Breath and Scent



Slash, death-wish, worship, asphixia, cock-worship, Mads-worship, absinthe, silk, breathplay

This takes place directly after “Su-zakana”

Breath and Scent – by Dori Hartley

After the doctor cupped his hand over the pistol that Will had trained on the bloodied man in the stable, he lowered it reluctantly at Hannibal’s soft insistence. Lecter’s previous words sank into his brain; it was true – it was Lecter he wanted to kill. There was going to be great joy in this kill; it was waiting for him, he could feel it in his bones – yet this other man, this criminal before him was not the man whose death would give Will the reckoning he so desired. The rage he felt in the moment for the so-called ‘social worker’ – this insult of a man who had just clawed his way out of the cavity within the horse’s emptied womb – as vile and deplorable as the man truly was, Will’s hatred of him was misdirected.

That bullet was meant for Hannibal. Hannibal who had tortured him, killed his friends – ATE his friends, more than likely served his friends up to him on a platter that he himself devoured – Hannibal, who deserved to die, slowly and painfully – or quickly and without mercy… the death Will hungered for was the death of the man whose voice gently guided him, as they stood there in that moment, into that place – once again – that place where nothing mattered but the sound of his voice. Soft, accented words that held a firm but humane command: Put the gun down, Will.

Feeling Lecter’s cool hand on his cheek, he turned and met the man’s concerned gaze. Those eyes — sometimes as olive as an interior in a well appointed office, other times, glinted with gold, oft times dark, bordering on maroon, void of soul… and yet, now – filled with soft promise and understanding. Lecter was playing father figure, though there was a sensuality to his touch that hinted at eros. Lecter was the erastes, Will the eromenos; Will didn’t fight it. Fighting Hannibal Lecter was the last thing he wanted to do. And, in spite of the dormant murderous tendency presently being quelled by Lecter’s well manicured hand, Will allowed the psychiatrist to take the gun from him.

“Let’s go to my car. You and I, we need to talk. I want you to stay with me tonight.”

Will looked at him as they bundled up their wool scarves to brace for the cold onslaught of wintry weather.

“Why would I stay with you, Dr. Lecter? Aren’t you afraid I might kill you in the middle of the night?”

Lecter got into the Bentley and began to warm the car. As Will unwrapped his scarf, Lecter said, “I thought you decided you no longer wanted to kill me, Will.” Hannibal took out a flask filled with Hardy Cognac. He passed the flask to Will who knocked back a couple of deep swallows without hesitation. After Hannibal watched him lick the cognac off his lips and after handing him the flask back, he said to Will, as he leaned in, “Besides, it will be hard to kill me when you are drugged, bound and gagged, dangling from manacles in my special rubber room.”

Will looked at Hannibal, and both men began to laugh.

“I am playing with you, Will. I have no intentions of sautéing you tonight. In fact, you have my word that there will be no acts of undue violence. May I have your word as well?”

Will thought of his earlier session, when Hannibal so easily admitted that, yes, it felt good to do bad things to bad people.

And, as Hannibal pulled out of park, with a foot still on the brake, he turned to Will, and once again placed a warm hand around Will’s face and neck. He even went so far as to let his fingers reach beneath the scarf to the area right at the base of Will’s longest curls – a naked patch of skin – warm as fire on this frozen evening.

As if reading Will’s mind, Hannibal rubbed his thumb over Will’s cheek, and said under his breath, “Sometimes it feels good to do good things to bad people as well.”

Will, uncomfortable in his own skin, said, “So, just a couple of joes hanging around in their skivvies, watching porn? Is that what we unforgiving, apology-less book-learned men do when we tire of talking about Aristotle and Jung?”

Hannibal smirked. “I was thinking more along the lines of a quiet night by the fire, Maybe a nice hot shower, a comfortable change of clothes for the two of us – you must admit, the entrails of a dead horse do not make for a pleasant aroma to take home.” He winked at Will and said, “Perhaps we can work out some of these murderous fantasies of yours.”

He pulled out on to the snow bank. The Bentley handled it well. He passed the Hardy back to Will, who thought twice about taking a swig, until the need for a warm rush in his body overruled the need to feed his paranoia. The cognac was sublime – and it was doing the trick.

Once they arrived at Lecter’s town house, the doctor took Will’s coat and told him he could shower in the salle de bain, upstairs by the first guest room. He would there find all the acoutrements any gentleman of distinction might enjoy.

