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The smell of the ocean drifted through my senses. Things weren't right... they were actually unequivocally wrong.
But I was right where I wanted to be. Right where I'd planned to be, at least.
I knew Hannibal wasn't going to be captured; maybe I hadn't known how it would happen, but I'd known that we would somehow end up here, though I’d never had a clear vision of where here was in my mind until now.
Hannibal had made this place; there was only a small voice in the back of my mind that wondered if this was where he'd intended for us to come with Abigail, before...
There was still a large part of me that blamed myself for her death; I'd betrayed him. Nightmares sometimes trickled through my mind, interlaced with the most dulcet visions of what life would have been like had I simply followed through with our plans.
Those dreams were hazy moments of blood and skin and lips and teeth, of my entire life transforming. I would have been something completely different, if I'd made a different choice, we would have both been different.
And we would have had Abigail.
I knew the past couldn't be reanimated, as much as I would have liked. All that I had was the present, and what was shaping now.
All that I had was Hannibal, standing beside me while the ocean breeze wafted over both of us and something in my mind was trying to whisper that this still felt right.
I couldn't think that way, though; I still wasn't sure what I was doing here, what I wanted to happen. I just knew that the plan had veered when Francis wrecked our vehicles and then let us drive away .
I had experienced no real hesitation to get into the car with Hannibal.
He turned after a moment and trailed into the house, and after rolling my neck and hearing it pop, I could do nothing but follow him inside.
He was unfastening the uniform that they'd forced him to wear in Baltimore. I had a moment to glimpse the scar on his back, a memento of Mason Verger. There were more scars, dancing along his broad shoulders, marring his skin and showing a roadmap to the things that had made him who and what he was.
I paused in the doorway, unsure of what to do... unsure of what he wanted me to do. Dolarhyde wasn't with us at the moment... I was sure that he would come, probably with the dark to provide him a proper ambush.
We had hours until then.
"I am going to utilize the shower; the facilities provided by Alana were less than adequate." He took a moment and looked at me over his shoulder, his brow arching and his head tilting to the side in invitation. "You look as though you could use a wash yourself, Will. There's blood on your jacket."
The jacket was dark and I couldn't see the stain, but if he said it was there, I believed him. He could probably smell it. My brows knit together and I shook my head slowly, once back and forth. "I'm fine, thank you." But my body twitched at the way he looked at me.
"Very well. Think though, Will... this could be your last night on this Earth. How would you want to spend it? Cold and alone, waiting for a presence in the dark... or..."
The or was poignant and almost sharp in the air. He glanced at me again and then turned back to the hallway. It only took a moment for me to hear a door open and close.
Cold and alone, or...
What did I want?
It felt as though I'd spent the better part of my life since I'd met Hannibal confused about that matter. I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill, if I wanted to change . I wasn't sure if I wanted him dead or alive, if I wanted to never see him or to spend every day with that penetrating gaze fixated on me. There were no answers.
I wasn't sure if I was going to get out of this situation alive. I wasn't sure that either of us were.
Maybe he was right.
In some strange way, he always was. Moralistically, Hannibal's answers were never correct, but that didn’t change their truthfulness.
I had abandoned my morals some time between intentionally consuming human flesh and getting into a car with an escaped fugitive, knowing that I had no intention of him being recaptured.
I'd known all along that this was not Jack Crawford's design. It was mine. I'd told Bedelia Du Maurier as much when I'd warned her to run; I wouldn't have given her the head start if I didn't think that Hannibal might somehow live through the escape.
Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?
"Yes." I murmured the word aloud without thought and then followed Hannibal down the hall. This was probably going to be my last night exiting as I did now, my last night as Will Graham. If ever I was going to give in to my deep-seated urges, when, if not now?
Still, there was a tremor running up my spine that I couldn't quell, and my fingers were shaking too much to boldly unbutton my shirt in a mirror of Hannibal’s confidence. I shrugged out of my jacket and left it folded neatly on the couch and walked to the door. The water was already running, steam pouring from beneath the crack and floating in the light. I knew what lay behind the handle, and my fingers were shaking too hard to grasp it.
"Will, are you coming in?" Of course, Hannibal knew I was there. And of course he would say something. Still, I teetered on the edge, something in my mind not quite clicking into place. Something not quite right.
