The off chance   von Gepo
        (The challenge of writing a realistic HannibalXWill lovestory)
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                             Kapitel 4: 4. Chapter
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One week.
One week of not meeting Hannibal's eyes, trying to look away, giving
monosyllabic answers during dinner. One week of fearing physical contact in any
way, keeping his distance and flinching from every casual touch. One week of
having to put up with his own thoughts.
Thinking about Hannibal. Dreaming about Hannibal. Fantasizing about Hannibal.
He had never believed himself to be mad. Strange, yes, abnormal, yes, sick at
some points in his life. Never mad or crazy. Now he felt like it. His every
thought circled around that kiss like a hawk who had driven it's prey into a
hole with no other exits. Spiraling like a sinner's soul on his long and painful
way down to hell.
Some nights he had felt hell's fire licking at his skin. Other nights he had
dreamed it was Hannibal's tongue. Some moments he had seen haunting ghosts,
shivered in fear and put his arms around himself. Sometimes he had imagined they
were Hannibal's. Some evenings he had shot the other curious looks and hated
himself for it. Some days he had held those furtive memories dear.
It tore at him. It threatened to tear him apart. How was he supposed to deal
with this?
He had never … no one had ever … he had seldom showed interest in another
person and he had always known it was futile. Alana was the only one who had
ever … whom he ever thought he had a chance with. And even then he had known
that was only wishful thinking.
From early on he had dreamed that someone would offer him his or her love.
Someone who would see him as he was, understand him and hold him dear. Someone
who would accept his jumbled emotions as the love and sincere longing that they
were.
Hannibal was as far from that ideal as one could get. He was unable to feel
positive emotion or sincerely express it. He had admitted that he lacked in
understanding Will – which made Will interesting to him in the first place –
and that he planned for the worst possible ending. His motive in kissing him had
been to see if he could be a substitute lover. And if he succeeded he wanted to
kill Will.
The most rational reaction would have been to have rejected Hannibal on the
spot. He was neither a suitable lover nor would it have been safe to accept him
even if he were. But Will had never been the most rational of men when it came
to matters of the heart. He was socially inept and he knew it. And he also knew
that he would never have a lot of romantic opportunities. By age twenty-three he
had decided that it did not matter to him if his suitor was male or female as
long as they would give him a chance.
And it certainly did not help that he tended to madly fall in love with even a
possibility of a romance. Which subsequently made him fall madly in love with
whoever offered the possibility. It was just too rare and precious not to savor.
One kiss was enough to send him head over heels.
That one kiss was enough to be madly drawn to a guy least suited to be his lover
ever.
So even without wanting to he awoke to the ghostly feel of fingertips on his
skin. Lips caressing his own. Hair tickling his shoulder. Even the pale
moonlight felt like a soft breath on his calves. It was driving him mad in ways
he had never thought possible. He could not look at Hannibal without thinking of
what could be. Even knowing that he was day-dreaming a reality which had zero
chance of coming true, he could not stop his thoughts. Had he not known better,
he would have said his immune system had overreacted and given him
hallucinations.
He began to doubt himself in a whole new way: What if Hannibal could be
rehabilitated? He might not be able to feel much but he wasn't a classical
psychopath. He actually lacked some characteristics of an antisocial personality
disorder. First of all, he was not impulsive. He did not kill whenever the urge
to do so struck him. He planned his murders. Secondly, he was intelligent. And
thirdly, he was creative.
All three of those factors were completely atypical for an ASPD patient or a
psychopath. It was exactly those three factors which had made it impossible for
the police to catch him. And those same three factors might yet become Will's
salvation. Hannibal did not have to kill. He had the self-control to curb his
impulses. If boredom really was his only motivation, alleviating that boredom
should be able to get him to stop killing.
Theoretically.
On the other hand Will had tried his best for the last one month and a half to
entertain Hannibal. Still the guy planned to kill him. And for what? So that he
would not have to face his loss if Will ever left by another way? But wasn't
that a strange thought in and of itself? Of course he had met his share of
murderers who had killed all their girlfriends with that reasoning. But
shouldn't Hannibal have been immune to such feelings? If he could not feel
regret, could he really feel loss?
It seemed so. Amidst all the emotions Hannibal could not feel, loss was the one
he could. It was strange, wasn't it? If he could feel loss, didn't that imply
that he could hold someone or something dear?
