Will Graham is on the verge of tears. He hardly ever menstruates any more, and he never has during his years with Hannibal. So when he suddenly wakes up mid-morning covered in his own blood, the pain is bad. Worse than he ever had before starting hormones.
He’s curled up in bed with a hot water bottle and an unnecessary amount of blankets when he hears the door open below, keys jingling in the lock. He sighs contentedly as he hears the familiar sound of Hannibal’s distinctive coming-home shuffling: turning off the alarm, removing his blazer, toeing off his shoes.
Then abruptly, the shuffling stops.
Will props himself up on the bed then immediately winces, cursing his curiosity as pain shoots through his abdomen. He tries to even out his breathing as he listens intently to the silence below, straining to hear any movement, but no noise filters up the stairs.
He’s about to call out to Hannibal when he suddenly hears footsteps pounding up the stairs and the next second Hannibal appears in the doorway, his eyes wild, nose scenting the air, and a butcher’s knife clutched menacingly in his hand.
Hannibal’s frantic gaze scans the room before it lands on the bed and he pauses, taking in the sight of a startled Will - who is clearly alive and not bleeding out on the floor of their bedroom at the hands of an unnamed assailant.
Hannibal’s eyes widen a fraction as he takes in the pile of blankets and Will’s miserable expression, then realisation dawns and his predatory gaze melts into a crinkle of concern. He drops the knife to the floor and steps forward to kneel beside the bed, his hand finding Will’s.
“Oh, my darling.” Hannibal kisses Will’s forehead. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I’m fine,” Will grumbles.
At Hannibal’s skeptical eyebrow, he reiterates.
“Really, I’m fine. And no one’s tried to murder me.” He shifts, wincing. “Well, except my uterus.”
“Please,” insists Hannibal, stroking his thumb across the tendon of Will’s wrist. “Tell me how can I help.”
“Well, unless you’re feeling inclined to perform a hysterectomy on-the-fly, I’m not sure you can help,” quips Will.
Hannibal pauses, thoughtful, as if mentally tallying his medical supplies and how quickly he can clear off the dining room table.
“No, Hannibal, stop,” Will cuts in. “I’m already bleeding enough as it is, so just… I don’t know. Bring me some soup and tell me I’m handsome?”
“You are always handsome, brangusis,” says Hannibal. “Especially when covered in blood.”
Will tosses a pillow at him. “Not helping.”
“Alright,” Hannibal concedes. “If you will not allow me to perform surgery, which I am more than happy to do, perhaps I can help reduce your pain by more practical methods?”
Will’s ears perk up.
“Please tell me that means you have a secret stash of medical-grade painkillers that I haven’t already heartlessly ransacked.”
“I do,” Hannibal admits. “Though that was not the way I was considering reducing your pain. I was attempting to suggest that I could assist you by increasing your endorphins.”
“Wait,” Will says. “Are you— Are you offering to give me an orgasm? Now?”
Hannibal lifts a shoulder and inclines his head in a gesture Will has come to recognize as a shrug.
“If you like.”
Will stares at him, disbelief and skepticism drawing his brows together.
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t think you wanna deal with— with everything going on, down there.”
Sure, he and Hannibal are no strangers to blood or gore. Hell, Hannibal has even eaten Will’s blood before (that divine blood pudding for their last anniversary wasn’t easy to forget), but this is different. It’s not just blood down there; it’s tissues and internal lining and just... stuff that’s not at all appetizing.
At least, not to Will.
But the way Hannibal is looking at him, eyes full of adoration and tenderness, tells Will his opinion on the matter might not be the only one worth weighing.
“My dearest Will,” Hannibal says softly, brushing a thumb over his hand. “Whatever have I done to make you think that there is a single part of you that I would not fully delight in?”
He knows that’s true. Hannibal has proven, time and again, that he firmly believes every piece of Will’s body is a sacred treasure, one to be adored, cherished, and occasionally, devoured.
So why does this feel weird?
Well, perhaps “weird” is the wrong word. Hannibal carving patterns into his flesh and lapping away his blood has practically become a staple in their bedroom repertoire, and most people would call that weird.
Maybe it just feels different because bleeding like this makes Will feel vulnerable, exposed. Like some left over instinct of an animal in heat being pursued - hunted - by those who wish to claim them. Whatever it was, bleeding like this made Will feel flayed open in a way that even an autopsy couldn’t possibly replicate.
