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Something had gone wrong with the heat. Crew members in parkas and fingerless gloves circled the set for Hannibal's office. The actors were underdressed by about three layers.

They'd wrap for the day when they finished the scene. If they finished the scene. If Mads finished the scene, since he was the one James had a problem with.

"Just more-- Evil, but vulnerable, okay?"

James was stuck on one line. One line Mads had said roughly fifty times in the past three hours. He liked that James was a perfectionist, but it was the heating and the two hours of sleep he'd got last night and the fact that his coffee was permanently stone cold, no matter how many times they refreshed it for him. Especially the coffee.

"Can you be more specific?" he said. It was a bad sign that he had to say it in character just so it wouldn't come out snippy and impatient.

"No, I think I know what he means," Hugh said.

"You say it then," Mads told him. And that was snippy.

Hugh raised his eyebrows at the request. "Right, okay," he said. He rolled his shoulders back out of Will's habitual slouch and waved Mads out of the desk chair.

Mads took his place on the edge of the desk. Hugh gave him the eyebrows again, asking for Will's line.

"I feel like I've dragged you into my world," Mads said.

"I got here on my own. But I appreciate the company." It wasn't even the delivery. It was Hugh's-- Hannibal's face. Almost gloating, but still perfectly sincere.

Mads could tell he was having a bad day by the scrap of jealousy poking at the back of his head. He didn't do jealousy as a concept, but that, yeah, that was good. And he could see Hannibal's injuries in Hugh's body language, even the piano wire around his wrist. All that for a line that wasn't even his. Mads wanted to keep going, see where Hugh would take it. But that was the end of the scene.

Hugh looked up at him. "Want to try it like that from the start?"

Mads grinned. Sometimes he'd swear Hugh could actually read his mind.

Despite the cold, no one complained. It wasn't more than a handful of lines from the time Will came in the door. Laurence humored them with his part, and the extras put on their coats and huddled around their own stone cold coffee. Mads could hear James in the background just before they started. They were still filming. Maybe it would end up on the DVD extras.

The way Hugh said, "I was worried you might be dead," the look on his face, it sort of hurt Mads's chest. Though, to be fair, that might've been the fucking freezing air.

From the other side, it'd seemed a little weird that Will didn't have a line in reply to that, but he got it now. It'd be hard enough to answer if you weren't Will Graham and if you were, you said fuck all. But maybe you met Dr. Lecter's eyes just for a second, just so he could see you were in there, so you could see him looking back.

When they finished, Hugh gave him a solemn high five because he was not so secretly an enormous dork. They both ended up grinning at each other like lunatics.

"And now for real?" James said. "Before we can ice skate in here?"


Mads was just out of the hottest shower of his life when he heard the knock on his hotel room door. He pulled his robe on and answered it. Hugh stood in the hallway with a marked up script and a sheepish expression.

"Do you want to, uh," he said.

Mads knew exactly what he meant, but baiting Hugh was one of his favorite pastimes. "Uh?" he said.

"You know."

"Sorry? Do I?"

"Switch. Like earlier." Hugh squinted at him. "You do know. Fucker."

He smirked as Hugh pushed past him into the room. "Order room service while I put something on. I want steak."

They were well into it before dinner came, so involved that the knock on the door was jarring. They both jumped.

"I'll get it," Hugh said.

He signed and settled the tray on the bed between them. Overdone steak and fries for Mads, fish and potatoes for Hugh.

"What's he thinking when he's looking at Hannibal in the ambulance with his hand in that guy's guts?" Mads asked.

"Awe. Awe and fear, and he doesn't know why he's afraid."

"Does he start to realize, you know, subconsciously?" Mads said.

Hugh waggled a hand back and forth. "Maybe. But he's also watching this man literally hold someone's heart in his hand."

"Like he's holding Will's."

"Yeah," Hugh said. "I think that's what he's getting there. How deep he's in. Not a trusting sort, Will Graham, so it's a shock for him."

"In over his head."

"It's sad, really. It's such a sad story. For both of them."

Mads sawed at his steak. "You talk like it's a love story."

"It's the most the intense relationship either of them will ever have. Is Hannibal capable of love?"

"The way most people are, sure. Almost everyone's a selfish fuckhead in the end. Depends if you want to call that love.

Hugh shrugged and took another mechanical bite. The fish looked soggy. "Gravitational attraction then."

"Do you think they ever would?" Mads made an obscene gesture with his circled fingers and a French fry.

