Chapter Text
The Italian countryside was singing with golden washes of morning sun gliding down hills of oak and chestnut. Green fields rolled off into the distance stretching from Siena to Monte Amiata. The air was still pleasantly cool with the early breeze. Tall branches from lush trees peaked above grey stone towers, some overlooking small alcoves with a maze of arches leading off in all directions. Bird song gathered in a twee chorus and travelled up to Will’s open window. A solitary sheer curtain played in the breeze.
He could hear above the bird song a distant clatter of chairs and clinking of glass. It was about time for the preparation. Will rose from his warm sheets, still pushing one hand into the plush of the pillow. The air in the room was fresh from the night and brought some cool relief from the sweat that threatened to pool in the dip of his back. His feet padded soundlessly across the tile floor on the way to the bathroom. It was beautiful but empty. After almost a year of waking to a warm body and deep musk, the absence of Hannibal was stark. Though only separated by a few rooms, Will let his fingers linger on the side of the sink that his partner would normally occupy. He traced the outline of a razor, a toothbrush and a small soap bar.
His eyes focused on the door in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Through its opening he saw the groom's suit hanging from the wardrobe where Hannibal put it the night before. A tad anticlimactic for the traditional ‘don’t see the bride beforehand’. Will joked at the time that Hannibal was the bride as his fiance's suit was still unknown to him. Hannibal smiled and kissed him warmly before disappearing for the night. Flashes of Lithuania roared past him as he focused on the white cloth of the suit. Snow trampled with gravel; pale flesh drained of blood; Franklyn’s dilated pupils staring blankly upward in silent prayer. Will gripped the cold marble to ground himself.
Almost a year had passed since the first kill. What followed the ceremony in Lecter Castle unravelled itself like a serpent, unrushed in its lazy content. The Lithuanian police were slow to act when contacted by the US international team. Franklyn was only noticed missing by his Mother, who herself only noticed after her son did not return from his trip. It took almost 4 months after the disappearance for Will and Hannibal to be contacted. Even then, they were mainly questioned about their knowledge of Franklyn’s relationship with a local man. On the bad nights after being interviewed, when Will bit his lip and woke far from his bed, Hannibal would fix him a drink then whisper that all was as planned. 11 months after being reported missing the case was closed. Franklyn could not be found; not that there was much of him left to find. Investigators met a dead end. Between bad international relations, a strange online presence and a relationship with a known local criminal, Franklin was not only impossible to locate but for some officials, impossible to decipher.
His social life was a perturbing web of grandiose lies. By the by, everyone that knew him was methodically bought in over a series of months. First, his Mother who cried about her son’s mysterious injuries only some time before. Then, Tobias, who knew more than he cared to about Franklyn’s young protege in Lithuania. Franklyn spoke often, and too freely in Tobias’ opinion, of his wild nights with a foreign boy. It was Tobias who confirmed that Franklyn was assaulted in his home by strange assailants and explained he didn’t report this incident because of ‘an inflated sense of self’. Franklin knew himself as a lover at last, was triumphant in displaying his injuries, exalted even in explaining to anyone who would listen that he was in a battle of passion. He spent one evening in a bougie new cocktail lounge jutting his jaw to pronounce his split lip at anyone who looked at him.
In that way, Tobias’ statements were the most damning. Not to Will or Hannibal, but to Franklyn himself. A murky fresco began to appear on the dull plaster of Franklyn’s life. A man consumed with love; burning in his flesh and hungering with all his might for a meal that would not ever grace his lips. Then, the final nail in the coffin. Franklyn’s young stripper was called forward to make a statement. There lay his final condemnation. With the words in ink, it was thought by most that Franklyn was a repeat offending stalker who foolishly got himself involved with a criminal’s lover. His fate ultimately lay in the dark hands of a crime syndicate that left no trace of him and would never admit to any wrong-doing. So went the tragic tale of Franklyn Froidreaux.
