Work Text:
Heart Tartare
Will presses his thumb hard on the homphobe’s trachea. The man’s legs buck underneath Will, fighting for air, but Will clenches his thighs tighter. Will grins and leans down to close to whisper in his ear, to make sure these are the last words he hears.
“I’m going to drink Gewürztraminer Spätlese when I eat you.”
The man’s body stills. Will releases his neck and leans back on his heels, still straddling the man. Will leans his head back, eyes closed in rapture. His arms thrum with power, heart beat slightly elevated.
Three more to kill, assuming Hannibal already killed his mark.
Will presses a hand on the man’s chest where his heart would normally beat and opens his eyes. He tilts his head to stare at the man’s unseeing eyes. He pushes on the man’s chest and stands. The muffled screams of the other homophobes break through his endorphins. He steps over the body, bare feet silent on the polished concrete of the kill room in their safe house in New Orleans. Hannibal stands over the body of a white woman, a bloody scalpel in his hand.
Will steers clear of the blood on the floor. He wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist and nuzzles his husband’s neck. “Beautiful.”
Hannibal’s pleased hum vibrates in Will’s chest. “I missed yours.”
Will kisses Hannibal’s pulse point. “We’ll kill the last one together.”
Hannibal turns in his arms, hands coming up to cup Will’s face. “Yes, please.”
Will can’t say no when Hannibal says “please.”
Will leans forward and kisses him. The muffled screams grow louder, limbs thudding against their binding. Will kisses Hannibal more deeply, sliding his tongue into the slick heat of Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal’s hands sneak under Will’s shirt, two bright points of heat that send all the blood to Will’s dick. Hannibal presses closer, his own half hard dick grinding against Will’s.
The screams reach a fever pitch.
Will runs his hands up Hannibal’s back and sinks his fingers into his hair. He yanks the silver blonde strands, and Hannibal moans into his mouth. Will grins and pulls back, loosening his grip on Hannibal’s hair.
Hannibal would love to pause their killing and fuck Will senseless, but Will is in control tonight. Sex will wait. “Later,” Will promises and steps out of the embrace.
Hannibal whines.
It almost draws Will back in, but he knows part of that delicious sound is a manipulation because Hannibal knows what it does to Will.
“Scalpel,” Will demands and turns away from Hannibal, one hand out behind him. A gentle press in his palm and Will wraps his fingers around the handle. “Use your hands,” Will commands. “Leave her for last.” He jerks his head to the bleach blonde woman on the steel table on the left side of the room.
Hannibal nods, completely obedient to Will’s whims. “As you wish.”
Hannibal positions himself in front of the brown-haired man, arms tied above his head by a rope connected to the ceiling. His ankles are in cuffs connected to the floor, keeping him mostly stable. Hannibal rears back and punches the man with all his force in the nose. Bones crack and blood spurts. Hannibal’s hand returns to his side, watching the man with mild interest. The man gurgles, blood pouring onto his shirt. Hannibal steps into the man’s space and clamps his hand onto the man’s bloody nose, cutting off his already restricted airflow.
Will focuses on his own kill, the scalpel still warm from Hannibal’s touch. The man’s light eyes bore into Will, pleading with him. Will is unmoved. “I’d take the tape off to hear how lovely a bigoted homophobe screams, but your mouth has done enough damage. You were the easiest to track down. You led us to the others.” Will gestures to the bodies. “You really shouldn’t geo-tag all your social media. And then you checked-in at every place you stopped at on your cross country trip to New Orleans to disrupt Pride this weekend.”
Will places the scalpel on the man’s cheek. He jerks his head to the side. “Tss, tss” Will softly tuts as he does when a dog tries to misbehave. He grabs the man’s face with his other hand, holding him still. “No more movement. No more hate spewing from your mouth.”
Will presses the scalpel into the man’s cheek, shallow enough for nothing more than a thin line of blood to appear. He drags it down to the man’s jawline, dipping beneath to trail down his neck to his Adam’s apple. “This is the fear you and your kind put into queer kids every time you show support for legislation that threatens their very existence. Their desperation and helplessness. Now, every ugly word that ever made anyone feel less than will be silenced. Forever.”
