Chapter Text
Will wakes to the sound of charcoal gliding on paper.
He turns over his shoulder to greet the welcome sight of Hannibal sketching him, face finely lined with concentration.
Hannibal meets his eyes and smiles. “Look away.”
Will turns back, and in his shift the sheets covering his waist slide a little lower, revealing the smooth jut of his hip. Hannibal makes an approving sound.
“Beautiful,” he says.
Will lets his eyes drift closed, lulled by the rhythmic scratching of Hannibal’s pencil.
“We made it,” he whispers, almost in disbelief. Three years of planning and suddenly everything that was torn from him has been returned. It doesn’t seem real.
“We did,” Hannibal replies, “though in future perhaps you could ask me if there’s a walking path down the cliff before you make your grand symbolic gesture. I’m a little old for cannonballs.”
Will laughs and the sheet slips lower. He doesn’t try to fix it.
“Hey, I got us to the boat, didn’t I?”
“You were a bloody nymph made from seafoam,” Hannibal says. His voice is pitched lower now, warm and roughened by saltwater. “I was mesmerized.”
“Were you?”
“Mm.”
Will reaches down and pulls the sheet off entirely. “And now? Are you still mesmerized?”
Hannibal doesn’t speak.
“Hannibal?” Will turns to his other side. Hannibal is frozen where he sits, mouth parted. His eyes are blown wide and dark with pupil. The charcoal falls from his numb fingers.
“Hannibal,” Will says, softer now, “come here.”
The paper flutters to the carpet, forgotten for now. Hannibal crosses the small berth in one stride and is atop Will, heart hammering through his ribs and forcing Will’s to syncopate a matching rhythm. Hannibal covers him like a blanket, touching every part of him, but otherwise he remains entirely still. Will’s head is caged between his elbows, their noses brushing with each shaking breath. Hannibal just stares, as though if he blinks for a second all of this will vanish into smoke.
Will knows the feeling.
“I’m here,” he says, reaching to wrap a hand around Hannibal’s neck, “I’m really here.” He pulls Hannibal closer so that his words are painted onto Hannibal’s mouth and cheek. “You’re really here. Both of us. Together.”
A keening, wrecked sort of noise erupts from Hannibal’s chest, and he turns his head to crush their mouths together. It’s more desperation than passion, a frenzied pawing and a clacking of teeth, a rush to feel everything they’d been denied until now.
Will realizes then that, despite the dozens of drawings, despite all the shared visitations in their memory palaces, this is the first time that they have really, truly touched in this way. It’s woefully perfect. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the sensation of Hannibal’s fingerprints on his skin. He’s sure he’ll scar from that alone.
Hannibal grips Will’s hips and grinds fiercely into him, and Will automatically reciprocates, thighs falling to the side, one calf slinking over Hannibal’s entirely too dressed one.
“Clothes,” he murmurs, “off.”
He shoves at the hem of Hannibal’s shirt, letting his fingers run over the skin of his taut stomach, reaching higher to trace his furred chest, the slope of his shoulder. Hannibal hisses through his teeth and tenses.
“Sorry,” Will says quickly, “forgot. Are you—“
Hannibal tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it carelessly to the ground. It’s about as un-Hannibal a gesture as you can get, and it serves only to highlight his impatience, his desperation to be closer, deeper, now.
“Fine,” he insists, and ducks to kiss Will again.
It’s softer this time, eager and exploratory. Will lets himself be mapped and memorized, Hannibal’s fingers tracing the plush bow of his mouth, running gently over his silky eyelashes, his thumbs gliding over the fragile skin of Will’s eyelids. He lets Hannibal turn his face and lick the sharp line of his jaw, then turn and lick the other. When Hannibal runs Will’s earlobes between his thumb and forefingers, Will suddenly giggles.
“Ticklish, are we?”
Will shakes his head and Hannibal tuts at him. “Truth, Will.”
“Fine,” Will pouts, “ticklish, yes. Explore that later. Kiss me now.”
