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A classical song was playing by a composer Will didn’t know. He straightened his back, angled his arms and moved one shoulder in what he thought had to be the right direction, adjusting to Hannibal’s grip. He was lead backwards, trying to place his feet in the imaginary square Hannibal had mentioned hastily, and despite not falling over, he was a little skeptical of how they looked together. Admittedly, waltzes weren’t his most common pastime. When Hannibal had opened his door to his office, greeting Will with his usual polite smile, and the sound of the piano accompanied with violins had snaked its way around him like a thin vine, he had given Hannibal a look.
“Are you playing music?”
“Yes, I am, pardon me. I was practicing the waltz.”
“I didn’t know you danced.”
Yet it made sense for Hannibal to know ballroom dances; if one would keep up the appearances Hannibal held, remain his graces and adhere to his reputation, ballroom dancing was certainly part of the standard. Will hadn’t expected Hannibal to ask him to dance, reaching out a steady hand to him before he had had the chance to sit down.
“I apologize if this is unconventional.”
“There are worse things ‘unconventional’ could be.”
Now, the song was wrapped around them as Will managed to relax a little in Hannibal’s arms. It was easy to follow him with a hand on his shoulder, his right hand in Hannibal’s. It felt stable, steady. Hannibal’s lips stretched into a small smile, much similar to the one he had greeted Will with, although Will was sure his eyes carried emotions beyond common courtesy, for the maroon was accompanied with perhaps mischief, or maybe simply curiosity?
Hannibal brought Will with him as he turned, his steps long and smooth as Will struggled to catch up, almost losing his footing this time. A steady arm pushed him up around the waist, and a gentle explanation of how Will too needs to turn followed. Will apologized, which Hannibal had dismissed easily by telling him that Will is only learning.
The turn was attempted again, and this time, Will was quick to time his moves, keeping his feet steadier than last time. The emotion in Hannibal’s eyes grew, and they twirled around the room almost elegantly; Will was sure they could look like a couple if the office was a ballroom. Hannibal’s shirt felt nice under Will’s fingers, and his hand was warm against his. He liked the steadiness, the feeling of the man before him; it felt anchoring, somehow, as if he didn’t need to be stuck inside his own mind with Hannibal this close. He dared to silence it, dared to ignore what they were, what they meant.
He could give some of his control to Hannibal.
He didn’t feel dizzy from the spins, and he swore that they looked a little straighter than before, and soon, even the dancing slipped his mind ever so slowly. He couldn’t cut it off completely, no, but it required less focus. Ice blue eyes met maroon, and Will was stuck, captivated by this anchoring feeling, the fucking certainty that bound him to Hannibal.
Hannibal’s gaze was unmoving too, and it must have been impossible for him to not feel the same way, not when it was so strong for Will. His eyes stayed on Hannibal’s even as Hannibal broke Will’s gaze as he released Will’s shoulder blade and his hand. Will was about to protest before Hannibal gently grabbed Will’s forearms and guided his right hand to Hannibal’s shoulder blade. He took Will’s left hand in his own right.
“Your turn,” he declared.
Will was perplexed, but did as Hannibal had suggested, mimicking the moves he had felt moments ago. Hannibal was surprisingly easy to move around, following Will and all the little twirls, leans or ways he went, and those eyes; oh, those eyes glimmered with trust this time, shifting the focus back onto Will. He was carrying them, anchoring them and making sure they moved gracefully. As the music intensified, as the violins played a higher note and the piano added notes to the base of the chords, Will almost wanted to pull Hannibal towards him, closer, just to feel that fancy shirt wrinkle against his own plaids, see what it would be like to mess up the system of the dancing, just to find out if they could remain as anchored as they were now.
If he could just slip into this reality, in hopes that it was real, he was sure that he wouldn’t have to worry about feelings or thoughts, or doubts about both. Maybe, just maybe, he was sane with Hannibal, whatever that meant.
“I wish we could stay dancing.”
“Who says we can’t?”
“Expectations.”
Will paused.
“Society.”
Hannibal grinned amusedly.
“That is why I encourage the unconventional.”
Will slowed down their dancing pace until they came to a complete stop by the windows of Hannibal’s office. It was dark outside, the early night gently coating the city beyond them. He released Hannibal’s hand, and was it curiosity that flashed before his eyes when Will moved his left hand to Hannibal’s shoulder, neck, his jaw, keeping his right hand on his shoulder blades? He could feel himself next to smirking as he lowered his gaze from Hannibal’s eyes to his lips and kissed him gently. It tasted like stability.
When he pulled away, he reduced the volume in his voice until it was close to a whisper, meeting Hannibal’s gaze once again.
“Is that unconventional enough for you?”
Hannibal didn’t speak, but rather smirked, like the one which trace had laced Will’s lips mere moments ago, and took a step back, urging Will to lead him to the wall. When they came to a stop, Hannibal grabbed Will’s face as if he was trying to study him, or perhaps cherish him, confirming that he is indeed standing in front of him before he kissed him once more. Will was certain that he hadn’t ever kissed someone this slowly before, in such a way that wouldn’t make him feel like he was levitating, but rather like someone was pulling him back towards the earth, calling him home, bringing him down from a high.