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Chapter Text

The very atmosphere of rooms seemed to darken with Hannibal's ire and that it was so imperceptible to everyone aside from Will himself was almost as amusing as the situation that had produced it this time. Not a single customer seemed to notice the way that the contrast of the world seemed to tighten together as the mid-morning sun did nothing to ease the tension building beneath the surface of reality itself. Amusement was uncoiling in Will's gut as he sat at one of the small tables off to the side in Hannibal's small boucherie as the sunlight streamed in through the perfectly washed glass windows and gleamed over the artistic cases of fresh meats on display. Despite the customers, despite the pleasing spring sun, and despite every instance of Will's that it was nothing to be irked over, Hannibal was simmering.

It was difficult to tell for many but to Will, it was only too obvious that there was a trenchant darkness roiling beneath the still surface and that just one disruption of this magnitude was enough to cause him plenty of trouble in the coming days. There was really no fixing it without shedding the careful visage they'd been building, the playful try for normalcy that dipped back and forth between contentment and transcendent bloodshed.

And what was it really? Nothing huge. Nothing that should have irked Hannibal to this extent. It was only that some provincial, as Hannibal had complained, had established a butcher shop only two doors down. At the news, Will had been mildly surprised of course but it was nothing like the cold burning that had been clear in Hannibal's explanations. It was rude, of course, though the man hadn't used that particular word. To open a shop of the same type—though not of the same caliber, Hannibal insisted—on the same street and almost next door...it was unforgivable certainly.

When the customers had all gone and Will was left with his ankle balanced on his knee, he twirled his half empty paper coffee cup next to him on the table and addressed the stewing killer. “You know, you should be thankful. Their business could draw our Mr. Froideveaux and keep him to badger someone else for a change.”

“Why do I take doubt in that suggestion, Will?” Hannibal replied without a glance as he meticulously rearranged the meat in his case in order to replace parts that had been taken.

Will shrugged though he felt distinctly amused by nearly every facet of the circumstances that left Hannibal fuming. There was too much to play with here while he prodded at the angry bear behind the meat counter. Even when he was angry, he was handsome, with his sharp cheekbones, cutting stares, and impossibly long teeth. To others, Hannibal's face was most times unreadable and his character particularly hard to place but to Will—it was as if the world had opened up there in Hannibal's eyes. Will tried for a smile and found it come easily to him while he turned his coffee cup again and again. “There's always hope, you know.”

“I am left here wondering what it is I should be hoping for? That Franklyn should find success in his cheese business with a shop that is doing overly-well for its lack of distinction and leave me alone, or that the public will come to its senses and recognize that what they've been consuming so rampantly is poorly sourced.”

It was obvious that something would have to be done about this fly in Hannibal's ointment and Will was certain that the something that would be done would come in the form of a very carefully plotted and planned misadventure that starred himself despite all his unwillingness to play the protagonist. He studied his coffee and then finished it, making a face at the bitter taste from the settled bits at the bottom. This couldn't be considered even remotely impulsive but he sought to think of it that way anyhow when he stood up and made for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Will turned around and raised his dark brows up at the chillingly calm butcher. He didn't say anything though the challenge for Hannibal to guess was there, clear in his face. When Hannibal didn't say anything more, he pushed the door open and began his journey only two doors down. He made it about halfway before he was nearly tumbled into by Franklyn who always seemed to try to make things look casual when they were very clearly intentional. He had emerged from his cheese shop in his signature waddling form and intercepted Will, his babbling nearly incomprehensible as he made the attempt to gain insight from Will.

“T-Tell me, is he thinking about the Winnimere? I swear, it'll be a great investment, we only have to wait until winter...it could be a set, it could be a set, Mr. Graham! We could do a deal! We—”

Will side-stepped him and kept walking even as he followed, attempting to remain at his elbow until the amount of people on the sidewalk impeded him enough that they could no longer remain two-abreast. Of course, the reason for this was that there was a significantly long line leading out the door to this new butcher shop. He ignored Franklyn to the best of his ability when he came to the end of the line and hoped beyond hope that the man wouldn't stand in the line with him the whole time he was there. Ignoring him never did seem to work all that well and Will was not always the most patient of men.

“You know, if he's not interested in the Winnimere, m-maybe a more exotic type would do better. You know, meats and cheeses were made for each other. We could make sandwiches. I know there's an independent baker on—”

Will had heard this one before. There was an independent baker on South Street who could make and slice artisan breads for them and Hannibal was so brilliant at presentation that—

“—No one could possibly walk away from one that was put together so meticulously.” Franklyn was staring at his thumb and forefinger that he had squeezed together to make his point. “We could make a killing.”

Will smiled. “A killing,” he parroted.

“Yes,” he grinned, happy to have finally caught the man's attention. “It would be the perfect venture and you've got his ear. You could help this happen. It's art, Will. Sandwiches!”

The amusement he'd gotten had already faded and he didn't look at Franklyn, still. He hated looking at him. He was dumpy and squat and not worth study anymore. Maybe before and maybe sometime in the future but certainly not today and definitely not right now. Will glanced down at his watch while Franklyn started to chatter on again, intending to avoid making a scene until the insipid man dared to touch him. If such a thing happened, he didn't think he could make any promises to himself that he would remain as stoic as Hannibal could.

Fortunately, Franklyn was distracted a few minutes later by a woman who had wandered into his shop that he had left decidedly unattended and he left Will with promises that he would stop in later to discuss things with Hannibal. Of course he would, Will thought wryly. He always did.

He was inside before he knew it, time speeding up now that Franklyn had left him alone. The place seemed almost gloomy though when Will thought critically, he acknowledged that nearly everywhere with Hannibal seemed dark. He looked behind himself at the door to see if the sun was still shining or if a cloud had come to steal it away, somewhat shocked to find that it was right where it had left off. His cheek tightened as he examined the relatively bland décor of a place that had obviously only just opened and with probably second-hand cases and equipment. The two blokes running the joint seemed like an odd pair and he took to studying them with care.

