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Chapter Text

The first thing Will noticed as consciousness began to find him was the taste of still being alive. 

Slick, coppery blood, saltwater, and bile crawled up his throat, an unpleasant cocktail of fluids that let him know that he had not successfully carried out his purpose. 

His purpose was to kill them. He and Hannibal both. 

The very thought of Hannibal seemed to cause Will’s senses to register, next, the sensation of the man hovering over him, violently pumping his stomach to force the seawater out of him. Hannibal was quite effective for someone with his injuries: the contents of Will’s stomach poured forth abruptly, sent him jolting up to full awareness. 

Relief flooded Hannibal’s face when Will began to cough up the last remnants of saltwater, his blue eyes lucid and wild. “Will,” he said, simply. The sound of his voice brought another wave of clarity to Will, and suddenly, agony shot through his face. 

Right, because there’s a massive hole in it, Will thought, and he promptly fell back out of consciousness. 

Chiyoh found them on the beach that day. 

Hannibal knew she was watching from afar, and yet, the sight of her flooded him with pure relief. They managed to get Will onto her boat, hazy and delirious though he was, and Hannibal was overcome with relief that she’d stocked up on medical supplies; they were going to need them. 

“There’s enough food to last you the journey, and I managed to pack a bagful of clothes for each of you,” Chiyoh told him.  

“The house is ready?” Hannibal asked, frantic. He knew there wasn’t much time before the FBI would discover something had gone awry. He intended to be long gone by then, to let them believe the two had plummeted to their deaths. 

Chiyoh confirmed that his property in Cuba was squared away. “Everything is taken care of, Doctor Andersen,” she told him with a wry smile, handing off two fake IDs. 

“And the dogs?” he asked, finally, glancing at Will’s crumpled form. 

“I’m working on it,” she replied. “It will likely take a while to distribute them to different shelters and adopt them again. We can’t raise any suspicion that they’ll be headed to the same place.”

“Thank you, Chiyoh,” Hannibal told her, sincerely. Just like that, she slunk off into the night, and they were on their way.

Will dipped in and out of consciousness during his days at sea. His memory was hazy; the only thing that truly stuck was the dull pain of his cheek being sewn shut by expert hands, and the pained, quiet sounds of Hannibal caring for his own wounds. 

Some distant place in Will’s mind wondered where they were going, wondered what Hannibal was playing at. After all they’d done to one another, how could they simply carry on, live a life like anyone else? When Will had tipped them over the edge of the cliff, it had been because of an undeniable truth: Will couldn’t live with Hannibal, but he couldn’t live without him, either. 

He supposed he had no choice but to live with him. 

Hannibal passed the journey to Cuba in loneliness. There was no one to mend his gnawing wounds, no one to share a meal with, no one to sit beside him on the deck of the boat at night and contemplate what had led to this point. 

No, he pulled the bullet from his own body, stitched it up with hands trembling in pain; he held broth to Will’s pale lips and kept close watch on his fitful sleep; he slept on the floor beside the small bed in the cabin, not nearly large enough for two. 

And he hoped against hope that there might be some kind of life for him with Will, for he did not know the man he would be facing when Will finally came back to himself. 

Will was, mercifully, beginning to gain strength by the time they reached their new home; still, he didn’t speak, preferring to follow Hannibal around with distrustful eyes. 

Even when they reached their new home, Will gave little reaction; Hannibal sensed no happiness at the warm wood and cozy furniture chosen with Will in mind, no hint of pleasure when he showed Will the big backyard with the mango tree or the shed that was just for him.

Regretfully, Will made no protest when Hannibal showed him to his own bedroom, agonizingly far away from the place where Hannibal would sleep. 

“This bedroom is yours, if it will be necessary,” Hannibal had said, and with a solemn nod Will had tossed the duffel of clothes that Chiyoh packed for him onto the bed. He schooled his face into careful neutrality so that Will wouldn’t sense his crushing disappointment at the rejection. 

Will knew his silence was grating at Hannibal. 

It wasn’t so much that he had nothing to say; it was more that the sensation of speaking stretched the raw, puckered skin of his cheek, still hideous and stitched. Will often stared at it in the mirror; it was like a train wreck, impossible to look away. He knew it was going to leave him with an ugly and permanent scar. 

It wouldn’t be the first. 

Will felt the tension building each evening as they sat for dinner, though he felt he owed Hannibal this small courtesy. Hannibal set the table elaborately and dressed for dinner each night, even though all Will managed to do was eat plain, mushy foods in his pajamas. A week after their arrival, Hannibal broke his silence, cutting through the quiet sounds of silverware and pained chewing. 

“You’ll need to speak to me at some point, Will. We cannot go on in silence forever.” 

Will stared down at his plate. “It hurts to talk. ‘M not giving you the silent treatment,” he murmured, voice rough with disuse. 

Hannibal’s gaze burned through him. “And yet it feels as though I’m being punished for the crime of surviving,” he replied thinly. 

Tears burned at the back of Will’s throat, at the complexity of it all. There was anger at himself for not succeeding; there was guilt for attempting to kill Hannibal; there was fear, that niggling sense of distrust he felt towards the killer, for he could never be certain that Hannibal wouldn’t take his life for what he had attempted. And there was the unnamed feeling, the one that disturbed him most of all, warm and heavy in his chest. 

Will didn’t speak again that night.

Their days passed mostly separately. While Hannibal grew accustomed to life in Havana, slowly and carefully venturing out in public, Will stayed at home, lying out in the sun with a book he never really made progress on. He wondered, vaguely, what the other man got up to, but never brought himself to ask. He always returned to feed Will, like clockwork. 

Hannibal would sit beside him, sometimes, and Will’s hackles would raise at the very same time that he craved to lean into Hannibal, to find his tender touch. Most days, he felt like he was simply waiting for Hannibal to gut him again.  

Will’s empty, polite words were nearly worse than his silence, Hannibal had begun to find. The hollow thank-yous, the insincere questions about his day, the apologies when they’d accidentally bump into one another, and the way Will would jerk back as if he’d been burned. 

Hannibal knew what Will was thinking. He almost hated himself for it. How had he expected Will’s immediate trust, after the pain he’d caused? 

So he was patient, gave the younger man all the space he needed, and waited for Will to come to him. As the days and weeks passed, though, he wondered if the warmth between them would ever return. 

On top of the emotional pain of Will’s frigidity, his body seemed hellbent on betraying him, as well. Though he’d stitched up the wound in his gut, he had not been able to give it the proper attention when he’d tended to it on his own, in agony, on a rocking boat. Flares of searing pain stabbed through his abdomen nearly every day; he knew this was the result of improper care, perhaps nerve damage, rather than infection. He didn’t know if it would ever subside. 

It was one of the reasons he often strayed away from Will. He couldn’t bear to show such vulnerability to a man who didn’t want him, couldn’t stomach the thought of Will’s pity—or worse, the possibility that he would look upon Hannibal with cold disgust for this weakness. He swallowed down the pain, bright and sharp, with a grimace. And Will was never any the wiser. 

These episodes happened most often at night, when Will was, mercifully, asleep. Nearly a month had passed since they had arrived in their new home; Will’s stitches were dissolved, wounds mostly healed under Hannibal’s watchful eye and tender hand. And yet this pain still hadn’t left him. 

It was past midnight when his eyes flew open at the first stab of misery. Instinctively, he curled in on himself, hand finding the source of the pain and clutching himself there. He squeezed his eyes shut on the tears that formed, fighting hard to draw a steady breath—to return to himself—for the pain left him almost delirious. 

Hannibal didn’t register the strained sobs that fell from his lips. He didn’t even register the soft rap of knuckles on his bedroom door. It was Will’s voice that brought him back to earth.

“Hannibal?” Will said softly, distantly. Through a blur of tears, he recognized Will’s silhouette in the doorway. Teeth bared in misery, he drew himself up to sit.

“Go back to bed, Will,” he said, and there was warning in his voice. But for the first time in weeks, Will didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all. He took a few tentative steps into the room, and even in his suffering, Hannibal appreciated the sight of that lovely face bathed in cool moonlight. 

“What’s going on?” Will asked, and as he padded up to the bed where Hannibal still gripped his stomach, he found himself leaning away, a feeble attempt to hide his misery.

Hannibal swallowed, tried to gain control of his voice. “I am fine, Will. I apologize if I’ve disturbed you,” he gritted out, and in his desperate attempt to shake Will’s worried gaze, he made the mistake of turning abruptly to demonstrate that there was nothing visibly wrong with him. It sent a streak of hot pain through his entire body, and the yelp that tore from his throat only deepened the concern in Will’s face. 

Hannibal couldn’t look at Will, his shame and misery almost suffocating him. He felt the mattress dip, and he curled in on himself defensively. “Hannibal,” Will said again. His voice was gentle; it was balm for Hannibal’s shot nerves. “How long have you been hurting this way?”

“It has been intermittent, since the Dragon shot me,” he explained. “I had to remove the bullet on my own, clean the wound, and sew it up without anything to ease the pain. I suspect that it wasn’t my best work. My body has been…unkind to me.”

A few silent moments passed, and Hannibal listened to Will’s trembling breaths. He winced when a warm, tender hand came to rest on his back–not from the pain, but from the breathtaking kindness of it. Will’s gentleness was foreign to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Will asked. His voice sounded small. 

Hannibal’s eyes remained focused on his lap; he was determined not to let Will see the tears in his eyes. “You have been suffering in many ways of your own, Will. I would not burden you with my suffering, as well.”

This seemed to anger Will. He scoffed. “If I would have known, I’m sure I could’ve–could’ve…” he stammered. 

“You could have done what, Will?” Hannibal finally turned, carefully, to look at him, biting back a pained gasp. “You are no doctor, and could not have stitched me up. You were delirious with pain, barely conscious. The wound is no longer dangerous; it merely pains me. There is nothing you could have done.” He didn’t know if the words were meant to comfort Will, or to hurt him. Perhaps both.

Will huffed a petulant sigh. “I could have been there for you. I could have, I don’t know.” He paused. “Comforted you?” The words came out a question, dripping with uncertainty. 

Hannibal smiled, though he was sure it was more of a grimace. “You owe me no comfort, Will.” Gingerly, Hannibal began to slide back under the sheets, lying down to find the least agonizing position possible. “You should rest.” 

But Will made no move toward the open door. Instead, he peeled back the covers on the opposite side of the bed and crawled in, never once asking for permission to stay. Wordlessly, he slid behind Hannibal, draped a protective arm over the scar that Hannibal clutched awkwardly. “It hurts less when there’s a little pressure on it, right?” Will murmured, hand gently brushing over the marred skin. When Hannibal nodded, reluctantly, Will’s palm splayed across his stomach, the gentle press of it bringing merciful relief, dulling the pain enough that it didn’t leave him sick and weeping any longer. The tension slowly drained from his body; despite how often he’d fantasized about it, he could never have imagined that it would be this good, this right, to feel the warmth of Will’s body pressed against him, the comforting scent of sandalwood and sea air enveloping his senses. A sigh of boneless relief finally fell from his lips. 

“I told you I could comfort you.” Will’s warm, whispery breath tickled the back of his neck. “It could have always been like this. Don’t hide from me.” Hannibal didn’t respond.

As Hannibal’s pain subsided, Will’s breathing evened out.

It could have always been like this, Hannibal thought, and he knew that Will’s words were referring to something so much deeper than simply soothing the ache in his gut.

Things began to change after Will found Hannibal that night. Something about his broken voice and his trembling form had shifted Will’s perceptions, and when he’d woken the next day to find the killer’s face smoothed-out and serene in peaceful sleep, he felt an overwhelming sense of affection. Will began to notice little things about Hannibal, after that, which he hadn’t noticed before: the smile in his eyes when Will cleaned his plate, the way his pupils dilated when he gazed at Will stretched out and warming himself in the sun on the deck, the tenderness of his touch when he inspected the progress of Will’s healing wounds. 

Hannibal still loved him. He couldn’t believe he hadn't seen it before. 

Slowly, Will began to warm to Hannibal. He still watched him warily, still imagined Hannibal sliding a blade into his belly with the utmost tenderness, but some of the anger had begun to melt away. 

Will still slept in his own bedroom most nights, but he kept the door cracked open, listened for any sign of Hannibal’s discomfort, and silently slipped into the room and held him as he wept through the worst of his pain each time an episode gripped him. 

Hannibal never asked for him to do this. But he never turned him away, either. 

Will found his own nightmares relieved by Hannibal’s steady presence on the nights when he curled himself around the other man’s body. And still, in the cold light of day, they never spoke about it—never mentioned the way Will’s knuckles dragged gently over Hannibal’s tear-stained cheeks while he rocked him through the pain, the way that Hannibal’s soft, even voice would soothe Will on those nights when he awoke drenched in sweat. 

They weren’t healed; not yet. Will didn’t know if they ever would be, ever could be what he knew Hannibal wanted them to be. But he knew that he no longer shied away from Hannibal’s presence when the older man dropped down on the sofa next to him in the evenings to read or sketch. He knew that their easy flow of conversation following a shared bottle of wine was slowly returning. He knew that he didn’t feel quite so lonely anymore, and that the desperation that caused him to throw them over the edge of a cliff on the night they killed the Red Dragon no longer rolled around in the back of his mind. It was a start.

Chapter Text

Hannibal’s darkest urges were not compulsive, but they offered him a great deal of entertainment in what could be an otherwise boring life. Boredom was the thing Hannibal abhorred perhaps the most, aside from rudeness and ugliness. And yet he knew that with Jack Crawford eagerly awaiting even the smallest sign of life, and Will Graham tentatively moving into his arms, killing was a pleasure he would need to deny himself for the time being.

The basement of the Havana house was equipped and ready for use when inspiration and opportunity struck. However, in the two months since his and Will’s arrival, it sat untouched and pristine. Hannibal caught Will’s eyes lingering on the mysterious door, sometimes, but he never inquired about what was behind it.

Hannibal sensed that he already knew.

When the media frenzy had passed and news outlets shifted their focus to the latest celebrity cheating scandal, Hannibal determined that it was safe for him to venture out in public. Their story had never really reached Cuba, in any case. The very sight of people–people cutting him off because they were absorbed in cellphones as they walked, people choosing not to tip waiters in restaurants, even people laughing too loudly for his taste–drew his bloodthirst to the surface, filled him with thoughts of beautiful displays. He regretfully abstained. 

Only once, he gave in to his basest desires when he came upon a man who threw the plastic and paper trash from his meal onto the otherwise-spotless sand of his favorite beach. He despised ugliness, after all, and nothing could be uglier than garbage on a perfect shore. He lamented the simplicity of the kill: he slid a blade across the man’s throat and left the corpse somewhere far across the city from where he found him. Still, the scent of hot blood and the fear in his eyes were satisfying, even if he couldn’t harvest the liver. He was certain Jack would be scoping out homicides involving missing organs for at least the next year.

Basking in the joy of the kill in its aftermath, he was afraid that Will might notice something different in his posture or his eyes. He zipped his human suit up tight, not a hair out of place, when he came home to prepare dinner that evening. If Will suspected his whereabouts, he never asked; he was even quieter than usual as they stared across the table at one another, though. 

In other facets of life, Hannibal’s boredom was easily soothed by Will’s presence, even as it came with both its petals and its thorns. No kill could compare with the simple pleasure of Will curling up beside him at night when the waves of sharp pain hit him, and the agony became something welcome when Will’s soft and raspy nighttime voice whispered small comforts in his ear. They spent most evenings companionably, and Hannibal was relieved to find that their conversations could still easily drift on for hours. They played chess, sometimes, by the firelight; Hannibal found that the humiliation of losing didn’t even matter when it rewarded him with the satisfaction in Will’s eyes.

On some occasions, though, Will grew sharp and sullen, and his words felt as though they could cut Hannibal to the very bone. When Hannibal observed that he should venture out and see what Havana had to offer, Will snapped that he would love to leave their home, if not for the fear of being associated with a vicious, cannibalistic serial killer. When he’d find Will staring quietly out a window and ask him what he was thinking of, he would reply that he was lonely, or that he wished he could return to a normal life. The words stung, but Hannibal reminded himself that these were early days–there was a lifetime ahead of them, and he could be very persuasive. Will would grow to love him.

Somehow, he hadn’t thought to prepare for what would happen when he realized that Will still feared him.

It started out like any other evening would: Hannibal making dinner preparations, Will off lounging on the sofa until enticing aromas brought him meandering curiously into the kitchen.

Hannibal was preparing to slice up an avocado when Will made his appearance. He pulled the knife from its block with a sharp swish as he turned to greet Will, and then he watched Will shatter.

First, his eyes grew wide with pure dread. They darted back and forth between Hannibal and the knife he held, and it didn’t quite register, yet, that Will was afraid of him. He stepped toward Will tentatively. “What’s the matter, Will?” he asked, and Will merely shook his head as he took stumbling steps backward, breath coming fast and heavy.

Will raised a trembling hand to point at the knife. “Get that the fuck away from me. Drop it,” he ordered. His voice quivered in fear. Hannibal’s brow furrowed, but he slowly reached to the floor and gently put the paring knife down, hating the way Will flinched when he moved. He moved carefully back to give Will more distance. Will lurched forward to shove the knife behind him.

“Will, what is the matter? Surely, you don’t believe I was going to hurt you,” Hannibal said incredulously. 

Will rubbed his hands over his face, and Hannibal could tell that he was effortfully slowing his breathing. He barked a bitter laugh. “Well, Hannibal, how am I supposed to know that? It wouldn’t be the first time I thought I was safe with you and then got brutally stabbed in a kitchen,” he spat.

The words were a sucker punch straight to Hannibal’s gut. Will had believed, in that moment, that Hannibal was going to stab him. He’d had no idea the depths of Will’s lingering distrust. He merely shook his head at Will, entirely at a loss for words.

