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Chapter Text

A cool breeze wisped through the market square, causing a piece of Hannibal's hair to fall into his eyes as he inspected the fresh vegetables in the stands. He gently pushed his hair back into place and asked the Italian merchant for a bag of his portabella mushrooms.

Florence was pleasantly warm this time of year and he had taken to wearing thin, fashionable button-ups and dressy slacks when he went out. There was less room to hide weaponry than the three-piece suits he preferred, but he usually managed to get his harpy and stiletto blades tucked away. The curve of the harpy was resting in the collar of his sleeve, ready to slip out as needed.

Hannibal's eyes skipped over the man who had been following him since he left his apartment. And, judging by the radio he carried, there were more members of the crew somewhere nearby.

The man was, unfortunately, Rinaldo Pazzi. Hannibal had liked the cop, he was good company. It was a shame he would have to go. He wondered what gave his identity away and internally grimaced at the idea of moving again. It was such a hassle.

He paid for the mushrooms (the last thing on his shopping list) and slipped into the bustling crowd.

Whatever Pazzi's plans were, they were taking too long.

The next time the two had planned to meet was Hannibal's presentation on Dante at the Church the next day. Patiently he waited for Pazzi to show, for him to confront or to play. The cop rudely did not come in until the presentation was ending and the guests were shaking his hand. Hannibal smiled at Signore Pazzi as the last attendant shuffled out the large doors.

"Apologies, Doctor Fell. I was held up at work," Pazzi explained, approaching the canvas sheet that had been used to project upon. "Did it go well?"

Still using his fake name - the policeman was playing a game, then.

Hannibal liked games.

"Oh yes, Commendatore Pazzi. The crowd was very enthused. Though I left out this painting, I thought it might be too graphic to show in a church." He switched the projector slide and an artistic depiction of a dead, naked man hanging. Pazzi got closer to the screen to inspect the title.

"Do you recognize it?" He gestured with a soft smile at the pictured victim. "It's one of your ancestors. Francesco, hanging beneath the windows of Palazzo Vecchio."

Pazzi leaned back on his heels, looking grim. There was a nervous twitch in his hands as they rested near his holstered firearm.

"On a related subject," Hannibal continued, "I must confess to you; I'm giving serious thought to eating your wife."

Pazzi turned around just as Hannibal brought the canvas down on top of the officer, knocking him to the floor. He flailed under the heavy cloth, struggling to find his bearings. Doctor Lecter grasped his target by the neck with one hand as he found his way out, the other brought an ether-soaked rag to his mouth. Pazzi gasped into it as his airway was constricted. The drug worked quickly, and soon his eyes were rolling back in his head, his hands making weak attempts at pushing Hannibal off.

He fell with a hollow thud against the shining marble floor.

When Commedatore Pazzi awoke, he was tied to an altar. Hannibal ignored him until his mumbled groans for mercy turned into intelligible threats.

"You didn't come here with the police. Just two men who stink of hogs. They're still awaiting your orders outside, a bit slow, aren't they?" Hannibal Lecter was sitting in a pew with his ankles crossed, tying a man's noose with a neon orange power cord.

"Please, I have money. My wife- I'll give her to you. Let me go, I beg of you."

Hannibal's lips curved slightly, "Who did you promise me to? Was it Mason Verger?"

"Yes, yes it was. I have his address. And information on him."

The begging was getting sloppy, it made Hannibal want to curl his lips in disgust. "I know everything I need to know about Mason. You could give me the code to the computer system at Quantico."

Snot and tears ran down the old cop's face, "I don't remember it. I swear I don't. My car might have some old papers from when I worked there. I might have something you'd want."

Doctor Lecter considered this and pulled the orange cord tight in his hands. "What do you think, signore? Bowels in or out?" Pazzi thrashed as Hannibal leisurely approached and slipped the noose over his head. He slipped the harpy from his sleeve and admired how the curved blade shone against the Commedatore's thin, chapped lips.

Pazzi heaved an ugly, broken sob.

Hannibal leaned in close and hooked the blade into his stomach with ease. The blade slipped down through the thick skin and released the internal organs like it was nothing more than rare venison. Viscous, hot blood spilled over Hannibal's hands as the intestines hit the floor with a splat. It finally caught on his lower abdomen and he pulled the harpy out with a grunt. He ran his tounge over his hand, closing his eyes to savor the salty tang of the commentator's blood.

Pazzi's mouth was ajar in a silent scream, the shock of the injury freezing his brain's cognitive processing. He didn't even react when the cord was pulled taut and was pulled until it lifted him into the high-arched ceiling of the church. His twitching body swung limply from the support beams.

Hannibal considered climbing up to secure his hands and spread his body like Christ upon the cross. But there was little time and two more pigs to slaughter. Carlos and Matteo. Brothers, from what he had overheard. Their stench was too similar to that of Mason Verger for them to not work on his farm.

It would be over quickly, but Mason would not stop until Hannibal was caught. He would have to leave Florence and go to where Mason would least expect him to be.

Baltimore.

**************

Clarice Starling knocked rapidly on the door of the little cabin.

A cacophony of barking answered her.

"Sweet lord, who owns that many dogs?" Wind blew leaves all around the dark woods that surrounded her. There wasn't another residence for miles in any direction.

She knocked harder. "Hello?! This is FBI agent Clarice Starling, I have a few questions to ask you!" She hoped the intimidation tactic would work on a man like him, or maybe he would at least recognize her name.

The door opened, stopping with the chains that held it locked on the other side. "What do you want?"

"Sir," she tried to look him in the eyes through the slit. "Hannibal Lecter is in danger."

Will Graham opened the door.

Chapter Text

Hannibal brushed his fingers across his charcoal sketch of him and Will as Achilles and Patroclus. It had faded with time, but still held the details of the man's beautiful face. He carefully rolled it up and set it in the suitcase with the rest of his artwork. Some were of cities and detailed landscapes. There were even some of Clarice holding her lamb tightly to her chest while staring defiantly off into the distance. But most of them were of Will.

His heart ached like a hollow, rotting pit when he thought too long about Will. It had been a year since he escaped Chilton and came to Florence. Clarice and Buffalo Bill had been his saving grace. But it was too much of a risk to go to Will, and Hannibal wasn't quite sure that he wouldn't have turned him in. He sent him letters from time to time, careful to leave no fingerprints or evidence of where he was located. But the ex-profiler, as far as he knew, never came looking for him.

One of the men had survived in the church, Mason knew by now that he was still at large. He had bought two plane tickets, one to Japan and one to Tennessee. Both flights left that night, Mason's jockeys would have to choose fast if they wanted to catch him. Hannibal would have to travel by car once he arrived in Tennesse, and would hopefully arrive there in two day's time. Thirteen-hour flight to America, and then nine hours by car. He had his eye on a charged Jaguar at the closest Nashville car dealership.

The taxi driver who picked him up was kind and had impeccable manners. He complimented Hannibal's ascot tie and played classical music on low volume for the drive. Hannibal tipped him generously. The airport was fairly crowded, which made it easy for him to walk away from security cameras with his head tilted. There was even enough time to purchase a coffee at the cafe. No one followed him or looked at him twice, besides a few men and women who shot him appreciating gazes.

The stewardess barely inspected his passport and ID, giving him a fake smile and waving him on board quickly. There was no first-class option for this flight, so he sat beside an exhausted mother and her overly energetic toddler. He bounced up and down in his seat and leaned over Hannibal to look out the window. His mother snapped at him in Italian but didn't physically pull him off.

"If you don't wear your seatbelt, you could get hurt," the doctor lied to the boy. He sat back in his seat and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You have a funny voice."

Hannibal smiled, "I am not from Italy."

"Have you been to America before? It's my second time! My papa lives there." He smiled proudly as he clicked his seatbelt on. His mother was half asleep, her head lolling back on the seat.

"Your father left your mother?"

The boy went quiet and nodded solemnly.

"Then you should thank your mother for taking you. And listen to her more often, it will do well for you. Little boys who don't listen to their mothers only get trouble."

The child didn't bother him for the rest of the flight until he fell asleep. Then his little head fell against Hannibal's arm in a way that painfully reminded him of Mischa. He let himself retreat into his mind palace to escape. Smooth stone walls curved and twisted as he made haste through his castle to escape the shrill screams of Mischa. A heavy wooden door swung open on creaking hinges, light poured out and washed over Hannibal. It came from the large, crackling fire in the hearth of his favorite library of the palace.

Will was in his usual spot, hovering listlessly before the furnace with dark blood dripping from his delicate fingertips.

"Good evening," Hannibal greeted him warmly.

There was never a response, but it contented the cannibal to have the faux presence as he watched the dancing flames rise and fall with the ticking time.

When the flight landed, it was pouring summer rain in the early morning light of Nashville. Mourning doves sang in the trees at the car dealership's lot.

"Cash?!" The dealer scratched his balding head and inspected Doctor Lecter's crisp woolen suit.

Hannibal ignored his rude outburst, there was no time to hunt today. "Is there an issue with my offer of payment?"

"No sir," the car dealer had a slight southern accent. It was nothing like Clarice's honeyed one. This was twangy and harsh. "I ain't ever had a customer pay the entire sale agreement in cash before. I didn't know someone could do that." He chuckled as if he had made a funny joke and not let his low intelligence show. "Where are you from? Not one of those Europeans are you? I hate the French."

Hannibal frowned, "I would like to purchase this car. Today, right now if I am able."

The salesman grunted and slid a stack of paperwork over the counter, "Just fill this out." He read through each section thoroughly before neatly signing off and handing the car man a thick wad of cash.

In a few hours, Hannibal had made it out of the monotonous pine tree states and was greeted by the sight of blossoming northern trees and the steep slopes of the Appalachian mountains. There were very few available stops before he reached Washinton, DC and he dreaded the idea of having to get fast food. Hannibal preferred starvation over a greasy McDonald's burger that was most likely made with rat meat.

It was around 3' O clock when he reached DC, the hotel room in Baltimore would be ready at five. There was time to spare. Hannibal left his suit jacket in the Sedan and strolled through the crowded streets of tourists and rioters until he discovered a refined restaurant where he dined on fish and white wine. The taste only reminded Hannibal of Will's little hobby of fishing in that ridiculous puffy vest.

The meal was somewhat lacking, especially because his waitress had brought his wine out after the fish. By the time he received it, the meat was not as warm as it once was. Her neck was smooth and shiny, and her calves were thick with supple flesh.

Perhaps, he did have a little time to hunt today...

******

"I think Krendler might be working for Mason." Clarice shoved a spring roll into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully as she inspected the records before her.

"Is that why you lost your job?" Will asked as if he was interested, but his tone was drier than the Sahara.

She shrugged and clicked on the next security link, more footage of the Florence airport. Her eyes scanned the bustling people for a profoundly dressed gentleman with a predator's gait. "I might have lost my job anyway with the birthday gift Doctor Lecter sent me."

Will stroked Winston's head, also watching the footage on the shared laptop. "Did you ever respond to any of his letters?"

"No. He never sent me letters. But he sends them to you, doesn't he?"

Will sighed and settled back into the couch, pushing up his glasses in that nervous way of his. "Uhm.." His eyes suddenly sharpened on the computer. "Pause the video."

Clarice fumbled with the mouse, "Where?"

He pressed a finger to a man's neatly combed head of hair, the people around him blocked most of his body, making it hard to see his outfit or figure.

Clarice squinted, "Are you sure?"

"Very. Follow him through the footage. See what plane he got on." He clasped his hands together and pressed his fingers to his lips.

She clicked on the next camera with the same time stamp and continued until he was on screen again. "Gate twenty-seven." She snatched up her cell phone and dialed the airport.

Will stared at the familiar profile: grainy but still Hannibal. Clarice's southern lilt faded into background noise as she questioned whoever was on the other end of the line. He had not seen that face for a year, and despite what his heart hoped, he never thought he would actually see it again. Jack had been keeping an eye on him up a few weeks ago. Ever since Will quit and moved a few hours away from Baltimore, he had been unofficially labeled as a flight risk.

"Alright, thank you so much, sir." Clarice turned to Will. "Did you hear any of that?"

He shook his head.

"He boarded a plane to Nashville, Tennesse." She let out a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair. "Back in America. Where do you think-"

"Baltimore. He's going after Verger. Or at least hiding from him in the last place he'd look. When did the flight land?"

She glanced away and twiddled her thumbs together, "Yesterday morning. Six AM."

"He's here already. Hast to be. I would play nice with Verger and keep track of him. Find out what he knows about Han- Lecter's whereabouts. He'll be hard for us to find if he doesn't want us to. If he does..." Will eyed the hallway and the front door locks.

"Right, I'll expect a visit just in case. Maybe you oughta stay with someone else? Or with me if you don't have anyone. Y'alls' interactions usually end up being a bit violent."

"Only if I can bring the dogs."

Clarice blanched at the sleeping pack around the room. "Can we even fit them all in our cars?"

A small smile formed on Will's face for the first time since Clarice had met him. "Oh yeah, but it's not fun. taking them to the vet for shots is a nightmare."

Chapter Text

The disgusting Walmart that Will obtained his unseemly food choices was worse than Hannibal remembered. It made the memory of the Florence markets so much sweeter. He had been poking around the store for about an hour. Making quick work of noting all of the shoppers. Then he stayed in the produce section, inspecting fruits and veggies while he kept his eyes on the entrance.

Hannibal selected a few lemons and chives, deciding to head to the next place he might find Will. A familiar face entered just as the elderly cashier handed him his change with her liver-spotted hands. By the time Hannibal pocketed his wallet, the woman had disappeared into an aisle.

Clarice.

He waited in his car, waiting for the FBI agent to leave the store. She wasn't who he wanted to find, but it wasn't a total loss. She was useful, and not exactly on the FBI's side. When he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can feel the pain she fed him when she cried about her slaughtered lamb. She never did tell him if the silence had come. Maybe she still heard the bleating screams at night when her head touched her pillow.

Quicker than expected, she exited the store carrying two obscenely large bags of dog food. Hannibal watched in interest as she loaded her rusty pickup truck. What were the coincidences that Agent Starling, an infamously busy woman with attachment issues, had obtained a large quantity of dogs in the past year? Very slim, considering someone else Hannibal knew in the FBI had that many dogs. Especially considering the brand was the very same that a certain profiler kept by his front door.

For the first time in a year, Hannibal felt that twinge of pure emotion in his chest that only Will gave him.

He couldn't have asked for better circumstances.

Clarice's truck was easy to follow from a distance, its outstandingly gross appearance made sure of that. Surely a woman of her salary could afford better means of transportation.

Unless...

Her father probably once owned a vehicle of similar make. She saw it and couldn't resist.

Hannibal's suspicions were confirmed about her wealth when her truck pulled into the driveway of an upper-middle-class home with pristine white walls and a sleek metal roof with a chimney. He passed the house and parked down the street, watching his rearview mirror to see her. The front door opened and a voice called to her in a questioning tone. Clarice grabbed the dog food and hoisted it high above her head in response as if proving a point. The door was shut without waiting for her. Whoever she was living with was a rather rude companion. A fact that would have bothered him if it weren't for the little voice in the back of his head, hoping that rude companion was William Grahm.

