Chapter 1: Murder Mystery
“Mrs Komeda is going to die of embarrassment once she realises we are gone.” Will grinned, not in the least actually put out by the scenario. He was rushing down a well carpeted corridor at the back of the manor house. They passed a large bay window, looking out onto the candle lit gardens below.
“If she asks, we will say we were simply following a lead,” grinned his Lithuanian suitor for the evening, whose hand was out stretched and gripping Will’s hand and practically dragging him to an unknown spot in the house.
“She created this game, I’m sure she knows exactly where the clues are, we’re going to get caught!” Despite Will’s protests he was grinning now, complicit, enjoying a new type of hunt.
There was laughter from the other end of the long corridor, Hannibal’s body altered course before Will’s mind had registered, a cupboard was wrenched open and the pair stuffed inside.
It was dark and close. Soft then harsh panting filled the room, Hannibal’s hands drifted up Will’s sides before cupping his hips and pressing him against the back of the door, kissing him slowly. “Maybe I’m the killer and I’m simply luring you away for the slaughter.”
Will laughed and arched, hands running through Hannibal’s feather light ashen hair before one dropped to his groin. “Or perhaps I’m the killer and you’re being teased onto a blade.” He breathed, gripping Hannibal’s visible length on the final syllable. “Gladly.” He purred, teeth grazing tendons and veins in Will’s throat. He turned the other man around and worked on his belt, applying pressure to the small of Will’s back to make him keen and moan.
Hannibal knelt to prepare him, kissing and nipping up his thighs; he slicked himself and stood. “So, do you know who the killer is?” He panted, pushing himself in slowly, a hand rising to press against the wood of the heavy door.
Will’s forehead was pressed against the same wood, his breathing heavy and laboured. The pleasure was worth the pain as the man behind him tilted his hips and pulled him down, tight and hard. Constant pressure. “Y-yes, do you?”
“Yes.” Hannibal said instantly, he kissed Will’s neck again, sucking until he left marks. He moaned, his hips moving harder.
The laughter from the end of the corridor was there again, approaching fast. It grew louder and more distinct, words forming behind the wood both of their half clothed bodies were pressed against. Will couldn’t see the grin on Hannibal’s face but he felt it in the ploughing of his hips and the palm which snaked itself over Will’s mouth, cutting off the whines.
“Well obviously one of them is the killer!” Exclaimed a female voice from the other side of the door.
“And they’re currently killing the other one?” This time a male.
A second woman laughed, “if you saw the sex eyes over the dinner table, ‘killing’ would not be your first conclusion.”
“Sandra!” The first woman gasped and there was a sound of skin hitting skin on the other side of the door too.
Hannibal had changed from fast pounding to a slow and deep and intimate climb, his breath pressed to Will’s ear, “should I let them hear you?” he whispered, “if I let my hand go you wouldn’t have a choice but to scream.”
Sweat was pooling at the small of Will’s back, the strain and agony in each separate muscle across his body was unique in its turmoil.
The ascension to orgasm was slow, as if Hannibal as wringing every possible iota of pleasure from every single one of his movements. The end was just as drawn out as the journey, over and over the edge, through shudders and toe curling anguish. It was hard to believe he’d come out the other side the same person.
When he relaxed and turned, he saw Hannibal spent and leaning against the far wall, though it was still very close in the storage cupboard they’d found themselves in. He was a picture of desire and depravity. Everything he was told he shouldn’t want. “They saw how much I wanted you before I even knew it myself.” Will panted.
“Perception is a delicate thing, sometimes when we attempt to deceive, we make things painfully clear."
Will set about making himself decent again, regrettably. “What is it you said you did for a living?”
“Psychiatrist, and yourself? You failed to mention.”
“Oh, I’m a homicide detective.”
“What will he be wearing, Gerrard?” Will attempted to straighten his own tails, his gaze turned to his chief hand, who was attaching ribbon to his mask for the evening.
“I believe Count Lecter will be wearing a simple black mask, the Lecter’s are typically rather understated. But then again, their young new heir appears to be full of surprises, are you aware he cooks?” Gerrard internally tutted and set the mask down to straighten Will’s tails properly.
Will raised an eyebrow as his shoulders and legs were shifted, he allowed the movements as he had done all of his life. His parents built their way, not necessarily from the ground up, but Will benefitted from their hardships and was intent on using their name proudly. “The holy Count cooks? That is a surprise.” He mumbled.
“Certainly unusual, though I’ve not seen it myself, he cooks for all his staff regularly, great banquets apparently.”
