Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Turn around,” he says. Throat still aching and raw, limbs shaking if he holds a position for too long but the ache is delicious. In its own particular way. 

“Insatiable, Will?” Hannibal grunts, rolling onto his back and he looks fucked. Properly and thoroughly fucked. 

Hair mussed, sweat soaked and stained, skin glistening and flushed, he’s the very epitome of temptation in that moment. Running a hand up his front, he grabs his face and presses a kiss. When he gets out of the bed, Hannibal doesn’t stop him but their fingers entangle and for a brief moment, it feels like he wants to. 

Will leaves him without a second look. The crickets in the night fills the expanding silence. The fan in the room doesn’t work, he'd promised he’d fix it yesterday but he forgot and now they’re drenching the mattress with sweat. When he comes back, Hannibal’s still spreadeagled in the centre. 

“Too much?” Will asks, letting a smirk split his mouth when really, he’s thoroughly tempted. He would if he could but ageing becomes a factor the older he gets. He’s still hungry even if he’s full, it’s an odd feeling and he goes to Hannibal like he’s got a different stomach designated for dessert. 

He’s welcomed back with an ardent smile, a chaste kiss that quickly turns into a deep lustful one as he inches his hand downwards and when Hannibal gasps, Will swallows it. “Just wanna clean you up,” he assures. 

Warm towel dipped between strong thighs, he brushes a thumb along the path, leaving a new mark after erasing the old one. When he reaches the end, trembling hands take his face in a cradle and he feels a sigh to his closed mouth. Hannibal tilts his head up, arching his neck with eyes shut and Will breathes him in. The whole of him; sweat, sex and him. 

He tucks his nose under a sharp jaw, feels stubble prickle at his skin and sighs out his breath. “Did I hurt you?” He rasps, because for a moment then, he’d thought he did. He’s not the type to be rough with a lover but Hannibal has always brought out the worst in him. As much as he’d like to think it’s the best. 

Before he gets an answer he says, “Let me check.” The strange pinch to Hannibal’s face worries him and he shuffles downwards until he’s kneeling between his legs. He removes the towel, shifts a limb to bend over and tries his best to study the damage he’s done in the darkness. 

When the light comes on, he looks up to see Hannibal watching him intently and mumbles his thanks. He presses a hand on one swell of flesh and parts them to see. “No blood, no tear,” he notes. The trail if his spend however…. 

“Nothing to worry then,” Hannibal says, a small smile to his face and Will nods, distracted. He brings the towel to wipe the worst of the mess, but not all. The trickle of cream against raw pink skin is dizzying. Nosing at the side of a bony knee, he presses a kiss up the thigh and chucks the used rag onto the floor.  

When he gets back up, Hannibal kisses him. Almost as if he’s chasing for something which he finds in the back of Will’s tongue and the satisfaction that follows quenches his thirst and he softens in his advance. Will lets him have his fill, scrape his nails through the field of chest hair and over the nipples as he settles half on top of him and half on bed. 

“Tomorrow,” he says, running his fingers through damp unruly hair. Hannibal’s harrumph makes him chuckle and he plants another kiss to his reddened lips. “First thing in the morning, I swear.” 

“It’s been three days since the fan functioned, Will. You’re neither letting me replace it nor install an air conditioner in exchange.” 

“Maybe I like you hot. Maybe I like you sweaty, have you thought about that?” Will smirks. He can feel his own back drenched in sweat. The look that Hannibal gives him is deadpan. “Shut up,” he laughs. “I forgot.” 

“Does that mean you’d allow me to install an air conditioner?” 

“Tomorrow,” Will yawns, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and he thinks about resting his head there but the heat is unbearably heady. So he rolls onto his back and tries not to touch so much but not to pull away altogether. The Cuban summer is unforgiving. Humid in its temper even when the sun has gone down. 

When he looks over, Hannibal’s turned away. Eyes fixed on the open window, gaze faraway and Will reaches a hand to touch his face. At the contact, Hannibal closes his eyes. Will lets his knuckle trace absent patterns, going where they want, taking in all the wrinkles on his skin and the overgrown hair and he longs for him even when they’re attached to their hips. 

The gust of wind that pours in from the outside is warm but Hannibal shivers. Will recalls the blanket he’d just put in the washer and calls for him. “Come here.” Tender in his command, he throws an arm over the man and pulls him closer when he drapes himself over Will. He tucks his head under his chin and sure, the heat is terrible but the comfort that Hannibal’s weight atop of him brings in is undefeatable. 

“I promise,” he buries his fingers in a swathe of hair and sighs. “If I’m not done by noon, you can call someone to install that aircond.” 

The grin he feels against his neck makes him flush. A “Goodnight, Will,” whispered into the night lulls him to sleep.