The man’s eyes fill with fury. Will digs the blade deeper into his throat. Fear replaces fury. Will grins and leans close, his beast growling in pleasure. “The world will be better without you.”
The blade sinks further. Will drags it across his neck. “No one will ever find your body.” He scoots closer to whisper directly into the man’s ear. “My husband and I are going to eat you.”
The scalpel slices into the artery. Blood sprays Will’s glasses, his cheeks, his curls. He grins wider and blood warms his tongue. Will grips the man’s head tighter, looking into his eyes until the blood stops spraying. Will drops the scalpel and breathes deeply, the hot metallic scent filling him.
One left.
Will steps out of the blood, careful not to slip and fall. “Ready?”
Hannibal takes his bloody hand. “Yes.”
“Tilt the table up, and hold her head from behind. I want you to watch me.”
Hannibal’s eyes go soft. “I would love nothing more.” Hannibal smears the blood on Will’s cheek, a thick bead coming away on his thumb. He sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking it off.
The woman screams louder.
Hannibal kisses Will, licking the blood from inside his mouth and lips. “Beautiful boy.”
Will’s heart warms at the praise, as it always does. “Get her head.”
Hannibal hits the button to tilt the table up. The woman screams and strains against the straps on her wrists, ankles, thighs, and chest. They don’t budge. Hannibal grabs either side of her head, dipping his over the top to force her to look at him. “Bonsoir.”
Will stands directly in front of the woman, letting her take in his bloody face. “Saved the worst for last.”
The woman screams, the familiar fury entering her eyes. Everyone is furious before they become afraid. Before they realize there is no escape.
“You really are the worst,” Will continues. “The others were always going to be assholes, but they would’ve been quiet assholes. You?” Will chuckles dryly. “You motivated them. You changed them. You called them to action. ”
Will puts his hand on her neck. Her pulse jack rabbits under his skin. “You lied. You lied and said a gay man raped you. The other woman lured him in, pretending she was being hassled at a bar, needed a ride home. While they waited on a Lyft, these dumbasses jumped him. Beat him so badly he’ll never walk again.”
Muffled words under the tape. Will wraps his hands around her neck. “Then, there’s your lobbying for anti-trans bills across the country, but especially in Texas. Your friends there, your connections online, and your ability to gain followers in real life make you powerful. You used that power to hurt the queer community. To hurt our community.”
Disgust fills her eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know all the vile things you say about us. My husband and I are not good people, but we are good queers. Killing you won’t kill homophobia or the bills you told everyone to call and support. I know that.”
Will presses harder on her throat.
“But killing you will keep Pride safe this weekend.”
Will steps up to the woman until mere inches separate them. “I wanted to stab you in the heart, but Hannibal convinced me we should finally make your heart useful and transform into a tartare to nourish us.”
And there is it: fear.
“Glorious boy,” Hannibal whispers reverently.
With the praise warming him, Will expertly cuts off her air supply, suddenly done. She needs to die quickly, so Will can move onto the next part of their night.
His private tableau.
The woman stills, pulse slowing then stopping under Will’s fingers. “She’s dead.”
Hannibal leaves his post and wraps Will in a hug, nuzzling into his neck. “Perfect boy.”
Will presses closer. “Ready to help with the tableau?”
“Tell me what you need,” Hannibal murmurs into Will’s curls.
“Bone saw. Sharpie.”
“Am I going to be dismembering also?”
Will pulls back, one hand gripping Hannibal’s bicep. “Yes. I’ll mark where I want you to cut. I’m going to assemble it at the back.” Will releases him fully, and Hannibal goes back to the exam table, pulling open a drawer Will didn’t know was there. He comes back, Sharpie in hand.
“Thanks,” Will says and goes back to his first kill, sizing up the different parts of the man.