Hannibal obliges him, sucking Will’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbling gently. Then he cups Will’s cheek and kisses him properly, delving with his tongue to mark all the hidden spaces and claim them as his own. Will moans and rises up from this sheets, lets Hannibal consume the sound. His arms wrap around Hannibal’s neck, mindful now of his shoulder, and he sucks on the velvet-softness of Hannibal’s tongue.
“Years I dreamed of this,” he murmurs when he stops to catch his breath, “and I never – this is--”
“Magnificent.” Hannibal finishes for him, “Exquisite.” He looms over him, reaching between them to take Will’s cock in hand and giving it one long stroke. “Monstrous.”
Will feels his dick fatten and swell under Hannibal’s grip. “Yes.” He wraps his legs tighter around Hannibal’s waist. “Please.”
“Tell me what you want, Will.” Hannibal’s words are hot and wet in his ear.
“You know what I want.”
“Of course I do, darling. But I want you to say it.”
Will jerks his head up to bite at Hannibal’s chin. Hannibal swerves his head and Will’s teeth scrape over his throat instead. Better.
“I want what you drew for me,” Will says, breathless. “I want your mouth. I want your fingers.” He pulls Hannibal’s lips back to his. “Your cock, inside.”
Hannibal groans helplessly and shoves away the tangle of sheets, quickly shucking his pants and spreading himself over Will.
“All of it,” he promises, “you shall have all of it.”
He tweaks one nipple between the pads of his fingers, then the other, dipping his head to nibble and suck at each. Will twists his fingers in Hannibal’s hair and sighs, wordless affirmations tumbling from his lips. Hannibal just keeps biting and sucking, moving across his body and stopping at odder places – the crook of Will’s elbow, the bottom swell of his pectoral, a tiny freckle two inches above his belly button. They’re strange stops to make, until it dawns on Will what Hannibal’s doing.
Of course, he thinks fondly, you’re memorizing.
“You know all of this will be here tomorrow,” Will says, threading promise into his tone. “I’m not going to give you a pop quiz.”
Hannibal just arches a fine eyebrow. “Impatient, are we?”
“I didn’t say that, I just - oh Jesus fuck!”
Because of course Hannibal takes that as a challenge, and has crawled lightning-fast down Will’s belly to suck him deep into his throat. Will scrabbles his hands to the side of Hannibal’s head and tries not to fuck violently upwards. Hannibal just sucks, rolling the bottom of his tongue in waves against Will’s cock, one hand palming his balls underneath.
“Jesus,” Will says again, sweat popping in beads along his brow, “you’re really fucking good at this.”
Hannibal says thank you, or something like it, but it just comes out as a gorgeous vibration against the head of his cock. Will sits up suddenly, holding Hannibal’s head between his legs and crouching over him as though it pains him.
“Hannibal,” he warns, “if you keep doing this I’m going to come, really soon, and God I want this to last.”
Pulling his mouth off with a wet pop, Hannibal looks up at him from beneath damp lashes.
“Oh, darling,” he says, in the tone of one talking to a child who hasn’t quite caught up with the grown-ups, “I will make it last.”
Then he gives Will a hard shove to his stomach, sending him backwards onto the bed, and starts up again.
Will relents, collapsing against the sheets and rocking up into the delicious heat of Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal hums and moans noisily around him, mouthing at his balls and sucking wet kisses over the base of his cock.
Then he pushes Will’s thighs apart and starts to lick.
Will bucks like he’s been electrocuted, and Hannibal has to hold him down with a firm palm pressed to his abdomen.
“Be still,” Hannibal admonishes, then parts his cheeks and licks deeper.
He had promised this, years ago he’d promised this, but nothing could have prepared Will for the shock of how good it feels. Hannibal makes shameless slurping sounds, little guttural noises of delight as though he’s dining at the finest banquet, and it doesn’t take long at all for Will to just give up, thighs falling open as he lets himself be devoured.
When he feels a fingertip rub at his hole, he spreads his legs even further.
“Good,” he hears from somewhere below, and then the finger presses in just a little, just to watch him open.
Will wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and from a distant faraway place something sensible nudges him.
