Chapter Text
—
From the wings of The Imago
(will death finally find beauty)
until then may the shell that protects
come to be seen as its coffin
so that it may struggle against it
to free itself into nature’s chasm;
to free itself to the allure of all ruin
— • —
Hannibal walked through his driveway.
He glanced with appreciation at the sky above as he strode away from his driveway. Tonight, darkness shrouded the night, leaving visible only a sliver of the waxing crescent moon.
There was a tinge in the air when he walked up to the door that prickled at his intuition. He stilled with caution and opened it quietly as he stepped into his home.
The coppery, acrid scent was heavy and unmistakable. It filled his nostrils, permeated the air in his room like a slaughterhouse. Still enveloped by the dark, he backed into the corner of the hallway, reached into his breast pocket for a small switchblade, and turned on the light.
With a quick scan, he found the source of his nasal turbulence propped on his kitchen table.
His first instinct was to hunt.
To track down the intruder, to subjugate whoever had felt it was a rational idea to break into his home in the first place, and bring them to understand the many reasons they had made a fallible error. But Hannibal forced the call to action back because he knew just who would be bold enough to violate his space and instead demand his gratitude.
And gratitude came. A slow-building emotion as Will's action settled over him. Though his irritation lingered, he wished Will had found anywhere else to lay down his offerings. He suffered at the state of his kitchen table.
Will's scent was a subdued note within the walls of his home, made present because Hannibal now sought it. He made the fractional assumption that Will was not here, that if he were of a mind to appear, he would have done so immediately the lights flickered on. He knew the possibility that Will could still be tucked in the nook of his home, observing Hannibal as he took in his work, remained. But rather than sweep around to ensure it, he allowed the prospect to sit with him.
He leaned against his fridge and took in the handiwork left before him with a flourishing admiration.
Then he considered dialling Jack, briefly. And immediately dismissed the thought for many reasons, including the fact that there would not be quite enough time to spring-clean his basement to rid it of his own crimes.
Too risky, with too little reward. Locking Will up again, if any possibility existed that he had left behind evidence, was no longer advantageous to either of them. It left only one option.
To get to work.
— • —
He drove down to his office much earlier than usual. After the thorough cleanup, sleep escaped him just before dawn broke. Yet despite the lack of rest, there was little fatigue. He was reinvigorated, the thrill of surprise still pounding in his pulse.
The day, though, bred a complicated tenor. Although Will's gift pleasantly surprised him, he wondered what he would do next. The message left for Hannibal read unclearly, for it was many things at once. Resentment, acknowledgement, catharsis—the last one likely spoke for them both.
This action by Will changed the chain of events, arrested his plan to influence. It was a welcome advancement, but the problem remained of just what Will intended to do with it.
It had been weeks since Will's release from the BSHCI, and neither of them had stretched a hand out for contact since. Though Hannibal had shared his half-hearted hesitations in continuing to harbour closeness between them, he imagined Will did not keep distance out of respect for his boundaries.
When he reached his office, the familiar impression of irregularity prickled at him just as he turned on the light. Once he stepped inside, he stilled.
"Hello, Dr. Lecter."
Hannibal took a deep, calibrating breath.
"Hello, Will. Am I to expect that the third time you break into my place will be the charm?" He kept his response measured as he regarded Will, who looked at him from the top floor of his library with a hint of satisfaction.
He waited a moment for an answer, and when it did not arrive, he proceeded as usual to divest himself of his coat before turning his attention back to Will in the centre of the room.
Will gazed at him with a searching, sharp look, his fingers that clutched the railing twitching and tightening despite his otherwise calm demeanour. His stormy eyes held Hannibal firmly, exactly where he wanted him.
"What do you see?" he asked.
They remained silent, and Hannibal lowered his eyes as understanding settled. He allowed himself some liberty in his imagination, encouraged the insistent command of power that Will had reclaimed to wash over him.
The creature from his beloved's nightmares took shape from the dark corners of the floor Will was on, slipping out from beneath one of the bookcases, to stand tall as it trailed a billow of forest smoke behind it. Its dark hooves clattered on the library floors as it moved into position behind Will, and when Hannibal concentrated, the tar-like being seemed uncannily familiar. It was a shifting mirror—towering, darkening, blurring between them.
Melding.
