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The moment when Will Graham realized Hannibal Lecter was in love with him we all know it.
The moment when Will Graham realized he was in love with Hannibal Lecter was up to debate.
But, the moment when Will Graham realized that he wanted to marry Hannibal Lecter, happened on an otherwise simple and unremarkable Thursday.
There was no grand gesture or waves of strong feelings or a sudden realization that had struck him from above. There was not even blood, or a corpse or a complex tableaux. There was only a coffee cup.
Will sat in the study as every Thursday, immersed in tying a new fly when a steaming cup of coffee was placed at his side and Hannibal's free hand moved the curl of hair that had been bothering Will for the last twenty-three minutes behind his ear.
One would have thought that the honeymoon phase of the relationship would have ended by this time, after four years living together; but then, when Will tilted his head towards Hannibal to thank him, he felt the exact same burst of butterflies invading his stomach as every single day.
Hannibal was there, standing over him, ashen grey locks of hair falling over his face, shining nearly bleach-white by the sunlight, smiling not with his mouth but with his eyes; reddish brown looking at him with pure and warm adoration.
It did strike Will like lightning: the not so sudden, because it had been simmering inside him for years now, realization that he was incredibly, utterly and bone-deep happy.
"You're so in love with me it makes you look stupid," Will said, looking back at his fly, and heard Hannibal's lips curl at the corner of his mouth in his almost-there kind of smile.
"And I love you too, darling," Hannibal whispered, humor clear in his voice as he leaned over him to kiss the crown of Will's head.
Oh, and Will also realized that he wanted to marry the bastard.
[x]
Ding!
Hannibal had always been a peacock, a romanticist at heart, but he respected Will’s boundaries.
Pause.
Well, now he respected some of Will’s boundaries. Like, not letting him die of treatable diseases, or respecting that Will wasn’t just the kind of man who would flash an origamed-into-a-heart corpse for him in a church. (Well, Will did make a grand gesture of his own for Hannibal, we should never forget the man in Lithuania. But that was only for them. Not for people’s eyes).
Will wasn't exactly undemonstrative. He just had a different love language than Hannibal. He preferred solicitude, less pretentious love gestures. But sometimes, he could make amends.
That’s why, when the opportunity for a grand, romantic gesture that Hannibal would absolutely adore presented itself, Will wouldn’t dream of passing it up. He had the plan in mind for several weeks now. It was utterly ridiculous, dangerous, completely over the top and unnecessary. The worst idea of the worst ideas, and for that he knew Hannibal would love it. It was only time that he started to act on it.
Ding!
His plan started with learning Italian, and that was what he considered the second most hard part of it. He was doing great, Italian wasn’t that hard. He had a ten day strike without errors on duolingo. Will was sure he was going to speak enough Italian for his plan by next month.
Ding! Ten correct answers in a row! Congratulations!
Maybe he could call his shots even before the month ended.
[x]
Dinner was sacred in their house, but it was almost always Hannibal who cooked. Almost, except for when Will wanted to surprise him. In the almost five years they had been living together, Will had cooked eleven times only.
Well, Will would argue that he cooked at least twenty-three times in the last five years, and Hannibal instead, would argue back that frozen pizza, hot-dogs and that monstrosity-in-a-box (that had no right to be called neither pasta nor cheese) didn't count.
They had reached an agreement four months ago. With the two times Will had cooked burgers and the two times he baked brownies (the kind of ones that the mix came in a box) (plus the brownie in a mug disaster) counting, Will had cooked fifteen times in almost five years.
The other times he cooked real food. Not as grandiose as Hannibal's food, but food was food. Served on plates and that didn't come out of a box. Usually it was because he: 1. Had messed up extremely badly and wanted to apologize. Or 2. He wanted to butter-up Hannibal to ask for something. Or 3. He just wanted to pamper his husband.
Husband? Oh well, technically yes and technically no.
Patrick Kore and Aquiles Kore were married.
Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter weren't.
And that was where Will's master plan was aiming for.
