Chapter 3: Gluttony

Since his informal therapy sessions had first begun with him at the start of the year, it wasn't unusual for Will to be invited to dinner at Hannibal's house more than once a month, but twice within two weeks – as far as he could remember - was virtually unheard of.

Parking his car alongside the sidewalk outside Hannibal's home, Will turned off the engine and sat silently in his seat for a while, letting his scattered thoughts try to order themselves. Ever since the evening he'd spent at 'Volto Larva' a week ago, he'd found himself drifting back to the events that had occurred there with increasing, even sometimes embarrassing, frequency. More than one person had noted how distracted he'd seemed and, although none of his students had complained, he was fairly sure he had been dialling in his lectures at the academy all week. During a discussion of one particularly ambiguous killing, he'd briefly found himself transfixed by a crime scene image of the male victim's carelessly unbuttoned jeans and underwear, and had fallen completely silent in front of his class for more than a minute.

"So what are you saying? That he was assaulted sexually first?"

A student's voice has finally broken into his reverie from the darkness, and coming back to himself Will had silently shaken his head without turning.

"No. Look at how the fly's been unbuttoned, the underwear. This wasn't a violent assault. This was slow. Methodical. He took his time, he enjoyed himself," his voice grew softer, "They both did."

It wasn't the first time he'd completely weirded his students out with one of softly spoken observations, but it was perhaps the very first time he'd thoroughly weirded himself out.

His therapy session with Hannibal that morning – the second since the club - had been largely concerned with his continued inability to sleep and the finer details of his daily routine, and in fact became so dull at one point he couldn't help feeling Hannibal was deliberately trying to provoke him into some kind of outburst. Irritable, but unwilling to share the reasons for it, Will had virtually sprinted towards the door at the end of the hour, only to be artfully but firmly blocked by Hannibal's body.

"I have a sense that your mind was elsewhere today Will. Would I be impertinent in suggesting an epilogue to our session, in the hope that we might resolve some of the issues we've been circling this morning?"

"An epilogue?"

Will could hear the edge of sharpness in his own tone, which meant of course that Hannibal could hear it a thousand fold. Taking a breath, he glanced down at his shoes and frowned.

"Sorry. You're right. I don't think I've been…quite here today."

Hannibal's voice was warm but wry, "Well, might it be possible to locate yourself before this evening, in order to join me for dinner? Say around 7pm?"

Lifting his chin, Will gave him a small terse nod.

"Of course," and then the ghost of a smile, "And thank you for your persistence. I hope I'll be in a better mood to talk by then."

Stepping out of his car now, Will tucked the tail of his shirt into his jeans and brushed the stray dog hairs from the sleeve of his coat as he approached Hannibal's door. As he pushed the bell he wondered if he maybe he should have thought to bring wine, but just as quickly he banished the thought from his mind. Hannibal patently had an extensive cellar and expensive tastes, and anyway providing him with something suitable to accompany whatever tonight's meal was a task he was ill equipped for.

As it happened though, he needed have concerned himself. When Hannibal finally opened the door the expression of contrition and anxiety on his face made it plain that their plans for the evening were not to be as straight forward as he had hoped.

"Will, my deepest apologies. I tried to call you earlier but your cell phone went straight to voicemail. I'm afraid I have to cancel our dinner plans. A long-time client of mine has been involved in a serious incident in Hagerstown, and the local police have asked me if I might provide him with some emotional support during their questioning."

Hannibal sighed, seeming uncharacteristically flustered. His gloves were on and he was already pulling on his coat.

"Normally I would have refused such a request, but having spoken to him I've become quite concerned for his wellbeing, he's refused a solicitor and may well be suffering a psychotic break."

Making the standard reassuring noises, Will stepped back from the door. The faint smell of something delicious drifted to his nose from inside the house, and he felt his stomach rumble in protest. As was his normal practise when dining with Hannibal, he's hadn't eaten all day in preparation for overindulging himself.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, honestly."

