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“The first clear thought in years: I refuse to die.” -Marya Hornbacher
***
Will’s first thought after surviving their fall – his fall, forced on Hannibal – his mistake, their redemption – was,
I can’t live in a world without him in it,
Half-conscious with Hannibal, who was injured more severely, dragging him out of the water as terrible wounded sounds echoed between them, never giving up.
I can’t die without him.
I can’t know for sure, doing something like that, that we’ll both die. I can’t ever, ever do that to us again. The thought of him dying…
Hannibal, who shouldn’t even be conscious, helping Will to sit and cough up water, Will urging him that they had to find and raid the nearest hospital to tend to Hannibal’s many wounds, worst of all the bullet in his stomach –
So much blood, too much blood, diluted in sea salt, tossing back and forth in the waves from which they’d just been reborn.
There was no thought worse than anything existing without it having to do with Hannibal, and Will was immediately, deeply sorry that he’d had to go this far to make himself see it.
At Hannibal’s drowsy insistence, driving to a further-off clinic in the middle of nowhere so they wouldn’t risk getting caught. Will stabbing and snapping the necks of the clinic doctors and nurses, only as a matter of course, not even interested beyond, he had to save Hannibal, this was all his fault.
Will guessed those people in white coats with startled eyes begged him for mercy when they saw his dead eyes and how fast he moved, even hobbling. He must look rabid. He thought they must have screamed, but only for a few seconds, and it was nothing to slow him down.
He had to keep going, before he ran out of adrenaline and fell apart.
Following Hannibal’s medical instructions, with all those corpses spilled around them like the bloody waves that Will and Hannibal were both still coughing up. Will was in such agonizing pain and shock he could only function because he had to clean and stitch, administer meds and take care of the one who mattered, who was Hannibal. He felt so tiny compared to Hannibal’s love, which he’d never even understood in the slightest, still didn’t.
Somehow, by the grace of whatever god, angels or devils propelled his weak, hurt and half-broken body, Will got Hannibal back to the stolen car and drove them until they were far enough to hole up in a cheap motel and recover.
I couldn’t take it if you died.
Will drove long, bleak, endless-seeming miles and hours to get to that hovel of an excuse for a motel, and the whole time he thought, watching Hannibal whenever possible and safe – afraid Hannibal would stop breathing – afraid the wounds were infected or he hadn’t done the surgery properly – he kept thinking with every hurtling heartbeat and quick, panicked breath, “We’re alive, we’re together, there is nothing else, there never was.”
He didn’t realize he was speaking out loud.
“Yes,” Hannibal said, half-awake. He actually smiled. “I’m grateful for this pain if you mean that, Will.”
“Hannibal, I’m sorry,” Will said, but he didn’t want to cry and feel sorry for himself, when he was the one to blame. He’d hurt Hannibal, almost killed him…
He swallowed back the sobs until they died, smothered and suffocated in his chest with another swell of pain, deserved and earned.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, softly.
“Are you?” Hannibal found his hand between their seats while Will was stopped at a red light. His voice was strange and slurring from the drugs.
The world was still moving on, red, green, yellow, red, green, on and off, forward, backwards, as if they were still here for real and had a future.
And Hannibal let out a rough gasp of a laugh, squeezing Will’s hand and then shifting to a better position to go back to sleep. It hurt him to move, speak or even breathe, and that was with the seriously heavy dose of meds.
“God, yes, look at you, look at what I almost – I can’t stand it, I could never lose you, this was so horrible, there aren’t words.” His voice was raw and hurt because of the repressed, forced-under tears he would never let himself cry. “I’m sorry.”
Hannibal considered and disposed of Will’s apology frankly, as his eyelids lowered, the engine thrummed and the stars sped by when Will hit the accelerator again, then turned onto the highway.
And Hannibal murmured cheerfully, “I’m not.”
***
“Thou blind fool love, what dost thou to mine eyes
That they behold and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is
Take the worst to be”
-Shakespeare, Sonnet 137
***
Will understood that by any standard of common decency it had to be obscene in and of itself to love someone – something so ugly inside.
That a good human being was Molly, and he left her behind to join his fate to Hannibal’s.
Hannibal, whose cruelty was virulent, having razed the land of every place he traveled, then soaked the good earth in blood.
Love had nothing to do with common decency, that much was clear.
They healed, which had once seemed impossible to the point Will had drafted out last words in his mind, to tell Hannibal finally how he felt. Didn’t get any further than “I love you,” but figured at least that would be said and heard.
Hannibal was breezily optimistic and knew how to wind his way through the world, taking Will on a tour of many European locations, each more beautiful than the last. He knew how to move and when to come and go from places so they would never be apprehended.
But Hannibal had a place, he said, just for them, prepared for him and Will, and asked if Will would like to see. A week later, they had moved in, established in the French countryside, easy as could be, it seemed.
In the excitement of their vacations in the vivid rustic fairyland of Tuscany and the wild moors of Yorkshire and the cliffs of Moher above the restless Irish sea, there had been little time or need for any deep discussion or coming to terms of their new partnership.
They had hunted, killed and feasted together more than once by the time they started living in this domestic, permanent-feeling manner, without a need to put labels on a damn thing, just smiles and a lot of confusing, incidental brushes by one another… subtle touches easy to misconstrue or overestimate.
Once they were really living together, the nights slowed and quieted, and Will found his mind overactive again, as if making up for the lost time spent in adventures and marvels.
“My attachment to you, and yours to me…” Will began, late at night when Hannibal said he was a bit peckish because he heard Will’s stomach growl, and decided to make them an impromptu charcuterie board.
Hannibal looked up at Will, where the younger man lingered by the counter looking from his best friend’s golden-brown eyes to his hands on the knife slicing the smoked meat of their latest kill into slivers to snack on.
He smiled, “One and the same.”
“Yes. The attachment we share is indecent,” Will said in no particular way. The phantom limb of his conscience ached with guilt; his new self thrilled and gloried in the very words and the fact of them.
“I find it interesting that you are so easily able to forgive me my monstrosity, but struggle to extend the same courtesy to yourself.”
Hannibal spoke lightly as he arranged a row of manchego triangles on the cheeseboard and covered them in the thin-cut “prosciutto.” Then, nonchalant but thoughtful, he was adding shelled pistachios and looking for the jam, apricot and fig, and the toast crackers, everything homemade from scratch.
“Oh, I don’t forgive you or me, exactly. That might be asking too much, or maybe that isn’t even a concept that applies outside of you and me. We might be sorry to each other, but who outside of our relationship is worth that feeling?”
“I’m proud to hear you say so,” Hannibal said with that pleased, darling look that said he really, really meant it.
Will fidgeted under the pleasant weight of Hannibal’s compliments and incisive gaze. He knotted and unknotted the velvet robe his partner had gifted him among so many other casual presents, and bit his lip.
