Some of Lecter�s background taken from The Hannibal Lecter Library - http://www.pentaone.com/hannibal/index.shtml
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
- �Auguries of Innocence�, William Blake
The memory of the music still hung in the warm night air long after the concert ended.
The flames in the lanterns lining the inner walls of the Hotel De Ville danced with the light breeze.
Dr Fell rose with his companion, placing his hand at the small of the man�s back in an affectionate touch as they filed out of the row of seats.
�Did you enjoy that?�
Will turned his head, the flames of the lamps dancing in his guarded blue eyes. �It was amazing. Very� beautiful.�
Hannibal smiled a smile only Will ever saw. �Music like that speaks to you, doesn�t it? Sings to your soul. Your thoughts can take wing on it.� He caught the expression on the other�s face and the smile changed, became so much more predatory. �I know.�
Reaching out he cupped Will�s lightly-stubbled cheek and leaned in to touch a chaste kiss to his lips. When he lifted his head, he paused for a moment to read the happiness on the almost angelic features. It never failed to take his breath away. �Let me get you a drink.�
Will nodded and watched Hannibal vanish into the small crowd in front of the white-clothed tables. It amazed him how happy he was here, how deep a peace he�d found in the old city and in the company of the man who had once killed him.
There�d been nothing left for him when he�d woken in the hospital after Dolarhyde�s attack. His old friend � Dr Alan Bloom � had been at his bedside. Molly had gone. Five bullet wounds had taken time to heal. As he�d lain there hour after hour his thoughts had became too terrible to bear and he�d tried to commit suicide on more than one occasion.
When that had caused him more pain and further incarceration at the expense of the FBI�s medical insurance, he�d stopped trying to kill himself and started to physically recover. He�d been released, finally, from their care and had gone home.
After the taxi had dropped him at the beach house he�d walked inside and upstairs. Lying down on the blood stained floor of the bedroom where he�d fallen after taking the excruciating impact of Dolarhyde�s bullets he�d stared up at the ceiling and wondered if there was any point in living any longer.
He�d fallen asleep on the floor and in the morning when he�d woken he showered, dressed and left Marathon forever. He�d gone into Miami and checked his bank accounts. There�d been a huge deposit made in the name of the Chicago courts. He�d been awarded a small fortune for Dolarhyde shattering his life but he couldn�t find it in himself to be grateful.
He�d withdrawn a large sum of money, transferred the rest to an account under his full name, William Thomas Graham and taken a taxi to the International Airport.
He�d paid for the single ticket in cash. The flight went to Maine where he purchased a second ticket to London. He�d stayed there only two days before going on to Geneva. And there he�d stopped and settled. A month�s stay in a hotel had given him enough time to find and purchase a beautiful first floor apartment in a house in the old part of the town.
There were polished wooden floors throughout. A large archway off the entrance hall led through to a magnificent lounge with two floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a small courtyard. Opposite, a doorway opened into a large kitchen with plenty of work surfaces. From the lounge, another archway took him into a luxurious bedroom with glorious views of the Geneva streets from another floor-to-ceiling window. The en suite bathroom included a shower, classical bathtub and the mirror of the incredible view from the bedroom.
The apartment�s price included the basement reached by a second stairway from the back of the house but it was a while before he put it to use.
For several years he�d lived quietly under the protection of anonymity. He�d called himself Tom Williams if anyone asked. He�d bought himself a camera and started to dabble in photography. Three years after moving to Geneva he�d invested in a small gallery close to the Cathedral.
One morning, long afterwards, he�d been framing a print of the view from the north tower of the Cathedral when he�d heard, in dulcet tones, someone say, �These are truly stunning, Will.� Pulse racing, he�d looked up to find terrifyingly familiar maroon eyes smiling at him across the floor of the gallery.
Hannibal Lecter had finally found him. He�d thought his life was over.
But in fact it had just begun again.
�Lost in memories, my Dear?� Lecter slid a glass of champagne into Will�s hand, brushing the chilled fingers with his own.
�Just thinking.� He sipped the expensive drink, enjoying the bubbles on his tongue and the rich taste of the alcohol.
For a while after Lecter�s trial he�d turned to the blissful numbness of whiskey and scotch. It had dulled his dreams from blood red to a deep black. The voices in his mind had quieted for a time. But it had been a temporary escape and before long Molly�s threat to leave him had forced him to kick the habit. Just another addiction. He knew addictions well.
�Maybe I should take you home,� Hannibal murmured, stroking his fingers back and forth over Will�s, wishing to warm him.
�I�m okay.�
�Something�s bothering you tonight. What is it?�
Will glanced around him before meeting the maroon gaze. �This afternoon there was a woman in the gallery. She was asking me about the photographs but�.�
�She was asking about you?�
Nodding, Will smiled. �She was good but it was too obvious.� He had a cover story. His pictures were all simply signed with a W . A photograph would of course give him away but it wasn�t himself he worried about, it was Hannibal.
�What did she look like?�
Hannibal wasn�t surprised when Will described Clarice Starling despite his never having met her. �Have you felt at any other time as if you�re being watched?�
�No.� He was certain about that.
A nod. �Don�t worry, Will.�
They talked quietly, just the two of them, sipped their champagne and enjoyed the atmosphere. Will had been coming to these concerts since the second year he lived in Geneva. He�d taken Hannibal to the first of the season the previous year. It had been their first date, so to speak, the first of many designed by Lecter to prove to Will that he was still safe.
Why, how, took a lot longer to figure.
They left the courtyard of the Hotel De Ville just after midnight and walked the short distance to Will�s townhouse. Hannibal put his arm around Will�s waist as they stepped into the darkness of the Rue de l�Hotel.
With a smile Will mirrored the gesture. �Who is she?�
Hannibal turned his to gaze at his companion with an affectionate gaze. �I forget, sometimes, that you�re in my head.� Will glanced away, embarrassed, but Lecter only chuckled. �It�s all right, I like it. Without you there it�s lonely.� He paused and they continued to walk along the cobbled streets. �Her name is Clarice Starling, she�s an FBI agent. One of our dear Jack�s.�
�Jack? Crawford?�
�Yes, Will. He replaced you with her. He sent her to me years ago for information on Buffalo Bill. I gave her as much as she needed to catch him once I�d made my escape. I went to Florence, as you know. I watched her career with interest as I�d watched yours. When I knew I�d have to dispose of Pazzi, the Italian policeman, I wrote to her. She was going through a� bad patch at the FBI, suffering a crisis of calling, shall we say. She rescued me from Verger�s pigs. You know about Paul Krendler,� Will nodded, �after that� incident, she handcuffed me to herself. I don�t know what she meant to do, I don�t think� I don�t think she knew herself. But I left her there, in the kitchen at Krendler�s house.�
Will assimilated the information. �Are you planning on replacing me with her too?�
Lecter stopped them both in the street, pulling Will around to face him. �What was my profession before I came to this city?� Will cocked his head to one side, warning dancing clear in his eyes. �Serial killer, if you remember rightly. I don�t make a habit of bedding FBI agents.�
�Only me.�
�Only you. Only you walk around in my head as if it were an open plaza. Only you can look at me and not see the photos taken of my crimes pinned to an FBI whiteboard. We are one another, Will. You bring a side to me I thought lost. I give you the freedom to be yourself, to talk without fear of repulsion. I can stand between you and everything you�re scared of and keep you safe. You know who I am and what I am and still you remain here. Compared to that, William, Clarice Starling means nothing.�
Will stared, not used to such impassioned speeches from his eclectic lover. He nodded slowly.