After a few moments, Will’s face had begun to smooth back over into something less than terror, but he continued to watch Hannibal warily. “You just startled me, okay? Sometimes I dream about that night–about how much I trusted you. It’s difficult to move past that constant fear that I might trust you and find myself bleeding out on the floor again.” He kicked the knife back across the room. “I think I just need some space tonight. Don’t worry about me,” Will said, and then he was gone.

Hannibal stood there for a long while, listening to the sounds of Will’s bedroom door closing and locking through the silence. It was the click of the lock that really hurt, the implication that he had even the slightest intention of dealing Will any more pain. He had truly believed that they were mending, but it seemed that Will still saw the monster he had been. 

When the shock of the encounter wore off, Hannibal set about plating up dinner, but found that he had little appetite–a rare occurrence for him. After a few minutes of picking around at the food, he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and stored it all away, save for the plate he made up to leave outside Will’s door. 

Hannibal purposefully made enough noise not to catch the other man off guard, letting the sound of ceramic connecting with the wooden floor alert Will to his intentions when he left the food outside of Will’s bedroom. He made his retreating footsteps heavy to let Will know that he was safe and hoped the sound of the sliding glass door would alert Will to the fact that he had the house to himself for the time being, as Hannibal removed himself to the deck to nurse a glass of wine.

Though he’d tucked a book under his arm for some sense of companionship, Hannibal found himself simply staring at the sky, watching it fade from soft pink to orange to deep blue and then black. The stars were bright, so he occupied his thoughts by identifying every constellation he could find. His eyes drifted, occasionally, to the dim light spilling from Will’s bedroom window; he wondered desperately what he was doing, whether he was alright, if he had eaten the dinner Hannibal left for him. He wondered if Will would emerge in the morning, and if he’d ever make his way to Hannibal’s bed at night again, and if they’d be able to find some kind of understanding. Part of him resented Will for his fear; Hannibal had worked tirelessly to build a perfect little life for him here, in spite of the fact that Will had never once accepted him as he was until the moment he sent him over the edge of a cliff in an effort to kill them both. Hannibal had forgiven him for that; he wondered what more he would need to do in order to earn Will’s forgiveness. 

Shortly after the light from Will’s window flicked into darkness, Hannibal decided to go to bed. He hoped he’d proved his point to Will, that he was perfectly capable of giving him the distance he desired, but that hopeful little part of him still decided to leave his bedroom door cracked open: an invitation, just in case. 

Will never came. In fact, Hannibal never heard so much as a stir from behind his door. Though it had pleased him to note that the plate he left had disappeared, Will had shown not a single sign of life otherwise. 

Inevitably, the pain in Hannibal’s abdomen had decided to flare up brutally the very moment he climbed into bed, and he had to wonder if it was partially psychosomatic. Life hadn’t felt so grim in weeks, and the very first night he knew with total certainty that he could not rely on Will’s comfort, his body chose to strike him with the worst pain he’d experienced since he’d cleaned the fresh wound with his own shaking hands. As he writhed through the pain, trying desperately not to cry out, Hannibal bit down on his knuckles hard enough to draw blood. He’d wished he’d chosen not to leave the door open, for the sight of it mocked him. How foolish to imagine Will’s gentle presence after all that had passed between them. In the throes of his agony, where the pain was bright and searing, Hannibal hated himself, hated Will, too, for the fool that love had made of him. 

The night was not a restful one. Even when the pain subsided, Hannibal lay staring up at the ceiling, catching his breath in the aftermath of the hideous thoughts that had slipped into his head. He wept silently, bitterly, recalling the images of Will that flashed through his mind at the pinnacle of his torment. In his mind’s eye, he had stood before Will bathed in red, smiling as the light in his eyes grew dim. His thoughts had flashed back, then, to Florence, and he imagined himself following through on his intention to open Will’s head. He had imagined himself consuming Will at their shared dinner table and found himself shuffling to the toilet to be sick at the very idea. 

Until the sun began to rise, Hannibal couldn’t stop asking himself, Is brutality who you truly are? Are you this monster who would become the undoing of the only thing worth loving in this world? The visceral reaction he had experienced in response to his intrusive thoughts told him that he couldn’t possibly be; and in his mind, clear of the pain that made him hysterical, he knew that he could fathom neither hurting nor hating Will. Yet the very presence of these images buried deep in his subconscious told him that perhaps he couldn’t blame Will for the terror in his eyes.

Hannibal didn’t know what to expect, but he knew with the utmost certainty that he would never hurt Will again. He would spend his life doing what it took to prove that–if Will would give him the chance. 

The light of dawn was beginning to filter through the windows when Hannibal rose from his bed, and though he hadn’t slept, he was far too restless to lie there any longer. He noted a dull ache in his gut, a reminder of the night’s miseries, though it was a mere shadow of the episode that had kept him awake through the night. He made the bed neatly, first, as he always did, before padding silently down to the kitchen. He’d typically begin his morning with a swim, but found that he had neither the energy nor the heart for it. Missing a single day couldn’t hurt, he decided, even for someone with his immense discipline. 

The scent of brewing coffee, fresh and hot and comforting, filled the house. Will would not be roused by it at this early hour, so Hannibal, as always, made enough for only one. He often indulged in a second cup while they shared breakfast, but had no confidence that Will would make an appearance for that occasion on this particular morning.

As he had the night before, Hannibal took the steaming mug out to the deck to watch the sun rise while it warmed his hands. He admired the way the fuzzy light bathed everything he saw and made it all new, appreciated the chitter of early morning birdsong. The aromas of dewy grass and ripe mangoes from their tree pricked at his nose and mingled with the smell of coffee. It was a lovely morning, and it brought some small comfort to him to enjoy it.

When he’d drained his coffee and the sun was fully up, Hannibal found that some semblance of an appetite had returned, so he started making breakfast. When he went inside, he found that the house was dark and silent; still, he made his preparations for two. He decided on something simple, for his ambitions were low: omelettes with cheese and spinach would do, he decided, with a bit of fresh fruit on the side. Hannibal walked outside to pluck a mango from the tree–a task he normally would have given to Will, for he always found such pleasure in choosing the perfect one.

Hannibal was just finishing up his breakfast preparations, slicing the mango into pieces, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. His hand tensed on the knife; a vivid image of Will’s fear stabbed through his memory. He schooled himself into something calm and collected when he sensed Will’s presence enter the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said coolly. He didn’t turn to face him. He placed the blade gently on the counter, stepped away from it, and searched for something different to busy himself with. He didn’t want to look at Will’s face.

“Hannibal,” Will said, and it was a plea and a question all in one. 

Hannibal set to work on brewing more coffee. “I’m almost finished with breakfast, if you’re feeling hungry.” He knew he was deflecting as he started plating up simple omelettes with the same precision he’d use when hosting his elaborate dinner parties. 

Hannibal’s skin started to prickle when he felt Will draw a little nearer. “Hannibal, please stop,” Will said.

“I assure you, Will, I’ve finished with the knife–it’s all the way over there. You can put it away yourself if it would make you feel safer,” Hannibal said, gesturing across the counter to where his knife was now far out of his reach. 

A hand found Hannibal’s shoulder. He froze. “Hannibal,” Will repeated, and this time, his voice was strong and firm. Hannibal dropped the plates he was holding onto the counter when Will entered his peripheral vision. “Could you just look at me?”

Reluctantly, Hannibal rotated enough to come face-to-face with him. He was as beautiful as always; Hannibal’s heart twisted painfully. He felt Will’s analytical gaze burning through his every thought. “You look terrible,” Will observed, finally. “Your eyes are practically purple. Did you sleep at all last night?”

It would never cease to amaze Hannibal how quickly Will’s mind worked. He considered lying, but it would be futile; Will would see right through him, mask and all. “It was not my best night’s sleep,” he admitted. He swallowed tightly. Will’s eyes swept him up and down, zeroing in on the awkward hunch in his posture, and his expression grew suddenly soft.

“Oh, god. You were hurting last night, weren’t you?” Will asked quietly.

Hannibal was reluctant to admit it. He grabbed the plates he’d filled with food and gently pushed past Will. “I had an episode, yes,” he said evenly. “Breakfast is ready.” He placed the plates on the table and went back to bring coffee, but Will blocked his path. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I know how much it hurts.” 

You could not possibly know the depths of my pain, dear one, Hannibal thought as he looked at Will’s sympathetic face. He shook his head. “There was once a time when I managed each uncomfortable night on my own, Will. You were experiencing your own kind of pain last night. I’m only sorry to have been the one who caused it.” He took Will’s shoulders gently and sidestepped him. 

But Will wasn’t going to let this go. “I’m not afraid of you, Hannibal,” he said.

“Considering last night’s events, Will, I would have to argue to the contrary.” He poured coffee into two mugs, this time, pulled out a little jar of sugar and stirred a heaping teaspoon into one. He placed the sweetened coffee into Will’s hands. 

“I was startled, in the moment, yes; it was an image I’ve seen so many times. But I spent a lot of time thinking about you, and about us, last night.” Will took a sip of the hot liquid Hannibal handed him. “You’ve been nothing but gentle with me since we got here. And I know I don’t always show it, but I see everything you’ve done to make this a happy place for me. You know me, Hannibal. You even make my coffee just the way I like it.” 

Warmth flooded Hannibal’s chest. He finally raised his eyes to meet Will’s. “I would never hurt you again. I truly hope you know that,” he said. 

“I know you aren’t going to stab me with your kitchen knives. I’m sorry that I ever suggested that. It was cruel of me,” Will admitted. 

“I won’t use them when you’re around if it makes you uneasy,” Hannibal offered. “I’d throw them all away if you asked me to.”

A little smile touched Will’s lips. “It would be awfully difficult for you to feed me such delicious food if you couldn’t cut things up.” 

“For you, Will, I would find a way.” 

Will placed the coffee mug down behind him. Before Hannibal could even register what was occurring, Will’s arms wrapped around his neck. 

The tenderness of the gesture was foreign to Hannibal in the light of day, but he raised his arms cautiously to return the embrace. Will was warm and solid and strong in his arms. It was a bliss that he wished would never end. “Please don’t feel like you can’t be yourself around me because of this,” Will murmured. “Just move a little bit slower when you pull a knife out of the block.”

Hannibal nodded into Will’s hair as he held him. Though peace washed over him at the relief of Will’s affection, something troubled him, still.

How much of himself did Will truly want to see? Did he want him refined and even-tempered, always willing to provide a meal? Or did he want the other parts, too, bloodlust and all? 

It was not a question to ask Will now; it might not ever be. But if it meant Hannibal had a shot at having him–truly having him–he would never take another life again.

Chapter Text

Will stared at his reflection for what must have been the hundredth time that day, poking his tongue into his cheek where the skin was knit together by thick scar tissue. Even healed, it was a gruesome sight: silvery, puckered skin carved a path through his cheek and twisted his smile into something like a Halloween mask. Will had thought himself something of a handsome man, once–someone who pretty women in bars smiled at before he opened his mouth and spoke. 

Not anymore. 

He’d started to venture out in public, cautiously, with Hannibal, and people stared at him everywhere they went. He knew what they were thinking: What is such a handsome, refined man doing with him? Will could hardly blame them, for even with a fresh haircut and all the tailored suits in the world, he would always be the bright-eyed stranger with the ugly gash in his cheek.

Yes, Will was a scarred man in more ways than one. Though he couldn’t hide the one on his cheek, the one Hannibal had carved into his belly never saw the light of day. It was thick and ugly, curving over his abdomen and disfiguring the hard muscle there. He was protective of the thing, hid it from Hannibal’s sight with oversized shirts or arms crossed over his midsection. And Hannibal, mercifully, didn’t ask about it–but Will knew how he longed to. 

Will saw how Hannibal’s eyes would rake over his body when he stood to stretch, a tantalizing strip of pale skin revealing itself beneath his t-shirt, and he noticed the way Hannibal’s gaze would drift down and find Will covering himself when he’d tended to his injured shoulder. He felt Hannibal’s tender, wandering fingertips ghosting over his skin at night when they’d share a bed, and the way his hand would abruptly jerk back when Will flinched at the contact. And as desperately as one part of Will just wanted to let him see the damage he had wrought, another part of him still felt the impulse to hide from Hannibal–to keep himself tucked away, safe and private. Something about sharing this scar with him was distinctly intimate. It scared Will.

Though the suit he currently wore would easily hide the slice in his stomach, this evening’s fitted, forest green three-piece, chosen for him by Hannibal, did nothing to bring the attention away from his cheek. Will pulled his gaze away from the face that stared back at him in the mirror and finished buttoning up a crisp, white dress shirt. As if on cue, he heard a gentle knock at his bedroom door.

“You can come in,” Will called, and Hannibal glided gracefully into the room. He looked natural, this way: plaid suit and polished shoes, perfectly-coordinated tie in a neat full Windsor. 

Will felt he had no business accompanying someone so stylish and refined. He turned his attention back toward the mirror. Hannibal’s own reflection soon appeared behind him. 

“I’m not sure which tie to wear with this,” Will said.

Hannibal’s warm hands took Will by the shoulders, gently turned him around to get a better look. Will swallowed and tried his very hardest to appear casual at the intimate contact. Hannibal’s gaze swept over his body. 

“May I?” Hannibal asked, and gestured towards Will’s closet. Will gave a single nod in response. Hannibal disappeared for only a moment. There were three ties on his arm when he returned.

Again, Hannibal stepped in close, and Will felt heat blooming in his cheeks. He hoped desperately that Hannibal would be too focused on coordinating his outfit to notice. Carefully, Hannibal held each tie to Will’s throat, and Will hadn’t a clue what he was looking for. What he did know, though, was that Hannibal’s intense and appraising gaze was making the room feel about ten degrees hotter than it had before.

Will saw approval bloom in Hannibal’s eyes when he held up the last tie. “It complements your eyes beautifully, Will,” he said, and before Will could take it from him, he was tying it neatly around Will’s neck.

God, Will hated himself for the way the gesture went straight to his cock. He could only pray that Hannibal wouldn’t smell the arousal on him. Though they’d always shared something beyond friendship, Will didn’t quite understand the role of sexual attraction in their bond. Though they held one another at night, sometimes–and though Will sometimes felt Hannibal’s blackened irises roving over him in his tailored suits—nothing more had ever occurred. What they shared was, perhaps, beyond that base and crude sort of attraction. 

Not that Will was even certain that he wanted such a thing from Hannibal. Unease and distrust still settled in his gut, sometimes, when Hannibal came near. He felt resentment for the killer creeping into his subconscious often, poisoning the affection he had begun to tentatively nurture. Hannibal was complicated, to say the very least: much more complicated than the beauty of his physical form. Though Hannibal’s gentleness and his care were all that Will had known since their fall, Will still found images of Hannibal’s cruelty flashing through his mind.

Will snapped away from his thoughts when Hannibal’s voice reached him. “What do you think?” he asked, turning Will’s body back towards the mirror. He held up Will’s vest, then his suit jacket, and helped him shrug into each of them. 

Will stared at his reflection, tried to admire the lovely fit of the suit and the way it brought out his bright eyes and dark curls, but all he could see was the scar on his face. He smiled something like a grimace. “It’ll do,” Will said, and swiftly turned away from himself, walking out of the bedroom and taking the stairs two at a time. In his peripheral vision as he passed, Will caught a glimpse of Hannibal’s puzzled, pained expression.

“I suppose we had better be on our way,” Hannibal said, trailing Will at a much slower pace. He pressed a silver ring into Will’s palm on his way out the door, one to match the one on his own ring finger. 

It was all part of their cover, Will told himself, as he slid the ring on. Here, he was Lars Andersen’s husband, Luke; it simply made the most sense, given their situation, to pose as a married couple, and Will agreed with this. However, he had never gotten used to the loving press of Hannibal’s lips on his cheek as he was introduced, never gotten used to the sincere, smiling crinkle of Hannibal’s eyes when he looked at Will, never gotten used to hearing Hannibal address him as my love as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

They had been invited to a charity event—rather, Hannibal had been invited to a charity event, and he was dragging Will along in order to keep up appearances. At least once a month, Will accompanied Hannibal to events: the opera, charity balls, and dinner parties featuring dishes he could never name. It had taken mere months for Hannibal to make himself one of the most sought-after guests in Havana’s social scene, despite the presence of his somber and awkward ‘husband’. 

As they approached the elaborate hall, Will took a deep breath, preparing himself for the stares to come. He looped his arm through Hannibal’s own and stepped into the warm, dim light of the space. 

Heads turned, and Hannibal was greeted with warm, generous smiles. As they strode past, Will felt eyes burning into him from all angles, observed the way the little groups leant in to whisper as they watched him. Their eyes were cold, morbidly curious when they took in the sight of Will, nothing like the friendly expressions they sent Hannibal’s way. When they found the host of the event, Angelina, with a small crowd gathered around her, their chatter went silent. Hannibal stepped forward and kissed her hand. “Angelina. Thank you so much for the invitation. This is lovely,” he said, and Will was impressed by how sincere he sounded. 

The woman’s cheeks flushed pink; it was immediately clear to Will that she was attracted to Hannibal, for she kept her hand gripped tightly around his own. “I’m so pleased you could make it, Lars. You’re always a welcome sight,” she gushed. It was then that her eyes flitted past Hannibal’s handsome face and landed on Will. “And your husband, of course,” she added dryly. Her eyes never met his; he knew that they were firmly planted on his scarred cheek. Will merely nodded and gave a tight-lipped smile. 

The whispers began as soon as they stepped away from the group. Will huffed a sigh and glanced over his shoulder. 

“What’s the matter, my love?” Hannibal asked him, and though the words were fake, the expression in Hannibal’s eyes was sincere. 

Will shrugged him off. “It’s nothing. Gonna go find the bar,” he replied, and left Hannibal to socialize.

Nobody spoke to Will while he stood at the bar sipping whiskey, and that was the way he liked it. He surveyed the room: men in designer suits and women with too much Botox, laughing and sipping on wine that cost more than Will’s monthly groceries once had. He felt it when their eyes found him, when their gazes swept him from top to bottom, when they chuckled and made their theories. 

