Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

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Chapter 1 

Let Alpha Help

“Will,” Hannibal said, eyeing that boy's lax grip on his fork, the way he pushed the haricot verts aimlessly across his plate. “If you’re done eating, put your utensils down, please.”

Will sighed, settling his fork and knife in the ‘done’ position on his plate. “Sorry,” he said, head bowing forward a little, exposing the pale side of his neck in a traditional gesture of appeasement. An omega already, even though he had yet to present. “Not hungry, I guess.”

Hannibal didn’t question whether the food was to blame. Will had loved Hannibal’s cooking ever since the first time he’d sat at Hannibal’s table, awed by his surroundings, awed by the man who would soon become his father, at the impressionable age of five years old. Hannibal had never treated Will as a child, as far as cooking was concerned; Will left the world of fast foods and microwave meals behind in favor of gourmet, multiple-course dining with recipes from around the world, the moment that Alana accepted Hannibal’s offer of marriage. 

This meal in particular never failed to please Will. Pork loin, French green beans, lightly dressed orzo with baby heirloom tomatoes and ripe, juicy olives. In fact, Hannibal had made it for the express purpose of chivvying Will into eating more; this past week he had come home from school each day looking wan, listless, and unable to eat. 

“Five days of depressed appetite,” he noted, cutting into the pork loin on his own plate. 

Wills head swiveled in his direction at that, accusation in his eyes. “You said no doctor mode, Dad.”

Fifteen can be such a contrary age. 

For the last year, with the specter of puberty approaching, Will’s sensitivity to his father’s doctoring had ratcheted skyward. Another sign of his inevitable omega-hood; omegas, already reclusive by nature, were fiercely protective of the Alphas in their lives. Hannibal doctoring him implied distance, and Will, such a sensitive boy, could not stomach the prospect of distance between himself and his Alpha.

Unless he put it there himself, of course.

Another bite, chewing slowly as he stared his son down. “My concern is not unreasonable.”

Wills lips parted to contradict that, but then closed again. He looked down into his lap, again tilting his head so fractionally that the gesture must be unconscious, and sighed. “I’ll wash the dishes,” he offered, already knowing where the evening would go. 

Hannibal nodded. This was part of a well-established routine. Hannibal would wipe off dishes as Will washed, part of the same team for the duration of an activity before settling down in Hannibal’s office for a much-needed conversation. A routine they had begun not long after Will moved in, after he had proved himself to have a remarkable insight and intelligence into the workings of his own mind and the minds of others. “You’ll dry them as well tonight,” Hannibal said, with a glance at his watch. Again, Will stared up at him, accusation in his eyes. “I have an appointment with your mother shortly. Would you like me to pass any messages along to her?”

A beat, during which Will’s sharp little teeth gnawed at his lower lip. “Nothing really. Hope she’s having a good tour.” These words, said with little conviction. 

Yet another sign in favor of his eventual designation. A general antipathy to others of their kind, even family members, until the achievement of hormonal regulation via mating. Omegas, the truest to their baser instincts, did not take kindly to even the remotest possibility of competition while they remained unmated. 

“One hour,” Hannibal said, dropping his napkin on the tablecloth and leaving his sulking, beautiful son to clean up the table. 

Ensconced in the comfort of his leather desk chair, Hannibal took a moment to consider his son’s behaviour of late. Loss of appetite. Poor sleep, if the sounds the monitor picked up from his bedroom were anything to go by. Mood swings. Increased tardiness when preparing for school. A particular aversion to their good night routine. 

Hannibal frowned, and dialed his wife. Alana picked up on the third ring. “I’m worried about your son,” Hannibal said in lieu of a greeting. “I hoped you might have some insight.”

“I told you parenting solo would be harder than you thought,” Alana laughed, using the tone of voice that he associated with sparkling blue eyes and a healthy amount of impertinence. Still charming, after all these years. “Do I need to come back early?”

“Of course not,” Hannibal said, knowing she’d made the offer with no intention of following through. This lecture tour meant everything to her, and she would not be so cavalier about leaving it behind over Will’s little temper tantrums. “Your expertise will be enough.”

Alana listened to the list of complaints. “Something at school,” she said. A hum of thought. “Oh. Oh. Wasn’t it sex and gender education week this week?” 

The words dropped like leaden weights in Hannibal’s gut. “Has the curriculum been rearranged? I’d understood that it would take place in May.” A month and a half away, still. Hannibal, kept busy with his bustling practice and his consultancy at the FBI, nevertheless made a point of being aware of and involved in Will’s ongoing education. That he had not been made aware of this--

“Mrs. Madchen is pregnant,” Alana said, with increasing certainty coloring her voice. “They probably moved it to accommodate her maternity leave.” 

An understandable change. Nubile minds would want to learn these intimate subjects from teachers they knew and trusted, not from a substitute, a virtual stranger. “Her lessons must have been inadequate,” Hannibal said, suppressing a subvocal growl, “for them to leave Will in such a state.”

“It’s probably not the lessons, Hannibal,” Alana said, voice gentle, placative. “You know how children can be at that age.”

“There’s no question that it's the children,” Hannibal answered. “But their behaviour might well have been curbed by an adequate education.” Poor lessons were one problem, easily corrected. But lessons poor enough to inspire misbehaviour among his peers… 

“I can hear you becoming more and more overprotective.”

This brought a smile to his face. “Can you?”

“It’s in your breathing,” Alana said. “Are you having one of your sit-down talks?”

“Momentarily.”

“Well, you’ve always understood him in a way I never could. What a failure of a mother I am,” she sighed. He did not contradict her; she wouldn’t expect him to, either. She may bear his mark, and he may father her child, but neither of them pretended that their arrangement was anything more than that. “Just remember that he sees as well as listens. You can’t lie to that boy.”

“Of course not,” Hannibal said, so convincingly that Alana’s voice remained bright and unquestioning when she said: 

“Send him my love, alright?”

“Always. He sends you his.”

“The way you send yours?” Alana asked, once more laughing, sly. That was a lie she would never believe, of course, from Will or Hannibal.

“Just so. Send my regards to Margot.”  

“Goodbye, Hannibal,” drifted Margot’s voice down the line, sparkling with laughter, and then the call disconnected. Hannibal set his phone back into his drawer, contemplating their conversation, steepled fingers tapping against his chin. 

Sex and gender education week, timed so perfectly for when Will’s mother would be away from home. At first, the news had been unwelcome. But now that he considered it more carefully...

Fortune had always favored him, perhaps because he never took it for granted. 

An hour to the minute after Hannibal left the dining room, a tentative knock sounded on his office door. He smoothed the front of his shirt and scooted his chair back from the desk before calling for Will to enter. 

Will did as instructed, stepping into the office quietly, then turning and shutting the door behind him. Never mind that they were alone at home; strict adherence to routines was paramount in the formation of a young omega’s mind. He’d even changed out of his school clothes and into his pajamas, a pair of soft flannel pants, and one of Hannibal’s old white undershirts, the collar stretched thin so that it showed the curve of Will’s clavicles. Smart boy. “Everything’s put away,” he said, hands folded behind his back, leaning against the door.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said. He studied his son before him, the high color on his cheeks. Anticipatory embarrassment. A pat to the inside of his thigh. “Come.”

Will didn’t hesitate, falling into a familiar pattern. Only a few strides carried him across the office; he stopped in front of Hannibal and leaned forward to press a soft kiss against Hannibal’s raised cheek. At his father’s good boy, Will dropped to his knees with the ease and grace of long practice, in his proper place in the space between Hannibal’s spread thighs, his head laid gently against the very spot that Hannibal had patted to summon him. 

“Are you ready to talk?” Hannibal asked, running his fingers through the riotous curls on the top of Will’s head. 

“Mmhmm,” Will answered, eyelids drifting down to half-mast, hands folded tidily in his lap, unmoving. 

Already, his Alpha’s scent had soothed him into compliance. It came faster and faster now; even one year ago, they would have to sit this way for ten minutes at the very least before Will achieved this state of placid malleability. 

“Why are we here, Will?” he asked, running the tip of a finger over the shell of Will’s ear. 

“I haven’t been eating well,” he said. “I’ve been upset and I haven’t talked to you about it.”

“What do we call that, dear boy?” Hannibal sighed, smelling his son’s calm permeate the air. A bit sweeter now than ever before. 

“Withholding.” And then, being the intelligent boy he was, he answered Hannibal’s next question before he could speak it. “We don’t withhold from our Alphas. You can’t help if you don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Just so.” Hannibal stroked Will’s cheekbone with his thumb, drank in the sight of the boy’s eyelashes fluttering the rest of the way closed. “Let Alpha help you, Will. Tell me what’s the matter.”

Will’s head turned, nose nuzzling against Hannibal’s thigh. With the gentle encouragement of a gentle press against that back of his head, Will slid a little higher up Hannibal’s leg. He sighed. “It’s the boys at school.”

“Mm.”

Will knew that sound by now. It meant his answer didn’t suffice. “Matthew,” he said. “And Frederick.” Names that had come up more than once now, in such talks as these. “They haven’t left me alone since Mrs. Madchen taught us about omegas. Which--” he frowned, but then seemed to change his mind. “Making fun of me, you know. Saying I’ll be an omega, pinching where they want to bite me, stupid stuff.”

Only a few sentences, and yet so much to comment on. “You will be an omega, sweet boy,” Hannibal murmured, smoothing the furrow between Will’s brows. Will made a noncommittal sound. “Look at you now, darling. How can you doubt it?”

Will’s eyelids lifted and he fixed his father with a mutinous glare.

“But there is no reason they should be so certain, is there.” Hannibal conceded the point, and Will’s expression relaxed. “Why have they singled you out as an omega? What has convinced them so?”

Another long sigh. “Matthew spied on me in the changing rooms,” he said. “He saw-- he saw.”

“What did he see, Will?” Hannibal asked, patient, even knowing that he ought to punish this further instance of withholding. 

Will caught the undercurrent of a threat in his father’s voice and hastened to repair the damage. “They saw my--my penis,” he said, stumbling over the word, face flaming. He turned his face further into Hannibal’s thigh, and Hannibal encouraged him to lean ever further forward, so that Will’s nose lay in the folds of fabric where his hip creased.

Hannibal’s fingertips stroked through Will’s curls again, to place feather-light caresses against the nape of his neck. Will shivered under his touch, breathed in deep, and fell forward, limp, face no longer tucked into Hannibal’s thigh, but into his groin, nose and mouth sucking in deep, long breaths. 

“And they’ve pinched you,” Hannibal added, earning a small nod of Will’s head in response. “Where?”

“Daddy,” Will said, voice plaintive, tilting his head up to look at Hannibal from under the fringe of his lashes, eyes blue and shimmering, face splotchy and red with embarrassment. He spoke into the fine material of Hannibal’s trousers, his breath humid, his mouth moving over Hannibal’s cock. “It’s humiliating.” 

“We’ll leave that for now, then,” Hannibal said, to a frustrated groan from his son. “You had concerns about the lessons Mrs. Madchen was teaching.”

A long sigh. Will’s eyes shut again, resuming his deep breathing, calming himself with Alpha’s scent. “It wasn’t… it’s not what we’ve talked about before.”

“I had my concerns,” Hannibal said, the fingers on Will’s nape now gently squeezing and releasing his neck, applying pressure with the pads of his fingers over Will’s scent glands. The air smelled even sweeter now, more than it had before. “Your mother assured me that the school’s curriculum would be satisfactory, but I confess, I had my concerns.” Will had gone stiff at the mention of his mother. “What foolishness did Mrs. Madchen teach you, I wonder?”

“Omegas serve a-- a societal function,” Will answered immediately, and with enthusiasm. Happy to prove that his mother’s decision had been a poor one. “We’re meant to allow Alphas to claim us. Give them babies. Be quiet and useful. Be grateful for the chance to serve the Alphas in whatever way they ask.”

Hannibal smiled at Will’s little slip of the tongue. ‘We’re meant to.’ Counting himself an omega already, sweet boy. “But that’s not what we’ve talked about, is it, darling?” He squeezed Will’s nape once more, hard, and Will fell limp in his hold. 

A few more panting breaths, a gentle, quiet whine from somewhere in the back of Will’s throat, when Hannibal’s fingers loosened around him. “No,” he managed. “Daddy, I--” he took another deep breath, mouth parted over Hannibal’s cock through his pants still. His hands remained on his lap, but no longer relaxed, his tangled fingers white from the strength of his grip.

“You look flushed,” Hannibal said, taking hold of Will’s hair and prying him off his cock. Too young to present, still, but in the face of Hannibal’s overwhelming Alpha scent, the sweet boy had lost control. His pajamas tented upward, a dot of moisture on the grey fabric. “Mrs. Madchen has done you a disservice, and you know I take your education seriously, Will.” He eyed the gentle curve of Will’s neck, the way the color had drifted down to his chest. 

“I know,” Will agreed, blinking rapidly, trying to regain a semblance of control.

“Tomorrow,” Hannibal said, “I’ll keep you from school and we’ll do it correctly. You’re long overdue for a check-up anyway. We’ll cover all of the bases from the beginning. You’ll work hard won’t you? Be a good boy, and do what I say?”

“Yes,” Will said, eyes closing again. He took a deep, steadying breath, and though his erection remained, he seemed to have compartmentalized it successfully. “I’ll be good, Alpha.”

“Excellent.” Hannibal released Will’s hair, and to his delight, his son dove forward, tucking his face back where he’d been so cozy before-- cheek pressed to the crease of Hannibal’s hip, nose and mouth nuzzling against Hannibal’s groin. “You stay there until you’ve calmed down, darling, and then off to bed with you.”

“No good-night?” Will asked, voice small.

“Not tonight, Will. You’re too tired.”

Will nodded, remaining still and quiet until Hannibal grew convinced he must be dozing, for a good hour longer. When he eventually stood, he had regained his composure, though his face had the pleasant color and vacant stare of a young man inebriated, and he mumbled an unintelligible good night before stumbling off to his room. 

Hannibal waited for the sound of Will’s bedroom door closing before he got up and returned to his bedroom. He stripped his clothing off with a quick efficiency, and settled between the sheets, back propped up against his pillow, cock pulsing heavy in his hand, before he turned on the monitor on his nightstand. 

Not much later, he heard the rustling of sheets, and then a long sigh. “Daddy?”

Hannibal squeezed himself hard before leaning over and pushing the button on the monitor. “Yes, darling?”

“May I touch myself?”

“You know it will do no good, Will.” The hand not occupied with the talk button occupied itself with a few slow, firm strokes of his cock instead.

“Can I try?”

“No, Will. Go to sleep, now. I’ll want you ready by seven.”

Hannibal released the button and settled against the pillows again. His thumb swept over the head of his cock, once, twice, and then he resumed the slow, firm strokes of the shaft. From the monitor, another small noise, a subvocal whine. Will wouldn’t be aware he was doing it, of course. The omega in him calling out his distress to his Alpha. A kind man might hear the whines and go to comfort his son. Hannibal was not a kind man. He drank down the sweet sounds of Will’s suffering, squeezing his cock in time to Will’s pitiful, hitching breaths, and came.

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 2 

 Except You

“We’re going to your office?” Will asked, uncertainty dripping from his voice as he stared at the Bentley. 

After Hannibal had finished last night, he’d gone to Will’s room to find him already asleep, laying on his stomach with his head turned to the side, one hand curled under his chin. He eased the covers down to Will’s knees and smeared some of his ejaculate across Will’s bottom lip. The sweet boy’s little pink tongue had darted out almost immediately to taste it, and this unconscious gesture said Omega so strongly that Hannibal stroked himself to completion once more, this time over the body of his sleeping son, catching his come in his hand. He’d tugged the back of Will’s pajama pants down, and wiped his come off on the boy’s behind, tucking his finger between the boy’s cheeks to press his scent against his puckered little hole. 

He’d debated, then, as his finger drew tight circles, teasing against the opening, whether to teach their lessons at home, or at his office. Home had its appeal, of course. Familiar, comfortable. But surrounding Will in unfamiliar scents and sounds would make him more likely to seek out the familiar. The very prospect of Will, clinging to him despite his affront, had made his mind up for him. 

“I think you will find it easier to stomach me doctoring you,” Hannibal said with an affectionate smile and a light push at the middle of Will’s back, encouraging him toward the car, “if we’re someplace that makes me seem less like your father, and more like your doctor.”

Another doubtful glance from Will, but he did as Hannibal instructed and got into the car. Hannibal had a surgery suite and an examination room in the same building as the carefully decorated office he used for his psychiatric practice. He found that often, his psychiatric patients had clinical complaints of a medical nature, and as a licensed physician, he could see to those needs as well. The surgery suite saw considerably less use, and not by his patients. But he could justify having it if he kept the exam room, so he kept it.

He made Will sit in the waiting room. Not at all necessary, but beneficial for the ends he had in mind. The separation in an unfamiliar environment would make Will antsy, make him more susceptible. Hannibal loitered in the exam room, putting on his white coat and draping his stethoscope around his neck, straightening his collar and tidying his hair, allowing his scent to fill the small space to the brim. 

Fifteen minutes later, he popped his head into the waiting room and called, “Will Graham, please.” 

This earned him a wry smile and a shake of Will’s head as he stood. “I was on time for my appointment,” he teased, equal parts humor and relief. He’d been curling in on himself, alone in the waiting room, full of unfamiliar scents, unfamiliar noises. 

“Do forgive my tardiness,” Hannibal said, sweeping the door wide so Will could step through. “An important phone call.”

Hannibal directed Will down the hall to the exam room, but Will stopped in his tracks the moment he reached the open door. The lines of tension in Will’s shoulders softened a bit as he stepped through into the small office, chin lifting a little bit. He’d caught Alpha’s smell, dense inside. Hannibal smothered his smile as he shut the door behind them and gestured for Will to sit in the small patient chair beside his workstation. 

“We’ll start with your vitals, once you’ve changed.” he said. 

“Am I getting a candy out of this?” Which bit of impertinence Will delivered with a charmingly impish grin. Something of Alana in him, other than his coloring, after all.

“If you’re good,” Hannibal murmured. “Here’s a gown,” he said, pulling a thin white cotton gown from a drawer under the desk. “Put this on, please.”

He busied himself at his workstation, opening Wills digital patient chart and reading through the information there as though he didn’t know it all by heart already. One by one, articles of clothing piled up on the patient chair in his peripheral vision. A left sock and then a right. Will’s blue and white plaid shirt, neatly folded. His jeans, less neatly folded. A moment of hesitation, and then Will’s white undershirt. 

Hannibal waited. “Everything, please,” he said when Will remained unmoving behind him. 

A deep indrawn breath, and then Will’s boxer briefs, folded in half, topped the pile. Fabric rustled, a little grunt as Will accommodated himself, and then a quiet, “Okay.”

Hannibal turned around. The gown hit Will at just above mid-thigh, and didn’t he paint a pretty picture like that. A little more color to his cheeks, a little more mindless haze in his eyes, and he’d be just right. 

“Step up,” Hannibal said, indicating the scale. “Shall we measure your height too?”

Will’s frown was fierce, and he shook his head. “Same height as before.”

Hannibal wrote a careful 167 centimeters on his chart, and 51 kilograms beside it.  Will could stand to gain some weight, for all that his willowy limbs suited him. Perhaps if he’d eaten all his meals this week he’d be a bit closer to the preferable number. 

Something to contemplate. 

“On the table,” Hannibal instructed his son. He pulled an old fashioned mercury thermometer from his coat pocket. “Open up.” He said, tapping Wills lower lip with the end of the probe. Those pretty lips parted and his pink tongue lifted to allow the thermometer in. Hannibal waited until Will’s lips closed into a plump pucker around the glass to release it. 

He acknowledged a visceral satisfaction at putting things into Wills mouth. His come the night before, the thermometer now. Perhaps he ought to feed Will his meals, to be sure he ate them all? A tempting prospect. 

The blood pressure cuff came out next, followed by the pulse oximeter. Beautifully normal numbers all around, though Wills heart rate sat in the high end of the normal range. 

“Nervous?” Hannibal asked. “Your pulse is high.”

“Maybe a little,” Will confessed in a charming display of trust. 

“Would you have preferred Dr. Sutcliffe to see you?”

“No!”

Will’s explosive disagreement came as no surprise. Sutcliffe had a knack for making Will uncomfortable, the precise reason he’d been chosen for the boy's doctor. Alana had argued that comfort mattered; Hannibal had argued that clinical competence mattered more. He won. 

“No. I’m happy it’s you.”

“Would this be easier for you if I behaved less like a doctor?” Hannibal asked. 

A blaze of color filled wills cheeks. “No, no, this is fine, this is better.”

Hannibal suppressed a smile, under no illusions that this would last. “As you say. We’ll begin with a thorough examination. I’m going to ask you again, Will, where those boys pinched you. I want you to be ready to tell me when I ask. Do you understand?”

The color had drained from his cheeks. “Yes, Al— yes doctor,” he squeaked, fingers curling around the edge of the examination table. 

“While I examine you we will take the time to talk you through everything we’re doing and why. If you have questions feel free to stop me and ask. I thought we might as well begin the lesson while we’re at it.”

Another abnormally high sound of assent. Nerves. And yet so eager to comply. Sweet boy. 

Hannibal led Will through the familiar motions of a standard physical, explaining the purpose of each step as he went, keeping his voice low and soft, in what must surely be a pleasant drone judging by the way Will’s eyes began to glaze over. 

“Let’s have a listen now, shall we?” He took the stethoscope from around his neck with one hand, and with the other nudged Will’s knees further apart so he could step into the space between. “Come,” he said, wrapping a hand round the back of Will’s neck and urging him closer, until his forehead pressed against Hannibal’s chest. 

A shuddering breath from the sweet boy before him, and then another, slower and deeper. 

“Just like that, Will,” Hannibal said, smoothing a hand down Will’s exposed back, relishing the way the young man melted against him, the way he took in great gulps of air through his mouth, tasting his father’s scent. 

They stood that way until Will’s breathing evened out, and Hannibal touched the warmed diaphragm of the stethoscope to Wills back. He listened to the soothing rush of Will’s breathing, moving his instrument around, pleased and unsurprised that everything seemed normal. The pads of his fingers traced the knobs of Wills spine up to his neck, where he gave another gentle squeeze and received an equally gentle whimper in response. 

“Have you always had a mole here, Will?” Hannibal asked, tapping the small dark beauty mark at the base of Wills neck. The answer was yes, of course, but Will wouldn’t know that. 

He said as much, the words muffled for all that they were spoken into his shirt. “Mole? I’m not sure.”

Affecting a frown, knowing that Will would hear it in his voice, Hannibal tapped the mole once more. “Well. We’ll do a skin assessment while we’re at it.” 

He trailed his fingers up and down Will’s neck once more before applying them to the knot that held the gown in place. “Daddy?” Will’s voice, soft and meek, as his hands came up to press against Hannibal’s chest.

“We’ll have a look all over,” Hannibal said, letting the gown fall into Will’s lap, “and then we’ll do a preliminary well-Omega examination, just in case.”

Will’s prettily flushed face went pale again, and he nodded. Hannibal didn’t need to nudge him this time. Will leaned back into his chest, a little higher now, so that his nose sat just an inch below the collar of Hannibal’s shirt. 

“That’s alright,” Hannibal said, stroking his son’s head once before tripping his fingers down his left arm. He stopped at the patch of pale freckles on Will’s shoulders, a remnant from the summertime when they’d gone sailing, and Will had spent his leisure time with his legs dangling over the side of the boat and a fishing rod held in his capable hands. He stopped again on a dark freckle on the back of Will’s deltoid, and then a mole halfway down his forearm. He turned the arm over and tickled his way over the tendons in relief there, then circled his fingers around Will’s wrist. “You know what I’m going to say.” 

“I need to eat more,” Will said. “I’m too thin.”

“Just so.” He squeezed around Will’s wrist, thinking how easily it would crush in his hold if he bothered to exert himself. “Did they pinch you here?”

“Um,” Will said, shifting slightly so that his nose settled on the patch of skin above Hannibal’s top button. “No.”

Hannibal checked the other arm next, again appreciating the dappling on the shoulder. “This side?” he asked, stroking his thumb over Will’s palm, applying a little pressure. 

“No,” Will sighed. 

“Turn around, my boy.” Hannibal pressed against Will’s shoulder, noting the way Will hesitated before pulling away to turn his back on his father. “Here?” he asked again, closing his fingers around Will’s nape, giving it the same squeeze he had given Will’s wrist, fingertips pressing against the subtle swell of his scent gland.

Head lolling forward, it took Will a moment to answer. “Yes,” he said. 

If Hannibal looked very closely, he could see a faint yellow discoloration on the skin there. His blood boiled. “More than once,” Hannibal surmised, spotting another mark that had gone unnoticed in the amber lighting of his office the night before. 

“Yeah,” Will answered, though some tension had returned to his tone.

“Their misbehaviour is hardly your fault, Will,” Hannibal said, soothing him, before he resumed his examination of the skin of Will’s back, fingers marking out the path that his eyes took over the expanse of pale, pristine. “Your back?” he asked, sliding his hand up Will’s flank, glutting himself on the little shiver that coursed down the boys’ delicate spine in response. 

“N-no.”

Hesitation meant that the word bordered on a lie. Hannibal put those dots together quickly and shut his eyes to quell the rising rage within him. “Back around,” he said to Will, and some of his anger evaporated with Will’s rush to resume his place at Hannibal’s neck, seeking comfort. 

Hannibal congratulated himself on the choice of locale. Will responded to it beautifully, and his anxiety about the exam made him so soft and pliable, so desperate for his father’s familiar comfort. Will, showing him his belly this way, was a rare and beautiful sight. He would never behave this way at school, with anyone other than his Alpha. 

Someday, that might be someone other than Hannibal. But for now, Will reserved his sweetness for Hannibal and Hannibal alone. 

The way it should be.

“Raise your head for me, Will.”

A sleepy blink of his eyes as he straightened, then tilted his head back to show off the slope of his elegant throat, ready for his father’s inspection. 

“Not here, I see,” Hannibal murmured, letting his fingers linger. 

“I would’ve bit them.” A flash of his blue eyes. “I would have bit their fingers right off.”

“Of course you would have, you good, darling boy,” Hannibal praised him. “You do as I’ve taught you. You allow nobody to touch you.”

Mrs. Madchen had taught the traditional view that Omegas existed for the pleasure and convenience of the Alphas in their midst. But Hannibal would never allow his son to accept so uninspired a fate. Only for the Alphas you love, he’d told him, ever since he was a boy. Only for the Alphas you trust. For them, and for me. Over time, of course, the ‘for them’ part had lost its place in the frequently-reiterated mantra. For who existed in Will’s life that he loved and trusted, aside from his father?

A little humor sparkled in Will’s blue eyes as he answered, “Except you, Alpha?”

“Except me,” Hannibal agreed, stroking Will’s cheek as a reward for the correct answer. This bit of affection earned him a trusting flutter of eyelashes before they settled, fanned out over his cheekbones, long and curly and dark. 

This hand remained fixed in place, cupping Will’s face, swiping his thumb over Will’s cheek, encouraging it in gathering a faint color. The other travelled down the expanse of Will’s neck, dipping into the hollows of his clavicles, tracing the bones from sternum to shoulder. Another discoloration here. He made a noise of inquiry and Will answered with a minute nod. 

“Will,” he tutted, stroking a path to Will’s left nipple, the skin a nasty purple red and evidently tender from the way Will sucked in a ragged breath at the contact. “How many times?” he asked, moving to the right, the dark bruises on and around it in relief against the pallor of his skin. 

“A lot.” The words fell hesitantly from his lips. “At least once a day.”

“And you kept this from me.” Hannibal’s brows furrowed, pressing a cruel finger against Will’s areola, where the bruise was darkest. Will moaned in pain but remained still, and Hannibal spoke again, not even feigning his disappointment. “That hurts me, Will.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Will answered, moisture beading up between his lashes. “It was humiliating. I just wanted to forget about it.”

“Hmmm.” Hannibal found another pair of bruises on his belly, and sighed. “Scoot to the edge of the table and lie back. There’s a good boy.” 

He resumed his inspection, beginning at Will’s foot, stroking the sensitive sole and smiling when Will jerked away, laughter making his stomach quake. An idle comment on a mole on the back of Will’s calf, and he swept his fingers up the inside of Will’s knee, tickling him gently again. But the laughter died away as Hannibal’s palms and fingers slid up the length of Will’s thighs, lifting his leg high to see the back. He propped Will’s foot on his shoulder and, dropping a gentle kiss on the delicate bone of his ankle, drew one of the stirrups into position. 

“Dad…?” Will asked, coming up onto his elbows as Hannibal tucked his heel into the brace and strapped it into place.

Hannibal hummed in response but didn’t answer, lifting the other leg where it dangled over the edge of the table. Again, he dropped a kiss on the top of Will’s foot, looking at the spaces between each toe, the delicate shape of his arch, the youthful smoothness of his heel. He squeezed the meat of Will’s calf as he passed it, and then drew the leg up high. Pressure this time, as he caressed Will’s thigh, fingers dipping into the crease of his hip, where the small bundle of his fallen gown obscured the sight of his most delicate parts; a kiss to the inside of Will’s knee as he placed the foot into the stirrup, and a soothing pet over Will’s abdomen as he cooed, “Good boy.”

Will’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his cheeks an incandescent pink that spread down his neck and to his chest. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, and his belly quivered with each indrawn breath. 

“You poor thing,” Hannibal said, disengaging Will’s clutching fingers from the table and lower himself so that Will could nuzzle into his neck, wind his arms around him and hold him close. “What reason have you to be nervous?” he asked, lips brushing intimately against Will’s neck over the subtle swell of his scent gland.

Another shuddering sigh, but Will said nothing.

“Alpha’s here, darling,” Hannibal said, and, teasing himself now, placed a kiss where he’d much rather let his teeth sink into the skin. “Let my scent calm you. Deep breaths, now.”

His son obeyed, and when his lashes fluttered against Hannibal’s skin, they were wet. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I should have told you.”

“Will,” Hannibal said, voice stern this time. He twined his fingers into Will’s curls and tugged at them gently. “Is there more you haven’t told me?”

A strangled little moan. “There’s one more,” he said, swallowing convulsively between each word, tears flowing freely at this point. “You’ll see it. I’m sorry, Alpha, I should’ve--”

“Shh,” Hannibal said, rewarding this belated confession with a few calming pets of Will’s hair. “You’ve done well telling me, Will. Thank you for your honesty. I only wish you’d said something when this first happened. We could have taken care of it together.”

They would eventually, of course. Officially, through the school, once Hannibal had the time to make the call; unofficially, themselves, once the bruises had healed and the boys’ trespasses against Will had been forgotten by the general public. 

It didn’t matter that the boys were pre-designation, Will included. Will belonged to Hannibal, and Hannibal was a strict, unforgiving Alpha. Nobody touched his property, nobody, without suffering the consequences. 

“M’sorry,” Will repeated, but his voice had regained some of the gentle drowsiness of submission that he had showed so beautifully the night before.

Releasing his hold on Will made Will clutch tighter onto him, and Hannibal smiled, pressing another self-indulgent kiss over the boy’s scent gland. His faint, sweet scent came stronger for the warmth between them. Another year and it would blossom into the spiced, heated aroma of a presented Omega. As yet, only Hannibal’s keen nose would be able to catch it, but this close, it heated his belly with the promise of what was to come. 

“I need to see, Will,” Hannibal reminded him, but Will shook his head and held him closer, tucking his nose and lips into Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal’s grin grew wider, and he didn’t hide his laughter as he said, “It will help you to have the taste of me in your mouth. Have a lick, dear boy.”

Hesitation before Will’s lips parted and his hot tongue laved against Hannibal’s skin. He made a strangled sound, and licked again, lips closing around Hannibal’s flesh, suckling against it almost desperately.

“There, now,” Hannibal murmured, eyes closing as he relished the sensation. “You take my pheromones from the source, and they are doubly effective. Scent and taste together, giving you what you need.”

Eventually Will slowed, and his arms unwound slightly, giving Hannibal room to pull himself free. Like the night before, he wore the look of the inebriated, eyes hazy, lashes lowered, cheeks pink, lips parted. He moved where Hannibal guided him, as fluid as water, to lie back on the table, hands folded over his belly.

“Lift up,” Hannibal said, patting the side of Will’s thigh, and Will, with elegance despite his awkward positioning in the stirrups, raised his bottom off the table just enough for Hannibal to slide a wedge underneath. “Good boy,” he praised, and settled on the rolling chair before his prize. 

His hand settled, proprietary, on Will’s inner thigh, caressing where his adductor muscles stretched as his legs splayed open. 

“Well, now. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 3 

 Biology Lesson

Hannibal debated for a moment whether or not he should wear gloves. On the one hand, he could not deny the appeal of Will’s increased discomfort to have his father’s touch denied him; on the other, he disliked denying himself the opportunity to feel Will’s skin, himself. In the end, he decided that Will’s pleasure would be as exciting to him as his anxiety, so why deny himself the tactile connection he longed for?

He adjusted the stirrups so that Will’s body curled up and into itself, exposing his backside for assessment, and allowed Will to keep the gown, still crumpled, for modesty. For now. 

“We’ll kill two birds with one stone,” Hannibal said, still adjusting the locking mechanism on the stirrup on the right side. 

It surprised him that Will had the presence of mind to answer that at all, but the words he chose in particular made Hannibal raise his head to get a look at his face. “You would say murder is best when efficacious.”

But Will’s eyes remained closed, and he still had the dreamy, dopey smile on his face that he’d had when Hannibal settled him on the table. He filed the words away for future consideration, and answered at his most charming, “Efficacy improves most things, Will.”

A huff of laughter. 

Hannibal pressed on. “I’ll finish your skin assessment and then we’ll knock out that well-Omega examination while we’re down here, shall we?”

As his hand slid down Will’s thigh toward his bottom, Will’s voice cut into the silence once more. Smaller now, and a little frightened. “It-- I think it would be easier if you, um, if you talked.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said, having already had the intention of doing just that. “I’m going to look at your bottom first. Is it as badly bruised as your breasts?”

“I can’t see it,” Will said, voice thin, “but it feels worse.”

Indeed, Hannibal didn’t spend any time at all finding it. Two large, dark bruises, so purple they looked almost black, one on either cheek. In the dark the night before, he’d not noticed the discoloration; he’d let his sense of touch guide his fingers, his eyes fixed on Will’s mouth, hoping for another peek of that slick pink tongue. He tutted, smoothing the pads of his fingers, palpating the bruise and listening for another hiss of pain from the sweet boy laying before him.  “These boys have done quite a number on you,” Hannibal said. “No wonder you haven’t been able to sit still.”

“Matthew said--” Will’s voice shook now, and Hannibal gentled him with soothing motions over his bottom. “He said as soon as he presented as an alpha he’d pin me down and bite me.”

“What a rude child,” Hannibal answered, rewarding Will’s candor with a gentle kiss to his inner thigh.

“Frederick said not if he got me first,” Will said, the words flowing freely, hurriedly, now that there was no point in keeping secrets. “I told them I’d break their jaws and they laughed at me.”

