“ You really don't need to do this, you know,"Will protests, sitting up.

"Don't be ridiculous, will,"Hannibal chastises, guiding him back against the Samuel Barber's professorship with a firm bridge player on his shoulder."It's my pleasure."

He allows his hand to linger a bit longer on the youthful man's arm,"Just sit back and ….relax."

Relax. Relax. Relax. Will rest his head back against the plush, leather seat, closes his eyes, and repeats the word in his brain, a steady mantra to cool off his nervous nerves at being alone in Hannibal Lecter's house ; in Hannibal Lecter's bedroom.

Although he's had dinner party here many times in the past, sat in his study over numberless therapy seance, volition can't quite shake the sensation that he is crossing some kind of unspoken line by being here in these intimate surroundings, about to let the infamous Dr. Lecter shave him ! The draw he feels for the man is unparalleled by anything in his past experiences, overwhelming and consuming ; it frightens him with its implications.

existence here, in Lecter's inner sanctum, he is acutely aware of every auditory sensation, every heartbeat of unforeseen, thrilling anticipation. He is conscious of the dark woodwind accents of the room, a perfect complement to Lecter's sombre personality ; the deliquium scent of sandalwood wafting across the air, mingling with the menthol of the shaving cream Hannibal now lathers across his face.

Hannibal has fantasized about this moment for so long ; having testament laid back before him, neck opening exposed, and totally at his mercy. He gently wipes a spot of shaving cream away from Will's low-toned lip with the edge of his finger, feeling his groin tighten. Expertly, he draws the square razor slowly down the leather strap attached to his hip. will winces unintentionally at the faint whisk broom as the steel passes over the intemperate band.

"Ok, Will, we're going to begin,"Hannibal's oceanic abyss voice fall over volition's prone grade. Hannibal joust Will's chief back steadily with a bridge player on his chin.

Will starts at the maiden sense of touch of steel to his skin, willing himself to be still under what he is sure is Hannibal's careful and practiced touch. Hannibal continues down will's impudence, across the slope of his Kuki-Chin, under his nose, the quiet snick of the sword and the plash of the water sloshing against the incline of the ceramic basin as Hannibal rinses the razor between strokes.

Hannibal takes a shallow breath through his nose, fighting to control the yearning in his pubes as he readies the blade to work the final examination passes along the resistless plane of testament's neck. Hannibal leans over his body, bracing himself on one arm of the chairwoman, leveling the razor against volition's skin, just below the sharp angle of his jaw. testament feels the flaccid brush of Hannibal's breath across his sassing and his eyes fly give, searching. Hannibal's hand slips, startling at Will's piercing gaze as it meets his own, and nicks the skin above his impulse compass point.

Hannibal scrutinizes Will's neck, his eyes drawn to the injury like a magnet. He watches the bright red parentage well to the surface of the cut until a single droplet gathering, clinging to the border of the rebuke pelt before smoothly sliding down the flat tire woodworking plane of Will's throat to pick up in the shallow hollow of his collarbone. He is fascinated, his breathing short and rapid, leaning close to the smooth pillar of will's collar. He can see the hasty thrum of his carotid artery pulse just below the control surface of his skin, forcing the parentage to more rapidly emerge. He sniffs just once, allows himself to pick up the scent of Will's skin, woodsy and wickedness, mixed with the sharp, metal undertone of unfermented crimson. He is intoxicated by it ; centre sliding shut, the tip of his knife darting out to swing out his lips in anticipation. He should have known that once would never be enough.

He lowers his upper body into will's side, dipping his question closer to the injury, his script on the munition of the chair, trapping him against his trunk. His pectus brushes against will's, their breath mirrored, causing them to rise and accrue together.

will stills beneath him, at once frightened of Hannibal's intent and excited by the prospect of his touch sensation. Will's lid flutter closed, his reflection tense and expectant, his breathing shallow.

With not bad attention, Hannibal presses his backtalk to the cut, his tongue lapping tenderly at the wound. Unexpectedly, Will's lips part on a sigh ; he feels… ... connected to Hannibal in this moment. Encouraged, Hannibal softly closes his lips over volition's cervix, drawing the flesh into his rima oris, sucking lightly. Will releases a kick the bucket sob, overcome by the primal need Hannibal awakens in him ; he is surprised to finger his cock twitch with arousal under Hannibal's docile suckling.

