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Will's wrists and throat were bound tightly. The only way out of the restraints would have been to break numerous bones in his hands and snap his neck. He was aware of this, and still he struggled. Hannibal watched him shift like a furious little mouse, caught in a trap that he should have seen coming.
Finally he gave in, going limp and passive against the smooth wooden floor. They'd ended up here, in the corner of Hannibal's office, and although their fight was over, Hannibal had chosen to remain in this spot. He liked the vantage point. He crouched beside Will, admiring the sight of his bruising face and split lip. He'd fought a little harder than Hannibal had expected, but in the end he hadn't been difficult to overpower. Now Will watched him with hurt in his eyes. He had no anger to give him strength in this moment, only the pain of deep betrayal.
"This whole time..." he managed, his voice cracking in his dry throat. He was undoubtedly thirsty after their exertions. Hannibal considered retrieving a glass of wine for him, but he wasn't sure Will wouldn't spit it back in his face just now.
"This whole time I've been your friend, Will." He reached out and brushed a drop of blood off Will's chin. Will shuddered and turned his head away.
"This whole time you've been using me."
"Everyone uses each other. It's normal human interaction."
"What would you know about normal human interaction?"
"Perhaps as much as you," Hannibal offered, and Will closed his eyes.
"How many people?" he asked, eyes still closed and head turned away, as though he was trying to pretend this conversation was taking place across a great distance.
"Is that really the question you want to ask?"
Will turned back to him, opened his eyes, searched Hannibal's face for something. He seemed to have another burst of energy and renewed his struggle against the restraints, surging upward with a futile lunge and pulling at the leather strap that wrapped around his neck. With his hands under his back, his torso was pushed up and displayed beautifully. There would have been a time when Will would have stayed very still in this position, terrified and helplessly aroused as Hannibal covered his chest with careful incisions. Their shared knowledge of what Hannibal's hands could do, the way they could draw blood and come from Will's body, was heavy in the air between them.
"Did you ever really..." Will seemed to be forcing the words out of himself. "Really care?" His face twisted a little on the last word, like he found it ridiculous to ask. Like he already knew the answer.
"Of course I care about you, Will. I always have."
Will shook his head, settling back against the floor again. "I don't mean being invested in keeping me useful. I mean actually caring for my well-being."
"Who cleaned you off and bandaged you up after our sessions, Will? Who took away the control you wanted so desperately to give? Isn't that caring for your well-being?"
"That's keeping your toy in good working order." Will's gaze was sweeping the room surreptitiously now, and Hannibal could see that he was trying to work out an escape route, a hidden advantage, a plan of attack.
"I can make this easier for you, you know."
Will's eyes snapped back to him. "What, are you going to drug me?"
"No. That would dull your mind." Hannibal placed his hand on Will's chest, splaying his fingers out possessively. Everything in this neatly bound package was his, and had been for quite some time. "I can give you an anchor. You already feel like you're falling, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. Any minute now, you're going to unmoor and drift away on your own terror."
He leaned down, speaking close to Will's ear, his voice low and soothing. "You don't want to spend our final time together feeling crazed with fear. Like a rabbit with its foot caught. Let me give you some peace."
Will let out a gust of air and shivered. Hannibal could read the anguished tension in the muscles of his throat. He licked a line up Will's neck to trace them and smiled at the stifled cry he elicited.
"Why can't you just let me go," Will whispered, his words directed at the wall, more like he was speaking to himself than Hannibal. "I just want to go home."
Hannibal ignored the question. It was unworthy of them both. "No one needs to know that it happened like this. It will be one of our secrets."
He could see the struggle in Will's mind, the same internal battle he'd seen so many times before in the eyes of his victims. There was a moment when a human being realized they were going to die, when the fact became an inevitability, and the struggle ceased. It was beautiful but brief, in most cases. He had high hopes for Will, however. Not many minds could sustain themselves in the kind of situation he had planned, but Will's had been crawling doggedly along through much worse for much longer. This would be a kind of reprieve.
"Why?" Will asked quietly. He didn't elaborate, but there was no need to.
"We've been playing a game, you and I." Hannibal smiled down at him. "All games end." He watched Will think that through, processing and reprocessing what was happening. He knew this was too much for him, the culmination of fears that he'd been holding at bay for so long. He could smell the desperation rising in him.
"You won't tell Jack?" The question was almost childish, like a child asking to keep a secret from a parent, but Will's eyes were filled with dread.
"Our secret, Will." Hannibal brushed some hair back from Will's forehead, with a tenderness that could have been mistaken for love by anyone else.
Will nodded, resigned despair flickering across his face. He closed his eyes, maybe saying his last good-byes to the people and things that had populated his mangled life, and then murmured, "Okay."
