Archive of Our Own

It's a strange thing, living with another person. Daily routines like tides, friction and harmony rising and falling in accordance with the moon. Idiosyncrasies that chafe and endear sometimes in tandem, quietly adding texture to the very rooms shared. And it's so much more strange when the person you're living with is Hannibal Lecter.

To say that Will and Hannibal know each other well is an understatement. Known intensely, painfully, seen straight through. Their very beings blur at times- Will feels like he can see himself through Hannibal's eyes, when he tries to. And yet the two aren't quite attuned to one another in a domestic setting.

Will gives him a wide berth, stays out of his way. The only room they commonly share is the dining room. It still makes him nervous, when Hannibal cooks for him. Three meals a day, no questions or complaints. Will wants the distance, he's grateful that the other man doesn't test him on it. In fact, Hannibal seems to feel the same. Will spends much of his time in his bedroom. There's an armchair tucked in the corner near a large window where he sits and reads and thinks. Hannibal mainly haunts the living room, drawing at a desk near the fireplace.

Yes. Grateful for the distance. Grateful that the conversation stays light. That Hannibal seems hesitant to say anything that might break their delicate ceasefire.

Will is well acquainted with strays. He knows their behavior, the way years of isolation and violence can make a creature bristle whenever a hand draws near, regardless of its intentions. Hannibal hasn't lived with someone else since- Will isn't sure. He lived with Bedelia for a time, in Florence, but how many facades actually came down behind those doors? How many layers of his person suit did he wear for Bedelia, for anyone? With Will he wore none. The nakedness after so many years of careful hiding feels frightening, like he needs to fight to protect himself from being cut to pieces by even a glance. Will knows, he feels it too.

They are two strays, circling each other, still deciding between bearing their teeth and lying at the other's feet.
He's grateful that Hannibal doesn't meet his eye, even though he knows Will is looking. Grateful that he doesn't turn when Will stands in the archway of the living room and watches him draw, sometimes until his muscles start to ache from standing still. Grateful that Hannibal won't enter his room, even when Will can hear the floorboards creak at his approach and settle where he stops before the door.

Will doesn't love Hannibal. The feeling is something else, something he's confusing with love. He can't trust himself to know how he feels about Hannibal, he knows that much. It's the reason he's ended up here.

Hannibal has worked his way into Will's mind, twisted his thoughts until they warped and fuzed. Will hates Hannibal, needs Hannibal. Kiss him, stab him, fuck him, push him off a cliff. Not love him. Will isn't broken enough to love him. He's confused. Hannibal is still in his head, playing with him. The kindness in his silence is bait. The patient smile he offers Will when he joins him at the table every night is a ploy. It's meant to lower his guard when Hannibal lingers as he fills Will's wine glass, like he's savoring the closeness. It isn't working. Not again.

The ache when he lies in bed, just a few walls between Hannibal and himself, it isn't yearning. The tightness he feels in his chest when he walks by and sees the sun playing off of Hannibal's features isn't affection. It isn't love. None of it is love. It's something else, something Will can't identify because his feelings are too twisted. Might be hatred. Must be hatred.

"Will?"

He stops halfway down the hall. "Yeah?"

"Would you care to join me?"

He turns, sees Hannibal in front of the fire. Dinner is over, their last required interaction of the day is over. Hannibal strides to their liquor cabinet, pulls a bottle of whiskey from its place.

Will sets his jaw. It's been a while. A while of being in a truce. After they were both healed of their injuries, they'd withdrawn from one another. It's been a month, almost, of only really talking to Hannibal over meals. But they've had more than that before, much more than that. It isn't as if some whiskey before parting is unheard of for them. Even if it's only for the whiskey, it isn't something worth refusing, if he wants to drink.

"Yeah. Okay."

Hannibal smiles, or shows his teeth. Shows his teeth, Will decides. This isn't an olive branch, it's a trap.

