Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Where's your husband?"

Will glanced up, making eye contact with the plump, greying woman behind the counter, who was carefully placing his items in a paper bag. It wasn't a ridiculous question, Hannibal had been in here with him every time before, after all. He wasn't sure why- did he not trust Will to read a shopping list, or was it that he just wanted to spend as much time with him as possible? Will had a suspicion it was the latter.

"Job interview," he answered, grinning cheerfully.

"Finally settling down then, I see," she replied, her heavy accent making the words sound stilted.

"Yep. Honeymoon's over, I'm afraid."

"Oh, well I wouldn't be too sure about that." She pushed the bag over the counter into Will's waiting hands.

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well you're definitely still acting like you're on your honeymoon," she explained. "The way he looks at you." Her tone was wistful, and his eyes shot to her hand, where her ring finger was left bare. It took him a moment to register what she had said.

"Oh." It was a murmur, hidden under his breath to be barely heard. He knew, of course. He had noticed. Apparently, other people had too. "And how is that?"

"Like you're the only thing worth looking at," she replied almost cheekily. She had dimples, Will noted vaguely. "But that's the way it should be, of course," she said hastily, mistaking his absent expression for one of shock.

"Right, yeah," he mumbled. He knew that he could never truly revert back to the person he had been before Hannibal, but from the way he was speaking, monosyllabic and borderline rude, it was close enough.

"Anyway, have a nice day," she said brightly, noticing a customer approaching the counter. "I'll see you next week."

"Of course." He picked his tone up, making sure to come across as more amicable. There was no reason to be rude. Hannibal would be displeased. "Goodbye."

The cold, harsh winds of November bit at his skin as he exited the shop, but he didn't mind. It helped him think. He had avoided broaching the subject of Hannibal's feelings for him for a while now, despite his brief acceptance of them after the Dragon. But since Dolarhyde, since the cliff, since everything, there was really no reason to put it off anymore.

Hannibal loved him. Was in love with him. Of that, Will was certain.

It was in the small things. The way he'd catch Hannibal looking at him sometimes, his eyes falling on Will's mouth. The way Hannibal barely touched him, and when it inevitably happened by accident, his eyes would flutter closed and he'd almost cease breathing. The way he'd be at Will's side almost constantly, never letting him out of his sight, as if the next time he blinked Will would disappear.

Will had noticed; Hannibal wasn't exactly trying to hide it. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he just didn't care. Of that, Will wasn't certain at all. Hannibal was still a mystery to him in some ways, just like he always had been.

His own feelings were easier to decipher, however. He was in love with Hannibal; had been for a while. Not before he had been framed, of course- back then, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Hannibal had been Doctor Lecter, his friendly, albeit slightly eccentric psychiatrist. But after... well, that had been different. His own feelings had started growing, which he ignored, but he had never, in all the times they spent together, suspected of Hannibal's feelings for him. Seducing Hannibal Lecter into believing he was like him had been easy, (perhaps a little too easy, Will realised now), but love hadn't even factored as a possibility at the time. Friendship, that was what he'd been aiming for. But then he'd picked up the phone, with no clear goal of what he was going to say.

Hannibal's voice.

I love you, he'd thought.

"They know," he'd said.

And then Hannibal was crying, and he was bleeding and there was something. Something in Hannibal's heartbreak that was more. Much more than he had expected.

In true Will Graham fashion, he had ignored it, but for the first time in years, his buried theory reared its head as Bedelia continued to speak.

Love.

Could it be considered love, really? For Hannibal, it could. But Will had experienced love of the more normal kind, back before Hannibal. And once after Hannibal. Hannibal loved Will as wholly as he had loved his own sister, with only few slight variations. Will loved Hannibal more than he had ever loved anybody. But it was so consuming that it made him blind. He could barely think; barely breathe. He didn't even know how to define them.

There was no possible way to label what they had, not really. They travelled as husbands because it was easier. And probably because Hannibal wanted to. Will hadn't protested, just followed his lead. He didn't know if he could call what they had a relationship, even. Sharing a bed was the most they did on the topic of physical intimacy, and even then, they didn't really touch.

Why, though?

Will knew he wanted to kiss Hannibal. Knew Hannibal wanted to kiss him. So why had neither of them done anything?

His question had a half answer. He knew exactly why Hannibal hadn't done anything. He was worried about scaring Will off. In truth, he had nothing to worry about. Sexuality had never been something they discussed back in their sessions, and he'd only ever really had relationships with women, so he understood why Hannibal would assume he didn't want him. That was explainable. But why hadn't he kissed Hannibal? The only way their not-relationship would ever progress was if Will made the first move. Was he ready to do that?

His body had apparently already answered that question for him, because as soon as he entered their spacious apartment, he already felt an intense yearning to run to Hannibal. He would, in a minute. After putting the shopping away. Hannibal would kill him if he didn't. (Which was a lie, Will knew, because whatever had transpired in the past, Hannibal cared for him too deeply to ever kill him.)

It was a short walk from the apartment to the university, and looking at the time, it probably wouldn't be a long wait, either. He leant against a lamp post on the opposite side of the street, considering whether to download a shitty game onto his burner phone while he waited, but was stopped by the sight of Hannibal exiting the university. He glanced up, and completely by chance, locked eyes with Will. He froze, ending his walk abruptly and gazing at Will in shock. Will resisted the urge to wave.

"Will," he said in greeting, once he had regained control of his movement and crossed the road to meet him. "Is something wrong?"

"Why would you assume something was wrong?" Will asked, cheeky. Teasing.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"I guess I'm still full of surprises."

Hannibal huffed a laugh, but went silent when Will moved closer to him, brushing his fingers against his sleeve, almost touching the bare skin of his hand. Hannibal drew in a sharp breath and ducked his head in a display of uncharacteristic shyness once he realised what was going on. Will was flirting.

"I came here to ask if you wanted to go to lunch," he finally admitted, allowing Hannibal the truth.

"Lunch?" Hannibal repeated, disbelieving.

"I'm not insulting your cooking, if that's what you think," Will defended.