It breathed in, fiery flames extending past its face as it exhaled in a dazzling display. Then it stilled behind Will, dissolving until only its antlers crowned his temple. Hannibal watched the borrowed imaginations come to life in his mind—broken out of respondent, trusted, feverish words from Will within these same walls that once served as his refuge.
It was a deliberate madness bred from his compassion, from the desire to bear witness to a loved one at their most aligned.
Will regarded him coolly.
"I see you," Hannibal answered softly, unable to look away from the gift placed before him. "I see all of you, Will."
"And is it what you envisioned? When extending your reaching hands to mould me into a killer, to bend me and watch me break?"
"Your ability to do what you did last night was the prerequisite for my persuasions. And you are not broken, Will."
Will smiled wryly and leaned forward. "No. No, I'm not. You may have given breath to the embers with your persuasions, but I’m not the only one left malleable. I may have changed by your hands, but you've changed too."
Hannibal twisted his mouth at the words, the mild accusation breeding a discomfort that he struggled to compartmentalize, to save for dissection far from the empathetic depths of sea-stormed eyes. Instead, he let it remain at the forefront of the room.
"I cannot refute that. But where does that leave us?"
Will peered at him silently.
"Now that we have seen each other, what are we to do? You can't turn me in any more than I can do the same. I assume that even if I had the desire to, you would have been careful to leave no evidence of yourself in my home. Do you still wish to kill me?"
"Do you?" Will countered.
Hannibal exhaled at that, his gaze flickering low as he turned the thought over. "No, Will. While I admit that this certainly makes our situation obscure, I do not wish to have that be our only available alternative."
"So I can walk out, leave this room, leave you for good if I wish to?"
Hannibal allowed himself to openly express the pained expression at the thought before schooling his features into careful blankness. Will gave a facsimile of a smile.
"That is not why you're here now, is it?"
"No, it's not. Take off your clothes, Hannibal."
The abrupt demand whiplashed Hannibal, and he sucked in a harsh breath, unable to contain his surprise. He pressed his lips together and tried to gather the thoughts that flitted quickly in effort to register Will's meaning, to curate the right words to navigate whatever course he had set them on. "Will-"
"I want to watch you unravel as you have unravelled me, while looking on from above as I floundered," Will cut in. "As you prodded past all our lines with your lies, past the lines of being my therapist, my friend, as...this. I want to watch you fumble aimlessly with yourself while I oversee your desperation. I think it will please me. And I believe the endeavour might be eye-opening for you as well."
Hannibal took in his words with cautious intrigue. There were many directions this could lead, though he was wary of the possibility of Will pursuing the avenue of crude humiliation. He supposed it would be fair, uncouth as it may be. But the glimmer in Will's eyes gave him enough insight to consider his bidding. It was a terrible gamble, and there was the lingering awareness that Will knew him well enough to exact his own curiosity against his better judgment.
"You want my submission," Hannibal stated, raising an eyebrow slightly. Will's face tensed for a moment, then relaxed.
"Submission is too...practical. I do not want you to yield to me for just a moment, as much as I demand a supplicant,
"Will you do it?"
The sigh from Hannibal's lips was a rousing wave. "Yes."
"Good. You're welcome to begin."
Hannibal took a deep breath and bent low to one knee to divest himself of his shoes; he folded his socks into them neatly and left them before his feet. Then he rose to bring a hand over his chest. He pinched a thumb into the crook of his royal-blue suit and swept the rest of his fingers through the pocket of space between the buttons without his gaze leaving Will's. Will's eyes burned with a whirl of curiosity and a blend of flitting emotions that seemed entirely other.
He deftly moved his fingers lower, unravelling his suit until it flapped open. Only then did he peel the article off. He folded it neatly, draped it over the crook in his arm, and began to move before pausing.
"May I place my clothes on the desk?"
Will considered his question for a long moment. His eyes trailed from the floor to his suit, then to the desk, and back to the floor. Hannibal already knew the answer.
"No," he replied curtly anyway.
Hannibal nodded, took the answer in stride, and bent to place the suit beside his feet. One by one, he revealed himself to the room for Will's undetermined scrutiny. His silk tie came loose with a wispy swish; his cufflinks clicked as they landed softly. With meticulous attentiveness, his waistcoat and dress shirt followed.
Will watched him with undivided attention, but his features gave nothing away of the tidings to expect from this early morning disrobing. Hannibal wrapped his hand around his fine leather belt and gave Will a skeptical look.
Will's lips curled with tension, yet he said nothing.
