Chapter Text
Hannibal didn’t search for him.
His love had been selfish, his love had been cruel. His love had been violent and bloody, and it had frightened Will so much that it drove him to run. The thing to break him had been a mere mistake, accidental and cruel betrayal driving him to flee. So he offered up one selfless act, one grand gesture of love that could parallel none other.
He let him go.
He counted the days since he’d left. He let his fingers strike the keys of the piano stored in the basement, neglecting the harpsichord for the sake of a gloomier sound. The house grew colder, leaving him frostbitten as he returned to the ice and stone. He now stood so far from the man he had once been. Operas and bloody dinner parties now brought no joy, and he took no pleasure in his place above men, unable to truly be apart of the world around him. Will Graham had been his counterpart, gods among men, having walked the world alone before stumbling upon each other. And now, like the gods of old, he would consign himself to a lonely death, slowly taken back into the stone.
And he would consign himself to such a fate, a fate worse than death, a fate worse than the cage, a fate worse than hell. At least there, there would be some form of torment, whether from the prison guards or from the devil or from God himself. There would be something to rebut against, to taunt and to laugh at as the pain pricked against the flesh. But there was nothing to blame here, nothing to taunt here, nothing to draw toward the brink. There was only silence. There stood only the quiet, silent as the tomb.
He oftentimes wondered where Will had escaped to. Perhaps he fled to more familiar territories, returning to the places where he had followed his father growing up. Louisiana had been regarded as home, a house in New Orleans the place where they had always returned to, but they never stood stagnant. Perhaps he would return to the boatyards of Biloxi or Greenville, or the shores of Lake Erie. Perhaps he would build up a life for himself, under false names and false pretenses. Perhaps he’d open up a garage, return to fixing things, tinkering, channeling his appetite for blood into the parts of machines until his teeth began to itch.
Hannibal wondered if there would be a family to replace him one day. Perhaps not so soon, only four months having passed. But perhaps one day he would find someone to replace him. Perhaps he would find something more akin to domesticity than what Hannibal could offer him. Someone kinder, someone less cruel to him, someone who could care for a family, even if it was a makeshift one of dogs and strays.
Hannibal decided on the second day after Will’s departure that he had no reason to believe that the child he had placed in Will’s womb was still alive. He would seek out an abortionist to take the monstrosity from his loins, destroy the source of his pain as soon as he possibly could. Another pregnancy terminated before it could be carried to term, this time the child at Will’s mercy, the death of their unborn child brought about by its father’s choice rather than forced upon him.
Or, perhaps, if not brought about by an abortionist, perhaps it was brought about by an alcohol binge. Even before he left, he had been attempting to drink himself into oblivion, passing out with whiskey on his breath every night. It was unlikely that a baby could survive under such conditions.
He accepted it. He accepted this new life, consigned himself to the silence, consigned himself to the chasing of ghosts through these empty halls. Still, it ached to think about. One petty mistake, one momentary lapse in judgement, and all that he held dear was stripped from him.
He supposed it was what he deserved, though. Men like him were not meant for happy endings.
~~~~
He loaded his revolver before tucking it into his waistband and turning to the mirror. Four months had been spent in shitty motel rooms, contemplating the uses of such a weapon, and wondering if he was truly putting it to its best use.
He decided that he was, and resisted the urge to return to his nightly games of Russian Roulette. There were plenty of urges that he found himself resisting these days. He resisted the urge to blow his own brains out. He resisted the whiskey on most nights, though there were still rare occasions when the bottle won him over. He resisted the urge to shove a coat hanger between his legs and get it over with himself, destroy the thing that was destroying his sanity. But he resisted, knowing that it wasn’t the child growing within him that brought on the nightmares.
He tracked them down. Every last one of them.
He traveled beneath false names, false pretenses, under hoods and shadows. He had a collection of false ID’s, and knew to keep his mouth shut. He never stayed in one place more than a week, just long enough for him to track them down and strike when they were alone. He used an old-fashioned revolver, like the one that his father used to shoot bullets into the wall whenever he needed to express a little rage. He struck quietly and quickly, without mess and without warning, a ghost lurking within the shadows, ready to exact righteous vengeance.
