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Every Hannigram FanFic Ever: An Adventure in Smut

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Every Hannigram Fic Ever:

 

It was seven o’clock when Will Graham showed up at Hannibal Lecter’s Baltimore office, and it was, frankly, cold as balls outside. Technically, balls are warm because they are part of the human body which is, on average, about 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, and—Will Graham stopped himself because he was beginning to sound like a huge nerd, even though nobody else could hear him.

Or could they?

He reached the door, and just as he was about to turn the knob, he stopped to wipe his beat-up, old-as-fuck work boots on the welcome mat and tried to brush the 3-inch thick layer of dog hair off of his jacket. Unfortunately, the fur stuck to his hands because he is a very sweaty man. He quickly wiped his fuzzy hands on his JC Penny’s sale rack khaki pants from 1997 and, with a sigh, walked through the door.

Will sat down in the waiting room and closed his eyes while he waited for Hannibal to get his shit together and invite him in for his session. Sure, there were a few magazines to leaf through, but they were all wedding themed and Will wasn’t into that kind of thing. He was manly. Manly as hell.

But then again, even the manliest of men couldn’t deny that the bride on the cover of Wedded Bliss was wearing a halter-top taffeta gown that should have stayed in 2006.  

Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of a baby grand piano being thrown down a flight of stairs, accompanied by a woodblock and someone straight-up killing it on the electric cello.  

Ah, that must be Hannibal, Will thought to himself, and sure enough, the music got louder and louder until the office door opened and out popped the head of his dear friend and psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter.

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal said with a flamboyant flourish.  

“Gay…I mean, uh, hey” Will said, getting out of his chair and walking towards the plaid-covered man across the room, “Sorry, Freudian slip.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Hannibal replied, closing the door behind them as Will began wandering aimlessly around his cavernous office, “In fact, I’d like to Freudian slip my hand down your pants.”

“See, there you go again,” Will huffed, plopping down on his usual armchair, “Gotta stop with the psychoanalyzing thing, Doctor Lecter. You know I don’t like psychoanalyzing.”

“Ah, psychoanalysis,” Hannibal mused, “I feel as though the term was made with myself in mind. Taken from the words ‘psycho’ and ‘anal,’ the former being a perfect adjective for myself and the latter being one of my favorite activities, psychoanalysis often inspires discomfort in those who endure it. Just like me.”  

“Wait, what? Sorry, I can’t hear you over how expensive your possessions are.” Will’s fingers picked at the stitching of the chair, which happened to be made of the finest mithril. It had been a Christmas gift from the Witch King of Agmar, Hannibal’s old college roommate, because a Nazgul would clash too much with his suits.

“Speaking of expensive,” Hannibal said expensively, “Would you perchance like to try some unorthodox therapy and get in my expensive car and drive to my expensive house so I can cook you an expensive dinner that is definitely not made out of human organs?”

“Sure,” Will answered, standing up and tripping over the ladder that would be excellent and difficult to have sex against, “I haven’t eaten in about three days, so I’m kind of hungry I guess.”

“Good.” Hannibal grabbed his fancy coat from the fancy closet and took out his fancy keys, all while being incredibly fancy about the whole ordeal, “And I promise you, Will—your stomach isn’t the only thing that’s going to be stuffed before the night is through.”

After a short ride in Hannibal’s pimped-out Bentley (that had a refrigerated trunk full of non-labeled meat for some reason) they arrived at Hannibal’s super-nice house in a super-nice neighborhood.

“Amazing,” Will said, “you could keep like a hundred dogs in here.”

“Did you know that dogs enjoy bones?” Hannibal ushered Will from his cavernous foyer and into his Gordon Ramsay-caliber kitchen. “We should do that, you know. Bone.”

“Not now Hannibal, I’m thinking about dogs.”

“Fine then,” Hannibal said, “I’m just going to begin cooking a fantastic meal that you won’t know the name of because it’s classy and you’re decidedly not, so…”

Before he settled down to cook, Hannibal went into his wine cellar and picked out a bottle that cost more than the tuition of a private college that was made out of gold and diamonds.

“Here, Will,” Hannibal said, “allow me to pour you a glass of L’Expensive Vin du Douchébagé.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Hannibal used his powerful nose to smell the wine for three minutes before taking a sip and rushing around the kitchen to prepare dinner.

