Avoiding the Rolodex...

“How does one get on your good side?” Will asked as he traced Hannibal’s arm while they snuggled in bed.

“By being unafraid, original, polite…” Hannibal murmured.

“Huh.  Well then how does one get on your bad side – on the Rolodex?” he inquired with a smile.

“Rudeness. Being slovenly, no respect for the arts or finer things,” Hannibal said as he took Will’s hand and pressed a kiss into his palm.

Will laughed, “I guess it’s a miracle I made it out of Jack’s office alive after our first meeting. How’d I manage that?

“You had a nice ass.”

A little drabble for @katamaran10.  Hey, you! <3 

anonymous asked:

Hi. I love your work. Could you please write something where wolfstar is waiting for a storm to pass in the middle of nowhere so they decide to spend time snogging like teenagers at the backseat of their car.💕

“Thank god we took my car instead of your motorbike,” Remus said, pulling off to side of the road. When they’d began their journey towards James and Lily’s, there had barely been any clouds in the sky. Now there was such a downpour that Remus could hardly see out the front windshield.

Sirius slumped down in his seat and let out a huff. “If we’d taken my motorbike we would have been there in half the time,” he said petulantly.

Remus smiled and undid his seatbelt. “And where would we have put out luggage, Pads?” he teased, kissing Sirius on the temple.

Sirius rolled his eyes in response, hating when Remus tried to divert his bad mood. “We would have managed.”

“I’m sorry that you’re married to a sensible man,” Remus murmured, nipping along Sirius’ jawline. 

“Sensible? You?” Sirius joked, tilting his head back to allow Remus more access.

“I’m very sensible,” Remus shot back, sucking on the spot just behind Sirius’ ear that made his knees weak. Sirius gasped and bucked off the seat, restrained by his seatbelt that he’d forgotten to take off. “For example, we should call Lily and James and inform them we’re going to be late and then we should get in the back seat and ride this storm out.”

Sirius grinned. “That does sound very sensible, Moony.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Remus quipped, sliding his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Lily’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. 

“Remus, don’t tell me you two are stuck in the storm,” Lily said the moment she picked up her phone.

Remus sighed. “That’s exactly what I called to tell you.”

“You’re not on Sirius’ motorbike, are you?” 

“No,” Remus said, shooting Sirius a pointed look. “Cooler heads prevailed.”

“Well thank god for that,” she said, amusement evident in her voice. “Do you think you’ll get in by tonight?”

“I should hope so,” Remus informed her. “Hopefully the storm will pass and we can get back on the road.”

“Remind Prongs that I’ll never forgive him for moving his family to the country and this is all his fault!” Sirius shouted, leaning in to speak into the phone.

Remus gently shoved Sirius away. “We’ll let you know, Lils. Tell Harry we’ll definitely be there in time for his birthday tomorrow. We wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’ll tell him,” Lily promised. “Drive safe you two.”

“We will.”

Remus rung off and put his mobile up on the dashboard. Then with a wink, he squeezed through the front seats into the back, making himself comfy while he waited for his husband to join him. Sirius laughed and followed, stretching out across Remus’ body. 

“What will we do to pass the time?” Sirius inquired, tapping his lips thoughtfully.

“Just get over here,” Remus growled, sliding his fingers through Sirius’ hair and tugging him forward. “I hate you.”

“Oh Moony, you could never hate me,” Sirius murmured before pressing their lips together. 

Remus made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat and instantly opened his mouth. Sirius did the same and their tongues met, heated and slick. Remus groaned as the kisses immediately turned fervent and passionate, lips moving against lips with almost an urgency. They hadn’t snogged like this in a long time. Too long.

Remus pushed his hand that was not occupied with his husband’s hair under Sirius’ shirt, placing it flat against the small of his back and feeling his fevered skin. 

“Moony, are you trying to get fresh with me?” Sirius jested, breaking the kiss and smirking down at him. 

“We’ve got a long wait ahead of us,” Remus reasoned, sliding his hand further down and cupping Sirius’ bum. 

Sirius chuckled. “We can’t show up at the Potters looking shagged out. It would be in poor taste.”