Will watches Hannibal closely as he sits on the couch. Hannibal pours him a glass and Will stares at him over the rim as he takes a sip. It's dark in here, the only light is the fire.

Hannibal joins him with his own glass. "Would you like to go to the farmer's market tomorrow?"

Will frowns. There's something twinkling in Hannibal's eyes. It's predatory, must be predatory. "I can," He says. "What do you need me to get for you?" Will always does the shopping. Hannibal is too recognizable, too infamous. And it's a fair trade for Hannibal's cooking, in his eyes. Putting himself at risk.

"I was actually thinking I could join you," He replies. "We've been laying low for quite a while, I'm getting restless."

Will tenses. Restless Hannibal Lecter isn't something he wants to deal with. Not when he can feel his own ends fraying. He's restless, too. Coiled tight, ready to spring at any moment. Not something they need to share.

"Besides, I'd enjoy it if you showed me the city. What little you've seen of it. Perhaps we could explore it further. Together."

Will doesn't confuse the flutter in his chest for excitement. It's fear, he knows it's fear. Won't get confused again.

"If you want to risk getting yourself caught, I won't stop you," He says, tipping back his glass. "But I'm not getting arrested with you just so you can chew the scenery."

Hannibal looks disappointed for just a moment as he takes another small sip. "Perhaps you're right. We could go somewhere a bit less populated, then. We aren't far from the coast, I don't know how much I'd care to be in the sea again but it might be nice to sit and watch the waves for an afternoon."

Will hesitates. He wants more whiskey, to quiet his mind. His glass is already empty, but pouring another drink would mean staying at least until it's empty again. He sets the glass on the coffee table.

"Yeah, go for it. Hope you have a good time," He says, making a point to avoid Hannibal's eye as he stands. "Thanks for the drink. I'm gonna head to my room."

"Will."

He stalls in the archway, doesn't turn to face him. "Hm?"

There's a moment of silence that seems to say so much. It isn't saying what Will thinks. Hannibal's hand isn't reaching out to feed him, it's reaching out to strike. It must be.

"Sleep well," Hannibal says at last.

Hannibal doesn't leave the next day. Will tries to feign surprise. He doesn't offer Will whiskey again. They barely talk during meals. Will is grateful for the distance.

The pain is something else.

He wakes a few nights later when he hears the creak of his floorboards. His eyes fly open. There's light streaming in from the hallway. His door is open.

Hannibal is in his room.

In a flash, Will grabs the knife he keeps under his pillow and holds it out, threatening him to keep his distance. His eyes fly up to meet Hannibal's.

Hannibal isn't armed. He doesn't even look like he's prepared to strike. His eyes dart down to the blade, then back up to Will. There's something crushing in the look on his face.

"What are you doing in here?" He asks. He adjusts his grip on the handle, keeps it trained on Hannibal. Like he'll cut him to shreds at any moment. He will.

"Will," He breathes.

"What were you gonna do to me?" He demands, louder this time.

"Nothing, I-"

"Don't lie to me!"

Hannibal has no right to look this betrayed. It's all part of the game. Must be. This is another manipulation tactic. "Did you think, all this time, that I was going to attack you as you slept?"

Will swallows. He didn't, not really. If Hannibal was going to kill him, he would've done it by now. And if he changed his mind, which he does often, he would want to kill Will while he was conscious. So Will would know.

He kept the knife there as a security measure. A 'just in case' thing to help him sleep at night. Partially for the unlikely chance that Hannibal turned on him in the night. Partially in case the cops or another killer broke in. Mainly as security against himself.

He thinks, more often than he'd ever admit, about leaving this bed. Padding his way down the hall, sneaking into Hannibal's room, and crawling beneath his covers. When he considers it, he grabs the knife, holds the handle so tightly it hurts. Convinces himself that he would stab Hannibal, when he found himself in his bed. That the scenario he keeps imagining is one of blood and betrayal. 'I don't have to kill Hannibal tonight,' he would tell himself. 'I can stay here. Go to sleep. I don't need to go in there. I'll kill him if I do. I'm not ready to do that.'

