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In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Will is here, in their house in Yarmouth, nearly completely healed from his wounds. He drives out to a boatyard and works, goes to the grocery store, he cooks with Hannibal (who is still royally fucked. Bullet wound having gotten so infected that Will thought he was septic, and then his right leg hasn’t exactly healed properly so he has to use a cane that Will produced out of his workshop), and cleans what Hannibal can’t, takes care of Augustinus, does the yard work–hell, there isn’t something Will isn’t helping with.
More importantly than any of that, they eat together, read together, sleep together, and on the occasion Will sees fit, bathe together. Kissing to greet each other, and when Hannibal’s leg isn’t bothering him too much, they go into town together.
Dedicated and worshipful, Hannibal does all he can to appease Will, and Will seems very appeased most days. He would slaughter a lamb and burn it on an altar, crucify himself, anything if it kept Will content the way he’s been.
So, this really shouldn’t matter to Hannibal. Not even a little bit, not even at all because Will is here. He’s with him. He chose him and stays. They’ve made this entire life together, and Will seems to be happy with it.
Or… he was out of better options. He threw them from a cliff after all. That was his first choice, to kill them both, let them become one with the sea. Their energies being given to the fish and bottom dwellers. When they washed up on shore, he dragged Hannibal’s unresponsive body up the bluff and into the house. He got them away because he had no other option.
A part of Hannibal will always wonder how much of that was to his own accord and how much was his empathy disorder forcing his hand. Doesn’t matter now, though, he’s too selfish to even question it and if he did, he’d never do it directly.
“Hey, Han.” Will calls through the house, the distinct sound of his work boots being violently kicked off echoes through the halls. “You in your study?”
Hannibal blinks, coming back from wherever he had been for the past hour and a half. He’s smudged his sketch, his office in Baltimore, but now it looks like it was taken through a water-soaked film camera.
Hannibal sighs, and tosses the sketchbook onto his desk. Charcoal being thrown directly on top of the already ruined picture. “Yes, Will.”
He’s there in a matter of seconds, leaning against the door frame. “Do you know where Gus is?”
Hannibal tilts his head back to look at him, rubbing his stained fingers together. “I believe he’s in the backyard, at least, that’s where I left him unless he’s managed to escape.”
Will walks to him, putting both hands on his face as he leans down to kiss his lips. The ring, his wedding ring that he’s worn since before the fall, chafes Hannibal’s skin viciously. “Thank you, darlin’.”
Will leans back, and disappears back through the door just as quickly as he arrived.
Hannibal cleans the charcoal from his fingers and then rubs the spot on his face where the cold ring had touched. Trying to rid his skin of its lasting coolness. “Wipe his paws, Will. I do not want him tracking mud and grass through the house.”
“I know!” Will calls back, already down the hall.
He takes his cane, pushes himself up, and walks down the hall. The pain isn’t so bad today, which is good. More of a tingling than anything else, so he makes the assumption that it will rain soon. Maybe tomorrow.
Augustinus bounds by him, headed straight for their bed, he’s sure. The little creature doesn’t understand the word no, and while he likes to say it’s Will’s fault, he knows it’s equally his own.
Almost laughing, Will follows in hot pursuit. “I’m catching him. Don’t worry.”
“I think I could outrun you,” Hannibal chastises, “which should be dispiriting at this point in your life.”
Will whistles for him, and then grabs Hannibal’s arm. Even through his shirt, he can feel the ring. It burns him, brimstone on soft flesh that can’t melt away, no matter how badly he wishes it would. It is his constant adversary in a silent war only he’s aware of.
“I’m gonna spray him down with some of that flea repellent, and then we’ll start on dinner.” Will squeezes where he holds his arm. It’s probably meant to be some kind of reassurance, but it feels like the fifth circle of Hell.
Hannibal nods all the same. “Of course and don’t let him on the bed, Will. I just cleaned the bedding.”
It takes no more than fifteen minutes before Will appears beside him in the kitchen. He’s changed out of his work clothes and into loungewear, and his overgrown hair is tied up.
