A Bitter Taste (15)

A Bitter Taste


Man sex, fisting, sex stuff. Skip this chapter if that’s not your jam.

“When did you first decide to eat someone?” Will asked, dipping his head to wet his chin in the hot water of Hannibal’s bath where he was soaking. A glass of wine sat untouched on the rim next to him, a second glass currently being someplace Will would rather be—namely, in Hannibal’s hand.

Hannibal didn’t respond at first, merely placed his glass carefully next to Will’s and moved to sit on the edge of the tub, still dripping from the shower he’d taken, the soft towel slung around his hips padding his skin from the warming marble.

“It was less a decision than it was defiant resolution to survive,” he finally said, trailing his fingers in the water near Will’s knee. “Despite the circumstances, I was determined that I would eat instead of being eaten.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Will said, tipping his head back onto a towel of his own, content to lay there in the warm water and watch him.

“It was that simple,” Hannibal murmured, sighing. He traced Will’s knee where it peeked from the water, fingers curling beneath in a soft caress. “It was assumed that I would not take what I was offered for fear of the consequences. I survived despite the expectations.”

Will caught the wistful distance in Hannibal’s dark gaze and smiled. He had caught the man in a rare moment of unguarded reflection; it would be foolish not to press the advantage.

He moved slowly to sit up, coiling around Hannibal’s arm, wet fingers gliding up firm, tanned muscle to cling tight, blue eyes veiled and sultry as they lifted to Hannibal’s own.

“Who was it?” he breathed. “Who was the first one, Hannibal?”

“Mischa,” he said. Those dark eyes hardened suddenly and Will smiled, laughing to think he’d ever had an advantage to press. Hannibal’s slight, bare smile curved his handsome mouth, his voice barely more than a purr when he said, “My younger sister.”

Will held his gaze, considering him. “Once upon a time there was a boy, a sad little boy with a little sister…”

“Your story, Will? Or my own?” Hannibal asked, reaching out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over Will’s eyelashes when he leaned into the touch. “Or perhaps our story is the same?”

“Will I be your Ravenstag, Hannibal?” Will asked, remembering how they had kissed, twined together in a strange bed that smelled of spice and warmth. He had felt so cherished then, every inch of him precious and languorously explored, touched for the first time in his life as if he was actually worthy of something so deeply devouring and encompassing that mere love was paltry in comparison.

“That is up to you, Will,” Hannibal said, fingers spreading to cup the back of his skull, buried in damp dark curls. “You may want what I want when I tell you to want it, but that is entirely outside of my ability to command.”

Will laughed softly at that, finding it unlikely that there was anything outside of Hannibal’s ability, only outside of his aesthetics.

“And what do you want me to want right now, Doctor Lecter?”

Hannibal considered him in the soft lighting, the glimmer in his eyes turned amber. The light gleamed golden on his tanned skin and turned Will’s bare hide into shades of tinted ivory.

“I thought I knew what I wanted from you, Will,” he said, reaching down into the water to caress his hip, fingers skimming back over the high, round curve of his ass. “But I find myself rethinking my original plan.”

“Which was?” Will asked, sliding closer to Hannibal’s warm body and, incidentally, allowing easier access to his own. He tipped his head back and brushed his mouth against the strong cords of Hannibal’s throat, feeling the dim pulse of blood beneath the surface of his skin, the warm scent of him rising and thickening as his heart picked up its pace.

“To have you laid open and bare, fastened tightly and helpless,” Hannibal murmured, his warm palm hot against Will’s backside when he cupped one pert cheek. “Lashed into tears and teased into raptures by turns. I wanted you broken in my bed and remade to suit me.”

“What would have suited you, Hannibal?” Will asked, shivering to even think of it. He would not have protested, had it come to that. There was very little he wouldn’t sacrifice to stave off his boredom.

What matters is what I’m going to do to you and how much you’re willing to take…’

“You changed your mind,” Will purred, pressing into him, one damp hand lifting to trace the contours of his collarbone and down to twine in the hair on his chest. “What would have suited you?”

