1 - 20 of 27 Works by Prokijk
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Will staggered inside, the door creaking on its hinges like a sigh. Glass crunched under his shoes, shards from the shattered windows scattering like diamonds across the floor, reflecting the faint moonlight that pierced the gloom. The house was a tomb of shadows, furniture upended, walls scarred by the violence of the night. But then, a sound, faint but deliberate, from the bedroom down the hall. Rustling fabric, perhaps, or the soft clink of metal. Someone was there. Will’s body moved of its own accord, propelled by a magnetism he could no longer deny, but doubt gnawed at him like a parasite. What if it wasn’t Hannibal? What if some intruder had stumbled upon the scene? And worse, what if it was? After all this, the betrayals, the manipulations, the fortieth attempt , or was it the fiftieth? to end Hannibal’s life, was Will worthy to face him now? To step into that room and offer… what? A casual greeting? “Hi, sorry I tried to kill you again, let’s run away together and pretend it never happened?” The absurdity twisted in his gut like a knife…
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Ilya leaned in, hovering his lips next to Hollander’s ear, his breath warm against the shell. “No.”
Hollander’s reaction was even better than Ilya had hoped. His eyes flew open, brow pinched with confusion, a mix of shock and frustration etching his features. “What?”
“No. I will not do anything to you in here.” The words were firm, but Ilya was suddenly struck by a fantastic idea, a spark of mischief and desire. “We will go back out there, and sit in our seats, and then go to the party. And then, when you have been waiting all night for it, you will come to my hotel room. And I will maybe do more than suck your dick.”
Shane mesmerized by the shape of Ilya’s mouth, moving smoothly, “When did your English get so good?” He asked, with a smile that reached his eyes.
Ilya huffs, answering, acting cool, “ I read New Yorker Now.”
Shane smiles widening, “really?!”
Ilya rolled his eyes, “No. The New Yorker is boring.”
Series
- Part 2 of Heated Rivalry
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“There’s something else. Something underneath the three-piece suits and the harpsichord and the ‘feast for the intellect’ routine. I don’t know how to say it without sounding insane, but it’s like…” Will’s voice dropped, raw. “It’s like I’ve known you before. Not in a past-life, woo-woo way. More like I’ve lived an entire lifetime with you already , arguing in some kitchen I’ve never seen, waking up beside you in a bed I don’t own, watching you cut thyme with that same steady hand and knowing exactly how your mouth tastes at four in the morning. And then I blink, and it’s gone, but the echo’s still in my bones.”
The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Silence pulsed between them, thick as blood...
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“Did your mother buy all these pillows?” Ilya asked, his voice low and teasing, a smirk playing on his lips as he gestured toward the bed’s overflowing mound.
Shane, lounging against the headboard in his oversized hoodie and sweatpants, rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his mouth. “No, I hired someone… a designer.”
Ilya glanced at Shane, then back to the bed, his eyebrow arching in mock judgment. “You think there is enough?”
Shane’s smile widened, a spark of amusement lighting his eyes. “You’re such an asshole.”
Series
- Part 1 of Heated Rivalry
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Hannibal’s smile deepened, a knowing glint in his eyes, his hand stilling on Will’s skin as he absorbed the confession, the air thickening with anticipation. “You wish to sleep with your stag,” he said, the words a velvet purr, direct yet laced with amusement and affection, transforming the audacious request into something intimate, inevitable…
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Will’s arms wrapped around Hannibal’s neck, fingers tangling in the dark strands at his nape, pulling him impossibly closer, their breaths mingling in a shared rhythm that mirrored the storm’s escalating fury. Seductively, his voice laced with a throaty urgency, Will whispered, “I know you want more than that. Your gentleness is killing me, Hannibal.” With deliberate intent, he rocked his hips forward, his crotch pressing against Hannibal’s thigh, the hardened length of his dick straining against the confines of his trousers, a blatant declaration of his own insatiable hunger, the rigid heat throbbing with need, betraying the fire raging within him, a volcano on the brink of eruption, lava pulsing just beneath the surface...
Series
- Part 1 of Inspired by Bones and All
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Hannibal held him from behind, his larger frame a protective cocoon, their bodies aligned in perfect symmetry, skin to skin, where the heat of their connection lingered like the embers of a dying star, pulsing with residual fire...
Series
- Part 2 of Inspired by Bones and All
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Will’s breath hitched, his giggle fading into a soft sigh as he tilted his head to grant better access, his eyes fluttering half-closed. In the foggy mirror before them, he caught their reflection, a blurred tableau of intimacy, Hannibal’s taller frame enveloping his own, those amber eyes locked onto Will’s image with a hunger that was purely predatory, gleaming like a wolf’s in the moonlight. The intensity of that gaze sent a flush of heat to Will’s cheeks, blood rushing in a rosy bloom across his face and down his neck, making his skin tingle as if branded by Hannibal’s stare alone...
Series
- Part 3 of Inspired by Bones and All
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Will laughed, a genuine, throaty sound that mingled with the ocean’s roar, his eyes sparkling with affection and a hint of wicked intent. He set his glass aside and rolled onto his side, facing Hannibal fully, his body language an open invitation, seductive in its vulnerability, the way his shirt rode up to expose a sliver of hip. “Oh, it’s you, alright. Always you. But if we’re talking flames, you’re the one fanning them, strutting back from the bar like some debonair devil in cream linen. Makes a man forget the sand in his toes and remember… other sensations.” He winked, the sass evident in the arch of his brow, but his voice softened, laced with the depth of their bond. “Ten years, Hannibal. And I still can’t look at you without feeling like that cliff all over again, terrifying, exhilarating, inevitable.”
