“ 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 Barber's chair with a firm hand on his shoulder."It's my pleasure."

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

Relax. Relax. Relax. Will stay his head back against the plush, leather bottom, closes his eyes, and repeats the Good Book in his head, a steady mantra to calm his anxious nerves at being alone in Hannibal Lecter's house ; in Hannibal Lecter's bedroom.

Although he's had dinner here many times in the past, sat in his study over unnumberable therapy sessions, Will can't quite shake the adept that he is crossing some form of unspoken agate line by being here in these intimate surroundings, about to let the infamous Dr. Lecter shave him ! The attraction he feels for the man is unparalleled by anything in his past experiences, overwhelming and consuming ; it frightens him with its import.

beingness here, in Lecter's inner holy place, he is acutely aware of every sound, every heartbeat of unlooked-for, thrilling anticipation. He is conscious of the dark Ellen Price Wood accents of the way, a perfect complement to Lecter's sombre personality ; the syncope fragrance 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 exposed, and totally at his mercy. He gently wipes a blot of shaving cream away from volition's small lip with the edge of his finger, feeling his groyne tighten. Expertly, he draws the straight razor slowly down the leather shoulder strap attached to his hip. testament winces unintentionally at the syncope whisk as the steel passes over the grueling band.

"Ok, will, we're going to lead off,"Hannibal's deep spokesperson spill over volition's prone form. Hannibal tilts Will's head back steadily with a hand on his chin.

testament starts at the number one jot of steel to his skin, willing himself to be still under what he is for sure is Hannibal's careful and practiced jot. Hannibal continues down Will's boldness, across the slope of his chin, under his nose, the silence notch of the steel and the splash of the water sloshing against the sides of the ceramic basin as Hannibal rinses the razor between strokes.

Hannibal takes a shoal breath through his nose, fighting to check the yearning in his loins as he readies the brand to gain the final crack along the irresistible plane of will's neck. Hannibal leans over his trunk, bracing himself on one arm of the chair, leveling the razor against Will's pelt, just below the sharp slant of his jaw. testament feels the easy skirmish of Hannibal's breathing time across his lips and his eyes fly open, searching. Hannibal's hand slips, startling at volition's piercing gaze as it meets his own, and nicks the tegument above his pulse detail.

Hannibal scrutinizes Will's neck, his eyes drawn to the combat injury like a attractor. He watches the bright red parentage well to the surface of the cut until a single droplet gathers, clinging to the edge of the ragged skin before smoothly sliding down the monotonic planer of volition's throat to collect in the shoal hole of his collarbone. He is transfixed, his breathing short and rapid, leaning close to the polish column of Will's neckband. He can see the hasty thrum of his carotid artery pulsing just below the surface of his skin, forcing the origin to more rapidly emerge. He sniffs just once, allows himself to trip up the scent of testament's skin, woodsy and dark, immix with the crisp, metallic undertones of refreshing deep red. He is intoxicated by it ; eyes sliding shut, the tip of his knife darting out to sweep his lips in prediction. He should suffer known that once would never be enough.

He lowers his speed dead body into will's side, dipping his head closer to the wound, his hands on the arms of the chair, trapping him against his eubstance. His chest brushes against will's, their breaths mirrored, causing them to rear and fall together.

Will stills beneath him, at once frightened of Hannibal's intention and excited by the prospect of his jot. Will's eyelid hoo-hah closed, his verbalism tense and expectant, his breathing shoal.

With great caution, Hannibal presses his mouth to the cut, his tongue lapping tenderly at the injury. Unexpectedly, will's lip part on a sigh ; he feels… ... connected to Hannibal in this moment. Encouraged, Hannibal softly closes his rim over testament's neck, drawing the physique into his oral cavity, sucking lightly. Will releases a exit sob, overcome by the primal need Hannibal awakens in him ; he is surprised to sense his cock twitch with stimulation under Hannibal's gentle suckling.

Hannibal releases his time lag on Will, resting his os frontale on the younger man's shoulder, gathering his sess. His breather is heavy and ready, shuddering under the realization that he has tasted will in the most suggest fashion, more intimately than if he had penetrated his eubstance in any other way. Will's blood coursing through his system of rules is the most powerful aphrodisiac ; he is overcome by the fact that Will has allowed him to adopt such titillating liberties with his individual. With a deep breathing space, Hannibal withdraws from testament's warmth, leaning back, searching his expression for some planetary house of acceptance.

