(no subject)

[adaptevolvebecome]

When Hannibal asks Will to come to dinner the night before they're to have their fateful meal with Jack, Will thinks maybe it's one more evening of planning, another few hours for Hannibal to be sure that Will is really ready to do what he says he will in regards to Jack's murder. As usual they talk around each other, neither one admitting anything, touching on things just enough to avoid being untruthful, never really saying anything. But the nothing they say is heavy with intent, and the moves they make are like a game for which neither of them knows the rules.

Hannibal asks about Jack, finally, and the question is framed in such a way that Will can easily deflect rather than answer directly. But even as he says what he does, about Jack's fate being preordained, he thinks that there's a part of him that could do what he's told Hannibal he can, could help Hannibal kill him. He doesn't cherish the idea of murdering Jack, doesn't imagine it will give him the rush of power he felt when he put ten bullets into Garrett Jacob Hobbs, when he nearly shot Clark Ingram in the head, when he broke Randal Tier's neck. But he's started to lose sight of where his reality ends and his deception begins.

Letting Hannibal in, giving him permission (and invitation) to be close, has given Will new insight. There's something in the vulnerability they've shared, even if some of it had been manufactured on Will's part, that makes some part of Will loathe to turn on Hannibal as was his initial design. It's not as if he's forgotten what Hannibal did to him, because he hasn't. But he's starting to understand why, to see the flesh and blood behind a man who is most certainly a monster. Hannibal can be cold and calculating and cruel, but he's passionate as well, he has the ability to be broken hearted, and the capacity for love.

Before he'd brought up Jack, Hannibal had talked about an imago, and the more Will considers it, the more he starts to realize that maybe Hannibal is hinting at something. He has in his mind his ideal for Will, a partner, Will thinks, someone he can share his intellect with, his thoughts, dark and light, someone who can and will understand him. But it makes Will wonder if Hannibal's seen through the cracks of Will's deceit, as fine as they are, if he knows betrayal awaits him when Jack arrives tomorrow night. It makes bile rise in the back of Will's throat, not because he's afraid of what Hannibal will do, but rather because the idea of hurting Hannibal in that way squeezes at his heart in a manner he never thought possible.

Will takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to wash the guilt down, but it sticks in his throat, burns in his sinuses. He can hear the intake of Hannibal's breath, ready to speak, but the words that come out of his mouth aren't what Will expects.

"We could disappear now, tonight," Hannibal suggests, his voice low and honest in a way that Will can feel vibrating in his bones. "Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."

There's a long silence then, spun out between them, and Will's instinct is to deflect again, say something that isn't a no or a yes, just words to fill the space. But, in his heart, all he wants is to agree, to leave all of this behind and run away with Hannibal, for better or worse, whatever that means. Jack would see him as a traitor, a liar, Alana would know it was weakness, giving into Hannibal's designs (because she knows exactly what that feels like), but, besides having to leave his dogs, Will has nothing to lose. He doesn't feel loyalty to the FBI, he doesn't have Jack or Alana's complete trust. He doesn't have Hannibal's either, and there's always a chance that Hannibal will kill him as soon as they get away, but Will suddenly understands that he doesn't care. This life, the one he's been pretending to live these few months, is what he wants. He's never felt more alive, has never understood himself better, than when he's with Hannibal.

"Yes," Will says quietly, his eyes meeting Hannibal's as he nods softly, his gaze clear and unburdened for the first time. "Let's go tonight. I want to," he adds, wanting his intentions to be completely understood, nothing disguised by the veil that usually hung between them.

Comments

[tablewithoutpity]

Paris is a gateway into a wider world for both of them in so many respects. Hannibal is eager to share many things about Paris (and Europe in general) that any more worldly person might enjoy introducing a less experienced friend to. But for Hannibal, and for Will, so much of the exploration will be internal, exploring each other's minds and hearts. Hannibal finds, much to his fascination, that he is almost as eager to explore his own psyche with Will as he is to explore his lover's mind. Hannibal is used to being in utter control, in remaining constant, eternal, and only revealing himself in deliberate glances. Yet now, with Will, he's feeling a sea change deep in his being. Will not only has access, he has influence, and Hannibal is curious to see how this connection, this love, might alter his very being.

