Drhanniballecter - Blog Posts

So sex

@runsonfear this is how Hannibal French kisses

Well, Will thought, it's a helluva 'how do you do,' and a lot more concise.

Swept up in the passion of the moment, Will followed for a few heartbeats. He let his mouth and body be moulded to Hannibal's will, his tongue and hands. With a moan, he began to push back; his grip a little more forceful and his teeth a little more biting. He clutched Hannibal's scalp in his fingers and kissed like he'd damn well die if they stopped.

// lil smth smth for the lulz // [runsonfear]: "I want the K"

Send me I want the K and I’ll generate a number; 21: Then there’s tongue

Hannibal grabbed Will rather forcefully, with one arm wrapped around his back, and pulled him into a kiss. Hannibal parted his lips slightly and let his tongue gently outline Will’s lip. Not even waiting to see if Will would reciprocate in the lip parting, he pushed his tongue past Will’s lips and into his mouth, finding the younger man’s tongue and running his across it. 

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.”

// @drhanniballecter and I have been constructing Will's phone.

Beautiful White Chocolate Sphere, with strawberry & chocolate on the inside. ✅ By Unknown. Let us know who is behind this great dessert ✅

#ChefsOfInstagram @DessertMasters

Letting his finger be sucked into Hannibal’s mouth, it isn’t hard to imagine the same happening to his cock.  He rocks his hand forward, gently, to make Hannibal tilt his head back; his finger crooking to press into the soft muscle of Hannibal’s tongue.  When Hannibal finishes, Will watches the remaining glint on his upper lip.

“Good.”  He says, catching Hannibal’s chin in his hand.  He rubs that glint on Hannibal’s lip with his thumb.  It’s addictive, the way he can manipulate just this small part of Hannibal; the flesh pinking a little as he presses and pushes, feeling the teeth behind the lips.

Will leans in, just close enough that his breath puffs against Hannibal’s skin and he can see the distinct lines of color in Hannibal’s eyes.  His lips brush Hannibal’s slightly when he speaks: “Want some more?”

His hand moves to cup Hannibal’s neck, the base of his palm on the Adam’s apple.  He doesn’t apply any pressure, yet.

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

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

drhanniballecter:

runsonfear:

drhanniballecter:

“Yo.”

Hannibal swagged his way over to his office door, made agape by one unfortunate visitor.

He was just in the middle of cookin up another crime scene, so whoever it was at the door was in a shitload of trouble.

“You dun goofed, mate.” Hannibal growled dangerously.

“No you.” Will was hip to all the happenings up in here.  He’d figured it out with his empathy or whatever.

“The jig is up, fam, I’m knowin on your game.”

“Listen, Sweaty” Hannibal smiled condescendingly. He wasn’t about to let some basic hoe step in up on his shit. He knew how to handle this tight sitch with some choice shade.

“You may think you’re playing the game, son,” hannibal started, with the heaviest amount of salt

“Butt sweaty pie, you’re actually tripping balls something fierce.” There was enough salt for a batch of Mcdonalds 99c menu fries.

Hannibal may be a salty hoe, but Will was ready for that shit.

“El-oh-el, you actually think I want to play your game?  Finna end the mother fucker.”  If they were in Sassyland living in Sassy City, the Capital of Sassyland, then Will would have been the mayor of Sassy City and he’d live in the sassiest building in Sassy City and, in his spare time, be the captain of the S.S. Sassy.

“Like, why are you so obsessed with me?  Your design isn’t even that great.” He snapped his fingers in a z-formation.  “Hashtag REKT.”

A very quality starter||open to all

Will watches the flex and roll of Hannibal’s muscles for a few moments; the suggestion beneath his shirt, the tightening sinews of his arms.  He removes his own jacket, folding it over one of the kitchen stools.  Instead of rolling up his sleeves, he undoes the buttons of his shirt and discards it the same way; he stretches his arms, now feeling a little freer in just his undershirt.

“You think this’ll be enough, then?”  He stirs the chocolate with a wooden spoon, turning it over to keep the temperature even.  It occurs to him that, at a previous time and place in their lives, Will might have had an issue with Hannibal having an entire bowl of chocolate ready for this.  It also occurs to him that he is no longer the Will that would have that issue.

He dips his finger into the chocolate, about up to the second joint, covering it in thick syrup.  He walks over and brings the chocolate up to Hannibal’s lips.  “Tell me how it is.”

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

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

“No you.” Will was hip to all the happenings up in here.  He’d figured it out with his empathy or whatever.

“The jig is up, fam, I’m knowin on your game.”

A very quality starter||open to all

“Yo.”

Hannibal swagged his way over to his office door, made agape by one unfortunate visitor.

He was just in the middle of cookin up another crime scene, so whoever it was at the door was in a shitload of trouble.

