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The three men are eating around a fire while Will makes his way slowly around the perimeter of their campsite, crawling in the rocky shadows. They have their eyes fixed on their plates, and are unconcerned about their safety. For all they know, there's not another living soul for miles and miles.
When he peers around the last rock, he can see the other man clearly now. The other man away from the fire, chained up like a dog to a stake.
The man's curled over himself in a crouch, motionless. The chain is clipped to a metal collar at his throat. Will saw it once in the daytime, crude in the sun. When the man moved, it dragged over the rocky ground and made a faint, ugly sound that set Will's teeth on edge.
He doesn't know what he's doing, except that he's seen enough death. He wipes his sweaty glasses off on his shirt and they come back smudged with dirt.
He waits. Waits until they finally throw their paper plates in the fire and get on their motorcycles to ride for town. One spits on the chained man as he walks past, growls something under his breath.
And then Will waits a little longer, just to make sure they're not coming back. He figures if they did, he'd hear the bikes a long way off.
It's disconcerting to stand up and walk out of the dark. The man doesn't flinch, doesn't look up at him.
Will's shaking with anxiety. "Hey. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to get that chain off," he says as he gets closer and goes down on his knees, close enough to--
--it happens so fast, he doesn't even have time to yelp in surprise. The man drags him over his lap with a sharp jerk, knocks his head into the ground. Will gasps, sees the white of the man's snarled teeth, the wildness in his eyes, and then the man suddenly goes slack, lets him go.
The feral expression is gone in an instant, replaced by something aloof and placid. Will scrambles away. He catches his breath at a safe distance while the man watches him, eyes quiet.
"I apologize," the man says then, voice cultured, oddly accented. "I haven't been touched by a kind hand for...a while."
Will swallows, nods. Says "How long?"
"Two weeks, maybe three," the man says and then he does something that makes the hair on the back of Will's neck stand up. His eyes drop closed softly and he tilts his head closer and scents the air. Scents him.
"You smell like--" the man starts and then pauses. Opens his eyes.
Will stares at him.
The man looks away, says "--like you ate fresh meat today."
Surprised, Will says "that's creepily perceptive."
The man smiles then, just a little. The corner of his mouth turning up.
Will smiles too, can't help it. He looks away quickly though, eyes downcast. Talking to another person after all this time is better than he thought it would be. He didn't know how lonely he had gotten.
"What was it, that you ate?" the man asks as Will comes over on his knees again, gingerly starts examining the chain. The man shows his throat to him, where the collar is digging a red welt into his skin.
Will grimaces, suddenly flushing. Adrenaline and vasodilation. Embarrassment. The world is over, everyone has died and still Will Graham can be mortally embarrassed.
"A squirrel," he finally admits.
The man huffs out a laugh. "You couldn't imagine how wonderful that sounds right now."
Will snorts, touches the chain right where it is locked to the collar. It's solid, but the collar itself isn't. The lock on the back would be easy to break with the right tool.
"There are some tools in the rocks. They used them when they put it on," the man tells him. And Will goes to look, dig around. He comes up with a battered flathead screwdriver.
"That will work," the man says. Will walks back, looking it over. He settles down close again, glances up and sees tiny pinpricks of sweat dappling the man's upper lip. The man's eyes are clear, intent.
"I don't want to hurt you by accident," Will says, though he moves into place behind the man, dropping a hand on the man's shoulder to steady him.
"What's your name?" the man asks softly.
"Will, William. Uh. Just Will," Will stammers, putting the head of the screwdriver to the lock's hinge.
"My name is Hannibal," the man tells him. "And you won't hurt me."
He sounds so sure. Will wedges the screwdriver into place and jerks once, roughly, and half of the lock hangs open.
"Jesus," he blurts out, heart thumping.
"There. You've got it. You're doing very well, William," Hannibal says, voice soothing his quick blood. Will takes a shaky breath, eyes closing for a second before he puts the screwdriver into the rest of the hinge and jerks it again.
And like that, the metal releases.
Hannibal rips the collar off and throws it away from him. His hand at his throat, he turns to look at Will.
They stare at each other for a few, strange beats and then Hannibal moves to stand up. "We need to go, Will. Before they come back. We need to be far from here."
Will scrambles up too, knees brown with dust. He nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. I have a place. We can stay as long as it takes. They won't find us there."
It takes four days for the men to stop looking. They sit in the dark, leaning against the wall inside the little house while searchlights crawl through the cul-de-sac neighborhood. The smell is so strong here, they never stay long. It's not a place they would look because it's not a place where anyone in their right mind would ever hide. The smell of the rotting dead makes it hard to sleep. At least for Will. At night, he watches Hannibal sleep soundly. Face unlined and unconcerned. It helps to look at him, to see his chest slowly, faintly rising with his even breaths. Will curls as close as he can without touching, watching.
They hear the sound of motorcycles on Thursday but not again. After another two days wait, they venture out of the suburban graveyard and onto the road.
"Why did they do that to you?" Will blurts out one afternoon while they're drinking warm bottles of coke in the parking lot of a gas station. Hannibal shrugs. Will almost apologizes but Hannibal says "Perhaps they thought I was a threat."
Will can't get his head around that. He looks at the calm expression on Hannibal's face, the way he holds himself, relaxed and unworried. Will watches Hannibal drink, and then Hannibal's eyes flick to his, catch him in the act.
Will freezes up, his own bottle poised to his lips. He doesn't know why, but it isn't until Hannibal smiles a little, one of those stark, barely there smiles that he move again, can gulp down the rest of his drink.
