Chapter Text
Will looks at himself in the mirror. The man he sees staring back at him looks like someone else entirely. Cordell just left, leaving Will with a blossoming bruise on his cheek and a split lip. Will had told him no, when he’d demanded Will get on his knees. He’d ended up on his knees in the end anyway, only with a bleeding lip too.
He dabs the drying blood off his lip and chin, and gingerly touches the bruise forming on his face. He knows he’ll have to pull out his concealer once again. He’d hoped he would be done with it, but as much as a cynic as he is, he kept it. Feeling like he might need it once again, even with Mason dead.
He’s supposed to see Hannibal tonight, but just before he gets in the shower, his phone rings. His stomach drops, anxiety flooding his veins as he walks towards it. It can’t be Cordell, he just left. He sighs, releasing the breath he was holding. It’s Hannibal.
“Hello?” Will answers.
“Will, I’m sorry but something came up and I can’t meet you this evening. Rain check?” Hannibal replies.
“That’s alright, just let me know when you’re free.”
The call ends and as much as Will wants to be alright, he isn’t. As pathetic as it is, the only thing that gets him through his sessions with Cordell is the promise of seeing Hannibal after. He knows it was errant to place so much importance on the relationship, but he couldn’t stop himself. Hannibal makes him feel cared for, understood—even. He knew Will killed Mason and thought nothing of it. Their darkness matches in a way he didn’t think was possible. And now, Hannibal is probably tired of him. Too fed up with Will’s brokenness, with his seeing other people—even though Will doesn’t want to. Never wants to.
He tries to ignore the ache in his chest, but it overpowers even the ache in his cheek from the bruise forming there, the pain hot—almost burning. He feels like he’s on fire and it’s burning him from the inside out. Panic floods his veins, leaving him gasping for air. He doesn’t understand why this rejection is causing such a visceral reaction in him, why it’s causing more physical pain than any beating he’s ever received.
He knows he isn’t neurotypical, has known it for a while. But this pain—this meltdown, feels more extreme than anything he’s ever dealt with. He chokes on a sob, tears finally flowing down his cheeks. He needs something to stop the emotions that are suffocating him. If he keeps feeling like this, he’s sure it’s going to kill him.
He’s never been particularly suicidal, but he thinks of it now. How it’d feel to just down a bottle of medication and let himself wade quietly into the stream. Nothing would hurt anymore, there’d be no more abuse, no more bruises, and no more heartbreak. Dying scares him, the unknown too large of beast for him to want to conquer—at least for today. Instead, he clings to the idea of nothingness, no pain, no heartbreak, no feelings. In a way, it’s soothing. The idea that if he can no longer handle life as it is, there is a way out. There’ll always be a way out. And maybe that knowledge is enough.
He doesn’t realize that his hands are gripping his own curls tightly until he feels the pain in his scalp. He loosens his grip, seeing he’s ripped some of his hair from their roots. It calms him minutely, feeling the pain he’d caused to himself. It’s different, better, when he’s the cause. He relishes the control it gives him. He considers what it would feel like to have the cool metal of a razor blade on his skin, what it’d feel like to press down and have the flesh give way. How it’d be to watch himself bleed by his own hand instead of someone else’s. The control would make him heady, he’s sure. An intoxication he’d never be able to get rid of entirely, like an addict trying to stave off an addiction.
He breathes deeply, in and out, until the thoughts leave him. By the time he comes back to himself, he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there. He’d turned the shower on but had never gotten in, now sticking his hand under the spray, he sees it has gone ice cold. As a form of self harm or just the immediate need to be clean, he steps under the spray.
His teeth clatter together as he shivers. He washes himself quickly, doing his best to not look at his body. He spits onto the shower floor, still tasting the bitter saltiness of Cordell’s release in his throat. He hates himself—hates his body. How no matter what he does, his body still responds to stimulation. When Cordell touches him with intent, his cock always responds. And it makes him doubt himself. What if he does want it? Somewhere deep down, what if he does want to be treated like an object?
