Chapter Text
Will pauses a few steps from his car at the sound of his name. He questions whether he’d imagined it, but he knows he hasn’t quite lost his marbles just yet.
Despite knowing who he’s about to see, something in his chest still reacts at the sight of Hannibal striding toward him.
“I’m glad I caught you,” Hannibal says. He reaches out to touch Will’s arm briefly as part of his greeting. Will’s still not entirely used to things like that.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, unearthing his gloves from a pocket. He’d been predicting a quick beeline to the car and hadn’t bothered to put them on earlier.
“I just finished up an errand in the area, and thought I would chance stopping by to see you.”
An easy explanation, at the ready. Will keeps his eyes trained downward, fiddling with his gloves.
“Well, here I am.” He glances up to meet Hannibal’s gaze.
“Here you are,” Hannibal agrees, raising a hand to Will’s face. He imagines for a moment that Hannibal is about to lean in, and wonders whether he would let him. Will’s breath comes out a little short when he pulls back.
“Is this why you ambushed me in the parking lot?”
“Hardly an ambush,” Hannibal says amiably. “I would like to extend a dinner invitation, if you are amenable.”
“You could’ve called. Or texted.” Will’s already mentally rearranging his plans for the evening. The dogs will be alright for awhile longer. Will had only come in for the painstaking holiday lunch gathering, unfortunately mandatory, managed to grade a few papers after escaping to his office, and rounded out the day with a meeting with Jack.
“I could have, but I didn’t think you would appreciate the interruption during your meeting.” Unsurprisingly Hannibal would remember that, and use it to his advantage. Will hadn’t told him about the party.
“Right. You’re right. But I also want you to know that none of this is necessary.” Hannibal tilts his head politely. Will raises an eyebrow, then leans forward just slightly. “I would have agreed to join you without the considerate ambush.”
Hannibal smiles. “Still an ambush, is it?”
“Of course it is. Now let’s get going.”
Will follows Hannibal in his own car, smile hovering at the corner of his mouth for most of the drive. There’s still a lot Will’s getting used to, but he thinks he could. Thinks he wants to.
Hannibal holds out a hand for Will’s coat once they step inside. Will stuffs his gloves haphazardly into his pockets and shrugs it off.
“I do know where to hang my own coat, Hannibal.” Still, he hands it over without any further prodding.
Hannibal accepts it graciously. “It just so happens that I do, as well.”
When he turns back after hanging Will’s coat as well as his own, he pauses, eyes trained to Will’s sweater. The slightest of hesitations, but it doesn’t escape Will’s notice. Will looks down at the familiar tacky design, featuring dogs in red hats and a painfully busy pattern throughout. He wears this sweater once a year, then tucks it safely back into the depths of his closet.
Hannibal is still eyeing it, seemingly without any words to offer, for once. Will can’t help a chuckle.
“Sorry, is there a dress code?” It’s difficult to suppress a smile when Hannibal finally drags his gaze away.
“I’m afraid if there were, you’d be in violation.” Hannibal runs a hand along the collar of the sweater, testing the feel of the fabric. His fingers travel slowly, eventually stopping to rest atop Will’s collarbone. “Appalling,” he murmurs, but there’s a crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he steps forward to kiss Will.
Will breathes out a sigh against Hannibal’s mouth, raising a hand to the back of his neck to keep him close. Warmth unfurls in his chest, spreads to everywhere they press together.
“Have you never seen an ugly sweater before?” Will murmurs.
“I must agree that it is indeed ugly.”
Will chuckles again, pressing his face into the curve of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal runs his fingers through Will’s hair, a calculated move to keep Will pressed close. A mutually beneficial one.
“I fear I will be distracted all evening.”
“Your fault,” Will replies. “You’re the one who ambushed me, remember. You never would have known this thing existed if you hadn’t shown up like that.”
Hannibal guides his head back, looks into his eyes for a few long moments. Will feels something shift, and his fingers tighten in Hannibal’s shirt.
“I can think of nothing I don’t want to know about you.” He states it so plainly, as though he doesn’t know how it will affect Will.
He swallows, words dying in his throat. Hannibal watches him closely, his desire to see Will’s reactions as plain as ever. He has to remind himself that it’s not the examination of an intrigued doctor.
Will rubs a hand over his face, then moves to step back. Hannibal unwinds from him carefully.
“I must see to our dinner,” Hannibal says after a moment, whisking himself off to the kitchen. Will feels unbearably stupid, standing alone in Hannibal’s hallway wearing his ridiculous dog sweater.
