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darcydarlingdabbles · 5 months ago

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Blood Like Honey

Radioapple Week — Blood — Hazbin Hotel

Explicit: blood (duh), biting. Angel blood has healing properties.

//Inspired by the gorgeous art this lovely RadioApple week! First time I’ve participated in anything like this and holy shit this fandom is talented~ Song: Closer by Nine Inch Nails//

4.4k

Alastor slipped away from the frivolity in the freshly rebuilt lobby of Hazbin Hotel. Usually he enjoyed some revelry and clinking glasses after a hard fought victory—but as the night went on, he felt his ever-present grin start to wane.

Because the radio demon had not won this day.

Alastor’s eternal damnation had flashed before his eyes at the end of an angelic blade, and it seemed his humiliation would not soon be forgotten. The blessed wound seared through his chest even now, and when he lifted his hand from the breast of his crimson coat, and saw blood welled on his palm.

The demon retreated back into the shadows before his predicament was noticed.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor attempted to vanish, to escape to the solitude of his radio tower. But his powers faltered, the darkness sputtering and depositing him unceremoniously on the second floor.

Alastor cursed his weakness with a hiss through his clenched teeth.

His long fingers curled in the collar of his coat, summoning his sickly green magic to try to seal the wound once again as he leaned heavily against the wall that still smelled of fresh paint and plaster.

His grin remained fixed, that twisted rictus gaze betraying nothing of the searing agony threatening to claim him. The Radio Demon would not be felled so easily, not by some sanctimonious prick and his holy tantrum.

Alastor’s claws dug into the wall, charred magic sizzling from his fingertips as he fought to remain upright.

A ragged cough ripped through him, flecks of ruby speckling his lips as he tried to focus his gaze and his shadows upward. The radio tower was so achingly close, and yet leagues away with his powers in their current state.

Alastor dragged himself to his feet. Forcing one foot step after another, an agonizing trek unmitigated by every shallow breath that felt like a new slice out of his torso.

He stumbled, leaving a streaked, bloody handprint in his wake as he slid down to the plush carpet.

The clack of approaching heels drew Alastor’s unfocused gaze—he had no desire for any company in this state, but hissed when he saw the shadow of his least favorite hotel occupant down the hallway. Lumbering into view with a casual, arrogant swagger came none other than Lucifer himself.

The fallen angel paused mid-step, red eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the bloody trail. “Well, well...it seems someone had a bit too much ‘fun’ at the celebration.” His lips curved in an amused, like the sanguine stains were nothing more than spilled wine on the floor.

Alastor forced himself to his feet, covering the bloody handprint he’d left moments ago.

“Or perhaps the infamous Alastor can’t hold his liquor?” The petite blonde arched a single eyebrow and gave a smirk that the radio demon would love to rip right off of his face.

“It’s remarkable how such a petite parcel can contain an astonishing degree of irritation.” Despite his predicament, Alastor couldn’t resist a taunting rasp. “I would greatly prefer the pleasurable company of the younger Morningstar.” Implication laced his tongue behind his manic smile, unable to help but needle a little more at Lucifer’s ego. Even if the jab was punctuated with a wheezing chuckle.

Maybe he should be more concerned with self-preservation at the moment, but the searing pain was robbing him of his senses.

The flair in the archangel’s eyes might just be one of the final joys Alastor had.

“Don’t let the packaging fool you, pal.” The shorter man sneered, reaching for the lapels of Alastor’s coat—before slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the demon’s bones. “I pack quite a punch, enough to pick up your slack with Adam, remember?”

A pained shriek of static tore from Alastor’s throat, causing the lights in the hallway to flicker and the blonde to wrench his hands back.

“What the fuck…?” Lucifer’s smug triumph morphed into stunned disbelief when he saw that his palms were slicked with blood. “What in Dad’s name happened to you?”

“I do believe you have just ruined my coat.”

Realization flickered in the angel’s eyes as he stared at the scarlet stain marring Alastor’s chest and continuing to spread.

“Fuck your coat, you’ve got an angel blade wound! You do realize that won’t heal, ever, right?!”

“I was coming to that conclusion, yes.”

Lucifer looked up at the demon that was now slouching down the wall with the effort to stay upright, seeing the hand print now smudge into the wallpaper behind him.

The angel seized the soaked edges of Alastor’s coat, wrenching the material apart and sending buttons flying down the hallway. The scarlet button down he wore was drenched in his dark blood, and Lucifer was about to rip that fabric away too—

When a long-nailed hands wrapped around his wrists. “It’s hardly decent to disrobe me without so much as a dinner invitation.” He teased with dark amusement despite his failing strength.

“You are so about to take the cake in the ‘pride before the fall’ department, buddy.” Lucifer snapped. “You want me to heal it, I need to see it—unless you wanna bleed out in Charlie’s hallway.”

“Funny.” Alastor’s smirk was a ghost of his typical smile. “I do suppose pride and exhibitionism go hand-in-hand, Your Majesty.”