Getting out of the shower, he picks up his cellphone and seeing no missed calls or text messages he leaves it on the bathroom counter and gets dressed. He feels nauseous thinking about Hannibal. He can’t handle it if the man wants nothing more to do with him. He feels the familiar squeeze of his heart—the pain waiting to blossom there. Traitorous tears roll down his cheeks as he lays down on his bed, clutching his blanket like it’s a stuffed animal. He closes his eyes, willing himself to find a modicum of comfort in sleep.
Hannibal hates that he’d cancelled on Will, could plainly hear the hurt in the man’s voice. He only hopes his reason will make Will happy. He’d been following Cordell for a while, learning his schedule, preparing to strike. He watched as Cordell left Will’s apartment building, a smug, satisfied look on his face and decided this was it. He waits in his car parked next to Cordell’s and when the man gets close, he gets out.
Belatedly, Cordell looks up and recognizes Hannibal. His smug grin gone in an instant, his eyes go wide in surprise. He fumbles in his pocket for his car keys as Hannibal rounds the vehicle with murder in his eyes. Dropping his keys, he bends to pick them up but as he stands, Hannibal is in his space and grabs him by the back of the head smashing it into his car door.
The hit knocks Cordell unconscious and he slouches in Hannibal’s grip. His well defined muscles find little challenge in bodily picking up the man and placing him in his trunk. Driving away, nobody sees a thing and it looks like nothing at all has happened. Hannibal knows at some point he’ll have to go get rid of Cordell’s car, but that can be dealt with later.
When Cordell wakes sometime later that night, he’s been strapped to a table and he can do barely more than wiggle his fingers. Hannibal stands at the end of the table, looking over him with a wolfish smile. He meets his eyes in a panic, trying his hardest to free himself of his confines, but it’s no use. Hannibal is very good at restraining his victims.
“How kind of you to finally join me,” Hannibal says in a faux-friendly tone.
“Let me go, asshole!” Cordell growls in an attempt to sound threatening.
“Ah, ah, ah, do not speak to me like that.” Hannibal chastises, picking up an instrument from his kitchen counter. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“N—no.”
“Will Graham. Does that name ring a bell?”
Cordell nods, swallowing thickly.
“You’re here because you’ve repeatedly assaulted him and extorted him.”
“Assaulted him?” Cordell blurts. “He wanted it!”
Hannibal tilts his head, knitting his eyebrows together. “He wanted you to carve a large ‘C’ into his back? He wants you to leave him bruised and bleeding?”
“Yes!” Cordell agrees.
“If that’s true, why did you feel the need to hold that video over him?”
“I—I was just doing it how Mason did it.” Cordell stammers.
“That was an unwise choice considering he ended up dead, don’t you think?”
Cordell gasps at that. Hannibal watches his face as the gravity of his situation is made clear to him. Hannibal does not intend to let him leave here alive. Cordell shakes his head, mumbling ‘no, no, no,’.
“How many times did Will say no?” Hannibal asks, showing his scalpel to Cordell.
“I don’t know!”
In truth, Will hadn’t said no very often. He was under no illusion that what was happening would stop even if he had said no.
“Even if he had said no, it wouldn’t have mattered, would it?”
Cordell cries as the scalpel is brought right up to his neck. Still fruitlessly trying to free himself of his restraints and failing.
“You may want to remain still, or else I’ll cut you and it would be a tragic accident.” Hannibal says sarcastically.
It would only be a tragedy because he intends for Cordell to suffer, not bleed out quickly in his kitchen. He pulls the scalpel away from his neck and pushes up Cordell’s shirt. He curls his lip in disgust at feeling the sweat drenched garment.
“Has anyone ever pointed out your hyperhidrosis?”
Cordell shakes his head, and screams when Hannibal cuts his stomach with the scalpel. The wound isn’t deep, but he cuts all the way along his chest down to his belly button. He’d considered carving a W into his skin, but decides against it. In the off chance this body is found, he truly doesn’t want to bring suspicion on Will.
Thinking of Will, he supposes it is time to call him. Bring him in on the fun. Not wanting Cordell to be left to his own devices, Hannibal injects him with a sedative, rendering him unconscious for the time being. He retrieves his phone from the living room and dials Will’s number.
Will is woken up by the ringing of his cellphone in the other room. He rushes out of bed toward his phone, his brain not yet awake before he answers groggily. He hadn’t even looked at the caller ID.
