Work Text:
Will's sitting on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, holding a remote control in his hands. His eyes are glued to the TV screen in front of him, the dark surface mirroring his reflection. The angle doesn’t let him see Hannibal but the man is there, sitting on an armchair to his right, gaze heavy with intent focus as he keeps his attention trained on Will.
Will closes his eyes, inhales sharply, listens to the heavy ‘thud’ of his heart beating in his ears, to the voice in his head telling him how this is wrong, how this is twisted beyond measure, how there’s something inherently fucked-up in him, telling him how he should feel ashamed, how he should have never mentioned this to anyone.
Will straightens his arm in desperation, reaching blindly towards Hannibal. Hannibal’s long fingers immediately encircle his wrist, his grip tight and possessive and calming. Will takes a few slow breaths, lets the skin to skin contact soothe him before pulling his hand back. He straightens his back, opens his eyes. It’s okay, he thinks to himself. Hannibal said it's okay.
He presses ‘play’.
The screen comes to life. The recorded footage shows Will standing shirtless next to a bed, body free of tension, all loose and relaxed and slightly swaying, a lopsided smile on his face. Hannibal walks into the frame from behind the camera, his state of undress similar to Will’s, the muscles moving beneath the skin of his back a sensual image as he approaches Will. Hannibal places his hands on Will’s shoulders, moves him till the camera shows their profiles. He lifts his palm to Will’s cheek, thumb settling against those smiling lips. Will opens his mouth on reflex, lets the digit slide in.
Will watches, transfixed, as the him on the screen stays pliant under Hannibal’s touch, eyes barely open. The remembered weight of Hannibal’s thumb pressing down on his tongue makes Will unconsciously part his lips on a silent exhale. He can sense Hannibal’s eyes keeping track of his every reaction, his gaze on the side of his face like a physical touch, the imagined caress of it comforting.
Twenty minutes before they’d moved to the bedroom, before they had started filming, they’d been in Hannibal’s kitchen, Hannibal delicately placing three round, blue tinted tablets on his tongue. Will had swallowed them dry, mouth chasing after Hannibal’s hand to take two of his fingers into his mouth, gently suckling on them to show his gratitude.
They’d stayed on the couch Will’s currently sitting on, undressing each other to feel skin against skin, touches soft and kisses even softer as they waited for the drugs to take effect. It came on slowly and unexpectedly, Will not even noticing how lax his muscles had become until he found himself swaying to the left, nearly tumbling to the floor. Hannibal had wrapped his arms around him to steady him, leaning in close.
“Come to the bedroom, darling. It’s time,” he had murmured, lips against the shell of Will’s ear. Will had nodded and hummed in agreement, enjoying the way his thoughts were starting to quiet down, like a mute button being pressed in his mind.
On the TV, Hannibal's still keeping his thumb in Will’s mouth, his left hand holding onto his hip. As Hannibal leans in, the Will on the screen closes his eyes, lets out a soft sigh as Hannibal presses tender kisses against the thin skin of his lids.
Hannibal removes his hands from him, places his right one against Will’s left shoulder and pushes, hard. Will stumbles sideways onto the bed, body bouncing on the mattress from the force of the impact. He stays where he lands, unmoving, unresisting.
Hannibal efficiently removes his own trousers and underwear before leaning over Will, opening the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper, pulling them and Will’s boxers off with forceful movements. Will is unable to lift his hips to help the process along, but Hannibal doesn’t look like he minds.
Will’s feet are against the floor, legs hanging over the side of the bed. Hannibal grabs the backs of his knees, moves him, arranges Will’s lax body till Will’s lying wholly on top of the mattress, on his back, arms limp at his sides.
Hannibal climbs on the bed, settles over Will with his knees framing his sharp hip bones. He takes Will’s chin in a tight looking grip to move his head where it had lolled to the side, forcing him to face Hannibal. He tugs at Will's lower jaw, leans down, licks inside that slack mouth. He bites down on Will’s lower lip and pulls back, stretching the tender piece of skin and flesh. Will remembers still being conscious enough at that moment to feel how much it had hurt, but the sensation had felt like the hurt didn’t belong to him, like he was just empathizing with someone else’s pain.
