You carried romance in the palm of your hand
You called the plays for us
You clung to self-restraint, you followed your plan
You put the brakes on this
And it drove me
And it drove me
And it drove me wild
-Tegan and Sara
Losing sleep was nothing new to Will, but tonight’s version of tossing and turning came without the usual nightmares. He didn’t wake from a terrifyingly delicious vision of bloodshed to find that no one answered his half-panicked, half-elated cries except for the faint barking of the dogs. He didn’t drench the sheets with the sweat of his continually suppressed becoming.
He just lay there glaring at the ceiling, his whole body tensed, riveted to the point of some wild, insurmountable urge that would not allow for even a moment of peace. There would be none of his stolen slumber tonight, only an agonizing bout of insomnia, soaked in a savagery he could not name. It stuck between the cracks of his heart and mind, the spaces between sanity and the other side, which always beckoned, which knew his name all too well. Like gristle preventing a successful digestion of ideas, a bright, bold vigor had awakened, and would not let him go.
Will couldn’t identify it using any of the normal terms for feeling; it was closest to anger, so he felt he should call it that. He knew who made him angriest, so he tossed the covers off, threw on jeans, slapped his glasses on his nose, shoved his feet into socks and shoes. Left food and water for the dogs and stormed out to the car, uncaring of the fierce chill in the air and the insubstantial cover of his wool coat given that he hadn’t warmed his vehicle up. He’d be lucky if the car didn’t break down en route to his righteous vengeance, but dammit, he could not wait another moment. His rage would brook no patience; this time, he was going to make Hannibal sorry for ruining his life to the point that even now, weeks after getting out of the BSHCI, he still came across nights where attempts at sleep were met with a harsh slam of a door in his face, the unconscious realm unreachable.
He couldn’t stand being left alone with his thoughts. If it went on for too long, he might actually have to think them.
It was freezing fucking cold in the car. He sniffed against it, fingers like ice gripped around the steering wheel, eyes like glossy, unforgiving blue glass, reflecting nothing but hatred for the man he was charging into the ruthless night to find and hold accountable.
It was Hannibal’s fault he was this, violently charged with hate, riddled with it like a disease. Before Hannibal came, everything was fine. It was painfully banal, but it was fucking fine. He never asked to be special, to be chosen as a victim on some sacrificial altar of the gloriously insane. To be betrayed so profoundly that the reversal of fortune colored his entire emotional outlook, twisting him into something demonic and strange to himself, detached and capable of organizing a homicide by proxy. He refused to feel shame, because none of it was his fault. Switching the heat on full blast, he stayed just barely on the right side of the speed limit, driving for Baltimore as if his life hung in the balance.
But it was more than his own life Will was fighting for. If it was just that, he might let go into the madness. Others might be hurt if Will took the safety off his long-bridled impulses towards ferocity. He couldn’t know who he would be if he flew off the handle, where he would spiral and whose blood he would spill in the first nasty flush of his afterbirth.
This had to end. He would reclaim his chosen identity as a savior, not a sinner. He would ring Hannibal’s doorbell, and when the man answered he would punch him square in the jaw and tell him never to call him again. Never speak to him, never write. He would kick him to the floor and make him swear not to kill again, or else Will would -- would, well what would he do? Jack would have his nonexistent badge for kicking Hannibal’s ass, and he wasn’t going to buy Will’s explanation that it was self-defense, the only version of it he had left. Hannibal had to be driven into submission, made to see that his reign of obnoxiously well-organized mayhem must end, and if Will couldn’t play on his therapist’s fondness of him to achieve the goal, what could he do? Continue the charade of friendship as they had been? Try and catch Hannibal so Jack could reel him in?
He’d been committed to the cause, but it had stolen his ability to sleep, and if he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t function. Then he was no good to anyone.
Maybe that’s all you are, anyway. No damn good for anyone, even the people you try to save.
There was no way to find out until Hannibal was firmly out of play.
Will lurched from the car and slammed the door shut, finding that every act of aggression felt damn good, letting off small quantities of his bottled suffering and wrath, letting it be loud and even immature, far over the line of ill-advised.
He mashed his finger into the doorbell, being extra rude about it, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, enough to thoroughly irritate anyone suddenly awakened from a nice, heavy 1am slumber.
Hannibal pulled the door open looking achingly vulnerable. Clad in a maroon robe, black pajama pants and grey slippers, with his face softly confused and his hair gently falling over one eye, he blinked in surprise at Will.
