Will woke at dawn. He was supine and opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t clear to him, perhaps he may have been dreaming. Maybe the repellent stickiness of desiring the closeness of another was just the remnants of his subconscious. Still, he did.
He felt curiously lonely.
He rolled to his side and whistled. The dogs came scrambling, some jumping, some yipping, all willing to provide companionship. He got up, stumbling in his sweatpants towards the front door and then opening it to allow the canines their necessary morning excursion.
Will pulled on his glasses. And there it was again. Except now a stabbing demand. His thoughts trailed to Alana. Ahh, but that begged the answer to the question. What exactly was loneliness, anyway? And if she was willing to descend with him beneath the banalities of a lovely fuck, what then? Within his consciousness he had often demanded that he felt love for Alana, but she had always denied its existence. While she refused to review him officially as a patient, she still sought to throw him treats through the bars of his cage, viewing him as a professional curiosity, nonetheless.
Will went back to the front door, greeting the dogs as they returned. He saw the postman advancing, and awaited him on the porch.
“This–This is fancy!” The postman handed Will his mail plus an extravagant envelope, burgundy and tied with a black ribbon.
Will’s eyebrows raised as he took hold of it, just admiring its beauty for the time. “Indeed.”
Throwing the mail on his kitchen table he then set about making coffee. He prepped breakfast for his furry entourage while they attempted to respect the kitchen boundary. Finally, Will slid into a chair at the table and sipping his coffee he lifted the elegant envelope. Freeing the ribbon, he savoured the feeling of the quality hand-pressed paper. He closed his eyes and his finger tips appreciated the fine deckled edge.
He knew this was from Hannibal, whatever it was. Likely an invitation. And there it was. Curiously illuminated, the promise of banishing this loneliness. Will swallowed, uncomfortable participating in the sport of perceiving himself.
Unbarring his eyes against the introspection, he opened the envelope and squeezed the invitation between his fingers. Dinner, just the two of them. In two days time. Having tapped the invite on the table, he then stood and proceeded to secure it to his refrigerator with a magnet. Will smiled to himself. Hannibal would find such a sight offensive. Displaying his invitation as if it were a coupon. But Will also knew that Hannibal would forgive him for such offences. And such a thought warmed Will’s spirit imperceptibly.
Will approached the front door, and after knocking, he was surprised to find himself straightening his tie. He actually felt anxious. The reason why evaded him. He had been to Hannibal’s home previously for dinner, even just the two of them before.
The door opened. “Will,” Hannibal had a gentle smile as his eyes drifted briefly from Will’s face to interpret his stance. He held the door wide and beckoned him to enter, “please.”
As Will entered Hannibal’s home the scent of something brilliant rippled down the entrance hall. The gossamer plume of Hannibal’s kitchen whispered along his first cranial nerve. Will had read that that the sense of smell was the only sense fully developed while still in the womb. Breathing deeply, he had the sensation of having been divinely touched.
Hannibal noted the subtle shift in Will. While his usual process would be to delaminate the layers of Will’s presentation, and thereby elicit the construct–He turned away from such a clinical act. “Have you brought some wine?”
Will paused in his reverie and removed the bottle from the paper bag. “Yeah. I took note last time I was here. It’s not the same wine you served. But I went to the dealer you told me about and I asked for a recommendation based upon the bottle you served us last time. I let it breathe for a couple of hours at home. I hope it’s up to your standards?”
Hannibal took the wine in hand and expressed pleasure as he reviewed the label. His eyes looked up and met Will’s. “This is a most generous gift. And it will pair perfectly with our dinner.”
“Which smells, amazing, by the way.” Will walked towards the dining room, following Hannibal. He sat at the place setting next to the head of the table.
Hannibal poured wine for Will and himself. He settled the glasses of wine and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll return promptly.”
Raising the glass of wine, Will took a drink. It tasted divine to him. He wished he could magically slip within the refined perceptions of Hannibal to briefly experience the world as he did. Would such a reality be more wondrous, or more disappointing? Perhaps both?
Will heard a moderate crash and Hannibal’s surprised exclamation rise from the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” He called as he walked rapidly towards the kitchen.
Will’s eyebrows raised and his teeth set observing the disaster. The delicious smell had reached a crescendo as the food fresh from the oven lay spilled across the floor. He looked up and observed Hannibal holding his hand up wrapped in a kitchen towel.
“Jesus, did you cut yourself?”
“Foolishly.”
Will approached him and led Hannibal towards the sink, starting the water running. “Let me take a look.”
Curiously he felt Hannibal’s hesitation in response to his touch. Had he ever been aware of Hannibal being hesitant about anything at all?
Removing the towel he noted the laceration tracing along the diagonal length of the doctor’s left thenar eminence. Will guided Hannibal’s hand under the water, and briefly examined the wound. While a few centimetres long, he determined it wasn’t very deep.
Again, he was aware of the sensation that Hannibal was vaguely uncomfortable. “Well, I’m not a surgeon, but it doesn’t seem that bad. I probably should take you to the hospital for some sutures, though, yeah?”