Smiling, Lecter turned and continued on walking. �Why is she here?�
�I don�t know. That depends on what she read into the night at Krendler�s house.�
Will dropped it for now, relaxing into Hannibal�s light touch around his waist, trying not to think about the past or the future. He�d started to learn to live in the present.
~
Hannibal watched with appreciative eyes as Will walked across the bedroom, undressing as he went. He was bathed in candlelight, the amber glow of the flames caressing his skin lovingly. Will�s chest and abdomen was a map of scars only one of which Lecter was directly responsible for. Indirectly, he�d caused them all.
It made him sad now, after everything that had developed between them since that morning in the gallery, to know just how badly he�d hurt the man who�d changed his life beyond recognition. Both now and in the past.
For twice he�d shattered this man and twice Will had scraped up the pieces and somehow put himself back together, losing everything he loved and everything he was.
Coming here had been on a whim. Lecter had been left property in Geneva by an old friend. There was no paper trail to lead anyone to Switzerland.
He�d been in the city a couple of weeks when he�d seen a photograph in hanging in his favourite bar. A black and white image of Cour de Saint-Pierre and the Cathedrale de St-Pierre in the snow. The only person in the photograph was a man, standing with his back to the camera on the steps of the Cathedral, paused. The photograph had been signed
. And Lecter had known
instantly that Will had taken it.He�s asked where the photograph had come from and the barman had told him about the gallery on Rue du Soleil Levant in the old town.
The following day he�d gone to the unnamed gallery with the first tickle of anticipation he had felt in a very long time and he�d laid eyes on Will for the first time in over eight years. In a world of strangers, Will was so old an enemy he was a welcome sight.
�You�re safe, Will,� Lecter had promised him. Over a year later, he was still keeping his promise, still set on trying to make his lover believe it. Will was with him because there was so little else left, he had no illusions about that.
Bringing his attention back to the man who was in his every thought, Hannibal stood and crossed through under the open arch, admiring his lover�s nude form. Each scar told its own story. He�d lost count of the number of times he�d kissed each one and told Will how beautiful he was.
Pressing himself against the lean back, Hannibal wrapped one arm around Will�s chest and placed his hand over the rapidly beating heart.
�I remember thinking, one day I�ll eat this.�
He felt a shiver in the slim form, but still the blond head dropped back to his shoulder and blue eyes stared at him sideways in warning.
�Tell me, Will. Is it despite who I am that you�re here, or because of it?�
The younger man thought about that. �I�m here with you because of who you are. Despite of it� I love you.� The final two words were whispered, as if he were ashamed to say them.
It was the first time Lecter had heard him say it. Up until that moment Will had been unable to admit it.
An incredible thing.
�You know my feelings for you, Will.� Lecter�s words were spoken quietly into the smooth skin at the nape of Will�s neck. A kiss quickly followed them as he pressed the heel of his hand down Will�s back to smooth his fingers over the curve of one firm buttock.
�Show me.�
Turning his head Will closed his eyes as Hannibal�s mouth touched his. Parting his lips, he welcomed his lover�s tongue.
~
The early morning sunshine flooded the bedroom. Already the sounds from the old town�s busiest street drifted in through the open window.
Lecter opened his eyes and reached out to brush his fingers over the back of the blond head sharing the same pillow. He couldn�t help but smile when Will unconsciously shifted away from the annoyance. It had taken a little time to get used to sharing his bed especially with someone who barely slept.
Not once could Hannibal remember a night when he hadn�t slept properly. Will was apparently the opposite. Nightmares plagued his sleep when he managed to quieten his mind enough to find some rest.
Hannibal had set them into a routine of fucking whenever they went to bed, exhausting Will so that he did fall asleep. Later on in the night when the dreams became touched with the darkness always present at the edge of Will�s consciousness, Hannibal would try to calm and soothe him without waking him, if he could.
Giving Will the safety he needed in which to rest, Lecter had effectively turned himself into mattress, pillow and blanket. Over a year later Will looked healthier and happier. His mind didn�t often keep him from sleeping and his dreams seldom turned to nightmares. But he had a habit of moving across the bed in the middle of the night, seeking out that safety, ending up as often as not lying atop of his lover.
Amazing really when he considered their history. Of all the people he�d ever known, Will was the one he�d least expected to come back to him.
That morning, in the gallery, he would never have believed this transition to be possible.
He�d found the small property easily enough, on the corner of Rue de Soleil Levant and Rue de St. Pierre. The frontage was simple, a pane of glass and a door set within it. Etched in the far corner of the window and in the centre of the door was the same W he�d seen on the photograph. Will had done well for himself, picking up this art quickly and with obvious innate skill.
Hannibal knew why. Will saw things beyond what others saw. He could look into the minds of strangers and see, from a few very simple actions, their motives and drivers, their dreams, fantasies and nightmares. To capture that on film took only a technical knowledge of photography. Will had learnt quickly, Lecter suspected.
Pushing open the door had made no sound and Hannibal was able to study a couple of the photos on display before the someone sitting at a small desk at the back of the room became aware of his presence. So many tourists must do the same, he remembered thinking, that Will had trained himself not to look up each and every time a person stepped into the gallery.
The room was a stark white stone, lit with tiny daylight bulbs fitted into the ceiling, walls and floor. He had always meant to ask Will if the idea for the d�cor had come from his time in Bethesda Naval Hospital�s psychiatric wing. The right opportunity had not yet presented itself.
So Lecter had taken his time, studying the images captured in print. The three he looked at were of the archaeological site under the cathedral. Hundreds of years of creation and destruction were visible beneath the grand building. But Will had instead concentrated on those responsible for bringing the history to light. Men and women whose passion and love for the past preserved so much of it for the future.
�These are truly stunning, Will.�
His words had had the expected effect. The man sitting at the desk had looked up and in a heartbeat had dropped the sheet of glass meant for the frame laid out before him. It had shattered on the hard floor, shards leaping around his legs and feet before dropping and scattering.
But Will hadn�t clawed back his life to have it taken so swiftly this time. From somewhere under the desk he�d produced a long bladed knife, one created specifically to kill, and stood, backing away, one hand risen in warning.
Lecter knew his smile hadn�t been a pleasant one. He�d crossed the floor in five long strides and as Will sliced at him through the air Lecter grabbed his other wrist and twisted brutally. Bone had been crushed against bone, muscles and skin burning in the solid grip. Nothing had broken, but the pain would have been excruciating and it was certainly debilitating.
It had surprised Lecter, then, when the sharp, narrow blade had sliced open his upper arm, cutting through the fine, expensive cotton of his shirt and leaving a tantalising line of blood which immediately started to soak into the material.
He�d reigned in his anger - it had not thus far been the reunion he�d imagined � and pushed Will until his butt had hit the edge of the desk. At the same time he�d reached for the knife directly, grasping the blade in his palm and closing his fist around it.
Will had yelled in frustration and started to fight, at which point Hannibal had leaned closer, lips to Will�s ear, and stated very clearly, �I�m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see you.�
Suddenly the yelling had turned to a soft whimper and Will had frozen in place. At first, Hannibal had thought Will had kept another weapon upon his person in case of attacks in the street. And then he�d belatedly realised what Will had known almost half a minute earlier.
