Work Text
Fuck /fʌk/
Vulgar Slang / Verb.1. to have sexual intercourse with (someone).
2. To damage or ruin (something).
The first time they have sex, it’s over within minutes.
The months of pent-up sexual tension - crackling between them like a geiger counter - means that when it finally happens, when they finally acknowledge it, it’s like a dam bursting. The small, seemingly accidental touches have been increasing for weeks, the morning encounters on the landing leaving the shower room, the lingering glances, all pebbles dropped into water, raising the level until it inevitably spilled out over the top. And in the end, the moment comes as a result of the most innocuous of gestures.
They’re sitting side by side under the loggia, talking of everything and nothing as they so often do of an evening, and Will leans across his body to fill his wine glass. It’s such a simple domestic gesture, Hannibal hasn’t asked him to do it, Will has just noticed and acted, and as he tips the bottle it seems as if a spark arcs between them.
Will stops pouring and Hannibal leans in.
It’s so gentle and natural an action that even as he does so, he wonders why on earth it’s taken him so long, what it was he was so very afraid of. Will kisses him back with a soft, almost distracted affection, which within a second or two shifts like the facets of a diamond: light to dark, and then his lower lip is trembling slightly against Hannibal’s.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that all day.”
His breath is a warm flutter in Hannibal’s mouth, and Hannibal can feel heat flushing through his own body like blood dropped, spreading, into water. They hover millimetres apart, and the sensation is so delicious he can hardly bear it. His whole body is tense with anticipation, like a bow at full stretch. And then Will’s mouth is on his, covering it, hot and urgent, and he’s pushing himself into his lap, holding his face captive between trembling palms. Hannibal buries fingers deep in his hair, cradles his skull. He wants to consume him, absorb him, because suddenly no amount of physical contact can be enough, and because Will’s little shudders and soft groans and breathless little utterances are driving him out of his mind.
“Oh…jesus…” Will says at some point, and Hannibal can’t tell if it’s a vague grasp at self-governance or just something he says when he’s turned on. Some distant idea that he might be reconsidering flits through his head, and in the end it’s probably this that makes him act so recklessly. Unzipping his own fly and Will’s in a virtually simultaneous movement, he dives a hand into the warm, musk-scented darkness and wraps it around Will’s cock before the other man even has time to draw breath.
“Fu…”
And Hannibal kisses the word from his mouth as it starts, pulls Will’s achingly hot erection against his own and wraps his fingers around both of them. Will makes a sound that almost exactly resembles the one he made as he slid a knife into his belly, grinds against him maybe only three or four times, and then comes over his shirtfront with a shout that is a combination of joy, alarm and surprise. Then he collapses forward, his face buried in the crook of Hannibal’s neck and just lies there, gasping for breath.
Hannibal’s erection sandwiched stickily between their bodies feels impossibly hard and tight. Flexing his fingers around it, and Will’s rapidly softening one, he draws in a single long deep breath.
“That was…unexpected.”
Will’s lips against his collarbone move, he may be smiling.
“If you’re expecting me to apologise, I’m not going to.”
Hannibal rasps his chin against the other man’s neck, bites down softly.
“No apologies necessary,” he flexes his hand again, releasing his grip on them both, “Or reciprocation.”
Will pulls back, sitting upright. For a moment it seems as if he might be struggling with self-consciousness, straddling Hannibal’s lap with his come spread over the other man’s front, but then his eyes come up. Resting clear and bright on him.
“Let’s go inside and clean up,” he slides off backwards, and stands. “And then let’s do this again. This time, upstairs.”
After that, everything changes.
His bed becomes Will’s bed, and his body becomes Will’s to do with as he pleases. Used to being the dominant partner in all his previous relationships, Hannibal is shocked to realise how readily he accepts Will’s casual wielding of sexual power over him. Having always been the first of the two to awake in the mornings, he now finds himself roused daily by a clearly alert and voracious bedmate, sometimes without even a word of greeting. Will grinds his erection against the cleft of Hannibal’s buttocks and mouths his neck, like he’s been eagerly screwing men for years rather than weeks. It would almost be scandalous, if it wasn’t so incredibly arousing.
“Jesus, you feel so good…” he mumbles, and Hannibal arches back against him like a cat that’s being stroked on the sweet spot.
Will’s hand on his cock is firm and authoritative, stroking him in time with the urgent rutting against his perineum, between his thighs. Gasping at the intensity of his feeling, he chews at Hannibal’s earlobe, whispers harshly into his ear,
“God…Hannibal… god, I just want to fu…”
And Hannibal turns his head and covers his mouth with his own, dragging on his lips with his teeth until they come together, hot and messy, gasping each other’s names into their mouths.
