal’s ear—whatever the case, Hannibal didn’t care. He only knew that he wanted to hear that sound again and again. To make Will make that sound again and again.
He flicked his tongue out, lapping once over a blossoming bruise beneath Will’s jaw.
“People are gonna see,” Will whispered, voice broken as he fought to catch his breath.
“Let them,” Hannibal murmured back. “Perhaps they’ll stop eyeing you the way that they always do. The way you are so oblivious to.”
Will laughed, sweet and innocent, and Hannibal grinned against his skin. He kissed over the bruise, lighter this time, before pulling back to look down at Will. His hair, silvery and blonde all in one, hung in his eyes, and Will found himself fighting the urge to reach up and brush it back. Hannibal wished he would.
Warm, strong hands came to rest on Hannibal’s waist, fingers slipping under the band of his underwear. Hannibal sighed, leaning down, pressing a deep, adoring kiss to Will’s mouth. He shifted, only slightly, moving so there was less space between his and Will’s bodies—and less space between his cock and Will’s wandering hands.
In almost all of Hannibal’s fantasies, his dreams of this, he imagined he’d touch Will first. Perhaps he’d be the only one to touch at all. He imagined many a scenario where Will simply lie there, accepting of his touches and devotion, yet not quite returning the favor. (Not that that was to any of Hannibal’s dismay. He’d lay at Will’s feet if it was what the man wished of him).
But now, with Will’s hand closing around the tip of his cock, just barely making contact, he found his resolve crumbling before him. He was wet and leaking, and in any other circumstances he’d probably be embarrassed at his own desperation, but the way Will moaned when he felt it eased any and all sense of apprehension.
“Baby,” Will groaned, and it was the third time—Hannibal had been counting—that he used that name tonight. His cock twitched in Will’s hand, which did not go unnoticed, and Will gripped it tighter, using Hannibal’s own precum to slick his palm as he began to stroke up and down. Hannibal bit back a moan that would’ve been louder and higher than he could ever come back from, instead redirecting his mouth to latch onto Will’s. He kissed with his teeth and tongue forward, sucking and dragging Will’s bottom lip into his mouth as though he were trying to consume him whole. Will’s hand faltered as the skin split, blood beading and spilling onto their tongues together. It only spurred him on, now moving faster, twisting his wrist so his palm slipped up and over the tip on every other stroke. Hannibal worried he would come undone before he got the chance to touch Will.
Hannibal rolled his hips once, savoring the feeling of fucking himself into Will’s fist, before raising himself up on his elbows, slipping out of Will’s touch. Will whined and frowned as he looked up at him, pouting his lower lip and blinking at Hannibal with dark, wide eyes.
“Darling, don’t give me that look,” Hannibal cooed, brushing a stray curl from Will’s forehead. “We can’t rush to the finish line, can we? Not before I get to have my turn with you, if I’ve earned it….”
Will hummed, contemplative. “I think you have,” he murmured, voice rough. “I want you, Hannibal.”
It was as though Will had reached into the depths of his mind, reaching for the very sentence that Hannibal had concluded he’d only hear in his sweetest of dreams. His heart thudded in his chest, and for the first time tonight, he recognized he was nervous. He’d been writing this very moment in his imagination for so long that now he was anxious to perform—anxious to make Will feel as good as he deserved and to worship him like the god he was.
Will smiled, lips curled upward to reveal shining white teeth and two sharp canines. “Don’t be nervous, baby,” he whispered, reaching up to cup Hannibal’s jaw. “It’s just me. There’s, uh, what you’ll need in the bedside drawer.” Will blushed at that, deep pink staining his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
Something cold and rotten stirred deep in Hannibal’s chest at the gesture. Will was allowed to have his own life, obviously, and it wasn’t like they’d done anything together before this or had any indication of a relationship or commitment to each other. Still, the thought of Will perhaps having another lover, giving him reason to keep such supplies so close at hand, made Hannibal’s skin crawl. Jealousy clouded his gaze, and he tried to swallow the urge to ask a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.
