There was still a smear of blood across his glasses. The ambulance had left, Abigail Hobbs boxed into it like a wounded animal, but her blood was still on his glasses. On his shirt and pants, too, and smeared across his skin. He could see blood no matter where he looked.
He had been told to leave. He wasn't much use to the forensics team or the local police, not when the bodies were gone and there was no need to figure out what had happened. He'd seen it; Dr. Lecter had seen it. Still, there he stood, watching other people who still had work to do gather evidence and deal with curious and horrified neighbors. He felt like a garden tool left out of the shed. He knew he should leave, and yet he couldn't take that first step to go. His hands clenched at his sides, and he tried not to feel the rush of blood surging through his body, tried not to think about the Hobbs girl choking on her own blood under his hands. He tried especially hard not to think about shooting her father.
It didn't leave him with much to think about. He couldn't consider yet how they had reached the point where blood was spilled, the point where he'd pulled the trigger, and so he could only think of after, of kneeling in blood and watching strong hands put pressure on a deadly wound, keeping Abigail alive in exactly the way that Will couldn't.
Thinking about it made him feel like all his veins and arteries were vibrating, trying to burst free of his skin.
As though he were summoned by mere thought, Dr. Lecter appeared then, strolling as casually as one could at the scene of a murder. Will peered out the side of his glasses at him, unmoving. His mouth was a tense line, but there was no weight holding down his shoulders. Will envied his calm.
Dr. Lecter reached out a hand, and Will almost stepped back, but he was only offering a handkerchief. It had smears of blood on it. "For your glasses," Dr. Lecter explained, "and your face."
Will nodded his thanks, as jerky as a marionette, and took off his glasses to wipe first. As he cleaned off his face, haphazard and feeling that he wasn't present in his own skin, Will said, "I'm surprised you haven't left yet."
"I came here with you."
"Right." Will looked down at the handkerchief, covered in great red-brown stains, and left his hand hovering between them, unsure if it was acceptable to return it in the condition it was in or if he should offer to launder it first. He didn't want to.
"Keep it," Dr. Lecter said, "or throw it out. Why are you still here?"
Will shrugged. "If I had thought to leave, I might have gone without you."
"I could have found another ride."
"You still could." Will looked at him, his glasses still in his hand, and met his eyes, almost accidentally. There was nothing but serenity in Dr. Lecter's pupils, like cool, rolling waves at sea.
"I wanted to be sure you were all right."
Will laughed, humorless. "I wasn't shot. Nobody opened my throat. I'd say I'm fine."
Dr. Lecter refused to be shaken by his morbidity. "You've killed a man today, Will. Feeling some sense of regret or depression, even anger or fear in response to that is perfectly natural, and you shouldn't ignore the effects of that kind of trauma."
Will frowned. Dr. Lecter was studying his face, perhaps searching for any sign of those things — of regret or fear — but he wouldn't find any. The calm Will had felt from him curdled in his stomach. "I should leave."
Dr. Lecter nodded. "I'll drive."
"You're in no state to drive yourself, however stable you may feel in this moment," Dr. Lecter said, and the word "stable" rang in Will's ears like the sound of broken glass. "We'll return you to your motel and you can rest. I'll bring the car to you in the morning."
Will thought about protesting, if only for show, but he couldn't bring himself to. He wanted Dr. Lecter by his side a little longer, throwing off calm and stability like heat. It wasn't too much to ask, anyway. They both needed to escape the scene. He stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket, hooked his glasses in his collar, and nodded again. "Yeah, okay."
It turned out Will had, in fact, overestimated his own stability. He'd underestimated the calming effects of Dr. Lecter's presence, too. As they broke free of the residential neighborhoods, past a smattering of gas stations and diners, he felt himself growing restless. He tried to focus on the scenery passing by, but his eyes kept going unfocused as he thought about Dr. Lecter's hands on Abigail Hobbs's neck, offering him a handkerchief, on the steering wheel beside him. The thoughts kept him centered, kept other, more insidious images at bay, but it was stirring something in him he wasn't sure was welcome.
