Archive of Our Own ^beta

The theater hall is beautiful, the ballet dancers are talented and all members of the audience are looking at the stage with bated breath but Hannibal’s attention keeps straying. He has seen “Swan Lake” several times, it’s one of his favorites, he hoped that he could escape his boredom today by enjoying the performance. He was wrong. He watches their elegant legs moving and thinks about ways he could prepare them, about the time the ballet would finally be shown on TV in Eastern Europe and smirks. He hasn’t hunted for several months and he muses, distractedly, how much he would jeopardize his life in Baltimore if he killed and displayed his pest of patient who’s been testing the limits of Hannibal’s almost infinite patience by following him around cheese stores and dropping progressively boorish hints he would like Hannibal to fuck him. He winces, displeased, and catches his other train of thought instead. He hasn’t been to his motherland in decades; his house is warm, he has clothes and shoes galore but he still feels his bones shake when he remembers winter forests. He used to love to explore, to get lost in nature and play hide-and-seek with Mischa among the trees, he hasn’t stepped foot in a forest ever since he emerged from it, covered in blood and freezing. He smooths his palms down his suit jacket to convince himself he still has it on. His hands are cold and he wants to hide them under his thighs but the lights come on and he stands up from his chair and claps until his palms are angry red and his forearms tingle.

During the intermission he gets himself a glass of wine and gets involved into a conversation with his acquaintances. They think they are his friends, they attempt to invite themselves to a dinner party and he tells them that he waits for inspiration to strike. He smiles, it’s strained. He doesn’t want to be here, he realizes, surrounded by all these people and noise. He is becoming annoyed and even though his mask is perfectly in place, his shoulders tense and draw up, his fingers are stiff where they are clutching the glass. He wants to go home, he wants to be alone by the fire. From the corner of his eye he sees a glimpse of Franklyn and that’s decided. He excuses himself and heads in the direction of the exit. His pace is even, the clicks of his shoes on the floor are measured, he can hear a frantic tap-tap of someone trying to catch up with him. The air is saturated with expensive perfumes and colognes, one, overly sweet, is getting closer to him, cloying the inside of his nostrils, tainting the fabric of his suit, he will have to burn it. He craves fresh air. Hannibal is nearly at the door when Franklyn corners him.

“Doctor Lecter!” he almost shrieks to overpower the cacophony of other voices, Hannibal ignores him. “Doctor Lecter! Hannibal!”

Maybe Hannibal doesn’t need to live in Baltimore, maybe he’s going to rip him apart right in front of everyone. He schools his expression into something neutral and turns around.

“Franklyn, we talked about this, multiple times,” Hannibal says.

“Pure coincidence! I’m here with a friend, I would like to introduce you, maybe you can join us for drinks after the performance,” he rushes out.

“I doubt it, I am not in the mood to meet new people tonight,” he tries really hard not to snap his neck.

“That’s even better, then we can have a drink together, just the two of us,” Franklyn responds, his cheeks flushing. Hannibal knows how to cook cheeks, how to marinade and glaze them, they would look better on a plate garnished with tender greens. Franklyn misinterprets his attention because he blushes harder and holds the hem of his ill-fitting jacket in his hands like a skirt. Hannibal takes a fortifying breath to decline the offer as politely as he can in this state and inhales a saltier stench of the man’s arousal. Hannibal hasn’t struggled with nausea since childhood, he is going to vomit any second now.

“I have to go,” he manages and leaves the fucking building. Thankfully, Franklyn doesn’t follow him this time.

He balls his hands into fists and depresses his nails into the heels of his palms not to double over and retch on the shinning stairs. He plops into his car inelegantly and drives home faster than he should, he is so tired, he just wants to arrive already and sleep forever. He has two days off but it doesn’t seem like enough, he doesn’t want to face his patients again, all the little schemes he was plotting don’t entertain him anymore. He decides to free his next two weeks and cancel all sessions, he hopes Franklyn doesn’t show up at his porch or send him another box of aphrodisiac chocolate. There is no proof it works, Hannibal doesn’t even like sweets and has no issues with his libido, he hasn’t had sex in a while though. People stopped enticing him, he prefers his books and rocking chair to their company; maybe he’s getting old, balancing between solitude and loneliness. He sighs and gets out of the car.

He discards his suit and leaves it in the basement in a plastic bag, then goes to shower and washes the night away thoroughly. He pours himself another glass of wine and makes a fire, he selects a book he would like to read today and lowers himself into the chair. There is a crack. He peers at the fireplace, he always checks to use dry wood, nothing should be popping or crackling. Hannibal tries to relax again, reclines in his chair and hears a louder noise. He frowns and gets up. One of the rails is split in the middle. Hannibal doesn’t believe in bad days but this one has been treating him horribly. He feels unease stewing in his stomach, discontent bubbling and rising up to choke him. He wasn’t happy, not truly, but he was alright, he was amused and busy, he was as close to fulfillment as a person like him could be. There has been an itch under his skin recently and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. Hannibal puts out the fire, leaves his glass and broken chair as they are and goes to bed.

++

The house is oppressive, he hasn’t noticed before. He selected every piece of art and item of furniture with great care and exactly to his liking, he doesn’t like them anymore. He spent his first days off composing and was disappointed with the result, his sketches started and finished with blank paper and his charcoal poised mid-air, he couldn’t think of anything worth depicting. Right now he is lying in his bed in early afternoon, still in his pajamas and unshaved, and staring out the window. All that is visible are the roofs of his neighbors’ houses, he is exhausted by the dull view. He longs for something, he can’t seem to catch the tail of what it is. Maybe it’s the city that’s the problem, maybe he should move far away from it, into a small country house, and start a real garden. He has been taking good care of the finicky green wall in his dining room, he could be good at being responsible for something more. Or someone. He never considered a family feasible, he still doesn’t, so why not pour his heart into some cherry trees?

