NSFW #Hannigram
“Fuck—Will,” Hannibal gasps.
Overcome with every possible sensation, Will manages a smile, one that comes straight from the soul. He loves it when Hannibal swears—loves that it’s his own body causing it, knowing that nothing else does.

It’s language Hannibal reserves only for when they’re intimate—at no other time does Will get to hear Hannibal curse, breathing out Will’s name between ‘fuck’, and ‘shit’. It shouldn’t make Will feel so proud—he feels it anyway.

Relaxing back into the pillows as Hannibal slowly fucks him, Will idles his hands up Hannibal’s back and follows the path of his spine into his hair, then grips. A flicker of hesitation clouds Hannibal’s eyes.

For a few moments, Hannibal falls still, just covering Will’s body with his own, both hands hooked beneath Will’s shoulders, his cock buried deep. Will can feel the slight tremble in Hannibal’s fingers where they press into his skin.

“What is it?” Will gently asks, concerned. Naturally, and without much thought, he loosens his grip in Hannibal’s hair. Hannibal reaches out to place it back before Will can blink. Realisation dawns, and it floods Will with longing. “Oh… you—you like it when I…?”

Hannibal says nothing. The rising colour of his cheeks says everything. Will gives his hair an experimental tug, his stomach swooping as he watches Hannibal’s lips part in pleasure.

Before Will can indulge the warm feeling of pride that comes from discovering one of Hannibal’s many points of pleasure, Hannibal is driving into him faster than before—rough, dirty, in a way that makes Will howl. They’re not making love anymore. They’re fucking.

When Hannibal comes, it’s with a silent, gasped moan. Will tightens his hold in Hannibal’s hair, pressing his fingers into his scalp with meaning. He wants Hannibal to feel it. He wants it to hurt.

Post-coital, Will smiles, and lifts his chin to kiss Hannibal’s lips. “Make me come,” he whispers. “Make it hurt.”