He looked over at Dr. Lecter, who appeared entirely focused on the road until he noticed Will looking at him. "Is everything all right, Will?"
Will's cock twitched. He breathed out through his nose. "Everything's fine."
Dr. Lecter shot him a quick glance, looking him over, and Will hoped his arousal wasn't obvious. Heat bloomed in his cheeks, but Dr. Lecter said nothing about it. Instead, he said, "If you feel at all ill, I can pull over. Don't be ashamed to ask for what you need." He freed one hand from the steering wheel and put it on Will's shoulder, gently.
Will swallowed, feeling like he'd choke on his own saliva. "Yeah. Yes, please. Stop the car."
Dr. Lecter gave him a concerned look, but put his hand back on the steering wheel and smoothly pulled to the side of the road. He parked quickly, and Will unbuckled himself and threw the door open immediately, walking into a field, away from the car and from Dr. Lecter like he had someplace to go. He could hear the other door open, the shuffle of expensive shoes on asphalt. He had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He stopped after eight steps, breathing in cool, clean air in great lungfuls.
It didn't help. He could feel Dr. Lecter behind him, watching him. Expecting him to be sick, maybe. Ready and waiting, for whatever he needed.
Arousal curled through Will's stomach, and he tried not to think about it. Not thinking about it brought forth thoughts of great, gushing wounds, though, of red spilling out of the places where he'd torn Garret Jacob Hobbs apart. He shivered, and thought about Dr. Lecter again.
This, he thought, was trauma. He had experienced something traumatic. There was no wrong way to respond.
He turned back to the car, putting his hand on the open passenger's side door. He looked at the seat. It was smeared with blood, and he couldn't even begin to think about how he'd explain that when he returned it. He imagined Jack would take care of the cost, or have someone else take care of it. It wouldn't be his to worry about. He still wished he'd had towels, or something, to put down on them. Dr. Lecter's seat was smeared with blood, too.
He looked up, across the roof of the car, at the worried creases in Dr. Lecter's expression, the first real dent in his calm Will had seen, and he slammed the door shut.
"Will?" Dr. Lecter asked, and Will felt his pulse quicken, his cock starting to fill.
He stepped to the side, opened the back door, and looked at the back seat as he said, "I want to ask you for something."
"It's not something polite." Will took another deep breath, and failed entirely to calm himself. His nerves were singing, begging to be ignited, used for something. "I want you to fuck me."
Silence. Will had expected that. He looked up at Dr. Lecter, hoping that by facing him head on, by making eye contact, he could offer some proof that he was serious, that he wouldn't break apart like fragile china the moment he was mishandled.
He held Dr. Lecter's gaze, and he waited.
"You aren't well right now, Will." That was a perfectly acceptable response, and yet it boiled Will's blood. "We can talk about this at the motel."
Will shook his head, almost violently. "No, no. We're going to talk about it right here. When I'm back at the motel I'm going to lie down alone, and I'll either wake up from yet another nightmare or I'll sleep soundly for a little while, because I'll be too tired and well-fucked to dwell on what just happened."
"You aren't thinking clearly," Dr. Lecter tried again, though Will had no trouble noticing that his protests were about Will's own state of mind, and not his receptiveness. "This is merely a response to trauma."
"I know what this is," Will said, half-laughing as he did. He felt pathetic, humiliated, that he was desperate enough to ask this of a man he barely knew. "I don't care why I feel this way right now. Knowing why doesn't make it any better. Getting fucked, though, that could help."
"Or it could complicate your feelings about an already difficult day."
"There's nothing complicated about it." Will felt like he was snarling, like a wild animal, and there Dr. Lecter was, still calm as ever. It only made him harder. "I don't need you to romance me, Dr. Lecter. I just need you to help me to not think for a little while. It's— avoidance, maybe, but I think I could use a little avoidance, don't you?"
Dr. Lecter looked away. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and his fingers tapped on the open door. Will could read the beginnings of arousal in him.
