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It started with little things, Will making his usual observations and assuming he was reading too much into them. He did that subconsciously in any situation but crime scenes, each social cue and personal detail turned over so carefully that his handling let fragments rub off and slip through the cracks. Between decades of practice, empathy, study, and shame-soaked self discipline, reading people came to him almost naturally, but from the moment Dr. Lecter turned to face him in Jack’s office, Will Graham was officially puzzled. Lecter resembled a floor of polished marble: clean and solid, laced with subtle flashes of flair and vaguely reflecting everything around him. This would make him hard to capture in paint, thus hard to perceive.
“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” he coaxed, fingers flexing gently on his cup of office coffee. The stuff tasted like dishwater, and Will noted that he only pretended to sip.
The comment wormed its way through Will’s defenses, blatantly securing itself beneath the mask where it had no right to be. Fucking psychiatrists. Resentment flared up and pushed Will to force it, meeting Lecter’s eyes just to defy him. Of course, this zapped his own attention and he barely heard himself ramble about hepatitis.
Lecter smirked and looked Will up and down, breaking eye contact himself and offering Will a brief spark of victory. Will called Jack over in an attempt to get out of this, but Jack was… suspiciously quiet.
“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”
Will glared at him through this, trying to calm his heart as it picked up speed. Nobody could see him; it just wasn’t safe. He’d learned long ago that anger drove people away faster than desperate, performative manners.
“Whose profile are you working on?” He turned to scold Jack. “Whose profile is he working on!”
Lecter shuffled in his seat and returned to the coffee, glancing off into a corner as his foot swung at the ankle. “I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.”
Will considered this beneath his barely-contained panic. We? Psychiatrists? No, it felt personal, like Lecter saw camaraderie with Will in particular. Will studied how he didn’t quite sit perfectly still, fiddling with his thumbs in his lap despite being the epitome of grace and poise. What couldn’t he shut off?
Suddenly exhausted, Will sighed to himself. Neurotypicals stimmed too, all the time in fact; there was no point in getting his hopes up that someone might understand him.
“Please don’t psychoanalyze me,” he sneered, luring that vulnerable thing back into its box. He excused himself with more snarky comments and rushed outside into open air, free of bland walls that spat some inexplicable buzzing noise.
. . .
As luck —or lack thereof— would have it, Will had not seen the last of Dr. Lecter. He showed up at Will’s motel room not two days later, bearing delicious food and seemingly the best of intentions. It felt natural to laugh with him, to let his hands move as he spoke, and he collected those unique microexpressions to replay and assess later. Though he offered no greater reply than a glance, he stuck on Lecter’s reference to “the mathematics of human behavior. All those ugly variables.” It was such a specific perspective; who would refer to socialization that way without having experienced it? Perhaps this was someone who wouldn’t want to fix him or study him. Will genuinely tried not to find him interesting, but… dammit, he was starting to hyperfixate on the man.
As their appointments went on, Will fastidiously catalogued every noticeable trait and shred of evidence to back up his theory. Hannibal didn’t always give him much to work with, being incredibly skilled at masking, but with Will’s knowledge, awareness, and certain mutual habits it was blindingly obvious. Hannibal worked discussions of literature and mythology into nearly every topic, even when some would deem it inappropriate, and he used complex and formal language to make even the simplest points. If Will came in overwhelmed and debilitated by a case, his increasing nightmares, or just daily life, then Hannibal would sit him down and go on about cooking or floriography until Will felt grounded and safe again. It was nice to listen without thinking, without the pressure of having to process and respond.
Hannibal had a particular spot for everything on his desk and shelves, and while Will tried to be considerate and leave well enough alone, he found himself fiddling with ribbon bookmarks and knick knacks as he paced. Hannibal never once complained or asked him to stop, even though Will could sense his discomfort and ended up sitting on his own hands to prevent it.
“Will,” Hannibal finally chided one day. “Don’t do that. Please.”
It was shortly after the Angel Maker died, and Will was particularly strung out. He’d begun to consider that the field took too much of a toll on him. He had to scream himself out of overload every evening after work, only to sink right back into nightmares.