Here it was, the perfect moment. He was so open and defenseless for some goddamned reason; maybe he just slept really profoundly and Will had finally pinpointed a previously unimagined weakness. In any case, Hannibal didn’t look like he was in any shape to put up a fight. Will’s knuckles tightened as his jaw twitched, eyes flashing silent, smoldering frustration.
“Will?” Hannibal’s hand lifted slowly, as if he thought to reach out to him, but then reconsidered. He lowered his fingers, handsome face drawn tight with concern and perplexity. “What brings you here in the dead of night? I should have thought I’d be the last one whose door you’d darken if you fell victim to more nightmares.”
The joke was half-hearted, an attempt to break ice that would never thaw. Neither of them even smiled.
You’re the nightmare, Will wanted to say, wanted to scream. He’d get the cord from Hannibal’s robe, wind it tight around his neck and choke him near to blackout, looming over him with merciless fervor. “Don’t you ever hurt anyone again,” he’d order, and Hannibal would simply agree, would be so weak, so...so weak for Will. Compliant. Will remembered how it felt to be weak and compliant, to melt into Hannibal’s care like sinking naked into a hot, skin-soothing bath with complete trust in the exposure, the envelopment. He missed it. He missed his shadow, his conniving, unforgivable friend. Closer than close. More, if he was going to lose himself far enough into this thought process to quote Emily Bronte. More himself than he was.
He thought of the rough choke marks of the robe belt leaving Hannibal’s neck ringed, raw and red, and he realized he wished it was him being wonderfully hurt and claimed, under Hannibal’s control again.
Why was he here?
“Will?” Hannibal asked, his voice delicate and distant, barely breaking through the mess of Will’s mind. “Why are you here?”
To punch you in the face, to kick you to a pulp, to wring your neck.
Will stepped up and seized Hannibal's face in both hands as he kissed his mouth, rough and quick, too hard, ending in a bite to Hannibal’s bottom lip that made the other man seem to suddenly realize this kiss was really happening. Hannibal’s hands came up to Will’s elbows and he gasped, licking his bloodied lip when Will drew back again. Those big, lonely brown eyes were going to devour him, Will realized, painted blatantly as they were in hurt and yearning. Not physical hurt, but the pang of a want so strong it overwhelmed the ego, the capacity for self-preservation, all sense of former creature comfort or smugness. He tasted it on his own tongue along with the coppery tang of Hannibal’s blood, and he craved more.
Hannibal stepped back and Will stepped forward, then closed the door behind them, backing Hannibal into it, getting a leg tight between his enemy’s and pinning one wrist to the door.
“W--” Hannibal started to say, but Will used his free hand to cover his mouth.
Will shook his head definitively, praying Hannibal understood, begging him silently with his own enormous, lust-drenched, needy eyes. No words. No words for this.
He pulled his hand from Hannibal’s mouth and the other man nodded, swallowing past a lump in his throat. Will yanked his robe loose and saw the hard line of Hannibal’s erection laying just below the thin fabric of his pajama pants. He leaned in and licked the long line of rough stitches on Hannibal’s wrist, savoring the evidence that he had scarred him forever on the outside, at least.
Hannibal threw his head back with a deep moan, like a wolf howling at the moon, and Will was undone by the sudden fact of his shamelessness.
He took a deep breath, and like a choreographer going on instinct alone, he put his hands on Hannibal’s waist, guiding him around until their positions were reversed. Again, Hannibal read his intention and slammed Will’s wrists against the door beside his head, then claimed his lips in a long, bruising kiss. When they drew back regretfully and only to breathe, Will stretched his neck, pinned in place as a prisoner on a rack of his own making, and Hannibal nosed along it with delirious fixation on Will’s scent and feel.
He lapped at Will’s skin in a wolfish manner incomparable to anything human, despite his susceptible attitude, and there could be no doubt from his feral licking, biting and sucking that he was an even insatiable cannibal. The taste of Will’s flesh drove him steadily crazier, until he growled, then released Will’s wrists to let his robe fall from his shoulders in a deceptively elegant pool of royal maroon on the floor. There would be nothing refined about this, Will knew. There would only be soul-consuming hedonism, the pursuit of devastating wiles and whims he didn’t understand were living and thriving inside him until Hannibal opened the door mere minutes earlier.
Hannibal knelt and unbuttoned Will’s jeans, then tugged them down as Will stroked through his hair, the gesture bringing him a keen new sense of belonging, as if he was petting a beloved beast, telling him wordlessly he was doing well, and he should continue. As if Hannibal was his very good boy, but there was also nothing good about this, nowhere this would lead but disaster, myriad possibilities of woe which at this split second interval were worthless in consequence compared with the bliss of letting Hannibal have him.