It's easy to convince himself. To confuse his own feelings until he's almost sure that murder was the plan. And the murder is easy to give up on.

He lowers the knife and stands. He tries to brush past Hannibal.

Hannibal catches him softly by the wrist, but relents when Will rips it away.

Will slams the front door behind him with as much force as he can manage, hopes that it cracks the frame. He sits on the porch steps, looks at the knife. His face is reflected in the blade. He looks miserable.

The door opens again and Will can feel eyes on him. He can feel worry, pity, hurt. He stabs the knife into the porch emphatically and it sticks into the wood.

"I'm not letting you in my head again, Hannibal. I can't live like that anymore."

"I'm not trying to-"

"Stop looking at me like that," He says through gritted teeth. A part of him knows he isn't being fair. Hannibal hasn't gotten to defend himself at all. But he can't bear it. Can't handle the emotions he's picking up from Hannibal. The hurt and the sorrow and the love, why does it still feel like love? No matter how much he hardens himself to Hannibal's tricks, it still feels like love.

Hannibal sighs. "I had a nightmare, Will. When I woke from it, I felt the need to check on you. I know I'm not allowed in your bedroom, but I needed to know you were alright."

Will sobs. His heart feels so wounded. So many years of abuse at Hannibal's hands, and yet Will feels guilty. How does he pull Will's strings like that? How does he make Will believe his lies?

"I'm sorry, Will-"

He's already pulling the knife free before he can stop himself, whipping around and pointing it at Hannibal again. "I said stop looking at me!" He begs. His voice is a shriek, if their location wasn't so remote he'd be worried about attracting attention from the police.

The silence that follows is eerie, unnatural like that of the eye of a storm. Hannibal shuts his eyes, frees Will from his gaze. He inclines his head, takes a deep breath. Will holds the knife like it's the only solid thing in the world. The forest that surrounds them feels strangely silent in the wake of Will's outburst. If he tries to focus, he can hear cicadas in the distance, but he mainly just hears his own breathing.

It's the clatter of metal hitting wood that breaks the silence. Will stands and steps down from the porch. "I'm taking a walk. Get some sleep, Hannibal."

Hannibal's door is shut when Will returns some time later. The knife is no longer on the porch. When Will finally retires again to his room, he sees the glint of metal on his bedside table.

The feeling is regret, he doesn't confuse it for anything else. It's regret.

And it doesn't come from love.

Will is terrified to leave his room the next day. The ceasefire has been broken. Hannibal cracked it  when he invaded Will's space, and Will hadn't hesitated to split it open along the fault line. But he could smell dark roast coffee, and fresh bread, and bacon.

Three meals a day. No questions, no complaints. From either of them.

Will stared at the floor as he entered the dining room. There was a plate at his place already- French bread with cheese baked onto it, bacon, seasonal fruits. Coffee, no milk with two spoons of sugar, and a glass of water without ice. There isn't a plate near Hannibal's chair.

Yes, the feeling is definitely regret.

Hannibal is standing in the kitchen, nursing his own cup of coffee. Pale and bitter. His opposite, at least where coffee is concerned. His back is turned to Will, he doesn't acknowledge it when Will sits at the table.

"Morning," Will says, struggling to breathe through the awkwardness. Hannibal doesn't reply.

He picks up a fresh strawberry with his fingers, feels a grit he wasn't expecting. There's sugar on the berries. The pain in his heart is still regret, the smile that tugs at him anyway is relief. He pops the strawberry into his mouth, sighs at the slight tart that is soothed by an almost candy-like sweetness.

"I used to eat sugared berries all the time in the summer. It's an easy dessert," He says, even though they both know. "They're better if you eat them outside, if you're willing to fight the ants and the bees." He forces a chuckle. Hopes Hannibal will turn to face him again. He doesn't.

Will sighs, takes a bite of the bread. "It's delicious, Hannibal, thank you."

