#you just pour Hannibal in there and now were all professional chefs eating people who were rude to us thats how media works I guess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

Text

MyDesign IX

“What’s on the menu this evening?”

Will felt the look before it had happened, Hannibal’s piercing eyes already searching his for the real question that hadn’t been asked - who’s on the menu this evening - and judging whether he was ready and prepared for the answer to that question. Brown and hazel collided, a battle of wills and storm of darkness between them as the silence dragged on, until he looked away, conceeding defeat in the silent standof rather than let it agonisingly continue.

“Ah, well this evening you’ll be enjoying duckling a la d’albufera.” The chef smiled congenially, serving cart pushed before him as he rounded the edge of the table. Will was to his right as always. A position that had been laid out for him since he first ate at the table with the other, and reserved for him each time since unless decency dictated otherwise. The flourish as Hannibal lifted the serving platter to the table and carved off a ham wrapped, golden brown duck leg and breast alike, half a bird each despite a full second bird still trussed and laid out upon the serving tray as if to display the hedonistic decadance of Hannibal’s meals - food prepared never to be eaten, surrounded by additional indlugence in the form of delicate flowers, outlandish bones and crafted display alike. The portion was laid gently upon the plate before him, followed shortly after by a small array of delicately placed mushrooms in a brown sauce that looked to be from the roasted birds themselves and a reddish-brown sauce sat between them in an intricately designed boat. “Roasted ducklings with smoked ham, designed in hearts to replace the birds feathers. They are trussed and roasted within a covered pan to swelter in their own juices before browning; the mushrooms are basted in the juices...”

“And the sauce?” Will gestured with a nod towards the boat as Hannibal plated his own serving before wheeling the cart slightly back from the table. As the other man sat, he lifted the boat to pour a delicate drizzle of the sauce around his plate before doing the same for his guest.

“The Albufera sauce - a twist on a supreme sauce with chicken veloute, creme fraiche, sweet bell peppers and veal stock. It was crafted for Napoleon’s Marshal Suchet after a victory against the British al Valencia. A delicate yet rich sauce, not always in favor but perfect with duck in such a fashion.”

“I’m sure it will be. I apologise that my palate may not be quite so refined as yours to enjoy it.”

“Nonsense, Will, appreciation does not require knowledge or understanding, simply a willingness to appreciate what you are experiencing.” Hannibal set down the boat, and set about cutting a small section of duck breast with the neatly laid ham feathers into his fork, swiping the bottom of the meat through sauce before lifting it to his mouth. Will always found watching the other man eat to be something powerful - even more so now he had become aware of what was served so frequently at the table. The long pause as the chef would hold the forkful in his mouth, savouring the flavor and texture of the dish before he would consume had always felt to Will like an intrusion to watch, as if he was viewing something so private and hedonistic that if he were any more bound by the niceties of society he would be forced to look away; but instead he would watch, as he did now, while the other man revel in the fruit of his labors. The other’s eyes would close, his nostrils would flare just slightly to draw in the scent of the food which Will hoped his unfortunate aftershave would not impact on, and if the dish was particularly good there would be the quietest, softest groan of appreciation before Hannibal would return from whatever place the mouthful would take him to his space at the head of the table. Swallowing, and swiftly following with a small sip of the pinot noir for the evening, the older man gave a pleased nod as if in agreement to himself or approval of his work before continuing his statement to the other. “If you are open to the experience, you will enjoy it immensely.”

“Perhaps that is where I struggle. Opening myself up only ever seems to get me into trouble.” Will replied, the words tasting and sounding bitter as he followed the other man’s steps, slicing a forkful of his dish and begining to eat. Perhaps he was right about it being his struggle, the food barely tasting all that extraordinary to hims tongue that was promised by the level of enjoyment the other man seemed to experience. He couldn’t help but wish for something simpler, something less refined and more fluid than the rigidity of a duck covered in meat feathers, something that was rich and decadent but also filled him with the punch of childlike joy. Something chocolatey. “But the cooking as always, is impeccable. Thank you for the meal.”

“Of course, Will, any time I would gladly have you for dinner.”

