Work Text:
The monster under Will's bed calls himself Hannibal. He has lived there since Will was old enough to have a bed and not a crib. He is very smart, and Will likes him very much. He protects Will's dreams, wakes him when he has nightmares. He embraces Will with shadows that black out the morning light when dawn comes, and sings soft songs that Will doesn't know.
Will doesn't know what he looks like, but he must be scary, or shy, because he refuses to reveal himself, even when Will peeks his head over the edge of his bed and tries to catch a glimpse. Maybe monsters have rules about things like that. Will doesn't know, but he knows better than to make Hannibal do something. He doesn't want to lose his friend.
Hannibal sleeps wherever Will does. Motel rooms, in the cradling hand of a boat, or at Will's house. At sleepovers, and at camp, when Will's father has to send him away one summer. Will doesn't want to go – he doesn't like people, let alone people his age. They're so much, everyone thinks so loudly, and they say he's weird, that he doesn't belong with them. Will doesn't mind isolation, but it stings when it's not something he chooses.
Still, he has his friend. No one sleeps in the same cabin as Will because they think he's weird. But this means Hannibal gets to sing to him, which always helps keep Will's nightmares at bay.
There is a counsellor, Mister Mulligan. Will immediately doesn't like him. He smiles too widely, he touches Will's shoulders too often, invading his personal bubble, sitting close to him at the campfire. Will knows too much about human nature to ignore it – he's isolated, no one would listen or care if Mister Mulligan lingered a little too long with his eyes or his hands.
He tells Hannibal about Mister Mulligan, and Hannibal doesn't answer. Still, it feels a little darker under his bed, sometimes. Like there is a great, gaping abyss below the mattress, ready to open up and swallow him whole. The thought is more comforting than Will thinks normal people would find it.
He wishes his friend would reveal himself, if only to prove he's not crazy. He doesn't think he could conjure an imaginary friend that is so intelligent and aloof, with that accent Will has never heard of and therefore cannot emulate in his imagination. But Hannibal has his reasons, and Will knows what it's like to want to keep some things to yourself.
In the end, the decision is made for him. Mister Mulligan sneaks into Will's cabin one night. It's not locked, none of the doors have locks in case someone needs to get to the kids in an emergency. Will is awake, tense and scared as he sees the big man's shadow in the doorway. Sees Mister Mulligan's dark eyes, the side of his face lit up by the full moon. He cowers into his bottom bunk, cursing himself for wanting to be close to Hannibal and therefore not sleeping on the top.
He'd be harder to reach up there, but it would also be harder to make a quick getaway.
Mister Mulligan comes in, booted steps slow and so quiet. If Will was asleep, he might not have woken up, and that thought terrifies him more than anything else. This man is so much bigger than Will, and stronger, and the thought of being yanked from his bed without warning sends an unpleasant chill down his spine.
He's certain that Mister Mulligan intends to touch him. Maybe to hurt him.
He doesn't get that far.
A shadow lunges from below Will's bed with a heavy snarl that shakes Will to his core. He sits up, and watches wide-eyed as the shadow takes shape. Hannibal is on the man in an instant, snarling and quickly drawing blood. He's big, black-skinned, antlered and clawed. His eyes are golden, his teeth savage, body skeletal like he's been starved.
Will is not afraid. How can he be, when he finally gets to see his friend, his monster, attack someone that was threatening him? That made Will so uncomfortable and distressed?
No, he looks at the raw, bloody mess Hannibal makes of Mister Mulligan, and feels relieved. Happy tears well in his eyes and he smiles so widely, unable to catch his breath.
When Hannibal is finished killing the man, when Mister Mulligan is no more than a sack of ruined meat inside his counsellor uniform, Hannibal freezes. He's partially turned away from Will, his chest, arms, legs, and face lit by the moonlight, showing a reddish hue.
