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Hannibal is not a man imbued with, as the saying goes, the 'Christmas Spirit'.
Not to say that he partakes in any sneering or humbuggery. The people who enjoy the holiday should, by all means, participate in it. To each their own. He simply does not. There was a time that he did, and that time is behind him. No more to the story.
He has his own Christmas tradition, though. Every year he throws a lavish dinner party on the twenty-fourth, complete with a wide array of dishes and delights. He decorates his home in traditional reds and golds and greens, invites everyone within his social circle, and sends them all home full and satisfied. It's nice.
And then on the twenty-fifth, of course, he—
Well. He relaxes, usually. Even the Ripper must take a day to unwind, every now and then. And it it isn't as if anyone is particularly eager to schedule a therapy appointment on Christmas Day. In fact, it's the one day of the year where he feels utterly confident that he won't be interrupted. No one wants to concern him with business matters, and social calls are... not forthcoming.
Just as well. He enjoys the solitude. The peace and quiet. The guarantee of undisturbed leisure, once a year.
Or at least, he'd come to think of it as a guarantee.
And yet, at just past nine o'clock in the morning, Hannibal is interrupted from refreshing his coffee by a knock on his front door. His posture straightens, his hand pausing halfway to his coffee pot as he tries to divine who might be seeking him out. An unexpected visitor, on Christmas morning of all things— it's very curious.
He smoothes out the creases in his lounge wear, not having planned to break into his usual attire for a day spent at home, and makes for the door.
A burst of cold hits him from outside, the light blanket of snow reflecting the weak light peering through the sky and making the morning feel unnaturally bright. Gentle flurries have already dusted a nest of dark curls, rogue flakes landing among long lashes.
"Merry Christmas, Doctor Lecter," Will says, casting him an awkward smile.
Hannibal feels an answering expression rise on his face. Of all possible surprises, at least it's a welcome one. Very. "Merry Christmas to you too, Will."
He shifts somewhat on the front stoop, looking down at a Tupperware container held in his arms. "Um, I'm not interrupting you, am I? I know you've probably got company, or—"
"Not at all," Hannibal corrects, his attention now held fast by Will's cargo. "I've told you before, you're always welcome here."
Will smiles, nearly bashful. Without further fanfare, he extends his arms, thrusting the container towards Hannibal. Hannibal lifts a brow. "For me?" he asks, and Will breathes out a gentle laugh, bringing with it a light puff of steam on winter air.
"I know you've probably got enough food to last you 'til New Year's," he notes. "But I just thought— well, to be honest I made way too many this year. I always do."
Hannibal takes the Tupperware with a gracious nod, propping the front door open with his hip. He can't quite tell if the pink on Will's face is from the cold or out of embarrassment, and he finds that he's awfully keen to know for sure. "Why don't you come inside, Will? I can pour you a cup of coffee, to warm you up a bit before the long drive back to Wolf Trap?"
Another smile, and a few flakes of snow fall from his curls when he nods. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."
He leads Will to the kitchen, the younger man talking all the while. "I'm sorry for just showing up unannounced, but I always forget that my Grandma's recipe is meant for a full family, and if I'm left alone with a full batch, I'll polish them off myself."
Hannibal smiles to himself, setting down the container on the kitchen island with mounting anticipation. "And what, exactly, have you brought me?" He asks.
"Sausage balls."
Ah, don't mind if he does. "What kind?" he asks, though he's already pulling loose the container's lid. Immediately, he's met with a mouth-watering scent. Savory, sweet, a touch of spice. Cheese.
Will falters slightly as Hannibal looks at the offering. "It's a Southern thing," he says. "Or, at least I think it is. Everyone in my family made them on Christmas day. So did my roommates in college, back home. To have something savory, when you're sick of eating candy, you know." Will clears his throat, plucking one of the sausage balls from the container. "Sausage, obviously— I like to use a mix of sweet Italian and chorizo— cheese, and pancake batter. Simple, but I swear they just... they taste like Christmas morning, to me." He pops it into his mouth, then seems to realize at once that the ball he selected was a bit too large to eat in one bite. Wordlessly, one hand covering his mouth, he gestures to the container. Yes, the color on his cheeks is definitely from more than the cold.
Hannibal pulls a small one from the pile. Learning from the other man's mistakes, he bites it in half.
"Hm."
It tastes as it sounds, as it smells. Tender, crisp on the outside. Salty. Savory. A bit spicy, a bit sweet. Hannibal eats the other half.