“Sorry, Doctor Lecter.” He squeezed his eyes shut, slouching back in his chair and tugging his curls. “I know you don’t like when I touch your things. I’m really trying to stop, I promise.
“Will, I would never put a stop to anything that comforts you. You are enduring extreme stress and trauma on a daily basis, and such small self-regulatory behaviours are your last line of defence. I also never want to see you hide who you are, so I request that you stop sitting on your hands.”
Will took a deep breath and slowly freed his hands as instructed, letting them sway at the wrist and tap on his armrests. He and Hannibal both sat in the same chairs every week, now familiar with the sight and feel of each other from parallel angles.
Hannibal smiled. “Thank you, Will.”
“So, you know I’m autistic, then.”
“I’m a well-educated and experienced psychiatrist, yes.”
Will chuckled and looked away, running his hands down his face. “It feels good to just get it out there. I’ve never felt like you were judging me.”
“I’m honoured that you’re comfortable around me. It means more than you know.”
“I want to know.” Will gave him an opening. He longed to just ask, but what if Hannibal didn’t know? Looking at others is not the same as looking at oneself, even for a well-educated and experienced psychiatrist. Was it acceptable to ambush someone with such a drastic potential shift in their sense of self? He resolved to let Hannibal open up when he was ready.
Hannibal turned his head to the side, expression settled in that sweetly passive canvas of thought. Firelight cast him in gold, and he sighed. He always licked his lips when pleased or deep in thought.
“Rarely have I felt so connected to someone,” he offered. “To serve as your anchor through the storm fulfils me as much as I hope it benefits you.”
Will sighed, accepting the cryptic half-answer with a smile and a sip of wine.
. . .
Several weeks later, Will sat with Abigail in the early swell of a storm. Cassie Boyle lay gutted before them and Abigail called him “Dad.” Garrett Jacob Hobbs leered over his shoulder, always walking just a few inches behind with the sour stench of decay dragging on his breath. At least it reminded Will that his unwelcome shadow was dead and buried.
“Will? Will? Will…”
He dragged himself out of the dream to find Hannibal approaching his desk.
“I have a twenty-four hour cancellation policy,” his friend said flatly.
Will blinked himself fully awake, awash in guilt. He had glimpsed Hannibal’s careful schedules and calendars, and now he’d messed it all up.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly nine-o’clock.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No apology necessary, though I’m concerned at being the only one who thinks to check on you.”
“I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“Having a better understanding of why people do what they do doesn’t make it any easier to socialize.”
Will’s heart stuttered. “Is it easy for you?”
“I cope.”
Hannibal promptly changed the subject, studying Will’s crime scene photos and pulling him into another talk about killers and death. Will just wanted to go home with him and do things he hadn’t dared to enact in daydreams. Instead, they spent a long evening tracking Devon Silvestri to his impromptu operating room.
Surrounded by a dozen guns cocked to fire, Hannibal stepped easily into the ambulance. He slipped his hand into the victim’s wound like he had a thousand times before, donning a look of breathless awe as he whispered, “I’ve got it.”
Will stood utterly still but couldn’t stop himself from trembling, and their eyes locked for a long moment. It rarely occurred to him to think of Hannibal beyond his office, safe and familiar where Will could only see what he wanted to see. Out here where it was dark and cold, Hannibal shed his tailored jacket and reached for the blood. Seeming indifferent to danger was, in fact, yet another autistic trait… but this time something buried much deeper in Will saw its mirror and began to purr.
. . .
The next evening, Will settled in at home with chips and some old movies, crossing even his toes in the hopes that Jack wouldn’t call on him. Even serial killers had to take breaks sometimes , right? He settled on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off , a comfort film he’d seen thirty seven times since he was fourteen. Just as they got around to stealing the Ferrari, Will’s phone rang with the sound he’d set just for Hannibal. Dr. Lecter. This way, he never got worked up thinking it was Jack and then ruined a conversation with his… therapist. Therapist.
He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Will?” Hannibal’s weak voice faded in and out surrounded by the background noise of a kitchen. It sounded like several people were milling about and cooking. Will closed his eyes and covered one ear.
“Dr. Lecter, are you okay?”