Turning his head, Will had actually started to laugh.
Hannibal had found himself momentarily lost for words. And then he�d loosened his grip both on Will�s wrist and on the knife, feeling the blood running over the base of his thumb.
�Should I take it that you�re pleased to see me, Will?� He hadn�t been able to help his ironic smile.
Only when Lecter had backed off several feet had Will looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and said between coughs of near-hysterical laughter, said, �My first erection in eight years, I hope you don�t have plans for this afternoon.�
It was just one of the reasons he treasured Will. The man never failed to surprise him. His visit, all those years ago, had been a surprise. When he�d sat in Lecter�s study and told the doctor about the carving of the chicken and how their serial killer was eating the trophies he took from his victims.
His own attack on Will had been controlled, intimate, heady. Will�s counter-attack, first with the arrows and then the second pistol in his ankle holster, had been more of a shock, albeit a strangely pleasant one. Lecter could remember thinking proudly of how resourceful his protege was just before the bullets hit him square in the chest.
The irony of that moment wasn�t lost on him. At the time he�d recalled Will�s description of shooting Garret Hobbs again and again and the man still not dropping the knife with which he was hacking at his daughter�s throat. Later he�d read in full, glorious detail in the �Tattler� exclusive about the horrific stand off between Will and Dolarhyde in the Florida beach house. It all connected. And it explained Will�s weapon of choice. The knife in place of the gun.
Shifting forward quietly, he breathed in Will�s scent. The aroma of apples from the shower gel he�d used last night before they�d left for the concert, the stink of sex and sweat from their return. Hannibal had never imagined he�d fall in love.
For the first couple of years of his incarceration he�d spent many hours pulling Will limb from limb in his imagination, designing terrible fate after terrible fate for the man who�d denied him his freedom and given him his own scars.
And then the Red Dragon had coaxed Will out of retirement and back into Lecter�s life, such as it was. Will had come to him a shadow of the confident, courageous man who�d caught him. Lecter had been drawn to that like a moth to a flame. A part of him still wanted revenge. But another part of him was tempted to help nurture the rare gift that was slowly being strangled by guilt and hatred of what it meant.
Throughout the Red Dragon hunt Will�s courage had returned. He might have hated what he could do but he was turned on by it, he came alive doing it.
Will�s first visit to the asylum had been made in desperation. The clock was ticking and he was simply returning to the man who�d helped him before. Not of his own accord but because Jack Crawford had talked him into it. Pressured him as he had his whole career. That first time Will had been scared to death.
But in the gym, without the glass between them and although still jumpy, Will came closer to him, quizzed him, reacted to him. They were indeed making progress.
By the third visit Will was next to the glass, cross-legged, close to being as comfortable with Lecter as he had been before. As close to it as he was going to get with the memories of that last time.
Or so Hannibal had thought.
Softly, he kissed the blond head and slid out from under the single white sheet. Will didn�t stir.
~
Hannibal loved Geneva almost as much as he loved Florence. Returning to Italy at any time in the next twenty years was probably off the cards so he was happy to find another city he felt a connection with.
On Grande Rue and Rue de la Citie he�d found the perfect shops from which to stock Will�s kitchen. He�d rented an apartment on Rue de la Croix but had hardly spent any time in it since running into his old acquaintance.
That morning he left the house early and arrived at Monsieur Grates just after nine. The aroma of fresh coffee was as strong as it always was and Almonde Grates � the grandson of the original Grates � greeted Hannibal warmly.
�The usual, Sir?�
�And a quarter of Naranjo, if you don�t mind, Almonde.� Lecter surveyed the shelves of barrels while his coffee beans were prepared. It had taken a lot of patience to wean Will of the disgusting instant rubbish he�d become addicted to at the FBI. �Do you have any Marogogype?�
�Guatemalan, Sir?�
�Wonderful.� He smiled. �Perfect.�
His next stop was Geneva�s oldest and most expensive vodka importers. Run by two old gentlemen (who he was sure were a couple, although he hadn�t yet confirmed his suspicions and it didn�t bother him in the least) it was a place where a man prepared to pay could purchase the best vodkas from anywhere on the globe.
Russian was Hannibal�s preferred vodka. It wasn�t a drink he partook of but it added a certain something to many of his favourite recipes.
He knew as soon as he turned back onto Grande Rue that he was being followed. He could pick out her footsteps from all the other noise around him, could smell her skin lotion in the warm morning air. He had an appointment with the owner of a wine importers at eleven in connection with some Chianti he was buying from a vineyard just outside Florence. But that was just over an hour from now.
Will would have left for the gallery already but he didn�t want to lead Clarice to their home. Instead, he detoured down the Rue de la Boulang and took a table outside a small caf�, ordering a black coffee when the waiter approached him.
Only when his coffee was in front of him did Clarice seat herself on the small metal chair opposite him.
He merely smiled.
�Good morning, Clarice. A beautiful day in a beautiful city, don�t you agree?�
�You don�t seem surprised to see me, Dr Lecter.�
�I�m very rarely surprised.� He sipped his coffee. �What brings you to Geneva? Did Jack Crawford send you to find me?
�No. I quit the FBI.� Her honesty had always made her attractive to him. The way she�d answered his questions with no hesitation, so much easier than those who fought him. �It�s taken a long time to find you.�
�That was the idea.�
She crossed her arms on the table and leaned toward him. �What are you doing in Geneva, Doctor?�
He studied her for a minute or so, trying to place her interest. She already knew Will was here, he was sure she�d recognised him in the gallery. She might have found him by accident - no one in the world knew he was here, not even his own son - but she knew who he was.
When he didn�t answer her, she answered for him.
�You�re here for Will Graham, aren�t you? You�re here to kill him, finally. End it once and for all.�
Lecter tipped his head to one side, his side equally as lopsided. �Will Graham?�
�You did know he was living here in the city, didn�t you?� She tried to gauge his reaction as he had hers. �He owns a gallery two blocks away.�
Hannibal shuddered inside to hear the American phrase used against the background of the city he was starting to call his home.
�Why are you here, Clarice?�
�You didn�t answer my question.�
Lecter straightened. �And I won�t. This isn�t a game anymore.�
�Was it ever?� She sighed. �In Paul�s kitchen, when you had me pinned against the refrigerator, you kissed me. You said to me, �Would you ever say to me �stop, if you loved me you�d stop.��� He nodded once. He had no idea why he�d asked her that. He�d had vague musings at one point of taking her with him, of keeping her at his side. �Would you?�
He shook his head. �Clarice, Clarice�.�
�Are you going to kill Will Graham, Doctor?�
�If I was, do you think you could save his life? What would you do? Warn him? Get him into protective custody? He�s spent his whole life running. You said he had a gallery in the city. What makes you think he�d leave that?�
�I have no intention of saving him.�
A warning bell rang in Hannibal�s head. �Then�?�
�Will Graham caught you, shot you, testified against you. He put you inside. I want to help you get your revenge.�
More warning bells started to ring. �Revenge is an ugly word, Clarice, one I never expected to hear from you.�
Her eyes hardened. �You killed a man in front of me. You turned everything I ever believed in upside down. I only ever wanted to be an FBI agent, you knew that. When I quit my job, I lost everything I knew. I had to start again, I had to look so deep inside me to find something else � anything. What I found wasn�t pleasant.�
�You�re not a killer.�
�You made me a killer. What have you planned, Doctor Lecter? Planning on slitting his throat?�
Lecter almost laughed. Finishing his coffee, he sat forward. �The last time I killed Will Graham I stabbed him with a Venetian stiletto paper knife. I held him in my arms as I sliced up through his intestines. His hands grasped my shoulders after I�d taken his gun from him. I lowered him to the floor, pulled the knife from him and leaned over him. I was going to eat his heart.�
She heard his words, his tone. And she remembered what Krendler had said to her about Lecter being a queer. She�d dismissed the idea and hadn�t, until now, had reason to think back on it.
