Challenge 5: What's more important - self preservation or forgiveness?
Rating: NC-17
Warning: implied cannibalism
Thanks to Gina for looking it over
What Was Lost
"It's you."
Hannibal wasn't in the least bit surprised when he heard Will saying that. Tightening his fingers around the two snifters of cognac, he stepped inside his office, and gave Will a nod.
"I've always known," Will said, paging through Hannibal's priceless copy of Larousse Gastronomique, not looking up when Hannibal stepped up to him.
"Of course you have. You're a smart boy." Hannibal offered him one of the snifters, and Will accepted it after he put the book down on Hannibal's desk. They exchanged a brief, searching look, and Will put the crystal to his lips and took a sip.
"Aren't you worried that I might have spiked it with a dash of arsenic, Will?"
Will shook his head and his lips twitched up in a smile. "No. That isn't your style."
"Isn't it?" Hannibal took a sip of his own glass, taking his time to study Will's face.
"No. You'd sooner snap my neck with your bare hands than feed me poison."
Hannibal admired Will's ability to keep his face expressionless during that statement, even though Will's eyes gleamed in a way that betrayed his insecurity.
"You know me too well," Hannibal said, caressing the side of Will's throat, sliding his fingers around the back of Will's neck. Will didn't flinch or stiffen under his touch, and again Hannibal admired him for it. But then Will's gaze darted towards the far end of the massive desk, where he'd discarded his shoulder holster and his gun earlier.
"Are you going to make a grab for your gun?" Hannibal whispered against Will's cheek, trailing his fingers through Will's short, soft hair.
Will gazed at his shoulder holster again, hesitated for a moment, and then leaned into Hannibal's touch. "No, I don't think I will."
"Remarkable boy." Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will's temple, and smiled when Will slowly closed his eyes. "So brave and so fearless. Maybe now is the time to be afraid, Will."
"I'm not afraid of you." It was barely a whisper, and Will kept his eyes closed, an unmistakable sign of trust Hannibal had not expected to ever see in Will. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already. Lord knows how many opportunities you've had to kill me since we first met, but you never did."
"Maybe I was just waiting for the right time. When you would finally discover who exactly I am."
"You knew that I knew all along. You aren't going to kill me."
It wasn't a question, but a conclusion, spoken in a steady voice without a shred of doubt. Will opened his eyes again, and for a moment Hannibal felt overwhelmed with their honesty and trust. Then Will put his glass down and slid both his arms around Hannibal's neck, pressing his face against Hannibal's chest.
"You're right, Will," Hannibal whispered, putting his own snifter away and closing his arms around the warm body against his own. "I'm not going to kill you. Not unless you give me a very good reason to do so."
"I won't," Will said, and Hannibal could hear the unspoken 'I don't want to lose you' echo in Will's soft voice. They held each other for a few moments in comfortable silence until Will raised his face and pressed his lips to Hannibal's.
It was strange to kiss Will, because in the last few minutes everything had changed, and Hannibal felt as if he was kissing Will for the first time again. The game Hannibal had started months ago because he'd simply been unable to resist the temptation that was Will Graham had ended now that the truth was out. But Will had surprised him once again by not running away or trying to apprehend him, and instead offering himself so willingly. It somehow made their kiss taste sweeter than it ever had before.
"I want you," Will whispered against Hannibal's lips. "I want everything about you." His blue eyes gleaming with unmistakable arousal, Will crushed his lips to Hannibal's again, giving him a hungry kiss, their teeth clinking before their tongues found each other. Will lowered his hands, dragging them down Hannibal's chest until they reached the waistband of Hannibal's pants.
"I want to taste you." Will dropped himself to his knees, lips moist and swollen and cheeks flushed. Hannibal could do nothing more than stare down as Will undid his zipper, slid his hand inside and slipped out his hardening prick. And then he was engulfed in familiar moist heat, and Hannibal took a sharp breath, resting one hand on Will's head and holding onto the edge of the desk with the other.
Will kept his eyes open, gaze locked with Hannibal's as he moved his mouth up and down Hannibal's cock in expert strokes. There was something about the sight of Will on his knees like this, Hannibal thought, that gave him a high bigger than playing with Will's mind had ever given him. Special Agent Graham, talented and promising, sealing a deal with the devil he was supposed to destroy, and who was now basking in the sin of it all, evil's prick sliding so smoothly inside his righteous mouth.
"Will," Hannibal breathed, tightening his fingers in Will's ruffled hair, rocking his hips leisurely. "I want you to go away with me. Europe. I'll take you to all the ancient cities, Will. Show you art and opera and life."
