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He knows why he did it, but it doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.
The dog, a stout little thing with marmalade colored fur and perpetually frozen ears, sits right outside the kitchen, curled up by the door waiting for him to step out so she can jump up and lick at him like she has been doing for the last week. He expected her to be skittish, but he supposes she must sense some sort of kindred spirit in him–animals can be so trusting like that. Which, he does admit, is cute, and she’s well trained due to her age but it was ridiculous for him to agree to take her.
He wishes he could say he doesn’t know what possessed him, but he absolutely does. Of course, he does. Frankly, it’s less what and more who and it’s nearly embarrassing that he’s done this. It would be a great blow to his ego if anyone figured out the reason for this kind act. However, he’s positive he’ll get the reaction he wants, and that’s what’s most important to him.
The specific who is coming over for dinner, as well–should be here in fifteen minutes or so. There is some method to his madness, after all, so he couldn’t keep the dog a secret for too long. Ultimately, he did take her in just to appease Will, it’s only a bonus Hannibal is becoming enamored with her.
Pumpkin yawns, head on her paws, watching Hannibal with the kind of big eyes that he knows will work on Will. They almost work on him, too, but he’s been without a pet for so long that he’s rather immune to begging. Maybe he won’t be in a few months, but for now he’s strong. Besides, he’s never owned a dog, he is not particularly moved by their actions.
He looks over to Pumpkin who yawns again. She has a bed, but she waits outside of the kitchen on the hardwood floor anyway.
Against his better judgment he tosses her a piece of meat and smiles as she eats it with glee. Get her accustomed to the diet early on, after all, he suspects he’ll be feeding her scraps rather often.
The door opens, five minutes earlier than he was expecting, but that’s fine. Will is always welcome, even if early.
“Dr Lecter?” Will calls, and even from here, he can hear the sound of his jacket being taken off, and him slipping out of his shoes.
“In the kitchen, Will.” He calls back, wrist deep in a dredge for today’s meat.
There are some parts of the human body that can’t quite be passed off as pig or rabbit or lamb or whatever else in flavor so he needs a good marinade to mask the oddness of it and Will appreciates a good blend of spices more than most of his other guests.
It only takes him a few seconds to go from the door to the kitchen, 15 in total. He walks the quickest compared to any other guests he’s had over, and Hannibal knows because he’s timed them all just in case he needs to make a quick exit and direct them away from the kitchen. Today, it takes him 15 seconds plus one for Will to stoop down close to the ground. “Oh my god. What do we have here?”
Hannibal pulls the meat from the dredge and places it in a glass baking dish filled with onions, mushrooms, peppers, and butter. He hasn’t looked at Will, although he very much wants to. “Her name is Pumpkin.”
“I know you didn’t name her that.“ Will says without thought, already cooing at the little thing as soon as his sentence is done.
“Her previous owners named her that but I have no qualms with it.” He tells him as he washes his hands and tries to dig the mix from his fingernails. “It has been her name for many years. Why change it now?”
Will hums, rubbing her stomach with the heel of his hand. His position looks incredibly uncomfortable, and he nearly slips on his socks. “I always wanted to change my name as a kid. Dad called me Willy and I hated it. So I just started going by Will after his accident.”
“Willy to Will. Why not go by your middle name?” He asks; it seems simple enough. So many Americans go by their middle names. “A fresh start,”
“Beau is a little too… Southern, besides, no one pronounces it right and I don’t feel like correcting them.” He blows on her face, smiling like a kid. “Will or William is much more sophisticated than Beau. No one would take me seriously.”
“When I moved to America I legally changed my name.” He’s nonchalant about it, a confession for a confession, he supposes. Quid Pro Quo, as it would be, but he also doesn’t care now. Or he likes to think he doesn’t.
Will pauses, his fingers still in Pumpkin’s fur. “What?”
“Nothing drastic. Still my name, but it was officially Hanibalas Lekteris, and I wanted–it would be easier on the tongue.” He says, and there’s something strange about Will’s face, the way his eyes flicker over Hannibal like he’s looking for something, like his empathy is suddenly kicked in gear, and that makes him add, “it is still the same name, Will.”
Pumpkin licks Will’s hand, asking for his attention again. That’s enough of an excuse to make Will look down, and while his eyes are on the dog, they aren’t focused. “I like it.”
Hannibal doesn’t smile, but it’s a near thing. “I like Beau. However, I do agree. It’s very Southern. You’d have to free your accent to make it work.”
