Chapter Text
“Hannibal.” Will murmurs.
His lips are ravaged.
This is good. The sight of Will lain out upon his dining table, sweat cooling, come drying upon his skin. Will’s legs still curved around his hips. This is how Hannibal would like to keep him.
Hannibal dips his tongue inside Will’s navel, enjoying the faint intake of breath from above.
He’s not ready for this weekend to be over. Suddenly the stink of it ending is too thick in his nostrils, like spoiled meat. If he lets Will go, which he must…
Hannibal reaches down, gripping Will's hips. He pushes Will bodily across the table until Will’s head is hanging off the other side, before he leans down to sniff at Will’s groin. The scent of him wafts over Hannibal, and Hannibal can resist no longer. The flesh of Will’s thigh is ripe beneath him. Hannibal kisses it, licking it tenderly, and then he bites hard through Will's skin.
“Fuck!” Will roars, rearing upward. His hands brace himself shakily against the table as he stares at Hannibal.
Hannibal licks blood from his teeth and grins at him. Now Will will keep his mark no matter where he goes. The satisfying taste of it, hot and sharp, spreads across his tongue. Hannibal smiles again, keeping the taste, keeping Will.
He presses his thumb over the bite and Will moans, head falling backward again. Hannibal kisses it one final time, licking away the blood before he straightens up.
“Come, let me wash that.”
Will rests against his elbows, gazing up at him. His breath’s still coming in shallow pants. He can barely focus. Hannibal stands over him, his hands on Will’s thighs. The scent of blood is in the air. His blood. Will looks at Hannibal's eyes and thinks, he's proud of his handiwork.
“Will.”
A heartbeat passes, and another, and another. Will stares at the speck of blood lingering on Hannibal’s lips. He can still feel the cut of Hannibal’s teeth on his skin. He straightens up from the table, wincing.
He’ll remember this job all right.
* * *
Hannibal takes Will upstairs to the bathroom. Will sits on the side of the tub, thighs spread wide, jeans down to his ankles. Hannibal washes the bite carefully. He disinfects it, taping a pad of gauze over it before smoothing it over Will’s skin with his fingers.
Will just sits there, gazing at him. Hannibal touches his cheek. “Take off your shirt and jeans.”
Hannibal wets a washcloth in the sink as Will slips his jeans off. Will pulls his shirt off over his head and sits there in his boxers. Hannibal washes the dried semen and sweat from his skin. Will lets the cloth pass over his body, closing his eyes as Hannibal cleans him off.
“There.” Hannibal hangs the washcloth over the side of the tub. “Come. Let’s go to bed.” His hand touches lightly over WIll's hair.
Will stretches out flat on his back on bed. His fingers brush over the bandage on his thigh. He still can’t believe Hannibal bit him, but the shock of it is wearing off. It’s been a long day and though he wants to sleep, he doesn’t want to surrender this moment.
Hannibal brings him a drink, ice cooling the glass. “Here, drink this.”
Will drinks, coughing as the whiskey hits his throat hard. He sets the glass on the table and settles back down. His thigh throbs. He places his palm against it, and the ache abides somewhat.
Hannibal stretches out beside him. He rests his hand on Will’s belly, feeling the warmth of Will's skin.
Will exhales as Hannibal’s hand just stays there on his stomach. His eyelids blink wearily. He rubs at his chin and yawns. There’s something he wants to say, lingering at the back of his mind, but he can’t think of it right now. Sleep is too close. He yawns again, his eyelids fluttering closed at last.
* * *
The night is quiet. Hannibal lays awake, arms folded behind his head as he gazes up into the darkness. Will sleeps soundly beside him. How often does he sleep like this? Hannibal keeps considering it, even as he knows it’s not his concern. Tomorrow he returns to work, and Will goes back to his life, and that’s that.
* * *
Monday –
Hannibal’s already in the shower by the time Will wakes. He lies there in the wide bed where he’s dreamed, sweated, and come apart under Hannibal’s hands and mouth. Will rolls over and breathes in the scent on Hannibal’s pillows. It’s an aroma of comfort and stability and desire and Will wants to bury his face in it and never surface again.
His fingers tighten on the pillow casing, and then with a sigh, he gets out of bed.
“You should shower.” Hannibal walks past him naked, heading for his walk-in closet.
Will showers quickly and gets dressed. The bedroom is empty when he’s done. Hannibal will be waiting downstairs. There’s no time, but Will turns to the bureau. Carefully, he opens first one drawer, and then another until he gives up and looks in the closet instead. There he finds a rack of Hannibal’s ties. Will studies them, brushing his fingertips over them. He wants something to remember Hannibal by. Something that matters, something that won’t be missed, but he knows Hannibal will miss it eventually. It’s a calculated risk that Will’s willing to take.
