Yearn | Hannigram

persephone

That night Will dreamt of fire, of blood and shackles. Sticking to his wrists and ankles like bear traps snapping his bones. Heavy on his wrists and pulling him towards hell. Weighing him down so hard it was if the slightest buckle of Will's knees would send him through the brittle floor and into the flaming pits of Tartarus. Pressure building in his blood, thumping and thumping like a rabbit's foot. He'd awoken in Hannibal's house, only it was black with char and destroyed. It smelled like burnt flesh and gasoline. The walls and floors creaked and snapped like they would collapse any second.

    Inside the ghost house, Will thought of all the times he'd spent lost in these rooms. Drifting in confusion, waking up staring at ruby red irises. All the dinner parties and dead bodies. That moment their lives completely changed, Will dropping Randall's body on Hannibal's table like a dog bringing back a corpse to its owner. Will's legs felt wobbly and the room began to shift and spin around him. It all was covered in this static, buzzing VHS tape filter around his eyes; like walking into a time warp or an old family movie.

He opened the door to Hannibal's bedroom only to find himself in a cell. His legs were chained to the floor. It was hot, too hot, his skin boiling. He looked into the mirror and saw flames catching on his hair and the uniform he was in. He screamed, running to the edge of the cell, trying to break out. His hands on the rungs, glowing hot red, burnt his fingers to a crisp. The room was swallowed in flames and he cried for Hannibal.

-

"Will? Darling? I'm right here," Hannibal asked, he was sitting in front of Will and leaned over top of the younger man. Will was sweating buckets and shivering. Hannibal let out a tired sigh and brought him into his arms. "It'll be alright."

      Then he just started to lightly rock Will back and forth, gently like when soothing a child. Will felt safe wrapped in the killer's strong arms, his tender monster. Humming softly as he scratched Will's hair and got him to calm his breathing. "I'm right here." He pressed a kiss softly on his lover's forehead.

     "I'm okay," Will mumbled into Hannibal's chest. "Just got lost in the dream."

     "Let's get you in the bath, and I'll get us some whisky. How's that sound?" Hannibal asked, still cradling the man in his arms.

     "You're starting to sound more like me than a psychiatrist. Don't you usually prefer to drug me," Will laughed a bit. He was still out of it but it was a dream. The room wasn't on fire, and Hannibal was helping him up out bed. They were in Canada, it was...2:30 in the morning, and Will was walking into the master bath.

     "Not anymore, my dear," Hannibal said, laughing a bit himself.

      It had clean tiles and large tub with sculpted gold legs. The bathroom full of plants, huge ferns and lilies. Overkill, perhaps, but that wasn't unlike anything Hannibal usually chose. Lavish even to the smallest details, Will was still trying to get used to it.

     "I'll go toss the sheets in the wash and grab us glasses," Hannibal said as he turned the bathtub faucet on. "Be right back." He took a step and pressed a kiss against Will's forehead.

     Will nodded, taking a deep breath. He walked over to the sink and turned the water cold, submerging his mouth and drinking as much as he could. It calmed him, cooling his throat and sweaty skin. Moving back to look in the mirror, while he cupped water in his hands and splashed it on his face. His reflection looked different now from when this all started.

     Despite still being skinny, his cheeks looked fuller and there was warmth in his skin. It no longer looked corpse, all cold and grey. Thanks to Hannibal's 'feed him good and fucking him until he's brain dead' method of therapy. Will's cheeks were pink as he laughed to himself, before drying off his face.