Hugh snorted. "I don't know. It's not impossible. I think they reach a point where Hannibal could talk Will into just about anything. But would he bother?"

"It could fuck things up pretty good. He'd have to want it," Mads said. Of course, people fucked up their lives all the time in an effort to get what they wanted. He found he was looking at Hugh's mouth and dropped his gaze down to his plate.

The clink of cutlery on china filled the room for a moment. Mads drained the last of his wine.

Hugh poked at the script. "I have a twenty four hour cancellation policy," he said. "What kind of an opening line is that?"

"The kind meant to disguise the fact that he drove an hour through the fucking snow to see him when he could've just called. Hell. Maybe you're right, maybe it is a love story."

"Gravitational attraction story. You want to try that part?"

"Yeah, okay." Mads composed himself. Will sat in his empty classroom, asleep, but not, dreaming or hallucinating a moment with Abigail. Hannibal was calling his name. "What time is it?" he said.

"Nearly nine o'clock."

"Oh, God. I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary."

"I must've fallen asleep and then… Was I sleepwalking?"

"You're sleep sitting," Hugh said.

Mads poked him in the thigh with a toe. "That's not the line."

"It doesn't have to be. Does it?"

It didn't. They could take this anywhere. "Okay, but that's what you're going with?"

Hugh shook his head. "I called you. You weren't answering your phone. I was concerned."

Mads rubbed at his face. "I would've heard. I'm sure I would've heard it." He didn't sound sure. Hannibal had no reason to lie to him. To Will.

"Perhaps you have it switched off. Have you been sleeping poorly, Will?"

"You know how I sleep, Dr. Lecter."

"Are you dreams always so unpleasant?" Hugh said. His face was kind and sympathetic, and his eyes were ice cold.

Mads paused. His skin prickled like a ghost had walked through him, and he found himself searching his memory for a line that wasn't there, looking for something safe. Improv wasn't his strong suit. He liked to know the whys and hows ahead of time.

"Even the pleasant ones are unpleasant," he said.

Hugh-- Hannibal tipped his head very slightly to one side. "How so?"

"Sometimes it's just nightmares. But sometimes, it's-- I'm them."

"You feel their enjoyment," Hannibal said. He leaned closer. Neither of them were even pretending to eat any longer.

"I don't want to."

"It must be difficult for you." His voice was so understanding, warm, everything it should be. Mads couldn't quite work out how he was getting that underlay of menace.

"Do you dream, Dr. Lecter?"

"Last night I dreamed of you." A bland smile. "You had joined me for dinner. I could tell you the menu if you like."

"Only if you want to put me back to sleep."

"Perhaps that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." He leaned in and touched Will's arm briefly, less than a second of finely judged sympathetic contact. "You look as if you could do with it."

Mads yawned, the kind that took over his face and wouldn't be denied. Hugh laughed.

"You do look like you could do with it. I'll get out of here."

"Sorry," Mads said. "I haven't actually been sleeping that well." He'd had some pretty fucked up dreams since they'd started filming.

"Want to talk about it?" Hugh said, entirely himself again, open and friendly. It wasn't as if Mads wasn't used to seeing him act. Maybe it was just seeing him inhabit Mads's own character. Either way, weird.

"I want to sleep and then drink a vat of hot coffee."

"Sounds like a good plan." Hugh stood and picked up the tray. He stopped at the door, posture shifting just slightly. "If you change your mind, I believe I have an opening tomorrow morning," he said, all ice cold eyes and a pleasant smile.

"Shit, you're too good at that," Mads said.

Hugh grinned. "Now you know why everyone on set's fallen for you. Half of them want you and the other half want Hannibal."

"Everyone, huh? So which half are you?"

Hugh gave him a thoughtful look. "I think I prefer you as Will," he said, and slipped out the door.

Mads fell into bed and passed out with the lights still on. At three, he woke, hard from a dream he couldn't remember. He jerked off in the bathroom thinking about the thing Hugh's mouth did when he was being Hannibal and then fell back into bed. By morning, the whole thing seemed unreal.

The last time Hugh had guest starred in the porn reel in Mads's brain had been the day they'd met. One of the PAs had shown him the hotel pool on the way to a meeting room and then said, "Oh, and that's Hugh Dancy."

Hugh had pulled himself out of the water to shake hands and chat with Mads, water dripping down his skin, three-quarters naked. That night, in the shower, Mads had felt pretty justified in putting those images to good use.