"Hm..."
Will furrows his brows, watching with nervous amusement. "I can't tell if you like it or not. Do you like it?"
Hannibal takes another. Will laughs and Hannibal feels a sense of warmth flood the entire room. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes. Good." Will grabs another sausage ball before moving to the cabinet, making himself at home by choosing his own coffee mug.
"I'll take that drink, now, if the offer still stands."
Hannibal forces himself to back away from the surprisingly addictive hors d'oeuvres, finding the coffee pot. "Of course. You aren't put off by hazelnut, are you? I can brew a fresh pot if need be."
Will lifts his brows. "That sounds festive," he notes. "Go for it."
The rich, deep aroma of good coffee overpowers the other scents in the room. Without looking up from his reflection in the dark liquid, he reaches out for Will's mug. "Generally, I wouldn't call myself 'festive', but I'll make an exception for coffee— two sugars, Will?"
"Uh, yeah, actually." He chuckles. "Nothing gets past you, huh?"
Not when it comes to Will, it seems. He can't say with any certainty that remembers how Alana Bloom takes her coffee.
"So, not one for hall decking, then?"
Hannibal shakes his head. "Not anymore, no." He sighs, deliberating for a moment before adding "I used to love Christmas, but it's traditionally a very... familial affair."
Will nods solemnly. Hannibal begins to curse himself inwardly for being so uncharacteristically forthcoming with such personal feelings, but Will only moves to lean against the counter beside him. "I know what you mean," he says. "Celebrating alone just feels sad to me. Calling attention to something that isn't there." He takes his coffee, purses his lips to blow over the liquid's surface. "But hey, you've got plenty of people to spend the holidays with, if you wanted to."
"Perhaps at a glance," he replies with a slight shrug, and Will looks at him over the rim of his mug.
"What do you mean?"
He shouldn't have said that. In an attempt to busy himself, he takes a large drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he forces himself to swallow with a straight face regardless. "What my social circle boasts in its scope, it admittedly lacks in depth," he confesses, unable to stop himself now that he's started. "I have more than enough acquaintances to fill my dining table, but as far as a friend close enough to spend the holidays with..." Hannibal trails off. He takes another, less ambitious sip of his coffee. "Most of my associates have families of their own, at any rate."
Will nods. His fingers drum on the counter, his mouth twisting into a frown. "I'm sorry about last night," he says after a moment, a gentle redirecting of the conversation. Hannibal is relieved, to be so graciously set free from the current topic.
"Just because you were invited doesn't mean you were obligated to make an appearance."
He shrugs, The fabric of his heavy coat rustling. He hadn't taken it off in the foyer when he arrived. Not planning to stay for long. "I know," he sighs. "But it's not as if I had any good reason to stay home." He offers a wry chuckle. "I mean, I spent my Christmas Eve drinking hot buttered rum and watching Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas for the fiftieth time."
Hannibal smirks. "That sounds festive," he returns. "I assure you, I wasn't offended by your absence." He'd felt it, though. More keenly than he'd expected to. Felt himself looking toward the door all night, hoping Will would see fit to walk in.
"I just didn't think I'd uh, fit in too well. With your social circle."
"Maybe not," he concedes. In all honesty, Hannibal hadn't even considered that. Too concerned with simply having an excuse to spend the evening with him. "But I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you there."
Will gestures at him with his cup. "Why have Will Graham darkening the empty corners of you Christmas party, when you could have him delivering breakfast to your door the next morning instead?"
"Is that why you brought them?" Hannibal prods, approaching the container once more to steal another morsel. "Are these meant to be sausage balls of atonement?"
Will snorts, shaking his head. "No, no, I wouldn't want to infuse guilt into the food."
Hannibal chuckles at that, and Will smiles.
"No, I just— I don't know, I had them, and I... thought of you, I guess." His tongue peeks out, running over the seam of his lips. His face has gone a shade redder.
"That's very charitable of you," he says, only just speaking around the fresh tightness in his chest. It's a dramatic understatement, in his eyes. "I'm grateful for the gift. And that you thought of me."
Will smiles. Do his eyes get bluer, with time? "Of course." He sets down his coffee cup, sighing softly. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Bon Appétit and all that."
