Chapter Text
Also inspired by this prompt by Hannigrahmy on Tumblr
“Take it easy, that’s what I always say.”
The words echoed back to Will as he drove off the dealership lot in his brand new 1958 burgundy coupé convertible. He was taking it easy now.
I’ll bet you didn’t expect that, did you?
As he sped up, the breeze wicked away the moisture on his forehead and neck and ruffled the hair beneath his straw porkpie hat. Anxiety had been pestering him since he left his job for good earlier that afternoon, but now it seemed to grow muffled beneath the sound of that engine purring. Take it easy.
The phrase had slipped greasy and unctuous from between Mr. Lowery’s chapped lips; always a bit raw from being rubbed and chewed by a man who didn’t fare well between drinks. One hand was almost always near his mouth when he was at work and a light sheen touched his forehead even on cool days.
And today was not cool by any means. Not one to spend an extra dollar he didn’t need to, Lowery didn’t splurge for an air-conditioning unit in his real estate office. Will’s pale orange button-down shirt lay open at his collar, damp from sweat. The stifling heat was making him irritable. When Lowery reached out and placed a heavy palm on his upper thigh he stood up from where he had been half-sitting on the edge of the desk.
His boss chuckled hoarsely and a nervous smirk pulled at the corner of Will’s mouth.
“Yeah,” he replied. “But not too easy, right Mr. Lowery?”
“That’s right.”
Will could see the man’s gaze weaken and a hint of resentment flicker over his face. He instinctively moved to placate him, leaning forward and nudging him on the shoulder with an impish grin. Will had the benefit of a very amiable face. His large blue eyes and naturally upturned mouth were, it would seem, created to win people over. Unfortunately, his pretty boyishness was like catnip for self-entitled pricks like Lowery. The heat of the office only made the constant stress of working there even more physically apparent. Mr. Lowery found any excuse to put his hands on him, and his stare bore no restraint.
Will knew his work history made him undesirable to most employers. He had been dismissed from or even walked out on many jobs in the past couple of years. He didn’t handle the grind very well and often found himself overloaded by the social requirements that they carried. Despite his best efforts, he telegraphed his desire to be anywhere but there. He had since realized why Lowery had kept him on as his assistant for so long. It became painfully evident to him that if he didn’t start reciprocating his boss’ overly familiar interactions he would be once more looking for employment. If there was one thing Will hated more than being on the job, it was interviewing for one. So he let the boss put his hands on him, stand too close, watch his every movement with lecherous bird-like eyes. He laughed and smiled at his clumsy flirting no matter how uncomfortable he felt. This was his life now, trading small dignities for job security.
Mr. Lowery scooped up the bills that Will had just rifled through the counting machine. Forty-thousand dollars, received today, by a wealthy oil leaser who was buying his daughter a house as a bridal gift.
“Quite a pinch we brought in today,” Lowery said. He planted the cash in an envelope and snapped a thick rubber band around it. “Two thousand for my end.”
“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Will attempted to jest. It came out sounding tinged with bitterness. He was barely scraping by in his musty studio apartment living on wholesale canned food.
“I may seem like a skin-flint around the office, son,” Lowery responded, “But in my personal life, I know how to enjoy myself. I take very good care of my friends.”
With that, Lowery reached out and fiddled with the third button down on Will’s shirt. He gave it a twist and unbuttoned it, opening his shirt a bit more. Will’s smile felt stretched over his lips and teeth as he released a half-hearted chuckle.
“My good friends know how generous I am,” Lowery continued in a lowered voice.
“That’s, ah,” Will said, turning his face to one side and biting his lip, “That’s good to know.”
Lowery finally moved away and Will could feel his absence like a cool breeze.
“I’m closing up early today,” the man said. “I want you to take this envelope to the bank and deposit it. Then you have the rest of the weekend to relax, have some fun.”
Will nodded and reached for the envelope. Lowery held it from him for a moment and looked into his eyes.
“You should stop by my place, kid,” he offered. “I have a nice pool, a mini-bar. No better way to beat the heat.”
“Oh,” was all Will could muster. Another nervous, toothsome smile.
“We can talk about maybe you getting in on some of this action,” Lowery fanned himself with the fat envelope.
Will swallowed, inferring the full meaning of Lowery’s invitation. Promises of financial favors tossed carelessly in front of him for rental privileges of the body of Will Graham. He felt himself nodding in spite of himself, and replied, “Sounds great.”
