As he broke out of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane Will Graham had no clear idea as to what he was going to do with his freedom. It wasn't a meticulously planned escape: there was no tunnel beneath his cell; no broken off fork tines hoarded in his socks; not even a bribe made to the Orderlies. In fact, Will Graham had not planned to escape at all, but when a fire alarm began shrieking late one summer evening he was presented with an opportunity that he just could not let pass by.
Breaking free of his restraints, bludgeoning his Orderly and quickly stripping him of his uniform in order to blend in amid the raw panic... none of this was particularly new nor inventive in the field of prison escapes. Especially not to a mind such as Will's. However, the escapade had dislodged something from the back of Will's skull; something that had been lurking in the shadow of his thoughts, a lingering monster from the madness of his encephalitis. Once again he felt the familiar pull as his grasp upon reality began to ebb, overtaken by the near dream like state induced by his empathetic ability.
Except this time it was different. He did not empathise with anyone in particular, more the essence of those who he had assimilated previously expanded to empathise with him. In that instant Will did not fear, as in the past he had feared himself and the consequences of his actions in such an elevated frame of mind. No – this time Will felt a sense of power wash over him, engulfing him with light and clarity.
As Will found himself wandering half a mile or so away from the hospital, right hand clutched close to his chest with its dislocated thumb, a feeling of nostalgia spread through him. Faintly he wished that he had his glasses – they would add to this sense of familiarity – but he did not need them.
He was in a moving vehicle, guards opposite him.
He knew that he would not be missed at the hospital for maybe an hour; perhaps longer if the other patients caused a severe disruption. That was plenty of time for him to commandeer a car.
He was armed and moving, his mind addled and reality fading in and out around him... but a clear destination formed in his mind.
More than enough time to make a journey to the house that had near enough become his sanctuary in the past months.
The moon was not full that night, it was gibbous – waxing – but the sky was clear and its light cast Will's face into shadow. As he strode, suddenly purposeful, towards the nearest main road the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, revealing a slim line of teeth.
Will's thoughts turned to blood in the moonlight and they appeared quite black.
The house of Hannibal Lecter exuded bitterness. Opening the door was taking the first bite into a rotten fruit; revealing the deception behind its shining exterior and leaving a foul taste in the mouth. Hannibal himself was the source of decay; the twisting serpent at its core. For Will Graham this was a fruit tasted often, his tongue now impervious to its festering. The irony of it did not escape him as he slipped through Hannibal's side gate and almost effortlessly through his back door. He had enjoyed many meals at the Doctor's table, in this very house, each one of them artwork in their own right. Of course then Will had not known of what, or who exactly, had constituted the dish but the flavour of death lingered, then and after, translucent on the pallet. It affected everything impartially.
Will still wore the soft shoes the hospital had given him; their rubber soles moving over the oak flooring with little much as a sound. His right hand was bound now with a strip of cloth torn hastily from the Orderly's uniform. It ached a little. Will ignored it. The house around him was as silent as it was dark, blinds drawn for the most part to block out the unwelcome eyes of neighbours or casual passersby. This was convenient, Will knew, but not unexpectedly so. What Will was more pleasantly surprised by was the lack of alarm. While he had figured Hannibal to be confident in his ability to remove any threat to his property with ease, he had not thought Hannibal arrogant enough to leave out such an important piece of his well tailored person suit: anxiety. America was a land of fear and apprehension amongst the middle class – soothed by the knowledge that their lives and their property were protected by capitalism and government. It was surprising that Hannibal's consumerist acquaintances didn't smell his natural ease at life on him like cheap cologne.
Will had made it to the kitchen, Doctor Lecter's inner sanctum. Carelessly he ran a finger over the granite work surfaces, marvelling at their coolness on such a mild night whilst imagining the sweet horrors Hannibal had brought to them. The Doctor would have prepared his victims here, he considered, dressing them for their exquisite masquerade. But they would only be the choice cuts; the meat would be cold and the mess minimal. Will smiled momentarily at the thought of warm blood running over the cold stone, such a saccharine juxtaposition. He traced a pattern lazily with his index finger as he approached the knife block on the far side of the kitchen counter. He could almost hum.