Will closes his eyes and sighs, briefly entertaining the idea of putting his coat back on and heading to his car. Instead, he follows after Hannibal, leaning against the counter to watch the other man in motion.
“Anything I can do?” he offers.
Hannibal looks up with a small smile. “It won’t take long at all. Mostly everything has been taken care of already.”
“I don’t know how you have the patience for these kinds of meals,” Will says, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t mind cooking, but the effort that Hannibal puts in is truly something else.
“It does require patience, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.” Hannibal glances back at him. “I believe the results are worth it, in the end.”
Will shrugs. “Can’t really argue with that.”
Hannibal smiles, then drifts over to Will, gently prying his arms away from his chest. Before Will can question him, Hannibal says, “I found myself unable to enjoy the full splendor of your attire.”
Will laughs, shaking his head. “I think this is the most attention you’ve ever paid to my attire.”
Hannibal squeezes his arms once before letting go. “I do not often voice my thoughts on the matter, but please know that I am always paying attention.”
With that, he turns back to their dinner, leaving Will inexplicably flustered.
That strange, fluttery feeling remains in his chest throughout dinner. He wonders if Hannibal keeps a mental tally of just how many times he’s been able to catch Will off guard.
He’d already declined his invitation to Hannibal’s usual holiday gathering, but the thought of showing up for dinner dressed like this is almost enough to make him reconsider.
“I suppose your fancy holiday parties don’t feature ugly sweaters.”
“Perhaps they should,” Hannibal says. “I hadn’t known they could be so charming.”
Will feels the back of his neck heat up. “This is starting to feel like another aspect of the ambush.”
Hannibal chuckles softly. “Never. I have better table manners than that.”
Will raises his glass. “I suppose that you do.”
Hannibal raises his own in return.
After dinner, Will sticks around to assist Hannibal in cleaning up. Hannibal accepts the help with a soft, pleased curl to his mouth.
“It was delicious,” Will says unnecessarily. Anything he could conjure up to describe Hannibal’s cooking would only pale in comparison to the meal itself, so it’s best to stick to the simple and sincere.
Hannibal inclines his head. “I am glad that you enjoyed it.”
Will folds the towel in his hands and places it on the counter, then sighs. “I should head out.”
“Of course.” Hannibal steps toward him. “Thank you for indulging me.”
Will rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it was such a hardship eating the food placed in front of me.”
Hannibal gently cups the side of his neck, thumb brushing his skin. Will inhales sharply.
“You allowed me to ambush you at your work. To touch you much like this, where anyone could see.” Hannibal’s hand slips back into his hair, fingers grazing his ear. “You’ve shared a meal with me, assisted me with the clean up despite being my guest. I am hopeful I may also receive a kiss goodnight before you go, if I play my cards right.”
Will huffs a laugh, running his hand up Hannibal’s chest. “So now you agree that it was an ambush?”
“A mild ambush,” Hannibal concedes, tipping every so slightly closer.
Will raises an eyebrow. “Be honest. It’s the sweater, isn’t it?”
“Quite frankly, I don’t know if I’ve ever found you as utterly irresistible as in this very moment.”
Will laughs again, taps his hand against Hannibal’s chest once before leaning forward to kiss him. Hannibal meets him warmly, hand curling in Will’s hair.
“Good night,” he mumbles, smiling when he feels the slight twitch of Hannibal’s mouth against his own. The hint of a frown, perhaps. “Hm? I thought this was what you wanted.”
He opens his eyes to find Hannibal gazing back at him. His expression is open in a way that Will still can’t believe is because of him. Will feels a strange thrill every time.
Will tilts his head and presses closer, wrapping one arm around Hannibal’s back. His eyes drift closed again of their own accord.
He doesn’t want to leave. It’s a dangerous thought, one he can’t bring himself to dwell on. Instead, he kisses Hannibal again, and again, loses himself in the heat of his mouth, the heady pleasure of his body pressed so close.
Hannibal tastes like their dinner, the wine they’d shared. Like a fever, a rolling heat passed from his mouth to Will’s, one that could easily burn him whole. Will wants it like he’s never wanted anything else in his life. Hannibal clutches at him like he might just feel the same.
They breathe against each other when they pull apart. Hannibal tilts his head, presses his lips to his cheek and murmurs, “Will.”
“Yes?”
“If you were feeling particularly indulgent, might I convince you to stay a little longer?”
Will slides his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, eyelashes fluttering. “I didn’t know this was my good luck sweater.”
