Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's kind of funny. No, very funny. Strange and exciting.   

“Stop moving the head, Will, I'm going to stab you in the eye” Beverly says, between chuckles, stopping her hand occasionally to join in the chorus of girly laughter, “You don't want a mascara on the eyeball.” 

“Just do as always, damn it,” yet Will doesn't stop laughing either. After several minutes of denial, he can accept that the sensation of the heavy makeup on his face isn't bothersome. At best, unfamiliar. Alana is in charge of painting his lips with that pretty pink shade she always carries in her purse. And Beverly Katz, master of eyeliner and its secrets, drew two precise sharp lines, starting from his eyelid to the eye corner. 

He felt weird, a little ridiculous, but nothing he couldn't handle for the laughs. Especially after four Cape Cods and three plain vodka shots. 

Bev was the first to make the comment. Look at those eyelashes, I'd kill for ones like that , and Alana had followed up by pointing out the shape and color of Will’s lips. They both poked the young man's pink cheeks, while Margot had mentioned how very soft the skin on his face was, the curls too. 

Will had blushed at that. Margot had gotten the rare opportunity to run her fingers through his chestnut curls and rosy cheeks the same night they'd shared a clumsy kiss, hidden between the trees in Zeller's backyard, at his birthday party. She had tasted strongly of blackberry pie, which Will enjoyed on his tongue tip, thinking about how prudent asking her out would be.

Four days later, they saw Margot kissing another girl in the bathrooms. Nothing to be done. Alana was still available, and that’s all Will cares about. 

Though he's not so sure how efficiently he can show what a good boyfriend prospect he is, with a face full of make up… And a body wrapped loosely in one of Katz's older sister's dresses. 

It's an ugly, old-fashioned piece of hideous floral print, probably what one would see an old blind lady wear to Sunday Mass. Its deep v-neck would have shown off a young woman's lush breasts. On petite girls and small men like Will Graham—compared to the boys in his class; he's still the tallest person in the room—the only thing glistening is his flat, hairless chest. It almost exposes his navel, too. 

And they've all managed to convince him to match Alana's black stockings with Margot's high heels, who stalks the perimeter, barefoot and drunk, like everyone else there. Will is uncertain about who threw around his neck the long necklaces of fake pearls, hanging down to caress his belly’s skin.

Nor does Will have the desire or disposition to honestly question why he accepted the attire change—and doesn’t even know where his pants and shirt went—because, frankly, the whole afternoon has been very entertaining and educational. 

Will has learned, for example, that dark eyeshadows suits him, and that his legs look exceptionally long in dark pantyhose. 

So Will continues cracking up with laughter. That, until he politely asked Alana—his voice rough from the night of screaming and laughing—to fetch him the bottle of Absolut one more time. And the four of them found that it had been become empty for some while ago. 

“Someone's got to go get some more,” Beverly says, plopping down on her butt. 

“It's one in the morning, you wanna go to the liquor store in the corner?”

“Maybe some guy here still has something,” Margot replies, her slender body stretching out next to Will where she laid to rest, putting her thin legs over his. Automatically, Will brings a hand to her calf. 

“Are there people here still?”

“Brian, Jimmy, I think Antony too, the one from your calculus class,” Beverly points to Will, “Oh, and Lecter. You could go ask him, Will.” 

She muses with a biting smile, looking directly at the brunet. She is the only one who knows the real deal among young Lecter and young Graham. Will’s only response was to roll the eyes, hiding the gesture as the other two girls tried to understand such reaction. 

“Let me see.” 

Quickly, Margot is outside, and through the crack between door and frame, Will catches a glimpse of each of the boys remaining in Beverly's living room, sprawled on the couches. Hannibal is sitting next to two girls Will doesn't know, and notices Lecter’s instantaneous head movement, the boy clearly looking for him. 

Will realizes he can see him, sitting on the floor next to his friends, dressed as if he were another chick. He closes the legs immediately, because until that moment, they had been spread open, to half-exhibit what was hiding underneath. Will wore no underwear. His face burns at the thought, promptly the knees together, as if welded shut. 

He hears her when Margot asks everyone: “Anyone here got any booze left?” 

They all shrug, search through their belongings, but it’s the obviousness of their drunkenness that answers. The Lecter boy points to the plastic rings where four cans of Carlsberg remain sheathed. Of course, it's not enough for everyone, even though the party officially ended a one hour earlier, when everyone left because apparently most of them had a chemistry test next morning. 

And Margot ends up trotting back to the room, lacking in success. 

“Where did you get the alcohol in the first place?” 

“Jimmy's cousin bought it for us, but the guy took off at eleven.” 

“You think he can call him again?” Will supported his body weight on both arms, terribly dizzy as his head spinning along the room. 

Usually, he was good with liquor, yet apparently, the decision to consume no food at all since seven o'clock, spending the following hours guzzling all manner of spirituous concoctions is wreaking havoc on his poor stomach. 

He nails his gaze to his pantyhose-darkened ankles, praying to God, guardian angel or the dead great-grandmother watching him in heaven, not to spit his bowels contents out there among the girls. And definitely not in front of Alana Bloom…or Hannibal Lecter, still looking at Will through the ajar door. 

At what point had his stomach tract and frontal lobe decided it was time to remind him of the disgusting amount of alcohol he'd consumed? Three seconds ago, he felt ready to jump up and dance to those awful pop songs Alana loved so much. 

The clear part of his brain reminds him that he is rarely that joyous, and that maybe he should have measured wisely his consumption. The night has started with a I don't plan on drinking much, I have an exam tomorrow , as the deceitful Beverly loaded two fingers of vodka into his juice. By ten and a half pm, Will was taking straight gulps from the bottle. 

“Jimmy, can you call Carl again? We're dry, man.” 

“No way, he's gonna crack my head open if I bother him right now.” 

“How are we supposed to get more?” Margot questions, still lying next to Will, disappointed in gesture, but not in voice. She glances at Will and notices how pale his face looks, touching an arm in silent inquiry. Graham smiles unconvincingly. 

“Ah, shit, wait,” Beverly can be heard running into the adjacent room, darting out three seconds later, with a stylish purse in her hands. “Mom left her purse, I have her driver's license. Mr. Bai will sell you if you show him this one,” she lifts the small plastic rectangle in the air, “and tell him someone sent you to buy it. His store is still open, come on.” 

