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pinned down by the dark

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“He's here.”

She turns slightly to face her attendant, a young woman in her twenties that can't seem to be able to look away from her eyes; Alana can see every drop of sweat on her forehead, the faint blush on her cheeks, can hear the nervous beating of her soft, helpless and alive human heart. Despite the AC blasting in her rooms, the humans around her are suffering the heat, and the scent of sweat, blood and life around her sometimes becomes almost unbearable.

“Very punctual, good. Is he alone?”

The girl nods.

“Send everybody away and then tell him to come in.”

When she's alone again, Alana closes her eyes and listens to the silence around her: it can never be absolute, not when her sharp senses can hear even the faintest movement, the softest breath or whisper loud and clear. Despite the security of the locked and obscured windows, she can almost feel the sun going down outside, its last rays hitting her under her skin, slipping in the dark corners of her body. There's a faint burning sensation left behind by her imagination, by old memories of unbearable pain. Alana tries to shake them off and focus on the sounds around her.

She can hear his footsteps in the corridor, sense him stop and hesitate for a moment before opening the door; she straightens herself on the armchair she's sitting on, crosses her legs and waits.

The man that enters the room doesn't look particularly interesting physically at first look: he's in his early thirties, thick and curly brown hair covering his deep blue eyes, wears a jacket and a shirt despite the heat. She smiles at him, but he doesn't reply to it.

“Please, come in. Put yourself at ease.”

For a while they just stare at each other, sitting at opposite sides of the room, weighting the other and thinking about the hidden meaning of his presence there in that room and the best way to approach the subject: she has done all this before countless times; he tries to appear relaxed, but there's a stiffness in his muscles that slips past the mask he's trying to hold up on his whole being. It makes her laugh softly, her mouth closed and careful not to show her fangs while doing it.

“What is your name?”

He takes a moment to reply.

“Will Graham. And I know who you are. There's no need for introductions on your part.”

Alana allows the surprise of realizing who he is to show on her features, enjoying the almost embarrassed expression she receives in return.

“You are one exquisite gift, Will Graham. I, too, know who you are. I have heard of you. Is Hannibal really so determined to impress me, that he sends you of all people as a welcome offering?”

Will Graham cracks half a smile at that.

“He only sends me where I want to go. But... yes. He is very keen on impressing you.”

Alana listens to his heartbeat and is impressed by how steady and calm he is, by how all this doesn't seem to impact or impress him too much, like he's just doing a mundane chore. He's becoming more and more interesting in her eyes as she observes him: he's used to the company of vampires, to the way they look at him like they're dissecting a body on an autopsy table. He doesn't seem to mind how still her body can become when she's not trying to pass herself as human, how pale and marble like her skin is and how deep inside him her eyes can dig under the surface, like nails sinking into skin, opening gashes like windows on his soul.

There are raw nerves buried there, and she can taste and see every and each one of them and the flavor they leave behind in her mouth is enough to make her want to sink her teeth in the mess she'll find.

“So... where do you want me?”

She catches his eyes flickering to the perfectly made bed between them for a split second and her soft laugh echoes in the room.

“Such haste! Let's talk a little first. Tell me about you, about our dear Hannibal. I am looking forward to see him again tomorrow.”

Will seems taken aback by this request, pours himself some water and only after a few more instants of silence he finally starts talking. He never goes into details that are too personal, but she's sure he knows she can easily spot lies from truths and decide by herself how honest he's being and how much more he's concealing behind his forts. Hannibal taught him well and it shows in how calm he is while dealing with her, this much is plainly clear.

And Alana is starting to see what light up the interest of her old friend in this man.

There's a shadow hovering over him, a dark ghost, something that appears and disappears behind the corners and the definitions of his body: his eyes are old, as much as his face is still youthful. They have seen too much, stared into abysses that sometimes threatened to drag him down with them.

