Yearn | Hannigram

hunger pangs

Will awoke to see a sight of sin and lust, Hannibal chewing slowly on Will's raw flesh, eyes black. He seemed to be savoring every small bite like it was the most expensive cut of lamb, a priceless delicacy. The sight got Will hard, made him feel like something to be treasured. It also made his eyes well up, tears stinging his cheeks. He didn't know what he did to deserve this man's love. His admiration and attention seemed almost too much sometimes. As if he wanted Will so bad it physically hurt him to be with the younger man. 

     Tonight Hannibal was Lucifer incarnate, divine and blood soaked. He loved his god so much but despised him for creating creatures so vile and cruel. He couldn't cope with it so he became that cruelty, wore it like a crown of bones and guts around his head. A wreath to show his dedication to revenge. In that moment, Will swore he could see black, burning wings spreading behind his lover's back. Fangs growing from Hannibal's perfect teeth, splitting his lip as he held onto his own monster. He seemed so hungry now that he had gotten a taste.

      "You taste..." Hannibal's voice was syrupy, "like cinnamon, whiskey and sex." It slid like chocolate through Will's ears, dripping into his skull and drowning out the burning pain of Will's bleeding thigh. "You may be the most delicious thing I have ever had the pleasure of tasting."

     "C-can I?" He felt a hot blush spread across his cheeks as Hannibal smirked and brought what was left of the meat to Will's mouth. Will hesitated, but the way his lover looked at him with pride and astonishment, eased his nervousness. When the dripping flesh met his lips, Hannibal seemed to lose control. Moaning as he shoved it into Will's mouth. It was chewy, stringy, and Will certainly didn't have his partner's refined palette. He couldn't taste the hint of spice, or the booze, but it most definitely tasted like sex. Like Hannibal's bloody lips against his, his cum shooting against the back of Will's throat. 

     Hannibal was gawking at him, those black wings disappearing and Will saw just his lover. The man who made him breakfast in the morning, who washed his back in the shower and opened doors for him. That left hickies everywhere his work suit covered, guided Will's hands as they spread Randall's skin across the skeleton and pulled the bloody intestines out of their bartender and kissed over his corpse. What a delicious combination of sweet and savory their love was. Addictive in every feeling they shared, the most decadent of flavors in each unique way Hannibal showed Will his love.

     "I love you." Hannibal said it first right then. He said it clearly, like a fact. It took Will by surprise and he felt at a loss for words, that didn't matter though. Soon Hannibal's lips were pressed against his, pulling every thought and breath from his body. His magnetism pulling Will's blood close to the surface. Every part of Will was reaching out for him. 

     Hannibal tore their clothes off, ripping away anything that could keep them apart. His cherry stained hands grasping roughly on Will's sharp hipbones. Sometimes it felt like they just couldn't get close enough. But tonight, Will could taste his body on the cannibal's tongue, small bits of muscle in his teeth. Hannibal's split lip leaking into Will's mouth like a fountain of the sweetest wine. 

     Will was obsessed with the way Hannibal's large hands could fit around his waist, throw him around like a rag doll and position him like one of his tableaus. He loved Hannibal's calm admiration of every part of Will that he, himself, feared for years. Loved the sweetness as much as he loved the monster. 

     "I love you!" Will cried out when Hannibal slid inside of him, when he let bloody spit fall onto Will's chest. His monster moaned, kissed him sloppily and Hannibal fucked Will like he hated him, and kissed him like he was worshipping at the feet of a god. He was rough in all the right places, Will had been with other men but no one could ever compare to his monster. 

      Thinking of love often made Will's stomach churn and twist, filled him with fears of domestication and flashbacks of smashed bottles and muddy graveyards. But with Hannibal... all he saw in love was blooming dahlias, bloody lip prints, smelled floral teas, and perfectly cooked filets. He could picture them staying here in Scotland forever, settling in a cottage by the coast where Hannibal could paint the cliffs and Will could bring his dogs, maybe even some sheep. 

     Or, maybe they could just keep running, travel through Europe until they were in their old age. Hannibal could show him where he was born, where he first killed. They could sip the finest wines from Paris to Croatia, eat their way through the continent. These thoughts filled the empty hollow of Will's chest with roses, hunger pangs, and pomegranates.