It's at the same time humbling and arousing for Hannibal, Will thinks,
to be reminded of his human mortality, of the fact that he can not
only control life and death for others, but that his can be controlled
as well. Of course, as crafty and skillful as Hannibal is, his end
will only be met at the whim of a force of nature; Hannibal is an apex
predator more so than any of his human counterparts, with the noted
expression of the man at whose feet he's now sitting prostrate. If
Will isn't the one to take his life, it will only otherwise be
unyielding illness, or another such unrelenting act of God.
Will shivers at the sweet, gentle touch of Hannibal's lips against
him, and he reaches down to stroke the backs of his fingers along
Hannibal's cheek. In that moment he makes a promise, to himself, that
as long as he draws breath he won't let Hannibal succumb to a death
less than the one he deserves. If he hadn't already planned to spend
the rest of his life at Hannibal's side, Will would vow to do so now,
if only to be there to snatch Hannibal's end away from the rude,
unrepentant hands of fate. Hannibal's dark, unearthly beauty must be
shared until his body returns to dust, and Will won't allow something
as careless, and dull as cancer or heart disease to carry his paramour
from this world into the next.
Likewise he won't let this, the first time Hannibal submits as Will's
lover, to occur here in the middle of the floor. It's not that it
doesn't have its appeal, fucking on their knees like animals, taking
each other wherever they come together, unwilling to spend the seconds
required to find a more comfortable location. But Will knows there
will plenty of time (and desire) for that later. Tonight he wants
extravagance, he wants to build memories of them laid out on expensive
sheets, of collapsing heavily and sleeping deeply only to wake up and
find each other again.
Hooking his fingers at Hannibal's nape, Will urges him to stand with a
slight tug and a flick of his eyes across the room. "Come to bed," he
says, his voice husky from lust and lack of use and barely contained
patience.
no subject
It's at the same time humbling and arousing for Hannibal, Will thinks, to be reminded of his human mortality, of the fact that he can not only control life and death for others, but that his can be controlled as well. Of course, as crafty and skillful as Hannibal is, his end will only be met at the whim of a force of nature; Hannibal is an apex predator more so than any of his human counterparts, with the noted expression of the man at whose feet he's now sitting prostrate. If Will isn't the one to take his life, it will only otherwise be unyielding illness, or another such unrelenting act of God.
Will shivers at the sweet, gentle touch of Hannibal's lips against him, and he reaches down to stroke the backs of his fingers along Hannibal's cheek. In that moment he makes a promise, to himself, that as long as he draws breath he won't let Hannibal succumb to a death less than the one he deserves. If he hadn't already planned to spend the rest of his life at Hannibal's side, Will would vow to do so now, if only to be there to snatch Hannibal's end away from the rude, unrepentant hands of fate. Hannibal's dark, unearthly beauty must be shared until his body returns to dust, and Will won't allow something as careless, and dull as cancer or heart disease to carry his paramour from this world into the next.
Likewise he won't let this, the first time Hannibal submits as Will's lover, to occur here in the middle of the floor. It's not that it doesn't have its appeal, fucking on their knees like animals, taking each other wherever they come together, unwilling to spend the seconds required to find a more comfortable location. But Will knows there will plenty of time (and desire) for that later. Tonight he wants extravagance, he wants to build memories of them laid out on expensive sheets, of collapsing heavily and sleeping deeply only to wake up and find each other again.
Hooking his fingers at Hannibal's nape, Will urges him to stand with a slight tug and a flick of his eyes across the room. "Come to bed," he says, his voice husky from lust and lack of use and barely contained patience.