Everything clicked into place one after the other. A seemingly never-ending series of luck, that in truth, was as well planned as any other of The Shrike’s victims. Will took his time that morning with shaving, thinking of the story again and again. He lathered the foam against his soft skin and angled the blade just so. He found himself more often than not these days choosing to take better care of himself. When he did, Hannibal’s eyes lingered longer at his jaw, traversing the firm lines of his throat and collar bone. Hungry for more. Those nights they barely slept and woke happy.
Again, a single finger traced the side of the counter where Hannibal would normally stand next to him. He leant to the right, smiling foolishly as he did. Suddenly, his balance gave out, causing him to topple sidewards, though he caught himself on the edges of the sink and looked with wide eyes at the mirror. Elegance came only with practice. Practice would come with time. He stood upright and took a deep breath. He looked around, waiting for some phantom audience to comment or a hidden voice to spring from unseen corners. Though, there were none. In the bright summer morning of Tuscany there were no long shadows or dark places. Only the cool breeze and the bell-like tinkling of glasses from below.
Just as his other ceremony, the one far away in a castle in Lithuania, he treated his preparation like a ritual. He was scrubbed and showered in the deep jasmine scent as before. Consistency was key. These little hints, smells or tastes or textures, that only he and Hannibal could ever know were the sweetness at the heart of everything. To share secrets as a couple was to write psalms together. It was akin to a forbidden knowledge; a version of events where only their rites would stand the test of time. He shaved his legs, rubbing together the smooth skin after moisturising and dusted with fine powder made of cocoa butter
An old version of himself, perhaps a version he shed like a skin long ago, would cringe at the feeling. Maybe even huff at the idea of excess. Now though, he was generous in his attention. He preened like any peacock, fluffing and oiling his hair just so. He turned in the mirror, inspecting the plumpness of his bare ass in soft sunlight and smiled. His feet gently patted against tile as he made his way back into the bedroom to fetch his wedding lingerie. This was something from Hannibal’s preferred range, Bordelle, in a suitable bridal cream. He traced his fingers over a delicate thong and then a matching harness to attach stockings.
He took his time in putting this all together, perching himself on the side of the bed, taking great pleasure in feeling the softness of the stocking glide along his skin. The thought of meeting Hannibal at the altar in nothing but stockings played in his mind. He moved his cock to sit comfortably in the panties though he was already half hard and tempted to masturbate. He swept his fingertips over the tip and down the shaft a few times. The ghost-like touches causing him to whine slightly. It would have to wait. There would be plenty of time for this later. When there would be a beautiful, expectant face waiting to be claimed.
Will’s hand slowly slid away from his cock, travelling up his firm body to his neck when he let himself fall back onto the mattress. He gripped the fresh cotton covers just to feel them. He wanted to turn over, feel his dick rub against the material of the pants and the smoothness of the sheets. Just a little relief. It wasn’t cheating if it wasn’t with his own hands. He pictured Hannibal if he sent him a photo of his pretty face pushed into a pillow, his nude form sprawled out with the hard outline of his cock showing through thin lingerie. A tad more enticing than what Franklyn sent before. His hands stroked gently up and down his chest as his eyes fell to his phone. A single finger traced the outline of his cock. There was a wickedness in his thoughts, the type of base carnality that begs a partner to entertain.
Will grabbed the phone from its place on his nightstand, careful to avoid the pile of travel commodities that sat alongside it. He lingered a moment over what position to take; his hard cock was the main course, Hannibal should get a sneak peak at his meal for later on in the evening. However, it’s not a meal unless we savour it. He positioned himself up onto his knees then spread them wide to sit back a little. As he pressed record he began to play with the dainty band of the thong. He slid a finger along it, letting it dip slightly out of sight but never revealing more skin. It isn’t long until he’s tracing the outline of his dick, careful to make audible shaky breaths. He’s on the edge and Hannibal will know.
