duncan really doesn't want to be in this position. not after last time. but how could he refuse his sweet boy? he was curious, and the black kaiser was more than glad to comply to his curiosity.
the ropes tug around his wrists. it's beautiful, the way adam has tied him up. in a clean manner. his fingers, thin and, so so gentle trace over his scars. the starlight creeps in through the thin curtains, smoldering over together with the warm candle light. his lips, always so soft pepper kisses over duncan's neck.
adam pops out the plug from behind him, taking duncan's cock in his hand. his hands now stroke it, before settling down slow, oh so slow on it, with a quiet whimper. he's a good boy. his hand falls against duncan's chest, fingers curling around the salt and pepper chest hair as he takes his time, getting used to the feeling of his cock inside his ass.
adam raki is curious about how much he can take, how much he can use duncan when he's helpless and tied underneath him.
"does that feel good, sweet boy?"
and the black kaiser? he's more than glad to comply to his curiosity.
do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
⤷ thinking about butcher!will and hannibal lecter゛ ˎˊ˗
the flesh between the butcher's teeth rots like a lie. he has a tendency to lean like a bad house. the doctor's hands are firm around his face, holding him in his place. his eyes roll at the back of his head. his body is slack.
the flesh tastes metallic. the doctor's lips rest upon his. tongue darting inside his mouth. picking out the remnants of the tender meat that sits between the teeth's crevices.
do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
.✦ ݁˖ pairing - will graham x hannibal lecter
.✦ ݁˖ warnings - 18+ content, unethical use of guns.
.✦ ݁˖ a/n- inspired by that one cal roberts masturbating scene. thank you @/cannibalbussyy for posting it. not proofread. english is not my first language, be respectful.
will graham's house sits in the otherwise bare neighbourhood, amidst bare trees and pearly white snow. the roof atop his house is blanketed in the snow. the silence is disturbed only by the occasional gust of wind that causes the unclad branches to move along with it.
his boots break the dry leaves underneath him, crushing into the layer of snow that has accumulated underneath him. he walks towards the porch of his house. he's thinking of his dogs, and the thought that comes along with his dogs: doctor bloom.
just as the thought enters his head, the front door opens, and the pack of dogs squeeze past alana bloom and rush up to meet will. he drops to his knees, his face breaking into a smile as the dogs slather him with wet smooches and kisses across his bearded face. his hands travel across the furs of all the dogs, trying to reciprocate the affection they slobber upon him.
'thank you for taking care of them,' he says, rubbing their heads, as they yip and lick his face playfully, 'they seem happy,'
doctor bloom cannot hold her smile back. her heart warms, for both the dogs and will. she rarely has seen him smile like that.
'happy to see you,'
will nods. he's momentarily overwhelmed with the sudden affection, the easy acceptance of having him back in their life, even after everything. he looks around the pack of strays, and notices a new dog. he doesn't remember picking her up. he holds her face gently, examining it, his eyes darting across her face. her coat is white, and slightly speckled, almost like a fawn. her eyes are brown.
'who's this?' he asks.
'applesauce. she's mine. she likes applesauce,' doctor bloom replies as she gently pulls the dog towards her.
the name suits her, will thinks.
'i rescued her.' she finishes, attaching a lead to applesauce's collar.
'picking some of my bad habits?' he asks. his voice has a lilt of humour, a poor attempt at salvaging the obviously tense situation. he doesn't look into her eyes, not yet. he's still on his knees, letting the dogs play around him.
doctor bloom looks thoughtful for a moment before she answers,
'picking up your good habits,' she pauses, letting will respond. he doesn't. he simply stands, now on his feet. the dogs lick off the snow that sticks to will's trousers.
'you challenged my whole framework of assumptions about the way you are. the way i think you are.' alana says, her voice wavering, just a little.
'the way you think i am isn't always a reliable guide to who i am,' will replies finally.
'i was wrong about you,'
'because you didn't believe me? or in me? because you let me question my own sense of sanity and reality?'
alana pauses. she does have an answer for his question. she just doesn't know how to say it without being abhorrently rude, or obvious.
'because you tried to kill hannibal.'
'you think i tried to kill hannibal. just like i think hannibal killed beverly katz. and so many others.'
it's not exactly a lie. he does think, and know hannibal killed beverly and many others. it's just the part that she "thinks" he "tried" to kill hannibal. he did try to kill hannibal, even if by proxy. he just wasn't very successful at it.
'you're wrong about him,'
'you're wrong about him, alana. you see the best in him. i don't.'
'what was done to you doesn't excuse what you did. are you going to try to hurt hannibal again?' alana pauses, trying to conceal her affections for hannibal as much as she can. given her and will's history.
'is he safe?'
it doesn't really work. will reads her in an instant. it's not hard. she always had been an expressive woman.
'from me? or for you?' before the doctor can answer, a hint of sadness crosses his face, though it lingers only for a second. he had suspected it, though, hadn't expected it. he'd convinced himself it was just a phantom scent that lingered on her skin, something he'd made up in his mind.
'i'm going to stay as far away from hannibal lecter as i can. i suggest you do the same.'
the doctor looks down, at the dogs that vie for will's attention.she's silent. she doesn't know how to respond to him, in a way that defends the man she sleeps with.
he leads the dogs into his house, leaving alana in the cold.
────୨ৎ────
will graham had lied. not his first time, when he was determined to twist fate and circumstances in a way that favoured him.
'the same unfortunate aftershave,'
the doctor still has his head turned towards the refrigerator. as if he doesn't care about will graham's presence in his kitchen. surely his nostrils pick up the scent of the freshly oiled gun that's currently pointed towards the back of his head? perhaps he simply does not care.
