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Will abhors opera night.
He loves his husband, though, so once a month he dutifully dresses in whatever godawful monkey suit Hannibal has laid out for him for the evening. He takes the time to shave on those nights, and puts some unknown product in his hair that supposedly tames his curls, but he isn’t convinced it actually accomplishes anything beyond making his hair tacky to the touch. But Hannibal appreciates the effort, so he does it for him. Once he’s ready, he goes downstairs to meet Hannibal at the door and allows him to help him into his coat.
He knows what these date nights mean to Hannibal, that the opportunity to show off his younger husband satisfies something animalistic in him. Hannibal is, after all, the superior specimen in the already superior echelon of society, and putting his ‘trophy husband’ on display only serves to remind others of his status.
What Will doesn’t understand is why the hell Hannibal thinks showing him off isn’t actually a stain on his reputation. Now Will isn’t delusional, at least not without the brain inflammation. He knows that he’s not an unattractive man. He just also doesn’t think he’s anything worth bragging over. He’s a scruffy, socially awkward, confrontational retired Quantico professor who would rather be surrounded by dogs and mud than drinking champagne with Baltimore’s elite.
If anything, he expects Hannibal’s peers to pity the successful doctor.
It’s with this sullen attitude that Will gets in Hannibal’s Bentley and sits in silence on the way to the opera house, Hannibal only having to scold him once for fiddling with his bowtie.
Will hates the bowtie.
It’s bad enough when Hannibal puts out his traditional black tux for him to wear, but with the change in season, Hannibal had insisted on something less somber. The tuxedo itself is a soft blue-green that supposedly compliments his eyes, with a subtle swirling pattern in the same shade but of a slightly silkier material that catches the light when Will moves. The shirt is a blessed, boring white, but the vest and tie are a matching, deeper version of the same blue-green with a bold floral pattern as the icing on the cake.
Will feels like a coastal-themed throw pillow.
But Hannibal insists he looks beautiful and Will is determined to grin and bear it. Afterall, Hannibal usually makes these nights worth his while with a thorough, deep fucking once they’re home.
This plan, however, falls apart once they reach the opera house and Will sees that the overwhelming majority of the men are dressed in traditional black tuxedos, which his husband is also uncharacteristically wearing. The only ones dressed in floral, spring colors are the women.
“Hannibal,” Will hisses just minutes after the walk through the doors. “I look ridiculous.”
Hannibal does his best to hide his exasperated sigh before turning and smiling at Will, placing a hand over his where it rests in the crook of his arm.
“Nonsense, Will. You look lovely.”
“People are looking at me, Hannibal!”
“Only because you look lovely, dear boy. Now hush. Let us enjoy the evening together, hm?”
And just like that, Will’s concerns are dismissed and Hannibal leads them over to a group of individuals that Will recognizes as frequent guests at their dinner parties. Throughout the conversation, Will can’t help but notice the glances he’s continuing to receive from around the room and despite Hannibal’s assurances, they do not all look terribly appreciative.
As one of the other opera goers regales their group with tales of his latest vacation, Will leans into Hannibal and whispers in his ear again through gritted teeth. “I don’t appreciate you purposefully humiliating me like this, Hannibal.”
Hannibal pulls back, looking down at Will in confusion. He knows he isn’t a terribly subtle man, especially when it comes to Will, so typically it’s rather obvious to them both when he chooses to humiliate his sweet boy for his own pleasure and entertainment. But he hadn’t initiated any such games this evening and cannot imagine what Will is referring to.
“This suit. This suit is awful and people are staring and I want to go home.”
Hannibal’s expression shifts from one of confusion to that of mild irritation. He isn’t particularly fond of insults and doesn’t appreciate Will insulting not only his tastes, but his most prized possession as well: himself.
“Will, I will tell you this one more time and then it would be in your best interests to drop the subject. You look beautiful, you could walk these halls in a burlap sack and still be the most stunning person in attendance, and if anyone is staring it is because they are in agreement. Now, you are to stop your complaining and be a good boy for me, do you understand?”
All of this is whispered into Will’s ear with such a stern tone that Will knows any further argument will be useless. Instead he nods once to show he understands and then fixes his gaze firmly on the wall behind the person opposite him.
