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The First Rule of Owning a Catboy Is That You Don't

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Will Graham has always considered himself more of a dog person. He doesn't dislike cats, not at all, but one doesn't happen to find them running around on the side of the road and easily won over with spare bites of jerky and a few soft words. And cats rarely come big enough to be used as means of defense or cuddling comfort. They're less obviously reward-based and training them is a more a matter of negotiation than he has time for, whereas his dogs are happy to do whatever he tells them in return for good food and a warm bed to sleep in.

So he has always considered himself more of a dog person.

The thing is that catboys don't particularly care what one considers themselves to be.

They'd met in Jack Crawford's office, and the instant Will walked into the room he saw the hybrid's ears twitch, his fluffy and perfectly groomed tail curling around the leg of his chair. The way he'd purred his own name on introduction, and offered a hand so soft it felt unreal, and stared at Will with pupils the size of dinner plates, well, Will knows enough about hybrids to know that they are capable of imprinting, and he could recognize the signs.

Hannibal is older, and foreign, as if the angular shape of his face, his accent, his long and narrow ears and mottled tail wasn't enough of a sign, compared to the tabbies of the continental U.S.. The most exotic hybrid Will has yet to see, before him, is a sleek little Bengal mix, all glassy eyes and thick reddish hair, slightly patchy with spots to match her ears and tail.

Will doesn't like Freddie Lounds, but he doesn't think that has anything to do with her being a cat, too.

Cat and dog hybrids are pretty common these days, as pets and labor, and some of them have independence. They're not any more or less intelligent than a human, which is proven by the fact that a lot of them choose to live the pampered life. God knows if Will could choose between paying taxes, having a mortgage, and putting up with a little bit of petting, he'd choose the latter.

But he's a human, by the grace of God and whatever else, and he has a pack of dogs he lives with, and technically, he has a cat hybrid. Because hybrids pick their people, not the other way around, and Will went and got one imprinting on him on first meeting.

Hannibal is…odd. And only some of that can be blamed on his genetic makeup. But Will likes him well enough – he's intelligent and graceful and very easy to please, at least Will has had no problem pleasing him, so it hasn't been all that bad. His dogs took a liking to Hannibal, Will suspects Hannibal snuck in and fed them while he was away at some point, and Hannibal doesn't show any particular aversion to dogs aside from his need to rub his scent all over Will after Will plays with them.

So, while Will has always considered himself more of a dog person, he's not all that troubled with owning a catboy. Not that 'owning' Hannibal is the right word. Hannibal has his own home and job, a practice that he thrives in, his mental acuities just as sharp as his little needling claws and play bites.

Jack had wanted Hannibal to conduct a psychological evaluation on Will. Hannibal imprinting on him threw a wrench in that cog, which Will appreciates more than he can say, but now he has a catboy to tend to, a friend who actually enjoys his company and invites him over, and Will is…well, Will is alright with that, too.

Hannibal is standing at the door when Will pulls up and parks outside his house. His ears twitch forward when Will gets out of the car, holding a bottle of wine because Hannibal likes wine and gift-giving is a common practice with hybrids. His lashes are low over his dark eyes, and he smiles warmly at Will when Will approaches.

"Good evening," he greets, all prim and proper. His tail is curled tight around his leg. He does that, Will notices, whenever Will is in the room. He steps back so Will can come inside and takes his coat, nudging his forehead against Will's shoulder as Will slides the coat off his shoulders and hands it over. Hannibal's fingers, soft and elegant, wrap around Will's wrist to hold him in place, and a gentle purr rumbles in his throat. It's like when people roll their 'R's, but farther back in his mouth. Will can feel it, when he touches Hannibal's neck.

"Hey," he replies, letting Hannibal perform his ritual of snuffling at his neck, nose dragging up the scruff on his jaw and into his hair. Hannibal is taller than him, big and strong-bodied unlike most hybrids, and takes happy advantage of that as he lips at one of Will's curls at the side of his head, nuzzling him.

Will sucks in a breath, and smells roasting meat and salt, the tang of lemon and some kind of winter vegetable. Hannibal's tail, which is thick and fluffy like a ragdoll's, though always impeccably groomed, wraps around the back of Will's thigh like another hand, tickling his fingers.

"You're just in time," Hannibal says, when he has finished his little greeting ritual. Will offers him the wine bottle and Hannibal takes it, eyes practically glowing with pleasure. "Would you like to have a seat? Or you may join me in the kitchen, and we can open this."

