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waywardfangirl · 3 years

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For the fantastic @fight-surrender: You are a wonderful person with a brilliant mind and a kind heart, and I am so happy to know you! I really enjoyed the prompts you suggested for the Secret Snowflake exchange this year, so to give you something fluffy and happy for your birthday I combined a few of them into one sweet and silly fic - I hope that you like it! 🖤

A big thank you goes out to @carryonvisinata for her wonderful beta work and for making this fic even better for such an incredible friend 🖤 Purr-fect Strangers

Rated: General Audiences Word Count: 3208 Chapters: 1/1 Simon

"Die Hard? Really?"

I'm struggling to make the Redbox give me my DVD. Video vending machines sounded like a good idea when I couldn't find anywhere to stream my favorite movie, but the obstinate thing in front of me and the condescending voice behind me are now making me reconsider my choices.

"What's wrong with Die Hard?" I demand, momentarily giving up on retrieving my video to take some of my frustration out on the prick watching me.

Unfortunately, when I turn around to scowl at him, I make eye contact with one of the most attractive people I've ever seen. He's tall, with dark hair escaping the bun on top of his head and falling around his face, and a perfectly tailored suit hugging every inch of his body right on down to his shiny Chelsea boots. My brain shorts out, and he sneers at me.

"There’s nothing wrong with it, per se. But you have a near unlimited assortment of cinema to choose from, and you've selected Die Hard?"

(Read the rest on ao3, or keep reading here)

I scoff.

"Look, mate, some of us don't feel the need to watch pretentious films just to feel better than other people. I like Die Hard. I'm going to watch it while eating pizza and relaxing in joggers, and I refuse to feel bad about enjoying that."

He looks a bit startled, and his cheeks take on a slightly pink tinge, but he just arches an eyebrow at me. (And manages to make that look unfairly hot too, the prat.)

"What movie are you renting?" I say it like a challenge, and he pushes past me.

He deftly removes my DVD from the stubborn machine and thrusts it at me, before turning back around to get his own. I loiter behind him, just like he did to me, ready to see what movie he thinks is better than Die Hard.

"Two Weeks Notice?" I exclaim, when I see the poster pop up on the screen. "You're ridiculing Die Hard, but getting a rom-com for yourself? Unbelievable."

He pushes past me and turns up his nose. My blood boils for so many different reasons, and it's work to hold myself still.

"This has Hugh Grant in it. My tastes are superior."

Then he swans off, and I'm left standing on the kerb.

Baz

A year into my time at university, I started treating myself to a monthly visit to Sephora. It was easily excusable then, with parties every weekend to justify each new purchase, but I've kept up the tradition since graduating. (Retail therapy and good skin care never hurt anyone. And a little eyeliner does wonders for one's self esteem.)

This month, I'm browsing for something sparkly. My eyes are grey, but with a dark, glittery liner I think they might stand out a little more. I'm just testing one of the pencils on the back of my hand when I see him.

Blond hair, plain blue eyes, and a constellation of freckles and moles across his skin. The most lovely man I have ever seen, with the worst taste in movies, and (I'm sure) a well-deserved hatred for me.

For all that I try to appear cool and confident, my facade sometimes fails me. When I get flustered, I become cruel. The man renting Die Hard was so pretty that all I could do was insult him and then curse myself for it the entire way home. I couldn't even properly enjoy Hugh Grant, as mired as I was in self-loathing. And now, whatever second chance to impress him I've been granted with has surely been ruined by my actions last time.

I keep my head down and steal glances at him through my eyelashes.

He is entirely out of his element, that much is obvious right away. I watch him ask one of the shop assistants for help, and she points him in the direction of a display. His brow furrows as he picks up different containers, and he’s ridiculously precious and hopeless as he holds a lipstick tube next to a garish eyeshadow palette and closes one eye to look at them. (What is he even doing?)

Finally, his confusion seems to win out, and he turns to look around for help, when he suddenly spots me. I've been caught out; I can't pretend now like I haven't been staring, and he scowls a little as we make eye contact. I arch an eyebrow, watch as his face grows pink in anger, and decide I hate myself enough to try talking to him again.