“Hey,” Will murmured, brows furrowed at Hannibal’s sudden change in expression. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?” He frowned, eyes once glittering with lust now shrouded with nervous concern.
Hannibal shook his head once, already regretting his reaction and allowing himself to worry Will in such a way. It was selfish and rude, and he buried his face in the crook of Will’s jaw, hoping the press of kisses would distract them both.
Assuming what Hannibal was thinking—Hannibal had forgotten Will could read him just as easily as he could Will—the man beneath him spoke up between gasps. “There’s no one else,” he whispered, back arching when Hannibal bit down harder. “No one, Hannibal. Not… not recently, anyway. Don’t… can’t… don’t want anyone. Not anyone but you. ‘Promise.”
Hannibal groaned, trailing his mouth down Will’s collarbone and chest. He littered his skin with nips and bruises, reds and purples blooming across defined muscle. For the moment, he chose not to respond or further inquire about Will’s lovers, nor the admittance that Will had wanted him for some time, instead focusing his efforts on kissing lower and lower and lower, breathless as he nosed the hairs that gathered at the base of Will’s stomach.
Will’s voice trailed off, dissipating into a muffled whine as he clamped his mouth closed. Hannibal could smell—and taste—the arousal rolling off him in waves, and his lips curled into a hungry smirk. He slid a hand under each of Will’s thighs, pushing upward and pressing them to his chest, forcing Will to spread them apart.
Will had never felt so exposed and vulnerable in his life and he resisted the overwhelming urge to snap his legs closed and push Hannibal away. But then Hannibal’s warm breath was spreading over where he ached the most, and all thoughts of escape disappeared. There was something comforting in Hannibal’s grasp, too: though he was holding Will’s thighs steady and spread, Will knew he could easily twist free if he so desired. The act of being both controlled and allowed to be free all at the same time, especially by Hannibal, was perhaps the filthiest sensation Will had felt yet tonight.
Gazing up at Will through hooded eyes and fluttering lashes, Hannibal pressed his mouth to tight, hot muscle that twitched at the contact. Tongue darting out, he licked in short succession, allowing Will to decide whether or not he wished Hannibal to continue.
“Sh-shit,” Will groaned, loud and unguarded. His hips rose off the sheets, and Hannibal found himself pushing back down, holding him flat against the bed. “Fuck, Hannibal, oh my god. Baby, oh my god,” he whispered, words tumbling out in a breathless rush.
Hannibal smiled, satisfied, and continued his ministrations. He licked and kissed and sucked, and Will shook beneath him, unable to stop the flow of curses and praise that fell from his lips. Slowly, teasingly, he pressed his tongue inside, past the hot ring of flesh and deeper into the velvet sweetness of his lover. Will cried out beneath him, whining something desperate about how Hannibal needed to stop or he’d finish before they got to fucking.
The crudeness of Will’s language made Hannibal chuckle against him, and he obeyed, kissing sweetly along his thighs as he pulled away. He noted the way Will continued to quiver, though he was no longer touching him, and the wild, dark look in his eyes when he finally raised his gaze.
“You are so beautiful,” Hannibal murmured, earnest as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Absolutely divine. How lucky I am to be in your presence and draw such gorgeous sounds out of you, dear Will.”
“You’re so fucking hot,” Will panted, turning his head to catch Hannibal’s mouth in his own. Hot and scathing, like his choice of words, Will sucked and bit on Hannibal’s bottom lip, groaning at the taste of himself.
“This mouth of yours,” Hannibal hummed, smiling against Will, “what’s to be done about it? Are you always this crude when I’m not around?”
“Blame it on the wine and how turned on I am. And yes, maybe I am this crude, but I’m afraid to swear in front of you.”
Hannibal laughed again, and Will echoed it, looking up at Hannibal with bright eyes. This all felt so good, so natural, and Hannibal wished it would never end. He hoped Will felt the same.