Hannibal chuckled. "I should hope not." At Will's grin, he continued, "did you have somewhere particular in mind?"

"I'll let you choose."

He smiled up at Hannibal, meeting his eyes, and this time their proximity was so great that it was impossible to miss the way Hannibal's lips parted, entranced, as his stare dropped to Will's mouth.

"There's a wonderful café just around the corner," he suggested, voice significantly raspier than it had been before.

"Let's go."

About halfway down the street, Will could resist the temptation no longer, and stretched his hand out to the side, intertwining his fingers with Hannibal's. His hands were the complete opposite of what Will had expected. Cold, clinical, steady. Instead, they were warm and enfolding, and Will wasn't sure if he was imagining the slight sweatiness of Hannibal's palms.

Hannibal's hand clung to his tightly in return, and his gaze rested on Will for the rest of the walk, shocked and blissful.

~*~

He was being dragged forward; upwards, being lifted onto solid ground.

He laid there, unmoving and aching for what felt like forever, until the haze clouding his mind began to clear. Turning onto his back and ignoring the sharp protests of pain in his body, he accustomed himself to his surroundings. Stars, scattering the deep black sky, and the moon, bright and shining. It was night time. The sound of lapping waves, splashing against the side of something. He was near the sea, most likely on a boat, from the way he seemed to be rocking with the waves. And...

Hannibal.

Hannibal; next to him, panting, still clutching Will's arm like an anchor to reality.

"Is this real?" Hannibal asked, desperate and hopeful. "Are you real?"

'It's beautiful,' he had said.

He had meant it. He still did.

"Yes. I'm real," he replied, staring up at the moon. "I'm here."

~*~

"So you think you got the job?"

The café was nice, not quite bustling with people but not empty, either. The atmosphere was calming; homely. Will liked it. Although, it wasn't as if he had doubted Hannibal's recommendation in the first place.

"Yes, I believe so."

"I mean, I have to be honest, how many people are they actually interviewing about lecturing on Dante? You're the only one, surely."

"I assure you, I'm not the only one. I am, however, the best one."

Will snorted into his coffee, and had to cough a few times to calm down. "You really are reaching new heights of arrogance, Hannibal."

Despite the content of what Will said, Hannibal preened at the use of his name. Will supposed, after all these years of being denied of it, he might as well preen.

"Is arrogant really a word you would use to describe me?"

"Yes."

He simply told the truth, and had no ill intentions behind saying what he believed Hannibal to be. Hannibal didn't reply, just tilted his head at Will, considering. Fascinated.

"When do you think you'll have to start working?" He questioned, sipping more of his coffee.

"January, when the new term begins. I assume I'll receive confirmation about the job sometime in December," Hannibal explained, and Will nodded dispiritedly in reply. "You disapprove," he observed, noting Will's determined disinterest in his answer.

"Yes," Will said, blunt as usual. "It hasn't even been three months since Dolarhyde, Hannibal. Give yourself some time to catch your breath, for Christ's sake."

"I assure you I'm perfectly fine to begin lecturing. Besides, it would've become strange for neither of us to work. Someone could've noticed."

"Not yet. You could've allowed yourself a little more time. I just think you're being irresponsible."

"It's fine, Will. I want to work again. It keeps me occupied."

Will understood the reference straight away. There were other means of keeping occupied- killing, for example. There wasn't a chance that Hannibal had meant sex, but it made sense that he would hint towards killing. He wouldn't push, but he'd ask, in his uniquely subtle way. They hadn't killed yet. Either of them. Killing Dolarhyde hadn't just been a changing experience for Will, it had affected Hannibal too. He wouldn't kill now, not without Will, even if that meant he never got to kill again. Will knew Hannibal would stop completely, if it was what he wanted. (He'd maybe do anything for Will, if he asked nicely.)

But Will didn't plan to ask him to stop. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Is my company not good enough?" He joked. Their conversation about that didn't have to take place now, especially not in public.

Hannibal's face softened. "Of course your company is good enough. I just-"

"I know. I get it." If Will were anyone else, Hannibal would've been annoyed about the interruption. Will wasn't just anyone, though, so Hannibal didn't say a word, and simply held his gaze across the table, his suffocating affection radiating through the air. Will could hardly stand it any longer. Loving, but not touching. "I actually, um. I'd like to talk to you about something later."

"Oh?" It was almost nervous. Hannibal didn't let it show, but Will knew him well enough to tell. "It can't be discussed now?"

"No," Will said firmly. "Later."

Hannibal nodded, but his anxiety did not seem to waver. Will slid his hand across the table, placing it over Hannibal's, which went still and tense at the first touch. Will looked up to see that Hannibal had shut his eyes, and his other hand was clenched tighter around his mug.

He didn't need his empathy to understand. Hannibal was falling in love all over again, but this time, with the benefits of reciprocation.

~*~

Dazed and delirious with pain, he sailed the boat for another hour, keeping land in sight at all times. Finally seeing buildings coming into view, he steered the ship up to land. Hannibal clambered to his feet, letting go of where he was tightly clutching his wound to help Will drag the boat up onto a small beach near the town. Was it a town? It could be a city. And Jack could be waiting for them there. He honestly had no idea what would be happening at the FBI right now.

By the time they broke into the nearest clinic, they were both seconds away from keeling over. Hannibal took a high dosage of painkillers immediately, but Will only took enough to make the pain less prominent. It meant his head was clear enough to help Hannibal stitch himself up, listening to his instructions on how tight to pull the thread. When it was his turn, Hannibal was well on the way to being completely high, and Will would be surprised about how much it made him talk if he wasn't still in shock.

"You truly are a magnificent creature, Will. My Will." It was one of many slurred praises from Hannibal's mouth that Will had to endure while his cheek and shoulder were tended to. "I knew it the moment I saw you."

"Love at first sight doesn't exist," he hissed through the pain, careful not to disturb his cut too much.

"So, you know," Hannibal said, pulling back and regarding him. "Bedelia told you."

"Yeah."

