Actions

Work Header

Scoreboard

Chapter Text

Hannibal and Will had been together for fifteen months. Fifteen beautiful months, in Hannibal’s estimation.

It had finally come together when Hannibal had convinced Will to go back into the safety of his classroom, which Will had done, refusing to visit crime scenes directly, but agreeing to view the files and perhaps the evidence if he felt it warranted. Jack had been furious, but Will had leaned into Hannibal, and sheltered against Hannibal’s body from the storm of Jack’s anger. That was the first night they’d spent together, Will lying in Hannibal’s arms after a difficult day, because he’d told Hannibal it was where he felt safest. That night was their first commitment to a solid and tangible relationship. As a result, Will was more stable, healthier than he’d ever been. Hannibal had thought that if Will learned of his predilections, he would break. He’d spent their first night staring at the beautiful man in his arms, and wondering how long he could keep such a secret from Will if they were sharing their lives.

The next morning, Will had calmly asked what crime their breakfast had committed. Hannibal had stared open mouthed, unbelieving while Will expressed his hope that Hannibal’s victim had done more than merely be rude to deserve their fate.

“The way I see it, Hannibal, is that if you intend to continue a relationship with me, and continue being a serial killer, then you are going to have to compromise somewhere. I’m going to tell you what I can live with, so you can make an informed decision.”
Will had stopped there and looked at Hannibal, as if giving him room to speak. As Hannibal continued to stare at him blankly, Will had continued.
“If you will agree to kill only those who are a danger to others, and never serve me a paedophile or a rapist, because no matter what sauce you put on that, it’s going to be vile, then I think we could be really happy together. The other thing I’d need is for you to keep your ego in check. Most serial killers get caught because they need to show off. I don’t see why I should sit around twiddling my thumbs for a decade, missing you, wondering when or if you’ll escape, unable to move on with my life because you need everyone to know you’re smarter than them.”

As Hannibal hadn’t moved since Will had started talking, and certainly hadn’t continued eating his breakfast and Will had finished his, he paused to casually reach over and swap his empty plate for Hannibal’s mostly full one.
“If you can’t accept those terms, and bear in mind these are only the broad strokes that I thought of in the shower this morning, I’m sure they’ll need refining, then either I can leave, or you can kill me. Though I’d like to finish breakfast first, if that’s ok, this is really good. Oh, and you’d need to find homes for my dogs. Good homes.”

Will had polished off his purloined breakfast at a leisurely pace, enjoying immensely how he’d silenced the usually verbose Hannibal. When he was finished eating, he leaned back in his chair and stretched. Hannibal was still staring at him. Smirking, Will reached over and ran his fingers through his murderous lover’s hair. “You ok, dahlin?” he drawled. “Want me to fetch you a knife, Cher?”
He’d moved to stand up, and finally Hannibal had snapped out of his shock, he’d reached for Will’s wrist, pulled the smaller man into his lap, covered his face in kisses, murmured promises that he agreed, he wouldn’t risk Will, wouldn’t risk them. Smiling sweetly, Will had stroked his hands down Hannibal’s back, burrowed under Hannibal’s clothes, wriggling against him. He whispered the words, “Will 1 - Hannibal 0”, but before Hannibal could ask what Will meant, Will’s hand on his cock distracted him most effectively.

Such sweet memories, soured by such rage.

His attachment to Will, his feelings for his little profiler had shocked Hannibal to his core, it still did. He’d thought his emotional heart had died in his youth. Then Will had walked into Jack’s office in Quantico, and Hannibal had nearly leaped over Jack’s desk to get to the slightly scruffy, beautiful man with his empathy and his scars.

Hannibal’s love for Will took precedence over everything, even Hannibal’s serial killer ego; which was why Hannibal followed his lover’s rules when it came to forensically safe guarding his murderous hobby. The suit must be sterilised, and checked for any damage, as must all of his equipment. Hannibal had readily agreed to this. After all, he was a very neat monster. He had also accepted Will’s demand that he must change his shoes, to an ugly but sensible pair doctored to have no traceable tread and were specially weighted and sized to suggest a man with a bad limp, whose weight and height are quite different to Hannibal’s own. The only point on which they had argued was the shower cap. Hannibal felt stupid in it. Will had offered the compromise of a hooded murder onesie, but Hannibal felt murder should have a sense of decorum. A murder suit with a hood? He might as well go in jeans and a hoody. Unsophisticated. Ordinary. Common. Hannibal shuddered at the thought.

He might wear dungaree’s and no shirt when he was being the plumber whom Will couldn’t afford to pay, he might wear leather chaps and a white Stetson when he was being the deviant cowboy who was supposed to give Will horse-riding lessons but decided Will was better suited to riding something else, but that was clearly different. Hannibal had his dignity, and a hoody was definitely beneath it.

