[His shirt, already red, is drenching in the close quarters. He saws his shank down, pulling them close together, until Roderick is bleeding on him. He is nothing but his instincts, just as they are nothing but animals. When Roderick lashes out, Hannibal makes the appropriate calming noises, animal noises, something a wild predator would warble to its child. Beasts learn by watching, by acting, by killing. Hannibal snaps his head forward, cracking the crown of his forehead against Roderick's nose.
All he sees is red.
He almost doesn't notice when the butter knife breaks through, when he heaves his arm and bruise becomes more. There are no more words, but he wants to tell Roderick that this is all right. That death only lasts so long. Pain stops eventually. And Roderick's pain will feed Hannibal for days.
Days and days.
He leans forward, kisses Roderick's cheek. Then his lips peel back, reveal what's underneath, his teeth dig in, bite hard and and burrow deep, and when he snaps his head back, he pulls flesh with him, hot and flooding his mouth with blood. It runs in rivulets down his chin, his neck, joins the blood soaking into his chest. They all are blood and flesh. They all join in the end, one way or another.]
spam } uh warnings for horrible cannibalism I am so sorry
All he sees is red.
He almost doesn't notice when the butter knife breaks through, when he heaves his arm and bruise becomes more. There are no more words, but he wants to tell Roderick that this is all right. That death only lasts so long. Pain stops eventually. And Roderick's pain will feed Hannibal for days.
Days and days.
He leans forward, kisses Roderick's cheek. Then his lips peel back, reveal what's underneath, his teeth dig in, bite hard and and burrow deep, and when he snaps his head back, he pulls flesh with him, hot and flooding his mouth with blood. It runs in rivulets down his chin, his neck, joins the blood soaking into his chest. They all are blood and flesh. They all join in the end, one way or another.]