"I see." He went back to stitching Will's cheek, staying silent for a minute before finally speaking once more. "I'm afraid I have to disagree, my dear Will. Love at first sight is quite real." It was the vulnerability in his tone that made Will soften, and reach up, pressing his palm against the back of Hannibal's wrist. His hand stopped stitching Will's cheek, and he looked down at their touching skin, overcome. "I just hope you are."

~*~

They didn't talk straight away.

Most days they'd spend their time talking, some days just in companionable silence. Their conversations were always intellectually stimulating- their love for each other, while involving sexual and romantic elements, had stemmed from the mind, after all. The one thing they didn't talk about was them. Will thought it was about time they did.

He waited, right up until they were settling down to sleep, when he rolled over to the other side of the bed, laying his head against Hannibal's chest. Hannibal very nearly dropped the book he was holding.

"Will?"

"Hannibal."

"Will." His voice was impatient now; berating. Will laughed.

"I said I wanted to talk, didn't I?" He began tracing patterns with his fingertips on Hannibal's stomach, through his thin pyjama top.

"Does that require touching?" Hannibal didn't sound like he was inconvenienced, more amused. In fact, he also sounded quite breathless, and his heart had started to beat wildly under Will's ear.

"No." It would be the only answer Will would satisfy Hannibal with in that line of questioning. Time to change the subject. "Your heart is beating really fast." He turned his head, resting his chin on Hannibal's chest, so he could see him.

"I apologise. I cannot always seem to control my reactions around you." The admission came across almost embarrassed. At least, the closest to embarrassment that Hannibal could ever get. Will grinned.

"I've noticed," he teased, but it was momentary, before he slipped into a more serious tone. "I told you I wanted to talk."

"Yes, you did." Hannibal clenched his jaw, and finally looked away from Will, glancing to the ceiling. His voice was strained with something that could be interpreted as pain when he spoke again. "I'll stop, if you want me to. We don't have to do it again."

It took Will a second to understand what he meant. "Oh. I... No, Hannibal. No. That's not..." He sighed, struggling to find his words. "That wasn't what I wanted to talk about." Hannibal's eyes shot down to him again, surprised. "But we can, if it'd make you feel better. But if I'm honest, there isn't much to talk about. Not on that topic."

"There isn't?"

"No. It's simple. I want it again. I want that again."

Hannibal's breath left him in a rush, and his free hand, which had done such a good job of avoiding touch, came up to brush a curl out of Will's face, tucking it behind his ear. Will fought the urge to squirm away, blushing, but the hand fell away so quickly that he couldn't react.

"You really mean it?" Hannibal whispered, incredulous.

"Yeah. But only if you're careful. No dinner parties, no displaying anyone near here. Suspicion can't even begin to fall on us," he instructed.

"I know how to evade the law, believe it or not. I did it for years."

"You got caught, if I remember correctly."

"I surrendered," Hannibal amended. "Being locked away for three years had nothing to do with any incompetence in keeping a low profile."

"You made shitty cannibalism puns every time I came over for dinner," Will accused. "Your name rhymes with cannibal. I'm surprised nobody figured it out sooner." Hannibal laughed quietly, trying not to jostle Will too much. "And don't blame me for turning yourself in. That was all you."

"I suppose you're right," Hannibal said absentmindedly, gazing at Will with that same raw adoration as always. "Did you have plans to kill anyone soon?"

"Absolutely not," Will almost snapped. "We need to heal."

"Fine." Will supposed it was meant to sound long-suffering, but it just came out affectionate. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh, yeah. About us," he answered. "This."

"What about us?" Hannibal seemed to be torn between worry and curiosity.

"Do you want me, Hannibal?" It was blunt, much like Will usually was, but Hannibal looked completely stumped. He frowned down at Will, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to fuck me?"

The reality of the question eventually sunk in, and Hannibal simply stared at him, open-mouthed. Well, open-mouthed for Hannibal's standards. Which meant his mouth was hardly open at all. He would never lower himself to do such a thing, of course. It was clear that the question had been unexpected- Hannibal obviously hadn't thought he'd broach the subject of their sex life this soon, if at all.

"Nothing quite so crude," he finally muttered. His hands were determinedly not touching Will.

"Oh my god, you're such an old man. Let me rephrase: do you want to make love to me?" It was a joke, sort of. He was trying to lighten the mood, since Hannibal was so tense. But there was no instant, easy smile waiting for him- he had ventured too deep to receive any of Hannibal's usual calmness.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Indulge me. Please."

It was the plea that did it. Hannibal shuddered beneath Will, and breathed a tiny gasp of air.

"Yes. Of course I do."

"That's all I wanted to hear."

Will leant up, pressing his palm to where his chin had been, steadying himself as he drew closer to Hannibal's face. Hannibal stiffened, his breath catching. His eyes were locked on Will's mouth, and he seemed helpless to stop the whimper he released when Will pressed their lips together. Will heard the unmistakeable sound of the book hitting the floor, but Hannibal's hands still didn't come up to touch him. It was not what he had expected for their first kiss. In his fantasies there had always been blood, always been pain. He had never imagined it would be so domestic, so familiar.

Hannibal's heart was still hammering under his hand, and he was trembling weakly by the time Will pulled away. The mystery of where his hands had been was solved when Will noticed they were clenched tight in the bedsheets. It had been nothing more than a short touch of lips, but it was enough, for now. But it had also been enough to undo Hannibal completely. Eyes wet and fond, he stared at Will.

"Will," he whispered.

"I know."

He turned over, facing away from Hannibal and returning to the distance they kept every other night. The kiss, while a first try in being with each other sexually, had also been an invitation. You can touch me, it said.

But Hannibal didn't touch him.

He just switched the bedside lamp off and stayed on his respective side of the bed, barely making a sound, not moving an inch. It wasn't until Will was far enough on the path to sleep that he looked sufficiently convincing, his breathing even and his posture relaxed, that Hannibal finally spoke.

"Oh, my darling," he said, and Will could feel his heavy stare resting on him like a brand. "I love you so."

~*~

Once they had finally gotten the boat out onto open sea, Hannibal was just about ready to pass out. Will helped him below deck, and Hannibal collapsed on the bed, watching, heavy-lidded and passive as Will helped him out of his shirt.

