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Most men don’t bother with the town doctor at all. No relationship, no acknowledgment. He, whoever he is, is often no more than a stranger in the street. To them, a bit of dirt or plants crushed into a paste and lathered onto wounds by their wives is enough.
Will was the same, albeit there has never been a wife to push him to go or to lather his wounds. The last doctor, Smyly they called him, was an old lecherous type. 60 or so, with thick glasses, and a gravely voice like he was constantly being strangled. Apparently, he used to go to church and poke at the young women’s ribs, telling them they needed to visit. Personally, Will never saw this, as he does not attend church, but he saw the way the man looked at the young women and girls out in town. Lustful, far too much for a man of his age.
That ended when Jack Crawford was named sheriff. He’s a law-abiding sort of man and is certain to have everyone obey. In Will’s opinion, it’s an appreciated change, not that it holds much stock in town. Smyly left, and they had a new position open.
Less than a month later Doctor Lecter came. Young, bright-eyed, and too smart for his own good. His impression was instantaneous, and the townsfolk adored him. The men trust him and respect him for his education, and Will knows the women swoon. (Single and not.)
When he first came to Will’s ranch—in an attempt to make the townspeople familiar with him, the young doctor was making house calls and such, offering free check ups—he met Hannibal with the end of his gun, but he is a charmer, and while he didn’t check him over, they did share a cup of whiskey between them once the gun was discarded. (It helps that he has a pretty face. Most people around here are hardened from life and the sun, wrinkled or just unsavory, but Hannibal is still milky and fresh. Fifteen years Will’s junior or so, he has all the excited narcissism young doctors do, and soft hands.)
Hannibal licked his bottom lip, a droplet of whiskey having collected there, and Will had said something to the effect of The girls in town must love you. Hannibal stared at him for a long time and vaguely nodded. Or is there a girl back home? Hannibal passed the cup back to Will and, with a determination he rarely sees in the young people here, he said, No, I am completely unattached.
He can still recall the offbeat thump of his heart when Hannibal said that. It pained him, and he fretted over that for a long time.
That was several months back now, and Will has spent more time with Hannibal than he has with anyone in town. They have a similar spirit; an intelligence and being that no one either of them has ever met shares. More too, although neither of them has been so open about that. At least, not directly.
They share a cup of whiskey — or wine if they’re at Hannibal’s — and speak about everything but the thing they want to.
“I’m here for my riding lesson,” Hannibal says, knocking as he enters Will’s large ranch house. His fine-tailored clothes complement his slender build and mark him as other in this place.
The ranch house is big and nice, especially compared to what others have here, with dark wood interior and plenty of furniture, but Hannibal has an air about him that always sticks out when he’s at Will’s table or moving through his rooms. A guest, but not someone who should be here.
Will is drinking a glass of whiskey. He’s been anxiously anticipating this visit as they have discussed in the past that Hannibal needs to learn to ride horses better. He’d asked if Will could teach him, to which he agreed. In a few minutes, Hannibal will look like he belongs here, he thinks. When the clothes are gone and they’re just people.
“Right.” Forcing a smile, Will stands and shoots back the last of his drink. His chest is flush, but he’s going to blame it on the whiskey. “Up here.”
They climb up to the loft. There are ranch hands out and about, and he doesn’t want them peeking in through the windows and seeing something that could get them both in serious trouble with the church and the law, although he would much prefer to do this downstairs.
The loft has a few quilts that Will laid out this morning and fresh hay, meant for visitors and the like, but he never has those. It’s dark, cold, and the ceiling is about three inches too short for them so they’ve stooped down slightly. It smells nice up here, like home—he used to sleep here as a boy—and that relaxes him. If these accommodations upset Hannibal, which was part of his earlier anxiety, he doesn’t tell Will.
Will settles down on the blankets first and Hannibal follows. He isn’t nervous at all, not outwardly, and in a lot of ways, neither is Will. The anxiety is gone suddenly, and his attention focuses on the person next to him.
For the time being, their clothes stay on and Will drags Hannibal down, pulling him over his chest, and kisses him hotly on the mouth. Hannibal takes fistfuls of his shirt, and moans as they taste each other for the first time. His body is warm and strong despite how slender it is, and when Will moves him so he’s lying fully on top of him, so Will can grind up against him, the slight weight is a comforting crush.