“No hints about the tableau?”
Will draws a solid line around each of the man’s hip sockets. “It won’t take you long to figure out once I start assembling. We have two saws? I’ll help.”
“We do. Do you honestly want to help? I can do all the cutting and leave the construction to you.”
Will pauses, considering. “I want her head.” He points to the last kill. “I might need your help. I want a clean cut. We have something for that here?”
“Of course,” Hannibal says quickly.
“Don’t give that offended tone, Hannibal. This isn’t Wolf Trap. I truly don’t know what you stocked in this kill room.”
“It’s a safe house,” Hannibal says from the front of the room, opening a cabinet. “I stocked it with everything I would need in the event you and I decided to build a life here.”
Will moves to the woman Hannibal killed, looking between her and the others, trying to decide whose torso to use. He draws a line around each shoulder socket. “And how long after we met did you buy this?”
“Two months.”
Will stops in his tracks. Hannibal goes to the woman Will just marked and starts on her arms.
“Seriously? Two months?”
Hannibal glances up from removing the woman’s arm. “Yes. If we never got together, I liked the idea of being close to where you grew up.”
Will goes back to the first man he killed. “Does that mean you have a house on Lake Eerie you haven’t told me about?” He draws lines to mark off his torso.
Hannibal walks past him, one arm in his hand. “I gave you a file of all my real estate holdings and finances before we married.”
Will gives him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t read any of it. Figured if finances ever became an issue you’d tell me.”
“I would,” Hannibal says simply and comes to Will’s side with a bloody cleaver. He offers it to Will. “You weren’t more curious than that?”
Will takes the cleaver and shrugs. “Grew up poor. I know how to survive on little or no money. I remember there being houses in the file, but I didn’t pay attention.” He hefts the cleaver in his hand. “Should I pretend this is like splitting a log for firewood?”
“Yes.” Hannibal adjusts Will’s stance with a hand on his waist, his foot against the inside of Will’s. “The house on Lake Eerie generates a good portion of our income.”
Will raises the cleaver above his head and brings it down swiftly. The blade slides in like butter and then jams, as Will expected. He pulls it free, bending to examine the cut lines. “You rent it out?”
“Yes. It’s booked almost every week of the year. If you want to visit, I’ll clear a week. There are a couple free in the winter months, if you’d like to see the snow.” Hannibal presses the bone saw into his hand. “You need this now.”
Will takes and starts to work on the woman’s neck. “I do like snow.” The saw cuts through the vertebrae and thuds against the table.
“May I help? I need to get her heart soon.”
Will nods absently. “The tendons are still attached.”
Hannibal bends down, scalpel in hand and cleanly slices through them in one stroke. “Winter on Lake Eerie?”
Will grabs the body’s ponytail and slides the head off the table. “Yes, that sounds nice. We can take the dogs. Ruby loves the snow.” He deposits the head gently on the floor, pausing to size up the space and visualize what he wants this tableau to be. “Can we go at Christmas?”
Hannibal places a rib spreader in the woman’s chest. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
Bones crack as Will heads to the open cabinet, scanning the shelves twice before he finds a paint brush. He takes it off the hook and goes to the first pool of blood, dipping the brush in the fluid. “I want a cold, snowy Christmas at the water. Is it beachfront?”
“Of course,” Hannibal says. He removes the woman’s heart, silently staring at it for several seconds.
Will sneaks out his phone from his pocket, swiping to the camera quickly. He snaps several pictures, not hiding his grin. “You’re really pretty.”
Hannibal blinks and comes back to himself, a pleased flush coloring his cheeks. “Thank you.” He holds Will’s gaze, the heart in his bloody hands. He places it in the waiting cooler and closes the lid. “Do you want any help?”
Will smirks at the lingering pink on his husband’s cheeks. “No. You get the organs. I’ll work on this.”
