Hannibal leans into the kiss, letting Will control their fervid coupling. Will’s back arches off the bed, a strangled cry spilling from his throat as tender membranes tear within. Will’s eyes watch him, hooded with desire, greedy for Hannibal’s domination, his passion playing across his face, hips arching slightly off the bed, his body begging to be filled. He soothes Will’s eyelids closed with soft fingertips, persuading him to sleep with a kiss against his temple. He gently adds a third finger, as Will marvels at the incredible feeling of fullness. Hannibal lets out a primitive snarl, taking the flesh of Will’s shoulder fiercely between his teeth, biting down hard enough to reopen the wound at his neck that has clotted. Hannibal leans over his body, bracing himself on one arm of the chair, leveling the razor against Will’s skin, just below the sharp angle of his jaw. He slides the end of one long finger into Will’s hole, just past the first knuckle, and that tiny push is all Will needs to tumble over the edge,