Will tried to recall all the psychopaths he had ever met or read case reports
about. Everyone of them had a whole bunch of emotional deficits. They could not
feel any positive emotions. They could not feel guilt or regret. They did not
respond to punishment. Their answer to every challenge in life had been to get
angry or aggressive. Instead of grieving they sunk into depression, mostly
alleviating their negative emotions with alcohol or drugs. If they killed, they
killed on the spur of a moment. They'd break into a house looking for money,
unexpectedly run into a woman, rape her, and then kill her to keep her from
going to the cops.
And every one of them had been as stupid as white bread.
Precious few had been intelligent enough to form sentences with more than seven
words. Those cases were well documented with all their interviews published. But
even those were impulsive, aggressive and only calm if left alone. Creative
murderers who killed for art's sake were mostly a Hollywood invention.
On the other hand they existed. Hannibal was living proof of that. And Will was
a specialist in those rare cases. He of all people should have been able to
solve the puzzle that Hannibal posed. Was he really only a toy to him? Why would
Hannibal want to kill him if he was a toy? Wanting to kill him like Hannibal did
implied that he was precious to him. So what had turned him from a mere toy into
an important person who drew feelings from Hannibal?
Will fastened the bathroom towel around him and sat upon the toilet. Not that he
had to use it, it was just convenient. The bathroom was warm and except for that
one time Hannibal had never followed him here. He could relax here.
He closed his eyes.
His name was Hannibal Lector. He was a psychiatrist who murdered people for
artistic reasons and to alleviate his boredom. He had taken in the pet he had
played with before for fun. He kept that pet to study it.
Spotlight.
His pet had been most interesting. The most interesting thing he had seen in
years. His unique abilities, his disease, his newest behavior – it seemed a
great study. He had wanted to enjoy that taste to the fullest. Until something
unusual happened: His pet had become another being to him.
It had happened only once before. Abigail had been interesting to him. Against
his better judgment he had let her live for quite some time. Killing her had
been unexpectedly painful. Not actual pain, he had never felt that kind of
ripping sensation some of his clients described. But thinking about what could
have been brought tears to his eyes.
That came completely unexpected.
Having similar feelings again now was even more unexpected. Feelings for a
daughter might be something genetic. But feelings for an unrelated human,
especially feelings of love … it seemed too strange a concept. Still it seemed
to be exactly what he had looked for – something new. Love was new. Loss was
new. Maybe he might even be able to feel a twinge of regret if he killed him.
And he would kill him.
Not because he was bored with him. Far from it. He would kill him exactly
because he was interesting. He wanted to see what that would do to himself.
Maybe he might be able to experience some feeling for the first time in his
life. Scientifically he should be able to feel. His threshold was just much
higher than other people's.
He might be the first human ever to invoke real feelings in him. It was an honor
to be killed for that. Most likely his pet would not see it this way but who
knew? It was able to think itself into all kinds of psyches. Maybe it would
understand. Maybe it would appreciate being killed.
Will opened his eyes. His breath came out shaky. Even though the mirrors were
still fogged, the room seemed unexpectedly cold to him. He did not have to puke
like the last time but he felt far from stable. So Hannibal wanted him dead for
experimental reasons. He even wanted him to be thankful for it.
And worst of all, one of his main thoughts was how sweet it was to count for
that much.


“Good morning” Warm lips pecked his cheek before he could flinch from them.
“How did you sleep?”
I dreamed about you. That nearly left Will's lips but he was able to hold back.
He just nodded and ducked his head to concentrate on his breakfast. And maybe so
he would not be the target of any more affection this morning.
It was simply amazing how someone with next to no feelings at all could still
understand humans so well and give one so much attention and appreciation
without even feeling the need to. It was just what Hannibal did. Like a
standardized program taken from a TV show for dedicated husbands.
Worst of all it worked.
Every day it got harder not to look up and smile. To expect and reciprocate that
kiss. To take his hand and hold it while he sat down. To let yourself be fed and
tell the other how well done the eggs were. It reminded him of kindergarten
where he had watched some girls play house.
It was disgustingly sweet. It was exactly what Will had always craved.
“Would you like me to scramble some eggs?”
I'd like you to do a hell lot of things. Will just closed his eyes. Really, this
was pathetic. He was an appalling creature when he was in love. Wasn't there any
hormone injection against this kind of thing? He just sat there, tried not to
look up and blush like a virgin.
Well, in his own way he was a virgin. That kiss last week had been the third he
had ever had. One with Alana, one with a girl in high-school who had lost a bet
and had to kiss a creepy guy. That had been him. The joy of being a freak.
