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1.
The barriers Will had spent so many years constructing, spreading wet sediment over cracks, and plastering shut the possibilities he so desperately craved on the other side of the wall, have all but crumbled to dust.
Hannibal is now allowed to touch him, regularly. Will no longer tolerates it with a distant stare in a separate direction, muscles tensing under Hannibal’s fingertips. With zero traces of coldness, he leans into a firm hand on his shoulder, eyes smoothly following Hannibal’s movements with a calm ease.
Hannibal has been taking more liberties. Rubbing his shoulders after a run, which Will has been extremely appreciative. He rests a hand on the nape of his neck when showing him a new technique in the kitchen or when they’ve sat down to work silently on a jigsaw puzzle. Once, Will had reached up his own hand to stroke the back of Hannibal’s hand on his neck and Hannibal had felt something blossoming within himself, an even deeper affection than he could have imagined. Will manages to break past the threshold of expectations, even within this temporary environment of domesticity.
Tonight, Hannibal is sitting in a chair adjacent to the couch Will is lounging on. One of Will’s legs is stretched across Hannibal’s lap, and Hannibal is working his thumbs into the inward arch of his foot. Will seems almost entirely relaxed, sipping idly at his champagne.
He had seen Will working hard in the field today, reshaping their bleak garden into something fresh and new. He’d felt the desire to ache the pains in his feet, which were most likely feeling the effect of traveling back and forth between the forest and their house. He’d brought up this thought to Will who had hesitated for a total of five seconds before scooting to the edge of the couch and extending his leg.
Hannibal can tell he’s caressed a sore spot when Will’s leg tenses and he lets out a soft, pained noise. Hannibal looks up once, but when Will doesn’t retract his limb, he continues. Content, would be a perfect word to describe how this evening has made him feel.
“You’re pretty good at this,” Will says after some time, his other leg now on Hannibal’s lap. “Not that I’ve ever let anyone touch my feet.”
“You’ve never been to a masseuse?” Hannibal questions, looking up to make eye contact. Will’s head is resting against the cushions, and he brazenly stares right back. A glint of amusement shines in his eyes.
“Not my thing.”
“You must allow me to do this for you more often. There are many benefits.” Hannibal looks back down at his work, digs in harder and delights in the small gasp that falls from Will’s lips.
There is a beat of silence which appears to be more important for Will than Hannibal, when Will eventually asks a question in a particularly intrusive tone.
“Who else have you done this with?”
Hannibal has to pause at the volatile need Will is emitting in waves towards him. He looks back up at him, and sees Will’s eyes demanding and inquisitive, lips parted as if he means to ask the question again.
The part of him that collides with the beast within yearns to lie, and tell Will that he has not touched another person in this manner. The part of him that prefers misery over tranquility forces him to encourage this green-eyed monster to burst from its cage.
“Alana,” Hannibal says bluntly. “A few others.”
There is a nearly imperceptible twitch in Will’s features. Hannibal catches it, sees the knot between his brows and the light purse of his lips.
He can see Will tackling with the binds which keep his anger at bay.
Satisfied with the result, Hannibal suppresses a smirk, and works his hands up Will’s calf as he had done on his other leg. Will remains silent for a whopping minute, before he cannot help but inquire further.
“Who were the other few?”
Hannibal takes a moment to recollect.
“One was my sister,” He reveals somewhat solemnly. “She would play for hours on end in the woods, and would return with blisters. I helped her relax.” He moves back to Will’s feet. “The two others were random sexual encounters.”
“I didn’t know Doctor Hannibal Lecter had random sexual encounters,” Will says and Hannibal notes that he sounds a fraction bitter compared to his earlier tone. He also notes Will knows enough to stay away from the topic of Mischa when he’s not in the best of moods.
“Do you consider me a man of no desire, Will?” Hannibal asks playfully, looking up to find a somewhat sheepish expression on Will.
“Just thought you would be more cautious,” he mumbles.
“Would it satisfy you if I told you I killed both of them after our encounter?” Hannibal asks with a pure honesty that seems to startle Will.
Will doesn’t respond, but the look in his eyes says ‘Yes.’
Hannibal could lie and say he did kill them, but he’d already committed to telling the truth. And the truth would do such wonders to Will in this vulnerable state.
“I did not.”
Will appears mildly shocked, some hopeful part of him seeming to expect violence from Hannibal at each and every turn. He looks away then, jawbone shifting. It takes another moment before he is retracting his leg, and standing.