With a growl of pure annoyance, Lucifer snapped his fingers, whisking them away from the hall in a swirl of divine light.

When the demon could see again, he knew they were in the lavish yet garish confines of Lucifer’s sweet.

The fallen angel released his grip, and Alastor crumpled gracelessly onto the plush sofa with a grunt that sounded like microphone feedback. Lucifer ignored him, pacing around his cluttered room to snatch up supplies. A basin of clean water materialized on the sofa’s side table, followed by a stack of crispe white towels.

Alastor had just managed to sit up enough to watch the whirlwind of activity through narrowed eyes, his permanent smile and ominous slash across his paling face.

“What exactly are you doing?” The radio demon asked, suspicion swirling in his eyes and his tone. “And, for that matter, why?”

Lucifer came to a stop in front of Alastor’s splayed legs, rolling up his sleeves to show the black skin of his hands went all the way up the elbows. He squared his shoulders “Are there radio dials where your brains should be—I said I was healing you.”

Alastor watched him with increasingly heavy eyelids. “The latter question remains; why? We’ve made no secret of of our disdain for each other—what’s your ulterior motive in not letting me die?”

He spoke the words with his characteristic smoothness, belying the desperation and the toll the injury was taking on him. Each syllable strained him and the filter crackled at random.

Lucifer rolled his eyes heavenward, as if entreating a higher power for patience.

“Is it so damn hard for a demon to believe an angel just wants to help?”

Alastor answered with a derisive snort.

“Fine…” Lucifer ran a hand through his blonde hair, mussing it, as he averted his gaze and folded his arms. “I have a reason. But it’s nothing to do with you, so can we get on with this?”

The radio demon continued with his pointed stare. He’d rather die than owe his skin to anyone else.

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, visibly steeling himself, before something raw escaped in his expression. “Look, it’s because of Charlie.”

Alastor’s expression stayed painted on.

“I’m still working my way into her good graces again, and for some reason, she likes having you around.”

Alastor blinked slowly, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only indication of his surprise. Not surprise that the petite blonde was trying to win Charlie over—but that he, a demonic overlord, mattered enough to either of them to want to keep around. Sure, he’d tried to make himself invaluable to the princess, but clearly he’d failed during the fight to protect the Hotel.

For an eternity, a heavy silence reigned between them, broken only by the faint crackle of radio static.

Well, even if the angel was wrong, at least the demon would be alive to find out.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Alastor inclined his head in a minute nod of acceptance. Lucifer’s shoulders sagged in naked relief.

“Thank fuck.” The angel sighed, rather dramatically. “Now, can we get on with saving your wretched life before I’m accused of ending it?”

Despite the fragility of his condition, Alastor’s permanent grin stretched taut with grim amusement. “Well...” A chuckle reverberated from somewhere deep within the demon. “When you put it like that...” With a magnanimous sweep of his hand that cost him precious agony, he acquiesced. “By all means.”

Lucifer wasted no more time, though his motions were just slightly more gentle than ripping Alastor’s clothes open in the hallway.

He began to peel away the blood-soaked dress shirt and pushed his suspenders aside, exposing the gash across his chest.

The radio demon stiffened, a low, warning growl reverberating from somewhere in his ribcage—but it was more instinct than true protest. Or, he couldn’t move to stop the angel’s movements.

As more of Alastor’s torso was revealed, the slashes and lacerations of various vintages across his ashen skin.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed at the sight, but he made no comment.

His dark fingers were already ghosting over the fresh, jagged wound with reverence, probing the ragged edges. Angelic poison pulsed and seethed.

Alastor watched every move warily, radio feedback bristling like a impotent force field around him.

When Lucifer’s palm pressed flat against his gory wound, the demon went rigid. Something…sparked between them. Their eyes met for a moment, energy igniting and crackling between them like a live wire.

Before the demon could process, Lucifer was moving again.

Alastor thought the magnetic feeling was fleeting and gone—until Lucifer swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The demon recoiled with a sharp hiss of breath, every muscle gone taught.

“What the devil do you suppose you’re doing?” he snarled through gritted teeth. “…darling?”

The angel shot him a look at the provocation, but his pulled focus pulled right back to the gaping wound in the demon’s chest

“Bracing you, because this is about to hurt, tough guy.” Lucifer said, calm as could be, reaching behind Alastor to grab the back of the sofa. “And I suggest you grab something—this is gonna fucking hurt.”

Alastor’s arms felt too damn heavy to grab much of anything at the moment, and his dignity was suffering with the archangel so intimately in his space. He took the arm of the sofa, leaving his clawed hand resting limply on the cushion beside Lucifer’s thigh.

The angel’s warning became abundantly clear as his other hand pressed to the slash through Alastor’s flesh.