“Ah,” Hannibal said, still soothing. “But they’re operating under a misapprehension, aren’t they, darling? That you don’t have teeth and claws of your own, that you would let any Alpha have control over you.”

“Only the Alphas I love and trust.” The familiar words in Will’s sweet voice, spoken the way little children say their prayers before bed, made Hannibal’s chest fill with warmth. 

“You could break their jaws or their fingers and be well within your rights, Will.”

His blue eyes pried themselves open and he looked at his father. “You say that like you’d like to see me do it.”

“Of course I would like to see you protect yourself, rather than come to harm,” Hannibal said. He patted Will’s bottom once, gently, and lowered the stirrups to the traditional position for a wellness exam. “Alright. I’m going to move your gown now, Will.”

A groan from above him, but Will’s head fell back to the table and his hand drifted higher up to his chest, to keep out of his father’s way. 

“This is the same exam you’ll get every year, once you’ve presented,” Hannibal said, taking the gown, turning and folding it before laying it out of reach on top of the workstation. When he turned back around, he didn’t fight the impulse to exclaim, with honest pleasure, “Oh, what a sweet little cock, darling.”

Will’s eyes snapped open and he cried out a mortified, “Dad!”, coming up onto one elbow, his other hand reaching to cover himself.

“None of that, now,” Hannibal said, swatting his hand aside. “This is just what an Omega’s cock ought to be. Look,” he said, taking it in between two fingers and his thumb. “Little, pretty, and pink. Just right. You said Matthew saw you in the changing room?”

Despite his blazing cheeks and the tears in his eyes, Will answered with commendable calm. “He stuck his head over the door.”

“And saw your tiny cock, and knew you to be an Omega” Hannibal said, devouring Will’s embarrassment, his discomfort. Hannibal peered a little closer at his son’s flaccid length. “So small,” he said again, not minding at all that Will found the commentary offensive. He pumped it once with his fingers for effect, hardly having to move his hand at all. “It’s barely even a cock at this point, hmm?”

“Oh my god,” Will gasped, covering his face now. “Oh my god.”

“The evolution of Omegas is really a remarkable thing,” Hannibal said, looking at Will’s little cock from one angle first and then another, stimulating it gently, idly, under the guise of examination. “Of all the genders, Omegas are the most in tune with their instincts. Expressive fertility rates in Omega males is low; receptive fertility, high. Your remarkable bodies have evolved in favor of a diminutive penis, devoting valuable genetic resources to the organs of actual use. In many ways, the Omega phallus can be considered almost a vestigial feature, though of course, there is its urinary function to consider.”

Another quiet, pained oh my god.

Hannibal kept going, trailing a hand down to Will’s testicles. “The testes in particular, are fascinating from an evolutionary perspective. Did you touch yourself last night, Will, after I told you not to?”

“No,” Will answered, some strength in his voice, no doubt hoping that Hannibal would change the subject. “You said not to.” 

This guileless explanation, this admission to a desire to please, to a respect for his father’s commands, warmed whatever heart Hannibal had beating in his chest. “Why did I say not to?”

“You said it would do no good.”

“That’s correct,” Hannibal answered, nudging Will’s testes with his thumb, not acknowledging the hitch in Will’s breath. “Mrs. Madchen must have explained why. What use has an Omega for storing sperm, when the likelihood of those same sperm fertilizing an egg is so painfully low?”

“But we do,” Will argued, again letting the pronoun slip. “Expressive fertility is low but it still happens.”

“That’s true. But you’ve played with this little cock of yours before, Will. Were you able to ejaculate? Were you able to come?” Hannibal didn’t give Will the space to answer. He knew the answer. Had heard throught the monitor each and every one of Will’s frustrated groans after a night of failed stimulation on the evenings when Hannibal gave him permission to torture himself that way. “You didn’t, of course, because the sac is useless for reproduction. The fluid that seeps from you here,” he pressed the pad of his thumb against Will’s slit, to a broken moan from his son, and the gentle stirring of the flesh in his hand as he became erect. “Carries a minimum of sperm. It is a misdirected lubricant and not much more. Omegas have evolved away from ejaculation, in favor of rewarding intercourse achieved through penetration. Although…”

He let that linger in the air, and Will, frowning again, caught it. “Although?”

“Well,” Hannibal said, teasing his thumb over Will’s slit again, sweeping up the clear fluid that beaded at the tip. “It has been reported that some Omegas are capable of, if not ejaculating, at least squirting. They describe it as something pleasurable, and their Alphas report a high level of satisfaction with encounters in which their Omegas are able to achieve it.”

There was no disguising the hope in Will’s voice when he asked, “Do you think I could--?”

“Perhaps, when you’ve presented, you’ll find it possible, though it’s a very rarely reported occurrence. But until then, this little cock is nothing more than a decoration, isn’t it?”

“It still feels good when you touch it,” Will bit back, defensive, though not fighting Hannibal’s ministrations.

“And yet that pleasure amounts to nothing.” Offhand, he added, “Even fully hard, it’s negligible in size, this little clitoris of yours.”

Will’s body grew taut, though his erection remained. 

Hannibal smoothed his free hand over Will’s belly, petting him gently. He considered getting up to give Will another chance to self soothe with his nose at Hannibal’s neck, but that would acknowledge too overtly his awareness of his son’s discomfort. “Now I know I’ve been a very indulgent father, and allowed you to play with yourself here, and perhaps I shouldn’t have. Your partners may choose to stimulate you here during mating, of course, or even sometimes during play, but that is something that you must allow them to decide, Will. You must give them that trust. Is that clear?”

It was clear, he knew. Will obeyed him when Hannibal told him not to touch. He allowed Hannibal’s fondling now without question either, though it had been for several minutes already, and could hardly serve a clinical purpose. But then, Will was young, naive, and would not believe that his father would lie to him in so egregious a way.

Which was why his next question took Hannibal by surprise. “Is this… is this play?”

“This is an examination, Will,” Hannibal said, not relinquishing his hold on Will’s cock, or pausing in his ministrations. “Did they not teach you what to expect from play mating in class, Will?”

“Mrs. Madchen didn’t say much about it. Just, um, that it’s like mating. That it’s practice.”

Hannibal sighed. “I can see that we’ll have to address that as well then. What that school pays the teachers for, I can’t see, if all of your education is left to me.” 

With that, he released Will’s cock, pausing to admire its color, the same shade of humiliated pink as the apples of Will’s cheeks, weeping a steady stream of his thin slick. “I’ll take a sample,” Hannibal said, pulling a sample cup from the instrument tray that had sat, innocuous, by the table the entire time. These cups came with a tether that held the funnel-like neck of the cup in place at the head of the wearer’s penis. He tied the tether perhaps a hair tight, and then settled back onto his rolling chair. 

“Now let’s have a look below,” Hannibal said, adjusting the stirrups once more to a similar position to the one he’d put Will in as he inspected his bruises. Each hand cupped Will’s round, soft cheeks and then with a gentling squeeze as the only preamble, pulled the plump cheeks aside to expose his quivering hole. 

“Dad!” Will said, voice panicked, hand reaching out blindly for his father. 

Hannibal released Will’s cheeks and caught the flailing hand. “Are you nervous again, sweet boy? Alpha’s here. Do you need another taste?”

Will, so trusting, nodded quickly, refusing to relinquish his grip on Hannibal’s hand. His father stepped around the table, pushing the button that raised the head end of the exam table as Will rocketed upright, free hand reaching for the lapel of Hannibal’s coat.

That dexterous tongue darted out and then his lips followed, attaching to his father’s flesh in a brief kiss. “You said it’s like this every year,” he sighed against Hannibal’s skin. “Does it get less embarrassing?”

“Of course it does,” Hannibal soothed, stroking a hand down Will’s naked back. “Once the embarrassment fades, you may even begin to anticipate these appointments.”

A huff of laughter warmed Hannibal’s nape. “Only if you’re still my doctor.”

A most satisfactory response. Hannibal waited a minute for Will’s breathing to regulate, and then dug his fingers into the boy’s curls. “Are you ready now?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “Sorry.”

They resumed their previous positions. “Deep breaths, Will,” Hannibal reminded him. Once more, he pulled the plump cheeks apart. “At this point you’ll tire of me telling you that Omegan biology is a point of great interest to me, but how could it not be? Consider. For males of Alpha and Beta designation, the penis has both a reproductive purpose as well as one for the management of bodily wastes.” He slid his right thumb further in, nearly quivering with excitement, himself, at the quick breaths coming from the boy lying prone before him. “In the Omega, the penis has lost the majority of its reproductive significance, whereas this orifice--” he pressed his thumb plush against that pink, tight hole, to the music of a high squeak of distress above him-- “has evolved to include that reproductive purpose.”

Will’s hands clasped at the edges of the table again, and then released it just as quickly to alight over his quivering stomach. A few deep breaths, and he calmed. Following his father’s instructions. Good boy. 

“Yours is a particularly fine, textbook example, Will.” The thumb stopped pressing, to gently tap against that sweet orifice. After this presentation, even gentle teasing like this would lead to the copious production of slick. Now, Hannibal’s prodding and pressing, alternating with quick, staccato taps against the rim, did nothing more than make Will squirm. 

And yet. Hannibal caught the faint spike in sweetness in the air, and brought his other thumb down to pry the tight hole open. Will whimpered, muffling the sound behind his hands, and Hannibal relented. He reached for an instrument there, a narrow speculum not much larger than the one reserved for nasal examinations, and, after warming it against his palm, pressed it against the resistance of Will’s tight hole. 

It opened before him with little persuasion, and the sweetness in the air spiked again. “A moment,” Hannibal said, not apologizing for having forgotten to walk Will through that little invasion, too focused on the possibility before him.

A minute passed. And then a small, pearlescent drop of clear fluid beaded up, suspended between the two halves of the parted speculum, before dripping over onto Will’s perineum. “Oh, Will,” Hannibal breathed, overtaken by awe. “What a perfect boy you are. What a perfect little cunt.”

A strangled sound above him. 

Hannibal cranked the speculum a little wider, and ran a finger through the wet trail of the single bead of pre-slick. “You’re producing a little slick, my darling. You may just present early, my boy, my good boy. Sometime in the next few months perhaps? Look how your body prepares itself, look how it behaves so beautifully for me.”

“Daddy,” Will cried, voice wet too, though he kept his hands over his belly and tried to continue his deep, even breathing. 

Hannibal removed the speculum and deposited it on the used instrument tray. Teasing the slightly relaxed muscle with his finger, he pressed forward, gorging himself on the sound of Will’s breathless gasp, his pained little whine. “I’ll make sure everything is just as it should be, bear with me for a moment, my boy.”

His finger pressed forward, suffocated by Will’s slick heat. Will’s hips, unintentionally perhaps, bucked up a little when Hannibal’s knuckles pressed tight to his perineum. “Daddy, that’s--”

‘Have you touched yourself here, Will?” Hannibal asked, pulling out and then pressing back in, stroking Will from the inside. He skirted around Will’s prostate, not ready yet to give the boy that pleasure. “Have you played with your little cunt without permission?”

“No, no,” Will answered. “No, Daddy, I haven’t.” His hips wiggled again, and he gasped.

“Of course you haven’t, perfect boy. Did Mrs. Madchen discuss auto-vaginorectal stimulation in her substandard sex and gender education classes?”

Will didn’t answer aloud, though he shook his head. His hands darted from his stomach to his hair, tugging at it the way Hannibal did to soothe him.

“Poor boy, are you alright?” Hannibal asked. “Only a moment more.” A lie. He spent the next minute slowly and forcefully pumping his finger into Will’s hole, rocking his knuckles against Will’s perineum, giving his prostate just a little stimulation from the outside. Will’s little cock, hard now, leaked its thin slick in a steady stream. It had filled the small collection cup tethered to the tip, and its overflow ran down the inside of his thigh to where Hannibal’s hand worked him steadily. 

Almost panicked, Will wailed, “Daddy, I’m--”

“All done,” Hannibal said, pushing hard at Will’s prostate as he pulled his finger free. In two quick motions he removed the collection cup and set it on the tray beside him. “You did very well, darling.” He meant the words, and reinforced their truthfulness by petting Will’s belly, his thighs, his cock, and over the tender, slightly gaping hole of his adorable pink pussy. The stimulation of the genitalia he did only often enough to keep his boy suffering sweetly on the table, to keep him excited, on the brink.

He stood, bringing his hands to Will’s nipples, and gently squeezing their slightly swollen, bruised flesh. Will spasmed beneath him, and, wild-eyed, clutched at his father’s wrists. “Still sore,” Hannibal observed, as though there had ever been any question about it. He pulled Will upright, so that he sat in a puddle of his own slick. “Well, let’s get you dressed and go on home. We’ll have lunch, and then we’ll settle down and address all the gaps that Mrs. Madchen left behind for me to fill.”

“Dad,” Will whispered, face flaming yet again. “Do you have a-- I’m all-- I’m wet.”

“Would you like to forgo your boxers?” Hannibal asked, eyeing the tiny, erect penis and the wet mess around his son’s groin, “Or shall I show you how to use a pad?”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 4 

Maximal Comfort

Hannibal ambled around the storage closet down the hall from the examination room, rearranging items on the shelves in case Will could hear the racket from where he waited. He skipped right over the boxes for the panty-liners, the day-wear slick pads, the high flow pull-ups. None of them were what he came in here to find.

Will had looked terrified when his father had asked what he wanted to do about the wet mess, still steady dribbling out of the head of his cute, flushed prick. “Wh-what?”

“Dealing with slick production is a natural part of an Omega’s experience,” Hannibal said, voice as gentle as his caress to Will’s cheek, stroking his thumb to collect the tears beading up along his lower lashes. Of course it was something they had to deal with during their heats, and not usually due to anterior slick production from a little edging play, but that was neither here nor there. “Some Omegas choose to use to forgo underthings during this time, as they find the texture of their clothing against their genitalia acts to stimulate slick production. And for the others, there are slick pads to absorb the emissions. Which do you prefer?”

Poor little Will’s eyes had grown progressively wider during this little speech. Apparently Mrs. Madchen had presented a romantic portrait of the Alpha-Beta-Omega spectrum without tackling its less convenient realities. Another strike against the incompetent woman. And yet, he could not bring himself to fully resent her, now; not when her very incompetence had delivered Will so cleanly into Hannibal’s covetous, covetous hands.

“Pad,” Will squeaked, and looked on the verge of passing out when Hannibal had him repeat his answer in a full sentence, please. 

But Hannibal had no intention of giving Will a discreet pantyliner. Allowing the boy comfort would act in direct opposition of Hannibal’s desires for the boy.  At last he found what he was looking for, hidden in the back corner of the shelf housing all the other sanitary products: a large square box with the affectation-free packaging of medical supplies, labeled “Behavioural Control Pull-Ups for Unruly and Insubordinate Omegas.”

He used the scalpel he’d carried from the exam room to slice through the tape sealing the box, before pulling out a pair and replacing the box. How long had that box remained in his store-room, unused? Years now, perhaps, but how fortunate that the shipping mix up had provided him with one. 

A moment to lock the closet up behind him before he returned to his son. Will sat where Hannibal had left him, legs still in the stirrups, sitting up, his little erection beginning to flag from the loss of stimulus. 

“All we had,” Hannibal said, holding up the thick wad of fabric, pretending not to see the mortification in Will’s eyes as they tracked that movement. “Normally we stock the liner type,” he tutted, setting it on the instrument tray, “but it seems there was a shipping error and we’re stuck with the pull-up variety.”

“Pull up,” Will repeated, again faint. “Like a diaper?”

“Made for Omegas with a high volume of slick production. You’re not too far off from that, are you?” Hannibal asked, dropping his hand to Will’s cock and pinching the tip lightly, just enough to bring it back to life. 

“I’m going to die,” Will moaned, and reached for his father. Hannibal humored him, allowed him access to his neck. Discussions of reproduction and bodily functions were bound to be embarrassing for any teenager, but Will’s particular brand of injured mortification had brought about this most pleasing reliance on his Alpha’s scent to soothe. Will didn’t even ask for permission when he closed his lips around Hannibal’s scent gland and sucked, laving his tongue over it, coaxing the production of the pheromones he sought. 

Mrs. Machen had likely neglected to mention that Alpha pheromones could be highly addictive to Omegas, almost in the vein of an opiate drug, if taken frequently in strong doses; in the seventies, a rush of different Alpha pheromone based party drugs had hit the streets, and it had taken the better part of a decade for authorities to get that epidemic under control. Most Alphas didn’t produce pheromones potent enough to achieve that effect with their Omega partners in their daily lives, but given Will’s desperation as he suckled at Hannibal’s neck, either Hannibal’s Alpha Prime status, or Will’s disposition as easily susceptible, seemed to be bringing out a similar effect.

But Will needed calming right now, and such information would only distress him. Better to let him take what he needed, let him soothe himself in advance of the physical distress he’d be experiencing shortly, and address the subject another time. In a year or so, once Hannibal had determined whether his son had really developed so satisfactory a reliance on his father’s scent. 

“Are you ready, darling?” Hannibal said, stepping in closer, so that he pressed right up to Will’s chest and the edge of the table, to Will’s hard little clit, and all of that pooled slick soaked into the front of his pants.

Will startled backward, but the stirrups kept him from moving far. “Oh no,” he moaned, covering his mouth with his hands.

“These things happen,” Hannibal sighed, not stepping away immediately, letting the fabric soak through. “Let me get you out of these stirrups and we’ll get you dressed.”

Will couldn’t muster a response, shutting his eyes as though trying to block out the world. 

Hannibal undid the stirrups, but didn’t allow Will to swing his over to dismount the table off the side. He grabbed his son by the waist and tugged him forward, through the puddle of slick, and then set him down between the still-extended stirrups. Will shuddered, and Hannibal nudged him to turn around. “Put your hands on the edge of the table, Will, and bend over.”

“B-Bend over? Why?” But despite the question, Will did not hesitate to comply. 

“This type of pull-up requires precise positioning to be comfortable, and it will be easier for me to help you into it if I can see what I’m doing. There, just like that.” He had knocked Will’s feet further apart, and admired the view of Will’s spread cheeks, glistening from the anterior slick, and puckered little treasure sitting between them. “Good boy, darling, such a good boy.” 

Will’s head dropped down to his chest as his father gentled him, stroking up his back, down his belly. He cupped Will’s cock and kneaded it with the palm of his hand for a mere moment before stroking down Will’s buttocks, down his flanks, and then coming back up again to pull Will’s cheeks further apart and press a malicious thumb right over his hole.

“Beautiful little cunt,” Hannibal murmured, to the sound of Will’s answering gasp, “Gorgeous, well-behaved little cunt.” He’d been tapping and pushing his thumb against it again, the way he had during the exam, hoping, hoping. And then his wish was granted-- when he dug his thumb into the tight ring of muscle, it came away wetter than before. Now that Will couldn’t see him, Hannibal brought his thumb to his mouth and licked the sugary-sweet fluid from his skin. “You’re producing slick still, darling,” he said. “You always give me reasons to be proud of you.”

“Dad,” Will nearly shrieked. “You can’t-- you can’t say--”

“Don’t pretend that I don’t compliment you all the time, Will. Your beauty, your intelligence, your diligence and self-discipline. And look at how your body is growing and changing now. Can I not praise you for being so remarkable there too?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Will argued, unable to deny his father’s words. 

“Tosh.” Hannibal reached for the diaper and unfolded it.  

One look inside and Hannibal’s lips parted in a predatory smile. This disciplinary pull-up was made of a thick, bulky fabric, composed of a wicking overlay and a minimally absorbent filler. The overlay would immediately soak in slick and the filler below it, bulky for the aesthetics, would repel the slick; it would go everywhere, run down the wearer’s legs, soak his clothing thoroughly, all while holding just enough moisture close to his skin to convince him he’d filled the diaper, and torment the sensitive skin there with some gentle chafing. On the posterior part of the liner, the fabric had a constellation of raised bumps and grooves over a ridge down the center of the pad to keep the cheeks spread and hole stimulated by its irregular texture. In a presented Omega, this would stimulate the production of reproductive slick, encourage knot-hunger, and induce a pliant mental state. 

Hannibal would never prescribe the use of such a device in a clinical setting; he couldn’t wait to see how Will would like his diaper. He responded so beautifully to humiliation, soothing himself at Hannibal’s neck, apologizing for himself, desperate to improve his father’s impression of him.

With caring hands, Hannibal eased Will’s legs into the pull up. He left it half-way up his legs before he explained to Will what he could expect. “This pad is designed for maximal comfort and absorbency,” he said. He reached around Will and took that tiny cock between thumb and forefinger. “You are producing quite a bit of anterior slick--see how it pours from you here,” he swiped his thumb over the head and Will shuddered in his arms. There’s a miniscule divot in the front of the pull-up where your cock will sit. As for this,” Hannibal gripped Will’s bottom hard, fingers digging into the bruised skin at his sit-bones, and then petting over Will’s hole, “it may take some getting used to, but this is a pad for high flow, so it is built up to catch the fluid at the source. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Will answered, voice small, shaking the way his legs shook. 

Without another word, Hannibal accommodated Will in the diaper, taking care to spread Will’s cheeks as far apart before nudging the disciplinary ridge between them. As an interventional product, the rise on the diaper was high, up to Will’s belly button. He adjusted the tapes at the waist to sit snugly, and then patted Will’s bottom one more time before stepping away. “I’ll clean up,” he said, “You get dressed.”

He kept one eye on his son, whose face contorted in mortification and discomfort. “Is it--” Will asked, taking one hesitant step and then immediately stopping. He shot a desperate look at his father. “It can’t be sitting right.”

“It takes some getting used to, from what I’ve heard,” Hannibal answered, organizing the items on his used instrument tray to take them off to the sterilization room adjacent to the surgery suite. 

When he returned, Will was dressed, his face a brilliant red, his eyes hazy, and a promising wet patch on his jeans where the legs met the crotch.

“Come along,” Hannibal said, nudging Will out of the exam room, making sure to apply a little pressure to the back of the pad. Will made a strangled sound, and with agonizingly slow steps, allowed himself to be led back to the car. 

Hannibal kept up a pleasant dialogue, commenting that Will must be tired from the ordeal of the exam; they would eat lunch shortly for a break, and then they’d sit down in Hannibal’s office to put some work into correcting his education. Will did not contradict him once; he barely spoke, and when he did, his voice came out high and thready, as though he couldn’t breathe deeply enough to support his speech. 

The moment they stepped out of the car, Will stopped him. “Can I take off the diaper?” he choked. 

“Is your little prick still slicking?” Hannibal asked. Will hesitated, then nodded. “You can always try going bare,” he suggested with a frown, “though if you’re slicking that will be quite a mess to clean up.”

Will sucked in a deep breath, and asked what they would eat for lunch. 

“Something light,” Hannibal answered. He left Will to his own devices while he put together a dish of cold meats, nuts, chopped fruits and blocks of cheese. When he brought the tray out to the dining room, Will was standing next to his chair, tear-tracks coursing down his cheeks, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Oh, darling.” Hannibal set the tray down at his own place, sitting at the head of the table. “You’re distressed. What’s the matter?”

“I’m--I’m--” he wiped a hand over his eyes, took in a hitching breath, but couldn’t form another word. 

“Sweet boy,” Hannibal cooed, petting through his curls. He settled down in his chair, legs wide, and patted the inside of his thigh. “Come.”

Another strangled noise escaped Will’s throat. He dropped immediately to his knees between Hannibal’s legs, and dove his face into the hip crease of Hannibal’s pants. Immediately, he pulled back, raising confused, mutinous eyes to his father. 

“Oh-- I’m so sorry, darling,” Hannibal said, furrowing his brows in consternation. “The scent of your slick, is it? Can’t find Alpha’s scent?” While the patch of Will’s slick on the front of Hannibal’s trousers had mostly dried through, it would be enough to forestall the calming effect of his father’s pheromones. 

“It’s alright, sweet boy,” Hannibal said. “I know what we can do. Here.” He unzipped the front of his trousers, pushing the fabric panels out of the way. He studied for the arrangement, frowning, and muttered a that won’t do just loud enough for his boy to hear it. Then he pushed the front of his boxers down, drawing out the formidable length of his uncut cock and tucking the fabric behind his balls.

“There,” he said, and Will evinced not a moment’s hesitation in bringing his face in to Hannibal’s skin, though he stopped short of latching on to it the way he had with his father’s neck. Hannibal tickled light circles over Will’s scent glands, murmuring soothing nothings. But Will fidgeted on the floor, and each time he did so, he let out another whimper of discomfort.

“You poor thing,” Hannibal sighed. “What can we do to help you?”

The words seemed to jog something in Will’s memory, and, after a hesitant flick of his gaze upward at his father, Will leaned slightly further forward, lips parting just enough to give the skin of that massive and still soft cock a gentle, questioning kitten-lick.

“There, now,” Hannibal murmured, eyes closing as he relished the sensation. “Scent and taste together. Take what you need.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 5 

Not a full Lunch

Will demonstrated a remarkable amount of restraint. He kept his little licks closer to the base of the shaft, as close as he could get to Hannibal’s abdomen without moving from his years-practiced position by Hannibal’s feet. He did not latch on and suckle either; he took deep, shuddering breaths, only letting his little tongue dart out to taste his father’s scent every so often. Aware, of course, of the impropriety of putting his mouth on his father’s genitalia, but desperate to be soothed regardless. 

Hannibal would see to it that Will lost that reserve as soon as may be. 

He could envision long evenings in his office, with Will between his feet and the hot cavern of his mouth nursing on Hannibal’s cock for the few hours before bed. Will would be bare, of course, as an Omega ought to be while serving their Alpha, and would battle his own excitement until Hannibal saw fit to help him find relief. If he decided to at all, of course.

But those nights would have to wait. Will was young yet, and though the signs seemed to indicate he would present early, that would not be for quite a while. Hannibal reflected with awe on the memory of those two drops of thick, oily pre-slick, evidence of Will’s arousal despite his humiliation, and nearly trembled with satisfaction. 

“Have you calmed down, darling?” Hannibal asked, weaving his fingers into Will’s hair, pressing him closer to his groin so that his smooth cheek rested on the side of Hannibal’s cock, and tilting his head back enough that they could see each other.

“I’m better,” Will answered, body still perfectly still. He would be too embarrassed about the pull-up to say anything until it became unbearable; this kind of obstinacy had been handed down to him from both of his natural parents, though Alana’s stubbornness expressed itself rather differently. Then again, these pull-ups were meant to remediate exactly this sort of withholding behaviour. Will could be an unruly and insubordinate Omega sometimes, after all, though in general he did everything he could to please his father.

“Your color is still high,” Hannibal said to contradict Will’s assertion, and Will looked guiltily away. Hannibal indicated the tray of food where his plate usually sat. “I’ve brought lunch,  but I’m not convinced that you’re quite calm enough yet to get up.”

“I--” Will swallowed his saliva. “I think you’re right.” Neither of them spoke for a while. “It’s all-- it’s finger food, though, right?” Will asked, peering at the pile of little rolls of cold ham that he could see on the edge of the tray. “I could-- could I just stay here and--”

“Have your plate on the floor, like an animal?” Hannibal asked, scorn in his voice covering the delight in his chest.

“No, no,” Will answered, too quickly, realizing now that he’d stepped wrong. “I could-- you could-- maybe you could--” He stopped, groaning, and leaning in to calm himself with his father’s scent.

“You’d like me to feed you?” Hannibal asked. He took a moment to give the appearance of thinking it over. “It would enable me to ensure you’ve eaten exactly as much as you need to.” No answer. Hannibal plucked a cube of cheese off the tray and dropped a dollop of cherry preserve atop it. “Alright, Will. Let’s try, but be careful not to spill, my boy. Here, open up.”

Will’s head tilted back and his mouth opened, eyes closed and waiting obediently. Hannibal savored the sight of his wet tongue, his perfect, sharp little teeth, the soft tissue of the back of his mouth. Even here, his boy was perfection. One hand cradled Will’s jaw, and then, impulsive, that thumb hooked into Will’s mouth to push his jaw open wider. 

A surprised little noise from the back of Will’s throat, but he obeyed, dropping his mouth open to accommodate.

Perfection . 

Hannibal put the cheese on the center of Will’s tongue, a little downward pressure on his tongue as he went, and withdrew his fingers. He felt fevered, watching the slow movement of Will’s lips and jaw as he chewed, eyes still shut, still prostrate at Hannibal’s feet. 

Saliva-slick fingers took a roll of prosciutto from the tray next. Will’s eyes were still shut; Hannibal licked a stripe down the meat before tucking it between Will’s parted lips. Omegas had a positive reaction to salivary exchange in general. Kissing of course, was pleasurable, and the usual desired mode for exchange, but in a pinch, spitting in an Omega’s drink--or mouth--or on their food-- would produce a similar dopaminergic effect. 

Will might be too young still for that, though, Hannibal noted as the boy chewed thoughtfully, but remained calm, unmoved. He swallowed, and his little mouth opened again for his next bite. 

An offering of three golden raisins and a walnut this time. The hand in Will’s hair migrated down to cup his jaw, then to hold over the front of his throat as he swallowed. Against his will Hannibal envisioned the movement of that little throat around his own massive cock, and breathed in deep to calm himself. 

“You’re doing very well, darling,” Hannibal murmured, pressing another jam-covered cube against Will’s lips. Before Will could lick the jam off his lip, Hannibal’s thumb wiped it, then tucked between the lips. Will chewed the cheese, but his lips remained locked around the tip of Hannibal’s thumb. Again, taking in his scent and flavor directly from his skin.

Hannibal withdrew once Will swallowed. “A moment,” he said, and Will’s eyes opened to peer up at him. While Hannibal arranged a roll of cold ham and a slice of cheese for himself, Will tucked his face back into his father’s groin, rubbing his lips against his cock. His father watched this with delight, chewing his own morsel, and then dribbling a bit of his saliva atop the next offering before calling for Will’s attention. 

This time, after depositing the food on Will’s tongue, he turned his thumb to press against Will’s hard palate, then against the point of a sharp, adorable canine. Adequate for eating, but useless otherwise; Omega marks meant nothing to an Alpha.

“When you choose your alpha,” Hannibal said, thinking ‘ and it will be me’ , “he will love to watch you this way. The way your lips move as you chew--the movement of your throat as you swallow. How prettily you open your mouth for them. I won’t be surprised if they keep you on the floor before them this way all day long.”

Will’s cheeks colored, and he swallowed hard. “Dad,” he protested. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Hannibal asked, popping a strawberry into Will’s mouth as he opened it to answer back. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about, in the intimacy between an Alpha and an Omega.”

“You and mom don’t--”

But Hannibal gently tapped Will’s cheek, frowning, and said, “Not with your mouth full, Will.” Will’s brows furrowed, but he obeyed. “Why are you worried about your mother?”

“I’m not worried about Mom,” Will objected the second he swallowed his food. His face colored. “But she never-- she never sits with you like this.”

So sweet, competing with a woman who didn’t matter in the least. “She doesn’t,” Hannibal conceded. “But she is away often for work. You must think it strange that I feel closer to you than I do to her, but you are my Omega as well for now, and I do so like to spoil you.”

“This is spoiling me?” Will asked, voice dry, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t you feel spoiled, you beautiful boy? Close to your Alpha, fed by hand, admired and petted and precious?”

Will made a strangled noise and ducked his face back in to his father’s groin. Hannibal let his eyes wander, down the elegant slope of his neck, the curve of his back, to see the way Will’s hips wiggled, small, inconspicuous movements. And then he saw it-- the mess of wetness all over Will’s jeans, soaked through, so that a drop or two had landed on the floor below him. 

“Oh, darling,” Hannibal said. “You’ve made a mess.”

Will froze, and then whimpered, and Hannibal felt a tear beading up by Will’s eye where it pressed against his abdomen. 

“You know how withholding disappoints me, Will. Why did you say nothing?”

Will shook his head, but couldnt bring himself to speak. 

Hannibal sighed, dropping a cursory pat on the top of Will’s head when really he wanted nothing more than to devour him whole. “Come, come, let’s get you cleaned up and calmed down.”

“Daddy--” Will blubbered, tears pouring freely down his face again, utterly mortified. 

“It’s alright, Will, I’ll take care of you. Get up, now.”

Will stood on trembling legs, like a baby fawn standing for the first time. Hannibal followed suit, tucking himself back into his pants with a discrete squeeze for relief, and then taking his son by the arm and leading him upstairs. Again, they walked painfully slowly, Will whimpering and crying with each step forward.

A kind man might sweep Will off his feet and spare him the climb, the friction. But Hannibal, not a kind man, drank down each of Will’s sobs, and ‘soothed’ him with the occasional pat on the bottom. They passed the first door by the landing, Will’s room, and proceeded down the hall to Hannibal’s. Will didn’t notice until they stepped through the door and Hannibal asked him to wait for a moment while he ran the bath. 

“Dad?” Will asked, when Hannibal came back into the room, uncertainty thick in his voice, though his greedy eyes darted around taking in every detail in the room, his nostrils flaring as he catalogued the scent in the air. His father’s only, not one iota of his mother’s to be found. 

“I said I’d take care of you, darling,” Hannibal sighed. “Come now, let’s get out of these clothes. A little clean up, then a bath, and we’ll have a little lie-down to calm you down.”

Will blinked owlish eyes at him. 

“We used to do this when you were a child,” Hannibal murmured, reminiscing. Will had been so small, so eager to please the first Alpha in his life. Not much had changed there, though Will’s intellect, humor, and turn of thought had grown beautifully, perfectly, until his brilliance was irresistible. 

But Will didn’t move, apparently overwhelmed into freezing on the spot.

Hannibal sighed again and pulled him further into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them as he went. “It’s alright, sweet boy. Let Alpha help.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 6 

Cleaning up

The shirt came off easily enough, and Will didn’t protest when his father took charge of its removal, too distressed to manage it himself. The denim stuck to Will’s legs on the way down; even the edges of his socks were sticky and wet. Hannibal coaxed him out of his clothing with the patience of a saint, truly, and discarded them into the laundry bin in the corner. He came back and made swift work of the tapes at Will’s waist, lowering the pull-up over his slim legs.

Only marginally heavier than when he’d put it on at first, as it was perfectly dry except for the thin layer on the inside. “You’ve soaked it through,” Hannibal sighed, and took it to the trash bin in the water closet to dispose of. 

Will hadn’t moved when he returned, hands curled into fists pressed into his eyes, leaking still as steadily as his little erection was.

“Oh, my poor darling,” Hannibal breathed, and brought his son in for a hug. He held him only briefly, not allowing him to burrow the way he had been all day, before picking up a washcloth and  turning his son to face the bathroom mirror. 

Will determinedly did not look up, refusing to see the beauty of his own reflection. 

“Hands on the counter, Will,” Hannibal said, and then, urging him to spread his legs wider, added, “just like at the office.”

The poor boy’s bottom was a bright, unhappy pink, his puckered hole cinched closed as he desperately tried to control his body’s responses. Even his little cock, still weeping anterior slick, was an angry red. His skin everywhere shone with wetness, like one of the Heat Pornography pinups that Hannibal had secreted into his childhood bedroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before we get into the bath,” Hannibal murmured, his voice close to Will’s ear, giving in a little to the desire to cover him. 