"I'll join you," Will replies, because he knows Hannibal prefers it when he's in the room. Predictably, Hannibal's smile widens, ears tilted forward atop his head. He nods, and Will reaches up to graze his fingers over the velveteen ridge, the very small tufts right at the top. Hannibal visibly trembles when he does that.

His tail flexes, subtly nudging Will forward, and Will goes with a smile, letting himself be herded into the kitchen. Hannibal moves away from him to retrieve wine glasses and a bottle opener, expertly untwisting the golden thread around the top of the wine bottle, fitting the screw into the cork, and pulls it free.

It's a red, thick and sweet and flavored with blackberries, vanilla, and cinnamon, like a winter dessert. Will has known Hannibal long enough to know that the catboy has an unrivaled sweet tooth. He watches Hannibal pour the wine through an aerator, giving them both a generous amount before he sets the bottle down. Will comes forward and takes his offered glass, lifting it to his nose to smell as Hannibal does the same.

He takes a sip, and Hannibal purrs quietly in delight at the taste, his fingers curled elegantly around the stem.

"A fine choice," he praises quietly, after they have had their tastes. Will smiles, and comes to Hannibal, circling the island so that Hannibal can gently butt his forehead against Will's shoulder, as cats do when they are pleased.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, lifting his free hand to gently scrape his nails against Hannibal's jaw. The effect is immediate, as Hannibal's shoulders fall several inches and he tilts his chin up, letting Will scratch at his throat and the bottom of his chin. His tail twitches wildly, trembling as cats do when they are particularly excited, ears falling to the side in lax contentment. "What are we having?"

"Pork," Hannibal replies, licking the word to the arch of Will's ear. His tongue is slightly rough, made to curl delicately around bone and strip meat from his prey. Will shivers, skin stinging as Hannibal gently kneads at Will's back with his free hand. Some catboys are declawed by their owners, removing the small do-claw at their wrist, and snipping their nails so they can't scratch. Even if Will approved of the practice, which he doesn't, he would never do that to Hannibal; he quite likes the little pinpoints of pressure Hannibal gives him whenever he makes biscuits on Will's back, or thighs, or wherever he pleases.

"Do you need help with anything?" Will asks.

"Mm. Perhaps the sauce could do with stirring," Hannibal replies, gesturing to the small pot on the stove, at a light simmer, revealing a thin red sauce that smells of sharp fruit – cranberries. Will nods, setting down his wine, and picks up the stained spoon, stirring the lining that gathered at the top as Hannibal busies himself with removing and slicing the roast. It smells fantastic, and Will smiles whenever Hannibal's tail brushes against the backs of Will's legs, as though reminding himself that Will is there.

Once that's ready, Hannibal gently noses Will to one side, pressing full-body against his flank, and bids Will sit. Will goes, wine in hand, and a moment later Hannibal emerges with two plates for them, with slices of the pork drizzled with red sauce, accompanied by buttered asparagus and a small amount of pureed carrots.

His nature gives him impeccable balance, as he holds the plates, his own wine glass, the bottle, and an extra boat of the sauce along his arms. He places them all down carefully, ears twitching in concentration, lips subtly pursed.

Once it is all placed, Hannibal settles. Unlike Will's chair, which has a solid back and is made for humans, Hannibal's has a line down the middle, so the back is split in two, to accommodate his tail, and curved to allow the lax, sprawling nature of a cat. Though, Hannibal sits perfectly straight, proper and refined as he takes his knife and fork in hand.

They eat in silence, for a while, just the gentle scraping of cutlery and occasional sip of wine breaking the quiet. Will likes silences with Hannibal – they are easy and relaxed, holding no expectation for banal conversation. Though Will knows Hannibal can talk about any subject that pleases him for hours on end, he does not force one. He never has. Will really likes that about him.

When the meal is halfway through, Will clears his throat and says, "Jack wanted me to invite you to the lab, tomorrow." Hannibal's ears twitch at the sound of his voice and he gives Will a curious look. "He wants to take advantage of your sensitive nose."

Said nose wrinkles, subtly, before Hannibal schools his expression.

"You don't have to," Will adds.

"Nonsense," Hannibal replies, with a wave of his hand. "I promised Jack that I would do whatever service for the FBI I could. And it would be foolish to refuse an obvious evolutionary advantage, or begrudge Jack his desire to use that advantage."