Nervous. Overly nervous. Will watched them pulling out meat and wrapping it along with filling orders for some dish that, to Will, appeared relatively blasé. At least when it came to prepared things that one could find at a butcher shop. It wasn't difficult to note, nevertheless, that this particular dish was exactly what had caused the hubbub that was getting Hannibal's panties in a twist. It was what everyone was ordering and what everyone was chatting about.

Nonetheless, the two men who were at the root of it all seemed to be quite unhappy about the whole affair and that was something Will was most curious about. Though, he thought wryly, he might have been terribly unhappy too if he were sporting the sort of looks that these two unfortunate gentleman were—the one looking quite rough about the edges and the other a strangely balding and odd-looking man who almost seemed a little familiar if Will was willing to admit it to himself.

Still, he pressed on and, with a grim falter in his resolve at the last moment, managed to order whatever “Chicky-wickies” were. He stared at them, these chunks of meat staring back at him in a decent-smelling marinade. He didn't eat any of them quite yet, preferring to wander back to Hannibal's shop before he had the honor of it.

“Will!” Franklyn blurted.

He ignored the man again and then wondered how long it would take anyone to actually miss the man. He did a decent business, after all, and surely the ladies who used him for their bridge club cheese plates would be quite upset if he up and disappeared one day. They would see him again, though, he thought dryly.

“You know, I've been thinking—”

“Gracious, Franklyn, that's so kind of you, but unfortunately I've got to be going. Have you tried these? Maybe you should. Just one or two, I've really just gotten them out of curiosity's sake.” Will shoved the container toward him to shut him up and watched him twitch a little bit when he stared down at the chunks of marinated meat.

“Uh! Uh?! Um...no. I haven't. Does Hannibal know that you've gone to the...the other?”

“Recognizance,” he explained. “You have to tell me if it's worth all the hullabaloo. That is, unless you can't tell me since you've had your nose in Hannibal's ass for the last few years.”

Franklyn's meaty face turned quite pink at Will's words and he quickly took a small hunk of the meat and popped it into his mouth, ignoring Will's question and retreating back into his lair.

Finally. Some peace and yet no rest. He would be back, having either forgotten the incident or having rationalized it to a point of absurdity. No doubt he would bring it up with Hannibal and Will would be properly “scolded” for having antagonized the vapid cretin. He ducked into the dark shop and meandered his way up to the counter, staring at the impeccably cleaned glass of the showcases to either side of him. He almost wanted to put a fingerprint right on the front of each one just to tease Hannibal about how damn clean everything had to be all the time.

“Good of you to come back,” Hannibal told him as he came out of the back prep area, retying his spotless black apron over his clothes. No matter what, the man was always wearing at least a shirt, tie, and waistcoat over his dress pants and non-slip dress shoes. No matter that he worked in what amounted to an artisan butcher shop, he was never to be found less than immaculately dressed with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. “I should thank you for taking the trip. It means that I don't have to.”

“What else am I good for?” he asked lightly.

Hannibal's mouth tipped up at either side. “You sell yourself short when it comes to me. You know well what good you can do.” He wasn't looking at Will at first, engrossed in meticulously rearranging things before he allowed those eyes, set deep within his face, to flick over and capture him. It was a familiar and dark sort of stare. It was penetrating and possessive in ways that Will found to be quite welcome despite the tingle he felt at their brutality. Hannibal constantly stripped him with those eyes, taking away his clothes, his aura, his skin...everything. It was as if, now, they shared something that Will had only dreamed of sharing before. He reveled in it, sparking static crackling over him while he met that gaze and held it.

He didn't want to speak. It wasn't that he couldn't, it was only that he didn't want to lose that moment—a moment that would surely continue later whether in a hunt or in a bed, he didn't care which.

“What have you brought me, Will?”

He blinked. “Just this.”

“What is it?”

“Those uh...chicken things. I haven't eaten any. Gave one to Franklyn on my way.”

Hannibal moved toward him, reaching across the counter and grasping at the little container which he lifted up to his nose and sniffed without preamble. A careful pinching set of fingers popped on into his mouth and he chewed thoughtfully.

“Well?” Will asked.

“Well,” Hannibal agreed. “This is certainly a surprise.”

Will frowned. “Are they good? The marinade smelled tasty but I hadn't thought...” He trailed off, staring down at the unimpressive bits in Hannibal's hand.

“It seems that these interlopers have taken much more from me than my side of the street. Perhaps my whole business plan, though poorly executed and lacking in presentation.” His mouth dipped at one side, tightening with his distaste. “Trust the public to leap upon whatever cheap trash is thrown at them.”

Will was still frowning, pieces all the puzzle's bits together. “Your business plan? You...you can't mean to say that...” He squinted at the chunks of chicken. “You don't mean to say that it's not chicken?”

“I've eaten enough chicken in my life, Will, to notice when I'm not eating it. Though it does bear a striking resemblance to another game of which I am well acquainted.” He smiled then, teasingly, a glimmer of his amusement flickering through his eyes. “Of which we are well acquainted.”

“You're kidding.” It was curiosity then that led him to reach down and fearlessly toss one of the not chicken “chicky-wickies” into his mouth, the texture and feel just as Hannibal had suggested, though perhaps suggestion was key. “You're not kidding, are you?” Will asked.

“How mistrustful you are.”

“This isn't just your jealousy speaking is it? This is really what you're suggesting it is? I have to admit...it is...familiar.”

“Perhaps a small investigation is in order, Mr. Graham.”

His frown morphed into a small glare. “If I find nothing but chickens, I'm going to be very angry with you.”

“And if you find more than chickens? What do you think we'll do?”

“I've yet to determine that.” With that, Will left the rest of the suspicious meat there on the counter and turned on his heel for the door. If he was going to get to the bottom of anything, he was going to need more coffee.