'gone too long in the bottle,' he finishes. he keeps the car keys on the kitchen counter, and opens the refrigerator. the light from within the box that keeps his cold cut meats ebbs out, illuminating graham's blue eyes. the doctor takes out a beer bottle from within the fridge, and keeps it beside his car keys.
it is then when will speaks, his voice soft. not gone from misuse. it's deliberate. he keeps the gun high, pointed towards the doctor's head. his breathing has gone a little ragged.
'our last conversation was interrupted by jack crawford. i'd like to pick up where we left off.' will says. the doctor turns. he's not particularly phased by the gun pointed towards his forehead. though, the slight hitch in his breathing does not go unnoticed by will.
though, will's quite sure that's an act. he's mimicking him.
'if memory serves, you were asking me if it'd feel good to kill you,' will finishes. his voice drops. it's not hitchy. shaky or unsure as it was when hannibal had last asked him that. in abigail hobbs' kitchen. the one he'd splattered her blood. the metallic, iron smell of her blood still lingers within the bone arena of his mind.
he scrunches his nose, just a little. to inhale the scent of gun oil that invades the scent of his kitchen? or to inhale the scent of the man with the unfortunate aftershave with the gun? or does he inhale the combined scent of the unfortunate aftershave and gun oil?
the gun oil had rotted within the barrel of his gun, the last time he had it pointing towards him, after all.
'you've given that some thought,' the doctor says, tilting his head. his eyes fix at finger coiled around the trigger before he meets will's again. they're sparkling, ocean blue in their haze that fix upon his brown, almost burgundy ones.
'you wanted me to embrace my nature, doctor,' will's voice has a lilt of humour to it almost, as if he's mocking the doctor, 'just following the urges i kept down so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are,'
will moves closer, letting his face be seen underneath the moonlight that illuminates in through hannibal's window. it scatters across his face. his hair is longer now, unkempt. his beard, prickly. a faint hint of rouge dusting his cold bitten cheeks.
'you never answered my question,' hannibal says, after his eyes are done darting across graham's face, 'how would killing me make you feel?'
will stares at the doctor's awfully peaceful and calm face, before his hand shakes, and he moves closer to him, his gun shaking in his hand. he feels furious. the anger is palpable, his finger tightening across the trigger. not shooting, not yet.
he watches hannibal's face go slack, closing his eyes, as if accepting his fate. he turns his head on the side.
'righteous!' he says. his shoulder shakes once more. the wound jack crawford had put through it made it stiff.
'aren't you curious will?' hannibal says, looking past the revolver and into will's eyes, 'why you? what does the chesapeake ripper want with you?'
will laughs, short and sardonic. he knows this. he knows the play hannibal puts on, diverting questions, something that buys him time. something that will keep the both of them talking. something that will make the finger around will's gun go slack, numb with the electric need that flows underneath the pad of his index finger, the need to pull the trigger and splatter the doctor's brain across the pristine gray of the refrigerator.
'you tell me,'
'if i'm not the ripper, you kill an innocent man. you better than anyone know what it is to be wrongly accused. you were innocent, will, and no one saw it.'
will's hand shakes a little more. he lowers the gun, just a little. doctor bloom's words whizz in his head. he looks past the gun barrel and stares into hannibal's eyes. they're gleaming. almost like ruby stones.
he's never noticed the red in hannibal's eyes before tonight.
'i'm not innocent,' the gun rises again. will's voice drops to a low timbre, 'you made sure of that.' he presses the barrel of the gun against hannibal's forehead.
'if you kill me, your answers die with me, tonight. is that what you want, will?' hannibal says. his eyes are glowing.
the barrel presses harder against the skin of the older man.
'tell me, then, doctor lecter,' will says, stepping closer to him. his eyes move up, and lock with his. doctor bloom's words are a faint buzz in his head. 'is hannibal safe?' she had asked. of course she had gotten into bed with him. why wouldn't she? he was beautiful.
underneath the threat of a loaded gun, fear almost imperceptible, unless one knew where to look for it. so bloodied raw, with the carnal desire of being seen, underneath the pale wan moon, being stripped apart by will graham's ocean blue gaze. hannibal's person suit was like the ocean, massive, serene and kind to those who were kind to it. and will's eyes were the streams that flew into rivers and ultimately merged into the ocean.
and will knew where to look. he always would know, whether he wanted to or not. hannibal had gotten inside his head that his thoughts sometimes echoed in the bone arena of his skull in hannibal's voice, fluid and silky.
he wondered if he had ever implanted himself so deep into the doctor's head that his thoughts echoed in his voice, rough and low?
the doctor stare downs at him. he feels weak in his knees. a tremble runs through his body. cold, and unforgiving. it's not the wind that seeps in through the cracked open kitchen window. it's the feeling of his person suit slowly being peeled off. that his lie so massive, like the ocean merges into the mouth of a river, and ultimately flows into a stream.
fear ebbs under his skin. he can smell it on himself. the threat of the gun at his head, the possibility of life and death by the hands of someone who holds the capability of stripping him bare, is beautiful.
he wonders if will smells the fear on him. if it does something to him?
hannibal backs up, till there isn't much space left between his back and the refrigerator. the gun still presses against his forehead. he can feel the cold metal of the gun warming up now. and a foreign smell, something he hasn't smelled before.
it's potent.
and it ebbs from will.
it's a fusion of the smell of gun oil, the smell of his own thrill of fear, the smell of will's unfortunate aftershave, and the smell of something potent and foreign. it's overpowering. it sends a rush of blood down his lower body. it weakens his knees even more.
and his knees have never weakened for anybody.
will lets out a hush of hot breath. it runs over hannibal. the latter closes his eyes.