Hannibal releases his hold on Will, resting his forehead on the younger man's shoulder, gathering his senses. His breath is lowering and agile, shuddering under the actualization that he has tasted Will in the most confidant style, more intimately than if he had penetrated his soundbox in any early way. will's ancestry coursing through his system is the most powerful aphrodisiac ; he is overcome by the fact that Will has allowed him to conduct such erotic autonomy with his person. With a deep breathing spell, Hannibal withdraws from volition's warmheartedness, leaning back, searching his expression for some sign of acceptance.

Will's aspect is unopen tight, his countenance unreadable. fear, anticipation, want, and doubtfulness all warring beneath his furrowed supercilium, each fighting for purchase as his mind struggles frantically to process this encounter and assign emotion to it.

Hannibal waits, unbreathing, until volition's center open slowly, his expression relaxing almost imperceptibly.

Will reaches out a probationary hand to cup Hannibal's brass, drawing his thumb across his backtalk, dragging it through the blood staining his lower lip. volition's eyes bleed slowly to a darker brown, desire darkening his iris. He pulls Hannibal closer, crushing the onetime man's backtalk to his own.

Hannibal leans into the osculation, letting Will moderate their fiery conjugation. He thrusts his tongue eagerly between volition's backtalk, beginning a frenzied dance of Passion of Christ. Will tastes his own stemma on Hannibal's glossa and, beneath the coppery tannins, lust. Will lifts his nerve, opening his sass more for Hannibal's exploration, encouraged by the small moan coming from his throat.

Will knees part so Hannibal can step closer, wrapping his arms around his backrest. They entwine their tree branch, falling into each early with abandon. Hannibal wants to convey him, to have it away him against the chair, the wall, the mesa. He needs to bury his length inside him, thrusting to meet the climax building deep with his lumbus. There is a saturnine want, something deep and profound building so high-pitched inside him that he is afraid of it. This is no longer something dim-witted and sweet, no longer a frantic wanting that they can master ; this is something more, something deeper and esurient, primal and intense.

volition is shivering beneath Hannibal's hands, his need a quavering, budding affair throbbing inside his chest, begging for exit, imploring to be let out, to be contained by Hannibal's hand. Would he ever find such sweet entry in any other embracing ? His demand is a tremulous drumbeat in his chest, begging, submitting. There is no early need but this, in the hotness of this passion which he lays, quivering, at his lover's substructure.

Hannibal doesn't want to stop now. After months of waiting, of repressing his desire behind thinly veil abstractions, he is finally holding testament against his body, feeling the stirrings of will's own yearning pressed hard against his belly. Hannibal's hands reach for the hem of Will's t-shirt, dragging it up to reveal rock-hard abs beneath the satin texture of his skin. He lowers his head to Will's flat stomach, breathing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his rib, tasting him with his adventurous glossa. volition's moan of delight spurs his geographic expedition further south until Hannibal is unbuttoning the snap of will's dungaree. testament's hands fulfill his on the cincture and for a present moment, Hannibal thinks he is going to hold back him, having thought honorable of this encounter, but Will only serves to help him, grasping the denim framework and pushing it down his pelvis, taking his blackness Boxer briefs along with it.

Will is panting above him, arching his spinal column against the president as Hannibal's fountainhead lower berth to his lap. There is cypher more he wants in this here and now, now, than to surrender to Hannibal's elaborate and needy demand. He would that he cage him, imprison him within the confines of his own desperate yearning !

Hannibal does not look up at Will's fount, does not ask for permission ; he knows now that Will wants this as much as he does. He drops to his articulatio genus before the beautiful aim of his affection, smoothing his custody over nude thigh before lowering his head to take Will's thick cock in his rima oris. Distantly, he hears Will's pant above him, but he is lost in the feel of his manhood swelling inside the lovesome recesses of his mouth. He strokes his tongue over him, taking him rich into his throat, swallowing over his tip, pharynx clenching around testament's phallus. There is an urgency to will's jabbing as he rises up to gather him, but Hannibal will not be hurried. He has waited patiently for his prey to come to him and now he will savor each moment of this sublime surrender.

Hannibal arches toward will's consistency, bringing his hands up under Will's rear, raising his hips to his mouth. He spreads his branch wider, reaching below him, feeling for the tiny, ruck chess opening. volition's body tenses above him, unsure, perhaps a niggling scare. Hannibal quiets his fears with his mouth, sucking him ferociously, distracting him from his searching fingers.

Hannibal pauses long enough to suck two fingers into his backtalk, coating them with saliva. He returns his lips to volition's pulsing humanity while his digit massage over the delicate, loaded hole far below the base of Will's balls. He wants to establish him… ... an foundation, a taste of what it could feel like between them. He wants him to require it.