He turns, and fixes Will with an unblinking golden gaze. Will gasps, and slips out of bed, approaching Hannibal without fear. Still, his hand is tentative, when he reaches out and touches Hannibal's damp arm. His skin is smooth, dry beneath the blood, but also almost…downy-soft. It reminds Will of thick winter blankets and rabbit fur.
Will smiles.
"You're beautiful," he whispers. Hannibal blinks at him, slow, like a sunning cat. Will is certain that Hannibal has been called many things, but not 'beautiful'. Will swallows, and tightens his grip just slightly. Even with how thin Hannibal is, Will is small, and his fingers barely close around his upper arm. "Are you going to go away again?"
He can't hide the vulnerability in his voice. Hannibal tilts his head, considering him. His eyes have no iris, but Will knows he's looking Will up and down. Taking in the shine of emotion, the baggy pajamas utterly swamping him because his dad insists he'll grow into them, his unkempt hair and his cheeks, which he knows have an excited flush on them.
Hannibal shakes his head.
"Good," Will breathes. "I don't want you to go."
Hannibal smiles, and gently pushes Will's hair back from his face. Will leans into it, and then takes a step closer, uncaring for the blood oozing along the floor and staining Hannibal's skin. He hugs his friend tightly around the waist, and then looks down at the body.
He bites his lower lip, flushing guiltily. "I don't want you to get into trouble," he says, looking back up at Hannibal.
Hannibal laughs, low and rough, and shakes his head again. He leans down, gently cupping Will's cheek, and places a soft kiss to Will's hair. "Do not fret, my boy," he murmurs. Will smiles. He likes being called that. Hannibal is his monster, Will is his human.
"Go back to bed," Hannibal coaxes. Will nods, and watches as Hannibal takes Mister Mulligan's body, dragging it back under Will's bed. For a moment, there is silence, then a loud sound of snapping bone, animal snarls, chewing. Will curls up and resists the urge to look, shivering as he listens to the noises of Hannibal devouring Mister Mulligan raw.
In the morning, there isn't even a bloodstain to indicate anything happened. There is no stench of death - Hannibal ate him whole, humming all the while.
Will can't remember sleeping so soundly.
He crawls from bed and crouches, peering beneath, smiling when he sees a pair of lovely golden eyes. "Thank you, Hannibal," he says brightly.
The eyes blink slowly, like a cat. A hand reaches out. Will takes it, finding that it's more solid, thicker than before. He frowns and tilts his head. Hannibal watches the wheels turn with his rounded, glowing eyes.
"Are you hungry?" he asks. "Do you eat people?"
"Yes," Hannibal replies.
Will's frown deepens. "Are you going to eat me?" -
Hannibal's grip tightens. "No," he promises. "Never, my boy."
Will swallows, and wets his lips. He thinks he hears Hannibal hiss at the sight, his long, clawed fingers brushing over Will's bare forearm. "But you need to eat," Will says, unable to hide the distress from his voice. "I don't want you to starve."
"It is the way," Hannibal replies mildly. "I would rather remain with you, than go hunting at night."
"What if I brought them to you?" Will asks. "There are lots of bad people in the world. I can bring them to where I'm sleeping. You can eat."
Hannibal lets out a noise. It is both possessive and proud, outraged and hungry. Intrigued, wild, and so utterly fond. "Will," he breathes. His touch gentles. "If you think you can. I will not see you hurt, for my sake."
Will merely smiles. "You'll protect me," he says. He knows this. Hannibal blinks at him again and Will bends down to kiss his wrist. "How often do you need to eat?"
"Not often," Hannibal assures him. "I can...tell you when." -
"Okay!" Will's smile widens. He looks to the window, to see the first hazy pinks of dawn. The breakfast bell will not ring for another hour or so. He looks back at Hannibal. "Can I sleep under there with you? Or will you come up?"
Hannibal smiles, pulling Will beneath the bed.
Will is not afraid, surrounded by darkness, held in his monster's embrace. He holds Hannibal back just as tightly, closing his eyes.