�Were you fucking him?�
The changes wrought in her did surprise him and he felt a little sad that he�d been responsible for those changes. No one came into contact with him and survived completely intact. But at least she didn�t have the physical scars Will had and the memories of receiving them.
�No, Clarice, I wasn�t.�
�Did you want to?�
�It never crossed my mind.� Not quite true but he didn�t feel like telling her any more detail. He had thought about it now and again, when he�d realised what Will was. The eidetic mind that was part of the attraction now was as fascinating to him back then. He recalled his last night of freedom for eleven years in all its detail and he remembered one particular line with ironic humour. �How I�d love to get you on my couch.� A hint of seduction, testing the water. Just a little too late.
�Does it excite you? Thinking of me fucking him?� Lecter, as had become second nature during his years in Florence, wiped his prints and saliva from the handle and rim of his coffee cup. �My hands on his body, my penis up his rectum? Um, Clarice?�
She stared at him for a long time but before she could think of what to say, he rose. �Turn around. Go home. Go� anywhere. Rebuild. If Will Graham�s managed to do it, I�m sure you can.� Picking up his bags he dropped a couple of notes to the table and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. �Fly, my pigeon.�
~
Will always closed the gallery for two hours at lunchtime, between twelve and two, and took his camera out into the city. He never worried about losing sales. He�d only opened the place after a suggestion from the one other person in Geneva he�d actually known back then.
James Lobo ran a bar on Grande Rue, just down from Will�s apartment. For the first couple of months after he�d come to Geneva he�d been a late night regular. They�d talked on and off, when Will was his only customer. James had persuaded Will to bring in some of his photos and had admired them greatly. Will had given him a couple of them, framed them as a gift. James had hung them in the bar and more of his customers had asked about the photographer.
Will didn�t need the money but, like the photography itself, the gallery was a distraction.
Today he walked down to the lake and into the Jardin Anglais. During the winter they put fairy lights in the branches of the trees and directional speakers that played various sounds to anyone passing below them. Bird song, tuneless violins, choir music. Last Christmas had been the first joyous one he�d spent in ages.
It was a beautiful day. From this side of the lake he could see the mountains in the distance behind the banks and hotels on the other side. It was against this backdrop that Geneva came into its own as a city.
Raising his camera, he framed and waited. Sometimes it was technique that got him the perfect picture. Usually it was instinct.
A couple of weeks ago he�d photographed Hannibal for his own private collection. He did all his developing in a dark room he�d set up in the basement of his house; those photos would never see the light of day. Of the three roles of film he�d shot, he�d developed all the negatives and then four prints. Three of them he�d eventually destroyed, one he�d kept. It had been the last photograph he�d taken that evening; Hannibal sitting in one of the armchairs in the lounge, one leg folded under him, elbow up on the arm of the chair, head tipped back, a patient, adoring smile on his face.
He framed it and presented it to Lecter on a whim.
Lecter had looked at it for a long time.
�Sign it for me.�
�Han�.�
�Don�t worry about it. I want you to sign it. You should be proud. I am.�
He tightened his trigger finger and the shutter snapped closed.
�Mr Graham?�
He�d trained himself to let the call of that name pass over him. A woman, the same woman who�d been in the gallery the previous day, leaned on the railing next to him.
�What is it now? Tom Williams? William Thomas Graham, ex-Special Investigator for the FBI.�
He turned his head and looked at her and for a second the expression in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.
�Special Agent Clarice Starling. What is it, exactly, that you want from me?� She hesitated a beat too long. �Go home.�
He turned and walked away from her.
~
�Hannibal, did you get the garlic?�
Will listened for the bright swear word, �Shit!� and smiled to himself. A couple of seconds later his lover padded into the kitchen and wrapped one arm around Will�s waist, peering over the slim shoulder as he reached for a mushroom straight from the brown paper bag.
�Sorry.�
�What do you want your mushrooms fried with?�
�There are some Jalepeno chillies in the larder.�
�Good.�
Rolling his eyes, Hannibal moved his mouth to the nape of Will�s neck and bit lightly before letting him go to cross the kitchen.
�I saw your other FBI agent this afternoon.�
Lecter stopped. �Where?�
�She found me in the Jardin Anglais. She knew who I was but when I asked her what she wanted she didn�t say anything. I told her to go home and walked away, she didn�t follow.�
Hannibal chuckled. �I told her the same thing.�
�You spoke to her.�
�This morning. She wants me to kill you.�
He watched Will�s reaction carefully, sighing when he saw the slump of the narrow shoulders. Fetching the chillies he returned to his lover. Rubbing the backs of his fingers up and down Will�s arm, he spoke slowly. �How long before you believe I won�t hurt you?�
�It�s hard.� The admission was practically a whisper, coming from the part of Will that still remembered and still hurt.
�I know. Clarice is my fault just as you are. Under different circumstances I might have given her what she�s asking for.�
�My life?�
�No, that�s not what she wants. She wants me, you�re incidental to her. She knows you�re in Geneva, she thought I was here to wreak my revenge on you.� Sliding his hands across Will�s chest, Hannibal began to unfasten the buttons of his light blue shirt. �Nothing could induce me to hurt you any more than I already have.� Undoing only three buttons, he drew the shirt back to expose Will�s prominent collarbone. Massaging the tight shoulder muscles with strong thumbs, he alternated between kissing and nipping the bone.
�I�ll deal with her if I have to, Will.� He felt the pliant body stiffen in his arms for a moment before Will relaxed and assisted him with sliding the jeans down from his narrow hips.
~
�Tell me about the ones before.�
Wrapped in a cr�me silk throw Lecter had bought in Florence, he and Will were lying on the sofa in the lounge, Will nestled between Lecter�s legs, lying over his chest, blond head on his shoulder. Lecter�s arms were around him possessively. The windows were thrown open, the early night sky clear from where they lay.
�I haven�t had many lovers, Will. My first, I suppose, was a young boy I was trapped with after the war left my family dead. Bastien, his name was. He and I found ways to keep warm during the harsh winter nights in the barn they� stored us in. There was always the fear that one day they�d take one of us, like they did�.�
He paused for a time and Will knew better than to push. He waited. Eventually Hannibal tightened his embrace and continued.
�My first and only real love affair before you, my Dear, was Rachel DuBerry.� He smiled to himself at the memory. �She was a socialite in the mid-seventies. My practice established, I was meeting many affluent members of Maryland�s society and she was the daughter of a court judge. Some have suggested that the break up of our relationship led to my crimes but you know that�s not true.� He gave Will a wry smile.
