Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Mr. Graham,” Hannibal says with a twinkle in his eye. “May I sit with you?”

Will tears his gaze from the mush on his plate—whatever sad cafeteria food they’re serving today—to look upon his student. The neat button-up shirt tucked into pressed slacks, the way his straight hair falls so boyishly into his face.

He seems so normal. Charming, even. You’d think he’d be a golden boy, but the staff are all aware of his history. Despite the lack of solid evidence against him, they keep their distance from him.

It’s a shame for Hannibal, who certainly prefers the company of his elders. At his previous school, he had the teachers beguiled, blinded by his charms while he carried out the violence he craves. Somewhere along the way, his mask slipped.

Hannibal has no interest in fraternizing with his peers. A particularly pushy boy who thought he could be an exception ended up learning the hard way—a stint which landed him in hospital. And again, the physical proof against Lecter was lacking, and the victim never pointed to him.

Whether from a fear of retaliation, or a misguided sense of loyalty, no one ever found out. But the smile which Hannibal gave would have chilled anyone to the core.

If they weren’t before, the teachers are all afraid of him now. All but one.

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead,” Will mutters.

“I hope this is not too forward of me, but,” Hannibal says, and reaches into his bag to pick out several glass containers of different sizes. “I cooked far too much for just one person. I was hoping we might share.”

Will stares at the elements of a homemade meal as they’re revealed to him, all the while Hannibal keeps his sight on Will.

The spread is too much for just one person. It is also composed of several dishes which Will has—fleetingly, in passing conversation—expressed a fondness for in the past.

Will doesn’t have to look into Hannibal’s searching eyes, to see, to know the obvious.

I made it all for you.

Entertaining this is a bad idea. Will sighs, drawing a hand down his stubbled face.

“Alright. We can do that,” he says.

—

Hannibal had always gotten along well with Mr. Graham. The teacher was a bit of a recluse, but a great educator with a powerful authority in the classroom. That—along with his devilishly good looks, even when he tries to hide them—has gotten him a number of lovesick stares sent his way. Still, his unapproachable aura triumphs.

Hannibal is the only student persistent enough to engage him in conversation. To drag things out of Will Graham, things which make him realize more and more—his teacher is the only one who could understand him.

The homemade lunch was a good idea.

They’ve only become closer since, and Hannibal thanks whatever god is out there that Mr. Graham accepted his offer. He’s been feeling more impulsive than usual lately—had Will rejected him, Hannibal is certain he would have done something they’d both regret.

Instead, every day without fail for two weeks now, they’ve shared the meals Hannibal has lovingly prepared for lunch.

It allows for more talk between them, and for Hannibal to introduce physical contact. Little things which may seem incidental, and others which cannot be mistaken in their purpose.

Though his soft, lingering touches have been met with stern looks from beneath the glass of those tortoise shell frames his teacher insists on wearing—Mr. Graham has never told him off.

Hannibal knows there is no fear of him from Will.

The subtle way he leans into Hannibal’s hands speaks so loudly.

—

It’s on Valentine’s Day that Hannibal first sees another approach the man he’s fixated on.

After the school day is over, he spies it through the crack of the door, the classroom is empty but for Mr. Graham and a girl whose name Hannibal doesn’t even know.

The winter twilight illuminates her profile with a glowing pink as she thrusts her hand out, a sickly perfumed card which Hannibal can smell from here shoved into Mr. Graham’s face.

She’s promptly—and mercilessly—rejected for her overture.

She isn’t a threat.

She isn’t.

But acid burns the back of his throat, and Hannibal can’t help himself.

—

He finds out her name once Cassie Boyle is declared missing.

—

“What meat is this?”

Hannibal looks up from the plated bits of seared heart, catching Mr. Graham’s eye. He’s foregone his glasses this lunch, and his stare is all the more piercing for it.

“Cow,” he says, simply.

Cow. Not beef. The wording seems deliberate.

Will keeps his burning gaze locked with his young student—and takes a slow bite. Hannibal’s breath hitches as Will chews, an unknown sort of nervosity gripping his chest. He feels as though he is awaiting a verdict from his executioner.

“It’s delicious.”

The smile that tilts Hannibal’s lips is subtle, but the feline way it creases his whiskey eyes dazzles Will. It’s like staring directly into the sun.

—

Hannibal could admit to himself that perhaps he could have paid better attention during the next morning lesson. All of his focus was, of course, on Mr. Graham—as it always was. Only, the words coming out of Will’s mouth weren’t registering so much as the shape of his lips as he spoke them, and the lilting cadence of his rumbling voice.

An extraordinary man already, Mr. Graham has seen a part of Hannibal which he hasn’t shared with anybody else—and no sign of disapproval followed. Now all Hannibal can think of is how badly he wants to kiss those pretty lips which devoured the meat of that unworthy girl.

When the haze is broken through by the sound of his own name being called, he’s caught unawares.

Hannibal doesn’t gape, but it’s a near thing as he struggles to understand what’s being asked of him. He can feel the amusement radiating from his classmates, even though none would dare to laugh.

None of it matters to Hannibal, who only feels his face heating up at the thought of Will finding him lacking. The small frown his teacher gives him is fleeting, but it stays with him as Will moves on.

He’s going to have to kiss Will soon. This level of distraction isn’t an option.

When lunchtime rolls around, Will isn’t at their usual table. In fact, he isn’t in the cafeteria at all, and Hannibal clutches his bag in a white-knuckled grip to keep from tearing into someone.

He doesn’t want to believe this is a rejection. But it looks bad for Will not to show up for the first time in weeks after what—who—Hannibal fed him yesterday.

If Will is out telling someone, or even just avoiding Hannibal…

Letting his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flare as he deeply inhales. He picks out Mr. Graham’s distinct scent like a bloodhound—and follows it. Through winding hallways, he chases its trail without pause.

