Will’s pocket buzzes and Jack sends him a curious look in the rearview before redirecting his attention to the road. Will pulls out his phone, notes the unknown number. Another burner. He unlocks the screen, bringing up the text.
Where are you?
En route to crime scene in Philadelphia.
I would like to hear your voice.
Will sighs and can feel the response from Alana, an immediate blossoming of concern. In the car with Jack and Alana. Call you later.
There could be a ticket waiting for you at the airport. We could be together come morning.
That makes him smile wistfully, running his thumb back and forth over the screen, making the words bunch together. Soon, he types back, I never thought I’d have to lecture you on the virtue of patience.
There is a long pause, and Will thinks Hannibal has taken that as an end to this conversation. Alana mentions a restaurant another twenty miles down the road and they agree to stop there for lunch, carrying on with pointless small talk. His phone buzzes again and he’s frankly relieved for the excuse to tune it out.
It’s lonely here without you. The attachment loads, the view of a patio from one of a pair of rocking chairs, the other just in frame, with late afternoon sun slanting under the awning and the lake glistening in the distance, everything golden warm.
Will doesn’t need to close his eyes to imagine himself there, feet propped on the railing, drink sweating in hand, the dogs tearing through the yard...and Hannibal at his side, close enough to touch.
There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, but he isn’t sentimental enough to actually write that. Another couple of weeks. A month, max. Then, What are you up to tonight?
Rather apt choice of words. Is the enigmatic reply.
? Will is distracted by Jack chuckling over Alana’s account of her and Margot’s first pregnancy appointment, and the curious child asking which of them was the mommy. Will makes himself laugh along, so as not to drawn attention to himself.
Another attachment is loading. Will glances out the window at the scenery whipping by. When he looks back at his phone, his mouth goes dry, his eyes widen in disbelief, and there’s an unmistakable tightening in his slacks.
The picture is artfully shot in the dim lighting, just the ends of Hannibal’s undone tie--gold with cornflower blue diamonds--at the top of the frame, the vee of his thighs at the bottom, and between, his trousers spread open, the elastic band of his boxers shoved down just enough for his cock to jut out, hard and angry red.
He types out a few knee-jerk responses--what the hell??? and ine the acar with ALANA AND JCAK! and who is this and what have you done with Hannibal?, and deletes them all, no matter how appropriate a response they are. Then he just sits there, staring, in silent, desperately aroused disbelief.
When the phone buzzes again, he almost drops it, and scrambles to tighten his hold. Just what he needs, to attract the attention of the front seat, and it would be his luck the phone would slide under Alana’s seat and she’d pick it up and see Hannibal’s dick staring back at her, and she knows what that dick looks like, from personal experience.
In the new picture, Hannibal has his fist wrapped around himself, pulling back the foreskin, focus on glistening precum gathered along the slit. Will can practically smell, wants to drag his tongue through it. He finds himself typing a response without even thinking about it.
Fuck, I can almost taste you.
Is that what you would do, if you were here?
Will darts a glance towards the front seat, but they aren’t paying any attention to him. He rubs his hand down the front of his slacks, then swaps hands. Disbelief wells up in him--that Hannibal is doing this. That he is going to do this.
One night. One night, high on endorphins at their narrow escape, both of them sore and shaking from sublimated exhaustion. Will could barely hang on, tasting whatever skin was closest to his mouth as Hannibal moved over him, rocking their hips together.
One night, and he’s thought of little else in the intervening weeks, than what he’ll do when he has Hannibal Lecter naked again. His lack of sexuality crisis has been vaguely depressing, as if his body has only just caught up with what his subconscious knew all along.
But there’s utterly no shame in admitting what he wants, only faint embarrassment over the fact that he’s less than three feet from his boss and Hannibal’s ex. It doesn’t stop him from responding.
I’d get on my knees. Spread my hands up your thighs. Look into your eyes as I lick up your come, close my lips around your cock, and suck on just the head. Feel your legs trembling with the effort to keep still when all you want is to thrust deeper, see how much I can take. Would you fuck my mouth?