Chapter Text

Will tipped his head forward when he felt Hannibal's warm hands come to his shoulders, kneading him purposefully in order to “wake” him from his daydreams. It was only early evening with the sun just beginning to dip low in the horizon.

“What are you thinking about, Will? How you will solve the mystery?”

“You know, we don't actually have to solve anything. Though knowing why exactly the mystery meat in the chicken nuggets tastes eerily similar to human flesh is a compelling instigator for investigation—it is not our responsibility.”

“Who else? The police?” Hannibal asked facetiously. “Yes, hello, 9-1-1? I'd like to report that these nuggets taste funny.”

Will chuckled. “How funny? How about much like the postman who was terribly rude the other day?” He turned about, forcing Hannibal to quit massaging him. “And what happens whenever we do find a corpse in the freezer? Then do we call the police? Do you really want the police on our block? Speaking to us?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Though Hannibal was wont to form broody little pockets of darkness here and there, and often become stubborn in his distemper, he was not prone to an actual pout which was what happened here.

“Hannibal,” Will said, rolling his eyes. “we can't just go looking for something without a plan for what to do if we actually find it.”

“Nonsense.” He smiled his close-mouthed smile. “Look for it all and then we can see what we'll do when we come together again.”

Will narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him. “Come together, hm?”

“You never appreciate it when I make a joke.”

“Oh I appreciate it...” he grumbled even as he got up and put on his coat. The night was a little chilly despite how warm it had been during the day and Will took full advantage of the fading light just before the final set of the sun to shake off all the rest of Hannibal's sharp teeth that often bit through his gift through the course of the day. In some cases, he wanted that blade constantly both before him and against him but tonight, he'd rather just have himself without any shadows following him around—even if they were but within his own mind.

He took some deep breaths, taking in the evening air and the quiet that only came whenever Franklyn went home for the night. He waited, taking a long stroll that led him past the new butcher shop several times so that he could study it thoroughly. From what he could see, it was new enough that there was no alarm system installed. Taking a gander one way and then another, he slipped down the narrow alley next to it to find that the upper windows were much too thick to break or finagle at all though there was a broken basement window that would be easy to slip through should he find the interior in any way accommodating. Of course, he knelt down and peered through it before he stood up again, looked this way and that like a true criminal about to do something horribly suspicious, and kicked in the glass.

Another look without the hampering effect of a dirty and neglected window showed him a fairly typical basement that was fit only to be a crawlspace. It was probably littered with the bones of small animals and cobwebs but, he supposed, the things one did for love...

Hmmph. It was a tangible thought and one he hung onto for the sake of its simplicity as he eased himself quickly down into the window, avoiding any broken glass as he did so. The basement was nondescript so he pulled his small flashlight from his coat pocket and found himself the stairs which led upward to a shifting tile that served as a trap door inside what looked to be a broom closet. Narrowly avoiding a disaster with the mop bucket that was positioned directly overhead, he pulled himself up and crouched as he noted a small window in the door that let in a faint amount of pale gray light.

Inching up, he peered out, his sharp eyes focusing and refocusing through a small area in the glass that wasn't fogged with age. It seemed that that back area of this butchery was empty and so he sought to use more than one of his senses to determine this. Pressing the door ajar, he listened intently, unable to hear any bit of shuffling or speech that would have indicated a life present. Satisfied, he moved quietly, pulling himself out of the closet and gently closing it as not to create any sound from its journey: not a squeak nor a bang to be heard.

Taking stock of the dark back room, he clicked on his small flashlight again and kept the beam toward the floor, spotting the doors to the freezer fairly quickly. Halfway there, his heart leaped into his throat and he clicked off the light again as a distant sniffle met his ears.

Someone's still here?

He crouched low and pulled open the freezer door as quickly and as quietly as he could, ducking in so as to avoid detection.

Fuck, it's cold in here.

Of course it was. Restaurant freezers were routinely kept far beyond levels of human comfort and were often kept at the level of fuck me, I'd rather die. Of course, when he looked around, he found himself taking a few measured breaths of the harshly cold and dry air and chuckling clouds of steam toward the ceiling. It didn't shock him in the least that Hannibal had been correct—the meat really had seemed awfully familiar to him in both taste and texture and by the sight of what he'd just stumbled upon in the freezer here, it was very much human.

A partially butchered catch was hanging from one of the heavy-grade meat hooks off to the side and looked to be something of an opportunistic bag considering the quality of the corpse. Obviously the two strange butchers who ran this muck shop weren't all that picky about their stock compared to Hannibal's picky ventures. Surely most of their sales from this piece were wrapped up and sent home rather than made and sold on the spot much as Hannibal's were though for certain the cuts were liberally soaked in whatever fine marinade had covered the bits that afternoon. Otherwise, no one would have bought any of it. Or at least, no one should have bought any of it. Hannibal was often times very accurate in many of his statements—that the public was often too stupid for its own damned good.

The rest of the freezer was filled with the typical meat selections and when he was satisfied that the two dumpy sods who owned the joint were more inclined to accidentally stumble across a lucrative corpse, he made for the door. Unfortunately for Will, the moment his hand had come to the freezing cold metal of the handle, he heard the lock bolt into place on the other side.

What?

Panic was often a slow start and with Will, it was sometimes difficult for him to recognize a situation was dire with immediacy. Especially after so many near-death experiences—facing mortality was not something he did without a significant amount of patience. He tried the door once and finding it without even an inch of room to budge, he searched the rest of the freezer for any small spaces that would have shown a weakness to the structure. Aside from some hanging wires from the ceiling, there was nothing.

Getting out tonight is not an option.

He rubbed his arms, already cold through his coat. Eying the wires, he decided that it was likely possible that he could disable the conditioning unit that kept the freezer cold but being found the next morning having destroyed private property and committed trespass was not something he was keen to do. After all—he was likely to be found and identified somehow. It wasn't as if he and Hannibal had left the country—which they probably should have.