“Are you sure we won't get in trouble? With the police or your mom.” 

“Nothing to lose by trying, other than she kicking my ass if she finds out” Beverly’s smile is big and lively, without a hint of fear. A very big reason why Will liker he so much. “Are you coming with us, doll ?” 

Will drops his forehead against the floor, with the painful thud of the skull hitting the carpeted area, and soon felt two pairs of hands touching his head and back. 

“Hey, are you all right?” Beverly's concerned tone is what he hears. Will can guess that the other hands are Margot's, who has turned away from him. Alana is already squatting down to examine his feeble face. 

“Yes.” he tries to stand up, but as soon as Will throws his head back, it’s another whip of nausea that lashes his guts. A hand to his mouth, and the lightbulb blinds his unprepared eyes. “No”. 

“Shit, one of us has to stay with Will.” 

“I'll do it,” sweet Alana offers, her uneasy visage eclipsing Graham's hazy vision. He smiles inwardly. It may not be the best of situations, but being alone with her always proves to be pleasant. Even if she's about to see the inside of Will’s guts, sprawled out on Katz's purple carpet. 

But like a trick of fate, the kind it likes to play upon him despite poor William Graham's hopes and wishes, a blinding yellowish lamp filtered its hues through the window at the house’s front. And like thunder after lightning, two loud, insistent horn beeps followed. 

“Oh rats, it's my dad.” 

Fucking hell . Graham holds both hands against his face and exhales his frustration on them.

“I'm sorry guys, he wouldn't let me stay any longer, I'm so sorry Will…” She plants a soft kiss on his head. “We can take you home if you want, or you can come to mine, I’ll give you something for the nausea.” 

The idea of moving around in Mr. Bloom's huge truck, famous among the friend group for his lack of respect for signs and legal speeds, was the least thing Will desired.

“It’s all right Alana, I'd rather stay here to… rest.”. 

And he lay on his side, unexpectedly grateful for having the dress on because, honestly, it was cool and allowed the perspiration of legs, chest, and neck to run freely. Even if, on the other hand, his ass was freezing. 

“Then we'll have to scrap getting more alcohol, we can't leave him alone.” 

The sharp heels of high-quality shoes clack against the floor. 

“I can stay.” 

Will hears that raspy voice that, though he hasn't heard many times, he recognizes immediately. His accent is foreign, distinguishable. 

Hannibal Lecter is standing in the doorway, dressed in that same expensive black anorak Will has seen him wear at what must qualify as casual events. Such as that same party. 

Will doesn't know why he showed up. Beverly justified herself by saying that she had invited Antony, and the boy in return asked permission to bring his friend. That she saw no issue. 

So now he's standing next to them, Jimmy and his unbearable boyfriend in the background, to gaze at the boy dressed as a girl, bent over in fetal position, white as dead from neck to hairline.

“No Hannibal, don’t worry, it's not necessary, we can…” starts an apologetic Margot. 

“I insist, I wouldn't want for your plans to be spoiled if I’m perfectly capable of keeping an eye on Will, and assist him in case of any severe discomfort.” 

The three girls look at each other, hesitant, and Alana is still squatting beside Will, stroking the unfortunate sufferer’s curly head. Beverly knows , and Margot must suspect something. Will is aware that she makes small talk with the young man several times a week. She has been to his house on three occasions. Margot is good friends with Mischa Lecter. 

They don’t need much convincing. Hannibal is reliable, as far as anyone knows. A boy whose name appears on the honor roll every year can't possess ill intentions. Hannibal is a favorite of all teachers. Even Principal Crawford seems to consider him more of a colleague than a student. 

So they discuss it for another exact minute, before the hostess kneels beside Will, and whispers in his ear: 

“Don’t you mind staying with Lecter for a few minutes?” 

Of course, he minds, but Will doesn't want to say it out loud. Not in front of Alana and Margot. He doesn't want to have to explain why. 

“It's okay, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. Come back soon.” 

He straightens up to lean back against the bed and looks his makeshift caretaker in the face, meeting young Lecter's overly concerned gaze. Will sighs audibly. 

His opinion of Hannibal Lecter fluctuates with each nightfall, like the tide drawn in by the moon's gravity. 

There are weeks when he thinks he's a decent guy. Pleasant even. Most of the school feels the same way, and it's not uncommon to hear girls in the hallways shyly giggling, all delighted when Hannibal comes up to say hello. 

Lecter has that peculiar habit. Will never says good morning, afternoon, or evening to anyone other than his three girl friends, or the two guys he gets to talk to in class. Including that Matthew guy who appears to enjoy hanging out wherever Will does. At most of them, Will doesn't even look.

But Hannibal greets everyone; teachers, friends; even the dude who meows at girls, just because they worked together on a project, one year ago. 

He's handsome, something Will is able to see, not only through his sapphire eyes, but his friends’ too. The only one who seems to go unaffected by such reality is Margot. 

Sadly, the most bewitched is Alana, whose uneasy gaze falls not only on her indisposed pal, but also on the boy she has tried to initiate conversation with, since he arrived. Failing utterly due to her nerves. Will noticed it in her quickly, aided by his singular facility for reading people. 

Perhaps he’s lacking the right to take offense at Alana's interests, because since they've known each other, there has been an exact zero amount of movement on his part. It's not his fault, Will repeats to himself like a mantra every spent day, as intentions get stuck in his throat. 

He's been picking the right words for almost two years now. He doesn’t want to scare her away. On second thought, Will considers he shouldn't have taken the friendly route as a first approach strategy. 

Alana Bloom's signature label for Will Graham is best friend, and Will feels he'll never erase the imaginary marker writing on his pale forehead. Beverly occasionally laughs at him, without malice… mostly. 

You could learn Hannibal for once , she had said as they strolled through a near park, and Will understood perfectly well what she referred to. 

“Come on, get on the bed,” Hannibal suggests, extending one impeccable hand in Will's direction. He takes it reluctantly, and as he stands, and realizes that Jimmy and Brian have gone out too. The other boys still around have disappeared as well. Unless there is someone hiding somewhere, as far as Will knows, they are alone. 

“Do you have some beer left, by any chance?” 