�You�d killed before. In Lithuania and the states.�
�Very good, Will. No one�s ever seen me as you do, so clearly, so easily.� He paused again, his feelings swelling for the young man in his arms. �You�re right, of course. I killed a young girl in the barn where they kept us, just before I escaped. I thought, what was the harm? They were going to kill her anyway. Feed her to us. A few of the children, I remember, were violently sick when I explained to them where their meat was coming from. A couple refused to eat after that. More for the rest of us.�
�I killed two of the adults as well. I was thirteen.� Another hesitation. �Where was I? Ah yes, Rachel. We went our separate ways. She introduced me to a great many useful people but in the end she bored me. She�s living with her senator husband and two children now in Washington, happy and healthy as far as I know. After her, a couple of my patients � like Mason Verger � took an interest in me, which I allowed them to satisfy for a short time.�
�Are they all dead?�
�No. Some of them were simply confused or upset by things they�d seen, experiences life had thrown at them. Others � like Verger � weren�t nice people.�
Lecter stroked his hand over his lover�s hair, playing the individual silken strands between his fingers.
�Your turn.�
Will chuckled softly. �Molly was supposed to be the love of my life. Before her it was� teenage fumblings, girls just passing though, one-night stands after frat parties.�
�Why did she leave you, Will?�
A quiet sound escaped his throat. Under the throw he found Lecter�s free hand and held on to it. �For a couple of minutes she knew what it was to know what I know. She had to kill a man to save me, to save our son. Every time she looked at me after that, she remembered. She couldn�t live with it so she left me.�
�And what about you? How were you supposed to live with it?�
�I don�t have any choice. It�s what I am. I was the one who kept the bad guys at bay. I wasn�t supposed to take my work home with me.�
�My fault.�
�No�.�
�Yes. You�re still in denial, Will. About Hobbs, about why you allowed me to get close enough to hurt you, about why Dolarhyde shot you that night�. About us.�
With a hurt sigh, Will extracted himself from Lecter�s arms. Hannibal would have liked to hold him there but he�d learnt from experience that as balanced as Will seemed, the fear and madness rested close to the surface.
�Denial, Will, not delusion. Hobbs didn�t drop when you shot him for the same reason you didn�t when Dolarhyde shot you. You didn�t believe your own conclusions about me because you considered me a friend and an ally, someone to whom you�d revealed your innermost secrets. How could I be a killer when you prized my company so highly?�
Hugging himself, Will stood nude at the open window.
�Just accept yourself. So few do.�
Hannibal waited until he saw the briefest nod from his lover. Then he rose, wearing the throw like a cloak as he crossed the lounge.
Taking the edges, he surrounded Will with himself and the delicate material as he touched his lips to a cool shoulder. He pressed his warm body against the bare back and closed his eyes momentarily when his firming erection burrowed between the tight cheeks of his lover�s ass.
�There�s no reason here, Will. This just is. We just are. The past is behind us. Everything we knew, everything we were is a long way from here.�
�What about Clarice?�
�Like I said, I�ll deal with her if I have to. You�ve found peace, Will, such as it is. I�ve found� happiness, as corny as it sounds. I�d forgotten what it was to smile and to mean it. Clarice Starling isn�t going to take that from us. No one is, my Love.�
It was a long time before Will turned to wrap his long arms around Hannibal�s neck, to cover the smiling lips with his own and slide his tongue into the other man�s mouth.
Hannibal moved one hand to the small of his lover�s back, the edge of the throw held between his finger and thumb, the material sweeping down from their shoulders to pool around their hips and legs.
His other hand brushed the swell of Will�s ass, around to stroke his hip and come to rest between them, fingers spread along the deep scar he�d given to Will so long ago.
The first time they�d made love, Hannibal had kissed that scar over and over, tongued it until the repulsion had vanished from Will�s face to be replaced by a shocked ecstasy.
Now he traced its path up around Will�s navel while their tongues battled lazily and their cocks knocked against one another.
Neither of them felt a need to up the ante. Taste and touch, so understated like this, was just enough. Brief slivers of pleasure, a slow building heat.
The silk against their skin where it still covered them, the warm breeze from the darkening night ghosting over their shoulders and backs where it didn�t. Opposing sensations that left them needing, reaching for more.
When his orgasm had teased him for long enough, Will dropped his arms from Hannibal�s neck and stroked his hands down over wide shoulders, muscled arms and a sculptured chest to rest over the silk riding low on restlessly moving hips.
Thrusting forward while holding his lover where he wanted him, Will caressed Hannibal�s tongue with long, luxurious strokes of his own.
He swallowed the other�s amused chuckle and mercilessly began to rock his hips back and forth, each movement sliding the hard crown of his cock along the silken length of Hannibal�s. The amusement swiftly became a throaty hum and the hand on his abdomen shifted to cup one ass cheek.
Hannibal met one thrust just right and his climax triggered Will�s own.
�I�m getting too old for this, Will,� Hannibal murmured into his lover�s hair as they lay on the floor next to the window.
�Too old to lie here but not too old to make love standing up for an hour?�
Lecter shrugged innocently. �It�s not my legs that I have trouble with. It�s my backside on the wooden floor and my arm going to sleep where you�re lying on it.�
Turning, sitting up, Will smiled indulgently. �I love you.�
Maroon eyes lit up with pleasure. �I know. Strangely enough, Will, I love you too.�
~
Lecter woke before Will as usual. For a while he just lay there watching his lover sleep.
Reaching out, he rested one hand on the side of Will�s neck and ran his thumb along the curve of his throat. He could press in just the right place and strangle the life right out of him. But then Will would be gone. He�d grown very accustomed to having the young man in his life. And in his heart.
Getting up, being careful not to rouse his companion, he showered and dressed. He had a appointment to see a property in Boulevard du Theatre. He planned to set up a small practise for those in need of privacy. Geneva was a very rich city.
As he set up the coffee maker, he heard, through the open windows, someone banging on the door. Suspicious, he left the water dripping through the filter and went to answer it before the sound woke Will.
When he saw Clarice standing on the step, his good humour faded.
�I�m a dangerous man, Clarice. It�s not a good idea to push too hard.�
�Can I come in, Dr Lecter?�
With a measured sigh, he stepped back and she entered, following him up the stairs and into the apartment.
�Coffee?�
�Yes. Thank you.�
Inclining his head slightly, Lecter left her alone in the lounge.
She looked around her, trying to read Lecter into the d�cor and seeing only hints. It was a beautiful apartment in an expensive and well-appointed location. But the interiors were eclectic. Silk and satin materials, expensive hangings, rugs and cushions.
She crossed to bookshelf that stood in one corner of the room next to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. She recognised a great many of the titles. New copies of �The Joy of Cooking�, �Recettes des Provinces de France�, �La Cuisine du Sacrifice en Pays Grec�, �Le Chocolat�, �Exploring Wine�, �Bach: The Goldberg Variations�, �The Poems of William Blake�, �Humans Eating Humans�, �The Ultimate Picasso�.
Her eyes settled on a dark binding. Reaching up, she withdrew the book from its shelf with reverence. �Larousse Gastronomique�. Heralded by most chefs as the greatest encyclopaedia of cooking ever written, it was the book that had inadvertently led to Hannibal Lecter�s capture.
She turned the pages carefully until she reached �Ris de veau�.
She�d believed this particular copy had been taken by Barney and sold to a private collector. Lecter�s copy of �The Joy of Cooking� had sold for $16,000. This book was worth at least twice that. For to the left of the �Ris de veau� was a �*� in blue ink and above it was written �Sweetbreads� in Lecter�s distinctive copperplate handwriting.