"That's really not your shade."

"What?" It's a simple word, horribly enunciated, and does nothing to quell the wrinkle between his eyes.

"The purple. I don't think it would flatter you. Furthermore, that lipstick clashes horribly with every color in that palette."

He turns a bright red and starts to splutter. I am hopelessly endeared.

"That's not- I, I don't- it isn't-"

"Oh, calm down, there's nothing wrong with wearing makeup," I say, flashing him the back of my hand with the eyeliner tests on it. "You just need to pick a better shade." I pluck a different palette (for blue eyes) and a lipstick in a true red from the display and hand them over. "Something like this."

He stares at them dumbly for a moment, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather.)

"You think I should wear this?"

"I think it would flatter you if you chose to wear makeup. That purple will do you no favors." I sneer at the garish eyeshadow still in his hand.

"It's for my friend!" he finally bursts out.

"Are you mad at her?" It's a reasonable question, that eyeshadow is truly appalling.

"No? It's her birthday next week, and she said that she wanted to have some makeup for date nights and things."

"Are you in love with her?"

"No!" No hesitation at all. "No, no way. Penny is like my sister. She's my best friend. We're not…" he trails off, and I'm strangely reassured. He still probably hates me, but at least there is one woman in the world that he’s not dating, so my odds have improved marginally.

"Don't get your pants in a twist. I just thought you might be, since that eyeshadow would certainly drive away her current boyfriend."

He sticks out his chin and seems to decide something.

"Fine. What should I get for her, then?" The “if you know so much” is left unsaid.

I'm not really an expert, despite my monthly purchases, but I'll take any excuse I can get to linger around this starburst of a boy for a few moments more.

"Does she wear makeup normally?" He shakes his head no. "Then perhaps start with something more subtle for her." I take the offending palette away and hand him a more subdued one, with a faint shimmer. "Do you think this would look nice on her?"

He thinks hard for a moment, then pulls out his phone, swiping at the lock screen and turning it to face me.

"This is her."

His home screen background is a picture of the two of them, cheeks pressed together and grinning like crazy under the summer sun. His curls are being tossed by the wind, and he looks like a bronze Adonis. I think my heart actually skips a beat at the sight.

"That palette will be fine then. This lipstick, too," I add, handing him a plum shade. "Do you need anything else?" I ask, and then cringe when I sound like I'm working instead of flirting.

He shakes his head.

"No, this is brilliant, thanks."

He still looks a bit confused, and he bites his lip as he looks down at the makeup in his hand - the makeup for his friend, and the things I picked out for him.

I don't want to go, but I can't figure out any way to prolong our conversation.

"You should get that one," he says, pointing to one of the lines on my hand. I raise an eyebrow in question. He's right, but what does this mean? Is he flirting? Does he want me to wear eyeliner? Is he just trying to repay me for helping him? "Yeah. Definitely that one."

He raps his knuckles on the counter beside us twice, and then wanders towards the check out.

It's not until I'm trying to fall asleep that I realize - he bought the makeup for himself too.

Simon

One of my foster fathers had a workshop, and I spent a happy summer watching him build a table and matching chairs for the dining room. I didn't get to stay to see it completed, because one of his biological children kept stealing money out of his mom's purse and blaming me, but I still enjoyed the time I had spent watching woodworking. I liked it so much that when Penny and I graduated and got a flat together, I saved up to buy a few tools. I don't make anything major, but I've built small shelves and a side table and a pan organizer for the flat, and I really like it.

Recently, Penny has been complaining about not being able to reach everything in the kitchen, so while she's still at work I stop by the B&Q to pick up some wood for a step stool. I'm heading to the check out when I see him - the mean makeup guy. (Although he was actually quite nice when we were talking about makeup. He was just rude when we were getting our movies.)

He's dressed casually today, in tight dark jeans and a warm grey sweater, with his hair falling in loose waves around his face. He's glaring down at two wrenches, and I hate that he still looks so good when he's glowering.