A searing white light blazed and pain etched into every fiber of Alastor’s being. His teeth clenched so hard they might shatter—anything to keep the scream from clawing its way up his throat as holy fire lanced through his veins. The demon’s hands clenched on instinct, claws sinking into the nearest thing he could grab.

Piercing the arm of the plush sofa, and Lucifer’s leg.

Alastor’s bright red nails sank through fabric and flesh with sickening ease.

The fallen angel hissed but refused to relent. His palms pressed harder, searing ever brighter, as he cauterized the divine wound with his own sacred power.

Alastor’s awareness contracted into one agonizing pinprick of existence. The room around him roiled, chaotic colors and sounds and torturous sensations.

Lucifer’s eyes blazed like a solar flare in the haze.

Alastor’s claws shredded deeper, molten gold seeping from the ragged punctures and between his black fingers.

But it was nothing, less than nothing compared to the scouring inside him.

He was nothing but the agony.

And, if there was one thing that Alastor knew well, it was agony and suffering. He’d seen hundreds, thousands of souls experiencing loss of life and limb—often at his own hand.

Blood shed between two people was an excruciatingly intimate experience.

Alastor could feel it, even now, with this angel holding him together as he tore apart. Things he’d never felt. His was never the blood being spilled. Until now.

“Nope, you’re not dying on me now deer boy!” Lucifer’s voice called him from the white void the demon had fallen into, the brilliance of the light blinding him with more torment.

Someone yanked on Alastor’s antlers, tugging his head forward. Until he could smell apple sweet breath. Could taste it on his tongue.

Then, as abruptly as it started, the ritual crescendo and fell.

The brilliance subsided, leaving pulsating shadows dancing across the demon’s vision. He became aware that he was panting for every scrap of air, his chest spasming under the pressure of Lucifer’s hand.

When Alastor’s eyes finally became useful, he found himself locked into the gaze of the devil himself.

And Lucifer was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before.

“There, easy big guy.” The angel’s grip moved from Alastor’s horns to cradle the back of his neck, laying him back gently against the back of the sofa…as if he were something worth treating with tenderness.

Alastor blinked slowly at the ceiling of the room as his senses gradually reasserted themselves.

The pain had receded, leaving a dull, throbbing ache throughout his body.

Gingerly, he pulled his right hand from the remnants of the shredded sofa arm, drawing his fingers along the newly formed scar tissue. It tingled with residual celestial might, but the wound itself had finally closed.

Knitted together and still giving a faint golden glow from Lucifer’s power.

It was only then that the demon realized said fallen angel was still sat in his lap. A quip was on Alastor’s tongue, when his gaze drifted further downwards, to his claws still mangling the other man’s thigh.

Lucifer’s pant leg was oozing trails of vibrant ichor, and the angel made no move to free himself from Alastor’s grip—though if he had, the demon’s instincts would never let him release his bleeding quarry.

He could not help the smile that split his face, an unholy sort of rapture pulled from the depraved depths of his soul as he unsheathed his claws, just to see them dripping with divine blood.

“Out of curiosity.” Alastor purred, feeling his darkness welling in him fresh and new. “How does an angel feel when we make them bleed?” his voice distorted with the return of his powers.

“Huh?” Lucifer looked down at his leg, like Alastor’s morbid curiosity was only slightly of interest. “Cute.”

Alastor blanched, his reverie broken as he stared at the blonde. And watched with utterly fascination as he casually swept a hand over his thigh—and the flesh mended and the blood seeped back into his alabaster skin.

Fury and fascination ignited in the radio demon all at once.

The angel stood, and the shredded fabric hung loose around his perfectly whole leg. “But it takes more than some demon’s claws to leave an archangel with a lasting injury.”

Something in Alastor trembled. Not pain, not fear, but something far more…primal.

Lucifer was already busying himself darting around the room again, mopping up the blood—the demon’s, as it was ruby red. Perhaps a little slower than before, or perhaps that was Alastor’s wounded ego supplicating.

Unbidden, Alastor raised his hand, examining the rivulets of golden essence dribbling down his fingers. His mouth watered. But he refused to indulge in that particular vice in front of the already smug angel.

“Tell me, Your Majesty.” His voice was heavy even in his own flicking ears. “What am I meant to do with this?”

The archangel’s brows pulled, glancing at Alastor’s hand, before a lascivious smirk grew across his lips. Lucifer leaned back over him, closer to Alastor’s face than he allowed anyone else. “You should lick it off.”

“I…beg your pardon.” Alastor jerked back, affronted.

“Oh come on, what’s a little sanguivory for a demonic overlord?” He waved a dismissive hand. “I bet you’re into all sorts of weird shit”

Alastor felt his upper lip twitch with contempt.

On the one hand, yes. On the other, fuck him.

The demon flicked the blood off his fingers, flicking it back at its owner.

It can heal you, you fucking pompous ass.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, his hand on his hip. “Don’t tell me you’re a straight from the vein snob.”

That struck a nerve.