Will went up the stairs, admitting to himself that he really did look forward to a steaming hot shower and something comfortable to change into. Perhaps there was an upside to getting into Lecter’s head; after all, the man had impeccable tastes and the luxuries he availed were numerous and enticing.

Hannibal stood at the bottom of the stairs and said to Will, “I will see you then, in a few minutes in the living room. Feel free to dress yourself in the attire I’ve set aside for you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the feel of silk Jacquard against your skin. I know I do.”

After his shower, Will pondered over the crystal bottles containing both after shave and eau de cologne. He enjoyed this choice, found it indulgent…even decadent. Naked, he patted himself down with the thickest terry he’d ever felt and proceeded to the adjacent chamber where Lecter said he’d find something to put on. There, neatly folded, he found a pair of silk pajamas – pale cream colored – and an absolutely sumptuous robe of a darker umber tone. Padded slippers, even a note pad with a sterling silver pen in the pocket. He supposed this was a Lecterism – one never knew when one might been seized with a sudden whim to write poetry…or perhaps it was to take notes, a recipe that would benefit with a distinctive ingredient. Certainly a pen and paper would come in handy, no?

Will, not one to bother with button up pajama tops and fancy robes, slipped on the bottoms, left the slippers by the guest room bed, splashed on the cologne that suited him best, and quietly descended the stairs.

Hannibal stood by the fire, dressed purposefully in his tailored pajamas, his slippers on, his burgundy velvet robe, neatly cinched at the waist. He was preparing absinthe, from an absolutely breathtaking antique brouillieur.

“The green fairy, Will.” He handed his friend a freshly louched glass. As Will took the glass, Hannibal didn’t disguise his look of surprise at Will’s near nakedness.

“Absinthe, Dr. Lecter? Are you trying to get me wasted?”

Hannibal laughed. “On the contrary, Will. The drinking of these spirits may provide that none of this evening goes wasted.” He looked at Wills chest and said, “Were the articles of clothing I provided not to your liking?”

Will stood very close to Lecter, close enough so that he could smell the after shave he’d just patted on to his skin a mere moment ago. He moved in even closer, so that Lecter himself could inhale the scent of shampoo on Will’s freshly cleansed hair. Will whispered, “I’m just not a pajama top kinda guy, Dr. Lecter.”

A lock of pale blond hair fell before Lecter’s eyes. In the same hushed voice, Lecter mirrored Will’s quiet and said, “I look forward to this evening, Will. Skol.”

The two men toasted, sipped and moved themselves along to one of Lecter’s sage green velvet chaise lounges. Will sat, reclined and put up his legs. He rested his glass by the side table and watched as Hannibal came to sit by his side, upright. He looked down at Will. He did not hide the fact that Will’s bare chest and feet were somewhat arousing and he showed this approval with his eyes – a look Will caught. Will, the dark-eyed lure, whose eyes grew darker as the pupils within them dilated fully.

They resumed sipping their absinthe and Will found it to be a much more pleasant drink than he’d expected. Both men were feeling the subtle effects; a slight euphoria – the green fairy had built a bridge that would welcome both confidence and vulnerability at once.

Hannibal took both their drinks and placed them beside the lounge. He removed his robe, tossing it over the back piece. Will leaned forward, allowing the velvet to comfort his back. He reclined a little deeper into it.

“Dr. Lecter, there can be no doubt that you are not a man who enjoys the finest life has to offer.” He lifted his arms above his head and relished the comfort which seemed, at that moment, to border on the divine.

Hannibal’s hair was dry now, and falling in his face. He squinted his eyes and said, “And yet, you fantasize killing me with your own hands.”

“Yes.” Will shifted, bending his knee to better suit his reclined body.

Lecter unbuttoned his shirt and let the pale gray silk slip off his shoulders. He reached out to touch Will’s thigh. The fly of Will’s bottoms peaked open just enough for Hannibal to catch glimpse the dark hair that surrounded the area, while Will’s extended leg tugged at the ever so thin material in such a way that Will’s cock and balls were thoroughly delineated. Will was a cut man, unlike Hannibal, and Lecter did not have to be a doctor to be able to confirm this. Hannibal smoothed his hand up Will’s thigh and grabbed both Will’s cock and balls firmly, rubbing, pushing gently…tickling over the silk with the very tips of his long, strong fingers.