Alana can understand why Hannibal took him in, why he sent him to her: he has a monster trapped into his heart, buried under his skin, hidden in his lungs and in his brain. He's half unrestricted fury and half obsessive control; she wants to know how that will taste like in his blood.

“He takes good care of you, Hannibal. How often does he drink from you?”

“Never more than once a week... sometimes two on rare occasions.”

Alana nods, Will has nothing of the vacant look some human companions develop after years of partnerships: he's well fed and looks healthy enough. A part of her just wants to order him to undress and allow her to sink her fangs into the soft and warm flesh of his neck and drain him, to drink his nightmares and his demons together with his blood; another wants to see more of him before indulging.

“You've been with him for a long time... it must be strange for you to be here with me now.”

A flush of colors rises to his cheeks and she almost has to dig her nails into the leather of the chair to suppress a wave of desire to destroy his fragile body. It's in his scent, in the way his eyes look veiled and clear at the same time, in the way his brain works and how she can almost see its gears and wheels move, how she can feel his lungs and his heart pumping life and blood into his body.

“We are not exclusive... we allow each other some distractions once in a while, but yes, it's the first time I've met a Queen in this kind of situation.”

She nods softly.

“You know why he sent you to me, right?”

The smile Alana receives it's the first honest one of the evening: it lights up his face and she can see how soft his features can become, how attractive and expressive he is when he lowers his guard.

“Because he knew you'd find me interesting, yes.”

Alana's smile this time exposes her long fangs completely and she enjoys the thrill of seeing him tense with anticipation.

“Because he knew I'd like you.”

He laughs too; in response to her predatory grin, his body almost gives up, in a sign of subtle submission she's not sure he's aware of, but that enhances her instinct to subdue him.

She's a hunter, used to stalk and devour her prey, and he has a delicious kind of human weakness that attracts her. Knowing he was coming, she barely fed and now there's a hunger in her guts Alana can taste in her mouth.

“Very well then, show me how interesting you are. Take off your clothes and go sit down on the bed. You can keep your underwear on for now.”

Will undresses slowly, showing her that he has no marks on his wrists or neck, on his thighs or chest, that Hannibal sent him to her clean; it's pure formality, but it gives her enough time to analyze the moment.

She's being offered something rare and precious, something her old friend probably rarely or never shares with others of their kind; Will Graham is independent and strong, with a defiant streak that makes him irresistible to her eyes. He accepted Hannibal, allowed him to conquer and take possession of him, while remaining himself, without losing his heart or his humanity. And now she has the opportunity to taste a glimpse of his strength as well.

Alana likes fighters, likes the dark obscurity she reads in the marks left on his soul, in the way Hannibal has shaped him to be, grooming and nursing his darkness together with his light.

Will looks painfully awkward and out of place on the bed, struggling to find a comfortable position and at the same time trying not to look ridiculous while doing it. He's lean and toned, but she can count the ribs on his chest, can see the faint echoes of old deprivations and abuses on his skin, that not even Hannibal's care managed to erase completely.

There are scars of old wounds she almost wants to reopen, to watch him bleed out on the immaculate sheets, or kiss gently and comfort him of his long gone sorrows, holding him close to her heart, before sinking her teeth in his neck.

"Are you afraid of me, Will Graham?"

Alana doesn't leave her place just yet, remaining enthroned in her chair, observing his reactions and how he looks right in her eyes without any fear.

"No, I don't think I am. "

"Why not?"

He simply shrugs.

"I dine with my own personal demon every night, I sleep next to him, I let him own me in every possible way; nobody else will ever have the same kind of power he has on me."

Alana gets finally up and circles him like a lion with its prey, hunger flickering in her eyes and pouring from the core of her body.

When she gently cups his face, her fingers trailing under his chin to make sure he keeps looking at her, Will smiles and shivers despite himself at the contact with her cold skin: he can feel how much she wants to feed, but also how careful she is in handling him. It must give him a twisted sense of power.

"Are you sure?"

He nods softly.