Alastor’s gaze narrowed dangerously as his smile carved deeper into his features. With a tilt of his head and a cock of his brow, he called the other’s bluff. “Afraid to lose any more blood, my dear?”

“Fuck you.”

The demon was ready to give a laugh at the smaller man’s expense, when, when he had to hide the surprise before it could manifest across his face.

Lucifer brought his wrist up, slicing across the artery with one of his razor sharp teeth. Golden ichor welled up instantly, trickling down the dark skin of his forearm.

A wickedly beautiful sight, indeed.

Alastor stared, stunned into a rare silence as the archangel offered his bleeding wrist. No demand given, no conditions set, and no chains attached. He couldn’t fathom it.

Yet, there it hung between them, dripping celestial vitae onto the demon’s slacks.

Alastor curled his long fingers around the angel’s fist, as if the offer may shatter and the hand wrap around his neck. The bright red eyes stayed locked on the angels, as his tongue flicked out to taste the first exquisite drop.

The flavor was like nothing he’d tasted on Earth or in the pits below it. Rich, heady, sweet as nectar but far from the cloying sugar the demon despised.

Distilled rapture, a taste of heaven without the affliction of holy light.

A low rumble echoed from deep within Alastor’s chest as his gaze turned heavy-lidded again. He fastened his lips to the cut and drank deep. Savoring every drop.

Lucifer shifted his weight from foot to foot, a shudder rippling through his slight frame at the feeling of Alastor’s lips. By the time the radio demon pulled back with a lingering swipe of his tongue, the wound sealed itself without a scar.

“Satisfied?”

Alastor fixed Lucifer with a stare of unadulterated hunger.

“Hardly.”

The high of angelic vitality blazed hot in the demon’s veins. When the clawed hand reached for him, tangling in his vest, Lucifer wasn’t sure where that sinful mouth would land.

Until lips crashed into his.

That first kiss was a tangle of teeth and desperation. The thrill of the razor sharp and the sweetness of angel blood on his lips—until Lucifer’s forked tongue slipped into Alastor’s mouth, and sliced the inside of his cheek.

The iron taste joined the nectar, sparking a groan of approval from the radio demon’s throat.

Alastor’s shadows, fully restored, surged up to engulf them both, and yank Lucifer off of his feet. The tentacles slammed the angel bodily into the plush sofa. He let out a breathless laugh as Alastor loomed over him.

“Why, Your Majesty. Letting a lowly sinner get you on your back?” Alastor purred, his knee wedging its way between Lucifer’s thighs.

“Shut it strawberry pimp.” Lucifer shot back at him, grinning a challenge in his fiery eyes. “I’ve handled bigger and stronger demons than you.”

Baring his teeth in a feral smile, Alastor leaned down until they were nose to nose again. “Is that so, darling?”

With a yank of clawed fingers, Lucifer dragged Alastor’s mouth back to his own in a bruising kiss. “Less talking,” he growled against those smiling lips. “More biting.”

A low, rumbling chuckle spilled from Alastor’s chest as he nipped sharply at Lucifer’s jaw.

Merciless claws rent through expensive fabric shredding the archangel’s shirt and vest to bare his chest. Divine blood welled up in the shallow scratches, only to knit themselves closed before the demon’s eyes. Alastor’s gaze drank in every tantalizing inch of newly exposed skin with ravenous delight.

He grasped Lucifer’s chin, tilting his head aside to expose the tempting column of his throat.

For a breathless moment, the radio demon’s teeth hovered a hair’s breadth away, mouth aching with the urge to sink his teeth right into the vital artery.

But something held him back. Not the angel who was squirming all too willingly under him—Alastor found he couldn’t bring himself to risk draining this delectable wellspring entirely.

An unexpected tendril of concern gave him pause as he looked upon Lucifer’s powerful yet achingly fragile form.

Instead, Alastor’s lips trailed lower, canines finally piercing that perfect pale flesh at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

A tremor ran through Lucifer’s body as he arched up into the vicious bite with a breathless keen of pure ecstasy.

Hips rutted shamelessly against Alastor’s thigh, the hard line of the archangel’s arousal leaving the demon’s slack dampened.

Arousal made his blood impossibly, deliciously sweeter.

When the demon pulled back at last, a low rumble was rolling at a constant frequency from his chest, and he realized…he was purring.

“My, my... Seems an angel’s ardor makes for quite the delectable vintage.” His smile was luminous.

Lucifer could only pant softly in response, too lust-addled to muster words through the hazy fog of desire shrouding his senses, though he managed to raise one of his hands.

Alastor realized only a breath before that the angel was snapping his fingers, divesting them both of the shredded remains of their clothing.

The demon froze, feeling exposed yet again, and unsure what exactly he was meant to do next. Hazy with want for more, whatever more was.

Lucifer’s hands scrabbled desperately at the demon’s shoulders, pulling him closer still until legs wrapped around his waist.

