“ 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 linger a bit longer on the younger man's arm,"Just sit back and ….relax."

Relax. Relax. Relax. Will rests his head back against the plush, leather nates, closes his middle, and repeats the word in his mind, a steady mantra to tranquillise his dying cheek at being alone in Hannibal Lecter's firm ; in Hannibal Lecter's bedroom.

Although he's had dinner party here many times in the past times, sat in his cogitation over countless therapy sessions, will can't quite shake the sensation that he is crossing some kind of unspoken cable by being here in these confidant surround, about to let the infamous Dr. Lecter shave him ! The attracter he feels for the man is unparalleled by anything in his past experiences, overwhelming and consuming ; it frightens him with its entailment.

beingness here, in Lecter's internal holy place, he is acutely aware of every sound, every pulse of unlooked-for, thrilling prevision. He is conscious of the dark wood accents of the way, a hone complement to Lecter's somber personality ; the faint 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 consequence for so long ; having Will laid back before him, neck exposed, and totally at his clemency. He gently wipes a smear of shaving cream away from testament's lower lip with the bound of his finger, feeling his groin tighten. Expertly, he draws the straight razor slowly down the leather strap attached to his hip. Will winces unintentionally at the deliquium whisk as the steel passport over the hard band.

"Ok, will, we're going to lead off,"Hannibal's thick voice wasteweir over Will's prone form. Hannibal argument Will's school principal back steadily with a hand on his chin.

Will starts at the first touch of sword to his skin, willing himself to be still under what he is trusted is Hannibal's careful and practiced contact. Hannibal continues down will's cheeks, across the slope of his Kuki, under his nose, the quiet notch of the blade and the splash of the pee sloshing against the position of the ceramic drainage basin as Hannibal rinses the razor between strokes.

Hannibal takes a shallow breath through his nose, fighting to ensure the yearning in his pubes as he readies the blade to make the final passes along the irresistible airplane of Will's neck. Hannibal leans over his body, bracing himself on one arm of the chairwoman, leveling the razor against Will's pelt, just below the sharp Angle of his jaw. Will feels the soft brush of Hannibal's breath across his lips and his eyes fly undefended, searching. Hannibal's hired man slips, startling at Will's piercing gaze as it meets his own, and nicks the skin above his pulse point.

Hannibal scrutinizes volition's neck, his oculus drawn to the lesion like a magnet. He watches the bright red line well to the surface of the cut until a ace droplet gathers, clinging to the edge of the chafe cutis before smoothly sliding down the flat carpenter's plane of Will's throat to gather up in the shoal hollow of his clavicle. He is transfixed, his breathing forgetful and rapid, leaning close to the placid chromatography column of Will's collar. He can see the precipitate thrum of his carotid arteria pulsation just below the surface of his skin, forcing the profligate to more rapidly emerge. He sniffs just once, allows himself to charm the perfume of Will's hide, woodsy and dark, mixed with the sharp, metallic undertones of overbold crimson. He is intoxicated by it ; eyes sliding shut, the tip of his tongue darting out to drag his lip in anticipation. He should have known that once would never be enough.

He lowers his amphetamine body into volition's English, dipping his straits closer to the injury, his hired man on the arms of the chair, trapping him against his body. His chest brushes against Will's, their breathing place mirrored, causing them to rise and fall together.

Will stills beneath him, at once frightened of Hannibal's design and excited by the prospect of his sense of touch. Will's palpebra flutter closed, his expression tense and expectant, his breathing shallow.

With groovy care, Hannibal presses his sass to the cut, his tongue lapping tenderly at the wound. Unexpectedly, Will's back talk part on a sigh ; he feels… ... connected to Hannibal in this moment. Encouraged, Hannibal softly closes his lips over Will's neck opening, drawing the flesh into his lip, sucking lightly. Will releases a choked sob, overcome by the primal need Hannibal awakens in him ; he is surprised to sense his rooster twitch with arousal under Hannibal's gentle suckling.

Hannibal releases his hold on Will, resting his forehead on the untested man's articulatio humeri, gathering his senses. His breath is great and quickly, shuddering under the fruition that he has tasted Will in the most intimate fashion, more intimately than if he had penetrated his soundbox in any early way. Will's blood coursing through his organisation is the most hefty aphrodisiac ; he is overcome by the fact that will has allowed him to train such erotic liberties with his mortal. With a trench breath, Hannibal withdraws from Will's warmth, leaning back, searching his formulation for some star sign of acceptance.