But he didn’t reach for the towel right away. He ran the water in the sink--warm, yes, but just on this side of cool--and cupped a handful of it before tipping it over onto Will’s lower back. He hissed in surprise as the water ran down his lumbar spine, over his bottom, down his cleft. Hannibal repeated this a few times, before stepping beside Will and pouring the water over his abdomen. He stroked down the trembling muscles of his belly, over the little cock, still messing everywhere, down his inner thighs, over his lower back, his buttocks, his tightly pinched hole. 

Then, he moistened the towel and tenderly, tenderly, began wiping his boy down. He made it lighthearted, tickling a little under his ribs and then soothing over his flanks, the a watery giggle from Will’s lips. He took pity on the child and made quick work of the task before asking, “can you check on the bath for me, darling?”

Will nodded and walked over to the large soaking tub, still walking as though he could barely stand to move. In that time, Hannibal divested himself of his own clothing, depositing it in the hamper before sliding up beside his son. 

“It’s good,” Will said, and then startled when he saw his fathers nudity. 

“Let’s get in then, shall we?” He asked, stepping into the tub and holding a hand out to take Will’s and help him over the lip. 

“I thought— I didn’t think you’d be—“

“Can you really spare me?” Hannibal asked, leaning in to take a sniff at Will’s scent glad, the ripe notes of his anxiety. “It won’t be the first time we’ve bathed together, Will.”

He said this teasingly, laughter shimmering in his voice, and Will reacted well to it. He shot Hannibal a wry grin and, shaking his head, reached out for his father’s hand. Hannibal settled down into the water first, spreading his legs wide and beckoning his son to take his place between them. He did so, leaning forward to loop his arms around his knees, careful to keep their bodies from touching. 

Hannibal didn’t let this bother him. This endearing self-consciousness wouldn’t last forever, and it was something he knew to treasure; he would likely find himself missing it, some day. Instead, he plucked a sponge from the wooden bath tray at the side of the tub, dipped it in the water, and lathered it up with a fragrance-free soap. Will jumped a little when his father touched the sponge down to his right shoulder, but relaxed again immediately as Hannibal ran it in soothing circles over his skin, from one shoulder to the other. 

“Bathing together can form a part of play mating,” Hannibal informed him, to a stiffening in his son’s spine. “It serves the function of creating intimacy between partners, stimulating the senses, preparing the Omega for what is to follow.”

“What is to follow?” Will asked, strained. 

“As it often occurs in conjunction with courtship, mating follows,” Hannibal answered. “But we are not courting, are we, darling?” Hannibal teased again, dropping a kiss to Will’s neck, just shy of his scent gland. “After we’re done bathing, I’ll help you to shed some of this persistent distress of yours, and then we’ll discuss play and mating as Mrs. Madchen ought to have taught it.”

Will nodded, still stiff, though the reassurance seemed to calm him. Hannibal kept his touches on this side of clinical; he scrubbed down to the base of Will’s spine, before pulling him gently closer, so that Will’s back rested against his chest, and scrubbing down first one arm, and then the other. 

“I guess Omegas don’t grow chest hair,” Will said, and Hannibal could hear the pout. 

Hannibal took this as an excuse to run the sponge down Will’s chest, gently massaging it over his bruised, sore nipples, then down to his abdomen, held tense as Will sucked in a breath and stopped breathing. 

“Move your legs, darling,” Hannibal instructed, hooking his feet around Will’s ankles and drawing them wide, to the edges of the tub. “Aside from increasing warmth, Alpha body hair exists to stimulate delicate Omega skin during the act of mounting.” He paused, leaning in a bit to Will’s back as he dragged the sponge further down Will’s abdomen, below his navel. He pitched his voice lower, propping his chin on his son’s shoulder, so that the side of his lips brushed the shell of his ear as he spoke. “Benivener and Paul did a study, I believe fifteen years ago, now, assessing how the presence and absence of body hair impacted Omega perception of satisfaction during mounting, with a longitudinal component assessing outcomes in child-bearing.”

“I’m guessing not favorable,” Will said, striving for composure and falling woefully short. 

“You’d be correct,” Hannibal said, dropping a kiss on Will’s ear, and watching it color with infinite gratification. “I doubt there have been studies on whether it is perceived as attractive in Omegas prior to presentation. Does it bother you?”

“Bother, no,” Will said. His chin ducked down into his chest. Embarrassment again. “It’s, it’s fine.”

“Hmm,” Hannibal answered. He finished sponging what he could reach of Will’s thighs, had him hold himself up so he could wipe his buttocks, sweep the textured sponge over his most intimate places, and then handed Will the sponge to do the bottom half of his legs and feet. Once they finished, Hannibal looped his arm around Will’s waist, hoisted him backwards, and settled him on his lap.

Will squealed, not prepared for the movement, not prepared for the contact. “Um, I was fine-- I can just--”

“Don’t deny your father a chance to enjoy feeling close to his son,” Hannibal admonished, nuzzling against his neck. What could Will say to that? He fell silent, though did not quite relax. “I have realized, after so brief a morning together, how little time we spend together recently. Work and then school, routine grinding down on our time, leaving us only the sight of one another in passing, several times a day. Do you miss me at all, Will?”

Will remained silent for a long time, but when he spoke, he sounded lighter. “Yeah. Today’s been… it’s been nice. And not just because it’s a day of school,” he chuckled a little at that. “Can I-- can I be honest?”

Hannibal nodded, his stubble scraping gently against Will’s cheek as he murmured an ‘always’ in response. 

“I’m always-- I feel like I’m always fighting for time with you. Dinner time is nice, and so is good-night time, but-- I feel sometimes, like, like we’re not even with each other then.”

Hannibal sighed and tightened his hold on his son. The bathwater had begun to cool, and Will’s fingers, when they came up to grip Hannibal’s forearm to keep him close, had begun to prune.

“I’m happy you’ve told me,” Hannibal said, again letting the withholding pass in favor of rewarding the telling. Will made him too soft, too indulgent. “I promise you have my full attention, now, darling, and that I will reserve it always for you alone.” Another kiss, this time lingering, to Will’s cheek.

Will colored, not realizing how terrible Hannibal’s focus could be. He would eventually, but he’d bear Hannibal’s mark by then--would be so accustomed to his father’s favor, that the idea of losing it would be intolerable.

“Let’s dry off,” Hannibal said, rubbing a thumb against the nub of Will’s nipple before he released him, and coaxed them both to their feet. Still knee-deep in water, Hannibal pulled Will in tight once more, this time facing one another, and cupped the back of Will’s head to hold him tight to his chest. 

“My darling boy,” Hannibal murmured, his other hand dropping lower on Will’s back, stroking him, applying a gentle pressure that pushed their bodies closer together. When they pulled away, Will’s hard little prick had regained some life, glistening again.

Hannibal tutted. He stepped out of the bath and helped Will out after him, and then briskly toweled them both down. He slowed, pressing the towel flush against Will’s hole, and then using it to cup Will’s expressive cock. “Come, let’s go lie down,” he said, depositing the wet towel in the hamper and leading Will back into the bedroom by the hand. “I know exactly what will help with this naughty, naughty thing.”  

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 7 

Alpha Knows Best

Hannibal didn’t release Will until they reached his bedside. The poor boy’s eyes looked as thought they might pop out of his skull as stared down at the mattress, with it’s black raw silk coverlet and the wealth of pillows at the headboard. Someday, when Will finally bore Hannibal’s mark, he’d search for those same pillows and comforter when the time came to nest. Early experiences giving them a positive context would reinforce that desire, when his nesting instinct at last kicked in. 

“Alright, darling. I want you to lie down in the middle on your belly. Can you do that?”

A slight nod, and then Will moved, slowly, hesitantly, to follow his father’s instructions. He turned his head, cheek pressed against the coverlet, to eye his father. One of his hands had slid under his body, cupping in front of his cock to try and preserve the fabric below him. Hannibal didn’t bother asking him to move it; it would prove a fruitless venture soon enough. “Now what?”

“Now,” Hannibal said, “We’ll learn a little about play mating, and I’ll resolve that little situation of yours.” He took himself in hand, not minding the way Will’s eyes widened, glued to the movement of his father’s fist as it pumped his cock into hardness, not minding the way strangled indrawn breath, the way his body grew tense on the mattress. Will’s mouth opened to protest, but Hannibal cut him off. “I’m going to cover you. Did you learn about covering?”

Some of the tension evaporated. “It’s--it’s when--you’re just going to lie on top of me, right?”

Hannibal sighed, but he moved to do just that. “It’s an early part of play. It creates intimacy and comfort between partners, and stimulates the Omega.”

“I don’t need to be stimulated!” Will squeaked, as Hannibal straddled his hips, lowering himself so that his heavy sac touched gently against Will’s bruised, sore bottom, and the continued movements of his hand over his cock made the bed rock gently beneath them.

“On the contrary, Will,” Hannibal tutted. His free hand dropped to Will’s left cheek, fingers splaying wide, gripping the flesh tight and drinking in the sound Will made in reply. Partway between moan and wail. His inner turmoil made aural. “Stimulation is exactly what you need. I blame myself. I have been far too lenient with you, too permissive.”

Will shut his eyes. “Lenient? This is--I’ve been bad?”

“Not at all, darling. This isn’t a punishment. Your body is asking for an Alpha to take control. I’ve allowed you too much independence in these matters. That’s alright. We’ll fix that now. I’m going to cover you.”

Will buried his head into the blankets. Hannibal scooted down a little, released himself in favor of spreading Will’s cheeks wide, and then lowered himself so that his heavy cock lay snugly between the mounds of flesh. He shifted his hips under the guise of getting himself comfortable, rubbing his length over Will’s twitching hole, and then lowered the rest of the way. The head of his cock pressed into Will’s lower back, right over his third lumbar vertebra, his chest pressing into Will’s back, his chin into Will’s shoulder. 

With a sigh, he nuzzled into the arc of Will’s neck right over his scent gland, and then lay still. At its most basic, Hannibal’s definition of play mating was true. Creation of intimacy, stimulation, preparation for mating. But not just for the act of Mating, true mating, where an Alpha bit his Omega and their bond was formed. Preparation for base mating, for fucking. Like the pull-up, it was meant to encourage production of reproductive slick, incite knot-hunger, and induce a pliant mental state. 

Surrounded by the scent of his Alpha, pressed into the mattress by his formidable weight, lightly stimulated by the motion of his Alpha’s back against him as he breathed, Will’s body did as it was designed to do. 

Then again, they’d been playing all day, hadn’t they? And Will had been perfectly pliant and well-behaved the whole time. Had dribbled with what slick his immature body could produce, had sought intimacy. Had sought, unknowingly, the comfort he would only be able to find in his father’s cock. 

“Such a good boy for me, Will,” Hannibal murmured, stroking his hand down the boy’s arm. “Always so perfect for your Daddy.”

Will’s eyes squeezed tightly closed, he took in a deep, controlled breath. Hannibal did not miss the way his slim hips jittered at the words.

“As to play mating,” Hannibal said, lowering his voice, brushing the words against Will’s neck with his lips, playing up the lyricality of his accent. “Covering is a benign form, of course; other forms have more satisfactory results. But there are ways that it can be made more effective.”

“Ways,” Will croaked.

“Ways.” He slipped a hand under Will’s throat, cupping his trachea and pinching his fingers into the sensitive glands in his neck. He felt Will’s high, garbled noise in response, vibrating against his palm. Felt the increase in his pulse, the quickening of his breaths. He dropped a kiss to Will’s nape and continued, dropping little kisses there between sentences. “Coupling talk. Increasing points of pressure. Adding friction. They all have their utility. For example this,” he squeezed a little around Will’s neck before releasing him again, to a gasping inhalation in reply, “or if I were to move like so.”

Of course, the point of friction would be his hips. He pressed them forward, until the base of his cock nestled against Will’s buttocks, then pulled back, dragging his cock between Will’s cheeks until the thick, bulbous head abutted Will’s hole. He lingered there for a moment, his free hand grasping himself, prodding at it, wetting it with his precum, and then slid forward again, this time between Will’s thighs, with his cock pressed tight against Will’s perineum. 

“Daddy,” Will gasped, and Hannibal applied another squeeze to his neck, holding it for a beat before releasing, in time with the backward pull of his cock. 

Will panted into the mattress, the fingers of his right hand twisting it, wrinkling it, as though he could tear it to shreds. His other hand remained cupped over his cock, trying to contain his increasing emissions, and failing at last. 

“Daddy, you said you’d make it stop,” he cried, as Hannibal gripped his cock again and pushed it against Will’s slowly slackening hole, as he drank up the slightest increase in give. 

“And darling, I will,” he said. “Be a good boy and let Daddy play with you. We’ll wring you dry, darling, until there’s nothing left. We’ll make you squirt like you wanted, won’t we? Just be good. Alpha knows best.”

Perhaps if Will weren’t moaning into the mattress, writhing a little beneath him, so consumed by new sensations, he might have registered the uncharacteristic desperation in Hannibal’s voice, the excessive justification. As it was, Will’s mind processed the sweet promise in his tones, and the requests for him to be good, to be a good Omega for his Daddy, and nothing more.

“A presented Omega,” Hannibal said, bucking his hips as he fucked between Will’s thighs, “would be sopping wet by now. Are you wet, Will?”

Hannibal could hear the slick sounds of skin meeting wet skin where he held himself.

“Of course you are, you’ve been dripping all day. A year from now your little cunt will be wide open and waiting for Alpha’s cock, so wet we may as well keep you in the bath all day.”

“Daddy,” Will whined, his own hips moving too now. “Daddy.”

Hannibal squeezed Will’s neck one more time before releasing him, bringing his hand down to pry Will’s cheeks apart, to tease his thumb around Will’s sweet, quivering hole. “A beautiful, well behaved cunt, my good, good, boy.” And then his voice changed, back to its normal, sedate tones, its easy cadence. “I’m going to apply some pressure inside, darling, just the way I did during your exam.” 

The change in his father’s voice made Will’s head lift in question, but when Hannibal’s finger pressed inside of him, finding the one spot he’d so pointedly avoided during the Well Omega Exam this morning, Will’s body lost all its strength, melting into the mattress as he let out a low, keening wail.

Hannibal stroked the pad of his finger against that sensitive little nub, delighting in the pulsating constrictions of Will’s slick channel around his finger, in the sweet moans his voice made, in the increasing wetness from his little cock, that slipped to lubricate the press of Hannibal’s cock between his thighs. 

He rocked his knuckle against Will’s perineum, fingertip tapping and rubbing at his prostate. That tight heat choked around his finger, if Hannibal had his cock in there it would surely wring him dry, and Will’s sweet, whimpering voice grew wetter too, as he sobbed his pleasure. “Daddy,” he moaned, “what’s--”

“A part of play, darling,” Hannibal murmured. “Breathe deep, sweet boy. Relax, and let it happen. Take what Alpha gives you.”

Will’s body had begun to quake, and he gasped for breath as he tried to turn underneath his father’s weight. “Daddy, I need-- I need--”

“You want your Alpha, don’t you, beloved,” Hannibal murmured, obliging him, rearranging their positions on the bed. Hannibal settled down between Will’s legs, pulling Will’s arms around his neck so he could sate himself against Hannibal’s scent gland, could rut his tiny cock against his father’s, as that thick finger penetrated him once more. “You need Alpha to soothe you.”

Hannibal let Will take his weight, his cock sliding through the copious anterior slick that pooled on his abdomen, his precum mixing with it as they moved together. Will’s lips latched onto Hannibal’s neck, teeth scraping over the scent gland now, his harmless little teeth gnawing as though he could plant a claiming bit there. 

The temptation arose in Hannibal then, to lean down the rest of the way, lie chest to chest, and to close his teeth around the boy’s throat. To mark him as his own, to erase any question of who this Omega belonged to. But Hannibal, with his saintly patience, withheld. Instead, he pumped a second finger into Will’s slowly dilating sphincter, and with renewed insistence, bullied the boy’s tender, virgin prostate.

“Are you trying to come?” Hannibal asked, laughing. “You know you won’t be able to.”

“You said--” Will gasped, but stopped, shocked into wordlessness as Hannibal pressed his prostate again with one curled finger, and then reached further with the other, probing for the tight furl inside that marked the entrance to Will’s womb. He touched it once, just to see how Will would react; his body convulsed, and he fell against the bed, limp but for the shocks running through him. 

“Someday you’ll take your Alpha’s seed here, darling,” he murmured, scissoring his fingers, teasing Will’s hole again, leaving that tender spot alone in favor of opening his boy up wider. “Someday Alpha will pump you full to bursting with his come, and you’ll drool for it, won’t you, your sweet mouth and your sweet cunt.”

Will’s eyes drifted closed and he gnawed on his lip. Face flushed, covered in sweat and slick, limp and yet gyrating, out of control-- he had never been more beautiful.

“I’m going to make you squirt now, my good, perfect boy.” And then he leaned in, and nipped against Will’s neck, right over his throat, teeth digging into the flesh there as though he wanted to rip that delicate trachea free.

Will cried, and sobbed, and the way his father bid, his sweet pink cock spasmed, jettisoning a stream of his thin, watery spunk. It splattered against Hannibal’s abdomen, over his cock, dribbling into a pathetic trickle before it stopped completely. Will’s little hole spasmed around his fingers, and he whined, not quite satisfied. He wouldn’t be; not without his father’s cock knotting him deep, bringing the act to its natural end. But at least now he wouldn’t make a mess all over the house. 

Hannibal straightened, scooting up the bed so that his knees bracketed Will’s head, and gripped himself in his fist. Will stared up at him, eyes glazed in frustrated pleasure, mouth agape, pink tongue peeking out from between his adorable teeth. Hannibal didn’t hold himself back; he may have been teasing Will all day, but he’d also been teasing himself, hadn’t he? With Will’s scent, the sweetest it had ever been, coating the inside of his mouth, Hannibal gave into his primal instinct.

He gripped the headboard for balance with his left hand, and fucked into the tunnel of his fingers on the other, cock dripping precum in small beads onto Will’s face. He grunted, fucking his hips forward, squeezing his fist tight, kneading the base of his cock where his knot would grow inside his son. When he felt the heat, the pleasure, the nerve-fraying tingles being to crest, he pressed his hips down, rubbing the head of his leaking cock against Will’s lips. 

“Daddy,” Will mumbled, and the subtle movements of lips, teeth and tongue against Hannibal’s cock made him lose control. 

Hannibal pointed his cock down and his balls squeezed tight as he came, thick ropes of come streaming over Will’s flushed and rosy cheeks, over his parted, tender lips, over the slick pink of his tongue. He pumped his shaft through the aftershocks, milking himself dry too, letting his come mark Will’s neck, his chest, his tight, bruised nipples. 

Hannibal took only a moment to enjoy the afterglow before he picked up as though they were still in the exam room. “What a good boy you’ve been, Will? Didn’t I say that I’d take care of you?” 

He got off the bed, going for the top drawer of his dresser, and pulling out a small velvet box, and another pull-up, brought over from the office. 

“I’ve been too permissive, of course, but we’ll correct that now. A cage for your naughty little cock, and another pull-up until we’ve trained it to behave.”

“Daddy--” Will managed, still dazed, still come-drunk from the scent of his father’s heat all over his face.

“Now, now,” Hannibal murmured, rubbing his thumb over Will’s cheek, rubbing his come into the skin. “Alpha knows best.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 8

Good Night

“It’s tight,” came Will’s faint voice as Hannibal closed the cage snug around his tiny little cock. 

Hannibal had purchased this little accessory almost the moment he realized that Will would be an Omega. He’d been nine years old, then. Shorter than his peers, sweet in disposition, a tendency to hold back from the roughhousing that the other children seemed to enjoy; and then, a growing aversion to his mother, a growing insistence on attention from his Alpha. 

When he bought it, he did it with the absolute certainty that it would never be necessary to cage his boy. Will was intelligent, insightful, and eager to please. He had a strong sense of duty and justice, and a confidence in his judgements. Hannibal knew that all he must do is set a standard of good behaviour and the boy would strive to live up to his standards. 

And of course, he had. In everything, Will came as close to perfection as a person could ever hope to. 

A cage, then, was not necessary. 

But Hannibal deserved a little fun, didn’t he?

“As with the pull-up, it takes some getting used to,” Hannibal murmured, adjusting the positioning, so that the small bulb on the inside of the cage nestled tighter against Will’s urethra. Will’s head lolled to the side--submission--and his fingers twitched, but he lay generally insensate as his father adjusted his restraint.

A few more adjustments as he wrapped the boy up in another behavioural control pull up, and then he sat back to admire his work. “You lay there for a while, sweet boy, and rest. When you’re ready I’ll be in my office,” Hannibal said, soothing a hand down Will’s flank before leaving him. 

He pulled his dressing robe from the back of the bedroom door and draped it about himself, not disguising the pep in his step on the way downstairs. Relieving Will earlier had done him a world of good as well. But as he settled down at his desk to write a short entry in his journal summarizing today’s treatment, he found himself wandering between several different trains of thought for Will’s future. 

Alana still had about a week until her tour completed. What would they do when she returned home? While Will was softness and sweetness itself when around his father, tp Alana, an Omega bearing his Alpha’s mark, Will became contrary, aggressive, baring his little teeth as though he wanted to rip her throat out. 

Something which Hannibal didn’t mind encouraging, but he would have to tread carefully there. Alana and Margot’s affair had become less a dalliance and more a long-term arrangement between them, never mind that they were both Omegas, and Margot unmarked at that. Margot would not be likely to forgive anyone for harming Alana, let alone killing her, and she had the Verger estate to back her if she ever sought revenge. 

Hannibal knew that he would never hand Will over to another Alpha to mark. That would be an insult to them both; Hannibal, in his long years, had never met anyone with the potential to be his true equal, until he came to know Will, and Will would certainly never meet anyone that could hope to meet the standard his father had set. 

So while playing now was all well and good, he would have to tread carefully. Were he to overwhelm the boy, he might ruin all of the good groundwork that he had laid between them. He couldn’t allow that. 

He had had his fun. Now, he would allow Will to seek him out, allow Will to crave this connection that they had started between them. It would take patience, more than he had ever had to exert before, but the end result would be beautiful, Hannibal was certain. 

He shut his journal and locked it in the top drawer of his desk, and not a moment later, Will’s familiar knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in,” Hannibal called, and the door opened.

Will had dressed. His loose pajama pants, still slung low, hid the generous bulk of the pull-up, and his worn sleep-shirt, yet another of his father’s, had slid to reveal the delicate curve of a freckled shoulder. His curls were askew, his face rosy and, Hannibal noted with mild amusement, clean. “I didn’t know what to do about the comforter,” he said, dropping his gaze in embarrassment, the rosiness spreading down his neck. “It’s a mess.”

“Leave it,” Hannibal murmured, scooting his chair back and patting the inside of his thigh. “Come.”

Will did as he bid. He approached, slower, his gait a little more stilted as he continued to adjust to both the cage and the diaper, and dropping between Hannibal’s spread thighs with as much grace as he could manage despite them. The halves of Hannibal’s dressing gown had parted, revealing his nudity beneath, and though he hesitated at the sight of his father’s flaccid cock hanging down between them, he leaned in nonetheless. “Leave it?” he asked, nuzzling into his father’s thigh and then blinking hard.

“Do I smell like us, darling?” Hannibal asked, reaching down to cup his son’s face. 

Will sniffed curiously and then, looking up at Hannibal, nodded, with all the hesitation of a child answering a question they did not want to answer incorrectly.

“A pleasing scent?” He stroked his thumb over Will’s cheekbone, then let his hand drift lower to cup the boy’s neck, gently.

“Yeah,” Will answered, and then, embarrassed at his own eagerness, added, “I guess.”

“You see now why I asked you to leave the comforter, then,” Hannibal murmured, his thumb coming up to press on Will’s chin, to encourage him to open his mouth.

“Won’t Mom mind?” Will asked before allowing his mouth to drop open. 

“Breathe through your mouth, darling.” Oral breathing would activate the scent glands on his posterior hard palate, more keenly attuned to pheromonal input than the scent glands in his nose. He felt the rush of air over his thumb as Will sucked in a breath, and watched the boy’s lashes flutter closed. 

He slipped his thumb forward, pressing down on the slick muscle of Will’s tongue, before removing it to replace it with his thumb and middle finger.

Ignoring the question about Alana, he stroked against Will’s tongue. “This can be a form of play as well. When you choose an Alpha, he may ask you to use your talented little mouth in this way. Closed around his fingers, or his cock.”

Will made a little noise and the vibrations of his mouth around Hannibal’s fingers made his cock twitch, right in front of Will’s face. Good thing the boy’s eyes remained tightly closed. 

“You would hardly be able to handle an adult Alpha’s cock with this sweet mouth of yours yet, though, my boy.” At this, another sound, though one of displeasure, paired with a furrow between his brows. “But we can get you started on your way so that when the time comes, you’re ready.”

Will’s tongue laved around Hannibal’s fingers, his lips pursed a little withe application of a gentle suction. 

Hannibal laughed and stroked against Will’s tongue again, his other hand petting through Will’s hair. “That’s quite a different thing, Will, that exceeds the limits of play. Be still.”

Will’s cheeks colored prettily, embarrassed at his own enthusiasm, and he stilled. A moment later, though, one of his hands rose from where he had kept it folded patiently in his lap, to rest lightly on Hannibal’s wrist. An impertinence, a break of their long-established routine, but Hannibal merely shook his head and allowed it. 

He’d always been a permissive parent. 

These little signs of dominance from Will endeared his son to him, rather than upset him. Hannibal had always admired Will’s sharpness, the almost feral quality of his anger, the cold perfection of his justice. He’d seen Will intercede in playground squabbles asa boy, meting out justice with tooth and claw against the bigger boys that dared to bully their more vulnerable playmates, and while Hannibal had had to force Will to apologize for drawing blood, he had rewarded the boy plenty when they’d gotten home. 

“That’s how you protect yourself,” Hannibal had told him, “if an Alpha dares lay a hand on you, tries to control you. You only allow that from the Alphas you love. The Alphas you trust.”

Only me.

Will’s tongue occasionally worked his fingers over, usually in response to Hannibal’s own movement. He’d scissor his fingers wide, on either side of Will’s tongue, pressing to the soft interior of his cheeks, he’d stroke the roof of his mouth, the edges of his sharp teeth, he’d press his fingers deep into the cavern of Will’s mouth, and watch his beautiful eyes water. Will’s hand remained gentle on Hannibal’s wrist through it all, and his mouth compliant with all of the teasing. 

Saliva pooled at the floor of his mouth, dribbled out the corners when Hannibal moved his fingers again. Will really did look his most beautiful when Hannibal made a mess of him. 

He withdrew his fingers after a while, and Will dropped his hand back to his lap before turning, hazy-eyed, to nuzzle against Hannibal’s bare cock. He leaned in breathed deep, open-mouthed breaths, trying to capture some more of his father’s scent. 

“I want my bed to smell like you too,” Will mumbled, and Hannibal’s chest grew warm. 

“Will, darling,” Hannibal sighed, petting his son’s hair. 

“Can we? When we do good-night?”

Hannibal fought down his smile. If not for Will’s scent, still that clean, slightly-sweet scent, Hannibal could almost believe that the boy was going into heat. His coloring, his feverish gaze, the way he begged to surround himself in his Alpha’s scent. If he were like this now, months before presenting, how would he be in the throes of heat?

“Oh, darling,” Hannibal murmured, overcome. “I suppose it is after nine. And we skipped our good-night routine last night didn’t we?”

That was all the confirmation Will needed to come to his feet. Hannibal took Will’s hand and led him back to the boy’s bedroom. Their good-night routine was a heavy alteration of the recommended, science-backed routine for an Alpha and their Omega child, though still roughly following the same framework. 

Will brushed his teeth, then Hannibal inspected every nook and cranny with a pen-light and the pad of his finger, running along the surfaces of his teeth and his gums. Will washed his face, and then settled at Hannibal’s feet again for Hannibal to brush through his hair, massage his scalp, tug gently on his ears and earlobes. Hannibal pulled the covers on the bed down, and Will settled atop the mattress, belly-up, and waited. 

What followed were twenty-five to thirty minutes of gentling. The child-rearing books recommended five minutes, but Hannibal never did things by halves. The books recommended gentle petting of the head and forehead, a low-toned bedtime story or conversation, and then silent company side-by-side sans petting. 

But Hannibal usually spent half an hour, stroking Will down from head to foot. Massaging arms and hands and fingers, rubbing down his legs, his feet, his toes. He would pressed soft circles into Will’s belly, and then stroke loving tracks down Will’s back. 

And yet their routine underwent a few changes this evening. He regretted the presence of the pull-up almost immediately, for it blocked his hand from touching Will's abdomen, once he’d coaxed the shirt off over his head. “Are you wet at all, darling?” Hannibal breathed into the darkness of his bedroom.

“No,” Will said. “You kept your promise.”

“Then let’s take this off, for now. No need to worry when you’re in bed.” He helped Will strip the pull-up, but left the cage in place. That would have to stay. Gently, he flicked it at the tip, jostling it where the nub pressed against the tip of Will’s little cock. “Is it comfortable?”

“The pressure feels nice,” Will said, after a beat. “I didn’t like it at first, though.”

“Good things take time.” Now Hannibal set about the familiar path of his caresses. Shoulders, arms, hands, fingers. Toes, feet, calves, thighs. He cupped his warm hand over Will’s caged cock and offered it a quick, comforting squeeze before ascending to draw the circles over Will’s belly, then around his nipples. 

“Still sore?” he asked, plucking each one between thumb and forefinger, pressing against the deep bruises on the areolas. 

“Dad!” Will groaned, shrinking away, a hand coming up to cover his chest. “Yeah, they’re sore. I mean look at them.”

Hannibal tutted, bringing his fingers back to Will’s nipples and rubbing them over those raised nubs. “I am, darling,” he said. “Massage helps with the healing of bruises, Will. If you won’t let me help you, then will you do it yourself? Five minutes of massage, morning and night, until the bruises fade completely.”

“O-Okay,” Will said, trying to stay still, trying not to pull away again. 

“Good boy,” Hannibal murmured, and then tapped at Will’s hip. “Turn over, darling.” Will turned onto his back, and Hannibal nudged his legs apart. “Wider, please,” he instructed, and Will did as he bid, though with a shy look over his shoulder. 

He stroked the back of Will’s head, down his back. He kneaded at the globes of Will’s ass, to the sweet, stifled sounds of Will’s enjoyment resonating in his throat, stroked his fingers over Will’s perineum, traced a prodding circle around Will’s hole, then leaned forward again and started over with a squeeze of Will’s nape, over his scent glands, and back on down.

His other hand gripped his cock, watching as Will writhed gently below him, the way his little hole twitched in anticipation as Hannibal’s fingers skirted lower down his back. 

Possessed, he spread his knees wider and touched the tip of his cock to Will’s hole, smearing his precum wetly over it, before he began to stroke himself with purpose. “I’ll give you my scent here,” he said, pressing his hips forward through the tunnel of his hand so that Will’s sweet cunt gave a little under the pressure of his blunt cockhead, “and on your back, so when you turn over to sleep, the mattress will take it up.”

“Not-- not my face?” Will asked, voice small, breathless.

Hannibal’s hips stuttered. “No, darling, you just washed it clean,” he managed through gritted teeth, as he increased his speed, choking his cock in his fingers, “but if you really think you’ll miss my scent that much, I think I have a solution.”

“Please, Daddy,” Will mumbled into his pillow, his fingers gripping it tight as his own slender hips thrust backward to meet his father’s gentling caress, the press of his thumb into the rim of his cunt, so eager to give way after an entire day of teasing. 

Hannibal’s eyes flitted between the bare nape of his son’s neck and the quivering, waiting hole before him. He bit his lower lip and controlled his breathing, the tension inside of him rising, his balls pulling up, his cock throbbing in his hand, the bulge at the base already beginning to swell, seeking a warm cunt to fill. 

“Please, Daddy,” Will repeated, and Hannibal saw stars. He came, spraying a thick rope of his come over Will’s back, and then another, before pressing the head of his cock against Will’s cunt, rubbing them together, working his come into that lax rim. 

He breathed deeply, grasping for a veneer of calm, before squeezing himself around his unfulfilled knot, and milking the last of his come out over Will’s ass cheeks and down his thighs. When his cock lay spent in his hand, he released it, in favor of pressing his fingers against Will’s cunt, feeling the muscle spasm at the pressure, pushing a little of his come inside. 

He scooped another dollop of it onto his fingers and then, in a gravelly, low voice, commanded Will to turn over. “Open your mouth, my darling, good boy,” he said, and the moment Will’s lips parted, pressed his fingers into Will’s mouth, rubbing his come on the boy’s tongue, on the roof of his mouth near his scent glands. 

Will suckled his fingers, eyes clouded, completely come-drunk, his little cock once more erect and fighting valiantly against the confines of its cage. Hannibal took his own cock in his free hand and smeared it against Will’s belly, cleaning it off, before plucking his fingers from Will’s mouth and coming to his feet. 

He re-tied his dressing gown around him, dropped a kiss on Will’s forehead, and, watching as his son’s eyes drifted closed, wished him one final, “good night.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 9

A soothing treatment

“Your color is much improved,” Hannibal said, picking another honey-covered fig off of his plate and lowering it to Will’s waiting mouth. He pressed it between those soft lips and onto the silky wet tongue inside the boy’s eager mouth before withdrawing sticky, spit-slick fingers. “It seems that all of our efforts yesterday have had a positive effect on you.”

“Effect?” Will asked. He leaned his head against his father’s thigh and peered up at him in question. 

Hannibal didn’t answer until he’d pushed a morsel of sous vide egg into his mouth for him to eat. “Improved appetite; this arrangement for your meals I find particularly suitable.” He indulged himself in petting through Will’s curls with his clean hand as he added, “and the lesson in play mating has leant you quite a glow, as well as being personally informative, I should hope.”

Will nodded absently, reaching for the cup of milk tea that Hannibal had set on a small Japanese chabudai table beside his own chair. He took a sip of his tea and set the cup back on the low table before resuming his position. “ Personally informative.”

“Of course. While the object is primarily to prepare the Omega for mating, that is not the final end for most play. It’s secondary objectives are more easily achieved. Determining interpersonal compatibility. Teaching you your preferences and boundaries as regards the act of mating.” He popped a grape between his son’s lips, and then, because the grapes always went quickly, a segment of bacon. “For example, you must have noticed how beautifully you respond to coupling talk.”

Those dark brows furrowed with skepticism. “I wouldn’t say that .”

Hannibal’s lips curved in an indulgent smile. “Of course not. Your writhing as I praised your beautiful, well behaved cunt, was entirely unrelated.”

The color washed into Will’s cheeks, his eyes wide in disbelief. He opened his mouth to protest, and Hannibal tucked another eggy bite inside, cutting him off before he could start. 

“There now, my good, good boy,” Hannibal purred, cupping Will’s jaw, “taking so well whatever I put into your sweet, wet mouth.”

