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… I'd no idea on what ground I was founded…
Eyes blaze sharp and steady, boring holes in the base of a bow drill…
… All of that goodness is going with you now…
Carving out a space between the pillars of lace…
… Dragging along, following your form,
Hung like the pelt of some prey you had worn…
Seeking warmth, sinking warmth…
… Housed by your warmth, thus transformed…
“Hannibal…”
… Remember me, love, when I'm reborn…
“Will…”
… As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.
The two men are frozen in yet another stalemate, each daring the other to move. Salted flesh taunting hungry dogs, Hannibal’s tongue drags over his teeth and Will’s throat bobs to clear excess saliva.
—
Hannibal decides to take the initiative upon seeing the familiar twitch of his beloved’s brow, the one that so often spurs him to bloodlust, the one that now seeks to fog his mind with a decidedly different form of lust. He pushes himself up to his elbows, grunting softly with the effort as he locks their legs and rolls over before Will can do much of anything about it.
Will makes a sharp sound, one similar to winded surprise, but does not put up much of a fight as the other man straddles his thighs and plants steady hands upon Will’s heaving chest.
“Will… look at me, Will.”
“God…”
Hannibal smiles. “Be not afraid, mylimasis, He is not watching us now.”
“Hannibal, we can’t…” Will shifts uncomfortably, a halfhearted attempt to crawl away.
“We can. We will. You desire it, I desire it just as much,” Hannibal runs a thumb over Will’s lower lip, collecting a modicum of blood that had beaded up sometime during the tussle. “You truly are beautiful…”
“Hannibal.”
A warning. Hannibal cannot stifle the sharp glint in his eye as he catches the threat. “What will you do?”
“…What?”
“If I were to take you, here and now?” Hannibal’s voice matches the low pitch of Will’s cautionary tone, but it is laced with an unrelated kind of danger. “If I were to ravish you?”
“Hannibal?” Concern replaces caution.
“If I were to peel away your coverings, layer by layer, until you bear all to me?”
“Haven’t you done that already?” Comes a harsh laugh, all breath and unease.
Hannibal is pleased by this reply, leaning down until his breath ghosts over Will’s throat. The hands that instinctively shoot up to defend the vulnerable area are quickly restrained against the floor by the full force of Hannibal’s strength around the offending wrists. “You will find that my patience is infinite when it comes to you, mylimasis.”
Will jerks beneath Hannibal, his breathing quickening as he feels the wet heat of the other man’s lips scorch his skin. A soft growl rumbles in his chest, a sound that makes Hannibal want to grin ear-to-ear.
Hannibal audibly grunts as Will shifts beneath him, lowering his head slightly to eye the younger man, newly-black hair falling over his eyes as he attempts to maintain control. Whether that control is to remain over Will or himself is unclear, even to him. The older man stares down through his brows, lips parted and twitching as his own breathing grows unsteady. “Will..?”
Will stares up, unwavering, his lashes stark amongst his pale skin and messy, golden curls, fluttering dark in a way that teases the beast heaving within Hannibal’s insatiable stomach. Those eyes call out like a siren, beckoning, forcing Hannibal to lower his head once more, lips grazing the younger man’s collar bone.
And that is the precise moment when Will strikes.
There isn’t even a moment for Hannibal to process the incoming pain before it is shooting through his neck: A sharp, searing gift from the teeth he had so often coaxed into such violence.
Will snarls into the tissue, his jaws clenching harder until Hannibal finally releases a sound, low and ominous, a thundering groan that is ripped from the pits of his chest.
Hannibal is held fast, panting heavily, his hands having released Will’s wrists in favor of supporting his own weight as he is forced into a buckled position over the other man, putting excessive strain upon his lower back. His throat bobs in preparation for speech, but Will seems to be having no more of Hannibal’s games, opting instead to take the opportunity to turn the tides once more, rolling them both over until his hips are nestled squarely between his company’s thighs.
—
Not once does Will release Hannibal’s throat. He isn’t stupid. He can all but feel the strength being sapped from Hannibal’s body as he clenches harder. Whether the diminishment of power is from pain or… something else... Will isn’t sure.
Not that he cares.
He growls into Hannibal’s flesh as he presses his hips forward in slow, rolling grinds, the pushing of a hunting knife over a whetstone. His teeth tear through the older man’s epidermis, gutting out the most unholy sounds from the depths of the cannibal’s throat as if he were dressing a freshly scored buck.
Finally, Hannibal goes pliant. Will smiles faintly around the flesh in his mouth before finally releasing his grip. The annoyance he feels at the loss of pressure has him wondering if he might have some sort of an oral fixation. That’s a thought to return to in the future.
Hannibal seems to need a moment to collect himself, coughing and wincing as he shifts beneath Will’s weight. Each time he moves, Will meets him with an, admittedly, far too eager thrust of his hips.
Will takes this fleeting moment to drink in the older man’s physical state.
And oh, how Will loves Hannibal like this.
