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You'll Go Blind

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The house is empty when Will finally arrives, after nearly twenty hours of travel. He’s jetlagged and exhausted, and when he finds Hannibal gone, he should just take advantage of his absence and nap. But he’s curious about this place, wants to observe what he can of how Hannibal has been living.

In his mind, Will has pieced together a picture of what this place looked like, from the descriptive texts Hannibal has sent, and the photographs. The gently rolling hills of the land surrounding the house, the pair of rocking chairs on the porch, the screen door leading into the kitchen.

Despite his exhaustion, a vivid blush heats his cheeks as he runs his fingers across the butcher’s block, recollecting just how Hannibal intends to use it. He can’t help himself. Dropping his bag to the floor and draping his jacket over the nearest island stool, he lays himself across the surface of the butcher’s block.

With a little adjustment, he can imagine just how this would work, hands gripping the handle on the side, as Hannibal drove into him. The table hits him just below the waist. Bent over it, his feet would barely touch the ground. Will lets out a little groan, head falling to thump against the smooth, wooden surface, as his cock begins to stir in interest.

It only gets worse the further he explores the house. He finds the chair in the sitting room, the upholstery familiar from Hannibal’s texts. All too clearly Will can see his form overlaying it, pants shoved down around his thighs, cock curved elegantly against his stomach.

Will presses his hand against his zipper, adjusting his growing erection, and continues on. The cabin is small, but not claustrophobic. Airy and light, with just enough furnishings for comfort. Down the short hallway is a bathroom and study, and at the end the bedroom.

The bedspread is the same bright white with a delicate pattern of cherry blossoms scattered over it, the sheets beneath silky and rosy-peach. Heat prickles up the nape of Will’s neck and along his scalp, remembering Hannibal’s desire to lay him out over them. Will has to wonder if he’s had the sheets all along, or went out and bought them specifically, after.

Temptation wins out over fatigue. He kicks off his shoes and his pants and boxers follow in a messy pile, t-shirt flung across the room. He climbs on the bed, sighing audibly in relief at the feel of cool, crisp sheets soft against his skin.

For a moment he just lays there, face buried in Hannibal’s pillow, luxuriating in the sensory input. He breaths in Hannibal’s scent, clean and spicy and musky, and works his hips lazily. Lets his dick drag over satin, slippery smooth. It sends little teasing sparks of pleasure racing up his spine and down his thighs. Nice, but not enough stimulation.

He rolls on his back and spots a bottle of lube just sitting on the nightstand. Granted, it’s classier than his bright purple squeeze tube of astroglide, made of glass with a silver pump top, but Will has to wonder if Hannibal’s just that shameless. Of course, he hadn’t known Will would be arriving today…

Will had thought to surprise him, and now, as he runs his hand up and down his cock, he imagines Hannibal will be sufficiently surprised. He lets himself get lost in the sensation, no rush to finish. The lube is deliciously slick--any thoughts of teasing Hannibal for using the stupidly expensive stuff flees his mind at the first touch, wet and lush. He groans, the sound shockingly loud in the stillness of the house.

Before long, he’s arching off the bed, hips fucking up into his fist, chasing the sensation. His grip isn’t tight enough to really get him off, but that’s the not the point, anyway. It’s so fucking good, finally being here, letting all the cares and worries of his old life slip away entirely. The stress and anxiety melts into nothing but building pleasure and anticipation for Hannibal’s return.

And still, as excited as he is for this, he’s still taken off-guard. The creaking of old hinges and the sharp intake of breath let out in a rush on a deep groan that shakes Will down to his bones. His eyes flutter open, and Hannibal stands in the open frame of the door, watching him with hooded eyes.

“We--welcome home,” Will says, voice breaking on a gasp, coming out weak from pleasure. His foot skids where it’s propped against the sheet, legs falling flat, spread wide. The invitation is obvious.

“Very welcome indeed,” Hannibal murmurs. For a long moment, he merely watches. The effect on him is apparent in the hard line of his cock through his trousers, but he makes no move to touch himself or Will. His eyes fix avidly on the movement of Will’s hands on himself. Right hand pumping his cock, left trailing absently over his chest, down to trace the line of his scar.

Will licks his lips. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Hannibal chuckles hoarsely and finally begins to move, hands lifting to unbutton his shirt. “You succeeded.” Shirt discarded, he begins on the fastening of his belt.

Will’s hands still, transfixed by the sight of Hannibal’s skin, revealed inch by inch. It’s so different from the stolen glimpses in the dark that night so long ago, or all the pictures, no matter how artfully framed. This is real. This is really happening, no fantasies shared via text and trembling, breathless words with an ocean between them.