Lilting piano music began to fill the air, and Will didn’t need to look to know that this was one of Hannibal’s compositions. Still, he found his gaze drifting to where Hannibal sat with a small crowd gathered around him, watching in awe and admiration. Angelina sat at the end of the piano bench, and the expression on her face made something in Will’s gut twist. 

Applause erupted throughout the room when Hannibal finished. He stood and gave a charming little bow that would have caused Will to roll his eyes and chuckle if they were alone. “A song dedicated to my beautiful lover,” Hannibal announced, and Will could sense amusement ripple through the space. Of course, he wasn’t beautiful, and he could never deserve to have such lovely music composed for him. This was why they snickered and glanced at Will, tucked into the corner with his glass.

Hot tears of embarrassment and frustration burned the corners of Will’s eyes, but he would rather die than allow this crowd to have the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He sat his half-empty glass down and slipped away into the night air as nonchalantly as he could. 

Hannibal found Will only a few minutes later, tears cooling on his cheeks. “Let’s go home, darling,” Hannibal said softly, bringing Will to slightly unsteady feet. 

“You don’t have to call me that, y’know. There isn’t anyone out here to hear it,” Will said with a sullen huff.

“I know there isn’t.” 

Will watched the dark buildings fly by from the passenger seat in silence; he knew, though, that Hannibal wouldn’t simply let this pass. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s the matter, Will?” Hannibal asked, finally. 

Will was silent for a long beat. “I hate the way they stare at me,” he said. 

Hannibal glanced over, inquisitive. “What are you referring to?” 

Will glared back. “As if you don’t know.”

“Enlighten me, please.”

Will sighed. “It’s the scar on my face. I can feel people staring, and I know they’re talking about me. Everyone knows someone like you could never belong with someone who looks as gruesome as I do,” he murmured, cheeks flushing as he admitted these most private thoughts. 

Hannibal chuckled. “Will, you truly believe this is why people stare at you?” 

The lightness in Hannibal’s voice caused anger to bud inside Will. He scoffed. “Why else would they stare? You look like—well—you. And I have this huge, hideous gash in my face. I’m surprised you aren’t embarrassed to be seen with me.” 

Hannibal softened, then, and as he parked the car, he took a moment to gaze at Will. “Embarrassed? You are a rare beauty, Will. Any stares you notice, any whispering, this is all from the shock of seeing someone as lovely and mysterious as you in the flesh. You are the envy of Havana’s social scene. They cannot believe that I have the privilege of coming home to such a uniquely gorgeous creature each evening. Those whose expressions you mistake for mocking are merely jealous.”

Heat tingled on Will’s neck. “I’m not gorgeous. Look at this, Hannibal,” he said, gesturing to his cheek. “It’s ugly, and you know it.” 

“Come, Will. Let me show you something,” Hannibal said. 

They went to Hannibal’s study. As Hannibal thumbed through a neatly-organized drawer, Will looked around at the shelves of books, a desk covered in papers. “What’re you going to do, read me a bedtime story?” His voice prickled with sarcasm. 

Finally, Hannibal landed on a thin, leatherbound sketchbook, which he placed in Will’s hands. “This is how I see you,” he said simply. Will opened the book. 

The pages were filled with sketches of him.

Hannibal had drawn him smiling, corners of his eyes crinkled in laughter; he had drawn him soft-faced and sleeping, with long lashes fanning his cheeks; he had drawn him intensely focused, brow furrowed with a book cradled in his hands. Will’s scar delicately shadowed his face in each drawing, and Will could feel tender admiration and reverence in every one. 

These were the sketches of somebody who truly found him beautiful. 

When Will looked up, Hannibal’s gaze was somehow both heartbreakingly soft and intense. Will fumbled for words and found none. 

“Don’t you understand now, Will? You could never be ugly to me. I find you exquisite in every way, and this includes your lovely scars.” Hannibal took the notebook from Will’s hands, led him over to a long, brass mirror that hung near the fireplace. “I want you to see yourself as I do. Stay right there,” Hannibal ordered, quickly lighting a fire. Will watched its warm glow cast over his reflection. 

Just as he had much earlier in the evening, Hannibal appeared behind Will, then; he placed his hands on Will’s shoulders. “May I?” Hannibal asked, though he was already sliding the suit jacket off of Will’s body as he nodded. It dropped carelessly to the floor behind them. The vest followed. Will’s pulse quickened. 

“When I look at you, I see the delicate curve of your throat and sunkissed skin,” Hannibal murmured. His fingers traced the path he narrated and came to cup his jaw. “I see the dark stubble that caresses your jawline, and perfect, soft lips.” Hannibal’s thumb brushed over Will’s bottom lip, and he shuddered. “I see bright eyes, oceans of depths unknown, and perfect brunette curls.” Will’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of Hannibal’s fingers gently tugging the hair at his nape, but flew back open with a gasp as his hand snaked around to caress Will’s scarred cheek. “I see this gorgeous scar that paints your face, which makes you look so disquietingly ethereal. The way it twists your smile is so endearing and handsome, Will. This is what I see when I look at you.” 

Will’s breathing stuttered as he watched Hannibal stroke his cheek. He realized how far he’d leant back into the touch, his back pressed firmly into Hannibal’s chest. “Would you like for me to continue?” Hannibal whispered, lips ghosting dangerously over Will’s ear. His eyes were nearly black. Will watched himself nod. “Good,” Hannibal said, and his voice was a mere whisper of breath. One hand found Will’s hip, grounding him, and the other returned to his throat; this time, it traced a path down Will’s chest. 

“I look at you, Will, and see strong shoulders, and your elegant collarbone. I can only imagine the perfect dusting of dark hair across your lovely, pale chest, such a contrast to your golden throat.” Will reached for Hannibal’s wrist when he began to smooth a hand down the front of Will’s shirt, brought it back to the button at his collar. 

“I don’t want you to imagine, anymore,” Will murmured. “I want you to see me, Hannibal.” Those eyes filled with dark desire and affection. Hannibal pulled Will’s tie loose and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his dress shirt, exposing a sliver of skin that perfectly matched his description. He tugged it further open and popped two more buttons in the process, leaving Will’s toned chest exposed, inching ever-closer to the vulnerable place he’d hidden for so long. 

A warm hand slid over Will’s pec, thumbing a pink nipple to hardness and sending a shockwave of shivering pleasure down Will’s spine. He craned his neck back, seeking more contact with Hannibal. “Look at yourself, Will. You respond so beautifully,” he purred. 

Will forced himself to look, forced himself to admire the deeply erotic sight of himself arched back against Hannibal, exposed chest flushed pink. He took in the sight of Hannibal behind him, powerful and yet tender, stroking across his bare skin and holding him steady, whispering beautiful things in his ear and looking at him like a deity come to earth. The very sight drew a soft moan from his lips. 

“Do you believe me yet?” Hannibal asked. His hand slipped away from Will’s bare skin, found the fabric of his shirt, and wandered ever-so-slightly further down towards his stomach. Will knew what he was doing—knew that this was Hannibal begging, hoping for even the slightest contact with that place he’d made for himself on Will’s body, and he knew that Hannibal was already expecting to be shrugged away. 

But Will wasn’t going to hide any longer. 

“Hannibal,” Will said softly, and immediately, Hannibal’s hand stilled, prepared to slip toward safer territory. “You can take it off. I want you to see.” 

Will watched Hannibal’s expression shift in the reflection, something distinctly emotional overtaking him. Those hazel eyes glistened, perhaps, in the orange glow of firelight. With a gentleness that made Will shiver, Hannibal slid his hands around Will’s waist, slowly unbuttoning his shirt until it was hanging open. 

At the very first glimpse of the thick scar tissue sliced through Will’s belly, Hannibal’s breath quivered with a sharp gasp. Will stared at the ugly scar, at the way Hannibal’s hands hovered near it as if forbidden to touch it. Will shrugged out of his shirt, leaving his upper half completely exposed. 

“And what do you see now, Doctor Lecter?” Will’s voice was small, nearly bitter. To him, this was still an ugly thing. Niggling resentment tinged his arousal at the sight of Hannibal’s satisfaction. 

“You don’t know how I’ve longed to see you like this since—“

“Since you cut me open?”

Hannibal nodded breathlessly. His fingertips grazed the hard muscle of Will’s abdomen above the scar, a silent question.

Will placed a hand over Hannibal’s own and slid it down to rest firmly against the place where he’d once gutted Will. Hannibal’s eyes slid shut; something like a whimper escaped him at the contact, and Will absorbed the emotion in his face. It was like coming home. 

“I see the culmination of the love I felt for you, of my betrayal and my pain,” Hannibal said, and Will felt warm lips on the side of his neck. “And yet, I also see something inevitable between us, something that was bound to happen, in order for us to reach this moment.” Will watched as he stroked reverently over the ridges of scar tissue, and something about this adoring touch changed the brutal mark from ugly to beautiful. “Your body tells a story about us, Will; as does my own.” Hannibal held out a scarred wrist for Will to see in the reflection, and Will captured it, raised it to his lips. 

“Are you sorry?” Will asked, finally. 

Hannibal was silent for a long moment; his hand never strayed from that vulnerable place on Will’s belly. “How could I be?” he replied, finally. “If all the pain we’ve given each other was what it took to have you, Will, to touch you gently and to kiss your perfect skin, I’d do it all again.”

Frustration and tenderness mingled in Will’s mind at Hannibal’s lack of remorse, and yet, he understood; he knew, deep in his bones, that he wouldn’t change a thing between them if it meant he could have this moment. 

Will watched as Hannibal nuzzled his face against his shoulder, fine, silvery hair tickling his neck. “I’m not sorry, either,” Will murmured, and the hand that wasn’t curled protectively over his scarred stomach drifted down the trail of sparse hair that led to Will’s pelvis, toyed with the buckle of his belt. In all the newness of these past minutes, Will had nearly forgotten the painful throb of his cock, which had soaked up every last bit of Hannibal’s praise. “Are you going to tell me more of what you see?” Will asked, and Hannibal’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“It would be a shame to leave this exercise incomplete,” Hannibal said, and swiftly pulled Will’s belt from its loops. “I see a tantalizing dust of hair trailing your stomach, leading me down a most sinful and tempting path,” he said. Will watched Hannibal’s mouth press against his jaw. 

Like unwrapping a long-awaited gift, Hannibal tugged down the zipper of Will’s pants, revealing a triangle of his plaid boxers. A rumble of laughter vibrated Hannibal’s chest. “And now, I see those hideous undergarments you insist on wearing, even on the most formal occasions.”

Will’s cheeks heated, but he couldn’t help a small smile. “Well, we can’t all wear pretty little silk briefs, Doctor,” he retorted, and watched with satisfaction as a subtle blush painted Hannibal’s own face—and this was how Will knew he was truly bare and open, for the Hannibal Lecter he’d known in Baltimore would never betray an emotion so vapid as embarrassment. Teeth nipped at Will’s ear, a gentle reprimand. He slid the pants over Will’s thighs and let them pool at his feet. Will toed off his shoes and kicked them away, leaving him standing in nothing but the underwear Hannibal resented. 

Hannibal’s hand traversed the path to the waistband of Will’s boxers slowly with a question in his eyes. Warm breath tickled Will’s neck when Hannibal’s hand cupped his clothed erection. “Is this how you want things to be between us, Will?” Hannibal asked.

Will hated the desperation in his eyes when he nodded his assent. “Please, Hannibal.” 

And then Hannibal was sliding his hands beneath the waistband of Will’s boxers, shoving them to the floor. 

Will marveled at the image of himself, entirely naked, as Hannibal Lecter ran hungry eyes and hands over his body, and he watched his pupils grow dark with lust when Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his length. 

“I see something that I would fall down on my knees and worship,” Hannibal murmured, and just the sound of those sinful words sent a moan shuddering through Will’s body.

Hannibal ran his thumb through the slit of Will’s weeping cock. The hot, wet slide of his hand was maddening, made even worse when Hannibal’s lips latched onto the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder. Will fixated on the hypnotic sight of Hannibal’s hand stroking slowly, deliciously over his cock; from beyond the haze of pleasure, he noticed that Hannibal still wore his fake wedding band. 

A thought Will couldn’t help, a thought that was inevitable, burrowed itself in his mind, and his breath caught: what would it be like to be married to Hannibal? How would it feel for a loving husband to press kisses along his neck, to delight in bringing him such pleasure, to place loving hands on all his scarred and tender places? 

Hannibal would give that to him, almost certainly, if he only asked. 

Will brought a hand to Hannibal’s jaw, drawing his lips down to meet Will’s own in a crushing kiss. He felt the pace of Hannibal’s stroke stutter briefly. The hot slide of Hannibal’s tongue in Will’s mouth, the brutal nip of his teeth, brought Will dangerously close to his orgasm. He moaned openly into Hannibal’s mouth. 

When Will’s body began to tremble in his pleasure, Hannibal drew his mouth away, fixed his gaze on their reflections again. “Look at yourself for me, Will,” he ordered. Will obeyed. Hannibal’s pace increased. He leant close to Will’s ear, but his intense gaze on Will’s body never faltered. “I see the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on lost in pleasure,” he whispered. “You are so lovely. Please let me watch you come like this, my darling.” 

Hannibal’s gentle words, the hand roughly stroking his cock, the palm pressed possessively over his scar, the very thought of Hannibal loving him drew a shaky groan from Will’s lips. His body tensed, arched back against Hannibal, and then he was spilling over Hannibal’s hand and painting the mirror with hot cum. “Absolutely perfect,” Hannibal praised. Will watched, awestruck, when Hannibal raised his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. 

Panting and flustered, Will turned away from their reflections to face Hannibal. “Can I—do you want me to…” Will stuttered out. Hannibal shook his head, smiled indulgently. 

“This was pleasure enough for me, Will.”

Will nodded, troubled, and padded after Hannibal up the stairs after fishing his boxers from the floor and pulling them on. Without thinking, he followed Hannibal into his bedroom. 

“Are you planning to join me tonight?” Hannibal asked as he began to undress. Will realized, then, what he’d done; he never started the night in Hannibal’s bed. Instead, he’d often find Hannibal late in the night, listening for signs of the pain that often plagued him; he’d slip into bed with Hannibal, too, when he awoke in a cold sweat, heart racing. Their closeness always required a purpose, and Will had none at the moment, aside from a suffocating need to feel the warmth of Hannibal’s touch after the intimacy they’d just shared. 

Will hesitated and started to turn towards the door. “Oh, sorry,” he said with a sheepish chuckle. “Not sure what I was thinking.”

Hannibal’s voice was firm when he spoke. “Share my bed, Will.” He pulled the comforter back on the side of the bed Will always occupied in the middle of the night, then returned to neatly removing and hanging up his clothing. Will crawled into the blissfully soft bed to admire the sight of Hannibal stripping off his coat of armor, becoming something soft that only Will was allowed to see. Finally, clad in a set of matching silk pajamas, Hannibal came to lay down beside him. 

Suddenly, a sense of uncertainty crept up Will’s spine. He felt awkward, unsure about what to say or do—the sorts of thoughts that never crossed his mind when instinct drew him to Hannibal after midnight. 

He didn’t need to wonder for long. Hannibal turned onto his side and drew Will in close, pressed their bodies snugly together. The feeling of Hannibal’s warm, strong hands on his bare skin soothed him, and soon, Will felt, again, a palm splayed out across the crescent of scar tissue etched across his belly.

He felt the cold metal of the ring Hannibal still hadn’t removed warming against his skin, too. 

Will didn’t know where this left them, but he knew that a deep part of him ached to be with Hannibal this way, even as his hesitations plagued him. He fell into a deep and dreamless sleep tucked into the warmth of Hannibal’s side, wondering if he could ever allow himself to have this.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Will’s relationship with Hannibal felt both completely different and exactly the same. Will couldn’t get the image of Hannibal’s hands on his body, the feel of Hannibal's mouth on his neck, the sound of Hannibal’s loving praise out of his mind; these memories plagued him at all hours of the day and made it difficult to focus when he was near. And yet, Hannibal regarded him with the same friendly and warm impassivity he always had.

Their coupling had not led to the beginning of a true romantic relationship, and Will still spent many nights in his own bedroom, but his perception of Hannibal was irrevocably changed. The unique high of feeling so purely loved and cherished for, perhaps, the first time in his life had left Will reeling. 

It hurt, a little, that Hannibal seemed not to feel any of the same effects. Even with Hannibal’s near-constant company, Will found that he had become lonely, missing something that he’d only received a small taste of. It wasn’t only this: Will craved the simple presence of a friend, someone who didn’t incite the overwhelming flood of emotions Hannibal did, and he missed the uncomplicated affection of his dogs, whom his thoughts drifted to every single day. He hoped they were happy, somewhere.

These thoughts drove Will to seek out something, anything to occupy some of the space in his mind, so that Hannibal didn’t take it all up. He found his solace in spending time at the docks.

There was a lively fishing community in Havana, and with this came a frequent need for boats to be fixed. Will made acquaintances with easy smiles and generous offers, and before long, many of the fishermen knew to find him if they needed help. Afternoons spent elbow-deep in engine grease became a sort of therapy for Will, kept the resentful whisper in the back of his mind at bay. 

Hannibal, for his part, kept busy with Havana’s elite. A few nights each week, Will would eat dinner on his own and doze off before Hannibal returned. He wondered, distantly, if Hannibal was killing. He knew the house had a basement. 

He never asked. 

Their interactions were still warm, and they still found enjoyment in each other’s company, but something was distinctly missing. Will couldn’t decide if it had always felt this way, or if the sense had only developed after he revealed his scars to Hannibal. Will acknowledged, too, his own role in this conflict: he never made the first move, never mentioned what had occurred between them. Sometimes, he still snapped at Hannibal’s kindnesses, still struggled to part with their painful past. Hannibal accepted Will’s thorns without anger, but without true emotion, either.

Hannibal was finding it singularly difficult to keep his mask on around Will after he’d had the chance, finally, to lay him bare. But he had a distinct sense that if the nature of their cracked relationship were to change, it may truly shatter. 