“Please,” he mutters, “for the love of God please tell me you found the lube.”
Will’s answer is another finger, twice as slick and not from spit, stretching him further.
“How the – how the fuck did you do that?”
He doesn’t expect a reply, doesn’t want one because he’s pretty sure Hannibal will say something awful like a magician never reveals his secrets, so he holds Hannibal’s head firmly between his legs instead, throws one arm above him to claw at the pillow beneath.
Hannibal picks up effort with his fingers, returning his mouth to suckle the head of Will’s cock as he keeps stretching him. Will writhes, lip caught between his teeth and near beside himself with pleasure as Hannibal slips his digits deeper and crooks them, searching. Hannibal seeks further, a little further, and then – there – brushes that most perfect spot and Will nearly bites his lip in two with the effort of straining not to come.
“Now,” he begs, “now, I need you, Hannibal.”
Hannibal is up on his knees in a flash, thumbing away the spit from his mouth and thoroughly slicking his cock. Will reaches for him – more just to feel the real weight of Hannibal’s cock in his hand than to provide any actual help, but Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, lets Will give him a few more leisurely strokes before he braces himself above Will with one hand, eyes fathomless and dark.
Hannibal looks poised to say something, a declaration perhaps, more than a question, but he seems to think better of it and closes his mouth. Will catches Hannibal’s chin between his fingers.
“No,” he says gently, “truth, now.”
Hannibal swallows thickly and bows his head just a little.
“There was a time I thought I would never see you again,” he admits. “Now that you are here before me, I--” his voice cracks and he blinks twice, eyes shining.
“You are so beautiful, Will.”
Will trembles, pulling Hannibal down to cage him in his arms. Slowly, he reaches between them and guides Hannibal’s cock to his entrance.
“Here I am,” he whispers, “I’ve been waiting.”
Hannibal pushes inside.
Everything is instantly quiet, save the awed soft sounds of their breathing. A single drop of sweat falls from Hannibal’s temple to Will’s cheek, and it echoes like a stone dropped in a cathedral.
“Will,” he gasps. He sounds like he’s drowning, like he’s been drowned and rescued and thrown back into the water again.
Will lays beneath Hannibal, momentarily stunned. It’s as though the world has finally drawn into focus, the colors in their little room suddenly sweeter and sharper. He can see the individual flecks of color at the edge of Hannibal’s irises. They look like precious stones drawn deep from a cavern and he names them; ruby, andalusite, black opal, bloodstone –
“God!”
Will’s voice returns to him and he clings to Hannibal with all of his limbs. Hannibal is inside him. Hannibal is inside him, Hannibal is inside him, so deep that he has affixed himself to every soft place and molded to them. Will can feel him in his lungs, gelatinous and heavy, and he inhales him in, chest expanding to fit the shape of him, to accommodate this new way of breathing. Hannibal is his air, his pulse, the blood in his veins, and Will knows now – he knows – that Hannibal has achieved what he’d stated as his intention those many years ago.
“They’ll never cut you out,” Will hears himself say.
“No,” Hannibal affirms, and begins to move.
It’s a feeling so perfect that it can’t possibly be real, and so reality starts to bend in on itself just to fit them. The places of their joining become clay, fitting and blending together so there is one root between them, one pleasure. Will can feel his cock straining and dripping messy between them, but he can also feel himself inside, feel every nerve ending being scraped raw and hollowed out.
“Can you--” Will asks, “do you feel--”
“Yes,” Hannibal replies, and pushes deeper.
Will’s mouth forms a round, perfect ‘o’, the sound behind it voiceless. He’s so full that he’s certain Hannibal is pushing parts of Will out to make room, then he realizes it doesn’t matter. They’re all the same parts, the same whole.
Hannibal bends to kiss him, lush and ripe. He withdraws slowly, dragging himself against every pleasurable spot, then slides back in. Will moans, tilting his hips to meet every joining, clenching tight just to hear Hannibal make a half-mad sound in answer. It goes on endlessly, perfectly, a garden of delights in which only they exist. Each of them knows, without knowing, each place to touch next, each spot to strike. Their kisses land effortless and sweet, each sigh tuned as part of their symphony.