But first, dinner.
"Tagliatelle with your recipe of Savore Sanguino and bits of roasted pig," Will's impression of Hannibal was getting better by the day. With an exaggerated flourish he placed both plates on the table, bowed even more exaggeratedly and then sat in front of the doctor. Hannibal, on the other side of the table, was looking at him instead of at the food with that enamored expression that made Will preen under his gaze and turn pink to the tip of his ears every single time. So, to keep his pride, Will had to do something to not look like a lovesick fool. They already had enough with one of them looking stupidly in love.
"Or what I like to call: spaghetti and meatballs."
Hannibal sighed fondly in defeat, bowing his head while two rebel locks of hair followed its path, now that he had let it grow a tad bit longer at Will's request. And Will failed miserably to keep his victory smirk from turning into a stupidly soft grin.
"It smells delicious, Will, thank you," Hannibal said, now regarding his food. "May I ask the occasion?"
"Should I need a reason to want to cook for you?" Will curled a brow, hiding his smile behind the glass of wine. Hannibal made no comment in answer, but only an appreciative hum at the first bite of food.
Will fidgeted for a second with his glass, trying to feign disinterest, "In fact I was thinking about something."
Hannibal's smile was an indulgent thing, "You needn't do this to ask for anything, dear, I would give you the world on a plate if you asked me"
"If I'd let you, you mean," Will corrected and Hannibal didn't even try to deny it. "I want to do something different this year, for our anniversary, that's all."
The thing is, when they said the anniversary they weren't talking about their fake wedding, or their first kiss. They were talking about something much more significant: their fall.
"What would you like to do?"
Cast the line.
Will placed his hand on the table with the palm facing up, inviting Hannibal to place his on top. Obedient as usual, Hannibal obliged.
"Do you think you could take a weekend from work?"
Let the bite sink.
Will caressed Hannibal's wrist softly with his thumb under the sleeve. "Maybe five days?"
Will moved Hannibal's hand towards his lips, breathing warm and damp over the rabbiting pulse.
Hannibal's breath hitched.
"Maybe a week?" The whisper of a kiss, barely a brush of lips. "A romantic getaway?" He smiled in that expression that was mischievous and coy at the same time.
Hannibal's gaze softened.
"Of course darling, I will talk with the university dean tomorrow morning. Where would you like to go?"
Will's eyes sharpened.
"I want you to show me Florence," a soft kiss, an inaudible gasp.
Reel him in.
"Please?"
Against what Will thought possible, Hannibal's gaze softened even more and Hannibal seemed to melt. A coat of moisture shone over his eyes.
"Of course, my love."
The realization that he was marrying the biggest sap of the world didn’t surprise him in the slightest.
[x]
It was very late in the night, or very early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it.
"Yes! It has to be Florence!" Will whispered rather exasperatedly into his phone. "Yes I know it's risky. Yes, I know I'm stupid. That's why I'm with him, hiding from the FBI instead of having a normal life." A long pause. "YES! It has to be Florence because he is a love-sick idiot, he's gonna love it."
Will drank from the cup of tea that had grown cold an hour, sitting ignored on the coffee table in front of him, as he heard Chiyoh mutter something from the other side of the line.
"Wait, don't hang up," Will whispered as he hid the phone under the cushions and held a book in front of him as an alibi, before he realized it was upside down and turned it around.
Soft but very angry footsteps echoed from the stairs as Hannibal approached Will from behind.
Hannibal was very silent when he wanted to be. Except when woke up alone in bed at 3 a.m. with a sour mood because he didn't have his personal Will Graham to nuzzle at.
'Adorable' wasn't a word that Will thought he would use to describe the most notorious cannibalistic serial killer of their decade. But there he was Hannibal Lecter, with half lidded eyes, mussed hair and a notorious pout, frowning against his cheek, draping his arms around Will's neck from behind; dressing in pajama bottoms with little cats on it that Will had given him the last Christmas and the softest sweater imaginable.