Then again, who's going to call the police? They have a body in their freezer. They'll probably just try to kill me.

He pulled out his phone, chuckling to himself at the whole of the situation and letting it trail off when he found that his phone had no service inside the heavily insulated metal box he was trapped within. That wasn't exactly all together surprising. Still, he shot off a text to Hannibal's phone and hoped that a few tries here or there inside the freezer would let it go through.

It never did. It was about an hour later when Will's teeth were really chattering that he started looking at the corpse off to the side and considering pulling those damned wires straight out of the ceiling. He couldn't feel his lips anymore and his whole body was shivering madly, the heavy buzzing hum of the freezer thundering through his every nerve. He was rubbing his arms through his coat sleeves and inwardly cursing his damned terrible luck at arriving just as one of these idiots was leaving.

But was it luck?

Just then, as he was about to contemplate the thought, he heard the heavy lock on the door clank open and he backed himself up toward the wall in the shadows of the freezer as the door opened, letting in a dull gray light and a long shadow.

“Will?” came Hannibal's calm tone.

“About fucking time,” he spat, hugging himself as he came out of the shadows and brushed past Hannibal in the doorway, immediately finding relief in the relative warmth in the colorless back room. “How did you get in?”

“Probably the same way you did. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at a smudge on Will's face. “Find anything?”

“Yeah. But if you were wondering about caliber, you needn't be concerned.”

“I would never be concerned about caliber.”

“Mmhm,” Will replied, heading back toward the open broom closet where the trap door lay agape.

“You don't believe me.”

“No. I don't.”

Hannibal was grinning and Will could feel it more than he could see it through the darkness.

They walked together to Hannibal's car where Will turned the heat up as high as it could go, blasting straight on him while he glowered in the passenger seat. He didn't feel wholly warm again until he was gathered up and held from behind beneath the heavy covers of their bed and even then, that didn't include his toes. He petulantly lifted a foot and bended his knee to press those toes against Hannibal's warm thigh.

“Mmm, I'll punish you for that,” was the murmured response.

Will readjusted his head on his pillow but kept his toes where they were. “Hannibal?”

“Yes, Will?”

“You looked. There was a body in there...right?”

“Yes, Will. There was a body.”

“Alright...yeah.” He paused for a little while, contemplating the quietness of the night. The distant sound of a baby monitor somewhere through the walls of the apartment and the soft tapping sound of a tree limb on the window in the sitting room. “What are we gonna do?”

“We're going to take the next logical step. After one finds evidence, the next procedure is interrogation, is it not?” He pressed his lips into the back of Will's neck. “Is this your hint that you're not tired, Will?”

He smiled to himself. “I get locked in a freezer, discover a corpse, and have to wait for you to rescue me and you think all of this is supposed to get me in the mood for something?”

“The mind is a strange place,” Hannibal offered, the argument weak at best and yet entirely amusing. He seemed to note that it had made Will warm with his surreptitious chuckles and he shifted to loom in the way he was fond of doing so that he could rearrange the both of them to press Will down into the mattress beneath him.

“You're honestly insufferable,” Will said up to him.

“Tomorrow,” Hannibal offered, ignoring him, “we'll invite them over. For coffee.”

He sighed with a soft smile. Hannibal brooked no argument and though one was often teetering from Will's lips, this time he didn't let it fly and he surrendered. That was the give and take these days. How often Hannibal surrendered to him and how often he surrendered back. He opened his thighs and allowed his lover to take them both in one lubed hand, stroking them together while catching his eye with erotic fervor burning through them. That passion was all-consuming. Hannibal all other moments was carefully balanced and yet here, pressed against him in the most intimate of ways, Will witnessed him crack and shatter into a thousand pieces. No more was he perfectly composed—he was raw, violent energy come to life in Will's bed. A suitable lover, Will often thought, for his own twistedness.

When Will awoke the next morning, he was alone in those soft sheets and under the weighted blanket Hannibal had gotten him for when things became too much. There was a note in Hannibal's nearly illegible doctor scrawl that he would meet him at the shop. For coffee. Will's lips flattened together and he ran a hand through his dark, messy curls in an effort to wake himself up. The day was warm so he left his flannel unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves, shoving his hands in his pockets as he made the walk to the shop. It wasn't far, though Hannibal much preferred to drive—it was much easier to transport...luggage that way.

The front door was locked so Will unlocked it, the bell ringing at his entry and as the door closed and he locked it again.

“Hello, Will!” came Hannibal's voice from the back room, deceptively cheery in its timbre. “You've arrived just in time. The coffee's done.”

He walked around the counter and through the swinging doors to the back room, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air and already working to wake him further than the morning breeze could have. Hannibal had already poured him a cup and he took it before he bothered to even look at the “guest” Hannibal had procured.

“Only one this morning?” Will asked.

“The more dedicated of them, I'm afraid,” Hannibal replied. “Would you like a seat, Will, or would you like to stand?”

“I'll stand.”

Hannibal had figured as much, it seemed, as there was no chair for him to even sit in. Cheeky bastard.

Their guest was sweating nervously, swallowing nearly convulsively and oddly silent even as he was roped tightly to a sturdy chair. He was wearing his white apron over what was probably one of his better shirts, and when Will caught sight of his scuffed shoes, he almost felt a stroke of pity for him. After all, what was this strange-looking creature next to the poise and grace and gentlemanly posture of a man like Hannibal Lecter? His hair had receded a fair amount though what was left of it seemed thick and healthy enough even as it stuck to the bald plane of his head with his nervous sweat. He seemed positively pathetic, if Will was going to be passing judgment.

“I hope you don't mind,” Hannibal began, “I started without you.”