Hannibal needs no more direction, going to the first man he killed. Will turns away, refocusing on the back wall and the head on the floor. He holds the image of the tableau in his mind, mapping out where he needs to start. He squats at the corner and swipes the brush up and across in one, swift, solid movement. Then again and again until he can’t reach. He goes back to the same blood puddle, twirling the brush to prevent any spills, and grabs a step ladder before going back to painting. He repeats these steps until there is a nearly perfect circle painted in blood on the navy wall.
He steps back to admire the work, glancing between it and the pile of limbs on the floor. “It’ll work,” he mutters to himself and goes over to the brown leather bag he packed specifically for the tableau. “I need the torso next,” he calls to Hannibal.
“Almost done.”
Will lays down his bag and pulls out the spools of thread in the hues of the Progress Pride Flag and the needles Hannibal recommended for sewing body parts together.
“Where do you want it?”
Will doesn’t look away from threading the first needle. “Just there.” Will gestures to the empty space between the woman’s head and the right and left arms. Hannibal settles the male torso, groin intact, on the floor. “Not a single hint?”
Will grins and ties off the knot of white, pink, and blue spiraled thread. “None.”
Hannibal sighs good naturedly. “The thrill of revelation.” He bends down and gives Will a quick, chaste kiss. “Do you want help suturing when I’m finished?”
“Yes, please. This is my design, but I want you to be visible on it, too.”
“You spoil me, mangustas.”
Will preens at the pet name, basking in the warmth and glow of Hannibal’s praise and attention. “I know,” he adds smugly and is rewarded with a deep, throaty chuckle from his husband. “The faster you finish, the faster you can help me,” he adds on as Hannibal turns away.
“On the last one.”
Will positions the female neck at the juncture of the male’s torso, fiddling with it until it’s exactly where he wants. His tableau blooms in his mind, the historical inspiration mixing with the materials in his hands. At his first stitch, the darkness in him unfurls. A deep satisfaction curls through him. He did this. He murdered these people, and now they will be shaped into Will’s ideal version of them.
The neck is perfect, the three colors mixing exactly as Will imagined. He moves onto the arms, laying out red thread on the right, orange on the left. He finishes both arms, stitches rough and wide but securely holding the body together by the time Hannibal joins him, a firm hand on the back of his neck. Will takes a deep breath, coming back to himself a bit, grounding himself in the feel of Hannibal around him. “How can I help?”
He hands over the blue thread. “Left leg. Then we’ll stand it up. And triple check my sutures will hold it together.”
Hannibal nods against Will’s neck and moves away, checking the sutures first before nodding his approval and kneeling to attach the left leg to the hip socket. “May I start guessing at the meanings of this tableau?”
Will doesn’t pause in the middle of his second stitch in purple thread on the right leg. “Yeah.”
“You’re using the colors of the Progress Pride Flag.” Will doesn’t comment as Hannibal goes silent for a few moments. “You chose this because they were so opposed to the queer community? To leave a mark on them of something they hated?”
“More or less,” Will confirms, halfway through with his stitches as Hannibal ties off his last one.
“Which is it?” Hannibal asks and pushes himself off the floor. “More or less?”
Will grins impishly at him. “More.”
Hannibal’s eyes fill with a dark light. “Tell me more.”
Will finishes the last stitch. “Not yet. Help me get it up.”
They maneuver around, each grabbing under an arm and hosting the body up. “Got it?” Will asks. At Hannibal’s nod, Will climbs the stepladder and grabs the nearly translucent fishing line. “Place the feet flat on the floor.”
“Done.”
Will ties the fishing line in tight knots in the loops he left in the stitches on the right and left shoulder. He adjusts the positions of the feet with Hannibal’s help, turning the left one perpendicular and tilting the right one inward. He stands and goes back to the neck, looping the fishing line around fingers and through the loops on the neck to pull the arms straight out.
He hesitates on the last knot, eying the body. “Let go.”
Hannibal releases the body immediately. It stays, exactly as Will imagined. He lets go of the last fishing line. The head doesn’t wobble.
This is going to be perfect.
Hannibal joins him. “Magnificient.”
“I’m not finished.”