"The doors in this house lock from the inside, Will," Hannibal says at last. Will furrows his brows but doesn't interrupt. "You are not trapped here, you can leave if that's what you want."

He swallows, the bread tears at his suddenly dry throat. "You would just come after me," Will says. He cringes almost instantly after he says it. It's a trap, they both know it. Hannibal can't agree or disagree, because Will wants both.

Will wants Hannibal to seek him out, to feel like he could never be free, because then he can explain away his desire for closeness as wanting to make the best of a bad situation. And yet, Will wants to feel like Hannibal is finally giving him some freedom, like these weeks of kindness and patience are a peace offering, a demonstration of surrender. Like maybe they're finally done playing games.

"Peter was only asked to deny his devotion three times," Hannibal says at last. "You have already denied me twice. Once in my home, and once in yours. If you deny me a third time in the home we share, I will not ask you to do it again."

Will stands, walking to the kitchen. He forces himself to face Hannibal. Hannibal looks up from his coffee, regarding him with a carefully neutralized expression. There's a feeling underneath that Will can detect in his eyes, but he can't name it.

"I can't leave you, Hannibal," He says. They're conjoined. Painfully.

"You can." Hannibal gives him a small smile. "Tell the truth."

Will's heart stutters. He knows Hannibal, so well. He knows his monstrosity. He's becoming acquainted with his humanity. He knows, now, the way he rises early in the morning every day but Sunday, when he sleeps until nine or ten in the morning. He knows that Hannibal showers twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. He knows how it feels to come home and find Hannibal reading on their couch. He knows how it feels to do their laundry, and the quiet satisfaction it gives him when their clothes get mixed together. He knows that one of Hannibal's shirts is hanging in his own closet, but he doesn't quite know why he can't return it.

"I don't want to leave," He confesses, to both of them. "I'm here because I want to be."

Hannibal's face doesn't change, but Will can feel a shift in the air. He breaks the eye contact, looks down to his coffee. "What can I do to make this easier for you, Will? It pains me so much to see you suffering."

Will thinks. It was hard to admit that. It's hard to unravel how he truly feels, when everything has become so tangled. But he knows how to tie knots. He knows that there are only two ways to untie them- either take your knife and slice straight through, or work on it bit by bit. He usually just cuts the rope, but he knows how to work them free, when the rope is worth salvaging.

"I think I just need time," He says softly. "I don't really know how much, but I need more time."

"Then take all the time you need," He says, and Will recognizes the relief in his face. "It is not in short supply."

Will takes small steps, makes sure he feels confident about each one before moving to the next. The last thing he wants is to make the knot worse. He uses what he already has as a foundation. First, he moves from 'I want to stay' to 'I want to stay because I like being around Hannibal'.

They two of them had been friends, once upon a time. It feels like a lifetime ago, but Will remembers enjoying his company. He still can. Still does.

"Hey," He says, standing in the entry to the living room. "Do you mind if I read in here today?"

Hannibal turns to face him and smiles. "Not at all." He gestures to the couch. "Please."

He spends the afternoon reading in the living room while Hannibal draws. The two don't speak, but the silence is comfortable. Every now and then, he catches Hannibal stealing glances at him. Will smiles to himself. The tightness in his chest is not love, but it is...fondness. Will thinks fondly of Hannibal, at times.

It becomes common for them to spend their afternoons together, mainly reading or talking or going for walks near their home. It's nice.

"What are you drawing?" Will asks, looking over Hannibal's shoulder.

"Just a figure study," He says. Will notices an open book near Hannibal's sketchpad. He's copying an image of a naked woman reclining. "I've been doing a lot of landscape drawing, since we came here. My anatomy is rusty."

Hannibal looks up at Will, notices how he's studying the reference image. "Generally, drawing from life is better practice than drawing from a flat image, but I'm making do."

"You could draw me, if you wanted."

