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It probably wasn't a good idea to snoop in a serial killer's house while he showers, but Will was just too curious to stop himself.
This house was the third of Hannibal’s properties they had visited since Hannibal’s escape. First was the one on the cliff, where they spent an evening searching each other's behaviour for answers and waiting for the Dragon to arrive. Then there was the bungalow on the beach in Cuba, where they stayed while they recovered, physically and emotionally, from the lives they left behind. It took Will less than two years there to get restless, longing for somewhere with a colder climate.
So Hannibal took him to the cabin he owned in Finland. They had chosen to take the scenic route from the airport. Will had never seen this part of Europe and Hannibal wanted more time to watch him see the snow again.
This meant, though, that Hannibal felt compelled to hop in the shower after giving Will an initial tour of the house. The customary fully-equipped kitchen for gourmet cooking was surrounded by hallways which led to the one-and-a-half bathrooms and three bedrooms, though they only needed one.
Will was left alone to unpack the few belongings they had taken with them from Cuba while the gentle sounds of Hannibal showering came from the bathroom. It was too tempting, then, to look around the rooms and find out what Hannibal had stored in there. Will pokes around the other bathroom to see what’s inside the cabinets (shaving cream, his fancy shampoo, and toothpaste, all still waiting to be opened) and on the shelves of his bookcases to check what he can look forward to reading (mostly folklore published in Finnish but some in English and Russian, too, plus a lot of poetry, seemingly).
He finally wanders over to the bedroom closets, which are mostly empty save for a few basics. Well, they’re basic for Hannibal – the clothes are tailored to the customs of the culture but still have his trademark ostentatiousness peeking through the hangers. There’s nothing that interesting in the closet of the master bedroom, so he moves on to one of the others.
The one with the two twin beds has a walk-in closet with a lightswitch of its own, so Will flicks it, steps inside, and scans for anything worthy of notice.
It’s not until he gets to the ground shelf that they strike his eye, but once they do, he can't let them go. He pulls out the cardboard box they’re placed in and runs his finger across the surface gently. Underneath a layer of dust and dirt is a pair of nice, fashionable brown leather boots in desperate need of conditioning. He can practically feel them calling out for his help and he’s giddy to be holding them in his hands right now.
When Will worked as a shoe shiner in college, he always looked forward to jobs like this one. Watching a pair of shoes so plain and uncared for become a bona fide statement with how shiny they became was satisfying unlike anything else. The job sucked what little energy he had left in him after his classes from him and it didn’t pay nearly enough for how much his boss was charging for his services, but the process of transformation was almost enough to make up for it. On a job like this one, he felt himself slipping into a headspace where all he cared about was making the leather shine enough to be able to see his reflection perfectly in them. He felt powerful, and with every layer of soap and grime he wiped off, the change felt monumental in its importance. He did a damn good job, too, he never had any complaints and as he chatted nonchalantly with his high-class clientele, he could feel their admiration of his expertise.
Now, his fingers practically ache with the desire to restore these boots to their former glory. Having seen so many boots and shoes on a daily basis for those few years, he had developed an unusually specific taste in formal footwear that he still hadn’t lost two decades after working that job. These boots aren’t by any brand he recognized, but the design was thoughtful and intentional. He wipes away a layer of dust and the colour of the leather underneath is a rich, tan brown. The seams are placed in such a way as to give a real dimension to the shoes, while keeping them wearable and he always appreciated a cap toe, especially on boots like these that could use that extra sleekness. He knew Hannibal had a fine taste in things, especially regarding his wardrobe, but it’s the first time he’s ever felt the same immediate appreciation for beauty that his lover seems to have.
Will's in the middle of gently wiping off a smudge of dirt on the toe with his thumb when, out of nowhere, Hannibal's voice interrupts the movement.
"I haven't seen those in a while," Hannibal observes. Will startles from where he's crouched to see Hannibal looming behind him, dressed but still with his hair wet from his shower. He's standing maybe two feet away from where Will is on the floor. Will composes himself and stands up, feeling a bit cornered in the relatively small space of the closet.