The next day, on set, they'd gotten into an argument about Corona, which was a fucking good beer no matter what anyone said. Hugh had called him a heathen and quoted something from Poe at him to justify his pretentious taste in lagers. He'd tested the waters in the shower again that night and only got imaginary Hugh calling him Annabel Lee with a wide, friendly smile. So that was that.

Mads sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. If he told Hugh about what he'd done last night (no chance), Hugh would probably tell him off for not at least picking someone better looking. Hugh had bizarre standards of beauty. When asked once to name the most attractive actor working today, he'd said Jeremy Irons.

Someone knocked on the door, and Mads groaned. It turned out to be a room service guy with a vat -- all right, a carafe -- of hot coffee. From Hugh, as it turned out.

Mads texted him his thanks.

np. feeling more chipper today, sunshine?

Mads rolled his eyes. super fantastic. breakfast?

yeah 15 min

They ate in the hotel restaurant, politely ignored by almost everyone.

"Best all time breakfast food," Hugh said.


"You can't eat soup for breakfast."

"I've seen you eat broccoli for breakfast."

"That was an anomaly, not a life choice."

"Eating soup for breakfast is an awesome life choice." He ate a forkful of eggs and then went for it, too curious to resist. "Most attractive cast member."

"Tough," Hugh said. "We're all very good looking."

"Damn right."

"One male and one female?"

"If you have to."

"Are we counting Gina as regular cast?"


"You and her, then."

Mads snorted. "You're allowed to pick yourself, you know."

"My face isn't that interesting," Hugh said.

"Sometimes I think you don't actually know what 'attractive' means. It's not the same as 'interesting'."

"It is to me."

"I'm telling Gina you compared her to Jeremy Irons."

Hugh laughed. "It's been five years, will you let that go?"


"Fine, your turn."

"You and Gillian."

"You're only saying Gillian because you mean Scully. I've seen your X-Files DVDs."

"Not true. She looks completely different now."

"Not completely," Hugh said, but he had that thoughtful look on his face again. "Bedelia's sort of the female version of Hannibal, isn't she? Cool and precise."

"We weren't talking about characters."

"What if we were?"

"Alana Bloom."

"Freddie Lounds."

Mads made a face. "Fucking tabloid press."

"She's not though. She's doing real stuff, not making up stories about Bigfoot and Elvis."

"You're weird," Mads told him. "Male?"

"Hannibal," Hugh said, without even putting on a show of consideration.

"Really weird."

"Objectively. You didn't say I had to date him."

"Still weird."

"I know you're going to pick Will, and that makes you weirder."

"How do you know who I'd pick?"

"Because he's just like you, outside of the fancy track suits and the mental instability. You'd not only date Will Graham, you'd borrow his clothes and go fishing with him." Hugh banged his fist lightly on the table, like a judge with a gavel.

Mads shrugged. "I do like dogs."

Caroline appeared to hover over Hugh's shoulder and pour herself coffee from their carafe. "Is this fuck-marry-kill?" she said.

"Mads is marrying Will Graham," Hugh said. "They're going to raise puppies together."

Mads gave him the finger. "Katz, Zeller, and Price," he said to Caroline.

She pulled up a chair and sat down to think. Caroline took fuck-marry-kill way too seriously.

Mads took a gulp of coffee. It burned going down. Yesterday, he would've picked Will. After last night, he was wondering if Hugh-as-Hannibal was a valid choice. He glanced over the rim of his coffee cup and saw Hugh looking at him with that cold, level gaze and the peculiar stillness of something more or less than human.

Mads kicked him under the table. Hugh stuck his tongue out at him.

"Marry Katz, fuck Price, kill Zeller," Caroline said.

They both turned to stare at her.

"I just think Price would be good in bed," she said. "But I can't marry an alcoholic. And Zeller doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

"It's an important quality in a husband," Hugh said.

"How would you know?" Mads said.

Hugh threw a sugar packet at him.


They did the last scene that morning, the one in Hannibal's kitchen, before the dinner party.

"How many dishes based on organs is it reasonable to have in one meal?" Hugh said between takes.

"He should just go with a nice rare hunk of thigh."

Hugh made a face.

"You're the one who wants to date him," Mads said.

That got some attention, and Hugh turned very faintly pink. "I said I didn't."

"Yeah, yeah." Mads rolled his stiff neck side to side. He glanced at James, who was haranguing one of the cameramen. "Looks like it might be a while," he said.

"You want to…?" Hugh made a twirly gesture with one finger than could've meant literally anything, but probably meant what Mads wanted it to mean.