"Someone's feeling clingy tonight?" Will said with humor in his voice, as he stroked over Hannibal’s arm with his hand while he kept pretending he was reading the book.
“It’s three in the morning, why are you not in bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Hannibal mumbled unhappy cannibal sounds against his neck and Will felt the smile pulling at the corners of his own mouth. He tilted his head, moving his neck into an uncomfortable position to leave a soft kiss on his cannibal’s temple. “Let me wash the mug and I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Leave it,” was Hannibal’s instant reply, accent heavy on the two words from sleep.
“Oh, you are really clingy tonight,” Will laughed. He left the unread book on the side of the couch and twisted his body to hold Hannibal’s face between his hands, making sure to kiss Hannibal’s cheeks thoughtfully until the frown between his brows disappeared. “Go to bed, it will take me only a minute, and we both know you’re gonna be a pain in the ass tomorrow if I leave it overnight.”
Hannibal’s frown appeared again. He peeked with one eye open at Will before closing it, a begrudged expression of surrender settling on his features.
With a sigh, Hannibal disentangled himself from Will, not without first tilting his face, silently asking Will for another peck on his cheek. That Will, of course, gave happily, and it made Hannibal’s lips move slightly upwards.
“One minute,” Hannibal repeated Will's words as to hold him to a promise he hadn't made, while walking away with Encephalitis and Dante following him in line like baby ducklings to their mother duck.
“Two minutes,” Will shouted from the couch.
“One and a half,” echoed from the stairs along with the yipping and pawing of their dogs.
Will waited for a moment until he heard the door close and picked up the phone from where it was buried between the cushions. On the other side of the line, he heard a sound that if the person on the other side of the line was anyone but Chiyoh, he would have thought it was the loudest snort in history.
"Are you gonna help me or keep laughing?" Will huffed, standing from the couch and walking barefoot to the kitchen with the rest of his cold tea.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going to bed. I’ll text you the details in the morning,” he washed the mug holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Thanks.”
Another comment from Chiyoh and Will nearly dropped the mug on the floor.
“Oh, fuck off.”
[x]
Will may have miscalculated.
He had made a top of the most difficult parts of his plan. On the last place was 'Get Hannibal to accept' , the second to last was 'Convince Hannibal to fly to Florence'. Those were the easier ones.
The third most difficult was 'Manage to get the bureaucracy in his favor'. The second most difficult was 'Learn Italian'. And the one he thought would be the most difficult was 'Try to not get them caught by the FBI'.
Now, he might have found something far more difficult than to not get thrown in jail.
Will may had underestimated how hard it was going to be to buy a ring for Hannibal Fucking Lecter.
It was the third week that Will had escaped from their home with the excuse of visiting two of the few friends he had in this new life.
Pilar and Morena were a lovely couple that they had met at the University where Hannibal's alias worked. And they, kind spirits that they were, promised to give him an alibi of where he had been wandering around until he found the gift he wanted to give Aquiles for their anniversary.
Will would be eternally grateful with them because God knows where he'd be bleeding out now if Hannibal had the little maggot of paranoia munching at his brain after Will's third week in a row wandering around alone.
"And what about this one?" The seller asked. There were at least seventeen rings displayed over the counter that Will had asked to look closer, but that in the end, haven't been enough.
"No, you don't understand," Will began to say for the seventeenth time that day and the seller sighed.
"Yes Sir, I understand, he is the most beautiful thing you have in your life. You had caused so much pain to each other for so long, you nearly lost him, and now you want to make things right." Will cringed inside. Did he really sound so moon-eyed when he talked about Hannibal? "The lines between you two had blurred themselves to non-existence. My jewelry is not enough for two bonded souls so in love like you."
Will cringed harder. God, he wanted to disappear from the world. He sounded even more embarrassing than Hannibal.
"This place," the man said, giving Will a card with only the name Abril's rings and an address written on it. "They make the best custom-made rings of Argentina. Try there."
Will muttered some thank you's and apologies and left hiding his face.
One last try and he would head home.