"You're not protesting because you don't want to," Will said. "You said you don't think I'm all that breakable. If you don't want to fuck me because you're not interested, fine, but you look interested to me, and I'm willing to prove just how unbreakable I am."
"It would be unprofessional," Dr. Lecter said, after a long moment, "and unethical. I've evaluated you, cleared you for field work; you're practically my patient."
"Not officially. I'm not paying you. Maybe Jack is, but— Fuck, I won't tell if you don't."
"I have colleagues who have lost their practices for less than this." It wasn't a true protest, though, and Will felt as though he was at victory's heels.
He breathed out, loud, and when Dr. Lecter turned his eyes back to him, he said, "Please."
Another moment passed in silence, and then, suddenly, Dr. Lecter closed the door, and deliberately made his way around the car. Will fumbled with the buttons of his shirt immediately. It was stiff with blood, making it harder to pull off, but he needed it off almost as badly as he needed to be fucked. He had the shirt and his shoes removed just a second before Dr. Lecter's hand was on his back, pushing him forward. He caught himself against the roof of the car and groaned at the feeling of heavy heat against his back, Dr. Lecter's body covering his.
Will could tell he wasn't fully hard yet, but he was getting there.
Dr. Lecter's hands came around his waist, unfastening his pants for him, and Will looked down at them, past his own bare torso, past the smears of blood that had crept through his shirt to color his skin. He watched large, deft fingers pull open his fly and dip into his pants, cupping him through his underwear. His cock leapt into Dr. Lecter's palm, ready and eager, as desperate as the rest of him.
"We could still go back to your motel," Dr. Lecter murmured, breathing against his ear. "I could lay you out across a proper bed. You'd be more comfortable, and there would be less chance of passersby seeing you in this state."
Will shook his head, feeling feverish. He brought down one hand to press Dr. Lecter's against his aching erection, to encourage him to touch more, to move, to squeeze. "No, no. Right here." Will didn't want to give him a chance to rethink things, to try to convince him to sleep on it or find some other method of release. He had caught exactly what he wanted, and he wasn't about to release it.
Dr. Lecter curled his fingers around Will, squeezing with just enough pressure to let Will know he would be less gentle than his gentlemanly exterior would suggest. "This is a rental car, Will. They'll know exactly what you did in here when you return it."
Will laughed, and felt some genuine amusement at the idea. "It's already covered in blood."
"They'll have some interesting ideas about you, I imagine."
"You're probably right." Will pushed back against Dr. Lecter then, giving himself enough space to turn around. Dr. Lecter didn't remove his hand, sliding it around Will's hip as he turned until he had a handful of his ass, and Will felt dizzy with need. "Stop stalling."
Dr. Lecter's eyes traveled across his face, but this time there was a deep, obvious hunger within them. He looked as though he wanted to devour Will whole. "I'm afraid there won't be enough space for me to take you on your hands and knees in the back seat. Unless you'd prefer to do this in the grass, of course."
Will looked at the ground, considering it for a moment, before the distant sound of a motor caught his attention. It faded, but it was enough to banish the idea of fucking on the ground from his mind. He was certain, besides, that Dr. Lecter wouldn't appreciate the idea of mounting him like an animal in the dirt. "I'm sure you can get good and deep with me on my back, Dr. Lecter. I trust your competence."
Dr. Lecter stopped Will's hands on their way to the buttons of his shirt. "I'd rather keep as much of my clothing on as possible, if it's all the same."
Will's eyes tracked over the blood stains on Dr. Lecter's clothes, which were hardening and sticking to him in places. He would have liked to press skin to skin, to peel away that exoskeleton, but he wouldn't push it. "Suit yourself," he said, hooking his thumbs into the waist of his boxers and pulling them, along with his pants, down to his ankles. Dr. Lecter's hand slipped off his ass as he bent to free himself from them and his socks, kicking them away to join his discarded shirt and shoes, before dropping to the edge of the seat. He stroked himself lightly; he didn't want to push his arousal any higher until he was at Dr. Lecter's mercy.