“I don’t want to be fossilized in the pain of the past. I’ve seen what that does to people, and I want no part of it. Doing that before, I was a short-sighted, dangerous fool. So blind. Now I see that we are here, with the whole world laid out before us to do whatever we damn well please with. It’s all ours, and, whatever it means, whatever you and I are to one another, this is what I chose, and I choose it again every day. I want to be here.”
“I know that. And we both know it won’t be as easy as that to convince your former moral tendencies to follow the commands of your heart. Take it slow, Will, let me guide you. We’ll get there. How would you like to have this meal, together in the library, by the fire? We can look at the books…”
“Great, I’d love to,” Will enthused, Hannibal’s words and his own conflict racing around his mind. He only wanted to look at Hannibal, be close to him and listen to him talk, dammit, that was enough. Almost.
“There is so much we can have, Will.” Hannibal patted Will’s cheek, and looked at him – not as if he didn’t see the scar that made Will feel so ugly, but as if he saw it and it only enhanced the feelings he’d always had for Will, which though complicated and inscrutable, were certainly glowing. “So much I can offer you,” Hannibal added as he drew his hand back. “And I do offer it to you.”
Will furrowed his brow. “Do you offer me yourself?”
“Unceasingly. Every day anew. Come now, let me show you our library. It’s all for us, Will, just as you said. Clever boy.”
Will turned pink again at the praise, wondering and internally screaming to know in exactly what way Hannibal was offering himself.
***
“Far be it for me to be glib, but…”
Hannibal shrugged elegantly, which was the only way he did anything.
Will’s eyes flashed as he ran a finger along the rim of his half-empty whiskey glass. “Oh, perish the thought.”
Tonight, Will felt like he himself only ever pretended to be elegant, or inhabited a certain person suit he thought would please Hannibal until it pleased him too, and it often did.
But sometimes he lost the thread between real and adapted. Skin, identity, where his true self lived. He wondered if it mattered, if it ever had, when being with Hannibal felt this real and right. And there were no answers.
He never used to think he mattered, but there had been no thinking that way anymore once Hannibal laid eyes on him. The problem, if it was one, was that he could no longer get away with finding himself useless and burdensome, which in itself felt…odd. Undeserved?
Was that why he’d fought to resist Hannibal’s lure for so long, until the hooks were so far under his skin he would bleed dry if he moved one more stupid, idiotic step away from the only peace and happiness there was for him, even the only stability?
His wry smile made Hannibal’s lips flinch into an answering smile quite naturally. Will was the only one, probably, allowed to even mildly mock this man and live.
“Life is for the living.” Hannibal had finished his own glass and sat it on the side table.
Outside, a wild, autumn storm raged, strong enough to rattle the very window-panes, though they were double reinforced. The same could not be said of any given conversation or shifting emotional dynamic between the two men quietly chatting in their library, as they so often did.
Their intellectual, darkly, yet amusedly fraught conversations were never the same, nor similar to talks which anyone else in the world could have. It was always emblazoned on Will’s mind and heart to take the time with his partner for all it was worth, but to know their bond could shatter into violence at any time. If the teacup broke again, he highly doubted there was a repair to be had.
“Can’t live with him, can’t live without him. Is that what this is?” Bedelia’s knowing indictments of Will’s villainous attachment to Hannibal still resided in his mind, not heavily, but like an annoying gnat buzzing around.
“According to you, I haven’t been living my life.” His lips wavered from a confused smile to nothing in particular.
“No.”
Will fought the temptation to roll his eyes or storm off. “And you really want me to. That’s evident.”
“Yes. Is that not what any true friend, and if I may venture so far, soulmate, desires for their dear one?”
Soulmate? How did he mean that, exactly? Will hated himself for being afraid to ask.
Instead, he went for another easy verbal jab to the throat. They did both enjoy that, too.
Hannibal patiently waited for Will to forgive himself and let go a little more into their new start, and he offered the occasional sage advice on the subject, which was always thought-provoking to Will. The playful debates were another way to work out the strained muscles of the afterlife still unfurling inside Will.
“Were you willing to die, if it meant that I’d begin to live? If I was set free?”
Hannibal gave him a stern look and sat up straighter.
He looked dashing in his pajamas, far more so than a man should, wearing that quirky pattern, but the navy blue silk against his golden skin by the warm firelight was nothing less than stunning. Stunning, Dashing, or debonair, no other word.
Perfect posture, not stiff but almost overly attentive, just shy of accusing. His gaze flickered up and down Will in a familiar pattern that made it hard not to blush. Made it hard not to be…hard. Dammit.
His large hands, lined in veins, hands with such strong, warm palms and fingers that had encompassed Will’s own on enough precious occasions that he knew just how they felt (a special torture), framed a classic novel, hardbound, original edition with a pine green leather cover. Thumb between two pages right in the middle of the long story.
Will had been reading as well, a book he had picked up at random, Carmilla. Upon getting a bit further into the story, it appeared to be an eighteenth century lesbian vampire novel, but that didn’t mean he was putting it away…definitely not.
He had planned to not fuck things up this once, just this one time. To sit there in the quiet, lovely, enfolding warmth of their library in their home, this charming country house in Kaysersberg, France. This home for them which Hannibal had apparently bought with his vast wealth under a false name years ago and more recently presented to Will with such glowing pride, such joy. Will hadn’t known where to look or what to do with himself, but he followed Hannibal inside, and that was that. It was all he knew how to do.
Will only wanted to listen to the crackling fire and steal glances at Hannibal on the sly, noticing how comfortable he was, how he looked handsome and godlike, lounging in that decadently perfect way of his in the plush armchair.
The shades of shimmering red, orange and gold from the fire shifted over Hannibal’s chiseled features in a way that made Will’s heart skip a beat. It should be enough, even if he was afraid to go to him and ask for the physical affection he craved, but he’d gone and opened his big, stupid mouth again instead.
He already regretted it, as his question – which again unnecessarily dredged up the past for another go-round of masochistic, painfully pleasurable repartee between them – sat between them as well, like he’d gone and erected another brick wall after the last few Hannibal had decimated with his patient, if not gentle, affection and regard.
Hannibal’s brow creased. His smile now looked mildly sarcastic. “Was it not also evident that I was not only prepared to die for you, but expected that to be the endgame? Perhaps it became more dangerously inevitable than I would have preferred, but my plan for you, which over time became a wish…”
Will smoothed out his plain, black cotton pajama pants. He looked up again to find his friend expecting his reply. “Instead of a game?” he asked.
Despite hating himself more with each second that passed, Will kept the chilly smile on his face and nodded. A bracing, burning swig of whiskey did not help. It only made him bolder in his internal wrath at himself and his external comments, nonstop foolish blunders.
You baby. Leave Hannibal alone, you’ve done enough. It could have been a perfect night. Almost perfect.