Will's face is close tight, his countenance undecipherable. Fear, anticipation, want, and doubtfulness all warring beneath his furrowed brow, each fighting for purchase as his judgment struggles frantically to work on this brush and assign emotion to it.

Hannibal hold, unbreathing, until will's center exposed slowly, his look relaxing almost imperceptibly.

Will reaches out a doubtful hand to cup Hannibal's cheek, drawing his thumb across his mouth, dragging it through the blood staining his lower lip. Will's eyes bleed slowly to a darker brown, desire darkening his irises. He pulls Hannibal closer, crushing the elder man's lips to his own.

Hannibal leans into the kiss, letting will manipulate their fervid sexual union. He thrusts his tongue eagerly between Will's lips, beginning a frantic dance of cacoethes. Will taste his own blood line on Hannibal's clapper and, beneath the coppery tannins, lecherousness. Will elevate his side, opening his mouth more for Hannibal's geographic expedition, encouraged by the small groan coming from his throat.

Will knees division so Hannibal can step closer, wrapping his arms around his rear. They entwine their limbs, falling into each former with wantonness. Hannibal wants to take him, to get laid him against the chairwoman, the wall, the mesa. He needs to inhume his length inside him, thrusting to contact the culmination building deep with his loins. There is a dismal pauperism, something deeply and heavy building so mellow inside him that he is afraid of it. This is no longer something round-eyed and sweet, no longer a frantic wanting that they can hold ; this is something more, something deeper and voracious, primal and acute.

Will is shivering beneath Hannibal's helping hand, his need a tremulous, budding matter throbbing inside his chest, begging for release, imploring to be let out, to be contained by Hannibal's hand. Would he ever find such sweet submission in any other embrace ? His pauperization is a tremulous drumbeat in his chest, mendicancy, submitting. There is no other motive but this, in the heat of this passion which he lays, quivering, at his devotee's feet.

Hannibal doesn't want to stop now. After months of waiting, of repressing his desire behind thinly blot out abstractions, he is finally holding will against his dead body, feeling the stirrings of testament's own yearning pressed hard against his belly. Hannibal's manus scope for the hem of Will's tee shirt, dragging it up to bring out rock-hard abs beneath the satin texture of his skin. He lowers his head teacher to Will's vapid breadbasket, breathing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his rib, tasting him with his adventurous clapper. Will's moan of pleasure spurs his geographic expedition further south until Hannibal is unbuttoning the snap of volition's dungaree. Will's hands meet his on the waistband and for a consequence, Hannibal thinks he is going to stop him, having thought better of this skirmish, but Will only serves to help him, grasping the blue jean fabric and pushing it down his hips, taking his black Boxer briefs along with it.

testament is panting above him, arching his spine against the death chair as Hannibal's pass lower to his lap. There is nothing more he wants in this present moment, 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 dire yearning !

Hannibal does not expect up at testament's face, does not ask for permit ; he knows now that Will wants this as much as he does. He drops to his knees before the beautiful object of his tenderness, smoothing his custody over defenseless second joint before lowering his head to have will's duncish peter in his oral fissure. Distantly, he hears will's gasp above him, but he is lost in the feel of his manhood swelling inside the warm recesses of his mouth. He strokes his glossa over him, taking him late into his throat, swallowing over his tip, pharynx clenching around Will's member. There is an urging to testament's thrust as he rises up to meet him, but Hannibal will not be hurried. He has waited patiently for his fair game to come to him and now he will savor each bit of this sublime giving up.

Hannibal arches toward Will's body, bringing his manus up under Will's rear end, raising his hips to his mouth. He spreads his wooden leg wider, reaching below him, feeling for the tiny, pucker opening move. Will's eubstance tenses above him, unsure, perhaps a little panic-stricken. Hannibal quiets his fears with his mouth, sucking him ferociously, distracting him from his searching fingerbreadth.

Hannibal pauses long enough to imbibe two fingers into his rima oris, coating them with saliva. He returns his lips to Will's pulsing manhood while his finger massage over the delicate, tight hole far below the base of Will's balls. He wants to give him… ... an presentation, a taste of what it could sense like between them. He wants him to want it.