“Stay with me.”
He hadn't noticed the hand on his cheek, so the voice speaking directly in front
of him startled him. Will jerked back. Near, too near. He nearly toppled out of
his chair trying to get away from Hannibal.
“Sssch” The other gripped his upper arms and gently pulled him back. “I am
sorry I scared you. You look like a deer caught in headlights” Amusement
tinged his voice.
“I'm- … I mean … err” Will stammered and blushed furiously. Damn, he had
it bad. “Please.”
“Please what?” Hannibal smiled. “Kiss me?”
God, yes! Will shook his head but that meant turning it in Hannibal's direction.
He caught his head with a hand and his lips with his own. It didn't even take a
second before he melted against the kneeling guy in front of him like butter on
hot toast. God, his resolve was easily overcome.
He was much too easy, he knew – he still couldn't stop. It was all he ever
wanted. More than he had ever dared dream of. And it had come true in one
smashing instant without any chance of mentally preparing for it's onslaught.
Just like this kiss. And even without having any basis of comparison Will knew
that Hannibal kissed damn well. It was warm and there was pressure and the tip
of the other's nose caressed his cheek. And some days – like this morning –
he just forgot he was supposed to resist and let a tongue in that danced with
his own.
It all blended together into a blissful haze. At least until those lips parted
from him and he was held back from following by a gentle touch on his shoulder.
It was a sweet, fey moment right before the regret and guilt and shame came back
and broke over him in agonizing waves.
Like exactly now.
Will gasped and jumped from his chair. Hannibal had already drawn back. He
looked around wildly for him and found him quietly putting away the breakfast
utensils. Will just turned and stormed out to barricade himself in the
restroom.
Really. What had he been thinking? Hadn't he thought at all? This guy's agenda
was to kill him. Kill him when he was most happy and if he continued this way
that certainly wouldn't be far in the future. Why did Will just allow all that?
What made him react to Hannibal like a fourteen-year-old girl? If he could trust
his word even Abigail had had more sense than he showed right now.
What would it take to remind him he was here because Hannibal was a dangerous
serial killer?


By eleven he had worked up the courage to call Jack. Even when he picked up the
receiver he had to remind himself he had nothing to lose. If Jack told him there
were as many victims as before, it was even more proof that Hannibal could not
be trusted.
“Special agent Jack Crawford, Head of Behavioral Sciences department. Who's
speaking?”
“It's me … Will” He braced himself for rejection.
“Something new on the front?” The other was talking business and nothing
else.
“Well … I tried to keep him occupied and … I just wanted to ask if there
was any change. Less bodies or …” He couldn't even finish the sentence. He
was shaking in his seat. He hated talking to people who he knew had a bad
opinion of him.
“We had no Chesapeake-Ripper murders. But that's not unusual. We had one
person with missing organs but that could be tracked to a smuggler ring. We had
more bodies in total but the murders were a lot less sophisticated. If this
trend keeps up and if I believed your Hannibal story I'd say he tracked and
killed newbie murderers.”
“He did. He was looking for a challenge, so he tracked down his own kind” He
thought. He wasn't all too sure his suspicions were true. “At least that is
what my profiling says.”
“Humor me for a moment. What does your profiling tell you about him?” Jack
sounded slightly interested.
“He kills for fun. Most things bore him, he needs the kick. Not only of
killing but of knowing that you will never get him. That he could parade through
your office and pin his crimes on your own employees. That he can kill your
employees and you would still not suspect him. Or even if you suspected him that
you would never be able to get him. He wants to see how far he can go. His next
target will most likely be me” He should not think about that kiss, he just
should not … it had felt so good. “He knows we are not on good terms
anymore, so my body will either just disappear or it will look like a
suicide.”
“Don't think that if we find out that you killed yourself we will arrest him
and put him on trial. It sounds more likely that you would kill yourself to
spite us all than that he'd kill you. Psychopaths are impulsive. They don't
plan, they just do.”
“Jack, Hannibal is different” Will pleaded. “He is not impulsive at all
but he is still a serial killer. Those murders are well planned. Remember those
last Chesapeake-Ripper murders with the changed time of death? Those were
planned deaths.”
“Or just as impulsive as all the others because there were no changes in the
time of death because Dr. Lector is not the killer!” Jack bellowed. “You are
obsessed. Go die in peace, Will, you are getting on my nerves. Don't call if you
don't have evidence.”