Remus whined and gave Sirius’ arse a squeeze. “We’re going to be there for a week. How am I meant to keep my hands off you for that amount of time?”

“Who says you have to keep your hands off me?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Pads, there will be a three-year-old present, we’re not going to shag at the Potter’s. Talk about poor taste!”

“But Moony -” 

“No buts, Sirius,” Remus told him firmly. “We’re not traumatizing poor Harry on his birthday.”

Sirius let his lower lip protrude in a pout as he pressed his arse back into Remus’ hand. “I’m not saying we should have sex at James and Lily’s, I’m just doubting whether you can control yourself.”

“Me?” Remus said incredulously. “You’re the one who’s incorrigible!” 

“You couldn’t even make it through our wedding ceremony without dragging me into the toilets.”

“Excuse me, you’re the one who dragged me,” Remus argued, capturing Sirius’ lips. 

“I did not!” Sirius said indignantly. 

“Yes you did,” Remus responded, laughing. “You love the way I looked in my tux.”

Sirius hummed and kissed Remus again. “You did look amazingly gorgeous in it.”

“Maybe if you behave this week at the Potter’s, when we get home I’ll put that wedding tux back on and let you rip it off me,” Remus bargained, tugging on Sirius’ hair slightly to fit their mouths back together.

Sirius moaned and pressed against Remus in all the right places. “Deal,” he whispered against Remus’ lips.

“Hey, it looks like the storm is letting up,” Remus said, glancing out the back windshield. “We could probably get back on the road.”

“Can we stay here for a few more minutes?” Sirius asked, nuzzling Remus affectionately.

“Sure Pads,” Remus said quietly. “We have a few minutes to spare.” 

With Me

Will lingered in the hallway, watching the firelight lick over Hannibal’s arms, his face, the book in his hands. He made no motion, did not go to him and sit beside him on the sofa. He stood, breath held tight, wrestling with himself. He wanted to go sit there, but-

“Will,” Hannibal’s eyes looked up, then flicked towards him, turning his head to find him in the doorway, “come, sit down.”

And he’d been trying so hard to avoid detection, standing down wind and everything. Still, Hannibal had invited him, no point resisting now. He stepped forward gingerly, making his way consciously into the room. Here came the tricky part.

There were many seats to choose from, a sturdy rocking chair, a winged arm chair with its own ottoman, and the sofa, of course. Without looking too deliberate, too tense, without warning Hannibal, he hoped, he measured his steps and sat down next to Hannibal. He sighed with the cushions, making himself lean back in the posture of relaxation and stared into the heart of the fire, unblinking. He felt Hannibal start, pause, felt his eyes skip over the page, onto him, then back, afraid of being noticed for his watching.

“What’re you reading?” Will asked when he was sure Hannibal had read the page fifty times but not taken in a word of it.

Hannibal’s fingers hesitated over the page, trying to read for him. “The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám,” he let the pages fall open towards Will, “In translation, unfortunately. I plan to learn Persian to read it properly.”

“All that for a book of poetry?” Will mused, tilting his head back.

“It is beautiful,” Hannibal explained, “and deserves to be understood in its native tongue.”

Will nodded thoughtfully, “Well, that’s one project for the future.” He winced; they hadn’t discussed the future yet. At all.

“Yes…” Hannibal hesitated, feeling the elephant in the room, “if I find myself with enough time on my hands to-” He silenced abruptly as Will’s arm came down around his shoulders.

Will gulped, feeling like a high schooler on his first date, all stilted movements and anxious energy. Keep calm, relax; it wasn’t as though they weren’t both mature adults who had done this a million times before with other consenting adults. There should be no problem, no awkwardness, and yet… his heart beat in his throat like a bird thrashing at its cage.

Cautiously, Will stroked his thumb against Hannibal’s shoulder, almost to remind himself it was there, real and solid. Hannibal jumped, nearly dropping his book, “Will, your arm-” he fumbled, trying to turn to Will without turning in to Will and finding the proximity made this almost impossible. To look him in the eye he’d have to get closer.