A high pitched squeak vibrated Will’s throat, and Hannibal chuckled, deep and dark, at the way Will’s hands gathered in his lap. He still lay caged in the confines of his pajama pants, and he would remain that way until his neck bore Hannibal’s mark, but Hannibal didn’t doubt that the boy’s little cock fought its restraints valiantly at the moment. 

In effect, proving his point. 

“Though that does remind me,” Hannibal said, releasing Will’s throat and returning to the feeding with a businesslike efficiency, “we had discussed some further lessons and training in that regard hadn’t we?” 

“No gaps in that education,” Will grumbled before accepting another bite from his fathers fingers. 

“As regards play we only discussed covering; and I believe there was some discussion regarding your affinity for oral stimulation.” As he said this, he dropped another grape onto Will’s tongue and then stroked his finger over the ridges on the roof of Will’s mouth as he pulled his hand free. 

Will’s eyelids dropped. He bit into the grape, body canting the slightest bit further forward toward his fathers groin. 

“Though I do think, darling, that we ought to have another look at you.”

A phrase with medical associations that Will recognized immediately. “Another look? Didn’t you s-see everything yesterday?” 

Hannibal hummed, dipping his fingers into his finger bowl and then wiping the water off onto his napkin. “Nothing to be alarmed about. given yesterday’s exertions, I want to be sure that all remains well.”

“Do we have to go back to the office?” Will asked, fingers fretting with the hem of his shirt. 

“Where else would you have me examine you, darling?” 

Will’s eyes flitted up to meet Hannibal’s and he remained silent as he stared. A long moment passed before he gave in, sighing. “Alright. Fine. I just didn’t want to leave the house.”

An unusual objection--Hannibal would have believed it better if Will had said he’d be more comfortable at home. Will had never pretended nonchalance about these sorts of things before. Curious. 

They finished their breakfast shortly, and Hannibal gave Will half an hour to ready himself before the drive to the office. Will asked, hesitantly, whether he would need to wear a pull-up out of the house. Hannibal had pulled Will’s sweatpants down to his knees, examined the quiescent member in its little cage, and said that as long as he remained calm and clean, he could do without it. So, Will dressed in his street clothing, combed his hair and brushed his teeth, and followed Hannibal obediently out to the car. 

Hannibal still bore in mind his resolution from the previous night. He didn’t want to scare Will off; didn’t want him to realize what exactly his father was up to, before Hannibal was ready to reveal it. Before Hannibal had sunk his teeth into that delicious, fair nape. So while he would continue to have his fun today, he would take greater care in concealing his motivations, his desires. 

There were some benefits to be had this time, of course. No pretense of a physical needed; the moment they stepped into the examination room, Hannibal set about arranging the table and its stirrups, with only a quick instruction to his son to change into a fresh, folded gown. 

“A bit of a different setup today,” Hannibal explained, when the boy stood ready before him. The table had been lowered significantly, and the top and bottom eaves each angled toward the floor; an inverted V for the table, with the stirrups wide on either side of the bottom, rather than at the foot of the table. 

“This looks like--” Will stopped himself. “Breeding benches put Omegas into similar positions, don’t they?”

“There is a similarity, yes,” Hannibal said. “But it is not quite the same. A breeding bench, of course, would have a gap or a pocket here--” he tapped the center of the table, where Will’s groin would line up once he’d been strapped in, “and the head would be lowered dramatically, to approximate a presentation posture. Often, benches don’t provide more than a padded surface here, for your forearms, and force the omega to bear their own weight” Will nodded along, though he seemed reserved, doubtful. So Hannibal added, “This is an examination table, as you see, and the posture here requires nothing but relaxation from you. You will find it easier than standing as you did before, and it will also be kinder to my back, as I can raise the table to eye level without stooping over to examine you. Do you need a hand getting on?”

This prompting seemed to settle Will’s doubts. He nodded slightly, and allowed Hannibal’s hands to help him find the optimal position. Hannibal adjusted Will’s feet into the stirrups, spread wide, and then walked around to the front to raise the table until he sat eye-level with Will. 

“Not terribly uncomfortable, I hope?”

“Not terribly,” Will answered.

“In the interest of efficiency,” Hannibal said, walking to the desk and withdrawing two sealed packages from two different drawers before setting them on the instrument table in front of Will. Sealed in the paper and plastic packaging of clean medical instruments, he opened the larger one first: a long strap with a D-ring closure in a soft, medical-grade silicone. At the center of the strap, the silicone moulded into a hollowed out O-shape with four spring-released metallic pegs protruding into the hole. The second package contained the piece that snapped into the O, held by the four pegs in place: a soft silicone phallus, adjustable to be four to five inches in length, and though wider around than Will’s little cock, still rather slender by most standards.

Will studied the object for barely a moment before his face flooded with color, his back grew stiff and taut. “ No .”

“This is a training rod,” he said, fitting the phallus into the hole in the strap. “A beginner’s size, of course, and the most appropriate.”  It paled in comparison to Hannibal’s own Alpha cock, large even by Prime standards. “Bigger than my fingers, though not so large as to present too much of a challenge for that eager little mouth of yours.”

“You s-said-- I didn’t think you were-- you were serious.”

“Of course I was serious,” Hannibal said, but in deference to the trepidation on his son’s face, set the strap back down. “We don’t have to use the strap; I thought it would be most comfortable for you if you didn’t have to hold it in place. And if the idea of preparing early makes you unhappy, darling, of course it can wait for another time. Everything is your choice.”

The blue eyes looked doubtful as they turned to stare again at the strap. “What if-- what if I need you to take it off?”

“Your hands are free, darling,” Hannibal reminded him, taking one of those quaking limbs in a gentle hold. “You can remove it yourself. Or if that becomes too overwhelming to manage on your own, all you need do is tap the table and I will remove it for you.”

Still the boy hesitated. Hannibal kneaded at his son’s palm, his wrist and forearm, gentling him, encouraging him to relax. Eventually, Will came around, showing obedience, deferring to his Alpha the way his nature would always bid him do. “But you can’t-- you can’t make me wait,” he said. “It has to come right off.”

“Of course,” soothed Hannibal, before cupping Will’s face and caressing his cheek, petting through his hair. Will’s eyes were latched desperately on Hannibal’s neck, and he took big greedy breaths, trying to soothe himself via scent the way he’d been doing since their little adventure began. But Hannibal would show him something else that would satisfy that need. He released Will’s face and picked up the instrument, and to his son’s wide-eyed disbelief, popped the limp phallus into his own mouth to slick it up with his saliva. Granted the saliva had done nothing for Will yesterday, but he had hope that today would be different. “Open wide, dear boy,” Hannibal said, pausing to admire the inside of the pink cavern before he slid the purple silicon phallus in all the way, until the strap nestled against Will’s lips.

He gave Will a moment to adjust--a few convulsive swallows around the new intrusion, a subvocal whine that Hannibal resolutely ignored--before gentling him again and then wrapping the strap around his head and fastening it. 

“There now,” Hannibal said, admiring his work. Will’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were watering most beautifully already, from so small a torment. “It may help you to close your eyes and imagine yourself with your chosen Alpha. Between his legs, surrounded by his scent. Not a training rod, but his cock between your lips, on your tongue. Recall what I told you before, Will, as this is part of the training too--no suckling. Keep your mouth as still as you can, please. You are servicing your Alpha by warming his cock for him, not gratifying yourself by stimulating that wanting little mouth of yours.”

He petted through Will’s curls, eating up the way Will’s lashes fluttered at this last utterances, the way his cheeks grew redder, his grip on the edge of the table tightened. His boy loved praise--his boy also seemed to have a taste for his father’s cruelty. 

“Perfect boy,” Hannibal said, meaning it, and then walked around to the back of the table to begin his examination. 

In the strictest terms, was there any medical rationale to justify a repeat exam so soon? Not at all. But Hannibal was not just Will’s doctor, but his father; parental concern would be more than answer enough. 

This time, he slipped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. He didn’t reach for the tube of lubricant that he’d set out on the instrument table right away. Another soft, keening subvocal cry from Will , the moment that Hannibal stepped out of his field of vision, prompted him to reach up and gentle the sweet boy first. His gloved hands stroked firmly down his flanks, gripped his hips and then his buttocks, petted down his spread thighs. A few soft, meaningless murmurs, just so that Will could hear his voice, and he reached up to stroke the flanks again, over and over, until Will’s distress quelled enough for him to begin his work. 

“I’m going to have a look now,” he said, pulling those plump cheeks apart, opening up his view of Will’s Omegan anatomy. He slid his thumbs into the puffy pink rim of his hole, noticeably more swollen than it had been before all of their play the previous day. “Hmm.”

The downward turn of his voice on that little hum said displeasure and Will stiffened immediately. He made a garbled noise, an attempt to speak around the rod in his mouth, but Hannibal ignored it, though it didn’t take a leap of the imagination to guess what Will could possibly have to say. 

He pressed his thumb to the now-quivering hole instead, rubbing gentling circles around it with a moderate pressure, and then pressing down over the sphincter muscle the way he would press his cock there to request entry. He considered his options. “Swollen,” he sighed, affecting disappointment. “When I said yesterday that I’d been spoiling you, I said so without realizing how badly.” 

Another garbled noise, which Hannibal punished with a sharp slap against Will’s hole. Will’s body tensed, his answering wail a pitiful thing; Hannibal waited until the color rushed back into the skin where he had struck it before soothing the sting with more gentle petting. “I believe I said for you to keep your mouth as still as you can, Will,” he said, pressing his thumb against Will’s hole again with enough pressure this time that he almost pushed through. 

“An Omega should experience no ill-effects from even vigorous stimulation,” he said. The truth, but then, Will was still developing, still pre-presentation. Once the hormone rush of his first heat marked him as an Omega in fact, this would knock his other bodily systems into expected performance, and hold true for him as well. But Will already thought of himself as an Omega, as did his father; and who was to say that a little practice beforehand would harm anything? “Leniency I see has had its ill effects. After such light play, to find you this altered…” he sighed. 

Beneath his hands, Will’s body had grown as taut as a bowstring. He hated disappointing Hannibal in anything, and Hannibal had certainly laid his displeasure on thick. 

“It’s nothing to concern yourself over, darling,” Hannibal said, leaning forward and peppering small kisses over Will’s inner thighs, the soft rounds of his cheeks. “It has been my lack of involvement that has led to this. Truly, I would’ve thought that your mother would have taken steps to remedy this,” he said, a gentle push to further the divide between Omega mother and son, “though I suppose I ought to have known better. But it’s of no matter. It’s not too late to start.”

Indeed, it was rather too early.

He placed another soft, lingering kiss over the swollen rim of Will’s cunt, and as his nose grew nearer, wondered if the faint spike in sweet scent was a sensory memory or a fact of Will’s humiliated arousal. “And I will take your education firmly in hand from now on. We will overcome this together, my darling boy.”

That decided, he stood, moving to the cabinets under the desk to look for a few items he’d neglected to put onto the tray. “I’ll clean the area first, and then apply a soothing treatment,” he said. He dropped the various accoutrements that he’d use on the boy over the next hour or so onto the instrument table and walked around to look Will in the eye. 

Will’s eyes were hazy, lost, a thin rivulet of saliva had started wending its way down the corner of his mouth on the right side, and his cheeks were flushed so red he looked feverish. Hannibal felt a surge of affection for the pitiful boy and gently loosened the D ring closure on the strap. He pulled the flaccid silicone phallus from Will’s wide, wet mouth, saliva trailing along after it, Will’s lips and tongue, adorably, chasing after it as though trying to take it back inside. 

“Still alright, my desperate, wanting boy?”

“Sounds like--” Will panted, blinking slowly, words labored, “you’re calling me a slut.”

“Would you like that?” Hannibal asked, a wicked grin suppressed immediately. He spit on the training rod and then pressed it back into Will’s mouth and fastened the D ring again. He’d planned to gentle Will properly, to give him access to his neck, perhaps, to soothe him; but if Will had the presence of mind to spout that sass, then he needed no soothing whatsoever.

When he settled back onto his chair, his prize before him, he lubed up two gloved fingers and without preamble pressed them against Will’s hole. Swollen, furled tightly shut, it didn’t want to give at first, but after only a little pressure, and with the assistance of a fair amount of lubrication, the two fingers slid deep inside, until the knuckles of his ring finger and pinky pressed tight to Will’s perineum. “I suppose whether you like it or not, it’s true. Your eager, sluttish little cunt sucks my fingers in and then gapes as though still hungry.” He pulled his fingers out, and true enough, Will’s hole remained open wide behind them. “What a gluttonous pussy you have, Will.”

He thrust his fingers in again, scissored them wide, and then pulled them free, still separated. Still, he gaped. How wide would that cunt stretch for him, when he pressed his cock inside? Hannibal shuddered, suddenly overwhelmed with the sense of power he had over this boy. Not today--he’d already set out a program for him-- but perhaps tomorrow or the day after. Speculums--plugs-- he could do so much to him. So much for him. 

Another forward press. “Have you had any discomfort here today, Will? Tap the table--once for yes, two for no.” 

Will hesitated. One tap. 

Hannibal stroked his gloved, lubed up fingers around him, inside, not avoiding but not lingering over his prostate either. “Of course you have. You have grand ambitions, don’t you, darling? To be a cock-hungry little whore for your Alpha, have your sweet wet pussy stuffed full with his cock, his knot. But that’s a distant dream. You’ve been far too spoiled for any of that. You can barely handle the smallest size training rod, for all that it's quite five times the size of your useless, tiny cock.”

Will’s hips bucked, and he made a piteous noise, turning his head sideways on the exam table, turning back around to eye his father as best he could.

“See?” Hannibal said, laughing gently and offering him a kind smile. “You are quite weak to coupling talk, aren’t you darling?”

Will’s brows furrowed, then his eyes rolled. He could be such a teenager.

Hannibal continued the work of his hands, fingering the boy in earnest now, occasionally abutting the inner vaginal entrance and finding disproportionate satisfaction with the way his son would buck and moan, helpless to sensation. “This lubricant also functions as a cleanser,” he said. “Once I’m done applying it, you’ll be better able to relax. The soothing treatment will make your discomfort go away.”

In a sense. 

He fingered Will open for another ten minutes. Sorely tempted was he to add another finger. But the boy was already overwhelmed, writhing as much as his restraints would allow. And drawing out the perception that Will’s body was underprepared for the eventual act of mating would give Hannibal so many more delicious opportunities to soothe his distress over his inadequacies. So only two fingers, in and out, spread wide, pressing in, with his knuckles teasing Will’s prostate from the outside, and a soft silicone cock in the boy’s mouth to increase his associations of oral play with pleasure. 

When at last he pulled his gloved hand free of Will’s backside, the poor boy was sobbing, his shoulders shaking. Hannibal did not need to wonder why-- the shine on the underside of his legs didn’t come from the lubricant. His dear boy was dripping again. 

“Continue to bear with it,” Hannibal murmured, and leaned down to drop another set of kisses on Will’s cheeks. “Now,” he murmured, his breath fanning out against Will’s skin, “try and relax.”

His hands fitted themselves on each cheek, spreading Will as wide as he would go, before his tongue slithered out to take a quick first taste of his son’s cunt. Will shot up onto his elbows, and then grew lax and tumbled back onto the table as Hannibal licked him again, slower, lingering. There was quite a bit of lubricant he would have to get through to taste Will’s skin and nothing else, but Hannibal had known that when he applied it. He took his time, licking Will’s perineum, probing at Will’s entrance with the tip of his tongue.

It still gaped slightly, but the moment that Hannibal pressed his mouth against it, tongue pointed and pushing its way in, it gave. Another form of submission. He licked into Will then with the zeal of a man eating a preferred delicacy, the desperation of a man licking his plate for any last taste of the divine meal he’d been given before. It was minutes before the taste of the lubricant lapsed, and Hannibal’s tongue caught onto and coaxed out a soft, subtle sweetness from inside of his son’s cunt. 

He remembered vividly, the explosive flavor of the boy’s preslick the day before, the two weak droplets that his body worked so hard to produce. So desperate to please, to please his father. Hannibal wanted Will to please him again; he would not allow him to fail.

So he laved his tongue in and out, stroked around Will’s hole, pressed against and then penetrated through it, as his hands kneaded gently at Will’s bottom, his thumbs pressing against Will’s perineum in gentle stimulation. 

Will, whose hips had begun a slow, minute gyration, made muffled groans around the gag in his mouth. Hannibal considered whether to slap the boy again for moving what he had been instructed to keep still, but opted against it. It would take the boy time to learn. He would catch himself soon enough, and-- and there, Will’s hips stuttered to a stop and his voice choked in his throat. He went quiet and still, well behaved, doing his best as always.

Hannibal chuckled, his smile pressed into Will’s inner thigh for a moment before he resumed his work. Deep, long strokes of his tongue, another organ whose size Alphas, and Prime Alphas specifically, could boast about, before retracting it to lap at the sensitive ring of muscle from the outside. He felt himself growing hard in his slacks as the sweetness in Will’s taste began to grow stronger, but he quelled his own passions for the moment. 

And then he tasted it: another drop of pre-slick, thick and viscous, and he had to force himself to stop. He pulled away from Will’s twitching, quivering body and stripped off his gloves before gripping himself through the fine material of his trousers. His other hand busied itself with the items on the tray, tidying up; and his mind, of course, he focused on his breath, on finding calm. 

This is an exam , he reminded himself. Fatherly concern . Not a moment to arouse himself over. No matter how strong the desire to pull himself out and fuck into the improperly stretched little pussy--

Another deep breath, and, erection subsiding, he walked to the front of the exam table to look down on the sweet boy he’d been tormenting himself with. “Better now, my love?” Hannibal asked, gently tugging the silicone cock from Will’s mouth, before pressing his fingers inside to take its place.

Will tapped the table once for yes , weakly, submitting to Hannibal’s caresses, rubbing at his gums, his hard palate, pressing down on his tongue. And then, one eye cracked open and gleaming with wickedness, he closed his lips around Hannibal’s fingers and sucked. 

Hannibal smiled indulgently, cupping Will’s face with his free hand. “How remarkably insubordinate you’re being today, Will,” he said. “We’ll have a little spanking later, shall we, to remind you to be good.”

Will opened his mouth immediately in protest, but Hannibal shook his head. “Now, darling. Let me help you down, and we can get on our way home.”

For a moment Hannibal thought that Will would undermine him again and speak anyway. The way his eyes glittered with aggression, so ready to fight back. But instead, he averted his eyes, his head bowing a little, in a conscious if still reluctant gesture of submission. Hannibal petted through his curls once to reward him before stepping off to the side of the table and working his left foot out of its stirrup.

Will wailed, a pitchy “oh no”, as he put his knee down on the table to support himself. 

“Oh my,” Hannibal said, eyeing the source of Will’s distress, the pool of liquid, slowly dripping over the edge of the table and down to the floor. “It seems we’ll need another pull-up today.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

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Chapter 10

An empty promise

They returned home, Will a placid presence in the car, uncomplaining, glazed-over eyes directed out the window. He remained a malleable presence at Hannibal’s feet throughout lunch, and after that meal he returned to his daily routine still in a daze.

Hannibal had the inkling that the increasing exposure to his saliva was finally beginning to have an effect on his son. Something about the color rising in his cheeks, and the way he seemed to chase after Hannibal’s fingers each time they left his mouth, on bites where he’d spiked the food with a little of his saliva.

A pleasing turn of events. 

Will removed to the study after lunch to spend some time on his homework and his studies, and Hannibal to his office. He sat down at his desk, and stared at the phone sitting on its wooden surface. He did not debate longer than a moment before picking up the receiver and dialing the long-familiar number. 

Alana picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hannibal,” she said, concealing her annoyance admirably. “Is it urgent? I’m about to go with Margot to a networking event. Our cab will be downstairs in just a minute.”

“I’ll be less than that. I want to pull Will out of school. He’s endured some appalling abuse at the hands of his peers.”

“Shit,” Alana cursed, and Hannibal’s brow twitched. There were very few circumstances during which he found vulgarities acceptable; this one toed the line. “I can’t stay home for that, Hannibal.”

“Of course not,” Hannibal said. “But Will is self-disciplined enough to adhere to a programme if one is laid out for him, and I am more than happy to reduce my patient caseload so I can oversee his education.”

A pause. “Not a tutor?”

Hannibal’s fingers began a slow tap on the table. “Of course I intend to find one,” he said. “I was attempting to take as little of your time as possible.”

Margot’s voice sounded in the background. 

“I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t have called unless you had a clear plan made out. Sure. If you think that’s what’s best, go for it. One second--” her hand covered the receiver, “I’ll be right there, babe, do you want to go ahead and I’ll catch up?--” and then she returned her attention to her husband. “Do you need anything else, Hannibal?”

“Not at all. Have a lovely evening, Alana. Send my love to Margot.”

Her farewell got cut off in her hurry to hang up the line. Hannibal set his own phone back in its cradle. Sometimes, Alana could be just the kind of person whose business card he would ask for, if he crossed paths with her in the wild. 

He entertained the prospect of allowing Will to handle her after all. The Verger estate may have formidable resources, but he had greater; and the estate didn’t particularly care for the wayward Verger daughter, who so openly shirked her duties to the family name by courting with another Omega, and a mated and married one at that. If he gave Alana to Will and handled Margot himself, the estate might be equally as inclined to look the other way. 

It made a delightful prospect to consider, but allowed too much to chance where he could afford to take no risks. Instead of sitting and mulling it over, he picked the phone up again and placed another phone call. 

He knew the school administrator personally, and she could hardly complain about this call; nevermind that it was the weekend. A matter of business, yes, but concluded quickly and easily with minimal fuss from Hannibal though he was certainly within his rights to make quite a fuss about what had happened to his son while in school. 

A simple meeting with the Chiltons and the Browns, their abominable sons in tow, would solve the situation, he assured Mrs. Bradley. Not now-- he had too much on his plate helping his poor traumatized son recover--but at a time convenient to him. And if the school teachers would be so kind as to submit their course materials so he could continue Will’s education until he found a suitable tutor to create his own curriculum?

She had agreed; of course she had. A few obsequious words, extolling Will’s intelligence, her certainty that he would flourish when able to progress through his courses at his own speed, rather than sitting bored in class and waiting for his classmates to catch up, and her assurances again that anything Hannibal wanted or needed, the school would provide, and the call ended. 

When they sat down to dinner, Hannibal invited Will to his office to join him for another little talk. He fed his boy, nestled on the floor between his legs, and then the two of them adjourned to the kitchen to resume their usual routine. Together time for the duration of an activity before they moved on to Hannibal’s office to talk. 

“Run upstairs to change,” he said as Will passed off the last wet dish into Hannibal’s waiting hands. He towelled it off as Will scampered upstairs, put the dish into the cabinet, and then returned to his office. 

He sat in his chair and waited barely a minute before Will’s knock sounded at the door. Soft grey jersey pajama pants. He’d removed the pull-up, Hannibal noted, and felt of two minds about that. And, on top, another one of Hannibal’s hand-me-down undershirts, the collar on this one stretched thin as well. 

“How do you manage to stretch these out this way?” Hannibal asked, fingers flitting up to touch the neckline of Will’s shirt when the boy came to stand before him. 

In answer, Will gripped the collar with hands curled into fists and brought it up to his nose. A fresh shirt would stretch, yes, under the tension on that fabric, but this one, having been well worn-in, had no protests about such blatant misuse. 

“Did the collar bother your neck?” he asked. Some Omegas had difficulties with clothing that sat too close to the neck without feeling secure to their skin. 

“Just smelled good,” Will answered, coming to his knees and settling down with his head on Hannibal’s inner thigh. 

“Like laundry detergent?” Hannibal asked. 

“Like you,” Will answered, eyelids dropping closed as he inhaled. 

Hmm. Hannibal being, of course, not his biological father, Will had not inherited his sense of smell. But if a shirt, frequently laundered, could manage to still smell like Hannibal to Will’s nose, then either he had a keener sense of smell than his Alpha, or he had a massively well-endowed imagination, able to conjure sensory memories as though they were facts of the present. 

The latter seemed far more likely. 

He carded his fingers through Will’s curls. He’d always known that Will was a remarkable creature. He had yet to plumb the depths of his intellect and imagination, however. This most recent turn of events regarding his education would help to remedy his lack of insight in that respect. He looked forward to getting to know his boy better. To finding his boundaries and pushing him beyond them. 

In more ways, of course, than the purely carnal. 

Indeed, mating had its appeal, but were he merely in search of a bedmate, he would have contented himself with Alana. Will had a potential she had never had. Even if she had showed double his potential, she would never hope to reach it--too deeply mired in her concepts of right and just, of good and evil. Will’s moral flexibility, Hannibal liked to believe, he’d learned from his father--the only father he’d ever known.

“Are you well, my boy?” Hannibal asked, indulging himself by stroking over the smooth expanse of his son’s pale neck, naturally exposed on the side from tilting his head into Hannibal’s thigh. 

“Mmmhmmm.”

Hannibal didn’t press Will to use his words. The lax, happy smile on his face demanded not to be moved. “I’ve spoken to your mother.” The smile dropped. Hannibal continued winding one dark curl around the tip of his finger, resolutely ignoring the way Will’s posture stiffened, the way his eyes batted open to glare up at his father in inquiry. “The treatment you’ve endured is unpardonable, and for the school not to have noticed and interceded is even more grievous.”

“You’re pulling me out of school.” Accusation rang loud in Will’s voice. “Dad, I have friends. I like my teachers. You can’t-- you can’t just--”

Hannibal said nothing, merely slipped his hand down to Will’s neck and squeezed at the pressure points there. 

Will’s voice dropped out, his eyes rolled back, and he dropped in Hannibal’s hold. 

A moment more, and then Hannibal released Will’s nape. “This is not how we discuss things, is it, my love? Try again, but properly this time, Will.”

The moment Hannibal’s fingers slid off Will’s neck and back into his hair, Will righted himself. The glare had softened, and he sounded genuinely contrite when he apologized before beginning again. “I have objections if you’re open to hearing them,” he said, and waited. Hannibal tipped his chin in acquiescence. “Pulling me out of school would disrupt my social development,” he rephrased, battling for the most objective phrases, “and a great deal of my success in class has been because of the bonds I’ve formed with my teachers.”

Hannibal hummed. He petted over Will’s cheek with his thumb, cupping his jaw into his palm. “I understand your concerns, of course. But your teachers have often expressed that they feel that forcing you to follow a curriculum designed for less inspired minds has hindered your progress. And you can continue to socialize and foster community relationships outside of school.”

“Respectfully,” Will said, emulating Hannibal’s cadence, the detachment in his tone,  “I’ve not been allowed much time to do that in the past.” 

“Seeing as how we will be greatly changing your routine, there is no reason to expect that to remain the same as well, is there? On a personal note, we talked yesterday of missing one another, of a desire to spend more time together. If we decide to go through with this plan after all, I’d plan to reduce my clinic hours and patient caseload, and direct your education myself.” 

Will blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

“Until we can find a suitable tutor for you, of course,” Hannibal added, in deference to Alana’s concerns. 

Will, as usual, read between the lines. “You’d never be satisfied with a tutor if you’re not satisfied with Brentmore.” 

Hannibal allowed the corners of his eyes to crinkle, but he didn’t agree aloud. Will saw the look; he would know that Hannibal had no plans of engaging a tutor. He would know that it was lip-service to keep Alana content. 

The return of Will’s smile, even if not quite so relaxed as before, confirmed Hannibal’s suspicions. “If you promise I’ll get time to see my friends, too, then… then okay. I’m not entirely happy about it. But if you’re going to teach me--”

“Oversee your education; you’ll still be following your current curriculum, at least through the end of the year.”

“Fine, oversee my education, then I’m willing to try.”

Hannibal smiled, and with a little pressure on the underside of Will’s jaw, urging him to his feet, said, “Oh, darling, you have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

Will came to a stand, battling his confusion. This was not the way their talks ended. This broke their routine. But, always a good boy, he remained silent and let himself be led. Hannibal tugged Will forward so that he straddled one of Hannibal’s legs-- the one he always leaned against during their talks-- and then encouraged him to come to a seat.

He put one stabilizing hand on Will’s waist, and another on his shoulder, and then leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Will’s cheek, just on the corner of his lips. “You have no idea how happy. Thank you, darling.”

It would have been quite a hassle to call Mrs. Bradley back and request Will’s reenrollment, after all. 

Will blinked wide blue eyes at him, his hands settling on Hannibal’s shoulders to help keep himself stable. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, the sweet thing, with his father’s thigh between his legs, their faces so close. 

Hannibal would allow him the opportunity to figure it out. He slid the hand on Will’s shoulder up to cup his face and then his nape, and offered his son a gentle smile. “I’ve every confidence that you will excel with a more personal approach to schooling. A young man of your intelligence and curiosity--you will far outstrip your peers.”

“I’ve dipped my toe into calculus,” Will confessed, his face pressed into Hannibal’s hand, his eyelids drooping. A little boast, requesting more praise.

“Enterprising boy,” Hannibal cooed, thumb rubbing over Will’s scent glands. “You will master it, too, I am certain. I’m eager to begin your education, the way it ought to have been conducted. My darling boy, you’ll go so far.”

Will’s eyes shut the rest of the way, basking in his father’s praise, in his proximity, his gentle caress. So easy to please him, to make him feel adored. The most minute movement of Hannibal’s thigh beneath Will’s bottom, though, and Will’s eyes flew open, his grip on his father’s shoulders tightening. He let out a weak sound through parted lips, and raised a curious gaze to his father.

“Anything the matter?” Hannibal asked, moving his thigh again, ever so slightly shifting it.

Will, at last, caught on. “Is this-- this is another form of play?”

“It is indeed,” Hannibal answered, adjusting his grip from Will’s waist to his hip and nudging him gently to inspire him to movement. “Covering is considered a most basic form. We added some modifications to make it more effective, but this will accomplish much the same outcome.”  

It took a moment, but Will shifted his hips, this time under his own power. He made a noise in the back of his throat; a lost, desperate noise. And then he moved again. Hannibal encouraged him in this gentle rocking back and forth, murmuring gentle encouragements, reminding Will that he was always such a very good boy.

When Will’s head fell forward onto Hannibal’s shoulder, his arms in a limp circle around Hannibal’s neck, it only made sense for his hips to move up, to move closer, too. When Will’s groin met Hannibal’s, his body went stiff, his breath stuttered in his chest, and he blinked wetly against Hannibal’s neck. 

Hannibal, who, for his part, had submitted to Will’s eager ministrations and let him direct the course of their activities until then, at last took back a little control. “Darling,” he murmured, turning his face to nuzzle against Will’s neck, his hands gripping Will’s hips to keep him still. “There are more efficient positions for the same effect.”

It took a moment for the haze to clear from Will’s eyes. “Efficacy improves most things…?”

He smoothed a hand down Will’s back. 

After a glance to study their arrangement, Will pushed himself up to stand on shaking legs. He set one knee down on Hannibal’s chair, on the outside of his father’s thigh, and then raised his other leg so that he knelt over his father, straddling his lap. It took a few more minor adjustments to scoot his knees forward enough that their pelvises aligned, and then another couple to accommodate himself chest-to-chest, arms slung back over Hannibal’s shoulders, face pressed into the side of his neck. 

When he began moving again, he did so in a lax, self-indulgent way, free of the frenzy of his earlier movements. Little sounds still vibrated from his throat, and when he batted his lashes, they moved against Hannibal’s skin with traces of moisture; all healthy indications of his pleasure. His scent wafted up to Hannibal’s nose with the sweet top-notes that were becoming increasingly familiar. Increasingly dear.

Hannibal petted a hand down Will’s back before landing on the strip of skin between the hem of Will’s shirt and the waistline of his pajama pants. He drew slow circles here with his thumb, and sighed his contentment. “My beautiful boy, writhing on my lap,” he murmured, and brought his other hand up to cup the back of Will’s neck, to hold him close. “And I thought I’d known happiness before.”

“I thought I--” Will said, breath hitching before speeding up as his slim hips began to increase their pace. “I thought I’d known it too,” he said. And then, pitchy, he whined, “Alpha,” the final vowel drawn out as long as his breath could last. One of his hands dropped to the front of Hannibal’s shirt to paw at the buttons on its front.

Seemed he hadn’t minded the chest hair after all. But Hannibal couldn’t let things get too far out of hand tonight. He needed to preserve a guise of distance, or the intent to maintain distance. He couldn’t be the one seducing his son, after all. Only educating him. 

So he relegated himself to cherishing the way Will’s plush bottom rode against his cock, through their clothes. The way his sweet whimpers grew increasingly frustrated, the way he chased an end he would never reach alone. And though Hannibal wanted to move along with him, to grind his cock upward against his son, to stir his passions further, he did nothing more than pet him gently and coo encouragements into his ear. 

“Daddy,” Will sighed, stilling. His voice sounded wet with tears, miserable. “Daddy, it’s not working.”

Hannibal shushed him gently, stroking soothing trails over his hips, kissing tickling paths across the line of Will’s neck, over his face. “Is the cage painful?” he asked, looking down at where their laps met, appreciating the modest size of the wet patch stretched over Will’s groin. 

“It’s-- it’s not painful.” He paused. “I know I won’t be able to co-- to ejaculate,” he said, and his eyes flitted away from Hannibal’s face. Embarrassed. He swung his left leg over Hannibal’s lap so that he sat across Hannibal’s legs now, rather than astride him. “But it still feels like, like I could if just. Well, like I could.”

“You’ve not even presented yet,” Hannibal said, overflowing with affection as he wrapped his fingers around Will’s where they still braced against Hannibal’s shirtfront.

“You said maybe soon, though, right?” Will asked, squeezing Hannibal’s hand. “It feels like my body is on fire. Like I’m losing my mind.”

“Far outstrip your peers indeed,” Hannibal chuckled, and fell silent. He made no attempt to get up or dislodge his son, however, instead closing his eyes and relaxing, letting the boy’s weight on his lap and the sweetness of his scent gentle him in turn. 

“Are we doing bed time tonight?” Will asked, his voice sleepy now, his forehead pressed tight against Hannibal’s neck.

“Of course, darling,” Hannibal murmured. He didn’t allow Will the opportunity to stir, though, instead scooping one arm under his back and the other under his legs, and hoisting him up into the air. “I’ll need you awake enough to pay attention. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” Will answered, lax in Hannibal’s arms, as though he hadn’t noticed when his father picked him up. “Why?”

“Well, my love,” Hannibal said, pecking a decidedly parental kiss to Will’s temple, “because we’ll be doing things a little differently at bedtime from now on.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 11

Changing routine

He carried his precious burden up the staircase, debating the merits of passing Will’s bedroom door and taking him back to the master at the end of the hall. He didn’t decide until he reached the top step. Alana would be back by the end of the week; if he started Will completing his bedtime routine in their bedroom--for all that she only infrequently spent time there--she wouldn’t fail to catch Will’s scent. And Alana, for all that she had no qualms leaving the child-rearing to Hannibal, would certainly have something to say about his management of this particular aspect of Will’s education.

Even in very liberal--or in very conservative, depending on how one looked at it--communities, his budding relationship with his step-son would be viewed as, if not entirely inappropriate, at least skirting the bounds of impropriety. 

