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Will’s dinner is interrupted by three firm knocks on his front door. He lives in a remote area in Wolf trap Virginia and doesn't usually get visitors. The dogs quickly rush to the door, barking and wagging their tails excitedly. His fork scatters against a plate when Will drops it from his hand. He walks through his living room, past the dog beds until he reaches the door. Making an effort to squeeze past the mass of fur and their wagging tails, giving a few claps on Max's back, he reaches the door handle. The brown wood swings open to reveal a tall figure. Will’s eyes widen. He turns away. "I don't want you here." He frowns.
Will tries to close the door, but the man in the doorway stops it with his foot. "Jack told me to come and get you. They've found a body by the river." Will steps into the living room once more. The man follows, bringing the cold in with him. "They don't need me there.” He says coldly. “I've already told them who the ripper is. They have the evidence. If I go down there, they'll get the same answer. Jack may believe you to be innocent, Doctor Lector. But I know the truth, and I won't stop trying until you're locked in a cell."
Hannibal closes the door behind him. "Still convinced I eat people?" He takes a step forward. "You know, encephalitis can cause brain damage. Mess with your memories. The brain works in myste-rious ways, Will. It can create missing memories. Anything you think you've seen is just a figment of your imagination."
Will acts quickly, grabbing Hannibal by the lapels and slamming Him against the wall, his forearm pressing against Hannibal's throat. "I will not have you try to manipulate me again. You're toying with people's lives"
Hannibal's voice is strained when he speaks. "What are you gonna do? Kill me?" The words them-selves sound teasing, but coming from Hannibal's mouth, they feel more like a suggestion.
Will exhales shakily, only a whisper comes out. "Yes."
Hannibal only manages to move his head a millimeter, but Will recognizes it as an acknowledging nod. Will pushes his arm harder against the wall, pressing Hannibal further into the wooden wall mounts, digging into his ribs. The older man's breath hitches and he lets out a terrible gurgling noise, his nostrils flairing and making his breath whistle when he tries to get in air. His efforts are in vain, and Will keeps suffocating him, making his ears ring and his vision start blackening. He is left in unbearable pain. Unspeakable pain. He desperately tries to breathe in any way possible, through his mouth, through his nose. Clawing at Will’s arm instinctively.
It feels divine.
Will places a knee between Hannibal's legs. His thigh is met with his hardening cock, and Hanni-bal rolls back his eyes. Either from finally getting the friction he had been craving, or because he's about to lose consciousness. When Hannibal's pulse starts slowing and he begins to turn pale, Will decides to unhand him. Without Will holding him up, Hannibal is quick to fall to his knees. Grab-bing at his throat, hacking and coughing, Hannibal looks around franticly, the spots in his vision turning darker. Will looks down at him with such a face of detest and contempt that makes Hanni-bal's blood curl and his ears roar. Hannibal looks back up at the dark-haired man. Will notices red swirls peeking through his eyelashes. The veins in his sclarea have burst, making the whites of his eyes look like a hallelujah bromeliad. Will’s voice is deep and croaking, filled with disdain. "Get up, you filthy swine of a man." Hannibal almost moans aloud in pleasure at the inferiority Will is making him feel. Hannibal does what he is told, trying his best to stand on his trembling legs, his knees quivering and threatening to give out under his ironed dress slacks. He tries to speak, cough-ing a few times before anything comes out. His voice cracks and whistles with every word. “Tell me, Will, do you expect killing me with your hands to provide you the intimacy you were search-ing for?” Although he speaks no louder than the sound of his own breath, he sounds still like his usual, better knowing, doctoresque self. Will merely frowns and walks over to his desk, taking a few seconds to rummage through the mess. He returns with a metal blade a couple minutes later. He keeps a box of them at his desk, as they come in quite handy when you live in the middle of nowhere. Especially when creating fish lures. "It's a razor." Will smirks menacingly and looks at Hannibal's scarred forearms, the wounds tightly stitched and ready to pop open. He frowns, he doesn't want Hannibal to bleed out, that'd be a less than satisfying way to see him go. Hannibal is the type of person who needs to go out with a bang. Will’s eyes travel further up Hannibal's arm, before landing directly above his elbow. "I want you to make an incision low on your bicep" He hands the other man the blade before continuing with a psychotic smile. "... Deep."
