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thenaughtymissloundsTitle: The Willful Slaughter Of Hope
Pairing: Hannigram
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: What if Will finding out about who Hannibal really is, doesn't have to end in such a bad way?
Word Count: 1677
Tags: Slash, Anal, Non-Con, Violence, Cannibalism, Blood, Gore, Vore, Dark!Will, AU-Slightly, Choking, Dominance. Non Fetish stuff: Vomiting/Emetophobia
Notes: This fic will contain Dark!Will and some rather NC-17 concepts. It was suggested to me by a friend, to write the opposite of what will probably happen when Will finds out who Hannibal is.
Betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope.
Where had he heard that before? Somewhere, probably not even heard it, read it in a book. He had been betrayed, misled, and by the one person on this earth he thought he was making a connection with. This entire time, it was him, it was Hannibal Lecter. There he stood, having finally drawn the connection. He hadn't informed Jack yet, it had been hours, he was too shocked too numb.
There wasn't any certainty of what to do either. Should he tell? Should he confront him? Everything added up, the mounds of evidence, the smart little quips...the...food?
His body lurched and he raced to the bathroom, vomiting repeatedly. Though he hadn't eaten anything Hannibal had brought him in days he wanted to make sure everything was out of his stomach and in that instant. He knelt by the toilet, slamming the lid down angrily, resting his face on top of the cool surface, beginning to sob.
Horrible, body wracking sobs where it was nearly impossible to breathe. Betrayed, absolutely betrayed. Could anything ever hurt worse? His heart and head pounded, the sour taste of bile coating his mouth. His nerves on fire, not even aware he was crying just that he was in pain, wounded, desperate to understand why the one person he felt finally understood him was the monster he absolutely hated as well.
This man, with no capacity to love or care, this man who thought of humans as pigs, no more than a source of food and probably some sort of morbid entertainment, was the man he had fallen in love with.
He even hated to use that term, love, did he really love anyone? Did anyone really love anyone? And how had it gotten to that point? How did he not just love Hannibal but was in love with him? Nothing made sense, he didn't even want to admit these feelings to himself.
There was another body wracking dry heave but he was empty, as well as his soul. Nothing else was coming up. His phone was ringing, probably just another victim, from Hannibal or otherwise. He didn't care any more, he found no ounce of his body that could actually care. What was the point? Trying to be good, trying to be moral, trying to ignore every damn urge in him not to be violent when Hannibal...that bastard...got away with the freedom of torture and murder. It must have felt good, really good, killing all those people.
Why was he struggling so hard to understand? To hold back? That part of him more than existed and was becoming more and more dominant with each passing day, hour, second. Maybe it was time to embrace it and never look back. It's what Hannibal wanted anyway, right? It might fix him, it might get him what he sought, actual love. It might even make him...happy.
He was wet, it was cold, though he wasn't sure why or if it even bothered him. He stood there, still, body soaked looking at the door in front of him with intent. Hannibal's house, he had been there so many times under false pretenses but that would change and it would change now.
Unaware of how long he might have been lurking there in the pitch black he leaned his hand on the doorbell and didn't let up, not at all. He didn't intend to until he got an answer. It must have been late, no lights were on, but the concept of time had been lost on him, completely lost. Did it matter? Time was all relative, developed by man to measure the amount of pain and suffering someone had to endure before they died. He didn't need time any more, he didn't feel like he had very much of it.
Slowly, the door in front of him opened, he looked up, instantly making direct eye contact with the demon or God, standing there in his expensive, stylish robe. He looked like he had been disturbed, in some way, though Will wasn't sure if it had been from sleep or something worse. He opened his mouth to speak, surely to justify his reasons, he must know at that point, he must be aware of the betrayal he had laid out.
Will would not let him speak, he didn't want to hear apologies or reminders that things were okay. He wanted what was his, he wanted to be happy, he wanted to hurt this man who had taken out his beating heart and ate it while he lie helpless on the floor. Usually his visions, they were, not like this, almost like being on the outside looking in even though he could feel everything that he was doing. This was different, this was, powerful.