What little public opinion mattered. But Alana’s opinion, of course, mattered much more. He didn’t doubt that if she suspected the extent of their intimacy, she would take Will away from him.

So he nudged Will’s bedroom door open with his foot before walking through it to the boy’s bathroom, and setting him down to sit on the counter beside his sink. Will’s sleepy eyes batted open, and he reached blindly behind him until his hand bumped into the cup by the faucet that held his toothbrush and toothpaste. He set about the task with the sort of dazed, dreamy compliance which he had shown as a child, when he stayed up too far past bedtime to participate in their dinner parties. Barely able to keep his eyes open, but doing his best to follow instructions.

By the time he was swishing water and spitting into the sink, though, he’d perked back up again, and he submitted to Hannibal’s checking, probing at his gums and teeth, without demur, before he settled himself at Hannibal’s feet on the carpet with eyes wide and expression contented. He grew placid under Hannibal’s hands as his father combed his hands through the curls a few times before rubbing gently over his scalp. The comb he brushed through Will’s hair, a tortoiseshell comb he’d brought with him from France, took the place of his fingers. 

Will tilted his head slightly, subconsciously, and his eyes fluttered closed again in pleasure. He’d always loved being petted this way. Hannibal followed the glide of the comb with the pads of his fingers, which reached down to rub Will’s earlobes as he went, then tickled at the nape of his neck before following the path of the comb again. A low hum of pleasure vibrated in Will’s throat, and for a moment it could have almost sounded like a purr, that rarest and most beautiful of omega gifts. But that would be impossible; Omega anatomy required the hormone burst of the first heat to finish the development of the vocal folds that would lend itself to purring. 

Wishful thinking. In another few months, perhaps.

Hannibal combed Will’s hair, massaged his scalp, rubbed his earlobes between thumb and forefinger, and the minutes passed in blissful calm. When Will’s head began to nod, consciousness slipping away from him, Hannibal gently gripped him at the base of his neck, bringing him gently back to wakefulness. 

“Bed?” Will mumbled before rubbing at his eyes and getting to his feet. He breathed in deep, stretching his arms out before wrapping them around his father in a loose hug and then blinking wide, sleep-bleary eyes up at his father.

“Are you expecting me to carry you?” Hannibal asked, already lowering himself to pick up his son and take him in his arms the few steps’ distance to the bed. 

“You’d be living up to precedent,” Will sighed, nuzzling into his father’s neck.

When Hannibal settled his son down on top of the bedspread, he took a moment to admire the picture he painted. A perfect parcel, beautifully laid out, temptation itself. Not even fully grown yet, and already he was devastatingly handsome, with those angelic curls, blue eyes framed by long, sweeping lashes, pink-tinged cheeks, cupid's-bow lips. The pale column of his neck beckoned for a bite, the long limbs were already transitioning from lanky to slim but muscled. And yet Hannibal would hardly describe the boy as temptation itself, if all of his merits lay in his beauty. 

Will’s wit, his intellect; his scheming nature, his sweet manipulations; his darkness, his penchant for deviancy… if Will lacked any of these, Hannibal would have never insisted that Alana turn the child-rearing over to him. 

“I did say we would be making some alterations to our nighttime routine,” Hannibal replied at length. Precedent, indeed. 

“But not so far as taking me to bed,” Will replied, eyes clearing a little of the cloud of sleep.

Hannibal smiled. “Not tonight, at any rate.” He applied a gentle pressure to Will’s hips. “Scoot up, darling,” he said, and helped his son to accommodate himself at the head of the bed, propped up against the pillows, knees bent and feet propped wide enough to remind the boy of his recent time spent in stirrups. 

“Okay,” Will said. “This is different.”

Not thirty minutes of gentling; not anymore. They had moved beyond acclimatization to Alpha’s touch. Now they had different goals to strive for. “You’ve made it perfectly clear, darling, how difficult you find it to self-soothe in times of stress. You reach for Alpha’s scent and presence immediately, don’t you? And glut yourself on them.”

“I object to the word glut,” Will grumbled, brows already furrowing. His hands petted over the coverlet beneath him, engaging in some minor self-soothing already. But not quite the kind Hannibal wanted him to practice. And indeed, he had no intention of lessening his son’s reliance on his Alpha pheromones to gentle himself. None whatsoever. 

“Again in the interest of efficacy,” Hannibal said, shooting his son a naughty grin, “as we can’t have bedtime take all night, we’ll practice a few things at once. I’ll be back in a moment, darling. In the meantime, you can massage your bruises.” A meaningful glance at Will’s chest, and he took himself off to his bedroom to retrieve the objects he’d be needing for the changes in their routine.

When he returned to the room, Will sat where he’d been left, shirt still on, but hands slipped up underneath, probing gently at the bruised skin of his chest, expression twisted in a grimace. Hannibal set the small container he’d collected at the foot of the bed before seating himself at Will’s feet. “You look as though you’ve eaten something rotten, and I happen to know that’s not the case.”

“They’re sore,” Will answered, shooting his father a glare. “It hurts.”

“In some ways, it’s almost better that they’re bruised,” Hannibal murmured, scooting forward so the side of his thigh pressed against Will’s shins, and then slipped his hands up Will’s shirt to gently push his fingers aside. When he applied himself to the task in Will’s stead, he did so with a firm pressure, unrelenting in the face of Will’s wince, the sound of his discomfort. He kneaded at the flesh of Will’s chest, pressing in tighter on the skin of his areolas, tweaking the buds of his nipples every time he passed.

Will grumbled about their tenderness, and Hannibal shushed him with a look. “It’s better to sensitize them early on,” Hannibal remarked, “as some Alphas will expect that nipple stimulation alone will be sufficient preparation for mating.”

A grunt, Will’s body lightly twisting away from the prod of his father’s fingers. “Dad,” he said. “If that’s kind of thing we’d figure out during play, then I wouldn’t pick them for my Alpha.”

Sweet, innocent boy. Hannibal petted over Will’s nipples indulgently before leaning down to nibble on the plump round of Will’s cheek. Will gasped, swatted at his father’s arm, holding him up as he leaned in close to his son’s body. 

“Oh, you darling boy,” he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose before sitting back again and resuming his work on the sweet, purple nipples obscured by the fabric of Will’s shirt. He didn’t mind; the folds in the fabric where they bunched over his wrists, the shadows as the shirt moved… it all had a sensual appeal that bare nudity did not have. “What have I always told you about trying things?”

“Always try more than once,” Will relented, frowning furiously. 

“There’s something to be said for chemistry, darling,” Hannibal murmured, still fond beyond measure of his boy’s naivete, “for seeing the way that something pleases your partner, for finding pleasure in their pleasure.”

“Do you--” Will started, and then bit so hard on his lip that Hannibal could smell the blood welling beneath the surface of the skin. Another bruise to soothe away, later. 

“Do I?” Hannibal prompted, punctuating his question with a particularly sharp pinch over Will’s tender skin. He smiled at the startled gasp, petting gently over them again in apology. 

“Never mind,” Will said, face coloring prettily, lips coming together in a frown. “You obviously do.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Can you continue this, while I manage the rest?”

Will didn’t grumble or prevaricate; his hands snaked up under the soft cotton of his shirt to continue Hannibal’s good work. His cheeks burned a brighter red, but he didn’t falter, and the occasional flinching proved his diligence in continuing with his father’s more vigorous attentions.

After a moment of appreciation for the scene once more set before him, Hannibal pulled the box from the foot of the bed and took up its lid. From within he pulled the silicone trainer from their office visit, sterilized but still in its strap, and held it up before his son’s eyes. “Open up, darling.”

Will blinked; his hands grew still. “This is part of the new routine?” he asked, trepidation shining in his eyes as they flitted back and forth between the rod and his father’s face. 

“Where is this hesitation coming from?” Hannibal asked. “You tolerated this quite well before.”

“That was at the office,” Will said, looking about his childhood bedroom with some distress. “It’s different here.”

“Shall I play doctor for you?” Hannibal asked. He tapped his finger to Will’s chin and pressed down to nudge it open. “Say ahh.”

Will’s lips parted, revealing once more the soft, warm cavern of his mouth, though his eyes flashed with irritation despite his compliance. Hannibal chuckled again, mirth warm in his voice, as he pressed the tip of the silicone cock into Will’s mouth. He didn’t press it all the way in, instead holding it steady about halfway past the tip of Will’s tongue, watching as that slick muscle moved around the imposition, and imagined how it would feel on his own. Tomorrow, he’d size the boy up, and lavish praise on him, and massage his jaw muscles when they’d finished.

For now… “I left the strap on. Again, you can remove it when you need to, or tap the bed, and I’ll remove it for you. Is that alright?”

Will’s ‘yes’ in response came out muffled, slurred due to the obstruction. Hannibal leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s cheek before fastening the strap around the back of his head. Again, the boy’s eyes watered and he gulped convulsively a few times before settling down, steadying his breath, and returning to the stillness his father had requested from him the last time.

“Keep your hands busy, darling, but lift your hips.” Hannibal said, hands pressing into Will’s sides as he grabbed hold of the waistband on the pajama bottoms. Will’s feet anchoring him, he raised his hips, and Hannibal slid the fabric down over his bottom and partway up his thighs. He reached for one of the throw pillows beside them on the mattress and tucked it under Will’s hips, raising them the way the exam table might have. In deference to the picture Will painted in this delightfully debauched state, cock strapped into his mouth, hands fondling his own nipples under his shirt, Hannibal did not remove the bottoms. He moved them just high enough on Will’s legs to create a space for his hands to work, a window for his eyes to see through. 

Like this, still clothed but in such artful disarray, Will looked the most beautiful Hannibal had ever seen him. “What a mess you are, darling,” he said, reaching forward with a finger to wipe a droplet of saliva that had begun to bead at the corner of his son’s lips. “Such a messy, filthy boy.” The hand dropped to Will’s groin to press against the tip of Will’s cock through the cage. The soft rubber bulb on the inside jostled forward with this pressure and pressing against the glans.

Will stifled a moan, and his hands dropped from his chest. But he gathered himself the next moment, and resumed his assigned tasks--keeping his hands busy and his mouth still.

“Filthy, but obedient,” Hannibal grunt, before adding a deprecatory, “small mercies.” He reached into the box once more and drew out a bottle of lubricant. “If you will recall during your exam earlier,” he murmured, using his Doctor’s voice once more, “that we discussed the ill-effects of leniency in your education. As part of bedtime from now on, in addition to the stimulation of your nipples and breast tissue, we’ll incorporate some time with the training rod in your mouth to help you achieve comfort during prolonged periods of oral aperture, as well as similar training here.” He pressed a lubed finger up to Will’s sphincter and it sank in with little resistance, though Will remained still slightly swollen, even after his earlier ministrations.

He worked his finger in to the knuckle, teasing only a little before pulling out again. The bottle of lube pressed up against Will’s delicate hole, and he squeezed a healthy dollop inside. Will groaned, and swallowed, and his eyes flitted shut. Hannibal pulled a sterile package from within the box and ripped it open. 

When Will saw what he held in his hands, his eyes grew as round as dinner plates. He made an unintelligible, garbled noise, and sought his father’s eyes out in panic. 

“Relax, darling. You’ll get to know speculums like this one very well soon enough. I’m going to place this inside,” he said, nudging the clear plastic, tapered head of the speculum toward the winking aperture of Will’s pussy, “and open it very very gently. See, here.” He pressed the plastic in, watching as Will’s flesh clutched at it, the tension in his body slowing its progress but not stopping it, as Hannibal pressed further and further in. 

A long, low wail from Will’s throat, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His tiny little cock, still caged, made a valiant effort to fight its confines and come erect, but settled for leaking a pitiful stream of anterior slick at the stimulation. Hannibal did not stop pressing until the speculum handle rested tight against Will’s perineum, and then, with a soothing noise and a cursory pat to Will’s knee, clicked it open once. 

Will’s lips grew lax around the cock in his mouth and he breathed a ragged, “Ahh,” his eyelashes batting wildly. Hannibal soothed him then, firm pressure behind his hands as he trailed them down the outsides of Will’s thighs and back up again. It took a while for Will to stop wriggling, for the fluttering of his stomach to subside, for his breath to regulate, for his lips to close again around the silicone shaft between his lips. But he settled, and when he did, his eyes opened to seek out his father’s approval. 

“Beautiful, good boy,” Hannibal said, rewarding him. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s brow. “Flip over, darling,” he instructed, gripping one of Will’s hips and guiding him into position. Head on the pillow, hands still on his chest, ass in the air. A practical change for what Hannibal wanted to do, but profoundly inconvenient when considering the effect that Will had on him this way. 

If his dishevelment had been attractive before, his partial deshabille, his sweet sounds of tortured surrender, his posture, so ripe for the taking, blew Hannibal’s sense of rationality into smithereens. He stroked a trembling hand down the smooth expanse of Will’s back, encouraging the t-shirt to bunch around Will’s underarms, opening more of that delicate skin up to Hannibal’s view. He traced the bumps of Will’s spine with reverent fingers, until he reached those slim hips, and then, lower, the dark purple-black bruises where Will’s schoolmates had attacked him. 

Hannibal’s voice shook almost as much as his hand did, when he pressed against the inside of Will’s knee to move his stance a little wider, and said, “I believe I promised you earlier a little spanking. Just desserts, for all your insubordination earlier.” 

Will’s head came up a little at that, and he turned his cheek on the pillow, craning a little to try and see his father’s face. To his credit, he made no noise, kept his mouth slack, warming the little cock in his mouth as he’d been instructed to do. But this little compliance meant nothing when his hand released his nipples and tapped the mattress twice. 

No.

“Unfortunately,” Hannibal murmured, rubbing gentle circles over the bruised flesh, “this is not up for debate. Two fingers, suckled three times. That’ll be a count of six, won’t it, Will?”

Will’s blue eyes widened and he blinked. Hannibal had never believed in ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’... at least, not as written. He believed in negative consequences, saved for the truly important misbehaviours, and positive rewards for behaving well. Will had been spanked only a handful of times throughout his youth. Twice, in the first few months after Alana and he moved in; once more when he was eight; once more the day of his tenth birthday party. He had not believed Hannibal, then, when he’d promised him a spanking in the office. 

“I always mean what I say,” Hannibal lied, and then settled his hand on Will’s lower back. A sign for him to prepare yourself. “Six. As your mouth is otherwise occupied, and your hands--” Will quickly pulled the hand that had tapped no onto the coverlet back underneath him, resuming his attentions to his chest without even a pretense of enthusiasm-- “are as well, I won’t ask you to count aloud. I’ll do it for you. Ready?”

A warbling noise in his throat in response, and he buried his face into the pillow. He sucked in a deep breath and held it tight in his chest, his body tensing in preparation. 

Hannibal chuckled, though he felt none of that levity. Instead, his skin buzzed with anticipation, and heat curled low in his gut. His erection strained against the front of his slacks, unwilling to listen to reason, entirely swept up in the delicious view before him, the delicious prospect of what awaited him, not even seconds from now. He pulled back, took one moment to squeeze comfortingly around his own cock, and then slapped a heavy hand across the discolorations at Will’s sitbones. 

Will yelped, and his flesh rippled with the force of the blow. Hannibal noted that his hands had curled into the covers underneath him, but it had been more than the promised five minutes. 

“One,” he said, soothing the tender skin, bright red around the mottling, and then soothing down Will’s thighs. “It’s been so long since we’ve had to do this, I’ve muddled the order, haven’t I? I ought to have asked you first why we’re doing this. In the interest of efficacy,” and here he did chuckle, though he received no answering sounds of mirth, “we’ll skip that part. You’re being spanked, Will, because Alpha gave you direct instructions, didn’t he?”

Another slap, hard enough for Hannibal’s hand to sting, on the other cheek, again over the bruise. He admired the soft jiggle of the flesh, the way Will jumped, the way his voice did too, an octave higher than usual as he whimpered into his pillow. 

“Two. When Alphas give explicit instructions like those, and especially ones that are given in your own best interest, good Omegas listen.” 

He eyed the speculum, its clear plastic gleaming in the light as it held Will just barely open. In the few moments after the slap, Will spasmed around it, his hole clenching, relaxing, clenching again. 

“For all that you’re my good boy, Will, you are not always a good Omega, are you?” he asked, and then slapped Will again, right down the middle, hand clapping against the speculum. Will grunted, then sobbed, and the spasming of his little hole after the slap came twice as quickly as it had done before. 

“Three.” 

Hannibal settled back on his heels to behold the way Will fell apart after that one. His shoulders shook, and his little hiccuping breaths came high and quick. His tiny cock had sputtered a bit of slick, and it ran in a string down to the waistline of his pajama pants, where they gathered around his thighs a few inches below. Hannibal breathed in deep, taking in the spiking sweetness in the air. 

His heart clenched, his cock throbbed. Hannibal whipped his hand back, and spanked Will again, jostling the speculum again. Another spike in that sweet scent, and then a glimmer of something shining, pearlescent, between the blades of the instrument. 

“Four.” He swallowed hard. At the end of his wits, he slapped his hand down twice more in rapid succession, once on each cheek over the bruises, counting them as he went. He pulled the speculum from within him next, and the second he was done, Will reached back for his hand, blinking disconsolately at him through the fringe of his wet lashes. 

Hannibal surged forward, scooping his boy up into his arms, dotting kisses over his face as he undid the strap on the training rod and tossed it beside them on the bed. Will wailed and dived forward, spit-covered lips and chin mashing into the side of Hannibal’s neck as he soothed himself with Alpha’s scent, his proximity. Hannibal petted him everywhere his hands could reach, gentled him with reassurances that he was Hannibal’s good boy, that he knew that he would be a perfect, wonderful Omega to whoever he gave the gift of being his Alpha. 

Me, he thought as he said so, that will be me, Will, or it will be nobody at all. 

But the promise remained unspoken, and Will, overwrought, drifted off to sleep in his father’s arms. Hannibal tucked him in under the covers after rearranging his clothing, returned the toys they’d used to the box and took that along with him as he left the room. They would need sterilizing. But Hannibal didn’t attend to that right away. He couldn’t.

He set the box down on the table in the hallway, not one step away from Will’s now-shut bedroom door, his other hand fumbling with the button and then the zip on his slacks. He shoved the front of his silk boxers down and took himself in hand, breathing coming out in a grunt as his fingers closed tight around his cock. 

Will, sprawled before him, so desperate to be taken that he’d not bothered with his clothing. 

Will, eyes boring into him, lashes wet with tears, expression lustful, but not so far gone that he couldn’t pierce right through him with a look. With just a look. 

Will, asking for his Daddy, asking for his Alpha, because his mouth felt lonely, or because his nipples did, or because his little cunt begged for company. 

Hannibal’s fist moved like lightning over his cock, a dollop of lubricant from the box on the table aiding the way, his fingers choking tight about himself the way he imagined Will would, when first they came together. 

A few months. A few months, and he could have his son any way he wanted him. 

A grunt, and he slipped his other hand down to tug gently on his balls, then to knead the spot where his knot was already begging to form. A deep shuddering breath at the pressure there; he closed his eyes and saw Will’s desperation as he wrapped his arms about Hannibal’s neck, as he buried his face there. Saw the tempting slope of Will’s neck, begging, just begging for a bite. 

Hannibal’s teeth felt sharp in his mouth, and they ached. 

A few months, he reminded himself, a few months, and his son could bear his bite. 

They’d have to kill Alana--

And then, Will’s spectre in his mind’s eye looked up at him from the corpse of his mother, his hands and mouth covered in blood--

And Hannibal, lost to reason, slave to sensation, came.

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Chapter 12

Some things can’t wait

Hannibal opened his eyes to the silhouette of his wife and mate, drawing the curtains back. He’d been used to keeping the room in darkness while she was away, but for the month since she’d returned from her lecture tour, the few nights she spent at home, she had pulled the curtains back to let the sunlight in, waking him before his alarm rang more often than not. “Alana,” he said. “I didn’t expect you home until this evening.”

“A little change of plans,” she answered, shooting him a soft smile over her shoulder, her curls falling over the collar of her dressing gown. “I have an interview tonight, and none of my clothing at Margot’s seemed to fit the bill.”

“An interview?” he asked, leaning up on his elbow, his other hand smoothing through his hair. It still surprised him that he’d slept through her return home, but he’d been exhausted, after the protracted afternoon’s play with Will, who took longer than usual to settle down during their goodnight routine. 

“For a feature on Omegas at the top of their fields,” she said, laying beside him over the sheets. Her hand stretched out to touch his hair where it still stuck up, despite his previous grooming. “It’s a dinner engagement, and I’ll head over to Margot’s afterward. I’ll be home for the weekend, and then on Monday I have that interview with Jack Crawford. For the consultant’s post.”

“My ambitious mate,” Hannibal murmured, tilting his head into her hand, the way she would expect him to do. “I’m proud of you.”

A fleeting smile. “Margot proposed,” she said. “During the tour.”

Hannibal blinked. He looked at her features, utterly guileless, though colored slightly in embarrassment. “Margot knows that you are married,” he reminded her, “and I’m fascinated by the fact that you mention this only now, more than a month later.”

“She proposed again last night,” Alana said, and sighed.

It did not take long for Hannibal to connect the dots. “Your heat is approaching,” he surmised aloud, thinking through the calendar. Alana, like most people of her gender, utilized suppressants to avoid enduring a regular and frequent heat cycle. But suppressants could not be used indefinitely; with her particular prescription, once-monthly heats reduced to twice-yearly. Alana preferred to utilize the services of an Alpha--her Alpha, for all that their marriage amounted to a mere arrangement of convenience at this point--and Margot had always resented that Hannibal still had this part to play in her life. 

They had tried the previous time, to get her through it with toys and synthetic hormone, but Alana’s heat had dragged on for nearly a week and a half, and Margot had finally, miserably, called Hannibal to come and help. Even with the state-of-the-art strap on knotting dildo that Margot had made for them, Alana’s body had refused to find relief. Married or not, she would require an Alpha to assist. “She realizes, of course, that whether you dissolve our marriage or not, she will not be able to provide what you need when your heat comes?” 

“There are only so many ways we can put a mark on each other, Hannibal,” Alana reminded him. “She’d like to be able to call at least one part of me her own, even if she can’t have the other.”

“Is that not the case now?” He asked, sitting a little higher. He would have no qualms about a divorce, if not for Will. But in all likelihood, Alana would want to take Will with her, for all that she would have to drag him, kicking and screaming, from Hannibal’s house. He was her child, after all, never mind that he’d been more volatile of late, as his designation became clearer. “You spend most of your time at the Verger Estate.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Are you trying to dissuade me?”

“Not at all,” he said, eyes widening in feigned surprise. “I have supported your union with Margot from the beginning.”

“So this is about Will,” she said, brows furrowing a little.

But before Hannibal could open his mouth to reply, a soft knock sounded on the door, and then Will stepped into the room. His face looked flushed, his eyes cloudy, his clothing sweaty. Hannibal knew that look intimately by now. Someone had been a naughty child.

Alana, however, mistook the cause of Will’s high color, his dishevelment. “Will,” she gasped, “are you sick?”

She’d gotten to her feet,  her dove-grey robe billowing as she crossed to the door, hand stretched for Will’s forehead in concern. He smacked her hand out of the way with an indelicate sound, and ducked under her outstretched arm on his way to the bed. He came around to Hannibal’s side and slipped under the covers, pressing himself into Hannibal’s back and whimpering pitifully. 

Hannibal turned around to gather his son up into his arms, touching his hand to Will’s forehead. “He’s warm,” he said. Deliciously warm, and writhing a little under the guise of tucking himself in closer. 

“Sick,” Alana sighed. “No wonder he wants his Alpha.” On that pronouncement, though, she seemed to wash her hands of him, “Another change of plans,” she turned her attention to Hannibal. “I can’t get sick, and I can’t miss these interviews. Can you stay home?”

It had always interested Hannibal the way that Alana made requests of this type. The insecurities arising from being an Omega perhaps; she’d found herself in an equitable marriage but still utilized these little ploys, as though she needed to battle him for a position of dominance. Had she merely asked, without the preamble, he would have accepted. But she must make herself unpleasant first. A strike against her, when he’d already been feeling less than charitably disposed toward her.

“Of course I will stay with him,” he answered, the hand over the covers petting through Will’s hair, the one under the covers smoothing down his back, slithering under the waistline of his pajamas, between his cheeks to pet over his hole and find it gaping and sticky with lubricant. A naughty boy indeed. “Been a bad boy, have we?” he asked, ignoring Will’s answering shudder as he smoothed the boy’s curls. “Stayed up too late perhaps?”

Alana watched all of this with an indulgent, if impatient eye. “I’ll get ready. Call me when the coast is clear, Hannibal, and I’ll come home so we can finish our discussion.”

Hannibal gave her a vague smile and a murmured sound of agreement. Will wiggled closer--Hannibal pressed two of his fingers forward into Will’s prepared pussy, scissoring them lightly. He was warmer still, here, and his body clutched desperately at Hannibal’s fingers. “Sweet boy, we’ll get you feeling better,” he cooed gently into Will’s ear.

The soft huff of Alana’s amusement as she walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A moment later, the sound of the water running followed.

Will’s sweet mouth parted and his lips reached for his father’s neck, where he latched on, gluttonous for his father’s scent. “Daddy,” he sighed. 

Hannibal’s fingers pressed further inside. His hand slipped from Will’s hair to the hem of his shirt, and then up to the erect buds of Will’s nipples. He tweaked one and then the other, pleased at the way Will trembled with each caress. “A naughty boy,” he reiterated. “Never mind that you didn’t receive permission to do this,” he said, spreading his fingers wide again, then moving them until he hit upon the bundle of nerves that made Will’s body go lax, his voice hitch in his throat, “hadn’t I told you to stay in your room until I come to wake you?”

“I couldn’t wait,” Will whined, slithering backward in his father’s hold until he was grinding down against his hand. “I heard you talking.” He paused. “Your bed stinks like her.”

Not merely impatience, then, but envy. “You’d do better to sit still and stay silent,” Hannibal murmured, squeezing Will’s nipple hard enough that the boy’s teeth latched onto Hannibal’s collar bone and bit down hard to stifle his cry. “Your mother is in the bathroom, Will.”

Will’s hips continued to rock against Hannibal’s hand, but to his credit, he quieted himself, busying his mouth with gnawing on Hannibal’s flesh to quell his plaintive cries.

Hannibal applauded the boy’s boldness; they had engaged in some risky exchanges prior, but nothing quite this brazen. Will’s goodnight ritual continued in its updated form, with the training rod and the steady spreading of the speculum, and their office chats became increasingly frequent. At times Will would swan into the kitchen while Hannibal cooked dinner, and Hannibal would indulge him with some furtive intimacies; and, once, at his boldest, Will’s foot had landed in Hannibal’s lap during dinner, his soft, agile feet kneading against Hannibal’s cock under the table as the three of them shared their meal. 

But he’d never come to his parents’ bed before, and he’d never shown his face before his mother when he was in this condition. Impatience and envy indeed. 

Then again, when Will’s fingers parted the front of Hannibal’s pajama to grip his chest hair, and when he slid his body closer so that his hips rocked against Hannibal’s cock, rather than his thigh, Hannibal’s mind abandoned words with such negative connotations, and lingered on ones that pleased them both: “delicious, perfect boy,” he said, and then, “incurable little slut.”

Will made that noise, the one he’d made before, that long, low moan that sounded almost like a purr, and his hips moved faster still. 

“Should I lay you out,” Hannibal murmured, giving the boy the coupling talk that he responded so well to, “naked on the bed below me, and have your mother find you, grinding against your father like a bitch in heat?”

Another sad little whimper, Will’s desperation rising, chasing an end that he would never achieve without Alpha’s knot splitting him open. A gift either of them had yet to be given. 

“Daddy,” Will sighed, slowing his hips, bringing himself under control. “Alpha.”

Hannibal’s ears caught the sound of the water stopping, and pulled his fingers from Will’s hole, stroking around his gaping entrance once before penetrating him again, pushing deep into that slick warmth, before pulling out and repeating the motion. “I have no need of more than one bitch in heat,” he said, words cold, cruel. “Your mother is close.”

Those blue eyes, shut in rapture before, now opened, just wide enough to stare him down so sharply that Hannibal feared he would bleed. 

The hand teasing Will’s nipples rose up to his hair again, and he cooed a meaningless nothing at him just as the bathroom door opened. Alana, wrapped in her towel, hair wet and dripping down her back, came back into the bedroom, and, heedless of the work of Hannibal’s hand under the covers, held aloft a thermometer for Hannibal to take. She stood as far from the bed as she could manage, leery still of Will’s supposed illness.

“Thank you,” Hannibal murmured, taking the proffered thermometer and considering potential applications. 

“‘I’ll call around lunch to see how he’s doing,” she said, already halfway across the room, on her way to the walk-in closet to find her clothing. She continued talking as she went out of sight, but her voice didn’t carry well enough for Hannibal to make sense of what she said, nor did he particularly care. 

Instead, he lowered the thermometer below the covers and pressed it into Will’s hole, removing his fingers. “I have to hold it in place,” he murmured, low, “or it will fall out, you’re stretched so loose.”

Will gasped, the hand gripping his father’s chest hair curling tighter, knuckles digging in. 

“You’ve been playing with your breasts,” Hannibal said. “Your tiny little cock leaks every time I touch them.”

“I--” Will swallowed, struggling to control his voice, “I did what you told me, Daddy.”

Of course he would. Five minutes in the morning, five in the evening, Hannibal had said. Such a good boy, so desperate to please, so desperate to win his father’s regard. 

“--what I was telling him,” Alana grumbled, coming back into the bedroom, her white silk slip on, the towel now about her head, keeping her long brown locks from dripping on the slip. “How’s the temperature?”

Hannibal withdrew the thermometer, and lifted the sheet a little to hide the movement of his arm as he brought it up before him. “Axillary temperature, 101 degrees.” He paused to calculate. “That’s 38 Celsius.” The thermometer, of course, said no such thing. 

Alana edged around the room as she made her way back to the bathroom, her clothing for the day in hand. “You don’t think we should take him to urgent care?”

“It’s nothing that I haven’t handled before,” he answered, as though there was anything that could induce him to take his son to urgent care, of all places. “I’ll retake the temperature, though I’m certain he’ll be fine with some medication and a good day’s rest.”

“A good thing you’re a doctor. I’m so grateful for you,” Alana said, and then ducked back into the bathroom, resuming her story about whatever she had been going on about while she busied herself in the closet. 

Hannibal didn’t spare any of his attention for her. He brought the thermometer back down and pressed it into Will’s hole; this time, tight once more, that orifice clutched greedily at the slender glass instrument. His hand then slid to the front to cup and gently squeeze at Will’s little balls, rolling them gently, stimulating their relentless production of that useless anterior slick. 

“You wouldn’t,” Will mumbled, raising his head again now that his mother had left the room to glare at his father. “You won’t mate with her.”

“Darling, darling,” Hannibal soothed, smothering his glee at the vicious gleam in Will’s eyes, the possessive tone in his voice. He applied a light pressure to the end of the thermometer, angling it slightly so that the end slid up against the boy’s prostate. Will blinked, and when his eyes opened, they were hazy with pleasure, and his lips parted as though in supplication. “Your mother is still my mate,” he murmured, “and when her time comes, I have a duty to her. To refuse to fulfill it would be…” he tsked, tweaked the thermometer again, “rude.”

Will’s lashes fluttered open, clearing a little despite the ongoing stimulation, and his lips parted in a snarl. Hannibal braced himself for words more cutting even than his glare, but Will stifled them in time with the reopening of the bathroom door. “You boys want anything from the kitchen?” Alana asked, taking one cautious step toward the bed before remembering that she needed to keep her distance.

“I think a little more sleep for this one,” Hannibal murmured, as though Will were on the verge of sleep, as though he didn’t want to disturb him. “I’ll feed him later.”  His finger pressed against Will’s pussy, sliding in alongside the thermometer, pressing in until his knuckles rubbed against Will’s perineum, rocking against his prostate inside and outside.

For his part, Will played along as far as Alana could see: he burrowed into Hannibal’s chest with a sleepy sound on his lips, though his teeth bore down against Hannibal’s clavicle again, their sharp edges digging in hard enough to almost break the skin. 

Alana nodded. “Well. I’ll leave some coffee in the machine for you, anyway,” she said, and with a gentle smile at the back of her son’s head, wished him to feel better, and took herself off. 

She left the door a few inches ajar, and the moment her heeled shoes clicked against the staircase, Hannibal rolled over atop his son, crushing him under his bodyweight. His hand moved vigorously, fucking two fingers into Will’s pussy along with the thermometer, stifling any sounds Will might think to make by squeezing him against the mattress so that he could barely draw breath. 

A few moments of this treatment before Hannibal reared up, grabbing Will’s thighs and pressing them to the mattress beside Will’s shoulders. So flexible, supple and soft; and like this, his back curled up and his bottom lifted off the bed. Hannibal didn’t need to tell Will what to do; his good boy grabbed the backs of his knees to hold his legs in place, and his mouth popped open to admit Hannibal’s fingertips. 

“Five now,” Hannibal said, expression stoic though his insides boiled with excitement. “Five tonight. Do you know why?”

The lips and tongue around his fingers formed a garbled answer, but despite its unintelligibility, the gist was clear. He’d disobeyed his father on two counts: touching where he’d not been allowed to touch, and leaving his room before his father came to get him. Hannibal didn’t wait; his hand slapped against the tender skin over Will’s sitbones. “One,” he said, watching the skin jiggle, turn white and then red under the force of his hand. Will’s muffled little moan vibrated around Hannibal’s fingers, and came in concert  with a self-indulgent suck, laving his tongue over those fingertips.

“Two,” Hannibal said, striking again, and then once more, alternating cheeks. “Three.” He waited a second, considering his options. He pulled the thermometer free from Will’s clutching insides, and then traced a finger around his quivering hole. “You know where the last two will go, don’t you, darling?”

Another garbled sound from Will’s mouth, and his eyes closed the rest of the way, his body sagging against the mattress, utterly relaxed. 

Hannibal admired the sight before dropping two more, stinging spanks over Will’s hole, delighting in the way it fluttered and twitched, the way Will’s mouth tightened around his fingers, the way his voice slithered from his throat, pained and delighted. He had the presence of mind to keep an ear out for the sounds of Alana’s shoes, her movement in the kitchen; cabinets shutting, dishes clattering as she emptied the dishwasher. 

“You’re so eager to use your mouth this morning, my sweet boy,” Hannibal said, grabbing Will’s ankles and dragging him halfway down the mattress. “I’m sure you can figure out a better way to occupy yourself.” He lay on his side and pulled the blankets up, over his shoulders and the pillow he settled on front of his chest. 

His hands, under the covers, reached for Will’s hair, though more for his own gratification than out of a need to guide his son. Will, without any further direction, settled his hands on the tops of Hannibal’s thighs, and brought his mouth to the base of his father’s cock, nuzzling against him. His hot breath puffed against Hannibal’s skin, his lips and tongue gently laving there, taking in his father’s scent, tasting his pheromones. 

