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The kitchen of the Great House was bustling with activity. Servants milled about polishing silver while cooks stood at their respective stations, stirring pots and garnishing appetizers. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and the mingling aromas of roasting meat wafted upward with the smoke from the fire. It was warm in the kitchen, almost stiflingly so, from the wood-burning stoves and the open pit where a pig roasted slowly on a spit.
Will’s mouth watered, but he knew this food was not for him. Tonight, Sir was hosting a dinner party, and everything had to be perfect. Will would ensure, of course, that he did his part.
He looked up from where he was chopping vegetables to see his Master, hands clasped behind his back, looking dignified in a new waistcoat and high-collar shirt. Hannibal walked along the lines of cooks, taking up a spoon to taste various dishes, offering his opinion on seasoning and carefully scrutinizing the temperature of the meat. Everyone was on edge tonight, but even more so whenever Sir made his way to the kitchen.
Hannibal stopped in front of Will’s station, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Smaller and more evenly cut,” Hannibal instructed sharply, his eyes never leaving Will’s face.
Will’s hands shook on the knife he held, but he kept his gaze on the cutting board. “Yes Sir,” Will nearly whispered.
But Hannibal did not leave. He stood for a moment to see how Will would take the correction. Then, Will felt the heavy weight of Hannibal’s hand atop his.
His Master’s palm was large and warm, completely engulfing his own. He stepped behind Will, the heat from his Master’s body even more palpable than the warmth from the kitchen. Hannibal squeezed Will’s hand gently where he still held the knife and began to chop in small, even cuts.
“Like this,” Hannibal said, voice rough, his breath feathering Will’s hair. An unconscious tremor went through him, and Will tightened his hold on the knife.
Hannibal wrapped his other arm around the man to brace his hand on the counter. He pressed closer, his nose nestled in the soft curls atop Will’s head. He inhaled.
Will was mortified. No one was looking (they dared not), but he blushed all the same. “Did…did you just smell me, Sir?” he almost stammered.
Hannibal’s mouth quirked into a quick little smile. “Difficult to avoid.” He pressed into Will’s back, and Will could feel his Master’s arousal prodding him just above his tailbone.
Will took a steadying breath, and Hannibal withdrew. Will stole a glance at him, no higher than the firm set of his mouth.
“Serve my guests tonight,” Hannibal ordered. “I wish to show you off.” With that, he turned and left the kitchen.
Will braced himself against the cutting board and took a few steadying breaths. He had never served at a party before, but he wanted to please his Master. He wanted that more than anything.
The guests started to arrive, and Will greeted each with a warm smile and rigid posture. Will had never seen so many men and women dressed in such finery gathered in one place. It was intimidating, but he steeled himself against his nerves as he carried out two trays, balancing each delicately in his hands.
As Will served Hannibal’s guests, he could feel his Master’s eyes on him. He was sweating through his suit; there was a roaring fire in the dining hall, and he was struggling to keep up with the guests’ demands for wine. He leaned over a portly man in a frilly velvet coat, ignoring the man’s lecherous gaze as he refilled his glass.
“This one is a fine thing, Hannibal. Where have you been keeping him?” The man reached up to trace the edge of Will’s jaw, and Will made a concerted effort not to recoil.
Hannibal sipped at his wine, his eyes narrowed. “Close to me,” he told the man meaningfully, and motioned for Will to approach him.
The servant went willingly, happy to be away from the man’s attentions. When Will arrived at his Master’s side, he noticed with horror that he had not yet eaten.
“Your food, Sir. Is it not to your liking?”
Hannibal gave a prim smile, his eyes full of meaning. “I wish to have you as I dine,” he said simply. It was loud enough for the other diners to hear, and a small tittering of laughter spread among them.
Will swallowed against his collar, suddenly feeling too tight in the stuffy hall. He smoothed a hand along the front of his jacket, feeling his cheeks burn.
“What would you have me do, Sir?”
Hannibal leaned back in his chair, his hand on the stem of his wine glass. “Under the table,” he said sternly. “On your knees.”
Will nodded quickly and placed the wine bottle on the edge of the table. He dropped to his knees, crawling carefully beneath the table to kneel at his Master’s feet.
Hannibal reached to his belt and unzipped his fly. Once he had himself in hand, he firmly stroked his length and Will, ever the dutiful servant, leaned forward and opened his mouth.
Hannibal hummed as he felt the warm, wet mouth close around the head of his cock. Will’s jaw was lax, his tongue smooth and flat against him. He sat there beneath the table, mouth full of his Master’s cock, hands folded sweetly in front of him.
Satisfied, Hannibal returned to his meal. He found the veal flavorful, the pheasant gamey. The vegetables were overcooked, but chopped perfectly. The liquid heat on his cock was a pleasant steady presence, disturbed only by the minute movements of Will’s mouth, the working of his throat as he struggled with the heft and excess saliva.
He smiled and took another bite.
A delicate woman with bright red hair tipped her wine glass. “Your servants are so well trained, Hannibal. Do we all get the benefit of such attention?”
