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Hannibal sees the dog before Will does, and he holds his breath in anticipation for the reaction—he watches Will’s eyes flit over to the field then widen in surprise. He grabs Hannibal’s arm. “Pull over.”
Pleased, Hannibal complies, pulling onto the shoulder. He hardly has time to put the car in park before Will’s jumping out, approaching the dog with light feet. He whistles, a sharp sound that rings across the empty field. “Here, boy,” he calls, gentle yet urgent.
It’s a hound dog, long ears and longer snout, and its nostrils flare as it sniffs Will from afar. Its ears lay flat against its head, eyes big with fear.
“Do you have anything it can eat?” Will asks, still crouching at the dog’s level, hand upturned and outstretched. “It’s afraid.”
Hannibal considers this, going through the mental list of what is in the backseat. A bag of flour, a few bottles of wine, a machete. There is a wheel of finely aged cheddar packed into the cooler, yet Hannibal was looking forward to eating that himself….
Still, he pulls himself out of the driver's seat and cuts open the cheese. He places a small chunk in Will’s awaiting palm.
Will dares to step forward, and Hannibal expects the dog to bark or growl, but it does neither of those things, just sniffs some more, digging its paws into the grass. “It’s okay,” Will coos, holding out the cheese. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
The dogs sniffs some more, slowly approaching. Finally, it shoves its snout into Will’s hand, licking up the cheese. “Good boy,” Will says, rubbing the dog’s head, scratching behind its ears. “You’re starving, honey, you’re so thin.” The dog licks every crevice of Will’s hand, searching for more food and settling for the salt of his sweat.
“Do you think it’s a stray?” Hannibal asks, crouching down to examine the hound. It’s cheek appears inflamed, and it’s thin enough to see its ribs.
“He looks like a purebred,” Will says, holding the dog’s face to examine it, pulling back its lips to see its teeth. The dog struggles but does not bite. “It would be strange if he was a stray. He’s just a puppy.” He pets the dog’s head, and its tail wags. He scoops the dog up in his arms. “Cmon, boy,” he says. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
Hannibal saw this coming. Still, he smirks. “I assume he will be staying with us?”
Will suddenly looks surprised, as if he forgot that they would be going back to their shared home. “If that’s alright,” he mumbles, but the look on Will’s face tells Hannibal the dog will be joining them no matter what.
Hannibal just smiles a little wider. “Of course it’s alright.” He opens the trunk so Will can put the dog down. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
Will looks up at him, a little bashful smile toying at his lips. The dog walks in a circle in the trunk. Hannibal pulls it shut. Will stands on his toes, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to Hannibal’s mouth. It makes Hannibal want to sink his teeth into him, eat him from the inside out.
Instead, he gets back into the driver’s seat and takes the three of them to the supermarket.
They buy a leash, a dog collar, a pound of ground beef, a dozen eggs, a bag of rice, a jar of coconut oil. Will makes the dog food from scratch—he’s seen the man make less complex meals to put into his own body.
The dog eats so much so fast Hannibal worries it will puke on his carpet. Will scratches between its shoulder blades. “Poor boy,” he whispers. His mouth is pulled into a tight frown. Hannibal can see the gears in his head turning, trying to read the dog’s mind, see its past through its eyes.
Hannibal threads his fingers through Will’s hair, petting him not unlike a dog. He watches his eyes flutter shut. He leans back and pushes his forehead to Hannibal’s hip. “Do you think someone did this to him?” Hannibal asks, eyes refusing to leave Will’s face.
Will’s eyes open, wild and blue like the ocean. They’re determined. A little feral. Hannibal’s heart beats a little faster. “I’m going to find out.”
That night, Will disappears. Hannibal knows the he is capable, that he knows what he is doing, but he still finds himself pacing in the living room well past dark. The hound, freshly washed with a leather collar around its neck, lays before the fireplace, watching Hannibal with weary eyes. Hannibal glares back. “You did this,” he hisses.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes to the smell of blood and sunflowers. He opens his eyes and there is Will, kneeling before him. A thin layer of blood coats his face and his t-shirt. Hannibal scans his face—he doesn’t look hurt, besides an open cut on his cheek. “Sorry,” Will whispers. “Were you waiting up for me?”
