Doctrina Mergere
Author's Note: One day on my HannibalTok Discord server I made a joke about how I could see Hannibal getting annoyed and speaking to Will exclusively in Latin while they were having sex, just to piss off Will even more. Then my friend said "I could translate it." And then when I asked for a concept, my other friend said "mammoths." Somehow it turned into this unholy creation, which I am very proud of and extremely excited to share with you. Thank you to deus_ex_lesbian for translating and to MurdockSchmurdock for the mammoth which inspired the whole concept, Crispyclown for their excellent cover names, and to everyone else on the Discord server for helping to birth this monstrosity. May it live in infamy.
Oh, and deus_ex_lesbian would like everyone to know that Hannibal speaks ecclesiastical Latin (because of his Biblical obsessions). The Rouffignac Cave, the lack of violence in early cave art, and the named painting are all real and very worth doing your own research on.
The title means learning by immersion or "plunging in." You'll get it. Also this is post-fall.
"Well spotted, Marco. If you look closely you'll notice how the strokes change when he paints in red, suggesting a particular affinity."
"An affinity or an obsession?"
"In the grand orchestra of human emotion, the two live in discordant harmony."
A titillated and reverent hush fell over the small crowd, the same reaction that came every time Hannibal espoused his inane poetics. It was a reaction that Will should've been used to by then, having watched hundreds of people be caught up in it, having fallen prey to it himself. And most of the time, he was used to it, to the point of amusement. But that day, watching Hannibal peacock before the plebeians while dressed in a new, carefully tailored suit, Will felt nothing but exhausted annoyance. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide it on his face, so he turned away, gritting his teeth.
They were in the same museum they'd spent much of the last few months stepping in and out of, just big enough for Hannibal's ego to be stroked while still keeping a fairly low profile. This time, after a smug bet from Will, the job had been won through forged paperwork and an honest interview, rather than murder. Will had thought that would be satisfying, but somehow it had made Hannibal even more insufferable.
"Wouldn't you say, Eli?"
Will flinched at the sound of his assumed name, lifting a hand to brush his coiffed hair back as he turned to the group. Hannibal was part way through licking his lips and cocking his head. Will had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
"I'm not sure if I would," Will admitted through an endearing huff and half-smile. The group tittered again, but this time it was the affable response that came whenever he put on his own performance. It had become their routine since the fall. The enigmatic doctor and the charming sidekick. It had yet to fail them.
Hannibal offered Will a faint smile in response, but his narrowed eyes showed that he'd recognized Will's discontent. Will made an intentional effort to dull his expression, unwilling to give any further insight. Let the good doctor be distracted. Hannibal's shoulders tightened as if he could hear Will's thoughts, but he said nothing else, turning back to the well-dressed patrons and gesturing for them to proceed to the next section of the exhibit. Will followed at a slight delay, eyes dragging over one of the hundreds of signs littered across the museum, as if the attendees might be at risk of forgetting why they'd spent hundreds of dollars to be there. For the donors, the evening was an opportunity to be given a special, behind-the-scenes tour from the curators themselves. For Hannibal, it was an opportunity to hunt.
Will had watched Hannibal work on the exhibit for months. It was a reversed tour through humanity's relationship to blood and violence in illustrative art, beginning with contemporary artists and moving back through continents and societies until it ended in exquisite reproductions and high-definition photographs of Paleolithic cave art. True to the archaeological record, the final portion of the exhibit was conspicuously bare of the same gore, warfare, and sexual violence that connected almost every other era. Will had felt the messaging to be heavy-handed even before seeing the show in-person, having already been plagued by Hannibal's pretentious musings about it for months.
"Perhaps it is only when we are confined to a particular structure, bound together so that we might be fruitful and multiply, that violence becomes a necessity. When the earliest men do depict anthropic harm, it is only through the chaste piercing of skin with stray arrows. One must look hard to find premeditated carnage in their brush strokes."
"The inevitability of encounter, shrouded in the guarantee of escape."
"Indeed. Tell me, Will—do believe that you hear the call of the woods because it might return you to some primal pacifism? Or does it beckon because in it you may find the permission to become the very bloodthirsty creature you have always admired? The animal, after all, has never stopped being a threat."
The call of the woods was certainly louder here, surrounded by Hannibal's lot, simpering tycoons and lawyers growing more flushed and fervent with every one of the doctor's explanations. They were enjoying themselves, caught up in Lecter's frank discussions of otherwise unspeakable horrors rendered in perfect beauty. Will remained near the back, trying not to notice the hungry spark in Hannibal's eyes every time one of the patrons—Martinez?—spoke over him. The man was drunk and attempting to impress his obviously hired date. Hannibal's voice sounded in a distant corner of Will's mind, suggesting that he pick out the oldest Chianti in the cellar while Hannibal marinated the ribs.
"My partner, Eli, is something of a huntsman himself. He may be able to answer your question more directly, Ms. Velázquez."