Shaking his head, Hannibal carefully examine his murder onesie for scratches or cuts, the fabrics he prefers for his clothing being far too unique and identifiable to risk a stray fibre finding its way onto a crime scene for some tricksy little evidence collector to scoop up. Hannibal had previously seen imprisonment as an unfortunate but probably unavoidable result of his hobby, but that had been before Will. Now he had something to protect, something beyond himself. His relationship with Will was the most precious thing in Hannibal’s life, and he would protect it, with all the viciousness of his monstrous soul. This was why he was preparing to go out and slaughter someone this evening, someone who threatened his relationship with Will. Peace had settled into his soul in anticipation of his actions for this evening.

Chapter Text

Over the past weeks, his Sweet William had become secretive, sneaking around. He’d twice used Beverly Katz as an alibi when discreet observation by Hannibal had proved this a lie. Once he’d claimed to be joining Alana Bloom for supper, but Hannibal’s quick rummage through her desk when he’d dropped by on the pretext of inviting her to lunch had proven this to be a lie. Hannibal knew he would be unable to stalk Will without being discovered, and a private investigator stood no chance, so he decided to track Will’s car. And his phone. And he might have presented his lover with a Seiko Astron watch that had GPS, after Will’s previous day to day watch was unfortunately and not at all calculatingly broken by Hannibal during some violent wrestling which served as foreplay for them. Winner topped.

The information these devices gathered had been undeniable. Will had been spending his time at the house of an acquaintance of theirs, one Mr Benjamin Thorne, a member of the group of private donors like Hannibal, who were treated by the opera company to various private performances. Thorne was a curious choice for a lover, Hannibal thought idly as he packed his tools into the Valise case that Will termed his ‘murder’ bag.

Thorne was younger than Hannibal by more than a decade, only thirty, he had a wonderful mind, cultured and refined, an academic who mostly eschewed people in preference for books. He had a plain face, which was neither pleasing nor displeasing enough to attract attention, was of average height and had a body untroubled by regular exercise. He lived a quiet and reclusive life, emerging occasionally to view an Opera or a play.

Thorne was the only American of Hannibal’s acquaintance who was a polyglot like himself, which was actually the basis for their association, as Thorne had noticed his little used Lithuanian was starting to falter, so he’d sought Hannibal out. Hannibal had been flattered, and enjoyed the prestige that came from being one of the few people who saw Thorne socially. As Thorne had impeccable manners and a vast interest in both history and classical literature, Hannibal had been happy to converse with him over occasional dinners in the various languages they knew. Hannibal had once invited Thorne to one of his dinner parties, but Thorne made it clear he had no interest in attending, by way of his charmingly honest reply to the invitation Hannibal had sent, which was a note that requested Hannibal make the appropriate polite excuses to the other guest, but whilst he very much hoped Hannibal had a delightful time, Thorne could not possibly deal with so many people whom he dislike so intently. He invited Hannibal to a private dinner to take place two weeks later and hoped Hannibal would forgive him. The note was accompanied by two cases of exquisite champagne to cement his apology.

Thorne also had the distinction of being one of two people Hannibal had ever deferred to in matters of aesthetic taste, the other being Hannibal’s Aunt. Thorne had the eye of an artist, an innate understanding of colours and placements. Hannibal had refurbished a large portion of his own home after visiting Thorne’s. He’d been pleased when Thorne’s only reaction to Hannibal presenting a male partner to him at an Opera had been an owlish blink, before engaging Will in a talk about the music they’d enjoyed.

How they’d met up on their own, Hannibal didn’t know. Had they arranged to meet when he’d been present, perhaps at the most recent benefactors evening at the Opera? The timing would fit. The thought made Hannibal furious, partly because it made him question things he’d previously been sure of. He was not a man used to insecurity. Love made him vulnerable. He hated being vulnerable. So he’d eat his rival, proving the other man inferior. And it would set a precedent that Will clearly needed to learn, that if you earn the heart of a monster, you should not fuck with it.

Hannibal had been so sure Will was his, as Hannibal was Will’s. But clearly, Will wanted something else. Did he want someone… pure? Was that it? He needed to have a non-serial killer bit on the side? Hannibal wouldn’t have believed it, if he hadn’t seen the evidence himself. He’d have believed in Will’s innate sense of loyalty. Maybe Will thought that if Hannibal had a hobby, so could he? Hannibal wouldn’t have minded if Will was killing, though he might feel some sense of competition, but cheating on him was not acceptable.

Hannibal would not share. But he couldn’t kill Will.

Not because it was impractical, what with him being in a known relation with Will, so if Will disappeared, their relationship would be scrutinised. Infidelity was a classic motive for murder. No, it wasn’t the prison sentence that stayed his hand. He just couldn’t hurt the betraying little Twink that he adored beyond all reason. So he was going to kill Will’s lover, and then they’d eat Will’s paramour, that bastard Thorne, every damned bite. It was not how he’d recommend a patient handle the infidelity of a partner; particularly if the patient wished to stay in the relationship, but how else was he supposed to get his point across?

He thought that once Will discovered what he’d done, it was possible that he might have to cage Will in the basement for a while, but Hannibal knew Will would be able to see things from his point of view eventually. How could he not, with his empathy?

