Will had never seen a fish that big before. It pulled on his line and made his arms quiver. By the time he reeled it in, he was soaking wet, and that’s how Hannibal found him.
“Will, you’re dripping all over my kitchen.”
Hannibal’s brow creased with concern. “Do you need a towel? You’re welcome to use my guest bathroom.”
“No,” Will said, flopping the fish down on the counter between them. Its flesh made a slapping noise as it hit the marble. “I caught this for you. Have you ever seen a fish this big?”
“Probably? There’s a market down on 33rd street that sells fish fresh off the boat. Will, are you feeling alright?”
Will took a step closer. He slid his fingers into Hannibal’s mouth, still slick from the fish’s scales, ignoring Hannibal’s wince at the taste. “Roast my fish, Daddy.”
Hannibal's tongue darted out, curling around Will's fingers like an eel, lithe and slimy. "Surely," he said, "as an experienced fisherman, you are more than capable or roasting your own fish."
Will shook his head. Hannibal's clever tongue was making him dizzy. "This one is too big," he said. "I can't do it by myself."
"Hmm." Hannibal leaned over and clicked on the oven to heat, and before Will knew it he was pressed up against the counter, Hannibal behind him with his arms reached around to gut the fish. Hannibal's hips drove into Will's ass as he whispered in his ear, "If you ask Daddy to roast your fish, you should know he's going to get all the way inside it." He pushed a knife and a bulb of garlic towards Will. "Cut the lemon and garlic for me, please."
Will did, and Hannibal took the aromatics from him and then ran his hand up and down the scaly surface of the fish. "You're going to get stuffed," he growled. "I hope you're ready."
"It's ready," panted Will. "Stuff it in there. Stuff it so full it'll never recover."
Hannibal's fingertips breached the slit in the fish's belly slowly, parting the flesh like delicate pink lips. He pushed the lemon slices in gently but firmly, and Will gasped and writhed back against his body. "This fish is so big," he panted. "It can take so much."
“Will you help me? The fish can take more than you think,” Hannibal said, breath gliding over his ear. “Be a good boy for Daddy, now. Use your fingers.”
Will worked his arm free from where it was pinned by his side. He slid his fingers into the cold flesh right alongside Hannibal’s, tilting his neck up to the light and the range of Hannibal’s teeth. “So full,” he breathed. “It’s going to taste so good.”
“It’s so tight,” he gasped. “I can’t believe we can both fit.”
“Make sure you get it nice and wet,” Hannibal said, punctuating his words with firm thrusts against Will’s ass. “You don’t want me to roast it dry, do you?”
“Get it good and wet.” Hannibal took the bottle of olive oil—piano-key fingers dancing over the green glass—and drizzled it slowly over the fish. Will could feel the slip of his tongue over his pulse as he spoke. “Make sure it’s coated evenly.” Will put his hand on the scales, trying as best he could to distribute the oil, twitching at the feeling of Hannibal’s fish-cold fingers skimming the waistband of his pants. “Do you need help, baby?”
“Yes—please,” Will said. Hannibal obligingly placed his hand over Will’s, and they guided the oil into the crevices, dipping in and around the corners of the massive fish, feeling its architecture together.
“Such a large fish that you need my help,” Hannibal murmured. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll fit in the oven. We’ll have to make sure that it’s thoroughly, evenly cooked.”
“Yes,” Will said, pushing his hips back. “Roasted all the way through, Daddy.”
“The flesh will be tender and well-seasoned. A delight on the tongue. Now, put it in the oven.”
Will skimmed his fingers over the fish one more time. "One more thing," he moaned. "The fins."
"Hmm." Hannibal's voice rumbled through his chest and against Will's back. "We can pull them off now, or after it's roasted. Up to you, baby."
"Now," Will panted. "Please. I can't wait."
"Greedy," Hannibal murmured, but he reached around to put his hands on the slick, stuffed fish once more. His fingers played around the fins, and they responded to his touch, flapping back and forth like they were both seeking out and trying to avoid the contact.
"Oh god." Will could hardly breathe. "More, more, please, harder."
Hannibal gripped a fin with his thumb and two fingers, tugging gently, and Will had to bite back his scream as the flesh that held the fin to the body of the fish started to give way. He rutted back against Hannibal desperately, begging for him to pull harder, all awareness of anything besides Hannibal's oil-coated fingers and the gorgeous scaly flesh dropping away.
The fin pulled free from the body of the fish and Will wailed, his cry cut off only by Hannibal's oily, fishy hand entering his mouth in retribution. Hannibal half-carried him, practically directing Will's movements as he opened the oven door and slipped the enormous fish inside. "It's so hot," he panted. "Oh god, it's so hot in there, I can't stand it."
“You can,” Hannibal said. “You can do it for Daddy, can’t you?”
Will shook his head. “I can’t. It’s too much. Please.”