The double meaning went unacknowledged as both men proceeded to cut their next pieces of the dish and sank into a companionable silence. The sound of cutlery on china, the chink of metal and the chime of glass lifting and setting down on the table top was all the sound of the room for the next few minutes as they began to eat the indulgent feast.

As he finished off the breast and began slicing pieces off of the leg portion of his dish, Hannibal broke the silence again, startling Will with a quiet clatter of cutlery. “I am thinking of having a dinner party next Friday night with a few of our colleagues and a few other guests. I have extended an invitation Margot Vergner, I believe you two have met on occasion.”

“Yes, our paths have crossed a few times.”

“You also compared notes on your psychiatrist and treatment, if I recall correctly.”

Will actually let out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding his head as he took a sip of wine to clear his throat. “We did indeed. Margot approached me regarding my thoughts on your...”

“More unorthodox practices?”

“Amongst other factors.”

“I was hopeful you may provide a familiar face for her around the table, given the remaining seats will be taken up by our colleagues and some old friends of mine. Jack Crawford, if he is well enough, as well as Alana of course.”

“This almost sounds like a set up, Hannibal.”

The laugh that collected was almost as foreign a sound as the man it came from, a harsh and unfamiliar noise that caught on Will’s ear and tugged as if trying to coax one of his own in response. Both men knew the amusement of such a suggestion, and finishing their meals, Will gave a small nod in agreement as he removed his glasses to clean, avoiding the other’s eye altogether.

“Well regardless, you can count on my being there. Both for your feast and for ensuring that Ms Verger enjoys her evening.”

“It should be an enlightening event.” Hannibal spoke quietly as he finished his meal, setting his knife and fork gently on his plate in the correct positions as he took a sip from his glass. Each of them had had two already, and Will knew the last remaining from the bottle would go to the host rather than himself, as his drive home would not be too long away unless- “Would you care for a digestif or an espresso to end the evening?”

“Coffee would do just fine- please let me.” Will rose to his feet as his host did the same, hands reaching out to collect both main plates with practised ease before Hannibal had the chance to arrange them himself. The other man gave him a small, approving nod before the intently searching look was back upon his face as Hannibal ushered them both into the kitchen space.

It was now fairly frequent for them to end a night with a coffee in the informal yet lavish kitchen space, and most evenings had begun starting in the same space as well, Hannibal working like a professional or master at his craft while Will would offer assistance and be relegated to mincing garlic or peeling potatoes. One day he may even not have them repeeled and turned by the other man with enough dinners.

The host clicked the espresso machine into life while setting the water of the sink to run. Will had watched the other man enough to know that he would want to be in charge of clearing off the plates and disposing of any pieces uneaten in his own precise fashion, and always did so once company had left, leaving Will to set the plates down nearby the sink and rest against the island counter instead of pacing about the space unthinkingly.

“Do you believe Jack will be able to attend?” He hadn’t realised the thought had stuck with him until that moment. That the idea of facing Jack again for the first time since the ambulance had pulled away from his farmhouse, and in such a public setting, was making him uneasy. Will’s previous discussion with Hannibal regarding the dangerous person’s who had both appeared and disappeared at his property marked what he knew would be a topic Jack would be unlikely to hold back from bringing up - regardless of the public nature of the event or the number of people around.

“He may do. I believe he has been recovering well since I last saw him before our session last week. I should expect he will be up for polite company by next Friday at this rate.”

“Ah.”

“Did you wish to avoid him for some reason?” Hannibal’s question would have seemed and sounded innocent coming from any other person. Any other person would not have had no inflection in their voice, no shift in their facial expression and no smoothness to the delivery of the question, any other person would not have been asked to bring up the topic of the serial killers on the loose by the man in question just five nights earlier. “If you wish, I can avoid extending the invitation to him should the idea be untenable to you.”

“It’s fine Hannibal, Jack would know something was wrong if you did not invite him to your next soiree. And I will be busy keeping Margot company.”

“Yes, I would believe that she may act as a satisfactory block to Jack’s more vocal proclivities.”

