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Will felt the stream of the shower as the water began to steam. He was quickly coming to terms with impulsively accepting Hannibal's offer to stay over the night as he stepped into the shower twice as big as his bedroom closet. Hannibal made the offer ostensibly to monitor Will in case he had another seizure after the intensely stressful day they'd had. Hannibal's true motives were rather obvious; he'd take any opportunities available to study Will, to poke him and see what he'd do.
The water pressure in Hannibal's home was wonderful. Will looked up towards the stream, letting the warmth roll over his body, relaxing his aching muscles just a little. It wouldn't be surprising if Hannibal purposefully spilled the drink on Will to force him to use the shower. To further familiarize him with crossing conventional patient-doctor boundaries. Will accepted the offer to stay over because he didn't want to go home. Hannibal knew that, or he wouldn't have suggested it.
Will sighed and reached towards the first bottle labeled "Shampoo" his eyes landed on. Don't think about it.
He methodically washed his hair then his body. As he scrubbed his thighs with the borrowed washcloth, a thought came into his mind unbidden. He glanced up at the shower head. It was, of course, one of those fancy adjustable ones. He huffed and pulled his focus away, more aggressively washing himself with the washcloth to scrub away the heat settling between his legs.
That didn't help. Will let out a frustrated sigh and braced his hands against the wall. Why here, why now, of all places and times? He glared at the marble tiled wall, pulling his thoughts back in line one lustful urge at a time. He couldn't relieve himself now; if he took too long Hannibal would suspect something was wrong. Might worry Will had a seizure.
He bent to retrieve the washcloth he dropped, and the water streaming down his thighs caused a surge of arousal. Fuck it, he grabbed the shower head off its holder and twisted the front until water shot from one pressurized stream in the center. He'd be quick.
Air forced its way out of his lungs as he pointed the stream just above his clit. His hand's shook, but he steadied himself with one hand on the white tiled wall. It was pure relief, exactly what he needed. He sighed and spread his thighs. It was starting to be too much—the stream felt like fire—but he needed it so badly. He moved the stream upwards to stimulate himself a little less directly and stifled a gasp as the burning rivulets caressed his clit. His genitals pulsed heavily. "Jesus Christ," maybe he shouldn't have abstained for so long.
His breaths came heavier, eyes fell shut. But in his distraction, he was careless. His eyes shot open as his hand began to slip across the tile.
"Shit," he caught himself before he lost balance by slapping his hand that held the shower head into the wall.
"Will?" He heard from outside.
"I'm fine," Will began, but Hannibal was already opening the door to see if Will was having a fucking seizure. Will fumbled with the shower head, trying to change the spray setting, but in his panic, it slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. "Shit."
Hannibal opened the shower door and Will froze, heat rushing over his face. Hannibal looked at Will, scanned Will's body, then looked at the shower head, which was stuck between the last two high pressure settings. He said nothing, just stared.
Will retrieved the shower head, embarrassment weighing him down and turning all his senses on overdrive. It had been years, maybe a decade since he'd been so humiliated. "Sorry," he managed.
Hannibal closed the foggy glass door, and Will watched the blur of his body undress. Recovering his sense, Will averted his eyes, heart pounding against his rib cage as Hannibal stepped inside. He did nothing, said nothing, until Hannibal broke the silence.
"I'll assist you."
Will turned, meeting Hannibal's eyes with confusion and a challenge. Hannibal took the shower head from him without breaking eye contact, changed it back to its original setting, then reached past Will to set it on its holder. The room began to fill with steam again. "If you'll allow me."
Will turned away. "Assist me how?" Fear made him sour.
Hannibal slid the side of his index finger down Will's waist, resting on his hip. "Sate your appetite."
Will looked up into the stream and set his jaw against the mixed feelings swirling in his chest. Was he really going to allow this?
Yes, he was.
Will stepped back into Hannibal's space, slowly, cautiously, until he felt the brush of chest hair and the warm expanse of Hannibal's body against his back.
Hannibal snaked his arms around Will's torso. "Good boy."
Will let out a quiet scoff and set his eyes straight ahead as Hannibal smoothed his hands over his body, massaging his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. He was thorough, and Will began to drift back into Hannibal's chest, barely aware of it until his head hit Hannibal's shoulder.
"You were reticent to give in to me," Hannibal carded his fingers through the curls over Will's mound, taking an indulgently round about path to reach the parts of Will that begged for attention.
"You found a way to lure me, though, didn't you?"
Hannibal smiled against his ear, sliding his middle finger over Will's labia. "You wanted to be lured."
Hannibal pressed past Will's lips. Will's brows twitched at the warm slick that flowed onto Hannibal's fingers. But then, it felt good. Not physically, not yet, but conceptually—emotionally—he liked having Hannibal inside him.
Will inhaled sharply as Hannibal dragged the slick from his weeping entrance up, swirling the pads of his fingers over his heavy clit.
"You could have told me, you know," Hannibal murmured.
The sense of worship in each caresses had Will leaking anew onto his fingers. Will steadied his breath before speaking. "Why would I?" Hannibal pressed in and Will's body accepted them like a starving man. He let out a tense breath, "Does it matter?"
It felt too good too fast. Hannibal curved his fingers in a gradual arch against Will's front wall and pulled tremulous sounds from his throat.
"No," Hannibal said. There was an unspoken 'but', in his tone. He led Will's hand back towards his thighs, then higher, and—
Will craned his neck around, verifying with his eyes what he could clearly feel. His fingers laid over Hannibal's vulva. Will huffed a laugh. "Who would've thought."
Hannibal's eyes sparked with amusement. "Indeed." He guided Will to their previous position, Will's back against his chest, then slid his free hand over Will's abdomen. He pressed Will's body gently, imploring Will to relax, to sink down onto his fingers. "I only wish you could've known my touch sooner."
Will could no longer think clearly as Hannibal found a rhythm with his strokes. He grabbed Hannibal's hip and gasped at a particularly well angled stroke. He couldn't seem to suppress his reactions. That probably pleased Hannibal to no end.
"Your body is ravenous. How long have you denied yourself release?"
Will chuckled. He hadn't touched himself, hadn't even let himself think of it, since he started looking into killers' minds for Jack a few months back. And Hannibal was right. This was long overdue, and it felt so right he could almost cry. "Too long."
Will's pelvic muscles tightened as he climbed towards climax. A moan passed his lips, and he pressed against Hannibal's hand more insistently.
Hannibal stroked Will with carefully controlled vigor. With his free hand, he pressed his fingers flat over Will's clit, a grounding pressure that only unwound Will further.
Will's knees trembled as he rose higher and higher. "Hannibal."
Hannibal nuzzled into the crook of Will's neck, "Let the pleasure take you, Will. Savor it." His fingers kept up that wonderful, unbearable pace.
"God, hhhm, Fuck... Han—Han—mmmh!"
Will's head flew back, knocking into Hannibal's shoulder, as every sensation coalesced into a pinpoint of brilliant pleasure. For a while there was nothing else.
He came down slowly, regaining awareness to the sound of his own breathless murmuring, head tucked snugly under Hannibal's chin.
"Beautiful," Hannibal cradled Will through the residual tremors, "Magnificent."
Will was too exhausted to resist the pull of Hannibal's solid presence. He sagged back and looked up at the killer he'd let take him apart. The fondness in Hannibal's eyes scorched him like an open flame; he couldn't keep looking. Dread teased the edges of Will's mind, but it couldn't quite find its way in. He was too far in to go back to how things used to be.
He'd crossed that threshold a long time ago.