Hannibal’s already started on dinner, but he appreciates the help. He doesn’t like to push his luck with his leg, and standing can get tiresome very quickly, so he allows Will into the kitchen. It’s not like Will’s even a bad cook, Hannibal has found since they’ve lived together. His version of a good meal and Hannibal’s just often clash.
It isn’t either of their faults either. Two completely different upbringings will do that. While Will is comfort food, fried–chicken and okra, and cornbread and grits and pork fat, Hannibal is elegant, sautéed–duck and wagyu and imported spices and truffle.
Both have their places, and Hannibal isn’t opposed to Will’s cooking at all. He survived off of it for the first few rocky months. He tries to find the balance between what Will enjoys and what Hannibal enjoys.
Hannibal pushes the cutting board in his direction. The onions are already peeled, they just need to be sliced, along with the garlic and while Will does that, Hannibal will grate the cheese and take the bread out of the oven.
“Oh, this is great.” Will dips a spoon into the simmering broth, despite it not being done. He offers a taste to Hannibal, placing his hand under the spoon to catch any of the liquid that may slosh over the slides. His silver wedding band glinting in the light like the blood of a saint slain.
Hannibal’s lip twitches and he takes his eyes off of it, hands paused where they grate. “A little more wine, it has enough stock in it at the very least.”
Will picks up the bottle, adding a splash more, and then finally starts on the cutting.
“French onion soup?” He asks.
It’s been colder, recently. Colder than either of them has been used to. Canada’s a different sort of cold altogether and Hannibal isn’t fond of it. It’s familiar, like a dream. However, he finds it in himself to bite his tongue on most occasions since this is where Will picked. It isn’t like he leaves the house often, so he rarely has to brave it.
“You requested it, beloved.” He answers.
Augustinus sits right outside the threshold of the kitchen, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor. Hannibal finds he’s rather taken with the mutt. He’s got these big, soulless eyes that stare either to the depths of someone or into the void. He doesn’t know which, but he likes them both as probabilities.
Will cuts the onions, picking out the middles, and throws them into a bowl for compost in their greenhouse. The garlic is thinly sliced, and he gives them both to Hannibal so he can add them to the soup.
“Thank you, Will. You’ve been a marvelous help, as always.” Hannibal is half teasing because he knows Will doesn’t do so well under praise, but he did cut some of the time out of the prep which means he may not have to get one of the bar stools to sit on while he finishes their dinner. He considers that a win.
Will passes by, his hand touching the small of Hannibal’s back. The ring is there. It’s always there, and it makes him want to do something he knows he’ll regret.
Luckily, just as quickly as his hand is pressed to his back, it’s gone again and Will is squatting down. “Are you ready for dinner!” Will asks, nodding his head at the dog. “Yes you are, my good boy. You’re gonna eat with your daddy’s and behave for once?”
Hannibal would cringe if that didn’t make his chest warm. He’s taken with the dog, but he doesn’t consider it his child, he’s not even sure Will feels that way either. He just likes to say things he knows get under Hannibal’s skin. It’s a petty sort of revenge, but it’s better than what it used to be.
It took months for Will to even admit that Augustinus was also Hannibal’s. He should be happy that Will, even as childish as it sounds, considers him to be their child–or at least, does for the sake of the joke. Either way, Hannibal feels a warmth rise up the back of his neck that is only stifled when he thinks about the ring.
The ring. The ring. The ring.
It consumes his every thought. They can’t even have a nice, albeit annoying, moment without it eating him alive. If he were less logical, he’d think it could kill him.
“Will you be good while I get his food out of the other fridge?” Will asks. “I’ll be quick.”
Hannibal’s eyebrows come together for a moment, as if the question is unfounded, as if his eyes don’t give him away. “Yes, of course.”
Will stands, smoothing out his pants, and walks over so he can chastely kiss him. It’s no more than they’ve already done. A soft press of warm, winter-chapped lips on his, and every time Will kisses him, he feels his chest flush warm. Hannibal is lucky he doesn’t touch him with that hand, it would ruin the moment. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a second.”