It leads him to the back exit of the school building, and Hannibal readies himself for the sight of Mr. Graham speaking to the police, in person or on the phone, as his mind runs through all the ways in which he’ll consume Will’s body, all while mourning Will’s mind and all that they could have been together—

What greets him on the other side of the door isn’t what he imagined.

Mr. Graham is alone—no phone in sight—leaning against the brick wall, looking more relaxed than Hannibal’s ever seen him. There’s a lit cigarette between his fingers, and the smell of nicotine mixes pleasantly with Will’s woodsy scent. There’s something fatherly about it, and Hannibal pushes that thought to the side to deal with later.

He gives Hannibal a lazy smile, and takes a drag.

“You found me,” he says through a smoky exhale, like he expected Hannibal to hunt him down. It’s likely he did.

Hannibal swallows, his shoulders bunching in on themselves.

He feels so silly now, seeing that carefree smile, and wonders why he ever doubted Will. His teacher isn’t like everybody else. He’s unpredictable, but he accepts Hannibal.

When Will puts the cigarette between his lips again, he slinks over to stand beside him, close enough he feels Will’s body heat even through their clothes.

They stay that way for a moment, both of them with their backs pressed against the wall, looking up to the clear sky. As calm settles in Hannibal’s mind, he lets his gaze drift to Will’s lips again—lids lowering as he fixates on how they wrap around the filter.

He’s staring openly now, head tilted towards Will, and it’s difficult not to let his whole body follow as he watches Will smoke. He’s never wanted to be an inanimate object so bad in his life.

“What is it?” Will asks, sensing Hannibal’s stare, burning like the embers. Hannibal’s lashes flutter, and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips before he opens his mouth.

I want to kiss you.

“Could I have a drag?”

Will huffs out an amused chuckle that’s no more than a breath, smoke spilling out his lips. He shakes his head mildly. “You don’t smoke.”

“You don’t know that,” Hannibal says, eyes darting down to watch Will’s capable fingers as he flicks the ash to the ground.

“I do know that,” Will says, rolling his head to the side to return his student’s stare. “You have an exceptionally sensitive sense of smell. I’m surprised you can even stand to be near me right now.”

I’ll always want to be near you.

They keep eye contact, Hannibal staying silent while Will puts the cigarette in the cradle of his pursed lips again. He waits for Will to inhale, before he plucks it from his mouth with the reflexes of a cat, and sets it between his own lips.

He feels the moisture of Will’s saliva on the paper, and suppresses a pleased shiver as he draws the smoke into his lungs. The rush of nicotine is nothing compared to the elation of having his lips pressed where Will’s were just before.

Leaning into his teacher’s space, Hannibal flips the stick between his fingers, letting his fingertips brush Will’s plush lips as he returns it to him.

He finishes it in silence, though his darkened eyes never leave Hannibal’s.

It’s only once he’s put the used butt back into his pack—like it’s some sort of memento to keep—that he speaks again, gaze flicking down to the bag in Hannibal’s grasp.

“You brought your lunch with you?”

“Our lunch,” Hannibal clarifies with a jerky nod. He cooks for the two of them now, and he won’t let Will forget it.

Will nods back at him, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Why don’t we take it in my classroom?”

—

They do, that day and in the days that follow. It becomes their new normal, and though they haven’t kissed yet, Hannibal feels optimistic for the future, and grateful for the closeness they share. The inherent intimacy of eating alone together lends to more intimate conversations, and even the smallest of touches feel more loaded in that bubble.

One time Hannibal manages to make Will laugh—really laugh—a hoarse sound like it’s something the man hasn’t done in a long time.

It’s the most beautiful sound that has ever graced Hannibal’s ears, and when he hears it he can’t for the life of him remember what he said. He can only stare, and savor that raspy laugh like the sweet and rare delicacy it is.

I love you.

Hannibal bites his tongue to keep the words in.

He’s going to say it. After Will kisses him, he’s going to tell him.

Hannibal feels confident that time is soon.

—

Until Will returns from spring break with a ring on his finger.

“… You got married,” Hannibal states, no inflection to his voice.

He’s the first to Will’s class, the bluish early morning light falling over the two of them alone.

Mr. Graham has the decency to look chagrined for a split second, before a mirroring blankness slips over his expression as well.

“… Yeah, I did.”

Hannibal breathes out through his nose.

“So sudden. I always thought you a lone wolf,” he says, playing at casualness. It convinces neither of them.

Will shakes his head, and begins to flip through his notes as he speaks. “Not sudden. Molly and I have been engaged for a while, actually, just…

… She can’t have kids. And she was under the belief that would make me regret marrying her and I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” He barks out a short, hollow laugh—the falsity of it drives into Hannibal like a knife.

“Because I’m the closest thing you have to a friend,” Hannibal says, and he knows it’s true.

Whatever else is real, the connection that he and Will Graham share is undeniable. And Hannibal won’t let this insignificant woman ruin it.

“I suppose you’re right about that,” Will relents.

When the rest of the students start piling in, Will pulls away from him, but Hannibal never stops looking at him as though he has wronged him.

By the end of the class, Hannibal has come to a decision. As his last classmate leaves, Hannibal closes the door behind them.

Mr. Graham is facing away from him, writing something on the whiteboard, and with the dead silence Hannibal isn’t certain he even knows he isn’t alone. He makes his way to him quietly, until the older man is mere inches away, Hannibal staring at his back.

“Will,” Hannibal whispers, and watches the muscles underneath that corduroy shirt tense.

“You’re still here,” Will says. He tries not to think about how natural his first name sounds rolling off Hannibal Lecter’s tongue. He feels a soft hand pawing at his bicep, gently urging him to turn around. For whatever reason, Will complies.

They’re so, so close.