Hannibal gave exactly one downward nod. “Yes. That desire never substantially changed. I am a force of chaos, like yourself, even if my maelstrom rages in the opposite direction of yours. Yet when it comes to you, I am an immutable man, held in one singular position, dependent on you. And so, like a clam shell shut to keep the pearl within perfectly safe, come what may, my plan or the wish, my desire for you to be a whole and happy person still resides in pure form.”
“Countless fathoms beneath the oceans of our betrayals and mistakes, manipulations, pride and spite.”
Hannibal shifted in his seat. He finally put the book aside and pursed his lips. “It’s the last one that bothers me. I don’t ever want there to be spite between us.”
Will laughed darkly, a quiet sound that seemed too loud. “You were spiteful in Italy.”
Hannibal did the nod again, as if this was some kind of formal inquiry. Maybe Will really was the only judge and jury he had left, after all.
“The flavor of my escape from your devious and unreliable clutches quickly turned sour,” Hannibal elaborated, “then poisoned every attempt at forgetting you or beginning anew, restoring my independence.”
Will considered this.
He finished his whiskey, licked his lips, avoided the amber gaze resting on him like a lingering sunset. Unable to go on without Will, Hannibal abided in his companion’s indecision. They were suspended in a limbo Will didn’t fully understand.
Hannibal added, “You were spiteful in Maine.”
Touchè. “Couldn’t see it at the time, but yeah, I guess I was.”
“If you didn’t feel spite towards me, what then?” Hannibal arranged his hands carefully, primly on his lap, nervous in a way only Will would ever notice, and coincidentally, only Will could cause.
"I felt nothing.” Will swallowed hard, his throat curiously dry all of a sudden.
He sure never felt like this in that marriage, on the edge of his proverbial seat at all times, hanging on his partner’s every word. So fucking alive, even if it was always just friendship. Take that as comfort and move on, then. Unless he…
“And I was waiting, in my cell. Any remaining spite on my side was entirely feigned. My pride, sadly, may have been the last defense to fall.”
Will couldn’t sit still anymore, so he stood without purpose and examined the nearby bookshelves without seeing them. His pajamas, purchased by Hannibal, felt so very soft against his skin, just short of clingy. He’d never had such fine clothes in his life, but although everything Hannibal provided him (without either of them questioning the excessive gifts) was plain and serviceable to his former style of casual, there was no longer anything bland about the way he dressed. The brands were all designer, the clothes sumptuous and fitting him exquisitely.
He did have to wonder about the underwear, though. The black, tight underwear which was not the kind he usually wore; and for fucking – God’s – fuck, okay, Hannibal knew, breathe, Will, what kind of boxer briefs he used to wear. He’d stripped Will how many times when Will was unconscious?
But it was possible that Hannibal liked that brand and figured the cotton would suit Will’s taste, while just trying to upgrade his clothes but not offend him by getting all fancy. It was possible Will’s frenzied lust and baffled need were not reciprocated in kind, and that Hannibal’s passion for him, undeniably love, was not sexual. They’d never kissed…wouldn’t Hannibal, who had (he was about 99% sure) been with men before, unlike Will, initiate a kiss, if he wanted–-
Will couldn’t deal. Once again, he couldn’t stand any of this unbearable tension and turned it all inward. He lashed out, seeking satisfaction that never came.
“In all that waiting, as time slid by in your self-imposed purgatory, it certainly took you long enough to write.” His voice was snide.
He touched the bindings of a box set of Dickens novels and wanted to die. Wanted to perish there and then for not being good enough for Hannibal or this new life Hannibal offered.
Hannibal, who was getting kind of huffy.
“Really, Will? Was going to prison so that you would always know where to find me not enough for you? Must I degrade myself even further? Sometimes I fear you are impossible to please."
“That…might be true. Not an attractive trait, in a friend or a lover.” He did not turn to face Hannibal, could not, though his fingers tightened on the bookshelf.
The friction against the blisters from their recent hunt was a pain that only mildly assuaged his ongoing anxiety.
Hannibal now spoke with complete certainty, and gave Will his space.
“It doesn’t matter. Being impossible to satisfy, while making me rack my previously formidable mind looking for a chance or a way to please you, that is you. Or it’s a part of you, Will. The very moment I feel aware of it as a core component of your essence, it makes me love you even more. There is an origin point for the idea that pain can be pleasurable, or in this case, might induce a more powerful swell of affection.”
“It hurts so good?” Will went to him then, unable to help it, even as his heart pounded in conflicted fear and desire.
It was only a deafening drum repeatedly slamming into his ribcage, and it was nothing new, he could take it. Even if it had never been quite this loud.
Hannibal was so close.
He took the older man’s hand in his, and they stood in the center of the beautiful room. It was dimly lit, the medium-sized space enough to house Hannibal’s meticulously curated antique book collection, acquired throughout their travels, and seem cozy at the same time.
The room was done up in shades of cream and maroon, and it was like a fairytale place. This whole village was a fairytale, the only sort of place Hannibal chose to take Will, as if he intended Will’s whole life from now on to be that of a perfect dream.
Will felt unmistakably romanced while still being far too emotionally disorganized to understand in what way he was being subtly, but clearly courted.
Nothing else in the room was as gorgeous as Hannibal, particularly as his cheeks turned pink, his silvery hair slipping across one eye as he looked down at Will’s hand in his, almost bashful.
“I think maybe I can be satisfied, after all. Your honesty, the way you just gave it, is all I ever wanted from you. I’ve…banged my fists on the walls of your fortresses for years; you locked me out while inviting me in. Then accused me of refusing the gift you offered…your intimate friendship.”
“I see that now,” Hannibal said with a small, husky laugh. He met Will’s steadier blue gaze, hope and affection shimmering in his pretty, honey-amber eyes. “There are no fortresses left anymore, Will.”
He left their fingers laced loosely together, breathing slowly in and out as if this simple, gentle touch sustained him. Will felt, rather than saw, as his shy gaze fled again, that his partner was scenting him in that same obsessive way. Given his unusually powerful sense of smell, Will had always assumed this was just a habit of his, since he had witnessed Hannibal scenting people and explaining various information to him, like the state of their health and emotion.
This was typically with amusement, when they bothered socializing with those elite enough that Hannibal considered them worth the occasional dinner or other event (Will didn’t consider them at all), or it was with matter-of-fact, deadly calm as they tracked an intended victim. Sometimes trepidation if they thought some stranger on the street might recognize them and start any trouble.
But this was a quiet place, where locals seemed to have little interest in international news, and this library was maybe the quietest, most delicately intense of all – except for Will’s heart, which seemed to be threatening to burst out; he visualized it breaking the skin and that he would open his shirt; he wondered if Hannibal would sew it back in or eat it.
“Good,” Will managed to reply. “I’m starting to feel more comfortable and relaxed here, and with you. Thank you again for being so truthful."
Hannibal intuited that Will was feeling confused (again) and opted (again) not to pressure him. Instead, he squeezed Will’s hand once and said perhaps they ought to go to bed as it was late. Will helped him clear their whiskey glasses, and they left their books on their respective small side tables near the couch where Will always sat and the armchair where Hannibal always sat. And they parted with a mild, heartfelt goodnight in the darkness of the upstairs hall, before each going to their own room and to bed.
