Chapter 1 : Limbo
When he paused and tried to think back for a second, Will honestly had zero clue why he'd considered coming out alone that evening to be a good idea. After all, he'd never been someone who suffered from loneliness per se, and it sometimes seemed to him that the only people who had a problem with his solitary, hermitic lifestyle were those whose own lives could just as easily be described as hermetic and solitary. Beverly Katz, with her seemingly bottomless Netflix obsession and pathological aversion to dating anyone but hockey players. Jack, whose entire social life seemed to revolve around a weekly poker night with three other equally gruff men and book club with his wife once a month. And Hannibal who, it often seemed to Will, was the ultimate in oxymorons: a socialite who - he very much suspected - generally disliked other members of society. All three of them had, at one time or another, suggested that Will "get out more", "try and meet someone" or – in Hannibal's case – "at least attempt to find a way to unplug his higher thinking, even for a few short hours".
"My higher thinking?"
Will's eyebrows had lifted at that.
"I'm not sure what it is you think I do in my spare time Dr. Lecter, but I can assure you it doesn't involve Sudoku puzzles and catching up on the latest on string theory."
The corners of Hannibal's mouth had drawn out in one of those peculiarly intimate smiles of his, that almost always drew an answering one from himself.
"I would never resort to such clichés Will, and I don't imagine for a minute that your view would describe such a narrow band either."
Will's grin is crooked. Scooting forward in his seat to better watch Hannibal's preparation of dinner, he rubs a hand across his stubbled chin.
"OK, ok. I get what you mean, and yes, switching off has historically been a problem for me. But I have managed to find a few solutions over the years."
"Solutions that work for you?"
It's not really a question because Hannibal knows the answer, but he manages to shoehorn a semblance of enquiry into his voice anyway, to allow Will at least the impression that he isn't entirely transparent. And Will shrugs, because sometimes he likes to pretend that too.
"Some of them. For a while anyway."
"Meditation? Mindfulness? Self-Medication?" Hannibal punctuates each question mark with a twist of the corkscrew. Giving it a last turn, he uncorks the wine with a smooth flourish and a questioning tilt of the head, "Masturbation?"
The laugh that startles out of Will's throat doesn't even sound like his. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, he tries to remember the last time someone had asked him a question that made him this uncomfortable. Perhaps in eleventh grade when his dad had taken him for a suit fitting for junior prom, and the guy in the fitting room had asked him "what side he usually dressed on".
Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives Hannibal the kind of look he normally reserves for crime scene techs on their first outing, and clears his throat pointedly.
"Are we really doing this now? I mean, when you asked me if I'd join you for dinner tonight I'm not sure I fully understood this was where the evening's conversation would be heading."
"My apologies Will. That was presumptuous of me."
Hannibal draws his brows together in a study of contrition, but the smile tugging at the sides of his mouth is still there, and Will can feel his embarrassment receding like a tide. Taking the proffered glass of wine as a peace offering, he breathes out a laugh.
"It certainly was. At least wait until I'm sat in your office before springing stuff like that on me."
That was how the conversation had started anyway, quite how it had ended up where it did three or four hours later Will still wasn't sure, but he suspected it had to do with the multiple nightcaps of thirty-year-old scotch he'd accepted before his departure. He remembered a discussion revolving around Baltimore's social scene, the seedier parts of the city that he had assumed Hannibal would be less familiar with, and his surprise when he had admitted to having visited - "on occasion" - a few establishments Will would have considered beneath him. One strangely familiar name which came up in conversation - Volto Larva - had seemed of more interest than the others to him, and on pressing him Hannibal had to admit to having frequented the place more than once in the past, when in pursuit of 'more stimulating company'.
"What kind of place is it?"
"A…stimulating place." Hannibal's smile was warm but his eyes glittered darkly for a moment as he regarded Will over the rim of his glass, "I think maybe somewhere you might enjoy."