That’s to be expected, Hannibal thinks, following him into the kitchen.
2.
In three months, Will begins to sleep in Hannibal’s bed.
Hannibal doesn’t ask. He doesn’t pry, just keeps to one side for a few nights until he can sense discomfort. Will shifts more often, huffing out in mild frustration, as if he expects something to happen. Hannibal could never call it ‘cute’ out loud, but in his head, perhaps. This continues for another week, Hannibal staying on his own side and not intruding into Will’s personal bubble, no matter how many distracting noises he makes.
He wakes up one morning entangled with Will. It was bound to happen at least accidentally. Will is asleep, back to his chest, and before Hannibal can remove himself discreetly, he hears Will’s breathing shallow and feels his muscles stiffen and tense.
“It seems we have found ourselves in a compromising position,” Hannibal says swiftly, attempting to address the amusement in the situation. What he doesn’t want is for Will to frighten and seclude himself. He’s not sure he could stand it.
Fortunately, Will chuckles and his muscles relax.
“I don’t mind,” he says and turns to look over his shoulder behind those sinfully long eyelashes. “Do you?”
Hannibal should chastise him for acting sultry this early in the morning when his defenses are at minimum capacity. He tightens his grip around Will and says, “No, I do not.”
This seems to be the signal Will needs to sidle up to him each night following this event. He buries his nose into the crook of Hannibal’s neck and a leg and arm are thrown over his body. He shifts until he is comfortable and Hannibal never dares to move a muscle. Aching muscles aside, he does not wish to disturb him.
Some nights they talk, and most nights they hold each other close until the morning sun forces them out of bed.
Hannibal will take whatever Will is willing to grant him. This simple act satisfies him in ways that sustenance and shelter would never. Will Graham in any way, shape, or form is a requirement to his own survival.
If this is all Will desires, he will allow him this for as long as he breathes, and he will expect nothing less or more.
However, there is a small sliver of something resembling hope when Will asks one night, “Who have you had sex with?”
Will isn’t on top of him like most nights. His head rests on the same pillow, watching Hannibal as he strokes his fingers gently over Will’s forearm which rests on his stomach. Hannibal turns to face him.
The question is so out of place in this serene, chaste existence.
Hannibal is once again wrought with the decision to lie or tell the truth, but decides truth, always. He owes Will that much after all this time.
“How much do you wish to know?” He asks before he reveals anything. He does not want to startle Will by disclosing too much, but he does not want to shy away from the question by disclosing too little.
Will considers this, eyes flickering back and forth in a frenzy.
“Names, places, don’t describe it to me. I mostly want to know who.”
Hannibal nods, stretching back into the darkest corners of his mind palace. There are cobwebs in these places from disuse. After a few moments he takes a deep breath. “My first time was with my Aunt. Lady Murasaki was married to my uncle before his death. I was sixteen and this was in France.”
Will’s expression barely changes, his eyes grow distant as if he is attempting to place himself in Hannibal’s shoes and experience this memory for himself. Hannibal continues before Will has the chance to succeed.
“The next was with another woman, she was named Roze. Lithuania, this time. And the next was my first time with a man. His name I do not know, and this was three days before I moved to Florence.”
Will’s brows furrow a bit and he seems almost chagrined.
“In Florence, I had several encounters with people whose names I did not bother to learn. I was a reckless child. I apologize I cannot recall them all.”
Will is bereft of expression, subduing his own disappointment as to not discourage Hannibal into divulging more.
“There was a man named Lorenzo in Italy who I shared lodging with for a short time. He enjoyed painting, and I enjoyed watching.” Hannibal realizes he’s giving too much information when he feels nails digging into his skin. “When I moved to America, I reserved myself. There were two women, Selena and Morgan who I saw during my time working as a Doctor. There was a man named Jack, coincidentally enough. He was a master chef and I learned of many recipes from him. Then, there was Alana.”
Will goes still, breath catching in his throat. Hannibal waits a beat before continuing.
“This was only while you were incarcerated and for a while after.”
“When did you stop having sex with her?” Will bites out.
“Just before you brought me the meat of what I believed to be Freddie Lounds.”
Will’s gaze shifts, staring at the wall behind Hannibal. Hannibal slides a hand over the one resting on his chest and Will makes eye contact with him once more. It is unsteady, but Hannibal can see he is making a conscious effort to maintain it.