“I am.” Hannibal tilts his chin up to look his teacher in the eye. There’s a sorrow there, behind the glass, like he believes this is the end of something. “I’m not going anywhere, Will,” he softly promises.

He moves slowly—like he’s daring Will to stop him—when he slips the frames off the man’s nose with one hand, and gently cups his jaw with the other. His thumb brushes over the bristles of his short beard, admiring how oddly soft it feels beneath the pads of his fingers.

His teacher stands stunned, hardly breathing in the space between them. They’re looking at each other’s lips. Waiting for something.

Will had thought that finally getting hitched to Molly would stop him from entertaining this thing blossoming between him and his student.

It isn’t.

Like a flower cracking through the concrete of Will’s defenses, it flourishes.

And Will leans in first.

Something which sounds embarrassingly like a whine leaves Hannibal’s mouth the moment Will’s lips touch his own, and he slides an arm along Will’s shoulder, fingers twitching around the glasses in his grip as he presses closer.

Hannibal wants to crush Will to himself, to devour his mouth like a starved animal, but he stays pliant as the man kisses him, finally, finally.

A hand tangles in Hannibal’s silky hair, angling the boy’s head to slot their lips together more firmly, while another grasps his hip, tugging him even nearer.

Will parts the damp seam of Hannibal’s lips with his tongue, demanding access which his student eagerly grants him, opening up for the thrust of Will’s tongue into him. He feels Will lick along his teeth, mapping out the inside of his mouth with the wet muscle. It’s intoxicating, it feels like a claim.

He kisses him deeper, filthier, sharing breath and saliva as Will invades him. The scent of Will’s arousal hits his senses before Hannibal feels a distinct hardness poking into him, and Hannibal lets out a whorish moan into Will’s open mouth.

They’re parted by the sound of a ringing bell, but it’s only an intermission.

—

Hannibal isn’t surprised to find Will back in the cafeteria after the moment they’d shared alone in his classroom. Surrounded by common folk like a shield, he’s held accountable to be decent, keeping himself from falling further into temptation.

Such an action only highlights the man’s dwindling self-control, and Hannibal smiles as he approaches their old table.

When he plates their food, he gets unnecessarily close to Will, leaning in over his teacher’s shoulder.

“Are you afraid to be alone with me now?” He whispers by his ear as he arranges the dishes, prompting a glare from Will.

Hannibal’s face doesn’t change, expression mild as he finally pours Will a cup of coffee. Specially brewed for him, kept hot in a thermos.

He whispers even quieter, “Do you fear you can’t keep yourself from knocking me up right there, over your desk?”

A frown mars Will’s rugged features, to which Hannibal’s lips twitch into a little smirk. He saunters off to take his seat across from the man without elaborating further.

He’ll know soon enough. He plans to pay a rather intimate visit to his classroom, as soon as the day is over.

—

Hannibal grasps Will’s left hand in both of his smaller ones, keeping his eyes lowered as he turns it over, studying the lines and creases. His thumb brushes the golden band on Will’s ring finger, and the light contact feels like it burns, as though the gold is still molten.

He slides a hand along the back of Will’s, caressing the veins there, while the other locks around his forearm. Insistently, Hannibal guides Will’s hand between his legs, pushing his palm against the heat there. The barrier of his silk underwear and fine slacks feel like nothing as Will’s fingers twitch against his slit.

It takes a moment for Will’s brain to process what he’s touching, having expected something entirely different—if he’d ever let himself think about what lies between Hannibal’s slim thighs.

The heated expression Hannibal gives him is replaced the moment Will purposely rubs his hand along Hannibal’s pussy—a look of desperate arousal coloring his features, open-mouthed shock which doesn’t match the light petting of his fingers. But it’s Mr. Graham, and Hannibal could never convey just how deeply he has ached for him.

Will continues to pet him carefully—like an unknown stray animal, like he’s letting Hannibal get used to his touch, or is unsure if he’ll scratch and bite at the wrong movement.

Hannibal, for his part, holds onto Will’s forearm with both hands now—and begins to rock his hips in short motions, rutting against Will’s palm. His clit pulses, and his teacher grinds the heel of his hand over it as his fingers tease the shape of Hannibal’s cunt through the wettening fabric.

A rough and low “Good boy,” slips out of Will’s mouth, unbidden, as he watches Hannibal hump against his hand with animal desperation.

Hannibal speeds up his grinding, the feel of his aching pussy rubbing against Mr. Graham’s rough hand quickly building up that mounting pressure, and he gasps wetly when Will’s fingertips nearly push into him through the layers of fabric. He’s soaked right through them, and if Will were so inclined, he could quite easily fingerfuck Hannibal’s wet cunt without taking anything off him.

His nails dig into Will’s forearm at the thought, and he hisses as he jerks even harder against Will, trembling with each little thrust of his hips. The pressure against his clit pitches his needy little breaths higher.

Will can’t take his eyes off the display Hannibal is making of himself, disheveled hair hanging in front of his flushed face as he uses his teacher’s hand for his own pleasure.

Hannibal feels the hard shape of Will’s wedding band rub against his sensitive labia, and clamps his thighs down around Will’s hand, choking down a cry as he comes.

His hips continue to jerk stutteringly as he shakes, riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm as best he can with how tightly he smothers Will’s hand with his thighs and pussy.

Panting breaths fill the classroom, cut through by Hannibal swallowing the excess saliva that’s gathered in his mouth. He feels ruined, far too ruined for what he just did.

And yet, with just a glance below Mr. Graham’s waistline, Hannibal feels revitalized again. He lets go of his death grip around Will’s muscled forearm, wasting no time in pawing at the straining bulge in Will’s pants. But his wrists are seized before he can even begin to touch Will with purpose, and a whine bubbles up in his throat at the denial.

