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cyjanometan · 2 months

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and through blood we shall be cleansed: waiting upon eternal judgement

After witnessing the attempted killing of Abigail Hobbs, a young priest seeks out the help of a renowned psychiatrist to whom he was referred: Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

The young priest sat restlessly in the waiting room, petrified and somewhat considering running away before the door to the psychiatrist's office could open. One might consider it irrational behaviour - objectively the worst was already behind him, considering what he has experienced.

The story of a priest who not only witnessed an attempted killing, but also has taken a life on the crime scene, quickly gained traction with the media. And thus, William Graham was summoned before the archbishop, and then later sent to the Vatican. The pope has released an official statement regarding the event, as has the police, and Will, after many hours spent being interrogated, was finally left to his own devices. Mostly - he could return to his duties as a priest, but he was obliged to seek out psychiatric help from doctor Lecter.

And thus, despite having already survived more awful things than a therapy session, there he sat, terrified, waiting seemingly for eternity, about to face his own personal form of the final judgement.

He was never one of the people who could easily open up. It proved even more difficult for him when faced with the possibility of getting a diagnosis based on the information he could reveal to the doctor. At least, that's how William explained the paralysing fear to himself. He would not dare ruminate on the actual reason: the feelings that have been slowly growing within him for the past few weeks. He begged for forgiveness, spoke of his overwhelming guilt regarding the killing, and yet... He would prefer not to think of the eerie feeling that accompanied him in those moments. But unfortunately for him, analysing feelings was what therapy was all about. He thought once more about leaving, about how he could blame it on the flu or some other thing, but before his plan could spring into action, the "click" of the lock could be heard and the door was opened.

Graham stood up, unconsciously straightening the collar on his neck, and looked at the man before him. The doctor had an obviously fine-made and expensive suit on. His figure was lean, his face and hair were well-groomed, and he wore a pleasant expression on his handsome face.

After a polite greeting, Will was invited into the office. It was quite a big room, tidy and elegantly decorated. Sweaty, dishevelled Will felt he must have looked awfully miserable in comparison.

"My name is Hannibal Lecter" the doctor introduced himself. "Please, take a seat."

As he sat in the chair the doctor presented him, Will threw a gaze on the man's face. He averted his gaze quickly though, blinking, trying to shake off the association between the psychiatrist and the final judge that sprung out in his head involuntarily upon seeing his piercing eyes.

"Before we begin, how shall I address you? Father Graham?"

The use of his title made Will shudder. Despite having been ordained almost a year ago, he still couldn't get used to being called "father". It possessed authority he felt couldn't be found in him.

"Just mister Graham is fine" he responded plainly. "Thank you, doctor."

The psychiatrist simply nodded.

Will tried to focus on whatever had been coming out of doctor Lecter's mouth, tried to stop himself from squirming under the analytic gaze of the opposing man. He felt as though he was back again in the confessional. Will preferred to be the one wearing the stole - giving absolution was always easier than receiving it. It came with less dubiety regarding the sinner's ability to obtain it.

Will answered the psychiatrist's questions somewhat avoidantly, looking at the clock every seven minutes, praying to all that is holy for the time to pass quicker.

During the next session, the process began again. Will sat in the slightly-too-soft chair, self-consciously thinking about the pristine office and how much dirt he must be bringing in. He felt the the opposing man's piercing gaze. All his instincts were screaming at him to sink into the floor, and yet, to his surprise, he couldn't stop himself from looking back at Hannibal. He saw a slight twinkling in the older man's eyes for a moment, and then the questions begun again.

Will questioned whether every patient of mister Lecter felt as tought the doctor was trying to penetrate through the layers of their skin. Doctor Lecter sat most elegantly, calmly speaking, as charming and peaceful as a man can get. Despite that, Will looked at him and saw him wanting to open his cranium up and pull his brain out. Would it be truly that interesting to examine? He never spared another moment to the thoughts which Hannibal was desperate to get him to confess. They were sinful, unbecoming of a priest. He devoted his life to God. He was a man of God and it was his duty to uphold the Christian values, the ones of which he spoke during his communions.

Purity, serenity, patience. Bearing the duty of leadership, he stood before the congregation trying to embody the principles he proposed.

