Blood Born (Hannibal, Hannibal/Will)

“Are those bite marks?” Will squats down in fascination, his hand reaching forward automatically but not quite touching. Hesitating, though he’s not sure why.

This close to the ground, all the horrid smells of the alleyway assault his senses – urine, spoiled food, mud, spilled alcohol. There was only one smell that was missing. Blood. There was no blood, even though the victim had two gaping puncture wounds in his neck.

Will leaned closer, distantly aware of Jack leading the others away. His blue latex covered fingers hovered over the dead man’s skin. His thumb brushed against the man’s neck roughly two inches below the two large puncture wounds. There was a light impression there, barely visible. His thumb ran back and forth over it. He could barely feel the dents through the latex but his mind supplied the sensation.

Those were teeth marks, which meant that the puncture wounds were part of a bite, a very powerful bite. The fangs – and that’s what they were, not just overly large canines, but actual fangs – had torn deep into the victim’s neck, worrying at the puncture point to draw out more blood. He imagined what it would feel like, sinking his teeth into a man’s throat and letting blood rush over his tongue, filling his mouth and flowing down his throat.

What would blood taste like, warm and raw? He swallowed and blood ran like a river down his throat, thick like hot chocolate full of copper with a sharp tang. It pooled warm in his belly.