Will considers this. "They'll have to wrap your tail," he warns. "And your ears." Hannibal's ears flatten at that, upper lip curling in a small, dissatisfied hiss that makes Will smile. "And I can't imagine how the place is going to smell."

Hannibal presses his lips together, and wets them, tongue curling at the side of his mouth. "Nevertheless," he replies, with a demure nod.

Will eyes him. "You don't have to just because I asked you to, you know that, right?" Because there is the undeniable fact that Hannibal did imprint on him, and while Will never has and never will take it as far as to collar him, leash him, or order him around, Will could. By the very nature of Hannibal's attachment to him, Will could say 'Jump' and he might do so, because Will is his human.

Hannibal's lip twitches again. Will can see, from the corner of his eye, his tail curling around the leg of his chair, slightly ruffled. He resists the urge to stand and pet it, smoothing down the fine hairs. "I'm aware that the choice is mine," he says, eventually, and takes another drink. "But you should also be aware that I genuinely enjoy your company, Will, and if you are there, I would like to be there as well."

Will knows he cannot entirely blame the warmth in his chest on the wine, or the good food. He sits forward and takes Hannibal's hand, fingers brushing up his wrist. Hannibal's lashes lower immediately, his ears relaxing from their flattened state, a purr breaking the silence between them. "Well," Will says, "I'll make sure to make it up to you, anyway."

Hannibal's eyes flash at that, smile wide, satisfied, like – well, like a cat that got the cream. Will has resisted the urge to make those kinds of jokes, they're low-hanging fruit, but there's no other way to describe that smile.

"I'm looking forward to it," Hannibal replies, a little out of breath. It gets worse when Will takes Hannibal's limp hand and kisses it, lips brushing the very subtle covering of downy fur along his wrist. It's not visible to the human eye, not in Hannibal's shades of ash and brown, but he can feel it when he touches Hannibal's arms, and legs, and his chest. It's more visible on his chest.

Hannibal looks at him like he's a mouse ready to be lunged at, and Will lets him go. He would like to stay, but his dogs are not capable of feeding themselves, or unlocking the door to go to the bathroom. So he cannot stay, and riling Hannibal up will keep him up all night, pacing around his house and causing havoc.

He might, even, feel the need to run to Will's house and yowl until he's let inside. He's done it before. Thankfully Will is a light sleeper and is no stranger to animals waking him up in the middle of the night.

When it's time for Will to go, Hannibal nuzzles his neck and purrs for him, hands kneading plaintively at his shoulders once his coat is back in place. Will turns and runs his fingers through Hannibal's fine hair, smiling when Hannibal's tail curls around him. "I'll see you tomorrow," he promises. Hannibal smiles, and leans down, rubbing their foreheads together, their noses – finally, a kiss, that is passionate and deep and feels like it lasts for a lifetime.

Will scratches at the base of Hannibal's ears until they start to twitch against his hands, and cups his face, pulling him down to kiss his forehead when they part for air. "Be good," he murmurs, as Hannibal unwinds his tail and lets his hands drop. Hannibal's pupils are huge in his eye, have overtaken his entire iris, his lips red from Will's kiss.

"Drive safely, Will," he says with a soft trill at the back of his throat. "Please text me when you've arrived home."

"Of course," Will promises, and gives Hannibal one last affectionate scritch beneath his chin, before Hannibal finally lets him go. He lingers in the doorway until Will is in his car, and watches his departure as Will turns the corner and he disappears from sight.



Despite the fact that Hannibal was, at one point, a surgeon, and is no stranger to sterilization equipment and procedures, and despite the fact that he is perfectly capable of doing all this himself, he is undeniably much more cooperative when Will does it for him.

That isn't to say he's not still hissing with displeasure, his tail puffed up so large that Will tuts and shakes his head. "I know, I know," he says soothingly, as he circles his fingers and strokes them down Hannibal's tail, smoothing it down so he can feed the tip of it into the bag. "If you don't calm down it'll just feel worse. Come on."

"It's been a while," Hannibal says sharply. His eyes are slightly more red when he's annoyed, his pupils narrowed to pin pricks, his sharp teeth on display as Will carefully pulls the bag up his tail, making sure he doesn't trap any of Hannibal's fur the wrong way. Will wishes he didn't have to do this, he knows how uncomfortable Hannibal must be, but the fact of the matter is that hybrids shed, and the lab is a sterile location.