“She’s adorable.” Will scratches behind her ears, effectively changing the subject before it can get too deep into why he masks his accent so carefully. Still, part of him wants to. He feels that if he dissected that, he could probably dissect Hannibal. “How did you get her?”
“One of my patients could no longer care for her.” Hannibal says as if he would agree to this for any patient. As if he’d want a dog that has shed all over Will’s hands and pants and has obvious anxiety issues.
Will laughs at that. “And you were the first person they thought of?”
No, they’d only mentioned it in their session and Hannibal had offered without thinking–or well, with one thing on his mind. Not because he particularly likes dogs, nor does he currently have any desire to have a pet, but because she’s old and needs somewhere stable and because Will Graham would find it endearing.
“It seems to have worked out,” he says in way of an answer. “Regardless, she’s well trained and loving and that’s well enough.”
Will stands from where he’s been crouched down, and the overhead lights shine in his hair like a halo. He washes his hand in the sink and rolls up his sleeves, though his eyes keep going back to Pumpkin. “Put me to work.”
“Can I see her set up?” Will asks after dinner, when the plates have been cleared, and they’re both three glasses deep and the conversation has moved from bodies and killers and into how Will can technically play the fiddle but it’s not very good, and Hannibal tells him about his theremin.
Will has been much more at ease, which has started a bit of a chain reaction between them. Pumpkin has sat between them the entire time and while Hannibal usually wouldn’t let a dog in his dining room, just as she is forbidden from his kitchen, Will seemed pleased by her arrival and Hannibal wasn’t about to disrupt that.
“They sent her with a few items. Food, a bed, the essentials.” Hannibal makes a vague gesture as he stands, which Will takes as an obvious invention to follow him.
He’d like to go ahead and do the dishes in the sink, maybe even invite Will to fry them, but he supposes they could do this first.
They walk through the first floor of his home, Pumpkin trotting behind them. Hannibal does his best to stay synced with Will as they walk, he’d hold his breath if it meant he could breathe at the same pace as well. If it meant anything close to love.
They first stop in the kitchen and again, Hannibal thinks about inviting Will to do the dishes with him, but he decides against this, and rediscovers the plastic bag of dog food he was given and hands it to Will. He plans for Pumpkin to integrate into a raw diet but he kept this just to show Will. He’s also already purchased her what the internet insisted was a better brand, but it’s tucked away.
“Hannibal,” Will moves the kibble around, feeling it between the layers of plastic the same way he treats crime scenes, “there’s no way in hell Pumpkin can eat this.”
“It’s what the previous owner fed her.” Hannibal says, and it’s not an argument. It really is the food, and it looks like any other basic kibble.
“She’s an older dog. This is puppy mix,” he sounds exasperated, annoyed even, “people really don’t know how to take care of their dogs. She needs vitamins and supplements before she elderly. I’ll make you a list, and I’ll include brand names.”
“I was planning to accumulate her to a more raw diet.” Hannibal promises, taking the bag back to hide away in the pantry. “I’ve heard they’re quite good for dogs.”
“Do it slowly, but you’ll probably still need to mix in some dry food for a while. Does she have a leash?”
“Yes, she does.”
Will is… excited at that. He seems to be practically vibrating. Of course he is, dogs are one of his special interests and who does he have to talk about them with aside from Alana. “She’ll need daily exercise. It will help her joints, arthritis is common in dogs and often looked over.”
“I know.” He says gently, it isn’t like he doesn’t have some vague awareness of the needs of dogs. “I believe that’s why they gave me a leash.”
Will looks him over, trying to read him again, his hands are deep in his pockets but his fingers are moving. “Is she crate trained?”
Hannibal blinks. “Is she what?”
“You should probably get a dog door installed so she can get in and out.” Will says, inferring whatever he needs to know just from looking at him. “Especially because of your work schedule.”
“I’m not sure that I–“
“If she isn’t crate trained and you leave her all day, she’s going to have to get in and out somehow.” Will explains, and his voice is slower now, the pronunciation of his words sharper. “That or you should pick up the rugs. Let’s see her bed.”
Hannibal leads him down the hall to one of the unoccupied rooms. It’s meant to be a guest room, but rarely does he have guests that stay, and besides, he has more.
“I do not believe she is crate trained, but I think this will do?” Hannibal pushes the half-closed door open, and it’s mostly bare. He has her bed and a few other items he was given for her. A few toys, her food and water bowls. The leash is hung up, but it’s nothing extravagant currently.