Will tries to come up with something, any reason why he can’t let Hannibal do this.
“Most normal people don’t offer to eat their boyfriend’s period blood,” he tries, lamely.
“We’re not normal,“ says Hannibal flatly.
“Okay, yes, that’s fair,” Will agrees. “But do you actually- I mean, do you enjoy doing this? Specifically?”
Hannibal considers a moment, weighing his words.
”I have a hypothesis.”
“Oh, great,” Will chuckles bitterly. “So you’ve never done this before either.”
Hannibal shakes his head.
“Only due to a lack of opportunity, not a lack of desire. My previous lovers over the years have never been quite so long-term.”
Will snorts. “So, I’m your guinea pig.”
“No.” Hannibal presses his lips to Will’s palm. “You are never that.”
Will raises an eyebrow.
“I have a hospital bill for anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis that begs to differ.”
“That was from before,” Hannibal assures him. “Before I realized that our fates are conjoined; our souls, never to be separated.”
Will scrubs a hand down his face; half in exasperation, half trying to hide his blush.
“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
“You are supposed to say ‘yes dear,’” says Hannibal, pressing a chaste kiss to Will’s mouth.
“Now,” Hannibal continues, rising from his knees. “I am going to draw you a bath, and before it is filled, you are going to come on my tongue.”
With that, Hannibal turns on his heel and strides briskly towards their bathroom.
Will blinks, trying to process what just happened. Finally, he heaved a heavy sigh and shuffles down into the blankets, wondering why the hell he lets himself get dragged into these things.
Then he tugs off his shirt.
Hannibal returns moments later, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled to the elbow, a strand of hair falling across his brow. Will can hear the bath running, though the water sounds like it’s flowing at half-speed. Hannibal must really want to make a meal of this.
As he makes his way to the bed, Hannibal gazes at Will with a fondness Will’s almost certain he doesn’t deserve. At least, not in his current state.
Hannibal’s hands deftly lift and fold down the copious layers of blankets to the foot of the bed, then he perches on the mattress beside Will, careful not to jostle him. His eyes roam over the expanse of Will’s nude body, seemingly never tired of the sight. The corner of his mouth quirks up as he notices the dark towels beneath Will’s hips.
He gently extracts the hot water bottle from where Will is still clutching at it and replaces it with a warm hand, rubbing soothing circles low between Will’s hips. Will sighs, leaning into the touch.
“Do you need to remove anything before we begin?” asks Hannibal, clinical but not unkind.
Will shakes his head.
“I didn’t feel up to going to the store so I’m just, you know,” he motions lazily to the towels, then continues, “dealing. Just, um… go slow, okay? Gentle.”
“Gentle?” Hannibal’s eyebrow quirks up.
“Okay,” Will admits, “not like, normal people gentle. Just, a bit less than usual? When this sort of thing happens, everything down there gets super sensitive, so—”
“Will, I am a medical doctor,” Hannibal interjects. “I am intimately aware of how the human body functions.”
“Yeah, and you’re also a cis man, so...”
Hannibal pauses his movements, regarding Will intently. His gaze flickers over his face, as if searching for something. Then, as if decided, he speaks.
“Over these years,” Hannibal begins, “I have come to consider myself a fervent disciple of your carnal pleasures, Will. Tonight, I would love nothing more than to continue my studies in this field. Would you deny me this one area of expertise? Leave me with such a gap in my knowledge, one that we both desperately desire to be filled?”
Will swallows thickly.
Hannibal leans forward, his breath warm on Will’s neck, lips soft against his ear.
“Let me take care of you, mylimasis,” purrs Hannibal.
Will groans softly as Hannibal’s voice thrums through him, his back arching in response as his knees fall open.
Hannibal’s lips twitch approvingly.
“There’s my good boy.”
He stands and hooks an arm under Will’s knees, gently tugging and turning him until his hips are at the edge of the bed. He grabs the pillow that Will so thoughtfully tossed at him earlier and places it on the floor. Then he kneels down and settles himself between Will’s thighs, wrapping long, pale legs loosely around his shoulders, letting Will’s heels press into his back through the thin layer of of his dress shirt.
“No undershirt today?” Will asks, wiggling his feet.
“It was far too warm,” Hannibal says simply.
His nose scents along Will’s thighs, breathing him in. He hums softly, a low rumbling growl in the back of his throat.