“What kind of meat are we having?” Will asked as he tossed back his wine in one gulp and slammed it down on the table.

“Heart,” Hannibal answered, holding up a gigantic human heart for Will to see, “Frog’s heart, to be exact.”

“Wow, that’s one big organ,” Will mused.

“That’s not the only big organ currently in my possession, Will.”

“Wait a minute… Doctor Lecter, did you just make a penis joke?”

Hannibal dropped an entire human hand into a pot on the stove, along with some garlic and gold flakes.

“No, no, you definitely hallucinated that one.”

Will seemed placated by his response so he poured himself another glass of wine.

“Oh, okay. You’re my anchor, so you would know.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hannibal said, putting the ‘frog’ heart into a pan of truffle oil and sautéed twenty dollar bills, “and I think you should anchor yourself to my bed. Naked. With chains. So you can’t leave.”

“I had a dream like that recently…”

Hannibal nearly dropped a pint of blood on the floor.

“As a psychiatrist and sexually available man, I believe it is in my best interest if you tell me every single detail about this dream.”

“Okay. Well…” Will shut his eyes, and a giant gold glow stick swung through the air with an ominous whoosh-y sound, “I was naked and there was this stag-man and he totally looked like you and we were making out when all of a sudden Garrett Jacob Hobbs jumped out from behind a bush and said “Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a cannibal and also he wants to have sex with you” but I ignored Garrett Jacob Hobbs because that’s what you’re supposed to do and I—“

“How incredibly cryptic,” Hannibal said as he pulled an entire three-course meal out of the oven, “Well, anyways, let us adjourn to the dining room for a really pretentious meal and a blatant attempt at seduction.”

Oh my god,” Will moaned around his fork, “if this meal was a person, I’d have sex with it.”

“Well, about that…” Hannibal took a deep sip of wine and listened to the downright pornographic sounds coming from Will’s mouth. He had watched quieter amateur adult films, in truth. Of course, Will Graham’s company was better than any lonely masturbatory session and post-orgasmic sob-fest Hannibal could ever concoct on a Friday night.

“Hannibal,” Will muttered, “There’s, uh, there’s something about that dream I didn’t tell you…”

Hannibal’s ears twitched and he polished off the last of his wine.

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s…uh, it’s…” Will fiddled with the hem of his hideous plaid shirt, “It’s…embarrassing…”

“Did you become sexually aroused?”

“H-Hannibal, I-“

“Will, please, I was a doctor for a bajillion years. I’ve seen more dicks than the mods at RedTube. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Okay,” Will huffed, “I may or may not have gotten…excited.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” Hannibal said with a reassuring smile, “but that does not mean I am not concerned about your wellbeing. When was the last time you had sex?”

“That is…inappropriate…”

“Remember, Will, I’ve seen a lot of penises.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Touched a lot of penises.”

“I just…”

“Done things to penises that are illegal in seven different countries.”

“Hannibal…”

“More dicks than a cute girl on Chat Roulette.”

Will couldn’t take it anymore as he threw his wine glass against the floor and listened to the satisfying shatter of crystal.

I’ve never had sex, okay?”

Sweat immediately began pouring out of Will’s every pore after he shouted his confession to the unforgiving void of Hannibal Lecter’s dining room.

Shit. Shit. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I’m trash, I’m absolute trash-

“We should change that.”

“Doctor Lecter, I-“ Will stammered, “Wait, excuse me?

“You heard me,” Hannibal purred classily, placing his hand on top of Will’s, “I think you would greatly benefit from physical intimacy. Lots of it. In my bed. With me.”

“But Doctor Lecter, isn’t that a little…”

“Strange? Yes, it is unorthodox, but I’m all about the unorthodox. My parents named be ‘Hannibal,’ Will. Nobody names their child ‘Hannibal’ and expects him to be normal.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic. Alright then,” Will said, “I suppose I could just…I could just…I could…”

Two big, fat Studio Ghibli tears fell down Will Graham’s cheeks and pattered against the floor like rain.

“Will, whatever is the matter?” Hannibal asked, seeming concerned when he was actually thinking about taking a swan dive into a giant pool of Will Graham’s salty ocular secretions.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Will hiccupped once, twice, thrice, before continuing, “It’s my empathy, hic!, I just… Oh, Hannibal, I empathized with your penis and…and…oh God, it’s so sad.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side and considered Will’s observation—he hadn’t been aware of his dick’s distress, but come to think of it, it had seemed emotionally distant for the past few weeks, not to mention its lack of appetite and withdrawal from social situations.

