But now I'm back to work and everything seems to be settling again so hopefully the story updates should return to something a little more regular. C:
Now onto the story!
This chapter is for Min ruis, thank you for always being such a supportive reader~3
I OWN NOTHING!
This isn't Beta read.
OoOoO
Chapter 04
"He's a profiler for the FBI." Hannibal answered in half-truths, no lies given but the omission of certain information not yet necessary for his Adam to be made aware. "Is he familiar to you?" He took Adam by the shoulders, running hands in a slow soothing drag from shoulder to elbow, easing the slighter man to lean back against him. He watched fingers paler than his own slowly turn the pages of a folder he hadn't been meant to see.
"These are familiar." He murmured soft in answer, running his fingers along the glossy images of the Angel Makers victims. Will had been meant to become one of those beautiful bodies displayed on lengths of twine and wire. His flesh flayed and spread like wings and hands bound in silent prayer for the forgiveness of his sins. Instead Will had been saved by Adam, created by the Angel Maker in another form, such beautiful irony for the killer to have created his own Angel of Death.
He turned the pages of the folder to the killing made by Adam himself, comparing the raw necessity of Adam's quick work to the slow thoughtful process of the killer he had ended. Hannibal wondered how the work of art his beloved had created may have turned out if he had been given the proper supplies to create.
It was a question he would have answered soon enough. "You recognize the bodies of the man you killed?" He let stormy eyes slid over the charred form of the one he had finished, the ending he had not stayed to behold. Adam hadn't thought he would have the chance to see the end result of his work. It was beautiful.
Skin burned to the wet muscle and charred bone, jaw slack with the missing muscles needed to hold the bone clenched, throat open to reveal black tissue deeper when the flesh had shrunk back with flames from the cut. He wanted to keep the picture.
"I know them." He indicated the victims, the ones he had not slain nor known, yet knew the methods of their death in cinematic vivid detail, as though their murders had been created by his own hand, "I know his methods, I know why he did it," He let his fingers trace along the photo's edge, as though trying to feel the death that lingered within the glossy surface. "It's as though he lives in a corner of my mind, carved a hollow for himself in which to crouch and survive past death, to be revived at my finger tips with a summoning of will to recreate the deaths that I have absorbed through his works." He fall silent, feeling the barest rise of heart beat against his back, the stir of excitement from the man behind him, "I played witness to his heinous crimes like a student to an artist, replicating the masterpieces created by my mentors so that I might better understand them…" He furrowed his brow, anger beginning to rise as he stared on at an image he could not read. "Yet I can't seem to find myself, understand who I am."
"Does it matter who you used to be?" He closed the folder, laying the thick manilla on the table where it would remain until Hannibal saw fit to assist the agent further.
He remained silent for another long moment, staring into the fire that popped with flame before them, "It's frustrating," he admitted, "not that I don't remember who I was, but because there are so many others squatting in my mind to dictate who I should be." A sardonic smile curved his bowed lips, "Including you Hannibal," He let his fingers intertwine with the killer who held him. "You're slowly carving a place of your own within my head, claiming a piece of my mind as your own to keep."
He squeezed that hand, comfort instead of denial. "I would take more than your mind, beautiful boy," he nuzzled into the soft curls that pressed against his face, smelt the heady aroma of a spicy sweetness that lingered beneath his heated skin, the cedar and jasmine of his soaps and scrubs massaged into ill cared for flesh during their shared shower that morning, and the natural scent of his angel beneath it all. "I would take your soul." His mind, his heart, his body, they all belonged to him now. He had found the match which had been created especially for him. He would never let him go.
"Should I be worried?" Lifting calloused with murder and aged with years Adam examined the fine lines of a man who had known both hardship and wealth, poverty and plenty. He kissed that hand, pressed aged skin to his lips to feel the shift of tendons beneath his mouth.
That hand cupped his face, turned him to better face the one who stood behind him. "I will only help you to become something better. I will not replace you with myself."
