(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]

Hannibal doesn't know what expression Will is seeing because he's not controlling it. That seems to happen so frequently with Will in particular. Hannibal has on a number of occasions found himself unable, or unwilling, to mask his emotions when they came to Will, perhaps because those emotions had surprised him. He had not been prepared to have feelings for the man, this slight, strange, shy, fascinating man, this medium for Hannibal's masterpiece of psychological sculpture. Perhaps the first time he used Will's first name the intent was as Will suspected. And Hannibal can't say exactly when it was that the meaning of that name on his lips took on such weight, such significance. But now, that name has been broken open, revealing all the raw emotion within. And Hannibal has been broken open, and his full self laid bare for the eyes of his lover.

The two of them gasp and moan and pant out their climax together, Hannibal appreciating the ecstasy on Will's face as if he were appreciating a Michelangelo. And together they begin to sag in exhaustion. They have given up the last of their strength, and it was well spent, but it does mean that Hannibal hardly has the strength to make it back to the bedroom, and somehow doubts Will is much better off. So once he has his senses, he carefully pulls out of Will, then wraps his arms around him and pulls him along as Hannibal climbs up onto the table and lies down on his side, Will wrapped in his arms. The symbolism is, in his weary mind, quite beautiful, that the both of them have been consumed by each other.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will doesn't expect Hannibal's shift, and he's more than a little impressed that Hannibal has the strength to pull himself up onto the table, especially considering the amount of energy he just expended fucking Will out of his mind. Will feels like he's out of phase with reality, his skin damp with sweat but chilled as his heart finally begins to slow, making him a little shivery despite not really being cold. It helps immensely when Hannibal gathers him in his arms, the two of them tangled together in the center of the tabletop like a sacrifice, or the subject of a renaissance painting. The room is quiet now, still but for the sound of their heavy breathing, the heaving of their chests. A wistful part of Will's mind wishes there was some way to see what they look like from above, the image they make, flushed skin, sweat streaked hair, the mess of olive oil and Will's semen smeared between them and over the surface of the table top.

The whim doesn't last, however; despite how unforgiving the mahogany is beneath Will's shoulder and hip, the pillow of Hannibal's upper arm supports Will's head well enough, and Hannibal's even breathing is already lulling Will toward sleep. He's beyond exhausted now, they both are, drained from traveling and sex, the intensity of their feelings for each other, and Will thinks they could sleep probably in the middle of a busy highway at this point. There's a part of Will that wants to vocalize what he feels, to tell Hannibal what's in his heart, but he realizes as he tries to find the words that he doesn't have them. What he feels for this other man in intangible, unexplainable. Moreover there's no need to tell Hannibal, because it's something Hannibal already knows, the same way Will knows about Hannibal's feelings for him.

So Will let's go, allowing the warm insistence of sleep to drag him under, cast adrift into the sea of unconsciousness in the arms of the man he loves.

[tablewithoutpity]

As when they were in the throes of coitus, Hannibal again has the sensation of physical oneness with the man in his arms. He can imagine the two of them as a single creature, powerful and deadly and calm, at rest. Hannibal is deeply curious about this creature, about it's potential, about what beauty it will birth into the world in darkness and blood. The creature has been long in becoming, and yet it is still remarkable how much it has flourished in such a short amount of time. They had been so close to everything falling apart. Hannibal knows that, had the betrayal continued, completed, he likely would have killed Will. He is grateful that this is what happened instead. That his deep affection for the man could now blossom into a strong, protective love, instead of one that was wounded and cried for vengeance.

Like Will, he wishes to somehow put this love into words, to tell Will what lies in his heart, his soul, even though he's perfectly aware that Will already knows. Words are important, however, and the spoken and unspoken need not make one another unnecessary, but rather can enrich each other. So as he feels Will relaxing into sleep in his arms, he whispers in his ear, words like a prayer. Hannibal bows to no god, but to his Will he will give supplication.

"Inquietum est cor meum donec requiescat in te."