The subject of his lust stood above him, one hand steadying him on the roof of the car. He licked his lips, and Will found himself mirroring the movement, his breath coming quicker. Dr. Lecter looked away for a moment, his lips parted. When he looked back, his expression was serious. "I hope you have condoms stashed somewhere in this car, Will."
Shit. He hadn't thought of condoms — should have, but didn't. A wild, dangerously hungry part of his mind resisted the idea of using them at all, but he should have realized Dr. Lecter's own adventurous side would still seek to minimize unnecessary risks, and fucking someone like Will was probably as risky as he got.
The thought of being an outlier, of being one of the people to take Dr. Lecter out of his usual bubble of comfort and luxury, was indescribably thrilling. It made him all the more eager to ruin him, and be ruined in return.
"Check the glovebox," Will said, hoping desperately that the previous renter might have serendipitously left them a gift. He knew he didn't have anything himself; he hadn't exactly come to Minnesota with the intention of needing them, and he wasn't in the habit of keeping a spare in his wallet. They degraded anyway.
Dr. Lecter obediently opened the door at the front and ducked in to check the glovebox. Will couldn't quite see into the little compartment, but from body language alone he knew the hunt had been a bust. "I'm afraid we may have reached another barrier. I have to insist on protection — not to mention the issue of lubrication. Unless you're a true masochist, that is."
Will groaned in the back of his throat, covering his eyes with his palm. He wasn't a masochist, didn't particularly want to get fucked dry, but he couldn't bear the thought that a lack of boy scout level preparation would be what stopped them after he had Dr. Lecter hard enough to ruin the lines of his suit.
He dragged his hand down his face, and an idea caught at his mind like a hook. He slipped two fingers into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them. When he pulled them out they were shiny with spit — thin, drying spit, but it was more than nothing. He caught Dr. Lecter's eye over the seat between them and pushed the tips of his fingers behind his balls, just into his body.
"I can handle it," he said, jerking slightly as he pushed in to the first knuckle, "and I know you have no reason to believe me, but I'm clean. Please, god, just fuck me. Please."
Dr. Lecter swallowed, drawing himself out of the car. He seemed entirely too calm as he closed the front door, but in a flash he was between Will's legs, dropping to his knees in the dirt, and maybe Will had been off the mark in thinking he wouldn't like to be bestial and filthy about sex. He pulled his fingers away as Dr. Lecter pushed his thighs apart and pulled them towards him, drawing Will just over the edge of the seat. He closed his eyes and breathed deep.
Will had to catch himself on the back of the seat as his hips were jerked upward, his eyes flying open again. Dr. Lecter had hoisted his thighs over his shoulders and buried his face between them. Will squirmed at the feel of a tongue against his hole; it wasn't something he had ever had done to him before, but god, it felt fantastic. He bit back his surprise and gripped the seat until his knuckles went white, felt his toes curling at the sloppy-wet flick of Dr. Lecter's tongue. It felt even stranger, even more wonderful as his tongue pressed for entrance, unrelenting against the muscle. His thighs twitched helplessly against Dr. Lecter's ears, and he held one leg up higher, higher, spreading himself wide to invite that blessed tongue closer, until he had to brace his foot against the frame of the door and still felt he wasn't open enough.
Will almost thought he would be satisfied with Dr. Lecter's mouth alone.
Dr. Lecter appeared to be interested in more than just satisfying him, though. He raised his head up, and Will could see that his lips and chin were shiny and wet, could feel that his hole was in a similar state, and clenched against the emptiness. Will's legs fell back down around Dr. Lecter's hips, the muscles in them loose.
"This truly isn't adequate lubrication," Dr. Lecter said as he stood, his hands working at opening his obscenely tented pants, "and at some point in the future we'll need to talk about your inclination towards certain reckless behaviors."
"But you're going to fuck me anyway."