“It’s not advisable for you to keep drinking if you're feeling sick to your stomach.” 

“So you have one. Be a good boy and get me a can, it'll help my head, I assure you.” 

Hannibal works with voice commands. Will Graham's voice. He leaves the room with long strides and returns immediately with the three now-warm green cans, handing one to Will. The faint hiss breaks the silence, before Will takes two gulps and wrinkles his face in disgust at the taste. 

As an act of kindness, he offers some to the attentive young man sitting on the bed’s edge. Hannibal doesn't hesitate, and drinks half of its contents.

They sip in silence. It's obvious that the nausea isn't going away, and the beer tastes awful in Will’s mouth, but really, he doesn't want to talk to Hannibal. At least he's opened another beer for himself, allowing Will to finish his.

There is very little he knows about Hannibal Lecter. 

He knows that he’s Lithuanian, that he moved with his family to Baltimore when he was twelve years old. That he speaks over three languages, because he’s the best one in French classes, and some are witnesses to his fluent Italian. 

Will knows he hasn’t had a girlfriend known to the student body, and there is strong gossip about his relationship with a young supermodel. Nonsense, in Will’s opinion. 

Graham also knows, by the boy’s own admission, that Hannibal is in love with him.  

“This is nasty,” the curly-haired teenager complains, thinking about how his face looks with full makeup. Hannibal doesn't reflect much on his. 

“I ran out of ice a while ago, I beg your pardon.” 

He's about to dismiss his apology, don't worry , he'd say, until the second he felt the puke rushing up his esophagus. With a kick, he moves Lecter out of the way, hands over lips, and speeds across the room to the bathroom. 

The rest happens fast, impossible to dazzle with the momentum of vomiting, pushing him face down—earning a good thud against the toilet tank—plus his altered senses. Will shoves his face into the ceramic bowl and, with a long retch, regurgitates the multicolored mash cooking in his guts. 

It's hot, it's wet, and Will can only hear the echo of his gagging against the white insides, as he spits and licks his dirty teeth. Thick, hot tears run down his cheeks, turned black by the smeared makeup. 

But above, he feels Hannibal's gentle hands, kneeling beside him, making sure his long hair doesn't fall into the foul water. His broad right palm cradles Graham’s forehead, lifting his muddy face, but Will can't see what's painted on his face. He only hears Hannibal’s faint, comforting voice: 

“It’s everything out?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Hannibal helps him to his feet again. He lowers the lid, flushes the toilet and guides him to the sink, where he rinses his face tenderly. 

Will can't stand the pitiful feeling that overwhelms him, and quickly shakes the boy off. 

“I can do it, it's okay.” To be alone for a moment is all he wants. Hannibal picks up the signal easily, and leaves. 

Will takes it upon himself to gargle with clean water and mouthwash at least five times. He steals Beverly's expensive facial soap and smudges it with smeared makeup—which doesn't go away completely, black strokes remain framing blue eyes—as his mind races, yet processes everything sluggishly. 

All Will Graham knows about Hannibal Lecter is that he is not what he appears to be. 

Will never spoke a word to him. In one semester of furtive coexistence, he never managed to find Hannibal interesting. Nor could the teenager’s particular beauty capture his imagination. Few things related to high school and its contents remained in Will's mind once he set foot outside. 

They shared five classes in freshman year. They were partners in the science lab and dissected a couple of animals together. Of that, Will remembered how precise his hands were and how unrelenting his attention was. But they didn't talk, ever. 

Hannibal didn't even use words when greeting him in the hallways. He preferred to wave his hand and quicken his pace when he ran into him, to get away as fast as possible. Will was getting the idea that among all the people he ran into on a daily basis, he was the one the Lithuanian boy didn't like. 

But when the classes ended, the biology group organized a trip to the woods. It forced them to spend a weekend appreciating the flora and fauna of Maryland parks, and Hannibal became marked as Will’s companion.  

They sat together on their way there. A Saturday and Sunday were spent in each other's company, between hiking and exploring. Will is not friendly, but he is cordial. He offered him half his Oreos and chicken sandwich. Hannibal declined both, arguing he didn't want to rob him of the precious calories he needed for the expedition.  

Will determined two things in that forty-eight hour span: that Hannibal Lecter was equally an efficient schoolmate and a gigantic jerk. Always finding an excuse to be away from him if duty did not require their joint presence. By the end of Saturday, it didn’t bother Will much.

He didn't even earn a comment on Sunday night, when the boys' group decided to go swimming in the lake. That son-of-a-bitch, Rodney Mendez, stole his bathing suit in the middle of the water, forcing a naked Graham into the search for his pants, among piles of other people's clothes. Hannibal, emerging from the trees with towel in hand, was met with the pale vision of Will Graham and his uncovered body. 

The only one to seemingly feel any embarrassment was Will, who fled the scene, thankful for the low light. Hannibal at best looked… stunned. 

The next afternoon, the two were sitting in the bus back, with the hubbub of their companions drowning out any casual conversation, and embarrassment swirling around in Will's head. 

And to his further obfuscation, at the exact second Beverly moved from the seat next to him to speak to another girl up front, Hannibal Lecter turned his face, called out to Will—who suspected a comment related to their earlier encounter—and with unyielding eyes and voice, delivered his perfunctory announcement: 

“I'm in love with you.” 

Nothing was added. Will pretended to have a stomach infection the next three days, so he wouldn't see Hannibal in class. Subsequently, winter break arrived, to spared him the confrontation for two weeks. Hannibal did not attempt to contact him in any way. As far as he knew, it was a joke, or Will simply misheard. 

He returns to the room, face clear and dry thanks to the multitude of towels in Beverly's closet, and finds the place deserted. He hears movement in the kitchen and accepts unenthusiastic that Hannibal is still around. 

There was another social event organized by the school, in the form of a homecoming dance, six months since his first declaration. Will doesn't recall much about it either, other than attending with Molly Foster, and fleetingly noticing Hannibal's date. A tall, blonde, beautiful teenage girl. Beverly said her name was Bedelia. The two seemed to have been manufactured with the other in mind. Everything clicked and flowed between them, like well-oiled cogs. 

That didn't stop Hannibal from ambushing Will in the same space behind the multipurpose gym, where he decided to hide and smoke his father's stolen cig. 