Hannibal could sense that, too. "Come in, Will."
It wasn't a question this time, but a command, and my fingers seized the handle and turned it without hesitation. The steam hit me directly in the face, obscured my vision for a moment; when it cleared, my eyes landed on Hannibal. He stood nude and confident in front of me -- his body was taut, in shape, already half hard. The sight of him made a slight flush tinge my cheeks; his eyes searching my frame, his hands reaching out before I had a moment to think of what I was doing -- why I was doing it.
My touch may not have been nimble, but Hannibal's was expert. My shirt was unfastened and pushed from my frame within seconds, and then his fingers were trailing along the scars on my torso.
Scars that he'd given me.
"Even now, standing before me trembling and confused, you look like a Botticelli masterpiece, shaped and forged through fire and my own fingers like paint strokes." Digits trailed along my stomach, and my eyes fluttered shut. Him touching me there should have reminded me of how it felt when he gutted me.
Instead, it reminded me of the way he held my face so tenderly just before he did it, and the heartbreak that rocked through me when I realized he hadn't left when urged.
I'd wanted him safe then.
What did I want now?
I wasn't sure, but I kept my eyes closed as his fingers slid lower and found the top button of my pants.
"Don't," I said the word with no conviction, and brought my hand to his as my lids fluttered open to look at our joint fingers.
I didn't move. I didn't push him away. I couldn't even raise my eyes to meet his.
My fingers were shaking -- his were not.
"Will," Hannibal's voice seemed to run through me, and my eyes raked up his chest slowly, meeting his. They caught there, held, and I felt nearly dizzy.
My hand fell away.
He didn't break eye contact with me while he pulled the button free and slid my pants down my hips. I kicked out of my shoes and stepped out of the fabric of my jeans carefully, another trembling sigh escaping me as I stood nude in front of him -- I'd been vulnerable with him before, but this was different.
Everything was different.
"Come." His voice still held that warm command, smooth and irrefutable, as though he knew that my mind needed some kind of plausible deniability that it was my idea. I didn't hesitate when he led me beneath the steaming heat of the water.
I'd come into all of this so confidently, but I hadn't imagined something like this happening.
The hot water burned against my skin for a moment, a sting that drew a sound from the back of my throat -- Hannibal's fingers running through my hair made the sound rise and spill from the tip of my tongue in an audible noise that betrayed my silent intentions.
I could barely see him through the blur of the water spilling across my face, catching in my lashes. It took me a moment to realize that he was actually taking the time to make sure that my hair was soaked before he stretched his fingers and filled his palm with shampoo.
I couldn't stop the laugh that tore from my chest.
"Hm?" He stared at me through the water for a moment, but his fingers never stopped their motion. The softest scent of mint and something expensive rippled through my senses; of course the shampoo here would be just as exquisite as the rest of his tastes.
"This just isn't what I was expecting." I also hadn't expected my voice to sound so hoarse, or the small inkling of disturbed in the back of my stomach that caused my next words to come from my lips, "You aren't marinating me, are you?"
“No, Will. I believe we are past that danger.” His fingers brushed at the cut along my forehead -- the one that he'd left when he'd intended to eat me. That light brush made me jerk slightly, but his fingers found my hair and the motion of the pads working against my scalp brought me back to a calmer state. I led my lids close again and tried to push out the memories and thoughts of all the things that he'd done to me -- all the things that I'd tried to do to him -- and instead focus on the moment.
On the sensation of his fingers gliding through my hair, turning me so he could tilt my head and wash the lathered bubbles down the drain... and then the feel of his fingers as they slid, slick and soapy, along my chest.
We could die tonight.
We will probably die tonight.
What do you want, Will?
The words were ringing softly through my mind, my senses trying to get me to wake up while something deeper, some instinctual thing that had reacted to Hannibal all along told me to let go and give in.
I realized I was going to listen to the latter, that some part of me was intrepid in my newfound sense of abandonment of whatever life I'd lived before. I couldn't go back to that now -- I wasn't even sure if I would be able to, by the time the sun was up.
All that I could do was exist and experience.
And feel .