He flicks his gaze upwards, a preemptive scowl gracing his face, before the look of his teacher dissolves any indignation that gripped him.

Will’s eyes are dark, darker than Hannibal’s ever seen them, and fixed very intently upon Hannibal’s gently parted lips, the peek of the wet cavern of his mouth.

“Get under the desk.”

Hannibal follows the order with enthusiasm.

Will takes his seat in front of where Hannibal’s sat so prettily on his knees, unbuckling and freeing himself with haste. The sight of Will’s large, pulsing cock hanging in front of him knocks the air out of Hannibal’s lungs. His size intimidates and has Hannibal salivating in equal measure.

Hannibal gives Will a doe-eyed look, full of faux innocence. He looks so much younger tucked underneath the desk, with blown pupils and a pink flush on his cheeks—and guilt churns in Will’s stomach even as his cock jerks eagerly at the sight.

Brushing the loose hair out of Hannibal’s forehead, Will tucks it behind an ear as he murmurs, “Do you know what to do?”

The innocence melts away as Hannibal scoffs, eyes narrowing, but he’s smiling too wide to look any sort of offended.

“Of course. I’m not a child, Will.”

Will looks like he’s got something to say about that, but thinks better of it.

Hannibal gracefully elects to ignore the implication, as he has only one goal at the moment.

He runs his hands up Will’s thighs as he leans forward, tongue flicking out to taste the drop of precum beading out the slit, savoring its musky taste. He moans unabashedly, shuffling nearer to press a wet kiss to the tip of Will’s cock.

“You have a beautiful cock, Will.”

Again, with his first name.

“And you have a filthy mouth.” Will grips Hannibal’s chin, and lightly pushes his thumb through petal soft lips to rub the pad of it along his tongue.

Hannibal lowers his lids, watching a string of saliva stretch and snap as Will’s thumb retreats.

Soon, he’s pressing suckling kisses all along Will’s shaft, leaving wet prints down to the base. Unable to help himself, Hannibal inhales shamelessly when his nose brushes the curls at the root of Will’s thick cock. He flattens his tongue around the underside, licking a slow trail upwards, until the glans is cradled by the curve of his tongue.

His fingers wrap around the base of Will’s cock, stroking the slickened shaft with milking motions, groaning as he feels Will’s cocktip drool precum right onto his taste buds.

He pulls back slightly, feeling drunk on the taste of Mr. Graham already, and relishes the feral growl that leaves his teacher when there is no point of contact between his cock and Hannibal.

Will threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Hannibal’s head, yanking him forward as he grasps himself with his free hand, smearing the tip of his cock along Hannibal’s reddened lips. His student’s jaw slackens as he parts his shiny lips, opening wide to allow Will to thrust inside.

The glans pops past his lips, and Hannibal wastes no time in suckling on the hot flesh, bobbing lightly to rub the tip over his soft palate, lashes fluttering as he does. The sharp tip of an incisor catches on the ridge of his glans, and Hannibal feels Will’s cock lurch at the contact.

“Fuck. God, Hannibal…”

If Hannibal could purr, he would.

Will’s groans of pleasure spur him on, encouraging him to take all that he wishes. He presses forward, wanting, needing more. He barely keeps himself from spluttering when Will’s fat cockhead bumps his uvula, but he manages, fingers digging into Will’s thighs as he forces Will’s length down his throat.

His slutty moans vibrate Will’s cock as it slides down his spasming throat, until he’s taken him to the hilt, dark brown eyes rolling back like he’s seizing with the stiff cock lodged firmly inside.

After a moment of holding himself at the base, breathing through his nose as Will pets through his hair, Hannibal pulls back halfway, sliding his lips over Will’s shaft. He hollows his cheeks, sucking with vigor as he pushes down again, choking himself on Will’s cock, lips clinging tight around him.

Though the thinking part of Will’s brain has long since shut down, he’s distinctly aware of the unlocked door—and thinks that if someone walked in on them now, all he would have to do to hide their deviancy is roll his chair forward, gagging Hannibal with his cock while tucking him completely out of sight.

Hannibal’s thighs shift restlessly as his lips glide up and down Will’s shaft, the thick veins teasing his palate while his pussy aches between his legs, empty and drooling arousal through his already soaked underwear.

He bobs his head faster, slurping obscenely as his saliva drips down to pool around the root of Will’s cock. Tears gather at his lashline and spill over, overwhelmed with the battering intrusion, and the frustration of his throbbing cunt being left unfilled forces yet more hot tears down his flushed cheeks.

Hannibal looks like a goddamn mess framed by Will’s spread legs, and it fills the man with as much lust as affection.

Breathy obscenities and praises leave Will’s mouth as Hannibal sucks him frantically, pulling off only to lick along his rigid length, mouthing at his taut sack, before taking him to the back of his sporadically squeezing throat again—and it becomes clear that Will is deliberately keeping himself from climax just to watch Hannibal struggle.

A fire lights in Hannibal’s watery eyes, and a hand leaves his thigh to rub at Will’s balls, fondling them firmly as he takes Will deep and sucks hard.

Will’s orgasm is ripped out of him, and he bites down on his knuckles to keep from shouting as Hannibal doesn’t let up.

When Will comes, Hannibal is torn by the desire to keep him deep inside his throat, and tasting him on his tongue.

After the first pulse of seed, he pulls off part way with a mewl, until the cum spilling out of his teacher splatters salty across his taste buds—before he slides the spasming cock back down his esophagus again, until the fat tip chokes him.

He wraps his arms around the backs of Will’s legs, clinging desperately.

He swallows, and swallows, damp eyes fluttering as he delights in taking all of Will’s hot release. He softens in Hannibal’s loving mouth, until the weight of him within isn’t so overwhelming—so choking—but a comfort, heavy and limp on his tongue. Hannibal wants to keep him there.

