.

.

It's either a bad dream or another hallucination.

(But should it hurt… this much in real life?)

His flesh rips, shreds pink and bloody. Body-hot fluid trickles down his naked, lower back, mingling with a slick coating of perspiration. He writhes and jerks against small, upwards thrusts into him, not against, but to match the glorious, narrowing rhythm of a cock inside him.

Dr. Lecter's thumbs dig into the soft, coarsely-haired spaces of his underarms. He holds Will steady, holds him against the rack.

Spindly, bleach bone-white antlers protrude out from the cabin wall. He smells the animal velvet, decaying and curdle-musk. The metallic tang of his own blood as it dries to his back, and dries on the floorboards. Will smells them. Their sweat collecting, the room starting to bake in July heat and the desperate nature of sex.

He's mounted like an animal, in more ways than one.

The needle-prick of two crown tines, pressing into the meat of his side, is enough to make Will dizzy. He's without equilibrium, caught between the intense, scraping burn of pain and Dr. Lecter fucking into him, violently snapping their hips. He whispers those pretty, dark words into Will's throat when he arches back and moans, petting him, petting Will's jaw.

Too hot. Too cold and itchy, too. The air itches.

Will's teeth chitter nosily together before they part, Dr. Lecter's tongue pushing in and sweeping along the ridges of his mouth. He reaches all the warm, sensitive points, slowly licking, thumbs and hands easing Will's arms above him, waiting to grip for something solid. Will's palm slices open to a sharpened, curved antler.

Blood droplets fall, with one streaking to Will's hairline, and the other clinging to an eyelash.

He's reducing Will to groans and tremors, pale and overheated, cutting Will apart for a surgeon's examination. His thin face verging blankness. Will licks back and opens his mouth wider, trying to consume the other man. It earns another heavier, demanding noise. His voice is too thick to speak, to call out, "—ss, oh fuck, please," too swollen.

Reaches out as if sightless. Will twines one of Dr. Lecter's hands to his, urging him to hold firmly, pleasure threatening to crest.

He chokes out a soundless, long gasp as the back of Will's hand impales through the same curved antler. It fixes Will's hand in place, now bleeding profusely and dripping into brown, sweaty curls like rainwater. Will gasps softer against their lips, helpless panting, because Dr. Lecter's long fingers are still intertwined with his.

They squeeze kindly to Will's fingers, twitching and impaled as well.

Something in his chest flutters, panic or a strange form of awe, tightening like a band around lungs until his vision whitens.

He wakes.

He wakes to his come slick between his legs and a nauseating amount of blood staining dull, gray sheets. Drying and plastering the back of his torn nightshirt.

.

.


NBC's Hannibal does not belong to me. HAPPY ALMOST HALLOWEEN/SAMHAIN, MY DARLINGS! This fic was partially inspired by the scenes with Will Graham and the antler references/hallucinations. And I've seen some disturbing and sexy art with Will and antler soooo. And the "The Horned God" is an ancient pagan symbol that embodies nature and humanity, but also a part of masculinity, sexuality, the cycle of life, and hunting. Alright! Comments/questions are forever appreciated. Remember: be safe, eat your candy, don't disrespect the spirits, and please don't mess around with Oujia boards in the cemetery! That's like walking into a hungry lion's den with raw meat strapped to your legs and your chest, kay?