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A Simple Spanking

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Hannibal opened his door with his customary punctuality, ushered Will inside with his customary brand of charged politeness and stood waiting as Will took in his entirely uncustomary state of dress. No jacket, no vest, just a cream-coloured shirt framed by ink-black suspenders.

“What happened to your armour?” Will asked, brushing past and dropping his own coat onto the back of his seat before sauntering towards the desk.

Hannibal ran a hand down his shirt, against the dark line of his suspenders and made a small, disgruntled noise. “A patient made the unwise decision to visit despite a rather severe bout of the cold. They compounded their foolishness by sneezing on my sleeve.”

“Rude. Destined for your list, Doctor Lecter?” Will asked, his tone dry, an eyebrow cocked to read as amusement.

“To what list do you refer, Will?” Hannibal’s placidity remained unbroken as he came to stand by the desk where Will now perched.

“Or perhaps it's not a list,” Will went on, ignoring the question. “A spreadsheet, maybe. An app on your phone. No, can't imagine that.” He might have been lightly mocking his friend for some eccentricity, his tone so amiable. “Not refined enough, not classical enough for you.”

“Will.” Hannibal would indulge this teasing but there was a warning rippling somewhere around him. He wondered how long it would take Will to pluck the word Rolodex from his imagination.

“What's the matter, doctor? Don't like discussing the finer administrative details of your proclivities?” Later, Will would not be able to pinpoint what made him do it, to reach out a hand, slide a finger between the tension of suspender and shoulder blade, and meet Hannibal's eyes as he twanged it in what he had intended as half-jest, half-defiance. He would remember clearly, though, the way Hannibal's pupils blew as the elastic snapped back tight, the faint ahh that fell from his mouth. The speed with which Hannibal contained himself and the way it wasn't fast enough.

Will swallowed. Something roiled inside him that felt like power. “You liked that,” he breathed. Hannibal turned his head and the thing inside Will roared. He shot out his hand to grip Hannibal's jaw and force his gaze back. “You like that I hurt you. You like being hurt.”

Hannibal wore that blank expression Will had come to realise meant he didn't know what emotion he should be projecting. Then he breathed deeply and his eyes flickered down to Will’s crotch, his lips hitching before he spoke. “Apparently, you do too.”

Will was only aware then that he was hard.

Before he could reply, Hannibal was on his feet, gliding towards his armchair. “Come,” he said, composure utterly secure, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Will watched, a little dazed, a little entranced, a lot shaken by the whiplash shifts in their dynamic. For a moment, a bare ten seconds, Will had tasted control over Hannibal. It was what he had been fostering, attempting to foster, for weeks and there it was, hidden where Will had never thought to look. And then it was gone again, sucked under by the riptide of Hannibal’s composure.

Will felt himself thirsting to feel it once more, and for longer. So he rose and followed, to take his place once more opposite Hannibal. He settled himself as best he could and resolutely refused to mirror the other man’s crossed legs, instead planting his feet on the floor, his hands palm down on the rests.

“It seems we have discovered some more common ground between us,” Hannibal offered.

“A shared interest to be pursued together. Like friends.”

“Which is precisely what we are, Will, I thought we had agreed on that.”

“This doesn't seem very friendly, doctor.”

“It can be.” Hannibal persisted in being matter-of-fact, not giving Will the inch he wanted. “Two people giving each other something they want. Sounds perfectly friendly to me.”

“Simple as that,” Will said. Hannibal inclined his head in agreement and Will felt his patience fray a little. “Alright, since we're being simple, let's define exactly what we're talking about.”

“Alright.” There were parts of Hannibal's history he was not yet ready to share with Will but this facet he could relinquish without remorse. “From time to time I enjoy experiencing pain delivered upon me by a partner.”

“And by ‘enjoy’ you mean…”

“As part of a sexual encounter, yes.”

Will felt his breath come ragged, and scrubbed a hand across his face for a moment's respite. From behind it he asked, “Is this something you do with all your partners?” A particular name hung in the air between them.

Hannibal brushed what Will was certain was an imaginary speck of dust from his thigh. “It is something I indulged in often when I was younger, very rarely in recent years. And certainly not with every partner.”

Will cocked his head. “Takes a certain type.”

“Indeed.”

“So Alana hasn't been using her hairbrush as a paddle.”