Looking down at the younger man, watching his eyelids flutter, Hannibal said, “How would you kill me, Will?”

Hannibal sipped once more of the absinthe, and with the taste of it still on his lips, he bent over Will and allowed his lips to touch the other man’s. He spoke into Will’s mouth, allowing the essence of the absinthe to reach down Will’s throat. With lips touching, he whispered, “How would you like to kill me, Will?”

Will’s eye rolled to the back of his head. He spoke back into Lecter’s mouth. “I want to strangle you with my bare hands.”

Lecter reached into the silk opening of Will’s pajama bottoms and brought both cock and balls out. He enjoyed the warmth of the skin, the soft sack that held the testicles and the hard, veined shaft of Will’s thick, stiff cock. Will was wet, dripping – a fact that actually reduced Lecter to shuddering, upon discovery. His thumb on the slippery wet head, Hannibal applied pressure, stroking Will slowly but with an almost menacing amount of restraint.

“What do you see in your mind, Will? What do I look like, dying at your hands?”

Will, looking into Hannibals eyes, and yet, into the distance right through them said, “I’ve got my hands around your throat…we’re on the floor, you’re…you’re…gasping for breath, struggling to get me off you…”

Hannibal tugged and squeezed and Will provided ample amounts of natural lubricant. With his other hand, Hannibal massaged Will’s chest, pausing to fondle a nipple. Will’s eyes shot back into his head – all whites. He spoke: “…but you can’t get me off of you, because I’m on top of you, and my hands, my hands are choking the life out of you, and you’re gagging, the veins in your neck are bulging. You don’t have enough air to even beg… your neck…your neck is reddening beneath my grasp…”

Hannibal pinched Will’s nipple hard, twisting it, rubbing it softly. He licked his own two fingers to give cool comfort to this nipple that was suffering so blissfully at his touch. And then, as soon as the cool air touched the puckered flesh of Will’s nipple, Hannibal nearly pierced it with his nails. Will convulsed, screaming in ecstatic pain.

Sunken into the chaise now, Will lay pliant, open. Hannibal removed the silk bottoms – both his and those of Will. He got on top of Will and sat on his haunches, between Will’s thighs. Bending over to meet Will, eye to eye, he brought Will’s legs over his shoulders. His own cock free now, large and long, and yes, uncut and dripping. He allowed his cock to dangle over Will’s before he grabbed both cocks in one hand and started to stroke.

“And what did I look like, dying at your hands, Will? What did I look like?”

As Will began to describe what was in his mind’s eye, what vision he saw before him – in this absinthe-infused dream state – he felt the head of Lecter’s cock pound several times against his anus. As he opened his mouth to speak, to say what he saw, to tell the doctor exactly what he saw, he felt himself being penetrated – brutally, mercilessly…

Hannibal pushed himself so hard into Will’s ass that he himself questioned his own size. Will’s tightness was inconceivably delicious, this virgin ass. Grinding it in, he grabbed Will’s hands and placed them around his own throat.

“Strangle me, Will. Asphyxiate me. Kill me, Will. I dare you.”

He pumped again and again, and Will felt the veins in Hannibal’s neck fill with blood under the pressure.

“In your dream Will…what did I look like when dying? Please…tell me!”

Will looked at Lecter, contorted, choking, covered in sweat and banging the shit out of his ass, and he said, “Dr. Lecter. You looked like the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on in my life. As you –” Will interrupted to accept several more thrusts that nearly made him white-out, he continued, ” –You looked like…a fucking angel of death. A fucking murderous, beautiful, monstrous angel of death…the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen…even now…as you are now…”

Hannibal smiled, showing his rarely seen awkwardly placed teeth. He shivered violently as he watched the man beneath him cum, knowing he was thinking about Lecter’s beauty, his death, his face. For Lecter – once, a shiver, twice an uncontrolled flex of all muscles, and thrice a volcanic eruption – his cock, enormous, throbbing, emptying…

Will lost grasp of Hannibal’s neck and Hannibal collapsed on to Will’s spent body. Panting, moaning, unable to speak…Hannibal shifted to face Will directly, no words, just breath carried from mouth to mouth. Lips did touch, did stick, did lick for confirmation of taste, but mostly the passing of breath. Soft, wormwood-scented breath, back…and…forth. Back…and…forth.

And then…sleep.

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