Living in the country supposes being in close proximity to forests and Hannibal doesn’t like forests. He had spent a long time avoiding this wound, last week he started poking it like a sore tooth with his tongue to see if it still hurts, it does. He sighs and gets out of bed. If he was his patient, he would recommend facing what’s troubling him, he might as well take his own advice. He is not a boy anymore, he knows that he is the scariest thing in the woods.

++

Hannibal drives for a long time before he stops the car. He left the state half an hour ago and would go further, put it off more if he hadn’t made a deal with himself to try this. It’s a lovely spring day, the sun is shining and he is wearing his warmest coat and boots. He checks his scalpel once more and opens the door. The forest in front of him doesn’t look menacing, there is no snow and he can see some flowers sprinkled on the ground, he gets over himself and crosses the tree line. He stalls right there and waits for something fundamental to happen, for a lightning strike or some other force of nature, but nothing occurs. He takes another step, halts for another moment and exhales shakily. There might not be something inevitable or earth-shattering lurking just behind a tree but he needs to make sure. He may be imagining it, it may be the strangeness of the situation or his dissatisfaction with life lately.

As he goes deeper into the woods, he makes a conscious effort to relax his muscles and enjoy the scenery. It really is quite beautiful, the moss is fascinating, new leaves are tender, he wonders if he will be able to find mushrooms here come autumn. He starts picking up old pine cones at some point to create a centerpiece for his dining table when he notices a blur of brown fur and thinks how stupid it would be to be mauled by a wolf the first time he entered a forest in decades. The fur blob moves closer and Hannibal sees a well-groomed fluffy dog appear behind a bush and sit a few feet away from him, tilting its head curiously. He tilts his own head and they stare at each other, assessing. In a couple of seconds he sees another dog, smaller and less friendly-looking, then another, and another. They all sit in line, silently studying him as he studies them back. They don’t look feral or sick, they are not preparing for an attack so he doesn’t reach for his scalpel yet. The first dog’s ear perks up and it turns its head to the left, Hannibal looks in that direction too and his stomach drops. Dark curls. He has to give it to Franklyn, this is a really intricate ploy to come up with even though Hannibal doesn’t understand how he pulled it off and how he found out where Hannibal was. He wouldn’t be surprised if his patient had put a tracker on his car. Hannibal stands, petrified, and watches the man come closer. The sunlight catches in his hair and Hannibal can see that the ringlets on the man’s head are wild and wind-swept, rich chocolate shade interspersed with almost golden, his gait is light and confident and he’s humming something under his breath. The voice is deep and melodic, soothing, Hannibal stretches his neck towards the sound. A few moments pass and then he looks into piercing blue eyes, here’s your lightning strike, he thinks dazedly. The man stops abruptly and his pink plump lips part in surprise. Hannibal can’t move, can’t speak, can barely breathe, he has no idea what his face is doing. He knows he must not be afraid faced with an angel but he is terrified, he feels he’s going to burst into flames. The man clears his throat.

“Um, hi. You’re on my property,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Hannibal doesn’t know that, he only knows he needs to hear him speak again. He tries to collect himself because the nymph is frowning now, he looks marvelous when he frowns but Hannibal doesn’t want to be the reason for it.

“Hello,” he starts and the frown disappears. “I apologize, I didn’t see any fence.”

“Oh, people don’t usually go this far out, I never bothered to build it. Are you lost?”

Hannibal doesn’t know that either. He shrugs and looks around, there are three more dogs sniffing the ground. He raises his brows.

“Are all of these yours?”

“They are. They don’t bite,” he responds and smiles, revealing a dimple in his stubbled cheek and a sharp canine.

Do you? Hannibal wonders. He craves to ask this but he restrains himself.

“How do they protect you then?” he questions instead.

“Well, they can lick you to death, especially if you give them treats,” the man says and ruffles a dog’s head.

Can you? I have treats, a lot of treats, all sorts of treats, Hannibal thinks. He wants to find out, he wants to touch him, he wants to live here, in this forest, if he could glimpse him one more time. It would be inappropriate to confess, it would be horribly rude, but he has to do something, get closer somehow.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he finally says and extends his hand, he prays the man shakes it.

He eyes it suspiciously for a second, like he didn’t expect the gesture, but grasps it firmly. His hand is warm and rough, littered with tiny cuts and white scars.

“Will Graham,” he introduces himself. “Wow, your hand is cold.” Hannibal didn’t notice. “Sorry, that was rude, uh, are you lost though? Are you alright?” Will asks again, he is yet to let go off Hannibal’s hand and Hannibal sure as fuck is not going to let go first.

“Thank you, Will, I’m quite fine. I am new to this area, I believe my car is in the opposite direction,” he points behind himself.

“There is no road in that direction,” Will comments and releases his hand.

“Oh,” he sighs and looks around again, paying more attention to his surroundings. He doesn’t recognize the terrain, so he is lost, apparently.

“I can show you to your car, I need to get these guys home first. I live near here, would you like to, I don’t know, have a drink to warm up? I have whiskey,” Will offers uncertainly.

Alcohol is a bad idea in case of hypothermia, Hannibal is fully aware of that as a doctor, but he is not about to object so he nods and follows Will. They don’t talk until they reach a nice small house, Hannibal gets the impression that Will generally is not chatty or outgoing; he keeps an eye on his dogs and when he catches sight of Hannibal from time to time, it seems he forgot that Hannibal is here: he startles a little and then his lips curl, Hannibal will take that. Will opens the door and gestures for Hannibal to enter first, then comes inside with the dogs and goes to fill their water bowls. Hannibal inspects the interior with interest, it’s simple, practical, the furniture is mismatched, there is an unmade bed in the living room area and the floor is covered with tables, chairs and stools in various stages of readiness.

“Are you in the midst of renovation, Will?” he asks as he examines a masterfully carved stool leg.

Will turns to him from where he is searching for something in the cabinets in the kitchen.

“Oh, no, it’s for work. I’m a carpenter,” he says and turns his back to Hannibal again, there are more sounds of jars being moved around.

“My rocking chair is broken,” Hannibal comments.