"Whose boat is this?" Will asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Mine. I bought it shortly after everything that happened with Randall Tier."

"Oh."

This boat had been meant for them. For all of them. Hannibal, Will, and Abigail. It left him with a lump in his throat and thick guilt settling in his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he eventually said, partly just because he wanted to break the silence. "Sometimes I wonder where we'd be right now, if I had decided to go with you that night."

"Does your wondering satisfy you?"

"No. It always just leaves me feeling empty." He took off Hannibal's pants and underwear, decidedly not looking down, and stood to retrieve something clean from a chest of drawers. "I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. We're here now. Together," he said, sitting down on the bed again.

Hannibal didn't reply, just looked at him during the entire process of being redressed, awed, and cupped his cheek when he finished, forcing his gaze to focus on him.

"You are exquisite, Will Graham," he stated, voice soft but fervent. He was completely fixated on Will, utterly mesmerised, unable to look away. "So lovely. So wonderful."

"Okay, Hannibal. You need to sleep." He gently pushed Hannibal back onto the bed, pulling the duvet over him and practically tucking him in.

"There is a bedroom next door. It was supposed to be Abigail's. I suppose it's yours now."

I don't want it, he thought.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."

Hannibal's face lit up, endlessly smitten, his smile like the sun emerging from parting clouds. He grasped one of Will's hands between his, winding their fingers together, trapping him in his intoxicating, enveloping love. Bringing Will's hand up to his face, he brushed his lips against his knuckles, the imitation of a kiss.

"I adore you," Hannibal murmured, skating the precipice of sleep, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, just so he could still see Will. His voice broke when he spoke again. "Please don't ever leave me."

"I won't," Will promised, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. "I won't."

Hannibal finally fell asleep, mere minutes later, tears still wet on his cheeks. Will stayed until morning.

~*~

The kiss wasn't mentioned the next day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Will waited patiently for Hannibal to say something, to do something, but things stayed much the same between them. Hannibal still didn't seem comfortable with touching him- the only small difference in his behaviour was how he would stand minutely closer. Even then, it was almost imperceptible.

Will woke one morning to an unusual sight. Hannibal, asleep. Excluding their days on the ship, Hannibal always rose before Will. These days he would either wake to the smell of breakfast drifting through to the bedroom or Hannibal's eyes on him as he slipped into consciousness. It was a comforting repetitiveness, that had now been broken, completely by accident. Warm and content in bed, Will allowed himself a moment to study Hannibal; the sharp juts of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the slight purse of his lips that still remained, even in sleep. His hair was getting longer, growing more similar to the length it used to be before he had been arrested, and it now laid mussed against his forehead. He looked more unguarded than Will had ever seen him, and heart pumping painfully, he couldn't help but drag his thumb across Hannibal's cheek, feather-light. He shifted, and Will froze. But he didn't wake, and just carried on sleeping peacefully, unaware. Will had to force himself to look away.

It took Hannibal at least an hour to wake up, and he finally announced his presence as Will was halfway through making breakfast.

"Will," he heard breathed behind him, and spun around to see Hannibal in the doorway. He had been completely silent, as usual, and Will hadn't heard him approaching.

"Morning," he greeted, smiling, and turned back to where he was pouring pancake batter into a frying pan.

Hannibal stood, frozen and silent for a good few minutes, before he finally walked into the kitchen and went to sit at the counter, opposite Will. "You weren't there when I woke up. I was worried," he murmured, unsure, not meeting Will's eyes for once.

Will paused. "Sorry," he said. "You were asleep, and I was hungry, so I just..."

"I understand."

"I'm not leaving." It was the resolute finality in his voice that made Hannibal lift his gaze from the table, surprised and grateful. "Do you want pancakes?"

"Yes please."

When the pancakes were ready, and they started to eat, it struck Will what a strange sight it was. Hannibal looked so human, sitting there in his pyjamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes and tucking into Will's homemade pancakes. He bit back an incredulous giggle, trying to focus on his breakfast.

"These are delightful, Will. Thank you," Hannibal complimented, beaming at him.

"Oh come on, Hannibal. They're not that great."

"But they are yours."

Will was defenceless against the blush that crawled up his neck, his cheeks going hot, so he tore his eyes away from Hannibal, hiding his face. Oh. Was Hannibal flirting with him now? He didn't know for sure- it was just the way he acted around Will nowadays; open and sincere. Sighing, he dropped his fork, and leant over the table, grabbing Hannibal by the material of his top and pushing their mouths together.

Hannibal gasped, raising a shaky hand to cup Will's jaw while he licked into his mouth, kissing the syrup from his lips. It was not the hesitant first kiss of the other night, Will would actually place it more on the spectrum of making out, which seemed absurd for someone like Hannibal. He threaded his fingers through Hannibal's soft hair, gripping him for support as he eventually pulled away.

He almost didn't want to carry on eating, as it would take the taste of Hannibal from his mouth, but he was too hungry to resist. Hannibal seemed fairly torn too, and sat, unmoving, the weight of his gaze still on Will.

"You okay?" Will asked.

Hannibal nodded jerkily, his breathing still heavy.

He barely looked away from Will for the rest of the day.

~*~

Hannibal didn't stagger onto the top deck until well past midday. When he did, he was so unsteady on his feet that Will had to stop him from falling over, and Hannibal's arms wound their way around his waist automatically. He looked at Will, surprised.

"Did you take more painkillers?" Will asked.

"Yes," Hannibal replied. "Thought you'd left," he mumbled, pressing his face into Will's neck, inhaling deeply.

"We're in the middle of the ocean. How would I leave?"

"Don't know. You'd find a way. You always do."

Will sighed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"As am I," Hannibal replied. "For every time I ever hurt you." He swayed against Will, dangerously close to toppling over, but clutched him tighter, keeping himself upright.

"It's okay. I forgive you," Will whispered, and returned the hug Hannibal was giving him, gathering him into his arms and squeezing. He could have this. He wanted this.

Hannibal started to sniffle, the strength of his devotion almost unable to handle Will's requital. His tears were warm and wet on Will's throat, and he sagged against him, giving himself over entirely. Will held him as he wept, until the sun began to disappear over the horizon.

