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Chapter Text

          “I kissed Alana Bloom.” Will beat the snowflakes off his jacket, grimacing as they formed little pools on Hannibal’s pristine floor. If he wasn’t sure he was crazy already, driving like a lunatic up the 495 in the snow to tell his shrink he kissed a pretty girl was probably all the confirmation he needed.

          His father had always told him that just because they were poor didn’t mean that he’d raise a son without good home training. Will knew to say please, thank you, and to always wipe his feet before entering a house. But there was something about Hannibal. Something about that too-slick exterior, and his too-neat home, that made Will forget all his home training. He felt the urge to provoke, to poke, to be rude — just to see what Hannibal would do. He flung his wet coat on a table in the foyer, something his father would have tanned his hide for, if the man was still alive.

          Maybe he was crazy.

          “Well. Come in.” Hannibal’s tone seemed to confirm it. But he didn’t reach for the sodden jacket or try to direct Will onto a doormat. He simply trailed after his patient, a small smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.

          Will barreled into the dining room, stopping short when he saw the table was set for two. “You have a guest?”

          There was an odd flash of something in Will’s chest, not jealousy per se, but some relative of the sensation. Of course, he knew that Hannibal didn’t spend every waking hour thinking of Will, but somehow that knowledge didn’t settle right with the empath. Hannibal brushed by, closing the glass doors on the falling snow. “A colleague. You just missed him.”

          “He didn’t finish his dinner.” Will had never been one to waste food, but this seemed especially egregious. The idea that Hannibal’s efforts had been wasted, unappreciated, soured his stomach. Hannibal was offering some excuse about an emergency call, but Will was too busy resisting the urge to sit at the table and nourish himself on Hannibal’s feast to fully listen.

          He followed the doctor back into the kitchen, vaguely registering a promise of dessert for two.

          “Tell me, what was Alana’s reaction?” Hannibal kept himself busy, pulling something lavish out of the oven.

          Will found his hands on his hips, a defensive posture as he recalled Alana’s sad eyes. The pity of it all stuck in his throat, made the words sticky as he forced them out. “She said she wouldn’t be good for me, and I wouldn’t be good for her.”

          “I don’t disagree.” Will’s hackles rose immediately. He didn’t disagree either, and that made him furious. All his life he had been too poor, too weird, and now too unstable. He was tired of lacking. He was tired of knowing deep down that there was something wrong, that he didn’t feel like other people, didn’t respond the same. It annoyed him that Alana had seen it. He’d thought he’d gotten better at hiding his oddness, at pushing it down and presenting it as a mere quirk.

          But you didn’t admit those things to your sort-of therapist over dessert. Or at least, Will didn’t. So, he took another tack. “I’ve wanted to kiss her since I met her, she’s very kissable.”

          Hannibal smiled as if they were sharing a secret. Will frowned at that, at the idea of Hannibal trying to bond with him over mutually kissable people. Hannibal dolloped cream onto the confections. “Do you think she found you less so?”

          Will paused, thinking back to the kiss. She’d melted into him for a moment. For nearly three seconds, he was normal — kissing a pretty girl with no animal clawing at the walls in his home. “Not at first, but she came around to the idea.”  

          “So you were found kissable by Alana,” Hannibal flicked some sort of crimson syrup around the dollop, a magician conjuring. He glanced up, those odd, bloody eyes sparkling in the low light. “What stopped her?”

          Will thought about the raccoon, the one that might not exist. He thought of the hole in his wall and the ranting explanation. As he detailed the episode to Hannibal, he waited for that same concern and pity to flicker across his face, but the expression never came. “It seems to me, she didn’t want to be a clutch for balance.”

          “What?”

          “You were vulnerable, in an excited, likely manic state, and she saw the kiss as a wild grab for normality.” Hannibal slid the plate to him. “No one wants to be thought of as a safety railing, Will.”

          “I’m not! I-” Will rubbed his temples. The adrenaline had worn off and now he was sitting in a nice warm kitchen, feeling extremely silly. He was suddenly exhausted. “Everyone likes stability.”

          “Yes,” Hannibal looked up with a small smile. “But there’s a reason the poets do not use the word sturdy when wooing.”

          “Guess it was a bad impression.” Will hummed appreciatively as he chewed a forkful of some sugared apple treat that wasn’t meant for him. “I should go-”

          “Impressions can be altered.” Hannibal was watching him now, eyes fathomless in the shadows of the kitchen. “If you want Alana to view you differently, you just need to present yourself differently.”

          “So…don’t call her over when I’m tearing a hole in my home?”

          “That would be an excellent start.” Hannibal’s smile grew, and Will swallowed hard around another mouthful of dessert. Somehow, these smiles, the more open expressions, always felt illicit coming from his reserved doctor. “I was thinking more practically. If you wish Alana to see you as a desirable partner, show her that you’re capable of being one.”

          "How do I do that?" Will’s eyebrows rose. “Character references?” 

          “An interesting approach, I was thinking of something less document-based.” Hannibal huffed a not-quite laugh. The sound sent a shiver down Will’s spine. “If Alana saw you in a stable relationship, she’d certainly know you were capable of such. Once she’s convinced, it would be a simple matter of ending one relationship to begin another.”

          Will stood abruptly. He had no intention of leaving, but he suddenly felt the need for distance. Five steps would do. He flopped into the armchair in the corner of the kitchen. How odd to have a chair usually reserved for living rooms in the kitchen. But it somehow seemed perfectly Hannibal to have a piece of lounging furniture in the kitchen — after all, one would want any and all company to be comfortable as he showed off his culinary acumen. It would be rude not to have an armchair when you thought about it.

          “OK, so the advice I’m getting from my licensed therapist is to…trick a girl into dating me. Pretend to care about her, show her off, and then dump her the second Alana looks my way?” Will’s lip curled. “That’s rather tasteless, don’t you think?”

          “It would only be callous if your partner is unaware of the ruse,” Hannibal licked at his spoon, the shining metal glinting as his tongue flicked over it.

          “Even better, hire a hooker to be my girlfriend?” Will raised his brows. “Then I suppose I’ll fall in love with her and I’ll realize I had the ability to love all along.”

          “Why don’t we roll credits on that extremely cinematic fantasy?” Hannibal’s head tilted. “I had a different professional in mind for this task. My suggestion was to partner with someone who champions your cause, who will show you off at your best, and would be willing to stage a public breakup with you once you’ve caught Alana’s eye.”

          Will blinked. He shook his head. But even with the exhaustion and headache creeping back into his consciousness, he couldn’t think of another meaning besides — no…surely Hannibal wasn’t?

          “You?” Will croaked.

          Hannibal’s smile turned small and knowing. “Do you object to my sex or my person?”

          There was no animosity in Hannibal’s voice, merely curiosity. But Will’s brain had stuck on the sixth word. Hannibal’s deep voice whispered sex over and over in his head. He didn’t realize he hadn’t responded until Hannibal’s honeyed eyes were before his. “Will? Are you losing time?”

          “No, just my mind.”

          The kitchen seemed weirdly hot. Did he object to Hannibal? He should. Probably. But did he? He thought back to the first and only boy who’d kissed him, Floyd Crindle, back in Louisiana. They’d been fast friends and inseparable for three summers in high school, but then Floyd had kissed him — smacked their mouths together while they were laughing at something. Will had been shocked. He remembered saying something dumb like you taste like Coke and wiping his mouth subconsciously. Floyd had muttered something about slipping that they both knew was bullshit, and they’d never been alone again. Will had been sorry at the time to lose a friend, but not eager to repeat the experience.

          He tried to imagine Hannibal’s kiss. Nothing so impulsive as Floyd’s, surely. Softer, more finesse as he nibbled at the swell of Will’s bottom lip. Perhaps a soft suck, pulling apart Will’s mouth just enough to slip his tongue inside. Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t taste like Coke, Will knew that. His eyes fell on the dessert before him. He’d taste like apples and currant caramel, right now. Some sort of smoky spice too.

          “Will.”

          Will’s spoon clattered to the table. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been holding it. He hadn't realized he'd gotten up and backed Hannibal into the kitchen island. He stepped back, frowning. He flexed his fingers to get the feeling back. “Um…this doesn’t seem like a bad idea to you?”

          “I merely meant to present myself as a safe option, Will.” Hannibal’s tone cowed the empath. He sounded so amused, as if he was comforting a scared child. Baby’s first gay panic. Hannibal stood. “I run in similar social circles to Alana. I know both your best assets and her tastes. I could steer you into her path and make sure you’re not ranting about a raccoon when you’re in her presence.”

          Will frowned. Hannibal was his paddle. If he let Hannibal pick out his ties and mold his social behavior, would that be such a bad thing? He’d noticed right away the odd sway Hannibal seemed to have over the world. As if he wasn’t a part of it, merely an observer who would occasionally change things to suit him. Even Jack Crawford seemed to bend to the will of Hannibal…which was exactly why Will fought the doctor’s pull as hard as he did. “I suppose you’ll have a lot of free time to do all this, with your license suspended.”

          Hannibal’s brows ticked up, that amusement warming his expression to genuine levity. “Are you going to report me, Will?”

          “No,” Will answered a little too quickly for his own liking. He grabbed his abandoned spoon and shoveled a heaping spoonful of dessert into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring Hannibal’s anticipatory interest as much as he enjoyed the complex swell of flavors on his tongue. “But Alana will. And you and me being couple of the year is certainly going to be a hair in Jack’s ass too.”

          Hannibal blinked, his chin dipping just a bit in what passed for laughter for the reserved doctor. Will wondered what it would be like to make him laugh, to take a hammer to that frozen porcelain exterior and see whatever lived beneath it. “Technically, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

          “Technicality is the last resort of criminals and children.”

          “And often an effective course for both.” Hannibal tilted his head, the light sliding over his face and making Will think of a martyr in an old painting, face turned to heaven, beatific as flames consumed him. “I am not your therapist of record, you’ve made it clear that therapy holds little value for you.”

          “For reasons like this.”

          That wan little smile was back. “Indeed. But, as of today, you and I are merely having conversations, are we not?”

          Will narrowed his eyes. Hannibal merely spread his hands before him like a blackjack dealer. “Conversations, it may surprise you to find, very often lead to increased intimacy.”

          “You don’t say.”

          “Perhaps one night our conversation took a turn. I realized that my therapeutic value to you was not as great as my value as a partner.” Will thought about Hannibal’s office, of the chairs that seemed to get closer every time they sat in them; of his own insatiable need to run his fingers over smooth desks and warm leather — because they itched to touch things that belonged to Hannibal. “Of course, once I understood that my professional boundaries were no longer in place, I immediately ended the session.”

          “Didn’t confess your love then?”

          “No no, not then.”

          “Then how did we become such a hot little item?”

          Hannibal’s eyes met Will’s, the empath felt something clench in his gut. “You came to see me.”

          “Did I?”

          “Yes.”

          “Confessed my love?”

          Hannibal’s eyes lifted. He licked his lips as he thought. “You came to find me in my home. You burst through my doors covered in snow and flung your coat blindly down the hall. Of course, I thought you were distressed-”

          “You are a shrink, after all.”

          “But you merely said I think we should reckon with our feelings like adults. I was taken aback, but of course, with your extraordinary empathy, I should have known you would see my true feelings. I invited you in for dessert.” Hannibal clinked his spoon neatly on his plate and spread his hands over the dish. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

          Will swirled his spoon through the remnants of his treat. “This dessert, is it a euphemism, or did you actually give me something — in case Bev asks for the dirty details.”

          “An innocent pastry I assure you,” Hannibal said, leaning forward until he was looming over Will. “Of course, if I stole a kiss or two, who could blame me?”

          Will lifted his chin in challenge. The air seemed to crackle. “Alana?”

          Hannibal smiled. “I’ll get a scolding. But once she sees you with me, sees that you’ve improved beautifully with a partner who was willing to help you past this small mental health crisis, she’ll embrace the change as well.”

          “Because she thinks that’s ethical?”

          “Because you said she kissed you back,” Hannibal licked the last of the cream from his spoon. “Which means that she finds you kissable as well, Will. She just needs an excuse to act on it without her conscience in the way.”

          “And this is…your therapeutically-sound recommendation?” Will clasped his hands below the counter, twisting them together.

          “My therapeutically sound recommendation is that you rid yourself of your dogs and embrace celibacy, as you need as few distractions as possible while we sort out these stress responses.” Hannibal tilted his head.

          Will laughed, loud and long. “Guess we’re dating, then.”

          Hannibal tilted his head. “Love goes by haps; Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”

          “I know that’s Shakespeare.” Will rubbed his head. “Is it from a tragedy or a comedy?”

          Hannibal smiled, his eyes seeming to spark. Will’s chest constricted. “Shall we find out?”

          Will shook his head and held up his glass of water. “To fake relationships.”

          Hannibal clinked his glass to Will’s, eyes sparkling. “To possibilities.”

Chapter Text

          One of the more modern structures in Baltimore’s heart, the Joseph Meyerhoff Symphony Hall, had no valet parking. The first time Will visited, to look at the mangled trombonist splayed on the stage, he’d just left his car at the police tape. Now, as Hannibal’s Bentley eased to a stop, Will couldn’t get over how easily people forgot atrocities so they could hear some music. Will smiled to himself as Hannibal lowered the window of the Bentley so he could take a ticket from an ancient parking garage machine.

          “What has you so amused may I ask?” Hannibal waited for the rickety bar to rise before guiding the car into the garage.   

          “Nothing. Parking.” Will chanced a glance at Hannibal. "You in particular parking." 

          “I have to leave the car somewhere.” Hannibal glanced at him, eyebrows raised in amusement. “The Symphony Board frowns upon driving your car into the concert hall.”

          “I know, it’s just so common.” Will pawed at his tie. Hannibal looked resplendent in a maroon tux. Will just felt funerial in his black suit. “People like me park. You…valet.”

          This drew a huff from Hannibal. “It may surprise you to know that I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. I frequently butcher cuts of meat for my table.”

          Will frowned at that, somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the click of a hoof. He shook his head. “Do your own laundry too?”

          “The items that don’t need to be dry cleaned.”

          Will cast an appraising eye over Hannibal. “So…undies and socks?”

          The corner of Hannibal’s mouth coiled. “Just the socks.”

          “What the hell kind of underwear do you-” Will waved his hand. “Never mind, save that ‘til the second date.”

          “Yes, I enjoy a bit of mystery with my liaisons.” Hannibal parked. “You’ll be pleased to know that I do my own walking as well, shall we?”

          The walk down Cathedral Street was less than a block, but each step seemed to ring in Will’s skull. The hooves were echoing with each click of Hannibal’s polished wingtips. Hannibal had offered Will his arm, and the empath found himself clutching at the meat of the doctor’s bicep, another desperate attempt to find balance when the world insisted on tilting.

          “What are you thinking, Will?”

          Will straightened. He saw several people walk past them, many glancing furtively as they hurried inside, huddled against the cold. Hannibal, it seemed, wasn’t bothered by the cold. He stepped slowly and methodically around each icy puddle and drift, sure-footed as he guided Will. The doctor was in no rush, chest puffed and head high, as if he were showing off some prized pony in a ring instead of walking with a slightly wrinkled empath who was sweating despite the chill.

          “I was thinking of the word promenade,” Will said, swallowing. His head sloshed from one side to the other. How was it so stifling when there was snow on the ground?

          “Promenade has many meanings,” Hannibal seemed to steer him easily even when he faltered. “In 16^th century France it meant to leisurely walk in order to display new love or new possessions. But the word itself is derived from Latin, where it meant to drive animals onward, presumably to slaughter. Which definition did you have in mind?”

          Will looked at the doors to the Meyerhoff. There were already several couples milling at the large entrance, waving at Hannibal. “Both, at the moment.”

          “I assure you, Will, if I were leading you to slaughter, it wouldn’t be at the Symphony.”

          “Where would it be?”

          Hannibal turned to look at Will, but his admirers had already descended.

          “Hannibal Lecter! IS THAT A DATE?”

          “Hannibal, darling! Who is your friend?”

          “Hannibal! Where have you been hiding this lovely young man!”

          Will reeled slightly, fingers digging into Hannibal’s sleeve. The doctor shifted, laying a cool hand atop Will’s and rubbing softly. “This is my friend, Will Gr-.”

          “NOT THE WILL GRAHAM?” The older woman with the bob was descending upon him. “The man who’s so brilliant he can be anybody?”

          “He can assume any point of view,” Hannibal corrected, patting Will’s hand. “Miranda Komeda, may I introduce the Will Graham.”

          Will blinked, trying not to grapple back to Hannibal as he was released and handed off to the woman with the bob. He shook her hand, trying not to grimace as she clenched her bony fingers around his elbow, drawing him in.

