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Title: Receptacle
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: NC-17
Table: writers_choice
Prompt: #155, Naked
Author's Note: Sequel to "Tendrils of Seduction."
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. soar


No more waiting. He couldn't hold back any longer.

Will's fingers tore at the buttons on the front of his shirt, impatient to have it off. He didn't care if he ripped the fabric, didn't care if buttons scattered over the floor. He just wanted to be skin to skin with Hannibal, no physical barriers between them.

He had to get out of his clothes. It didn't matter if he ripped them off his body; he might not have any other clothes here, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment. All he wanted was to be naked with Hannibal, to offer the other man his body.

They weren't strangers now; they were lovers who knew each other's bodies intimately. The feeling of being separated from Hannibal had washed away as though it had never been, drowned by a tide of desire so strong that he could almost taste it.

He'd never felt this way about anyone else. He'd never wanted to. Hannibal was the only person who could make his body and soul burn like this.

He never wanted anyone else. He only wanted this man, now and forever. He wanted Hannibal's hands and lips all over him, touching him in every possible way; he wanted Hannibal inside him, thrusting into him, joining their bodies in the primal act of consummation.

Will barely noticed that Hannibal was removing his clothes as well.

It took him longer than he had thought it would to get his shirt off; fortunately, he managed to do so without ripping it from his body, even though some of the buttons were casualties of his frenzied tugging. Within moments, his jeans were on the floor.

Naked, he finally looked to where Hannibal stood; the other man had his arms folded across his chest, a small smile on his face as he watched Will. He had apparently been able to get out of his clothes quickly and quietly, barely making a sound.

Hannibal's apparent calm brought a blush to Will's cheeks; had he looked completely crazy struggling out of his clothes? Did he seem far too eager?

It didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was having those hands that he hungered for touching his body, having that mouth on his. The only thing that mattered was being naked in Hannibal's arms, feeling the warmth of his lover's skin against his own.

Within the blink of an eye, Hannibal was in front of him, pulling Will into his arms. The suddenness of their contact brought a gasp to his lips; he could have sworn that Hannibal moved with the stealth of a jungle cat, that he crossed the space between them in a flash.

Hannibal's hands moved down his back to cup his ass, pulling him close. Will moaned as his erection rubbed against Hannibal's; he couldn't stop himself from thrusting his hips against his lover's body, craving the friction between them.

Then Hannibal was pushing him away, his hands on Will's shoulders.

"None of that, Will," he murmured, his tone slightly vexed. "If you do that again, then I'll have to restrain you." A smile tugged the corners of his lips upwards; he raised a brow, regarding Will with a heated gaze. "Though that might not be such a bad idea."

"No," Will whispered, surprised to realize that he was trembling with the force of his desire. "No, please. I want to be able to touch you."

Hannibal frowned, a sure sign that Will's words had displeased him. Immediately, Will wished that he could take them back, but that was impossible; the words had already been said, and he had to deal with the consequences of speaking too quickly.

"Turn around and lean over the desk," Hannibal told him, and Will could feel his heart sinking. He hated to be facing away from Hannibal whenever they had sex; it made him feel as though he was being used, as though the two of them were sharing nothing.

When Hannibal didn't face him, he felt as if he was nothing more than a receptacle. And really, that was what Hannibal turned him into at those times; he was just using Will for his own pleasure, not caring what Will might be feeling.

Or maybe he did care, but just couldn't show it.

Will didn't know what Hannibal was feeling at the moment; all he knew was that he had fucked up and made a mistake that was going to make this encounter one to be gotten through, not one to revel in the pleasure of. And it was his own fault.

But at least he was getting what he wanted; he was naked with Hannibal, and their bodies would be joining. If he could simply concentrate on that, then he'd be okay. He didn't have to make some kind of connection with Hannibal every time they got intimate.