Augustinus eats under the table, between Hannibal and Will. It’s the only place he’ll eat, and maybe they’re both soft, but they don’t overly mind it. Once he’s done, he’ll curl up by someone’s feet, and it’s always interesting to see who he chooses.
Dinner is a quiet affair, as opposed to breakfast where Will tells him, in great detail, about his dreams, or complains about whatever boat he’ll have to work on today, or how there’s this one buy that always comes to the boatyard and they should really kill him.
They’re both tired by the end of the day. Besides that, silence isn’t something they aren’t completely unaccustomed to. It was like that in the beginning, but the silence then was much more stilted. Will had so much more anger in him then and Hannibal was so sick.
It’s peaceful now. Or, it is for Will. Hannibal knows no peace, not so long as he wears her ring, but he does know calm. He’s calm, and if Will is at peace, he will tolerate it.
They do the dishes together, Hannibal washing and Will drying, and then they sit on the porch under a blanket while Augustinus runs his last little bit of energy out, sipping on warm tea in the glow of the porch light.
Hannibal looks at Will. The light catches his hair and grows a few amber strands mixed into the mess. The longer it gets and the more time he spends in the sun, the more colors it exposes. Amber, brown, and a red tint to it he never noticed before.
He leans his cheek against the top of Will’s head, thinking for a long time. Augustinus chases his own tail, Will cuddles impossibly closer, and Hannibal sighs.
It’s not because he wants to know, but maybe because he’s always liked it a little when Will digs his fingers into Hannibal’s open wounds. “If you could change anything, what would it be?”
Will is under his arm, head against his shoulder. Hannibal can feel the weird tension trembling through his body at the question, and when he puts his hand over the blanket, the ring still damns him to hell.
When Hannibal moves to look down at him, Will is giving him a strange look. “I thought we lived without regrets?”
Hannibal hums, adjusting his leg so Will’s hand has to move. “Call it a thought experiment of sorts.”
Will slips his tea, contemplating. His tongue comes out to catch a drop that sits on his bottom lip. “Anything at all?”
Hannibal nods once.
“I would have run away from home.” He says it very surely, like maybe it’s something he’s thought about much longer than the 30 seconds between the question and now. “When I was about 16. Thought about it in Mississippi; didn’t do it.”
It’s not the answer he expected, or wanted. There were two answers, both would have slit him open like a lamb for sacrifice, but it was one he was willing to make. This one does intrigue him though. Even in therapy, getting Will to talk about his childhood growing up poor in the South was like pulling teeth. “Why didn’t you?”
Closing his eyes, Will sighs. “Figured the cops would just pick me up at the county line and it would just be worse when I got home. But yeah, that’s probably the only thing I’d change.”
Hannibal rubs his hand over his shoulder. “Do you like it here, Will?”
“Yeah, I do,” Will answers, and it sounds true to Hannibal’s ear. “I like it right where I am.”
He kisses the crown of his head, breathes in the salt air that still clings to his hair. “Good. I do too.”
Hannibal takes the ring that night. Will leaves it on a dish in the bathroom and doesn’t mess with it again until morning, so it’s easy enough. He takes it when he’s asleep and warm in the bed, laid out on his stomach.
It isn’t wrong, he reasons. If anything, it’ll be better for them. Hannibal will feel like he can freely be affectionate to Will without this other presence in the house and Will shouldn’t even care about the ring. The marriage is over, it’s done. It’s just silly for him to keep it.
What’s worse he thinks is never even met this woman, and if he were the man he was before the fall, he’d probably scold himself for being so uncontrolled at this moment. Will left her and her child for Hannibal, this is rudimentary. It’s childish.
It’s just a ring. A piece of metal, but it’s a ring that represents a life Will had, that he wanted, instead of Hannibal. A life he could have gone back to, and chooses to remember every single day. A life Hannibal could never give Will. Not in the ways he wanted–possibly even still wants.
He takes it and hides it. Not somewhere Will couldn’t feasibly find it, but somewhere he may not look. Just to see what happens. Just to test a theory.