          “Well done,” she whispered to him. “I know a few people who’d like to bag Hannibal. You keep an eye on him, or he’ll be stolen.”

          “Good thing I know how to truss up my catches, then.”

          Mrs. Komeda reeled back with a delighted, scandalized gasp. Everyone froze until she started laughing, then joined in her amusement. Apparently, he’d been judged worthy by the leader of the pack. “Oh, you’re naughty, Mr. Graham! I can see why our Hannibal enjoys you.”

          “Miranda, please, don’t startle him before we get to our seats.” Hannibal was back and the air seemed to settle. Will’s shoulders relaxed as the familiar cologne filled his nostrils. “Come, Will, let’s get a drink.”

          Will nodded, glancing at Mrs. Komeda again and winking.

          He judged correctly as another peal of laughter rang from her. Hannibal steered Will toward the bar, ordering him a whiskey neat and himself a glass of cabernet. “Five minutes in society and you’re already a pet of Miranda Komeda, well done, Will.”

          Will looked at Hannibal as he sipped his whiskey. The interior lobby was stuffy, and the whiskey seemed to fortify his lungs against the onslaught of people. “You primed them for me.”

          “I did no such thing. I merely mentioned a new colleague.”

          “You called me brilliant.” Will took another gulp. “I’m the brilliant Will Graham.”

          “You are indeed.” Hannibal leaned closer. He opened his mouth to say something but paused. Those warm bloody eyes turned cold in an instant as they fixed on something just over Will’s shoulder.

          “Dr. Lecter! Dr. Lecter!”

          “Franklyn,” Hannibal straightened up to his full height, his features hardening to marble as he regarded the smaller man bustling closer to him. It occurred to Will how odd it was that Hannibal could look so intimidating. He’d never found him so…and yet here he was imposing himself over this little man who clearly wanted to fawn over him. “I believe we discussed protocols for meetings outside of the office?”

          “Right! Right! I know,” Franklyn looked down, frowning. When he turned his eyes back up, he had such hope in them. Will was reminded of a stray, showing its belly so it might earn a scrap from a stranger. Will felt sorry for this pitiful little creature, he had half a mind to take him home and introduce him to the pack. “It’s just…I was here with Tobias so we could hear the new trombonist — terrible what happened to the old one...”

          Will thought of the maestro, of the serenade he had created, and glowered. A man, Tobias presumably, finally stepped forward. “It wasn’t a great loss for the BSO.”

          “Now Tobias, you don’t mean that!” Franklyn turned to his companion. “When you say things like that, people will think-”

          Will tuned him out. Hannibal’s posture hadn’t relaxed. He seemed to be watching Tobias with intense interest. Will could hear an animal scratching again, somewhere in the back of his skull. Will glanced back to the man in question, who was busy staring a hole into Hannibal. The man was abnormally still, he seemed to barely blink as he looked at Hannibal. A music lover with little compassion…it wouldn’t be a bad fit for the profile, actually. “What is it you said you did?”

          “I-”

          “May I have a word with you, Tobias?” Hannibal stepped forward. “I’m having trouble with my harpsichord hitting a sour note and I was hoping you could advise me.”

          They had stepped away before Will could protest. Franklyn, though he hadn’t been asked for advice, had stepped away too, milling around them like some sort of insect. Will watched Hannibal and Tobias talk, a half-formed thought burning in the back of his skull. His head itched as if something was trying to tear its way out from beneath his scalp. He dug his hands into his curls, no bumps or tears to speak of.

          “Already tearing your hair out?”

          “Huh?” Will turned, hands still lodged in his hair. Alana studied him, her kissable lips painted blood red. “Alana you look-”

          He squinted at her. Those pretty, kissable lips were screwed into a pout and her lovely eyes were narrowed as she looked at him.

          “Annoyed, actually.”

          “I am.”

          “Not playing your song tonight?”

          Her moue of distaste melted into a mild frown. “I’m worried for a friend.”

          Will looked over his should at the trio of men. Hannibal and Tobias seemed to be communicating solely through intense stares while Franklyn circled them chattering a mile a minute. “Worried for me or Hannibal?”

          “Both,” Alana’s hand lighted on his jacket, rubbing his arm. Will stared at it. “Will you’re bounding between attachments. First this paternal drive for Abigail Hobbs, then me, and now this. I’m worried about your instability, and I’m worried that Hannibal is resorting to desperate actions to try to stabilize you.”

          Will blinked, turning to Alana. “You’re worried I’m a pity fuck?”

          “Hannibal said nothing had happened yet.” Immediately the moue was back. Will could see her outrage stoking as she turned to look at the doctor. “If something happened in a therapeutic session-”

          “Nothing’s happened.” Though that didn’t feel right. So much had happened between him and Hannibal. They had formed a relationship, hadn’t they? Hannibal had pushed to call it a friendship, but that word felt unwieldy when Will rolled it around in his skull. Hannibal Lecter was… an intimate. He’d seen the cracks in the chimney of Will’s mind and hadn’t run, hadn’t pushed him back. Will glared at Alana, suddenly aware of how patronizing that hand on his bicep felt. “But if you want, I’ll call you tomorrow with all the details.”

          “I don’t want there to be details.” Alana reached up and cupped his face. Will realized they were being watched. Miranda Komeda and a little crowd of acolytes were all marking this scene with interest. Will stepped away, a small part of his mind not wanting Hannibal’s friends to gossip about him.

          “Why don’t you want details?”

          “Will.” Alana sighed, clearly frustrated. Will knew how she felt. “We’ve established that I share feelings for you.”

          “We also established that you aren’t interested in exploring them.”

          “I didn't say never-”

          “No, just not while you judge me to be unstable.” Will straightened up, feet firm. “Well, I feel stable right now, and you’ll have to excuse me for the desperate things I did when I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

          “Will!”

          “Alana,” Hannibal was back, one hand resting on Will’s waist, a warm pressure that seemed to draw Will nearer like a magnet. “Are you trying to steal my date?”

          “I’m trying to talk sense to you both.” She shook her head. “This isn’t healthy, and even if it’s technically not a breach of ethics, it’s not sustainable.”

          “Surely it can last the length of one symphony,” Hannibal said with a slight smile. “Now if you’ll excuse us, they’re flashing the lights, we really must take our seats.”

          Hannibal ushered Will up the red-carpeted stairs, leading him down a hall. He opened a door for Will and escorted him in.

          The Meyerhoff looked different without the benefit of police floodlights, the whole room bathed in a golden light. “This is what the maestro saw when he played his victim.”

          “The concert hall was designed in the late 70s by two firms, both agreeing to evoke concrete clouds with their concepts.”

          Will craned over the edge of the balcony. The balconies close to the stage were rounded wood, but the larger balconies were scoops of white material, like drifts of clouds, ruffled by the winds. Over the stage, discs of wood panels hung over the orchestra, angled to reflect the sound back to the audience. “No sharp corners.”

          “No.”

          “So the music bounces off all of the rounded edges, keeping the tone pleasing and not losing sound quality.”

          Hannibal smiled, tilting over the edge of the balcony with Will. “An excellent place to play an instrument or a body, don’t you think?”

          “I feel sorry for the trombonist who’s sitting in the chair tonight, that’s a lot of pressure.”

          “I find a little pressure makes life more interesting.” Hannibal sat in his seat easily. He raised a brow. “Dr. Bloom looks quite becoming in green, don’t you think?”

          “She was wearing blue.”

          “I wasn’t speaking of her dress.”

          Will scoffed. “She wasn’t jealous, she thinks you’re pitying me with dates because I’m unstable.”

          “She is rationalizing her own inaction because she now sees another course was available to her.”

          “Do you flatter all your patients like this, Dr. Lecter?”

          “That would be unprofessional. I save flattery for my dates.”

          Will smiled, settling into his seat. There were only three in the little terraced balcony, and Will watched as Hannibal gently laid his program into the spare next to him. Will twisted the program in his hands, oddly nervous when Hannibal settled next to him. “This your usual seat?”

          “No.” Hannibal leaned back, draping an arm elegantly around the back of Will’s chair. Almost without thought, Will relaxed back into it. “Typically, I sit in the left box with Miranda and her cronies.”

          Hannibal’s hand lifted from Will’s shoulder to wave slightly. Will noticed Miranda and a group of glamorously clad people waving enthusiastically at them. Alana, who sat in the back of the box, remained still. “But I thought I’d spare you an interrogation when there’s a lovely program to listen to. Besides, an intimate terrace box on the upper level indicates that we may not be as interested in the music as each other.”

          Will cast a sideways glance at Hannibal. “Is this the makeout spot?”

          “I wouldn’t know, I assure you.”

          “Come on, you’ve never brought some hot little number up here and given Mrs. Komeda and company a good show?”

          Hannibal craned to look at Will directly, frowning. “I can never be sure if you’re provoking me for your own amusement or genuinely insulting me.”

          Will smiled. “Good thing you enjoy a bit of mystery with your liaisons.”

          Hannibal’s face warmed, he smiled broadly, and Will felt a lurch in his stomach. It was like seeing Hannibal for the first time, it felt oddly naked and vulnerable, and Will was keenly aware that the wrong move would shatter the moment. “What uh…what’s the symphony about, anyway?”

          Hannibal’s smile wilted to a subtly amused expression, but his eyes stayed warm. “Tonight’s program is Symphonie Fantastique.”

          “And is it fantastic?”

          “It’s extremely passionate.” Hannibal’s hand began tapping on Will’s shoulder, a soft beat that seemed to reverberate in the empath’s chest. “It was written out of love and outrage.”

          Will squinted at the program. “Who knew ol’ Hector had it in him?”

          “Indeed.” Hannibal’s hand was still tapping away, the weight of each finger oddly soothing. “Berlioz was an avid theater goer. A production of Hamlet caught his attention. He claims he fell in love with Harriet Smithson the moment her Ophelia took the stage.”

          “That’s not love, it’s infatuation.”

          “Berlioz thought differently. He wrote to Smithson, long missives explaining his devotion and passions…but all were unanswered.”

          “He found her kissable but was rebuffed,” Will muttered. “Little obvious, isn’t it?”

          “Smithson was rumored to be having a torrid affair with her manager. When Berlioz discovered this he threw himself into composing. The result is a piece about an artist’s fanatic devotion to an unfeeling subject. As he toils to earn that love, he’s driven to opium and dreams of murdering the subject of his desires as well as his competition for her.”

          “So…you thought you’d take me to this symphony as a cautionary tale?” Will rolled his eyes. “A warning about wanting someone who rejects you?”

          “No.” Hannibal cast his eyes to the stage as the conductor walked out to a roaring round of applause. “I merely thought you might find comfort in the idea that others know what it’s like to find someone kissable, but have their feelings rejected as a lesser candidate is pursued.”    

          Hannibal’s arm was gone. Will watched in a daze as the man next to him began to clap. Will joined in the action, distractedly bringing his hands together as he stared at Hannibal.

          Berlioz’s love for Harriet Smithson was breathtaking. Will could hear it in the swells of the strings as the piece built into a delirious ode to obsessive love. He could hear the click of hoof beats as the horn section flared.

          Though he’d been subconsciously trying to lean into Hannibal, in case prying eyes were still fixed on them, by the time the strings ominously slid into the oboe, Will had wholly forgotten about anything but the music. He didn’t realize he was gripping Hannibal’s hand until he released it to clap.

          Hannibal stood with him, clapping. “I take it you enjoyed your second visit to the Baltimore Symphony?”

          Will nodded. He thought of the trombonist again, neck open and strung throat singing for an unseen person. “The maestro is writing a symphony for his Smithson.”

          “Then he’s fated to be rejected, just as Berlioz was.”

          Will saw an odd movement in the mezzanine. Franklyn was waving at them; Tobias stared.

          “I can’t imagine ignoring a symphony written just for me.”

          “Can’t you?” Hannibal looked at him then, something inscrutable dancing in the depths of his eyes. Emotions were usually so easy for Will, but Hannibal always seemed to be looking at him through a veil. Will wanted to tear it down, for the first time in his life, he found himself covetous of a glimpse. “But isn’t that the tragedy of Ms. Smithson? Fated to ignore a symphony in pursuit of something decidedly less transforming.”

          Will’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Berlioz and who’s Ms. Smithson in this scenario?”

          “I eagerly await your answer to that.” Hannibal’s eyes tracked up for a moment. “I see Miranda is waving at us, shall we join her for a drink before she starts shouting?”

          Will had hoped the crowd wouldn’t catch up to him until they reached the bar, but the Komeda group enveloped them the moment they left the safety of their little terrace seats. Alana had immediately gone for Hannibal, no doubt yet again discussing Will’s unstable nature.

          For his part, Will was flanked by Miranda Komeda and James Conlon, the symphony’s conductor. Though he usually shut down until he was left alone, Will tried his best to drift on the egos of the people surrounding him. A few words about the sinister sound of the oboes and Conlon was content to launch into a monologue about Berlioz and finding the correct timbre.

          They strolled through Pearlstone Park, taking time to admire the student sculpture displays installed by MICA students. He stopped at one, a twisted metal man with great horns, one sharp hand reaching for someone. Will found himself reaching out as if the statue was offering his hand to Will alone.

          “Do you like it?” Will jumped when Hannibal appeared beside him. “I saw it at the opening of the student thesis show a month ago and found an odd beauty to it.”

          “It’s monstrous.”

          “And yet you took his hand.”

          Will frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How far is the bar?”

          “Closer than you think.”

          Will trudged away from the sculpture, his head throbbing.

          Will hadn’t expected the Mt Royal Tavern. He’d assumed they were headed to a dark wood bar with brass fixtures and fine crystal glassware — somewhere with velvet cushions and waiters in tuxedos.

          But the tavern was clearly a student bar. There was a bored man in a flannel behind a stained and chipped slab of wood, a septum piercing dangling from his nose and cavernous separators holding his earlobes open. A group of collegiate-looking kids huddled by one table in the dim room, rainbow hair and scribbled tattoos alighting their bodies.

          Will turned to question Hannibal, but the bartender beat him to it. “Dr. Lecter! Table’s ready in the back!”

          “Thank you, Isaac.” Hannibal continued talking about the future programs with Conlon as they walked past a stack of plastic cups on the bar and a glowing Natty Boh sign.

          “OK what the fuck,” Will whispered.

          “I’m sorry?”

          “Hannibal, there’s no way you’re a regular in a bar that has plastic cups.”

          Hannibal lifted an eyebrow. “They use glass upon request.”

          “Why would you and the other fancy pants symphony crew go to a student dive? Isn’t slumming it a little gauche?”

          Hannibal perched on a vinyl stool with shiny metal legs. “I enjoy a wide variety of people and locales. I find the ambiance here comforting.”

          “Comforting? Why would-” Hannibal’s eyes flicked up, and Will followed their trajectory. On the ceiling was a stunning reproduction of the Sistine Chapel. The detail was immaculate, each panel beautifully rendered exactly. Will felt like he’d found some sort of treasure no one else could perceive. He thought of the raccoon that wasn’t in his chimney. This too felt like some cruel trick — nothing this magnificent could be ignored by the whole of the bar. Will’s mouth fell open. “Jesus, it’s beautiful.”

          “Done by a class of MICA students in the 80s,” Hannibal explained. “I was caught in the rain after looking at the sculpture garden and ducked in here to wait out the downpour. Imagine my surprise when I cast my eyes upward.”

          Will rose from his seat, eyes glued to the ceiling as he walked a few steps. The chandelier in the center of the room gave the reproduction a hazy glow that reminded him of midnight mass and air thick with incense. “You brought them here.”

          “I like to share beauty when I can.”

          Will glanced at the crowd at the table, they were watching Will and Hannibal, none of them seemed to notice what dangled above their heads. Not even Alana could spare the chapel reproduction any attention. “They come because they find you intriguing, no one else is looking at the ceiling.”

          “You are.”

          Will looked at Hannibal, the dim lights of the dive bar burnishing his skin. His chest felt light, filled with static as he took a deep breath. “You know what would really drive Alana crazy?”

          Hannibal’s head tilted, his eyes casting to Alana, who was still staring at them. “What?”

          Will leaned forward before Hannibal could straighten the angle of his head. Their mouths slotted perfectly together. He brought his hands to Hannibal’s jaw, fingertips scratching along the trace of stubble that lined it. Hannibal’s arms wrapped around his waist, not crushing or groping, merely supporting Will as he explored Hannibal’s mouth.

          The kiss was chaste, and Will found himself wondering if he should lick along the soft lips pressed to his, put on more of a show. Maybe later, for now, this shared breath, this scrape of skin under the hand of God felt right.

