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delirium

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Every moment is such sweet torture. Hannibal feels as though he has been in this terrible, wonderful bliss for hours, panting to the ceiling and doing his best to swallow his cries as Will sucks and mouths at his cock. Will lips are bruised, a dark red and swollen from use, his eyes near-black, his cheeks a deep, deep blushing pink. Hannibal shivers, thighs tensing as he forces himself to raise his head, to meet Will's eyes as Will smiles at him and gives the shaft of his cock a warm, open-mouthed kiss.

"Will," he breathes, and reaches for him, only for his hand, once again, to be caught and pressed tight to the edge of his chair. Will gives him a smile both soft and savage, teases the very tip of his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves below the head of Hannibal's leaking cock, lashes fluttering as he lets out a quiet, happy sigh.

His fingers curl, nails digging into the back of Hannibal's hand, and presses until the leather creases beneath his grip. He pulls back, then, thumb of his free hand pressing gently to the base of Hannibal's cock, forefinger curling beneath his balls and squeezing, easing him farther away from the edge of release.

His command is silent, but impossible to misinterpret: Keep your hands to yourself.

Hannibal does his best to obey, but he aches to worm his fingers through Will's sweaty, dark curls, to tug and pull and eagerly coax him into sucking Hannibal down. Will's eyes flash, undoubtedly able to sense his thoughts, and his smile sharpens at the corners. He tilts his head and runs his fingers through his own hair, tugging like Hannibal wishes Will would let him do.

The moan he lets out makes Hannibal's entire body tremble.

He tilts his head, licks broad and wide up the thick vein lining the bottom of Hannibal's cock. Parts his lips to suck, just for one brief moment, around the head. Heat splits Hannibal in two, makes him arch, lungs burning and heart stuttering in place, going still and then racing triple-time. He releases Hannibal's cock, then, using his grip to keep him upright as he drags his tongue through the slit, gathering the heavy beads of precum that have gathered there.

His mouth is wet, and spit slips from the tip of his tongue, dragging down in a thick clump from his mouth to Hannibal's cockhead. He smears it against his own cheek and Hannibal lets out a sound not quite pitiful, but very close to it. He's so sensitive that even the prickle of Will's facial hair threatens to send him over the edge.

They are in his study, and haven't spoken a word since dinner, when Will finished his meal and stood, pulling Hannibal to his feet and luring him to the room with a kiss and that devious, promising smile. The room is dark, no lights on since Will didn't give him a chance to turn them on, merely guided Hannibal to one of the wide, comfortable chairs and pushed him into it, sinking to his knees between Hannibal's spread thighs.

He spent the better part of half an hour simply kissing and nuzzling the growing bulge in Hannibal's suit pants, using his sinful tongue and soft lips to work him to hardness, the heat of his exhale and the dampness of his spit creating a huge stain in the clothing – Hannibal did the rest, from the inside. He's sure his underwear and these particular pants are ruined from it.

Any attempt at help, shifting gears to something more or merely reaching to touch Will has been met with the same response; Will, shoving his hands to grip the leather around his thighs. Keep your hands to yourself.

It is torture, it is bliss. When Will finally caught the tab of the zipper between his teeth Hannibal feared he might finish from the sight alone. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, can see Will now in the light coming from the kitchen, a single shaft of low, golden radiance that lights Will's eyes and teases Hannibal with his blush, his neck, his hands.

Will opens his mouth wide, tilts his head, curls his tongue around Hannibal's cock and Hannibal gasps, feeling teeth along the vein. He drags down, tips of his canines providing two points of near-painful friction, sharp enough to threaten, to hurt. He bares his teeth and spreads his cheek wide over Hannibal's cockhead, letting it bulge and push out the skin, and then, with no warning, he opens his mouth and takes Hannibal to the hilt.

The sound he makes is certainly pitiful, then, and far too loud. He arches and clutches Will's hair before he can stop himself, and Will growls, throat clogged and spasming, hands flattening around Hannibal's clothed thighs and nails digging in as he forces Hannibal to keep still, presses his nose flat and lets saliva pool around his parted teeth, into the corners of his mouth. It is such intense heat and wetness, gripping Hannibal's cock so tightly.

He holds himself there a moment longer, and then pulls away completely with a gasp, and curls his fingers in Hannibal's, tugging them away from his hair.

"Will," Hannibal breathes. "Please, darling -."

Will's eyes flash up, and the sound he makes is quiet, but warning. A predator snarling at its prey to keep still as it's devoured. Hannibal's hands shake, as Will presses them to the chair again.