“I can take a look at it if you want.” Will comes into the room with two tumblers of ember liquid, a few peach slices in each, and offers one to Hannibal. “Made it myself, it’s good,” he adds and takes a sip.

“Do you feel comfortable inviting a stranger into your home and drinking with them?” Hannibal inquires with a smile.

“Do you feel comfortable following a stranger into their house and accepting questionable drinks, Red Riding Hood?” Will counters with a smile.

Hannibal is so taken aback by the notion and the nick name, he laughs out loud.

“Red Riding Hood?” he asks, still chuckling.

Will just shrugs and nods to his dogs, eating behind him.

“How do you know I’m not one of them?”

“In all my career as a doctor I’ve never met a person with lycanthropy but I’m ready to unlearn everything I believed in,” Hannibal says and sits on the sofa which Will leads them to.

“You’re a doctor?”

“I used to be a surgeon, I’m a psychiatrist now.” Will snorts, Hannibal looks at him questioningly.

“Just my luck to be avoiding human interaction for so long and the first guest I have in years happens to be a psychiatrist,” he says in a tone that implies there’s a story behind it, Hannibal decides not to pry yet. “To answer you previous question, I’m ex-law enforcement, I know what to do with you,” he states and looks Hannibal dead in the eye.

Hannibal feels a shiver run down his spine. He averts his gaze and drinks his whiskey. It’s really good, warmth spreads around in his belly and he hums appreciatively. He peers at Will and sees him fish out a slice of peach with his fingers and put it in his mouth, if anyone else did this, Hannibal would find it disgraceful, Will makes it look erotic.

“Try it,” he mumbles with his mouth full and Hannibal complies. The peach is tangy and piquant, he wonders what the one on Will’s tongue tastes like, if they taste the same, whether their saliva will enhance the flavor if they kiss. He chews with his mouth tightly shut not to spill the words.

“It is good,” he compliments when he swallows and Will beams at him, it makes him warmer than the drink and the heater, than the coat he still has on and all his cashmere blankets at home.

Will’s pack finish their meal and approach the sofa, Will introduces him to each dog and shares how he acquired them. Hannibal listens attentively and stores the information away in a new room of his mind palace, it smells like forest, sunshine and peaches. When they drink the last of their whiskey, Will gets up from the sofa and tells Hannibal he’ll escort him to his car, as promised. Hannibal feels more lost than he felt in the woods. He racks his brain for anything else to say to prolong their time together, he invites Will for coffee and wants to cry when Will scrunches his beautiful nose in distaste.

“No, no, thank you. I don’t like being around large groups of people,” he says quietly. “Uh, you mentioned that your chair’s broken, I can come look at it, fix it if I can,” he adds.

“Yes, chair, thank you,” he pats his pockets to give Will his card and realizes he doesn’t have any on him. He always carries them around and the only time he meets a person he genuinely wants to contact him, he doesn’t have one, he thinks helplessly.

“Here,” Will gives him a pen and a piece of paper. “When should I call you or come by?”

“Any time,” he utters quickly, Will arches a perfect brow at him. “I’m on holiday now so you can call or come by any time,” he finishes more steadily.

“I’m kind of snowed under at the moment,” he says and looks at the furniture scattered around the room. “The day after tomorrow, afternoon?” he suggests.

“That would be perfect, Will,” Hannibal thanks softly and gives him the paper with his phone number and address.

“Baltimore, Doctor Lecter?” Will whistles. Hannibal preferred it when Will called him Red Riding Hood, he is yet to use his given name in a conversation. Then he registers the meaning of the words.

“Is it too far away for a house call? I can come back here,” he says. “And call me Hannibal, please.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll be there. Quite a stroll you went on, Hannibal,” he remarks. No one ever pronounced his name more beautifully than Will. “We’ll take my car.”

Will lives in a picturesque area but the whole ride Hannibal focuses on stealing glances of Will’s concentrated face or the way he grips the steering wheel, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s getting covered in dog hair from the car chair. When they reach his Bentley, Hannibal extends his hand to Will for a shake because he needs to touch him again to make sure it was real.

“See you soon, Will.”

“See you, Hannibal.”

He doesn’t remember his way home. As soon as he enters his house, he grabs his pencils and sketches Will’s face, smiling and frowning; his hands, petting the dogs and holding a peach; the curve of his lips, his curls, his delicate neck. He goes to bed when the sky is pink with sunrise.

++

The day before Will’s visit is spent in torturous anticipation. Hannibal cleans his house twice, goes grocery shopping and doesn’t know what to buy for the first time in forever. He stares at the shelves blankly, obscuring the view of other customers, and is at a loss. What would Will like? What does he eat every day? Did he grow those peaches himself? Should Hannibal bake a peach tart or is it too trite? He pulls out his phone to call the man and ask him and realizes he hadn’t taken his number, his shoulders slump in defeat. He purchases several kinds of cheeses that will go well with the meat he cured himself, the freshest juiciest fruits and mentally runs through the whiskey collection he has at home. Maybe to cook an elaborate meal would be too much for the first time Will comes to his place. It is supposed to be a work visit anyway.

Hannibal lies in his bed before falling asleep and tries not to count seconds before he’ll see Will again. He needs to see him, to hear his voice, he doesn’t care what Will is going to talk about but he hopes he’ll say his name. He needs to smell him, when Will works on the chair, Hannibal can come close to him, pretending to look at the broken piece and inhale the intoxicating scent of his skin. Hannibal needs to touch him, he can offer his assistance in handing Will his tools and linger there, caressing his inner wrist, he can press his lips to the pulse point to express his gratitude. Hannibal grunts and palms his hardening cock, he has already begun to leak and soak his pants. If he had Will’s number, he could phone him right now and engage him in a conversation, just to hear his slightly distorted voice crackling through the speakers would be enough, Hannibal could challenge himself not to get caught masturbating, not to moan Will’s name right into his ear, being an hour and a half away. He starts stroking himself, his hand glides smoothly, he is so wet just from thinking about Will, how wet is he going to get when they fuck? Hannibal groans and sucks two fingers into his mouth. He needs to taste him, to lick him all over, put his tongue everywhere, he needs to know the flavor of his sweat and suck him dry. Hannibal grips himself tighter, focuses on pulling his foreskin over his cockhead, shoves the fingers deeper and bites the knuckles. He needs Will to bite him, to scar his body like he scarred his soul, he will wear it proudly, he will be his. Hannibal tastes blood and comes.