He secures the bag and ties the loops around Hannibal's waist, smiling when Hannibal's tail settles, twitching slightly at the tip, but otherwise he makes no move to take the thing off. Will cups his face and gently rubs at the nape of his neck, scruffing Hannibal until he relaxes somewhat.

Next, the cap. Will has no illusions about how difficult this is going to be. He takes it, and the rustling of plastic makes Hannibal's ears flatten severely to his skull, his bound tail curling tightly around his leg. Will steps up to him and kisses him, distracting him for a moment, until he can fit the cap over Hannibal's hair. His flattened ears make it easier, and when he secures it over Hannibal's skull, Hannibal growls against his mouth and his entire body shudders with discomfort.

"Quick as we can, okay?" Will asks. Hannibal eyes him, annoyed and on edge. When his ears perk up again it makes the cap shift, pulling tight, but doesn't come off. He looks ridiculous, frankly, and Will bites the inside of his cheek hard so that he doesn't laugh.

Hannibal's eyes narrow accusingly. "Do you delight in my suffering?" he asks. So dramatic, just like a cat.

"Delight? No," Will replies, shaking his head. "But I'm only human."

Hannibal huffs. His claws are out, scratching petulantly in Will's clothing, catching so that he has to forcibly retract them so that he can claw again. Will rolls his eyes and smiles, thumbing at Hannibal's cheekbone.

"Would your mood be made worse if I offered you a treat?"

Hannibal's head tilts. His eyes brighten in intrigue.

Will's smile widens. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of treats. He carries similar kinds for his dogs, that he makes himself, to lure them back to him when they go outside. These are made with fish, not beef like he uses with his dogs. Hannibal's nostrils flare as he opens the bag and takes one out.

Will holds it out for him to take, because Hannibal isn't really an animal and Will would never treat him like one. It comes as a surprise, then, when Hannibal takes his wrist and cradles his hand, and leans down, delicately curling his tongue around the treat and drawing it into his mouth.

He presses his cheek into Will's hand, purring softly, and Will feels his entire body brighten with affection. He scratches the nails of his free hand over the nape of Hannibal's neck and smiles when Hannibal's tail rubs against Will's thigh in answer, as Hannibal nuzzles his palm and licks the little cling of treat dust from his skin. His rough tongue makes Will shiver.

"You'll get another one when we're done," Will murmurs, when Hannibal straightens.

Hannibal's lips twitch, his brows rise. "Is that 'making it up to me'?" he asks.

Will laughs. "Of course not," he replies, gently touching Hannibal's face again. He doesn't miss how Hannibal leans into the touch, and presses closer, until there's barely an inch of space between them. "But I can't give you that kind of reward here."

"Consider my curiosity thoroughly piqued," Hannibal says.

Will can't help it, that time; "Careful. You know what they say about cats and curiosity."

Hannibal doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. "Very original."

Will grins at him, and takes his hand. "Come on, sweetheart. The sooner we get this over with the sooner you can get out of this ridiculous costume."

Hannibal nods, his fingers lacing with Will's, as they exit the bathrooms and head towards the lab. Hannibal bristles visibly as they go to the sub-level, where the first layer of the lab and morgue is. His nose twitches and his upper lip curls back, plastic covering rustling loudly as his tail thrashes behind him.

Will squeezes his hand and rubs his thumb along Hannibal's wrist. They release each other's hands as they approach the transparent wall. Through it, Will can see Jack, Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian already gathered around the corpse.

Jack notices them first, and nods in greeting. Will appreciates that none of them show amusement at Hannibal's state of dress. "Thank you for coming, Doctor Lecter," he says, ignoring Will as Will has become used to. "I was hoping you could take a look at this one for me."

"Is there anything in particular I'm looking for?" Hannibal replies, taking the pair of latex gloves Brian gives him. They're fortified around the wrists and fingertips for hybrid use, so that their claws won't break them.

Jack presses his lips together. "There's a certain anomaly in his blood," he replies, which isn't an answer. Hannibal's brows rise, but he accepts that, and steps close to the body as Jimmy and Brian make room for him.