He falls asleep listening to those foreign songs and feeling gentle, clawed hands petting through his hair, Hannibal's purr pulling him under.
So it goes like that. Will returns from camp and resumes his duties as a slight nuisance under his father's feet, a nomadic child following the work. He learns how to tinker with boats, and learns how to read people better. He will not be caught off-guard like he was with Mister Mulligan. He learns how to recognize lingering touches, intent looks, too much proximity, the kinds of jokes older men shouldn't share with younger boys.
When he's old enough that his father doesn't watch him like a hawk, Will goes hunting. He doesn't need to do much; the monsters are drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Perhaps they can see the openness of his mind, the potential for companionship, or perhaps Will has just become that good at pretending to be something weak, something to hollow out and destroy.
He lets them take him to hotel rooms. To their place. Anywhere there's a bed, that's very important to his monster. He watches when Hannibal lunges for them. When he's old enough to feel things like that, childish excitement turns to heat, and hunger. Hannibal is so beautiful when he destroys, his protective nature like Will's own flame, his own heart fluttering like moth wings as he drifts ever closer.
When Will is an adult, and lives in his own home, he lives alone. He gets dogs who know not to approach his bed. They can climb on top of it, but they must never crawl beneath. Will knows Hannibal will not harm them on purpose, but they are animals. They wouldn't understand.
Will's bed is on a high frame, just enough room beneath for someone to comfortably sleep. He sleeps underneath his mattress, on the floor, on soft blankets and pillows and in his monster's embrace. He brings bad men to his home with promises of whiskey-ankles and a flutter of lashes. He hunts other monsters, human monsters, who have not earned the privilege of his adoration, his loyalty, his love.
Hannibal is well-fed, and gets stronger with every feast Will brings. More cruel, ravenous hunger replaced by natural sadism. He takes his time, now. He lets Will watch for as long as Will wants, sitting in the corner like a voyeur as his monster slaughters the lamb he brought back to their den.
Will knows he's getting hungry when his eyes glow golden in the dark. Otherwise, they are russet-brown, shades of amber, of whiskey, of sunlight during the day. Earth, wildness, monstrous things. Red, when Will can get him in just the right mood. But that gold is his favorite. The gold means Hannibal is more monster than friend, the most threatening. To test the boundaries of his self-control when he's golden-eyed could end in Will's death.
But Hannibal would never hurt him.
Will watches Hannibal drag the most recent corpse under their bed, and then crawls in after, hands and knees stained with blood. Hannibal always cleans up, there's never any trace. They will never find Hannibal, never hurt him, never take him away. If they tried to take Will away, well, even prisons have beds.
He will never be alone. He will never be isolated.
He watches his beloved monster eat, and, not for the first time, he aches. Desperately. How badly he wants to put his hands on Hannibal's jaw, to feel the strength there as he snaps bone with ease. He wants to trace every inch of his monster. His fingers, of their own accord, draw over Hannibal's sharp cheekbones, his hunched shoulders, his back. He's thick and healthy, a prime example of his species, Will is sure. He thinks nothing could compare to his monster.
Hannibal devours everything - skin, bone, organs. He leaves nothing behind. He will remove the blood from the floor while Will sleeps.
But Will is not tired.
Hannibal is always careful not to make too much of a mess on Will's little nest below his bed. It's clean, if somewhat red on the edges. Will doesn't mind. He slides to his knees and elbows on it, unable to straighten up further, and lays down on his stomach.
Hannibal purrs for him, a rumbling noise just like he only seems to make when Will is near him. When Will touches him. He does, again, shivering as Hannibal wets his lips and catches the edge of Will's thumb with his slick, warm tongue.
Hannibal stares at him, eyes no longer glowing with hunger. At least, not the kind that will be sated with fresh, raw meat in his stomach. No, this is hunger of a different kind, one that bids cover and fill, not devour. One that darkens and dulls his eyes, turns him blind and animal.
His nostrils flare.