“That’s interesting,” Hannibal said, “Can you tell me why it feels that way? Perhaps I’d be able to diagnose the problem and prescribe a treatment plan.”

“It’s so lonely,” Will said, “It wants to be freed from its cotton prison.”

“Actually, I only wear silk boxers…”

“Oh dear,” Will gasped, “that’s even worse. Not only do you refuse to support your penis emotionally, but also undergarmently as well.”

“My God,” Hannibal replied, even though he had no religious convictions, “I never knew…”

“It’s true,” Will sobbed, “It’s…oh, it’s too terrible, I can’t do it anymore!”

“Are you certain it’s that bad?” Hannibal asked with money and concern in his voice, suddenly feeling very much a fool for not noticing the emotional disturbance of his genitals.

“It’s worse than the time I empathized with a Roast Beef Classic from Arby’s,” Will said, “It said it looked like a vulva if you looked at it from the side, and I…I couldn’t help but agree.”

“I mean it does kind of look like one, especially if you make it vertical…” Hannibal mused, “But we’re getting off topic. What my penis needs is socialization, and since it did not hesitate to connect with you via your empathy, I believe that you would be a prime candidate.”

“B-but Hannibal,” Will stammered, “I’m not sure if I’m-“

“William, please,” Hannibal stood and dragged Will up with him, “Help me help myself by letting me penetrate you anally.”

Will thought it over for a moment, his brain emitting a delightful burning smell as it nearly fevered itself into a frenzy for the fifth time that week. He almost had to pour a glass of water over his head to keep his hair from catching fire, but he finished thinking just in time to avoid combustion.

“You used my full name, so I know this is serious. I…yes, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal exclaimed, scooping the younger man up in his great hulking yaoi hands and carrying him bridal-style up his gold-plated steps to the second floor. For a moment, Will wondered if his insurance company would cover sex with his therapist, but then he decided that at the very least, his dalliance was tax-deductible and that was good enough for him.

At first glance, Hannibal’s bedroom was just as opulent as the rest of the house. At second glance, it was also just as opulent as the rest of the house. Will was just about to glance a third time when he was dropped onto Hannibal’s mattress, his weight causing a stray few $100 bills to flutter to the floor.

“Wow, isn’t that something,” Will said, “I too keep my money under my mattress! That means we’re basically the same person.”

“Actually,” Hannibal replied, removing his suit jacket and tossing it onto the coat tree, “my mattress is made out of money. So we’re basically the same person, except I’m much better.”

“Oh my God, Hannibal, these sheets are so soft! They’re to die for!”

“Indeed, they are. I killed two people and a spider to get them on Black Friday last year.” Hannibal undid his necktie and dropped it to the floor where it slithered away into the depths of his cavernous closet, “Why don’t you take off your clothes while you continue to compliment my taste in home furnishings?”

“Well I absolutely adore those curtains,” Will gushed, his fingers unbuttoning his shirt, “the texture is subtle enough to harmonize with the pattern on your bedspread, but interesting enough to add a new layer of depth to the space.”

Hannibal undid his waistcoat as he listened to Will praise his design prowess, which he had in spades.

“And oh, the woodwork! Such a deep, rich stain! It’s a bold choice to be sure, but…ugh, Hannibal, I just really love your wood.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Who?” Will asked, pushing his pants down his legs.

“Oh, uh, my…dead grandmother, who is currently very dead. Anyways,” Hannibal said, “are your pants off yet?”

“What? Oh, yeah, hold on…” Will kicked his khakis and old-as-fuck boxers aside and Hannibal swore he could hear a choir of fallen angels singing in the Hell of his brain. Not only did Will Graham have the legs of a seasoned pole dancer, but just like the real Slim Shady, his dick was standing up.

“Here, let me just get on the bed awhile…” Will said, and when he turned around Hannibal suffered from what Sandra Hill’s Rough and Ready described as a ‘dick aneurism.’ Underneath all those ugly sports coats and ill-fitting pants, Will Graham had been hiding the most majestic booty in the history of mankind. Perfectly sculpted, plush and inviting…Hannibal couldn’t take it anymore. He had to touch it.