It’s only for a few painful seconds until he cups himself in one hand, showing the bulge in its full glory and then he brings the camera round to focus on a tall mirror just behind him. He avoids showing his face. Instead it’s a beautiful image of his toned back and bare ass in the morning sunlight. He runs one hand down his side, feeling the cold metal of the golden clasps on the harness. He’s the temptress Franklyn tried so hard to be and a shiver runs down his spine at the idea of being the homewrecker. He is wicked, he does want Hannibal wrapped around his finger, begging, aching for him. Most importantly, he won. He got the ring, and the name and the castle. Above all else, he got Hannibal.
The moment of madness was over as quickly as it began when he clicked the button to stop recording. He sent it to Hannibal before he could convince himself not to. The clock on the bedside read 9:45am. Soon, Beverley would join him for the final preparations and a little pep talk. When times got sentimental she had a habit of making coffee with a bit of liquor to take the edge off. There was no pacing this morning. No staring blankly out or tapping restless fingers against expensive furniture. Peace enveloped his soul. Faint birdsong made him rise from the bed to continue his ritual, picking back up where he left off before his horniness got the better of him.
He returned to his place at the bathroom mirror and picked up a little green bottle labelled ‘Gelsomino’. An engagement gift from Hannibal on their first trip to Florence. He was ushered into a very picturesque shop resembling an apothecary with tall ceilings and ornate wooden cabinets filled with glass bottles. They sampled a few with Hannibal chatting casually with the clerk in Italian. A completely clear bottle first with a sweet, fruity symphony of marine notes and hints of peach. Then he was shown a mysterious bottle of yellow perfume introduced as ‘Marescialla’. It had spicy, oriental top notes with an undertone of sandalwood. Hannibal gladly paid for a bottle of his own alongside two for Will. He insisted on the aforementioned scent of marine notes, pouring over Will’s love for the water. ‘Gelsomino’ was suggested by the clerk. He handed them the little green and gold bottle as though presenting a bouquet. It bloomed through threads of bergamot and tangerine, only to unfurl the sweet scent of jasmine when warmed by the skin.
Will took it firmly in hand and sprayed once on each wrist without rubbing together. Then a spritz at his neck and in the crook of one elbow. The smell enveloped him. It dried quickly and left a pleasant cloud of jasmine coating his skin. Next came the clothes. His ensemble for the day was a dorset 3 piece tuxedo in white with a white floral printed jacket and white bow tie to match. His trousers were black and matched by patent leather loafers. Soon, his lingerie was hidden away behind layers of fabric and no one would suspect his quick lapse of decorum only moments earlier. As he looped his belt round to fasten it he heard the chime of his phone on the bed. A bright screen showed Hannibal’s name.
He laughed and it took all his might not to throw himself onto the bed and crease his tuxedo. A casual look revealed a two word message. ‘Buon Appetito’. Will laughed as he placed the phone down by the coffee table, next to the remnants of the night before; wine glasses, a pack of cards and a smear of foundation on the antique wood. A sudden knock at the door brought his eyes to focus on the brass handle turning as Beverly appeared through the crack. Her dark hair fell in curated waves, half up half down with a single pin already threatening to slip out of place.
“I’m exhausted and it’s your fault,” she slumped through the door and made herself at home on the small couch next to the coffee table. Her nails were freshly painted with a few mistakes still peeling at the corners. It was a statement red to match the wine colouring of her off the shoulder bridesmaid dress.
“I didn’t tell you to stay that late,” Will smiled as he took his jacket off and placed it back on the hanger to Bev’s curious glance. “So it doesn’t get wrinkled”
“Wouldn’t want Lecter popping a vein on seeing you so dishevelled at your own million dollar wedding,” after she spoke she took a moment and then pulled a face like she was sucking a lemon.
“What?”
“You are Lecter, or at least you will be in a few hours,” Bev raised her wrist to look for a watch that wasn’t there then shook her head on realising. “There’s two of you.”