The nightmares settled a little more with each bloody end. Seventeen men dead, the father of his first child undoubtedly among them. Old men with wives and livelihoods, dead within an instant for the sins they had committed lifetimes ago.
There stood only one left.
He knew what was coming to him. How could he not? The obituaries would have drawn a straight line toward him, ticking off his old buddies one by one, until he was the last one standing. He knew he had it coming. Perhaps he had already resigned himself to such a death.
He zipped up his coat, something he had taken to doing as the months ticked by and his midsection started to thicken, and headed toward the door. The January wind bit at his cheeks, but he paid it little mind as he hopped into the driver’s seat of the rusty stolen pickup that he’d been driving since the plane had landed, and started down the familiar roads leading home.
The diner where he used to spend afternoons doing homework and sipping on Coca-Cola still stood where it once had, though it had been long abandoned, standing as a nearly eerie reminder of what once was. His hands tensed around the wheel when he passed the place where the clinic used to stand, now just an empty lot, remembering how it felt as his father pulled up as he doubled over, arms curled tight around his bump. There was the cinema, where a beta girl gave him his first handjob while they watched Independence Day, where he’d escaped to the bathroom to sob afterward, though it had been demolished and turned into an AT&T store. Mama Rose looked to still be in business, though, the psychic who he’d visited with his first real girlfriend as a joke, the woman whose bright eyes went cold when she touched him, as though she’d seen all of the horrors and all of the ghosts that haunted him.
It was all so different these days. Steering clear of a place for a little over two decades would do that. Time ticked forward, life moved on without him, even if the image that stayed in his head remained frozen in time. The town where he grew up forgot about him, another face among many, barely a blip on its radar.
And then there was the house.
The house stood unchanged, unmoved, only older now. Falling rapidly into disrepair, standing as old and decrepit as the man that lived inside. Some of the wooden boards appeared rotted away, vines snaked up the side of the house, the yard succumbing to the thistles and the weeds.
He pulled into the driveway, remembering when he had been in the passenger’s seat. There were good nights, when the manager at the old diner drove him home to spare him the walk through the cold. There were nights when his stomach twisted up in knots, fearing what the old, drunk bastard might have to say when he walked through the door.
Will made no effort of hiding his presence. He shut off the car, and slammed the door behind him before making his way up to the porch, reaching for the spare key that sat beneath the faded lawn gnome, though it quickly proved unnecessary. The door stood unlocked, his father waiting for him to come home.
“Evening, Billy,” his father called from the living room, sitting in the same chair where he always sat, the once bright red recliner long faded now.
Will cocked his gun.
“I fucking hate it when you call me that,” he said, and aimed.
Reruns of Wheel of Fortune blared over crackling speakers, the only light coming from the TV. It was a place frozen in time, almost as though he had never left. There were some things, he supposed, that were doomed to remain constant, routine and monotony stretching out into eternity, at least until something came along to change it.
“Come to kill your old man, eh, then?” he asked, almost nonchalant, not caring enough to beg for his life. Maybe there was simply nothing left for him to live for. “Shoulda known you’d come calling. Always knew there was somethin’ not quite right in that pretty little head of yours. Knew that this day would come since I saw your face on the news. Run off with that Lecter character. Hannibal the Cannibal. Where’d he ever end up?”
“Home.”
“Home… Y’all are livin’ together now, are you? So I got a bitch male, but a faggot too? Got two for one, I see,” his father teased, tested, knowing damn well what it was he was doing. Will stood stone-faced, knowing better than to engage him. He liked to tease and tear and bite, but Will had learned pretty damn quick that he got bored easily.
And bored he got. His testing eyes stared up at Will for a long moment, daring him to fight back. Daring him to yell, to bite, to tear him apart to bits. To scream, to cry, to run upstairs to lock himself in his room. But Will stood with stony eyes, and he turned back to the television, giving a small scoff.
“You gonna do the same thing to me, then? Chop me up and cook me? Serve me up for dinner?”