Angry, indignant, disheveled. There is a feral glint in eyes as his person suit begins to shatter and fall away, leaving behind the glittering sheen of blood that covers his lips, his skin, his clothes.. though, Will notes that, before now, the blood has rarely been Hannibal’s own.
Hannibal stares up through his curtain of dark hair, the bloodlust in his eyes seeming to falter as his gaze flickers up to Will’s golden curls. “Angelas…”
Will’s bleached brows knit at the word. Hannibal is aware by this point that Will understands him, so why would he say as much? “Angel?”
Hannibal beams as if he is being cradled in the gentle arms of divinity and slowly raises a hand to cup Will’s cheek.
Will is quick to slap that hand away and pin it to the floor. “No.”
Hannibal’s lip twitches. He tries again, only to have his other hand meet the same cruel fate.
“No.”
Hannibal’s eyes flicker with something unknown as he relaxes his head back, searching Will’s gaze.
Will releases a guttural sound of annoyance at Hannibal’s attempt to get inside of his head, as if the other man might actually possess the ability to read his thoughts.
“Go on, then, Will.”
Will stares.
“Take what it is that you want.”
“What do you think I want?”
Hannibal smiles.
Will balks. “… You… You don’t even care, do you?”
Hannibal’s eyes squint up in amusement. “Would you prefer that I care?”
Will thinks for a moment. “I don’t care what you think.” He finally decides, grabbing Hannibal’s shoulder and pushing him back onto his stomach. Full circle, he thinks to himself, as he mounts the older man from behind.
Hannibal groans at Will’s ministrations in a way that makes a distinctive, familiar heat rush to the younger man’s groin with a far more furious intensity.
“F-fuck… Hannibal…”
Will ducks down, dragging his teeth over Hannibal’s wounded neck, earning a seething breath from between those familiar fangs. “Does that feel good..?”
Hannibal seems to finally have lost himself enough to nod.
“More?”
Hannibal’s forehead drops to the floor as he releases a shuddering groan.
“Good.” Will sits back on his knees, grabbing Hannibal’s waistband and tugging at it sharply. Even the tight belt hugging Hannibal’s hips isn’t enough to keep the slacks from succumbing to Will’s iron grip. With a bit of strain on the leather, they slide over the curve of Hannibal’s ass, dragging his silk briefs along with them. Will can’t help but stare at the smooth skin he finds there. He’s seen it before, yes. You don’t live in cramped quarters like this without walking in on one another from time to time. But, despite that, the swell of the other man’s ass looks different now. Maybe it’s the angle, or maybe it’s the power swirling intoxicatingly within the fog of Will’s mind.
In any case, Hannibal looks delicious. That much, Will does know.
—
Hannibal rumbles softly as Will’s hands rub over his ass and up the curve of his spine, lifting his shirt in order to reveal the scarred skin beneath. Will mouths hungrily at the circular mark, compliments of the Verger family, like he’s never tasted a better meal. Like he might devour Hannibal whole. “Will…”
“You like that, don’t you, Doctor?”
Hannibal had hardly noticed the way his hips were rubbing against the friction of the carpet and he quickly forgets again when he feels rough hands spread him open from behind.
“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you, Doctor?”
Hannibal feels a hot wetness drip down into the crevice of his ass. Oh, he certainly knows now.
“I want you to say it. Tell me what I’m about to do to you.”
Hannibal clears his throat, which suddenly feels as dry as sandpaper. “You aim to defile me.”
Will laughs. “You defile yourself, Doctor. I think you delight in it.”
“To desecrate me, then.”
“Desecrate you? You’d have to be holy for that.”
“What makes a thing holy, Will? Is it some form of innate goodness? Or is it worship that provides a thing with its divinity?”
Hannibal can feel the heat of Will’s brows furrowing. “It, uh… worship? Gods… are not always, um… benevolent.”
“Good boy.”
Hannibal feels Will’s cock shift over the back of his thigh as those two words leave his lips. Interesting.
“Good.. you’re doing well, Will.”
Will grunts softly.
“That’s it, mylimasis… let go…”
“Oh, God…”
“No, Will. Only me.”
“Hannibal…”
Hannibal feels a searing pressure against his hole and he claws into the carpet, his entire torso rippling with tension.
“F-Fuck… tight…”
Hannibal’s face contorts, nose scrunching and lips peeling back as something blunt and wet begins to sink into him. His body rejects it at every turn, clenching tightly in protest. He could ask Will to go slower, to use more saliva, but Hannibal had never begged for anything in his life, he wasn’t about to—
“Is this what you wanted, Doctor?”
Hannibal throbs against the carpet as Will’s rough voice scrapes his ears.
“Tell me…”
Hannibal’s cheek presses into the carpet, burning from the friction that forces it back and forth with every thrust. “Will…” he croaks slowly.
“Tell me.” The voice above demands again, booming into Hannibal’s too-sensitive ears like a displeased deity.
