Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hannibal rarely has sex but, during those scarce times when he does and when it's with men, he's always the one on top. It's just how it goes, the men he chooses to spend sexual time with automatically proceeding things along with the assumption that Hannibal will be the one to rim them and finger them open, the one to fuck them and make it good for all parties involved.

It's fine; Hannibal gets to experience the pleasure of a climax, they get the same, everything is enjoyable for those participating. But, sometimes, he does wonder...

When Will and him have sex for the first time it’s an impulsive, unplanned thing. They kiss while they work on opening the other’s clothes, all panting breaths and flushed cheeks and throbbing cocks, stumbling and nearly losing their balance on the stairs on their way to Hannibal’s bedroom.

They fall naked in an ungraceful heap of limbs on top of Hannibal's bed with its expensive cotton sheets, still kissing, always kissing, Will a beautiful, red chested vision beneath him as Hannibal blindly reaches for the bedside table.

Hannibal manages to get the drawer open and dig out the rarely used bottle of lube, finally distancing himself from Will's lips as he opens the cap. Before he can move things along further than that, Will takes a hold of his wrist.

"Ah- No. Let- let me," Will pants, and Hannibal lets him take the little plastic bottle from him, curious.

"You don't wish for me to take you like this?" If Will simply wants for them to use their hands or mouths to bring each other off, Hannibal certainly won't mind that; pleasure is pleasure, no matter what form it comes in. As long as he gets to have this man with the most brilliant of minds satisfied with his company, Hannibal can’t imagine himself minding anything.

"No, I..." Will starts, then trails off, biting his lower lip in thought before apparently coming to a decision.

Hannibal isn’t expecting the firm hands that grab his waist nor the way Will so easily rolls them over until Hannibal suddenly finds himself on his back with Will above him, straddling him, his knees framing Hannibal's hips. Will might be slightly smaller in frame than Hannibal, but the way he seemingly effortlessly rearranges their positions would never tell you that.

On his back, looking up at Will, Hannibal’s finding it uncharacteristically hard to pick up the correct reaction in response to Will’s actions. He’s sharply aware of his own heart, beating in his chest, its tempo growing faster with excitement which roots he doesn’t know how to begin to decipher.

"Just lay back and relax." One corner of Will's mouth lifts with a soft smile as he rises up to kneeling. Lube from the bottle and, then, Will's hand, reaching behind himself, a small crease appearing on his forehead as his eyes close in concentration.

Hannibal keeps still, watching Will ready himself for him with sure fingers, and he doesn't know what to do.

This is not how these things ever go; it's always Hannibal working open the men he has sex with, always Hannibal who makes them flush with pleasure as he locates and rubs against their prostates with doctor's sureness, all of his previous sexual partners having been more than eager to receive his touches and take whatever it was in Hannibal’s power to give them.

Hannibal is never expected to be passive during these encounters and now, with Will biting the inside of his cheek and inhaling sharply through his nose due to nothing but the work of his own fingers, Hannibal can’t help but feel inadequate, like he should be doing more.

Almost tentatively, he brings his palms to Will's thighs, just resting them there, unsure how to proceed.

Will opens his eyes at the touch, looking down at Hannibal with dilated pupils, that little half-smile still dancing on his lips. He removes his fingers from his ass and presses more lube into his hand before he wraps those slick fingers around Hannibal's shaft.

Hannibal's breath escapes him on a silent gasp from the coldness of the lube, the muscles on his abdomen twitching and tensing as Will swiftly slicks him up, the firm clutch of his fist moving along Hannibal’s length focused on spreading the lube as efficiently as possible rather than teasing out pleasure.

On the next downward slide of his hand, Will pulls back Hannibal’s foreskin to reveal the engorged tip, flushed red with blood and shiny with precum. Will hums to himself at the sight, the satisfied note of it sounding almost like praise.

Hannibal exhales deeply, a shivery thing, and doesn’t move a muscle.

Will scoots forward and holds Hannibal's cock steady as he starts to lower himself down, the snug warmth of his insides just on the edge of being too-much after the chillness of the lube.

Will takes him in in small increments while Hannibal’s left to tremble beneath him and watch on, Hannibal keeping still and silent as he fights back the instinctive reaction to buck his hips up now that there’s the tightness and heat of another body surrounding him.

The thought of actively trying to speed things along, of grasping Will's hips to pull him down faster, doesn’t even cross Hannibal’s mind.

It takes forever, an excruciating tease for both Will and Hannibal, and then Hannibal’s in, all the way, most of Will’s body weight centered on Hannibal’s groin and upper thighs as Will lets himself sit more heavily down, relaxing into the stretch.