Hannibal leans in, licking his cheek. The blood isn’t his. He sighs in relief. “I couldn’t help it,” he whispers, kissing the corner of Will’s mouth. Will turns his face, kissing him properly. “I needed to be sure our new friend didn’t relieve himself on my couch.”
That makes Will grin, looking over to where the dog lays by the dwindling fire. It stays put, but its tail begins to wag. “Were you a good boy?”
“He was,” Hannibal says. He uses two fingers to turn Will’s face back to him. “Were you?”
Hannibal lives for the way Will’s eyes go a little dark, a little wild, like an animal’s. “I need your help.”
Out in the driveway, there are four foxhounds, all circling the car, yelping and snarling. Will shoos them away, clearing a path for Hannibal and himself. He opens the trunk. There, curled into a ball, is a man, bound and gagged and bloody. He sees Hannibal and Will, eyes alight with fear, and he trembles. Hannibal looks between the man, the dogs, the contempt on Will’s face. There is so much fire in his eyes, Hannibal can almost smell the smoke. He wants to bend Will over the hood of the car and make him come until he can’t see straight.
He clears his throat. “So you found your perpetrator,” he says. Like a bloodhound.
“He was breeding them,” Will says. He wipes his weeping cut on his clothes shoulder. The dogs bark. “They were all stuffed in one crate, no food or water.”
One of the dogs circles Hannibal’s ankles, leaning heavily on his shins. “Five of them?”
Will scoffs. “Check the backseat.”
Hannibal glances at Will, whose expression is unreadable. He opens the back door, and there is another hound, wrapped in a blanket. It snarls at him. He peers around it, a little closer, and sees that there are four puppies latched to her underbelly. He closes the door. “I see.” He circles back to Will, eyeing the man in his trunk. The man shakes his head, horribly annoying whines coming from his gag. “What are we going to do with him?”
The man was most definitely an alcoholic, judging by his liver. Nothing Hannibal would like to eat, but the dogs find it to be just fine. Will picks up five more collars and leashes identical to Buckley’s—that’s what he’s calling the first hound—and four puppy ones.
Bailey—the mother—hardly lets Hannibal get within ten feet of her or her pups, but she lets Will stroke behind her ears, bathe and feed each of the young.
“Bentley, Benny, Betsy, and Bethany,” Will names the rest, besides the puppies. “Once they’re weaned, we can find homes for them. And the rest.”
Hannibal raises a brow. “You don’t want to keep them?”
Will laughs, a bright sound. “I mean, obviously, I want to. But we can’t keep all of them.”
“But one or two,” Hannibal says, “wouldn’t hurt.”
Will looks surprised. “You want to keep them?”
“You want to keep them,” Hannibal clarifies. “I want to make you happy.”
Will flushes, pink dusting high on his cheeks. He has the decency to look bashful. “So we can keep some?” He grins, teeth glinting, a sweet little look of hope.
Hannibal can’t help himself, stroking Will’s cheek. “Anything.”
The dogs make Will brighter. Hannibal told him once that he likes to be needed. It’s the reason he loves pets so much. “You want to be wanted,” Hannibal had said. “Not unlike a dog yourself.”
Will, in turn, brings the dogs out of their shell. They go running with him in the morning, pile on the couch with them in the evening, sleep in the living room together at night. As the pups get older, Bailey even gets less hostile, yet she still seems weary of Hannibal. One of the puppies pees on their duvet, annoying Hannibal to no end, but the grin Will has on while scolding it makes it a bit better.
Three days in a row, Hannibal wakes and Benny—or is it Bentley?—has taken its collar off in the night. He starts breakfast, the younger dogs running over to beg, and Benny drops the leather collar at Hannibal’s feet. Hannibal looks at the dog. It flops on its side, revealing its belly. Hannibal kneels down to rub it.
“Silly thing,” he scolds. He picks up the collar, spreading it to its full circumference. They are large dogs, though this collar is just a hair too large for the dog it’s for. Will hoped that the skinny thing would grow into it. It has an adjustable strap—Hannibal tightens it. Then stops. Loosens it. He leaves it unlatched on the counter.