She stared at it. Had Lecter bought this back off Barney? Had Barney given it to him?
Checking on her from the kitchen, Lecter smiled to himself. �D�j� vu,� he murmured softly and returned to his coffee maker.
Sliding the book back in place with a sigh, she turned and let her gaze travel over the rest of the room.
Something caught her attention.
A photograph mounted with frosted glass sat on the mantelpiece. She approached it, unable to help the swell of feeling inside her.
The photo was of Hannibal. He wore black trousers and a maroon shirt that perfectly matched the colour of his eyes. He was sitting, relaxed, possibly in this room although the chair itself was blurred. It was his expression. A smile that lit his face up with� delight?
She reached for the all-glass frame stunned by the image. Whoever had taken it hadn�t seen the serial killer captured in so many journalists� pictures, they�d seen the man behind the mask.
Her fingers ghosted over the photo of their own volition and her eyes drifted to the bottom right hand corner.
W
�Oh, God�.�
�Do you like it?�
She had her gun out of its holster and aimed at the newcomer in the space of a heartbeat. A moment later there was a blade at her throat and Lecter was purring in her ear.
�The last person to aim a gun at Will is dead, I suggest you lower it before you join him.�
Deliberately clicking on the safety, Clarice lowered her gun, turning very carefully to look at the man next to her then back to Will.
The blond was standing in the archway, blue jeans, white shirt hanging open, bare feet. He belonged here. This wasn�t Lecter�s house. It was his.
Lecter reached along her arm, took the gun from her hand and pushed it into his back pocket. Then he quickly and efficiently patted her down, sliding the pistol from her ankle holster with a knowing smile. Let no one say he didn't learn from experience. All those years ago, he should have taken Will's spare and things would definitely have been different.
Off that thought he glanced up at his lover and held out the knife, handle first. Will reached out and took it with a smile of thanks.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" he suggested. Clarice knew he was speaking to her, despite the fact he hadn't taken his gaze from the other man.
She sat down on the centre cushion of the sofa and watched as Lecter rose and took both guns with him when he left the room. She was scared now, recalling her words to Lecter outside the cafe the previous morning.
Will perched on the arm of one of the chairs, the knife held in his right hand, tip pressed into the pad of his left index finger. He considered her with cold eyes.
She studied him, trying to glean some idea of what he was doing here, why he was apparently sharing his house with a serial killer. She'd briefly considered that he was being held against his will, a prisoner, subdued by the doctor's manipulative manner and violent past. But he appeared relaxed, comfortable, neither stressed nor abused. Needing to stay afloat, she forced a sardonic smile to her lips.
"Jack tells everyone you're a drunk living in Florida."
"Jack has no idea where I've been for the last eight years." He waited a beat. "Hannibal tells me you want me dead."
"And you believed him?"
Will laughed. "Yes."
"He's a killer."
"A killer you've devoted your life to finding. I devoted my life to running from him but in the end things never turn out the way we expect them to."
"What's he holding over you, Mr Graham?"
"Call me Will." He smiled broadly. "Is that what you hope? That he's got some hold on me that can be severed, or better still bargained with?"
She remained impassive. "I can't imagine why else you'd be with him."
"Really? Why are you here? What made you travel half way around the globe to find him? What was it you wanted from him?"
An inkling of doubt started to creep into her mind. Had Graham lost it too? Had Lecter simply driven him to the brink?
"Back when I was interviewing him, we found a rapport. I believe he's never had that with anyone else, I certainly haven't. I came... to offer myself to him."
Will smiled and the inkling turned into alarm bells ringing in her mind.
"A rapport?" She nodded. "But always through the glass?" Clarice shivered to hear Mason Verger's words unknowingly repeated.
He indicated the photograph that Lecter had taken from her and put back in its place. "Do you think that's a photo one man took of an another?" Hesitating, Clarice shifted her gaze to the frame on the mantelpiece. Will watched her expression with interest. After a couple of seconds he saw it fall. "The second time I interviewed him there was no glass."
Lecter crossed the lounge and placed the tray on the small glass table in front of the sofa. He handed Clarice a mug of black coffee, then took his and Will's over to the armchair, sliding the handle into warm fingers before dropping onto the cushion, his free hand settling against the small of his lover�s back.
Released in favour of caffeine, the tip of the blade dropped to bury itself in the material of the chair.
"You were surprised to see I still had my copy of �Larousse Gastronomique�?" Lecter started, maroon gaze pinning Clarice in place. She nodded, trying to stop her hands from shaking. �Will had it with him. It was evidence at my trial and he�d stolen it and kept it.�
"Barney sold your other books," she told him uselessly.
"I know. I don't blame him. Barney was a good man. He grasped the so-simple concept that escaped supposedly high qualified people like Chiltern."
"Respect."
Hannibal smiled, pleased. "Yes." He let the smile fade slowly. "You respected me, Clarice, even when I was behind glass and bars."
"People change, Dr Lecter." She wished she knew why she'd said it. She had no idea. But it could be taken back.
Lecter, though, was happy enough to change the subject slightly. "Personally, I do not. I've always been the man I am and always will be." He hooked his hand around Will's slim waist. "Now Will, here, he's changed. Once upon a time he wouldn't have contemplated sitting here, like this, holding the knife in such a way. He's changed in so many ways. His weapon of choice. His lover of choice.�
Will glanced back at Hannibal with an expression that screamed, �oh please!�
But Lecter deliberately ignored him. �Ten years ago he'd have been running scared. Now..." he adopted his take on Clarice's West Virginia accent, "... now everything that Jack Crawford subjected him to is about to come back and bite the FBI right on the ass."
She recognised the thinly veiled threat. �You�re living a lie.�
�Every life I�ve led, Clarice, has been a lie. This is the only truth either of us has found. Will was the one Crawford used before he had you. Will has a gift for catching killers, so Crawford put him on the tail of Garrett Hobbs. And when he didn�t quite fall apart after shooting Hobbs, he was put on the trail of the Chesapeake Ripper. He�s only human. I stabbed him, so he retaliated. Before that night, we were friends.�
Hannibal rubbed his lover�s back, seeing the blond head bow momentarily.
They heard the chime as the clock on the Eglise St-Germain struck nine.
Will finished his coffee and leaned down, dropping his mug the last couple of inches to the carpet. He turned to Hannibal.
�Let me do this.�
Clarice�s eyes widened. Naturally she thought Lecter would delight in that; perverting Will even further, showing his protege the line between right and wrong, and welcoming the chance to push him over it.
�No.�
�Han�.�
�No, Will.� He shook his head, hand stroking down Will�s arm, over his wrist until he was covering the hand gripping the handle of the knife. �You already know what it�s like to kill in such a fashion � you know because I know, because Dolarhyde and Hobbs knew.� He smiled wryly. �I�ve given you enough nightmares for one lifetime.�
Clarice swallowed, her hands tightening reflexively around the mug of cooling coffee.
Will held Hannibal�s gaze for a few moments then nodded.
�Thank you, Will.�
Watching them, Clarice realised the smile on Lecter�s lips was one she�d never seen directed at her. Back in the asylum she�d seen only and exactly what he�d wanted her to see. With Will, those masks meant nothing.
She wished suddenly that she had time, that she could look back and learn their history; what had passed between them at the beginning, what it was like to consider Dr Hannibal Lecter M.D. a friend. But she didn�t have time, she�d never know.