He looks at the ceiling for a long time after he’s caught his breath. This is an intense reaction, he only met the man once. They aren’t friends, there is little evidence they are heading in that direction, they exchanged handshakes one day ago in the woods and now Hannibal wants to tie his life to Will. He admits to himself that he tends to be dramatic and overreact but this has never happened before.

++

There is a knock at his front door at twelve on the dot. Hannibal checks himself in the mirror one last time and rights the open collar of his shirt.

“Hello, Will,” is all he manages.

“There’s a man hiding in your bushes,” Will says and gestures to Hannibal’s hedge. Will looks Hannibal up and down with a crease between his brows and peers over Hannibal’s shoulder into the house where soft music is playing. “Is it a bad time?”

“No, it’s perfect time,” Hannibal assures him and narrows his eyes, inspecting a silhouette that is barely visible at the edge of his front yard. He lifts his head and inhales deeply, he’s hit at first with Will’s divine earthy scent but a moment later he feels something greasy and saccharine. “Fuck,” he breathes out to rid himself of it.

“Is there a problem?” Will whispers.

Hannibal clasps Will’s wrist, drags him into the house and slams the door shut.

“He’s done it before, I was expecting him to show up again,” Hannibal says and takes Will’s coat.

“Uh, this is for you,” Will says and trusts a jar with whiskey and peaches in Hannibal’s hand, avoiding his eyes. “Is he your..?”

“Thank you, Will,” he says with a smile. “He is my patient.”

“Is he stalking you?” he asks as they move to the kitchen.

“You can say that. I’m working on referring him to a colleague,” Hannibal answers, he doesn’t want Franklyn to start following Will around as well. “I’ve prepared a light lunch, are you hungry?”

Will’s eyes widen when he takes in the table.

“Did you make all this? It looks wonderful,” he says as he inspects the food. Will picks up a melon wrapped in prosciutto and garnished with arugula and lift it to his parted lips, Hannibal is watching him hungrily, the man begins chewing and his eyes flutter closed. When he opens them, Hannibal sees a bright spark of satisfaction in his stormy irises, the corner of Will’s mouth curves in a smirk. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Hannibal,” he murmurs and takes another piece.

Hannibal’s pulse spikes, he feels something, some huge unnamable emotion, he regrets not making a steak, he suddenly wishes to see Will with a knife, sharp blade cutting into flesh. He joins Will at the table and they eat, talking about the day they spent apart, Will tells him funny stories about the dogs, Hannibal tells Will about all the shit Franklyn has done, Will chews more aggressively then. During their lunch Will tried a single cube of cheddar and stuck to the meats, Hannibal took note of that.

He leads Will into the study and to the broken rocking chair. The man inspects it thoroughly, running his fingers on the dark wood.

“I can’t fix it here, sorry, I’ll have to take it to my workshop. One rail needs to be replaced for sure, I see some cracks in several more places. The wood is beautiful and unique, it will take some time to match the new pieces, to treat them,” he trails off and looks up at Hannibal apologetically. All Hannibal hears is that he will have more time with Will, that suits him just fine.

“I defer to your expertise,” he says. “Do you need my help to put it in your truck?”

“No, thanks though,” Will smiles and picks up the chair. Hannibal would love to see Will’s muscles budge, he wonders if the man would throw him around and licks his lips.
Will caries the furniture to the front door, Hannibal opens it for him and sees roses, dozens of roses with their heads torn off, petals crushed and wilting, strewn around his porch.

“Oh. Fuck,” Will comments.

“I don’t even like roses,” Hannibal mutters. This has to stop, leaving trash near his house crosses the line of unspeakably rude.

“What do you like?” Will asks him as he kicks a rose with his boot.

“Carnations.”

“Red, like the Soviets?” he inquires with a small smile.

“Red, like the Soviets,” Hannibal confirms and smiles back sadly. “I think I should despise them for what the flowers represent, for what the people did to my family…” Will watches him intently and Hannibal realizes he went too far, he doesn’t want to talk about it now, or ever. He clears his throat.

Will looks around and shuts the door.

“Listen, I know you can defend yourself if something happens and I’m too far away to be here fast enough but call me or text me, any time,” he gestures for Hannibal to give him his phone, Hannibal does. “Or come over, I don’t know, if he does shit like this again. Or if you feel like it.”

Will hands the phone back and squeezes Hannibal’s forearm, Hannibal want to kiss him, the urge is astounding. He bites the inside of his cheek and nods. Will opens the door again and goes to his car to strap the chair securely, Hannibal trails behind.

“Thank you, Will,” he says when the man fastens his seatbelt.

“You can come in a couple of days to look at the progress. I can cook for you this time, it’s not going to be so fancy though,” Will offers. “I plan to go fishing, there’s a stream near my house so it’s going to be fresh, I can promise you that.”

“May I accompany you?”

“You want to go fishing with me?” Will asks disbelievingly. “It’s really boring, I don’t think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I will enjoy it immensely,” Hannibal counters, he can’t imagine anything more enjoyable than watching Will.

“I’ll head out at five, it’s a long drive for you,” the man protests again.

“I’ll be there,” Hannibal promises. Will looks at him and shakes his head slightly.

“Okay, be at mine at five on Friday if you love wasting your time so much,” he says and starts the car. “See you then, Hannibal.”

He stands outside until Will’s car disappears into the distance. He feels giddy, he can’t wait for Friday. Hannibal turns to his house and sees the roses again, he snarls. Franklyn’s days are numbered.

