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Will lies down as Hannibal arranges him and pushes his legs open. He is naked while Hannibal is completely suited. His hands are thrown out and clutch at the bed sheet with desperation. Hannibal pays them no mind. All of his concentration is in the medical scalpel he wields with precision. The first thing that he does, after kissing Will stupid is rub his torso and shaved chest with sterilised wipes. Hannibal has his soft white gloves, the non latex ones for the smell of latex irritates him, and cuts into the flesh put so lovingly before him.

He draws geometric arcs just below his right nipple, a flower over his right. His navel forms the backdrop of a scenery from a painting and his ribs gets covered with lazy sweeps of beading blood. The pain leaves Will feeling flushed and covered in sweat. If he sweats too much, his cuts sting. Through it all Hannibal is a man with a single mind. He wants to transform Will, for a moment, into a work of art, and that he does, with his steady hands, and tools of his trade.

Sometimes he will cut full flaps off his stomach, very slight, just the epidermis coming off the muscle underneath. Will whimpers then, his mind overcome with the languidness pain provides. His dick never gets hard, just leaks steadily while Hannibal performs his administrations. At these moments, Will feels like the calm that his mind craves and clutches from the pain superimposes the memories, the ideas, the personality that makes him he. Instead he becomes a void of thought or action and that is heavenly.

Hannibal keeps a small bowl filled with vinegar, alcohol and salt mixed together, and when he is done for the day, Will decorated and beautified and photographed with the blissful look on his face and blood pearling thickly on his skin, he will put his gloved hands into the bowl and then rub it over Will’s cuts. Will, unable to articulate anything, will fist his hands and push them to the sides of his head, keening loudly for Hannibal for more, and Hannibal always complied.

Sometimes he concentrated only onto his torso and chest area. Other times he would go for his back that still carried a few scars from his solo times. Some another times, the inner thighs, the back of his thighs, his shoulder, the bottom of his feet, his whole hands or arms. Hannibal asked Will about his armpits, if he will be ok with wide cuts in that soft and sensitive part of his body, and Will just accepted with a slight smile. Hannibal is yet to try that out as of yet.

Hannibal would be hard, but make no move to either adjust himself or get himself off. All of his attention would be on Will, who rides the high, the plateau he reaches of this absentminded awareness of being and nothing else, and the hands that bring the gifts that litter his skin in wanted bouts and that becomes the extent, the limits of his soul. By the time he comes back, Hannibal would have cleaned him up, stitched his cuts in case needed and cradle him into his chest while he waited for Will to come back.

Will would kiss him then, in thanks and love while Hannibal made him drink and eat something before burrowing into the soft bed to sleep.

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Hannibal rubbed the vampire glove in a deep sweep down his side. Will was standing, with one of his leg ties to his hands and the ropes holding all three pulled taunt from the hook in the ceiling. Hannibal is of course suited as usual while Will is completely naked. Will keeps hoping on his leg as his balance keeps threatening to topple to the side, but the careful tugs and the rope from the hook in the ceiling make sure that he actually does not fall down. Hannibal rubs his side once more with the glove.

Will shivers. The tiny wires in the glove sets off electricity under skin and makes it itch. Hannibal puts just enough pressure so that the skin breaks and lines get drawn into his skin. So that later in the day, when Will will touch himself, mimicking the sweeps of Hannibal’s hands, he will find that his skin has scabbed over the lines, faintly, so that his skin does not feel as smooth, raised in minute rectangles of healing skin. It actually feels like some kind of alligator skin.

Seeing how less painful the gloves are, they are not Will’s favourite, but are one of the things that Hannibal loves more than the other toys. He loves seeing Will squirm, trying to get away from the wires, trying to run his skin into Hannibal’s hands to get rid of it, for it is not enough, and Will will gasp, in exasperation, slightly upset that he is not getting what he is wants from Hannibal and that never sets true. So he will whine at Hannibal, move his body this way and that, try to get away from the glove and try to escape, rather unsuccessfully.