His tongue slides around the underside of Will’s spent cock, committing to memory the feel of his teacher’s most vulnerable parts in this state.

He’s being petted again, an additional burst of serotonin. And then the fingers weave through his hair, gently pulling.

“Alright, get off,” Will grunts.

Hannibal’s eyes snap open. He clings tighter, shaking his head as well as he can with a cock still in his mouth.

“You wanna stay there?”

Hannibal nods.

Will’s responding exhale is heavy, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Every moment they stay like this is another moment they risk being discovered.

“Alright,” Will repeats. It’s warm inside him, and comfortable, now that Hannibal has stopped sucking. “Just while I grade these last papers.”

If Will takes a little longer than usual to grade each paper, he’ll blame it on the distracting sensation of a teenager resting between his thighs, the wet heat enfolding his dick as he works. The two of them did at least shift forward into the desk, leaving Hannibal well and truly concealed. He’s eerily silent in the small space, flanked by wooden walls and Will’s legs—but his soft breaths tickle Will’s groin, letting the man know he hasn’t suffocated in there.

The sense of tranquility Hannibal feels with the weight of Will in his mouth is unparalleled. It overlays his mind like a fuzzy blanket, whatever thoughts of heartache and their future melting away for the moment, leaving him floating.

Occasionally, Will reaches a hand down to gently scratch at Hannibal’s scalp. The image of Hannibal’s sharp, pointed teeth had popped into his mind as he scribbled away, and though Hannibal’s mouth has only held him so gently—Will would rather not tempt fate by letting the boy doze off while he’s in the steel trap of Hannibal’s jaws.

Their peace and quiet is broken by the arrival of Will’s colleague, Alana Bloom.

Hannibal is made aware of Miss Bloom’s approach immediately, the invading scent of her perfume cutting through the air before the sound of her voice.

“Fair warning,” she says in lieu of a greeting, “I managed to keep Jack away from getting to you here, but—he might approach you outside of the school. Will probably approach you.”

Hannibal tightens his lips around the base of Will’s soft cock, drawing back in a languid glide, before letting him slide into the warm embrace of his throat again. He begins to suckle lightly—not enough to get Will hard, but certainly enough to be distracting.

“Jack, uh, Jack Crawford?” Will’s voice is rough.

Alana gives him a charming, lopsided smile. It’s a smile that would have taken his breath away in another life—but all Will can think about is the menace of a student he has on his knees.

“What other Jack loves to barge into our high school with inappropriate requests?”

Hannibal slowly draws his hands up Will’s thighs as he rubs the tip of his tongue at the spot where a thick vein lays.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Will says with a grunt that he hopes isn’t as suggestive as it sounds to his own ears. He feels Hannibal’s fingers slip underneath his shirt, softly caressing his bare skin.

Alana nods cordially—then nods again toward Will’s left hand. “Congrats, by the way.”

“What?”

“On finally having that wedding?”

Hannibal halts in his teasing little stimulations. The air suddenly feels a lot colder. Will swallows, pushing the thought of why to the side.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry I didn’t invite you. It was a small thing, mostly just family.” He can feel Hannibal’s dangerous teeth grazing, whisper-soft, along his flaccid length.

“No, that’s okay. It would’ve been weird, you know, with our history.” Miss Bloom huffs lightheartedly. So jovially and casually—unknowingly delivering information to spite the beast even further. Will goes still as a statue when Hannibal’s teeth press gingerly into the base of his cock.

“Right.” Will’s voice is tight, and after a moment, Hannibal’s teeth retreat. He goes back to suckling lazily—like he never even threatened to maim the man—fingers kneading at his teacher’s quivering lower stomach.

Of course, it was an empty threat. Hannibal presses forward, pressing a sweet kiss to the root of Will’s cock. He has no wish to hurt Will in such a way at all—but Miss Bloom has certainly put a target on her back.

Hannibal passively listens to the teachers exchange polite but meaningless words, lapping gently at the slowly thickening cock in his mouth.

When he hears Miss Bloom bid Will adieu, followed by the sound of her heels clicking away, Hannibal pulls off Will’s semi-erect cock with a wet pop. His copious spit clings to Will’s shaft, and uncaring of the wetness, Hannibal curls his fingers around the length and licks teasingly around the spongy head.

The door closes, and Will breathes out in a rough growl.

He rips himself away from Hannibal, who makes a noise of protest at being left bereft, his hands clenching in the air as he watches Will tuck himself away. Will cringes momentarily at the feeling of his saliva-slick cock pressing to the fabric of his underwear—but hastily buckles his belt in sweeping, aggressive motions anyway.

He’s by the door in seconds, locking it with a deafening noise—and with his teacher out of sight, Hannibal unfolds from the closed space he’d been so warm and comfortable in. He stretches out luxuriously, and tries not to mourn the loss of Will’s body heat.

It seems he had no need to miss it, as Mr. Graham is upon him—touching him—as soon as he’s locked them in together.

“You’re a goddamn brat,” he growls, pushing Hannibal down on his back over the desk. Papers scatter every which way, and Hannibal feels something dig into his spine as he is pressed down hard against the surface.

Will snarls above him, and though it’s a bit different to Hannibal’s amorous fantasies, he can’t help arching his back, rolling his hips to find some desperately needed friction.

“What’s to be done about that?” he purrs below Will.

To Hannibal’s delight, Will’s bruising hands strip him from the waist down, pulling off his slacks and underwear in one go. His glistening cunt is exposed to Will’s searing gaze, the lips swollen and shiny with arousal—and Hannibal feels his clit pulse, yet more arousal dripping down the seam of his pussy to coat his perineum and asshole.

The anger darkening Will’s eyes battles with the rising hunger, a perfect storm that has Hannibal spreading his legs in invitation, his cunt aching to be ravished. He would have liked for their first time with Will inside him to be on the sweeter side, but if Will wishes to breed him right here, like a snarling animal—well, there are always other times for being gentle.