          Will pulled away, licking his lips. Hannibal’s expression seemed to have a tear right down the middle. Will could see the passive exterior, but there was something flickering in the eyes. It was almost as if Will had interrupted him mid-expression change and now the doctor was stuck half-formed. “I’m sorry I should have-”

          “I’d like you to see a neurologist,” Hannibal whispered, his voice gruff.

          Will’s eyebrows shot up. He laughed even as mortification tinted his cheeks. “Come on, the kiss wasn’t that bad.”

          Hannibal kissed him again, hands cupping Will’s jaw and drawing him near. Will made a soft noise in the back of his throat, he wasn’t sure if Alana was watching this time, he forgot to look. When Hannibal drew back, his expression had settled into something soft and vulnerable. “You have encephalitis.”

          “You have beautiful eyes.” Will blinked. “Wait. What?”

          His head hurt.

          “Your lips and face feel hot. You’ve been losing time. I can smell a fevered sweetness coloring your usual scent.” Hannibal licked his lips. “It would explain some of the instability you’ve been experiencing.”

          “You…you got all that from a kiss?”

          “I got a great deal from that kiss, Will.” Hannibal turned to the small group near them. They were all pointedly pretending not to watch them. Alana glanced at Will, her mouth twisted into a curious line. Hannibal spread his arms wide, raising his voice to address them. “I’m terribly sorry, but Will and I must go.”

          Will opened his mouth to protest that surely there were no all-night neurologists, but Hannibal was already steering him out of the tavern, calling someone named Donald and swearing it was a dire emergency. The headache was making it hard to keep his eyes open, so Will waved as they passed Alana, sinking into the stream of his mind and trusting Hannibal to be his paddle.

Chapter Text

          In the back of his mind, he’d always known that being Hannibal Lecter’s significant other would have perks. Certainly, a pricy neurologist wouldn’t have opened his office for a 1 AM MRI if Will had been on his own. He doubted even the bellows of Jack Crawford could have accomplished that.

          But Will found himself in a gown, listening to the MRI batter about his head mere hours after Hannibal had apparently sniffed out a diagnosis of his mental condition.

          And all Will had to do was kiss him.

          It was like the princess and the frog, except Hannibal was already a prince, and instead of turning him into something better, the kiss had turned Will into an Anti-NMDAR Encephalitis patient at the Johns Hopkins Outpatient center, with four bags attached to the IV stand that stood stalwart by his bed.

          He was told he’d need to stay in the unit for 14 days.

          He stayed one night

          On the morning of the first full day, a nurse arrived and told him he was moving. He frowned. Surely his government insurance would cover at least two days in the hospital? But his questions were ignored as he was packed up and rolled down a maze of halls and into an ambulance.

          For one hysterical moment, Will wondered if he was being kidnapped by the Maestro. If somehow, he’d been pinpointed as a threat and would be found with his intestines hardened and running out of his mouth — his gut split open to make him a bass to pluck. He thought of Tobias Budge again and thought to ask Hannibal whether he deemed the man suspicious.

          The ambulance drove for precisely one block before stopping. He was unloaded again, into something called the Marburg Pavilion. The receptionist welcomed him warmly, hoping his trip was uneventful. Will looked at her and tried to figure out which one of them was crazy.

          Before he could make a determination on the fact, a sweet-faced nurse arrived, checking that his IV was still attached, tutting at the angle of insertion, and rolling him away.

          He arrived at what could only be classified as a hotel suite. The room had a small kitchenette, with a coffeemaker and sink, a fridge for cold beverages, and a comfortable pale blue sofa that was big enough to sleep on. Just past the half-wall divider was a hospital bed, a matching pale blue recliner, and a small desk area. There was a flatscreen TV mounted to the wall with The World Fishing Network playing softly on it.

          Coming in from the en suite bathroom was Hannibal, frowning into his phone. “Yes, I see the flowers sent by Mrs. Komeda in the sitting area, what I’m asking about are the flowers I specifically ordered. When I spoke to your nurse concierge she assured me that the hospital could source-”

          “Hannibal?”

          Hannibal froze, turning to face Will. He looked…human. He had two days’ worth of growth on his jaw and was wearing a maroon sweater over a mildly rumpled white button-down shirt. There was nothing otherworldly about him, he looked like a man who needed a shower and a few hours of sleep. Will smiled at him. The doctor smiled back, quickly turning to the phone. “I’ll have to call you back, forgive me.”

          They stared at each other, mirroring lopsided smiles on their faces. After a moment the nurse cleared her throat. “Dr. Lecter, would you like me to get him to bed, or-”

          “No, no thank you, I believe we’ll have breakfast on the patio before Will rests.”

          Finally, Will snapped out of his reverie. “The what?”

          “I’ll take him.” Hannibal stepped forward, one hand on Will’s chair, the other on the IV stand. He rolled Will onto a patio that overlooked the hospital grounds and most of the city. “I’ll be right back, I made us breakfast.”

          Will glanced around the patio after Hannibal vanished. Cheery white furniture, crisp flagstone, exquisite views — Jesus, what was he doing here?

          “I’m sorry it’s just a simple protein scramble,” Hannibal sat a plate and cutlery in front of Will. “But your system is resetting and something simple would be best for the time-”

          “Is this a private hospital?”

          “No. It’s part of Johns Hopkins.”

          “The part they usually keep the riff raff out of?”

          “The Marburg Pavilion was constructed to offer a luxury experience for those who needed extended stays in the hospital. As your treatment requires you to-”

          “There’s no way my insurance is covering this.” Will took a forkful of egg, thinking back on that dingy hotel room where Hannibal first fed him.

          “Luckily I still have several connections at the hospital, and the ones I don’t, Miranda certainly does,” Hannibal smiled, watching Will eat. “Your insurance won’t be bothered.”

          “I need to go back to the other room, Hannibal.”

          “Don’t be absurd.”

          “Hannibal-”

          “There’s nothing wrong with a little comfort as you recover, Will.”

          “Dr. Lecter, I can’t let you-”

          “Dr. Lecter would never assume to move you to a private room,” Hannibal whispered, taking Will’s hand. “But Hannibal couldn’t bear to see his paramour in anything less than the Marburg Pavilion. If we’re to keep up appearances, I must insist on you allowing the indulgence.”

          “It’s too much! There’s an office!”

          “Somewhere for me to sit as I complete patient notes while you watch your fishing shows.”

          “You know I don’t actually watch fishing television, right?”

          “My day is improving already.” Hannibal hadn’t released his hand. Will let it be held, supported on the table as both ate. “Please don’t make a fuss, I’ve already told Miranda you’re grateful for our intervention.”

          Hannibal squeezed his hand. “And Alana Bloom is planning to visit this afternoon.”

          Will frowned. Right, Alana. The woman he was doing all this for…

          “Don’t be difficult, Will.” Hannibal smiled at him, his thumb gently rubbing along the bridge of Will’s palm. “It’ll be much easier to entertain Alana in a suite.”

          Will chewed for a moment, before muttering, “This is ridiculous. The nurse gave me a tote bag and a fleece blanket when I arrived.”

          “I believe you can keep both.”

          “As long as I don’t have to keep the catheter.”

          Hannibal huffed, amused, before glancing out over the balcony rail. He looked like some lost royal, surveying his domain. Will realized in a way he was.

          “Hey,” Will tugged Hannibal’s hand. “Where did you work?”

          “I was an ER attending for most of my career.” Hannibal kept his grip firm on Will’s hand, using his free one to point. “Do you see that brick façade there?”

          Will nodded.

          “That’s the Wolfe Street entrance, where most of my patients arrived.”

          “Is that a helipad on top of it?”

          “It is a hospital, Will.”

          Will rolled his eyes, smiling. “I bet you were a terror.”

          Hannibal looked at him. “Do you?”

          Will nodded. “All the nurses were in love, all the doctors threatened.”

          Hannibal smiled. “A few doctors were in love as well.”

          “I bet.” Will leaned forward. “What’s the story with Doctor Sutcliffe?”

          "The story?"

          "I know you're the darling of Baltimore, but that man rushed out of bed the moment you called." 

          "What are you asking, Will?"

          Will chewed, considering. He really had no right to ask anything. "I suppose I don't really have any business asking."

          "And yet you're choking on a question." Hannibal smiled, glancing at his fork. "It's keeping you from eating. Better ask, nutrition is important to recovery." 

          Will licked his lips. There were several questions rolling on his tongue. Did you fuck him? Are you still? Why did he keep looking at you and touching you when I was his patient? Did you call him because you were concerned for me or because you wanted to see if he'd come? Will swallowed them all. Instead, he asked, "Do you share his feelings?"

          Hannibal laughed, a startled, unguarded noise. His eyes crinkled at the edges. "I've shared a few things with Donald, but I would hardly classify any of them as feelings."

          "Does he know that?"

          "I suspect he surmised as much when I rushed my date into the office for an MRI and held your hand during the diagnosis." 

          Will poked at his eggs. "But there was something?"

          "Will, I'm starting to suspect you have a jealous streak." 

          "I am curious."

          "You recall what that did to the proverbial cat."

         "But satisfaction brought him back." 

          Hannibal shook his head. “Finish your eggs and I’ll give you the gory details.”

          Bev whistled when she stepped into the room. “Daaaaamn, I need to fuck money.”

          Will glared at her over the covers Hannibal had neatly tucked around his shoulders. His fever had broken and now the chill of the air made his skin prickle with goose flesh. Hannibal had said his body was overcompensating — once on fire, now sensitive to cold. He’d insisted Will lay in bed with extra fleece blankets tucked up to his ears. Will had protested he wasn’t tired, but Hannibal had merely said Will could rest his eyes for a few moments while he completed some patient notes before the afternoon sessions.

          He must have fallen asleep to the sound of Hannibal’s pen scratching.

          “So, you gotta tell me: Is he a tiger in the sack or a fainting violet?” Bev plopped down in the plush easy chair by the bed, sitting a folder on Will’s lap. “Zeller thinks Dr. Lecter would be one of those delicate, proper types that doesn’t like to muss the sheets.”

          Will’s mind supplied an image: Hannibal Lecter stiffly propped on pristine sheets, face tense and mouth pursed as if waiting for a disaster. It didn’t feel right. “And you?”

          “Jimmy and I think he’s the type you could take home to your parents’ and they’d never know he fucked you against the wall in the den while they were fixing dinner.”  

          Will licked his lips, parched. He thought of the little smug smile Hannibal got when he managed to ruffle Will’s feathers. He could see that smile pressed into the back of his neck, as Will bit his hand trying to be quiet. In fact, a man like Hannibal would delight in getting away with something debaucherous with his reputation intact. He’d probably sneak his hand across Will’s thigh at the symphony, those elegant fingers massaging-

          He shook his head, the meds were getting to him. “What makes you assume we’re sleeping together?”

          Beverly’s eyes widened. “Honey, if you’re not, I can’t imagine what he’ll get you when you do.”

          “It’s rude to assume.”

          “It’s rude not to at least offer a handjob for this room.”

          Will frowned at her, struggling out of the covers Hannibal seemed to have spot-welded to his body. “What do you have for me?”

          Bev grabbed the file, glancing at the IV in Will’s arm. “Are you OK to do this? I know Jack wants you to, but if you’re not up for it-”

          “Hannibal’s gone and I’ve already taken my nap, what else am I gonna do?” Will took the file from Bev and opened it up. He glanced at the pictures. “The Maestro again?”

          Bev nodded. It seemed this killer was forming some sort of orchestra. The first photo was odd, a man lying in his bed. Will glanced at Bev. “He was strangled and left in his bed. Not particularly hard to parse.”

          Bev pulled a picture out from behind that one. “He was the lucky one. This is his husband.”  

          This time, the victim’s legs had been hardened, braced into a wide angle. A head rested on the foot perpendicular to the ground, its spinal cord free and curving across the wide V of the legs to the other foot. From the spine were strung long pieces of hardened intestine again.

          “There were forty-something pieces this time,” Bev said.

          “Forty-seven.”

          “Yeah.” She frowned at him. Will knew that frown, it was the expression he got when he was being useful, but unsettling. “How did you-”

          “It’s the number of strings on a harp.”

          “I’m never going to be able to go to the symphony again.”

          Will smiled slightly. “It’s not so bad.”

          Bev raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it. Any insight into the magic harp here?”

          “He’s still courting someone.” Will ran his fingers along the photo, he could hear the faint trill of notes. “He’s calling them away from someone.”

          “What?”

          “In Ireland, the harp was invented by Cana Cludhmor. After a fight with her husband, she walked the cliffs to clear her mind. She heard beautiful music that drew her farther and farther away from her bed and her husband. Eventually, that music lulled her to sleep. When she woke, she found a whale carcass, hollowed out by the sea and the creatures around it. When the wind billowed through the remaining sinew, it made a beautiful sound. She created the harp that day.”

          “She got all that from a rotted whale?”

          “She was drawn from her husband to make beautiful music.”

          “So, the maestro isn’t just a murderer, they’re a side piece as well?”

          Will tilted his head. “They don’t want to be. They’re dying to make music with a partner they find worthy.”

          Will looked at the picture of the man in his bed. “He hasn’t bothered this body at all. In his mind it’s unworthy. I have a feeling the partner of this musical genius is in danger.”

          “So what…we should put out a statement saying that all psychopaths should watch their significant others?”

          “Send it to Freddie Lounds, she’ll print it.” Will rubbed his face, he was getting tired again. “He’s escalating. The next body will be the lover, and if that doesn’t win the heart of their intended, they’ll die too.”

          “I’ll tell Jack. Thanks,” Bev settled the blankets back up to Will’s chin. “I know this takes a lot out of you. Feel better, OK?”

          “I already do.”

          Bev smiled, patting Will’s chest. When she got to the door, Will called out, “Bev?”

          “Yeah?”

          “He’s definitely the fuck you in the den, type.” Will felt his face heat, but he lifted his chin a little, smiling. “Might even feel you up under the table while asking your Mom to pass the mashed potatoes.”

          “I FUCKING KNEW IT!” Bev smiled so wide it looked painful. “I won’t tell Jack that…but I might tell Jimmy.”

          “Tasteless! Go catch murderers!”

          Bev tossed Will a little salute, still grinning as she made her way out of the door.

          Fire crackled around Will’s head. The heat was unbearable as it licked around his skin, splitting it open and sizzling the wet tissue inside. Will screamed. The fire surged down his throat, flames encasing his lungs as the noise died.

          The stag watched impassively, its hooves clicking as it circled Will’s immolated form. Will fell to his knees before it, reaching out a flaming hand for help. The stag stopped by a second form — long and skinny, the creature vaguely resembled a man, with ebony skin, long limbs, and a great rack of antlers. It reminded Will of the sculpture in the park. He watched it, flames momentarily forgotten.

          The figure tilted its head, antlers lurching to one side. Will reached out to it, the creature took his hand.

          Immediately he was doused in blood, great vats of it falling on his head and smothering the flames. But instead of relief, his skin hardened, forming a blackened shell around him. Will struggled, pressing against the shell of burnt flesh until it cracked.

          He didn’t recognize the thing that emerged, and yet he knew it was his own body. His skin now the same ebony color as the creature, who was still holding his hand. Will’s fingers were taloned as they gripped the thing tighter. He stood, shedding his first skin for his second, his heart beating wildly as the creature drew him into an embrace.

          Close up, the thing before him seemed familiar — something half-glimpsed, but remembered. With a trembling hand, he ran his claws over the thing’s face, its high cheekbones, its full upper lip. It almost looked like…

          Pain shot through his head and Will collapsed under the weight of it. Something tore through his scalp, growing rapidly as the skin shredded.

          The creature clutched him closer. “Shhhh, you’re almost finished.”

          Will stared at the creature, the voice shockingly familiar.

          “Will.” But now the voice was wrong and Will frowned.

          “Will!” He pushed back from this thing, this thing that wasn’t the monster he had been thinking of. The creature’s eyes were red, beautiful, and glimmering. Will tried to pull it closer, staring at the plush swell of its lip.

          “WILL!”

          Will sat up with a gasp, limbs still flailing. Alana caught his arms, gently settling him back into the bed.

          “I’m sorry I woke you, but it looked like you were having a nightmare.” Alana ran cool hands over his arms, checking that he hadn’t ripped out his IV.

          “I’m not sure I was.” Will smiled at her. “Doesn’t matter, I’m sleeping too much.”

          “Your body needs rest,” Alana murmured, hand running along his shoulder. Will leaned into the touch, eyes blinking lazily. “It’s been through a lot.”

          “I’m just happy I’m not crazy.”