Hannibal holds Will's gaze as he slowly takes a sip, then lowers it, considering his glass. "One thing I can certainly promise," he says, amused, "is that the wine is much better."

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will laughs softly, unable to help himself. One thing about Hannibal he's always appreciated is his dry sense of humor, though there was a period of time where some of it felt a great deal more macabre than it does to Will now. The man at the end of their row shifts in his sleep but doesn't stir, and Will thinks his slight outburst was quiet enough that no one else will have noticed it. And, if they did, two traveling companions sharing a laugh isn't the strangest thing in the world, even if they aren't close friends.

"I have to say," Will offers, his voice low but conversational, "I'm more than a little excited to try the wine."

Again, as with everything they say to each other, there are layers in this statement. Will does fully intend to sample French wine, imagining the enjoyment Hannibal will get from selecting the bottles and then recording Will's reactions. But he isn't only talking about wine.

Like the expanded options of grape varieties Paris has to offer, there is a whole world of experiences awaiting Will and Hannibal in France. The ones Will is most looking forward to are those they'll discover in the bedroom, but beyond that there's a consummation they haven't yet partaken, one Will's sure isn't too far off, once they're sure they've hidden themselves well enough that a Parisian or two disappearing won't immediately send the FBI to search for them. There's an excitement of anticipation in that too, separate from but just as insistent as his desire to know Hannibal's body as intimately as he can.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal gives Will an easy, comfortable smile. They are almost through this stage of their journey, when they need to be like near strangers with each other. After they have landed, after they have gone through customs, they can be overtly friendly, familiar, and Hannibal is looking forward to it.

"The French rightly pride themselves on their wine. It distills the heart of the land and the souls of the people."

Wine is itself richly symbolic. It was not for nothing that Christ's first miracle was turning water into wine, nor that the wine became his blood. Mere water is necessary for life, but wine is the art that transforms simple life into something divine. When Hannibal shares wine, when he shares food, he is offering a certain kind of elevation. And with Will, where there is truth and understanding, it is communion, a mingling of souls.

[adaptevolvebecome]

The way Hannibal describes wine is very telling to a person who knows Hannibal probably better than anyone else has before. It's an offering, a gift of the earth and of the people who grow the grapes, of time, active and aging, of hope. Will knows that grapes have different tastes dependent on the weather, the nutrients in the soil, the sun, the wind, the day they ripen and are picked. A winemaker doesn't know how his wine will turn out until he's done all the work, put his blood, sweat, and tears into the process. It's a matter of trust, of faith.

Hannibal is much like those winemakers, where Will is the final product of his work. When he'd first cultivated Will, taking him from Jack's office and transplanting him, he had no idea what kind of fruit would come to bear. Even after he'd poured his soul into Will's transformation, he hadn't known if what came out would be sweet or bitter.

It had almost gone bad, but when Hannibal finally untapped him and had the first drink, he'd found his efforts had not gone to waste. And, Will hopes, he's looking forward to a deeper taste.

"We should get a bottle when we arrive," Will suggests, thinking it will make for a good refreshment once they finally take a moment to breathe.

[tablewithoutpity]

"We may be able to find a sufficiently decent bottle in a duty-free shop at the airport. One that will serve until we have an opportunity to find a suitable shop closer to where we are staying."

Hannibal has some ideas of what sorts of shops are around the neighborhood of their apartment, but finding the finest wine is a process not aided by an internet search. It's one of the things Hannibal is looking forward to...finding the best wine, the best bread, the best cheese, the best butcher, with Will at his side, sharing with him his passion for an exquisite gustatory experience. With time that experience will, of course, involve somewhat unorthodox ingredients, but until then he feels it worth setting the stage.