The demon had half a mind to call his shadows and wrench the angel’s limbs away from him—but he didn’t want to. He’d never been so taken with someone, body and blood. When Lucifer’s fingers curled into his hair and pulled their mouths back together.

“Just, move. Please.” The angel begged. Like music to the demon’s ears. He could very much get used to that pretty little sound.

In one sinuous motion, Alastor rolled his hips, pinning the archangel bodily beneath him as their aching cocks ground together, slicked no doubt with their mingled blood.

An unholy growl rumbled up from the very depths of his being in a resonant snarl. “Is this what you want, Cher?” The old, adoring term from his human life fell from his lips like honey.

This Alastor could do. Rut gracelessly together, seeking their tangled pleasure, chasing it into the unknown.

At last, Lucifer found his voice on a strangled groan. “Shut up and bite me already, you insufferable tease!”

Well, far be it from Alastor to deny such an enticing demand.

He sank his teeth back into the base of the archangel’s neck, feeling the man arch into the pain and the drag of his mouth, writing desperately against him like a pinned viper.

Alastor tasted the bliss in Lucifer’s blood before he was prepared to be sent tumbling into his own.

When he finally surfaced from the haze of gratification, Alastor found himself sprawled bonelessly against the plush sofa cushions, every muscle deliciously lax

A warm weight pressed flush against his chest, and he cracked open one eye to find Lucifer draped over him in a tangle of pale limbs, clinging with surprising tenacity.

As Alastor made to extricate himself, the archangel merely tightened his grip with a soft protest. “Stay,” Lucifer mumbled, nuzzling closer with a contented sigh that ghosted over Alastor’s collarbones.

The radio demon arched one brow in faint surprise. “I’m not one for... cuddling, darling,” he pointed out, lips quirking in a wry smirk as he carefully peeled those insistent hands away.

But Lucifer was having none of it, stubbornly resisting Alastor’s efforts as he shot the demon an exasperated look through half-lidded eyes.

“We’re naked and covered in each other’s bodily fluids, you really wanna leave now?,” he countered dryly. “I’m not letting you go anywhere just yet.”

Alastor held that pointed stare for a beat, considering.

True, the archangel had not only saved his life by purging the angelic poison from his veins, but had freely offered his own sacred blood to aid in the healing.

An act of vulnerability and trust that shouldn’t be taken lightly, even for one as distrustful as the radio demon.

With a barely perceptible huff, Alastor relented, settling back against the cushions as Lucifer pillowed his head back into the man’s chest.

Almost immediately, the archangel melted against him, one hand idly tracing the myriad of scars and old wounds that crisscrossed Alastor’s torso.

He expected revulsion. For this to be the straw that made the unblemished angel finally pull away—Lucifer’s touch held only a gentle sort of curiosity, mapping out each ridge and valley with delicate fingers as though committing them to memory.

It should have set Alastor’s instincts on edge, allowing someone—an angel, no less—having such intimate access to his vulnerabilities.

But, strangely, he found the soft caresses almost... soothing in their tender exploration.

A tiny furrow formed between the demon’s brows as unease flickered across his features. This strange sense of comfort, of safety in the archangel’s presence... it was wholly unfamiliar.

Unsettling.

And yet, when Lucifer let out a jaw-cracking yawn and proceeded to snuggle closer with a contented murmur, Alastor couldn’t find it in himself to protest.

Instead, his gaze drifted down to the faintly glowing imprint of the healed wound in his chest, the scar still ting/ed with a hint of liquid glow that seemed to pulse in time with Lucifer’s steady breaths.

Despite himself, the barest hint of a genuine smile tugged at the corners of Alastor’s lips as weariness began to tug insistently at his mind.

Just this once, he decided as his eyes slipped shut once more. Just this once, he would bask in the warmth of this inexplicable connection.

Consequences be damned.

#yeah so communication issues in their future #I resisted a “what does this mean” moment #radioappleweek2024 #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #alastor #Alastor hazbin #radioapple fic #radioapple smutt #hazbin fanfic #radioapple #grayaceAlastor #biting #bloodplay #blood kink #angel healing #tw: blood

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book-reaper · 9 months ago

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Closer

Please note that this is my first time posting on Tumblr so please be kind since I don't really know what I'm doing.

TW?: Smut, and biting kink (giving and receiving), ft. Will Graham at the end. Read at your own risk. No minors pls.

Also no use of Y/N, I sort of made up a character but if you guys like her I have a couple ideas for a story with the three of them. But buckle up this is longer than I intended it to be.

Amara was fast asleep beside Hannibal as something inside him woke him. Something deep and primal was demanding more and more attention, remaining unsatisfied and unrelenting until it got what it wanted. Opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling he took a moment to assess this new feeling. Soon enough he realized this feeling was directed towards the woman still sound asleep next to him, unaware of the new urge that plagued him. Taunted him.

As he placed together the pieces of what he was feeling he looked over at her. The woman that was so much like him and yet so different. He can still remember the day he met her for the first time with clarity that he hoped would never go away.