"Who can tell what men will do," Hannibal says, "in this world without morality and law."
Will frowns, agitated. Runs his hand through his hair. "That's not true though, is it? The infrastructure of authority can breakdown, but people still carry a sense of morality. A sense of right and wrong."
Hannibal tilts his head like he half-agrees, says "but there is always authority, William."
"What. Like God?" Will asks, surprised.
"Mmmm, perhaps. Perhaps just powerful men. Things are a bit scattered now, but it won't be long until someone finds his footing again."
Will frets, plugging his thumb in and out of his bottle neck in distraction.
He has nightmares. He always has. But they're worse now, they're worse than they've ever been in his whole life.
He wakes up mid-shout to Hannibal already holding his wet face in two cool hands.
He'd been crying in his sleep. And his whole sleeping bag is soaked with sweat.
"Oh god, J-jesus," he chokes and claws at Hannibal's shoulders, trying to get closer. Hannibal shushes at his ear and hugs him, holds him. For a long time, rocking a little. After a while, Will pulls away and wipes at his eyes. He finds his glasses on the ground near where he had lain his head.
They're sleeping in a overgrown baseball field. There's dew on the grass. He runs his fingers through it while he locks himself back up again, gets lost in his head.
"It was the man again? With the boots?" Hannibal asks.
Will nods, buries his face in his bare knees.
The lightest touch ruffles his curls.
"It was only a dream," Hannibal tells him, voice low and gravelly from sleep.
"It feels so real," Will tells him, moving his head just a little bit to get another touch. This time, Hannibal threads his fingers through his hair.
Will practically purrs into the touch. It just feels so good.
"It isn't real. There is no dark man. Not here."
Will finds himself pressed back into his sleeping bag, eyelids already heavy, drooping. Hannibal edges closer, hand still in his hair and he leans in, nose to Will's temple.
Will drifts off, listening to Hannibal smell him.
There's a burned out hospital. Something exploded a week or two ago. There's blown up pieces of concrete and shards of glass all over. They stare and then move on.
They try to break into a country store and then Will glances through the window they're trying to open and sees a family inside,
Someone shot them all, execution-style. Even the little--
--he falls on his back on the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him and then rolls over and retches.
Hannibal climbs up to look in the window. After a long moment, he gets down and pulls Will onto his feet. "We can find another place."
There's a strip of flatland, with the mountains miles away at the horizon and fields growing wild and green and unattended.
It's a strange day. They both keep pausing and staring off into the distance, feeling the hushed, heavy air around them like a weight.
At lunch, Will has no appetite, watches the way Hannibal eats his spam slowly, chewing thoughtfully. The way Hannibal looks up and behind his back like he's trying to catch something out of the corner of his eye.
"It's eerie, today. Isn't it?" Will says, voice loud in the utter silence.
And it's like he calls it on. The breeze comes first, just barely lifting their hair from their sweaty foreheads. Touching fingers under their shirt collars. And then it's wind, whipping, clawing at their clothes. They throw their stuff together and on their backs, start hiking again, moving restlessly with the changing weather.
There is a white, stark farm house ahead and a red barn. A mile or so. Will's saying "Maybe we should stop there and wait it out--" when he turns around and the words go quiet on his tongue. Hannibal is standing there, a look of complete awe on his face. Eyes bright.
The sky. It's gone green.
"Oh shit," Will gasps, scrambling to grab Hannibal's hand. At first, Hannibal is unmoved, just stares at the way the clouds roll, like steps unfolding in the sky. The wind is shrieking now.
"What is it?" Hannibal asks, voice full of wonder.
"Tornado! Hannibal! RUN. WE HAVE TO RUN!" Will screams and that gets him moving.
They eat up the mile between them and the farm house in a flat run, legs pumping, hearts high in their chests.
The black beast of it appears right as they hit the shorter grass of the farm house lawn, and Will spies a set of white clapboard doors, in the ground at the side of the house.
He goes for them, still holding Hannibal's hand, throws the doors open and drags Hannibal trippingly down the stairs.
The wind slams the door shut behind them and then everything is dark.
In a cold sweat, Will sinks to the floor, back dragging on a dank, concrete wall.
Hannibal stands there, completely rapt, listening.
It comes on like a train, screaming. When the roar is right above them, obliterating every other sound in existence, Will slaps his hands over his ears, curls over himself and braces.
The whole ground seems to vibrate.
The clapboard doors crack, threatening to give or open. It feels like forever, but then the roar lessens. Drifts away. The ground goes still.
Will draws his hands away from his ears and they're shaking hard.
"It's passed," he says, sounding far away from himself, ear drums echoey and taxed.
Hannibal's face breaks into a smile.
The barn is gone. Just gone. No where in sight. They look around at the havoc the tornado reaped. How it tore the barn away from its foundations with massive claws but then played like a kitten with the toilet paper in the farm bathroom, leaving it unspooled in one, long, unbroken heap.
"I've never seen anything like it," Hannibal says, eating with vigor.
Will is exhausted, drifts away to sleep in his seat, snoozing at the kitchen table.
They hike along the side of highways. It's not often they come across the dead here, the roads empty and endless. He doesn't know where they're going really, just east. Towards the corn he sometimes dreams about. The sea of corn.
"Must be Iowa," Will says, self-deprecatingly. He's gotten lean as they've walked, and so has Hannibal, who now cuts a rangy figure in the dawn.
"Mmmm," Hannibal says, noncommittal.
