[ They're been waiting for this moment for years, if only because Hannibal had made that a certainty. He had manipulated Will to this moment, and it wasn't as if he was unaware of that. But he felt no guilt over it. He had been the one driving the wedge into the cracks that held Will Graham together. And shattered, he could be rebuilt anew.
It's just a kiss, but they're both indulging and drowning in it both physically and mentally. ]
I hope they do not. We didn't quite make it to the water, but-
[ He murmurs lightly against Will, but pulls back as he feels the direction that Will is pulling him towards. Or maybe it's not direction at all. He wants to go there just as much, because just as with every touch that he doesn't have to instigate or every word that accepts this as it is, Hannibal's chest warms when Will asks to kiss him again. He leans closer, forehead to forehead, but he finishes his thought first. ]
—It may have been a baptism all the same. For you. For me.
[ The for us goes unsaid, because it's implicit as Will pulls him in for another kiss. The Sheriff had given his explanation of how they were here, but there was a part of it that Hannibal didn't want to believe. There was far more poetry in the idea that they had died, after all. In that sense, it was fitting to his comparison. Together, they drown in the a sea the color of blood in the moonlight, and together, they can have their chance to live again by bloodshed. They could indulge, and through that indulgence, it didn't have to be the end.
He breathes in sharply through his nose, not quite a noise of surprise, but almost a noise to signify that he's releasing some of his personal restraint. He's careful with Will, which might seem paradoxical considering all that he had done to him, but that was the thing about how Hannibal felt about Will too. He was too often reckless. But if Will allows some—then he can dip into that pleasure. His hands tighten lightly on Will's face, though the grip still isn't completely firm. But the way he kisses Will in return isn't chaste either, not the sort of light, almost modest touches of tenderness, but hungrier. Wanting.
Which might be a dangerous thing with the infamous "Hannibal the Cannibal," because when it comes to taste, it's also literal. He tastes, and for several moments of a deeper kiss where they savor each other, that's enough. But he also can't help himself. He pulls back for a breath, and he bites Will's lip hard enough to split it and draw blood, but not so much that there's any concern that he might lose it. Because that is. Also a concern with Hannibal.
Their love—or whatever their bond was—wasn't really complete without blood. ]
me @ hannibal: shut the fuck up and stop making everything a metaphor
It's just a kiss, but they're both indulging and drowning in it both physically and mentally. ]
I hope they do not. We didn't quite make it to the water, but-
[ He murmurs lightly against Will, but pulls back as he feels the direction that Will is pulling him towards. Or maybe it's not direction at all. He wants to go there just as much, because just as with every touch that he doesn't have to instigate or every word that accepts this as it is, Hannibal's chest warms when Will asks to kiss him again. He leans closer, forehead to forehead, but he finishes his thought first. ]
—It may have been a baptism all the same. For you. For me.
[ The for us goes unsaid, because it's implicit as Will pulls him in for another kiss. The Sheriff had given his explanation of how they were here, but there was a part of it that Hannibal didn't want to believe. There was far more poetry in the idea that they had died, after all. In that sense, it was fitting to his comparison. Together, they drown in the a sea the color of blood in the moonlight, and together, they can have their chance to live again by bloodshed. They could indulge, and through that indulgence, it didn't have to be the end.
He breathes in sharply through his nose, not quite a noise of surprise, but almost a noise to signify that he's releasing some of his personal restraint. He's careful with Will, which might seem paradoxical considering all that he had done to him, but that was the thing about how Hannibal felt about Will too. He was too often reckless. But if Will allows some—then he can dip into that pleasure. His hands tighten lightly on Will's face, though the grip still isn't completely firm. But the way he kisses Will in return isn't chaste either, not the sort of light, almost modest touches of tenderness, but hungrier. Wanting.
Which might be a dangerous thing with the infamous "Hannibal the Cannibal," because when it comes to taste, it's also literal. He tastes, and for several moments of a deeper kiss where they savor each other, that's enough. But he also can't help himself. He pulls back for a breath, and he bites Will's lip hard enough to split it and draw blood, but not so much that there's any concern that he might lose it. Because that is. Also a concern with Hannibal.
Their love—or whatever their bond was—wasn't really complete without blood. ]