++

His spends Thursday morning trying to come up with something clever to text to Will. He has an idea to send him a photo of his breakfast but changes his mind, too odd, he doesn’t want to bother the man with something stupid if he’s busy. He eyes the jar Will brought him, Hannibal can’t show up empty-handed tomorrow but Will’s cooking, so it’s unnecessary to prepare a meal, he can make treats for the dogs however. He snatches his phone and asks Will what ingredients are safe to use, Will warns him not to spoil his dogs too much otherwise they’ll love Hannibal more than Will. Hannibal doubts it’s possible to love anyone more than Will, he refrains from texting this. He makes sausage links and thinks about his outfit, he wants to look good for Will but he doesn’t want to overdo it, he’s used to people being impressed by his expensive suits and tasteful watches, he wonders what Will is going to be impressed by. Maybe he should completely change his wardrobe and buy soft-looking plaid shirts the man seems to favor, he might enjoy taking them off Hannibal. He leans on the edge of the table and sighs. He didn’t use to be like this, he didn’t use to care to be pleasing for others beyond creating a façade palatable enough to be trust-worthy, not to draw suspicion. He wants Will to trust him, to see him, to love him. He wants Will to miss him, just like Hannibal misses Will. The last time he loved someone was decades ago, he was numb after Mischa was taken from him, he never fully recovered. He’s felt so much since he met Will, his senses are overwhelmed from disuse, he’s struggling to fit it all in his body, it seems too small for the intensity of the feeling. It squeezes his lungs, it suffocates him, his heart is beating in his throat and Hannibal fears he’s going to cough it up and drop it at Will’s feet the next time he opens his mouth. He didn’t know he lacked something, he couldn’t imagine it was another person. He thought himself immune to the antics of worrying about his hair, he looked down on people whose palms were sweating at the prospect of their crush paying them a bit of attention. He wants all of Will’s attention, he wants to be the center of it, he might wither and die if Will glances away.

++

He manages two hours of restless slumber, in his dreams he sees Will’s long lashes cast downwards and hears Will’s soft moans spilling from his bitten lips. He wakes up breathing hard and clutching the sheets tightly, there’s come on his stomach. He blinks several times and goes to shower. Hannibal brews coffee and pours in a thermos, dresses quickly and drives to Will.

It’s half past four when he parks his car near the house, the lights are on and he can see Will’s shadow moving around. He stays in the car and contemplates how much he’s going to disturb Will if he asks to come inside when the door opens and disheveled Will steps out on the porch. He waves his hand in greetings and motions for Hannibal to come in.

“Are you an early riser?” he asks.

“Generally,” Hannibal responds and follows Will into the kitchen.

“I’m out of coffee, would you like some tea?” Hannibal shows him the thermos and Will tilts his head up, closes his eyes and smiles. “Fuck, you’re an angel. Thank you.”

Hannibal bites his lip and smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. While Will looks for the mugs and pours them coffee, Hannibal gives his dogs the sausage he made, they wag their tails and push their noses into his palms. Will sits opposite him at the table, he is illuminated by the dim kitchen light, his face is pale, his curls are a mess, he’s wearing a threadbare T-shirt of an unidentifiable color. He is the most beautiful work of art Hannibal’s ever seen.

“Your house doesn’t suggest you’re a fan of fishing,” Will starts. “You strike me as the type to spend your time exchanging pretentious banalities with snotty people at the opera.”

Hannibal laughs.

“You’re correct in your assumptions,” he says. “I also spend my time holding obnoxious dinner parties for said snotty people.”

“And how often do you trespass?” Will asks. Hannibal tenses. “You were stealing my pine cones, this is how we met,” Will continues and quirks his lips.

“Oh, right. It was a first for me.”

“The woods of Maryland didn’t satisfy your gatherer spirit?”

“I wouldn’t know, I never went there. I’m not fond of the woods, they are cold,” Hannibal says and shivers.

“It’s okay, Hannibal. You don’t have to tell me,” Will speaks gently and takes Hannibal’s hand in his.

“How do you know there’s anything to tell?” he questions and caresses Will’s work-rough fingers.

“I have this thing, I can see people a little too well, the psychiatrists called it pure empathy,” he says and snorts. “They were running after me demanding interviews, demanding to study me and bullying me into giving consent to publish all kinds of bullshit articles about me. I bet some of them are the swine dining at your parties.”

Hannibal intertwines their fingers.

“I’m sorry, Will. Did you choose law enforcement because of your gift?”

“Gift,” Will rolls his eyes, Hannibal is in love. “I left because of it, saw too fucking much, I was sick of it. I know that my clients cheat on their spouses when they ask me to fix their beds but it’s not my job to find the mistress anymore.” He gets up and releases Hannibal’s hand. “I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

Hannibal arranges the blankets he brought from home on the stream bank, the dogs lie down, surrounding his legs and keeping him warm. He submerges his fingers into Winston’s soft fur and watches Will.

“My father taught me that to catch a fish, you must name the lure after something you really want,” Will comments as he puts a colorful bundle of feathers and pieces of wood on a hook.

“What did you name it?” Hannibal asks.

Will winks at him and casts a line. Winston huffs in annoyance when Hannibal tugs his fur a little too hard. Hannibal apologizes immediately and scratches behind the dog’s ear, Winston forgives him.

They return home several hours later and several big trouts richer. Hannibal offers his help cooking and Will agrees that Hannibal can be trusted with making a salad after a minute of back and forth. Will scales and fillets the fish, he is quick and efficient with a knife, Hannibal follows his movements keenly.

Hannibal notices a piano and asks Will if he plays, the man says he doesn’t and that it came with the house.

“Do you play?” Hannibal nods. “Will you teach me while the fish is in the oven?” Hannibal goes a bit dizzy with how enthusiastically he’s nodding.

They sit on the bench, Will slides close to him and puts his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Play me something first, please,” he says quietly and Hannibal needs several moments to collect himself.