Will is stretched over the mattress when he comes to bed that evening, the long, softly curved length of him face-down on the coverlet as he reads a book he has spread open on floor. Looking up, he smiles slyly as he sees Hannibal’s expression - helpless, so obviously and totally smitten - and then turns back to his book. Ruffled slightly, Hannibal goes to brush his teeth in the en suite, then in the absence of any other sign, arranges the pillows behind him and picks up a magazine.
A minute or two passes before Will speaks.
“Are you aware that you have…a problem with certain words?”
He’s still looking down at his book, even turns a page as he speaks, as if he could be asking him a question based on something he’s just read. Surprised, Hannibal looks up from the article he had quickly become engrossed in.
“I’m unsure what you mean, Will.”
The other man closes his book and rolls sideways. Propping himself on one elbow, he looks Hannibal squarely in the eyes, calm and serious.
“When we’re in bed together, there are certain words you don’t seem to like. Words that…I guess…seem just like the natural stuff you say when you’re in the moment.”
He’s half-hard already, and the sight of him stretched out, all sinew and soft edges angling to dark hair is hopelessly distracting. Letting his eyes move up and down his body, Hannibal wets his lips.
“Am I to understand you’d like me to be more…vocal?” Putting his magazine on the night stand, he catches one of Will’s ankles in his palm and pulls on it, “To my recollection, my contribution hasn’t been lacking in that area.”
“Oh don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty damned chatty,” Will resists the tug, pushing at him with his other foot, “Admittedly I don’t understand a lot of it, but even in Lithuanian it’s still hot as hell.”
Hannibal softens the pull to a caress, tracing the curve of Will’s calf muscle.
“Forgive me then, but I’m struggling to understand your question.”
Clearly exasperated, Will gives a groan, pulling himself up onto his haunches. The muscles of his belly clench, forming dark lines through his torso that Hannibal immediately wants to bite, but Will pushes his hand away.
“This morning, when I was behind you, talking into your ear, you stopped me when I started to say f…”
“I stopped you?”
Will’s eyes widen, and he gives his head a shake of complete disbelief.
“Oh my god, you just did it again.”
Hannibal smoothes the palms of his hands down over the covers and looks at them most severely, as if they’ve offended him somehow.
“Will. Please. I have no idea what you’re talking about. My memory of this morning’s events is obviously different to your own, but perhaps it is testament to my own deep emotional involvement that I cannot recollect the exact…”
“No,” Will glares at him, warningly, “No, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare pretend that.”
And then he’s in his lap again, thighs straddling him, hands pressing down on his own, holding them prisoner.
“Don’t you dare try and say I’m less caught up in it than you, that’s bullshit and you know it.”
His fingers circle his wrists, gentler now,
“I just…I don’t like the idea that you’re holding back. Controlling yourself. Or worse still, trying to control me." He cocks his head, “And why? Because you don’t like the word 'fuck'?”
Hannibal’s lip curls. He can’t help it, it’s involuntary. He could throw Will off him with just a flick of his hips, send him tumbling to the floor and then pull him into a chokehold until he stopped breathing, stopped talking about this, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he just turns his face to the side like an angry child.
“It’s a vulgar word. And I dislike it.”
Will grins, and despite his annoyance the sight still warms him, still makes his heart contract painfully in his chest. Leaning forward, Will presses a soft, close-mouthed kiss to first one side of his lips, and then the other. His hands move along Hannibal’s forearms, gently gripping the corded muscles.
“It’s a verb, Hannibal. Just a verb. And sometimes, it’s a beautiful verb,” he trails his lips along his jaw and then dips down to suck a kiss to the underside, “Beautiful because it’s raw. It’s real. It says just what it means. I would have thought you of all people would appreciate that.”
His lips are distracting and persuasive, and Hannibal gives a little grunt in reply that may or may not be grudging acquiescence. Will’s teeth skate along his skin, his hands tightening on him, and Hannibal flushes, breath catching in his throat.
“Have you any idea what it does to me when I see you like this? Flushed and panting, wanting me? All those years buttoned up in those suits, and now this,” his fingers move up onto Hannibal’s shoulders, tracing the heavy muscles there, “Coming undone under my hands. Opening up for me like ripe fruit.”
And Hannibal shudders at that, a moan caught just at the base of his throat, right where Will’s teeth and tongue are gently pressing.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Will…” he can’t help the little plea in his voice, the last vestige of his control, “Can’t we just…”
“What do you want me to do to you, Hannibal?”
His voice has a low sing-song quality, teasing and oddly dangerous. Pushing him back against the headboard, he presses in closer, his erect cock nosing against Hannibal’s belly in such a way he just has to arch up to meet it. Will moves a hand down to the sheet covering him, and pulls it away.