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will hears Hannibal speak, but the exact words don't really register. He knows enough Latin to hear the word 'heart', and the other syllables float around in Will's half conscious mind and eventually become sentiment just as he loses the last light of reality to sleep. He dreams about the Wendigo, black skin and sightless eyes, proud antlers reaching toward a full moon. It wanders slowly along the perimeter of Will's dream vision, barely more than a shifting in the dark, until finally it steps into the moonlight, turning its eyes on Will.

That's when it crumbles, comes apart like ash, scattered across the flat ground. From the charred black remnants a fire is born, an ember at first and then a flame, one that grows taller and hotter, warming Will's skin. He closes his eyes to the flickering and the touch becomes human, warm hands on his bare skin, tugging him in, pulling him close. He lets go, feels himself twining with Hannibal, their bodies tangled, merging, their hearts beating in unison, and then growing together, one organ feeding them both.

It's cold when Will wakes, the sun having set leaving the kitchen bathed in darkness, lit only by ambient light from the city as it filters in the window. They've shifted some in their sleep, but they're still pressed close, sharing body heat, and though Will's body is aching, and he knows Hannibal will be awake himself soon enough, he allows himself to lay still, to listen to Hannibal's breath and feel Hannibal's heart beat. The words from before filter back into his mind and he puts them together, Hannibal's restless heart finding quietness, comfort, love, in Will.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal dreams of Palermo. Of the Capella Palatina, built over the deep, dark labyrinth of catacombs, with its centuries of dead. For so long this place has been the center of his mind palace, where he could retreat to find solace, peace, yet he was always alone.

Not anymore.

The chapel is candle-lit and silent, and he and Will walk side by side. As they step onto the skull engraved in the floor, Hannibal pauses, turns to Will, takes his hand. Their eyes meet and they share a smile before turning and continuing down the aisle. They climb the steps of the chancel to the altar, where rests a golden chalice. Together they raise their joined hands, and tighten their grips, until blood begins to drip from their palms, their fingers, falling drop by drop into the chalice. When it is full they release each other's hands, and Hannibal picks up the chalice and holds it out to Will, who takes it, and slowly, reverently, drinks the blood. Their blood. He offers it back to Hannibal, who does the same, drinking the blood, his eyes drifting closed in near religious ecstasy. When he opens them again the chapel is gone, the altar is gone, what remains is Will.

Hannibal shifts as he wakes, his body noting and objecting to the cold, to the hardness of the table. Yet he is careful to not disturb his lover wrapped in his arms. He opens his eyes and sees Will awake. He smiles, and touches his cheek, running his thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Hello Will."

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will's mouth curves in a return smile before he even feels the desire to do it spread through his chest, his heart fluttering just a little in a way Will's never really experienced before. Will's body is uncomfortable, skin cold and sticky, muscles aching, still utterly exhausted, but his mind is warm and awake, caught in Hannibal's gaze. Eye contact has always been something Will's avoided unless he needed it as a gauge, to tell if a person was lying or hiding something. But Hannibal has been commanding Will's attention since nearly their first meeting, and now he doesn't want to look away, scarcely wants to blink. There's a gravity in Hannibal's eyes, one that draws Will in, and it's more than a fascination now; Will sees love in Hannibal's eyes, Hannibal's love, and Will's own reflected back.

Gaze still locked on Hannibal's, Will smiles again, just a bare quirk of his lips. "Do you have a shower here?" he asks, his palm skimming down Hannibal's side. "Or just a bathtub?"

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal knows that eye contact is not the easiest thing of Will, and he cherishes it, cherishes the trust and comfort and care that is implicit in something as simple as a gaze. He has watched Will interact with other people, with Dr. Bloom, with Jack, and has noted and observed his tendency to shy away. It's to be expected, considering the fact that Will is likely neurologically atypical. Hannibal prefers not to use convenient labels, since he finds them unhelpful, even lazy. He does note, though, that Jack in particular had on more than one occasion willfully aggravated Will's particular sensitivities. It was rude. And one of a number of reasons he had planned for the man to grace his table. Perhaps he still shall.

Hannibal answers the smile and runs his own hand down Will's side. They are cold and sticky and messy. Hannibal's muscles ache, and surely Will's do as well. Few thing are so soothing as a hot bath.