“Did I wake you?” Hannibal asks.
“Yeah… yes.” Will answers.
“Well, would you like to come over? I have a surprise for you.”
“Uh, sure. I’ll get dressed and be over soon.”
With that, Will ends the call now fully awake. A surprise? Right after he’d spent hours in his bathroom convinced Hannibal hated him?
He shakes his head at his own absurdity and dresses himself. He has no idea what the surprise might be with Hannibal. It could be anything… perhaps a breakfast date, a movie, or even the blood of his enemies baked into a pie? He laughs to himself at that, even with knowing Hannibal has killed before—there’s no way he’d kill for Will.
He is nervous, standing in front of Hannibal’s door and knocking. He knows he’ll see the bruise and the split lip. Will hadn’t bothered to cover it up before he left, nervousness outweighing his desire to hide it. In a way, he wants others to see what he has endured. To show that he is resilient. Though, if he’s being honest, the only person who needs to know how strong he is—is himself.
When Hannibal opens the door, the first thing that hits Will is the cloying, metallic scent of blood. A quick once over Hannibal tells him he’s not bleeding—so it can’t be his own blood. If not his, then whose? Coming inside, he looks to Hannibal once again.
“I smell blood.”
“It is quite strong isn’t it?” Hannibal says. “Would you like to see the surprise?”
Will’s brows furrow, trying to decide if he actually wants to see whatever this surprise is. But, nonetheless, he nods and allows himself to be led through the home and into the kitchen. His mouth falls open when he sees Cordell, unconscious, strapped down, and bleeding in front of him.
“You…” Will swallows, “Why?”
“He deserves to be punished for his rude behavior, wouldn’t you agree?” Hannibal queries.
“I… yes.” Will answers.
He knows this should repulse him. He should turn round and run, away from Hannibal… to the police. But there’s a darker side of him that is practically purring in excitement—that’s thrilled that Hannibal has done this, for him. It makes his heart swell with emotion, he wants to grab Hannibal and kiss him, show his gratitude. But his face says it all, he’s letting the darker side of him win. He’s going to help Hannibal torture Cordell.
“I hoped you’d like it.” Hannibal says as Cordell begins to stir.
“What will we do to him?” Will asks.
“That’s up to you, my dear Will.”
Cordell screams as Will cuts into his chest, slicing through the layers of fat and muscle until he reaches the bone of the sternum. Once there, Hannibal takes over, prying open the ribcage slowly. Cordell stays conscious through most of it, only losing it a couple times throughout. He gets to watch as he ribcage is opened and Will puts his hands into his chest cavity, where his heart is beating rapidly.
They’re not sure how present Cordell is in the moment, but the look of utter terror is enough to satisfy them. Will cuts out Cordell’s heart while it still beats and holds it up so he can see it before the life leaves his eyes and his body goes lax on the table. Will breathes heavily, the scent of blood and death making him feel triumphant. Still cradling the heart in his hands, he looks to Hannibal, as if to say ‘now what?’.
Hannibal smiles down at him, both of them bloody, surrounded by even more blood spattered on the plastic sheets covering the floor and the table. It truly looks like a massacre occurred, and in a way it did. Will feels changed, no longer the shy, sheltered boy Mason was able to take advantage of so easily. Thanks, in no small part, to Hannibal.
“You look… stunning like this.” Hannibal says, cupping Will’s jaw.
Will smiles, placing the heart down on the table.
“Kiss me.” Will urges and it’s all Hannibal needs to hear before he’s crashing his lips against Will’s.
It’s a desperate kiss, as they clumsily press together to feel even more of one another against them. The blood on their clothes forgotten as the kiss becomes more heated. Will moans when Hannibal bites at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. They both know they’ll have to clean up the mess and avoid suspicion in Cordell’s disappearance as well. None of that seems to matter to either of them, all rational thoughts and feelings consumed by their union. Will feels more alive than he ever has.
“I love you, Hannibal.” Will says breathlessly. It’s true, more true than anything he’s ever felt in his life.
“I love you too, mylimasis.” Hannibal replies, then kisses him again.