Archive of Our Own

There is nothing precise about desire. It cannot be wielded into motion by will alone. Burning hot down my throat like ambers, it seems to call all the shots tonight. I'm used to feelings overwhelming and pushing at my chest, clogging my throat like cheap whisky.
The open burning gashes left behind as familiar and comforting as the warm embrace of a lover. And who is to say that a blow and a kiss cannot be delivered by the same source?
Or within the same heartbeat? Hannibal's touch attests to that idea. He touches with warmth and hollow coldness all warped into one.
He is perfection. He is wholesome as I am whole.
I laugh out loud at that observation. A bitter dark chuckle that forces Hannibal to looks up. He stares at me curiously from across the room. I am interrupting his reading.
I am such a nuisance to him. I do wonder how his stoic wise presence tolerates my impulsive thoughts. He must hear my brain and imagine it to be a radio chatter. Unimportant but familiar. How he can sit there and stare at me? Like we are just two people, in a room, on a winter night.
Yet that is a lie. I do know how. And so I close my eyes and I let my head fall back against the plush armchair. Indulging in a moment of reflection.
The fireplace is a soothing noise, as are the rustling of pages.
The room is almost too hot. It is winter in Venice, and the old the building chill is not to Hannibal's liking. He indulges the fire with real logs of wood. It is a ritual to us now.
Perhaps he is getting old? Or should I search for a deeper, bite my teeth into the past? A cold winter long ago and a brother and his dead sister. But I'm getting ahead of myself. None of it is my business. Hannibal does not belong to me.
The red glow of flames behind my eyelids guides me back to my senses. I feel warm and content. Right, where was I? Desire and being desired.
It is funny how countless of touches tell a story. I can't tell the first time from the last, but I can remember the significance. Those moments stand clear and vibrant in their meaning.

***
We were healing for many months. Silent, brooding and grieving for our own imagined deaths. The taste of the Atlantic became stale in our mouths. Salty enough to keep us silent like strangers.Our lips sealed by secrets and fear.
To be fair, it hurt for me to speak. My cheek was stitched expertly by Hannibal. I tried saying something right then. Maybe I wanted to thank him. To utter something so simple and easy and break the spell. We were sitting on the bed, the sheets twisted beyond repair. Another shared sleepless night. An unspoken togetherness in common physical pain. I liked that. I also felt guilty for enjoying it. Hannibal was polite and professional. He reached for the scissors in his first aid kit and I tried saying something right than to explain.
But what could I say? That our death was the only way? I could hear his response and tone patient like a father scolding his child: "Was it the only way or the only way for you?"

He was right, and although it was just an imaginary voice, it stopped me in my tracks. I was left like a clown to stretch my stitched grimace. I might as well have reached my arms and told him I'm sorry. "Forgive me for I have sinned." Or some other religious variation of repentance. I said none of those things. I think Hannibal wouldn't have appreciated the sentiment anyway.
I didn't try and reach for Hannibal. Even though he was so close. Hannibal, human and solid beside me. Always on a bed, moving us from one hotel room to the next.
Two silent ghosts on the run. I could stare at his back for hours, counting his breaths and wondering, "is this it? Is this my life?" Looking back, all I see is a coward.
In a way, I was killing Hannibal twice. Once in water as cold as ice that left him fighting but willing to live. The second time, slowly taking away from him that very desire.
That is where I was going with my thoughts. You see, desire cannot be present without the will to live. At the time, we had none.
I know now that I and Hannibal are more dependent on each other than we could ever admit. We are both guilty of that sin of silence.
It was enough for one of us to fall down and the scales would flip. Thankfully, it was Hannibal to make the first move.
***

