It's the natural progression of Hannibal's fondness for people, even though he always asserts that he prefers to eat the rude whenever possible. But in his mind, there's a very different distinction. The way he wanted to consume the people he liked was far different, a way to honor them in all they were and a way to keep them. For a while, he had thought that he would eat Will, that even despite his best and grandest efforts, Will would never accept the love that Hannibal gave him. So, naturally, it meant that he would have to eat him. Just as he had eaten people he cared for in the past, and how he would continue to do so.
But as he's here now, tasting Will's blood on his own fingers, he's so glad that hadn't been necessary. Even if his attraction to Will was something difficult for him to put into words in anything short of poetry and metaphor, there was also Hannibal's hedonism. Drowning himself in pleasure was all Hannibal ever wanted, and so the copper taste on his tongue comes with an intense feeling of satisfaction that Will would doubtlessly be able to pick up on. In that moment, he's aware that he wants more, because Hannibal is always greedy when it comes to his own pleasure, but more he knows would be too much for Will. At least, it would be right now. ]
We had already died.
[ He murmurs lowly in response, his voice thrumming around Will's fingers, because he doesn't want to lose the sensation of taste even so. But there's an easy agreement in Hannibal's voice to the sentiment. He worries about losing Will. But he knows he won't. It would be called an irrational fear if not for the twisted circumstances that gave him the certainty.
Hannibal looks to Will when he pulls his hand back to touch his cheek, and the soft gesture is immediately met with a smile. He can see the happiness in Will, and for him, that's a rare thing. Fleeting, at best. Though if they do survive past this place, Hannibal thinks he'll see it more. He reaches up again to cradle Will's cheek in his hand, both a mirror of what Will is doing and an intensely familiar gesture. It's far from the first time Hannibal has held him exactly like this. But it's the first it's been reciprocated as he always hoped it would be. ]
I am glad you understand, Will.
[ Because that's part of what draws him to Will with such an obsessive fervor. His understanding of how Hannibal thinks, how he sees the world— It's almost breathtaking for how rarely Hannibal has found it. Will understands the honor of being savored, and so Hannibal can respond as if this were the most romantic sentiment in the world. ]
There is no one else I would want to have me but you.
these take so long bc it's like 1000 words of "gay pretentious murder" i hate them
It's the natural progression of Hannibal's fondness for people, even though he always asserts that he prefers to eat the rude whenever possible. But in his mind, there's a very different distinction. The way he wanted to consume the people he liked was far different, a way to honor them in all they were and a way to keep them. For a while, he had thought that he would eat Will, that even despite his best and grandest efforts, Will would never accept the love that Hannibal gave him. So, naturally, it meant that he would have to eat him. Just as he had eaten people he cared for in the past, and how he would continue to do so.
But as he's here now, tasting Will's blood on his own fingers, he's so glad that hadn't been necessary. Even if his attraction to Will was something difficult for him to put into words in anything short of poetry and metaphor, there was also Hannibal's hedonism. Drowning himself in pleasure was all Hannibal ever wanted, and so the copper taste on his tongue comes with an intense feeling of satisfaction that Will would doubtlessly be able to pick up on. In that moment, he's aware that he wants more, because Hannibal is always greedy when it comes to his own pleasure, but more he knows would be too much for Will. At least, it would be right now. ]
We had already died.
[ He murmurs lowly in response, his voice thrumming around Will's fingers, because he doesn't want to lose the sensation of taste even so. But there's an easy agreement in Hannibal's voice to the sentiment. He worries about losing Will. But he knows he won't. It would be called an irrational fear if not for the twisted circumstances that gave him the certainty.
Hannibal looks to Will when he pulls his hand back to touch his cheek, and the soft gesture is immediately met with a smile. He can see the happiness in Will, and for him, that's a rare thing. Fleeting, at best. Though if they do survive past this place, Hannibal thinks he'll see it more. He reaches up again to cradle Will's cheek in his hand, both a mirror of what Will is doing and an intensely familiar gesture. It's far from the first time Hannibal has held him exactly like this. But it's the first it's been reciprocated as he always hoped it would be. ]
I am glad you understand, Will.
[ Because that's part of what draws him to Will with such an obsessive fervor. His understanding of how Hannibal thinks, how he sees the world— It's almost breathtaking for how rarely Hannibal has found it. Will understands the honor of being savored, and so Hannibal can respond as if this were the most romantic sentiment in the world. ]
There is no one else I would want to have me but you.