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Hannibal slammed the man's head into the corner of the butcher's block and curled his lip in disgust when blood started to leak onto the floor.
The man twitched, coughed wetly, and started to seize.
"Is this what you wanted, Will? Is this what you wanted to see? Me letting go, yes?"
Hannibal was turned to him, heaving, Italian silk stretched over those goddamn glorious shoulders, eyes darker than the crimes of a thousand nations; he wiped his split lip with the back of his hand and Will wanted nothing more than to lick that red slash, remark it with his teeth. Make it his.
"Is it, William?" His voice rasped like he had shattered glass in his throat, like his blood was boiling, like he had moaned Will's name over and over again last night.
"Yes", the confession was liquor on his lips. Burning. Cleansing. Intoxicating.
And Will stood in the kitchen, rolled his lower back against the counter, and shifted his weight from foot to foot like he was thinking about anything else other than how fucking hard he was in his jeans.
"Keep your eyes open William. Keep them open and on me."
Of course Will kept his eyes open and watched Hannibal pull a paring knife from the block, and of course he stared when Hannibal sliced the man's throat. Fuck, blood was everywhere, it looked like a shadow on the tiles and Will wanted to etch Hannibal's name on his chest with it. "Property of Doctor Lecter" .
Hannibal shoved in the throat, barehanded, Jesus, and pulled out the man's tongue. Flaccid and the color of a dying lily, it lay there until Hannibal sawed it out, held it in his palm and stood, a half smile on his lips.
He kept it in his palm when he opened the button of Will's pants.
When he unzipped the zipper.
When he pulled out Will's cock, throbbing and leaking from the tip.
"Open. Your. Eyes." hissed right into Will's mouth as he wrapped the tongue around the base of Will's length and started to jack him with it. Christ, it felt amazing, that dead thing, and his knees buckled.
They buckled, and the only thing holding him up was the concrete press of Hannibal's body against his.
They buckled, and his head lolled back at the depravity, at the sheer nastiness, at the blood creeping down his balls, and staining his pants.
He felt Hannibal's cock against him, his hips frotting a lazy rhythm, heard the death rattle of the man on the floor, and tears welled in his eyes because he was going to come just like this....on a dead man's tongue and into a serial killer's fist.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" his words broken and lost, and fuck he felt fire curling around his spine, and those moans couldn't be his....not when that body on the floor was looking at him.
But when Hannibal kissed him all teeth and iron, when he called him a whore, when he pressed his other hand against his throat making his vision gray around the edges...
He came. With Hannibal's name playing on repeat, and a dead man's blood tacky on his bare thighs, he shot sticky white. He came shivering and seeing god, and when Hannibal stroked his lips with his filthy fingers and told him to suck, he did.
And when Hannibal told him to kneel, he knelt.