When he crawls back into bed, his leg slightly throbbing because he didn’t want to use his cane and have the click wake Will up, Will rolls over onto his side, and presses against Hannibal. His face pressed into his skin, he mumbles something about being cold.
Hannibal wraps an arm around him and sleeps with some sort of peace for the first time in a long time.
By the next morning, he doesn’t even think about the ring. It’s put away somewhere. Out of sight. He starts a pot of coffee and takes down his and Will’s mugs, filling his, and then heading to sit in the living room.
His leg aches more than it did yesterday, and he finds that he doubts he’ll get much housework done until it calms down. The weather never helps his case. It’s sleeting outside. He was hoping it would just rain, but this, he supposes, is better than snow.
“Han, sweetheart, have you seen my ring?” Will asks, stutter stepping over Augustinus as he enters the living room.
He blinks, slow, innocently. “Your ring?”
Will sighs, nodding. “Yeah, my ring. The one I wear every single day. I can’t find it. I thought I left it in the bathroom. I know I did but it’s gone.”
“Did it fall, perhaps?” Hannibal suggests, taking a long sip of his coffee. “It could be behind something.”
Will shakes his head. “No, I looked and didn’t see it. Did you see it this morning when you got up?”
Humming to himself, he places his cup down on a coaster. “I apologize, beloved. I don’t recall.”
It must be something in his tone that immediately gives him away. Or the fact that Hannibal is an old dog, and Will has learned all his tricks because he sees the point of tension, and watches it grow throughout his entire body like the first bite of sin.
Wil stands a little taller, jaw set. It’s a familiar sight from their earlier days, one Hannibal isn’t sure he missed. “I’m not playing with you. Where is it?”
“You must have lost it, Will.” He leans back into the cushion. “I am not your rings keeper.”
“Do you think I was born yesterday?” One thing about Will, when he’s angry, he stops mimicking speech patterns. Gone is that neutral American accent in a matter of seconds. “You did somethin’ with it, didn’t you?”
Hannibal breathes. “Will–“
His face twists up in a way Hannibal hasn’t seen in months. A sign that he’s made a mistake. “Where is it?”
He leans forward to grab his coffee. He needs to do something with his hands. “I don’t know.”
Will nods, a hand brushes his hair back. The anger is palpable, it radiates off of him like wildfire. “So now you’re lyin’ to me.”
“I mean, honestly Will. It’s just a ring.” Hannibal tries to reason, but the look on Will’s face makes him less sure of himself. It’s like he just experienced the first Plague of Egypt.
“But it’s mine, and you did somethin’ with it,” Will argues, pitch lowered. He could almost be seen as scary if the other person in the room wasn’t Hannibal. “I don’t know what I expected from you.”
That flairs something up in Hannibal. His chest tightens and his upper lip twitches, hand gripping the handle of his mug so hard he’s distantly worried it might snap. “I don’t see why it matters so much to you. It shouldn’t.”
Will is pacing now, touching the spot where his ring should be. “It’s the principle.”
Hannibal shrugs one shoulder, but he can’t deny in himself that this is a worse reaction than he anticipated. He expected him to be upset, maybe, but not argue like this. He thought it would be quick, and Will would get over it. Will has always been a fighter, though.
“I knew you were petty, but this is childish. I want you to know that. It’s ridiculous. Are you that insecure that a ring bothers you?” Will throws his hands up. “Like I could go back even if I wanted to?”
Hannibal doesn’t flinch, but god, it takes all his willpower.
He averts his eyes. He doesn’t know what else to do. If he’d been younger, if his leg wasn’t ruined, he’d probably get up and argue back, but as fate would have it, he’s at the mercy of Will Graham.
“Oh, okay. Now you’re not talking.” He nods and moves across the room. Not towards Hannibal, but towards the door. “That’s the game you want to play, fine.”
Hannibal takes a centering breath. He‘s unsure if he’s Judas or if Will is at this moment. Maybe both, in different ways. “You wear it every day. It has been a year, Will. Over that.”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s mine. To do with as I please.” He kicks his own shoes around. Digging for a certain pair, probably the snow boots.
