* a father's guilt

what  a  dangerous  thing  it  was,  to  be  taken  so  fully  inside  the  maw  of  a  cannibal.   his  teeth  had  ripped  through  flesh  thicker  than  this,  yet  as  he  pulls  garret’s  cock  inside  his  mouth  once  more,  it’s  with  the  utmost  devotion.   hannibal  takes  the  shrike  like  communion,  placing  the  head  of  his  prick  along  the  flat  of  his  warm  tongue,  holding  it  inside,  willing  it  to  dissolve  like  wafer,  willing  him  to  push  in  further  so  that  he  could  digest  him  and  honor  him  in  the  only  way  he  would  understand.

instead,   hannibal  teases  him  with  the  slightest  suction,   easing  him  in  further.   the  ring  of  his  mouth  is  loose  with  intention:  he  had  no  plan  to  finish  him  here,  on  the  toilet,  but  as  he  finds  garret’s  cock  growing  bulbous  and  heavy,  he  almost  wishes  to.   his  taste  was  of  everything  hannibal  had  grown  to  enjoy,  heavy  with  sweat  and  salt,  the  smell  of  his  arousal  a  balm  to  his  coiled  nerves.  

hannibal  slips  garret’s  slacks  to  the  floor,  raking  his  finger  nails  up  the  back  of  his  downy  soft  thighs,  until  they  reach  his  ass.    only  then  does  hannibal  pull  himself  off  of  his  cock,   breathless.         ❝   you  took  the  words  right  out  of  my  mouth.  ❞     hannibal’s  maroon  eyes  blink  slowly,  travelling  up  to  meet  garret  jacob’s  gaze  with  a  heady  look  of  his  own.   

the  hand  on  hannibal’s  crown  prompts  him  to  return  with  fervor,    taking  him  by  the  arse  and  spreading  the  flesh,  digging  his  fingers  into  the  meat;   his  mouth  comes  to  rest  along  his  shaft,   licking  a  long,  tender  stripe  up  to  the  frenulum.      

hannibal  takes  great  pride  in  the  use  of  his  tongue,   inside  the  bedroom  & out:  he  thinks  of  the  years  he  was  without  words,  idly,  and  wants  to  tell  his  little  lover  just  how  lucky  he  is  to  behold  the  man  he  is  today  -  how  grateful  he  should  be  to  witness  the  amalgamation  of  his  years  and  the  hard  work  that  had  gone  into  the  subset  of  his  ability.  

his  tongue  explores  until  he  finds  the  slit  of  his  cock,  tonguing  the  beading  arousal,  prodding  the  sensitive  head.    

only  when  he  finds  garret  becoming  torturously  hard  does  hannibal  make  the  decision  to  push  him  back  with  a  gentle  hand,  cleaving  a  foot  of  space  between  them.   

hannibal  looks  at  his  cock,  smiles,  and  gently  places  a  hand  at  garret’s  hip.

❝   get  in  the  bath.  ❞   

garret   enjoys   this.   so   much   so   that   he   finally   let's   slip   a   soft   moan   of   pleasure,   his   head   tilting   back   and   eyes   closing.   the   touching   and   kissing   and   massaging   of   his   body   was   almost   enough   to   make   him   finish   right   then   and   there.   the   post-high   of   a   kill   still   saturated   his   brain.

but   then   hannibal   stops   and   urges   him   away.

naturally   he   makes   a   noise   of   disappointment,   yet   the   loss   of   the   warmth   on   his   length   making   him   somehow   harder.   hannibal   was   good   with   his   mouth   ―   surprisingly   so   sometimes.   this   wasn't   a   regular   occurrence   after   all;   more   often   than   not   it   felt   as   though   it   were   a   treat   of   sorts   for   being   good   or   obedient   or,   in   this   case,   a   weapon.

oh.   right.   the   bath.   garret   glances   over   at   it   and   frowns   ever   so   slightly.   it's   hot,   he   knows   it.   the   steam   coming   off   the   water   already   left   a   sheen   of   sweat   on   his   body   and   the   mirrors   were   fogged   up.   he   steps   out   of   the   clothing   pooled   at   his   feet   and   kicks   the   garments   to   the   side.   gazing   at   the   light   above   him,   he   takes   note   of   the   steam   tendrils   dancing   in   front   of   it.