So Hannibal continued. The belt went, and he hooked his fingers through his trousers to undo the buttons. He pulled and stepped out of them before applying the same amount of care as he had to the rest of his clothes. The office was not quite cold, but the lack of shelter from his clothes left him exposed to the room's elements, eliciting the beginnings of a shiver that he cut off at its root.
This time, without hesitation, his eyes returned to Will as he leaned back to splay his fingers leisurely under the waistband of his underwear. He would not be asking. If Will required a boundary to this, he was welcome to use his own words.
And then he saw it—the flash of hunger was a cavernous thing sweeping over Will's face suddenly, like an oil spill. Will's desire bared itself into the room, soaking through the space and darkening their trajectory.
Hannibal's lips twitched, and an unbidden gasp slipped past, to float like a confession in the room. Will's gaze lifted at the sound, and Hannibal took the opportunity to free himself from his underwear, his length rousing softly against escape now that Will had made his desires known.
When he rose back up from the pile, Will's fingers were clenched knuckle-tight against the edge of the railing, lips taut with restraint.
"You have a rather unique means of requesting an audience for conversation. Of all my imagined options, I couldn't have foreseen this route."
"You misunderstand. I'm not here to make conversation. Did you cancel your appointments today?"
Hannibal gave him a measured look. "No," he began slowly. "I did not wish to allow yesterday night's mishappenings to interfere with my duty to my clients."
"Call them and cancel. Looks like you're booked for the day."
Hannibal let out a long exhale to stifle the passing irritation and retrieved his phone from his suit pocket, doing as Will instructed. He stood naked in the middle of his office, making each cancellation while Will watched.
Although he was not a man easily humiliated, this particular action brought him close to that edge when directly linked to his profession. Which he believed was Will's intention. But Will was also a multi-faceted man, as were his actions. And humiliation was not the only emotion that sat with Hannibal as the calls rang through.
"Hello, Ms. Sandalwood."
Will's gaze trailed over his chest, the constrained look on his face belying the heat in his eyes as he followed the thick trail of curls down.
"Yes, I apologize for the inconvenience. An incident occurred in my home that I will have to attend to today."
With an air of decision, Will turned, approached the ladder, and started climbing down. His focus on the call shifted entirely to admiring the strain of Will's trousers around the firm curve of his arse, the strength in his arms as he gripped tightly on his descent inflaming the already present heat through him. He sucked in the breath that threatened to spill over the phone.
The imagination remained quite a powerful tool.
"Yes, thank you for your understanding," he said before hanging up the last call, just as Will descended from the ladder and walked towards him.
He plucked the phone from Hannibal's hand and dropped it onto the soft pile beside him, then regarded him closely with an icy stare.
Hannibal returned his gaze, taking advantage of the moment to admire the neatly trimmed beard dusted around Will's sculpted jawline, and the intricacies of the fluctuating colours of his eyes, which swayed with his mood and their surroundings. He relished the warmth of Will's body as they stood so close together.
"Do you have any plans to share your inten—"
His head was yanked back sharply by a firm grip on his hair, and he tamped down the instinct to fight against it, clenched his hands into fists until they settled loosely at his sides. Will's eyes burned brightly, and the scowl on his face gave close evidence to the height of his anger.
"I'm going to fuck you, Hannibal. I'm going to take. And you're going to let me," Will said in a low snarl close to his face.
The vulgarity and blunt conviction of Will's words shocked and stirred him, his cock hardening to fullness in a sudden, visceral surge. It was one of the most succinct expressions of intent between them, and it happened to be this. The humour of it was not lost on him.
Everything in the world is about sex, except for sex. Sex is about power.
He breathed out soft and shallow.
"Yes, Will."
Smooth fingers tucked under Hannibal’s chin to tilt his gaze sharply back to Will. "Go to your desk, you can clear up whatever you see fit. Then call me when you're ready."
Hannibal swallowed with an unmasked interest, and Will's gaze flickered to the motion.
He wordlessly strode to his desk once released, taking his time to meticulously store away the items that would be less forgivable to damage. He gathered his pencils, the papers strewn across his desk, and when he reached the scalpel, he looked at it with curiosity over his lack of intent with the object. He simply picked it up to add it to the other items in his cabinet. Then he looked thoughtfully at his desk lamp and plucked it from the table, placing it on the floor.
Will lounged behind, near their seats, silently watching. When Hannibal finished, he turned to Will, and they shared a quiet moment as they looked at each other. Will's sleeves, he noticed, were now rolled up to his elbows. His pulse beat insistently with anticipation.
