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Lumen Obscura	By : PinkSiamese Category: -Misc TV Shows > Crossovers Views: 1077 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Hannibal or Dexter in any of their incarnations (TV shows, movies, books). I am making no money off this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Lumen waits on the other side of the driveway. She’s away from the door, beside a column. She can see it; when she looks at its shape, she thinks of the frame around a painting. Of a lens. It holds movement, the comings and goings of people, of light; the air-conditioned air inside the building mingles with the humidity, it is a place where the smells and sounds of two different worlds meet.
It’s liminal.
“Of course,” she whispers; she smiles and shakes her head. The threshold space, the nights’ topic of conversation, here it is. The liminality of the doorway. Threshold space, which belongs to no one, no region; no sovereignty can be laid upon it except perhaps the sovereignty of God.
“God,” Lumen mutters, pacing; she hugs herself. “I even sound like him in my head.” She puts a hand on her forehead, shakes her head. She pays attention to the way the bricks feel beneath her feet. “This is so ridiculous.”
Lumen halts. She looks, again, at the door. The air is warm, it hangs around her, brushes her skin when she moves. The atmosphere is like a hand on the brow, the belly, the thighs; at times the density of the air is welcoming, soothing, but at other times it’s too much. The weight of it becomes like a crowd, like too many transient hands on the skin, too much breath, it’s distracting. The door is filled with golden light, its pure luminescence is gated by mitered corners; like water in the hands, it pours through. The doorway is gilded by the light. It cuts its shape out of the city darkness.
Will emerges with the blazer over his arm. The golden light touches him, it passes over; he’s taken off his tie, loosened the top buttons.
He’s taken off his glasses. He looks naked without them; his cheekbones, his eyes look unfettered, wild, turned loose on the rest of his face.
He steps out into the city dark, stops. He looks around. There are tall plants where she is, they surround a white column, layer it with heavy black shadows. At first, he doesn’t see her as separate from them.
Lumen watches him. His body, against the wash of light from the door—there is the whiter light that comes from the floods, they illuminate the white face of the building, and the recessed lights in the overhang, small, orange, weak—his body stands out, the shape of his shoulders both hesitant and contained, the elegant length of his limbs tense at the joints. The skin of her chest feels tight, her breath backs up, curls in on itself; trapped in her lungs, pushing up against her ribs, is a deep and raging current.
Will glimpses her, starts to cross the drive. “What are you doing over there?”
“Hiding.” She shrugs, keeps her eyes on his face. “A little.”
“Why?”
Lumen’s arms are folded; she turns toward the parking lot. “We should hurry.”
Will comes close to her. She catches a whiff of some velvet note, woodsy, it makes her think of sunshine falling through pine trees. He’s flushed. He looks at her eyes rather than in them; the dirty light dilates his pupils, darkens the blue. “Why?”
“I don’t want anyone to find us here.”
He nods. Looks around. “It would raise some questions, yeah.”
“Where are you parked?”
“Don’t know.” Will puts his hands in his pockets. He studies her face; the corners of his mouth moves as though he wants to smile. “The valet did the parking.”
“Oh.” Lumen sighs, looks up at the overhang. “Yeah. Of course he did.” She shifts her weight. “You should. Go. Do.” She waves her hand. “Give him the ticket. You know.”
He watches her. He turns. “Yeah.”
Lumen’s eyes skitter over him but they are restless, her gaze ricochets off his face and into the shadows of palm leaves, windows, small red flowers. “Yeah.”
“Are you going to come over here by the door?”
“I can.” She nods, gathers her long overskirt into a fist. “Okay.”
Will strides across the drive, pulls his hands out of his pockets. He hands a ticket to the doorman. Lumen feels her way into the seams between the brick, situates the tips of her sharp heels.
Will looks toward the parking lot. He lowers his voice. “Do you think Hannibal will follow you?”
“No.” Lumen stands close to him, her arms wrapped tight around herself. “I don’t think so. He’s very enamored of this place. I can’t imagine him abandoning this kind of food for me.”
Will snorts. “No. I suppose I don’t see that happening, either.”