Will watches, tense, arms folded across his chest as Hannibal leans down and takes an exaggerated inhale. He doesn't appreciate Jack exploiting Hannibal's sensitive nose like this, even if Hannibal insisted that he has no problem doing it. The scents in this place are sharp even for him, he can't imagine how harsh they are to Hannibal.

Hannibal frowns, and tilts his head. His ears twitch beneath his cap and his tail curls at the very tip, as Will has learned he does when something catches his attention. He carefully coaxes the body's head to one side and leans in closer, inhaling more deeply.

He frowns. "This man is a crossbreed," he says.

Jack and Beverly look visibly startled. "You mean he's…half hybrid?" she asks, frowning.

Hannibal nods. "Dog, I believe," he confirms. He thumbs, gently, at the man's lips, parting them until his mouth opens wide. He gestures for them to have a closer look, and even Will leans in as he sees what Hannibal is looking at – there is a subtle bulge in his gums, swollen around each canine.

"I didn't know hybrids and humans could crossbreed," Beverly says softly. She takes a scalpel and makes a small incision around the bulge, and peels the flesh apart to reveal a perfectly formed, large tooth, similar to that of a dogboy.

"I've seen it a few times," Hannibal says, drawing back. "Generally, the human DNA wins out. Crossbreeds may have stunted, vestigial tails, and additional teeth, but other than that they rarely inherit their more animal counterparts." He pauses, and adds; "That may explain the anomaly."

Jack nods, his expression stern. "And it gives us a lead," he says, looking at Will, who nods in agreement. The next of kin of this man gave no indication that crossbreeding had happened, which means they had lied, or they didn't know. If they did know, it might have been enough to kill over. "Thank you, Hannibal. That's all for now."

Hannibal dips his head and Will takes his hand, leading him from the room.

"Will," Jack calls, halting him in place. "I still need you."

"It can wait," Will replies. "I'm taking Hannibal home."

Hannibal smiles, visibly pleased by that, his lashes low as he nudges his forehead to Will's cheek. Jack sighs, and waves him away, and Will takes him back to the bathrooms.

"Let me," he murmurs, and takes the cap off, first. Immediately, Hannibal shakes his head vigorously, back arching as the motion travels all the way down his spine. Will smiles, and pets his soft ears with a gentle touch as Hannibal nuzzles him, licking at his neck. Then, he unties the strings from around Hannibal's waist and turns him, gently peeling the tail cover off. Hannibal's fur is a mess, underneath, covered in static. Will throws the equipment away and immediately pets Hannibal's tail, correcting each strand as Hannibal busies himself licking his palms and smoothing his ears and hair, correcting the flattened tufts until he deems himself presentable.

Will smiles, and scritches his chin, pleased when Hannibal purrs and rubs up against him, likely to get rid of the chemical scents from Will's clothes and replace it with his own. "You ready to go?" he asks.

Hannibal nods into his neck, purring loudly. "Yes, please."

Will takes his hands, lacing their fingers together, and leaves with Hannibal close to heel.


Will's house is closer, so he drives them there. Hannibal, for the most part, behaves himself, though he keeps pulling Will's hand to his head and rubbing himself all over until Will relents and pets him. Will doesn't mind – he likes it when Hannibal is affectionate. It's harder to recognize the signs of trust in cats, and learning Hannibal's signals and behavior was a crash course in catboy behavior, especially with his independence and oddities, but he knows them now.

Will has two beds, in his house. The first is on the ground floor in the living room, where his dogs sleep, because he likes being close to the door in case of emergencies and there isn't enough room for all of them upstairs. The second is on the second floor, in a plain room where he keeps his clothes and has a spare mattress in an actual bedframe.

Hannibal quickly made it into his nest, when Will first took him here.

They go upstairs and Hannibal immediately flattens himself on the nest, shoes shed by the door. He stretches out onto his back in the wide patch of sunlight coming in through the window, purring loudly. Will smiles at him, and takes off his shoes and jacket, leaving them in a pile by the door.

"Are you hungry?" he asks as he approaches the bed.

Hannibal gives him a look, and wets his lips. "No," he replies, in a tone that forbids Will leaving. Will laughs as Hannibal pulls him into the nest, over the wide lip at the edge of the mattress. The air is stiflingly warm in this room, and with Hannibal as a living heat furnace against him, Will quickly starts to sweat.