That's when Alana suddenly grabs his neck, her movement too fast for him to see, catching him off guard; she applies no pressure at all, her hand just circling it, feeling arteries and veins pumping life and blood under the thin layer of skin that separates them from her fingers.

She thinks about digging her nails there, tearing him apart slowly, reading all his secrets on his exposed organs. He reads all of that in her eyes, feels it through the contact between them and through his enhanced empathy.

Alana can smell the faint presence of Hannibal's blood inside him now that he's so close, buried deep under his own scent.

"I could kill you. Maybe I'm not as old or powerful as Hannibal, but I could still easily snap your neck or drain you to the last drop and send him back your dead body."

His only reply to that is a soft and honest smile.

Will licks his lips and readily slides his cheek against her other hand when she puts it on it, almost nuzzling against it, closing his eyes and making the heat of his skin press on her cold one. He has the power to seduce you with a look, to make you hungry for his life, desperate to suck it out of him, and at the same time, gives you a twisted need to wrap your arms around him and hide him away from all harm.

And the worst is that he's perfectly conscious of it and uses his gift with a consumed ease.

She let's go of his cheek, but keeps her hand around his neck, while her fingers trail his collarbone and his shoulders, feeling how he shivers and bites his lips in anticipation, but not trying to pull her closer or make her do anything more than that. He seems to enjoy the soft pressure of her touches, the way she maps his skin with only a faint hint of nails.

His eyes are wide and focused directly on hers, his breath is still steady, but his heartbeat grows faster and faster as she touches him; he's asking himself why Alana doesn't just do it, he's used to be handled with care, but probably, not knowing her like he know Hannibal, he expected her to simply use him for her needs and send him away soon after.

"I like to take my time when it comes to pleasure... I hate being rushed. And you're far too interesting to be treated like a common fangbanger or feeder."

Will tenses at the words, his face twisted in an expression of distaste that she finds almost endearing.

"I'm here to do everything you want..."

“But you're neither of those things. I know. Don't worry.”

His skin is soft and warm, fat and nerves meeting under it, muscles and bones keeping it all together: she can read his body like a map, instinctively knows how and where to touch him to hear his breath falter or his heart race.

He's responsive and pliant and it drives her into an hungry frenzy she can barely contain. It's his mind that escapes her, what he's hiding in there behind the forts he built. She wants to see and at the same time, she's almost afraid of doing it. Afraid to disturb something dormant and dangerous.

Suddenly she stops touching him and gets away from the bed to finally undress as well; Will makes a low, helpless sound at the loss of contact, but doesn't try to stop her: his eyes follow her as she takes off her boots and her dress, only leaving her underwear on.

She allows Will to unhook her bra when she sits on top of him, caressing his face again and smiling when she catches his eyes indulging on her breasts; he's half hard under her, still with his shorts on and trying to keep his hands still, but not really knowing what to do with them. Alana laughs again exposing her fangs when he moans out loud and clings to her shoulder the moment she grabs his cock and holds it firmly in her fist.

"Does he drink from you during sex?"

He nods, still hiding against her skin, sighing as her hand moves on him and his go to rest on her hips, trying to hold her close for support.

"Before or after?"

"During, mostly. When he can feel I'm close to come..."

Alana kisses his temple gently while she keeps masturbating him with slow strokes, until he's completely hard, and caresses his back, almost comforting him, but making sure he's well aware of how close to his neck her mouth is.

“He must have an amazing self control, not many of us would trust themselves not to hurt their partner accidentally.”

Will presses soft and wet kisses against her collarbone, rests his forehead where shoulder and neck meet, his breath warm on her and his body almost fretting under hers.

“He never hurt me... I trust him with my life.”

“Have others hurt you?”

Alana tries to look him in the eyes to read the truth in them, but he keeps them closed and shields himself away from her gaze; there's a long moment of silence and the louder sound in the room is his heavy breathing.

“He never did. Unless I asked him to. And I don't think you're going to hurt me either.”