Will shrugged one shoulder and leaned against a nearby table with his warm mug in his hands. He addressed the butcher who was trying to catch his eye. “I suppose you know what all this is about.”

There was an anxious nod. Oh yes. He knew what it was all about. He was as sweat-shined and trembling has he had been when it had first happened, no doubt. The man wasn't made for killing—in fact, he'd likely never done it before.

“Your name?”

“Sv-Svend...” It busted the dam and his words tumbled out, too quickly and mashed together. “It was an accident, I didn't mean to do it, it's all my fault but it was just a-a-a...and there was...you see, there was a...the—!” He cut himself off, his mouth hanging open as he shook his head to convey his disbelief. “How did you...even?”

“How did we,” Hannibal smiled. “That is the real question and such an astute one. How did we find out that your chicken was not chicken at all...well, Will, should you like to tell him, or shall I?”

Will tipped up his mug in answer and then he sipped from it.

The doctor-turned-butcher stood up straight and put his hands behind his back, strutting around as he spoke in his haughty tone that matched his polished shoes and his suit and tie under that black butcher's apron. “You see, friend, we are of a particular breed. That is to say, Mr. Graham and I are somewhat worldly sorts of men who've had a wealth of sometimes dubious experiences that lead to something of a discerning palate. When I say that, I mean that with a mere taste I can tell you that your chicken is not chicken and it most certainly is not of a quality source either. Your cuts, certainly, are the prime of what you're able to find but I believe you when you tell me that this must have be derived of some kind of misadventure. And still, I find myself distinctly annoyed by this venture—as it is one that has so clumsily plagiarized my own.”

Poor Svend's mouth was still hanging open dumbly as he regarded them from his chair.

Will, sensing his bungling confusion took another sip of his coffee and tried to smooth what he could. “What Hannibal's trying to say is that he's irked about your method of competition—”

“You're cannibals.”

Will and Hannibal stared at him.

Svend breathed hard. “You're cannibals.”

Hannibal's brows came together only just slightly before his poker face resumed its place. “You've a body in your freezer. You've been selling human meat. You've made half the town into cannibals. Where is your moral high ground here, Svend? How could you dare to be shocked?”

He looked around, avoiding their eyes as he shook his head and settled his gaze to the floor. “I didn't mean for any of this! Things just fell into place and then fell apart!”

“Ah...” Hannibal sighed. “Things do have their way of falling apart don't they?” He moved like a snake, coiling behind where Svend sat as the room darkened and Will watched with anxious anticipation. This was when Hannibal would strike and when things would really begin to fall apart. Another life—another ruse. Another adventure in another town and maybe this time in another city. But only after they had found a way to serve this particular sorry piece of meat to his loyal customers after soaking in that peculiarly tasty marinade.

A fitting end, Will thought.

Of course, before Hannibal could even put his hands on him, there was a pounding upon the door.

Chapter Text

“Caciocavallo Podolico!” Franklyn screeched through the glass, rapping with his meaty hand over the pane and causing a deliberate raking rattle. “Fifty dollars a pound! It's elegant, Hannibal!” His voice was muffled and yet no less horrific to the ear and Will watched, equal parts amused and annoyed as he leaned on the wall behind the counter watching Hannibal stalk toward the door. “It's elegant and sophisticated! It'll go so well! I've got a sample for you! Please! You can give some Will, I won't mind!”

Hannibal paused for one moment, passing a dignified but commiserating stare to Will before he opened the door and cleared his throat. “Mr. Froidev—”

“Hannibal! Thank god. You've got to do something about this. It's fifty dollars a pound. It's made from special cows in Italy and you know how cheese is my passion. They're herded to 3,600 feet above sea level and they have a special diet! I managed to get a hold of this and it's really going to launch the store into a new level on the stratosphere here. Now you've got to get in on this.”

“Mr. Froideve—”

“I'm telling you, Hannibal, you're never going to want to go back into the shrink business after you get a load of this cheese, it is just absolutely divine. It cures everything. Depression, anxiety, schizophrenia—okay maybe not that, but it's a miracle of the senses, really.” His fat little fingers uncovered a small plate of hard chunks of cheese and he picked one of them up, holding it up to Hannibal with a sparkle of wonder in his eyes as if he were about to watch a virgin become deflowered before him.

“A good wine,” Hannibal told him as he plucked the bit of cheese from his fingers, “is what I need now. Will?”

Will shrugged again, finishing off his coffee. “It's a bit early for wine.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal told him. “Although all I have that might do well with it is the Taurasi. Unfortunately, many of my wine stores have been...lost. Will, could you fetch that for me? Down in the cellar, fourth from the right all the way on the top.”

He slipped back through the doors to find Svend still sitting pathetically, a gag in his mouth and sweat practically forming rivers down his face. In the cellar, he found what Hannibal sought and brought it up again, this time refusing to look at the haggard butcher's face as he passed through. Will adopted a mocking servile tone when he presented the wine against his arm. “Your bottle, sir.” Will didn't have any feelings when it came to cheese. One cheese was as good as another, he thought, though he had to admit, he liked a sharper cheddar when it came down to the nitty gritty of his tastes. Even with the wine, he couldn't understand the allure of it even as Franklyn was staring at the two of them with unabashed wonder. Cheese really was his passion as much as Will was indifferent to it. His impassive face lacked what Franklyn was looking for when he took a chunk and chewed it.

“You don't like it, Will?”

Hannibal answered for him, “Will hasn't the experience in cheese that would make him a better subject to experiment with. It has a very distinct flavor, certainly, and one can discern easily that it is of a great quality and painstakingly made. Though without the experience and education of this sort, it would be difficult for anyone to stop and tell you that it is not only just some other cheese. It's good, Franklyn, I do like this, but the fact remains that—”

“Ah!” Franklyn stopped him with a finger up—something Hannibal definitely hated. “I've had enough of these cold excuses, this is something you can't afford to miss with me, Hannibal. After all, everyone's heard of that butcher on the other side of my shop and you know what they say? They ask me how about I pair up with them! Now wouldn't it be much better for you if I were to choose you instead? Maybe even out the competition a little. They're getting much more in sales than you are right now and I don't know if that's just opening fervor. Could last for a long time.”