The knife Will chose was well balanced in hand, neither too small to be effective nor too long to be cumbersome. The blade was roughly six inches from hilt to tip, enough to perforate the sternum; slit the throat nimbly; slip silently through the ribs to pierce the heart. It was a universal kitchen knife, and – like all of Hannibal's blades – sharpened to a keen edge.
Will turned smoothly on his heels, content with his choice. He felt powerful, almost godlike; the blade in his hand the tool of his divine will: to rid the world of Hannibal Lecter; to demand retribution for his deeds; to claim vengeance on the man who so brazenly toyed with the workings of his mind... to rip the ripper. How poetic.
This was his design.
Before Will could reach the arch of the doorway a shape loomed out of the darkness before him. Will saw the flash of fire in the creature's eyes at it stalked forwards, the mass of its body such a complete absence of light; a black hole letting nothing escape. For Will time seemed to stop; his breath still and his heart unmoving. The blackness of the creature unfolded into the room, sending spiralling shadows away from it on the floor, from its arms and in two great tendrils from its head. The antlers appeared to reach up past the ceiling and into the sky. Its body writhed as the darkness expanded, drawing the heat from the air and the hope from Will's very spirit.
A voice like ice shattered Will's skull, "I've been expecting you."
Will felt as though he was staring straight into Hannibal Lecter's soul.
Will widened his stance instinctively, bringing the knife he held into view, the blade catching diamonds in the muted light. Before him Hannibal was near fully dressed; his hair slicked back and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; waistcoat and shirt both with a button loose. He did not wear a tie; he did not hold a weapon. He was no less intimidating.
Will wanted to speak, but his words had dried up in his throat. There was nothing left he could say, his intent clear in the savage snarl that erupted on his face that he wore like a mask. His hair stood on end; his hackles proverbially raised and his eyes locked against Hannibal's. Will radiated a primal energy found only in the wildest of beasts; Hannibal emanated only a warped serenity. They surveyed each other coolly, two predators intent, circling slowly, stalking their intended prey. Will moved away from the work surface, his grip tightening on the handle of his knife as Hannibal stepped forwards, calmly and deliberately. Will was stronger than he looked, but Hannibal knew that he could easily outmatch him. Whilst Will was well versed in the theory of murder, Hannibal was by far the master of its practical application. Will's mind was clouded by the red mist of rage and the serendipity of his escape: it would make him arrogant, prone to carelessness and bitter error. He overestimated himself. Hannibal, however, was detached, calculating and wholly self aware. He knew the price of a misjudgement, so he would not make one. His approach was duly cautious; knowingly guarded.
The air stilled between them.
Will pounced.
Hannibal reacted.
Their bodies slammed against each other, knocking Hannibal backwards and into the kitchen wall. Will's knife was aimed at his throat, but Hannibal knocked it upwards with an arm. Instead of burying itself into the soft flesh of Hannibal's carotid artery the blade instead found itself grazing the skin of his cheek. While the cut was not deep by any means the steel drew a ruby-red line on the man's face, accumulating in a bead of blood forming perfectly at the surface. The knife's sharp sting sliced through Hannibal's focus and he hissed in annoyance. At once he had grasped Will's wrist, turning it forcibly and placing pressure on his dislocated joint with his thumb. Will's gasp was audible, but soon followed by the deep thud of his elbow connecting with Hannibal's jaw. His grip remained steady. The knife fell silently onto the linoleum.