          “Me too.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed. They locked eyes and there was a charge. But Will frowned at it. Alana pulled her hand back, bringing it to fiddle with a paper bag in her lap. “I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs.”

          “Hannibal did, that’s all that matters.”

          “If I had…I shouldn’t have-”

          “Kissed me?”

          “Dismissed you.”

          Will tilted his head. “So you don’t regret the kiss?”

          “I never did.” She smiled ruefully. “I regretted the timing…. still do.”

          Something twisted in Will’s gut. He could tell her now, while curled up in a hospital bed, and probably get away with just a scolding. But it didn’t feel right, without talking to Hannibal. It felt…unfaithful. “Timing is a hell of a thing.”

          “Looks like Hannibal got his right.”

          “Is that why you were upset at the symphony?”

          “No.” Alana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought he was misreading you, that you were taking advantage of his stability.”

          Will stilled. “I can’t be crazy if I’m dating a psychiatrist?”

          “Something like that.”

          “I wouldn’t do that to him.” He wouldn’t. He wasn’t the type that used people romantically. It wounded him a little that Alana didn’t know that. Will looked up. “I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

          “I…” Alana smiled, ducking her chin down. “Doesn’t matter now… does it?”

          Did it?

          Will could feel it, a string connecting him and Alana. If he pulled it, just a little tug, they might come together. He shook his head, then pointed at the bag in Alana’s lap. “That for me or did you get a new purse?”

          Alana laughed, opening the bag. “Just some soup from Attman’s.”

          Will plucked the baggie out of her hands. “With oyster crackers?”

          Alana set the small container on Will’s food tray. “It’s how my mother made soup when I was sick.”

          Will nodded. “Thank you.”

          “Of course.” She smiled as he opened the crackers and sprinkled them over the soup. “Do you need someone to look after the dogs?”

          “I have someone.”

          Alana reached out, squeezing his wrist slightly. “If you ever don’t, let me know.”

          Will looked up, heart beating wildly. “I…I will.”

          She let him go, fingers trailing over his skin as she stood. “I’ll let you get your rest.”

          “Thanks for the soup.” Will watched as she walked out of the room, feeling oddly unsettled. He had a weird feeling he should apologize to Hannibal. That something that happened here had betrayed him.

          It was stupid.

          This was the plan, it was working. If anything, he should thank Hannibal for helping him get his girl.

          So why did he still want to beg forgiveness?

          He was halfway through the soup when Hannibal came in. He walked through the door with a flourish, setting a large bag on the kitchenette counter before whipping off his jacket and hanging it in the closet.

          “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. My session with Franklyn was interminable and Buster managed to get into some wild mint before I could catch him.”

          Franklyn…Will paused, spoon resting on the bowl. There was something about Franklyn’s friend he’d wanted to ask…Will sighed. The medication had him clear-headed but exhausted. It could wait. “Buster did what?”

          “Your dog managed to find a patch of wild mint on our afternoon walk and-”

          “I thought you said you hired a service?” Will sat up straighter, looking at Hannibal as he added packets of ingredients to a large glass container like some sort of wizard.

          “I did, but I check on them once a day during my lunch to make sure they’re in good condition. They were, except for Buster, who felt the need to roll through wild mint and then run circles around me like a hooligan instead of heel.” Will grinned. Hannibal looked up, his mouth curling into a smile before it fell from his face. “You’re eating.”

          It felt like an accusation. And Will’s stomach did a guilty little flip as he set his spoon down. “Yeah, Alana brought me some soup.”

          “Ah,” Hannibal’s tone was neutral, but something was wrong. “How is Alana?”

          “Good, she uh,” Will tilted his head, eyes scrunching in a laugh. “For a moment there, it was kinda like-”

          “Like what?” There was that tone again. Everything in Hannibal’s posture was eerily still.

          “Like she regretted rejecting me.” Will pushed the tray away from him. The smell of the chicken noodle was turning his stomach now.

          “I see,” Hannibal’s face was still for another few seconds before he smiled. Somehow that hollow smile was more unsettling. “Then I suppose our plan worked, didn’t it?”

          “Yeah…Hannibal? I-”

          “It worked rather quickly too, how fortunate that you won’t have to endure this little farce for much longer.” Hannibal was packing up the bag, now. “We should plan a breakup, don’t you think?”

          “I guess, yeah.” Will squinted. The medication must have been surging through his brain because he felt weirdly uneasy. “Hannibal?”

          “Something public, perhaps.” Hannibal turned, raising a hand. “Nothing scandalous, you understand. I know you’d hate a scene, but a minor disagreement will give Alana the chance to come check on you and offer comfort.”

          Hannibal glanced at Will again. “Clearly, she’s primed for that.”

          Will’s shoulder’s hunched, he felt ungrateful. Worse, he felt like Hannibal was getting ready to leave. Hannibal picked up the glass container, Will could see its contents sloshing. “Did you bring me soup?”

          “You’ve already eaten.”

          “It smells delicious,” Will tried again. “What is it?”

          “Silkie chicken in a broth. A black-boned bird, prized in China for its medicinal value since the seventh century. Wolf berries, ginseng, ginger, red dates, and star anise.”

          Will smiled, sitting up. His mouth watered a bit at the thought of the soup. His chest warmed at the thought of Hannibal dutifully tending a pot of broth. “Chicken soup. Sounds wonderful.”

          “Another time, perhaps.” Hannibal turned and dumped the contents of the bowl down the kitchenette sink.

          “WHY DID YOU-”

          “You’ve chosen your dinner, Will, no need to force another.” Hannibal smiled that vacant smile again.

          “I could have had it later! There’s a fridge right-”

          “Some things spoil while waiting to be consumed.” Hannibal blinked at him. “Enjoy your dinner.”

          “You’re not staying?” Will was starting to feel hysterical, like the hallucinations were back. He tried to get up, gripping at the IV pole to steady himself as he lurched forward.

          A strong hand landed on his chest. “I believe the nurses have warned you about wandering.”

          Will put his hand over Hannibal’s. The heat from the doctor’s skin made him think of fire. “Then give me a reason to stay in bed.”

          Hannibal watched him for a long moment, before heaving the barest of sighs. He released Will and settled into the large recliner by his bed. “Eat your dinner.”

          Will took a spoonful of soup, but it didn’t taste right on his tongue. Still, he dutifully ate as Hannibal watched him. After four mouthfuls, Hannibal seemed convinced Will would behave and crossed his legs. “Did Mr. Price come to you about the maestro?”

          “No, it was Bev.” Will pushed the tray away again. “Hannibal, that patient of yours, the one from the symphony. Do you-”

          Hannibal bent forward, pulling the tray back to Will. “You need to eat Will, you’re almost finished.”

          You’re almost finished.

          Almost…finished…

          Will thought of flames incasing his body. Of those strong arms that held him as horns sprouted from his head.

          “Will?”

          “Nothing.” Will shook his head. “I feel like I’m at the edge of a fog. The world is beginning to focus again, but not completely.”

          “It will,” Hannibal said mildly. “Shall I put on some music as you eat?”

          “Sure.”

          Hannibal punched a few buttons on his phone and a familiar set of strings started playing. Symphonie fantastique. Will smiled, his finger tracing the length of a note as it played. He ate in silence, Hannibal’s breath and Berlioz’s heartbreak his only company. It was odd not to feel alone.

          He smiled when Hannibal allowed him to push the tray away. “So other than Buster, was everyone good?”

          Hannibal leaned forward, tucking the fleece blanket around Will’s shoulders again. “Buster is a hopeless case. I can report that Winston and Harley were admirable, and Max is prone to corruption.”

          Will felt his eyes drifting, head lolling onto Hannibal’s hand that was still resting on the blanket at his shoulder. He dreamed of a human harp, and strong hands playing it.

Chapter Text

          “You really should replace this range, it doesn’t heat consistently.” Hannibal glared at Will’s stovetop like it had insulted his mother.

          “It’s consistently heated my dinner,” Will’s eyes crinkled when Hannibal snarled. “How bad could it be? You’re reheating soup.”

          Will had been out of the hospital for two weeks. He felt clearer, stronger, and less alone in the world. The last bit had a great deal to do with Hannibal, who had insisted they have dinner every night. He’d explained to Will that anyone who knew him would know he'd be adamant about supervising the recovery of a loved one. Will had just smiled and nodded because he’d never asked for a reason or fought the idea in the first place.

          The truth was, Hannibal was the best relationship he’d ever had. He rolled with Will’s moods, he pushed him on points of philosophy and to drink more water, and most importantly he seemed to understand Will’s oddities and embrace them. When Will handed him a lure wrapped in a hospital napkin, Hannibal immediately recognized the loose thread he pulled from a jacket, shreds of the BSO program, and a feather from the patio at the hospital. He marveled at the lure, telling Will he should consider making them as boutonnieres for all the fashionable people in Hannibal’s circle. Will had frowned and waved off Hannibal, but the attention, the understanding, felt like warm water flowing through his veins, heating him all over.

          Hell, Hannibal had even found peace with Buster, who now brought Hannibal his most cherished possession — a duck stuffy with the head torn off — whenever the doctor entered the house.

          All-in-all it was a real shame that the best romance in Will’s life involved no sex and was just for show. It was one thing for Will to work to earn Alana’s attention, but Hannibal? What on earth was Hannibal getting from all this work? Will had spent long nights wondering if the drive to Wolf Trap was tiring to the doctor, or if he dreaded calling every morning to ensure Will took his pills and to announce that evening’s menu. Will felt like he was siphoning off more and more of Hannibal, and that wasn’t fair.

          His father had done that. Had taken more and more from his mother until she had nothing left to give. And when she ran dry, she ran, not bothering to take Will with her. The idea that he’d take from Hannibal, draw until there wasn’t anything left, was abhorrent. Hannibal was to be savored, to be preserved at all costs so Will could always rely upon his presence.

          Will swallowed around a spoonful of broth, closing his eyes to enjoy the complex flavors. “We should break up.”

          Hannibal raised his brows. “Surely the soup isn’t that bad.”

          Will chuffed a soft laugh. “It’s been over a month, Hannibal. Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

          Hannibal sat at Will’s table, he stirred the broth before him, blooming the scent before he tasted it. He inhaled, then looked at Will. “Are you tired of me, Will?”

          “I’m conscious of you.”

          “You’re aware of me?” Hannibal took a delicate sip of his broth. “Painfully so?”

          “I am aware of the expectations I’ve fostered when it comes to you.” Will reached down, Winston’s fluffy head resting against his thigh, ready to offer affection.

          “You once told me abandonment requires expectation,” Hannibal said, head tilting slightly. “Are you anticipating my eventual abandonment?”

          “I know there will be abandonment.” Will dug his fingers into Winton’s fur. “This relationship was born with a death sentence.”

          “We are all born with a death sentence, Will. How we choose to spend the time until the end is the only thing we can control.”

          “And would you choose to spend your time here?” Will couldn’t bring himself to finish his thought — With me?   

          Hannibal raised his hand, in it was a slobbery duck that had been beheaded by a hyper little terrier. Buster jumped for it excitedly, little legs propelling him up as he snapped in the air. “Where else would I go to get such treasures?”

          Will laughed, heart racing a little when Hannibal tossed the toy with a grin. But the grin shrank and suddenly Will was being studied again. “But perhaps it isn’t your expectations you’re worried about? Perhaps I’ve grown tiresome-”

          “NO!” Will lurched forward, caught by the table. “I don’t find you tiresome.”

          “But you don’t find me kissable.” Will frowned at that. He hadn’t kissed Hannibal since their first date, but he’d thought about it. The feel of those lips, the scratch of his stubble, the hint of breath he stole… But that wasn’t their deal. That wasn’t the point of all this. Hannibal smiled. “Is Alana Bloom still kissable, Will?”

          “Yes.”

          “Then I should step aside and allow her to be kissed.” Hannibal busied himself eating. It was elegant and graceful, but something about the set of Hannibal’s shoulders seemed off. There was tension there, for the first time since Will could remember. When he looked up, his face was impassively amused and Will felt his gut churn. “How should we end our charade? As we planned before? Or do you think it should be more dramatic?”

          Will blanched. “I think a hospital stay was dramatic enough.”

          Hannibal pursed his lips momentarily. “Something more elegant then? Tell me, Will, as a fisherman, how would you bait the hook for Alana?”

          Will let his eyes close, his empathy stretching out and forming the shape of Alana Bloom. “A disagreement. Nothing ugly, but public. The suggestion of friction and the blink of a chink in the armor. She wants an excuse, something a concerned friend could pick at.”

          “Deniability.”

          “Yes.” Will licked his lips. “Alana would never come between us consciously. She'd want the appearance that she did nothing untoward.”

          “Oops,” Hannibal took a sip of wine, smiling into the dark red liquid. “Appearances are how we tell the world about ourselves.”

          “But not who we are.”

          “Never mistake a suit for a truth.”

          Will raised his glass again. Hannibal had given him water in a wine glass since he wasn’t cleared to drink yet. “To the death of appearances.”

          Hannibal clinked their glasses together. “To truth.”  

          Hannibal had gone upstairs to dress for his party 20 minutes ago, leaving Will to nervously watch the waiters as they prepared trays of hors d’oeuvres and pray that none of the guests decided to be early.

          Tonight was the night; a hosted party at Hannibal’s home, a slight but noticeable argument, and then Will would be free for Alana to pursue. Hannibal had asked if he’d like to rehearse, but the idea of starting a fight with Hannibal was unappealing. His stomach would twist and he’d demur, not wanting to think about it.

          They’d had several fights in the weeks since Will had come home from the hospital. Most were about Will’s insistence on calling Dante self-obsessed and arrogant with little to say that didn’t revolve around his own pain. Those fights had been fun, with Hannibal puffing up like a rooster about to attack as he threw arguments and metaphors at Will — and memorably once, an actual volume of Inferno. Will would poke at just the right spots, they seemed easier to see now. He enjoyed shattering Hannibal’s mask of detached charm. Will much preferred the snarling man who would huff when Will waved away a diatribe.

          Those arguments always seemed to elevate Will’s heartrate in interesting ways. He felt like he was running with Hannibal, careening toward something. Those nights he’d tuck away as he laid down at night, smiling to himself about Hannibal’s angry scrunched nose and waiting for a text that would inevitably come around 11 PM every night. It was never an apology, Will didn’t want it to be.

          Goodnight, you philistine.

          Will would squint into the bright light of his phone and grin so wide it hurt his cheeks. He’d let the words warm him. He’d picture Hannibal’s face as he typed it; outwardly he’d look furious, but those sparkling red eyes would be ablaze with warmth and amusement.

          Goodnight, Hannibal.

          It was always the last thing he typed before going to bed. He found more nights than not it was the last thing he thought as his eyes drooped shut.

          But now was not the time for play fights or pseudo-angry texts. Now was the time for Hannibal to come downstairs and make sure the waiters had placed all the amuse bouches on the plates as he’d ordered, and greet any guests before Will had to. Will thought about running upstairs and yelling at Hannibal to shake a leg, but what if he burst through the door and Hannibal was half-dressed?

          He never did get an answer on what type of undies were dry clean only…

          An image of Hannibal’s long legs came to Will’s mind. Silky material had to be dry cleaned, maybe a satin? Something so fine would be small, perhaps tight. Would Hannibal wear briefs that hugged around his-

          “I see you’re in a better mood.”

          Will jumped. “What?”

          Hannibal stepped in front of him, an elegant hand reached up, straightening Will’s tie. “You were smiling.”

          “Was I?” Will winced at his tone, which might charitably be called hysterical. “I was just thinking about…you look great.”

          He did.

          Of course, Hannibal always did, but tonight he seemed to radiate where he stood. He wore a rich burgundy suit, so deep and dark it appeared almost black in the shadows of the kitchen. Will felt a tactile pull toward the fabric, curious what the fine cloth would feel like under his hands. The shirt beneath the jacket was a crisp white, open at the throat with a knot of gold silk tied around his neck and tucked inside.

          He looked like a present, one just begging to be unwrapped.

          “Thank you, Will.” Hannibal preened slightly, and Will finally saw it.

          Hooked into the lapel of his beautiful suit was the lure Will made. Glinting as it caught the light, the blue jay feather contrasted boldly with Hannibal’s suit, the elaborate ties looking like some sort of beading along the metal hook. The lure was snared into Hannibal’s jacket, resting just above his heart.

          “It’s hooked into your jacket!” Will frowned at the way the hook had stabbed through the beautiful fabric. “It’ll ruin your clothes.”

          “A custom boutonniere fashioned from our friendship by you,” Hannibal’s fingers traced over the blue jay feather that ruffled from the bottom. “It’s the finest thing I’m wearing tonight, I assure you.”  