“Took you that long to realise? You were the only one at the other wedding you know?” Will turned to the coffee machine and stared into its unfamiliar face. “Coffee?” He looked up at the small digital screen. “If I can figure it out, of course.”
“Coffee, pills, a stout kick up the ass - anything that will wake me up right now,” Bev slumped down onto the couch to stare at the leftovers on the coffee table. “You really need to clean up.”
“Look who’s talking, half of that is yours.”
“The foundation is mine, the wine glasses are all yours.”
“If the wine glasses are mine, why are you so hungover?” Will peered back with a smile just as he got the machine working. A strong spout of fragrant black liquid poured into a ready bone china cup.
“Don’t talk about it please. I’ll die, it already feels like I’m being sliced open,” Bev laid out on the couch, stretching her limbs and reaching for the table.
“Don’t crease your dress. Your hair is starting to come out,” Will quickly ferried the coffee across and placed it in front of her. As soon as it was down his hands went to work fixing the loose bobby pins in her hair. He pulled a few pieces forward to re-curl them with his finger. Bev watched him, engrossed by the twirling.
“Since when are you a stylist?”
“Since Hannibal.”
“Is that why your hair is so sleek these days?” Bev flicked his bowtie.
“I guess. I use hair oil now, and gel. How gross is that?” he smiled and finished his work finger curling her hair. “That probably needs hairspray. Is the hairdresser still here?”
“She was just talking to your groom. I don’t think he wanted her help but she might be stopping by for you pretty soon-ish.”
“So, when she sees what you’ve done to your hair, you are going to tell her…”
“It’s classified,” Bev pulled out her FBI badge from the small handbag she was carrying. They both laughed at the absurdity and Will picked up a few of the wine glasses on the table before bringing them back over to the kitchenette by the coffee machine. He didn’t wash them and left them upright near the sink’s edge. He cleared the coffee table of the cards then inspected the foundation smear.
“Probably not good for furniture this old,” he said as he licked his finger and began scrubbing at it.
“Definitely not a Lecter approved method of cleaning antique furniture.”
“Like you said, I am a Lecter. Therefore, this is Lecter approved.”
“I don’t know if that’s heresy or blasphemy,” Bev sighed as she continued to watch Will scrub at the oily spot. The lacquered wood needed cleaning a few times over before the obvious smear lifted. Even so, she was sure she could still see the faint outline of her foundation.
“Not quite your colour,” she smiled.
“Did you bring the other one?” Will lifted his head with the question. Over the course of last night they experimented with a few light concealers and a dab of colour on the lips. It was his wedding after all. Bev reached her hand into the smooth lining of her bag to produce a small glass bottle with a golden lid.
“A nice peachy shade,” she held it out towards Will’s face and mimicked the motion of applying it with a powder puff. She tapped his nose, his forehead and his cheeks all whilst making pleased sounding ‘ah’ noises. As she did there was a knocking at the door. The hairdresser didn’t wait for an answer in order to enter and let herself in. She was a fairly short Italian woman with olive skin, a high slicked back ponytail and large thick framed glasses. Will saw the scars on the upper part of her left ear then let his eyes wander down to the simple platinum wedding band on her left hand.
She didn’t stay long, only to finish off what Will had already started. When he kept the curl in his hair tamed, slightly long and swept to the side then Hannibal would take notice. Those days when he walked in the room Hannibal would rise from wherever he was and greet him. Paired with an open top button and a splash of cologne that didn’t smell like it had a ship on the bottle and Hannibal would instinctively abandon anything he was doing to pay him some attention. A splash of unknown blood somewhere and the man was particularly ravenous.
