âThere are a number of things he could do now but itâs been nearly three years; Hannibal has learned to pick his battles. Will capitulates to almost everything Hannibal wants, sooner or later. But on this front, Hannibal never wins so much as a skirmish.â
Some Spacedogs because I missed Adam and Nigel from my fic⌠I figured this is what happened after the story when Adam got to show Nigel his telescope haha. (Go read it here in AO3 if you havenât already) I tried some new things with the coloring and I kinda like it even though itâs a lot of purple?
Jack gave it to him before the trial with a grim look of apology. âWe had the lab look it over. X-rayed it, put it under the microscope. Thereâs nothing weird about it except⌠the whole thing is weird. He just wanted you to have it, and I wantedââ
âYou wanted to see my reaction,â Will said, cutting him off. âTo see if it meant anything. I promise you, Jack, this isnât a secret message telling me how to break him out of jail.â
Jack had the decency to look moderately chagrined, or at least pretend to.
âI can tell him you wouldnât accept it,â he offered. âThrow it right into his cell⌠or whatever you want me to do.â
Will was already putting the thing in his pocket. âIâll dispose of it myself.â
***
âItâ was a voodoo doll, about as high as Willâs middle finger was long.
The construction was crude, most likely given Hannibalâs limited access to crafting supplies. He shouldnât have been able to make it at all, but Will imagined Hannibal had bartered with Alana for what he needed. The end result was a muslin figure stuffed with paper, wrapped in a scrap of Hannibalâs own clothing, and topped with a tuft of his hair.
Will had lived in New Orleans long enough to have seen things he couldnât explain. The membrane between magic and reality was sometimes as permeable as a single layer of skin.
Still, he wasnât sure about the doll until he brought it back to court with him.
He sat near the back corner of the room, but with a line of sight to Hannibal in profile. Watching carefully, he slipped his hand into his pocket and rubbed his thumb along the back of the dollâs neck.
Hannibal shifted in his seat. CoincidenceâŚ
Will rubbed again, his touch feather-soft, tracing slow circles against the dollâs fabric throat.
Hannibal shifted again, tilting his head back just slightly. He licked his lips and seemed not to be listening to the prosecutorâs opening statements.
Will dug his thumbnail into the dollâs throat, right where its Adamâs apple would be.
Hannibalâs eyes closed. His lips parted. During a pause in the prosecutorâs comments, Will could hear Hannibal gasping for breath. He dug his nail in deeper, deeper until the color rose in Hannibalâs cheeks and his lips darkened and the veins stood out in his temples.
Will eased up on the dollâs throat, and Hannibalâs breathing seemed to return to normal.
The judge and prosecutor both gave Hannibal inquisitive looks, but didnât pause the proceedings.
It was enough for Will to believe the dollâs authenticity. It was enough for him to believe Hannibal had given him the means to hurt him. He could drag it out for years. Hannibal had given him the means to kill him at any time. He could kill him in court, if he wished.
He didnât wish.
ButâŚ
He could push Hannibal to the brink of suffocation again, push further than he just had. Perhaps not today. Perhaps months from now on a random day. Medics would come. An ambulance would come. At an opportune moment, Hannibal would recover as if by magic and fight his way to freedom. And Will would be waiting for him, because what heâd told Hannibal about not missing him was a lie. Even if he didnât give in to the temptation to set him free, there would still remain the temptation to touch him by proxy. Touch him with kindness when missing him was unbearable, or with crueltyâŚwhen missing him was unbearable.
Will fled the courtroom without waiting to hear the rest of the opening statements.
A few moments later, Jack followed him.
âGive this back to him,â Will said, taking the doll from his pocket and thrusting it at Jack.
Jack frowned at him. âDid you figure out what it means?â
âIt doesnât mean anything,â Will lied. âItâŚit doesnât mean anything.â
Hannibal knew his body. He knew what was happening since the second week when he started to feel nausea in the mornings, how the smells and scents were deeper, increased. He wanted to wait until the third month to tell Will, to be sure the baby would stay there and he wouldnât have a miscarriage or find it was some kind of phantom pregnancy due to his age. But his body and mind decided otherwise.
Will started to notice how in the last few weeks the number of pillows over his bed started to increase by one or two a week. âDecoration,â Hannibal said when he looked at them laying over the bed in a half circle form. The last time they were in the department store Hannibal bought blankets, twelve types of them, all high quality, soft and heavy. Just then something made sense inside of Will.
(So, yes, technically this is chapter two, but I think it stands alone alright).
*Â Â *Â Â *
Tristan cracked an eye when he heard the door. Galahad came in, clad only in his undershorts, his curls damp and his skin a dewy pink from his bath. Â He was beautiful. Â Spying the washbasin in the boyâs hands, he resigned himself to the indignity to come. He couldnât help the smile that stole across his face.
âThe nursemaid told me that youâre a horrible brat when she attempts to clean you up, but something tells me that youâll be a good boy for me.â
âWho are you calling a boy, boy?â
âYou, old man.â The insolent smile teased. âCome on, sit on the edge of the bed for me, love.â
Tristanâs heart stumbled and Galahad froze.  Tristan quickly moved into position as though nothing were amiss, sparing the boy his attention for a moment. Galahad turned to place the basin on the table next to the bed. Tristan delighted at the redness of his ears but held his tongue.  Carefully, Galahad  soaked the sponge and slowly wrung it out. The dripping was loud in the room. When he finally turned around it was with a heavy exhale. He refused to meet Tristanâs eye.
Galahad worked quickly, but every touch was gentle. Â The sponge ghosted across Tristanâs shoulders, and water trickled down his chest and back. He shivered. The sponge chased the droplets as the boy leaned close. Â Tristan could feel the heat radiate from Galahadâs skin. He smelled like soap. Tristan ached to smell him, but resisted the urge to bury his face under his arm. Tristan just closed his eyes, waiting for Galahad to finish washing his back and step away. He jumped at the sudden plop of the sponge in the water. Â Galahad was staring him down.
âJust⌠out with it.â
âWhat?â
âThe tease⌠Whatever joke you have desperately contained.â
Galahad dropped his gaze.
âWhat do you mean, pup?â
Softly, Tristan pressed a hand to Galahadâs cheek. He flinched.
âCome on, Tristan, just say whatever you have to say.â
Rochefort woke to the sound of bootsteps heavy in his room. He jolted forward with a start, reaching for his sword that was not there. What greeted his now-alert vision was his omega, wearing his boots, his hat pulled low over the boyâs eyes, body wrapped in a thin blanket. The oversized boots made a heavy thud on the floor as he took a fighting stance. d’Artagnan swung the sword elegantly with a flirtatious grin.
âWhat do you think?â d’Artagnan relaxed, one hand to his hip and the other lowering Rochefortâs sword. âDo I look like you?â
Rochefort watched the feather bob as he pulled the cap even further over his eyes. His lip curled as he teased, âHardly, you skinny thing.â
Mostly reblogs and random words 