itrhymes: (oven mitts)
Hannibal the Cannibal {Dr Hannibal Lecter} ([personal profile] itrhymes) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden 2015-12-05 01:35 am (UTC)

Hannibal has never been one to deny himself pleasures or feel shameful about them. His draconian-looking work ethic comes from a place of true interest, and is a way of ensuring prestige and money. He doesn't mind either owning his own practice or spending untold hours in a hot kitchen for a presentation that will last only minutes at most before consumption begins.

While sex is a rarer indulgence than food, it's given the same luxurious but strangely clinical care. While solo, he takes pains to ensure the mood is right and that everything goes smoothly. When with a partner - rarer still - he sets the scene that's appropriate for what he's trying to accomplish. Because, like his business built on the idea of helping others, sex is just another set of strings to pull on others' lives while helping himself. Hannibal enjoys the physical aspects of the sex, and enjoys the fruits of whatever he's managing to pull from his partner. He feels no guilt about using them, and they never feel any shame from such use, since his partners never realize they're part of this extra dance.

Ichabod is - and isn't - different. He's treasured more than most partners, but that isn't enough to overthrow the hold Hannibal's own self-interest has on himself. He is still his chief concern during sex, even if that means perfectly orchestrating Ichabod's pleasure, to gain trust. While Hannibal's enjoyment of their sex is real and genuine, it is also measured and calculated. He initiates when he senses Ichabod needs the reassurance or the pushing; he seduces and then reciprocates with the appropriate mixture of innocence, surprise, and encouragement.

But it feels better. Laying in bed afterwards with Ichabod, the settling in of knowing he made the correct choice and performed all the right moves to get what he wanted - it's an even higher, loftier sensation than before. His control feels utmost and Hannibal thrills with it. He burns with it, and their next time almost seems to frighten Ichabod off - Hannibal has spent weeks priming him for the concept of oral sex, but it's still a nerve-wracking experience for a man with 18th century values clanging in his head. But it happens, and it's real, and the sticky heat of it makes the hair on the back of Hannibal's neck raise with a primal challenge and threatening glee.

Ichabod is different, and Hannibal eventually reconciles this by deciding that it's by his own design. He's chosen Ichabod as his actual in-name partner, long term, and that is something no one else has ever warranted. Ichabod is nervous but gentlemanly when he fucks him for the first time, after weeks of discussion and prep work, and Hannibal thrills with the excitement of getting him to that point. He wakes the next morning still tasting victory, tests out the flavor by waking Ichabod with a deep kiss.

The win still feels as good the second time, that very next morning, and the afterglow captures them both for another hour's sleep before breakfast.

What does stays the same, even as their relationship evolves, is that feeling of control. Hannibal doesn't even bother trying the impossible task of faking orgasms, and why would he want to, if his pleasure is important? They're as they would be alone, and that's not bad: He lets his head fall back - or toward Ichabod, as necessary - lets his eyes droop closed, lets his back arch. His breath always hitches quicker inwards and then lets out, a glorious 2-7 count that is vocalized as needed for the mood. Orgasms are relaxed into like a hot tub - savored, controlled, a pleasure that's very clinically safe.

Tonight is their seventh time of having penetrative sex. Ichabod, with all the carry-overs from his time period, clearly isn't ready to receive, and Hannibal thinks he might never be. Hannibal is fine with this. Ichabod is gentle - exceedingly so - even after several practices. He takes enough time to stretch him out that Hannibal has started to coax him about it, making that more clearly part of sex as well. Hannibal murmurs encouragements, curls up against Ichabod's front and then stretches back away from him and rolls his head to the side into the pillow, sighing Ichabod's name for good measure.

Ichabod is fully, properly inside him within minutes. Hannibal smiles through the pain and doesn't lie when he answers Ichabod's worry with, "It feels lovely. Please, continue." And, as always, he relaxes into the rhythm of it. Ichabod gets less nervous each time, but never more rough. His care is a constant even as his anxiety slowly exhausts itself away. If Hannibal weren't so drawn in by the other man, he'd almost find it dull - instead it's soothing. He shifts his left leg outward more, catches at Ichabod's lower ribs with his fingers. Their skin is already catching against each other - the heat is up higher for Ichabod's sake, who takes any excuse to stay clothed and who seems to need the extra impetus to undress. He hums with real pleasure and feels Ichabod's chest lurching with unsaid words and voiceless gasps.

Typical, up until the rhythm adjusts in an unknown way. Not recognizing this new variable, Hannibal looks up at Ichabod, his own carefully-messy hair blurring the top right of his vision. "Mmm?" He squeezes the muscles down between his legs and Ichabod gasps up against his cheek. "Are you alright, Ichabod?" His voice is innocent, lightly concerned. Curiosity has Hannibal's fingers exploring Ichabod's spine, calculating strength and challenge and wondering on how this man is alive in this time and his. What's distracting him, then?

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