Will chuckled. “Han would be appalled if I brought you home. Meat’s no good. Too old. Too dirty. Too drunk. He’d be able to tell what kind of bourbon you like just from the taste of your liver.”
The old man laughed and brought his glass to his lips, as though Will’s mention of it reminded him of what was in his hand. “Kid, you could get drunk yourself after eatin’ my liver.”
He paused, and took another drink. “So that Lounds woman was tellin’ the truth. I raised up a killer.”
“You talked to Freddie Lounds?” Will asked, eyebrow cocked. She hadn’t been above snapping a picture of his colostomy bag, so he supposed that tracking down his father for an exclusive interview wasn’t exactly beneath her.
“Yeah, kinda a bitch,” he huffed, something akin to laughter in his voice.
Will gave a small shrug and a nod. Couldn’t exactly argue with him there.
The old man gave out a sigh, downing the rest of his bourbon before pouring himself another glass. “Anyway, can’t say I’m surprised. Shit I did to you, it’s a wonder you didn’t start whacking us all off sooner.”
Will didn’t speak, and rather watched. Suddenly, he wasn’t the monster that lurked in his closet and beneath his bed. He wasn’t the drill sergeant that would point a gun at his head at the slightest of infractions. He wasn’t the dealer capable of pawning off his body parts to be used by old men. He was just an old man, shriveled up and useless, flicking through channels and downing cheap bourbon.
“How many ya killed?” his father asked, in genuine curiosity.
“You know how you used to brag about all the zips you killed in Vietnam?”
He nodded slowly.
“More.”
He whistled, and took another sip. He seemed almost impressed, more than anything. Such atrocities were what it took to make his father proud of him. He couldn’t quite say that he was surprised, though. Evil men could only appreciate evil deeds.
“So what now? Gonna put a bullet through my head, splatter my brains across the walls? Like you did to all the others?”
“No,” Will said, taking a step closer, footsteps quiet as the grave. “No, you don’t get a bullet, that’s too quick. After the hell you put me through, I want you to taste the flame.” He looked down upon the old man with piercing eyes, hungry for something more satisfying than bullets as he tucked his gun into his waistband. “No. I want to kill you with my hands.”
~~~~
Across back roads and freeways, over rivers and oceans, through cities and forests, he would always find his way back home.
He was eighteen weeks pregnant by the time he found his way back to the doorstep. The home that he had abandoned stood as it did the day he left. The sun was setting in the west, the sky alight with oranges and pinks above him as it dipped behind his home. It had been rising when he’d left it, creeping ever so quietly over the horizon. Sunrise to sunset, they had come full circle, and it was time to come back home.
Part of him contemplated whether it would be appropriate to return, if he had any place here anymore. Leaving with hardly a word, a scribbled note in a frenzy being the only sign of him left in the house, it was cruel.
He tried not to blame himself for it. He’d sobbed for nearly an hour as his eyes found the second pink line, assuring him that he was, indeed, pregnant. There had been no more denial, and what fragile strength he’d mustered came crumbling down, slipping like dust between his fingers as he clutched his knees to his chest.
He decided then that he wasn’t angry at Hannibal anymore. There was fear, trauma, hints of betrayal still lurking at the corners of his mind, but he wasn’t angry. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye.
There were people who deserved his wrath. Cruel and violent people, vile men who would take advantage of a child without the ability to fight back. Bad men who still visited him in his dreams. There were men who had earned the fates that had been dealt to them, men who earned the bullets that pierced through their skulls. They were the real sources of his nightmares. They were the ones who deserved every last bit of what they got.
Hannibal, though, stood not among them, but beside him. Cradling him through the nightmares, calming his nerves with Lithuanian lullabies, rocking him back to sleep. Hannibal had his fair share of evil deeds, from the knife to his stomach to the saw to his head, but after the fall, there came peace. There came a change in him, and his violent deeds and violent delights turned to the rest of the world, and Will took his place beside him.
What had happened had not been a malicious strike against him. Will could feel the remorse, the guilt, the pain in him. It had been an accident. A careless slip had brought life into his womb for the third time in his life, but this time, there was no cruelty behind it.