He pulled back a tightly clenched fist, and with no warning it connected with Hannibal's strong jaw. Clearly, not prepared for such a move it knocked him back, he stumbled but didn't fall, but he would. Will would have him on his knees soon enough.
He opened his mouth again, fuck that, the man had no room to speak not after what he had done. Another punch, it wasn't blocked, he was unaware how fast he was moving, how fast his brain was processing all of this, and the fact that he was essentially making the Chesapeake Ripper his bitch.
That one did make him fall, blood dripped heavily from his chin, his lip had been split open. There was no hesitation, Will got down on top of him, pinning him tightly. No words, words only hurt. He pressed his lips forcefully over the older mans in an odd, dominant gesture of love and ownership. Hannibal was not in control this time, and he may not be for a while. He had betrayed the wrong soul and he was going to pay.
He bit down into the already injured lip, sucking back, tasting blood, it only fueled him, aroused him, made him want nothing more than a good fuck. His hands went to the belt of the robe pulling it off, while Hannibal returned the odd gesture of affection as well as struggled. Surely he couldn't like being dominated like this, though there was no doubt in his mind he liked the sexual contact that was being made.
Will wrapped it around his neck quickly, tightening it with a loose slip knot into a makeshift leash, choking off just enough air that there would be no talking. Hannibal's hand finally came up to launch a counter strike, his robe falling open, he wasn't wearing anything under there and he was clearly aroused. Will liked that.
With reflexes he was unaware he even possessed, he caught the fist in his hand, by the wrist, and bit into the side of it, ripping a chunk of flesh from it violently and swallowing it down. A chill ran through him, one of disgust and pure arousal. Will was cannibalizing the cannibal and it felt damn good. He tightened the little noose even more, making sure to assert he was the one in control now and not to try that again.
Hannibal's cry of pain was cut off in a choke, Will moved him quickly onto his stomach, pushing the robe up and pinning him down again. He smirked, he was going to ruin that ass, really show him who was top dog and who was the bitch. No one fucked with him to this level. Using his emotions like toys, like they didn't matter. He didn't give a shit if Hannibal didn't have the capacity to feel, he'd teach him how to feel. He'd fuck the damn feelings into him if he had to.
He got his own stiff cock out, roughly spitting over the palm of his hand and rubbing it over the length to provide something in the way of lube. He shifted the noose holding it from behind now, pulling back on it like he was trying to keep a misbehaved dog in check. The mixture of blood and saliva now coated him and he was ready for the final attack.
One thrust, then another, on the third he was in completely. There were loud chokes and gasps. Will preferred much more at that point to think Hannibal was getting more pain than pleasure, and he wasn't going to stop to ask how it felt, he wanted it to be horrible.
Wrapping the lead around his fist he used it as leverage to fuck and choke the man, the monster, the demon, the God, as hard as humanly possible. Riding him fast, violently, he'd keep up this pace all the way to hell and back if he had to. Completely unaware of the amazing vocalizations he was making. A cross between a pleasured moan and demonic roar. Hannibal would suffer for his crimes, he had to, it was only fair.
With the rate he was going, it didn't take long to find his release. In that moment, all noises were cut off, a bright flash of light released behind his eyes, or so it seemed. All he could see was white, all he could feel was ecstasy and if this was what it took to get him there, then he was beyond caring about his dark side any more. His hand slipped, the noose was loosened completely and he collapsed on top of Hannibal, completely spent, breathing hard, close to passing out.
Violently coughing half brought some sense back into him. He didn't get up, and he didn't feel remorse. He wasn't even sure if he was done yet, but at least now he had shown he wasn't going to be the victim in this any longer.
"You know..." Hannibal rasped when he had finally gotten in enough air to be able to speak.
"You're damn right I do, and you will suffer. Mark my words, you will suffer." Will assured him coldly. In his mind, this was only the beginning.
