The Smoke [Hannigram]

Chapter 5. Love Is Madness Keeping You Alive

It's holding me, morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly cold within
And dreaming I'm alive

Will heard a rumbling voice somewhere close but couldn't focus on the sound as he felt detached from the outside, and dreamy pleasure had gone over his body.

"Will..." His name echoed in his skull like a benediction, but his eyes remained absent, filled with blood spatters. He smiled to himself, not concerned for the calling of his name, once the sickeningly sweet smell of death and decay had corrupted his imagination. He let it run wild. He didn't mind if he'd been trapped inside the fog of his mind all along.

"Will!" A sharp slap across the cheek retrieved the brunet from a strange dreamland, the stinging sensation sobering, and he found himself drifted to the surface.

To the shore.

When his vision cleared, Will saw Hannibal in the absolute glory. His face filled with joy, the eternal paradise ensnared somewhere behind his eyelids. An honest smile tugged to his lips, his hand pulling forward to settle on Will's neck. Soon he was rubbing the spot gently, as if to ease and soothe, never leaving the younger man's eyes. His gaze was an unfiltered message of awe and ardour. Will tilted his head back trustfully, eager to be touched, yet so scared to acknowledge the pure adoration in the other's expression. When Hannibal's fingernails scratched the vulnerable skin on his neck, he purred like a stretching cat. The intensity of staring into each other's faces—close enough that they were almost brushing their noses—overwhelmed Will to the point where he needed to shut his eyes closed. He gave in to the kindness of fingers pressed to the itching skin, instead. The moment he felt the hand constrict his throat, pushing against the trachea, he moaned loudly, satisfied with a sensation of tightness and light strangling. Enough to bruise, but safe enough not to take his life away in the process. Steady oppression.

A paddle.

"William..." A heavy flow of air attacked his earlobe with a foreign sound of his full name—never found in the mouth of another before—and a wet tongue slipped into his ear, forcing a pitiful cry out of Will which sounded tense and desperate. "...If you don't leave this room right now, I'm afraid you'll get ravished to the very core of your bones." A strained voice followed, fueled by the black smoke of thick desire. "Would you like to be violated like that? Against your will?" The brunet flashed his eyes open in a snap at the sinister suggestion. "This time I'm not holding myself back." Hannibal's guttural threat sank into his consciousness.

Such sinful promises.

The finality of the last statement hit hard and fast. Will's lower stomach clenched with dread and need, entangled in a thick net of involuntary desire—a combustible mixture of conflicted nature.

"What d-did you just..." He trailed off, voice cracked, eyebrows furrowed. Then he did see the deadly arousal reflected in maroon eyes as the other swallowed thickly, his shoulders tensing, showing the attacker's stiffness in his posture. Will looked down at Hannibal's clenched fists, and then lower. "Shit. You're serious," he blurted out, the bile in his throat. He gritted his teeth with growing terror.

Hurriedly, Will yanked away from the crushing hold on his neck and stumbled back with a gasp, losing his balance. He looked at the fresh corpse lying in front of him, clothed with blood and staring with an empty glare, eyes still open. Like a dead fish.

Fuck. What have I done?

He opened his mouth wide, lips dry and numb somehow. He stood up, wobbling a little on his feet. He was about to say something but he saw the other begin to rise from the floor, too. Will felt beads of sweat on his forehead, breath speeding up. And he wanted to claim innocence so badly—pretend he knew nothing of the annoying tingle in his belly at the mere thought of being chased like an animal or then caught like one, and forced into obedience. No, that couldn't be him, could it?