'of course alana got into bed with you, doctor.' he says. his voice his low. almost a whisper, 'you're beautiful. like this, underneath the barrel of my gun. the possibility of your life, lies within my hands,'
hannibal lecter deserves a deathless death. and will graham is a pagan of the good times.
the former gulps. then, he opens his eyes, to meet the vast blue of will's again. the smell so potent, so foreign is of arousal. his arousal. his palm has gone sweaty around his gun. but it does not slip. his knuckles have gone white with how tightly he holds it.
the moonlight scatters. and hannibal kneels.
it's a gentle sin, defying himself.
and the gun still presses against his forehead. but that's not where doctor bloom left her marks on him.
'shall i command you to be well, doctor lecter?' will whispers, hand lowered now. hannibal nods. will's pupils have dilated, his iris as wide as the full moon. his tongue pokes out from between his mouth.
hannibal shifts. his nose almost touching will's covered crotch. and he sniffs.
and perhaps, that is when the ritual begins, when there are no masters to witness the debauchery.
hannibal lecter, still in his pristine clothes, kneeling in his kitchen, where he has filleted numerous long pigs and served tongues on gourmet platters. there is no worship. there is only this, this debauchery, this confession.
and he's about to tell him his sins, his tongue blunt with the truth, unlike the knives that have shed tendons off bones that sit in his drawers.
'where did she kiss you, doctor? show me,' will says. hannibal's hand rises, and he wraps his long fingers around will's. the one that holds the gun. will's grasp has weakened, but it has not loosened. he lets hannibal guide the barrel of the gun to the places where doctor bloom placed her lips on.
he places the barrel of the gun on his cheek. the metal is warm now.
'here,' he admits. will nods. then, with his free hand he hooks his finger into his belt, pulling it off. he throws it on the floor. the buckle echoes against it with a loud thwack. the silver glints underneath the moonlight. hannibal follows the reflection before unwrapping his hand from will's gun. he tries to help him with his trousers, before will slaps his hand - with the revolver - away.
he offers no absoluteness. it's almost madness, that doctor lecter feels, down on his knees, for will graham.
'don't,' will grunts, shaking his head. he undoes the button of his trousers, letting them fall along his legs. he doesn't bother with his boxers. he pulls his cock out. he's erect, pink at the tip, a sheen of precum covering it. a mound of thick coarse curls sit at the base. his hand is tight around himself.
'remove the coat. and the shirt,' will says. it's more of a command. hannibal nods, and sheds off his coat and shirt. now he kneels, shirtless underneath will graham.
at his mercy.
and he's never felt more human.
he wraps his hand around will's hand again, the one holding the gun. 'she kissed me here. it began here,' he says, pointing towards his cheek. will nods. his hand moves up and down his cock, tight and aching around his length. breath leaving in short, hot puffs of air. his eyes fixed at the barrel touching hannibal lecter's visibly unmarked cheek. he wants to bruise it.
the gun changes it's direction again, guided towards his neck. a fading bruise, a hickey upon his skin.
'then, here,' hannibal says. his voice is low, silky, but not bridled with fear. it's arousal. and he likes seeing the man standing above him shatter so beautifully at the thought of an-other's lips upon his skin. will nods again, his movement paced now. with each word that leaves hannibal's tongue, his hand tightens around his cock.
his eyes never leave his.
the barrel now rests on his lips. it would be so easy, so easy to pull the trigger now. let the man kneeling in front of him have his own share in the act of killing him. and yet, he can't bring himself to move his finger against the trigger. the warmth of hannibal's large, warm, and soft hands cover his, keeping the gun in it's place.
'this, this is where she kissed me last,' hannibal admits. it's almost like a confession. will nods again, his adam's apple moving underneath his chin, bobbing with the sheer tenacity of lust that flows through him. he grunts.
and then, he pushes the gun inside hannibal's mouth. his finger tightens against the trigger. he imagines hannibal's brain scattered against his pristine fridge, that contains cuts of the meat of long pigs. flesh reduced to slices wrapped in plastic film. that spreads across the tongues of his dinner guests.
the thought is fresh poison.
will grunts, feeling the coil of pleasure tighten underneath his belly. he watches hannibal's lips around the barrel, so utterly obscene. sharp canines against the metal. his movements falter, almost. the orgasm teeters at the edge of release, and he bites his lip. his eyes are fixed on the way hannibal's lips spread around his gun.
a tremor passes through his body before he releases, his orgasm hot and thick. it spreads across hannibal's face, a little spurting on his gun too. hannibal closes his eyes, letting will paint his face with his release. accepting it.
like a dog worshiping him at the shrine of his debauchery. and hannibal lecter does not mind sharpening his knife at the shrine.
he pulls the gun out from his mouth with a soft pop. then, he runs the gun over the cum on his face, letting the metal coat itself in the thick liquid. he looks up at will, his eyes now glinting maroon, like rubies. as if challenging him.
will's chest is heaving. he pushes his softened cock inside his boxers.
'go ahead, doctor. suck it.'
doctor lecter's tongue swirls.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
kill-shot, baby? (3035 words) by grahamsmutt
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Hannibal (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter
Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom
Additional Tags: Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Will Graham Knows, Top Will Graham, Dom Will Graham, Gunplay, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Will Graham
.✦ ݁˖ pairing - will graham x hannibal lecter
.✦ ݁˖ warnings - 18+ content, unethical use of guns.
