Written for @inkblotfiend ‘s wonderful prompt (below) with a smattering of @zacharybosch ‘s request for Hannibal jerking it to a mirror XD
Prompt: Hannibal’s all about control, and control over his orgasms is something he takes great pride in. He can go HOURS, taking himself up to the edge and then pulling back at the very last second. He’s good at it. Or at least he was – until Will Graham started turning up, dishevelled and unbidden, in Hannibal’s terribly aesthetic fantasies, and ruining all his hard work
*
Compliments to the chef were always well-deserved.
Hannibal’s dinner that night was a solitary pleasure and the menu a fitting tribute. Fresh trout, cooked simply, as Will would have prepared it. Venison. And miniature bread pudding, the same dessert Will had inadvertently taken out of Tobias’ mouth.
All the efforts and energy of the previous few months had come to a close. The last piece had been his visit to Will’s cell, undertaken just that morning.
It had been an enriching experience. Will’s gaze held a new quality: certainty. Hannibal rarely, if ever, had had the pleasure of being viewed with such refreshing clarity–extremely satisfying, and well worth his endeavours.
And the picture Will had made in his cell–stripped down to his essence in the soft womb-like dark, spotlit by a window high above. It was more beautiful than theatre. The journey from innocence to experience; the hero enriched by his travels but trapped by his own erudition. A perfect tragedy, one Hannibal could enjoy whenever he wanted. All that was required was an application for a BSHCI visitor’s pass.
There was a tinge of regret, too. Hannibal wished his attempts to help Will understand himself had been able to continue uninterrupted. It had been unexpected that Will had concluded by understanding Hannibal instead. But perhaps, now that Will was, so to speak, a captive audience, Hannibal would be able to continue his work.
Compliments to the chef, indeed.
After dinner, a feeling of expectation lingered. Hannibal knew it well–it was not uncommon after a period of heightened and suspenseful emotion. Mostly, he would seek an efficient release, but tonight was different. Tonight, he would practice another art; one suited to his subtle command of circumstances.
He began with a shower; hot enough to heat the blood but short enough to remain invigorating. It would set the mood between pleasure and self-denial nicely. And the confinement of the shower stall aided the initial phase–going inwards, sifting through images, sounds, sense-memories. Ideas and ideals. No touching was required, not yet. It was enough to let the mind do its work, while the body slowly woke from its civilised state.
The next stage was clinical but necessary. Once the required level of arousal had been reached, matters could become more spontaneous. But, before then, strict rules had to adhered to. For this, Hannibal set a timer for ten minutes.
The bathroom stool took his weight; Hannibal spread his legs a little and began. A light coating of unscented lubrication to the palm and a firm grip around the shaft. It was almost boring–preparatory only–but he kept at his task. The point was not finding release but in deferring it, and then to continue doing so with ever increasing amounts of control. The body was a wonderful thing to have, but mastery of it was more wonderful still.
His erection thickened, becoming a pleasing weight against his palm. The glans grew swollen and shiny, sliding free of the confines of the foreskin with each careful stroke. He avoided touching them entirely and noted his increasing urge to climax. Hannibal ignored it, retaining only enough contact to sustain the desire, then finally took his hand away. When he shut off the timer, there were four seconds left to spare.
Painting of Will strangling Hannibal because of reasons. I literally have no excuse for drawing this I just wanted to. Some people were asking why Hannibal looks so chill, and it’s because this is more of a figurative image in which Hannibal is satisfied for bringing out the killer in Will. Yo.
moulinroux tumblr 