“You?” Lumen looks at his profile. The light from the doorway spills into his hair, lightens its margins into a reddish tint. It casts delicate shadow into the hollows beneath his eyes. “Is there anyone to follow you?”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “No.”
“Why?”
Will turns, looks at her; he blinks at the directness of her gaze, traces the shapes of her eyebrows, her nose. “Well…Jack half-expected this all along. There’s Bev, but she’s the kind of coworker, and friend, who knows when to let me just go.” He smiles a little. “I don’t think Dexter likes me very much. And why would Debra bother?”
“She wouldn’t.”
The valet pulls up. He climbs out the car, leaves the keys in the ignition.
“Are you sure you want to drive?”
“Yeah.” Will shrugs. “I haven’t had anything to drink, so why not?”
Lumen lifts her eyebrows. “Because you don’t know your way around?”
Will glances at her, circles around the car. “I know it well enough.”
Lumen opens the passenger side door, gets in. She buckles her seatbelt, tosses her purse into the back. She flips down the visor, peers at herself in the mirror. “Where are we going?”
“I have twenty-four hour access to the beach.” He looks down, disengages he brake. He rolls the car in a slow circle back to the road. “To the crime scene, I mean.”
Lumen rolls down the window. She watches her mouth move in the bruised dark. “You want to take me to your crime scene?”
“There’s a lot of beach. Miles of it.” He turns into traffic. “It’s closed at night, so we would be alone.”
Wind pours in through the window and blasts of air scatter into her hair, throw it out of its careful shape. Lumen pulls the pins out of her hair. She uses her fingers to rake the lacquered curls apart. “Because that’s the goal.”
“To be alone? Yes. That is the goal.” He glances at her. “Is that too alone for you?”
“No.” She flips up the visor, leans back. She picks the pins off her lap and puts them in the palm of her other hand. “It’s perfect.”
“You sure?”
Lumen drops the pins out the window. “Yeah.”
Streetlight pass overhead. Light flashes through the inside of the car, it lights up her skin, catches on the crystals that have been sewn into the silk. Tiny pinpoints of light appear and disappear on the dark upholstery.
Lumen turns toward the window. The sky is clear, darkened past purple and into the vague night of the city that is rarely black, or blue, but is instead an absence of stars, the moonlight, the starlight. She puts her head out the window, looks up. It’s like looking up past the bright buildings, the cones of the streetlamps, into an abyss.
Will rolls down his window and the roar of wind, of movement and tires, is amplified. Cross-winds lift her hair up off her back, her shoulders, they fling the scents of bruised flowers and rain into her face, of exhaust and spicy food, the constant briny breath of the sea, of mangroves creeping in the silted places where freshwater and saltwater meet.
Lumen looks at him. The light comes and goes, it skates across his eyelashes, brushes the long flat line of his jaw. It brightens the crests of his cheekbones, tints his lips a dusky purple. He looks straight ahead. Light comes, flashes across the muscles flexing beneath his beard. His mouth flattens.
She tucks hair behind both of her ears. “Do you not like it when I look at you?”
“Not particularly.” The corner of Will’s mouth twitches. His eyes move back and forth across the road. His hands flex on the wheel. “It feels too much like scrutiny.”
“I suppose it is.” She leans her temple against the headrest. “In a way.” She sighs. “Is scrutiny such a bad thing?”
“When it’s unkind? Yes.”
“Do you think I’m being unkind?”
“I…” Will exhales through his nose. His eyelashes flutter and he presses his lips together, shakes his head. Light slides up over his face, disappears. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t want to be.”
A light pink flush climbs his neck. It touches his cheek, flares into a ruddy patch in the hollow, rims his nostrils, reddens his lips. He slides his jaw from side to side.
“Do you want me to stop?”
He blinks. Beneath the sharp line of his jaw, limned by shadow, his pulse speeds up. It thrums close to the skin, rapid; the movement is soft, regular, like a flutter of wings.