.✦ ݁˖ a/n- inspired by that one cal roberts masturbating scene. thank you @/cannibalbussyy for posting it. not proofread. english is not my first language, be respectful.
will graham's house sits in the otherwise bare neighbourhood, amidst bare trees and pearly white snow. the roof atop his house is blanketed in the snow. the silence is disturbed only by the occasional gust of wind that causes the unclad branches to move along with it.
his boots break the dry leaves underneath him, crushing into the layer of snow that has accumulated underneath him. he walks towards the porch of his house. he's thinking of his dogs, and the thought that comes along with his dogs: doctor bloom.
just as the thought enters his head, the front door opens, and the pack of dogs squeeze past alana bloom and rush up to meet will. he drops to his knees, his face breaking into a smile as the dogs slather him with wet smooches and kisses across his bearded face. his hands travel across the furs of all the dogs, trying to reciprocate the affection they slobber upon him.
'thank you for taking care of them,' he says, rubbing their heads, as they yip and lick his face playfully, 'they seem happy,'
doctor bloom cannot hold her smile back. her heart warms, for both the dogs and will. she rarely has seen him smile like that.
'happy to see you,'
will nods. he's momentarily overwhelmed with the sudden affection, the easy acceptance of having him back in their life, even after everything. he looks around the pack of strays, and notices a new dog. he doesn't remember picking her up. he holds her face gently, examining it, his eyes darting across her face. her coat is white, and slightly speckled, almost like a fawn. her eyes are brown.
'who's this?' he asks.
'applesauce. she's mine. she likes applesauce,' doctor bloom replies as she gently pulls the dog towards her.
the name suits her, will thinks.
'i rescued her.' she finishes, attaching a lead to applesauce's collar.
'picking some of my bad habits?' he asks. his voice has a lilt of humour, a poor attempt at salvaging the obviously tense situation. he doesn't look into her eyes, not yet. he's still on his knees, letting the dogs play around him.
doctor bloom looks thoughtful for a moment before she answers,
'picking up your good habits,' she pauses, letting will respond. he doesn't. he simply stands, now on his feet. the dogs lick off the snow that sticks to will's trousers.
'you challenged my whole framework of assumptions about the way you are. the way i think you are.' alana says, her voice wavering, just a little.
'the way you think i am isn't always a reliable guide to who i am,' will replies finally.
'i was wrong about you,'
'because you didn't believe me? or in me? because you let me question my own sense of sanity and reality?'
alana pauses. she does have an answer for his question. she just doesn't know how to say it without being abhorrently rude, or obvious.
'because you tried to kill hannibal.'
'you think i tried to kill hannibal. just like i think hannibal killed beverly katz. and so many others.'
it's not exactly a lie. he does think, and know hannibal killed beverly and many others. it's just the part that she "thinks" he "tried" to kill hannibal. he did try to kill hannibal, even if by proxy. he just wasn't very successful at it.
'you're wrong about him,'
'you're wrong about him, alana. you see the best in him. i don't.'
'what was done to you doesn't excuse what you did. are you going to try to hurt hannibal again?' alana pauses, trying to conceal her affections for hannibal as much as she can. given her and will's history.
'is he safe?'
it doesn't really work. will reads her in an instant. it's not hard. she always had been an expressive woman.
'from me? or for you?' before the doctor can answer, a hint of sadness crosses his face, though it lingers only for a second. he had suspected it, though, hadn't expected it. he'd convinced himself it was just a phantom scent that lingered on her skin, something he'd made up in his mind.
'i'm going to stay as far away from hannibal lecter as i can. i suggest you do the same.'
the doctor looks down, at the dogs that vie for will's attention.she's silent. she doesn't know how to respond to him, in a way that defends the man she sleeps with.
he leads the dogs into his house, leaving alana in the cold.
────୨ৎ────
will graham had lied. not his first time, when he was determined to twist fate and circumstances in a way that favoured him.
'the same unfortunate aftershave,'
the doctor still has his head turned towards the refrigerator. as if he doesn't care about will graham's presence in his kitchen. surely his nostrils pick up the scent of the freshly oiled gun that's currently pointed towards the back of his head? perhaps he simply does not care.
'gone too long in the bottle,' he finishes. he keeps the car keys on the kitchen counter, and opens the refrigerator. the light from within the box that keeps his cold cut meats ebbs out, illuminating graham's blue eyes. the doctor takes out a beer bottle from within the fridge, and keeps it beside his car keys.
it is then when will speaks, his voice soft. not gone from misuse. it's deliberate. he keeps the gun high, pointed towards the doctor's head. his breathing has gone a little ragged.
'our last conversation was interrupted by jack crawford. i'd like to pick up where we left off.' will says. the doctor turns. he's not particularly phased by the gun pointed towards his forehead. though, the slight hitch in his breathing does not go unnoticed by will.
though, will's quite sure that's an act. he's mimicking him.
'if memory serves, you were asking me if it'd feel good to kill you,' will finishes. his voice drops. it's not hitchy. shaky or unsure as it was when hannibal had last asked him that. in abigail hobbs' kitchen. the one he'd splattered her blood. the metallic, iron smell of her blood still lingers within the bone arena of his mind.
he scrunches his nose, just a little. to inhale the scent of gun oil that invades the scent of his kitchen? or to inhale the scent of the man with the unfortunate aftershave with the gun? or does he inhale the combined scent of the unfortunate aftershave and gun oil?
the gun oil had rotted within the barrel of his gun, the last time he had it pointing towards him, after all.
'you've given that some thought,' the doctor says, tilting his head. his eyes fix at finger coiled around the trigger before he meets will's again. they're sparkling, ocean blue in their haze that fix upon his brown, almost burgundy ones.
