Work Text:
It all started because Will made an off-hand comment that he’d never tried plum pudding. That wasn’t particularly surprising, since it isn’t a common dish in the United States, and Will would bet most people he’d known had never tried it either.
Neither had Hannibal, as it turned out.
That was a little surprising. Not so much that the dish never appeared at Hannibal’s Christmases growing up – Will doubted it was a common dish anywhere except maybe the UK – but that he hadn’t made it since.
He’d always been less guarded around Hannibal than anyone else. From day one, something had compelled him to share things with Hannibal in a way he never had before.
He guarded himself even less now. He’d pitched them both into the void and they’d emerged more tangled together than ever. And now here he was, with a shoulder that would never be the same and a smile that didn’t look quite right in the mirror, but that Hannibal loved, feeling fulfilled and happy. And safe in sharing his reactions.
Or so he’d thought.
Hannibal had taken his surprise at the admission as a personal challenge and put together a plum pudding – it turned out the “plums” were raisins – which was currently hanging from a hook in a pudding bag in their pantry, setting. Curing? Will wasn’t sure.
Will eyed the bag dubiously every time he entered the pantry.
There were easier ways to make it. Will had looked up the recipes online. Ordering a pudding bag and letting it hang for weeks was completely unnecessary, but the way Hannibal’s eyes lit up when he’d received it in the mail had Will smiling fondly.
Hannibal’s first suggestion had been to go back to the supposed medieval roots and make a plum pottage, which would have involved adding sausage and putting it altogether in a stomach. Hannibal even had the stomach in mind. Will wasn’t entirely sure about that, but then he had eaten plenty of strange things at Hannibal’s table in the past.
In the end, though, they decided it was too soon to cull another pig, the pudding bag was ordered, and a plum pudding hung in their pantry, two days away from being set on fire and eaten. Will wasn’t sure he wanted to eat it; but with Hannibal there was no way to avoid at least sampling it. Unless he developed a sudden allergy to dried fruit.
He considered the thought before grabbing the flour he’d walked in there for and rejoining Hannibal in the kitchen.
*
For Christmas dinner they each played to their strengths: Hannibal in charge of the roast, Will the salmon. Potatoes they’d cooked together. Hannibal made a beet soup with mushroom filled dumplings. He normally avoided Lithuanian dishes and Will was quietly pleased, despite not being a huge fan of beets.
It was surprisingly good, and Will could only hope the plum pudding was the same.
They took a walk before dessert. The temperature was similar to Wolf Trap in December; it wasn’t bitterly cold, but the wind still had enough of a chill that Will pulled his beanie down tight over his ears. He smiled his lopsided smile as Hannibal wrapped a scarf around him and then brushed his shoulders. Hannibal was always finding small ways to attend to Will, whether it was helping him into his coat or wrapping him in layers, as if he needed an excuse to touch.
Once, as a test, Will left his coat open and was unsurprised when Hannibal buttoned it for him.
“Ready?” Will asked, still smiling, as Hannibal released him to pull on gloves.
Their hands found their way together naturally as they walked, the wind picking up and turning Will’s nose pink with cold.
“Are you excited about your plum pudding?”
Hannibal hummed. “Curious about it, yes.”
“Curious is a good word,” Will murmured. Hannibal squeezed his hand.
“Let’s turn back,” Hannibal said, looking Will over. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” Will protested. “I’m all wrapped up in your scarf.”
Hannibal looked pointedly at Will’s nose but didn’t protest when Will continued walking, tugging gently at their joined hands. Nor did he comment when not long after Will turned them around and headed back in the direction of the house.
Will tended to the fire in their study as Hannibal removed the pudding from the bag and prepped it, heating some brandy in a saucepan. Will stepped back into the dining room as Hannibal set the pudding on the table.
“One moment,” Hannibal said, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a ladle filled with hot brandy. He carefully tilted it, setting the liquid on fire and pouring it over the plum pudding. The flames only burned for a moment before extinguishing but watching them was enthralling.
“There’s nothing quite like setting your food on fire,” Will laughed, sipping his wine as Hannibal cut small slices of the dish and drizzled them with a lemon sauce. Will lifted his fork. Hannibal made no move to pick up his own utensil, instead focusing his attention on Will.
Some things never changed.
Carefully, Will used his fork to cut a small piece and pierced it, bringing it to his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, aware of Hannibal’s eyes on him as he chewed and swallowed. It was moister than he’d expected, the raisins and cried currants complimented by the spices Hannibal had used. The lemon sauce brought out the slight citrusy flavor of the cake.
“It’s good,” Will said. He watched as Hannibal took his own bite. “You could have left the raisins out, you know.”
“They’re an important component of the dish.”
“Of course.” Will shook his head very slightly, laughing softly to himself.
“Though I think I will leave them out next year when I make the pottage,” Hannibal mused after a moment. Will stared at him. Hannibal looked back. He gave away almost nothing, but Will could see the smirk in his eyes. And the excitement of making a dish that involved more specialized ingredients.
“Good idea,” Will said eventually. Hannibal grinned.