“There was no reason to continue when all I had ever wanted had been laid out in front of me,” Hannibal explains and Will’s lips part. For a moment, Hannibal considers kissing him, but does not wish to discontinue the conversation.
“Then, it was Bedelia.”
Something in Will darkens, grows cold. He asks in a curt voice, “You hadn’t...before?”
“Florence was the first time,” Hannibal informs. “It was a few times. It seemed to fit with our facade of marriage.”
Will looks incapable of keeping his monster at bay, lips downturned and jaw clenching and unclenching. Remarkably, he remains silent
“Anthony Dimmond,” Hannibal finishes. Will’s eyes shoot wide open then, having expected Bedelia to be the last. He watches and tries not to find humor at the way Will spirals and flounders for answers without sounding desperate.
“What? Who…”
“A man Bedelia and I became acquainted with a short time before your arrival. He propositioned both her and I, yet Bedelia found no amusement in the matter.” Hannibal smiles. “He managed to lure me into a brief encounter before I snapped his neck.”
Will cannot hide the relief that flickers in his expression. The same look Will had in Hannibal’s kitchen all those years ago, inferring Hannibal had forgiven him.
“That’s it?”
“I’ve been locked away for three years.”
Will nods, fingers stroking small circles over Hannibal’s skin. Hannibal wonders why Will needed to hear all this. Does he not believe Hannibal belongs to him and only him? That he had ensnared his heart long before his imprisonment?
“May I ask for mutual disclosure?”
Will’s head snaps up from the pillow, taken aback. Even in the dark, Hannibal can see his cheeks change color.
“My experience is nothing compared to yours,” Will says unsteadily, trying to settle back down into the sheets. “My numbers don’t compare.”
“Was this about numbers, Will?” Hannibal asks in disbelief. In fact he knows it isn’t about numbers. If it had been, Will would have asked for the number of people he’s slept with, not names or places.
“No,” Will forces out in a stammer. “No, of course not.”
Hannibal sighs, bringing a hand up to Will’s face. Will looks back at him, enraptured with fluttering eyes and a quivering lip. If he only knew what he looked like.
“Do not feel shame,” he insists and feels when Will decides to give.
“My first time was in college. I was twenty one, and it was with an acquaintance of mine. Susan. There was another time before Quantico, with a woman who worked at a deli. Then, Margot…” Will blushes a deeper red at the admission. “Then Molly. That’s it.”
Hannibal smiles, stroking a thumb over the soft skin under Will’s eyes. “It pleases me that you have shared intimacy with such a small number of individuals.”
Will scoffs. “Is that your way of saying I’m a prude?”
“We hear what we want to hear, Will.” Hannibal lowers his hand and Will appears distraught by the loss. “What did you hear when I told you who I’d shared intimacy with?”
When Will doesn’t respond, Hannibal decides to prod at his inner monster with a longer, sharper rod.
“Did you believe Bedelia and I had never consummated our marriage? What did you hear when I told you I had slept with her?”
Will cannot suppress his shudder, eyes black and distant.
“There was a ringing in my ears,” he says through his teeth. “That of a death knell.”
Hannibal’s eyes sparkle, entranced. He watches Will turn on his other side, facing opposite him. Will is wracked with a bitterness unfamiliar to him, and Hannibal marvels at how utterly enticing this moment is to behold.
3.
They are at a party with soft music and loud people.
It was only a matter of time before Hannibal had become better acquainted with the town folk. Will had been stubborn, but refused to stay at home when the longer trips to the market and the city center were required. Eventually they had both been integrated into the inner circles Will so hated.
This is a pre-party for a production of Elisabeth playing at the local theater. Will had asked how Hannibal even got invited to one of these things as they’re usually meant for producers or family friends of the crew.
“I can’t reveal all my secrets can I?” Hannibal asks.
“You’re not that interesting,” Will mutters and leaves Hannibal disappointed and nowhere near indulged.
Will is now talking with some older women by the cheese and wine spread. Hannibal had already had his fill, taking his nearly empty glass of chardonnay to the tables and chairs lining the back of the room. He detests the small venue they chose for this gathering. It’s hard to hear himself think.
A man has joined his side, tall and lean, and smelling very strongly of expense. Hannibal humors him, charms him in the many ways he knows how.
This man amuses him, speaking of friends in high places as if it matters when standing in front of someone who could easily squeeze the life out of him as easily as he could juice from an orange. He tosses banter back and forth and doesn’t realize he’s giving into flirtation until the other man is placing a hand on his own, giving him a look not dissimilar to one Anthony Dimmond gave him in Florence when talking of breaking wheels and entanglement.
