Oops! Questa immagine non segue le nostre linee guida sui contenuti. Per continuare la pubblicazione, provare a rimuoverlo o caricare un altro.
#Hannigram #WillGraham #Hannibal #shortstory
🔥 My best melody 🔥
Hannibal's best work of art is Will. Hannibal has been moulding the profiler for years now and he couldn't be prouder. Will is what drives him to keep wanting to be beyond God.
For Will, Hannibal created. For Will, Hannibal composed, drew, wrote. Will is his inspiration and thanks to him his eyes were surrounded by a different art than before. Now the word art bore his name.
As if on a violin whose melody was yet to be discovered, Hannibal plays Will with a passion, wanting to get the best out of him, for neither he nor Will deserves less. Sometimes he gets a series of notes that make sense: sometimes those notes slip through his fingers without a melody worth listening to.
- Hello, Dr Lecter.
- Hello, dear Will.
Hands on his neck and a tongue that runs down that throat as his heartbeat pounds. Hannibal kisses him and catches that little melody that has just been born. Maybe this time it will be different and he'll get to finish the composition. His hands run up and down Will's back and he feels under his shirt the bones marking him. I should eat better, he thinks, if I let myself it would be different.
- Let me touch you. I want to hear in you what is already in me.
- Do what you want.
Because if there's one thing Will has, it's that trust, perhaps conformism, in whatever Hannibal wants to ask of him. He had put his faith in Hannibal. He had placed his hope in him and, with it, he had given him that power that is granted to those who are closest to our hearts: the power to hurt us.
- Moan for me - Hannibal asks him.
And Will does it because in addition to doing everything Hannibal asks him to do, he can't help it either. Hannibal knows where to play and, more importantly, he knows exactly how. Will is that blank sheet of paper on which Hannibal traces canvases with his fingers and writes new stories each time. In all of them Will is the master of everything and he is the hands that give him everything he desires.
- You are my best melody - he whispers in his ear.
In response a moan that brushes against what he thinks might be his heart. He keeps it in his ears and knows he's on the right track.
- Fuck me, Hannibal. I can't take it anymore.
- Patience, darling, I know you have more for me.
His face between Will's thighs is as good as a world that looks grey to him can provide. His tongue between the profiler's buttocks, running along every crease, is that corner we all seek because in it we feel at peace. For Hannibal Will was home, for Will Hannibal was much more than that.
- I need you.
Hannibal knows he does. Will asked for, always demanded more than another could bear. And Hannibal would gladly give it to him because he loved to watch the young man writhe under his touch and become a little god in doing so. Deadly, yes, but eternal in the mind palace of a Hannibal who absorbed absolutely everything.
- I want to hear you loud. I want to feel you wet everything. My face, my thighs, these sheets.
Will nods because he knows it's always like that. The disasters in his mind are pure fire to Hannibal. What once embarrassed him is now something to be desired. Hannibal was picking it all up with his tongue and Will couldn't believe any of this was happening.
And he moans, and writhes, and twitches, and jerks, enveloping Hannibal's cock inside him. And she screams and starts to cum, and in that back-and-forth of feelings and emotions she finds her place in Hannibal's world. The one that very few manage to enter, let alone stay in.
- More. More.
- Only if you keep shouting my name," Hannibal replies.
What other name could I call out, Will says to himself. What other name. Hannibal occupied his thoughts and, why not say it, his heart as well. There was no room for anyone else.
- Sing for me, sweet Will. I promise I'll sing with you.