“You really are gorgeous,” Will whispered, reaching up and brushing Hannibal’s hair from his eyes. “I mean it. I’ll say it again sober. I’ll say it again every day.”
They both blushed, and Will smiled nervously. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to rush out an embarrassed explanation, but thought better of it. He kissed Hannibal instead, languid and gentle now, sliding his hands along his jaw and up the back of his head. He twisted his fingers in his hair, sighing softly, hips barely rolling upward.
A few moments later, Will shuddered out another broken moan as Hannibal returned to the task at hand with great focus, slipping two slick fingers inside Will with a painfully teasing slowness. Will’s breath came in short bursts, desperate as he pushed his hips down, chasing more friction and more fullness and more of Hannibal.
“Patience, pretty boy,” Hannibal cooed, curling his fingers, closing his mouth over Will’s as he gasped. Will mumbled something, nodding as he tried to focus on kissing Hannibal back, so full of want that it was beginning to hurt. He needed Hannibal more than he’d ever needed anything in his life, he thought; more than nutrition or water or whisky or air to breathe. He needed to be filled, to have Hannibal so close, to listen to the sounds Hannibal would make when he came undone, to be the one making Hannibal come undone. God, he needed it, and he thought he might just flip the pair of them over and fuck Hannibal himself if he didn’t hurry up.
Hannibal hummed in satisfaction, thrusting his fingers in harder. “Another night, my love,” Hannibal promised—promised to what, exactly, Will wasn’t sure, unless he’d said that last part out loud, and god, if he did that—.
“Please, Hannibal,” Will begged, cutting off his own train of thought. He was dizzy with desire, blinking back tears of frustration as he tried to catch his breath. “Please, baby.”
Like a command he’d have for his dogs, the name pushed Hannibal over the edge and into action. He pulled back, resting on his elbows now, one hand disappearing between them. He stroked himself, slow, as he met Will’s eyes. The sight of Will was breathtaking: curls sticking to his forehead that shone with beads of sweat, pupils wide and blown, consuming all color in his eyes, cheeks and nose flushed pink, mouth parted in a helpless whimper.
“My beautiful boy,” Hannibal murmured, shifting his hips forward as he lined himself up. His head dropped as he pushed inside, slowly and gently—this time, with no desire to tease, rather to allow his lover the comfort of adjustment.
Will cried out as Hannibal pushed in further, eyes snapping closed as his hips rose off the bed. It had been so long, so fucking long since anyone had touched him like this, since he’d been taken care of like this; the intimacy of it all became overwhelming all at once, and he found himself clutching to Hannibal’s shoulders desperately.
“Good,” Hannibal whispered when his hips met Will’s. “You take me so well, you’re so good for me, Will. So good.” He smoothed a hand down Will’s side, resting it on the curve of his waist. He waited as Will trembled beneath him. Finally, his grip on Hannibal’s shoulders loosened, and he offered a tight nod.
Perhaps it was the praise, or the crackling heat in the air, or the way that, for the first time, Will could feel what Hannibal was feeling that forced tears to well and spill from Will’s closed eyes. Or maybe it was simply the all-consuming sensation of being so full, god, Hannibal was more than he could take. Had ever taken.
Hannibal was there to meet the salty wetness, kissing away the tears as they slipped down his cheeks. He moved slowly, barely pulling out and pushing back in, whispering words of praise as he dragged his mouth to the shell of Will’s ear. Warm, calloused hands found their way onto Hannibal’s back, nails dragging down, featherlight—a challenge. Will wanted more. Needed more.
Though Will hadn’t yet uttered a word, the man above him understood everything unspoken. He drew his hips outward, fully, and then back again with more strength and speed than before. He stilled for half a second, watching his lover beneath him, waiting for permission to continue. Will finally opened his eyes, black and shining, staring right back up into Hannibal’s.
“Please,” Will whispered, spreading his legs further and shifting them upward. He wrapped them around Hannibal’s waist, ankles locked together.