It was midnight when Hannibal returned to Clarice's home. Light shone from multiple open windows, letting him see clearly into certain rooms of the house. A bedroom, the kitchen, and a bathroom. He waited in the backyard, enjoying the rose bushes while he patiently waited for a glimpse of who he hoped was there.

Starling herself had passed by the kitchen window multiple times, a mug in her hands and a book in the other, yet the page she was on never changed. She wasn't reading, she was pretending to read as a pretense for obsessing. Hiding her anxiousness from the man in the house. Which meant she wasn't close to him. It eased the growl of jealousy that had originally formed deep in his chest.

A dim light suddenly flicked on in another room, and Hannibal pressed himself against a tree, watching. The window slid open. And there he was, leaning into the night air and inhaling it like a drug. His Will. Beautiful, horrible, wonderful Will.

His breath caught slightly with the tide of emotions he thought were long dead.

They all raged and yearned for the presence of the man.

Will left the window, stripping off his shirt and letting the moonlight shine on the delicate muscles of his back as he slipped into the twin bed.

Stiff floral sheets, Hannibal noted. Clearly, Will did not live here permanently.

A dog wandered in through the cracked bedroom door, wagging his tail and smiling in the odd way dogs do. Its mouth closed as it sniffed the air, tail pausing.

"What is it?" Will asked. His voice impaled Hannibal as if it were the sharpest of knives.

The dog growled and barked at the window, staring in the direction of Hannibal. He slipped away quickly, stealing into the night with his mind clinging to the vision of Will.

*****

"I think he's here," Will told Clarice as she yawned and took another bite of Cherrios.

"I thought we already discussed that and agreed?"

"I'm just extra sure," Will sipped his coffee. "And where are you going? Not work?"

"I'm going on a run," she twirled her keys with a finger, "And maybe I might visit Crawford and try to convince him to talk to Krendler."

"Of course," Will rolled his eyes, "Stay out of trouble. Besides the usual amount you get into."

Clarice laughed and stuck her bowl and spoon into the dishwasher. "I definitely cannot promise that. If Krendler gets on my nerves one more time I might be wanted for murder myself."

"Join the club," he muttered.

But Clarice Starling was already out the door, humming to herself as if there wasn't a reason to not live life normally. Will wondered if she really felt unbothered, or if she was just that good at hiding her feelings. He watched her pickup truck drive away before he opened her laptop and went to the footage of Hannibal in the Florence airport. His heart raced as he zoomed in and traced the line of Hannibal's jaw. He cupped a hand to his own face, pretending it was Hannibal's warm, soft hand instead. He missed the way the other man would grip his face to calm him. He had taken it for granted then, but now he would give anything to go back to the time when it happened so frequently.

He hated feeling empty inside, he wanted nothing more than to be back in the horrible mess of a relationship that brought so much pain. Because through pain, there was love. There was no love without pain, and if there was, he didn't want it. He was so hungry for emotion, so hungry for touch. Hungry all the time.

Maybe that's how Hannibal feels. Hungry.

There was a knock on the door, Will froze, closing the laptop slowly. He considered all the possibilities, everyone it could be besides Hannibal. There weren't many.

Will grabbed his handgun from the guest bedroom, turning off the safety and checking the rounds. He breathed in and out through his nose, approaching the door from the sides, trying to get a glimpse of the visitor through the blurred door windows.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was the delicious smell of eggs and sausage.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal Lecter smiled, "I brought breakfast."

Chapter Text

William's pretty face broke painstakingly slowly. Every slight wrinkle in his face was shown as his facial expressions went through a plethora of phases. There was a gun hanging loosely by his side, a reminder he didn't feel safe with Hannibal. It almost made the Doctor smile.

"May I come in? I've been waiting for a couple minutes already and I don't wish our food to get cold. I've put extra care into the flavor for you. You liked your eggs fluffy correct?" He walked past Will, finding the kitchen himself and leaving Will to gape in the threshold.

"Will?" He called, "I hope you haven't been drinking this coffee." He eyed the pods with disdain. "I will bring you and our dear Clarice a grinder and some of my favorite whole beans."

He turned around just in time to catch the fist headed for his face.

"Will," he scolded. "Is there a reason you're attempting to use physical violence on me?"

There were tears brimming in Will's blue eyes. "How dare you," he snapped. "How dare you walk in here and act like you didn't leave. How dare you act like I don't have a reason to turn you in right now."

"What would you like me to do?" Hannibal turned away and began fixing a plate for Will. "Tell me over breakfast. The meat is fresh."

Will gazed at the meat hungrily.

He missed eating flesh. He craves it.

He sat down and begrudgingly picked up a fork. "I shouldn't eat this," he whispered. "And food isn't an apology. I should kill you."

"With your hands?" Hannibal mused.

Will's eyes flashed and he forked a large bite into his mouth, "Yes."

Hannibal leaned closer and inhaled the rotting, feverish-sweet scent of him. "I have not come here to disrupt your life. I have come here to get information on Mason Verger," he lied. He watched with growing intrigue as Will shoveled the waitress from DC into his mouth.

He sat down across from Will, joining him in eating. The meat hit his tongue with a burst of spice and juices. He watched Will's lips close around his fork and chew like a starved orphan.

"How has your sleep been? Any nightmares? Hallucinations?"

Will's fork clattered against his plate. "You-"

The front door opened and slammed.

"Will?! I got your text!" Clarice rushed into the kitchen and skittered to a stop when she saw Hannibal Lecter sitting calmly at her kitchen table.

"Good morning, Clarice."

She reached for the loaded gun at her side, "Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal held up a hand, "No need for violence. I was just giving William some much-needed nourishment and hoping to get some information about Verger from you personally."

Clarice swallowed, "Hold up your hands."

Hannibal did as he was told, not resisting as Clarice handcuffed his hands behind his back. "You'll cooperate with us. I'll make sure Verger doesn't kill you, but you need to turn yourself in when it's over."

He stared into Will's eyes as she spoke, reading his reaction to every word the agent said.

"Do I have to stay in this chair?"

"You have to stay in my house."

Hannibal smiled, "My stuff is in my car. The sedan is a few yards away. I would get it myself but..." He rattled his chains with humor.

"What stuff?" Clarice narrowed her eyes.

"A suitcase, and some groceries." He glanced at Will with a sly expression, "Better hurry, I don't want anything to spoil."

As soon as she left, Will pushed back from the table and stormed away.

****

"You can't hide from him, Will. He needs to be watched at all times." Clarice had dragged a smug-looking Hannibal into Will's temporary room.

"Why can't you?" He ignored the looks the cannibal was giving him. His heart felt like a dangerous thing right now, aching hard enough to break and beating fast enough to explode. Chances of survival were low.

Clarice hardly looked in his direction as she checked Doctor Lecter for weapons and found three different knives secured in his suit. "I need to deal with Mason Verger. I already have a meeting set up with him that Crawford doesn't know about. Then I have a meeting with Crawford that Krendler doesn't know about." She glanced at Hannibal who was still looking at Will. "And y'all clearly have some shit to figure out."

"We could tie him up with ropes and I could come with you?" Will stroked Winston's head as the dog wandered up, wagging his tail in curiosity.

Hannibal quirked his lips, "Avoidant as always, Will."

"You're one to talk, you left the country to avoid me."

"I left for my own convenience, you were not part of it. I assure you. Plus, I did invite you. Are you forgetting that particular detail?"

"When did you invite me?!"

Clarice cleared her throat, "Alright. I'm leaving. See you boys tonight." She made a call-me motion with her hands at Will before departing. The silence was deafening between the two men.

"I know you can uncuff yourself," Will finally spoke.

Hannibal leaned forward to inspect a framed picture of all seven of Will's dogs. "Yes I can, I am choosing not to in order to maintain peace, if that's what you're trying to ask."

"Yeah."

"You asked when I invited you, Will. Do you not remember when we took down The Red Dragon together? After I escaped Chilton?"

"That was hardly an invitation. How was I supposed to know to follow you?"

"Why would you run before our conversation was over?"

Will swallowed. "I don't want to talk about this right now. Uncuff yourself and do some of your cooking, or watch the TV, read a book."

"Will you join me?"

He glared at Hannibal, "Maybe later."

"Where will I be sleeping tonight? I didn't see another bedroom."

"Please leave."

"Of course, Will. I'll be unpacking."

****

Will did not leave his room until Hannibal was nearly done preparing dinner. He suspected the smell and his appetite was the only reason he had bothered. The man's hair was in distress, and Hannibal's fingers itched with the urge to fix the frazzled curls.

"If you were planning on having me restrain you again before Clarice gets back, it won't work. She'll never believe I cooked anything other than burnt macaroni or a turkey sandwich."

"It pains me to think of the diet you've had while I've been gone," Hannibal frowned with distaste.

"It pained me that you were gone," Will remarked bitterly.

Hannibal was surprised at his openness, "It pained me to be gone, Will."

They fell into a comfortable, yet heavy, lack of words. Both listening and watching the meat sizzle on the pan, how the red turned brown and crispy.

"Who is it?"

Hannibal threw some of the chives he bought yesterday onto the meat, "No one of consequence. But if you must know, a rude waitress."

"Did you kill Fredrick? No one has seen him in a while."

"Do you believe I killed him?"

A smile flickered across Will's pretty lips. "I didn't miss your psychological games."

I missed your everything.

The thought surprised Hannibal, and his hand nearly missed the handle of the spatula he went to grab.

"I hope you missed my cooking," Hannibal began dressing the meat on a large glass plate. "You've lost weight, I can tell."

Will leaned against the counter with that dramatic poise of his. "I don't really eat a lot."

"I will get to work on correcting that," he balanced three glass plates with steak on one arm and brought them to the stained kitchen table. "Should I put Clarice's food in the fridge or will she be joining us for dinner?"

"Hell if I know. I've known her for a week and all I've seen her do is run around and not sleep." Will slumped into a seat and started digging into his food.

Hannibal searched through the drawers for tin foil. "Reminds me of someone."

"Shut up." Will groaned at the first bite of meat.

"She hasn't changed since I met her. Which was while I was locked up if you did not know." He covered Clarice's dinner and put it away before joining Will.

The ex-profiler's eyes flicked over Hannibal's face. "She mentioned that." His face flushed slightly and his mouth opened hesitantly, as if unsure of what he meant to ask.

After a while, he decided on: "You and her seem close."

Jealousy? Amusement fluttered in Hannibal's stomach, "Feeling threatened, Will?"

"You say my name too much," he deflected.

"I quite like your name, Will."

They finished the meal in silence.

Clarice did not return until the sun had long set. Hannibal had set up in the living room, having started a fire despite the warm night air outside. He was thumbing through the collection of law books, Will was fast asleep on the couch with his mouth open slightly. It was a tempting sight, though whether he wanted to kiss or kill was a blurry line.

Hannibal heard her enter the room and greeted her without turning away from the books. "I made dinner for you, I hope you did not already eat?"

"No. I didn't. Thanks." She sighed heavily, "I guess I should get some better restraints."

Hannibal selected a thick novel, "Yes. The ones you put on me were an insult to my abilities. If you would also lower your voice, please? Will is sleeping. He rarely does so."

"Let's talk in the kitchen, then. I'll make some tea, loose leaf, not the cheap stuff."

He hummed in agreement and followed her but paused to gaze down at Will. He brushed his thumb across the little crease of concern in his brow. Will shifted and mumbled something, his warm breath teasing Hannibal's fingers. A slight sheen of sweat was beginning to form on the younger man's face.

"I went to see Mason today," Clarice told him as he entered the kitchen. She was standing by the kettle and tapping her red-painted nails on a glass mug. "I couldn't get him to confess to any plans."

"He put two of his men on me in Florence, along with a rouge policeman. One got away with his life," Hannibal took the tea container from Clarice and deeply inhaled. "Chamomille, lovely."

The FBI agent took a step back cautiously, "I think if I focus on Krendler, I can find out more. He's got a big ego and an even bigger mouth. He was the one who snooped through my mail for evidence of our correspondence. The wine I know was from you. But there was a letter with it that was placed by Mason. It sounded nothing like you, and it was overly dramatic. Real cut and paste serial killer type shit."

"Tell me, what is Mason like now? I suspect he's lost a little of his mind, a bit brash, and maybe even course? He must blame me for what happened to him."

She nodded, "Yes, I interviewed him when you first escaped. Crawford's idea. Mason is rude to his sister and staff, and me. He says you drugged him and cut off his face. He talks about Jesus a lot and being saved."

"Interesting."

"Is that what really happened?"

Hannibal pulled another mug from the cabinet, "The kettle is starting to boil."

"What happened with you and Will Graham?"

"You ask too many questions, Clarice. Let us enjoy our tea and get replenishing rest for tomorrow. I'd love to hear more about this Krendler in the morning."

"I'm not going to sleep. Not with you in the house. Would you at least tell me what happened with you and Mason? I need more information if I'm going to help you."

"If you insist," Hannibal tutted, "He was my patient, sent to me on court orders. I was invited to his house for a friendly visit, I complied because I was interested in the outcome. He was already high when I got there, dressed in the leather clothes of a prostitute." He raised a brow at Clarice, "Shall I continue?"

"I'm not made of glass, Doctor."

"I would never insinuate that. Mason led me to a sexual contraption, one made for autoerotic asphyxiation. He began, without asking me permission, to show me how it worked. I believe he was trying to seduce or impress me. I convinced him to take some pills I had on me and then told him to cut off his own face. And he did. I never touched him. Though I did feed a piece of his cheek to his dogs because he kept them starved in cages."

"Where did the rest of his face go?"

Hannibal smiled, "He ate it himself."

The kettle whistled sharply.

"Hannibal?"

They both turned to find Will, half asleep and shaking. Hannibal rushed to him and held his face with a hand. The skin was burning hot. "You're having an episode, let's get you to bed, Will."

"Don't say my name," he slurred.

Hannibal slid his arms under Will's legs and hoisted him up bridal style. "Ground yourself. You are here, with me. In Baltimore, Maryland. It's eleven thirty-two. And your name is Will Graham." Will's head fell against the doctor's chest as he was carried to the guest bedroom and laid out on the mattress.

"Do you need any other help?" Hannibal asked as he pulled away.

Will caught his shirt sleeve, "Don't leave. Stay a little while...please."

Hannibal froze, staring blankly at the helpless, sweating face. It would be impossible to deny Will his company, and impossible to deny himself the sight of Will being this beautiful.

"Alright," he murmured.

He pulled the only chair in the room up next to the bed and rested against its cushions. All his attention was snared on the stuttering movements of Will's chest and the beads of sweat that rolled down his silky skin.

The delirious man whispered something that sounded like goodnight.

"Goodnight, mylimasis."

Chapter Text

Sunlight burned Will's eyes as they fluttered open. The brightness indicated it was near noon. His limbs were stiff with sleep and his shirt was damp with sweat. The back of his head pounded relentlessly, making him groan.