“I’m only here for my employer you know?” The man gloats, unashamed in the way he eyes Hannibal from head to toe. “I wouldn’t be opposed to finding an excuse to leave early.”
Hannibal raises a brow. “Is this a proposition?”
The man shrugs. “Could be, don’t know. You feeling up to one?”
Hannibal cannot resist the urge to glance over at Will. He is surprised to find Will watching him, a glint of danger in his eyes. Will looks back down at the cheese when he sees Hannibal looking, picking up a white cube and popping it into his mouth. Hannibal watches him grimace with unbridled affection and reluctantly turns back to the man awaiting response.
Textbook attractiveness, but it could matter less to him.
Before he can say anything, the man looks over at Will and then back to him, a smug look dominating his features. “I heard you live alone with a guy. That him?”
“Yes.”
“Boyfriend?” He asks curtly.
“No,” Hannibal says, more interested in what the truth will draw out of this conversation. The man grins at the reply, eyeing Hannibal again and biting absently at his bottom lip.
“Not that it matters,” he adds with youthful arrogance. “I seem to have caught your attention either way.”
It begins to become a bore when the man’s hand moves from his own and strokes at his forearm. The man is treating him like a cat, thinking himself the irresistible catnip, enticing enough to sway any man or person with two legs he decides he fancies for the night.
Hannibal is about to politely, if not with a slightly appalled veneer, decline when he senses a brazen force storming towards them. An arm is thrown before he can react and a sickening crack is heard as Will’s fist connects with the man’s face. The man stumbles downwards, shouting in agony as he lands in a heap of baggy clothing and droplets of blood. Heads are turning towards them gasping and muttering.
Will turns to leave and Hannibal is smart enough to follow, trying not to grin up to his ears whilst they exit towards the street.
“Will–”
“Don’t you dare. I want to go home,” he snaps, waspish as he cranes his neck towards the road to signal for a taxi.
“As you wish.”
In the taxi, Hannibal tries not to think about the seductive design of Will’s rage. There is a mixture of warmth and satisfaction swirling within him, keeping him light and peppy the entire ride home. Will refuses to say a word until they are through the door of their house.
“Wine?” Hannibal asks once they’ve taken their coats off.
“Please,” Will grumbles. “I didn’t have nearly enough at the party.” He plops down on the couch and Hannibal discreetly observes the way he exhaustedly runs a hand through his hair and festers in his own regret.
“We had two perfectly good tickets to Elisabeth, Will,” Hannibal teases when he brings a pair of wine glasses over. He lights the fireplace and joins him on the couch.
Will chugs half of it, stopping only out of courtesy. Hannibal asserts he could down an entire bottle in one sitting and wonders if he would have enough tolerance to handle it.
“I’m sorry, I know they were expensive.”
Ever the gentleman, and always worried about money.
“I told you not to fret about expenses,” Hannibal reminds. “That is my prerogative.”
“While I’m supposed to just sit here and look pretty,” Will mumbles out the reply, and Hannibal acknowledges he doesn’t genuinely believe in his own physical charm.
“The man,” Hannibal changes the subject. “He appeared to upset you.”
“Yeah,” Will says simply, glaring at the fire.
He won’t volunteer information easily, as if he wants Hannibal to pry it out of him.
“I am to infer from your actions you did not approve of his flirtation.”
Will looks to him, a pained expression silently begging Hannibal for mercy. When Hannibal relentlessly stares back, unable to allow Will reprieve, he sighs.
In a shaky voice, Will says, “He presumed that he could touch you like that.”
“In your eyes, he was not allowed?”
“He doesn’t know what you are. I know what you are.”
A smile slowly creeps up Hannibal’s face and he inches closer to maintain solid eye contact with Will who looks seconds from retreating into a dark unattainable place. He considers putting a hand on Will’s knee and decides against it for now.
“Were you protecting him from the monster then? An innocent man–”
“Not innocent,” Will barks out. “I can tell.”
“Can you,” Hannibal humors him and it clearly shows in his face because Will stands shaking his head and releasing a scathing laugh. Courtesy disregarded, he downs the rest of his drink and slams the cup back down on the coffee table. Hannibal hasn’t touched his drink yet. “I am not making fun of you, Will.”
“No, you’re just playing with me.”