***
In the morning, Hannibal prepared a Florentine Eggs Benedict, and also made Will laugh by arranging poached eggs and little slices of “ham” into a smiley face.
Hannibal came up behind him at the dining room table and squeezed Will’s shoulder, avoiding the previously injured one, as always. “Enjoy.”
He wore a pleased, domestic smile as he took up his place opposite Will at their gleaming, cherrywood table covered with a blue and white cloth, a pattern of Regency-era socializing among various small, fancy people on it, under their typically elaborate breakfast. This room reminded Will of being inside a blue willow plate, but he liked it because Hannibal had done it, and Will had wanted Hannibal to make up the decor of the whole house. The man had left behind, voluntarily given up his previous, luxurious and safe existence for Will, so he owed Hannibal that.
More pleasantly, Will thought he was truly adorable when doing interior design and then fretting over where everything should go in each room. There was no getting around his blushing suspicion that Hannibal continued to nervously second-guess such decisions, trying to make everything perfect for Will.
And Will was good at the home repairs which were sometimes needed, like fixing the plumbing and a hole in one wall before they moved in, and the fresh coat of paint he had recently done in the dining room, right here, a clear, crystal blue. He felt useful in such activities, at least. Even with the scar on his face, the mixed up and unintended barbs in his words, and the awkwardness of his well-intentioned disposition, useful. Sometimes.
He was a bit surprised when Hannibal resumed last night’s conversation as though eight hours of sound slumber (okay, fitful, for Will at least) had not elapsed in the interim.
“I wasn’t locking you out during my incarceration.” Hannibal held his mug in both hands and blew on his hot coffee.
He still had his pajamas on, and had the day off from his duties as a doctor in the village. Will didn’t work yet, but he fished quite often and that contributed to their meals very nicely, at least. He wasn’t ready to try and integrate himself into a normal human environment; Hannibal had always been a pro at that while Will lurked on rough fringes, alone.
Will raised his eyebrows and froze in the act of eating his english muffin and eggs with hollandaise sauce, wishing he’d taken a photo of the smiley face with a silly and wild regret that hit him in the heart. But he held it together. “Oh?"
“The irony is poignant.” Hannibal’s hair was still sleep-mussed and he looked amazing.
His pajama top was worn without a t-shirt or anything under it, so Will could see his beautiful, strong neck and the handsome lines of his broad shoulders in perfect clarity, and then, lower, the start of his muscular chest and some soft, silvery hair that made his heart somersault.
“You don’t want bitterness or scorn between us,” he said softly, mourning that they had given one another too much of all that in the past.
“No, I fear that above all else. I couldn’t take another all-out war with you, Will, or to be faced again with your hatred. To see you turn from me.”
He didn’t have to add, “Like you did in court during my trial, although my eyes never left the precious sight of you for a second.” They knew.
Hannibal went on, smoothly but firmly, “Even if you put a knife in my chest tomorrow, in the literal sense, I hope we would smile as my eyes slowly closed.”
The mere thought almost made Will panic. “I loved you when I was angry, hurtful, vengeful and spiteful. I loved you when I hated you. I don’t know that there’s a difference in those emotions when it comes down to it. How could I summon that amount of vile derision and vengeance against someone, with such emotional power, if I did not love them?”
He shrugged, then ruffled his curls and bit his lip. “I agree, the bitterness was worse than anything, but we’ll never go back there. That was our other, first life, this is our new one, the real one. Don’t worry, I’m not going to put a knife in you, tomorrow or ever.”
Hannibal grinned with his cute fangs when Will looked over, blushing furiously, like a commitment phobe who accidentally said the L-word, but he wasn’t afraid of commitment; he belonged to Hannibal body and soul already. He was afraid of ruining what they had, but the fear was so shapeless and his potential mistakes so unknowable that it was almost a horror to consider the many hundreds of ways he might tarnish their special bond and new beginning. Nothing was worth that. He couldn’t trust himself.
“Perhaps not. But then, one never knows,” Hannibal smirked, continuing to eat his breakfast with a look of even more self-satisfaction than usual.
“I already Became,” Will laughed, nudging his foot against Hannibal’s under the table without thinking. His face went from pink to scarlet in an instant. “Uh, you don’t have to keep pushing me into my darkness, I’ve hunted with you, we’ve feasted on our prey, it’s as beautiful as you promised. So no stabbing you, sorry.”
“You are dreadfully enjoyable to watch when you are violent, but I must content myself with witnessing it second-hand.” Hannibal was also blushing from the weird accidental “footsie” thing, but because he liked it or he didn’t like it and did not want to hurt Will’s feelings by discouraging his occasional, badly executed and timed flirtations?
“Well, yes, you’ll be by my side. Isn’t that what partners do?” Will fluttered his lashes and played with the food on his plate with his fork, listless and yes, again, overwhelmed.
When was he ever just whelmed, for crying out loud? Would he ever be? Certainly, he hadn’t been underwhelmed since before the fall.
The ambiguity of “partners” sent Hannibal back into that quiet, considering mood which Will had come to think of, with dread, as “the neutral zone.” Was he giving Will space to understand his own feelings and desires, or trying to let him down gently if he ever confessed those desires?
They loved each other, and that was the most important part. Before Hannibal, Will hadn’t even known what it was to love someone or be loved.
“That’s what partners do,” repeated neutral-zone Hannibal, in a calm, serene manner that made Will want to scream and tear his clothes off like a feral panther.
Time to clear the dishes and go on with the day.
***
“Your skin smells lovely like sandalwood
Your hair falls soft like animals
And nothing else matters to me.”
-Lisa Loeb
***
Will had a dentist appointment, which he thought was going to be easy and boring, to the extent he figured there was a slight risk he might fall asleep during the routine annual cleaning and check-up, after his restless night.
But when he came home again, stumbling, disoriented, into the kitchen by the side entrance to try and get to his room behind a locked door before Hannibal saw him, Will was shaking and dizzy, in a state of terrified panic.
Don’t let Hannibal see. It’s Hannibal’s fault, it will make him feel bad. You can handle this alone…
Except that he had forgotten the way from the kitchen to his room and he realized he’d never be able to get up the stairs. Even the flat floor with its strange, very Hannibal pattern of cobalt blue tiles against ivory ones seemed to be eroding under his feet, losing structure. He couldn’t be totally sure it wasn’t the sea from that night he pulled them over. Had they drowned, were they still drowning even now?
The avant-garde, yet pristine and neat design of the floor swirled before his wild eyes, as if he was a character in one of those Hitchcock movies who had just been drugged by an enemy and only realized it now, when it was too late to prevent the disorienting, dangerous effects.
Collapsing to his knees, he fought another wave of flashbacks and clutched his head with a wail that startled him. He thought it must be some hurt animal outside, but it was him.