Hannibal grasped Will's shirt with his free hand, twisting Will's right arm as he did so and forcing his body away. Hannibal stepped forwards as Will moved backwards, distancing himself from the wall behind him. Will resisted, grabbing at Hannibal's bare forearm; his blunt nails leaving an impression in his skin. Hannibal released his grip on Will's clothing and his wrist quickly and without warning. Before Will could act upon his freedom Hannibal had planted a vicious kick into his abdomen, sending him reeling backwards, doubled over and winded. Hannibal stepped forwards instantly, landing a fierce punch in Will's side. His smile was callous at the faint crack of bone. Will was off balance then, his steps awkward as he shuffled away from his aggressor. Hannibal pursued; ever the wolf running down the wounded stag. It took but a push to send Will tumbling to the floor.
Hannibal followed him down with far more grace; almost daintily stooping onto all fours above Will, dazed, having hit his head during his decent. With one smooth movement Hannibal removed his belt from his pants, looping it around Will's neck and fastening it loosely. He didn't want to asphyxiate the man, merely restrain him. Keep him tethered like the stray dogs Will was so fond of. Hannibal held the leather between his teeth as he moved Will's flaccid arms to above his head, his right hand pinning them both down with a firm grip at his wrists. He transferred the belt to his left hand, the weight of his body moving to rest at Will's hips. A soft breeze stirred a blind through an open window, allowing a glint of moonlight illuminate the dimness of the kitchen. The light played across Will's face as Hannibal stared down at him, sallow skin seemingly filled with an unearthly radiance. Will's eyelids flickered open, his pupils diminishing as clarity washed over him once again. Hannibal met his gaze evenly, no longer predatory. The dance was done. Will was his now. He could not escape. For a passing moment Will seemed filled with divinity, bright and iridescent in contrast with the wrathful god he had embodied before. He squirmed beneath Hannibal's grasp to no avail. His breath was laboured and he winced as his chest expanded under cracked ribs.
"This home invasion has been quite discourteous," Hannibal's voice was measured, composed. His hand kept the belt taught around Will's neck.
"What are you going to do?" Will sputtered weakly, biting back the sharp pain it caused, "eat me?"
Hannibal's face creased into a mirthless smile, "Don't tempt me."
Will gazed up at Hannibal, crown not quite resting on the floor – the weight of his head suspended on the strap of leather at his neck. He was acutely aware of the pressure of Hannibal's body, on his wrists and against his groin. His legs were quite immobilised, his arms useless, and his head at the mercy of Hannibal's wrist. He could feel every minute shift Hannibal made, each movement sending an electric current crackling through his spine: there was pain and... something else. Will gulped, running his tongue hastily across his lips. He could feel Hannibal's breath on his cheek, controlled and quite steady. Will's own breathing was erratic. The man above him leant down until his face was millimetres from Will's. Will felt his eyes drawn down from Hannibal's eyes, led by the sharp hollow of his cheekbones to the thin red line on his skin; a single mar on a perfect face. Will's chest swelled with pride at the notion of being the man to put it there – though would not scar – and then suddenly deflated as guilt engulfed him. Despite knowing exactly who this man was, knowing what he had done to others and knowing what he had done to him, Will felt as though he had committed a cardinal sin. Like pissing at an altar. He had planned to kill the man, and he was by no means undeserving of that fate, but drawing blood from this beautiful monster suddenly, ironically, seemed wrong.
Hannibal shifted again and Will gasped as warmth spread through his body. Blood rushed in all directions within his veins: gushing past his ears, spreading up his neck and into his cheeks as a ruddy blush as Will felt himself harden under Hannibal's body. The Doctor's eyes flicked down then, a long moment later, back up; meeting Will's freshly dilated pupils. Hannibal tugged gently on his belt, drawing Will's head up and closer to his own. Open mouthed he trailed his nose over Will's cheek before coming to rest at the curl of his ear.
"This is a surprise," his murmur is laced with heat, cut short in favour of moving his mouth down to Will's neck, teeth grazing against his skin.