Hannibal doesn’t lean up to make sure those are the pair he’s looking for, but he wants to, and Augustinus is right there at his feet. Ready to go wherever Will goes–which could be anywhere. It could be into town, it could be another Providence. It could be out of the country.
He swallows around the choking thickness growing in his throat. “Even if I hate it.”
“Yes, even if you hate it. You don’t get to make that choice and honestly, I don’t even want to look at you right now.” He slides whatever shoes he finally found. “You piss me off so much sometimes. You can’t act like a normal fucking person, just once. I don’t mess with your stuff. I don’t dig through all your shit and I take the things I hate and get rid of them.”
Hannibal places his cup down, a little harder than he anticipated, and some of the content sloshes. “It’s your ex-wife’s ring.”
“It was still mine. God, you know what, don’t worry about it.” He grabs his truck keys, they jingle, laughing at Hannibal. “Don’t even think about it. Bye.”
Hannibal pauses, blinks. “Will, wait–“
He slams the door, stomping down the steps, in the sleet. Only a few seconds pass before Hannibal hears the truck crank up. When he looks out the window, Will is putting Augustinus in the front seat.
He stands, against his better judgment, and walks back into the kitchen. The muscles in his leg switch horribly, shooting pain up into his hip but that doesn’t phase him. No more than physical pain ever has.
He takes the ring out of the drawer and places it on the countertop. Will is going to come back, eventually, he reasons. He didn’t take his go-bag, but he doesn’t have a wallet full of credit cards, and he’s always got a passport in his glove compartment just in case.
He’ll be back for the ring, at least.
It shouldn’t even matter. It shouldn’t matter to either of them. It’s just a ring. Just a piece of jewelry. It shouldn’t mean anything at all, but it does. It means everything.
Hannibal goes to his study. Leaving his mug, the undrunk coffee, and the spillage on the coffee table. He’ll clean it later when his leg hurts less. He’ll have to.
He sits in silence. No music, no radio. He doesn’t pick up his sketchbook. He just sits.
He wishes Will would have taken a coat, and that thought makes him call him. Just once, and it immediately goes to voicemail. He debates saying something, but instead clicks the phone off and places it down. It’s better that way. If he doesn’t look at his phone at all.
He slips off somewhere in his Memory Palace. Somewhere in Baltimore. A dinner. The faces don’t matter. It’s just somewhere that isn’t here.
It’s hours later before Will comes back, or at least, comes into the house. He rummages around for some time, the sink turns on and then off after a few minutes, and then he leaves again. The crank was never shut off, so he didn’t expect to be at the house long.
The sun has long since set when the truck pulls up again and it actually shuts off. Augustinus’s nails click on the hardwood floor, and whatever Will is doing, it’s much calmer now.
Hannibal allows himself out of the memory, and back into the real world. His entire body is stiff from sitting in the same position for so long, but his leg aches less from the lack of movement. Pros and cons, he supposes.
Will haunts the doorway for a few moments too long. Moving his weight from foot to foot, but Hannibal doesn’t move to look at him like he usually does.
“If you want me to go, then tell me. I can not fight you anymore, Will. You have already destroyed me.” Hannibal says, not allowing Will any time to speak. “I’m weaker than you now. If you wish to force me out, then do it but don’t come here and play the fool.”
Will steps into the room, finally. He smells like salt air and a diner he enjoys in town. Coffee, sleet, dog. “No, no. No one’s going anywhere. I’m sorry, that was mean of me. I shouldn’t have left.”
“I just wanted you to stop touching me with it.” He admits lamely and immediately wishes he could take it back.
The color drains from Will’s face, and he goes through all five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “I’m sorry. I love you. We agreed to try our best to stop hurting each other when we got here. I’m sorry about the ring.”
“You are correct, however. It’s your ring, I shouldn’t have touched it. That was… insecure and childish.” Hannibal nods to himself. “Wear it. It would be a good continuous punishment. I’m sure eventually you will reach some sort of satisfaction.”