Will knows it's possibly mentally unstable, to follow in the footsteps of a dream. But it's the end of the world. There's not really anything better to do.
They haven't seen another living person, not since the bikers.
They finish lunch by a river, crackers and canned mandarin slices and tuna fish, and then Hannibal get up, skins off his tee shirt.
Will watches with his mouth gaped as Hannibal shifts out of his khakis and, in his boxers, walks down and into the water.
He jerks when Hannibal calls for him to come.
"I don't--" he argues back, "It's--"
But he gets up in a daze and starts taking off his clothes when Hannibal ducks under and then comes up with his wet hair slicked back and a nearly goofy smile on his face.
Will hugs himself as he walks in slowly, watching the way Hannibal is watching him, the way Hannibal's gaze locks on him even while he's treading water in a lazy circle. Will blushes, shoves his glasses up his nose.
"Are you cold?" Hannibal asks him, and Will chuckles when his silence is met with a teasing splash. Hannibal grins, then rolls over onto his long back, floats away a little.
After a while, Will is swimming too, enjoying the reprieve from the humid weather, the heavy silence of the day.
Like he knows just what Will is thinking, Hannibal starts humming under his breath as he floats past.
"God, I'm glad you're here," Will says suddenly. And Hannibal pauses for a moment before he starts humming again. "I don't think I could have made it."
There's a shadow in the water, moving in a long ripple, and Will cries out when he sees it, scattering the grackles in the trees. He's climbing Hannibal before he can think, fingers scrabbling, ankles locking up around Hannibal's waist, toes digging in sharply to bare, water-cool skin.
Hannibal finds his feet, allows him, helps even. Cups his hands together under Will to lift him out of the water.
"What is it?" he says, voice a breath at Will's cheek.
"There's a-a f-fucking snake," Will stutters, and the word makes his whole body spring tight. He presses his face into Hannibal's throat and shudders out a breath.
"You don't like snakes," Hannibal hazards a guess, and slowly, under Will's weight, starts walking out of the river.
"It's a completely irrational fear. I-I've never even touched one," Will mutters, but he still stays locked to Hannibal, even when they're back in the long grass.
And then Hannibal is getting down on the ground with him, pressing him back into the grass.
"W-what?" Will asks as Hannibal sighs, kisses him.
Will whimpers into the kiss, a hungry little sound when Hannibal's tongue touches the edge of his mouth. He opens and then they're touching tongues together, and all the small, helpless sounds Will makes at being kissed are lost in Hannibal's mouth.
"Oh god," Will gasps when Hannibal breaks away to lean down, take a deep lungful of Will's throat.
"Do you know how good you smell?" Hannibal asks, voice a wreck, accent so thick Will's eyes narrow in slow understanding. A clever, quick tongue draws a narrow line up his carotid and Will's hips jerk twice, his pelvis flexing instinctively, driven to fulfill this sudden...drive. Will grimaces at the way arousal hits him like an accident, out of nowhere, completely jarring. He feels Hannibal answer, twist his hips down evenly, press against Will's sex.
"Oh god," Will groans, arching.
"You smell so good," Hannibal tells him again, and then makes this deep, low throttling sound as he sucks at Will's earlobe. When he pulls off, they're both panting. "And you taste. Exquisite," Hannibal gets out between quick breaths.
"Jesus, come here--" Will grits, taking Hannibal by the hair and jerking their mouths together again.
His arousal climbs rapidly as they kiss, this time so messy, no more cleverness in Hannibal's tongue as he eats at him.
Their hips are crudely snaking together, pressing and retreating and then shivering back together again. It hits him, that he's going to come. That he's going to come right now, with Hannibal sucking on his tongue.
He digs his fingers into Hannibal's scalp, holds their mouths locked and orgasms. His body jerks and the sounds he makes are shocked, high-pitched. At the last second, Hannibal tears his mouth away to croon wetly "yes, love. Yes. William."
When he goes slack, Hannibal reaches between them, into his own river-wet underwear and masturbates. His arm flexes cleanly, movement easy and familiar. Will can barely tilt his head up from the grass to look at the movement, to learn the way Hannibal looks when he's pleasuring himself. Hannibal's lower lip trembles, the only sign that he's getting close. And then he says "Give me your hand," all throatily, and when Will lifts his wrist, Hannibal darts down and catches his fingers in his mouth.
He comes then, eyes closed in rapture, nursing at Will's middle and ring finger.
He feels like he can't seem to get his head above water. Everything, everything has been edged with this feeling. He looks at Hannibal and his cock rises. He feels the slight disturbance of the air when Hannibal rolls over in his sleeping bag at night, and his body primes, ready. Ready for it.
He's unbearable in his body for the two days it takes for Hannibal to finally reach out and lace their fingers together. Even at that, he starts trembling.
"Let me see you," Hannibal says, touching at Will's jaw lightly to turn his head. Hannibal's smile is all indulgent father. Will blushes and it just makes Hannibal run a finger along his cheek bone.
"Can I bring you to pleasure?" he asks, like there's really any doubt. Will's mouth twists, embarrassed at how hot he is for it. "Hm? Can I use my mouth?"
He has to hold onto Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal begins opening his belt, his jeans. "Hm?"
"Yesssss," Will hisses and Hannibal tugs down the zipper and then pauses, runs his thumb just barely over the tent of Will's underwear.
Will's legs give out for a second at the feeling, and then Hannibal is saying "You can pull at my hair, if you need to," before he goes to his knees.
He kisses the tent, looks up at Will as he does it, his mouth slack and then he plays his tongue over it.