"They're beautiful. They desperately need a deep clean and some conditioning, but they're well-made. The leather is cut perfectly. They would be wearable after some heavy duty work," Will explains.
Hannibal tilts his head to the side. "And where does this appreciation for the care of leather footwear come from? It's quite uncharacteristic of you."
Will scratches the back of his neck. "I was a shoe shiner throughout college. I spent a lot of time thinking about shoes and I always saw the same type of low-grade leather come in, needing way more work than I could offer. I learned a lot. My boss tried to convince me to quit studying and work full-time."
Hannibal hums the way he always does when Will lets him into his life before they met. "As much as I would love to offer them to you, I'm afraid they wouldn't fit. I originally bought them for myself, to wear in case I ever needed to stay here. My shoe size is just barely larger than yours," he says, regret actually present in his voice.
"I didn't mean- I wanted you to wear them. As you said, they're too big for me. And besides, they wouldn't suit me. I would love to see you wear them." He has no idea what Hannibal's shoe size was - or how Hannibal knew his shoe size - but he takes the excuse anyway. It hadn't even occurred to him to check the size of the boots to see if they would fit him. It seemed that only Hannibal should get to wear something so expertly designed.
Hannibal took the compliment as he always did, with grace. "Very well. I can take them in to town with me tomorrow morning."
"No, wait." They hadn't even discussed whatever Hannibal was doing in town tomorrow morning, but it wasn't important. "Let me work on them. It'll be a gift, from me to you. Besides, I think there's a part of me that misses the work."
Hannibal hums in understanding. "All right. You can have the car tomorrow in case you need any tools or products." He quietly exits the closet to go unpack the bag Will left out in the hallway, leaving Will still crouched on the floor with the boots.
Will sighs and brings the box out into the bedroom so as to not forget it, then goes and joins Hannibal in unpacking.
-
Will wakes up the next morning to the sound of Hannibal frying something in the kitchen. For a moment, he grumbles to himself about Hannibal not being in bed with him, but he gets up and throws on a robe, heading to the kitchen anyways.
They eat breakfast, making the comfortable kind of conversation that Hannibal is an expert at. Will, for his part, has never really seen much importance in discussing the freshness of the ingredients in a meal and how relevant they are to the overall impression, but it's so easy to do with Hannibal.
After their meal, he investigates the shoe care supplies the house has to offer. There's a wooden toothbrush that will do nicely for brushing the seams and a can of shoe grease so old the sides of it have turned a rusty orange. Hypothetically, he could make it work with a kit composed of only these two items and some rags, but these shoes were worth the long drive to the nearest cobbler.
Curiously, whatever it was that Hannibal had to do this morning seemingly is no longer relevant, because Will finds him busying himself with books.
"I'm taking the car in to town now," Will hollers at him, just in case he needed the car. He hears nothing in response, which is to be expected from Hannibal, who doesn't like to raise his voice in the house.
He uses the long car ride to compile his shopping list. He would need a good saddle soap, there was a good amount of dirt to clean off of the boots. Any polish – brown, to match the shoes – would do. He'd need some daubers, too, horsehair brushes - at least one for scrubbing dirt off and one for buffing shine in.
He greets the man behind the desk at the cobbler's, currently working on his own pair of shoes. Will doesn't know enough Finnish to say much else, so he browses the shelves of supplies before picking one of everything he needs. The brushes are nice and gritty, but soft enough that he doesn’t have to worry about damaging the material. He didn't bring the shoes, so he can't compare them to the different brown tints they have for the shoe polishes. He's busy convincing himself to just go with the darker brown that's on the shelf when he finds a bottle of Hubberd's, an unmistakable staple in any shoe shiner's kit, and gleefully picks it up. That settles that, then.