Will finally looks away when he realizes that Hannibal is staring at him. "I mean, not like that, but you know. I'm pretty still when I get focused. I bet I could be an okay model, while I'm reading."

"I've drawn you many times from memory," Hannibal says. Will breathes out a laugh. He's not surprised. "It would be a privilege to have you as a model."

The next day after lunch, Will settles on the couch. He straightens one leg along the cushions, draws the other knee upwards so he can prop his arm on it. He holds the book in one hand, looking down at it with a neutral expression.

It isn't that strange, being studied by Hannibal. He does it often, just not for art purposes. A part of him forgets that the other man is even watching. He tries to remain still.

"What are you reading?" Hannibal asks after a few silent minutes.

Will doesn't look up, stays still. He isn't sure which part of Will Hannibal is drawing. Not his mouth, if he's starting a conversation. "It's a Japanese drama, from the 1920s. It's really strange, but it's engaging enough."

"I see."

"It's about a guy who marries this girl, Naomi. She's really crass and unrefined, he wants her to be more like a traditional wife."

"What's happening now?"

Will smiles. "She's making a fool out of him, that's what. He took her on this vacation but she keeps sneaking away to sleep with other guys."

"A pity."

"Not really, the guy's a creep. Talks about wanting to keep her in a cage, makes her call him Papa. I'm kind of rooting for Naomi."

"Will."

"Yeah?"

"Don't move your hand, please. I like how you have your fingers."

"I do need to turn the page, Hannibal."

Without a word, Hannibal stands. He turns the page, holds it in place as Will adjusts his thumb. Will looks up at him, can't help but smile.

They stay like that until the sun hangs low in the sky. Will is sore by the end, but pleased.

"What do you think?"

Will regards the drawing. "I was half expecting you to draw me naked," He says with a chuckle.

Hannibal smiles. "Perhaps some other time."

The resemblance is striking. Hannibal took a great deal of care in rendering the fall of his curls, the way his fingers lay, the shadow of his lashes on his cheeks. The thing that surprises him the most is the faint smile on his lips, tugging at the skin of his scar.

"It's good. I never would've known you were rusty."

"I'm very familiar with the subject matter, to be fair."

The feeling is fondness. Must be.

He lets himself take a very smooth step from 'I like being around Hannibal' to simply 'I like Hannibal'. The step is small, but more honest.

"I think I'm gonna have a drink before I retire," Will says, making his way to the liquor cabinet. "Join me?"

He smiles at the beat of silence before Hannibal responds. "Of course."

Will pours them each some whiskey, holds a glass out to Hannibal as he sinks into the couch.

"So," He says, taking a sip to steel his nerves. "I was thinking- do you still want to go to the beach? Watch the waves for an afternoon?"

Hannibal gives him a curious look. "I would."

"Let's do it. We can go tomorrow, if you want. Pack up some food and a bottle of wine. We could have a picnic."

"Will."

"Yes?" He asks over the rim of his glass. Hannibal looks surprised, happy. He takes a drink mainly to hide his own smile.

"Don't do this for me."

"I'm not, you said you wanted to do it. It sounds like fun. I want to."

Hannibal looks uncertain. "I told you, I'm more than happy to give you as much time as you need."

Will shrugs. "This is still part of the time. Think of it as interest. A reward for your investment."

"Will-"

"My calculations were wrong, Hannibal," Will says. "The light from friendship was closer to reaching us than I realized, that's all."

Hannibal sighs, drains his glass. Will doesn't understand why he isn't beaming with excitement. The feeling is worry. The worry comes from fondness.

"I'm worried that I'll hurt you again, if I get too comfortable," Hannibal confesses.

"I'm not. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I really don't think you're going to hurt me again." Will smiles, hopes it's reassuring. It feels good to say it.

Hannibal looks at Will, dark eyes catching the fire light. "You know how I feel about you, Will," He says. His voice is barely about a whisper.

Will nods. He recognizes the light in Hannibal's eyes. He knows why it feels like love. "I do."

