Silk And Steel (H/F)
A/N: Another kinky little story for Hannibal and Face, set loosely in the same universe as Silk And Ice and Silk And Ropes. Also now On Silk Sheets.
Tonight is going to be a night to remember, Hannibal can just tell. A night full of memories to keep them both warm when they are back out in the field in ten short days’ time, unable to touch or to kiss, or even to whisper ‘I love you’. Not that they’ll be whispering sweet nothings to each other tonight, either - Hannibal is already a little breathless with anticipation, his mouth dry, while Face will soon find his breath stolen away.
There are no high heels tonight, though Face owns three gorgeous pairs. No cross-dressing, and certainly no elaborate role-play scenario, though they’ve tried each of those in the past. Face isn’t wearing any lipstick or other make-up, though he has chosen to wear simple black silk panties - tonight’s pair are tied at each side with a matching black silk bow - but the star of nights like these is always a corset. Just a corset. That’s just the way Hannibal prefers it, if he’s being honest.
Hannibal adores Face’s small yet growing collection of lingerie, and he always takes his time running his hands lightly over the deceptively delicate garments after Face subtly lets him know he’s in the mood, contemplating which one to lace his boy into.
Tonight had been no exception. He’d lingered for nearly a quarter of an hour, more than aware of Face’s growing restlessness behind him, allowing himself to enjoy the slow build. The red one, perhaps, with the black lace details. Or the purple and pink, which should be garish but is somehow utterly gorgeous when wrapped around Face’s perfectly honed muscles. No, tonight he’s decided to keep it simple: the black silk corset with the bright blue trim, to bring out his lover’s beautiful blue eyes.
When he first lifts it from the protective wrapping of tissue paper, as always Hannibal is surprised by just how heavy the corset actually is, with its rows upon rows of steel boning. They could use it as a weapon, almost, though it would be an unforgiveable crime to abuse the garment in such a way.
Face stands ready in front of Hannibal, facing away from him with his hands braced on the dressing table and his long legs shoulder-width apart, naked apart from those gorgeous silk panties which are barely clinging to his hips. He’s already hard, just from the sheer anticipation of what the evening will hold - Hannibal can see that much in the mirror, the tiny panties already straining to confine Face’s eager cock.
As Hannibal lifts the corset, positioning it carefully against toned and tanned skin, Face won’t meet his eyes in the mirror. He rarely does, while he’s being laced in; Hannibal has never been able to work out quite why that might be, just as he’s never been able to truly appreciate exactly why Face enjoys this process so much. He’d tried once to explain his reasons, back when he’d first asked if Hannibal might like to try this with him, but Face had found his words failing him as they rarely did, strangely nervous about something he clearly saw as taboo.
It had been so strange and deeply unsettling to Hannibal, to hear his always-confident Face faltering his way through a simple request, and to see him blushing and ducking his head away. Hannibal hadn’t been able to bear it, and so he’d kissed Face speechless instead, before promptly reassuring him that he’d love to try corsets, panties, whatever Face wanted - they’d gradually been expanding their horizons at the time and had already had some wonderfully successful bedroom experiments. The reasons behind Face’s particular request didn’t matter to Hannibal, not so much as trying to make his lover happy mattered.
And it was certainly no hardship for Hannibal either, who had immediately loved the very thought of seeing his boy’s handsome body wrapped up in the finest silk. He’d even taken the time to study a little, to learn the art of lacing a corset properly, and now, two years after their first fumbling attempts, it was almost instinctive for both of them, and incredibly and intensely erotic.
He starts with the busk, always, positioning it in the front and lining it up carefully as he snaps it together. He smooths out the modesty panel, making sure it lays flat against warm skin, aware that he may have to adjust it as he goes along. He straightens and checks the laces, and then takes care to keep them straight as he slips his fingers into place, ready to begin.
Only then does he starts to tighten those laces, slowly, just a fraction at a time. Hannibal’s nimble fingers work steadily, tweaking and tugging, working from the top down then the bottom up to meet in the middle, where the long, loose bow hangs at the narrowest point of Face’s waist.
With each fractional tightening, the beautiful corset of silk and steel starts to mould itself to Face’s beautiful body, then, at some almost unnoticed point, the balance tips as the corset starts to actually mould Face instead. The strong shaping steel starts to pull in at his waist, flaring out at the hips and beginning to form an undeniable hourglass.
Face is muscular and masculine, but oh, the things the simple corset does to his body… Hannibal always has to pause at this point, holding the laces braced tightly in one hand, and just drink his fill of the reflection in the mirror.