Hannibal was standing next to Will and Alana as they observed the girls. The Butterflies as they had referred to themselves several times. There were twelve sitting in the room hidden mostly by their hospital beds that they had pushed to the center of the room and placed in a circle. Each bed coming into place made them just a tad safer, a tad more hidden, as they sat in the center of the circle quietly talking to one another and seeking comfort in those that could truly understand what they had gone through.

“The other one, Amara, is upstairs. She was pretty seriously injured in the escape.” Jack’s voice came up from behind them.

“How bad is it?” Alana asked, always the first to worry.

“Gunshot wound to the leg, stab wound in the abdomen, a fairly serious amount of blood loss, some trauma to the head but it looks like she’ll be fine.” Jack reassured.

“I don’t think any of them will be fine for a long time.” Alana had remembered the pictures of the place they had been. Over two hundred other Butterflies had been chemically preserved and mounted into glass cases lining the walls of their hell.

Hannibal was intrigued by the wings. Each girl had a different pair of wings tattooed onto her back. A different type of butterfly. Each one was unique and crafted with care. The shapes were distinct and shading meticulously perfect. Each pair was a work of art.

“They are keeping her separate from the others?” Will asked, unsure if it is the best move to keep her separated from the only support network she had.

“The extent of her wound means they would need to keep a closer eye on her, change her bandages, and check on her far more frequently than the others; however anytime someone enters the room the butterflies get stressed out. They are most likely separating her so they can treat her without making what the others are going through worse for them.” Hannibal explained briefly.

“While the majority aren’t willing to speak to anyone much less talk about what exactly happened, she is apparently an open book.” Jack reiterated what the charge nurse had told him.

“She’s talking about what happened?” Alana asked, surprised.

When Hannibal had entered the room he remembers feeling an unexplainable sense of possessiveness at seeing her standing by the window rather than laying in bed. Two nurses were stood on either side of her asking her to go back to bed.

“Bailey, Dezeray, I understand that you’re trying to do what’s best for me, and I appreciate that, but if I have to lie around for another minute I think my mind will break here more than it ever did in The Garden.” She told them calmly. Something about her oozed a sense of serenity and calm. Whatever it was made the nurses feel comfortable to let her stand and move around with the promise she won’t over do it, despite that being the only things she shouldn’t be doing with her injuries.

Maybe it was that very feeling of serenity she gave him that made him fall for her in the end. Maybe it was how easily she got the two nurses charged with her care to let her do things she shouldn’t be doing. Maybe it was her wings. They were the wings of his favorite butterfly after all. Greta Oto, The Glass Butterfly. Maybe it was her small frame that came in at a mighty 5’3. Maybe it was the look in her eye that he nearly missed as she recounted the events that took place in The Garden and her escape.

The subtle darkness that shifted over her eyes as she recounted how she killed each of the three men keeping her and the others captive before returning to her enclosure to free them. A predator disguised as prey protecting her kaleidoscope. Maybe it was a combination of her beauty with her cleverness, her logic, her level of emotional control and regulation, her persuasiveness that seemed to come as easily to her as breathing, her sharp instincts as he recognised her clocking what he was within a few moments of meeting him, her sense of hearing which complimented his sense of scent wonderfully.

Maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was none of them. Regardless he found himself awake before the sun and the side of him that he had only ever heard telling him to kill, to consume, now telling him to hold her. To get closer to her. And so he did. He was careful not to wake her as he pressed his body against her back and locked her in place with his arm.

Closer. It urged. He pressed his body flush against her and slid his other arm under where her head rested on the pillow, allowing him to gently place his nose into her hair and flood his senses with her. She stirred gently at the movement but remained asleep.

Closer. It voiced. He tenses slightly, the arm around her unconsciously pulling her tighter against him. He would have to wake her to get even closer.

Closer. It demanded. Hannibal knew that when that side of him started demanding things it would get what it wanted in the end. There was no denying it but he could hold it off for a little while. Hopefully long enough. Hannibal gently brushed the hair away from his beloved's neck, exposing the soft sensitive flesh to the beast of a man. He gently placed feather light kisses all along the column, gradually getting firmer. Trying to slowly and gently wake her from slumber.

Amara was a light sleeper, always had been, so she was awoken by the faint kisses being placed on her neck by rather familiar lips. Enjoying the unprompted affection she laid still and fought to keep the smile off her lips. A battle she lost as he got more firm. If she hadn’t known any better she would say that Hannibal was acting needy. Hannibal, not seeing the lazy smile on her lips, only pulled his lips back from their spot just behind her ear and paused briefly as she let out a content hum.

Now knowing she was now awake he kissed his way up from her shoulder to her jaw. As he got closer she shifted onto her back so she could look up at him. As he locked eyes with him she gently brought her hand up to run her fingertips along his cheekbone. Hannibal's eyes fluttered shut as his body relaxed slightly when it was satisfied for a meer moment before demanding more. Amara noted that Hannibal needed something although she wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he needed.