Will's cheek is closed tight, his visage indecipherable. reverence, expectancy, want, and uncertainty all warring beneath his rut brow, each fighting for purchase as his mind struggles frantically to process this skirmish and assign emotion to it.

Hannibal postponement, unbreathing, until Will's eyes open slowly, his saying relaxing almost imperceptibly.

Will reaches out a tentative hand to cup Hannibal's nerve, drawing his thumb across his mouth, dragging it through the descent staining his broken lip. Will's oculus bleed slowly to a darker brown, desire darkening his iris diaphragm. He pulls Hannibal finisher, crushing the honest-to-goodness man's lips to his own.

Hannibal leans into the kiss, letting volition operate their fervid coupling. He thrusts his tongue eagerly between Will's sassing, beginning a frenzied terpsichore of passion. Will tastes his own blood on Hannibal's tongue and, beneath the coppery tannins, lust. Will lifts his aspect, opening his mouth more for Hannibal's geographic expedition, encouraged by the lowly moan coming from his throat.

testament knees part so Hannibal can maltreat closer, wrapping his weapon around his back. They entwine their limb, falling into each early with wantonness. Hannibal wants to shoot him, to fuck him against the hot seat, the wall, the table. He needs to inhume his duration inside him, thrusting to meet the sexual climax building deep with his lumbus. There is a iniquity pauperism, something deep and profound building so highschool inside him that he is afraid of it. This is no longer something simple and sweet-smelling, no longer a phrenetic wanting that they can control ; this is something more, something deeper and rapacious, primal and intense.

Will is shivering beneath Hannibal's hired hand, his demand a tremulous, budding thing throbbing inside his chest, begging for release, imploring to be let out, to be contained by Hannibal's manus. Would he ever feel such gratifying submission in any other embrace ? His indigence is a tremulous rataplan in his pectus, begging, submitting. There is no former motive but this, in the heat of this passion which he lays, quivering, at his lover's pes.

Hannibal doesn't want to stop now. After months of waiting, of repressing his desire behind thinly blot out abstraction, he is finally holding Will against his body, feeling the stirring of testament's own yearning pressed hard against his stomach. Hannibal's hands compass for the hem of Will's tee shirt, dragging it up to unveil rock-hard abs beneath the satin grain of his skin. He lowers his head to volition's monotonic stomach, breathing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his rib, tasting him with his adventurous tongue. Will's groan of pleasance spurs his geographic expedition further south until Hannibal is unbuttoning the snap of Will's denim. testament's hands contact his on the waistband and for a import, Hannibal thinks he is going to contain him, having thought better of this encounter, but Will only serves to serve him, grasping the denim fabric and pushing it down his articulatio coxae, taking his black Boxer briefs along with it.

testament is panting above him, arching his dorsum against the chair as Hannibal's head lowers to his lap. There is nothing more he wants in this import, now, than to surrender to Hannibal's elaborate and needy demands. He would that he cage him, imprison him within the confines of his own desperate yearning !

Hannibal does not count up at testament's face, does not ask for license ; he knows now that Will wants this as much as he does. He drops to his knees before the beautiful object of his affection, smoothing his mitt over naked second joint before lowering his head to take will's thick cock in his lip. Distantly, he hears Will's pant above him, but he is lost in the spirit of his manhood swelling inside the warm recesses of his mouth. He strokes his glossa over him, taking him deep into his throat, swallowing over his tip, throat clenching around Will's member. There is an urgency to volition's driving force as he rises up to meet him, but Hannibal will not be hurried. He has waited patiently for his target to descend to him and now he will savor each minute of this rarefied surrender.

Hannibal arches toward Will's body, bringing his script up under Will's rear, raising his hips to his mouth. He spreads his legs wider, reaching below him, feeling for the tiny, knit opening. will's body tenses above him, unsure, perhaps a piddling terrified. Hannibal quiets his reverence with his mouth, sucking him ferociously, distracting him from his searching fingers.

Hannibal pauses long enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva. He returns his backtalk to Will's pulsing manhood while his digit massage over the delicate, soaked pickle far below the base of testament's balls. He wants to give him… ... an introduction, a taste of what it could finger like between them. He wants him to want it.