“To see you as you were when you mounted my table with the burning ferocity of a knight heading into war,” Hannibal murmured, his breath coming out in a slow, controlled sigh when Will softly bit him. “You in all your feral fury collared and leashed at my feet with the marks of my teeth on your skin.”

Will shuddered, rearing up to push into his lap, Hannibal easily steadying him, dragging him out of the water without any effort.

“You should have,” Will said, the words muffled by Hannibal’s mouth on his. His skin prickled with shivers that pooled in his groin, his thoughts wrapping around the image Hannibal had painted of him. Hannibal snagged his thigh and pulled him closer to straddle him there on the edge of the tub, Will’s hands fisted tight at the nape of his neck, holding him close, driven to distraction by even the idea of it.

“I don’t need to break you in order to own you, Will,” Hannibal said, a husky, throbbing breath against Will’s lips.

“Do you think you own me, Hannibal?” he asked, drawing a gasping breath. Hannibal was warm and solid against him, the brush of his furry chest and belly tickling Will’s smooth skin. He bit his lip against a moan when Hannibal traced the bruises still on his throat from their last time together, the faint imprint of the bite he’d been so desperate for.

“You’ve belonged to others your entire life, Will,” he murmured, making a collar of his laced fingers, a tight squeeze making Will jerk hard in his grasp. “It isn’t a decision for you any more than my own was for me. You fear chaos, aimlessness, pointlessness and you seek out those with the power to shield you from those fears. You belonged to me the moment you stripped for me at nothing more than my whim.”

Will’s eyes swept closed, the whole of his senses narrowing down to the warm, strong hands around his throat, heated breath spilling over his chin and lips as Hannibal purred, “Breaking you now would merely be for the sake of distraction.”

But he wanted it. God, he wanted it. Wanted to be helpless and vulnerable, wanted to be pushed to that fine edge of pleasure and pain and made to ride it without mercy. He wanted to let Hannibal take all of his boredom, hatred and lifelessness and transform it, let him carry the weight in Will’s stead, seek freedom in captivity where his choices were no longer his own and the consequences were not his to face.

“I’m amenable to distraction,” Will managed, his eyes opening, foggy with desire.

Hannibal smiled at him, flashing his sharp, dangerous teeth. “That isn’t what I want for you now, Will,” he said, sweeping his hands from Will’s throat to his shoulders, sliding his fingers down the trembling muscle of Will’s sides to grip his taut hips. “I prefer you in a collar of kisses, laid open and bare by your own hands, fastened tightly and helpless in the bonds of your own desire.”

Will squeezed his thighs around Hannibal’s lean hips, pressing into the heat rising beneath the soft towel that separated them. His hands trembled with the force of his excitement, fingertips stuttering over the heat of Hannibal’s belly, seeking the tuck of cloth that held him away from his prize.

His wrists were seized and pulled wide as Hannibal kissed him, harder this time, a cruel mingling of tongues and sharp teeth. Will wriggled against him, tugging against his grasp, enjoying the feel of Hannibal’s strength caging him so tightly. With a deft twist and push, Will’s arms were folded back behind him, wrists crossed at his lower back, the pressure of Hannibal’s fist against him forcing an arch to his back that pressed him more tightly to the man’s ready body.

“Here,” he panted, coiling his tongue against Hannibal’s own, a slick stroke of flesh designed to inflame. “Here.”

Hannibal felt no need to answer him. The pressure on Will’s arms sharpened and he bit back a yelp, shoulders dropping backwards, hips arching forward, the long line of his body exposed from the tips of his curls to the strutted, seeking length of his cock.

Holding him with one tight hand, Hannibal grazed his curled knuckles under Will’s chin, his deep, dark eyes watching with greedy excitement as he traced a trail down the long length of Will’s throat.

“Your skin has always marked so beautifully, Will,” he murmured.

Bewildered, Will tossed his head slightly, gasping, “What?”