Your mouth was made for such debauchery, Hannibal writes. How I’d love to see those perfect lips stretched wide, red and swollen from the abuse. Every desperate, hitching gasp for breath muffled by my thrusts, and oh, you will take it all, Will. I know you can, know how it will feel when your throat closes around me.
Will’s mouth waters just thinking of it. Hannibal’s hand steady on the back of his neck, confident in Will’s ability to take him all. The panicky, fluttering sensation in his chest as he fights his gag reflex, and then, just giving into it. Letting himself relax and trusting himself in Hannibal’s hands, eyes glazing from the lack of oxygen, and the euphoric rush when Hannibal withdraws, and he can breathe in fresh, cool air. Hannibal’s cock, slick with Will’s saliva bobbing against his lips. Fuck if this isn’t turning into an enlightening little chat.
Would you cum down my throat? Or maybe you’d like it all over my face? Watch me lick it off my lips.
Oh, I’m far from finished with you. Are you hard for me?
Is that a serious question??? Will can’t help but grin foolishly.
Will’s heart starts beating faster as stares at the words. He considers repeating exactly where he is and who he’s with, but that probably isn’t a deterrent for Hannibal. In fact, he’s likely getting off over the idea.
As he sits there, weighing the pros and cons, and calculating the distance to the restaurant and relative privacy (still ten minutes, at least), another attachment comes through. Hannibal is slouching low in the chair, shirt open, the light casting shadows over the lines of his stomach and catching on his chest hair. Just the head of his cock his visible, poking out from the tight grip of his fist, and all Will can see of his face is the line of his jaw, and his open mouth, tongue pressed lushly against the bow of his upper lip.
It’s obscene and it’s gorgeous, and it looks like it belongs in a gallery somewhere, not on his phone. Leave it to Hannibal to elevate sexting to a fucking artform, meanwhile Will’s trapped in a car and his options are severely limited, and he can’t even fucking believe he’s going to do this, so Hannibal can just feel lucky he’s getting anything at all.
Hand shaking, Will checks to make sure the shutter is set to silent mode and the flash is turned off. Then he double checks. Then triple checks, darting glances to the front seat the whole time. He scoots closer to the door, as far as he can go, turning his body so his back is half pressed against the window. If Jack looked in the rearview, the most he’d see is a head and a shoulder.
Will’s cheeks and ears are on fire, and he’s alternating between painful arousal and painful embarrassment. He holds the phone out as far as he can, almost touching Alana’s seat back, and angles it towards his lap. Then, with one last glance at the front seat, he cups his hand over his dick, drawing the material of his pants tight so that his erection stands out in stark relief, tucked between thumb and fingers. He snaps a couple of pictures, barely breathing, and quickly releases himself, crossing his legs and slouching low in the seat as he looks at the results.
The last one is nothing but light and reflections in the window, and the first is too high, but there are a couple in the middle that work. A little blurry, but Will thinks it adds to the sense of illicit desperation. That’s what he’s sticking with, if Hannibal questions it. He attaches one before he can second guess himself and jabs his thumb at the send button.
What a dreadful tease, Hannibal writes, and then, I’ll pull you to your feet, unfasten your slacks and push them down to the ground with your undergarments. Breathe in your scent; you are something to be savoured.
Will’s legs feel weak, even as he sits there, cock throbbing with the beat of his heart, breath caught in his throat, waiting for what comes next.
I’ll take you to bed, lay you out over rose-coloured satin sheets, and what a lovely picture you’ll make, flushed with your arousal, cock weeping for my mouth, dusky nipples peaked, though you remain untouched.
And when I do touch you, I will make your body sing. I will play every part of you with absolute perfection, until you plead for mercy with one breath and that I never stop with the next. Finally, the only word your lips can shape will be my name. Then I'll swallow you down and relish every last drop of your release.
Will has to press his fist against his mouth, fighting the whimper that the words have driven from him, strangling the sound in his throat. He squeezes his thighs together more tightly, glances desperately out the window for the next mile marker only to see there they’re still six miles out from the exit.
The need to say Hannibal’s name is almost dizzying. To hear out loud the effect these words are having on him in the needy rise and fall of the syllables. But he can’t whisper it, can’t even type it and send it, for fear of who might see. At this point he’s operating under the most tenuous plausible deniability ever.
