Chapter Text
Will knew rationally that he couldn’t spend the rest of his life in the bathroom. He would have to unlock the door and face Hannibal. At the very least, Hannibal would probably need to piss sometime in the next lifetime, and Will couldn’t imagine the refined killer relieving himself in the economy kitchen sink.
It's fine. Hannibal probably won't even stab me. Much.
Will knew he sounded desperate, just like he knew he had royally fucked up. He paced again, staring at his traitor hard on, still bouncing with each step.
And the evening had gone so well…
Killing Rojas had been easy. Hannibal had selected a simple target, a brute of a man who lived down a deserted road near Villa de Leyva. No one would miss him. No one would even notice he was dead until the next shipment of coke was delivered to the pack-house at the end of the month.
It was their first kill since the dragon, and Will’s skin was prickling. He had asked Hannibal to leave the plastic suits at home. The cannibal had acquiesced with a small smile.
“Do you want to see the blood in the moonlight, Will?”
“No, I just hate your shirt,” Will said with a wry smile as he jimmied the lock on Rojas’ back door.
The blood was beautiful. Will stood in front of his victim as he slashed his throat. The warm spray felt heavenly as it doused him. Hannibal uttered a small noise as he held Rojas’ spurting throat open, making Will smile, big and feral.
Hannibal guided Will’s blade as they opened up the gut, intestines hitting the floor with a wet slap. Will pulled at them, fascinated by just how much stuff could fit in the human body. He was so busy playing, he didn’t notice Hannibal fiddling with the body cavity until he heard the sharp crack.
Hannibal had ripped open Rojas’ ribs with his hands. Will forgot how to breathe. He tried to edge closer as he watched Hannibal use a blade to slice into the chest cavity. Will was so entranced by the quick, sure movements of Hannibal’s bloody hands, he didn’t notice when he stepped on a piece of small intestine, feet shooting out from under him. His fall was cushioned by a pile of cooling viscera, which squished out foul smelling goo.
He looked up, and found a pristine white cloth, held out from Hannibal’s bloody fingers.
“Would you like to help me with the lungs, Will? Or are you content to wallow in the GI tract?”
Will grinned, mopping at his face with the handkerchief.
“Show me everything.”
When the meat was harvested and immaculately packed in their cooler, Hannibal helped Will carve scales into what was left of Rojas, arranging him into a candiru and exposing him for the parasitic bottom feeder he was. It was Will’s second original design, and quite beautiful, if Hannibal was to be believed.
Caked in gore, the duo headed back to the car. Hannibal wrapped Will in a layer of plastic sheeting before letting him inside the vehicle. Normally, Will would have complained about being trussed up like leftovers, but he was still vibrating from the thrill of the blood. He watched Hannibal drive toward Bogotá. So calm, as if they were returning from a day at the beach. As if he hadn’t used the brute force of his arms to snap open Rojas’ ribs and collect his heart.
When Will closed his eyes, he could still hear the crack of bone echoing in the recesses of his mind. It was a beautiful sound that sent shivers down his spine, straight to his cock. Will was sure the throbbing between his legs was due to the thrill of the kill, not the blood droplets glistening as they trailed down Hannibal’s cheek. He shifted, trying to adjust his erection subtly. Hannibal looked straight ahead, but quirked an eyebrow, his lip curling just slightly as he drove.
Will didn’t remember getting into the apartment, or whether he had helped Hannibal store the organs in the fridge. He did remember dragging Hannibal into the bathroom of their dingy flat, drunk on adrenaline and head pleasantly thrumming. He told Hannibal to strip and get in the shower, yanking his own shirt over his head. He didn’t have a plan as he stumbled out of his pants, not really, the whole thing seemed like a drunken dare.
He had turned to find Hannibal naked, blood hardening and cracking on his chest like dried clay. When Hannibal reached for him, Will went willingly, fingers scraping trails through the crimson flakes on Hannibal’s chest. His ears buzzed, his heart clinched on every downbeat, and Will wondered if he was having a heart attack. He looked up into Hannibal’s eyes and saw the monster. The vicious, feral creature that lurked behind the aristocratic brow and sculpted cheekbones. The creature who lured Will into the darkness until there was nothing left of the empath but teeth and claws and pulsing blood.
The guttural noise that filled the small bathroom came from Will. It had to, since Hannibal’s lips were closed. He wasn’t sure how he ended up with his legs around Hannibal’s waist, if he jumped or the cannibal yanked him heavenward, but he was grateful either way as he ground his still-stiff dick into the doctor’s stomach. Hannibal's hands sunk into the meat of Will's ass, the pinch of nails deeply satisfying as Will undulated.
Will’s beast needed more. Needed release that the blood didn’t give him. He snapped at Hannibal’s lips, more of a bite than a kiss, he could hear nothing but his pulse battering his ears. He wanted to tear and consume, he wanted the oblivion he saw peaking from Hannibal’s eyes. The warm press of turgid flesh against his ass drove him further over the cliff.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
His mind was droning in time with his heart. And he had never wanted anything more than this moment, this press of flesh.
Everything shattered the second Hannibal’s hand touched his cheek. It wasn’t a hit or a scratch, the touch far too soft. Will released Hannibal’s mouth and leaned back, horrified to find the man holding him instead of the monster. The feral, blood red eyes were gone, replaced by soft maroon orbs, crinkling with pleasure. There weren’t any claws digging into Will, just gentle fingers, holding, caressing.