“Or it could end today,” Hannibal murmured, taking an annoyed sip of the deep Italian red as the room darkened considerably. Franklyn didn't notice in the slightest but it was only too obvious to Will. Perhaps, he thought, it was merely his own mind playing tricks on him—god knew, that happened enough—or perhaps it was only a cloud having come over the sun coming in from outside.

“Now I don't happen to be an extortionist but I mean, this just begs to be explored. This relationship between me and you.”

“And what relationship are we to have, Franklyn?”

He jolted up his his seat, appearing at least a little offended. “Well...our friendship. We are friends, aren't we Hannibal?” He looked to Will. “Will?” Will passed him an incredulous look and so he turned his head again to Hannibal.

“Sure, Franklyn. Of course we are. Now tell me, how do you feel about the other shop? The ah...marinade.”

“It's very good,” he said, fluffing. “I had wanted to stay away from it for my loyalty to you and yours but with how good it ended up being, it's difficult, you see. After Will gave me a taste of his scouting spoils, I had to make certain that I wasn't crazy. I bought a whole pound and went home and cooked them up.”

“Did you enjoy it as much as that first bite?”

Franklyn gave him a sideways stare to chastise him. “You and I both know, Hannibal, that no bite of anything will ever measure up to the first.”

Hannibal was enjoying himself, his grin spreading to reveal his too-sharp and too-long teeth. “How very true that statement is, Franklyn. Now, I'm going to take some time to consider your proposal and—”

“No, no, no!” he blustered, “You always do this and I won't have it happen to me again, you brush me off and you push me out and I've recognized it. You're trying to avoid this inevitable connection that will be perfect for the both of us. It will drive our businesses up to new heights, I promise you, Hannibal!” He was still rambling even as Hannibal was herding him toward the door, eventually pressing him physically over the welcome mat as he kept speaking, high-pitched and insistent. “Hannibal, I swear to you! This cheese costs a fortune! It's elegant, Hannibal! People will lose their minds over it! Hannibal!”

Hannibal pulled the door shut and turned the lock even as Franklyn was pressing his face against the glass, smudging it. He pulled down the blinds to block him out and then turned around again to face Will, nonplussed and again simmering.

“What?” Will asked, taking the rest of his wine down in one swallow. “Did you expect me to rescue you?”

“I got you out of the freezer last night.”

“Hardly the same as ridding you of Franklyn so he'll quit pestering you. He can't pester you to death.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you? To watch my eyes roll back as I die of sheer boredom. This goes beyond boredom, Will. I'm beginning to think that leaving Franklyn to his own devices is going to hurt us one day. I can't abide it.” He brushed past and swung the doors to the back room open, stopping so suddenly in his tracks that when Will followed him, he almost hit him with the door.

Svend was gone, the ropes that tied him slack over the seat of the chair and the gag lying on the floor near halfway to the open window.

“Huh...” Will mused. “You think it's Franklyn that's going to end up doing us in?”

Hannibal glowered at him in his peculiar way, the room seeming suddenly so dark that Will could barely make out anything save the bright contrast of the window where the sun shone in. “Perhaps I spoke too soon.”

Will wasn't certain why exactly he was all that concerned when he had quickly raced to the side of the competing butchery, the morning sunlight glinting off the dew that had formed over parked cars on the quiet street. He slid his way into the crawlspace and shuffled to the trap door, pushing it aside and springing up without much grace into the broom closet. With a cursory glance out the tiny window, he pushed out into the back room and gave one short look to the latched freezer before he set his eyes out out the small window into the front counter. At first, he wasn't certain what he was looking at—it was Svend, backed against the meat counter being accosted. One thing was certain, there was no phone in his hand and he was just as disheveled as he had been when he'd been tied up in the back room. Another angle through the window in the other door had him sighing with a mixture of relief and mounting ire.

Franklyn.

His voice was muffled but understandable still. “And you know, I told them I would let them in on this lucrative deal, but it seems that they're not interested in any of this despite how perfect we could make it. Think of it! A cheese shop and a butcher shop right next to one another and—”

Svend's hands were in front of him, wet with perspiration and trembling like mad as he tried to get Franklyn to back away from him. “S-sir I think that later, I could...I could speak about this with you but now is...now is not good!”

“That's what Hannibal always tells me! Are you in cahoots with him?!”

That Franklyn could have switched loyalties so quickly was something of a marvel for Will to behold. That he had managed to come over here so fast after having been physically removed only to get his revenge upon Will and Hannibal in such a way was another spectacle and one Will was most definitely enjoying as it played out.

Svend was able to retreat behind the meat counter and yet Franklyn followed him, chattering on about his Winnimere and his Caciocavallo Podolico. The perpetually damp and balding awkward butcher was backing up so quickly that Will had had to duck back into the broom closet, leaving the door ajar just as Svend had emerged into the chilly room.

“Please, Mr. uh...Mr. F-Fuh...” he tried. “I don't want anything to do with them, nothing at all, please. I don't want your cheese! I didn't want anything like this! What kind of a nightmare is this?!”

“What kind of nightmare!” Franklyn shrilled, “What kind of nightmare?! I've been this close to Hannibal through all this time,” he held up his fingers, an inch apart, “and he's not going to give me the decency of a cooperative sale!”

Svend was stumbling over words left and right, finally producing, “Friends?!” He looked about frantically and his eyes locked on the door to the freezer before he began shoving and pushing against Franklyn, the squat little man tripping over his own feet until he'd stumbled straight into the wall next to the freezer door which Svend frenziedly pulled open before he bodily shoved the blustering Froideveaux inside. He latched the freezer door, turning his back against it and leaning heavily while muffled pounding began from inside.