Once Will has disappeared form Hannibal's sight, he folds up the sleeve of his white shirt and brings the cold blade to his skin, letting it linger there whilst he outlines where to slice with his eyes. He runs the icy razor across his skin, leaving puckered, pink lines in its way, the thought of opening himself to the world exciting him terribly. Finally, he presses his hand against his arm, making a flowing motion across his skin. He slices deep into the bicep brachii muscle, flossing the basilic vein in the process. The pain is almost numbing, and he can barely contain himself. He is left feeling ecstatic, his heavy breathing occasionally replaced by short whimpers and groans. He eyes the now bronze looking blade, pearls and lakes of blood pooling together and webbing to let the occasional speck of chrome peak through. His fingers too, are riddled with crimson. He lets his fist drop to his knee, squeezing the blade between his fingers, he barely notices the sharp cuts he is creating with the adrenaline coursing through his body. Tilting his head back against the metal rods behind him and closing his eyes, he focuses all his attention on the sensation of the blood tricking down his elbow, then to his forearm, wrist and lasty the very tips of his fingers before the liquid ruby drips to the floor, staining it with its impurity. The fluid starts off warm and watery, but the longer it has been banished from its flesh prison, it starts turning colder and colder before its sticky and almost ivory. It only takes a few seconds before Hannibal falls indifferent to the secretions from his open wound and starts to only feel his rapid heartbeat throughout his body. Soon a new pattern of vibrations is introduced when Will’s footsteps creak long the wooden floor. He is hit with a wall of a sickening metallic smell as soon as he nears a 5-meterradius of the other man. Coppery, like old pennies. Before long, Hannibal hears a clatter on the dresser beside him, and suddenly Will is directly in front of him. Will gently takes Hannibal's hand in his, forcing his fist open to reveal the blade. Will tilts the other man's hand and the razor falls to the floor with a high pitched "PLING." With his eyes set on Hannibal's, Will brings their intertwined hands to his mouth, and starting with Hannibal's pinky, he places each individual finger in his mouth, sucking them graciously. Hannibal flinches and flexes his hand when Will teases the cuts with his tongue, leaving a warm, embracing sting. He lets a flat tongue lick the surface of Hannibal's hand, angling his wrist in such a way, that he can lick the splatters off the back. He lets his tongue explore the metacarpals buried superficially beneath the skin and muscle. Will feels the bones move beneath him with every twitch of the finger before moving on to Hannibal's knuckles. Letting his tongue curve along the skin, Will gets started on the upper part of the palm. The skin there is rough and salty, still, he continues licking along the creases in Hannibal's palm. As Will nears the thenar muscle, he starts tasting metal again before being met with a deep, aching cut by the thumb. Will lets the tip of his tongue outline the curling lips of the wound, testing the waters as the gaping mouth so dearly welcomes him in. The cut is wide and maroon red and can almost fit a fourth of Will’s tongue inside. Hannibal's breath hitches before he lets out a deep sounding, pleasured moan. Sucking everything Hannibal has out of him, Will moves his head away and focuses his attention on the other arm. He garbs hold of Hannibal's other hand, discarding the used and now clean hand to drop to the floor, and he begins the process of licking the hand clean again. This time he starts with the middle finger, cleaning the dark, sticky blood out from under the nail. Will lets his tongue trail up along the curves of Hannibal's arm, lapping up all blood he meets on the way. He makes his way past the wrist to Hannibal's scarred forearm. The scab and thread that hold the wound to-gether is rough against his tongue. The further up the arm will gets, the warmer and redder the blood gets. The blood flows along the curves of his arm. Will finally reaches the charred and fray-ing lips of the wound, brimming to the rim with its sweet crimson nectar. He doesn't hesitate to dive in and suck directly from the new wound. With his mouth rimming the edging the wound, Will’s mouth is filled with the warm, watery, crimson blood that streams from its vermilion source. He feels the liquid stick to his chin and settle in his stubble. He swallows hard, letting the ruby trickle down his throat as he consumes the other man, forever bonded. The taste is sickly and gross, but knowing he has the ability to devour another person in such away makes him feel powerful, fearless, godly. Aroused...
Will laps up every bit of scarlet red of which his eyes are met. Before him, Hannibal is a whimper-ing and panting mess, sucking air through his teeth, and biting the inner side of his cheek as hard as possible, making his mouth flood with the familiar metallic taste. He lets out a shaking breath be-fore opening his mouth. "I beg you, eat me up. "Want me down to the marrow." His voice sounds horrible and creaky, as if the wind had quite literally been knocked out of him and the words he lets out are barely above a whisper.