Will tried his best not to visibly jump as he was forced to return from his ruminations. The group had wound its way to the Upper Paleolithic area without him noticing, dim gold and red light casting deep shadows across their faces. They were all looking at him now, one older woman pulling her over-plucked brows particularly high. Will did a quick calculation, glancing at the huge, false face of rock that rose up behind the group. They were in Rouffignac Cave; the cave of the hundred mammoths.
"I'm afraid my father did not raise me to hunt mammoths, Dr. Aneth," Will smiled at Hannibal and the woman, forcing himself not to clench his fists in anger and embarrassment.
"Don't undersell yourself, Eli," Hannibal smiled back. "You have taken down beasts far greater than the Mammuthus primigenius."
"In your eyes, perhaps," Will said with a dry, mirthless laugh.
"And the smaller game?" the woman with the eyebrows asked, crossing her thin arms and frowning. "What do you make of their portrayal? Surely if you hunt you have taken down a stag?"
Will blinked repeatedly, trying his best to maintain his mask and not look too closely at anyone's shadow. "No stags," he muttered. "Although I don't believe there are any stags in this display, señora."
She looked as though she might be about to complain, so Will quickly squinted over her shoulder at the wall, searching for some retort that might close the interaction and let them move on. "Truth be told, I'm more of a fisherman than a hunter. Far better at catching guppies like this one," he waved a flippant hand at Hannibal, "than wooly rhinos or fancy goats."
This time Hannibal's flustered response—slight frown, bristling shoulders—was enough to bring a genuine, if fleeting, smirk to Will's lips.
"An interesting comparison," Hannibal cut in before any of the patrons could speak. "Like humans, poecilia reticulata give birth to live young. Although their parturition is far less violent than our own, they make up for it in the minutes to follow. Guppies are well-known for cannibalizing their own children."
Will's eyes widened. The thick scar along his stomach felt like a snake writhing in his flesh.
"He should stop being so sour," Hannibal continued, a smile lighting up his face. "We agreed not to have children years ago."
Will couldn't tell if the group's laughter was actually disjointed and echoing, or if the sound was simply warping alongside his vision for an instant. He had to look down, massaging the back of his neck and wincing as he tried to regain his balance and focus.
"Now, if you'll follow me, ladies and gentlemen, we have one more section to pass through before our evening is finished…" Hannibal stepped to the side, gesturing for the group to leave the partially-constructed cave and move into the next area via a small, faux-rock tunnel. The donors grumbled in disappointment, but gathered themselves together and shuffled along in their heels and dress shoes anyway.
Hannibal hung back, watching Will.
"Oh, stop it," Will rolled his eyes, smoothing down his jacket sleeves and getting ready to follow.
"This sort of behaviour is not very flattering, Will," Hannibal stated, tilting his chin down.
"Neither is humiliating your partner in front of your funders, but you didn't seem to mind that so much," Will grumbled, knocking Hannibal with his shoulder as he passed. Hannibal's strong hand was grasping at the back of Will's suit jacket in an instant, yanking him backwards and nearly causing him to lose his footing.
"I was not humiliating you, Will. I was including you. You are projecting your insecurities onto me."
Hannibal's voice was a low hum in Will's ear, causing a shiver to run down his back. "I'm not insecure, Dr. Lecter," Will spoke his true name in an angry whisper. "I'm stating the facts of the situation."
"And what do you believe those facts to be?"
"That you've only brought me here to help maintain your charade. That you only want me here when it serves you. I feel like I'm not…" Will paused, turning toward Hannibal and smacking at his arm to make him release. Hannibal did so immediately, though his face told Will not to push things any farther.
"Like you're not what, Will?"
"Like I'm not your partner here. Not really. Only in name. The rest of this is your's."
Will could read the recognition on Hannibal's face, though others might not have. Will felt nauseous and turned away, facing the text display that sat opposite the reproduced cave art.
"Dr. Aneth?" one of the women called from down the tunnel, which had been decorated to look like a connection between caves. The group's chatter had died down.
"Coming!" Hannibal piped up in a perfectly jovial tone.
"You go on without me," Will grimaced, refusing to look back at Hannibal.
Hannibal sniffed, suit fabric rustling. "What shall I tell the others?"
Will clenched his fists next, still refusing to open his eyes. "Tell them I've decided to stay back to think about what it would've been like to have been born in the right era."
Hannibal was quiet for a moment. Will was surprised that he couldn't guess how the other man might be reacting behind his back.
"To say that in your current state is a disservice to prehistoric man," the doctor replied.
Will said nothing.
"They've installed the mammoth. You may find it interesting."
Will didn't open his eyes until he could hear Hannibal guiding the tour away into the next room.
Will did not immediately go to see the mammoth, although he was embarrassed to admit that he wanted to. He decided to retrace their steps through the rest of the exhibit instead, stopping to look at the pieces that were actually of the most interest to him, rather than those Hannibal had prepared the best script for. He found himself lingering by the pieces that reminded him most of their relationship: men grappling in close contact, eyes bulging and flesh tearing. It was easy to be mad here, surrounded by the blood, sex, and rage. The violence was comforting in a way. Validating. He felt his mind and his anger settle into a quiet, familiar mass around which his fear and longing could circle like vultures.