The tiles were still moving, and his eyes stung badly, his throat burning. Lungs overtaxed from running all the way home, crookedly, from the village dentist’s office.
Hannibal entered the room with alarm etched on his face, that much was clear even as Will swayed, still on his knees but losing yet more composure and understanding as the seconds swirled around him like a storm about to tear him to shreds and blow him far away from the man he loved.
“Will,” Hannibal said in a low, frightened tone, helping him to his feet, “Whatever happened? Are you hurt, did anyone–-”
“N-no, it wasn’t their fault. I’m okay.”
Hannibal held him by the shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to anchor him. There was something inside of Will he needed desperately to let come out and spill all over Hannibal, come what may, but he didn’t know what it was. It was choking him.
“No, you’re not. You’re having a severe panic attack. Come with me now.” Hannibal led Will to Will’s couch that he sat on every night while stealing looks at Hannibal in his chair.
No fire, middle of day, Hannibal had the day off. That’s why he was here to catch Will being more broken and annoying than unusual. Nausea came upon him again and Hannibal kept one arm around him, soothing him in a gentle, beautiful tone.
“You’re cold as ice,” said Hannibal, side-hugging him so softly and adding, “Sit, I’ll start a fire to warm you. And here, I’ve brought you water, can you have a sip?”
Will took a small sip, the water falling around the thing in his throat like it was a rock under a cascade of river flow. He spilled a little on his chin and Hannibal cleaned it with the sleeve of his perfect, caramel-beige sweater.
“Don’t ruin your shirt,” Will said, or tried to say. The words might have shattered against the rock in his throat. Not enough water to wash it away?
“Never mind my shirt,” Hannibal said, and then a pause happened, as if he bit back something else he’d almost said. “I’m only concerned with you at the moment. It’s late November, and I feel sure you had your coat on when you set off for the village.”
“I did…I left it behind…I forgot.” Will understood his teeth were chattering, which seemed to have locked his jaw, so that his words came out in weird staccato bursts. “It’s fine. I made it home. Just wanted. Home.”
He hugged himself and rocked a bit.
“Oh, Will.” Hannibal’s voice, even softer than his luscious sweater that was warm and smelled like him, of his lovely, expensive cologne.
What does his cologne smell like exactly? It’s, um…lime – no, no – bergamot and jasmine, maybe cedar? Like…church incense and like…home. Home smells like him or he smells like home.
“You need only breathe. Sometimes it helps to count, and then the breathing syncs up and you might find relief.”
He was sitting closer to Will and examining him, like some bizarro universe nice version of the Hannibal who had fucked his brain up with fever and flashing lights, and then later tried to eat the same gray matter he’d distorted. Maybe his brain didn’t fit Hannibal’s design well enough then, so why should it now?
“I don’t want to count,” Will argued feebly, whining, too anxious and out of it to care.
The truth was, Will was still counting out the ingredients in Hannibal’s cologne according to his various past theories on the matter since he could make none now, though he was closer than usual to Hannibal’s throat and wrists, where he had dabbed the fragrance after his morning shower.
“Your heart is racing…” Hannibal’s fingers resting there.
Bergamot, jasmine, cedar…vetiver? I don’t even know what the hell vetiver is. Maybe they made it up to put it in perfume.
He couldn’t laugh, nothing was funny when the world was upside down; funny was serious.
Hannibal’s breath brushed Will’s clammy brow as his hand pressed there all too briefly to gauge his temperature. “Not dangerously elevated. No fever from the cold walk home. Thank God you weren’t injured en route; please call me if this should occur again and I’ll come to help.”
“God?” Will blinked at him slowly with blurry eyes. “You’re thanking him?”
“I suppose if you’re unharmed, despite such a perilous journey, involving a steep hill preceded by a road with cars on it, then yes, I’m thanking Him.”
“Oh.” incense, cedar, vetiver…God I love that smell. God, huh? Him again?
Just a saying. Only something to say, to add emphasis. How could there be anything bigger than Hannibal in the world, unless it was Hannibal and Will together?
“Please, Will, I only need your attention to understand how I might help you more effectively.”
Hannibal’s voice sounded so nice and deep, Will wanted to hide away in it, all cuddled up and nestled.
Will trembled and smiled as crookedly as he’d rushed home. “‘kay.”
“Are you able to tell me what occurred? Was it something at the dentist’s?”
“The…table,” Will blathered. His head throbbed and his eyes stung even worse, for some reason. His voice emerged, but it was choked on the strange thing he couldn’t get out or identify.
“They had you lie down on the dentist’s table…” Hannibal took his pulse, then, having completed his worried basic exam, fretting over Will so wonderfully, started to tenderly rub his back.
Made it almost okay to remember, or not so bad. Still bad.
“T-they, the hygienist turned on a bright light above me. She had on scrubs and a mask.” Will quivered and rocked back and forth again, self-soothing.
“Please, lean into me. Let me hold you through this. Tell me what else.”
Hannibal’s voice, so gorgeous, mysterious and strong, the only voice Will ever wanted to hear. He loved when it took over his own thoughts; he had always loved it, even when he hated it.
He stopped trying to soothe himself, because Hannibal said so, and muttered “‘kay,” before muttering the list of fragrances again, letting his face rest foggily against Hannibal’s chest, arms limply stretched to loosely encircle Hannibal’s waist. They weren’t fully connected; Will was being self-conscious even as he panicked again. He had trained himself to hold back and now it was showing.
“What’s that you’re saying?” Hannibal asked gently, attentively, all focused on Will, so nice, and folded Will into a big, snug embrace, no longer allowing the younger man to keep his distance or be more polite, or try to make himself better.
“Oh. Saying the different scents in your cologne.” Will rubbed his cheek against Hannibal’s chest before he could stop himself. God. He could feel the hard muscle and feel the heat rising under Hannibal’s skin, which only made his partner smell more amazing. “Mmmm. Sorry.”
“Will? Please, did the dental exam trigger this panic?”
He wanted to know what hurt Will so he could fix it, prevent it hurting him again. Then Will realized a lot of things. He curled up and rested more thoroughly against the strong, larger form that held him close, lips ghosting his forehead, heart beating nearly as fast as Will’s own.
“Cor.” Will squeezed his eyes shut. “Cordell. Before you saved me.”
“Muskrat Farm,” Hannibal realized with a sigh. “He can never hurt you again, Will, I swear it. I made sure.”
“Do you rem. Member. What he wanted to do– to–” Will gulped and remembered it himself in vivid, excruciating color and sound and the indescribably immense terror he’d felt, lying down on the dentist’s examination table, lying down on the cot under Cordell’s knife, having his face threatened in a vile taunt, no anesthetic, no…
The thing in his throat came out, except it wasn’t only in his throat; actually, the origin was behind the burning pain in his eyes. He started to cry with a meek, unexpected, embarrassing whimper. Hannibal tightened his hug, whispering that everything was okay.