Beautiful. Face is utterly beautiful, and Hannibal isn’t even halfway through the lacing yet. Already Face’s narrow waist seems tiny, his hips seemingly forced down and the swell of his plush ass enhanced, while his chest is pushed high by the boning, muscular pectorals teased into something resembling a woman’s breasts as the soft cups hint at modesty while hiding nothing, his hard nipples visibly on display.
Face’s eyes are open though he isn’t looking in the mirror himself, his gaze trained instead down to where his hands hold a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the dressing table. He is flushed from his cheeks to his chest, but he is still breathing a little too steadily for Hannibal’s liking - by now he should be at least a little breathless, as Hannibal himself is, and so Hannibal affirms his grip on the lacing and pulls back rather than out, hard.
A gasp as Face staggers back into Hannibal, tugged off balance for just a moment, before he firms up his stance and straightens himself once again, eyes still determinedly focussed downwards. Hannibal grins into the mirror, his reflection smirking right back at him knowingly, and then he returns to his work with a renewed determination. It gets harder from here on in, he knows, and each fractional tightening of the corset requires more and more of Hannibal’s strength.
It’s worth it, though.
Each new tweak now wrings a stifled gasp from Face’s parted lips. Each hard-won millimetre earns Hannibal a hitch in his lover’s suddenly-shaky breathing, and Face starts to pant as Hannibal really begins to throw his weight behind his actions, the muscles in his forearms straining. Each movement of his practised fingers compresses his lover’s waist further and tightens the silk and steel ever more around his lower chest, just as he knows Face wants.
The corset is three-quarters of the way closed now, and Hannibal pauses once again, forced to reach down to adjust himself in his boxer-briefs. He’s more than three-quarters hard, though Face is only able to take tiny little sips of air now, and Hannibal can’t quite imagine how his lover must be feeling - the corset leaves little room for his ribcage and diaphragm to expand, and practically no space for his lungs to fill, let alone for the rest of his vital organs. To Hannibal it would be unbearable, and he watches carefully in the mirror, studying his boy for any signs of distress.
Face has his eyes screwed tightly shut, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his forehead and above his parted lips. The corset has forced his spine ramrod straight, and he’s lifted his head accordingly, curls dishevelled and his cheeks now a bright, vivid red.
And he’s smiling. He’s also still very visibly aroused, the tip of his cock now straining at the top of those black silken panties, a damp patch growing on the material. He certainly doesn’t seem to be in any kind of distress - in fact, he seems quite at peace.
Hannibal runs one hand gently down his lover’s flank, caressing the straining silk and marvelling at the strength contained in such a tiny scrap of a garment. He presses his fingers firmly into the narrow gaps between the boning, smiling to himself as Face shudders at the feel of hands on him through the silk, panting a little harder now. Face’s waist seems so narrow that Hannibal feels he could almost enclose it entirely with his two huge hands, and he hasn’t even closed the corset all the way yet.
He wonders if he should carry on, though. Face is swaying ever so slightly on his feet, clearly growing light-headed, held up mostly by Hannibal’s hands on the corset and his own grip on the dressing table. He is starting to gasp almost pathetically, and Hannibal is very much aware that they’ve never actually tight-laced this particular corset before - others, yes, and recently Face has taken to waist training when off-mission with a seriousness that matches his enthusiasm for strength training, but it’s always been Hannibal’s responsibility to know when enough is enough.
The power Hannibal holds in his hands is tangible, and breath-taking in itself. With one particularly brutal tug on the laces he could almost stop Face from breathing completely, but of course he would never dream of doing that - Face trusts Hannibal to know when to stop, and Hannibal will never, ever push his lover further than Face can handle.
So, just a little more, perhaps. Two or three more tugs on the still-straight laces, and the corset might even be closed all the way.
Hannibal slides his hand further down and around the corset, mesmerised by how wide his hand seems against Face’s narrowed waist, before palming his boy’s erection through his damp silk panties. He grinds down firmly and relishes the way Face’s entire body tries to jerk forwards, though he is pinned in place by Hannibal’s one hand holding the laces at the small of his back and the other hand at his groin. Face’s own hands lose their grip on the table for the first time, slipping free before he lifts them carefully, deliberately back into position.
Blue eyes fly open too, instantly finding and locking onto Hannibal’s in the mirror - Face’s pupils are blown wide with arousal, the remaining slip of blue matching the trim of the corset so perfectly, and he opens his mouth a little wider, clearly trying to find enough oxygen to speak.
“Han… Hannibal…”
“Hush, baby.” Hannibal drops his head forwards and bites gently over the muscle where Face’s shoulder meets his neck, suckling and nibbling at the flesh until he’s certain he’s left his mark. “I’ll take of it. I always take care of you, don’t I?”