Hannibal likes it when he sweats. He rubs his cheek against Will's, pawing at his shoulders and flanks, his tail ruffled up and wrapping around Will's thigh. Hannibal's tail is long enough to brush the floor even at his height, and strong enough to grip at Will and push at his legs until he parts them over Hannibal's thighs and settles.

Will leans down, smoothing Hannibal's hair back from his face. Hannibal leans up, catching his mouth in another deep kiss as Will pets him, every inch of him practically vibrating with pleasure. Will kisses him again, hands running down Hannibal's broad chest, until he reaches where his shirt is tucked into his suit pants, until he can feel the growing bulge of Hannibal's cock against his hand.

"Be good," Will murmurs, pressing the words to his neck. Hannibal shivers, and purrs in answer.

Will slides back, unbuttoning and unzipping his clothes and pushing the shirt up out of the way. Will has only had experience with one hybrid in his life, so he's not sure if this is a catboy thing or a Hannibal thing, but he's heard stories. From housewives and other owners, about their dogboys' knots and the barbs on a cat's cock. Hannibal's cock is long and thick, slightly tapered at the tip, without the normal flared head of a human, and, mercifully, doesn't have barbs.

But he does have small bumps, like those on a ribbed condom. They don't tear, but Will certainly feels them whenever Hannibal is inside him.

He leans down and sucks Hannibal's tip into his mouth, earning a quiet, frantic noise wrenched deep from Hannibal's throat. He looks up to find Hannibal watching him, ears forward, lips parted and cheeks darkly flushed. His pupils are so wide, making his entire iris appear black. Hannibal is looking at Will like that again, like Will is a mouse Hannibal wants nothing more than to pin and devour.

Hannibal's hands curl in Will's hair, insistently urging him to take more. Will does, sighing as each bump meets his lips, bruising them as he takes Hannibal in. He flattens his hands on the bed on either side of Hannibal's hips, relaxes his throat so he can take more. He loves doing this for Hannibal, loves rendering him from that calm, aloof persona to something more animal.

"Will," Hannibal breathes, groans as Will's throat clenches around the tip of his cock. He can't take all of Hannibal down, not yet, not when those bumps make it so difficult, but Hannibal has never seemed to mind. He lifts his hips as Will grips his clothes, pulling them down to his knees, careful with the fastening around his tail so that he doesn't pinch anything. Hannibal curls his hips up, moaning loudly when Will wraps his fingers around the base of his tail, which starts right as his spine ends, and strokes the silky soft fur to the same rhythm he moves his head, fucking his throat down onto Hannibal's cock. "Will, Will, Will…."

It's immensely gratifying, knowing how verbally capable Hannibal is, to reduce him to nothing more than sounds of pleasure and Will's own name.

Will pulls off when he sees Hannibal's stomach tensing, breathing hard, spit connecting his mouth to the tip of Hannibal's cock before he licks his lips, and the string breaks. He meets Hannibal's eyes. "Do you want to finish in my mouth, or inside me?"

Hannibal's pupils go even wider, if that's possible. He surges upright and kisses Will fiercely. "Inside," he gasps, begs, whines when Will smiles. "Inside you, Will, please."

Will nips his lower lip and shivers when Hannibal's tongue curls up, catching the corner of his mouth. "Clothes off, then," he murmurs. Hannibal nods frantically, pawing at Will's shirt as though he intends to rip it off. Will might let him – he knows Hannibal judges his fashion sense and abhors the coarse fabric. But Hannibal is a good little kitten, and doesn't assume he can disrespect Will's belongings unless Will says he can.

As Hannibal mewls and nuzzles each inch of newly exposed skin, Will unbuttons Hannibal's shirt and pushes it off his shoulders. The cuffs catch on his do-claw and Hannibal snarls, tearing them off and throwing the shirt to the floor. His ears flatten when he finds that Will is still far too clothed, and hisses at Will's amused look.

"Lie back," he commands. Will obeys, sighing as Hannibal plasters himself over Will's body, kneading and licking and purring nonstop. Hannibal pulls his shirt over his head and tugs on Will's slacks, kicking off his own, until they're both naked. His cock is leaking and he grabs Will's ass and rubs insistently against Will, their erections slick together, trapped between their sweaty bodies.

Will grabs Hannibal by the scruff of his neck and kisses him when Hannibal yowls in complaint. "Shh," he whispers. "Patience."

"I admit my species has a reputation for being patient hunters," Hannibal replies, petulant, "but you test every ounce of it I have."