[x]
Wrong!
Fucking ugly bird. When did Italian had become this hard?!
Wrong!
Will groaned, closed the app, looked for recipes about how to cook owls and opened it again.
Wrong! You’re out of hearts. Try Doulingoplus to…
Fucking. Irritating. Ugly. Nefastous. Stupid. Bird.
He glared again at his phone, and the owl smiled back at him.
They were only two weeks away from their trip to Florence and Will’s Italian skills left much to desire. He could ask for a cup of coffee, count to thirty, tell people that his husband didn’t eat children (that one was a little on the nose from the ugly bird but Will let it go because it could come in handy), and could say a couple more phrases correctly. But a conversation? No way.
And the worst of all is that he couldn’t ask Hannibal for the things he needed Italian for. Fuck.
Hannibal wouldn’t be in the house for at least another two hours, so, between renewed curses, Will opened Google translate, picked up his phone and hoped for the best.
“Buon pomeriggio, ristorante Amici di Ponte Vecchio. Come posso aiutarti?” The voice from the other side of the globe asked, speaking way faster than Will had expected. Fuck. This was going to be harder than Will had thought.
“Buon pomeriggio, uh, io, wait. Voglio fare una, uh, fuck!” Will cringed, looking at Google on the laptop and trying to discern how the fuck prenotazione was pronounced.
“Sir, I speak english,” came the voice of the receptionist with a clear accent, but less rough than Will’s.
“Oh, thank God.”
[x]
Well, they were already in Florence. The city was nice, the apartment was nice, the week had been romantic and bla bla bla; the important thing was that Hannibal was beaming with that stupid smile of his. His smile wasn’t shy, but it was elegant, Mona Lisa like, like usual. But on him, the person with the most perfectly stitched person-suit and emotions under absolute control, it counted as a full blown grin. He looked stupidly enamored and happy as they walked hand in hand by the Florentine streets. His eyes shone at every new turn, and his smile growed every time Will squeezed at his hand.
Will wouldn’t be surprised if from one moment to the other little hearts started to pop over Hannibal’s head.
Good. Everything was going according to plan. Now it was time for the hardest part: Escape the apartment without Hannibal following him.
Will dressed as simply as possible, he packed his things silently while Hannibal was doing Hannibal related things in the other room. Probably planning a new recipe or, who knows, eating a poor fool's leg raw like one would eat chicken wings.
Will packed everything he could pack without raising any suspicion from Hannibal. He needed to seize every free second he had to make this work.
Hannibal wouldn’t mind getting caught because of this plan, but Will would at least try to not end up locked up in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Again.
Will patted his pockets. Phone, knife, wallet, money, ring. Everything in place. Good.
Oh, yes, he managed to get the perfect ring. He was really proud of that one. But that was a story for another time.
Now it's showtime.
Hannibal was at the desk, focused on a new sketch that could, or could not, be Will’s sleeping form laying on the bed with the Florentine buildings decorating the scenery of the window.
When Will stepped close enough to touch, Hannibal opened his posture. Without turning his gaze from the sketch, he held his left arm in offer for Will to step closer as he usually did. Until, instead of having his lover curled at his side, Will sat directly on his lap.
“Cuore mio,” Hannibal murmured and it nearly sounded like a purr. Leaving the sketch for the moment, Hannibal turned his focus to the most lovely thing in existence that had decided to curl on top of him, straddling him between his thighs and leaving sloppy kisses on Hannibal's throat.
The kisses were chaste, and then slowly started to heat. Will made sure to not get lost in Hannibal's mouth (he had been planning this for nearly a year after all. He couldn't let his dick blow it away), but took the time to grind himself at a torturing pace, giving Hannibal his undivided attention; touching every single weak spot. Gripping tight at the back of Hannibal’s head, pulling at his hair; nibbling softly under his jaw, his other hand stroking at Hannibal’s old but healed bullet wound, pulling adorable sounds from the deadliest serial killer alive.