"I'm so sorry Will. This really is inexcusable of me. And if I didn't have to leave immediately I could have at least invited you in and made you a plate up to take home…" he was closing the door behind him, "I can only promise to make it up to you as soon as I'm able. Perhaps Sunday?"

Calling his acceptance to his retreating back, Will watched somewhat dejectedly as Hannibal climbed into his Bentley and swiftly pulled away from the kerb. The drive back to Wolf Trap was well over an hour, and he'd already fed the dogs and walked them earlier, having planned to be out until the small hours. Now he was faced with the rather disheartening prospect of a long drive home, and yet another evening spent alone with them, eating microwave mac & cheese while Buster chased imaginary fleas across his butt. Sighing, he toed the sidewalk at his feet before realising that he did have another choice. There was no reason he couldn't stay in the city and have dinner somewhere and then, if he felt like it, seek out some non-canine company at 'Volto Larva' again for a few hours. Maybe he might even consider venturing into another one of the rooms to see what other stimulating activities might be on offer. Although, he told himself as he started his engine again, they would have to be pretty spectacular to top the last time.

Parking his car a few blocks away from the club, he walked quickly along the backstreets telling himself he would grab a hamburger somewhere on his way, but as he neared the alleyway containing the dimly lit neon sign he had to admit that - despite the ache – the empty hollow in his belly just didn't seem as urgent as his need to be inside.

Stepping through the door, he paused at the hatch with his wallet open, only to waved through by his admiring doorman.

"It's OK. You've been officially sponsored."

Holding out a gold swipe card, he raised one eyebrow at him suggestively,

"And if you ever feel like telling me how I go about finding myself someone with that kind of sway, you'll let me know won't you? I haven't had a raise here in 2 years."

There was a different assistant in the mask room, and the experience of choosing a mask and costume was notably different from the last time as well. Stepping to one side to allow him to view the entire selection, the dark haired young man dropped his eyes to the floor with a deferential smile, and taking his cue, Will stepped forward purposefully and took the down the same mask as before from the shelf. From the rail of costumes, he selected another cream coloured shirt, although this time a heavier silk fabric, and the same close-fitting leather pants as before. Reaching inside them to adjust himself, he realised with a stir of surprise that he was already half-hard. Just the smell of the place seemed to be enough now to get his blood flowing.

The main room of club was almost as full as last time, and slipping his way through the bodies, Will found himself wondering where all these people came from. Dressed in their costumes it was hard to tell what their occupations or backgrounds might be, hell it was hard to tell their genders, but he had a sense that, despite being an exclusive venue, the clientele were a diverse crowd. The range of body shapes and skin colours was as wide as that of a music festival, and the atmosphere wasn't that dissimilar either. Showing his card at the bar, he was handed another coin without even having to ask and, bemused but now thoroughly enjoying himself, he leant on the bar for a few minutes before slowly making his way over the the playrooms.

Standing at the entrance to the second room, he paused with his hand resting on the surface. There was no rule that said he had to make his way through them in numerical order, but something about the way Hannibal had replied when he asked him – 'you're assuming I've tried them all?' – made him think there was a right and a wrong way to play this game.

Pushing the door inwards, he stepped into the room. In contrast to the first one, the lighting in this chamber was soft and dim, instead of pulsing strobes five ornate candelabra hung from the vaulted ceiling, each holding a vast array of candles. The smell of soft warm wax mixed thickly in the air with the heavy scent of vanilla and cinnamon, and under that an even richer one, reminding Will of dark grapes and wine casks. And, where the other room had been ringed with chaises and soft seating, this one held a single item of furniture, which Will could only glimpse through the sea of moving, talking and undulating bodies.