They'd done the scene fives times so far. It wasn't hard to remember Will's next line. "Why'd you stop being a surgeon?" he said.

"I killed someone." Hugh just let it hang there, like Hannibal didn't care if Will made him or not.

"How many? Over the years."

"Oh, I couldn't say."

"I think you could."

Hugh paused. "Twenty-seven. A great many bodies."

"They pile up."

"And yours?"

"Harder to count. You don't always know until years later when the bastard gets out on parole and visits his ex's house in the middle of the night. Eleven that I know of for sure."

"Is that why you left New Orleans?"

"Gentlemen, if we could?" James said.

Hugh and Mads both mimed looking around for the gentlemen in question. They got snickers and rolled eyes in return.

"Well, is it why he left New Orleans?" someone asked. One of the extras, Hannibal's sous chefs, Carla something.

Hugh raised an eyebrow at Mads. No one jumped on Carla for asking. A glance at James showed he was wearing his tolerant-for-now face.

"I couldn't take the heat," Mads said, dry, with a twisted smile.

Hugh picked up the wine glass from the counter. "Something else we have in common," he said, and raised it in a toast.

They smiled at each other, Hugh and Mads, Hannibal and Will, and then they got on with the scene.


It turned into a thing. Sometimes it was a serious thing, and they took the actual lines as a starting place. Sometimes it was ridiculous, like the one about Hannibal's socks. It was a public thing, which made it safe.

Hugh didn't show up at his door again to say do you want to, uh. Mads wasn't forced to admit that he did, that the more he saw of Hugh-as-Hannibal, the more he thought he might want to more than uh.

On a scale of stupid crushes, from one to, say, Hugh's thing for old guys with weird voices, it was probably around Christopher Walken. He liked Hugh, but he didn't want to jump him. Hannibal was a creepy motherfucker, and Mads was delighted to play him, but he'd never understood the attraction. He did not get how Hugh plus Hannibal somehow added up to yes please.

Not that it mattered. It would pass. That was the nature of stupid crushes. And the acting bits, messing around with Hugh and whoever wanted to join in, those were fun. He could ignore the rest.

He did ignore the rest. Until Hugh knocked on his door one night and said, "I've been thinking."

"They have pills for that now," Mads told him.

Hugh poked at him until he moved aside. Mads snapped at his finger.

"Fucking cannibals," Hugh said. "They're everywhere."

They settled on the bed. "So you were thinking," Mads said.

"What if they did?"

"Who did what?" He thought he already knew, and his stomach lurched slightly at how this might play out.

"Will and Hannibal, sex."

"Would Hannibal want to get that close?"

"It wouldn't be about intimacy. It would be about possession," Hugh said.

"He's got Will already."

"But he doesn't have this part of him. It's like…collecting butterflies."

"Or Pokemon," Mads suggested.

"I'm being serious."

"Yeah, you sound serious."

"I am! Stop making fun of me for two seconds and tell me what you think."

"How would it start?" Mads said, and that was it. He could tell, looking at Hugh, that they both knew it.

Hugh got up and walked to the window. "Where are they?"

"The office."


Mads got up to lean against the cheap desk next to the TV stand. He pressed one palm against the fake wood and left a damp impression. His entire body was faintly numb with nerves, and he was getting hard already.

This wasn't the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but it was right up there. It probably was the stupidest thing Hugh had ever done. Shit.

He opened his mouth to ask if Hugh was really sure about this, but when he turned around, it was Hannibal facing him.

"Any problems with sex?" he said, bland, almost bored. "I can see it might present difficulties, given your talents."

"It doesn't present difficulties. It's fine."

"When was the last time?"

"Does it matter?"

"Does the topic make you uncomfortable?"

"I just don't see how it's relevant."

"It's relevant to your life. That's what we're here to talk about."

"We talk about cases. We talk about strangers."

"We talk about your perception of them."

"And you want to talk about my perception of sex?"

"Not if you don't wish to."

Hugh had drifted further away as they spoke. Mads pushed himself off the desk and followed.

"I don't remember this being about what I want," he said.

Hugh shook his head a little. "There is no coercion here. You come to me voluntarily."

"Not to talk about my sex life." He turned away. "Not that there's much to talk about."


"You'd be surprised how hard it is to meet someone when you don't talk to anyone but your dogs and your therapist." He glanced over his shoulder. "Or maybe you wouldn't. Do you want to talk about your sex life, Dr. Lecter?"