Before I even register what's happening, my feet have carried me over to him.

"D'ya need help?"

He startles, and turns lovely grey eyes up to look at me. It's work not to gasp. He’s wearing eyeliner. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it may even be the eyeliner I told him to buy.

"The sink in my kitchen is leaking. I watched a tutorial on YouTube, and it should be easy enough to fix, but I don't have the proper tools."

He goes back to glaring at the wrenches, and I lean over to take a look.

“You want that one.”

“Why? How do you know?”

“Well, it’s adjustable. You can change it within reason, so as long as your plumbing isn’t something incredibly out of the ordinary it should fit just fine.”

He looks surprised (and maybe a bit like he wants to attack me, although I try to ignore that).

“How do you know that?”

I laugh.

“Basic home maintenance, mate, I’ve had to fix a leaky sink before too, believe it or not.”

I grin at him until one corner of his mouth tips upward in response.

“Thanks,” he says, his cheeks flushing a little. “I’ll get this one then. Yes. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

He strides off, once again leaving me feeling a bit dazed.

He looks really good in eyeliner.

Baz

When Fiona discovered I hadn’t left the apartment in a week, she called in the cavalry. Daphne showed up at my door with a casserole and some flowers, and within minutes she had the kitchen feeling like a place that was less utility space and more home.

“Basil, Fiona is worried about you.” I rolled my eyes, despite knowing it wouldn’t get me anywhere. “I’m worried about you, too. You spend so much time by yourself, and you hardly ever go out to see your friends or enjoy the city.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Basil,” she had said, and that time it was a warning. “It’s not healthy for anyone to spend this much time alone.”

“What, do you expect me to get a cat?”

Daphne smiled, and I knew that I had said the wrong thing.

“Yes, actually. And,” she said, before I could object, “Fiona thought you should too. In fact, she made it a condition of your continued occupancy of this flat. We both think it might be nice for you to have someone else around to talk to.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“And you want me to talk to a cat?”

Daphne just gave me a Mona Lisa smile, handed me a plate filled with food, and told me when she left later that evening that I had forty-eight hours to send her a picture of a cat. (I asked what I should do if I didn’t like any of the cats I saw. Or if they didn’t like me. She said I had to at least prove that I tried.)

So, this morning, I made my way to the nearest RSPCA and talked to strangers for the first time in over a week. I told them that I was looking to adopt a cat, and they immediately led me to a room filled with individual cages and an assortment of felines. They said I could play with any of the cats that I wanted, and now I’m staring into the eyes of a fluffy orange tabby.

The tabby meows at me, and I swear that she’s telling me to get lost. I guess cats can tell when you’re out of your depth.

I stroll down the aisle and read the names given to each cat. It’s been years since I last had a pet and even then, the husky my family had wasn’t my sole responsibility. I was in charge of feeding him, but there was always someone else making sure that I did. And really, we only adopted him when my pediatrician suggested that an animal might help me after my mother died. Daphne is probably trying to do the same thing again now. (Is this how one becomes a crazy cat lady? Depression, anxiety, OCD, and an unwillingness to tolerate therapy?)

I keep walking slowly until I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down, and a little orange paw ending in one very sharp claw has latched on to me. I unhook it before my sweater can snag, and then look into the kennel. There are two kittens, each only about ten weeks old according to their cards, and the orange one is peering up at me with big blue eyes. Its littermate is asleep in the corner, curled into a fluffy black puffball, but the tabby is ready to play. His tail twitches, and he pounces immediately when I wiggle a finger between the bars. He catches my fingertip in a far more gentle grasp than I would have imagined, then looks at me with what can only be described as pure adoration.

“Excuse me,” I say, moving my finger some more and feeling small claws dig in. Then again, louder, to get the attention of the woman, “Excuse me. Can I see this one?”

The woman comes over and flips the latch, then reaches in and comes out with a handful of fur and knives. The kitten opens its mouth in a fierce imitation of a vampire, then stretches it further as it lapses into a yawn. We spend the better part of an hour in a bright, cheerful room, just the kitten and I. At first it chases a string that I drag along the ground and runs after balls with bells in them, but then it calms down and curls up in my lap to sleep.