It wasn't until he heard the distant thunder of an amplified voice and a round of raucous applause that Will registered how much time had passed. He had been sitting in front of Artemisia Gentileschi's Judith Slaying Holofernes, thinking about how many years it had been since he had last positioned himself as Judith. He wondered if it would be possible to determine the exact date on which he had resigned himself to the seduction, with no plans for the righteous killing.
Jolted by the sound, Will pulled himself upright, reaching for the suit jacket he had hung over a nearby railing and beginning to walk back toward the reproduction of the Rouffignac Cave. His face was sullen.
He knew, of course, what finalized his transformation from would-be assassin to complicit accomplice. His acceptance of and surrender to Hannibal had been pernicious, interwoven with many days like today, when Hannibal frustrated Will so thoroughly that he wondered if he should've made an effort to stab the doctor before they fell to ensure that he was well-and-truly dead. But then, stepping back into the dim light of the Cave, Will was reminded how increasingly rare those days had become. How many nights he fell asleep on the couch in their study listening to Hannibal scratch out his notes at his desk while rain fell outside.
It was that kind of casual domesticity that was stoking Will's anger as he ducked through the tunnel on the other end of the Cave and emerged into the final section of the exhibit. It was vast and dark without the sunlight pouring in from the skylights overhead. The final texts and features of the exhibit were laser cut into displays lit from within.
A group of three crude human figures, hewn out of bronze, stood immediately to Will's left. They were intentionally crowded together so that they had the appearance of a cohesive team, modelled after the earliest known figures of prehistoric humans hunting. A carefully crafted reproduction of a wooly mammoth stood opposite them, looming over Will's right-hand side. It was lit by the same red and gold lights as the cave had been, eyes sculpted to look both ferocious and afraid. The faux-taxidermy creature was on loan from another museum, dressed in some sort of real hair—Will couldn't remember what species Hannibal had mentioned.
"Does it have the desired effect?"
Will startled, taking a sharp inhale and arching his brows as he looked over his shoulder. Hannibal was standing inside the tunnel with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked tousled and overdrawn, as if he had rushed there.
Will wanted to answer honestly, briefly caught up as he was in how handsome Hannibal looked when he was slightly out of breath. He wanted to say that he still found the exhibit's messaging conspicuous, but that despite that, he found himself feeling humbled before the sheer size of the mammoth and the weight of their collective history. He resisted the urge.
"All I'm seeing is my next meal," Will huffed, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets and turning back to the creature.
Hannibal said nothing at first, choosing to close the gap between himself and Will instead. His expensive shoes were loud against the marble floor. Will was already clenching his jaw when Hannibal lifted his hand and gently let his fingers brush over Will's ear, tucking a few stray curls behind them. He was amused. Will felt his stomach turn.
"Where is this coming from, Will?"
"Why don't you tell me, Dr. Lecter?" Will asked, refusing to make eye contact.
"I don't specialize in pediatric psychiatry, Will," Hannibal continued in a voice like warm chocolate, fingers soft and taunting along Will's bare neck.
"You're calling me a child now?" Will snapped, turning and shoving Hannibal's hand away. Hannibal's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second.
"You are not a child, Will, but your behaviour would suggest otherwise. I don't feel like playing games with you tonight. There are much better things we could be doing."
"Are there? You seemed quite happy to remind me that I could leave as soon as the tour was over."
"Of course. I don't want you to feel like a fish out of water. Your comfort matters to me."
"Is that it? Because it feels an awful lot like you only want me here for as long as I'm a useful trophy wife. Polish me up and bring me out when the guests are over, then hide me away again as soon as the conversation gets serious."
"As soon as the conversation gets serious?" Hannibal echoed, puzzled.
"When you start talking about the exhibits, the history, the institution, the finances, hell, the gossip, even! You let me be a part of everything—everything—else in your life, but this is too much?"
"I'm not trying to withhold anything from you, Will," Hannibal sighed. Will recognized the particular angle of the doctor's arm; Hannibal was resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.
"Then why don't you ask me to stay? Why do you ask those questions in the exhibit? You single me out to the crowd, but only as the hunter? Not the man who's studied—lived in—blood and violence for decades? And don't give me some bullshit about 'maintaining our cover.'"
"I don't ever intend to bullshit you, Will," Hannibal frowned. "I'm trying to respect your identity. Your passions. Letting you be your own man."
"Well, there's a first for everything, isn't there," Will laughed, taking a half-step backward. He could feel the mammoth's frame against his spine, now. Hannibal's voice sounded in the back of his mind. Do you mean to back yourself into a corner every time you're angry with me, Will? Or is it some baser instinct you can't seem to resist?
"It's been two years since we left, Will," Hannibal said with a small, frowning pout. "I would be quite concerned if you still didn't know how much I care for you. I realize that none of this is how you would prefer to be spending a Saturday evening. I'm honoured that you make any time for me at all."
"Don't patronize me," Will muttered, looking away.
"I'm not patronizing you, Will," Hannibal replied, a weary look settling over his features. "You know how capable I think you are. I want you to do whatever you want, whenever you want to. It's never been my place nor my desire to force you into anything."