Will takes his hair in two hands and trembles.
"This will be very easy, won't it William?" Hannibal asks, sounding amused. It just makes Will's body clench up, his abdomen tensed, his balls lifted up tight to his cock.
"Please," Will begs.
Hannibal lifts his waistband up and around his erection carefully, letting Will's sore cock out. It bobs in the air between them, stiff and flexing and it's barely registered the cooler air before Hannibal snaps down and throats him.
William writhes, eyes wide and sightless, mouth a silent o. The pleasure comes a few heartbeats later, like the shock of it was too much, internal overload. But then he feels it, his cock deep inside Hannibal's throat, nudging at soft, rippling tissue and he jerks bodily once, hands turning into fists.
He ends up using Hannibal's throat, putting his cock there in quick, forceful thrusts that clench up his ass and make him bare his teeth.
When he comes, Hannibal makes a low, approving sound, and keeps his mouth in place until his throat stops working to swallow the mess.
"We c-can't do this all the time," Will says, feeling like a well-pet cat, his body lit up warm and drowsily sated everywhere Hannibal is still running his fingertips.
They're in bed again. In their sleeping bags in the field. Touching each other and kissing. The sun is over the trees now.
"Why not?" Hannibal wonders, and takes Will's fingers in his mouth again. He loves to taste him, suckle. His eyes shut with pleasure.
"We should keep going. We're supposed to be--" and then Will's eyes cross as Hannibal pulls his fingers deep, giving these hard, impatient sucks.
It takes him a while to come back to himself enough to finish. "--the corn."
"Mmmm," Hannibal pulls off and kisses his reddened knuckles lightly. "Your dream."
But Will's already pushing up on an elbow, seeking his mouth, wanting. So they kiss instead, and Hannibal settles over his trembling body again.
It's Hannibal that commands them onward. He looks at Will the whole time, almost mockingly as he gets his clothes on.
They've been naked for three days.
When he goes to put on his boots, Will sighs and jerks on his own underwear, his teeshirt.
"Petulant," Hannibal says, and raises an eyebrow at him.
Will rolls his eyes, puts on his own boots.
He's nearly done tying the laces when Hannibal goes down on a knee beside him and lightly cuffs his cheek.
Will looks at him, surprised and Hannibal just smiles, mouth lush.
They end up rolling around again, mouths fast.
They meet the others then, when they're back on the road. In a bend, where the side of a mountain hides their company almost right up until their on each other. The strangers walk out of a shadow and suddenly Will is at Hannibal's back, shoved behind him and Hannibal's shoulders are sharp-cut, tense.
Everyone stands around, staring. And then finally a woman, a girl really, walks forward. A man behind her hisses Abigail and tries to grab her arm, but she shakes him off.
When she's near enough for them to see the smudge of dirt on her cheek, Hannibal says "that is close enough."
She stops then, and smiles weakly. "I'm Abigail. We're...none of us want to harm anyone--"
"Then why are you going west, Abigail?" Hannibal interrupts, voice appraising.
Will stares at them, these people that are going to the dark man.
"No!" Abigail says hurriedly, and the rest of her group makes murmured, agitated sounds. "No. We're going east too. It's just...there's a tunnel up ahead of you that's been blocked off. An accident. We couldn't get through. About a mile ahead."
Hannibal is quiet for a long moment, looking at her. And then he turns around to Will and says, privately "Do you believe her?"
Will can feel it, that she's telling the truth. That she's scared of the flu, of death, but moreso that someone would think she would be going west. To Him.
"Yeah," Will breathes. "She's terrified."
"What are your plans?" Hannibal asks her, stepping in front of Will again.
"We'll go back to the service road. It loops around the mountain. It'll take an extra day, but we don't really have a choice."
Hannibal nods. "Then we will come with you."
That night, Abigail sits with them by the fire while her father watches from their tent, eyes hard.
"It's miraculous, that you both survived," Hannibal says. "Maybe immunity is a genetic trait."
"I don't know," Abigail says wearily. "A lot of the people here have lost family. Some of them their whole family. Just watched them die one by one and buried them."
"Mmm," Hannibal murmurs.
"You're leading them," Will says, knowing. "You're so young."
"At first, it wasn't me. The man there. That's Jack. He's the one who got us talking about the dreams. And mapped out where we should go. But he was with a woman, and she got sick. Not the flu, but something else. A fever and spasms. She died a week ago and he's been...like that."
They look at Jack, the way he just sits there, frowning, gazing into the fire.
Abigail shivers, hugs herself.
"They're following me now. I don't know why. But when I say to pack up in the morning, they do it. And when I tell them to stop fighting, they listen."
Hannibal reaches over then, not looking, and puts his hand on Will's knee.
Abigail smiles, looking a little miserable. "There's something else," she tells them, voice low.
She swallows, and her body suddenly goes strangely still as she whispers "We're losing people."
"What do you mean?" Will asks.
"There were three girls. Amber, Laura, Julie. We picked them up on the road. And they've disappeared in the last few weeks. One at a time."
Hannibal suddenly squeezes Will's knee. "Disappeared?"
"Just gone. Their sleeping bags empty in the morning."
This uncanny feeling passes over them, and Abigail shivers again.
"Could they have gone west?" Hannibal wonders.
"Maybe," Abigail says, sounding uncertain. "Maybe that's what they did."
At night, he tries to sleep apart from Hannibal, afraid of what will happen if he's too close and there are witnesses. He's not sure he'd be able to stop, if Hannibal touched him.
