Sitting at the end of his well lit dining table, Hannibal Lecter slowly ate his meal. He did this, looking intently at the person sitting across from him. He was trying to psychoanalyze the man at the other end of the table, like he often did with all his patients. However, this man wasn’t just a patient. Will Graham had been in his life for quite a while now, and their relationship transcended the usual doctor-patient connection. These two had been tangled in a perverse game of some sorts, toying with each others minds and unknowingly chasing one another. They had been intertwined since the moment they met, from their sessions together to the horrific crimes they committed for each other. They’d killed, time and time again, to profess their love for each other. Though neither of the men wanted to admit it, the tension between them was irrefutable. Their grimy, homicidal thoughts blending in with their lust, and the two could not distinguish their own feelings anymore. They had been melted into one being, living only to take the lives of others, in every sick way they devised. But tonight, they had been separate. They had, nonetheless, been reunited by a bond of flesh. The moment the perfectly cooked meat hit Dr. Lecters tongue, he felt himself complete. He felt as though he was tasting his lover in the most intimate way, in a way so beautiful and raw it was almost ethereal. Sitting across from him at this table, Hannibals eyes darted to Wills disrespectfully full plate. He didn’t say a word, not wishing to break this peaceful silence they had achieved. Faint music could be heard playing through the dining room. Bach’s Goldberg Variations - “Mizumono”. It was quiet, but the notes graciously floating in the air were enough to mitigate the palpable lust rushing through the pair. Hannibal opened his mouth to ask why his partner was not touching his food, but he quickly shut it, assuming it would do no good. Will, sickly, looked up at his therapist. He was weakened but he still managed to keep his eyes open long enough to take a mental note of the fine lines on the mans’ beautiful face. After all, he was certain this would be the last time he’d see it. He was blissfully aware of this fact. He accepted it, only because he knew this is what Hannibal wanted. To taste him. And that’s exactly what he did. He could feel the rest of himself rotting away quickly, like he was wasting away. He had to know. He had to know Hannibal would enjoy him, that he hadn’t done all this for nothing. There he was, gruesomely sitting at the dinner table, half keeled over his own liver, dressed and seasoned like it was any other animals’. His blood was staining his clothes, and the beautiful wood floor under it. Shakily, he lifted his head up to watch Hannibal again. The man was staring back at him, with the faint hint of a smile across his lips. He watched back as Will tried getting the words out. He tried, but to no avail. His attempts to satisfy himself were futile, he had stayed quiet. Will Graham was dying, and the only thing on his mind was another man’s well being. He acted as if they were one, bound together by flesh. He wanted to know he would never hurt Hannibal, whether it be in life or in death. He was afraid of hurting him. Or maybe, in a macabre way, he was afraid of how this vile killer would fight back if he did hurt him. Though his fate had already been decided and that the worst that could’ve happened to him did, he still feared this man. He feared that he loved him, he feared that there was not a sliver of panic in his body, he feared himself for not being utterly terrified of Hannibal. He feared that he wanted to be like him, to be one with him. In his dying moments Will was left thinking about the pain he might be causing Dr.Lecter. He was impure, and his meat would stain him. The meat would make him sick. He could not die until he was made sure he never hurt his muse. As the last of his blood spilled out, and as his last breath crept upon him, Will Graham thought only one thing: am i making you feel sick?