Smiling around his cock, Will drew back. "Yes," he said, and Hannibal felt his sac clench and his cock pulse, and he came with a sharp cry, spurting his release across Will's parted lips.
He woke with a start.
It took Hannibal a moment to come to his senses, his body still trembling with his recent climax. Automatically, he reached over to his right side, expecting to feel Will's sleeping body beside him, but he only found a bare wall. His eyes adjusted to the near darkness, and his body recognized the mattress beneath him and the blanket that covered him, which were both too thin to offer any real comfort.
His cell.
Three bare walls and a pane of armored glass.
A dream. It had only been a dream, even though the sticky mess inside his pajama bottoms was evidence that his body had been convinced of the reality of it all. Hannibal ran his hands across his face, feeling cold sweat, and then glanced up at the camera on the far side of his cell, pointed directly at him. He gave it a cheeky smile, just in case that moron Chilton happened to be an insomniac and had nothing better to do with his nights than keep an eye on his most prized prisoner.
Just a dream like he'd had too many times before. A hidden fantasy about how things should have gone, because in reality things had gone completely different, after all.
Will had panicked when he'd paged through Larousse Gastronomique. Will had reached for his gun, leaving Hannibal with no other choice than to grab the first sharp object he could find and drive it straight into his lover. He'd barely had time to aim for Will's spleen and make sure Will's death would be swift and as painless as possible.
And he had meant it when he'd told Will he regretted it came to this.
He had never wanted to kill his lover. His Will. But the thought of not having Will was unbearable, and death seemed like a more merciful alternative than having to live in a world in which Will could or would not be his.
And he did plan on taking a part of Will with him. As he whispered soothing word to Will, told him to let go and give in, Hannibal knew he would eat Will's heart, as a reminder of something that might have been, had they not lived on different sides of the law. Of life, even.
Will had almost given in, his blue eyes filled with something that Hannibal had not seen in them before. Betrayal. Hannibal didn't think he would ever be able to forget the expression on Will's dying face as he realized everything between them had been a lie.
But Hannibal had underestimated Will once again. Because Will, brave and remarkable Will, fought back at the last moment, and Hannibal became the hunted for that brief moment before Will emptied his second revolver, so cleverly strapped to his ankle, inside Hannibal's chest.
The pain that burned through his body was nothing compared to the betrayal Hannibal felt, right before darkness swallowed him whole.
When he woke again, he found himself handcuffed to a hospital bed, tubes sticking out of him, and raw surgery scars covering his chest.
"Will," he croaked, and one of the uniformed police men beside his bed turned towards him. "Will Graham. Is he...dead?"
"No," the police man said, and Hannibal managed a smile before anesthesia-induced sleep conquered his mind.
And now he was here, caged like an animal, at the mercy of a fool who thought he could dissect his mind. At least playing with Chilton kept Hannibal from getting too bored, but it was hardly a fulfilling job to keep his days occupied.
Hannibal swung his legs over the side of his decrepit bed, got up with a sigh, and stepped up to the small sink. He studied his reflection in the piece of polished metal that had to pass for a mirror, and ran his hands across his face again.
He could handle being stuck in his cell. He could handle being the subject of interest of a highly annoying and uncultured maniac like Chilton. He could even handle the knowledge that Will, his Will, had put him there, and in a way Hannibal was glad it had been Will. He wouldn't have wanted anyone else to shoot him and put him away for life.
But handling the betrayal of his own mind, the tricks his subconscious played on him when he was most vulnerable and had no control over his surroundings, were much harder to cope with.
Opening the taps, he splashed a few hands of cold water in his face, and held a towel under the stream. Glancing down, he dabbed at the mess in his bottoms. He really was too old to be having wet dreams.
He cleaned himself up as best as he could, and lay down on his bed again, not bothering to cover himself. He hated these dreams, because they kept his mind from finding rest for the continuation of the night. He knew his thoughts would drift back to that moment in his office again and again, examining every second of it, going over every possible scenario of how things could have gone, which had no use at all besides torturing himself.
Things had happened because of the choices Will had made in those split seconds when he'd unraveled the truth after all.
Turning on his side, Hannibal closed his eyes and tried to focus on other thoughts, on his life before that moment Will had picked up Larousse Gastronomique and everything he had so carefully constructed had gone to hell.
As he lay there, Hannibal realized that his mind could have played an even nastier trick on him than exposing him to this measly fantasy of how things should have gone. After all, the dreams in which Will did die in his arms always left him feeling far more betrayed than this.