A vast, impossibly long wooden table stretched across the width of the room, the surface laden with an array of food the like of which Will had only ever seen in depictions of medieval banquets. Platters of whole roast meat joints, dishes of ripe split figs, mangos, melons and pomegranates covered every square inch, and then further down the length, an insanely ostentatious display of desserts completed the picture of decadence. Shaking his head in wonder, Will cast his eyes around the room and realised that – in virtually every corner – people were engaged in the act of feeding each other. Some were blindfolded, being fed handfuls of food by several others, while some were opening straddling each other across the surface of the table and against the bar, laughing as they smeared fruit and cake into their partners' hair. The overall noise was cacophonous, and the atmosphere like a bacchanal.

"This is insane."

"You're telling me," a young black guy standing a few feet from him, shook his head in an echo of his own amazement, "I mean, I saw some stuff like this on YouTube before, but this is Baltimore man! This shit is wild."

Pointing with one hand, he motioned to the area by the side of the bar,

"Earlier on? Some blond chick was getting fucked by another chick with a plantain over there, while another one smeared both their tits with Bosco," he shook his head again, and took a deep steadying gulp of his drink, "Swear to God man. If I hadn't seen it with own eyes, I'd have never believed it."

The thick warm mist that had hung in the air on his last visit was here too, and taking it into his lungs, Will felt the same pulsing warmth moving through him as he had the last time. Although this time, alongside the low grade arousal that spread upwards from his groin, he suddenly found himself ravenously hungry. As he stepped towards the feast though, a dark figure passed to his right and dragged sharp-nailed fingers across his waist.

"Careful Will. Physical appetites are an analogy for our ability to control ourselves."

Turning his head abruptly to the right, Will stared at the man beside him, but the face that stared back was not the one he was expecting. Instead, a young waiter carrying a tray of drinks gave him a look of mild concern.

"Are you ok sir?"

Nodding, Will gave his head a small shake, and gestured for one of the drinks.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I think it's just…hey do you know what's in this mist that they pump into this place?"

Before he could get a reply though, a hand closed around his shoulder from behind and turned him around. To his surprise, Will found himself looking into the eyes of the pretty blond who'd been in the mask room the first night.

"Hi!" Her smile was wide and effusive, "Glad you're sticking to the same outfit or I'd never recognize you. Except maybe…" she grinned wider, "By dat fine ass."

Flushing and smiling back at her, Will raised his glass to his lips.

"Yeah, I figured it worked out pretty well the first time for me, so why chance my luck."

Gulping down his wine, he was trying to remember the sorts of things you were supposed to say to women when they flirted with you in nightclubs when, on the other side of the banquet table, his eyes fell on the same dark figure he'd glimpsed before. Now, even with his back turned towards him, the wide span of his shoulders beneath the black shirt and the silver-blond hair was unmistakable.

"Excuse me…uh…"

"Zoe."

The girl's eyes turned up towards him expectantly, and his gaze lingered on her lips for a moment, before snapping back to the figure across the room.

"I just…," frowning he touched her arm as he moved away, "I just need to go speak to my friend over there for a minute."

The area around the banquet table was crammed with people reaching for the plates of food to augment their interactions, and it took Will several pushes before he finally made contact with the surface. Through the shimmering heat haze created by the candelabra, he inclined his head to make eye contact with the man now standing only feet away from him and, without speaking, Hannibal turned sideways to regard him from one deep golden eye. His lips pulled back in a smile.

"So we meet again."

Lifting the glass of wine he was holding to his mouth, he took a deep draft from it and Will's eyes followed as it travelled down inside the warm darkness of his throat. The sight of his neck stretching and adam's apple as it bobbed sent a bolt of pure, memory-fueled lust straight to his dick. Drawing an unsteady breath, Will moved a little further to the right, noticing as he did so that Hannibal mirrored the movement.

"I have to say. I'm more than a little surprised to see you here," keeping his voice soft and careful, Will cocked his head, "I would have thought you had other plans this evening."

Reaching for a nearby carafe, Hannibal refilled his glass with an exaggerated movement, letting the wine pour from a height into the gilded interior. Then, motioning with his head, he leant across to refill Will's own, the muscled length of his forearm sliding out from the sleeve of his shirt.