He felt like a fraud. The mask of a pious priest he so precisely crafted for himself was what kept him afloat. For a brief moment, he feared that the feeling of Hannibal peeking into his mind was rooted in reality - that the doctor looked at him and truly saw who he was. He would be terrified.

#hannibal #hannibal tv show #hannibal lecter #will graham #abigail hobbs #hannigram #nbc hannibal #fanfiction #fanfic #ff #priest!will #priest!will graham #priest au #sacriligious #probably #its also on ao3 :)

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chronicroderick · 5 months

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Confessional

Will Graham wants to fuck a priest, Father Hannibal Lecter.

Smut, Priest Kink, Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Blowjob, Face-Fucking, First Time With A Man, Anal, Implied Internalized Homophobia

Confessional on Ao3

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“Father?” The word echoed through the empty corridors of the stone church. There was no answer except for the distorted resonance, making Will’s question sound more like an expectation.

Will Graham had been going to this church every couple of weeks for half a year now. It was one he had always passed on his evening jogs. Pillars with gargoyles atop them, twisting carvings of vines along the bannisters, daunting in its dark beauty where it stood among the office buildings and the floor to ceiling window paned highrises. Baltimore was not so strange, there were always plenty of churches. Too many, if you asked Will. The severity of this one was what always caught his attention. Old stone outside that was tarnished almost black by time. He had wondered how old it was. He wondered about the services. Eventually he decided he had the time to step inside, that was months ago, he had met Father Hannibal that day.

He shut the heavy doors behind him with a slight bang. There was still only silence. The candles were lit though, mounted on the dozen columns that lined the outside of the pews, and the ones gathered around Jesus’ feet at the front. Their flickering yellow light illuminated the gold cross in a way that made it seem like it pulsed, the red paint dripping from the statue’s crown of thorns and nailed limbs appeared almost black. It was then that Will realised how late it was, the evening mass was already over, just barely, he was sure, but the sun had long since hidden itself behind taller buildings, leaving the stain glass unilluminated, and the corners shadowed. He approached the statue, a moth drawn to the light and the warmth it offered, his footsteps clunking louder than ever it seemed. When he got close enough that all the pews were behind him he saw the faint light coming from one of the rooms offset from the congressional area. There was the sound of a pencil scratching and the shuffling of papers.

“Father?” He asked once again, this time a bit louder despite being closer than before. The scratching stopped and he heard someone exhale.

“Is that you, Will? You missed the service.” Father Hannibal sounded exhausted.

“Yeah.” He’d done it on purpose, but that purpose was still as ambiguous as a dream.

There was no beckoning into the office, so he stood a great deal away from the door, lingering with the candles. He listened to the clergyman gather his papers, closing something, maybe a book, and pushing in a chair. The lamp light from inside the room went out with a click, cloaking the other man in darkness until he reached the outer cusp of the doorframe.

“I reckon that was not a mistake on your part.” The priest’s face looked almost ghastly in the dim light, his high cheekbones and steep nose bright, while the shadows of his cheeks and eye cavities lept and shook.

Will shook his head, looking down at the layered shelves of candles, drawing an index finger up the side of one to wipe away some white wax that had almost made it down to the wood.

“A mistake? No. I can come see you if I need to, can’t I?”

Father Hannibal came closer, but Will did not look up, “Are you seeking absolution, Will?”

The long black bottom of his gown swayed around his feet for a second when he stopped walking and Will allowed his eyes to travel up from there, over the merry green stole draped around his neck, pausing on the brilliant white of his clerical collar.

“I believe I am. It may come too little too late.”

“Nonsense,” the man took Will’s hand and enveloped it in both of his, patting the top of it, “It is never too late in the eyes of the Lord. I will listen, as will He.”

With a gentle smile, he let go, and gestured for Will to follow him to the second pew. Gathering the skirt of his gown in his hands, he sat down in the middle of the row and waited with practised patience for the man to speak. The brunette only looked at his feet for a long moment, gathering his courage, before ultimately stalling.

“Shouldn’t we be in Confessional?”

“If that would make you more comfortable, we can. I figured this would be more fitting, you are an unconventional man, and not a member of the flock.”

Will smiled ruefully, “Church isn’t really my thing.”

