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Summary
"It was a mistake," Will says in a low voice, breaking the silence. The tips of his nail beds are pale, his fingers pressed hard against the base of his glass.
"It was a delight," Hannibal disagrees evenly, setting his own glass down.
Series
- Part 10 of where you can always find me
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Bookmark Notes:
stunning. will be rereading until the day i die
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Bookmark Notes:
crying banging my chest punching walls kicking chairs writhing on floors. this fic is SOOOOO important.
"Hannibal takes a measured breath. "What is it that you want?" he asks, because that seems to be the only way to get to the center of this maze they've lost themselves in. "What lies behind all of this — your fears and desires? Do you know what you want from me, truly?"
Will is silent, still but for his heartbeat, on the other side of the table. "You smooth yourself over," he finally says, "like sand, always. There is no way for me to see the signs that I have been there, in your life. You could leave tomorrow and start a new life, and no one would see that you were mine. I want to know that I have made a difference. With you. That I have left an impression in you that will last."
"Scars last," Hannibal offers, but he knows that's not what Will means even before he shakes his head.
"No. Not that kind of impression. I could carve my name into you and it would mean nothing, if you decided it was just lines."
There are many marks on Hannibal's body that are indeed 'just lines'. He could offer Will something more severe than scars or brands, but he doesn't bother voicing the idea. Will would not accept that either.
"You attempted to bend my nature instead," he says instead. "To make room for yourself inside of me, so that I would always carry you with me."
"Yes." Will doesn't look at him, but his hushed voice rings of sincerity.
Hannibal breathes. It means a lot to him, that Will wants to be permanently engraved in him. He already is, of course, present always in everything Hannibal thinks and does, always a companion or at least a presence, watching him silently from the edge of things. Hannibal wishes that he and Will were truly telepathic, instead of this hazy state of almost-touching that he feels so often. They hold entire conversations in their minds sometimes, but it's not always that what has been said remains said outside of those particular encounters.
"I will do anything you ask of me," he says, slowly. "I do it simply because it is you, asking. Do you understand?"
Will shakes his head minutely, but it is clearly not because he doesn't understand. His eyes are half-shuttered windows, still guarded, even after everything.
"If you want to subjugate me, to train me to commands, you may do so. If you want me to suffer, I will. I do these things because there is nothing more important to me than you."
He lays his hand on the table, outstretched with his palm up. Will looks at it, at him, and Hannibal thinks about the nature of fear and its many faces.
"You don't need to put a collar on me to touch me," he says and waits. It is difficult, to offer his heart again and again to someone so hesitant to take it. Either Will can overcome his reticence, or he can't. Hannibal has done his best to plead his case, but in the end, it is Will who must decide. Will, who has taken over so much of Hannibal's life and consciousness, yet doesn't seem to be aware of the extent of his influence no matter how many times Hannibal tells him.
Will puts his hand in Hannibal's, the shock of his touch almost painful. Will's hand is shaking a little and it's slightly damp with nervous perspiration, but his grip is firm, as if he doesn't want to risk Hannibal pulling his hand back.