My gaze shifted upward, my eyes connecting with Hannibal’s. As though he could see that something in my brain had shifted, he stepped back from me slightly, held his arms down to his side as though giving me a signal that it was my move. We were playing some strange game of chess, and I had to figure it out.
I stepped forward and put my hand on his chest -- felt the slow and steady beat of his heart that hadn’t quickened in the way mine had -- and then leaned in and kissed him.
I'd always been better at checkers, anyway.
His mouth was a shock of warmth against mine, his lips soft and practiced as he moved to mirror my motion. His hand came up to my chest -- to the same place where my fingers splayed, and I knew my heartbeat was pulsing faster than his, giving away the fact that for all the confidence that I was trying to exude, there was still a part of me that was unsure about what was happening between us. I was ready to throw that part to the wind, though, because there was something about how his mouth felt against mine... something about how his lips tasted when I took in a shuddering breath. It fell into an empty place inside of me and filled it.
I'd never had a kiss like this.
I'd never felt like this.
It was like I'd been waiting for this all along.
My fingers spilled up almost of their own accord, gliding over strong shoulders; his hand moved in tandem with my own, like some strange duet. It only took me a moment to part my lips for him, to let my tongue slide almost tentatively along his lower pout. A deep sound spilled from his chest at the taste of me, and his tongue invaded my mouth with warmth and heat and need.
Whatever precaution I'd had suddenly fell to the wind, my fingers spasmed on his shoulder violently enough that I was sure my nails nearly drew blood, and both of my hands spilled around him -- one at his waist, one shifting up to brush into his slicked hair. My body pressed against his own, and I felt him give a jerk, a shiver.
Whatever this was -- whatever this moment meant -- it was right.
Our proximity seemed to break whatever cool control he'd been holding onto. His teeth suddenly set into my lower lip, a quick bite that stung. When he pulled back from the kiss to look at me, there was a smear of crimson on his lower lip.
"You bit me." My voice was dazed, thick with something.
"I know." And his voice echoed the something in mine. He stepped forward -- one hand spilled along my lower back, the other cupped my face. "And I will again." The words were a promise, scalding along every nerve in my body.
For just a moment, I stared at him wide eyed. I realized that this was it -- my last chance to back out of what was happening, my last chance to change the course and path that I was setting myself on. This didn't have to mean anything; I still didn't know what was going to happen after.
But I didn't want to worry about after.
I just wanted to feel now. Now was more than I'd felt for as long as I could remember.
"Okay." The word was ragged, but it seemed to be all the permission that he needed. His hand on my chest forced me back, and the fingers that had been cupping my face slid down, found my wrist. He pinned one hand above my head; my body worked in a twisting motion that felt like I was trying to fight his grip until I realized that it was the opposite. I'd brought my other hand up so that his larger grasp could press them both to the cool tile.
I didn't want to be in control . I just wanted to feel -- I wanted to react without analyzing the outcome.
I just wanted.
He looked over me again, arms pinned above my head, body nude and shivering slightly at the lack of hot water spilling against me... and there was something so dark and possessive in his gaze that it made a sound spill from the back of my throat. Just one -- a long, low groan that sent my head spilling back against the tile, had me closing my eyes because the look was too much. I felt like it was burning right through me.
His mouth found the pulse at my throat, his teeth setting against delicate skin again and biting hard enough to leave a mark. It made me squirm, made my wrists pull against the grip that he had. But he was strong, and I wasn't really fighting. My body rocked forward to feel his, and he stepped into me in acquiesce to my unasked request. He was warm and hard, and the hand that wasn't pinning me to the tile joined the length of his body -- he gripped my hip hard for a moment, and then slid his hand upward along my side, fingers dancing feather-light against my skin until I shivered and twitched underneath the touch.
"You are a work of art, Will. A perfect painting that deserved to be replicated and traced, observed and appreciated by my hands ." His voice was warm when he dragged his lips from the stinging wound on my neck to my ear. His teeth nipped there, too, making me hiss from the pain and pleasure of it. "Has anyone ever truly appreciated you for what you are?"
I didn't know what he wanted me to say. I didn’t know what I was, so I wasn't sure that I could say anything. My tongue felt thick, my was head spinning. "I don't..." I squirmed against him and the heat of his mouth, the quick swipe of his tongue against my jawline. "I..." and then I spilled the word that I knew he wanted to hear, a truth that was evident because no one had really made me feel like this before. "No."