And Will found himself growing fond of such happy accidents, falling in love with the child that grew within him. He fell in love with it, despite the nightmares, despite the anger, despite the pain. He allowed it to grow and blossom inside of him, allowed it to take root within his womb, allowed himself to love it.
His hand drifted down to rest over his belly, hidden mostly by his jacket, cradling the bump that was beginning to form. It wouldn’t be long before he could no longer hide it, until there would be no denying or momentary lapses of memory. Though, perhaps that was okay.
“Welcome home, baby,” Will whispered to himself.
Will raised a trembling hand to the knocker, allowing the noise to reverberate through him. He still had the key on the keychain in his pocket, alongside the keys to his car, and the car he’d stolen in America, and a small silver weiner dog that he had crafted himself one summer, years ago. He could have walked in and gone to bed, act as though nothing had ever happened, but it seemed ill fitting. Rude, even.
He heard the skitter of paws across the wooden floor, and smiled. Barking and whining greeted him from the other side, almost as though they could smell that their master had returned home. Behind them followed a more human set of footsteps, bare feet padding across the familiar wooden floors.
And the door swung open.
The dogs came rushing out, jumping up to greet him, soft fur meeting his fingertips as he instinctually fell down to his knees to greet them, as though nothing had ever even changed.
“Will.”
His voice was uttered, something just above a whisper, calling his eyes back up toward the man standing above him, staring at him with teary eyes. It was almost as though he didn’t quite believe what he saw, as though the man on his porch was nothing more than another cruel trick of the mind.
Will rose back to his feet, standing to meet Hannibal’s eyes, a half-hearted smile etched across his lips. Such bittersweet reunions, painful and joyous all at once.
“Hi,” Will said.
“Is it…” Hannibal’s voice trailed off, fingers reaching up to touch, hesitantly reaching out, as though he might vanish before his eyes should his fingertips meet the flesh.
Will reached up to meet him, taking his hand in his own and drawing it to his lips, pressing a kiss against his palm, inhaling him slowly. His scent was sweet and warm and familiar, like home.
“It’s me. I’m here. I’m home,” he breathed.
Hannibal made a noise unlike any he had any heard from those lips, somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he fell forward, collapsing into his arms, clinging to him like his entire world depended upon it, as though a hurricane might rip them apart if he dared let go. The tears stained hot through his clothes, dripping down against his flesh as tears perked up in his own, clinging to the alpha just as tightly as his knees threatened to give.
There were certain things he didn’t realize he had missed so desperately until he had them back. Hannibal’s arms thrown tightly around him, fingers stroking through his curls, clinging to him like he was all that mattered. The scent of him wrapped around him, that scent that he fell asleep to, the one he woke to, the one that had been missing from his bed and his clothes for all these long months. There were certain things that couldn’t be fully appreciated until he’d learned to live without them.
“Mano meilė, mano meilė,” he sobbed, burying his face into the crook of Will’s neck, inhaling him slowly…
He stilled, his sobs and words of adoration silenced, and Will knew why. Some things had not quite stayed the same since he’d left - his scent being one of them.
“You’re… You’re still…” Hannibal breathed, pulling slowly away, eyes glancing up and down his body.
Will gave a small smile before reaching to unzip his coat, revealing the bump that had started to form just beneath his clothes. He reached for Hannibal’s hand again, guiding it downward, allowing him to feel. Another joyous sob was drawn up from his throat as he fell into his tight embrace, keeping his hand pressed up against his belly.
“Oh, my love,” Hannibal murmured, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Where did you go?”
“It’s a long story,” Will said, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “But I don’t think we can go back to the states any time soon.”
Hannibal let out a small laugh, before pulling tighter to him, his tears running hot down Will’s neck, against his mating gland, still unmarked and unclaimed. He had never allowed Hannibal to sink his teeth in, to bind them, had never put so much faith, fearing the responsibility to such ties. Though, now, it wasn’t looking so bad.
“Let’s go inside,” Will coaxed softly, and Hannibal nodded, leading the way past the threshold, into the home that they had shared all these years. It smelled the same, like dogs and pine. It was still warm inside, still as inviting as it had ever been. He clicked his tongue, and like he had never even left, the dogs obeyed, following them in, chasing at their heels.