Hugh moved to stand behind him, so close Mads could feel him there, though they weren't touching. "I require a certain connection for the experience to be worthwhile. I suspect you feel the same."


"It is an elusive feeling, rarely found. The act, without that, seems almost bestial."

Mads swallowed hard. "Hugh, I don't know if I can do this."

"Shh." Hugh ran one finger down the side of his neck. "You'd rather be yourself for this anyway, wouldn't you?"

"This is so fucked up."

"It's a perfectly natural attraction." Hugh's voice was soothing, reasonable. "Many people are drawn to danger. To that which they cannot truly understand. What they fear may overwhelm them. Perhaps they wish to be overwhelmed." He lowered his voice and leaned until his lips brushed the curve of Mads's ear. "Is that what you want?"

He had no idea, but he nodded anyway. Would've agreed, like Will, to almost anything.

Hugh patted the bed beside them. "Take down your trousers and then put your hands here," he said.

He stepped back, and Mads was left with the choice, do or don't. Follow the script Hugh had laid out, or-- He didn't know what the other option could be. It was a little late to laugh it off. He popped the button on his jeans and pushed his underwear down with them.

"Very nice." Hugh pushed his shirt up and ran a hand over his bare ass. "Have you done this before?"

"Long time ago."

"Then you'll know what to expect."

The click of a cap being flipped up. The wheeze of air expelled from a bottle. Hugh's fingers, cool and slick between his cheeks. Mads bit his lip hard and let his head hang down, faintly dizzy. Hugh had brought the stuff along. He'd been that sure.

Two fingers to start with. Hugh worked them in quickly, twisted and turned and stretched him just to the point of pain, but not past it. The burn grew, and Mads sank down to rest his forearms on the bed.

"This is crazy," he said. He felt he had to say something, and there was nothing else in his head.

"What else do you expect, putting yourself in my hands? You know what I am."

Mads looked back over his shoulder, at the way Hugh's face had set into cool, smooth lines, at the flat stare and the subtle twist of his mouth. He saw almost nothing of his friend and quite a lot of psychopathic murderer. Enough that his breath came quick and shallow even as his cock thickened.

"Is this-- Really, what is this?"

"It's what you want it to be. Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you've been looking at me when your friend lets me out to play?"

"Fuck, I didn't mean-- It's nothing."

"I don't think it's nothing. I think when you look at someone like that, you ought to be prepared to follow through." He pulled his fingers out and gripped Mads's hips, hard. "Are you?"

Mads nodded. "Condom," he said, and of course Hugh had that, too.

He unzipped and got his dick out, rolled the condom on, and slicked it up. He started the push into Mads's body without waiting, without asking again, silent and looming behind him.

Mads spread his legs as far as his jeans would allow and gritted his teeth. It was too much, too soon, and the stretch burned. Hugh didn't stop, and Mads didn't ask him to. He wanted it, every rough touch and careless shove. Hugh never quite let it tip over into something he couldn't handle.

When he was in all the way, he stopped. He rubbed a hand up Mads's spine and down again, soothing, before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back.

Mads panted. He'd lost his erection as Hugh worked his way in, but now it came back in a rush. "Fuck, Hugh--"

Hugh tightened his grip. "Try again."

Mads stared at the opposite wall, at the mauve curtains, the silent air conditioning unit. His heart thudded against his ribs. "Hannibal," he said. "Jesus fucking Christ. Move."

"Take care, Mads. You're in no position to be giving orders."

"Please." He shifted forward an inch, which was all he could get with Hugh's grip on his hair, and then back again, hard as he could. "Please fucking move."

Hugh pulled out almost all the way and slid back in, torturously slow. Mads's body was easing, but the friction was still driving him crazy, making him want more. He pushed back hard and got a stinging slap on his thigh.

"Be still. I told you this was about possession, didn't I? And I saw your face when I said it."

Mads gave up. He braced himself against the bed, let Hugh's grip on his hair pull his head back, and just took it. He'd gotten fucked before, but never let anyone control it like this. He felt lazy and almost relaxed, despite the sting of pulled hair and the burn of his ass, the strain on his thighs.

Hugh bent to mouth at his neck, and the gentle slide of his lips made Mads shiver and bear down on his cock.

"Very nice," Hugh murmured. He pulled back and thrust in hard.

It sent Mads scrabbling at the polyester bedspread for purchase, hands slipping, Hugh's weight over him, bearing him down. The next thrust was the same, and the next, until his chest was nearly flat on the bed. Hugh still had one hand in his hair, and the other was twisted in the back of his shirt, pulling him back as he shoved in again.