          Will licked his lips, pleasure heating his cheeks. Hannibal stepped forward, sliding his hand into Will's. Will squeezed it automatically. Hannibal brought Will’s hand up, kissing the knuckles. “Come, let's go greet our guests. The sooner we fight, the sooner we can get you to Alana Bloom.”

          It was true, but it didn’t stop Will from dragging his heels.

          Hannibal was doing what Hannibal did best — drawing all eyes to him. He gave a speech about the history of baked Alaska while pouring Grand Marnier into a ladle. With a flick of his wrist, the ladle was aflame, then he was streaming fire down onto bright red meringue piped to look like an anatomical heart.

          “It’s really quite sweet.”

          Will looked to his side, where Miranda Komeda was smiling at him. “The dessert? He’s actually used a lime infusion so it won’t be-”

          “The two of you, my dear.” Miranda looked over at Hannibal, still playing with fire. For a moment his skin looked almost black as Will glimpsed it between the flames. “You suit each other perfectly.”

          Will huffed. “I’m in the back of the room, and he’s showing off.”

          “Exactly. He’s a born showman and you are looking for something worth watching.” Will turned to look at her. She smiled. “It’s the same for me and my Lester. I love to talk, and Lester can’t bear to, he’d much rather listen. I’m his voice and he’s my ears.”

          Will flushed slightly, keenly aware that Hannibal’s eyes kept flicking up to make sure he was watching. “I’m not sure it’s the same thing.”

          “Everyone else in this room could be gone, and he’d still be checking to make sure he had you enraptured.” Miranda reached up, thumb grazing Will’s jaw. “And lucky man, here you stand with a besotted smile on your face.”

          “We have a lot of differences.”

          “Of course you do, that’s what makes the sex exciting.”

          Will turned to raise his brows at her, but she merely shrugged. “I see the way he watches you. And the way you draw closer to glower when anyone talks to him for too long. I imagine that translates to quite some excitement in the bedroom.”

          An image of Hannibal threading his fingers into Will’s hair and pressing his face to a wall leaped into Will’s mind. He froze, blood pumping to his groin as he thought of the strength, the weight, forcing him down and taking — “Imagination can be a dangerous thing.”

          “Perhaps, but speculation is contagious, and you two have started an epidemic in our circle.”

          Will frowned. He glanced at Alana, who was watching Hannibal with a bemused little smile. He wasn’t supposed to be fueling the gossip cycle of the Baltimore glitterati, he was supposed to be convincing Alana Bloom that he was a stable, kissable man. He’d let that goal slip from the front of his mind while the dinner party had gone on, but now, with the phantom feel of Hannibal’s fingers still wrapped in his hair, Will felt the need to refocus on the point of tonight. He pushed the image of Hannibal away, it was time to do what he was supposed to.

          He marched up to Hannibal with his best scowl. Hannibal turned, grinning. “Hello, my darl-”

          “You promised me this evening was about us, not showing off.” Will huffed. “And here you are putting on a pyrotechnics display instead of-”

          “You’re absolutely right, my love. I apologize for losing sight of our evening’s plans.” Hannibal took Will’s hand and kissed it. Will blinked. This was not the argument they were supposed to be having.

          With a frown, he grabbed at a different tack. “I didn’t even want a party, I wanted a quiet evening at home and you-”

          “Forgive me. I was eager to show off the prize I’d earned and in my eagerness, I didn’t consider your wishes as I should.” The kisses were slowing as they pressed onto Will’s wrist. Will felt like his head was filling with honey, sweet and stodgy, miring thought in a sugared swamp.

          “You’re…too fussy.” Will’s eyes were tracking Hannibal’s lips, still nibbling at his wrist. The doctor looked up, eyes warm, lips plush and smiling.  

          “I am,” Hannibal said with a huff of laughter. “But I feel you loosening me at the corners.”

          Hannibal stood, addressing the crowd that was watching with unabashed interest. “I’m afraid the next gathering will be a barbeque with dungarees.”

          He glanced at Will, lowering his face so their noses brushed. “Perhaps I’ll invest in a keg?”

          “Shut up.” Will kissed him, fingers digging into the hair at the base of Hannibal’s skull and twisting. This kiss wasn’t chaste, it was a claim, but for the life of him, Will couldn’t figure out who was claiming who. He felt goaded, as if he’d been dared to kiss Hannibal, but as he licked along the doctor’s upper lip, sucking gently, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

          “What the hell was that?”  The door had just shut on the last straggling guest and Will immediately turned to Hannibal.

          “It’s not uncommon for the Garsons to be the last to leave, I admit they overstay their welcome, but Neil is one of the finest music scholars in Maryl-”

          “Not the fucking Garsons! The fight!” Will frowned at Hannibal, and at his impulse to shove the man against the wall and maybe kiss him again.

          Hannibal raised his chin. “Yes, I was wondering when you were going to start your little fight for Alana’s benefit. Why didn’t you?”

          “Why didn’t- I DID! THE FUSSY COMMENT? THE COMMENT ABOUT SHOWBOATING?”

          “Oh.” Hannibal tilted his head. “I presumed you were nettling me. You enjoy doing that with Dante when we have dinner.”

          “I don’t-” Will stopped, sucking his teeth. “I do, but we’re alone when I do that. It’s just between us.”

          “Ah, so when you insult me in private it’s a tugging of the proverbial pigtail, but in public it’s meant to be a provocative insult.” Hannibal spread his hands in front of him. “This is why I suggested a rehearsal, so the lines of communication were clear. I presumed when you kissed me again it was for the benefit of further tempting Alana.”

          “You kissed me,” Will hissed, his cheeks burning.

          “Is that how you remember it?” Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “How interesting that we experience the same things and yet have completely different interpretations of them.”

          “You goaded me into that kiss.”

          “Goaded?”

          “Yeah, I would have looked like an ass if I hadn’t.” Will couldn’t quite meet Hannibal’s eyes. He could still feel the swell of the doctor’s lips between his own. “Alana was watching.”

          “Poor Will,” Hannibal’s voice was neutral, but his body stiffened. Will felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “The things you suffer for Alana Bloom.”

          “You’re not obtuse, Hannibal.”

          “I’m not,” Hannibal growled, leaning in. “Are you?”

          “What?”

          Hannibal sighed through his nose. “Remind me again why Jack Crawford covets your brain so?”

          “I was- I- What-”

          “It’s a shame Alana isn’t here now, this is an excellent argument for her to witness.” Will opened his mouth but Hannibal grabbed him. He had the vision again, Hannibal’s fingers twisting into his hair and pressing him to a wall. Hannibal’s free hand sliding down Will’s stomach, over his belt and —

          He was jerked upright. Will didn’t realize he’d been leaning toward the wall. Hannibal was manhandling him into his overcoat and toward the door. “You’re kicking me out?”

          “Isn’t that how most fights end?” Hannibal stepped into Will’s space, his breath falling hot onto Will’s cheeks. “How else did you imagine this concluding, Will?”

          “I- …but Alana-”

          Hannibal retreated immediately. With a sharp pull, he ripped Will’s lure from his lapel. He handed it to Will, who took it with a dazed hand. “I believe you’ve reached your fishing limit Mr. Graham. Why don’t you go home and think about what you want to catch and how you’re luring it.”

          Will was on the front step watching the door close in his face before he could even open his mouth to protest.

          “I made this for you,” He called to the burnished wood.

          It did not respond.

          Will clenched his fist around the hook, the barb snagging and tearing his skin. He shoved the lure into his pocket, watching blood pool in his hand. Will could hear his pulse in his ears. He didn’t have Alana, and now Hannibal was angry with him. Impulsively he smacked his palm on Hannibal’s door, marking it with his blood before stomping to his car.

Chapter Text

          Will reared up when he heard the knock on his door. He clicked his Spotify off, Berlioz stopping abruptly. “MY OFFICE HOURS ARE CLEARLY MARKED ON THE SYLLABUS!”

          Bev’s head popped into the office, eyebrows high. “If you fail me, I’m telling Jack.”

          “What do you want?”

          Bev’s eyebrows drew together. “Wow. What happened with Hannibal?”

          “I don’t fucking care about Hannibal Lecter.”

          Bev slipped into the office, shutting the door behind her. “Oh yeah, I can see that. You’re just sitting here seething about him.”

          “DON’T TELL ME-”

          “DO NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME WILL GRAHAM.” Will’s eyes widened. He sat back in his chair like he’d been shoved. Bev reeled forward, rounding his desk to shove a finger in his face. “I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not Jack Crawford, and I’m not one of your students. I’m not going to tolerate your shit just because you’re in a bad mood.”

          Will let out a harsh breath through his nose, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry.”

          “Fine. Accepted.” She smacked Will’s head lightly with a folder. “New forensic reports on the Maestro. I can leave them with you and get back to the lab, or we can talk about the bug that’s up your ass. Your choice.”

          Will stared at her for a long moment. She really was the only friend he had in the world that didn’t expect him to play fetch. “Hannibal kicked me out last night.”

          “Oh.” Sitting the folder on the table, Bev rounded the desk and took a seat, folding her hands in her lap. “Like get out I can’t talk to you right now? Or get out and never darken my doorstep again?”

          “He gave me back my lure,” Will said miserably. “I made it for him.”

          “Man, what happened?”

          “I took advantage of his friendship.”

          “I thought you two were-”

          “I’m not sure what we are, except hurt.” Will looked at Bev with furrowed brows. “I think I really hurt him. Hannibal. Nothing touches Hannibal.”

          “Do you want to fix it?”

          Will looked up, mouth open. He was desperate to fix this, but he wasn’t sure what he was fixing. Was he mending a friendship that had been overtaxed? Or was he begging a boyfriend to take him back?

          The door banged open, Zeller’s chest heaving. “BEV! Thank God, we gotta go! Crime scene.”

          Bev stood. “I have to grab my-”

          “Kit’s in the van, we gotta go, Jack says the crime scene just happened. He thinks the Maestro’s dead.”  

          Will raised up, “I’ll go with you.”

          “No…no.” Zeller looked odd, backing up. “Jack doesn’t want you there.”

          “What do you mean Jack doesn’t want him? When hasn’t Jack wanted Will at-”

          Zeller grabbed Bev’s wrist. “Well, we don’t need him on this one, come on.”

          Will was around the desk, eyes hard. “What aren’t you telling me?”

          “Will, Jack said-”

          “Where’s the crime scene, Z?”

          Zeller swallowed, sucking his lips into his mouth to bite at them. “Baltimore.”

          “Baltimore? Why wouldn’t he want me in-” Will’s mind flashed to his first date with Hannibal, to the way Tobias Budge stared at them across the Meyerhoff. He shoved past Zeller, running for the parking lot, ignoring Bev calling his name.

          He beat the forensics van to Baltimore by 20 minutes. It was a miracle he didn’t crash the Volvo as he took a screeching left from Calvert to Madison Street. He threw the car into park at the police barrier, leaving it with the keys in it, idling in the center of Madison’s stately homes and offices.

          Three officers moved to stop him, Will barreled through them yelling “I’M FBI!” as he shoved and wrenched free. He’d made it to Hannibal’s waiting room before he was stopped by a wall of a man.

          “Will! WILL!” Jack shook him hard, rattling his attention back to the man before him. “He’s alive, Will. Hannibal is alive.”

          It was like the air had been let out of him. He sagged into Jack, the adrenaline souring in his mouth and making his body ache. Jack steadied him, allowing Will to step back, panting. “The Maestro came for one of Hannibal’s patients, killed him, and attacked Hannibal.”

          Will blinked, Jack's words banging around in his skull when the only thing he could really process was his brain screaming HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL.

          “There was a struggle, Hannibal got lucky, knocked the stag sculpture onto his head, killed him.” Jack sighed. “We just finished processing him and we’re still working on the scene, medics are-”

          “MEDICS?”

          “Nothing serious,” Jack assured. “Hannibal told them that. Won’t let them give him stitches, says he’d prefer to do it himself.”

          Will smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “He’ll do a better job.”

          Jack grinned at him. “I wanted to catch you before you slammed in and ruined our evidence. I know how I’d be if it was Bella, but I can’t let you destroy my crime scene. If you promise me you’re in control, you can see him.”

          “I’m in control.”

          He wasn’t. He was reeling. But if he didn’t see Hannibal breathe for himself soon, he was going to do something drastic, like burn the building down.

          Jack stepped aside. “Don’t go near the bodies.”

          Will nodded, stumbling forward. Hannibal’s pristine office was in shambles. On the floor by the chairs Will occupied every Thursday evening was Franklyn, face down, neck wrung like a chicken. Budge was near the balcony ladder, a pool of blood growing stagnant around his skull and the stag statue.

          Something was wrong.

          He looked at Budge and back at Franklyn. Why would Budge snap his neck? Budge liked to tear…snapping his neck was so…

          “Hello, Will,” Hannibal sat in his desk chair, hunched forward, though his shoulders remained straight. He had a trail of blood slithering from the corner of his mouth to his chin, a sharp little cut fanned over the bridge of his nose. “Did Jack call you to look at the scene?”

          Hannibal stood, wavering slightly until his left leg took all his weight. A dark smear of blood was widening on the right thigh of his trousers. Will rushed him, arms pulling Hannibal into a tight hug and supporting his weight. Hannibal relaxed into Will’s hold, arms landing softly on Will’s back and shoulder. “You came for me?”

          “I was worried you were dead,” Will whispered into Hannibal’s neck, voice trembling. He had a horrifying notion that he might cry.

          “I’m alive,” Hannibal squeezed Will back. “Did you think I’d part with you on such bad terms?”

          “I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world.” Will pulled back, smiling. “I’d hate for you to be lost in a dark wood, astray from the straight way.”

          Hannibal’s lip snarled, just barely.

          “Will, I’ve told you that while you consider it a cliché, Dante’s symbolism of the wood is-” Will kissed him fiercely. Their mouths clacked together, Will sucking Hannibal’s lower lip into his mouth, licking at the blood. Hannibal made a soft noise, shifting his weight backward until Will was nearly pinning him to the desk. Will growled into Hannibal’s mouth, his hand clenched at the back of Hannibal’s head to keep him still, the other hand braced on the desk. Hannibal shifted, Will now straddling his good leg while the doctor’s hands soothed up and down Will’s chest.

          Will rocked once, experimentally.

          A throat cleared right next to them.

          Will blinked at Hannibal, who looked up at him with such a dazed, happy expression that Will almost dove back down to take his mouth again.

          “Gentlemen!” Barked Jack.

          Will and Hannibal turned in unison to see the head of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit glaring at his shoes. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think the team has enough fluids to investigate in this crime scene.”

          “Sorry Jack,” Hannibal had the silliest little smile stretching his mouth, Will wanted to lick it.

          “I’m not sorry.” Will helped Hannibal stand. “Is he done?”

          “We took a statement.” Jack smiled, just a little. “He can go.”

          Will turned to Hannibal. “Let me take you home.”

          “Please.” That smile was still there, Hannibal looked drunk. Will wanted to suck a hickey onto the man’s neck, just to see if he could make him giggle.

          Instead, he pushed himself up, holding out a hand for Hannibal to eagerly grasp. As they left the office, they passed the forensics team. He absolutely didn’t smirk when Jimmy elbowed Zeller in the ribs and hissed I TOLD YOU!

          The drive to Hannibal’s house was quiet. Will kept glancing over at Hannibal, as if he were afraid the doctor would disappear if not under constant surveillance.

          “Will, I’m not going anywhere.”

          Will nodded, resting a hand on Hannibal’s left thigh as he drove, stroking softly.

          “There’s no reason to put a show on right now, Will. No one can see.”

          Will nearly flinched at the sound of Hannibal’s voice. His fingers clenched into the flesh beneath them. He thought about the kiss. It wouldn’t have mattered if Alana had been there or they’d been the only two people on earth — nothing in the world would have stopped him from kissing Hannibal Lecter at that moment.

          He turned to Hannibal, catching the doctor watching him. “I know.”

          There was mild traffic on the road, keeping the pace slow. Will didn’t mind. He enjoyed spending time with Hannibal, even when they didn’t say anything. He liked the way Hannibal dressed, he’d never admit it, but the odd suits and fastidious hair amused him, felt like camouflage that only he could see. Will had his glasses and Hannibal had his suits. He liked their conversations. Will was used to intense interest, that’s what being a medical oddity in the psychiatric community brought, but Hannibal’s interest felt personal. He didn’t want to write a paper, he wanted to sink into Will’s psyche and marinate in it, for the sheer pleasure of doing so.