Will's blood seemed to pump with more force at that, and he felt like he'd never been harder in his life. He tried to draw his legs in, to spread himself in the meager space available in the car, but Dr. Lecter bent and crawled in, grabbing Will's right leg and pulling it up and over his shoulder again as he pushed him further into the car. He had his cock out, and it was leaking beautifully, the head of it shining and dripping with precome.
"I'm going to fuck you because you're desperate for it," Dr. Lecter told him. He drew his own finger around the head of his cock, pulling back his foreskin with his other hand. Precome gathered on his finger, and he pressed that, too, into Will. Will groaned at the intrusion, the feel of it, beyond his control, more intense than his own had been.
He was desperate for it. Aching for it, even starving, feeling like he'd been pitted and needed someone else to occupy his body and mind to make him whole again. There was no use in denying it, so he grabbed at Dr. Lecter's shoulder, his hair, grasping onto him as a lifeline.
"Go on," Dr. Lecter said as his finger pressed in deeper — not quite deep enough, but making a promise of it. "Let me see just how desperate you are."
"Please," Will gasped. He took in a great, heaving breath, gripping Dr. Lecter's hair harder and pulling it into disarray. Another finger, coated in yet more precome, joined the first. He felt tears come to his eyes and choked back an entirely undignified noise. "I want your c-cock. I don't want to think. Fuck me until I can't. Please, come on. Fuck me, please."
Dr. Lecter's eyes were glittering with something caught between amusement and predatory gluttony. "So filthy, Will. Just give me a little more."
Will closed his eyes. His breath rattled his throat, shook him to his very bones. He was already struggling to keep his thoughts coherent; he wasn't sure how to give any more. He had the sudden, insane desire to promise Dr. Lecter the world, but instead he said, "I need it— I need it from you. No one else can give it to me. Fuck me, Dr. Lecter, for god's sake, fuck me, fuck me!"
The purest moment of anticipation came to Will then: he felt Dr. Lecter withdraw his fingers, felt his hole struggle to adjust to its emptiness once more, and had to remind himself, consciously, to breathe as he waited to finally be filled. He felt a warm, broad hand press against his stomach, sliding up and over his chest as he was tilted up at the hips, propped up by Dr. Lecter's knees and shoulders. His foot bumped the car's ceiling, and Dr. Lecter pulled it down, just a little, and brushed his lips over Will's knee in the same moment that he pushed his hand up to Will's throat, covering his Adam's apple.
He didn't press down, didn't squeeze at all, but Will swallowed reflexively and gasped for air anyway. He felt suffocated by Dr. Lecter's very presence, by his maddening calm, and he welcomed it. He anticipated oblivion with closed eyes and an open mouth.
"Just once more, Will," Dr. Lecter said. His lips moved over the skin of Will's thigh and made him shiver.
"Fuck me, Dr. Lecter." He could feel the heel of Dr. Lecter's hand on his throat as he spoke, affecting the timbre of his voice. He opened his eyes and, before he could think better of it, Will said, "Help me."
The grin that spread Dr. Lecter's lips then, exposing his teeth, drove Will almost as mad as the feel of his hand sliding back down Will's throat, down his body to take himself in hand and push the head of his cock against Will's hole.
It wasn't as slick as it should have been, and Dr. Lecter's cock was larger than any Will had had before — not that he had an especially large sample pool, but he knew he'd feel stretched taut by it even if they'd had lubrication on hand. It was uncomfortable in the best way, and Will couldn't have ignored it, couldn't have thought of anything else at all if he had tried.
That first push in was not a long affair. Dr. Lecter was relentless, forcing Will's body to adapt to him at his pace instead of waiting for him to adjust. Will showed his appreciation by wrapping one hand around Dr. Lecter's neck, digging his fingernails into the flesh at his nape. He felt invaded and exhilarated, and his cock started to drip against his belly.
"You may want to brace yourself," Dr. Lecter said, watching Will's face with admirable focus. "I won't be gentle unless you ask for it."