Will stays silent for the rest of their time socializing, though the silence is accompanied by an unsubtle air of discontent. Once they reach their seats, Will resumes his fidgeting with the suit and making his feelings about it known as loudly as if he were screaming it directly into Hannibal’s face. Hannibal grabs his hands roughly in one of his half an hour into the performance and holds them pressed against Will’s thigh until intermission, at which point he stands and fixes his husband with a stern expression. To his displeasure, his expression is met with one full of defiance.
“Is there something you wish to say, Will?”
Standing as well, Will boldly states, “I. Look. Ridiculous,” before pushing past Hannibal to head to the bar.
Hannibal takes a deep breath before following Will out to where the crowd is gathering for refreshments and to discuss the show so far. He adopts his friendly demeanor as he speaks with his peers and chooses to ignore the sight of Will nursing a whiskey, his body language screaming “fuck off, I’m antisocial.”
When the lights blink to indicate it’s time to return to their seats, Hannibal is pleased to see Will get up and begin walking in his direction. They don’t say a word as they make their way through the crowd, nor as they sit and wait for the performance to resume. Even when Will once again begins to fidget with his tie and jacket sleeves, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Hannibal does not acknowledge or stop him.
The rest of the night passes more slowly than Will would have liked, growing ever more self-conscious and disgruntled with his appearance. He knows that Hannibal finds him beautiful but maybe Will wouldn’t have such a hard time believing it if he didn’t constantly dress him up in clown suits. By the time the curtain falls, the slight tipsiness from his whiskey has worn off and Will is left to feel nothing but unsettled and frankly pissed off at both his tux and the man who picked it out.
He practically storms out to the valet, not even bothering to wait with Hannibal while he retrieves their coats. Once they’re in the car, he pointedly refuses to look at him and instead stares out the window as the city passes them by.
He knows that his behavior has been what Hannibal would consider “unbecoming” but really, it’s Hannibal’s fault he feels like this in the first place. Hannibal is the one who insists they go to the opera, who insists on showing Will off, who insists on embarrassing him!
The moment the car is parked in their garage, Will exits with a huff and commits the sin of slamming the door to further emphasize just how unhappy he is. It’s a childish gesture, sure, but that’s probably Hannibal’s fault as well, with the older man being prone to his own melodrama and overreactions.
Hannibal finds himself once again taking a deep breath to calm himself before he joins Will inside their home. His boy has been an absolute terror tonight, his bad attitude poisoning Hannibal’s own enjoyment of the opera. He knows that Will is self-aware enough to recognize how he’s behaved and that he knows Hannibal well enough to know that such behavior will not go unaddressed. But what is honestly the most distressing to Hannibal is the fact that all of this was brought upon by Will’s refusal to recognize his own beauty.
Hannibal has made it a habit to shower Will with praise and attention once the two had stopped trying to destroy each other. He wanted to make it clear that his earlier actions in no way were a reflection on the value Will holds in his life, or even the boy’s inherent worth. Hannibal’s actions were in reaction to Will’s perfection and Hannibal’s desperation to understand and possess that perfection for himself.
But despite Will’s talent for seeing the truth at the core of every person he meets, he remains willfully blind to his own truth.
And that, Hannibal cannot allow to continue.
With a plan in mind to rectify the issue, Hannibal puts away their coats and heads up the stairs to where his husband waits.
**********
Will has already changed into his pajamas and is brushing his teeth by the time Hannibal enters the master suite. Through the open bathroom door, Will is surprised to see Hannibal simply sit down rather than getting ready for bed himself.
Though, really Will shouldn’t be all that surprised. Now that he’s out of the tux and in something more comfortable, he’s had a chance to calm down a bit and knows that his actions were disproportionate to the situation, to say the least.
Spitting one last time in the sink and rinsing off his face, Will walks into their bedroom with all of the grim determination of someone facing a firing squad.
“Look, Hannibal, I-,” Will starts before he’s cut off with a raised hand from his husband.
Hannibal waits a moment to emphasize his expectation for Will’s silence before he himself begins speaking.
“I am uninterested in your explanations or apologies, Will. Please remove your clothing.”
Will blinks. The command isn’t an unusual one, but it isn’t normally given so abruptly.
“Now, Will.”
