The missing half «ʜᴀɴɴɪɢʀᴀᴍ»

Chapter 5. Faint moonlight

Will's gaze traveled along the male's body.

Because of his unbuttoned shirt, a fragment of his torso was still hidden, until he took the shirt off entirely, exposing his toned arms that continued to his broad shoulders.

Muscles on Will's jaw clenched up in awe, knowing that he'd find it impossible to keep his restraint at such a sight. Luckily, he didn't have to.

The man's hands swept their way to his abdomen, his fingers gliding slowly against his bare skin in an insufferable manner.

"Hannibal..." he could hear his own voice, "we shouldn't..." He managed to murmur out under a shaky breath, unable to speak any further. Still, the man didn't budge, he continued teasing, driving him to madness.

Each touch seemed to leave a trace behind—on his body, on his mind. The thoughts of confusion and hesitancy were soon gone, being replaced by pleasure. As the other's hands eagerly explored his body, a frisson of sensation coursed through him, making everything hazy.

Hannibal drew him in almost fiercely, leaning closer and placing his hand on the nape of his neck. In a single movement, he closed the gap between their mouths, doing what they'd both been anticipating. Will parted his lips slightly, inviting Hannibal's tongue in. As their tongues met, it was like electricity coursing through his veins. His breath hitched as Hannibal's hand slid down his lower back, gripping his ass.

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He found himself staring at the ceiling of Hannibal's guest room.

"Shit." He cursed out loud, noticing the state he was in.

A puddle had formed where his body had laid, reflecting the dim light of the room. His clothes clung to him, saturated with sweat, outlining the contours of his figure. A few strands of umber hair dwelled on his damp forehead. The warmth of the air tinged his cheeks with a soft, pink hue. His chest went up and down unevenly with each breath he took.

The whirring in his chest only grew louder as he thought about what he had just dreamed about. That dream—it had more of an impact on him than any nightmare he's ever had. It was just so vividly clear, Hannibal's fingertips almost engraved into his skin, yet they withered away with the simple aperture of eyelids.

He questioned whether the emotion stirring within him was what he truly desired to experience. But almost like an effortless answer, a hint of regret formed its way inside him because none of it was real.

With a jagged breath, he sat up on the side of the bed. It was still dark through the gap between the curtains.

Yesterday, after the very much agonizing experience, he had to excuse himself for running out so suddenly. Honestly, he wouldn't even feel so compelled to apologize if it weren't for Chiyoh persistently asking questions about it, to which he obviously couldn't give an answer to.

She seemed to have noticed that something had happened between the two of them, so she began teasing them about it. Hannibal didn't appear to mind it though, while Will was probably wishing the ground could swallow him up at that point.

Fortunately for him, she left right after the dinner. With the Lecter Estate being astoundingly big, Hannibal and Chiyoh lived in separate houses. Even so, every now and then, they dined together.

The strange thing was that, when she left, everything seemed fine between him and Hannibal. There wasn't any sense of awkwardness or uneasiness lingering in the air. Everything was normal and he couldn't help but feel glad about that.

Then again, it's not like that was the first time they were abnormally close to kissing each other, so he didn't really know where his worries had emerged from.

It was rather late when Hannibal showed Will to his guest room, and oddly enough, he was able to fall asleep right away.

After this however, he doubted whether he could even look Hannibal in the eye or fall asleep again.

Wanting to clear his thoughts, he stumbled his way toward the front door in hopes that a stroll would wipe that dream out of his mind.

A soft breeze hummed on his skin. His lungs took in a breath of arid air that smelled of the approaching rain. Each step he took was accompanied by a soft thump on the ground, as the velvet gleam of the moon enlightened his path. He didn't know where that path was leading him, nor did it matter as long as it was leading him away from his desires.

Similarly to how he entered through them the other day, he left through the same metal gates, which, at that moment, looked more like those of a graveyard.

The path led him to a forest—its earthy fragrance almost unnervingly calming. As he wandered further in, the moonlight had lost its way in the branches.

Just as he walked, a droplet of rain made its way down his forehead. Rain of a crimson color. He looked above him, and another droplet fell, making its way to his lip—he tasted it. Blood.

He had to strain his eyes to be able to see anything in such darkness.

A man stood hanging from a branch, his face very much unrecognizable with his features carved out of it. It looked more like a flat surface rather than someone's face, the only thing that peeked out of it was his tongue which was split in half. Blood dripped from the hole in his throat where a tube had been inserted in a gruesomer try of tracheostomy.