Thread by @ruinedbythdevil

His tears were blood. His body a mere skeleton judging by the exposed and deeply torn flesh. His lungs burning like a raging wildfire with the capability of combusting an entire forest to ashes. He felt as if he were living on borrowed time, »

« time he wished he'd never been gifted. Not if he were doomed to live whatever life he had left without the only man who made him feel whole. Who made him complete.
He'd almost given up. Not out of desire. For his mind was the one thing »

« motivating him to continue. His muscles on the other hand were growing lax and overworked after the torture they'd endured. However, as if up was down and down was up, it seemed the world was suddenly working in his favor, and a miracle »

« happened. On cue, upon the last forceful heave ho, while Will was in the midst facing the defeat which hurt greater than a bullet to the shoulder, the betrayal of a friend, multiple stab wounds in the space of several minutes hit him all at »

« once - and he'd experienced each event first hand - Hannibal drew to consciousness.
Bewildered he froze as if he'd been dipped in liquid nitrogen -- frozen like a Michelangelo sculpture; muscles bulging due to being overworked, caught »

« mid-motion unable to believe the sight before his eyes, he even had the hairstyle boiled down to a tea.
Will could not breathe efficiently judging by the ragged sound of his inhales verses exhales. Perhaps he stopped breathing entirely. It was »

« as if there was not enough oxygen in the entire planet to appease his require, leaving him indefinitely lightheaded. Nonetheless, he was sure he wasn't feeling faint just because he wasn't breathing hard enough for the oxygen to reach his »

« brain. It was because the one thing he wished for greater in his entire life came true; Hannibal came back from the dead... for him. He was drunk on a euphoria of relief and was unsure what to do with himself other than unleash himself through »

« sobs of undefinable pain; emotional and physical all the same. He clung to Hannibal with the same passion. Hands on his shoulders as if glued there for eternity. His head, heavy with desire to breath Hannibal in, - this was the oxygen he »

« needed, this was the air that calmed him - as he rested on Hannibal's shoulder so he could do the same. Fortunately Hannibal's clothes were still drenched so he would not be able to notice Will's tears staining his shirt.
It took a while but »

« finally, as they held each other in wordless conversation, both bloody and beaten while moulding into one other, Will was able to calm himself down enough to speak coherent. Something he quickly abused.
"I need you, Hannibal."
He nodded »

« violently. Entire body shaking, striving off whatever ounce of adrenaline that remained within him. He moved but an inch so he could look the other in his deep swollen eyes. Then swallowed thickly through the pain as he slowly closed in, »

« craving contact. His nose brushed up generously against Hannibal's cheek; he's begging for attention. The blood they each wore suffusing against each other. His sniffles a nuisance, interrupting every strong inhale he took, reminding himself »

« of Hannibal's scent even through the blood, salt water and tears.
He knew what those words did to Hannibal. How he loved to hear them. So he repeated once again in whisper, offering himself, verbally pleading Hannibal to abuse his »

« vulnerability, as his eyes closed and he brushed his nose suggestively against the other's.
"I need you."
Oh, and the beauty of it was that it was true. Will could not have survived, would not survive, without Hannibal.