Will can hear his own quiet moan through the speakers when Hannibal finally releases his lip. Hannibal leans back down, whispers something into his ear. The microphone on the camera doesn’t catch the words and Will can’t recall them. What Will does remember is him closing his eyes right after and letting everything quiet down, letting himself fall into unconsciousness, giving up on his right to his own body and offering it to Hannibal to do with as he pleases.
Will is sitting absolutely still on the couch, heart hammering so fucking fast in his chest he wonders if this is what having a cardiac arrest feels like.
On the screen, Hannibal is caressing Will’s bearded face. He moves his hand, lifts it, brings it down on Will’s cheek, fast, hard, the sound of skin hitting skin making Will’s breath catch in his throat.
Hannibal is still a silent constant presence in the room with him, ignoring the TV, all of his focus on Will, on his reactions. Will doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes firmly trained on the bright screen, so filled with anticipation he nearly trembles with it.
He watches as Hannibal roughly, carelessly arranges his body till Will’s placed on his stomach, the hands on him tight and bruising everywhere they touch.
Will knows they were like that. He has the marks to prove it.
Hannibal moves closer to the foot of the bed. He takes hold of Will’s soft cheeks, spreads them to reveal the tight furled hole between. He simply looks at it for a moment before he spits on it, the act so dirty and so unlike Hannibal and so fucking hot it makes Will feel lightheaded with arousal.
Hannibal pushes a dry finger into Will’s hole. It seems to go in easily enough thanks to him being unable to resist the intrusion, but it still doesn’t remove the fact that Hannibal’s not using any lube at all, not even when he presses a second, a third, a fourth finger inside him, spitting on Will’s hole before adding each one. The TV shows how Hannibal is tearing him apart, the way he’s treating Will unable to be called anything else but a violation.
It’s been three days since they filmed this, and Will’s still tender, still sore. The swelling had gone down after the first day but his channel had stayed throbbing with pain, bruised and torn by Hannibal’s brutal treatment.
Will shifts on the sofa, focus momentarily zeroing on his aching hole, and he whines. Next to him, Hannibal exhales sharply. The fact that Hannibal’s not unaffected by this, that he gets something out of watching Will while Will watches himself being roughly used by Hannibal makes him breathe a little easier.
Finally, Hannibal fucks into his unconscious body. He goes in dry and it must chafe Hannibal, must be at least a little bit painful for him, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
There’s nothing gentle about the way Hannibal penetrates him; his thrusts are fast, powerful, Will’s slack body jostled with the force of them. When he gets pushed too far up the bed Hannibal grabs his hips, yanks him back down and fucks into him that much more harder, that much more violently.
This goes on for a long while. When Hannibal eventually comes, the guttural moan that leaves his mouth sounds almost animalistic. He slows his movements, ruts into Will as he rides out his orgasm till his cock softens, slips out. He spreads Will’s cheeks, forces two of his fingers past the puffy rim of his hole. He pulls them out, lifts the come covered digits to Will’s lips, pushes them into his slack mouth, repeats this till all of his release is coating Will’s tongue.
Hannibal leans over his body, presses his face against the juncture where Will’s neck and shoulder meet. He bites down, hard. Will unconsciously lifts his hand to his neck, touches the faint mark Hannibal branded him with. From his right, he hears Hannibal let out a small pleased sound.
He watches as Hannibal rises from the bed and walks towards the camera in all his naked glory. A moment later the screen goes dark.
For a few seconds everything’s quiet, Will once again seeing nothing but his own reflection staring back at him. Then…
“Was it what you hoped it’d be?”
Will turns his face towards Hannibal’s, finally meeting his eyes, the feeling of arousal warm and heavy in the pit of his stomach. He smiles. Hannibal’s lips mirror the movement back at him.
“It was perfect. Thank you.”