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Sea salt.
Sweat.
The metallic scent of blood.
In another world, it would have been nauseating.
He would have hated the stickiness coating his hands.
The dance would not have been as perfect, as easy, as it was.
The euphoria of a successful hunt would not have lodged itself in his throat.
In another world, Will Graham would have run as far away as he could.
But this world was this world.
Will was Will.
And Will loved Hannibal.
He didn’t have to say it for Hannibal to know.
It was evident in the way he dug his fingers into Hannibal’s sweater.
The cheek pressed warmly –firmly– to his chest.
Will could not live with what he did, but he had one last promise to fulfill before he could go.
He would bring Hannibal to his death with his hands.
With his arms circling him, and Hannibal embracing him in return, he swayed them over the edge.
Hannibal’s arms tightened around him in the freefall.
Together, they sank into the seafoam as Icarus once did.
Feathers floated to the surface as if Will’s guardian angel had swooped in at the last second.
But he would not let you forget: Lucifer was once an angel, too.