“No?”
“Nope. About half. I need your help with the next part. I want the left leg next, and you to suture it once I get it to the correct angle.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Hannibal murmurs and brings Will the leg.
“Yes, yes, you want to know. Impatient.”
“Only with you, mylimasis.”
Will huffs out a laugh and positions the leg to attach from behind, the foot suspended in the air. “Hold it here.” He and Hannibal switch positions. “The calf and foot need to be a little higher.” Hannibal adjusts it until Will says, “There. I’ll hold it and you sew it with the yellow thread.”
Will passes over the thread, their fingers brushing. Will grips the cooling flesh, eyes focused on Hannibal’s deft sewing. Hannibal is serene, his attention only wavering while Will leans forward to nuzzle his hair. “Love you.”
Hannibal turns his head and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Love you.”
Will hums happily and tightens his grip on the leg, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s hand, the large needle in his fingers, the speed and power in his nimble fingers. “Make a loop like I did on the shoulder. I need to tie fishing line through it.” Hannibal completes the knot perfectly. Wordlessly, he switches places with Will.
Tying off the fishing line takes no time at all. Will tugs on it once to test the strength. “Let go.”
Hannibal releases the leg. It stays at the exact angle Will wanted it. He holds out a hand for Hannibal to join him in front of the incomplete creation. Hannibal draws in a sharp breath, understanding blooming in his dark eyes. “Da Vinci’s Virtuvian Man . His depiction of the ideal human proportions.”
Will untangles his hand from Hannibal’s, picking up the next leg. “Said it wouldn’t take you long.”
“Will, it’s–”
“Hold off on the praise.” His voice is stern but his eyes are warm. “I want to get it fully complete first. Then, you can shower me with praises. Help?” Will hefts the leg in his arms, giving Hannibal a pointed look.
They spend the rest of the construction in almost complete silence, the pair of them knowing what the other needs without words. After twelve years of marriage, things are seamless between them in the creation of Will’s latest tableau, especially with Hannibal’s knowledge of Will’s desired end result. Hannibal sutures, Will adjusts, then adjusts again, and then again until he’s satisfied.
The second angled leg is attached with green thread. The right and left angled arms are attached with brown and black thread respectively, perfectly placed within the circle Will painted on the wall. Will shifts the placement of the fingers and wrists, pulling out his phone to look at the drawing.
A few minutes later, he pulls the stepladder back to the wall and picks up the paintbrush. Hannibal brings over a large Tupperware container full of blood. When Will frowns at it, Hannibal says, “I was saving it for sanguinaccio dolce, but it serves a better purpose here.”
“Thanks,” Will says and dips the brush in the blood.
Painting the square takes longer than the circle as Will needs to line it up perfectly–or as perfect as he can get. The position of the limbs is perfect, so he’ll be okay if the painting is a little off. Besides, it’s not as if anyone except the two of them are seeing it. Hannibal will still love and lavish praises on him if it’s off by a centimeter.
Will sets the brush down off to the side and stretches out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. Hannibal will more than happily give him a massage later. “Done,” he proclaims and walks to the front of his design, eyes on his husband.
Hannibal’s hands are at his side, his face upturned, eyes devouring every inch of Will’s display. His voice is soft, reverential. “Flawless.”
Will joins Hannibal and hums in disagreement. “I see a couple of flaws.”
Hannibal shakes his head. “Flawless. Ideal proportions.”
Will chuckles and leans his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Wasn’t as concerned with the proportions as I was with the ideal of showing my ideal version of homophobes.”
Hannibal’s breath ghosts over Will’s forehead, his cheek cool on Will’s scalp. “What is your ideal version of homophobes?”
Will lifts his head to look Hannibal in the eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Dead.”
Hannibal gives a surprised, genuine laugh, a rare sound only Will can draw from him. Will grins wider at the sound and the knowledge he got this reaction from the famed Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal pulls him into a hug, his laughter reverberating in Will’s chest. Will’s own laugh bubbles out of him, much closer to a giggle than he’d prefer to admit.
