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going the distance

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They only speak about it once. It’s after a shower, when they’re both naked and frisky, rolling around on the bed together like teenagers. Molly’s sucking on Will’s neck, then moves down to kiss his chest and his abs. Will thinks he knows what’s coming, but Molly always has a trick up her sleeve.

“Turn over on your stomach,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his thigh as he does so.

“Going to give me a massage?” Will asks.

“Better,” Molly tells him as she licks the crease between his thighs and his ass.

Will freezes. He hasn’t done this since he was with Hannibal; has only ever done this with Hannibal.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me, that you’ve slept with a man before,” Molly tells him, voice low and seductive. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Yeah?” Will asks.

“Did he do this to you?” she asks, spreading his cheeks and then licking his hole hard.

Will stifles a gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, as her tongue keeps moving.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Molly says, stilling.

Will doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to think about it. But above all, he doesn’t want Molly to stop.

“Yeah. More than once,” Will answers, just to get her moving again.

He can feel Molly’s self-satisfied grin, even from here on his stomach.

“Tell me about him,” Molly says, and gets back to work.

What Molly lacks in expertise she makes up for in enthusiasm. She licks at his hole with abandon, circling her tongue over and around his hole, then dipping the tip of her tongue inside.

“He was -- he licked me just like this,” Will says, groaning.

Will grips the sheets hard, panting, and tries not to think about Hannibal. Molly pushes inside him with her tongue, and it’s so good he can’t think, he bucks up into her touch.

Hannibal had been just like this, licking into Will with the same lips he used to eat human flesh, somehow all the sexier for it.

Molly grabs at the flesh of his ass and moans while she licks into him, and all Will can think about is how much he wants more, needs more, needs Molly to fuck him the way Hannibal fucked him, hard and ruthless.

“He licked me, then he’d fuck me with his fingers,” Will continues. “First one, then two, then three or four.”

Molly draws off him, gasping.

“Kinky,” she says. “Do you mind if I -– ?”

She gestures to the massage oil on the bedside table, then back at his ass, her eyes blown wide. Will lets out the breath he’s been holding in.

“Please,” Will says.

“I’ve only ever done this to myself,” she says. “And I don’t have a prostate. You’re gonna have to tell me how to find it.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Will says. “Just focus on getting a finger inside me.”

 He lifts himself up on his elbows, watches her coat her fingers in oil.

It’s been three long years since Will’s been fucked, and his nerves are fluttering. He likes to be on top, too, loves to fuck Molly soft and sweet, or hard and fast; but he’s missed this. Missed Hannibal.

“Tell me what he was like,” Molly says, crawling back between his legs. “Did he dirty talk? Call you a little slut?”

Will chokes out a laugh.

“No, no,” Will says. “Well, not usually. He was suave. Sophisticated. An older man.”

Kinky,” Molly repeats.

She touches his hole gently. Will forces himself to breathe as she pushes inside.

“What did he look like? I picture silver hair and glasses,” Molly says as she moves her finger in and out.

“No glasses, but he had nice hair,” Will says. “He was elegant, composed. Always dressed to the nines.”

“A professor? Someone from work?” Molly asks.

“Kind of,” Will says.

He’s about to say more, but then Molly crooks her finger, searching, and inexpertly grazes his prostate.

“Fuck, Molly,” Will says instead. “More.”

“I want to fuck you like he fucked you,” Molly says, adding a second finger to the first. “Own you like he owned you.”

“Please,” Will says. “But you don’t -– I didn’t think you had a strap-on.”

“I have my ideas,” Molly says, smile evident in her voice. “You’ll see.”

She adds a third finger, and Will bites back a gasp. He feels so full, so invaded, but somehow not full enough. Molly’s hitting his prostate sometimes, but not getting deep enough, not giving Will that sensation of being thoroughly fucked, being debauched. Being Hannibal’s, his brain supplies unhelpfully. He pushes back on Molly’s fingers and whines when she pulls them out.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, drawing her clean hand through his hair. “Stay there.”

Will shudders, feeling empty. Precum dribbles down from his cock onto his thigh, onto the flannel bedsheets that he knows Molly just washed.

He busies himself with lifting onto his hands and knees as he hears Molly rummaging around in one of the storage containers under the bed. When she returns, he turns his head to look at her, and sees she’s holding a large realistic vibrator, tan, with a prominent vein running down the side.

Will swallows. He’s been fucked before, yes, but only by Hannibal’s fingers and Hannibal’s cock, never by anything that vibrated. He has a feeling that this is going to get very intense as soon as Molly turns the vibrator on.