Face’s head falls back to land on Hannibal’s own shoulder with a soft thud as he slumps as much as he is able to in the corset, his knees apparently giving up the fight to keep himself upright. “Yes,” he manages to gasp as Hannibal grinds his hand down harder over Face’s erection. “Oh, yes… Please…”
“You want more?” Hannibal whispers into the sweat-slick skin, sliding his hand almost reluctantly back up to the corset and relishing the whine that slips free from somewhere deep in Face’s throat. “You want it tighter? Or is it enough? Do you want to come now?”
He slides his hand further until he finally brings it to rest over the centre of Face’s chest, the silk there warmed by the heat of his lover’s body and the steel boning straining yet doing its job so well. He can’t feel Face’s pulse through the corset, but he can imagine how hard his heart must be working right at this moment, how fast it must be racing.
Face tosses his head back and forth on Hannibal’s shoulder, whining again, and Hannibal prepares to release the laces and loosen the corset just enough to help his lover take a few much-needed deep breaths. He’ll suck Face off then, most likely, or just slip his hand into those ruined panties and jerk him off instead. Face is close, Hannibal can tell.
Or maybe Hannibal will simply take Face right where he stands, pressed up against the dressing table and staring at their reflections in the mirror, slipping down those panties and slamming himself home in one slick move. He could even seize his breathless lover around the waist - could see if he really can wrap both hands all the way around - and guide him over to the bed before having Face ride him hard and fast, his spine still corset-straight the entire time. Face would be fighting to pull oxygen into his lungs as Hannibal did his very best to force it back out again with the power of his thrusts.
Oh, that last one sounds incredible, and Hannibal has to swallow hard as his cock throbs in its own cotton confinement. That would be a true night to remember for both of them.
He might not even pause to loosen the corset first.
But Face is the only one who matters here, and Hannibal forces himself to wait, hands steady and resting reassuringly in place, until his lover gathers himself and his breath enough to form an answer.
“Tighter…” Face gasps to Hannibal’s delighted surprise, smiling into the mirror once again and swaying lightly on his feet, his long eyelashes fluttering prettily. “Tighter, please… Then… let me come…”
Hannibal always prides himself on being nothing if not obedient to the needs of his lover, and he straightens up immediately, lifting his head away from Face’s shoulder as he seizes the laces in both hands and pulls… and pulls…
Tighter…
And tighter…
Tonight is going to be a night to remember, Hannibal can just tell. A night full of memories to keep them both warm when they are back out in the field in ten short days’ time, unable to touch or to kiss, or even to whisper ‘I love you’. Not that they’ll be whispering sweet nothings to each other tonight, either - Hannibal is already a little breathless with anticipation, his mouth dry, while Face will soon find his breath stolen away.
There are no high heels tonight, though Face owns three gorgeous pairs. No cross-dressing, and certainly no elaborate role-play scenario, though they’ve tried each of those in the past. Face isn’t wearing any lipstick or other make-up, though he has chosen to wear simple black silk panties - tonight’s pair are tied at each side with a matching black silk bow - but the star of nights like these is always a corset. Just a corset. That’s just the way Hannibal prefers it, if he’s being honest.
Hannibal adores Face’s small yet growing collection of lingerie, and he always takes his time running his hands lightly over the deceptively delicate garments after Face subtly lets him know he’s in the mood, contemplating which one to lace his boy into.
Tonight had been no exception. He’d lingered for nearly a quarter of an hour, more than aware of Face’s growing restlessness behind him, allowing himself to enjoy the slow build. The red one, perhaps, with the black lace details. Or the purple and pink, which should be garish but is somehow utterly gorgeous when wrapped around Face’s perfectly honed muscles. No, tonight he’s decided to keep it simple: the black silk corset with the bright blue trim, to bring out his lover’s beautiful blue eyes.
When he first lifts it from the protective wrapping of tissue paper, as always Hannibal is surprised by just how heavy the corset actually is, with its rows upon rows of steel boning. They could use it as a weapon, almost, though it would be an unforgiveable crime to abuse the garment in such a way.
Face stands ready in front of Hannibal, facing away from him with his hands braced on the dressing table and his long legs shoulder-width apart, naked apart from those gorgeous silk panties which are barely clinging to his hips. He’s already hard, just from the sheer anticipation of what the evening will hold - Hannibal can see that much in the mirror, the tiny panties already straining to confine Face’s eager cock.