He could hear Hannibal swallow, and his uncharacteristically reedy voice wavered as if to contain himself. “Will, I appreciate you answering. I hate to ask at the last minute, but do you have experience repairing appliances? I’m throwing a party this evening, my refrigerator won’t stop making a god awful noise, and the service I usually employ is unavailable until tomorrow.”
Will launched himself off the couch, shrugging his jacket on and leaving the TV paused. “I can fix all kinds of things,” he assured.
He could feel Hannibal’s relief in waves through the phone. “I would be so grateful if you could come and assist. Can you make it in time? I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Don’t worry about it. On my way.”
“Thank you so much, Will. Just come in when you arrive.”
The drive was much too long for Will’s liking, but he made it to Hannibal’s rather excessive home in under two hours. He ventured inside and a half dozen different scents immediately assaulted him: meat, spices, humid steam, warm carbohydrates, etcetera. They were all pleasant, even mouth-watering, but it was certainly… a lot. The hustle and bustle of hired assistant chefs guided him into the kitchen, on high alert and focusing straight ahead to avoid absorbing all the richly stimulating decor. The deep, lavish colours felt like a gentle balm on his skin, but combined with the scents it would be too much and he had to focus on helping Hannibal.
The kitchen was just as busy as it sounded, several people in white navigating around each other with half-completed dishes and ingredients. It was a large, professional looking space, flourishing with life and potential yet heavy under its own weight. The fridge was hammering out a loud, ongoing buzz that threatened to trip on noisy footsteps and the clattering of cookware and voices. All of it lay balanced on the edge of shattering, and the staff seemed completely unaware.
In the middle of it all, Hannibal was dressed in salmon pink and charcoal with his hair carefully styled, but he lacked his usual flair as he chopped vibrant bell peppers. This small task was taking every ounce of his focus, unlike the grandiose playfulness when he and Will were alone.
Hannibal looked up and met his eyes for a moment, sagging in relief before wiping his hands and hurrying to usher him away. Down the hall, they paused and Hannibal leaned on a wall, tapping his hands against it as he stared at the ceiling. Will’s heart linked to his like braided chains, forging delicate sculpted tethers that glowed with golden heat. He could see Hannibal frantically picking through the thoughts, feelings, and sensations clashing against one another, heaving battle cries like gladiators trapped in a colosseum.
“You’ve got a lot going on here, Doctor,” Will murmured with all the compassion he could project.
Hannibal nodded.
Will continued with no demand for reciprocity. “You prefer having your kitchen to yourself, don’t you? They’re all throwing off your rhythm.”
Another nod.
“It’s okay to need a bit of help, Hannibal, but I don’t think sous chefs are the help you need. When was the last time you took a day just for yourself? No appointments or social calls, no events, no errands. This stuff adds up, and I don’t know how you manage it all. Do you ever sleep?”
Hannibal blinked slowly, eyes drifting over a painting behind Will’s shoulder.
“You can always reschedule. You shouldn’t put yourself through this if you aren’t even going to enjoy the result.”
Now Hannibal looked horrified, and he opened his mouth but it took a moment for words to emerge. He stared at Will’s shirt collar and his eyes welled up.
“I’ve been planning this event for weeks! Sixty-four guests are preparing to arrive at this very moment, and it will tarnish my reputation to disappoint them.”
Will was patient. “You think the party will be any fun if you’re fighting back a meltdown? If they have an ounce of sense, they’ll understand. If they don’t have an ounce of sense, then they aren’t worth going to all this trouble for.”
Hannibal paused at that, and Will tentatively set his fingertips on his well-pressed sleeve. He tried to convey how much he understood despite struggling to understand. While Will needed many things done in a consistent way, he’d never been particular about timing and schedules like Hannibal; he’d never had the luxury of anticipating the next day as he was moved between boatyards, motels, crappy apartments, and a pickup truck. Instead, he’d created a routine within himself, dependably crafting someone who wouldn’t crumble. Each morning he put the mask on, tossed himself into the storm, then wilted into bed to fight for sleep. Rinse and repeat. Teaching was supposed to be simple, timetables to follow and formatted essays to grade, but consulting followed the warped clock of death.
