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Two months had passed since the fall. Burning resentment steamed under Will’s surface. He’d accepted his love for Hannibal, but was now stuck in another cycle of grief. The grieving of Will Graham’s morality.
Before Hannibal, Will was a puzzle with a singular missing piece in the center. Hannibal delicately slid that piece into place before he roughly took the others, picking away at Will until all that was left was the piece that Hannibal had slid in.
Will and Hannibal had moved to Norway after the fall. Will spent his days fishing in the river behind their cabin, only imagining Hannibal on the other end of his line. Will got to decide if Hannibal got to leave or not, and Will would take advantage of that.
One night, after a long drive from his office in Oslo to their cabin in Vikersund, Hannibal is greeted with the sight of Will sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table that Hannibal had custom-made to fit Will’s tastes. Will’s eyes were focused on the TV, too engrossed in the show he was watching to care to look up at Hannibal.
“Good Afternoon,” Hannibal paused for a moment, noticing Will’s lack of response, “Did you catch anything worth cooking?”
“Not particularly. Just Lake Trout. I let a few go.” Will mumbles, not caring enough to look up still.
“Fårikål it is then.”
Will watches Hannibal work on the stew from their living room, assembling the cabbage and ‘mutton’.
Will feels a pang of anger at Hannibal’s calmness, knowing that part of him simply wanted revenge.
He watches the stew boil on the stove for about an hour before suddenly getting up to grab something, startling Hannibal out of the half asleep state he was in. Hannibal doesn’t quite question Will’s antics, knowing how impulsive the other man is.
Will rushed outside to his shed, where he kept all of his tools and fishing gear. He fumbles with the lock before opening it and kneeling beside on of his toolboxes, pulling out a long tube before walking back inside.
By the time Will returned, Hannibal had already fallen asleep on the couch, leaving Will to his revengeful thoughts.
Hannibal wakes up nearly an hour later, hazy and dizzy. He gags around something shoved down his throat, but is unable to panic due to the drug he was injected with. He hazily looks up at Will, seeing him with a content look on his face and a piece of the ‘mutton’ from the stew in his grasp. Hannibal gags again, feeling the tube throughout his esophagus.
Will shushes Hannibal, gently caressing Hannibal’s hair and face in the same way that Hannibal once did to him. Hannibal’s eyes roll back and he feels Will’s hands against his face, the coolness of the man’s palms feeling good against his hot face.
Hannibal feels the meat being shoved down his throat through the tube and gags, starting to drool around the tube. His eyes hazily look at Will, his ears hardly picking up the words coming from Will.
“Good.” Will says to him after he gets the first slice of ‘mutton’ down his throat. That was the singular word that Hannibal could figure out. The comforting shushing was actively arousing Hannibal.
Hannibal watches Will take another piece of cabbage from the stew and shove it down the tube, gagging as he feels the pressure throughout his esophagus as the chunk passes through. He moans around the tube, the intensity of the drugs making it come out as a low whine.
Will continued for a while before he felt the vengeful part of him settle. The power trip he’d received made him incredibly content with Hannibal. Content was never something he used to describe his relationship with Hannibal, but it was quite comforting.