“Oh, my beautiful, brutal mangustas. My heart and soul. The only one to fully accept me, to see my darkness and welcome it. To let me see your darkness, to let me see this rapturous design is a gift I will treasure until the end of my days.”
Will blushes and hides his face in Hannibal’s neck, secure and safe. Will knows he doesn't have to say anything, that Hannibal enjoys praising Will as much, if not more, than Will loves hearing the praise. But he also knows exactly what to say to please Hannibal. “I learned from the best.”
He’s rewarded with the press of Hannibal’s erection against his leg. Will tilts his head and nibbles on Hannibal’s ear, just the way he likes it. “Take me to bed and show me how perfect I am.”
Hannibal kisses him deeply, and Will gives himself over. Letting himself believe every syllable of adoration, tucking each syllable deep in himself as Hannibals hands and lips reinforce the whispered words of awe. Everything except Hannibal’s voice, his lips, his bare flesh on Will’s, the slide of sweet mouth over Will’s shaft fades away. Everything is Hannibal and his reverence for Will. His devotion. His promise of this–this safety, security, love, and worship–for forever wraps around Will like the hot chocolate he’ll have in their lake house on Christmas.
With “I love yous” that are more sighs than murmurs, Will and Hannibal fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, content not just in their killing and Will’s tableau, but at peace knowing they made the weekend’s Pride safer for everyone.
***Heart Tartare***
The heat and humidity are oppressive, but it could be worse. It could always be worse; it could be July. But Will knows what will cool them off. It’s just a bonus that Hannibal will definitely not want to do it.
“You’ll love it, promise,” Will lies, not looking at Hannibal on the crowded street. Will takes Hannibal’s hand for the first time in several blocks, both of them too hot to do much touching, but Will is not letting Hannibal out of this. Will pulls them into the slightly colder air, keeping his face much too innocent.
“Will.”
“Hannibal?”
Hannibal’s sighs with his whole body. “This place only sells alcoholic slushies.”
“Yep,” Will says happily, unable to hide his smile. “I’m going to order for you.”
Hannibal’s sighs again. “This will not even be good alcohol.”
Will laughs and draws out the word. “No.”
“The things I do for you,” Hannibal mutters, eyeing the menu. “You’re going to pick the most awful thing, aren’t you?”
Will pushes his curls out of his face. “Actually, no. Though I don’t consider anything horrible. I’m getting you a famous New Orleans drink. You said we needed to do the touristy things, and there is nothing more touristy than strolling through the French Quarter with an alcoholic slushie.”
“What about beignets?”
“Those, too. We’ll have those later, and much later, you can take me out to a fancy bar for a fancy cocktail.”
“My reward for whatever is about to happen.”
Will grins wider and looks at him from beneath his lashes. “Exactly.” Will steps up the counter. “Two Hurricane slushes, please,” he says with entirely too much glee. They step out of line to wait on the slushes, taking the moment to lean into each other, Will still grinning from ear to ear.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“So much,” Will replies and takes his hand again. “After this, we need to pick a spot to watch the Parade.
The cashier calls out their order. Hannibal grabs both drinks, passing one to Will, and they exit the small shop back into the heat. Will leads them deeper into the French Quarter, rainbow flags and ribbons adorning every shop and corner. He’s almost skipping when Hannibal sucks the first sip of his Hurricane slush.
Hannibal’s eyebrows twitch. Will presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Hannibal swallows and blinks. “This is more slush than alcohol.”
Will’s laughs brusts from him. “What did you expect?”
“I honestly don't know. Not this.”
Will takes a big sip of his slush around his laughter. “You love it.”
Hannibal sips tentatively again. “I love you. This drink? No.”
Will snorts and releases Hannibal's hand to walk around a slow moving couple, taking it back immediately once they’re past them. “There’s something else I want to do.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Think it’s best if I just take you.”
Hannibal squeezes his hand and releases it, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Lead the way.”