"Good morning, Will. Did you sleep well?"

Pain sparked down his spine as he shot upright and glared at Hannibal. The cannibal was smugly holding a tray of breakfast and steaming coffee, looking for all the world like he was enjoying Will's annoyance.

"No," he muttered.

Hannibal set the meal on Will's bedside table, of which the drawer was wide open.

"Did you look through my stuff?" Will's face flushed as he scrambled to close the drawer containing his most private and prized possessions.

Maroon eyes glinted. "I don't know what you are referring to, dear Will. That drawer was open all night."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Eat your breakfast and change into clean clothes, Clarice is going out today." Hannibal sauntered from the room with a mischievous look on his face.

Will rubbed his face aggressively, trying to get the remnants of sleep and fever to leave him. He pulled the drawer back open to inspect its contents. Everything was where he remembered leaving it. All the letters from Hannibal in a neat stack in the back, an old photograph of his family, and a clipping from the paper Freddie Lounds wrote where she referred to him and Hannibal as murder husbands.

There was a zero percent chance that Hannibal didn't look in the drawer, especially if it had been open like he claimed. What would the killer do now, now that he knew Will kept sentimental remembrances of him? He could only dream Hannibal would talk about it first, and confess he missed Will as much as Will missed him. The more likely possibility was that Doctor Lecter would pull his psychiatric tricks on him until he was sick of it.

"So where is Clarice taking us?" Will glanced around the empty living room with suspicion. "And where is Clarice."

"She already left, she told me she'd be back tonight with some stronger restraints. I inquired about where she was with Mason, and she answered quite rudely." Hannibal was knotting his tie in the hallway mirror with precision, it was dark teal and floral, matching his gold-accented navy-blue suit perfectly.

Will pulled his eyes away from the large hands that tied it, "Right. Then where do you think we're going."

Hannibal turned to him with a polite smile, "Verger farm. It's about time I see the place myself. It's been years."

"We're not doing that. Clarice is keeping an eye on him, he doesn't suspect you're here yet. There's no reason to agitate the situation when we could just leave him alone."

"I do not wait to be caught, Will. If you do not wish to come with me, all you have to do is use your words."

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, anxiety, and stress hitting his chest like a brick. "Fuck, whatever. I'll come with you."

"You seem uneasy."

"Of course I'm uneasy," he snapped. "Why would I not be? First, you show up unannounced, and now you're invading my life like nothing ever happened."

"We'll have time to discuss everything in the world once Mason is gone."

"I want to talk sooner than that."

"How about tonight?"

"How about now?"

Hannibal jingled his keys slightly, "I'm afraid we've got plans."

"I'm driving. And you need to put on sunglasses or something. I don't know how no one has noticed you're back yet. Those cheekbones are visible from miles away."

The serial killer gently placed the keys in Will's open palm, smiling as if he'd just won an award or gotten revenge on Mason himself. Will grabbed him some sunglasses from the kitchen, hoping it would also keep him from having to make contact with those red irises.

Unfortunately, it only made Doctor Lecter look like some hot character from Men in Black.

Will Graham was intensely, horribly screwed.

The only stations on Hannibal's pickup truck's radio were classical. So by the time they reached their destination, Will was half asleep.

"I hope you know driving this thing when you dress like that makes you more suspicious." Will slammed the driver's door shut and inspected the metal gate with its no trespassing sign. "How big is their cow field? You didn't tell me we'd be walking."

"Which question would you like me to answer first?" Hannibal hopped the fence in a ridiculously graceful manner. He held out a hand to Will.

Will ignored it and scrambled over the bars. "How far do we have to walk, I'm serious."

"A mile, I believe. This is the closest gate to the back entrance that has no security cameras. Has your health declined, should you stay in the vehicle?"

He rolled his eyes, "I'm fine. A mile is fine." He didn't want to mention that his stab wound began to ache with too much physical exertion. It wasn't physically inhibiting, just mentally.

"I could carry you if you become tired. I have lots of practice carrying bodies, I assure you." A smile twitched on his bow-shaped lips.

Will snorted and then felt a little bad for laughing. "It'd probably be easier since I'm not dead weight."

To his surprise, Hannibal laughed.

His heart ached to continue this conversation that reminded him of an earlier time in their relationship. It was sweet and playful to the point it hurt. But word failed him, nothing came to his brain that was appropriate to say. And Hannibal seemed content to stay in silence.

So Will blurted the only thing he could think of.

"You looked in my drawer, don't lie."

"So I did."

Will swallowed thickly over the lump forming in his throat, "You saw everything?"

"Yes. I'm touched you kept those things. I was convinced you had been burning my letters."

"I did miss you," it made him sick to say it.

Hannibal looked pleased.

"Did you miss me?" It was such a pathetic question to ask. Hannibal could care, Will knew he wasn't a complete sociopath like Fredrick Chilton claimed. He had feelings, manners, and even a moral code of his own. There was something behind his eyes that moved, a monster of sorts. Maybe Hannibal wasn't human. But he was human enough. Human enough to have empathy and in some cases sympathy.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter looked at him, "Of course, Will."

And Will was happy.

Hogs.

That's all there was.

Well, hogs and human remains. But besides that, there was an overall lack of a plan in motion.

"All that walking for nothing." Will sighed and threw off his shoes as they walked in the front door. "I don't know what you'd thought we'd see anyways."

"Nothing is something." Hannibal shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it neatly on Clarice's coat hanger.

"Alright, Doctor." Will examined himself in the mirror, rubbing a hand over his stubble and messing with his unruly hair. "God, I need a haircut."

"I could give you one right now if that pleases you. I was a barber once in Scottland and learned the trade well if I do say so myself."

Will squinted at him, "I will never understand how you've had the time and skills to do half the things you talk about." He looked at his hair again, and then at Hannibal's hands. He had missed those hands. "But sure. I think I have scissors."

"Clarice has some."

"How do you know that?" A twinge of jealousy.

"I looked through her bathroom."

Will threw his jacket on the couch. "Right. Where are we doing this."

"Pick a bathroom."

"I guess hers, it's got more room."

Hannibal led the way as if he owned the house and hadn't just arrived the day before. He pulled out Clarice's chair she did her makeup in, which made Will feel a little silly when he sat down. Hannibal was snooping through her cabinets, inspecting different products and putting them back with distaste until he found what he was looking for.

Scissors and fucking moose.

"I don't need that."

"Yes you do," Hannibal said simply. "Sit up straight, Will."

"I can't do anything straight," Will joked before realizing whose presence he was in. He bit the inside of his cheek, waiting for a reaction or maybe even a laugh.

Hannibal did neither, seeming too preoccupied with analyzing Will's head.

"Just the dead ends?"

"I don't have dead ends."

"You have half an inch of dead hair, William."

Will huffed, "Okay, yeah."

The first touch shocked him to his core. Shivers rocketed down his spine as Hannibal's course fingers ran over the back of his neck to feel the curls there. Will shuddered and tried not to lean into the touch. There was a long moment where nothing happened. Every second hurt.

And then a large hand dragged through his hair, the scissors beginning their clipping. Will's eyes closed and he bit down on a groan. He might as well be feverish with the hot and cold shivers running up and down his spine. He loved his hair touched, that wasn't new information, and he loved it when Hannibal touched his face.

But this.

This was a new sensation.

And he liked it a whole lot. The cold metal of scissors touching his neck contrasted with the overwhelming heat of Hannibal. It made a warmth unspool like honey in his lower abdomen. He tried to control his breathing so he sounded like a normal person who was not turned on.

It was dumb how much he was reacting. But it had been so long since another person had touched him more than with a friendly gesture. The last person he had even hugged was probably Hannibal, and that felt like ages ago. It had been way too long.

When a hand slid across his jaw to move his hair back, Will found himself leaning into it.

Hannibal paused. And maybe Will should have pulled away, maybe he shouldn't have whimpered like a fucking dog when a thumb brushed his temple. Maybe then a tear wouldn't have escaped, wouldn't have landed on the killer's hand which immediately retreated.

Will's eyes open and he saw Hannibal in the mirror. He brought the hand to his mouth and sucked the tear off. His eyes were dark as they met Will's in their reflection.

He knew what he was doing. And he was enjoying it like Will's pain was a game that he had dominated and taken the gold prize for. Will's breath caught as Hannibal took a glob of moose and started massaging it into his hair, tightly twisting curls around his fingers until they nearly hurt.

As soon as Hannibal pulled back and opened his mouth, Will shot up from the chair and stormed past him. He made sure their shoulders knocked together in a split second of buzzing contact before he went to his room.

Chapter Text

Hannibal had left soon after the incident to hunt. He hadn't found the urge to go while being occupied with Will and the issue of Mason Verger. But the hunger he had been feeling for Will had to be redirected. It was strong enough to bother him, which his emotions rarely were.

He thought he had the situation covered, he gave the man half an hour to calm down and then went to his door to knock. But the noises of pleasure coming from Will's room were enough to drive him from the house. The little moans and gasps still echoed around in his head like a song. He watched his target with his mind half on Will.

The sounds dissipated as the hiker set down his bag with a heavy groan and collapsed onto a tangle of tree roots to replenish his fluids. Hannibal walked around the corner with a large stick in an expensive tracksuit.

"Do you need assistance?" He approached the young man with a mask of concern.

The hiker laughed boisterously, "Maybe a time machine. I regret walking so far out. Phew." He wiped a hand across his brow. "How many miles are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm not hiking." He smiled, "I'm hunting." He brought the stick down across the man's head, knocking him cold onto the dirt path. He hummed in satisfaction.

A patch of dark blood welled at the place of injury, Hannibal quickly rubbed it off with his hand before any dripped to the ground. He ran his tongue over the fluids, sucking it off his fingers before throwing the pig over his shoulder and grabbing the hiking bag. He had parked at the end of the trail rather than the beginning, not unusual for people who wanted a downhill walk. It made for easy pickings of the tired hikers finishing the trail in the traditional way.

Hannibal carried the man half a mile off the trail into a circle of bushes he had selected beforehand to put all his tools. He had brought only the necessities: a tranquilizer dart, a scalpel, gloves, a thoracic retractor, a large freezer bag, a bouquet of roses, rope, and two knives.

The doctor laid the man on his back and dumped his bag before glancing through it and taking the cash. He pulled on his gloves before slitting the front of the man's shirt with his scalpel. He brushed a hand over the muscular chest, deciding on what parts to take before he dissected it. There wasn't much room in Clarice's fridge, nor would Clarice appreciate finding parts of this man. He only needed meat for tonight's meal, nothing extra. He poked the tranq dart into the man's upper arm before starting.

Hannibal pressed his hands against the sternum, feeling the placement of tissue and bone. His scalpel cut the thin layer of skin between the man's breasts, sliding two fingers into the cut to pull back and reveal glistening bone. His blood-slicked fingers held up the fleshy layer as he used his other hand to run a knife in a path around his pectorals and connect back with the first incision. The smooth circle of skin and tissue was sliced off like deli meat and placed to the side.

The doctor spread the man's ribs with the thoracic retractor and neatly cut into the pericardium. The fluid from the sac mixed with the blood on his gloves. The superior vena cava was Hannibal's favorite to cut, it was a similar sensation to cutting soap. The rest of the pulmonary veins he detached with haste, and he placed the heart in the freezer bag he brought. He moved the retractor closer to the lungs so he could reach the thymus. It was a precarious procedure if you wanted the subject to live. Luckily, this one was already dead. It bothered him to remove the organ so sloppily. He missed his work table and tools.

One by one, he slipped the roses in between the man's ribcage, filling the hole where his heart had been. After he was satisfied with their placement he removed his tools and packed up. The hiker would be a present for Crawford, a message saying he couldn't be killed. And the art he was making...Well, that was for Will. An apology at its finest. Maybe Will would forgive him once he saw.

Hannibal peeled his gloves off after tying the ropes and securing the body. He admired his work for a few moments before heading to his truck, leaving the body dangling in a noose, a heart of roses sticking from its chest.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Hannibal ignored the rude outburst to the best of his abilities as he began pulling out the ingredients he needed for dinner. White vinegar, garlic cloves, soy sauce...

"Be a dear and call Clarice to see if she can purchase some potatoes on her way home. I would do it myself but I fear I'm on house arrest. I'm making Lomo Saltado for dinner, a meal I believe you quite enjoyed last time I prepared it for you."

"I asked you a simple question. Do not play mind games with me, we dropped that a long time ago. It's noon, you've been gone how long? And where were you?"

"I left last night and stayed at a hotel. It was rather nice, but the bed was rather uncomfortable. Then I went on a lovely nature walk and caught some food."

Will stepped closer, anger etched deep into the tired lines of his face. "You weren't supposed to leave."

"I'm not being guarded very well, am I? Clarice was gone and you were busy." He smiled wolfishly, letting Will see his teeth. It felt intimate and slightly uncomfortable to bear them in a light-hearted way. His walls went back up just as the younger man's face flushed scarlet.

"Fuck you," Will lunged with a swinging fist.

Hannibal caught his arm and twisted it, flinging him into the counter and rattling the dishes. A couple of mugs toppled from the opened cabinets and smashed into the tiles.

Will stumbled back at the doctor, his movements jerky and impulsive. They were easy to avoid as he threw sloppy punches in every direction. The moment Hannibal saw Will's eyes focus on a butcher's knife he slammed him against the fridge.

"Will, if you have something you would like to say, now would be the time. I doubt that this infantile tussling match is what you intended to happen."

"Let go of me," he spat, jabbing his knee hard into Hannibal's stomach. It caught him off guard long enough for Will to punch him in the jaw. Hannibal's teeth caught his tongue and blood welled in his mouth. He spat it into the sink for show and turned back just in time as Will came at him. He bent and caught him by the waist and knocked him to the floor. Will's head knocked loudly against the tiles and he grunted in pain.

"Are you done acting like a child?"

Will gritted his teeth in pain and peered up at him. "You're the one who ran away."

"It was only for a few hours and I've never known you to be someone to care about those things."

"I'm not talking about today!" Will yelled, "I meant you left me and went to Italy!" He clawed at the doctor's hands, trying to loosen the grip on him.

"We discussed this. I invited you and you ran off."

"No! No, you didn't! You didn't use your words! You didn't ask me with words to come with you! I didn't know you were going to leave! I needed time to process everything. How I felt about... things. But you left and you didn't care! I thought you could care in your own way, and I loved that, but apparently, that was fake too!" He panted heavily with the release of anger the confession lent him.

Hannibal took in his unruly manner, reading into his actions and analyzing them. Will did not used to speak so freely about his true emotions. He had been working on communication, it seemed.

"Have you been going to therapy?"

Will deflated slightly, some of the anger leaving and replaced by exhaustion. "Yes. I have. For a couple of months. And all he ever tells me to do is to work on letting you go."

Hannibal bristled, a bit of jealousy and resentment stirring deep in the caverns of his mind.