Will comes to sit between his legs, head on his thigh. He’s laid at his feet, like Mary Magdalene, begging for something. “I’ve hurt you, I didn’t mean to, but I did. I said things I shouldn’t have. The ring doesn’t hold significant value to me.”
Hannibal breathes, and his teeth hurt. “Yet you wear it.”
Will turns his face into his thigh. “I love you. And only you. I’m sorry, I fucked up. It was a habit I should have broken a long time ago. I didn’t know it hurt you as much as it did, and I wasn’t right to say it shouldn’t.” Will rubs his thumb over his knee. “You should have just told me, though.”
The room is incredibly warm, and Hannibal wants to touch Will. He wants to sit like this forever. “Talking to you can be a harder feat to manage than simply upsetting you.”
Will’s movements pause.
Hannibal looks down at him and sighs. “It is late, Will. We should sleep.”
Will’s eyebrows knit together. “You don’t want to eat?”
He shakes his head, and that’s enough for Will not to argue. For now, at least.
They go about their routines as they always would. Will showers first, brushes his teeth, changes into his pajamas, and then skitters off somewhere while Hannibal takes his turn.
It’s only when Hannibal comes out of the bathroom that he realizes tonight is going to be different.
It’s the way Will looks at him, maybe. How he puts both hands on his hips, thumbs breaking the plane of his pajama pants. His throat works, and he presses a kiss to Hannibal’s cheek like he’s trying to talk himself into something.
Will kisses him, then, one peck, and then another, and then another until he’s licking his way into Hannibal’s mouth. Biting softly at his lip, Hannibal has to stop himself from moaning into the feeling.
“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling him closer by the hips until they’re flush together. He kisses him again, just as tenderly, one of his hands coming up to cup Hannibal’s face.
Will tastes like mint from his toothpaste and the sweet tea he keeps in the fridge. He’s pulling them around, and Hannibal doesn’t fight him, not even when he gently pushes him to sit on the edge of the bed.
His hand moves from his face to the back of his head, scratching lightly over his scalp. “Is this okay?”
It’s an asinine statement. “Yes.”
Will nods once, and kisses Hannibal’s forehead. “Okay.”
That does something odd to him. He doesn’t exactly understand it, but he misses the contact as soon as it’s gone. Not that he’ll tell him that, he’s already said too much today.
He unbuttons Hannibal’s shirt without urgency, pulls it over his shoulders slowly, and with a great deal of care. He kisses under his jaw, down his neck, and only when he comes to the spot where his neck meets his shoulder does he taste his skin with his tongue.
Hannibal swallows, the feeling of Will’s tongue against his skin is new, and not unwelcome. He can’t help the almost high-pitched noise that quakes through his throat.
Hannibal helps him pull down his pajama pants, feeling unmoored from this alone, and then Will kneels between his legs. He kisses the inside of his knee, and his thigh, biting gently over soft flesh to feel Hannibal’s muscle quiver.
Hannibal is half hard in his underwear, watching and analyzing each move Will makes like this is something his mind is making up and he’s looking for the fallacy. His breath hitches when Will mouths over the outline of his cock. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in excitement. He doesn’t know if the wet spot is from Will’s mouth or his dick.
Will glances up at him before his fingers dip under the top of his boxers, coaxing them off of him and then throwing them to be forgotten somewhere on the floor.
Hannibal feels exposed for the first time in his life, blush creeping up his chest. There could be a study done on the feelings that only Will can force out of him, it’s truly amazing.
He rubs a soothing circle on his thigh before taking his cock into his mouth, sucking the head and then some until he’s fully hard and leaking across his tongue. Will moans around him, a choked noise as he goes down until he nearly gags.
His legs flex, and with each passing moment, Will gets more confident, his throat relaxes, taking more until he’s got half his cock in his mouth and uses his hand for the rest. Hannibal’s own hand finds Will’s hair then, and he makes a conscious effort not to pull his hair too hard.
Hannibal breathes when Will hollows his cheeks and slides down as far as he can manage. He tries to contain the urge to force him down more, he doesn’t want to scare him. Besides, it’s been a long time, anyway, and he can already feel warmth pooling in his abdomen.
