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A crack of lightning shone through the man's window and jolted him from his sleep, the roaring thunder that followed sending reluctant shivers down his spine. Thunderstorms had never been a particular issue of his - at least not to the point that they roused him from his sleep. So then why...?
And then he heard a creak on his floorboards. Subtle, at first, as if trying to stay hidden. But the closer they got to his room, the louder they inevitably became. Hannibal watched with morbid, self-destructive curiosity as the door to his bedroom opened and revealed a ghastly, beautiful sight.
Will Graham, sickly pale, eyes haggard and sunken, mouth open and panting, hands red and bloody, trudging towards him like a sinner towards repentance. There was a knife in his hands, but it was clean. It was the only clean thing about him - everything else was marred by crimson fluid. Will Graham had been bathing in somebody's blood. A sound left his lips as he neared Hannibal's bed, raising the knife, and he seemed to be contemplating. Should he kill his maker, and everything that he represents? But if Hannibal died, who would guide Will through his newfound Darkness? Who would be able to see him as well as Hannibal did? Killing Hannibal would be like killing the last witness to his violent nature - and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand it.
"Hello, Will," Hannibal said calmly. Inside, his heart was racing. Pure joy filled Hannibal to the brim and threatened explosion. This was everything he had ever wanted for Will, and it was finally coming true. "What have you been up to, I wonder?"
"There was a savage dog outside your house," Will said calmly. Lightning struck again, and this time it hit a tree in the distance, causing it to topple over and fall to the ground, its trunk charred and smoking. "I killed it."
"A savage dog?" Hannibal asked, looking slightly amused. "That's a shame. I thought you were fond of dogs."
"Sometimes, dogs have to be put down," it looked as if it had pained him to say it. "Dogs like that are too dangerous to be allowed to roam around."
Will was directly beside Hannibal's bedside, looking down at him expectantly. What would be his reward for finally embracing his true nature? Was that something that could earn a reward? Or would it garner a punishment instead? What if Hannibal didn't like his carpets being bloodied, and sent Will away?
"I hope this dog didn't bite you, Will," Hannibal murmured quietly, reaching out and tugging Will closer by his arm. He ran his hand gently over Will, as if checking for impurities. But all of Will was impure now, every drop of innocence dripping off him in bright red rivulets onto Hannibal's bedroom floor.
Will bared his neck. "It did."
Brown eyes traced the bite mark on his neck with muted anguish. Immediately, Hannibal scooted over and made room for Will to sit down next to him. Will hesitated.
"Come, Will," Hannibal beckoned. "I'd like to see it closer, please."
Will perched on the edge of Hannibal's bed, holding his breath as the man came closer, his breath fanning against his skin and setting goosebumps racing down his skin. Outside, the rain started to pour.
"Will," Hannibal whispered, drawing both arms around his waist and tugging so that Will was properly situated on the bed. "Forgive me, Will."
And then Hannibal bit down.
Will spasmed in his arms, but Hannibal held tight as he bit harshly over the wound on Will's neck. Will cried out, but didn't struggle, didn't protest. He wanted - no, needed - this just as much as Hannibal did. He sighed as Hannibal staked his claim on Will, kissing and licking at the blood as if he were one of Will's dogs.
"I know what you are, Hannibal," Will said quietly.
"And I know what you've become," Hannibal replied simply, and that was enough.