The piano is out of tune and sounds atrocious, Will still compliments him. He asks Hannibal to guide his hands and Hannibal holds them gently when he moves them over the keys. Will hums along as they play, Hannibal’s skin erupts with goosebumps and he loses focus, the note is shrill and loud and wrong. He stops and looks at Will, he’s already looking at him. He disentangles one hand and cups Hannibal’s cheek, runs his thumb under Hannibal’s eye.

“Red really is your color,” Will whispers and smooths his hand down Hannibal’s neck, where his pulse is racing, hooks his fingers into the collar of his sweater and tugs him closer. Hannibal goes.

Will kisses him. He presses his lips to Hannibal’s tenderly at first, moves away for a split second and kisses him again, taking Hannibal’s bottom lip between his, releasing it and capturing his top one, then sucks it lightly. Hannibal gasps and Will licks into his mouth, caresses the tip of Hannibal’s tongue with his own, brushes it against Hannibal’s canine and groans. Hannibal winds his hand in Will’s hair and tilts his head, he kisses the man deeper, pulls him closer with his other hand circled around Will’s upper back. Will grabs his waist and Hannibal moans into his mouth, he strokes Will’s tongue and sucks it softly, Will lifts his sweater and undershirt and touches Hannibal’s bare skin, the contact makes Hannibal shiver. He sucks Will’s tongue harder, releases it and bites Will’s lip, Will moans and scratches Hannibal’s back. He pulls Will’s hair roughly and kisses under his jaw, scrapes his teeth along the column of his neck.

“Hannibal,” Will whines and tugs his sweater up.

The timer goes off.

“Are you hungry?” Hannibal asks and looks at Will.

“Fuck the fish,” he answers quickly.

“Fuck me,” Hannibal says.

They move to the bed after Will turns the oven off and resume kissing. Hannibal moves down Will’s body, divesting him of clothes and exploring Will with his lips and tongue. He leaves a faint pink lovebite on the base of Will’s neck and starts going lower when Will grabs his hair and stills him.

“More, bite me harder, leave me purple,” he pleads and Hannibal adorns Will’s throat and chest with vivid blooms.

He hugs Hannibal tightly and flips them over, sitting on top of him. Will takes off Hannibal’s clothes, lies on his stomach and spreads Hannibal’s thighs.

“May I return the favor?” he whispers into Hannibal’s skin.

“Please,” Hannibal whispers back and widens his legs more.

Will kisses his inner thigh first, then opens his mouth and bites down, hard. Hannibal’s back bows off the bed and he moans loudly. Will sucks the bite and clamps his teeth again, shakes his face gently with Hannibal’s flesh still in his mouth and unclenches his jaws.

“Fuck, I want to eat you whole,” he pants and sucks another violent bruise higher up Hannibal’s thigh. Hannibal fists his curls and thrashes on the sheets. Will progresses to Hannibal’s crotch, leaving indents and watercolor splotches on Hannibal’s skin, and nuzzles his pubic hair. “May I eat you out?” the man asks and kisses the base of his cock. “I’ll be gentle there, I’ll make it good for you.”

“Yeah, yes, please, Will,” he breathes out and bends his knees, he holds the backs of his thighs, hoists them up and spreads himself open. Will groans and kisses his rim boldly, lapping his hole and covering it in saliva that drips down his crack. “Fuck,” he grunts and closes his eyes.

“I’m so happy I finally found you,” Will mumbles and pushes the tip of his tongue inside, Hannibal shakes. He is rock hard and leaking profusely on his belly, Will sucks his rim and Hannibal takes himself in hand and starts stroking slowly. Will bats his hand away from his dick and replaces in with his own. “Mine,” he growls, fondles his foreskin, twists his wrist and shoves his tongue deeper inside. Hannibal’s moan is so loud he thinks he’s going to lose his voice by the end of this. “God, you sound so beautiful,” Will says and pushes his finger along with his tongue the next second.

“Will!” he yanks the man’s hair, he keens but doesn’t relent. Hannibal’s sweaty, his other palm keeps sliding on his skin. With Will’s tongue up his ass and his hand on his cock he’s going to come soon and he really wants Will’s dick inside him. “Will, ah, please,” he whines.

Will gives his hole one last filthy kiss and crawls to the bedside drawer. He bites Hannibal’s jaw on his way there and Hannibal shudders. Will takes a bottle of lube and a condom and settles back between his legs. He pets Hannibal’s hip when he slides inside slowly, he coats Hannibal thoroughly with lube and pumps his fingers, curls them up and brushes Hannibal’s prostate.

“Kiss me,” Hannibal mutters and beckons Will closer. He winds his arms around Will’s neck and strokes the roof of his mouth, Will groans and adds another finger. He can feel Will’s twitching cock smear precome on the crease of his thigh, he decides he’s prepared enough. “Come on, fuck me,” he mumbles into Will’s mouth.

Will extracts his fingers and slicks himself up with the remaining lube, then looks at the condom that lies next to Hannibal’s hip.

“Um, give me a moment,” he says and begins withdrawing but Hannibal traps him.

“I haven’t had sex in six months, my last test was three months ago, I’m clean,” he states and looks pointedly at Will.

“I haven’t had sex in years and my last test came negative.”

“Then have me,” Hannibal says and locks his ankles behind Will’s back.

Will places one hand near Hannibal’s head, takes the base of his cock in the other and begins pushing in. They both gasp as the head of his dick pops in and Will’s eyes roll back into his head.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, so hot,” Will pants out and drops on his forearm, Hannibal wastes no time to mouth at his neck. He thrusts deeper inside and shivers violently, pulls back a fraction and thrust again, going deeper with each shove, undulating his hips. “You’re so perfect, how are you so perfect?” he whispers into Hannibal’s ear and buries himself inside Hannibal to the hilt.