Slightly confused, but resigned nonetheless, Will obeys the order. It’s short work, removing his shirt and pajama pants, having put on nothing underneath. In an extra act of contrition, Will even takes the time to fold both items of clothing before placing them on the corner of the bed.
When he looks up, however, Hannibal seems unimpressed by the gesture.
Will stands there, completely bare in front of Hannibal and waits. The room is cold, but he isn’t sure if the shiver that runs through him is from the temperature of the air or the cool look from the man in front of him.
After a moment, Hannibal rises to his feet and stalks towards him, the detached expression never leaving his face as he places his hands on Will’s shoulders and turns him around, guiding him over to the floor-length mirror that takes up nearly half of one wall in their walk-in closet.
Standing together, Will can’t help the arousal that blooms at the sight of them. His own body naked and vulnerable in front of Hannibal’s, powerful and beautiful in his black tux. He appreciates the contrast and the blatant display of the power differential between them. However, even as he enjoys the image they paint like this, he still avoids his own nakedness in the mirror and keeps his eyes fixed on the man behind him.
Now, Will had figured that he would be punished for his behavior tonight, a suspicion that had been confirmed the moment he’d caught sight of Hannibal’s posture as he’d walked into the room. But this didn’t seem to be heading towards any of their regular punishments and he couldn’t help but try to piece together what Hannibal had planned.
He makes a questioning sound as Hannibal reaches into his pocket and procures a small bottle of lube. Will recognizes it as one of the ones from their nightstand and assumes Hannibal had grabbed it while Will was finishing up in the bathroom. Hannibal ignores the unspoken question and instead pours a generous amount of the liquid into his hand.
At first, Will thinks he’s about to get fucked in front of the mirror. It wouldn’t be the first time Hannibal had enjoyed watching them together. Afterall, there was a mirror directly facing their bed. But taking him like this, standing in front of their closet mirror would be new. Not much of a punishment, though, if Will’s being honest.
This assumption is quickly set aside, however, when Hannibal’s hand moves to his front rather than down. Will can’t help but gasp and jerk at the sudden cold against his cock.
“Hush, boy. It’ll warm up fast enough.” Hannibal’s voice is just as clinical as his efficient movements as he smears the lube over Will’s cock as it hardens further from the attention.
Hannibal watches as his boy’s eyes fall closed, no doubt enjoying the sensation of his hand slowly jacking him off, coaxing him into being fully erect. He allows Will this pleasure for just another movement before suddenly and harshly tightening his grip, savoring the yelp of surprise that comes from his husband.
“Open your eyes, Will. You are not to close them without my permission.”
So that’s what this is, Will thinks to himself. Once his eyes are open, Hannibal’s gentle strokes resume and Will figures out Hannibal’s game. He knows that Will takes no pleasure in his own naked body, that he shies away from looking at himself in the mirror above their bed. Forcing Will to watch as Hannibal jerks him seems an appropriate humiliation in response to his humiliating behavior from before. Leave it to Hannibal to find a way to make a punishment poetic. But Will does find a sense of relief in at least finally understanding what the punishment actually was.
It only takes a moment longer to discover, however, that Will is wrong.
Abruptly, Hannibal lets go of Will’s cock and takes a step back.
“There, that should be a more than sufficient amount of lubrication.”
Will looks at Hannibal’s reflection in the mirror, the detachment replaced with a smirk at Will’s own confused expression.
“Hannibal…?”
“After your behavior tonight, Will, it seems clear to me that despite my best efforts, you still have yet to see your beauty for what it is. Perhaps tonight will help you… appreciate yourself as much as I do.”
Hannibal’s tone is self-satisfied as he gives Will a gentle push forward towards the mirror.
Oh.
Oh, no.
While Will had been right about the essence of his punishment, the reality of it is much, much worse.
“Hannibal, you can’t be serious. I’m not gonna-.”“Will. It is important to me, as your husband, that you learn to properly love yourself. If my words and actions have been insufficient in helping you to understand this, then it seems the only choice is for your own actions to persuade you.”
Will opens his mouth to protest, only to be shoved forward once again, more harshly this time. Hannibal grabs his wrists in both hands and places them firmly against the mirror before stepping away from him with a hushed order to “leave them there.”
“Now, be a good boy. Show me how well you can love yourself.”
