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He'd seen the boy through every one of his heats, from that first beautiful frenzy of mating at 16 until the most recent, at 18, when the boy's body had felt less plump with baby fat but leaner and tighter under his teeth.
The last time, they had been almost equals, though Will had winced a little, face that wild flush of sexual pleasure, when Hannibal had tied with him. They'd lain together after, Hannibal stroking the boy's long body, enjoying the smooth, post-coital expanse of him. And he had seen, just for a moment, the man Will was becoming. It had pleased him, that he had stroked and fucked and knotted the boy into adulthood.
He's with Jack Crawford in DC, interviewing a distressed witness when he has this clear, knowing sense that something is off. Something is wrong.
He apologizes and asks for a moment. In the hall, he dials home and it's not until the fifth ring that Will finally picks up.
"You're hurt," Hannibal tells him, tense, "what happened?"
Will makes this long, throaty moan through the line and Hannibal knows right away, breaks out in a sweat that dapples his forehead, his lower back. "Will, I'm in the city."
"I need you," Will says through his teeth, growling.
"I'm in an interview," Hannibal says in return, though his cock has begun to lift, ready for the boy.
"There's a man here. Outside. Hannibal, I think he can smell me--" Will growls, and then makes this high, weak whimpering sound. "I think he's t-trying to get in."
Hannibal feels it like someone's clawed deep inside him and torn the throttling snarl out of his throat. "You will go to my room. There is a gun in the dresser, in a case. It is loaded, so you must be careful--"
Will's sounds have gotten sweeter, higher. Like he's preparing himself for mating, like he always sounds right before Hannibal mounts him.
For a moment, Hannibal is washed with this cold sweat, his hands clammy, shaking. "Do you want him?" he asks softly.
Will groans like he's on his hands and knees and kinking his ass up, presenting, needing.
Hannibal puts his palm to the wall, closes his eyes and listens. Possessiveness choking him.
"N-no?" Will finally says, voice sounding confused. "I don't want...God, Hannibal. I want you. Please. Just you. I want to be knotted so fucking bad. Please--"
Hannibal turns then, walks out of the building. The drive will be painful, endless, too long to wait when Will is begging, needing him. His whole body feels strung tight, like it needs to spring on the boy, explode into action, rip the interloper's throat open with his teeth and then put them, all bloodied, into Will's soft nape. "Wait for me," he tells the boy.
"Hannibal--"
"Do you have the gun?"
"Y-yeah," Will pants, "G-god, I'm so wet. Smelling him, knowing you're coming...I got so wet."
Hannibal growls into the phone. "You must kill him, if he comes for you. Will you do this?"
"Yeah?" Will says, but it doesn't sound sure. Like the hormonal haze is addling him.
"Please, William, you must focus," Hannibal tells him and Will makes a little whine of agreement.
The other alpha is gone when Hannibal arrives, nowhere in sight. But Hannibal scents him, long and deep, files the scent memory away for when he'll hunt next. He opens the front door with his key and Will appears in the hall in just his boxers, chest heaving, wet streaking the hair on his legs and a gun shaking in his hands.
When he sees Hannibal, he tosses the gun across the room and sobs, bounds into his arms.
"God, foolish, foolish boy," Hannibal chastises, holding the boy's hot face in his palms while he kisses him all over the mouth, the cheeks. "Throwing loaded weapons--"
"Shut up, shut up," Will groans, holding Hannibal by the face and kissing back, both of them clinging to each other until Will overloads and pants "Please. It hurts this time."
"Only because I made you wait, greedy pup," Hannibal turns Will around, hears the familiar sound of the boy hyperventilating as he manhandles him onto his hands and knees, rips his underwear down his legs.
The boy's back cups crudely as he arches, lifts his small ass up, presenting. Hannibal undresses, then gets down on his knees and strokes a palm between Will's trembly thighs. It comes away soaked, sticky.
"Will," he sighs, and climbs over him so his chest is pressed to the boy's long back. Will loves it that way, arches and sobs, finds Hannibal's braced hands and threads their fingers together.
"Just get inside me," the boy tells him, and his sweated curls tap Hannibal's shoulder, his chin as he arches again. "Please."
So Hannibal gives him what he wants, flexes his ass and sets his cock deep in the boy's feverish sex.
The boy's cries are exquisite, always these lovely, shocked sounds like he can't believe how good he can feel. His body jolts, knees slipping on the wood floor with Hannibal's strength, the firmness of Hannibal's stroke. Will can come now like this, without a hand on him, without any encouragement. Just from being mated to Hannibal.
When he feels his knot begin to plump too soon, his own body teased to the limit on the trip home, he reaches low, unlocks their sexes and hold his knot back, away from the boy.
It makes Will claw a hand back into the meat of Hannibal's thigh, dig in his fingers and howl.
"Shhh, not yet," Hannibal tells him, and fucks the boy a few more times languidly, letting his knot bump at the boy's swollen sex but not in.
Then he slips out of the boy, bringing slick with him, and gets up. He's ruddy all over, his chest hair slick with sweat as he offers the boy a hand.
Will clings to him, lost, his eyes crossing, glassed over when Hannibal reaches behind the boy and fingers his ass again. "Maybe my fingers are enough?" he teases, and the look of horror he receives makes him chuckle.
He's shoved in the chest then, surprisingly hard, ends up sprawled in his arm chair and the boy climbing over him.
"I just wanted you in my bed--" Hannibal tells him and then stiffens up with pleasure, all the way to his toes, when Will sinks his lithe body down on his cock. They both groan.
"You bastard," Will seethes through his teeth, grasping his shoulders, then the back of the chair so he can ride his needy sex up and down Hannibal's cock. He throws his head back while he does it, mouth all twisted up and breathless, taking what he wants out of Hannibal's body, his little hips switching, the muscles in his arms straining and trembling with the work.
"William," Hannibal croons, dropping his own head back in the chair, eyes closed, getting fucked by his boy for the first time, ridden in all this sweet desperation.
Will ducks down so their foreheads are close, so he can pant in Hannibal's face, mouth all wet and pink. "I want your knot. Just you. Not him. Just you. Give it to me. Right now. Damnit, Hannibal. Tie me--"
Hannibal feels it, the strength of the demand, the way it sets his whole body on edge like he might die if he doesn't knot his godson. He takes the boy suddenly by the narrow hips and drives up, forces his knot in.
Will's eyes close in pain and he groans "Yesssss," under his breath, hips still roving here and there, trying to get settled in tight and locked, his hand in Hannibal's hair.
Hannibal's heels dig into the floor and the veins on his neck strain and stand out as he breeds Will, paints his boyish insides with his pleasure.
He's disheveled and overheated after, face hot. And he can see it, the look of knowing, of compassion on Will's face. He's a boy no longer as he switches his fluid hips around the knot in him and then ducks down with a little crooked smile and says "You did good, old man."
The sound Hannibal makes gets them both squirming again, Will biting his lip, bearing down on the knot helplessly.