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Title: Walk the Knife
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Will closed his eyes, clutching the edge of the counter and holding his breath. Only a few more seconds now; then he would finally have what he'd wanted for so long, what he'd dreamed about and taunted himself with for what felt like a lifetime.
"Are you ready?" Hannibal whispered into his ear, his warm breath tickling the short hairs on the back of Will's neck, his hands resting on Will's hips.
Will could only nod, swallowing hard, not sure if he was ready or not.
Then a searing pain tore through him, taking his breath away, as though a fire had scorched his lungs and left him unable to breathe for a few moments. Will gasped, trying to force himself to relax, knowing that the pain would only be worse if he was tense.
He hadn't expected this kind of pain, hadn't expected it to be prolonged. He'd thought that it would only hurt for a few seconds, a moment in time, like a flash of quicksilver through his body. He hadn't expected the pain to linger, and then to grow worse with the second thrust.
Will gritted his teeth, holding onto the counter as though it was the only thing that kept him from crumpling to the ground. In truth, he thought it probably was.
Hannibal's hands were still on his hips, holding him steady as the other man thrust into him over and over again -- and after the first few moments, Will could feel himself opening, the pain turning into pleasure, a white-hot desire coursing through his veins.
Without realizing it, his hips were pushing back against Hannibal, silently asking for more.
One of Hannibal's hands moved up his body, to his chest, then to his throat -- to finally clamp over his mouth, as though Hannibal didn't want him to cry out. Will didn't struggle against him; he didn't have the strength for anything other than clutching the counter.
He was caught somewhere between pleasure and pain, each thrust seeming to knife through his body, every movement pushing him closer to release.
He felt as though he walked along the edge of a knife, balancing precariously between an exquisite pleasure and an excruciating pain, not sure which side he would eventually fall into. But whichever it was, he was willing to embrace either of them with equal fervor.
Hannibal's hand pressed firmly over his mouth as the other man thrust into him again -- and this time, Will couldn't hold back a scream. The hand muffled his cry, pressing over his mouth harder; it was obvious that Hannibal didn't want the sound to be heard.
Then the hand was gone from his mouth, moving down his side, and Hannibal's movements had stopped. He was as still as a statue, poised, waiting.
The only sound in the room was their harsh panting.
"Try to relax," Hannibal said softly, one hand stroking Will's side. "Let yourself melt into it, Will. Don't think. Just feel." With those words, he thrust forward again, slowly this time, as though he wanted Will to feel every movement as he was slowly filled.
This time, the thrust didn't hurt. There was only pure pleasure; the intensity of the pain that had gone before had given way to a bliss that seemed to permeate his very bones, to sink into him and envelop him from his head to his toes. It was heady, breathtaking.
He never wanted this to end; he wanted the two of them to stay locked in this primal embrace forever, for this pleasure to go on and on into infinity.
Of course, that couldn't happen, but he could always dream, couldn't he?
Nothing had ever felt this good, this right. He had been right to want this; for the first time in his life, he felt as though he was truly connected to another person, even though there were still walls between himself and Hannibal that hadn't been breached.
They were on their way to breaking down those walls; this was proof of it. Knowing and understanding the other man fully might take some time, but this proved to Will that he had made the right decision when he had taken that first step forward into Hannibal's world.
Another thrust, and Will gasped, feeling as though he was lifted into the clouds. His body was tightening in response; only a few moments more, and he would spiral downward from those dizzying heights into a pool of pleasure that it would be difficult to climb out of again.
He wanted this pleasure to last, to keep lifting hm higher, but it would inevitably end. That end was coming much faster than he wanted it to.
Another thrust, then another -- and his orgams broke over him in one crashing wave.
This time, he couldn't hold back his cry; it seemed to reverberate off the walls, to echo around them. And he could hear Hannibal's groan as the other man reached his climax at the same time, spilling into him, his arms locked around Will's waist.
He could feel Hannibal's breath warm against the back of his neck, feel his lover's spasms as the aftershocks of their orgasms slowly faded away. He felt boneless, watery; he was sure that if Hannibal wasn't holding him up, he would have slithered to the floor and sprawled there.
Will didn't want Hannibal to pull out of him; now that the pain was past, he felt comfortable with the other man being inside him, with their bodies being locked together. But he knew that withdrawal was inevitable as well; they couldn't stay like this forever.
He wondered how long he would walk the knife, poised on the edge of desire and all the while knowing that this had to come to an end.
Now that he'd discovered what being intimate with Hannibal was like, he wanted to hold on to this feeling as long as he could. He wanted to walk the knife for the rest of his days, to revel in the feeling of finally having connected with the person he'd hungered for.
He only hoped that Hannibal felt the same.
If he didn't, then this would only be a brief pleasure, one that he would have to savor every second of so that he would be able to look back on it for the rest of his life. He knew that once this ended, he would never be able to feel this way again with anyone else.
He couldn't hold back a sigh of regret as Hannibal slid out of him, the warmth of his body moving away. Will suddenly felt bereft, cold and exposed.
"Are you all right?" Hannibal asked, his voice soft. Suddenly he was behind Will again, that breath soft and warm on his skin yet again. "I didn't mean to be quite so .... rough." His voice sent a shiver down Will's spine; it was hard to believe that they'd been so intimate only moments before.
Will nodded, trying desperately to find his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm great," he added, turning his head to look at the other man. Hannibal's lips were curved in a strange little smile, as though he understood every thought that was going through Will's mind.
Maybe he did. Hannibal was the most intuitive person he'd ever known.
Silently, he let Hannibal pull his jeans back up; he fumbled with the button and zipper, feeling more than a little lost for words. He had no words; he felt empty of all thought, all capability of conversation.
He still desperately wanted to feel. The taste he'd had of Hannibal hadn't been enough; he needed more. He wasn't even sure if Hannibal realized that what they'd just done had been the first time he'd ever been intimate with a man; they'd never talked about that.
"That was only the first time, Will," Hannibal breathed into his ear, his hands stroking down Will's sides, making him shiver with pleasure. "There will be many, many more times in the future, if that' what you want. It's certainly what I want."
Will could only gulp and nod, unable to speak for a few moments.
"Yes," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. "I want." The knowledge that he would walk the knife again leaped within him, like a rush of adrenaline that he couldn't hold back.
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