Baby is too absurd to even consider, and Hannibal might be able to pull off calling him darling, but Will doesn’t think the reverse is true. He’s staring at the the texts, scrolling up to look at the pictures and back down to read the words again and again, mind racing with what he can possibly say in response to that, thinking of sinking his fingers into the greying curls on Hannibal’s chest, down the soft dip of his stomach and fisting his cock, feeling Hannibal fuck into his grip. Then he has to swallow another groan.
Have I said too much?
Belatedly, Will realises how long he’s let the silence stretch between them and scrambles to reply. all I could think to say was your name, and then, without thinking about it, without even really processing what his fingers are typing, Daddy.
The message is sent before he can think about what, exactly, he wrote, and Will stares at the screen in blank horror. Because certainly baby was fucking preferable to that. The little ellipses of Hannibal’s pending reply ripples across the screen for what feels like an eternity.
He’s already composing an apologetic message, back-peddling, attempting to go back and recapture what they had a moment before, when Hannibal finally replies, and Will can almost hear the slick, lascivious roll of the words from his tongue.
Will you spread your thighs for me like a good boy? Daddy’s still hard.
This time, Will can’t stop the sound and has to cover for it with a cough. Jack shoots him an odd look, Will can’t even be bothered to try to pick it apart, and Alana says, “I’ve got a bottle of water up here somewhere. You want some?”
“I’m fine,” Will says faintly, then clears his throat. “Sorry, just swallowed some air funny. I’m good.”
His field of vision has narrowed to the tiny screen in his hands, fingers trembling from arousal as he types his next words, almost entirely without thinking about them, like some sort of out of body experience.
no one’s ever touched me there before. will it hurt very much?
And it’s true, but there’s no reason to phrase it like that, to keep playing this particular game, except for the thrill shivering through him at the thought of Hannibal touching him gently and carefully. Plying with careful words in a low, soothing voice. Coaxing Will as if he were a skittish young thing.
It may sting at first, but Daddy will kiss it better.
Oh my god. It’s repeating over and over, a litany in his head. Will sinks lower in his seat, biting hard into his knuckles. He shifts his thighs together, dick trapped between them. That slight pressure alone makes his balls draw tight. He feels like he could go off at any moment, just like this.
please, he writes, show me.
The things I’ll show you, the pleasure you’ll feel, you can’t even imagine. When I lick you open until you’re begging to have me take you.When I spear you open with my fingers and find that sweet spot inside to make you quake with ecstasy. When you’re utterly undone by my hands and lips and tongue, then at last, I will have you.
Will’s body clenches in anticipation.
please I want it so badly. it’s all I can think about since you left. at the office in class at home I almost bought a toy...but I want you to do it the first time. I want it to be completely new, what I feel when you stretch me open and fill me up. I think about it every time I jerk off.
The pause this time is a bit longer, and then, Patience. I believe you were espousing the virtue just moments ago. When I haul you close, bend you in half, fuck inside the tight, velvet heat of you, I promise, Will, you'll find it to have been well worth the wait.
Will’s head falls against the window with a dull thump. Closing his eyes, he lets out a quiet, shuddering breath. He remembers the feel of Hannibal in his hand, how large he felt in the difference between the grip on Hannibal’s cock and his own. Thick and long, and oddly elegant.
you’re so big, fuck I can feel you stretching me open how am I supposed to take all of it? filling every empty place inside.
You can. Just as you took me in your mouth. You’re so lovely like this, my darling boy: features distorted with pleasure so intense it feels like pain, body drawn tense and still, each ragged breath torn from you as I thrust deeper and deeper. And then, at last, joined with you entirely. As the lines between our minds have blurred, so too will the lines of our bodies.
oh god I can feel it right now.
No, Hannibal writes. Even with that lovely imagination of yours, you have no idea how it will feel. When we begin to move as one, every drag of our bodies heightening that delicious rapture between us, each punishing thrust feeding your ravenous hunger.
oh fuck I want you to fuck me so hard Daddy. I want you so deep I can feel your cock in my throat. I don’t want anything between us anymore.