Afterwards, Beverly would dab a little concealer here or there for him. Just little touches with a quick dust of powder to set. Finally, a thin coat of a moisture rich lip tint. A subtle pink. The image of a temptress ran through his head again. All that time Franklyn painted him as a terrible homewrecker, truly a pretty boy whore conning an elite with his loathsome country ways. It might as well be true. Hannibal’s eyes lit up when he would play coy. Every so often Will put on the act of a sweet, simple Southern boy; cooking meals, cleaning house, playing dumb about anything to do with murder or Franklyn. He was just countryfolk after all. Not a malicious bone in his beautiful body. Those nights he got fucked good. Whether it was from mocking Franklyn or the sheer thrill of being so unlike himself, either way the sex was phenomenal. Strange for a man in his thirties to carry off the part of a winsome coquette so well.
“There, the perfect bride,” Beverly put down her lip brush and gave an exaggerated head bow with her two palms pushed together. “You’ll bring honour to us all.”
“You’ve painted my lips bright red, haven’t you?”
“I would never sabotage you on your big day. I may, however, put a cricket in your suit, for good luck purposes.”
“Good to know,” Will smiled and took one last look at himself in the mirror. His face caught the light and he seemed younger, less empty than he was only a year or so ago. He was filled with a new type of confidence. He was already married, and had already crossed that final barrier back in Lithuania. There was no test here. This was the afterparty; time to dance with his friends and celebrate how far they’d come. In a previous life something this social would send shivers down his spine. Now, it came naturally. Will Lecter was far more confident than Will Graham. He inherited a cool social charm from his husband, if not with a far more flirtatious bent. He looked himself up and down in the mirror, admiring the fit of his new human suit. Snug but convincing, just like Hannibal’s.
The excitement continued to build as the time drew nearer. They descended the stairs to the main event together, Beverly careful not to trip on her dress and Will walking at last like the dancer he was. They made sure to hide just before the main doors that led outside into the courtyard where everyone was sat waiting. Will perfected his suit and stood slightly out of sight from the main aisle. He held himself still and focused forward, studying the details of the flowers engulfing the venue. No chrysanthemums this time. The image of his Dad, dirty and smiling, flashed through his mind.
“Nice catch,” his faint voice drifted on the air. It had been so long since he passed. There was no knowing how his old man would have felt about all this. No concrete way of discerning his opinion. Will was left with memories; of old broken boat engines, rudders bent out of shape and long evenings at the docks. In his memory palace he gave his Dad his own room but found he often strayed. As though there was no way to keep the man in place. In death as he was in life, always moving, always flitting away in the distance. The silhouette of his back projected in the walls of his mind. The features started to fade long ago. He was waving. To say goodbye or to beckon him forward, Will could never tell.
“Ready?” Beverly popped around the corner, her smile plastered wide. The sheer enthusiasm was infectious. A swell of music was his cue to start his way down the aisle, arm in arm with Bev. As he stepped out into the brilliant sun of the courtyard a cacophony of people stared back with glowing smiles. Many unknown faces, acquaintances and friends of Hannibal alike who would have killed for a spot at the social event of the season. His walk was slow and proud. Now, all eyes were on him and a part of him wanted the chance to show off what kind of partner the great Hannibal Lecter chose.
Hannibal was waiting at the altar with the officiant. He was meeting Will’s tender gaze, staying silent. He looked refined in a burgundy 3 piece, the collar borders and waistcoat adorned with dark floral texture. At the final few steps he outstretched a hand to guide Will closer and ghosted his fingers over the soft skin of Will’s knuckles. It was far less intimate than the castle, the sun shining brightly and the gentle breeze carrying the smell of chestnut trees and white flowers mixed. This time he was fully prepared for the ceremony, which in its official setting could not be as catholic as before but elements of the prayers were adapted in and each read their vows. The officiant handed over to Hannibal first.
“Mielasis,” he began. “To be seen is to be loved. You have seen and you have partaken in my life, and now, I wish never to be separated. What love hath joined together, no God shall put asunder.”