Will laughs, at that. He runs his nails down Hannibal's arching spine and slides his fingers through the ruffled fur surrounding the base of his tail. "I want your mouth," he says, when Hannibal sighs and nuzzles his neck again. "Get me ready."

Hannibal's ears swivel forward, at that, his hips arching up into Will's scratching nails. He slides down between Will's legs and meets his eyes with a fervent gaze. Will likes this part, more than he thought he would – when Hannibal's upper lip twitches, showing those delightfully sharp fangs. When he cups Will's ass and lifts him. When he lowers his mouth and licks, brazen and hot, over Will's hole.

Will groans, tipping his head back, one hand idly stroking his cock as Hannibal's tongue laves at him, rough on the top but silky everywhere else. It's a gentle burn that builds and builds and gets Will sensitive so that every bump on Hannibal's cock electrifies him.

Before Hannibal, Will never entertained the idea of fucking a hybrid, but Goddamn does Hannibal make a compelling case. His claws leave little red spots on Will's thighs as Hannibal flattens him and pushes them up, curling Will in on himself so he can make more room. All Will can see is his hair and his ears, which tickle the backs of his thighs as Hannibal forces his tongue inside.

He moans, breathlessly, and reaches down with his free hand to fist the hair between Hannibal's ears. It's as soft as the rest of his fur, fine and ashen, and Hannibal growls when Will does it, when he brushes his thumb up the edge of one ear, making it twitch. When Will shivers and spreads himself out wider as Hannibal forces his tongue inside Will and gets him wet.

Will lets out a soft, needy sound as Hannibal tilts his head and releases one of his thighs, one finger pressing against his rim. Hannibal is almost obsessively careful about this part, too aware of how sharp his claws are. There's enough saliva that Will is dripping with it, staining the nest below them.

"I'm good," Will whispers, petting his hair. "You're good, it's okay."

Hannibal purrs for him, and slides a finger inside, immediately twisting and curling it up so he can nudge Will's prostate. Will clenches immediately, gasping as the first insistent wave starts, from deep in his stomach and ending with his cock twitching and leaking in his hand. Hannibal does it again, making Will's toes curl as he licks around his finger, and eases in a second, putting more pressure on his prostate as Hannibal nuzzles his balls and soaks his rim with more saliva.

"Fuck," Will breathes, panting now. "Okay – yeah, okay, you're good."

Hannibal lifts his head, smug and fine as always, even with his hair all in disarray, his cheeks and mouth red, his eyes black, his tail trembling violently where it's curled around their thighs. "Are you sure?" he taunts. "I'm enjoying myself." He tilts his head and sets his teeth to the tense muscle of Will's inner thigh, fangs sharp as he nips playfully at sweaty skin.

Will grits his teeth. "I swear to God, Hannibal, I will make you sleep with the fucking dogs."

Hannibal laughs, ears twitching with smug pleasure. He withdraws his fingers slow as melting ice and lowers Will back to the bed. Despite his calm tone of voice, he's clearly excited, shining with sweat and vibrating with anticipation. His thighs spread out beneath Will's, hips rocking subtly as he prepares himself to lunge.

Will reaches for him and pulls him in by the scruff of his neck, flattening Hannibal over his body. He releases his cock and licks his palm, wrapping it around Hannibal's. Though Hannibal needs no help – catboys leak enough for penetration on their own.

Hannibal kisses him, deeply, tongue curling behind Will's teeth as he positions himself. This part, Will can't rush. He's tried, but Hannibal is immovable when he wants to be. One doesn't force a cat to do anything.

His hands, so soft and warm, slide down Will's flanks, and tilt his hips up. His shoulders bear Will's legs, folding him in half. His mouth opens wide on Will's neck so that Will's first cry is loud and unhinged when Hannibal slides the tip of his cock between Will's thighs, finds, locks, and pushes in.

Despite his size, the taper at the tip and the slick lets him push in easily. Will shudders, gripping Hannibal's hair tightly as he feels each tiny bump drag at his rim, and then over his prostate, like dozens of tiny pressure points. And then, an inch from the very base, a single subtle flare that is his widest point, that slips into Will like a fist and makes him moan.

It butts up right against his prostate and Will closes his eyes, and tilts his head back so Hannibal can nuzzle and nip at his throat to his heart's content.