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Happy 10 years since the finale ,
the show ended, the fandom absolutely did not. Still alive, still feral, still waiting for dinner.🥳♥️ -
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Will’s hands trembled as he grabbed his phone, the screen’s blue glow casting shadows across his pale, sweat-slicked face. His thumb hovered over Alana’s name, but something stopped him, a pull, an instinct, a need for someone who could see the fractured edges of his mind without flinching. He scrolled to Hannibal Lecter’s number instead, his heart thudding against his ribs like a trapped animal. He pressed call…
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Hannibal awoke with a gasp, his body convulsing as he coughed, the taste of blood lingering on his tongue, phantom and bitter. Sweat drenched his skin, his silk pajamas clinging to him like a second, suffocating flesh. The room was dark, a cavern of shadows broken only by the occasional flicker of lightning through the curtains, illuminating the familiar contours of his Baltimore bedroom. His bedroom, how?
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The snow crunched again, a sound like bones breaking underfoot, and Hannibal’s jaw tightened. He loathed its insolence, how it mocked his careful steps, how it threatened to slow him. Will needed warmth, safety, a place to heal from the drugs Mason Verger had pumped into his veins, from the scalpel that had traced his face like a lover’s threat. Hannibal’s mind raced, calculating distances, weighing options. Wolf Trap, Will’s home, was the nearest sanctuary, a place where Will’s scent lingered in the wood and wool, where Hannibal could tend to him. He would not let Will die, not by Mason’s hand, not by anyone’s. Not even his own...
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They know… Will’s warning to Hannibal, whispered into the phone, had been a guillotine, severing the veil of doubt he’d clung to for months. He’d been playing both sides, Jack’s loyal soldier, Hannibal’s confidant, dancing on a razor’s edge between duty and desire. But when Hannibal answered, his voice low and warm, like a fire curling through a frozen forest, something in Will snapped. The truth clawed its way free, raw and bleeding, he didn’t just want Hannibal safe. He wanted Hannibal. Wanted to run with him, to vanish into the shadows of a world where no one else mattered. Just Hannibal. The realization was a wound, deep and gaping, and Will was drowning in it. He was unconditionally, irrevocably in love with Hannibal Lecter, and the weight of it was a stone in his chest, heavy enough to crush him…
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Will’s smirk was immediate, bold and unapologetic, though his cheeks flushed faintly under Hannibal’s gaze. “Just getting a feel for your toys, Hannibal,” he said, his tone dripping with sass as he picked up a coil of crimson rope, letting it slide through his fingers like liquid silk. “You’ve got quite the setup here. Very… you.” His eyes flicked up, meeting Hannibal’s, a challenge glinting in their depths. “So, what’s the plan? Tie me up in some fancy knots and make me beg?”
Series
- Part 5 of Shibari Hannibal
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Adam, now 30, had moved here after losing his job at an electronics firm, drawn to the quiet where his mind could unravel without the chaos of city life. His Asperger’s made social connections rare, but patterns, stars, circuits, weather cycles, were his language.
Adam noticed Duncan the day he moved in… -
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The untangling of the ropes was no mere act, it was a ritual, a deliberate and reverent undoing of the bonds that had held Will in thrall. Hannibal began with the knot at the base of Will’s spine, the anchor of the Shibari design. His fingers moved with the precision of a maestro, tracing the silken cord with a touch so light it was almost ghostly, yet every contact sent a jolt through Will’s body, his skin hypersensitive from the ropes’ embrace and the lingering ecstasy of their earlier union...
Series
- Part 4 of Shibari Hannibal
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Will’s face was pressed against the tatami, his cheek resting in a small pool of his own drool, his lips parted as he panted softly. His dark curls were damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his eyes, half-lidded and glassy, were lost in the haze of subspace, that angelic, weightless place where pain and pleasure fused into ecstasy. The ropes held him captive, their embrace both a cage and a liberation, and every subtle shift of his body sent shivers of sensation through him...
Series
- Part 3 of Shibari Hannibal
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Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham had escaped to this slice of Italian paradise for a rare vacation, a fleeting moment of peace in their tangled, blood-soaked lives. The villa they’d rented was a study in opulence: white marble floors, sprawling terraces, and a private dock where a sleek yacht bobbed lazily. It was a gesture of Hannibal’s extravagance, a wordless promise to Will that their world could be beautiful, even if only for a week...
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Will tilted his head, his lips brushing Hannibal’s ear as he spoke, his voice a sultry taunt. “You want me to hand over my control to you completely, don’t you?” He pulled back just enough to meet Hannibal’s gaze, his eyes gleaming with a mix of defiance and desire. “Shibari, huh? That’s your play tonight?” He let the words hang in the air, bold and unashamed, his smirk daring Hannibal to deny it. “You’ve been planning this since we got to Japan, haven’t you? All those little glances, those cryptic comments about ‘art’ and ‘surrender.’ I see you, Hannibal.”
Series
- Part 2 of Shibari Hannibal
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Summary
Will Graham came to consciousness slowly, his mind clawing its way through a fog of disorientation. His head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His vision swam, shapes and colors bleeding into one another, blurred edges of light and shadow that refused to resolve. A high-pitched ringing pierced his ears, sharp and relentless, drowning out all but the faint drip of water falling from his face. Each drop was a hammer against his skull, sending jagged spikes of pain through his temples. He blinked, his eyelids heavy, sticky with sweat or tears or something else entirely. His body felt wrong, weightless yet constrained, suspended in a way that made his stomach lurch. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn’t obey. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind, a primal instinct screaming that something was terribly, horribly wrong...
Series
- Part 1 of Shibari Hannibal