Work Text:
The afternoon sun poured into the walls of a quaint cottage in Middle of Nowhere, Georgia. They had spent the last three months in hiding, switching cars and names like it was nobody’s business. As of right now they were Adam Lloyd and Steffan Lindberg, half-brothers who moved to Georgia in pursuit of starting a farm together. Thankfully, most of their interactions with the public didn’t involve elongated discussions, instead relying on each other for company, just as they were that day.
They were in the middle of a large plot of land, absolutely littered with peach trees. Hannibal, having ignored Will’s pleas to put on sunscreen, was red in the face and holding a large basket in his hands. “Always reaching for the highest hanging fruit, are we?” he mused as Will hooked himself onto the tree, reaching up for a particularly juicy peach. “I didn’t spend my childhood doing this just to grab the shitty small ones at the bottom,” he grabbed it, landing it expertly in the basket that Lecter extended. For everything they disagreed on, they made an absolutely perfect team.
Will climbed higher, dropping beautiful peaches left and right. Hannibal couldn’t help but let himself smile, admiring the leaves stuck in the man’s curls. Graham hung off of the thick branch and landed on the ground with poise, eyes meeting Hannibal’s and noticing a certain eagerness in his expression. “Your turn,” Will smiled with a slightly mischievous undertone, trying to imagine Dr. Lecter making a mess of himself. It was strange enough seeing him walk around in a t-shirt and cargo pants, not to mention the stubble that had made itself a home on his chin.
“Very well, then,” Hannibal handed over the basket and followed suit in Will’s movements, slightly less certain but not any less graceful. His arm reached out for a peach, and he plucked it off just to sink his teeth into it. It burst in his mouth, making a squelching noise as the juice ran down his arm and the front of his shirt. Will almost felt the need to look away as the liquid seeped into Hannibal’s shirt and drenched his hands in stickiness. He recalled sitting in a very similar tree when he was a child, devouring fruit after fruit ruthlessly and letting the pits scatter at his feet. Will often wondered how many of those pits grew into full-fledged trees. How much of an impact he had on the world around him.
Hannibal was elsewhere. Gaze usually drifting to Will, it was now fixated on the vast expanse of trees in the distance. He ate the rest of the peach quickly, picking at a few more and becoming overly aware of Will’s judgment. Hannibal wondered how particular his tastes were in terms of fruit. Among other things. “Really? These two?” Will reached into the basket and fished out the two that Hannibal had just dropped, picking them up and inspecting them. “They’re nowhere near ripe enough, Hannibal. This is peach pie we’re talking about,” he felt a tinge of excitement over being more knowledgeable about something. He could tell Hannibal sensed it too.
Will watched as Hannibal dangled his feet, hanging from the branch, suddenly feeling a sense of panic in his voice. “I think I may have miscalculated,” he said, voice now strained as he held onto the tree. Graham didn’t need another second to react, letting the basket land on the ground as he positioned himself under Hannibal, arms extended. There was no moment of communication, and Lecter just simply let go, landing directly on top of Will and toppling both of them over. They rolled in the warm, damp, dirt, the shade of the trees obscuring their eyes from the otherwise blazing sun.
Hannibal huffed as he lay on top of Will, taking in a moment to absorb the way his elbow felt against his knee, and the way the sweat pooling on his forehead smelled when mixed with peaches and soil. They hadn’t been this close since their last stop, bodies huddled in a twin-size bed in a motel room of questionable safety; but this was the first time Hannibal properly got to inspect Will’s face. His beard was growing in quite nicely, hair following suit; and the scars that Lecter spent so long stitching up were finally properly starting to heal. He was beautiful.
Will looked up at the panting man on top of him, unable to avert his eyes even for a moment. He was rough, sweaty and messy, covered in peach juice and sweat. His hair was uncombed and face not shaven, tense muscles adorned with an ill-fitting t-shirt from Walmart. He’s never looked better, Will thought for a moment. The last three months had been agonising in their desperate lack of affection. Of course there were the usual touches and holds, and now the premise of a singular bed wasn’t all too foreign, but it wasn’t enough.
The clouds shifted and there was now a strip of sun on Will’s face, making his blue eyes sparkle, beckoning Lecter as he moved in closer. Will could feel his breath on his lips, looking up at him through his eyelashes before they closed the gap. Hannibal let out a surprised noise, met with hands on the back of his neck.
Will couldn’t help but grin momentarily. Dr. Lecter tasted like a Georgia summer.