He cleans his saliva from Hannibal's cock with soft, kittenish licks, smiling as Hannibal sucks in a breath, and settles again. He wraps his fingers around Hannibal's balls, kneads gently, squeezes between them and runs his thumb up the shaft of his cock. Then, his hand twists, and he slips two of his fingers behind them, petting the warm, sweat-damp slip of Hannibal's perineum.

The pressure feels wonderful, though it merely makes Hannibal's ache sharpen, his arousal burning him like an engine revved too-high in too low a gear. Will is merciless, so capable of cruelty, and Hannibal can only stare at him as he sighs, resting his cheek against Hannibal's thigh, watching himself stroke Hannibal's cock almost idly. Far too slow, too loose to get him anywhere, but that is, of course, by design.

He lifts his eyes, and smiles sweetly. Hannibal cannot bring himself to form words before Will leans in again, delicately sucking the very tip of Hannibal's cock into his mouth. His lips seal tight, his cheeks hollow, and Hannibal whimpers, clenching his eyes shut and tipping his head back to gasp to the ceiling.

His fingers curl, easing Hannibal's balls against his body, cupping and lifting them as he sucks fiercely at the head of Hannibal's cock. Hannibal groans, the sounds spilling from him no more than formless noises, desperate and quiet and echoing inside his skull.

He spreads his legs wide as he can, sinks down in his seat, begging without words for Will not to stop, to let him finish. He cannot see the clock, has no idea how long Will has been doing this for, but he's so hard, so sensitive, that it's moved past the point of pain and into delirium.

Then, suddenly, Will's hands and mouth move away, and Hannibal growls weakly, chest tight and stomach tense as Will grips his knees and pushes himself to his feet. He rears up, desperate for Will, reaching for him before he can stop himself.

Will catches his hands, and presses them together in a mockery of prayer, palms tight to Hannibal's knuckles. He smiles, and kisses his fingertips. Even that brush of his warm lips against Hannibal's hands, so long-denied Will's touch, makes him shiver and gasp.

Will shows his teeth, reaches down and unfastens his slacks, pulling his cock out. He spits on his hand and strokes himself, other hand releasing Hannibal's and bracing himself on the back of the chair beside Hannibal's head.

"Hands down," he commands, and Hannibal obeys with another weak sound. From the angle of the light, and the shadows, he can only see Will's hand when it reaches the head of his cock, twists and gathers precum and slides back down. Will's voice is low, rough with abuse, and he bows his head, lets out a curse from behind his teeth.

He rears up, suddenly, fists his hand in the longer hair at the top of Hannibal's head, and yanks him forward, so Hannibal's cheek bumps against the head of his cock. He shivers, eyes closing as Will finishes, his come spilling out over his cheek, across his nose, his parted lips. Up over his forehead, into his hair, dripping down his jaw and chin and, undoubtedly, onto his clothes.

Will bows down with another low, sated sound, dragging his nose across Hannibal's temple, breathing him in raggedly, open-mouthed. His hand gentles in his hair, but only a little, and slides to cup his nape. Hannibal shivers, fingers curling, flexing in the air, unable to fall completely, but knowing if he reaches, Will won't let him touch.

Will lets go of his cock, smears his dirty hand over the lapel of Hannibal's suit jacket, and huffs a quiet laugh. "Clean me up," he commands, and Hannibal obeys with a frantic noise, ravenous for Will as Will straightens, and pulls Hannibal's face to his cock. Hannibal sucks him down eagerly as Will softens, sucking and licking him clean. Will has grown sweeter under Hannibal's care, the scent and taste of him thick and flooding Hannibal's burning lungs.

Will yanks him back, growling when Hannibal's teeth catch on the head of his cock, and he lets Hannibal go so he can tuck himself back in and fix his clothes back into place. His head tilts, a silhouette in the darkness, no light to reveal his eyes.

Hannibal swallows, wets his lips, his mouth suddenly so dry. He can taste Will's come on his mouth, feels it drying already on his heated skin. Will moves away from him and Hannibal lets out a desperate sound, only to flinch when Will turns on the lights. He's red-cheeked, his mouth swollen and looking terribly sore, his eyes so dark hardly any blue is left to them.

Those eyes rake Hannibal over, slowly, up and down like a physical caress, and he smiles, wide and sharp. He goes to the small stand by the window and pours himself a whiskey, pressing the edge of the glass to his lips as though to soothe the ache, and takes a drink. Hannibal watches him, tense and trembling, and Will meets his eyes.