“You dun goofed, mate.” Hannibal growled dangerously.

A low, breathy little laugh escapes just as Hannibal collects his plate, “Don’t need to.”

This close, Will can see even clearer the minute changes in Hannibal’s face as he speaks.  Will could watch that for hours, he thinks.  He leans in just a little, so his nose is nearly bumping Hannibal’s.

He says: “I’ll help you with the chocolate,” then abruptly turns and leaves for the kitchen.

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

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

He notices his mouth has gone open: just a little breath shaped ‘o.’ Taking the wineglass he finishes it off in one gulp, hissing between his teeth when the bitter front of the wine blooms in his throat.

“Now that,” he stands, letting his eyes run over the shape and fabric of Hannibal’s suit, “does arouse my interest.”

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

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

“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.”

A grin pulls itself across Will’s face.  He refocuses his attention on his silverware, shifting them in his hands and biting his lip to hide a laugh.

“Depends on the amount of alcohol in my system.”  It’s a weak feint, he knows.  “What arouses your interests, Doctor?”

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

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

Will’s gaze flicks between Hannibal’s mouth and eyes.  “When it comes to your cooking, I don’t know if what I feel is surprise anymore.  Maybe something closer to ‘aroused interest.’”  Or resigned confusion.

“In any case,” he leans forward, elbows rested on the table, “I don’t mind learning a few new tricks.”

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

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

Will brings his own wine glass to his lips; an unintentional mirroring.  "What kind of tricks?  Are we talking Benihana or…?”

The wine is white and not over-sweet; a light taste to cleanse the palate and compliment the meat.  That’s the extent of Will’s knowledge on the matter, but he appreciates it all the same.

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

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

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.”

“Not exactly.  It’s just, eh, not very obvious how I’m supposed to even eat this.”

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

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

Wax poetical about art, and Will would usually sink beneath the surface of an inward stream to drown you out.  But it was a curious sensation to have someone come so close to the mark; like his intentions were being torn out from within him and placed under a microscope.  He felt simultaneously exposed and invigorated.

“Schrodinger's Painting.  Well, hell...”  Will rubbed his lower lip with his middle finger to suppress a smile - unsuccessfully.

He took Dr. Lecter’s hand and shook it, let himself glimpse the man’s eyes; he was intrigued by the color, and memorized the points of light in them for later reference.  The rest was admiration, and then...not much before the veneer of polite social grace.  Very different...

“You certainly see a lot, doctor.”  He said,  “I’m Graham, Will.  I don’t know if you saw my name on the brochure...”  He turned back to his painting, then back to Dr. Lecter.  “This one’s actually mine.  I wanted to know what you saw; you seemed enamored.”

“Can’t say I’m disappointed.”  He let himself smile this time.

Never Paint Dreams or Nightmares │runsonfear

Hannibal looked over at the man who he instantly recognized to be Will Graham, he didn’t comment on the recognition.  

Looking back over at the painting and clearing his throat, he spoke.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?” He said with a small smile.

“Or it could mean everything. That’s what is so special about art. The artist’s intentions don’t matter when it hits the public’s eye. I could look at this and see nothing, while another man might look at be reminded of the tragic death of his children… and another might see, in it’s strokes, a vision of his own death, or future becoming. 

Every painting, despite the intentions, both simultaneously means everything and nothing at all. I would compare it to Schrodinger’s Cat… Or for this, Schrodinger’s Painting. 

But as far as intentions, I think it might be just that. The meaning is that there is no meaning, other than what we decide to project on to it, which is neither accurate nor inaccurate.”

His smile grew a bit wider and warmer as he held out his hand to the other man. 

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” He introduced.

The problem with art, Will always thought, is that the success of any artist is based entirely upon being the taste of another person.  Being another person’s taste, then, falls into a category of whimsy that either lasts for an eternity, or fizzles and dies in the wink of an eye.

Will didn’t know if he was the eternal kind or the fizzling kind.  What he did know was the feeling of dry paint under his fingernails and the smell of linseed oil and turpentine.  He knew that when he looked at a canvas, something had to claw its way up and out of him to fill it.  What that something was he wasn’t always sure.

Art shows always put Will on edge.  Being so close to the consumer body - that fickle animal whose hunger was the fashion and whose purse was the grace - was a risk to the art.  Once a person meets the artist, no longer does the person see the Art, but the product of the artist.  It kills separation.  Without separation, there is no perspective.

This was the idea behind his latest piece.  It had no name - the wall bore no plaque next to it.  People always try to place meaning in a name to place meaning in a painting.  To place meaning into no meaning at all.  Will wanted to break rules; confound them at the most basic level.

Will stood by the refreshments table, fingers tapping gently against his plastic wine cup.  There was one man standing in front of that new painting, Will saw, staring like a love-struck child into the brushstrokes.  Will wondered what he must be getting from it.