“Stop right there,” Hannibal wheezed, walking towards Will in a handful of great, gliding strides, “if you don’t let me touch your butt right now I’m going to die.”

“Hannibal, I highly doubt that you’re going to die—“

“No, Will, you don’t understand.” Hannibal took a deep, calming breath while eyeing Will’s delightfully peachy backside, “It runs in my family. You know the dead grandmother I told you about just a minute ago?”

“The one who is currently very dead?” Will asked.

“The very same. She died because she saw a juicy booty and she wasn’t able to touch it in time.” Hannibal knelt down and broke out his best pouty face, the one only reserved for getting out of parking tickets and begging people at pet stores to pet kittens, “You can’t let me die in such a terrible way!”

“Oh, Hannibal, I had no idea! Here,” Will took Hannibal’s head in his hands and pressed the side of his face against his booty curve, “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Hannibal murmured as he nuzzled against the soft flesh, “I can already feel my life-force returning to me.”

When he was sure Will wasn’t looking at him, Hannibal gave himself a hi-five for his brilliance. They stayed like that for nearly ten minutes, until Hannibal stood and finished undoing his pants and pushing them to the floor.

“See, there’s the root of all your problems,” Will said, pointing to Hannibal’s paisley-printed silk boxers, “I’d cry too if I was stuck in those all day.”

“But they make my suit pants lay so well—“

“But at what cost?!?” Will hooked his fingers into the waistband of Hannibal’s boxers, “It’s time to let go, Hannibal. Free yourself from your paisley-printed prison.”

Will pushed the offending garment to the floor and was almost hit in the face by Hannibal’s massive dong. It was truly unbelievable. In fact, it was so unbelievable that Will immediately had a seizure and began hallucinating.

“And now for a sonnet,” it said, clearing it’s throat, “This one’s goes out to my main man, Will Graham. You’re a real bro. I love you, man. No homo.”

‘It’s hard being the penis of a man
Who tears up people but never pussy
I just wanna go in and out again
but he only takes me out to pissy
I never get stuck inside a butthole
He never crams me down any hot throats
I’m all bulged up with nowhere to go stroll
In the big bathtub though I sadly floats
He doesn’t take any pictures of me
O! Not a single pic on his iPhone
Am I even real without a selfie
In this universe am I all alone?
I know I’m just a fat sad lonely dick
But ya tight hole can fix me quick haha ;)’

Just as a single tear began to slide down Will’s cheek, Hannibal backhanded him across the face.

Will!” Hannibal shouted, “You’re focusing on something other than me, and that’s not okay!”

“Sorry, I—“ Will sputtered, “I, uh, I think I need another brain scan…”

“No, no, no. Sex now, scans later.” Hannibal picked Will up and threw him on the bed classily. “I’ll heal you with my dick, don’t worry about it.”

“But Doctor Lecter, that’s not how these things work…”

“What did you just call me?” Hannibal wriggled his way onto the bed like a horny tadpole and began kissing Will’s neck.

“Uh…Doctor Lecter?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, “Doctor Lecter. If I say dick can cure your ills, then dick can cure your ills.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Will sighed, opening his legs so that Hannibal could fit between them, “Cure me, please.”

Hannibal smiled and conjured a bottle of champagne-flavored lube (because he’s both fancy and freaky) and poured out a generous dollop onto his fingers.

“Oh, Will,” He said, bringing his hand between Will’s splayed legs, “I’m going to cure you all night long, give you injection after injection, until your insurance gives out and you have no choice to discharge yourself from the hospital harder than you’ve ever been discharged before”

“God, you’re so fucking weird,” Will moaned, “Weird enough to be a serial killing cannibal in disguise…”

“And you like it, don’t you?” Hannibal slid a single finger into Will’s tight hole, causing the younger man to yelp as his inferior-to-Hannibal’s dick jumped in surprise.

“Yes, I—“ Will froze for a moment, realization crossing his sweaty, blushing features. “You’re…oh my God, you’ve been the Chesapeake Ripper this whole time!”

“I can’t believe it,” Hannibal said, wiggling his finger around idly, “You literally caught me with my pants down. Tell me, what do you plan on doing with this information?”

“Well, I have a moral obligation to report you to the FBI because you murdered and cannibalized like a bajillion people…” Will’s brow furrowed, “but you’re a mega babe with a super-nice penis, and that’s much more important than righteousness. So, fuck the police and stick it in me.”