Hannibal either didn’t hear him or ignored him, and Will was so eager to continue that he didn’t pursue the strange statement. In fact, when Hannibal spread his fingers over Will’s chest, fingertips teasing one tight, hard nipple, he forget about it entirely.

“What an enticing treasure you are, Will,” he purred, fingers skimming lower and lower, Will’s body taut and responsive to his touch like a well-tuned instrument. He wanted to be played as such, stroked with teasing and pounded with passion, nothing more than a harp of bone strung with shivering nerve endings. “Willing to suffer any depravity for the pleasure of being elevated once again.”

“Hannibal,” he moaned, his voice catching on a strangled gasp when a touch ghosted over the leaking tip of his cock. His eyes rounded wide and he snarled, “God, don’t stop!”

“You want what I want,” Hannibal softly reminded him, gathering slick precum on his clean fingers to slide them just beneath the tight head of Will’s cock, light and teasing. Will’s thighs tightened hard around his hips, every muscle in his body straining towards that touch, an animal growl of frustration breaking from him when it only earned him the brushing trail of one blunted fingernail down his length. His cock pulsed, bouncing hard, his hips twitching forward.

“Tell me,” Will said, the words breaking on half a sob, rushed and tight and painful in their intensity. “Tell me what you want!”

The finger reached the tight skin of his balls and Will reared up on a harsh cry when Hannibal cupped him, only the unrelenting grip of his fist on Will’s crossed wrists keeping the smaller man in place.

Those fingers tightened and Will’s eyes rolled back, head back and mouth parting in absolute resignation to whatever Hannibal chose to give him. Another soft squeeze, a fondling roll of fingers and palm followed by another and another until Will’s teeth clenched, the veins standing out in his bared throat, a flush suffusing him from his brow to his chest.

He wanted to break Hannibal’s hold and rip the towel off of him, to bare him as he was bared. He wanted to kneel there on the cold marble floor, shivering and penitent and choking on Hannibal’s hard cock.

Penance for what?’

He pushed it away, shuddering, the dark gaze of the Ravenstag in his memories looking back at him with voracious lust.

“Where are you right now, Will?” Hannibal asked him, punctuating the question with a squeeze that was deliberately shocking, a flare of pain to drag him back into this moment.

Will did sob, then, a harsh and startled sound torn from his lips as his eyes flew wide. He writhed against Hannibal’s grip, briefly resistant, only to find himself dumped to the floor, shivering and bereft.

He lay where he landed, splayed on his elbows with his cheek to the floor, his knees curled underneath him so that he lay flat on the cold marble. It felt good against the heated curve of his cock and he wriggled with calculated intent, his blue eyes holding Hannibal’s in unmistakable challenge.

“To think you spent so long cut away from all of this, Will,” Hannibal mused, leaning over him to press one hard hand to the base of his spine, pushing him harder into the floor until Will jerked in response, breathless and aching. “Two hundred years of delight wasted. Do you think he would have allowed that, your Ravenstag?”

“No,” Will moaned, grinning up at him, eyes hazy with desire. He started to work his hand between the hard floor and his own tight belly but Hannibal stopped him, pulling his arm out straight to prevent it, curtly telling him, “Don’t move.”

Panting and helplessly delighted, Will shivered when Hannibal did the same to his other arm, leaving him flattened on the floor with his bent knees curled to either side. His bones and muscles complained but he ignored them to enjoy forcing himself past the limits of even his own impressive resilience. His cock leaked a small puddle on the floor and he found it perversely amusing that this pristine room would be smeared with the leavings of his own desire.

Hannibal let him lie there, merely watching him for a long, thrilling moment before he tugged off the towel with a negligent twitch of his fingers, the loss of his pressing hand allowing Will’s hips to rise just slightly.

“Before me I see the boy you should have been,” Hannibal breathed, crouching to stroke Will’s curly hair, an amused smile curling his lips when Will twisted to kiss his hand, sucking at his fingertips to taste the salt of his own precum. “Two hundred years of restraint undone in a heartbeat, no more resistant to sensation but a victim of it.”

