
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/810055.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Hannibal_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Hannibal/Abigail/Will, Abigail_Hobbs/Hannibal_Lecter, Will_Graham/
      Hannibal_Lecter, Will_Graham/Abigail_Hobbs
  Character:
      Hannibal_Lecter, Abigail_Hobbs, Will_Graham
  Additional Tags:
      PWP
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-20 Words: 1725
****** Hunger goes in a straight line (desire turns in circles) ******
by romans
Summary
     For the prompt: Hannibal ties Abigail up using her scarf.
"You're sure you want this?" Hannibal asks, hands deft on the silk behind her
head. Abigail nods, trying not to tremble. The pull of the scarves on her
wrists is supportive and steady when she flexes her arms. It holds her in
place.
Hannibal won't let any harm come to her. Especially not while Will is around,
lingering in the edge of her peripheral vision. Hannibal looks up at him and
she watches his jaw move when he speaks.
"Come in, Will," he says. He sounds perfectly composed, like this is just
another therapy session. When she turns her head to look at him, Will is
standing in the doorway, looking nervous. He always looks nervous, though,
until he looks dangerous.
"Come on," she says, flexing her wrists against the scarves. There's another
one still around her neck, trailing down between her bare breasts and just
hiding the scar from her father's knife. Will offers her a weak smile, like he
can't quite believe what they're doing.
Hannibal shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up neatly before walking over to
Will. He pauses when he reaches Will to glance back at Abigail, a question in
his eyes. She nods, a little flushed. Hannibal reaches across the threshold of
his bedroom to touch Will on the shoulder, draw him in over the line.
"She wants to do this, Will," he murmurs. "It will give her back a sense of
control."
Will is looking at the floor, but he doesn't protest when Hannibal shucks his
coat off and drops it on the floor.
"She gets to decide what happens. We can do whatever we want to her, but when
she's had enough she can make it stop." Hannibal is unbuttoning Will's shirt,
now, explaining in a calm, quiet voice why Abigail asked to be tied to his bed.
He pauses when Will's shirt falls open, gaze fixed on the pale skin over Will's
heart, and Abigail watches him reach out to touch, almost unconsciously.
Will is looking at Hannibal's face now.
"We're taking power away from her and then giving it back. Her father took from
her but he never gave her a way to empower herself."
"It's the least we can do?" Will asks, only a little sarcastically. He reaches
out to tug on Hannibal's cufflinks. Not undressing. Just toying.
Hannibal smiles, and Abigail knows they've won. She pulls absentmindedly on the
scarf around her wrist.
"Hannibal," she says, while Will unbuckles his belt and toes his shoes off. He
turns away from Will and walks to the end of the bed, where he leans forward
onto his hands, taking in the sight of her trussed up and presented to them
like a feast.
"Hannibal," she says, a little breathless, a little shy, "will you eat me?"
Hannibal's eyes darken and his smile has teeth. He throws one last glance at
Will, including him in this thing between them, and almost before she knows
what's happened, her legs are thrown over his broad shoulders and he's buried
his nose against her thigh. Normally she has to grab the pillows or the
headboard to keep herself from sliding down the sheets, but this time the
scarves hold her in place and stretch her back out when Hannibal moves her. She
feels anchored.
For this, she prefers Hannibal. He's clean shaven and attentive where Will is
scratchy and rough. She stopped being shy about it a long time ago. Hannibal
inhales deeply, as if he's savoring a glass of wine, and then his teeth scrape
against the inside of her thigh. She arches off the bed and the strain in her
arms only makes it more delicious.
Will bites her earlobe exactly when Hannibal's tongue sweeps over her clit.
Hannibal has to jerk back when she almost falls out of the bed. Only her
restraints keep her in one place. Will is kneeling beside the bed, grinning
like the cat that got the canary, and she would feel embarrassed but she really
wants more.
Hannibal crawls up the bed until he's balanced over her, and dips his head to
kiss her. His mouth is salty-sweet and a little sour with the taste of her
body, and he nips her lip when he pulls away. He turns to kiss Will, quick and
dirty, and then he kneels between her legs again. His collar is damp with sweat
and his erection is pressing against the fine cloth of his trousers, but he
makes no move to relieve himself. Instead he just hoists her legs up again and
applies himself intently to the nerve endings between her legs.
Abigail curls her hands around the scarves restraining her and screams.
Will has moved to the other side of the bed now, and his hands are warm against
her skin. He pushes the scarf aside with his nose, and licks the line of scar
tissue underneath it.
