Chapter Text
“I saw it Will,”
Will raised an eyebrow at Abigail, who was nose deep in carefully packing the basket that would go to Hannibal. It wouldn’t do if anything broke in the flurry of things.
“I saw what Sheriff Crawford did, when you ran up to him,” Abigail continued. “He gave you a knife, I thought I had imagined it for a moment, but I felt your hand curled around something when you held me,”
“Sheriff Crawford wants me to do something extremely stupid and risky,”
“Sheriff isn’t the only one,”
“Abigail…”
Abigail huffed, ripping the thick brown packing paper as she pushed it aside roughly. “Don’t Abigail me Will. I hate him, for taking you, for making it so you have to go lest we all face destruction. I want him to hurt a little too,”
“And I’d be risking destruction if I did that too,” Will set a gentle hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “You know that much,”
“You’ve got to have at least thought of it,” Abigail insisted. “I think I’d take a part of his leg, and I’d make a bag out of it, and if I even had to go to him I’d take my bag made of his leg-skin,”
Will had thought about it. He was thinking about it. “Don’t be like that Abigail,”
Abigail’s face fell further, she turned back to her work. “At least, think about it,”
Will did think about it.
-
Will had heard stories throughout his life, of the grand size of Hannibal. As big as a house, his childhood friend told him, big as the tallest trees, his first love said, bigger than we could imagine, his father said, before he went to die. All of it were stories, to make children scared of the forest so they wouldn’t roam, to scare friends and to test their bravery in getting the ball from the edge of the forest, to make lovers cuddle closer. None of it was ever sure, no one lived long enough to find out, anyway. Even if they did, they never spoke of it.
He knew now that they were all wrong, Hannibal was massive, hulking, twice, god maybe nearly three times Will’s height. Double his stature too, with broad shoulders, strong arms, and thick thighs covered in fur as black as charcoal.
Hannibal stared at him curiously, those maroon eyes bearing down on him like they saw right through his feeble skin and knew him entirely.
Will trembled, quivering like shaken gelatin, and dropped the knife at his feet.
It was from fear, he swore, but deep down he felt something else seeing Hannibal in all his raw glory. He was deadly, huge and tempered and a god. Will was afraid, but he couldn’t help but think Hannibal was beautiful, couldn’t help but be entranced by him.
“What a meager offering,” Hannibal sighed, and if Will weren’t already trembling the god’s voice alone would’ve made him shake. “Do they not feed you well in advance anymore? Or was our good lady of the earth Silt stingy with harvest this year? I should hope it’s not that you weren’t grateful for the good hunting this year,”
Will didn’t know what to say, if he should say anything. So he didn’t say anything.
“Answer me, human,” Hannibal came down to his knees, leaning in close to Will.
“I-I…” Will’s mouth felt dry, why wasn’t he being torn apart? And why oh why dear gods, did Hannibal have to make his heart skip with feelings aside from fear. “It’s not…it’s not the village’s fault my god, don’t blame them…”
“What should I not blame them for?” Hannibal leaned even closer in, Will could have touched the god’s long grayish braids if he so wanted.
“For-for my state- they would have given you my daughter and I-” He began stepping back, his mouth running nonsense until he felt something under his foot.
The knife.
Hannibal hadn’t noticed it.
It glinted silver in the moonlight, looking like for a moment, a part of the snow.
Will didn’t think in that moment, he was confused, hot in the cold, angry again for this teasing, angry that he would never see his daughter again, that his daughter was ever in danger, and the most prominent thing that would be in his mind when Hannibal stopped toying with him would be those deep maroon eyes.
He picked up the knife and before Hannibal could so much as pick him up to dash him dead against a tree, he slashed it across the God’s face.
From the start of Hannibal’s shapely lips to top of his throat, there was a jagged gash. It wasn’t deep, but it oozed blood, black in the moonlight. Will wanted to do it again, make him bleed that beautiful black again. More. He wanted to taste it on his lips. Gods, he was surely going mad now, the scent of coppery blood finally sending him into his raving madness.
It shouldn’t feel this good to watch even Hannibal bleed.
Hannibal was shocked silent. He reached up and smeared some of the blood off with his hand, staring at it for a moment as if to assure himself of it’s reality before licking it off.
He turned back to Will, and instead of rage or bloodthirst, all Will saw was…curiosity? Adoration even. Will couldn’t understand, this should’ve had him twisted in half like the wrapping of a plastic straw, not adored.
“It had been a very long time since anybody had made me bleed,” Hannibal plucked the basket and knife from Will’s hands and set them on the forest floor, then picked him up. Will struggled and whimpered, like a chick being picked up by human hands for the first time. He was held gently though, and Hannibal’s hands were so warm. He settled down fast. “I had almost forgotten what it was like to bleed because of another. You are a very strange human. Tell me, did you plan to do this? When you were preparing yourself, did you toy with the idea of wounding me with your little blade? Did you think you could deny me my life perhaps?”
“No,” Will breathed. “I could never deny you your life, never,”
“My freedom then?” Hannibal asked. “Did you think if you harmed me you may be able to contain me?”
Will shook his head, god he couldn’t get enough air for this. There would never be enough air. “No, no, gods what chain or cage could hold you? I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to lose something like I had lost. I would have taken your eye,” What was this, all this honesty? He didn’t have to answer a single question, Hannibal was going to eat him for the gods’ sakes. There was no reason to try and appease him with answer. But nonetheless, Will spoke freely, though he left details here and there out.
“An eye for an eye,” Hannibal mused. “I don’t think I need to finish that for you, you seem smart,”
“It would’ve felt good, I thought about crushing your eye under my fingers, so you could never think about putting it back in,” Will gasped as Hannibal squeezed him. “It’s not the only thoughts I’ve had,”
Hannibal made a pleased rumble. “Hmmm, you are so interesting. It’s never been this way before, you want to hurt me,”
“And I worship you,”
“Yes,” Hannibal nodded. “The two feelings are not uncommon in my followers, you are the first in centuries, perhaps millenia to act it out. I find that incredibly curious,”
Will shivered again, truly from the cold this time. The gown, while thicker than the fall or summer garb, was not meant to last more than the walk to Hannibal’s domain.
“You are cold,” Hannibal pointed out. “We will go to my den now, it would be very tragic to find you dead of hypothermia, we will continue this conversation later, dear human,”
“It’s Will,” Will chattered out.
Hannibal smiled, and for a stag, his mouth contained four very sharp fangs. Will wondered what it would be like to be bitten by them.
“Dear Will,”