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“Harder.”
The whip cracked like lightning. Will flinched as the hard leather split his flesh. Blood ran down his back in rivers of molten lava. He was Prometheus paying for his sins and Hannibal was the eagle ripping out his liver.
“Harder,” Will said.
The whip did not crack the air—Hannibal did. “Will.”
“Harder.”
Will bit back a scream as the whip hit him again. Somewhere along the labyrinthine pathway to his brain, the painful sensation of talons ripping through prey turned to pleasure. He moaned, tilting his head back until his veins stuck out.
Behind him, Hannibal sucked in a breath. “You’re divine,” he said.
Will glanced over his shoulder. “Again.”
Hannibal gathered the blood from the whip onto his fingers. He reached around and pushed them past Will’s lips, coating his tongue with the taste of sweet iron. Will hollowed his cheeks out to suck. The spine deep aches on his back intensified as Hannibal’s chest pressed against his wounds. He nipped Will’s ear in promise and warning.
“Hold still.”
Pain burst to life on Will’s thigh, bloody and raw. He shouted, jerking against the ropes holding his arms out to the side. This was a crucifixion and he was on the cross.
Hannibal struck him three times in quick succession. It split him open, exposed him to the world, and painted it with his blood. Everything shrunk down to the whistle of air and the crack against skin. Each lash was a caress, a kiss from an unforgiving god. The world around him spun. He was baptised by the life leaving his veins. He would be reborn from the fire ripping him apart.
Hannibal cracked the whip without mercy or hesitation. Will screamed.
The whip fell to the ground. Hannibal was by Will’s side with cold compresses. His hands, which inflicted untold pain, were now gentle and healing. Will met Hannibal’s eyes through sweat-slicked hair. Hannibal cupped Will’s cheek.
“My beautiful monster,” he said, moving his thumb back and forth underneath Will’s eye. “What have you had me do?”
Will laughed and let his forehead fall against Hannibal’s shoulder. “You’ll take care of me,” he murmured. “You always do.”
“In my own way.”
Will scoffed at that. But Hannibal was helping him to his feet, and the pain made him woozy, so he let everything fade into the thrum of pleasure that went down to his toes. Moving towards the bed was like dancing. Will hummed a tuneless song as Hannibal lay him face down.
“I’ll have to stitch some of these,” Hannibal said, his voice far away.
Water trickled into a basin by Will’s head. He cracked open an eye and watched Hannibal wash his hands. Then he soaked a clean, white rag before placing it on Will’s back. Will flinched, sucking in a breath at the pain that lanced through him. Hannibal dabbed at the wound.
“Did Zeus cleanse Prometheus’ wounds?” Will asked.
“He wanted to,” Hannibal said. “It took great restraint not to strike the eagle as it cut out Prometheus’ liver.”
“Doomed to watch what he loves be hurt forever.”
“In the name of punishment. Tell me, Will. What crime are you punishing yourself for?”
Will pressed his forehead into the pillow. “All of them.”
Silence stood between them in the shapes of all their victims. Will watched them with hooded eyes as Hannibal cleaned the rest of his wounds. The pain faded with each patient stroke. All that remained was the coolness of Hannibal’s fingers.
“You will have to release Zeus from his duty as punisher at some point,” Hannibal said. “There’s a limit to how many times he can watch what he loves be hurt.”
“It’s the price of divinity,” Will said.
“To hurt or be hurt?”
“Both.”
“Perhaps, then, divinity is an unattainable goal.” Hannibal threaded a needle with surgical thread. “We are made in the shape of the divine but cannot bear the burden.”
Will hissed out at the first prick of the needle into his skin, cold steel through hot skin. “What’s more divine than repairing what you’ve broken?”
“Loving it enough to not break it in the first place.”
“Then maybe you and I are just divine enough.”
Something cracked in Hannibal’s voice when he spoke again. “I would accept the limitations of mortality if it meant I could see you whole and healthy.”
Will’s heart ached. “I already accepted that I’ll die by your side,” he said. “It’s nice to know that you would too.”
A warm, gentle kiss was pressed against the base of Will’s neck. “There would be nothing I want more,” Hannibal said. “But not now. And not for crimes you should release from your conscience. What you have done in the past is gone. All that remains is the man that emerged from the ocean.”
“All my sins washed away in the salty water of benediction?”
“Of that life.”
Will huffed and pulled Hannibal to the bed. Their sides brushed together, skin against skin. “My life is before you and after you,” he said. “And I only started living after I met you.” He nuzzled Hannibal’s neck. “I love you, Hannibal.”
“Then I truly have met the divine.”
Will laughed and curled around Hannibal’s warmth. He drifted to sleep there, and no ghosts disturbed his dreams.