CHAPTER TWO: NEVERMORE
SUMMARY: As requested, a sequel to the first chapter, called, “I’m on Fire.” Here we have the reunion – yes, it’s one year later and Will and Hannibal are both in France. Hannibal made sure to let him know he was on to him in chapter one – and that resulted in an uplifting, if not pornographic, phone call, made by Hannibal right after a killing. Here, Will waits for Hannibal to come. And, he does.
Interesting how a good wank can level the playing field, so to speak. Even more interesting is where the afterglow can take one, most especially if the old demons released into the ether make room for angelic wingspans of pure, clean thought. On the other hand, a good hearty orgasm can bring forth the angels of lust, who usher in the new demons…the demons of memory and pain. That’s how it goes with the spilling of seed – one might see it through to a blissful calm, however, that very same calm may be the one before the storm.
And so, Hannibal resumed his comfortable drive, only now he had a destination; Auvergne…and Will. One long road, the start of which occurred by whim, a rush of heat, a follow up phone call, a few moments of teenage-like behavior and the arrogance of egomania in all of its pulsing, ramrod male desire. Now, the drive was for thinking, and worst of all – reminiscing.
By the time Hannibal pulled into the driveway of the humble inn of where he’d tracked Will down, his mood had changed considerably. Not quite at the place where he was berating himself for once again submitting to Will’s irresistible siren song, but a substantially new mood…fiery yes, sexual – oh yes, but not quite the Katy Perry version.
He parked. Hannibal, the farmer. And yet…not quite as unkempt as a farmer might be. He wore a black jacket over his fitted black shirt, tucked into low slung worn out jeans. Black boots. His hair looked completely silver beneath the moonlight. Hannibal, 49 years old, a rugged man who’d seen more weirdness that just about anyone else on Earth.
He walked the gravel path, taking time to inhale the night blooming jasmine. He thought he’d perhaps snag a bunch of flowers from the wildflower arrangement in front of the inn, but as his fingertips touched the dewy petals, he hesitated and smugly decided against it. A purse of the lips, eyes without lashes – a flutter of memory. Each step that led to Will’s door, which was right up there – he could see the light on – each step had Hannibal feeling icier than the one before it. He knew that by the time he reached the door, he’d be a much darker soul than he was when the moon first took him and his jovial mood led him to this impending reunion.
Still, he crept upwards, the light from Will’s room warming the ashen tones of his moonlit hair.
With the days of Old Spice long gone, Will wondered if Hannibal would cringe at the scent of his natural, freshly scrubbed skin. Was this really happening? Was Hannibal only moments away from him, would he really and truly be on the other side of his door in what might actually be a matter of minutes? He put on The White Stripes to get in the mood. Ball and Biscuit. Yeah. This wait called for bourbon. The American shit. Let’s do this.
One swig, two…and that gnawing belly ache… oh how his scar did talk back. And to think, that motherfucker was going to be at his door any second now. Gulp, swig, knock back. Fumey breath, bourbon on the tongue. Ssssting. All good, all’s well in Will’s world. Hannibal Lecter…sssssss…Hannnnnnibal, what do we do about you?
KNOCK. Three times.
It was him! Hannibal. Stay cool. Stay the fuck cool. WILL. Stay cool.
Will, wearing a black long sleeved top and black jeans, sparkling clean, hair a-tossle – bright in the tooth and cocky in the walk, approached the door. Nerves. Deep breath. Concentrate on looking casual, concenfuckintrate, Graham. No big smile. Just chillin. Yeah, let him in.
He opened the door and there stood Hannibal, in the dark. Wordless. Will wanted say hello but he couldn’t. He could only stare at the figure in the dark. I am so fucked, he thought.
Their eyes met, but still they said no words. It was making Will start to feel awkward, yet Hannibal stayed still, unmoving. His head was down, it was almost as if he was preparing to…
Lunge. He lunged into the room and smacked Will instantly to the ground with his backhand. Will’s instincts kicked in immediately and he maneuvered himself back on to his feet, ready to tangle with this maniac who could apparently go from masturbating phone sex dude to extreme kill sports guy in the matter of a one hour drive. Oh, so this is how you want to play, eh?