Hannibal had such autocontrol that it took a real effort to undo him. Luckily Will was two things: experienced and patient.
He licked into Hannibal's mouth until the victorious smile in the doctor's lips retracted into needy kisses; until the appreciative hums turned into soft whimpers.
He coaxed Hannibal under him with tender caresses and sweet, deep kisses; stroking gently with his tongue inside the cavernous mouth until Hannibal's hands slid to his back from holding gently at Will's waist, gripping at Will's clothes with such need it was as endearing as it was intoxicating.
Hannibal was dissolving under him, if they were standing he would already have made a puddle of himself on the floor at Will's feet.
Will smiled in the kiss, grabbing Hannibal's arms and placing them on the side of the chair, pinning them to the armrests. And as soon as he released them, Hannibal tried to move his hands to touch Will again.
"Do you think you could be good and keep them there, baby?" Will dragged the words against Hannibal's ear, landing heavy on him; and Hannibal seemed to melt even more, nodding once behind a gaze dark and fogged with arousal.
Will released him again and this time Hannibal fidgeted under him, grinding his erection against Will's, but kept his hands in place. Good, Hannibal just needed a little bit more of coaxing.
"Good, darlin'," Will whispered the pet-name with his southern drawl, kissing the spot behind Hannibal's ear that pulled the most pretty moans out of him. "Good, you're doing so good for me, sweetheart."
Will beamed with pride, and received a hurt, offended whimper when he removed himself from Hannibal’s lap.
“Hush, babe. Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?” Hannibal nodded more desperately, sharp and quick nods as he traced Will’s movements with fogged eyes. “Good boy,” he praised, sliding his fingers on Hannibal’s hair.
Will’s voice was smooth as whiskey, and just as dangerous. He adored to coax this part of Hannibal out of him; he could watch him for hours, speak sweet words and touch him tenderly, let Hannibal wade away in the gentleness and the praise until he begged. Observe him make a mess of himself and obey him so willingly. It was a drug, Will could spend hours like this, pulling at his nerves, opening him torturously slow. He liked to. Wanted to.
But as endearing and hot as this was, he had important things to do. They would have time for this later.
Will stood behind Hannibal, sliding his hand to cover the front of his throat, making Hannibal’s breath hitch, making him sink deeper in the chair. Will kissed his temple, under the ear, where the jaw ended, the soft spot behind his ear; nibbled for a moment at the shell before whispering, “We have a reservation at Amici di Ponte Vecchio at 8, love. Be good and don’t be late. Dress up nicely, and if I’m not there, wait for me.”
He left one last chaste kiss on Hannibal’s open lips and then, Will ran to the door and out of the apartment.
He had roughly three minutes and twenty-eight seconds of a head start until Hannibal’s brain rebooted and understood what just had happened.
[x]
The Register Office was an old, grandiose building like every important building in Florence. Will felt Chiyoh’s eyes in his back as he entered, even as if he couldn’t spot her from anywhere nearby.
The plan was easy and foolproof, technically speaking. Enter, get married, get out. If cops showed up somewhere near the office, Chiyoh would start shooting. If Will took more than the half hour that he was promised that the ceremony would take, Chiyoh would enter and take him out. Just in case, that the bureaucracy was as bad as in the U.S and it took him more time, Will would send her a message to her disposable phone.
See? Foolproof. Not even Will could mess it up.
Will had already taken care to go to the restaurant and make sure everything was ready with the boat, and now he only had to wait for the authorities (bribed and threatened) to call him in to sign the marriage papers.
In the waiting room there were three more couples waiting for their turn apart from Will. One of the women looked at him from two chairs away, and gave him a gentle look that he could translate as “I’m sure your partner will be on time, dear, don’t fret.” And Will smiled back, with all the social grace that he had managed to get stuck in his skin after sharing his life with Hannibal Social-Butterfly Lecter.
“Signore Graham…” a woman's voice called from inside one of the offices, hiding behind a barely open door. She was petite with big eyes and blonde hair, shaking like a leaf. “Please, come in.”