I’m petting it and cooing softly to it, trying to ignore the fact that Daphne and Fiona were both right about this whole thing, when the door to the room opens again.

“Oh. It’s you,” says the most beautiful man I have ever seen. My face flushes when I remember our last encounter and I pray he doesn’t remember my ignorance. (Of course he does. I didn’t know how to select a wrench. I am incapable of basic home repair and he knows it.)

“Do you two know each other?” The woman from before is back, this time holding the other kitten from the same cage, and looking between the two of us. “These kittens aren’t technically a bonded pair, but they are siblings, the only two remaining from their litter, and it would be lovely if they could still see each other.”

“Err…” the man says, shifting his weight.

“We’ve met in passing a few times now,” I say, trying to avoid encouraging this line of questioning.

“Great!” she says, clapping her hands brightly after handing the kitten off. “I’ll leave all of you to get better acquainted then!”

For a moment, there’s just awkward silence. Neither of us are looking at each other, both focusing on our respective kittens. Then, his kitten turns into the feline equivalent of a slinky, oozes out of his grasp, and runs over to tap my leg once before running away again. It hides behind his legs, and all I can see is a black tail winding around his ankles.

We both laugh, and the ice is broken.

“I’m Simon,” he says, and smiles at me. It’s the same radiant smile I remember from his lockscreen. It feels like looking into the sun, and I bask in it.

“Basil. Although my friends call me Baz.”

“Are you going to…” he trails off, but gestures to my cat.

“Yes,” I look down and give it a scratch under the chin. “I’m going to adopt it.”

“Same here,” Simon says, and then he blushes. “I mean, unless it rips my face off in the next few minutes, but I think this is the one.”

“Do you know which one you have?” Their names and genders were on the cage, but it didn’t specify who was who.

“No idea. I’m going to rename mine anyway though, I didn’t like either of those names.”

“I was planning on doing the same thing. If I’m going to have a pet, it needs to have a proper name befitting its personality. Not something mundane like Fluffy.” I scowl, and he laughs.

As his kitten comes over to touch its nose to my kitten, Simon clears his throat.

“So, um, like she said, they’d probably be happy to have playdates or whatever. I mean, since we’re getting them. And since we keep running into each other. It might make sense to, you know, exchange numbers?”

“Yes!” I say, far too eagerly. “I mean, that seems reasonable. It would be more convenient than waiting to happen upon you in the Waitrose choosing inferior crisps to set up a future meeting.”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, there’s that. And this way, it’ll be easier for me to ask you out, ”

Then the absolute nightmare sits down beside me and hands me his phone. He texts me immediately once I enter my contact info.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) This is Simon Snow

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) Your cat is cute.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) So are you

Unknown Number (11:28 AM) Wanna get dinner sometime? ;)

I blush, and send him a reply.

Baz (11:29 AM) I thought you’d never ask.

#snowbaz fic #Purr-fect Strangers #a gift for a friend!#fuff #my fic

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laynavile · 4 years

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Some Days, I'm Struggling For Control

Pairing : Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

Warnings : Mentions of murder and blood, anal sex, spit as lube, oral sex, physical fighting (hitting, punching)

Rating : E

Word count : 2k+

Will pisses Hannibal off, he starts swearing which turns Will on, they fight, then they fuck.

Inspiration came from Mads character, Nigel, saying the word, "fuck" a lot. I wanted to write Hannibal getting angry and not being able to stop saying it. So I figured why not write this as the fill for the free space on my @hannibalbingo card.

Enjoy 😌

"How careless are you? Do you want us to become caught? Do you want to go back to uncle Jack so badly that you'd expose us in such a way?"

"It wasn't my fault, h-he was flirting with you."

"Flirting with me? Do you know how many men I have to watch flirt with you every single day? Do I kill them in broad daylight for it?"

"There was no one around. Hannibal, I'm sorry, he pissed me off."