Hannibal, on the other hand, planned each hour of the month down to the letter and executed it all without issue. Utmost control of his life kept him safe from anything that poked and prodded while he was alone and undistracted, but that planning could take just as much work as troubleshooting surprises. He juggled and balanced with a dozen patients relying on him, countless acquaintances to entertain, events to attend out of hollow social obligation, Jack calling out of the blue to make shameless use of his beautiful mind… Did Hannibal have anyone to truly call a friend? A friend who understood him and pursued his best interests? Will was a textbook introvert, but Hannibal thrived on socializing while viewing it as an academic exercise.
The DSM-V would call Hannibal and Will “inflexible” and “restricted,” but they were among the most adaptable people out there. They had to be, contorting to fit the world at their own expense and surviving each little thing that pummelled and tore at their armour.
Tonight, Hannibal’s shoulders sagged against the wall and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. When he opened them, he looked resigned as they wandered about the room. His breathing came more quickly, but he knew Will was right.
Will smiled gently. “How about we cancel this thing, send the staff home, and I’ll see about fixing your fridge, okay?”
Hannibal beckoned Will to follow him into the living room. There, he found his phone and scrolled through to find a contact, then pointedly held it to his own ear and handed it over.
Will’s face warmed with blush, coupled with sudden gut-churning anxiety. “Only for you,” he joked and took the phone. After a few moments of rehearsing a story in his head, he dialed and a bubbly, trilling voice picked up.
“Hannibal! What a coincidence. Gregory and I are just about ready to head your way. Something you need, doll? Wine? Flowers?”
Will cleared his throat and did his best to sound kind. “Is this Eleanor Komeda? I’m a friend of Hannibal’s and–”
“Heavens! Is he alright?”
“Yes, but… he’s come down with an unexpected flu and has to cancel the party?”
“Oh, poor thing! It must be truly awful. I haven’t seen Hannibal Lecter with so much as a sniffle in fifteen years.”
“Heh, yeah. I was hoping you could contact the other invitees and let them know. He’s not feeling up to calling everyone.”
“Of course, I can! Tell him not to worry about a thing. Thank you for letting me know.”
A moment passed. Will knew he was supposed to go on and on with thanks and well-wishes, but he really couldn’t be bothered. To her credit and Will’s gratitude, Eleanor truly did seem nice. Hannibal had her on his side at the very least.
“So, you’re Hannibal’s friend , hmm?” she poked with a saucy lilt.
“Heh, yeah. Thanks again. Bye.”
He hung up and turned to Hannibal. He had sunk into the couch, face pressed into some throw pillows along its back with his hands opening and closing by his ears. He couldn’t see his face, but Hannibal’s shoulders and chest stumbled with silent sobs.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Will soothed. “I’m proud of you.”
Hannibal didn’t respond, so Will stood and turned off any nearby lights, then ventured into the kitchen where he dismissed the confused staff and told them to clean up without wasting food. Something told him that Hannibal would grieve and resent wasted food. Once they were gone, he tinkered with the fridge for a while and found its fan clogged with dust. The godawful noise drilled into him as he worked, and he clenched his teeth wishing he’d thought to bring his headphones. Cleaning the fan brought a great deal of reprieve, and for good measure he snooped around the garage, found some thick rubber mats, and slipped them under the fridge to muffle it.
In the silent, empty kitchen, Will took a deep breath and realized how much this cozy den of a house felt like home. It was absurd; he’d only known Hannibal a few months.
Hannibal was not in the living room when he returned, and Will considered leaving, but those smouldering chain links tightened around his heart and he had to check on him. Venturing upstairs, he caught the scents of sweet floral bath products and warm steam. It was a truly lovely smell, just subtle enough to be the right kind of stimulating. A quiet murmuring could be heard, Hannibal making “ pshpshpsh ” sounds to himself with his lips.
“Hannibal?” Will crept into the bedroom and approached the ensuite, its door left open a few inches to let candle light peek through.
“Mmhm?”
“I’m going to head home now. If you don’t need anything else.”
“Wait,” he called, soft but sure. “Please come.”