He lowers his head and Will closes his eyes, arching his neck up to the delicate, gentle press of Hannibal's lips to his throat. Hannibal laughs lowly, his hands, big and clawed, flattening on Will's hips. Will bites his lower lip and whines as Hannibal nudges his knees apart and kneels between them. He's so big, still bigger than Will even full-grown. Hannibal's exhale, heavy and warm, burns through Will's t-shirt and makes his skin feel like it's on fire.
"Does feeding me arouse you, my boy?" he purrs, like he doesn't already know the answer. Like Will's eyes haven't gone dark, breath catching, heart racing, hand reaching down to rub feather-light between his legs when he watches Hannibal kill, for years. Since he was old enough to understand and want things like sex and could recognize what he feels as love.
"Yes," he answers anyway. He already feels close to mute and dying with need. His need for Hannibal after a kill is like a drug. Will's clothes feel too abrasive; he wants Hannibal's skin on him. He wants horns and claws and teeth.
Hannibal's claws dig into Will's flesh, through his clothes, tiny pinpricks Will knows could so easily draw blood. But Hannibal vowed to never hurt him, and he has never broken that promise.
"How did you lure this one?" Hannibal asks. His voice rumbles, bare chest flat to Will's back. Will moans weakly, pushing his hair up so Hannibal can mouth at his neck. He doesn't bite, his teeth are far too sharp to risk even a nip, but he traps skin and sucks until it bruises. Will has a collar of them, each one a meal, a night, a moment when Will showed Hannibal how much Will loves him, and Will accepted his monster's savage brand of devotion in return.
"I told him I was a teenager," Will replies, smiling when Hannibal laughs. Will is long past his teenage years, but he's still skinny and soft, his longer hair and 'pretty face' more than enough to cast the illusion. "Told him I wanted to get him into trouble."
Hannibal laughs again. "Well, you kept your promise, my boy," he purrs. He nuzzles Will's wild hair, breathes him in. "My beautiful boy."
Will loves it when Hannibal calls him that. The casual possession, the adoration dripping from his monster's savage mouth.
"Please, Hannibal," Will begs, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt is slightly too small, and it rides up, exposing his belly and his lower back. Hannibal snarls at the sight, his claws curling into the hem of Will's underwear, tugging down when Will lifts his hips.
When Will first succumbed, when desire overrode everything else, he had been afraid it would hurt. His mind had raced, wondering how sex with a monster like Hannibal would work. Equal parts terror and dizzying arousal, the first time Hannibal drew him beneath the bed and put Will on his back.
He had been sure it would hurt. The men he lured always promised it wouldn't, in that kind of voice, the kind that will say anything to spread his legs. The kind of voice people use when it most certainly will hurt, but 'No's and 'Stop's don't matter to them anymore.
The only one he's ever trusted not to make it hurt was Hannibal.
And it hadn't. Hannibal had licked him open with his long tongue, piercing Will as deeply as he was able as he played with Will's balls, making Will whimper and arch, knees knocking against the mattress support above them. Then, his fingers grew wet as he produced something slick and warm from his black skin that soothed Will's tension and make him ache so terribly. An aphrodisiac, maybe, or some kind of chemical drug meant to help Will relax and take.
It was amazing. It's always been amazing. Will whines plaintively. He finds the shallow furrows his own nails have dug into the floor, from scrabbling for purchase over the course of many nights.
Hannibal puts his wet fingers inside Will, making Will whimper and ache, desperately rutting back onto Hannibal's fingers, pleading with quiet noises and soft, half-formed cries of Hannibal's name for more, more. When Will is loose and ready, he prowls over Will and flattens himself, strong arms around Will's shoulders, cupping his throat, his jaw. Will closes his eyes and gasps, braced against the floor, knees and hips aching from bearing Hannibal's weight in the tiny space.