"Maybe I want to be forced!" Will exclaimed, eyes wide.
They were both silent for a moment.
"Forced to do what, Will?" Hannibal's expression changed. He took another step forward.
"To learn about this world. To contribute. To get out of my shell. You've taught me so much. Teach me about this, too. Stop underestimating me."
Hannibal took another step closer and reached out to cup Will's cheek. "Haven't you been listening? You've heard me talk about this exhibit for months. You knew what half of it would look like before installations even began. You knew which of tonight's donors I wanted to kill before they'd even paid for their tickets."
"Talking to me about it at home has nothing to do with public perception," Will snapped. "I want to be respected here, too."
"So you want to be an intelligent trophy wife, then?" Hannibal asked, brows raising as a smirk twitched across his mouth.
"Right," Will replied with a dry laugh, moving to straighten up. He'd learned long ago that there was no point in trying to push a conversation like this after Hannibal's mockery had begun.
"I can't make anyone respect you, Will. But I can help you to feel more confident."
Hannibal's words, eerily prescriptive, were paired well with his wandering hand as it floated down to Will's chest and gently pushed, stopping him from pulling himself up to his full height. Will didn't bother to hide his confusion, but said nothing. He had dug his hole far enough.
Hannibal licked his lips and moved his hands to his tie, slowly undoing its knot. He pulled the expensive silk fabric off while looking Will up and down, assessing him. A pit formed in Will's stomach.
"I wasn't asking to be fucked in your museum, Hannibal. There are a dozen security cameras in this room alone."
"You're right, Will," Hannibal replied, a gentle smile turning up the corners of his lips.
"And you don't care because…?"
"A clever boy like you must be able to figure it out."
Clever boy. The words made Will's heart flutter. He leaned back again, arching his neck in anxiety and anticipation as Hannibal moved closer, close enough that their thighs were touching. He knew what Hannibal meant without having to be told. Hannibal had the cameras taken care of, somehow. Of course he did.
"I can help you learn about this world, Will," the doctor continued, holding his tie in one hand while he used the other to reach out and stroke some of Will's hair back again. "But only if you agree to pay attention."
"I always do, Hannibal."
"I disagree," Hannibal replied in a dismissive tone before letting his hand drift down to Will's shirt collar. His fingers tightened around it, eyes focused on the folds in the fabric for a moment before flickering back up to Will's face and tugging him forward. "I think you are very easily distracted."
"And who's fault could that be, I wonder?" Will replied, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt.
"Always talking back, too," the doctor muttered, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps that needs to be dealt with before we can begin our first lesson."
Will's eyes flickered down to the tie, a spark of realization lighting in his abdomen.
"Please, Hannibal, what possible explanation could we have for that if someone walked in—"
"That's enough," Hannibal cut in. His movements were as precise as ever, allowing him to pin Will against the mammoth with nothing more than a knee placed perfectly between Will's legs, before Will even had a chance to protest.
"You seemed particularly discouraged when I started using Latin terminology earlier," Hannibal murmured as he reached one hand up to rub his thumb over Will's lips. "Perhaps we'll start there."
Will opened his mouth to reply, but Hannibal seized the opportunity, slipping his thumb between Will's lips and pulling down. Will tried to cough and pull his head away, hands reaching up to Hannibal's waist as if that would stop him, but the older man's grip only tightened. His other hand was busy too, looping the length of the tie around Will's head and pulling part of it up to his mouth.
"Patefacio sursum." 1
Will's brows furrowed. Hannibal hadn't been kidding.
"Patefacio sursum, nunc," 2 Hannibal repeated, this time pulling down even harder on Will's lower jaw. It was enough to make Will clue into what was going on: he was being told to keep his mouth open. Will rolled his eyes and gripped onto Hannibal's waist more tightly, hoping that he would leave wrinkles in the brand new suit. Still, he did what he was told, locking his jaw into place.
"Bonum puerum,"3 Hannibal muttered as he unhooked his thumb from behind Will's teeth. Will blinked, butterflies taking flight in his stomach. He recognized enough words from enough Romantic languages to be able to guess that "bonum" meant good.
Hannibal was quiet while he worked, looping the tie around Will's head and then tying a loose knot in the front. He paused then, looking Will in the eye for a moment, just long enough for the younger man's breath to catch in his throat. Hannibal smirked, having clearly gotten what he wanted, and then he moved quickly to spin the tie around Will's head until its length was pulling against his cheeks, holding his lips taut. Will tried not to whimper as Hannibal leaned in, resting his mouth near Will's ear while he secured the knot tight enough behind Will's head that it hurt. He left the two tails hanging and let his lips drag along Will's ear as he straightened back up again.
Hannibal uttered another cryptic phrase. His words sounded slurred, as if he'd been drinking, but Will knew better; Hannibal was excited. Will felt the butterflies moving lower and turning to warm flame, felt the hairs on his neck standing up, his breaths starting to become shakier. He liked being told what to do, even when he had no idea what the command was. It had happened before, of course, Hannibal accidentally shifting into another of the many languages he spoke—but never with this level of intentionality and… punishment. Hannibal wanted Will to feel completely lost. Because Will had asked for it.
