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It makes sense, when Will thinks about it for more than a brief moment.
(He tries not to).
Hannibal consumes. That is who Hannibal is, at his core. A carnivore. A predator. An insatiable, hungry thing.
Hannibal consumes Will’s thoughts. Will’s heart. Will’s flesh and blood, when Will is feeling generous (and Will never realized, before Hannibal, just how generous he could be). Hannibal consumes the sheep and pigs that surround them. Consumes the praise for his mind and the accolades for his art. Consumes the fear that fills his prey at the end of a long hunt.
It makes sense, then, that Hannibal’s consumption would lead them to this point.
“Are you sure?” Will asks. Again. He scratches the back of his neck, winces as his nails dig into a bite left from Hannibal the previous evening. The pain sends a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He peers up at Hannibal, sees Hannibal’s nostrils flare (no doubt scenting Will’s arousal, a shark drawn to spilled blood).
“I am,” Hannibal says, voice low. He stands from the kitchen table, walks over to where Will is sitting. Will’s cup is refilled (again). It’s his fifth glass of liquid that night (three glasses of water, one glass of wine, and a shot of whiskey).
Will shudders at the sound of Hannibal’s voice. He leans back and presses into the warm, solid line of Hannibal’s body. As soon as the glass is full, Will picks it up and drinks it down, feeling as though his stomach has swollen far past its typical post-dinner size. His bladder aches, now, nothing severe, but certainly enough to be noticeable.
Hannibal stays standing behind Will’s chair. He bends down, presses his nose into Will’s curls.
“What do you smell?” Will asks. His voice is raspy. One would think, after so much water, his throat would be nothing but liquid, his voice nothing but silk.
The opposite is true.
His throat is dry. His voice is like gravel. All these are mere symptoms of his underlying arousal, physical manifestations of the inferno boiling beneath his skin.
“You,” Hannibal replies. He inhales again, as if Will were a particularly delightful vintage of Cabernet Sauvignon to be savored. “Your anxious thoughts. Your arousal. The pre-cum leaking into your trousers, so desperate to be released. Shall you give me your seed? Fill me up until I am dripping with you, soaked from the inside out?”
Will shudders again.
“Fuck, Hannibal.”
Will stands, turns so that he is facing his lover. Hannibal is wearing Will’s favorite red sweater and a pair of tailored slacks. His arousal is clearly visible behind the cream-colored fabric of his pants, a large wet spot forming where his copious pre-cum leaks and leaks and leaks.
Will reaches up, loops his arms around Hannibal’s neck, pulls the man close. He bites at Hannibal’s plush, pale lips before sliding his tongue into Hannibal’s warm mouth. They both moan at the contact. Hannibal, never able to resist the taste of Will (and is that not what led them to this moment?) lets his own tongue lap into Will’s open mouth, as though if he licked as deeply into Will’s body as possible, he could swallow enough of Will to always have a full stomach.
They stumble up the stairs together, shedding clothing onto the floor of the hallway. By the time they reach the bedroom, both men are completely nude. Will shoves Hannibal onto the bed and quickly moves to straddle Hannibal’s chest, knees splayed on either side of his face. Hannibal reaches his trembling hands down to cup Will’s ass. Hannibal squeezes the pale flesh, and Will smirks at him, rolling his hips so that his erection slides across Hannibal’s chin and spreads pre-cum across his parted lips.
“God,” Will groans, unbearably aroused by the sight of Hannibal (who is so overcome with his desire for Will that he allows himself to be sullied). Will finds he is barely able to keep himself upright just from gazing down at his lover. The typically flawless doctor is now disheveled, blushing, covered in sweat and pre-cum. He gazes up at Will like a sinner seeing the pearly gates of heaven after first being shown the fiery depths of hell.
The head of Will’s cock finally sinks into Hannibal’s ever-hungry mouth. The wet heat from his lips surrounding Will’s cock is nearly unbearable in its ecstasy. Will curses, flinches, curses again when Hannibal readily swallows down the head and then the first few inches of Will’s shaft.
“S’like you were born for this,” Will sighs. He grips the base of his cock, slides it the rest of the way inside. His shaft curves down Hannibal’s esophagus, lodges deep into his throat. There are tears sliding down Hannibal’s face. They collect along his cheeks, drip from his chin, mix with the saliva pooling at the corners of his stretched lips. It’s filthy, debasing.
