Alright, so I’m dropping all but two threads.

  • 1950’s au with drlecterpsychiatrist
  • Monster Behind a Mask with cybersniper
“There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.”
- Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles.  (via princejaron)

A killer’s serenade | 1950sAU | pureempath


Rain has that lulling particularity that Hannibal’s always liked. The raindrops falling on his window, the vertical lines of gray covering everything and transforming the view into a whole different landscape. He prefers rain instead of snow. Snow brings memories he’d rather avoid. Memories from Lithuania, from his childhood and his sister. Rain means that everything can be washed away, cleaned and purified.

Being the object of anyone’s admiration is nothing for Hannibal. He’s well built, he exercises and takes a good care of his body. He -needs- to do it in order to do what he does best. The doctor smiles faintly at his companion as he travels with his eyes all over his body, marveling on his frame. He contrasts with Will, dry and pristine. “I’d love to,” he replies, cleaning his shoes over the ‘welcome’ rug at the entrance. It’s amusing to have such invitation when the least Will expects is company from strangers.

Once inside, the doctor takes a good look at his surroundings. It’s a simple house and the decoration is… strange. For someone as practical as Will Graham, Hannibal expected it to be minimal, but the fact is that Will keeps a lot of little figurines here and there, paintings, books (many of them), a few photographs of people he suspects were friends from his teen years and a large box of tools next to the motor of a motorboat. And a whole kit for making lures and next to it against the wall, a large collection of rods. It’s interesting to see his bed in the living room. Perhaps he prefers the warmth of the fireplace and that’s why he keeps it there. Also, the dog beds strewn all across the floor are a very clear sign that he prefers to sleep with company.

He will provide. Soon, he hopes.

"I’m afraid I’ll have to use your fireplace," he informs, turning to look back at the investigator. His fingertips start to slowly unbutton his shirt and one by one the buttons leave space for the fabric to reveal wet skin, muscled pectorals and biceps, strong shoulders and taut stomach. "I detest to keep my clothes wet. If it disturbs you, I could cover myself with a towel."


      Will was tossing around the idea of letting Dr. Lecter borrow one of his shirts when the man started removing his own.  It would be polite to offer a shirt, but he would rather see Dr. Lecter like this.  Not only exposed because he had a nice body and was pleasant to look at, but also because it would make Will feel less exposed emotionally.  It was the same logic as imagining everyone wearing only their underwear when trying to give a speech.  The difference in this situation was that Dr. Lecter was extremely attractive and Will did not want to be attracted to him.  

      Blue eyes lingered on the exposed, wet, skin far longer than what was appropriate.  His mouth fell slightly open and it took him a moment to even notice that.  Looking into his kitchen as his ears turned red, Will shoved his hands in his pockets. 

      “Its not a problem,” he said too quickly, “If you would like to, you can wear one of my shirts.”  Will looked back at Dr. Lecter — sizing him up and noting that they were close to the same size.  Perhaps Dr. Lecter was a bit larger, but that was only because of body shape.  Will was more lanky, but he had shirts that should fit the man.  

      “Or not.  Whatever makes you more comfortable.”  Will did not much care about Dr. Lecter’s comfort level.  He didn’t want the man to be uncomfortable, but for the most part, he was more concerned with himself.  The reckless thoughts would undoubtedly continue if he continued to think about them being alone and Dr. Lecter’s lack of a shirt.  

      No, he shouldn’t think about that.  Will began to solve quadratic equations in his head like he always did when he had this unfortunate problem — which was not often.  His face contorted into something like extreme concentration and distance.  



" Oh dear,”

         his regard of the gun draws ripples of concern.

Are you certain you’ve not seen my visage before?”

      “I don’t….,”

( Has he met this man before?  He doesn’t remember, if so, but he’s not great at remembering faces.  Will never looked at faces. )


       ”Who’s there?”

( Yes, his first instinct when he is startled is to grab his gun. )