As it turned out, Will’s incredibly susceptibility to those pheromones had not been a transient thing; even still, after a month of regular exposure, his eyes turned glassy with pleasure, thought abandoning him as he filled his lungs with his father’s scent. And the training rod he’d practiced with over the past month, regularly increasing in length and girth and weight, emboldened him to try something now that he’d never done before. 

Will’s soft pink lips pulled away from Hannibal’s cock, and his hands came up to take their place, holding his cock in his hands for the first time. Hannibal shut his eyes as he felt Will’s breath ghosting along him from root to tip as he pulled back, until the slick wet glide of his tongue over the head of Hannibal’s cock made his eyes fly open. His fingers wound a little tighter into Will’s curls. 

“What a good boy,” Hannibal cooed, sighing as Will’s tongue flitted out again, tickling against the frenulum, then dipping against Hannibal’s urethra. “And what a whorish little mouth,” he grunted, as Will closed his lips around him. 

Hannibal slid his leg forward, until it settled between Will’s giving him a shin to rock against, encouraging him to wind himself up, to rut against him as his desperation increased.  Will’s mouth sucked eagerly against the head of Hannibal’s cock, and his hands caressed the base where his mouth could not reach. Yet. At last, his grip in Will’s hair turned commanding, and he tugged him further down, pressing his cock further into the confines of Will’s mouth. 

He felt Will’s whine, the hitch in the movement of his hips. “Of course you would like this,” Hannibal grunted, pulling him even closer, until Will’s lips abutted the curl of his fist at the base of Hannibal’s cock. “I seem to recall you saying you wouldn’t enjoy this sort of play, but look at how your mouth begs for a cock to fill it now. Look at you. You love being filled this way, don’t you?”

Another stutter in the grinding against Hannibal’s leg. Will sucked in deep breaths through his nose, soothing himself, trying to calm down. But Hannibal knew by now the kinds of words that Will liked to hear. Hadn't he trained the boy to like them, himself? Words of praise, words of humiliation. He liked to hear promises, too. “I have patient notes to take later,” he sighed, as Will swallowed around him, “I’ll have you repeat this service, on your knees, under my desk, while I finish my work, shall I?”

In the distance, the clicking of Alana’s heels making their way up the stairs. 

“Quiet now, and be still,” Hannibal instructed him, with a cruel tightening of his grips, knuckles scraping against Will’s scalp. One hand came up to cradle over the top of the blanket where Will’s head would be, if he still lay curled into Hannibal’s chest. 

The door creaked lightly as Alana pushed it open; Hannibal tugged Will closer, until his cock pressed at the boy’s soft palate. Hot and slick and wet, his throat tightened as Will gagged, but did not resist, and kept as still as he could under the covers.

“Did he fall asleep?” Alana whispered from her place by the door. She didn’t step into the room. Hannibal slid his hips back, then, with a gentle encouragement pulling at Will’s curls, drew them closer again. To his wife, it would seem like he’d shifted his lips a little to look at her over his shoulder. 

For a moment the temptation seized him to be done with the farce, but this sort of arrangement had its charms as well. “He’s certainly living a dream,” he answered. Will’s fingers around Hannibal’s thighs tightened, his nails digging in. Sharp, sharp nails, that bit into his skin. He would’ve snarled, would’ve smothered Will’s viciousness with the plunging of his cock. 

“Times like this,” she said, shaking her head, “he goes back to being a little boy.”

Quite the opposite direction, actually. Will had been shedding the guise of a child, slowly at first, and now with so much momentum that it felt almost akin to desperation. His finger slipped through the curls atop his head, to fondle the curve of his ear. 

“A good little boy at times,” Hannibal acceded, “and a naughty little thing at others.”

Her answering laugh was good natured. “If only he played the part of a good little boy for me too.”

Hannibal could feel the scoff in Will’s throat, could imagine the accompanying eye roll. Will had lost any inclination of sweetness for his mother the moment he started regarding her as competition. It had been some years coming, all thanks to Hannibal’s dedicated--

His eyelids fluttered closed; Will had opted to be the naughty little thing rather than the good boy. His throat worked, his tongue curled, the warmth of his mouth coaxing Hannibal to hardness, never mind that it would be more than he could yet take. 

“If only,” Hannibal murmured, and shot his wife a wink. 

“Call me when his temperature goes down?” she asked. 

“Of course. Off with you, you’re a busy woman today.”

“Just today?” she laughed, as Will sucked and swallowed. “We have to finish our discussion, too, Hannibal.”

“I’ve not forgotten,” he assured her, and she nodded slightly before wishing him a good day and departing from the room. 

Will made to draw back as the sound of her shoes faded down the stairs, but Hannibal held him fast, held him in place. He waited until his phone on the nightstand buzzed with the confirmation that the door to the garage had been locked. When he moved, though, he kept his hands tight in Will’s hair, his cock deep in Will’s mouth. A bit of pressure knocked Will onto his back, and Hannibal’s legs settled astride his body. He propped his elbows on the mattress, releasing Will’s head, his body weight crushing him down, keeping him still. 

He did so like being covered; he would love even more being covered like this. 

Will’s lashes fluttered against the skin of Hannibal’s stomach. His hands wrapped around the backs of his father’s thighs, trying to adjust his position for greater comfort. But Will had made it perfectly clear that sitting still and warming his father’s cock was not in his plans before; Hannibal felt no compunction in showing him now that he’d have done better to pay attention and keep his mouth still. 

He started gently at first. It was Will’s first time, after all. The subtle rocking of his hips, pressing his cockhead against the roof of Will’s mouth, then against the back of his tongue. Will made a strangled sound; a nice man, though granted a nice man would not be in this position to begin with, but, a nice man would have heard the panic in that noise and withdrawn. 

Hannibal was not a nice man. The slight rocking became shallow thrusting, his strong thighs fighting the pressure of Will’s hands, urging him to pull off. Will’s mouth flooded with saliva, and he gagged again. Another desperate noise from his throat, before Hannibal pressed forward as far as he could go, as far as his son could take it for the moment. Will’s nose, still a few inches away from Hannibal’s pelvis, drew in uncontrolled breaths, each outbreath coasting over a whine, hitting the subvocal notes that signaled appeasement. 

Hannibal smoothed his rhythm, pressed forward until he jabbed at Will’s soft palate, holding himself there before withdrawing enough for a little momentum on the way back inside. He cooed meaningless words of praise one breath, and reminding Will that this was his own fault, his insatiable, naughty mouth’s fault, on the next. He felt the tension in his thighs, in his stomach, in his balls drawing tight, and rose up enough to draw his cock from the tempting confines of his boy’s mouth. 

He took one look at the mingling despair and desperation, the pleasure and pleading in his son’s clouded-over blue eyes, his disheveled hair, his sloppy mouth, and fisted his cock. With a grunt, he came, white painting Will’s face, down his clavicles, over his pink, sensitized nipples. 

Will blinked, but the heated haze in his eyes did not clear. Hannibal grabbed Will’s arm and pulled him up so that his head lay on the pillow, and then covered him once more. His son’s sweet breath ghosted over the nape of Hannibal’s neck, and his own mouth lingered close to the spot on Will’s that had proved increasingly tempting of late.

“That’s better,” Will murmured, his hips bucking uselessly, sleepily, against Hannibal's thigh where it lay between his legs. “Her smell is gone.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

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Chapter 13

Looking ahead

“What’s this about a discussion?” Will lay with his head on his father’s chest, idle fingers twirling the hair there, and his body curled into Hannibal’s side. His slim thigh slid up where it lay over his father’s leg, and his chin tilted upward too, trying to peer at his father’s face. 

Hannibal stroked a hand down Will’s spine, patted the tender skin of his bottom. He weighed for a moment the merit of lying, or leveraging only half truths. In the end he decided nothing could be so damaging for Alana as for Will to hear the entirety of the tale. “Your mother is considering divorce and remarriage.”

That caught Will’s attention. He rose up on one elbow and looked down into his father’s face. Hannibal studied the slight furrow in the boy’s brow, knowing that in thirty years when that furrow had turned into a wrinkle, he would still find it adorable. “She wants to leave you?”

Any other boy might shortsightedly find himself overwhelmed with joy. But Will would see the complications that would arise from her leaving; chief among them, that she would not leave alone, but with him in tow. “We’ve yet to discuss the particulars, but I believe she would be amenable to giving you and I the occasional weekend,” he said. His eyelids flitted closed, overpowered by the feeling swirling in Will’s blue eyes above him. “I doubt she would refuse us a relationship, for all that I’ve been your father for a decade.”

“The occasional weekend?” Will’s voice broke. “That’s-- that’s--”

“Disappointing?” Hannibal sighed, the understatement chafing him as well. “I’ll do my best to convince her that this may not be the best course.”

“She’s not going to listen.” Bitterness rattled Will’s voice, and he lowered himself back to nuzzle into Hannibal’s chest. “She doesn’t care enough to listen.”

Hannibal did not contradict this. “What else do you propose I do?” The question had not been spoken with the intention of eliciting an answer, and yet, Will surprised him by providing one. 

“Don’t you think she’s being... rude?”

Hannibal’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Spouses often shed politeness between them.” But never Hannibal; and Alana’s position as his wife didn’t absolve her rudeness of being ugly. 

“You don’t,” Will said. “You’re only ever rude with me.” 

But he let the matter drop, even if Hannibal replayed the conversation over and over, along with others much like it. Any number of pointed questions, sly comments, sprinkled throughout the last weeks. But he could hardly know--

“Daddy,” Will said, the arm thrown over Hannibal’s chest squeezing tightly. “You have to call your clients.”

A low hum as Hannibal stretched. They’d lain in bed, luxuriating for almost twenty minutes. “Is your mouth already lonely, my love?” Hannibal asked, giving Will a moment to scramble off his chest before he got himself out of bed. 

Will, sitting up now, tucked two fingers into his mouth and sucked. “Mmhmm.”

Throwing on his own house robe over his shoulders, Hannibal chuckled. “Off with you, then. Half an hour.”

The fingers dropped free. “Half an hour?” he groaned, but then raced from the room. They both wanted showers; Will more than Hannibal, for all that he’d taken the brunt of Hannibal’s pleasure all over his chest, neck, and face.

Hannibal took his time, enjoying the rising steam, the near-scalding temperature of the water. He dressed in casual clothing--grey slacks and a crisp white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He slipped on a pair of black dress socks, but decided to forgo shoes. No plans to leave the house, after all. 

When he walked into his office on the ground floor, he didn’t even glance at the clock. Will, a punctual boy, would be here half an hour to the second after his father had sent him off from the bedroom. By the time Hannibal fished his schedule and address book from the top drawer of his desk, the familiar sound of Will’s knock sounded on the office door. 

“Come in,” Hannibal murmured, and Will padded into the room, only to shut the door and lean against it. Seeing his hesitation, Hannibal clicked his tongue and scooted his chair back. “Well, make yourself useful, do.”

Will hurried forward with all of an Omega’s leonine grace, and settled on the floor at his father’s feet. With now well-practiced hands, he managed the buckle and zip of his father’s slacks, lowered the band of his boxer-briefs, and drew out his father’s cock. Even soft, Hannibal’s uncut cock looked massive in Will’s slender, fine-boned fingers. Hannibal occupied himself with finding the phone number for his first patient of the day, Franklyn Froideveaux, and calling him up to cancel their morning appointment, not even pausing when the soft, wet heat of his son’s mouth wrapped around him. 

His progress with the training rods was truly astounding, but Hannibal hadn’t been sure until this morning that Will would be able to take a full-sized cock in his mouth, let alone an erect one. But Will had surprised him, as he so often did. The sweet submission, even as he’d gagged around his father’s cock, as he fucked into Will’s face… and now, not even an hour later, here he sat once more, eagerly swallowing Hannibal into his mouth, pushing further and further, challenging himself to take Hannibal all the way to the root. 

This diligence deserved a reward. Hannibal gently patted Will’s head, then pressed a soft massage into his scalp before taking a hold of those curls and pulling them, firmly, but not enough to pain. Will swallowed around him and Hannibal’s eyelashes fluttered for a moment. 

“-- for next week, then?”

Franklyn’s voice reminded Hannibal to attend to his work. “I’m afraid I’m not certain. I’ll have a closer look at the schedule and contact you tomorrow so we can set a time. Thank you for being so accommodating, Franklyn,” he said, and disconnected the line before his patient could try and draw the conversation out any longer. He made four more calls; ever since the decision to homeschool Will had been made, he’d cut down on his patient caseload enough that he could be home by three. Will remained a good boy the entire time, keeping his mouth and throat still, a warm haven for his father to bury into. 

Every so often, Hannibal would tease himself a little, grinding forward into his son’s mouth, bucking further into that wet heat to rob him of breath, make him choke. But only for a moment. He finished his calls, and then set about rearranging his schedule for the week following, fitting in the few patients who had insisted that they could not skip one session at all. His fingers combed and twirled through Will’s curls, gentle caresses which made Will’s eyelashes flutter and his body melt in closer to Hannibal’s. Sweet thing, so ready to be loved. 

As Hannibal concluded his business, the phone on his office desk rang. He knew instinctively who it would be; knew even better that Will would find it the perfect excuse to drop the pretense of being a good boy, and embrace acting like a naughty boy instead. “Stay still, darling, and quiet,” Hannibal instructed him, thumbing over the curve of his cheekbone affectionately before he picked the phone off the cradle and turned on speaker mode. 

“Good afternoon,” he said, affecting the air of the distracted that he usually adopted when in the middle of work; a nonverbal signal that the call ought to be kept short. 

“Hannibal,” Alana said, and at the sound of her voice, Will’s softness, his pliancy disappeared. His posture grew stiff, his eyes blinked up at Hannibal, glittering with wrath. “How’s Will?”

“His temperature has gone down.” Hannibal caressed Will’s cheek again, thumb brushing over Will’s eyebrow next, and then his eyelid, to watch the lashes flutter closed. “He’s sleeping soundly, now. Have you had a productive morning?”

“Busier and busier. I won’t be getting home tonight after all. Do you have a minute for that talk?”

Will’s eyes narrowed, and Hannibal tapped a fingertip to his cheek in warning. Keep still. “It’s hardly a discussion to be concluded in one minute alone.”

“Actually, it’s absolutely that kind of discussion, when it comes to matters of divorce. I could just take you to court and forgo the conversation. That I’m talking about it at all could be considered a courtesy.” 

Hannibal inhaled slowly. Not to savor Will’s sweet, ripening scent, but to gather patience. Again, her need to display dominance, to try and fight him for ground on which she might feel balanced. But this kind of antagonism didn’t win her any favors. In a kinder world, one where the softness of an Omega’s disposition wasn’t met with disrespect, belittlement and abuse, she might have been more comfortable approaching conflict with her gentle hand. A very different world indeed. 

“And yet dissolution of a mating is not so simple. The Alpha is the claimant; only the Alpha can revoke it.”

Will’s eyes opened slowly. The ire had drained from his irises, and his expression was thoughtful as he sealed his lips tighter around Hannibal. He swallowed, and his hands, which had been lying well-behaved, folded in his lap before, climbed up Hannibal’s shins, rucking up the fabric of his slacks. 

Alana had been silent the while, taken aback by the challenge implicit in Hannibal’s words. “You’re not thinking of denying me the dissolution are you?” Her words sounded choked, as much with disbelief as with anger. 

“I understand that you are eager to form a family with Margot and could hardly begrudge you that, Alana,” he said. “But I have an interest in maintaining this family as well. Will has been a son to me since we married,” he punctuated this point with the forward press of his pelvis, until Will’s throat convulsed around him, “and so the matter is not so simple as allowing you to take off to pursue romance with your newly chosen partner. Hence why it deserves more than one minute of discussion.”

“So Will is the problem.” She had chosen much softer words--so, this is about Will?-- this morning, and they would have served her better now. Both because Hannibal would never consider his boy a problem, and because said boy was listening in on the call himself. The ire had returned to his gaze, but ever a good son, he remained where he was, mostly still, though breathing a little deeper in an attempt to calm himself. 

“Will is the reason I would like to save this discussion until we can have it face to face, Alana, and at leisure. There’s still the matter of your approaching--”

“Don’t use my heat cycles as an excuse, Hannibal,” she bit out, her voice tense in the face of his gentle reprimand. 

“Not an excuse but a further consideration. I really must insist that this conversation wait, Alana, until you’ve come home. If you respect me as a partner, you’ll give me that courtesy at least, rather than dissolving our family over the course of a five-minute phone call.”

The slender hands wrapped around his calves and gave gentle squeezes. Will swallowed again, a further reward for a conversation well-handled. 

“Fine,” Alana conceded, though without an ounce of enthusiasm. “Tomorrow night.”

Hannibal replaced the phone on the cradle after a brief farewell, and then pet his hands over Will’s curls. He settled one hand on the nape of Will’s neck, urging him closer, and the other tangled into his hair, taking him in a firm grip. 

“She imagines that she can take you away from me, Will,” Hannibal said, shifting his hips to draw his cock out of Will’s mouth a little. “That she can take this away from us.” The hand on Will’s nape pinched his pressure points, making him go slack, but the fist in his curls kept his from dropping, kept his head in place as Hannibal plunged his cock back into Will’s mouth. 

Will gasped, his eyes rolled up, his lashes fluttered, clinging to one another with the tears they gathered each time they shut. The last vestiges of resistance melted from him, his hands on Hannibal’s legs even falling to the ground, as Hannibal fucked his rapidly hardening phallus into his mouth, over his tongue. 

He breathed deep in through his nose, caught the sweet, elusive scent of his son’s slick, and, suddenly beyond control, pulled free, hand gripping tight at the base of his cock to stave off his impending orgasm. 

“Will,” he gasped, dropping his free hand to Will’s upper arm and pulling him to stand in the space between Hannibal’s legs. Still choking his cock, he hugged Will close to him, buried his nose into the side of Will’s neck. His glans bumped into the skin of Will’s soft belly, and he tortured himself, rubbing his cock there, over and around and into the dip of his navel, all as he gasped Will’s scent deep into his lungs. 

“Daddy,” Will murmured, voice tremulous as he steadied himself with a hand on each of his father’s shoulders. “Daddy, can you-- can we--”

Hannibal shuddered and fought for rationality. How had he gotten so swept away? “Go on upstairs, darling,” Hannibal said. “Up to bed with you.”

Will lost no time. He kissed Hannibal’s cheek and then scurried from the office.

Hannibal waited until he heard the boy’s footsteps above him. They diverted into Will’s room briefly, and then at last he heard the soft footfalls stop directly overhead. In bed, like a good boy. Hannibal only released himself when he felt he could do so without spending all over his desk. He took another pair of deep, calming breath. 

How had he gotten so swept away, indeed. Something subtle in Will’s scent had changed, and now that Will was no longer a tempting morsel waiting to be devoured before him, Hannibal could make sense of it. 

His scent was subtly different. Over the past weeks, Will’s production of pre-slick, when stimulated out of his mind, had increased significantly. Now, a few drops would slide down his leg, at the height of his excitement, and the scent had grown gratifyingly thick, sumptuous. But the change today was something outside that, even; although the quality of the scent--sweet, thick, syrupy--had hardly changed, the reaction it brought about in Hannibal had.

He’d gulped Will’s pheromones down with the fervor that Will sought them from him, in times of distress. 

With this realization, Hannibal got to his feet, and made his way up to the bedroom. 

He was unprepared for the strength of the wall of scent that hit him when he stepped inside. It smelled of him and his son, of sex and sweat…

So sweet, feverishly sweet.

But how? It was much too early. Even earlier this morning--

“Daddy,” Will said, setting the cup of water he’d been holding back onto the nightstand, and wiping the water from his lips with the back of one pale hand. “Daddy. I feel-- I feel so hot.”

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

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Chapter 14

Heat

The words that tumbled from Will’s lips were a siren call; Hannibal watched in helpless desire as Will crawled over the mattress to the foot of the bed. His eyes glittered, hazy with lust, his lips parted invitingly, his cheeks and neck flushed a rosy red, down to his chest, where the collar of his shirt gaped just enough to give Hannibal a tantalizing view of his sweet, blushing nipples. 

“Daddy,” Will pleaded again, reaching for his father with one hand, eyes wide in entreaty.

Hannibal strode across the room, taking Will’s outstretched hand, and raising it to his lips. “Darling,” he said, pressing his lips to that heated palm, the tip of each finger, the inside of his wrist. “You’re presenting.”

Too early, his mind reminded him through the cloud of his own mindless lust. But that was a concern for another time. What mattered now was giving Will the knot he so desperately needed, the bite on his neck that would soothe him, that would mark him as Hannibal’s forever. 

Will made an incoherent noise and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck, pressing burning kisses along Hannibal’s jaw, over his neck, scraping his teeth over his scent glands. Hannibal brought their bodies close together, noting the wetness in the seat of Will’s pajama bottoms. Even earlier today, only a few droplets of his pre-slick had slipped free, in the throes of Will’s excitement. Now, only a few hours later, the soft sweatpant material was heavy, sticky with his slick. 

“Daddy,” Will whispered, grinding his caged cock against Hannibal’s thigh. “Daddy, I’m--”

But Hannibal didn’t let him finish. He grabbed a fistful of Will’s hair and tugged him just far enough to press their lips together. His son melted against him, lips going slack and then moving with intention, tongue darting out to meet his father’s without an ounce of reserve. “This isn’t play mating anymore, Will,” Hannibal grunted against Will’s lips, his hands hitching under Will’s thighs now as he picked his son off the bed. “Your father is going to see you through your heat, darling boy.”

“I want it,” Will gasped, cinching his long, lean legs around Hannibal’s waist, breath hitching as their pelvises met. “I want you, Daddy, want you to so bad.”

“You want your father to fill you up, sweet boy?” Hannibal cooed, laving his tongue over the sensitive spot on Will’s neck as he carried him across the room to the bathroom door. He headed straight for the shower and turned the tap on. “Let’s cool you down a bit first.”

“Daddy--”

“Are you arguing with me, Will?” Hannibal asked, voice hushed, deceptively calm. Will, still in possession of some of his faculties, would see this for the reprimand it was intended to be.

Will’s upper teeth clamped down on his lower lip, and he blinked rapidly, trying to fight the tears welling up in his eyes. He shook his head, a promise to be good, and made no argument when Hannibal pushed him under the stream of cold water running from the showerhead. As Will bathed, Hannibal divested himself of his clothing, and then returned to the bedroom to store them before remaking the bed with a heat-sheet under the fitted sheet. The effort in changing the bed cooled Hannibal’s thoughts, brought him back to himself and out of control of the wall of pheromones wafting from his son. He could have taken more time to cool down, but Hannibal wasn’t out to torture his boy more than necessary, not when his own desires were so pressing. After only a handful of minutes, when Will’s teeth began to chatter, Hannibal reached into the shower and turned off the tap.

He held up the plush towel and wrapped Will’s shivering body in it before picking him up again and carrying him into the bedroom. Despite his shivering, though, Will’s skin remained hot to the touch, and by the time they reached the bed, a fine sheen of sweat shone again on his brow. This time, at least, the subtle fragrance of Will’s preferred bathroom products was gone, leaving behind Will’s scent, unadulterated, and infinitely more pleasing to Hannibal’s highly attuned sense of smell. 

The moment the towel slipped from Will’s shoulders, he clambered onto the bed on hands and knees, again ready to present. But Hannibal gently tapped Will on the hip and nudged him so that he turned over and scooted up, propped against the pillows at the headboard, puzzlement evident on his fine features. 

“We’ve got to prepare you first, darling,” Hannibal murmured, moving over him so that he straddled Will’s torso, the heavy weight of his dripping cock tapping Will lightly on the cheek before he took it in hand to rub against his lips. “Say ‘ah’, sweet boy,” he instructed, painting those pink lips with his glistening precome. 

“But Da--” 

His protest got no further. Hannibal pressed forward, feeding his boy the eager length of his cock, pausing periodically to stroke Will’s cheek or cup the front of his throat, as it distended slightly with the force of Hannibal’s intrusion. If he hadn’t been certain, from this morning’s activities, he would have gentled Will, progressed slowly. But as things stood, Will had passed the morning with his nose pressed against Hannibal’s pelvis; there was no call for gentleness anymore.

His throat vibrated around Hannibal, a small, desperate sound free of protest; Will’s tongue moved, his cheeks hollowed. His hands came up to grip his father by the hips, his body wiggled impatiently underneath. Hannibal gripped Will’s curls in one hand and the headboard in the other. He held Will still, even as Will fought to surge forward when Hannibal pulled back, and slowly and carefully fucked into his boy’s mouth. 

The last shreds of clarity faded from Will’s eyes, drunk on heat and the heady scent of his father’s pheromones. He writhed, knot-hungry, pungent slick dripping down his legs and soaking through the sheets. The heat-sheet, at least, would protect the mattress, though it was unlikely that Will’s scent would come out of the covers without multiple washes. Hannibal pressed his hips forward, until his balls touched Will’s chin, and ground against the pink, stretched-out lips that framed the root of his cock.

A deep sigh of contentment as he looked down at Will, at the way his eyes glazed over, his lashes wet and clumping together, his cheeks splotched red. His mouth, used this way, painted a tantalizing picture. “You perfect boy,” Hannibal murmured, petting through Will’s hair, “taking your father’s cock so well.”

Will’s eyes shut and he whimpered. Another spike of sweetness in the air as Will swallowed hard. A dribble of saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth, and Hannibal sighed again. He rocked his hips again, pulled his cock free and painted a pearlescent stripe over Will’s lips before plunging back inside. 

A gurgle from Will, but in ecstasy. Hannibal debated the merits of coming on his son’s face; Omega’s at times could become rather vicious if denied their Alpha’s gift during heat, and Will certainly had a vicious streak within him. And while Hannibal had no objections to seeing Will enact a tearing rage, he’d rather it be under different, and very particular circumstances. For the first time, at least. 

So instead, he pulled free from Will’s mouth, chuckling as Will chased after him, and indulged in a few leisurely strokes of his shaft over Will’s face, over his questing lips. “You’re going to present now, aren’t you?” Hannibal murmured. “To show me your shameful, wanting little cunt.”

Will blinked, and nodded. He licked his lips, pink tongue darting out to taste the pre-come Hannibal had given him, watching his father move off of him, scooting further down the bed. When Hannibal nodded to give him permission to move, Will did as he bid, flipping gracefully over onto his tummy, raising his bottom and adjusting the position of his legs, spread wide, luminous and iridescent with slick all the way to his knees. His forearms folded under his head, and he peeked up at his father from under long lashes, waiting for approval, waiting for further instruction. 

Hannibal trailed his fingertips over the back of Will’s wet thighs, from knee to hip on both sides before raising his fingers to study the quality of the slick. It had the right color and scent, and its flavor, warm and sugary, burst on his tongue as he sucked his middle and forefinger into his mouth. He rubbed his fingers together and they slid smoothly, despite the relative thickness of the slick. Not quite the right texture, but it always took several heat cycles for the hormones to regulate; the slick would thin out naturally as a part of the process. For a first heat, it ran thinner than he might have expected, but Will had defied expectations in every aspect of his coming of age, hadn’t he?

“Not enough,” he commented, popping his fingers from his mouth and dropping both hands to Will’s cheeks, spreading them wide to inspect his tiny, tight little hole. Hannibal knew better than to be fooled by its virginal appearance. During bedtime every night, when he placed the speculum inside and cranked it open wide before suckling Will’s caged cock and driving him wild with directionless desire, Hannibal had seen that sweet pink hole stretch beyond the limits of what a boy of his age might usually be expected to handle. He’d pressed weighted plugs inside his boy, gentling him feverishly as the weight and pressure inside tormented him, until tears poured down his cheeks and he could breathe for the sobbing. 

Now, lost to heat, Will could handle whatever Hannibal chose to give him without nearly so much effort, without nearly as much resistance.

And yet. 

“Not nearly enough, darling,” he reiterated, stroking Will’s thighs, reveling in the frictionless glide over that supple skin. He wanted Will slicking so desperately they could drown in it. His sweet little cock, always overeager, dribbled with its useless, sterile slick; Hannibal would not berate him for that, though it was a gross misdirection of his energy. Even in obedience, Will found ways to misbehave. 

“Here now,” Hannibal said, patting Will’s rump. “Hold yourself open for me.”

Will made a low, desperate little noise, and his arms slid out from under his chin. He reached back, slim fingers quaking with need, as he gripped his cheeks and pried them apart, the flesh divotting under his fingers, turning pink with his blush. “Mmn,” he moaned, as slick burbled forth from his sweet pussy, as it opened slightly under Will’s grip.

Hannibal indulged himself. He held fast to his cock, squeezing tight at the base to prevent his knot from filling early, and rubbed himself all around that puffy entrance. Gentle circles at first, before pressing the head of his cock against the narrowly dilated hole, and teasing it gently with a varied pressure. Never enough to penetrate, but enough to feel the hungry cling of that slick muscle, so ready, so desperate to take him in. 

The delighted, begging little noises that Will made in thanks for these attentions played like music in Hannibal’s ears. He squirmed, only enough to make his desperation clear, but not enough for reprimand from his sometimes strict, often overly indulgent father. “Daddy,” Will murmured, gripping himself tighter, spreading himself wider, presenting as tempting a picture as he could conjure with his limited experience. “Daddy, I want it.”

“You’re not slick enough yet,” Hannibal reminded him. “Not yet. You must be patient.”

“No,” Will whined, rubbing desperately against him. “Can’t wait, no, no--”

“You’ll wait when you’re told to wait.” The words slithered from Hannibal’s mouth, full of dark promise. He drew back his cock and touched Will’s cheek with the flat of his hand. Not an idle threat. “I didn’t raise a selfish child, now did I?”

For answer, Hannibal received a whimper, and then quiet. Will grew still, but for the movement of his torso with his panting breaths. 

“Good boy,” Hannibal praised, lightly patting the cheek rather than spanking it, and then trailed his fingers back to Will’s puckered pussy. He did as he did before, tickling light circles about it before pressing at the center, dipping the tip of his finger inside before removing it, a slow stream of slick pouring forth in the moment before the sphincter closed. He did this again, and again, and again, and then added a finger, watching with an unholy satisfaction as the tight, snug sheath stretched to accommodate him, remained dilated after he withdrew before slowly twitching back to tightness.

What a good, beautiful boy.

“Better,” he said. “But not quite yet. Focus your breath.” 

Will did as his father bid. His panting breaths slowed, still shuddering every so often as he tried to regain control of himself. Hannibal continued his gentle probing, his free hand rubbing soothing circles over the small of Will’s back. He cooed little encouragements until Will’s breaths evened, timing themselves with the movements of Hannibal’s fingers within him. 

This close to Will, with the delicate curve of his spine and the sight of his flushed nape above, and the perfect presentation of his more intimate parts below, Hannibal couldn’t help but begin to respond. “You’ll recall,” Hannibal said, in part to help him hold on to his own sense of control, “that we discussed in detail the Omegan anatomy and the changes it undergoes when that body goes through a heat cycle. Conception outside of heat is remarkably low; the internal vaginal opening remains tightly closed. But now…”

Now, Hannibal’s fingers probed a little further, before tracing the opening there, feeling the way it quivered with desire under his touch. “Now, your body is producing slick, and opening to admit your Alpha to its most intimate depths.”

He glanced up at Will’s face, in time to catch his son’s impudent eye-roll, and chuckled. “Pardon me, darling, how boorish of me. That’s not the talk you’d prefer to hear from me now, is it?”

Will blinked, and a little clarity returned to his gaze when he peered up at his father to search his face. His lips parted and his face colored an even deeper, mortified red. 

“You want me to tell you how your tight little cunt is going to feel around me when I give you my knot,” he said, words sharp, callous, the way Will liked to hear them. “How I’m going to give your whorish little pussy what it’s been craving all this time. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Since forever,” Will gasped, eyes fluttering shut again, cheek pressing harder into the mattress as he levered his hips higher. “All I’ve wanted since before I can remember.”

A lie, as they both knew that Will’s memory never failed, but a flattering one. Hannibal reward him with a few petting strokes against Will’s prostate; his boy made a strangled sound, and slick gushed along Hannibal’s fingers, wetting his perineum as Hannibal withdrew.

“You can do better, my love,” Hannibal cooed, before dropping to place a kiss on each cheek, and to lick them clean of the river of slick that had poured between them. Will made a startled gasp, and then a long, throaty groan, as Hannibal’s tongue laved from the inside of his right knee up the slim length of his thigh. He repeated the long strokes of his tongue up the left side, then dipped his chin to clean Will’s tiny sac, up his perineum, before settling his lips over the lightly gaping little hole and suckling the slick straight from its source. 

“Da--” Will gasped, and then made a noise that could have been ‘Alpha’ if it had any sense behind it, and his fingers where he continued to hold himself open, still so good for his father, spasmed. He did his best to keep still. Hannibal could feel it in the quaking of Will’s thighs, the intermittent hitching of his short breaths before they evened out again as he remembered that his father had asked him to focus on them. 

Hannibal, drowning in the taste of his son’s slick, that sweet, warm-sugar flavor, did not quite drown in the amount. Will continued to produce it, but this more viscous variety did not come as quickly, or as plentifully. He pressed his tongue inside Will’s heat, delighting in the way his body gave, eagerly, ready to accept whatever Hannibal deemed him worthy to receive. 

When he pulled his face away, his nose and chin glistened. He licked his lips, chasing whatever remnants remained, savoring every last drop. He straightened, looking down at his boy, this desperate pile of desire, laid out before him for him to devour. The very idea that Will was in this moment, his, and that if Hannibal desired it, could remain his forever, had his hand curling once more around the base of his cock, pressing himself against Will’s wanton, wanting hole.

“Perhaps,” he mused, relishing in the way Will opened up to him as he pressed in, “Perhaps we can make do.” When he pulled his cock away, a string of slick like spider’s silk connected their bodies. 

Will’s whole body trembled, but he did not move or speak. He knew his father well at this point, knew that Hannibal delighted in torturing him, in making him suffer. He did look so beautiful, when torn between pleasure and despair. A face made for suffering. 

“Or perhaps, I ought to give you more time. Make certain that you’re truly ready.”

A few furious blinks, but Will said nothing. 

“Although, you’ve always performed admirably when thrown into the thick of things,” Hannibal murmured, inching forward again, painting a line of precum around Will’s hole. “Before this morning, you’d only had the training rods keeping your rude, disobedient mouth occupied, but you made yourself quite the little cockwarmer, didn’t you?”

Now, Will whimpered. His lips parted, and that soft, aching sound escaped his throat. 

“Held so beautifully still as your father made use of your throat, didn’t you,” Hannibal sighed, sliding his cock between Will’s thighs.

“Daddy,” Will wailed, legs twitching apart, not allowing Hannibal to find comfort in the press of his thighs. “Daddy, if you don’t-- if you don’t fuck me, I’m going to kill you.”

A delighted chuckle surged from between Hannibal’s lips. “You’d do better to have your way with me while I’m alive, Will,” Hannibal said. He pulled his pelvis back, yanked Will’s hand out of the way and slapped his cheek once, hard enough to bruise. Will yelped, his hips surging forward to escape the sting, and Hannibal dove forward, pressing his boy into the mattress. 

Formal mating posture be damned. He didn’t plan to give Will what he wanted yet, anyway. 