Hannibal doesn’t know the answer to that, he doesn’t have words for how fucking out of this world this feels. He hugs Will tighter to himself and kisses him desperately. He doesn’t have enough presence of mind to kiss Will with any sort of skill, it’s sloppy and wet, and when Will start gaining speed and fucking him harder, he can’t focus at all, he just moans and lets Will plunge his tongue into his mouth, bite his lips until he feels a metallic taste of blood. Will grips his hair and changes the angle a bit, he hits his prostate and his pelvis slams into Hannibal’s ass with lewd sounds, Hannibal screams and his throat feels raw, tears gather in the corners of his eyes and slide down his temples, Will licks them off and inhales deeply, running his nose along Hannibal’s hair line. Hannibal rakes his nails down Will’s back and grips his ass, urging him on, Will groans and bites his cartilage.

“It’s your own fault you wandered into my forest, Hannibal,” he says hotly and thrusts his tongue into Hannibal’s ear as he grinds the head of his cock against Hannibal’s prostate, Hannibal writhes on the bed from so much pleasure, he can’t get enough air into his lungs. “I’ll never let you go now,” he promises.

Will lifts one of Hannibal’s legs on his shoulder and clutches his ankle, he nips his heel, his instep and wiggles his tongue between Hannibal’s toes, never pausing his deep powerful thrusts. Hannibal fists the sheets and tosses his head back, his insides are on fire, his spine is tingling and his balls are drawn up. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

“Fuck, Will, I…” he doesn’t finish his sentence because Will sucks his toes and Hannibal is coming with a long raspy moan. Will groans with his mouth full and his movements turn frantic, he lasts several more rough pushes and orgasms. He lowers Hannibal’s leg gently on the mattress, lies next to Hannibal and pulls him into his arms. Hannibal goes, he feels boneless and used, he feels happy. He nuzzles into Will’s neck and tries to even his breathing as Will plays with the locks at the back of his head.

They lie like this for a long time, touching each other’s lips, caressing each other’s skin and looking into each other’s eyes. They don’t speak, they don’t need to, it seems this feeling surpasses words. Hannibal stares at Will in wonder as he strokes his collarbone, Will traces Hannibal’s back with a pad of his finger. Hannibal realizes he is writing something with it after several seconds and concentrates on deciphering it. Will smiles when he notices his face change and starts over. ‘I love you’ he scrawls, Hannibal gasps and opens his mouth to say something, Will doesn’t know who he let into his house, into his bed. Will shakes his head and traces more letters. ‘I see you.’ He looks at Hannibal meaningfully.

“Will,” he starts but has no idea how to continue.

“I know, Hannibal. I worked on your case during my time in the FBI, I learned everything there was to learn about you and then some. The first time I saw you I got this gut feeling, I just thought I was awestruck by how beautiful you are. I knew when I came to your house and tasted the meat.”

“And how did you know that?” Hannibal asks, still shocked. Will just lifts his brow.

“Take a wild guess,” he smiles and pecks Hannibal’s lips.

“If I had known you were hiding in this forest, I would have upturned every root to find you sooner,” Hannibal says and kisses him back. “I was so alone without you.”

“We are together now,” Will says and takes his hand. “Let’s go shower and eat.”

Will leads them into a small bathroom that has a toilet, a sink with a mirror and some cabinets and a bathtub. The shower curtain has little dogs on it and it makes Hannibal smile.

“I need to use the toilet, can I piss in front of you?” Will asks as he takes out two fluffy towels.

“You can piss on me as far as I’m concerned,” Hannibal responds. Will comes up behind him and rubs himself between his ass cheeks where he’s loose and leaking Will’s come.

“Careful, Hannibal, you’re giving me a lot of power, it might go to my head,” he says and scratches Hannibal’s neck with his beard, it tickles and Hannibal trembles slightly.

“I want it to, I mean it, Will.” He turns around in his embrace and kisses Will’s nose.

“Get in the tub then.”

They climb in together, holding each other for balance. The bathtub is cold and Hannibal curls his toes in discomfort. Will notices and turns on the water, guiding pleasantly hot stream to Hannibal’s feet to warm them up, Hannibal smiles in gratitude. Will looks at him seriously and Hannibal nods.

“Where can I mark you?” he whispers.

“Anywhere you wish.”

Will takes his cock and his urine hits Hannibal’s feet, he gasps and directs it higher, washing the faintly throbbing bruises on Hannibal’s thigh. Will darts his eyes to him, he looks reverent and stunned, Hannibal mouths a soundless ‘yes’ and Will soaks his pubic hair and his soft dick, he’s breathing raggedly when he stops. He plasters himself to Hannibal’s front, grabs the back of his neck and kisses him fervently, Hannibal clasps him tightly. This was what he sorely needed, this is what he craved, the belonging, the understanding and togetherness with someone like him.

Will washes him and shampoos his hair, giving his scalp a stellar massage. He glides his soaped up palms over Hannibal’s slippery skin and cleans every crevice lovingly. He pays special attention to his feet, rubbing his soles and each toe individually while Hannibal supports himself on the wall and enjoys the tender treatment.

When they finish and dry off, Will asks him to set the table. Hannibal arranges their food and raises his head when he hears Will come into the kitchen, he is carrying a ridiculously huge bouquet of red carnations in front of himself, their blossoms are blazing in the late afternoon sun. Hannibal’s jaw slacks and his eyes widen, he stares as Will puts the vase in the middle of the table.

“Oh my fucking god,” he utters under his breath.

“I’m glad you like them,” Will says and sits down, his eyes are twinkling.

Hannibal sits as well and reaches his hand to the flowers, tracing the soft petals carefully.

“I love you too,” he whispers and looks at Will, “though I think it was painfully obvious,” he adds.

“Stay here tonight,” Will pleads and brackets Hannibal’s ankle between his own under the table.

“Where else would I go?”