At last Will selects a dark blue tie with thin silver strands coursing through it. It smells like Hannibal when he brings it up to his nose, the silk sleek on his fingertips. Will folds it up and pushes it deep down in his pocket before heading downstairs.
Hannibal’s drinking coffee, one eye on his phone when Will enters the kitchen.
“Breakfast.” He nods to the plate he has ready for Will. It’s similar to the first breakfast Hannibal prepared for him, sausage and toast and eggs.
It’s the last meal Hannibal will cook for him. Will tries to eat, but the thought of going back sticks in his craw. He has a thousand from Hannibal and the cut he’ll get paid from Martin. If he works another job or two he could just vanish. He can stick it out till then.
He can’t finish the food. “I’m sorry.”
Hannibal glances at him. “It’s all right.” He takes the plate from Will and tilts down the garbage disposal.
Will slides down from the stool and goes to find his jacket. It’s hanging in the hallway. The envelope with the money is still stashed inside. He hasn’t checked it once throughout the weekend. Will pulls his jacket on, lets the weight of the money rest against his chest.
Hannibal has another envelop waiting for him. He holds it out and Will puts it alongside the other without counting it this time.
He hesitates and Hannibal remembers Martin’s words to him on the telephone. Would Will do it just to get a tip? In the kitchen Hannibal sensed his motivation was simply desire. Every other time Will had been responding to Hannibal’s advances, but that one time had been entirely him.
If he goes to his knees now, Hannibal will not be responsible for what happens.
Will just licks his lips. “I just wanted to say, thank you. For cooking for me, I mean.”
Hannibal smiles at that. “You’re most welcome, Will. It was my pleasure.”
“Anyway.” Will’s smile is awkward and brief, before he starts heading for the door.
“Will, I can give you a ride.”
“I can take the bus.” Will already has the front door open.
The distance to the bus stop from Hannibal’s house is more than a few blocks. Did Will walk here that first day? Hannibal realizes he never asked.
“Just wait there.” He gathers his keys, his phone and his briefcase and then joins Will at the door.
Hannibal locks the door and opens the garage. “Get in.”
“Nice car.” Will comments.
Hannibal chuckles. “Is that what you thought that first day?” He remembers the way Will looked when he pulled up the drive, sitting there on his steps. Like a stray who had wandered up to his door.
Will coughs, and shakes his head. “Not so much.”
Hannibal starts the car and they pull out of the garage. Will glances back before he can stop himself, watching the house as it fades amongst the trees. He shouldn’t have, but the impulse was too strong. You’re not supposed to look back and Will knows this. On the other hand, he’s eaten Hannibal’s food more than once. If this were a fairy tale, he’d already be screwed.
* * *
Will keeps his eyes on the window as they drive into the city. He can feel Hannibal glancing at him from time to time, but he’s doing his best to detach now. Not looking at Hannibal helps.
“What will you do with your thousand?” Hannibal inquires.
Will’s not even surprised he knows. It makes sense. If the slight twinge of danger concerns him for a second, it doesn’t last long. So what if Hannibal listened in on his conversation? What’s it matter now?
“Save it for when I need an out.” Abruptly, Will realizes just how tired he is. The last two days were like something out of a weird, but also strangely relaxing dream. Now though, he’s just tired.
“Where shall I take you?”
“You can drop me anywhere.” Will assures him, and when Hannibal just looks at him, Will gives in and tells him an address.
“It’s an auto shop. You can drop me there. I work there some days. So if you ever need your car checked..."
“That explains the grease.” Hannibal murmurs to himself.
Will just nods. “Yeah.”
Hannibal pulls up in front of the garage and they sit there in silence. Will’s been paid. There’s no reason to keep him longer. Hannibal keeps his hands on the steering wheel to resist pulling Will over towards him.
“Well,” Will clears his throat.
Hannibal looks over at him. Will’s heart would taste so lovely on his tongue.
“See you around.” Before Hannibal reacts Will leans over and brushes his lips across Hannibal’s and then he’s out of the car, striding up the pavement towards the shop.
Hannibal watches him go, and then drives away.
* * *
Hannibal’s Monday passes slowly. It’s just the urge, he thinks. Suppressing the promise that he made himself and supplying another in its place didn’t do the trick. If he killed Will, would Will stop distracting him?
Hannibal doubts it.
* * *
Almost as an afterthought, Hannibal drives by the garage on his way home. He spots Will bent over a car engine. Will looks comfortably in his element, busy with purpose as he works.
Hannibal keeps driving.