"I obviously haven't been able to do that. Even though you are far from healthy for me. All you've ever done is hurt me and leave me. You weren't even a good psychiatrist, you did the opposite of help me."

Doctor Lecter pressed his hands harder against Will as the other man started to slip away. "I disagree. The changes I saw you go through were beautiful. You resist because society resists. But I can see you, I can see how you enjoy the changes. You told me yourself that it was beautiful. You ran out of fear. And I did not wait because you were not ready."

Tears glistened in the corner of Will's eyes and he remembered the bitter, salty taste of them. He yearned to lean forward and consume. Any part he could get would both sate and leave him wanting.

"No, I'm not like you," he lied.

"I am not leaving again, Will. And that is only because you are like me. Maybe now you will finally accept my gift." He leaned closer to inhale the side of his neck and bathe in the feverish scent of him.

"Wonderful," he whispered. The younger man shuddered, his breath catching and pulse spiking.

"Just because we want something," Will murmured back, his voice scratchy, "Doesn't mean we can have it."

Hannibal's hand drifted to the ex-agent's neck, fitting it like a necklace. "I've learned the opposite is true."

"WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL IS GOIN' ON HERE?! WHAT HAPPENED TO MY KITCHEN?!"

Will scrambled up to his feet; Hannibal took his time, unbothered by the sudden appearance of Clarice.

"We will clean it up, I assure you. I can replace any valuables we broke."

Clarice held up a set of thick cuffs, "I don't even know who to put these on now."

"Are you going back out today, Clarice? I need a few things for dinner."

"I wasn't but I am now." She threw down the cuffs and grabbed her car keys. "I'm not dealing with this. My house better look clean when I get back. Please do not kill each other."

Hannibal hummed as Clarice slammed the front door behind her, "She used to take everything so seriously. She's grown into a curious character. Does she sleep now?"

Will rubbed a hand over his face, the overstimulation and soreness kicking in. "The moment is over now isn't it?"

Hannibal felt something akin to glee at the admission. "Moments come as often as they go."

Their eyes caught, and Will smiled shyly, a small laugh escaping past his pretty lips. "We're a mess."

"I don't think so," he responded.

"I'll go to the store to get your potatoes."

"Thank you, Will."

"Clarice doesn't know what she's been eating, does she?"

"She never asked."

Will laughed, and the sound thrummed through Hannibal's core like the acceptance of a gift, like the other half of his soul coming home.

Chapter Text

Will had felt like throwing up since his talk with Hannibal yesterday. It should have taken a burden off of their interactions, something should have changed with the truths that were spilled. And the way he had touched him, surely their relationship was different now. Tingles broke out across his skin as he remembered not only what happened in the kitchen, but the haircut incident. Hannibal had heard him touching himself. He should feel ashamed, mortified, even angry.

Instead, he felt pleased.

If Hannibal was playing a game, why couldn't he join in?

So, despite his nausea-inducing anxiety, he was styling his hair in the mirror after changing into one of his nicer shirts. It was a crisp blue button-up that brought out his eyes. He had even gone through the trouble of flicking some cologne on his neck and wrists.

The soft clangs of cooking in the kitchen were joined by a delicious smell wafting into his room. He inhaled deeply, mouth-watering slightly. With a deep exhale he nodded to his reflection and joined Hannibal and Clarice in the kitchen. The latter was sipping coffee with a glazed expression.

"You look tired," Will slid into the chair next to her and eyed Hannibal's strong back move as he scrabbled eggs on the stove.

She rubbed her eyes and blinked slowly. "Very. And you look...nice. Where are you off to?"

Hannibal turned his head to slowly run his eyes over Will's outfit. His dark eyes glinted with appreciation and humor. "Yes, do tell, William."

"Nowhere that I know of," he replied, meeting the older man's gaze. "Shouldn't you be cuffed, Hannibal?"

"Our Clarice knows I will not be bound. It would be a waste of her time and effort, and she is occupied with much more important matters."

Will's phone rang in his back pocket, the noise was so foreign it startled him. He planned on declining the probable spam until he saw the name Jack Crawford on the screen. "I have to take this," he mumbled. He answered as soon as he entered the hall, his pulse uneasy with the building anticipation of what Crawford would say.

"Will?"

"Jack. I was just about to eat breakfast with-" he nearly said my family before catching the foolish words from falling off his tongue. "With some friends."

There was an audible drag of a cigarette before Jack spoke again."I'm sorry I have to bother you. I really am. But we need you to come in."

"In case you've forgotten, I quit a year ago because you told me to."

"I know, but there was a body-"

"No."

Crawford exhaled through his nose aggressively into the other end of the line. "Will. Just listen to me. We think it was left by Doctor Lecter. Either that or some sick copycat who's damn good at mimicking."

Will mentally cursed.

"And it was purposely laid out to leave a message. You should come to the crime scene at least, just to confirm. If he's back then we're all in trouble. Especially you."

The Chesapeake Ripper himself poked his head around the corner with a small smile on his lips. "A gift for you," he whispered and ducked back into the kitchen.

"Will?"

"Where is the body?"

The roses were wilted now and it pained Will to know that the work of art would have been so much prettier a sight if Crawford had called him sooner. The victim was a handsome young man with dried blood streaked down his bare body. His whole body thrummed with affection when he gazed at the body, but he wasn't sure if he was picking up on Hannibal's emotions or his own. And wasn't that beautiful?

Jack Crawford's footsteps crunched in the leaves as he came up beside him with his usual grimace. "So? What do you think?"

Clearly, Hannibal wanted to announce himself. But did he want to announce Hannibal? Did he want to risk the doctor being caught and running away from him once again? No. He did not. It wasn't fair to Hannibal to neglect his work. But it wasn't fair to Will when he left.

The ex-profiler hugged his arms to himself. "It doesn't feel like him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, something is off. I've actually connected with your rookie agent Clarice recently. She's mentioned an old enemy of Hannibal has been causing problems. I think this could be him trying to trap Hannibal with a fake Chesapeake Ripper scene."

Jack studied him and then analyzed the body again. "Mason Verger?"

"Yes."

"I'll keep that in mind. We're still going to be using Hannibal's DNA as a main comparison for any traces we find on this guy. The lovey-dovey heart thing doesn't seem like something a heartless monster like him would do, though. Now that you mention it. Maybe not Mason, but someone like him."

Will nodded silently, his heart secretly swelling at the knowledge Hannibal had left this for him as well as cooked meals from the victim's organs for them to share.

"By the way, how are you doing nowadays, Will?"

"I'm doing really well."

Clarice was drinking her fifth cup of coffee.

"The amount of caffeine you consume worries me," Hannibal noted. They were gathered in the kitchen once more, the room was becoming their living quarters. Hannibal liked to be around his food, Clarice liked to keep an eye on him, and Will just liked being near him.

"You two are the reason I need this much caffeine." She pulled her glossy brown hair into a ponytail and took a big sip while looking back and forth between the two men. "Once you guys leave I'll probably be re-traumatized and jump off a bridge."

Hannibal frowned thoughtfully.

She held up a hand. "Don't you dare try to psychoanalyze me, Doctor Lecter."

"That's my line," Will deadpanned.

There was a sudden loud knocking at the front door. Clarice groaned and pushed back from the table. "I'll get it. If only to punch them in the face."

A muffled male voice drifted into the kitchen. Hannibal grabbed a butcher's knife with intent, giving Will a pointed look. "Krendler," he murmured.

"WHY ARE YOU WALKING INTO MY HOUSE?" Clarice asked in an unnecessarily loud voice.

Will scrambled to his feet, looking around for a hiding spot. Hannibal grabbed his arm and dragged him into the linen closet. His face was smashed against Hannibal's broad chest as the man pressed him into the wall to fit them neatly into the small space.

Their eyes met in the dim light bleeding through the slitted door.

"Hi," Will breathed.

Hannibal's lips twitched. "Did you like my gift?"

"I loved it," he whispered, feeling quite breathless in the mix of anxiety and affection. "But maybe now isn't the best time to talk about it?"

"The best time to discuss matters is in moments of intensity. Adrenaline keeps us truthful, causes the strong to weep and the weak to crumble." A strong hand curved behind Will's back to rest on his neck. "And it's been too long since adrenaline pushed us together."

Paul and Clarice's voices became louder as they approached.

"I would really like you to leave, Mr. Krendler. I did not invite you inside and you're wasting my time as well as being invasive."

"Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

"The last time I heard what you had to say you wanted to take me on a date."

Will could practically hear Clarice's defensive stance with her jaw clenched and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Hannibal leaned into Will's neck, inhaling softly. A flame sparked to life in his belly; one he had to shut his eyes to ignore.

"What's wrong with wanting to take a gal like you out? Are you a virgin? Saving yourself for some poor man who is desperate enough to wait?"

"Why are you here?"

There was a few quiet rustling of paper before Clarice gasped softly. "What is this?"

"Crime scene report. Jack Crawford ruled it as a copycat, but I think we both know there's a reason Lecter would be sniffing back around here. Mason's men failed to kill him in Florence, so now he's here to finish him. And I have a gut feeling you know more than you're letting on."

A warm breath gusted across Will's sensitive neck, and he latched onto Hannibal's biceps for support. He shook his head in warning, pulling away slightly. "You're going to get us caught," he murmured. The killer's lips spread into a wide smile against his jaw. The fluttering in his core felt akin to fear, and it was just as sweet.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Paul laughed heartily. "The whole of the FBI knows you were spreading your legs for him. Fatherless women often have daddy issues, so to speak. I'm surprised he stooped low enough to take your cornpone country pussy."

Both Hannibal and Will froze in their act. Their eyes met in the faint light and Hannibal raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Not in front of Clarice..." Will clutched his sleeve as the other man tried to turn to the door. "She's not like you." She's not like us.

"Krendler I swear to god if you don't leave my house right now-"

"I'll leave when you tell me what Hannibal's planning."

The Chesapeake Ripper himself, despite Will's pleading, abandoned his hiding place with a graceful silence. Paul Krendler wasn't aware there was someone else in the room until Hannibal was right beside him with a butcher's knife dangling by his side. Will followed with less confidence.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he gave Paul the sharp smile he gave all his prey. Pretty enough to charm and sharp enough to make the victim feel manipulated. Will's lungs squeezed when he witnessed it, it had been a year since he'd seen it.

Hannibal was still beautiful.

Krendler stumbled back wordlessly to the kitchen table, the chairs screeching in protest as the pig's hands scrambled for a sturdy purchase. "I knew it. I fucking knew it."

"What are you doing?" Clarice hissed at them, her face was pale and strained. She knew there was no other option now that they had been caught. Paul was not someone who would keep his mouth shut.

"Leave for a bit." Will tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. The woman jerked away, pulling her gun from its holster.

She pointed the barrel straight at Hannibal's face. "I'll shoot. Don't move."

Doctor Lecter, in turn, held his knife like a sword as he wielded it close to Krendler's trembling face. "I have no doubt you wouldn't."

His dark red eyes snagged on Will, his hand twitching around the knife's hilt. It was a small movement, common for any man about to commit a murder. But not common for this man. So when Hannibal tossed his weapon to Will and ducked, he caught it by the blade. The sting was a welcome sensation as the blood of his palm smeared the handle as he gripped it like a lifeline. The shot of Clarice's gun rang in his ears a second later, the bullet missing the already-running Lecter by a foot.

Will barely registered Krendler dashing for the exit as Hannibal knocked Clarice to the ground. She cried out in horror as a needle was brought down into her throat. Paul's whimpers were the reason Will snapped to attention just in time to see him lunging for the front door. He chased him with the knife held up, he brought it down with great vengeance as he caught him, The scrape of bone against blade traveled through the knife and into his arm.

Paul howled in pain, clawing into the vinyl planks under him. "Please! Please! No!"

Will grunted and yanked the knife out. Liquid the color of his lover's eyes spilled from the wound and covered his trembling hands. He raised the knife, thrilled by the majesty of the pain beneath him, caused by him. That old burning passion in his core came back tenfold after being snuffed for too long.

A gentle touch stopped the attack, "Will. Let me." Hannibal injected a similar needle into Krendler's neck, holding a large, veiny hand against the victim's head so that it was pressed against the floor.

The pleads turned into incoherent sobs before the body went entirely still.

"Is he dead?" Will found himself disappointed in the notion.

Hannibal knelt in the pooling blood to look him in the eyes, "No. Neither is our Clarice. They are sleeping for now."

"Did you sleep with her?" Will blurted.

Hannibal's mouth parted before curving deliciously. "That's what your concern is right now?" He cupped Will's face with a bloodied hand. "She is a ghost of Mischa to me. A projection of what my sister might have become."

Will leaned into the touch, "We will protect her, then?"

"If she cooperates."

He stared lovingly at the wound he made in Krendler, his chest feeling full and his stomach hollow. "This is all I've ever wanted for us."

An echo of words proclaimed long ago by a cliff with crashing waves.

"You're beautiful," Hannibal whispered, leaning in as if to kiss him. Their lips did not touch, but the breaths they took in were heated and shared.

"You changed the line," Will laughed, and for some reason unknown to him, tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. "I like it better."

Hannibal's nose brushed the underside of his jaw, "As much as I want to indulge in you right now, Will, we have limited time to clean up this mess. The sedative is strong but does not last very long."

"You owe me so many conversations."

"So I do."

Chapter Text

Blood streaked the kitchen tiles like strokes of crimson paint. Hannibal's darling Will was having a bit more than a mild seizure on the floor. Hannibal ran his fingers over the cusp of Will's blood-flecked jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble there.

"Ground yourself, Will. Can you do that for me?"

The sweaty man nuzzled into the touch, a low-keening sound spilling from his lips. Shivers racked his body and his eyes were beginning to roll back into his head. Hannibal brushed the pad of his thumb across Will's cheek, bringing the other hand to his forehead to check his temperature.

"You're burning up, Mylimasis. Can you hear me? Respond anyway you can, Will."

Will's trembling hands shot forth and gripped the front of Hannibal's shirt, he yanked the doctor closer with the fading strength of a dying man. But Hannibal followed Will's pull as if he had the power of a giant. Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will's curled body, holding him to his chest like the night he stabbed him.

But this time, Will held him too.

His vulnerability was beautiful, more breathtaking than his fevered and violent mind. Hannibal pressed his nose into the crook of Will's neck. Soft black curls brushed against his skin as he deeply inhaled.

"Sweet and horrible thing," he whispered. "It is a shame you are not like this all the time."

Will's nails dug small crescent dents into Hannibal's forearms. Doctor Lecter frowned at the wash of gentle admiration drifting into his mind. The words he spoke were true, but they were no less annoying to say. Love was an inconvenience. The last time he had loved, their bodies ended up burned in the snow. The last time he had loved, his heart was torn in two as a tiny body was beheaded with an ax.

Abruptly, Hannibal pulled away.

The other man whined at the loss of physical support, and Hannibal's organs twisted inside him with a painful hunger. The hunger of longing and the hunger of consumption had blurred together so long ago that he wasn't sure which one he was feeling.