There was a loud crack, followed by the dial tone. Will took a deep breath and
slowly put down the receiver. Well … that did not go so well. Understatement
of the year – that went horribly. He wouldn't even die for a reason. Jack had
decided not to investigate if he died and it looked like suicide? He knew he
wasn't in favor right now but that … he knew that feeling. There was something
in his throat choking him. Choking and reaching down to his heart to squeeze
it.
It was sadness. A desperate sadness, the feeling of being lonely and
unimportant. It felt like your heart was being ripped out and shredded into
pieces. He felt like crying. And he hated crying – it made him feel like a
helpless child. It did not remind him of times where people eased his sorrow
because there had never been such a time. Crying only meant being humiliated
further because people could see your pain and tease you for it. At least there
was no one in the anteroom right now and no one was expected. He could cry to
his heart's delight if he wanted to.
He decided he wanted to. There was only death left for him anyway.


“You seemed a bit out of sorts after lunch” Hannibal said while they had
dinner. “Did something happen today?”
“Nothing” Who was he kidding? Was it even worth keeping us this charade?
“Jack told me I was a drama queen and it would be more believable that I would
kill myself to get dirt on you than you being a serial killer.”
“You seem to have taken it rather well” Will just raised his eyebrows in
disbelief. “Normally you would have asked yourself if he might be right and if
you might be hallucinating again.”
“Well, regular guys don't tell their … whatever I am they would kill me. Or
how you killed other people” Still, he was right. When had he gained such
self-confidence? The irony of knowing you would only be here for a short time?
“Don't try mind-games at this point.”
“If I wanted to I would have given you evidence of your changing moods and
suicidal behavior in the recent past. As well as questioned you on your belief
that I really am who you think me to be. But those games don't work on people
with self-confidence.”
“I guess I adapted” Will just smiled ruefully.
“Are you sure?” Hannibal had lowered his voice. It sounded amused. It
sounded seductive.
Will blushed instantly. Hannibal seemed to have no problem at all keeping him
off balance. Worst of all how could he react to this change of topic? Hannibal
had just admitted to being a serial killer. And it only took a change of tone to
get his mind back to sex again.
Did he just think that? It wasn't about sex! It was about … kissing and
hugging and intimately doing … well, maybe it was about sex. Could he be any
more pathetic? Did it matter? He would die and he could not help anyone with it
anyway. Why not enjoy the short time he had left?
“You always lose yourself in your thoughts” Hannibal's voice was right next
to him. He certainly used his chances well. “I never know if you are here with
me or somewhere else” A hand turned his face in Hannibal's direction.
“Sometimes I am not sure if you aren't with someone else in your mind.”
“Like who?” Will intentionally leaned his head into the hand on his cheek.
Was he provoking Hannibal right now? Consciously? When had he become so daring?
“Who knows?” Hannibal moved in but didn't kiss him. “Some people who do
not give a damn about you seem to matter a lot to you. Especially Jack.”
“Can you feel jealousy?” Will's voice wasn't more than a whisper.
“Do you plan on finding that out?” They had both moved so closely that there
wasn't more than a few centimeters between their lips. “Might be a bad
idea.”
“Might be ...” Will's lids were half-closed. He could feel Hannibal's breath
on his skin. At some point in time a hand had placed itself on his neck and
drawn him in. He could feel Hannibal's body warmth. He could smell him. He could
feel him.
Just when had they started kissing?
Who knew someone without emotions could still be this passionate? Or maybe it
was his own passion just overflowing and spilling all over them. No matter what
– it was incredible. Hands on his arms, his sides, his skin. Lips on his
mouth, his jaw, his throat. Without exactly noticing how and when he had moved
onto Hannibal's lap and wrapped his arms around him. And when had that hand
sneaked under his shirt?
“Whoa, wait, I-” He jumped up, bumped into the table and scurried sideways.
“I think I … I just remembered I had to … I mean ...” He escaped through
the door to the living room. “Thank you for dinner. See you later.”
He ran.


What the hell had he been thinking?
This was Hannibal! The guy who wanted to kill him. Had he completely lost his
mind? He most assuredly had taken leave of his senses but … just why did it
have to feel so good?
To be finally acknowledged. To be judged as worthy of something – even if it
was only a death in happiness. It wasn't love but it felt close enough. It felt
divine. Even knowing it was just a prelude to his death …
Really, would dying be so bad? Everyone had to die one day. Sure, he had this
animal instinct to survive but was surviving what he consciously wanted? Being
alive meant that he had to work with people who would never understand him, live
alone and dream of things he would never have. Was dying young that bad when it
meant you could die happy?