More than anything else he'd said, Will's curiosity had been piqued by what Hannibal seemed to be implying by 'stimulating company'. He'd never considered his informal-therapist a sexual creature - the blank emotional slate he maintained during their sessions effectively obscuring all those parts - but looking at him now, skin lit golden by the crackling fire in the grate, Will felt a sudden stirring of interest. Hannibal's style and aesthetically good looks were undeniable, but when he considered it, he had never imagined that they were cultivated for anyone's pleasure but his very own. The idea of Hannibal as a human being with a sex life, Hannibal using his body in anything other than the utilitarian pursuits he had witnessed him in, was a strangely compelling one. It was after all, as Will had privately admitted to himself as he followed Hannibal to the door that night, a particularly well-constructed and attractive body.
The seed of that conversation, sowed as it was by someone whose opinion Will had come to respect, had not germinated immediately but had laid quietly in his subconscious until this evening. It had been a long, dull morning teaching and a longer and duller afternoon grading papers and giving tutorials to a couple of his lowest academic achievers, and Will had found himself uncharacteristically edgy throughout all of it. His next appointment with Hannibal wasn't until the following morning and, knowing that that conversation would very probably lead on from the last one, he felt a sudden determination to bring something to the session to convince his therapist – and by extension Jack – that he was finding healthier ways to unwind.
Throwing his laptop and papers into his bag, he ducked into the deserted men's room to check his appearance. The shirt he was wearing was clean enough and, he liked to think, one of his more flatteringly cut ones, and although his hair looked in need of a trim he'd at least remembered to shave the straggling hairs of his beard this morning. Washing his hands and running damp fingers through his curls, Will smoothed the creases out of the front of the shirt and frowned. Clubs were still dark anyway, weren't they? And people still got kind of drunk before they tried to hit on you? And, he told himself silently, no-one had said he had to stay if he didn't like it. He'd go in, maybe have one drink, see if any of the 'stimulating people' Hannibal had found there were in evidence, and file the information away for a second attempt later in the year. Maybe when he'd managed to get a little more sun, and didn't look as if he spent seven hours of every week day in a darkened lecture theatre.
He found the place easily enough, although if he hadn't known the name he would never have guessed that the subtly lit sign in the tiny backstreet led to a nightclub. If anything, he might have guessed an exclusive restaurant or jazz bar, but pushing open the door and stepping into the small foyer Will was reassured by the unmistakable thrub-thrub of club music leaking through the very solid looking wooden doors ahead of him. To his right, a small reception hatch slid open and an extremely photogenic young man flashed him a bright warm smile.
"Hey there cutie, can I swipe your card?"
A reply caught in Will's throat as he felt blood flush warmly up his throat to his cheeks. He honestly couldn't remember the last time a beautiful young guy has referred to him as 'cutie', but he had to admit it had probably been a while, definitely not during the current century anyway. Opening his mouth, he had to shut it again a couple of times before he trusted himself to speak.
"I…sorry. A friend told me about this place, he didn't mention it was a member's only club." He already had a hand on the door before he'd finished the sentence, "Sorry. My mistake."
"Whoa there sweet thing, slow down a second ok!"
The guy's smile had widened a fraction more, opening a file on the counter beside him he fixed him with a bold stare that started at Will's eyes and travelled down his body and up to his face again in one quick, openly appreciative movement.
"How about you tell me the name of your friend, and I'll see if he's one of our gold members. If he is, I can check you through as his guest tonight, that sound ok?"
Will nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else that might change the look of appreciation he was being directed, and then remembered that he had to.
"Oh…Hannibal Lecter. Sorry. His name is Hannibal Lecter."
"Oh well Jesus," with an exasperated sigh the young man, flipped the cover of the file closed and gave his head a tiny shake, "If you'd just said that when you'd come through the door I'd have just buzzed you right through."
Pressing a button under the lip of the counter, he angled his head at the pair of doors, and gave Will a smirk that bordered on salacious.
"Step through beautiful. You can check your jacket in the mask room just inside."
"The…?"
