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Title: Black and Blue
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Prompt: #361, Black and blue
Author's Note: One-shot.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Will stepped out of the shower, glancing in the mirror as he reached for a towel to cover himself with. The fleeting glimpse he had of his body made his straighten up and forget about the towel as he started at himself, mesmerized by the sight.
He had known that Hannibal was rough with him last night; the body aches he'd experienced when he'd awakened and rolled out of bed just a little while ago had proven that. But he hadn't realized that his lover had left such marks on his flesh.
There were bruises on his chest, bite marks around his nipples. Will winced as he raised a hand to touch one nipple; the small, delicate bud was reddened and sore to the touch.
There were other bruises, on his belly, his ribs, his hips. Why hadn't he noticed them when he was in the shower? He hadn't been looking at his body; maybe that was why. He'd merely thought it was a little strange that he was experiencing such physical aches.
He'd known that Hannibal was being more demanding than usual, but he hadn't realized the extremes to which his lover had gone. He'd been so lost in the pleasure that he was receiving that it hadn't occurred to him that Hannibal was dispensing pain, as well.
The two sensations had seemed to meld, to become one.
He remembered crying out at some point, begging Hannibal to stop. He didn't remember what the other man had been doing to him, only that it had hurt. And Hannibal had stopped, though only for a few minutes. Then he'd started again.
Will closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. Hannibal had done as he'd asked, but he had more or less ignored the fact that he was in pain. It was as though Will's pain had meant nothing to him, and he was intent on his own pleasure.
No, that couldn't be the case. Hannibal wasn't that callous. He had simply pushed Will past his limits, as he'd warned at the beginning of their relationship was something he intended to do.
Hannibal hadn't made any excuses for his actions in bed. He had told Will upfront, the first night they had been together, that the relationship wasn't always going to be safe and comfortable. He had warned Will that he broke boundaries, pushed against walls.
Will had accepted that. It had sounded .... well, exciting to be with someone who had such little use for conventions, who broke new ground. But he hadn't realized that forging through those barriers meant causing pain.
Still, he shouldn't really be surprised, should he? Hannibal wasn't like other men.
Not that he had any other men to compare Hannibal with, he thought wryly. Hannibal was his first and only lover; no one else had ever touched him. Well, they'd touched, but nothing had ever gone beyond that. He wasn't even experienced at kissing.
No, he had come to Hannibal as a virgin. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of; he'd been teased about his virginity unmercifully when he was in college, and beyond. But it was something that he had held on to, determined to give it to the right person.
He didn't know if Hannibal was the right man to have surrendered himself to. But Hannibal was the man he wanted, whether the relationship was good for him or not.
Somehow, that didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was that Hannibal brought out a side of him that he hadn't known existed, a side that reveled in the pleasure that his lover gave him, a side of him that was wild and abandoned and that reached out for his own destruction.
In some ways, Hannibal scared the hell out of him. But he couldn't break away from this man even if he had wanted to. Hannibal held him in thrall; there were so many new feelings and sensations to explore that he couldn't walk away from what the other man offered.
What was a little pain compared to those new experiences?
Will frowned as he stepped closer to the mirror, his dark eyes widening as his gaze moved lower. His thighs were black and blue; obviously, Hannibal been much rougher than he'd realized. He didn't know if his ass sported bruises as well, but it definitely felt as if that were the case.
The Will Graham he'd always thought he was would never have let anyone manhandle him like this. No one would have gotten close enough to him to leave bruises like this. But he was quickly discovering that the Will he thought he was had started to disappear.
With Hannibal, he became a different person. Someone who would let himself be used, even if meant pain, because he knew that the pain would be followed by pleasure.
At the moment, Will wasn't sure whether or not he actually liked the person he was becoming. How could he have let anyone, even Hannibal, do this to him? His body looked like a punching bag that had gotten far too much use recently.
Maybe Hannibal hadn't realized how rough he was being. Maybe when Will went downstairs and saw his lover before he left for work this morning, Hannibal would apologize for last night, tell him that he was sorry he'd left those bruises.
But somehow, Will doubt that very much.
Hannibal wasn't the kind of man who apologized for anything. He wouldn't feel that those bruises had been mistakes; he would feel that they were there for a reason, though Will couldn't see it. Unless Will brought the subject up, Hannibal probably wouldn't remember they were there.
But he would, Will thought with a sigh. He would have to deal with the discomfort of those bruises all day long, and for several days after this.
And knowing Hannibal, there would probably be more bruises to follow. Will had noticed that he had been more unrestrained lately whenever they had sex -- which was often. He doubted that his fragile body could keep withstanding that escalating roughness.
He wanted to believe that Hannibal didn't realize he was being so thoughtless, but if he was honest with himself, that probably wasn't true. If there was one thing he knew about his lover, it was that Hannibal rarely ever did anything without a reason.
Obviously, Hannibal had known that he was leaving those bruises. He had known that Will wold be black and blue in the morning. He had more than likely planned it.
But why? What reason would he have for being so brutal?
Will had no answer for that, and he was almost afraid to ask. Hannibal wasn't the kind of man that anyone questioned about his intentions; and a question like that, coming from him, would likely have him turned out of Hannibal's bed for good.
That was the last thing he wanted; the thought of not being with Hannibal made panic rise in his throat in a silent scream that he didn't dare let come out. He couldn't exist without Hannibal. Without his lover in his life, he would go back to being who he was before.
He would go back to being bland and boring, invisible except for his unusual empathic ability. There would be no one in his life who considered him special, no one who could give him the physical pleasure he needed, the release his body craved.
He didn't want to become that person again. He'd never liked that Will Graham much; he'd never been very comfortable in that skin, living that life.
No, that person couldn't come back. Will wanted him to be gone forever. He wanted to be the one who Hannibal chose to be with, the one who Hannibal lavished his attention on. It didn't matter if that attention could easily veer from pleasure to pain.
He needed what Hannibal gave him, both the pleasure and the pain.
Did he love Hannibal? He wasn't sure of that answer to that question. What they shared might not be love, but they assuaged a mutual need in each other, one that neither of them could satisfy with anyone else. He and Hannibal needed each other.
Will didn't know which one of them needed the other more, and he wasn't going to contemplate that. It was enough for him to know that the need existed.
It didn't matter if Hannibal got a little rough once in a while, he told himself firmly. He could deal with being black and blue every so often if it meant that he could satisfy Hannibal and keep his lover by his side. In the end, that was all that really mattered.
Turning away from the mirror, he reached for a towel to wrap around his waist. He wasn't going to look at the bruises again; he didn't need to see them to know that they were there. They would be a constant reminder of Hannibal and of what had transpired the night before.
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