"Both, as a matter of fact. Which do you prefer? A shower or a bath?"

[adaptevolvebecome]

In general, Will finds bathing to be perfunctory. Unless he's particularly sore, his showers are quick, just a means to clean himself, nothing he indulges in. He can't remember the last time he had a bath, but he suspects he was a fairly young child at the time. Before this moment he can't recall ever wanting to take one as an adult, but the idea of laying back in the hot water, feeling it ease his abused muscles, sharing the space with Hannibal, he can't imagine choosing a shower instead.

"Bath," he replies, his eyes moving over Hannibal's face, memorizing the creases and lines, the way it shifts. "In this instance, at least," he adds. "Assuming I'll be sharing it with you."

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal smiles. "An entirely safe assumption. Somehow I think you and I will not be apart from one another for any significant amount of time for the next few days at least." It's only to be expected, Hannibal supposes, since they are in love and newly lovers. It is quite common for couples so freshly minted to cleave to one another, needful of the company of the other. And if anything, Hannibal would theorize that the two of them would be more so inclined instead of less, considering the pre-existing intensity of their relationship, as well as the watershed effect of a would-be betrayal, and a likely murder, precipitously overturned.

Hannibal leans in and brushes a kiss against Will's lips before sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the table, and standing. He stretches his sore arms, rolls his head to stretch his neck, then turns, smiles, holds out a hand.

Hannibal leads Will to the bathroom. Like the kitchen and the bedroom, the bathroom is impressively large and ornate, with a large tub and a separate glass box shower. Hannibal goes to the tub and turns on the faucet, experimenting with the water until it is just below scalding. Then he leaves it to fill as he searches the cabinets for soap.

[adaptevolvebecome]

[I'm so, so sorry this has taken so long. The end of last week was a bit nuts and I'm just now getting the chance to catch up on everything.]

Will takes a breath at Hannibal's words, and he knows they're true. The idea of being away from Hannibal, separated for any extended period of time, makes Will feel anxious, uncomfortable. It has nothing to do with the worry of what Hannibal might do, a notion that's new to Will. He's not afraid of Hannibal anymore, he's not considering the ways Hannibal is manipulating him. His desire to be close to Hannibal stems from his affection, his attraction, the shifting of his obsession. He hasn't had enough of Hannibal, not even close, and he doesn't want to be apart from him until that part of him is more completely sated.

Will doesn't hesitate to take Hannibal's hand, and though his body is aching, he feels like he walking to the bathroom in a euphoric haze. He watches Hannibal as he fills the tub with steaming water, admires the stretch and pull of Hannibal's muscles beneath his skin, and his mouth waters anew. Never in his life has Will craved another person the way he does this man, never has he felt a hunger, physical and emotional, like he does for Hannibal.

The tub fills quickly, and Will is anxious to join Hannibal in it, to feel Hannibal's skin, to bathe and relax and be close. He's exhausted, bone tired, but the image of Will taking Hannibal in the water comes unbidden, splitting his thighs and straddling Hannibal's hips, moving until the blunt head of Hannibal's cock presses against him and then in in in, deep and thick. They probably won't fuck now, they're both too worn out for it, but the fact that Will thinks of it, wants it, is new to him, telling and wonderful.

Sitting on the rim of the tub, Will drags his fingers through the water, the heat causing goosebumps to rise on his arm before they settle again. He turns his eyes up to Hannibal, waiting for direction, to see how Hannibal wants them to arrange themselves in the bath.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal's own visions are in some ways similar, imagining them moving together, their bodies smooth and slippery in the water, Will in Hannibal's lap, Hannibal inside him, holding him close and gently rolling his hips, the two of them rising and falling together in a slow, almost sleepy rhythm. Then the speed increases, and as their pleasure mounts, the water around them turns red, and Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, captures his lips in a searing kiss, and pulls him under, the water turned blood swallowing them with barely a ripple.

Hannibal smiles at the thought.