Will Graham is messy, a trap waiting for Hannibal to fall into. Will, with his open mind and shuttered eyes, is nothing but trouble waiting to happen.
Hannibal doesn’t like messy things, or trouble. But he likes Will. The contradiction of it keep him distracted throughout the evening.
* * *
Will wipes his arm across his forehead and straightens up. The familiar atmosphere of the auto shop soothes him. He told Hannibal he worked there, but it’s only every so often, and not in any official capacity. As much as they need another mechanic, they can’t afford to hire him full-time now. So Will works when he can, they pay him what they can and sometimes they let him sleep in the back room on the couch.
He hides the thousand from Hannibal under one of the cushions. It’s safe enough there. Safest place Will has at any rate.
* * *
Later he has to go to meet Martin to hand over the rest. At least it’s in public this time. Will hates going to Martin’s apartment.
At the bar, Martin’s ensconced in a back booth. He’s eating a sandwich as he watches the game on the bar TV when Will approaches. Cigarette’s smoking away in the ashtray, sitting next to his beer.
“Finally.” Martin takes another bite. “Where the fuck have you been all day?”
“Working.” Will just stands there, hands in his pockets. The smell of onions and garlic washes over him and he presses his lips together in an effort not to gag.
“On the side?” Martin stares at him. “Sit your ass down.”
“No.” Will sits. “At the garage.” Martin knows he has a legitimate, albeit under-the-table job but every single time he does his best to make Will feel like shit over it anyway.
“Fuck you, smart ass.” Martin licks his wide lips, catching a fleck of sauerkraut with his tongue. “Hand it over.”
Will passes the envelope over the table, watching Martin silently as he opens it, thumbing through the bills with greasy fingers.
Martin nods approvingly at the amount, then looks at him. “So how was it?”
“Fine.” Will shrugs.
“Nothing weird then?” Martin asks idly, taking a swig of beer. He looks Will over with open curiosity making Will’s skin crawl like something slithered over him in his sleep.
Why’s he asking that? Martin never asks. Sometimes he wants filthy details, particularly if he’s making Will suck him off, but this is just flat-out weird.
Will shakes his head. “No. Why?”
“No reason.” Martin drains the last of his beer and gets to his feet. He nods at Will. “Come on.”
“I have to go.” Will stands.
Martin just pushes at his shoulder and Will gives in, unwilling to make a scene, even here in a crappy bar with only the bartender and a few customers there to see. He follows Martin into the bathroom. It’s squalid, stinking to high heaven of smoke and god knows what else. Martin nudges him into the first stall and squeezes the door shut. It’s too close. Will’s backed up, his legs against the rim of the toilet. His stomach sinks as Martin unzips his pants.
“What was he like?” Martin asks.
“Alright.”
“That’s not an answer.” Martin nods at him. “Get on with it.”
There’s barely enough space to kneel, but Will manages it less than gracefully.
The last cock in his mouth was there because he wanted it. Will closes his eyes and goes back to that moment, thinking of the initial surprise on Hannibal’s face as Will went down on him. Yes, Hannibal had been intending something else, but he’d let Will continue. Let Will do what he wanted.
Had Hannibal known how much that mattered to him? Would it matter if he did?
Martin’s fingers tug at his hair and Will gags. He starts moving his dick harder, thrusting quickly into Will’s mouth.
Will braces his hands on either side of the stall as Martin just keeps fucking his mouth. It’s all he can do not to shove violently at the man just to get him away. He tries to focus, but there’s nothing to focus on. Hannibal’s faded into the shadows. Martin’s crotch, Martin’s trousers, Martin. Will chokes, helpless, tears leaking futilely from the corners of his eyes.
Martin finishes, and Will gulps it down, his throat raw and painful. If he vomits now, he knows what will happen.
Martin pulls out, his dick slapping wetly over Will’s lips. Will wrinkles his nose in disgust. He wipes his mouth as Martin refastens his pants and opens the door, stepping out into the bathroom. “Come out here.”
“What now?” Will gets to his feet.
“Let’s see.”
Will looks around the bathroom. Anyone could walk in and see them here. “No.”
Martin snaps his fingers at him. “I want to see what he did. Come on.”
“He didn’t do anything to me.”
“Fucking little liar, aren’t you?” Martin always moves quicker than Will thinks he can. The smack catches him across Will’s left cheek. “Lift your shirt.”
He doesn’t want to, but Will does, hands tense. Martin looks at his chest, studying his torso. “Those his marks?”
Will nods, holding himself stiffly as Martin leans in, hand over his chest invasively. Marks from clients have never been personal before, but these ones are. Hannibal didn’t leave a lot on him, but the ones he has Will wants desperately to keep covered. They belong to him, not under Martin's.
