Part three of Put a Collar on That Pup
Will frowned at the box while Hannibal was sleeping. He was an early riser since his teaching days thanks to his commute and old habits seemed to die hard, if at all. He felt fairly certain that Hannibal was deeply asleep still, on his side with his back to Will, that awful brand vivid on his skin. Will had traced it before he’d sat up this morning, as he always did, as if touching it with aching regret for the pain it must have caused would somehow make the thing disappear. It hadn’t so far but he would keep trying. If it worked, he had a lot of scars for Hannibal to pour over.
He thought of what Hannibal had said yesterday, of what he’d done in their bed last night. The bite of that chain had made him thrill with sudden danger, with sharp fear that faded as fast as it had come. But it had always been that way between them from the first, a chain response of fear followed immediately by acceptance and anticipation. Trust again, blind faith that it would never wind up fatal, even if only just barely.
It was a religion of two, complete with worship and smiting and sacrifices. It was a wonder anyone else had ever managed to survive their mutual infatuation. Continue reading