Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hannibal is lying on his side between Will’s legs, his head is pillowed on one of Will’s thighs, the other just brushing his ear. He crawled there unceremoniously when he came back from his hunt and fell asleep after a minute of Will petting his hair gently. Hannibal’s mouth is slack, saliva pools in a small puddle on Will’s bare skin. Will is sure that no one has ever seen the man like this, he’s made it his mission not to let anyone ever come close.

Will’s skin feels too tight, his bones seem too brittle for this colossal monstrosity that his love for Hannibal is. If he squeezed his thighs, he could snap Hannibal’s neck, crush the delicate vertebrae. He won’t. If Hannibal’s heart stops, the sun will die and Will will stop existing.

Hannibal’s hair is greying, Will started finding silvery spider webs in his curls. They are going to become old and grumpy together, lose their agility and grace, their joints will grow stiff and useless and all they will be able to do is beat the rude into a pulp with their walking canes, hissing in pain. Will can’t wait. He will knit the softest sweaters for Hannibal and rub his feet near the fireplace, Hannibal will never be cold again. He told this to Hannibal a couple of days ago and the man requested his sweaters to be blue and green and kissed Will’s eyelids.

Hannibal lets out a quiet huff and hugs Will’s leg tighter, it feels like static but he doesn’t move.

++

One evening Hannibal is lounging in a huge chair in their living room and staring out the window, this is how Will finds him, walks to him and straddles his lap. He winds his arms around the man’s neck, Hannibal holds him by the waist and hums. Will examines his throat to understand how the sound travels, he runs his fingers along the column of Hannibal’s neck but it doesn’t reveal its secrets, Will frowns. He needs to study Hannibal, needs to comprehend how the fuck he could be real and live in the same realm as the rest of them. It doesn’t seem possible, sometimes it feels like he’s a different species. Will looks him in the face: he didn’t shave, his chin and cheeks are adorned by stubble, Will cups his sharp lower jaw and glides his thumb through the hair, trying to see the follicles. He pries Hannibal’s smiling lips open with his fingers and inspects his teeth, presses the pads into the upper canines and frowns harder.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Hannibal mumbles, impeded by Will’s ministrations.

“I don’t get it,” Will responds. He traces Hannibal’s tongue with his index finger, Hannibal curls it in a tube and shuts his mouth, trapping him. Will looks up and sees his brows lift questioningly. “How do you exist?”

Hannibal chuckles, circles Will’s wrist and removes the finger.

“What do you want for your birthday?” he asks.

“To live inside you,” Will answers without pause.

“You live inside me pretty often, Will,” Hannibal says and smirks. He lets go off Will’s wrist and palms Will’s dick through the sweatpants, Will pushes into the contact.

“No, I mean…” he looks at Hannibal’s forearm and the white scar there. “I want my blood in your veins,” he begins and follows the line with a feathery touch, Hannibal shivers, Will’s cock twitches. “I want my immune system nestled safely in your spleen,” he continues his route and presses into the man’s left ribs slightly. “I want my moans in your throat,” he licks a wet stripe with his tongue, feels the vibration there and bites down. “I want to chew with your teeth and look through your eyes,” he catches Hannibal’s gaze, touches the fragile skin of his lower lid and collects a tear there. “Is you world tinted maroon?”

“You are when you kill,” Hannibal breathes out.

“How are we separate? It’s so cruel I can’t be in your body all the time. Why do we have two different hearts? Why do we need two sets of lungs and lips?” Will whispers and kisses him. He will infuse himself into Hannibal’s body the only way he knows how to, for now. He plunges his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth, puts his fingers there too to continue his investigation. The kiss is sloppy, their spit smears on their lips, gets stuck in their facial hair and drips down their chins, Will doesn’t allow Hannibal to close his mouth properly, spreads his fingers wider, he has to feel this, he has to glue them together.