“Biter, huh?” Martin examines one, then twists Will’s nipple casually. “Did you scream when he bite you?”
“No.” Will says.
“You like screaming for me though.” Martin smirks. “Come on, let’s see the rest.”
Will bites his lip and unzips his jeans. He pushes them down just enough so that Martin can see his cock, but Martin tugs them down along with his boxers so his ass is bare.
“What happened there?” Martin nods at the bandage on his thigh.
“I cut myself.” The bite’s intimate in a way that nothing else is. Will keeps his hands by his side to keep from covering it from Martin’s eyes. It’s almost a relief when Martin cups Will’s ass instead, sliding his fingers between Will’s cheeks.
“Sure you’re not keeping anything back?” Martin asks.
“Why would I do that?” Will tries to sound bored. The trick to lying is to keep your gaze steady and act like it’s the dullest thing in the world.
“Bend over.”
Will does, resting his hands against his knees as Martin examines his ass. His heart thumps louder. Martin sticks his thumb in him, making Will jump as he wriggles it around.
“Nothing?”
“What exactly are you expecting to find up there?” Will inquires.
Martin responds with a smack across the ass. “Get your pants up.”
He washes his hands, whistling as Will does. “Thought you might be trying to keep that tip for yourself.”
“I told you. He didn’t tip me.” Will fastens his jeans. “Can I go?”
“Next time, you’re going to have to do better then, won’t you?” Martin says. “I’ll have a job for you next week. Come by Monday morning for the details.”
Will nods.
Martin goes back to his booth and Will walks out of the bar.
Outside, he ducks down the alley. His knees tremble, and he vomits, the taste of Martin choking his already painful throat. Will heaves until there’s nothing left, and then he wipes his mouth and leans back against the bricks, staring up at the dark city.
He can’t keep doing this. One of these days he’s not going to be able to hide the contempt he feels, or he’ll say something really stupid, and that’ll be it. Done.
Will takes a deep breath and heads back out on the sidewalk. For a moment, the hair on the back of his neck prickles like someone’s watching him from the shadows, but when he turns his head to look, there’s no one there.
* * *
The rest of the week passes gradually. Hannibal’s kept late at the office almost every afternoon. He finds no reason to hurry home.
After the weekly laundry on Thursday, his sheets no longer smell like Will.
The following weekend is long and empty. Hannibal spends Saturday making fricassee, and working out, but by Sunday he’s back in the office going over the delayed reports.
* * *
On Monday morning, Hannibal drinks his coffee and looks around his kitchen until his gaze comes to rest on the spot where Will knelt voluntarily, fingers nimble and sure on Hannibal’s zipper. He can still see the sensuous motion of Will’s throat as he took Hannibal in his mouth.
He rinses his mug out and sets it aside.
This isn’t working. Keeping Will for the weekend wasn’t the plan, but Hannibal adapted that and it worked.
So he’ll change the plan once again.
* * *
At five thirty, Hannibal leaves his office and drives to the auto shop, parking carefully down the street. He waits, gloved hands resting on the steering wheel.
Will leaves at a quarter after. He walks two blocks to the bus stop and rides the bus uptown to a hotel.
Hannibal follows him casually into the lobby. Will takes the elevator to the sixth floor and Hannibal follows in the next. When Hannibal steps off the elevator, he can see Will walking down to the end of the hallway. Hannibal moves to stand around the corner, watching as Will knocks on 623, and waits, hands shoved low in his pockets.
The door opens and Will steps inside.
Hannibal moves down the hall once more as the door closes.
The room next to the one Will enters is empty, fortunately. Hannibal enters it using the key card he borrowed from the maid’s cart left outside a room as she cleans.
There’s no sound from the room.
Hannibal opens the door to the balcony and checks the distance between them. Sliding over the one bordering this room to the next is only the work of a moment. The curtains are partly drawn. Hannibal glances in.
The client, an average looking man in his mid-forties, hands Will a handful of bills. Will tucks them away in his jacket pocket before taking it off. He reaches to take off his t-shirt but the man just grabs his head, pushing him to his knees.
Hannibal observes the systematic way Will works, avoiding looking up into the man’s eyes. The client pulls out before he’s done, dick still hard. He motions Will to get up. Will does, just looking at the floor. The client says something that Hannibal can’t catch and Will shrugs. He grabs Will by the back of the neck and shoves him towards the bed.