Lumen watches it. Her mouth goes dry; she imagines moving closer to him, letting her breath fall, just that, the soft flow of her heat, the warmth of her body on his blood, the wild throb of his blood. Heat sweeps through her skin, sharpens it into gooseflesh; the image trembles, humid its clarity, and within it she sees the closeness of her lips, feels his skin, the irregularity of her breath. She breathes against the urge to lean over, put a hand on his thigh, and cover the skin with her mouth; she wants to press into his pulse with her tongue, bite into its feverish struggle.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” Will’s voice is soft. He shakes his head a little. “I’m not used to having another person in the car.”
Lumen turns to the window. Palms pass by in a dark blur. A wide expanse of black marks the approach of the bay. Glitter, dropped from the lights of buildings, clings close to the shoreline. “I’m not, either.”
A slight thump and the car crosses onto the causeway. The tires tune up, hum like cicadas. Over the water the wind changes, cools, brings with it a subtle hushing sound, the hot-mineral scent of mud.
Lumen leans her shoulder into the seat. She watches the dark skirts of the water spread out, its hem brush up against receding buildings. The dirty purple glow of the city, its miasma of hot yellow, begins to fade.
The motion of the car sways into her body. She looks out the window, past the water, the horizon unspools into darkness, a soft smear of distant light. She unfolds her hand, reaches back. Her fingers encounter the molded plastic of the console. The car arcs over the water, rises up. The back of her hand brushes the curve of a waxed paper cup; her fingers trace the perimeter of its fluted plastic lid. The scent of the wind changes, takes on more water. The car slides underneath full night.
The bent straw scratches her wrist. Her nails touch Will’s leg. He flinches.
Lumen catches a glimpse of the star of the evening; its light is mulish, white, steady above the reach of the horizon. She keeps her eyes on it as the heat of him crosses her skin, melts into her bloodstream. The star is weakened by the glut of the city, its stew of streetlights and taillights; she opens her mouth, breathes, a fine tremble settles into her knuckles: neons, she thinks, how Miami loves its fucking neons, and with the sudden clarity of adrenaline she sees the green and violet, the yellow; imagines them mixing in with the orange sodium vapors, light that is so much like a cigarette put out in your eye.
Lumen flattens her fingers. Breathes hard. She slides her palm, fills the curve of her thumb, her fingers, with his thigh. It’s firm beneath the skin, hot inside the loose folds of thick fabric; tension slides in and out of the long muscles.
Lumen opens her mouth. Closes her eyes. Immersed in the dark, anchored by the handful of his body, she smells the open ocean, rot, the riotous growth of jungle green; she tastes the ghost of rain, it is an omnipresent longing that always wants to coalesce out of the Florida air, to rush down.
She hears the irregularity of his lungs, the rawness in his throat.
Will moves his thigh. Lumen tightens her grip.
She opens her eyes, fills them with the view of the night sky. More stars come out of hiding as they cross the bay, slipping out from beneath the darkness.
She moves the inside of his thigh into her palm. He gasps. She digs her fingers in and he makes an animal sound; it’s soft, strangled raw. Lumen closes her eyes. She bites her lip.
The cars rolls off the causeway. Speed bleeds out, puddles on the pavement. The tires murmur.
Lumen imagines the wind-stunted trees, the thickets, the white rock that is coral; she knows there is sand everywhere, it creeps across the roads and catches on fallen branches, against loose stones. It grits beneath the tires.
She strokes his thigh with her thumb. The muscle begins to quiver.
She reaches across herself, unbuckles her seatbelt; she turns over in the seat, opens her eyes to see drifts of shadow inside the car, they’re blue, grayish, black as velvet in the corners. Flowing past, a black snarl of trees. White lines, sinuous on the blacktop, gleam like ribbons.
The weak light fills the car, strained through moonlight. She works his long leather belt out of its buckle. She watches his face. He looks straight ahead; his eyes move, they dart from side to side. He blinks several times. His eyelashes tremble. She unbuttons his pants, unzips his fly. His mouth opens; breath rushes out, backs up again.
She moves her head into his lap.
“O-Oh,” he sighs; his voice is low, rich. He rests a tentative hand on the back of her neck, cups the tangled thickness of her hair.
It’s dark, there’s less wind, more heat, more momentum; the motor vibrates through the steering wheel, loud beside her ears. She flattens her fingers, slides them past the teeth of his parted zipper, digs through loose thin cotton, it’s threadbare, it’s worn down into the texture of silk. The skin is hot, his hair soft. He smells of grass, river water, musk.