"No?"
His mouth found mine, warm and hovering and echoing the soft taste of copper on his breath against my tongue. "No," I looked at him through heavy lids, and finished the sentence. "Only you."
It was always him.
The confession sent something burning through his gaze and his mouth fell on mine again. This time when he kissed me, there wasn't hesitation, or waiting for me to let him in. His tongue invaded and hungrily explored my heat. It danced against the roof of my mouth like he was writing a litany to my words. I moaned at the sensation, at the way that his body pressed forward, the roll of his hips bringing the length of him thrusting against my stomach, letting my own hard shaft work against his in turn.
"Hannibal," I gasped his name out when his mouth left mine -- I wanted to live in this moment, to forget about everything else around us. I wanted to take it all in and explore every facet of this part of me that I'd finally allowed to come out... but we didn't have that time. I wasn't sure how long it would take, but I knew the Dragon would follow us. He would find us where we were. The last thing that I wanted was to be caught in a position like this, when there was no way that I would be able to defend myself.
When I still wasn't sure what I wanted to happen to Hannibal -- if I could let him live. If I could live without him.
The two things seemed so mutually exclusive.
Instead, I rocked my body forward eagerly, my mind reeling from want and desire dancing behind my lids, and he seemed happy to comply. His fingers stretched down between us and found the evidence of my arousal trapped there.
He played my body in the same way that he played the harpsichord, and I felt my hips instantly arch at the touch. I groaned, tugged my wrists a little harder against his grip until he was forced to hold tighter.
My mind was racing, and my entire body felt like it was smouldering -- his touch trickled and set every nerve ending in my body to flame until it was all that there was; his fingers working around the length of me, a steady and demanding pump that left my body arching and trembling - my eyes closed, and it suddenly didn't matter at all where we were, where I was... who I was.
There was just this moment.
I didn't realize when we moved until the cool air sent a lance of discomfort through my body, but it didn't shock me when I felt my body being laid against a mattress, and it shocked me even less when I felt Hannibal crawl atop me.
I had a feeling that I'd had this dream before.
His fingers were warm as they played over my body, smoothing wet hair back from my face so he could focus his gaze on my features.
"Every moment living within this one, Will. Truly, for the rest of my life." His words echoed things that he'd said to me before, but I was lost in the intensity of his gaze, and the way that his hand cupped my face before slowly trailing down my body. The sheets were silken when I squirmed against them, sticking to my wet frame.
There was no turning back on what was happening -- it almost felt as though everything had been culminating and spiraling to this moment, toward us .
His hands felt right when they slid down my body, and it took me a moment to realize that he held a bottle, but only a second after that to realize what it was for. When his fingers slipped between my legs and back to press at my entrance, they were slick and warm with lubrication.
"Hannibal," I gasped his name when he teased me there, his digit testing me carefully. I hadn't done this before -- I'd never had the inclination to do something like this before. Inclinations seemed to be inconsequential here -- what I felt surpassed sexuality, attraction, or desire. It was pure and unadulterated need to be as close to him as I could. As close to him as humanly possible. How I felt here would never apply to another living person, because no one else in this world could be Hannibal. I wanted to dissolve into him, and all preference that I’d had prior didn’t matter.
What we had transcended logic and reason, and I knew that.
I'd always known that.
"Will," his tongue found my hip and licked a hot line there before his teeth set into the bone -- the pressure was enough to distract me when his finger slid inside of me, enough to make me cry out. I knew he'd left more teeth marks, drawn blood... and I didn't care. I cared about nothing but the feel of his mouth there, pressing a kiss to the marks he'd left, and the feel of his finger as it slid slowly inside of me and woke nerve endings that I hadn't even known I possessed.
He slipped further inside of me, his mouth trailing up along my body as he did so. He nipped every few inches, his teeth biting softly against my nipple and causing me to cry out. Hannibal’s tongue found the mark that he'd already left on my neck and pressed against it, bringing it to a stinging point... he only stopped when he was at my mouth, when his finger was completely inside of me. His lips brushed mine, soft and teasing and tasting of copper. I was the one who spoke first.
"More."