Pairing: Hannigram
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: What if Will finding out about who Hannibal really is, doesn't have to end in such a bad way?
Word Count: 1677
Tags: Slash, Anal, Non-Con, Violence, Cannibalism, Blood, Gore, Vore, Dark!Will, AU-Slightly, Choking, Dominance. Non Fetish stuff: Vomiting/Emetophobia
Notes: This fic will contain Dark!Will and some rather NC-17 concepts. It was suggested to me by a friend, to write the opposite of what will probably happen when Will finds out who Hannibal is.
Betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope.
Where had he heard that before? Somewhere, probably not even heard it, read it in a book. He had been betrayed, misled, and by the one person on this earth he thought he was making a connection with. This entire time, it was him, it was Hannibal Lecter. There he stood, having finally drawn the connection. He hadn't informed Jack yet, it had been hours, he was too shocked too numb.
There wasn't any certainty of what to do either. Should he tell? Should he confront him? Everything added up, the mounds of evidence, the smart little quips...the...food?
His body lurched and he raced to the bathroom, vomiting repeatedly. Though he hadn't eaten anything Hannibal had brought him in days he wanted to make sure everything was out of his stomach and in that instant. He knelt by the toilet, slamming the lid down angrily, resting his face on top of the cool surface, beginning to sob.
Horrible, body wracking sobs where it was nearly impossible to breathe. Betrayed, absolutely betrayed. Could anything ever hurt worse? His heart and head pounded, the sour taste of bile coating his mouth. His nerves on fire, not even aware he was crying just that he was in pain, wounded, desperate to understand why the one person he felt finally understood him was the monster he absolutely hated as well.
This man, with no capacity to love or care, this man who thought of humans as pigs, no more than a source of food and probably some sort of morbid entertainment, was the man he had fallen in love with.
He even hated to use that term, love, did he really love anyone? Did anyone really love anyone? And how had it gotten to that point? How did he not just love Hannibal but was in love with him? Nothing made sense, he didn't even want to admit these feelings to himself.
There was another body wracking dry heave but he was empty, as well as his soul. Nothing else was coming up. His phone was ringing, probably just another victim, from Hannibal or otherwise. He didn't care any more, he found no ounce of his body that could actually care. What was the point? Trying to be good, trying to be moral, trying to ignore every damn urge in him not to be violent when Hannibal...that bastard...got away with the freedom of torture and murder. It must have felt good, really good, killing all those people.
Why was he struggling so hard to understand? To hold back? That part of him more than existed and was becoming more and more dominant with each passing day, hour, second. Maybe it was time to embrace it and never look back. It's what Hannibal wanted anyway, right? It might fix him, it might get him what he sought, actual love. It might even make him...happy.
He was wet, it was cold, though he wasn't sure why or if it even bothered him. He stood there, still, body soaked looking at the door in front of him with intent. Hannibal's house, he had been there so many times under false pretenses but that would change and it would change now.
Unaware of how long he might have been lurking there in the pitch black he leaned his hand on the doorbell and didn't let up, not at all. He didn't intend to until he got an answer. It must have been late, no lights were on, but the concept of time had been lost on him, completely lost. Did it matter? Time was all relative, developed by man to measure the amount of pain and suffering someone had to endure before they died. He didn't need time any more, he didn't feel like he had very much of it.
Slowly, the door in front of him opened, he looked up, instantly making direct eye contact with the demon or God, standing there in his expensive, stylish robe. He looked like he had been disturbed, in some way, though Will wasn't sure if it had been from sleep or something worse. He opened his mouth to speak, surely to justify his reasons, he must know at that point, he must be aware of the betrayal he had laid out.
Will would not let him speak, he didn't want to hear apologies or reminders that things were okay. He wanted what was his, he wanted to be happy, he wanted to hurt this man who had taken out his beating heart and ate it while he lie helpless on the floor. Usually his visions, they were, not like this, almost like being on the outside looking in even though he could feel everything that he was doing. This was different, this was, powerful.