Will's sharp intake of breath was partially shock, but mostly – he came to realise – pleasure at the sudden wet warmth of Hannibal's tongue gliding across his jaw. His lips parted unconsciously, meeting Hannibal's mouth in open readiness. The kiss was long, near tender if the Doctor's insistence had not been so plain. Will felt as if he should be resisting, fighting against the man whom he had come to inflict his wrath upon; but he found himself responding in turn, his own tongue almost as demanding as it snaked past Hannibal's and into his mouth. It brushed across Hannibal's teeth, teasing the sharp points of his canines before resting against the roof of his mouth. Hannibal withdrew from the kiss slowly; gently enclosing Will's tongue between his incisors. It would have taken a moment to bite down, and even less effort. Instead Hannibal tilted his head downwards to Will's chest; releasing the hold he had on his wrists in favour of pushing up under the ill-fitting Orderly's scrubs to feel his skin. He was warm to the touch, his stomach and chest coated in a light sheen of sweat. Hannibal felt him recoil as his hand passed over Will's ribs as they jarred. Regret flared within him then, but was driven away by the sensation of Will's hands clumsily tugging at the buttons of his waistcoat.
Hannibal removed his hand from Will's shirt to transfer the belt back into his mouth. Deftly he reached into the inside pocket of his vest to remove a small, unopened tube and a slim line square packet. These he placed next to Will's head before nimbly unfastening the remaining buttons followed quickly by those of his shirt. Will's hands were on him before he could shrug the garments off, stroking upwards from his stomach to his chest. Will thumbed over Hannibal's nipple with one hand whilst the other journeyed downwards to the fly of his trousers. Hannibal closed his eyes briefly as Will cupped him through the fabric, pressing down a little harder onto Will's crotch.
Hannibal grasped the collar of the shirt Will wore with both hands, pulling sharply to the side and listening, satisfied, to the ripping sound the fabric made as it tore. With his torso exposed Hannibal distractedly ran his fingertips across Will's sternum. Will's petting became stronger, and Hannibal tugged upwards with his teeth quite without warning as he felt Will reach into his underwear. Transferring his weight from Will's hips to his knees, positioned either side of the man beneath him, Hannibal moved his hands to pull the loose pants down past Will's thighs. His erection was clearly visible beneath the plain, faded white underwear given to him by the hospital. Hannibal, eying him, wasted no time in removing these also. Will wriggled under him again, but this time to his favour. He gracelessly toed off the canvas shoes and squirmed out of the Orderly's pants. He kicked these and his undergarments away carelessly, splaying out his legs and bringing his knees up. They brushed gently against Hannibal's bare sides.
Hannibal changed position once again, moving his legs from straddling Will's stomach to resting between his spread thighs. He reached for the packet by Will's head as the other man's hands worked his trousers and silk boxers fervently down to his knees, Will biting his lip as he uncovered him. Hannibal dexterously stripped the thin condom from its packet and slid it on, pulling on Will's leash as he felt searching fingers fondle his balls. He cracked the tube next, slathering the lubricant onto his hands. Idly his left hand stroked himself while his right found Will's constricted opening. Unhurriedly he slid his middle finger into him, palm down. Will moaned softly as he twisted his hand to bring his palm upwards, cupping his balls and caressing them with the same thumb that had pressed so savagely against his dislocated joint.
Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal, fingers clawing at his back. With a spiralling motion Hannibal drew his fingers almost all of the way out of Will to add the third. Will's muscles contracted around them before loosening as he groaned. He pulled back against his leash a little, but Hannibal held it firmly between his teeth. He pushed his fingers up to their base inside of Will, drew them out then slid them back in. He worked Will open patiently, responding to each muscle spasm in turn. Before long Hannibal had built up a steady rhythm, fucking Will firmly with his fingers. Will shut his eyes, his breaths coming quickly but no longer intermittently.