“Shh,” Hannibal hushed, gentling him with a hand stroking along his flank. He put his fingers back in Will’s mouth and slid them toward the back of his throat, unrelenting even as Will started to gag. “You wanted me to roast your fish, didn’t you? You brought it to me because you couldn’t do it yourself.”
He fucked his fingers in and out of Will’s mouth, the fishy taste gradually dissolving as he coated them in thick saliva. Hannibal pressed his hand back as far as it would go, until the tips of his fingers brushed the back of Will’s throat. He held Will in place, pinned between the oven and the hard press of Hannibal’s hips. Will tried to jerk his head to the side, but Hannibal gripped his hair with his free hand.
“Shh,” he said again. “Poor darling. I’ve got you. There’s nowhere for you to go.”
Will sagged in his arms, relaxing even as Hannibal continued to play with his mouth, dragging his fingers along his tongue.
“You’ll be good, won’t you? You’ll be patient while the fish cooks to perfection, the skin blackening and crisping in the oven, the fat sizzling and dripping down its flesh in thick, rich ribbons?”
Will moaned around the fingers in his mouth, and the hand in his hair tightened to the point of pain, jerking his head back. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” Will gasped, voice muffled and words garbled.
“Good boy,” Hannibal practically purred, petting the inside of Will’s mouth with his fingers. Will relaxed into the sensation, even after a little drool escaped his mouth to trickle down his chin. He closed his eyes, leaning into Hannibal’s body. Warm, in ways the oven couldn’t hope to touch, even set at as high a temperature Hannibal would have had to set it to roast such a giant fish.
Suddenly—Hannibal crooked two fingers sharply into the inside of Will’s cheek, dragging him along by the face back to the countertop. Will’s eyes flew open from the pain, stumbling along to follow the abrupt inertia. “This,” Hannibal said, “is called fish-hooking. Tell me, Will—do you imagine, perhaps, how the fish felt? Being caught on the hook, the jut of metal in its face. Of course, you know how that feels. Better than most.”
He removed his fingers from Will’s mouth, leaving him to gasp for breath as his hands clutched at Hannibal’s shoulders, their hips slotted together like spoons. He was still hard, shoving desperately against the hardness he could feel in Hannibal’s trousers.
“Please,” Will whimpered. “Please, touch me.”
Hannibal only ran a finger down the side of his face to catch on his scar. “Turn around, darling,” he said, pushing lightly at his shoulder. Will caught himself on the countertop, pushing back immediately for some contact—any contact. Hannibal’s arms came to bend around him, holding him close. Will turned his head to rest on Hannibal’s broad shoulder.
“Please,” he said into the damp open space of Hannibal’s mouth. He could feel the flush rising from the heat in the oven and the ache of his hard cock pressed against the countertop. “Please, Daddy.” Hannibal snaked a hand into the front of his pants, and Will moaned with relief, thrusting into the hot clutch of his fist, still well-slicked with oil and spit. “Yes, thank you—”
“Think of the fish—such an enormous fish must’ve been king of all he surveyed in his river kingdom. Feasting on other fish. Then—dragged along by the hook. And when pulled to the surface—”
With no warning—Hannibal’s arm barred across his throat, crushing his airway, Will’s hands scrabbled uselessly against it—Hannibal’s hand still stroking him, slick and fast—
“Pulled up on your reel. Gasping for air. Thrashing against the pain. Suffering in terrible panic. Can you imagine that, too?”
Hannibal’s words, low and hypnotic, burrowed into his ear, even as the kitchen lights danced and he spasmed helplessly, under Hannibal’s hands. “Choking in a world anew. Not built for him, perhaps. How could he survive.”
“Hannibal—” The edges of his vision turning gray, lungs burning as the last breath he had taken proved too meager—
“Don’t waste your air. You’re close, I can tell. Do you think the fish feels the satisfaction of the catch?”
I do," rasped Will with the last bit of air in his lungs. Hannibal eased up minutely, just enough for him to draw in one more breath and splutter out, "When I catch a fish, I feel its suffering. And when I... when..."
"When you are the fish," growled Hannibal, "You feel the pleasure of the fisherman."
Dark clouds encroached on the edges of Will's vision, swallowing up the light, until through the fog, he head the chime of the oven.
Hannibal's hand disappeared from his throat, and air whooshed back into his lungs. The oxygen that the fish would never feel the pleasure of again was agony and ecstasy in his body.
"It's ready," said Hannibal, and he flicked on the light in the oven to be able to peer in at the sizzling, succulent flesh. "Tender and juicy. More than enough for two." He pulled Will against him one final time, and Will screamed as he spasmed, jerking against Hannibal just as the fish had jerked and flopped against him.
Vaguely, he could feel the heat of the oven as Hannibal pulled the fish out. He sagged against Hannibal, allowing him to arrange him as he pleased against the counter.
"I trust you're hungry," said Hannibal. "We have a lot of fish to eat."