And hello nice hair. Shit, Hannibal the Scruffy. Whoda thunk it, the man was positively Viggo with this new lookOWKkkkk!–Will found himself literally flying through the air, crashing against the wall. What the fuck, man???
Hannibal rushed to Will and pinned him to the wall with his arms. He just stared into his eyes, while Will struggled to release himself. Several odds and ends had fallen to the floor, broken. Will looked at a book that had been tossed during Hannibal’s crazy-dance – pages scattered, ripped from the binding. He looked at the book and then at Hannibal, and said, “You know, that is rude.” Hannibal released Will, glanced down at the carelessly destroyed book, and said, “And so it is.”
He bent to pick up the book, folded it smoothly back into place and handed it to Will. “An old story of rude people.” He cupped his other hand around Will’s neck and brought him close. “We’ll write our own book now.”
Will held the book as Hannibal grabbed the back of his hair and tugged him even closer. Hannibal spoke softly, his lips touching Will’s – a pause to take in the complex aroma of adrenaline, the fresh French lavender soap the inn must have provided, and the intoxicating allure of Will’s sweat-drenched top lip beneath his well-trimmed mustache.
Hannibal grabbed Will around the neck and pressed him back against the wall. With one thumb over his chin, he managed to tug gently downwards on Will’s lower lip, staring at his mouth – then back up to meet his eyes. Hannibal allowed his thumb to cross Will’s teeth, to pry his mouth open gently. He felt his molars and the tongue, the wetness of Will’s pink tongue – the tongue he’d imagined only an hour earlier, the one he saw himself biting, sucking at – the tongue he saw in his mind pressing along the shaft of his cock, licking eagerly at the head…
Crushing Will against the wall, he pressed his entire body up against him and after closing his eyes and inhaling deeply of Will’s lust, he enveloped Will’s mouth in his, taking in his tongue, licking the inner sides of his cheeks, swallowing whole the essence of Will in all of his fear and disgust and abandon and guilt and raw need – he tasted in his flavorful mouth Will’s bloodlust, his murder, his need to kill again and again. Holding tightly to his face, Hannibal sucked at the very life force that animated Will; and with wet lashes to the lips, he tasted the juices of Will, his semen, his saliva, his blood, blood on Will’s mouth, the memory of flesh, of endangered flesh, of meat, of art, of tender cuts and destroyed brain cells… As Hannibal kissed Will, he ate him, gobbled him, imbibed him and with this kiss he absorbed Will into him into spasmatic, white-eyed, twitching recklessness…
And Will, sipping for air, feeling his heart about to burst into an absolute chaos of splayed blood, clutched at the walls behind him for fear of falling. Hannibal pressed himself so tightly against Will that Will felt close to being flattened, his very pulse of life being squeezed into nothingness – yet, there was no thing to be but whatever Hannibal wanted, and if he wants to crush me, thought Will, then let him because
“I want it…I want it…crush me, kill me…do whatever you want to me, Hannibal…I want it…”
Hannibal grabbed Will by the hair and bent his head back to look at him. He started to lick Will’s chin, every inch of the man was so delicious…his Adam’s apple, the basin where his collarbones met his neck…Hannibal lifted Will’s black shirt up, exposing his chest, his nipples, the soft hair that accented them…the scar on Will’s lower abdomen…
Hannibal, bent to his knees to examine this scar – still almost fresh it was…yes, the wound was healed but the scar tissue was so, so alive, so choice, so utterly precious, and at the very moment that Will suspected what would happen next, he winced and cried out as Hannibal brought his mouth to it, consuming it, licking frantically at it, sucking on it, bringing it to redness… Will clawed at Hannibal’s wild hair and felt himself crying in pain, in confusion… Will, utterly conflicted and exactly as Hannibal loved him best.
Tears running down his cheeks, Will bit his lip and said, “Yes…yes…this is for you…anything…anything…take it, hurt me…anything…”
With one hand still grasping tightly on to Will’s scar, he got back to his feet and took him once again by the neck, and in one smooth, hard, almost inhuman gesture of strength, threw Will on to the floor. In the next second Hannibal knelt on his chest and removed the black shirt Will was wearing. He then pinned Will’s arm’s down with his knees and unzipped his jeans. Pulling out his huge stiff cock, he slapped Will a couple of times with it across the face. Gently at first, and then after he grabbed Will by the back of the head and brought his lips up to meet his cock, he slapped his cock so hard against Will’s lips that he split skin. Just a tiny drop of blood, but just enough for both men to be suddenly enlivened to the point of insanity.