“By ‘sticking it in you,’ wouldn’t that also count as ‘fucking the police?’” Hannibal removed his finger and began slicking up his unbelievable manhood. “Because, you know, you’re technically the police and I’m going to fuck you?”

“That was beautiful,” Will replied, “and you’re really terrible.”

“I do what I can. Now,” Hannibal positioned himself at Will’s entrance, “are you ready to find out how I put ‘the D’ in M.D.?”

“More than ready,” Will said with a laugh, “Just…be gentle with me?”

“I will definitely maybe perhaps do that,” Hannibal answered, “As long as it coincides with my personal whims, of course.”

Before Will could say anything else, Hannibal’s lips were pressed up against his in a kiss whose hotness rivaled the raging cheesy inferno inside of a freshly-de-ovened Hot Pocket. It was hot enough that Will almost didn’t notice Hannibal’s dick head-butting (heh) his surprisingly-pink pucker and slipping inside his warm channel.

Almost.

“Income taxes student loans STICKER RESIDUE ON FRESH FRUIT!” Will shouted, digging into his memory bank of especially bad words as he felt himself being stretched in previously-unstretched places.

“Such language,” Hannibal tutted, “I’d gag you with one of my ties if they weren’t made out of golden silk that came out of diamond-encrusted silkworms whose diet consists of only the finest Zinfandel on the market…”

With Will momentarily blinded by descriptions of Hannibal’s exorbitant wealth, Hannibal took a moment to give himself another congratulatory hi-five for nailing such a cute guy. He’d have to take himself out for a celebratory ice cream sundae later on—perhaps a banana split, just to be ironic.

But ice cream could wait. Hannibal had much more pressing matters to attend to—like the total babe he was currently pressing into his mattress.

“Mmm, yes,” he breathed, “you like it when I put my dick into your tight little pussy? Want to be a good girl for me?”

“Although I am not against the concept of feminization in the bedroom, I would prefer if we discussed it before engaging in sexual activity,” Will replied, but it came out sounding like ‘You can be the boss, Daddy, you can be the boss,’ which made Hannibal smile. In his opinion, there’s no such thing as a bad time for some Lana Del Rey, especially during anal (because that’s ‘Lana’ spelled backwards…)

It was then that, for once in Hannibal Lecter’s despicable life, he was a real cool bro and did a real cool bro thing. He found Will Graham’s prostate (‘found’ being used loosely—he had trained as a doctor for many years, therefore making him an expert on the anal canal and all of its lovely features) and decided he’d graze that sensitive bud of flesh from time to time, just for fun.

Of course, Will Graham reacted to this new development, and responded accordingly—by unleashing a strangely-feminine, incredibly loud whimper that may or may not have shattered a priceless vase or two.

The screech was so loud that it even reached the ears of Mason Verger.

“Which one of you was that?” Mason asked his pigs in an accusing tone. The pigs, of course, did not reply verbally—perhaps telepathically, but one can never be sure if there is enough psychic energy to break the pig/human mind barrier at any given time.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” he sighed, arms and hands covered in baby oil, “Hey, get back here, number seven! You’re not slippery enough!”

Back at the Lecter residence, however, the sex was going swimmingly.

“The sex is going swimmingly, wouldn’t you say, Will?”

“Aa;lsdjfa;sldf”

“Indeed,” Hannibal said, “but you know what would make it even better?”

Will stopped panting long enough to think for a moment.

“Smooth jazz and scented candles?”

“Spoken like a true amateur. No, Will, what this tryst needs…” Hannibal brought his mouth down to Will’s collarbone and nibbled at the skin there, “is a healthy dose of classical conditioning.”

“What do you mean?”

Hannibal bit down on Will’s skin hard enough to draw blood and began stroking his straining cocklet at the same time.

“You see, Will,” Hannibal explained, licking up the blood, “I am training your brain to associate pain with pleasure, so you will learn to become aroused at the notion of being bitten.”

“That’s wrong!”

“No it isn’t. A famous psychologist, Ivan Pavlov, applied the same general principle to his dogs-“

“Dogs, you say?” Will’s mouth broke into a small smile, “I like dogs.”

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal facepalmed, “I know.”

“You should have told me the dog part first.”

It was difficult, but Hannibal resisted the urge to pull out and decapitate Will with his cheekbones.