The soap is in a cabinet with a few other bathing necessities, and when Hannibal returns to the tub he's carrying soap, shampoo, wash cloths, and towels. He sets them aside and turns off the water, then climbs into the tub, eases himself down into the water and lies back. The water is hot and feels wonderful on his skin and weary muscles, and he sighs in contentment, then holds a hand out for Will.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will watches Hannibal's face, sees the wistful smile, and wonders what thought just crossed Hannibal's mind, if it's anything like the ones that keep coming to Will's. One thing Will does know, however, is that the smile is for him, a gift to let him know that the thoughts involve him, that Hannibal finds them pleasing.

Will's return smile is soft, barely there but enough for Hannibal to see, to feel the contentment behind it. Will watches Hannibal as he moves to climb into the steamy water, the long lines of his body moving and stretching gracefully despite how sore he must be, fluid and lithe as he breaks the surface of the water and lowers himself down to rest back, recumbent. Will takes his hand again without hesitation, and despite his desire to mirror Hannibal's easy dexterity, he fumbles a bit when he steps in himself, owing his not falling entirely to Hannibal's sure grip.

Will stands for a moment, knee deep in the water as he contemplates how he should arrange himself, his back to Hannibal's front or face to face. Each has their benefits and determents, but for the moment Will opts for relaxation, turning to face away from Hannibal and sit down carefully between his splayed thighs, leaning back until his back encounters Hannibal's broad chest.

Will's not tiny by any stretch of the imagination, but he's smaller than Hannibal and they fit this way remarkably well as long as Will tilts his head so Hannibal's chin will clear Will's shoulder. Will's arms are heavy in his own lap as he relaxes back, closing his eyes and letting his neck release, Hannibal's shoulder bearing the weight of Will's head. Will can feel Hannibal's heart beating against his spine and the rise and fall of Hannibal's breath rocks Will gently, forward and back. The water's warm as is Hannibal's body and Will feels himself sagging already, sure he could sleep if he let himself. But they're here to bathe, and sleep will come again soon enough, so Will merely indulges in the way their bodies align, takes a few moments to just be still together and feel each other exist.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal's grip on Will's hand goes tight as Will nearly falls, and he reaches out with his other hand to steady his friend. Once he's safely in the tub, Hannibal makes room for his lover, spreading his thighs further, leaning his head to the side to welcome Will's head on his shoulder. Once Will is settled, Hannibal wraps one arm around his waist and settles the other hand on Will's head, and sighs in contentment, contemplating how truly happy Will's mere existence makes him. It's all the more remarkable considering the number of times that Hannibal has attempted to end that existence, and that Will has likewise attempted to end Hannibal's. It is truly Providence that neither of them have succeeded, and Hannibal imagines there to be significance to that. The idea that they were somehow made for each other is one that a cynical man might consider overly romantic pablum. Hannibal, however, is not a cynical man. And while he is not a man to bow to a higher power, he can still recognize the hand of Fate. Their lives are woven together now, and while either of them might wield the shears of Atropos, they cannot cut off the life of the other without cutting short their own.

Hannibal turns his head to bury his face into Will's hair, closing his eyes, breathing in deep, drinking up everything about his beloved, his scent, his touch, his warmth, the beat of his heart and the twitch of his blood in his veins. He can feel his own heart increasing speed just slightly, just enough to beat in unison with Will's, as his breath also shifts to join the rhythm of his lover's.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will has never felt more safe in his entire life than he does right now, held deep in a bath full of hot water and the tight in the embrace of a man he knows very well (very intimately) is a serial murderer and a cannibal. Hannibal has even tried to kill him before, though, so far, never with his own hands; still, despite how easily he could do it right now, wrap a firm hand around Will's throat or shift to snap his neck, could pull a concealed weapon and cut any number of large arteries, filling the tub with the hot flow of Will's lifeblood, Will knows he won't, not now, not for a long time to come. They have an path before them now, one that, for the foreseeable future, has no end, just twists and turns that they will follow together.

In addition to that, Will has made a decision to give Hannibal anything he asks for, has already given Hannibal everything he has: his trust, his loyalty, his heart, his body, and his life. He wants Hannibal to have it, he needs it, and he hopes Hannibal won't ask for Will's last breath until he's ready to breathe his own.

