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Vengeance Isn't Always Sweet
By : eros_thanatos
Category: G through L > Hannibal
Views: 1375 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Hannibal or any of the characters. I don't make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Will Graham ran his hand along the bars of his telephone box sized cage, feeling like a tiger in a claustrophobic zoo, or more poignantly, a freak on display in a sideshow. His audience, the man who had briefly been his greatest solace, was now the source of all of his misery: Hannibal Lecter. Will's heart contracted painfully in his chest.
"What do you want?" he mumbled, too exhausted and listless to channel the rage that coiled in his guts like a tangle of garter snakes.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Hannibal's lips. Will clenched his teeth.
"I only want to talk to you, Will. To see how you're coping. And whether you're still under the delusion that I am responsible for the murders."
Will shook his head. "Don't play me for a fool, Dr. Lecter" he said softly. "We both know it's not a delusion. I simply don't have any evidence to support the truth." He shrugged. "Of course, that could change soon. Dr. Chilton is helping me recover some memories. It's been...enlightening." He bared his teeth in an attempt at a smile that more closely resembled a snarl. "As for how I'm coping, I'll hazard you can guess, doctor." He rested his forehead against the bars, locking eyes with his former ad hoc therapist, confidant, and lover. His eyes traced the curve of Hannibal’s lips, now drawn in a grim line, recalling the way they used to feel against his skin...Best to stop that train of thought in its tracks; it would only lead to misery.
Will closed his eyes, letting his mind take him away to the safe, serene stream where his only concern was to wait for a fish to bite his line. He could almost feel the cool water licking at his hips. The rest of his short visit with Hannibal faded into background noise, until the doctor’s back disappeared from his view, leaving him both relieved and bereft. Will let out a breath he hardly realized he’d been holding, slumping against the walls of his cage. He tilted his eyes up to the ceiling, imagining his unseen psychiatrist somewhere watching and listening like a paternalistic god. “I’m ready to go back to my cell, Dr. Chilton” he declared to the light fixtures.
*****
Will gasped as Hannibal’s lips traced a line down his neck, then his teeth sunk in just hard enough to muddle the distinction between pain and pleasure. Hannibal thrust deeply into him at a relentless pace, his hip bones snapping against Will’s ass, sure to leave blooms of bruises. Will reached to grasp the sheet, but recoiled when his hand met cold, clammy flesh. He looked down in growing horror as it dawned on him that he and Hannibal were fucking not in a bed, but on a pile of corpses. Above him, Hannibal’s patrician features had been replaced by the ink-black stag creature, its antlers and inscrutable face casting a shadow over Will. He screamed. And woke, half hard, covered in sweat, and shaking uncontrollably. Will’s gaze careened around his drab cell, struggling in the darkness to orient himself. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths.
Will buried his face in his hands, wiping the sweat from his brow and pressing his jaw to release the tension that had locked it tight. He curled into a ball, fighting back alternating waves of nausea and desire. For a moment he allowed himself to wallow in the mire of his conflicting feelings. He still loved Hannibal; that he couldn't deny. He was drawn to the man, as fatally as a moth to flame. He also hated him more intensely than he'd ever hated anyone before. Of course, no one had ever framed him for serial murders before. Driven awake by the wasp-stings of his thoughts, Will began to formulate a plot for a small measure of revenge.
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