#also i don't have a clue how to write hannigram so sorry? 😬

[reinvent-and-believe]

TRICK OR TREAT!

34 Hannigram 😈

xoxo trashie

oh @sargassostories. way to pick a number. 34 is breath play.

i would say this is canon-typical levels of fucked up? so pretty fucked up! read with caution! happy halloween!

cw: erotic asphyxiation; idly fantasizing about murdering a lover while having sex; super toxic relationship dynamics; sex that, while definitely consensual, isn’t particularly safe or sane.

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Will takes a deep breath and tightens his fingers.

He watches the faint flutter of pale eyelashes before glassy omniscient eyes look up at him, challenging, tender, dangerous.

Will Graham has seen the artistry in death. The way flesh can be rendered a canvas, an instrument, a stage on which to perform every meandering whim or every engulfing rage or every creative instinct. Loud, grandiose, operatic death, death that makes itself a spectacle, that demands you stop and bear witness.

There’s an elegance in the simplicity of graceful fingers on a slender neck. An intimacy.

He tightens his grasp, just a touch. Watches in fascination as the skin reddens against pale fingertips.

Hannibal could stop him if he wanted. Will’s not naive. Hannibal is strong and ruthless and, if not more capable of violence than Will, at least more adept. What would Hannibal do to him, when he bested him? Would he press him to the bed, feel the life draining as Will gasps for breath, clawing and scratching? Would he feel the love flowing through those familiar hands even in this fatal caress?

Will brings his other hand to the warm skin of Hannibal’s chest, carding his fingers indulgently through soft hair, feeling the heart racing in time to the pounding of his carotid artery. Hannibal’s hard against him, rocking almost needily in an unusual, delicious desperation.

Mouth open in a futile bid for air, Hannibal still smiles up at him with that strange, unwavering pride.

Will releases him, tracing the throbbing artery with a single gentle finger, then reverent lips. “Beautiful,” he whispers.