Hannibal ran his hand up to Will's throat, fingering the leather that wrapped around his neck and trailed down his back to attach to his wrists. The connection kept his head drawn slightly back. He pressed a finger against Will's pulse point, their old signal to begin, and like countless times before, Will relaxed. His whole body seemed to sink down an inch, his muscles giving up their tension. He opened his eyes and looked at Hannibal with an expression so needy that Hannibal nearly devoured him on the spot.
"Tell me what you are, Will," he instructed, methodically unbuttoning the front of Will's shirt.
Will shuddered as the fabric fell away, but repeated mechanically, "I'm yours."
"Tell me what you want." Hannibal carefully cut down the arms of the shirt with the small blade he'd been keeping in his pocket.
"To please you." Will sucked in a little breath when Hannibal tugged the shirt out from under him, but it was just the coldness of the floor touching his warm skin.
"Tell me what you want to give me." Hannibal shifted farther down, unbuckling Will's belt and sliding it out of its loops.
"My... my body. My blood." His voice cracked a little on the last word. Hannibal began to cut down the legs of his pants. There was no reason to save any of these clothes. They wouldn't be needed again.
"Good. Good boy." Will was naked now, and Hannibal stroked a hand down his thigh gently. This was better, much better that a quick kill would have been. Such an ending would have been unsatisfying for both of them. This would celebrate what they'd created together, would bind them together in an intimacy that Hannibal hadn't experienced since he was a boy, carving into the man responsible for his sister's death. But this would be sweeter, because now he felt no anger, just a deep gratitude for Will's submission.
"We'll start small," he said, taking up the blade again. It was a small knife, razor sharp, and it slid into Will's skin like a fish slipping under the water. A welt of blood appeared above Will's hipbone, drawing a gasp from him. Hannibal ducked his head and licked it up, savoring the coppery taste, reminding himself that this was the last time it would be warmed by Will's own heart. The next time he tasted Will, he would be meat. The flavor would change.
There were numerous old scars on Will's torso, artifacts from their previous sessions, and he worked his way around them as he cut here and there. He stayed true to his word and made each incision small and tidy, releasing only an initial burst of blood that slowed as each site clotted and worked furiously to repair itself. By the time he'd finished ten of them, Will was hard and his cheeks were flushed. Two thin trickles of tears flowed down the sides of his face, from beneath closed eyes.
Hannibal bent down and licked at one of the trickles, feeling a heaviness between his own legs at the palpable evidence of Will's exquisite suffering. "So beautiful," he murmured, brushing his lips across Will's cheek. Will turned his face automatically, his eyes still closed as he let Hannibal press their mouths together, let him transfer the taste of Will's body to his own tongue.
The next few cuts were deeper, just below his chest, and these didn't close up. Will let out strangled gasps at each one, his hips lifting involuntarily. Hannibal reached down to wrap a careful hand around him, holding him tightly as he cut a long line down the center of Will's abdomen—just an outline of what would come later. Will's cock twitched hard and he started to pant.
"Please," he managed, starting to pull on the restraints again. "Please, I..."
"What are you, Will?" Hannibal's own voice was a little rough now, and he swallowed to regain control of it. Will could create cracks in his composure that no one else ever came close to.
"I'm yours," Will responded in a fervent whisper. "Please."
"Mine," Hannibal agreed. He gave Will's cock a few strokes and Will moaned, bucking up into his hand. A fresh spurt of blood emerged from the bright red lines on his skin. "What do you want?"
"To—god," Will broke off for a moment when Hannibal licked across his belly, stroking him as he worked his tongue into one of the wounds. "Fuck, I can't—"
"Tell me." Hannibal squeezed him tightly, in an iron grip.
"To please you! Fuck, just to please you, that's all I want, please..." Will's eyes were open again, but they were unseeing, glassy and unfocused as he stared at the ceiling.
Hannibal knew they were rapidly approaching a point when completion would no longer be possible for Will. A few more cuts of the type he'd just inflicted and the blood loss would begin to take its toll. Had it been any other night, he might have let Will wallow in his frustration and arousal, led him along by dangling the figurative carrot and watched with pleasure when Will saw it jerked away. But tonight was special, for both of them. He thought it was fitting to give Will a proper release.
Straddling Will's legs, Hannibal ran his hands along Will's hips and then pushed them down hard, holding him in place as he took Will in his mouth. He gave no warning beforehand, and felt Will jerk in surprise under his hands. A deep groan left him as Hannibal started to suck, his tongue working the flesh deftly. When he was satisfied that Will would remain still, he released him and carved a few lines down the inside of his thigh. A bloom of salty-sweetness filled his mouth.
"God, I'm almost—Hannibal, I'm going to..." Will choked the words out and Hannibal could see him ineffectually trying to lift his head to watch.
He slid off him, his lips slick. "No. You'll wait."
