Are they the right fit right now? No. Oliver has to find himself. And who he truly is. (…) This is how you construct an EPIC love, love that isn’t driven by lust or just the physical attraction or even the emotional pull of two people to each other. No. This is the basis and foundations of humanity, understanding each other’s soul and connecting with it. And once you do, everything else is a byproduct. You look into each other’s eyes and see each other’s soul knowing that you two are connected in ways that if one person would hurt, so will the other. It’s a binding love, love in its rawest, most pure form. It’s what love should be.
Complete and utter self-indulgant Madancy trash fluff drabble because I cannot get over the fact that Hugh grabbed Mads’ hand and placed it at the small of his back. Enjoy!
leaning in, a fraction closer each time. At times his lips tug into a tiny
smile, such an almost shy, little thing and Mads can’t help smiling in turn.
His gaze tracks the shifts in Hugh’s expression, fluttering eyelids and parting
lips, and he leans in when the other man does.
the one to pull the two of them closer. Hugh is. Will is. And Mads’ focus is
split right down the middle, divided in equal measures of roaring, roiling
emotions, with one part focusing on how Hannibal is feeling every single,
little touch and taking in every last one of Will’s expressions, like the most
precious gifts, and the other part thoroughly distracted by the way Hugh is
breathing raggedly and heavily and grasping and clutching at Mads’ clothes.
the scene over and over and Mads’ breathing falls apart more and more and he
feels Hugh’s gaze on his lips like a tingle, as if the beats of their hearts
generate a tiny spark of electricity in the air between them. He feels the
points where they touch, where Hugh’s fingers press against his arms, like a
brand searing deeper and deeper. He digs his fingers into the fabric of the
shirt Hugh is wearing and he does not pull them closer together.
lines crumbles into garble and incoherence on shaky exhales and trembling
inhales and the answering line ‘it’s beautiful’ is nothing but a rushed admission,
almost carelessly thrown past parted lips before the warm and solid weight of
Hugh crashes into his arms. Mads presses his cheek to the damp and dirty curls
of Hugh’s hair. His fingers almost cramps around their hold on bloodied fabric.
He does not pull them closer together.
As well as
Mads can control his body and his expressions, from a single tear rolling down
his cheek to micro sneers, he cannot possibly hope to control the forceful
extra beat of his heart that swells in an almost painful thud in his chest as Hugh’s
right hand moves up his shoulder, something in-between a caress and desperate
clutching, and Hugh digs his fingers in, not just clutching at the fabric of the
sweater but pressing them firmly into Mads’ arm. Hugh drops his head to Mads’
shoulder and Mads gently nuzzles him, a sort of loving headbutt with his cheek
against the top of Hugh’s head all the while his heart races. His fingers twist
and turn around a handful of fabric, but nothing more. Until Hugh pries his hand
loose, grabs his arm and yanks it. Mads fingers splay and then gather as he
feels his hand placed at the small of Hugh’s back. At first he presses. And
then he grabs. He presses his face to Hugh’s neck, hides away where it meets
the shoulder, and he lets his lips touch naked skin.
he does pull them closer together. This time they don’t repeat the scene but
stay wrapped up in each other’s embrace, all wildly beating hearts and tingling
skin. Mads’ hand stays where Hugh placed it and he keeps his eyes shut and he
feels Hugh pressed so closed against him. The two parts in Mads’ mind crumbles
then, and fall into each other and collapses in a mess of want and relief in
nearing three or four in the morning. There is a world out there and out there
seconds and minutes keep chasing each other, the present ever eager to capture
the elusive future who keeps running away. A world where the sun and the moon
meets only briefly before having to part again. Yet, for just a little while,
they have stepped outside of that world. For just a little while, with Mads’
hand pressed against the small of Hugh’s back and Hugh pressing himself so
close, they are in their own, little world. There, seconds and minutes catch up
and stand still and the two of them meet for just a moment before they
have to inevitably move apart again; celestial bodies that met by chance and
only briefly get to cross paths.