Thoughts of Mr. Graham fucking him hard and deep, holding him down and filling him up with his virile seed overtakes him. His whole body flushes with desperate anticipation. He doesn’t expect it when Will winds his arm back, delivering a harsh slap to his slick cunt.

Hannibal chokes on a gasp, legs jerking inward on reflex, attempting to close. But Will only spreads him open again, leaving him vulnerable to another hard slap, and another, until a sharp slap hits his clit at an angle that nearly pushes him over the edge.

His gasps turn to open-mouthed sobs, and rather than stopping for any pity of Hannibal or the commotion that could reach the ears of other members of staff—Will covers Hannibal’s mouth with his free hand, still delivering punishing slaps as he muffles his cries.

The filthy, wet sounds of his pussy being spanked are embarrassingly loud, but embarrassment doesn’t stop Hannibal from leaking, to the point Will’s hand might slip if his strikes were not so forceful and precise. Every smack glances his drooling hole and hits his puffy lips dead-on, fingers lightly spreading him before his teacher’s hand pulls back again.

Will only stills once he feels Hannibal’s hole contract beneath the heel of his hand, stopping short of Hannibal’s orgasm.

He rubs soothingly at Hannibal’s inflamed pussy, sliding the hand over Hannibal’s mouth to cup his burning cheek.

“Are you ready to be good now?”

Hannibal’s breathing is shaky, and he struggles to focus his blurry gaze on Will, but he waits until he can see him clearly to speak.

“I’ll be good,” he says, voice small. “I want to be good for you.” The docility doesn’t feel like an act anymore, and Will swallows down any guilt for it.

Instead of saying anything, he kneels down.

Hannibal pushes himself up on trembling elbows, unwilling to lose sight of Will.

Being watched by a dazed Hannibal, Will caresses his student’s smooth, slim legs, and slides them over his shoulders.

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to Hannibal’s clit. Hannibal gasps at the soft pressure, his already flushed face reddening further.

“Will,” he warbles. His foot hits Will’s back reflexively as Will mouths at his cunt, tongue teasing along his slick folds. He flattens his tongue, dragging it up and down Hannibal’s sensitive pussy, lapping up the excess wetness, before swirling the point of his tongue around Hannibal’s hole, never pushing inside.

It’s an agonizing pleasure, Will’s facial hair scraping his sore cunt as he eats him.

Hannibal steadies himself enough to slip a hand into Will’s curls, carding through them adoringly. On an upwards lick through the seam of Hannibal’s cunt, Will wraps his lips around Hannibal’s clit, tongue firmly circling the hard nub. He pushes his face harder against Hannibal’s pussy, before he sucks harshly at the little cock, bobbing his head in a mimicry of what Hannibal had done to him.

Hannibal bites back a wail as he cums, thighs squeezing tight around Will. His teacher grasps the legs that attempt to choke him, spreading them wide as he scrubs his tongue over Hannibal’s pulsating pussy, lips pushing against Hannibal’s labia like he’s making out with his cunt.

He keeps kissing at the twitching flesh until Hannibal’s body stops convulsing, tense muscles loosening.

When Will pulls away with a slick noise that seems to echo, glistening strings of arousal and spit connect his wicked mouth to Hannibal’s tender cunt.

“You got me off with your mouth… I got you off with mine,” Will says, eyes burning into Hannibal’s. “Even Steven.”

Even through his post-orgasmic haze, the words sound like a dismissal. Hannibal won’t accept it.

He tugs his leg out of Will’s grasp, until his foot is free to skirt along Will’s lower body, and as he expected;

“But now you’re hard again,” he says with feigned concern, eyes low-lidded in a coquettish manner.

Like a choreographed dance, Hannibal hoists himself off the desk while Will rises and steps backwards. Hannibal’s gaze flicks to Will’s bulge as he stalks forward, backing Will up against the desk chair and pushing him into it, sliding onto his lap as he does.

There’s no resistance from Will as Hannibal pushes his soaked cunt onto Will’s bulge, rolling his hips in a dirty grind. He merely groans, hands flying up to grip tight around the arms of his seat.

With a disapproving tsk, Hannibal grasps Will’s hands, setting them upon his still moving hips. He curls his fingers around Will’s, urging him to hold on tight.

“Don’t be afraid to touch me, Mr. Graham,” he purrs, and the sound of his proper title in Hannibal’s mouth as his student rubs his bare pussy over his clothed cock feels even more illicit.

Will lets out a rough moan, fingers curling around the jut of Hannibal’s hips, using the leverage to push him down harder on his twitching bulge.

Hannibal almost slackens at the sensation, thighs quivering as he moans. He slides his arms around Will’s neck, locking them around him for support—but also just to embrace him. He whines in pleasure, grinding back and forth over Will’s cock, his clit rubbing over the straining cockhead in a way that makes him jolt with oversensitivity.

The friction feels wonderful, every rub and grind splitting his labia until Hannibal feels Will’s covered shaft drag along the sensitive insides of his swollen lips. He’s soaking through the layers, eroding the barriers between them with the continuous drooling of his pussy. It’s wetter at the tip, and it catches at the edge of Hannibal’s hole—pulling gasps out of both of them—before slipping over it.

Will can hardly handle it, the continuous glide over his bulge drenching the fabric further, until the heat of Hannibal’s juicy pussy lips spread over the hard shape of him feels almost direct.

His grip on Hannibal’s hips is bruising, and he plants his feet firmly on the ground to thrust upwards, digging into the heat of Hannibal’s sopping cunt.

Hannibal moans hotly into Will’s ear, clenching his thighs, and begins to ride over his clothed cock at a frenzied pace.

