Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 13: Wise and Great are the Doings of God

When Will opened his eyes, feeling the burning shadow of that kiss against his cheek, Count Lecter was there, still holding his arms in a firmly affectionate grip. Will's face split into a dumbfounded smile; he let himself put his hands on the count's waist, resting on the forest green coat he wore that was embroidered with intricate threads of silver, held handsomely against his frame with a thick belt.

It was Yuletide; he understood this in a wave of sudden recognition that he did not question. They were celebrating.

A woman with ash-blonde hair braided around her head, the strands decorated with bits of winter greenery, raised her wine goblet. "A hearty welcome to our friends from the court of Lord Albescu. You bring us many treasured gifts this yuletide." She glanced over at Will and Count Lecter with an arched brow. "Let us be merry. And let them one day be married, for God's sake, and soon!" Cheers, whistles, laughter.

The hall around them, Will realized, was part of Castle Lecter, though when he'd seen it last it was dark and bare. Now it was filled with tables, blazing fireplaces, and people falling upon a generous medieval feast.

The other people in the room were no more than watercolor versions of themselves, their words meaningless droning. Will only had eyes for Count Lecter, looking... young again, the gray gone from his hair and the deep lines from his face. Will marveled at how he smiled so easily, showing teeth, something he'd never done in Will's presence before.

Count Lecter lifted a piece of juicy meat from his plate, waited until the dripping stopped, then turned to him. "Try this," he suggested. Will suddenly felt as if he were the animal roasting on the spit, heat prickling his entire body. He leaned in and opened his mouth to be fed, but closed his lips around Count Lecter's forefinger, sucking hard before he could let go.

Leaning back to chew, he watched with a sense of smug satisfaction as Count Lecter had to take a moment to recover, drinking in a large mouthful of wine in the interim. "You," he said softly after he'd regained some composure, "will be the death of me, beloved..."

Count Lecter decided to retaliate a while later. While engaged in lively conversation with a passing friend, he snuck his hand along Will's leg, beginning at the knee for an affectionate, benign squeeze, before drifting his touch higher. Will could feel the press of each of his four fingers riding the inseam of his trousers – what was this other thing he was wearing called, was it a doublet? – closer and closer to where his legs met. Will tried to keep his face blank, but trembled and bit his lip when he felt Count Lecter's smallest finger press against his groin, the other fingers gripping his thigh possessively, massaging now–

Will tipped his head back and sighed, then covered the motion by turning as if to cough. Hannibal finished the conversation and the guest moved on. Only then did he remove his hand and use it to pick up a honeyed cake. "Sinner," Will scolded under his breath with a breathy laugh.

Time was fluid, sluicing backward and forward, and now they were dancing, the tune lively, the hall crowded with guests moving in a coordinated reel. "You've been practicing!" Count Lecter called over the sound of stamping feet and clapping hands.

"See if you can keep up," Will challenged.

In response, Count Lecter caught him around the waist in perfect time to the music and lifted him. Instead of putting him back on his feet to continue the dance, he simply slipped Will into his arms. Will clung to him with desperate ardor, and they angled in for a stolen kiss.

The music stopped.

The fires went out.

The hands around Will's back clenched roughly, no longer a playful caress, but a brazen, licentious grope.