"I believe the terminal has a duty-free shop right on the other side of customs. We can obtain one there." Just as in Baltimore, Hannibal has researched the terminal at de Gaulle and knows the lay-out, the shops, knows it takes ten minutes to get from the customs area to the taxi stand. An extra three or so minutes to duck in a shop and buy a bottle of wine shouldn't be a problem. And they will almost certainly appreciate having it at hand when they reach a point that their mad desires for sex have quieted.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will nods, and he can tell Hannibal knows more than he's saying aloud, keeping up the appearances of a man who may have been in Charles de Gaulle once or twice, or heard stories from colleagues who have been there. But Hannibal's not the kind of person who leaves anything to chance if he can prevent it, and he knows exactly where the shops are in relation to customs, to the gate they're likely to arrive in, to public transportation. It's comforting to know Will's in such good hands, and Will smiles a little at the thought; he's almost certain no one else who really new Hannibal would ever find him comforting.

"I'm really looking forward to getting off this plane," Will says, more banal banter, but it's absolutely true as well. "A glass of really nice wine sounds amazing right now."

Among other things, Will thinks, like being able to relax the spurious tension between them, allowing themselves little touches and gazes of affection. He's also looking forward to being in a bed, though he's fine if that comes after sex if not before it. He imagines they'll probably barely make it in the door before they start in on each other, but after they've at least tempered their desire, Will would love to share that bottle of wine in bed, drink and talk until they're both too drowsy to carry on, then sleep for hours, wake up and do it all again.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal's hands are steady and sure, bringing transformation to those in his influence, all in the pursuit of the beauty of darkness. It takes a certain aesthetic to appreciate his work, to understand the elevation of those he chooses to slay, to display, to serve and consume. Will's transformation is as one who appreciates the beauty, rather than the display of beauty.

"Luckily we'll have some time before we're expected anywhere," Hannibal says in an off-hand tone, a throw-away comment for anyone who might be listening, and a deeper one for Will. Hannibal is fairly certain that their potential pursuers won't come even close to figuring out where they've gone for some time, that they're going to be safe, free to relax and enjoy Paris and each other.

Hannibal goes quiet and nods toward the aisle, where the flight attendants are pushing the food and drink cart, offering the passengers fruit and cheese and crackers, a light meal before landing. Hannibal smiles and accepts the food, asking for a cup of coffee with it, a little bit of caffeine to keep him alert as they make their way to their sanctum sanctorum.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will's eyes take a dark, desirous edge to them with Hannibal's comment, hearing what Hannibal is saying, that they'll have a day or two at least before they'll have to be more worried about Jack or his team arriving in Paris to try to find them. It means they'll have time to see the city a little, which Will is looking forward to, having never been in Europe before. But it also means they'll be able to be lovers in the City of Lights, going to cafes and restaurants together, walking along the Seine, stealing kisses as they cross the Pont des Arts. Will has never considered himself a romantic before, but there's something about Hannibal and his brand of romance that Will finds more than a little intriguing. It will start out like this, two men learning each other's hearts, but the depth of their love will reach a place that most other people's would never go, sharing a dark, murderous bond.

He knows his expression is hungry, and he's thankful for Hannibal's silent warning, able to shake off the look in time to greet the flight attendants. He takes some food himself, and his own cup of coffee, though he barely restrains himself from ordering another whiskey, knowing he needs the stimulant effect of the caffeine to not be leveled out by the alcohol.

They eat in silence, though Will finds he's having a hard time making himself do it. Since he'd made the decision to run away with Hannibal, his appetite has seemingly been only for the man and nothing else. He manages all of the berries at least, strawberries and raspberries and blackberries, all plump and darkly colored, full of juices. They're sweet and tart in his mouth, barely washed back by the bitterness of the coffee, and he wonders if the flavor will remain long enough for Hannibal to taste it later.