If he was only feeling one.

He turned to Krendler, who was greatly feeling the effects of the heavy morphine dosage. A dumb smile wobbled on his thin, chapped lips. Hannibal's thoughts turned to his victim, planning the best course of action for this particularly nasty pig.

Clarice had been gently laid in bed and unconsciously swallowed the psilocybin brew he poured down her throat. She would not be coherent when she awoke. There was plenty of time to work as long as Will's episode passed with the usual symptoms. He had pulled a throw pillow from the couch and offered it to Will, who hugged it to his chest. Now, just seconds after leaving his embrace, Will was passed out on the pillow like Jesus of Nazareth during the storm.

Hannibal doubted the encephalitis would let him live a normal life span. He probably had numbered days already. Even though Will had mentioned nothing of hallucinations, his physical symptoms were just as bad as they had been.

"Now then Paul," he glanced at the clock, "You've been rather rude. What's to be done about that?"

Over the buzzing of the orthopedic drill in his hands, Hannibal could hear footsteps on the staircase. They were heavy and uneven, of course, they would be, considering Clarice was still heavily drugged. Will turned his bleary eyes to Hannibal's, concern pinching his brow. His seizure had rendered him nearly as useless as Clarice.

"She won't be harmed. Clarice is a smart girl, she'll cooperate," he reassured. "This won't hurt one bit." The drill bit into Paul Krendler's skull as he followed the path of the cerebrum.

"Are those shallots?" Krendler mumbled, pointing at the frying vegetables on the stove.

"Yes. And caper berries."

Hannibal examined the full circle cut he had made before slipping the calvaria and scalp away like a worn hat. The smooth pink-grey of Krendler's brain glinted in the light. He used his scalpel to slice off a chunk of the frontal lobe and toss it into the frying pan.

"That smells wonderful."

The doctor smiled in joyful cruelty. "Does it? Are you hungry, Paul?"

"Very," he laughed and swayed against the ropes holding him captive. "What's the... What's the main course?"

Clarice's head peaked around the corner, she held onto the threshold as if it was her only lifeline.

"You should never ask, it spoils the surprise," Hannibal waited patiently as Clarice stumbled into the kitchen. Will rushed to catch her as she wobbled on her feet. "Clarice you should be resting, have a seat."

"I'm hungry," she mumbled, her tiny nose sniffing the air.

Will shook his head, "Not for this."

"Let her eat what she desires, dear Will."

"I always wanted to watch you eat," Paul slurred.

Everyone ignored him.

Clarice's distant eyes caught on Paul, truly noticing his presence for the first time. "I would like some wine please," she whispered.

"I'm afraid that's not a good idea, Clarice. Not with the psychoactive drugs I gave you." Hannibal flipped the meat in the pan, watching it soak up the sauce.

"Clarice! Clarice," Paul leered greedily at her, "I'm going to Congress, y'know? I could take you with me. You could be my little assistant."

"Now you're being rude, Paul. I hate rude people." Hannibal plated the first piece of Krendler before going back to take another slice of prefrontal cortex.

Clarice choked on a gasp, "I would really like some wine, please."

Paul gazed at his fried brain, dressed neatly on a white China plate. "That smells great."

"That's not for you, that's Will's."

Will's attention cut to Hannibal with the sharpness of a double-sided blade. He said nothing as he grabbed the dish, slowly sliding it towards him. The bite he took was small and tentative, but a pleasured groan tumbled from his lips as he chewed.

"I hate you for being such a good cook. We could cook normal things, though. It would be easier...better."

Hannibal had not missed how Will had yet to look at Krendler and acknowledge the intimate level of consumption he was partaking in. But Will had never been able to turn down his food.

Clarice gagged and clutched the tablecloth, "I want to go back to bed."

"I'll take her," Will excused himself and offered an arm to Clarice. She willingly let herself be shown back to her bedroom. Hannibal used the time to inject Krendler with another dose of morphine so he and Will could have a nice, uninterrupted meal together. It ran through his bloodstream quickly, and Paul's head quickly dropped to his chest, blood trickling down his forehead. It caught in his eyes like tears.

"Will she report us?" Will hugged his arms to his chest.

"She harbored us, reporting us would be reporting herself. I believe she will come around; if not in understanding then in tolerance."

"Are you worried I might report you?"

"Given the chance, you would deny me my life?" Hannibal paused his cooking to face his companion.

"Never your life," he whispered.

"Then my freedom?"

Will considered it, tilting his head back with a stern expression. "No, I guess I wouldn't."

"You have danced around this topic for years, Will. You say I need to stop and discuss matters with you, but you do not even know what your own feelings are."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm only like this because I absorbed too many feelings of those with darkness in them. Maybe if I had chosen a different career, I would have turned out normal. I'd be disturbed right now instead of annoyed."

"It is a possibility that your career might be the only thing that brought out your truth. But for it to be brought out, it needed to lie hidden in the first place. Others may call you a monster. I say you are beautiful, Will. Watching your mind unfurl was the closest I've ever had to a religious experience."

"How do you live like this? How did you become okay with being separated from society? How did you stop being scared of being caught? How did you stop living in fear? I can accept that I enjoy the feeling of killing. It has always felt good. I can even be okay with the cannibalism. But I don't know how you expect me to flip my life upside down for you."

"I don't expect you to do anything, Will. I only offer."

"I want to accept the offer."

"But will you?"

"I-" Will's phone dinged. "Oh. Great." He ran a hand over his face and passed the screen to Hannibal. "At least it wasn't something more incriminating."

Jack had sent a link to a new article just released by Freddie Lounds. The front page had a zoomed-in photo of Will and Jack discussing near the recent crime scene. The title read, in big, bolded letters: ARE THE MURDER HUSBANDS BACK?

"I'll admit, I never minded her addressing us in that way."

"Shut up."

Chapter Text

"She's been crying for her father," Will noted. "Is he around?"

Hannibal's breath puffed in the cold night air, giving him a slightly vulnerable look. Then he began pulling Paul Krendler's corpse from the trunk, and that former innocence burned to a crisp. "Her father has been dead for some time. She has just never dealt with the outcome of the event."

"What about her mother?"

"Alive, I believe, but estranged." He flipped Krendler over his shoulder and grunted from the weight. "Would you be kind enough to close the trunk?"

Will shifted the gun in his hand as he fumbled for the button. "We really can't keep her around forever. She'll report us eventually."

"Clarice will turn to her true nature eventually." Hannibal's plastic suit crinkled whilst he propped up Krendler's body in the driver's seat.

"I don't think her true nature lies in sync with ours. And why are we staging it like this? I'm pretty sure the FBI doesn't need an autopsy to see the foul play." Blood was still dried in lines on the corpse's face and staining the front of its clothes.

The gun was passed from gloved hand to gloved hand, and then to Krendler's bare hand.

Hannibal paused, turning to Will whose heart leaped into his throat.

"Our nature?"

"Don't act like you weren't the one who brought out this side of me, Hannibal."

"I just wasn't aware you had accepted your transformation."

Will tucked his shaking hands into his jacket pockets. "I know I said we needed to talk, but now might not be time...again. What are we doing with him?"

"A simple message," he propped the arm up so that the gun was awkwardly resting against Krendler's bloody scalp. "He deserved death, I think this effectively mocks him. I rarely kill for justice, may this be the one act of rightness I do."

"Do you care about rightness?"

Hannibal's taunting lips curve into a snarl of a grin. "Not at all."

"Beef tenderloin ? It's not beef or tenderloin."

Hannibal kneaded the pink meat of the lungs, "Nearly the same recipe."

"It feels wrong to put someone so gross into one of your delicious meals," Will mused. He blinked slowly and chuckled. "I really should think it's wrong for other reasons."

Hannibal's chest swelled with a puff of pride. "I think that conversation is long overdue."

Will rubbed a hand over his face and leaned against the counter, "Yes. It is. I don't even know where to start."

"Your feelings, perhaps?"

The younger man's cheeks pinkened. "Feelings?"

"About everything that's been happening in the past week. I'm sure they've been long days for you."

"Short, actually. Compared to the year you were gone. I know we talked some, about death and killing. About how I... feel compelled to it. I still resented it, that night on the cliff. But I hungered for it in the days you were gone. It still sets my brain on fire, but I miss the pain it brought. I don't... I don't really know how I feel now. It's like I'm all nerves and no cognitive processing."

Will paused and held his breath, staring at the floor until Hannibal reached out and touched his shoulder. "You may continue, Will. I have no issue with you sharing your feelings."

"Yes, I know. You just love to psychoanalyze me." He stepped closer to the monster, hope brimming in those eyes Hannibal admired so much. "I'm not bothered by my own feelings right now. I'm bothered by you. You said you missed me, but I'm not sure I believe you. You know I care about you, and I've come to terms with those feelings. It took a lot of therapy, but I accepted it. The healthy thing would be to let go of those feelings and heal myself, but I'm not going to do that. I can't let go because first of all: I refuse to. And second, it drives me crazy not knowing what you feel."

Hannibal paused in his lung massaging. "You want to psychoanalyze me, then?"

"You make it sound so formal." Will placed his hand on Hannibal's forearm. "I just want to know if I'm going to be sacrificing myself for someone who doesn't care what happens to me."

His skin tingled slightly under Will's fingertips. "I cannot give you a Jane Austen-type love declaration or a monologue of passionate longings."

"I don't want any of that."

The doctor took Will's hand in his own and pressed it into the meat. "I once told you I didn't consider it cannibalism unless we're equals. That remains true. This was an animal, one I took some enjoyment in killing. It's not extremely satisfying, to kill animals. They are so much weaker than us."

Hannibal pressed his chest to Will's back as he took the man's other hand to the lungs. He intertwined their fingers to guide Will's palms into a steady rhythm. "Cannibalism is the highest form of admiration. It's the satisfaction of real consumption. You honor them by keeping them forever as a part of yourself. I have had so few instances of true cannibalism."

He pressed his nose against the back of Will's neck and inhaled. "The only feeling I know that I have is dread that I cannot consume you. Because I would miss you when you were gone."

But if you try to leave me, I will devour you.

Will shuddered and leaned his head into the touch. Hannibal's lips ghosted over the shell of his ear as he continued smelling the lovely scent of Will Graham. He smelled like warm flesh and sweat, a hint of stuffy cologne, wet dog, and cloying sweetness.

"You've changed," he remarked.

"Have I?"

Hannibal moved away to pull spices from the open cabinet. "The man you once were would never have let me get as close as you allow me to now." A hunger in his chest clawed to be set free. His hands twitched with the urge to grab Will and tear him apart. The manner of destruction was the part he was unsure about.

"The man I once was hated himself. Now I accept myself, and I accept you."

He liked that Will accepted himself, it was a beautiful thing. But he wasn't sure he liked Will's nonchalantness about their newfound closeness. He had looked forward to having to convince Will to give in to pleasure, but now he had to reevaluate the situation.

"Do you still sleepwalk, Will?"

"I'm doing better psychically if that's what you're asking. I was diagnosed with encephalitis and hospitalized for a little bit. They thought I was entirely healed..." he cleared his throat, "But I waited too long, the damage was somewhat permanent. After a few weeks of being discharged, the seizures started again. Turns out I developed epilepsy. So uh, no sleepwalking. Just the seizures."

I can smell the sickness. Just as sweet as the last one.

Hannibal set olive oil, lemon pepper seasoning, and salt on the counter. "That's good to hear. Are you on medication for that?"

"No. I tried all of them, but they all made me feel disconnected further from reality. I thought the hallucinations had made me disconnected, but the drugs made me feel nothing at all. And that was worse than any pain I had ever felt before."

Hannibal tilted his head, considering the man of so many volatile emotions before him. He was not unlike his younger self. He remembered how deeply he felt for his family and his interests. Those emotions were inaccessible now, but the memories were still tucked away in the highest towers of his mind's palace.

"Your life span will be considerably shorter."'

"We both know I wouldn't have lived long anyway."

Hannibal smiled. "Did I answer all your current questions?"

"For now."

"Then would you like to assist me in preparing dinner?"

"Of course."

Hannibal set the oven to preheat, "Excellent. Come help me massage the seasoning into the meat." He selected a large, thin-bladed knife and began slicing the lungs into strips.

He instructed Will to sprinkle the salt and lemon pepper and then poured olive oil into a saucepan. He laid the slabs of meat in the oiled pan, adoring the sizzle the flesh made when it touched the hot cast iron.

"It already smells good," Will murmured, coming up threateningly close.

Hannibal spooned a scoop of butter onto the meat. "Would you like to try a piece?"

"It's not cooked yet. Isn't that dangerous?"

He held up a finger and, with a quick flick of his wrist, flipped the meat. "The heat has already killed any existing germs." He went in with a roasting fork, selecting a delicate slice before pinching a piece off. The heat burned the pads of his fingers in a delightful manner. "Try it."

Will leaned forward, and Hannibal expected him to take it from him by hand, but instead, his pretty cupid's bow wrapped around his fingers to take in the meat. There was a brief moment of heat and wetness, the scrape of teeth and slide of tongue.

"Devious little thing," Hannibal murmured, withdrawing his hand only enough to rest his fingertips on Will's lips. Will chewed slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Hannibal's with an impressive intensity for someone who hated eye contact.

He swallowed. "Delicious."

"The meat?"

"That too."

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, cupping Will's jaw in the way that was so familiar to them. The younger man shuddered and pressed his cheek into Hannibal's palm, eyes finally fluttering shut. There wasn't enough time in the universe to do all the retched things he wanted to do to this man.

"So starved, mylimasis, in so many ways. I'm glad you finally leaned into the ability to eat."

Will made a tiny, helpless sound. Hannibal leaned in, brushing his lips across stubble. When his mouth finally found Will's, he paused. There was a heavy, swollen pause between them. Neither of them moved, they didn't even breathe. It was the line they had danced on for years but never crossed. And as their lips met, it marked the point of no return.

Will gasped, leaving his mouth open for exploration. Hannibal slipped his tongue in, tasting the sweetness that he had only dreamed of. It became hungry and desperate, a lip was bitten (Will's) and a tongue (Hannibal's). The sweetness now mingled with the refreshing tang of blood.

Heat and hunger raked deep in Hannibal's gut, his rational thoughts slowly turning into unplanned destruction. Will arched against Hannibal, pressing closer into his embrace. His calloused hands gripped the back of Hannibal's neck to pull him deeper into their kiss.

A small, feminine gasp came from the hall.

The pair whipped around, Hannibal moving his body before Will's and reaching for a knife instinctively.

Freddie Lounds stood motionless with her hand pressed to her mouth.

Chapter Text

Will heaved breathlessly, pressing the back of his hand to his swollen and bleeding lips. The adrenaline from the clash of events had him reeling.

"Miss Lounds," Hannibal leaned slightly in front of Will, blocking his view of the journalist. "I would say it's a pleasure to see you again, but I believe you're breaking and entering."

"I took a picture," she stammered, "Don't come any closer or I'll send it to one of my editors." Freddie whipped her phone out in a hurry to show them the damning evidence. Her uneasy grip sent the phone tumbling to the floor.