Hannibal chuckles, shifting so their noses brush together. “You consider this good luck, then?”
“It’s certainly not bad.”
Will lets himself be guided to the study by a warm hand at his back. Hannibal pours him a drink, and after he gets the fire going, joins him on the ridiculously comfortable couch with his own glass.
“I may not be very entertaining,” Will warns. He is full of good food, and his eyelids are suspiciously heavy.
“I beg to differ.” Hannibal raises an eyebrow, hiding his expression behind the rim of his glass. “I believe it impossible for me to be bored in your presence.”
The words warm Will more than the fire, despite telling himself how cliche it is. He huffs a laugh into his own drink, placing it to the side with a content sigh.
It’s pleasant, sitting together like this. Will feels his eyelids begin to drift closed, staying that way longer and longer.
“Will.”
He blinks rapidly, suddenly aware of himself again. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep very well.”
Will rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t really want to talk about why he hadn’t slept well. He’s sure Hannibal already knows, just like he knows why Will had met up with Jack today to begin with. At least they seem to be getting closer to this killer.
“It’s quite alright.” Hannibal’s voice is quiet. “I only thought to offer for you to lie down properly, if you’d like.”
Will turns to him quizzically. “I don’t think there’s enough room for that. Unless you’re moving.” Hannibal’s expression tells him that he isn’t going anywhere. “Or you want my feet in your lap.”
Hannibal smiles. “If you would prefer. I had thought the other way around, perhaps.”
Will stares blankly for a few long moments. “You want me to…”
“Whatever you’d like.”
He simply watches Will, body language open, perfectly accommodating. Will forces himself to meet his eyes, not letting his gaze drift to the man’s lap.
“Are you serious?” he asks finally. A tingly shakiness creeps up the back of his neck, and he’s glad he’d already put his drink down.
“Of course,” Hannibal replies. He shifts his glass to his other hand and sets it aside, then actually pats one of his thighs. Will feels like he’s about to choke on his tongue.
It’s not a big deal. Not unless he makes it one.
With that in mind, Will shuffles sideways, carefully lowering himself to lie down in Hannibal’s lap. He’s facing the fireplace, eyes trained to the dancing flames while his heart thuds rapidly in his chest.
Will doesn’t realize that he’s waiting for anything, not until the moment Hannibal’s hand lands on his head. He fights a shiver, eyelashes fluttering closed when Hannibal’s thumb brushes gently over his ear.
This is - absurd. Perfect. He can feel his body locking up.
Hannibal’s fingers pause just briefly. Will takes a deep breath.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes closed. Touching is one thing. This kind of gentle intimacy is enough to render Will’s throat tight.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Will.” Careful fingers rub at his temple. “Relax. That is all I want you to worry about.”
Will’s breath leaves him in a long exhale. Tentatively he brings one hand to curl around Hannibal’s knee.
He hadn’t thought to want closeness like this. The warmth of the fire and of Hannibal’s body beneath his begins to lull him.
“You can’t seriously want me to fall asleep like this,” he mumbles. Hannibal’s other hand rises to cup his shoulder, the touch gentling any tension still left in Will.
“I would welcome it,” Hannibal murmurs. He squeezes Will’s shoulder, runs the fingers of his other hand through the hair at Will’s forehead.
Will’s throat clenches up again. Part of him wants to flee, while he can barely stand the thought of it. He says nothing.
“Being with you like this is a gift.” Hannibal’s voice is soft, quiet, worms its way into Will’s heart like it’s always resided there. “I don’t take it lightly.”
Will’s next breath is more of a shudder. His fingers dig into Hannibal’s knee briefly before he forces himself to relax his hold.
“I don’t take anything you’ve granted me lightly, Will,” Hannibal murmurs. “I don’t imagine I ever will.” Will’s heart does something painful in his chest.
Without thinking, he reaches backward, grabs hold of Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder. “I don’t take it lightly, either,” he manages.
He doesn’t. He knows that for Hannibal, this means - it’s hard to imagine it might mean as much as it does to Will. But even if it’s only a fraction, it must be overwhelming for him, too.
Their hands stay laced together. Will feels warm, enveloped. He doesn’t ever want to let go.
“Rest, Will. I will be here.”
Such simple words. Hannibal makes all of this seem so easy, sometimes. Will doesn’t know if he can come back from this. Every day makes it seem more and more unlikely.
For now, Will lets himself drift, warm, cared for. Maybe one day it won’t seem so extraordinary. Even if he were to have this every day for the rest of his life, he finds the idea just as unlikely as the thought that he could ever give it up.