Did he mean…
Will nudged the door a bit and waited for any signal to stop, but he didn’t get one. He pushed it open and slipped inside, eyes fixed on the beautiful tile wall beside the huge tub. It was the kind of thing that likely had multiple jacuzzi settings and colour-changing lights. Hannibal was submerged in thick, warm bubbles, head tipped and lax on a bath-specific pillow. On a tidy set of shelves stood his extensive collection of scented products all arranged by type, brand, and size, from luxury hair pomade and spiced colognes to sugar cookie hand sanitizer and the lavender bubble bath he was using. A heady rush of affection bowled Will over.
“I’m sorry about your party,” he murmured. “Are you feeling any better?”
Hannibal took a breath, testing if words might reveal themselves, then smiled sleepily. “A bit. Thank you.”
Will felt like they were sharing some sacred confession as he fell to a whisper. “I know how much it sucks to feel like that.”
“I know.”
Will finally allowed himself to grin. “Fridge is fixed. The fan was clogged with dust.”
“You are a miracle worker, Will. Truly.”
They shared a laugh, and Hannibal looked soft and peaceful. A moment passed in silence and Will fought to avoid touching him, sweeping his hair back or kissing bruises onto pouty lips.
“So, why all this?” Will asked, nodding to the shelves.
“Hyperosmia. I have a very sensitive nose.”
“Ah.” Will added it to the list despite having his theory confirmed. It had become a habit, and now he only wanted to know Hannibal more .
“You are welcome to my guest room,” he offered.
Will blinked. “Are… are you sure? I’d appreciate that.”
The dogs would be fine overnight; he’d fed and exercised them shortly before he left, and he truly didn’t want to leave.
Hannibal grinned. The words were laborious but earnest, fading out. “Second door on your left. You’ll find anything you need.”
Will stood slowly and backed away. “Goodnight, then.”
Hannibal just hummed in assent and closed his eyes as Will fled down the hall, heart racing and tripping over itself. He was falling in love so shockingly hard, and he had no idea what to do.
. . .
Will thrashed in a pool of sweat as encephalitic nightmares reigned and conquered. His shirt and boxers clung to drowning skin, the heavy down duvet long since kicked aside. Hannibal stood by the wall and watched him for about forty-five minutes, fingers flickering absent rhythms against his lips in eager curiosity. It was hardly polite to let Will lie there and suffer after he’d been so kind; here was finally someone who truly understood him, a mind and soul like his, and Hannibal was letting it burn.
Was it out of fear? The ordeal of being seen balanced on more than a shared neurotype and burgeoning romantic chemistry, after all. He couldn’t let it all go to waste in a world where Will rejected his darker secrets. Yet, tonight had been all Hannibal ever wanted, and it had taken a near meltdown for him to realize. He’d batted his lashes and craved a kiss while Will hovered over him like a sweet, thoughtful god.
All of this uprooted Hannibal’s sense of self, leaving him to tumble in the tumultuous tsunami of an uncertain future. He was becoming distracted and volatile.
Tonight, he had miscalculated that the fun of forging unwitting accomplices would outweigh his social and sensory limits. In the future, his kitchen would be strictly his. His and Will’s? Was the risk worth it for someone to cradle him in a warm bath and graciously prod his boundaries? Hannibal did not like to expose his limits and frayed nerves, but it seemed they were on the right track; Will empathized with him and sought to please.
Oh, Will was divinely beautiful in his suffering, head thrown back, plush lips apart and shaking with gasping cries. His naked limbs twitched and curled, seeking refuge in someone to clutch and finding nothing. Hannibal couldn’t bear to see it come to an end… but there were other ways of provoking a similar reaction.
It took a while of planning and reworking some things, but Hannibal settled on a decision.
. . .
Waking up to find Hannibal curled neatly beside him in bed, shirtless and pliant in sleep, made Will freeze in a panic the same way one avoids disturbing a cat on their chest. Hannibal lazily blinked himself awake regardless, and Will could practically see his synapses firing to light up honey-coloured eyes.
“Good morning, Will. How was your sleep?”
Will scratched through his own hair and shuffled, embarrassed that Hannibal had probably seen him sweating. He probably smelled awful.