“What do you want?” Will had asked without time for pleasantries, given he was more concerned about this nice guy—that with each close inspection, seemed less and less kind—having every intention of reporting him for inappropriate behavior. 

“Remember what I told you on the bus back to town?”

For sure, Will did, although near five months have flown by. He analyzed it for a full week before dismissing it as mere confusion, his ears playing a mean joke on him. 

But Hannibal was watching him with all the world’s determination, and he showed no nervousness whatsoever. He was attired in his elegant white tuxedo—flawless against Will's dreary dark washed suit—completely serene.  

Unlike Will, thoroughly intending to tell him to go fuck himself the second he approached.

“What?” 

“I told you I'm in love with you. I'd like to go out with you.” 

It must have been a bad, tasteless prank. Will glanced in all directions, looking over his shoulder, but found no cameras or boys hiding in the bushes, ready to burst out laughing. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I love you, Will. Would you go out with me? On a date?”

Utterly perplexed, Will tried to read his real purpose. Hannibal didn't seem eager or excited, but plainly focused on making his point and request, on getting an effective response. Quite contrary to the natural charm rolling off him when speaking to virtually any adult, young person and child in the vicinity. 

So Will made him his answer clear, as a cigarette tossed to the glitter of his shoes, quickly waling away from there. No words uttered, no head turned. 

When Hannibal returns to Beverly’s room, Will is leaning against the wooden headboard, looking out into the dark nothingness outside an open window. Waiting for the others to return, so he can get the hell out. 

He carries a long glass of water in his hands, handed shyly to Will and who received it with a soft thank you . The worst thing about throwing up is the burning, scratchy feeling in the throat, how hoarse his voice is after such exertion. 

“Are you having a good time?” dares the cynical brunet to ask, immediately drawing Hannibal's attention. His eyes had strayed to the paintings hanging on the wall, evidently avoiding looking at Will and his dress besides him. 

“Right now, yes. It's always a good time when I'm alone with you,” Will can admire that about the young lover. Hannibal doesn't mince words with him. Will thinks it's sweet. “Can I make you a question?” 

“Only if I can make you one in return.” 

“Of course.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why are you dressed like that?” 

Will smiled, broadly, at Hannibal's serious face. He was quite the straightforward fella. 

“My friends were curious what I'd look like in a dress, and so was I. Pretty innocent request, you’ll see, so…” 

“I comprehend. Well, I think you look—” 

“No,” Will interrupted, still smiling, eyes closed for a bit of comfort. “Don't say it, I already know what you think.” 

“Excused me then. You can ask your question now.” 

“Why did you come here?”

Hannibal pretends he’s pondering, maybe trying to formulate his answer thoroughly, but ii’s not the case. Will knows. He needed’t ask question it in the first place. 

Hannibal Lecter is not an easy thing to crack open, like any other kid at school. Will sees him, occasionally, when he deems there’s something worth appreciating. 

It’s difficult to guess what provokes him in classes, other classmates, teachers and common life. There is a veil of thick self-control over his face, one that Will cannot lift entirely. It blocks his view from the true depths. 

Yet, when it comes to Will, it’s enough to look into his eyes to decipher the assortment of thoughts, emotions, and intentions Lecter harbors. 

“Antony told me Beverly invited him. I assumed you would be here, so I asked to come, under the pretense that we could spend the evening together. Fortune has smiled on me.” 

Hannibal beams. Will can't guess how it qualifies as lucky night, when his mouth still tastes of vomit, there's makeup spread around his eyes, and his head hurts where it hit the marble. Hannibal has an odd definition of a good time.  

Other school parties came, small gatherings sometimes. Will doesn't go to the big ones, by people with dozens of friends. He goes to Beverly’s ones, respectable in guests volume. 

Hannibal gets to those every time, hanging around. He drinks and laughs and stares at Will with piercing eyes, who knows the perfect maneuvers for avoiding the dude during the entire thing, until one has to leave.  

After Lecter’s two disastrous declarations of love, Will began to imminently note Hannibal's endless attention. Outside the classes they shared, as they passed each other in the halls. The occasional study afternoons in the library, where he would find Hannibal sitting a few tables away. He would leave at the very same moment Will did. 

He never tries to interact with him, not in any noticeable way at least, and Graham doesn't get it at all. It comes rather lazy, in comparison to his crush on Alana and the relentless attempts to hook and seduce her through his words—poor as they may be. 

Will thinks that if Hannibal were to actually try… he might get somewhere. Will has heard him speak to groups large and small, the ease with which his lexicon, seasoned with his silvery voice, floods impressionable ears.

Will's aren’t, though he’s not totally immune to the boy’s fine verbiage. 

Maybe he's as obtuse as the average teenager. The idea doesn't sit well with his mental image of Hannibal Lecter, but with time and observation, he had concluded that the boy was a terribly anomalous creature. 

The last occasion Hannibal decided it was right time for bringing up his earlier request was the freezing Friday afternoon when Will walked straight from his chemistry exam to the neglected, abandoned park five blocks east of the educational facility, hidden behind two apartment buildings ruins, long-lost to flames. 

It possessed a huge dead tree in whose trunk, time carved a cave, so large a tall boy like Will could fit inside. And so he liked to do, since discovering the place—until the last day, he enjoyed it. 

Will suffered from the propensity to consider it his personal base. For the days when he could stall his arrival home and spend a few placid minutes inhaling the scent of frozen, old nature. 

In the gloom, he hoped to disappear, but his mental calm did not prevail. Hannibal Lecter crushed the snow around under his boots, before filling Will's field of vision with the sturdy figure of his body, standing just on the entrance to Graham’s hiding place. 

Will shivered at the notion of the boy following him all the way from school. 

He tried to shoo him away and tried to be hostile. He responded with a refusal to the other boy’s request to sit beside, perfectly ignored right away as Hannibal plopped down in front, their knees brushing together until Will retracted his. 

Likewise, he played dumb when asked about their previous meeting, about whether he had reconsidered Hannibal’s request. 

“It's been almost half a year now.” But such a statement amassed no value. Will didn't have to think anything, didn't have to respond. 