“You can cry if you need to. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here and help you feel better…"
Will disintegrated into loud, harsh, deep sobs, crying in heaves against Hannibal, banging on his chest then tugging at his sweater. It was a huge, extraordinary release; so many tears, so many. Thousands. He cried and cried, his chest aching, eyes sore, body dizzy and hot, pain in his head, the flashbacks coming and going and Hannibal whispering, murmuring, humming to him it was okay, he was safe.
Hannibal kept him safe before, at the farm. He had changed his mind about hurting and eating Will’s, which had not merely been a desperate, miserable lashing out, but a suicide attempt of his own. Hannibal wanted to die back in Florence, thinking he and Will would always feel bitterness and spite. At least, Hannibal thought, they could die together. Be together…in whatever way they could handle. There wouldn’t be a way to stay bitter in death, right? The feelings would purify, distilled back to only the love that began it all. Anything was worth that.
The Florence apartment and the plain, not-very-good soup and Hannibal’s wretched smile of apology, and his wicked, forced facade of cool determination when Jack arrived and he started the saw. His hands sinking into Will’s curls and stroking, even then, unable to help it.
Those things were nothing like Cordell or Mason and their plans, what they had wanted to, and been going to do to Will. Hannibal never wished him that kind of fear or pain; he had drugged Will, and he had suffered; later he was sorry and he even changed, all for Will. He could stop putting the two incidents together like they were the same. It almost seemed now, no two events could have been more different, one the act of cruel, mean-spirited mockery and theft, and the desire to hurt only for terror and suffering, the other, a longing to bond forever and ever and ever and have Will all to himself at last…
He cried and cried and heard Hannibal say he was sorry, heard Hannibal say he knew he had made things completely unfair for Will even before the farm, but then in a sweet, kind tone, he told Will in graphic violent description, every horrible, vicious way he’d killed Mason and Cordell, the pain he gave them, wiping them off the earth for hurting Will. Making them feel the pain they tried giving Will. He helped the women give Mason to the eels, but it had been more satisfying killing Cordell, Hannibal recalled, as if reading a lovely fairy tale. For Will, it was.
“Oh, thank you. I know I’m safe, it just…reminded me. The sounds and the colors, even the smell, the silver glint of the instruments….” Will got out a few sentences and thought he was done crying, finally.
And then he cried, and cried and cried, his tears soaking Hannibal’s sweater, Hannibal acting just exactly as if he didn’t mind that, or what Will was very mortified to blearily suspect might be mucus and/or spit from the most intense heights of his adult tantrum, this scream-cry-purging, whatever it was. Hannibal just didn’t care about anything at all, except Will.
“Sweetheart,” Hannibal sighed again, deeply. He hugged Will and rocked him, kissed the side of his head. Put his nice, warm, cinnamon breath on Will’s sweaty, cold skin again. “It’s going to take time to fully recover from such a trauma, especially as you’ve had several others since. Please…be very easy on yourself, if not for your sake, for mine. I hope to be here until you love yourself as I love you.”
“Is that why, why, you’re here?” Will wondered. “What happens when I love me? Your work’s done?”
“No, just getting started. I’ll stay, and see you happy. I’ll try every day and night to make you even happier.” Hannibal cupped his soaking wet face, which must be red, gross and absurd, and kissed his forehead three times, stroking Will’s damp hair. “Oh, my darling, please know I’ll always be here.”
Will cried about that, too. Because there was a time, or a lot of time, really, when he didn’t think it could be true, and expected someday to have to live without Hannibal again. This was never going to happen. Will’s heart soared as his sobs turned into cries of happiness, but the new tears were still all-consuming, racking his chest and making him shake, dragging raw noises from his throat.
Sweetheart, him, Will? Darling…really?
Will was exhausted. He burrowed his face into Hannibal without apology this time and clung to the body of the man he loved, until Hannibal engulfed him like he wanted, and Will breathed him in. “Vetiver,” Will said, quivering as more crocodile tears slipped down his hot cheeks.
Hannibal carefully helped Will to move back only a little, just so he could get a good, long look at the fidgeting but clingy creature between his big, warm, capable hands, under his nurturing eyes.
“There, now.” Hannibal shook his head as if at himself. He slowly, lovingly wiped a few tears from Will’s cheeks, then caught several more on his fingers before they fell. “There…forgive me…”
“Why?” Will swallowed, it was easier now that he’d cried so much. Still hurt, but that was okay. “Why sorry, now?”
They both laughed very gently, realizing how many crimes Hannibal had committed against Will and how many things he might be apologizing for. This was a different Hannibal than that man, though.
Hannibal admitted, “I’m afraid you’ll think me the worst kind of sadist in existence if I confess how I feel.”
He stared into Will’s eyes in wonderment, still caressing tears away, letting them slide down his own hands instead, salting his skin. “If you knew how you looked to me.”
The older man seemed entranced, tracing Will’s over-bitten, salty lips.
“I think,” Will sniffled, “The term is ‘hot mess.’”
“Oh, no,” Hannibal smiled, tucking back a stray curl behind Will’s ear. He clasped one side of Will’s face and his breath caught when Will leaned into the touch with a delighted sigh. “You’re not a mess in the way you think. You are always a transcendently handsome and beautiful man, my Will, the only one in my heart or on my mind, or in my secret desires…not so secret now. You’re so heartbreakingly beautiful, and when you cry…” Hannibal shook his head at himself again; Will nuzzled into his palm, not fully understanding anything except he was wanted.
“When you cry, you’re so beautiful…so very, very stunning. Your eyes, like the deepest oceans, as you drown in pain or joy, or both, as you let yourself do that. Be free with me, give me your real feelings. Give yourself to me. Your tears are lovely, crystal streams against soft cream…” he stroked Will’s cheeks and got his fingers all wet again. “Luscious and so, so beautifully broken.”
Hannibal saw how his words got through to Will, as the younger man’s confusion finally ebbed away. The truth beneath it couldn’t be more clear. But Hannibal still surprised him again.
“Will…” Hannibal lost control of himself, kissing Will’s face, pressing his own feverish lips to the wetness of Will’s skin and groaning softly in unmistakable, obsessive lust. A stream of jumbled syllables followed, like incomprehensible poetry, which Will understood to be endearments and exclamations in his native tongue. “Will. Look at you. Are you mine?”
“Sandalwood,” Will said with his wobbly smile, cherry, bitten lips drenched in tear-salt, his chest rising and falling quickly without the pain now. He was healed and thrown over another cliff, this time in Hannibal's arms to stay. “That’s the other thing you smell like. I love how you smell,” he turned his face and briefly kissed Hannibal’s mouth as it lowered to bestow another in a series of rhythmic kisses on his cheeks. “Love, you…”
“I want you terribly, sweetheart, do you know that?” Hannibal’s fists tightened on Will’s designer-made, top-quality, but plain blue shirt. A pained sound escaped his lips and he kissed Will’s mouth, this time their lips connecting longer, the pressure insistent on both sides. “How I always, always want you…so beautiful, so perfect in my eyes…”
“I want you, Hannibal,” Will said with a huge smile, blinking back tears, the kind of tears he’d never shed before. Happiness so powerful it seemed to knock him out into this dream, this impossibly perfect dream. But so real.
