Shadow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowesque) wrote2013-05-25 11:33 pm
shadowesque) wrote2013-05-25 11:33 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Prey
Title: Prey
Fandom: NBC's Hannibal
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hannibalkink: (Hannibal/Will) femslash, Okay, we've genderswapped both Hannibal and Will seperately. Now is the time for some, I think. Please and thank., Willa goes into dark places and drags monsters out, she just doesn't realize Hanna is one of them until too late
The words drip into her brain, rippling against the pond of her thoughts, like the fresh red blood of lipstick pressed against her ear. It takes Willa, in fact, several long moments before she realizes she hasn't reacted to the intense proximity and fully intentional breach of personal space, and another moment to recognize that she simply isn't going to, not in her usual manner.
Hanna Lecter has slithered in like a snake (by the house) and refuses to be coaxed out--like many of the images that plague her mind. What that means, exactly, she hasn't yet worked out, and she doesn't intend to spend the time doing it now, because she's listening intently, each accented syllable clung to like a lifeline. Talking about the case. No, talking about her imagination.
Talking about the monsters in her waking nightmares. The ones burrowed deep into the sulci of her cerebrum. Where a mouth of venom attempts to temper them.
She must think about this particular psychopath (as Jacqueline usually insists on calling said monsters), feels time ticking to a halt, eyes unfocused and far away and yet seeing sharper than ever as the pendulum swings--
It swings and she is still there, and that--that is a reason why she prefers to see these things alone, with no distractions, but this intrusion just doesn't happen. Even the good doctor should fall away while she thinks on this sexual predator, and while she can't hear the words anymore (commits every one to memory), she can still feel hot breath on skin.
This one chases his victims like a game of cat and mouse, claims them as prizes in the end. The fear in their eyes is a sexual draw, and she is him, prowling after, the predator. She is him, and Lecter is there as well, disturbing the imagination, scratching the record. The doctor filters through even now, even when her vision is blood blood blood, suffocating and thrilling. To the monster.
And yet she finds herself leaned back against Hanna with a shudder down her spine and hands firmly around her goosepimpled arms, calming, guiding, and to her credit she doesn't pull from Lecter's grasp. Doesn't pull when the hands let go to instead slide along her belly, arms closing in. Doesn't pull when lips murmur something soothing and sexual, feeding the hunger of the lingering perverse lust drawn up through her. Doesn't pull when those lips stop speaking and instead smile against the pulse in her neck, snake drawn to the heat.
She lets out a shaky breath (a gutteral moan) and is beginning to find a particular comfort in the knowledge that she's let yet another monster in. This one, at least, she invited.
Fandom: NBC's Hannibal
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Written for
hannibalkink: (Hannibal/Will) femslash, Okay, we've genderswapped both Hannibal and Will seperately. Now is the time for some, I think. Please and thank., Willa goes into dark places and drags monsters out, she just doesn't realize Hanna is one of them until too lateThe words drip into her brain, rippling against the pond of her thoughts, like the fresh red blood of lipstick pressed against her ear. It takes Willa, in fact, several long moments before she realizes she hasn't reacted to the intense proximity and fully intentional breach of personal space, and another moment to recognize that she simply isn't going to, not in her usual manner.
Hanna Lecter has slithered in like a snake (by the house) and refuses to be coaxed out--like many of the images that plague her mind. What that means, exactly, she hasn't yet worked out, and she doesn't intend to spend the time doing it now, because she's listening intently, each accented syllable clung to like a lifeline. Talking about the case. No, talking about her imagination.
Talking about the monsters in her waking nightmares. The ones burrowed deep into the sulci of her cerebrum. Where a mouth of venom attempts to temper them.
She must think about this particular psychopath (as Jacqueline usually insists on calling said monsters), feels time ticking to a halt, eyes unfocused and far away and yet seeing sharper than ever as the pendulum swings--
It swings and she is still there, and that--that is a reason why she prefers to see these things alone, with no distractions, but this intrusion just doesn't happen. Even the good doctor should fall away while she thinks on this sexual predator, and while she can't hear the words anymore (commits every one to memory), she can still feel hot breath on skin.
This one chases his victims like a game of cat and mouse, claims them as prizes in the end. The fear in their eyes is a sexual draw, and she is him, prowling after, the predator. She is him, and Lecter is there as well, disturbing the imagination, scratching the record. The doctor filters through even now, even when her vision is blood blood blood, suffocating and thrilling. To the monster.
And yet she finds herself leaned back against Hanna with a shudder down her spine and hands firmly around her goosepimpled arms, calming, guiding, and to her credit she doesn't pull from Lecter's grasp. Doesn't pull when the hands let go to instead slide along her belly, arms closing in. Doesn't pull when lips murmur something soothing and sexual, feeding the hunger of the lingering perverse lust drawn up through her. Doesn't pull when those lips stop speaking and instead smile against the pulse in her neck, snake drawn to the heat.
She lets out a shaky breath (a gutteral moan) and is beginning to find a particular comfort in the knowledge that she's let yet another monster in. This one, at least, she invited.