The hiss of pain from Will’s lips turned into a hiss of pleasure, as Hannibal’s cock bullied its way between his clenching cheeks, into Will’s tight entrance. The heat of him nearly made Hannibal see stars, the clutch of his wet, welcoming heat. Hannibal adjusted his angle and drove forward, never minding the resistance of Will’s untried channel, the way it spasmed around him. He only stopped where there was no further for him to go, pelvis digging into Will’s backside.

“Alpha,” Will said, a word strangled with confusion. “Daddy, what--?”

“I’ve opted for the middle course, darling,” Hannibal murmured, nipping his teeth at Will’s shoulder. “I’ll give you something to occupy yourself with,” he withdrew, then shoved his way inside again, all to the music of Will’s pitiful, confounded moans, “until you’re ready for me to take you the way you need.”

This time, when he pulled out, he slid in only far enough to tease his cock against Will’s inner entrance, where his cock would have to go if Will were to find any relief. But after this tantalising bit of foreplay, Hannibal slid right passed it, fucking him the way he would if Will were not in heat. He’d never had much interest in anal sex with his previous partners, but now, when Will responded so perfectly...  

“Daddy,” Will whined, palms on the bedspread, trying to push himself upright but having nowhere to go with Hannibal’s chest pressing him down. “It’s not--that’s not-- I need--”

“You’ll accept what I give you,” Hannibal said, “like a good son. A good Omega.” He tongued his way from Will’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, and Will drooped, helpless. Hannibal’s lips worried the spot where he would mark his son, when he got around to it, and felt saliva flood his mouth, his teeth ache, at the mere prospect. 

Will’s hips were working, now, rocking clumsily in time with Hannibal’s, even as they attempted to tilt enough to encourage the kind of penetration that his heat demanded. 

But Hannibal, stronger and larger, used his body weight alone to keep Will just where he wanted it. Each time Hannibal pulled back, Will’s slick gushed forth, wetting Hannibal’s pelvis, Will’s bottom, their thighs. The sounds of that lubricated skin, smacking together, pulling apart, was decadent, enhancing the tactile experience, riling Hannibal up. He sucked a bruise into the side of Will’s neck, then nibbled back to his shoulder. Will’s feet fought for purchase, for leverage, and Hannibal knocked him off balance every time he plunged his cock back inside. 

“To have presented so early, when you’re still so small. When I knot you, Will,” Hannibal grunted, lowering slightly so that his chest rubbed Will’s back as he moved, “you’ll be so full with my cock and my seed that you’ll grow round.”

“Alpha,” Will groaned, burying his face into the covers, “Alpha, please, please. Please, Daddy.”

“So polite.” Hannibal reared up, grabbing Will by the neck and pushing him into the mattress, using that hand to support himself as he sat upright, thrusting still into Will’s quivering, desperate hole. Will’s scent filled his lungs, to the exclusion of every other scent. Whatever traces of Alana’s presence had remained this morning, were obliterated in the face of Will’s overwhelming fragrance. “Such a good boy, so good at taking Daddy’s cock.”

Another startled, aching groan from Will’s lips. 

“Letting Alpha mount you,” he added, trailing a finger down Will’s sweating spine, “letting Daddy show you how you belong to him.”

Will’s head lolled to the side. A string of saliva leaked from the corner of his lips, wetting the pillow. He looked half-crazed, desperate. Hungry, hungry, desperate for a knot, but knowing better than to demand more from his father than he’d been given. 

“I’d say it’s time for good boys to get their rewards,” Hannibal murmured, grinding his pelvis into Will’s bottom. 

“Yes, Daddy, yes, please, please please please--”

Hannibal closed a fist tight around the base of his cock, pulled all the way out, and spilled his seed on Will’s cheeks, around his fluttering, pinkened hole, and up his back. 

“No!” Will cried, rising partway up off the bed, face once more a brilliant red, eyes wide in disbelief. “No!”

To Hannibal’s utter delight, Will’s eyes closed, and when they opened, they poured over with tears. Wet tracks wended their way down his cheeks, past his quivering lips, dripping off his chin and onto the mattress. Hannibal watched in rapt fascination as Will cried, desperate and betrayed, that his father had taken from him what he needed more than breathing. 

So taken was he, by Will’s abject misery, his startling resentment, that Hannibal sat back and drank it in without offering comfort for a solid minute. He reached out and swiped a thumb under Will’s eye, clearing away the tears, cupping his mottled red cheek. “Shush, darling boy,” Hannibal cooed, but the endearment, rather than calming Will, made his eyes go wild. “Your father looks out for what is best for you. This is a lesson like any other.”

“A lesson on neglecting your omega,” Will muttered, expression equally dark. 

“Sweet, silly boy. Perhaps another Alpha might play with you for the pure purpose of making you squirm,” he said, slowly, as though speaking to a child. Never mind, of course, that he had done and would continue to do just what this mysterious other Alpha might. “But for you to think that this denial serves any purpose other than your own good…”

Will’s expression did not soften. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and his lips parted to show his teeth. 

“What a vicious thing you are,” Hannibal said, finger trailing down Will’s cheek to touch to the point of one sharp canine. He pressed the pad of his finger against it, hard enough to feel the way his flesh slowly began to give. 

Will blinked, not expecting that. “You like me vi—“

But Hannibal silenced this with a kiss. He leaned in, pressed his lips to Will’s, licked luxuriantly into his mouth. Will gave a muffled moan, melting beneath this caress, and the fierce line between his brows softened and disappeared. In a moment, his body began to writhe again, and when he opened his eyes, all of his hostility had disappeared, replaced by a list-drunk daze. 

So easy to redirect, so malleable. At least, for now. With this insubordinate streak in him, once he’d had a knot, known what sense of completion came along with one, he would be a terror until he got what he wanted. Hannibal would not mind in the least laying back with Will sitting on his lap, watching the boy seek his pleasure. 

Another time, perhaps, though doubtless not so terribly long from now. 

“Alright, darling,” Hannibal murmured, trailing his fingertips down the front of Will’s throat. “Back into position, now. We’ll solve your little problem once and for all.”

A slow blink. Processing. “Just once?”

Hannibal laughed, low and deep, once again delighted at being taken so completely by surprise. “I don’t recall raising you to be such a minx,” he murmured, not caring to hide his affection. 

“Self-taught,” Will sighed, as Hannibal’s hands stroked over his flanks. “But I learned by example.”

Hannibal rubbed his come into Will’s skin, before gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. “From your mother?”

Will snorted, turning his head to look at Hannibal, still heart-eyed and soft-spoken. “You’re the only one I’d ever care to learn from, Daddy.”

“I’m a minx?” 

“Maybe more a fox,” Will mumbled into the covers. His speech slurred, still drunk on their kisses. “Sly. Wicked. Cruel.”

“Flatterer.” Hannibal rubbed his cock between Will’s cheeks with a pleasured sigh. Will’s pheromones, so dense in the air, overrode the usual biological mechanisms that brought about a refractory period. His body was working overtime to respond to the call of an Omega in heat. 

The renewed physical sensations rendered them both silent, their moment of banter over for the time being. Plenty of time for pillow talk once he had Will knotted and full to bursting. 

“Daddy,” Will begged this time, his hand reaching back blindly for Hannibal’s, where it rested on his hip. 

Hannibal squeezed his fingers over Will’s, overflowing with affection. “Daddy will take care of you, darling. You can relax now.”

He stayed true to his word. The next moment, he nudged the head of his thick, achingly hard cock against Will’s cunt, forgoing the desire to tease them both by playing with that puffy pink rim, and pressing all the way inside instead. As tight as he had been the first time, clinging to him, mindlessly eager for Hannibal to give him what he needed. 

His hips stuttered as he pulled out, adjusted the angle of his hips, and pressed forward again, this time through the internal orifice that was the entrance to Will’s womb. Will’s back arched, and he let out an unholy wail as Hannibal finally, finally, fucked him where his body had grown the hottest. His pink lips parted, jaw going slack, hips canting even further to ease his father’s progress into his deepest parts. A few sounds, something like speech, squeaked their way from his throat, but he could only ever form the start of one word at a time before Hannibal knocked the breath from him. “Da--” he’d say, and then, “Al--”

For his part, Hannibal found himself in the rare position of being beyond speech himself. Will’s body held him close, fighting against every withdrawal, tempting him to plunge back inside deeper, harder, more. The distinct sweetness of his aroma took possession of Hannibal’s senses, precluding him from detecting even the scent of his own sweat.

Will consumed him.

And Hannibal, eyes riveted on Will’s neck, wanted more than anything to consume him in turn. One bite; one bite is all it would take, to render the boy his forever. 

But not yet. Hannibal would see Will beg for his father’s knot; he would see him utterly debase himself to earn his father’s mark. Will must see it as a privilege, a gift, hard-earned and worthy. Something precious, so that he would do anything to avoid its revocation. An outcome that Hannibal would be certain to show Will was a real possibility. 

He would revoke his mating with Alana, after all.

A weak, stuttered breath from Will’s throat brought Hannibal back into the moment, into the bodily sensations that brought him as close to attaining Nirvana as ever had he been. “Please,” Will’s gentle voice pleaded.

“Soon, darling,” Hannibal reassured him, trailing his hand from Will’s hip around to his stomach, measuring his way down his abdomen with careful fingers, titillated by the sensation of cupping himself through Will’s flesh, feeling where his belly distended as Hannibal pressed inside. His hips never slowed; Hannibal’s cock dragged out before he slammed back in, movements mooth from the slick, but effortful from the almost painful clutch of Will’s tight, hot cunt. 

Will’s hips shifted again when Hannibal pressed on Will’s soft belly, and then Will went rigid, eyes rolling up, as if Hannibal were fucking the demons right out of him. At this angle, Hannibal’s thrusts scraped against Will’s prostate too, and a burbling rush of slick sputtered out of Will’s hole around Hannibal’s cock as he next pulled back. 

The mattress beneath them creaked, Will’s anterior slick had soaked the bed sheet through, and the fabric against Hannibal’s knees was wet with it. Hannibal cupped his hand over Will’s tiny cock, pressed his thumb against the tip of the cage, jostling it just enough that the bulb on the inside pressed lightly against Will’s urethra, tamping the flow of slick.

Will gasped, and tilted his head into the mattress, elongating the expanse of his neck, giving Hannibal an eyeful. “Please, Alpha?”

Hannibal suckled in a deep breath and sunk his teeth into his lip. One polite entreaty would not be enough to earn Will that reward, for all that Hannibal could barely control himself in the face of that submissive gesture. Still, the question had an effect, and Hannibal felt the telltale fullness at the base of his cock that preceded the swelling of his knot.

He pressed his hips in deep, until Will’s sit bones pressed tight into Hannibal’s pelvis, until his cheeks spread wider as Hannibal’s body insinuated itself as close as he had gone. The sensation around his tender flesh made Hannibal’s blood burn. He pulled back, just a little, encouraging his knot to begin forming outside of Will’s body. 

Will cried, shamelessly needy. Please, he begged, please Daddy, please please. But Hannibal would hardly be a good Alpha if he gave in to some pretty pleases and tear-rimmed eyes. “Now, now,” he said, gripping Will’s hips with both hands to keep him still, to keep him from pushing back and forcing Hannibal in before he was ready. 

“Alpha,” Will’s voice broke. “Alpha please, I need it.”

“What do you need, darling?” Hannibal asked, holding back still, not allowing himself to succumb. 

“I need you, your knot, Daddy, I need it, I need you to fill me up--” Will sobbed, and Hannibal, at last, gave in.

His knot began to form, firm and round, and he rocked it against Will’s perineum, encouraging its growth for a moment before he bullied it in, to the hilt. Will’s flesh parted, popping open to admit Hannibal’s partially inflated knot, and he howled and snarled as his body convulsed in pleasure. Hannibal, buried deep now, gave in, letting his knot swell the rest of the way, blocking off Will’s inner channel as he pumped his come deep into his son.

Will’s back remained deeply arched, his voice keening in pleasure, at the pressure of his father’s knot against that tender opening. He did not move, not at all, delighting in the sting that remained after the painful stretch of his father’s late entry, the warm, heavenly sensation of at last receiving his reward. 

Hannibal leaned over, panting for breath against Will’s neck and shoulder, his chest rubbing against Will’s back with each breath. Has hair fell over his eyes now, sweat beading over his brow, dripping into his clavicle. The sensation of Hannibal’s coarse hair rubbing against Will’s back made the boy moan, and Hannibal leaned his weight onto one elbow so he could free a hand up to gentle his boy. Soothing strokes down his side, over his chest, around his pert, rosy nipples, and then circling his belly. 

He fancied he could feel Will’s abdomen move slightly, acquire a gentle swell under his hand, as his knot continued its vital errand of filling Will to the brim. 

Will, for his part, seemed content. Blissful. His eyes were closed, damp lashes fanning out over cheeks pink from exertion, and a sleepy smile curved the line of his beautiful lips. Hannibal allowed himself to enjoy the sight of his boy well-sated, the way his body suckled at Hannibal’s knot, milking more hot come from him.

It occurred to Hannibal that they’d neglected to consider the use of birth control, but this concern was fleeting at best. Chances of conception on first heats were low, and for Will, who had presented so early, would be infinitely lower. And Hannibal would not be so negligent a father as to take any risks on that front; he’d provide the correct medications within the prescribed time frame, and all would be well. 

The thought of his son bearing him children, however, roused something in Hannibal. He’d been equal to letting Will enjoy this knotting in peace and calm. Allowing them both to seek some rest and bask in their coupling. But now…

Now, he found the idea of so sedate and stereotypical a coupling abhorrent. The hand petting Will’s belly moved from circles to strokes, lowering again to find that pressure point that had brought Will so much enjoyment before. He dug his fingers in and rocked his hips, making the knot tug lightly against Will’s red and aching rim. 

Will jolted. His eyes snapped open wide, and his lips parted on a disbelieving noise. Some of the clarity had returned to his gaze, now that he’d been knotted; Hannibal grew intent on wiping his mind clean of anything but the movements of their body together. 

Not bothering to hide his cruel delight, Hannibal shifted his hips again, establishing a rhythm between the rocking of his knot and the pressure on Will’s prostate from the outside. He pulled enough to tug on Will’s hole, to make it begin to flutter, torn between keeping him inside, and stretching to accommodate him. Back and forth, with the pressure and timing of an expert musician, Hannibal plucked needy, confused moans from Will’s throat. He used his knot to torture and elate, letting the remaining slick smooth his movements while its source remained closed, trying desperately to keep Hannibal’s still-flowing come inside.

Will’s breath stuttered, and then his face grew rigid. A long, low hiss burst from between his teeth. 

“There we are, darling,” Hannibal murmured, pressing hard against Will’s belly. “There we are.”

Will’s insides spasmed, a rush of slick mixed with a bit of come drenching Hannibal’s cock, his knot. In the next moment, Will tensed, and the stream shut off.

“Relax,” Hannibal murmured. “Let go.”

“No, I--”

“Hush, Will, darling. I’ll fill you as many times as you need me to. But be a good boy and do as I say.”

Will shook his head, body taut, unwilling to give in.

Hannibal reared up and spanked Will with every ounce of strength he had; Will’s answering shout came accompanied with wide eyes and slack mouth, cheek jiggling and blood-red, and with the hot rush that came with Will’s momentary lack of control. 

His inner hole spasmed around Hannibal’s cock, and despite the knot, fluttered, loose enough for another escape of their combined slick and sperm. Will cried out once, and then his insides moved again, and Hannibal felt the backward rush of everything he’d given his boy, mixed in with a deluge of new slick, flooding around his cock and leaking steadily out, wetting their skin where their bodies met, dripping thick and white down the backs of Will’s thighs, the front of Haninbal’s. 

“What a good boy you’ve been,” Hannibal cooed, watching the mess spread, finally catching his scent, combined with Will’s. And then, merciless, Hannibal pulled his cock, still-inflated knot and all, free.

Will, limp and yet trembling, didn’t seem to know how to respond. His body had yearned desperately for the knot to fill him, and he’d been given that, only to have it then taken away. His little cunt gaped wipe, twitching as though reaching for Hannibal’s cock, oozing come and slick. Hannibal drank in the sight for a moment before he grabbed Will by the shoulder and rotated him so that he lay on his back, and then without ceremony, shoved his cock into Will’s slack mouth. 

He grunted, taking a fistful of Will’s hair in one hand and massaging his knot with the other, feeding Will’s mouth the gift that he’d denied his pussy. Will, tears running freely, swallowed convulsively around Hannibal’s cock, taking shuddering breaths through his nose whenever he could manage them. 

Hannibal sighed, at last content. He released Will’s hair, now certain that Will would stay where he was, obedient as ever, without getting any bad ideas. Even with Hannibal squeezing his knot tight, he couldn’t quite simulate the pressure of Will’s body around him. It was because of this that his knot receded far sooner than it usually might, a matter of minutes rather than the greater part of an hour. He allowed himself to soften in Will’s mouth, petting Will’s cheek and murmuring praise when Will sucked gently at him.

He expected that the veil of pleasure would have returned to Will’s eyes by the time he pulled out. But when they opened, they were clear and cold as ice. His lips parted on a snarl, teeth flashing, and he scrambled out from beneath Hannibal, putting the length of the bed between them. 

Really, he looked almost wild. Hair disheveled from where Hannibal had tugged and coiled it, face mottled with color, teeth bared, eyes glinting in the low afternoon light that filtered in through the curtains. His fingers curled like claws, digging into the material of the bed as though he could tear through it. Even the sounds he made were animal sounds; the hiss between his teeth as he sank into a crouch, the snarl on his breath when Hannibal moved even the slightest bit toward him. Slight thing that he was, he would never hope to best Hannibal if they came to blows, but he was small, agile, and flexible, and, feral like this, would make an unpredictable opponent. 

Hannibal did so love to be surprised. 

But perhaps not by Alana’s voice, screeching just behind them: “What-- what the hell is going on here?” 

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

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Chapter 15

Punishment

“What-- what the hell is going on here?” Alana’s screeching voice, in concert with the dull thud of her purse falling beside her to the floor, jarred Hannibal from his contemplation of the divine. He turned his head to face her, body still facing Will, the only one who mattered. Neither he nor Will had noticed the gentle rumble of the garage door, the sound of her high heels on the steps, the scent of her perfume. How could they, when every sense was attuned to one another; how could Hannibal, when their entwined scents had consumed him, to the exception of all else?

“We’re somewhat occupied at the moment, Alana,” Hannibal said, eyes back on his son now. “Perhaps you could come back another time?”

“I came home because you weren’t answering the phone.” She babbled, voice wretched, mouth moving as though unable to stop, eyes darting around to take in the state of the room and its occupants. The words kept flowing as she processed it all: “Sixteen times I called, Hannibal, because I felt awful about our conversation and I was worried about Will and Christ, what have you done to my little boy…?”

“Get out,” Will snarled, focus laser-like on his mother’s face, hands falling away from the mattress to curl into fists at his sides. For his part, Hannibal relaxed his posture, attention alternating between his son and her mother, keen to enjoy the oncoming confrontation. “Get out.”

“This is a Lackmann response,” Alana muttered, blue eyes round in disbelief. “Hannibal, how could you…?”

“A question for later reflection I’m sure,” Hannibal answered. “If it’s Lackmann you’d better be on your toes, Alana.”

She’d lectured extensively on the Lackmann response, after all. The Omega’s instinctual sense of competition with others of its kind, until hormonal stabilization via marking, could sometimes give rise to an overproduction of cortisol and cause a cascading feedback loop that stimulated the hypothalamic aggression centers in the brain. Cue the ‘fight’ instinct, exacerbated by threat to perceived territory, and more often than not, blood would spill. The Lackmann response had been a particular interest of hers, perhaps at least partially because of her relationship with Margot, and the difficulties that arose with Margot’s own sense of possession, never minding Alana already bore Hannibal’s mark. 

Apparently, she agreed with Hannibal’s assessment, because she wasted no further time talking to him. “Will,” she tried, hands out in a placating gesture, voice coaxing and soft. “I’m your mother.”

“And my mate,” Hannibal added with the sort of canned affection they had exchanged when Will was young, in an attempt to model a healthy adult relationship. 

That final word, ‘mate’, fell heavy into the air between them. Will’s glare sharpened and his center of gravity lowered, releasing the bedspread in favor of holding his clawed hands at the ready. 

“You’re going to get me killed,” Alana hissed, apparently unaware that this was exactly the point. 

But despite her nerves, Hannibal had to give Alana some credit. She did everything she had recommended in her scholarly approach to Omegas who exhibited the Lackmann response. She lowered her volume, showed her neck, used appeasement signals, subvocal whines to demonstrate submission. In any other circumstance, Will would have gained the sense of hierarchical dominance, and the aggression would dissipate. 

But Will had long passed the state described by Lackmann. Certainly he showed signs of aggression, but not merely aggression. He had eschewed the performative aggression in Lackmann’s observations-- no more growling, no more hissing, no pacing like a tiger in a cage. Instead, he stood stock-still, eyes following every one of Alana’s movements as she became increasingly frenzied in her attempt to draw some kind of reaction from him. 

He had the look of a predator about him.

Hannibal found him suddenly irresistible. But he had to temper his desire to do away with Alana on his own. That would likely only spur Will’s anger on, now that he’d decided on a target. He would want to conquer her himself. 

So, Hannibal set aside his desire to consume Will whole, in favor of admiring this ferocious display.

“Will, please,” Alana’s voice broke, and her tears spilled over. She made her mistake then. Her hand came up to wipe away her tears, and blocked her line of sight, leaving her unprotected. This, apparently, was the moment that Will had been watching for. He shot forward, a blur of strength and speed, one small, bony fist pummeling her just below the ribs, where her diaphragm would be. She fell over, gasping a shocked breath, head bouncing cruelly off the hardwood.

But Will did not give her any reprieve. His hands curled around her throat, squeezing hard and blocking her wind-pipe as she struggled to breathe, to fight the paralysis of her diaphragm after the impact of his punch.

Strangulation death, Hannibal decided, might be the most considerate way to end her. While it lacked panache, it spared Hannibal the extensive clean-up of a mess of blood and body matter, when he’d much rather be engaged in, well, much more pleasurable activities with his son. And Will, body weight pinning Alana’s neck to the floor, doing his level best to crush her trachea or block airflow long enough to starve the brain and have done with her, despite the flailing of her limbs, her manicured nails digging into his skin as she tried to claw herself free, made a beautiful enough picture to compensate for the lack of bloody spectacle. 

Even the way that Hannibal’s come and Will’s slick dripped down his thighs gave the image a painterly appeal; it glistened in the light, a reminder of the act that had been interrupted, which ultimately led to Will’s feral state of mind. 

Alana’s hands abandoned their work, one reaching up and slapping Will’s cheek hard enough to weaken his grip on her throat. He recoiled, out of Hannibal’s line of sight, and she gave one great, heaving breath before turning onto hands and knees and trying to crawl away. Winded, pained, shocked, she looked up at Hannibal, eyes wide and begging for help. 

“It seems he intended not to part with me, either,” Hannibal said, not in the least discomposed by her earnest entreaty, or the look of abject despair on her face when she realized the significance of his words.

He would offer her no salvation. 

Neither, it seemed, would Will. He stalked forward, the back of one hand, bloodied by her gouges, swiping against his cheek and smearing it with red. The scent of his blood finally permeated the air, thick still with his and Hannibal’s combined pheromones and bodily emissions, and it had the spice of heat, the piquancy of his anger in it. 

Hannibal salivated. 

That bloodied hand reached down now, and gripped Alana by the hair, jacking her head back far enough that she wailed, supported herself on her palms, arms stretched, as she struggled to get her legs under her. 

And yet. 

Will did not allow her that much freedom of movement. He ground his heel down on her lower spine, pushing her hips to the ground, twisting his hand tighter in her hair. 

“Will,” she pleaded. 

He did not listen. Instead, he peeked up at Hannibal from under his lashes and gave him a naughty little grin. 

“Will,” Alana tried again, crying outright, the words sneaking out between hiccuping breaths. “Think back to the last time, baby. Deep breathing. Count to ten.”

The last time?

But Will didn’t seem to hear her. The hand not hoisting her back by the hair, the one outside of Hannibal’s line of sight, raised up high, and then, bearing something metal in his curled fist, slammed down against the side of her neck. Will’s thumb moved, de--

Depressing the plunger of a syringe.

Time seemed to slow as that realization sunk in. Will let go of Alana all at once, and she fell, limp, face-first to the ground, the bridge of her nose shattering on impact with a sickening crunch. 

“Daddy.” Will’s blue eyes, wide and innocent, peered up at Hannibal. His lips, a perfect pout, pink, and kissable. 

Beautiful, even in artifice. Beautiful, perhaps even because of his artifice.

“Darling,” Hannibal murmured, patting the bed beside him. Will, all sweet submission now, stepped over his mother’s body, and settled onto the mattress at his side. “What have we said before, about withholding?”

Will’s demure gaze dropped to his bloodied hands, folded primly in his lap. “We don’t withhold from our Alphas. You can’t help if you don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You know this, Will,” Hannibal murmured, voice soft, dangerous. “And yet you’ve kept some very big secrets from me, now, haven’t you?”

He nodded.

“And now you’ve killed Alana--” not quite, the formula in his syringes was a paralytic; while her senses would remain intact, she could do nothing at all about the pain in her nose, her scalp, her throat, neck, and spine. “-- and earned the Verger estate’s wrath, when Margot discovers what you’ve done. And you expect to be rewarded?”

At least his son had the decency to perform shame, his head bowing in submission, his eyes remaining low. The slight upward quirk to his lips remained, though, proving his contrition a farce. Hannibal let him get away with that much. For now, at least. 

He stood, fingers curling under Will’s chin, lifting his face to look up at his father. “You’re going to sit here and reflect on how you’ll make it up to me, you bad, naughty creature, while I clean up your mess. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Will answered, blinking obedient blue eyes up at him. Already, the haze of heat had begun to encroach on them. 

Hannibal tsked. He stepped over to Alana’s body, removed the syringe and capped it, and then hoisted her over his shoulder, carrying her with ease to the bedroom door. 

“Where will you take her?” Will asked. Hannibal looked over his shoulder, catching the pink in Will’s cheeks, the way his brows rose in a small gesture of defiance. “The basement?”

Hannibal blinked. “I’ll throw her on the lawn for the police to find, if you don’t mind that mouth, Will.” He did, in fact, carry her down into the basement--ostensibly, a secret basement--where he settled her into a wheelchair, strapped her down, in case the medication should wear off, and then squatted before her, bringing her to eye-level.

She looked terrified. Her face was slack from the paralytic, but her eyes darted around, taking in the part of the house she had never known existed, knowing immediately what purpose it served. Sure of her fate, and sure that she could do nothing to alter it. He had never seen so satisfactory an expression in those eyes of hers, for all that her face was still, mask-like. 

“You know what will happen now, don’t you?” he asked, cupping her cheek with his palm in a mockery of a caress. “I will kill you, and break down your corpse, and serve the choicest cuts to Margot as we grieve your death.” 

Alana stared at him, but she could say nothing. 

“A just price to pay, for trying to take what’s mine away from me. For all that our agreement was based on convenience rather than affection, you are my mate, Alana, and while I tolerated your affair, our union was never meant to be subject to your whims, was it?” He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. “Will is mine, more my son than yours, and soon to bear my mark. He is not yours to take from me, either. I may have been amenable to a dissolution, allowed the separation and spared your life. Forgiven you, even, if you’d been clear about leaving me custody over Will, I suppose.  Then again, I might not have.”

He smiled down at her, then pushed the button on the wall that opened his walk-in freezer. “Don’t worry, Alana. I’m an excellent husband and mate, and an excellent father. Will will never want for anything.” He pushed her into the freezer, letting the momentum of the wheelchair take her inside, and then pushed the button to close the door. 

In the last moment, just before she disappeared from sight, he gave her his best, most charming smile. “Goodbye, Alana.”

The door closed. Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment too, thinking through the many years they spent together, recollecting the way they met, the night he proposed, the day she brought Will home. Somewhere in his heart, he could conjure up sadness at the prospect of her absence. But she would never truly be gone. He would keep a part of her with him forever. 

Will. 

Will, who had been a bad, bad boy indeed. 

He knew about the basement. Knew, at least partially, the intended purpose of those syringes. Which meant that he knew what Hannibal got up to in this part of the house. His sweet boy, with all those coy jokes about violence, about murder… all made with Hannibal’s secret in mind.

And then there was Alana’s tantalizing, ‘think back to the last time,’ to consider. 

In a sudden moment of insight, Hannibal put the pieces together. The moments of clarity when Will ought to be out of his mind. The production of slick, the receptiveness to his father’s pheromones. Will had been using suppressants, and the exposure to extensive and intense play and pheromonal priming had spurred his body into breaking through the protection of those medications.

What other explanation could there be?

When he returned to the bedroom, Will sat on the floor at the side of the bed, legs crossed, hands tangled together. He looked up at his father, then back down at his hands. Hannibal studied him. The slightly defeated curve of his spine, this time genuine--the high color in his cheeks arising from shame rather than excitement. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Will scurried into the space between his knees. His hands smoothed up the insides of Hannibal’s thighs. “My first heat was in March,” he said. “While you were in Spain.”

Before his birthday, while Hannibal went abroad to handle some matters relating to the Lecter estate. Not Spain, but France. A small deception, made in the interest of discretion; Alana and Murasaki had never seen eye to eye. “You’re an exceptional creature, Will,” Hannibal murmured, petting the top of Will’s head as he mouthed along the side of his father’s cock, the haze slowing returning to his beautiful blue eyes. “But I’ll be hard-pressed to believe that you presented that early without the benefit of some chemical intervention.”

“Matthew… may have brought some heat inducers to school,” he confessed. “I, I wanted to grow up. You were always busy, and it felt like I’d become an obligation, and… I wanted for you to see me. So I filched them before he got up to no good. He had, um, other applications in mind.”

Ah. 

This accounted, too, for the drink of water before Hannibal had come up to the bedroom. His body was already struggling to overcome the suppressants; a little chemical push to help him the rest of the way, because-- “You already knew about your mother’s plans with Margot.” He had felt the pressure to initiate a heat cycle, to corner his father into action. 

“I told her I didn’t want to leave. She said Margot could give us an even better life. That she has more resources, even than you. I told her I didn’t care. That you could lose everything and I still didn’t want to go.” Will nuzzled into his inner thigh, pressing little kisses there in apology.

Charming, but Hannibal couldn’t afford to get bogged down in sentiment. Not at the moment. “Alana always had her ambitions.”

Will lapped at the head of Hannibal’s cock, then pressed his nose to Hannibal’s groin, breathing in deep. “She’s dead, then,” he said, and his expression grew dreamy, satisfied.

Hannibal petted Will’s cheek, still tacky with blood, and encouraged him back into action, into closing his lips around his erection, into swallowing him down as deep as he could go. Will, blissed out and contented, did not seem to mind. He allowed himself to be moved, and obeyed each of Hannibal’s gestured instructions without question. “Thanks to you, Will,” Hannibal reminded him, and cupped the front of Will’s throat as he pushed even further, past the gentle spasm of his gag reflex. “You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy.”

He could question him as to how long he’d known, and what exactly it was that he knew, but Will wouldn’t be much good for giving answers now. 

He ought to punish him, but Will seemed unconcerned, and indeed, any form of punishment right now would probably serve to titillate him further, to send him deeper into heat. Hannibal could deny him a knot again, he supposed, but at this point, he had grown more interested in pursuing his own gratification. And then he alighted on a way that he could achieve both, and sadistic satisfaction burned bright inside his chest. 

“We’ll discuss your punishment later, darling,” he murmured, pressing against the back of Will’s head, rocking his hips, moving in the humid heat of his mouth, and then pulling out until the tip of his cock, wet with spit and precome, rested against Will’s parted lips. 

“Alpha,” Will panted, “Daddy.”

Hannibal gripped his cock and painted a line across Will’s lips, then reached forward and tugged Will’s tongue from his mouth, pinched tight between his fingers, and painted another stripe down its center. “For now, I think, we’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Come along, darling. On the bed, on your knees.”

A slight delay before Will obeyed those instructions. He sunk deeper by the second, into the mindless state of a full heat. 

Not his first. 

It crossed Hannibal’s mind that anger would not be misplaced. But he knew that Will had not been lying when he told him before that he’d never played with the parts his father had forbidden him. He knew that Will would have refused the use of any heat aides, even manual assist from other omegas, to help him through. He thought of Will, suffering almost to death in absence of his Alpha, desperate for a knot and desperate for his suppressants to kick in. 

No wonder that Alana had seen him have a Lackmann reaction before; no wonder she had thought she could help him overcome it. Foolish and overly altruistic. He had always supposed that those qualities would bring about her downfall, and lo and behold, they had. 

“I suppose you thought you knew what to expect, when you took those accelerants in March. Bought into the fantasy of a heat as a wonderful experience for an Omega?” He rubbed slow circles on Will’s backside, meditating on Will’s surprise when he realized how terrible a heat could be, without an Alpha to soothe him. “Did you call for me, darling?”

Will shook his head. “I didn’t want them to know,” he said, the words muffled by the comforter. 

“Hmm.” Hannibal pressed the head of his cock against the slick mess of Will’s hole, down Will’s perineum, back up again. “I need hardly say that murder is a crime, Will.” He pressed forward again, pushing just enough to encourage him to open, before pulling back again. 

“Hasn’t…” Will’s breath hitched, “stopped you.”

A fair point, of course. “Matricide in particular…”

“You sanctioned,” Will mumbled, slurred and muffled, though his eyes peered back at Hannibal, bright and cogent, “me protecting myself.”

Hannibal stopped at that, his hands moving back to grip Will’s cheeks, pulling them wide apart. “Alana hardly presented you with a threat, Will.”

“Keep me from you,” was the answer, a broken sentence, as Will’s face flushed an even brighter red.

“Time for this later, I suppose,” Hannibal said, fingers digging in tighter, prying Will as far open as his body would allow. “I know a naughty boy that needs a knot to fill him, don’t I?”

Will groaned, buried his face into the comforter, fists wrapped up in the fabric. “I’ll be good,” he whimpered, “be nice to me, Daddy.”

Hannibal laughed in surprised delight. He supposed that denying Will his knot before might be considered mean, but the injured wail Will had made, the way he had gaped open, the satisfying rush of their combined slick and come had been prizes he would never forget. And now, Will imagined that killing his mother to keep them together would be enough to earn him forgiveness for the monumental secrets he had kept? When he’d already shown that his goodness was no more than an act? Sweet, naive little fool.

“You’ll be good,” Hannibal commanded, and Will’s desperate little nod satisfied him enough to continue. 

He pressed forward, one hand releasing Will’s cheek to settle on Will’s lower back, adjusting the angle of his hips with a slight press. He slid into the heated clutch of Will’s wet, sloppy cunt, pressing in until his pelvis ground against Will’s sit bones. He enjoyed it for a moment, Will’s velvety insides, the way they spasmed around him, already trying to urge him to completion.