"Mask room." The tip of his tongue poked out through parted teeth to touch his top lip with amusement, "Oh lord, he really didn't tell you anything did he?"
Once he was inside the first set of double doors the music was a lot louder, but still not so loud Will couldn't hear the young blond girl asking him what 'kind of mask he'd prefer'. Shaking his head in confusion, Will couldn't help but wonder if in fact Hannibal was having some kind of joke at his expense and that tomorrow he'd walk into his session to find him convulsed with laughter behind his desk. He thought it, and then just as quickly dismissed it, because if there was one thing he understood about Hannibal it was that joking was not generally part of his therapeutic process.
"What…uh…kinds are there?"
Smiling prettily, the girl lifted two up to show him,
"Half face, full face. Then you have these ones over here that cover your whole head and neck. And there are also these ones with the ribbons, they're my favourite, or we have ones with the silk hair attached, they're kind of gorgeous too."
"And what…" Will drew a breath, guessing that he would probably regret asking the question, "And what exactly is the purpose of the masks? In this context I mean?"
Cocking her head at him, the blond laughed, "The purpose? Is fun, I guess? In the context of you know…having some?"
All the masks had the same look to them, like something from a Venetian Carnivale and with a sudden dawning realisation Will remembered where he'd heard the name "Volto Larva" before. Art History Class in 11th Grade with Mrs. Ravanelli, and her seemingly unquenchable passion for the 'romance and pageantry of the Italian Rennaissance period'.
"Uh… the half-face I guess?"
Reluctantly Will held out a hand, only to be gently but insistently turned to face the ornate mirror hanging on the wall behind them both. Placing the mask over his eyes, the girl tied the ribbons in a bow at the back of skull, and smoothed a hand softly over the curls that spilled over it. Nodding, she gave him a smile of satisfaction.
"Yep. That's the one alright."
Looking at his reflection, Will felt a fluttering in his stomach halfway between embarrassed nerves and excitement. With the mask covering the whole top half of his face, sitting just above his mouth, he hardly recognised himself. Tucking the dark red shirt he was wearing into his jeans, he frowned slightly at the effect in conjunction with the beautiful gilded thing and, as if reading his mind, his assistant laid a gentle hand on his forearm.
"Just stay right there."
Will wanted to say that he looked ridiculous after she'd finally finished with him, but the truth was – although it wasn't something he would ever admit aloud to anyone - he actually thought he looked hot as hell. And judging by the way the blond was looking at him appreciatively from every angle, he wasn't the only one.
"Seriously, you could model you know? Have you ever considered it?"
The flush that had started on Will's neck now crept all the way up from the opening of the ridiculously romantic linen shirt she'd put him in into his cheeks. Stuffing the hem of it into the leather pants, he inclined his head at the man in the mirror. The flowing romantic clothes, the half hidden face, nothing looked like the Will Graham he or anyone else he knew was used to seeing. The unassuming exterior he'd carefully cultivated for the last two decades was gone, and in its place was an entirely unrecognisable but undoubtedly attractive man.
Chewing on her bottom lip, the girl walked around him admiringly for a third time.
"You know, you have amazing bone structure."
"In my ass?" he couldn't resist saying, but a response that had felt kind of snippy in his head somehow came out as flirty and they both laughed, and this time he noticed she was the one blushing. Pushing a hand back through his hair, he took a last deep unsteady breath before walking to the door.
"Well, wish me luck."
Stepping down into the interior of the club and looking around, Will could feel his pulse immediately begin to race. To say the décor was kind of wild was an understatement. The whole place was built into what appeared to be an old vaulted wine cellar, and archways and darkened alcoves everywhere were lit with deep reds and purples and hung with heavy velvet drapes. The central bar was lit with hundreds of candles in heavy candelabra, dripping hot wax onto the wooden surface and, making his way to it as casually as leather pants allowed, Will leant against it and made eye contact with the barman.
"I'll have a double bourbon. Straight. No ice."