Will’s legs hit the mattress hard. The client presses him flat on his back, straddling him. He smacks Will across the mouth, then moves on to both cheeks. The blows are quick and routine as though he’s done this so often, he doesn’t even see the young man under him. The client does this for three minutes by Hannibal’s count until Will’s face is red and smarting. The man leaves him there and goes into the bathroom to piss. He leaves the door half open.
Will sits up gradually. He touches his face almost absentmindedly as he glances at the bathroom door. Then he leans over to stick his hand into the client’s jacket, drawing out the man’s wallet.
“Not smart, Will,” Hannibal murmurs.
Will extracts a fifty and adds it to the rest of the money in his own pocket then goes back to just waiting on the bed.
The client comes back out, naked, still hard. He gestures for Will to get undressed.
Will removes his clothes expressionlessly. Once he’s naked, the client pushes him flat on his back again. Will lies there as the client straddles his face this time, and then starts sucking him again, the client’s cock sliding rapidly in and out of his mouth. Then the client rolls him over. There's a bottle of lotion standing on the bedside table. The client slicks his finers pushing two of them into Will. He works Will open crudely and briefly, before entering him.
Hannibal watches Will, his hands flat on the bed, head facing the balcony. Hannibal draws back behind the curtain, but Will’s eyes are half-closed.
The client doesn’t take very long, balls slapping against Will’s ass. Once again he pulls out before he’s done, jacking himself off over Will’s back, until Will’s back is slathered in come. The client rolls over on his back and lies there on the bed, eyes closed. Will turns on his side, eying him for a second, and then slips into the bathroom, closing the door.
There’s a very short window of time here.
Hannibal makes his decision.
He ducks back inside the other hotel room and makes a quick call to the police. There seems to be a disturbance in the hotel room next door to me. I saw two men enter. It seemed…
He hangs up and goes back, easing along the balconies silently.
The client is still lying on the bed with his eyes closed. The shower’s running in the bathroom.
Hannibal eases the balcony door open and goes inside. He reaches for one of the pillows lying to the side of the client’s head.
The client opens his eyes then, blinking sleepily as Hannibal steps in front of him. “Who the f-”
Hannibal presses the pillow against his mouth, holding man down on the bed. The client’s arms flail in vain as the life leaves him. Hannibal lets him go limp on the bed and checks his pulse. He returns the pillow to where it was and slips back out on the balcony, closing the door behind him.
* * *
Will rinses his back off in the shower. For once he doesn’t care if the client just wants him to leave. He’s not going till he’s clean. When he’s done, he towels off quickly.
He takes a minute at the mirror, gingerly inspecting the damage. His cheeks ache, red from the slapping. His face will be swollen tomorrow. But all he has to do now is get dressed and go. He hangs the towel up.
Will opens the door and walks out.
The client is still lying there on the bed. Will glances at him as he reaches for his jeans and then freezes. The client’s not moving, just lying here. He…he looks dead. Shit. How the hell did that happen?
Will needs to get out of there, needs to run, but somehow his legs are frozen to the carpet. A drop of water runs down the back of his neck. Will shivers.
He’s still frozen when the police come through the door. He’s pushed to the carpet, hands cuffed behind his back as they read him his rights. The carpet smells damp beneath his face. His throat closes tightly and then he vomits there on the hotel floor as the police mill around him.
For all his dreams of death, Will knows he didn’t kill this man. But who’s gonna believe him?
* * *
The cell just reminds him of death. Will sits with his legs drawn up, resting his arms on them. The air is cold, and he can’t stop shivering. He’s not sure how long they bothered to question him, but it’s obvious they think he did it.
Will keeps his eyes closed. I was in the bathroom in the shower. I didn’t kill him. I did not kill that man.
He opens his eyes again. The question is, if he didn’t do it, who did?
* * *
The police hold Will for 24 hours, and then abruptly, without any explanation, they release him.
Will stands on the pavement outside the police station, rubbing at his arms, trying to warm up. The night air doesn’t help. Who the fuck would pay his bail? Who had that kind of money? Even if Martin had it to begin with, he wouldn’t bother.
He looks around and finally sees Hannibal’s car parked across the street.
Will hesitates, and then walks over to him.
Hannibal unlocks the door and Will gets in. He sits there for a few seconds, looking at his shoes, thinking how out of place they look against the floor of Hannibal’s car. Hannibal starts the car.
It’s only once they’re driving that Will asks the question that’s been circling endlessly in his head. “How did you know I’d been arrested?”
Hannibal glances at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep tabs on you?”
Will shrugs. “Is that normal? Do you do that with all the hookers you hire?”
“Not all of them.” Hannibal knows precisely where three of them are at this exact moment. They haven’t moved location in the last two years, but he doesn’t think Will would be comforted by the knowledge so he keeps it to himself.
