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Hush, Darling

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He truly loves the sounds his Will emits in the throes of sex. They are raw, uncalculated, like the sounds of a victim, feeling their life slip away. But so much more addictive. They are so unlike everything Will does in other moments of his life. When Hannibal takes Will on the broad desk in his office during their sessions, Will shouts out his desperation to the point that Hannibal worries for the health of his ears. When they partake in coitus in Will’s home, in his bed, he sobs and cries until his dogs come pawing at the door, worried over what so ails the leader of their pack. When Hannibal lounges on a leather couch in his living room, with Will bouncing on his lap, the man screams how much he loves and needs Hannibal’s cock. All are welcome, appreciated.

But now, standing in the utility closet in the main building of the FBI's behavioral science unit, he wishes he could keep quiet, at least a little bit. Surrounded by spare computer parts, brooms and mops, wrenches and carts, Hannibal feels overtly aware of their close proximity to inquiring ears.

He tried to keep him quiet with kisses, at first, chuckling at how uncontrollable the man can be at times like this. But the added stimuli only made him louder, made moans and whimpers escape from bitten lips.

“Hush, darling,” Hannibal whispers, pining him harder against the wall with his hips. “Do you want your colleagues to find you like this?”

“I don’t—can’t—!“ Hannibal feels Will’s shudder rack his spine through his cock, buried deep inside. He shifts back slightly so as to avoid the prostate—a task easier said than done in this position, with Will twisting and turning to gain friction. Howling all the while. The moment the very tip of Hannibal brushes against the sweet spot inside him, Will wrenches away from Hannibal’s lips and all but screams a nonsensical plea for more of something or another.

FUCK!

Coming from anyone else, Hannibal would find the action entirely repugnant, but from Will it is a symphony. Still, a worrisome symphony. Will becomes louder with each and every movement and Hannibal feels that the cock pinned between them is hard and leaking wetly on their clothes. Orgasm will not evade him for long, and when it comes it will be with a siren’s call.

Hannibal can almost see Agent Crawford or Brian Zeller or perhaps some ordinary intern opening the door out of frightened curiosity only to find Will Graham pressed against a wall with his legs bound tightly around Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s hips. A surge of possessiveness is easily interpreted as Hannibal’s desire for no one to see his Will at the height of orgasm. None but him.

The doctor is ripped from his train of thought when Will begins to beg again, “Hannibal, har-der!” The words echo around the room, almost making his ears ring. He thinks he hears a movement outside the door

“Will, you must be quieter—it would be quite the predicament if we were discovered.” It is only marginally difficult to keep the bite out of his voice.

“I don’t ca—!” It’s obviously the stimulation talking, the close proximity of blessed release, but the words are terribly loud and Hannibal, without really thinking, presses his hand against Will’s lips. Muffles the end of the statement.

Without both of Hannibal’s hands cupping Will’s ass to keep him upright, Will must tighten his legs’ grip on his lover. The pressure, the depth achieved, sends a surge of pleasure through both of them. Hannibal groans quietly but Will can only mouth against the hand. His whining is silenced entirely by Hannibal’s broad palm. Wet breaths stream through the gaps between the fingers and tongue flicks out against the skin in desperation.

Hannibal loosens his grip on Will, allowing himself to slide out of Will’s ass, just barely, before pounding back in at full force. If he freed Will’s mouth, the man would scream, shout for Hannibal to bring him closer to the edge.

He draws out once more. Orgasm dawns upon Will’s form suddenly, when Hannibal’s cock is nowhere near the prostate; it is likely the anticipation that finally pushes him over. Hannibal tightens the grip on his William, pushes him impossibly hard into the wall. Thick streams of semen splash up against Will’s chest and Hannibal is glad of his decision to wear a less expensive suit today when beads splash back on him. If no one suspected them of fucking from Will’s mewling, they would emphatically guess the truth when they return to the office covered in jizz unless they took great care to clean themselves up first. As he rides out the orgasm, hole clenching and unclenching, Will bears his teeth against Hannibal’s palm because he desperately wants to yell something.

The look of Will, pinned against the wall and temporarily silenced is enticing to the point of desolation. Hannibal leans forward and sinks his teeth lightly into the fabric covering Will’s shoulder. A final thrust lets Hannibal bury himself to the hilt; he instantly feels his muscles tighten in sweet release. Deciding in the euphoria to take a change, he lowers his hand from Will’s lips and kisses him, deep and forceful.

Even when both orgasms have subsided, Hannibal does not separate from Will for a long moment. With heavy lidded eyes, he sees Will’s face scrunched up in exhausted passion. He would no doubt beg for another round, if given the chance, and the less conscientious part of Hannibal would oblige. But the risk is already too great.

Will’s eyes open when Hannibal begins to let his body slide down the wall. His senses come back to him even more when his feet touch the floor. Hannibal removes the handkerchief from his jacket’s outer pocket and gives Will’s hole a cursory wipe.

“S-sorry about that…” Will murmurs meekly. Referring to the noise in apology, as he always does. Already his back is hunched over, his body language defined by his wish to not offend. Submissive and self-pejorative. Hannibal’s cock twitches below his legs. He feels the silk between his fingers and imagines it as a gag, pressed behind Will’s swollen lips to keep him quiet.

Perhaps once more would not be so perilous.