When Hannibal had awoken that next morning to find Will still pressed against him, he felt a distinct urge to press kisses into Will’s skin, to wake him with loving words; but when Will had startled awake and found Hannibal gazing upon him, his eyes briefly glazed over with an instinctual, primal sort of fear. 

So that was how it still was, then.

Hannibal found that between longing gazes and friendly words, Will still often met him with a distinct prickliness. He decided that, if Will were ever to trust him–to want him–he would have to reach that conclusion on his own. And so he gave Will his space, secured his armor, and hoped that he could prove to Will, somehow, that he was worth loving. 

Though Hannibal always missed Will’s presence during the days, he was pleased to see him adjusting to life in Havana, making acquaintances out of local fishermen and developing hobbies. It was for this reason that Hannibal began to spend more time out on his own, attempting to demonstrate a lack of overattachment.

The opera was lovely; the food at dinner parties was passable, even by his standards. And still, nothing could compare to a quiet evening in Will’s presence. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could exist in this purgatory, this space between Will’s love and his hate. Friendliness would not sustain him. He searched desperately for his solution. 

When Chiyoh’s phone call finally came, six months after their disappearance, a tentative hope bloomed in Hannibal’s chest.

She was on her way with Will’s dogs, all seven, in tow. 

Will was unsurprised to find a note in Hannibal’s graceful script upon returning home from the docks that day. The sun had already begun to set, blazing a gorgeous pink in the sky, and Will imagined him, perfectly-dressed with wine glass in hand, at some yacht party or another. He read the note:

Will,

I won’t be home until quite late this evening. There is no need to wait for me. You’ll find dinner in the fridge, and a lovely white to pair with it, if you’d like. It is a beautiful evening to enjoy a meal and a drink on the deck.

-Hannibal

Will nearly smiled at the thoughtfulness Hannibal had poured into his brief words, always pairing Will’s food with the serving suggestion he’d carry out if he was at home. Sadness stabbed through his heart when he considered how desperately he wished Hannibal was here to share his company. He allowed himself to stew in these thoughts while he ate and sipped on the wine Hannibal had chosen for him–never something he’d pick for himself, but it felt like a betrayal to abandon the bottle in favor of a glass of bourbon. 

Will stared out over the horizon until well past nightfall. He indulged in his jealous fantasies–pictured Hannibal leaving the party with Angelina on his arm, imagined his hands and mouth on her the same way they’d once been on him. These images were what finally drew him inside to pour that bourbon, after all. He was determined to stay awake until Hannibal returned home, to pounce on him as soon as he stepped through the door. The thought of him with someone else caused Will’s liquor-hazed thoughts to settle on staking his claim once and for all.

Except that Hannibal didn’t return home, even long after his usual hour. Will had fallen asleep on the couch, and when his eyes flitted open in the gray morning light to find that Hannibal was still gone, his heart twisted in his chest.

He had waited too long, had pushed Hannibal away one too many times. And now Hannibal’s attentions had fallen on somebody else. 

Will felt that old, familiar heartsickness–the same one he’d felt when Alana rejected him, and when a crush rejected his invitation to prom many years ago. This time, though, it seemed nearly strong enough to kill him. 

Will had to get out, had to escape this place where his feelings for Hannibal had grown and blossomed into love without his permission. He couldn’t be there to face him when he came home in yesterday’s clothing and mussed-up hair. He knew that the men at the docks were already starting their day, so that was where he went. And he wouldn’t come home until he could think about Hannibal without a sickly knot in his stomach.

Hannibal’s evening had begun at a party, before his and Chiyoh’s plan came to fruition; inevitably, there were hiccups. His initial plan had been to make a polite appearance: Angelina had, again, requested his presence, and he knew that remaining in her good graces was critical to their successful cover in this new life. The woman gracelessly threw herself at him in spite of Doctor Andersen’s marital status, and he found it nearly impossible to stomach since his feelings for Will had become fully realized. 

Angelina had attached herself to Hannibal’s side, followed him around her own home all evening like a lost puppy. He found it unforgivably rude that she had chosen to ignore her guests in favor of staring at him. Around ten o’clock, Hannibal’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew that this meant Chiyoh was near, and he began the process of attempting to make his exit. Angelina had decided to ensure that this would not be an easy task. 

Hannibal first made an emphasis of checking the message on his phone, confirming what he already knew. “This has been a lovely evening, Angelina, but I’m afraid I must take my leave,” he said, apologetically.

She gave an exaggerated sigh, and Hannibal grimaced at the strong smell of tequila on her breath. “You can’t leave yet, Doctor. The night is still so young,” she replied. There was a suggestive color to her voice that made his skin crawl, offended by the mere suggestion that he would ever dream of such infidelity against Will–Luke, as she knew him.

“Unfortunately, I must. I’m needed by my husband.” Hannibal hoped the reminder of his commitment would shake her. 

He wouldn’t be so lucky. She was dragging him, suddenly, to a secluded corner of her home, away from prying eyes. “You can’t tell me, Lars, that yours is not a marriage of convenience. Luke is gorgeous to look at, even I will admit, but he is so–”

“So what, Angelina? Do tell me what you believe to be wrong with my lover.” Hannibal’s eyes glittered dangerously; she didn’t seem to notice. 

“So dull. He doesn’t measure up to your standards, can’t even hold an engaging conversation. I feel that you need somebody who sparkles the way you and I do, Lars. Somebody who is one of us,” she said. Her eyes grew hopeful, and Hannibal sensed that she was leaning in for something he would never give. 

Hannibal stepped back smoothly and removed his arm from her clutches. “I assure you that I adore Luke. He is my life’s greatest devotion, and any sparkle you see in me, Angelina, is a mere reflection of the light he radiates; he is the sun to me. I am truly insulted to know that you believe I would falter in my devotion.” He left her with her jaw hanging open. 

“You’ve humiliated me!” she called out after him.

Hannibal barked a laugh. “No, my dear–I believe you have humiliated yourself,” he said over his shoulder. 

Hannibal knew that word would get around, and that they’d all choose their sides. He knew that some would pander to Angelina, a staple figure in Havana’s upper class. He knew, too, that many were taken by his charms and fascinated by Will’s brooding presence. He had little fear for his social life following Angela’s misstep.

In the serenity of the cool night air, Hannibal smoothed himself over and began the long drive to the shore where Chiyoh would be waiting. In his mind’s eye, he imagined Will’s reaction when he arrived with the pack, and he smiled to himself.

But Angelina’s indiscretion was, unfortunately, not to be his only obstacle. When Hannibal arrived at the location they’d discussed–a location Hannibal had believed to be quite secluded–he was displeased to see a roaring bonfire lighting the shoreline from his car. Chiyoh was, mercifully, nowhere to be found, likely still far out enough not to be noticed by the group of teenagers drinking on the beach.

Evidently, she was still plenty close to have a cell signal. Hannibal’s pocket vibrated again. He picked up quickly. 

“I can’t get to shore with these fucking kids on the beach,” Chiyoh said, before Hannibal even had a chance to say hello.

“Language, Chiyoh. Your mouth has become as filthy as Will’s,” he chastised. 

“Pardon my language, Hannibal,” she replied dryly. “We’re going to need to wait for them to clear out before I can bring seven dogs onto the beach. That would draw a ridiculous amount of attention.”

“Then we shall wait.”

And they did wait. For an agonizingly long time.

When the young partiers cleared out, the sky was fading from pitch black to blue. Hannibal’s eyes were heavy when he finally saw Chiyoh’s boat heading for the now-empty shore. He met her with leashes in hand, but trusted that Will’s beasts were likely well-behaved enough not to need them.

The dogs met him with wagging tails as they hopped down into the sand, happy to see a familiar face. Winston bounded up to him first, gave his hand a friendly sniff and a lick, and Hannibal was surprised to find that he was truly happy to see the dogs, despite the hair and slime they brought with them.

This was Will’s family, after all; perhaps this gesture would make them all a family.

“Of all the things I’ve done for you, this might just be the biggest pain in the ass,” Chiyoh said by way of greeting. She hopped off of the boat and met Hannibal in a warm embrace. 

“Chiyoh, dear, you never fail me. I am so grateful.” He pressed a kiss against her temple. “Though I do wish you would speak less crudely.” 

She chuckled. “You’d better get them home before the sun comes up. Wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious of an Audi filled with mutts.”

Hannibal smiled indulgently at her as he let her go. “I had hoped to wake Will with them, as a surprise. I’m afraid it might already be too late for that, especially if he realizes I never returned last night.”

Chiyoh gave his hand a squeeze before turning back towards her boat. “Good luck–with Will, and with, well–” she gestured at the pack of dogs surrounding him, “–all that.” She slipped away into the night.

Hannibal was pleased to confirm his suspicions that the dogs would follow him obediently to the car. It was a tight squeeze, but it would do. Though their panting and whining grated at his frayed nerves, his singular focus on the joy in Will’s eyes when he saw them made the entire quest worthwhile. 

When Hannibal arrived at home, dawn had already begun to break; he was puzzled and disappointed to find that Will was already gone. At the back of Hannibal’s mind, a sinking feeling settled in. He understood Will’s mind all too well, saw the blanket heaped on the sofa, and knew that Will had been waiting for his return the night before. He knew what Will, sensitive and jealous soul that he was, would be thinking of Hannibal’s overnight absence.

So Hannibal’s plans changed. He would get the dogs settled into their new home, cook a beautiful dinner suited to Will’s tastes, and hope that it would be enough to show Will the depths of his devotion. 

Will spent the day at sea. 

Among the fishermen whose boats Will had fixed, there were a few that he’d established enough of a friendship with to spend the day alongside when he wanted to. It was hard work, but he reveled in the chance to get his hands dirty, to occupy his racing mind. Simple, hard work was a kind of medicine for him. It reminded him of silent, companionable days spent alongside his father on their little boat, rare though they had been. 

The sun was sinking low in the sky when they returned to shore, and Will felt the exhaustion all the way to his bones. There was nothing left but to go home and face Hannibal. The very thought filled him with dread. 

Will took the drive home slower than he normally did. His heart sped up when he saw Hannibal’s car parked in the driveway. He dragged his aching body to the door, took a final deep breath as he opened it. 

The sounds inside the house, at first, didn’t truly register as surprising to Will, because they had once been the sounds of his everyday life. The click of nails on hardwood and soft whines as he shut the door behind him didn’t quite raise his suspicions. 

When Winston appeared in the doorway, though, then Buster, then Zoe, with all the rest of his pack following close behind, Will felt his heart stutter in his chest. He dropped to his knees before them in pure shock. As they descended upon him in a flurry of kisses and upturned bellies waiting for a scratch, Will lifted his head to find Hannibal watching, a tentative smile on his face. 

Will found his voice raw when he tried to speak. “Hannibal, this is impossible. How did you do this?” 

“I’ve been planning this since the day we left. It was no simple feat, Will. Chiyoh distributed them to shelters across the country, had them individually adopted by our contacts, and when it was finally safe to do so, she sailed here with them for me to retrieve,” he explained, coming to kneel at Will’s side. Zoe, always the calmest of the bunch, wandered over to receive a scratch from Hannibal. 

“Last night,” Will murmured, piecing it together. “You weren’t…”

Hannibal eyed him carefully; his expression told Will that he already anticipated his suspicions. “I was at a dinner party early in the evening, yes. But I knew that Chiyoh would be arriving last night, and I left early. If you were imagining that I spent the night in somebody else’s company, I assure you that I would never dream of sharing a bed with anybody who isn’t you.” 

Will nodded slowly, looked down at Max, whose furry head rested in his lap. “I thought you’d found someone else to satisfy you,” he said softly. “I thought that I had finally pushed you away.” 

Hannibal moved, then, so that he was knelt down right in front of Will, face-to-face. There was a burning intensity in his gaze. “There is nothing in this world that you could do to keep me from you. Nothing that could push me away. Don’t you know that I am wholeheartedly devoted to you?”

“It’s complicated between us, Hannibal. I want to trust you, and yet I still find it hard to believe, sometimes, that you aren’t going to hurt me again.” 

Hannibal’s hands were gentle when they cupped Will’s face. “I will spend a lifetime proving my devotion to you in any way you ask me to, Will. You are my first thought in the morning, and my last thought as I’m drifting off to sleep at night. It is you, mind, body, and soul, that my heart desires. I’ve been cruel and ugly toward you in the past, but I will devote the rest of my life to showing you nothing but kindness and beauty, if you’ll have me. I love you. I am yours in any way that you’ll take me. Let me show you that I’m worth trusting.” The mask of Hannibal’s cool collectedness had shattered; he spoke to Will with pleading eyes and a ragged voice. 

Will looked around him and saw seven dogs rolling around and thumping their tails, saw the beautiful home Hannibal had made for them, and suddenly, the realization washed over him like a flood. Hannibal meant every word he said. 

Tears that had been threatening to spill over since Will first laid eyes on his pack were now rolling down his cheeks, and all he could do was nod, grab Hannibal by the face and kiss him with an urgency he had never felt before in his life. Hannibal’s tender hands threaded through his hair, stroked over his cheeks, and Will breathed a sob into their kiss. 

Hannibal drew back to look at Will’s tear-stained face with searching eyes. “What’s the matter, my love?” he asked. 

“That, actually. Hearing you call me that and mean it.” He laughed wetly when Winston came to lick the salty tears from his cheeks. “That didn’t come out right. I’m just not used to being seen the way you see me. Never really felt cared about. You brought my pack back to me, Hannibal. You’re willing to live with seven dogs for me. That’s more than anyone else has ever done for me in my life.” 

Hannibal gave him a pleased little smile. “I have always meant it, first and foremost. Posing as your husband in public is merely a useful excuse for me to indulge in treating you the way I wish I could treat you all the time,” he said. “And if you knew the depth of my love for you, you’d drown in it. I would have twenty dogs destroying my home just to see you content. You will never again know loneliness; you will never find a sense of foreignness in the pleasure of being cherished, Will. Not as long as I’m living.” 

Will’s heart was near to bursting. “You would give me twenty dogs?” 

Before Hannibal had a chance to formulate one of his tactful responses, the oven timer started to beep. “Perhaps we should start by becoming accustomed to these seven,” he said as he raised himself from the floor. “I must finish dinner, darling, but I would appreciate your company. Take a few minutes to become reacquainted with your beasts and join me.” 

Will’s cheeks warmed at the endearment; he nodded, and Hannibal left him to a few private moments with the dogs. “Oh, I missed you guys,” he murmured. A grin split his face at the sight of them comfortable and happy in the home he shared with the man he loved. 

The words popped into his head without warning: a family. It was all he’d ever wanted. 

Hannibal’s heart was the lightest it had been since childhood. He found himself humming a tune while he finished his dinner preparations, found himself chuckling at the sound of paws skittering into the kitchen behind Will. He found himself preening at the generous praise Will lavished on the meal he’d thoughtfully prepared for them and smiling around sips of wine watching Will lie on the rug in his study and play with the dogs after dinner.

When the sky grew dark and their eyes grew heavy with the efforts of a long night and a hard day, Hannibal announced his intention to get ready for bed.

Will yawned as he drew himself up from the floor, where he’d been intermittently dozing with his head leaned against Buster’s side. He followed Hannibal up the stairs, and that was where a choice lay.

But Will didn’t hesitate. “How much would you mind if I joined you? Permanently.” Quickly, he added, “I’m not expecting the dogs to sleep with us, by the way. If there is an us at nighttime, that is.” He was rambling, cheeks growing pink; Hannibal couldn’t help but to smile. 

“There is an us in every facet of life, Will. The room that was yours can be theirs. I’ve waited a very long time for you to share this bed with me in more than only our vulnerable moments,” Hannibal replied. “Of course, I do hope you were planning to wash the essence of fish from your body before getting into bed. You smell like the docks.” 

Will laughed, a hearty sound that was music to Hannibal’s ears. “I had no intention of cuddling up next to you in your perfect bed reeking of a fishing boat, Hannibal,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” 

When Will disappeared behind the bathroom door, Hannibal first took a moment to process all that had changed in the past few hours. Will was finally his–but what did that mean?

Hannibal knew that sexual attraction was no question between them: he had tucked away the image of Will’s face mid-orgasm in his memory palace and visited it often. Still, he was uncertain about how slowly Will wanted to move, and about how he envisioned their roles. He knew that he would try anything with Will, would give him anything he desired, but was Will going to feel the same way?

The urge to draw him down and bring him to sobbing pleasure the very moment he emerged from the shower with hot, clean skin and damp curls was nearly suffocating. Hannibal was not in the business of fighting his urges, but he chose the unassuming route, settled into bed fully-clothed in his pajamas and a book in his lap. The urge grew ever-stronger, though, when the bathroom door opened in a cloud of steam and Will stepped out with a towel slung low around his waist. Hannibal found him absolutely delicious like this: little droplets glistening on his reddened skin, hair wild and dark, muscled chest and shoulders on full display. He suppressed the pleased sound that threatened to spill from his lips.

Will quickly became aware of Hannibal’s admiration, eyes narrowed in smug satisfaction. “You’re staring, Doctor Lecter,” he observed, ambling over to the side of the bed. Even as his cheeks heated, Hannibal felt satisfaction blooming in his chest: Will–reserved, serious Will–was a tease. He could certainly work with that. He dragged his eyes over Will’s perfect body, taking in the details as he stood close. 

“Well, there is something quite lovely to stare at,” Hannibal replied.

Will chuckled. “It’s impolite to stare, isn’t it? I thought you despised rudeness.” With each step, the towel barely clinging to Will’s hips slid a little lower. Hannibal’s mouth watered at the mere suggestion of what lay beneath it. 

“Perhaps I am a hypocrite; however, is it not just as ill-mannered to flaunt yourself so shamelessly before me, Will?”

Will gave a noncommittal shrug. “I can certainly get dressed, if I’m offending you,” he said, and turned to walk away from Hannibal.