He gained confidence from an unknown source, as if the sun was charging him up like a solar battery. Will ran his tongue along Hannibal’s bottom lip, blessed with the pleasant taste of peaches. Hannibal chuckled. He
chuckled
. Will pulled away for a moment so as to not deprive himself of this moment, eyes tracing over his face lovingly as he made note of the crinkles in the man’s eyes, and the way his canines were raised. He wanted to catch that laugh and consume it so it could live in his chest forever, beside his heartbeat.
“I can’t say that I trust you to catch me and come out unscathed. But perhaps that’s for the best,” there was a joyous tone in his voice that Will had thought was reserved for discussions of opera and French cuisine. Perhaps he’d finally made that list.
“And I can’t trust you to pick a single edible peach. So maybe we’ll stick to our original roles,” Will sat up, watching as Hannibal reached up to cradle his face. He leaned into the touch, then scrunched his nose. “You’re very sticky,” he took hold of his wrist and pulled it away from his face, feeling the crystalized sugar nestle itself in his beard.
Will brought the hand up to his lips, licking a long strip up Hannibal’s palm. The man hitched a breath, then raised an eyebrow in amusement, not protesting at all as Will made light work of “cleaning” Hannibal’s hand up, mouth wrapped around his fingers until he could no longer taste the sugar. They sat there for a minute, eyes transfixed on each other. The peaches had been abandoned, and so was the rest of the world at this moment. “Had I known it would be that easy I would have made a mess of myself eating a peach much earlier,” Hannibal stood up, helping Will to his feet and yet again getting lost in a quiet moment.
“Think we have enough for a pie?” Will gestured to the basket, that was practically overflowing with enough fruit to feed an entire army.
“I think we have enough to spend the next 5 days eating peaches and nothing else,” Hannibal couldn’t help but smile, picking the basket up and letting Will guide him out. He didn’t usually consider himself to be easily lost, but Graham had a remarkable understanding of organic spaces. He remembered every out of place branch, every patch of moss, every carving in a tree trunk. It was endearing watching him lead the way as if he was a survival expert saving them from the deep dark abyss of the forest. To be quite honest, Hannibal would’ve been content to live under that peach tree forever. Surrounded by grass, fruit, and Will.
They walked mostly in silence, though Will took note of the synchronisation of their steps. It felt like, with every waking moment, they truly merged to be something other than themselves. Every conversation they had, Will could often predict what Hannibal would say next. Not to mention the fact that they fell asleep and woke up at the same time practically every single day. The white and black of ying and yang was no more, and was instead turning into a uniform gray shade all over. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Hannibal stumbled inside, putting the basket on the table and watching as Will went to wash his hands, scrubbing the dirt from under his fingernails. He took a few steps until he was standing behind Will, gently clasping his hands over his and helping him wash. Will relaxed into the warmth of Hannibal’s chest behind him, ignoring the fact that it was already burning hot inside and the fan wasn’t exactly powerful. Lecter stroked his hands over Will’s, entwining them as he washed the spaces between their fingers.
When he pulled away, Will almost felt a protest building up in his throat, but suppressed it quickly, heading over to the peaches and starting to wash through them. Hannibal laid out the cutting board and knives, eyes meeting the apron that was hung up in the corner of the kitchen. They hadn’t managed to explore everything in this house just yet, mostly focusing on getting enough sleep after driving for eons nonstop. He picked it up and blew air out of his nose in amusement. In big letters, it said “MAY I SUGGEST THE SAUSAGE” with a large finger pointing downwards.
Will had never been much of a cook, really, but the one memory he had was standing in the kitchen with his grandmother. He’d come home, tan as anything, lugging a very similar basket of peaches behind him. Barefooted, he’d run into the kitchen while she was already rolling out pastry, happily filling a pie tin and ruffling Will’s curls. He’d be instructed to wash his hands, get on his stepping stool, and then take a tiny rolling pin that she’d purchased for him. After hours of labor and laughter, they’d end up with the most delicious peach pie anyone had ever tasted.
Now he was here, showing that same exact recipe to Hannibal. If it could even be called a recipe. It was more of a collection of memories involving snippets of consistency, texture, and looks. Will could do it with his eyes closed. He reached into the cupboards, pulling out sugar, flour, and cinnamon. Hannibal couldn’t help but notice his shirt ride up ever-so-slightly, avoiding saying anything as he grabbed butter.
“I can’t say I’m well-versed in pastry,” Lecter admitted honestly, watching as Will eyeballed an amount of flower.
“I can’t say I am either. This is pretty much the only thing you can trust me to cook,” Will recalled his college days, a whirlpool of hard boiled eggs, failed attempts at flirting, and way more instant ramen than any living human should consume.
“I’m excited to see the student become the master,” Hannibal mused, taking the apron and absentmindedly tying it around Will’s waist. He couldn’t help but smirk in anticipation of Will’s reaction to the writing. There was already a laugh building up in his chest.