Will pushes her back a little and when their eyes meet, she can see a soft amusement, a wicked light, and trust, something that must be so hard to obtain from somebody like him, whose body is a living proof of all he had to endure in his brief life: Alana has seen that expression on so many faces, but Will's different.

He knows how much power he has now, how strong and willful and beautiful he is deep down, under the wounds the world has inflicted upon him.

“I have no intention of hurting you. Unless you want me to.”

Alana allows her nails to scratch his back a little and when he moans in response, she kisses him, suffocating the sound between their mouths; Will clings at her like he drowning during it, grabs every her part of her he can reach, trying to hold still while she makes him feel a faint hint of fangs against his lips.

He looks wild when they part, breathing hard and covered in a thin layer of sweat, like he's physically hurting and needs some relief.

“Please? I just...”

She presses her fingers against his lips and then kisses him again, slowly this time, pushing him back against the pillows until he's sitting with his back against the headboard, abandoned there at her mercy like a lamb at the slaughter.

Many men died at her hand in this same exact position, with their dicks almost inside her and their throats cut, blood pouring out and soaking the sheets.

Will is a perfect mask of submission, his eyes liquid with a need she can feel raw on her skin, that digs under it and the stab of hunger returns stronger with ever touch and kiss; windows on his mind open in front of her and she catches glimpses of who he is, of his history, of the monsters he tries to tame everyday, just like she does.

Alana wants to see him break for her, not because that's what Hannibal gets to see every time he takes him, but because she knows it'd be a completely different kind of rupture with her, something unique.

And what kind of taste it'll have makes her mouth water.

Will curses and digs his nail deep in her back when she guides him inside her, rests his head between her breasts in a vain attempt to regain some control on himself, while he keeps moaning and sighing, her body cold and still around him; and he's so hot instead, almost feverish and while she moves it feels like she's almost sucking that heat and warmth away from him and making it sip into her instead.

He bites and sucks on one of her nipples while following her movements with his hips, his cheeks flushes and his mouth red when she pulls him up to kiss him again, her fingers pulling his hair and combing them, whispering into his ear how good he looks, everything she'd like to do to him and every moan is a victory for her.

Alana forces him to look into her eyes while she rides him, lets out muffled sounds when his hands cup and caress her breasts and the curve of her ass. Will tastes like life and death: his mind is far away, lost into the connection that passes through their linked bodies, with unfocused eyes and a mouth that keeps trying to find hers to cling to reality before it all slips away.

She tries to imagine how he would look pressed between her and Hannibal, lost in the contact between the three of them and the thought sends a thrill of pleasure that makes her body, and his by resonance, tremble.

He's close, she can tell by how desperate and frantic his movements are becoming, and he's a beautiful, frail and terrible creature in her harms, so close to the breaking point she can see the cracks and can't resist the temptation to press into them and tear them apart any longer.

When Alana stops moving and finally sinks her teeth into his exposed and vulnerable neck, the first taste blinds her for a second, when the blood floods her mouth and fills her body; he almost screams, but them goes completely still when she starts sucking, endorphins dulling his reactions and leaving only the pleasure of the abandonment into him.

She sees his demons and sucks them away from his veins, feels them pouring into her own body until it's almost too much even for her to handle. And he can see in the deepest parts of her soul, reading her secrets from her bones.

Will's taste is intoxicating, it reaches out in the darkest recesses of her mind; for a moment she's afraid she may lose control and drink too much, killing him just to be able to drink his death, to feel his heart stop under her hands and her teeth. He's dangerous, a creature almost built specifically for this, to enslave and bound you to his deathly beauty.

She understands now, she sees Hannibal's design in the way his body struggles, in how he grabs her with a desperate, hungry strength, like he's starving for this consuming kind of touch and can't get enough of it.

Her mouth is still full of his blood when she kisses him again, his hands pulling her hair and then moving his hips to sink deeper inside her, making her moan into it.