“I know.” Father Hannibal almost sounded admiring.

“So,” Will looked at him now, angling himself so he could face him the best he could, their knees brushing against one another. “How do I begin?”

“You make the sign of the cross,” As the pastor spoke he mimed, and Will followed along, “then you say ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’ after which you tell me how long it has been since your last confession.”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… I’ve never confessed before.”

He felt like he should whisper or steeple his hands, though he only folded them in his lap in the same way the priest did his, and bowed his head, eyes still open.

“Now tell me your sins.” There was an edge to Father Hannibal’s voice that seemed more than priestly.

“I…” Will took a breath, “I guess my lack of prayer is a sin. I do not go to church or read the bible. I have lied, as a child and as an adult. I have stolen, mostly as a child. I am sure I have been prideful and envious and lustful. I masturbate.” He chuckled.

“Now is not the time for jokes, Will. This may be uncomfortable, but I would rather you take this seriously. You came to me. What is it you seek?”

“I want to be forgiven.” The words surprised Will.

“By God?”

“Yes. God doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about people like me.”

“Homosexuals.” Father Hannibal filled in the blank with ease.

“Yes.” Will unfolded his hands and gripped the edge of the seat, he refused to look into the priest’s eyes, afraid of what he might see.

“I am not meant to judge you. I can only take your words as a vessel. What exactly about homosexuality is it that you wish to be forgiven for?”

He shrugged, “I only want to feel like I tried. Like I said the words in his house, like I did not give up completely.”

“You wish to let Him know that you're still one of his children, in spite of your lack of faith,” Father Hannibal observed, “When you masturbate do you think of God?”

“What?” Will’s cheeks turned scarlet.

“Do you imagine he is looking down on you, watching your self pleasure, aware of no doubt your thoughts of other men, which you know is a mortal sin?"

Will swallowed, “Yes.”

“Did you come here tonight to seek forgiveness from God or to seek forgiveness from me?” His question held authority and a cold curiosity.

“I came here to… From you, but you knew that.”

“I did. I am not blind to the way you look at me, Will Graham. A man of the cloth. Is it me you imagine in your bed at night?”

His knuckles turned white where he gripped the pew, his face scarlet and his eyes scrunched closed. This was more embarrassing than he had ever imagined it to be.

“I just needed to say it. I just had to get it out of my head so you could reject me and I could move on. I’m sorry. I know you can’t have sex and I know you – you can’t be gay anyways. It was – I just everytime I see you I –”

His apologetic rambling was cut short by the feeling of cloth brushing against the fronts of both of his knees. Will opened his eyes and looked up, only to see the faintly lit silhouette of Father Hannibal standing over him. The light from the gathering of candles behind him made him seem like a disciple himself. The bench was deep, so he towered over Will more than normal, and he looked down at him with an expression no less serious than when he was performing confirmation.

“Open your mouth.” Father Hannibal’s voice was smooth as sin.

“What?” Will asked meekly.

“Open,” the minister cupped the back of his head, “your mouth.”

So Will did. Not obscenely wide, just barely, as if he expected to have the body of Christ placed on his tongue. The priest’s robe had a row of black buttons all the way down the front, and a green cloth belt that tied tightly around the waist like that of a pirate. It matched the ornate stole. Will watched the man’s free hand untie his belt with ease, letting it fall to the floor before undoing only five buttons in the front.

“If you want this, pull it out.” All priestly patience was gone from the man’s voice and in its place stood an indescribable blackness.

He wanted it, more than anything, so Will reached into the robe without question. It took him a moment to sort through the cloth, but when he felt the hot skin of his erection, Will pulled it out eagerly. Father Hannibal took in a sharp breath as the cool air of the church hit him and his cock bobbed in front of the other man’s face. Will looked up at him, asking permission, unsure if he should really be doing this.

“Go on. Show me what you must be forgiven for.” Hazel eyes burned into Will’s blue ones and he took him in his mouth.