he   puts   one   foot   in   and   grimaces.   then   the   other.   he   wants   to   move   slow   but   he   isn't   sure   how   that   would   translate   to   the   doctor   so   he   sucks   in   a   breath   and   lowers   himself   down.   the   water   burns   and   he   can   almost   feel   his   skin   turning   red   though   it   seems   to   have   no   impact   on   the   erection   he   maintained.   rather,   it   makes   an   impact   on   the   sore   muscles   he   forgot   he   sheltered   under   damaged   skin.

with   his   arms   on   the   ledge   of   the   tub,   garret   leans   back   and   the   undampened   hair   on   his   body   raises   at   the   cold   sensation   of   the  tub   that   was   not   yet   touched   by   scorching   water.   he's   only   a   bit   uncomfortable   but   he   knows   he'll   get   used   to   it.   hell,   he   may   want   it   hotter.

✝             “ same cell, my ass !  it’s adam & eve, not adam & chiquita. snapple’s lucky my passion for honey sweet tea is greater than my hatred for a cap fulla lies. honestly, garret, even the suggestion is like SPITTIN’ IN GOD’S FACE. ”

✝            “ no, i ain’t OKAY. my fuckin’ snapple cap told me that humans share 50% of their dna with a goddamn banana. ain’t no way god made man and fruit in his image. ”

when  he  touches  garret  it’s  with  a  maker’s  devotion.  

lips  slip  and  suck  at  the  thin  skin  along  his  clavicle,  pulling at  the  dried  blood.    hannibal  parts  his  lips  wider  so  that  he  can  skim  his  teeth  there,  pleased  to  find  that  garret’s  touch  brings  them  together  fully,  chest  to  chest.   

DO  WHAT  YOU  WANT.  

it  was  a  dangerous  bid,  but  one  that  hannibal  knows  is  genuine.   he  deposits  the  scissors  onto  the  sink  and  reaches  to  lay  both  hands at  his  chest,   running  his  fingers  against  the  expanse  of  his  abdomen,   cupping  his  ribs,  squeezing  him.         ❝   that’s  my  brave  boy.  ❞   cooing  almost,  his  voice  takes  on  a  deeper,  crooning  tone.      hannibal  takes  both  of  garret’s  pectorals  in  hand,   massaging  the  muscle.   the  meat  is  hard  and  most  likely  barely  marbled,   a  life - time  of  strength  keeping  age  at  bay.    

satisfied,  hannibal  licks  his  mouth  of  the  blood,  standing  back  some  so  he  could  lower  himself  onto  the  closed  toilet.       ❝   come  to  me,  garret  jacob.   ❞  

hannibal  takes  garret  between  his  thighs  and  gathers  him  by  the  hips,  pulling  him  flush  into  him;  until  he  can  reach  him  with  his  mouth  again.   he  leads  with  a  kiss  to  the  hip,  pulling  the  fabric  down  his  thighs,  just  enough  to  free  his  cock  from  his  slacks.   the  kiss  turns  into  a  long,  purposeful  lick  to  garret’s  furry  stomach,  taking  in  his  smell  and  making  note  of  his  taste  there.   the  smell  was  of  a  man’s  body,  bergamot  and  sweat,  musky  without  the  stench  of  fear  that  so  often  accompanied  one  after  a  kill.   

nose  pressed  to  his  navel,   hannibal  inhales  deeply.  

mouth  opens.   teeth  skim  along  garret’s  hip,  suckling  at  him  until  he  reaches  his  soft  prick.   hannibal  takes  him  into  his  warm  mouth,  taking  it  all,  pushing  his  face  until  his  nose  meets  his  stomach.  he  holds  garret  there,  comfortably,  until  he  feels  the  beginnings  of  pleasure.   only  then  does  the  monster  pull  away,  slightly  breathless,  but  still  fervent  in  his  worship,  licking  at  the  thick  sex,  holding  him  in  his  palm.  

he   shows   no   resistance   and   allows   his   body   to   be   pulled   into   hannibal's   personal   space.   blue   eyes   gaze   down   at   him   and   ...   he   smiles.   he   can   feel   his   heartbeat   quickening   ―   something   which   hadn't   happened   in   quite   some   time   in   these   specific   situations.   the   touch   to   his   stomach   induces   a   flex;   it   tickled   a   bit.

he's   taken   into   the   warm   cavern   of   the   older   man's   mouth   and   garret   recalls   the   blood   on   hannibal's   mouth   then.   his   blood.   his   brain   likened   it   to   their   mutual   unholy   activity   and   he   feels   loved;   the   combination   of   adoration   and   warmth   make   him   stiffen   and   he   bites   his   lip   to   stifle   the   quiet   moan   he   wasn't   going   to   allow.   until   hannibal   pulls   his   mouth   away   and   garret   grumbles   in   frustration.   his   hand   raises   for   a   moment,   contemplating   putting   it   on   the   back   of   the   doctor's   head   but   he   decides   against   it.

hannibal   hadn't   given   him   an   instruction   yet.