Hannibal met Will’s inquiring gaze. “I recall that you sutured Winston up before. After he was caught in that barbed wire. I recall I was impressed with your precision, Will.”
“Hah,” Will gently laughed and nodded, “I’ll get my keys and we can get going. I can bring you back afterwards and clean this mess up.”
“I’m serious, Will. I have the tools: Needle driver, 5-0 nylon and pickups. I agree it’s a simple laceration, you can suture it for me.” Hannibal was suddenly excited at the prospect of watching Will mend the wound.
The thought of the act itself was immeasurably pleasing. To witness him engage in the art of healing. Still, more than that, the thought of Will remaining so physically close, in constant physical contact for the duration of the procedure was intoxicating.
Will shrugged. “Yeah, I could. But if it’s your intent to sue for damages, I’m uninsured and my house has a bad roof.”
“Understood, of course.” Hannibal said with a small amused smile.
“Okay, where to?”
Hannibal gathered his doctor’s bag and led Will to his small art studio which had excellent light. Will set up the materials on the drafting table and positioned Hannibal’s hand. “Hey, what about local? Do you have any lidocaine?”
“It’s fine Will. Please, begin.”
It was curious to watch Will as he handled the instruments. His technique, while not necessarily graceful, was reassured and measured. It was akin to watching a blue-collar worker braid his young daughter’s hair. Surprisingly adept and precise. Caring.
Each interrupted suture of equal length and character, securely and uniformly knotted. Hannibal had delighted in each penetration of the needle, and the subsequent gentle, insistent pull of the suture through the laceration. The opposing edges of the wound ultimately masterfully approximated. Indeed. At the conclusion, Hannibal wondered if he could have done any better.
“You could have been a surgeon, Will. I’m truly impressed.”
“Here,” Will applied a bandage, not satisfied that he had finished until the wound was properly dressed. “Does it hurt?” He looked at Hannibal with earnest concern.
Hannibal shook his head, holding Will’s gaze.
Will had dreamt the proceeding evening of being naked, a black ribbon securely knotted about his throat. As his anxiety had grown, he had felt the ribbon beginning to constrict his ability to breathe. At last there had been the teasing flickerings of wetness, and sharpness, of frivolity and of threat. An insistent nipping at the back of his neck. A beast, yet unseen, used its teeth to free him from his torment. Will had felt himself finally free of his constraint…
Will’s gaze fell from Hannibal’s to the floor and despite himself, he allowed the memory of fucking Hannibal in his ornate office to surface and burn across his nerves. Reflecting on Hannibal’s earlier hesitation at his touch, he realised that the doctor must have sensed what was trailing desperately after him tonight.
Hannibal felt–Yes he felt the pain that Will carried with him. The doctor recognised Will’s imprisonment. He remained submerged beneath a mosaic of desires that he persisted in subjugating to the constraints and obligations of others. Will remained in a near constant state of lucid drowning.
“You could choose to just say it, Will.”
“Huh, yeah,” he swallowed, and then Will exposed himself, still staring at the floor, unable to meet Hannibal’s gaze.
He ripped open his own sutures and divulged the nature of his wound which sadly remained resistant to the craft of healing.
“Hannibal, I want you.”
Hannibal removed his jacket and briskly untethered his tie. He closed the distance between them and he reached for Will, drawing him close. The bite of the wine’s tannins, sensual and warm across Will’s tongue, accented the bitterness that seemed destined to plague their love.
Hannibal felt Will’s hands embrace him. There was tension in his fingertips. The nuance of threat, likely transmitted from deep within and secreted even from himself. Will suddenly pulled away sharply, his eyes black and his voice low and rash.
“Bedroom?”
Hannibal began to lead him through his home. Will had never been upstairs. Slowly they ascended. Will discarded his tie and his shirt upon the stairs. Following Hannibal as if in a dream, Will felt his mouth fill with saliva, his teeth set, and he hungered desperately. He watched as Hannibal’s shirt also fell away and he appreciated the strong musculature of his back, the grace of his spine.
At last they entered Hannibal’s bedroom and Will abruptly pushed Hannibal against the nearest wall. He pressed one hand against his chest and the other encircled his throat firmly. He felt Hannibal’s heart pulse, so steady, smooth. Will knew that should he put his ear to Hannibal’s chest he would be enthralled and paralysed. The slow beat was an acidic charm that he could not explain. As before, Hannibal seemed immune to the internal panic that Will himself felt.
Will wondered if he would always feel bestial when he fucked another. It was not for lack of love that he felt so. He loved Hannibal. Still, only a dark spirit arose within him, even as his cock steeled and was laden with ancient intents. Something angrily whispered within the shell of his ear and eclipsed any gentle notion that attempted to surface.
Hannibal’s arms remained at his sides, his hands briefly clenched into fists before softening. He would relent.
Will’s whisper was faint, “Tell me–”
“I am yours, Will. Of course, I am yours.”