“I’m nearly healed,” Will swallowed, his voice sounding high and foreign, “besides I should be stretching it anyway, so I’m not so sore. So the muscles… heal the… the way they’re supposed to.” He tried not to watch Hannibal, curving into him, pressing against him. He tried to focus on the fire as Hannibal gave in to the position Will had put them in with the softest sigh. It couldn’t be done.

Hannibal turned his head to reply and found his cheek brushing against Will’s shoulder. His eyes closed instantly, his lungs involuntarily inhaling. Will felt his bicep tense with nerves, there was a painful yank at the still closing wound, but he gave no sign of pain, transfixed on Hannibal.

“Physical therapy,” Hannibal returned abruptly, lifting his cheek, voice rough and low, “will be the hardest part of the healing process. It will be… lengthy and very painful for some time.” He licked his lips, trying to open his eyes all the way and failing, “You should still be resting.”

“I can sit here.” Will felt his hand come around Hannibal’s shoulder, palm flat against his arm. His body decided before he did that he wanted Hannibal closer.

“Could we… just… come here,” he mumbled, squeezing Hannibal to him with one long pull.

Hannibal’s last restraints broke. Before Will knew it he felt arms wrapped around him and a face pressed into his collar. Stunned, he put both arms around Hannibal and held him. Hannibal fit into him like a warm, heavy blanket, pressing against him everywhere he felt lonely. Though he’d been alone, he’d never felt lonely… until Hannibal. Only made sense that being with Hannibal could soothe that ache, maybe the only thing that might.

Hannibal’s hands skirted the edges of his bandages, wary of pressing too much, of being too much. Yet, he held tight, squirmed half into Will’s lap, as close as he could possibly get. Will could feel his heart beat, a skittering patter in reckless time, and he was sure Hannibal had no idea Will knew about it. The moment reeked of desperation, and yet… his arm curled tighter around Hannibal. And yet he pressed closer and yearned to feel Hannibal melt against him, melt completely.

Hannibal gave, he shuddered, he kept perfectly silent, but he shook like a leaf. Will held him close and never once thought about letting go. Hannibal gave so beautifully, he pushed and melted and succumbed so perfectly in his arms. This… this was nice. It was actually… really nice, holding Hannibal. He hadn’t expected that.

Will let his head fall against Hannibal’s, let himself breathe in his hair, press skin to skin, rest together like this. He listened to Hannibal breathe and slowly their breaths fell together. He lost track of time and was on the point of sleep when Hannibal murmured something in his ear.


“The fire’s all but gone, we should go to bed.”

The words struck a bell and cracked Will’s eyes open. He was still holding onto Hannibal, smushed together in one corner of the couch. “N-No, don’t go,” his voice croaked, groggy. The implications of it didn’t register immediately, too tired to remember to care too little.

Hannibal paused. “I won’t. But wait here, I’ll get some blankets.” His legs hit the floor and he slowly rose, untangling himself from Will’s arms with unfair grace. Will whimpered, freezing where his Hannibal blanket had been. He closed his eyes and curled onto the sofa completely.

Hannibal returned. He knew he returned because he felt warm again, he felt welcome pressure and weight on the sofa, covering him, slipping up beside him and into his waiting arms. Will’s lips lifted, pleased to be embracing Hannibal once again.

“You’ll regret sleeping like this in the morning,” Hannibal muttered into his chest.

“Won’t,” Will grumbled, one hand stroking idly at Hannibal’s back.

“We could sleep on the bed… still together.”

Will heard the request in his pause. His arms tightened, “Too tired. Drag me to bed tomorrow.” And he hunkered down, pulled Hannibal close, and silenced him for the night with a kiss.

So this screenshot post came up on my dash yesterday and I just kefhkdswhak IT LOOKS LIKE THE COVER OF A CHEAP HARLEQUIN NOVEL and so I did a thing again. I couldn’t figure out how to reply with a picture in the original post, so I’ll just tag u guys: @thejohnlockhell and @spoko 

  • her:why do you like holding my hand while you sleep?
  • him:because then i'll know you'll be right here next to me when i wake up in the morning.