He gets to the front desk and when the worker tells him his total, he throws in a few extra bills for the privilege of having visited such a nostalgic place.
On the way back, he spots a pharmacy and veers to stop by. They have some other supplies - things like black latex gloves, some Q-tips and pantyhose - that would be useful to have.
He drives the rest of the way home and thinks about the drive he used to take from his dorm to the cobbler’s, decades ago at this point.
-
It's a few more days before Will brings the boots up again. That doesn't mean they're not nagging at the back of his mind along with the images of himself sitting between Hannibal's legs, rubbing and buffing the boots, following the same formulaic procedure like he used to do in college.
He comes back from shovelling the front porch to find Hannibal in the kitchen. "Will," he says with his back still turned, creepily aware of Will's presence no matter what. "You're just in time. I'm just ready to serve lunch."
The meatballs Hannibal made are amazing, and Will tells him as much.
"What are you doing the rest of the day?" Will asks as he stabs fondly at the meal on his plate.
"I was finishing my book when I had the idea to find some wood to chop in the yard. We could have a fire tonight," Hannibal proposes, watching politely as Will eats, not returning his gaze. It doesn’t matter, the fondness is there in Hannibal’s eyes anyways.
Will hums, pondering this. Then he asks, "Can I clean your boots instead?"
“Of course. Tell me what you need me to do and I will arrange it,” Hannibal says, always versatile, and they finish their meal with some minor chit-chat.
After he’s cleaned the lunch dishes, Will takes the boots out from the closet he found them in. He quickly brushes the first layer of dust off so they don’t get the floor too dirty as he’s cleaning them. Then he takes them out to the dining room, pulls out a chair into the empty area of the room that Hannibal refuses to let him furnish, making some bullshit excuse of air circulation or something.
“Hannibal?” he calls out, and waits for Hannibal to strut in. “Sit here and put them on.” He pauses, assessing the scene while Hannibal moves to obey. The light is coming from the wrong angle, he won’t be able to see the shine with the chair positioned like that. Will intercepts him with a hand up and swings the chair around so it faces the light at a better angle. He brings down his hand and allows Hannibal to go on.
Hannibal slides into the chair and starts removing the loafers he always wears around the house. “I must say, I was wondering whether or not my involvement would be necessary. I am pleasantly surprised to find out I will be able to watch you."
Will stops what he was doing. "Oh," he says. He doesn’t look up, too nervous to see Hannibal's eyes. "I just- this is the way I'm used to doing it. I'm sorry, you can go back to… whatever it is that you were doing. If you want."
"No," Hannibal says, reassuring but firm. He doesn’t elaborate further. "As you were."
Will nods obediently. He grabs a throw pillow from the couch in the living room, and, though he knows Hannibal will make him wash it afterwards, lays it on the ground in front of Hannibal's feet and places one knee and then the other onto it. He looks up and meets Hannibal's gaze.
It's not the first time he's kneeled on the ground between Hannibal's legs, and it's also not the first time he's delighted in subservience while he shines someone's shoes, but it's the first time he's done both simultaneously, and the submissive feelings of the two play off of each other quite intensely.
In college, it was a job he always enjoyed. He could be excused if he never made eye contact with his client, he knew exactly what was expected of him and he knew he was good at completing that duty. It was intimate, being so close to someone while so far below them, but it was never sexual. Really, it would never cross his mind to think of his clients like that.
His craving for submission appeared only after he met Hannibal, although looking back, it seemed obvious that there would be a subconscious reason why he loved his old job so much. There was no pretense that dictated that he had to speak or make eye contact. Of course, he indulged his clients in small talk when they initiated, but the interaction almost obliged them to objectify him in a certain sense. He had no life outside of the familiar rubbing of shoes and boots.
And he did a damn good job, each time. Even the most uppity and anti-social clients had to acknowledge that he could raise a shine anyone would be proud of, no matter the condition their shoes came to him in.