"You aren't upset about it." It isn't a question, it's a statement.

Will still has to finish his drink before he can make himself reply, to take another step. "I don't mind, Hannibal. It doesn't bother me that you feel that way. It's just part of us. I like the life I have, I like that you're a part of it." He shrugs. "No big deal."

Hannibal looks relieved. It's endearing. Yes. Not fondness, endearment.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still have nightmares?"

He looks surprised by the abrupt subject change. "I do."

Will hesitates. He stands, gets ready to leave. "If it happens again," He says, making a point to look at the floor. "Knock on my door. We can talk, I know how it feels to be alone after a nightmare."

"Alright."

"Knock first."

Hannibal does knock, a few days after Will has stopped struggling with 'I'm okay with Hannibal being in love with me'. It was a tricky knot, took him a long time to ease out the tangles.

"Hm?" He mumbles, still half-asleep. "Hannibal, is that you?"

"Yes," He says from the other side of the door.

Will sits up. "Come in."

Hannibal opens the door, steps in nervously. He looks small, frightened. Will pats the mattress beside him and Hannibal joins him on the bed.

The two of them are quiet for a short while. Will wants to see if Hannibal will start the conversation, but he eventually takes the hint.

"Is it always the same nightmare?"

Hannibal nods.

"Have you...had nightmares before this one?"

"Everyone has bad dreams, Will."

"Not reoccurring ones."

Hannibal sighs. He looks exhausted. "They're a recent development."

Will nods. There's a lot of darkness in Hannibal's past. A lot that Will knows about, and probably a lot that he doesn't. He doesn't want to make Hannibal discuss the subject matter if he doesn't want to.

"Do you ever have nightmares about the cliff?" He asks, answering Will's unspoken question indirectly.

"The cliff?" Will echoes. Of all the things that must haunt him, Hannibal Lecter is afraid of that night? "Yes."

Hannibal nods. "I dream of drowning while looking for you in the water," He confesses. "I dream that I never find you, and I have to assume you sank. I dream that I drag you to shore, and a wave comes and steals you from my grasp." Will looks down to the blanket, sees that Hannibal's hands are shaking. "I dream that I rescue you from the sea and you turn to sand between my fingers."

"You wanted to see that I survived," Will says. The feeling is remorse. Remorse that comes from endearment. "That's why you came into my room that night. You needed to know that you saved me from the ocean."

Hannibal nods.

Will takes Hannibal's hand, squeezes softly. "I don't dream about the sea, or the dragon. I dream about the fall." He grits his teeth, it's painful to admit. "I dream that I push you over the edge, that I step away before you can reach me and watch you disappear into the water. Other times, I dream that you push me. That I try to grab your hand and bring you with me, like it was supposed to be. But you walk away. You don't even watch me fall."

Hannibal runs his thumb across Will's knuckles. "You don't dream of the sea because you don't remember it. You were unconscious when I pulled you up."

Will shakes his head, looking at Hannibal in the darkness. "I don't dream of the sea because I wasn't afraid of what might happen. Once we fell, once we were together, I wasn't afraid." He sighs, pulls his hand away and fiddles with the blankets. "It wasn't until we were healing that I started to feel afraid again." He laughs bitterly. "I knew what I wanted when we fell. But I scared myself, got stuck in my own head again. I have a habit of doing that. I convinced myself that I really didn't know. Maybe I didn't want to know."

"And now?"

Will forces himself to meet Hannibal's eye again. A smile tugs at his lips. 'I'm okay with Hannibal being in love with me' suddenly morphs into 'I want Hannibal to love me' before Will can do much to stop it.

"I know better, now."

Hannibal smiles back. "I should let you rest. Thank you for indulging me."

"Any time."

Hannibal stands, moves to leave.

"Hannibal?"

He turns in the doorway, backlit by the light from the hall. "Yes?"