Will stood, handed the knife to Lecter � blade first � and glanced at her.
�It was nice to meet you.�
She couldn�t speak, couldn�t move. Up until that moment she�d still believed she had a chance. But not now.
Rising, Lecter threw a smile her way. �Don�t run.�
She wouldn�t and he knew it.
Will stood next to the front door, Hannibal�s hand on his arms. Despite the inch difference in height, Hannibal had always seemed to tower over him.
�Clarice and I are going on a trip, Will.� Barely a moment�s hesitation before he nodded. �I won�t involve you, I won�t tell you what happened unless one day you ask. But I do need you to do one thing.�
Will met the maroon gaze direct. �Anything.�
�Live as normal. Stick to your routine. Don�t change anything you do, no matter what. Can you do that?�
He nodded. �Yes.�
Hannibal stepped forward and smiled. �That�s my boy.�
~
Sixty-two hours had passed
Will padded bare foot across the lounge. With one hand he threw open the curtain and unlatched the window. In his other hand he held a glass of bourbon at the rim.
�Where are you?� he asked the darkening night sky. �Are you coming back?�
So often over the last year he�d wondered what he�d do if Hannibal ever had to run.
He didn�t want to leave Geneva, the life he�d built on the ruins of the previous two. The love he felt for Hannibal had grown from the ashes of his heart and the broken remains of his soul.
The surprise on Lecter�s face that morning in the gallery had matched the incredulous expression on his own. In a single moment fear had been burnt away by laughter, by lust, by the same hands that had once driven a lethal blade into his body and held him still as it bit into his flesh.
For weeks they�d been wary of one another, meeting for breakfast, enjoying exquisite meals at expensive restaurants, sharing strolls along the lake. Many afternoons had found the gallery closed and them making love in Will�s bed in the balmy heat of the city in summer.
But for so long they wouldn�t spend the night together � never trusting of one another to fall asleep.
The first morning they�d woken together seemed so much more significant than the first afternoon Will had felt Lecter�s tongue in his mouth or hand on his dick. More than their first fuck.
Will would never forget waking, opening his eyes to smile at the strange maroon study of him.
Lecter hadn�t touched him, just lain there staring. And a few long minutes had passed before he�d said, �It�s my turn to fear you.�
It surprised him to realise how much he didn�t want to lose what he�d found with Hannibal. The terror he�d been so used to living with over the years between Lecter and Dolarhyde, that had grown exponentially after the Red Dragon had attacked, was now gone. The evil, the pain he�d feared was always one step behind him, ready to pounce, now awaited him in the kitchen when he returned home. It welcomed him with open arms and in turn he welcomed it into his life, into his body. It was no longer pain, but pleasure.
He�d changed beyond recognition. But Lecter hadn�t. Oddly, Will had quickly stopped being afraid for himself and had started to be afraid for the strangers � specifically the tourists � around him. Will had been many things in his life, but deep down Lecter had only ever been one. A killer. A cannibal. Will had never expected that to change, and the only thing that kept him awake at night anymore was the question of why his lover�s nature no longer bothered him.
It was as if when Dolarhyde had almost killed him a part of him had actually died. It unsettled him to think about which part.
Eventually Will tired of soul-searching. Crossing the lounge he picked up the photograph of Hannibal in the glass frame � the only visible evidence of Lecter�s presence in his life � and took it and the whiskey through into the bedroom.
Opening a drawer by the bed he dropped the frame inside, face down. As desperately as he loved Hannibal, the man wasn�t going to destroy his life a third time. If the police were somehow pointed here, he�d deny all knowledge. Why would he harbour a known criminal? Especially after what he�d suffered at the man�s hands.
The only thing he was guilty of, after all, was leaving a woman to the fate she had actively sought out.
It was a hot night.
Will stripped and showered, switching on one of the corner lights in the large bedroom as he padded back through wrapped in a huge white towel. The lamp bathed the room in a gentle amber glow.
Opening the window � the twin of the one in the lounge � he dropped his towel and let the night air breeze over his wet skin.
Closing his eyes, he imagined his lover�s fingers roaming over him, teasing his nipples, the sensitive skin over his ribs, over his stomach and along the long scar to the left of his navel. One night he�d questioned Hannibal�s apparent obsession with the scar.
�I gave it to you,� Lecter had told him needlessly, �I couldn�t have killed you. Did, I believe, for a couple of minutes. If you�d stayed dead, I would never have known this.�
He could only hope that �this� was enough to bring Hannibal back to him.
Drawing the curtains across the open window, he mooched naked back to the bed and dropped on top of the quilt, reaching for his glass and pushing himself up on one elbow to take a mouthful of the strong whiskey.
He almost jumped when the telephone rang.
�Tom Williams.�
�Hello, Will.�
He took a breath. �Han�.� Still that voice was enough send shivers through him, only they were of arousal and excitement now.
�I�ll be back soon, Will, but I needed to hear you.�
�I�ve been thinking about you.�
�Would you like to think about me some more?�
Will smiled to himself. �What did you have in mind?�
�Put me on speakerphone, I�ll need you to have your hands free.� Leaning over Will hit the button and the next time he spoke, Lecter�s voice flowed into the room. �Are you in the bedroom?�
�Yes.�
�Naked? Tell me, Will.�
�I�ve just had a shower and I�m lying naked on the bed with a glass of your Glenlivet.�
�Umm, perfect. Your hair�s damp, yes? It smells of apples. Your skin�s warm and flushed. And my rather expensive bottle of Glenlivet?� Will sipped the amber liquid. �Dip your finger in it.� The request surprised Will but he complied, not needing instructions on what to do next. �I love the taste of that whiskey on your tongue, love to taste it in your mouth.�
Closing his eyes Will sucked the liquid from his finger, swirling his tongue over the tip of it.
�Are you hard for me, Will?�
�Yes.� He breathed the word, looking down at himself standing proudly erect from the nest of soft dark curls. Keeping hold of the glass in one hand, he reached for himself with the other. �Han?� If he could hear the tremors in his own voice, Lecter certainly could.
�My Dear�. I�m thinking of you as you�re thinking of me. My hand is on my own erection, my eyes are closed and I�m imagining you here, your body between my legs, your mouth around me. I love your skilled tongue, your wicked fingers, your tight channel. I want you to touch yourself there.�
Will moaned softly, his hand tightening, speed increasing. Placing his glass on the mattress beside him, he reached his other hand down between his thighs and stroked his balls, pressing his thumb along his perineum.
�That�s good, Will. I can hear you enjoying this. I love to hear you moan. Put your finger � the one you licked the whiskey from � put that inside you, push it inside and touch that sweet spot.�
It meant changing hands but he obeyed. Closing his eyes, touching himself so intimately, listening to Lecter�s voice caressing him.
�Is it good, Will?�
�God, yes.� He pressed as deep as his finger would go, instinctively finding the nub within him that sparked so much pleasure. His own slicked finger was so much smaller than Hannibal�s cock or a thick dildo. The thrill of the pressure within him wasn�t there but he worked that small gland in time with his hand on his cock.
�I can imagine how you must look at this moment. What a wanton sight you must make. How I�d love to be there, to watch you slide in and out of your body, your long, elegant fingers moving so restlessly over your beautiful cock.�
�Han�.� His climax was close, he could feel it building in his balls, in the pit of his stomach, the base of his ass and the tips of his toes.