"Circum vertere," 4 Hannibal repeated himself, eyes becoming hooded. Will took in a sharp breath, looking across Hannibal's upper body and his own arms, trying to guess what orders he was being given.
"Audite me," 5 Hannibal growled, reaching up to Will's collar and tugging him closer. Years ago, his movements might have frightened Will—the way his lip twitched, nostrils flared, jaw jutted out. The expression still made Will's heart race now, but for entirely different reasons. The image of Judith killing Holofernes flashed in his mind's eye again and he felt colour rising to his cheeks, forcing him to look away.
Hannibal frowned, pulling Will upright and then using all of his force to spin the younger man around and push him face-first into the mammoth's great leg. Will coughed and arched back, trying not to get any of the creature's hair in his mouth or eyes. The doctor made a low, desirous sound before reaching forward and grabbing at the tie tails hanging at the back of Will's neck, causing him to yelp as Hannibal pulled hard on the fabric. Will had no choice but to give in, letting his head be yanked backward, exposing his neck and forcing him to press his chest and groin into the mammoth's leg.
"Nunc depone vestis. Lente." 6
Vestis. That word sounded familiar. Will thought about it for a moment, eyes scanning the glass ceiling that he was now being forced to gaze up at. Hannibal evidently did not approve of how long it was taking him to figure it out. The doctor scoffed, pulling just a little bit harder on the gag, eliciting a small whimper out of his partner. Will thought Hannibal was going to lean in and repeat himself again, and he felt a wave of anticipation at the very idea of those smooth lips against his ear—but Hannibal seemed to change his mind at the last moment. He took in a long, deep breath instead, smelling Will the way he always did, the way that made Will's entire back tingle and mouth begin to water. And then he brought his nose and lips to Will's neck, just below his ear, lingering for a moment before letting his warm, wet tongue slip out and begin running across Will's skin.
Will arched backward at the sensation, pushing the front of his body against the mammoth while he attempted to dig his head back into Hannibal's chest, keenly aware of how loud he was being in the large, echoey hall. He desperately wanted to ask if Hannibal was certain that they wouldn't be caught, but he doubted that he'd be able to speak even if he hadn't been gagged. Hannibal used the drop in Will's guard to reach out and grab the jacket he'd still had draped over one arm, pulling it away and letting it drop somewhere behind him. Will furrowed his brow, pulled back to reality for a moment; Hannibal was rarely so careless with clothing.
"Ego oblitus quam tantum de manibus in discipulus tu es," Hannibal practically purred, chin resting on Will's shoulder, running his hand down the sleeve covering Will's now-empty arm, which was still braced up against the mammoth. "Vos discite per faciens. Mergere."7
The words meant nothing to Will, but he knew the rumble of Hannibal's voice travelling between the hollows of their chests, the way his hand travelled back up the lengths of Will's arm and followed the curves of his muscles to his torso and the buttons that rested there. Will did his best to swallow quietly behind his gag, but it was a fool's errand. He could feel Hannibal's face shift into a smile brought on by making Will audibly gulp with so little effort.
Hannibal pushed himself even closer, pressing the full length of his body against Will's, free hand roaming down to the pouch of Will's stomach, where his deepest scar was covered beneath his shirt and trousers. It was another action that always made Will tremble, predictable as he was. Some things just worked. Hannibal's other hand found the top button of Will's shirt and worked nimbly to undo it. Something clicked in Will's mind. Vestis. Vestiments. Like the ones the priests wore when Hannibal dragged them across the city when he was in a good mood, to watch people beg God for forgiveness. He was talking about clothing… Will's shirt. Hannibal wanted him to take off his shirt.
Will made a stifled, inquisitorial sound as he straightened up. Regaining the use of his hands required that he lean back into Hannibal, which meant feeling his ass press into the warm, promising tension there. He let himself linger for a moment, flexing his fingers repeatedly as if trying to regain feeling and control over them, but the connection between the two men only lasted for another second before Hannibal let go of the tie and took a step back. Will tried not to convey his disappointment outwardly, instead choosing to screw up his face in twitchy concentration and focus on undoing the buttons. His movements were messy, halting, as if he were an unpracticed musician sent out on stage. It only took a few seconds of awkward movement before Hannibal's judgement became nearly palpable, and Will paused, looking over his shoulder. He wasn't sure if his own face would show anger, embarrassment, or a tender request for approval.
"Facite lente," 8 Hannibal spoke in an instructional tone.
Will furrowed his brow and began to turn around even more, as if being able to look Hannibal in the eye would make it easier to understand him. Hannibal's expression darkened, the tiniest micro-expression of displeasure flickering across his face, causing Will to freeze.
"Lente," Hannibal repeated. This time, he brought a hand up into the air and gently waved it downward. He didn't usually talk with his hands, so it took Will a second to process what he might mean. Slowly. And without turning around. Will felt a flutter of embarrassment in his chest, not used to being made to display himself like this. He tried to play it off, glaring over his shoulder for a second, but it was pointless. Hannibal's displeased expression remained unchanged.