Will stepped closer to him, not wanting an inch of space between them. He wanted to be absorbed, to hold him so tightly that there would be no telling where one ended and the other began. He didn’t want to let go.
“Han,” Will breathed, drawing closer to him.
“William,” Hannibal said, his name spoken with such utter reverence, as though it had not left his tongue since the day he left.
“I’m sorry.” Will’s voice shook as he spoke. Will could sense it, the energy that had filled this house for the past four months lingering in the walls. Will had seen him smug, and arrogant, and vengeful, and joyous, and dissatisfied, and in love, but rarely so sad. Sadness was not such a common emotion for Hannibal, but the house felt drenched in it, as though it was the only emotion that had saturated these walls since he left.
Hannibal took a step closer, cupping Will’s face in his hands, forgiveness in his eyes. True forgiveness, forgiveness only known by men. God’s forgiveness was vengeful and cruel, and once, Hannibal’s had been much in the same. Will had taken after such cruel practices in his forgiveness, too, but all such cruelty had been lost to the sea, and now there was nothing but forgiveness in the way that man forgives. Patient, and expecting nothing in return.
“My love, you’ve returned to me,” he breathed, thumb swiping away his tears. “It is all that I could ever ask for. Whatever it was, wherever you went, you walked the road you had to. I regret only that I could not walk it with you.”
“I…” Will sniffled, teary-eyed. “I killed my father. I killed all of them. Every one of them that ever touched me, I killed them. That’s why I left. That’s where I went.”
Hannibal fell silent, and there was something between disappointment and pride that filled his gaze. Disappointment that he would kill without him, that he was not allowed to bear witness to such glorious acts, but pride in his healing.
“I only wish I might have watched you in such glorious transformation,” he sighed, drawing him close enough to kiss his forehead before pulling away, eyes and hand returning to his bump. So much had changed since he’d left. His body had shifted to accommodate another life. He had conquered the demons that he had fought to suppress, at last slaughtering them rather than attempting to confine them to the cages he’d constructed within his memory palace. He had changed, and Hannibal had not been there to witness it. “Such glorious transformation.”
Will gave a quiet chuckle, taking a small step back to admire his bump. He hadn’t truly allowed himself to look, to admire, to do anything but hide it for the sake of avoiding the pain. What love had blossomed within him for this child came tinted with the pain of missing its father, aching for his alpha. But now…
“You didn’t miss that much,” he said, a hand resting over his bump, Hannibal’s resting next to his own. “Mostly a lot of puking. So much puking.” His eyes returned to Hannibal, offering him a small smile. “I can’t even feel her kicking yet. My, uh… My first pregnancy, I uh… I started feeling him moving a little sooner than this. I think it was just because I was so scrawny, the ultrasound tech said not to worry if I don’t feel her for a few more weeks, especially since I haven’t carried a pregnancy to term and this is really the longest I’ve been... But it should be any time now, and… You’ll be with me when she does start moving.”
“Ultrasound tech? You’ve…” Hannibal trailed off, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Oh, yeah, I stopped at a few free clinics while I was there, no paper trail or anything. I just… I wanted to make sure that she was alright, is all.”
“She?”
“I don’t… I don’t know for certain, I didn’t ask, I didn’t look. I just… I don’t know, I just have a sense, you know?”
Hannibal let out a teary laugh. Such tears of joy were rare and beautiful coming from him. Will smiled, reaching up to swipe them away, drawing him in close. Hannibal leaned into his touch, yearning for each brush of skin, aching for what had been lost in the past months.
“I have pictures. If you want to see,” Will said.
Hannibal’s eyes lit up, mouth falling open in such wide-eyed wonder as he nodded hard, breath coming out in a shaky sort of laugh. Will had never seen such joy, never like this. He smiled, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out the folded up picture that had stayed there for the past six weeks. There was another in the car, pinned up to the visor, from three weeks prior, but the one from his twelve week check up stayed with him at all times. That had been the moment that Will had decided that he was in love, and that was the picture that stayed with him, worn and torn and weathered as it was now.
