Chapter Text
Dinner was delicious as always.
Will helped Hannibal bring the dirty dishes and silverware to the sink. Hannibal handed him a towel and pointed out what certain dishes went where on the drying rack. Will had never used one before himself, opting instead for a small dishwasher. They fell into a comfortable silence as the sound of rushing water and gentle clinks of dishware filled the air. It only took a handful of minutes, since there were three people at the table and only two place settings.
Hannibal’s hands were still wet from the faucet when he extended a hand towards Will, a silent request. Against his better judgment, he enveloped the older man’s right hand with the coarse fabric instead of just handing it to him. He resolutely looked down at the towel, focusing on drying the calloused digits as gently as possible.
He dries them for longer than strictly necessary. His hands linger for a moment, which stretches into two, and suddenly he despises the length of fabric separating their skin. If only he could-
He cuts off that train of thought before it can go too far.
Hannibal’s hand reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair back behind Will’s ear, and it is only then he realizes that he’s been cradling Hannibal’s left hand for the better part of a minute.
He feels his cheek warm up against Hannibal’s cool hand - still wet from the water - and chances a glance at his face. It has a cool veneer to it, and to anyone else it would have seemed like he was unfazed. Will knew that underneath that veil of calm, there was a hidden concern for him. It made something inside his gut squirm, but the couldn't tell if it was out of discomfort or happiness in finally being cared for.
Hannibal’s eyes lingered on Will’s face, calculating, searching. It would have been too much, had he not looked away. Instead, his gaze was drawn to the towel in Will’s hand, and the briefest flicker of a frown creased his brow. “It seems I haven’t been a good host.” There was amusement in his voice, but Will could hear the self-reproach beneath it.
“I’m fine,” Will replied quickly, almost too quickly, and he wondered if Hannibal noticed how easily the lie slipped out. Well, it was probably normal to feel a little conflicted at this. He murdered a practically innocent woman in cold blood and gave her to Hannibal for them to eat. And it felt good. The power he felt when killing her, the anticipation as he drove to Baltimore, the emotion that had surfaced from the first bite and had yet to sink back down. The sentiment in their actions was staggering, and he had a hard time keeping up.
He thickly swallowed the last remnants of whatever vulnerability had surfaced and took a step back, letting the distance wick away some of the intimacy that had crept into the room. It felt as if there was an invisible string tied between them, pulling at his chest when they separated. Something in him wanted with all his heart to step back into the safety of Hannibal’s arms. You’ll be safe there, it whispered, and he cursed his pathetic body for leaning forward, back into Hannibal slightly.
“Yes,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. “You are.”
Will turned away under the weight of those words, bashful. He busied himself by stacking the remaining dishes with an efficiency that surprised even him. He could still feel Hannibal’s presence behind him, like a dark shadow that refused to obey the simple courtesy of personal space. He couldn’t bring himself to really mind, though. How long had it been since he had a deep connection with anyone? Had he ever? His father didn't even come close, and Will had known him far longer than Hannibal. How long had it been since anyone had seen him so willingly vulnerable? That was a privilege he granted the other with barely any hesitancy, a gift he wanted the man to hold on to forever.
“Shall I pour you some whiskey? You are thinking too loudly for my liking, I can only imagine what it is like for you.” He speaks with a soft smile, barely there but visible nonetheless. Will finds himself lulled by Hannibal’s low Lithuanian accent, one so mesmerizing he wants to just listen forever.
“Sure.” It can’t hurt. He wants his own mind to shut up for a second. Stop analyzing and cataloging and just be with Hannibal. The same part of his mind whispers; maybe if you get drunk enough you can spend the night here, fall asleep near him even if you’re rooms apart. And he can’t find it in himself to push it away this time.
Hannibal retrieved the whiskey from his alcohol cabinet, the amber liquid glinting in crystal decanters. He pours with precision and hands Will a glass. Their fingers touch briefly, a small spark that sent a shiver up Will’s arm. He took a long swig, felt the warmth blossom in his chest and spread like ink.
“Better?” Hannibal inquired, watching him with those eyes that seemed to peel away every layer of pretense.
“Yeah,” Will exhaled. “Better.”
It was simpler to focus on the burn of alcohol than the tangle of emotions circling his thoughts like vultures. He found himself settling into one of Hannibal’s leather couches, letting it envelop him with its luxurious chill. The room around him felt more intimate now, the flickering fire casting shadows that danced along the walls in time with his heartbeat.
Hannibal sat next to him, on his left. Close enough to touch knees. Almost unprofessional.