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Title: Destructive Love
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Prompt: 39, Death
Author's Note: Sequel to "Emotional Tangle."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***His death was right there, in front of him. He could feel it beckoning, calling to him.
Will closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head, wanting to push the vision away. But it was right there, in front of his eyes, stubbornly refusing to disintegrate.
That death had a face. It wore a face that he didn't want to see, a face that he was horrified to recognize. His death was being shown to him -- the way that it would happen, and who would be responsible for it. That death was something he didn't want to see.
Not just because it signified the end for him, but because of how it was brought about -- and who was the cause of it. He didn't want to believe the vision was true.
If it was, then Hannibal would be his death.
He saw it over and over again. Hannibal smiling at him, pulling him close, then plunging a knife into his gut and twisting, rending his internal organs, tearing him apart.
He could see the crimson blood gushing out, covering his fingers where he tried desperately to hold it back, knowing that it was no use. He was going to die here, at Hannibal's hands, while his former lover walked out on him without a backward glance.
Hannibal didn't care. Hannibal wanted him dead. Hannibal had never been his friend, in spite of all that they had shared. There had nevr been real love between them.
He was dying, his lifeblood seeping out of him, and his love for Hannibal along with it. He was ending his life even more alone than when he had come into it.
WIll's eyes snapped open, a scream coming from his throat. His hands pushed the covers back, and he sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. He raised a trembling hand to run it through his hair, taking deep gulps of air, sucking it into his lungs.
He'd been dreaming. In those dreams, he'd seen his death again -- only much more clearly than ever before, and this time, in minute, crystal-clear detail.
Hannibal would kill him. Hannibal was his ultimate end.
And somehow, somewhere in his mind, they had been lovers. He'd been with Hannibal in the carnal sense; and worse, he'd loved him.
He could still feel the vestiges of that love clinging to him from the dream -- or was what he felt the emotion that had been growing within him since they had first met? Was he falling in love with Hannibal, and were his dreams telling him that it was a destructive love?
Will shook his head, feeling bewildered. A dream, he told himself firmly. It was only a dream. It had nothing to do with reality -- or with his feelings, whatever they were.
Though he knew that the disturbing vision would haunt him for a long time to come.
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