It’s only a few minutes later Will rises, stumbling sleepily into the kitchen. The dogs follow at his heels excitedly. “Good morning,” Hannibal says, shooing Betsy from jumping at the counter. Will hums in response, wrapping a hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck, dragging him down for a kiss.
“Smells good,” Will mumbles, voice thick with sleep, burying his nose into Hannibal’s collar.
“Me or the food?” Hannibal teases, enjoying the wet kisses Will leaves on his collarbone.
“Mmm,” Will says, a non-answer. He turns to the refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for the dog’s breakfast. Two begin to bark excitedly. “Enough,” Will snaps, suddenly less tired.
He puts the dogs in the other room to eat, leaving the kitchen and dining room for the two of them. Will picks up the stranded collar. “Ben snuck out his collar again?”
“He gave it to me as a gift,” Hannibal explains, laying slabs of ham on the skillet. It sizzles, oil snapping on the pan. “I believe it’s too large for him.”
“Hm,” Will considers, holding the collar by each end, examining it. He looks at Hannibal. Back at the collar. “It’s a shame.”
“Indeed.”
Will wraps the leather dog collar around his own throat, clicking it into place.
Hannibal can hardly contain his joy. “Come here.”
Obedient, Will rounds the counter, standing before Hannibal. Hannibal adjusts the collar, slipping two fingers under and giving a firm tug. It’s snug against Will’s throat. “Good?”
Will’s pupils have blown out. “Good.”
Hannibal cups Will’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against Will’s beard, his bottom lip. His mouth hangs open, and Hannibal pushes his thumb down on Will’s pink tongue. His mouth closes around the digit, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks. “Good boy,” Hannibal coos. Will’s eyes flutter shut. “Why don’t you go fetch me a leash, hm?”
Will leaves a lick on Hannibal’s thumb before not quite running off.
Hannibal sets the table simply, brewing a pot of coffee as he goes along, fork, knife, napkin, mug. Will returns with the lead. Hannibal takes it, placing it on the table, as if a centerpiece. “Sit,” he commands, and Will takes his place at the table. “Stay,” he adds, just to watch Will flush. He can smell the arousal on him, knows that the fabric of his boxers are damp.
He places his breakfast in front of Will. Will watches the plate, an unreadable expression on his face. Hannibal sits, cutting a runny egg with his fork. Will remains unmoving, just glancing up at Hannibal. For permission. Hannibal can’t help but grin. “Eat.”
Will does, picking up his fork and digging in.
Hannibal eats slowly, watching Will eat. Will keeps glancing up at Hannibal, face flushed. He clears his throat. “I should, uh,” he clears his throat again. “I should let the dogs out. For the bathroom.”
“I will do that,” Hannibal says. He takes a long sip of his coffee. “How about you go to the bedroom and wait for me, hm?”
Will swallows, hard. He nods a little too hard, a little too quickly. He stands, clearing his own plate. Hannibal wills himself not to buzz with anticipation. He does the dishes slowly, drying them and putting them away. He lets the dogs out, making sure they all do their business. Finally, he lets them all back inside, closing the door separating the living room and kitchen with a firm, “Stay,” before grabbing the lead and making his way upstairs. He has to remind himself not to run.
Just as expected, what’s greeting him is a treat—Will lays on their bed, naked except for the collar. His hair has gotten longer, and it splays on the pillow like a halo. Hannibal wets his lips, feeling a bit like a predator.
“Look at you,” he coos, standing at the end of the bed. Will whimpers before Hannibal even lays a hand on him. His cock throbs in his pants. “Up,” he commands.
Will rises onto his knees, crawling off the bed and standing before Hannibal. Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed. “Sit.” He gestures between his spread thighs. Will drops to his knees, looking up at Hannibal through those long lashes. Hannibal hisses. He clips the end of the lead to the o-ring of the collar. Gives it a good tug—Will rises with the pull. This will do just nicely.
He wraps the leash around his wrist, keeping Will attached as he pulls down his pants, exposing his half-hard length to the cool air. Will leans forward, resting his head on Hannibal’s thigh, looking up at him expectantly. Waiting.
