Will opened his reum covered eyes. The stormy sky was dark, darkening with turmoil, his turmoil. He didn't want to be alive, he didn't ask for it.
That's why they fell.
Water and blood bubbled up from his mouth as he took a breath, and his arm drifted upwards. Will jerked as his hand was taken by long, spindly ones, with chafed kisses being applied to his knuckles.
Hannibal.
He heard the other man shudder and sob, for him. Oh the irony, when Will wanted to die.
Hannibal wanted to live.
Still heaving blood and saltwater, Will slowly rolled onto his stomach with an exhausted huff. His hand is still trapped. Will looked up at the reason for his living and glared at those eyes, those indeterminate eyes.
They never remained their true colours. They were either as stormy and grey as the sea or as dark as the old blood beneath his fingers. Now—now, they were viridescent green, matching the sky.
The sky. It changed colours so quickly, just like Hannibal's eyes.
Will looked up.
"It's beautiful."
"You said that before."
"I know."
"About something else."
"I damn well know."
By now, Will's hand was free.
The green sky curled and writhed, indicating an ominous greeting for the two men if they stayed any longer. Yet, they didn't move from where they were.
They just sat in an eerie, tense silence as the sea roared beside them.
Then, with sudden passion, Will lunged at Hannibal, pushing the older man to the ground. A hand pressed against the exhausted wound on the other's stomach.
Will glared down at Hannibal with his bright crystal eyes, they were resentful, but they were tired.
"You should've let us die." He said gruffly, his accent rolling off his tongue.
The man had nothing more to hide from his ache, now he is willing to show all his secrets.
"I know, heart"
"Why let us live then?"
"Because if you died and I lived, I would have drowned myself in the sea. I can't live without my heart."
"What if that's what I wanted?"
"Then that's a pity, I want us to live."
Will grimaced darkly and spat at Hannibal's face in visceral loathing, the blonde did nothing to retaliate. He simply stared at him with those impassive, unequivocal eyes.
"We don't deserve it."
This led Will to take a different approach.
Lips twisted into a malicious snarl, he dug his fingers into Hannibal's bullet wound.
A scab was beginning to form and the excess blood was hardening into a firm, stinging eschar thanks to the sea.
The marine salt had accumulated around the puncture wound, apparently disinfecting it in the harshest way possible. Much to Will's sinister pleasure.
Hannibal choked a strangled gasp of surprise when Will broke through the old blood. He hadn't expected the feeling of being invaded to be so jarring against his insides despite doing so many times to his art pieces.
The blonde squirmed and shuddered under WIll's grip, his senses on fire from the overstimulation. His life-giving fluids squelched and poured out of his abdomen as Will dug in there ruthlessly.
The pain was indescribable, so much so it had turned into blooming ecstasy.
Hannibal's pained gasps turned into sharp sighs as his hands clutched desperately at WIll's arms. His eyes themselves rolled into the back of his head and his eyelids fluttered shut.
The whole sight gave Will a perverted sense of power.
Of control.
With his left hand pushing Hannibal's shoulder to the sand, Will can feel the other man's back arches. The dark-haired man ignores his ache as he finally grips the small piece of biting metal inside Hannibal's gut.
Said man was shaking, his knees knocking together as they entrapped the grizzled man towering over him. With each laboured breath he took, blood gushed from his side, staining Will's fingers.
Then, when lightning struck, Will ripped the bullet out which caused Hannibal to convulse with blood trickling down the corners of his mouth and tears slipping from his eyes as he squeezed them shut.
The pain felt so good, but at the same time, Hannibal never wanted to go through that same pain again. That specific agony.
"Will..."
"Shut up."
"Will... Is this your divine punishment?"
"What, you think I'm punishing myself?"
"No. Are you doing this, because you want me to die by your hands?"
Will thought for a moment. His eyes were dark and empty as his hand closed around the bloody bullet. His knuckles turned white in grim determination. The more he stared at the blood pooling between his knees and the knowing, peaceful smile on Hannibal's ashen face. Something was out of place.
Oh.
Hannibal didn't want to die in the sea, Will realized. He didn't want to die to Mother Nature and her apathetic hand.
He is willing to die at Will Graham's righteous fury.
"You asshole, you want this."
"I want you to do it, be my end. It doesn't necessarily mean that I will die."
"You're impossible to kill."
"So are you."
The dark-haired man threw the offending piece of metal in the sand and began ripping his shirt off his body, using it to soak up and stop the impending blood flow.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to patch you up..."
With that said, Will then proceeded to drag Hannibal's body into a cave, the jagged rocks protecting them from the hail raining down upon them in a hazardous manner.
Will wasn't going to let Hannibal die by his hand.
Whether he wants it or not.
As he watched the furious storm scream in front of them, Will heard Hannibal humming noises to himself, trailing his fingers across the other man's bloody hand. They triggered something deep inside him and he cried.
His heart aches for him.