Absent of thought, his heel is rubbing back and forth over his erection, hips arching up into it. Will catches himself, balls his hand up tight and shoves it under his thigh to keep from touching.
There’s a flight from Philadelphia to Antwerp leaving in 3 hours.
Will sighs, lips shaping Hannibal’s name. Jack is pulling off the highway into the exit lane, car slowing as they approach the stoplight. two weeks. Let me close this case, finish up the semester.
He still has to sort things with Winston and Buster, get his affairs in order. And if he waits until classes are finished, it will be days before anyone notices he’s missing, which will give him enough of a head start to truly disappear without leaving a trace. Of course Jack will have his suspicions, but there will be no proof of Hannibal’s involvement, nothing actionable. Plausible deniability.
I will count the hours.
Will rolls his eyes fondly. I trust you’ll find plenty of creative ways to pass the time. Thinking of all the different things you’re going to do to me. All the ways you’re going to fuck me.
The butchers block is almost the perfect height to bend you over.
I may give a great deal of thought to that particular image, as I prepare my dinner each evening. Working the tender skin of your asscheeks beneath my hands as I fuck you there. Your legs dangling uselessly over the side, toes barely brushing the floor, unable to do anything but take exactly what I give you. Every thrust making your cock drag against the grain of the wood, worn smooth with age.
I burnt the veal last night.
Will stifles a chuckle and is shocked out of the conversation by the car coming to a stop, lurching slightly as Jack engages the break. Quickly, before either of the others have a chance to move, Will unbuckles his seatbelt and all but hurls himself out of the car, angling away so they can’t see the obscene press of his cock.
“Gotta--bathroom,” he calls behind himself, with a vague wave. No doubt they’re exchanging confused looks, and maybe even commenting on his odd behaviour, but that’s hardly anything new.
The restaurant is a cute, cosy little thing, an old house with the front rooms turned into the dining area. Will takes off his jacket on the way to the door, draping it over his arm to shield himself and manages to make it look fairly inconspicuous. “Bathroom?” he asks the hostess, after indicating his companions will be in momentarily for a table.
And thank fuck, the bathrooms are two tiny little things, nothing more than closets, really, tucked down a hall away from the kitchen and dining area. Will takes the one marked for gentleman, turns the lock firmly, and flips on the fan to block out sound, then he’s pushing the call button, waiting with bated breath.
Hannibal answers on the first ring. Will can hear his uneven breath, the rustling of cloth and the slick sound of Hannibal’s hand sliding on his own dick. Will lets out a low, desperate groan, fumbling one handed to get his zipper down and his cock out the slit of his boxers. The first touch of his fingers on bare skin makes him whimper, and Hannibal hums his approval.
“Tell me,” Will breathes. “I need to hear--”
“Are you close already?” Hannibal asks. “Were you sitting there, inches from Alana and Jack, delighting in the fact they had no idea what you were doing, and with whom?”
“Fuck, Hannibal, please, I want you to tell me.”
There’s a sharp inhale and Hannibal grunts in satisfaction. “That I am imagining if is your touch bringing me off right now?” he asks. “You riding me shamelessly, writhing on my cock.”
“Oh,” Will says dully, because he’s never heard that word from Hannibal’s mouth and it sets fire along his neurons. He squeezes hard and jerks off with an edge of desperation he hasn’t felt since his teenaged years.
“Would you like that?” Hannibal murmurs. “Exposed, but in control. Able to take from me as you like. Tease me with each roll of your hips.”
Will’s hips bucked in response, driving his cock through his fist. “Yes...fuck, yes, Hannibal, I want to just grind down on your cock, fuck you’re so big, it’s almost too much, but I could cum just like that, finding just the right spot to rock against you.”
His breath is coming too fast, he thinks he might pass out. Has to wedge the phone between his shoulder and ear, bracing his hand on the wall over the sink. His hips work frantically, trying to ride a cock that isn’t there, and his ass feels empty, hungry for Hannibal’s cock.
Hannibal practically purrs, and when he speaks, there’s a rough edge to the words, his accent thick with arousal. “Do you like riding Daddy’s cock?”
