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Summary
" There is a gasp escaping from Hannibal’s lips, trembling and desperate. His nails dig into Will’s arm, clinging, sinking in, leaving behind their marks on him. His marks. Trails of reddened skin and exquisite pain. Blood and ache. That’s what Hannibal is. What Will craves. (...) His tongue lingers over Hannibal’s pulse point, feeling the rushing of blood through the artery just below. He sucks a bruise onto him. Two, three. He knows how to claim as well. "