Chapter Text
Will Graham is happy.
Two weeks on and the Verger-Blooms have gone: exit discreet, promises intact. Emiliano Otero, the cocaine-snorting hotel heir, is about to be arrested for possession with intent to distribute on the back of an anonymous tip (thank you, my love). And Hannibal's long-sought-after acquisition is finally on its way. Will just hopes he's not going to stick it in the middle of the foyer - the acoustics would be fabulous but he'd never be able to get away from the damned sound.
Another Sunday. Will wakes late, jumps in the shower, towels his hair dry and combs it back. Throws on faded jeans and a soft blue button down.
Wanders into the kitchen, jaw cracking on a yawn, looking forward to a lazy day. Hannibal's at the range, ridiculously gorgeous in black jeans and the red cashmere sweater Will loves. Will comes up behind him. Slides his arms around Hannibal's waist and presses his cheek against his back. 'Hey.'
'Hey yourself.' Half-turning, Hannibal claims a greedy kiss. Will sinks into it. Into him. The man he can't stop staring at, every day, wondering how they got here. How it is they're still alive, still together and, even more miraculous, still happy.
Halfway through breakfast, Rosita bustles in, red-cheeked and uncharacteristically flustered. She glances from Hannibal to Will and back again.
'It's here,' she says shortly.
Hannibal smirks. 'Excellent.'
'Really? You think so?' Doubt evident in her tone.
Will pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes flicking between the two of them. 'What's the problem?'
Instead of answering, Hannibal pushes back his chair, stands up and extends his hand. 'Come.'
Hand-in-hand they walk out to the entrance hall. As Will had predicted, Hannibal's acquisition has been placed squarely in the centre. As Will had predicted, the acoustics are impressive. However...
'That is not a harpsichord.'
Hannibal glances at him quizzically. 'Your powers of observation continue to astound me, Will.'
Hunkering down, Will stares into the dog crate at what appears to be an Australian Shepherd Golden Retriever mix puppy. Brindle coat, bright eyes.
'It looks like Winston,' he comments huskily, pressing one hand tentatively against the side of the crate. The puppy immediately scampers forward and attempts to lick Will's fingers through the bars.
'She does.'
Will glances up. 'How old is she?’
‘Thirteen weeks.’
You went looking for another Winston?'
'To a degree. That is, Rosita did, armed with specific search criteria.' There's an irresistible note of mischief in Hannibal's voice as he adds, 'I have named her Encephalitis.'
'The hell you have.' But Will's voice remains soft and he smiles widely at the wriggling fluff ball as she tries frantically to dig her way out. 'Hello, Encephalitis. Hello, Ceph.'
They install her in the utility room off the kitchen. It's large, airy and leads out into a high-walled courtyard. Despite all her tsking and head-shaking, Rosita has organised this down to the last detail, from gourmet puppy food and toilet pads to a raised bed and numerous chew toys.
After an hour of enthusiastic sniffing, exploring and play, the puppy's showing signs of flagging, so Will pops her back in the crate.
'Let's leave her to sleep for a couple of hours. Puppies need a lot of rest and she's probably stressed out from the journey.' Clambers to his feet and addresses their housekeeper, who's eyeing the crate dubiously. 'Rosita, are you sure she won't be too much of a nuisance down here?'
Rosita snorts. 'Nuisance, yes. No question. But she can't be more trouble than this one, yes?'
'Oh, definitely not.' Straight-faced, ignoring Hannibal's derisory huff as together they start clearing away the remains of breakfast.
They take fresh cups of coffee up to the second floor sitting room, an odd silence filling the spaces between them as each gravitates to his favourite spot, Hannibal stretching out on the couch, Will standing by the window. Morning sunshine streams in, crisp and bright. Will enjoys its enveloping warmth as he takes cautious sips of the hot, bitter liquid.
'You're very quiet. Did I do the wrong thing?'