Their breathing starts to hitch in tandem, and Will isn’t surprised when they come simultaneously. He’s even less surprised to find that he can’t discern whose orgasm belongs to whom. It’s a rich confection of pleasure, seeping sugar-sweet between the two of them and soaking through muscle and bone. They both cry out, and it’s joy and terror both. Will sees stars, not the quaint kind where pinpricks of light burst over his eyelids. He sees inside of great gas giants, white-hot and burning at his retinas, fire sweeping over him and immolating him from within. Hannibal, it seems, sees the same, his hips jerking in swift snaps, head cast far back. Then he topples forward, eyes meeting Will’s completely, and the intensity of the contact sweeps through them so thoroughly that they find themselves coming again, barely on the heels of their last release and somehow twice as powerful.
Finally, spent and wrung out, they half-collapse half-melt into a tangled heap together. Will feels himself clench around Hannibal, growing soft inside him, feels the stickiness between their thighs and chests. The whole room smells sharply of sex, and above him Hannibal inhales deeply. Will just laughs.
“Did you just smell me?”
“Difficult to avoid.”
Will wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”
“If I could bottle this as a perfume…” Hannibal says dozily.
“Literally no one would wear that.”
He feels Hannibal shrug. “I would.”
“Liar.”
“Smartass.”
“Darling.”
“Love.”
They stick on that one, don’t explore it further. It’s far too small a word, miniscule in the scale of what they’ve created together, but it will do. Will has a feeling that once a big enough word for what they are comes along they’ll just fall even harder and deeper, until all the words are just too small.
Quietly, he disentangles them to get a wet cloth, wiping them both clean with the delicate touch of a new lover. He dabs the cloth over Hannibal’s face first and doesn’t remark on the tear tracks. He has his own to wipe away. Once they’re both clean he sets the cloth aside and crawls back into bed, opening his arms and letting Hannibal wriggle inside. He nestles like a cat, making contented sounds, and Will smiles wide. It’s simple, and good. Entirely worth the wait.
They lay together in their little cocoon and let the ocean rock them. Soon they will have to chart their course, find safe harbor, start building a new life with bricks of their own making. It will be difficult, sometimes. Sometimes easy. Sometimes violent. On more than one occasion, Will is certain it will be all three. He looks forward to those times.
For now, they rest. Together, as they have earned.
Hannibal nuzzles his face into Will’s chest and Will strokes his fingers through the fine silver strands of his hair. He thinks absently of how he’s looking forward to watching it grow back. Of how he’s looking forward to watching many things grow.
“I have a question,” Will says quietly.
“Yes?”
“That first letter. The one that sent me straight to you. With the… picture.”
“I recall.”
“Was it really an orderly that drew that?”
Hannibal is silent, tracing swirling patterns into Will’s chest and stomach with his fingers. He doesn’t answer right away. After a while he quietly asks, “Does it matter?”
Will takes up Hannibal’s fingers, holds each one to his lips, thinks of how beautiful they look smudged with charcoal. He draws Hannibal tighter into his embrace.
“No,” Will says, and kisses him.
Hannibal smiles. They float on.
-x-
Epilogue
Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane
14th January, 2015
Dear Will,
It has been a long winter. I find my days here growing tedious and dark - the shadows in my cell stretch their fingers further each week until soon, I am certain, they will swallow me entirely. You can imagine I have little in the way of proper entertainment. It will not come as a surprise to you, then, that I miss our conversations.
I’ve thought of visiting you, often. Is there a place in your memory palace left open for me? A corner with a little light left for me to wander in? You have my word that I would leave the soil undisturbed.
Perhaps not. Perhaps this shall be the last of our correspondence. An ignominious and undignified end. And yet I refuse to believe that my death in your heart will be quiet. Call me a romantic, but I’m quite certain we will see each other again.
Until then, I remain:
Your Obedient Servant,
Hannibal Lecter