“Is that what you want, Doctor Lecter?” Will breathlessly asked, rolling his hips to skate his hard cock against the floor, just for the prickle of gooseflesh it brought to his too-tight skin. “Should I be your victim? Willing and waiting and twitching for the knife?”

Hannibal dipped his fingers into Will’s mouth, allowing him to suckle them, allowing him to graze his sharp, lupine teeth in a threat belied by the soft tongue that followed.

“I think it was this that drew him to you, Will,” Hannibal said, his voice hushed and sultry, thick with growing desire. “This recklessness of yours, your willingness to risk even death for a taste of what sustains you.”

It was hard to concentrate on what Hannibal was saying when he was so hard and full and tantalizingly out of reach, a swollen and succulent ache that Will wanted to kiss away. Hunger flooded him in rapidly uncontrollable waves, rising like a tide to push out everything else but this consuming demand for more. More touches, more pain, more kisses and more everything. He wanted to be skewered by flesh, turned inside out with the force of his pleasure, wanted to feel the fire in his belly take hold and sear him from within. He bit Hannibal’s fingers and moaned, the rub of cool marble over his heated cock almost enough to bring him to orgasm.

As if well aware of what he was about with such fretful squirming, Hannibal grasped Will’s hips and hoisted him up onto his knees, denying him once more.

“Don’t move,” he warned again, and left Will lying there, shivering and hot and snarling with frustration. He could have moved, he knew. There was nothing holding him there in such a vulnerable position, chest on the floor, arms spread wide, backside in the air like a bitch in heat. No bonds, no ties, no tools to pin him in place like a butterfly except for his own desire. Somehow, realizing Hannibal could exert so much control over him only made Will’s heart thunder harder with excitement.

He heard Hannibal return, heard him make a soft sound of approval at him, that muted cluck of his tongue usually directed at cats. Will made a sound that was not unlike that a cat might make, a startled hiss of surprise when he was pulled up off of the floor entirely and propelled towards the shower Hannibal had only recently vacated.

“What are you doing?” he asked, gasping out the words, stepping into the still-foggy world of glass and slick stone to brace his hands on the smooth wall.

“Whatever I like,” Hannibal purred, his body shoving hard against Will’s pressing him almost painfully into the wet wall. His tongue curled into Will’s ear and the smaller man twitched, rocking his hips back to feel the sticky throb of Hannibal’s cock against his ass. Teeth grazed his lobe, making his breath stutter, his back arching when Hannibal cupped his chest, fingers finding and teasing his darkened nipples. Had they always been so sensitive? He could remember various women over the course of his forever running their sharp nails over them, circling and teasing a reaction, but he couldn’t recall ever jolting with sensation as he was doing now. Under Hannibal’s pinching, toying fingers they formed two solid lines of shocking pleasure straight to his groin. He choked out a moan and tightened, aching for relief, not even caring that Hannibal chuckled, content to watch Will suffer.

“Fuck me,” he urged, pushing back against the man pressed so tightly to him. “God, Hannibal, just fuck me.”

“I must admit, Will, I find it terribly gratifying to see you this way,” Hannibal whispered into his ear, nuzzling him. “All your grace and guile abandoned to show me what lies beneath.”

He reached to do it himself again, the only goad he knew to get Hannibal’s immediate response. He was, predictably, prevented from doing so, his hands flattened to the wall, all four limbs spread wide.

“I admire your relentless pursuit of your goal, Will,” Hannibal told him, wry. “But what I want doesn’t encompass you masturbating. Another time, perhaps.”

Will’s cheeks darkened deeper than his rosy flush and his cock did another bouncing dance, straining for friction and finding none when Hannibal pulled him backwards by his hips, instructing him, “Slide your hands down the wall. Don’t break contact.”

Panting, he did as he was told, his shiver nearing uncontrolled shudders because there was only one thing this this position could mean and he wanted it so badly he could taste it like salt and musk on his tongue.