Even to his ears, his voice sounded confident, maybe even kind of arrogant. Something about the way the guy's attention had snapped to his body instead of his face as a result of the mask gave him an odd feeling of power. His anxious avoidance of people's eyes, and the reaction most had to that, negatively affected every encounter he had these days and made casual flirtation almost impossible. Now, with all but his eyes and mouth obscured, Will found himself looking around the room without a trace of his usual self-consciousness while everyone around him did just the same. The feeling of safety that had been created by the costume was both exhilarating and exciting.
Taking his drink with a silent nod of thanks, Will let his gaze drift further. On the other side of the room a series of rooms led off from the central dance floor, each one hidden behind a heavy door carved with what looked like medieval monsters. Leaning back towards his attentive barman, he gestured towards them with the hand that wasn't holding the drink.
"What's through there?"
"Those are the playrooms," reaching into a wooden box on the bar, the guy took out an ornate gold coin and showed it to him, "This your first visit?"
"Mm hmm."
"Then first entry is free," sliding the coin across the bar surface towards Will, he smiled, "Go choose your poison."
Picking up the coin, Will turned it in his palm. On one side it showed the logo of the club, and on the other the face of a smiling horned figure, partially clothed in grapevines.
"And how do I choose, if I don't know what's in there?"
Grinning at him, the barman gave a small shrug, "Trial and error I guess? It's all part of the fun."
It wasn't until Will approached the first of the doors that he realised each had a different design. The first featured a huge, muscled man with tiny figures wrapped in his snake limbs, the second a huge three-headed dog hungrily devouring the same small people. Frowning with amusement, Will didn't need to look further to figure out the theme. Eight doors featuring the last eight circles of Hell, the first circle – Limbo – presumably represented by the club itself. Glancing around the room behind him, he gave a small wry laugh.
"So what? We're the virtuous pagans?"
"Until you step through that door, yes."
The voice at his shoulder was immediately familiar, so much so Will barely startled. Without even turning in his direction to acknowledge his presence, he took a sip from his drink.
"So I choose the second circle if I fancy allowing myself to be overcome with lust? What about the third? Gluttony? Is there whipped cream involved?"
He could feel Hannibal's amusement radiating from him, and stealing a glance sideways his breath stilled in his throat at the sight of him. Dressed simply in a black silk shirt, loosely open at his clavicle, he wore a matching black mask, simple and severe, from whose depths his deep golden-brown eyes glowed. Falling forward over his brow, his silver-blond hair looked far softer and looser than it normally did, and Will fought a sudden impulse to lift a hand and smooth it back from his forehead to its usual place. Instead, he took another gulp of his bourbon and turned back towards the doors.
"So which one would you recommend?"
"You're assuming I've tried them all?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't you?"
A breathed laugh, and Hannibal stepped closer to him. Will felt his pulse elevate slightly as he realised that the other man was now very deliberately breaking their long held, unspoken rule regarding proximity. Hannibal's breath was warm and soft, moving the fine hairs at the base of his neck under his mastoid bone, his lips millimetres from Will's skin.
"You don't know anything about me..."
Will's eyes flicked sideways, and the warm glowing amber of Hannibal's gaze held his.
"…and I don't know anything about you."
The curve of his lips was sweetly, achingly familiar and Will found his eyes drawn to them. As Hannibal's tongue dipped out to moisten them, they parted slightly in a smile that showed the pointed tips of canine teeth and stirred a delicious warmth in the pit of Will's stomach. Softly and carefully, so as not to spoil the game they had now silently agreed upon, he replied.
"You're right. I apologise. I don't know you."
Switching the glass with his drink in to his left hand, he stretched the other one out towards him from his hip. Loose and open, fingers splayed wide.
"I didn't even introduce myself. Hi. I'm Virgil."
"Virgil?"
Hannibal's smile widened a fraction, and glancing down at his open palm for a long moment, he raised his eyebrows before curling his own long, warm fingers around it.
"Then I imagine that makes me Danté."