“I love you and I believe we should be together.” Lecter was still using that deadpan voice that did nothing but unnerve Will endlessly, for he never heard Hannibal employ it with anyone else. The sole element denoting Will wasn't currently talking to a winter ghost, were clear brown eyes glistening with illusion. 

A kick in the calf was enough to distract young Lecter, opening the way to give Will his escaping window, and never return to his secret base

From that, until the night of the ill-fated party, Will has counted three months elapsed.

“Are you that honest with everyone? You don't give me the impression.” 

“In selected aspects, with selected people.” 

“Are your friends aware of your crush on me?”

“Not most of them. I believed myself to be rather obvious, but I'm sensing the opposite.” 

“The majority of time it looks like I repulse you.” Will smirked, wearily, before wrinkling his nose in annoyance. “You're the weirdest guy I’ve ever known, for real. I'm sure ninety-nine percent of the assholes on that crappy school think you’re the coolest dude on earth. I wonder why they can't see you like me.” 

Maybe Alana wouldn't like him so much if she noticed those things. 

“I might be showing you something I don't share with others. Or you might be seeing it for yourself, no need for me to open up”. Will’s not sure which either situation is.  

Graham shrugged, untroubled. “Sometimes I perceive stuff others can't, even about themselves. Alana doesn't like it, says it's invasive. Can't help how loose my mouth is, though.” He looks once in his direction. Hannibal has his hands suspiciously close to his legs, and can tell Lecter's fighting the urge to drop open palms on the black cloth-covered skin. Will almost forgot the dress still on him. “Alana likes you, do you know that?”

“Yes. She’s not good at hiding her feelings.”

“Isn’t she?” 

“Considerably, don't you agree?” 

Will bursts out laughing, immediately regretting making such a comment. He's not sure what prompted him into it, whether it was a little personal revenge for the girl's continued rejection, or a way to persuade Hannibal, set him on the path for other aspirations. 

“A little, yes. But she won’t dare to do anything. She tries to pretend she's old-fashioned, that being cute and dainty around you will automatically get your attention. The truth is, she's worried about the distance between the two of you. She knows she's not the only pursuing you, and she fears paling against other prospects. Alana is a bigger dreamer of what she’ll ever admit.” 

“When did Alana tell you all that?” 

“Never did.” Will takes a long drink from the water glass, hoping for it to wash the last traces of sour taste aftertaste. It half succeeds. Hannibal clears his throat audibly. 

“Then I feel sympathetic towards her. I'm confident she's a lovely girl, but my pretensions lay somewhere else.” 

“What on earth are you saying? Why are you so odd…?” He covers his face with one hand again, grinding under the weight of the night. Will already knows where this is gearing. “Please don't s—”

 “I love you, Will. Very much.” 

“There you go, you had to say it, of course you had. Why? What’s your problem?”

“Pardon me?” 

“Why do you keep going on about it, Hannibal? We don't know each other, for fuck's sake. You never talk to me in school or out of it. Not even before you started with your unnecessary confessions. You just follow me around, look me in this weird, kicked-puppy alike way and it’s like… What are you playing here?”

“I'm in love, I don't intent to hide it.” He doesn't sound hurt, doesn't look hurt either. Will knows he's confused. As if Will's doubts come from an unreasonable space. “I'm not ashamed.” 

“Is it because you saw me naked in the lake?”

For once, Hannibal blushes, and at least it looks like he’s reacting to what’s going down with something more than a stoic face and gaze. It infuriates Will further. “It for sure ratified my vast sexual attraction to you, but it’s not the source of my feelings. I knew I liked you since the third week after we met.” 

And Will's eyes widened like saucers in his face, going over every first semester’s memory to locate any brush or encounter with Hannibal Lecter. They were in English and science class together. Arts ones. He has no absolute memory of doing anything outstanding, in all those weeks spent. All Will took care of was paying attention and shutting his mouth when needed. 

“I can’t grasp it. You were such a little shit to me that whole school trip, you wouldn't even deign to say goodnight or accompany me to anything but fucking fieldwork.”

“I—” 

“Be quiet” Will abruptly dictates. “You were always a stuck-up asshole, that suddenly one day claimed to love me, out of the fucking blue, and dared to demand a response to your confession, as if I was obligated to reciprocate. Simply because you're the perfect Hannibal Lecter and everyone has to like you, including me." 

The true size of his offense had eluded him for a while, tucked away deep in his heart, as he has to remember Lecter's feelings. All shoved to him, without permission. That was the issue bothering Will, of fucking course. 

Not that Hannibal made no effort to close the distance between them. That he swear to adore him, yet still permits dumb little girls to flirt with him and touch him. 

How strong Hannibal’s desire was, shining back at Will, each chance he took to declare his love, to remind Will how weak his own resolve was. 

There is a girl Will has liked with just enough fervor for as long as he has known her, and that same girl is desperate for the affections of a boy who in return, secretly yearns for Will Graham. 

Same Will Graham, half-drunk and dressed in old lady's clothes, ahead of an engrossed Hannibal Lecter. He is so… awkward. And Will can't bear to admit, to himself, how much it has begun to make him swoon. 

“Tell me why you like me.” 

Hannibal is watching him, lips white from how hard they press against each other. His eyes have always been pretty, but they're so much more charming when they're filled with raw fear. Or Lecter's version of it. 

He looks ecstatic and shy all at once, and in a split second, Will has appreciated more genuine emotion in his sharp features than in three semesters. He licks his teeth, feeling like he could eat Hannibal whole, right there. 

“First I thought it was mere physical attraction, and that given enough time I'd grow out of it. It didn't happen. I heard you talking to your friends, teachers, and people you don't like, occasionally participating in the few classes worthy of your attention.” Hannibal closes his eyes, collecting little of his cool, wearing his focused demeanor once again. 

It's as if he's flipping through a scrapbook of images only he can see. He smirks faintly. “I didn't even need to speak to you to understand how exceptionally fascinating you are. It was enough seeing you from afar every day, for an entire month, to find myself enraptured.” 

“That's a vague motive. I’ve done nothing. Nothing remarkable about me.”

“The reality is that there's so much to dissect from your person, I'm surprised there is no bigger crowd behind you.” 

Like yours , Will wants to point out. “Still doesn't justify anything.” 