Hannibal forced himself to pull out of his reminiscences and revelries, to go over the plan for the more serious events of the evening. He took his valise downstairs and set it by the front door. The cooler was already in his car, though he’d need to buy ice on his way. Wouldn’t do to have Will suspect his plans for the evening.

Happily Will had an evening of marking to keep him occupied, and when he was grading papers Will wouldn’t notice anything, even Hannibal prancing around, naked but for high heels, fairy wings and body glitter. He could shimmy his glittery junk in his profilers face, and Will would only notice if glitter dropped on his papers.

Sighing over the stupid situation love had gotten him into; Hannibal regretted not conditioning Will with hypnotherapy to be unable to lie to him. But Hannibal being the stupid romantic cannibal that he was, he’d wanted the real deal. For his partner to know him, what and who he was, what he’d done, what he would do, and still want him. And he’d got it, including being cheated on. Him! Who cheats on a serial killer?!

Stupid, beautiful, cheating, adorable, pert-assed bastard Will. God he was pretty. The absolute bastard.

The object of his desire stepped into the hall just as Hannibal lifted his coat from its hanger. Fighting the urge to growl at his unfaithful bastard, Hannibal smiled, though it might have been more a bearing of teeth…. He fought a quick battle, conquered his anger, and contained it. His smile relaxed, reached his eyes. When Will reached to hug him, his body was relaxed. Nothing suspicious here. I’m an innocent little cannibal.

“Mmm, you feel good” Murmured the treacherous, delicious bastard, also known as Will, as he wrapped his arms around Hannibal.
Do you say that to your bit on the side, you bastard? See how you like your lover with a side of plum sauce.
Though Hannibal managed to refrain from saying any of that, his returning hug might have been more forceful than he intended.
“As do you, my Sweet William.”
The cheating bastard pressed his body against Hannibal’s. It made Hannibal furious to wonder whether Will did this to Thorne.
“Will you be home late?” Will enquired.
“Rather, I’m afraid. But I shall certainly be back in time for breakfast.”
Will pulled back just enough to be able to see Hannibal’s face.
“Really? I feel like I haven’t had enough time with you lately.”
Will presses soft chaste kisses to the corner of Hannibal’s mouth.

Hannibal almost thinks to abandon his plans, but he cannot bear to let Thorne live another night. Besides, whose fucking fault is it that they haven’t had as much time together!
You’re always busy sneaking off and lying you sexy ass bastard, whom I love and hate and hate that I love.
With much more calm than he feels, Hannibal replies.
“I know, my love. But such is the nature of our work. Perhaps we could take a long weekend at the end of the month, hmm?”

If you can bear to spend so much time away from your lover, you pretty bastard. You are so lucky I love you or you’d be a pie. Please don’t be reluctant to spend that much time without him. I mean, he’ll be dead by then anyway, but if you’re nervous to spend time away from him, it means it’s more than sex. I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s more than just sex. But I know It won’t be neat.

“That sounds wonderful. Somewhere isolated, just the two of us. Perfection.” Sighs Will.
Oh thank Fuck for that. Small mercies. So we aren’t going down in flames for definite after I kill this guy.

Hannibal holds Will tightly.
“Yes darling, I know just the place.”
It’ll probably be just as well if we’re somewhere secluded when you learn your lover is dead, thinks Hannibal. I’ll be better able to control the situation and gauge your reaction. It’ll give me more opportunity to bind you back to me if you react badly to finding out your partner has murdered your paramour and fed them to you. And wants you to eat the rest of them. As a punishment and a promise. Then both of us will know we belong to each other. This time we will both be certain.

Hannibal is so focused on his revenge, his plans; he doesn’t notice the out of place grin on Will’s face.

“Why don’t we have a glass of wine together, before you go?”
“I will be driving, my dear.” Hannibal says, as he presses his forehead against Wills. He grips the back of Wills head in one hand.
“Tea then? Please? You have ten minutes, surely?”

Will looks so appealing, so honest, like he has truly missed Hannibal. It’s so tempting to believe him, pretend there’s no problem. Just for a little while. To be safe in Will’s love, before the beastly truth descends.

“I will prepare some-”
“No, no. My idea. I’ll get it. Go sit on the sofa in front of the fire, it’ll be cold outside. Might as well be warm whilst you can.”

So Hannibal returns his coat to the hanger, he follows Will down the corridor, as always he feels as if he is magnetised to this man, no matter what he does.
Settled on the sofa, he looks briefly over the page Will was marking, but nothing there holds his attention. He stares at the fire until Will returns, bearing a tray with a tea pot and the relevant accoutrements. When they first got together, Will would just bring two mugs of tea. Now he does it Hannibal’s way, to please him. Hannibal once again ponders the mystery of why Will has taken a lover, as Will passes him a cup.
They drink, both watching the fire.
Will put’s his empty cup on the coffee table, and curls into Hannibal’s side.
Hannibal wants to keep him there forever.
He is hurt by what Will has done, and he hates that.

