Chapter Text
“There is something on your mind.” It was a question, despite being phrased as an observation. He didn't grant him the satisfaction of an answer. He didn’t seem offended, opting to fill the silence himself.
"Are you familiar with the myth Aristophanes preached in Plato's Symposium?" Will blinked at the non-sequitur, trying to recall.
He was. Vaguely.
"It's a myth about people once being double-bodied beings that Zeus split in two, right?"
Hannibal appraised Will with undeserved admiration. "Yes, it is a myth about soulmates, to put it simply. Zeus cursed man to wander the earth searching for their other half. Aristophanes holds the concept of "Love" in high regard, claiming that if humans worked against Love they would find themselves on the wrong side of the gods." He looks away and takes another sip. "It was a cautionary tale."
Wow. Hannibal was being...as straightforward as he's ever actually seen the bastard. He was being much too obvious for this to be a manipulation attempt.
He decided to humor the man. Only out of curiosity.
"Aristophanes also praised male-male relationships. Do you agree with him?"
"I am not homophobic, if that is what you're asking.”
“I didn’t think you were, but that wasn’t what I was asking.” He leaned closer to Hannibal, putting his hand between his shoulder blades. “And I think you know that.”
Hannibal, the good-for-nothing, doesn’t seem fazed by Will’s contact, even though he never usually initiates it. He simply leans closer, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Yes, I do agree with Aristophanes.” Hannibal tilts his head to face Will, looking at him with an expectant look. Hannibal was so apprehensive, he could practically sense it. Will could tell this wasn’t like him. He might be used to being physically close to people, but there were never any real feelings attached to it. It was always an act, a means to an end, playing a game only he was privy to.
But this wasn’t an act.
All of a sudden, Hannibal’s profile was overcome by the thoughts that had been constantly lurking in the back of Will’s own mind, things that he was always thinking about subconsciously were now at the forefront. The least ‘tasty’ thoughts he’s ever had.
Thoughts of biting Hannibal, pressing a knife to his throat, tenderly winding his hands around his neck just to strangle him to death. How would he react? What expression would he wear when Will took a fist to his face over and over? God, what a breathtaking thought. The beading of blood that would slip from his chin when Will draws a scalpel across his jawline, the widening of his eyes when his lungs stutter and struggle for oxygen, the beautiful rouge flush that would overtake his fair skin, with the tapestry of veins running over his bruised canvas. It was intoxicating. His head was spinning from the notion.
Without warning, Will smashes his lips against Hannibal's, the rough clack of bone clipping his jaw reverberating through his skull, but not slowing him down. He presses harder, opening his lips to overtake Hannibal's’. He bites the his lower lip and the older man complies, parting his lips for Will to take. It’s a rush. Everything he feels is narrowed down to their shared heat, all of his senses pinpointed on Hannibal’s smooth lips and the warmth of his mouth. It tasted like their dinner; Lomo Saltado with Sirloin from a certain reporter’s hip.
Will doesn't relent, gnawing at the meat of his lip until he can taste blood. Hannibal grunts, out of pain or arousal Will doesn't know. Maybe both? he wouldn't put it past him. The coppery flavor stings his tongue. God, it tastes good. he runs his tongue over the wound, lapping the remainder of blood from it before pulling away for air.
The look on Hannibals face is something to be cherished, imprinted on his brain and locked away in his memory eternally.