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Will fell to his knees, blood pooling in front of him as it poured from the man he’d just killed. He could hear his own blood pounding loudly in his ears, his breath coming in short gasps. It was a surreal feeling to have killed someone with purpose, to watch as life left their body and to know he was the cause.
It was powerful. It was intoxicating.
He could feel it as he began to list to the side, exhausted but still buzzing with his recent kill. Before he could hit the blood-covered floor, arms wrapped around him, pulling him to a warm, firm chest.
“Hannibal?” Will whispered, turning his head enough to see the other man.
“I’m here,” Hannibal replied, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You did well tonight, Will.”
Hannibal’s arms moved to rub Will’s sides and shoulders, and the pent up tension began to dissipate, leaving a warm, tingling feeling of success. It felt a little like floating on a bed of cloud, blood and power surrounding him in a way that made him feel better than he thought he ever had before.
“Rest. I will finish up and we can return home,” Hannibal said after a few moments of petting, dropping a quick kiss onto Will’s forehead.
Will allowed himself to be lowered gently to the floor. He curled in on himself a little, watching as Hannibal moved about the room, turning the man Will had killed into art. He was so glad he’d finally allowed Hannibal to show him this.