"I waited too long for you. I will devour you." Will growls. "Want you into flames."
Will grinds his teeth into the severed muscle tissue, making Hannibal let out a moan of delight. Making sure not to swallow a single drop of the older man’s vital fluids, Will feeds on the thrill of the taste filling the hollow of his cheeks and the spaces between his gum and teeth. When he is satisfied, he abandons the yawning opening and instead laces his fingers through Hannibal's gray-ing hair. He tugs on the strands, pulling Hannibal closer to him before connecting his lips with his own. Hannibal breathes in his scent of old his aftershave. He notices the hints of cinnamon, nutmeg and orange that always surrounds Will. But he also grasps an underlying hint of pine needles and moss that he hasn’t picked up on this heavily before. He opens his mouth to taste the younger man better, welcoming the warm mixture of saliva and his own fluids. The sensation is overwhelming and gross, but Hannibal feels his pants tighten further, nonetheless. Will’s tongue is quick to force itself into the other man’s orifice, dominating his face. He lets his hands palm their way to Hanni-bal’s collar, loosening the ribbed, silky tie around his neck and baring his skin to the world. His hands are quick to find their way back into the comfort of Hannibal’s gray locks. While Will’s lips are relatively soft against his own, the only exception being the occasional scabs of his lips from stressfully picking the skin between his teeth and peeling it off in long, wet strands, the dried blood on his chin and the dark stubble that surrounds his jaw leave an almost burning sensation with the urgency of which he is pressing their faces together. Will pulls Hannibal’s bottom lip in between his teeth and nips at it, breaking the skin with a soundless pop, sending a spark of pain through his body that made him brace himself. The fervor Will is kissing him with sends a rush of excitement through the body, making hearts race and breaths quicken. With Will’s tongue halfway down his throat, Hannibal makes a disgusting gargling noise as he almost chokes on the slimy saliva-blood mixture, letting a drop of the liquids trail down the corner of his mouth. The younger man cringes every time their teeth knock together in the heat, but still continues gnawing everywhere possible, their lips pressing together with significant pressure. Will’s hands slip to the side of Hannibal’s face, placing his fingers behind his ears and into the baby hairs by his hairline and digging his thumbs into Hannibal’s cheekbones and sweaty sideburns, pulling him closer with such a haste and sense of needy desperation. He lets his tongue follow the crevices between Hannibal’s teeth and gums and presses against his almost vampire-like canines. They’re sharp against his pinkish mus-cle and he presses harder against the porcelain dentin making his tongue sting. After an aggressive battle of teeth and lips, Will knocks Hannibal’s head into the wall behind them, separating them from their former face-smashing. He licks his teeth, letting his tongue graze the blood-filled crev-ices and red stained maxillaries. Marks have been left on Hannibal’s forehead, pink and purplish from the top of Will’s glasses against his face.
“Don’t swallow it.” Will asserts. “Spit it out.” Hannibal does what he is told, letting the liquids pile to the bottom of his mouth, and letting it spill down his lips and chin. It drips down his throat, then the collar of his dress shirt. Then, when he opens his mouth wider, it drips directly onto the white of his clothed chest, continuing in streaks of red until it bleeds into the fabric. It collects on the mother-of-pearl of the buttons in large sagars. The scarlet gathers in a spot right above his sapphire tie and blooms brightly like a flower in spring, invitingly deadly. Will commands Hannibal to kneel on the floor. “Take off your shirt.”