As Will approached the bank, he found that he wasn’t stopping. In fact, he was speeding up. Something in him had clicked when Lowery released the envelope into his hands. He knew that now. Was it spite, or something primal, like a flight or fight reflex? Either way, his boss had left his offer lingering in the air like a noxious fume. So he took the $40,000. He kept driving until he left the neighborhood, visited his apartment to pack a few clothes, then drove right out of town and didn’t stop again until he had reached the dealership in the next state over. From then on out he took the back roads, journeying aimlessly with no goal other than increasing the distance between himself and his old bleak life.
When it began to rain, he put the top up. Soon the rain became a torrential downpour, and his windshield wipers barely kept up enough for him to see the painted lines in the middle of the road. He wasn’t even certain where he was and information signs were growing fewer and farther between. When he saw the glowing motel sign in the distance, it suddenly dawned on him how exhausted he was. He had been driving for eighteen hours, and the storm didn’t seem to be letting up.
Lecter Motel the sign read. Vacancy.
He pulled into the lot and rolled his car over the signal cables. A buzzing sound rang out in the glass-front cubicle in the middle of the line of motel rooms. Will peered through the rain at the dim, empty office. He was about to lay on his horn when suddenly his car door opened.
“Looking for a room?” a voice asked.
Will jumped and looked up at the man who stood over him. He could barely make out his tall, lean figure in the darkness.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied and climbed out. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“From that house, up on the hill,” he replied, pointing up at a Victorian mansion with a sole light in one of the windows. “That’s where I live. We don’t get a lot of customers, so I usually stay up there. I hope I didn’t give you a start.”
“A little bit,” Will laughed, holding his hat against the wind.
“Let me get your luggage,” the man offered.
“It’s fine, I only have the overnight bag.”
Will grabbed the bag and clutched it over his head as the two of them dashed for the office. Once inside, the man stepped behind the counter and pushed the guest registry forward. Will studied him now that he could get a good look. He had striking, distinctly noble features; a Roman nose and thin but prominent lips that gave him a serene appearance. He seemed oddly out of place in a back road motel like this. His hair was damp across his forehead from the rain and his white shirt clung to him. Even so, he had an air of elegance about him.
“Sign here, please,” the man said, offering him a pen.
Will hesitated for a moment then signed the registry “Will Samuels.” He looked up to see that the man had cocked his head to the side and was watching him write with curiosity.
“Nice to meet you, Will,” he said. His voice had a low, murmuring quality to it that was very pleasant and almost lulling. “I am Hannibal Lecter, the caretaker.”
Will pulled off his straw hat and Hannibal grew still and gazed back at him with interest. When Will held out his hand, Hannibal shook it and his amber-colored eyes darted over him quickly, as if taking an inventory. Will felt them keenly. He wrinkled his brow and tossed his head slightly. The caretaker’s jaw twitched and a glimmer of a smirk passed over his lips.
“Our rooms are seven dollars a night,” Hannibal told him. He leaned forward on the counter, straight shoulders moving under his wet shirt. His eyes were still as active as ever, trained on Will’s face, blinking and narrowing as though loaded with unspoken thoughts.
Will paid and Hannibal cast him one last glance before giving him the key to room one.
“It’s right next door, to your left, as you exit.”
When the young man left the office Hannibal waited until he heard the muffled thump of room one’s door closing and a faint shuffling from within. He stood straight, with his head tilted for a moment. He winced and passed his tongue over his bottom lip. Finally, he strode back into the parlor behind the office and closed the door.
On the wall there hung a small framed print of Leda and the Swan. He paused as if hesitating, and then lifted it off of the hanger and set it on the table. Hidden behind the painting was a hole carved away in the first layer of wall. The interior layer was pricked with a small crack. Hannibal leaned in and peered through the crack to the room beyond.
This visitor was quite handsome. Hannibal liked the way he curled; at his hair, his dark eyelashes, the corners of his mouth. He also liked the way he reacted to being looked at; anxious and maybe a little indignant. Will moved into the bathroom and Hannibal followed him down the wall to another painting, a print of Audubon’s Tree Swallow. Behind it, the hole led directly into the shower stall. Will undressed and climbed into the shower. Hannibal admired the jut of his shoulder blades, the indent of his spine and the round peach-shape of his ass. He ran his hand over the front of his trousers, then unzipped his fly and slipped his fingers inside.