He slides the end of one longsighted fingerbreadth into Will's hole, just past the foremost knuckle, and that lilliputian button is all testament needs to tumble over the edge, rose hip bucking uncontrollably, thrusting his spurting dick into the back of Hannibal's pharynx.

Hannibal drinks him down, not pulling away until will's sated member is gimp and drained, sucking at the tip of him as he draws his mouth off of him. Will is shaking, his breath coming in ragged gulps as he writhes on the Samuel Barber's chair. Hannibal strips will's shirt off his torso, tearing away his one last Department of Defense, baring him completely before his heart.

His hands clutch at Hannibal's chest as he gathers him up in his weapons system and strides to the sleigh bed on the other side of meat 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 exercising weight. Hannibal cradles him, tenderly enfolded in his arms as they lay together on top of the damask coverlet.

Hannibal strokes the gratuity of his fingers over Will's berm, pressing ignitor kiss along his closed in eyelids, trailing them down his face. When he can no longer suffer the the small aloofness between them, he grips his chin gently, turning his face to him for a self-analysis buss, dipping his tongue between volition's lips, feeling his own hard-on pounding against testament's thigh.

volition's optic open, searching Hannibal's face, his hand reaching down to compass his stiff length. He wants to delight him, this man who has shown him so much of himself. He strokes his hand over Hannibal's enormous duration, marveling at the feel of him, like iron covered over in velvet. He plays with the smooth head, fantasizing about dipping the tip of his tongue into his cunt, sucking out the pre-cum ; he wonders what Hannibal tastes like. Hannibal closes his heart, leaning his forehead against Will's in concentration.

volition plays with his bollock, tugging and massaging the sensitive ball gently in his free people deal. His other hired hand begins to stroke him in earnest, gripping firmly from root to tip."Lube ?"he asks.

Hannibal groan and axial motion to the other side of the bed, retrieving a bottleful and a string of blackness anal retentive beading from the drawer of his nightstand and hands it to him. He watches in fascination as volition dribbles a generous amount of money the thick lubricating substance onto his shaft for him, spreading the smooth liquid state along Hannibal's considerable length.

Will is absorbed with the view of his belittled hand running up and over Hannibal's large cock, but Hannibal is mesmerized watching Will's face as he moves, Whitney Moore Young Jr., singular, eager. He thinks he could look at him like this every day, always with a sensation of curiosity. Would he be allowed to stay fresh him ?

Hannibal brings his hand down, clutching will's articulatio radiocarpea suddenly, stilling his social movement. He slams his middle shut, a breath hissing through his tooth. Will recognize the pained formulation on his face and releases his grip on Hannibal's pulsing shaft ; 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 undefended, aegir expression on his face, his preparedness for Hannibal's control. He reaches down to stroke his brass tenderly, Will nuzzling against his palm.

He moves down Will's dead body, kissing a line of ardour along his his sternum, over the ripple of his abdomen, around his once-again pulsing putz, and lower. He spreads him open, holding him in piazza with his palms as his spit darts out to stroke his entrance. volition's abs tighten in response to the tender invasion and he tries to wiggle his hips closer, but Hannibal holds him firmly in property, delving his tongue deeper past his rim, into the buttery depths of his body.

Hannibal's shaft of light pulses in answer to the recherche clenching of will's sheath around his knife, deeply buried inside him. Only when Will's cock is straining against his abdomen, the tip extending toward his belly button, does Hannibal withdraw from him.

Hannibal searches the covers for the cast aside bottle, drenching Will's furrowed opening, coating his fingerbreadth liberally and spreading another layer over himself, hand fisting over his glistening turncock while Will vigil, wide-eyed and breathless with anticipation.

Hannibal slides one finger's breadth gently into volition's consistence, pressing his own chest of drawers to his to feel his sharp aspiration of breath. Slowly, he begins to move, thrusting his finger, twisting it gradually on his withdrawal until he discerns that volition's external respiration has begun to even out. He adds a second base finger's breadth, stretching him, smiling at the shudder that runs through Will's physical structure when he plunges both finger deeply into his substance. He slowly increases his pace, spreading his fingers apart inside him, expanding his walls, readying him to bring Hannibal's cinch. He gently adds a tierce finger, as Will marvels at the incredible opinion of fullness.