Will winds through the streets into the area specifically marketed as family friendly. “I can’t believe you really decided to wear pants in New Orleans in the summer. You know this is the most humid city in the whole country?”
“The fabric is actually quite breathable,” Hannibal says.
“You’re sweating,” Will says and pokes a droplet on his neck.
“My only regret is that it isn’t you who is making me sweat.”
Will’s jaw drops open and at least two people around them laugh. Hannibal’s grin is smug as people snap their fingers and someone shouts “YASS, HUNEY, MAKE HIM SWEAT!”
The laughing crowd moves past them, and Will dissolves into giggles for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. “You’re impossible,” he says into Hannibal’s shoulder.
Hannibal plants a kiss in his curls. “You knew this when you married me.”
Will lifts his head, taking a large enough sip of the drink that alcohol burns his throat. “I did. And I’d marry you again in a heartbeat.”
Someone behind them lets out a small “awww” and another says “I ship them so hard” while someone else learns forward and asks, “Can we all come to the ceremony? Because you’re fucking adorable and giving me life and hope for my future.”
Hannibal’s smile shifts to his polite one, voice smooth. “I’m afraid we’re very private.”
“Damn it,” the man says before his friends pull him away with a couple of shouted “sorry” and one “Y’all are the cutest!”
“The youth thinks we’re goals, Hannibal.” Will bumps his shoulder, chugging the rest of his slushie, but that’s not enough for anything close to a buzz. “I do like the idea of a vow renewal, though it would be very private. But we’ll talk about that later. We’re at our next stop.”
Hannibal looks around as Will pulls them into a short line. Hannibal’s eyes widen a fraction in disbelief when he sees what awaits them. “Seriously?”
Will nods happily. “I agreed to coordinating outfits.”
He gestures between them. Hannibal’s very breathable pant fabric is navy with subtle purple piping, paired with a pink button up tucked snuggly into them. Will’s chino shorts are pink with a soft cotton v-neck navy shirt that highlights Will’s shoulders. Will’s outfit is completed with purple slip-on sneakers that Hannibal begrudgingly allowed while Hannibal’s feet are shod in dark brown leather dress shoes.
Will takes Hannibal’s almost full styrofoam cup. “If the painter can guess what flags we want painted on our cheeks, not only do you not have to finish this, but you can take me for a real drink before the Parade.”
Hannibal’s face softens. His hand cups Will’s cheek, thumb stroking across Will’s facial hair. “Mylimasis, if it that’s important to you, of course I’ll do it. All you need to say is ‘please.’”
“Please.”
Hannibal kisses him softly and briefly. “Please don’t make me finish the heinous drink.”
Will pulls back and wraps his lips around the straw. “More for me. But also, I wanna see if she can guess what we need. Not that it’s hard. You dressed us as a walking bi flag.”
“When in Rome.”
They’re next and, of course, the painter has no hesitation in correctly assuming they both want the bi Pride flag. A few minutes later, with newly painted cheeks, they head back into the throng of people to find a spot to watch the parade. Hannibal finds a spot he thinks is fine, but Will drags them down another block before declaring it, “Almost perfect.”
Will sits on the curb, stretching out his legs. “So, two real cocktails after the Parade?”
Hannibal joins him on the curb, resting one hand on Will’s bare knee. “Yes, and as real food as we can get.” They share a private smile. “Then, we’ll finish the heart tartare tarts at home.”
“Sounds perfect,” Will says and leans back on his hands, legs on display. “Should I wear these more often?”
Hannibal grips his knee tighter, eyes raking up the bare flesh of Will’s thigh to the hem of the shorts and then down his calf. Will heats under his gaze and sips on the slushie.
“Yes,” Hannibal all but purrs.
Will starts to respond but the beat of drums in the distance cuts him off. He leans around Hannibal, trying to see the start of the parade. When he glances back, a pregnant woman is wrangling with a camp chair behind him. He immediately stands, gesturing to the curb. “You can sit here.” She starts to cut off him in true Southern apology fashion, not knowing Will can out Southern apologize anyone. “I insist. We’re both tall and won’t have any problem seeing over heads. You sit up front for a better view.”