“Ah, ngh, Mr. Graham,” his voice wavers pathetically as he scrubs his naked cunt along Will’s bulge, pushing down on intervals, like he’s trying to get Will inside him.

Will’s face flushes with shame as his cock twitches, and pulses, flooding his underwear with spunk like a teenager. Hannibal never stops rolling his hips—grinding his slit over Will’s damp bulge like his life depends on it—and at the feeling of his teacher’s hot cum soaking through to his pussy, his body is wracked with a simultaneous orgasm.

Hannibal’s thighs work tirelessly as he rides out his orgasm, torturing Will’s sensitized cock with the demanding rub of his cunt against it.

Only once his legs start burning, he slumps into Will’s lap—like a puppet with its strings cut—still resting his pussy over his teacher’s now soft and wet bulge.

Hannibal sighs with content, and lifts his head to bring his lips near Will’s again.

“There,” he says, and presses a soft kiss to Will’s mouth. He tastes himself there. “I came in my pants… you came in yours. That’s reciprocity.”

Mr. Graham’s grip on Hannibal has stayed taut throughout, and now his body is tense along with it. Hannibal can almost hear Will’s thoughts of remorse rushing in—but there’s no taking back any of this. He’ll have dark bruises in the shape of his teacher’s fingers on his hips.

But beyond that, they’ve branded each other’s souls.

—

“You’re pulling away from me.”

It’s the end of the school day, Mr. Graham’s class having been the last on Hannibal’s schedule. The other students have long since fled, but here Hannibal is again. Lingering.

“Am I?”

“I would feel used, Will. If I weren’t so optimistic.”

Mr. Graham looks about the room, as though he’s expecting to see a fellow teacher—or even the police—pop out of nowhere.

Under his breath, Will says, “I can’t have an affair with you, Hannibal.”

An affair. How trite. No, Hannibal is not going to be second to anyone. His teacher should know that by now.

“Nor would I want you to.”

Hannibal flexes his fingers, bracing his palms on the wooden desk as he leans over Will.

“I love you.”

Will scoffs like the confession offends him.

“Hannibal, you don’t know me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I’m old enough to be your father,” he says automatically, like he’s going down a list of reasons even he doesn’t believe in, just because society dictates he should.

Hannibal slides his hands further along the desk—leaning closer, closer—caging his beloved teacher in with his arms.

“I can still take on a motherly role, if you’d like me to.”

Avoidance of eye contact is Mr. Graham’s forte, but it’s been a long while since Hannibal has been on the receiving end of that. Right now, Will won’t even deign to look at him. He shuffles the papers on his desk just for something to do with his hands.

“Get out.”

“That’s why you like Molly, isn’t it?” Hannibal persists, tone gently accusing. “A maternal woman, with no child to put all that motherly love into.

I could give you both,” his voice trails into a murmur.

Will pretends to be unaffected by what Hannibal is saying. Hannibal pretends not to notice the way Will twists the wedding band around his finger.

“What you could give me… is your assignment. And then you can leave.” Will’s tone is curt, dismissive.

A tinge of annoyance rears forth, but Hannibal schools his expression. He opens up his shoulder bag, pulls out his hand-written assignment, and places it in front of Mr. Graham.

The moment his teacher reaches for it, Hannibal leans into his space again.

“I’m going to help you, Will,” he says quietly.

When he pulls back, there’s an air of ease around Hannibal that, along with his whispered words, makes Will’s stomach drop.

He stays silent as Hannibal departs.

—

The first thing to pierce his senses is the coppery smell of blood. It’s thick in the air, fresh and singeing, overpowering all else in the fog of his mind.

The second thing he’s aware of is the weight dipping into the mattress on either side of him. Something hot and wet touches the tip of his cock, slowly enfolding it, fluttering around it.

Will’s eyes blink open, and he struggles to comprehend his waking reality.

On the bed beside him, the view that greets him leaves a scream stuck beneath his ribcage.

Like a vision plucked out of his nightmares—Molly is slit open around the throat, unseeing eyes staring blankly to the ceiling, her blood soaking into their marital bed. The red overflows around her, staining their white sheets crimson.

And when Will slowly turns his head, he sees Hannibal looming above him.

Splatters of maroon cover his cheek like war paint—but his lithe, nude body is entirely unblemished where he straddles Will.

Will doesn’t scream then, but he does cry. He sobs quietly as Hannibal shushes him, fingers wrapping around Will’s cock to keep it steady, notched on the wanting hole of his cunt.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Hannibal murmurs softly, and runs a soothing hand up Will’s bare chest, tracing his skin with gentle fingertips.

Will’s eyes dart about the room—he sees a glinting blade lying on his own nightstand, a clear streak cutting through the red that taints it, like it’s been licked. On the floor, a crumpled heap of plastic has been discarded, splotched with the wet blood Hannibal’s porcelain skin is free of.

“God, please, no…” Will whimpers. “No, no, no…” Only Hannibal fills his vision now, yet the image of Molly’s cleanly cut throat stays scorched into his retinas, colliding with the erotic sight above him. He would clench his eyes shut again to deny what’s happening—but he feels paralyzed, the only movement he’s capable of is his violent trembling.

“We can be together now, my darling…” Hannibal coos, lowering himself onto Will.

A sigh leaves Hannibal’s lips when Will’s cockhead pushes into his slick opening, spreading him wide and digging into his previously untouched insides. He rolls his hips in the air to rub the tip of Will’s cock over his g-spot again and again, losing himself in the feeling.

“You feel so good,” Hannibal moans, overcome with ecstacy when he feels Will’s cockhead throb against his g-spot. He puts both hands on Will’s heaving chest now, bracing himself as he sinks down further, his cunt clenching around Will with every inch sliding home.

He takes him inside in rolling increments, until he’s fully seated on Will’s cock, Hannibal’s plump pussy lips kissing the base of him.

