Domestic Hannigram
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“A 30 minute embrace?” Hannibal’s voice rumbles, reverberating through his chest and threatening to break the bubble.
“Can you shut up for once. Just - Stay. Like this.”
Series
- Part 1 of Domestic Hannigram
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“Turn around,” he says. Throat still aching and raw, limbs shaking if he holds a position for too long but the ache is delicious. In its own particular way.
“Insatiable, Will?” Hannibal grunts, rolling onto his back and he looks fucked. Properly and thoroughly fucked.
Series
- Part 2 of Domestic Hannigram
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“Funny,” he says. “I’m so used to seeing you in suits that it feels like I’m tripping already.”
“It’s controlled dosage of medicinal marijuana, Will. What you’re bound to experience will not be ‘tripping’,” Hannibal looks up, clad in a pair of lounge pants and sweater with an eyebrow arched in judgement. Will snorts. Only he can look elegant while rolling joints.
“We’re smoking weed. Let’s drop the hypocrisy.”
Series
- Part 3 of Domestic Hannigram
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“Give me your hands,” he murmurs, untying the silk as he kneels on the mattress. The scroop of the material swishes loudly in the otherwise silent room. Even his whispered voice feels exaggeratedly loud but it’s all due to hypervigilance. The aftermath of a still heightened overstimulation coating the air thick like caramel. He takes the wrists, rubs a thumb over the impression made around it and lets out a sigh.
“How are you feeling?”
Series
- Part 4 of Domestic Hannigram
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“Tell me about your childhood,” Hannibal says one night.
His breathing is loud and laboured, buried into the crook of Will’s neck as he hovers just above Will’s body, trembling with the effort. He’d just come. Will watches the ripple of his muscles with every breath he takes, the wiry hair clumped with his own release and pulls him down until there’s no space in between. His own thighs shake when he lets them fall.
“I told you. A lot of moving. Always the new boy.”
“Not that,” Hannibal inhales, sharp and his throat clicks. His mouth is wet when he drags it up Will’s neck. He sighs there. “Tell me how you were. As a child.”
Series
- Part 5 of Domestic Hannigram
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Their relationship is a peculiar transcript. Written in blood, carved with violence, brilliant red on bone white marrow, pulsating oaths into their systems, and intertwining their forms into a single cohesive being after all the fights and vengeance went down in flames.
These days, he wakes up wondering how it would feel like to be gentle.
Series
- Part 6 of Domestic Hannigram
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The aftermath of their warfare splatter around them like a new found contemporary art. Shards of glasses and splinters of wood. What’s missing this time is blood and it’s saying a lot about the kind of people they are when he decides that this is progress.
Series
- Part 7 of Domestic Hannigram
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"I carry a photo of you in my wallet. I don’t know what to say. Can we just leave it at that?"
Series
- Part 8 of Domestic Hannigram