Fandom: Red Dragon
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Rating: R (for gore, mutilation, and general unpleasantness)
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned.
Notes: Written for yunafire. Not specifically what she requested because as soon as I asked her to specify, my muses ran amok. -_-' Also, this takes the prize for most depressing holiday gift-fic EVER.
It was a very nice house, Hannibal Lecter decided. It suited an ocean-lover like Will Graham perfectly. It was right on the water in the balmy Florida Keys with an unobstructed view of the sea and skyline that must be to die for. Hannibal felt an irrepressible lick of anger at that.
Lecter entered Graham's house easily through a side door—it didn't even have a deadbolt—and began a careful inspection of the premises. It wouldn't surprise Hannibal if Will kept a gun in the house, and he really did not want to wind up on the wrong end of it. Finally he found the ex-profiler unarmed and asleep on his bed. Lecter shook his head disapprovingly at the sight of a half-finished bottle of brandy cradled in the crook of Will's arm.
From his jacket pocket, Hannibal withdrew a hypodermic syringe filled with a mild paralytic. It was similar to a sedative, but instead of knocking Will out, it would keep him conscious yet unable to move. Perfect for what the doctor had in mind.
Hannibal Lecter pressed the thin needle into Will's forearm and injected the paralytic. The needle was so slender Graham hadn't even felt it. Hannibal smiled to himself. This would be a most interesting night.
Will woke up when he felt cold water splashed on his face. What the fuck? he thought. He moved his hand to brush it away, or at least Graham tried to move his hand. The limb didn't respond though, no muscle did. Okay, Will reassured himself. Okay now, just breath, relax. This is a dream, only dream. Fuck, I can't move anything…
He could still see. Taking advantage of that, Will realized he was in his living room, on the floor. The lights were down low, and he couldn't make out too much. He couldn't even turn his head, and the ex-profiler didn't know where the water had come from What kind of crazy dream was this?
No, Will thought, disbelieving. He'd recognize that smooth, cultured voice anywhere. Sweet Mary Jesus no…
Sure Graham knew about Lecter's messy escape from Tennessee, but he hadn't seriously thought Hannibal would come here. If he could've winced, Will would've as the doctor came closer into Will's field of vision before kneeling down beside him.
Almost tenderly Lecter caressed Will's face, and the ex-profiler's skin crawled. There was no kindness in the gesture now, but years ago, Will would've relished such a sensual touch and sought to return it. However, the two men had not been lovers for a long, long time, and Will had little doubt that Hannibal held no soft feelings for him now.
Hannibal nodded approvingly at the paralyzed, helpless Will, and a more salacious grin could not be found anywhere. "You know, Will," the doctor began conversationally, "I usually see myself as above something so petty as revenge—I really do—but for you, an exception must be made. For years, my dear Will, years I was stripped of a view, of any life at all outside a glass and stone gerbil cage. While I happen to lack a method of incarcerating you, I do have other ways of returning the favor."
Smile widening, Lecter could see real and primal fear blossoming in Will's eyes. Will with his inimitable imagination was already beginning to figure out where this exchange was going.
"Oh, and between you and I, it's true what they say about revenge. It is a dish best served cold." So saying Hannibal withdrew a sharp stiletto knife, blade glinting like Lecter's eyes, glinting cruelly in the dim light.
Will's wide eyes stared desperately. Lecter was serious. Lecter was fucking serious, and with that realization, Will felt a sickening animalistic sensation sweep through him at the thought of losing his eyes.
"Don't worry, Will, I won't deprive the world of the rare sea-blue color of your eyes. I plan to have them preserved and bottled and sent to Jack Crawford. Won't that be nice?" The doctor smiled most unkindly, and if he could have, Will would've screamed.
Silent tears trickled down Graham's cheeks, and Hannibal Lecter bent his sleek head to lap them up. Truly despair has a salty taste, and Lecter decided that once he removed Will's eyes, he would be careful to leave the tear ducts undamaged.