"And as I told you before, you don't know anything about me," the golden-brown eyes turned upwards to look into his own, "Or have you perhaps convinced yourself otherwise?"

"Convinced myself that I know you?" Will gave his head a tiny shake, "No, I think it's pretty obvious now I have absolutely no idea who you are. Or what game it is that you think we're both playing here."

"Careful, Virgil," the silver-blond head moved from side to side in an expression of amused admonition, "To disparage the game is to scorn the players. And if there's one quality I refuse to tolerate in a playmate, it's rudeness."

Snorting a laugh, Will lifted his chin and regarded him with narrowed eyes.

"Oh I imagine someone somewhere must have given you occasion to be rude before now. Although I suppose that would depend on what you consider constitutes rudeness."

"To my mind there is a very clear definition."

"I'm sure."

Their mirror trajectory along the perimeter of the table continued, and Will found himself wondering, positing, extrapolating what might happen when they reached the very end. Straightening his posture slightly, as if he was considering the same question, Hannibal fixed him with a quizzical look.

"I find myself questioning if perhaps I have offended you in some way, dear Virgil. Although quite how, I'm not entirely sure."

"Offended me? But how could you?" Will offered him a gracious smile, "We've only just met."

"Quite."

"I imagine it takes a far more intimate acquaintance with you to be afforded that rare experience. Offending complete strangers though? I imagine that's a discourtesy you consider should be punishable by death."

To his surprise, Hannibal's body stilled with an eerie suddenness, and through the sockets of his mask Will thought he saw the colour of his eyes darken. Stepping to the end of the table, he stood facing him with his fingers laced together and leaned forward fractionally, lowering his voice to an almost whisper.

"Tell me, aren't you hungry yet?"

Reaching to the side, his fingertips strayed out almost casually, feathering the air above the mouth-watering display of desserts and fruits without actually touching them.

"Rather than spend so much time on imaginings, would not your efforts be better spent fuelling blood and muscles? You stand before me pale as a man who hasn't eaten for a day at least, and yet I've yet to see you reach for nourishment."

Scooping a handful of grapes from a bowl, Hannibal reached forward and brought them towards his mouth, the heel of his hand brushing Will's lips.

"Or perhaps…the hunger you feel is not one that can ever sated by such as this?"

When he reached and caught Hannibal's wrist, it seemed to Will as if his hand had moved entirely of its own accord. Opening his mouth, he caught one of the grapes lightly between his teeth, while at the same time jerking him forward to close the distance between them. A small involuntary breath escaped the other man's throat, and the tips of his teeth showed white inside soft, wine-tinted lips.

"It's as I thought," he said, "You are a glutton of quite another nature."

Their breath mingled for a moment, wine mixing with the scent of cinnamon, before Will reached in to capture Hannibal's lower lip between his own. The hand holding the grapes let them tumble to the floor, and then splayed fingers were at his waist while another hand fisted the loose fabric of his shirt. Bringing his body against him, Hannibal pressed into his flesh like a force of nature, all hard muscle and persistence, and Will felt the ache of his empty stomach recede behind a rush of endorphins. The kiss deepened, the wet heat of Hannibal's mouth sliding against his own, sending little pulses of arousal down through his torso, and Will found he had to break away to take a breath. When he returned to recapture his mouth though, Hannibal's drew back from him.

"Hungry and greedy. A dangerous combination indeed."

Nipping sharply at Will's lower lip, he let his hand slide from his waist and, with only the lightest touch of his nails, traced the outline of his now obvious erection through his pants. The sensation sent a breath stuttering from Will's lungs, and stepping back from him, Hannibal grinned wolfishly.

"Next time you come here looking for me, you might want to consider doing something about the first of those things, so you have some stamina left to satisfy the second."

Lifting his wine glass from the table, he took a last deep draught from it, before darting his tongue out to taste the minute trace of Will's blood left there.

"In the meantime, might I suggest you get yourself a plate and something to eat, dear Virgil? I hate to have to tell you, but you're looking positively famished this evening."