          Hell, he liked fighting with Hannibal, riling him up with some ridiculous proclamation about Dante and having Hannibal start growling Italian phrases at him. He loved having Hannibal in his house, complaining about the low quality of Will’s oven and sneaking the dogs scraps as Will pretended not to notice. He’d come to rely on Hannibal, not just for good conversation or care, but as a presence. His life was better with Hannibal next to him.

          And as convivial as that all seemed, he also liked fantasizing about Hannibal. It had been weeks since Will had touched himself without imagining stubble under his fingers or crooked teeth sinking into his shoulder. He hadn’t thought of Alana once as he whimpered and writhed on his bed at night, it was always Hannibal’s voice, low and strong in his ear, bringing him over the edge.

          Will pulled into Hannibal’s drive, throwing the car into park. He stared sightlessly out the windshield.

          He was in love with Hannibal.

          He laughed, folding his arms over the steering wheel and thumping his head into their cradle. It was so stupidly obvious. Who did he always run to? Even after he kissed Alana, he hadn’t called Bev, he’d needed Hannibal. He’d been listening to that fucking symphony for weeks now, not thinking of Alana, remembering the feeling of Hannibal’s lips against his own.

          “Will?”

          Will turned, wide-eyed under Hannibal’s scrutiny. “Today involved quite a bit of turmoil, let’s go in and have a drink. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

          Will nodded, trailing Hannibal into the house. He found himself staring at the back of Hannibal’s head. It was mutual, wasn’t it? It had to be. Who would suggest faking a relationship unless…

          “Hannibal?” Will’s voice croaked. Hannibal turned, overcoat off and hovering over a coat hanger. Will’s eyes trailed over the man. His nose was starting to swell at the bridge, a bruise was blooming on his chin, and Jesus Christ, he’d been stabbed. Now wasn’t the time. “Jack said you needed stitches.”

          Hannibal cocked his head, then smiled. “I do. Would you like to help me?”

          “Yeah.” Will closed in on him. He lifted a hand to trace feather-light over his chin. “What about these?”

          “Nothing to be done, even with ice, I’m afraid they’ll swell.” Hannibal sighed offering the barest of smiles. “I’ll just have to be ugly for a few days.”

          “You’re never ugly,” Will whispered, fingers trailing up Hannibal’s jaw. “Handsome Hannibal, always.”

          Hannibal’s fingers fell to Will’s chest again, gripping the lapels of Will’s coat. Will leaned in.

          “HANNIBAL! WILL?” The door burst open and for a moment, Will wanted nothing more than to strike at the interloper, to bury the body in the backyard so he and Hannibal could bury themselves in each other.

          Before he could push the thought away, Alana was upon them, one hand resting on Will’s shoulder, the other cupping Hannibal’s jaw and drawing him in. “Jack called. Are you hurt? Oh, you’re bruising! Let’s get you ice.”

          She bustled into the kitchen like she owned the place and Will frowned in her wake. He glanced at Hannibal, who was watching him with a small smile on his face. “Shall we follow our guest?”

          Our guest.

          That’s right, Alana was the intruder in this scene. A scene where Will belonged.

          Somehow, Hannibal had managed to procure a charcuterie board and a suture kit within five minutes. He sat in his living room, right trouser leg cut off and leg propped on an antique settee as he swabbed his stab wound with alcohol. Will had been in charge of cutting the trouser, Hannibal handing the scissors to him and claiming with an amused tone that he couldn’t bear to cut the Italian wool himself. Will now knew that Hannibal wore silky boxer briefs, a glimpse of which made him salivate, and sock garters. The knowledge burned in his chest and he desperately wanted to lick at the wound, to rub himself along Hannibal’s beautiful leg like one of the dogs. Will glared at Alana, willing her to leave.

          She didn’t. She popped an olive into her mouth, as Hannibal pulled out a suture and needle with gloved hands. “Could Franklyn have been involved in whatever Tobias was doing?”

          Will scoffed, remembering the nervous little man with the puppy dog eyes. “No.”

          Hannibal sighed. “I thought this was a simple matter of poor choice in friends.”

          “But Tobias was courting him? As the Maestro?”

          Will frowned. Franklyn had barely kept Tobias’ attention at the Symphony. He’d seemed much more interested in…

          His empathy swelled. Hannibal and Alana’s conversation faded into the back of his mind. He could hear Tobias, feel his intensity creeping into his consciousness.

          I know Franklyn has an appointment with Hannibal, it has to be there. There I’ll show him who I am, what I can do. I won’t be rejected again. If Hannibal won’t understand me, he will respect me as he dies on his office floor. This is my design.

          Hannibal.

          Tobias Budge had gone to the office for Hannibal, not Franklyn. Surely Hannibal knew that? Surely there would have been signs that Tobias was stalking Hannibal.

          A colleague, you just missed him.

          The dinner, the dessert for two that Will had eaten. He’d never asked Hannibal who his phantom guest was. Why wouldn’t Hannibal tell him? Why not tell Jack? He must have suspected that Budge fit the Maestro profile…

          But what did Tobias want with Hannibal? He was on the symphony board, he had a collection of beautiful instruments, played well, and had perfect pitch, but that didn’t seem right. Will glanced at Hannibal as he stitched his leg one-handed. Each stitch perfect as Hannibal’s needle bit in and out of the skin, almost an absent motion as he talked to Alana about his ordeal.

          A colleague.

          Will’s mouth went dry. Hannibal Lecter. Former surgeon, highly intelligent, high pain threshold, charming, but with few close friends. Someone used to being the best and the smartest in every room he graced. An intelligent psychopath prone to sadism. One that wouldn’t be constrained by motives or killing patterns. One that was nearly impossible to catch.

          Will knew the profile by heart — he’d written it.

          Will dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor, shards flying everywhere.

          “Will?” Alana’s hand was on his leg, Will drew back as if she burned him.

          “Alana, would you mind horribly getting the broom and some towels?” Hannibal’s voice was even, but his eyes were glued to Will. “I’d do it myself, but unfortunately-”

          He gestured to his half-sewn wound, all polite ease, no pain.

          “Of course!” Alana scurried off.

          He waited until she was out of the room. “What did you see, Will?”

          Will blinked at him. That cool, impassive face. It always made Will feel so calm. He thought of Franklyn, neck broken and discarded on the floor. He could see it now, Hannibal stepping up behind him, those strong hands wrapping around Franklyn’s head — he would have been dead before he understood who killed him. Not a crime of passion, a gnat that was swatted so Hannibal could focus on the issue at hand.

          “You,” Will whispered. “I see you.”

          There was no flash of fear in Hannibal’s eyes, no threat or tension. He smiled at Will, his eyes curious. “Do you like what you see?”

          Alana raced back into the room with a roll of paper towels and a broom. “OK, let’s get this cleaned up before anyone else needs stitches. Will? Would you-”

          “I have to go.” Will stumbled to his feet, racing to the door with his head in a fog. He ignored Alana’s shouts but noticed that Hannibal never called for him.

          He didn’t have to.

          The Chesapeake Ripper always caught his prey.

Chapter Text

          Overall, Will thought he was handling things pretty well. He’d realized he was attracted to a man, that he was in love, and that the person he loved was a serial killer all within the span of 45 minutes. Even Hannibal would admit that he couldn’t solve all that in the span of a single therapy session.

          He’d driven home, with less urgency than he’d driven to Baltimore. It seemed like he blinked and he was home, staring through the door at his barking dogs. He let them out, drank every bottle of liquor he had in the house, and woke up three days later to 17 messages from Jack, five texts from Bev, several hundred emails from students and the administration wondering where the fuck he was, and Alana knocking on his door.

          Will noted, before stumbling to the door, that Hannibal hadn’t called or texted once.

          Perfect.

          The Chesapeake Ripper was giving him his space.

          He swung open the door to squint at Alana.

          “Will! Oh my god, what happened?” Immediately her hand was on his forehead. Will frowned.

          “You feel warm, but you smell like a distillery,” she scolded mildly. “So, I’m guessing it’s not the encephalitis.”

          On the long list of things that were wrong with him, encephalitis didn’t even make the top ten — being hurt that a serial killer didn’t call him was fighting for number one with realizing serial killing wasn't necessarily a dealbreaker, currently.

          “Good old-fashioned liver failure.” Will shied away from her hand when Alana tried to brush back his hair. “Did you need something?”

          “I needed to check on my friend.” He stepped aside to let her walk through the door. “I was hoping he’d call me after he fled his boyfriend’s house in a panic, but I can see now you were busy…destroying your home.”

          Will huffed slightly. “It takes some time if you’re going to do it right.”

          Alana rolled her eyes, picking her way through the debris of his bender. Books were on the floor, liquor bottles lolled in footpaths, and he’d managed to burn the remnants of the symphony program in the fireplace along with a couple of Hannibal’s handwritten notes he’d kept long before he admitted to why he was collecting them.

          “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t break any glass.” Alana opened three cabinets in his kitchen, finally finding his canister of Folgers. She held it up. “Mind if I make coffee?”

          “Go ahead.” Will looked back at the far wall by the fireplace. He was almost positive he’d thrown a glass at it. He stepped closer. There was a stain on the wood, and the spot still smelled of whiskey. So where was the glass?

          He looked down at himself, dressed in his t-shirt and boxers. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember changing either.

          “Well, at least you fed the dogs.” Alana bent down to scruff Winston’s fur and scratch Buster’s back.

          Had he?

          Will walked to the fridge and flung it open. There was fresh milk, eggs, and yogurt that he definitely hadn’t bought. There was also a Tupperware container that he didn’t own.

          He smiled, despite himself. Will had gotten blind drunk hoping he wouldn’t feel much when Hannibal came for him. And Hannibal had come for him. Only to clean up his mess, feed his dogs, stock his fridge, and put him to bed. He’d propose now if it wasn’t for the whole serial killer thing.

          “So,” Alana plunked two mugs of coffee down on the kitchen table. Will fought the urge to smile again. He remembered the last time Hannibal had visited, when he was conscious, and the face he’d made when Will had served him Folgers with a gleeful smile. He’d threatened to bring a French press and beans for his next visit. “What the hell happened to you?”

          “I realized some things,” Will sipped his coffee, wincing at the taste. Hannibal’s blend had spoiled him. “Needed to go home and get drunk.”

          “What did you realize?” She laid a hand on his, looking at him with those beautiful caring blue eyes. Will felt numb.

          “That Hannibal and I aren’t compatible.”

          Alana raised her eyebrows, hand gripping a little tighter. “You realized that after he’d been attacked?”

          “We have very different tastes,” Will grumbled, pulling his hand back. He sipped the coffee again. “I’m not sure I could develop my palate to suit his.”

          She laughed. “That JUST occurred to you?”

          Will’s eyes narrowed. “I thought…there were times when we seemed so similar.”

          “When?” She offered a wry smile. “When he was taking you to the symphony or when he had you co-host a society dinner party?”

          When he sat by Will’s bedside, softly scratching patient notes as Will’s brain slowly began to recover. When they’d sat together at night, talking about anything and everything, each absently patting a dog. When Will had finally realized the black antlered thing in his dreams spoke with Hannibal’s voice and he’d kissed it before waking up.

          “I liked the symphony,” Will muttered sullenly.

          The hand was back on his. “I think you’re both wonderful. Just, very different people. You’re a beer and dogs kinda guy. Nothing wrong with that. I think you confused attraction with compatibility.”

          Will thought of killing Garret Jacob Hobbs, of the rush, the thrill. He’d told himself it was righteous. He’d done it to save the girl. But had he? He’d never felt so alive, and it had scared him badly.

          “Is that what you did? Mistook compatibility with attraction?”

          Alana leaned forward. “I mistook a grave illness for instability. I was never confused about my attraction or compatibility.”

          “You really think you’re a beer and dogs kinda gal?”

          “I’m here, aren’t I?” She caught his lips in the softest, sweetest kiss he’d ever had. It was the kiss he’d dreamed of that damned day with the phantom animal in his chimney.

          Gently, as gently as she had the day she’d done it, Will pushed Alana away. He licked his lips, the taste was sweet, cloying. But Will had developed a different appetite, one for fire and blood. Hannibal had expanded his palate after all, and now his old favorites tasted bland by comparison.

          “Will, I’m sorry.”

          “Don’t be,” He laughed, glancing up at her. “You’re very kissable, you know.”

          She smiled, but it was a tight expression. Alana could feel her transgression just as keenly as Will could. “It was too soon…after Hannibal.”

          Will laughed, again, a mirthless sound as he let his head fall back. “I’m not sure there is an after Hannibal.”

          She touched him again, this time nudging him with her foot. Will noted the distance she was putting between their bodies, he appreciated it. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

          “I told you, we don’t share-”

          “Can I be your therapist just for a moment?”

          Will looked at her with a raised brow. “Didn’t you raise hell after I kissed my last sort of therapist?”

          Alana blushed, mouth twisting. “I’m not the only one who’s kissable.”

          Will snorted, scrubbing his hand across his face. He leaned back in his chair and leveled a look at Alana. “Alright, Dr. Bloom. You have 15 minutes.”

          Alana smiled, making a show of cracking her knuckles. “Have you ever considered that your connection to Hannibal scares you?”

          Will rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That thought has occurred to me recently, yes.”

          “Did you ever think about why?”

          “I know why.”

          “Care to share?”

          “I told you, we’re very different people.”

          Alana squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

          “Dr. Bloom, you have 10 minutes.”

          Alana leaned forward. “You were abandoned by your mother and raised by a father that was dealing with trauma, alcoholism, and single parenting.”

          Will shot her an unamused glower. “Yes, I have mommy and daddy issues.”

          “Did you know Hannibal was an orphan?”

          “Yeah.” Hannibal had told him one night in the hospital, over delicious homemade sandwiches as they sat on the patio watching the lights of Baltimore. He’d told Will of the cold, of the silence until Robertus had found him, of Mischa. “But that was an accidental abandonment, not a conscious one.”

          Alana hummed. Will knew that hum — it was a therapist noise and one he hated.

          “And yet, both of you are intelligent men, skilled and respected in your field. Both have a keen understanding of humanity, and yet remain solitary, in spite of interest.” That little smile was back. “Both enjoy the process of flirting.”

          Will furrowed his brow. Had Hannibal been flirting with Alana? Something sour surged in his stomach. He swallowed the rest of his coffee. “Confirmed old bachelors?”

          “Men who believe their success hinges upon them not acknowledging the hurts they’ve experienced or the fear they feel because of it.”

          Will laughed. He couldn’t stop it. He laughed until his sides hurt. “That’s your diagnosis? FEAR OF COMMITMENT?”

          “You were deliriously happy until confronted with the idea of losing Hannibal, which caused you to panic and flee.” Alana raised a brow. “I know it’s rather boring, but it’s either that or psychopathy.”

          “Alana, Hannibal’s not afraid of anything.”

          “And yet, when I stopped in to see him yesterday morning, he was unshaved and looked like he hadn’t slept.”

          Will’s chest clenched. No one should see Hannibal like that. He should be there to keep Hannibal from prying eyes. He narrowed his eyes. “You kiss him too?”

          Alana threw a napkin in his face. “Go to hell, Will.”

          Will smiled, a little. “He really looked bad, huh?”

          “He looked like a lost puppy. One that might need a good home.” She sighed. “Know anyone who does that sort of thing?”

          Will spent the rest of the day surrounded by Hannibal. Every Ripper file, every copycat kill, and the dead face of Tobias Budge sat around him in a semi-circle as Will stewed. The more he looked, the more he saw Hannibal in each mutilation, each brazen transformation.

          God, it had been right in front of him the whole time.

          Hannibal had been right in front of him the whole time.

          Winston nosed at one of the folders. Buster, never one to be outdone, flopped on the photos of the Budge, rolling on them. Will sighed. “I don’t even know if he’d be willing to live with seven dogs.”

          Winston licked him.

          “You think he’d try?”

          Buster got up, shook himself once before retrieving his headless duck. He plopped the slobbery thing on Will’s lap. He laughed. “He does like mutilated bodies.”

          His phone rang and Will grimaced when he saw BEV flash across the screen. He picked it up.

          “Hello?”

          “Hey, I know you took the week off or whatever you did to make Jack scream for three days, but I was wondering about Budge.”

          Will’s heartbeat ticked up. “What about him?”

          “I was going to file the report, get it out of the way,” Will could hear typing in the background. “You never added your write-up. I’ve got the file open, anything you need to add?”

          Hannibal Lecter murdered Franklyn then killed Budge because he’s the goddamn Chesapeake Ripper.

          Will drew in a breath. “No…looked pretty straightforward to me.”

          “Yeah,” Bev trailed off for a moment. “Only odd thing was the autopsy. Budge took a beating. Your boy knows how to throw a punch.”