~*~

Moving past kissing was daunting.

He almost felt like a teenager again; they were tiptoeing around each other, both of them too scared to make the next move. Not only were they grown men, but they were both killers, both cannibals. And they couldn't even gather up the courage to kiss each each other.

In the end, it was all Hannibal's fault.

He was cooking, which wasn't unusual. Will was watching him, which wasn't unusual either. He had always enjoyed watching Hannibal cook; the broad set of his shoulders, the smooth line of his spine, the way he moved. In the kitchen, Hannibal was in his element. Will suspected it was one of the most treasured rooms in his mind palace. So watching Hannibal cook wasn't a strange sight for him, nor was it one he disliked; he had relished the memory of it long before he even realised there was sexual attraction involved. But this time, it hit him how different it was watching him now, compared to watching him then. Because this time, he could touch.

He waited until they had finished eating- he wasn't cruel, he knew how much Hannibal loved food- but it made dinner an almost nostalgic affair, as he could vividly recall the times before when they had sat opposite each other, eating, the air heavily laden with sexual tension. As soon as Hannibal had put their plates in their sink, Will was up like a shot, spinning him around and crowding him against the counter.

"What are you-"

Will cut him off with a desperate kiss, pressing their bodies together clutching his waist tightly.

"Will, I really should..." Will mouthed his jaw, then further down, to his neck, and Hannibal groaned. "The plates."

"Wash them up tomorrow."

Please, Will thought, let's have this.

Hannibal moaned as Will's teeth brushed his jugular, and he arched against him, involuntary. Will kissed him again, and this time, he kissed back, all tongue and teeth, all frantic hope.

But still, Hannibal hardly touched him. His hands rested on Will's hips, but they were almost limp. Will, frustrated beyond belief, searched past his carefully maintained facade, tried to see past his mask. His person suit, Bedelia's voice told him, mocking.

And oh.

Floodgates opened to bittersweet longing and pure, unconditional tenderness. Years and years of yearning. Hannibal wanted him so much, and had wanted him for so long, needed him, really. His heart had been split in half by Will's rejection, and even now, it wasn't entirely mended- healing took time.

But Bedelia's question had an answer. Will ached for him.

"Touch me," he gasped. "Hannibal, please. Touch me," he begged.

That was all it took, apparently. Will, begging. Hannibal would do anything that Will asked of him, after all.

(He would, perhaps, try to pluck the moon from the very sky if it was what Will wanted).

His hands were everywhere all of a sudden, roaming over Will's waist, his chest, his shoulders, falling down to grip his ass. It felt so good it almost hurt, and Will knew it was probably one of the better decisions he had made in the last few months. They both needed this. Hannibal, it seemed, especially. There was no skill, no calculated movement in the way he was touching Will, insane with desire; there was no control like Will had expected there to be, like there was in almost every other thing he did. He simply fell to pieces wherever Will was involved, and there wasn't anything different when it came to this.

Hannibal didn't stop kissing him for a second, even as he snatched back one of his hands, moving it to the front of Will's pants and dipping it below the waistband. Electricity sparked from the simple brush of fingers against his cock, and he gasped, swaying even closer towards Hannibal. And then Hannibal's hand was wrapped around his cock fully, jerking him off in short, sharp strokes and his mind was suddenly blissfully clear from the pleasure, as he pulled his lips away from the kiss, resting their foreheads together.

He watched Hannibal the whole time, who was panting like it was the other way around and he was the one with a hand on his dick. Will could feel him, hard against his hip and occasionally making small, aborted movements to thrust forward, but he still stayed fairly subdued. Had he not understood what Will had said meant consent? Did he not want to do this? No, that couldn't be right, he looked completely intoxicated.

A particularly hard tug had Will's head reeling, and he realised his mind had quickly derailed from being clear. It didn't matter now, though, as he was steadily nearing the edge with every drag of Hannibal's hand.

"Hannibal," he moaned. "I'm-"

"I know." Hannibal's teeth were gritted. His voice was rougher than Will had ever heard it. "Will."

That was how Will came, hot and hard and messy all over Hannibal's hand and shirt, wheezing for breath. He clutched blindly at shoulders in front of him, trying to stay upright. His heart was pounding. But then Hannibal's body was gone, as was Will's support, and he fell against the kitchen counter. With no energy to turn around, he had to rely on sound. For once, Hannibal wasn't actually being silent as he walked, and Will heard him dart into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Will sighed. He had tried. He just had to try again.

And try he did.

One too many glasses of wine at dinner followed by a few fingers of whiskey didn't do wonders for sobriety, so he wasn't surprised when a few days later he ended up getting drunk enough to make another move. Hannibal was already lying in bed, getting prepared to turn the light off as Will wandered into the bedroom, plan already forming in his head. He didn't give Hannibal the chance to even reach the lamp, before he was straddling his lap and pushing his back against the headboard.

A choked noise wormed it's way from Hannibal's throat as Will slid down, further and further until his face was in line with Hannibal's cock.

"Hey," Will said, looking up at Hannibal and fighting back a giggle that threatened to bubble up.

"Hello, Will."

He tried not to grin, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Hannibal's cock, which was hard so fast that Hannibal must've been dizzy with the sudden rush of blood.

"Let me touch you," he pleaded.

Hannibal didn't protest.

Hitching up the bottom of his top, Will lifted his mouth to Hannibal's hipbone, and sucked a bruise into his skin, marking him. Surprisingly, Hannibal didn't seem to mind, and instead, bucked his hips up against Will.

"Will, wait," he gasped.

"Mmmmm, what?"

"You're drunk."

"So?"

His hands skimmed Hannibal's torso, mapping out the smooth plane of his skin, the occasional ridge of a scar. Hannibal's cock was leaking already, dampening the front of his pants, becoming tougher to ignore. Oh, how Will wanted to see it.

"I don't want to touch you when you're like this," Hannibal managed to bite out. He sounded seconds away from losing control completely, and excitement sparked inside Will like a flame, burning through his whole body, hotter than whiskey.

