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Whoever it was that had the audacity to be ringing the doorbell at this very moment was going to have a very unfortunate death. A slow and torturous one, Hannibal decided, standing up straight—and letting go of the lapels by which he had just been holding up a body. It resulted with a satisfying thump, ensuring that the man was indeed gone from this world. Hannibal hadn’t expected him to put up such a fight for his life.
He huffed in discomfort and pain, leaving the body uncovered on the dining room floor—what was the point anyway?—and began walking to the door, swiping a hand through his hair in an attempt to compose himself after yet another kill.
His face was hurting, and he could already feel drying blood on one cheekbone. He wanted to clean it immediately—
The doorbell sounded again, impatient this time. Hannibal grimaced and speeded to the door, swinging it open; fist already half-lifted to land an angry blow—but he stopped, and froze. It was Will Graham, looking rather angelic and slightly alarmed.
After a moment of silence, Will blinked and spoke in a shaky voice. “Hannibal—are you alright?”
Speechless, Hannibal stared back in silence, not knowing how to proceed. The anger that had up to that point been boiling in his blood seemed to have evaporated. Another thought was taking place in his mind: would Will find out about the body—and if so, would Hannibal be able to kill Will because of it?
Will, meanwhile, had stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Hannibal startled when he felt Will’s fingers lift to touch his jaw. “Your face,” he said, eyes so powerfully full of emotion, as if it was he who was hurt, and not Hannibal. His other hand he placed on Hannibal’s upper arm, drawing him closer—or offering support, it was hard to tell. Will tilted his head and peered more closely at Hannibal’s face, as Hannibal bowed his in an attempt to hide his vulnerability. “Is anything broken?” Will asked, voice strained.
Hannibal shook his head—speechless—because frankly, he was too stupefied by how close Will was.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?” Will asked, and then corrected himself: “Where’s your first-aid kit?”
Hannibal again tried to move his lips, but the look of pure worry on Will’s face had rendered him speechless. “Bed…” he started.
“Bedroom?” Will suggested, squeezing Hannibal’s shoulder. “Okay, stay here,”
Before Hannibal could protest, Will was gone in a flash—climbing the stairs two at a time. By the time Hannibal approached the foot of the stairs to sit on it, Will had reappeared, and was dragging Hannibal into the kitchen. He pushed Hannibal onto the lone sofa that his guests usually sat on while he cooked, and watched as Will ran to the sink and wetted a cloth that he retrieved from one of the drawers. Hannibal lifted his knuckles and peered at the bloody mess—what was he going to say to Will?
When he looked up, Will was kneeling in front of him, wiping away blood from the wound on his cheekbone. Hannibal was well aware that he could do this all by himself—as he had, many times before. But he wanted Will to tend him; wanted Will to fret over him. He wondered what Will was getting out of this.
“What happened?” Will asked, gently.
Hannibal gulped. He was obviously finding it difficult to offer an explanation, but to Will, he must have looked like he was too shocked to speak, as if he hadn’t been able to process whatever that had happened to him. An assault, perhaps.
Will smiled softly and shook his head. “You don’t have to talk about it.” His hands were now moving onto a cut on the corner of Hannibal’s lower lip. His eyes were intense with how concentrated he was on not wanting to hurt Hannibal further; his touch so soft, it was barely there.
To have Will looking at him like this…Let this moment last forever, Hannibal thought—almost flinching at this thought.
Will retrieved his hand, setting the cloth aside and prising the first-aid kit open. He unrolled a spool of cotton and dabbed disinfectant onto it, grimacing when he hovered it over Hannibal’s face. “This is gonna hurt,” he warned.
“I know,” Hannibal croaked.
Will smiled weakly and continued, swift with his work. He applied band-aids to the cuts and then centred his attention onto Hannibal’s hands, sighing. He treated the cuts like he had with Hannibal’s face—tender in his care, but making swift work of it.
Will lifted his face up finally, and looked directly at Hannibal, as if trying to read his eyes. Guilty, Hannibal averted his. It was only when he felt Will’s hand lift did he look at Will again. His fingers brushed away the hair at his temple, setting them behind the ear. There was dried blood there too, and Will thumbed at it curiously, as if testing how much Hannibal was going to let him get away with.
Do whatever you want with me, Hannibal wanted to say. I would thank you.
Will sighed again and stood up, walking away to wet another piece of cloth. He returned to kneel before Hannibal again, and began dabbing at the dried splatters of blood along his hairline and neck. Hannibal welcomed it, closing his eyes.
“Did you get attacked?” Will asked—but looking like he wasn't really expecting an answer. Satisfied, Will finally stood up, and peered at Hannibal as Hannibal looked up at him. He couldn’t guess what Will saw when he was looking at Hannibal like this, and what made him act the way that he did in the next moment—but he welcomed it. More than welcomed it.
Will moved a little closer and placed his hands onto Hannibal’s head, pulling him into himself. Hannibal pressed the side of his face into Will’s belly, sighing with the warmth that emanated off of Will. After a moment, he brought both arms up, and pulled Will even closer.
“Promise me you’ll report it,” Will whispered, hand stroking down the back of Hannibal’s head.
Hannibal nodded into Will’s belly—please, let this moment last forever…
But nothing lasts forever. He knew that.
Just as Will showed signs of pulling away, Hannibal stood up, a little shaky. They stood so close together that Will had to take a step back.
Hannibal stared at him then, this beautiful and uncertain being who had captivated Hannibal since the moment he saw him. Now, Will was the one who was averting his eyes, undeniably realising that he was crossing some kind of boundary, now that he didn’t need to be this close to Hannibal. Hannibal watched in awe as Will’s Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, and his eyes flickered down to Hannibal’s lips. But Hannibal knew that Will wouldn’t have the courage: he wouldn’t do that to someone who he thought was vulnerable.
“Will,” Hannibal said, finally speaking.
Will’s eyes widened, as if he knew what was coming next—but he didn’t move away when Hannibal brought his hand to Will’s face and leaned forward to kiss him.
Will was unresponsive for a second—in which Hannibal felt his world crumbling apart, but then his hopes were pulled back up when Will kissed him back, hands moving to place themselves on Hannibal’s arms.
Will smiled into the kiss and pulled back, lifting a finger to the band-aid on Hannibal’s lip. “I wasn’t expecting this,” he said, eyes affectionate.
“Are you sorry?” Hannibal asked, doubt seeping in already.
Will chuckled. “Hardly. I’d kiss you more, just—” he paused. “I hope this isn’t some sort of a trauma response,”
Hannibal tried to smile, anxious to show that it was otherwise. He’d have to tell Will the truth about himself eventually, but he played along for the time being. “I have wanted to kiss you for a long time, Will.”
“Oh?” Will laughed again, adorable and nervous. “Your timing is a little off, but…” he gulped. “I’m glad you did.”
Warmth flooded all over Hannibal’s chest. He leaned forward again to place a chaste kiss onto Will’s lips—he couldn't get carried away just yet—and imagined a future where he would be allowed to do more than just to kiss Will.
Hannibal guessed that he did, after all, have to thank the man currently lying dead in his dining room, for presenting him with the perfect opportunity—not to mention the perfect timing—to finally express his affections for Will.