Simple and to the point, also shockingly void of Shakespeare. It carried on much the same way. Here or there he added in notes of their life only Will could envision. The guests let out well-timed noises of agreement and laughter. It was well practised and fluid. As expected of Hannibal. When it came time for Will’s speech he glanced at Bev who gave him a quick smile of encouragement.
“Midway upon the journey of our life. I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward path had been lost,” Will enjoyed the widening of Hannibal’s eyes as he started his own vows. He watched them soften and gleam bright. A smile played on his lips as he listened to Will finally wax lyrical of their affair. The look they shared grew playful, most of the meaning of these vows completely lost on their guests. Will’s eyes spoke volumes, pleading with a come hither look that decried his innocence. He was just a lovely thing; truly a summer bride. Each word from his blushing lips was chaste, heart-felt and so transparent. He was playing again. Poor, innocent, easily led Will. Hannibal eyed the plump skin of his unblemished neck and felt his mouth water. A fruit ripened in the sun.
The ceremony closed to a well-behaved kiss and a thunderous round of applause. As for the wedding dinner, Will kept a tight hold of Hannibal’s hand to stop him wandering off and becoming chef on his own big day. The sweat dripping from the waiters foreheads was less about the heat and more about the watchful glare of a groom. A mix of Bellini and champagne was served as the opening drinks, though Hannibal said it hurt his heart to serve anything less than the best the region had to offer. Will argued that a few guests may appreciate a softer start to the day, a Bellini being a sweeter alternative. There was some back and forth about taste but ultimately Will wrangled a victory.
Dishes of Pantelleria capers and wild boar prosciutto appeared to ‘open the appetite’ as Hannibal called it. He took the chance then to squeeze Will tightly to him.
“Mielasis, just as you opened my appetite earlier. A wonderful display you sent me. Hiding your face. What type of hunger were you trying to stir in me?” his grip got tighter as one hand came up under Will’s jacket to stroke at the dip of his spine. Will laughed with such ease and brought his lips to the shell of his husband’s ear.
“I was just teasing, and it’s your fault for leaving me alone all morning. I wanted to get off there and then,” his hand perched at Hannibal’s neck, the slightest of touches threatening to linger.
“Oh? You restrained yourself for me?” Hannibal’s breath came heavy and slow. “Good boy.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Their conversation was interrupted by the call of one of the waiters announcing the opening of the tables. Guests flocked to a row of delights, traditional Tuscan Pappa al Pomodoro topped with burrata and basil, mini bruschetta and arancini. Once seated the primo was served shortly after, a delicate saffron infused risotto with courgette flowers. Conversation buzzed around the event, mostly of anticipation for the food. It simply wouldn’t be an event hosted by Hannibal Lecter without the shock and awe of a meal to die for. Before too long the smell of the main course wafted through the tables. Beef fillet doused in Brunello di Montalcino wine and served with seasonal vegetables. The thrum of pleased nods and charitable laughter that followed was a good sign.
For the cake, they were in two minds. At the opera they promised Sue she could design the real wedding cake but Hannibal was dedicated to the Tuscan feel of his menu. For dessert, the chef prepared a large millefoglie, layered with light Chantilly cream and crowned on top with fresh strawberry dusted in sugar. It was a wild hit with guests. The crowning glory, however, would be revealed shortly after as Sue’s masterpiece was unveiled. A five tiered tower of floral art work, adorned in delicate fondant petals so real once might mistake the whole thing for a display. Three distinct rings of edible white and red flowers circled the tower, fragile roses and babys’ breath. All handcrafted so thin that each petal seemed no more than a gentle breeze away from floating off.
“I told you, let me make the cake. I know what I’m doing,” Sue glowed with pride. Cutting into such a thing seemed a waste but she insisted that to look is half the joy, only eating it would bring the full range of pleasure.