Like a predator, Hannibal lunged gracefully forward to capture Will by the waist, drawing him back to tumble onto the bed. He gasped in surprise. “Don’t you dare,” Hannibal said, lowly. When he rolled over to lay Will on his back, he was pleased to find no fear in his eyes; instead, he found nothing but hunger. Slowly, carefully, Hannibal unwrapped him, leaving him bare and exquisite. He needed to remind himself to draw breath at the sight. 

A gorgeous flush spread over Will’s chest at the intensity of Hannibal’s gaze. “This seems a little unfair, Doctor Lecter,” Will said, capturing his gaze. 

A catlike grin spread Hannibal’s face. “Oh? How so?” 

“You’re still dressed.” Will sat up, then, working open the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt. “I’ve been thinking about this since the night with the mirror,” he said softly. “How I’ve wanted to have you the way you’ve had me.” 

Hannibal’s heart filled with affection for the beautiful man before him; he helped Will to undress him, shrugging off his shirt and making quick work of the rest of his pajamas. “I am yours to take, my love.” Will’s eyes roamed eagerly over Hannibal’s naked body, and the admiration pleased him; he worked hard to keep his body in peak physical condition. Hannibal was broad and muscular, skin tanned from his morning swims, and he knew his body was something to be appreciated. 

“Fuck me, Hannibal. If I had known this was what you were hiding underneath all those designer suits, I would’ve gotten you in bed a long time ago,” Will said. He reached out to place his hands on Hannibal’s muscular chest. Hannibal purred at the contact, drew Will closer to straddle his lap. 

“You could have had me whenever you wanted. I’ve been waiting a long, long time for you,” he said, wrapping his fingers into Will’s hair and guiding his head down to meet Hannibal in a searing kiss. 

Hannibal drew away from Will’s lips to mouth at his jaw and his neck, and pleasure curled in his belly at the way Will craned and bared his throat with a moan. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” Will panted. “I was afraid of how badly I wanted you.” 

Chastising, Hannibal nipped at Will’s throat. “Don’t think like that right now, my darling. Just feel,” Hannibal murmured against his skin. He continued to chart his path down to Will’s collarbone, and then his chest, peppering him with kisses and suck-bites along the way. When he could reach no further while sitting up, he laid Will back against the sheets again, kneeling between Will’s parted thighs as he continued to kiss down his body. He sucked a pink nipple into his mouth and relished the sound of pleasure that rose from Will’s throat. 

Hannibal was working ever-closer to his target, the part of Will that he had been unable to get out of his head for more than a month. He pressed tender kisses to Will’s belly, looking up to Will for permission as he approached the scar there.

Will’s lust-blown eyes met Hannibal’s, and comprehension seemed to click immediately. Hannibal hadn’t touched him here, not since that night, for the very idea of Will’s rejection and distrust made his stomach churn. But Will nodded at him breathlessly now. “Yes, Hannibal. It’s yours,” he said, and Hannibal found hot satisfaction washing over him as he laid reverent lips on the scar tissue. Will moaned above him at the contact, and Hannibal could feel Will’s cock twitching against his chest. 

To know that this brought such pleasure to Will was dizzying. 

Hannibal lavished Will with affection; something about kissing Will here felt even more intimate than giving him an orgasm in front of the mirror. And Hannibal was pleased to find that Will was vocal. “It’s yours, Hannibal—I’m yours,” Will moaned above him. “I love you, and I think I’m sick because I love that you gave it to me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you touching it,” Will rambled, and Hannibal was certain he’d be embarrassed by the words pouring from his mouth when his brain wasn’t clouded over with lust and affection. 

Hannibal, though, soaked up Will’s words with pleasure. When he finally pulled himself away, he replied, “You aren’t sick, Will. It is a very intimate thing that we share. Perhaps a form of penetration itself.” Will huffed a breathless laugh at the suggestion. “I am hoping that we might try a different kind of penetration tonight,” Hannibal continued. 

Will nodded, looking both eager and uncertain. Hannibal came up to lay beside him, face-to-face. 

“Tell me, Will. How do you envision our sex?” Hannibal asked. 

Hannibal’s question flooded Will’s mind with images: how didn’t he imagine their sex? He saw himself kneeling over Hannibal, driving into him with abandon; he saw himself on his hands and knees, Hannibal gripping his waist and fucking into him slow and deep; he saw Hannibal writhing in his lap, using his cock to please himself; he saw himself laid out on his back with Hannibal hovering above him, looking lovingly into his eyes as he took him. Will saw hands and mouths on one another, saw tenderness and hunger—above all, he saw pleasure in any act he could engage in with Hannibal. He said as much. 

“I envision our sex in a lot of ways, Hannibal; if you’re asking me what I’m comfortable with, the answer is anything. I want to be inside you, and I want you inside of me, and I want everything in between.” Will rolled over, then, to straddle Hannibal’s hips, admiring the beautiful part of his lips and the hazel fire in his eyes. His eyes traveled down Hannibal’s powerful form and found his cock, swollen and leaking where it lay against his stomach. The sight sent a pulse of heat through Will’s own erection, and he took them both in hand. Will rolled his hips; the sweet friction as they slid together made his breath stutter. 

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal growled. “Tonight, I’m going to claim you.”

Will liked the sound of that very much. He nodded hungrily and savored the sensation and the hypnotic sight of his cock sliding against Hannibal’s; he wondered what it would be like to feel it deep within him. 

“Have you ever been penetrated before, Will?” Hannibal asked, voice low. 

The bluntness of the question caused Will to chuckle. “Thought you said you’ve already penetrated me, in a manner of speaking,” he replied. He never met Hannibal’s eyes, somehow embarrassed to admit his lack of experience. 

Strong fingers tilted his jaw up, forced him to face Hannibal’s appraising gaze. “I was referring to a different sort of penetration.” 

Hannibal’s intensity was hypnotic. “This will be the first time,” Will admitted softly. “Not–I was with a guy once, in college. And of course I’ve been with women. But the first time I’ve ever let someone fuck me.”

Will could see something ignite inside of Hannibal at this confession. “I don’t intend to fuck you, my darling.” The vulgar word sounded foreign and bitter on Hannibal’s refined tongue. “I am going to make love to you until you’re weeping my name in pleasure.”

The words made Will dizzy. In an instant, Hannibal flipped the two of them, again demonstrating his strength, his reflexes–the perfect predator, and Will was ready to give himself over. With Hannibal pinning him against the pillows, he felt deliciously helpless. 

“Do you trust me to care for you, Will?” Hannibal asked, reaching for the little drawer in his bedside table. He retrieved a small bottle of lube, and Will briefly wondered how long he had been waiting for this. For the first time, Will’s apprehensions toward Hannibal had completely melted away, replaced with raw desire. The sense of trusting him completely was a heady thing.

“I do trust you. I want this.” Will rolled his hips against Hannibal to make his point. He was rewarded with a devious smile. Hannibal settled between Will’s legs, spread them apart, and the exposure was both arousing and slightly embarrassing; no one had ever seen him like this, so open and vulnerable.

Will hadn’t quite expected it when Hannibal’s head drew down between his thighs. “I’m going to taste you, first,” Hannibal murmured, and Will’s entire body shuddered when he felt Hannibal’s hot tongue lapping at his hole. 

It was an entirely foreign sensation, at first, and his head snapped up in shock. “Hannibal, what…” he managed, body instinctually jerking away from the contact. But Hannibal’s strong hands ground him firmly in place as that sinful mouth licked into him. Shaky groans of pleasure escaped Will’s mouth; a hand draped over his shame-burned cheeks. “I thought this only happened in porn,” he managed, and the vibration of Hannibal’s laughter against him caused him to buck his hips.

Hannibal raised his head to look at Will, though Will could barely meet his eyes. “You have much to learn. In any case, Will, I would implore you to recall my proclivity to enjoy the flavors of the human body. Eating you is certainly no exception.” And those words sent heat lancing through Will’s gut. His cock twitched against his belly as Hannibal continued to eat his ass with the same enthusiasm he approached a quality meal. The thought of Hannibal Lecter–proper, wealthy, sophisticated Hannibal Lecter–groaning with the pleasure of eating Will’s ass made him feel nearly delirious in his lust. It took immense effort not to reach for his aching erection, for he knew that his orgasm would hit him with only a few strokes. Will had never been this turned on in his life.

Gradually, Will’s body relaxed as he adjusted to the pleasure of the unfamiliar sensation; however, Hannibal was soon going to challenge him once again. He lifted his head from between Will’s legs, pressing a kiss into his hipbone and reaching for the bottle of lube he had retrieved earlier. Anticipation and uncertainty washed over Will when Hannibal’s hand drifted between his legs. A slick finger teased at his rim. “We will start slowly,” Hannibal assured him, and then one finger was sliding past the tight ring of muscle within him. Will drew a deep breath to adjust to the feeling, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Hannibal’s earlier ministrations left his body prepared to receive anything he had to offer.

When Hannibal added another digit, Will began to feel the stretch. He pumped slowly, in and out, and though Will didn’t find it particularly painful, he hadn’t yet found much pleasure in it, either. 

Until Hannibal found that spot inside of him that made it feel like he’d been struck by lightning. 

Will arched off of the bed when Hannibal’s fingers brushed his prostate, a strained whimper falling from his lips. “Fuck, Hannibal,” he whined. The feeling was bliss and madness all at once. He wanted to feel it again. 

“What a filthy mouth,” Hannibal murmured. He found the spot again. A pure, hot pleasure started to coil in Will’s belly. As Hannibal began a slick, slow rhythm, he felt his body grow pliant and accommodating, willing Hannibal to find the sensitive bundle of nerves with every thrust. 

When he didn’t give Will that satisfaction, Will knew it arose from a desire to tease; he was a trained surgeon, after all. Will bucked in protest of Hannibal’s neglect. “Hannibal, stop withholding,” Will said. He realized with distant embarrassment that he was fucking himself down onto Hannibal’s fingers in an effort to find what he wanted, and Hannibal was smirking up at him with self-satisfaction.

“Where are your manners?” Hannibal asked. 

Will rolled his hips again. “Please, Hannibal. Please,” he begged. “No one can make me feel the way you do,” he added with pleading eyes and batting lashes. Hannibal wasn’t the only one who knew how to manipulate a situation to get what he wanted. 

Hannibal found that maddening spot again; this time, though, he didn’t thrust back out. Instead, he began a slow and delicious stroke against Will’s prostate, pads of his fingers rubbing circles over it. 

If a fleeting brush was what it was to be struck by lightning, then this was being on fire. An unintelligible string of curses poured from Will’s mouth as the sensation overtook him. It was a pleasure unlike the simple satisfaction of a handjob or his sex with Molly. This was deep, and burning, and it washed over him like a wave. 

An unfamiliar pressure was beginning to build deep in Will’s belly and threatening to spill over while Hannibal continued to stroke relentlessly over his prostate. This feeling was something like the sensation that gripped him before an orgasm; only, he hadn’t so much as touched his erection, and the intensity of it was alarming. “Hannibal,” Will whined. He writhed against the sheets. “It feels like–feels like so much.”

“It feels like you’re burning up, yes?” Hannibal asked. He kept that same steady and maddening pace.

Something like a sob hitched in Will’s throat. “Yes,” he cried.

“Good. This is how it is meant to feel.” Hannibal kissed the top of Will’s thigh. And somehow, his fingers seemed to reach even deeper, seemed to connect with that spot even more intensely, then. The pleasure of it had become overwhelming. Will’s vision went white. 

Will had no sense of himself as waves of euphoria crashed over him. He knew his back had arched off the bed, knew, distantly, that some inhuman sound had torn from his throat and that tears were rolling down his cheeks, and knew that, though this feeling had come from an entirely different place, thin fluid dribbled steadily from his cock and leaked onto his stomach. It was both mercy and disappointment at the loss when Hannibal finally withdrew, and his body floated back down to earth. 

When Will finally looked down at Hannibal, panting, he asked, “What the fuck was that?” He pawed at the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Hannibal gave him an affectionate pat. “I gave you a prostate orgasm. It is a different sort of release, though perhaps more pleasurable. If your response reveals anything.” Will couldn’t help but to smile at the smugness in his voice. 

“I can’t believe I’m still hard,” Will murmured, looking down at his still-twitching cock. It was then that Hannibal crawled over him to meet his lips. 

“That is one of the benefits,” Hannibal explained. “This type of release does not require the same refractory period as the typical male orgasm. You could experience the pleasure again and again. Of course, if your body is otherwise exhausted from tonight’s activities, we can certainly revisit this tomorrow, Will.”

“Not a chance.” Will slid his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and drew him down for another biting kiss. “You told me you were going to make love to me until I wept. I expect you’ll keep your promise, Doctor Lecter.” 

Hannibal looked at him with those animal eyes. Fear briefly mingled with Will’s anticipation. “I intend to keep my promise.” Hannibal’s voice was low and gravelly. He reached for a pillow, lifting Will gently to a sitting position so that he could settle it beneath his hips. “Lie down, darling. I want this to be nothing but pure pleasure and comfort for you.” 

Again, Will chastised himself for letting anxiety taint his trust. Hannibal’s desire was feral, but it was gentle, too–protective and possessive and deeply devoted. Will loved him so dearly. He brought himself back into this perfect moment with a deep breath. 

Hannibal slicked himself up with a generous amount of lube and settled back between Will’s thighs to line himself up. Will shuddered at the sensation of Hannibal’s cock nudging at his rim. “You’ll stop me if it hurts,” Hannibal said, a gentle order, and then he was pushing slowly into Will.

At first, Will’s breath caught; the feeling was overwhelming, and it was certainly much more than Hannibal’s fingers had been. Hannibal stilled his hips to allow Will’s body to accommodate the breach. His eyes were a silent question. When Will nodded, he continued to slide in, further and further, until Hannibal’s pelvis was flush against him. 

There was an ache inside of Will, but it was a lovely thing to know that it came as a result of Hannibal filling him. He met Hannibal’s blackened gaze. “Give me more,” he whispered, and Hannibal began to fuck him in a slow, steady rhythm.

After a few moments to adjust to the unfamiliar feeling, strong hands came to grip at the backs of Will’s thighs. “You trust that your pleasure is my highest priority; yes, Will?” Hannibal asked. When Will nodded in response, Hannibal lifted Will’s legs to rest over his shoulders. 

Hannibal’s next thrust came at an entirely different angle, and it felt so much deeper–deep enough to reach that sweet spot with unbelievable precision. Will howled in pleasure as Hannibal began to drive into him slowly, brushing it with every snap of his hips. 

“Oh my god, Hannibal,” Will whined out. His eyes screwed shut as he tried to breathe through the fiery sensation that was again building in his gut. Hannibal’s pace was relentless as he met Will’s prostate over and over again, and pleased groans fell from his own lips.

When the pleasure started to become too much, Will felt tears burning and gathering at the corners of his eyes again. He couldn’t contain the sob that rippled through him when Hannibal’s hips started to audibly smack into his thighs. “Gonna come again, Hannibal. Please, please, please,” Will cried, though his words were hardly intelligible. 

“I told you that you’d weep for me, Will,” Hannibal purred, and through the haze, Will felt a gentle hand thumbing away his tears. “Go ahead and touch yourself; I have been unable to rid myself of the perfect image of your face during orgasm since the first time I gave you one. Let me see that lovely expression again.” His voice dripped with honey. 

When Will reached for his straining cock, it took only the lightest brush of contact before he was spurting ropes of come over his hand. He tensed hard around Hannibal’s cock and could sense the restraint of the other man not to finish inside of him right then. 

Will looked up at him with big, watery eyes, questioning as Hannibal slipped out of him. He shuddered at the loss. “What are you…” Will trailed off. But as Hannibal brought his legs down to rest comfortably in the cushion of the mattress and knelt over him, he understood. He relished the sight when Hannibal took himself in hand, stroking his cock only a few times before he was spilling over Will’s scarred belly.

Hannibal looked sated and decidedly possessive as he gazed down at Will’s spent body, painted with his release. “This, Will, is an image that will certainly live in my mind until the very day I die.” He leaned up to press a tender kiss into Will’s sweaty curls before rolling off of the bed. Boneless and panting, Will never even raised his head to track Hannibal’s post-coital whereabouts.

The bathroom light flicked on, and the faucet ran. Hannibal returned with a warm cloth, and he cleaned Will gently. “How d’you know how to do that?” Will asked. “It was like…are you a succubus, or something?”

Hannibal chuckled lightly. “The term for a male sex demon is actually an incubus, darling.” Hannibal pulled back the covers for Will to roll under; the soft sheets on his tired body were bliss. “I dabbled in sex therapy, when I was much younger. I’ve also collaborated on a small handful of papers regarding the topics of prostatic stimulation and the psychology of male pleasure,” Hannibal continued. He came to lay beside Will, then, tucking him against his chest. 

Will rolled his eyes. “Of course you have. How can any one man live so many different lives?”

Hannibal smiled indulgently. “I would give up all the rest of them to keep this simple little life with you and your beasts, Will.”

Warmth flooded Will’s chest. He was quiet for a few long minutes. There was a voice in the back of his mind, a never-ending whisper of guilt that he felt he could no longer contain.

“How could you forgive me for trying to kill us both?” Will finally asked. His voice sounded small in the dark room.

He felt Hannibal’s chest expand beneath him in a contemplative sigh. “I had already forgiven you the moment we tipped over the edge of the cliff. All I could think about at that moment was that it was the first time we’d held each other in an affectionate embrace.”

“But I betrayed you. Again. How could you find a way to love me?”

“It is so easy to love you, Will. It is so all-consuming that there isn’t any space left for anger or resentment or distrust. I have had many years to contemplate my past actions, and I’ve come to realize that the reason I hurt you the first time I felt betrayed was because I still did not truly know you–not yet. The night we slayed the Dragon, I finally got to know you fully. And to know you is to love you beyond any sense of reason.” 

Will pressed his lips against Hannibal’s chest, right over his heart. He spoke no more.