He could taste the salty precum immediately on his tongue. It was smooth and delightly, Will flicked his tongue over the small hole, causing Father Hannibal to shudder. He swirled his tongue around the tip, teasing the edges of it, sucking on just the end, until the fingers in his hair curled tightly. Then he took the whole thing in his mouth, all the way down to the base, excited to please, excited to have even this part of Hannibal. He swallowed, allowing the back of his throat to clench around the tip of the dick before pulling it out with a small gasp. Looking up at the priest once again he saw the man was biting his lower lip, in a way that looked almost pained. Will could not have that. He wrapped a hand around the shaft, slowly pumping it near the base as he took it in his mouth again. His head bobbed in Father Hannibal’s grasp, he moved as fast as he dared without scraping him with his teeth, overcome with need. He flared his tongue along the bottom of his shaft as he moved up and down, caressing it in a way that made Hannibal groan. This delighted him, finding a rhythm best he could and taking as much cock down his throat as possible with every pass. Firm hands gripped his head, causing him to look up with wide eyes, never stopping, and see the way Father Hannibal had become super imposed on the statue of Jesus on the cross. The gold shone brightly behind him, pulsing like before, this time in sync with the way the priest began fucking his face. Will’s eyes watered, but he focused on not giving the man any reason to stop. He could hear the wet noises his own mouth made, obscene in a bedroom and even more so in the current setting. Father Hannibal registered it at the same time he did, his lips twisting into a sneer, and he gripped the brunette’s head tighter, moving it faster, burying Will’s nose briefly into the front of his robe every time he forced his dick all the way down the man’s throat. Will still gripped the pew with one hand, attempting to keep himself in place against the onslaught he graciously accepted. Suddenly, his mouth was empty, both hands removed from his hair, and he had to wipe away the drool that had collected at the corners of his mouth.

Father Hannibal looked down at him silently, as if giving him time to collect himself before speaking, “You have my forgiveness, Will. I hope God can forgive us both.”

He then grabbed Will by both shoulders, half lifting him, allowing him to catch up and stand the rest of the way, before kissing him, hard enough that when Will’s lip was caught between their teeth, it got cut open. The taste of blood blossomed in both their mouths, causing a deep rumbling to come from the clergyman’s chest, while Will groaned in response. He could feel the man’s freed cock brush against the outside of his pants, an unwitting tease to his own erection which strained against the fabric of his jeans. He shoved his tongue in the priest’s mouth, allowing the man to taste himself as their tongues met. It was delicious. Hannibal’s precum and Will’s blood, equal parts in an intimate dance.

Pale hands travelled up from Will’s shoulders to his neck, while he simultaneously reached around Father Hannibal, strong fingers gripping the creases along his back and pulling their bodies closer, until their hips ground together. He felt hungry.

“I’ve thought about this so many times.” He whispered when he broke the kiss, panting softly.

The priest was silent, eyes flickering between Will’s lips and his eyes, and in response Will trailed his right hand over the other man’s clothed ribs, up his chest, and wrapped one side of Father Hannibal’s stole around his hand. He watched carefully as the man’s face registered understanding.

“There’s a certain eroticism to being more powerful than God, isn’t there?”

The brunette chuckled softly, taking the end of the stole and wrapping it around the back of Father Hannibal’s head, pulling until it rested loosely against his throat, like a scarf.

“Shhh.” Will whispered, “Don’t say his name again.”

The clergyman’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed the shorter man to turn him around and bend him over the back of the pew with a firm hand. Will yanked back on the stole, forcing Father Hannibal to lift his head as it choked him, trapped between the wood and Will’s aching erection. He ground his hips against his ass, its shape slightly distorted by the robes, but not by much. Sighing, he rutted against it, the outline of his cock pressed between the other man’s cheeks.

“I want you and I want you now, Reverend. Pull your robe up.”

Father Hannibal did as he asked, fingers gathering the fabric of his clothes and bringing it up over his waist, draped over his back, now all that lay between Will and his goal was a pair of starched black dress pants. He ran his free hand down the man’s back, until he caressed his buttock, tightening his grip on the stole until he heard Father Hannibal grimace. For a moment he worried it was too much, maybe topping was not a good idea, but when he bent over and snaked his hand around to palm Hannibal’s erection, it was rock solid and leaking a steady drizzle already.

“Good boy.” Will whispered in his ear, licking the shell of it as he began pumping the other man’s cock.