“Will–“
He pulls back, lips puffy and wet from saliva. “I know, baby.”
Will stands, pressing his shoulder to softly lay him down.
Hannibal moves up the bed, and Will strips down, watching him with lidded eyes. Hannibal doesn’t shy away from his wandering eyes, taking in his every move, waiting for something. He isn’t sure what, exactly, but it isn’t for Will to open the drawer on his nightstand and pull out a bottle of lube. He squirts some onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it before he moves to the edge of the bed.
He kisses Hannibal, tongue, and teeth, and when he pulls back, Hannibal whimpers at the loss. For that, Will kisses him again.
When he finally pulls back, Will nods to him, a little mechanically. “I’m completely new to this, it might not be great, but I think I know what I’m doing.”
Hannibal takes a breath. “That’s okay, beloved.”
Will’s lips come together in a thin line like he’s debating something again. Considering, maybe, but it only takes a few seconds for his face to settle and whatever tension that was building to dissipate.
He pushes one finger inside him slowly. “Tell me if I can do anything better.”
Hannibal’s entire body freezes. It’s been a long time in general, but even longer since he’s been fucked by a man. The feeling isn’t horrible, but it’s not entirely pleasant either.
When Will pulls his finger out and then pushes back it, brushing over his prostate, Hannibal bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. His muscles in his abdomen tense and his cock twitches, pre-come dripping onto his stomach.
He does this for a long while, whether it’s from nerves or just wants to make sure Hannibal is okay, or a more malevolent reason, he doesn’t know, but he fingers him cautiously and without enough pressure to get him off from this alone.
By the time he adds a second finger, Hannibal is much more relaxed and the stretch is more welcome than before. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Hannibal says as Will brushes his prostate with a bit more pressure this time.
Hannibal swallows down the noise that wants to come out, but his breath stutters and the blush has come to rest high on his cheeks.
Will does it again, tentatively, and Hannibal groans. “I think you’re being cruel.”
Will’s expression cracks then, smiling down at him, he kisses over the hot flesh of his chest. “Maybe. Just a little.”
He adds a third finger for good measure and pumps it into him a few times before he grabs the lube again and squirts it onto his dick. He rubs it over the length of him and Hannibal lays his head back.
Will is above average, thicker than Hannibal expected him to be hard. Not huge, but he could put the average man to shame.
He settles between his legs, lining his dick up to press into him. He’s slow about it, careful, like Hannibal might break. That catches him too and makes him turn his head from him because if he looks at him he really might just break.
It burns, but not too bad. It’s cut by the pleasure of it all. Having Will like this, body pressed against his, fucking into him gently. One of his hands is on Hannibal’s hip, thumb subduedly rubbing against the bone there.
When Will bottoms out, Hannibal finally breathes. It’s a hitched breath, verging on a moan. He can’t help it. His entire body is alight, and Will’s holding him, his own chest heaving.
When he speaks, it sounds like it’s been punched out of him. “How’s that?”
Hannibal swallows, the column of his throat working around what he wants to say. “It’s–“
Will gives one quick thrust and Hannibal’s head falls back, biting his tongue so hard it bleeds like the inside of his cheek. “It’s good, it’s so good. Please, Will.“
Will nods, his voice sounds wet, but Hannibal can’t bear to look at him. “Yeah, it’s good for me too.”
He sets a slow pace. Wanting to take Hannibal apart little by little, not wanting this to be something it isn’t. It feels holy, for both of them, like the birth of a new religion.
It’s horrible, the way Will knocks soft noises out of Hannibal like they’re his to have–they are. Breathy moans, whines, whimpers. If he was any more put together, he’d be as close to embarrassed as he could be.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” He places his hand around his throat. “Does this make you feel better, baby?”
Hannibal blinks, eyes dazed. “Does what?”
Will squeezes his hand, and watches Hannibal's eyelashes flutter for a second before he releases. “Knowing you’re the only person who gets my cock.”