“It’s a little worn out, but she’s right there. This one was at about twelve weeks. I’ve got one from fifteen weeks too, out in the truck. She was sucking her thumb in this one, though. I think she’s pretty cute,” Will said, pointing out where her tiny hand met her mouth. Tiny fingers could hardly be made out, but Will was already wrapped around them. So, so it seemed, was Hannibal.
“She’s beautiful,” Hannibal whispered, taking the picture in his hand, fingertips brushing over the outline of their baby. “She’s so beautiful.”
“She is, isn’t she,” Will sighed, suddenly taking such immense pride in the little thing that grew within him. What had once felt like something to be hidden, some secret all for himself, now felt like something to take pride in, to share with the world, even if his world only consisted of these four walls for awhile.
Will watched as Hannibal ran his fingers over her picture, over and over again, admiring this thing that they had created. This beautiful little accident, brought about by a poorly timed phone call and a slip of memory. Such precious things that Will hadn’t wanted, but wouldn’t trade for the world.
He was beautiful when he smiled like that.
Hannibal rarely smiled with anything more than his eyes. The occasional upturn of lips, softly twitching at the corners of his mouth before falling again. He had confessed to not much caring for his teeth, too jagged and sharp, like those of the beasts the world would compare him to. But Will had always thought differently, such little imperfections beautiful, such joy undeserving of being hidden behind closed lips. But now he stood staring and smiling ear to ear, teary-eyed and joyous. And he was beautiful.
It was a sight that he looked forward to getting used to, that was for damn certain. That smile was going nowhere in the coming months, as the proof of their joining grew more evident, no longer so easily hidden beneath his clothes. He would smile like that at the sound of their heartbeat, smile like that when he felt the first kicks against the palm of his hand, smile like that when Will delivered her and he held her in his arms for the first time.
Will held no fantasies or delusions. He knew that life would not be perfect. There would be moments of pain, moments when the ghosts of his demons rose up again within the corners of his memory palace, to drag him into the dark as he slept. There would be moments when he continued to ache, moments when he would see the children that he had lost in the face of his newborn daughter. There would be moments of guilt and moments of terror. Moments when he cursed the day that he had been born.
But there was light amidst the darkness. There were hands to cradle him when he woke screaming, arms to wrap tight around his shoulders until he settled down again. There were soft kisses pressed against his forehead, words that he couldn’t quite translate but could understand in perfect clarity. There would be kicks and jolts in his belly, and a baby to cradle tight against his chest. Perhaps it wasn’t quite a happy ending, perhaps there was no happily ever after, but they had come damn near close enough. And Will Graham had fallen in love with this middle ground.
“I wanna go to bed.”
He was rarely so direct, but some directness was likely needed, lest they spend the whole night weeping in each other’s arms. Though perhaps that would not be the worst way to spend the evening. But Will wanted closer than that. He wanted to feel every single inch of him. It had been far too long.
Hannibal’s breath hitched, eyes turning to meet him. Incredulous for a moment, as though not quite comprehending what was being said, before he smiled again. This time softer, hidden behind pursed lips, but his eyes were still alight. Gently, he placed the picture on the counter before offering Will an outstretched hand. Will took it, fingers grasping tight to him as the alpha guided him toward the bedroom at the end of the hall.
The clothes came off quickly, discarded into a pile on the floor between gentle kisses pressed against his lips, up and down his neck, peppered across every bare inch of flesh. Will held him close, tears falling softly down his cheeks, matching the ones that stained Hannibal’s. They were both overcome with the need to touch and be touched, to hold and be held, so much so that each brush of fingers against bare skin felt overwhelming, tears drawn to their eyes as they shared such intimate embraces.
Hannibal dropped to his knees before him once the clothes had been stripped away, both of them hardening against each other, like falling down to worship, falling to his knees to pray. His hands ghosted down his sides, tracing the outline of his body before pressing his lips against the swell of his bump, praises on his tongue.
Will smiled, fingers raking through silvery strands of hair. They looked a little more silver now, just ever so slightly, graying a little more with each passing day. He wore it well, though.
