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Spur of the Moment

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"Fuck me, Will."

In the middle of a make out session (nothing else to call it), in the middle of the night, after a few—but not that many—glasses of whiskey.

"Fuck you," Will says blankly. He's playing dumb and drunker than he is but also actually taken aback. He looks into Hannibal's eyes, faces fit together, lips just over his. His lips...he kisses him again while he waits for a response, drags teeth over his bottom lip, then devouring him again, Will's so fucking hard, it would good...

He can't believe it's never come up. Suddenly the idea sprouts in his head and he needs it more than anything, to fuck Hannibal, to be the driving force, to make him beg for it, make him love it. Will half-jumps awkwardly off the couch, yanking down his old tight jeans, already unzipped and hanging down in a V to either side of his pounding erection, that Hannibal has been not quite making use of but just toying with, fondling with his fingertips...acting like he wants it. Oh, Jesus, I am drunk, Will thinks, nearly tripping out of the last bit of his shed jeans, climbing back on the couch and over him, Hannibal under him for once, and isn't that a gorgeous fucking sight? Will feels giddy and aggressive; Hannibal is looking at him overflowing with lust and he kisses him fiercely, harder than he does, getting inside him with his tongue as Hannibal stretches his hips and back up and into him, grinding, hands in Will's hair.

Will lifts his head briefly and the room whirls: bourbon, that bitch, always sneaking up on you. He lowers it right away to find himself face to face with Hannibal again, and this time it's slower and sweeter, and everything is so exciting and oh my God, we've never done this. This will be new. Oh my God, something new with him.

"Will, I want you," Hannibal breathes to him and Will is drunken clumsy trying to arrange himself, unbalanced, but he gets there and doesn't think, realizes what he was expecting and snorts laughing.

"I'm sorry, I..."

Hannibal makes to hand him a bottle of lube from the end table but Will says, wanting to explore this, "You do it," more of an order than intended but he does, Hannibal is reaching down between them, between his legs and touching himself to get ready for him, so he can take Will. The anticipation is killing him but Will watches anyway, transfixed, he's so beautiful. He's too beautiful. I want to fuck him into nothing.

Will sticks two fingers in his mouth, forgetting he doesn't need to with the lube, presses them into him and oh what a gorgeous sound he makes, Will is in heaven already, he nearly falls over trying to balance against one hand on the armrest behind Hannibal's head, finally he stabilizes and takes himself in one hand to guide into him, doesn't hesitate, starts to push inside and Hannibal's in ecstasy, head drooping against the armrest, suffering gorgeously like a painting of St. Sebastian, he feels so good around Will and Will drops his head too, like he's pulling against a heavy load, and he can't catch his breath, oh fuck, it's so good, you're so good, you feel so good...

"Oh, Hannibal, it's good," he has to tell him, even in a whisper, even if he can barely concentrate on forming the words. "You're so good, Hannibal..."

He catches Hannibal's lips and they kiss hard as Will slides deeper, all the way inside, and then it's that familiar sensation of being one and the same but somehow backwards, Will is so used to being moved in it's like trying to write forwards while looking at the page in a mirror, or maybe he's just overwhelmed by the feeling after so long, the feeling of being the taker, of being inside someone, of entering. He's using the armrest to counterbalance the thrusts, so impossibly tight he feels like he can barely move at all, and he's a little afraid to, he doesn't want to hurt him, not like this and right now. Hannibal grips his hips where they're pumping against him and moans, a real moan in total abandon, and Will realizes he's already perilously close to coming, oh not yet please... He tries to think of something awful but for once in his life he can't, all he can think about is the way Hannibal feels taking him, the kisses on his neck, Hannibal brushing his lips so lightly and maddeningly over his nipples so he just feels the heat of his breath—oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, okay, concentrate, come on...

"Will," Hannibal pants, "Will, don't be so gentle," and that's hard to resist, that little phrase wants to push him over and he grits his teeth, wanting to give Hannibal his cock as hard as he can, to pound into him until he forgets his own name, loses every word of that lovingly cultivated vocabulary, until he's an animal. But he never wants it to end either and the goals are very different in execution. Will wraps his free arm under Hannibal's back and holds him closer, he can't resist going for it soon, it's going to happen no matter what he does in the very near future. He bites his lip, changes his mind, sinks his teeth into Hannibal's shoulder as he fucks him harder, sucks sloppy whiskey-and-sweat hickies all over his neck, Hannibal moaning like he can't help himself, Hannibal can't help himself and suddenly Will is coming hard, fucking it into him, gripping his shoulder tight between his teeth, tasting blood, Hannibal choking his name in his ear. In a pleasant compromise it ends but the ending seems to last forever—it amplifies his shaky intoxicated grip on time and just goes on.

Finally he can stop supporting his weight and he sinks into Hannibal's arms, still moaning quietly at the afterglow, sweat sticking their skin together, Hannibal might be quivering just a bit.

"God, I love you, I fucking love you," Will slurs into his chest, and his eyes sting a little and his face feels a little hot but he pushes on. "I love you so goddamn much, Hannibal."

Hannibal doesn't answer, just strokes Will's sweaty hair in an automatic motion, as if he has gone to the back to hide that away somewhere he can hold on to it. Will knows he's doing it and he loves him all the more for it. God, I love you, God, I love you, he repeats in his head.

"You're perfect," Will says out loud, and Hannibal makes a little noise that's not really a word and squeezes him closer. They fall asleep very soon, a drunk sticky heap on the couch, in each other's arms.