Will’s eyes set upon his own mask, silver and light blue, designed to emphasise his own storm ridden irises. It had a small plumage on the right side, with deep grey ribbons to secure it.
Gerrard stiffly raised the mask in front of Will’s face before pressing the perfectly made form against Will’s cheekbones and brows; it was tied behind his head, the ribbon straightened like his coat tails before he was gently brushed down. “You must look your best today Your Grace.”
“I know Gerrard. I know. Meeting this man is important for me. For all of us.”
“I think you’ll like him Your Grace, you’re both intelligent, yet understated, fine young men.”
Will nodded, gave himself one last look in the mirror before turning to be escorted to his carriage.
The party was in full flow, Will wasn’t first, but his arrival was still at a polite hour. He was handed champagne which he sipped slowly. The masks were extravagant, and the costumes much the same; everyone danced around the room in pairs, or stood in groups to the side to talk and admire the pageantry.
“Where is our host?” A lady of their small ensemble smiled, looking around the room, “of course, at this sort of ball it’s ever so hard to tell, has anyone ever seen him before?”
A man in a peacock blue mask smiled, he was a charity socialite and son of a Duke, in truth, Will despised him. “I have heard a rumour he’ll be wearing all black this evening.”
“As if to a funeral.” The first lady laughed gently, sipping her drink and gazing around, as if looking for another rung of the social ladder to chat too. A dance came to an end and everyone clapped politely before another began, the music pleasant, but to Will, boring.
A waiter in a white shirt, black waistcoat and with a layer of simple black silk as his mask replaced their drinks and served them canapes of elite and ornate quality. The flavour burst across Will’s tongue and he smiled uncontrollably, and for the first time since he’d left his home. The waiter bowed gently, deep amber eyes searching the group in one swift movement before settling onto Will before he winked. It was in a split second. Will thought he’d imagined it, nearly dropping his glass.
The man in the waist coat left, disappearing quickly, presumably to one of the well-hidden staff areas. Will looked over the crowd, standing on tip toes and getting a little attention before he realised it was improper. There was a low tut behind him and he settled again. His one moment of excitement for the evening had passed, even if it was all in his head.
The evening plodded on with tittering laughs and pairing off. Will himself was distracted almost entirely, resorting to simply nodding in the correct places.
It was towards the end of the evening, the dance before last, when a tall blonde strode down the stairs. He wore a deep grey tailcoat; to everyone else it may appear black, with matching waistcoat and a deep, wine red mask. His hair was swept back, eyes alight and smile cracked and mischievous.
The blonde moved around the room, exchanging pleasantries with the guests. Will’s turn came quicker than he thought as if the man crossed through the room to see him. They clasped hands, in a way that seemed desperate but sure, the blond lifted Will’s hand up and bowed down to meet it, brushing his lips across Will’s knuckles and showing the daggered edges of dangerous incisors.
With his other free hand, he swiftly tucked the end of a piece of black silk into the depths of his breast pocket.
I will probably add to this at a later date!
Will preferred to travel mostly alone, a companion only in a maple brown sheep dog which begun to follow him post a charity scrap of chicken and hadn’t stopped. Will appreciated the company none the less, a warm companion in blustery inn rooms. He paid his way for a night in the first tavern without Dawnguard in and retired quickly, setting his furs in the trunk and starting a fire. The Inn was noisy until long after sun down, and although Will had no affiliation with the vampires, he’d much rather keep himself to himself.
His eyes fell shut after days of constant travel and sleeping with one eye open, part of his brain still trying to resist as the darkness behind his eyes was full of clasping, bloodied teeth and earth shuddering growls. He’d heard about dragons, the chaos they caused was written in moss covered scars on buildings and saplings growing out of fields of ash. But one dreaming of dragons they’d never seen was something Will had never heard of; his plight was something he’d carried for years, awakened in him suddenly. He’d found himself in his slumber outside, staring up at the nights sky as if awaiting an old friend.
Wil managed a few hours of shaking sleep before giving up; he shared some bread with his companion and got up to retrieve some water from the butt keep under a balcony of the tavern. He forwent his furs, pulling on his boots and tucking a small dagger beside his calf, just in case. He crept downstairs silently, well used to almost being invisible. He began to fill his bucket, still full of sleep until something in him snapped, becoming alert, dropping the bucket and grabbing his dagger quickly.
“You couldn’t see me, or hear me, I made sure of that, but you knew I was there.” A man stepped out of the shadows between stacks of fire wood for the winter, he was taller than Will, but only just, and broader, didn’t appear to be capable of being light on his feet but he was correct, Will hadn’t heard him. His hair was a deep silver, eyes bronze and bright, as if a fire burned within them.