“That sounds so familiar,” Will let one corner of his mouth curl upwards in a lazy smile as he peered over to his husband. Hannibal was entertaining a few enthused guests who cornered him for congratulations, recipes and the like. Will was the talk of the evening since many of these important types had never met him before. Some in fields adjacent to Hannibal’s or engaged in the same social circles found themselves shocked to hear of the marriage. Will was entirely a mystery bride. Speculation and titillation ran amok through the long grapevine of high society. A seldom seen event for a no name FBI agent to marry one of their precious ilk. Let alone an FBI agent with a media presence quite like Will’s. Though, none of them quite met Will Graham at the wedding. That private chapter of his life was for Hannibal now. The peering gaze of the elite met William Lecter. Darling belle of the south.
As the evening drew to a close, guests loomed around every corner to catch the couple in a final goodbye. Each pair that passed them was more determined than the last to shake hands, make plans for coffee or - more important yet - get that elusive invitation to the Doctor’s table. By the last few drops of guests leaving, Will counted somewhere near 24 eager applicants and 10 far more subtle hints. His social battery was wearing thin as the last acquaintance squeezed his hand and assured him he would not take no for an answer. The good man laughed afterwards and patted Hannibal on the shoulder. He left smiling, oblivious to the curt up and down stare Hannibal gave his silhouette in the night.
“Time to retreat?” Will looked up with eager eyes. Hannibal paused and then let out a long breath.
“Time to retreat,” an arm clutched Will’s waist tightly. “I feel I’ve waited long enough.”
A wave of heat spread across Will’s chest and blossomed across his cheeks.
“For what?” his playfulness was back. His tiredness melted away in a sea of new found excitement. One of his hands came up to smooth the border of Hannibal’s jacket and he avoided eye contact.
“Oh,” Hannibal was close to the shell of his ear. “Is my husband playing pretend? Only this morning you knew exactly what I’ve been waiting for.” His hand slipped down from Will’s waist and massaged gently at his hip.
“I was just lonely without you. You can’t leave me alone for so long, I get bored.”
“Wicked thing,” Hannibal’s hand shot to Will’s groin and palmed him through the thick material of his trousers. Will hid his face in Hannibal’s neck, letting out a soft moan at the contact. “Were you waiting for my help?”
Will answered by rolling his hips into the roughness of Hannibal’s palm, feeling the other hand come to rest at his neck. He angled his body closer into Hannibal. Their hips now facing and his hard cock straining against his clothes. Hannibal’s open palm turned into a firm grip with his thumb tracing the outline.
“Perhaps it’s time to move upstairs, unless you think our guests need proof of our… consummation,” with that word he squeezed a little and Will indulged the motion. He pulled his body flush against Hannibal’s then widened his stance to rock his hips forward, dry humping his husband in the cool evening breeze of the open entrance. Hannibal took a sharp intake of breath and placed his hands either side of Will's hips.
“I see you feel like misbehaving, and on our big day. Whatever is to be done with you, William?” His full name came out like an admonishment. He let himself be led by the waist down a series of quiet corridors and closed doors, all occupied by guests retired for the night. As Hannibal led his grip slipped from Will’s waist to his hand. It gave Will the opportunity to let his free hand wander and he started to loosen the bowtie. It was followed by the first three buttons of his shirt before his hand went south and unzipped his trousers. Hannibal kept his gaze staunchly forward to navigate the stone halls, all bathed in the orange glow of either candles or old lights. He missed the hand that began working its way over Will’s still clothed cock, working up and down slowly.
It wasn’t until he reached their suite, put the key in the lock, and finally turned around did his breath stick in his throat at the sight of Will, half undressed, stroking himself. Will lent against the wall adjacent. His collarbone peeking from behind the crisp white of his shirt. His eyes trained on Hannibal, daring him to make the next move. Hannibal straightened his posture to regain his height and wet his lips as he peered down at Will’s display. He let a moment of silence hang in the air. Will’s slow pants filled the moment as he waited. A coil in his stomach started to build.
