An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
My contribution to @fannibalfest-toronto and @hannibalcreative #ThreeOfSwords Valentine’s Fest!
Hannibal and Will have returned to Italy, together this time. But a train trip from Florence to Palermo has made Hannibal strangely pensive. Is it the past he broods over? The future? Will’s curious to find out, but it turns out to be even more than he was expecting.
Once again, enormous thanks to @fragile-teacup for your awesome beta-skills!
Hannibal’s near-whisper sent a pleasant shiver up Will’s spine, sounding through all his cells as if he’d been struck by a tuning fork. Even though Hannibal seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Will, his quiet voice electrified the previously silent space between them.
They had been silent for the majority of the trip, the low drone of the train’s engine and the rhythmic clack of the tracks the only accompaniment to their journey into the Italian countryside, rolling in time to the sway of their private compartment. The silence itself wove its way into that hypnotic mechanical symphony, thrumming between them, twining around a strangely familiar mix of comfort and tension.
But now he speaks. And with words from the past.
Will found himself reluctant to respond, reticent to break the spell. He wasn’t even sure if Hannibal expected him to. Instead he hummed his vague assent and continued to watch Hannibal as he stared out the train’s window, strangely pensive and now silent once again.
Hannibal had fallen quiet as soon as they had cleared the outskirts of Florence, watching the countryside roll past, urban streaming into rural — vineyards, orchards, old stone fences, red roofed houses dotting the landscape here and there as it sped past their window faster and faster. It somehow felt like they were standing still, quiet, while the world spun and whirled around them.
It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.
Will had been watching Hannibal intently all this time, eyes sweeping that striking profile — so intimately familiar, yet perpetually startling in its perfection. Will memorized how the golden Italian sun kissed Hannibal’s features through the train window, how the subtle rocking of the car and the sun’s ever-changing path highlighted each of his features in a slow shift of light and shadow, softness and severity.
So rare not to be the one being dissected… willingly flayed… turned inside out under the gaze of another…
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