❛   i   ―   ❜         he   struggles   with   his   words,   the   sight   of   hannibal   caring   for   him   in   this   way   was   leaving   him   breathless.  

fuck   it.

tap, tap, tapping comes to a sudden halt and will turns his attention to garret. he hesitates, looks him up and down for a long moment, and then … begins again. 

“maybe.”

hannibal  contemplates  if  he’s  gone  soft  as  he  prepares  a  small  platter  of  fruit  and  meat  for  garret,   pausing  when  the  platter  is  garnished.    his  tired,  red  gaze  settles  on  the  grapes.    he  plucks  one,   biting  through  the  thin  skin,  cleaving  it  in  half  between  his  front  teeth,  returning  a  single  half  with  the  inside’s  placed  to  the  ceiling;  a  pupil.

when  hannibal  returns  to  garret  there  are  last  minute  additions:  a  thick  bottle  of  a  pink  liquid,  two  oxycodone  tablet’s,  scissor’s  and  a  glass  of  ice  water.  he  sets  the  tray  onto  the  bed,  pleasantly  surprised  to  find  the  man  standing  at  the  bath  tub  as  it  finishes  filling,  clothed,  obedient.    hannibal  takes  the  scissor’s.

❝    aha,  magnifico  -   ❞     the  mirror’s  have  become  foggy  already,  despite  the  door  to  the  ensuite  being  wide  open.    hannibal  comes  to  garret  and  places  a  hand  between  his  shoulder  blades,  firm.    when  he  pushes  past  he  folds  his  shoulder  around  garret,    bending  at  the  waist  to  turn  the  bath’s  faucet  off.   he  returns  with  a  slight  sheen  from  the  moisture.   scissors  are  held  up,        ❝   I’m  going  to  cut  your  soiled  clothes  from  your  body,  you  would  do  well  not  to  squirm.  ❞   humor,  of  all  things,  invades  the  elder’s  voice,  a  slight  chuckle  bubbling  up  from  inside  his  chest.    hannibal  reaches  between  them  and  cut’s  garret’s  bloody  shirt  up  the  front  with  a  practiced  slide,   the  fabric  falling  from  his  shoulders  with  little  more  than  a  nudge.    under  the  shirt,  the  skin  of  a  beastly  creature.   his  beastly creature.   sun  kissed  and  supple,  even  now,  as  hannibal  remembers:   he  runs  a  single  finger  down  his  sternum.   the  dried  blood  collects  and  flakes  off.    ❝   i  promise  to  put  you  back  together,  garret.   i  just  need  a  little  bit  of  time  with  the  pieces  before  i  do  so.   it’s  been  too  long  since  i’ve  last  seen  you  like  this,  i’m  going  to  savour  it.   all  of  it.   ❞  

gently,  with  a  touch  as  light  as  feather,  hannibal  places  his  mouth  aloft  garret’s  clavicle  and  kisses  the  bruise.  

skin   prickles   at   the   touch   ―   gentle   but   purposeful.   most   of   their   more   intimate   moments   were   filled   with   violence   towards   each   other.   garret's   rebellion   and   submission   fought   for   control   more   often   than   they   coexisted.

he   looks   at   the   red   stained   fabric   on   the   floor   and   thinks   over   hannibal's   words.   these   pieces   of   garret   were   sharp   and   jagged   but   the   doctor   always   handled   them   as   if   they   were   made   of   cotton,   soft   and   non-threatening.   someone   saw   the   absolute   worst   in   him   ―   he   was   under   no   illusion   that   eating   another   human   was   okay   to   do   ―   and   didn't   falter   or   flee.   this   person   encouraged   him   and   dealt   more   damage   than   anyone   else.   but   hannibal   could   smash   the   vase   on   the   floor   a   million   times   and   he   would   repair   it   with   ease   a   million   and   one.

random dialogue meme: accepting. 

