The final dance. Parting is such sweet sorrow...

Their red wedding. Consummated in moonlight. Sanctified by the blood of the Dragon.

Will felt the grip around his waist tighten. Affectionate, possessive. All Hannibal. His Hannibal. "Will?"

He opened his eyes. His gaze longing, trailed up Hannibal's blood-soaked body to his lips. His face was inches away from Will's own. His breath quickened. Will felt his hands move almost of their own volition up Hannibal's arms, skim across his shoulders and come to rest either side of his neck, tense from the adrenaline-fuelled response coursing through his body. His thumbs gently caressed the smooth jawline beneath.

"Beautiful…"

It was the only word Hannibal heard Will murmur against his lips before bringing them together.

Will felt his heart burst into a thousand shards of bloodied glass, radiating outwards, pushing through every pore of his skin.

It was only after many moments of exploration that Will drew them apart, realisation clear in his eyes. "You," he whispered, before bringing their lips together again, the kiss agonisingly tender in its gentleness.

He inhaled deeply as he allowed his eyes to slip shut, struggling to process so many simultaneous sensory reactions pulsing through his mind. The smell of the man tasting him, so familiar yet so new. The sensation of his tongue against Will's own, smooth, gentle and sensual between barely open lips, twisted the shards pushing through Will's skin. The ripples of each move echoed achingly through his body as memories of The Vault converged in his mind. In an attempt to alleviate the physical ache, Will felt Hannibal draw their bodies closer still, moulding them together effortlessly.

"It was always you." Will whispered, leaning his head against Hannibal's shoulder and drawing his arm around his neck, not trusting his own body to remain upright. Will allowed the gates of his empathy to open completely and flood his senses. For the first time, he truly felt Hannibal. Not just the killer within, but the depths of the man himself, and the barely contained, endless passion he held for Will.

Some people describe that "kiss," the one that overshadows every other touch of lips that ever preceded it, as a feeling of falling into an abyss, swallowed up by the Earth, drowning, consumed whole.

Will Graham felt as though he'd found a place among the stars.

And as Will dragged them both over the cliff edge and Hannibal willingly followed, in that moment both men knew, alive or dead, they could never be without each other.

Bound by blood. Finally free.