~~fin~~
Warning: implied cannibalism
Thanks to Gina for looking it over
What Was Lost
"It's you."
Hannibal wasn't in the least bit surprised when he heard Will saying that. Tightening his fingers around the two snifters of cognac, he stepped inside his office, and gave Will a nod.
"I've always known," Will said, paging through Hannibal's priceless copy of Larousse Gastronomique, not looking up when Hannibal stepped up to him.
"Of course you have. You're a smart boy." Hannibal offered him one of the snifters, and Will accepted it after he put the book down on Hannibal's desk. They exchanged a brief, searching look, and Will put the crystal to his lips and took a sip.
"Aren't you worried that I might have spiked it with a dash of arsenic, Will?"
Will shook his head and his lips twitched up in a smile. "No. That isn't your style."
"Isn't it?" Hannibal took a sip of his own glass, taking his time to study Will's face.
"No. You'd sooner snap my neck with your bare hands than feed me poison."
Hannibal admired Will's ability to keep his face expressionless during that statement, even though Will's eyes gleamed in a way that betrayed his insecurity.
"You know me too well," Hannibal said, caressing the side of Will's throat, sliding his fingers around the back of Will's neck. Will didn't flinch or stiffen under his touch, and again Hannibal admired him for it. But then Will's gaze darted towards the far end of the massive desk, where he'd discarded his shoulder holster and his gun earlier.
"Are you going to make a grab for your gun?" Hannibal whispered against Will's cheek, trailing his fingers through Will's short, soft hair.
Will gazed at his shoulder holster again, hesitated for a moment, and then leaned into Hannibal's touch. "No, I don't think I will."
"Remarkable boy." Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will's temple, and smiled when Will slowly closed his eyes. "So brave and so fearless. Maybe now is the time to be afraid, Will."
"I'm not afraid of you." It was barely a whisper, and Will kept his eyes closed, an unmistakable sign of trust Hannibal had not expected to ever see in Will. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already. Lord knows how many opportunities you've had to kill me since we first met, but you never did."
"Maybe I was just waiting for the right time. When you would finally discover who exactly I am."
"You knew that I knew all along. You aren't going to kill me."
It wasn't a question, but a conclusion, spoken in a steady voice without a shred of doubt. Will opened his eyes again, and for a moment Hannibal felt overwhelmed with their honesty and trust. Then Will put his glass down and slid both his arms around Hannibal's neck, pressing his face against Hannibal's chest.
"You're right, Will," Hannibal whispered, putting his own snifter away and closing his arms around the warm body against his own. "I'm not going to kill you. Not unless you give me a very good reason to do so."
"I won't," Will said, and Hannibal could hear the unspoken 'I don't want to lose you' echo in Will's soft voice. They held each other for a few moments in comfortable silence until Will raised his face and pressed his lips to Hannibal's.
It was strange to kiss Will, because in the last few minutes everything had changed, and Hannibal felt as if he was kissing Will for the first time again. The game Hannibal had started months ago because he'd simply been unable to resist the temptation that was Will Graham had ended now that the truth was out. But Will had surprised him once again by not running away or trying to apprehend him, and instead offering himself so willingly. It somehow made their kiss taste sweeter than it ever had before.
"I want you," Will whispered against Hannibal's lips. "I want everything about you." His blue eyes gleaming with unmistakable arousal, Will crushed his lips to Hannibal's again, giving him a hungry kiss, their teeth clinking before their tongues found each other. Will lowered his hands, dragging them down Hannibal's chest until they reached the waistband of Hannibal's pants.
"I want to taste you." Will dropped himself to his knees, lips moist and swollen and cheeks flushed. Hannibal could do nothing more than stare down as Will undid his zipper, slid his hand inside and slipped out his hardening prick. And then he was engulfed in familiar moist heat, and Hannibal took a sharp breath, resting one hand on Will's head and holding onto the edge of the desk with the other.
Will kept his eyes open, gaze locked with Hannibal's as he moved his mouth up and down Hannibal's cock in expert strokes. There was something about the sight of Will on his knees like this, Hannibal thought, that gave him a high bigger than playing with Will's mind had ever given him. Special Agent Graham, talented and promising, sealing a deal with the devil he was supposed to destroy, and who was now basking in the sin of it all, evil's prick sliding so smoothly inside his righteous mouth.
"Will," Hannibal breathed, tightening his fingers in Will's ruffled hair, rocking his hips leisurely. "I want you to go away with me. Europe. I'll take you to all the ancient cities, Will. Show you art and opera and life."