I didn't realize I was going to make the demand until I had, and that savage satisfaction burned in his eyes again. He worked his digit out, just as quickly thrusting back inside and sending that sharp sensation of pleasure, of flames being stoked, rippling through me again. The motion was repeated once, twice, three times. Again and again until my body was rocking against it, until my mind was reeling from it.
And again the words came from my lips, "I want more." And when he added a second finger, I gasped his name, "Hannibal."
He worked me like that for a few minutes, until my head was dizzy with it and I could feel the slickness of precum dribbling from the tip of my cock. Only when I wasn't sure if I could take much more did he pull out of me completely. His body shifted, his hands moving. I felt empty from the loss of contact, desperate to have it again -- but the head of his prick came soon enough, slicked and readied for me.
"Do you want this, Will? To feel us joined, to become one with me in a way that cannot be taken back. That can't be forgotten?"
There was such permeance in his voice, such demand and strength. I knew that he was right; I couldn't forget this. I wouldn't be able to erase this moment or what it meant. I could only look up at him and nod.
"Yes." And then again, wrapping my arms around his and gripping my fingers in his hair to draw his forehead down to mine so that my vision was drowned out in his eyes. "Yes."
He thrust forward without making me ask again, and the feel of him sheathing slowly and completely inside of me was enough to make me nearly flutter my lids. I kept them open, though, kept my gaze focused on him. On the way he was looking at me and on the way we were drowning in one another.
I couldn't breathe around it.
I couldn't think around it.
There was only that connection -- that touch that I'd been craving for what felt my whole life.
There was only us.
His body moved slowly at first, but after a few moments my hips caught the rhythm and we started to rock in a quick tandem, making the bed beneath us groan in slight protest to the motion. My hands didn't leave his, my eyes didn't close to his gaze. There was just the swelling sensation of fullness that was slowly starting to pool in my stomach and the feel of him bottoming out inside of me over and over again until it felt like he was trying to split me in half and find a home somewhere in the center of my chest.
I didn't care.
I would have left him live there, if he'd asked, becauseI wasn’t sure if I could let him live otherwise. In that moment, I would have given him anything that he wanted if he just kept going, kept moving, kept giving in a way that he'd never given before.
Everything was roaring at the feel of him stroking inside of me. He moved with an expert motion that told me knew knew exactly what he was doing when he thrust against the bundle of nerves that shot starbursts through my vision... and his hand left where it cradled at my face to slide between our bodies. His fingers found me again and he started to stroke me in perfect tandem with the motion of his hips.
It was too much for me -- too much for someone who was nearly touch-starved.
I finally felt myself lose what little control I'd still been holding on to and orgasm rushed through me in a tingling burst of pleasure that felt like it was ripping my body apart.
I wanted -- I wanted -- I wanted.
I wanted this moment to last forever; I wanted it to shatter into a thousand pieces so I could live in the infinity of them flying through the air.
I wanted him .
And it was like he could see it in my eyes, because his gaze slipped even darker and he surged forward, seized my lips with his and kissed me hard. Hannibal drank down the cries of pleasure that rippled through my throat as my tip spilled pleasure against my chest, against his.
As he spilled his heat deep inside of me and painted ownership on my soul.
There was only the spiral of lasciviousness, only the feel of his arm holding me and his mouth firm and demanding against mine. He drank down my pleasured sounds greedily, probably committed them to memory, and only stopped his motion when my body was jerking in overstimulated protest, when I felt like I was going to spill again even though I had nothing left.
Only then did he slowly lower himself to the bed, rolling me with him so that our foreheads were still touching, and he could press his lips to mine again. My mouth -- my cheeks -- my trembling eyelids -- and then my forehead.
"You belong to this moment just as much as I do. Regardless of what happens now, this will live forever." I knew that it was true. I belonged to this moment, and the only thing that would release me from it was death. His, mine… both.
His arms held me close, and I could feel his heart thundering hard for the first time where I brought my palm up to rest at his chest.
There'd been a time when I wasn't even sure if it really had a beat.
But now I realized that the only thing that made it race was me.
We had made a place in the world for us , and even if it only lasted in this moment -- even if it shattered when we left the bedroom -- it was one of the only places that I'd ever truly felt like I belonged.