"Aren't you meant to call me?" Will's voice was calm as he asked.
"Yes, the desk is ready."
Will licked his lips and ran his hand over the seat cushion. Hannibal was weak to do anything but follow the gesture. "And are you?"
"I am."
Will rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, his strides purposeful as he stood once again before him. He loomed over Hannibal, his knee nudging between his legs until they parted, then he moved closer. Hannibal leaned back until he had no choice but to sit on the edge of the desk, his hands pressed against the wood to hold his weight.
The inside of his thighs rubbed closely against Will, and his length brushed over the soft material of Will's slacks, eliciting a small hiss. The urge to chase relief rose briefly and then settled, bringing Hannibal to an awareness of the amount of control he'd allowed to slip to appease the man before him.
Will observed him wordlessly, then returned his hands into the tangle of Hannibal's hair. Slowly, he tilted his head backwards in a manner similar to moments just before a baptism, and Will followed fluidly, burying his face into the crook of his neck. Hannibal felt the faint scrape of teeth testing the waters, earning him a shiver.
In an effort to find balance, he reached out and clutched Will's shirt. The motion pulled Will ever closer until he made the first contact with the firm outline of his evident erection through his slacks. Hannibal let out a gratifying groan and, after a moment of contemplating, ground against him.
Will sucked sharply through his teeth and placed a hand on his hips to keep him firmly in place. Then, without any warning, he bit down hard, breaking skin. A shuddering gasp escaped Hannibal. The burst of pain was a welcome, burning sensation, and the sweet smell of coppery iron, a heady mix mingling with the scents of their arousal.
Hannibal's hips jerked only for the movement to be aborted by Will's bruising grip, and his tongue dragged a slow, lascivious path over the wound. A drop of blood escaped and fell, trapped in the groove of his clavicle. Then he was released all at once, and Will leaned back to watch Hannibal while gently running his tongue over his teeth; it shimmered in a vibrant shade of scarlet.
"Turn around for me."
— • —
Will's wrath was an emotion juxtaposed against his own nature.
Though the fingers working into him were wicked in their denial, Will excised his anger from interfering with his patience to avoid truly causing damage. He spread the two fingers inside Hannibal apart and slowly dragged out, skirting away with intention from his prostate. It had been a while since he'd done this, so although he wouldn't have minded much if Will chose the thrill of a mindless preparation, he was more than appreciative of the careful attention in taking the time to ease him open. Hannibal rested his face against the desk with his hands curled against one end, while the other end provided a steadying pressure to his stomach. His cock hung unattended, languidly leaking onto his clean Persian rug.
Small pants fell from his lips with each drag, before Will almost entirely pulled his hand away. He heard the familiar tear of another compact lubricant packet, felt the cool sensation spread as Will breached into him once more with a third finger. He sucked air through his teeth at the burn of the intrusion, and Will must have noticed, because he gave him a small mercy this time by pressing lightly at his prostate as he thrust into him with deft fingers.
"Will…" he moaned, feeling so full of him already. His eyelids grew heavy. He turned as best as he could to watch, to see the kinetic shift of muscle in Will's forearm as those nimble fingers curled inside him.
Grunting behind, Will pressed closer, the soft fabric of his trousers a welcome sensation. Then his hand, like spiderwebs in its spread through his hair, pushed his face flush to the desk ungently, before Will pulled all three fingers out of him. Hannibal exhaled deeply at the loss.
"Do you feel worshipped? I'm finding it difficult to see how this aims in serving you my humility," Hannibal intoned blithely, despite knowing that his comment would be seen for what it was—a blatant bait. They both understood that this was more than sex, a new thread of communication more concise to circumvent the typical omissions their words usually allowed. A dangerous alternative nonetheless.
Will smiled without much humour, and Hannibal heard the sharp clink of metal as leather was freed from its constraint.
"Your tongue is a razor when you're untethered. There are many ways to respectfully ask for the things you want, Hannibal," he began slowly, his voice pouring like soft gravel onto syrup, rough yet just smooth enough to slip against. "Honesty and humility are concepts you've deprived us of. Maybe I just want to hear you sing to the tune of it for once."
Hannibal's gaze flickered to see Will's trousers sliding down and falling, while Will drew closer. He wet his lips. And marvelled at the sensation born from the firm pressure of Will's thumb against the dip of his hip as he aligned himself, just breaching his entrance.