“Who are you?” Will spat, rearing back the dagger just in case, stance low.
The man looked to the sky, largely dark but flecked with burgeoning daylight, “he is coming, we don’t have much time,” his gaze turned to the knife in Will’s hand, “please put that toy away, do not worry about water, I have plenty, go and get your things.” The stranger turned and walked out into the darkness, across strong shoulders was braced a mighty long sword, the skull of a dragon with vicious teeth engraved into the handle.
Will had almost stopped thinking, despite turning into the darkness; he knew where the man was, not far, off the trail, slightly to his left. As if the meeting of one gaze had knotted twine between their internal compasses, pulling them into constant alignment with one another. He returned to his room, grabbed his things, and allowed the dog to follow him out into the night.
The dog was comfortable around this stranger, and that relaxed Will, they stood side by side, looking over the mountains. “You need to tell me who you are.” Will interrupted their easy silence.
“Are you not more interested in who you are?” The man smiled, his teeth reminded Will of those carved on the man’s sword.
“My name is Will.”
The man shook his head, “I had a name once, I no longer feel the need to use it.” His gaze was quickly captured across the sky, and Will followed, a mighty shape blocking out the stars, getting closer and closer. The sound of the wind being pulled around this creature’s body struck him, then the feeling of heat, and the ground beneath them shaking as it landed.
Will felt no fear.
“The only name you need concern yourself with currently is… Inmorahdu.” As the stranger uttered the last syllables, the trees swayed, the dragon reared and settled back of four sets of mighty claws. It’s scaled were midnight black, ridges and spines reached through a mighty pair of leathery wings, spattered with damage, the scars and strength of many victories obvious. Its gaze was set to the stranger; it pawed closer, reminding Will almost of the dog at his feet. The man dipped his head, allowing the dragon impossibly close before the crest between the mighty creatures eyes met with his forehead. Both of their eyes slipped shut, as if sharing a memory.
“It’s beautiful.” Will whispered, everything that had being plaguing him for these past years now fitting into place.
“You are Dragonborn Will. A mortal body, with the soul of a dragon inside you. And usually, we are one in a generation, if that common at all. When you presented, we felt it, travelled four kingdoms to find you. Before, our kind would hunt dragons, rid the world of them, but I couldn’t bear to end such beauty and power, although our bodies are different our souls are aligned.”
“I’ve been having dreams, teeth, and claws, roaring.”
“Simply your true soul trying to be heard, trying to be free.” He stepped back, placed a gentle bare hand by the bright red eye of the dragon, almost soothing it. “For now, you may call me Hannibal.”
“Hannibal,” Will nodded, the name felt familiar on his tongue.
“You’ll let me help you?” Hannibal said softly.
“Yes” Will nodded, still in awe, “only if the dog can come with us.”
Again, this is something that might take on a life of it's own at a later date.
I have taken severe liberties with the skyrim affectations, I've attempted to bond the dragonborn mythology in with Will's abilities and Hannibal's ability to understand and help him understand himself and also his constant need to buck the trend and admire beauty in all it's forms, including firebreathing monsters.
But I fucking love dragons and the most disappointing thing about skyrim for me is a biggie, I don't like killing the dragons.
Inmorahdu is a made up Dragon name. Meaning - Master, Focus, Devour. (I attempted to put Hannibal's spirit in there basically)
Jack straightened his cuffs and tie, watching the lights on the lift rush upwards. He hit the bottom floor and walked out into a crowded corridor, pretending not to notice as the crumpled shirts and dark under-eye circles moved out of his path.
They kept the pilot recruits in the basement so they’d literally have to work their way up, only 30% would escape this floor, only 2% would ever find themselves in control of a jaeger, and most of those would just be sentry duty or rescue missions. He passed martial arts classes and meditation sessions, heading for the lecture hall. He stood at the back, casting a large silhouette which encouraged more attention than he’d like. The class ended 3 minutes early.
Jack passed students who only looked at him long enough to realise who he was before their gazes hit the floor. Hand outstretched too meet his target, “Will Graham? My name is-“
“I know who you are; down here we don’t often find ourselves mingling with famous pilots, Colonel Crawford.” Will pushed his computer closed and gathered up class papers.
Jack withdrew his hand and nodded, “you want to know why I’m here.”
“As quickly as possible.” Will slung his bag over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow in Crawford’s direction.
“I have a proposition for you.” Jack turned to lead them from the lecture hall. Will trailed behind, in full knowledge of what was coming. “We need a pilot.”
