open post | 2 | kink

[meerkats]

O P E N   S M U T   P O S T

◉ Drop a comment with one or more of your muses.
◉ Give me a prompt
◉ you can specify any of my muses whom you might like to play with, or I can pick.
◉ Everything goes, even the retired ones, but I can't guarantee good tags from them.
◉ sex!

Comments

[somethingwrong]

[Will can shake and whimper with the best of them, but being tied up is different. He's sweating, yes, his only physical concession to anticipation, to anxiety. He feels...peaceful. god help him, he feels safe. He shouldn't, knowing what he knows about Hannibal Lecter this is the last place in the world he should feel safe, but he does. Everyone needs to relinquish control, now and again. This is Will's way, now, he can no longer get this from anything else.]

[He couldn't answer that if he wanted to, with the gag, so he just lays still, eyes closed, thrilling to the touch a little when Hannibal pets him. The ropes hold him tight, with his clothes acting as a cushion so the rough fibers don't irritate his skin. (He's sure he can be conditioned to accept it--he had to be broken to jeans like a horse.) It's not so much comfortable as comforting. The ropes feel like a hug.]

[avoirfaim]

[It takes a certain type of man to be able to go down to his knees without relinquishing a bit of control. It takes poise and a deserved ego, without much pity or sympathy left in him to squeeze out. Hannibal is that type of man, and his eyes don't leave Will's for a moment, once they're on eye level. The hand in Will's hair grips strands tight, where he had previously simply been petting. He pulls Will's head backwards, exerting power without breaking his chilling calm.

This is his design.]

I'm trying to decide if I should leave you hanging from a hook in my basement, let you cure, or if I should sink my teeth in right now.

[His grip loosens, if only in order to move his hand downward, thumb stroking Will's cheek as if in a mock attempt at sensitivity.]

It's a shame you're not quite ready to be unwrapped, otherwise I wouldn't be able to resist.

[somethingwrong]

[It makes Will grimace a little and inhale sharply as his hair is pulled, and his head being dragged up makes the position much harder to maintain. It might be easier if he could grab his ankles, but his wrists don't even have that much movement.]

[He still can't speak, so he just watches Hannibal, pitching forward a little when the grip in his hair is no longer holding him up, although he does his best to stay up so Hannibal can look him in the face. Will's eyes are more occupied with Hannibal's hands, his chest, his forehead if he has to. But he wants to be good.]

[No, that's not right, is it? It's not even so much that he wants to be good. Just that not trying to be good is unfathomable. Hannibal is as he is, and Will does what he does. What else is there?]

[avoirfaim]

Look at me, Will.

[There's a touch of disappointment in his voice, that carefully measured spice to the recipe as he tries to catch Will's eyes, keep eye contact while his hand grips hair harder, firmer. He is nothing if not patient.]

[somethingwrong]

[Will's eyes go to the bridge of Hannibal's nose. It's something close. Which eye does he look at, anyway? He can't look at both at once. This is a compromise, and it looks the same as eye contact.]

[avoirfaim]

Will.

[ It's the last threat, the last warning he will give his plaything to look. It is not quite the eye contact he's looking for, that depth of soul and ownership of person that he wants, that he demands in cool tones.

He will not ask again, his voice says without the words. ]

[somethingwrong]

[He hates it, but he picks the right eye and finally looks. He tries his best not to be distracted but his brain doesn't want to work with him here. Why does he allow Hannibal to do this to him again?]

[(The truth is, he's not sure he allows anything. He's pretty sure he can fight and rage all he wants, and Hannibal would still end up with Will just where he wants him.)]