“Exactly,” Will nodded as he took the small espresso cup, just finished as Hannibal had made his way through the steps of grinding the beans, pressing the grounds into the header, and extracting the deep, dark drink from the procedure. He took a small sip of the ristretto-style provided to him, bitter and sharp, and all around again missing that chocolatey flavor that Will found himself craving at all hours of the day now - when he woke up, when he fell to sleep, when he had a coffee or sat down to a meal, when he thought he saw a flash of gold somewhere out the corner of his eye, when he caught a whiff of something on the air that smelt of metal, rust or blood and sometimes vanilla, when he lay back on his bed and heard the snuffling noises of Wilson and the crew, when he took a sip of the espresso prepared by Hannibal...

Taking another sip as Hannibal began working through the process for his own cup, Will asked quietly, “Did you have any chocolate?” only to receive that same, unnerving laughter in response.

---

“You thinking about inviting me over for a nightcap?”

“I didn’t realise you’d like one.”

“I would if you were willing.”

The question came out of the blue as the pair walked out on the icy pavement outside of the house after a night of elaborate dining, stifled conversation between duller and stupider persons than themselves, and attempting not to share knowing looks between them as they watched the careful masterpiece of Hannibal’s orchestra of humans milling about and pander to his every gesture. Will Graham was not sure that the woman beside him understood the exact extent of each look they shared, but it was a shared experience nonetheless. That she was now asking, as they stood toe to toe in the cold night air as they’d each bid their farewells and made their excuses to leave slightly earlier than the revelling sheep, and what she was now asking seemed completely foreign to him.

“I’m fairly certain I don’t interest you, Margot.”

“It’s not about interest, it’s about trust, Will.”

He could see the words flash before his eyes - “don’t” “Trust” “me” “we” “Can’t” “do this”. - the memory jarring him to the last woman that had been in his bed and the sharp ache that her leaving had left behind. Leaving things between them unfinished. Blinking his eyes and seeing the speculative look on the woman before him, so pretty and yet so cold, so soft and yet so broken, so close in just a handful of ways that he found himself nodding and offering her his hand before they walked back to his car.

The firelight was soft when they reached his home, his family all kept a respectful and quiet distance in the back rooms of the house after a brief greeting to the couple. Two glasses of whiskey were poured, and Will leant back against the dresser as the woman sipped at her drink consideringly as she paced about the room, almost like a skittish, scarred animal, uncomfortable in a new place and waiting for the other foot to drop.

“So this is about trust?” His question cracked within the quiet air between them, but it did not distract her from her pacing.

“Yes, this is about trust between us, Will.”

“It’s good to trust.” He replied, hand gripping tightly about his drink as he swirled it speculatively without having lifted it to his lips even once since they had arrived back to his home. His mind was on the word, how hard and soft it was at the same time - hard to make yourself learn to trust and soft in its safety when it was earned - just like her and her. Raising his drink, Will took a small sip before adding slightly sharply. “Better not to.”

“My optimal level of trust is usually zero. But I trust you.”

“I don’t trust you.” The selfloathing in his voice, and the response itself, he knew was not directed to this woman’s comments even if it was equally true. He did not trust Margot, but it was even worse that he still did not trust her.

There was a sharp sound, almost like a laugh but more like a gasp from the brunette as she sipped at her own drink before she replied to him. He could hear her breath reverberate in the glass, that huffed sound bouncing around in the tight glass space before escaping to his ears. “I don’t need you to trust me.”

“What do you need, Margot?”

“What happened to your window?” The change of topic made him bite back a small, dark smile. It reminded him of the evasion in topic she did, the way that she’d switch it or pull a rug out from underneath him rather than answer a question. The similarities continue to pile up as the dark haired woman turned to look at him, a slight undeterminable frown on her face.

“Stag got lost in a storm came through it. Got a few scratches getting him back out.”

“Are you scarred?”

“Probably more than I know.”

Margot turned on her heel to face him at that, glass to her lips and the remaining contents tossed back down her throat in one fluid motion. He felt his own press together at the sight. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He felt off balance in the conversation again, staring at the woman in slight confusion as she approached him, hand reaching out to set her glass on the dresser top beside his arm. She was really meaning what she said, she was pressing and pushing at him verbally, pulling at him to give into whatever it was she was after from him.

Tilting his head away, Will replied sharply, eyes not leaving the two green eyes staring back at him. “I don’t have the right parts for your proclivities, Margot.”

