a breath of eyre

Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of the hopes, wishes, and sentiments I had been cherishing since last night–of the general state of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a fortnight past; Reason having come forward and told in her own quiet way, a plain, unvarnished tale, showing how I had rejected the real, and rapidly devoured the ideal;–I pronounced judgment to this effect:–
That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life: that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.
—  Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

“stevie…it’s time to-” yawn. “-sleep.” tony murmured, already half into sleep.

“give me 2 more minutes.” steve’s eyes never really leaving the book. he did snuggle closer to the arc reactor for better lighting.

“the arc reactor is not your reading lamp.”

“shh, yes it is. sleep, baby.” steve whispered, flipping the page.

tony did drift off and he didn’t know when he woke back up again but when he did, steve was still up. almost at the end of the book. the clock blinked 1:39 angrily at him.

“alright, steve.” said tony, snatching the book out of steve’s grip, putting a bookmark on it and tossing it to the love seat at the edge of their room. a whine escaped steve which was muffled by a soft kiss. “it’s time to sleep.”

seeing no way out of this one, steve spooned his boyfriend and was left to wonder what would happen to jane eyre later. trying to sleep, he breathed in the smell of tony (who was already off again), watching the reactor dim and brighten.

“i love you.” he whispered.

Where There’s a Will, Pt. 5

Will makes a bold move and things heat up.

Catch up: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Attempt 5: Mood Lighting

         For a cannibalistic serial killer, Hannibal Lecter was actually fairly predictable. He woke up before the sun every morning, ran three miles, performed a calisthenics workout that Will still didn’t fully understand, showered, and started the day. Every evening, Hannibal would prepare dinner, read by the fire with a glass of wine, and take a bath that lasted well over an hour.

         After, Hannibal would wander out onto their shared balcony in a fluffy robe, hair falling over his eyes and strong solid chest peeking beneath the v of his robe - looking like a present to be unwrapped. Hannibal would knock lightly on Will’s door, framed in the moonlight, like a vampire seeking a vein, and Will would all but run to the balcony to fling open the door and welcome him inside. Sitting on Will’s bed, Hannibal would run his hand through Will’s curls, draw the empath to nestle into the robe, and softly discuss plans for the next day. Occasionally, Hannibal would murmur into Will’s ear, some little piece of news or observation, nothing of consequence. But the tone, oh the tone. It made Will’s whole body feel as though it were vibrating.

         That was usually when Will broke, forfeiting the game by mouthing at the doctor’s neck, or drawing his hands up the plush swell of Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal would cage his hands, and kiss Will’s fingers fondly, always managing to catch the tip of a digit in a small nip. Practically panting and with a tent in his boxers, Will would watch helplessly as the doctor wished him a good evening and pressed a chaste kiss to Will’s curls. Hannibal always held Will’s hands until he moved from the bed, quelling any attempt to grab or grapple at him. The cannibal then egressed into the shadows like the product of some fever dream that visited Will all those years ago in Wolf Trap.

         Will would be up for hours after that. Horny, pissed, and too keyed up to sleep. He would burn his energy off by planning elaborate seductions, composing and burning love notes (just in case Hannibal checked his trash), and studying the Lithuanian phrase book he had special ordered five months ago from the bookshop in town.

         It was getting obnoxious, frankly; though he could now say “blue balls” in English, Spanish, and Lithuanian. He just wanted a good night’s sleep, in a nice bed, with Hannibal on top of him. Was that really so much to ask?

         Tired of the nightly tease, Will decided that he could make a tableau of his own to impress his hesitant cannibal. Will knew the best time to strike was during Hannibal’s evening ablutions. So he gathered every candle in the house and waited.

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