We were standing in the kitchen, a vast white space, our new safe house. Hannibal was cooking dinner while whistling to himself. It was one of those rare moments for us where the past and present blurred. The pan sizzles with red peppers, onions and what Hannibal explained was "a mixture of turmeric and garlic, spicy but sweet when carmelized."
I lean against the counter, relaxed, seemingly at ease.
"I thought spicy wasn't even a taste?" Hannibal looks at me and smiles. A quirk of the mouth that does not reach his eyes, "correct." He throws in some diced tomatoes. "Spicy food stimulates our nerves; it is pain we humans associate with flavor. Some even mistake it for sweetness".
I give him skeptical glare. I knew that of course, but I did not like the idea coming from Hannibal, it sure seemed cruel. Hannibal could cut with his words. He would unveil me raw and it would hurt. Truth is what he wanted. Not pain. I look at him and blurt out "one can argue it tastes spicy if it feels like it." Hannibal turns his back for a moment but I pick up on his tension.
"Yes Will, humans, do just that, one could argue that is all they do. Substituting one feeling for another."
Hannibal fixes me with a steady stare, I don't return it. "Isn't that what humans do? Calling pain love, marveling at the torture they inflict on their partners and calling It passion, devotion, loyalty?" I scoff at that, "you are one to talk about healthy relationships." Hannibal takes his apron off.
"I am not above judgment Will, for I recognize that spice is pain. I do not confuse it with sweetness as others do." I start feeling uneasy and catch myself leaning away from the kitchen counter. Away from Hannibal.
"How can you say that?"
Hannibal starts to reply but I raise my hand to silence him, "wait," I realize something. It hits me in the chest with full force. He is talking about us.
I want to tell him: "Be honest, Hannibal. You speak in metaphors but I can still hear you." No it isn't right; I feel for the words. I take a deep breath.
"I see you" Is all I say. I hear Hannibal approach and look down. I feel ashamed for my outburst. I've said too much. Hannibal stops and I take a good look at his feet (long, bony, slightly curved).
To my surprise, he is wearing grey socks and no shoes. "What is it you want to say, Will? You ask me for honesty but will give only your mocking silence." I look up so swiftly my neck hurts.
" Hannibal, you speak of loyalty, devotion, I sigh the word out..."Passion. I look up into Hannibal's stormy gaze. "And this theory of yours?
It doesn't sound like you. It is almost…wrong. You value pain." I sigh, "you marvel in its power."
I close my eye and open them again. Hannibal is standing very still, but I can feel something electric building in the air.
I know where to push. I always know. "What happened to you?"
My last weapon. My final blow. Hannibal leans back and folds his arms. He is almost defensive.
"Is this a theoretical conversation Will? Should I tell you what love is? Or do you want me to say it?" I prepare myself mentally and nod.
"I am just a man, Will. I make mistakes sometimes. Where you are concerned, I am a fool." I can't look away, Hannibal, standing in his kitchen and telling me he is a fool, talking about love.

"I thought what I felt for you was genuine, pure even. I was proven wrong, I hurt you in the process. Three years later, you came back and I forget myself again in your presence. It was hard not to, I must admit. I have mistaken what we had for…" Hannibal shows his teeth and it is frightening in honesty.
"flavor, a feast for us to enjoy, being reborn together with every swallow." Hannibal looks remorseful, almost apologetic.
"I was wrong and here we are. I have forced your hand against me in my compliance and for that I do apologize. It won't happen again."
I chew on his words. There is something here that needs to be uncovered. I finally understand what Hannibal is saying (I won't ever let you in again after you betrayed me).
Deep waters but I must bring us to shore.

I take a step forward until I can breath Hannibal's air. I can feel the electric cloud that surrounds him and the slight wife of something sweet and almost out of place.

"So…In this metaphor it turned out I was nothing but spice? Nothing but pain for you, Hannibal? I can take you as a cynic…But a martyr?" I shake my head "never." I am openly mocking him now and it is dangerous territory but my chest hurts. His words hit me with cold fear.
Has my betrayal hurt him so badly? Is there anything left to salvage? "Be careful, Will." Hannibal steps closer and I can feel the cloud of rage he contains. Oh! How I angered the beast. But a raging beast is better than a dead animal.
I give him full eye contact, all I feel is the cold in my chest and I want the burn of his rage to warm me. Anything but this.
"I hurt you, Hannibal and you hurt me, I can acknowledge my mistakes. Our mistakes. I will be lying if I said I'm sorry for falling of that cliff. For throwing us off the edge. For killing you." Hannibal tenses in front of me but waits.
"Because," my voice breaks but I can't stop talking now that the wound is open. "Because the only way I could kill you, have you gone, is if I was with you. Just us together. There was no other way Hannibal."
My voice is getting rough; I haven't spoken so many words in months. My chest feels tight.
"I understand if my betrayal takes you away from me, I'm not asking for your forgiveness. But give me the courtesy of my truth, whatever yours maybe." I'm breathing heavily now. "
"All a lie? Perhaps. But I would never accept that." I raise my chin and stare defiantly in into the fiery gaze of my monster. Hannibal burns through me and nothing is left.
It was always so but I was too blind to see. "I can see you, Hannibal. If you look way, it is your choice alone."