It's not after that before the flight attendants collect their garbage and they're told to raise their seats and tray tables, the plane on approach to Charles de Gaulle. Will is ready to be on the ground and he feels a bit of anxiety burning in his thighs, turning his head to look out the far window as he can just start to see the ground outside, trees and fields and houses, vehicles and buildings, the sprawling landscape of Paris.

[tablewithoutpity]

They will have to be careful, not be too overly affectionate where they might be seen, not go to the same cafe, the same restaurant, the same museum, more than once, at least at first. They still should be careful not to attract too much attention, lest they raise the chances that, should Jack happen to come to Paris, his questions about two men of a certain description will evoke stories.

They will have to come up with some way to keep tabs on Jack, on Alana, on the FBI. Hannibal sends the thought to the back of his mind to ruminate.

The plane descends, and Hannibal is smiling faintly, outwardly appearing happy to be at the end of a long flight, inwardly simmering with the ever growing proximity to the moment that door to the apartment closes and he and Will can finally devour each other. He can feel the anticipation hot in the pit of his guts, warmly pulsing in his loins. Soon. Soon.

Once the plane has landed and taxied to the gate, Hannibal unbuckles his belt and rises, opening the overhead compartment and removing Will's bag first. As he hands it to him he leans in, as if off his balance and needing to brace himself on the back of the seats, so he can murmur right next to Will's ear.

"Go to a different customs agent. Meet me at the duty-free shop."

Then he straightens again, nods in apology, and takes down his own bag. Since there are so few passengers, they are off the plane relatively quickly, and being directed toward customs.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will nods once, very slightly, to let Hannibal know his message has been received. When they debark the plane they stay one after the other, but once they enter the flow of passengers heading toward customs, Will slows his pace until he's a few meters behind Hannibal, suddenly adopting the persona of a man who traveled all the way from the United States along, demeanor weary, eyes down and shoulders hunched.

Standing in line, he doesn't pay any attention to Hannibal, pretends he doesn't know him. He's too far away to hear what Hannibal tells his customs agent, but it's probably better that way, his own mind clear when he's finally called up to the counter himself. He tells the agent he's here for a conference for his university in Maryland, a small gathering of professors who are interested in doing an international exchange in criminology. He sticks with what he knows in case the agent asks questions, but she seems overworked and bored, stamps his passport without really hearing a word he says.

He strides toward the duty-free like it's just a direction he's walking in, and the noise around him not is almost all French now, peppered with a dozen other languages Will recognizes but doesn't understand. He slips into the shop and doesn't look for Hannibal, rather just heads toward the selection of liquor, knowing he'll find Hannibal there already, choosing a bottle or two of wine.

Rounding a corner, he spots Hannibal, head down reading the labels of the bottles in front of him. "See anything good?" Will asks, his tone easy but tired, easily a fellow traveler, a stranger, or maybe this man's paramour.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal has a higher probability of trouble at customs, considering he's a man with an Italian name and a pronounced accent carrying a U.S. passport. He has easy explanations in mind, of how he's been a naturalized citizen for the past twenty-five years, but they prove to be unnecessary. The customs officer doesn't get past asking why he is in France (for an academic conference), which Hannibal explains in English to hide the fact that he is fluent in French. The man stamps his passport and waves him on.

When Will catches up to him, Hannibal is scanning the wine selection. He smiles but doesn't look up. "These wines are passable. Not the lowest, nor highest qualities. Ideal for the traveler who wishes to bring home an authentic French wine while not putting an additional strain on a likely already depleted pocketbook."

He looks up then, and meets Will's eyes, and gives him a smile he couldn't give him on the plane, one suffused with the warmth of familiarity, intimacy.

"Do you prefer white or red?"

[adaptevolvebecome]

A smile spreads slowly across Will's lips at Hannibal's commentary, knowing that Hannibal is passing judgement, that he knows how to select the best wine, the most sumptuous food, the all of the most luxurious things in life. Will is more than a little pleased at being able to reap these particular rewards of his partnership with Hannibal, among so many other.