"You want a hymn from me. And if I decide to deprive you?" Hannibal asked breathlessly.
"You won't," Will said in a low growl, then pushed unrelentingly into him.
Hannibal's breath caught in his throat at the insistent intrusion of Will's cock, the slight burn as he stretched to let Will fill him thoroughly, the defining warmth of him. He shut his eyes for a moment to calibrate himself—the slide towards overwhelm was jarring and something he had not accounted for—and when he reopened them, Will was looking down at him with a fleeting look of alarm and so much hunger that Hannibal swallowed. He gave a quiet assenting nod, and it was all Will needed to make his point.
Sex with Will was consuming.
Sky-blue eyes pierced him as Will pulled back to thrust hard enough that Hannibal's skin became familiar with the harsh groove of his pelvis. For a minuscule moment, he considered stifling the sounds of his pleasure just to further grate at him, but Will was right—he could not deny him most things. Especially this.
"Oh…" Hannibal breathed, and Will cursed under his breath in a ravenous reply.
Will leaned over him, the hairs on his stomach brushing softly against the small of his back. He placed a hand for balance close to Hannibal's face. A palm swept over his sweat-slicked back, fingers sliding up to thread through the strands of his hair and pull hard. Hannibal moaned, stretched his neck back further to allow a secure grip on him, and the arch of his hips from the movement brought Will's insistently deep drives to perfection. His throat constricted with the sounds being drawn out of him, low and inconsistent. He felt the light tremors trailing warm over his skin as the height of his pleasure rose.
"Did you like your gift?" Will scowled darkly into his ear as he buried himself to the hilt.
Hannibal's curled hands faltered against the fine wood, his head snapped up even higher, and a groan rushed freely from his mouth. He let out the air trapped in his lungs before attempting to speak. "Yes…yes, Will. You have my gratitude. Though if you were to replicate such charity, I'd hope you'd avoid my—"
"That's why I did it," Will gritted out. "It conflicted with you, didn't it? Having your sacred kitchen sullied with something you've wanted the most from me."
Hannibal stayed resolutely silent, his brimming irritability unable to sustain because of the way Will kept relentlessly fucking him into the end of his desk. His fingers jerked at the movement, and he rushed to find his hold again with each sharp jolt from Will. The acidic yet casual tone of Will's words thrilled him further, and he winced mildly at the strain of his engorged length; the shocking impulse to stroke himself had never felt stronger. If only Will would let him.
"Well, I'd say it's one thing you wanted the most. Maybe the next time I'm in a charitable mood, I'll take care to bend you over your stainless steel counter instead."
The veiled threat and promise had Hannibal scrambling towards the edge of his orgasm like a speed run from an avalanche—it closed in on him. A low moan tore from his throat, the last of his control pried away mercilessly.
"W-Will, Will, Will…" The fractured words spilled freely from his lips, flooding the room with a relentless plea. Will responded in kind, intoxicated by the reverence of his own name sung on Hannibal's lips, he drove deeper into him.
He was so close, but he didn't want this loss yet—of the engulfing feel of Will's cock, of the warmth of his skin pressed against his back. The need to prolong this clawed at him; his exhales came out hoarse as he desperately tried to breathe away from the precipice while Will took him two steps forward with each wicked glance against his prostate.
Then Will's grip on his hips tightened as he brought them to an abrupt stop, and the sudden loss of movement made Hannibal turn sharply towards him, his mouth twisting just short of a snarl.
"When I said that I intended to take," Will said between shallow breaths. "I meant it." His voice rasped roughly against the small of his back as he pushed himself up and pulled out slowly until the head of his cock was all that nudged the walls of his entrance.
The loss was particularly torturous, but he found himself attuned to his patience, aware that this was just what he wanted—more borrowed time.
That Will knew this was exactly what they both needed.
He relaxed back against the firm pressure of his desk as Will quickly re-aligned the angle of their hips. When Hannibal looked at him with half-closed eyes, Will met his gaze and ran his tongue over his lower lip, leaving behind an impossibly carnal shimmer. While those iridescent eyes pierced through him, Will mirrored the action with his cock, making quick work of his movement by pushing all the way until their skin slapped together, breaking the silence in the room. The satisfaction of the return to fullness was met immediately with a fragmented mix of pleasure and frustration when Will pulled back to thrust at an angle just shy of where he truly needed him.
