Chapter Text
“Do you trust me, Will?”
Hannibal stands before the desk in his office, his hands resting lightly on the polished wood.
Will sits opposite, a glass of red wine in his hand.
The glass trembles slightly as he lifts it, brows furrowing.
“Uhm… enough to sit here and chitchat about my shitty, crazy dreams.”
He tries to sound casual, but his voice betrays a nervous edge.
He studies Hannibal with sharp curiosity.
“What’s on your mind, Doctor Lecter?”
He takes a sip, his eyes never leaving the man leaning so calmly against the desk.
“I would like to tie you up and blindfold you.”
Will chokes, coughing into his glass.
“What?”
“It could be therapeutic. A way to soothe your restless mind. But it requires trust, an amount most men cannot offer.”
Hannibal’s voice is steady, deliberate.
Will swallows hard. “…Okay.”
His whisper is raw, his cheeks warming with a delicate shade of pink.
Hannibal tilts his head, surprised. “Are you sure, Will?”
“Don’t ask. Just do it, before I run out of this room.”
“Do you feel the need to run?”
“I’m not sure what I feel. And I’m even less sure about this… thought.”
“Why is that so?”
“Why?” Will exhales shakily, licking his lips. “Maybe… maybe I find it alluring.”
“So you like the idea?”
Will nods, reluctant but honest. “Yes.”
Hannibal steps closer, his dark eyes catching the dim light.
“And the fact that I am the one, does that inspire more trust? Or less?”
Will downs a mouthful of wine, his throat tight.
“Not sure. More nervous, definitely.”
“What is it tha—”
“Hannibal! Just do it!”
A rare smile curves Hannibal’s lips, bright and sharp.
So rude, this perfect, fragile mind.
“As you wish.”
He crosses the room with measured calm, opening a cabinet.
Inside waits a secret collection, prepared long ago for this boy alone.
He returns with a blindfold and a set of shibari ropes, laying them carefully on the table.
Will’s eyes widen.
“Shibari?”
“Good, you‘re familiar with it,” Hannibal observes.
“If you feel uncomfortable, you must tell me. I will blindfold you first, then bind you. Would that be acceptable, Will?”
“Y-Yes,” Will breathes, his voice trembling.
Hannibal offers a tender smile. “Then let’s begin.”
He slips the blindfold over Will’s eyes.
The last thing Will sees is the dark gleam of Hannibal’s gaze.
His curls fall into place like a halo, framing the blindfold.
What the hell am I agreeing to?
This is insane. Absolutely insane.
Hannibal binds his wrists gently, resting them on his lap.
His movements are deliberate and slow.
Fantastic. Now I’m officially a piñata with anxiety issues.
Inhaling deeply, Hannibal takes in the sweet, subtle scent of Will’s skin, letting it fill his senses.
The younger man shivers at the nearness of his breath.
Goosebumps rise along Will’s throat as the rope tightens.
Will’s breath stutters uneven and shallow, betraying both tension and anticipation.
I should pull back. I should tell him to stop.
Instead, Will leans forward, breath catching.
Hannibal watches him carefully, noting the tremor in his hands and the rise of goosebumps along his neck. He leans closer, close enough that Will can feel the heat of his body, the faint taste of wine and bergamot mingling with the sweetness of Will’s scent.
“Relax,” Hannibal murmurs, voice low and deliberate. “Trust me.” Will swallows sharply, a small shudder running through him. He wants to pull back, to escape, but his body betrays him.
Then Hannibal secures his legs.
Stretching them against the chair’s frame.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, watching the tension coil in Will’s body.
“How do you feel, Will?”
“Well…” Will exhales, as if he had been holding his breath forever. “…tied up.”
“Good.”
Footsteps retreat, then return. A cork, the quiet pour of wine.
Will listens, straining. The sound of Hannibal sipping, swallowing. It’s no louder than before, but far more intense. Hannibal’s scent drifts through the room once more: bergamot and musk, hints of luxury, and a shadow of something darker, impossible to ignore.
Will’s lips part. He needs more. Then he feels the cool rim of a glass against his mouth.
“Drink.”
He obeys, gulping. His spine tightens like a drawn wire, his pants uncomfortably tight. The strong wine burns, and a moan slips free.
God, why does it feel like this?
“Hannibal.”
“Relax, my dear boy. Relax.”
Will exhales a broken breath. Strong hands press into his shoulders from behind.
“Oh fuck, Hannibal… that feels—”
A low moan cuts his words. Hannibal finds a spot and works it mercilessly until Will groans, shameless and loud. Hannibal steadies himself, resisting the delirious pull of that sound.
Again, he lifts the glass to Will’s lips.
Wine slides down his throat, and Hannibal watches, hungry.
What more could that throat take?
Finally, Hannibal comes around to the front.
The outline straining against Will’s pants is unmistakable.
He kneels, inhaling Will’s sweet scent, while Will’s breath stutters violently.”
Slowly, Hannibal loosens the ropes. First the legs, then the trembling wrists, finally the blindfold. A bead of sweat glistens on Will’s temple, and Hannibal longs to taste it.
“Welcome back.”
Will gulps, blinking rapidly, his pulse still racing.
Hannibal returns to his chair.
Is the chair closer than before?
Will inhales sharply, trying to force calm into his chest, but the scent of Hannibal, of wine and musk, still lingers.
„How do you feel, Will?“
„Good. Relaxed.“
„Did your mind wander?“
Will lets out a sly, almost mischievous laugh.
„Not like it usually does.“
„Would you like to repeat this?“
He hesitates, licking his lips, caught between fear and longing. „…Yes.“
„Good. Drink your wine.“