"Reassuring," He murmured as thin lips found his own in a pliant kiss, turning in the stronger man's arms to wrap his own around his waist and feel the heat of the fire radiate against his back. "But I would still like to gain a better sense of who I am."
Fingers trailed the length of his Adam's spin, following the line of a curve to settle at the point of tailbone above the swell of his ass, "Do you believe yourself to be this Will Graham?" he pushed, curious if perhaps the agent might awaken, or if his angel would keep the profiler at bay as the profiler had kept Adam locked away within the darkness of his mind.
He cocked his head, considering the question, "I'm not sure." He set his head to the killers shoulder, examining the curve of his jaw, the stubble that had begun to show along its flesh. Hannibal would shave the greying growth with one of the strait razors he'd seen in the bathroom and then he would ask Adam to do the same.
Adam would take the blade in hand, froth his face with a blend of cream create by Hannibal himself, remove the stubble from his chin to leave in its wake clean, sensitive skin and would look in the mirror at himself still unaware of whether he preferred himself with or without facial hair. If it was Hannibal's preference or his own. "I could be I suppose. But then again there's nothing to say that I'm be a journalist or officer and my knowledge of the happenings of these victims comes from that." He shrugged, a curious smile pulling his lips as he pressed another kiss to the juncture of his throat. "It doesn't matter who I was. Whoever this body used to belong to, their memories are presently in storage. They belong to my body and I haven't found them yet, he isn't home." And he didn't intend to find them anytime soon, Adam enjoyed killing. He didn't have any intention to stop, reviving a guilty conscious in the form of officer or profiler was so far down the list of what he wanted it didn't' even register. "I have no intention of bringing them back."
Hands cupped his cheeks to run a thumb along the curve of his jaw, "Beautiful boy." He smiled, drawing him closer to kiss, gentle and passionate, "I fear the day I lose you."
OoOoO
The rain poured down in turrets, heavy droplets bouncing off the asphalt as though the sky were placing a game of 'Jacks'. Paired with the rising winds throwing leaves like scraps of tissue paper from the trees, it was the sort of day that would have encouraged Hannibal to stay inside, enjoy a heady vintage and read by the fire, work on one of his thesis or sketch. Instead he had been forced to venture out.
As with anyone taking in a stray, even one as beautiful as the monster standing by his side, there were certain obligations that needed to be fulfilled.
Clothing was one of them. As much as Hannibal enjoyed seeing his Adam dressed in veils of nothing and his own wardrobe of layered silks, cottons and finely brushed wool, the clothing borrowed hung too loosely from his delicate frame, the excess fabric taking away from the beauty of his slender form. As a man who enjoyed his aesthetics it was a correction he wished to make sooner rather than later, especially with the growing possibility of Adam's memory loss remaining for an extended period of time. He simply needed to have a few things of his own.
It still left the cannibal curious as to what it was keeping Will repressed and allowing Adam to live, a confusion encouraged by his empathy disorder or something more. It was a curiosity Hannibal fully intended to explore when time allowed, along with Will Graham's little farm house in Wolf Trap, Virginia. He had found the location listed by his favorite tabloid journalist, the fiery haired reporter seemed to have a personal vendetta against the profiler, more than willing to feed every ounce of information she could render into manipulated words in her articles.
Hannibal had no doubt that a few of the truths listed had been taken out of context. News, honest news, didn't sell nearly as well as fiction.
"Is there a particular pattern you feel partial to?" Hannibal led the too lean man around the tailors shop, an oddly young woman with a keener eye for seams and suits than he had anticipated upon first meeting ran the small shop. Despite her age, her talent was unparalleled and Hannibal had been purchasing his suits from the youth ever since.