He felt the priests back stiffen and arch underneath him, pushing his ass deeper into the crook of Will’s hips. This earned a small growl from Will, who traded Father Hannibal’s flesh for his belt buckle, pulling the man’s pants and boxers down roughly past his ass, before undoing his own belt. The moment Will’s erection sprang free he trembled with excitement. In the dim light he could still see how pink it was, painfully hard, the slight bend in it dipping deliciously near Father Hannibal’s entrance. He was almost afraid to stroke himself, he might finish before he even had a chance to fuck the priest. That would be a waste. Will yanked on the stole, forcing Hannibal to arch his back even more, presenting his ass in the most inviting way, before the brunette spit onto the hole and rubbed his thumb around the rim. With a surprising amount of tenderness, he worked his digit into the ring of muscle, not wanting to hurt the man more than he had to. It was tight, slow work, drawing little whines out of Hannibal as Will pushed it in deeper, circling as much as he could as his own cock leaked now.

“Please.” Father Hannibal begged. It was quiet, resolute, almost dignified.

Will said nothing, only removed his thumb and spit again, this time as much as he could, and pressed the head of his dick against the entrance enough to trap the small amount of lubrication there. With one hand on Hannibal’s hip, the other still wrapped in the stole and resting in the small of the man’s arched back, he slowly pressed in. They both gasped in satisfaction, Hannibal clenching down on his cock in a way that made him want to shove the entirety of it in, but he held back, certain this was the priest’s first time with a man.

“Relax. I’ve got you.” Will said.

Father Hannibal inhaled audibly, shuddery, as if those words roamed beyond sex. He relaxed slightly, Will pushed in and out, going a little deeper every time, being as careful as he could until he was sure the clergyman was ready. It felt good. Eventually he moved faster, making Hannibal take most of his length. He moaned, a breathless sound as he bottomed out for the first time. The inside of Hannibal was pure heat compared to the desolate church and Will watched the way the muscle tried to hold his cock inside as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. This caused the minister to mewl as he brushed against his prostate. That was enough for Will to pick up the pace. He was immediately an animal, slamming into Father Hannibal with all the force of his fantasies, the force of many nights stroking his cock alone in his bed imagining this moment. Hannibal let out a soft pant everytime he was filled up, the wood of the pew screeching ever so slightly along the floor as he was shoved into it by the force of Will’s thrusts. Skin slapping against skin filled the large room, the drapes swaying with some unforeseen draft, the wax from the candles pooling onto the wood shelves as the priest was stretched open over and over.

Will was panting, trying to catch his breath as he pumped in and out of Hannibal, a sheen of sweat covered them both and his thrusts began to lose their rhythm. He abandoned the stole and instead grabbed the pastor’s hips with both hands, forcing him back onto his cock as much as he could. The priest caught on, spearing himself on Will’s dick over and over, both of them groaning, both of their eyes fixed on the shimmering cross, on the watchful eye of Christ, half turned away as he hung from his crucifixion.

“Hannibal.” Will half groaned, half warned. He was close.

“I will love you, Will.” Father Hannibal breathed. It was more than an earthy promise, and Will knew it. It was celestial. It said; ‘If God can not love you, I can.’

And he came undone, bottoming out once again, to be sure he came as deeply as possible inside Father Hannibal. He moaned loudly, his hot seed filling the priest, and as it did he felt the muscle tighten, milking every last drop out of him as the other man had his own orgasm. They both slumped briefly, Will on top of Hannibal, Hannibal on top of the backrest of the pew. It was silent now, only their shaky breathing occupying the space around them. Will was almost positive he could hear the clergyman’s semen dripping onto the floor, from where he no doubt painted the back of the pew. It made him chuckle and he slowly pulled out, his cum rushing out of the man and down the inside of his thigh. Father Hannibal righted himself fully, pulling his pants back up despite the mess and straightening out his robe and stole the best that he could before turning to face Will, hands still buttoning the front buttons as he spoke.

“I hope you will come to Confessional more often.”

Will smiled, making himself presentable as well, “If it suits you, I will,” he paused as both their hands stilled, just staring at one another, then added, “I’ll love you, too.”

This made Father Hannibal smile and lean down to peck his lips, a soft, chaste kiss, before they parted ways. White wax dripping down to the floor under the feet of the Lamb of God.

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