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#Hannigram #WillGraham #Hannibal #shortstory
🔥 We're made to burn 🔥
There were no ropes. The binding was invisible and his name was will. Who would have thought it, to him, who on so many occasions had subdued his prey just because he could. Because, like God, he made and unmade as he pleased, morality hanging by a thread whose end his fingers held.
On his knees now, hands behind his back in that invisible bondage that his lips call desire and his heart knows is so much more. Couldn't God succumb from time to time?
- Your obedience excites me," says the young man on whose knees he rests his head.
- I know - Hannibal looks up - to please you is to please me, mylimasis.
Because Hannibal didn't know if for Will it was just a fervent desire to possess him or, as it was for him, the desire was a reaction to. Because Hannibal tried to silence his heart by following his instinct. To do so is always easier. Couldn't God, love in his own way?
- I could use this knife and you wouldn't object.
- I wouldn't - how easily you say that. I'd do anything for you, Will.
The young man runs the tip across Hannibal's cheek, marking him, a shallow red thread that for a few days will remind him of who owns him. He picks up the blood with his index finger and tastes it.
- You make it all so simple, Hannibal.
The hunter who is now prey nods. His cheek stings and in that slight discomfort he binds himself to Will's world because it is partly his own too.
- We are made to burn. To sustain us, Will. And now you're in control.
Will tightens his grip on the knife because he too was born to be the one who stalks, and with Hannibal he had discovered it. Two hunters together who learn from each other every day and, in that learning, become more like that God neither of them believe in but always keep in mind.
- Don't move, Hannibal. Let us see how far you are able to bear all that I long to give you.
The knife inside his waistcoat, tearing it. In the control he has given Will is that which has to do with the material and the attachment Hannibal can give to such things. Kneeling, submissive, his expensive clothes in tatters and his cock swollen inside his trousers because sometimes God could find pleasure in bondage itself.
- Will - he gasps.
- I know. You'll get what you want, if you're good.
Hannibal closes his eyes and Will lifts his face forcing him to look at him. He still remembers when he was incapable of it, time had finally put things where they belonged.
- You're going to fuck me with that beautiful mouth of yours. All the way in, Hannibal. If you do it right I'll see what I can do for you.
Hannibal doesn't need to answer, he doesn't want to. They both know. They feel. And there is little more powerful in the world than to find yourself in the other and, in that encounter, to faint, to fall apart, to be torn apart, to become one again under the very hands that could break you if they chose to do so.