“You have an incredibly receptive body, Will,” Hannibal said, only the faintest strain in his voice betraying his own excitement. “I would say that your Ravenstag did quite a thorough job of teaching you, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Will said, biting the words out past his dragging breaths, hips tilting just a little to offer more, enticing and bare and ready.

A touch brushed down his spine, sliding between his cheeks. He twitched hard and cursed, dropping his head and closing his eyes, teeth clenching as warm, slick fingers found and circled his hole. He wanted them inside, twisting and seeking and uncomfortably full. He wanted them filling him with slickness and giving way to Hannibal’s thick cock. He wanted the painful cramp of Hannibal balls-deep inside of him, his insides squeezing in spasm at the intrusion, clamping down around him as he thrust…

Fuck!” The word exploded out of him when the first finger slid in. He felt Hannibal’s other hand brush lower and take his balls in hand, a sensation so unexpectedly sudden that he jerked away from the touch. He felt a slow, steady tug and the nerve-prickling, aching tautness of his sac being pulled, followed by Hannibal softly breathing, “Sh…”

Will’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached but the motion distracted him from the second finger being fed inside of him, sliding in without resistance, pressing down lightly in a way that banked more and more heat in his belly.

“You’re going to make me cum,” he tightly warned, forcing the words past his clenched teeth, shuddering. Hannibal’s only response was to add another finger, stretching him. When the fourth slipped inside, Will moaned helplessly, eyes wide.

“N…no,” he gasped, realizing what Hannibal intended. “Hannibal!”

“Sh,” he was told again. He felt it then, knuckles teasing at his ass, lube-slick and hot. He felt a push, a wash of gooseflesh spilling down his spine as Hannibal’s fist slid inside of him. He felt himself tighten around it and the world bled to fuzzy white.

Oh my fucking God!”

It echoed in the richly-appointed bathroom, his own sordid mark on Hannibal’s careful aesthetic, a scream dripping with astonished shock that was almost as lewd as the way his body worked back against the slow, careful plunge of Hannibal’s fist inside of him.

“What a beautiful vision you are, Will,” Hannibal praised, the pressure of his other hand on Will’s balls preventing anything more than mounting tension that rapidly climbed to the precipice of pain. “I wonder, what more will you allow?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, begging for more, pleading. Deeper, more, harder, give me everything and more on top of that. He rocked his hips back against the knotted fist inside of him, lost in a blind haze of disbelief and pleasure that never peaked enough to give him relief. “Please, Hannibal, holy fuck.”

“Are you helpless yet, Will?” Hannibal purred, amused, fisting him slowly and steadily, knowing too well how to keep him dangling on the edge of explosive orgasm.

Yes!” he snarled, sobbing, heaving so hard that Hannibal paused, waiting for the spasm to pass. Will felt him pull out slowly and whimpered, each exquisite motion of his fist unfurling bringing another wash of dangerous pleasure to the fore. Hannibal released his balls and Will gasped, shuddering, acutely aware that four of his fingers were still inside of him, palm up to cup his own cock as he fed it into Will.

“Oh God!” he sobbed, shoving back in short, frantic bursts as Hannibal’s fingers slid out and came to clench on his hip, the other joining to hold him steady. He ground his round ass back into the man behind him so hard that he felt Hannibal’s pubic bone, earned himself a soft, indrawn breath over sharp teeth and an answering, brutal thrust.

In a matter of seconds Will tightened around him so hard it may as well have been his first time, every deep stroke threatening to unmake him, every pulsing, responsive bounce of Hannibal’s cock inside of him so excruciatingly satisfying that it was all Will could do to stay upright. His skin tightened in answer, the whole of him squeezing down around Hannibal’s thick cock to feel him bumping that place inside, each time a shock to his system, an overload that threatened to burst.

Hannibal tightened his grip on Will’s hip with one hand, the other rising to stroke his slippery, sweating body. His words were broken when he spoke, each one punctuated by a soft, low moan of effort when he said, “Moan for me, Will. Let me hear your need.”