Submitting to Hannibal sexually was much the same - Hannibal's expectations were simple and his desires were easy to fulfill. He was a sadist, but Will trusted him not to cross any boundaries he knew he shouldn’t. The sacrifices Will was able to make were honoured and valued. He had a deep understanding of Will’s exact headspace and knew how to manipulate it to shape it into what they both wanted. All of these things combined to give Will a sex life he never even realized was possible.
Right now, the tone of the scene isn't sexual, but Hannibal's gaze cast downwards at him still sends a thrill down Will's spine that is nearly identical to the frisson of pleasure. The roles of dominant and submissive are easy enough to slip into without any explicit sexual element. There's no need to ponder what exactly they each are feeling about this.
Will breaks eye contact and feels Hannibal watching him as he turns his focus to the boots. His first step is to remove the laces. It takes a bit of dexterity to knock them loose, out of the shape they've been sitting in for so long. From there, they glide easily out of the grommets once he wedges a finger between the laces and Hannibal's foot.
Next, he picks up a dauber, feels the wood of the handle in his hand. It's unlacquered but has been sanded down smoothly enough that he can comfortably rub it against his hand to rotate it. He dips it into a cup full of water, then swishes it around in the saddle soap until the bristles are saturated with white.
He passes it over Hannibal's boots, scrubbing over every spot he can get to repeatedly and already making a note of the places he's potentially missing. The longer Hannibal stays silent, the more intensely his mind focuses. Some clients used to try and make small talk while Will was at their feet, but he only ever responded enough to accommodate their needs. Working in silence was much preferable, when he didn't have to put on the veil of personality they wanted to see in him.
Once he's done and wiping the boots down with a rag, he steals a look upwards at Hannibal, and he's reminded of how different it is to be under Hannibal like this. It's not simple submission he feels, and he's not monitoring his own behaviour like he used to feel the need to. He's in this position not to get paid at the end of the week, but because Hannibal wants him there and Hannibal is the most important person in his life. The man he sees above him doesn't expect impersonal chivalry. Hannibal watches him the same way he watches his prey, fascinated by his movements but not judging any of them as more artistically or technically better than the rest.
Hannibal has morphed Will's very being according to his design, his life having taken multiple different trajectories until he is exactly where Hannibal wants him. And yet, Will feels as though he is the truest version of himself he’s ever been. And how can he repay him for that gift, other than by taking this opportunity to impress and please him?
He pushes his hair out of his face with one hand and takes the can of Huberd's. He dips his fingers in, gathering enough of the grease that he can see it bulging on his index and middle finger, just enough to get a thin coat on the shoes.
He glides his bare hands over Hannibal's feet, working the product over the entire surface of the boots. He made sure to dip into every part of the boot, spreading it evenly and smoothing out the wrinkles left from the years they spent undisturbed. It’s a bit of a relief, finally being able to use his bare hands and manually massage the oil in. He’s playing up the sensuality of it way more than it actually felt when this was his job, but it doesn’t feel forced. He genuinely finds the feeling of the leather on his hands pleasant, erotic even, and he knows Hannibal has an appreciation for that aspect too.
The woodsy, smokey scent of the grease was warm and comforting, too. enough to pull Will even further back into his shiner’s headspace. He hears Hannibal softly take a deep breath, inhaling the scent, and grins to himself.
He takes a buffing dauber next and starts moving it back and forth against the leather until he can tell he’s not going to get any better of a shine out of it. He leans closer to examine the shine. It’s already much better, but they would need a few more cycles of polishing before they got to a shine Will would be satisfied with.
By the fourth time, the boots are looking good enough that Will picks up the pair of pantyhose, stretches them between his hands, and rubs them back and forth across the surface of the boots. It’s a trick he picked up himself, through experimenting with different materials to get an even better shine.
By the time he's done, Will is breathing heavily from the intensity - both of the work he's been putting into the cleaning, and of the tension between him and Hannibal that's undeniably sexually charged. He looks up to meet Hannibal's gaze once more and lets the pantyhose drop to the floor.