And there he was, after waiting twenty minutes outside, he finally had the very legal marriage certificate sitting on the desk, and the shaking woman holding a pen for him.
“Usually there is an exchange of vows and…” she swallowed a lump in her throat, loud enough for Will to look at her over where he was signing three different forms with his and Hannibal’s names. Another part of his foolproof plan, he had practiced Hannibal’s signature for a while. “Usually the both of you should sign.”
“Listen, he is outside,” Will lied. “I can call him in. But do you really want to be alone in a room with Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’?” The woman turned so white it was a blessing she didn’t faint on the spot.
“No, No, signore Graham.”
“Good, where else did you say I had to sign?”
The papers were signed, the cash traded under the table, the woman promised to not call the police and Will promised that they wouldn’t kill her. She also promised to tell everybody that Hannibal Lecter had been present in the wedding if they asked and that the signatures in the papers were perfectly legal. She also was paid to not immediately deliver the papers so they could have a head start.
“If the FBI asks you, you can tell we had your cat kidnapped,” a pause, "well, cat-napped I guess?" Will said to the woman that he had learned was called Victoria, and offered to buy her a Coke (that she politely declined) because she was still shaking and he didn’t want her to faint.
“This is the certificate for you, you will need to write your name here, and his name here,” she pointed out with a trembling finger. "It's just for the aesthetics. But you're already legally married."
“Great, thanks,” Will said with a smile that he wasn't trying make threatening, but Victoria shivered either way. “Do you mind if I take a pen with me?”
Victoria handed him one blue pen, one red and one black, praying that he left the office already.
[x]
Will exited the Register Office holding the envelope high for Chiyoh to see it from wherever she was.
Forty seconds later his phone buzzed with a new message. “Congratulations. Now hurry up, you’re late.”
Will had roughly forty minutes to pack the rest of their things, move them to the boat, shower, dress up, and run to the restaurant.
“Do you think you could…” He at least was going to use thirty of those minutes to pack all of Hannibal’s suits.
“Help you pack and move the things to the boat?” Chiyoh asked, sitting on the bed. It made hope bloomed inside of Will’s chest. Maybe he could make it in time.
After a moment of dramatic pause, Chiyoh stood up, turned her back at him and left the room.
“No.” She said, “but I’m taking the whiskey bottle with me if you’re not drinking it. Send my regards to Hannibal.”
Will looked at the closet. He hoped Hannibal was happy enough to overlook the wrinkles in his suits.
[x]
Look, Will didn’t want to arrive so late to the restaurant. But between the clothes, and showering, and packing, and moving and all that he was already very late.
But the thing was, if Hannibal had decided that was going to stab Will and left him to bleed on the floor, five more minutes wouldn’t change his fate. And that was the fluffiest, most beautiful dog he had seen in his life.
He didn’t squeak when the dog trotted happily to him or barked at him, or rolled on the floor asking for pats. But his voice did come out more high-pitched than usual when he knelt at the side of the dog and asked the owner “can I pet him?” in perfect Italian (because he knew how to learn the important sentences).
The dog rolled on the floor of the Plaza and maybe arriving ten minutes late wouldn’t be that bad.
[x]
Will was awfully late. He was sure his hands smelled like dog and his hair was a mess, he had sweat on his forehead and a nervous knot in his gut. For a minute, Will thought that maybe he could run away and hide in the woods from Hannibal and the FBI for the rest of his life. Maybe domesticate some wolves or kidnap the fluffy dog that he had met today.
But then he was looking inside the restaurant at Hannibal, while the doctor fidgeted with the napkin and did his best to not look as if he was a nervous wreck searching for Will around the restaurant.
The weight of the ring and the envelope suddenly were heavier in his hands, grounding Will to the reality of what was happening.
He was going to enter this restaurant, make a fool of himself and marry Hannibal Lecter.
Will breathed deeply, prayed that Hannibal didn’t have any knives nearby and entered the restaurant with the brightest smile of his life.
[read next part of the series for the continuation]