Sighing, Will reaches back carefully to cup Hannibal's head, his fingers smoothing over Hannibal's fine hair and down onto the back of Hannibal's neck. His fingertips press into Hannibal's cervical spine for a moment, the tension telling Hannibal all of those things he hasn't found the words to say before he lets his hand drop away back into the water.

"What will we do tomorrow?" Will asks softly, still relaxing, eyes closed and body heavy in Hannibal's arms.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal draws a slow breath as Will's fingers press into his spine, the affection intended perfectly clear. Hannibal has always appreciated the affection of others, but as one might appreciate the affection of a pet, or, perhaps more accurately, of a farm animal one is tasked to care for. A cow can be pleasantly affectionate to the farmer, but the farmer will still slaughter it when the time comes. And perhaps Hannibal will do the same with Will. However, the affection he is receiving from his friend feels different. Will is not merely a dog performing tricks on command, nor a livestock animal whose ultimate purpose is to nourish with his death. He's an equal, yes, but he is also something infinitely precious. Hannibal cannot imagine that his life would be anything but impoverished without Will in it, that the world would be anything but less beautiful. And the fact that there is a reciprocity there, that perhaps Will feels the same, is just as precious, just as beautiful. Just as vital to Hannibal's life now.

When Will relaxes against him, Hannibal smiles and reaches for the soap and a washcloth, careful not to jostle him. "There are a number of options," he says, dipping the washcloth into the water. "We could spend the day exploring the city. Or we could focus on stocking the pantry." He rubs the wet washcloth against the soap, working up a lather. "Or, we could stay here. Rest. And explore each other."

He puts the soap aside, and begins to gently wash Will's chest.

"Do you have a preference?"

[adaptevolvebecome]

There's an appeal to all of the things Hannibal suggests, and Will lets himself contemplate each option as he enjoys the feeling of Hannibal bathing him, soft circles of the cloth over Will's skin. Will's never been to Europe before this, never been to Paris, and there's certainly a yen in him to see the sites, the architecture, the monuments, to eat the food and observe the people. Stocking the pantry is a more immediate requirement because they'll need at least the basics to be comfortable, food and wine, though Will wonders if Hannibal means to buy meat at a boucherie, or do the butchering himself.

It's probably too soon for that, hunting here in Paris. They've only been missing from home for a day and half, and Will's certain Jack's eyes and ears are focused on Europe. But Will knows Hannibal won't be put off for long, and he's surprised that he finds himself glad of it. Taking down a mark together is the next step in their deepening intimacy, and though there's still a part of Will that recoils at the idea, more of him desires to be part of it with every passing moment in Hannibal's company.

Hannibal's hand has moved over every inch of Will's chest that he can reach, the rubbing of the cloth leaving Will's skin tingling just a little, warm and soapy. There's no reason for Hannibal's hand to be sliding back and forth now, but it is, a slow, fond motion despite the barrier between their skin. Will's realizes belatedly that he's fallen into a low level of arousal from the touch, his nipples drawn up hard and his pulse rushing a bit in his throat, just enough blood pooled between his thighs to make his cock swell to half an erection. He licks his lips, tipping his head back further than he had before, baring his fluttering carotid to Hannibal's gaze.

"Will you think less of me if I choose option three?" Will asks, tilting his head enough that he can open his eyes to a slit and see Hannibal's face in his peripheral.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal wonders if Will exposed his carotid so that Hannibal knew that his pulse was quickening, a sure sign of increasing arousal. Surely Will knows that Hannibal can feel it in every inch of his lover's body pressed to his, as aware of his lover's heartbeat as he is of his own. Regardless, the sight of the skin twitching above the rush of blood is lovely, and Hannibal smiles, then lowers his head to press a slow kiss right at the pulse point, bringing it to a finish by parting his lips and dragging his teeth over the skin.

Will's response draws a quiet laugh. "Not in the slightest. We may wish to visit a local grocer's at some point tomorrow regardless, but we can certainly spend the bulk of the day resting. With nothing to distract us from each other."

One of Hannibal's hands dips below the water and begins to slowly stroke Will's thigh. "I would certainly appreciate the opportunity to drink you in. As if you were a fine painting in a museum. I want to examine every brushstroke."