�Ssh, my dearest Will�. Don�t hold back. Come for me. Let those delicious ribbons of come coat your hand and your thighs and your stomach.�
He needed no more instruction.
~
The gallery is quiet. It�s late. Outside the streets are deserted. He�s fixing a photo of a Chinese Mah-jongg character into a clear and frosted glass frame.
Distraction. Loneliness.
No sound accompanies the opening of the door, but he looks up.
Lecter is walking toward him, smiling as he approaches.
Joy.
�Hannibal�.� Standing, Will closes the distance.
�I bought you something.�
Will looks down from the sparkling maroon gaze to the clasped hand. As he does, Hannibal opens his fist. Tucked into his palm, the narrow blade running over his wrist, is the Venetian stiletto knife Lecter killed him with eleven years ago.
Shock. Denial.
Will backs up, shaking his head. Lecter follows him, flicks his wrist and thrusts the wicked blade into Will�s abdomen.
Terror. Agony. Why?!
Will feels it tear the scarred flesh, tries to scream as Lecter presses against him. No sound comes. He feels the exquisite pain as Lecter slices upwards, following the path he made before, cutting through the jagged skin.
As he hurts his lover, he laughs.
Betrayal. Loss.
Will�s hands go to Lecter�s shoulders and he tries to push his attacker away. But Lecter�s strong, he�s always been too strong.
As Will�s vision blurs and he starts to feel drowsy, he glances over to the open door.
Clarice Starling is standing smiling at him.
Triumphant.
As he dies, she calls to him.
�No glass, Will. Just pain.�
Will woke with a start, tears wetting his cheeks. The emotions from his dream overwhelmed him and turning into the duvet he sobbed silently.
When he calmed, he turned over and glanced at the alarm clock through blurred eyes. The small, soft green numerals told him it was just after eight. Sniffing, he looked at the telephone, wondering if he�d dreamt his lover�s call as well as his own murder.
The sticky mess on his stomach was real enough but even in the eight baron years of exile from his sexual self he�d sometimes woken to find he�d come during the night.
Picking up the receiver he dialled call-back but the last call hadn�t left a number. It could have been Hannibal�s cell phone. He couldn�t remember when the phone had rung before last night. All his business calls went to the gallery.
He felt shaken and uncertain and lay for a long while staring rhombus of light streaking the floor from the window before forcing himself to get out of the bed.
~
The day was hot by the time Will left the house to walk the short distance to the studio.
He�d looked at himself in the mirror for a time before shaving and showering.
The white shirt he�d chosen showed off his tan and the loose black trousers smartened him up.
When he�d looked in the mirror again he�d seen the FBI agent Lecter had destroyed.
Hurriedly he�d stripped off the black pants, pulling on blue jeans and leaving his shirt hanging out over them.
As he walked along the cobbled road he thought about Hannibal.
The jury and judge who had convicted him hadn�t bought the denial of insanity that Lecter had pleaded. How could anyone of sound mind, they�d asked, commit such atrocities?
Despite what he�d told Lecter, that morning in the asylum, Will had believed him when he�d claimed he was sane. Insanity didn�t define or explain anything Lecter did. He was a calculating killer. He murdered because he enjoyed it. He knew it was wrong, knew it was immoral and illegal and just plain evil when it came down to it. But still he did it.
Insanity was, by and large, predictable if you had the right sort of training.
Sanity was not.
He stopped at the nearest coffee shop and bought a double Espresso before continuing to the gallery. Two of his photos hung in the shop next to the cash register and he found himself studying them as he waited.
�Ils sont tr�s bons,� Frank, the shop owner, told him.
Will smiled, �Merci beaucoup.�
�Comment les affaires sont-ils?�
�Bon, merci. Et vous?�
Frank shrugged. �Je ne peux pas me plaindre. Les gens veulent la cr�me de glace, pas le caf�, dans cette chaleur.�
Will nodded. �Sauf moi.�
Chuckling, Frank said wryly, �oui, sauf vous.�
Handing over some coins Will picked up the small styrofoam cup and bade Frank a good morning.
The cool stone interior of the gallery never seemed to soak up the heat outside. Will switched the alarm off and the lighting on, walking through to the small room at the back.
Some days he would be kept busy with real clients wanting to discuss commissions. Will took on commissions for advertising agencies and local businesses anywhere between Geneva and Montreux.
Some days his only visitors were tourists and interested locals, coming in to look at the photos on display and sometimes purchase the odd one or two.
There were many days when he didn�t see another soul. And on those days there was always something to keep him busy.
Frames to be fashioned, orders to be filled, negatives to be studied.
The night Lecter had left with Clarice he�d spent the night walking from bridge to bridge, crossing and re-crossing, taking rolls and rolls of film. The following night he�d developed the negatives and had around eighty-four photos to scrutinise before choosing which ones to print.
Taking the strips down from where they�d been stored he stepped back into the gallery and seated himself at the small desk, flicking on the bright bulb in the desk�s surface. Downing his Espresso in one mouthful he settled down, took up his loupe and started to study the first set of negatives.
Letting the door close silently behind him, Lecter walked without a sound to the centre of the narrow room. For a few moments he watched Will concentrate on the minute details of his photographs. Then he took something from his pocket.
�Hello, Will.�
The blond head snapped up and blue eyes widened. �Hannibal!� Standing, Will closed the distance between them, one hand reaching out to be taken and held. �Welcome home.�
�Thank you, my Dear.� He unfolded his free hand, �I bought you something.�
The words echoed back to Will from his dream and he stepped back involuntarily, looking down from the sparkling maroon gaze to the clasped hand.
Lying in the centre of the large palm, the narrow blade resting along Lecter�s wrist, was the Venetian stiletto knife Will recognised with sudden terror. He remembered his dream, overlaid with clear memories of one late night eleven years ago. He stumbled back, away from the weapon.
Lecter glanced up at him and Will met the intense gaze. What he saw there took his breath away. Hurt. Actual hurt.
�Han�.�
�Will, please.� Shaking his head slightly, an understanding expression touching his features, he slipped the blade down into his palm and offered it to his lover. �I thought you�d like to have it. That way it can�t ever hurt you again.�
Swallowing, Will reached out, wrapping shaking fingers around the ivory handle. �Have you used it?� He surprised himself by running his thumb along the top of the shining silver blade.
�Eleven years ago, if I remember correctly,� his voice held a note of sadness. �And two days ago. Clarice had it with her. She�d hoped to watch me use it to finish what I started with your death.� Reaching out he stroked his hand over Will�s where it held the knife, over his wrist and up his arm. �I missed you. It has been a long time since I missed anyone.�
Will read the sincerity in the other man�s eyes and nodded, acknowledging it. �Has she gone?�
�Yes, and with a lot less trouble than you, I might add.� Lecter smiled wryly. �She was expecting it, almost welcomed it. There was nothing left for her.�
�I didn�t know if you�d come back.�
�I know. There was no way to convince you.� With a gentle chuckle, he leaned forward and kissed Will�s forehead. �Close up, I�ll buy you lunch.�
Will turned into the kiss, tasting his lover for a stolen moment before going to the desk. He turned off the desk light and opened the top drawer, dropping the terrible knife inside. Staring at it for a long moment, he eased the drawer shut and locked it.
Setting the alarm, he stepped out into the cobbled street with a serial killer at his side.