Hannibal turns his eyes up to Will's, and when their gazes lock Will feels a flare of desire, so much more open in Hannibal's expression now than he's seen since they got into the cab in Baltimore. He licks his lips.

"How about one of both?" Will suggests, a hunger in his own eyes now, the idea in his head that they'll need two bottles for the amount of time they'll spend in their flat before they're decent enough to venture out for more. He doesn't know if Hannibal has food there, but a very large part of him doesn't care, can't think of anything he needs beyond the wine and Hannibal's glorious, naked body.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal sees the hunger in Will's eyes, notes how he licks his lips. His smile widens, just slightly, his own fond gaze turning sharp with desire. He glances down at Will's lips for just a moment, then up again, locking eyes again, one eyebrow cocked in acknowledgement. The facade they had maintained in their last hour or so in Baltimore and on the plane had also served to tamp down their desire, making them control it out of necessity. Now, though, with those bonds loosened, there is little keeping them from giving in right here, right now, then the necessity of decorum, of anonymity. Hannibal cannot help but think of kissing Will here and now, but he knows that once that dam is breached nothing will keep back those waters, and they still have a taxi ride ahead of them.

Best to be expedient, then.

Hannibal quickly picks two bottles, a red and a white, and makes his way to the cashier. He pays with euros (he has been building up a supply of euros for as long as he's been building up a supply of dollars) and, bag in one hand and handle of the roller suitcase in the other, he leaves at a swift clip, trusting Will to follow.

[adaptevolvebecome]

For a moment Will is sure Hannibal's going to kiss him, right here and now in the duty-free shop just beyond customs at Charles de Gaulle. He wonders if there are cameras here, if there's a chance the footage would ever been seen by Jack, his two fugitives indulging in bottles of wine, sharing a clandestine kiss once they've touched down in Paris. But Hannibal restrains himself, if only just barely, then snaps into motion, taking the two swiftly selected bottles to the counter and paying for them like he has a train to catch.

Will has to hurry to keep up with Hannibal when he exits the terminal, headed for the taxi stand. He's breathing a little hard when he stops to stand beside Hannibal, just one person ahead of them, waiting for a car. He licks his lips again, sways slightly in Hannibal's direction, leaning in toward Hannibal's ear.

"I feel like I'll die if you don't kiss me soon," he whispers, and he knows it's a little dramatic, but he's been aching for so long, yearning, and all that's left is this one car ride, a short walk, and then they'll finally be alone. Will can practically taste it, his entire body tight with desire and anticipation, so ready, beyond ready.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal's eyes drift closed at the words as he draws in a slow breath, the scent of Will filling his lungs. He turns his head, his cheek just barely brushing Will's as he whispers back. "We'll die together." As calm as he is, he is aching inside, wanting to touch Will, to taste him, to rip off his clothes and press him to a wall and hold him helpless while he fondles him roughly, dragging moans out of his lover...

Hannibal sighs and opens his eyes again. He can feel his cock stirring in his trousers, thickening, hungry for Will's touch, to be buried in Will's ass or Will's mouth. There's nothing for it. The growing erection will not be quelled until his hunger, his lust, his need, is sated.

The taxi ahead of them pulls out, and their taxi pulls up. The driver gets out and helps them put their bags in the trunk, then they get in. Hannibal gives the driver the address of the hotel a couple blocks from the apartment, and they pull away, heading off, not nearly fast enough.

The minute they hit the highway, Hannibal reaches over, takes Will's hand, and threads their fingers together, squeezing tight.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Hannibal's reply sends a wave of love and desire through Will that he can barely withstand, and he has to close his eyes under the onslaught of Hannibal's words, the very bare brush of their faces together. Hannibal wants this just as much as Will does, is just as affected, just as desperate, and knowing it leaves Will helpless, shaken and burning from the inside out.

