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[ week three ➝ hannibal ]
[ Will typically doesn't go to executions because they're a bit, well, intense for him. The feedback loop is something he doesn't like being caught in and this execution in particular is not something he wanted to bear witness to.
Still, he watched from the kitchen and the ground swallowing up a guy is pretty fucking biblical, in his opinion. He lets out a pretty impressed sounding shit and backs away to wait for the stream of people that'll come in through the hotel in a bit.
He's waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Hannibal comes passing through, catching him quickly with a hand shooting out to grab at his tie or suspenders if he's opted for those today. His hands drop a moment later to Hannibal's belt loops, curling his fingers on either side of him and pulling him upward the stairs -- Will walking backwards in the process. He murmurs for Hannibal to hear, slow steps upwards as they hit the second landing. ]
I have this strange sensation lately, that I'm to book an appointment with you if I want a bit of your time. [ A wry grin and he jerks the belt loops forwards a little roughly. ] I don't like it.
[ Thankfully, their room is at the top of the stairs so when they reach the top, Will pulls Hannibal inside rather swiftly and closes the door with a click behind him. The tension eases out of Will a moment later but he's still got a rather possessive hold of Hannibal's hips then. ]
Still, he watched from the kitchen and the ground swallowing up a guy is pretty fucking biblical, in his opinion. He lets out a pretty impressed sounding shit and backs away to wait for the stream of people that'll come in through the hotel in a bit.
He's waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Hannibal comes passing through, catching him quickly with a hand shooting out to grab at his tie or suspenders if he's opted for those today. His hands drop a moment later to Hannibal's belt loops, curling his fingers on either side of him and pulling him upward the stairs -- Will walking backwards in the process. He murmurs for Hannibal to hear, slow steps upwards as they hit the second landing. ]
I have this strange sensation lately, that I'm to book an appointment with you if I want a bit of your time. [ A wry grin and he jerks the belt loops forwards a little roughly. ] I don't like it.
[ Thankfully, their room is at the top of the stairs so when they reach the top, Will pulls Hannibal inside rather swiftly and closes the door with a click behind him. The tension eases out of Will a moment later but he's still got a rather possessive hold of Hannibal's hips then. ]
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He feels Hannibal's lips on his jaw and he holds him closer with an arm around his waist. His head tilts to the side to let Hannibal have skin and beard alike and he keeps his hand clutched tight against Hannibal's shoulder. A small laugh slips out of his mouth when he realizes how lightheaded he feels, how faint. He could tip over at a moment's notice. ]
You -- [ His voice is rough, raw, like gravel. He clears his throat. ] You have a point. I feel freshly shattered, my pieces unable to slide back into place.
[ His hand on the shoulder slides upwards, fingers sliding into Hannibal's hair as he cups the back of his head. The strands are knocked out of place and Will feels satisfaction blossom in his chest. This is his God to worship how he pleases. ]
I'm not sure I want them to. It -- [ He's quiet for a moment, considering. ] I feel brand new. Kiss me again? I want to know your taste.
[ He tugs lightly at the hair in his fingers so he can lean forward and press his mouth to Hannibal's again. This kiss, initiated by Will, is less chaste and more of a savor. It's Will's mouth pressing firmly against Hannibal's, seeking taste and tongue and something that will make his toes curl. He's been too indecisive about this for too long, too many years of pain and discomfort and now -- now he wants a kiss. Something to truly lock away in Hannibal's memory palace. Something to fade into, that isn't a stream. ]
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. ]
yeah what the fuck
Thus, there's a poetic irony when Hannibal compares their kisses to a baptism. Part of him finds it ridiculous, but another part can't help but agree. He'd like to stay like this, no concern for anything outside this door. It would be nice and part of him can't help but wonder why they can't? What truly pulls them away from each other, body and teeth and blood.
Will doesn't reply and instead kisses. He takes every press of Hannibal's mouth and gives back as good as he gets. His hands grip tighter, the hand on Hannibal's back fisting his shirt tightly while the hand on the back of his neck drags Hannibal in with a firm sort of desperation that won't let him go. Will still finds himself shaking with emotion, his entire being too overwhelmed with everything that Hannibal is to be able to pull himself out of this moment. He still does not want to either.
When Hannibal pulls away, Will finds himself following after, mouth slack and with a desperate need for air. He's flush all over, wet with saliva and pupils blown wide and he wants so much more in that moment. He needs more with a hunger he's never really had for another lover before and it makes sense -- his conscious is always actively reaching out for Hannibal, soaking up any amount of him he could get. Now, like this, he feels the need from them both and it makes him quite dizzy.
Oddly enough, it's the bite that pulls him back into the present. He jerks backward with a wince, feeling the salty taste of iron on his lip and pulls one of his hands back to touch. The red stains his fingertips and he gives a slight frown as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, brows furrowed as he looks at Hannibal.
Then, after a moment, he offers his fingers to Hannibal. His voice quiet and hoarse after the intensity of their kiss. ]
Are you thinking about eating me?
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Clearly not, though.
Hannibal's hand moves from Will's neck to instead gently hold Will's wrist. His fingers curl lightly up and around Will's hand, again, not to restrict him, but for a physical sensation. With how close they are, it's almost as if neither one of them wants to lose any contact at all. He shifts closer, and just before he takes Will's finger into his mouth, he breathes out his initial response in a low, velvety voice. ]
Yes.
[ Which might not be the kind of thing you want to hear as a cannibal is sucking on your fingers to taste your blood, but there's no feeling of danger. Danger was one of the things most clearly obvious with Hannibal, because it was that moment where he didn't care about keeping his mask up, when he was all teeth ready to tear into flesh. But there's not even a hint of it now. So clearly, there's another part of his answer, and it only comes when he pulls back again. His eyes are closed, but his brow furrowed together tightly as he breathes out a sigh of bliss, a true feeling of rapture above all else. ]
—I never want to lose you. And so I will always want to consume you.
[ His expression relaxes, and his grip on Will's and shifts to hold it tightly, but affectionately. Hannibal kisses the back of his hand instead, technically chaste, but passionate all the same. ]
Have you ever thought about eating me?
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There is part of Will's quiet, animal brain that feels as if nature has broken. That he is a prey animal chasing after predator, that he is caught in the jaws of the fox and can only feel blissful relief. He should fight, maybe, or flight, as it were but he has spent so many years flipping between the two that instead he rather this. This moment of sheer pleasure, where even the leaking cut makes him feel nothing but aroused. He wonders if Hannibal can smell it and the thought makes him breath out a huff of laughter and he relaxes just so.
It's the amusement that makes him reply without thinking, without the crippling awareness for once -- ]
You won't lose me. [ As if their lives aren't hanging on a precipice here, like everyone else's. He realizes this at least and changes tack. ] The only way we part is death, Hannibal. There's no alternative option for us.
[ And he smiles, fond and sweet and showing teeth as his wet fingers touch lightly to Hannibal's cheek and his thumb brushes against the skin there. He is truly, truly happy with Hannibal. He is happy in nothing else but Hannibal, really. Everything else is either too insignificant for him to feel for anymore or an overwhelming misery that he won't let himself linger on. He has been torn in too many directions for far too long and thus he is grateful for this single devotion. He will do many, many things to keep it like this.
(Bedelia's voice pops up into his head again. You've just found religion, she spits. He feels cruel satisfaction in his gut.) ]
I'm the only one with the right. You're mine to possess in any way I see fit. [ He pauses and his mouth crooks again, selfish and possessive. ] It would be a shame not to savor 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.