“I don’t pilot. I can’t pilot. I just teach.” Will’s gaze hit the ground; he readjusted his glasses, tired of the discussion before it had really gotten started.
For two weeks, Will had orders to improve his fitness. Though he was in good condition, it wasn’t perfect. Sparing showed his reactions were as good as ever, fast, toe to toe with the best the academy and more. He was conscious of Jack being ever present, a marauding crow over his shoulder.
During the second week there was another presence, a man as tall as Jack, but not as broad. Tanned and sharp, ashen hair showed his age but bright eyes and strong posture revealed someone who took care of himself. On a day where no furnaces burned, the new man wore a jacket over his usual shirt. Breath curled in front of Will’s face as his opponent dragged herself up from the floor, bowed and left the mat quickly. Will turned and looked up to Jack and the man, his jacket showed he was a pilot, and an old one.
Will dropped his staff to the ground and left the mat, ready to barge through anyone who wouldn’t move out of his way. His fury with Crawford hit the low ceiling in his new bunker and had no room to spill. He slammed his desk chair against the metal jutting from the wall, the resounding noise settled only as the man appeared in Will’s still open doorway. “Captain Graham?”
Will’s laugh was hollow, “tell me this-“ he started as he spun, getting the first close look at this man’s face, his eyes were brown, no, amber, as bright as Will had thought they were. His hair was soft and light, the fringe around his brows but cut shorter at the back, his smile soft, but had plenty of promise to be sharp and cruel. Will found himself distracted only for a moment before continuing, “- why is it, supposing this is to be a partnership, it is deemed fair you’re to know all about me, observe ME, when I know nothing of you!” His index finger slammed against his own chest before his arms fell to his sides. He’d ended up much closer to this man’s face than he’d anticipated.
The man nodded, he looked down and a pink tongue peeked out between his lips for a moment before he spoke. “I understand your anger, but the Colonel just wanted to be certain before we moved forward. He wasn’t even confident about what kind of shape you’d be in, but you seem to be more than ready.”
“I can’t imagine why we’re entertaining this. I’m dangerous to pilot with.” Will admitted, he sat down heavily on his bunk.
“My name is Captain Hannibal Lecter, and all I ask is that you drift with me at least once.”
Will went to look up at Lecter, but he was gone.
The noise of the drill took Will back, memories of childhood trauma, car crashes, and assaults that weren’t his flittered across his mind. The armour felt tight, unfamiliar as he stepped onto the platform, Lecter by his side. Though he hadn’t asked his co-pilot to much about his history, he could tell this was the first time in a while he too was stepping back, further in time than he’d care to admit.
This was just a drill, a test of their compatibility with no situation to attend too, but the observation deck held a few more faces than usual, Crawford’s dominant stance seemed to occupy most of the room.
Fluid filled his helmet and then descended, his breathing stammering slightly as it passed his lips. Lecter was deadly still, entirely un-phased. For some pilots, their mind had to achieve a certain level of peace to drift, they had to get into a certain frame. Though Will taught the basics, he’d never found it difficult himself.
They were counted in, married up simple arm and leg movements until Will’s mind tore open, a blinding white flash and he was there, himself but not himself. Fluid. The pain was physical, then mental, as if the mind felt what was happening to it before the panic usually set in.
Behind the white flash, that is what told you if the two pilots were halves of a whole, physically and mentally able to work with and around one another.
There was nothing. Void. A darkness that went on and on and on and Will was able to move around in it, gaze up into it and just, breathe.
His attention was drawn quickly to the task at hand, testing the Jaeger machine, slow and intricate movements in the hanger, accessing weapons. They finished with a tai chi position Will was sure that no one else on the base should know. It was effortless.
Will was unique, a socium omnis, able to drift with anyone he desired, but this gift left him open and vulnerable. The pilots and techs called it “chasing the rabbit” as your mind concentrates more on your partner’s plight or pleasure than the job. Hannibal had no rabbits, a tabula rasa, a lake of undisturbed water.
The jaeger powered down, Will was panting, excited, he turned to his co-pilot, the beginnings of a smile twitching across his face. “Thank you,” he paused, “Hannibal.” He added.
Hannibal nodded gently, as much as he could in the restrictive helmet. “My pleasure.”
I would ideally like to add to this, however I find the subject difficult to write, so who knows.
Socium omnis is my cobbled Latin for "every" and "partner" basically a cruddy attempt to create a scientific name for what Will is; someone who can drift with anyone
Tabula Rasa is a philosophical term for being a blank slate, are we born with certain knowledge? etc. But basically it means Hannibal has no baggage in the drift.
They are perfect, no? *wriggles eyebrows*