When Hannibal stirred late that night in a flare of pain, Will was there to soothe him before he could even cry out, to pull Hannibal’s body against him and hold him through the ache. 

Sleepily, distantly, Will considered Hannibal’s final words. To know him fully, Hannibal had needed to see him kill. Would he still love Will even if he never killed again?

Will thought so. He hoped so. But the monster within him purred at the prospect of sharing a kill with his lover.

Chapter Text

Hannibal had been pleased to find that, in spite of the manipulation and mutual murder attempts that haunted his and Will’s shared past, their blossoming relationship was still to have a blissful honeymoon phase with no end in sight. 

Though Hannibal had always loved Will in all of his various forms, Will comfortable and in love with him was a true delight. His smiles came easily and were unfettered by the tension and stress he’d once worn constantly; his affection was more generous than Hannibal could have imagined. Hannibal had assumed that Will did not enjoy physical affection, but he was happily mistaken to learn that Will craved loving contact more than he did himself. Will’s truest love language, though, was quality time. He followed Hannibal to his study in the evenings to curl up beside him with a book, accompanied him to plays and meals in upscale restaurants, even stood beside him to chop garlic in the kitchen just to soak up a little bit of extra time in his presence. Hannibal had him in so many lovely ways that he’d once longed to have him–had him laughing unabashedly, had him rude and grumpy in the first few moments of his waking hours, had him writhing in pleasure and crying out Hannibal’s name.

And Hannibal adored every last second of it.

But there was one thing, one tiny thing, that Hannibal yearned for. He wanted Will black-eyed and predatory, with hands drenched in blood. 

He had accepted that the likelihood of this was terribly slim, for Will seemed quite content with this wholesome little life, dogs and nighttime swims and breakfast picnics on the beach. And so was Hannibal, mostly. But there were moments, little slivers of seconds, when he thought he saw the urge flash across Will’s face; oh, how he longed to see him as feral as the night they killed the Dragon together. That was the moment he’d given himself over to Will more fully than ever before.

Yet these bright and tender moments with Will were more than enough to sustain him for a lifetime. For the first time since childhood, killing felt like more of an option than an obsession. 

Hannibal sometimes wondered how Will might react to finding a body in his basement, or to stabbing his fork into a cut of fresh human liver. Did he believe Hannibal’s urges had dissipated, that Will’s reciprocated affections had grown his heart three sizes too large, as that crude Christmas film he’d once been forced to watch described? Surely, he would know that love could not blossom into some arbitrary sense of morality.

And yet, he couldn’t help but to wonder whether he’d lose that beautiful trust in Will’s eyes the very moment he became the predator he truly was.

So he carried on with the most normal life he could manage to live. He loved Will dearly and he indulged himself in all of life’s other pleasures. 

Hannibal had almost forgotten what drew him to Will in the first place, his infatuation replaced by a truer sort of devotion—but Will had always been able to surprise him. It happened when he least expected it. 

It had been a beautiful day: cool and sunny, perfect for sipping a glass of wine on the beach while the dogs got their energy out. Hannibal had accepted that their life would not be quiet and sensual with seven dogs in his home; but he was pleased to find that a little chaos where Will was involved was much better. They were smiling as they watched the pack trot across the sand and bark at the swell of the tide. Each time Will began to relax, to lay his head against Hannibal’s shoulder and close his eyes, someone would saunter up and drop a soaking wet tennis ball in his lap, which he would obligingly throw. Hannibal couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in his chest each time. 

The dogs were remarkably well-behaved, for the most part, and they responded to Will’s commands devotedly. It was a pet-friendly beach. There should have been no issue.

But Will’s attention had drifted, for only a few moments, when Hannibal drew him in for a kiss; the lovely light of golden hour drenching his face made him look exquisite. He became distracted from the task of wrangling the beasts. Soon, a sharp yelp from nearby had Will’s head whipping around, had him launching to his feet at a speed Hannibal hadn’t believed possible for anyone but himself. His own eyes followed the alarming sound to find Winston cowering at the feet of a tall and glaring man. Will was on him in an instant; confident that he could handle the conflict and curious as to Will’s reaction, Hannibal called the rest of the pack to safety at his side and hung back to observe.

“Would you care to explain what just happened between you and my dog?” Will asked. His voice was dangerously quiet. Winston relaxed visibly at Will’s presence by his side, crawling over to lean heavily on Will’s side. 

The man scoffed, rolled his eyes, and Hannibal could almost smell the anger simmering inside his lover. “He wouldn’t cry out in pain for no reason at all,” Will continued. His hand came to rest protectively on Winston’s head. 

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t need to give your mutt a reason to cry if you kept him off of the beach. I have been trying to enjoy a relaxing evening, and this is the third time the thing has tried to bother me. It keeps trying to put this fucking tennis ball in my hand,” the man explained, and if his words weren’t enough, he took the aforementioned ball and chucked it out into the ocean. 

“What the fuck did you do to my dog?” Will’s body language was pure rage, although Hannibal could not see his face. 

“Just a gentle kick. It’ll teach him to stay away from strangers,” the man replied with an ugly laugh. The rudeness and the cruelty of it grated at Hannibal; it was the closest he’d felt to killing someone in months. Besides, much though he couldn’t believe it himself, he’d grown quite fond and protective of the dogs. He steeled himself, tried to swallow the urge down. It wasn’t worth losing this peaceful life with Will.

Only, when Will turned back around, Winston quivering in his arms, his eyes were cold and sharklike in a way Hannibal had never seen before. There was pure murder written on his face.

This could be very interesting, indeed.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” Hannibal said. “Is there anything I can–”

“I’m going to kill him,” Will hissed. He placed Winston down gingerly and allowed the pack to sniff around and console him. 

A smile twitched at the corners of Hannibal’s lips. “In a literal or figurative sense?”

“Will you help me?” Will asked.

Admiration, warm and reverent, spread through Hannibal’s chest. As if there was any question. “Of course I will. Tell me what you desire; I will move heaven and earth to make it so,” he whispered, and pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s cheek. “Do you wish for me to take care of the business as you watch?”

Will shook his head. “I want to do it. I want him to hurt,” Will murmured. “Bring him home, by whatever magic it is that you use, Hannibal. I know what you have in the basement. We ought to put it to good use.”

Hannibal nodded his agreement, awestruck. What a lovely development. It seemed that he had underestimated Will. 

The beach wasn’t a far walk from their home, so Will left Hannibal with the car. Though it would’ve been satisfying to glimpse the fear in the man’s eyes when they overpowered him, Will knew that their confrontation would have led to far too much suspicion. He decided to let Hannibal take care of it. 

Poor Winston had mostly recovered from the incident on the beach by the time they’d arrived at home; he hadn’t sustained any physical injuries, but Will sensed the skittishness in his body language. It broke his heart a little. When he led the dogs to their bedroom, where they would be safe and shielded from any of the evening’s activities, he knelt to give Winston a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, buddy. The bad man won’t ever hurt you again,” Will murmured. He pressed a kiss against the furry head. Winston just stared at him with those big, knowing eyes.

When Will left the room, he needed a minute to steady himself. He could scarcely believe he was doing this–they were doing this. Though their relationship had been almost suspiciously perfect since the night Hannibal brought the dogs home, a lingering insecurity had remained: what if Will never desired to kill again? He had been avoidant in ever so much as mentioning the topic of killing; though he wouldn’t have minded Hannibal carrying on with his hobby–it was a part of him, after all–Will feared that reopening the door for Hannibal would cause him to realize that Will was insufficient, somehow: that he couldn’t truly be what Hannibal needed him to be.

A sick sort of relief had flooded Will’s body when he realized that the murderous urge had returned; and yet, uncertainty lingered. He was unsure how he might react to the prospect, real and visceral as it was about to become, when there was no life at stake. No, though this man surely deserved his wrath, it would be a far cry from the defensive kills he had indulged in thus far. He was afraid of what might happen if he couldn’t perform the way he knew Hannibal wanted him to. 

Will had seen the overwhelming love and admiration in those eyes, on the beach. He wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing disappointment fill them.

The front door clicked open, then shut. It was suspiciously quiet. Will padded down the stairs. The first thing he saw was the man from the beach, feet hanging limply over Hannibal’s shoulders. The next thing he saw was Hannibal’s beaming smile.

“Come, Will; I’ve brought you a gift,” he called. When Will took in the full scene, he was surprised by the mix of fear and excitement and arousal that filled him. Fear for the uncertainty of his ability to carry out the task; excitement for the possibility of deepening his bond with Hannibal, and to satisfy the rage simmering within; arousal for the sight of Hannibal, strong and powerful, slinging the man’s body around like a ragdoll; distantly, Will thought he might have to figure out a way to get Hannibal to take him to bed like that someday.

“How did you knock him out?” Will asked, trailing Hannibal to the subtle basement entrance. A burst of cool air greeted him when the door opened; he shivered. 

“I always keep the necessary supplies in my vehicle. One can never be too prepared,” Hannibal explained. Will took in the basement while Hannibal tied their victim to a chair on one side of a large, bright room. “I approached him under the guise of apologizing for your behavior and sunk the syringe in when I moved to shake his hand. His behavior was positively hideous while accepting my apology, Will. This is well-deserved.”

Will nodded, watched Hannibal secure the man into place in silence. When he’d finished, he looked to Will for approval.

Will only stared blankly. The image of him hurting Winston–harming his family–filled Will’s head. When he entered the man’s mind, saw himself kicking the innocent creature over a mere annoyance, his anger merely grew stronger. Hannibal observed his blank expression curiously. “If you would prefer him another way, I can move him to the table–secure him standing up, or hanging, even,” he offered. But Will shook his head.

“No, this’ll do,” he said softly. The stranger opened his eyes. 

Will’s vision went black, briefly, and then all he saw was red satisfaction until it was over.

Hannibal could see something click and shift within his lover when his victim gained consciousness. It was fascinating to watch Will morph into a predator before his very eyes. Even his voice became something different. 

“Are you afraid?” Will asked the man, casually. 

His eyes grew wide with fear. “I’m sorry I hurt your dog, okay? It was wrong. If you let me go, I’ll never do it again, I swear.” His words were slurred with the aftereffects of the sedative, but his fear smelled sharp and clear in Hannibal’s nose.

Will laughed, then, and it was a chilling sound. “You’re right, you won’t ever do it again.” He circled the chair, watched the man’s head swivel frantically around to follow him. Hannibal watched Will contemplate the small variety of tools that Hannibal had selected for him. His voice was unbelievably sweet when he asked, “D’you have a hammer, baby?” 

Hannibal flushed, a pleased smile passing his lips. Will typically only called him such a thing in the bedroom—and even then, it was rare. “Of course, Will. A moment,” he replied. He quickly returned with his lover’s weapon of choice. 

The very moment the hammer passed into Will’s hands, he was moving. 

He broke the man’s feet, first. He screamed out in pain, and Will maintained a deadly calm. “Does it hurt?” he asked. The man just kept screaming. Will took the weapon to his kneecaps next. Hannibal listened to the sickening crunch of his splintering bones with satisfaction. 

Will’s brutality was painstaking. Hannibal watched with rapt attention, and seeing Will this way somehow caused his love to grow ever-deeper. His heart stuttered when Will looked to him, finally, as their victim neared unconsciousness, delirious in his agony. “Take his liver, Hannibal; take his heart. Do it now. I want to taste the fear in him,” Will said. 

Hannibal’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Of course, my love,” he breathed. 

It was a moment of total euphoria. Hannibal made clean incisions, removed what he wanted to keep, felt Will’s intense gaze boring into him all the while. But he left the heart for last. It was still weakly beating, somehow, when he exposed it. “Come, Will. This is your life to take. I want you to feel it end in your hands.” He drew his lover in close, held Will’s hand as he guided it into the chest cavity. Together, they felt it beat its last. 

It was, perhaps, the most romantic moment of Hannibal’s life. 

When Will turned to face him, hand holding the still heart, he was everything Hannibal had imagined he would be: eyes pure black, face and hands spattered in blood. “My angel of death,” he said softly. Will’s red-soaked hands gripped his cheeks. The kiss was brutal. 

If there was a heaven, Hannibal believed he had found it in this basement. 

When Will finally broke their kiss, his expression had softened back into something nearer to human. “We killed him,” Will said, panting. 

“We did,” Hannibal agreed. 

Will’s head fell heavy on his shoulder. “I don’t want to look at him anymore. I’m tired, Hannibal.” Hannibal nodded, gathered him up gently. He had known that Will would be fragile in the aftermath. 

“I know, darling. You did so well. It was beautiful to witness.” He pressed a tender kiss to Will’s temple as he led him back upstairs. “I will take care of everything else.”

In the bathroom, Hannibal undressed Will carefully. “Let’s clean you up, shall we?”

Will nodded in response. Hannibal stripped himself down, as well, and led Will into the steaming hot shower. 

The spray was cleansing, and as the blood slipped down the drain, Will’s face cleared, too. Hannibal’s hands were working gently through his curls when he said, “It felt good. Killing with you.” 

“This is everything I could have ever wanted for us. To share this with you is a rare pleasure,” Hannibal replied. Will turned in his arms. 

“I love you. Fuck, Hannibal, I can’t believe how much I do,” Will murmured. He leant up to meet Hannibal’s lips again. 

It was a filthy, hot slide of tongues this time, deep and tender. Hannibal gripped Will close, mind filling with memories of the way Will looked as he carried out his wrath. “You were perfect, Will. You protected our family so well.” Will’s cock hardened deliciously against Hannibal’s hip as soon as he’d spoken the words. He twisted a hand into Hannibal’s hair, tilted his head back to expose his throat. He sucked biting kisses into the soft skin, and Hannibal reveled in the feeling of being claimed by Will like this. 

“Our family,” Will growled. He licked the beads of water from Hannibal’s throat, causing Hannibal to shiver. His hands began to wander possessively across the expanse of Hannibal’s broad chest, his back, his ass. “You’re my family, baby.” The words came with the slightest suggestion of the southern lilt Will hid. To hear it went straight to Hannibal’s groin. 

A shuddering breath fell from Hannibal’s lips. “Show me,” he whispered. “Take me.” 

In a sudden display of the power Hannibal sometimes forgot Will possessed, Will flipped him, pressed him against the hot tile. Will’s hands squeezed at his hips and pulled Hannibal’s ass flush against himself, pulsing erection sliding sinfully between Hannibal’s cheeks. He let his head drop back against Will’s shoulder, shivered when Will nipped at his ear.

“Oh yeah? Want me to fuck you?” Will whispered. Secretly, Hannibal adored Will’s filthy mouth, the animal way he took Hannibal when lust clouded his brain. 

Hannibal was a tender lover; when he made love to Will, he took his time, gave Will pleasure until he was crying. This was how Hannibal preferred to assert his dominance. Will, though, was rough and urgent when he took Hannibal. He transformed into something wolfish, dark, and dangerously confident, and it drove Hannibal nearly wild to let Will strip him of his composure, to bend him over and use him. Will fucked him, when they had sex this way. It was pure passion–a pleasure to let himself be owned. It was what he craved at this moment. 

A wicked streak overtook Hannibal, fleetingly. “I want you to fuck me, Will. Yes, please.” He knew how it drove Will wild to watch him come undone, to throw off his mask of propriety. 

The words had Hannibal’s desired effect. Will’s arm snaked around his belly, held him firmly in place, as he began to grind against Hannibal’s ass. The slick and maddening slide of Will pressing against him drove his hips back to meet the motion. A hiss of pleasure filled his ears. “You looked so fucking good when you opened him up,” Will murmured. His hand drifted lower, mercifully finding Hannibal’s aching cock and stroking roughly. “This is the first time I’ve really thought about it: I get to fuck the Chesapeake Ripper.” The marriage of these words and the feel of Will’s body pressed against Hannibal’s own drew a moan from his throat.

“Won’t you do it then, Will?” Hannibal’s voice came out strained with his desire. 

Will’s lips ghosted over Hannibal’s jaw. “Anything you want,” he said, voice suddenly soft and gentle.

This was how Hannibal knew he would be aching in the morning. 

Hannibal only needed to miss Will’s contact for a second; shower sex was not their most frequent activity, but it certainly happened often enough to keep lube there. Will’s warmth enveloped him again. 

Slick fingers prepped Hannibal, drew gasps from his lips. Soon, though, Hannibal craved for the delicious, burning stretch of Will filling him. “Please,” he moaned. 

Will knew what he meant. Anticipation lanced through him when Will withdrew.

“You want this, baby?” Will purred. The slick head of his cock caught Hannibal’s rim. Hannibal’s hips rolled back to meet him, begging him to sink inside. The action drew a sultry chuckle from Will’s throat. “Clearly, you do.” 

In a single, smooth motion, Will buried himself to the hilt. Hannibal’s back arched at the shock and the sting and the pleasure of it. He felt hot lips on the back of his neck. “So good for me. Stay just like that,” Will ordered. His voice was devilishly tender when he started to thrust into Hannibal at a deep and steady pace. His fingers dug hard into Hannibal’s flesh. 

Hannibal obeyed. Will’s angle was perfection, satisfying that deep, sweet craving within him with every thrust. The sounds he made only spurred Will on, his pace shifting from blissful to brutal. Pleasure, white and blinding, filled Hannibal’s senses; it was all he could register, aside from the wet and filthy slap of Will’s hips slamming into his ass. His legs began to quiver. One of Will’s arms slid around his chest to hold him steady. 

“I’m not gonna let you fall,” Will reassured. “Just keep taking it.” 

Hannibal knew his release was dangerously close when Will spoke these words. He was certain that he hardly sounded human when he begged, “Please, let me touch myself.”

“Be patient,” Will told him, in that same maddeningly gentle tone. Hannibal obliged. When Will’s rhythm began to falter, Hannibal knew what he was going to do. He felt Will’s cock pulse somewhere deep inside him, felt Will’s hot seed begin to fill him. Will’s hand drifted to Hannibal’s own leaking cock. 

