Written for SwedaFest. A retelling of Leda and the Swan.
As the swan neared he began to realize there was something different about it: perhaps the structure of the feathers were not quite right, or the span of the wings was wrong, or the color of the break too dark an orange. It swam up to him, feathers ruffling gracefully as it raised and lowered its wings.
It was the eyes.
Instead of black, the eyes were a striking, vibrant blue, brimming with power and intelligence.
The basic premise: Will is a medium, Hannibal is a Lithuanian Count who immigrated to the US and lives in Maryland. The setting is Baltimore around 1918/1919 (I probably know just enough about the time to make that time period somewhat believable if you don't look too hard. Or consider it sort of steam punk/anachronistic. My excuse for getting details wrong.) Hannibal's original goal is to discredit Will, but finds himself intrigued.
There's a very vague reference to homophobia, which would have been common to the time period, in chapter 4. Like, very vague. But I'm still mentioning it in this summary just in case.
(There's a good chance this summary will change as I write more.)
It was the excuse he would give Jack later: he hadn’t been prepared for the lure of the mirror. Its magic was nothing like the magic used to commit the crime. It was alluring. Intoxicating. It was entirely organic to the owner, the draw of the mirror created with an enviable ease. Will felt a heat flood through him. He realized with no small amount of surprise that he was aroused, experiencing his own body as though he were a distant observer of its reactions.
He wasn’t consciously aware of moving but he was aware of stopping. He stood in front of the mirror - a mirror that had no right to be in this room - and considered the dark version of himself reflected back. Its lips curled into a cruel grin and Will inhaled sharply. He removed his glove, unable to keep himself from reaching out. He wanted - no needed - to touch that smooth, dark plane of glass.
As soon as his fingertips hit the mirror the room was plunged into darkness. His vision narrowed to a single point of light, a shiver running through him as he realized it was only growing larger because he was falling toward it, powerless to stop the inexorable draw of something he couldn’t yet identify.
Hannibal stared at him now, his sultry, stunningly beautiful neighbor, Will Graham, creature of the night. Gripping the wooden stake hidden behind his back tightly he lunged, swinging toward the creature’s heart, but the vampire was too fast. Will caught his wrist and held it, squeezing so that Hannibal released the stake involuntarily. Will placed a kiss to the inside of the wrist at his pulse point, smirking knowingly at the fluttering of Hannibal’s heart.
They watched the horizon as the sun set. Every now and again Hannibal would get up to add a piece of wood to the fire and Will felt the cold of his absence each time. As the sky began to darken they saw two points of light, a large white one and a smaller red one, next to each other in the night sky, nearly touching.
Or: In honor of the Grand Conjunction last night, I wrote this short piece of fluffiness.
Will shouldn't be here, but he is. He shouldn't go inside, but he does. He shouldn't stay, and yet…
He's getting close to his heat. It comes like clockwork, so he can't even use the excuse that it snuck up on him. Sure, maybe the severity in the days leading up to it has felt a little more powerful than usual, but he can chalk that up to stress. Because he is stressed. Hannibal helps, when he's stressed. Hannibal doesn't comment on his scent, the gold in his eyes, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. He's polite like that. He's safe, he's a good Alpha, impeccably in control of his instincts. He couldn't break even if Will wanted to break him.
So he's here. He's inside. He stays.
Bookmarked by Dovesummer
04 Mar 2021