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Will moved smoothly through the crowd, following the figure in front of him. There was a thrill to it; darting between groups of people, taking in fragments of conversation and appreciating the sights, sounds and smells around him while never taking eyes of his prey.
It was unusual for him to be trailing Hannibal this way, and Will knew if Hannibal did not wish to be seen it would have been far more difficult to track him.
They’d agreed to meet on the steps of the cathedral at the main entrance. Hannibal had no reason to hide (at least no more than the usual reason, Will acknowledged to himself) – Will had simply chanced upon him early. He was amused by the idea of trailing Hannibal all the way to the church only to appear behind him. Maybe he’d even do something silly and childish like placing his cold hands over Hannibal’s eyes and laughing when the other man startled.
His musings were interrupted when the man in front of him paused, then turned slightly, reaching out his hand. Will paused, surprised at the gesture. It was so casual. Intimate. He swallowed. Hesitated. Touch was still an uncertain thing between them. He closed his eyes. You worry too much. It was Hannibal’s voice in his head. It was always Hannibal’s voice in his head.
He opened his eyes, certain the offer would have been withdrawn, but Hannibal’s hand was still there, waiting for Will. He reached out. A moment later Hannibal’s fingers were entwined with his.
“How long did you know?” Will asked, sighing slightly, feeling himself pulled closer by their joined hands. Not how did you know – Hannibal probably smelled him, even though Will had long since stopped wearing the (supposedly) offensive aftershave.
The corners of Hannibal’s mouth twitched. “For some time, though not immediately.” He squeezed Will’s hand and steered him gently toward one of the stalls. Will ordered them two mugs of gluhwein. He’d been inordinately pleased to find out his German, rough as it was, was better than Hannibal’s.
Will passed Hannibal one of the mugs, their gloved fingers brushing. He cradled his own between his hands and allowed the warmth to seep in, missing Hannibal’s hand in his. It was unseasonably cold in southern Germany, the ground covered with snow. Will liked it. Most, though not all, of his youth had been spent in warmer climates, and he appreciated the novelty of cold.
Although he needed some better gloves. His hands were freezing. Hannibal didn’t seem bothered, but then Will had watched him put on layer after layer that morning.
“Sit or wander?” Will asked.
“Your choice, Liebling,” Hannibal’s eyes sparkled. Will felt heat rise to his cheeks. They were already flushed from the cold, but he was sure Hannibal knew anyway. Of course the German words the man did know would include terms of endearment. Will had never been one to use them and the only people ever to call him darling had been the older ladies at the church he and his father briefly attended. Otherwise, he was Will. Always Will.
He'd seen couples casually toss them around, but using words like darling, baby, sweetheart always felt oddly intimate and somehow wrong. Except with Hannibal. Every time Hannibal called him ‘darling’ he felt a buzzing beneath his skin.
“Wander,” Will said, looking down into his drink. He inhaled the warmth and the scent of wine and spices.
They’d been to a Weihnachtsmarkt every day since they’d opened. They were by and large the same: vendors selling paper stars, smoking men, and various food and drinks, though each one often had a little quirk; some sold apple or plum wine instead of only mulled red or white and Will had found trolls at the market in Rüdesheim and ceramic versions of the prevalent smoking men in Frankfurt.
But despite seeing similar items at each of the markets Will didn’t tire of them – and surprisingly Hannibal didn’t seem to either. Or maybe it was that Hannibal hadn’t tired of indulging Will. Either way, the older man had seemed more than happy to accompany Will through the markets.
Will loved the smell of wine and spices mingling with the scent of the potato pancakes. There were different incenses burning as they looked at the rows of smoking men; some smaller, more traditional figures, others large and shaped into things like clowns or chimneys with cats laying on the hearth. Will eyed one that was a hunter with a dog on his lap and pretended not to notice when Hannibal made an excuse to leave Will for a moment and buy it.
They ate Reibekuchen and refilled their wine, then later purchased a half pear dipped in chocolate and made to look like a mouse, with gummy ears and licorice straws for whiskers. Will caved and bought one of the star lanterns to set up later that night. They listened to an American couple attempt to say feuerzangenbowle with limited success, both they and the vendor laughing at their poor attempts.
After the couple moved on Will tried a mug and liked it, the alcohol thrumming pleasantly through his veins. He felt light, happy. He felt something cold hit his nose and looked up to see it had begun to snow again. The strands of lights strung from the center of the market to the edges sparkled, the falling snow adding to the effect. When he looked down again Hannibal was looking at him fondly.
“You have snowflakes on your eyelashes,” Hannibal said, reaching out and drawing a gentle fingertip across the lid of Will’s eye. Will breathed deeply, dispelling the tightness in his chest.
As the snowfall became heavier they began heading toward Alicenstrasse and home. They stopped in front of the stoplights with images of cartoons in them, waiting to cross. Without thinking about it Will settled his hand in the crook of Hannibal’s arm. He felt warm despite the cold. When he realized what he’d done he looked up at Hannibal. The other man was not looking at him, but the look of pleasure on Hannibal’s face was unmistakable.
“Is this nostalgic for you?” Will asked. Hannibal glanced at him.
“Somewhat,” Hannibal admitted. “Though I had never been to the German Christmas markets as a young man, only those in Italy and France.”
“These are new to you too, then.” Will was oddly pleased by the idea.
“Every moment with you is new to me, Will.”
Will ducked his head, pulling his scarf up higher around his neck and jaw and clearing his throat. The light changed and they crossed the street and began walking uphill. After a few blocks they were alone, walking together through the gently falling snow. Will considered taking Hannibal’s hand again. He was hardly even tipsy, but the alcohol was enough to make him warm and bold. And the buzzing beneath his skin was from more than mulled wine. You worry too much.
The street darkened and Will pushed Hannibal against a building. He pressed forward, unused to tilting his head up instead of down, but not unhappy with the feeling. Hannibal tasted of spiced wine and chocolate. The kiss was like a counterpoint to the night, rough and dirty and claiming, hot in the cold air, their breathing harsh against the soft sound of the falling snow.
When they broke apart Hannibal cupped Will’s jaw, running a gloved thumb across his cheekbone. “I think you’ll always manage to surprise me, Will.”
Will lowered his lashes, laughing softly to himself. He licked his lips. Looked back up to find Hannibal’s eyes still on him. They stood looking at each other for what felt like several minutes, listening to the falling snow gather on the ground, until they heard singing coming from down the street.
Hannibal dropped his hand from Will’s jaw, but only to take Will’s hand in his own.
“Would you like to walk by the river tomorrow?” Hannibal asked.
“If it’s not too cold.”
“We’ll buy you some better gloves.” Will smiled and tightened his grip, holding fast to Hannibal as they walked up the slope and home.