Will puts his hands on the headboard and tilts his face down so that he doesn’t miss even a single second of this (Hannibal, overcome with ecstasy from the taste of Will; Will, overcome with ecstasy from the sight of Hannibal’s devotion). A few curls fall in front of Will’s eyes. He swipes them away, the back of his hand coming away damp with sweat.
“Perfect,” Will says. He leaves no room for doubt in his voice, allows every fiber of adoration that flows through his veins to fill the two syllables.
Hannibal’s moans at the praise, and the vibrations travel up Will’s shaft and throughout his body, settling deep in his stomach and spiraling out to the tips of his toes. Will repeats his praise, watches with wonder as Hannibal’s lips form a tight suction around his cock. The saliva makes the glide of his shaft in and out of Hannibal’s body seamless. Hannibal’s throat hugs every inch of Will’s cock as if it were designed to keep Will trapped, as if it were molded to hold Will inside as deeply as possible.
Will rolls his hips back, then slides forward again. He keeps a gentle rhythm, the room filled with the wet squelch of his cock pulling away from Hannibal’s gluttonous mouth, then the loud hiss from Will’s lips as Will pushes back in.
After a few more thrusts, Will pulls out completely, gripping the base of his cock to keep from coming too soon. Hannibal whines at the loss, and Will nearly spills over his fingertips anyway at the sound.
“Hush,” Will says. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
Will lifts his legs from where they straddled Hannibal’s chest and crawls down the bed until his face is level with Hannibal’s leaking cock. Hannibal’s foreskin glistens, shines from the moonlight streaming in through the window. Will licks a long line up the side of Hannibal’s shaft, moaning when bitter pre-cum smears on his tongue, then leans down to lap at the sweat collecting beneath Hannibal’s sac.
“Will,” Hannibal says, legs twitching around Will’s head. “Please, beloved. I need you inside.”
Will smirks against Hannibal’s skin. He places one last, lingering kiss on Hannibal’s sac, then reaches down to pull out the plug Hannibal has been wearing this entire time. It slowly sinks out of Hannibal’s hole. The pink rim flutters, empty, waiting for Will to fill it back up.
With a heavy exhale, Will slides into Hannibal’s body. The constriction, the slick glide, the heat. No matter how many times Will is inside of Hannibal, he never can seem to get used to the pure pleasure of Hannibal’s body. Will lets out a choked cursed and continued moving his hips in tiny, short thrusts until he is finally fully sheathed.
“How does it feel?” he growls, making sure to scrub the head of his cock against Hannibal’s prostate. He keeps up a steady grind, watches with pride as Hannibal’s eyes roll into the back of his head, watches as his hands (usually so strong, so steady, now reduced to tremors with every slide of Will’s cock inside of his body) clutch, desperately, at the sweat-soaked sheets.
“Full,” Hannibal slurs, nearly delirious. “Always so full.”
Will begins to thrust in earnest. He pulls all the way out, until only the fat head of his cock remains suckled in Hannibal’s exquisite heat, before plunging in with as much force as he can give. The bed creaks and groans under the onslaught. Sweat drips from Will’s eyes, slides down his chin and onto his bare chest.
“Goddamn, so tight,” Will says through gritted teeth. Each time he slams into Hannibal, the pressure on his bladder increases. Sharp pain begins to pulse inside of his torso, a steady thrum that matches the frantic pace of Will’s hips.
“Will you keep me full?” Hannibal asks. His eyes look black in the darkness, deadly. A predator looking down as its prey before gorging itself on its meal. “Fill me with all that you have to give?”
“Yes,” Will groans. He wraps his arms around Hannibal’s knees and lifts them up, creating an even deeper angle for his cock to drive into Hannibal’s willing hole. The pleasure-pain is near suffocating by now; it takes away Will’s breath every time he grinds into Hannibal’s body. The pressure against his bladder grows, grows, consumes Will with fire until he cannot distinguish what is ecstasy and what is agony.
Hannibal clenches around Will, purposely driving his pleasure even higher, and Will cannot stop himself as he spills inside of Hannibal’s tight channel. He continues to thrust even as he empties his seed into the body below him, arms still clutched around Hannibal’s knees to keep them raised. Will wants, no, needs to keep himself as deep inside Hannibal as he can.