He is eager to comply, chasing the high of Will’s rewarding voice and strict hands. With his leath-ered toes pointing downwards, bending at an uncomfortable angle and the heels of his shoes dig-ging into his skin, Hannibal unbuttons the top button of his lounge jacket. The fabric feels expen-sive against the roughness of his fingers. He straightens any wrinkles and lets the plaided, navy and brown coat slip off his shoulders. Once the back of his button up is released to the cold, he removes one arm and slides the other sleeve off with his now free hand. He folds the shoulders together and lastly throws the jacket to the floor. His tie is corundum blue and has peaks of ruby red rectangles along the diagonal. It is next to be discarded. He fingers the loosened knot and drags his hand down past his navel, undoing his tie in the process. The tie is cast aside and joins the jacket on the floor, looping around itself and looking almost snake like. His hands find their way to the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning the collar then the one below and the one under that. He reaches the red, stained spots and feel the wet and slimy liquids coat his fingers. The buttons are smudged with a rosy pink and his chest is finally revealed to the world. The shirt suffers the same fate as the jacket that had been before it. Hannibal slides the white off his shoulders and back and then tugs his arms out of the buttoned sleeves. Will gestures to hand the shirt over and he obliges. Their fingers touch briefly when the shirt is handed over. Will stretches out the bloodied mess of a button op and grabs the shirt by the shoulder and sleeve. He braces himself for a second and then he pulls with his strength all directed at one spot. He twists his wrists and with one swift movement, the top six stitches rip apart. It gives way for the rest and the chain of stitches between the body and sleeve rip apart with a gruff tear. He twists the fabric into a long rope-ish shape before taking hold of Hanni-bal’s arm and wrapping the snake of fabric around his bicep. He ties the knot tight, to make it act almost like a tourniquet and hopefully stop him from losing too much blood.
At this point, his arm had been soaked with the warm liquid all over again. The faint “TIP TIP” of the blood dripping to the floor reverberating throughout the room. With it, the breathing of the two men are also heard. And when will stands close enough, he can almost hear Hannibal’s heartbeat, the muscle franticly circulating blood throughout his body, inside of his chest. The silence is ab-rupted by a swift kick to the abdomen. A loud “SWUSH” before a breathless gasp is heard. The tip of Will’s worn, brown, leather boots is harsh and knocks all air out from Hannibal’s lungs. He buckles over and hacks and coughs. His head is lifted up by the grabbing hands in his hair, pulling at the roots and forcing him to straighten his torso. His stomach turns a splotchy pink, red pooling in the middle. Where Will’s shoe had been mere seconds ago. Hannibal feels a shiver all the way down to the bone. He could almost come by Will’s expression by itself. The way his head is leant against the wall behind him, he is forced to hold eye contact with the younger man looking down at him in pure disgust and mischief.
“May I ask why you haven’t killed me yet? You should always keep your promises, Will.” He says nonchalantly in the classic, monotone voice of his, as if his question is one he asks on the daily, like “How are you feeling?” or “What are you thinking?”
As if he isn’t quite literally kneeling before Johnny law, completely and utterly under Will’s con-trol. Under his hypnotic influence.
Will merely frowns and ignores his comment. He swigs an almost empty whiskey bottle from the chest of drawers on his left. He downs the liquid in one swift go and savors the golden burn as it trickles down his throat. He grabs the bottle by the neck, almost like you would a bat, and swings it with all his might. It meets the edge of the drawer and splinters into a hundred shards, scattered wildly across the floor. The room is filled with a symphony of breaking glass, coating the wooden floor like a diamond covered ring or a beach at sunset. The bottom falls with a loud bump and breaks in half and everything falls quiet. Hannibal doesn’t register it at first. It was swift. It isn’t until he feels the blood trickle down his stomach and pile on the pleats of his pants that he notices it. A sharp pain. It starts on his left pectoral. Right below his collarbones. The pain then quickly shoots. Travels. Climbs across his chest like a spider would a windowpane. The gash starts a pink-ish white on his shoulder, then turns deeper as is slides across his skin until it’s almost a glistening black. Like a starry night in the countryside. Where the skies are clear and the clouds far away. It’s not deep, but wide enough to leave a cascading waterfall of blood rushing down his torso. He lets his pointer and middle finger dabble in the sticky fluid before bringing it to his mouth and whim-pering in delight as he suckles on them. Will quickly threads his hand into Hannibal’s hair, bring-ing his attention from the cut to the panting man standing before him. His glasses have slipped to the tip of his nose from exert after the maneuver, making him look like a disappointed professor, punishing his student. Hannibal revels in the fantasy. He’d always loved to watch Will’s lessons from the sidelines. He caresses Hannibal’s hair, and the older man leans into his touch. Will lets his hand glide from Hannibal’s hair, to behind the ear, to his jaw and then lastly to rest on the other man’s bottom lip. He curves his thumb inward to pull at his lower lip and lets the rest of his hand press against the bloodied and freshly shaved stubble on Hannibal’s chin. Will places one foot be-tween Hannibal’s legs, planting his feet firmly on the ground before reaching for his pants and un-doing his belt. He slips the button out from its socket and starts unzipping his pants. With his pants opened, he untucks his blue, flannel shirt, undoing all the buttons until his chest is bared to the cold. He lowers the waistband of his light blue boxers. His cock is already hard, throbbing with his pulse. His length is pretty average, maybe a couple centimeters bigger, but what Hannibal wasn’t prepared for was the girth of his cock. He furls a thumb around Hannibal’s bottom teeth, digging his nail into Hannibal’s gums. He drags him further towards his own pelvis, almost making them touch. He eases his thumb into Hannibal’s mouth and presses the pad of his finger onto his tongue. Will’s fingers are salty and the lines from his fingerprint are raised, feeling ribbed against his tastebuds. He forces his hand further down Hannibal’s throat, making him gag. Will’s voice is toneless and his face blank. “Open wide.”