(image found on Twitter)
Will freezes in place, his heart rate picking up and his breathing becoming quicker, more shallow in anticipation of the coming embarrassment. He can’t do this. Hannibal can’t really mean for him to do this…
“Hannibal, please… I’m sorry. Can we just… can we…”
“You know your safeword, boy. Unless you intend to use you, then I suggest you stop stalling.”
Will’s humiliation builds as he tries to will himself to obey. A panicked whine from the back of his throat escapes his lips and he shuts eyes in an attempt to ground himself, shaking his head as though to clear it. Despite his attempts to force himself to move, however, he remains still though his body has begun to tremble.
After several minutes of this, he hears Hannibal click his tongue in disappointment and feels his warmth against his back once again.
“I am not without mercy, Will, and afterall… this is for your benefit more than mine.” Hannibal’s voice is filled with a benevolent condescension that somehow manages to both fuel Will’s humiliation and cause his now only half-hard cock to twitch in interest. “Because of that, I’ll even help you get started.”
With that, Hannibal grabs his hips firmly and presses him flush against the cool glass. Immediately, Will notes how his cock slides, slick with lube, across the smooth surface. The sensation is strange and at first he feels absolutely absurd as Hannibal guides him into a slow, humping motion against the mirror.
Hannibal coos praise into his ear, the condescension so cloying and thick Will feels as though he could choke on it. He does his best to relax his body, to follow the pace set by Hannibal’s hands as Will’s breath fogs the glass in front of him. The ridiculousness of it all, the humiliation of humping a mirror, humping his own reflection, pushes him into tearfulness faster than either of them had expected.
He sniffles as he tries to turn his head, to try and shut out what he’s being made to do, only to be stopped by a fist clenching into his curls.
“No, Will. Look at yourself. Watch how gorgeously you cry for me, the delicate flush on your cheeks, the way your lips part around your panting breaths…”
And despite himself, despite the humiliation and the tears and the strange sensation, Will feels himself growing hard as Hannibal guides him into more forceful thrusts, his cock sliding against the lubricated surface in front of him.
The glass has warmed against his skin, the smoothness now slippery with lube and allowing him to hump against it easily. It’s with a groan that Will forces himself to face forward as Hannibal releases his hold on both his hair and his hip, trusting Will to continue on his own.
And Will looks.
He sees his cheeks reddened, though he disagrees that there’s anything ‘delicate’ about the flush burning across his face. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and his lips are red and swollen from anxious biting. He watches as each puffed out breath creates a spot of fog against the mirror before disappearing with each shallow inhale.
He sees his tears fall, trailing down his cheeks and to his neck. And lower, he watches the rise and fall of his chest, his shoulders tensing from his attempts to find leverage to help him thrust.
He imagines the sight he makes, panting and crying, rubbing his cock against his own reflection. In the back of his mind he thinks of how pleasing this must be to Hannibal, but the thought is fleeting as the humiliation continues to burn through his mind and the physical sensation causes pleasure to begin pooling low in his belly.
“H-hannibal,” he pleads, though he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. He’s humping the mirror in earnest now, his cock fully hard and precum joining the mess of lube on the glass.
“That’s it sweet boy, you’re doing so well,” comes the reassurance from the man behind him.
Will whines, realizing with a start that he’s too close to the mirror to seek the sight of his husband. That disconnect from Hannibal’s grounding presence makes Will feel frantic. The fact that he’s boxed in with nothing but an image of himself suddenly feels too claustrophobic, too much. He’s alone with himself in this, enduring this humiliation, this punishment on his own. It’s just him and his mind and that isn’t right, that isn’t how they do these things. It isn’t how Hannibal punishes him. He never leaves him alone. He needs Hannibal and he needs him right now. He needs to feel him, see him, something. His safeword rests on the back of his tongue as he lets out another pained, desperate whine. He’s panicking, he knows he is, and his breath is too shallow now and his movements too frantic and he just needs-.
A gentle hand on his lower back distracts his thoughts, cutting off the rising panic abruptly.
“I’m here, mylimasis. I’m here. Keep going for me… you’re so close, my love. Look at how beautiful you are, obeying me so well.”