“I didn’t think it pertinent to bring up dogs during sex. In my vast, colorful experience, that’s usually frowned upon…”

“A good friend knows when to say ‘I’m sorry,’” Will said, swiveling his hips and earning himself a groan from his bed partner.

“Will, I am literally inside you right now. I’d say we’re more than friends.”

Waifu’s?” Will gasped, pupils turning into little hearts with glitter in them.

“Now I know how you kept your virginity for so long…” Hannibal mumbled before the Ouran High School Host Club theme began playing, hips moving as if he were trying to fuck the nerd out of his lover, “Boyfriends, Will. I’m talking boyfriends.”

“You’re asking me this now? While you’re—how did you say?—literally inside me?”

“I’m more likely to get the answer I want this way, so, yes.”

In an attempt to further entice, Hannibal began sexing up Will’s dolphin-slick hole at an increasingly brutal rate.

“Dammit, Hannibal,” Will gasped, “I can’t think clearly with all this penetration!”

“Good,” Hannibal rasped, “It would inconvenience me greatly if you were to come to your senses. Just say yes, Will. Just do it.”

“Hmm…”

“Life is meaningless, Will.”

“Uh…”

“We’re all just slaves to the void.”

“Well…”

“You have nothing to lose.”

“I guess…”

“Only lots of dick to gain.”

“Alright, fine!” Will groaned, “You won me over with the promise of dick.”

“Nobody is immune to the Hanniconda,” Hannibal said with a smug grin, “Now I think it’s about time we finished up here. I’ve cared about someone other than myself for far too long…”

Will was about to reply, but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled moan as Hannibal’s hand found its way back to his penis and stroked in time with “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor, which he began humming under his breath.

“I triple dog dare you to cum right this second,” Hannibal whispered huskily in Will’s ear.

“I’m-I’m almost there-“

“But I triple dog dared you to—you can’t turn down a triple dog dare, everybody knows that!”

“Dammit, you’re right…“ Will said, and before he knew it, he was spilling across his stomach and chest in seven spurts, resulting in one to two teaspoons of semen.

Oooooh no, Hannibal thought as he neared his end, that is the exact statistical average ejaculation for males according to Wikipedia. That is so hot, I cannot-

With a growl, Hannibal reached his peak, filling Will with a scary amount of seed—like an ‘oh-my-God-you-should-probably-see-a-doctor-about-that-unholy-level-of-dick-sauce scary. Still, Hannibal had an excellent time, enough to give Will a 5-star review on Yelp.   

“I would ask you if it was any good,” Hannibal said, rolling off Will like he hadn’t just had a super great orgasm, “but I know it was, because everything I do is fantastic.”

“You didn’t wear a condom,” Will said.

“Yeah, and I also didn’t wear a sombrero—whatchu gonna do about it, Graham?!?

“Nothing, uh, I…” Will shifted so his head was laying on Hannibal’s chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across Hannibal’s furred chest, which was like super fuzzy and incredibly masculine, “About the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing…”

“What about it?”

“Well, I… Are you sure you’re okay with it? I mean, I’m unstable and beautiful and all, but-“

“Will Graham,” Hannibal cut him off with a stern tone, “I only have one thing to say about the matter, and that one thing is ‘no take-backs.’ I’m in it to win it.”

“Wow, really? Sounds like you’re interested in becoming the new ‘Mr. Graham…’”

“Hahaha. Haha. Hah. No,” Hannibal said, “It’s ‘Doctor and Mr. Lecter’ or nothing.”

“Fine,” Will smirked, “I’ll just go with ‘nothing.’ Doctor Lecter and ‘Nothing.’ It has a nice ring to it…”

“I should’ve eaten you when I had the chance…”

“Wait…what?”

“Nothing, uh…I…” Hannibal looked around the room frantically, as if an idea was going to sprout out of his closet and plant its roots into his ear and infiltrate his brain…but that didn’t happen, so he had to improvise. “You know what would be really sexy? If you don’t tell the FBI that I’m a serial killer.”

“Will you let me top?”

“Pfft, no. But I will make you a grilled cheese with gold leaf while I pretend to care about your dogs and metaphors. Is that a good trade-off?”

It must have been an onion of an idea, because immediately Will’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded his assent. Hannibal smiled and patted his weird little bed-mate on the head.

It was the start of a beautiful relationship.