Hannibal lets his jaw fall open, revealing the uvula in the back of his mouth and freeing more space for Will to press his thumb further down his throat. “Good boy.” Will smiles and grabs the side of the older man’s head with his other hand. He pulls them close until they touch. The tip of his erect cock touches Hannibal’s stretched out upper lip. He slowly slides his damp thumb out of Hannibal’s mouth, letting it linger of his bottom lip before slipping his hand down to his throat. He eases his dick further into Hannibal’s orifice, gasping when the tip hits the back of his throat. All Hannibal’s efforts to cough are in vein and he marvels at the feeling of his airway being obstructed by the other man. He curls a cupid’s-bow shaped lip around Will.
Will slides against the slickness of the latter’s tongue, stopping right before the head of his cock pops out from Hannibal’s mouth to slide it back into the warmth of his face. “Easy now. Watch the teeth.” Will slides a hand over to Hannibal’s upper lip, dragging it upwards and pulling at his max-illaries to help the tension. He grabs the back of Hannibal’s head, thrusting himself into his mouth and down his throat. Hannibal feels himself gag with every force of Will’s pelvis, hitting his phar-ynx, tears forming in his eyes. Will moves with such fervor, buckling his hips into Hannibal’s mouth, grinding against the ribbed flesh inside and fucking his face, using him like a fleshlight. Utterly abusing him as if he doesn’t need to breathe. His tongue presses against every inch it can reach. Again, Hannibal chokes, gagging at the intrusion. Each snap of his hips are punctuated by Hannibal’s guttural groans. Will continues fucking his throat raw, to the point where he can’t speak a single sentence and even breathing through his nose is almost impossible with his own saliva forcing itself up through the roof of his mouth and into his nasal ways. The snot-spit mixture that drips from his nostrils coats the latter’s cock in a thick lube. Soon, even his cheeks are wet with tears and his face appears almost glossy, his lips wet and slick with the various moistures. The gags, gurgles, hacks and coughs Hannibal produces, vibrate throughout his craterous mouth, mak-ing Will sigh heavily at the pleasure. Will tilts his foot against Hannibal’s stomach, increasingly pressing harder against the pink bruise under his skin until he feels the resistance of Hannibal’s abs flexing beneath the soles of his shoe. Despite himself, Hannibal feels his aching cock begging for attention in his tented, navy dress slacks. His mouth feels full and his lungs empty. His throat spams with every hit it takes and his epiglottis clenches and opens as he desperately tries to get air in without inhaling blood-stained spit. And yet he can’t get enough of it. The pain he feels in his arm, chest and throat is glorious, unlike any other. He catches himself softly rolling his hips against wills shoe in between his legs, but it’s not enough. Not with the throbbing pulse in his crotch thrumming in his ears. He makes an attempt to palm his neglected dick through his pants. Sliding it across the curve of his thigh over to the middle of his crotch. Before he can gain any much-needed friction though, Will swoops both hands into his own. He grabs his belt and slides it out of the loops on his pants, feeling the burn against his waist from the hard tugs. The leather is warm against Hannibal’s wrists when Will loops the flat snake around his hands and under the wooden wall mounts that hold up the rods behind them. His pulse his faint and his wrists cold against Wills thumb. He looks a little closer at the hands before him and presses the pad of his thumb against Hannibal’s fingertips. His hands form a bouquet of reddish pink and bluish tones. Will notices the colour slowly drain and become whiter, while in other places darker and bluer, the longer his hands are above his head. Hannibal feels himself salivating, his mouth full of transparent slime and the thrusting of Will inside him. The clear liquid almost starts frothing with the rhythmic piston of Will’s dick crammed inside, his jaw stuffed. He retches with every hit against his throat. His ab-domen cramps as his stomach churns and he feels an overwhelming sense of nausea flood every-thing. Bile tries to climb up his throat, but he continues swallowing around Wills cock to wash the burn away with his saliva. Yet he can’t stop himself from gagging, his abs flexing and his nails digging into his own flesh as he tried to stop himself. He attempts to speak, but all that comes out are gross, wet noises and mumbles as he continues swallowing consistently to keep everything down. He flexes the muscles in his neck, but Will continues to abuse his face. Chunky liquid wells up in his esophagus and he can’t keep himself from gagging. Will meets his eye through his eye-lashes, a worried glint coating his