@shrikehunt​ asked:  “you need to stop.” /stern daddy garret :/

and freeze! will pauses, turning his attention to garret. one might think that will, being in between cases and having no class to teach today, would want to enjoy the peace and quiet. however, one would be surprised at how easily he becomes under - stimulated. it was too rainy to go fishing or hiking. he didn’t have anything to tinker. he didn’t feel like making lures, or whittling, or anything, really. 

what he does feel like doing, for lack of better word, is playing. 

with energy to rival a puppy’s, will has been moving about the house, picking up one task before quickly moving to the next. and during the entire time, he’s been toying around with garret. while cooking breakfast, he’d flicked a bit of pancake batter at him. he’d gotten the dogs all riled up to play and sent them after garret. just now, he’s taken a throw pillow and thrown it at garret. 

and now he stands, a sly smile forming on his face, and he has to stifle a chuckle. 

“oh yeah? or what, garret?” 

garret   sighs   loudly   and   dramatically.   why   must   will   be   this   way?   all   day   the   constant   clatter   and   scuffles   of   sock-clad   feed   on   hardwood   floor.   it   wasn't   annoying   at   first   but   then   it   just   kept   going   and   going   and   going.   it   damn   near   made   garret's   eye   twitch.

and   now   talking   back?   instigating   a   reaction?   garret   stands   up   from   his   chair,   tossing   the   pillow   that   was   hurled   at   him   to   the   floor,   and   practically   glides   towards   will.

⟨ 𝙂𝘼𝙍𝙍𝙀𝙏 𝙃𝙊𝘽𝘽𝙎 ⟩ — “ 𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓 ”

✝           the woods held many secrets. harlan had known this since childhood — the bed of leaves which blanketed the earth covered SIN just as easily, concealed from prying eyes truths no mortal man could dare comprehend. they’d held olive for years. held his father longer still, though the fever grip of his mama’s fiction had washed away that memory. washed them like he had his own hands, red still from the scalding water he’d scrubbed them in before he’d arrived. the piper still clung to him, a shroud of sainthood he struggled to pocket ; even now a sermon battered against his teeth, only barely reigned by the knowledge that his friend needn’t know how familiar he was with the path dead children walked.

✝           his FRIEND. the word had felt hollow until now, a mask of politeness to keep a body at his side while they trudged through the wilderness. but now? now it felt genuine. there was nothing more intimate than experiencing death with another person. nothing more holy than losing a part of yourself to god’s grip. harlan remembered  c u t t i n g  his eyes across the crowd of mourners at the funeral and having to bite his tongue just like he was now, standing in garret’s doorway. the lack of reverence was as embittering as it was infuriating. DIDN’T HE KNOW THIS WAS A GIFT?

✝             “  the righteous is taken away from the evil t’come. ” apparently he couldn’t hold his tongue for long. bandaged fingers thoughtlessly traced the edge of the small leather sheath on his belt, over the handle of the blade it concealed. fibers of an angel’s noose still clung to the metal.  “ s’like it says in isaiah: he shall enter into peace. ” ever-tactful, this man. to be fair, he saw no sense in grief — it felt disrespectful to lament a loss bestowed by higher powers. “ plenty of folks die too far from their own kin. plenty more suffer at a stranger’s hands. ” he stepped further into the room, closer, the light glinting off of his cheap wire-rimmed glasses.  “ you ought to be grateful it was YOU. ”

garret,   in   his   grief   and   rage,   could   have   and   would   have   easily   punched   this   man   with   the   intent   to   make   his   glasses   one   with   his   face.   but   his   hands   only   tightly   grab   the   edge   of   the   bed   where   he   was   sitting,   his   back   to   harlan.

❛   grateful?   ❜         he   questions,   voice   holding   an   hint   of   a   tremble.         ❛   you   think   i   should   be   grateful   that   my   son   died   because   of   me?   if   i   had   paid   more   attention,   if   i   had   ―   ❜         could'a,   should'a,   would'a   he   used   to   say.

garret   remembers   when   thomas   was   born.   he   didn't   think   he   had   enough   love   in   his   heart   for   another   person   until   that   little   hand   squeezed   his   index   finger.   he   was   strong   for   such   a   tiny   person   and   he   grew,   thomas   became   more   and   more   like   his   mother.   gentle   hands   and   a   strong   heart.   but   he   was   fond   of   hunting   with   his   dad.   it   was   their   thing.   and   this   thing   that   brought   them   closer   ripped   his   family   apart.