Will is silent for a moment. He thinks he knows what he wants to say, but he isn't completely sure. The knot is so close to being undone, there's so much he wants to say.

"Sleep well."

It's before breakfast a few days later that the last tangled ends finally untuck themselves and fall free.

Will is leaning on the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee. Hannibal is slicing berries beside him, sleeves partially rolled up to reveal strong arms.

Will wants to be here. Because he likes being with Hannibal. Likes Hannibal as a person. He's okay with the fact that Hannibal loves Will. Wants him to. The feeling isn't Hatred, isn't Fondness or Endearment. He knows. He's always known, just couldn't make himself admit it.

"I love you."

Hannibal fumbles the knife, it falls to the cutting board with a clatter. He looks at Will, in awe. The tightness in his chest is Love, couldn't be anything else.

Will's body is moving without thinking. He sets the coffee down on the counter, closes the space between them with a confident stride. He cups Hannibal's face with both hands, presses their lips together. The rush he feels at the kiss is love, and it comes from itself.

"I love you," He reiterates as he pulls away. He moves his arms to fall around Hannibal's neck, kisses him again, again, again. Now that he's started, he feels like he might never stop.

He eventually releases Hannibal's lips so he can litter his neck with kisses instead. Hannibal had returned the affection, but he seems stunned into silence for the moment. Will nuzzles his face into the crook of Hannibal's neck, marking him with his scent. "I love you," he murmurs into his skin.

Hannibal brings his arms to rest on Will hips, spins them so Will is pressed into the counter. He catches Will by the jaw, kisses him hard, deep, until Will is left breathless. "Are you worried I haven't heard you, Will?"

Will laughs as Hannibal peppers his cheeks and jaw with more affection. "I know you have. Hearing isn't enough. I want you to feel it."

He looks at Will with lidded eyes, presses their foreheads together. "Where shall I feel it, my love?"

Will feels a blush spread across his face. "I want it to sink deep," He says. "Until it settles in the floors of your memory palace. I want it to saturate the boards so it creaks out everywhere you step, even the dark places you don't like to visit. 'I love you, I love you, I love you,' in every single room."

Hannibal gathers Will into another passionate kiss, full of adoration. "I love you," Hannibal breathes when he pulls away. Will's heart aches. Even though he's known it for a long time, it's the first time Hannibal has said it out loud. "Tell me where you feel it."

Will sighs as Hannibal moves to mouth at his neck. His fingers find themselves in his hair, caressing him. "I feel it in cages," He confesses. "Yours and mine. The ones we put each other in and the ones we built for ourselves. Empty cages that we've broken from." Hannibal nips at his skin, not enough to leave a mark but enough to promise more. "Where do you want me to feel it?"

It seems to take a great deal of restraint for Hannibal to pull himself away from Will's skin. He understands, feels the same. He does, at last. He picks up a sliced strawberry from the counter. "I want you to feel it where you feel Garret Jacob Hobbs. Randall Tier. Francis Dolarhyde." He lifts the strawberry to Will's lips. Will opens his mouth, lets Hannibal delicately feed him the berry. The fruit has stained Hannibal's fingers. Red. "I want the words 'I love you' to coax the beast inside of you from its slumber every morning, lurching to life and becoming a part of you."

Will swallows. There's no sugar on the berries this time. He picks up another from the counter and holds it to Hannibal, watches as he parts his lips to take it.

He returns his hands to Hannibal's shoulders, pulls him close again. "Could it have felt like this all along?" He mumbles, speaking against Hannibal's neck between kisses and bites. It's amazing, beautiful. He feels a small measure of regret, knowing he'd made both Hannibal and himself wait for so, so long.

Hannibal's voice vibrates along Will's lips as it leaves his throat. "No," He says, and he sounds completely certain. "It could only feel this way now. It could only happen like this."

"I love you," Will says again.

"I love you, darling. You needn't make up for lost time, we have all the time in the world."

Will smiles against his skin. All the time in the world, just the two of them. That's what he wanted all along.