Hannibal is purring, and Will can feel it everywhere their bodies are connected. Hannibal doesn't wait, doesn't hesitate when he receives no protest; he grips Will's hips and rolls his own back, fucking in again. Will feels every inch in his throat and every bump down to his fucking toes and he knows he's being loud, much louder than he's ever been with human lovers.

Hannibal loves it, though – he once told Will that catboys, like their namesake, can communicate on frequencies imperceptible to the human ear. When Will is loud, it's because he wants Hannibal to hear him, and Hannibal finds that thought immensely satisfying.

Hannibal builds up a rhythm quickly, no hesitation, graceful and capable down to his bones. He lifts his head and nudges their foreheads together, devouring Will's noises as Will kisses him, grabbing frantically at his hair and shoulders. "Hannibal," he gasps, half a warning.

Hannibal's lashes flutter, and he swallows harshly. Close as they are, Will has nowhere else to look but his eyes, which shine in the sunlight and look more amber. "Yes," he purrs, forgoing one hand on Will's hip to cup the back of his neck as well. The instinct to scruff a female is one he shares with his animal counterpart and Will loves the feeling of Hannibal's nails in his neck. The fantasy of being held down and mounted is one they've sated together, many times, and it never fails to throw Will right to the edge of orgasm. "Yes, Will. Don't hold back."

Will couldn't if he wanted to. Every part of him is screaming to finish. He kisses Hannibal and grabs his boy by his mane, shuddering and going stiff as he comes. Hannibal lets out the most primally satisfied noise, slowing so he can relish Will tightening around him, overstimulated muscles spasming in rhythm as Hannibal presses deep and rubs the ridge of his cock against Will's prostate.

Will can't catch any breath Hannibal doesn't feed him, as Hannibal kisses him and drags his rough tongue over Will's, across his lower lip.

"Fuck," Will whispers, gasping, as Hannibal continues to rut, lashes fluttering closed over his dark eyes. "Fuck, Hannibal, that's it. Good boy." His hands go gentle, rubbing up Hannibal's back as Hannibal snarls, baring his fangs against Will's jaw. He jerks back, swollen base slipping out of Will and shoving back in, making both of them tremble.

Hannibal rears up and coaxes Will's legs to one side, so that Will is partially turned to one side and Hannibal can pin him down. He spreads his thighs, ruts in, grunting like a Goddamn animal until, suddenly, he goes still, and blows out a heavy breath.

He prowls over Will and nuzzles him, nipping at his sweat-soaked hair and his flushed neck. Every twitch of Hannibal's cock inside Will sense another flicker of sensation up his spine, sparking aftershocks with every nudge against his prostate and sore rim.

Hannibal is tactile as ever, his soft hands stroking Will's chest, his nipples, his tense belly, his thighs. He nuzzles Will's neck and shoulder, smiling as they both catch their breath. Will lifts a hand for Hannibal to nudge his head against, ears low and relaxed, and Will smiles as Hannibal's fluffy tail drapes itself over their legs as they entwine.

Hannibal pulls out of him a while later, and Will shivers, sensitive and sore and dripping come. He turns onto his back and Hannibal happily drapes himself over Will, with enough force that Will huffs, and grins as Hannibal rubs himself all over Will, purring loudly.

"I adore you, Will," Hannibal breathes. Will's chest grows warm at the declaration and Hannibal lets out a happy trill, nudging his nose at Will's shoulder.

Will scritches his chin as Hannibal butts his forehead against Will's jaw, and kisses him. His mouth is sore from Hannibal's tongue, tingling pleasantly just like the rest of him. "Glad you went to the lab now?"

"I would have gone either way," Hannibal replies lightly. Then, with a wide smile, he adds; "Though perhaps I should implore Jack to hire me full time."

Will rolls his eyes. "You're terrible," he says, soft with affection.

Hannibal's lashes lower and he places a kiss to Will's lips, still petting him, as though Will is the hybrid that craves so much touch. Will doesn't mind it in the slightest. He cups Hannibal's face and brings him down so he can kiss his forehead, smiling when Hannibal's entire body trembles and his tail gives a happy little flick against Will's knee.

Will ends up cradled in Hannibal's arms, letting the catboy nuzzle and touch him to his heart's content. He closes his eyes, sighing, and lets himself relax and bask in the warm nest.

He's always considered himself more of a dog person, but even the strictest of rules have exceptions.