Hannibal pulled Will in, his bitten lips dotted with blood and soft, so soft as they tugged on the empath’s bottom lip. Will felt Hannibal settle him on the sink, watched as the cannibal brought his hands to Will’s face, reverently chasing the curls from his forehead. Hannibal’s eyes slipped closed and he leaned toward Will’s lips again.
Will shoved Hannibal with all his might, catching the killer off guard and sending him back a few steps.
“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” Will bellowed, irrational and fierce. He lunged, knocking Hannibal into the door jam. Another push and Will could slam the door and lock it. He expected Hannibal to bang on the door. He half hoped the monster would kick in the flimsy wood and take him on the chipped tile floor. But there was nothing but awful silence as Will caught his breath and felt his heartbeat return to normal.
And now, all he could do was pace and wonder how everything had gone so wrong.
He had been ready to fuck, to claw and snap and take from the monster. But the man? Will hadn’t even thought of the man. Those beautiful maroon eyes that held him with such adoration. Will couldn’t do that. Soft kisses and lingering looks were too much, too serious. He didn’t love Hannibal.
Did he?
Will moved toward the shower, something cold twisted in his gut. He kept the spray freezing, hoping to numb his brain and deflate his persistent cock. The water did little to ease his tension or the throb between his legs.
Shivering, he relented and turned the hot water on, grabbing his cock in a punishing grip. He tries the usual imagery: Molly bouncing on him as she moans, Alana and Margot groping and writhing, Hannibal tearing out Dolarhyde’s throat. He can’t quite get there.
His mind wandered: A soft hand in his curls, the light pull on his bottom lip, warm smiling eyes, arms that could easily snap a rib cage tenderly cradling his body. It doesn’t take much after that, just a few pulls and Will pitches forward choking out a small cry as he comes.
Fuck.
Will grabbed a towel and sank to the floor next to the toilet. He thought about all the easy breakfasts in their house outside of Buenos Aires. The way Hannibal stocked the bar with the cheap whiskey Will preferred and brought home a hand stitched dog bed from the market – ‘in preparation for the inevitable,’ he had claimed. The tight pressure in Will's chest whenever he pulled easy laughter from the doctor with stories of Jack’s infamous crime scene meltdowns. The silly tug Will felt every time Hannibal came home from the market, as if they had be separated for years instead of a few hours.
How had he missed this? When had Hannibal’s fussy tastes become endearing? How long had he wanted the man as well as the monster? He looked at the bathroom door, shivering as the air cooled the water dripping off his body. He was in love with Hannibal Lecter – stupidly, passionately in love. Too bad he had just attacked him in some sort of epic fit of denial.
Will had rejected Hannibal before. The first time, the doctor had opened his stomach. The second time, Hannibal had turned himself over to Jack. Will strained his ears. No sirens. No shouts from the policía as they battered down the door. Smart money was on a hurt cannibal waiting for him with tear-filled eyes and a blade. Will wasn’t afraid of the blade. He was afraid of what Hannibal would do after. What good was Achilles without Patroclus?
Covered in goosebumps and dripping into a puddle, Will sat on the floor and waited for Hannibal’s judgment.
When the door finally opened, there was daylight silhouetting Hannibal’s form. How long had he been curled up on the bathroom floor? Hannibal sat a plate of scrambled eggs and some fresh clothes just inside the door.
“I know you don’t wish to see me right now, Will,” Hannibal’s voice was soft and Will’s gut twisted for it. “But we need to leave in a few hours and I can no longer wait for you to forgive me. Please eat and change, I’ll meet you in the car.”
Will opened his mouth, to beg, cajole, offer his heart, but Hannibal was gone. He picked at the eggs, wondering how Hannibal had cleaned himself up so thoroughly. A quick scan of their bedroom and the kitchen showed that Hannibal had painstakingly cleaned the flat as well. Will threw on the clothes and sheepishly edged out into the bedroom.
Hannibal brushed past him, firmly shutting the bathroom door. Will waited on the bed, half-eaten eggs balanced on his knee. After 45 minutes, Will gave up and headed for the car. His cannibal couldn’t avoid him there.
He had almost fallen asleep when Hannibal jerked the driver’s side door open and buckled himself in.
“Hannibal,” Will’s voice sounded fragile, odd to his own ears. He reached across the console, but Hannibal recoiled.
“I’m sorry that I took advantage last night,” Hannibal started the car and kept his eyes forward. “I was so pleased to see you unleashed that I forgot myself. It won’t happen again, Will. You can trust in that.”
It didn’t sound like an apology, it sounded like a threat. Will knew the snap of a wounded animal well. He also knew that such ferocity was largely meaningless, just a fear response that would go away in time.
This was bad, but they had come back from worse. No one was bleeding. Hell, no one was even locked-up. On the grand scale of Hannibal Lecter Reactions, this was barely a blip on a very bloody radar.
Will settled his head against the window and let his eyes glaze as Colombia whizzed by. He would let Hannibal lick his wounds for now. There was no point in pushing him or his ego when they were scheduled to spend the next seven days in a car. They would get past this. Will just had to pick the right approach, one that would hopefully end with him in Hannibal’s bed and not on his plate.