It's miserable sleeping that way, but he chooses to for three nights until Hannibal is suddenly at his back one night, jerking the zipper of his sleeping bag down.
"What are you doing?" Will hisses but then has to bury his face in the bag as Hannibal's warm body flushes up against him. "I need you Will," Hannibal tells him, hoarsely at his ear. "I need to smell you."
And he does, pressing his nose into the soft skin behind Will's ear and breathing in deeply, shakily.
"God, they'll hear us," Will says in an undertone and he can practically hear Hannibal's smile "Then you must be quiet."
And with his mouth open hot at Will's nape, Hannibal reaches around him and takes his cock in hand, brings him off with excruciating patience, slow, firm strokes that make Will bite savagely at his lip.
When he finally comes, it's with a long, relieved exhale, eyes rolled to their whites. He's barely conscious when Hannibal lifts his dirtied hand and feeds Will his own come, pressing his fingers into Will's slack mouth until Will sucks sleepily at them.
And then Hannibal takes a gentle hold of Will's cock again, all soft and protective and falls asleep at Will's back.
Abigail gets away from her dad while they're walking, joins Will with a knowing smirk, hitching her backpack up.
Will sighs, a blush crawling up his throat.
"Don't. It was nice to hear," she tells him.
"Oh god--"
"Not like that," she elbows his side. "Like...love. It was nice to think that after all this, people are still falling in love."
Will's blush is all-consuming now, especially when he sees Hannibal, who has preternaturally good hearing, turn around slightly to look amused at him.
That night they're in a valley between the mountains and they all have the same dream. Will snaps awake, gasps "they're moving."
"Hmmm? What is it?" Hannibal says, waking too.
Abigail is already crouching beside them in her tee-shirt and underwear, saying "you dreamt it to?"
Will nods, knuckles at his tired eyes.
"Dreamt what?" Hannibal asks.
"They're moving on. From the place in the corn. To Colorado. Somewhere in Colorado," Will tells him, voice rough.
"You don't dream about the old woman? Or Him?" Abigail asks, surprised.
"I don't dream at all," Hannibal says confidently.
She looks discomforted by the idea.
"Well, we'll have to look at the maps tomorrow, figure out a new route," Will says.
"Abigail!" Abigail's father calls then, voice impatient.
"First light," she says, and then suddenly presses an impulsive kiss to Will's cheek before she slips back to bed.
Distracted, Will settles back beside Hannibal, thinking. He can't stop the little sound he makes when Hannibal takes a hold of his chin and jerks his head towards him.
Hannibal's eyes are full of heat as he leans down, puts his mouth to the spot Abigail left her goodnight kiss and licks, sucks sloppily. Will presses at Hannibal's chest but he can't dissuade him.
"I don't want you to taste like her," Hannibal breathes through grit teeth.
Will goes passive, belly-up. Lets Hannibal lap her taste off of his hot cheek.
Everyone is buoyed by the fact that their trip just got shorter. Colorado is a much closer destination, another 150-200 miles or so. They stop in a small town before dark to gather supplies and there Will compulsively grabs a bottle of lubricant in the drug store and shoves it into his jeans, jerking his head up to make sure no one sees him.
He can feel it, small and warm in his jeans pocket that night, as they eat dinner together at the picnic tables of an off-ramp rest area.
He thumbs it in his pocket, looks at Hannibal watching him curiously across the table. Hannibal knows that something is up. And it makes Will duck his head, swallow. Smile to himself. Knowing Hannibal knows, suspects something is like a seduction. He can see it, the way Hannibal watches. The way Hannibal's precise gaze sharpens in on him, studying.
That night, Will drags their sleeping bags away from camp, sets up the light tent that they rarely use.
Hannibal comes over to watch, then helps, eyes dark, still watching.
They get in when the sun goes down and Will reaches a clammy hand into his pocket, wriggles out the bottle and brandishes it to Hannibal.
Hannibal's eyes catch fire, and he makes a low, approving sound. "Ah. So that is your secret."
Will blushes.
"Were you planning this all day? This moment where you would show me that? How my cock would fill, knowing you planned this?"
Will closes his eyes in pleasure, nods sheepishly.
"Do you want me inside you?" Hannibal murmurs.
"Fuck," Will says, and they're kissing. Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders.
"Yes?" Hannibal asks, suddenly impatient.
"Yes. Jesus. Fuck. I want you inside me," Will admits, voice broken.
Hannibal, who usually has perfect control, falls apart over Will, complete and total breakdown.
He shakes, his whole body giving these fine shivers as he moves. His eyes are glassed over, and he says suddenly like its been torn out of him "I would devour you. If I could. William. I would eat you up--"
His lips are trembling when he ducks down to kiss Will. Will locks his body around him, draws his hands up and down Hannibal's back, feeling the muscles jump and ripple.
"Dear god," Hannibal moans, arching, giving these clumsy, heartfelt thrusts. "William--"
"Shhhh," William tries, but the next thrust is so sweetly impulsive, so greedy, he hugs his whole body around him and sighs "Jesus, I do love you."
And then Hannibal tenses up like a bow before releasing a wracked, gasping finish, sweat coursing down his temple.
Will leans up and licks the flat of his tongue through that sweat, catching the drip.
"God, you taste good too," Will mutters and it makes Hannibal jerk again with a sound punched out of him, in aftershocks.
Will feels so good, golden, lit up from the inside until the next morning when they leave the tent and find everyone scattered, looking bereft and confused.