“You gave her an entire room to herself?” Will purses his lips.
“Yes.” Hannibal responds, and if he were anyone else, he’d be beaming.
Will sighs, mostly to himself. “Rich people. I’ll start on your list.”
By the time Will is done with his list, which he writes while Hannibal washes the dishes, it’s at least fifteen items long, and half of it, Hannibal’s never even heard of. A part of him doesn’t want to because of his need to know everything, but he asks Will to explain a few of the items. Specific enrichment toys and what exactly he means by a dog blanket for the car–he’s not putting the dog in his car.
They moved to his study while Will explained the need for salmon oil, but now Pumpkin has taken Will’s attention again and Hannibal is gladly watching him play with her. It feels like some kind of normalcy he’s never had, it feels like something he almost should have.
“She’s sweet.” He says from where he’s all but laid on the floor. “And very relaxed. I couldn’t see you trying to wrangle a puppy.”
Hannibal realizes likes it a great deal. He looks comfortable, more comfortable than he is during their appointments or at Quantico or at a crime scene. Under his horrific aftershave and cologne, he can smell cinnamon. It’s good, better than he’s ever allowed himself. The entire situation, that is, because he’s indulged in many things, but nothing quite like this.
“I know.” Hannibal smiles, the barest movement of the corner of his lips. “I was pleasantly surprised when I retrieved her and she was so calm.”
“She’s also fat.” Will says, almost a scold but not really, not to anyone in the room. “Could have something to do with her mood.”
Hannibal nods to himself and goes to take the whiskey from one of his cabinets. “I suppose they were over feeding her.”
“Oh you like your belly scratched, huh?” Will smiles, scratching her stomach until her leg jumps. “You’ll overfeed her too.”
“What an accusation.”
“You overfeed me.” Will is smiling, but Hannibal doesn’t see it as he pours their drinks. He can, however, hear the way it wraps around his words. He can still smell cinnamon. “Yes he does. He’s going to make you so fat, just like he’s trying to do to me then what are we gonna do? Huh?”
He holds out a glass. “Will.”
“Dr. Lecter.” He stands, and brushes his hands on his pants before coming over and taking the glass from his warm hands.
Their fingers brush, and their limbs are heavy, and Will takes a drink of the whiskey and smiles because it’s smooth and rich and because Hannibal never gives his guests, even the ones that come to his study, any amount of his fine whiskey.
“It’s good of you to take her.” He says into the glass. They’re only a few inches apart, both warm from the alcohol and something else. “She’s in good hands.”
It would be so easy for Hannibal to move right now. To turn into Will and kiss him with abandon. Put the glass down and hold his face between his hands and dip his tongue into the alcohol-sweet of Will’s mouth, and press against him so he could feel the way Will’s cock stiffens in his pants.
He could bend him over his desk and take him right here, body pressed to body, distant and yielding like revival of a church and everything Hannibal has ever allowed himself to want.
Instead, he nods towards her, curled up and asleep. “I may need your assistance with her. She’s well behaved but I’m out of my own expertise when it comes to…”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” Will says, and his words are a bit rounder, all together something sugary that sticks to Hannibal. Will isn’t fighting his words right now, and he wants to hear it again, and again, and again. Wants to rip it out of his mouth with his hands if he has to.
“Anything you want.” Hannibal says, and it’s meant to be about feeding him as payment for his help, but he doesn’t finish the sentence because there is a heated body just barely touching him.
“Hannibal,” Will looks up at him like he’s just had some revelation. Like in this moment, every word, every screamed sermon, every breath he’s taken, suddenly makes sense.
Hannibal places his glass down at the time Will does and they clink together horridly but it doesn’t matter. He touches the side of his face, feels Will’s cheek lean into his palm, and he finds it incredibly easy to kiss him. Much easier than he assumed it would be.
Will’s lips are slightly chapped, but sweet from wine and whiskey and the cherry filling from their dessert, and he places his hands on Hannibal’s waist with a great deal of delicacy that has never been given freely to the man in his life. Pulls Hannibal against him, leg between Hannibal’s thighs.
Their tongues touch, causing them both to make a tender noise, and it feels like being dunked in a river and coming out anew.
“You don’t have to leave,” Hannibal says when he pulls away, “you could stay the night.”
Will follows him, trying to pull him back into another kiss, to taste his mouth. “You sure?“
Hannibal kisses him again, and cements the feeling of Will Graham’s tongue in his mouth. “Yes, so very sure.”