As Hannibal lifts the corset, positioning it carefully against toned and tanned skin, Face won’t meet his eyes in the mirror. He rarely does, while he’s being laced in; Hannibal has never been able to work out quite why that might be, just as he’s never been able to truly appreciate exactly why Face enjoys this process so much. He’d tried once to explain his reasons, back when he’d first asked if Hannibal might like to try this with him, but Face had found his words failing him as they rarely did, strangely nervous about something he clearly saw as taboo.
It had been so strange and deeply unsettling to Hannibal, to hear his always-confident Face faltering his way through a simple request, and to see him blushing and ducking his head away. Hannibal hadn’t been able to bear it, and so he’d kissed Face speechless instead, before promptly reassuring him that he’d love to try corsets, panties, whatever Face wanted - they’d gradually been expanding their horizons at the time and had already had some wonderfully successful bedroom experiments. The reasons behind Face’s particular request didn’t matter to Hannibal, not so much as trying to make his lover happy mattered.
And it was certainly no hardship for Hannibal either, who had immediately loved the very thought of seeing his boy’s handsome body wrapped up in the finest silk. He’d even taken the time to study a little, to learn the art of lacing a corset properly, and now, two years after their first fumbling attempts, it was almost instinctive for both of them, and incredibly and intensely erotic.
He starts with the busk, always, positioning it in the front and lining it up carefully as he snaps it together. He smooths out the modesty panel, making sure it lays flat against warm skin, aware that he may have to adjust it as he goes along. He straightens and checks the laces, and then takes care to keep them straight as he slips his fingers into place, ready to begin.
Only then does he starts to tighten those laces, slowly, just a fraction at a time. Hannibal’s nimble fingers work steadily, tweaking and tugging, working from the top down then the bottom up to meet in the middle, where the long, loose bow hangs at the narrowest point of Face’s waist.
With each fractional tightening, the beautiful corset of silk and steel starts to mould itself to Face’s beautiful body, then, at some almost unnoticed point, the balance tips as the corset starts to actually mould Face instead. The strong shaping steel starts to pull in at his waist, flaring out at the hips and beginning to form an undeniable hourglass.
Face is muscular and masculine, but oh, the things the simple corset does to his body… Hannibal always has to pause at this point, holding the laces braced tightly in one hand, and just drink his fill of the reflection in the mirror.
Beautiful. Face is utterly beautiful, and Hannibal isn’t even halfway through the lacing yet. Already Face’s narrow waist seems tiny, his hips seemingly forced down and the swell of his plush ass enhanced, while his chest is pushed high by the boning, muscular pectorals teased into something resembling a woman’s breasts as the soft cups hint at modesty while hiding nothing, his hard nipples visibly on display.
Face’s eyes are open though he isn’t looking in the mirror himself, his gaze trained instead down to where his hands hold a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the dressing table. He is flushed from his cheeks to his chest, but he is still breathing a little too steadily for Hannibal’s liking - by now he should be at least a little breathless, as Hannibal himself is, and so Hannibal affirms his grip on the lacing and pulls back rather than out, hard.
A gasp as Face staggers back into Hannibal, tugged off balance for just a moment, before he firms up his stance and straightens himself once again, eyes still determinedly focussed downwards. Hannibal grins into the mirror, his reflection smirking right back at him knowingly, and then he returns to his work with a renewed determination. It gets harder from here on in, he knows, and each fractional tightening of the corset requires more and more of Hannibal’s strength.
It’s worth it, though.
Each new tweak now wrings a stifled gasp from Face’s parted lips. Each hard-won millimetre earns Hannibal a hitch in his lover’s suddenly-shaky breathing, and Face starts to pant as Hannibal really begins to throw his weight behind his actions, the muscles in his forearms straining. Each movement of his practised fingers compresses his lover’s waist further and tightens the silk and steel ever more around his lower chest, just as he knows Face wants.
The corset is three-quarters of the way closed now, and Hannibal pauses once again, forced to reach down to adjust himself in his boxer-briefs. He’s more than three-quarters hard, though Face is only able to take tiny little sips of air now, and Hannibal can’t quite imagine how his lover must be feeling - the corset leaves little room for his ribcage and diaphragm to expand, and practically no space for his lungs to fill, let alone for the rest of his vital organs. To Hannibal it would be unbearable, and he watches carefully in the mirror, studying his boy for any signs of distress.
Face has his eyes screwed tightly shut, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his forehead and above his parted lips. The corset has forced his spine ramrod straight, and he’s lifted his head accordingly, curls dishevelled and his cheeks now a bright, vivid red.
And he’s smiling. He’s also still very visibly aroused, the tip of his cock now straining at the top of those black silken panties, a damp patch growing on the material. He certainly doesn’t seem to be in any kind of distress - in fact, he seems quite at peace.