He takes a measured breath at the same moment Hannibal sighs, and they are so close to the culmination, so near to the end that neither of them can hold back anymore. Will is dazed and half hard as the cab arrives and the driver loads their bags, and he's sure anyone who sees him can tell how much he wants this man at his side, can see his flushed skin and thrumming pulse, can smell his undeniable desire.

In the backseat, Will can swear he feels the heat radiating off Hannibal beside him, and he's both shocked and intensely grateful that Hannibal reaches for his hand, holding onto him with a firm, desperate grip. The way their fingers are laced Will can feel the steady thumping of Hannibal's heartbeat, the sensation of Hannibal's fingers between Will's own almost too erotic to stand in this moment.

By the time the taxi drops them off at the hotel Will feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin, and he sees nothing of the architecture, pays no attention to anything that isn't Hannibal. Taking his bag in numb fingers, he can't even manage to get the strap over his shoulder, and he turns his gaze to Hannibal's face, his eyes dark and hungry, begging silently for Hannibal to lead the way home.

[tablewithoutpity]

It's just three blocks, but as torturous as it is it feels like three thousand, like they have to cross the entire width of Paris. Hannibal takes the walk at a steady clip, ignoring the discomfort of the tightness in his trousers, ignoring any looks from passersby. It's late afternoon, and the Parisians are going about their own business, as they are wont to do, so the likelihood that anyone will pay attention long enough to notice his increasingly obvious arousal is low.

When they reach the building Hannibal pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, unlocks the front entrance, and holds the door for Will. The building is from well before the time of elevators, so there's a four story climb to get to the top floor. Hannibal would take the steps two at a time were he not dragging a suitcase. Again, it feels like forever, like the staircase winds up into infinity. But finally, finally, they reach the top. Hannibal's hands are still miraculously steady as he unlocks the door, opens it, strides in just far enough to allow Will to enter. Then he drops his suitcase, sets the wine down, closes the door behind Will, grabs his lover's face, and crushes his lips to Will's.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will knows there's beautiful, amazing things around him, churches and gardens, an entire gorgeous city he's never seen before, but all he can focus on is Hannibal's back as he leads them to his apartment, his shoulders tense as he walks as quickly as he can. They're both exhausted, short on sleep, their muscles stiff from their rough coupling followed by hours of sitting in cars and on the plane, hindered by the physical expression of their building desire.

Will is envious of the steadiness of Hannibal's hands as he opens the doors between them, first the outer entrance and then the one to the flat, both of them breathing hard from the four stories worth of stairs in between, his own shaking with desperation, his legs trembling too. But he's imbued with sudden strength as soon as Hannibal shuts and locks the door between them and the world, and he catches Hannibal as he lunges, his hands catching the front of Hannibal's shirt in tight fists as Hannibal drives his back into the door, kissing him deeply, forcefully, all those hours of forced distance fueling them both.

Will growls into the kiss, yanking Hannibal impossibly closer, his mouth and lips aching already from the fierceness of their kissing. Their teeth collide, their lips and gums pinched and bruised, and Will can't control the sounds coming from him, animalistic grunting and deep, soulful moans, his entire body spilling over with desire, with lust and love and want and need, his fingers grasping at every part of Hannibal they can reach now, groping him through his clothes.

[tablewithoutpity]

Will's noises resonate deep in Hannibal's chest, and he moans in reply, a low, aching sound. He kisses hard, Will filling his senses, the taste of berries and coffee, the smell of desperate arousal, the feel of heat and tension and lust. Hannibal still maintains a relentless air of control, of not completely giving his will over to his own lust, but it's a near thing, the desire to just let go of everything vibrating in his head.