Words were forbidden, but sighs and moans were inevitable, and Will fell prey to both as much as to the expert touch of Hannibal’s fingers, softly running over his dick until it filled with complete obedience, taut and heavy. He jerked Will gently, then licked up and down his length, letting his saliva coat him before blowing on the wetness he had left on Will’s aching flesh. Will’s head hit the door and he almost screamed, knees buckling. Hannibal looked up with a heartfelt smile, transparently pleased to have pleased him, and something tugged in his heart, something Will didn’t want to feel.
He felt it again, the envelopment of Hannibal’s affection, the temptation of letting Hannibal take control and fuck him up, the pleasure of that. How could he resist, how had he ever been so damn good at resisting this?
Hannibal sucked at his tip, carefully cupping his balls, guessing just how much pressure would be good, learning and teasing out Will’s comfort levels and limits, absorbing with adept enthusiasm the things that made Will pull on his hair and sputter out reckless grunts.
Will’s sweaty palms were planted to the door as his hips shoved forward almost of their own volition, pushing into the sweet, hot tightness of Hannibal’s mouth, over his silky tongue to touch his throat, and Hannibal stayed still, sucking his cheeks tight, his only movement to caress Will’s ass, fingers traipsing lazily over his warm, smooth skin until the burst of cum filled his mouth and Hannibal squeezed Will’s behind, keeping his cock warm and loved while the spasms went on, not sucking again to take the oversensitive moment too far, no, just making it perfect, beyond anything Will had felt during sex with any-damn-one. He could count his previous partners on one hand, but still, already, none of them deserved to be mentioned in the same sentence with Hannibal.
“Huhhhh,” Will heaved in a ragged breath, half falling against Hannibal, who stood just in time to catch him, then tucked Will’s face safely into his chest, humming in a vibration Will could feel against his ear.
Will got himself back together, as much as he was going to, at least, a few restoring breaths to remember where he was and what was happening, anything past the blinding, white-hot pulsation of pleasure. He bit Hannibal’s bare, hairy, delicious chest, then nuzzled lower to lick a nipple until it pebbled under his tongue and Hannibal groaned.
Will was lifted up in strong, warm arms, and he wrapped his limbs around Hannibal, allowing himself to be carried off like the heroine in a monster movie, forever changed by the poignancy of loving a beast. He found himself beneath Hannibal in a sea of silk sheets, and at some point his glasses were removed, Hannibal surprising him with a brief, playful kiss to his nose that made the pain in his heart return, though he still refused to face it. At some point, he was stripped of his henley and touched, licked and teased to Hannibal’s heart’s content while he reached for any part of Hannibal he could find, just a quick brush across smooth, lovely silver locks, just a quick answering bite around his fingers when he traced full, indefatigable lips.
Hannibal swirled his wicked tongue around Will’s nipples and nibbled at them until a throbbing ache exuded through Will’s body, taking him over, skin, bone, muscle, every nerve ending...there was no escape from it. He whimpered, and Hannibal took mercy on him, smoothing his touch over his biceps, big fingers trailing down Will’s forearms, just a few more incidents of irresistible exploration, suggesting these were all the places on Will’s body he’d thought of touching or kissing since the feelings between them began.
“O-ohhh,” Will sighed, the sound dragged out of him as Hannibal bit the sensitive skin covering his hips, then licked deep into the hollow beneath each. His tongue sank into Will’s belly button, uncovering new sensation, equally so when he bit, tiny sharp nips, in a line across Will’s low abdomen, making his way lower with that same mind-blowing slowness that left Will quivering.
“W--” Will forgot he wasn’t going to talk. But he wanted to say, Wait, I haven’t done anything for you. He should go down on Hannibal, surely, after all this attention. He wanted to taste him, draw out his pleasure. He could wait for his own recurrence of it, but Hannibal smiled, then rested a finger on Will’s lips to hush him.
“B--” Will’s aborted objection cut off into a burst of shock and bliss when Hannibal ended his tantalizing discovery of every other inch of Will’s body and lifted his thighs, encouraging Will to roll his hips up. A roil of excitement took him over at the suggestion when Hannibal arranged a pillow under his bottom, but he was only expecting lube, then fingers, and hopefully, God, yes, hopefully more.
There was lube, of course, procured matter-of-factly from the bedside table drawer as Hannibal glanced back at Will with hooded eyes and absolutely no mask, no armor. Admiration verging on disbelief, as he gazed at Will’s trembling form in his bed, the mess of Will’s rumpled curls, the sight of him positioned for the taking. But there was also Hannibal’s tongue again, this time circling his hole, causing a shiver of surprise and anticipation to run through him like a blade. He should have told Hannibal he’d never been with a man before, that he was probably going to be bad at this, at first, confused in his reactions, disorganized and needing a lot of guidance.