"Hannibal," he breathes, and even he's surprised by how wrecked his voice sounds without even being touched. His dick stirs in anticipatory arousal.
Hannibal is visibly delighted to have Will address him, but raises an eyebrow in expectation - no, correction.
"Sir," Will adapts, his voice clearer this time. Hannibal rewards him with a pleased hum of acknowledgement.
"I don't believe they're truly clean yet," Hannibal observes, and Will's heart sinks. The boots are a perfect spit shine, but maybe that wasn’t what Hannibal wanted. He's a disappointment, a failure, he shouldn't have asked for this when Hannibal clearly wouldn't want it, until - "I would like to see you lick them."
Oh. Will's never done that before, the thought had barely ever crossed his mind. And yet, hearing that it's what Hannibal wants, that it would make him happy, that it would deliver to the boots the respect they deserve - well, it's good enough that Will wants it now, too. Desperately.
He gives a timid nod, though it's with confidence that he bends down again, going closer to the shoe than he ever would normally. His eyes were still trained on Hannibal, looking up at him subserviently. He braces himself with his hands on the floor before touching his tongue to the toe of the shoe. His eyelids close, and he feels the texture of the leather on his tongue for a moment before licking up, up the shoe, feeling the curves and grooves, the smoothness of well-cleaned leather.
He reaches the heel and stops, his tongue a little dry. He backs off and looks up at Hannibal for judgment.
The look on Hannibal's face is one of pure satisfaction and arousal. Will flushes and bends down again to get his mouth back on the smooth leather, this time letting his jaw open wide and savouring the bitter taste of the product. He kisses and licks at the tip, worshiping Hannibal’s boots and the man wearing them.
When Hannibal sighs, Will looks up to see his pants open and his hand stroking his cock. He groans at the sight, his mouth watering anew. With the taste of leather still in his mouth, he can still feel instinctively what it's like to take Hannibal's dick down his throat, and once he's remembered it, the thought is all-consuming. He's abandoning the boot in his hands to rearrange himself so he can lean in and redirect his oral attention to Hannibal's cock when he's pulled back sharply by Hannibal's hand in his hair.
"What are you doing?"
"I-I just wanted to suck your cock, Sir," Will explains.
"And what makes you think I want your filthy mouth on me?" Hannibal teases, his voice low the way it gets when he’s turned on. Will keens at the embarrassment.
"Please," Will whimpers."Please, sir."
"No," Hannibal responds, and the firmness of his rejection would sting if Will didn't know he had something better in mind. “I will touch myself to the sight of you on your knees before me. You take that position so naturally, my dear boy. You may continue to lick my boots and if you must, you may pleasure yourself against my leg.”
Will groans in humiliation and arousal. It’s something they’ve negotiated Hannibal to tease him with before, Will having to rub himself on Hannibal’s leg to get any kind of pleasure. In a scene like this, though, Will’s so turned on he actually considers it, and Hannibal recognizes the look on his face.
“You’ve put hard work into cleaning my boots, my boy. You’ll take some relief in the form I’ll give it to you,” Hannibal elaborated, his tone softening with his hand still working over his cock.
“Okay,” Will says, agreeing to Hannibal’s conditions.“Okay, sir.” His cock is straining against his pants now, but he bends to get his mouth back on the boots instead of trying to get some relief. Gliding his tongue on the leather again, he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, and when he needs to, he exhales with a moan. He’s kissing the boots, getting them wet with his spit, hearing Hannibal’s motions as he’s jerking off.
“You seem to enjoy that quite a lot, Will,” Hannibal’s voice comes from above him. “Worshiping my boots. Dirty boy.”
“It’s your fault. You like seeing me get dirty, sir,” Will replies, looking up with innocent eyes. “I do it to please you.”