“Quite a show. Do continue,” Hannibal took himself to the wall where Will was leaning and made sure to keep himself from touching. There was a few centimetres between them. Barely room to move, but Hannibal kept his arms behind his back and made sure to keep that distance. “I’m waiting.”
“Of course, love,” a playful smile spread across Will’s face and he leant in close to Hannibal’s lips. “Anything for you.”
Will kept his lips close enough to Hannibal’s so he could feel his breath as he moaned. He took great pleasure in slipping his hand into his pretty cream underwear and pulling out his cock, already hard. He started soft. His fingers trailing down his shaft and then stroking his sensitive head. A swipe of his thumb collected a trail of precum which he brought to his waiting tongue. He lapped it up, never breaking eye contact. Hannibal made a deep humming noise in his throat. The same hand trailed back down his chest, stopping only to cup his sack as the other started slowly pumping his shaft. Now Will leant back against the wall and watched as with the tiniest movement Hannibal made to follow him. He smirked and let out a moan. He moved his face to the side, revealing the patch of throat that earlier Hannibal thought of biting. The flash of recognition in his eyes was a dead giveaway for where his mind was going. Will stroked himself a little faster and peered from under long lashes at his new husband. He was the picture of a tease. The longing side glance from his half hidden face being the true pinnacle of come-hither.
“You won’t help me?” his lips parted with the slightest quiver.
“A little,” Hannibal leaned forward and kissed Will’s exposed throat. He peppered the skin with small, feather kisses then worked around to the left side of his neck before biting and sucking. Will continued stroking his cock and took a sharp intake of breath.
“Only your mouth?” he groaned.
“Did my husband want more? You hadn’t mentioned,” Hannibal’s voice had a teasing lilt and he placed a few quick kisses to Will’s lips.
“Now who’s the tease?”
“Does it not suit me?” Hannibal lowered his head to bite and kiss along Will’s neck then collarbone before sinking to his knees. “I remember you wanted to do something rather unsightly to my face.”
Will reached out and put his hand round the back of Hannibal’s neck as if to cradle him, then brought his now reddened cock to sit at Hannibal’s lips. He dragged it back and forth until Hannibal’s tongue swept across his sensitive head. It was an open invitation that Will gladly took. He wasn’t patient with it. As soon as he could, he pushed through his lips and stopped just shy of Hannibal’s throat. He’d handled him well in the past. One of Hannibal’s hands gripped firmly at his shaft and he worked his way in and out of the warmth of his mouth. It wasn’t enough though. He needed deeper.
One quick thrust made him breach further in Hannibal’s throat. A small, stifled noise sounded like a gag as a wet gurgle of saliva overtook it. Will smiled at the shamelessness. He set a light pace at first, rocking his hips in time with Hannibal’s movements. He took Will’s cock in hand a few times to lick the length and kiss alongside his pelvic bone. One of his hands found its way to Will’s anus and massaged light circles into the ring of muscle. Will tilted his head upwards for air. He was still rocking forward, matching Hannibal’s pace as his sucking continued. He needed this. That coil in his stomach getting tighter and tighter as the pace quickened, his thrusts sloppier, movements erratic.
As it got closer, he looked down at Hannibal. The man was engrossed in his task. Both hands deftly worked towards Will’s pleasure and nothing else mattered. Hannibal peered up to meet Will’s gaze. It was beautiful, powerful; a staunch narcotic. A rush pulled through Will’s body and he pulled himself from the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth in time to cum over his face. Some of it sprayed over his plump top lip, some of it glazed his cheek, and more still dropped into his open and waiting mouth. Will slumped against the wall. Hannibal stood with the grace of a man who hadn’t just been defiled. He took one hand to tilt Will’s head upwards then licked into the crevice of his lips until his mouth fully parted and he felt the slick play of tongues, then the salty tang of his own cum. He moaned into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck.
“Satisfied?” Hannibal broke the kiss in favour of pressing his lips softly to Will’s temple.
“Never,” Will smiled in return.