Hannibal runs one hand gently down his lover’s flank, caressing the straining silk and marvelling at the strength contained in such a tiny scrap of a garment. He presses his fingers firmly into the narrow gaps between the boning, smiling to himself as Face shudders at the feel of hands on him through the silk, panting a little harder now. Face’s waist seems so narrow that Hannibal feels he could almost enclose it entirely with his two huge hands, and he hasn’t even closed the corset all the way yet.
He wonders if he should carry on, though. Face is swaying ever so slightly on his feet, clearly growing light-headed, held up mostly by Hannibal’s hands on the corset and his own grip on the dressing table. He is starting to gasp almost pathetically, and Hannibal is very much aware that they’ve never actually tight-laced this particular corset before - others, yes, and recently Face has taken to waist training when off-mission with a seriousness that matches his enthusiasm for strength training, but it’s always been Hannibal’s responsibility to know when enough is enough.
The power Hannibal holds in his hands is tangible, and breath-taking in itself. With one particularly brutal tug on the laces he could almost stop Face from breathing completely, but of course he would never dream of doing that - Face trusts Hannibal to know when to stop, and Hannibal will never, ever push his lover further than Face can handle.
So, just a little more, perhaps. Two or three more tugs on the still-straight laces, and the corset might even be closed all the way.
Hannibal slides his hand further down and around the corset, mesmerised by how wide his hand seems against Face’s narrowed waist, before palming his boy’s erection through his damp silk panties. He grinds down firmly and relishes the way Face’s entire body tries to jerk forwards, though he is pinned in place by Hannibal’s one hand holding the laces at the small of his back and the other hand at his groin. Face’s own hands lose their grip on the table for the first time, slipping free before he lifts them carefully, deliberately back into position.
Blue eyes fly open too, instantly finding and locking onto Hannibal’s in the mirror - Face’s pupils are blown wide with arousal, the remaining slip of blue matching the trim of the corset so perfectly, and he opens his mouth a little wider, clearly trying to find enough oxygen to speak.
“Han… Hannibal…”
“Hush, baby.” Hannibal drops his head forwards and bites gently over the muscle where Face’s shoulder meets his neck, suckling and nibbling at the flesh until he’s certain he’s left his mark. “I’ll take of it. I always take care of you, don’t I?”
Face’s head falls back to land on Hannibal’s own shoulder with a soft thud as he slumps as much as he is able to in the corset, his knees apparently giving up the fight to keep himself upright. “Yes,” he manages to gasp as Hannibal grinds his hand down harder over Face’s erection. “Oh, yes… Please…”
“You want more?” Hannibal whispers into the sweat-slick skin, sliding his hand almost reluctantly back up to the corset and relishing the whine that slips free from somewhere deep in Face’s throat. “You want it tighter? Or is it enough? Do you want to come now?”
He slides his hand further until he finally brings it to rest over the centre of Face’s chest, the silk there warmed by the heat of his lover’s body and the steel boning straining yet doing its job so well. He can’t feel Face’s pulse through the corset, but he can imagine how hard his heart must be working right at this moment, how fast it must be racing.
Face tosses his head back and forth on Hannibal’s shoulder, whining again, and Hannibal prepares to release the laces and loosen the corset just enough to help his lover take a few much-needed deep breaths. He’ll suck Face off then, most likely, or just slip his hand into those ruined panties and jerk him off instead. Face is close, Hannibal can tell.
Or maybe Hannibal will simply take Face right where he stands, pressed up against the dressing table and staring at their reflections in the mirror, slipping down those panties and slamming himself home in one slick move. He could even seize his breathless lover around the waist - could see if he really can wrap both hands all the way around - and guide him over to the bed before having Face ride him hard and fast, his spine still corset-straight the entire time. Face would be fighting to pull oxygen into his lungs as Hannibal did his very best to force it back out again with the power of his thrusts.
Oh, that last one sounds incredible, and Hannibal has to swallow hard as his cock throbs in its own cotton confinement. That would be a true night to remember for both of them.
He might not even pause to loosen the corset first.
But Face is the only one who matters here, and Hannibal forces himself to wait, hands steady and resting reassuringly in place, until his lover gathers himself and his breath enough to form an answer.
“Tighter…” Face gasps to Hannibal’s delighted surprise, smiling into the mirror once again and swaying lightly on his feet, his long eyelashes fluttering prettily. “Tighter, please… Then… let me come…”
Hannibal always prides himself on being nothing if not obedient to the needs of his lover, and he straightens up immediately, lifting his head away from Face’s shoulder as he seizes the laces in both hands and pulls… and pulls…
Tighter…
And tighter…