Will brushes his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, and the gesture is so comforting and familiar, it relaxes Hannibal. He’s so comfortable, he could drift off….
But there’s work to be done.
“I must go”
“Mmm”
“Will? Please, we said ten minutes.”
“I lied” Comes the petulant reply. “Five more minutes?”
Hannibal yawns; he certainly agrees that it’s comfortable, cosy even.
He gives Will a squeeze, and then tries to wriggle free.
Will holds on.
“Just stay here one more minute” …. Will sounds anxious… Does he know Hannibal’s plan? His empathy is formidable, but he’s always struggled to read Hannibal. Hasn’t he?
…..
Did he just fall asleep? Hannibal blinks and looks around the room. Will has shifted. Yes. He fell asleep. How odd, he slept perfectly well last night.
…..His arms and legs feel heavy… His head…. Not normally so….
He looks at Will, who is studying him intently, pinning him to the sofa they had cuddled on.
Though it isn’t taking him much effort to do so, which is strange when Hannibal’s stronger….
“Will…..”
How slurred his voice sounds….
He stares at the teacup he drank from.
His mind cannot accept the evidence of his senses.
“You….Will…. The – Tea?”
Will looks at him, he sighs.
“Don’t try and get up, Hannibal. There’s no point, just relax.”

Hannibal flails his legs and arms. He doesn’t move much. Just enough to knock his tea cup to shatter on the floor.
It doesn’t gather itself back up.
The thought makes him want to cry.
He lurches forward, and is caught by Will’s arms.
He’s pushed back onto the sofa.
He doesn’t expect to wake up from this.
He wonders if Will plan is to eat him. He rather hopes he does. It’s better than being discarded.

Chapter Text

When he does wake, Hannibal is surprised.
The smell makes him think he’s still in his house in Baltimore. Has he woken too soon?
He keeps his breathing in the same rhythm, tries despite the drugs to hide his regained faculties.
Observing all he can, he believes he’s still in the living room, on the same sofa they were cuddled up on. He feels the heat from the fire. He’s tied, or rather, he’s taped. Very very securely. He’s taped up. Like some kind of duct tape sausage. Legs together, arms arranged across his front. A knife lies on the coffee table. He wonders how exactly Will expects to hide his death. Hannibal is disturbed by the presence of some sort of soft collar he seems to be wearing. It’s terribly comfortable which is a surprise. It actually feels more like a pillow. Has Will put a neck pillow on him? To kill him, but not wanting him to strain his neck in his unconscious state? What an odd killer Will is.

Something cold and wet drips onto Hannibal’s head. He flinches involuntarily. As the pretence is up, he opens his eyes and straightens, as much as he can with his bindings.

Will sits in front of him, holding a cloth, a jug of ice water on the coffee table, a full glass and bowl.
Hannibal watches curiously as Will gently wipes his face with the soothingly cool cloth.
“You thirsty?” Will asks quietly.
“Does it matter?”
The question changes Will’s demeanour from shy and guilty to defensive and angry, he stands up and starts to pace, taking him out of the trussed up cannibals sight.
“I knocked you out. You didn’t tell me I had encephalitis so you could play with my brain and manipulate me into loving you, which was pointless ‘cause I already loved you. Don’t play ‘who’s a shittier partner’, cause trust me, you won that already by being a serial killer and feeding me people.”
“One could argue that you are also a serial –”
“Finish that sentence and you’ll be talking through a ga-ag!” Will says in a sing-song way. It seems oddly jovial given the circumstances.

Coming back to the chair he’d set in front of Hannibal, Will sits down. He picks up the cloth, and wipes Hannibal’s neck down with it. Then he picks up the glass of water, pops a straw into it, and holds it up to Hannibal’s mouth.
Hannibal gazes impassively back at Will.
Sighing, Will drinks half the water in the glass, whilst muttering about trust issues.
Hannibal, who actually was terribly thirsty, drinks the rest when it’s offered again.

Then he asks, “So, what is your plan, Will? How exactly do I die? Am I to commit suicide, or to go missing?”
Will groans in response. He puts the glass on the coffee table, and then curls over in his chair, his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. After a few minutes of deep breathing, he begins to talk.
“I knew you would be difficult, I knew that before we became a couple, but I really, honestly thought that it was the serial killer part of you that would cause us problems. Not the man. I mean, it seems obvious right? Fall in love with a serial killer, you don’t expect to live happily ever after. You expect to hide limbs in cupboards and hope the nice neighbour who wants to borrow sugar doesn’t notice the blood on the floor or the gore and ichor splattered fancy cannibal standing in the corner with a hatchet hidden behind his back trying to look nonchalant. You expect to be saying things like ‘We’re in an amateur theatre club. Rehearsing a scene. That’s why the screaming man whose missing his legs and leaving a blood trail from the stumps is so convincing. Yep. We didn’t de-limb him. Here’s the sugar. Why don’t we have a neighbourhood barbeque when you’ve settled in- Franklyn will you please stop screaming, it’s very off-putting.”