But her touch seemed to soothe the fire coursing through his body but as he opened his eyes again she found a certain type of hunger within them that she had satiated less than 12 hours ago before they had cleaned up and gone to sleep. Hannibal knew she knew what he needed even if he hadn’t figured it out yet himself. He could see it in her eyes and soul that read him with an ease that no one else had.

She gently smiled at him and grabbed his shoulder, softly pulling and insisting he lay atop her. He did so without resistance and placed his forehead on hers, simply taking a moment to breathe in her presence and the passive effect it seemed to have on every part of him. Almost shyly, she reached up and kissed him. Short and quickly at first, hoping to get him to understand what it was he needed as she pulled back and gave him a moment to sort through his mind.

Soon enough he seemed to understand and as he settled a small bit of his body weight on her he kissed her with all of what he recognized as desire to be burning in his body like a blaze. The kiss was firm, urgent, and demanding as it got louder.

Closer.

He pressed his tongue gently against the seal of her lips. She let him in.

Closer.

He slid his hand under her (his) shirt and dragged it up to her back, up her wings to easily press her chest against his.

Closer.

He tilted his head to be able to better explore her mouth with his tongue as he took in the feel of her breast pressed against his chest. And as if she heard its plea she locked her legs around his waist and pulled his hips flush with hers. A groan slipped past his lips at the feeling of his cock pressed against her, separated only by his silk pajama pants and the cotton of her underwear.

Closer. It got louder. Instinctively his lips left hers and instead went searching for that one spot on her neck he knew brought her pleasure. While she ran her hands over the muscles of his back the hand not still pressing her to him slipped from its place in fisting the pillow beside her head to between the two and began unbuttoning the shirt she wore.

He needed to feel her skin against his. He craved to feel every inch of her. To mark every inch of her. To hear her moan and scream and wither beneath him. He needed these things as much as he needed to breathe. He needed to be closer.

Her hands wandered up to his hair and pulled gently. He felt the tremor that ran down her spine as he found that special spot on her neck. He attacked it with teeth, and tongue, and harsh sucking. The moans that slipped past her lips vibrated through him and granted his very soul pleasure. He needed more.

And more he got as his hand finally undid the last button. His hand came to support her lower back to help keep her hips against his as he sat up with her in his lap. The shifting from a horizontal position to a vertical one grinded her hips against his in the most delicious way. He could feel his patience waning as he pulled the shift off her as if it had offended him.

Closer. Feeling her slipping from his lap his hands quickly pulled her hips back against his. Although it was no use. The silk of his pants just kept forcing her to slide.

“It will just be for a moment.” She whispered the reassurance to him before pulling away from him entirely. He didn’t like it. Faster than he had ever done before he stood and removed his pants before climbing back atop her. While he removed his only barrier she removed her last and threw her panties on top of his discarded pants.

Closer. It wasn’t as loud as Hannibal grinded his cock against her slick opening. He nipped at her collar bone and chest relentlessly. She knew what he needed. He knew what he needed, but he needed permission first. Permission she did not hesitate to provide.

“Bite me, Hannibal.” Those three words opened a floodgate in his mind. He bit down on her breast. Her head pushed back against the pillow as her back arched her breast into his mouth. Helplessly, her hips bucked up to grind against his cock. She had no control over it. A fact Hannibal knew and used to his advantage. With each bite and bruise he left on her she bucked against him, coating him more and more with her slick.

By the time Hannibal pulled back to breathe she had thoroughly soaked his cock and her slick had begun dripping down onto the sheets. With one final closer reverberating through his mind he pushed inside her. Hannibal wished he could say he was gentle with it, even with the very generous coating of her arousal Hannibal was simply too big to enter her as roughly and as quickly as he did without causing discomfort to her. Discomfort that was voiced through the sharp sound of a hiss as she sucked in a quick breath and tensed.

He shushed her gently and rested more of his body weight on her knowing that it would often help ground her. Delicately he cupped her face and placed kisses along her jawline and up to her lips. Despite wanting nothing more than to thrust and grind wildly against her he controlled himself. It was the least he could do after his demonstration of his lack of control. He held himself buried to the hilt, hips pushed flush against hers as he waited for permission from her once again.

After a deep breath or two she ran her nails along his back, gently up either side of his spine exactly how she knew drove him crazy. A test. She did this over and over again testing his patience when he did not want to use it. Once she deemed him in control, she clenched around him. Hard.

That clench had been what he was waiting for as Hannibal pulled nearly completely out and slammed back in with a force that moved her up the bed. He couldn’t have that. Sliding his arm under her back, across her wings, he gripped her shoulder and held her to him as he thrust again and again. Each moan and soft gasp from her lips was like a melody, weaving its way through the room, enticing and captivating Hannibal, a symphony just for his ears.