The words drive a high-pitched, wordless cry from Will and he comes just like that, like on fucking command dick jerking in his grip, spurting all over the sink and the mirror and his own wrist.
“That,” Hannibal says pointedly, “is something I am looking forward to exploring in depth.”
“Oh my god.” Will stares at his own reflection, cheeks on fire, cringing in embarrassment. “I was just--It wasn’t--I couldn’t say--”
Hannibal chuckles in his ear, warm and sensual. “I think we’ve barely begun to plumb the depths of all your subconscious longings. Now,” he adds, “be a good boy and take another photograph for me.”
Will holds out the camera to capture his reflection in the mirror. Shirt rumpled and half untucked. Cock, still half-hard, hanging out of his pants. Lips red and swollen from where he’s been biting them. And over it all, the ribbons of cum coating the mirror. He stares at the picture, wide-eyed, before sending it off.
Hannibal makes a soft, appreciative noise, and Will can hear his hand working faster. “God,” Will groans, closing his eyes and seeing Hannibal’s dick in his own hand, foreskin gliding smoothly back to expose the slick, purple head. “I want to suck you, Hannibal, just how you said, choking on your cock.”
Somewhere, four thousand miles away, Hannibal Lecter moans Will’s name as he shakes apart, and Will’s legs almost buckle under his weight. He sags against the door, eyes still closed. For a second, he lets himself believe that those harsh breaths are only as far away as the other side of the bed. All he needs to do is reach out to feel warm skin under his fingers.
“Two weeks,” he whispers.
“A small price for you by my side,” Hannibal says. “But I confess, it feels like an eternity.”
Will smiles sadly, and opens his mouth to speak, but the door suddenly jerks from the force of someone knocking on the other side. “Shake a leg,” Jack barks.
Will jumps, heart jack-rabbiting in his chest, as if somehow Jack knows precisely what’s going on. He stands up straight and grabs several handfuls of tissue, wiping down the mirror and the sink. It just smears in the most obvious way imaginable. Swearing, he turns on the sink and wets another handful. “I’ll call you later--when I’m alone. At home.”
He hangs up before Hannibal can respond one way or another, stares at the mirror in dismay and heaves a sigh. Nothing for it at this point. Once he wipes it down again with a dry towel, it looks better. He throws the paper in the toilet and flushes it down, tucks himself in his pants, and pulls back on his jacket. For the first time in his life, he’s thankful for the pervasive, cloying scent of a plug in air freshener, effectively blocking out the smell of anything else.
Jack gives him a vaguely peeved look on the way out the door, but nothing to indicate any annoyance beyond a full bladder. Alana’s waiting for him at the table, already perusing the menu and rubbing her stomach thoughtfully. “I know they say the cravings don’t start until later--they lie.”
Will spares a distracted smile and tries to focus on lunch with colleagues. Two weeks. There’s a veal cutlet on the menu, and he feels himself blushing. Alana glances at him sidelong as his phone screen lights up, face down on the table cloth and the blush deepens.
“That’s some conversation you’re having.”
“Finals are coming up and my students have a big paper due. They’re all clambering for extensions.” It isn’t entirely untrue. He does have some texts from students asking him to clarify the guidelines, or give them feedback on their rough drafts, and some desperately claiming illness or family issues, but that’s all via email. Alana doesn’t look like she’s buying it, but she doesn’t press the issue.
Once Jack is back and their waitress has taken orders, and Jack and Alana are sufficiently distracted with discussion of Chilton's latest article, Will allows his thoughts to wander. They probably aren't surprised by it--he's never been the most present even at the best of times but now. Now he might as well be halfway across the globe, where his thought. He peeks carefully at the screen, phone in lap, hidden on both sides by the tablecloth.
Hannibal is splayed out over the bed, cock soft against his stomach. His hand rests on his thighs, fingers half-curled in beckoning, cum like pearls draped over his knuckles and along the curve of his thumb, just waiting for Will to lean in and suck it into his mouth. Thank Christ he's too spent to get it up again so soon. He really can't be walking around all day with a hard on...He’ll have to delete the conversation soon, but he can keep it a bit longer. At least until the next time he’s alone.