He moved at an agonizingly slow pace, his hips rolling leisurely with just enough direction to evoke pleasure and then deny it in its fullness from him. It was almost tender, and it grated deeply on Hannibal because the act was stripped of its meaning, its purpose set to punish. He knew it was Will's intention, and despite his frustration, there was a sense of pride in how Will wielded his power, dangling the prospect before Hannibal while denying him its essence.
Ever the cunning boy.
He felt like Will's fool, helpless but to bask in the motions all the same. He breathed out, savouring the momentous feeling. Will's hand came to rest firmly wrapped around the base of his throat, tilting his head to the side to face him. When Hannibal met his gaze, Will smiled down knowingly.
"You know what I want from you."
"Will-"
Will pressed a thumb over his neck in a harsh caress that effectively silenced his words. Tracing up the edge of his jaw, his index finger pulled down at Hannibal's bottom lip and imprinted its soft pad inside his mouth. Hannibal gasped, stunned by the sensitivity igniting from the touch as Will swept through. He envisioned what it would feel like to hold Will in his mouth, warm and full, to leisurely chase his taste and the sensations kindling until they both came undone. The surge of his need rose sharply to the surface from the imagery and from every place Will touched.
"Please," Hannibal said over his finger, just above a whisper.
Will inhaled sharply, his hand trembling against Hannibal's skin. He leaned down to mouth at his neck until his lips found the groove of broken skin. Hannibal panted harshly, his eyes burned as Will's teeth sank in again while rolling against him faster now, his determination to unspool Hannibal evident with each precise cant of his hips.
When he bit down on the pad of Will's finger, the sweet scent of shock burst like a newly bloomed flower. Will groaned wildly into the crook of his neck, and his skin came alive. The rush of pain-pleasure flooded through them both in a lascivious wave.
Will tasted like everything he had imagined and even more. Divine. He closed his eyes to catalogue every note of his essence, lapped at the spill from its source as it flowed freely.
"Fuck…" Will grunted, pressing his finger flush against his warm, eager tongue, then withdrawing with haste to wrap around his length. The relief was so jarring that Hannibal almost shouted. He rocked his hips into his fist as Will chased him deeply with his. The race to the edge of his orgasm once again overcame him, the impending fall filling him with an encompassing need.
"Please, Will…"
He said louder this time, his voice unrecognizable to his ears as it slipped out, broken and hoarsely laden with the desperation of his longing for the man behind him. The man he would have scorched the world for, would have readily killed for, even if it held the epitome of moral significance to Hannibal.
Will watched him intently, and something must have slipped, a door left open for Will's scrutiny, because he nodded solemnly and leaned his head beside Hannibal's, their lips trembling so closely for the first time as they exchanged each other's breath. Will's eyes held him captive as he tightened his grip and moved from base to tip of his length, smoothly running his finger over the slit of his cock repeatedly.
That's it…" Will murmured, softly coaxing.
Hannibal's chest heaved with each harsh breath; he felt the heat rising low, tumbling down to his curled toes on the soft rug as Will claimed the space inside him.
Will keenly witnessed as Hannibal tipped his head back over his shoulder and fell past the edge of his release with a low moan, the wave of pleasure playing like taut strings plucked along his spine. Will kept pulling at him as he spilled freely into his hand, over his thighs, onto the floor, wringing him of every shattering tremor as he slammed into Hannibal now with a fierce, single-minded focus. Will pressed him back onto the desk and buried himself with every thrust. He lifted himself to brace with his hands on each side of Hannibal, his breath sending shivers over the love bite that Hannibal hoped would surely scar. Will pursued his need with a selfishness that prided him even as he laid pliant, the sensation quickly sharpening into oversensitivity.
He took Will's gift with great pleasure.
Will came with a soft groan that shuddered beautifully on his lips, as he pressed closely against Hannibal's back, burying himself deep and trembling with his release in short spasms of his hips that elicited Hannibal's final tremors of pleasure. He panted heavily over Hannibal's nape, unmoving, while Hannibal sighed, feeling profoundly content. They lingered in the moment—with Will's hands pressed flat over his, a gentle mouth brushing breathily against the nape of his neck.
The silence, like Will's gift, held too many meanings to decipher as the coolness of the room settled around them.