“Doesn't have to. You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.” A faint confidence goes back to his body, not sufficient. Hannibal’s smirk falls as quick as it gets put on. “That's why I didn't talk to you during the trip, or before… or after. Whenever I tried to initiate conversation, my nervousness was higher. Every time I felt like I had gathered decent courage to approach, my resolve crumbled as a dry shell.” 

“I don't believe you, you don't look like it.” Will says, tongue in cheek. 

“Believe me, I am. I'm always nervous. I feel like puking right now.” 

 Will should be disgusted, probably irritated and a bit concerned. He's not smiling, but the flame of excitement burns and scorches everything it touches, fanned by the other boy's vulnerability. Hannibal suddenly seems very small to him, in spirit. 

“Do you fantasize about me? I mean, sexual stuff.” 

“All the time,” confesses the young man, who has left behind all inhibitions. He leans forward, finally moving to place a sweaty hand on Will's cold knee. 

“What's your favorite fantasy?”

Hannibal doesn't think twice. “Sometimes I imagine you cornering me in the locker room after gym class. Letting me taste your sweat before you force me to suck you off. Or that you would do it to me. Then you'll let me fuck you, or you'll fuck me, doesn’t matter much.”

"I don't think I’ll ever want to suck your dick…” Will mutters, before widening the gap between his legs. Hannibal's eyes drift from his face briefly, down to the dress end, Will's still wearing, “but I might let you suck me. Someday.“

Hannibal has no answer. His features have fallen back into the false politely indifference behind which he hides. It’s futile. 

Will gives him an amused smile, mischievous in its intent. 

“Beverly's not back, and this is the most we've talked in eighteen months. You must be over the moon.”

“Undoubtedly.” 

“You're freaky, too. Not in the good way.”

“I'm aware. I apologize.” 

Hannibal lowers his head. Will has never seen him embarrassed, never thought the day would come. There's no more surprise when the vision ignites every nerve ending in his body, and he's conscious about what a terribly questionable idea it all is, but… Who the hell cares?

He's got an ugly dress on him, his mouth still tastes funny, and he's finally accepted how very interesting Hannibal Lecter is to him. Especially that pitiful, needy part that no one else can or will ever witness. Will’s making sure of that. 

“Come here, let's fuck.” 

He doesn't need to repeat himself. Hannibal's eyes get so big with excitement, they seem to swallow his nonexistent eyebrows, at the same time his mouth drops in complete stupefaction. Petrified in place. Will smiles, far more affectionate than he might guess. 

“Curiosity is getting the best of me. Don't waste this chance, big guy.” 

Lecter’s horniness is immeasurable, lunging to nestle into the space between Will's slender legs. 

He seeks to kiss him immediately, eager tongue inches away from Will’s. The brunet traps the bigger boy’s face between both hands and smiles pleased as he detected desperation, complete surrender in Lecter’s anxious features. 

No one had ever been so needy for his attention, on the verge of nervous collapse, as Hannibal was in that instant. From his restless hands, roaming Will's milky thighs under the skirt, to the fiery erection, straining his pants. 

For once, Will isn't the weirdest kid in the room. For once, he's the one they go wild for. 

Their mouths collide, no longer caring what it tastes like, because Hannibal moans audibly as he licks his lips, seeking to penetrate them with his tongue and Will allows him to. It's been so long since he's had another person's tongue—much less a man's—inside, and the warm sensation, the sour flavor of lingering beer burns him from one second to another. 

Will senses when Hannibal's adventurous hand slips off his leg to stroke the boy's already hard cock, squeeze it with the warm palm before sliding higher and touching to his liking. 

He caresses belly, hand, hips, and slips down to Will’s posterior, groping the boy's round bottom. Once he has a handful of his ass, Hannibal squeezes and kneads happily. Will gets the impression that was something he had wanted for a long time. 

It's a mess of limbs, wet kisses and constant obscene sighs, his, and Hannibal's, until they're both lying on the bed. Hannibal on top of him, his lips still over his Will’s and he doesn't feel like he’ll ever get tired of kissing that strange boy. His saliva is so sweet, Will could drown in it, no complaint given. 

“Have you been with anyone before…?” Will asks in the fleeting second when Hannibal leaves his rosy mouth, to suck on his neck’s skin, and a long, piercing moan escapes the brunet when he feels fingers pinching one bare nipple. Hannibal rolls it between his fingertips and pulls it mercilessly. 

“In all my life…” Another wet kiss against his lips, Hannibal's eyes heavy with adoration as he briefly looks up into his face. And he closes his eyelids, before lowering his head and kissing Will again ”…two girls. And one man.” 

Will seeks his mouth between gasps, mortified at how incrementally desperate he himself has become, for Hannibal’s pouty lips and caresses. The older boy doesn't deny him, and kisses him intensely. 

“Anybody I know…?” 

“No one. Antony asked me once, but I declined. He has tried to convince me many times…”

Their mouths meet again, as Will's deft hands work their way between their bodies, freeing Hannibal's hard cock from its cloth confinement. He marvels at the feel of it—hot, heavy and veiny against his hand and thigh, where it pokes exposed skin. 

“Why didn't you fuck him?” 

“He looks too much like you. It’d hurt me.”

Will lets out a deep, loud laugh. This guy on top is terribly pathetic, and that only further arouses him. He's sure there must be a pre-cum stain where the dress covers his aching erection. 

“We don't look anything alike, Hannibal.”

“You have the same curly hair, bright eyes, though his are not as pretty as yours, and his voice is much softer. You're manly-”

“Stop talking about other men and fuck me, damn it.” 

The order takes effect and Hannibal snaps his jaws. He gives him another messy, tongue kiss before grabbing him by the waist and flipping Will face down, pressing him against the comfortable bed. 

In that position, Will can appreciate their significant difference. How much taller, muscular and heavier Hannibal is in comparison. On another occasion, it would have annoyed annoyance Will. Hannibal’s larger body and experience, against the seventeen-year-old virgin beneath there. 

At that precise instant, it fills Will with lust. 

The dress’ fabric is paper-thin where he can feel the brush of Hannibal's impressive cock over his ass cheeks. Will allows himself to momentarily enjoy Hannibal's rutting, until not just the front of his clothes, but the back, are sticky with pre-cum. 

Before his mind fails, and Will decides to give in to whatever Hannibal asks, one of his hands shoots out against the cabinet to the right, where he knows what Beverly keeps. 