“Ready?” Molly asks gently.

“Please,” Will says, hating how needy he sounds already.

He feels the tip of the vibrator pushing up against his hole, cold with lube, and forces himself to breathe deeply. Then Molly is pushing inside, slowly, bit by bit. Every time he’s sure she’s fully seated, he feels her inch inside more, until he feels deliciously, dizzyingly full.

“God, yes,” Will breathes, and pushes back on the vibrator until it’s not just grazing his prostate but hitting his prostate full-on.

“I’m going to move,” Molly says, and then, agonizingly slowly, she thrusts the vibrator in and out.

“Faster, harder,” Will says. “Anything, Jesus, Molly.”

“I wish I had a damn strap-on,” Molly laments.

He can hear her behind him rubbing at her clit with one hand as she uses the other to hold the vibrator and penetrate him faster and more forcefully.

“Did he fuck you like this?” Molly asks, voice lower, deeper. “Hard like this? Or did you make love, slow and gentle?”

“Both, God, both,” Will pants. “He’d fuck me hard, hold me down, leave bruises and bite marks. Or he’d fuck me so sweetly and tenderly it hurt to maintain eye contact.”

“Mm,” Molly moans.

The vibrator stops moving for a second –- Will assumes Molly is lost in the pleasure of circling her fingers around her clit the way she likes -– but then Molly gets ahold of herself, thrusts the vibrator against Will’s prostate hard.

Will imagines it’s Hannibal fucking him, Hannibal’s cock deep inside him, with Molly watching from behind, Molly stroking her clit to the rhythm of Hannibal’s thrusts.

“Oh, fuck,” Will says.

“I think it’s time to turn this baby on,” Molly says. “You ready?”

“God, yes,” Will pants.

Molly flips a switch, and the vibrator’s motor comes to life. It’s like nothing Will’s ever felt, having something vibrating so intensely deep inside him, at just the perfect angle. He knows he’s not going to last long, he’s probably going to come untouched.

“Oh, fuck, Hannibal, I -– “ he tries to warn, but it’s too late, he’s coming, he’s coming, waves of cum cascading down from his cock onto the flannel sheets as his orgasm hits him harder and longer than it’s hit in years.

Will collapses down onto the sheets, panting hard. Molly flicks the switch off, and the vibrator stops moving inside him.

“Oh, fuck,” he says again.

Behind him, Molly has stilled.

“So,” she says, voice tight. “Hannibal.”

“Oh,” Will says. “I, um.”

He tries to ground himself, to bring himself back down to the conversation from where he’s still floating, dream-like, in orgasm.

“When were you going to tell me you fucked Hannibal Lecter?” Molly asks.

Will hides his face in the pillow, not wanting to look at her, but he can still picture her hand on her hip, her stern stare.

“It never really came up,” he mumbles.

“Bullshit,” Molly says immediately, voice loud. “I could maybe see you never telling me about this if it had only happened one time. But this was a whole relationship you hid from me -– a relationship with a serial killer, the most notorious serial killer this country’s ever known.”

“We never put a name on what we were,” Will tries to explain.

“You told me the two of you made love, gazing into each other’s eyes. You told me he fucked you sweetly. Tenderly.”

Weakly, Will pushes himself up on his elbows, forces himself to look at her. She’s looking away, frowning.

“I was deep undercover,” Will says, the words sounding flat even to him. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Molly turns to look at him, her eyes piercing.

“Tell me that making love to him was part of your job description. Tell me that your boss, Mr. Crawford, signed off on that,” she says.

“Molly, it’s more complicated than that,” Will says.

“I knew it,” Molly says, lips pursed. “You –- did you love him? Do you still love him?”

And there it is, the question Will’s been hiding from all these years. Does he love Hannibal? Hannibal, the man who gave him the knife wound in his stomach, the man who gutted him? The man who held him tenderly, stroked his face, told him he couldn’t leave without him? The man he’d seriously considered running away with?

“I can’t answer that,” Will says finally.

Molly takes a deep breath, a breath that almost sounds like a sob.

“I –- I’m going to take the dogs out. I might be a while,” she says.

It’s getting dark out, and it’s been a cold day. It’ll likely be below zero outside the confines of Molly’s house, and Will can see from the window that there’s the deep shadow of a storm hanging overhead. Not good weather to take a long walk in.

“Yeah, well, I’ll be here when you get back,” Will says.

Molly looks at him like she’s never met him before, like she’s seeing him for the first time.

“Will you?” she asks.