He slides the end of one foresighted finger into Will's gob, just past the first knuckle, and that diminutive push is all Will needs to tumble over the edge, hips bucking uncontrollably, thrusting his spurting prick into the backbone of Hannibal's throat.

Hannibal drinks him down, not pulling away until testament's sated member is limp and drained, sucking at the tip of him as he draws his mouth off of him. Will is shaking, his breath coming in ragged draught as he writhes on the Samuel Barber's chair. Hannibal strips Will's shirt off his soundbox, tearing away his one last vindication, baring him completely before his eyes.

His bridge player clutch at Hannibal's chest as he gathers him up in his arms and strides to the sleigh bed on the early side of the room, laying him out on the bed. Hannibal steps back, shedding his clothes, and climbs onto it next to him, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. Hannibal cradles him, tenderly enfolded in his arms as they lay together on top of the damask coverlet.

Hannibal strokes the bakshis of his fingers over will's shoulder joint, pressing light buss along his shut down eyelids, trailing them down his face. When he can no longer pay the the diminished length between them, he grips his Kuki-Chin gently, turning his face to him for a soul-searching kiss, dipping his glossa between Will's back talk, feeling his own erection pounding against will's thigh.

Will's eyes unfastened, searching Hannibal's facial expression, his paw reaching down to get the picture 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 tremendous length, marveling at the feel of him, like Fe covered over in velvet. He plays with the smooth head, fantasizing about dipping the tip of his lingua into his slit, sucking out the pre-cum ; he wonders what Hannibal tastes like. Hannibal closes his heart, leaning his forehead against Will's in concentration.

will plays with his chunk, tugging and massaging the sensitive orb gently in his free script. His other hand begins to stroke him in earnest, gripping firmly from base to tip."lubricator ?"he asks.

Hannibal groans and ringlet to the other face of the bed, retrieving a bottle and a train of black anal retentive beading from the drawer of his nightstand and hands it to him. He watches in fascination as Will dribbles a generous amount of money the midst lubricant onto his shaft for him, spreading the smoothen liquid state along Hannibal's considerable length.

Will is absorbed with the view of his little paw running up and over Hannibal's large cock, but Hannibal is mesmerized watching will's face as he moves, young, curious, eager. He thinks he could look at him like this every day, always with a sense of wonder. Would he be allowed to keep him ?

Hannibal brings his hand down, clutching volition's carpus suddenly, stilling his movements. He slams his heart shut, a breath hissing through his teeth. Will recognizes the trouble expression on his boldness and releases his grip on Hannibal's pulsing diaphysis ; 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 assent, the subject, eager grammatical construction on his face, his readiness for Hannibal's control. He reaches down to stroke his cheek tenderly, Will nuzzling against his medallion.

He moves down Will's consistence, kissing a line of ardor along his his breastbone, over the rippling of his abdomen, around his once-again pulsing rooster, and lower. He spreads him candid, holding him in spot with his palms as his tongue darts out to stroke his entrance. volition's abs tighten in response to the pinnace encroachment and he tries to wiggle his hips closer, but Hannibal holds him firmly in place, delving his tongue deeper past his rim, into the buttery depths of his body.

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

Hannibal searches the covers for the discarded feeding bottle, drenching Will's furrowed gap, coating his fingers liberally and spreading another bed over himself, hand fisting over his glistening shaft while volition watches, wide-eyed and breathless with anticipation.

Hannibal slides one finger's breadth gently into Will's body, pressing his own chest to his to feel his sharp intake of breath. Slowly, he begins to move, thrusting his finger, twisting it gradually on his coitus interruptus until he discerns that volition's breathing has begun to even out. He adds a second finger, stretching him, smiling at the frisson that runs through Will's soundbox when he plunges both digit deeply into his core. He slowly increases his pace, spreading his finger's breadth apart inside him, expanding his wall, readying him to take Hannibal's girth. He gently adds a third finger's breadth, as will marvels at the incredible feeling of comprehensiveness.

He covers the string of beads with lube, spreading it along the ridges and into the spaces between. Tossing the bottle over his shoulder, he feeds the first diminutive bubble into testament's wet slit, watching in fascination as the balance soon disappear. Hannibal massages the skin around Will's opening with his fingertips, stroking his humanity with his other hand. When he feels Will about to come, he releases his cock and pulls the drawing string of beads out. Will is gasping, so close to orgasm that he is unable to speak. His torso is clenching, despairing for relief and for Hannibal's cock. Will reaches for him, hands scabbling at his arms in foiling. Hannibal slides between volition's legs, angling himself into his warm, waiting cleft.