"Don't be," Will said, and put his left arm over his head to support himself against the car door behind him. His right hand gripped at the back of the seat, and he nodded, as ready as he could be.
Dr. Lecter was steady as he withdrew, but his entire body moved as he snapped his hips forward. Will jerked, his hips pushing up while his elbow threatened to buckle already. He let go of the seat, bracing himself with both arms, and pushed back against the next thrust, groaning wantonly.
It was almost cruel, how quickly Dr. Lecter managed to adjust their positions to find the best angle at which to take Will apart. On nearly every thrust his cock slid over Will's prostate. The electric feel of it, combined with the intensity of being full to nearly his breaking point, sent Will's body quaking with pleasure. When he caught Dr. Lecter's eye, still more slivers of ecstasy poured into him — some his own, some not — until he felt he was so full of Dr. Lecter, so tightly packed with nerves ignited by hedonistic joy, he was worried he might overflow.
He didn't dare touch himself. He couldn't risk losing his support against the door, but he wouldn't have even if he could, wanting to prolong things for as long as he possible. Will was not particularly in the habit of fighting off orgasm, but something about being fucked by Dr. Lecter, with his dirty knees and his blood-stained shirt and jacket — Dr. Lecter, who had saved a girl's life, who had been the only comfort Will had known in the past few days — made him dread the end.
There was only so long he could hold back, though. The sound of his own panting mixed with Dr. Lecter's breathing, tangling in Will's mind; the feeling of fullness neither dulled nor faded. Will could feel his orgasm rising up inside him like a tidal wave, inescapable and destructive.
"Harder," he begged, and Dr. Lecter obeyed him almost instantly, thrusting into him so fiercely Will's arms failed him, buckling against the door. He scrambled to lock his elbows and shoulders, protecting his head, just moments before his back arched and his jaw fell open. He was caught in Dr. Lecter's eyes as he came, a moan stuck in his throat. He barely registered the sensation of come splashing against his stomach, except to think that Dr. Lecter's shirt was surely doubly ruined then.
"Will," Dr. Lecter said, and he slowed down for just a moment before Will braced himself again, tightening his knees over Dr. Lecter's shoulders, and begged, "Don't stop, don't stop, please."
And oh, Dr. Lecter was wonderfully obedient. He picked up his pace at once, thrusting as hard as he had before and with twice as much determination. He pressed on past Will's involuntary whimpers, the twitches of his body as his oversensitive hole and prostate were rubbed raw like an exposed nerve. All remaining thought flew from Will's mind almost instantly, leaving him with the singular purpose of enduring, of existing for the moment only to accept Dr. Lecter into him.
"Look at me." Will felt a hand on his cheek, and he opened his eyes, though he had trouble focusing. He couldn't quite remember when he'd closed them. Dr. Lecter thrust harder then, and Will had to fight to keep them open, to keep them from rolling back at the onslaught of sensation. "Are you with me, WIll?"
"Yes," he said hoarsely. He felt drunk, felt like he was taking one more step towards leaving his body for something greater. The next thrust drove even that from his mind.
"How does it feel?" Dr. Lecter leaned forward to spread his thighs even further apart, pressed in so close that Will could swear he was intent on eradicating everything that kept them from being one mass of flesh. The laws of time and space were trivial. "Tell me how it feels."
"It feels— It feels—" He couldn't think, couldn't keep a thought in his mind, on his tongue between one thrust and the next. He groaned, turning his head to bury his face in his arm, but the hand on his cheek immediately pulled him back, forced him to make eye contact. "It feels so—"
"Tell me, Will."
"Like dying," Will said. He hardly knew what he was saying, but he liked the feral look in Dr. Lecter's eyes. "Like you're breaking me — and fixing me—"
With a tremendous groan, Dr. Lecter pressed his face to Will's neck, his hips jerking forward hard twice, three times more. Will felt it inside himself — not Dr. Lecter's come, but the jump of his cock, the stuttering of his thrusts. He let go of the door, let his sore arms settle against Dr. Lecter's shoulders, against his own thighs. Without moving his legs, he let himself drift, weightless and wrung out.
