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    Summary

    Hannibal attends Pride every year, but typically, he is well-dressed and respectable, should he run into any of his non-queer socialite acquaintances or, heaven forbid, a patient. He's never made it to the leather section before, not in public, never even bumped elbows with their local chapter of Dykes on Bikes during the parade like his husband has, certainly has never taken his dog for a walk down the block.

    This year, however, here he stands, bare-chested, leather pants clinging to his sweltering legs, with his husband at his feet. On a leash. Muzzled. Wearing bondage mitts.

    And there stands one of the Lecter/Bloom Gender Clinic's youngest patients not five feet away.

    "Can I pet your dog?" she asks.

    Hannibal, very intelligently, says, "Um."

    ***

    aka the trans leathergram au nobody asked for that Ship wrote all of before posting any of it [finger guns]

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