He took a deep drink of the wine and walked up next to this ‘fan.’  He peered at his own painting - a mimic of the casual observer.  In that north-east kind of hum-haw, he asked: “What do you think it means?”

Never Paint Dreams or Nightmares │runsonfear

“A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light.”  -Leonardo da Vinci

   An art show, showcasing the most popular up and coming artists from all over the world. Names like Yamashita,  Grzanka, Parla, Harvey and among them Graham. Hannibal was here for Will Graham.

 Graham owned a rather small website with a short bio and a couple of his works, but despite his skimpy upkeep of his website, Graham was an immensely popular artist. Magazines and fanpages raved about him, yet getting an interview with him seemed rare if not impossible. Having just poked around his website for a few moments, Hannibal was captivated. He had to meet this man, and discovering his presence at a upcoming art show was just the chance he needed.

Hannibal walked around the art show,with a glass of red wine in his hand, casually admiring works of others. He didn’t need to actively seek out Will Graham, he had a feeling he would run in to him. 

He came upon one of Will’s paintings, beautiful as all his others. He wondered what inspired this particular piece. Lecter looked for a plate naming the painting but, unlike the other paintings, there was none. Ceased looking, Hannibal sipped his wine and closed his eyes. Tasting the wine, he imagined he was tasting the colors of Graham’s paintings, finding the flavor and passion and muse. He imagined that every intricate stroke carried an almost sensual intimacy, not dissimilar to how Hannibal himself created his masterpieces.

“I wonder what Freud would think of that.”  Will thought Freud would probably assume impotence.  He considered saying so, but bit his cheek instead.  “I used to dream of...well, everything.  No meaning, no recognizable scenario.  Just an endless blur.”

“Now I just dream of work.”

// remember that time i made a will blog for the express purpose of rp-ing with your hannibal and then i completely forgot about it? haha yeah... // [runsonfear]: "Dream analysis is a load of bull and you know that."

“Not entirely. It was Freud who really developed and popularized dream analysis, and while he was wrong about…most everything, we can still use some of what he preached. Analyzing dreams can help to uncover what may be lying at the root of your problems.

Tell me about your dreams, Will.”

“ ‘Not-entirely-bull’ is still bull; the most you’re likely to get out of it are the washed out Polaroids of faces and places and old movie plots.

Do your dreams mean something, Dr. Lecter?”

// remember that time i made a will blog for the express purpose of rp-ing with your hannibal and then i completely forgot about it? haha yeah... // [runsonfear]: "Dream analysis is a load of bull and you know that."

“Not entirely. It was Freud who really developed and popularized dream analysis, and while he was wrong about…most everything, we can still use some of what he preached. Analyzing dreams can help to uncover what may be lying at the root of your problems.

Tell me about your dreams, Will.”

[text]: I counted it, like a normal, sober human.

[text]: "Maybe" ??

[text]: Haha, no.

// i s2g this website is shit for sending asks and if i've just sent this to you multiple times i am so sorry // [runsonfear]: ⁇

“⁇” for a drunk text.

[text] Willl

[text] Wil

[text] Wiilll

[text] Willlllll

[text] It is impo ssible to count how many ls are in your name if i accidentally use more than 2

[text] Willllll

[text] How many wasa that?

[text] we don’t know.

[text]: Oh my God.

[text]: That was six.

[text]: What did you do?  Drink half your stores of fifty year old wines by yourself?

// i s2g this website is shit for sending asks and if i've just sent this to you multiple times i am so sorry // [runsonfear]: ⁇

“⁇” for a drunk text.

[text] Willl

[text] Wil

[text] Wiilll

[text] Willlllll

[text] It is impo ssible to count how many ls are in your name if i accidentally use more than 2

[text] Willllll

[text] How many wasa that?

[text] we don’t know.

Wow.

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

Try again.

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.

You think because there's some mutual attraction or, sure, interest that I'm just gonna lay on my back with my legs in the air for you?

Maybe I have higher standards.

Not that you aren’t interested, is what you meant.

I’m persistent because I’m eager, and why shouldn’t I be? And why shouldn’t you be?

No.  It doesn't surprise me.

What surprises me is how persistently you're trying to get me into bed with you.  Not that I'm not flattered.

We’re very similar in the way we think and act. I feel a certain passionate draw to you, it feels even seductive at times; I know you feel that as well, being the empath you are. Of course, you aren’t bad looking either.

This seems to surprise you?

Jesus.  Alright, how's this?: I'd like to know why you're so keen on fucking me.  Let's start there.

Alright then. What would you like to know?

You know there's a difference between understanding and knowing.

I resent that. I would think by now we’ve got a fair understanding of each other.

Well, for one thing, I barely even know you.

@Will why are we not fucking