His beautiful Will has been opening to him since the beginning, allowing him inside, deep inside, and while others may well think of what he has done to the man as fucking him, Hannibal sees it quite differently. All this time, when he realized it and when he didn't, he has been making love to Will Graham, making love to his mind, to his soul, to his sense of self, to what lay in his depths, to the dark beauty waiting to arise. And Will has been reciprocating, to various degrees and with various levels of awareness. At times their lovemaking has been rough, painful, left scars. But is that not an indication of the force to which they cleave to each other? Hannibal suspects (perhaps even knows) that they will be in this meta-coitus for the rest of their lives, that the culmination, that world-destroying orgasm, will be the destruction of them both. However far, it's an experience Hannibal looks forward to.
Hannibal watches Will quiver in need, sees the desire and devotion in the dark of his eyes, and Hannibal thinks of the lamb, led to slaughter, laying trustingly on the altar, vulnerable to either a gentle or a cruel hand. Will is doubtless aware of the many ways Hannibal could cause him lethal pain instead of loving pleasure, and yet he trusts him. He wants him. He loves him. And for a moment Hannibal can only gaze in wonder at the man he loves, as if he is gazing at a heartrendingly beautiful work of art.
Then slowly he presses one finger against that knot of muscle, gentle but unyielding, willing his lover to relax, to open up, to let him inside.
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Date: 2016-04-23 03:15 am (UTC)Hannibal watches Will quiver in need, sees the desire and devotion in the dark of his eyes, and Hannibal thinks of the lamb, led to slaughter, laying trustingly on the altar, vulnerable to either a gentle or a cruel hand. Will is doubtless aware of the many ways Hannibal could cause him lethal pain instead of loving pleasure, and yet he trusts him. He wants him. He loves him. And for a moment Hannibal can only gaze in wonder at the man he loves, as if he is gazing at a heartrendingly beautiful work of art.
Then slowly he presses one finger against that knot of muscle, gentle but unyielding, willing his lover to relax, to open up, to let him inside.