Chapter Text
“Do not go into the old east wing of the monastery after dark, Mister Graham. A demon resides among the shadows there - locked away for centuries by us. He will promise you many things, spectacular things. Anything to get you to break the seals from his eternal prison.”
Will watched as the young monk turned, leaving him alone. He wondered if the warning was given to all new arrivals, or if it was only because he’d expressed interested in the part of the building that was shrouded in darkness. It was undoubtedly exaggerated, designed to keep visitors out of a dilapidated area of the monastery, though Will did wonder why it hadn’t been kept up.
Despite his curiosity, it was none of his concern.
He set the small candle on the table next to the basin of water and began preparing for bed. He’d arrived later than intended and it was well past the hour he would normally have retired. The journey had been difficult. A horse had thrown a shoe and the carriage had become stuck in soft ground due to the rain. They’d walked to the monastery where they’d been given sanctuary and Will had been shown to a cell while several other monks accompanied his driver back to the carriage to retrieve it and see to the horse.
Such delays could not be avoided, he supposed. He washed quickly, not wishing to waste the wax of the candle, and removed his clothing. Shivering in only his undergarments he extinguished the flame and climbed quickly under the blankets of the cot. He said a quick prayer of gratitude and closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep.
He awoke some hours later to a noise he could not place. It was a rustling, or perhaps a faraway laughter. He lay still for several moments, eyes adjusting to the dark of the room and tracing the lines in the stone of the ceiling. All was silent. Whatever he had heard must have been a dream. He’d been plagued by them lately; fevered dreams that had him waking sweaty and stiff, shivering despite the heat in his body and regardless of the temperature of the room.
In the quiet of the night Will was forced to admit the the monk’s warning had unsettled him. More than he had accounted for initially when he prepared for his rest.
He closed his eyes, attempting to fall back to sleep, when he heard the noise again. It was not laughter but a whine. The sound of an animal in pain. Will’s eyes opened wide and he sat upright, listening carefully.
He heard the sound yet again, faint, but unmistakable. It was the whine of a dog, a sound he was intimately familiar with. His father had owned several hounds that he used for hunting. Will had always been a solitary child and the hounds had been his fastest friends as he grew.
Moving to the small satchel he carried with him he quickly retrieved a robe to cover himself, tying it loosely at the waist. He lifted the candle from the table, though he did not light it. His eyes had accustomed to the dark enough that he did not yet have need of it. He moved silently out into the hall, leaving the door to his cell cracked slightly rather than closing it completely.
In the hall the sound was louder and he moved unthinkingly toward it, hoping that the animal was not harmed and merely stuck. As he moved the hallway seemed to darken, until finally he struck a match and lit the candle, cradling the flame as it grew before holding it in front of him so that it cast as much light as possible.
He heard a whimper and pivoted swiftly, the force of it nearly extinguishing the flame. There was a large door to his right. The cobwebs in the corners told him it had been unopened for some time and yet Will was certain the noise had come from behind the door.
He pressed against it. Through the solid wood he heard a soft, pitiful sound that pulled at his heart.
“How on earth did you get in there?” Will murmured. He pressed at the door. It was heavy and stiff and it took the entire force of his weight to move it forward so that he could step into the room. He was struck immediately by the chill in the air, gooseflesh rising on his skin. Behind him the door closed and he pivoted quickly to face it, fighting the irrational feeling that he had been entombed.
“You smell divine.”
Will blinked, turning once more to face the back of the room. There was no dog. In front of him stood the facsimile of a man, smiling toothily. He was tall, with sandy hair and brown eyes. High cheekbones. Sensual lips. The posture of a man of casual grace and authority.
No - not a man. Though he might have been mistaken for a man if not for the horns that curled on either side of his head, shining like sleek black obsidian even in the low light of the candle, and the pale serpent curved around his shoulders. As Will watched, the snake slithered down the man’s torso, curling around his leg briefly before making its way to the floor and quickly away.
“Demon,” Will breathed. He took several steps backward, hitting the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet here you are.” The demon stepped closer. Will was powerless to move, pinned under his gaze.
“I was tricked.”
The demon smirked at that. “One of the hallmarks of the devil. Surely you were warned about me, Mister Graham?”
“How do you know my name?” Will asked, a sudden rush of anger briefly pressing aside his fear. Though as the demon moved ever closer Will was forced to admit that what he felt wasn’t fear. Not exactly.
“I know many things,” the demon responded. He placed his hands on either side of Will’s head. The robe Will had grabbed so hastily when he thought he was pursuing a wounded animal had slipped from his shoulder and the demon bent to press his nose against the pale skin, inhaling deeply.
Will tilted his head unconsciously, exposing his neck in an invitation the demon gladly accepted, tracing the tender flesh of Will’s throat with his tongue. Will moaned and then flinched, suddenly coming back to himself.
“Foul thing,” he said, his voice breathless. He began to recite the Lord’s prayer quickly, under his breath.
The demon laughed softly in response, a rumbling sound that was disturbingly pleasant and vibrated through Will in a way that was far too enjoyable. “That will not help you,” he said, with an odd gentleness.
The demon’s hot breath on his neck sent a shiver through Will’s body that he was helpless to control. The demon moved closer so that their bodies were flush, pressing one leg between Will’s to apply a delicious pressure against his hard flesh. Will panted, whining softly.
“What did you hear, Will?” The demon’s voice was low in his ear. “Was it the whine of an animal that brought you to me? Or was it a dream of your own, knowing what I would do to you?”
Will’s hips moved in a single abortive thrust before he stilled, concentrating on his breathing in a vain attempt to regain control. The demon mouthed against his neck, sucking gently up the side and pausing at his pulse point before nipping lightly at his jaw. A hand trailed down his chest to where the robe was loosely tied, barely holding the fabric together.
A few quick movements and the tie was gone completely, the robe falling open further and baring more skin to the beast. As fingertips skimmed the top of his undergarment Will tried to speak - to stop what was so clearly going to happen, to regain control of his modesty and morality.
“What is your name? What do I call you?” he heard himself ask instead.
“Hannibal,” the demon growled, before simultaneously taking Will in hand and pressing their lips together. It wasn’t a kiss, but a sharing of breath. Will was too overwhelmed for a proper kiss at any rate, panting into Hannibal’s mouth at the slide of the demon’s hand across his hard length. Hannibal worked him in firm, smooth strokes, pausing to squeeze the tip and swipe a thumb across the fluid gathering there, easing his movement. He didn’t change pace even as Will’s own movements grew more frantic; legs trembling and hips thrusting in pure instinct as his need grew more urgent. His forehead fell to Hannibal’s shoulder and he began chanting the demon’s name softly, an unconscious muttering. Sweat pooled on his back and finally, finally, Hannibal gripped tighter and stroked faster, causing the heat in Will’s groin to coil tighter, his body tensing and then releasing as he bit down on Hannibal’s shoulder in an effort to muffle his cry of pleasure - a sound he thought must have echoed through the walls of the monastery in the quiet of the night. He pulsed in the demon’s hand, hazy and weak with pleasure.
He rested his forehead on Hannibal’s shoulder once more as his breathing slowly returned to normal. His entire body felt loose and languid, and the last thing he remembered was the softly spoken command “rest” and gentle fingers brushing the hair from his forehead as his eyes fluttered shut.