“Where are we going?” Will phrases it like that so that he doesn’t have to ask “Where are you taking me?” Hannibal paid his bail. Will doesn’t know exactly how much money that took, but it had to be a fair amount. They were going to charge him with murder, and then they let him go.
The uneasy bile that’s been brewing in Will’s stomach churns again. “Can you pull over?”
Hannibal does, and Will’s barely got the door open before he vomits across the concrete. At this point there’s nothing left in his stomach to bring up. He retches again anyway, and straightens up, leaning back against the seat.
“Here.” Hannibal passes over a handkerchief. Will stares at it, feeling the crisp pressed linen against the skin of his palms before he finally wipes his mouth.
“To answer your question, I’m taking you home.” Hannibal says at last.
“Why?” Will folds the handkerchief over and balls it up in his hand, gripping it tight.
“Is there somewhere else you’d rather go?”
Will doesn’t have an answer for that obviously, so Hannibal drives on.
* * *
“Why don’t you take a shower?” Hannibal suggests once they reach the house.
Will just nods and goes upstairs. Hannibal waits until the sound of his footsteps have receded and then goes into the kitchen. Will’s stomach will take a while to settle. He sets aside his dinner preparations for now.
Will automatically showers in the master bathroom without thinking about it. His scalp aches from the questioning he endured. Nobody believed him, nobody wanted to believe him.
He sinks down in the shower, wrapping his arms around his knees.
So why the fuck had Hannibal bailed him out?
* * *
When he gets out of the shower, Will can’t put his clothes back on. He leaves them in a pile on the bathroom floor.
There’s a plain gray t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants set out on the bed. Will pulls them on. He doesn’t want to go downstairs either. It’s barely eight o’clock, but instead he curls up in Hannibal’s bed, pulling the blankets up over him.
* * *
Hannibal finds him there, curled up under the covers. He goes over to turn off the bedside lamp.
“Are you staying?” Will whispers.
“Do you want me to?”
Will nods. He watches as Hannibal undresses, pulling on his pajamas and getting under the blankets with him.
He doesn’t move closer to Hannibal automatically, but slowly his body drifts nearer until he’s nestled up against Hannibal’s back. At last he’s warm.
Hannibal turns out the light.
* * *
In the middle of the night Hannibal wakes to heat sheathing his cock. His fingers press against the sheets momentarily, and then his hand slinks down between his legs to grasp the head moving there. His fingers move over smooth skin, clasping a neck. Hannibal jerks it up automatically, only pausing when he hears a yelp.
Hannibal leans over to switch on the light and blinks. “Will.” He releases his grip on Will’s neck.
Will looks up at him, licking his lips. “What?” Somehow he looks even younger here, tangled in Hannibal’s sheets with his sleepy eyes and tousled hair.
Hannibal slumps back against the pillows, his cock sticking out through the front of his pajama trousers. “Why’re you doing that?”
Will sits up. “I wanted to say thank you for bailing me out.” He rubs his neck ruefully.
“You don’t have to thank me like that.” Hannibal tucks himself away.
“It’s the only thing I have.”
“That’s not true.” Hannibal says, only just managing to keep the annoyance from his tone.
“Really.” Will swings his legs over the side of the bed, flattening his palms against his thighs as he stares at the carpet. He glances at Hannibal over his shoulder. “You bailed me out for my witty conversation skills then?”
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
Will snorts. “No.”
Hannibal leans forward, resting his hand gently on the back of Will’s neck. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Will.” Hannibal traces his fingertips along the redness he can see there.
“It’s little sore. It’s not the end of the world.” Will shrugs. “It felt like you were going to break my neck.”
Hannibal’s fingers stiffen and then fall away. “Come downstairs. I’ll fix you something to eat.” He pulls his bathrobe on and goes.
Will sits there a moment longer before he can make himself leave the safety of Hannibal’s bed.
* * *
He watches Hannibal from the kitchen doorway, as he gets out the ingredients he has ready.
“Feeling better?” Hannibal inquires without looking up.
“A little.” Will moves to sit at the counter across from him. “Are you making jambalaya? At,” he turns to look at the clock on the wall, “one in the morning?”
“I thought you might like it.” Hannibal turns the stove on and looks at him. “Would it help to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Will rubs at his eyes. “I was with a client. Everything was perfectly normal. When I walked out of the bathroom, he was dead.”
“Perfectly normal.” Hannibal repeats thoughtfully.
“Yes. “
Hannibal leans across the counter, his fingers touching Will’s cheeks, still swollen after yesterday. “This is normal?”
