No sex, no sexual contact, no masturbating. Not even touching.
Hannibal’s voice was sibilant and sweet, like pomegranates in the dark, when he gave Will the command.
In their luxurious bed, Will had actually whined.
“But I’m pregnant and horny,” he said, leveling one of the things he knew Hannibal was most sensitive to.
The minute Will had announced his pregnancy, Hannibal had become doubly nurturing and protective of Will and their spawn.
Hannibal locked his talons together on his chest, flapping his wings idly, delicious tentacles and tendrils wafting all about.
“Yes, and you have made me late to work too often,” Hannibal said, glancing at the clock. “It will be good for you to practice some restraint.”
“Or you could just restrain me,” Will purred.
Hannibal tsked before folding into his human guise and leaving for work. Leaving Will alone without even the pleasure of masturbation. He spent the day scowling and playing with the dogs outside.
He’d given up work on Hannibal’s insistence, happy to go out and fish, to play with the dogs, to be pampered, and think of spawnling names instead of murders. They’d even found a house, a blend of Hannibal’s baroque style and Will’s simpler style, somewhere between both Baltimore and Wolf Trap.
That morning, as he frisked with the dogs in the chill autumn air, Hannibal’s edict had pleased and chafed. He was pleased to be given orders. But it chafed to be denied pleasure, especially when every part of his body crackled for it, like lightning. Neither he nor Hannibal quite understood why, in his second trimester, Will had begun to constantly burn with a white desire. The very smell of Hannibal’s human aftershave made him stiff and wet. He wanted to be spread and filled with tentacles, to have his breasts touched, even though they and his belly were tender and swelling.
Will threw Winston a stick and he decided, not just out of obedience to Hannibal, but also spite, that he would obey this ridiculous edict. He would prove he could do it. That burned in him nearly as bright as his lust.
In the itching, relentless days that followed, that lust sizzled not just in his body, but began to ricochet through his skull. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me .
They’d finished dinner and Hannibal was wiping down the countertops, nestled in his human guise. Will felt it then. The strange bubbling low in his belly. The spawnlings moving, like a tidal flow. Their children roiling inside him when they sensed Hannibal, as though he were their moon.
But he was also Will’s moon.
And he couldn’t stand it. He was burgeoning. He felt like a flower ready to rupture.
“Will?” Hannibal asked.
“Fuck me, please. Spread me open like a whore.”
Hannibal seemed, frustratingly, not to have heard him, because he folded the kitchen towel primly and hung it on the oven.
Will felt the black tentacles snake around his ankles before he even knew what was happening. His feet were not on the floor and he hovered in the air. Another pair of tentacles wound round his wrists, so he was suspended, limbs spread.
Hannibal ran a human thumb, close to becoming a talon, along Will’s lips.
“You are a whore,” he said in his monstrous and gorgeous voice, all the while keeping his human aspect.
Will shivered at the words.
“A naughty little whore.”
Hannibal took a fistful of Will’s hair and yanked his head back.
“Yes. I am your naughty little whore,” Will said.
Eyes gold, Hannibal leaned in and bit Will’s throat, sucking, lapping with his forked tongue. Will groaned, cunt dripping already.
“I’ve been such a good little whore too,” Will said when Hannibal pulled away. “I haven’t asked for sex or touched myself.”
“For only three days,” Hannibal sounded bemused.
“That’s three fucking days of torture,” Will snapped.
“You’ll get nowhere with that tone,” Hannibal said.
“Fine. But I worked really hard to follow your orders,” Will said.
Hannibal caressed Will’s chin with a silken tendril.
“I suppose a reward is in order,” Hannibal murmured.
Will whimpered, straining against Hannibal’s tentacles, not because he wanted to be free, but because he wanted to feel those tentacles tighten.
He felt other tentacles, the ones with spires, graze his skin as they ripped his clothes. They fell away in shreds.
“You have to stop doing that. I’ll have nothing to wear,” Will said.
“You like it,” Hannibal said. “And you will always have what you need.”
The reassurance was lost to Will as cool air prickled his skin and his nipples tightened painfully. He could see the way his body was transforming: the lurid stretch marks, his lumpy, distending belly. It made him proud, proud to be seen, proud to be bearing Hannibal’s offspring.
“Hmm,” Hannibal said.
He laid Will, back down, on the counter, taking his tentacles from his ankles and wrists. A tendril with a smooth bulb at the end rubbed Will’s cock and entrance.
“My, my, you are wet.”
“I want you so badly.”
Hannibal grinned, feral and half beaked, as he slid the bulbed tendril into Will. Will moaned, the bloated head spreading him wide. It pulsed inside him, thick, and Will felt his own cum dripping down his thighs and ass.
He languished there, another tendril stroking his cock and tentacles carefully squeezing his breasts. He felt it in the small of his back: that white crackle and then a sudden red wash as he came, slick and shuddering.
“Good boy,” Hannibal whispered.
And then Will felt a second bulbed tendril at his entrance, at first simply rimming the swollen outer lips, and then pressing into him.
“Hannibal, I don’t think --”
“Sssh, pet,” Hannibal said, putting a taloned hand over Will’s throat. “You’re stretched. Be a good little whore for me. If it hurts we will stop.”
Will nodded, heart in his throat because he wasn’t sure. He’d never done this before, but he wanted to try.
The second tendril with its slick bulb eased in, slow, slowly. He could count his heartbeats, between the time the bulb sat at his entrance and was fully seated in him. Four-hundred and twenty. Will moaned, the dual bulbs filling him now, splitting him wide. Hannibal stroked Will’s hair as Will adjusted.
“So full,” Will murmured, throbbing, aching.
“Do you like it?” Hannibal asked.
“My little whore,” Hannibal said, fondling Will’s breasts with human appearing hands.
But Will felt the snick of talons, nonetheless, and arced into Hannibal’s touch.
Hannibal began moving the bulbs inside him, first a low humming that pressed against his walls and filled him. Then the vibrating bulbs began to thrust gently, and then not so gently. The pleasure was blinding. Keening, Will sat up and clung to Hannibal, feeling his wings through his human likeness. Will spread his legs wide, and wider. He needed more, and more, and reached for his cock, which burned hard again. He began stroking himself in time with the thrusts.
It wasn’t the thrusts stretching him thin, or the stiffness of his cock, but the softness of a beaked kiss, which made Will tighten around those bulbs as he came, red behind his eyes while his cock quivered.
“Fuck,” he gasped, the bulbs still moving, past pleasure into delicious agony.
Hannibal shrieked, a low inhuman cry, raven wings unfurling. The bulbs twitched and Will felt the hot wash of blue-black cum in his stretched cunt.
“Oh god, yes, fill me,” he whispered, aware that the Hannibal who looked human was gone and there was just the real Hannibal.
The Hannibal people called monstrous. But they were idiots not to recognize beauty.
The bulbed tendrils left his body, slowly, and Will felt bereft, empty, until Hannibal turned him around, on his hands and knees. He clambered onto the counter top behind Will and sank his thick, pulsing cock into him. Will’s back arched as Hannibal drove himself into Will, hard enough to make Will see jolts of orange.
“Yes, yes, use my body,” Will gasped.
Hannibal finished with a guttural sound, sinking down on top of Will. Will felt the cum gushing out of him, between his thighs, and was grateful for that cum, which had gotten him pregnant.
Hannibal held Will close, his cock softening. His talons pricked the skin of Will’s belly and the spawnlings swirled in a frenzy.
“Feel them?” Will asked.
Hannibal nuzzled him with his beak.