Will’s hands slide up his body, pulling at his shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath the layers.
It’s been so long since he’s held another person in this way, let alone a man. Hannibal isn’t just a man to him though, and they’re not going to simply romp around on the quilts and hay for ten minutes and then part. This means something, and he can feel it in every quiver of Hannibal’s body against him.
“Will—“ he tries to say, but it’s muffled by Will’s insistent mouth.
“I know,” he agrees, kissing him once more, tongue past his teeth. “I know.”
Finally, Will frees him and Hannibal rolls off of him to undress. Both of their clothes are crumpled now, and Will is hard and throbbing in his breeches. His shirt comes off first and then he wiggles out of his pants. Hannibal has peeled his clothes off with grace, revealing flush, pale skin with a variation of hard lines and soft slopes. Here and there, he finds a small freckle or flat mole.
Will is thicker from years of working out on the ranch. Stronger. He feels Hannibal’s dark eyes on him—so he sets his hand on his belly and rubs his thumb up and down over the supple flesh. He smiles at him and Hannibal returns it, far less superior than it usually is.
“We have time,” Will reminds himself aloud. And then, more gently to Hannibal, “To do whatever we want.”
Time is very rarely on anyone’s side, but especially not for men like them, and while he worries about the ranch hands looking in through the windows, none of them would dare come inside and he will have no visitors. Something like this could never happen at Hannibal’s. He’s far too busy, and he may even be called away while he’s here — it’s happened before — but they need to enjoy this.
Hannibal looks up at him, panting with need. His hard, little cock is leaking all over himself, and his body is pert and wanting.
“We can do anything,” Hannibal agrees through each heavy breath. “I need you to touch me, Will.”
The decisiveness of Hannibal’s commands eases Will, so he observes his nude body and decides he will touch him for however long he wants. Setting himself between Hannibal’s thighs, he slides his hands across his thighs and up to his hips, until they’re lying flat over his smooth belly. Their hard cocks are the least important things right now. Will is a greedy man. Of all the sins he has ever committed, it’s his greed that’ll send him to Hell, if there is such a place.
This gentle touch alone causes Hannibal to shiver, and his cock twitches and a fat droplet of precome beads and then drips down against his smooth skin.
“You’ve done this before,” Will surmises.
“No,” Hannibal says and then pauses, as if to reconsider. “I have been touched by another man, kissed, but nothing more. Only—“ He looks at his cock. “There.”
Will nods to himself. He thought opportunities like this might be more prevalent in the cities, but what does he know? The only time he’s been to a major city was for the purpose of selling cattle for meat, and he rarely does this himself. Then, he hadn’t noticed, or rather he wasn’t paying attention, to the inner workings of men like Hannibal. Most of them are married, after all, and whatever they’re doing is far more secretive than even this.
“I have,” he confesses, since they’re both being honest. Although, he suspects Hannibal knows as much since he promised him there’s no one better to teach him how to ride in town than him. “When I was younger.”
A ranch hand his father hired, two years older than Will. They fucked fast and rough in the barn, and did this every summer until Will turned 27. He only stopped because he realized that the ranch hand didn’t really want him and he, in the same way, did not really want him either.
He cut his tongue out and threw him in the river after the last time. He threatened to tell everyone when Will broke it off, having wanted a piece of his land.
Will forces himself to smile, once again smoothing his hands up and down Hannibal’s thighs and hips. “Just relax.”
Hannibal laughs warmly, “I’m not concerned.”
“How did he touch you?” he asks, both to gauge where Hannibal truly is in this and because something sharp and stinging has tightened under his ribs. Jealousy, he supposes, however unfair it is.
Hannibal watches Will’s hands. “Only with his hand, only quick and rough.”
Will nods. As were most interactions like this. A few minutes with a man of similar tastes, to get off and move on. One breath, and he decides that is not how this is going to go at all.
The first thing he decides to do is take Hannibal’s wet cock into his rough hand, and the other cups him and squeezes the soft flesh of his testicles, testing. Hannibal closes his eyes and takes one long, deep breath. So, he slides his hand down his cock, squeezing him in both places, and watches with uncontrollable gratification as Hannibal pushes all the air from his lungs with a choking moan.