'you wanted me to embrace my nature, doctor,' will's voice has a lilt of humour to it almost, as if he's mocking the doctor, 'just following the urges i kept down so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are,'
will moves closer, letting his face be seen underneath the moonlight that illuminates in through hannibal's window. it scatters across his face. his hair is longer now, unkempt. his beard, prickly. a faint hint of rouge dusting his cold bitten cheeks.
'you never answered my question,' hannibal says, after his eyes are done darting across graham's face, 'how would killing me make you feel?'
will stares at the doctor's awfully peaceful and calm face, before his hand shakes, and he moves closer to him, his gun shaking in his hand. he feels furious. the anger is palpable, his finger tightening across the trigger. not shooting, not yet.
he watches hannibal's face go slack, closing his eyes, as if accepting his fate. he turns his head on the side.
'righteous!' he says. his shoulder shakes once more. the wound jack crawford had put through it made it stiff.
'aren't you curious will?' hannibal says, looking past the revolver and into will's eyes, 'why you? what does the chesapeake ripper want with you?'
will laughs, short and sardonic. he knows this. he knows the play hannibal puts on, diverting questions, something that buys him time. something that will keep the both of them talking. something that will make the finger around will's gun go slack, numb with the electric need that flows underneath the pad of his index finger, the need to pull the trigger and splatter the doctor's brain across the pristine gray of the refrigerator.
'you tell me,'
'if i'm not the ripper, you kill an innocent man. you better than anyone know what it is to be wrongly accused. you were innocent, will, and no one saw it.'
will's hand shakes a little more. he lowers the gun, just a little. doctor bloom's words whizz in his head. he looks past the gun barrel and stares into hannibal's eyes. they're gleaming. almost like ruby stones.
he's never noticed the red in hannibal's eyes before tonight.
'i'm not innocent,' the gun rises again. will's voice drops to a low timbre, 'you made sure of that.' he presses the barrel of the gun against hannibal's forehead.
'if you kill me, your answers die with me, tonight. is that what you want, will?' hannibal says. his eyes are glowing.
the barrel presses harder against the skin of the older man.
'tell me, then, doctor lecter,' will says, stepping closer to him. his eyes move up, and lock with his. doctor bloom's words are a faint buzz in his head. 'is hannibal safe?' she had asked. of course she had gotten into bed with him. why wouldn't she? he was beautiful.
underneath the threat of a loaded gun, fear almost imperceptible, unless one knew where to look for it. so bloodied raw, with the carnal desire of being seen, underneath the pale wan moon, being stripped apart by will graham's ocean blue gaze. hannibal's person suit was like the ocean, massive, serene and kind to those who were kind to it. and will's eyes were the streams that flew into rivers and ultimately merged into the ocean.
and will knew where to look. he always would know, whether he wanted to or not. hannibal had gotten inside his head that his thoughts sometimes echoed in the bone arena of his skull in hannibal's voice, fluid and silky.
he wondered if he had ever implanted himself so deep into the doctor's head that his thoughts echoed in his voice, rough and low?
the doctor stare downs at him. he feels weak in his knees. a tremble runs through his body. cold, and unforgiving. it's not the wind that seeps in through the cracked open kitchen window. it's the feeling of his person suit slowly being peeled off. that his lie so massive, like the ocean merges into the mouth of a river, and ultimately flows into a stream.
fear ebbs under his skin. he can smell it on himself. the threat of the gun at his head, the possibility of life and death by the hands of someone who holds the capability of stripping him bare, is beautiful.
he wonders if will smells the fear on him. if it does something to him?
hannibal backs up, till there isn't much space left between his back and the refrigerator. the gun still presses against his forehead. he can feel the cold metal of the gun warming up now. and a foreign smell, something he hasn't smelled before.
it's potent.
and it ebbs from will.
it's a fusion of the smell of gun oil, the smell of his own thrill of fear, the smell of will's unfortunate aftershave, and the smell of something potent and foreign. it's overpowering. it sends a rush of blood down his lower body. it weakens his knees even more.
and his knees have never weakened for anybody.
will lets out a hush of hot breath. it runs over hannibal. the latter closes his eyes.
'of course alana got into bed with you, doctor.' he says. his voice his low. almost a whisper, 'you're beautiful. like this, underneath the barrel of my gun. the possibility of your life, lies within my hands,'
hannibal lecter deserves a deathless death. and will graham is a pagan of the good times.
the former gulps. then, he opens his eyes, to meet the vast blue of will's again. the smell so potent, so foreign is of arousal. his arousal. his palm has gone sweaty around his gun. but it does not slip. his knuckles have gone white with how tightly he holds it.
the moonlight scatters. and hannibal kneels.
it's a gentle sin, defying himself.
and the gun still presses against his forehead. but that's not where doctor bloom left her marks on him.
'shall i command you to be well, doctor lecter?' will whispers, hand lowered now. hannibal nods. will's pupils have dilated, his iris as wide as the full moon. his tongue pokes out from between his mouth.
hannibal shifts. his nose almost touching will's covered crotch. and he sniffs.
and perhaps, that is when the ritual begins, when there are no masters to witness the debauchery.
hannibal lecter, still in his pristine clothes, kneeling in his kitchen, where he has filleted numerous long pigs and served tongues on gourmet platters. there is no worship. there is only this, this debauchery, this confession.
and he's about to tell him his sins, his tongue blunt with the truth, unlike the knives that have shed tendons off bones that sit in his drawers.
'where did she kiss you, doctor? show me,' will says. hannibal's hand rises, and he wraps his long fingers around will's. the one that holds the gun. will's grasp has weakened, but it has not loosened. he lets hannibal guide the barrel of the gun to the places where doctor bloom placed her lips on.
he places the barrel of the gun on his cheek. the metal is warm now.