While still kissing Will deeply, Hannibal pulls back just enough so that he can unbutton Will's coat, push it from his shoulders, then grasp both sides of the front of Will's shirt and with one yank tear them apart, the buttons remaining from when he did this in Baltimore popping off and clattering to the floor. He pulls the shirt off of Will, letting it fall to the floor. Next his hands go down to Will's trousers, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his fly, and tugging down the zipper. He wants Will naked, and now.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will yelps into their kiss when Hannibal physically tears his shirt apart, and he thinks about those two buttons still on the floor in Baltimore, probably lost under a dresser, scattered to the corners of Hannibal's bedroom. He wonders if Jack will find one of them, if he'll think of it as evidence, another piece of the undeniable tableau he and Hannibal left in Hannibal's house when they fled. The memories of before collide with the present and Will groans as Hannibal strips his ruined shirt off him, then swiftly and efficiently opens his pants. Will stands on shaking legs as Hannibal kneels at his feet, unlacing his shoes, and Will braces a hand on Hannibal's shoulder as his shoes are then removed, his socks, and then the tangle of pants and boxers around his ankles, leaving him naked and hard.

When Hannibal stands again, entirely clothed in opposition to Will's nudity, Will thinks it could equate to an unequal power balance, but it doesn't feel that way. Will feels like a piece of artwork that Hannibal is admiring, one he itches to reproduce with graphite and fine paper, and Will feels heat bleed through his chest under the admiration. Licking his lips, he watches Hannibal look at him, and he wants to get Hannibal naked too, but he doesn't want to move and break the moment.

Finally, he reaches out with one hand, finds the lapel of Hannibal's coat and tugs him close, pushing the garment off decidedly but not in the same rush as before. He won't destroy Hannibal's shirt, the fine linen too strong and well made to rend the way Will's had, so he works the buttons as swiftly as he can, baring Hannibal's chest. Then he presses his hands between the halves of it, his palms finding Hannibal's chest and smoothing down it, feeling the coarse hair, strength and heat beneath it.

[tablewithoutpity]

When Hannibal is on his knees he gazes up in admiration, love and lust at his lover, so beautiful in his nakedness. He lets his gaze caress Will, from his feet slowly up to his forehead, taking in every line and curve and light and shadow. When he rises he locks his eyes on Will's and runs his fingers lightly up and down his side as Will unbuttons his shirt. He draws in a breath as Will smooths his hands down Hannibal's chest, smiling at his friend, his lover. Slowly he removes his own shirt, letting it drop forgotten behind him, and reaches up to tenderly cup Will's cheek as Will explores his chest. He finds it intriguing that things have slowed down, that their lust is manifesting not as a conflagration but rather as a slow burn. It is indicative, he feels, of the admiration, affection and love between them, that they want to fuck each other, yes, but just as strongly they want to know each other. Know each other's bodies, minds, hearts, souls.

He lets Will decide where to go from here, if he wishes to strip Hannibal the same way Hannibal stripped him, or if he has something else in mind.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will had been worried at first that Hannibal wouldn't take to the sudden change in direction, but like so many other things they fall into this exactly in sync, from desperate and rushed to slow and measured. The heat behind it hasn't dissipated in the slightest, it's only shifted in direction, and Will finds and holds Hannibal's gaze as he slips his fingers into the front of Hannibal's trousers, tugging him a few inches closer before he moves to button and unzip the fly. Hannibal's clothes are all expensive and perfectly tailored and while a part of him loves the idea of destroying that, of ripping seams and leaving come stains on dry clean only fabric, he's reverent to it now, kneeling the way Hannibal had before to take down Hannibal's pants then remove his shoes and socks, leaving Hannibal standing before him in nothing but his silk boxers, erect cock tenting the front of them, a dark spot where the tip has leaked pre-come.