“Oh my god. Ohhhh my god...” Svend breathed. “This is not happening. Not happening.” He put a hand to his forehead and stood up straight to shakily walk to the phone hanging on the wall and bring out a hand to it.

Will slipped out from his hiding place. “Svend!”

He dropped the phone, the coiled cord allowing the receiver to bounce wildly about near to the tile floor as he whirled about. “How did you—?! I'm calling the police!”

“No you're not,” Will told him, his voice inordinately calm and even informative. “You can't call the police. Not here. Not now. Not when there is a very live man in your freezer willing to tell them that you tried to kill him...much like the very dead corpse that's already in there.”

“I-I...” Svend's face ranged in emotions, finally settling on a bizarre dejected desperation. “What do you want from me!? Listen...I'm—I'm sorry that you think I've stolen something from you. I know it's strange to have two of us on the same street but we weren't meant to be similar. M-My boss, he just...I wanted to get back at him and it all just...happened this way.”

“Life does seem to happen this way, doesn't it?” Will sighed.

“I'll let your friend go. We'll move the shop! Please! We'll get away from here and we won't ever tell anyone about you! I promise, please just don't eat me.”

Hannibal's dark voice sounded from the door. “Hmm, and it looks like I've missed all the fun. Where's Franklyn?”

“In the freezer,” Will said.

“Well keep him there. He's more useful that way.” He passed an amused expression over to the thick metal doors as the pounding behind them continued. “After the events of this morning, he could use with a little cooling off.”

Will's eyes rolled back and he let out a ragged breath.

“You never appreciate it when I make jokes.”

Svend inched to the side and picked up a rather long knife from a side cupboard.

“No need for that,” Hannibal told him. “You know, I've thought better about this arrangement on my walk over here—and after I sampled a bit of that Winnimere Franklyn was drooling about earlier—”

“Is that where you were?” Will asked, incredulous again.

“He wasn't in and the door was unlocked, what else would a man like me do as he was passing a cheese shop? In fact, I'm of the impression that Mr. Froideveaux is quite likely never going to be in again.” He bared his toothy grin at Svend who was holding the knife up nervously, trying and failing at forcing his sticky hairs to go back into his receding hairline. “That is, if our friend here hasn't lost his obviously inherent bravery.”

“What are you trying to say?” Svend asked, his voice wavering.

“All of this unpleasantness doesn't have to come out. Nobody has to call the police. After all, should you wish to do so, you should do so. Since there's nothing in our freezer that could be deemed suspicious...though yours...”

“This is blackmail,” Svend spat.

“Yes. It is. Though you've done quite a bit to yourself to allow for it and I'm certain you've met Franklyn before and you must agree with us that he's been very rude. Hasn't he?”

“Yeah...” Svend was narrowing his deep-set eyes on Hannibal.

“Then how about this for a shocking turn of events: you leave him there. Your marinade should take care of any of his more odious flavors and—”

“You tried my marinade?”

Hannibal gave pause and Will felt his own eyebrows lift and come together.

“Of course we did.”

The knife lowered as Svend's interest in the conversation grew. “And...?”

Will butted in. “It was good.” He shrugged. “Very good, actually...”

Chapter Text

“Ah,” Hannibal sighed, shifting under Will's weight and manipulating his head to rest just so in the nook of his shoulder. “It's been a day, hasn't it? It started out a little dodgy but the turn-out was masterful, wasn't it?”

“Are you finished preening?” Will asked, nudging his groin against Hannibal's thigh and gritting his teeth at how over-stimulated he felt. “What are you going to do when everyone's sniffing about Franklyn's disappearance?”

“Don't fret about things like that. You know me.”

“Yes. I know you. You've a habit of dragging things out for fun.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I'm the only one who does that...”

Will's cheeks were blazing. “You know what I meant.”

Hannibal shifted him again, this time nudging him until he lifted himself up, confused at why he was having to vacate his warm, comfy spot. When he flopped himself back down and drew a pillow under his head, he watched Hannibal from the corner of his eye.

“What are you doing?”

“Dragging things out,” he told Will, as if it should have been obvious. Long fingers traced over his back, playing down his spine until they'd delved into his cleft to trace over him. “I'd like this, if you're willing.”

“I'm willing,” he said over his shoulder, spreading his thighs over the sheets and lifting himself a bit to keep Hannibal from taking his hand off of him. “It's interesting to note what thrills you these days, Dr. Lecter.”

“Mm? That I can be so hands-off?” He dropped his touch from Will's body and before the man could even protest, brought it back again, his fingers slick with lubricant from the bedside table. “It's not always the doing that can get a rise out of someone. You know that, Will. Vicarious thrill is sometimes just as potent as doing it yourself.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth, his fingers were deeply penetrating Will's body.

“Mmm...you can't tell me...that you think that bumbling idiot is a decent subject for vicarious thrill.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. That's ungenerous of you, Will.” He moved his hand fluidly, mocking a slow fuck.

“This is ungenerous of you.”

“You don't appreciate my vicarious enjoyment?”

“Your hand is still you.”

“Perhaps that's my point here...” Without further explanation, Hannibal removed his fingers and shifted into his position, coming behind Will and adjusting himself until he could slide his lubed shaft past Will's tight defenses. He groaned through his grimace and pinched Will's thigh a little when he realized that he was being teased by intentionally clenched muscles. He filled Will, to a point where there was something so horrifically right about it.

“Hannibal,” he breathed. “Move.”

The girth of him, stretching Will open in what had become a familiar sensation, was what drove him wild. Every movement was a test of his resolve as he was rocked backwards by Hannibal's guiding hands. The pattern was lazy at first, a mere enjoyment of touch and sensation—that of Will tight around Hannibal and Hannibal probing deep within—but gained momentum as desire quickened their blood. Will could feel himself quivering underneath and had to hold back his prurient moan when he felt that warm body drape over him, Hannibal's chest against his back, his body rutting like a dog as they panted and grunted together. On some level, it was purely animal and some nights, Will was of the impression that it was on all levels that Hannibal was more monster than man. And yet, what did that say of him?