Turns to find Hannibal eyeing him speculatively. He tilts his head, considering. 'Not wrong. Just - unexpected.'
'You would prefer predictability?'
A slight smile. 'Hannibal, the last thing you could ever be is predictable. And that's fine.'
'But?'
'There has to be a 'but'?'
'There usually is.'
'Seems I'm the predictable one,' Will drawls.
He strolls around the couch and perches on the arm. Immediately finds himself snared by a possessive arm and settles into its familiar, comforting weight.
'I just want to make sure this isn't another attempt at teacup-mending.' Cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair, touch gentle, eyes tender. 'Not that I have any objection to a dash of cosy domesticity, but it's not necessary to try to replicate anything from before. We should be looking forward, not back.'
The arm around his middle tightens. 'And when you look ahead, what is it you see for us?'
Church bells, confetti and Hannibal standing at the foot of an altar in a pale suit...
Will blinks. 'This. Us. Keeping our heads down. For a while, anyway.'
'And afterwards? When cosy domesticity begins to pall?'
'Hard to imagine.' Tugs gently at the strands caught between his fingers, tilting Hannibal's head back, and bends to drop one kiss, then another, on lips already softened in anticipation. 'But I seem to recall something about a bloody rampage across South America, raising holy hell.'
Hannibal's eyes gleam. 'Something to look forward to.'
Hunger rises between them. Languid kisses turn needy, tongues slipping between parted lips, hands groping and fondling.
A short trip from the couch to their bedroom, stumbling and whispering like recalcitrant teens, mindful of Rosita's presence in the house.
And then Hannibal's mouth is pressed against Will's, body pinning him to the bed as he's slowly stripped, and the laughter stops, replaced by heat and urgency and rapturous pleasure. And soon all Will cares about is Hannibal's tongue, licking his sensitive nipples to glistening red peaks, and Hannibal's hands, stroking his thighs and ass and stomach, and Hannibal's swollen cock, sliding in and out of him. Slowly, so slowly, then fast and hard as Will pleads and pants and moans for more, now, fuck. He squeezes around it, delighting in Hannibal’s sweetly responsive groans, feeling his heart swell with love for the man he left everything to follow.
He wants to scream it aloud but instead, as they cling together in the afterglow, Will chokes it out in harsh, shuddering breaths against Hannibal's neck.
'I love you. I love you. Oh god, how I love you.'
Afterwards, they doze in each other's arms until lunch. Then another hour with Ceph, introducing her to the joys of the courtyard and a meal that Will insists on preparing from scratch, raiding the fridge for fresh cuts of meat as a bemused Rosita boxes up the gourmet puppy food for donation to the local dog shelter. Hannibal's amusement is palpable.
Later, the puppy safely stowed in her pen, they shrug on lightweight jackets and take a stroll around the neighbourhood. It's unseasonably warm, lines of stout feather palm trees baubled with gaudy clusters of orange fruit offering intermittent shade.
The streets are quiet, and when the back of Hannibal's hand brushes tentatively against his, Will threads their fingers together. Feels Hannibal's eyes on his face, a question lurking in their maroon depths.
'What is it?'
'Alana and Margot.'
'They're gone.'
'Yes. There is still a chance, however, of them betraying us. Our situation has been compromised and that is unacceptable.'
Will tightens his grip.
'What are you suggesting? A change of address?' After all his bitching about the square footage of their uber-luxurious mansion, Will feels a ridiculous pang at the thought of leaving. Here they became a family. Here they created a home.
'A change of country.'
'Wait, what?' Coming to an abrupt stop, Will searches Hannibal's face. 'Don't you think you're over-reacting?'
Hannibal's expression remains impassive. 'Not at all. I have merely re-evaluated my priorities in light of recent developments.'
Despite the consternation bubbling up inside, Will feels a tugging warmth. 'You mean you don't want to lose me now that we're... involved. Not,' he adds wryly, half to himself, 'that we were ever really not involved.'
A faint blush tinges Hannibal's cheeks. 'Perhaps.'