'here,' he admits. will nods. then, with his free hand he hooks his finger into his belt, pulling it off. he throws it on the floor. the buckle echoes against it with a loud thwack. the silver glints underneath the moonlight. hannibal follows the reflection before unwrapping his hand from will's gun. he tries to help him with his trousers, before will slaps his hand - with the revolver - away.
he offers no absoluteness. it's almost madness, that doctor lecter feels, down on his knees, for will graham.
'don't,' will grunts, shaking his head. he undoes the button of his trousers, letting them fall along his legs. he doesn't bother with his boxers. he pulls his cock out. he's erect, pink at the tip, a sheen of precum covering it. a mound of thick coarse curls sit at the base. his hand is tight around himself.
'remove the coat. and the shirt,' will says. it's more of a command. hannibal nods, and sheds off his coat and shirt. now he kneels, shirtless underneath will graham.
at his mercy.
and he's never felt more human.
he wraps his hand around will's hand again, the one holding the gun. 'she kissed me here. it began here,' he says, pointing towards his cheek. will nods. his hand moves up and down his cock, tight and aching around his length. breath leaving in short, hot puffs of air. his eyes fixed at the barrel touching hannibal lecter's visibly unmarked cheek. he wants to bruise it.
the gun changes it's direction again, guided towards his neck. a fading bruise, a hickey upon his skin.
'then, here,' hannibal says. his voice is low, silky, but not bridled with fear. it's arousal. and he likes seeing the man standing above him shatter so beautifully at the thought of an-other's lips upon his skin. will nods again, his movement paced now. with each word that leaves hannibal's tongue, his hand tightens around his cock.
his eyes never leave his.
the barrel now rests on his lips. it would be so easy, so easy to pull the trigger now. let the man kneeling in front of him have his own share in the act of killing him. and yet, he can't bring himself to move his finger against the trigger. the warmth of hannibal's large, warm, and soft hands cover his, keeping the gun in it's place.
'this, this is where she kissed me last,' hannibal admits. it's almost like a confession. will nods again, his adam's apple moving underneath his chin, bobbing with the sheer tenacity of lust that flows through him. he grunts.
and then, he pushes the gun inside hannibal's mouth. his finger tightens against the trigger. he imagines hannibal's brain scattered against his pristine fridge, that contains cuts of the meat of long pigs. flesh reduced to slices wrapped in plastic film. that spreads across the tongues of his dinner guests.
the thought is fresh poison.
will grunts, feeling the coil of pleasure tighten underneath his belly. he watches hannibal's lips around the barrel, so utterly obscene. sharp canines against the metal. his movements falter, almost. the orgasm teeters at the edge of release, and he bites his lip. his eyes are fixed on the way hannibal's lips spread around his gun.
a tremor passes through his body before he releases, his orgasm hot and thick. it spreads across hannibal's face, a little spurting on his gun too. hannibal closes his eyes, letting will paint his face with his release. accepting it.
like a dog worshiping him at the shrine of his debauchery. and hannibal lecter does not mind sharpening his knife at the shrine.
he pulls the gun out from his mouth with a soft pop. then, he runs the gun over the cum on his face, letting the metal coat itself in the thick liquid. he looks up at will, his eyes now glinting maroon, like rubies. as if challenging him.
will's chest is heaving. he pushes his softened cock inside his boxers.
'go ahead, doctor. suck it.'
doctor lecter's tongue swirls.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
especially if it has a bonus of scarification (like purposefully stitching up the surgery thingies in a way that will scar) as a form of possession
hopefully you can see the vision
- @luciens-forbidden-library
i totally forgot about this...sorry for the late response :/ also i'm not very fond of this, it feels so scattered, and i dunno, i still hope you like it.
will graham's flesh may reside underneath the constraints of his cold skin, but hannibal lecter is a man who has hunger, and graham shall be ate.
hannibal lecter is a pagan of the good times. it's sultry, in it's sickness, the way will's mouth moves with his. teeth clashing against his, blood dripping onto his pristine silk sheets. candle light flickering across the newly inflicted wounds. the scalpel stained with will's blood on the night stand. the doctor's hand roam.
his scalpel had sunk his hands into graham's cavern, the scalpel yielding of love so pure, so filthy, it worshipped him. temples that resemble bedsheets, the strength that holds him down pillars, and the breath that mingles into the thick air, tainted with sins unsaid, yet done, the incense.
graham reaches over, taking the scalpel from the night stand. his hair, soaked with sweat, sticks onto his forehead. his eyes shine like stars, delirious with the pain that flares onto his wounded and freshly cut open areas. the metal is slick with his drying blood, and it glistens underneath the flame of the flickering candle.
graham's hand ascends, and he lays the cold, bloodstained blade between hannibal's lips. hannibal scrunches his nose, an action that reminds the former of the times they've hunt together. he splits his lips apart with the scalpel, hips aching as he moves closer.
graham splits his spine to take him, lecter's saliva is honey that bleeds upon him. he places the blade of scalpel on lecter's tongue.
'lick my blood, doctor,' he whispers. it's spit on an altar. he is the sacrificial, sacred lamb, and he's the eternal sinner. and they birth duality at the birth of their worship that clings onto them like second skin.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
adam's camera whirs in front of them. duncan's bicep is curled around his neck, his head pulled up, a cautionary move to prevent adam's face sinking into the pillows underneath them.
duncan's breathe is hot on his cool skin, cock thrusting in and out from adam's tight ring of muscle, previously stretched out by the former with lube and his fingers, while adam cried underneath him.