Hannibal moaned and kissed Will as if he thought it would be the last time, only there were many such kisses all in a row, the passion building. He laid Will beneath him on the couch that was no longer just Will’s couch. And he stared at the red-faced, sobbing man that he wanted and wanted and wanted, and Will grinned again, blurting, “can I sit in your chair with you when you read sometimes from now on? Can I sit in your lap? Sorry, that’s, I don’t know what’s come over…”
“Yes,” Hannibal gasped, arousal even more obvious now, not only in the gorgeously desperate look on his face but in his body, his hard cock sliding against Will’s own, a blissful friction. Not enough, too many clothes. Hannibal did it again, and it set off sparks.
Will choked on another happy sob, ecstatic, and Hannibal laid siege to him with passion far more likely to drown him than all those tears that slipped away between them in light stains that quickly faded. Still, they both tasted of Will’s tears, and Hannibal’s hair was so soft in Will’s hands as he rutted slowly, firmly against Will on the couch, face contorting in pleasure.
So handsome and sensuous, Will felt far too much in the best way, torn between the pleasure in his cock, vibrating in his whole body as he got harder, and the way Hannibal looked, absolutely out of his mind with unbearable lust.
“You’ll feel me now,” he insisted, tugging both their pants down and pinning Will’s wrists to the cushion above his messy curls.
Will moaned in astonishment and panted as Hannibal quickly undressed them like a man possessed, gave him a fierce look and pressed the hot, urgent hardness of their cocks together. First he just let Will feel it, their most personal, intimate selves finally touching, and he dug his nails into Will’s hands like he would crucify Will on the altar of their love. If he did, Will would thank him.
Will cried out in jagged shards of sensation, so much vibrantly overpowering pleasure, because Hannibal had taken them in hand and used the dripping desire on them both to stroke, slick, easy, good, so good, so–
“Feels amazing….” Will threw his head back.
Hannibal wasn’t holding him down, which he kind of missed, but that was fucking…okay, because. Hannibal was stroking them both, making Will realize, as their lips collided about a hundred times more, as it seemed, that his best friend, now his lover after so long – Hannibal was very wet when he was turned on.
It took no time at all for him to slick them both in their combined precum and stroke so that more sparks broke into sharp fires of euphoria all inside Will, every part of him, everything he was; fire under his skin, and Hannibal kissing him, sliding their tongues together as he stroked their aching, almost scary-hard cocks. How obscene and delicious, to feel their nakedness like that, held in Hannibal’s hand, his thumb stroking over Will’s slit, his teeth in Will’s lower lip with another animalistic groan.
“Close,” Will shuddered, not realizing how close – his back arched and he almost thought he levitated, pleasure crashing over him so much more powerfully when he thought that was impossible. He trembled and cried, and repeated Hannibal’s name, prayer-like, no, prayer.
Hannibal squeezed them both tighter and drew out Will’s pleasure, then made himself come just as Will’s enjoyment started to teeter on the edge of painful too-much. They had made each other filthy, sticky and coated with cum, and they were still kissing.
“I wasn’t sure this was what you wanted,” Will laughed, dreamily hysterical, kissing and wrapping himself around Hannibal, never wanting to let go again. The smell of sandalwood was all over his own skin now, along with the musk of their sex, and Hannibal’s eyes, devouring him, then seizing Will with another stabbed, growling flinch of need, kissing him even harder.
***
Will moved into Hannibal’s room without another thought and just like that they were lovers, together even more crazily frequent than before, when they were already ridiculously, insanely co-dependent.
Realizing, as the sweaty, love-soaked nights washed over him and Hannibal smothered him in his adoration every second, that he was in danger of following the older man around like a puppy whenever he rarely was away from Will – Will tried to act like this wasn’t the case.
How could he be more doted upon or spoiled? Hannibal gave him everything, every part of himself and his love, gifts and praise, mind-blowing orgasms with his mouth and hands, words of affirmation, cooked for him, took Will in his lap and read him poetry, sketched him by firelight…
Will knew they were both obviously out of their minds, so he was past worrying about that small detail. The murder and cannibalism had already established that they didn’t live in the same world with the other mortals, but some other, darkly distorted reality he much preferred. He was right where he wanted to be.
But sometimes, Hannibal had to run an errand, and sometimes, Hannibal was working on a composition and really concentrating, and it would be rude to interrupt him by coming up from behind with kisses and embraces.
Will paced around the house on one such day when Hannibal thoughtfully labored over a harpsichord piece. He wanted to bang his head against the wall. He wanted Hannibal all over him, reassuring and soothing him and then he wanted Hannibal naked, touching him in all those special ways he was still so newly discovering…
Like another insane lightning bolt, Will had a brilliantly mad idea. He only needed to cry again. Hannibal couldn’t resist him when he cried; Hannibal was wild for him then; Will hadn’t seen him quite like that since, which was – an astonishing revelation, because Will had seen Hannibal in many fits of stormy lust that had been thoroughly dealt upon his own body until he fell asleep most times, worn out, waking up with a delirious smile.
Only, it wasn’t that easy to cry, when you were trying. It was easy when it was the last thing you wanted to do, and then a random song, or a paper cut, or obviously a panic attack, even a stray memory of melancholy could set it off. Will made himself frantic, tugging his hair, walking through every room except the library where the harpsichord still played under his lover’s talented hands, trying to figure out how to do it.
Dammit!
He was so angry and frustrated, and he felt crazy – most days he felt normal for him, which was unbalanced but made sense for their world. But he felt completely unhinged now. “C’mon, c’mon, I know you can,” he whispered, pulling his hair harder, biting his own wrist hard enough to leave marks, kicking the wall.
In the end, although he gave himself a few small, ultimately harmless injuries, Will didn’t cry, and it was only an hour later when Hannibal found him sitting with his back against the wall in the hallway that he realized belatedly, he must have been crying for a few minutes in tired, self-criticizing frustration and anxiety.
“Will,” Hannibal breathed, and it all started again, so perfect and right, Hannibal putting him back together.
Will felt like a liar, even as Hannibal sucked him off in the hall, just yanking Will’s pants down and licking him, still saying how lovely he was, how perfect, swallowing Will down and starting the same process again, stroking, lowering his mouth to lap at Will’s entrance, where he still hadn’t penetrated except with his tongue, but they both loved how this made Will feel. Will always thrashed and had to hold on tight to Hannibal’s hair while tears of extreme pleasure coursed down his face and he came, hips shuddering as Hannibal worked him through it with a strong grip on his cock and a few more lingering presses of his tongue in Will.