“I, uh, haven’t been sleeping well,” he admitted. “You know that.”
Hannibal nodded and echoed, “No forts in your skull. There are holes in the floor of the mind where you cannot safely wander anymore.”
After a moment of hesitation, Will nodded.
Hannibal went on. “Thank you for your help last night. There are no others I would have wanted to call.”
“I’m glad you did,” Will replied. “Why are you in my bed?”
“Well, it’s mine. Technically. I enjoy being around you. If I’ve intruded, I apologize.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’d like to have sex with you, if you’re keen.”
Will’s mouth gaped open for a solid minute, then closed again and he nodded. The boundaries between the two of them often blurred and confused him, pressing from inside and out, dynamic like a shoreline. Hannibal leaned over in a single fluid motion and caged Will against his pillow, kissing him slowly with sweet, grateful desperation.
Sensation hit him in the chest, back bowing automatically to keep it close. Will breathed a startled “ Oh… ” through hitched gasps until he settled down and let himself feel it. His hand reached to curl through ashen hair, mouth flushed and open so Hannibal could trace the ridges of his teeth. Then Hannibal grinned, wicked as he grabbed Will’s hair in return, ducked down to his throat and laid a sloppy, playful kiss in its hollow. The fragile skin there lay flushed but cool and wet once he pulled away, and Will trembled through waves of goosebumps and quiet murmurs of nonsense.
“Oh… Hannibal, god, Hannibal, I…”
“Please don’t feel obligated to speak,” he soothed. “Tap my shoulder three times if at any point you want me to stop.”
Will didn’t, simply staring up at him in eager awe, eyes huge and needy. Hannibal leaned over him with his hands braced beside Will’s shoulders, limbs loose and limber, poised and ready to pounce.
He grinned and purred, “How do you like to be touched?”
“Oh, god…”
“I’d love for you to show me, darling.”
Will took Hannibal’s wrist and guided him to lay warm, lightly calloused palms on his side, splayed over trembling ribs with a thumb just brushing his nipple. Delighted, Hannibal licked his lips and lowered his eyes to caress and massage Will’s torso, drawing it out long enough to earn his ticket to Hell. Will wore only some thin blue pajama pants he’d found in the dresser, and the material was softer than anything he’d ever touched; he would even lament removing them if it weren’t for how his cock strained them unbearably and left nothing to the imagination. A glimpse of the wide, damp patch he was leaving made him blush red and hot, and he bit his tongue hard enough to hurt.
Eventually, Hannibal dipped down to his hips, lightly took the waistband in his teeth, and dragged them down until Will’s bare cock brushed his cheekbone. He ignored it, arching to kiss thighs that spread like fire on parchment. Will whimpered and groaned, eyes fluttering open and shut without focusing anywhere in particular.
Hannibal trailed a fingertip down Will’s jaw. “Remarkable thing, I’ve barely begun with you.”
Will grabbed his own hair and pulled since Hannibal had let go, only to push his legs far enough apart to burn. The noises Will made felt torn from him as Hannibal hummed in pleasure, that questing mouth nuzzling his balls and quickly getting him soaked. Every twitch of his tongue shot up Will’s back like a flood of boiling water. Will tapped Hannibal’s shoulder and he paused.
“Just… mhn… tell me…”
Hannibal understood. “I’d like to open you up for me. With my mouth.”
Will nodded frantically with a whine. Hannibal grinned proudly at that and began to taunt him with more open-mouthed kisses to his navel and inner thighs. A quick, hot tongue scalded the most sensitive places as if he knew exactly where they were, and hell, he was a doctor so he probably did. Will watched in fascination as Hannibal’s half-closed lashes fluttered, concentration and pleasure prompting him to suckle on flushed pink skin.
“Oh, Will, how receptive you are… No one could ever connect with you enough to give you what you need, could they?”
“Mhm…”
“All of your previous partners did too much or not enough, rough or bland, and you ended up attuned to their pleasure at the expense of your own.”
