Work Text:
The symphony of the water hitting the dusty cement sent the doctor into a state of reverie, the glass of cognac long forgotten into his loose grip. His senses slowly came to life, nosstrils dilatated in order to capture the aroma of the rain into his lungs, pupils scrutinising with a predatory gaze the drape of water, while his ears were simply enchanted by the gentle, soothing sound of it. Pure water, cold drops painting the image of Florence in a splendide spectrum of nuances; a pale, white, palpitating circle was still hanging beneath the grey clouds, enveloping the whole air into a strange light, almost artificial, purifying.
Another inhale forced the doctor's mind to open and to let the subtle caress of the wind dance through the rooms of his palace; solid, cold realisation of reality; and then the imperceptible gesture of his finges to tighten their grip onto the neck of the elegant glass. A dark light caught his crystals and his whole demeanour shifted to something that resembled aggresivity, his facial expression sharp, ruthless; as if he wanted to protect the memory which had risen into his mind; the unpleasant smell of dog fur, of winter combined with fear, of desolation; the tempting fragrance of forest, of mysterious and evergreen; like... Pine. The pine; not as glorious and elegant as the fir-tree, with a tendency of his branches to grow messily around the trunk, without any majestic composure of a beech nor with the suple appearance of a poplar; ugly... Such an ugly tree; with needles to keep at distance the predators. But its fragrance was incomparable...
Hannibal took the last sip of his drink, a light shiver marching along his back as the cold wind tried to reach the warmth of his body beneath the clothes. He retreated into the house, with the pine fragrance still present and, at his peripheral vision, he registered a pair of blue eyes. The psychologist placed the glass to its respective place, on the tray, next to an empty one on which surface were reflected the calmly burning flames from the fireplace.
"Quail on a bed of Savoy cabbage." His voice broke the silence, accompanied by a thunder, the soft, calm words meant to reach another person. With a hospitable smile, the doctor took his usual place at the table, his navy shirt perfectly molding after the sculptured form of his torso. With a small gesture, he lifted up his glasses, maroon eyes watching the golden, nicely roasted skin of the bird from his plate.
"Bon appétit," he murmured, his gaze meeting the empty chair from the other side of the table. Closing his eyes, he started to cut the meat, slowly his olfactory sense being again seduced by the pine fragrance.
"It is good to see you, William." He opted for a calm, composed smile; with underlying curves to be seen only by the blue eyes of his visitor.
The dinner was quiet; as if the rain needed reverence from his part. Then he stood up, eyes searching for the azure ones of the other, the curve of his smile now affectionate, a bit more delicate, imperfect. He took patiently the tray with the glasses and silently carried them to the table set by the fireplace.
"What a calm atmposphere, isn't it? If you do not plan to continue your lecture from last night, I would gladly introduce you into the poetry of Alan Ginsberg." Hannibal sat in his chair, his gaze fondling from the distance - with immense gentleness - the contours of the other's face; the firm jaw, the exquisite forehead, perfectly arched cheeks, plump lips; and back to the eyes, which seemed to resemble an infinite of calm and serenity; haven; but, in the same time, to picture the wild waters of the see, the murmur of the waves. Eyes which made him hold his breath for a second, with the exciting feeling of drowning; of drowning into those two pools of calm and stability and to be swept away by wild and high waves.
He talked for hours, sounds reverberating against the walls of his mind palace; lips coated in cognac and eyes not glistening, despite the fire throwing playful lights upon them.
Then he stood up again, abandoning his empty glass next to the other unused one and opened the front door, to admire the wonder of rain. Gentle thunders pointed from time to time the silence which surrounded him, his entire silhouette embaced by a crepuscular light.
The pine fragrance was swept away by the wind, in the end; shivers climbed on his back as he turned his head to catch a last glimpse of the other's eyes; but the gaze of water and ice was gone... Hannibal bit his lower lip, gently; and smiled. He rose his chin up and, with a husky, rough whisper, he let the pine aroma escape his lungs:
"One day, my dear William..."