Will starts to shake his head, but instead finds himself leaning in to that palm as Hannibal gently cups his face. He wants to sleep until this all goes away. No, what he really wants is to disappear.
“Will.”
Hannibal only breaks the hold to circle the counter. His hand returns to Will’s cheek as soon as he’s standing in front of him.
“Why did you keep tabs on me?” Will whispers. He can’t imagine anyone bothering to do that.
“I was curious.” With his other hand Hannibal gently threads his fingers through Will’s hair. “I find you fascinating.”
“Fascinating.” Will chuckles, but it half-strangles in his throat. “You’re not worried I’m a murderer?”
“No.” Hannibal says simply.
There’s not the slightest concern in his voice and Will cocks his head at that, glancing at Hannibal’s eyes briefly.
“Why not? You already know I’m a thief.” Why couldn’t he have killed the man? It’s not like he’s never been angry at clients. He was angry then as the man hit him. It wasn’t the blows themselves, but the manner in which the man took it for granted. He’d paid for it, so he had a right to visit violence upon Will’s body.
How could Hannibal be so certain Will hadn’t done it when Will could imagine it so very clearly?
“Just because you have the potential to kill doesn’t mean you act upon it.” Hannibal tells him. He strokes his knuckles along Will’s cheek. “You didn’t kill that man.”
“You can’t be sure of that.” Will starts to pull away. “Not unless.” He freezes and Hannibal’s hand in his hair tightens for a moment before moving away. The hand on his cheek remains.
“Unless what, Will?”
“Unless you know who did.” The fingers on his skin are cool and careful. Will shakes slightly as Hannibal grips his jaw. “Did you set this up?”
“Why would you ask that, Will?”
“How did you know I’d been arrested?” Will spits the words out. “Why would you waste all that money getting me out of jail? They were going to charge me with murder, and then they just dropped it.”
“Will.”
Will pulls out of his grip, sliding off the stool. He retreats halfway across the kitchen, torn between running to the hall, or the door behind Hannibal leading outside. Hannibal merely watches him as he goes to check on the stove.
Will’s head is pounding, as he tries to work it out. “Did you set me up?” He asks again. It’s the only thing he can think of, but why?
“What suggests to you that I would do such a thing?”
“Well, did you?” Will demands “Did you have me followed? Did you fucking set me up for murder so that you could just bring me home again?” It doesn’t make any sense. That’s what he can’t work out.
Hannibal considers, eying Will. “What if I did?”
“Jesus.” Will stares at him, sick with the idea that Hannibal, that anyone could just do that. His chest tightens and he thinks again of running. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to lose you.” Hannibal finds it surprising even as he says it. He’s never said anything like that to anyone. Never felt the slightest urge to keep anyone before Will. It’s unique.
It takes a second for this to sink in, and then Will laughs, a note of hysteria evident in his voice. “You could have just asked me to stay.” This isn’t happening. It has to be a dream.
Hannibal had thought of that, but it’s a little late now. “If I had, would you have stayed?” He walks around the counter towards Will.
“Maybe.” Will stands his ground as Hannibal approaches him. “I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t like being manipulated.”
Hannibal merely gazes at him, taking in Will’s ragged breath, the uncertainty and the fear in the hollows of his eyes. “You know I could keep you whether you wanted it or not.” He’s considered that too. That, Hannibal knows, would be easy enough.
“Is that supposed to turn me on?” Will snarls.
Hannibal smiles. “It already does.”
“Maybe, but I don’t like it.” Will starts past him.
Hannibal catches his wrist, pressing it back to his side. “It does, and you do like it. It’s just you don’t want to like it.” He holds Will there against the doorjamb, his other hand sliding inside Will’s pajama pants.
“I’m not arguing the point,” Will bites his lip as Hannibal’s fingers stroke over his cock. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you just going to keep me? Tied up in your house? Leashed to your desk like some stray dog you picked up by the side of road,” His breath catches as Hannibal’s fingers tighten on his cock.
Hannibal doesn’t ask if he’d like that, for which Will is grateful. He merely strokes his hand down Will’s cock again.
“What do you want, Will?” Hannibal murmurs.
“I want some space to think. I…” Will squeezes his eyes shut. Hannibal’s nails scrape the underside ever so lightly.
“Yes?”
Will opens his eyes, gazing directly at Hannibal. “I don’t want to lose myself.”
“I understand.” Hannibal’s nails scrape him again, and Will groans.
Will swallows. “Why?”
“I told you.” Hannibal cups him, loving the way Will tenses against his palm, the heat of his cock filling Hannibal’s hand.
“But why? Why would you go to that much effort?” Why kill the guy unless Hannibal didn’t want to leave Will any other option than to accept what he’s offering. “Is that it?”