His angel shrugged, running his fingers over bolts of rich fabric soft and smooth beneath his fingertips as though to feel their wealth. "I don't want plaid." He said without insult toward the doctor's particular taste. Hannibal, oddly enough, could make the strange combination of plaid and paisley work to flatter his person suit, the bright bold colors hiding more of his darkness from the sheep they walked amongst as someone paired personality with clothing.
Standing in the claustrophobic shop room, too many bolts of fabric and suit styles crammed into one small place, dressed in one of Hannibal's many plaid suits, Adam felt like an alien.
Whoever he was now, or had been before, did not wear plaid suits. Possibly, did not wear suits or even own a proper suit. Whoever he had been did not purchase his clothing, any of it, from tailor shops or private boutiques. A simple enough conclusion based on his own lack of knowledge pertaining to any form of fashion or how to proceed in the expensive shops Hannibal had been directing him to. Even here in the privately owned store on the side street of a quiet neighbourhood surrounded by houses Adam felt out of place. It had taken three shops before Adam began to relax and then only with the promise of allowing Adam to select his own wardrobe.
Adam found he could appreciate some of the plainer combinations in suits and high end garments, Hannibal offering his opinion on style and shade while allowing Adam to create a style that would be unique to him. Dark pinstripes only slightly darker grey to the cloth they ran through, plain charcoals and dark blues, were his favorite. Blues in general he'd learned he enjoyed, possibly a favorite color.
Adam turned admire at the strong man behind him examining suit styles, keen eyes running the length of sleeve and thickness of lapels with a calculating look, Adam smiled as he watched.
He also knew he liked reds. The color of drying blood, deep crimson smears turning rust brown against skin or splashing onto earth to mix with the soil and color it with death.
The shade of Hannibal's eyes.
"I don't have any money." Adam reminded his keeper, more than aware of his dependence on this other monster as they shopped for something to wear. "Nor an income." He smiled, tapping two bolts he found more appealing than others as Hannibal selected a number of suits for the ex-profiler to wear.
"Nor do I expect any form of repayment." Though he would not be opposed to any sexual favors Adam may wish to share on behalf of his kindness. Smiling at the thought of full lips wrapped around his swollen cock Hannibal first held one suit and then the other against Adam's slim form. "I think a notch lapel, three button in the pinstripe." He draped one suit over his arm, "and a two button, three piece in the stone washed grey." Draping a second he replaced the rejects of his selection back on the rack. "You'll need to try these on."
Stormy eyes turned from the suits laid over arm to the man holding them, a simple request, a necessity before any expensive purchase.
He didn't want to.
Another attribute Adam wasn't sure had come from his current or former self. He didn't like shopping, spending money, or showing off clothing like a doll, though Hannibal had been more than enjoying himself in the game of dressing him up. There were already a number of bags in the trunk of the Bentley containing everything from socks, underwear and dental care to casual wear, dress shoes and sneakers.
"Try these on and we will call it a day." Hannibal promised the man eyeing the suits as though he were personally offended by them.
"Last time," Adam warned, taking the selection to follow the tailor back to a change stall where he would try them, refuse to show Hannibal and inform the killer yes or no.
Adam had stopped participating in modeling about an hour into shopping, despite Hannibal's best efforts to coax the young man out. Adam had informed the eager monster that he was more than capable of selecting clothing for himself and if he wanted to see him in them he would have to wait until Adam chose to don them. Hannibal reminded him what he graced his table with and Adam reminded him that he could read people like an open book and his empty threat was noted.
With an indifferent sound of approval mumbled through the door Hannibal placed an order for three suits while his angel was otherwise occupied. Adam could negotiate any clothing he wished to wear or discard with the exception of one.
Hannibal fought the urge to smile as he watched his Adam emerge, a nervousness touching his stomy eyes Hannibal hadn't witnessed yet as he stepped out of the changing room clad in nothing but the boxers he had lent him. "She said the pants you gave me are too big to wear while measuring, too much fabric getting in the way." The touch of shyness at his public reveal was a pleasant development to the confidence he had worn when walking the streets naked and alone only the evening before. "I can't wear them while she's taking my inseam." He quietly complained, the youth he had come to trust with all his suit needs already on one knee with a measuring tape wrapped around the skin of Will's thigh for total accuracy in what would be the perfect fit.
