Chapter Eleven: Sacrament
Rio de Janeiro
October 2018
Will was running on all fours. A fawn tried to out maneuver him. She ducked under logs and leaped over fallen branches. With each obstacle, her reaction time slowed. He was eager. He could taste the blood.
She tripped. He scrambled on top of her and grabbed hold of her throat with his teeth. She screamed and bucked. He shook his head vigorously until he heard that unmistakable crack. She went limp. Huge bubbles of blood burst in his mouth. He placed her on the ground and tore long shreds of muscle from her bone. The blood was plentiful and warm from the chase. It filled his belly. He chewed her vertebrae for the fatty marrow. He howled to his mate: I've killed her. We have food.
Will jerked awake. He placed his hands to his face. No blood.
He ran his tongue along his teeth. No fangs.
Only a nightmare.
He took a deep breath and noticed an arm raise up along with his stomach. Hannibal was draped across him.
He had never woken up before Hannibal before.
Strands of silver and pure white ran through his hair and beard. Will thought of their age difference. He knew nothing of Hannibal's family. Did he take more after his father or his mother? Did Alzheimer's run in his family? The thought of Hannibal growing old and dying disturbed Will, but he knew it was inevitable. Just as inevitable as his own death.
Will watched as Hannibal's eyelids began to widen. Hannibal wore the dazed expression of someone stirring from a vivid dream. He looked towards Will, considered him for a moment, then smiled. "I dreamt that I was a child and had to fight a dragon to protect my village."
"You dreamt about fighting the monster, I dreamt I was the monster."
"You will never let go of being the monster."
"It keeps me sane."
"Does it?"
Hannibal cupped the side of Will's face. "It is so strange to see you without stubble."
"Stranger seeing you with it."
He laughed softly. "I haven't had facial hair in thirty years. But I consider this a new chapter. There would be no better time for experimenting."
Now that the thought had occurred, Will couldn't get it to leave.
"Aside from what Chiyoh has told me, I don't know anything about your family. You know all there is to know about me, but I know hardly anything about you."
Hannibal pursed his lips, "You know me. You know my desires, my passions. This is who I am. Not where I was born."
"Just tell me your parents' names. Chiyoh didn't even tell me that much."
"Simonetta and Titus." Will watched Hannibal's larynx move up and down with great effort as he spoke the names.
Will considered that no one knew of Hannibal's childhood not because he was so secretive, but because it caused him great pain.
He ran his fingers through a silver patch in Hannibal's hair.
Hannibal rolled on top of Will with a sudden urgency. It scared him. Hannibal was so collected it was easy to forget he was prone to occasional outbursts of fervor.
"I want you. I want you and only you. I want all of you, and I want the world to see it."
Will furrowed his brow. "You have me. You saw to that from the moment we met."
"Marry me."
A knot formed in Will's throat. He laughed, not knowing what else to do.
"Yes, let's get a real marriage license with our fake identities. Let's host dinner parties and regale people with our fake romantic history. Let's pretend that this is perfectly normal."
Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "This is normal. I love you. I want to be able to say that you are my husband without falsehood."
Will knew that Hannibal wanted a life with him; a domestic life, a life of companionship, of family. Hannibal had proven over and over that it was all he desired, to the point of destroying alternatives. Will could deny him that, but it would be of no use. Hannibal would find a way.
And, in truth, Will loved him. He had spent many hours and bottles of whiskey and sleepless nights battling it, hiding it. He even prayed to a god he didn't believe in. Please God, I have a family, take him out of my brain, I can't do this anymore, I'm going crazy...
"I'm in love with you. I can't deny that anymore."
Hannibal's face grew more intense. Will thought he might writhe out of his skin.
"Marriage is a sacrament, Will. Two people devote themselves to one another before God, to love each other and only each other, just as Christ devoted himself to humanity's salvation. I could live five hundred years and never meet someone I'd rather die or kill for. You have my life in your hands."
Will had already killed for Hannibal.
He placed a hand on Hannibal's shoulder. The same shoulder he clutched the night he thought they would die together.
"I'll marry you."
They married their second week in Buenos Aires.
Will asked that they not have vows. They had said enough over the years.
The clerk was a woman in her fifties. She did not seem happy for them, but she did not seem to disapprove either. She signed her name under the the names of the parties: Daniel Wilkinson and Dmitri Sokolov.
By the beach they exchanged simple gold bands.
When the ring slipped on Will's finger, he felt right. Damaged and monstrous, but right.
They made love in the night. It felt like love. Desperate, amorous, primal. It lasted for hours. Will's head was swimming. Hannibal was as much his as he was Hannibal's. They entered each other's skin, veins, cells. They were one. Equal.
Will smiled as he fell asleep. I have you now.