Will’s body tensed up, muscles contracting, and Hannibal rubbed his hands over Will’s ass with mute understanding, then proceeded to press sweet, soft kisses all over his bottom as if he was in love, certainly as if this was an encounter filled with romance and a desire to please Will that was again, almost cute. He shouldn’t let the feeling in, but it comforted him, and he relaxed when Hannibal continued slyly prodding his entrance with his wet, velvety tongue.
He’d never felt anything like this; even his darkest, most profane fantasies hadn’t come close, smothered as they were with resentful moans into his pillow when he touched himself imagining it was Hannibal but never admitting this consciously. The smooth, hot, slick pressure poking inside him, making his nails dig into his shaking legs as he tried to hold them still, and then the firm, but very gradual, tender press of Hannibal’s finger inside him. Most of all, the low, savoring sounds Hannibal kept making, as if this was just as enjoyable as being pleasured himself, the chance to have his mouth and his hands all over a naked Will.
Will heard himself emitting high-pitched mewls, the sort of sounds that translated rather unmistakably into “More, please-- please,” “God I need you,” and plenty of other things he was never going to let himself say out loud. He tried to bite his lip to stave off the cries but then Hannibal had two fingers delving so deep and slick, thrusting with a calculated press upward to nudge his prostate. Will’s toes curled and he said, in spite of himself, harshly, “Hannibal.”
After all, maybe that was the only word for what was happening, as far as Will was concerned.
Hannibal kissed the backs of his thighs and opened him more with three fingers pushing rougher, drawing out frantic moans, because Hannibal’s hands were so beautiful, lined with veins, rendered powerful and dangerous by his proclivities, and Will had wanted to feel this so desperately. There was only one thing he wanted more.
Trapped on the bed beneath Hannibal’s weight and the long, languid draw of his lover’s rigid cock against him, gliding over his belly, down to his thigh, against his own once-again hard dick, Will gave himself up to the sacrifice, the devouring, the darkness. The knowledge that there was no turning back. Hannibal kissed his mouth as if he was drowning and Will was his only source of oxygen, again and again with his lips searing hot, his tongue, flavored in Will’s arousal, tangling euphorically with his own, blocking out all the light, even the memory of needing light.
Will almost giggled, half-shyly, half-incredulously, at the amount of lube Hannibal drizzled between them, then used to slick up his cock and ready Will’s hole yet more. Surely that was overkill. But then Hannibal’s gold-flecked amber eyes caught his own in a pleading stare and Will nodded, and Hannibal pressed in, and Will felt it in a gasping shove of the breath from his lungs, how big Hannibal was, how tight his body and how much it would have hurt without all the foreplay and lubrication. He’d been appreciating the glorious sight of Hannibal’s uncut, thick cock since their clothes came off, but without appreciating that this was really, really going to burn.
The burn made him clutch Hannibal’s back, scratching as he tried to grab tighter for stability, and Hannibal stopped while halfway inside him, breathing hard, golden eyes shot through with pleasure, but he waited until Will indicated he should keep going.
At that, Will wrapped his arms and legs around Hannibal as snugly as he could, angling his lower body up, scratching Hannibal’s back harder as the older man sank deeper into his tight walls. His lover was human again, sweaty and hot and heavy above him, smelling of juniper, thyme and cloves. Will thought absently this must be the scent of Hannibal’s bath soap, as it certainly wasn’t the heady, manly spice of his usual cologne. This was even better because it was more personal. Then Hannibal picked up the pace of his thrusting and Will lost track of how to form thoughts at all.
In the dreams he tried to forget and the visions he failed to fully stifle, they changed positions multiple times, rolling around in bed with effortless grace, but he could already tell they weren’t going to get any more creative than this for the first time. Hannibal simply wasn’t going to make it. This shouldn’t have been endearing after the countless crimes and manipulations that this man had used to wreak havoc on Will’s life and destroy so many others. But it was so endearing that all of a sudden Will could have cried.
“Huhhh---Ahhh,” he grunted and whimpered out as Hannibal fucked him with long, firm, deep strokes of his immense-feeling cock, sending shockwaves of joy through him with every targeted press to his prostate.
Will shouldn’t have been this blown away; he’d watched enough gay porn to know perfectly well he was more than bi-curious, and he knew the mechanics, even if he’d only seen them before when accompanied by overdramatic acting and silly concocted scenarios of pizza boys and student-teacher and...Jesus, he hadn’t known a damn thing. Or maybe he just didn’t know how sex felt, period, when it was laced all through with this drugged feeling of suffocating desire.