[adaptevolvebecome]

The kiss isn't exactly expected, but it was certainly hoped for, and Will bites his lower lip when Hannibal's teeth drag over his sensitive skin, stretched tight and thin over his throbbing artery. He doesn't want to die, doesn't want this beautiful new life to end anytime soon, but the thought of Hannibal biting down, piercing his skin and spilling his blood, tasting it, makes Will shiver. He knows Hannibal can feel it, can detect every shift in Will's body, no matter how minute, so Will doesn't bother to hide any reaction, wanting Hannibal to know how genuine his desire for this, their life together, is.

Will's breath rushes out of him in a soft sigh of pleasure when Hannibal's hand moves to touch his thigh, the muscles tightening for a moment as his body reacts. Never in his life has Will been so sexually insatiable, so wanton, and he should probably be ashamed of how quickly and easily Hannibal's touch arouses him, but, at the moment, he can't be bothered.

"So you can recreate me?" Will asks in response when Hannibal voices his desires, and Will pushes his head back a little more so he can see Hannibal's face a little. "All my imperfections and flaws," he adds, his body moving to chase Hannibal's touch, craving more like a drug. "All the marks you left on me when you made me?"

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal enjoys greatly how Will is responding to his touch, both because it satisfies that love of control, but also because Hannibal enjoys pleasing people, and enjoys pleasing Will most of all. He has found himself on multiple occasions sharing food, or violence, with Will, and finding it truly warming when Will enjoys what Hannibal has shared. There is much to come, of course; Hannibal in particular is looking forward to the hunt, to prowling the streets of Paris with Will at his side, choosing a deserving victim, and from thence filling their larder with hand-butchered cuts. But until then, he revels in his lover's yearning movements as Hannibal's fingers trail along Will's leg, then over Will's stomach, then up his side. Hannibal is certain that if his hand were to travel between Will's legs it would find Will's cock hard or hardening. But he doesn't, not yet, better to whet his appetite so that satisfaction, when it comes, is all the sweeter.

Will's acknowledgement of Hannibal's creative influence on him is likewise gratifying. He smiles. "'I saw the angel in the marble,'" he says, voice soft and low. "'And carved until I set him free.'" He lifts a hand to gently take Will's chin. "Michelangelo. I could not hope to recreate you. Whatsoever I may have had a hand in, the truth remains that you were always within the marble. I merely set you free."

He leans in and kisses Will softly.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Hannibal's touch is both careless and deliberate, the path aimless aside from specifically avoiding Will's groin, and Will doesn't find himself feeling impatient or anxious for a more direct touch. On the contrary, feeling Hannibal's fingertips (lightly calloused in a way that Will wouldn't have guessed they'd be before he knew Hannibal and his proclivities more intimately) trailing over his skin only serves to heighten his desire. Sex for Will has always been so much more detached before now, the connection so benign. But Will feels like he's part of Hannibal, their connection going so much deeper than just physical, deeper even than love. Hannibal's easy touch, the way his fingers ghost up Will's side, does more for Will than any of the sex he's had with anyone else. His entire body is trembling with arousal, hard and eager like Hannibal hadn't thoroughly fucked him only a few hours ago.

And then there are Hannibal's words. There's a seduction in them, in the resonance of Hannibal's voice, but it isn't because Hannibal's being at all disingenuous to get something out of Will; rather it's Hannibal's sincerity that turns Will on, the fact that Hannibal doesn't have to lie or manipulate to have Will where he wants him, not anymore. Hannibal, as the sculptor, and Will, as his creation, are exactly what they're meant to be. No one but Hannibal could have unlocked Will from the marble, and likewise his ministrations on any other material would never have yielded Will.