As Hannibal was thrusting wildly but slowly, taking the time to gauge her reaction to each new spot he touched as he desperately searched for something. Amara had her neck bared for him. A temptation he could not resist. On the side he had been so gentle with previously, leaving a trail of gentle kisses earlier before the sun had begun to rise, he bit down. His teeth sinking into the flesh giving him a pleasure he believed to be unmatchable. That was until he found the spot he had been searching for.

As soon as he had found his target her nails dug into his back. Marking his flesh in return as she very nearly screamed his name. Nearly screaming isn’t enough. He couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled from deep within his chest as his jaw tightened on her neck and his hips began moving faster than what she could keep up with. Now that he knew where his target was he would be damned if he missed it even once.

Amara was aware that she was simply along for the ride at this point. She clawed at him helplessly in an attempt to ground herself as he held her so tightly to him she had difficulty breathing. He held her so closely that she could feel every sound in his chest that he would kill as it attempted to make its way up his throat. He had always preferred to listen to her sounds rather than his own. He had once told her that her sounds of pleasure were more pleasing to him than any sound any instrument could produce.

Amara, in a desperate attempt to hold off her orgasm decided to cling to Hannibal. Her legs raised and locked around his hips. She made the wrong decision. The new position of her hips allowed Hannibal to not only thrust against that spot inside her with more force but now it allowed the head of his cock to kiss her cervix. After the mere second thrust she came with a scream of Hannibal’s name, her back unable to arch into him any more than she already was yet trying anyway.

He slowed, showing her momentary mercy. He could feel the sting on his back of her marks. Wearing her marks gave him pleasure. He needed more. Regardless of whether or not she was ready for more, his thrusts picked up speed again. She withered and squirmed beneath him as he quickly overwhelmed and overstimulated her.

“Just one more.” The words quietly tumbled from his lips. She knew he wasn’t just talking about one more orgasm. He wanted another mark on his body. A sign to show everyone he was not theirs. Just as his marks showed the world that she was not theirs either.

Amara just managed to scrounge up enough composure to latch her lips onto his neck. Her teeth scraping against his pulse allowed a moan to slip past his lips as he quickly became putty in her hands. He needed this. He needed to bear her marks. He needed the constant connection and sense of closeness to her that her marks brought him no matter how far apart they may physically be that day.

Amara, seizing the opportunity to drive Hannibal mad, took great pleasure in sucking multiple marks onto his neck and teasingly grazing her teeth over him yet never biting down. She could feel Hannibal’s control slipping. Each brush of her blunt teeth and of her sharp canines coming so close to sinking in, brought him closer to his end.

Hannibal knew he wouldn’t last much longer while she was having her fun so he brought his hand down and played with her clit. The attention to her clit was the last little push she needed to fall into that blissful abyss once again. Her mouth being so close to Hannibal’s flesh, so tantalizing. In her haze of pleasure she hadn’t realized that she finally bit down in the junction between Hannibal’s neck and shoulder until her mouth was flooded with the rich taste of blood.

For Hannibal, the pain, the erotic act of your lover sinking their teeth into you, was what finally pushed him over the edge. As if he was only close enough to satisfy the darkness within him when she had her jaws fastened around him. His hips slowed to a grind as he emptied the last bit of his cum into her. Despite the sweat and heat Hannibal did not dare more from her. Even as she removed her teeth from his flesh and allowed her head to fall back onto the pillow, she didn’t dare move to push him away.

It took longer than if there were more space between the two but eventually they caught their breaths. A quick glance to the clock sitting on the nightstand showed it to be nearly 7 o’clock. He didn’t have to be in the office today until 10 so he was happy that he had plenty of time for aftercare. It took him a while to find the willpower to pull himself out of her and even longer to find the strength to pull away from her and finally allow her to breath unobstructed.

With a quick kiss to her forehead he got up and made his way to the bathroom, allowing her a few minutes to herself as he started the shower and made sure it was the right temperature. He was about to return to the bedroom to collect you when Will entered with you in his arms.

“Will, I was not aware you were up.” Hannibal addressed his other partner.

“I wasn’t until you woke me.” Will grumbled, not happy about being woken up this early nor being excluded from the fun, as he carefully placed Amara down on her feet but not letting go of her since her legs were still shaky.

“Sorry. I would have gotten you but Hannibal was being needy.” Amara was quick to throw Hannibal to the metaphorical wolves all with a playful smile. Not amused by her words but always by her, Hannibal merely raised an eyebrow at her with a fond smile on his face. She got a chuckle from Will, albeit a still groggy one, but getting anything besides a complaint from him this early is a success in her books.

“Next time I will make more of an effort to pull myself away from her to get you Will.” Hannibal apologized before inviting them both into the shower with him.

#smut #hannibal #will graham #oc? maybe #oc?? yeah i think #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #i think that's it #im not sure what else to put #biting kink #future story?#if you want #I don't even know if anyone will see this

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