“You have the right parts for what I need.”

The dark haired woman approached another step, hands moving smoothly to unbutton the first of her shirts latches with ease. As she moved for the second, he blinked realising his own had replaced hers originally to stop her but instead finding his own fingers feeding button through hole and sliding the silky fabric from her with ease. He felt the tug as she began working on his own scratchy flannel shirts buttons. It had made him stand out at the dinner party - surrounded by those in fine silks and fabrics wearing the rough and worn shirts he always did; the divide between himself and those Hannibal played with jarringly obvious.

Shirts slid from shoulders and bared flesh to one another; her fingers slid over his bullet wounds as easily as his slid over the surgical scars that riddled her back - “Who did this?” “My brother, who shot you?” “A friend.” - but leaning in to kiss the side of her neck he could swear he missed the feel of raised, scarred skin that his heart dreamt was there.

From there, it was a simple movement to the bed, Margot pushing him down with a firm hand on his bare chest to the centre of the bed before climbing ontop of him. Her body may have been marked and scarred, but as his hands ran along her back and across her taunt stomach, he knew they were in the wrong positions. Margot’s lips on his, teeth working at his bottom lip as she spread ontop of him tasted like whiskey, wine and the peppery sauce from that evenings meal. They weren’t sweet at all, and they weren’t dangerous either.

Leaning up to her, he could hear the gasp as he surged towards her off of the bed, that little gasp he remembered so fondly and haunted his dreams ever since that night. The small hitch in her voice as he moved to her neck, lips brushing against raised circular scars like a bite but smaller than any dog should make, he could feel her pulse racing beneath the scarred skin and the small, tiny moan he ripped from her.

His hands stroked across her hair, the dark curls of Margot’s forming under his fingertips as she kissed him back - passionless but attentive, the type of kiss that seemed perfunctuary rather than desired, but she still writhed above him as he rolled them over, her smaller frame beneath his own. The worn, cotton sheets bunch under them and move with them both as he repositions them as he thrusts within her. The tiny sound of pain at the unplanned and unprepared space makes him want to apologise, but the sound is wrest from his lips by the next kiss.

Pulling back from her lips, he opened his eyes to a pool of gold and her face staring back up at him, that infuriatingly haunting smile and a warmth in her eyes, deep brown pools of chocolate reflecting a love he knew wasn’t for him back at him as he leant back into her, She had her hands in his hair, tugging slightly on the ends as she rolled her hips beneath him in time with his own movements. She moaned, deep from within her chest and throat, not catching but releasing loudly as they moved in tandem, her nails raking along his back and head thrown back, pushing into the pillow beneath her in agonised bliss. Her neck glistened with sweat, pooling between her collarbones, and he leant in to taste at her,

He heard a small gasp as his lips on her neck again, the hands pushing and pulling at his shounders until he leant up, her dark red nails that had contrasted with her silk blouse for the night dug into his skin with a small hitched noise. This was about something for her, something that he could provide but not necessarially him that was needed. Margot gasped again as her hands drew him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t him kissing her though, he knew that. He knew that it wasn’t his lips pressing against the woman he once fancied’s lips; Alana had barely spoken three words to him the whole night but he had talked to him at length. The brush of their mouths, the tangle of their lips, and Hannibal’s hand wrapped around her throat drawing a sharp gasp from her mouth as Will leant back into the kiss again. The hand on his neck squeezed that little tighter, a thumb brushed against the underside of his jaw while Hannibal remained in charge. He was always in control of this. His arms wrapped around her tightly as he moved above her, the motion so in time with Will’s own and the needy sound-

It was such a beautiful sound to him, that high pitched gasp, the tiny whine that she needed something, that she needed him, that she wanted him was so intoxicating. The feel of her beneath him as they moved together, before he shifted to his knees, pushing and pulling her around to match against him, her back to his front and his hand wrapping around her neck in place of the other’s, her blonde hair caught between his fingers and spreading across his shoulder as she gasped and moaned and squirmed against him for more. Somehow he knew this was happening, he could feel her around him taunting him as he moved to thurst harder into her.