It didn’t take Hannibal long to follow after Will. Will stayed inside him, softening as he stroked Hannibal through his orgasm, kissed his neck and his shoulders while he spilled over Will’s rough hand and painted the wall. 

The feeling of Will leaking out of him when he’d finally slipped out filled Hannibal with satisfaction. His body felt sore and weak and used in the best way. He leaned heavily against the shower wall, panting for breath, when Will’s loving hands found him, slipped between his legs to clean him up. 

Though caring for Will was Hannibal’s calling, it always warmed his heart to let himself accept a little care from Will. He let Will dry him off, let Will lead him to the bedroom and dress him comfortably. He knew he’d make it up to his lover in only a few moments when he offered to feed him a late-night snack. “This evening’s activities have left me ravenous. Would you eat if I cooked?” Hannibal asked. 

Will’s eyes lit up. “God, yes. Could you make those spicy noodles again?”

It was a favorite nighttime snack of Will’s. Hannibal had made it on a whim, once, after whipping up some homemade chili oil, but Will hadn’t stopped asking for it since. Hannibal loved that, secretly. 

“Anything your heart desires, as long as you’ll keep me company.” 

“Dogs’ll need to go out one more time,” Will told him, slipping into a pair of boxers and a too-tight t-shirt. “I’ll be right there.”

Gingerly, Hannibal made his way downstairs, savoring the ache that had settled deep inside of him. He began to prepare their late-night meal. 

Hannibal started chopping a clove of garlic. He listened to the commotion of the dogs being released with a smile. Perhaps it was about time he stopped keeping the beasts in a separate room at night. He would begin the arrangements the very next day.

Will and the pack trotted back into the house just as Hannibal finished cooking the ramen noodles. Though part of him cringed at the thought of consuming the heavily-processed noodles, he knew the chewy, familiar texture brought comfort to Will; besides, it was meant to be a simple treat. 

Dogs began to sniff around Hannibal’s legs as soon as they infiltrated the kitchen. “D’you want me to take them away?” Will asked, apprehensive. For a few long months, Hannibal had maintained a steady, tolerant disdain for their presence. Slowly, though, he’d begun to feel his heart warming toward them. The knowledge of what had happened to Winston seemed to have tipped him over the edge of fondness. 

“Of course not. They are our family as well, so they have a place in our kitchen,” Hannibal replied. He watched Will’s shoulders relax visibly, watched a smile break his face. Hannibal wondered why he hadn’t come to this resolution sooner. 

Winston trotted up to Hannibal, sniffing curiously. He appeared to be much recovered from the day’s troubles. Pleased, Hannibal gave him an affectionate scratch behind the ears. “How are you, Winnie?” Hannibal asked, voice gone soft and light. “Daddy took care of everything for you, didn’t he? He must really love you.” 

Will looked at Hannibal curiously. “Winnie?” he asked in disbelief. 

Hannibal lifted a careless shoulder. “It is a term of endearment we have been testing out.” 

Will looked at him with such immense affection that it nearly made his heart burst. “Hannibal, do you love my dogs?”

“I would consider them our dogs, wouldn’t you?” Hannibal asked, evenly. He knew that Will understood his message. 

The aroma of sesame and spice filled the air. He filled two bowls and garnished them with thin slices of green onion, passed one over to Will and joined him at the kitchen island. 

Will threw his legs across Hannibal’s lap to keep him close and dug into the bowl with a pair of chopsticks. He looked at Hannibal gratefully. “This is just what I wanted,” he said, mouth half-full as he spoke. 

It was terribly impolite, a perfect display of horrible table manners. Hannibal adored it. 

If someone had told Hannibal, years ago, that one of the best nights of his life would be spent huddled around a bowl of ramen noodles, bumping shoulders with Will Graham while a pack of dogs begged at his feet, he would never have believed them. 

Life still seemed to be full of surprises.

Chapter Text

Will noticed a welcome shift in his relationship with Hannibal after that first kill. Something Will hadn’t even thought to expect was how much more enjoyable Hannibal’s upscale events would become when they could curl themselves into a corner and whisper murderous fantasies about the classless and snobbish among them.

Hannibal, looking perfectly polished with his tux and silvery hair and pleasant smile, was just removing himself from a conversation with one of the most generous patrons of the Havana Opera House–a young man who Will believed to be a trust-fund baby, and who Hannibal found to be endlessly vapid and tedious. He hadn’t told Will this specifically; Will could just read his lover with uncanny accuracy. His eyes softened when they fell on Will sipping a glass of wine while he chatted with Daniela, whom he’d met, initially, while turning a stray kitten over to the animal shelter that it turned out she owned. She was the very first person in this social group that Will actually enjoyed spending time around.

“Excuse me,” Will told her. “My husband–” 

The woman grinned at him conspiratorially. “Go on, Luke. I would run off at the first chance if my lover looked like that, as well.”

Unlike those who leered at Hannibal with hungry eyes, she said it with a certain level of respect that made the words sound friendly and amusing in Will’s ears. He smiled back, raised his glass, and walked off to catch Hannibal by the elbow. Hannibal drew him to a private little spot by a window. “That boy never stops talking about himself,” Hannibal whispered. “I don’t believe he asked me a single question about myself.”

Will laughed. “Sounds about right for a spoiled brat who lives off daddy’s money.”

Hannibal smiled quizzically. “Will, you realize that my wealth was also inherited, don’t you?”

“That’s different, you’re nobility or something. Besides, you’re filthy rich and you still had a job,” Will clarified, smiling sheepishly. “Anyway, it sounds like he was terribly rude to you. Perhaps we should cut out his tongue to clear a little more airspace.” 

Hannibal’s lips quirked up. “It would be well-deserved.” Their eyes continued to scan the room; Hannibal gently brought Will’s attention to a couple across the room, shamelessly kissing at the bar. “Tasteless, isn’t it?”

“God, do they realize they’re at the opera? The least they could do is wait until they’re in their seats, when it’s dark. Like we do.” He snickered softly; it had only happened twice, Hannibal uncharacteristically allowing Will to lean across the seats and leave him rumpled and rushing out the door at the end of the night. 

The reddening of Hannibal’s cheeks was subtle. He didn’t acknowledge Will’s suggestive words. “Her husband is away from Havana on business. He is, I’m somewhat certain, a total stranger.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up. “What if her husband finds out? These people aren’t exactly discrete.”

“Perhaps she wants him to know that she finds satisfaction with other lovers; her husband is much older, unable to satiate her needs, if what I’ve heard is correct. In any case, the behavior is an insult to the setting. I’m sure the pair of them would make a delicious main course for our next dinner party,” Hannibal murmured. 

“Speaking of insulting,” Will said quietly, eyes catching Angelina, who was, regretfully, approaching. 

Hannibal had confessed to Will, much later, what had passed between Angelina and himself at her party. What had once been disdain had grown into loathing, and Will often felt Hannibal eyeing him with caution for the fear that he would do something he couldn’t take back. She was far too socially prominent to murder, much though he knew how satisfying it would be. 

The most unfortunate part was that she had seemed to develop selective amnesia regarding Hannibal’s rejection. Her advances were shameless and rude as ever, even in Will’s presence. 

Angelina stalked up to them in a gaudy dress and new bleach-blonde hair extensions—even Will could tell they were fake. “Doctor Andersen, hello!” she called out, eyes never once glancing in Will’s direction. Hannibal raised a hand in a chilly greeting, but she just kept coming towards them. 

And then, suddenly, her pink-lipstick mouth was all over Hannibal’s cheek. 

“Did you really think you could hide from me all evening, darling?” she asked, hanging off of Hannibal’s stiff elbow. Will watched her in total disbelief; the display was so shocking that he briefly forgot to be angered by it.

Hannibal’s face was impassive. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing away the stain she’d left before extracting his arm from her clutches. “One can surely dream,” he replied.

Angelina laughed that shrill laugh that made Will’s head hurt. “Oh, you’re just playing. Luke here does not mind our friendship, do you?” Will stared at her blankly. 

“Angelina, Luke and I are making every effort to enjoy our evening. Please, refrain from embarrassing yourself further.” Hannibal’s voice was a warning. 

Her face turned stony, clearly frustrated at being shaken off yet again. “I think that someday you’ll realize that a handsome man truly needs a woman’s presence in his life, Lars. When you become unsatisfied, you’ll come and find me,” she said, swishing off. 

The entitlement radiating off of her, the words she spoke, left Will speechless. He looked over to Hannibal, whose mask of coldness had never once slipped.

“Angelina has insulted you for the last time, my love. I am going to serve you her heart for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“But Hannibal,” Will whispered, “She’s far too well-known. It would make a big splash for her to turn up dead.”

Hannibal leaned in close, kissed him softly on the cheek. “And I no longer care. Let this be the ultimate gesture of my devotion to you.”

Will shivered at the feeling of warm breath on his ear. Heat was beginning to pool in his belly at the very thought of Hannibal exacting his cruelty on Angelina. “What if we get caught?”

A devilish laugh rumbled up from Hannibal’s chest. “Don’t you know by now, darling? I only get caught when I’d like to be caught.” Will’s memory flashed back to the image of Hannibal knelt in the snow with hands behind his head. He nodded. “I will not be able to make her suffer the way I would like to, unfortunately; it would be far too suspicious. Still, I’ll show you something that is certain to satisfy you tonight.” Hannibal stood, searching the woman out in the crowd. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I am going to seduce her. Do not believe anything you see, and remember that you own my heart. She will die humiliated,” Hannibal whispered. Will felt the possessive beast within him purr. “You will find us at the beach near the marina in an hour.” 

Though the very thought of watching his lover touching and charming somebody else made him a little bit ill, Will knew that the shock in her eyes would be worth it. 

Will knew the location well. The stars were especially bright that night, and Will took pleasure in admiring the way they reflected the ocean as he waited for Hannibal to arrive with his victim. In order for this plan to work, he would need to remain concealed until the very last moment. 

Will heard Angelina before he saw her. She was shrieking a giggle as she stumbled across the sand. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to realize this, Lars,” she was saying. Will’s vision briefly flashed red when he registered Hannibal’s hand on the small of her back, when he leaned into the kiss she planted on his cheek. He took a steadying breath.

“Yes, Angelina; the magnetic pull of your feminine wiles has finally worn me down,” Hannibal replied, voice dripping with sarcasm that she would never clock. Will couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his face. “Come, let us gaze at the stars. They are the only thing that could rival your beauty.”

Again, she giggled like a schoolgirl when Hannibal pulled her back flush against his chest. “You are a persistent woman, Angelina,” he said into her ear.

“Well, I have a sense about some people, Lars. I could sense that you wanted me; I always have. I have simply been trying to give you what I know you wanted–what you were too afraid to take before,” she replied. 

Hannibal placed a hand on her chin, gently turned her face. He leaned close enough to nearly brush her lips–the suggestion of a kiss that she tried desperately to reach. “You know nothing. And now, you will die feeling foolish, while my lover watches,” he said softly. Before the woman could fully register the danger she was in, Hannibal slid a small and elegant blade across her throat. 

Angelina was gasping and choking helplessly when Will approached. Hannibal held her neck where the wound was, applying just enough pressure to extend her life so that she could piece the situation together. “If only you had chosen to respect our relationship when I informed you that I was committed the first time,” he said. “I would have spared you if not for the stunt you pulled this evening. Making homophobic declarations about what you believe my needs to be is not a good look on you.” Hannibal tutted in disappointment and dropped her to the sand.

The blood gushed hard and fast, now. She would be gone in minutes. The sight made Will feel dizzy with love and desire for Hannibal, perhaps more than ever before. Hannibal’s gesture had overwhelmed him. He stepped into Hannibal’s arms, a mirror of Angelina’s position mere moments before. Together, they watched the life fade from her eyes. 

“Are you satisfied, my darling?” Hannibal asked, mouthing at Will’s jaw. In the reflection of the moonlight, Will’s eyes caught the silver faux-wedding band shining on Hannibal’s finger.

“Marry me.”

The words came out before Will could stop them, but he couldn’t regret them.

In a rare moment, Hannibal seemed to be dumbfounded. “Pardon me?” he asked.

“Marry me. I don’t care that it’s just a social construct, and I don’t care that it won’t change anything about the way we live, and I don’t care that our fake identities are legally married already. I want Will Graham to be married to Hannibal Lecter.”

Will’s words proved a major distraction from the woman bleeding out at their feet. Hannibal turned Will to face him. “You want to marry me?” Hannibal asked. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t plan a big proposal or buy you a new ring. I know it’s what you deserve. I didn’t even expect to care this much about marriage, but something about being here with you right now makes me feel like going another second without truly being your husband might kill me,” Will said. He was sure Hannibal would find it silly, would smile with amused indulgence and do it just to humor Will, but the sentiment was so true that he didn’t care.

Will was wrong. Hannibal pulled him into such a tight embrace that he felt it might crush his ribs. “Yes, Will. Yes. I’ll marry you. It cannot be this very second, but I will arrange for it to happen by tomorrow night, if you can wait for me until then.”

A hot sting of happy tears burned Will’s eyes. He nodded, smiled through the blur. “I can wait until then. Yeah, of course.”

Will could’ve sworn he saw a little sparkle in Hannibal’s eyes, too. “Excellent, because I will need to dispose of Angelina,” he said, and the words caused wet laughter to bubble up in Will’s chest. A rare and brilliant sound, Hannibal laughed, too. “I was planning to bring her to the boat–give her a burial at sea. I’ve ensured that no one knows she left with me tonight. By the time someone realizes she’s gone missing, there could be no trace to us,” Hannibal explained. 

“Can I join you?” Will asked. Hannibal’s face lit up.

“I could never refuse the invitation of your company.”

As discretely as possible, the two of them brought her to Will’s small but comfortable sailboat, a gift from Hannibal shortly after their romantic relationship began. There was no one nearby at this time of night, so transporting her was not difficult. When they were far enough from shore, Will bade farewell to one of his greatest nuisances with little ceremony. 

It was cool and calm on the water. Will savored the scent of seabreeze and the beauty of the clear night sky. “It’s so beautiful tonight,” Will said. “Why don’t we stay out here for a little while?”

“Of course, Will.” Hannibal came to rest beside Will where he sat on the deck, draping a blanket around their shoulders. 

They sat in silence for a long while, enjoying the twinkling sky and the pleasure of each other’s company. Will’s head slumped against Hannibal’s shoulder, eventually, eyes growing heavy. 

“Let’s get you home, darling,” Hannibal murmured.

Will nodded sleepily. “I need my beauty rest. It’s the night before my wedding, after all.”

Hannibal gave him a tender smile and and began to take them back to shore.

The wedding was to be a small affair–so small, in fact, that not a single soul in Havana would know about it. This wouldn’t prevent Hannibal from making it a memorable occasion, however. He’d had a vision for this day all along, ever-prepared in case the opportunity to marry the love of his life should arise. 

There was a lovely chapel in the city with soaring stained-glass windows and an accepting priest that had no awareness of the American news cycle. His tailor had a set of color-coordinated tuxedos on-deck. His vows had been written since they’d begun their voyage to Cuba. 

Hannibal’s excellent planning and the indomitable hope that Will would grow to love him someday were the sole reasons it would be possible to make this happen in less than twenty-four hours.

They’d parted ways early that morning. Hannibal was not superstitious, but it seemed that Will’s Louisiana upbringing had left him feeling the need to separate until the ceremony in the name of bad luck. Hannibal couldn’t deny that there was a certain level of excitement in the building anticipation, so he complied with Will’s wishes. 

Will had slipped off to the jeweler’s after a quick breakfast. Though Hannibal had told him they could simply use the rings they already had, Will was insistent that their union required new and genuine wedding rings. Hannibal wasn’t one to argue; in fact, he found Will’s sentimentality about the wedding bands to be charming, just like everything else about him.

Hannibal spent the day tying up loose ends. He managed to find a florist who could provide a few sprays of bloodred roses by that evening, and he picked up their tuxes. He bought a small-but-classy little wedding cake that he was certain they’d share while lying naked in bed that night, and placed a dinner order from Will’s favorite restaurant to be delivered to their home a few hours before the ceremony, where they’d agreed Will would be getting ready. Even on the busiest of days, Hannibal could never let his lover go hungry.

His final stop was a lingerie store.

It was not the sort of thing he would typically do, but it was their wedding night, after all. His intention was primarily to be cheeky, but along the way, he discovered that he quite liked the way he looked in a pair of lacy white briefs and a garter. In any case, the unfamiliar sight would shock and please Will; whether it be amusement or arousal remained to be seen.

Hannibal made a quick stop at home to leave Will’s clothing for him and to let the dogs outside. He placed a bottle of champagne in the wine fridge to chill and left a note that simply said ‘I’ll see you at the altar’ stuck to the garment bag he hung on Will’s side of the closet. He checked into the hotel room he’d reserved for himself to get ready in, and took a deep breath. This was the day he’d dreamed of since he’d first laid eyes on Will Graham.

They met in the chapel in the late evening, just as the sun had finished setting. When Will stepped into the church and saw Hannibal, devastating and gorgeous by the light of what seemed like a thousand candles, his throat became momentarily tight. In the very best way, he couldn’t believe they were doing this–that all the pain and heartache and distrust had blossomed into a love that felt truer than gravity or the whole wide expanse of the sky.

Will noted the way their suits corresponded: his own, deep burgundy with a white shirt and tie, and Hannibal’s, the opposite. Two sides of the same coin. He strode down an aisle lined with deep crimson roses to reach his lover and the priest who would marry them. 

Aside from choosing genuine wedding rings for the two of them, most of Will’s day had been spent preening: fresh haircut, new cologne, and a clean shave had all been in order. The remainder of his afternoon had consisted of planning one particularly special little surprise for Hannibal that awaited them at home.

Hannibal’s appreciative gaze swept over Will when he finally met him at the altar. He took Will’s hands in a firm, steady grip, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. The gesture soothed Will, calmed his nervous energy, and then all there was in the whole universe was Hannibal and the open devotion written on his face. 