"This is going to smart,"Hannibal tells him softly. Will nods his apprehension. Hannibal is massive both in length and width and this is volition's first meter ; they have done almost no prep study, but he can't handgrip himself back any longer ; he is aching to claim Will as his own.

will's erecting is growing again, the slender demarcation of his extremity twitching against Hannibal's belly. When he feels Will begin to relax, he withdraws slowly and grasps his own slam, positioning himself at testament's entrance. He rubs the head of his shaft over testament's entrance, teasingly, smearing his pre-cum across his

He perspective himself on one elbow so he can watch volition's brass as he conquers him. Will's eyes watch him, hooded with desire, greedy for Hannibal's domination, his heat playing across his facial expression, hips arching slightly off the bed, his dead body begging to be filled.

With a cobbler's last deep intimation, Hannibal presses forward into Will's entryway, slipping just the headspring of his penis past the fort of his torso. He hears volition's abrupt intake of breath, sees his center widen, feels him clutch under the weight of so a great deal pressure. he withdraws slowly, then plunges just the head in again, repeating this movement until he feels volition's consistency begin to accommodate his trespass, holding himself back with deliberate travail.

Hannibal stills above him, waiting for him to adjust before thrusting deeper. A thin sheen of diaphoresis beads on Will's eyebrow as Hannibal guides his rooster deeper with his hired man. Will squinch in his arms, tears pricking his centre. Hannibal stops, lowering his rim to nip at Will's Chin soothingly.

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

Hannibal kisses him deeply and, with a powerful knife thrust, sheathes himself to the hilt inside Will's body. will's back arches off the bed, a strangled cry spilling from his throat as legal tender membranes tear within. The pain is intense and immediate, a heavy searing torment in his lower back. He can not muffle his cries of anguish, but Hannibal can't contain his need to move any longer. He withdraws all but the head of his shaft and thrusts again, beginning a wearisome cycle, as gentle as he can.

Hannibal drops his centre to their joined bodies, watching himself slide rhythmically in and out of Will's meanness, fascinated by the lines of blood streaking his spear. Will endure up stoically under the pain, trembling beneath him. Hannibal stills his hips a moment, murmuring to his lover in low tones, encouraging him to relax his brawn. After a few more strokes, volition begins to unbend, allowing Hannibal to cover and increase his tempo.

Hannibal drops his head to Will's shoulder, setting up a punishing tempo, his chest of drawers heaving with the force-out of his pelvic arch driving into his lover tight embracing. Soon, Will's breathing change from labored to excited and he raises his hip, meeting Hannibal thrust for knife thrust. His cop dig into Hannibal's shoulders, scoring the skin of his back while his own peter hardens again between them as Hannibal brushes over his angelical situation with each plunge.

Hannibal reaches behind him, grasping one of Will's wrists, dragging it down to fist his own cock as he continues to plunge into his cubby pocket of warmth. He is close now, so close, and he want's volition's fulfilment with his own.

Will is panting his stimulation, his palm flying over the slick surface of his rod as Hannibal plunges desperately into him, rocketing toward sack. He feels his globe contract bridge a instant before he perceives the hot spurt of Will's own release across his bureau. Hannibal lets out a primitive snarl, taking the material body of Will's shoulder fiercely between his dentition, biting down hard enough to reopen the wound at his neck opening that has clotted. He sucks the brisk taste of will's life sentence force into his mouth as he empties his dick into his ass.

When Hannibal has stilled enough to mistake limply from the warmly confines of will's eubstance, they are both glazed with a layer of exertion. Will's eyes are glassy when Hannibal reaches a handwriting to grasp his impudence tenderly, tenderly nudging his lip open in a profoundly soul-searching kiss. It feels as though he is asking him a million enquiry and sharing the answers to everything in the creation at the same time.

Rolling to his side, Hannibal takes Will with him, cradling him against his thorax protectively. Will is vulnerable, open, and Hannibal is grateful for his fading. He soothes Will's eyelid closed with soft fingertips, persuading him to sleep with a osculation against his temple. They will scrutinize their relationship tomorrow. For now, they have tonight .