He pulled back a tightly clenched fist, and with no warning it connected with Hannibal's strong jaw. Clearly, not prepared for such a move it knocked him back, he stumbled but didn't fall, but he would. Will would have him on his knees soon enough.
He opened his mouth again, fuck that, the man had no room to speak not after what he had done. Another punch, it wasn't blocked, he was unaware how fast he was moving, how fast his brain was processing all of this, and the fact that he was essentially making the Chesapeake Ripper his bitch.
That one did make him fall, blood dripped heavily from his chin, his lip had been split open. There was no hesitation, Will got down on top of him, pinning him tightly. No words, words only hurt. He pressed his lips forcefully over the older mans in an odd, dominant gesture of love and ownership. Hannibal was not in control this time, and he may not be for a while. He had betrayed the wrong soul and he was going to pay.
He bit down into the already injured lip, sucking back, tasting blood, it only fueled him, aroused him, made him want nothing more than a good fuck. His hands went to the belt of the robe pulling it off, while Hannibal returned the odd gesture of affection as well as struggled. Surely he couldn't like being dominated like this, though there was no doubt in his mind he liked the sexual contact that was being made.
Will wrapped it around his neck quickly, tightening it with a loose slip knot into a makeshift leash, choking off just enough air that there would be no talking. Hannibal's hand finally came up to launch a counter strike, his robe falling open, he wasn't wearing anything under there and he was clearly aroused. Will liked that.
With reflexes he was unaware he even possessed, he caught the fist in his hand, by the wrist, and bit into the side of it, ripping a chunk of flesh from it violently and swallowing it down. A chill ran through him, one of disgust and pure arousal. Will was cannibalizing the cannibal and it felt damn good. He tightened the little noose even more, making sure to assert he was the one in control now and not to try that again.
Hannibal's cry of pain was cut off in a choke, Will moved him quickly onto his stomach, pushing the robe up and pinning him down again. He smirked, he was going to ruin that ass, really show him who was top dog and who was the bitch. No one fucked with him to this level. Using his emotions like toys, like they didn't matter. He didn't give a shit if Hannibal didn't have the capacity to feel, he'd teach him how to feel. He'd fuck the damn feelings into him if he had to.
He got his own stiff cock out, roughly spitting over the palm of his hand and rubbing it over the length to provide something in the way of lube. He shifted the noose holding it from behind now, pulling back on it like he was trying to keep a misbehaved dog in check. The mixture of blood and saliva now coated him and he was ready for the final attack.
One thrust, then another, on the third he was in completely. There were loud chokes and gasps. Will preferred much more at that point to think Hannibal was getting more pain than pleasure, and he wasn't going to stop to ask how it felt, he wanted it to be horrible.
Wrapping the lead around his fist he used it as leverage to fuck and choke the man, the monster, the demon, the God, as hard as humanly possible. Riding him fast, violently, he'd keep up this pace all the way to hell and back if he had to. Completely unaware of the amazing vocalizations he was making. A cross between a pleasured moan and demonic roar. Hannibal would suffer for his crimes, he had to, it was only fair.
With the rate he was going, it didn't take long to find his release. In that moment, all noises were cut off, a bright flash of light released behind his eyes, or so it seemed. All he could see was white, all he could feel was ecstasy and if this was what it took to get him there, then he was beyond caring about his dark side any more. His hand slipped, the noose was loosened completely and he collapsed on top of Hannibal, completely spent, breathing hard, close to passing out.
Violently coughing half brought some sense back into him. He didn't get up, and he didn't feel remorse. He wasn't even sure if he was done yet, but at least now he had shown he wasn't going to be the victim in this any longer.
"You know..." Hannibal rasped when he had finally gotten in enough air to be able to speak.
"You're damn right I do, and you will suffer. Mark my words, you will suffer." Will assured him coldly. In his mind, this was only the beginning.