Will huffed, rolling his shoulders and turning to face the mammoth again, annoyed by how warm his whole body was becoming. He had to consciously slow the tremor in his hands as he raised them up to his shirt buttons once more, returning to finish the job Hannibal had started. The hall was eerily quiet, the silence only broken occasionally by distant smatterings of applause and the shifting sound of Hannibal's suit when he moved. Will did his best to take his time and stay quiet himself, attempting to stifle his long, shaky breaths.
"Tu es faciens bene," 9Hannibal murmured from behind Will. There was the word again: bene, "good." Whatever Hannibal was saying, the intent rang through Will's bones, and he had to stop for a moment, feeling the breath get knocked out of him.
"Facere non prohibere,"10Hannibal's soft voice egged him on.
That message was clear, too. No prohibition. Don't stop. Will squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the effect that Hannibal's guidance was having on him. Only two more buttons left. He paused when he finished the last one, slowly lifting his hands up toward his head, as if he were a man admitting defeat. It was usually a move they saved for Hannibal to use when he needed to learn his own lessons. It felt vulnerable and thrilling to mirror it without being asked. Simply because he thought Hannibal might like it.
"Bonum puerum meus," 11Hannibal murmured, and Will knew the word, having heard it recycled in a dozen other terms. "Nunc auferit."12
Will allowed himself to feel the tiniest bit of pride at being able to guess the gist of what was being said here, too. He lowered his arms slowly, slowly enough that he thought it might annoy his lover, and then gently pulled his shirt out from his trousers and began to slip it off. He let the soft, expensive fabric slip slowly over his shoulders, down his upper arms, pausing to shiver when his shoulder blades were exposed to the cool, air-conditioned museum air. He kept his eyes shut, imagining what Hannibal might look like, watching this display. Whatever part of him had been holding off gave in, a dam breaking before a rushing river.
"Non est orbis in quibus ego poterat coquus a prandium magis delectamenti quam tibi, Will. Ego poterat ad festum omne pollicus tui et numquam scio ipse plenitudo ego sentio aspicientes vobis." 13
Listening to Hannibal speak at length in this strange language, which was at once so foreign and so familiar, made Will feel lightheaded. It was only worsened by the sound of his own name. He undid his cufflinks through blurry eyes before letting his shirt finally crumple to the ground, not wanting to give it any more thought than Hannibal had given his jacket. Then he waited, feeling the goosebumps prickling across his exposed skin, keenly aware of Hannibal's eyes roaming over him.
Hannibal seemed to take an eternity watching him—long enough that Will felt like he might implode if he wasn't touched, and long enough that his erection both raised itself up and began to ache from being confined within his trousers. Still, he knew better than to touch himself without permission. He clenched his fists at his side and tried not to show how deliciously uncomfortable he was.
"Et tamen," Hannibal sighed, and Will could hear his shoes finally crossing the cold, hard floor, coming closer again, "semper volo plus." 14
Will stayed frozen, clenching his jaw, feeling the muscles in his face twitch in anticipation. Another moment. Another step. And then Hannibal was up against him again, hands wrapping around his body and trailing down his abdomen. Will wasn't able to control himself, stomach contracting in shock at the cold, desperately needed touch, an embarrassing mewl slipping out from between his lips. Hannibal hummed his encouragement and pleasure, pulling Will back toward him again, hands moving down and beginning to undo Will's belt buckle.
Will tried his best not to squirm, holding Hannibal's forearms while the doctor worked to slide Will's belt out of its loops and let it drop down to the floor, too. He paused when he was done, finally bringing his lips to Will's ear again, gently nibbling on his lobe for a moment. Will's knees nearly buckled, and Hannibal let out a quiet chuckle which only made Will feel even weaker.
"Nescio si quod est quid vis, Will," Hannibal nearly purred, "scire tu es quod primos prandium hic et domo." 15
Will didn't care what was being said anymore, because Hannibal's fingers were undoing his trouser buttons, and then they were hooking into the elastic of his briefs and beginning to pull down, slowly, gently. It was enough to make him genuinely concerned for his ability to stay upright, so he reached up to Hannibal's neck, twisting his forearms around it and burying one hand in the man's slicked-back hair. He always liked it more when it was mussed, anyway. His tight grip caused Hannibal's breath to hitch for a moment too. It sent a thrill of lust through Will's entire body, and he wanted to spin around and attack Hannibal, push him down onto the ground and kiss him so hard that it hurt—but he stopped when he felt Hannibal's fingers wrap around his cock.
"Dubites qui optimus mulsus quod scis tu es optatus," Hannibal continued. "Fui derelictio haec, evidenter." 16
Will whimpered again, unable to stop himself from grinding back against Hannibal, heart pounding at full speed now. Will was, as always, impressed by the way in which Hannibal still managed to control himself, beginning to jerk Will off ever-so-slowly, using his pre-cum as lubricant, keeping his hot breath in Will's ear the entire time. Will twisted his fingers in Hannibal's hair and pulled.