After lunch they go to Will’s workshop and Hannibal studies the man as he saws, polishes and carves wood. Will tells him that his skills of dismembering bodies came in handy when he left the FBI and started his current trade. He tells Hannibal who he kills and how he chooses them, who the first person was and how Will felt hunger finally ebb away when he consumed his liver. Hannibal listens and his heart contracts. In the evening, when the dogs roam around and they are drinking on the porch, Hannibal tells Will about his childhood, about his stomach sticking to his spine, about the nausea after he realized whose meat had allowed him not to die of starvation, how he wanted to vomit and scream but couldn’t stand the thought of parting with Mischa forever. He describes the freezing cold of Lithuanian forests to Will, how he couldn’t feel his limbs, how the blood of his captors crusted on his battered clothes. Will places him on his lap and kisses the tears away. They retire to bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

When Hannibal opens his eyes, it’s still dark and Will is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking outside the window. Hannibal didn’t feel him move away.

“Will?” he asks groggily.

“He’s just left,” Will answers and turns to Hannibal.

“Why didn’t you wake me? I’m going to fucking kill him,” he snarls and goes to get out of bed. Will catches his arm and makes him lie down again.

“There are several cameras he must have passed on his way here, if he disappears now, suddenly, they are going to find the footage and come for you,” he says calmly and pauses for a handful of seconds. “Which of your colleagues did you refer him to?”

“Frederic Chilton,” Hannibal responds and Will laughs.

“This cunt? Perfect, this is perfect,” he says still chuckling a bit and lets out a long sigh. “Leave this to me, please, I know what to do. Which piece of him do you want me to bring to the table?”

“Not a single part of his wretched body is going inside me,” Hannibal huffs.

Will slides closer to him and hugs him tightly. “Okay, let’s sleep now.”

++

Hannibal stays at Will’s house for three more days, three wonderful days filled with love, happiness and mind-blowing sex. He sucks Will off in the shower and Will is a panting, moaning writhing mess, he sounds so good, tastes even better, he tugs Hannibal’s hair roughly and presses Hannibal’s face to his pelvis until he can’t take a proper breath and his vision begins to swim, Hannibal comes without touching himself, his hands holding Will’s ass desperately not to let him pull away. Will drenches him in piss for his trouble right after that.

The first time he fucks Will, he screws his eyes shut and bites his lip hard not to finish the moment he sheathes himself in Will’s body. He grips Will’s hips and blanches his skin, begs him to go slow, the man just laughs on top of him and rides him vigorously, licks into Hannibal’s mouth and whimpers softly when Hannibal crushes him to himself, plants his feet on the bed and thrusts into him for literally three minutes before he crests. Will bounces on his dick to help him ride it out and jerks himself off frantically. When he comes, his semen lands on Hannibal’s chest, his chin and jaw, Will laps it all diligently and swallows.

Will repairs his rocking chair and they drive to Baltimore. Will leaves Hannibal and goes back to Wolf Trap, Hannibal needs to prepare to go back to his practice, to his patients, he doesn’t want to. He hates his empty house, the herbs in his dining room are dead now, he forgot he had them, the grass in Will’s yard is luscious and vibrant. He wanders around his home and can’t recall why he thought he needed it to be so spacious and organized, he watches his step not to bump into one of Will’s projects or disturb a sleeping dog but his way is clear, the floors are shiny. Instead of requesting his patients’ files from his colleagues, he emails them to inform them of his retirement. He texts Will and asks him whether he would like to see Florence, Will texts him back and asks if Il Mostro is going to make a comeback. Hannibal’s hands shake as he counts all the years he lost not knowing Will. Stupid, wasted, meaningless, painful, horrible years.

He researches the logistics of flying overseas with seven dogs and doesn’t hear from Will for several days. Franklyn doesn’t darken his doorstep either so Hannibal refrains from reaching out to Will, he’s busy. At some point an imposing man visits Hannibal; he introduces himself as Agent Crawford and asks him questions about his patients, about the reason for closing his practice, about his relationships with Dr. Chilton. He looks exhausted, there are bags under his eyes and he sounds like he doesn’t like to lose and take no for an answer. Hannibal offers him coffee, the man gives him a tired smile and accepts. As they drink, Crawford tells him that he’d been searching for the Chesapeake Ripper forever and thought he was close to catching him a couple of years back but his special agent Will Graham decided to quit suddenly and ruined everything. It turns out they don’t need Will Graham to get the job done, he says proudly. Hannibal hides his smirk in a cup.

Chilton is arrested and put into the mental hospital he used to be the tyrant of. Hannibal gives his condolences to Franklyn’s family after his closed casket funeral, packs his bags and drives to Will’s. He arrives at his house when the sun is setting, Will waits for him on the porch. Hannibal bolts to him, swoops him off the ground and kisses him deeply. Will wraps his legs around Hannibal’s waist and he carries him inside. He lays Will out on the bed and spends a long time just kissing him all over, leaving damp trails on his skin with his lips and tongue. He turns him on his stomach and opens Will slowly until he’s sobbing into the pillow and pushing his ass into Hannibal’s face. He fucks Will for hours, pressing him into the mattress, propping him up on his knees and barring Will’s back to his chest with his arm. He places Will on his back again, slicks his cock and sinks down on it, moving in slow increments. He didn’t stretch himself, it’s a tight squeeze, it burns a bit but it doesn’t matter because Will wails and thrashes on the sheets.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Hannibal,” he cries out and arches his back. He is otherworldly, overwhelmed and squirming, flushed pink with sweat running in rivulets on his skin. “I, ah, I’m gonna c…” he doesn’t finish his thought, he doesn’t need to because Hannibal is going to come in five seconds. His asshole is convulsing around Will’s cock as he orgasms and Will is openly crying when he spends himself inside Hannibal’s body.

Hannibal pleads Will to move to Italy with him, Will asks shyly if he can bring his dogs and promises they are all chipped.

“Of course, we’ll bring our dogs,” Hannibal says and rolls his eyes, Will kisses him softly.

They don’t sleep that night, too excited and full of hope for their future together. They make plans to sell their houses, Will says he’d already closed down his workshop and sorted out the last of his orders. Hannibal apologizes that he’ll have to leave the chair Will fixed behind, the man laughs and says he would build him a million chairs or that Hannibal could just sit on his lap all the time. Hannibal takes him up on the offer.