“This truly is a most precious gift, Will.”
Without preamble, his teeth latch onto Will’s thigh and his mouth sucks a bruising mark into his skin.
“Ah—!” Will sits up, startled.
Hannibal looks up. “Too much?”
“No no, just, surprised.” Will flushes.
“Good.” Hannibal’s lips quirk into his approximation of a smile. “Then let us continue.”
His lips return to the soft flesh, nibbling and sucking bruises into it, his hands following the trails his mouth leaves behind.
Will closes his eyes and settles back on the bed, giving himself over to the familiar surge of pleasure, letting himself be led, be taken. Firm fingertips glide up to dip into his wetness, delicately circling his hole, spreading his slickness over his skin.
“Mmm, beautiful,” Hannibal murmurs.
Will squirms under the praise, his fingers spasming and flexing at his sides.
“More,” he asks, the word falling from his lips without thought. “Please.”
Hannibal chuckles darkly, clearly delighting in his teasing, but he obligingly slides a blood-slick thumb upwards and begins to trace maddeningly slow, intoxicating circles around the hardening bud of Will’s cock.
Hannibal’s other hand soon takes its place, continuing its long, elliptical pattern, and suddenly two wet, crimson fingers tap against Will’s lips.
“Open, my love.”
Will inhales slowly, breathing in his own scent.
Well, he thinks, first time for everything.
He hesitantly parts his lips, allowing familiar calluses slide to across his tongue as the sharp tang of blood and sex fills his senses.
Tasting himself on Hannibal’s skin is not an unfamiliar sensation, but somehow this feels sacrilegious, unholy, like the first ingredient in some sort of ritualistic sacrifice.
Then Hannibal deft fingers are brushing against his cock and Will groans around the intrusion in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the other man’s knuckles, sucking wantonly.
Hannibal slips his fingers free with a slight pop and Will replaces the fingers with his own fist, biting down on his knuckles when he feels the press of one, then two fingers slipping inside him. His body opens for Hannibal, muscles relaxing with a delicious stretch as he takes him in. Will soon finds himself grinding down greedily against Hannibal’s fingers, feeling the hand beneath him quickly becoming slick with blood and spit and something entirely Will.
As soon as his hips find a rhythm, thrusting in time with that sinfully skilled hand, Hannibal’s fingers withdraw.
Will whines and writhes for a moment, seeking out the friction, but Hannibal shushes him gently.
Hannibal’s firm fingertips leave trails of blood and come up Will‘s thighs as they make their way to his hips, stilling his senseless rutting and holding him steady.
“Are you ready, mylimasis?” asks Hannibal, breath warm against the cooling wetness on Will’s thighs.
Will lifts his head to meet his lover’s gaze, and inhales sharply.
Hannibal’s eyes are fixed on him, like an animal pacing behind the of its cage, seeking release. Will can see in the set of his jaw, the dark pools of his eyes, the pulsing tendon in his neck, just how long he’s been holding back. Hannibal sacrificing his own pleasures in favor of Will’s had become as easy for him as breathing, but now his hunger lurks heavily beneath the surface, waiting. All he needs is permission to take.
Will exhales slowly, his hands twisting into Hannibal’s hair, beckoning him forward.
“Please,” he begs.
With a visceral growl, Hannibal lunges forward, taking Will messily into his mouth, all lips and tongue, pressure and heat. The sounds of Hannibal’s indulgent groans fill the air as he devours his love.
“Oh Will,” Hannibal murmurs into his skin, as if unwilling let his lips part from Will for even a moment. “You are more delicious than ever I could have imagined.”
Will huffs out a self-conscious laugh, unsure what to do with the compliment. So, of course, he deflects.
“Didn’t anyone - ahh - ever teach you - mmm - not to talk with your mouth full?”
A sharp slap to his thigh makes Will gasp and the laugh that follows quickly devolves into a hedonistic moan as Hannibal swallows him down again.
Hannibal’s mouth and fingers set a unrelenting pace, thrusting into him expertly and swirling his tongue against his cock. His fingers crook inside him as he alternates pressure and speed until Will’s hips are stuttering against his lips and he’s babbling a litany of yes, ohh, and fuuuck.
Will can feel wetness coating his thighs and ass, but he can’t find it in himself to care when Hannibal seals his lips around his cock and sucks, drawing a long breathy moan from Will.