"What is it?" Hannibal asks, and Will swallows to see Hannibal come out of the tent without his shirt on.
Abigail's eyes are haunted. "It's Melinda. She's gone."
Her sleeping bag is strewn open, and on a branch a few yards away, there's a scrap of her tee-shirt, caught in a prickle bush, waving like a little red flag.
Hannibal is quiet after that, for a few days. Always sitting and thinking to himself, a little cut between his eyebrows. It worries Will, but at night there is no awkwardness between them. They still can't seem to get enough of each other, and Will's cock aches the next morning from how forcefully Hannibal sucked it. He feels drunk with love, something he's never been before. Can barely stand to be near him sometime, because he's afraid he might take his hand, drag him out into a field and rip into his khakis.
At lunch, they make out behind a tree because Will needs to put his tongue in Hannibal's mouth.
That night, they make love with Will on top, taking what he wants while Hannibal watches him, eyes thin against the sight, like it hurts him. Will finishes without a hand on him, propped up on Hannibal's strong shoulders, grinding down, riding his prostate right along the blunt head of Hannibal's erection.
He passes out after, collapsed against Hannibal, exhausted.
He wakes to an empty tent. It's still dark.
He waits, thinking that Hannibal is going to the bathroom. But after long minutes, he gets up, leaves the tent.
He doesn't hear a sound, but for some reason, he follows where his heart tells him to go. It's like it was all planned out. That he should love Hannibal and then wake up to find him like this.
He comes upon him in a clearing by a murmuring brook. The moon is bright. He can see him, see Hannibal crouched like an animal over the body. Abigail's father.
He can see Hannibal caught.
He's eating the man's face. Blood staining his hands and mouth black.
Hannibal's eyes flick up, see him there, staring.
And then they're running.
This is how a deer feels, he thinks, mind babbling in shock as he tears through the undergrowth. The wrong direction, he laments. He's not headed back to camp. He went the wrong direction.
And suddenly he's caught, strong arms around him, and they stumble on their feet, but don't fall over. Hannibal is strong. Holds him in a tight to his chest, arms steely.
He takes a deep breath to scream and Hannibal slaps a hand over his mouth, whispers "Shhhhhhh."
He struggles for a long time, but Hannibal isn't deterred. Keeps him. Finally, Will's body goes pliant, giving up. His eyes tear up.
"Shhhh. Don't fight me."
When Hannibal seems to trust that Will won't, he lifts his hand from Will's mouth, but won't let him go.
Will can taste blood in his mouth and it makes his stomach lurch over.
"Listen to me. You must understand--" Hannibal starts, low at his ear.
"--you were eating him," Will sobs out, upset.
"It is my nature," Hannibal tells him.
They're still while Will starts crying quietly.
"Do you know what a predator will do, if it is cornered?" Hannibal asks him, breath hot, making Will recoil.
Will doesn't answer, so he goes on "--he will bite. He will fight back. He will kill."
Will swallows, heart rabbiting in his chest. Fear for himself suddenly rushing over him, making him dizzy.
"No one who has ever known what I am has lived longer than that moment of their unfortunate discovery," Hannibal tells him. And then slowly, carefully his grip softens and he lets Will go.
He twists around, sees Hannibal raise his hands in supplication. "I don't want to hurt you, William. I don't think I can."
He's trembling, adrenaline beating through him. He can't catch his breath.
"You're hyperventilating," Hannibal tells him gently.
"You're covered in blood," Will says, hysterical. "You were eating...oh god! You were eating Abigail's father!--"
"And he was killing the women," Hannibal says. "Melinda. The three that came before. And tonight, that girl we picked up after we crossed the border. She was younger than he liked, but beggars can't be choosers."
Will tears at his hair, overwhelmed.
"Please. Will. Let me show you."
The girl is dead, half-buried. Will stares at her wan face. The trickle of blood from her nose.
"She was strangled. It gave her that bloody nose. It was too late when I caught him. She was already gone."
Will collapses on his knees. Tries not to look, but his eyes go where they want to, look at the gruesome, half-eaten face of Abigail's father.
"W-why did you have to eat him?" Will asks, confused. Scared.
"I told you. It is in my nature," Hannibal says, crouching down beside him. His mouth is still bloodied, his chin. "I eat...people."
It's so placidly spoken, William starts laughing. Then crying again.
"Will," Hannibal sighs and tries to put an friendly arm around him. Will shoulders him away quickly. It makes something dull pass over Hannibal's eyes.
For a second, he looks so despondent, Will's hand itches to hold his.
"Is that why...the men had chained you? Where I found you?" he asks, suddenly flushed with a horrific understanding.
Hannibal nods. "One tried to take a woman I was with. They killed her and chained me up after I ripped his throat out with me teeth."
Will jerks sharply to hear it. Says "Jesus."
And then another, sicker understanding sinks into him. "Oh g-god, is that why you s-smell me?"
Hannibal looks up at him for a long moment. Then shrugs imperceptibly in affirmation.
"Why didn't you just eat me? You could have eaten me weeks ago, when we were alone," when I was lolling around naked and vulnerable like an idiot, he thinks.
Hannibal looks almost ashamed for a moment, though a little smile tugs at his mouth. "At first, it was because I wasn't sure if you would...be my last. There was so much death. I thought I might not get another chance, so I...waited."
"You were hording me? Oh Jesus. You were hording me, rationing me like your last meal!"
Hannibal smiles then, bigger, warmer. "Only at first. I found later that I was particularly fond of you."