Hannibal tucks Will beneath him, ruts against Will until his cockhead catches, and pierces, smooth and hard. Will screams into his own hands, as it already feels like too much. He spreads his legs wider, arches as best he can. Hannibal mounts him with brutal intensity, whispering soft praise into Will's ear, petting his mouth, kissing his neck. Calls him 'beautiful' and 'cunning' and 'mine'.
Will always finishes first. He can't help himself. He whimpers and locks up, spilling onto his blankets, and Hannibal snarls, rolling them onto their sides. He holds Will to him with a crushing grip and keeps moving, pressed so close beneath Will's bed, fucking him until Will is hard and leaking again, tears in his eyes from how good it feels, how much it overwhelms him.
Hannibal plays him like an instrument of his own making - every chorus, every note, every string tugged and tweaked. His hands roam everywhere, his breathing heavy, so warm against Will's body.
Will squeezes his eyes shut as Hannibal makes him come again, trembling and weak. There must be something in the slick Hannibal produces, or maybe this is just what it's like to be with someone whose every atom is stitched against your own. Will cries out loudly as Hannibal makes him come again, and again, dry, muscles unable to clamp down as tightly, so exhausted.
Hannibal doesn't even pause, until Will goes boneless and Hannibal can truly, tenderly, completely consume him.
"My beautiful boy," Hannibal purrs, and kisses Will's rushing pulse. He holds Will tightly around his waist, and presses deep with a soft snarl. Will's breath hitches when he feels it leaking out, always so much, so he's dripping with it, ridden hard and put away wet. He loves it when Hannibal does that. He loves it when his monster claims him, with his warm, gentle hands, his low voice, his thick cock that he uses solely for the sake of making Will feel good.
Will sobs, overwhelmed, frantically pawing at Hannibal's hip to keep him inside.
Hannibal soothes him, pets his hair, wraps them in Will's blankets. "My darling boy, how I adore you," he whispers. Will's breath stutters, and he smiles tiredly.
He puts his hands over Hannibal's, resting on his sternum. "Are you still hungry?" he asks. Hannibal growls lowly, and Will's lashes flutter as he feels Hannibal twitch inside him, his slick, sensitive rim and inner muscles spasming in another aftershock.
"Always," Hannibal confesses. He shifts his weight and pulls Will tighter into the curve of his larger body, encasing Will like smoke and shadow. Will can barely breathe, drowning in Hannibal's devotion. The rest of the world is so loud, people are so loud, but Hannibal isn't. He is clarity, stillness, predators gone still to stalk. The silence of a pond of jungle where every prey animal is frozen in fear.
But Will is not Hannibal's prey. Hannibal's hand slides up Will's chest, lingering on his pounding heart, and then further, over the love bites and pressure bruises encircling Will's throat. Will tilts his head, pushes himself into it, sighs quietly when Hannibal chases him and presses flush to his back in answer.
Hannibal kisses Will's neck, beneath his ear, nuzzling into his hair, nose dragging down his nape in a way that makes Will shiver. His voice is raw, a snarl; "You bring out a hunger in me that is insatiable, my sweet boy. I could devour every living creature and still, knowing they were brought to me by your hand, ache for more." He kisses Will's pulse again, smiling when it stutters. "I would eagerly eat whatever you brought me. Anything."
His hand slides back down to lace fingers on Will's chest. Will swallows. "I'll hunt again tomorrow," he promises. He feels Hannibal smile against his neck, his large hands petting Will's flushed skin, his thundering heart only just beginning to calm.
Will tilts his head up, staring at the bottom of the mattress support.
Hannibal joins him in looking. His arms tighten. "It's safer under the bed," he says. His voice holds an edge Will has never heard before. He bites his lower lip, brow creasing. Hannibal sounds…almost scared. Is that why he never wanted to come out? Did he have a friend before, who thought they wanted to see him, and when they did, were terrified and turned him away?
Will's fingers tighten between Hannibal's. "It's safer where you are," Will replies, and smiles, closing his eyes and going lax again. "I know you'd never let anything happen to me."