His cock lifts. It thickens, curves into her hand. It hardens, grows hotter; blood surges against the skin, draws it tight. She closes her eyes and breathes on the head, her rhythm finds the rhythm of his blood, the hard pulse at the heart of his cock. The shaft jumps in her hand, swells into stone. She brings her lips to the skin, parts them; he’s soft, the skin like the underside of a summer-hot rose petal, like a tremulous kiss.
Will cries out. His belly is taut; his hand is soft, boneless, it slides down over her neck, spreads open on her shoulder. His breath rubs his voice thin, cracks it into pieces. “You’re trying to kill me.”
The words come out softened, smeared across the roof of his mouth—you tryna kill meh—and her whole body throbs.
Lumen licks into him, melts the sweat off his skin, shivers; he gushes onto her tongue, he tastes like rain at the edge of the sea. She fills her mouth with his cock and his hand moves beneath her hair; his palm is rough around the edges, fingers soft as leather. He holds the back of her neck, skirts the wild edge of her pulse with his thumb.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice soft; it runs around. “Go easy on me, I…I-I don’t…” He stops, takes a breath. Licks his lips. “Wanna go off the road.”
Eyes closed, Lumen drifts into the dark behind them, goes there, loosens her jaws; buoyed by heat, the pulse of blood burning in her mouth, her face relaxes. His breath scatters; the rhythm of it is like wings climbing, laboring to the sky. The head of his cock slides down her throat. She swallows. It pushes his breath higher.
“Oh God fuck…fuck.” He draws a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth. “Baby you gotta let me park this damn car, I-I…” His hand tightens on her neck. “I can’t.”
The speed leaves the wheels, swings out with centrifugal force; momentum climbs in her bones, makes her tense. The wind falls from a roar into a whisper; it backs away from her hair, the thinness of her dress. She holds on, lips soft; he turns the wheel with one hand, with both. His leg shifts, his foot comes down on the brake. The sudden thud of her heart fills her ears.
Will slaps it into park. His breath grows louder, more ragged. He yanks the keys out of the ignition, throws them onto the dash.
The steady wind of the sea plows through the trees, floods the car with the dark scent of breaking waves.
“Now,” he breathes, both hands in her hair. “Now…”
Lumen draws her mouth up the length of his cock, she licks, drenches him, curls her hand around the wet. He slides a hand onto her back; with the tip of his thumb he follows her spine, rubs the spaces between her vertebrae. She moves her mouth down his shaft, sucks. He cups her shoulder blade. She presses her fist to her lips, tightens her grip.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
His words, wrapped so tight in breath, are heated; they settle over her skin, spread out. His voice, adrift, it breaks in places, shivers apart; the heat of it. The urgency an undercurrent, the flex of his fingers, of nails that want to dig. He swells, so tight in her mouth, velvet sheathing the furious pulse of his blood; she finds the rhythm, moves to match it. His breath roughens; it digs deep into the wet darkness of his body.
The wind murmurs beneath itself, formless words stitched underneath each gust. They drag across the sand.
“Oh fuck…oh fuck…” He makes a fist in her hair. His back arches. “Gawd…gotta no…I’m…I-I’m gonna…you gotta stop, darlin.”
Lumen takes the full length of his cock into her throat. Will grabs the back of her head, cries out.
She sits up and leans back into the seat, breathes hard. Closes her eyes. Wipes her mouth. She listens to him, his breath, its slow fade into the sound of the wind.
“You,” he murmurs, swallows, the wet sound of his lips parting, the flood of his breath, crawls its way under her skin. “You didn’t have to. Do. That.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
“You gonna keep your eyes closed?”
Lumen opens them. The sky is sooty. The parking lot is full of trees, they’re all the same size, the same height; the leaves spread out flat at the top.
“No,” she sighs.
“Look at me.”