Margot let out a surprised noise at the shift, and her legs shifted for his access with ease but not with the knowing awareness that she had had. His other hand wrapped around her middle, fondling at a breast which was too full and too rounded for the vision he had. He instead traced a patch down her front to tangle between the hairs and brush against the thing she was whimpering for him to touch as they continued the dance.

Her head turned to kiss him, and he felt the brush of her nose and the scent of vanilla wafted over his senses, stealling away as he felt the brush of his hand against the side of her face before the pair kissed like they would never do in reality. Outside of this bubble, outside of this world as Will moved harder and then slower into the other woman, a replacement in the real world as she was filled and stolen by someone else and not by the man he could see tracing his lips along her jaw, large doctor’s hand wrapped tightly and squeezing even harder against her throat.

It was with a cold rush down his spine that Will knew that this was what he wanted, the icy feeling watching as Hannibal tugged on her ear with his teeth and her mouth was thrown open in a state of ecstasy, her eyes fluttering open and the dilated pupils almost swallowing the brown of them fully as she stared back at him. His hands wrapped into her hair as Hannibal’s hand traced along her marred neck, before he drew her lips to his for another taste of her mouth, another taste of her.

He pushed her down on the bed again, back to a more standard position with ease where he could feel the same was occurring far and near to him, Margot’s legs wrapped around his hips as he continued to thrust forward, rocking between both hard and slow as he could catch the sight of gold beneath him, wanting this to last as long as he could as he kissed her again, deeply and with all the longing he’d felt since she lay on his bed that very first night. The other’s hand was hard as he traced along his back, guiding him and pressing forward just as much as Will himself did in time and in tandem in two separate beds joined in this night. Her own was further away still, but the gasps were as close as if they were in his ear.

Pressing into her again, Will turne his head away from the confused yet blissed out face of the brunette towards the dying fireplace onto to stutter out on the pacing at the sight, the dangerous dangerous sight of the dark manthing rising from its place before the fire. The dying light of the flames glistened and died upon the inky black skin as the stagman rose, white eyes focussed sharply where Will began moving again in earnest - whether it was fear or something else spurring him on as he stared down the unblinking eyes of the monster, he couldn’t admint.

Turning away from the vision, Will let himself get swept up in the feel of her - scarred stomach pressed tightly against him, the swell of her hips wider than the other woman’s and her nails, bitten and blank, clutched at his arm as she rocked up beneath him from so so far away. He sank down into her, trailing his lips from her jaw to her neck to the same scar between her breasts, lovingly adoring them as her fingers moved to his hair again, egging him on and whining so beautfiully at his movements and touches.

Looking back at the flames, he couldn’t see his own fire any more but the ornate design he knew would only suit the other man’s tastes and across the endless expanse of bed, their legs trapped in sheets and blankets as he moved, the inky skin pressed hard against her tanned body, languidly moving against one another as her hands dripped red and her body surged against the black mass moving into her. She was silent as she always was in his dreams when it was the angel of death and not the reality, but he could see the pleasure strewn across her face as her hands wrapped around the jet black antlers as the other thrust deep into her. Her hands pulled and pulled before the bone gave way, peeling the stag horns and black residue that had coated him from his skin, revealling the fragile and longing man beneath the cold, dark outercoat he had begun to develop under Hannibal and the stagman’s tutelage. He was reborn and freed as the inky darkness dropped from him at her gesture, small inky drops falling to her skin and rolling off of the bloody, scarred surface of her as his ink soaked hands wrapped around her bloody ones as he came with a groan and she melded against him for one last kiss, chocolate and blood coating the taste of her tongue.

Rolling off of her, Will turned his head to look across at the other, her dark hair matted and sweaty from the activity as her green eyes stared towards the ceiling. There were no words to be shared, there was no need for them between the two of them at this point - in some way, Will knew they had both gotten what they had needed from the other; and turning to look up at the familiar ceiling bathed in the dying golden light from the fireplace as Margot righted herself and began dressing again, he could almost believe himself when he told himself that if he just closed his eyes he could be back there with her so far away, wrapped up in a tight embrace as they drifted off to sleep like she would with him, rather than the cold ending of his own interaction or the falsified closeness of Hannibal and Alana’s.

---

#AU stories #my design verse

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