He found himself quickly growing impatient. Such reverent worship could be saved for later, but now, Will wanted him, and all of him. He wanted to feel the entirety of his body moving against him, inside of him, until there was no telling where one ended and the other began. To be so hopelessly intertwined was what he had ached for for so long now, and he didn’t want to wait another second for it.
“C’mon,” Will sighed softly. “I want you inside me.”
Hannibal turned his gaze back toward his eyes, a small smile drawn to his teary eyes. Will held out a hand for him to take, and pulled him to his feet, back toward the bed, claiming his lips again.
Hannibal’s hands spread apart his legs, falling in between them, rubbing and necking up against him as his hole began to wetten. Will already knew for damn certain that this wasn’t going to last long. Their first time together out of heat had been emotional, not unlike this, with teary eyes and kisses all over. And, of course, Hannibal had only lasted about two minutes before knotting. Will already figured that this would prove to be no different.
But he didn’t mind it. It didn’t need to be long. As long as he had Hannibal inside of him, knotted to him, bound to him, it didn’t quite matter. They were together again, and that was all that mattered.
Will’s hand snaked down between them, curling around Hannibal’s length. His cock was hard and heavy and thick in his hand, twitching and pulsing with his own aching arousal. Will gave him a cursory stroke, foreskin gliding over the slick, bulbous head of his cock, the movement still mesmerizing. Will’s breath hitched as another pulse of slick gushed from him in response, in preparation for what was to come as Will lined Hannibal’s cock up to his leaking hole.
“Are you certain you’re ready?” Hannibal asked, concern etched over his features.
“I’m ready,” Will assured, voice barely above a whisper.
Hannibal nodded, burying his face into the crook of Will’s neck as Will coaxed him inside, pulling him in deeper until the head breached his sphincter. Will drew in a breath as Hannibal situated himself, adjusting position so that he was aimed directly for his prostate, caring more for Will’s pleasure than his own, more careful with him now than he had ever been before. He pushed in slowly, inching in, waiting for confirmation in the form of soft noises drawn from the omega’s lips. His moans were quiet, hushed, whimpering things, uncontrollable as the tears began to well up in his eyes, fingernails digging for purchase down his back. Hannibal clung to him for dear life, fearing the fall that would come with letting go, and Will held him just as tightly as Hannibal settled into him.
Will buried his face into the crook of his alpha’s neck, taking in his scent. It was familiar and it was soft and it was his and it was home. Hannibal’s arms wrapped tight around his body, tears falling hot against his neck, and Will’s arms locked around his neck, his legs locked around his waist. They lay intertwined, in mind, in body, in soul.
Will lost count of the minutes spent still, neither moving for fear of it ending. Hannibal simply lay sheathed inside, waiting. He wanted to savor what had been laid out before him, what had been offered up unto him, what had at last come home to him. He wanted to take a moment to savor how beautifully Will had laid himself out for him, the way his hole twitched and fluttered and pulsed around his cock, the hitching of his breath and the quivering of his muscles, the way he fell lax beneath him and surrendered up everything.
The months had ticked by, and his body had changed. His midsection felt thicker with the burgeoning baby bump, still newly formed. His scent had changed with the shift in hormones. He had a few more scars, a few more calluses. But all in all, he was still the same man that Hannibal had fallen in love with. Still just Will. Still his Will.
“Mano meilė, mano meilė. Iš jūros, nuo kapo, kurį sugrįžote pas mane. Mano mylimasis, mano brangusis,” Hannibal murmured, his fingers reaching up through Will’s curls, clinging to him like the gods might pluck them apart.
They had been living in Lithuania, but Will still hardly knew the language. He knew the necessities, but had hardly mastered it. A few words plucked out here and there, but such foreign words spoken too quickly and too softly for him to pluck them out. Still, his ears managed to cling to two words.
Mano meilė, mano meilė.
My love, my love.
“Move, Han,” Will whispered, begged. “C’mon, let me feel you, baby.”