pupils on the light. His cheeks are hollowed out and saliva drips from his chin, mixing with the crust of the dried blood. His throat spasms uncontrollably and soon he involuntarily lets everything spill, flooding his mouth this acidic, chunky liquid. Bile escapes the corners of his mouth, making his chin slimy and wet and every thrust pushes the concoction of vomit, snot, dried blood and saliva across his face. It leaves a damp spot on the waistband on Wills boxers, the hair on his crotch sticking to his abdomen with the spit as added glue. Will merely looks back at him, his eyes blue like fire and dark with lust and superiority. Hannibal feels the half-digested chunks of beef tartare swim around in his mouth. He remembers his usual ritual of minc-ing the flank of a lowly homosapien, not even a proper, conscious, intellectual person he had har-vested earlier. The taste of Dijon mustard is sickening and fills his nose with a pungent aroma that’s slips through his fovea palatinae. The thinly slices shallots being pushed around by the harsh back and forth tide of waves in his orifice aren’t helping his nausea either. Will simply digs his fingernails deeper into Hannibal scalp and tugs at the roots, even as sickly wails bubble from the back of his throat. Drool and bile dribble down his chest, pooling in the depth of his belly button and settling in the dark hairs that line his torso. Will feels himself get rougher and even more care-less as he nears the edge. His breaths are deep and quick, and you can hear his breaths throughout the room, trembling and pleasured. He chases the high as vigorously as possible, unsure if he’d be able to survive without it. Will wraps a hand around Hannibal’s throat, feeling the pulse slow in his neck as he squeezes harder, pressing on the sides to restrict blood flow. It doesn’t take long, maybe a minute or three, before Hannibal feels himself start to lose consciousness. His head tips to the side and his vision blurs until all he can see before him are vague, elklike antlers on a dark shadow. Will thrusts deeply one more time, he groans deeply and feels his orgasm shaking his entire body as his cock pulses inside Hannibal’s orifice. He shoots out ropes of sticky, white cum down his throat, coating the inside with his fluids. Will digs his nails into the damp skin of Hannibal’s back, drops of sweat dripping down the canal between his shoulder blades and onto his spine, needing an outlet for the pleasure. He drags his hands against the length of his flesh, leaving pure, white streaks on his back that soon turn pinkish and the area around them red. Droplets of crimson form at the deepest ridges. They swell, getting plumper and plumper until gravity takes hold of them and the trickle down to the waist of his slackers and settle in the band on his boxers, bleeding into the fabric like ink in water. The sensation is overwhelming and he feels his brain numb in pleasure. Feeling that same static pool in his stomach, he sees white for a moment, as though he’s going to pass out. He blacks out for a second or two and is breathless when he returns to the world. Hanni-bal’s body seizes up, waves of electricity flow through his whole body. He feels his eyes roll back in their sockets as he reaches a state of pure euphoria. The rush of endorphins numbs his whole body and he shudders when he dirties his underwear with a damp spot of semen that bleeds through the fabric and into the crotch of his pants. Will removes his now flaccid cock from the depths of Hannibal’s contracting throat and Hannibal quickly doubles over. His esophagus once more being burned by stomach acid and the muscles in his throat expanding as he coughs violently before vomiting on the floor next to him. He retches, emptying all the contents of his stomach. Various pieces of thinly chopped meat, parsley, chives, the fried eggs he’d eaten for breakfast splatter on to the floor before him. Everything makes its way into a collected little puddle on the floor, and soon the vile, yellowish liquid starts turning red when he retches again and splatters crimson all over his mouth and the surrounding furniture. The blood collects in pools like oil in water, spreading out through the puddle as if the vomit had contracted chicken pox. He dry heaves fanatically, occa-sionally producing a lump of spit mixed bile that drops into the mixture in front of him. Will simp-ly looks at him with an inconvenienced facial expression before grinding the toe of his shoe into the puddle of vomit, blood and his own sperm. He twists his angle, coating the bottom of his shoe with the liquids. “You’re disgusting. A shameless, good for nothing, piece of shit psychiatrist and now you’ve ruined my floor.” He says, with look of disgust painted on his face, his nose wrinkled under the bridge of his glasses. Hannibal whimpers at the lecture, his shallow breaths becoming increasingly heavier.