"Do you even fucking understand how pissed off I get every time men flirt with you? When they attempt to take what is mine? You're lucky everyday that I do not fuck you in front of them."

"Then who would be careless?"

"Would I not be following your fucking example?"

"I'm shocked, Dr. Lecter, I've never heard you use such crass language outside of our bed."

"You insufferable man, you make me crazy."

"I think it's very sexy of you." He knows what Will is doing, how he's trying to divert the situation, it will not work.

"Do not fucking trying to distract me." Hannibal is doing it on purpose now, now that he knows Will likes him cursing. He's still upset, still needs to try to control the situation, but right now he cannot help but want to rile Will up. "You know damn well what the fuck you've done wrong. We don't murder in the middle of the day. Unless of course as I said, you'd rather go back and play FBI with uncle Jack again, is that what you fucking want? Is it?"

"No, if I wanted that why would I have come to you in the first place?"

"Perhaps this is all an elaborate fucking ruse again to try and get me into a cage." Low blow, he knows that Will regrets what happened that night in Baltimore what seems like a thousand years ago and yesterday all at once.

"How many times will you make me apologize for that? I wanted to run away with you, and now I have and you're pissed because I killed someone. Hannibal, we kill people all the time."

"Yes, but one of us is not careless when fucking killing. Will, if you want to go, there's the fucking door, don't let it hit you on the way out." He doesn't mean it, never would he mean it, but Will has him angry and not only that Hannibal is feeling particularly petulant today.

"I'm not leaving, unless you're coming with me."

"Tell me, Will, why the fuck would I come with you after what you've done?"

"I did it for you, you bastard."

"For me? No, you fucking did it for yourself. You threw a fucking tantrum because someone flirted with me."

"You're mine, no else's, they don't get to flirt with you."

"Do you think I fuck every person who fucking flirts with me?"

"You fucked me."

"Yes, I fucked you, because I fucking love you."

"I don't understand why you're so mad."

"We could get fucking caught now, or is this your way of saying you don't want to be in fucking Germany any longer? You couldn't fucking say so like a fucking adult? You're such a fucking child sometimes."

Will throws the first punch, fist connecting with Hannibal's jaw.

"You little fucker." Hannibal resists, he doesn't want to hurt Will.

Will punches him again, this time in the stomach--Hannibal stays standing at least. "Fight back."

"I do not wish to fucking fight you."

Will smacks him this time, Hannibal is certain there will be a red hand print across his face.

Hannibal snorts, "Fine, you want to act like a fucking child, I'll leave."

Will backhands him, "You're not leaving me." The force of it splits Hannibal's lip.

He's not leaving, he's never leaving, this is the exact reaction he'd hoped for. Will takes his anger and frustrations out on Hannibal instead of some random man in the middle of the street. "I'll leave whenever I fucking want to. You do not fucking tell me what the fuck I can or cannot do." He can practically smell Will's anger and arousal.

"Do you want me to hurt you?" Will grinds his teeth together, Hannibal grabs his jaw to stop him.

"No, I don't want you to fucking hurt me, but I'd rather it me than someone in the middle of the fucking street exposing us."

"I'm sorry, I got jealous. But you have no right to get mad at me."

"I have no right? What the fuck does that mean? I have no fucking claim over you? You are my fucking husband or have you decided that's not what you fucking want any longer?" Blood leaks from the split in his lip, it stings but Hannibal welcomes the pain.

"No, never, Hannibal I chose you. I want you, and in wanting you, I want no one else to even look at you."

"So that fucking equates murder in the middle of the day? I'd have rather you had fucked me in front of him."

"You would've allowed that?"

"Perhaps I wouldn't have. I wouldn't want to be arrested for fucking in public. Though I'd rather that than be arrested as a fucking serial killer."

"I told you, I'm sorry. I was jealous, but Hannibal,"

"No, no buts, this isn't a fucking I'm sorry moment. Perhaps you should fucking leave."