He slides the end of one farsighted finger into Will's hole, just past the low gear metacarpophalangeal joint, and that midget push is all volition needs to tumble over the edge, rose hip bucking uncontrollably, thrusting his spurting turncock into the backrest of Hannibal's pharynx.

Hannibal drinks him down, not pulling away until Will's sated extremity is wilted and drained, sucking at the tip of him as he draws his lip off of him. Will is shaking, his breathing space coming in frustrate gulps as he writhes on the barber's chair. Hannibal strips will's shirt off his body, tearing away his one last defense, baring him completely before his eyes.

His workforce clutch at Hannibal's chest as he gathers him up in his sleeve and footstep to the sled bed on the other side of the room, laying him out on the bed. Hannibal steps back, shedding his clothes, and climbs onto it following to him, the mattress dipping beneath his weight unit. Hannibal cradles him, tenderly enfolded in his arms as they lay together on top of the damask coverlet.

Hannibal strokes the tips of his finger over Will's berm, pressing light kisses along his closed eyelids, trailing them down his fount. When he can no longer bear the the small length between them, he grips his Kuki-Chin gently, turning his typeface to him for a soul-searching kiss, dipping his tongue between will's lip, feeling his own erecting throb against Will's thigh.

testament's eyes open, searching Hannibal's side, his hand reaching down to hold on his stiff length. He wants to please him, this man who has shown him so much of himself. He strokes his hand over Hannibal's enormous duration, marveling at the smell of him, like atomic number 26 covered over in velvet. He plays with the smooth head, fantasizing about dipping the tip of his tongue into his slit, sucking out the pre-cum ; he wonders what Hannibal tastes like. Hannibal closes his centre, leaning his forehead against Will's in concentration.

Will plays with his balls, tugging and massaging the medium eyeball gently in his free bridge player. His other manus begins to stroke him in earnest, gripping firmly from root to tip."lubricant ?"he asks.

Hannibal groan and curl to the other side of the bed, retrieving a bottle and a drawstring of black anal astragal from the drawer of his nightstand and hands it to him. He watches in fascination as volition dribbles a generous amount the midst lubricating substance onto his diaphysis for him, spreading the smooth liquid state along Hannibal's considerable length.

volition is absorbed with the view of his low hired hand running up and over Hannibal's large cock, but Hannibal is mesmerized watching Will's face as he moves, immature, curious, aegir. He thinks he could seem at him like this every day, always with a sense of marvel. Would he be allowed to keep him ?

Hannibal brings his bridge player down, clutching will's wrist suddenly, stilling his movements. He slams his center shut, a breathing spell hissing through his teeth. Will distinguish the pained expression on his face and releases his clench on Hannibal's pulsing dick ; he is close. He rolls onto his back, legs spreading for Hannibal's entrance, exposing himself willingly, pulling Hannibal on top of him.

Hannibal is momentarily overcome by Will's acquiescence, the open, eager manifestation on his face, his readiness for Hannibal's ascendency. He reaches down to stroke his cheek tenderly, volition nuzzling against his thenar.

He moves down will's physical structure, kissing a line of fervor along his his breastbone, over the riffle of his abdomen, around his once-again pulsation cock, and frown. He spreads him open, holding him in station with his thenar as his clapper darts out to stroke his entree. testament's abs tighten in reply to the tender invasion and he tries to wiggle his rose hip closer, but Hannibal holds him firmly in place, delving his tongue deeper past his rim, into the pantry astuteness of his body.

Hannibal's shaft pulses in reception to the dainty clenching of Will's sheath around his tongue, deeply buried inside him. Only when volition's hammer is straining against his abdomen, the tip extending toward his belly release, does Hannibal withdraw from him.

Hannibal searches the covers for the discarded bottle, drenching Will's furrowed opening night, coating his digit liberally and spreading another level over himself, bridge player fisting over his glistening cock while Will watches, wide-eyed and breathless with anticipation.

Hannibal slides one finger gently into will's body, pressing his own chest of drawers to his to find his sharp inlet of breath. Slowly, he begins to move, thrusting his finger, twisting it gradually on his withdrawal until he discerns that volition's breathing has begun to even out. He adds a minute finger, stretching him, smiling at the shudder that runs through will's body when he plunges both fingerbreadth deeply into his essence. He slowly increases his tempo, spreading his fingers apart inside him, expanding his paries, readying him to take Hannibal's girth. He gently adds a 3rd finger, as Will marvels at the incredible feeling of fullness.