There was bitterness in the words that Will couldn't conceal and Hannibal narrowed his eyes in response. “An interesting choice of words, given what I once offered to be for you.”

“And singularly failed in your promise. Perhaps I was thinking of the wrong kind of paddle.”

Hannibal smiled at this. “Perhaps you were. Perhaps it is time for a different offer. You have mentioned, after all, that you have entertained thoughts of hurting me.”

“Of killing you.”

“Ah, well, perhaps not all of your dreams can come true. But there may be scope for some.”

There was power to be seized here, of more than one kind. Hannibal weakened by blows, perhaps willingly bound. That invited possibilities Will had not thought open to him.

“How would this work?”

“You and I would negotiate terms, before entering a new phase in our relationship.”

Relationship,” Will spat the word. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Doctor Lecter? Because I believe that position’s already filled.”

“Is it a role you would like, Will?” The gleam in Hannibal’s eyes drew a growl from Will.

“Don't.” He was aware of a strange reluctance to indulge in anything so mundane as definitions. “I won't engage in anything while you're with Alana.”

“That can be easily arranged.”

Hannibal’s expression was entirely too easy, too smug, too full of confidence that he could get exactly what he wanted, how and when he wanted it. Will's fingers twitched to smack it cruelly from him.

“And there will be nothing romantic involved. Neither of us is capable of or interested in it.”

Hannibal shifted his shoulders the barest degree, holding in the pride he felt at Will’s growing understanding of both Hannibal and himself. Will would never allow himself to be caught like Alana, lulled by soft words and tender gestures. And romantic certainly fell some way short of encompassing Hannibal's own interest in the man.

“What will this be for us, then, Will?”

“I want to hurt you and fuck you. Possibly simultaneously. Does that work for you?”

Hannibal’s tongue flicked between his lips and, unbidden, Will found himself mirroring the action. “Yes, Will, I believe that will be most acceptable. Would you like to start now?”

“What happened to negotiation?”

“Call it a trial run. A test of compatibility before we set anything in motion.”

Will knew, from the desire burning low inside him, there would be no issue with that.

“Did you have something in mind, doctor?” Will wondered, amused, if Hannibal had any helpful equipment stashed in his pristine office.

“I thought perhaps a simple spanking might do to start things off.”

Will felt himself swallow roughly, his skin already prickling with sweat. The way those words sounded in Hannibal's refined accent was, he could admit, a little thrilling. “Across my lap?” he asked, attempting to see Hannibal allowing that.

“Against the desk, this time, I think.”

“With my hands?”

Hannibal felt a spreading satisfaction at the way Will drew out the words. “It does seem to be a recurrent theme with you, dear Will. A latent desire, perhaps.”

Will’s lip curled and he snapped, “A little gauche to attempt psychoanalysis in this context, doctor.”

“My apologies. I will attempt to curtail my insight, as far as possible.”

Will closed his eyes and, for a moment, Hannibal wondered if he might simply get up and leave. He wondered if he would allow Will to do so. There might be something to leaving this train of thought to fester, to seeing whether the thrum of desire would amplify and bring Will back to him, unable for once to process without direct experience.

“Go on, then,” Will said, his eyes open again and his tone low, commanding. Apparently, he had no interest in delaying. Hannibal allowed his musings to slip away into the infinite well of untapped possibilities.

“Would you like to direct me, Will?”

The swell of arousal and the strain in his pants alerted Will to the fact that he would very much like to do just so. What lucid thought was left to him focused on whether this truly was an impulse that had only sprung into being ten minutes ago, given how very eager he appeared to be. Then Will decided that his lucid thoughts needed to be stamped on rather vigorously and directed his attention instead to the deceptively biddable man before him.

“Go stand by the desk. I want to look at you before I decide.”

Hannibal did as commanded, rising smoothly from his seat and taking up station, leaning a hip against the desk with an insouciance Will found himself eager to remove. He allowed his gaze to rake the length of the doctor’s form. It would hardly be the first time Will had allowed himself to appreciate Hannibal's once-unexpected physique – the difficulty involved in hauling bodies had explained much about why a psychiatrist had such well-defined shoulders and strong-muscled thighs – but he had always kept it to fleeting glances, nothing more intrusive than mild curiosity.

He was about to get very intrusive indeed.