Will turned around and prepared to stretch out over the desk -- when he was pushed down, hitting the polished wood with a whoosh of breath from his lungs. He wanted to cry out, wanted to protest, but he couldn't suck in enough air to make a sound.

Hannibal's fingers were spreading him, opening him roughly; he hoped that his lover would make use of the lube he knew Hannibal always kept handy, or this wouldn't be pleasant.

He sighed with relief when one, then two, fingers entered him; they were slick with lube, so Hannibal had apparently decided not to punish him too much. His muscles tightened when those fingers slid deeply into him, then scissored, opening him further.

This was apparently going to be quick and dirty.

All right, then. He could take that; there were times when he even liked it. He had wanted more than that from Hannibal tonight, but if that was all his lover was wiling to give him, then he would take what he could get, and hope for more warmth at a later date.

What was he thinking? He didn't want warmth; he wasn't looking for affection at the moment. He just wanted Hannibal, in any way he could have the other man. If this was the only way Hannibal wanted to take him tonight, then he would revel in it.

It only took a few moments for Hannibal to stretch and prepare him; Will gasped when he felt the engorged head of Hannibal's cock press against his entrance, then slide inside him, filling him; Hannibal's hands moved up his sides, then back down to his hips.

Will concentrated on tightening his muscles around Hannibal's cock; he knew that added to his lover's pleasure, as well as to his own.

How many little tricks like that had he learned since they had become lovers? Hannibal hadn't exactly been a teacher; he'd discovered those small things on his own, and shamelessly used them to make sure that Hannibal took pleasure in their couplings.

He'd do anything he had to do, as long as Hannibal kept coming back.

He was close now; each thrust moved him further towards completion, closer to that ecstasy he knew was waiting. He wanted to grind his hips against the desk, but Hannibal was holding him back as he thrust ever more deeply, keeping Will from finding the friction he needed.

Will gasped, clawing at the edge of the desk, wishing that he could thrust his hips against something. But he was held there as Hannibal pounded into him, bent over, legs spread, unable to do anything but take what Hannibal was giving him.

They were strangers again. The words went through his mind like a shot, a bullet of thought that crashed into his skull and left him reeling.

Hannibal wasn't loving him. Not at all. This man was taking him, coldly and impersonally, without a care for his pleasure. All Hannibal was doing at this point was satisfying himself -- and even though he knew he shouldn't, Will was aroused by that fact.

He didn't want to like being used as nothing more than a receptacle, but in a way, it aroused him unbearably. It was turning him on to know that Hannibal would simply fuck him and then probably tell him to leave. It was .... dirty. And, in a way, hot.

No. This wasn't what he wanted. Not at all.

But it was all he would get, and he knew it. He would have nothing more tonight than being sprawled naked over Hannibal's desk, used like a whore, and then told to get out. In a way, it fit what he was, didn't it? Will asked himself.

He was Hannibal's whore. He'd known it from the beginning, known that there would never be any real caring, any real emotion between them unless Hannibal would let down those walls he always kept wrapped so tightly around himself.

Will had walls of his own, but his weren't as protective as Hannibal's were. And if he couldn't let his own walls down, then he couldn't expect it from Hannibal, either.

He cried out as he felt Hannibal's release inside him; his own followed just a few seconds later, myriad pinwheels of light spinning before his eyes. Will slumped against the desk as Hannibal pulled out of him, barely registering the other man's words.

"I think it's time for you to leave for the evening, Will." They were the words that he had expected Hannibal to say, the words that he'd known were inevitable. There was no use arguing; when Hannibal made up his mind about something, it wasn't going to change.

He nodded, not turning around as he listened to Hannibal gathering his clothes.

When he knew that Hannibal was gone, he slowly turned around, bending over to pick up his own clothes and slowly put them on before he headed for the door.

Will didn't even look up at the stairs as he let himself out of the house, walking slowly to his car with dragging feet. He didn't know that he was being watched from a second-floor window, Hannibal's gaze following the tail lights of the car long after it was out of sight.