Chapter Text
Six weeks had passed since Hannibal had noticed that he had begun to gain weight. And since Will had shown him just how much the younger man enjoyed the extra pounds on Hannibal's body. Hannibal had started to grow used to having a slightly softer stomach and thicker sides. He hadn't stepped up his exercise regimen, but he hadn't exactly intended to put on more weight either. But as he got dressed one morning before work, he realized that putting on more weight was precisely what he had done.
Will hadn't spent the previous night at Hannibal's, having gone home instead to tend to his dogs. And as Hannibal stood in his closet getting dressed, a part of him was glad the younger man had passed up on the opportunity for a sleepover.
Hannibal stood in front of the mirror. He wore a crimson dress shirt and a pair of gray, plaid pants. The pants were one of Hannibal's largest fitting pairs, or at least, they always had been. But now, they fit just as snugly as all the rest of his pants, and in all honesty, he wasn't so much wearing the pants as he was staring at the way the fly hung open several inches to accommodate his fleshier stomach.
Hannibal didn't exactly mind the way his stomach had softened. He knew Will enjoyed it, and his previous insecurities had diminished more and more each time Will had graced Hannibal's belly with his loving and accepting touch. But Hannibal had put off going to the tailor. He had told himself -- and Will -- that that was simply due to the way Will's pupils would dilate upon getting a glimpse of Hannibal's midsection squeezed into his snug clothing. But that wasn't the complete truth. A part of it was vanity -- a trait Hannibal had gotten used to but one for which he knew Will would chastise him. Hannibal wasn't entirely sure he was ready to admit defeat about the extent to which he had let his body go, no matter how much Will loved it. He needed some additional time to get used to the fact that his body was not as tight or lean as it had once been. And he needed time to get used to the fact that the sizes he had been able to wear for more than a decade no longer fit him the way they should. He needed time to let his vanity go and realize that no matter how soft he had gotten over the past couple months, he was still strong and healthy, even if his lean days were now behind him.
He knew, in time, he would grow accustomed to those changes, but he had not yet gotten there. And as he grabbed the sides of his pants to try to fasten them once more, he knew that this particular day would not be the one in which he succeeded in that acceptance.
Hannibal tugged at his waistband, trying to pull the sides of his trousers together. He tightened his abs and sucked in his stomach as much as possible, but no matter how much he muscled the waistband, he failed to get the two sides to meet.
As he let go of the pants, he let out a low growl. He had already had a shower and breakfast and knew he only had a few minutes remaining before he needed to be on the road, headed into his office for his first appointment. He didn't have a lot of time to waste.
Cursing himself for eating a second helping of breakfast, he tugged the pants off his hips and removed them completely. Despite those pants being one of his largest pairs, he thought he might find more room in another. He returned the pants to their rightful place and retrieved a second pair. They were solid black, and he knew that they -- and the matching waistcoat -- would be more flattering on his thicker body anyway. But when he pulled them up over his hips and butt, he had no more luck getting them closed than the previous pair.
He didn't have time to visit his tailor before work. He simply needed a quick fix, something that could get him through the day without having to resort to canceling his appointments or going into work pantless, which were beginning to feel like his only options at the moment. He left his pants hanging on his waist as he exited his closet. He glanced around the bedroom, looking for something, anything, that would help. His eyes landed on Will's dresser. He walked across the room, trying not to get his hopes up.
Will was much thinner than Hannibal. He had always been thinner than Hannibal, but over the past couple of months, the difference in their sizes had increased significantly. As he pulled open a drawer, he knew he wouldn't find a pair of dress pants to fit him. Or a pair of jeans, if he wanted to go for the more "casual doctor" look that made his skin crawl. But he thought he might find something to help him in his current situation. And as he rummaged through Will's bottom drawer, he found what he had been looking for.
But as he clutched the thick, soft fabric in his hands, he frowned. If jeans made him cringe, the black sweatpants he held were bound to give him some sort of fit. Nevertheless, Hannibal wasn't entirely sure how many more options he had at that point -- going pantless could possibly get him arrested, and canceling appointments because he couldn't fit into his clothing was too rude to fathom. He had to try something.