Hannibal built up the rhythm, and Will could feel him trying to make this good, denying himself the easy, quick orgasm despite the fact that he was crying out in guttural tones against Will’s shoulder, trembling from the work of holding himself back to prolong the encounter.
Will’s heart squeezed hard and he took Hannibal’s face in his hands, meeting his glazed, lost-looking eyes with an inviting smile. He nodded, and Hannibal snapped his hips much more aggressively, the push of him inside Will so brutally hard and deep that they both moaned out loud, uncontrollable strings of swear words. Will didn’t even know what half of Hannibal’s exclamations were, only that the foreign words were gorgeous-sounding, slurred not by alcohol but by painfully acute euphoria.
After that, Hannibal let go of his last remnant of reserve, riding Will with passionate greed until his kisses into Will’s neck turned into a series of fast, piercing bites. Beyond the twinge of strangely lovely pain from the wounds came a stranger feeling still, the newness of Hannibal’s cum spilling inside him. It was so warm, and so copious, as Hannibal spasmed against him, kissing all over his face in delirium, and Will’s scratching and clinging changed into massaging over Hannibal’s broad back, helping him come back down.
His own cock was twitching, caught between their bodies as Hannibal panted against his chest, barely holding himself up from collapsing fully into Will and crushing him. Will wanted to be crushed in that moment, rather than return to reality, but instead what he got was Hannibal’s mouth on him again, against all reason.
“Y--” Will wanted to say, “You don’t have to,” because he knew Hannibal must be bone tired by now, but Hannibal only looked up at him to shake his head with a very serious look, one Will had never seen before and even with his considerable empathy struggled to identify. It silenced Will immediately.
Then Hannibal took him back inside the excruciatingly fucking good, hot squeeze of his mouth, alternating his sucking with indulgent stroking over Will’s cock, until he was swallowing down the essence of Will’s complete surrender for the second time, wild for it, squeezing Will’s thighs possessively and licking his lips when he was done, again the animal, just as open and needy as the man. Will had come with a single, sharp gasp, feeling the bliss being drawn out of him past where he should be able to feel pleasure, stronger than it should possibly be after all that they had already done to each other that night.
Hannibal smiled and snuggled against him, holding onto Will as if they were longtime lovers and he depended on these post-coital embraces as much as the sex, to let him know Will was real, to help him feel anchored and treasured and all the things Will couldn’t give him. He had to get away.
“No,” he said simply, wriggling out of Hannibal’s grasp.
Hannibal sent him only one look of disappointment, as if Will had just punched him in the stomach instead of removed himself from an impossible situation, hugging a naked serial killer as if this was about roses and chocolates and a future together.
Will knew he should have been furious, because Hannibal killed Beverly. Hannibal killed Abigail. He let Will take the blame, he set everything up for that express purpose and Will had to bring him down, he had to hate him, he couldn’t forgive or he would be lost. How dare Hannibal treat Will as if he was the one causing the need for separation?
Again, as if Hannibal was his pet or his servant, beloved but intolerably mischievous, he shook his head. “No.”
Will found a pair of plain sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt in Hannibal’s dresser, which he imagined he probably might find, since even suit-loving cannibals got cold sometimes, and he put them on with haphazard desperation to get the hell out of there. Maybe things would make sense again on the road, or back home. The problem was, his legs were still pleasure-buzzy and heavy, hard to move, and he wanted back in bed with Hannibal, nuzzling and kissing and rubbing all over him, speaking, worst of all. Talking this out.
As he dressed, he suddenly felt a whoosh of air from the sheets being tossed aside and Hannibal’s legs quickly leaving the bed, followed by the closing -- not the slamming, but the calm closing -- of the bathroom door. Then the shower starting up. His cue to leave without further inconvenience from anything Hannibal might do to prevent it.
Will stared at the bathroom door and thought about opening it, stripping down, and surprising a smile back onto Hannibal’s face as he stepped into the shower with him. He’d wind his arms around Hannibal’s neck and they’d sway in a slow dance to music no one else could hear.
He forced his feet to walk away, down the short series of stairs to the first floor, outside and into the merciless freeze of the eeriest, most unforgettable night he could ever remember having.
It was time to go home, back to normal life, back to plotting against Hannibal. He got into the car and begged himself to be reasonable, begged God for a miracle. The miracle would be that this night had gotten the need for Hannibal out of his system, like combating a hangover with a hair of the dog that bit him.
But Will didn’t think he’d ever had a hangover quite like this before.