Will unfastens the belt buckle, letting Hannibal’s now numb, pale and cold hands drop into his lap. His wrists are pinkish and red from the tight grip on his hands. Every movement stings as his arms have fallen asleep, leaving him with a painful, tinkling feeling. He winces when he brings an arm up to his face and smears vomit across his face with the back of his hand. He moves one foot un-derneath himself and attempts to stand. His knee buckles and he grabs on to Will to brace himself. He hastily grabs Hannibal by the arm, his reflexes quick. He drags him up against the wall and allows Hannibal to lean against his frame. His hands are resting on his knees. His face curls up every time he allows weight on his legs. “You okay?” Asks Will, his tone worried. Worried he’d over done it with his schematics. Hannibal opens his mouth to speak, but he’s completely lost his voice and just ends up coughing into his hand, blood speckling the skin. He finally manages to croak out a hoars; “I just have some paresthesia in my legs. Pins and needles.” He clarifies. Will hums in return, relieved the other man is alright. They walk over to Wills bed, Hannibal leaning on the younger man, digging his nose in his sweaty, dark brown curls. He smells like nature, wet dogs and old spice. He relishes in the familiar smell. The floor creaks beneath their feet until they reach the edge of the soft mattress. Hannibal turns to sit and intertwines his fingers in his lap. He taps the floor rhythmically with the back of his heels as Will disappears behind the wall to his bedroom. It doesn’t take long before his muscles loosen again and his legs stop feeling numb, only the slightest prickling in his feet. Will soon returns with a white and gray striped dishtowel. He simply sits down next to Hannibal, staring into nothingness, as if he still hasn’t quite comprehended what just happened. Hannibal turns to look at his side profile, crossing one leg over the other in the mean-time. He stares blandly at the edge of his profile for a while. His forehead, his brow ridge, the long, still lashes attached to his eyelids, his nose bridge, the tip of his nose that forms a nice “C” curve. The dark, short hair on his upper lip, the flat, triangular shape of his cupids bow. All the way down to his chin, neck and Addams apple, that bobs slightly when he finally swallows the heaps of saliva that has collected under his tongue and in the room beside his teeth. He undoes the knot of his fin-gers to bring one up to chest height. Wills eyes flicker for a second. From the wall, to his hand, to the wall to lastly Hannibal’s eyes. A couple of loose strands cover his forehead and the top of his eyes. He glances at the towel in his hand, before once more looking at the other man and handing it over. Once Hannibal has a proper grip on the towel, he uncrosses his legs and walks over the the blood stained wood. He scrunches his nose at the smell. Acidic and pure. When the floor is as clean as possible and the towel damp and wet, Hannibal throws it into the pile of clothes, regretful of the ruined suit. Will seems to return to reality and informs Hannibal of the shirts in the drawer next to him. He picks out pieces of white skin from underneath his nails. Hannibal pulls out a couple drawers before he finds one with multiple, creased shirts thrown in there. He flips through the dif-ferent flannel shirts with a look of disgust before finally landing on a plain, brown button up. He shrugs and throws it over his arm. Before returning, Will asks him to please take the gauze and antiseptic with him. Hannibal coughs in response and snatches the items before again sitting on Wills plush mattress, resisting the urge to lean back and take in the smell of his sweat stained com-forter. “You need some water?”
“Oh, thank you, Will,” Hannibal smiles back, his voice still rusty and thick with his accent.
When will returns with the glass, he hands it over and Hannibal sips from it as Will tends to his wounds with the antiseptic and gauze. Hannibal is thrilled with the stinging sensation and pleased when he buttons up Will’s shirt around him.