Runsonfear - Ape Shit

Send me a '☾' if we haven't roleplayed before and you would like a starter

Will studiously watches Hannibal’s hands and mouth, one eyebrow twitching upwards.  With one last dubious look at both the food and his companion, he mimicked the process.  Crack the shell, pull it out, scrape the top, et cetera.  He pauses before pressing his lips to the tip of his morsel and then pushing the food all the way into his mouth, a little slowly.  It is, of course, delicious.

He swallows.  “Alright.”

// if u wanna // [runsonfear]: "I assume this is a food."

“You’re not hesitating are you? I assure you, it’s delicious.”

Which head or yours is doing the thinking right now?  The big one or the little one?

Try again.

You don’t.

Your standards were set when you displayed Randall as you did.

I’m not your standard, I’m your goal.

Lust burns inside you, I can hear it soaking your words.

“And you find me interesting…attractive.”  ‘Aroused interest’ definitely describes it.  Will looks up from his silverware and meets Hannibal’s eyes again.

“Then I’m something you want, Dr. Lecter.”

// if u wanna // [runsonfear]: "I assume this is a food."

“You’re not hesitating are you? I assure you, it’s delicious.”

Butterfly, 1942. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

Will allowed Hannibal to do this; let his hand be guided down and to the undoing of that top button.  He pressed his nail into the skin, feeling the dusting of chest hair there catch as he scratched his way down.  He let himself be guided back to the bowl, hands braced against Hannibal’s shoulders for balance.

“Then I’ll give you me.”  Will said, and felt the warmth of chocolate and Hannibal’s lips against his own.  He licked around and in Hannibal’s mouth, scraping his teeth against lips and tongue.  He brought a hand up to cup Hannibal’s neck and adjust the angle; he wanted to taste as much of this man as possible.  With his free hand, he undid the rest of the shirt buttons and ran his fingers through Hannibal’s chest hair, sometimes scratching down to feel that rhythmic catching of hair against nails.

Pulling away, breathing a bit labored, Will wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  His fingers lifted the hem of his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal some of his skin.  He paused and his mouth twitched into a smirk:

“What’s the magic word?”

// if u wanna // [runsonfear]: "I assume this is a food."

“You’re not hesitating are you? I assure you, it’s delicious.”

He watched the tie flutter and swirl down to the floor and he smiled.  Tit for tat, the old black magic.  It’s a game he knew well.  He spread his arms, palms out and inviting.

“Take it off for me.”  Be polite, though, “Please.”

Shit? Hannibal almost commented, but decided better of it. In very fluid movements he took off his tie and discarded it to the floor.

“Quid pro quo.” He said nearly in a whisper as he eyed Will’s shirt.

374 moths of New Guinea (1918).

Watercolour by Marian Ellis Rowan (1848-1922).

Wikimedia.

Will doesn’t even blink, snatching the paper out of Hannibal’s hand.  “You say so, doctor.”

“She’s a friend with a shared interest.”  Hell if he’s going to let Hannibal send this to shit on him.  “She’s off-limits, Hannibal.”

"Who the fuck is Susan?"

“First of all: where in the hell is this coming from?  Second of all: she’s a friend.”

// u kno what’s cool?  messages about threads u like instead of rebloggin those threads bc it messes up my reblog counter