Will's nostrils flare, and suddenly he lunges at Hannibal, knocking them both to the ground. He hits and punches Hannibal anywhere he can reach. Hannibal's nose is bleeding, his lip, the inside of his cheek where it has been bitten when Will's fist had connected with the side of his head for the third time. "You fucking asshole."

No doubt Will can feel Hannibal's erection beneath him, Hannibal resists the urge--for now--to grind up against Will.

"I'm not leaving you." The side of his fist connects with Hannibal's sternum this time. "Don't make me leave you."

"Never, mylimasis, never would I let you fucking leave me."

"I hate you." There's no truth to his words, Hannibal knows that.

"I fucking love you too."

Finally Will notices or finally decides to acknowledge Hannibal's erection, he grinds his hips down, ass pressed firmly against Hannibal's trapped cock. Neither can keep quiet at the sensation--Hannibal groans and Will whines. Will bends down to kiss Hannibal, his face is covered in blood, it's not a bother to either of them. Will laps at the blood where it still drips from Hannibal's nose--it doesn't feel broken, thankfully, Hannibal would hate to have to set it later--he licks across Hannibal's lips, nipping at the split in them, trying to bite it open further.

Hannibal pushes Will up, there is blood smeared all over his face, "Are you fucking trying to wound me, mylimasis?"

"Who knew you had such a dirty mouth Dr. Lecter?" Will rips Hannibal's shirt open, buttons skitter across the hardwood.

"You little fuck, who do you think you are ruining my shirt?"

"Oh, boo-hoo, it's a fucking shirt." Oh, so that's how Will wants to play this.

"A shirt that you know as well as I do cost one hundred and fifty fucking dollars."

"And you have a million more. Don't be a baby, Dr. Lecter." Will grinds down onto Hannibal's cock again, nails digging into Hannibal's chest, dragging down--the scratches are not bleeding now, but he has no doubt that they will be soon.

"You insolent little fucker, you'll be sewing the buttons back on." Hannibal grabs Will's hips, lifting his own hips to press against Will's ass.

Will's nails dig in again, he's panting harshly, "You don't control me."

"Do I not?"

His nails scratch down Hannibal's chest again, nails catching on his nipples, causing him to practically growl. "No, I'm in control of myself."

Hannibal pushes and pulls Will's hips, grinding Will's ass against his cock. "Take your shirt off, mylimasis." Hlannibal's voice is low and predatory.

"Make me." Will leans down, crushing their lips together, reopening the split in Hannibal's lip, fresh blood smears across their lips.

Hannibal's hands snake between them, under Will's t-shirt, caressing his soft abdomen, before pushing him back, and yanking his shirt up. "Do not fucking challenge me again."

Will slides down onto Hannibal's thighs, hastily unbuckles his belt, yanks the button open and the zipper down, he lifts himself up on his knees to push Hannibal's pants and underwear down enough to expose his cock. It's flushed and dripping, foreskin retracted fully to expose the dark, glistening head, Will touches gently with his thumb, before jumping up, "Do not move." He pushes his own pants and underwear down, kicking them across the room. He drops back down onto Hannibal's thighs, scooting down further to take Hannibal into his mouth.

Hannibal's fingers tangle in Will's hair, "Such a good little cocksucker for me."

His throat constricts around Hannibal as he takes him further into his throat, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, smearing across Hannibal's skin. He moans around Hannibal's cock, as he slides his fingers into Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal licks and sucks and coats them in his saliva--he knows where Will is going with this, and while he would rather grab one of the many bottles of lube stashed around their home, part of his wants it to hurt a little bit, he knows Will's body, knows what he can and cannot handle, being fucked with only spit as lube is no where near the worst thing he's endured because of Hannibal.

Will takes his saliva slick fingers and presses them into himself while focusing his attention on the head of Hannibal's cock, licking and sucking, tip of his tongue sliding into the slit, tasting Hannibal's precum before it can escape.

Hannibal groans and grunts and growls, pulling on Will's hair--to keep him down on Hannibal's cock or because he knows Will likes it, he himself is unsure of.