The kiss is equal parts electric and tender, Will twisted just enough that their mouths can meet fully. It's shallow but warm, lingering but not hard or aggressive. It's a kiss shared by lovers, by people who love as much (or more) than they desire. But the angle isn't good enough for Will and he shifts carefully, turning to rest on one hip and then even further to kneel between Hannibal's thighs, putting them face to face. The kiss, only barely broken as Will moved, goes on in this new arrangement, but Will's hands lift to palm Hannibal's jaw, holding him as the kiss deepens by a fraction, just the slotting of their lips together.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal hums low and wraps one arm around Will's waist and settles the other hand on the back of his head, holding his lover close as he kisses him back. His own body is singing with desire and want, his hunger for Will, for his touch and his taste and his body, as intense as if they had not so recently vigorously fucked each other. Hannibal is hedonistic, yet not a glutton...he addresses his appetites with quality, not quantity, to satiety and not beyond. It is strange, then, for him to not be sated. For this hunger to still burn deep in the pit of his gut. He wonders if he will ever feel that he's had his fill of this man, or if he will carry that low-level hunger for Will for the rest of his life. He's quite curious to find out.

Still cradling Will's head as they kiss, Hannibal lets the other hand move down and find Will's ass. He cups it, enjoying the firmness, the curve and tuck. He pulls Will's hips closer, so that Will's cock slides against his own, just as hard and eager.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will has a tendency to be impatient, in a hurry to move on to what's next, to get things over with. Sex before Hannibal was absolutely one of those situations where Will wasn't interested in spending much time, rushing to the conclusion as quickly as his partner would allow. Here with Hannibal, kissing leisurely, warm and close but neither of them being driven by desperation, Will realizes he could do this for hours, just kiss and touch with no immediate end in sight. Hannibal's mouth tastes hot and raw, like nothing but him, and Will searches every inch with his tongue, his arms wrapping around Hannibal's neck when Hannibal pull him close, puts their erections in contact. He groans at the feeling, at the memory of how Hannibal feels inside him, and he finds if he squeezes the right muscles the little ache from the stretch is still there, the feeling making him shiver.

Still, Hannibal's not rushing so Will savors the moment himself, arching his back and rolling his hips forward as best he can from the position he's in so he can rub himself against Hannibal's generous girth. Wanting a more direct touch, he moves one hand down Hannibal's chest, sliding beneath the surface of the water as he follows the firm musculature of Hannibal's abdomen down to the plunging vee between his thighs. There Will winds his fingers around Hannibal's shaft, his grip loose as he strokes not with the intention of further arousing but experiencing, toying with the shift of Hannibal's foreskin, feeling the ridges and veins, the shape of the flared head and the length of the slit in the tip. He's still kissing Hannibal all the while, but pace has slowed, Will's attention divided, and eventually he eases back, wanting to watch Hannibal's face as he decides where he's going next.

He holds Hannibal's gaze as he slides the circle of his fist down Hannibal's length until he reaches the root, his hand turning and moving carefully as he cups Hannibal's scrotum, feeling the skin go from loose to tight beneath his touch. He licks his lips as he tests the shape of each testicle, fingers following the curves, thumb stroking. He feels a thickness in the back of his throat as he continues his explorations, Hannibal's dark eyes on his own, trust and desire in them, and it takes Will a moment to realize the raucous breathing he hears is his own. He swallows hard as his fingers push back, fingertips slipping over Hannibal's perineum, and he can't really get at what he wants in this position, not with how upright Hannibal is sitting, but he wants Hannibal to know he's not going to shy away from it either, that, if Hannibal wants it, to be touched there, tasted, fucked, Will wants it too.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal is not one to rush pleasure, always taking the time to savor a meal, a kill, an opera, a lover. He could kiss like this for hours, luxuriating over the taste of Will, the feel of his lips, his skin, his lover's hardness pressed next to his own. When Will pulls back and meets his eyes, Hannibal tilts his head, curious as to what he has in mind, and settles his own hands at Will's waist, refraining from any more stimulation so that Will has the opportunity to enjoy exploration without a however pleasant distraction. He smiles as Will explores his cock, the member in question gently pulsing in Will's hand, and the smile widens and warms as Will's fingers move lower to his testicles, enjoying Will's expression as much as his touch, the desire burning in his eyes and catching at his breath. Other men might feel vulnerable there, legs splayed, another man's hand on such sensitive organs, but Hannibal has nothing but trust for this man. He would put his life in those hands.

