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Like every Sunday morning, Will woke up quietly to the delicious smell of breakfast in bed. His husband now, Hannibal, never failed to realize the sweetest things, starting with a kiss on the shoulder.
"Mylimasis, your breakfast. I hope you enjoy it."
Will stretched out, his chest bathed in Cuban light. He scratched his arm, the memory of a needle the day before. Over time, he had learned to love Hannibal entirely. To understand all aspects of his personality and the responses to his childhood traumas in the snow. Cuba was therefore an obvious destination. A radiant weather all year round, no snowflake announcing death.
"Come here" Will asked with open arms. "Tell me."
"These are only pancakes. Without any particularity, if not a secret ingredient" He explained now close.
"And you have nothing to say about their color?"
"They are perfectly as they should be. Just like you."
Will rolled his eyes and cut a piece. Some berries decorated the plate and released their red juice like small star explosions. It was always in the image of Hannibal, refined. Elegant in a way, since hidden under the beauty, the disguised horror waited patiently to be discovered.
Hannibal drew sweet kisses on his temple, releasing his tangled curls backwards. Meanwhile, Will ate his first bite, a sip of coffee followed quickly. He never expected to be disappointed by what Hannibal served him. From his first day in Baltimore, then his home in Wolf Trap to Florence, he had always cooked like a chef. So this new Sunday morning in their residence in Cuba sounded like a sweet life compared to their two years of running.
"Instead of devouring you, amore, I experimented after our little experiment last night."
"Tell me more. Have you drunk my blood?"
"Better than that, you are currently eating it" Hannibal began by sliding his hand on Will’s belly scar. "Do you notice anything different?"
"Not really" Will replied, accustomed to the eccentricities of the cannibal. "How did you use it?"
"Well, we’re running out of eggs. Did you know that blood contains everything an egg provides?"
Will’s laugh sounded like a melody played in heaven. He could have composed the most beautiful opera with such joyful notes. Or even the most harmonious harpsichord. Watching him taste his own blood in their immaculate sheets… Hannibal couldn’t help but kiss his vertebrae, lingering on his neck. Later, he will paint this scene but stop just before the lack of modesty. It's an ancient magic that must be seen only by his eyes.
Under his tongue he felt the metallic fragrance of blood. The fullness of a forbidden wine. The memory of a syringe carefully taking his favorite shade. Will was shining in their union. Under the hands of the doctor, he asked no more questions. If Hannibal wanted to collect his blood, he would show him his vein.
***
One winter evening, Hannibal was returning from a successful hunt. While taking a shower, covered in fresh blood, he was surprised to find that Will was still awake. Without saying a word, he began to wash Hannibal’s body, kissing every divine part. After all, he was the one bringing food home, and Will wanted to take care of him. The definition of caring for the loved one was different for Hannibal. For him, to love meant to consume. And for that, he had to hurt his dear William. He obviously didn’t like the idea in the first place. Then by persuasion, "I promise to be careful" — Will had come to trust him completely, curious.
Thus, he let himself be guided towards the operating table in the basement. Hannibal gently explained the procedure as if it were a routine check and the sound of his voice turned into a distant echo as the anesthesia took effect. One last kiss on the forehead and Will fell asleep, at the mercy of the terrible doctor's hands. Meanwhile, Hannibal took a new amount of blood and skillfully cut just above the abdomen of his precious lamb.
When he woke up, this time in their bedroom, Will felt nauseous but able to claim water. Hannibal left behind his medical sketch depicting in all its splendor the interior of his patient.
"Is that bad?" Will asked, his hand on the new bandage.
"Darling, you’ll have the smallest scar. It’s barely visible and only we’ll know about it. Now, rest. I’ll be right back."
"Hannibal" He called weakly before he disappeared.
His husband immediately approached, smiling, and kissed him tenderly. Will asked him to stay despite Hannibal’s recommendations. He gave up and resolved to read him Lithuanian poetry until he fell asleep.
***
A few days later and fully recovered, they cooked an exceptional meal. Or rather, Hannibal cooked.
"What was it like?" Will asked. "Inside" He clarified.
"Soft as silk" Hannibal revealed as he finished cooking. "I wish I had kept enough tissue to make a fabric, but I’d rather have you intact by my side."
Will snorted, thinking how ironic it was. He still suffered from time to time from stomach aches due to his wide scar. And the rainy nights constantly reminded him of that act of cruelty which he had so forgiven.
"To you, tesoro" Hannibal said, glass in hand.
"And to you and your disturbing fantasies" Will added.
The red wine was not a red like the others. It was a special red, unique beverage with a secret flavor. The tenderness of the meat was not that of the butcher, but that of a victim – a pig – who didn't run fast enough. And after careful consideration, Hannibal had concocted a new sauce.
"Veal paupiette accompanied by its garden vegetables and its sauce à la poudre de foie" He announced with his honeyed eyes.
They smiled and ate as if it was their last dinner. As if it was the last of sins. And the lamb drank his blood and ate his liver under the admiration of the stag and his love recipes.
***