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They didn’t do it so much that it felt like home, but they also didn’t do it so seldom that their hands felt estranged. It would happen when they would watch movies; fingers would be lazily laced together as the television shone its light upon their cuddled forms. Hannibal tracing his thumb in random shapes down the length of Will’s hand and Will slightly moving so Hannibal could touch more of him.
It would happen when Will wasn’t too sure of his sanity and Hannibal would lay an assuring hand atop Will’s, whispering little comforts as they sit at the table after dinner.
It would also happen when they made love; bodies tangled in the sheets, but their hands would always find each other, clenching and grasping - knuckles whitening, palms clasping in a desperate embrace as they are pulled into the deep pool of their climax.