There was nothing feigned in the way he sobbed, curses and promises of filth and desire spilling from him in a jumbled, heated gasp. The curses became pleas. He braced against the wall and writhed, begging for permission.

Because he wanted what Hannibal wanted, when Hannibal wanted it, and Hannibal most certainly did not want Will coming just yet, if the painful pinch of his fingers around the base of Will’s cock was any indication.

“Do you think he did this to you, Will?” he gasped, slowing the pace in preference of depth, rolling his hips up in a way that nearly lifted Will off of his feet, the tips of his toes straining to keep his balance. “Do you think your Ravenstag tied you into a knot and fucked you? Hm?”

Just hearing that word out of Hannibal’s mouth made Will twist in his grasp, his aching cock weeping so much that it dribbled over Hannibal’s tight fingers.

“How do you think he did it?” he mused, panting, slowing to a stop, leaving Will thrashing on his cock in frustration. “On all fours, like a beast? Or did he sneak into your bed as you slept to fuck you silly?”

Will’s muscles trembled with strain, aching and hot. He clenched rhythmically around the thick cock buried to the balls inside of him, just that friction enough to put pressure on that spot inside of him.

“I want you to cum for me, Will,” Hannibal said, taking a dragging breath half unheard over the sound of Will’s sobbing answer. “I want you to make me cum when you do.”


A sharp, stinging slap hit his cock forcefully and Will saw stars, his body gripping up tight as light burst across his vision. Before the sharpness of it subsided, another slap followed and he snarled, thrusting helplessly as he came, arching up into the hand that delivered blow after delicious blow to his spurting cock. His whole body bowed into it, hips straining and tight in frantic rhythm, every hard squeeze of his muscles milking the thrumming heat buried deep in his ass.

His begging turned to sobs and mindless moaning. He was barely aware of Hannibal squeezing close to him, the sharpness of his chin digging into Will’s shoulder, his arm clamped hard around Will’s taut waist, his groin pushed up tight and unmoving against Will’s backside to feel every tremor and spasm that rocked him.

Will wanted that hand to keep going, to keep cracking against his abused flesh until he couldn’t stand it, but it was so much more satisfying when Hannibal’s cum-slick hand squeezed tight around the head instead, rapidly milking him to keep him wriggling.

Hannibal groaned deeply, stiffening behind Will, the barest shudder betraying his orgasm. He could feel it inside, though, the urgent contraction of heavy flesh trapped in the tight well of his body. The sensation of rushing blood through Hannibal’s engorged flesh coupled with the relentless and almost painful rub of his hand on the head of Will’s cock was just enough to make him thrash again, heaving and sobbing as he came.

When Hannibal finally let him go with a final squeeze, Will slumped against the shower wall bonelessly, fighting to catch his breath, every nerve ending singing with aftershocks.

Panting heavily, Hannibal groped his hand over the shower knobs and the overhead came on, dousing them with water that slowly warmed.

“Holy. Absolute. Fuck,” Will said, gasping for air, shivering and wincing when Hannibal pulled out of him, a gush of hot cum dribbling down his thighs.

“Inelegant but accurate,” Hannibal said, peeling him off of the wall to stand upright under the water.

Will turned under the spray, a tired grin tugging the corners of his mouth. “Picked a good spot for it, Doctor Lecter.”

He got a slow grin in response, Hannibal’s fine lips parting to show the tips of his sharp teeth. “I have a limited number of sheets at the moment,” he said, chuckling. “It’s a regrettable oversight on my part.”

Will laughed at that, watching Hannibal get cleaned up. He was struck suddenly by the way his hair fell over his brow, a slight tousle that took years off of him and brought reluctant admiration to Will’s mind. It was familiar somehow, but the feeling faded when Hannibal ducked his head beneath the spray and slicked his hair back, giving Will a weighty, thoughtful look.

“Still see the boy I should have been, Doctor Lecter?” Will asked him, still rosy and flushed and trembling.

There was a strange nostalgia tingeing his words when Hannibal purred, “Oh yes, Will. I see you precisely as you were meant to be.”

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