'you wanna watch my video, hm?' duncan says, voice quiet, always, but a hitch in his voice when adam tightens himself around him. he readjusts the position, so that adam's eyes now fall on the T.V screen in front of them.
'n-no,' adam replies, voice thick with pleasure. he feels duncan smile against the nape of his skin and withers.
'you found me, stalked me, all those months just to get the real deal. ain't that right? atta fucking boy,'
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
This one is more freaky than usual, to my own standard, but I saw a fic and it definitely was good even tho it wasn't my usual cup of tea
Basically it's Will having an autonecrophilia kink where he gets turned on to being used like a corpse-
So the fic was pseudo/fake necro where Will consents to Hannibal drugging him to where he's still conscious but can't move or anything and then Hannibal giving him a fake clinical autopsy.
It was lowkey hella intimate too-
The romantic autopsy roleplay was an unexpected but welcome addition to my bookmarks lol
( as always, it's the freak named @wills-right-shoulder :3)
autopsy, you say? hmm...
there's a cadaver like beauty written across will graham's skin. pasty, pale skin, dark under eyes, and his lover's warm fingertips cooling down at gentle kiss of his cold skin. a contrast.
the moonlight has seeped through the curtains, scattering through the weaves of fabric, across the cold metal table will lays on, motionless, stiff, and naked. the light finds collision above his head, circling, like a halo.
hannibal's finger move across his skin, mapping out the scars spread across his lover's body. he's used to corpses. he's used to their rotting smell infiltrating his nostril. the metallic scent of blood that taints his skin. seeping into the crevices of his palm, the blood hotter than his own touch.
but he hasn't found beauty in a corpse before.
the blade of the scalpel is cold, as it's dragged across his lover's skin. not a cut yet.
just the illusion of one.
he wonders if his lover feels it yet. the miracle. cells breaking and multiplying, a back and forth akin to lovers'. the fight of wounds being knit back together, and the skin being broken apart, just for the sake of it.
the scalpel finds it's way on graham's lower abdomen. against the scarred tissue of the old smile on his skin.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
- Somnophilia with Will and Hannibal. Probably Hannibal sleeping. Like, at first when they try it, Will is very anxious and stuff but Hannibal decides "I'm gonna make it easy for him" and sedates himself so Will can do his thing.
Idk, I've read a handful of fics with this and it scratches my brain
Vulnerable Hannibal supremacy!!!!
(This is @wills-right-shoulder!)
i'll leech into your mind /silly.
the looms of bone and blood carry the weight memories that weave together inside hannibal lecter. when his tongue slips loose, and he lets out a secret.
when he admits to touching himself at the sight of will, dazed and drug addled. when their relationship had blurred it's edges between predator & prey or therapist & patient.
will wants to know it feels. his empathy, albeit skin to something supernatural, he wants to know how it feels. and hannibal lecter, never opposed to playing on his lover's desires and whims doesn't refuse.
he can't.
he'd like to know, too. he's done being so ashamed of his desires. he wants to know. he's not ashamed of his desires anymore.
the light has leaked into his kitchen, and he's finally the one being spilt open.
the museum, that his will graham's skin sparkling against the moonlight is the last thing he sees before his eyes flutter close. the last thing he feels is the soft puncture of needle underneath his skin.
he feels the weight of god around him, engulfing him in the fire that burns away his shame, and like a phoenix, his desires emerge from his ashes.
will's breath hushes over hannibal's cold skin. his hands find way between hannibal's thighs, spreading them apart. mouth kissing, exploring, lips skimming, teeth sinking. it's akin to eroticism.
a mellowed masterpiece in will graham's sheets.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
- Somnophilia with Will and Hannibal. Probably Hannibal sleeping. Like, at first when they try it, Will is very anxious and stuff but Hannibal decides "I'm gonna make it easy for him" and sedates himself so Will can do his thing.
Idk, I've read a handful of fics with this and it scratches my brain
Vulnerable Hannibal supremacy!!!!
(This is @wills-right-shoulder!)
i'll leech into your mind /silly.
the looms of bone and blood carry the weight memories that weave together inside hannibal lecter. when his tongue slips loose, and he lets out a secret.
when he admits to touching himself at the sight of will, dazed and drug addled. when their relationship had blurred it's edges between predator & prey or therapist & patient.
will wants to know it feels. his empathy, albeit skin to something supernatural, he wants to know how it feels. and hannibal lecter, never opposed to playing on his lover's desires and whims doesn't refuse.
he can't.
he'd like to know, too. he's done being so ashamed of his desires. he wants to know. he's not ashamed of his desires anymore.
the light has leaked into his kitchen, and he's finally the one being spilt open.
the museum, that is will graham's skin sparkling against the moonlight is the last thing he sees before his eyes flutter close. the last thing he feels is the soft puncture of needle underneath his skin.
he feels the weight of god around him, engulfing him in the fire that burns away his shame, and like a phoenix, his desires emerge from his ashes.
will's breath hushes over hannibal's cold skin. his hands find way between hannibal's thighs, spreading them apart. mouth kissing, exploring, lips skimming, teeth sinking. it's akin to eroticism.
a mellowed masterpiece in will graham's sheets.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
Hey um so u think Will likes cockwarming? Genuinely curious on your opinion of this (we all know hanni fugkin loves it, its too damn obvious)
- @will-grahams-larynx :D
ouhh, you cooked with this one! okay, so in my (humble) opinion i don't think he does, but if i had to convince myself that he does, i would imagine something like this:
'it's our custom to consume,' hannibal says, lifting his chin. his eyes are wet, almost sparkling with unshed tears that brim against his lash-less water line. his tongue hides behind the cage of his teeth.
he looks beautiful, will thinks, like this. shattered, in a way. shed of all control that grips his muscles, tanned skin red with the lack of stimulation. he knows what hannibal wants. but he wants him to beg. just a little more.
will presses his hands against hannibal's hot cheeks, red and furious, leading him between his legs. hannibal sniffs his crotch. saliva rushes inside his mouth, barred by his teeth.
will graham, is not clean. he can't deny he's got in his mind the things he would, could, do to the hannibal lecter. but he's trying to talk refined, for now. the fear of the desire that sits across his chest is heavy, and he's afraid of it leaking. he's afraid of letting hannibal know everything, just yet.
every time will graham opens his mouth, he spits. heat and confession, tangling together.
