Crushing the head of a flower could release some of its most intoxicating scents. Watching Will wince when he fired a gun – it was like watching the petals of a flower crush themselves. Will could empathize with anyone. It was fascinating.
Today, he wore an old t-shirt – clean, but well-loved – that gaped a little around the neck, exposing the smooth flesh over his right clavicle. Will used unscented fabric softener – which still had a scent, of course. Most people couldn't smell it, though. Hannibal wondered if most people would be able to detect the singular blend of masculinity and vulnerability emanating from the dip between Will's clavicles.
Hannibal did not know what sexual attraction felt like. He knew what it was like to feel eyes roaming over his own body, to feel penetrated by a man's gaze and caressed by a woman's. He could appreciate the scent of a man's feet in brand-new, cotton-blend socks, and sometimes he would savor the smell of a woman's unwashed hair swept hastily into a shameful bun, the ghost of drugstore shampoo already bedmates with traces of sweat from her fingertips. The man bought new socks more often than he washed them. The woman was too busy to shower and, even when she did, the water pressure was insufficient to rinse her cheap shampoo out. Most people try to cover up their imperfections, mistakes. Vulnerabilities.
Not Will. He would never admit it, but he wore his vulnerabilities unabashedly. His utter guilelessness was intoxicating to Hannibal.
Hannibal had been left to fend for himself since he was a child. He wondered what it was like for Will, to wear a simple t-shirt, to afford himself this temporary carelessness in dress. Hannibal, too in love with control, ironically enjoyed feeling a sense of vicarious freedom in this beautiful man's decisions.
Hannibal did not worry about his own pupil size giving away his thoughts. His fascination did not lay in his loins nor his gut. It was purely cerebral – but this didn't mean it wasn't full of passion.
Never and never, my girl riding far and near
In the land of the hearthstone tales, and spelled asleep,
Fear or believe that the wolf in a sheepwhite hood
Loping and bleating roughly and blithely shall leap,
My dear, my dear,
Out of a lair in the flocked leaves in the dew dipped year
To eat your heart in the house in the rosy wood.
As he recited Dylan Thomas's poem in his head, the rhythm soothed Hannibal's insides like a smooth gravy sliding down his esophagus. He looked at Will, from his tousled brown curls all the way down to his practical loafers, and let the corners of his mouth curl up. I think I will eat your heart.
Hannibal considered testing Will with a term of endearment – my dear – but knew Will would not take to this. Will, with his heart the consistency of a marshmallow, admired hard, strong men.
How did Hannibal know this? He didn't have to ask. He simply had hunches. And then observed. Ever since he had been a child, he had learned to ask questions silently and let the universe provide answers. Most people barely knew themselves well enough to answer sufficiently, anyway.
Hannibal, sitting in his office across from Will, spread his arms in a casual gesture of dominance, laying them on either armrest. Hannibal had asked him about his sexual orientation – specifically, whether he was genuinely aroused by women or whether he had found a woman who subconsciously reminded him of his father. Will had his head in his hands, recuperating from the blow of the answers the universe was offering him. Hannibal knew he wasn't ready. But he wanted to indulge in this cruelty. Like spanking, the exciting part began when the skin became red.
Hannibal counted down the seconds until Will's head snapped up and he asked –
"What about you, huh? Do you ever think about it?" Will's voice was raw.
Hannibal took a breath in, savouring the smell of salt in Will's tears and wondering how much salt would be in his semen. "You'll have to be more specific," he replied calmly.
"Sex. With men." Will's voice was a jagged whisper.
Hannibal lifted his brows with ease. "Still not specific. Tell me, Will, in your fantasies, do you imagine a faceless body? That is, will simply any man suffice?"
"You said the devil is in the details." Will's eyes darkened. "There is always a face."
Hannibal nodded almost imperceptibly. Will was too kind to his stray dogs, handing out treats indiscriminately. Hannibal never had the luxury of being generous. His pets were only rewarded when they pleased him. "There is always a face in my fantasies, too," Hannibal admitted.
Will gulped, swallowing this tidbit of information. Hannibal knew he didn't care if it was true or not. Will just savoured the idea of a hardened man trusting him with these private tidbits of personal information.
Sex was never about sex. For some people, like Will, it was about trust.
Without asking, Hannibal knew Will's favourite position was doggie style – not because he liked the control, but because he could avoid looking at a woman's eyes that way. He knew Will wondered what it would be like to lay on his back, muscles relaxed, and surrender control to someone he trusted. Someone whose eyes would no longer prove a distraction but would instead become his entire world for a few precious moments.
Hannibal had given up trying to figure out his own sexual orientation decades earlier. Like many of his quests for self-reflection, he did not have a mirror in his own mind to look into but instead a dark pool that harboured no water and reflected no light. Empty wasn't the right word, but peaceful wasn't, either.
With no discernable sexual orientation, his predator's mind was in a perfect position to adapt to the proclivities of his prey.
"What does the face look like, Will? Is it a soft, round face?" Hannibal indulgently let his lips curl again. He loved inciting his victims to protest against his initial, obviously incorrect guesses. How powerful, this desire to be known not only to the self but to others as well.
Will took the bait. God, he was sublime. "No." His fingers twitched; he was gripping his own knees. He was drowning in the ocean of space between them.
"I will describe the face in my fantasies. I am sure you are curious." Hannibal bartered. He glanced away, testing Will. Will's gaze remained locked on his eyes. Hannibal cast a sidelong look at Will, purposely breaking his pattern of staring at him directly. This small display of submissiveness would entice the beautiful man to drop his guard. "I am curious about you, too."
Will's pulse jumped. Now Hannibal could smell the warm scent coming not only from his neck, but from his armpits and groin, too. For all his steeled self-control, Hannibal had never been able to stop himself from salivating. I'm as bad as one of his dogs, Hannibal thought, but did not indulge in a smile this time.
Hannibal wanted Will to say it himself, not only to prove to himself that he could surrender, but so that Will could experience the rush of oxytocin that floods the brains of anyone who reveals personal information to another human. This bonding was crucial if Hannibal was going to turn this beautiful man into a predator, a hunting companion. A man with whom Hannibal could stand on the edge of the map, that dark space in which only dragons dared to dwell. Only looking at humanity if and when they chose to, like a television programme.
Hannibal rose from his seat and parted the ocean between them. "Tell me when the face becomes clearer."
Will had stopped crying but his tears had collected in the corners of his mouth. Even though Hannibal was only a few feet from him now, he could smell the mineral water on Will's breath. His tongue would be pink, wet, like the heart of a flower after a gentle rainfall. Will was sitting with his knees apart, already opened. Always defenceless. Forever guileless.
Will lifted his chin to maintain eye contact as Hannibal drew closer. A bead of sweat on his clavicle glistened in the light. Hannibal crouched in front of him so they were at eye level, much like Will's father would have done when he was a child. Safety – both emotional and physical – was crucial when cultivating trust.
Hannibal knew he should let Will close the gap. He wasn't ordinarily this impatient, but the beautiful man in front of him made seconds feel like hours. Hannibal couldn't wait any longer.
Will's eyelids lowered, his gaze dropping to Hannibal's lips and back up to his eyes again. "You…" Rendered silent as if by a spell, Will would never know the end of his own sentence. More words swallowed by the universe, to be revealed someday, maybe.
Hannibal clasped Will's smooth jaw in his hands, inviting the beautiful man into the dark pool that he had kept to himself for too long. He breathed out gently, knowing Will was almost as sensitive to scents as he was. When Will registered the scent of blood on his breath, Hannibal kissed him.