Will does this a few times, watching as the flush works its way up Hannibal’s body before he adjusts, slides down across the warm quilts, and swallows his cock into his mouth. Hannibal squirms, the warmth of Will’s mouth startles him and his fingers dig into his hair and involuntarily, he tries to push Will's face down, which the older man enthusiastically obliges.
The flavor of his skin and precome is heady, something he had forgotten in these years, and Will rubs his tongue over the underside and then directly under the head, looking up over hooded eyes to make sure Hannibal likes it. Hannibal chokes and moans, rolling his hips up in a futile attempt to get his cock deeper into Will’s willing throat. The head hardly makes it to his tonsil. He moans without care, and although a deep-rooted panic is firm in Will’s gut, he allows him to do it. No one is going to hear him, and he does know that well.
Will bobs his head, meeting Hannibal’s pathetic thrusts into his mouth. The desperate need to be deeper than Hannibal can manage, and how easily Will swallows up his cock, has his own cock hard and aching.
He pulls back, his lip connected to Hannibal’s cock via a thread of spit, and when he squeezes the base once, just to test, Hannibal stiffens and comes as if he hadn’t expected it. Surprised and jerking. Will licks it up from the head of his cock, and swallows him again, watching as Hannibal tries and fails to keep himself together.
Will pulls all the way back, wipes his mouth, and sits himself between his thighs again. The come across Hannibal’s abdomen has already started to dry and there’s a thin sheen of sweat over both of them.
Unexpected is how he would describe it if he could. The easy way that Hannibal allows him to move his body, although he supposes he isn’t too good to be taught. He went to medical school, after all, and allowed older men to show him what to do here and there to save a human life. He pulls him by the hips—his soft hair puffs up under his head—resting Hannibal’s thigh on his legs, and slaps his cock next to his, against his lower abdomen, pleased to see how close it lands to his belly button. He’s trembling from coming, and Will feels as if whoever touched him before had not known what they were doing, and any women who may have done similar, was just as in the dark.
“You okay?” he asks tenderly.
Those dark eyes look up at him, a slight haze to them, but present and he opens his mouth and says, “Yes. I need you inside of me.”
Will slides his hands up his body, squeezing his narrow waist, and then over his chest. His fingers brush his nipples, just to see, and he is pleased to see Hannibal’s chest stutter. He must know this about himself.
He pinches one then, both trying to drag this out and to harden Hannibal’s cock again. (There are already ideas forming about what more he could do. Ways he might bring Hannibal to come or close enough.) He rolls the delicate flesh between his fingers, this way and that, listening as Hannibal’s breathing picks up again. All of the cold has seemingly bled out of the space and all he can feel is the warmth of him under his touch.
Finally, Hannibal whines and Will can’t ignore the hot throbbing of his own cock anymore. He slides back and digs through the hay, finding the oil he bought in town yesterday. An expensive purchase, meant for cooking, but a necessary one for this.
As he slicks up his fingers, he feels Hannibal’s eyes on him, watching. He has to wonder what all he knows, or rather, what all he has done to himself. A doctor like him, and so smart, he can’t imagine he wasn’t ever interested in seeing what might happen. Self-pleasure is the safest form of exploration, he has found, and he’s sure the good doctor would agree with that sentiment.
Once he’s satisfied, he slides his hand between Hannibal’s spread legs and begins to work one finger into him. This is when Hannibal is still, his hands lying flat on his belly, taking calculated and even breaths. Will isn’t rough with him, no matter how badly he’d like to sink into him. He’s careful and maybe, unintentionally, antagonizing as he shushes him. Then, he moves on to another finger and curls them in a mildly out-of-practice move, but he figures himself out and a muscle in Hannibal’s jaw twitches. He pumps his fingers in and out of him then, careful and slow, until it’s easy enough, and he’s certain about where he’s touching.
After, Will slicks his cock and pulls Hannibal up into his lap, which surprises him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Teaching you how to ride.” He picks him up by the hips, settles him over his cock, and slides him down about two inches. “That’s what your lesson was for, city boy. Don’t tell me you forgot?”
Hannibal grabs his shoulders tightly with his soft, unworked hands, holding himself completely still as Will slides him down his cock, inch by inch. The warmth of his body is so foreign to him that he nearly convulses when he’s halfway down. He could, he thinks, come from this alone.