Will scoffs, but makes no move to leave the room, so Hannibal inches towards him and reaches out a hand to take Will’s. He brushes his fingers over his knuckles and Will looks down at him with questioning eyes and an aching expression.
“I do not mean to distress you, Will. I am ashamed to admit I enjoy your jealousy the most out of our day to day interactions. It is such a rare thing that when I am offered a glimpse, I cannot help but to encourage it. I will stop, if you wish.”
Jealousy . The word seems to shock Will, as if he had not required that Hannibal murder Bedelia with him before their departure into a new life. Eat her cooked flesh, force her to eat her own. As if the Dragon’s claim over him had not stirred Will’s bloodlust. As if the events over the past few months have had nothing to do with such a phenomenon.
His first instinct appears to be protest, as he retracts his hand and opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes flutter in the way they do when he’s blushing. And even in the dark, Hannibal can see that he is. Will turns to hide away his face, disguising it as a contemplative gesture.
Hannibal trusts his own instinct then, and stands, stepping closer to Will.
Will turns his head only enough to keep him in his peripheral and the seconds tick by loudly even in the silence before Hannibal feels Will’s hand reaching back towards him. Their fingers brush and Will stills.
It is a minuscule movement, but Hannibal closes his hand around his and presses up against his back. He hooks his chin over Will’s shoulder, and his other arm circles around his waist. Will’s intake of breath quickens and he places his free hand over the one resting on his stomach as if to test the reality of its existence.
They stare into the fire as they bask in this new intimacy. Nothing similar to a simple massage or hug, or a hand on the shoulder. Hannibal can smell firewood and mint soap, and he can feel Will breathing against him. It is nearly too much.
“Bedelia told me you were in love with me,” Will says in barely a whisper. It pains him to even say her name, Hannibal knows that. However, it was fundamental for Will that he allow himself this admission.
“Did you ask her?” Hannibal questions and Will shudders, hand on his gripping tight.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Will is at a loss for words. The reason is simple, and Hannibal does not require an answer. He trails a hand up Will’s forearm and feels him stiffen against his body, muscles tense with effort as he tries not to shudder or make noise.
He trails his fingertips gently up until he’s tracing Will’s jawline and tilting his chin back towards him. When they make eye contact, Will’s eyes instantly flicker down to Hannibal’s lips and then widen, returning to his eyes again.
The expression on his face is identical to one of a man he knew a long time ago, before he gutted that man in his kitchen and attempted to abandon the memory of him. Will was never truly gone from his mind, he could never be. Never will be. No divine intervention can change that.
“No creature could turn my head away from you. The Greeks have all died in my world, and all I see is you, Will. If you are all I see for eternity, only that would be mercy.”
When Will’s eyes begin to glisten he cups Will’s cheek and leans in to give him a chaste kiss, lingering for several seconds before parting. The fire within that has burned for this burns bright, flames hurtling around him from within as he delights in Will’s quiet shock.
“Goodnight, Will.”
Hannibal allows Will to process the night alone in the living room, not expecting him to enter their bedroom for sometime. At around midnight, he is drifting into sleep, but not entirely unaware of his surroundings. He stirs when he feels the mattress dip.
He turns to find Will staring at him in wonder and newfound boldness. Before he can do so much as smile, his face is surrounded by Will’s hands and he’s being pulled into a kiss. Will kisses longer, pressing his tongue against Hannibal’s lips until he opens for the intrusion. He presses closer and the kisses become short and needy. Hannibal is vaguely aware of Will’s tears as they press against his cheeks.
It ends gradually, and Will’s face is soon pressed into the crook of his neck and he is gripping Hannibal so tightly, Hannibal is sure he will bruise by morning. He wraps his arms around Will and holds him as tightly as he wishes, allowing him this moment of vulnerability without any consequence. No prodding, no poking.
“I love you,” Will whispers so soft Hannibal can barely hear it.
Hannibal’s hand strokes through Will’s hair, fisting in it and bringing his forehead close enough so he can give him a firm kiss there. He does not respond; Will already knows.
4.
“Yes, Hannibal,” Will groans, grinding in Hannibal’s lap as the pressure builds.
He’d been riding him for the better part of the morning, throwing a leg over Hannibal’s lap while he had been reading the news on his tablet. Hannibal’s never one to complain, the tablet now discarded to the floor and his hands spread over Will’s back as he helps him slide up and down his cock.
For a man with little experience, Will had been eager to jump into a consistent amount of sex in their life. He presses up against Hannibal in the showers, ruts against him in bed at night, and even gave Hannibal a remarkably efficient blowjob in the coat-closet at the opera.