Hannibal lets him wait, scratching his scalp and whispering, “Beautiful boy.” Will hums high in his throat, mouthing at the skin of Hannibal’s thigh. He gives the lead a tight tug, enjoying the grunt that Will gives. He pulls him up, up, until he rises on his knees. Will’s eyes don’t leave his. Hannibal grins. “Go ahead.”
Will darts in without another second, taking Hannibal into his mouth. He sucks on the head, taking him deeper with each bob of his head. Hannibal closes his eyes, letting out a soft groan. He pushes his hips up, Will’s beard scratching his thighs, his nose pressing into Hannibal’s gut. He fucks into the warm, wet heat of Will mouth. Will takes him deeper, into his throat, and Hannibal can’t help but moan at that tight embrace.
All the while, Will’s looking up at him, his blue, blue eyes watery with tears threatening to spill. His eyelashes get damp as he blinks.
He grabs the back of Will’s head, pushing him down more, grabbing the front of his throat to feel himself inside of Will. He fucks his throat, deep and rough, relishing in the wet sound Will’s mouth makes. He shoves Will down as far as he can go, and Hannibal can feel Will’s stomach kick, his body fight the intrusion, but he doesn’t move to pull off. “Good boy,” Hannibal moans.
Hannibal pulls Will off by his hair, his face bright red and his lips deep purple. He coughs, a little too wet, and for a second Hannibal fears he pushed too far, but then Will’s taking a heaving breath, another, and then taking Hannibal back into his mouth. Hannibal has to tug Will off again, suddenly far too close. Instead, he grabs Will by the lead, pulling him up into his lap. He kisses Will furiously, licking into that wet hot mouth, tasting himself. Will moans into the kiss, straddling Hannibal’s thigh, grinding his wet cunt against his underwear.
He drags him away, throwing him onto the bed. Will falls like a rag doll, burying his face into the sheets, shoulders rising and falling as he pants. Hannibal grabs his hips, pulling Will down the bed and his hips up. He spreads Will’s cheeks and licks a wet stripe across his asshole.
Will moans wildly. He reaches back and grabs Hannibal by the hair, pulling him closer. “Yes,” he pants, grinding back on Hannibal’s face. “Eat my pussy, please, please.”
Hannibal does, licking into Will’s wet hole, sucking his lips between his own. He dips down to suck his cock, hard and hot against his tongue. He shoves two fingers into that wet heat, curling them against that spongy spot inside, and Will’s body bows with it.
“You’re all worked up, sweetheart,” Hannibal says, and he can hear his own voice grow deep like a growl. “You sound like a slut.”
Will visibly shivers at the words, even more so as Hannibal slips a third finger in, fucking him, a loud squelch with each thrust. “‘m not,” Will says, voice a whine, muffled by the bedsheets. His back is coated with sweat. His voice is hoarse and broken. “I’m not a slut.”
“Really? You sound like one.” Hannibal slaps his ass just to hear him yelp, a wounded animal, leaving a red print. “You’re moaning like a whore.” He can tell Will is close and desperate, fucking himself on Hannibal’s fingers. Hannibal pinches his clit, a little mean, and Will moans, thighs shaking. He clicks his tongue.
“Hnnn,” Will says, grinding against the hand on his cock. He watching Hannibal, half urgency, half curiosity. Hannibal wants to sink his teeth into him.
“I suppose you just can’t help it, panting and whining like a bitch in heat.”
The words wash over Will and his orgasm follows, thighs twitching and muscles clenching around Hannibal’s fingers. He fucks him through it, rubbing his jumping cock until he starts to squirm, eyes rolled back and whimpering.
“Hannibal,” he whines, grabbing Hannibal’s wrist. “Fuck me.”
Hannibal pulls out his fingers just to leave another smack on his ass. “Show me how you want it.”
Will spreads his knees, arching his back and resting on his elbows. “Just like this,” he says, looking back at Hannibal like he knows exactly what he’s doing, stretched out like a perfect present, like a meal begging to be cut into.
Hannibal pushes between his lips without penetrating, just rutting his cock against Will’s. “Like this?”
Will whines, fisting the sheets, his overstimulated body jumping from the attention on his cock. “You know,” his voice croaks.
He slaps the red spot on his ass once, twice more. “Ask me nicely.”