Hannibal chuckles and grabs a fistful of Will’s hair. “I didn’t think you would deign to argue with me. At least, not when my boots are shining with your saliva,” he hisses. The tone is lighter and more playful than some of the scenes they’ve done previously, but it still sends a shiver down Will’s spine. “Tell me you’re my dirty boy or I will deny you the one form of pleasure you are permitted tonight.”
“Fuck,” Will groans, writhing in Hannibal’s grip, moving his hips to get some form of friction on his dick. He feels wild, like he’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t cum soon and he knows Hannibal’s threat is serious. The words stumble out of him, he’s barely even conscious of what he’s saying. “I’m your dirty boy, sir, fucking filthy slut for you.”
Hannibal hums in pleasure. “Good boy. You were doing so well at obeying me, I do hope there won’t be another mistake like that again.”
“No, sir, I’ll be good,” Will whines, his eyes pleading with Hannibal above him.
“Good,” Hannibal sighs. “If you’d like to use my leg to pleasure yourself, you may.”
Will’s heart races at the image, but he’s too far gone for the humiliation to deter him. He pauses for a moment to straddle Hannibal’s left leg, then rocks his hips down. His eyes roll back in his head and he gasps in pleasure. The angle isn’t quite right and the surface could be better suited for this but he couldn’t care less, if he keeps up the consistent pressure he’ll get off on it, no question. He grinds down again and again, chasing the pleasure. He throws his head back, trying to focus on the combined sensations of submission and arousal, every element of this scene that will get him off.
The whole time, he feels Hannibal’s gaze all over him, taking him in greedily. He hears Hannibal’s pace speed up as he growls like he does when he’s close to orgasm.
“Give me your face,” Hannibal hisses, and Will obeys, looking up again at Hannibal obediently. He grabs Will’s chin and brings it close to the tip of his cock. Will’s eyes widen in realization.
“Yes, sir,” he begs, breathless and panting. His eyes fall shut and he feels desperate. “Please.”
Hannibal’s eyes fall shut and he groans as he cums, painting Will’s face with his release. Will hums in satisfaction, falling even deeper into his submission. When the last ropes fall on his cheeks, getting stuck in his beard, Will opens his eyes again to see Hannibal’s satisfied, blissed-out expression, and he keens at the thought that he did a good enough job to warrant that reaction.
He resumes the motions of his hips grinding against Hannibal’s foot, feeling ever more dirty and used with Hannibal’s cum on his face. It’s not long before his orgasm crashes onto him, and he’s unable to control it as he’s cumming in his pants, the final resolution to their scene.
He stays kneeling at Hannibal’s feet, his arms almost hugging Hannibal’s calves for support. He’s trying to avoid getting cum on Hannibal’s pants, but it’s hard when he feels so boneless and delightfully wrung out. He’s probably there for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath, before he hears Hannibal’s voice again.
“Do you want me to get a towel or would you like to stay there for a while longer?” He asks gently. Will hums, trying to bring himself back to consciousness.
“Lemme stay here,” he answers. “That was really good, sir. Hannibal.”
“You did an excellent job. You were right, the boots did have great potential,” Hannibal agrees. A moment goes by, then he leans down and softly presses a kiss to Will’s head. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Will’s reply comes automatically, but he feels it deep in his chest. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He lifts his head and sees, for the first time, the rags he’s discarded. “Oh, I can just use one of these.”
The look of horror on Hannibal’s face suggests otherwise. Will pauses in the middle of lifting it to his face. “If you’ll allow me to leave for a moment, I’ll fetch something clean from the bathroom instead. I can even sit here again and we can stay for as long as you like.”
Will shakes his head. “No, that’s alright.” As much as he enjoys staying in subspace for a few minutes coming out of a scene, he’s ready to leave. “Go ahead.”
Once Hannibal’s back and Will’s wiped himself off with a towel, he stands up to go change his clothes. Before he’s out of the room, though, he calls out mischievously to Hannibal.
“You’ve got cum on your boots, by the way. Someone’ll have to clean them before you can really wear them.”