Will stares at him and Hannibal sobers. Tries to touch his cheek, though Will abruptly turns away. "And now I can't stand the thought. You are very dear to me."
Will swallows, hunched over on himself. He presses his hands to his face. Rocks a little.
"William."
"Shut up," Will says harshly.
Hannibal is only quiet for a moment before he says "William. We must bury the bodies."
"We can't hide what you did," Will says, voice cracking.
"We must. There is no other way."
William looks up, at Hannibal's bloody face.
"W-what will we tell Abigail?" he murmurs.
Hannibal stands, offers his hand to him.
"We won't tell her anything. Abigail does not need to know that he father was a murderer. It does no one any good now."
When they're done, they wash their earthy hands off in the brook. The water is frigid, coming off the mountain. William watches Hannibal clean his hands and arms, but forget his face.
So with shaking hands, he cups water and gently washes the blood from Hannibal's mouth.
Hannibal watches him with a guarded expression.
When his face is clean, when he's just Hannibal again and not the man who eats people, Will gives out a short, hard sigh and leans in, kisses him helplessly.
Hannibal moans into the kiss and wraps his arms around Will, pulls him close.
"We'll tell her that he ran away with the girl. T-that he...I don't know. Maybe being a rapist is better than a serial killer. Fuck. I don't know," Will says when their lips part. He tries not to think about what the coppery taste on Hannibal's tongue is.
"Ok," Hannibal agrees.
"And you. You can't...you can't eat people, Hannibal," Will says, and huffs out a humorless laugh that he has to say this. That they're here, now, and he has to say this to the man he loves.
Hannibal looks dubious.
"Oh god. Please. I can't--" Will gasps, feeling like he's a heartbeat away from a mental breakdown.
"I won't. I won't...At least, not the innocents."
Will grimaces. "You can't stop yourself, can you."
Hannibal shakes his head. "I don't think so."
Will puts his hands over his face again, groans.
"Please, Will. Try to understand. I...I can only promise to take people like Abigail's father. No innocents. That is all I can do."
Will rocks himself, lets Hannibal hug him again. "William."
"Will you kill me, if I say no? If I walk away from you?" William chokes out.
After a long, terrifying moment, Hannibal deflates. "No. I...no. Impossible."
Will turns to him then, cold nose to Hannibal's throat. "No innocents?"
"I promise you," Hannibal says.
"Ok," Will croaks miserably.
Hannibal keeps his distance. Sleeps outside the tent, but in front of the door like he's either protecting Will or keeping him where he can see him. Abigail is a shade of herself, keeps looking over her shoulder, towards the west. Like she might bolt, follow after her father.
Or at least, his ghost.
It's easier when they get to Boulder, where there are people. So many people for them to blend into. He can't catch his breath, he's so overwhelmed by all their voices and sounds, their eyes traveling over him, looking at him, into him, curious.
He finds himself grasping Hannibal's hand, knitting their fingers together, needing him close.
Hannibal goes everywhere with him, a look of simple pleasure on his face at the intimacy.
And it's Hannibal who everyone likes, who is personable and kind when Will struggles to make contact, to keep his eyes from blinking and looking away in defense. Hannibal who makes fast friends with Stuart Redman, a man on the Boulder Free Zone committee. A man with narrow, discerning eyes who looks at Hannibal and sees someone who could be of use.
Together, they're invited to a committee meeting, where Will makes acquaintances with Nick Andros and they both keep to themselves most of the time while Hannibal holds court, arguing heatedly for the reestablishment of basic civil services to keep people from hurting themselves or making a mess of the city.
They don't share a bed. There is a house in a shady part of town, near the college that they take up. Living together like suburban husbands. But they don't share a bed, not at first.
At first, Will can't even be in the same room while Hannibal is eating.
And then one night they've had beers on the porch with the old man, the judge, and it's so domestic and friendly, so relaxed, he finds himself kissing Hannibal in their foyer later, hands in Hannibal's hair.
They knock drunkenly into the walls, and Hannibal groans, accent thick "will you let me in your bed?"
Will goes hot with confused arousal. But he ends up breathing "Y-yeah."
Hannibal's eyes shudder closed, and he doesn't risk asking again. Just drags Will to bed.
He gets Will's pants off, his underwear and then he's dipping down, mouth all red and hungry, angling for his cock and the sharp clarity of what Hannibal is strikes Will suddenly, makes him kick out, gasp "No. Stop!"
Hannibal pauses, mouth too near. Looks up along Will's heaving chest and meets his eyes. "No?" he asks, confused.
"Don't," Will says, and he sounds like he's begging.
"Don't what?" Hannibal asks. And then a small smile plays on his lips. "Don't eat you?"
Will's cock lifts and kisses the underside of Hannibal's chin, which makes the man's eyes slip closed, makes him lean down again, mouth glistening with saliva.
"Stop!" Will cries and jerks around, flips over onto his stomach, struggles up on his hands and knees to get away.
But Hannibal catches his hips, yanks him back and buries his face into Will's ass.
Will's body clenches like he's having a seizure, and he calls out "f-ffuck!" around his strained throat.
Hannibal's tongue is frenzied, his hunger savage. He eats Will out until his ass is almost sore with how open he is. And he uses his fingers, eats around them messily while they're doing their impatient work stretching him. Will writhes and claws at the bed, tossing his head and sobbing.
"Let me fuck you," Hannibal begs scissoring two fingers so the stretch is tight, tight. "I need to be inside you."
