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Hannibal watches silently as Will drags Tobias’ limp body back into the dining room, his surprise easily concealed under a neutral expression as his grip tightens around the linoleum knife.
Will unceremoniously drops the body on the floor before he straightens up. His shoulders rise and fall as he inhales deeply.
“Today’s a load of horse shit,” he announces, voice clear and serene.
“No reason to be rude about it.”
Will turns on his heels. “Look, if you have the right to slaughter anyone who forgets to hold the door for you, then I’m allowed to spew whatever filth I please.”
“I’m only ridding the world of—”
“Hannibal,” the sound of his name rolling off Will’s tongue stirs up Hannibal’s appetite, “Spare me the bullshit. You’re not cleansing the world. You're being a petty bitch.”
The knife cuts through Will’s stomach like butter. A startled gasp pushes past his mouth. His filthy, impetuous, kissable mouth. Hannibal would love to taste those lips while they are still warm and trembling.
Will’s eyes lift to his, glassy, shimmering. Hannibal drinks them in like the sweetest of wine, waiting for the moment when the light leaves them.
But Will’s breathing is even, his gaze steady. No trace of pain across his features. His mouth stretches in a triumphant grin. “See? Petty bitch.”
Will pushes him away, steps back. He pulls on his clothes to slip his fingers through the cut, presses them over the wound, tracing the smile Hannibal just carved into his stomach. “Ugh, that one’s gonna leave an ugly scar. If anyone asks how I got it I’m throwing you under the bus.”
Hannibal’s eyes roam the patch of blood on Will’s front, eyebrows drawn in puzzlement. He can’t see the wound, but it seems no more blood is trickling out of it.
A tired sigh escapes Will’s lips and he lets his shirt fall back over his stomach. He wipes his hands on his pants, trying to clean off some of the blood. “This is getting harder for me to keep the FBI off your track, so for both your sake and mine, I suggest you keep a low profile for some time, while I take care of a few things.”
Hannibal raises an eyebrow, his eyes trailing over Will as he grabs Tobias’ napkin. “Keep a low profile?”
Will clicks his tongue when the napkin quickly soaks up the blood, painting the cream material a dark shade of red, and he leans over the table to take Hannibal’s. “Yeah. You stop being petty for like a month or two, while I throw a few bones.” When Hannibal does not answer, Will makes a vague gesture with his hand. “I mean your Ripper tableaux business.”
Hannibal blinks once. Twice. “And who might you be?”
Will’s eyes meet his again. Bright, fearless, lovely eyes. “No, you’re not dreaming or hallucinating and yes, I’m still Will Graham. I’m also the sorry angel who was assigned the task of protecting your ass, and so far you’ve been nothing but a pain in mine.”
Will gingerly pulls at the shirt again to rub the napkin across the wound. Hannibal finally catches a glimpse of it. A thin, raised line over the pale skin of his stomach. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, trying to imagine the feel—the taste—of the scar.
With a defeated sigh, Will throws the napkin back on the table. “You want to take something,” he asks, gesturing at Tobia’s body, “before I dispose of this?”
Curiosity and self preservation battle in the back of Hannibal’s mind as he twists the knife in his hand. He settles for a light, “Would you join me at the table?”
“Sure. You owe me that at least.”
“You seem surprisingly comfortable with the idea of eating a man.”
“Not the wildest shit I’ve done,” Will says, shrugging lightly; a delicate movement of his shoulders. “And for the love of everything that’s holy, no more cannibal pun.” He sends Hannibal an irritated look, promising hell—maybe literally—if he goes against him. Hannibal feels one corner of his mouth tick up minutely.
“I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes with you?”
“Yeah, no, I don’t carry a murder onesie around with me. Bathroom?”
This does tear a small smile from Hannibal, and he dips his head to rein his features in. Impish boy. “This way please.”
Will nods and steps forward, breezing past him. No fear, no hesitation. “One more thing. No more games with Abigail Hobbs. Kill her or leave her alone, but don’t use her for… whatever it is you want to use her for.”
Abigail was supposed to be a means to get to Will. It seems that she will not be of any use to him anymore. “How will you repay me for that favour?”
Will shoots him an offended look. “I don’t owe you shit, Hannibal,” the name sends another spark of hunger low in Hannibal’s belly, “You owe me for erasing that call you made to the Hobbs residence.”
Hannibal does not bother hiding his pleased smile this time.