“What’s this?” Will could feel the heat building up in his cheeks, face tinted a soft pink now. He took a moment to assess the writing before his face spread out into a wide smile and he laughed. The apron was crude, but the idea of Hannibal choosing to wrap it around him caused him to produce a flustered giggle, chest fluttering in a completely unfamiliar way, leaning against the kitchen counter and meeting Hannibal’s eyes. “How uncouth of you, Dr. Lecter,” the tone of his own voice startled him. He chose to avert his focus to the ratios in the bowl, adding butter to the flower and beginning to mix it with his fingers.
Within moments, Will’s hands were absolutely caked in batter, fat and flour covering every inch of skin. Hannibal watched in merriment, stepping towards him and raising an eyebrow in a silent ‘may I?’. Will shook his head, putting a hand to his chest and directing him to the peaches. “I can’t trust a beginner with the pastry. Cut the peaches for me, will you?” He almost heard his grandmother’s voice in his own, remembering the years he’d spent only making the filling until she decided he was ready.
Lecter nodded, surprised by his own obedience as he settled on getting the peaches cut. He carved them into uniform slices, putting them into another bowl.
“No, no, no, no, no, what is this?” Will gestured to the beautiful slices. “Come on, Hannibal. Not in this kitchen,” Will cleared his hands, wiping them on his apron and taking the knife from him. “You cut with your heart, not with your head.” Will took a peach and sliced it, ending up with a dozen haphazard pieces. Lecter would’ve experienced pure disdain in this moment had it been anyone but Will. Instead, he followed along and produced uneven slices, shaking his head with a small smile.
“Right, that’s more like it,” Will finally produced a dough, putting it out on a floured surface and folding it until it finally formed a uniform substance. Hannibal snuck a glance any moment he could, Will’s strong hands digging into the dough. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was hard not to stare. He wondered what those hands would feel like against his skin.
Will finished off the dough and shoved it into the fridge, now focusing on the filling. Hannibal at this point decided to prop himself up on the counter, watching Graham walk around the kitchen with purpose, letting the smell of cinnamon waft in the air. “How come you’ve never mentioned your grandmother?”
“Passed away when I was fifteen,” he shrugged, pausing for a moment as he considered it. “She and I didn’t talk about much besides pie and fairy tales. She was an expert at doing the voices,” Will added cornstarch to the mixture, yet again not measuring anything.
“The adults in our lives can shape who we are subconsciously. Do you think any part of her has remained in you?”
“Not sure, but I can say I’m grateful it’s not the accent,” he thought back to her deep, languid, southern drawl. He knew he definitely took after her in his inability to talk about his feelings. Grandma Ruth had a lifelong feud with her ex-best friend for reasons unknown to anyone but her. Will joyfully recalled the memory of her saying Mel was a ‘no-good-lying-God-damn-bitch’. That was the first time he’d heard that word.
Hannibal crossed his legs. “You do tend to veer in that direction when you’re frustrated,” he recalled Will going on a loud rant about fishing rod prices in their last city. “It’s interesting how speech patterns vary depending on our state of mind and company.”
“Do you speak to everyone else like this?” Will quietly cursed the curiosity that soaked his tone.
“Do I kiss everyone else?”
Will looked up at him, taking note of the smug smile on Lecter’s face. He wanted to say that he hoped Lecter didn’t. Or that, in fact, he actually did at some points. Memories of Alana and Bedelia flooded back but only momentarily.
“We do need to talk about that, actually,” he hummed, reluctant to continue the conversation. Will was no expert in communication, and relied on the fact that Hannibal already knew what he was thinking most of the time. “I… enjoyed it,” he spoke up again, noticing that Lecter was uncharacteristically silent.
Hannibal slid off of the counter, arms wrapping around Will again, not minding the sweat on his back. His face nestled in Will’s shoulder, gentle lips pressed to it. “Is it safe to say that wasn’t the last time?”
Will stifled a laugh, stirring the filling then turning the burner off before he swiveled around in Hannibal’s arms, somehow still surprised by their proximity. “I sure as hell hope it wasn’t,” his arms wrapped around his neck. He noticed Hannibal’s muscles relax as Will considered what today’s earlier interaction meant for them. They could spend every waking hour making out if they really wanted to. Will’s lips spread out into the hundredth smile of the day, leaning in for another kiss.
Hannibal was no less excited than the first time their lips met, tongue licking over Will’s teeth as the younger man emitted a quiet moan. Lecter pulled away briefly, trying to analyse his expression. Will’s eyes were half-lidded, Hannibal’s hands clinging onto the front of his shirt. “I suppose we’ve found a new pastime?” was all Lecter could think to say, mind racing with a dozen thoughts at once. One of them being the blood suddenly rushing to an all-too-familiar place.
