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“I can’t believe you’ve never seen a musical before.”
“I think we’ve established that going to the theater wasn’t exactly my top priority before I hitched my wagon to your demented murder train.”
“True, I doubt the management would have allowed you to bring Winston as your companion for the evening,” Hannibal noted with a wry twist of his mouth. “Though he would have undoubtedly been more smartly attired than you.”
“You know, I’m in a monkey suit, going to see a musical about a psychotic barber, and I haven’t complained once. You are making me regret all of that.”
“You also made us late,” Hannibal commented holding open the door to the mezzanine.
“No, you made us late,” Will hissed as they picked their way toward their seats. “No one asked you to get amorous on the way here, the cab driver certainly didn’t.”
“That was rather rude of him,” Hannibal sat with an imperious elegance, nodding to the person to his left.
“Uh, I’m pretty sure Emily Post would call cab blow jobs rude, Dr. Lecter.”
“He would have never noticed had you not made a noise like a wounded animal.”
Will’s ears turned pink. He was extremely aware that the woman sitting to his right was pretending to skim her program while intently listening to the fussing couple. He leaned in, lowering his voice.
“When you do that thing with your tongue, you know what happens,” Will said. When he caught the smug smile lifting the corners of Hannibal’s mouth, Will slapped his husband’s chest. “Fucking insufferable.”
“Will! Please!” Hannibal’s voice was loud and offended. He turned to the older lady on his left. “My apologies, he’s never been to the theater before.”
The woman nodded, sympathetically patting Hannibal on the knee.
“Sorry, the wolves that raised me could only afford movies,” Will muttered, slumping into his chair.
Will made it all the way to the end of the first act before giggles started. Hannibal cast quelling glares at him, but it only seemed to drive more helpless glee from his lips. By intermission, the empath was whimpering in his seat, clutching his stomach.
“Will!” Hannibal hissed as the audience filled toward the lobby and the promise of overpriced drinks and disappointing pastries. “What is wrong? Are you in pain?”
A honking cackle burst from Will’s lips with such force that Hannibal flinched back, flummoxed. The bewildered expression on the normally calm doctor’s face only served to force more air from Will’s lungs. He was gasping, trying desperately to regain his composure as Hannibal looked on with mounting horror.
“Y…you…you’re the girl!” Hannibal caught the hysterical empath as he pitched forward.
“What are you talking about?”
“All this time. All the articles from fucking Freddie about Hungibal the mighty alpha male fucking his little Graham Cracker, and you’re the fucking girl!”
“Neither of us are girls, Will.” Hannibal’s brows scrunched together and he brought his free hand up to check Will’s temperature.
“I’ll be damned, Mrs. Lovett.”
Finally, Hannibal understood. The cannibal’s eyebrows raised, and his mouth curved, a slow soft coil of affection.
“You think you’re the demon barber of Fleet Street, do you?”
“I’m sure as hell not the devious little shit flouncing about in fancy outfits and cooking people!” Will’s breathing was nearing normal and Hannibal released the empath with a slight snort.
“I do not flounce.”
“My darling doctor, Beyoncé wishes she could swing her ass like you do.” Hannibal opened his mouth in a slight snarl, which Will kissed away. He pulled back and smirked when Hannibal unconsciously tried to chase the empath’s retreating lips.
“You’re not charming, Mr. Graham.”
“Neither was Mr. Todd, but that didn’t stop Mrs. Lovett.” Will leaned forward and tugged on Hannibal’s lip with his teeth. “Now buy me some terrible champagne and something sweet.”
“Only if you promise to control yourself through the rest of the show.”
“I promise to apologize appropriately if I embarrass you again, Mrs. Lovett.” Will lofted an eyebrow at Hannibal before sauntering toward the lobby.
“And he accuses me of flouncing,” Hannibal muttered, following the empath’s retreating form.
Will’s breath came out in white puffs as they left the warmth of the theater. He paused giving his fogging glasses a moment to clear. He felt a warm press behind him and leaned back slightly, the chill not so bad with a broad chest at his back.
Will angled his head up, his glasses offering him a frosted version of Hannibal’s smile.
“I have a new idea for our next identities.”
“Let me guess, lyricist and composer?” Hannibal’s breath felt warm and wet this close.
“Nice try, I’m not giving you an excuse to play that damn harpsichord all day. I say we try our hands at a bakery.”
Hannibal huffed a soft laugh that bathed Will in his breath again.
“Do you fancy me a pie maker Will?”
“I fancy you all the time, Dr. Lecter.” Will turned, “But I’m saying I’d like to put those cannibalistic cooking chops to the test. Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t get off on serving the public to the public.”
Hannibal pursed his lips in thought.
“It would be nice to cook for an audience.”
“I hope your pies are as good as Mrs. Lovett’s and not some weirdo fancy-pants thing. Actually, yeah, I get to set the menu, or you’ll scare off customers with your pretentious people pies.”
Hannibal sniffed, mouth forming a moue. Will grinned, snagging Hannibal’s scarf and reeling his cannibal close.
“I would never really besmirch your pies, Hannibal, they’re delicious,” Will’s voice dropped low. “And, you’ve certainly taught me how enjoyable it is to devour flesh, especially when it’s hot and dripping.”
The empath waggled his eyebrows and smiled delightedly when he felt the gust of air from Hannibal’s laugh.
“Was that an innuendo, William?” Hannibal cocked his head, lips millimeters from Will’s.
Hannibal was taken by surprise when instead of a soft press of lips and breath, Will bashed his face forward, painfully smacking their noses together. The doctor caught the empath before he could fall. Behind Will, a man sneered at Hannibal.
“Save that shit for the bedroom, ladies.”
Hannibal couldn’t help the snarl, but offered no other reaction. Will regained his footing in time to glare at the man, hands curled in fists. They watched the man head toward a quiet street with low foot traffic. Hannibal turned and raised his eyebrow at Will, a slight curl at the corner of his mouth.
“Mrs. Lovett, what a charming notion!” Will laughed.
“Well it does seem a waste,” Hannibal deadpanned. He pressed a warm kiss to Will’s temple.
“How I’ve lived without you all these years, I’ll never know,” Will’s voice was softer, a sincerity ringing out behind the joke that made Hannibal puff out his chest slightly.
The cannibal offered his arm to Will, smiling as the empath entwined their limbs. Hannibal began to whistle as he and Will turned to slowly trail after their pie.