He felt Hannibal's warm hand upon his inner thigh and braced himself for the gentle tug of his fingers. Too often, Will found himself a slave to sensation and though he fought valiantly, he eventually succumbed as arousal forced him into a tight coil begging for release. Tonight would be no different. He hadn't become accustomed to this yet—as starved for touch as he had always been. To be this close and to have this much. It was always overwhelming and always in the best of ways.

“Hannibal!” he gasped, the sound nearly a sob. He struggled though against what, he wasn't certain. Will's whole form tensed and shook as he came with a strangled cry, soiling the sheets below him. “Hannibal...Hannibal...”

It wasn't difficult for Will to see how much their sensual romps took out of his partner—he was quite often just as overwhelmed as Will was, and in that, at least, he was satisfied. Hannibal groaned when he was spent, his body stiffening before he collapsed heavily over Will, pressing him down into his own spend. They breathed together, unable to speak for a few moments before Will shattered the tentative grasp they held on bliss.

“Have you gained weight?”

Hannibal cleared his throat. “Certainly not.” He rolled off of Will in what seemed to be a petulant mope but rebounded immediately to drag the man into a tight embrace. “Teasing miscreant,” Hannibal muttered.

The morning found them well and, having rested decently, they opened the shop without the thought that anything should have gone awry. Naive of them, to be certain since no sooner had Hannibal unlocked the doors and begun preparations for the day, Will could swear he heard Franklyn's obnoxious voice.

Hannibal turned his head to where Will sat reading the newspaper in his usual seat. “What,” he asked, “was that?” Surely it was cloud that came over the sun this time, Will thought, as the room darkened considerably yet again. They were both poised for the worst, prepared to see that everything had fallen apart once again.

A squat shadow could be seen through the blinds and the pane in the door rattled hard enough that Will could feel the hideous sound in his teeth. “Hannibal!”

“I'm going to break his fucking neck,” Hannibal mused, as if to himself.

Eventually, Franklyn discovered that the door was unlocked and he brought himself in, smiling brightly and vapidly as though the events of the previous day had never even occurred at all. “Hannibal! Will!”

“Franklyn,” Will grumbled his greeting, sniffing the air and blinking a few times as he very slightly lowered his newspaper. “Why do you smell like...weed?”

“Ah!” He smiled, approaching the table enough so that it was obvious that the whites of his eyes were quite pink indeed. “I've found the cure!”

“The cure?” Will asked.

“A very unpleasant fellow works at that butchery and he was the one to find me. It was an unfortunate mishap and I'm sure you haven't heard but I was accidentally locked inside the freezer yesterday! Could have been a real nasty bit of business had Bjarne not been about to open the door for me. My nerves were about shot so he was kind enough to allow me to uh...partake. I'm sure he'd take a small commission if you'd like some, though do be careful about him. He's a bit thorny.”

Will could swear that the room was as dark as night with the way Hannibal's ire was rising, though his expression didn't change. His eyes glittered dangerously as his voice remained deceptively placid. “You don't say, Franklyn. Locked in the freezer.”

“Anyhow, I've come to see about—”

“What were you doing over there, Franklyn?”

“Hm?”

Hannibal's mouth twitched downward. “What were you doing over there? Offering them bits of cheese?”

“Well, you didn't seem interested in making cooperative sales, so I suppose I thought that perhaps they might be. You can hardly blame me, Hannibal. After all this time, I thought we were friends!”

The killer gracefully slid from behind the meat counter. “What do you mean, Franklyn? Of course we're friends.”

Will folded up his paper and set it on the table, clasping his hands together on his lap to enjoy his show. This was really what Hannibal meant when he said things like “vicarious” and Will was thoroughly titillated. He would have gotten up and locked the door but the excitement was exponentially increased with the thought that they could be walked in on—caught. He couldn't deny that there was an appetite here that was, on some level, sexual in nature and that, he knew, was quite typical.

One of these days, he's going to catch me out and call me a naughty boy over this.

Will couldn't wait, feeling the growing urge to paw himself through his jeans as Hannibal descended upon Franklyn like a hawk stalking its prey.

“We're friends? Truly?”

“Yes. We've been friends this whole time,” Hannibal lied. “The best of.”

“Then why didn't...why didn't...” Franklyn had noticed at the last the predatory glint in Hannibal's eyes but could not process it in time. He didn't even turn to run though he had taken a few steps back toward the door before Hannibal's strong hands came to his head and quickly jerked it, the organic crack that made Will wince in a mixture of delight and horror marking his internal decapitation and quick demise.

Will crossed his legs, picking up his coffee to sip at it. “And what do you plan to do now, doctor?”

Hannibal turned to him with a wide smirk forming his mouth. “I'm going to put Mr. Froideveaux back where he's most useful. And this time, he's not going to come out.”

“Ah,” Will smiled. “Back in the freezer, then. I suppose we'd better get to putting him there. Won't Bjarne be surprised.”

The pair shared a chuckle before Hannibal locked the door and Will came to him, reaching out to touch his lips. Hannibal claimed him, greedily taking Will's excited gasp into his mouth and toying with him, the give and take between them a true balance of equals. “Will,” Hannibal breathed against his lips, his fingers smoothing through the dark curls around his ear. His tongue delved and played with Will's, his taste that of coffee and carnal passions reawakened.

“I want you...” Will murmured, holding tight against him.

Hannibal gave a short laugh. “You are devilish, Will. But we have a chore that needs to be finished. Once the work is done, then we can play.”

“There you go again,” he grumbled. “Drawing it out for the fun of it.”