"Never," Hannibal agrees. He pulls out of Will, making him whine with loss, and rolls Will onto his back. His eyes shine like amber, and he kisses Will deeply, making Will gasp and arch up again. "Never. You will never know pain, or suffering, or fear, not with me."
He says this like a wedding vow, planting each one with another kiss to Will's skin. Will bites his lower lip as he feels Hannibal's cock hardening against his leg again, sticky-wet and warm. Desire crawls up Will's spine like a slow-moving wave, eating away at his exhaustion. He can't possibly go again, it'll hurt.
But Hannibal promised he would never hurt Will. Looking into Hannibal's, his monster's, eyes, Will knows Hannibal would never hurt him. He's not like Mister Mulligan, and all those other awful predators Will lured to his belly. He touches Hannibal's sharp cheekbone and smiles when Hannibal purrs. His gaze is hungry.
His hunger is not loud, but oh God is it intense. Will looks at Hannibal and starves, like he is the emaciated thing that first lunged from beneath the bed. They devour each other so completely, and fill in turn. Will wets his lips, puts his shaking hand between his thighs, feeling how wet and open and sore he is.
Food is not the only hunger Will can sate. And it's definitely not the only hunger he brings out in Hannibal.
He spreads his legs, sucking in a breath. "Gently," he whispers, begs, as Hannibal prowls between his legs again. His voice goes high, quiet, as Hannibal leans down and kisses Will's forehead. Will cups his face, closing his eyes. "Please. I'm tired, but you can keep going if I fall asleep."
Hannibal's snarl is loud, raw. That pleased, proud, fond, ravenous noise only Will seems able to conjure in him. Hannibal kisses him, and slides back into place between Will's thighs, penetrating him once more. Will winces, and tilts his head back, gripping Hannibal's shoulders tightly as he watches the contrast of Hannibal's horns against the bottom of the mattress, and the wall above his head.
He won't fall sleep with Hannibal inside him. He never can, no matter how exhausted Hannibal makes him. His body burns too bright to let him. Will moans weakly, nails in Hannibal's back, thighs wrapped tight around him, toes brushing the bottom of his bed. The sound of Hannibal sinking into him, skin colliding, is so wet, so loud. But perfect. Will slides his hands up to grip the base of Hannibal's horns as Hannibal kisses him, desire pooling in his belly. He's not hard, but oh God, he's going to come. His ass spasms as his vision goes white behind his eyelids.
Hannibal's claws dig into Will's blankets, and then Will himself, not cutting, not hurting. He lifts Will's hips up, forces every inch of their bodies together, panting. It's so hot beneath the bed, no airflow at all. Will is dizzy and weak, limp as Hannibal uses him, crying out weakly whenever Hannibal hits somewhere sensitive, whenever he's kissed.
Hannibal works him to orgasm one more time before coming inside Will again, flooding his sore body, making him drip, soaked to the bone. It feels like he shared in the communion, his belly full of warmth. Hannibal kisses Will until his lungs burn, holding him close. It always amazes Will, how terribly Hannibal trembles when in his arms.
He pulls out and embraces Will, purring loudly as Will sighs and goes lax in his arms. He traces Hannibal's jaw, his cheekbone, his thick shoulders. He's so well-fed now. He was strong before, but now he looks powerful. He looks like something that could conquer the world.
Hannibal kisses his forehead, and smiles. "Rest, my darling boy," he murmurs. "You'll need your strength for your hunt tomorrow."
Will shivers, already imagining it. He will bring Hannibal someone big. Someone strong and scary. He'll let Hannibal prove how powerful he is, how good a protector, how wonderful a friend and mate. And Will, when it's done, will reward him on his knees, or beneath his bed like this in their little nest.
Hannibal nuzzles Will's temple, purring gently. "Rest," he coaxes again, drawing a hand down Will's spine.
Will hums sleepily. "Sing to me?"
Hannibal's smile widens. He steals one last kiss to Will's mouth, then wraps Will up in shadows once again, and sings him to sleep.