He pulls off of Hannibal's cock abruptly, saliva drips down the shaft. Will braces himself and sinks down, taking Hannibal inside in one swift motion. The corners of his eyes scrunch up slightly, nostrils flare out--tell tale signs of his discomfort--he grabs at Hannibal's shoulders and chest, nails digging in again, moaning high pitched and breathless.

Will fucking himself on Hannibal's cock, fast and hard. "Don't try to tell me what to do."

The nail marks Will leaves sting, his nose dully aches, his cheek intermittently throbs where he'd bitten through the flesh, but the only thing Hannibal can focus on is the tight, heat engulfing his cock. "Fuck, I will never get used to how tight you are. You will obey me, Will, you will do exactly what I want you to fucking do, or you will not come."

He braces himself--palms flat against Hannibal's chest, knees firmly on the ground on either side of Hannibal's hips--and increases his pace, fucking himself faster on Hannibal's cock, "I will come when I'm ready to come, Dr. Lecter. You cannot control how your cock hits my prostate, you can control how tightly I clench around you. I will come without your permission and you will do nothing about it, unless you'd like to go jerk yourself off. Is that what you want, Dr. Lecter?" The sounds Will makes tell Hannibal he's getting close--Hannibal is determined to make Will come first.

He grabs Will's hips--tight enough to bruise, lifting and dropping Will back onto his cock. "Fuck yourself, Will, come across my skin, smear it the scratches you've left. Let me fucking feel it."

Will bites at his own lips, stifling the pretty sounds he's making.

"No, none of that shit, let me hear you."

Will cries out above him, "Oh, fuck, ah, Hannibal."

Hannibal gets lost for a moment, staring at Will, he looks so beautiful--skin flushed light pink, skin glistening with sweat, that Hannibal wants to taste, his pupils are blown wide and his eye lids are heavy--Hannibal tries to memorize every detail so that he may draw Will this way later.

Will trembles, tightening around Hannibal's cock, "Mmhm, fuck, Hannibal, I'm sorry." Warm, sticky cum spread between them, pooling on Hannibal's stomach. Will slides his hands through it, smearing it through Hannibal's chest hair.

The scratches sting as Will's sweat and semen seep into them, but Hannibal doesn't mind. He bends his knees and thrusts up into Will's, chasing his own release. Will all but collapses onto Hannibal's chest, face pressed into his neck, panting, and moaning still. Hannibal's orgasm comes on quickly as Will's body clenches and relaxes around him. Hannibal cannot resist, he tilts his head up and bites down on the first bit of flesh he can reach--the juncture between Will's neck and shoulder--Hannibal tastes fresh blood, he laps hungrily at it as he releases deep inside of Will, thick, hot spurts of cum, coat Will's insides.

They lay there, unmoving for a long while, Hannibal's cock still inside of Will until it's gone completely soft and slips out on its own. Hannibal's back begins to ache from lying on the hardwood floor, and he can't imagine Will's knees appreciate it either.

"Apologies for getting so angry with you."

"No, Hannibal, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I need to be more careful."

"We have to leave Germany for now, you know that?"

"Yes," Will sighs, "I did really like this house."

"We'll have an even better one wherever we go. Do you have a preference, mylimasis?" Hannibal asks as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, Will seated firmly in his lap, Hannibal's arms wrapped tightly around him.

"No, not really, but wherever we go, Hannibal, I want to get a dog."

"Oh for fucks sake, I suppose it was only a matter of time until we got one, but only one, Will."

"We'll see Dr. Lecter." Will kisses him, barely more than their lips brushing together. "Let's go get cleaned up, this bite mark is killing me, and I think we need to make sure I didn't break your nose."

"Rest assured, mylimasis, my nose is not broken, but you are right, we need to get cleaned up, so I can bandage your neck."

"Wait, Hannibal, you know I didn't mean it when I said that I hated you, right?"

"I know, you were upset and I was not helping the situation."

Will nods against his neck, "Alright, carry me to the bath now, please."

#alayna writes #hannigram #hannibal bingo #nff #phone sex square and perjury square are probably the two ill finish

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