Hannigram -Short stories -

Will's guilt

🔥 Will's guilt 🔥

Every time Will brushes his fingertips against the mark Hannibal has between his shoulder blades, something inside him snaps a little.

He goes back in time and can't help himself. Mason Verger and his sadistic way of seeing the world, and Hannibal branded as one of his pigs while Will could do nothing. Pain and then a deep sleep, that's all he remembers of that day.

Then a room, and Hannibal healing not only his physical wounds but also those of the soul. There are people who do this, heal you completely. Hannibal had been that for him, still was. Will doesn't have enough words to tell him what it means to him. But he has his body, at Hannibal's mercy, beating for him, trying to show him what he had become.

- Will, what is it?

Hannibal on top of him, his eyebrows drawn together, concerned, as he moves slowly inside him. Will's gaze hidden on Hannibal's shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly shut so they don't give him away. Rarely can he hide anything from you, such a poet, Hannibal.

- Look at me - he pauses in his movements, but doesn't move away from Will.

Will breathes and his breath slips on Hannibal's skin, shiny with sweat. He gasps a little. He feels Hannibal's hand on his face, caressing him, and that pain multiplies.

- Will, please. Tell me what you think.

Will's vision blurs, off-centre, as Hannibal kisses his chin. The tears build up and a guilt that has haunted Will ever since, taking over.

- Don't worry. Go on, please, Hannibal.

- Is it my fault?

Your fault. The only thing Hannibal is to blame is that Will loves him too much. Possessively, obsessively, an extension of himself that he doesn't want to be separated from. Hannibal's love had spread so far that Will could no longer remember if he had been the precursor to that intensity, or if it had been the other way around.

Everything blurs when it comes to the two of them.

- No... No...

- Talk to me.

- It's... - Will runs his fingers across the mark - it's because of this, Hannibal. I can't take it.

Hannibal smiles sadly.

- It doesn't mean anything. I've long since forgotten it's there. It's just a reminder of how much I love you.

- Not to me. I couldn't help you.

Will's lip trembles and Hannibal catches it in a sweet kiss.

- You did it days before. You looked for me, you found me. You made me so happy, Will. I was lost, my life in Florence was empty. And you showed up, filling it.

Will nods, he understands the feeling.

- If I'd been stronger, I could have stopped that pig from branding you.

- I know. You're the strongest man I know, my mongoose. You mustn't worry about this anymore, but think of this mark for what it is: a reminder of what we have, Will. The past shapes us, but we choose the present apart from it. Do you understand?

Will hugs Hannibal, avoiding the mark. He hides his face in his shoulder and Hannibal strokes his hair. He knows how much he loves his curls. He'd do anything for him. Anything.

- I love you, Hannibal. I wish I could go back and stop it.

- Darling, there's nothing about our past that I would change. Not a comma. Look where it's brought us.

Hannibal smiles, but this time it's a happy smile. He moves inside Will, his cock touching his prostate, which had been resting this time. Will looks up at him and couldn't feel luckier. He moans Hannibal's name in his ear, and Hannibal thrusts harder making Will forget everything else until orgasm overtakes them both.

In the sway of hips, in the clash of flesh, the sweat of their bodies, and the names of each other's lips, Will finds peace. That peace that should be his forever, and not just in moments like this.

Because Will can't help himself. Something inside him snaps a little when his fingertips brush against Hannibal's mark. A reminder of his worthlessness. Guilt tattooed on the skin of the person closest to his heart.

If only he could go back, he would change that.