Then he began to move. Long, slow strokes, luxuriating in the sensations--Will’s body around him, the smell of his slick and blood in the air, the sight of that red, vital essence staining the bedspread where he gripped it, the sweet sound of his ragged, wanting breaths. With Alana in the freezer, there was no need to rush, either. 

He continued his sedate pace, hands like iron bands around Will’s hips now, stilling the near-manic rocking he had doubtless hoped would spur his father into moving faster. He bottomed out with each stroke, paused to enjoy the pressure on all sides, the way Will’s thighs vibrated with tension against his own. 

“Keep still,” he commanded. “Where did you find the syringe?” His hand left Will’s hips, sliding back down to his stomach, to feel the way his abdomen distended slightly at his father’s intrusion. He cupped himself, through Will’s belly, and shuddered with pleasure. Omegas didn’t grow much after initial presentation; Will might gain another inch or two, but he would stay roughly this size forever. Hannibal didn’t mind. 

“In the--” Will gasped, as Hannibal began to slide out again. “In your desk, the-- the false--” and then he groaned, and shuddered, and lost the ability to speak. 

Hannibal had pressed tightly against his prostate as he spoke, and while the words had stopped flowing, the slick had doubled. When Hannibal’s thighs next met Will’s, they did with a profoundly satisfying, wet slap. He didn’t need to hear the rest of Will’s answer to know what he would have said. Under the false bottom in his desk drawer, at his office. While he’d kept Will waiting in the waiting room, he’d not sat there, as docile and patient as all that. 

Two confessions of theft, now.

“I didn’t raise a thief,” Hannibal considered, pulling out all the way this time, ignoring Will’s affronted noises, the way he looked back with daggers in his eyes. “And I didn’t raise a liar, either.”

“Lying,” Will’s voice shook as he spoke, “is useful with hobbies like yours, Daddy.”

True enough. Hannibal pushed up on Will’s stomach, arching his back slightly, and then pressed inside, bullying through the resistance afforded him by this new position. Will grunted, but he kept still. A good boy, keeping his word. 

“Honesty to your Alpha is not a matter of convenience.” He pulled back out, slapping the wet head of his cock against Will’s fluttering, eager little hole. “That’s the last lie to pass your lips, Will. I have no use for a dishonest Omega. Do you understand?”

“Last one,” Will agreed, his upper back melting forward as Hannibal smacked his cock against him. “Promise.”

“Good.” He pressed in again, slower now than before, eating up the lines of tension in Will’s arms, hands, thighs, and back, as he fought to keep still, to be good, to do as his father said. The whimpers coming from his throat grew pleading, higher in pitch. The sort of sound that made lesser Alpha’s go wild to soothe their Omega. An admirable emotional manipulation, but one to which Hannibal was impervious. 

He clucked his tongue and made a soothing sound, stroking his flanks and gentling him before pressing up against his stomach. When he pulled out and then forward again, the thick head of his cock catching on Will’s lax rim before sliding the rest of the way in.

Connected now, he leaned forward, hands coming down on the mattress on either side of Will, holding himself up, body curled in close to Will’s back. “Such a good boy,” he said, when Will remained still, despite the sudden friction of Hannibal’s chest rubbing against his back, of his breath ghosting against his nape. Hannibal leaned on one elbow now, the other hand sliding under Will’s chest to grasp at the front of his neck. 

A gentle hold, but a dominating one. 

Will sighed, his throat vibrating in Hannibal’s hand, and melted into his father’s hold. His flesh tightened and then relaxed, tightened and then relaxed, around Hannibal’s thick cock where it lay within him. Surrounded by his father this way, he could do nothing but give in.

“Let Daddy have you, darling,” Hannibal murmured, dropping a kiss against Will’s shoulder. “Let me do to and take from you, let me have you.”

When Hannibal resumed his sedate pace, gently withdrawing before feeding himself back into Will’s slick, compliant little body. He quickened just slightly, rocking his hip, pressing against Will’s prostate again, stirring him up.

Will’s body grew taut for a moment, and then he exhaled on a groan, relaxing again. “Daddy, Daddy...”

“There we are, darling boy,” Hannibal murmured, nibbling lightly where his lips had landed before, his teeth aching now that they were touching skin, so close to Will’s scent glands. He stilled his hips a moment, enjoying the spasm of Will’s body as he urged him to continue, and then indulged them both by resuming the slow push and pull of his cock, the subtle tiling of his hips.

In his hold, Will shuddered, a pained sound reverberating against Hannibal’s hand. He grew tighter around Hannibal, fluttering inside, and his whole body drew taut and tense. But Hannibal didn’t change his pace or alter his angle. He continued his unrelenting invasion of Will’s body, slow, measured, controlled, even as Will seemed to grow frenzied in his hold. 

And then, clamping tight around him, Will gushed, a torrent of slick drowning his cock and flooding out from his sputtering, fluttering hole, down their legs, staining the Italian silk of their bedspread. Will gasped, drawing in one uncontrolled breath after another, as Hannibal continued, undeterred, to fuck into his squirting cunt. 

“Sweet, impatient thing,” Hannibal groaned, tempting himself by scraping his teeth up a little toward the arch of Will’s neck. “So wet for your Alpha. Do you want my knot, Will?”

He dragged himself from Will’s clutching hole, bullying in again, still painfully slow, pressing in tight and stilling before repeating this sweet torture, the wetness making their coupling sound filthy, making a mess of them both. Will, eyes tearing up now, face painted a humiliated red and growing redder with each wet slap of their skin, murmured a “Please, Daddy.”

“Do you want me to fill you up, darling?”

Will’s eyes squeezed shut. His fingers turned white, so tight his grip on the bedspread. “Please, Daddy.”

“You want me to flood this little cunt of yours, don’t you, darling?” Hannibal leaned forward, pressing his nose into Will’s sweaty curls, his pelvis digging into Will’s bottom and wringing a strangled sound from him, tamped by the light squeeze of his fingers around Will’s throat. “To make you smell like me so that everybody knows who my good boy belongs to.”

“Daddy,” Will cried. “Alpha, please.”

“Ah, but the scent will only last so long, unless I knot this naughty cunt of yours every day.” He released Will’s throat now, and moved his fingers to Will’s nipples, trained so well over the past weeks, to make him desperate with the lightest pinch. Will wailed as Hannibal tweaked one and then the other. “But outside of heat, knotting could be… terribly painful.”

An idea with its own appeal. 

He twisted Will’s nipple hard enough to bruise. Will moaned, clamping down against his cock. 

An idea that Will might not be averse to trying, then.

“Ah,” he said, lowering his lips to kiss gently against the hairline at the nape of Will’s neck, eyeing the way the small hairs there stood on end in excitement. “I’ve hit on a more satisfying, more permanent solution.”

Will shivered, and then turned his head. Showing his nape, and peering up at Hannibal through heat-delirious eyes. 

“Would you like me to claim you, darling? Mark you as mine, bite you for all to see?”

Will’s keening, ecstatic noise, came in concert with another gush of slick around Hannibal’s cock, and then a breathy, desperate “Please!”

“Fifteen,” Hannibal murmured, mouth safe against Will’s curls, “such a young age to bear an Alpha’s mark. And your father’s no less.”

“Please,” Will begged. “Daddy, please.”

Hannibal chuckled, tucking his forehead against the nape of Will’s neck, breathing against the skin between his shoulder blades. Curled up this way, he could see the jiggle of Will’s bottom as he pressed against it. He pistoned his hips a little faster, shut his eyes and imagined the sight of his bite mark on Will’s pale, slender neck. 

“What little whore you are for your Daddy,” Hannibal grunted, tweaking his nipples in his vicious grip, then sliding down to cup Will’s caged cock, pouring anterior slick forth like a faucet left open. 

“Daddy, Daddy,” Will cried, still fighting to stay still rather than turn away from Hannibal’s torturing fingers, still being a good boy for his Alpha. “Please.”

“Please what, darling? Please knot your hungry cunt?”

Will’s wretched yes devolved into a string of yeses, begging, pleading with his father. One hand pried itself away from where he braced himself on the comforter, flinging back to grab a hold of Hannibal’s hip, ineffectual nails digging in as he tried to encourage Hannibal’s hips to rocking, to forming the knot he’d been denied earlier.   

Hannibal grunted, giving in, the increasing pressure from the day’s teasing, the heady scent of Will’s pheromones, the delicious warmth of his body, all coaxing him into wanting to give what Will wanted to take. 

“Please-- bite you?” He nipped at Will’s nape, his mouth flooding with saliva, his body beginning to hum. He felt the telltale heat prickling at the base of his spine, the rush of his blood, that preceded the swelling of his knot. 

“Yes, please, please, Alpha--”

Hannibal pushed Will forward hard with a brutal shove of his hips, squashing him flat into the mattress. He nudged Will’s legs wide, his own between them, and began a measured rocking at odds with his own desperate chase to completion. “If you want me to bite you, Will,” Hannibal managed, gritting his teeth hard, eyes on the spot on Will’s neck where he would break the skin. “You’ll have to ask more prettily than that.”

Beg. That was what he wanted Will to do. To cry and beg and plead for a bite. For the honor of his father’s claim. 

“Daddy,” Will said, voice breaking. He licked his lips and tried again. “Please bite me, Daddy. Mark m-- mark me yours. Your Omega, nobody else’s. Nobody but you.”

A good start. His thrusts sped up, and the beginnings of his knot began to swell-- a gentle ridge that popped through Will’s hole, catching against it every time, stimulating the flesh there, encouraging the knot to grow bigger, to fill up.

“Yours, Daddy,” Will continued, body lax, but his arm now bent into an awkward position, cradling the back of his father’s neck, trying to urge him closer. “Make me yours. Please, please, Alpha, please bite me--”

Hannibal pressed forward as far as he could go, groaning, “There you are, darling.”

Will cried out again, his pleading momentarily quieted when Hannibal’s knot, partially filled, pressed forward again, popping inside, before swelling, hard and round. Sealing Will up, as he released his load, his whole body quaking with release. 

“Please!”

“You want me to bite you?” Hannibal sighed, hips rocking, drawing out his pleasure as he filled his boy up for the second time that day. 

“Yes,” Will wailed. “Please, Daddy, bite me!”

Hannibal, awash with the sweet satisfaction of having gotten everything he wanted, and the alluring promise of giving his naughty, naughty boy just what he deserved, leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to Will’s neck, and then, with his heart full of happiness, whispered: 

“No.”

.End.

Chapter Text

A Suitable Education

by stagethree

.

Epilogue

Hannibal checked his wristwatch. Five minutes to seven. He’d never had to enforce a curfew because Will had yet to break one. There had been one or two close calls, especially in the last few months, but this was the closest he’d come. 

The second hand passed twelve. Four minutes to seven. 

Suddenly impatient, Hannibal got to his feet, dropped his napkin onto the dinner table, and picked up his glass of wine. He raised it to his nose to take a calming whiff, but the sound of laughter from outside had him setting it down on the table again. Will’s laughter sparkled, even through the heavy wood of their front door, and Hannibal’s teeth clenched in irritation. He looked at his watch. 

Three minutes. 

The front door pushed open, and Will tumbled in, eyes crinkled, mirth still bubbling from his lips, spread wide in a smile. He turned around to face outside, leaning in the doorframe and waving out into the evening. “Text me!” he called, and then stepped backward into the house. He shut the door, still waving, still laughing.

“Cutting it rather fine, aren’t you?” Hannibal asked. 

Will turned around and launched himself at Hannibal, slinging his arms around his neck in a hug. His breath smelled clean, like mint, not obscuring any alcohol or smoke, aware that Hannibal would not forgive substance use he had not facilitated himself. “Daddy!” he said, nuzzling into Hannibal’s neck and then dropping a kiss with cold lips against it before pulling away to take off his coat. “It’s freezing out. We left in good time, but Matty got stuck in a snow-bank. But I’m on time!”

True, though only barely. “By ‘Matty’ you mean Matthew Brown?” Not the first time he’d heard reference to him--of late, his name had come up more and more frequently in their conversations. Always idle mentions, never anything pointed. But that he should come up at all made him far too salient a part of Will’s life. “You told me you were going to Beverly Katz’s house.” 

Will hung up his jacket beside his father’s inside the coat closet, then toed off his shoes as he spoke. “Yeah, I did. She had a few other people over. Brian and Zee, and Matty, and this new girl Abigail.”

Hannibal reached out to smooth one of Will’s curls into place, cradling his cheek in his palm. Will’s blue eyes twinkled up at him, trusting, unperturbed. “I rather thought you’d avoid Matthew Brown, after everything he put you through.”

“We were just kids,” Will mumbled, turning his face into Hannibal’s hand, his cold nose pressing in for warmth. 

Two years’ difference. Hannibal let the subject go for now. “Did you eat?”

“Mmhmm,” Will answered, lashes fluttering as he opened his eyes. “But I always have room for your cooking, Daddy.”

Hannibal graced him with a smile and led the way into the dining room. He settled into his own seat, and Will dropped into place between his legs, leaning against the inside of his thigh. A habit they’d maintained through their days of mourning, though not for every meal, of course. It pleased him when Will took his place this way, without reserve and with open excitement. That he still relished in their closeness, despite having entered his contrarian years. 

Will breathed in deep and exhaled, his breath hot against Hannibal’s skin as it wafted in through the winter wool of his trousers. “Smells good,” he said, opening his mouth in expectation. 

He meant the food, of course, but Hannibal looked down at him, cheeks red still from the cold, plush pink lips parted to reveal a tantalizing view of his dexterous little tongue… the expectation in his face. He could hardly be blamed for interpreting his words in reference to something else. Will’s brows rose, though he stayed otherwise still, when Hannibal opened his fly and pulled his cock out to brush against those inviting lips before him. 

“Not the meal you had in mind, perhaps?” he asked, rubbing against Will’s lips, delighting in his humid breath.

“I love anything you feed me,” Will answered, his own voice pitched lower, his lashes drooping slightly. A seductive look. An expression he’d worn instinctively during his heats, but which he’d only recently begun to show outside of them.

Hannibal chuckled. He fed Will his cock, rubbed his thumb over his cheekbone, over the divot at the joint of his jaw, and then began his own dinner, pleasantly surrounded by his son’s warm, wet mouth. 

It wasn’t until later that evening that he raised the subject of Matthew again. “You asked for a return text,” he observed. 

Will, leaning into his father’s side on their bed, glanced up from the glowing light of his cellphone screen, and gave him a quick smile. “He said he got home alright. The roads were pretty bad.”

“Are you planning to make Matthew Brown a fixture in your life, Will?”

Beside him, his son grew still. His thumb toggled the power button, shutting his screen off, and he studied Hannibal’s face for a moment before reaching up to remove his reading glasses and pull the book from his hands. “Daddy.”

Hannibal reached for him in turn, pulling him onto his lap. He hadn’t grown much more, after all. Still slender, easy to pick up and move into the correct position. Now, he had Will straddle his lap, his weight settled atop Hannibal’s thighs. “Are you?”

“You said I’d get to choose an Alpha someday.” His slim-fingered hands wrapped over the nape of Hannibal’s neck and tangled into the short strands of his hair. 

Hannibal’s moved too, kneading at Will’s hips, nudging him closer, so that their chests touched, so that they sat cheek to cheek rather than facing one another. “An Alpha you love, one you trust.” Only for them. And for me. The words of the little mantra they’d rehearsed together throughout his childhood. “Matthew can hardly have earned your trust, let alone your love.”

Will’s chuckle vibrated against Hannibal’s chest, and he pressed soft kisses over his father’s scent glands, the slight pressure encouraging the production of the pheromones he relied on so frequently to calm him. In his last heat cycle, when he’d begged Hannibal for a bite and been denied yet again, he’d sunk his teeth into Hannibal’s neck instead. It had taken a month for the bite to heal, but no scar remained. An Omega’s bite meant nothing. “He hasn’t,” he said. And then, in a whisper, added, “not yet, anyway.”

His hands, still massaging at Will’s hips, stilled. 

Something violent clutched at his heart. The desire to pluck Matthew Brown’s eyes from his skull, to tear each finger from his hand, for having the audacity to covet his boy. And for Will… the desire to do much, much worse. For flaunting himself, when he ought to know by now who he belonged to.

Hannibal might make a habit of delaying action when it came to murder, as it decreased the risk of discovery; but when it came to matters such as these, immediate redress seemed imperative. 

“Darling,” Hannibal murmured, sliding his hand up Will’s back, “I have something I want to give you.”

Will pulled back, looking him in the eyes, a surprised but eager smile on his face. “A gift?”

“Of sorts,” Hannibal said. “Can you sit here, be a good boy, and keep your eyes closed for me?”

Will nodded, and obeyed with a charming lack of guile. Hannibal slid off the bed and opened his nightstand drawer. From within, he drew a small black pill box, not quite hidden but obscured by the few handkerchiefs he kept in the drawer. He pulled a round, green pill from inside, and settled it on his tongue. The box went back into the drawer, and his glass of water to his lips. 

He touched his finger to Will’s, and while his eyes remained closed, their corners crinkled in humor as he opened his mouth. No doubt expecting something familiar--they’d played a game blindfolded before, where Hannibal pressed the penis gag--no longer a training rod, for Will had grown used to having a formidably large cock by now--in his mouth, and kept him wanting for hours. But now, instead of filling Will’s mouth with silicone, he pressed their lips together, and fed him a mouthful of water and that round, green pill. 

Will sputtered, swallowed, and sputtered some more. He reached, eyes still closed like the good boy he could sometimes be, for the glass of water on the nightstand, and took another drink. The medicine must have lodged in his throat. He could have coughed it up, but he knew better than that, didn’t he?

“What was that?” Will asked, breathless, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“A gift,” Hannibal murmured. He stroked the side of Will’s neck, and his son shuddered under the caress. 

Will’s eyes drifted open, confused. “Daddy--”

“Shh,” Hannibal murmured, thumb and forefinger digging into the pressure spots on Will’s nape that made him go lax as a newborn kitten in his hold. He picked up Will’s phone, unlocked the screen, and opened his text messages. 

Matthew Brown. 

The conversation was what Will had described--innocent enough. Logistical details. A notice of safe return home. He scrolled up. Harmless gossip about Brian and Zee, Beverly Katz’s beta friends. He scrolled up, up, up. And then his thumb stopped. An image. Matthew Brown, from the nose down, naked in front of a mirror, rigid prick in his hand. 

Never mind the withholding-- the flagrant flirtation in Will’s response made Hannibal see red. You always give me something to look forward to, Matty.

He sucked a breath in between his teeth, and tapped at the bottom of the screen, pulling up the keyboard. Dad’s inviting you over for brunch tomorrow, he wrote. Wants to meet you. Will you come?

An affirmative came in seconds later. Hannibal sent a time, instructed him to park in the garage, and tossed the phone away from the bed. When he released Will’s neck at last, Will fell forward, limp as a ragdoll. Two bright red spots colored his neck--they’d surely bruise, after Hannibal’s vice-like hold on him. He didn’t mind the prospect in the least. It had been too long since he’d covered Will in his marks, constellations in bruises all over his skin. 

“Daddy,” Will groaned, eyes hazy as he raised his head. He’d not induced a heat since the day they killed Alana; he must have forgotten the feeling. An accelerated heat cycle came quickly and hit hard, bypassing the preheat stage and sinking the omega deep into the heat mentality. Knot-hungry animals, desperate for their Alpha.

“Not feeling so well, are you, darling?” Hannibal tutted, petting over Will’s curls, smoothing them away from his brow. “Don’t worry, sweet boy, your father knows just what you need.”

“What I need…?”

He toppled Will over, flipping them so that he lay atop his son, crushing him into the mattress. Will made a strangled sound of pleasure; he loved the pressure of his father’s body over his own, the way he could see and smell nothing but his father. Hannibal nuzzled into Will’s neck, nipping at the skin over his scent glands, encouraging Will to fall deeper under the spell of his rapidly growing heat. 

“Daddy,” Will moaned, his hands settling on Hannibal’s back, rucking up the fabric of his shirt, trying to find skin. “I think-- it’s so hot, I--”

That was all Hannibal needed. He rose up on his knees, and with firm hands pulled Will’s clothing from him. His soft winter flannel shirt, the under-shirt below it. His jeans, the same ones he’d worn two years before and never outgrown… then he reached the silk panties, smooth but for where they covered the cage that held Will’s little cock, already damp with slick. 

He breathed in deep, the sugar-sweet scent of his son’s slick possessing his senses. Hannibal sighed his contentment. 

He scooped Will up from the bed then, taking him, along with a pillow and their bedspread, over to the master bathroom. The comforter and pillow he dropped on the ground, laid Will down atop them, and then promptly stood and made for the door. He’d locked it from the outside before Will even realized that he’d been left alone.

The howling roar of his anger from inside the bathroom gave Hannibal a sinister glee. He leaned against the door, lowered his sleeping pants to mid-thigh, and then grasped his erection in hand. Will’s heat would worsen, and he had nothing to comfort him in the bathroom. He’d be a mess, beyond desperate, by the time Hannibal let him out. 

As for him…

He had no need to wait for gratification. He tightened his fingers, fucked into their hold, his hips snapping forward as viciously as he would have fucked Will. He found his end without much effort, and though it gratified, it fell short of satisfaction. How could he, without Will in his arms, without Will spurring him forward, without Will taking everything he had to give?

He slept like a baby that night, to the sussurant echoes of Will’s sniffling cries, muffled by the heavy bathroom door. 

When he woke, with the sun as usual, he did not go directly to Will’s side, either to check in on him, or to let him out. He instead headed for the kitchen, where he started the coffee, prepared the mise en place for the pancakes, bacon, fruit salad and fresh orange juice he’d be making shortly. Then he went back upstairs to his son’s bathroom for his shower. He’d have to forgo a shave this morning, but Will liked the subtle chafe of his stubble on his inner thighs, against his belly, against his neck. 

He returned to his bedroom to dress, and did this with extra care, too.  A crisp, white button-down shirt. Dark slacks, well-fitted as usual, but with a particularly expensive-looking sheen to their soft wool. He stopped by the master bathroom door after folding up his sleeves, to press his ear against the wood and listen for his son. Heavy, whining breaths. An occasional sound like the start of a word, either Alpha or Daddy, producing in desperate, pleading tones. 

A smile, and he returned to the kitchen. He set the table, taking Matthew’s glass into the kitchen where he applied a clear, transparent liquid from the secret cabinet in the pantry to its lip. It went back on the table, and then he prepared the juice and fruit salad, soft-boiled a batch of eggs, fried up the bacon, made the pancakes. 

As with the night before, Matthew Brown arrived just on time. Hannibal heard the beep on his phone that alerted him to the opening of the garage door, set down his work, and made his way to greet his guest. 

Matthew, for his part, had made some effort with his appearance. A sweater over a collared shirt, a pair of dark wash jeans. Dress shoes, rather than sneakers. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Lecter,” he said, eyes looking everywhere but at Hannibal, hands digging into his pockets.

“Doctor,” Hannibal corrected. “Come in, come in. Will’s a bit behind getting ready, but brunch is just about done.”

“Great.” Matthew followed close behind him, head turning this way and that, taking everything in. “It smells delicious.”

“Thank you. Have a seat here,” Hannibal said, indicating the guest chair. He watched as Matthew noticed there were only two place settings on the table, watched as Matthew sat down where instructed without questioning. “I’ll be just a moment. Coffee?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Hannibal set everything on his cart and brought it all in together. He poured the coffee first, and then the orange juice. He set the carafes on the table, then the platters of food, before settling himself at the head of the table in his usual seat. “I squeezed the oranges fresh this morning. Do try it and tell me if it needs more sugar. Will, as you may know, has a sweet tooth, and is no judge at all.”

Obediently, Matthew took a sip of the orange juice. “It’s good,” he said, and then his brows furrowed. He took another sip. “It’s good, but it’s got a weird aftertaste.”

“Hmm,” Hannibal said, noting the time as he took a sip of his own. Ten minutes, now. “I don’t taste anything odd. Did you have a mint recently? That can alter the taste sensation.”

Matthew looked unconvinced, but he agreed. “That must be it. You said Will’s getting ready? I, uh-- I don’t hear anything.”

“We have excellent sound-proofing,” Hannibal answered with a stiff smile. While usually he would cater to his guests, he rather liked keeping Matthew in his place, forcing him to follow suit rather than lead the way. He plated the fruit salad for himself first, and then offered the serving utensils to Matthew to take. “I was surprised to hear how close you and Will have gotten recently.”

Matthew, looking up from the pancakes he was currently drowning in syrup, nodded. “Yeah, I was too. Once he started homeschooling, we never got to hang out again, you know? But the last couple of months… he’s sweet. It’s nice spending time together again.”

You always give me something to look forward to, Hannibal remembered, jaw flexing. 

“You’ll think me frightfully old-fashioned,” he said as he set his fork and knife down. “Will is… a special boy. He can be quite the little minx at times, and his appearance of sweetness is often all he needs to wrap people around his finger. He’s my only child, and we are each all the other has left in the world.”

“You want to know what my intentions are?” Matthew asked, his lips quaking, losing the fight to hide his smile. “That’s really sweet, Dr. L.”

Hannibal blinked.

“We’re just getting to know each other,” Matthew went on. He took a bite of his pancake, chewed, and then, still chewing, added, “but, you know, you don’t meet Omegas like him every day.”

Omegas like him. He picked his fork and knife back up, and cut a small morsel of bacon to chew and swallow before replying. “Of course you’re young, still,” he said. “Not planning on choosing a mate any time soon?”

Matthew laughed, and then winced, shaking his head minutely. “That’s right. “He doesn’t seem ready to settle down either, you know? A real daddy’s boy,” he said, and reached up to rub his eyes. “Is he not going to eat with us?”

Hannibal glanced at his watch again. “I do beg your pardon. Will is unpardonably late. Let me go upstairs and fetch him. Please, keep eating. I’ll be back shortly.”

He left the sounds of Matthew’s laborious chewing behind. One step into the bedroom and he could hear Will, crying, moaning to be let out, clawing at the back of the door. When Hannibal stepped into the room, the scratching stopped, and Will’s moans took on a different timbre. He smelled his father’s approach, and leaving stopped mattering, as long as he could get what he needed. 

Darling boy. 

Inside the top drawer of his dresser, Hannibal kept an assortment of little gifts selected with Will in mind. He’d selected this particular one not long after Will had bitten him-- a thin, buttery leather collar in black. It had a single diamond stud at the center of the strap, and inside on the back, on either side of the white gold clasp, two pointed knobs that would apply pressure where Hannibal’s fingers had bruised Will’s neck the night before. 

He pulled it from the drawer before finally calling his son’s name. “Will,” he said, and then unlocked the bathroom door. When he opened it, he found Will crumpled up atop the comforter, pillow between his thighs, hips jerking uselessly to rub his wet, reddened groin against it. Slick soaked the cover through, his legs shone with it, the skin halfway up his back and up his belly did too. 

“There now, darling.” Hannibal squatted before his son, who scrambled over, hands reaching, whining cries tumbling from his lips. He met no struggle, no resistance, when he secured the collar around the slender column of Will’s neck, and with the added pressure of the knobs interior to the collar, Will became even softer, movable and compliant, a manner he only ever seemed to adopt with the intent to deceive. 

Hannibal combed his fingers through Will’s hair, smoothing the sweaty curls, fixing them into some semblance of order, enjoying the moment’s closeness as Will rested his head against Hannibal’s chest. 

A glance at his watch. Very nearly time. “Let’s go downstairs, shall we?” He stood, picking Will up into his arms, and paused by the door to swaddle him in the terry bathrobe that hung behind the door. One he’d purchased for Will after he’d moved into the master bedroom, but which never saw any use. Will preferred to flaunt his nudity. Thankfully, not to the extent that he’d sent pictures of himself in reply to Matthew’s disgusting mirror shot. If he’d gone that far, Hannibal might well have had him for breakfast. 

When they arrived in the dining room, it was to a charming mess. Matthew’s fork, loaded with a syrup-covered bite of pancake, lay on the floor. His glass of orange juice had toppled over on the tabletop, and his hand lay half beside his plate, half atop it. He blinked widened, terrified eyes up at Hannibal, but was unable to make a sound, even if his breathing grew faster at the sight of Will, coddled up to Hannibal’s chest. 

He’d had to estimate the dosage, but Matthew seemed deeply under its effects. Unable to move, but for his eyelids, and that power would soon disappear too.

“Breakfast, my love,” Hannibal said, setting Will down beside the far end of the table. Will trailed mindlessly after him, dropping to the floor in his usual position, as though he hadn’t noted Matthew’s presence at all. For his part, Mr. Brown seemed riveted on Will--on his face, with its heightened color, glassy eyes--and his breaths came deep, slow, having registered his scent. 

“Open up, darling,” Hannibal murmured, pressing down on Will’s chin, then diving his index and middle fingers inside, stroking at Will’s sweet tongue. Will suckled happily on his fingers for a moment before Hannibal took his hand back, and presented him with a slice of the soft-boiled eggs he’d prepared. 

Matthew stared as Will took the morsel between his dainty, lying lips, and chewed, before nuzzling closer to Hanniabl’s inner thigh and opening his mouth again, this time to nibble along the inseam of his trousers. Hannibal busied himself with his breakfast while Will did as he loved to do--unzipped him and pulled out his cock, filling his mouth with it, taking deep, measured breaths. Hannibal didn’t intend to waste much time this way-- a few bites for fuel, for the farce of showing Will on his knees, a mindless, knot-hungry little demon, so wholly consumed by his lust for his father that he didn’t even acknowledge the presence of this other Alpha. 

This interloper, this usurper, who dared to think he could take Will from him. 

So he ate a few bites, took a sip from his coffee, and then tipped Will’s chin up to encourage eye contact. “I’ve kept you waiting, haven’t I, darling?” Will swallowed around him, blinking twice, the closest he could get to an affirmative. “And you’ve waited like a good boy, haven’t you. It’s time for your reward. Up on the end of the table, now, sweet boy.”

Will slithered backward, Hannibal’s cock dropping from his mouth and then bouncing up again to slap him lightly in the face. He made a disgruntled sound, and with syrupy slow movements, crawled across the room to the other side of the table before using the lip to hoist himself off the ground. He draped his body over the surface, legs wide, slick pouring forth from within him, and made another plaintive, keening sound. 

A moment to wipe his lips, drop his napkin beside his plate, before he made his way to stand behind his son. He took himself in hand, idly slapping his cock against Will’s twitching, wet hole, and then glanced up to Mr. Brown. He couldn’t turn his head, of course, but his eyes were fixed on Will, his pupils dilated until they were almost black. Pathetic child. 

“Daddy,” Will sighed, palms flat on the wood, fingers spread wide. “Daddy, please, please Alpha.”

Hannibal chuckled. The familiar chant of Will’s heats, no less sweet for its lack of novelty. Will often surprised him, outside of his heats, but when he fell into the rhythms of his baser nature this way, he lost the sharp edge that Hannibal so admired in him. This version of Will had its own appeal, of course; the contrast between softness and viciousness… both sides charmed, and the contrast delighted. 

He much preferred fucking his son, though, when he was in control of his own mind. When he had teeth of his own. 

With a grunt, he pressed home into Will’s tight, hot cunt. Will sighed his contentment, wiggling backward until his father sac pressed tight to his bottom. “A good boy,” Hannibal murmured, “wouldn’t encourage other Alphas to sniff around him the way you have, Will.”

He set a brisk pace, the plates and glasses on the table clattering with each forward thrust of his hips, and Will, beneath him, took his affections with enthusiasm. But then, he turned his cheek to look up at his father, eyes clouded over with lust, but shimmering with an awareness that only appeared during his induced heats. That awareness sparkled with humor as he said, “Nobody except you, Alpha?”

“That’s right,” Hannibal agreed, wrapping his fingers around Will’s hips, protecting the points of his hipbones from bumping against the table. He leaned forward, covering his son, the silky material of his button-down roughing against Will’s soft skin. 

Will’s hitching breathed echoed deliciously in his ear, as leaned in and nuzzled gently at the bit of exposed skin at Will’s nape, redolent with the scent of his pheromones, protected by the presence of the smooth leather collar. Will’s hand came up then and tangled into Hannibal’s hair, pressing him close. The facets of the diamond stud pressed against Hannibal’s cheek as he luxuriated in the clutch of his fingers, the clutch of his body. 

Hannibal buried his nose in Will’s curls, hips snapping, tension rising, feeling the beginnings of his knot forming and not battling the urge down. Matthew Brown needed to know that Will belonged to nobody but Hannibal Lecter, before Hannibal killed him for having dared to presume otherwise. The paralytics would last a good while, yet-- long enough to knot Will, clean him up, and then attend to more pressing business in the basement.

Will’s hand released Hannibal’s hair to smack the table, and Hannibal dimly registered, past the blood rushing in his own ears, past the scent of Will that consumed him, the sound of metal thunking on wood. But he couldn’t process the noise when Will’s fingers resumed their grip, a low, wanton moan ripping from his throat, his back arching, bare neck pressing against Hannibal’s lips. 

“So unbearably sweet,” Hannibal said, the words gravelled from the effort in his voice, “even when you’re unbearably naughty.”

“It’s because--” Will said, breath hitching again, hips canting just so, so that the subtle swell of Hannibal’s knot caught and dragged against the rim of cunt, “it’s because you’re in rut, Alpha.”

An absurd notion, of course. Absurd enough that Hannibal readily forgot it, too focused on the tightening in his gut, the throbbing heat in his cock, the flavor of Will’s skin under his gnawing teeth. 

“Don’t take challenges well,” Will gasped, wriggling in Hannibal’s hold, clamping tight around him as Hannibal plunged against his prostate. “Sets off-- sets off a chain of--”

But he too seemed unable to produce words any longer. The sounds of his sweet, lilting voice deepened, into the grunts and moans of pleasure. His grip in Hannibal’s hair grew tight enough that the strands felt they might rip from the skin, as he mashed Hannibal’s face into the tender scent gland at his neck. 

Hannibal heard it, vaguely. The sounds of Will’s purring, the echo in his own chest, a deep, resonant rumble. He couldn’t focus on it, though, with the way Will had begun to spasm around him, the way his skin tasted on Hannibal’s tongue.

“There--” Will managed, as Hannibal’s canines scraped tight against his neck.

Hannibal had no intention to bite. Delaying the bite was always a punishment for withholding, and Will, the darling little liar, seemed incapable of straight-fowardness, of honesty. 

He had no intention of biting at all. 

And yet, he taunted himself, jaws wide, nibbling gently where he would place the bite, someday.

And then, Will reared backward, fingers from both hands gripping his hair, vicelike--Hannibal blinked, and on the table, saw the collar that Will had removed and dropped atop the wood. 

And then, the rich, metal-sweet taste of blood--

And his vision whiting out, as he came, came, came harder than he ever had in his life, and--

“There,” Will said. 

Hannibal’s vision returned, slow, his rut receding, and the pieces began to fall together. 

“There, Daddy,” Will said, laughter shimmering in his breathless voice, fingertips trailing to the spot on his neck where Hannibal’s teeth had sunk in deep, where blood trailed, thick and slow, to his shoulder. Where he’d left a mark, where his claim would remain. “That’s what you get for withholding.”