He's not sure what compels him exactly, but, still on his knees, Will presses his face into the heated mass of Hannibal's genitals, his cheek rubbing at the length of Hannibal's cock through the silk. He inhales Hannibal's scent here, musky and hot, opens his mouth and turns his head to span the girth of Hannibal's cock with his lips, his saliva further dampening the material. He's never thought of sucking a man's dick before, and he's not sure he can really do it yet, but he finds he loves the way this feels, Hannibal vulnerable to him this way, one of his more sensitive parts so near to Will's teeth. Will's hands move to cup Hannibal's ass and pull him close, his mouth working over Hannibal's erection through his boxers, finding the head with his mouth and lapping the taste of him from the silk.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal gazes fondly down at his lover as Will mouths his silk-covered cock, caressing his hair gently. Were they still in frantic, aggressive mode, he might grip Will by the hair and thrust roughly into his mouth. Now, though, they are being gentle, exploring each other. Hannibal is certain that Will has never fellated another man before, so as Will is exploring Hannibal's scent, his warmth, his taste, Hannibal is watching as Will's world expands.

"You can remove my boxers," he says, his voice quiet and warm. "If you wish." He doesn't know if Will wants to deepen his exploration, or if he's using the silk to maintain a distance, however slight. Either answer would be an interesting revelation.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Hannibal is being so gentle with Will, here and now, a far cry from the way he'd handled him back in Baltimore. Will doesn't think it's that Hannibal's changed, or that his desire for Will has tempered in the slightest. This is something Hannibal has always been capable of, and he's not giving Will this space and time because he's luring him to a place where he can eventually turn the tables. It's because Hannibal wants this. He's wants to experience Will's tenderness, his careful exploration. This is all a part of Will's becoming. He's not only accepting the murderer inside him, but also the part that desires another man, that wants to experience everything that entails.

Drawing back with a rough, heated breath, Will turns his eyes up to Hannibal from where he's kneeling at Hannibal's feet, and he's like a disciple genuflecting before his savior. Raising his hands again, Will tucks his fingers in the elastic of Hannibal's waistband, carefully drawing the silk down and over Hannibal's erection, letting the boxers fall to Hannibal's feet.

Will is left at eye level with Hannibal's prick, heavy with blood and arcing up from between Hannibal's thighs. Will looks at it for a moment without touching, noting how far the foreskin has drawn back naturally with the engorgement of the shaft, the path the thick veins take along the length of it, the way Hannibal's testicles hang in his scrotum. Despite having the same genitals, Will has never spent this much time scrutinizing a penis, and he finds he likes the form of it, the heady smell, what it being in this state symbolizes.

Slowly, Will wraps a hand around the base of Hannibal's dick, sliding his loose fist from root to tip, drawing the foreskin back up to just cover the head before retreating, rolling the skin back. He does it again and again, feeling the heat, the weight of Hannibal in his hand, and then, taking a breath through his nose, he leans in and rolls his tongue over the glistening end, tasting the fluid there, feeling the soft, smooth skin. A part of him wants to see Hannibal's face, but Will can't make himself look up, just closes his eyes and takes the cap of Hannibal's cock in his mouth, licking over it before he slides back off, his lips brushing as he finally turns his eyes upward, looking at Hannibal through his eyelashes.

[tablewithoutpity]

There may well come a time when Hannibal again manipulates Will, when there will be some end that he desires, either for his own sake or for his lover, that will only be achieved with Hannibal's own brand of truthful deception. But that time is not now. He has no agenda aside from what is right here and right now, aside from this man kneeling before him like a supplicant. Will is his friend, his lover, his disciple, his creation, and this moment is as much coming into his true being as was the moment of Randall Tier's murder. Because there are no machinations, no moves to plan out in his head, Hannibal's mind is quiet of everything save this, this sensation, both physical and psychological. It's very unusual for him. The pleasure, the love, is able to bloom fully without check, and as Will explores, as his tongue runs along the tip of his cock, Hannibal closes his eyes, slowly exhaling as the warmth fills him, body and soul. When Will takes the head of his cock in his mouth Hannibal draws in a breath and opens his eyes, meeting Will's, so dark and hungry.

"My Will," he whispers, running a hand fondly over his lover's curls, caressing the side of his face. He's entirely open, entirely vulnerable, his heart as tender and exposed as his genitals, and yet there is strength in that, strength in the trust he has in this man, the trust they have in each other.