Hannibal threw a knife, the one he had just used to cut Krendler's lungs, with a flick of his forearm. The blade struck Freddie Lounds in the shoulder, a little comedic thunk joining the impalation of flesh. Her red lips opened in silent, shock. The pain leaked onto her face in increments, time looked to be passing slower for her than the rest of the world. Hannibal retrieved the dropped cell phone, the open photo app only revealed a blurry picture of them. There wasn't enough quality to even recognize their faces.

"I never punished you for being rude last time. I think now is a good time to fix that."

Tears poured from Freddie's tear ducts like Niagra. Will had never liked her, and through the shock of kissing Hannibal, he searched for something other than hatred for the slimy woman. There was nothing but glee for her unfortunate position.

"What's happening?" Clarice paused in the hallway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"She broke in," Will blurted. His words felt childish in his mouth.

His friend's eyes were uncomprehending and dull as she looked from Freddie to the couple. "I thought I had an interview with her tomorrow. It's not tomorrow, is it?" Clarice looked at the kitchen clock and then back to Freddie. "I need to sit down."

"You received a minor head injury when Paul Krendler attacked you," Hannibal lied smoothly. "You have been in and out of sleep for about thirty-five hours. Unfortunately, you did not tell us you had planned to meet with Miss Lounds, and she had a bad habit of trespassing."

"I thought she had been hurt," Freddie cried. "I won't tell anyone if you let me go. I'll write an article about you, Will—a good one. I promise. I'll forget all about this. Please, it hurts." She gripped the skin around the blade's entry site.

Clarice sat down at the table, the confused expression seemingly frozen on her face. "Can I have some coffee?"

"Hold on one moment, dear."

"What did you do to her?" Freddie bowed her head of red curls, "Are you going to kill us?"

Hannibal's face was impassive, the crying didn't reach his heart. It stabbed Will's heart deep, but it only made him wish she was dead. There was a sensation that accompanied killing that he had grown familiar with. It starts with a tingling, akin to anxiety. It starts in his chest as he watches Hannibal approach the wounded reporter. Then there's a rush like a steep drop on a rollercoaster. It makes him want to scream in joy and terror as his killer's hands close around the smooth, white skin of Freddie's throat.

It isn't quick; Asphyxiation by hand never is. Her eyes bludge and her face turns red. She chokes and struggles, beating her hands senselessly against Hannibal's chest. The calmness on the cannibal's face stirred something deep in Will's core that he didn't want to focus on too much. The pain Freddie Lounds was exuding, also affected him. There was nothing more thrilling than the pleasure of watching someone die. Her existence was a grating annoyance, but her death was glorious. Watching it lit his insides on fire and stoked his fever to punishing degrees.

Clarice began to cry softly as Freddie's face turned blue and her gurgling sounds ceased. Spittle and stomach acid flecked the corners of her mouth. Hannibal cupped her face gently and then snapped it to the side with gusto. Her thin body fell to the floor, her face smashing into the tiles.

"I've been wanting to do that," Hannibal admitted.

Will wanted to kiss him again.

"How can you stand not tearing her to shreds?" He whispered, blood lust was choking him. This would be his death; not Hannibal but the body before him remaining unripped. Will pressed his tremoring hands over his face like a shroud.

Hannibal took his hands in his own, "We have priorities. Clarice and Mason Verger are in the forefront of my mind right now, not Miss Lounds."

"She's a disgusting person," Will's body shuddered as another wave of fever hit.

"Not anymore."

He felt Hannibal's dark eyes watching him as his attention drifted to the corpse again. "I still want... I want...I don't know."

Hannibal retrieved the knife from Freddie Lounds and cocked his head at him in an expression of psychoanalysis. "Do you not know? Or do you not wish to give in more than you already have?" He pressed the warm, blood-slicked hilt into his palm.

Will's fingers curled around the weapon, he distantly realized it was the same knife he had stabbed Krendler with. The thrums of his heart rate going up rushed in his ears, all he could hear was ocean waves. Surrounding him. Drowning him. The sick feeling began dripping with hot points of pleasure as he considered the body on the floor. It was dead, but that didn't stop the craving.

Before the adrenaline could ebb, he kneeled by Freddie. His knees hit the floor like a priest seeking salvation before God. But there was no God here, only the Devil. And the Devil smiled as his creation brought down the knife. It slammed into the corpse's back, and Will laughed. He jerked it out with no precision, but it was beautiful anyway. He brought it down again.

And again.

The movements became too fast for Will to process. He let the hunger take over and dared not shut his eyes. Blood sprayed his face and arms. It pooled around him like a pond, then a lake, and now an ocean. He thought he might be crying, but there was too much blood staining his eyes to know. The knife slipped from his hands finally, and he could breathe once more. The body's back was a painting of curled pink flesh and blood.

It was too hot.

There was a creature of heat in his bones, clawing under his skin. It would devour him and no one would ever know. Nothing of him would remain but his shadow.

Hannibal grabbed his face and turned it. "Will?"

"My name is Will Graham," he slurred.

"Don't ground yourself, you're so beautiful when you float." Hannibal pressed a kiss to his temple, his cheek. His wet tongue dragged across Will's skin, drinking the blood that stained his face. Will moaned and dropped his head onto Hannibal's shoulder.

"Too much." He shuddered.

"Not enough," Hannibal nipped at his bottom lip before pulling away. "I find it very inconvenient that Clarice is still in the room."

Will breathed a reply he hoped was somewhat intelligent.

*****

"Will Graham."

Mason Verger pressed a finger to the tablet screen. The newest Tattle Crime article had a picture of the disgruntled special agent on the cover page.

"What are you doing back out in the field, hmm?"

He scrolled down further, skimming the speculation of the return of the Chesapeake Ripper. He paused on a picture of a young woman with black hair and a serious face.

Clarice Starling, another agent who was a little too friendly with the infamous Doctor Lecter, was recently spotted with Will Graham in public. It's possible that they may be harboring the knowledge of the whereabouts of Hannibal.

"Well. Tattle Crime might be right for once," Verger laughed. "Margot! There's been an acceleration to our plans."

Chapter Text

It was Hannibal's fault he got kidnapped. He went on a morning walk in the very early hours of the morning. The tense emotions stirring in the house, with Clarice's gradual sobering and Will's feverish sleep, would mean he'd have to administer therapy to them both. Getting paid to pick apart someone's mind was enjoyable, but being responsible for calming unnecessary emotions was tiring. Will's feelings were beautiful, of course. But the combination of Clarice's shock and Will's guilt was over the top.

Yet, now that he was tied up in the back of a van, he preferred the emotions. His nostrils stung with the scent of chloroform. Hannibal kept his eyes closed under the woolen cloth that covered his face and his breath remained deep and even. The tranquilizer dart may have been enough to render him defenseless, but the chloroform was not a true mixture. A splitting headache was the only lasting symptom.

Two men spoke in hushed Italian, and one of the voices was vaguely familiar. Hannibal savored the chemical adrenaline in his veins, focusing on his own heavy pulse to keep his energy levels consistent. The van rattled with the intensity of a vehicle speeding down a dirt road. In this case, the dirt road was a reality that led to Verger farm's cramped pig styes. The unfortunate Italians did not take Mason's warning of Hannibal's mouth to heart. The cannibal's maw was free to bite when they attempted to drag him from the van. He was planning on cooperating, but it was impossible to leave the hand in his face alone.

The Italian man he had not met in Italy placed his hand over Hannibal's mouth to prevent any shouts of protest he might make. The hand withdrew enough to put a dirty pinkie in view and Hannibal's teeth crunched through thin phalanges and tendons, raggedly separating the extremity from the whole. He spat the germ-ridden finger into the dirt as the younger man cursed and screamed. The Italian Hannibal had met did not react to this turn of events and manhandled Hannibal the rest of the way out of the van. He gripped him by the feet so that his head dragged in the dirt of the open pig stye.

It was a rodeo structure without the intricate tools a horse uses to show off learned talents. There was only sand and animal feces scattered across the arena. A glint of metal alerted Hannibal to Mason Verger's position above. A manservant pushed Mason's wheelchair closer to the railing in response to whispered instructions. Mason lifted a frail hand and his servant placed a microphone in his open palm. Speakers around the arena whined with high-pitched feedback as he watched with his beady eyes and open lipless mouth.

Hannibal broke visual contact with him only to blink sand from his eyes.

The hired muscle tied rough ropes around his wrists and ankles that rubbed his skin raw as he was hooked up and lifted above the pen. His arms were spread wide and his feet bound like Christ on the cross.

"So ironic isn't it?" Mason slurred, vowels lost in his mutilated mouth. "The monster who tangled up our brains is now tied up in knots...Oh, is the all-mighty Hannibal speechless? Nothing to say for once? Ah well, the pigs will get you talking soon enough." He threw the microphone down unceremoniously, letting the feedback screech in protest.

Mason was rolled out of the room, leaving the killer alone in the pen.

Hannibal's shoulders and spine began to ache as the hours passed and no threat to his life was made. Hannibal supposed there could be worse ways to go if he found himself going. Will and Clarice should have already noticed his absence, and now he thinks they are probably arguing about the value of his existence.

There was a good chance they would not come for him.

Hannibal's doubts solidified as the minutes blurred together and the light levels in the dank arena grew brighter as the sun rose above the horizon. His body was not as strong as it used to be, and his shoulders ached from holding the rest of himself up. He knew his only chance to escape would be when the pigs chewed through the ropes if they hadn't eaten too much of his flesh before that.

If there was an afterlife or a rebirth, Hannibal would have to harbor the displeasure of being ended by someone so much less than and by means so uncreative and distant.

Mason rolled back in as noon approached. He tsked through the speaker, amplifying the sound of spit leaving his mouth. "I was waiting on your little followers, but maybe they don't love you enough to save you. Less of a threat to me, though I was excited to meet Agent Will Graham." Mason said Will's name like it was poison he was purging from his stomach.

"Well if no one is going to come, we might as well get this show started." He clapped his hands together with that psychotic child-like glee of his.

Irony was a beautiful thing that Hannibal Lecter admired. It was akin to the starting note of a song, and it sang through the air as a gun went off. Chaos erupted outside the building, bullets began unloading senselessly after some confused shouts. There were too many guns for the small staff Mason kept, so, unless Will and Clarice equipped themselves with ten guns, there was a whole team of intruders.

The panic that came over Mason was far too amusing. He babbled words such as who and what. He was a boy who did not know his enemies and it showed.

"Margo?" Mason called for his sister in desperation but made no attempt to hide or escape.

"Mason Verger," a familiar voice greeted. Will whisked into the arena with his gun raised and glasses askew.

"I was wondering when you would show up," Mason chortled. "Had to come save your lover, didn't you? I was hoping you would come." He pressed a button and pre-recorded screams played over the speakers. Pigs squealed in the distance. "Doctor Hannibal Lecter was supposed to watch you suffer and die before I ended his life."

Will looked around, "Who is supposed to be killing me?"

Mason sucked air through his teeth, "Unfortunately, none of my men are up here at the moment. Perhaps we can strike a deal, I tell you where I have some money stashed and you let me go."

"Oh," Will looked at Hannibal, confused. Hannibal showed his teeth.

Will shot Mason Verger in the face. Blood and brains spattered, painting the floor with gore. The squealing of hogs grew louder as the farm animals approached. Will clambered down a side ladder and rushed to untie Hannibal's restraints.

"That was way too easy," he breathed. His blue eyes flicked over Hannibal's tied wrists and ankles. "And how have you not escaped?"

"Sedative," he murmured. "Thank you for coming."

"I kind of like seeing you tied up."

Hannibal curled his lips in a snarl, "You'll never see this again."

The killer's body collapsed against Will's as he was freed, his muscles felt weak and useless. He silently thanked Will for assisting him without asking him if he needed help.

"Clarice is waiting at the back entrance, hopefully, Jack and the others won't spot us."

"You brought Jack?"

Will smiled, "I thought it would be a good way to get me labeled as a missing person or a killer on the lamb. A goodbye to them of sorts."

Hannibal's foggy brain finally put together the pieces. "You're coming with me this time."

"It's my design."

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Will awkwardly grabbed Clarice's elbow as she turned away. She made a face at his failed attempt to bond with her.

"I rather stay here. On my own."

She didn't need to say what she was really thinking. I rather not spend the rest of my life on the run with two strange men who keep putting my life in danger.

Winston snuffled Clarice's hand and gave her a generous amount of kisses.

"Bye Winston," she cooed. "Bye... everyone else." The other dogs continued to explore the yacht's deck with unbridled excitement. "Is Hannibal coming out?"

The pair watched the serial killer fiddling with the control panel in the wheelhouse. Will thought he was probably ignoring them on purpose. He found it hard to believe the man was suddenly interested in learning how to steer a boat.

"I don't think so."

"Well, where are you going? Maybe I'll write." Clarice's words were obvious lies, the way they clumsily dropped from her tongue.

"I don't know," he answered. And that was the truth.

****

Day 3

There was, in fact, only one bed.

Instead of sharing it like a mature adult, Will slept in the wheelhouse with his dogs.

When he had fixed up this yacht, he hadn't planned to bring his unofficial lover who he hadn't properly discussed his feelings with. The way Hannibal acted, it was as if they had never kissed at all. Will may struggle with hallucinations, but the little sexual tension dance they had been doing was very real.

Probably.

Maybe.

"Will, you're staring," Hannibal chided, running a barber's razor over the faint grey stubble that had started to grow. It irked Will that Hannibal even used a barber's knife.

The ex-profiler cleared his throat, "I should have known you didn't shave with a plastic razor." He gestured to his own face, "I didn't even remember to bring a razor. I'll look like Tom Hanks in Cast Away by the time we get to Europe."

Two weeks with close quarters.

Two weeks of sleeping with one eye open.

Two weeks of hoping Hannibal would use that damn straight razor to flay his skin and kiss the wounds.

"Will, are you listening to me?"

Will flushed as he realized he had tuned out everything that Hannibal might have said.

"Uhm. Yes?"

"You were not listening. I wanted to know if you would like me to give you a traditional shave. It is much better for your skin than the tacky razors and shaving cream I suspect you usually use."

Will would love for Hannibal to shave him. Those strong hands could grip his neck and cup his jaw. The razor would be pressed against his jugular. So many opportunities could arise from the small touches that would occur.

"No, thank you. Sorry," Will muttered.

Day 6

The weather was calm and their rations were still fair. The pair had fallen into an easy routine, Will would manually steer in the mornings while Hannibal read. Then Hannibal would pick up his sketchbook while Will played with the dogs. Sometimes at night, Will would fish while Hannibal sat beside him in silence.

Will's beard was beginning to bother him. It wasn't long by any means, it could hardly even be called scruffy. But watching Hannibal shave himself every other morning was maddening. The soft scraping sounds as the other man moved the razor across his skin caused tingles to erupt on Will's scalp. He remembered how nice it felt when Hannibal trimmed his hair, how his body trembled and ached for more.