Smiling around his cock, Will drew back. "Yes," he said, and Hannibal felt his sac clench and his cock pulse, and he came with a sharp cry, spurting his release across Will's parted lips.
He woke with a start.
It took Hannibal a moment to come to his senses, his body still trembling with his recent climax. Automatically, he reached over to his right side, expecting to feel Will's sleeping body beside him, but he only found a bare wall. His eyes adjusted to the near darkness, and his body recognized the mattress beneath him and the blanket that covered him, which were both too thin to offer any real comfort.
His cell.
Three bare walls and a pane of armored glass.
A dream. It had only been a dream, even though the sticky mess inside his pajama bottoms was evidence that his body had been convinced of the reality of it all. Hannibal ran his hands across his face, feeling cold sweat, and then glanced up at the camera on the far side of his cell, pointed directly at him. He gave it a cheeky smile, just in case that moron Chilton happened to be an insomniac and had nothing better to do with his nights than keep an eye on his most prized prisoner.
Just a dream like he'd had too many times before. A hidden fantasy about how things should have gone, because in reality things had gone completely different, after all.
Will had panicked when he'd paged through Larousse Gastronomique. Will had reached for his gun, leaving Hannibal with no other choice than to grab the first sharp object he could find and drive it straight into his lover. He'd barely had time to aim for Will's spleen and make sure Will's death would be swift and as painless as possible.
And he had meant it when he'd told Will he regretted it came to this.
He had never wanted to kill his lover. His Will. But the thought of not having Will was unbearable, and death seemed like a more merciful alternative than having to live in a world in which Will could or would not be his.
And he did plan on taking a part of Will with him. As he whispered soothing word to Will, told him to let go and give in, Hannibal knew he would eat Will's heart, as a reminder of something that might have been, had they not lived on different sides of the law. Of life, even.
Will had almost given in, his blue eyes filled with something that Hannibal had not seen in them before. Betrayal. Hannibal didn't think he would ever be able to forget the expression on Will's dying face as he realized everything between them had been a lie.
But Hannibal had underestimated Will once again. Because Will, brave and remarkable Will, fought back at the last moment, and Hannibal became the hunted for that brief moment before Will emptied his second revolver, so cleverly strapped to his ankle, inside Hannibal's chest.
The pain that burned through his body was nothing compared to the betrayal Hannibal felt, right before darkness swallowed him whole.
When he woke again, he found himself handcuffed to a hospital bed, tubes sticking out of him, and raw surgery scars covering his chest.
"Will," he croaked, and one of the uniformed police men beside his bed turned towards him. "Will Graham. Is he...dead?"
"No," the police man said, and Hannibal managed a smile before anesthesia-induced sleep conquered his mind.
And now he was here, caged like an animal, at the mercy of a fool who thought he could dissect his mind. At least playing with Chilton kept Hannibal from getting too bored, but it was hardly a fulfilling job to keep his days occupied.
Hannibal swung his legs over the side of his decrepit bed, got up with a sigh, and stepped up to the small sink. He studied his reflection in the piece of polished metal that had to pass for a mirror, and ran his hands across his face again.
He could handle being stuck in his cell. He could handle being the subject of interest of a highly annoying and uncultured maniac like Chilton. He could even handle the knowledge that Will, his Will, had put him there, and in a way Hannibal was glad it had been Will. He wouldn't have wanted anyone else to shoot him and put him away for life.
But handling the betrayal of his own mind, the tricks his subconscious played on him when he was most vulnerable and had no control over his surroundings, were much harder to cope with.
Opening the taps, he splashed a few hands of cold water in his face, and held a towel under the stream. Glancing down, he dabbed at the mess in his bottoms. He really was too old to be having wet dreams.
He cleaned himself up as best as he could, and lay down on his bed again, not bothering to cover himself. He hated these dreams, because they kept his mind from finding rest for the continuation of the night. He knew his thoughts would drift back to that moment in his office again and again, examining every second of it, going over every possible scenario of how things could have gone, which had no use at all besides torturing himself.
Things had happened because of the choices Will had made in those split seconds when he'd unraveled the truth after all.
Turning on his side, Hannibal closed his eyes and tried to focus on other thoughts, on his life before that moment Will had picked up Larousse Gastronomique and everything he had so carefully constructed had gone to hell.
As he lay there, Hannibal realized that his mind could have played an even nastier trick on him than exposing him to this measly fantasy of how things should have gone. After all, the dreams in which Will did die in his arms always left him feeling far more betrayed than this.
~~fin~~