As soon as the last vestiges of his orgasm fade from his body, the ache in his bladder becomes unbearable, sharp and stinging despite the lingering pleasure from coming.
“Hannibal—” Will says, the only warning he can give before he relaxes his bladder and begins to spill himself inside of Hannibal for the second time.
The first few seconds are near agony in the relief they bring.
Will’s cock seems unable to release more than a trickle, still stubbornly attempting to hold everything inside after waiting for release for so long. Will grits his teeth and clenches his abdomen, forcing pressure on his bladder while relaxing everything else.
After a moment or two has passed, Will’s bladder finally allows itself to spill freely. His cock spurts inside of Hannibal, gushes of urine flooding the space that Will has claimed. Will moans with relief, with bliss, with sheer euphoria at the feeling of letting go.
When his stream begins to steady into a powerful flow, Will allows himself a glance up at Hannibal. He is nervous, almost, that Hannibal will regret asking for such a thing. That Hannibal will be repulsed, will reject what Will is offering so freely.
Will’s worries are for naught.
Hannibal has never looked so devastated.
Nor has he ever looked so beautiful.
His hair is damp and matted to his forehead with sweat. His eyes remain dark, pupils swollen to hide the maroon irises that Will loves so dearly. His pale lips are parted, slack, as if Hannibal is incapable of closing them at that moment (and perhaps he is, perhaps he is so enraptured that Will is allowing this part of himself to be consumed by Hannibal that Hannibal is no longer in control of his own body). A red flush stains his sharp cheekbones, travels down his bare chest and morphs into the purple veins that cover his throbbing erection. A pool of pre-cum has formed on Hannibal’s stomach. More pre-cum continually drips from his cock, adding to the mess already there until the sticky seed is smeared along every inch of his abdomen.
Will’s empathy picks up Hannibal’s delirious pleasure and amplifies it, mirrors it back until Will is bursting with bliss, so full of ecstasy he doesn’t know if he will survive the sensation.
“Fuck!” Will shouts, feeling his bladder finally begin to empty. As his stream slows down, Will quickly pulls out of Hannibal’s hole and spills the rest of piss onto Hannibal’s abdomen. It trickles from Will’s cock and covers Hannibal’s own, soaking the already-damp skin and the sheets beneath. Hannibal lets out a mewl. Begins to shake. As the last of Will’s piss splashes onto Hannibal’s stomach, Hannibal lets out a low grunt and comes.
Untouched.
Will groans at the sight (Hannibal, covered in Will’s piss, coming from the sensation alone). He shakes the last remaining droplets from the head of his cock, then quickly leans down to kiss Hannibal’s still-slack mouth.
They lay like that for a time, the air thick with the smell of sex and urine. The bedding slowly grows cool, and Hannibal shifts restlessly beneath Will’s body.
“Let’s get you all cleaned up,” Will coos, reaching around Hannibal’s back to help the older man rise from the bed. They stumble to the walk-in tub, then both let out sighs of relief as jets of hot water wash away the rest of their sins.
“Was it…” Will stumbles over his words, suddenly shy where he had (only moments before) been so bold. “Was it what you wanted? What you hoped for, I mean.”
“Will.” Hannibal turns to toward him, reaches up with his large palm and cups the side of Will’s face. The gesture is achingly gentle after such a brutal fucking. “It was more than I could have hoped for. To be filled by you, in every way possible…I have never felt closer to complete than when I felt you spilling inside of me for the second time.”
Will flushes (blames the steam rising from the tub), shifts so that his head is resting beneath Hannibal’s chin. “I…I liked it as well. Your enjoyment echoed back into mine like a constant loop of pleasure. It was intense. Primal. But something I wouldn’t mind doing again.”
Hannibal huffs, amused, and brushes a loving hand through Will’s soaked curls. “Well, if you wouldn't mind, then I suppose we can explore the extent of what my body can hold at a later date. I never tire of being full of you, after all.”
Will shudders at the words, dips his nose into the crook of Hannibal’s neck. The older man smells of sweat, musk, traces of expensive cologne. Will laps at the exposed skin and melts even further into Hannibal’s embrace.
“Again,” he agrees. “I will always keep you full.”