Mads was aware of swearing under his breath, a continuous stream of obscenities that he couldn't stop. When Hugh changed his angle by a fraction and started pounding in against his prostate, he lost track of his words entirely.

Hugh let go of his hair, and his head fell down to the bed. Hugh gripped his cock and stroked him, tight and hot, and slick with pre-come. Mads came in about five seconds and bit down on the bedspread to muffle his shout.

Hugh didn't stop, kept riding him hard until Mads was swearing again, this time from overuse. His skin was hot all over, and he could feel each individual nerve ending, inside and out.

Hugh went still as he came, silent, a gentle grip on Mads's throat so that Mads didn't dare move until Hugh had let him go and eased out to tie off the condom. He turned and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. His legs were made of rubber, and he couldn't even stand long enough to get his pants up yet.

Hugh stood by the wastebasket. His face was flushed, and his hair stuck to his forehead. He was wearing an expression Mads knew well, and it wasn't in Hannibal Lecter's repertoire. It was Hugh's did-I-fuck-up-something-big expression, mouth pulled slightly to one side, eyes half-closed and watching Mads through his ridiculous lashes.

Mads held out a hand to him. "Come here, idiot," he said.

Hugh sat on the bed next to him, and Mads pulled him in close with an arm around his shoulders.

"I didn't mean to be that…enthusiastic," Hugh said.

"It was good. It was fucking amazing. You're not allowed to feel guilty."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure. Hey." He tapped Hugh's cheek till he turned toward him. When he fitted their lips together, Hugh leaned into it and held onto his arm. It was warm and sweet. "Okay?" Mads said.


"You want to talk?"

Hugh was quiet for a long time. Mads managed to get his jeans back up and zipped. He settled back in with an arm around Hugh when he was done.

"I saw you looking," Hugh said, finally. "I just wondered how it would be, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. And when I got here, things got a bit out of hand."

"Did you like it?"

"God, yes. I think fucking amazing is a pretty good assessment."

"Are you going to tell Claire?"

Hugh swallowed. "No. It's not-- It was just this, right?"

"Right. Not like we're going to have an affair."

"No. Although." Hugh looked down at his hand, twisted in the fabric of Mads's sleeve.


"I wouldn't mind if you kissed me again. If that wouldn't be too weird. Is it going to be weird?"

"Only because you're weird," Mads assured him, and kissed him when he smiled.

"Never did that before," Hugh said.

"Kissed a guy?"

Hugh nodded. "Not for a role, I mean. It's different. Well, obviously it's different."

"You've got the fucking down like a pro."

"Thanks. I think. You can do one without the other."

"I never did."

Hugh smiled at him. "No, that doesn't surprise me. Glad you didn't start with me."

"With you, or with Hannibal?"

"No," Hugh said. "Stop that or we're going to talk about how fast you went along with it and I don't think you want that."

"Yeah, okay." Mads kissed him again.

"I should go, right?" Hugh murmured, chasing after his mouth.

More kisses, Hugh's hand on the back of his neck. "Yeah, definitely. You should go. We should sleep. Long day tomorrow."


They leaned together, Hugh's forehead against Mads's temple.

"Or we could get pizza," Mads said.

"It's late."

"This is Toronto. I'm pretty sure there's pizza all night long."

Hugh brushed their lips together once more and then pulled back. "You can pay. Since I did all the work."

"Hey, I tried to help."

Hugh straightened his back and let his face smooth over into Hannibal's blank mask. "Your help was neither required nor desired," he said.

It still got to Mads. Not as bad, but he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. He flicked Hugh's nose.

"Ow, you dick," Hugh said, muffled by the hand now protecting his nose. "You can buy the beer, too, for that."

"That didn't even hurt."

Hugh flicked his ear. Mads took it like a man.

Hugh made a face at him. "Are we still doing the thing on set?" he asked.

"You want to?"

"No reason to stop."

"You don't have to talk me into it."

"Right, okay."

They cleaned up and left. An hour later, they were walking the streets of Toronto, eating pepperoni and sausage pizza as they went. Neither of them spoke.

"You know we can't do it again," Mads said, finally.

"I know. I said that."

"We're married. We're not even attracted to each other, for fuck's sake."

"I know. We won't. It'll be fine."

He didn't sound convinced, and Mads didn't feel convinced. They talked about the episode they were starting tomorrow, what they'd do when the season was over and they got to go home, whether or not they'd get renewed. There was nothing else to say.