Hannibal kept the sessions with the gloves the only sessions that featured one toy. He will tease Will mercilessly, usually in the morning hours, and make him beg for Hannibal. This makes for a very pliable Will in the evenings and nights to do with as he wishes. Kisses are involved as nakedness for Will and full clothes for Hannibal. They once talked about collars, but Will had baulked at it, finding some old association nauseating enough so that Hannibal never brought it up again.

Sometimes Hannibal will push in extra hard, the skin breaking off in careless chunks like a serrated knife, but Hannibal made sure to make it ok after always. As much as he liked marking Will and having Will wear his marks unabashedly, Will was to be unharmed, be whole and wholly unhurt in the life outside their house. After all he had all of eternity to keep renewing his marks in newer and interesting designs anytime he wanted to.

The striations that the plays with the gloves and a few more toys that worked similarly made Will feel that he was getting another skin, a cover, a armour and thus equally thankful for to Hannibal, and Hannibal made sure that Will never forgot that.

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Will loved the bruises that Hannibal left on him, how they bloomed steadily on the map of his body and pushing on them made him remember the exact moment he got that particular bruise. Hannibal was not concerned about them, as they faded with a few days and left no lasting scars. But for Will, the blood cells dying under his skin and spreading to cover parts of his body told of a story he liked where he was loved the best.

The paddle would swish through the air and land with a loud smack, with a soft pop in the end, and Will would jar in the tight hold Hannibal has on him. Usually on his knees and hands over Hannibal’s knees for this part of their play, Will would try to smother his gasps, as if he is not getting enough air into his lungs, as if the pain is filling him up in ways and means that food and water and simple air cannot and it is too much and not enough, Will wants, needs more and Hannibal gifts.

The open hand slaps to either his ass or face would throw Will off completely. Hannibal was not kind nor any less intense. Anything to do with Will made him lose control the way he couldn’t stop trying to be in control. Will’s ass would be cherry red and the colour of his pink tongue, and so hot to touch that Hannibal was almost incapable of kneading the flesh. They made sitting so difficult, reminding Will suddenly what he lets Hannibal do to his body, the things that Hannibal carries out with impunity over his physicality.

When the riding crop falls down with a resounding thud, sending waves of aftershock and spreading pain in his muscles, Will will give loud moans. The sensation was delicious, how the feeling settled into his bones, gave him weight to keep him grounded, how it made him aware of his extremities, Will loved it all. The best of course was the lingering bruises. Purple, green, red, black and brown, intermingling to form a rorschach that held meaning only for him and Hannibal.

Hannibal would make Will lie down on light coloured satin or silk so that they offset his marks and took his photographs, to add to his massively growing collection of Will in bliss and ecstasy. The look on his face, the arch of his body, the gleam in his eyes, the plaint and completely uninterested dick, Hannibal wanted to catalogue everything, keep a visual record of everything that Will gives so freely to Hannibal. For such gifts must be treasured via any measures possible. So Will posed proudly and Hannibal filled up his reels and drives.

Will was particularly fond of one particular picture, taken while both were away in a cabin for two weeks, away from home and their friends and colleagues that might get worried and ask the wrong questions. In that picture, One half of Will’s face was blue, one of his eyes almost shut, perfectly clear handprints on his waist and ass, finger prints around his neck and a wound over his heart that showed his sin cut into the shape of a hand as if traced over there with a knife. Will looked amazing in that picture, his body looking pretty in their shades and his eyes so calm and silent, Will still remembers that occasion fondly.

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Hannibal had a particular cane that he loved to use on Will. It was quite flexible and long so that when he hit it right, it would curve around the end like a short whip and leave perfect lines on Will’s body. For this, Hannibal would tie up his hands and legs, spread wide, to the four corners of the bed. It was Will who got to choose if Hannibal was to use his front or back. Will would choose his front more than back although Hannibal liked laying it in over his back, but didn’t try to overrun Will wishes.

Hannibal would put on his glove and put some tiger balm on the cane. Then he would run the cane over Will lazily, easing him a little. But till date, his first hit always manages to surprise Will enough for him to scream loudly. He would cry out loud and arch off the bed, his waist thrust into the air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, while the pain spread in a fiery line and pulled all of his attention to it. Will looked good like this, the marks crisscrossing his body while Hannibal just went for it.

