[fic] It Won't Go Away (Hannibal)

I can't believe it's done XD

I started writing this fic right after the end of season 3 but then life happened and writer's block happened and procrastination happened and- excuses, excuses. Writing this year just didn't agree with me.

A few months ago I promised myself that I could move on to other fandoms only if I could finish at least three old WIPs- and this is one of them. I admit I wasn't too sure about this story. Hannibal as a show has such a unique atmosphere and style of storytelling that I was really afraid I wasn't going to do it justice... but at some point while I was writing I started have a lot of fun with the imagery and the weird metaphors. Hope it doesn't sound too ridiculous haha.

A huge thank you to Mikaeru, who read the first snippet and waited for the rest of the story 14 months, @kaesaria, who is basically this story's saviour, and to all the other amazing people who patiently listened to my whining and whom I forced to read the thing because I was anxious as hell.


Summary: Will had moved through life like a shard of glass in a jar of sand, cutting the hands of those who poured it out, trying to get a closer look. People never got through to him, and the ghosts in his head screeched, leaving colors against his eyelids like stained glass. Echoes of lives that didn’t exist anymore or never existed, consumed by a kind of hunger that could never be satisfied. Killers and victims, hunters and prey. He was both and neither, but he’d never known that he was thirsty.

Will is haunted by guilt and doubt. Hannibal helps through him introducing him to a different coping method.

Warning: breathplay, kink negotiation, post season 3


“What are you looking at?”

Will winced at his cracking voice, licked his cracked lips. A cracked soul. The afterglow always felt painful these days. He knew that it was because of their wounds, almost healed but still tender, but sometimes he wondered if the ache came from somewhere deeper, somewhere where Hannibal's capable hands couldn't cut and sew back up.

Hannibal looked peaceful laying on his back against the pillows, just a hint of ambient light shining in his eyes, dark and liquid in the velvety blackness of the room, a small smile on his lips.

“You,” Hannibal replied, his soft smile growing larger, showing a hint of teeth. “I'm looking at you.”

“There's nothing to see, it's too dark,” Will muttered, suddenly self-conscious. He traced the soft lines of muscles and scars on Hannibal's stomach before getting up, grimacing at the wetness sliding down his thigh. He wondered if Hannibal could see that too, glistening obscenely in the soft light that came from the open window. He refused to think about it as he fetched a towel from the bathroom, as he quickly cleaned the both of them up.

He climbed back on the bed, laying down next to Hannibal, his head on his chest. A hand came up to play with his hair and Will sighed, closing his eyes.

“I don't need my eyes to see what you're turning into, my dear Will,” Hannibal murmured, drowsily.

Will stiffened. “Don't, please.”

Hannibal made a displeased noise. “It's a shame that after all we’ve been through together, you still don't accept yourself, Will. Are you holding yourself back still?”

Will rolled on his other side, away from Hannibal so he wouldn't have to face his disappointment. He curled up around his pillow, fear and old tendrils of guilt swirling around in his gut. “I'm not holding anything back,” he whispered, his throat tight. "I'm here, we're both happy, aren't we? Can't we just sleep, please?"


read the rest @ AO3