There is an... intruder, making itself known inside of Hannibal as of late. A foreign body, claiming him as its host. If it's left to grow much more, he worries that it might starve him out. He feeds it whenever Will is near, that much has become obvious. If he had any sense at all, he would starve the wretched parasite out. Let it wither until Hannibal could again seize control of himself. Yes, that's exactly what a man with any basic intelligence would do.
"You wouldn't be inconveniencing me in the slightest, if you'd like to stay a while longer," he blurts. "Really."
Will stares up at him for a moment. Silent, his searching eyes flitting over Hannibal's face. Dangerous things, those eyes, and not just for how beautiful Hannibal finds them. They see all, know all. He has no chance whatsoever of hiding from them, no matter how he tries. Maybe that's why he seeks them out. Maybe a part of him enjoys being stripped so bare.
He parts his lips, words tucked just behind his teeth. The space between the two of them feels at once agonizing in its largeness and yet entirely too small. An unhappy medium that has Hannibal aching to move, though whether it would pull him near or away he couldn't guess.
"I'd hate to cut into your day off any more than I already have," Will replies. His rejection masquerades as politeness, but Hannibal feels the sting of it all the same.
So it is that their impromptu visit comes to an end. Hannibal leads Will to the front door, thanks him again for his kindness, lingers in the foyer as he istens to the sound of Will driving away. He has a sausage ball, he washes their coffee mugs, he retires to the study. He reads a chapter or so of the novel he's been working through, he has another sausage ball, and so on.
Stubbornly, Will remains in his thoughts. He's been the subject of Hannibal's interest for a while, now, but not to this extent. Hannibal feels scarred, for lack of a better word. Will's smile as he stood on the front step like a branding iron that left a permanent insignia on Hannibal's flesh.
The thought that Will was desirable was one that occurred to him only in the back of his mind, until recently. Of course, he always knew that the man was handsome, but he was becoming increasingly aware of how much he simply enjoyed Will's company. How badly he wanted Will's attention, purely for its own sake.
Night falls, and Hannibal is not hungry. It isn't much of a shame, really. He'd only planned on having leftovers from the party for dinner, anyway. A party which he'd privately been hoping very much that Will Graham would attend. It's strange. Hannibal had always wished, however much he denied and ignored it, that he had someone to spend the holidays with. But that someone had never been someone specific. Not until Will.
The pack of dogs inside announce Hannibal's arrival before he can even knock on Will's front door. He knocks regardless, out of propriety, tightly clutching the handles of his admittedly overfull tote bag in his other hand. He'd packed a bit of everything, unable to stop himself once he started. Appetizers, entrée, sides, more than one dessert— he'd even selected a bottle of wine from his cellar, one he'd been saving for a special occasion.
The light from inside illuminates Will from behind when he answers the door, warm and soft against his ruffled curls. In seconds, his expression blooms beautifully from confusion to happiness before Hannibal's eyes. Miraculous.
"Well hello again, Doctor Lecter," he says, eyes immediately drifting down to the bag in Hannibal's hand.
Hannibal musters a slightly nervous smile. "I thought I'd return the favor," he says, and Will cocks his head in interest, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I wasn't sure if you'd made a Christmas dinner of your own, and it seemed a waste to have it all myself when it was meant to be shared. But please, if any of it isn't to your taste, don't feel obligated to—"
Will's hands are warm on the chilled skin of his cheeks, his somewhat frostnipped face cupped in both of the younger man's palms. His kiss tastes like warm spiced cider, his lips soft, their shape betrayed through touch to let Hannibal know that Will is smiling. Once, for a fleeting moment, then again when Hannibal doesn't shy away.
When they part, Hannibal stares down at him with lidded eyes and a racing pulse. Will bites his lip, jerks his head in the direction of the light inside.
"Come in, come in," he urges, holding the door open eagerly. Between his enthusiastic welcome and his spellbinding kiss, Hannibal is filled with a giddy rush of heat. He nearly wants to laugh. The dogs nose at his legs as much as the contents of his bag as Hannibal makes his way to the kitchen.
"God, it's freezing out. You warm up the food, I'll build us a fire, yeah?"
Hannibal watches him crouch near the fireplace, his lips still tingling with the ghost of Will's affection. "That sounds lovely, thank you."
Will glances up at him, pleased and perfect. "No, thank you. I'm, uh, glad to have somebody to spend the evening with for once."
The snow continues to fall outside. Hannibal shrugs his way out of his coat, making himself comfortable with intentions to stay as long as Will is generous enough to allow. "So am I."