“I don’t think I want to do anything else today,” Will eked out, slightly worried for Hannibal’s reaction. They’d never been overly open about boundaries so, even after years of knowing each other, communicating his needs felt foreign.
“I understand,” Hannibal’s palm cupped Will’s cheek, moving his hair away from his face with the other. He admired it silently, long fingers running over the scars. Hannibal tutted, pressing a soft kiss to each and every one of them. Will’s eyes closed and he relaxed into the touch, mouth pursed as Lecter paused over the large slit on his forehead.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against his skin, pulling Will into a tight embrace. They stood there in the kitchen for a minute or an hour, Will being the first to pull away. “The pastry,” his voice was quiet and laced in sleepiness, the labor of the day and softness of the moment finally catching up with him.
He laid the dough out onto the table, rolling it into two large circles and laying the bigger one into the pie dish. Will squeezed some lemon onto the peach filling before pouring it in. Somehow, he made the perfect amount without having to think about it at all. With patience, Will began weaving an intricate lattice pattern on the top, eyebrows knitting in concentration. Careful fingers threaded pastry strips until what he had finished was a product that could politely be described as “rustic”. Hannibal marvelled at his attempt to fix it, though Will gave up quickly and shoved it in the oven, instead focusing his attention on Lecter.
Will went to sit on the bed, arms reaching up for Hannibal. “What’re your thoughts on Georgia, then?”
Hannibal situated himself beside his beloved, taking his hands and pressing a kiss to them. “I have never been under a warmer sun,” he began, focusing on Will’s knuckles. “I’ve never tasted sweeter fruit, never felt softer hands, never slept for so many hours in a day,” he leaned his head on Will’s shoulder. “In a way, I’ve learned to find home in a feeling, rather than a location,” their eyes met. “I feel at home with you, Will.”
“I feel…” Will couldn’t find the right words, squeezing Hannibal’s hands. His heart was thumping in his ears, warmth tingling in his cheeks and ears. Lecter understood, pulling him into another embrace and humming against his neck. Will laid back and dragged Hannibal with him, spooning him as he mumbled sweet praises into his ear. “We ought to go peach picking more often.”
“Only if you promise I won’t have to do any more climbing.”
“Age got your joints, Grandpa?” Will teased, watching Hannibal twist until they were facing one another.
“Among other things,” he looked up into his eyes, hands drawing small shapes in his side. His fingers trailed to the scar on his stomach, running over it and hearing Will’s breathing get slightly more irregular.
“I’minlovewithyou,” Will coughed out, fists grabbing Hannibal’s shirt. His eyes darted nervously over his facial features, noticing the slightest twitch in the corner of his lip.
“Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always,” he hummed, returning Will’s eye contact. Of course he quoted Dante.
“Will, I’m in love with you.”
The room became a place of worship immediately, filling with the praises and prayers of those that came centuries before them, and the harmonies all the church choirs in the world would produce for years to come. No one really needed to say it, it felt like stating the obvious, but once those words were let out into the world, peace hovered over their heads and settled in their rib cages. This was their first true moment of serenity. Of a silence that didn’t feel deafening, forced, or tense. Both men shut their eyes and allowed themselves to mentally register every point of contact they were making with the other. This cabin was a solace.
They stayed nearly completely still bar the slight movements of their chests, holding each other impossibly close and focusing on the synchronisation of their breathing.
Before they knew it, the oven beeped. They reluctantly pulled away from each other, making their way to the kitchen while trying to maintain as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. Like lovestruck teenagers. Moments later, Will pulled out a beautiful, golden pie. It was bubbling and steaming at the top, filling the entire cabin with the intoxicating scent of cinnamon. He couldn’t help but smile, putting it down and immediately cutting into it. Will always ate it when it was steaming hot.
He sliced a huge portion for both of them, handing out plates and getting ice cream out of the freezer, adding a large scoop on top. Will’s portion sizes were nowhere near as refined as Hannibal’s, but they never needed to be. This was southern food, after all.
Lecter dug into it with his fork, blowing on a piece and putting it in his mouth. Will looked up at him, eyes wide with anticipation of feedback. The older man chewed in contemplation, tongue grazing over the uneven pastry, slightly-too-sweet filling, and crudely cut peaches. Somehow, the flavors came together beautifully and sang in his mouth. He bathed in Will’s expectant gaze, offering him a large smile as he swallowed the first of many bites. Hannibal figured it was the best thing he’d eaten in his entire life.