“What?”
“I accept whatever offer you make me, or I get sent to prison for murder?” Hannibal’s hand tightens on him, but Will grits his teeth against the pain. “Is that why you had that man killed?” His eyes widen as he realizes, “Shit, no, it was you. You killed him and left me there to get caught.” Will stands there trapped in the doorway, Hannibal’s hand gripping him in place as Will stares at him.
“Why?”
“I didn’t like the way he touched you.” It’s not the question that Will’s really asking, but it’s the one Hannibal feels like answering.
“That’s creepily possessive.”
“Do you want to hit me, Will?” Hannibal asks, curious.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you?”
“You’re stronger than I am. It wouldn’t solve anything.”
“You’re right about that.” Hannibal nods and finally removes his hand. He steps back, allowing Will a measure of space.
Will leans his head against the doorjamb, watching him. “Now what?”
“Now we’re going to have a glass of wine and discuss this.” Hannibal goes past him, heading for the study. He doesn’t look back to see if Will follows.
Will looks at the front door, weighing his options of escape. He could get out, but then what? Where’s he gonna go next? He has his money stashed at the garage, but that’s all he has.
And he can’t help it. As fucked up as it is, for some reason, he wants to hear what Hannibal will say.
* * *
Hannibal has the wine ready when Will enters the study. He holds out a glass and Will accepts it.
Hannibal takes a sip. “You said you didn’t want to lose yourself, that you don’t like to be manipulated.”
Will waits, gripping the wine glass. He knows Hannibal could have put something in it, but why talk to him at all if he just intends to drug him?
“So I will offer you a choice.” Hannibal tells him. “You can remain here with me, or you can go. Whichever you choose, the murder charges will not be a concern. I give you my word upon that.” It was only a push to head Will in his direction. He doesn’t want Will in prison.
Will takes a sip of wine, letting it wet his tongue. The wine is expensive. He knows that much. Good wine, good food, good sex. It would be easy to stay. Yeah, and then there’s the little fact that Hannibal killed someone apparently just for the hell of it.
Will licks the wine from his lips. “How soon do I have to make up my mind?”
“Take as long as you like.” Hannibal goes to his desk. He opens a drawer and pulls out the envelope he placed there earlier in the week. He sets it in the middle of his desk.
“What’s that?”
“Five thousand dollars and an airline voucher that can be redeemed for a ticket to a location of your choice.” Hannibal reaches for his wine and drinks. “If you do decide to go, you should be able to go where you want.”
“Why would you do that?” All Will can do is stare at him, confused.
“Because I want to see what choice you make.” Hannibal sets his wine aside. He walks around the desk, going over to Will.
“The choice is yours.” He touches Will’s cheek for a moment. “But if you’re still here in the morning, I will assume that you decided to stay.” With that he leaves the room.
Will stands there, clutching his wineglass, staring at the envelope. It’s enough to go wherever he wants, enough to start over.
Or he could stay.
What would that be like?
Briefly, Will lets himself picture it. He could go upstairs, slip back into bed beside Hannibal. Tomorrow he’d wake there, and that life would start.
He can’t picture it beyond that initial moment of waking.
* * *
The lights are off in the bedroom. Hannibal lies there silently, listening to the sound of Will’s light footsteps on the carpet. They pause there in the middle of the room, and then they enter the bathroom. There’s the rustle of clothing, and then the footsteps retreat across the carpet, back down the stairs.
Hannibal releases the breath he’s been holding.
He hears the front door ease open, and then shut again, and he knows that Will is gone.
* * *
Hannibal keeps an eye on the voucher. For three days it’s not used, and then one afternoon, Hannibal checks it, and it’s done. Apparently Will decided upon Biloxi in the end.
Hannibal files that away with the memory of Will’s scent and the way he would catch at his lower lip with teeth as he came. He doesn’t have the carpet of his study cleaned right away, even though part of him wants to.
For now Hannibal relegates the memory of Will Graham to a folder in his mind simply marked Unfinished Business.
* * *
Biloxi – three months later.
Will swings down from the deck and reaches for the wrench he dropped earlier. The sun’s hot on the back of his neck and he wipes at the sweat absently as he works on the engine.
When it hits late afternoon, Will knocks off work and heads down the road. There’s a six-pack of beer waiting in his tiny apartment. He opens one, pressing the condensation against his forehead as he waits for the AC to kick in.
He doesn’t think much about Baltimore these days.
At night though, when Will strips down to his underwear to sleep in his hammock, the scar on his thigh inevitably catches his eye. Hannibal’s mark on his skin. More often than not Will falls asleep with his hand pressed against the scar.