Hannibal just trembled, another sob ripped from his chest, frozen beneath the weight of his own emotion. Will’s fingers reached up to pull through his hair, gently carding through the silvery strands. Slowly, his hands drifted down the sides of his neck, pushing up against his shoulders before cupping his face in his hands, swiping away the tears before offering up his hands in surrender.
“Hold my hands, Han.”
Another sob was wracked from Hannibal’s chest above him, all hopes for composure dashed as his fingers laced through Will’s, pinning them down against the bed as he collapsed over him again.
This time though, there came the jerky thrust of hips. Uncoordinated and unsteady, but still pointed, drawing a soft cry from Will’s throat as his fingers tightened through Hannibal’s. He offered another thrust, as uncoordinated as the last, but pleasurable nonetheless. Such apex of emotion, the drag over his prostate, and Hannibal’s stomach rubbing against Will’s cock dragged him close to the edge in seconds, and Will knew that neither of them would be lasting long.
His movements started slow. A thrust delivered into him before he stalled, settling at the hilt until he gathered up the strength to offer him another. It was slow, and it was good, and it was torturous.
“Aš prisiekiu jus puoselėti. Pažadu apsaugoti jus. Su mano paskutiniu kvėpavimu, mano meilė. Pažadu, kad niekada neleisiu jums eiti.” Will couldn’t make out the words, but he knew their meanings anyway. He knew the sonnets and epics that could be written in Hannibal’s love.
Hannibal’s breath was hot against his neck, tears falling down against his mating gland. Unmarked and untouched by teeth or scar, such permanent markings so long delayed. Perhaps Hannibal had already marked him, in his own ways. The thin white line that ran across his forehead, the thick, jagged scar across his abdomen, they had marked his flesh for years now. Will had left his share of marks on Hannibal, too, drawn in two lines down his wrists. But none would signify what the teeth marks along the side of his neck would signify. None would come so close. None would bind them in this way.
“I want you to bond with me, Hannibal,” he whispered.
Hannibal pulled back, eyes blown wide at such requests, staring down in speechless shock as his mouth moved to open, but no sound came out. His thrusting stilled, cock sheathed inside of him again, staring dumbfounded.
“You… You what?” Hannibal breathed.
“Bond with me. Mark me, Han, please,” Will whimpered, aching for more.
He let out a shuddered breath, and nodded.
Hannibal buried his face into the crook of Will’s neck, tongue and teeth lining up against his mating gland as he redoubled his efforts. The tears still fell unrestrained onto the pillow beneath him, and tears formed within Will’s own eyes, spilling softly with each thrust into his body.
Will could hardly drag the air into his lungs as Hannibal picked up speed, setting a steady, nearly brutal pace, making fervent love to him, chasing after his impending orgasm as his knot began to form at the base. Even still, there was something soft in such acts, something gentle, something intimate. He wanted to bond with him, solidify what had been felt between them for more years than Will could even remember. A bond as old as time would be marked across his neck.
It was beautiful.
“Aš tave myliu, Will. Aš tave myliu.”
Those words needed no translation. Will already knew the meaning.
He gasped for breath as Hannibal buried himself deep inside of him, and Will let out a whine, almost embarrassingly high. And with that, Hannibal was coming. He felt his knot pop past his rim. He felt Hannibal’s seed spill as his cock twitched and throbbed hard within him, and…
Will’s orgasm followed unexpectedly, his seed spilling hot between them as his vision blurred white and a shout was drawn from his chest. As the cry left his lips and his semen spurted hot across their bellies, Hannibal’s teeth dug into flesh. Pain mingled with pleasure in this chaotic symphony, blood spilling into Hannibal’s mouth as he lapped it away, suckling at the mark he had left.
Will felt a tingling up and down his spine, a sudden dizziness as their bond solidified, sacred and old as time itself, binding them together until death, until they found themselves at the bottom of the deep blue sea. Will fell lax beneath him, thumb tracing gently over his fingers.
Hannibal lay above him, tears still flowing uncontrolled, too overcome by his own emotion to keep himself together. Will didn’t mind, though. He smiled through the tears in his own eyes, and held tighter to the alpha above him, clinging to his words.
“Aš tave myliu, mylimasis… My omega.”
Fin.