"That is because she is a professional, one who aims for perfection in everything that she does." Hannibal smiled at the young woman jotting numbers on a piece of paper as she took several more intimate measurements before releasing Adam to re-dress and hide his perfect form.
"You don't find it invasive?" Adam questioned as he turned from the pair, stilling to stare past walls of fabric to the tiny shop window up front.
He didn't laugh, but the crinkle of skin by his eyes suggested the monsters amusement with all the mirth that a deep chuckle might have brought. "You'll be happy to know she takes no pleasure from your nudity. She's found another woman to fill that space for her."
The seamstress glanced from her pad to the doctor as Adam dismissed his clothes to instead approach the front door, embarrassment and nakedness forgotten. "He could have worn his shirt," She shrugged, gathering the earlier indicated bolts of fabric, "I only wanted the pants."
"Adam?" Hannibal raised a pale brow, watching as his angel strolled to the front door in nothing more than the silk boxers he'd been provided and exited into the rain. "Excuse me." He didn't spare the seamstress a second glance, instead grabbing his jacket as he hurried out of the store.
He stepped out into a storm, torrents of rain poured over him, plastering his suit to his flesh with freezing water within moments, rain that felt like ice threatening to turn to sleet any moment in the sharp wind. "Adam?" He hadn't gone far, the near naked form of his lover easily seen standing across the street. He was crouching over a box, scooping something small and squirming into his arms, protecting it from the weather that froze his skin. Hannibal was there in a moment, hurrying between speeding cars to encompass his shivering angel in the warm heavy wool of his coat.
Adam was already shaking, breath hissing between chattering teeth as he pulled the equally quivering bundle tighter against him, eyes darting between the dark ball of fur and the house they stood at the stoop of. "Th-they abandoned h-im." Adam managed between chattering teeth as Hannibal guided his barefoot lover back toward the clothing shop.
"What did they abandon?" He fought to stop his own teeth from sounding, pressing his tongue between the front to keep them still as they stepped out of the cold and into the warmth of the store, his favorite tailor waiting for them with towels in hand. He would have to make a point of leaving a generous tip.
Accepting a towel, though not for himself, Adam uncurled his arms from the quivering bundle to reveal the ugliest puppy Hannibal had ever seen, wrapping the small shivering dog in the towel he had been offered instead.
It was a pug, young, no more than a couple of months if Hannibal had to guess. Its face had been mulled, turning what would have been soft rolls of skin and fur into a matted mess of torn flesh and blood, a broken eye weeping optical fluids from the left side of its face made the gruesome mess appear all the worse. "He needs a vet." Adam announced, turning to Hannibal as though assisting the dog were the most important thing in all the world.
Perhaps to a man who had only known life for two days it was.
"We will take him to the vet." Hannibal agreed, examining the flood of emotions that danced within his Adam like the storm that raged outside. There was a deep seated worry for the creature he had only just found; concern for its health and wellbeing despite having no time grow an attachment to it, and there was anger. Like lightning strikes flashing through the blue grey sky of his eyes Adam was furious with the man who had abandoned his pet to die.
His Angel of death, the beautiful man who had slaughtered so ruthlessly the night before, found wondering the streets donned in nothing but moon light and blood, had a soft spot for dogs.
"You can borrow one of the sample suits doctor Lecter," The seamstress smiled, "I'll have yours pressed by tomorrow if you want to leave it here while you take care of the dog."
"Thank you," A Generous tip and a bottle of wine.
OoOoO
The pug, a girl it turned out, would live. Though with the severity of her injuries the animal hospital had informed Hannibal they would need to hold her for a number of days and would never be able to see from her left eye again, as though Hannibal had intended to take the small furry creature home.