Too soon, Dr. Lecter started to draw back, pulling free of Will's hold and Will's body. Will caught a whine before it passed his lips, but couldn't help the way his fingers grasped at Dr. Lecter's shirt, too boneless to keep a grip. He sighed, letting himself melt into the seat. He heard the door behind Dr. Lecter shut, and was content with the idea that they were pressed into the back seat without any intrusions.
He might have fallen asleep, or at least kept his mind out to sea, but a finger pressing at his hole once again lured him out from the deep. His legs trembled, unsure whether they should press together or spread further apart, as though that might be their default state.
"What are you doing?" Will asked, using what little strength was left in him to lift his head and look up at Dr. Lecter, who was focused on his fingers, probing at Will's slicked hole. Will could feel come spill out of him, could feel Dr. Lecter's thumb catch it and press it back into his body.
"How long is your refractory period, Will?"
Will blinked, sluggish and foggy. "What?"
The look Dr. Lecter gave him was one of fond, if mildly exasperated, patience. "How long will it take before you can sustain an erection again?"
"I don't know," Will said, keeping his voice as even as he could manage. "What are you doing?"
"Keeping you from thinking." He pressed his finger in hard, almost like he was thrusting again, and brushed against Will's prostate once more. Will's body jerked, and he thrashed his head back, gasping for air. "And discovering what your refractory period is, apparently."
Will heard the purr of another car passing them by. "They might pull over."
Dr. Lecter smiled at him. "That's the fourth vehicle to have passed since we started, Will. None of them have pulled over yet."
Will bit his lip. He felt pressure against his prostate again, felt like he was being pulled so taut he might snap.
He didn't hate the thought.
"Yeah," he said, taking a long, deep breath and putting his arms up against the door again. "Okay. Give me everything you've got."
The gleam in Dr. Lecter's eye was utterly lecherous. He pressed Will's knee, spreading him open further, and pushed a second finger in besides the first. It wasn't a stretch anymore — not after the width of his cock — but Will could feel it all the more intensely than he had the first time those fingers had been inside him.
Dr. Lecter rubbed over his prostate in an unpredictable rhythm, constant enough that Will couldn't hope to relax, but irregular enough that he couldn't predict when next stroke would come. Will shook each time; it felt like his body was preparing to fly apart. It was difficult to define the sensation: it was like his nervous system was no longer under his control, mixing up its pain and pleasure signals until he couldn't tell one from the other.
He was already panting, struggling for air even as his lungs filled with it, when Dr. Lecter leaned forward, the edges of his ruined jacket tracing fiery lines over Will's skin as he pressed their lips together. For all the sensory overload he was subjecting Will to, that was the one Will pulled away from, turning his face and pressing it into his arm; it was too intimate, too kind, and the neurons that were still operating in his brain reminded him of just where Dr. Lecter's mouth had been not so long ago. Will closed his eyes tight, forcing himself to press back against the fingers inside of him as a sort of apology.
Dr. Lecter didn't accept it; he put his hand on Will's jaw, making him turn away from his arm, his thumb pressing at the corner of Will's mouth to keep his lips parted as he closed in for another kiss. Will pushed against his hand, but on the next press to his prostate he felt himself go loose-limbed, entirely unable to fight the tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting him and swallowing his groan. He stopped fighting it, even as a hint of coordination returned to him, and accepted it as another point of contact to pour his stress into.
He didn't have to bear it for long anyway. When Will's lips began to feel swollen, Dr. Lecter bit at them, a quick nip to the top and then the bottom, and then moved down to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chin, his neck, his chest. Through it all he kept pumping his fingers into Will's hole, so each wet kiss was in counterpoint to the assault on his prostate, on the nerves around his rim and just inside of him.