Will grinned. Hannibal seemed to be reading his mind, which scared him as much as delighted him. Finally, with the warning of a light kiss to his entrance and a strong hand around his ass, Hannibal latched on and ate him out with vigour, Will’s precum adding to the mess when he started fucking drooling . Will choked on a new moan, disbelieving that anything he’d once thought so vulgar could feel so good; of course, when Hannibal fucking Lecter did it, he made decorous and filthy sound like interchangeable synonyms that cracked apart in Will’s mind anyway. Vocabulary failed him further, leaving him with warped, repetitive cries of, “F-fuck… Fuck… Fuuu… ” He clung to the crisp, phonetically balanced word, babbling it until he managed to feel concrete again.
Hannibal chuckled and crawled over to peck Will’s upper lip, stealing it between his own for barely more than a moment. Will’s head lolled back on the pillow, neck gone lax and bare for claiming. Hannibal indulged for a moment, leaving bruises before skirting his fingers along Will’s lower lip to seek his tongue.
“Ready for more?” he teased.
Will met his eyes, greedily sucking his fingers until they dripped and his mouth felt incomplete without them. Hannibal watched with a lidded, starving expression that caught something soft within Will and threatened to untangle it. Perhaps it was less of a threat than a promise, less of a promise than an assurance. Will wanted his veins laid bare, his nerves plucked clean, and when Hannibal pressed a gentle finger into his body, he squeezed his eyes shut and writhed. Apparently lubricant had materialized at some point, because it was all shockingly easy.
“ Oh! ”
Hannibal grinned, stroking reverently both inside and out. His free hand caressed Will’s jaw and throat, and his head tipped in thoughtful curiosity that Will couldn’t quite decode.
“I once found intimacy tedious as well,” Hannibal mused. “How could the people I allowed to share my body please me if they didn’t understand it? I learned how to show them, and they quickly learned to appreciate what my mouth can do.” He considered for a moment, then went on. “I used to suck or bite on my knuckles, and I was bullied quite terribly for it, among other things. Pity that people only shut their own gobs when they decide I can be of value to them.”
Will’s eyes fluttered open, and he trailed gentle fingers down the slopes of Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal turned to kiss them, eyes wide with fondness. Will couldn’t quite believe it was love yet, but certainly fondness. Another finger, then another, and he was a limp mess of limbs and loud, trembling gasps.
Hannibal . It was perched just beneath his larynx and wouldn’t quiver free. Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal. Will loved Hannibal’s name, how it rolled off the tongue even more neatly than the consonant “Doctor Lecter.” Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal Hannibal Hannibal Lecter. What a work of linguistic brilliance. How could he ever go back to saying “Doctor Lecter” after this?
He grazed the bundle of nerves inside that made Will lock up and grab for Hannibal’s shoulders, digging his nails in for all it was worth to ride out his first taste of promised ecstasy. His body screamed with every twitch and chill.
“ Oh… I…”
Hannibal pulled his fingers out, kissed Will’s pink earlobe, and whispered with a warm wisp of breath across his skin, “May I?”
Will nodded enough that Hannibal reached to steady his neck and chuckled, “Careful, darling, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Will reached for Hannibal’s ridiculous silk boxers, and they grappled with each other until he could throw them across the room. He startled himself with how shameless he was, getting one look at that heavy cock and determinedly licking his lips. Reaching around his lover’s broad back until he practically dangled from him, Will rolled his hips and threw one leg around Hannibal’s waist. Hannibal held him up easily, though his breath was coming harder and faster as he watched Will throw himself at him. Will was so wrapped up in his own eagerness that it took him a moment to realize the effect he was having.
Hannibal was trembling, hair a hopeless messy halo. “God… my god ,” he breathed, disbelieving as his eyes flickered about Will’s face and body. He couldn’t seem to settle on a place to admire or relax.
Will playfully reached up to pat his cheek, whispering, “Now. Now. Please, now .”
He watched the flex of Hannibal’s muscles over his shoulder as he pressed in and buried his face in Will’s neck, quiet little moans dragged out of him and dissolving like sugar.