Will moaned, louder, pressing his hips down against Hannibal's hand. He smiled past the leather in his mouth and slid his hand out of Will, internally conserving the faint noise of disappointment the man made. In one swift motion Hannibal wiped his hands along the torn edges of Will's shirt and grasped the end of his belt with his left hand. He tugged sharply, bringing Will's head higher, arching his shoulders and making the thick strap cut into the skin at the back of Will's neck. Will made a pained sound; it would most likely bruise. Hannibal smirked. With his right hand he guided himself into Will, pushing deep inside of him with a single hard thrust. Gone were the delicacies of foreplay; the starter to whet the appetite and gently foreshadow the main course. Will's groan was as audible as it was long. His back arched and Hannibal felt the strain against the makeshift collar.
"Oh God, Hannibal," Will's voice was thick and rasping; strained against the pressure.
Hannibal thrust into him again, closing the gap between them and pressing his body against Will's. Will's moan was a delicious mix of sharp pain and euphoria, his thighs squeezing Hannibal's sides and his nails scratching ribbons into his back. Will felt Hannibal's mouth at his neck once again, tongue flicking over his skin. The heat moved down to his shoulder as he felt Hannibal push into him again, this time the pressure of a jaw strong enough to snap bone teasing gently at his flesh. Will ran a hand up into Hannibal's hair, fisting tightly and breaking the hold of his gel. Hannibal responded in turn with a harsh pull on the belt around his neck and a deep, powerful thrust.
"Oh God"
Will could feel his cock pressed between them, the friction of Hannibal's stomach against his erection nauseous but exhilarating. Despite the ache it caused in his side, Will found himself moving his hips along with Hannibal's; pressing himself into each and every one of his thrusts. Will's other hand moved down Hannibal's back to grip his ass, his arm pulling into each rock of his hips. Hannibal grunted against the newly formed love bite on Will's collar bone and moved his mouth back to the soft muscle of Will's shoulder, biting him hard enough to break the skin. Will's yell of pain tempered out into a helpless whimper as Hannibal adjusted his angle and hit hard against his prostate. Will's hips bucked wildly as Hannibal stabbed the spot again, distracting him vaguely from the tongue lapping at the blood trickling from his torn flesh.
Hannibal jerked at Will's leash again, his mouth pressed readily against the open wound. Will tasted of fire and passion and light, as though it was his soul seeping through the lacerations. Hannibal could taste Will's pain in his sweat as they fucked; the cracked bones and bruised skin at odds with the way the Doctor imposed himself on Will's body. He could taste sorrow in his blood, and the anger slowly ebbing from his body, replaced by the pungently sweet tang of a building climax. Hannibal felt Will's limbs clutch him tightly, marking his body with the promise of bruising almost in desperation; to act as proof that Will Graham was real; tangible and not just another dream within a dream, lost to the waking world.
Hannibal's rhythm had increased in speed and force; he felt a tightness in his loins, a sweet ache running from the head of his cock to the base of his balls. He had marked and been marked; he had pleasured and been pleasured; he had looked into the soul of the man beneath him who had in turn stared deep into the blackness of his. It had been a long, long time since Hannibal had fucked on such equal grounds.
With Will restrained and screaming whispers beneath him, incapacitated to the point of helplessness, Hannibal could have paused to consider his unique view on the definition of equality. However, his thought process was hijacked mercilessly by the wave of physical pleasure rushing over him; his orgasm diffusing white-hot through his nervous system. His fingers tingled against Will's skin, his scent filling him and his taste overflowing. Hannibal heard the melody in Will's own final shriek harmonising at a crescendo with his own. Hannibal felt the leather slip through his fingers as Will threw back his head to howl, the moonlight glinting in his eyes and in his blood. Hannibal felt the heady heat and viscosity as Will's semen spilt over between their bodies.
Their breaths were laboured, their muscles were fatigued, their minds were swirling intangibly.
Hannibal pressed his mouth to Will's as he withdrew. He tasted of that raw, primal energy; the spice of blood, sweat and semen.
He tasted divine.