Hannibal made the choice a long time ago to take only what Will offers. Never to push and prod too much, and yet he has everything he has always desired. It appears he had not been the only one who wanted to relish this side of the relationship.
Hannibal knows Will is getting close when he wraps his arms around his neck, using his forearms on his shoulders to lift himself up and down at a quicker pace. Taking all of Hannibal too fast, eager to hit that spot inside him that will send him over the edge. He kisses him sporadically, on the cheek, neck, lips, until Hannibal feels himself welling up at the intensity of Will’s love.
He slides his hands down Will’s back to the round curves of his ass and digs his fingers into the supple flesh. Will jolts forward letting out a broken moan. Hannibal uses this as leverage to push him down onto his cock harder, over and over again until Will is whining into his neck and gripping his shoulders tightly.
“Tell me,” Will chokes out when Hannibal wraps a hand around his cock, “Tell me I’m the only one you’d fuck.”
Hannibal’s eyes widen a fraction at the request. Will is usually reduced to moans and frantic sounds with a yes, or oh god, here and there. Nothing more.
“Only you,” Hannibal says in a low voice, kissing him deeply and feeling the desperation on Will’s tongue. “Only you, forever, Will.”
Will keens, head dropping to Hannibal’s shoulder as he releases with a grunt. Hannibal strokes him through it. Hannibal takes this moment to throw Will horizontally down onto the couch and fuck him through the last moments of his orgasm, chasing his own.
Will cries out, arm flying out to grab the armrest as his prostate is abused. He loves this part though, knowing Hannibal is using him for his own pleasure. Knowing that he is the only person to drive Hannibal mad in this way. Hannibal allows himself small noises, gasping as his climax is ripped from him, spending into Will’s warm, welcoming body.
He slips out and carefully presses himself against Will on the couch, delighting in the hand that rises to stroke his cheek with a gentleness that does not endorse the fact they are internationally recognized serial killers.
“You never fail to surprise me, Will,” Hannibal says lightly. He’s out of breath when he gets up to find something to clean them off. Will rises slowly.
“What?”
Hannibal returns with wet paper towels, cleaning them off as if they had merely spilled a glass of wine down their fronts. Will endures it with only mild irritation.
“Do you think I could make love to anybody but you?” Hannibal asks.
Will hesitates. “No, I suppose not.”
Hannibal returns to the couch and helps Will with the buttons on his shirt, then begins to work on his own. All the while, an amused smile remains on his face. One that Will is seemingly growing tired of.
“I was in the moment,” Will explains. “I didn’t mean to come across as…” Possessive would be the right word to finish that statement with. Hannibal watches Will consciously make the decision to stop talking and he pulls him close.
Will resists for a solid few seconds before relaxing against his side, and pressing his cheek into the soft portion of Hannibal’s upper arm.
After a significant bout of comfortable silence, Hannibal’s hand is in Will’s hair when he makes a statement that has been lingering in the unseen corners of his mind until now.
“It greatly upset you to discover Bedelia had taken your place in Florence,” Hannibal asserts, leaving no room for quarrel. He feels Will shift, but he remains silent.
“You must understand that Bedelia was expendable to me, in ways you may not believe. She was simply easy to mold into what I wanted her to be, and yet she could be anything except what I truly wanted.”
“I could have been with you in Florence,” Will whispers.
It is more than a speculation. It is a reality.
“You could have,” Hannibal admits. “Though, I’m not sure how long we could bear each other. We still had significant changes to make within ourselves.”
“How long would you have waited in that cell?”
“As long as it would have taken.”
“A decade?” Will caustically remarks.
“If that is how long I would have to wait to lay eyes on you again, it would be worth it all. Even with Chilton boasting about his next top seller every weekend.”
Will chuckles, and Hannibal recognizes he is loosening up from the familiar tension that comes with the mention of Bedelia and Florence. He looks down and tugs once at Will’s hair, encouraging him to look up.
“I could have spent the rest of my life behind that glass wall, believing you would join my side,” Hannibal says with conviction. “I would have waited.”
Will stares into his eyes with wonder. “I know,” he replies. “I knew everyday for three years that you would. I never stopped knowing.”
Hannibal feels the beast within him rest, and the younger and warmer part of him flourish with affection. Will leans in to kiss him first, and he strokes a thumb over the hollow of his throat, worshiping what was nearly lost.