He is getting harder with every thrust between Hannibal’s lips, his cock drives into the man’s palm that still cups him. Will groans when he squeezes it, shoves his hand into Will’s pants and starts jerking him loosely. He wants more, he wants to be one. He telegraphs it somehow into Hannibal’s brain – or maybe they do share the same one after all – because the man pulls his hand out of Will’s sweats and tugs them below his ass. Will stands up to quickly discard them on the floor while Hannibal does the same with his own clothes, and they settle into the previous position again. Hannibal puts his own fingers into his mouth and lathers them with saliva. Will watches jealously and thinks to suck the spit off his digits. Hannibal catches him looking and parts Will’s ass cheeks to slide his soaked fingers inside.

Will is still a little open and wet from their fucking in the morning. He woke up moaning, with Hannibal behind his back, holding one of his legs over his own hip, the other hand wrapped under Will’s jaw securely, rocking into him deep and slow. It’s his favorite way to wake up, feeling Hannibal hot and hard and inescapable, stretching him wide, mumbling praise into his ear. Will came soon after, it must have been going on for a long time before he rose to consciousness. He absolutely refused to let Hannibal slip out and go to the bathroom, they stayed attached until Will fell asleep again and woke up hours later. Now, he writhes on Hannibal’s lap, riding three of his fingers, begging the man to please please finally fuck him. Hannibal bites his bottom lip until it bleeds and does.

He crushes Will in his strong arms, one around his lower back and the other around his shoulders, and thrust into Will with rough short motions, moaning desperately in Will’s mouth. Will fists his hands in Hannibal’s hair, swallowing his voice into his own body, keeping him close to himself, where he belongs. He tastes blood, he tastes Hannibal, he tastes ambrosia. The pace quickens, Hannibal’s shoves turn uneven and erratic, he rakes his nails down Will’s spine and it hurts, it hurts so good.

“You ruined me for everyone else,” he says, he’s very close. “How are we separate? How are we separate?” he sobs into Hannibal’s ear.

“We aren’t,” Hannibal promises, Will believes him and comes with a violent shudder. Hannibal is grinding deep inside him and orgasms moments later.

Will’s skin is under Hannibal’s nails, there are two loads of his come inside Will’s asshole, their lips are smudged with each other’s blood and drool - Hannibal is right. He is always right. Will wants to be Hannibal, he craves to be Hannibal’s.

++

It doesn’t happen often anymore that Will sits bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night with a gasp and in tears. He sleeps like a normal person now, pressed close to Hannibal, but sometimes nightmares still invade his dreams. They are not the same as before, he doesn’t see the faces of their victims and there are no murky visions of killers that Will is supposed to catch. His mind is Hannibal’s castle, he rules alone.

When the nightmares come, Will is lost and there is no Hannibal. He wasn’t born or he was murdered or he abandoned Will, the last option makes his blood freeze. When he opens his eyes, he’s inconsolable, his heart races and he can’t breathe. He wants to apologize to his dad for making a noise and startling him out of his drunk stupor, he wants to hide under his old rickety bed and never face the cold empty world again, there is nothing in it for him. Only his father is dead and can’t reach him all the way from hell, the bed he sleeps in every night is soft and huge and lush, and Hannibal is clutching Will to his chest, purring that Will is safe, they are in Florence and they are together. Will grips him back and cries until his throat is raw.

Right now he sits in the kitchen and waits for Hannibal to brew his tea. Will holds the tie of the man’s silk robe like it’s a leash to reassure himself that he won’t disappear into thin air. He feels ashamed for waking him up, it’s an old habit that can’t go away no matter how many times Hannibal tells him that it’s fine, that he will never sleep again if it means that Will is okay and cared for. Will thinks about, the notion of being taken care of, how foreign this phenomenon is to him. He never had a family, not really. His father was a massive cunt and a raging alcoholic, he was the first person Will learnt to hate, the first one he wanted to kill. They were dirt-poor, Will was starving half the time and never got presents for holidays. He glimpsed bits and pieces of “real families” from the people around him, the films he watched, the books the read; they all seemed psychotic, Will didn’t get the appeal. He was lonely for so long, he kind of got used to the idea that if he drowned in his own vomit after too many whiskeys, no one was going to rescue him. It seemed fair.

Hannibal changed everything. Will was furious with him for making him want something that was unfeasible. How dared he? Hannibal looked so good, smelled so good, lied so good. Will’d had a shitty life before meeting him, even Hannibal’s unhinged actions appeared like the best thing in comparison.