"Come on," he whispers. His hands find Hannibal's where they're pressing down
onto the bed, and the feeling of their fingers entwining on her hip sends jolts
of pleasure down her spine. She shakes under their combined attentions, feels
pressure building between her legs. It's too much.
"Oh God!" Abigail uses the scarves to pull herself up and away from Hannibal's
mouth, and plants a foot against his shoulder to hold him in place. He looks up
at her curiously, eyes blown out and mouth reddened from exertion.
"Wait," she says breathlessly. "I just need a..." she lets her head drop back
against the pillows, and Hannibal smiles at her. He looks proud of himself.
Will takes advantage of the moment and grabs Hannibal by his shirt to pull him
into another kiss. He keeps pulling as he flops onto his back, and Abigail
giggles when Hannibal flounders to keep his balance.
"Will," Hannibal says. He looks a little ridiculous, balanced on his hands and
elbows above Will, who is as naked as the day he was born. Abigail relaxes
backwards, letting the scarves support her, and watches them kiss. It's lazy
and a little teasing, and Hannibal runs his slick hands through Will's hair,
leaving shining traces of Abigail behind him. He buries his face in Will's
neck, suddenly, and whispers something that she can't hear.
When Hannibal sits up, unbuttoning his cuffs, Will clambers to her side and
then reaches over and across her to get to the bedside table. He comes up with
a condom and a bottle of lube.
"You won't need that," Hannibal says. He's sitting against the pillows,
watching intently. His hair is a disaster, she notes absently.
"Okay?" Will asks, softly. She smiles at him, glad that he took the time to
check.
"Great," she says. He bends down to kiss her, and then pulls her down the bed
so that the silk around her wrists is stretched as far as it will go. Then,
with no ceremony whatsoever, he kneels between her legs, rolls the condom on,
and slides inside of her. She gasps at the intrusion and plants her feet to
find some leverage, but her tied arms throw her off balance and leave her
floundering. Will drives into her, setting a relentless pace that hovers on the
edge of discomfort, and she hears Hannibal take a sharp breath on his side of
the bed. She remembers the first time they did this, how surprising it was to
find them inside of her, in a part of her body that had lain unsuspected and
undiscovered until then. She could map her internal organs, suddenly. Below her
stomach, there- Will was there. If her hands had been free she would have
wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.
Instead she turns her head to look at Hannibal. His face is flushed and he's
all but sitting on his hands, watching them intently. Will groans above her,
dripping sweat onto her skin, and his hand traces the line of her neck. When it
closes around her throat and begins to squeeze, Hannibal sits up a little
straighter.
She bucks underneath Will, panic flooding her body. "No," she gasps, sharp and
frightened, and Hannibal reaches out to pull Will off of her.
"Will!" he snaps. He grasps Will by the arms and wrenches him across the bed.
Abigail winces at the sensation, and then buries her face in her shoulder,
fighting a sudden rush of tears.
"I'd like to-" she says, shaky, afraid to look at them, but Hannibal is already
beside her, undoing the knots he had tied earlier. Will is sitting on the other
side of the bed, looking guilt-stricken and dazed. Abigail swings her legs over
the side of the bed and buries her face in her hands, trying to calm her racing
heart. There's a whisper of cloth, and then Hannibal's shirt is draped around
her shoulders, a shield against the world.
"Thank you," she says. She can't bring herself to look at either of them.
"Abigail-" Will says. He sounds broken.
"I've got to go," she says, slipping her arms into the shirt and pulling it
closed. When she glances behind her, Will looks so stricken that something in
her cracks. She walks around to his side of the bed on wobbly legs, and tries
to look him in the eye. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind her shoulder. Tears
are brimming in his eyes.
"It's a case thing, isn't it?" she asks. She pulls the shirt a little tighter
around her.
"Yeah," Will says, his voice hoarse and broken. She reaches out to touch him,
briefly. They'll work it out. Just not now.
"I have to go," Abigail says. As she slips out of the room to got to the shower
(to get away, to get out), Will collapses against Hannibal, who looks just as
shaken as she feels. She drops the shirt when she reaches the bathroom and
pulls her sweat-soaked scarf off of her neck. There is a livid bite mark on the
inside of her thigh, and her wrists are striped with white and red.
Will frightens her, sometimes, and Hannibal is more than a little threatening,
but they're on her side. They would work it out. They had to. She steps into
the shower, and rubs her wrists as the cleansing water pours down over her.
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