'Hm.' Stepping closer, Will slips his free hand beneath Hannibal's tan jacket to rest possessively on his waist. 'Okay, I admit there's a possibility the Verger-Blooms might decide to send Jack our way. So… where do you think we should go?'
Hannibal makes a small, pleased sound and nuzzles into Will's hair. 'Somewhere with no extradition to the US.'
'Even if it means narrowing your options when it comes to your beloved art and culture?'
Teasing, affectionate, Will tilts his face up in invitation, pulse quickening as Hannibal immediately dips his head, lips seeking his in soft exploration. They share a lingering kiss, tongues stroking languidly, bodies barely touching. When they part to breathe, they resume their slow stroll and the thread of conversation, fingers still entwined.
'Even so, although as it happens such a sacrifice will not be necessary. I have a house in Cuba.'
'Dare I ask how many bedrooms?'
'Only three. And four bathrooms.'
'How restrained of you.'
Hannibal's deep chuckle prompts an answering grin. Will can't remember ever having been this happy. It elates him and pisses him off in equal measure.
So much wasted time. So much pain in futile resistance. When I was Hannibal's all along.
At the northern intersection of the Avenida Alvear, they take a right turn onto the Plaza San Martin de Tours, a small park consisting of grassy slopes surrounded by a myriad of dusty paths, over which loom a tangled canopy of gnarled gum trees.
Tugging Hannibal down onto a slatted wooden bench overlooking the central green, Will leans back and closes his eyes. 'Mm. Beautiful day.'
'We can't stay long,' Hannibal warns. 'Your puppy will soon be requiring attention again.'
'Your idea, your puppy,' Will counters dryly, adding with a quiet snort, 'Encephalitis.'
'It seemed appropriate.'
'Bastard.' A reproachful growl but lacking in bite. He feels the gentle squeeze of Hannibal's fingers and returns the gesture before their hands separate.
'You have forgiven me for that.' Part statement, part question. The faintest trace of lingering uncertainty. But there's no need.
'For that, for all. Turns out the secret to a successful relationship is communication.' Eyes still shut, face turned upward, enjoying the mellow caress of autumn sunshine, Will recites, 'I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end.'
'As easy as that?'
He huffs a laugh. 'Nothing easy about you and I, Doctor. Not even remotely. But it seems that over time the parameters of my tolerance... widened. The fact that I was in love with you probably had something to do with it. Besides, who holds the devil, let him hold him well, right?'
A kiss, gentle against his temple. 'Remarkable boy.' The slight tremor in Hannibal's voice should warn him but Will is totally unprepared for what follows, eyes flying open in shock as two words are whispered against his skin. 'Marry me.'
Jerks his head around and stares at Hannibal, who returns his gaze with eyes shining, diamond bright.
'I was content to navigate this world alone, Will. Until you found me. Even when you didn't know all that I was, you knew me. Saw me. I know I will never find your equal. I know I will never love another. I love you, Will. And I want you to be mine. Always.'
Will's throat constricts and he swallows hard. Brings his hands up to cup Hannibal's face, leaning in until their lips are almost touching.
'I am yours,' he affirms huskily. 'That was a done deal a long time ago.'
As Hannibal raises a hand to trace the faded scar on Will's cheek, his fingers are trembling.
'Is that a yes?'
With infinite gentleness, Will inches forward. Rests his forehead against Hannibal's and hums against the curve of that beautiful mouth, tensed as he awaits Will's answer.
'Murder Husbands? Freddie Lounds would have a field day.' He pulls back slightly, meeting Hannibal's anxious gaze. Grins. 'Sounds like fun.'
A split second to register fierce adoration and relief blazing in dark eyes before his lips are claimed in a searing kiss. Wraps his arms tightly around Hannibal's waist and opens his mouth beneath his, surrendering to the aching beauty of the moment. Surrendering to Hannibal. To them.
We.
Us.
Always.