For a long while Will does nothing but just sit there on top of Hannibal, his open palms resting flat just above Hannibal’s stomach. Will bends his head back, the only sound in the bedroom his slow and deep breaths, his flushed chest steadily rising and falling as he takes his time to accustom to the sensation of fullness.

Will wets his lips and swallows, the glide of his Adam’s apple becoming a point of fascination to Hannibal. Hannibal wonders if he should finally start making himself useful, if he should do something, anything else but just lie there and be mesmerized by the sight above him.

And Hannibal knows that he should, he should do as he always does in these situations and try to make this good for Will.

He needs for this to be good for Will.

Hannibal places his wide palms on Will's sharp hip bones and rocks his hips up, just the once, a small, testing movement.

Will groans in surprised pleasure and straightens his neck from its bent-back position, looking down at Hannibal assessingly. He takes hold of Hannibal’s hands, removing them from his skin, his lean body stretching over Hannibal's as he leans over him and places Hannibal's hands on the pillow on either side of his head.

Like this, their faces are close, the tips of their noses nearly touching. Will's palms rest lightly on Hannibal's wrists with barely any pressure, though for Hannibal even that whisper of a contact feels like so much more.

Having himself moved, arranged, directed like this is something Hannibal hasn’t ever experienced during sex, and it’s something that he never allows to happen in situations out of it.

In everyday life, the interactions that Hannibal has with other people work like a dance to which steps only he is privy to, every encounter following a path that he has already paved in his mind. It's a wholly foreign experience, not having the full grasp of any given situation, to not be the one to lead this dance that Will has guided them into, and it feels like…

In all honesty, Hannibal's now sure how it makes him feel.

This is why psychiatrists have their own psychiatrists; it’s easy to listen and to find the hidden meanings tangled in the words others share with you, but it’s much harder to tap into that insight when it comes to yourself.

In here and now, lying on his back under Will’s solid weight, Hannibal doesn't know how to frame this sensation that shortens his breath and makes him want to be found good in someone else’s eyes. It should raise his hackles up, this lack of control, the not knowing, but the need for resistance evades him.

Maybe it’s not so bad, to not have the whole picture, meticulously crafted to fit his own design; maybe it could be acceptable to simply exist in the same space with Will and worship him with his eyes instead of by his actions.

"You don't have to keep them there if you don't want to." Will's voice is a warm murmur as he straightens back up, the tips of his fingers trailing down Hannibal's forearms with a feather light touch. "But it would please me if you let me do this. If you let me make you feel good.”

Hannibal looks at Will, blinking slowly, the words ”it would please me" becoming his mind’s sole point of focus.

Hannibal's chest feels tight. Above him, Will is beautiful and smiling.

It would please me.

Hannibal breathes in, slow, slow, the beating of his heart growing louder in his ears, the rush of blood deafening. He holds that breathe in until his lungs ache with it.

Seconds tick by. Hannibal exhales, a measured expelling of air. On the pillow, his fingers twitch, but otherwise his hands stay still.

“Yes.” Hannibal’s answer comes out in a whisper, barely audible but Will still catches it, his smile turning into something that much more brilliant.

Hannibal has never before felt like he was doing something so completely right by doing so very little.

In the vastness of Hannibal’s mind palace his back straightens, his shoulders pulling back. He grasps Will’s left hand with his right, placing his other one on Will’s shoulder while Will’s right one rises to lay flat on his upper back, keeping them close together.

”Shall we?” Will whispers in his ear. Hannibal closes his eyes and nods, the side of his nose brushing along Will’s jawline.

Will takes a step. Hannibal follows.

And so they dance.

Will starts rolling his hips, tiny back and forth motions, just swaying on top of Hannibal, the look in his half-lidded eyes something like contentment as he gazes down at Hannibal. Hannibal finds himself desperately hoping that he could always have Will looking like this when he’s with him, flushed with pleasure and happy.

Exactly at the point when Will himself deems it right to start doing so and not a moment sooner, he begins to move more purposefully. Will lifts himself up and bears back down, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he fucks himself on Hannibal's cock in a rhythm that steadily keeps growing faster and faster.

Sweat rises to Will’s brow and after a few minutes his legs begin to quiver from the exertion, his breathing growing more laboured. Despite this, Will never stops moving, never ceases with his motions to ask Hannibal to take the reins so he could have some respite. With single-minded focus Will continues using Hannibal’s cock to pleasure himself, continues using his own body to pleasure Hannibal even as the trembling of his tired muscles grows stronger.