“Here's lotion, quickly…” 

Hannibal is smart. Will hears him open the tube, cover his hand with the substance, and Will shudders full-body as he senses the dress being lifted halfway up his back. The sudden cold air against his burning skin makes his body hair stand out, as do the creamy, icy fingers circling his pink hole. 

Graham tenses a little, but Hannibal is methodical and patient. It doesn't take them long. 

Will stifles his moans and whimpers against the pillow the moment a first finger—Hannibal's middle finger—comes deliciously through, caressing the velvety insides with utmost curiosity with a hint of mild pain. He dares glancing back, and his heart swells with tenderness as Will falls back on Hannibal's extremely rapt gesture, appreciating the roundness of Will’s ass, the tightness of his asshole. 

It's also the first time he catches the true size of Hannibal's prick, and something in his mind short-circuits momentarily because there's no way that thing will fit.

Another finger gets inside. The other boy is focused, impatient to open him up and expose his tenderness. Will is elated. He'd never done such a thing, it had never crossed his mind. But right there, feeling Hannibal's careful, steady hand rub his prostate over and over again, he's sure he'll cum any second. 

“My God, Hannibal, stick it in now, please, I need it…”

And if he thought Hannibal's fingers were a blessing, nothing compares to the weight and sting of Lecter's cock bursting into his entrance, stretching him fully to accommodate the magnitude of his thickness. Will lets out a long howl, half pain, half pleasure. There are new tears leaping to his eyes, as a warm hand comes to rest over his parting mouth. 

“Be quiet, my darling. The window is open, Beverly, and the others could be near.” 

Hannibal thrusts slowly, carefree. He doesn't feel rushed, and Will melts underneath. Whether it that was a threat or not, it escapes him, because unexpectedly, the idea of getting caught while that handsome guy re-organizes his insides, makes Will cry with desperate pleasure. Especially if it could be Alana watching them in the front row. 

Hannibal sets a slow, but brutal pace, and the bed rocks alongside them. He's in, he's out, and Lecter's pulsing cock rubs deliciously against his sensitive walls with each thrust, wrenching another Will’s choked moan against his hand. Two minutes pass before he withdraws it, and Will is free to breathe and scream. 

“Fuck yes, there, there!” 

Hannibal holds the back of his dress as a rein, and forces Will to lift his ass up into the air. Lecter has dropped to his knees, his free hand presses Will's head against the pillow, where the boy continues to undo himself between the mind-wrecking pleasure and the pain of being opened and impaled by that huge cock. 

One of his hands reaches for his own unattended length, pulsing almost in rhythm with Hannibal's, and manages to hold back the trickle of clear pre-cum dripping onto the bed. He pumps his fist, once, twice, three times, trying to match Hannibal's rhythm. 

The whole room is engulfed in the noise of their ragged breaths, Hannibal's grunts complementing Will’s high-pitched moaning each time he hits the right spot, and the melody of their skins colliding accompany it. Will quivers as he feels Hannibal's balls slapping his ass. 

They are not the only thing slapping him there, as he soon feels the electrifying sting of a hard spank against his cheek, and another sharp cry escapes between his reddened lips. 

“Do it again, harder!”

Hannibal obeys. He rams him once, Will whimpers loudly and immediately feels the boy's smooth hand again marking its extension over the tender flesh of his ass. Hannibal entranced, kneads the soft, plump flesh a couple of minutes, before tangling his fingers in Will's unruly hair and forcing him up on all fours. 

“Get up, little slut.” 

That shouldn't send a tremendous wave of pleasure through his body. It does. Will doesn't respond with anything but a moan, and in a split second, he's resting on each limb. Hannibal retracts his cock almost all the way out, only to shove his full length inside, sending Will forward. 

Will knows the concept of riding, but never expected for him to be recipient of such an act. Hannibal has one leg off the bed, one foot resting on the floor and the knee braced on the mattress, so his ramming is more powerful. He pulls Will's head back, gripping his waist as he fucks him tirelessly. 

“Hannibal, I'm about to… Hannibal, please… Keep going, keep going!” Will voice is hoarse after the so the puking and laughing, and now the screaming. He can’t care about it. The hot feeling of Hannibal’s unyielding dick is making him see stars.

He screams and cums, and his whole body trembles at the force of his orgasm. Will didn't even have to keep jerking his own cock. 

Hannibal also stops as he feels him coming, but he himself doesn't seem to have finished. Will is about to turn to question him, to ask what he can do for him. No time for that, either. 

The young man throws himself back over the mattress, and takes Will down with him, making sure he’s sitting upon the rock-hard cock. Will feels how stiff it still is, and his own dick responds by instantly waking up again. He turns, to face the boy under him. 

“Hannibal, I need a small break… “ At least to catch his breath, let his aching hole relax. 

Of course Hannibal doesn't respond, and of course he doesn't listen. He lifts his hips in the air once, with inhuman force, that makes Will bounce on his thick shaft. 

“God no—Yes, Hannibal, there! Fuck me!” 

Hannibal rams him from below like a relentless drill, and Will bounces as if he had no weight. His pretty forehead and sharp, pink cheekbones glow under the light reflecting off his perspiration, and Will wants to laugh at the adorableness of the blush running from his neck to his hairline. Instead, he crunches down to plant a multitude of little wet kisses all over Hannibal’s face.

That’s everything tender about his appearance at that moment, for the intense predatory gaze swallows Will, reduced to a quivering, mewling mess, every time the tip of Hannibal’s cock grazes his sweet spot. 

Hands fly to the dress and strip himself completely naked. The Lithuanian boy is quicker, unsurprisingly, and the death grip of his hands on Will's pale wrists prevent him from shedding the garment. 

He smiles, adoringly: “Please keep it for now, my darling princess .”

Will could have cum in with that alone. Instead, his eyes roll back, about to lose himself in every sensation provided by Hannibal. The labored thrusting of his hips, his strong, veiny hands squeezing Will's waist. The long string of obscenities in other languages that Will can't decipher, but finds terribly stimulating, simply because it's Hannibal. His voice, his love, his passion, his everything. 