“You asked what this will be for us, doctor. Tell me, what is it for you?”

“What do I get out of this, you mean? I thought psychoanalysis had been deemed gauche.”

“I've never been as refined as you. Indulge me, briefly.”

“Aside from the continued pleasure of your company, particularly when new facets of your psychology are revealed to me,” Will sneered at this but made no move to interrupt, “I find the state of mind that can be achieved in this setting to be both refreshing and liberating.”

“The illusion of giving up control without actually giving it up?”

Hannibal didn’t answer but Will caught the tick at the corner of his mouth and took it as agreement. He also decided to take it as permission. “Take off your pants.”

This time, an eyebrow lifted and Will allowed his gaze to be caught and pinned. A year ago, this would have been unbearable. Now, he simply returned Hannibal’s searching look with a mild one of his own. Will was coming out of this scenario a winner either way.

He thought perhaps a full minute had gone by when Hannibal finally moved his hands towards his belt, unfastening with his eyes still locked onto Will’s. Will smirked and, having got what he wanted, allowed his gaze to drift downwards, his preferred battle won. The belt was laid on the table, carefully coiled around itself. Next, Hannibal’s long fingers worked the button on his trousers, took down the zip and hooked into his waistband. Will sat forward in his seat as Hannibal paused, giving him a moment to reconsider.

“I don’t think I told you to stop, doctor,” Will’s voice came, low and throaty. It drew a near-imperceptible shudder from Hannibal and he wondered if he was the only one to notice. From the predatory gleam in Will’s eyes, he thought not. There was a rustle as his pants were allowed to drop and pool at his ankles.

“Would you like to fold those?” Will asked, drawing a genuine smile from Hannibal with his courtesy.

“If you would permit it, sir.”

“Don’t do that.” Hannibal snapped his eyes up to meet Will’s, who was wearing a fierce expression. “I don’t want that, it’s not you.”

“Is there something you would like me to address you as?” Hannibal could barely keep the glee from his voice.

“Just Will. I…” it seemed to require an effort on Will’s part to say the next words. “I like the way you say my name.”

Inside, Hannibal thrilled at the admission. Outside, he simply nodded. “Alright, Will. I would appreciate the opportunity to fold these, otherwise they will wrinkle quite badly.” Will nodded in turn and watched as Hannibal removed and set aside his shoes, retrieved and folded his trousers precisely, and set them next to the belt.

“Would you like me to go further?” Hannibal asked.

Will stood, unable to remain still with the thrum of arousal coursing through him. He slid towards Hannibal, who still seemed barely affected by the scenario. Will felt a surging need to change that, already irritated that he had given Hannibal an admission of his own.

Coming to stand before the half-dressed doctor, he paused only a moment and then walked around him, taking in the sight. He suspected Hannibal was preening under his gaze and that was… Will wasn’t sure whether that was more infuriating or gratifying. Both, with Hannibal it was usually both.

He stepped in close, fitting himself against Hannibal’s back and enjoying the heat coming from him, the deepening of his breath. Gently, brushing the skin just above, he placed his hands against the waistband of his doctor’s black silk briefs and lifted his mouth to his ear, murmuring, “Do you think we can do without these?”

He felt Hannibal swallow and then hands came up to cover his, with the words, “I believe we can.”

Together, they pushed this last barrier down, Will stepping back to allow Hannibal to step out of the briefs and place them with the rest of his clothing. Quietly, voice much rougher than he had intended, he instructed, “Bend over, palms flat on the desk,” and felt a corresponding jolt of power and desire as Hannibal did so without a word.

With space again between them, Will took the chance to examine the sight spread out for him. Hannibal's skin was not flawless; there were faded scars in places, Will knowing they had been collected by the Ripper. He felt a momentary urge to flip Hannibal over and check to see whether his thigh still bore Budge’s mark. What would it be like to mark Hannibal like that, to leave permanent note of his presence in this creature’s life?

Instead, he contented himself in the taut musculature of Hannibal's calves, the dark hair that laced his thighs, the swell of golden skin pressed tight against the dark length of his desk. Will reached out, telling himself it was only to prove that he could, and grazed his palm against the flesh of Hannibal's buttock. He almost withdrew when he felt the older man press back against it but it was more from sensory overload than any desire to actually do so. Not with Hannibal warm and pliant beneath him.