"Etiam," Hannibal spoke, then, in a more matter-of-fact voice. The change piqued Will's interest, quieting the high buzzing in his brain for a moment. He knew that tone. "Tu es ad discite. Et non sunt ad et fruor."17
Hannibal bit down on Will's shoulder and tightened his grip around Will's cock, enough to make the other man yelp in instinctive fear. Hannibal held fast while he used his other hand and body weight to push Will forward until he was pressed up against the mammoth again. It didn't take much. Hannibal's hand, which loosened only slightly once they'd reached their destination, was the only barrier between the younger man and the faux-taxidermy animal. Even his face was squished up against it, cheek aching as he turned his head to the side and wrapped his arms as far as he could around its circumference. He was vaguely aware of the statue's smell, dry and dusty, like old wax and drilled teeth. He wondered how Hannibal could bear it. Or perhaps it was a scent he enjoyed?
"Colo," 18 Hannibal growled, giving a couple of faster, tighter tugs on Will's cock. Will hissed and hit his head gently against the mammoth leg, trying to let out his frustration. "I'm going to start teaching you now."
It took Will a second to register that the words were in English again. He blinked rapidly, trying his best to swivel his eyes and look over his shoulder at Hannibal. He hoped that his expression would convey exactly what he was thinking: hadn't he been teaching Will a lesson already? If Hannibal understood the message, he did not reply. Instead, he let go of Will's cock, reaching his hands back toward his own waist as he took a tiny step away.
"Nuh," Will moaned, trying to push back into Hannibal, not wanting him to stop. He could almost say no behind his gag, tongue able to hit the top of his mouth.
"Nolite fiere avarum,"19 Hannibal scolded him, and Will wanted to fight back against whatever he was being told until he felt Hannibal's own pants and underwear slip down, letting their soft, hot skin finally touch—and more importantly, letting Hannibal's own cock drop down onto the curve of Will's ass.
"I'm not going to touch you," Hannibal stated, the tiniest hint of a lilt hanging onto the corners of his words. "And you're not going to, either."
"Aht?" Will attempted to ask, screwing his face up in confusion.
"You've cum from grinding before, haven't you, Will? I'd like you to do so again."
Realization fell into place, and Will struck his head against the stupid leg of the stupid mammoth again. Had he really been that petulant? To warrant grinding against some poor artist's rendering of a long-extinct animal while his utter asshole of a partner watched?
"Incipere,"20 Hannibal spat out the word like an order, grabbing a fistful of Will's ass and using it to push him forward. Will whimpered as he was pressed against the soft hair, feeling his dick strain between it and his own body.
"Incipere," Hannibal repeated more forcefully now, digging his nails into Will's ass cheek. The younger man hissed again, this time in genuine discomfort, before giving in to whatever Hannibal's specific command had been and beginning to grind against the structure. He wanted to say that it felt absurd and uncomfortable, but there was something pleasurable about the soft hair and the curve of the form. Or perhaps it was just twenty minutes worth of lust overwriting any ounce of sense he had left. In either case, he let himself buck slowly against the huge object, trying not to think about what he was doing nor what he was doing it on.
"Bene," Hannibal praised Will again, "perservus." 21
Will's breath hitched as he found a rhythm, wiggling his hips in time with his thrusts, letting his fingers get tangled in the animal hair. All sexuality is facilitated by the loss of another creature's life. The consumption of energetic stores. There is no sensuality without sacrifice, without a willingness to consume something else. What other reasoning could there be for the cultural fascination with bearskin rugs? They are being forced to face the murderous origins of their release. Will grimaced at the memory, brought on by a snide remark Will had made once in the early days, when they were convalescing in a cabin.
"Colo," Hannibal murmured, reaching up and pulling back on the tie tails again. Will wasn't sure what it meant, but he assumed it was something like 'focus.' The tight pull of the gag, in combination with the wet feeling of some of Hannibal's pre-cum finding its way onto Will's lower back, made it easy for him to shudder back into his body. He noticed that Hannibal was grinding against him now too, not touching himself, but revelling in what he was watching, feeling with each increasingly fervent thrust of Will's hips.
"Primus consuetudinem de verbo 'mammoth' videtur in mane seventheen saeculum Europa," Hannibal suddenly began to speak again. His voice was hoarse now, constricted, "referendo 'maimanto tusks' inventum apud Siberia."
Siberia? Mammoth? Will wanted to know what the hell he was talking about, but Hannibal was pushing against him more forcefully now, and tugging on the gag so that his neck was folding backward, and every time Hannibal's balls hit against his ass, all Will could think was that they were inches away from each other, and Hannibal could take him at any moment, but he was choosing not to, restraining himself to teach Will a lesson, and that only made Will feel more wild, closer to the edge.
"Thomas Jefferson erat manibus et in usus de verbo 'mammoth' decens et descriptonem—"
Will reached backward in a flash, elbowing Hannibal in the ribs as hard as he could. Thomas Jefferson? What the hell was he talking about? Will wanted to cum and get this entire ordeal over with, not get a history lesson that involved American presidents.