It is to Hannibal's surprise, then, how he finds himself reacting when Will's fingers venture lower. Truly, it is not unexpected, and yet Hannibal finds himself drawing a quick breath. It has been a very long time since he has been penetrated, always preferring to be in control, dominant, when intimate with men, considering especially that up to this point the purpose of those intimacies had been manipulation. But now, Hannibal has already laid claim, and their relationship is one of mutual respect, mutual trust. Perhaps allowing Will to assume that dominant position would further strengthen that bond with a demonstration of that trust.

And he finds himself desiring it. Needing it. Wanting to feel Will touch him there. Take him there.

Hannibal closes his eyes, draws another, slower, breath, then opens his eyes to again meet Will's. With their eyes locked, Hannibal moves his hands from Will's waist to the sides of the tub, and slides down, just enough to tilt his hips and open the way for Will's fingers.

"Yes, Will," he whispers.

[adaptevolvebecome]

At first Will thinks Hannibal might stop him, that he'll put a limit on what Will can do, assert his dominance here as far as sex is concerned between them. It's been clear since the first time they fucked in Baltimore that Will isn't the first man Hannibal's taken to bed, and Will is intensely interested now to know if Hannibal has always been the one to take, if he's ever had someone touch him the way Will wants to now. If he hasn't done it (and doesn't want to) Will's certain it has nothing to do with stigma or fear; it's entirely about control, about asserting it and refusing to relinquish it.

Hannibal has already done it with Will. Sexually he's let Will go down on him, he's exposed his delicate parts to Will's touch and Will's teeth. But more than that he's exposed his heart to Will, so open in fact that it's like he cut his sternum in half and pulled his chest apart, offering the organ still beating in whatever way Will wants it. Taking Hannibal's body would pale in comparison to taking his heart, and Will has no plans to be any more careless with Hannibal physically than he has been emotionally. He's devoted to this man now; he doesn't want to do anything in this life but please him.

Hannibal meets Will's eyes and Will can read everything he needs to in them, the trust Hannibal has for him, the love and returned devotion, and Will trembles when Hannibal shifts, moving to offer himself to Will. Will can scarcely breathe with the emotions that rise inside him, touched and aroused all at once, seeing Hannibal open and vulnerable like this, desirous and unafraid. Will swallows hard and reaches out again, his careful fingertips finding Hannibal's inner thigh first, tracing the lean muscle down. He skims the underside of Hannibal's balls again but he doesn't stop there this time, keeps moving until his fingers dip low into the hollow where Hannibal's gluteus muscles dip down the midline of his body. Will's eyes don't leave Hannibal's as he moves to finally brush over Hannibal's asshole, the skin somehow warmer even that the bathwater, and he exhales a rough breath at all the thoughts in his head, how much he wants everything with this man.

He doesn't push to penetrate, not here with no lubrication, but Will rubs over the bundle of muscles, following the shape of them, touching with the intention of giving pleasure, of seeing what Hannibal likes. He puts just a bit of pressure against the sphincter, feeling it draw up more tightly before Hannibal forces it to relax, his body accepting Will's experimental touch.

"Have you... Have you been touched like this before?" Will hears himself ask, and he blinks his eyes into focus on Hannibal's face.

[tablewithoutpity]

It isn't the case that Hannibal feels that he would entirely lose control were he to be the one taken. Indeed, he is certain that he would be able to utilize it to his advantage in one way or another, allowing the subject to believe in Hannibal's subjugation through the act and thus lull him into complacency. He's never had the occasion to make that move, however. It would require some depth of purpose, something more than the simpler games he played with the simpler people. What he had with Will before, their exquisite game of manipulation chess, might have been the proper arena for such an elaborate move. Interesting that the man who might have been a worthy opponent for such a tactic is now the man with whom Hannibal wishes to share this, without the subterfuge, with complete sincerity.

When Will's fingertips first brush over that sensitive bundle of nerves ad muscle, Hannibal again draws a quick breath, feeling his body tense. He breathes it out again, willing his body to relax, to be open, receptive. Hannibal is pleased by Will's obvious arousal at the exploration, evidence of his lover's own sincerity.

"Once," he murmurs in reply to the question. "A long time ago."