“Are you ready?”

“Please, Will. Begin.”

The first smack drew a gasp, not from Hannibal but Will. He had meant it to be harsh, to shock either him or Hannibal back to their senses enough to stop this, but he hadn't expected to leave a perfect handprint, blooming crimson and obscene. Enthralled, he passed his still-tingling palm across the mark, petting and soothing the heated flesh.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, turning his head just slightly.

Still lingering on the evidence of his blow, Will told him, “Count them.”

Hannibal waited, wanting to watch whatever war was being waged within the younger man at that moment but unwilling to move and break the spell. “One.”

Another slap came down, this one against the inside of his thigh and Hannibal could not halt the grunt that escaped him, nor the peak of arousal it caused. Above him, Will hesitated, asking, “Alright?”

“Two. Keep going.”

Another, lower on the same thigh and then two more against his backside, the smack of flesh against flesh ringing into the stillness of the office.

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

Both men were panting now, and a breathless moan escaped Hannibal as he counted the fifth smack. The sound of it flared inside Will, who had briefly forgotten his arousal in sheer fascination at the pain tingling in his palm and imagining how it must feel for Hannibal. It came roaring back now, in response to Hannibal’s voice, which rang with lust rather than pain. He placed a hand on the small of Hannibal's back, where his shirt had ridden up to expose skin and felt the sheen of sweat that covered it.

“Can you take some more?” he asked, dismissing the urge to stroke the bared flesh soothingly.

Once more, Hannibal turned his head slightly and moaned, “Please, Will, please keep going.”

The next blow caught just at the junction of thigh and buttock and the sting caused Hannibal to buck against the desk, caught between wanting the pain to continue and the increasing need for release. When he felt Will’s own still-clothed erection pressed up against him in response, he determined to allow him to continue for as long as he wished, dimly aware that they had not set a limit on the number of blows. He had not, in all honesty, expected to get as high as “Six.” Underestimating Will Graham was getting to be a nasty habit.

And then Will was speaking, rutting up against Hannibal and reaching round to take him in hand. “Tell me I can…”

“Yes.”

Will's weight lifted for a moment as he stood to turn Hannibal over, to roughly push down his own pants and boxers, but then he was back again, grinding them together. Will found he couldn't stop himself from meeting Hannibal's eyes, finding in them the same mix of bliss and hunger that was driving his climax.

It was too much, at last, and he buried his face in the man’s shoulder instead, focusing on how very good it felt to rub against hard muscle and heated cock. And then Hannibal was reaching between them, taking both easily in hand – and neither of them was small and wasn't that unexpectedly pleasing – and stroking his own length together with Will’s, drawing shuddering supplications of pleasure from his lips.

It was, by far, the best thing Will had ever felt.

“Hannibal, I'm going to…”

“Yes Will, let it happen.”

So he did, calling his doctor’s name and pulsing release across his flesh, followed soon by Hannibal's own climax.

Breathless, boneless and shaking, Will did not anticipate Hannibal leaning up to kiss him. It was not how Will had imagined it – and now, now, he had to admit that he had imagined it – not brutal and claiming and bloody. Instead it was soft, a little sloppy and full of need. He sagged down into it, into reciprocation, his mouth soon open to allow Hannibal to press inside, moaning approval. It was the noise that brought Will back to himself, gave him the strength to push Hannibal back firmly and tell him, “No.” He kept his tone free of recrimination, it had been as much his fault as the man beneath him. “Nothing romantic, Hannibal. I don't want it and I don't want you pretending you do. You can't control this like that.”

“My apologies, Will,” Hannibal said, dipping his head almost coyly. It had not been control he had been seeking in kissing Will but there was no need to let him know that. “You cannot blame a man for trying, though.”

A bark of a laugh at this and Hannibal allowed the spread of a smile.

“Not when there are so many other things you should be blamed for, no.” Will flicked a glance down the body he still rested atop of. “I think we've proved our compatibility in this respect, doctor.”

“A resounding success, I agree. Though perhaps you might consider returning to using my first name, in light of it.”

“Alright, Hannibal,” agreed Will, dragging his name out into a drawl. “So I take it we’ll be doing this again, then?”

“As soon as we have agreed to terms.”

Will finally peeled himself off of Hannibal and stood, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ok, let's talk.”