“Jesus, fuck - ahh”
Will’s not entirely sure how long this torture lasts before he suddenly feels his body pulling taught beneath Hannibal’s ministrations, pressure building and pooling low between his hips. Hannibal’s free hand kneads into Will’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer as he pants hard against Will’s skin, seeming as lost to pleasure as Will himself despite being entirely untouched.
Wiil’s head falls back against the bed, his thighs trembling around Hannibal’s shoulders, white knuckles clawing into the sheets.
“Oh fuck. Please, please.”
“Please what?” asks Hannibal, somehow sounding completely unaffected despite practically panting on Will’s cock just moments before. It makes Will wants to slap his beautiful, talented face.
“Pleeease,” Will whines, his hips rocking fruitlessly. “Please let me come. Let me come on your tongue,” he adds, for good measure.
Hannibal hums his approval, sending vibrations coursing through Will’s veins as he flicks his tongue against his cock, over and over and over again, matching speed with the fingers thrusting inside him until Will can’t hold out any longer and he cries out, eyes going wide as he gasps and pulses around Hannibal’s fingers, cock throbbing against his tongue as endorphins flood his senses.
As Will floats back down, his skin tingles where Hannibal’s tongue and teeth have grazed it. He feels entirely weightless, his flushed skin brushing over soft sheets as he stretches languorously across the bed.
He’s vaguely aware of the sound of the bath being shut off and then Hannibal is beside him, arms gathering him against a now-bare chest. Gentle fingers card through Will’s hopelessly tangled curls as lips pepper his face with kisses.
“Good boy, that’s it,” Hannibal murmurs. “You did so well, mano meile.”
Will preens under the praise and nuzzles further into his chest, Hannibal’s salt-and-pepper curls tickling his nose and cheeks. Then he wraps his thighs around Hannibal’s legs, blissfully unaware that he’s smearing blood and come all over his lover’s pristine suit pants. Hannibal hums contentedly, completely unbothered by this new development, and more than a little enamoured with his love.
After a moment or two, he shifts an arm from beneath Will and raises a hand to his lips. Will can see even in the soft lighting that his fingers are still slick with evidence of their earlier activities, making him blush.
Hannibal watches Will closely, then deliberately slides his fingers into his mouth, letting them linger on his tongue. Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed as he reverently savors them, as if tasting an exquisite wine.
“Mmm,” Hannibal hums, slipping his fingers free. “Thank you, mylimasis, for this delicious meal.”
Will huffs out a laugh and ducks his head, nudging at him with an elbow. He doesn’t need to look up to know Hannibal’s wearing his patented, self-satisfied smirk.
After a few more lazy moments of petting and soft kisses, Hannibal squeezes his arm.
“Shall we adjourn to the bath? I don’t want it getting cold.”
Will hums his assent, then takes Hannibal’s proffered arm to steady himself, legs wobbling a bit as his feet hit the floor.
Then he makes the mistake of looking down.
“Jesus,” Will frowns. “I look like a crime scene.”
“You do,” says Hannibal, pleased. “And as much as I would love to preserve the evidence, I doubt that will be comfortable after a few hours.”
Will grunts in agreement and lets himself be led into the bathroom, grumbling the whole way about dripping blood onto the carpet. Hannibal gently assures him that they are both very skilled at removing blood stains.
Hannibal helps Will into the bath he’s prepared for them, then steps in behind him, lowering himself and Will back into the warm water.
Strong hands glide over Will’s thighs, fingertips gently trailing over Will’s abused flesh.
Will stares down at his body, mesmerized by the swirls of red lifting from his skin.
Hannibal methodically rinses him clean, sliding his hands carefully between his legs, rubbing his circles into his back and hips, while murmuring praises and endearments into his mess of curls.
Will sighs, still half-dazed, drifting in and out of awareness, and allows himself to be pampered.
When the water is rust-coloured and lukewarm, Hannibal helps Will out of the tub, wrapping him in a warm towel from the heated rack, then scoops him into his arms, carrying him back to bed.
Hannibal tucks him in snugly, relinquishing Will to his cocoon of blankets and smoothing his hair out of his eyes. His lips brush briefly over Will’s temple before he quietly heads towards the door.
Hannibal pauses in the doorway, turning back to cast a fond look at his love, then leaves him to rest while he makes them someone for supper.