His blood runs through her veins, making her body softer and warmer, and he looks devastated when she finally manages to pull away from his lips to look at him, tiny red drops leaking from the two small holes on the side of his neck.

Will closes his eyes and almost sobs when her nails dig into his chest, right where his heart is pumping desperate after the blood loss, trying to keep his body alive despite it; Alana licks the small cuts there and then the mark on his neck to get a last taste of him.

When she kisses him again, she bites her own tongue and lets a few drops of her own blood pass into his mouth. Will tries to push her away almost desperately, while still accepting her offering, licking his red lips, moaning like he's on the verge of destruction and it's may just be the single most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

Alana allows him to push her on her back and lets out a satisfied sound when he slides inside her again, fucking her while hiding in the crook of her neck, breathing into her hair, palming her breasts and cursing under his breath.

It takes him only a couple more minutes to come, sobbing while doing it, his body shaking helplessly and breathing hard. She caresses and kisses him through it, massages the back of his arms and of his head, stroking his curls until he's completely done and collapses on top of her.

For a few minute, he just stays there, with her hands in his hair, trying to catch his breath; he's frail like a bird, exposed and naked in her arms, almost begging to be held and comforted. Then he looks at her with a suddenly bright light in his eyes and smiles, a wicked smile that makes her return it, curious of what he'll do, before sliding down on her body until he's resting between her legs.

Will kisses his inner thigh, while she looks at him enraptured by how disheveled and pliant he looks there, pressing his lips against her lukewarm skin; his hair are damp with sweat and his eyes are half closed when he starts licking her slowly, making her moan and grab him harder.

He licks away his own come from inside her, nuzzles his nose against her clit and applies enough pressure on it with his tongue to send sparkles of pleasure through her overstimulated body: he seems to like pleasing a lot more than being pleasured, eager to satisfy his partner no matter what.

It's endearing to see him there between her legs, still half broken by the feeding and the sex, and still determined to pleasure her like his whole life depends on it. Alana tells him how good he is, and Will moans against her as she massages his scalp and pulls his curls gently.

She bites her lips almost to the point of breaking the skin when the orgasm hits her, with him still humming against her, holding her through it and then smiling softly and satisfied.

Will rests his cheek against her hipbone after, nuzzling and allowing her to take care of him in the afterglow. He's a lion hiding under the harmless skin of a domestic cat, but always ready to pull out his claws and show his teeth when threatened.

He's the pure image of submission now and she drinks into the sight for as much as she can, smiling with satisfaction pooling in her body.


Later, Alana observes him while he eats something before leaving, his face pale and the wound on his neck covered by a band aid: when, for a moment, he forgets she's in the room with him, she smiles at seeing him stuffing his mouth with the food in his plate, almost like he's afraid somebody could take it away from him.

Will smiles back at her when their eyes meet and forces himself to eat slower, savoring and showing his appreciation and gratitude by nodding at her.

“How did you get here? With your car?”

“No, I took a taxi.”

“I'll have somebody drive you home when you're done.”

Alana tries to imagine what Hannibal thinks of him, if he too feels this desire to shower him with the care he deserves, but probably never got to have before meeting him; or if he thinks about tearing him gently apart and fixing everything that there's wrong in him by reshaping him as he wants.

She's already savoring the moment she'll get to see them together, to study their reactions and their relationship. If Will can guess what she's thinking about, he doesn't let it show on his face and keeps a distant attitude.

“I look forward to meet Hannibal tomorrow.”

He nods when she walks him to the door, smiling awkwardly.

“I'm sure he feels the same.”

Alana touches his cheek and smiles when he doesn't pull away, though he lowers and adverts his eyes.

“My hope is that we, too, will get the chance to talk more, Will. I want to become your friend. You could use to have some, I'm sure.”

His eyes are cold for a moment, while he thinks about her words; then his features soften and he smiles brightly.

“Yeah. I'd like that.”