“Oh, god , Will…”
Will’s breath came in pants that made them both tremble with their force, but when Hannibal steadied his own hands on the pillow and fucked him, forgetting to start slowly or give him any warning, Will screamed continuously in shock and held on for dear life. He scratched deeply down Hannibal’s shoulder blades and kept wailing, hoping that the air might burst with stars to capture how much he loved it. His limbs curled around him with spasms that flew with ease, then collapsed into useless piles on the mattress. His feet tangled in the sheets as he arched his back in any attempt to regulate when his brain could only short-circuit with so much …
Hannibal wasn’t much better off, eyes slammed shut but still leaking tears. He tumbled forward and suddenly all of his weight was on Will, easing off into slower, deeper rolls of his body that barely gave them a breath of space apart. Will tipped his head back and gasped, letting lips lie hot and ravenous on his throat, leaving a trail of what may have been saliva or may have been blood. He didn’t want Hannibal to stop, but he wouldn’t have been able to lift his hands if he did. They weren’t pinned down in any way, but with everything else he rushed to process, they were not going to move without energy he didn’t have to spare.
Will tensed with anxiety this time, a whimper breaking free in his frustration. He wanted to speak in these moments, to ramble and babble endlessly and release the pressure from his chest, but the dial just turned loosely and offered nothing. His body spasmed with a soundless cry, breaking the established rhythm of their thrusts enough that Hannibal slowed to a still with a groan. His fists were white around the pillowcase, nearly tearing it, and his eyes swam as they ambled over Will’s tipped jaw and wide open mouth.
Will pursed his lips gently a few times as if in a kiss, just because it felt good and not seeking reciprocation. Hannibal laid boneless against Will’s firm chest, rubbing his morning-stubbled face against it and letting himself rise and fall with Will’s uneven breaths; he was still unbearably hard inside him to the hilt, and Will could really feel it now that he wasn’t reacting as if to lightning. He just needed a minute to adjust.
A helpless whine escaped Hannibal, and Will found himself able to move enough to stroke his hair in reassurance. A big, firm hand splayed over his rabbiting heartbeat, eventually sliding down his front and resting on his inner thigh; Hannibal tentatively traced a fingertip near where their bodies lay conjoined, and Will couldn’t tell which sound he made was a gasp or a moan anymore. He clenched down instinctively and paid careful attention to every inch, noting how natural it felt for them to simply exist like this. He realized that his face was sticky with tears, and he rubbed a hand between Hannibal’s sculpted shoulder blades. There were a few freckles on his golden skin, and Will wanted to kiss them.
“O-Okay?” he rasped.
Hannibal nodded and pulled their lips back together, suckling and nipping occasionally as they moved, and Will kept losing track of their soft sounds. When Hannibal teased his touch over the base of Will’s cock, Will nodded again and couldn’t stop staring at his face. The instant, firm grip around him pulled and coaxed, devoted enough that Will came within minutes and collapsed beneath him to moan through it all. He barely even registered when Hannibal followed suit, simply supporting him by the hips and dragging his hands down his back again. Brief, wet kisses covered his face and he tipped his head to meet them. Hannibal finally tumbled back to his side of the bed, sweeping a hand through his own hair and staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.
Will spent the next few minutes gasping, eyes closed as he grinned. When he caught a particularly perfect breath, he arched back and tangled his hands through his hair, moaning as freely as he pleased and enjoying it even more when he knew how Hannibal’s mouth watered at the sight. Everything swirled around them like freshly fallen snow kicked up by wind.
When Will finally got his voice back, he took another deep breath and used it to laugh, rolling onto his side and tossing his ankle over Hannibal’s. “I love your name,” he grinned, guileless and honest. “Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal.”
The man in question grinned with a huff of a laugh. “I’ve never liked how it feels with my accent, but I see what you mean. I enjoy hearing people say it. Especially you, with your charming drawl on the A’ s.”
“Why do you make everyone call you ‘Doctor’ instead?”
“To keep them at arm’s length, I suppose. Did I hurt you?”
Will smiled lazily. “No, baby. You knocked a few lobes of my brain out of place, but it sure didn’t feel like any pain I can think of. Are you glad you cancelled that party?”
Hannibal didn’t smile, instead reverently tracing Will’s profile with fingertips and kisses. “I find I’m willing to change a lot of plans for you, dear Will.”