Will stops ranting and starts to giggle.
Hannibal is confused.
Will has started to rock back and forth.
Hannibal does not feel this is an improvement.

“Will…. Perhaps we could postpone your breakdown? Just for a little while? I feel we have more pressing issues. Or if you want to have your breakdown, could you free me first?”
Will’s giggling, or perhaps cackling is a better description, dies down.
He raises an eyebrow at the prone cannibal-tape-sausage.
“Oh, yea. Release the Cannibal when he’s planning to go murder our friend. That sounds like a good plan, I think not. I’m not that crazy Hannibal. Just a little stressed. Because of you. Being an asshole.”
Hannibal gasps.
“I’m the asshole?! I’m not the one cheating! I have been faithful! I haven’t even seduced anyone in order to kill them. Do you know how much easier it is to kill someone if they think you’re going to have sex? Sooo easy! Particularly when you look like me! But I don’t do it anymore, because I’d at least have to kiss them to make it believable, if not exchange some groping, and I didn’t think you’d like it if our meals gave me blowjobs. I kept my genitals strictly for you!” Hannibal has worked himself up to screaming that last part, which makes him wobble slightly in his cannibal worm costume. It would not be dignified to fall off the sofa onto his face.

“Ok, ok. I promised myself this wouldn’t be a yelling match. We are going to discuss this issue like reasonable adults.” Says Will whose gone back to his deep breathing exercise.
“Reasonable adults who drug each other?” Hannibal puts in.
“You’re not hel-ping!” sing-song style slightly hysterical Will re-joins.
“Well, by all means, let’s have a civilised conversation about my impending demise.”
“I’m not going to kill you.” Snaps Will. “I just needed to make sure you wouldn’t be going anywhere whilst we had this conversation. I can’t concentrate on talking if I think I’m going to have to wrestle you off Thorne.”
….Hannibal stills…. “You would protect him with your life?”
….Will stills this time…. “…Would I need too?” He asks Hannibal quietly, staring at him intently. It seems to be a moment in which the whole world pauses. As if nothing can continue until this question is answered. There is so much riding on this answer.

Hannibal hisses. “I want to rip your lying tongue from your mouth. I want to hurt you, as you’ve hurt me. I want to carve my pain into your skin…. But, I…. I want you untouched. Unhurt. Looking at me without fear. With love. Knowing you are mine, not because I have engineered it, but because you chose me, it was…. I thought we were happy Will.”

Chapter Text

Relief flows through Will. So powerful he’s shaking. If Hannibal planned to hurt him, if Will’s reality had changed so irrevocably, he’s not sure he could take it. He knows playing a game with a killer is dangerous, but he’d been sure the payoff would be worthwhile. If he’d actually lost Hannibal through this… It’s a concept that horrifies Will. Hannibal’s love is the foundation he’s rebuilt his sanity on. If that foundation foundered…. Will might reign down hell on earth to right that wrong.

“Are you alright?” Hannibal asks softly. The expressions that have crossed Will’s face make him worry about his Will.

Gods, that voice. He could probably cum from Hannibal talking to him alone, without a touch. He makes a mental note of that idea. Maybe they could try it. Once they have dealt with their present issue of course.

Clearing his throat, Will replies, “Yes, I’m ok. Relatively.” He smiles at Hannibal, a sweet, fond smile.
“Do you want more water? Are you comfortable?”

Hannibal briefly considers a biting reply, but he’s too unsure of Will’s state right now. He might want to push him, see how far he can go, but he doesn’t want Will to break. Unlike the tea cup, he could not take back breaking Will. He won’t risk it. So he politely declines.

“I’m fine.”

“Then we’ll continue. You think I’m having an affair with Thorne.”

Hannibal carefully repeats the word, “…think” with no inflection.

“As you have no proof, it remains a theory, perhaps with circumstantial evidence.” Will points out.

“You were with him when you pretended to be elsewhere. Alone at his house.”

A faint amusement warms Will’s look.

“Is that really the only possibility? If you go to someone’s house, you’re having sex.”

“There was also the lying.”

“I suppose.” Will agrees. Crossing his legs, he changes the topic. “Do you remember my last birthday?”

Hannibal is momentarily baffled by the non sequitur. He nods slowly, “Of course.”

“I was so surprised. Not that you’d done something, but the effort you went to. To pick something I’d really like. Two weeks on a boat, no one else. Fishing, swimming, you in tiny speedos.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of the speedos.”

Will looks slyly at Hannibal. “Does that mean I have to stop looking at the pictures?” He asks innocently.

“……You didn’t. You Promised!”

“You fell asleep on the deck in them. I wanted to remember our holiday. It seemed reasonable.”

“….You will destroy them.” Hannibal states, utmost authority in his voice.

“Nope. I’ll keep them forever. If you’re ever arrested I’ll have them published. No one who sees them will believe you harmed a fly. Get out of jail free card.”