He covers the string of pearl with lube, spreading it along the ridge and into the place between. Tossing the nursing bottle over his berm, he feeds the beginning tiny house of cards into testament's fuddled scratch, watching in fascination as the relief soon disappear. Hannibal massages the skin around will's opening with his fingertips, stroking his manhood with his former hand. When he feels Will about to come in, he releases his cock and pulls the chain of beads out. volition is gasping, so end to orgasm that he is unable to speak. His body is clenching, heroic for relief and for Hannibal's turncock. Will contact for him, hands scabbling at his arms in frustration. Hannibal slides between testament's branch, angling himself into his warm, waiting cleft.

"This is going to wound,"Hannibal tells him softly. Will nods his reason. Hannibal is massive both in duration and width and this is testament's outset time ; they have done almost no preparation piece of work, but he can't handgrip himself back any longer ; he is aching to take testament as his own.

Will's erection is growing again, the slender line of his appendage twitching against Hannibal's stomach. When he feels testament begin to slack up, he withdraws slowly and grasps his own pecker, positioning himself at volition's entrance. He rubs the head of his shaft over Will's entrance, teasingly, smearing his pre-cum across his

He perspective himself on one elbow so he can watch over Will's face as he conquers him. testament's eye watch him, hooded with desire, greedy for Hannibal's supremacy, his passion playing across his facial expression, pelvis arching slightly off the bed, his body begging to be filled.

With a finally cryptical breathing place, Hannibal presses forward into Will's entryway, slipping just the foreland of his member past the fortress of his torso. He hears Will's sharp intake of intimation, sees his eyes widen, feels him clench under the weight of so much pressure. he withdraws slowly, then plunges just the head in again, repeating this move until he feels will's body begin to accommodate his intrusion, holding himself back with deliberate effort.

Hannibal stillness above him, waiting for him to adjust before thrusting deeper. A thin out shininess of perspiration drop on testament's brow as Hannibal guides his cock deeper with his hand. Will quail in his munition, binge pricking his heart. Hannibal stops, lowering his sassing to nip at will's chin soothingly.

"It's ok,"he whispers."I'm ok."

Hannibal kisses him deeply and, with a potent thrust, sheathes himself to the hilt inside testament's torso. Will's back arch off the bed, a strangled cry spilling from his throat as tender membranes tear within. The painfulness is intense and immediate, a impenetrable searing excruciation in his down back. He can not stifle his cries of anguish, but Hannibal can't contain his need to move any longer. He withdraws all but the head of his spear and thrusts again, beginning a slow rhythm, as ennoble as he can.

Hannibal drops his eyes to their joined physical structure, watching himself slide rhythmically in and out of Will's tightness, fascinated by the lines of blood streaking his beam of light. Will bears up stoically under the nuisance, trembling beneath him. Hannibal stills his hips a consequence, murmuring to his buff in low musical note, encouraging him to relax his muscles. After a few Thomas More stroke, will begins to relax, allowing Hannibal to continue and increase his pace.

Hannibal drops his head to volition's shoulder, setting up a punishing tempo, his bureau heaving with the power of his hip joint driving into his devotee tight embracing. Soon, Will's breathing changes from labored to excited and he raises his hips, meeting Hannibal jab for thrust. His cop dig into Hannibal's shoulder joint, scoring the tegument of his vertebral column while his own tool hardens again between them as Hannibal brushes over his afters spot with each plunge.

Hannibal reaches behind him, grasping one of testament's wrists, dragging it down to fist his own cock as he continues to plunge into his snug sack of heat. He is close now, so tightlipped, and he want's Will's fulfillment with his own.

testament is panting his arousal, his medallion flying over the wily control surface of his rod as Hannibal plunges desperately into him, rocketing toward exit. He feels his bollock declaration a moment before he perceives the hot spurt of Will's own release across his chest. Hannibal lets out a primitive tangle, taking the build of Will's shoulder fiercely between his teeth, biting down hard enough to reopen the wound at his neck opening that has clotted. He sucks the fresh taste of Will's aliveness effect into his back talk as he empties his cock into his ass.

When Hannibal has stilled enough to drop off limply from the warm confines of volition's physical structure, they are both glazed with a stratum of fret. will's eye are glassy when Hannibal reaches a hired man to comprehend his brass tenderly, tenderly nudging his backtalk open in a profoundly soul-searching buss. It feels as though he is asking him a million query and sharing the result to everything in the universe at the Lapp time.

Rolling to his position, Hannibal takes Will with him, cradling him against his chest protectively. volition is vulnerable, open, and Hannibal is grateful for his attenuation. He soothes Will's palpebra closed with soft fingertips, persuading him to log Z's with a osculation against his temple. They will take stock their relationship tomorrow. For now, they have tonight .