The older man’s tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth, slurring in ways that he would consider unbecoming, if he was lucid enough to consider much of anything other the feeling of Will impaling him. “Yes—“ Hannibal lurches at a particularly rough punch of Will’s hips. “This… this is what I wanted.”
“You wanted me to fuck you?”
“I wanted… either way…”
Will’s lashes flutter. “Either way?”
“I would—I will—take you any way I can have you…” Hannibal clarifies before breathing out a barely audible: “F-fuck…”
Will bottoms out and remains still except for a torturous grind of his hips. “…Does it hurt?”
Hannibal’s licks his lips. “Deliciously,” he groans as Will’s cock begins to move once more. “I will take it, mylimasis…”
“Take what?” Hannibal can hear the skeptical quirk of Will’s brow.
“Your rage.”
—
Will’s hips stutter as he processes those words. “My… rage?”
Hannibal barely manages to nod.
Will snickers, then chuckles, then belts out a most sardonic laugh, strained and bitter where it leaves his throat. “I give you everything, the corpses of all that I loved, all that I knew, and you want the one thing I do not have?” Will’s hips snap punishingly to punctuate his words. “I should be, shouldn’t I? Angry? I should fucking hate your guts, Hannibal. You stole my freedom, my sanity, my life!”
Hannibal groans weakly, his eyes beginning to water.
“Do you want me to be angry?” One of Will’s hands nests itself in Hannibal’s box-dyed hair, yanking the stained strands back hard enough to lift his head from the carpet.
“I… want you to be… righteous…”
“Righteous? Why?”
“Violence-ngh-stems, it… forms, it branches—“
“For you, it stems from a lack of care.”
Hannibal grunts. “—and, for you, it stems from…”
“—I care too much,” Will stares down, the cogs in his brain very nearly audible. “You want me to feel angry because… feeling that way will put me right where you want me… in the palm of your hand.”
A sharp shiver wracks Hannibal’s body.
Will’s eyes widen before squinting with a rare flicker of tepid glee. “You still don’t get it, do you?” To his credit, Hannibal tries desperately to crane his head back in order to make eye contact, but Will slams a rough hand down on his skull to hold him still. “I’ve always been right where you wanted me. Even when I knew that you’d placed me there, I didn’t move. You don’t need to play your mind games, you don’t need to steal from me, you don’t need to seek to control me anymore, Hannibal. You got what you wanted, I am yours… and you…” Will’s pace grows sloppy, punching out wounded noises from the man beneath him with every wet clap of skin-on-skin. “You are mine.”
The way that Hannibal’s body tenses at those three words is nothing short of orgasmic. The pleasure that grips Will is ethereal, intangible, like it could only exist in the darkest recesses of his fractured mind. He’s never quite sure what’s real anymore, but in this moment, with the hot, wet heat of desire liquifying his frozen blood, he doesn’t think he ever needs to be sure again. This, this is as real as anything. Life and love and violence and blood, all of it melding into something with forked form, something with branching weight, something with spiked mass. The pelts of his every paramour, left hanging from the branches of this hawthorn bush, impaled upon the deadly thorns that he has chosen to build his nest amongst. What is it that provides him his fulfillment? The coursing of power, the thrill of the hunt, the savor of closeness? No, everything is distraction from the true goal of consumption. A butcher bird can never truly love the small creatures that it preys upon, true love requires respect… and so—
“—Do you respect me, Hannibal?”
The room has gone deafeningly quiet. Was it actually silent, or was it all being drowned out by the thundering of the blood in Will’s ears?
But finally, a soft, rumbling voice tumbles into the thickened air:
“Aš darau.”
And that was it. Will is rendered helpless by the sheer force of his orgasm crashing over him, his toes curling, legs shaking, torso trembling as the waves wrack his body. He spills deep, hips twitching in a poignant display of devotion, desperate to leave a piece of himself in every recess of Hannibal’s body.
And Hannibal accepts the offering without complaint, receiving the tithe with the gusto of a grateful god. Mottled flesh, sparkling with a sheen of sweat, covers his every curve. Every delicate feature, every line of the craftsman’s chisel, every diminutive detail is seared into the mind of its reverential beholder. Will swears, here and now, that Hannibal has never looked more beautiful.
The waves slow, lapping at the shores of his skin as Will lowers his weight, solid and grounding, upon Hannibal’s back. It’s silent, truly silent this time, save for the heavy breathing that neither of them can curb.
Will thinks to himself, a private musing, that maybe this could work. His past self had been right, that, no, he couldn’t save himself… but yes, it is fine. He had truly perished during the fall from that cliff, only to be baptized and subsequently resurrected in the frigid waves below. He can sense the presence of Hannibal’s returning lucidity, can detect the understanding blooming in their air. They had never before been on equal footing, but it finally feels possible, and as Hannibal pushes up to his forearms, gazing back at him with those steady, resolute eyes, full of reverence and veneration, Will decides that maybe his new hair color isn’t quite so bad.