“I don’t know what I expected,” he confesses, sounding as if he’s been punched.
It’s all very unlike Hannibal. Everything that Will knows about him revolves around his self-assured and worldly view of life, so to hear him this way now subdues Will. Maybe that’s the point? Maybe it’s fake? But he doesn’t necessarily think so. Hannibal’s hands are shaking and his fingers are playing with the curls at Will’s nape, and for once it feels like Hannibal is being completely open with him. This is likely the first time he’s been vulnerable in front of another person, and it’s a gift given to Will specifically.
“You’ve got it.” Will is kind enough to wait, one hand on his hip, the other on his back, stroking there until he relaxes. Hannibal’s legs flex around Will. “Just a little more, sweetheart.”
It takes two minutes, which feels like an eternity for Will, before Hannibal’s flush against him. He’s so tight and warm, there’s nothing Will can do but kiss his shoulder.
They both wait, enjoying the feeling of being so intertwined, before moving. Hannibal tries, rolling his hips slightly, but it’s Will that does the majority of the work. He keeps him steady and upright—this position is no good for someone who has never done more than receive a dry handjob—and bounces him. Not excessively, not more than he thinks the young man can handle, but enough that Hannibal whimpers and mewls.
Given the time that’s passed, it’s better for Will to pick the speed and depth anyway. He doesn’t want to finish too early, nor does he want to do too much with Hannibal all at once.
Hannibal’s clinging to him, which Will finds he enjoys a lot. It’s nice to be wanted and needed, especially by a man so kindred to him.
“That feels good?” he asks, pulling back enough to look at his face. Hannibal’s eyes are screwed shut, as if meeting the sharp lust of Will’s gaze is too much for him to handle. Will moves his hand for a moment, just to press his thumb to Hannibal’s chin and angle his face. “Look at me.”
Hannibal blinks and obeys, staring into Will’s eyes and he’s made to ride him more quickly. For once, Will doesn’t tear his eyes away, gorging himself on the sweet faces Hannibal makes each time his cock is fully inside of him again, and the way his crooked teeth sink into his lips until they’re nearly bloody.
“Don’t stop,” Hannibal moans. “I need—harder. Harder, Will.”
Will brings him down harder then, his cock is throbbing against his soft insides, and Hannibal’s is leaking all over their bare stomachs. Neither of them is going to last much longer, but Will doesn’t mind that too much. They’ll rest for a few minutes and go again until Hannibal can fuck himself on Will efficiently.
“I feel you everywhere,” Hannibal whines and touches himself just below the belly button, “in my soul, Will. Right there.”
He nods, kissing his swollen lips. “I know, I can feel you too.”
Will rolls his hips as he brings Hannibal down, pleased as those dark eyes widen and his cock twitches and spurts come.
“No, no,” he cries, “not yet.”
Shushing him, Will brings him down one last time and grinds up against him. His cock twitches. “Fuck, I’m coming.”
With one hand, he grabs Hannibal by the back of the head and pulls them flush, pumping come deep inside of him without care.
Hannibal clings, trembling. It’s now that Will fully realizes that Hannibal is the sort of man to give himself fully to passion, to enjoy every bit of it. He kisses him softer than he had before and settles him on the quilts so he can rest on top of Hannibal. He kisses him as he pleases and staves away the shivers that’ve started to rack his body. Will always runs hot.
He presses his lips to his sweaty hair, breathing him in.
“Will you fuck me again?” Hannibal asks.
Will laughs, “You have patients in town, doctor. They’re probably lined up waiting for you to stitch them up.”
Hannibal digs his nails into his back until the skin bunches up and burns. There’s a strange moment of panic. “Are you sending me home?”
Will soothes him immediately, petting his hair and kissing him. It’s easy to admit that he likes the vulnerability gifted to him, and to acknowledge that he’s the one person able to get this out of Hannibal is exciting. “I’m only teasing you, sweetheart. Lay still for a few minutes, you need to breathe, then we can go again.” He thinks for a second. “Although, I think it’ll take more lessons. A couple of weeks, at least.”
Hannibal nuzzles his face against Will’s, cheek against cheek. He holds him, waiting for the shaking in his body to lessen.