As it turned out, Adam did.
"How did you know the puppy was out in the storm?" Hannibal asked as carried a number of bags into the house, clothing, toiletries and the fresh produce that would be needed for that nights dinner. He would worry about arguing with Adam regarding the keeping of the dog at a later date, one close to the animal's release. If he was lucky perhaps it would contract an infection and die.
"I saw a man carrying a box out into the storm." Adam explained, as he unceremoniously dumped the bags containing his new clothing by the chair in the kitchen, "I saw him put the box down and push something back in that was trying to get out." He scowled at the thought, a memory extending beyond itself thanks to his empathy. He could almost feel the wet flesh of a crying puppy against his palm, the nipping of milk teeth as he pushed the dog back into the wet cardboard box to die.
Hannibal made a sound deep in his throat as he considered the information presented. "And you felt that it was your duty to investigate and rescue the orphaned animal?"
Adam grinned, almost laughed as he fell back into the leather chair. "I like dogs." He said simply, "I like them a lot, better than people." It was probably the first opinion he knew to be entirely of him own with no influence from others feeding into it. He knew watching the man wonder out to the street corner to abandon the box that it would either be a puppy or kitten being left out to die and in that moment it hadn't mattered to Adam which one it was, all he knew was that he wasn't going to let them. The moment he'd laid eyes on the pup curled in on itself whining in pain and cold, helpless and needy Adam realized that he liked dogs, a lot.
Especially abandoned broken ones, they were like him.
Hannibal made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat as he took note of something far more important than the well-being of a dog he would sooner see turned into gloves than want sitting on his couch.
Circling the kitchen island he crouched before the chair to take the beautiful man's face into his hands, feeling the alarming warmth of fever heated skin, the dampness sticking curls to his Adam's face revealed to be sweat. "You're sick." Hannibal announced at once, turning from his angel to gather a medical kit more fit for surgery than first aid from beneath a kitchen cupboard, withdrawing from it a thermometer.
Adam took the thin glass tub under his tongue, holding it steady as the doctor filled a glass with water and located a bottle of aspirin. He checked the thermometer, reading the thin mercury line with silent consideration before laying it to the side. "A hundred and one," he smiled, placing two small white pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "You never mentioned feeling unwell; we could have come home sooner."
"I've felt the same since you found me, maybe the rain made it worse." He dry swallowed the pilled before chasing them down with the water, "Am I in trouble now? Will you send me to bed without dinner?" he smiled as the glass was set aside, his lover taking him by the hand to help him to his feet, leading him upstairs as if he hadn't been standing on his own all day.
"Not without dinner no, but for this I'm going to need to go out again." He walked Adam to their bedroom, assisting the slightly younger man in stripping before tucking him into their bed, "A few ingredients for soup, something to help you feel better."
When he felt his forehead again Adam leaned into the touch, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of skin against his own, "Nothing as simple as soup from a can?"
"You're sick, I'm not about to poison you," the soft press of lips to his hair line seemed to be the silent dismissal of his toxic order, fingers carding through his still damp hair to smooth the strands back from his face.
"What if I like tin soup?" Adam challenged, a smile pulling the corners of his mouth in a gentle pull, he was tired, but that had more to do with the forced outing than the fever boiling under his skin.
Hannibal drew the heavy curtains cast the room under a veil of darkness, the raging storm a soothing lullaby for his angel of death. "Then you would be forced to resign yourself to a life of disappointment." A quiet laugh sounded from behind as he walked to the door on silent feet, "rest Adam, I will bring you something to eat when you wake."
He didn't see the smile that pulled full lips as he left the room, or the devious turn of stormy eyes toward the window. Hannibal was too busy already making plans for a quick trip to Wolf Trap.
OoOoO
TBC
Thank you for reading, your reviews are climbing through the window to torture puppy abusers, your favorites are playing dress up in the suit shop.