Hannibal shakes his head. Utterly confused. “Do you think reliving old memories will make me forgive your indiscretions?” He asks.

Will sighs. “Ok. So I was at his house. Alone. I lied about it. I was trying to hide something from you. And now I’m talking about birthdays. Any clues here you think?”

Hannibal is one confused cannibal. He shakes his head.

Will laughs. “This is not what I expected.”

Hannibal is quick to reply. “What did you expect Will? That I would be an easy partner to have? That you could cheat on me and I’d accept it. Did you think you’d tamed me, Will?”

Will gives Hannibal a level stare. “No, Hannibal. I didn’t expect you’d be an easy partner. I did however expect you to be a smart one.”

Hannibal glares at him, but before he can say anything to such rudeness, Will continues.

“The more you interrupt, the longer you’ll be tied up, so in the interest of your bladder and the sofa, let us be quick.”

Hannibal gives a regal nod, indicating his assent. Though he is still smarting over Will’s previous comment.

“Let us review the known facts,” Will starts, with the air of a man teaching a class, “but let us add a further piece of information. I snuck around, tried to hide where I was and who I was seeing. It has something to do with birthdays, though as you’re being dense, I will state that I am referencing birthdays because yours is coming up soon.”

“My birthday?”

Hannibal is more confused than ever. What does his birthday have to do with anything? He starts to run though cyphers and codes that he knows of which use the appropriate dates. He can think of nothing. But Thorne is younger than Hannibal….

“Are you implying,” Hannibal growls out through gritted teeth, “that you went elsewhere because I’m getting too old?” If he wasn’t in a cannibal wrapper, he might bite Will for that. He might be near fifty, his exact age unknown because of the disturbances in his childhood, the year he was born was lost in his memory, and not worth looking for, though the date of his birthday remains. How he wishes he hadn’t told Will his age. He could pass for a little younger…

Will’s chuckling rather interrupts Hannibal’s fuming.

Will tugs his chair closer, looking right in Hannibal’s eyes. Amusement is clear on his face.

In the most loving voice, Will says, “Oh Hannibal, you are such a Machiavellian shit-head.”

Hannibal starts in confusion. That sounded oddly like an endearment.

“Honestly,” Will continues, “It’s like you think you live in a Soap opera, or maybe a reality TV show, where everything, even making toast is filled with ridiculous amounts of drama! You are a drama Queen! You are so lucky you make good chocolate cake, ‘cause otherwise this might not be worth it.”

Will gets up from his chair, and sits himself sideways on Hannibal’s lap, snuggling close. Despite Hannibal’s anger at him, he adores the contact, the way Will exhibits no fear of him.

“Look darling, I will lay this out in the smallest possible baby steps, so you can understand. And then you’ll realise what a moron you’ve been and apologise –don’t look at me like that, calling you a moron in these circumstances is perfectly justified. So let’s review. You did an amazing thing for me on my birthday. Now it’s coming up to your birthday. Let us assume, that the last hour or so notwithstanding, that I am happy and fulfilled by our relationship and wouldn’t want to cheat on you. I’ve been sneaking around, plotting, lying about being with people from work when really I’ve been holed up with someone whose taste you called ‘faultless’ which for you is akin to starting a cult to worship him. Is an opportunity for dramatic accusations about infidelity really all you see here?”

“….Yes” Hannibal responds cautiously because he feels he’s being led into a trap.

“Seriously?” Asks Will, deadpan.

“Yes.”

Pressing his face to Hannibal’s, utterly unconcerned about being near a cannibals teeth, Will sighs softly. “I’m planning your birthday party, you psychopath.”

These words do not make sense to Hannibal. He isn’t sure he recognises the language. Hannibal is frozen. Will made a mental note. Will 2 – Hannibal 0.

Will starts to cut away Hannibal’s tape body condom whilst he explains.