With a heavy sigh, he returned to his closet, glad that Will was not there to see him at his absolute lowest. He tossed the sweatpants over his shoulder and removed his trousers, wondering how he had gotten to this point. Day after day and night after night of rich, heavy, fattening meals and desserts played through his mind. He thought it would upset him -- he thought he would regret his substantial overindulgence over the past couple of months -- but, instead, thoughts of his cooking only proved to make his mouth water, as though his hearty, filling breakfast had not been enough to satisfy his healthy appetite. He certainly wasn't going to stop indulging -- "diet" was not a word he used, at least not in terms of his own behaviors. If he was to lose some weight, he would have to entertain the idea of returning to an exercise routine like the one he had all but given up just a couple of short months ago. But he wasn't sure losing weight was what he wanted at all. He was more interested in letting his vanity go a bit so he could accept the changes his body had incurred. But at the moment, he was even more interested in finding a solution to his too-small pants problem.
Hannibal pulled the sweatpants from his shoulder and held them up, stretching the waistband a bit. They were not his size -- if he were one to wear sweatpants -- but the elastic waistband seemed promising. With a deep breath, Hannibal stepped into the pants. He couldn't help his grimace as he slowly pulled the sweatpants up his legs, and he couldn't help his cringing when he slid the pants up over his backside, letting them settle above his hips. The waistband was snug, digging into his flesh, but the pants were on. Hannibal took in another deep breath and looked in the mirror in front of him.
If he had thought before that a pair of sweatpants could be considered flattering on him in any way, shape, or form, he now knew that that notion was no longer a possibility. Hannibal grimaced again at the sight of the ill-fitting black pants. The fabric was surprisingly soft, but the pants' good qualities ended there. The fabric was thick and shapeless. The pants looked as though they should be worn by a lazy, college freshman who was away from home for the first time and realized that he didn't know how to properly dress himself. Hannibal didn't recall the sweatpants looking so terrible on Will, however, who wore them occasionally to sleep in or when lounging around the house. But Will's style had never been all that impeccable. And to his credit, and Hannibal's infatuation, Will looked good in anything, if perhaps not entirely fashionable.
But Hannibal couldn't wear the sweatpants to work. His patients wouldn't take him seriously, but even more importantly, he wouldn't be able to take himself seriously. He tugged the pants off and returned to Will's dresser, folding them neatly and putting them away. He retrieved his black trousers and pulled them on again, determined to make them fit by whatever means necessary.
He tugged the sides towards one another several times, but they just wouldn't close. He narrowed his eyes at the small pooch of his belly, wishing he had had a little more time to come up with a plan. When Hannibal's belly was sucked in, the sides of the pants were less than two inches from meeting. If he could just extend the button a little bit, or...
Hannibal got an idea. With the pants hanging open, he left the bedroom and went downstairs. He walked to a storage closet in a hallway and rummaged inside. He found what he was looking for, smiling as he knew he would make it through another day in his own pants. With rubber band in hand, he returned to his bedroom to finish getting dressed.
In front of the mirror once again, Hannibal slipped the rubber band through the button hole of his trousers. He threaded one end through the other and looped the free end around the button to fasten the pants. He gave the sides of the pants a gentle tug. The rubber band stretched but remained in place, effectively holding up his pants. It was a quick fix and one he wasn't entirely proud of, but it would do for the time being. At least until he could get to a tailor.
Hannibal finished getting dressed in a hurry, taking only a moment to eye the way the buttons of his roomiest waistcoat pulled tightly over his small paunch. He reached behind him to loosen the slide but found that it was already as loose as it would go. Hannibal sighed and let it be, just glad that the bottom of the waistcoat masked the makeshift pants fastening. He grabbed his suit jacket and pulled it on, opting to leave it unbuttoned.
He left the house a short time later, arriving at his office with five minutes to spare before his first appointment. He had a busy day, with back-to-back sessions, and it didn't take long for him to put the morning's difficulties out of his head.