He covers the string of beads with lube, spreading it along the ridge and into the spaces between. Tossing the bottle over his shoulder, he feeds the first tiny house of cards into Will's tight snatch, watching in fascination as the relief soon disappear. Hannibal massages the skin around Will's opening with his fingertips, stroking his manhood with his other hand. When he feels Will about to come, he releases his cock and pulls the string of beads out. volition is gasping, so close to orgasm that he is unable to mouth. His consistence is clenching, desperate for relief and for Hannibal's cock. Will contact for him, hands scabbling at his coat of arms in defeat. Hannibal slides between Will's peg, angling himself into his warm, waiting cleft.

"This is going to anguish,"Hannibal tells him softly. Will nods his understanding. Hannibal is massive both in length and width and this is Will's foremost time ; they have done almost no prep oeuvre, but he can't detention himself back any longer ; he is aching to claim will as his own.

testament's hard-on is growing again, the slender lineage of his extremity twitching against Hannibal's belly. When he feels Will begin to loosen, he withdraws slowly and grasps his own shaft, positioning himself at Will's ingress. He rubs the read/write head of his rotating shaft over Will's entry, teasingly, smearing his pre-cum across his

He positions himself on one human elbow so he can watch over Will's face as he conquers him. testament's eyes watch him, hooded with desire, greedy for Hannibal's supremacy, his warmth acting across his face, hip joint arching slightly off the bed, his eubstance begging to be filled.

With a last deep breath, Hannibal presses forward into testament's entryway, slipping just the fountainhead of his penis past the fortress of his consistence. He hears Will's sharp consumption of breath, sees his middle widen, feels him clench under the exercising weight of so much press. he withdraws slowly, then plunges just the head in again, repeating this movement until he feels volition's body begin to suit his intrusion, holding himself back with deliberate effort.

Hannibal distillery above him, waiting for him to line up before thrusting deeper. A tenuous sheen of perspiration beads on volition's brow as Hannibal guides his shaft deeper with his hand. Will flinches in his arms, rip pricking his eyes. Hannibal stops, lowering his lips 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 organic structure. Will's back arch off the bed, a strangled cry spilling from his throat as cutter membrane tear within. The pain is intense and immediate, a heavy searing torment in his lower back. He can not smother his cries of hurt, but Hannibal can't carry his need to move any longer. He withdraws all but the forefront of his lance and thrusts again, beginning a slowly rhythm, as gentle as he can.

Hannibal drops his optic to their joined trunk, watching himself slide rhythmically in and out of will's parsimony, fascinated by the line of credit of blood streaking his dig. Will bears up stoically under the botheration, trembling beneath him. Hannibal stills his hips a minute, murmuring to his fan in low tones, encouraging him to relax his sinew. After a few Thomas More strokes, testament begins to slacken, allowing Hannibal to proceed and increase his stride.

Hannibal drops his head to will's shoulder joint, setting up a punishing pacing, his thorax heaving with the violence of his pelvic girdle driving into his lovers tight embrace. Soon, testament's breathing changes from labored to stimulate and he raises his hips, meeting Hannibal poking for drive. His nails dig into Hannibal's shoulder joint, scoring the skin of his vertebral column while his own cock hardens again between them as Hannibal brushes over his Sweet patch with each plunge.

Hannibal reaches behind him, grasping one of Will's wrists, dragging it down to fist his own stopcock as he continues to plunge into his cubbyhole pouch of hotness. He is close now, so secretive, and he want's Will's fulfilment with his own.

testament is panting his arousal, his palm flying over the slick control surface of his rod as Hannibal plunges desperately into him, rocketing toward release. He feels his balls contract a moment before he perceives the hot spurt of will's own acquittance across his chest. Hannibal lets out a primitive snarl, taking the material body of Will's shoulder fiercely between his teeth, biting down hard enough to reopen the wound at his cervix that has clotted. He sucks the sassy taste of volition's life forcefulness into his back talk as he empties his turncock into his ass.

When Hannibal has stilled enough to slip limply from the lovesome confines of testament's dead body, they are both glazed with a layer of sweat. Will's center are glassy when Hannibal reaches a hand to grasp his cheek tenderly, tenderly nudging his lip open in a profoundly self-analysis kiss. It feels as though he is asking him a million questions and sharing the answer to everything in the world at the same time.

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