This time was the same, but better, more like the first time. Hannibal licked up and kissed his tears and they made each other come, then had the most romantic night, all over each other the way Will needed. He was no better than an addict, and every hit of his favorite drug only made him more so. He was soon getting shameless with the frequency of his “tantrums.”
***
Finally, on one afternoon when Will had spent the time when Hannibal went on an errand to watch An Affair to Remember and The Notebook in a row until he was crying so hard, he couldn’t even think straight, the older man called him out on the repetitive behavior.
“Darling,” Hannibal laughed, embracing him and shutting off the tv. “Come with me now, please.”
Instead of scolding Will, he brought him to the bedroom and promptly stripped them both. He flung a delighted, sobbing Will on their big, sumptuous mattress on smooth silk sheets and laughed again with the utmost love, kissing Will and tasting salt.
“You’re not mad?” Will asked, moaning as Hannibal started feeling him up and pinching, squeezing all the right places, his hairy, larger body pressed right to his more bare, slighter one until Will’s vision blurred with the pleasure of it, of them.
Hannibal gave him a faux-accusing smirk and turned him over for a good spanking, one of Will’s favorite things ever since the older man introduced it to their bedroom play. As Will cried out in joy and clung to the bedding, Hannibal gave it to him so good, his huge hand colliding hard against Will’s soft, pert ass.
“I know – you know – I’m making myself cry…”
But Hannibal only hugged him from behind and over him, blanketing Will’s body in most of his weight, kissing the side of his face and laughing that happy laugh, no mockery, just pure bliss.
“So be it, sweetheart. But please don’t hide it from me anymore. Just be honest. If you would like to be forced into crying, you may always simply ask me. Did you think of that?”
“Not exactly…” Will blushed so furiously his face was as red as his ass, which was marked boldly by Hannibal’s handprint.
Hannibal growled and marked his neck as well, with deep, hard biting sucks, and then licked at the bruises before licking all the way down Will’s spine. He pushed Will up on hands and knees and parted the younger man’s ass cheeks to bury his face between. The licking and savagely perfect oral sex commenced, and Hannibal smirked again, the curve of his wicked smile on Will’s already over-pleasured, sensitive skin.
“Give me an honest confession, and I’ll give you so much more of what we both need.” Hannibal paused, resting his face on Will’s ass, almost calmly expectant. Except, of course, that he was still stroking Will’s cock so skillfully, Will struggled to process thought.
“I – like – crying, b-because it feels relieving and like a dam – ah! God, breaking in me, and I feel free. And you show me so much…you know. Oh, fuck, Hannibal, feels so good,” Will cried some more, “I’m sorry, I confess that I make myself cry to get you to pay me even more attention than usual…”
“Don’t be sorry. How sweet, darling. You know I love your tears, and the salt of your pain on my tongue. Your tears are mine, why shouldn’t you evoke them and give them to me any time you like?”
Will trembled and had a hard time staying upright when he noticed Hannibal going for the lube and thought he knew why. The look of hot determination on his face, along with a snarl of pleasured lust at the mere thought of his plans made it obvious –
Hannibal was finally going to take him all the way. First, he opened Will for the taking, which he did so well that Will came twice, once from his huge fingers thrusting in him, and once from Hannibal sucking his cock while he fingered him – so Will wasn’t sure which one set him off that time.
By the time he had made Will into an even more hysterical, pathetic, weeping mess than before, Hannibal was on cloud nine. He kissed Will absolutely everywhere, it seemed like every inch of him, praising his beauty and how good he was being, how well he was taking it, and did he want even more?
Will’s sobbed “yesses” weren’t even embarrassing compared to how he sounded when Hannibal carefully pressed his cock in with gradual, knowing, smooth thrusts, and Will used to think that he loved Hannibal even though Hannibal was a man because that was the power of love. Now he knew, it wasn’t quite like that. Being fucked by a man felt amazing, and he’d wanted this with Hannibal from the start without understanding it.
Hannibal took Will apart with another few orgasms in many positions before filling his lover with his seed, pumping it into him with savage growls as he bit Will’s neck again and pulled his hair, calling him a beautiful, naughty boy.
Will lay beside him afterwards, shocked he was still conscious. He had no feeling in his whole body that was not a single pulse of immense, throbbing pleasure, with a slight undercurrent of soreness that only made it better, more acute. He shook and quivered, unable to help it, his body completely doing its own thing while Will gazed at Hannibal and tried to form words of thanks or love.
“You’re – perfect,” Will managed, “I love you and you take the best care of me. No one ever took…care of me before. Didn’t think I deserved it…”
“Well, you may simply crumple that silly thought up and throw it far away, my love.” Hannibal was flushed all over, even his chest, and his lips were as kiss-swollen as Will’s.
Oh, he was stunningly handsome, very mischievous, darkly dangerous, with his hungry, evil eyes and his sweet smiles. Will couldn’t stop staring and reverently touching him all over, sighing, “Hannibal…”
“What is it, my dear?” Hannibal asked, stroking Will’s hair just the way he liked, then tracing the shape of his ear as he placed soft kisses on either side of his cherry red lips. “Hmm. You are perfection itself.”
“It’s just that I love you so – so much, I –” Will burst into tears, not at all on purpose, which made him laugh, but he really felt so overcome with love, he couldn’t help crying.
“My lost, tender little Alice in Wonderland. How you weep when you are happy or sad or scared or all at once.” Hannibal tapped his nose and nuzzled their faces together with more soft, post-coital kisses, but then Will was really letting the waterworks out, and his grip on the younger man beneath him got tighter again.
“Hannibal, really? So soon, oh….” Will sniffed, his very largest, shimmering crocodile tears flowing like rain down his cheeks. “Oh, God, you feel so good, you make me dizzy. Please, please…”
“I know what you need, dear boy, don’t ever worry.” Hannibal licked and bit at his nipples, then kissed a hot, wet, needy path back to Will’s mouth, fucking it with his tongue until Will’s crying got even more intense – from exertion and stimulation along with the heights of his emotions.
“Really?” Will said again, dazed, his skin and bones and muscle delighting in Hannibal’s worship, his mouth and wandering, perfect hands, until they were both so hard, he moaned, “But we just finished…”
“I’m sorry to wear you out, darling,” Hannibal transparently lied, on top of Will and grinding into him with throaty gasps. His tone was sweet as syrup dripping all over Will’s naked body as he took it over again, claiming, fucking him into the bed, taking every single teardrop as part of his claim.
“So dreadfully sorry…” Hannibal went on and clutched Will’s thigh to bruising, licking his collarbone before turning lust-blown whiskey-amber eyes up to the drowned oceans in Will’s stare. Will’s eyes widened even more when Hannibal continued speaking, as he’d genuinely never heard Hannibal say a swear worse than “damn,” “hell” or “bastard,” and even that quite rarely.
With a devilish smile, Hannibal added, “But you’re just so fucking pretty when you cry. So cry for me, Will. Do you like that? Yes…I thought so. Hold on tight now.”