It turned out that Hannibal is the literal sunshine when he’s in love, which was shocking to the man himself. He cooks for Will, he kills for him, Will is swimming in luxuries and simple little trinkets that he looks at a second too long. Hannibal is sweet and gentle, he smothers Will until he chokes on overwhelmed whimpers and fucks him so hard that Will isn’t certain his legs are ever going to close again. He washes Will after, kissing his bruises softly; he deposits him back in bed and sucks him off, not budging no matter how roughly Will tugs his hair and rides him until Will is a shaking groaning mess. And the cycle repeats.

“Here, dear boy,” Hannibal says and pulls Will out of his musings. There is a cup of steaming honeyed tea in front of him and a hand in his hair.

“Thank you, um…” he croaks out and remains with his lips parted on an inappropriate name.

“What is it?” the man inquires.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Will shakes his head. Hannibal is nothing like his dad, they are different in all aspects that matter, Will doesn’t know how he got here, thinking about Hannibal like that.

“You can tell me, Will,” he urges, but he isn’t demanding or angry, he isn’t raising his fist for a strike. Will sighs.

“You told me you’d take care of me, I was thinking that family usually take care of each other. It’s, uh, it’s stupid, I was thinking about my…” he stops here again, he can’t say that, he can’t.

“Your father,” Hannibal finishes for him. His fingers didn’t stop playing with Will’s hair, Will is terrified to look at him. “Will,” Hannibal speaks quietly, Will refuses to lift his gaze so Hannibal kneels in front of him and takes his face in his hands. “Will, we both know how this connection was formed and we both are fully aware that it’s not so straight-forward. I know you don’t equate me with your dad, I am way better at handling you that this cunt ever was,” he says and Will laughs out loud because they do share the same brain, it feels like. Hannibal smiles.

“Thank you. Thank you for always understanding me,” he whispers. “I don’t think about him at all, it’s just hard on nights like this, to realize that he’s not here and that I don’t have to run.”

“I’m glad he’s fucking dead. If I ever bear to part from you for long enough to find out where his grave is, I’m going to visit him and shit on top of it,” Hannibal says seriously and Will starts crying again. He slides on the floor and hugs Hannibal tightly. “We are family, Will, you and me.”

Not officially, Will has a fleeting thought but swats it away. It doesn’t matter now. They climb off the floor and drink the tea. They return to bed after and Will’s father stays where he should.

++

Will hates his birthdays, he hates the fact that he was pushed into this ugly world screaming and forced to endure all its atrocities. He used to be able to forget that this day even existed, he never told anybody the date and shut down all the attempts that people made to celebrate him if they were nosy and obnoxious enough to find out. There was nothing to celebrate. Life has been scratchy and ill-fitting, itchy. Until recently.

Today is the day and he wakes up annoyed. He sensed that Hannibal was planning something and even though he trusts the man with his life, Hannibal is prone to take things too far. As his lashes flutter open, he prepares himself for a long day at the opera or expensive shopping and braces himself for impact. He stirs in Hannibal’s arms and the man firms his hold.

“Happy Birthday, my love,” he says into Will’s ear and peppers it with kisses. Despite himself Will smiles.

“I. Um. Thanks,” he utters lamely, he doesn’t know how to respond.

“Have you rested well?”

“Yeah, why?” he asks suspiciously.

“Would you like to have breakfast?”

At that Will’s stomach rumbles and Hannibal caresses it gently with a warm palm. He turns Will on his back and leans to his belly, kissing across it and wishing it a happy birthday as well. Will giggles, he can’t help it. This is the first birthday they spend together and if Hannibal behaves like this, Will is going to enjoy it immensely. Hannibal takes his hands and pulls him up and into the kitchen.

“You made hot-dogs?” Will asks disbelievingly when they enter the room and he sees the table. There are blooms, a lot of them, the whole ocean of sunflowers that glow in the morning light and in the middle of it all is a huge plate with hot-dogs. “When did you do it?”

“While you slept,” Hannibal answers and embraces him from behind. “Do you like it?”

“Hannibal,” Will gasps in awe. “I love it, I love you.”