"I don't know if I—"
"Will." There was no argument to be had against this tone. "I will tell you when."
Will didn't answer, closing his eyes again, audibly trying to control his breathing.
It was remarkable, really, how easily Will could fall under this spell. Hannibal was well practiced in spinning a web for his victims, but he rarely found someone so capable of wrapping themselves up in it. There were submissives and masochists everywhere, naturally, but Will was a different breed. He could be simultaneously the tortured and the torturer, could hold two different realities in his head and understand them both completely. When Hannibal cut into him, he knew that even as Will was processing the pain, he was inside Hannibal's head, empathizing with the pleasure he took from opening him up.
He continued to suck on him, slowing his pace to give Will a chance to hold on. Will was making a valiant attempt, his jaw clenched and his forehead covered in sweat, and Hannibal felt a brief pang of regret that this was the last time he would see Will's submission so clearly. Then the pang faded and was replaced by a hunger. He ignored the impulse to bite down, but he was ready to move on. The show was nearing its final act.
He pulled off to tell Will, "Go ahead. When you're ready," and took him back into his mouth again, setting the blade aside. A few more long, deep sucks and Will was yelling his name, coming hard as he spasmed and choked himself on the leather strap.
When he'd swallowed everything up, Hannibal released him and moved up alongside Will's body. He put a hand on Will's cheek, cradling his jaw. "You taste so sweet." He pressed his lips against Will's once more and left them there as he reached down to pick up the blade. As he kissed Will deeply, fluids mingling on their tongues, he slid the blade quite deeply into Will's left kidney. A harsh gasp was the only indication of Will's shock, released into his mouth like a silent prayer.
"What do you want to give me, Will?" he whispered. There was no reply, but he knew the answer. He could see it behind the pain in Will's eyes. He drew the knife out and rose, setting it on the ground beside Will. Now it was necessary to retrieve some protection for himself—there was a plastic bodysuit in his desk, ready and waiting. He walked over and opened the drawer, plucking it out and unfolding it from the small, neat square he'd put it into. It needed to be shook out a few times to open it up, like a compressed plastic bag. He unzipped it and prepared to step in.
The first kick was a shock. There was a sharp pain to the back of his knee, a startling realization that he was falling, and then he knew what was happening. He'd made a mistake in turning his back. He turned to face Will, who was somehow on his feet despite being deathly pale and bleeding profusely. Even in his anger and surprise, somewhere in the back of his mind Hannibal was impressed with Will's determination. The same reason he wasn't on the floor, slowly bleeding to death, was the same reason he hadn't gone mad months ago. There was an unbelievable stubbornness in him.
Half on his knees, Hannibal shot his fist out and connected with Will's right kidney. Will let out a sharp, pained grunt but threw his thigh forward, slamming it hard against Hannibal's head. He fell back against his desk chair, temporarily stunned, as Will turned and staggered back over to the spot in the corner where he'd been laying a moment ago. For a strange moment, Hannibal thought he was going to lay back down, but instead he dropped to his knees and tried to lean over enough to fumble for the knife.
Hannibal shook his head, clearing it enough to stand again, and headed over to where Will had fallen to his side, working at his bindings with the knife. He was bleeding all over the floor, panting like a wounded dog as he struggled to free himself. Hannibal kicked the knife out of his hands and pushed Will onto his back with one foot. He planted his shoe on Will's chest as he stood over him.
"I didn't want it to end like this, Will." He moved his shoe down and pressed against his left kidney. Will screamed. "But you've given me no choice."
Will's lips moved, forming a silent curse. His face was contorted in anger and pain, whatever reserve of energy he'd tapped now fading away.
Hannibal got onto his knees again, leaning over Will and slipping his fingers into the leather collar. He pulled up, lifting Will's head so he could whisper in his ear. "Remarkable boy... I think I'll eat your—" His last words was lost in a sudden flash of strange, unreasonable pain.
It took what seemed like an eternity to make his head move and look down at his abdomen. Will's hand, a strip of torn leather still training from his wrist, held the hilt of the knife. The blade had disappeared into Hannibal's stomach. Will twisted the knife once and then fell back, spent. Hannibal tasted the sweet surge of his own blood in his mouth and then he was on his back too, staring at the same ceiling Will had been looking at for so long.
After a long time—what felt like months but might have been minutes—noises began reaching him through a long tunnel, distant sounds of thumping and a voice yelling at him to open up. He slowly turned his gaze toward the locked door of his office and reached up to grasp the knife still embedded in him, his fingers wrapping around it even as they began to go numb. An eternity later, the door burst off its hinges with an impressive spray of wood splinters, and he watched as men with vests and guns poured in. They were shouting, but their voices didn't reach him. He let go of the knife and pushed his arm out, pressing his palm against the clammy skin of Will's leg as consciousness slid away from him. The game would apparently go on.