"Really? I guess we're different, then. I want to touch you all the time." He smirked at the reaction it produced- he could swear he felt Hannibal's cock actually throb, even though the fabric of his pants.

"Behave, Will."

"Make me."

Curling his hands around Hannibal's waistband, Will pressed his lips just below his navel and made to yank his pants down, but was stopped by a hand grabbing him by his collar and shoving him off.

"No," Hannibal insisted.

He tumbled off the bed, not even bothering to be graceful, and staggered into the bathroom, slamming the door shut straight away. Will listened hungrily to the slick drag of his hand started almost instantly, and to the desperate moan that escaped his lips mere seconds after. The noises ceased, but the door didn't open. He supposed it was lucky that they had an adjoining bathroom, as Hannibal had very nearly come right there, before Will had even gotten his pants down.

He wasn't far from being in the same state, he realised belatedly. He had wanted Hannibal more than he even thought possible in that moment, when he was weak beneath Will's hands, at his mercy. It was ridiculous, the restraint they were both showing when it came to sex- the moments they had shared together, more intense and charged than anything he had ever experienced in his life, and suddenly he wasn't allowed to suck Hannibal off? As if sex would really change their relationship much? They both wanted it. They deserved it, even.

He tried to stay indignant, but drunkenness eventually took over and he fell asleep before Hannibal came back to bed, still hard and aching.

~*~

"You don't seem angry."

"Why would I be angry?"

The sun had risen again, and set once more. And so on. Will had lost track of the days.

"I tried to kill you," he said, sitting down next to Hannibal.

"Yes," Hannibal replied, impassive. "But then, you've done that before."

"And you were never angry?"

"Not once."

"Why?"

Hannibal looked at him. Truly looked at him, like he always had, like nobody had ever looked at him before. He tilted his head, considering his words.

"Because I'm in love with you," he declared. "Which you already know."

Will relinquished eye contact, sighing. The haze of drugs between them had worn off a few days ago, but it still lingered in the less potent painkillers, keeping their tongues a little looser than they would usually be. He wanted to complain, he wanted to say he didn't like it, but truthfully... he did. He valued Hannibal's love. Welcomed it, even.

"It wasn't out of malice," he admitted, ignoring Hannibal's confession on purpose. "Throwing us off that cliff."

"So what was it?"

"The perfect ending."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I meant it. What I said." Hannibal threw him a questioning look. "It was beautiful," he added in explanation. "And throwing us into the sea wasn't some ridiculous murder-suicide I thought up, I wasn't feeling angry. I felt peaceful; fulfilled. Killing us, it was... poetic." With a huffed laugh, he couldn't help but speak once more. "It was my design."

The gentle joy in Hannibal's expression made Will breathless. "Water can sometimes represent a rebirth," he suggested.

"No. No, I was reborn a long time ago. I just wasn't ready to admit it, or ready to embrace it. It wasn't a rebirth." Will stared out at the sea. The sun shone off the water, skipping across the waves. Its beauty still had nothing on Hannibal. "It was a crucible."

"Purification." He was beaming at Will, and stretched his hand out slightly, before deciding against it and pulling it back. Their fingers had been centimetres from brushing. "Cleansing you of your past life. Separating you from the old Will Graham."

"Sort of."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Hannibal seemingly just basking in Will's presence. Will's hands balled into fists at the effort to not touch him. Eventually, he couldn't resist, and hauling himself to his feet, he offered Hannibal a hand, who accepted gladly, holding his side tenderly as he stood.

"Do you have a destination in mind?" Will asked, choosing to fill the weighted quietness between them.

"France."

~*~

"You're back."

Hannibal was on the couch when Will returned, holding his sketchbook open with a pencil poised in the air. He looked surprised to see him.

"I told you I wasn't leaving, didn't I?" He walked further into the apartment, carefully placing a large paper bag on the floor, by the door.

Hannibal's nostrils flared. "Have you been to the butchers?" He asked.

"Yes," Will answered tersely, and walked over to him in a few short strides, leaning over his sketchbook to kiss him. To distract him.

Hannibal smiled into the kiss, allowing himself to twist a few fingers into the hem of Will's shirt with his empty hand, demure. He bent his legs up when Will pulled away, giving him room to sit down, and Will patted his knee gratefully, sinking onto the couch.

"May I see?" He asked, with a nod to the sketchbook.

"Oh." Hannibal shifted, almost uncomfortable. "Of course."

Will frowned at his hesitation, but dismissed it as he handed over his sketchbook willingly.

On the open page, was a picture of Will. Except that it wasn't Will, it couldn't be Will- he didn't look like that. Hannibal had drawn him bright-eyed and smiling, a dark dusting of stubble over his jaw and a mess of unruly curls. The man in the drawing was one of immeasurable beauty. Was this really how Hannibal saw him? There was no possible way to stop himself from flicking back through the sketchbook, his curiosity climbing. Each page held undeniable emotion. There were drawings of scenery- a few of Florence, one or two of Hannibal's childhood home, a couple of what Will recognised to be Vienna. But mostly, the sketches were of him, and every line on the paper was filled with the utmost affection. He seemed so delicate, like some holy, precious jewel, with his pretty lips and long eyelashes, a smile always curving his mouth.

But then, he reached the first page.

It was him, but this time, he was recognisable. Blood splattered across his face, coating his cheeks. Murder, alight in his dark eyes. It was unmistakable- this had been the night they killed the Dragon. This had been what he looked like.

Closing the sketchbook, he put it aside, and sighed.

"You draw me. A lot."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I cherish you greatly, Will. More than you could ever comprehend."

More than you could ever comprehend. It provoked something in Will, and he sat up straighter. "Stand up," he demanded.

Hannibal complied immediately, only looking confused as a second thought.

"Go over to the bag."

"Will?"

"Do it," he ordered, and Hannibal did as he was told. "Bring it over to the coffee table. Look inside."

Once closer to the meat, Hannibal's bewildered expression began to falter to one of hopeful understanding.

"What kind of meat is it?" He asked, voice raw.

"I think you know."

"My nose is out of practice."