The bed creaked beneath them as Hannibal snapped forward again. Will’s nails sank into his skin, and the bright, stinging pain only urged him to move harder. And faster.
Will’s head fell back, jaw slack, a low, aching moan tearing from his lips. Hannibal wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed lightly, earning another desperate sound from Will. He held himself up with his free arm, triceps flexing and bulging from the exertion. Will turned his head to the side, mouth pressed to that same arm.
When Hannibal hit that spot that made Will’s vision go fuzzy, white spots creeping in at the edges, he bit down with reckless abandon. His teeth broke the flesh, and blood spilled into his mouth; Hannibal groaned above him, cursing in a language he didn’t understand. What he did understand was the roughness and urgency that now accompanied Hannibal’s thrusts—Will bit down again, lapping at the wound and delighting in the metallic taste that coated his tongue.
Sweat began to bead down Hannibal’s back, and his head dropped against Will’s shoulder. He wondered whether it was he or Will who was trembling. Maybe it was both.
Will’s legs tightened around Hannibal’s waist, dragging him in impossibly closer. Hannibal mouthed at Will’s collarbone, teeth grazing his skin. His hand snaked between them, wrapping around Will’s neglected, leaking cock; Will whined beneath him, as if he’d forgotten about himself, too.
Stroking Will in time with the movement of his hips, Hannibal found the strength to unlatch himself from Will’s neck and settle at an angle where he could watch his face. In awe, he watched as his brows furrowed in concentration, salty, hot sweat dripping down the sides of his face. His eyes were barely open, gaze sliding to meet Hannibal’s.
“Don’t stop looking at me,” Hannibal whispered, twisting and pumping his hand the same way Will had done to him before. Will nodded weakly, and the effort it clearly took to not close his eyes was enough to push Hannibal closer to the edge. He refused, though, to finish before Will.
Will whimpered Hannibal’s name, his hand twisting into his hair, eyes locked on Hannibal’s as he came. He sighed, dragging Hannibal in for a kiss as he shook against him. Hannibal groaned into Will’s mouth, hips stuttering as he came, his arm shaking as it finally gave out under the weight of him. Will laughed softly when he landed on his chest, wrapping his arms around him, loosening the grip his legs had around his waist. Hannibal’s face flushed pink, and he began to sit up as if to apologize, but Will tugged him back down.
“Stay,” Will whispered, stroking the back of Hannibal’s head, fingers carding through silver and blonde. Hannibal sighed, soft and content, and for the first time in his life, managed to ignore the glaringly obvious disgust that he should feel toward lying pressed against Will, sweat and come and spit drying between their bodies.
“Don’t make me talk about this tonight,” Will teased, voice laced with laughter as he pressed a kiss into Hannibal’s hair. Hannibal laughed, tipping his chin up to press a kiss to Will’s jaw.
“Fine,” he agreed, the wide smile that stretched across his face betraying his stern tone. “But we should discuss in the morning…”
Will rolled his eyes, slowly sitting up with Hannibal still wrapped in his arms. “Whatever. We can talk about whatever you want tomorrow. Right now, can we talk about taking a shower?”
Hannibal nodded, raising his head fully, meeting Will’s eyes for the first time since he’d buried his face in his chest. “Of course,” he whispered, softer now. He reached forward, brushing a curl from where it hung across his forehead.
“Come on,” Will’s voice was sweet as he leaned into his touch. “I don’t have nearly as much fancy shit as you probably do. But I can promise to make you a stunning three-course meal of water, Advil, and leftover pizza after. Tell me that doesn’t turn you on.”
Hannibal groaned, shaking his head as he chuckled. “Rude boy,” he chided, tapping Will’s nose. “That sounds delightful, Will.”
Will grinned, kissing Hannibal with such adoration and pure joy that it made his head spin. He kissed him again and again, lacing their hands together. He squeezed once, kissed him twice, and whispered something about how he promised to make the shower worth his while. Hannibal could only smile—he couldn’t stop, he realized—and return the kisses. He squeezed Will’s hand once in return.