Will got up first, unsheathing from him. His essence flowed from Hannibal in a warming trickle down the insides of his thighs, and Hannibal lamented the impossibility of being permanently marked from the inside by Will's seed. When he attempted to stand, Will stopped him with a firm hand on his hips, which immediately softened, and Hannibal turned, half-leaning from his desk to look at Will in puzzlement.
"Are there towels in your bathroom I can use?"
"Yes, the second lower cabinet on the right," Hannibal replied, watching Will as he nodded and then walked away. He waited.
— • —
Will returned looking composed, leaving little evidence of just what he'd done to Hannibal mere moments before. His face was still slightly flushed with a gentle glow, his gaze now subdued. Hannibal regarded him curiously until Will bent low behind him. Though the forthcoming gesture was gentlemanly and not entirely unexpected for Will, it surprised him all the same, considering the approach with which sex had been initiated. Their eyes met, and they watched each other in silence for a beat.
"You are not required to do this." Hannibal's voice was carefully neutral.
"I know," was the simple reply, as Will took the warm cloth to his skin. His attention was delicate, lingering, and resolved as the soft cotton glided over him. Will parted his cheeks, his thumb pressing with a claim into his flesh. He ran the towel over with an attentive touch, manoeuvred forward to wrap the cloth around his length, and wiped with a careful tug. Despite the height of their earlier intimacy, the words unspoken now felt more blaring.
Even in anger, love arrested with the duty to care.
It was a language undeniably foreign to Hannibal—hydraulically compacted into an icy chamber and buried deep in a past he didn't often seek. An action that was only newly and sparingly exercised by him with Will. Yet in the excess of Will's anger, this ardour overflowed. It was such an intensive, overwhelming teaching that he found himself aspiring to reciprocate it.
He sighed softly as Will finally released him and stood up. Hannibal did the same, turned to face him.
"Thank you, Will," he said with an air of detached politeness, hurriedly slipping his arms through the sleeves of his person-suit. Too much skin left bare in the game.
Will's eyes flickered with an indeterminable emotion before resting on his. "Don't pull back the veil, Hannibal. I've seen you, yet I'm still here."
Hannibal felt panic rise—a first in an insurmountable amount of time. The sensation prickled, razor-sharp and bitter, in the pores of his skin. He breathed sharply, and an unprecedented shift occurred since he had removed his clothes; he finally felt a semblance of the nakedness he stood in. Hannibal wondered just how much he'd allowed Will to glimpse while locked in his own ruminations. He very briefly considered breaking his earlier affirming words and killing Will. Fear was an ill-tailored suit.
"You must forgive me if I don't find those words to be as assuring as they sound. There are many reasons, both personal and professional, for you to grace these walls."
"There are not many, for what we just did," Will countered intently.
Hannibal observed Will with reserved contemplation. He noted the wry line of his mouth, with lips pressed tight together—a mix of frustration and understanding over Hannibal's questions. The quiet conviction that burned within those sea-swept eyes. There was nothing in his demeanour to reveal deception, but the option of hope felt fallible, especially between them. And he had taken many measures to be anything but fallible.
Before Will.
"Can you really forgive me?"
Will let out a long, pained sigh, but he stepped closer. "I'm still angry. I don't know if I will ever stop being angry with you. You have done the worst to me," Will trailed off, his brows knitting with strain. "And yet I still seek you."
"The last stage of grief is acceptance," Hannibal noted carefully. They both understood he was not merely speaking of a single incident—not of Abigail or Beverly—but of the encompassing events as they related to their old relationship.
"And the rebirth into our reality is nonlinear. But I know myself now, I made sure of that. Yesterday, and before coming here. I know what I want," Will paused softly. "There will be no more hiding, for either of us."
The conviction in Will's words shook him to his foundation, and when Will brought a steady hand to rest on his neck, just shy of where he had marked him, Hannibal was undone.
"You undo me, Will," he said quietly, to let him know. Will offered the faintest smile, and the warmth returned into the room in a flourish.
"Let me stitch you up," Will offered.
Hannibal closed his eyes briefly and gently wrapped his fingers around Will's lingering hand. When he opened them again, Will's gaze was fixed on the healing scar running down his wrist, with a contemplative expression.
I want it to scar," Hannibal stated. "I want the memory brought to life by the mere ghost of your touch. In such a manner that if one day my memories fail me, my skin, raised like the dust mounds of an unearthed time capsule, endlessly remembers."
Will lifted his own hand to run his thumb and torn index together as Hannibal watched.
They parted like the Red Sea.
"I know," Will began softly. "Come with me?"