“I love you, Will.”

They have breakfast and Will stares as Hannibal eats, ketchup and mustard running down his wrist. The man tilts his head to lick it clean and Will wants to rip his heart out and throw it at Hannibal, he hopes he swallows it whole.

Will receives an elegantly wrapped box with knitting needles and colorful yarn galore, he is going to shove his bleeding heart down Hannibal’s throat with his bare hands.

Hannibal takes him for a long drive that ends in a picturesque forest. They walk, they collect wildflowers and Hannibal weaves a crown out of them. He places it on Will’s head and kisses him. Will only has one heart to offer to Hannibal, it swells and bloats and it’s going to burst any moment now. Will squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees stars explode to stave it off.

Hannibal must have killed all the residents because they don’t see any people until they return to their apartment. Will begins making a scarf that looks like utter shit while Hannibal busies himself in the kitchen. He comes to check on Will from time to time and compliments his progress, whispering happy birthdays into odd parts of Will’s body. Will’s hands are tremoring and he fights to hide his tears.

He gets another box, smaller this time, that contains a watch he thought he didn’t show his interest in too obviously the last time Hannibal took him shopping. Hannibal wishes him a happy birthday again, this time into his wrist, Will chuckles and thanks him. He truly is grateful, he is, this day tops all his experiences so far, which is difficult to achieve living with the man, but the second he saw the small box, he anticipated it to be something else.

Hannibal baked him a chocolate cake, Will’s favorite, and they eat it together on the sofa and watch a TV show that Will wanted to see. Hannibal makes the stupidest jokes and mocks the actors, Will is afraid he’s going to piss himself from laughing so much.

It’s getting late, the sun has almost set and Hannibal kisses Will, chocolate in his teeth and all. He carries Will into their bedroom and lays him on the sheets. They undress each other unhurriedly, tongues gliding together, biting each other’s lips. Will pushes the man lightly and arranges him on his back, he descends from Hannibal’s mouth to his neck and sucks a row of vivid bruises across his throat while Hannibal whimpers and pushes his neck into Will’s teeth. He slides lower and takes a dusky nipple between his lips, Hannibal arches off the bed and moans loudly. Will loves it when Hannibal’s loud, when he throws his head back and his raspy voice sends shivers down his spine and makes him throb. Will laves his tongue around the nipple, pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it. Hannibal grabs his hair and thrashes on the sheets. His dick is hard and leaking, the precome leaves trails on Will’s solar plexus and Will rubs his chest on his cock to hear Hannibal keen.

“Will, please,” he lets out.

Will settles between Hannibal’s toned thighs and lifts them on his shoulders. There is a commotion from above and then a bottle of lube lands near his head. That’s very considerate of Hannibal but it’s too early for that, Will wants it to go on forever. He spreads Hannibal’s ass cheeks and kisses his hole open-mouthed. He collects as much spit as he can and smears it around Hannibal’s rim so it runs down his crack and soaks them both. He groans at the sensation and kisses him desperately. Hannibal’s thighs clench around his head, rob him of oxygen, Will wishes to stay in here, live here, right in this place. There is a stronger tug at his curls and Hannibal begs him to finger his hole. Will reaches for the lube blindly and covers his fingers with it. He nuzzles Hannibal’s pubic hair while he pushes inside, mouths at the base of his cock, then up the shaft and rolls the foreskin with his tongue. He laps all the precome from Hannibal’s belly with teasing licks, paying the head of his dick attention at random, which drives Hannibal insane combined with strokes over his prostate. When he is three fingers in and nudges the man’s rim with the forth, Hannibal emits a truly pitiful high-pitched whine.

“Please, I’m b-beging you, f-fuck me,” he stutters. Will lifts his eyes to Hannibal’s face and falls in love all over again, falls into a yawning abyss of feeling so deep and dark and horrifying, he loses his breath.

