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In his drive to understand Will, to understand what powers him, what concerns him, what he does with his spare time, he pauses at his computer on the afternoon he's come to feed the dogs and takes a look.
William hasn't passlocked anything, and something warm and inviting like the finale of a good hunt moves through his body. He settles in at the desk and spends most of the afternoon inspecting Will's browser history and drinking Will's tea.
He lets the dogs out before he leaves and stands in the dusky dark with his hands in his pockets, musing on what he's seen.
Now that he knows what Will needs, it's impossible not to want to provide it for him. Hannibal watches Will pace, the way his hand busies into his pocket to take out his glasses. The way he holds them but doesn't put them on, just uses them to tap at his own wrist, anxious. Squirmy. Impatient for the thing he needs but would never ask for, not from Hannibal, perhaps never from anybody.
Will pauses with his stiff back to him, at Hannibal's kitchen counter and the look he gets of Will's trim waist, his shirt neatly tucked and the small, but round heart of his ass makes Hannibal shift out of his shoes. The way Will would trust him, would show him his back makes him rise silently to cross to him. It's easy to catch him, arm snatching him up, crossing from his hip up to hold him still by the shoulder.
Will's soft intake of surprise is beautiful, especially when it drops to a gasped "W-what are you--" but Will figures it out quickly when Hannibal takes a healthy, strong handful of his ass and fists.
"Here is the center of all your body's endless, anxious energy," he tells him with his teeth bared at his throat, rolling his thumb along the seam of Will's ass so there would be no confusion of what he means.
Will begins trembling, nervous energy making his body quake in Hannibal's arms. He can feel that the man wants to skitter away from this, but also that enough of him wants what he's going to get. Enough that he doesn't fight when Hannibal uses his other hand to begin jerking his belt open.
"God--w-what--" he's trying to say, but Hannibal croons against his throat for him to shush, taps at Will's lips to hush him with his fingers, feels Will startle at the touch.
"I am going to pleasure you, there's no reason for shame--" he's saying and then he stiffens at the feel of wet and soft, of silky cling and heat on his fingers. "Ah, Will," he says brokenly, fingers sucked at.
He pauses to reciprocate, first sucking red marks to his throat then taking Will's earlobe, a sweet little morsel, into his mouth.
Will's trembling stops suddenly, and his body just melts into this instinctual roll that presses his ass into Hannibal's hips, an unconscious display of hunger.
Hannibal undoes the rest of Will's fly one handed, but ignores the man's lovely, responsive erection to reach back and jerk his jeans, boxers down.
There it is, the heart of him. Where his loneliness is, where he's so very hungry. Hannibal lets the man keep nursing his fingers for a minute more while he spreads his ass open, looks. The dark little pink kiss there, all tensed up on itself, though it greets his swiping thumb with a little peck in return, sweet spasm.
"Oh my god, oh my god," Will starts saying, voice falling apart, a wreck of itself.
"Here, ssshhh," Hannibal says, reaching to wrap his other arm around him, to bring his wetted fingers down.
He rubs out that little red kiss of an asshole with his middle finger, has to hold Will this time as he hunches and jerks, trying to get it. Hannibal teethes at his throat, the scratchy line of his jaw and then presses his middle finger deep into flickering, living muscle.
Will arches beautifully for it, lifts off his heels as his body takes it, devours him. Hannibal has to kiss him then, mouth starved and he turns Will's head at a mean angle, finds that pretty mouth all slack and stupid with bliss and kisses it.
Will makes these helpless, choking sounds in his mouth and when Hannibal has to pull back to get his breath, he realizes that not only had he begun stabbing Will's asshole in a frenzy, he had accidentally closed his hand over his throat in their kiss. Will's face has darkened, strangled, his eyes gone hazy, distant. But every part of his expression is like erotic rapture. Hannibal watches curious for a moment before he loosens his grip and Will takes a shaky, big lungful of air.
He adds another wet finger, slows until Will drops his face away into the counter and just moans, body rolling and taking. Hannibal holds him still with a authoritative hand to his shoulder and tries something. With the next press into that exquisite heat, he angles his hips like his fingers are his cock, so Will can feel Hannibal's trouser front against his bare skin.
"Ooo-oh shit, shit, that's what I want," he says in one breath, squirming again.
"What, love?" Hannibal asks him but does it again, letting his own rigid cock press draw along the soft give of Will's ass.
"That," Will moans, trying to move back for another feel. "Just give me that. I want it--"
The way he sounds...Greedy and out of his mind, it makes the space between Hannibal's shoulders break out in a sweat.
"Do you need--" Hannibal starts, but has to close his eyes and catch his breath when Will groans "Your cock. I need it."
He's not going to tease the boy, now that he's asked for it. Will gasps and then sobs softly when he pulls his fingers free and begins working open his own belt. He reaches up over Will to grab his olive oil. It's fine enough for this.
His cock is thick in his hand as he slicks it, and when he looks up, Will is braced against the counter on his elbows, head dropped to stare under his arms at Hannibal's cock.
"You're starving for it," Hannibal tells him, because there are no secrets here between them, and Will's eyes tell him everything.
He spreads him again and with a brutal twist of his hips, is coring the man deep where he needs touch like nothing else.
Will's head shoots up, his body arches and he cries out, shocked and estatic. Hannibal clasps his trim hips then, and puts his back into giving Will the strongest, steadiest fuck of his life.
The man takes it like it'll wake him up, feed him, sustain him, his body arching more and more crudely for it, dying for it, asking, begging, begging. Hannibal has never fucked a person who wanted him this much, this desperately, and he's trembling to keep his hold, sweat slipping down his back, sticking his shirt to his shoulders.
And the man is vocal, gasping "yes, there. There, yes. God, God, harder! Please! Ohgod please! Fuck me! Fuck me!" While Hannibal nails him.
And he feels it, the taut wring of muscle starting to strangle at him when Will gets closer. He has to concentrate, close his eyes so that when Will finally comes, in a gorgeous mess of movement and sobs, he doesn't come too.
He just pauses, head loose on his shoulders, one hand running up and down Will's back as the man orgasms on his cock. Uses it. Wrings in tight, beating pleasure.
And Will's gasping then, as he finishes "Don't come! Please, don't come!" Sounding so desperate, like no other lover would do this for him.
"I won't," he reassures him, which Will meets with a pouty, needy explanation of "I need more."
"Shhhhh, I know," Hannibal tells him and starts again, enjoying the muscle play on Will's back as the man settles into a long, long session of getting fed and sated.
His cock is sore in the morning. He can just imagine what Will feels like. But when he tousles the sheets to get a look at him, the man is sleeping with this smoothed, boyish look on his face. Later, after rising and showering and getting dressed, Hannibal will have to wake him with a cup of coffee, and when he does Will just stretches like his body is all loose and nourished and warm, and smiles dopily at him.