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After the deep fried Mars bar incident Will had expected to be thrown on a bed, divested of his clothes with preternatural speed and vigorously fucked by his joyous, and possibly tearful cannibal. It didn’t happen, much to Will’s relief although if he is being completely honest with himself, he may also have felt just a tiny bit disappointed.
Will has yet to make a conscious decision where he stands regarding sex and the cannibal, it would be easier in some respects, if the older man just took control. On this issue though a line appears to have been drawn, of all the boundaries Hannibal has easily transgressed he is leaving the decision on the finer points of their physical intimacy to Will, who is confused to say the least. It’s not that Will hasn’t fantasised about Hannibal, he has, but he’s not got much further than the other man’s chest hair; which admittedly is rather glorious in its own right. When he tries to take his formidable imagination beyond this he gets stuck on the question of how do you be intimate with, and not just fuck, a man who took a bone saw to your skull with the intention of serving your brain as a main course.
Its not an easy question and sat in a car on the way to Whitby, North Yorkshire, Will is unable to formulate an answer.
“We have arrived,” pronounces Hannibal as he pulls on the handbrake and unclicks his seat belt.
Will open his eyes and looks around, they are in a small car park. He’s not quite sure why they couldn’t have visited this seaside town when they were still in England but the cannibal is a little erratic at the moment so he decides to keep that thought to himself. As he gets out the car he tries to remember what Whitby is famous for but that answer, like other more troubling ones, is currently beyond him.
Hannibal leads the way through the busy streets of the seaside town, he never spares a glance for the noisy amusement arcades or confectionary shops selling brightly coloured sticks of Rock candy and, to Will’s disappointment, neither do they not stop to purchase any of the famous Whitby fish. Instead, as part of a large crowd, they make their way across a bridge to the other side of the town. This side, with its winding, cobbled streets lined with tiny houses, whose door frames only a ten year old child could enter without stooping, and shops selling antiques, jewellery and modern art would seem more to Hannibal’s tastes, but still they keep walking.
They stop when they get to steps, and not just a flight of steps. He frowns, surely this cannot be the reason we came here and he wanders over to an information notice which explains the history of the 199 steps, apparently, at the top, there is a church and a beautiful panoramic view of the local area. It’s not the sort of thing Will would have driven hundred’s of miles to do, but if this is what Hannibal wants then fine, he’ll accompany him after all that’s what friends do.
They ascend the steps quickly, they are two fit serial killers in the prime of their life after all and, as luck would have it, they are the only ones at the top. It really is a breath taking view, one direction looks out over the steps and the town itself and another the harbour and the sea. It makes Will a little wistful looking out over the ocean, when he’d crossed it all those years ago in search of Hannibal he’d never imagined it would end up like this, the two of them on the run together. Yet, then as now, he was drawn to the older man, couldn’t live with him, couldn’t live without him. Wandering around the church graveyard the names of the long dead almost erased by the forces of nature, it seems to Will now more than ever he cannot live without his cannibal.
He feels Hannibal’s comforting presence behind him, he turns to smile. Eyes, almost maroon in their intensity burrow into Will, he cannot help but shiver. When Hannibal is like this he has a magnetism few, and certainly not the ex FBI profiler, can deny.
Will feels the cold, hard edge of an old stone coffin dig into his back he looks up to find his cannibal is looking so very, very hungry. Fuck, he thinks, that’s what Whitby is famous for.
“Hannibal,” says Will calmly, as if he is talking down a vampire, or a deranged killer in this case. He tries to inch his way along the tomb hoping to head for the steps and safety, “You are Count Lecter, not Count fucking Dracula, and I am not Mina Harker. There is no way you are ravishing me up against a stone slab.”
Hannibal takes a step closer, the intensity of his stare still undiminished, Will is convinced the only words heard were, “Ravish me.”
“Will,” Hannibal finally says, his eyes their normal dark brown and the empath has to admit that his cannibal sounds a little hurt. “I was only going to ask if I could kiss you and now you have killed the mood,” and with an imperious turn of his head he walks away.
Will looks around at the graves many of which have blackened and subsided with age, “Mood,” he says loudly, “It’s a graveyard.”
As the words leave his mouth Will is seized by the feeling that, right here and right now, on this cliff overlooking the ocean, the moment has come to decide if and how they will be together. Heading for the steps Will goes after the man whose bloody and brutal love simultaneously ruined and transformed his life.
Hannibal is some distance ahead, just a solitary man making his way down ancient steps as evening takes hold and street lights blink on.
Moving fast Will catches hold of the sleeve of Hannibal’s jacket, “I’m sorry Hannibal... my imagination,” he says, as if that is an acceptable excuse for everything.
“You see me as a monster who sucks the life out of you,” says Hannibal a twitch in the corner of his mouth the only sign of any feeling, “its a fair assessment.”
Turning his back the older man continues to walk slowly down the steps, leaving Will where he stands.
“Oh no doctor, you do not get to say that and walk away.”
This time Will catches hold of Hannibal’s hand entwining their fingers.
“And I threw us off a cliff,” he says tugging at Hannibal to make him stop walking, “and the sea washed away our sins against each other and we were reborn.”
“Is that what you think? Is it that simple?” asks Hannibal his eyebrow raised in query, not quite believing.
“It can be if we want it to be," says Will his decision made. "We have enough scars, lets not carry all those sins as well."
Will feels a smattering of rain on his face, he extends his hand capturing the tiny drops in his palm, he smiles.
“Are you going to sing to me, Will?” asks Hannibal with a chuckle, remembering his own twirl round a lamp post in Yorkshire.
“No.”
When their lips meet it is gentle, no bites, no blood, no attempts to hurt nor dominate; at least not tonight. In the slide of tongues and the savouring of each others taste two reborn souls search for an answer to, ‘do we fit?’ They find that they do.
When their mouths part their hands remain clasped together.
“Will you still not let me ravish you against a grave stone?”
“I thought you had more class than that,” replies Will “and I’m not drunk enough...yet.”