He removes his fingers from Hannibal’s hole and slicks his dick with the remaining lube, wraps the man’s legs around his waist and pushes in. Hannibal sobs and extends his arms towards Will, asking him to come closer, Will does. He props himself on his forearms on either side of Hannibal’s head and kisses him. He thrusts into Hannibal slowly, pulling out until just the tip of his cock is inside and shoves back to the hilt, undulating his hips. It feels like nothing else, it’s difficult to focus on the kiss, it’s messy and lacks skill but Will wouldn’t have it any other way. Hannibal’s hands are everywhere, he touches Will’s sweaty back, grips his ass to signal he wants him to move faster, fuck rougher, he twists Will’s hair between his fingers, clutches his shoulders, heals his soul. When Will feels that he’s close to orgasm, he slows down again, he isn’t ready for it to end. Hannibal shakes his head and shakes all over, looks at him pleadingly, but Will avoids his prostate and pets his flank to calm the man down. He edges them for a long time, alternating between ramming into Hannibal and jostling him up the bed and then grinding deep inside him and sucking his stomach in so he doesn’t provide relief for Hannibal’s angry red twitching cock.
“I need to come, let me come, please,” Hannibal slurs, there are tears running down his cheeks and his voice is shot.

“Not yet, a little more,” Will mumbles.

He supports his weight on his hands and looks down at Hannibal. He is drenched in sweat, they both are, he is squirming on the bed, yanks his own hair, overwhelmed and gasping. He is so beautiful, how the fuck is he real, how is he possible? It’s devastating. Will can’t keep his mouth shut or his moans in when he picks up the pace again. A strand of saliva dribbles out of his slack lips and Hannibal opens his mouth wider and sticks his tongue out to catch it. Will is not going to survive it. He drops on his forearm again and circles his right hand around Hannibal’s cock.

“Fuck! Will!” Hannibal screams and comes and comes and comes with his back in a sharp bow. He squeezes his thighs on Will’s waist painfully and Will is done for. His vision swims with the force of his orgasm and he drapes himself over Hannibal’s shaking form. “Happy Birthday,” Hannibal rasps. Will kisses his collar bone.

They lie together in the afterglow silently, still attached. Their skin cools off and sweat and come bind them together. Will hopes his birthday wish comes true and they will become one being if they stay like this long enough.

“I have something else for you,” says Hannibal and wiggles a little under Will. He is exhausted and content, he doesn’t want to move and let Hannibal crawl away but he relents and lies on his back.

“You shower me with gifts every day, Hannibal,” he says and smiles tiredly at the man.

“You deserve to be spoiled rotten, Will. This one is special, or at least I hope so,” he responds.

Hannibal opens the bedside drawer and faces Will again with a small velvet box. The breath that Will managed to catch in the meantime turns uneven and leaves him in a rush. He eyes it intently and is petrified. If it’s not what he longs for, he is going to cry and ruin this perfect day and hate his birthdays forever. Hannibal kneels on the bed beside him, takes his hand and urges Will to sit up. The man inhales and then swallows audibly, looks Will in the eyes and begins talking:

“Will. Before we met, I had been wandering the world blindly, lonely and freezing, without purpose, because I didn’t have your hand in mine. The moment I saw you, I yearned to reach out and touch you, I felt that I would lose my mind and my heart would cease if I didn’t, if it turned out I imagined you out of despair. I knew that instant that I would have you, eventually, no matter what I had to do. I was made for you, you were meant for me,” he says with conviction, his eyes are brimming with tears. Hannibal brings the box closer to Will and opens the lid with trembling fingers. There is a ring, a beautiful perfect ring, it is gleaming softly in the low light of the moon. Hannibal takes it out of the box and Will notices that there is a line of black running on the inside. Blood, his mind supplies. “I love you, Will, I love you so deeply and madly I feel like it’s going to choke me and rip me apart. I want to live inside you too so that you can hold me together and breathe for me if my lungs give out. I haven’t figured out how to do this yet,” he adds, defeated. “Would you do me the greatest honor of becoming my husband while I work on it?” he whispers.

“Hannibal,” Will whispers back and lifts his hand. “Yes, yes, oh god, yes,” he sniffles.

Hannibal holds his hand reverently and slides the ring on. It fits, of course it fucking fits, because Hannibal is the best thing in the world and Will doesn’t know what deities he pleased to have him but he thanks all of them just in case.

They will be invincible together and they will never fucking die.