The hits would be hard, cruel even, but never hard enough to flay his skin even though Will would ask for it in between loud gasps. They would just leave behind proof of having fallen on Will’s skin, no more for a day or two before disappearing. Will still mourned the loss. He wanted his body to carry the marks, the caresses, the proof, but Hannibal was adamant in his aftercare. So even after being marked so many times and so well, Will remained just as unblemished he came save for the scars on his back that he gave himself.

Hannibal also loved whipping Will, as well as belting his flesh. He would make Will stand still or as much as he is able to, put his hands up and crossed behind his head, clasping his elbows in the other hand and with his chest thrust out. Will made a lovely picture like that, the hunger, the shame at the humiliation at being presented so openly without giving him the space or shadow to hide his face from his desires. Sometimes his eyes would be teary, something they would be hazed over depending on what Hannibal had already done to him.

But there was no doubt that Will like this was a masterpiece. Hannibal used to take his coat off while having such plays, but nary one button of his vest off. He would move in a circuit around Will’s presented body and admire him from every angle, trying to find the perfect shot for his camera. And when the belt or cane or whip fell, Will would widen his eyes, his mouth would open in silent screams before sloping to the side. Hannibal carried on long enough that Will would inevitably slip to the floor, but he always caught Will before he could fall onto the floor.

Sweet aftercare would come then. Juice or water, something to eat, parses at how well, absolutely amazingly Will had done and Will would smile happily, sated, calm and press his face to Hannibal’s neck.

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It was not a submission domination thing, this thing they had. Will did not sought to submit to Hannibal, saw them as equal. Hannibal in turn did not try to dominate Will even though he had a penchant for. What they did was strange, a bit difficult, and insanely soothing to the both. There were a few expectations sure, as is normal in any kind of relationship, but there was not that many hard and fast rules, lines meant not to be crossed under any circumstances, for if anyone of the two did, appropriate punishment had to be met out to suit the crime.

Will was an empath, a being that had the capability to walk in anyone’s shoes. His attention was fractured at his worst and absent at best. All he had to do was not deliberately hurt himself – Hannibal was there to do it for him, to give as much as he wants and as much as he can take and then pick up his pieces all over again. It was a rebirth, a rediscovery that he is still alive and it was a delicate balance between his broken psyche and Hannibal’s calm magnetism. But, there were times, when Will deliberately or not sought to hurt a bit too much or a bit too quick.

Hannibal refused to forgive these instances. He absolutely refused. He could not be mollified either by begging or kisses and he kept his tally well. He would pick a date, three months hence, when he would expect Will to get his punishment and Will would shiver. In fear for this was the hardest thing, the most difficult thing he ever had to do. Hannibal never does it just after, realising that Will at that moment is not in a state to appreciate the gesture. So he bids his time and when the time passes the three month mark, he makes preparation.

Hannibal takes Will to one of their lesser used rooms, only a bed with a lumpy mattress and a small table on which two bottles will stay. He puts Will on the bed, who would be whimpering and crying by this point and lay a whip, a belt and a riding crop near him. Will, overcome with shame would ask forgiveness again and again. Hannibal never complied. After checking that there was nothing else in the room, he would leave Will behind and lock the room from outside.

Will would cry for some time and keep eyeing the implements. After he has calmed down, he would disrobe and put himself towards the end of the bed, the three tools before him. He would first pick up the riding crop and then start hitting himself, on his nipples, on the back of his neck, on the side of his waist, on his inner and outer thighs. After that he would take the belt, and lay it on his back in increasingly violent movements. They would fall in vertical lines from his shoulder to his ass, leaving red lines in its wake.

By this time, Will would be crying loudly, gasping for breath and nothing visible beyond his tears. He will put the belt down and then start to whip himself. Some hits he would take from the side, so that the whip would wrap him whole up. Some hits he would put over the marks already left by the belt. It was like his shame at having broken his promise to Hannibal and his own shame and humiliation at being unable to stop himself would drive him into a frenzy and he would try to whip the pain right out of him.