Hannibal chewed thoughtfully, giving the woman a charming smile. “Perhaps another time,” he said, spearing a vegetable on his fork. “But please, eat…enjoy. There’s plenty of food and the cellars are stocked with wine.”
The conversation ebbed and flowed. Another servant took Will’s place serving the table, a small, bright-eyed girl with a ruddy complexion. She brought out dish after dish and kept the wine flowing.
Beneath the table, Will drifted. His eyes were half-closed, and a slivery thread of saliva escaped the side of his mouth. It was dark under the table, and warm, and he was safely cocooned between his Master’s thighs.
Above him, the men and women chatted and laughed, but it was all white noise to Will. Whenever Hannibal spoke, the words drifted through the haze and landed, soft as cotton, on his dulled senses. He was at peace, and happy to be of use.
Hannibal entertained for another hour or more before the guests, full on fine food and wine, began to disperse. He waited until the girl began to clear the table before he reached down to thread his fingers through Will’s hair.
Will hummed, and the vibration of it made his cock twitch. Glazed blue eyes blinked at the light as Hannibal pulled out and backed away from the table. He put himself away and thumbed the side of Will’s mouth where spit shined his red lips. “You can come out now, Will.”
Will stiffly crawled out from beneath the table to stand by his Master’s side. His cheeks were flushed, his hair in disarray. His trousers were tented prominently, and Hannibal reached out and traced the line of his erection through his clothes, causing him to jerk back.
Hannibal tutted, cupping him gently before pulling him down in his lap. Will went willingly, his limbs loose and malleable. Hannibal adjusted him so that Will was reclining on his chest, and he began to gently stroke his hair.
“Bring me another plate,” he asked of the servant girl, and she scurried into the kitchen. After only a few moments she returned, placing the food in front of Hannibal, bowing, and then disappearing once again.
Will was quiet where he lay curled up in Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal stroked over his shoulders, his arms, down his chest to rest between his legs. He teased Will’s hardness, watching Will’s eye’s flutter at his soft touches.
Hannibal reached for the food, pinching a bit of bread between his fingers. He dipped it into the sauce and then held it to Will’s lips. “A reward,” he said warmly. “For being so very good for me.”
Will said nothing, but he opened his mouth for his Master once again. He chewed, his stomach gurgling its emptiness as the first morsel hit his tongue.
Hannibal fed him bits of bread and sauce until Will’s lips were shined with oil and his stomach no longer sounded hollow. Hannibal pushed the food away, calling for the girl to take it from him. Will made no move to stand.
He held him there in the dining hall, content with the feel of Will in his arms, heavy and relaxed. The firelight flickered over his cherubic face, casting his pallid skin in a warm and healthy glow. Will stirred, his breathing deep and even, and Hannibal realized he had fallen asleep.
He looked at the man fondly where he lay against him, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. He had that same ratty scarf on from before, and Hannibal touched it lightly, a frown creasing his face.
“Will,” Hannibal said gently. “The hour grows late and you have yet to make the journey home.”
The man frowned, then startled awake. He was on his feet in an instant, pressing his clothes out and fussing with his scarf.
“I’m so sorry Sir,” he began hurriedly. “I must’ve fallen asleep. It won’t happen again.”
Hannibal stood, a bemused smile on his face. “See that it doesn’t, Will.”
Will’s bright eyes flashed up at Hannibal, holding his gaze for a moment. “You must be tired, Sir. Do you require my assistance getting ready for bed?”
Hannibal considered. “Perhaps. Follow me to the bedroom, and then you can be on your way.”
They climbed the winding steps to Hannibal’s bedroom. The wind outside howled around the Great House, and snow swirled against the windows, suspended in inky black. Hannibal made his way to his chair by the fire and sat down.
“There’s a black coat and scarf in the closet,” Hannibal began. “Fetch it for me Will. Do it quickly.”
Will walked into his Master’s closet and chose the fine coat and scarf. He knew the very ones he spoke of, of course, because it was his job to wash and mend and take inventory of all of his Master’s things. He walked out with both in his hand and stopped in front of Hannibal’s chair.
“Do you—“
“Put them on,” Hannibal interrupted. “I won’t have you catch your death of cold in this weather.”
Will blinked, unsure of what to say. He did what he was told, of course, and made quick work of fastening the coat and tying the scarf so that it would keep out the winter chill.
Hannibal appraised him evenly, pursing his lips. “There’s a hat too, on the top shelf. Put it on. Then you can be on your way.”
Will retrieved it and put it on. He looked down, his cheeks burning with shame. “I can’t wear your things, Sir. They are too fine.”
Hannibal frowned. “If you don’t wear them, then you insult me. Is that what you wish to do?
Will looked panicked, wide-eyed and pale. “Oh no, Sir. Of course not. I only—“
“I’ll see you tomorrow, William,” Hannibal said as he looked into the fire. “Goodnight.”
Will’s cheeks burned. The coat was warm, and would serve him well on the long walk home. He bowed deeply. “Goodnight Sir. And thank you.”
Hannibal thought for a moment, considering the flames as they licked over the logs. “Thank you, Will,” he said quietly, but he was already gone.
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