Even if he decided it wasn't, did he have any chance to get away? He could leave
the house, sure. But how far could he go? Where could he go? There was no home
waiting for him, no friends, not even his dogs. There was nothing left for him
in life.
He had never known happiness in his thirty eight years of life. Wasn't that a
good predictor for his future? Here was someone offering him everything he ever
wanted. For the price of his life, okay, but still … to be loved and to die
happy. Didn't people in the movies always say that it was better to have lived
with love for a short time than to live long without love?
Just a few hours ago he had been more than ready to throw his life away. It
hadn't been the thought of death that had startled him. Only … well, his
fears. Those fears that were never silent. Those fears of being inadequate, of
disappointing others and of being left alone.
Suddenly he felt cold. The blanket that had warmed him for hours was still there
but the warmth did not seem to reach him. He shivered and pulled his arms around
himself. This time he consciously imagined they were Hannibal's.
“Hannibal ...”
“Yeah?”, asked someone no more than a meter behind him.
Will spun around but of course it was dark. Though he did not need light to
recognize the voice. He crawled to the other edge of his bed before he asked the
darkness: “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you to call out” The rustling told him that Hannibal was
slipping into his bed. His hearing proved right when a hand touched his upper
arm and drew him back into bed without much force.
“Am I dreaming?” Will bit his lip but followed the pull. He ended up
stretched out at Hannibal's side with his head on the other's shoulder.
“Would that be a good dream?”
“I … guess so” Will looked up but even up close he wasn't able to see
anything. “I have had dreams about you for weeks now.”
“And what would I do in those dreams?” His voice held amusement.
“Err … well” Will felt redness crawling up his face. Thank God it was
dark. “You … kiss me?”
As if it were one of those movie scenes that runs in slow motion as soon as the
lovers touch, Hannibal gently lifted his face with a hand under his jaw and
joined their lips. It wasn't shy but at the same time it wasn't forceful. I gave
Will the opportunity to draw away without actually giving him a reason to. It
seemed unhurried and sweet and warm all at the same time. By now it seemed
familiar. It tasted of coming home.
It was a taste he had never had before.
He had never understood why people rushed home after work. For him leaving work
meant that he had to think about what do to with himself instead of just being
given tasks. It seemed like a bother. But sinking into Hannibal's embrace,
sharing kisses and warmth, it felt like he could finally understand.
Those kisses felt good. That hand under his nightshirt felt good. The weight of
that leg resting between his own felt good. He only began shivering when
Hannibal pulled off his shirt but as soon as it was off he was wrapped into
strong arms and pulled against a warm, completely naked body. Will just pushed
into that warmth without even sparing the strangeness of a naked body a thought.
His shivering because of cold and fear turned into quite different shivers.
There was a hand caressing his back. Another hand caressing his back as well,
just a bit further down. It pulled him against Hannibal from time to time so
that he was pressed tightly against the other's stomach and leg. And what lay in
between. After a few pulls Will drew up his leg over Hannibal's to be able to be
pressed more tightly against him.
That that hand stopped on his upper bottom to increase friction only made him
sigh in appreciation. He could feel the slight wetness staining his pajamas as
well as his stomach. He wanted to be even closer. All this felt like he was
melting and his only wish was to meld with Hannibal's skin. So he did not even
think of resisting when Hannibal leaned against him. He just went with the flow
and rolled over, so that Hannibal could settle between his legs.
All the while the kissing had never stopped. Even rolling together they kissed.
The kisses still had a lazy touch to them but it was mingled with hunger. And
with Hannibal's weight on top of him they turned a lot more hurried. Soon enough
they had turned to devouring each other. There were lips and teeth and tongues
and much more importantly there was force. Just as there was more and more
friction between their midsections.
They only parted for the question “May I?” when Hannibal pulled of Will's
trousers but he wasn't even sure if he had answered or not.
He only remembered the feel of hot flesh, skin, hair and the scent of musk. He
remembered moaning and not knowing if it was his own or Hannibal's. He
remembered clinging onto Hannibal and leaving scratch marks on his back. He
remembered kissing until their lips felt bruised. He remembered coming and
mingling his seed with Hannibal's on his stomach.
He remembered smiling.
It flashed like a dream-come-true-story right before his eyes.
And even though it was pitch-black in the room he knew Hannibal could feel his
smile.
For the first time in his life – he was happy.

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