amberdreams | Tally Ho! Birthday fic for thursdaysisters (Reply)

Happy Birthday thursdaysisters! Hope you are having fabulous time in China, and I'm so envious you got to meet up with our lovely chomaisky while you were out there!

I'm not sure where this one came from, and it was written fast without a beta, so...

Title: Tally Ho
Word count: ~580
Characters: Hannibal, Will, Dean and Sam Winchester
Summary: In which Hannibal is Cernunnos the Hunter, and Will his hound.

Hannibal the Hunter whistled and waited. Seconds passed but he wasn’t worried, he knew Will had heard him. Will always came when Hannibal called, no matter how exciting a scent he might have picked up in the deep, earth-scented mulch. Besides, the treat Hannibal had waiting for Will this time? Let’s just say this might be the tastiest morsel ever to grace Hannibal’s table (and Will’s bowl).

A flurry of dead leaves announced Will’s return. Hannibal lowered his head, allowing just the tip of one of his twelve points to tear a new bloody line in the pale soft stomach flesh of his prize. The man shuddered but didn’t cry out, even when Will’s rough tongue lapped at the ragged edges of the wound. Green eyes glinted in the flickering light from the bonfire, their depths holding no fear, only defiance. Over the crackling of the bonfire, muffled swearing could be heard, even through the apple stoppering his mouth. Hannibal was starting to like this man. His courage would add piquancy to the flavour of his meat.

Will looked up at Hannibal, his liquid brown eyes wide with desire, his mouth salivating so that wet drool mixed with the deep red blood staining his eager muzzle. Hannibal smiled. Will was so well trained; he would never tear into their prey without permission, and, sadly for the Hound, tonight that permission would not be forthcoming. Hannibal had other plans for this evening’s feast.

The fire was reaching optimum heat, and Hannibal lingered a moment to appreciate the uncooked meat. Smooth pale skin without too much body hair; though that would mostly be singed off during the roasting process Hannibal disliked finding coarse hairs protruding from crackling while he was dining. The man was muscular, but with a slight covering of fat, and he was young enough that the meat should be tender, given sufficient cooking time. Hannibal ran his hands over the naked flesh, a trail of goose-bumps rising in the path of his touch. He wished to confirm his visual assessment, ignoring the man’s attempts to squirm his way out of the bindings that cinched together wrists and ankles to the roasting spit.

It was a little crude, but Hannibal found himself salivating, as if he was no better than his Hound. This really was a very pretty, juicy morsel. The sooner roasted, the sooner Hannibal could savour the promised burst of flavours. Hannibal lifted the spit, burden and all, as if it weighed no more than a rabbit, and the man fell silent, no doubt in awe at the strength of a god. The magnificent antlers on Hannibal’s head weighed heavier than this mortal, and Hannibal allowed himself to glory in his own power.

Will whimpered, then yelped. Hannibal turned his head, too slowly. The spear, freshly besmirched with Will’s fur and black blood, thrust home deep into Hannibal’s side. With clinical detachment, Hannibal registered its progress – sliding easily between fifth and sixth ribs and angled perfectly to pierce his heart. His grip loosened on the spit and he felt rather than heard the shudder the ground gave as his erstwhile prey dropped at his feet. The spear-wielder was tall and broad, more muscular than the other man, but Hannibal’s darkening gaze recognised a flash of courage that spoke of kin.

Pity. The two together might have made a feast Hannibal and his Hound could have enjoyed for a lifetime of memories.