Hannibal’s words find their mark and it’s as if Hannibal has let all the air back in the room. Will is able to take a deep, settling breath as what remains of his panic is washed away by his husband's soothing tone. Will isn’t alone in this. It isn’t just him and his reflection, him and his mind. Hannibal is with him and Will’s being obedient. He’s being his good boy. He’s humiliated, yes, but it’s out of love and he’s safe with his husband there to guide him. He can do anything for Hannibal as long as he isn’t alone.
After that, Will relaxes into his task. He keeps his eyes fixed to his own image and focuses on the sensation of his cock grinding against the smooth surface. During his panic, his erection had started to flag, but it only takes mere moments for Will to be fully hard again.
Somehow, the humiliation and sensation have started forming a feedback loop between his body and mind. The way he’s watching his own face so closely as it responds to the pleasure is so obscene that it only serves to heighten the pleasure itself, causing his face to respond accordingly.
His tears have stopped, but that’s done nothing to lessen the way the red on his cheeks has spread down his neck to his chest. He looks absolutely debauched as he watches the shapes his lips make around his own soft moans, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips before biting the bottom one to help muffle his sounds. His own eyes look back at him, his own desperation clear for him to see as the pleasure continues to build.
He is now pressed as close to the mirror as possible, trapping his cock between his body as the slippery surface in hopes that the pressure will make up for the lack of friction. He’s moaning shamelessly now as he humps against himself, knowing that if he can just keep up the pressure, move a little faster, hold the right angle, that he’ll be able to give himself his release. The mirror itself is a mess, the smearing of lubrication and precum having been spread with every shift in position, every enthusiastic thrust against it.
“Hannibal… Hannibal ‘m close… please,” Will gasps out, now struggling to keep his eyes open as he approaches the edge.
“That’s it, dear boy. You’re almost there… just keep loving on yourself a little bit longer. Get yourself where you need to be, my love.”
Will whimpers at the phrase, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the glass as his humps turn into quick, rabbit thrusts against the mirror. His sounds take on a higher pitch as he works himself closer and even with his body hiding its own reflection, Will can’t help but picture how his cock must look. Hard and dark and throbbing, pressed against its mirror image, dripping precum to coat itself with. The way it will look when his cum spurts out, adding to the filthy mess, the obscenity of it all as Will literally gets off on himself.
It’s this image that pushes Will over the edge, making the imagined a reality.
Will can’t help but cry out as his release spills out of him, the pleasure an all-consuming wave as his hips stutter in their movements, humping himself through his orgasm. The cum coating the mirror, spreading over his stomach as his movements become graceless, boneless as his fingers try to claw and grasp at the glass to keep himself standing.
It’s as he gasps through the final wave of his orgasm that he feels Hannibal press himself against him, holding Will steady and nosing at his curls as he keeps his boy from collapsing.
“Good boy, such a good, good boy for me,” he praises, the words sending a shudder through Will’s now oversensitive body.
Hannibal pulls them back a few steps, encouraging Will to lean back against him for support as they once again stand together in front of the mirror.
“Look at yourself, sweetheart. Look at how well you loved yourself.”
Hannibal cups his chin gently in his hand to force the boy to look at his reflection.
As he knew it would be, the mirror is filthy, Will’s cum now dripping down the glass adding to what was already smeared there. But beyond the filth, Will sees himself. His body looks at ease after having cum, his eyes heavy lidded and his mouth lax. His chest, still flushed from exertion, rises as falls with each steadying breath as he looks down his torso to the mess covering his stomach, and even lower still to his soft cock, glistening with his own spend.
He looks debauched, something almost shameful, and yet at the same time… he can almost, almost see what Hannibal sees in him. He feels hyper aware, but without his normal criticism, of the lines of his face, as well as of the way his body is draped back over his husband’s. He can almost see himself as if he were posed in a piece of art, one of Hannibal’s sketches or perhaps a painting.
He still doesn’t think he’d call himself beautiful, but maybe… maybe there’s something there.
Hannibal observes as his boy takes all of this in, watches him process his punishment and the aftermath, and sees in his eyes the way he’s appreciating himself in a way he hadn’t before. He still notices the tendency to linger on perceiving flaws, a subtle furrowing of his brow when Will’s gaze falls upon them. But, regardless, Hannibal can’t deny that this punishment has managed to accomplish his goals, at least in part.
With a proud smile and a kiss to his boy’s temple, Hannibal resolves to begin planning for further exploration of Will’s new sense of self-love.