"It's long pig," Will said, reminiscent of the answer he had given once before, all those years ago. "Teacher at the primary school. He was a pedophile."

"What did you do with the rest of him?" Hannibal asked, but he was distracted, staring at Will, adoring.

"Buried him. It's dark out and there was nobody around."

Hannibal nodded, glancing back down to the bag and picking it up, carrying it into the kitchen. Will followed, leaning against the doorframe and watching as he stowed it away in the freezer.

"I love you, you know," Will said, and Hannibal's hands slipped as he went to close the freezer.

"What?" He breathed, and Will laughed fondly at him, coming over to shut the freezer door.

"I love you."

Hannibal looked lost for a few moments, before what Will said finally registered with him. Wetness sprang to his eyes, and he took a nervous step forward, closer to Will.

"Do you mean it?" His voice was thick, his words choked up.

"Yes."

Hannibal burst into tears.

His arms stretched out blindly, seeking, and Will pulled him into a hug a soon as he realised what he wanted, cradling him like a child, like a fragile teacup. Hannibal cried against his neck, holding him so tightly that Will feared he might break. Hannibal held him like he was smoke, like he was seconds away from slipping through his fingers and becoming lost forever. But Will was not smoke. He was dust, settled and solid and remaining; eternal.

It had always been gentle touch, simple touch, that could undo Hannibal. He responded to roughness with equal strength, but with tenderness, the man seemed to just fall apart.

"Will," he sobbed.

Will shushed him, tried to calm him, before lifting his head up. He kissed the tears from Hannibal's cheeks, cupping his face.

"Oh, Hannibal," he said, half fond, half exasperated.

He leant forward, sealing their lips together and moving his hands back down to cradle him again. Hannibal uttered broken gasp at the kiss, returning it with muted enthusiasm, clinging to Will's shoulders like a clutch for stability. Tears were still falling from his eyes as their mouths moved together, progressively becoming more passionate. It was after the first moan threatened to escape him that Will pulled back, reluctant but determined, and this time, he didn't wipe Hannibal's tears away. He grasped Hannibal's hand and led them to the bedroom instead, where he spun them around and pushed him back onto the bed, climbing up to straddle him.

He tugged Hannibal toward him roughly, clashing their mouths together again, but with much more force. He was hard, a slow simmering fire burning in his veins, roaring in his ears, clamouring for attention but still ignorable. Hannibal seemed to be in much the same way, whining as Will dug his hands into his hips and bit down on his lip.

"Shit," Will hissed, realising something as his hands went to fumble at Hannibal's pants. "We need lube."

"Second drawer," Hannibal instructed breathlessly.

Will cocked his head. "Why do you have lube?"

"Being with you recently has been... frustrating."

He barked a sharp laugh as he pulled out the drawer and snatched up the lube, equally aroused and amused by the idea of Hannibal jerking off because of him. "Would you be annoyed if I told you that was my intention?" He teased, pushing his hands up under Hannibal's now untucked shirt.

"You could never annoy me," Hannibal declared, gazing at Will, a wet sheen of fondness in his eyes. It was cloyingly sweet, the reverence he treated Will with, sometimes. All the time, actually. But Will would be lying if he said he didn't revel in it.

"We'll see. We've only been living together a few months." He grinned as he nosed along Hannibal's throat, placing kisses there. "It's almost winter, so you should probably know I tend to put my cold feet on people."

Deliriously happy, Hannibal laughed; loud and surprised and so, so in love. "I'm sure I will find it in myself to forgive you," he said, allowing Will to pull his shirt off, running his hands curiously down his chest.

"Like I said, we'll see."

And then he was kissing Hannibal again, and clothes were flying off, landing haphazardly on the floor, surrounding them. Will rolled them over, spinning onto his back and dragging Hannibal with him, who in a strange display of inexperience, didn't seem to know what to do with himself. His hips would buck too hard or his hands would clutch too tight, his kisses were over-eager and almost sloppy, but it was all out of his control. Will nearly felt bad for him- being the embodiment of composure, it must've been embarrassing to be undone so completely. But then again, Will had always had the ability to undo him like this, so it wasn't exactly a new development.

Hannibal's hips arched sharply when their cocks came into contact with each other, and he leant down to enthusiastically crush their mouths together, like he was a dying man and Will was his only source of air. He could barely concentrate when he pressed his fingers inside Will, whispering weepy endearments into his ear, drunk off their shared pleasure.

"You are breathtaking, my beloved boy," he murmured through panted breaths as he finally pushed inside Will. "What we will do together, it will be of unparalleled beauty, and you will be glorious. More glorious than you already are."

Will just clawed at his back, speechless with blissful agony. "Hannibal," he croaked out, with no intent other than to say his name. The burning in his veins had morphed into a storming wildfire, igniting him from his head to his toes. It burnt bright and hot, lasting. "Tell me," he groaned when he found his voice properly. "Tell me how long you've wanted this."

"Since the moment I laid eyes on you." Will knew, of course he knew, he just had to hear it. "Since forever."

"Did you think about this? Did you think about this while you touched yourself?" Hannibal bit his lip, his eyes screwed shut, and nodded. "Did you think about this while you fucked Alana? While you fucked Bedelia?"

"Yes, Will yes, every time," he babbled, and gasped, ceasing his movements all of a sudden. Will looked down to see him half pulled out, a hand clenched tight around the base of his cock. "Sorry," he muttered after a few moments of catching his breath, beginning to move again, slowly.

Will shook his head dismissively at the apology. "Tell me," he ordered.

"Pretended they were you," he admitted, the last word trailing into a moan. "I thought about you, every time. If I were a lesser man, I perhaps would've let your name slip."

"But you didn't."

"Nearly. I had a few close calls."

"You can say my name now."

"Will, oh, Will," Hannibal stuttered, voice breaking, his hair flopping over his forehead, swaying with every thrust. "You can't... You don't know. How much I wanted-"

"I do. I wanted it too," he confessed, moving back against Hannibal desperately.

"I've never wanted anything like it before. I..." Hannibal broke off with a deep groan, arms beginning to shake. "I missed you dreadfully."

"I missed you too."