“Please don’t stop on my account,” Hannibal says. He steps out of his remaining clothing, leaving it to pool alongside Will’s, and Will’s mouth actually goes dry at the sight.

He always thought that was just an expression, but then he’s never felt sexual attraction as strongly for another person as he has towards Hannibal. More than the physical pleasure that really anyone could satisfy or responding to the desires of others, whether there was any particular interest on his part.

No, Will longs for this body, in all it’s beautiful imperfection. Skin marked with the lines of age and the scars of battles fought and won. The sculpted muscles of his arms, the grey curls over his chest thickening in the path down to his cock, thick and full and proud between strong thighs. It’s powerful and frightening, feeling a need that he’s only ever sensed in others before.

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice calls to him through the fog of lust. “I said ‘don’t stop.’”

There’s an underlying challenge in his tone. A command, if Will chooses to perceive it that way and respond in kind. The potential to continue the game they’ve been playing these past months, or quietly ignore it.

“Yes,” he agrees on a hiss. He wraps his hand around himself again.

Almost startlingly quick, Hannibal is on the bed, hand around his wrist, holding him still. “Yes?” he asks, expectantly.

Will’s eyes fall closed briefly, and he draws a deep breath, then looks up to meet Hannibal’s gaze, unflinching. “Yes, Daddy,” he exhales.

Hannibal’s eyes spark dangerously. A shark-like smile spreads across his lips. He releases Will’s hand, and when Will starts to stroke himself, purrs, “Good boy.”

Oh,” Will murmurs, shocked when his cock pulses in his hand, thick precum dribbling over the head and down his knuckles. No amount of exposure has inured Will to the powerful throb of arousal inspired by hearing Hannibal call him boy in that coarse tone.

And he considers, perhaps, it’s the same for Hannibal, hearing the word Daddy pass his own lips. Just to test it, he slips his free hand between his thighs, just brushing behind his balls. “Daddy, please,” he whispers, grinning coyly at the hungry look it earns him. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to show me all the things you promised.”

“Such impatience,” Hannibal says. He draws the tip of his finger up the line of Will’s cock, eliciting a shiver. His own cock remains untouched and Will’s mouth waters for it.

“I can’t help it,” Will says, unashamed. His fingers brush against his opening and he gasps. It’s still a new sensation--he’s only tried it a few times alone, wanting it to be fresh and new when Hannibal touched him there for the first time. “It’s all I’ve thought about since we’ve been separated. The entire flight here. I jerked off in the lavatory, and again during the layover.”

“Impressive refractory period,” Hannibal muses. He rolls onto his stomach in the vee of Will’s thighs and reaches over him to pump a handful of lube into his palm. Then, edging Will’s legs open wide with his shoulders, he settles down between them. “I imagine we’ll have a lot of fun with that.”

Without further preamble, Hannibal goes down on him, taking his cock all the way down to where Will’s fist is closed around the base. From the very start, it’s all relentless, dizzying pleasure, Hannibal’s tongue pressed firm along the underside of his cock while he suckles on the head. Will’s hand fall useless to the sheets and his hips buck off the bed. Hannibal takes him effortlessly.

For a moment, Will thinks this is going to be over startlingly quickly, but then two of Hannibal’s slippery-slick fingers push against his hole. Will does his best to relax into the touch, but there is still that edge of bright, burning pain when he pushes inside. Enough, at least, to distract from the overwhelming bliss of Hannibal’s mouth, hot and wet on him.

Hannibal twists his fingers deeper and lifts his head, swallowing thickly. Spit trails between his lips and Will’s cock, and it’s absurdly hot. “You’re so tight, my love,” Hannibal praises, pressing kisses to the inside of his thigh as his fingers probe gently within. Will’s body relaxes and tightens in fits and starts, and Hannibal groans, hips thrusting once, roughly, into the bed.

Will can’t quite control the way his hips work, fitful little thrusts in Hannibal’s hand. It’s good, of course it’s fucking good, though he’s harboured some anxiety--maybe he wouldn’t enjoy it. Then Hannibal spreads his fingers open wide, and ducks his head, and he thrusts his tongue inside Will’s body, and all thought leaves him. He is nothing but pure sensation, nerves lit up, lust-drunk on the feel of it.

His hands clench in Hannibal’s hair, holding him in place as he is licked open. It’s lush and decadent and so much better than he ever could have dreamed. So good he barely feels the stretch when Hannibal adds a third finger, just tugs sharply at his hair. He’s babbling, but what, precisely, he doesn’t know. A litany of please Hannibal oh fuck, don’t stop please, please, senseless in his need.

Hannibal draws back just enough that his lips brush against Will’s opening when he speaks, and he drives his fingers deep, crooking against the prostate to tear a cry from him. “Please, who?”.