Will didn't know if he could take another day.

Day 10

Will shuddered in the frigid cold of the night. His dogs' body heat did nothing to warm his numb extremities. He wanted to climb into a nice warm bed and share a human's body heat. The option was hypothetically available, Hannibal had reassured him that they could share the bed.

Two men pressed up together on a twin mattress. What's the worst that could happen?

With a groan, Will forced himself to his feet and stumbled beneath the deck. He leaned against the door and listened for any signs of wakefulness from the other side.

He probably isn't awake, I shouldn't bother him.

The temperature seemingly dropped another degree to spite him. Will opened the door slowly, "Hannibal? Are you awake?"

When he received no response, he quietly entered the dark room. He felt around for the bed with his hands until his legs hit the mattress.

"Hannibal?"

The other man shifted in the dim light, slowly at first, and then bolted upright.

Will jerked away, "Sorry. I was, uhm. It's cold up there." He could not see Hannibal's features, only the still silhouette.

Hannibal hummed softly and slid back to make room on the bed. Will eagerly slipped beneath the blanket and shivered as warmth soaked into his cold skin. Legs and arms bumped each other as they both tried to get comfortable without being close. Will slid so far away that he nearly fell off the bed, he wriggled restlessly to ignore his rushing pulse.

"Will," Hannibal murmured, his voice scratchy with sleep. "You must stay still."

"Sorry," he whispered, "Can't get comfortable."

Hannibal sighed and suddenly wrapped an arm around Will's waist and pulled him in close. The man's chin rested atop his black curls as he brought him against his chest.

Will thanked whatever gods that were out there that Hannibal was wearing a shirt.

Despite the barrier of fabric between them, the heat and pressure were still overwhelming. His body tingled and his lungs constricted. And for some inexplicable reason, tears prickled in his eyes. An empty hole somewhere in his chest was ripping itself further apart. He tried to stay quiet, but the more he suppressed the feeling, the worse it got. Will choked on a sob as Hannibal pulled him even closer, causing the latter to notice his predicament.

"You don't like being touched?" The silver-blonde man began to pull away but Will stopped him.

"I do," he whispered. "I have a hunger for it. And no one has ever... fed me."

He felt Hannibal's lips smiled against his forehead, "That's a poetic way to tell me you're a virgin, Will."

"I'm telling you what I feel," he replied, hoping there was a chance Hannibal could see his teeth bare at him in the dark. "It is overwhelming to be given all this sensation at one time when I have barely experienced it before."

"You continue to have a work of art for a mind, so sensitive and volatile," Hannibal reached over him and brought down a pillow between their bodies. "Hold the pillow, it is more gentle than I."

Will reluctantly squeezed his arms around the pillow and was delighted to find that Hannibal kept an arm around him. As both the men's breathing slowed and Will was falling into sleep, he wondered why the pillow was necessary and if it was more for Hannibal than it was for him.

Chapter Text

"I think I hate boats now," Will groaned. "Where are we exactly?"

Hannibal gave him a cold, clinical glance in response to the whining. "We have to find out for ourselves, though we should be in the Bay of Biscay if we aimed right."

All seven dogs bolted off the boat behind them, barking gleefully as they rolled and played on the beach. The dogs were an inconvenience, one that Will insisted on. Perhaps he could convince him to get rid of some of them; even three dogs would be better than this circus they had on hand.

Will whistled for his dogs and held up seven different colored leashes. The mutts barreled back towards them, their obedience for Will overcoming their excitement for land. The black-haired man hooked his dogs' collars to the corresponding leashes and handed Hannibal the ends of three.

Hannibal took them with distaste and kept the leashes tightly wound around his wrists so the dogs would not wander off or pull him.

"With any luck, we will run into civilization soon, there are many cities near the bay. And if not, I could use a walk after staying sedentary for so long."

After walking along the beachside for nearly an hour, the pair finally came across tourists lounging on a public beachfront with their umbrellas, and towels, and screaming, sunburnt children. Many onlookers gave curious looks to the fully dressed men with seven dogs in tow. Will, at least, was only in jeans and a t-shirt, but Hannibal was wearing a button-up and slacks. They had left all their luggage on the boat and left the boat itself. It would only lead to their capture if they docked it wherever they went.

Once they made it up the wooden bridge and into the seaside town, the looks stopped from tourists shopping around. Perhaps they assumed two men walking an excessive number of dogs was normal for France. Hannibal's feet were beginning to pinch in his dress shoes, and his knees were aching. His joints were starting to fail at his age, and he dreaded the day it would limit him.

Will suddenly gripped his elbow, "Look." He gestured to a fancy hotel; below their sign, it advertized free Wi-Fi, free breakfast, and a pets welcome policy. "Hopefully, there is not a limit on how many pets are welcome."

"Not that it matters to me, Will, but that place is a couple's retreat."

"That just means a big room so the dogs won't bother us. It will be fine."

Will was not fine.

The amount of cash Hannibal spent on the room (for just three nights) was enough to make the poor man turn pale and gape like a fish. The room itself had a full-sized kitchen, a large king bed, a grand balcony overlooking the beach, and a large, tiled bathroom with a roomy walk-in shower and a heart-shaped jacuzzi. Vases of red roses were placed around the suite, the sweetness making Hannibal's headache.

"How did you already have euros?" Will asked, bouncing down onto the plushy bed that was draped in silky black sheets.

"Did you forget I was just living in Italy for a year?"

Will grunted and kicked his shoes off. He buried his head of dark curls into the pillows. Will could pose so delicately for someone as brash as he was, and it made Hannibal's stomach twist with hunger.  The past few nights had been a living hell for him, having to resist all his instincts and letting Will gently snuggle up to him. It was against his nature to restrict himself, but it was also in his best interest not to scare or anger Will.

The next three nights would hopefully carry the tension he wanted it to. Although Hannibal could foresee having to tease, poke, and prod enough to get Will to respond.

"From the signs we passed," Hannibal stepped over a dog to approach the bed, "We can safely assume we are in Arcachon, France. Did you have a certain destination in mind?"

Will rolled onto his back to look him in the eyes, "No, but I know you do."

"I wanted to return to Lithuania, it's only a day's trip by train. Of course, we could always visit Paris or Berlin on the way."

"What's in Lithuania for us?"

"Nothing," Hannibal replied. Because it was true. There was nothing there for Will, but Hannibal would be willing to share what was waiting for him.

****************

He looked like a young Will, and maybe that's why Hannibal found himself watching the boy from the shadows. He was locking up a little dive bar with no security cameras, the last one to leave the building in the early hours of the morning. Dawn was only a few hours away, and this young man was just finishing his work.

The boy was startled when he turned around to find Hannibal hovering by his car.

"Bonsoir, monsuier. Je peux t'aider?" Can I help you?

Hannibal smiled charming, "Désolé de t'avoir fait peur. J'ai un peu trop bu et je me suis perdu." Sorry for frightening you. I've had a few too many to drink and have gotten myself lost. He deliberately stumbled over the words and wobbled as he neared the boy. "Pourriez-vous m’emmener à mon hôtel?" Could you take me to my hotel?

The young man was entirely unsuspicious and clapped his thin hand over Hannibal's bicep. "Quel hôtel?"

Hannibal gave him the name of the place where Will was currently fast asleep.

"Oui, c'est juste au bout de la route, je te conduis." Yes, it's just down the road, I'll drive you.

This hunt was almost boring for Hannibal because of how easy it was.

"Merci beaucoup," he mumbled. He pretended to trip as an excuse to lean back onto the hood of the car, seemingly taking a moment to balance himself.

The young man's back was to Hannibal as he unlocked and opened his car door. He was entirely unaware as his killer slunk up behind him. As the boy bent over into his car, Hannibal threw his weight into him, knocking him into the console.

The boy gasped and writhed, and Hannibal pulled away just enough to let him flip over. As soon as the other man was facing him, he bared into him again. His strong hands gripped the boy's smooth, soft neck. The victim bucked and clawed at his perpetrator, gasping uselessly for air he would not get.

Hannibal's heart rate, which was held as infamously calm, began to spike. He had not been alone and unrushed with a kill in what seemed like years, though in reality, it had only been around two months. His body tingled as the boy's eyes began rolling back in his head, and the fight drained out of him. Hannibal released him, leaving him unconscious but not dead. He could barely contain his urges as he picked up the abandoned car keys and slid the body into the passenger seat.

He didn't know where he was driving or how fast he was going over the speed limit. But he didn't stop until he was out of town and only nature surrounded the road. He pulled the car over and hastily hoisted the body over his shoulder, carrying it out into the woods.

What he was doing was dirty and irrational, unlike him in so many ways. He has not killed like this since he was a young man in Lithuania. Perhaps knowing he was going home was returning his mind to a previous state.

He used the boy's own tie to bind his wrists before bringing out his beloved harpy knife. When he hooked the blade in the man's abdomen, he woke up with a violent scream. It was hoarse and weak, as his vocal cords were bruised.

The beautiful anguish and black curls had Hannibal seeing Will's face instead of this stranger's. It only sparked his desire into a burning rage that made him see black. He ripped the harpy upwards, slitting him open from the belly button to the sternum. He looked deep into the other Will's eyes, feeding on the pain he saw there as he plunged a hand into the wound he had made and pulled the skin back. His prey blacked out from pain then, but his mind replaced the silence with the pretty sounds he thought Will would make if he were here.

His skin buzzed with elation, his soul effectively aroused, and he began tearing into the wound like a starving beast. He tore out flesh and organs and bones with his hands, heaving with the effort, until there was nothing else he could do but sink his broken fingernails into the boy's wrists and bite into his neck.

The blood flowed into his mouth like a heavenly fountain of forbidden wine. He bit down harder until skin and tissue broke off into his mouth. He paused to spit the raw meat out before drinking again. It made his stomach churn, but he didn't care because nothing could compare to the taste. He could drink this forever and still not be satisfied.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and it brought his mind back to Will.

It was only then that he remembered he had evidence to get rid of.

************************

"Where the hell were you?" Will snapped, his voice carrying its usual shaky inflections.

Hannibal casually stretched back on the bed. "I was here; where were you?"

"Looking for you in the lobby because you were not here when I woke up. Did you ever come back at all last night? I thought you were just going for a sunset beach walk, not a twelve-hour hike."

"What are you wanting to know, Will?" Hannibal dodged the question and began looking through the hotel's pamphlet that was laying on the nightstand.

"I'm being very clear on what I want to know. Stop playing mind games, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal allowed Will a small smile. "I was nowhere you would care about, Will," he lied. "We can discuss this later tonight if you would like, however, I think we should make use of the money I spent. They have a couple's spa here."

Will's body only tensed up more, "A spa? Like cucumbers on my eyes? Or like a stranger rubbing my back?"

"Which one would you prefer?"

"Neither."

"Good thing I'm not giving you a choice, then."

************************

Despite all his grumbling, Will was enjoying himself. He never had to leave Hannibal's side during the facials, the pedicures, or the manicures. His anxiety began to stir when Hannibal led him to the full-body massage he had booked. When the massage therapists left the room for the two men to undress, Will almost fell over with the rushed job he did of stripping his shirt and pants. He didn't dare even glance in Hannibal's direction, knowing he would meet those watching dark eyes. He did let himself peek over at the other man once they were both under their respective sheets. Hannibal curved his lips up in a somewhat encouraging smile.

But once the massage therapists entered the room, and the fingertips of the young male working on him grazed his bare skin, Will felt anything but relaxed. He tried to control his breathing and ignore the hot pressure in his eyes. He thought he could handle it, but Hannibal's voice suddenly rumbled in the quiet room.

"I apologize, we will have to cut this session short, my husband is not feeling well." There were more exchanges of words and other noises he could not place in his disconnected state.

Will lay very still, until long after the massage therapists left. Hannibal coaxed him into a soft robe and led him back to their room, the short journey was a blur of colors and sharp sounds.

"Are you having an episode, Will?"

Hannibal's voice was lightyears away.

"No, uh. I haven't..." he scrubbed a hand over his face to try to clear the mind fog, "I haven't had one of those since..." Since that night at Clarice's house.

His vision started to come back into focus and he could finally recognize the hotel bathroom surrounding him. Hannibal was filling up the ridiculous heart-shaped jacuzzi and turning on its jets.

"I thought the warm water would be a better way for you to relax," Hannibal explained before Will could get a word out. "Would you care to join me?" The older man slipped gracefully from his own robe, leaving him only in tight, silk underpants. Of course, they were silk.

He tried to ignore the stirrings of arousal in his gut. It was that same warm, honey feeling that made him feel as if he would float away like a helium balloon. Will reluctantly slipped into the tub, the water heating his already flushed skin.

"Would you like to talk about what happened?" This was undoubtedly Hannibal's way of telling Will that he would pry a confession out of him one way or another.

So Will saved himself the game and spilled.

"The...touching... was nice. It was too nice, and it was a stranger touching me. If I were used to intimate contact I would probably have enjoyed a massage, I probably need one."

"When's the last time you enjoyed intimate contact?"

"Besides from you?"

Hannibal had an uncontained look of satisfaction on his face, like a cat that had found a warm patch of sunlight. "Besides from me."

"Years. I'm not even sure how many. I haven't enjoyed the touch of anyone since I was a carefree child, not even hugs. I didn't feel like I needed touch... but uhm. Clearly, I do."

"Turn your back to me," Hannibal instructed.

Will dumbly turned, a tiny gasp falling from his mouth as Hannibal's rough hands cupped his shoulders. He kneaded into the tight muscles of his back, the water making his skin slip over his with ease.

"Humans need touch from someone they care for daily to thrive. They call it touch-starvation because you are quite literally deprived of that nourishment."

"I don't see you nourishing yourself every day," Will breathed as Hannibal's hands slid down his spine.

"I don't need it," Hannibal murmured.

Will almost retorted angrily, to point out that Hannibal was not excluded from humanity entirely, but then the man's touch drifted around his hips and up his stomach. Will sucked in a breath as fingertips traced his navel beneath the water. Fingernails lightly scratched his sides, sending shivers ricocheting up his spine.

His earlier arousal was back in full force, his whole body throbbed with need.

"Hannibal," he whispered.

The cannibal's nose brushed the back of his neck gently, while his hands traveled even further up, causing Will to arch into the touch. He felt like a dirty slut in a porno, and he could not care less. Hannibal hummed into the crook of his neck, clearly enjoying the response.

The tantalizing light scrape of nails was now on Will's chest and collarbones. He shuddered with every little breath he took, his body was beyond overstimulated and had begun to ascend into a place of pure bliss. Hannibal pressed a hot, open-mouth kiss to the underside of Will's jaw at the same time he gripped his waist in a tight vise.

Will pressed back into Hannibal, "More. Please."

Those two pretty words were the toppling point for Hannibal. He mouthed along the soft skin of Will's neck, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling his pulse beneath his tongue. It was nearly killing him to refrain from sinking his teeth in. Will moaned and slipped further into the water, Hannibal sunk with him, cradling the other man as if he were wounded.