Hannibal is helpless to do nothing but lie there, beneath Will, beneath this smiling, confident creature with wild curls and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as the man on top of him in the throes of bliss of his own doing. Will is magnificently shameless in this, beautifully confident as he rides Hannibal’s cock like it was designed solely for this purpose, for Will to have free use of it for the satisfaction of them both.

Hannibal keeps still for Will to take from him whatever it is he wishes to take, for him to give Hannibal what he deems fit to give, and during it all, Hannibal’s hands never stray from where Will had placed them.

In his chest, Hannibal feels that unexplainable something from before, and this time it is intense enough to make his heart stutter. When he blinks, the wetness making his eyelashes cling together takes him by surprise.

With glistening eyes Hannibal looks up at Will and their gazes lock. Will watches him and his face grows tender, that soft smile coming back as he says: "You're doing so good for me."

Hannibal doesn't say anything to that, can't say anything; keeping his eyes trained on Will’s he arches his back and he comes with his mouth open wide around a soundless moan.

Even in the throws of his orgasm, Hannibal’s hands barely twitch.

Later, Will goes to the bathroom only to return with a wet cloth, cleaning his own release from Hannibal's stomach and chest hair, his touch endlessly gentle. Hannibal barely notices Will disappearing again until a bottle of water is pressed against his lips, the softly commanded drink making him swallow on reflex.

As the haze of climax clears away Hannibal becomes painfully aware of the shivering of his own body and his too fast and sharp breaths, of the wetness in his cheeks and the way his muscles keep sporadically tensing up. He mentally wills himself to calm down, but the shivering and tensing refuses to stop, his drugged-feeling mind slow to grasp what’s happening.

In theory, Hannibal’s well aware of the effects a sharp drop in quickly acquired endorphin and adrenaline levels can cause to a body, but knowing something purely through written text and experiencing it first-hand for yourself are two wholly different matters.

There’s that lack of control again, and this time, it’s terrifying.

Will’s lips touch the drying tear tracks on Hannibal’s face, kiss over the roadmaps of blue veins in his wrists. He cradles Hannibal’s hands into his own, rubbing his thumbs soothingly along the backs of them, pressing gently against the tendons.

When Will leans down to nuzzle his nose against Hannibal’s stubbled cheek, Hannibal realizes that Will’s talking, has probably been talking to him during this whole time.

There’s a constant murmur of words leaving Will’s lips, words that say ”You’re okay” and ”I got you” and ”You did so good for me” and ”Thank you”. Hannibal doesn’t understand the meaning of them all but he still allows himself to selfishly soak them in, letting Will’s calming tone settle his nerves until the simple act of breathing becomes an easier thing.

Once Hannibal’s shivering has eased to something less alarming, Will arranges them to their sides. He pulls the duvet over them and curls up behind Hannibal, sweaty chest to sweaty back. Resting one hand on the dip of Hannibal's waist Will snuggles a leg between Hannibal's own, his thigh a gentle pressure against Hannibal’s genitalia.

Now that his body’s reactions have returned to something resembling normal, the languidness that usually follows in the wake of a sexual release washes over Hannibal with its full force. He feels relaxed and drowsy, but there's also the voices of doubt whispering in his mind, just loud enough to compel him to ask the question.

"Was it…what you wanted, Will? Was it good even if I…” Hannibal stops. He licks his dry lips and sighs. “I didn’t exactly do anything,” he finishes lamely.

The honest-to-god giggle that leaves Will startles Hannibal. It sounds just a bit too loud, a bit too crazed, and Hannibal has enough brain cells working at their full capacity by now to fathom that what just transpired between them must have affected Will as well, even if his immediate reaction to it wasn’t as severe as Hannibal’s.

Will presses his forehead against Hannibal's nape and against his back, Hannibal can feel the vibrations of Will’s chest as he tries to get his laughter under control.

"Fucking hell, Hannibal…" Will breathes quietly, a smile shining through in his voice. His hand moves to Hannibal’s chest, his fingertips grazing at a nipple before his palm finds its way over Hannibal’s steadily beating heart.

"You did everything right."

Will dips Hannibal backwards, a sharp arch bending him at the waist. A feeling of vertigo rushes into Hannibal’s head and for a moment, he’s sure he’s about to crash straight onto his back on the polished hardwood floor.

Will’s right hand on the curve of Hannibal’s lower back doesn’t falter. Hannibal closes his eyes and breathes out, relaxing more heavily into the dip, letting more of his weight to be held up by that one point of contact.

The hand on his back stays solid as a rock, preventing him from falling. Hannibal smiles, a genuine expression that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

The steps might’ve been foreign to him, but Hannibal thinks that he might be on his way to getting the hang of them.