The priest performed an abbreviated version of the traditional rites in Spanish, and with his limited-but-growing knowledge of the language, Will followed along. Hannibal, of course, understood and spoke perfectly–yet another piece of proof that he was perfection in human form. Will lived in a constant state of awe for the man he was marrying. 

They exchanged whispered vows of private devotion, Hannibal leaving Will breathless at the very idea that he could be loved so dearly by another, and slid simple-but-elegant golden wedding bands onto one another’s fingers. “They are perfect, my love,” Hannibal had murmured, admiring the way the warm gold glimmered in the candlelight. 

They held one another and kissed chastely when the priest pronounced them to be married, thanked him for the kindness, and slipped back out into the warm spring night to take a short walk through the city before returning home. Hannibal had gathered up one of the large bundles of roses, and, in his celebratory mood, started to hand out single flowers to elderly ladies and couples and children that they passed on the street. Will soaked up every bit of the recipients’ pleased surprise and Hannibal’s warm, friendly smiles. He adored watching Hannibal work his magical charm over people when there were no malicious intentions at play.

Back at home, everyone viewed Hannibal as nothing more than a monster, but he could be positively lovely if you didn’t cross him. His duality was just one more thing for Will to love about his new husband.

Will had taken a taxi so that Hannibal could drive them home together in his dog-hair-filled Audi. Even though the dogs rarely rode in his car, it seemed their presence was inescapable: not that Hannibal would have it any other way. After all, he was now a proud stepfather–father?–to all seven of them. The notion amused him more than the hair could frustrate him. 

These musings filled Hannibal’s head as he took in the beauty of the night. With a gentle breeze blowing through the window and Will’s hand gripping his thigh, everything felt perfect.

As they drew ever-closer to home, a sound he did not expect began to prick at his ears. It was a sound not unfamiliar, but nevertheless out-of-place coming from their home at the end of a long, tree-lined private drive. 

The sound grew clearer. Hannibal’s brow furrowed. “Will, do you hear a string quartet?” he asked, puzzled. 

When he glanced over, the pieces all started to fit together, for his spouse wore the radiant smile of someone who had successfully surprised someone they loved.

Hannibal pulled up to find the players arranged in a neat half-circle in the front yard, silhouetted by lanternlight. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Will had managed to leave him dumbfounded.

“Maybe this is cheesy, but I figured, y’know, what’s a wedding without a first dance?” Will ducked out of the car and came around to meet Hannibal. There was a twinge of hopeful embarrassment written on his face that Hannibal wanted nothing more than to kiss away. “Do you like it, or is it too much?” he asked. 

Before Will had another moment to second-guess himself, Hannibal took his hand and spun him in close. “It is so lovely, Will–thank you. I hadn’t any idea you could be such a romantic,” he said. Will brightened visibly at the praise. 

“I wasn’t before I met you. I guess you just make me want to be extravagant.” 

Hannibal naturally took the lead in their gentle waltz, and Will seemed more than happy to let himself be led. They swept elegantly across the smooth stone drive, enjoying the music of the strings and the distant swell of the ocean.

“How’re you so good at this?” Will asked with a chuckle. 

“I am a trained dancer. Ballroom dancing is something all aristocrat children are expected to master,” he explained. Will rolled his eyes when Hannibal maneuvered him into a spin and a dip.

“How does a member of Lithuanian nobility end up married to the son of a backcountry boat repairman from Louisiana?” Will laughed, but somewhere in the sarcasm, a true question was buried.

Are you sure I’m enough for you? he was asking, never quite comfortable with his poor upbringing and troubled past, his crude mouth and his wrinkled flannel shirts. 

“I will never know the reason that the fates brought the two of us together, Will, but I do know that our souls are the very same. Neither family, nor wealth, nor geography, nor any other influence on this earth could have prevented me from hurtling directly towards you,” Hannibal replied. He tucked Will in close and pressed his lips to Will’s forehead. He felt Will’s sigh of contentment puff out of him. 

Hannibal continued to rock his lover gently along to the music. “Borodin composed this piece as a gift to his wife,” Hannibal said. “A lovely tribute. Did you choose this, my love?”

Will chuckled. “No, I just asked them to play something that someone rich and fancy would find romantic.”

Hannibal pulled back to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Is that how you view me? Rich and fancy?”

“Based upon all the evidence I’ve gathered in my years of knowing you, sweetheart, the description holds up.”

Though indignance had begun to rise up in Hannibal’s throat, he stopped at the use of the new term of endearment, cheeks heating pleasantly. There had been something twangy in Will’s voice when he said it, something rare and private that Will often kept concealed. He wanted to hear it again and again.

The piece finished, and when the quartet picked up again, Hannibal recognized the melody of an Elvis song with amusement. “I’ll assume this is what you requested,” Hannibal said. They were swaying, now, in a more traditional slow-dance posture, Will’s arms laced around Hannibal’s neck.

“Yeah, I did. It’s a romantic song and I like Elvis, kill me.” The private joke caused a small smile to form on Hannibal’s lips. 

“Never,” he whispered. “But sometimes, I might eat you.” He smelled the arousal wash over Will’s body when he spoke.

“God, I just want to take you to bed. Lay you out and fuck you until you can’t think straight.” He glanced over at the musicians. “They’re finished after this. Thank God.”

“Eager to consummate our union, Will?” 

Hannibal couldn’t lie to himself; he was secretly aching to get to that part, too. This surprise had been more than welcome, but Hannibal was eager to reveal the final trick up his own sleeve–underneath his trousers, rather.

The music slowly faded out. Will nodded a sincere thanks, and then he was dragging Hannibal through the front door, slamming it behind them, and pinning him to the back of it. He distantly registered the dogs sniffing around their ankles and whining for attention, but was far too intrigued by what was to come to pay them any mind at the moment. 

Will’s sharp whistle pierced the air. With a jerk of his chin, the dogs trotted off to make themselves busy elsewhere. Strangely, this authoritative gesture went straight to Hannibal’s groin. Will’s mouth found his throat.

“How obedient,” Hannibal observed.

A wicked laugh. “Must be something about me that has this whole house obeying my commands. Upstairs, Doctor Lecter.”

Though Hannibal’s pride whispered at the back of his mind to resist, the much louder voice that often ruled him was eager to submit to Will’s every desire. He took the stairs two at a time, Will trailing after him like a predator on the hunt.

There was a sense of urgency in the way Will tossed Hannibal onto the bed and pounced the very moment they reached the room, but Hannibal needed this moment to last longer–needed to be appreciated for the efforts he’d made, to be gazed at and adored. Will might have had the upper hand at the moment (and Hannibal was happy to give it to him), but he still had a certain level of physical power over Will. He flipped them so that he was straddling Will’s lap.

“Let’s not rush, my love. Savor this moment with me.” Will nodded, eyes momentarily clearing. Hannibal placed Will’s hands at his collar. “Undress me. Slowly,” Hannibal ordered. 

This time, Will obeyed. He slid the coat from Hannibal’s shoulders, the vest, and slowly untied the tie. Hannibal felt his own anticipation growing as Will exposed his chest, making his way ever-closer to the surprise Hannibal had planned for him.

Finally, Will unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, exposing the tiniest sliver of white lace. Will’s expression was unreadable, though his irises had all-but-disappeared into the blackness of his blown pupils. Hannibal lifted his hips to allow Will to slide his pants fully down his legs, leaving him in nothing more than a sinfully-tiny pair of lacy underwear and the garter hugging his left thigh. He eagerly awaited Will’s reaction while he watched the cogs in his head start to turn. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Will hissed, finally, eyes raking over Hannibal’s scantily-clad form. “Hannibal, did you go out and buy panties for me today?”

So his reaction was to be arousal, rather than amusement, Hannibal noted with pleasure. “It is a special occasion, no? I may not be a blushing virgin for you on our wedding night, but I can certainly dress the part.”

Will’s lips curled into a delighted smirk, drinking in the sight of Hannibal’s straining cock, barely contained by the lace, and the frilly garter wrapped around his muscled thigh. Will flipped him onto his belly to admire the curve of his ass in the skimpy thing. “My god, you’re so pretty for me, baby,” Will purred. He ran an admiring hand over the lace. “Stay just like that–I want to keep looking at you.” Satisfaction curled in Hannibal’s belly. He felt the mattress shift as Will stood to quickly strip himself naked.

Will’s warm presence engulfed him again. Hannibal smelled the delicious scent of his arousal when he nestled his cock between Hannibal’s cheeks through the lace, groaning at the soft friction of it. “I’d love to rip these in half and fuck you with your panties on, but I’m sure they’re fucking designer, knowing you,” Will murmured. He slid them roughly over the curve of Hannibal’s ass, leaving him fully exposed. “This, though,” Will plucked at the garter, “is absolutely staying on.”

It seemed that Hannibal’s little gift had caused something inside his lover to shift. Though Will always approached him with passion and intensity, the sight of Hannibal this way seemed to leave Will nearly feral. 

Hannibal lifted his hips up to present himself for Will fully. There was still more to his surprise, which Will noticed with a groan when Hannibal parted his knees.

As if the lingerie hadn’t been enough of a treat, Will’s jaw nearly fell open at the sight of a purple gemstone–Will’s birthstone, in fact: an amethyst–nestled between his thighs and ringed in gold. 

It was a butt plug. Real, solid gold, if he knew his lover well. Hannibal had been walking around, dancing around, all evening with this inside of him, eagerly awaiting the moment when Will finally discovered him like this. He felt dizzy.

“You naughty fucking boy,” Will murmured, tugging gently at the base of the plug just to make Hannibal gasp. “You’ve had this inside you the whole time?”

Hannibal nodded, and though Will couldn’t see his face, his empathy soaked up the pride and satisfaction from nothing more than his posture. “I wanted to become a gift for you to unwrap, layer by layer. It is what you deserve.” Hannibal was nothing if not vain, but Will found the confidence deeply charming.

Will flicked at the gem, made Hannibal twitch. “Well, you’re certainly no blushing virgin, are you, baby?”

“As I said before, I only wanted to channel the aesthetic quality of the idea,” Hannibal explained. Unable to resist, Will planted firm hands on his ass, spread him apart to get a better look. 

“I’m not sure I’d call this sight virginal,” Will replied. He smiled at the blush that crept down the back of Hannibal’s neck. He leaned down, then, again covering Hannibal’s body with his own. His breath ghosted over Hannibal’s ear. “I’d call it shameless, sweetheart.” Will let the twang color his voice with the words; he knew Hannibal loved it, though he’d never said as much. Hannibal shuddered.

Will returned, then, to his kneeling position between Hannibal’s thighs, gripped the base of the toy, and gently pulled. He watched, mesmerized, as it slid and stretched past the tight muscle of Hannibal’s rim, nearly left his earthly body at the tantalizing sight of Hannibal’s hole twitching from the loss. 

Will slid a thumb over the smooth, pink pucker. Hannibal was slick and loose for him, ready for Will to slide into his perfect heat at any moment. Will slid two fingers in easily, just to get a taste of what awaited him, though Hannibal needed no preparation. He savored the obscene, wet sound they made as he pumped them in and out. 

A devilish streak overtook Will briefly. 

“Look at that perfect pussy, baby. You’re all stretched out and ready for me, huh?” Will drawled. 

“Will, you are obscene,” Hannibal growled, but it wasn’t lost on him the way Hannibal’s cock twitched when he said it. Will loved the fact that he was the only person on earth that could get away with saying such filthy things to Hannibal Lecter without becoming a main course. 

Will barked a laugh, pulled his fingers out of Hannibal’s wet hole and took himself in hand, rubbing the drooling head of his cock over it. Hannibal keened, shoved his ass back to meet Will.  “And yet you allow me to be as obscene and as rude as I’d like.” In a smooth and brutal roll of his hips, Will speared Hannibal on his cock, savoring the tight, delicious heat of him. “You even married me for it.”

Hannibal’s spine arched into a lovely curve. “Perhaps I should have thought harder about my decision, you beast,” he panted. 

Will dug his fingers into the supple flesh of Hannibal’s ass, pulling out nearly all the way before snapping back into him with a slap of skin-on-skin. “Here’s the thing, Doctor Lecter: as much as you’d love to play coy, as perfect and put-together as you are in public, I know you love the filthy things I whisper in your ear while I’m inside you, and I know you love that somebody’s finally brave enough to fuck you like a slut when you’re asking for it.” Will had started to pick up the pace, setting a rhythm that was fast and deep; he was no stranger to taking Hannibal this way, and it allowed him to find that perfect angle, the one that caused Hannibal to cry out in pleasure, with ease. “I suspect that, at least partially, you married me for the dick I give you.”

Somewhere along the way, it had become something of a game for Will to see how crudely he could speak. Though Hannibal had ultimate control and composure in so very many facets of life, this was one place where Will could rule him, could cause his manners to fly out the window. It seemed that he had already brought Hannibal to a yielding headspace, where he could admit to himself that he loved this. 

An endless string of whimpering moans had begun to fall from Hannibal’s lips as Will fucked him with ruthless precision. “Yes, darling, yes, I love the way you take me apart. You are the only one who knows my body and soul so truly,” Hannibal whined out. 

“I’m surprised you’re still so coherent,” Will observed. “Something’s to be done about that.” He began to fuck into Hannibal hard enough, then, that Hannibal began to lose balance where his hands had been planted on the mattress. He fell to his elbows on the bed and raised his ass impossibly higher. 

“Fuck’s sake, you’re perfect,” Will murmured. “You take me so well, sweetheart.”

This time, Hannibal had no words to say–at least, not in English. Will recognized his incoherent babbling as something like his native language, and through a thick haze of lust, this filled Will’s heart with tender affection. Will wrapped strong arms around Hannibal’s torso and drew him up so that he was kneeling in Will’s lap, still sitting on his cock. Will kissed along his jaw, lapped the sweat from his neck.

“I’ve finally fucked you stupid, huh?” Will ran a loving hand over his chest, the delicious, slight softness of his belly, found the garter that still adorned his thigh. Finally, Will wrapped a hand around his red and leaking erection. “God, I love you, Hannibal.” Will’s thrusts had grown slow and lazy with Hannibal’s weight resting on him. For a long time, he held Hannibal steady, fucking him slow, sweet, and deep, savoring their closeness and the sensation of Hannibal clenching around him while he whispered love and filth in his ear.

When Will was finally tipping the edge of his orgasm, his pace began to grow urgent again. “Can I fill you up, baby? D’you want that?” Will murmured. Though Hannibal didn’t have the words, the whimper and the eager nod told Will all he needed to know. Will allowed his release to wash over him, cock pulsing inside of Hannibal with a shuddering moan that reverberated through the both of them. He allowed himself a moment to pant, to revel in the sensation of Hannibal twitching on his spent cock, before he slipped out and gingerly placed his lover back on his hands and knees to admire the mess he’d made, to watch his seed drip from Hannibal’s messy hole and down his thighs, so beautiful and thoroughly claimed. Again, Will ran a thumb over the sensitive pucker and found his mouth watering as he watched himself leak out of Hannibal.

“Now, I‘m gonna spoil you,” Will said, rolling Hannibal onto his back and settling between his thighs.

Hannibal, quivering and moaning, pushed his hips uselessly up toward Will in invitation, and Will happily obliged. He wrapped his lips around the head of Hannibal’s cock. At the very same time, he slipped three fingers inside of him easily to begin a slow and steady stroke on his prostate. 

It wasn’t going to take long like this. Will knew his mouth was sinfully good in more ways than one, and he swallowed Hannibal down to the root with ease, tongue lapping over him with each bob of Will’s head. 

“Will,” Hannibal cried out, hands reaching down to wrap into Will’s hair. He began to thrust up into Will’s mouth involuntarily, full body trembling with overstimulation. Will was determined, though, and continued to take Hannibal dutifully even as he gagged on his mouthful of cock. “Going to–oh, Will,” were the only blubbering words that Hannibal managed to speak when he finally spilled down Will’s throat. Will swallowed every drop.

Will crawled up Hannibal’s body, found him slick with sweat and panting and teary-eyed, and knew with a distinct sense of satisfaction that their wedding night sex would not be soon forgotten. He drew Hannibal close, petted his damp hair. 

“I suppose I’ll need to surprise you more often,” Hannibal said, finally.

A smile pulled at Will’s lips. “Now that I know this is a possibility, I’m going to start asking for it, y’know.”

“And if I asked to see you in lace as well, Will? What would you think of that?” Hannibal asked.

“I think I’d do anything to please my husband.”

Will felt Hannibal’s mouth curve into a smile against his skin.

Hannibal thought, secretly, that he could have made the cake better himself, but the way Will fed him bites from his fork made it taste like something from the finest patisseries in Paris. When they had showered, had become clean and fresh, Hannibal had suggested to Will what he’d planned all along: to bring the cake to bed with a bottle of champagne and enjoy it there. Will’s eyes had lit up with such excitement that he’d resembled a little boy on Christmas morning. It made Hannibal’s heart ache with affection.

Though Will had brought two forks–Hannibal was still far too sore to get all the way downstairs–Will had immediately begun to alternate taking a bite for himself and placing a bite delicately into Hannibal’s mouth. “Will, I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself,” Hannibal insisted, initially. 

“Considering the way I just rearranged your guts, I’ll be waiting on you hand and foot for a week. You deserve it,” Will replied.

Hannibal grimaced at the crude turn of phrase. “I do not appreciate that, darling; it sounds so vulgar.” 

Will shrugged, popping another bite of cake into Hannibal’s mouth. “This coming from someone who quite literally rearranged my guts with a knife a few years ago.” The assertion shocked Hannibal; Will simply laughed. 

Had they reached a point in life where they could joke about such a thing? Hannibal took a long sip of champagne, allowed the pleasant buzz to carry the thought away. 

“You are fortunate that I love you terribly. You test the limits of my tolerance for indecency every day,” Hannibal warned. 

“You love it,” Will said, leaning in for a vanilla-flavored kiss. 

Hannibal returned it easily; he’d been thoroughly defanged, disarmed by this man he adored. “I love you, my husband,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Perhaps it is.”