Graham himself begins to move his lower body in slow, exquisite circles that manage to draw rough moans from the older boy, as he supports his body weight on Lecter’s strong shoulders. One hand slides from his hip—groping his ass on the way—down to his left thigh, massaging the muscle underneath. A short check reveals that at some point in their rocking and fondling, the black stockings have torn in multiple spots. At least Will has both heels on still. 

Alana will kill him, for more than one reason. 

He doesn't care now that he's jumping up and down on Hannibal's throbbing cock, the same one pressing on his prostate carelessly. “Faster, harder! Harder! Please, baby…”

“You're perfect, the most beautiful creature I've ever encountered… I adore you like you can't imagine…” 

Will can. His eyes are wet again, the brown-curly head thrown back while cumming a second time. Ropes of pearly seed stain his dress again, until his flaccid cock is spurting the remains of his semen down to his thigh. 

Everything hurts. His mouth, his hole, his legs, and body. Will’s dick is ultra-sensitive, despite going untouched. Hannibal must be a full-fledged demon, if he truly managed to make him come without a finger around his member. 

All Will wants to do then is lie back and let his body regain energy, and offer Hannibal the corresponding praise. 

But Lecter is breathing heavily, he hasn't cummed. Will detects it in the hardness, still splitting him in half. 

“Hannibal, baby, I need to rest, just a for a minute. I've already cummed twice…”

“No, you don't.” 

The decision is made by Hannibal, who now pushes him onto his back and forces him to spread his legs wide open. He catches a glimpse of the boy's reddening, palpitating cock, brushing against his own where he drops it, to kiss Will's swollen lips just once. 

“Hannibal…” he sighs between kisses, as Lecter pulls away to look down and determine the trajectory of his thrust, “wait baby, I really have to…”. 

“Third time's the charm.” 

He slides all the way to the bottom. Will once again hold onto the boy's back, not provided with the time to regain his voice to sob as Hannibal is ready setting one more time his brutal thrusting, unrelenting as an animal in heat. In and out of Will's stretched, puffy hole. He strokes the insides of Will's thigh, but immediately abandons it to catch the boy's cock and begin pumping to the tempo of his hips bumping against Will's. 

And as a baby, in search of nourishment, Hannibal latches onto one of Will's perky, pink nipples. 

“Hannibal, please, please… slow down…”

He's licking and sucking and biting, alternating with the other nipple. He sucks so insistently, Will thinks maybe he might be able to get something to come out. The one nipple he isn't rolling between crooked teeth, Hannibal pokes it with the fingers again. 

“Perfect little nymph…”

“Hannibal, I am--I'm close!, I'm gonna cum…!”

Will is unable to see the real sturdiness of the boy, ramming straight into his ass, regretting not having asked him to undress. He merely imagines the flexing and straining of dense, sinewy muscles under the protective layer of his anorak, remembering how firm his body felt under Will’s hands. 

Will discovers, additionally, how much he enjoys being groped and manhandled like that. By him. Feeling Hannibal's strength over him, how malleable Hannibal renders him.

Over stimulation takes its toll. Will's skin is warm and sore, his body begging him for a break, for some space to recover. He doesn't think he can cum again.

“Hannibal, no… I can't, it's too much…” 

“Of course you can,” he purrs against his ear, then kisses and licks Will’s chin, a little lower, “Cum for me, my love, do it.” 

It's enough for Will. It's more than enough. It's too much. 

He feels as if the seams of his person are ripping as the last, devastating orgasm erupts through his weak body. And this time it's not just him who cums amid tears and pleas for mercy. Hannibal shudders and trembles on top of him, lightly crushing him as he empties his hot seed deep inside Will’s punished hole. 

Hannibal briefly resembles a raging beast, in the way he snarls and curses, blunt nails drawing red trails over the delicate skin of Will’s legs and chest. He is sure that the next day there will be multicolored marks where Lecter squeezed too hard, scratched and spanked. None of it upsets him. 

Rather, it makes Will proud. 

The youngster loses all tension and power once he cums, dropping like dead weight on top of an unimpaired Will Graham. He plants several satisfied kisses on the crown of his head, Will running his hands along the broad back as Hannibal fervently sucks the skin exposed by the dress neckline.  

After a few minutes, soul back in his body, Will chuckles softly. 

“That was, hm, that was very good. You're amazing.” 

“I know that,” Hannibal croaks out, hiding the face in Will's neck.  

“A little modesty won’t hurt you, though.” Will replies with another low giggle. 

Hannibal does not laugh, but gathers the young man in his arms to kiss him reverently. Will responds with equally enthusiastic kisses, but is slightly afraid of what he will ask. 

“Has your judgment of me changed?” 

Will considers in depth. A smile draws upon his lips, to gradually diminish the faint uneasiness displayed in Hannibal’s brown eyes.

“I think you're pretty weird. And that probably turns me on a lot.” 

They both share a smile, Hannibal's relieved, Will's affable. They kiss once more. Hannibal hides a lot of things that others will never get a glimpse of. There is a certain vileness in his smirking and a coldness in his gaze that unsettles Will as much as excites him. 

For the first time since becoming aware of the boy’s true emotions, Will finds being the recipient of such tenderness tolerable. Pleasant, even. 

Hannibal is reaching for his clothes, at the brunet’s request, and when he deposits them in Will's hands, he smiles and pecks his cheek again. 

“Are you going to stay here?” 

“Most likely. I have to wait for Beverly.” 

“You don’t appear worried. It's been a while.” 

“For Bev?” Will utters like it's a big, dumb thing to ask, but shrugs his shoulders to show his confidence. “That girl could knock down a whole hockey team by herself. Probably Jimmy or his idiot boyfriend got sick halfway through, shit like that.” 

“My house is empty right now. It will be until Monday…” says the boy in a hurried voice, not entirely sure what he'll say and what Will will respond to. 

It's a playful smile that settles on Will’s lips, hands on hips and body saying Go ahead.  

“A simple invitation, in case you want to… clear your head before school.”

 Graham’s smile widens, “That's not a bad idea.” 

He already has an arm around Hannibal's shoulders, finally clothed in the same ripped jeans and faded red T-shirt combination he arrived in, when Will turns to deliver a chaste kiss to his flushed cheek, one hand over Hannibal’s chest. 

Enjoying the wild beating of that defenseless heart, caged by flesh and bones.