“Of course I’m not cheating on you, I just needed help planning some kind of fancy ass shin-dig for your birthday. I asked Thorne for help planning it, because the place I rented started talking about organza being preferable to damask tablecloths in the evening because silk is too formal, and would I want layers and should the colours match or contrast, and did I plan to perhaps use patterned table cloths because it’s much more difficult to co-ordinate with all the other soft furnishings, and my god, that was just the freaking tablecloth! They wanted to know my ‘design’ for the table! Do you design a table? We’re gonna sit at it for a couple hours, eat, listen to some singers sing and then dance around a bit in a fancy way. How does that require knowledge of fabrics and colour wheels?! And sorting out a chef, whom you’d find acceptable, because you can’t cook for your own party, would just be impossible. I didn’t know it could be so complicated. So when you left me talking with Thorne one night at the Opera, I remembered what you’d said about him having amazing taste, sooooo I might have asked to borrow his imagination, which was not ironic. And incidentally, the man only agreed because he likes to think about you naked, I’m certainly not his type. I felt like your arse was gonna burst into flame, he was staring at it so intently. Every time I met with him I had to feel both his niceness and his jealousy that I get to see you naked, and his thoughts on his preferred positions, which was distracting to say the least, though remind me to tell you about this one that seemed interesting, though I think we’re both going to need at least six months of regular yoga or something before we can try it without injuring us. You might need longer since apparently you’re now so old your mind is failing because that’s clearly what has happened if you thought I’d cheat on you. Either that or you’ve had syphilis for a while, and it’s eaten away part of your brain, and the brain damage explains it. Those are the choices. I mean, I’d describe as our sex life, as ‘frantic’, you know? Not ‘healthy’, ‘frantic’. And you think I have the leftover energy to shag someone else on the side? If I had an affair it’d be one with no contact, it’d take an hour a month at most, and it’d just be to do the things I can’t do with you like, like wear a track suit and eat chicken out of a bucket and watch television, and to be honest I do that anyway on my own when you aren’t home, and I don’t plan to stop. I still want you wear a track suit for me incidentally, because I’ve always suspected that would be a good look for you. I also bought you a period appropriate Viking costume, because it was hot and because even in role-play you have ridiculously high standards, and I refuse to go through that Knights of King Arthurs Court Role Play where as soon as it got interesting you refused to continue because the fastenings of your trousers where anachronistic, you anal retentive, ridiculous-”

As Hannibal is now free, he finally manages to unthaw from his shock during Will’s rant, and he knows from experience that Will actually can’t stop talking when he gets like this, it’s the anxiety. So he presses his lips to Will’s, and immediately Will stops babbling, and his hands fist in Hannibal’s hair. As he is now free from his tape chrysalis, Hannibal puts his arms around Will’s waist and tugs him closer.

“I’m sorry. I’m a Machiavellian shit head, like you said. I’ll stop reading it at bedtime. I’m sorry Will. Will, my Will.” Hannibal’s short sentences are punctuated by the urgent kisses he presses on Will. If he thought he could feel such a thing, he’d think he was currently embarrassed. It was possible that he was a Drama Queen. What costume would be appropriate for that, he wondered.

Will has wriggled so he’s straddling Hannibal’s lap, hands creeping to the tie at Hannibal’s throat. His tongue traces the hollows at the side of Hannibal’s throat, giving Hannibal access to Will’s throat in return. Hannibal’s hands move to Will’s own clothes, though he has a far easier time getting Will naked than Will does with him. A purposeful ploy. If they got naked together, Hannibal would either impale himself on Will’s cock, with no hint of lubrication, or he’d be inside Will before he could think. His layers allowed time for foreplay. Usually. Judging by the knife that has slashed through Hannibal’s suit, leaving him available for Wills pursuits, he’s guessing his beloved has as little interest in foreplay as he does this night.

Now he knows everything is ok, that they are ok, Hannibal Needs, with a fierce aching in his groin and in his heart. He needs Will to show him everything’s ok. Hannibal is still learning the art of softer feelings, but he sure can show lust. And his William will read that it’s not just lust for Will’s body that has gripped him, but lust for all of Will, every beautiful facet of Hannibal’s most precious treasure. It’s lust for Will being here despite what he knows, and looking as if he won’t be able to live if Hannibal doesn’t touch him. There is safety in this heat. The knowledge, shaken briefly, but more secure now than it was before, that this is real and important to them both. Neither will risk the other. Relief is overwhelming. So much so, Hannibal thinks it’s time for more of a different kind.

He borrows the knife from Will’s hand, pleased and happy when Will doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stop kissing him, or question what Hannibal is doing with a knife. So Hannibal leans into the kiss, as his hands go to the neck of Will’s t-shirt, in which he makes a hole, a hole he then rips with his hands. Damn, that was fun. He drops the knife on the floor and starts to wrestle Will out of his trousers, which does not prove elegant when he’s trying to flip them over at the same time. Will doesn’t seem to mind though, given how he laughs and helps Hannibal to get on top. Will’s trousers are thrown over Hannibal’s shoulder. If he was wearing underwear, he’s not now and that makes Will very happy. He should look into some kind of Hulk role-play, considering that’s the image that comes to mind with Hannibal in his cut up waist coat, tie and shirt. The jacket’s survived, and so have the trousers, but Will suspects the staining will prove the final nail in the suits coffin.

Hannibal wrestles with his belt, wishing he could rip the thick leather quickly. Maybe a track suit has a plus side, the elasticated waist band meaning one could get out if it without much effort. Maybe Will’s fantasy of a tracksuit wearing, street drug dealing sweary Hannibal fantasy was worth reconsidering. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with the bloody struggle his belt is putting up. Will laughs again, and pulls Hannibal back in for more kisses, whilst he deals with the currently hated belt. Pushing down Hannibal’s trousers, he pulls the larger man flush against him, one hand keeping Hannibal’s kisses hard against Will’s mouth, the other hand massaging his partners rather fabulously toned arse. Hannibal raises his head millimetres from Will’s, just enough to question,

“Bedroom, lube?”