There, I said it. Hannibal can read between the lines. I will never leave him, he can do whatever he wants to me, hell he can eat me for dinner and I won't object.
Perhaps it is the guilt talking? But no, it is not the guilt that burns my throat but the pain of his rejection. I'm waiting for him, ready and tense and just a little bit angry at myself, but he does nothing.
I look around the open space of white kitchen, stark and useful but devoid of any warmth. This not a home, just a house and two strangers cooking dinner.
Actions like breathing only receive meaning in their rhythm. Were Hannibal and me in this space but together, would it come alive? Would the sparkle of white kitchen counters glow in an inviting new light?
Or would that too be nothing but an illusion, a moment of respite before the knives are thrown?
But then I feel his hand under my chin, more of a gesture than an actual touch. I look up, defeated by my own hope at the soft gesture. I will die like a lamb, staring with open admiration at my wolf.
"You are no victim, Will. It doesn't become you." Hannibal's voice is stronger and clearer. I forgot how smooth it can be, coming after a moment of rearranged thoughts. It is too familiar for me to handle. I try pulling away but Hannibal's hold tightens.

"Listen to me carefully and make your choice. I have anguished you just now and your hurt." I nod slowly but his hand tightens painfully around my throat. "Yes" is my answer.
Hannibal looks satisfied but his eyes remain haunted. He looks through me as he speaks; "There is one possibility which I didn't want to acknowledge.
I couldn't see it before now, but you make me see this new path. As you always do, the catalyst that you are." He sounds almost fond.
I reach behind me for what I know is a knife but Hannibal looks at me sharply. "Listen, Will. Make your choice." I give up and go limp. Like I said, I'm beyond fighting.
"Pain can mask many things but it can also bring light. Your anguish over my words has made me see where I was blind. What I thought was a mask was in fact the blinding light of the truth that pain brings."
I have no ideas what he is talking about and it must be obvious in my lost gaze. I forget about life and death and try to read him. Hannibal feels…Excited and almost vulnerable.
"What I'm saying Will is that I've mistaken the symptom for the malady. Pain can be masked by petty emotions and attachments that I'm not immune to, but once they come into my awareness, I can disregard them with ease. My feelings for you, Will, I have mistaken as such. A mask, an illusion where there is only my desire projected forth. You are glorious and receptive, there is no denying it. But then…When I could see clearly, I thought I was alone in my yearning. You wanted me dead and I wanted to kill the object that reminded me of my moment of weakness. Prideful, I know." Hannibal seems deep in thought. My neck hurts.
"Is this the part where you tried to eat my brain?" I ask. Hannibal chuckles dryly.
"Yes, it is a part of it." He lets go of me and I step back.
"Like I said, I thought I made a mistake. But now…I see you hurt even after the illusion was lifted. I thought I was bringing us to freedom. Unveiling the truth of our connection.
You are hurting because I rejected you. You made me realize how all previous pain and mistakes were caused not because my feeling for you were not genuine but due to my inability to see what causes the pain in the first place."
I sigh,"Hannibal I've completely lost you." I rub my neck and wince. "You said I had a choice to make?"

Hannibal moves gracefully across the three tiles between us (I count them) and reaches into the freezer for an ice pack. He hands it to me and I am grateful and strangely not ashamed for my gratitude.
"Yes, Will, a choice. I made mine long ago. I will bring us to freedom if you let me." Hannibal is genuine but I find it hard to give in so suddenly. "Having such a change of heart about me, about us? How can I trust you?" Hannibal just stares but his lips curve. He seems almost amused about something. "I never had a change of heart Will. All I had is your silence and I wanted to hear you speak." I take a step forwards. "So…All this? I don't understand."