A full-body shudder runs through Hannibal at the sensation of Will’s length sheathed inside him, hot and pulsing, his fat tip pressing to Hannibal’s cervix. It’s bliss, to finally have Will where he belongs.

“So deep,” Hannibal groans, rocking back and forth on Will’s lap. “So perfect.”

“Please, Hannibal,” Will cries hoarsely, and he isn’t certain what he’s begging for. His face is twisted in agony, teeth clacking together as Hannibal begins to ride him at a slow and steady pace.

Hannibal clicks his tongue, and he leans forward as he pushes his hips down.

“You’re making that face like you’re terrified, yet you’re rock hard inside me.”

As if on command, he feels the cock inside him pulse. Will’s body is honest with him, even when the man himself won’t be.

The hyperventilating doesn’t stop. Tears are spilling down Will’s cheeks, streaking through his handsome face. He looks so pained—Hannibal doesn’t like seeing him like that. Especially over someone so unworthy.

“Who are you performing for, Will? She’s dead. It’s only you and me.” Hannibal’s voice is oddly soft, a soothing melody to quiet the ringing in Will’s ears.

He cups Will’s face in his loving hands, still working himself on Will’s cock as he peppers kisses all over flushed, tear-damp skin.

“And,” Hannibal whispers against Will’s trembling lips, “you’re going to put a baby in me.”

An upwards jolt of Will’s hips drives his cock deeper into Hannibal, punching a wet gasp out of him. His eyes go low-lidded as he lets out a shaky breath into Will’s mouth, reveling in having Will pressed so deep into him, prodding into the end of his hot passage.

“Would you like that, Will?” Hannibal is pleased by the unexpected, involuntary thrust from Will. “Would you like to fill me up, breed me until I catch?”

Will doesn’t say anything to that, but he doesn't have to. The way his pupils blow wide—shining black overtaking that watery blue—warms Hannibal from the inside.

Hannibal flexes his thighs, readying himself to ride Will in earnest. He goes hard and fast now, throwing his head back as wanton moans spill out his mouth. His pussy clings tight to Will’s thick cock each time he rises, and only Hannibal’s gushing wetness keeps it an easy glide. Will slides in and out of him with filthy squelching noises, pulsating veins dragging along his sensitive walls, teasing his aching opening where he’s stretched so impossibly wide.

“I can feel you hitting my womb,” Hannibal mewls ecstatically with a lean backwards, flattening his palm over his stomach, feeling Will’s large cock push through on every bounce.

This is how it’s meant to be.

He’s cut Will free from his last tether to humanity, the last thing holding him back.

Against his conscious will, Will’s tearful, anguished moans morph into ones of pleasure—the velvety embrace of Hannibal’s squeezing, slick cunt far too much to handle. He’s swallowed into Hannibal over and over, ridden with frantic motions and elated cries.

With Hannibal moving sinuously above him, Will wonders how the hell he ended up here. An overqualified high school teacher who had to quit his job at Quantico to get away from how it affected him mentally—and the universe drops Hannibal Lecter into his lap. Armed with a knife and soft doe eyes.

A normal life was never in the cards for him, it seems.

He’s been running from his nature—distancing himself from the allure of violence, marrying a normal girl. And all for nothing.

Hannibal’s pussy spasms around him, signaling how close he is to climax, all from fucking himself on Will’s cock. His clit is stiff and pulsing at the apex of his flushed cunt, but Hannibal doesn’t want to touch himself there. He wants to come by Will’s cock alone, by Will filling him up and planting his seed inside him—and by the sound of Will’s breathing, he can tell that his beloved is close too.

“Will,” Hannibal pleads, bouncing hard on the cock that’s splitting him open, “I need you to— I need,” he devolves into unintelligible whimpers.

The sound of Hannibal’s wavering voice cuts across Will’s scrambled thoughts.

It unfreezes him, and his upper lip lifts in an instinctive snarl.

“You want to be a mother so bad,” he hisses, “I’ll make you one.”

His large hands latch onto Hannibal’s quivering thighs, fingers digging in harshly, and he thrusts up into Hannibal’s warm cunt of his own volition for the first time. The scent of spilled blood doesn’t deter him, it’s spurring him on, his thrusts growing faster and harder.

“Ah!” Hannibal yelps, body going rigid as Will fucks into him, cockhead pushing against the slit of his cervix, scrubbing over it with each gutting thrust. His thoughts are a flurry of encouraging pleas, but they stick in his throat, no words coming out with the overwhelming feel of Will breeding him so viciously.

Will feels his balls draw up where they slap against Hannibal’s slickened backside—and he yanks on Hannibal’s thighs, unbalancing him to cum as deep inside as possible, pressed directly to the entrance of Hannibal’s fertile womb.

Hannibal sobs like he’s in pain, and he seizes on top of Will with his own spraying orgasm, pressed flush against him as he’s filled with pulse after pulse of seed.

Without warning, Will rolls them over on the bed, his back to Molly as he keeps rutting into the mess of Hannibal’s overflowing cunt. He hikes Hannibal’s leg up over his hip, pushing his cock in like a battering ram, intent on fucking another orgasm out of him. His forehead is pressed to Hannibal’s, every sense filled with him, the squeeze of Hannibal’s contracting cunt milking his cock dry, the heat of Hannibal’s soft body, the honeyed scent of Hannibal’s skin—Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal.

The world slowly settles around him again, Hannibal still at its center.

In the minute space between them, their heaving breaths intermingle.

“Thank you,” Hannibal whispers, earnestly, sliding his trembling arms around Will’s neck. He caresses the soft curls at the back of his head, gaze glowing with adoration.

Will thinks that he needs to get far, far away from America. But not alone.

With Molly’s corpse beside them, he kisses Hannibal.