Chapter Text
Hannibal has a surgeon's hands. The long, dexterous fingers capable of removing a heart from a ribcage fast enough to show the owner before the life leaves their eyes. When he draws, Will likes to watch him, the rasp of a pencil soothing. He plays the piano like he was born to it, his fingers dancing across the keys.
Really, this was inevitable.
Hannibal's thighs are firm against his stomach, his cock already half hard just from being pressed against the fabric of his trousers. Hannibal is dressed impeccably as always, a sharp contrast to Will's bare skin.
The blindfold was Hannibal's suggestion, and at first it felt uncomfortable and suffocating, but now it only heightens the feeling of fabric against his stomach. His knees are sore against the hardwood floor but he doesn't dare move. That's not what Hannibal wants. It's not what he wants, either.
Hannibal's palm slides from the nape of his neck down along his back, fingertips fluttering across his ribs. His breath hitches in his chest, and he's painfully aware that with the position he's in, Hannibal's trousers are going to be ruined.
The thought is far more arousing than he'd ever expected. Prim and proper Hannibal Lecter, dishevelled and filthy. God, it shouldn't be that hot, but it is.
He's drawn out of his thoughts by Hannibal's fingers dancing down the bumps and dips of his spine, all the way down to his tailbone. He expects them to continue, but ever the tease, Hannibal's hand instead slides around to caress over his hip and the curve of his ass. He takes his time, touching and teasing, but never giving him the satisfaction he craves, neither pain nor pleasure, merely exploring the planes of his lower back and the divots in his spine.
"You'll take ten, to start with. Count them." he murmurs, and Will has no time to respond before the blow lands home. The sound reaches him before the sharp pain blooms across his ass before radiating outward into a heated ache. It would be manageable on his own, but the small vibrator buzzes against his prostate in just the right way to have him squirming.
It takes him a moment to gather his scattered thoughts, especially with Hannibal palming over the red mark he'd left behind, but he manages to form a response.
"One," he breathes, shifting his hips against his thigh.
The second blow comes harder, this time on the opposite cheek, and it coaxes a soft gasp out of him. He's not going to be sitting any time soon, that's for sure.
"Two," this time his voice comes out as a groan.
"Good boy."
He almost comes then and there but Hannibal doesn't give him the chance to relax, and his palm cracks twice against the curve of his ass, one on each side.
"Three, f-four." each strike builds the ache until he feels almost burnt, and while it's not the worst pain he's ever felt — far from it — it would be uncomfortable if not for the way he rolls his hips against Hannibal's thigh, rutting against him shamelessly.
This time, Hannibal's hand strokes across the curve of his ass before pulling away, but the blow never comes. Instead, two fingers dip between his cheeks, teasingly brushing over his slick entrance. His entire body stiffens, shudders, pleasure electric arcing through him.
His head bows, burying his face in his arms, but Hannibal doesn't give him what he wants. The pads of his fingers press against him but pull away all too soon, leaving him trembling.
"Hannibal—" he breaks off in a hiss as Hannibal's hand comes down again, and this time the blow is hard enough to jolt his body forwards. The friction of Hannibal's trousers against his cock makes his back arch and temporarily erases all thought from his mind.
He doesn't realise his mistake until a slick finger presses into him alongside the vibrator, pressing the small toy firmly against his prostate. The sudden flare of pleasure coaxes a moan from him, his hips bucking up reflexively, and he finally remembers the task at hand. "Five..." he mumbles, his voice muffled against his arms.
Hannibal's other hand moves to tangle in his hair, yanking his head back up. It makes his back arch almost unpleasantly, but with Hannibal's finger keeping the toy against his prostate, the discomfort barely registers. "What was that?" he murmurs. Even without raising his voice he manages to sound intimidating, and Pavlov would be proud of the way Will responds, so well-trained.
"Five." he says louder, although his voice is a little strained from the way his head is pulled back.
"Much better. Don't try to hide your voice, Will. I quite like hearing you."
He opens his mouth to respond, but Hannibal's finger pulls away and his words instead twist into a noise akin to a whine at the loss, even though the toy still buzzes pleasantly inside him.
"We're halfway through. You can take the rest, can't you?" Hannibal damn near purrs and christ, does that do all sorts of things to him.
Will nods shakily, and he desperately wishes he could see the look on Hannibal's face. It's probably better that he's blindfolded — he knows how Hannibal looks at him, and it'd probably tip him over the edge far too soon. At least this way, he can pretend he has some measure of self control.
Two more blows come in quick succession, and he'd almost believe that it was Hannibal's way of being merciful, if he didn't know what was coming later. "Six, seven..." his cock is leaking profusely, almost painfully hard against Hannibal's thigh, and he'd probably be embarrassed if not for the tell-tale firmness against his flank. Hannibal is just as excited, although his self control is iron.
"Three more." Hannibal's voice is soothing, even as two fingers press into him, the stretch a pleasurable ache. "That's a good boy, you're doing so well."
Those talented fingers crook, curling in just the right way, and he nearly comes right then and there. "Oh, fuck—" he gasps, his hips working back against his hand. "Close—"
Hannibal clicks his tongue in disappointment and pulls his fingers away. "That's a shame." he sighs, his hand moving instead to cup the swell of his ass. "We've barely even begun."
Another blow makes him cry out, and he knows Hannibal isn't holding back anymore. There's a surprising strength in those arms, and he uses every ounce to make sure Will /bruises/. He's going to feel every single mark in the morning.
"Eight..." he groans. Hannibal's trousers are damp against his cock where he rolls his hips against his thigh, and he's so close, he just needs that little bit more to tip him over the edge.
"Two more. If you come now," Hannibal pauses, giving him a moment to let the threat sink in, and then continues. "You won't come for the rest of the night." he whispers.
A string of incoherent curses spill from his lips as he tries to still his hips, knowing all too well Hannibal will go through with his threat. "Please—"
"Don't misunderstand, Will. I won't stop. But you won't find any release tonight if you do." he promises, and brings his hand down again.
"Nine—" this time, his voice is closer to a sob, and he can feel the blindfold growing damp as frustrated tears begin to spill from under his lashes. He wants so badly to come, he's so close, but Hannibal will leave him overstimulated and desperate if he does.
Hannibal's palm strokes across the reddened skin of his ass. "Can you take one more for me?" he asks gently, but there's an edge of amusement in his voice. He wants Will to fail. If Will fails, he'll spend the rest of the night slowly taking him apart, piece by piece.
He opens his mouth to say yes, to promise he'll take it so well for him, but when Hannibal's hand pulls away, the vibrations suddenly grow so much stronger. He can't help it, his hips jolt forward, pressing his cock against his thigh as he comes hard with a choked moan, spilling onto the fabric of his trousers.
He's still grinding against his thigh as Hannibal gives a soft chuckle, his hand smoothing along his lower back. "A pity, you were so close." he croons. "Let's start again, shall we?"