Hannibal has already taken the chair from her and placed it on the edge. He gestures to it, ever the elegant gentleman, hair falling handsomely into his eyes. The woman finally caves. “Thank you. It will make things easier.”
“No trouble at all,” Will promises. The woman seats herself and thankfully doesn’t want to engage in any more conversation.
It is great to be surrounded by so many people of the queer community (and their allies, Will supposes) but it is Hannibal he’s here for. Hannibal’s first Pride. First time in New Orleans with Will. First time tasting an alcoholic slushie, a memory Will will treasure forever.
The drums grow louder, and Will stands on tiptoes to shout into Hannibal’s ear. “This is my favorite Pride.”
Hannibal wraps an arm around his waist. “Because it’s in New Orleans?”
Will shakes his head and leans closer. “Because I’m with you.”
Hannibal’s gaze is soft and enamored. Will knows Hannibal knows Will loves him, but there are still moments where it’s a revelation all over again. Those moments have always been in private, even before The Fall.
Seeing it in full display on a crowded street at Pride in New Orleans does something complicated to Will’s heart. It’s bursting with gratitude for having this life, this day, this moment with Hannibal and utter devastation that Hannibal doubted so deeply anyone would ever love him that he still gets overwhelmed with Will’s love.
Unable to speak, Will tilts his head and presses his lips firmly to Hannibal’s, hands sliding up to cup his face gently, like Hannibal is a fine china teacup. Hannibal’s fingers shake on Will’s waist. Will presses closer, pouring every once of love and promises of forever he can into the kiss, into every gentle movement of his thumbs on Hannibal’s face.
They don’t part for several long minutes, enough that those watching grow bored and turn back to the Parade. Hannibal breaks the kiss first, cheeks flushed. His bi flag has smeared, Will’s fingers tipped with blue, pink, and purple. “Don’t ever doubt how much I love you.”
There’s a change in Hannibal’s eyes. They’re lighter, a constant darkness leaving that Will only recognizes in its absence. “I won’t,” Hannibal promises.
In the stifling heat, both of them sweating and surrounded by the most people either of them have been around since tumbling over the cliff, Will believes him. Twelve years of marriage later, and Hannibal finally truly knows Will loves him and won’t leave him.
In the midst of all that, Hannibal is healed, and Will’s heart calms.
The parade continues past, and Will leans into Hannibal, images of a near perfect spooling in his mind’s eye.
It is the perfect day of many more perfect days to come.
*** Heart Tartare**
Two weeks later…
Will starts to scroll past the article on his tablet, but the phrases “mass death” and “New Orleans” catch his eye. Hannibal’s fingers are nestled in his curls, Will’s head on a pillow in Hannibal’s lap on their couch in Wolf Trap. Two of the dogs growl, but it’s playful, so Will’s eyes don’t leave the screen.
He scans the article from a local New Orleans paper and then reads it carefully.
“Hannibal, how did you manage to poison an entire caravan of, and I quote from the article, “Proud Boys, Patriot Front, and evangelical members” who were going to protest Pride?”
Hannibal twirls a curl around his finger, looking directly at Will. “While you slept, I went and left them several gift baskets of homemade desserts all laced with arsenic and ethylene glycol.”
Will blinks several times and grins slowly. “Clever.”
“There were too many of them to harvest properly for meals and poison was the fastest way to kill them.”
“Little risky.” Will holds up the tablet. “They figured out it was poison.”
“I knew they would, but there is no trace of me there or any trace of me purchasing the items. You wanted a perfect Pride, and this was how I knew to make that happen.”
Will closes the tablet and sits up. “It was perfect. Thank you.” He kisses him quickly. “I do have a question.”
Hannibal raises his eyebrows expectantly, hand trailing down Will’s side. “Ask away.”
“Wanna have a homophobe for dinner?”