Sinopsis

“How did it feel?” His gaze trails to the scars again, head tilting, neck pale. “When he cut you.”

Again the gentle shift in Hannibal’s throat, the barely visible tic that suggests a blink that never comes. He’s poised, wire-taut and patient, letting his eyes linger on the fingers gently turning the filter between them. He considers how the smoke still lingers in the air, knows he’ll smell it for days, wonders if it will seep into the carpet, into his suit…

“Like a reminder.” he said softly, “That a wolf will never be a house pet.”

A therapy session, an oral fixation. That's as much as you need to know. Freud would be proud.

An early birthday present for bansheegrahamtao because... we started writing this and it became a monster. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BB WE LOVE YOU!!