Will looks over his shoulder and bats those pretty eyelashes, eyes still damp and weepy and desperate. “Please,” he asks, a proper beg, and Hannibal’s cock twitches, “please, breed me, please—”
Hannibal presses his hand between Will’s shoulder blades, spine cracking at the force, and shoves his way into Will. He has the gall to laugh, face forced into the mattress with the way Hannibal thrusts into him. His laughs quickly turn to a stuttered moan when Hannibal scratches his dull nail against his clit.
“You need it, don’t you?” Hannibal asks, but he sounds out of breath even to himself, grinding into Will as deep as he can go, fucking him rough the way he likes. “Need me to fill you up?”
Will nods into the mattress. “Uh huh,” he pants. “Need you to knock me up.”
Hannibal grabs the lead, wrapping it once, twice around his fist until Will chokes, upper half forced off the bed. He scrabbles for purchase, reaching back and digging his nails until Hannibal’s thighs. His mouth falls open in a silent moan.
Watching him like this, flushed down his chest and shoulders, sweat dripping down his strong back, always gets to Hannibal. Seeing Will, this man, his man, fucked out and cock drunk and collared makes him ooze with possession, or maybe it’s love. Either way Hannibal wants to wrap his arms around him and sink inside him forever. He wants to take a knife and carve his initials into that body, mine, mine, mine.
Will threads a hang through Hannibal’s hair. “All for you,” he says. Maybe Hannibal said it out loud. Maybe Will read his mind.
“Such a good boy,” Hannibal coos, kissing the exit wound on his shoulder, the spot behind his ear. He scrapes his teeth against the shell of it. “All for me.”
Will leans back, knocking the crown of his head into Hannibal’s temple, almost tenderly. Hannibal kisses his lips, holding him around the middle. He reaches down to where they’re connected, where Will’s body swallows him. “You’re so wet for me.” He thumbs at Will’s cock, and Will’s back bows father, panting into Hannibal’s open mouth. “Are you going to come?”
Will nods, knocking his nose against Hannibal’s. “Yeah,” he says, a pant. “I wanna come. Please, can I come?”
Hannibal’s body thrums, snapping his hips with newfounded vigor. He scrapes his teeth along Will’s throat, where that pulse-point flutters like a rabbit’s. Permission is not something Will asks for very often. It makes Hannibal want to give him everything and more.
But he has to drag it out, of course he does. He teases the head of Will’s perfect cock, feeling the way it jumps at his touch. “Sweet thing,” he coos, lips kissing the shell of Will’s ear. “You’ve been so good for me all morning. You want to come on my cock?”
Will nods a little desperately, grinding back onto Hannibal, forward into his hand. “Yes, please. Please, please—”
Hannibal shushes him. “Go ahead,” he says, pinches his cock, a little mean. Will yelps. “Come for me, pet.”
Will does, bucking his hips so hard he almost dislodges Hannibal from him. Hannibal grips his hips harshly, pulling him down. He tugs on the leash, making sure Will feels it as he shudders. Hannibal shoves him back into the bed, hand between his shoulder blades keeping his chest against the mattress, hand on the lead forcing his head back. He can’t help it, leaning down, licking the sweat from Will’s shoulder, whispering, “Thank you, thank you, Will,” against the skin. He sinks his teeth into Will’s shoulder as he comes, burying his hips against Will’s.
They lay there, both catching their breaths. Hannibal lets go of his white-knuckle grip on the leash. Will grabs his arm, pulling it around his middle. Hannibal smiles, flipping them both over to their sides so he can hold Will more completely. He kisses that bite mark and then all around Will’s shoulders, feeling Will’s rapid heart beat slow.
Hannibal unlatches the lead, tossing it over the side of the bed. He reaches for the collar, but Will grabs his hand. “Not yet,” he whispers. He turns, wrapping his arm around Hannibal’s neck, pressing their noses together. “Can we stay like this a little while?”
Hannibal’s heart clenches, just a little. This man will be his undoing. “Of course, pet,” he says. Will shivers. “As long as you need.” He peppers kisses along Will’s face, making him smile, a little bashful.
Somehow, Hannibal feels as if he’s the one with the collar around his throat.