Hannibal negotiated his cock down Will’s throat, all the while holding his head and guiding it.
“You’re going to suck on this now like it’s your last meal, my boy. Suck my cock now as if you’re life depended on it. Suck it. Suck… it.”
Will, looking every bit the part of brutalized victim as he did fully conscious lure, took every inch that Hannibal had to offer. His eyes open, staring maddeningly up into Hannibal’s eyes – his silent message reading, “Do what you will….Do what you will…”
“Yes, precious one, suck me with that hungry mouth, those flower petal lips of yours…drink me in, pull it all out, Will…drink in my gifts, lap at my perfection, pull hard and drain me of all this love for… you…”
Hannibal threw his head back, his chest broad, his arms open…resting his hands now on Will’s knees, he withdrew his cock at the moment of ejaculation. Free now of Will’s mouth, he shuddered and moaned like an animal in heat, cum shooting from his cock in hot white spurts, all over Will’s face, his lips, eyes and hair. Hannibal, near to faint but not quite lost, slid down to sit on Will’s lap, and with both hands, wiped the cum all over Will’s face, neck and chest. With cum all over Will’s lip, Hannibal began to lick it off, allowing his tongue to once again meet Will’s. They shared the taste of Hannibal’s cum, both panting and grunting as they did.
Cum, no different than blood in its effect, drove both men into frenzies of lust, and the spent and maniacally invigorated Hannibal fell to the side of Will and removed his pants. Will, hard and eager to share his own fluid release, whipped his own pants off and turned the breath-wracked Hannibal on to his stomach. He was on top of him in seconds, feeling Hannibal’s soft butt cheeks, squeezing them, letting his fingers pry him apart, seeking out his entry…and there, with his fingers, he found it…so tight in it’s contractions. Hannibal was squeezing and releasing involuntarily and Will almost came just sensing this with his fingertips. He licked his fingers and softly rubbed, licked his fingers once again and entered him, feeling the smooth walls of flesh grip tightly to his middle finger. Tentative as to not hurt Hannibal, he leaned over and whispered into his ear, “I know you want this, you’ve shown me… I don’t want to hurt you…but I know you want this…”
“Yes, Will, I do. Take it. Now. And make it painful.”
Will, once again caught in his willingness to be fair, felt an overwhelming relief in the idea that, no, this time, he didn’t need to be fair. Or kind. Or gentle. And so, fuck the lube. He reached over, snatched the glass of bourbon, knocked the last of it back and splashed the remaining ice cubes on to Hannibal’s ass. Right before mounting him, he shoved a cube inside of him and then guided his own sturdy fuck of a cock right in after, where he murdered Hannibal’s ass, again and again and again.
The throes only whetting his appetite, he smashed the glass against the side of the nearby table and held the broken base in his hand as he plowed the farmer for all he was worth. Leaning over Hannibal, he spoke in guttural tones, “And you will never forget me again. You will never leave me again. Wherever you go, you will take me with you. Do you hear me, Hannibal??? Do you hear me?”
“No, Will… no, I will never leave you again.”
And with this omission, Will took the thick shard of glass and sliced his initial into Hannibal’s lower back, marking him for life. Right above his beautiful ass, forever more, there would be a scar that bore the initial W, about 4 inches wide. As the blood flowed, as Hannibal bit hard on to his lip, as Will released the glass shard, he came…and came, doubling over, removing his cock from Hannibal’s ass to come over the newly carved wound on the man’s lovely, lovely backside. Will threw himself on top of Hannibal, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around him from the back and Hannibal held tightly to Will’s hands as he did so. Hannibal, stoic, yet unable to control the tears that rolled down his face, and Will, grasping so tightly that he feared he might actually die if he let go – the two men on the floor of some inn, somewhere in France, covered in bourbon, sweat, blood and cum…and tears… and Will, Will Graham sobbing with the words, “Never… never leave me…again.”
And Hannibal, “Never. Never.”
These stories come with music. The music to listen to with this chapter is, “Ball and Biscuit” by The White Stripes.
You can find the link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urEeUMqRhA4