His pupils are huge; looking into them is like looking through the approach of a storm and into the swath of torn trees left in its wake, the flattened flowers, the smoldering ground flooded with rain. Moonlight comes in through the windshield. It’s kind. It falls, gentle, across the bones in his face; they’re sharp, almost delicate, they bear an edge fashioned out of too much work, too little sleep, too much isolation.
Lumen reaches over, puts her hand on his face. He blinks, does it again; for a fleeting second his eyes looked trapped in his face. His eyebrows knot together. His mouth opens and he releases an empty breath, his lips hovering over the words he cannot find. He looks into her eyes. He looks through them, past them; he takes a breath, his eyes lose their focus, regain it. He glances at her mouth. He touches the back of her head. He gathers up a handful of her hair.
She closes her eyes.
His mouth slides across hers, open; his hot breath floods her tongue and tastes like a swallow of fresh water. In the dark, there is the sensation of falling, coming loose, of heat, of sinking down past her knees. His urgency holds itself behind his kiss, presses in, makes a seal; it trembles beneath its own weight. She moves her hand into his hair. Her heart takes off, gallops headlong into the sound of the waves.
Will takes her face in his hands. She shudders. He guides her, hums as he steers her mouth; she falls into his breath, drowns in the harbor of his tongue.
He ends the kiss. He takes it apart, keeps his lips close to hers. His hands cup around her jaw. “I want you so much,” he says, his voice low and broken. He noses her nose, leaves a light kiss in the corner of her mouth. “And I-I can’t…fucking…stand it.”
Lumen holds her lips against his, keeps them soft; she takes one of his hands, moves it down her neck. His breath quickens. She pulls his hand up beneath her skirt, yanks the fabric, opens her thighs; with her nose against the side of his mouth, she pushes his fingers down into the thin edge of her panties. He tugs the fabric aside, works his fingers beneath it; he kisses her neck, hooks three fingers into her cunt. He pushes them in and up; she breathes hard.
Will nuzzles her neck. He opens his mouth, rests it there; he bites down, sinks teeth into the skin. Her breath goes shallow. His jaws tighten; the pain flares, hot, it sinks sparks into her skin. He holds her with his teeth, slides his fingers out. The pain deepens. It stiffens her back, quivers in her breath. The heaviness of it slithers, trembling, into her belly. It clenches in her cunt.
He pushes slippery fingers back in. She moans, arches her back, squirms up into the sweet gnawing burn of his knuckles. She spreads her knees. He growls, licks the teeth marks. He twists his fingers, presses the heel of his hand into her clit.
“Oh God,” she gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Will!”
His mouth bumps into her ear; he whispers and the words echo loud, rustle at the edges. “You gonna come for me?”
“Yes,” she moans, rocking her clit into his palm, “God…yes!”
The first twinge comes like a warning shot, wings passing over and brushing their wind into her cunt; the weight of it compresses her breathing, spreads a dark sky over her mind. She loses control of her hips. She moans, a profusion of stars turned loose; her bones grind hot blood into fire. Her cunt squeezes his fingers, pulses out wave after dizzy wave. A flood of obliterating sweetness washes over her, aches; it buries all of her senses.
Lumen comes back trembling with sweat. She opens her eyes. Wind blows in through the window, stirs the kiss of the deep sea in the roots of her hair. His hand is still on her cunt, draped there, limp; wet fingers curl into the crease of her thigh.
“It’s hot,” she pants, looking at the ceiling.
He touches her hair and she turns, looks at his face. He smiles, she watches it climb into his mouth and stretch, unveil his teeth; it moves past its borders. It draws unfamiliar lines. It changes the shapes of his eyes.
“Good thing there’s a beach,” he says.
Lumen’s mouth twitches into a smile. She glances at him and bursts out laughing, covers her mouth to try and hold it in.
He watches her, studies her face.
“Yes,” she says, nodding, her knuckles pressed to her mouth. She looks at him. Her words are smothered in giggles. “It is a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Will grins. He starts to chuckle. “Yes it is.”
Her laughter wells up, shakes into her body until her cheeks ache with it.
He laughs with her. “Do you do this every time?”
She giggles, wipes beneath her eyes. “Not every time.”
“Good.” He smiles. “I guess. It’s pretty cute, actually.”
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Lumen Obscura