Hannibal took the hit without flinching and didn't miss a beat, retaliating by grabbing Will's arm and pinning it in place behind him before using it as a handle to lift Will up and shove him even harder against the mammoth. Hannibal slid his knee against Will's thighs, too, so that the smaller man was suspended off of the ground, unable to squirm without any leverage below his groin.
"—quia aliquid de magna magnitudine quam tantum de prisca elephantus," Hannibal finished his sentence in a rough, annoyed voice. Will hunched forward, another wave of lust coming over him, the pain he was in multiplied by Hannibal's frustration, making him feel as if he might finish without having to move at all.
"Persevus," Hannibal instructed, rubbing his hips up against Will's again, his cock somehow feeling even hotter, now. Will squeezed his eyes shut at the accompanying thrust of pressure against his thighs, where he was pinned, but he did his best to continue. The first stroke spelled his ruin; tingling snaps of electricity shot along his dick, ricocheting deep into his gut, and he knew he was moments away from finishing. All while this wretched man talked to him about mammoths.
"Primus memoriae usus de verbo quod est adiectivum erat in descripio de magna rotam et caseum…" Hannibal paused his lesson as Will's body curled in on itself, his breath screeching to a halt, coming out only in a pained, exalted whimper.
"Bonum puerum," Hannibal cooed, twisting his hold on the tie, and Will felt like he might lose consciousness from the sheer, ecstatic agony he was in. "Go ahead."
It happened in a rush and Hannibal let him go so that he could clutch the mammoth's leg and hunch forward, muscles spasming, legs going weak. He was in awe as his body continued its violent climax, filling his body with warm, forgiving endorphins, until finally it was over, and he was breathless, trembling, hips still bucking as the last few drops of his cum landed between him and the mammoth.
"Mm," Hannibal hummed, crouching down to reach Will's level and reaching out his hand, letting his soft fingers trail down Will's spine, across the scars that littered his skin. Will shivered again, looking over his shoulder, whining in pleasure and relief, knowing full well that his eyes were watering and there was drool running down from his bound mouth. It was strange to make eye contact with Hannibal again. He felt raw and utterly vulnerable. Hannibal had a soft, kind smile on his face.
"Primus memoriae usus de verbo quod est adiectivum erat in descripio de magna rotam et caseum quae quod 'Cheshire Mammoth Cheese,' ille erat datum est Jefferson apud 1802." 22
Will thought he might kill him right then and there, shaking and useless as he was. But then Hannibal reached down and cupped his face, and there was genuine affection in his eyes, and Will felt some of his resolve melt.
He smacked his lips and wriggled his tongue around gratefully once as Hannibal removed the gag. "You're not—I don't get to—" Will hesitated, eyeing Hannibal's cock as he gave it a couple of lazy strokes and then began to pull up his trousers.
"A guard came through the exhibit a few minutes ago," Hannibal spoke in the most relaxed, easy tone that Will thought any person might've ever used. He felt lightheaded. "It may be time to leave."
"I… I made a mess of this—" Will gestured up to the leg, unwilling to make himself look at the cum he'd certainly left behind.
"The Latin word for semen is habuerit," Hannibal said with a smile, reaching an outstretched hand down to Will to help him up. Will took it even as he made a disgusted face at his partner.
"What's the Latin for 'go fuck yourself?'" Will asked, embarrassed by how dry and weak his voice sounded. Hannibal gave a half-smile as he turned away from Will and began gathering Will's discarded clothing, shaking it out and handing it neatly to his partner as Will struggled to dress.
"Futue te ipsum," Hannibal replied, words accompanied by an infuriatingly innocent blink and impish smile.
"Do that," Will snarled, shrugging his shirt back on.
"Why would I when I have a beautiful trophy wife like you around to do it for me?" Hannibal asked, raising his nearly non-existent brows, smile unwavering.
"You're unbearable," Will shook his head, even as he felt a small flicker of lust reigniting in his gut.
1Open your mouth.
2Open your mouth, now.
3Good boy.
4Turn around.
5Listen to me.
6Now take off your shirt. Slowly.
7I forgot how much of a hands-on learner you are. You learn by doing. Plunging into it.
8Do it slowly.
9You're doing very well.
10Don't stop.
11My good boy.
12Now remove it.
13There is no world in which I could cook a meal more edifying than you already are, Will. I could feast upon every inch of you and never know the same satiation I feel simply gazing upon your visage.
14And yet...I always want more.
15I wonder if that is what you want, Will...to know you are the main course here and at home
16Your insecurities are best quelled when you know that you are desired...I have been neglecting that task, apparently.
17Still...You are going to learn. And you are not going to enjoy it.
18(Worship, cherish, pay homage)
19Don't be greedy.
20Begin.
21Good...Keep going.
22The first usage of the word "mammoth" appears in early seventeenth century Europe, referring to "maimanto" tusks discovered in Siberia. Thomas Jefferson had a hand in the usage of the word "mammoth" becoming a descriptor for anything of a large size rather than just of a prehistoric elephant. The first recorded use of the word as an adjective was in a description of a large wheel of cheese, known as the "Cheshire Mammoth Cheese," that was given to Jefferson in 1802.