          “He was mugged when he first got to Baltimore.” Will winced at how fast he’d plucked that lie from the ether. “After that, he took boxing and self-defense, just in case.”

          “Huh.” Bev sounded impressed. “Lucky.”

          “Yeah, he was.” Will laughed. “Guess that prep paid off.”

          “No, I meant you. I dated a boxer once, ripped everything I wore off. Sex was so good I didn’t mind only having three pairs of panties.”

          “JESUS BEV!”

          “Everything ok with you two? He sounded funny this morning.”

          “Huh?”

          “I called him to finalize his statement. I asked to speak to you so I could get your thoughts on the report, but he said you didn’t stay over. You didn’t hit and split after the man was almost killed, did you Will? Because that’s shitty.”

          “I had to go to look after the dogs!” Will’s gut twisted just a little. Sure, Hannibal wasn’t actually traumatized, but he’d been hurt. Will should have been there to help him.

          “Well, maybe pick up some flowers when you see him again, he sounded weird.”

          “How so?”

          “He was all Thank you for calling, Ms. Katz, I value your help during this trying time. Please do call Will, he has everything he needs to give you a full report.”

          “Don’t ever imitate my boyfriend again.”

          “Ooooooh! YOU SAID BOYFRIEND! JIMMY! HE SAID BOYFRIEND!”

          “Bev? Go fuck yourself, I gotta go.”

          “Will? Wait! Anything to add?”

          Will traced a hand over the wounded man, looking at the care, the artistry behind every blow. “No. Happened just like Hannibal said. He’s lucky the Maestro didn’t kill him.”

          “OK tell Hannibal I said hey!”

          “Yeah, I will.”

          Will ended the call and stared at the Ripper killings again. After a moment, he picked up the copycat kill, looking again at the girl on the stag’s head. Hannibal had been trying to help him. In his own, bloody, psychotic way, Hannibal had been trying to prove himself from the very beginning.

          I merely thought you might find comfort in the idea that others know what it’s like to find someone kissable, but have their feelings rejected as a lesser candidate is pursued.

          Shit.

          Will stood, gathering the files and throwing them onto his desk next to his lure equipment.

          “Winston! You’re in charge, don’t let Buster burn down the place.”

          Winston woofed once as Will flew out the door. He’d call Alana on the road and ask her to look in on the dogs, since she was a beer and dogs kinda gal.

          Breaking into Hannibal’s house wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. Will understood why the Chesapeake Ripper didn’t feel the need for an alarm system, but one flimsy door lock on the back door was suspicious. There were a few things Will would have to discuss with him, so that Hannibal Lecter didn’t fit the profile quite as beautifully as he did now.

          Will stood in Hannibal’s kitchen. The house was deserted, but he could feel Hannibal in this room. He ran his hand over the stainless-steel top, imagining Hannibal quietly chopping, hair falling in his face. This was Hannibal’s home, his heart. If there was evidence, he’d find it here.

          He looked in the fridge and poked his head into the pantry. Bottles of wine, dried spices, more refrigeration — Will tilted his head to examine the butcher’s block. It was the only piece of furniture in the room that didn’t run on parallel lines. The wooden table was crooked, just barely, marring the perfect line of the pantry.

          Will drew closer, he saw the faint scuff marks on the floor and smiled. “Sloppy, Dr. Lecter.”

          Nudging the butcher’s block aside, Will felt along the floor, finding the seams of the trap door easily. The latch was hidden from plain sight, but simple enough to find if you knew what you were looking for.

          Hannibal’s basement was immense and sterile. Long steps led to a concrete labyrinth. Will picked through the passage, glancing into different areas. There was an abattoir in one room, with hooks, table saws, and a large drain in the floor. A surgery was in the next room, with an operating table, a tray full of shining sharp tools, and an IV stand to ensure the patient was alive when their organs were removed.

          It wasn’t until Will saw the fridge that he fully understood. There was a leg, rolled in crystallized powder, sitting on a tray in the fridge.

          Curing, Will realized. Hannibal was curing the meat for dinner. And just as he thought back to every sumptuous bite he’d shared with Hannibal, the air in the room changed. His body tensed for a moment.

          “How many times did you feed me your victims?” Will asked.

          “Does it matter?” Hannibal was close, maybe a foot away. Well within striking distance.

          “How many times?”

          “Every time.”

          Will nodded. What better way to demonstrate that his victims were like pigs than to butcher them and serve them? “I don’t appreciate being served something without my knowledge.”

          “Appreciate is an interesting choice of words, Will.” Hannibal’s voice was rough, but Will refused to turn. He needed to be thinking clearly, to state what he wanted without any influence. “Harriet Smithson didn’t appreciate the love of Hector Berlioz. Is that how you’re feeling?”

          “I never asked you for a symphony, Hannibal.”

          “Nor did Ms. Smithson. One is either inspired or not.”

          “I don’t want just a symphony from you, Hannibal.”

          “What do you want, then?”

          “I want the composer.” Will turned, trembling, but chin high. “I want that passion for myself. I want everything that ever leaves that odd, brilliant brain of yours to be inspired by me.”

          “You wish to be a muse.” Hannibal’s jaw was shaded with dark stubble. Will could mark the wet paths of tears along his nose. “And when that muse inspires a symphony?”

          “Then I’ll help you write it,” Will whispered.

          Something clattered to the ground. Will looked down to see a linoleum knife rocking on the tile floor. “What would your symphony have been, if I rejected your music?”

          Hannibal shook his head.

          Will closed the distance between them, one hand reaching to stroke away the tears on Hannibal’s face. “Tell me.”

          “I’m not sure.” Hannibal nuzzled into Will’s neck, fully embracing the empath. “I had a thought to eat your heart raw, but when I saw you standing here, I-”

          “Tell me,” Will pleaded.

          “I would have gutted you, called the authorities, and fled.”

          “To flee implies you’re being chased. Who would you be running from, Hannibal?”

          “You.”

          “You think I’d follow you after getting my guts spilled?”

          “I’d hope.”

          “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Hannibal, and anywhere beyond. Into hell with Virgil and Dante if you wanted me to.” Will reached into his pocket, bringing out Hannibal’s lure. He sank it into the lapel of Hannibal’s jacket. “I’ve got you hooked already, darlin’. All I have to do is follow the line.”

          “Will.” The tears started again, and Will realized how lonely he’d been. How lonely the monster in his arms had been. They’d spent decades wandering the earth, trying to find someone who could fathom their minds. Will kissed Hannibal softly. It was exactly the kind of kiss he shared with Alana — gentle, entreating — but now something sparked in Will’s chest. He could feel the fire engulfing him, changing him. When he opened his eyes again, Hannibal’s ruffled hair looked like antlers.

          “You didn’t want the Maestro’s music?”

          Hannibal huffed a small laugh, lifting his chin to stretch his neck as he sniffed. “How could I listen to it when my head is filled with you?”

          Will smiled, biting Hannibal’s chin softly.

          Hannibal kissed him with a snarl, pressing Will against the sterile tile walls. Will petted his cannibal’s face when he pulled back. Hannibal’s impassive mask was cracked now, and Will could see the tentative monster lurking inside.

          He was beautiful.

          Hannibal, for his part, seemed slightly shaken to have Will so willing in his arms. He took a breath, baring his teeth for a moment before blinking. “Shall I make us something for dinner?”

          Will shook his head. “Make me breakfast.”

          Even though his mind was clear, things around Will seemed to blur. He didn’t remember the journey up from the pit of Hannibal’s basement. He had a vague memory of Hannibal pressing him to a wall to make out, but he wasn’t sure if the doctor had actually lifted him up to carry him to the bed, or if that was some sort of fever dream. He didn’t distinctly remember shedding his clothes.

          But for the life of him, he’d never forget the sight of Hannibal Lecter in nothing by the barest of silken boxer briefs. Will had seen a glimpse of them the day he’d cut away Hannibal’s pants so the doctor could suture his wound, but in full, they were nearly heart-stopping.

          He was sprawled on the bed, panting and hard in his plain cotton boxers when Hannibal stood, slipping his trousers off his hips. When he stood, it felt like the breath had been punched out of Will’s chest.

          “Christ,” he whispered.

          “I assure you, I’m not.” Hannibal’s mouth settled into an amused grin as the stepped from the pool of fine wool at his feet. Will made a mental note to burn all the suits in Hannibal’s wardrobe. It was criminal that a broad, furred chest and well-muscled arms hid beneath layers of wool. The chest hair trailed down over a delightfully soft-looking stomach and small hips. He looked like someone who was shaped specifically for dancing or life modeling. Will would have to take up sculpture. Hannibal should only exist in his boxer briefs, and only be available for Will’s viewing pleasure.

          The scrap of satin Hannibal revealed as he walked to the bed was…lurid. Black satin material stretched around the tops of Hannibal’s well-muscled thighs. The outline of Hannibal’s swelling cock was plainly visible through the material, Will licked his lips, which only broadened Hannibal’s smile. The bastard did a little spin. “I should really admit something to you, Will.”

          Will scrambled to his knees, eager to pull Hannibal closer, to finally feel his skin and see if it was as hot as the creature in his dreams. “Is it worse than you being the Chesapeake Ripper?”

          “Worse is a relative term.” Hannibal leaned over Will, arms framing the younger man’s body as he began nibbling on Will’s neck. “I would argue that removing seven dogs’ worth of hair from your clothing every night is worse than being the Chesapeake Ripper.”

          Will jerked back, even as his body surged with heat. “The dogs stay.”

          Hannibal smiled. “Of course they do. I’m more than willing to embrace your peculiarities if you embrace mine.”

          “How many of your peculiarities am I embracing?” Will let Hannibal slot between his legs. He let out a shuddering breath when Hannibal settled over him, those ridiculous silky boxers rubbing against his thighs. “W-uh-what’s your confession?”

          “The undergarments,” Hannibal whispered into Will’s ear, rolling his hips and earning a gasp from Will. “They’re not dry clean only, I hand wash them.”

          Will laughed, his head falling back to the mattress as his hand ran over Hannibal’s ass in the smooth boxers. He snapped the waistband. “You just told me that so I’d be thinking about your underwear all night, didn’t you?”

          Hannibal smiled. “One does hate to appear uninteresting.”

          “There’s a thin line between interesting and weirdo, Dr. Lecter.” Will wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist arching his back to earn some friction.

          “And what, I wonder, makes a weirdo?” Hannibal ground down and Will felt sparks in the back of his brain. He’d never been attracted to men, but now, the idea of Hannibal touching him had him near feral.  

          He panted, frowning when Hannibal pulled back. Will could feel the heat of him, but no longer the contact. “What makes a weirdo, Will?”

          Will glared, mildly. His eyes cast to his right. “Having a sex mirror, for one.”

          “A what?”

          Will pointed at the mirror that hung over the fireplace on the far wall. It was angled so Will could see himself and Hannibal at the foot of the bed. “Don’t tell me that’s there to look for bed bugs.”

          “Many people derive pleasure from watching sexual acts.” Hannibal rested on his elbows, head cocked. “Tell me, Will, do you usually keep your eyes closed?”

          “It just seems…” Will scrunched his nose. “Vain isn’t quite it…detached? You’re watching the act rather than performing it.”

          Hannibal smiled. “Interesting, from someone who shies away from connections. I would argue that the presence of a mirror doesn’t allow you to detach from the act. You must be present, and reckon with yourself and your partner as you are, without that imagination of yours getting in the way.”

          Will opened his mouth to argue, but strong arms banded around him and lifted. The surprise of the movement caused Will to clench his thighs around Hannibal’s waist, and grip his shoulders in a panic as he was plucked from Hannibal’s plush bedspread. “What?”

          “An experiment.” Hannibal walked around the end of the bed, stopping before the bench against the foot of the bed. “If you wouldn’t mind standing.”

          Will unhooked his legs, tentatively standing before Hannibal. The doctor kneeled before Will, hands gently pulling Will’s boxers off. “Hannibal, I-”

          “Sit please.”

          Will stepped out of his underwear and sat on the bench, the blue suede making him tense. It felt wrong, being naked on such fine furniture. He had the hysterical thought that his father would disapprove of him sitting bare-assed on a suede bench. His father would probably disapprove of him getting fucked by a serial killer, but Will could only worry about so many things right now.

          “Will?” Warm hands landed on his thighs, spreading them slightly. “Stay present for me.”

          Will nodded, his body shivering as Hannibal ran soothing hands along his clenched quads.

          “Look in the mirror.”

          Will hesitated. He hated mirrors. He didn’t like seeing the reality of himself when he’d so carefully crafted an image. Hannibal smiled, bending to kiss his knee. “Will, please.”

          Wincing, Will looked up. He didn’t see the weird kid who never felt at home around people. Instead, there was a man sitting on the bench, with a sharp jaw and piercing blue eyes. His strong chest heaved as he straightened up. He looked powerful, the blue bench his throne and Hannibal a supplicant on his knees before him.

          “Good, now keep your eyes on the mirror, darling.”

          Hannibal leaned forward, head bowing as he licked a long stripe up Will’s cock. Will gasped, both hands latching into Hannibal’s hair. “H-Hannibal.”

          The doctor shifted, sucking kisses along the base of Will’s shaft, eyes closed in pure bliss.

          “Watch, Will. See.” Hannibal took him then, the tip of Will’s cock parting those gorgeous lips as he began to suck. Will’s mouth was open, panting as Hannibal started to bob his head.

          The image was filthy, but Will couldn’t look away. There he sat, in Hannibal’s beautiful room, with Hannibal on his knees just for Will. He dropped one of his hands to clench at the pillow behind him, his other hand grabbing a handful of hair at the base of Hannibal’s skull. He reclined back, hips thrusting just slightly into Hannibal’s mouth as Will adjusted, giving himself a fuller view.

          Hannibal groaned, his hand slipping from Will’s thigh to gently tug Will’s balls. Hannibal’s other hand reached up, rubbing at Will’s nipple until it peaked and reddened. Will hissed in pleasure, but never took his eyes from the mirror. How had he never noticed what a beautiful pair they made? How easily he had Hannibal on his knees? How much power her held?

          With a snarl, Will tightened his grip on Hannibal’s hair and began thrusting into that lush, heated mouth. Hannibal moaned as he adjusted, taking Will into his throat. The doctor began to swallow, his tongue working the underside of Will’s cock even as saliva leaked from the corners. Will let out a juddering growl, digging his nails into Hannibal’s scalp as he chased his own pleasure.

          He didn’t warn Hannibal he was about to come. Instead, he watched himself, teeth bared, sweat beading along his forehead and lip, chest heaving as he rocked in and out of the man before him. He didn’t look like a lover, he looked like a beast, one that hadn’t been fed in quite some time.

          He came with a shout, eyes closing for just a second before he looked back, and watched Hannibal swallow his spend, back muscles working as he wrung Will through his orgasm. When Will finally broke contact with the mirror, he lowered his eyes to find Hannibal watching him.

          Immediately he pulled on Hannibal’s hair, bringing the man up to straddle his thigh. He kissed Hannibal, licking those sharp teeth and tasting his own spend in that amazing mouth. Hannibal was still hard in those ridiculously teeny underpants, rocking absently as he sucked Will’s tongue.

          When they broke for breath, Will’s eyes traveled back to the mirror. Hannibal smiled, pressing the expression into Will’s cheek, leaning into him.

          “Do you feel detached, Will?” Hannibal rasped in his ear.

          “No,” Will whispered, eyes still fixed on the image they made. Will was still reclined on the bench, legs wide, spent cock gleaming wetly in the low light of the room. Hannibal was perched on Will’s right thigh, strong body wrapping around Will’s torso to caress and kiss. The doctor’s hair was ruffled; his skin flushed. He bit at Will’s jaw softly. Will ran a hand down Hannibal’s spine, feeling every twitch and tremor under his heated skin. “I feel very attached right now.”

          “What do you see, Will?”

          “We’re beautiful.” Will turned, kissing Hannibal again. He smiled, laughing a little when Hannibal bit his lip. “Maybe we could get a bigger mirror so I won’t stain your nice bench?”

          “I’ll gladly install a wall of mirrors in every room,” Hannibal smiled, running his lips down Will’s throat. “And sacrifice every piece of furniture I own to our pleasure.”

          Will grinned. “Great, now get your ass on the bed.”

          Hannibal surged up, dragging Will with him as he launched over the bolster pillow and onto the mattress. Will squeaked in surprise as he was deposited on the pillows of Hannibal’s bed in a blink. He laughed, shaking his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Considering your hobby you would know how to move a body.”

          “Typically, it’s easier to dismember it before transportation, but I find I prefer you whole.” Hannibal blanketed him, warm skin covering him from head to toe.