Hannibal paused in his feast to gaze at the work of art he had created. A breathless Will with a bruised neck, head rolling listlessly to the side. He could do anything to this man who was so vulnerable in his arms. He could grab that neck and press his head into the water, pressing down until the water filled his lungs. Pressing down, down, down, down...

He stood, dropping Will unceremoniously.

"What? Hannibal?"

"I'm no longer in the mood," Hannibal slipped his robe back on, refusing to glance at Will again. He was very much in the mood, and one look would send him back into the precarious situation with no plan.

"Oh."

"Don't worry," he assured Will, "It's just the heat from the tub. You should probably get out as well."

Will sounded convinced, although it was Hannibal's most flimsy lie yet.

His impulses were becoming unbearable, but for the first time in his life, he felt the need to practice restraint.

But who knows how long he could keep up this charade?

Chapter Text

"I feel somehow less knowledgeable about what's going on in your mind than I was when we played at therapy sessions," Will whispered into the dark.

Hannibal hummed as Will's fingers brushed his under the blanket. "Why do you feel that way?"

"You seem changed," he mused, "But you refuse to talk about it."

Annoyance burned in his chest. "I have not changed, I assure you. Perhaps you are only viewing me through a different lens, a projection of what you believe I am."

"No. You have changed what you have let me see of you. The great Hannibal Lecter would not leave so awkwardly in the middle of being intimate. I always assumed you put on a great show with your partners, like you do with every other aspect of your life."

"I wouldn't know," Hannibal admitted. "I've never had the opportunity."

He could not see him, but he felt Will's demeanor change. "You can't be serious. Tell me you're not a virgin."

"If you would like me to lie to you, I can."

"How?"

He heard a trace of pity in Will's voice, and it did nothing but bring his annoyance back. He could tell Will the truth, or he could make up a story of isolation to garner sympathy. In the end, he decided there was no point in hiding this particular information.

"I have had many sexual encounters, but they all ended with my desires ending their lives. Those who survived, I killed so they could not turn me in."

Will moved closer to him, their mouths close enough to share the same breath. "I thought your killings had no sexual motives. There was never any evidence of rape with the victims of yours I saw."

"No. I do not rape and I do not kill for that reason. But..." Hannibal found himself with a lack of words to explain that the only real feelings he experienced were wrapped up in a twisted bundle of hunger that demanded blood, flesh, and skin. It rarely mattered in what form he received it, but somewhere in that bundle were feelings of sex. Yet they were never enough to bring him any completion.

"But?"

"I suppose you could say my bloodlust overcame my lust in every situation."

Will hummed and pulled a pillow between them to assume what had become their routine sleeping positions. "I don't think that's such a bad way to go."

Hannibal didn't dare respond, instead, he let the words hang in the air between them.

They were as sweet and as sharp as blood.

*****

The couple left a day early to catch a train that was going straight to Paris. It was three hours to Paris, and then the remaining trip to Lithuania would include two layovers and a total of twenty-six hours on a train. The two left in the early morning after a somber visit to the local pet center, where Will gave up all of his dogs but Winston. The dark-haired man had pressed his forehead to each of the dogs' faces to whisper his goodbyes.

Hannibal was glad to be rid of the pests.

"Please do not turn this into Murder on the Orient Express, no matter how tempting it may be," Will warned him as they ate dainty crepes provided by the train's food service.

Hannibal wondered if Will was ever tempted to kill in his day-to-day life, or if he only killed when presented with an opportunity. If the latter were the case, then Hannibal would have to find a way to provide those opportunities to Will.

"There would not be enough characters to make a good plot," Hannibal pointed out, looking around the dining carriage to confirm that there were only a few others present.

Will dropped a strawberry to Winston, who was curled up under the table. Then he dipped his fingers in a dollop of whipped cream. Hannibal caught his wrist before Will could give that food to Winston, too.

"Dogs can not appreciate cream, Will. They have limited taste buds. I, however..." Hannibal pressed his lips to Will's coated fingers, drawing them into his mouth and using his tongue to artfully suck off the whipped cream. Will gasped, the tips of his ears turning red before he yanked his hand back.

"Did you not like that?"

"The opposite, I fear."

*****

The hotel in Paris was more romantic than the one in Arcachon when it came to atmosphere. The large windows in their room overlooked the city, with the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The next train to catch wasn't leaving until the next day at noon, so Hannibal had once again splurged on a fancy stay. In an effort to spend time, Hannibal dragged Will across the city of Paris. He insisted on avoiding the crowds and instead took Will to less-known areas that provided a bit more privacy for the pair. Dusty bookstores with no names tucked away in alcoves, elegant clothing stores in which there were no price tags, pastry shops with fresh baked goods, and a winery with finely aged drinks.

"An opera?" Will looked at the ticket Hannibal offered him with grave wariness. "Not only do I not understand French, but I believe I lack the elegance to attend one."

"What did you think that suit I got you earlier was going to be used for?"

"Doctor Lecter, is this your way of asking me out on a date?"

Hannibal cocked his head, giving Will his well-practiced smile. "And if I were? Would you agree to come with me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course, Will, but I can be very persuasive. Plus, the beauty of the Palais Garnier is worth the visit. I will even explain what is happening to you during the show if that would help."

Will had no objections.

*****

The opera house was stunning, as was the show itself. Hannibal drifted in and out of concentration, feeling more focused on the press of Will's body against his and the questions the man whispered against the shell of his ear. He vaguely wondered if what he was feeling was what Wll must constantly feel: a cacophony of feedback from different bodily sensors. Hannibal almost didn't notice when the show ended and belatedly joined in on the polite clapping.

"I actually enjoyed that," Will admitted, happily taking Hannibal's elbow when he offered it. "It was nice to listen to, although I didn't understand any of it."

Tourists and citizens alike still milled around despite the sun slipping behind the horizon. It was a treat to hunt in busy cities such as these, where you can slip into the crowd and blend in with ease. Street vendors were heckling passersby to buy the last of the day's products for bargain prices.

Hannibal felt Will's arm slip from his as his attention was caught by one of the stands that was selling newspapers. He bought a paper and brought it to Hannibal, holding up the front page.

"An article about a murder...I think. I don't know a lot of French, but the agent in me still wants to know about the case." Will pointed to a grainy black and white photo of a young man with the words UN BARMAN RETROUVÉ MORT; MEURTRE PRÉSUMÉ printed above it. The man in the photo was the one Hannibal had killed a few days prior.

They walked along in silence, Will attempting to read the French. A good amount of the French language had similar words to English, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Will's pattern recognition and intelligence provided him with his own story.

"I think this says something about a burned body, something about his heart and bitemarks." Will peered closer at the paper as the couple entered the elevator of their hotel. "This says it was in Arcachon, France. Three days ago."

"How coincidental." Hannibal refused to admit his foolish indulgence, which had been a far cry from graceful. Will was fortunately kind enough not to confront him until they arrived at their room, and the door was shut and bolted behind them.

"I know you did this." Will tossed the newspaper at his feet.

Winston whined and scampered out of the room.

"You have known for a while what I am, Will."

"Burning bodies and biting people is not something you usually do. Not like this, at least. You didn't take any meat and use it as an excuse to tell me what you did. Where is the thought and presentation you usually put into your killings?"

"Are you upset because I didn't kill the way you wanted me to?"

"God, no," Will rubbed his face in the nervous way he was prone to, "If I had it my way, I'd push you off a cliff and follow suit. Either that or we don't kill at all. It makes me sick thinking too much about it. But I have chosen to ignore certain aspects of you and of myself in order to see the best in our relationship."

Hannibal unbuttoned his suit jacket and laid it neatly on the bed. "It seems like you may be upset with yourself more than you are with me."

"I'm upset with both of us equally. You never tell me about yourself, Hannibal. I feel like you're still closed up in a glass prison cell. I know you don't care for me like I care for you. But I felt more of a connection between us when we were trying to kill each other. The moment our relationship turned domestic is the moment all the passion left. I don't know who I am when I'm not chasing you down and fighting for my life. Am I supposed to just follow you around for all eternity, not knowing what you're doing or where you are, and living like a housewife? And why do we have to sleep with a pillow between us? There's no reason we, of all people, should act like we're not starved for touch. And-and..."

Will broke off, his breathing a little heavy and forehead shining with forming sweat. His hands trembled visibly. The shaken man didn't even notice Hannibal sidling up to him until his long fingers grasped his jaw in their grip.

"I have made this life for you because I thought it was what you wanted. You were the first to stop discussing our usual topics of conversation. In all honesty, I found your switch to casual conversation quite a letdown," he gave the abandoned newspaper a sidelong glance. "I killed him because he looked like you."

Will inhaled softly, beginning to pull away, but was stopped by Hannibal's grip on his face.

"I pretended he was you," Hannibal purred, "He didn't put up a very strong fight, much more submissive than you. But I have to say..." he leaned in to whisper in Will's ear, "It was exquisite to imagine it was your blood on my hands. Consequently, that memory has been seared into every corner of my mind." His hold on Will was beginning to bruise the skin. The defiance Hannibal was hoping for began to come out in full show as Will's brow creased and he wrenched himself out of the iron grip.

"What's the matter, mylimasis? I thought you were just complaining about how boring your life was becoming. Haven't you heard that you should be careful what you wish for?"

Will reacted quickly as soon as the harpy slid out from Hannibal's sleeve. He saw the recognition in the other's eyes. It was Hannibal's prized knife, and it also happened to be the knife he had gutted Will with that fateful night. The moment of shock gave him enough time to take advantage; he pushed Will with enough force that he crashed back into the bed. Will kicked his feet out as Hannibal attempted to come down upon him. The blow hit him square in the chest, audibly knocking a breath from the killer.

"You try so hard to resist," Hannibal hissed between his teeth. "We both know you would rather give in." There was a flash of metal as the harpy flew at Will, who ducked down in just enough time for the harpy to nick the side of his face rather than something more lethal.

Hannibal could feel the tension between them pulled taut, but neither of them was in any hurry to finish the game of cat and mouse. Of wolf and deer. Their eyes were locked together in a tantalizing dance. When Hannibal moved, Will tensed. The latter was practiced in self-defense, but the former was a master of predation. Their bodies knocked together in a tangle of messy limbs as Will threw punches and kicks in the dark and Hannibal focused all his energy into pinning the boy down.

The harpy had fallen closer to the headboard, and it was in reach.

Once the blade was curved against Will's throat, the thrashing stopped. The sharp pains of broken and bruised skin started to appear as their adrenaline settled.

"You're disappointing me, Will. I know you can put up a much bigger fight than this."

His words came too soon, the victory false.

Will suddenly lurched up and sank his teeth into the spot where Hannibal's neck met his shoulder. The knife that had lain against him had cut Will as he moved. Blood spilled from both of them, and though it was too dark to know for sure, Hannibal hoped they were mixing together into a messy cocktail of their gore that would stain the sheets.

Hannibal plunged the knife into Will's shoulder like a talon snatching up its prey, and Will's jaw released as he screamed. He slammed the younger man's head back into the headboard, hard enough to knock him out. But Will stayed conscious enough to awkwardly grab at the knife in his shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound as he yanked the weapon out and cast it aside. His blue eyes glinted in the dim light, he bore bloody teeth in a smile that threatened to make Hannibal feel something other than hunger for once.

He gripped Will's face in his hands and crushed their mouths together in a heated kiss.

"You still think this isn't such a bad way to go?" he murmured against Will's soft mouth.

"Yes," Will breathed.

Hannibal groaned and pulled Will back against him. The blood and saliva made their mouths slip and slide against each other. He pulled at Will's shirt until the buttons popped off and his silky skin was laid bare. Lips found the open wound and pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the pooling blood. Hannibal nearly moaned as he basked in the overwhelming taste of Will's blood and the feeling of ownership and beauty that accompanied it. It felt as if his reality was on the brink of destruction.

Will was panting heavily beneath him, in anguish and exertion. His little whimpers only strengthen Hannibal's desire to rip into him like a wild animal.

He hated that he could not control himself. He was always able to keep his composure, but this meaningless man with a broken mind was causing his identity to redefine itself. There it was again. That feeling of caring. Caring so much, he felt the need to consume on an endless number of levels.

"I hate you," he growled, though maybe he meant to say love.

Will smiled in that eerily knowing way of his, as if he were looking into his soul and seeing him without the mask he wore. "I love you," he breathed.

Hannibal trembled. His body and mind were shattering. He grabbed the bloodied knife from the sheets and drove it into his abdomen; the same place he stabbed him that night in his kitchen, curving it along the old scar tissue as Will arched back and screamed.

"Beautiful," he whispered. Blood rushed out and over his hands and drenched the space between their bodies. Will shook violently, sweat beading on his head as he grunted in pain and discomfort. Yet his body was so pliant beneath him, so accepting of his fate.

Hannibal stripped Will slowly of the rest of his clothes, being sure to touch every new stretch of exposed skin to send Will back into another spiral of sensations. He didn't know if he wanted to fuck him or kill him or end up doing both at the same time with one momentous action. He decided he would decide as he went. He slicked his fingers in the blood, tracing the ragged flesh of the abdominal wound.

He reached between Will's pale thighs, using his coated fingers to penetrate him. It was not gentle or kind, and it brought another moan of pain and pleasure from Will's swollen lips. The poor man looked as if he were about to pass out. He thrusted his fingers in and out roughly a few times, pressing and twisting around a few times to explore the unfamiliar territory. It made Will's hard cock twitch and leak onto his stomach, a lewd picture of lust and agony.

Hannibal withdrew his hand and undressed himself quickly; he was aching so much it was painful, a heavy throbbing sensation in his groin and stomach. He coated his hand in blood again and stroked himself a few times while admiring the piece of art before him. Then he hoisted Will's legs over his shoulders; Will groaned in pain as more blood spurted from his stomach.

"Beautiful," he told Will.

"Beautiful," Will agreed.

The sound Will let out when Hannibal slid in was musical. Pain and pleasure mixed together in a sinfully delightful note. Hannibal thought he had already lost his composure, but he began to fall apart even more as he began moving against Will. The younger man began to sob, from which sensation Hannibal did not know. Any admiration or glimpses of caring he felt before vanished and were replaced by hunger. He gritted his teeth and grunted as he slammed into Will over and over and over. The headboard thumped against the wall with the motions, creating a tempo to the symphony of their pleasure.

Will came first, releasing with a harsh moan, his hands coming up to Hannibal's shoulders to seek some sort of comfort. Hannibal locked his teeth in his neck instead. He bit down until he tasted blood. He kept thrusting until he felt Will go completely limp and slip out of his jaw's grip. He chased the feeling of completion, but it kept escaping him, the hunger only getting bigger and more painful.

He collapsed beside Will's unconscious body while he was still hard and aching. He looked down at his body and then at Will's ruined one. Will's bruised and wounded body so filled with pain... but Will found pleasure in that. Will found release both spiritually and sexually.

Hannibal was still hungry.

For the first time in a long while, Hannibal began to cry.