"Yes, damnit. Hurt me--" Will is gasping mindlessly. "Hurt me--"
Hannibal growls under his breath, nails his rigid cock deep, skewers Will's body with his own.
When he comes, he's barely conscious enough to realize Hannibal is orgasming too, moaning, and that there's blood. All over the bed.
"What did you do? What?" Will asks, frantic. Hannibal lifts off of him, settles heavily beside him, holding his own arm. When Will forces his hand out of the way, he can see the bite mark, deep enough that the blood starts dripping again steadily without pressure on it.
"What the hell did you do?!" Will gasps and forces Hannibal out of bed. In the bathroom, Hannibal's hair is a sweaty, mussed wreck and his eyes are dazed, not tracking well.
His mouth is red with his own blood.
Will makes a face, wets a wash cloth and cleans the wound first, swearing under his breath as he does it and then struggles one handed to find a bandage in the basket by the sink. Then he looks, sees Hannibal licking his lips sleepily, so he sighs, dabs up the mess he made there, cleaning his face up.
"Why did you do that?" he asks quietly, not wanting to startle him.
"Mmmmm," Hannibal says, tipping up his chin so Will can run the wash cloth underneath it. "I didn't want to bite you. The temptation was strong."
"So you bit yourself?" he wonders.
"It is better this way," Hannibal says, then yawns jaw-cracklingly wide.
"Jesus," Will sighs, and he can't stop the warmth that sings through his body. He hugs Hannibal loosely, says "We'll work it out. Whatever we have to do. We'll keep doing this and...and work it out."
"Mmmm," Hannibal murmurs, and crashes slowly against his shoulder, falling asleep on his feet.
Things are good for a while, and then he stops seeing Hannibal during the day. The man disappears for hours at a time and when Will asks him where he's been, he shrugs noncommittally, says "here and there" or "out and about," or, when Will presses for more, "helping out at the power plant."
He goes along with it for a while, because they're so busy with the committee and his public garden project is underway, but then one afternoon he catches a ride with Dayna's crew to the library and there he is. There's Hannibal. Drinking a beer on a porch swing next to Harold Lauder. Their shoulders knocked together.
As they pass, Will see's Hannibal grinning. Grinning.
"Was that--?" Dayna asks behind the wheel, glancing twice over her shoulder to check. "Was that your man?"
"Yeah," Will says, lost.
He waits up with a book that night and every hour that ticks by past dusk is painful. Like a knife twisted just a little more in his gut. By the time he hears the front door open and shut, and familiar footsteps on the stairs, he feels like he could vomit.
Hannibal appears in the doorway with a little smile on his face and then it drops away when he sees Will awake, waiting for him.
The pain is just that much worse.
"Where were you?" Will asks, voice hoarse.
"Mmmmm, doing things. Here and there," Hannibal says dismissively.
"Really," Will says. "At Harold Lauder's house?"
Hannibal looks at him then, eyebrows raised.
"I saw you! I caught a ride with Dayna's crew today and I saw you. Why...what were you doing with Harold Lauder all this time? Until...fucking midnight."
Hannibal turns away, undoing his cuffs. "What exactly are you asking me, William?"
"Are you...are you sleeping with him?" he asks, panicked at the possible answer.
Hannibal chuckles softly to himself. "No, of course not," he says.
And he's relieved for a second before Hannibal adds "I'm going to eat him."
The book jolts off his lap as he sits up, alarmed. "What? You said...you promised me no innocents!"
Hannibal turns around then, shirt half-unbuttoned. "Harold Lauder is no innocent. He is a very bad, very misguided young man."
And he settles on the edge of the bed, tells Will about the terrorist notebook full of ravings, hidden under a loose brick in Harold's fireplace.
"Are you sure?" Will asks. "Maybe he's just fantasizing? Writing something down doesn't make you a killer--"
"I'm sure," Hannibal says, touching Will's knee. "I spent the day helping him make a bomb."
Will's mouth falls open.
"When?" he asks faintly.
"Tomorrow night, at the next committee meeting. I'm to meet him at his house, help him blow them up remotely and then escape west with him."
"What will we do? We have to tell--"
"No," Hannibal says quickly. "Tomorrow afternoon I go to him. I put him down, out of his misery. It will be quick. And then I'll dismantle the bomb. No one needs to suspect."
"And you'll eat him," Will says, hugging himself.
Hannibal lets out a soft breath. "Perhaps just a little."
"Christ," Will says, running his hands through his hair.
"Does it bother you, that I am going to eat him? More than the fact that I'm going to kill him?"
"Can't say it's my favorite part of the plan," Will mutters.
Hannibal smiles, leans his forehead to Will's temple. Smells him.
"Everything will be fine. And no one will need to worry themselves about it."
Will lets his weight press back, and Hannibal hugs him.
He can barely understand what everyone's talking about around him. When Frannie offers him a beer, he stares at the bottle in her hand and then startles a little. "You ok?" she asks, smiling worriedly.
"Yeah, uh. Sure. I'll have one."
He wipes his sweaty palms off on his jeans before he takes the bottle and then nearly drops it when Stuart asks "Where's Hannibal? He's pretty late."
He swallows and looks at Stuart, feels the sweat trickle down his spine, making him itch.
"He's uh. He's--"
But then there's no reason to explain, because Hannibal is there, walking in breezily, not a care in the world. Smiling graciously at everyone in apology.
Relieved, Will takes a sip of his drink.
"Sorry I'm late," Hannibal says, settling down in a chair across from Will with a look of relaxed pleasure on his face. "I was having a friend for dinner."
Will chokes on his beer.