Exposed to the air, Hannibal’s own erection feels ridiculously hot and rigid, but ignoring it, Will slides his fingers along the crease of his thigh to press against his perineum. As he moves his body forward, he presses the blunt tip of his thumb into him.
“You want me inside you. So ask for it. Tell me what you want.”
A sound is caught behind Hannibal’s lips, halfway between a shout and a groan. Twisting his hips, he pushes himself down onto Will’s thumb, and almost laughs when he sees the fleeting look of surprise on his face. Determined not to be outmanoeuvred though, the other man simply presses in with a second finger, and then a third. There’s a look on his face now that says he’s determined to win this battle between them, and Hannibal could happily eat him alive for it.
He’s not expecting his next move though. Reaching to the left of them, Will pulls out the drawer of Hannibal’s nightstand and shoves a hand inside. When he withdraws it, the tube of KY Jelly that Hannibal purchased only a week before sits comfortably in his palm and, without breaking eye contract, Will flips the top and drizzles the contents down onto his upturned palm. Withdrawing his fingers, he deftly coats them and his cock, and then replaces his hand with a near-expert twist. Hannibal makes a sound a little like a dog that’s been smacked with a newspaper.
“I’m waiting.”
There’s a touch of impatience to his voice now, but it feels playful, like he’s still a ways off trying everything he’s willing to. Sensing he might still gain the advantage, Hannibal concentrates on controlling his breathing, regulating his heartbeat. Bearing down on Will’s hand, he moistens his lips with his tongue and looks at him though half-lidded eyes.
“Then you should settle in. You may be there for some time.”
Will shakes his head, and there is something glittering and dark in the depths of his blue eyes now. Angling his body back, he removes his fingers and pushes the head of his cock down to press against the softened muscle of Hannibal’s hole. At the same time, he leans forward and, with just a moment’s pause to look him in the eyes, swallows down nearly the entire length of him. The insane heat of his mouth and the drag of his teeth against skin is exquisite, and it’s everything Hannibal can do not to jam his hips upwards and choke him with the rest.
“Will, please…”
Will’s lips slide off him with a tiny gasp. Rolling his hips forward, he grins.
“Say it.”
“I…”
Hannibal’s face is smeared with lust, he can feel tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead, sweat trickling on his temples, down through the hair on his chest. Will Graham is slowly wrecking him, and frankly he can’t get enough of it. He tries to push down as Will holds him by the hips, but now he can see his eyes and he’s every bit as wrecked by this as he is, every bit as desperate. And in the end, that’s enough to do it.
“Just…fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”
And the hot tight slide inwards is transcendent, all the more so accompanied as it is by the full-throated groan Will gives as he shoves inside. Hannibal’s muscles give in eagerly and he arches into it, like it hasn’t been at least thirty years since the last time he allowed anyone to do this to him.
“Oh…fuck…”The words fall from Will’s lips as he bends over him, fingers spasming on Hannibal’s hips, and he draws back, snaps forward, draws back, as if he’s being pulled by some hidden, irresistible force. He rolls his hips and Hannibal groans, pushing his fingers back into his own sweating hairline.
“Fuck.”
And the word feels just fine on his lips. Just perfect. As perfect as the man held between his thighs, looking at him with the exact same wide-eyed disbelieving look as he knows he’s wearing. Will drapes himself over his body and finds his mouth, slides his tongue in, and thrusts slowly and deliberately forward with each dip inwards.
“Fuck Hannibal, you feel so fucking good.”
His hand wraps around Hannibal’s cock, held tight between them, and the combination of the three points of contact; the deep hot length of Will inside him, the tongue in his mouth and hand on his dick is ultimately too much. Hannibal’s vision goes white, and he arches up as he comes, shoulders pressing down hard into the bed. He knows he's shouting but hardly knows what, until Will is shouting it too and coming inside him, and then laughing against his mouth, one after another.
Coming to his senses, Hannibal feels light-headed, like he’s been sideswiped, but now he can’t help laughing as well. Will’s delight is infectious, and framing his face with his hands, he kisses the sounds as they escape his lips. Will breathes, laughs, breathes again and his expression is tired and blissful. Entirely beautiful.
“I think I cured you.”
Hannibal smirks, shifting his hips against him. Will is still half hard inside him, and he doesn’t want to let him go just yet. Not just yet. Not when he looks so perfect, so satisfied and beatific, so very well…
“I still consider it a vulgar word,” he says, and his teeth graze Will’s nipple, making him sigh and twitch against him, “Although, I will allow you, maybe it has its place.”
FIN