Will had never thought of his nipples as particularly sensitive, and as such he'd never paid them much attention or let others linger on them. With his body under an onslaught of post-orgasmic sensation, however, it seemed to be a different story, and he felt like the air was being punched out of him when Dr. Lecter abruptly took one between his lips, sucking hard just as he pressed his fingers in ruthlessly, holding them there a moment before resuming his thrusts. Will squirmed as he kept sucking, even using his teeth, and thought for a moment that he might truly need to ask Dr. Lecter to stop. He gritted his teeth against it, feeling tears well up in his eyes again, and tried to hold out, but it was on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst forth at any moment.
"St—" he began, but Dr. Lecter rose up then, and the word turned into a relieved gasp instead. The tears ran down the sides of his face, and Will felt a combination of embarrassment and comfort in them. They were a sign of failure, and at the same time a release — a catharsis. He opened his eyes, struggling to focus on anything as he trembled and twitched, his right knee jerking hard on another particularly harsh press of Dr. Lecter's fingers.
Dr. Lecter was looking at him with a strange expression, like he was both curious and proud at the sight of Will's distress. When Will met his eyes, he smiled, just slightly, and stilled his fingers, rubbing his other hand low over Will's stomach. "Impressive, Will. It hasn't been thirty minutes yet."
Will nearly asked what he meant, but he found his answer in the hand on his stomach as Dr. Lecter dragged it down to his cock. Will was, to his own disbelief, half-hard again, and thickening in Dr. Lecter's palm. He wasn't sure if the light stroke that followed was the best thing he'd ever felt or the most agonizing.
Dr. Lecter stroked him again, and pressed in with his fingers again, slower this time, barely brushing the edge of his prostate. Will's cock jumped, and he felt more tears squeeze their way out of his eyes, felt his toes curling until they cramped.
"Oh god," he said, hardly able to find the breath for it. "Are you going to fuck me again?"
Dr. Lecter laughed lowly, and Will could feel the reverberations of it all through his ribcage, like it had come from within himself. "If only I could. I'm afraid my own refractory period is longer than yours, so unless you'd like to continue this for another hour or so..."
Will's cock jumped at that, even as he felt a shock of something like fear at the idea of being subjected to even more stimulation for that much longer. He imagined Dr. Lecter, for a moment, pinning him down like a butterfly and forcing him to endure it until he could be of use to him again, and he wasn't sure if it was a fantasy or a nightmare edging its way into his waking life. He shook his head. "Please, god, no."
"Then my hand will have to do." He tightened his grip on Will's neglected cock, and even though it was the most mundane touch Dr. Lecter had used on him yet, it felt like an electric shock, tipping the sensations over into pleasure again. Will couldn't help but thrust up into his hand, dry though it was. When his hips fell back to the seat Dr. Lecter rubbed at his prostate again, making them jump up once more. He continued like that, volleying between the too-loose grip on his cock and the too-intense touch to his prostate, until he felt his balls draw up again, too soon and not soon enough. Dr. Lecter pulled his fingers out, spat into his hand, and rubbed his slick palm over the head of Will's cock. That was all it took for his hips to jerk up violently, a pathetic trickle of come splashing out over his abdomen.
He let out a weak, ragged moan. He felt like a knot untied, nerveless and finally free.
Dr. Lecter was saying something to him, but Will couldn't focus, couldn't manage to both make out the words and remember them for longer than a moment. He was exhausted and sore, so sore he couldn't figure out how to move his legs to get his limbs in order, and so Dr. Lecter helped him. He positioning Will like a doll as he opened the door, manhandling him back into his soiled clothes, back into the front seat of the car. His hands were steady and almost clinical on Will's body, except that they lingered, strong and warm. He didn't touch the come drying on Will's stomach or between his legs, and it caught against Will's clothes, but its tacky pull barely registered.
Will wanted to thank him, tried to slur out the words while Dr. Lecter buckled him in, but his eyelids were as heavy as his arms and legs suddenly seemed to be. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired before, but he couldn't remember much of anything. For a brief moment, that scared him, and then he was asleep, numb and deaf to the rumble of the engine starting, and no nightmares came to him.