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weconqueratdawn A surprise thing for the @hannibalcreative #JustFuckMeUp fest!! And something I never thought I’d do! I wrote A/B/O for Quicksilver :0
(For anyone who doesn't know me that well, here's a quick primer - Quicksilver is a Hannigram AU I've been working on with my good friend TheSeaVoices for about 3 years now, where Will is young and genderfluid. It wasn't supposed to be this long-running but it rather got away from *guilty look* - Will has quite the voice and I'm unbelievably weak for it. I'm working on a long multi-chapter fic to round off the series properly).
(Also, here is my ko-fi - I haven't spoken about this on here yet but I'm a fledgling writer and am hoping to provide a much better way for people to support me soon (with rewards! and queer porn!). But in the meantime you can buy me a coffee if you wish!)
(For anyone who doesn't know me that well, here's a quick primer - Quicksilver is a Hannigram AU I've been working on with my good friend TheSeaVoices for about 3 years now, where Will is young and genderfluid. It wasn't supposed to be this long-running but it rather got away from *guilty look* - Will has quite the voice and I'm unbelievably weak for it. I'm working on a long multi-chapter fic to round off the series properly).
Rating: Explicit
Words: 10k
Tags: Heat/Mating Cycles, Knotting, First Time, Alpha!Will, Omega!Hannibal, Humour, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Will Graham
Summary: Hannibal stops taking his suppressants without consulting Will. A weekend of hedonism and humour follows - could it lead to an update in relationship status too?
Snippet under the cut and there's art from TheSeaVoices too! Censored version on Insta / Uncensored on AO3
Another Friday night at Hannibal’s--Will let himself in with his key and shook the rain off his coat and hair. The coat he hung in the closet to dry but he couldn’t do much about his hair. Left to its own devices it became unruly, especially now it was long, and he couldn’t be bothered with fixing it now. It didn’t matter; it was Friday night. There a whole weekend of Hannibal ahead--a whole weekend of tumbled bedclothes, tangled limbs, and hair even more unruly than this.
With a burst of happy anticipation, he took his bag through and stuck his head into the kitchen.
“I’m here,” he said. “Sorry I’m a bit late--Professor Crawford wanted a word.”
Hannibal, of course, had known he’d arrived the second Will had stepped inside his front door. Perhaps even earlier than that. His sense of smell was unusually acute and it had been trained on Will for well over a year. He claimed he could tell which objects Will had touched in his office and in what order; he said Will’s scent left a trail in the air like bright, wind-blown leaves. Will half-believed this, but also suspected him of whipping up romantic fantasies for his own amusement.
“Will.” It was Hannibal’s customary greeting--short, warm, surprisingly intense. He was up to his wrists in a bowl of bright pink meat, minced lamb with spices. It smelled ripe and rich, undercut with lemon and something else Will couldn’t quite place. “And what did Jack want this time?” he said, pinching off a morsel of the mixture and rolling it into a ball.
“Oh, the usual. You know he likes to keep an eye on me.”
“His protégé,” Hannibal said. “Youngest and cleverest in the class.”
Instead of replying, Will gave him a withering look, one Hannibal pretended not to see. He couldn’t speak of Professor Crawford and Will together without a possessiveness creeping into his voice. Anyone listening would assume both him and Professor Crawford were two soap-opera alphas fighting over an omega. Sometimes, Hannibal certainly acted that way.
Will held up his bag. “Just taking this upstairs then I’ll be back down.”
Hannibal’s bedroom was probably Will’s favourite place in the world. It was serene without being lofty and dark without being enclosed. At night, with the lights turned low, it was like being at sea in the gloaming, the white bed a raft drifting on deep, calm waters. Here Hannibal’s scent was strongest. Will allowed himself the indulgence of bending to sniff his pillow. This was the place they slept together, Hannibal tucked into Will’s side, belonging to him and no one else. At times like that, with only the samurai armour to watch over their dreams, the room seemed to be their own private kingdom.
At other times, it seemed so intensely Hannibal it was all Will could do not to break out in laughter. The dressing room, for example. Will’s father had been in the Navy and as a consequence Will knew how to be tidy, especially in a small space and with few belongings. But life had its complications and weeds flourished in the cracks--and if you mixed in exotic blooms too, the effect could be entertaining, or at least until it devolved into a big old mess. Hannibal’s life appeared to have no cracks or weeds, and his dressing room certainly didn’t. It was pristine--a perfect marriage of form and function.
Will had been granted use of some of this hallowed space. Among the racks of colour-coded suits hung a small selection of evening wear--a smattering of feminine tailoring and a single shift dress Will hadn’t quite found the courage to wear out. His dress choices would have been more palatable to the opera-loving public if only he’d had the good sense to have been born an omega. But there wasn’t much he could do about that, and neither was he inclined to waste time struggling to conform to their stuffy, outmoded views. Hannibal didn’t care: Hannibal encouraged him to be whatever he felt like being from day to day. Hannibal had bought him the dress.
The other exotic blooms Hannibal had gifted him with were loosely folded in drawers--scraps of silk and lace, things held together with slender straps, things which barely contained him when aroused. To these Will added his own more humble offerings, brought with him from home for the weekend--printed cotton briefs, a couple of pairs of jeans, an oversize shirt which could double as a dress, a sloppy sweater.
Once his clothes were stored away and his makeup bag placed in the bathroom next door, he was finished. Everything else already had a home here--phone charger in the nightstand, toothbrush by the sink, weekend reading on the coffee table. Will had slotted into Hannibal’s life as easy as winking. Sometimes he thought he should feel more surprised about that. From the outside they appeared mismatched, with more than twenty years between them and Hannibal’s elegant urbanity at odds with Will’s almost perverse rusticism. But both urbanity and rusticism were a ruse--honest ones, but a ruse still. Neither of them fit in; their tastes were a declaration of difference, and in their difference they were the same.
Back down the stairs he went, and into the kitchen again. But Hannibal held up a hand, halting Will in his tracks before he could come any closer.
Hannibal pointed towards the leather armchair in the corner. “You’d better sit there for a while,” he said. “Nothing to be concerned about--you’ll understand why in a minute.”
Will frowned. Something was tugging on his mind, right at the back of his brain. It came to him when he sat down--the smell he couldn’t place, hiding beneath the lamb and the spices. He realised what it was at exactly the same time as Hannibal spoke.
“I stopped taking my suppressants,” he said. “The last was yesterday morning.”
“Um,” Will said. “Excuse me?”
(Also, here is my ko-fi - I haven't spoken about this on here yet but I'm a fledgling writer and am hoping to provide a much better way for people to support me soon (with rewards! and queer porn!). But in the meantime you can buy me a coffee if you wish!)