Will pats at his head helplessly, speared open wide on Hannibal’s fingers, and says, “Daddy, daddy, please, your mouth.”

A pleased sound rumbles through Hannibal, but he sits up. Will makes a bereft sound. “I think,” Hannibal says, inching forward on his knees, hand casually working up and down his own cock, “there’s another part from which you might draw some enjoyment.”

Will arches his back, works himself lower on the sheets, cants his hips upward and moans wantonly, “Yes.

Hannibal slicks more of the lubricant over himself under Will’s rapt gaze. Will reaches out, fingers just brushing the tip of Hannibal’s cock when he draws the foreskin back on the downstroke. He’s seen it often enough in the pictures Hannibal sends him, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the effect it has on him. The head obscenely wet, darker red than the rest of him, the slit weeping precum in steady pulses.

It’s a visceral reaction Will doesn’t entirely understand, making his cock throb in sympathetic pleasure, makes his ass clench tight in anticipation. Now that it’s right in front of him, he can’t help himself. He raises up on his elbows and bends over, dragging his tongue through the gathered precum, thick and viscous.

Then, it just seems natural to close his lips around the head, slurping lewdly. He’s rewarded with a moan and Hannibal bucking his hips forward, cock sliding over Will’s tongue. Hannibal brushes his curls back from his face, touch gentle. Sinks his fingers in Will’s hair, all approval and encouragement.

“That’s a good boy,” he hums, and Will’s cock jerks again. It’s become fucking pavlovian at this point, something Hannibal will no doubt use against him time and again. Somehow, Will can’t find it within him to mind.

Will sucks on Hannibal’s cock, wraps his hand around the base and sinks down his length. He’s more eager than skilfull, but he tries to recreate the sensations that have given him pleasure in the past. Dragging the tip of his tongue back and forth across the frenulum with varying pressure, tucking Hannibal’s cock to the roof of his mouth and sucking for all he’s worth, and oh, that earns him a hot rush of precum down his throat.

He wants to show Hannibal he can take him all, keeps going until he feels his gag reflex kicking in, and swallows around the head. Hannibal grunts and flexes forward. Will’s eyes water from the strain, but he makes himself relax. Hannibal’s hand tightens in his hair and he fucks in and out of Will’s throat a few brief strokes before he’s pulling back entirely.

Will collapses back against the sheets, gulping in air greedily. His throat is raw and his jaw sore, and he rubs his fingers against his lips, smearing saliva and precum. Hannibal reaches out and replaces Will’s fingers with his thumb. Will looks up at him from under his lashes and sucks his thumb between his lips, biting down gently. Something tremulous thrums in his chest and reverberates through him, down to his cock. It feels fucking amazing.

“Such a good boy,” Hannibal says absently, staring at Will with such a mix of adoration and lust it’s suffocating. “You did so well.”

Will hums around his mouthful, sucking on Hannibal’s thumb and scraping his teeth over the pad. “I’ve been practicing,” he mumbles, bereft when Hannibal draws his hand back. “I wanted to be good for you.”

Hannibal traces his hand down Will’s jaw to wrap lightly around his throat, tilting his head back. He leans in and Will sucks in a sharp breath because, oh, yes, they haven’t done this yet. “Everything you do, no matter how lacking in skill, is perfection,” Hannibal murmurs, and they’re not quite kissing, lips parted, sharing the same air, mouths barely brushing.

“Which is why I know you’re going to be able to take me now, aren’t you?” His tongue flicks out across Will’s lips, tasting. “You’re going to open so sweetly.” His teeth catch Will’s top lip and tug, and Will whines from the teasing.

“I will,” he says. “Whatever you want, Daddy, just kiss me.”

Hannibal smiles, benevolent satisfaction flashing across his face as he brings their lips together. It’s so fast Will can barely keep up, Hannibal licking into him, sucking Will’s tongue into his mouth, teeth dragging like both a threat and a promise that shudders down Will’s spine. Hannibal tastes of earthy herbs and coffee, and beneath that his own flavour, impossible to describe.

Lost as he is in Hannibal’s kisses, pushing him into the pillow, he barely notices Hannibal moving until his fingers are back between Will’s asscheeks. He smears more lube against Will’s opening and inside, making him messy with it. Will clings to his arms, chases his mouth when Hannibal pulls away to look between them.

Will flops back against the mattress, a shiver running through him at the brush of Hannibal’s clean hand down his ribcage to press flat against his stomach, heel resting in the curve of his scar. His other hand guides his cock to Will’s hole. Will holds his breath at the first touch.

“Easy,” Hannibal soothes. His thumb traces back and forth over Will’s scar in a comforting gesture. He pushes in, slow but steady, just breaching the first ring of muscles. Will shifts, trying to relieve the pressure, eyes squeezed tight. “You’ll take it, I know you will. You want to do your best for Daddy.”