"My dear Will, I have never had doubts about what you are to me. I could only doubt what I meant to you. I could not tell if your anguish was caused by your…unsuccessful attempt at death, my proximity or my distance. It was always a possibility that I can only bring you pain. An illusion of feelings masked by anguish."
I can't take his smug words, not right now.
"Isn't pain a part of the transformation?" I throw his words back at him. Hannibal shrugs and starts reaching for cutlery. Dinner is ready. "I may anger you but you do have a serious choice to make." I help him with the plates.
"I thought I made that choice when I threw us of that cliff." Hannibal freezes. "And what choice is that?" I realize he is afraid, afraid of me, afraid of my death wish. It is whispering around us now.
"I go where you go." I say simply, no grace is needed for the truth. Hannibal turns around "Is that so? And if I want us to wade through a new path, unexplored?" he touches my cheeks, my lips, as he says this and I understand. His eyes are hungry, burning at me, not through me. Penetrating my sense of gravity. I'm not here, I'm everywhere and I'm never alone. Not anymore.
"Will you take me there?" I whisper. Hannibal melts against my hand and his hand touches my face. Fluttering with hope and masking an urgency that runs between us, like time itself it is too fast, wasting away as we stall for a choice. We waited long enough. His fingers dance across my scarred cheek and I lean into his touch.
This is the place. The place of silence and fear and the wound to prove our mutual fallacy.
Hannibal seems to agree. "We have both been foolish." He says it like it means nothing.
But I know better. This is Hannibal's repentance. It is rich and heady in scent as the veils are swept away. We can both see now.
I look my fill, licking my lips as my eyes roam: the planes of that face, sharp and glowing.
High cheekbones against my fingers. Bones that will never break but cut you if you try. Lips, so full in pleasure and pride. Just a man, a heartbeat in a chest against mine.
When did we come so close? No. when did we come so far? Look up into vast brown eyes and smile.

Hannibal's arms reach around me, molding the space between us into a new meaning. A work of art that I can understand. It is for my benefit, for I can tell he wants more.
His muscles call for action, aggression that is on the edge of lust. I can tell.
I challenge him, "take me then." It is a coyness that bubbles in me the same as joy. Unfamiliar, making me reckless. Hannibal laughs and it is real and savory.
"You are a glory to see". I move away, no more talking, no empty words.
For the first time, we are swimming in the same waters and reaching for the same land.
I take Hannibal's hand and tug. He doesn't break, instead he is binding me to him in two swift motions. One, I am pushed against is chest. Two, his lips reach my neck. Hot breath on my skin. Three heartbeats and I am yours. This is all it takes.
***

It is funny, but I do not remember much after that. Moments resurface at times like tonight. That was the first touch. They say trauma cannot be contained by the psyche.
But flashbacks of that night together make me wiser. Joy too can be too much to take, unless you have someone to share it with.
I stretch and open my eyes. The fire has almost died out and the room is chilly. There is a wool blanket covering me. I don't remember sleeping.

"What were you dreaming?" Hannibal is behind me, as silent as a shadow. I can't see his face. He is silent as a cat and my heart skips a beat.
"I wasn't sleeping." He holds out a hand and helps me up. "I didn't say you were."
"I was awake." I don't know why I say it but it is important.
"Come to bed", he says it with practiced familiarity. "Kiss me." This, too is important. I feel fragile, transparent. What if this is not real?

Hannibal lets go and walks across the room and turns on the light. He comes back and he holds me and it is soothing and comfortable.
Eventually, we both grow tired and we sleep. In our bed under the sheets, I can hear a secret whisper.
"Make a choice." Every day together is like that, at times the whisper is an angry shout. Every day, a moment of pureness that calls for awareness. We both know it. Today I reach out, making my choice.
I lean on my elbow, the expensive crimson sheets soft in the darkness against my skin." "Hannibal?" I don't have to say anymore.
He reaches for me in the dark and covers my body with his. His lips cover mine and I open my mouth and let his breath tingle my lips. And we seal the night.
This is just one touch among many, but I've lost count at this point. I make the same choice every day.