1 - 20 of 50 Works by MartiSkin
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“Long night?” the man asks, not looking up.
Will snorts quietly. “That obvious?”
“You’ve changed seats three times.” the man says. “And you flinch every time they make an announcement.”
Will exhales through his nose. “I don’t love airports.”
“No one does.” the man replies. A beat. “But you seem to experience them more… thoroughly.”
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“Slow down.” Hannibal says quietly.
Will does. Immediately. As if the permission matters.
Their hands do not touch. Not yet. But the space between them narrows in a way that is almost physical.
Molly notices nothing. -
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Their first glance met by accident.
Will looked up from his glass, eyes unfocused, and found himself caught by a gaze already on him. Dark eyes. Steady. Not startled to be discovered.
They held for a fraction of a second too long. -
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“Looking for something specific,” he asked, voice calm, measured, “or do you enjoy getting lost?”
Will stopped.
He raised his head slowly, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. There was no overt challenge in it, no flirtation—just precision. The unsettling sense that the question reached further than it should have.
“I…” Will exhaled, then huffed a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “I think I’m better at losing myself than finding things.” -
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"Abigail mentioned you asked about me." Will continued, eyes steady. "Before I ever came here."
"I did."
"And you were... satisfied?" Will asked.
Hannibal considered him, gaze thoughtful rather than evasive. "I was intrigued." -
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“Tell me, Will… did you ever feel curiosity toward something—or someone—you did not allow yourself to pursue?”
Will didn’t answer yet. He couldn’t.
But the room around them felt different now.
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Will Graham had never been good at noticing when things changed—not the small things, at least. Big things crashed into his life like storms. But the subtle ones, the gentle shifts… they always slipped past him until it was too late to pretend they hadn’t happened.
And yet lately, something soft had begun to weave itself into the corners of his house.
Something careful.
Something that felt like someone. -
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Their eyes met.
The man didn’t look away.
Will felt the strange, instinctive jolt of recognition, like stepping into a room already mid-conversation.
He broke eye contact first, jaw tightening.
Get a grip, he told himself. It’s just a stranger.
But when he looked again, the man was still watching him.
Not with curiosity.
With interest. -
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HL: Holding a glass of wine. Imagining the weight of a different kind of warmth. Yours, perhaps.
WG: You’re insufferable.
HL: And yet you persist in answering.
The screen lights up once more.
WG: Because I want to know if you’ll ever stop talking and do something about it. -
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Their eyes met across the space, glass and distance separating them.
Will froze.
The man didn’t react. Didn’t smile. Didn’t look away.
He simply acknowledged him.
Then he lifted his glass, just slightly, and took another sip. -
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“Do you always watch so intently, Will? Or am I particularly… distracting tonight?”
Will swallowed, cheeks warming. “Maybe a little of both.” he murmured, voice catching.
Hannibal set the whisk down carefully and leaned slightly closer, eyes dark and calculating. “A dangerous combination.” he said softly. “Curiosity… and admiration. It tends to lead to consequences one cannot easily anticipate.”
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“Let me…” Will murmurs, eyes unfocused and dark. “Just once. I want to— I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to—” His laugh is wet, broken. “God, for so long.”
He tilts his face up again, aiming for Hannibal’s mouth but missing slightly, brushing instead against the corner of his lips. He breathes in sharply at the contact, as if the mere proximity burns him in a way nothing else can.
“Please…” Will whispers, a confession carved out of desperation and liquor. “I need something real tonight. I need you.”
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“Please.” Hannibal gestured toward the familiar chair. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
“You say that every time.”
“And yet you keep asking.”
“Only because you keep refusing.”
“Which should tell you something, shouldn’t it?”
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“Truth or dare.” he said suddenly, surprising even his own mouth. The words slipped out like a challenge he hadn’t consciously chosen.
“A childish game.” he said, voice warm enough to contradict the judgment.
“Only if you answer like a child.” Will shot back, leaning in just a little, enough to feel the edges of boldness he usually swallowed.
“Then ask me something worthy of an adult.” Hannibal murmured.
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“Say it.” Will whispers, voice rough. “Say what you want from me.”
Hannibal lifts a hand and touches Will’s jaw with the back of his fingers—gentle, deliberate, claiming. Will trembles under the contact he pretends not to crave.
“What I want,” Hannibal murmurs, “is to see what you become when you stop resisting me.”
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“I wanted,” he said, “to see how far you’d go.”
Will pressed his body fully against him, hips pinning Hannibal to the wall, their chests rising and falling in the same frantic rhythm.
“You’re about to find out.” Will growled, voice thick with desire.
Hannibal tilted his chin up, offering himself with quiet, electric defiance.
“Then show me.”
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“I heard something.” Will said, voice tight, low, almost hoarse.
Hannibal’s posture didn’t change, but something in his expression sharpened.
“What did you hear?”
Will smiled without humor—more a twitch of frustration than a smile at all.
“That you and Alana…” He hesitated, as if saying it left a metallic taste in his mouth. “That something happened. Recently.”
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“You’re late.” Hannibal said, not turning fully, his tone razor-smooth and controlled.
Will didn’t move. “Maybe I had something better to do.”
A “Punctuality,” he replied, “is a reflection of respect.”
Will pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, slow, deliberate. “Then I guess you’ll have to deal with my disrespect.”
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The water stopped. Will swallowed.
A moment later, Hannibal appeared in the doorway, steam curling around him like a living thing. His hair was damp, pushed back, a single drop running down the line of his throat. A towel hung low on his hips, barely held in place by one hand. His chest—pale, strong, marked by faint scars—was still gleaming from the heat of the shower.
Hannibal met his eyes without the slightest hint of surprise, as though walking out half-naked in front of Will was the most natural thing in the world.
“Will.” he said softly, voice warm, intimate, almost coaxing. “You stayed.”
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“I… I never thought it could feel like this.” Will whispered, voice hoarse, fragile. “To be… broken… and wanted.”
Hannibal’s hand stroked his back slowly, deliberately, tracing the curve of his spine with precision, reverence. “Because you have never allowed yourself to be seen.” he murmured. “But here, with me… every fracture shines.”