His brow arches, seeing something, undoubtedly, that makes him smile, and he finishes his drink and sets the glass down, returning to Hannibal. He sinks back down to his knees and presses his hands to Hannibal's thighs, forcing them to spread again.

"Now, where were we?"

Hannibal groans, fingers flexing and finding their place on either side of him again. "Please, darling, this is torturous."

Will's brow arches again. "Do you want me to stop?"

A fate worse than death, in this moment. Hannibal shakes his head.

Will smiles, tutting in false sympathy, and drops his eyes to Hannibal's cock, which is still leaking and red and twitches under the weight of his gaze. He leans in and licks up the shaft of it, curls his tongue around the head, the heat of his exhale making all of Hannibal shiver and tense up.

He spits on Hannibal's cock and uses his jaw to smear the wetness around, digging his nails into Hannibal's thighs sharp enough to sting. Hannibal gasps, again almost overcome with the urge to simply grab Will, to pin him and use his mouth until he finishes. He knows he can do it, for he's done it before – Will's shoulders have a specific weakness to them, a point of pressure that yields like butter to a hot knife if Hannibal grips him just right. He could do it.

Will's hands fly out, wrap around his wrists and grab hard. "Don't you dare," he snarls, and before Hannibal can answer, he opens his mouth wide and sucks Hannibal down all the way, shoving his nose against Hannibal's body as his throat yields, clenches up around his cockhead. The noise Hannibal makes in response is loud and sudden, fractured behind his ribs, and he arches, rolls his hips to sink deeper into Will's mouth. Will pulls his lips back, shows his teeth, but doesn't release him. His cheeks hollow and his tongue presses flat, the pressure as he sucks is overwhelming, and makes Hannibal feel as though every higher thought is being pulled down, away from his head and into his stomach.

"Will," he breathes, for he will finish if Will doesn't pull away. He doesn't want Will to stop, of course not, but he also knows if he finishes before Will is ready, there will be consequences.

Will hums, throat vibrating with the sound, and merely pulls his head up an inch, and sinks back down. It starts like a rockslide; a small trickle of displaced gravel, and then all at once, and Hannibal groans and flinches, the force of his orgasm almost painful as the heat in his stomach flies down and out of him, and he floods Will's mouth and spills down his throat.

Will continues to suck, lets go of his wrists and holds Hannibal down as the waves of pleasure end, and sharpen, sensation shuddering up his spine until it hurts. Still, Will keeps going, forcing Hannibal to bear the heat and slick of his mouth, and Hannibal shudders, growling low, wraps his fingers in Will's hair to try and pull him off.

Will allows it, but not without teeth, which he drags up Hannibal's cock as Hannibal forces him away. It hurts, and causes a deep bloom of ache inside his chest, as he forces Will to release him and lets him go, breathing hard, and knows that, for a moment, he is unable to do more than lie there, trying to catch his breath.

Will wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and raises his eyes, grinning wide with satisfaction. He clears his throat, swallows, swallows again, and pushes himself to his feet. He grabs Hannibal's dirty chin and yanks him upright.

Hannibal gasps, and Will slides his thumb between Hannibal's teeth, a light in his eyes almost daring him to bite. Hannibal doesn't, merely lets Will pet over his tongue, ease his thumb between his molars. Will's smile softens, just a little, and he tilts his head to one side.

Hannibal knows exactly what he's waiting for; "Thank you, Will," he rasps. Will doesn't always let him finish – he's cruel like that, and delights in his control over Hannibal. Will's lashes dip down, and he pulls his thumb out, replacing it with his tongue as he leans in, cups Hannibal's head, and kisses him deeply.

He bites Hannibal's lower lip, and licks over the sting, before pulling away. "I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers, dark with promise, and Hannibal shivers, heat tightening in his chest all over again. Will has such power over him, he can drive Hannibal to desperation with merely a look.

Hannibal nods, swallowing harshly, and Will smiles. He pulls away and Hannibal stands on shaky legs, correcting his clothes, though he makes no move to clean his face. He knows Will likes seeing him dirty and disheveled.

He walks Will to the door and helps him with his coat, and Will pulls him into one last kiss, this one much more chaste, before he steps over the threshold.

"Good night, Hannibal," he says.

"Good night, Will," Hannibal replies, hoarsely. "Drive safely." Will grins at him, and walks to his car. Hannibal cannot bring himself to close the door until Will's rear lights disappear around the corner, and out of sight.