“Too fucking far. Spit?” growls Will in a desperate way which Hannibal wants to hear every day for the rest of his life.

“Not enough.” Says Hannibal.

“Fuck.” Hisses Will.

Christ, that was fucking sexy, Hannibal thought. It doesn’t count as vulgar if you only think the swear words, Hannibal assures himself. Then Will has pulled away from Hannibals mouth so he can get something, anything on Hannibals rather impressive cock. It’s kind of treading the border between mouth watering and alarming, but that works for Will. Spitting and wiping it on Hannibal is usually cause for your immediate vivisection, but suddenly Hannibal finds the idea perfectly acceptable, and maybe a tiny bit erotic in itself. Like it’s Hannibal that’s making Will’s mouth water that much. The possessive part of Hannibal’s soul loves that thought.

“Not wet enough. Who cares? Get in here.” Never have such crude words pleased Hannibal more. He pulls his Sweet, faithful Williams legs around his waist and sucks his fingers. There’s time enough for brief preparations.

He brings his fingers to Wills entrances, lightly stroking, when Will is suddenly rolling to the side, almost pushing Hannibal onto the floor. Does he want to be on top? Most of the time that’d be no problem, but right now, the urge to possess Will is riding him hard.

Wills arm flails out wildly towards the coffee table.

“Will?-” He begins, when he’s suddenly righted, back on top, firmly on the sofa.

“Hand cream!” Will cheers, waving his prize at Hannibal. “Ha ha! We have an oil based lubricant, foreplay is deemed unnecessary and I swear to god if you try and insist, I will hurt you Hannibal Lecter.” While he’s spoken, Will has literally just upended the bottle of hand moisturiser onto Hannibal’s throbbing dick in an enchantingly gleeful manner.

Hannibal’s brief look of disconcertion vanishes, followed by a shrug, and then he’s quickly up on his knees, looming over his partner. He guides himself to Will’s entrance, and pushes home.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
Hannibal can’t tell if Will is saying that because it’s what he’s thinking, or if he’s just verbalising Hannibals crazed thoughts. Who cares?

He tries to still himself, at least for a moment, to give Will’s body a chance to adjust to his invasion. It would be easier if Will’s moisturiser covered hands weren’t running all over Hannibals chest. It would be easier if one of Wills slick fingers wasn’t playing with Hannibals own entrance. But most of all, it would have been easier to hold back if Will hadn’t immediately started fucking himself on Hannibals rigid cock.

Furious kissing follows the thrusting. Hands and legs are everywhere in a confusing tangle, and random bits of ragged ripped clothing keeps getting in the way. God it feels good. His Will, all his, no one else’s. He didn’t cheat on Hannibal, didn’t break a monsters heart, Will loves the monster in Hannibal as much as the artist and the knowledge makes the monster in Hannibal purr in satisfaction. Here he is safe, home, welcomed, loved and adored. And this is how it shall always be. Hannibal promises it, in every language he knows, swearing frequently as he rams himself into his Will. He feels Will cum against his stomach, and god, that makes him hot.

‘MineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMine’ is the chant in his mind. Can’t get deep enough, can’t get close enough, oh god, I want more.

As soon as that thought slips through his mind, two fingers slide into Hannibal’s ass, and start twisting around.

Hannibal throws back his head as he cums, and then his teeth are set into the meat of Will’s neck, marking him, taking him. Will is his, and he is Wills and anything that comes between them will die Die DIE!!!!

A strange vow to make at the point of orgasm perhaps, but they’re hardly a traditional couple.

Hannibal collapses onto Will. He licks at Will’s neck, but that’s all the movement he’s capable of at this point.

Will doesn’t seem to mind. He uses the hand that wasn’t just in Hannibal’s ass, to stroke his lover’s hair. Will sighs, and it sounds so content. Hannibal thinks it’s his favourite sound in the whole world.

Will lifts his head up, and looks around. Hannibal selfishly does not want to move. He wants them to stay wrapped around each other, on the couch where they cuddled and drank tea a few hours ago, where Hannibal thought he’d die one hour ago, and where he just finished fucking his partner. Then the blanket that lies along the back of the sofa is pulled over Hannibal’s back. Will pops a small cushion under his head and snuggles back down. He sighs again. Hannibal thinks he’ll keep those sighs in his memory palace, each one a beautiful gift of belonging.

For the first time since Hannibal Lecter was a child, he has a home again.

Though there is a sense of completion, as if tonight’s events are finished, Hannibal cannot resist drama.

And really, Will should have expected it.

The soft kiss pressed to the fresh bite mark. A simple little question wrecks the peace they have found, causing its own fresh chaos. Sweet, delicious chaos.

“Marry me?”

There is no reply for some time. Hannibal starts to actually feel anxious again, no doubt increased, by the slight tensing of Will’s own body.

“You’ll have to plan it.” Will tells him.

Hannibal freezes again. He hadn’t expected an answer tonight. Let alone a yes.

Will 3 – Hannibal 0.