          “Always a romantic.” Will tangled a hand in Hannibal’s hair and kissed him, shifting to hitch both legs around Hannibal’s hips. It was still too soon to get hard again, but Will felt a want deep in his belly, he needed more of Hannibal, all of Hannibal. “How long?”

          Hannibal smiled. “In inches?”

          Will smacked his chest. “How long have you wanted me like this?”

          Hannibal hummed.

          “I thought you beautiful the moment you growled at me in Jack Crawford’s office.” Hannibal kissed Will’s chin. “I thought you would be a lovely dalliance when you called me uninteresting.”

          He dipped his head and nipped under the knob of Will’s jaw, pulling a soft cry from Will’s chest. “And I knew I’d never let you go the moment you kissed me.”

          Hannibal rose up to look at Will, red eyes peering at him through a tangle of hair. “Dare I ask how long you’ve felt interest in me?”

          “You’ve always been interesting,” Will admitted softly. “But when I finally saw you, what you were, I think I finally heard the symphony you composed. Looking at the crime scene photos with fresh eyes, I could see you in every stroke, feel you. And I loved it.”

          He kissed Hannibal again, the urgency gone. They sipped at each other’s lips, simply enjoying the nearness. Will made a little contented noise in the back of his throat.

          “So, Dr. Lecter, what would you say to a patient who fell in love with his therapist?”

          “Normally? I’d say, Franklyn, please stop following me.” Will let out an amused huff when Hannibal smiled wide and toothy. “But as the patient is you, I think I’ll change my answer to lay still for me, darling boy, and let me show you how much I adore you too.”

          Will frowned when Hannibal rose off of him, the room suddenly feeling cold. But Hannibal didn’t venture far. He reached for the drawer beside the bed, retrieving a vial of lube and a condom. Laying them beside Will he shimmied out of his ridiculous underwear, revealing a thick uncut cock.

          When he returned to Will, stretching out along his side, the empath found himself eager, want pooling deep in his stomach.

          Reaching out, Will took Hannibal in his hand, stroking experimentally. Hannibal’s head rolled back, his breath deepening. Will marveled again at how easy it was, how much pleasure Hannibal derived just from his presence.

          Eventually, Hannibal reached out and stilled his wrist. With gentle hands, he guided Will’s legs apart and settled between them before coating his fingers with lube.

          The first finger felt odd. Will’s body seemed aware of the intrusion and clamped down at it. But Hannibal was nothing if not patient. He adjusted so he could kiss Will, that clever mouth distracting the empath and letting him burrow deeper into his body. By the time Hannibal added a second finger, Will was lost to the sensation of Hannibal’s mouth, licking at sharp teeth and groaning into soft lips. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck, dragging the doctor closer, trying to devour him.

          Finally, Hannibal crooked his fingers and Will’s whole world narrowed. His spine felt electrified, snapping straight as his thighs quivered. “Fuck.”

          Hannibal smiled, tugging at his earlobe with sharp teeth. “Indeed.”

          “Hannibal, ha-” Hannibal stroked over his prostate again and Will seemed to lose all control of his body, muscle flexing and shaking of their own volition. His ears buzzed. He grappled with Hannibal’s arms, dragging him closer and trying to force him deeper inside. The only thought in his head was more. “Please, fuck please, darlin’ I need-”

          “I know,” Hannibal whispered, those fingers still stroking, stoking the electric pleasure that was surging through his body. Will felt unmoored, as if he had no control left over his mind and body. But instead of fear, he let himself float on the desire of it. Hannibal had him, that was enough.

          Will made a whining noise when Hannibal’s fingers left him. He wanted to float like this with Hannibal forever, nothing but static in his brain, pleasure coursing through his body, and his beautiful doctor kissing him.

          “Patience, darling boy,” Hannibal kissed him again before slipping away.

          He vaguely noted the sound of Hannibal tearing the condom package open. He spread his legs further, hips rolling seeking the phantom friction he needed. When Hannibal’s cock pressed against him, he groaned, hands clamoring to bring his love closer.

          Hannibal slid into him slowly, Will gasping as his body stretched and transformed. He was made for Hannibal, the doctor had seen to that, reshaping him in every way he could. When Hannibal was fully seated, cocooning Will in his arms, the empath finally glanced at Hannibal’s face.

          The doctor had tears in his eyes, Will smiled, his own vision growing watery. He nodded, words seeming impossible in the face of such overwhelming love. Hannibal drew back, thrusting in and glancing over that magic spot that had Will keening. He grasped at Hannibal’s back, clawing at the muscles, wanting Hannibal deeper, wanting them to blur into one.

          Hannibal’s head dipped low, that dangerous mouth pressed to Will’s throat as he thrust. He sounded more animal than man, growling softly each time he sank into Will. Bringing a shaking hand to Hannibal’s head, Will petted through his sweaty hair. He expected Hannibal to bite him, but the teeth merely grazed him. Hannibal was holding back, keeping his monster at bay, for Will.

          Tilting his head, Will swallowed, whispering hoarsely. “The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.”

          With a wounded noise, Hannibal sank his teeth into Will’s shoulder, his thrusts growing punishing. The bright flash of pain made Will spasm, crying out as he came. Hannibal followed shortly after, fucking Will through his orgasm before shuddering to his own completion, teeth still clamped in the meat of Will’s shoulder.

          Will felt wrung out. He lay boneless on the bed, breath and life slowly returning to his body. Hannibal left him for the barest of moments, disposing of the condom and returning with a warm washcloth before Will could muster a noise of complaint.

          “I knew Dante would make you come,” Will teased, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

          “He worked for you as well,” Hannibal laid sweet kisses over his bite mark as he drew the cloth over Will’s come.

          “Finally, good for something,” Will hissed when Hannibal bit him again, playful this time. Will marveled that he could tell the difference between Hannibal’s bites.

          “Is it always like that?” He asked, rolling his head to lazily kiss the panting cannibal beside him.

          “No.” Hannibal bit his lip, smiling. “Only with me.”

          Will couldn’t help it, he laughed, knocking his forehead into the impossible man next to him, a swell of affection warming him to his core. “Lucky me.”

          “Lucky us.”

Chapter Text

          Will sighed, watching as Hannibal made more adjustments.

          He’d come to find Hannibal waiting for him, smiling and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Will had known then it was either a body or some weird sex thing.

          Lucky for him, it was the sex thing.

          While Will opened himself in the bathroom at Hannibal’s request, he heard alarming sounds of dragging and metal scraping. He’d been kidding about the Iron Maiden, he hoped to hell Hannibal knew that.

          When he emerged, Will stopped dead. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

          Hannibal grinned. Before him was an enormous set of four mirrors, each set in a gilded frame and hinged to one another. Hannibal had moved them so they formed a semi-circle in their bedroom, coiling around a chair. The cannibal in question stood naked beside the chair, eight reflections of his ass surrounding him. He gestured to the seat as if he were at a formal dinner. “Will! Your chair is ready.”

          Will nodded at it. “That’s from the dining room.”

          “It is.”

          Will’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to sit every guest we have in it, and watch me blush at the memory of what we’re going to do on it.”

          Hannibal blinked impassively. “What we did on the dining room table didn’t seem to bother you when we had Jack to dinner.”

          “It didn’t bother me, it incited me.” Will had suffered through an interminably long dinner, images flooding Will’s mind of Hannibal licking inside of him as he rubbed his cock where Jack’s place setting had sat.

          They’d broken eight pieces of Hannibal’s bone China that night. When Hannibal had shut the door Will had thrown the man across the dining room table and taken him with a shout, pressing a shard of plate against Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal had kept the shard, of course, tucking it away with the box of lures he’d been given throughout the year they’d been together.

          “I enjoy inciting you.” Hannibal waved at the chair. “And you enjoy being incited.”

          With that, Hannibal stepped around the chair and sat on it, patting his lap. Will glanced at the eight Hannibals in the mirrors dubiously. He could barely handle the one he had. And yet…

          Will moved to the chair, eager to see just what his cannibal would do.

          Hannibal grabbed Will’s hips, turning him to face the mirror. Will let Hannibal guide him onto his cock, gasping at the stretch as Hannibal forced Will's legs apart to straddle his own. His feet didn’t quite reach the ground at this angle, leaving him no leverage, impaled on Hannibal. “H-Hannibal, I need-”

          “Look at you, gorgeous boy,” Hannibal whispered in his ear. He took Will’s hands in each of his. Will started panting, breath coming out in erratic huffs as he tried not to lose control just yet.

          He stared at himself, spread open, full of cock, and utterly unable to move. Yet, he looked beautiful. His eyes flashed in the low light, his body undulating just a bit, just enough to rub Hannibal’s cock against his sweet spot. His own cock twitched, beading at the tip as it strained exposed in the air.

          Hannibal brought Will’s hands to the empath’s open mouth guiding him to lick at the pads of his own fingers. Hannibal settled both of Will’s hands over his nipples, guiding Will’s fingers into pinching and rolling each until both were stiff and sensitive. “Keep going, beautiful boy, just at that pace.”

          Will nodded jerkily as Hannibal’s hands left his own. He tugged at his left nipple and hissed. Hannibal’s legs spread more, forcing Will to drop lower, and sink further onto the doctor’s cock. Will cried out, baring his teeth at the mirror Wills as he fought to keep his balance.

          Hannibal’s hands ran along the taut skin of Will’s inner thighs. “Oh Will, this won’t do.”

          He grabbed Will’s hips and rolled them, a circular motion that had Will grinding on Hannibal’s cock. Will made a broken little noise, following the motion. “At that pace.”  

          Each circle dragged Hannibal’s cock over his prostate in a way that had him near drooling. When he tried to speed the motion up, Hannibal caught him, only allowing a languid grind. “Boys who don’t listen don’t get a treat. You do want your treat, don’t you, Will?”

          Will could only moan, nodding frantically as he tried to fuck himself to Hannibal’s specifications. Hannibal’s hands held his hips for a few more rotations before he let go, confident Will would obey him.

          “Oh dear,” Hannibal murmured. “Look at that, you’ve leaked on the chair."

          Will’s eyes dropped to his cock, a thin stream of precome falling from the red tip to the fine silk of the seat below. He shuddered, closing his eyes for a moment.

          “Do you think our guests will notice, Will?” Hannibal’s hands traced along his thighs, up his clenching stomach, avoiding his straining cock as they traveled. “Do you think they’ll see the spots and know that you’ve leaked all over their seat while I had you?”

          “God, darlin’, Ha-Hannibal, please-”

          “Answer me, Will.”

          “I h-hope they do,” Will ground out. He swallowed as he fucked over his prostate with another roll of his hips. “I hope they go home whispering about us. W-wondering how many things in the house we-we’ve def-defiled.”

          “Filthy thing,” Hannibal’s right hand had found Will’s cock, drawing an idle finger across the leaking tip and dragging the viscous fluid down Will’s shaft. “Look at yourself, Will, what do you see?”

          Will opened his eyes, panting at his reflection. “I ssssee a God. One with four arms, all dedicated to my pleasure.”

          “Then let us pray.” Hannibal’s hand gripped Will, stroking tight and hard. Will twisted his nipples viciously, his hips bucking wildly between the jolt of Hannibal brushing his prostate and the slide of his cock slipping through the doctor’s fingers. Will watched himself in the mirror, eight sets of blue eyes watching as he drove himself to the edge. In the corner of his eye, he could see Hannibal’s reflection behind him. His skin looked almost black, his hair askew as antlers sprung from his scalp.

          Will let out a guttural noise, so close he could feel it in the back of his mouth. He let out harsh breaths through bare teeth as he rutted back and forth. Hannibal’s left hand slid over Will’s thigh, brushing by his balls until it found the place they were joined, Hannibal rubbed at the taught muscle there, pulling at Will’s rim as he undulated.

          The tip of Hannibal’s finger slipped into Will, stretching him to the point of pain and finally snapping Will’s body over the edge. Will came screaming Hannibal’s name, eyes locked with his own as he writhed.

          Hannibal followed, as he always did, teeth latching onto Will’s sweaty flesh as he slammed his hips up, pumping into Will.

          They lay panting for a long minute, Will watching himself in the mirror. His cheeks and chest were flushed red, hands still idly toying with his nipples. “What circle would we be in, lust or gluttony?”

          “We would be in no circle at all, Will.” Hannibal panted, kissing the sweaty curls at Will’s nape. “We’d be at the center.”

          “Frozen mid-breast with ice?”

          “I think we’ve thawed,” Hannibal licked at Will’s back. “I also think we’ll be late if we don’t head to the shower now.”

          “Five minutes.”

          “Will, we’re the guests of honor.”

          “No one told you to fuck me legless right before our engagement party, Hannibal.” Will settled back, wrapping Hannibal’s arms around him. “So sit here and think about the consequences of your actions.”

          Hannibal squeezed Will, peppering his shoulders with light kisses. “Truly a cruel and unusual punishment.”

          They were forty minutes late to their party. Will couldn’t find it in himself to care as they hurried to the Mt Royal Tavern.

          “Wait! I almost forgot!” Will pulled out a small box from his pocket and held it out.

          Hannibal grinned, opening it. The lure inside matched his midnight blue suit perfectly. Will had crushed one of Tobias’ teeth into the base of the lure, wrapping it with fine golden thread and the orange plumes of an oriole bird.

          “Darling,” Hannibal whispered, hooking the lure into his lapel. “It’s glorious.”

          “I’ll make you one for the wedding too if you get me the right ingredients.”

          Hannibal pulled closer, kissing Will. A camera flashed and both looked up to see a wild cascade of red hair as it turned the corner. Will glared over Hannibal’s shoulder. “I’ll make you a list.”

          Their absence had not held back the party. Mrs. Komeda was holding court at the far end of the bar, talking to an odd group of pierced students in torn black clothes and formally attired Symphony board members. Her husband stood by her elbow, silent and smiling at her.

          Jack and Bella had found a quiet table in the back. Bella looked wan but smiled as Jack told a story to Alana and her date, Margot Verger. Hannibal didn’t like socializing with his clients as a rule but made an exception for Margot. He’d told Will a few weeks back that Mason Verger might need an invitation to their table.

          Though he still wasn’t a fan of Hannibal’s society parties, Will had found coping mechanisms. He’d found that Lester Komeda and Neil Garson were also fond of sitting quietly with a tumbler or two of whiskey and watching their more dramatic spouses. He caught Lester’s eye and nodded as Hannibal whirled him once through the crowd.

          Still, Will supposed he could live with a few dinners and a monthly night out, since Hannibal’s Italian leather loafers almost always had a headless duck stuffy crammed into them as some sort of gesture from Buster. Fair was fair.

          They spent the evening getting hugged and petted. Will blushed every time Hannibal was complimented on his ring — a simple wooden band Will had shaped himself, with an inlay of white. If Will didn’t mention that the inlay was made from the ground bones of their first joint killing, well, no one but Hannibal needed to know.

          He smiled to himself as they walked back to the parking lot. “You just had to announce an engagement feast, didn’t you?”

          Hannibal coiled an arm around Will’s waist, pulling him close. “I’m inspired by my love.”

          “I’ll look horrible at the party,” Will sighed.

          “Impossible.”

          “If the Ripper and his new friend are displaying bodies, Jack’ll have me working at all hours trying to scare up a lead.” Will huffed. “I’ll be lucky if I see you apart from the killings.”

          Hannibal frowned, turning to Will. “We could be less ostentatious, merely harvest a few things from local pigs who will go unnoticed by the FBI.”

          “No.” Will stopped dead in his tracks.

          “No?”

          “I’m not marrying you because you’re kissable, Hannibal,” Will said fiercely. “I want my symphony.”

          Hannibal nodded, bringing Will’s hand to his lips for a soft kiss. “Then you shall get one.”

          They walked in silence for a few steps before Hannibal paused. “Not kissable?”

          “I knew you wouldn’t let that go,” Will laughed. “No, Hannibal, you’re not kissable.”

          Will tried to take a step but Hannibal held him in place. “Then I must wonder what I am?”

          Will studied him for a moment. “Insurmountable. Nothing short of a force of nature.”

          Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Alana Bloom is kissable, while I’m a craggy rockface or a hailstorm. Charming.”

          Will sighed. “Connubial?”

          Hannibal started walking again, Will had to rush to catch up. “Did you know that the psychiatric community often refers to the connubial myth – that being the impossible beliefs couples have about marriage that often lead to feelings of disappointment and divorce?”

          “Jesus Christ,” Will muttered, elbowing Hannibal in the side. How about fuckable? Will you take fuckable?”

          “Yes,” Hannibal stopped, offering Will his arm. “I think I shall.”

          The two walked back to their car, finally in step.