"You misunderstand. I missed you in Florence and in prison, but it was different. I knew you'd come looking. And there were... other feelings."

"Heartbreak."

"Yes," he agreed. "I meant to say I missed you when I was with Alana."

Will didn't speak, momentarily confused. Heavy breathing and the slick sounds of their bodies were the only noises in the room while he made sense of what Hannibal said.

"You... missed me?"

"I used to stare at your empty chair during your appointment slot."

He made a breathy sound, halfway between a giggle and a groan, winding his hand up to clutch Hannibal's hair. "I didn't know you were so sentimental."

Hannibal whimpered as Will pulled him closer, and dropped his head down to kiss Will's collarbone. "Neither did I. I originally intended for you to spend much longer in prison, but I yearned for you too terribly."

"You're such a fucking drama queen."

He used the hand tangled in Hannibal's hair to drag him up for a messy kiss, hot and urgent. Hannibal returned it with equal ferocity, and Will could feel a familiar tightness coiling in his stomach, faint and building, but there. Hannibal hadn't offered his hand yet, so Will was rubbing off on his stomach, the only friction available. It would be enough. Hannibal tore his mouth away from Will's to press it against the side of his head, nuzzling his temple. He inhaled deeply into Will's sweaty curls, and released a muffled moan.

"Do I smell good?" Will asked.

"Delightful, actually."

"Good enough to eat?"

"Hm." He lifted his head to look at Will, feigning contemplation. "Too good to eat, I think."

"That's a first."

Hannibal grinned, wobbly with arousal, before it derailed into another moan as he snapped his hips forward sharply. Will met his thrusts greedily, arching his back and whining, writhing against Hannibal, worthy of a porn star. He didn't suspect Hannibal had watched much porn in his life, but it seemed to do something for him anyway, as his moaning was getting more frequent and his thrusts were becoming less steady.

"Ah," he hissed, slowing to a stop once more, moving to pull back.

"Don't you dare," Will warned. "Get back inside me."

"But I'll come," he protested, voice trembling.

"Good."

He groaned and pushed back into Will, fucking him in abandon and making his toes curl in pleasure, bringing him right to the edge. His whole body was screaming out for release, but Hannibal must've been fucking gasping for it. It had been three years since he had ever come properly, inside someone else, and Will could hardly contain his excitement at getting to see it, cause it. He hung on long enough to watch Hannibal's face contort in ecstasy and hear him cry out Will's name before he was coming too, jerking his hips up against Hannibal's stomach, one hand wound in his hair and the other clasped over his back.

He slumped back onto the bed, boneless, suffocated by a blissful haze that he couldn't have fought through even if he wanted to. He just lay, savouring the feeling of absolute peacefulness.

But it didn't last long. He came back to himself slowly, and absently registered a few things. Sweat, plastered over his skin and sticking him to the sheets. His heart, still pounding in his chest. It couldn't have been any longer than a minute since he came. And a warm body, collapsed on top of him- Hannibal.

"I love you, I love you," he was repeating through sobs, his face buried in Will's neck.

There was no consoling Hannibal when he cried. A reassurance that Will felt the same way would simply make him cry more, so all Will could do was hold him and hope that he would eventually stop.

"Will, my darling," he wept, moving his head up to kiss Will, his tears salty between their lips. "My Will."

Hannibal clung to him as his sobs tapered off into silent crying, and then into just trembling. Will had never seen such an admission of weakness. He felt almost triumphant. He bet neither Bedelia or Alana ever got to see that.

"Are you alright?" He whispered gently, as he sat them up, easing Hannibal out of him.

"I..." He clearly hadn't expected to have become so wrecked. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Will cupped his cheek and lifted his head from his shoulder, meeting Hannibal's eyes. "If anyone should be sorry, it should be me."

"Why?"

"For killing without you."

It brought an unexpected smile to Hannibal's face, and he gazed at Will, besotted as ever, as he spoke. "We will be together next time, so I shall forgive it. It was a nice surprise, after all."

"Got any ideas for dinner?" Will asked.

"You'll see," Hannibal replied, apparently already decided, and rose gracefully from the bed.

"How does it feel?" He questioned as he watched Hannibal retrieve their clothes from the floor. "Being here with me? Is it everything you expected it to be?"

"No." Hannibal's lips quirked, amused. "You are still a mystery to me, however much I try to understand you."

"Which is a good thing?"

"Which is a good thing."

He hesitated, staring at Will, before squaring his shoulders and leaning over to kiss him, brief but tender. It was the first kiss he had initiated. His breaths still came fast and nervous, but his lips were surer, more confident. Will smiled at him as he stepped back, almost content.

"You wouldn't change this then? You wouldn't want the teacup to gather itself together again? So we ran away before?"

"I would have liked to show you Florence, Will. But no. I wouldn't trade this for the world." Hannibal twisted Will's hair around his finger, absentminded, dwelling on the past. Their past. "Besides, teacups shatter all the time. They can be reformed from the broken pieces, but they are new. Unique." He smiled. "I have now discovered that isn't always a bad thing."

~*~

The Dragon fell, his blood pooling around him in a perfect imitation of wings. His death had been honourable; he was slain by perhaps the only two people worthy of witnessing it.

The only two people willing to give him the death he deserved.

He fell in an arc, wings stretched out behind him, savagely majestic, right to the very end. Will's mind was a hurricane just watching, a raging storm of victory and possibility; blood was the crashing sea below them and stars were falling like rain, the moon illuminating it all, forcing them bare and naked and exposed.

The world kept spinning on its axis, and Will Graham was alive. Will Graham loved.

So did Hannibal Lecter. Loved fiercely and eternally. Unconditionally. It was an undeniable truth.

Ding dong, the Dragon was dead, and Hannibal Lecter loved him more than anything.

The air whistled past his ears as he fell, soothing and peaceful. Stars twinkled around him and the moon looked down, the infinite observer to all of humanity, their triumphs and their failures, all visible in her eyes. Their blood, always black to her. People slept on, dreaming of endless different futures, loving hopelessly and imperfectly, while Will Graham held Hannibal Lecter.

His damnation, his salvation.

He was free.