Fuck!” It’s different, the way Hannibal says it, accent thick, the word pouring from his tongue like honey. It’s goddamn pornographic. “Yes,” he agrees, and arches his back, sighing with relief when Hannibal slides deeper.

Hannibal works his hips in a circle, easing in a little further and a little further. He’s so fucking big, not just long but so thick. Like being split in two, Hannibal reaching inside and taking him apart in the best way. Filling a void he didn’t even know was missing. Hannibal settles in him, flush against his thighs, and it’s like the ground’s been yanked out from beneath him.

Will’s gone almost forty fucking years of his life thinking he knew what he liked in bed, what he wanted in a partner. Seeing Hannibal as some fluke--attraction based on their mental bond. Only desiring him physically after he was too far gone in love. But this…

The ripples of pleasure as Hannibal begins to move, the ridges of his cock dragging against the raw edge of his hole. The sharper, brighter, ecstatic rush when Hannibal angles just right on the down thrust. And more than that, the solid weight of Hannibal holding him down, the girth filling him up.

He grits his teeth and digs his nails in the curve of Hannibal’s bicep, hangs on for dear life even though Hannibal isn’t even moving very fast or very hard, it’s just Will’s whole world is shaking apart around him. Maybe Hannibal was more right than Will realised, when he said they’d just begun to plumb the depths of his subconscious longings.

“Fuck, Hannibal,” he manages, “you feel so good.” Which is an understatement; he never wants to stop, but it’s going to be over soon. Neither of them are even touching his cock, which leaks steadily against his stomach, but he’s already so close, closer with each steady rocking of Hannibal’s hips.

Hannibal bows his head, resting their foreheads together briefly, breath mingling, and a quick catch of their lips, before tucking his face in the curve of Will’s throat. He noses Will’s pulse, and breathes, “So do you, Will.” He bites tenderly down his neck. “So tight--it’s exquisite.”

A half-choked laugh slips past Will’s lips. He doesn’t mention that anyone would be tight on Hannibal’s dick. “I’m going to cum,” he moans, already feeling it in his balls, inevitable now.

“Wait for me.” Hannibal scoops him into his arms and Will winds his arms around his back, holding him close and tight. One hand tangles in Hannibal’s hair, the other pressed against his spine, legs lifting to wrap around Hannibal’s waist. “Can you wait for me?”

“I’ll try,” he breathes.

Hannibal growls and bites down hard. It makes Will’s cock jerk and oh, he’s almost there, so close he can taste it. Hannibal’s hand wraps around him, moving in time with the rocking of his hips. “You can, for me.”

Will nods, words caught up in his throat. He has to swallow hard before he can answer. “Please hurry,” he says, and can barely recognise his own voice, “I--I’m so close, please.” Hannibal’s palms the head of his cock, gathering up all the precum and smears it down his length. It’s like he wants Will to fail, fist just the right tightness, with a twist at the end of each stroke.

Then Hannibal’s thrusts turn rough and Will hisses out, “Shit,” because that’s even better, and it’s too fucking late now, he’s going to cum. “Please, please, please.”

Hannibal grunts, hips snapping hard and fast against Will’s ass, and he says, “Now, Will,” and Will’s back bows off the bed from the force of his orgasm. Hannibal keeps fucking him through it, panting uneven breaths hot against his throat.

Will grabs a fistful of his hair and jerks him up, blindly seeking his mouth. It’s less a kiss than a sloppy press of teeth and tongue, and Will tastes copper from one of them. He’s cumming harder and longer than he ever has in his life, hyper focussed on the way it feels, body seizing tight around Hannibal’s cock. Like he never wants to let Hannibal separate from him again.

When Hannibal tries to slip free, Will tightens his arms and legs around him. “Not yet.” His muscles flutter and Hannibal makes a sound somewhere between pleasure and pain. He lets his full weight rest against Will, heedless of the mess between them.

Hannibal’s hands are warm against his back. Will can feel each place they touch, the individual pressure of each fingertip against his skin, like they could sink inside him and grip his heart. It’s the only thing that grounds Will in the moment, too lost on the high of endorphins, and that same freedom as before, knowing that there’s nowhere else he needs to be, no one expecting anything of him. That this is where he belongs.

A time passes, how long he can’t really say, before Hannibal finally breaks the silence. “Where are you?” he asks, fingers tracing against the freshly healed scar on Will’s temple. “Where have you gone?”

Will presses his cheek into Hannibal’s crown and holds him nearer. “I’m right here,” he says, and it’s true. He’s never been so present anywhere in his life. “Right where I want to be.”