'it's our custom to consume, the forbidden flesh of the ones we love,' hannibal whispers, voice muffled against will's trousers. will's hands now sink into the doctor's soft hair, soaked with sweat. his finger tips explore the feeling of his scalp, the roots of the hair bleeding from the skin.
'i know,' will says, before the trousers slip down his thighs, along with his boxers. he falls back on the sofa, pulling hannibal along with him. his cock, hot and heavy hits hannibal's lips. the pad of will's thumb drags across hannibal's nose, tracing the scar of a tale untold.
'i'm starving, darling,'
he thinks it's beautiful. the moonlight scatters from the veil of thin curtains, before peeking into their shared space. it reflects on hannibal's hair, a bevy of brunette, silver, and black hair.
he presses hannibal gently, urging him to put him in his mouth.
even worms turn.
hannibal's mouth engulfs around will, tongue pressing against the base of will's cock. the tip hits the back of hannibal's throat. he doesn't gag. he's used to it. saliva pools, teeth similar to fangs scraping against will's sensitive skin. pleasure burns under will's belly, hot and skimming with tension.
he's not used to this, letting his cock rest inside a warm, wet cavern, for his pleasure, and solely his.
hannibal looks up at him again, mouth stretched, almost obscenely around the width of his cock. eyes brimming. as if begging for praise.
he's starving.
and he's finally got his teeth around the world.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
I have some HCs!!!! (all hanmigram cuz i sadly know like nothing about HEU lol)
- They're both vers, because yeah
- Will tends to be more dominant, and Hannibal absolutely loves it. For him it's another kind of worship to be able to bask and Will's dominance and control, especially when no one else gets his obedience
- Paink kink, on both ends. No elaboration
- Collars????? Idk, i feel like they would experiment eith collars or something. They probably would feel it isn't permanent enough tho and just scar/brand each other lol
- Obviously murder kink. They've probably left an obscene amount of... fluids... on crime scenes tbh
- Hair pulling!!!!!!!
Yippee
Also feel free to share some of ur own HCs of them cuz I'm lowkey curious on the opinions of the masses (totally not looking for ideas to add to my many fic ideas 👀)
Also have a good day!!!!!!
good fucking food :P
⤷ well, it's obvious. they're both switches (i think that is what vers means, loosely? please correct me if i'm wrong).
⤷ hannibal is a soft-dom. and will is a bossy sub. he has made hannibal cry several times during sex, even when he's supposed to be the 'compliant' one. because hannibal is not someone who can hold himself 'up' for long, and can orgasm quite easily.
but will doesn't. he has to be in a certain position, and has to be held in a certain way for him to be able to orgasm. he has to be touched in a certain way for him to be able to relax, and let go. and because he can handle overstimulation like a champ.
⤷ will on the other hand, is a hard-dom. and hannibal is a proper sub. he much more prefer's edging than overstimulation, because it allows him to hold his orgasm for a longer period of time. but if he disobeys? the punishment is going to depend on will's mood. it's mostly spanks, and he makes hannibal count them, and thank him for them. if he forgets to thank him or count them, he will begin all over again. and if hannibal is being a total brat, he puts him in a cock cage.
⤷ collars was an experiment. mostly. will doesn't really like it, because it reminds him too much of his dogs, and that's not really something that fits in their bedroom routine. they tried it, and it wasn't for them. maybe hannibal got down on his knees, collar strapped around his neck, to please will. will did get off on it, but that doesn't mean he necessarily enjoyed it. it's safe to say that the collars did not become a part of their bedroom activities. knifes and guns, however, always have been. so have been ice cubes and candle wax.
⤷ will gets hot and bothered at funerals. at the grief of others, and also the grief he feels. his empathetic nature not only allows him to feel his own grief, but also the grief of others. the pain is measurable, and not something he's not used to handling. but the ecstasy of being taken care of, sexually, by someone he not only trusts, but also feels understood by? he's not going to deny it any time soon.
⤷ fluids on crime scenes isn't something that happens. maybe the place where they kill. but never in the place they leave the body. the murder tableaux aren't something that is to be tainted by their sins. but, an offering to god.
RULES
°˖➴ do not copy/repost/translate my work. do not feed it to ai.
⤷ ゛this account is exclusively nsfw
⤷ ゛i can't control what ya'll consume. if you're a minor please don't ask me to write something for you. i don't mind if you're interacting with my posts.
⤷ ゛i will be writing for hannibal nbc, and the HEU.
⤷ ゛this blog explores mainly contains dark and nsfw posts. please dni if that makes you uncomfortable.
⤷ ゛i will accept emoji anons and anonymous asks. just be respectable about it. send me your pronouns and age if you wish to remain anonymous.
⤷ ゛i will write for pretty hardcore kinks, the list is extensive, so i'll not be making one. but if i'm completely replused by a certain kink, i will not write for it. please don't expect me to write for every message in my inbox.