Hannibal makes a noise, something between a whine and a whimper. It makes him sound like he’s on the verge of tears, and maybe he is, but he can’t tell at this point. He doesn’t even care.
“It’s okay, I’m gonna take real good care of you, baby, for the rest of your life.” Will shushes him softly, hand squeezing again until his eyelashes flutter again. “I love you, I’ll kill you if you ever leave me, so that means you’ll have to kill me if I ever leave you.”
Hannibal’s tongue juts out to wet his lips. “I love you, too.”
Will kisses him, teeth scraping his bottom lip. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be there. “I know.”
Each thrust gets them both closer, and Hannibal’s dick is leaking all across his stomach, his fingernails digging into Will’s pale skin. He knows it has to sting, that there is skin under his nails, but neither of them stops.
Will moves, adjusts his hips slightly, and Hannibal’s legs shake. “Like that, please, more.”
Will speeds up, just a little, just enough, and Hannibal’s entire body seizes up. It’s hot, the feeling that finally rips through his body, searing his skin everywhere that Will touches.
He comes, half out of his mind with Will’s hand around his throat, each thrust of his cock inside him making his own jump and another rope of cum staining his belly.
Will brushes his hair out of his face, not far behind him. He clutches onto him, face pressing into Hannibal’s neck as he comes inside of him. He’s whispering something like a prayer to a god who isn’t listening.
It only takes a few seconds for Will to move off of him, kissing down his chest, his stomach, licking up streaks of cum as he makes his way down Hannibal’s body.
He sucks his softening dick into his mouth, pressing his tongue to the slit. Hannibal’s body jerks with light convulsions at the sensation. It’s too much and not enough all at once. He wants him to stop, he wants him to keep going.
He goes farther down after a few seconds of brutal teasing, pushing Hannibal’s legs up and apart.
“Will?” He asks, trying to blink the haze from his eyes.
The first swipe of his tongue makes Hannibal hiss, legs trying to close, but Will holds them in place. Then he’s licking, tongue pressing inside of him, tasting his own release.
“Will, please,” his abdominal muscles twitch. “It’s–“
He won’t say it’s too much. It’s not, or it is, but he doesn’t want him to stop, not yet at least. He wants to be the center of Will’s attention for as long as possible.
He sucks and licks, and at one point he pushes a finger inside him and licks around it until Hannibal’s entire body is shaking and tears prick his eyes and he’s saying something that might not even be English.
Will doesn’t let up either. Pulling more sounds out of Hannibal, enjoying how he writhes and twitches and begs. Pressing his finger against his over-sensitive prostate to watch pre-come leak from his cock.
Hannibal doesn’t grab Will’s hair this time, fingers threading through his own hair, pulling with each pass of his tongue across sensitive skin. His toes curl, legs shaking in Will’s grip.
When he comes again, it’s considerably less than before, and he finally puts a hand in Will’s hair, twisting to the point it has to hurt them both.
Will crawls back up his body, kissing him softly on the way. “You okay, baby?”
Hannibal takes a deep breath, and his eyes burn, but he doesn’t even realize he was crying until Will wipes his tears from his eyes. “Yes,” he says, “Yes. I’m fine.”
Will moves his hair from where it’s stuck to his face, then it comes down to scratch across his chest. “Want me to get you something to drink?”
A few moments pass. Hannibal slowly returns to himself. He’s sore, but he feels good. Tired. He doesn’t want Will to leave the bed, he wants to be held, he wants a million things at once that his mind can’t possibly shift through right now.
Hannibal curls into Will. They should get cleaned up, but he doesn’t feel like he can stand and if Will leaves the bed he might go crazy. “Will you just… keep touching me like you are?”
Will’s hand presses firmly into his chest. “Of course.”
Hannibal doesn’t sleep, exactly, but he does drift. Will presses warmly against him, keeping him together. He tries to say he loves him, he’s not sure if he says it, but Will pulls him closer either way.
Maybe he did need a sacrifice. Maybe he needed to be the sacrifice as well. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t care, just as long as Will keeps his hands on him, he’ll be fine.