It is then that Hannibal would walk into the room again, face grim, although Will would have no sense of anything by that time. He would have fallen down onto the bed and pull his knees up as he begged forgiveness for a Hannibal that was not there and cried like a child, hiccoughing and eyes puffy. Hannibal would take the things away and clean him up, letting Will get his residual sadness and bitterness out. When Will stops crying, but lies there, shaking slightly, Hannibal will then pick him up and cradle him while Will hung on fiercely. Will will make new promises to never do anything like that again and Hannibal will believe him, at least until the next time he does.

The aftercare this time is as intense at the scene that Hannibal thrust on Will. The first time he did this, in spite of knowing how fragile Will was feeling, Will ended up out of his mind, screaming ‘fuck you fuck you you are a bad boy’ into the air while he belted and whipped his body bloody. He went into shock right after that as well, shivering hard, unable to pull air into his lungs fully. Thankfully Hannibal decided to check on him quicker, so he was able to pick Will off the bed and dunk him into the tub full of hot water. He put in two saline drips as well and then waited for Will to come back, his heart beating hard at the possibility of losing Will.

Will did come back, but his self flagellation left permanent scars on his back that made Hannibal regret that he ever picked that punishment. He would have done away with it all, except that it made Will realise the extent of limits he was so carelessly crossing. They ended up doing that only two more times in the many years they have stayed together, and every time Hannibal made sure that he was there to catch and hold Will when he was gone and done after.

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Will peels off Hannibal’s clothes, one item at a time, taking his sweet time doing it as if removing the gift paper of a particular wanted present he had been waiting for. This, this they don’t do often, Will doesn’t get to do often, not for the lack of trying or Hannibal being unwilling. It is just that Will gets distracted more easily and likes the stuff that Hannibal does to him. But this is good too, this is beautiful and amazing and something that makes Will’s mouth water.

The vest, the pants, the shoes, the socks, the shirt, the undershirt, the tie, the cufflinks, everything, falls to the ground when Will flings them off Hannibal. He is an unbelievable picture when he lays between Will’s clothes thighs like this. Bite marks that have scarred over dots his chest and shoulder, as well as neck, barely making the shirts Hannibal wears useful, so close to the edge he marks him. There are gouges on his chest, inch long, from the time Will tried to cut him with Hannibal’s scalpel. Will found out that he does not have the steadiest of hands.

There are scored marks from the belt and the whip, from the cat o nines that he used very enthusiastically, Hannibal’s whole body holding every mark, every imprint of the love Will has shown to it. His hands show off bands of burned marks, from the time Will tried out fire play. There are splotches of singed and lightly reddened flesh from where the time Will poured too hot wax on him. The dimpled spots, where Will hit so hard that the mass under that skin changed, the fat deposits moulded in other ways that spoke of the power Will had on Hannibal and the faith Hannibal had on Will.

It was the body that Will wished he had, no picture needed to remember for the body itself had changed to receive Will and his hard hand. He loved how he had changed Hannibal, how much he is changed, only to Will’s eyes, how it would not be possible for anyone else he believes. No one else would ever get to see this magnificence. No one will get even the idea, the right to spread Hannibal like this.

Naked, with his body on display for the hungry eyes Will casts on him, Hannibal is pleased and aroused, his dick hard and leaking just from the effect he is having on Will. Will is fully clothed this time, reversing the trade and Hannibal wishes he would at least take his shirt off so that he could touch, and revel in the sharp contrast that Will provides with his smooth, waxed skin against the raised and flared and mark covering of his.

Will bends, bites Hannibal’s right nipple before sucking on it slowly, the drag of his teeth still imminent. He starts biting in smarting circles and pre cum beads on Hannibal’s dick. Will open his mouth wide and puts pressure on his jaw so that his bite goes deep, while with a hand he pumps Hannibal, dry. Hannibal’s eyes are glazed, his body tense at the impending orgasm and that is when Will gives another huge bite on his clavicle. Hannibal comes with a shout, dirtying his torso and Will’s clothes and then Will kisses him on his mouth with blood still dripping from his lips. By the time he is done, Hannibal will be carrying more of his marks.