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For anyone else in the world, the doorbell ringing at a quarter to one in the morning would create a sense of unease. Hannibal Lecter does not fear the night, the dark, or impromptu visitors that crawl from the shadows, so when the bell goes off, it comes as a quiet surprise that morphs into irritation. Briefly, he glances at his phone to see if he missed calls from Will or Jack, but there are no notifications at all.
He closes his book with a sigh and gets to his feet. He considers grabbing something sharp just as a precaution—he isn’t afraid, but you never know with night callers. However, that thought quickly fades the closer he gets to the front door; the sound of two familiar voices takes away whatever apprehension he has.
Hannibal opens the door with a greeting on his tongue, but the words die when he takes in the sight.
Beverly Katz looks lovely dressed to the nines in a tight, emerald green cocktail dress and strappy silver heels, but that’s not what has Hannibal tongue-tied. It’s the very inebriated Will Graham that’s leaning so heavily into Beverly that Hannibal is shocked her heels can handle the weight. He’s also dressed up a little, a black-on-black combination that is a stark contrast to the hypnotic blue of his glassy eyes and the flush in his cheeks.
“Hi, Dr. Lecter, sorry for the horrid timing,” Beverly says right as Will’s face breaks into a happy, breathtaking smile. His head lulls slightly to the side and he sighs Hannibal's name like he's so happy to see him.
Hannibal feels heat rushing down his spine at Will’s sultry voice, but he quickly schools himself. “Not at all, Miss. Katz. Hello, Will.”
“Hello, Doctor,” Will slurs back, leaning forward out of Beverly’s grasp to clutch at Hannibal’s robe and missing entirely. Hannibal can’t help but smile; he’s never seen Will drunk and happy like this before.
“Whoa, take it easy, dummy,” Beverly grumbles, staggering slightly as she tries to right him. “He’s toasted, I’m sorry. I was supposed to take him home but he kept insisting I bring him here.”
"'Cause he's a doctor," Will insists emphatically.
"Good to know your education wasn't wasted on you, buddy," Beverly jests.
Hannibal’s heart does a series of flips and somersaults against his ribcage. Will sought him out on his own, choosing to come here instead of his own home. He came to me because he wanted to. “In light of the circumstances, I am so very glad you've come. May I?” He holds out his arms and Beverly transfers him over with minimal effort since Will is already reaching out like a needy toddler.
It’s risible and hopelessly endearing.
Hannibal takes hold of his arms and pulls him against his side. Will’s body is very warm and it seems as though his natural aversion to avoiding touch flies out the window when he’s drunk because he sighs into Hannibal’s shoulder and clings to him like a boa constrictor. He smells like cheap whiskey that makes Hannibal’s eyes water, but the atrocious aftershave underneath it makes it bearable, considering it’s just so Will. “Thank you for bringing him to me, Miss. Katz, I will take care of him.” He assures her.
She snickers good-naturedly and there’s a knowing glint in her eyes. “I’m sure you will.”
“Forgive me for asking, but are you alright to drive?”
“Oh, yeah, I didn’t drink nearly as much as he did. I don’t live too far.” She prods Will in the back with her hand. “Enjoy your hangover, lightweight.”
Will grumbles something incoherent into Hannibal’s chest in response, making them both smile.
After a brief goodbye, Hannibal closes the door and leads the both of them toward the kitchen. Water, something to eat that will soak up the alcohol, perhaps some medication too, Hannibal thinks to himself. He deposits Will in one of the chairs at the island and tilts his head up so that they’re face to face.
Will’s eyes are glazed but sparkling with the force of the smile he’s wearing. “Is it time for my appointment?” He slurs, somehow managing to sound coy and charming despite how intoxicated he is.
Hannibal chuckles and smooths his curls back from his face, marveling at how Will leans into the touch like a puppy. “It is nearly one o’clock, probably not the most suitable time for therapy, but I applaud your efforts in wanting to prioritize your mental health."
"You sure you don't wanna poke around at the... the bone arena of my skull?" He giggles, high-pitched and bubbly, but it may as well be church bells considering how beautiful it is.
"How much did you drink, Will?”
“All of it.”
“All of it, hm? That certainly is a lot.”
Will throws his head back with laughter and Hannibal feels dizzy with the amount of adoration he has for this ridiculous man. He’s laughing so hard that he nearly tips backward, but Hannibal catches him by the shoulders and holds him upright. Will responds by sighing happily, wrapping both of his arms around Hannibal’s middle and burying his face in his stomach.
For once, Hannibal doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s stopped breathing entirely, but the pressure of Will’s body against his is making everything… difficult. He and Will make exceptions for one another that neither would usually otherwise make; Hannibal allows Will to trample around his home and office and fiddle with his things, and Will allows Hannibal to touch him more than anyone else. Usually, it’s a hand on his shoulder or his arm, but so far, their touching has only ever been initiated by Hannibal.
He privately thanks the powers of the universe that Will Graham is an affectionate drunk. Hannibal has wanted to have this boy in his arms for quite some time, and it appears that all it took was a little liquid courage.
You are playing with fire, sweet boy, if you think I will let you go now.
He runs his fingers through Will’s hair while the other smooths down the length of his spine and he feels the body in his arms tremble from the touch. Will lets out a breathy little sigh against Hannibal’s diaphragm and the feeling seeps through his pajamas and warms his skin. Blood is adamantly trying to pool south now. How easy it would be to kiss Will Graham right now; he could tip the boy's head back, then pepper his face with soft kisses until he pleaded for more...
Reality catches up with Hannibal after that, and he chastises himself for being so overruled by his emotions and desires that he's somehow forgotten that Will is very drunk. Even though he’s in Hannibal’s kitchen, clinging to him like he’s a stuffed toy and leaning into his touch like he’s starving for it, nothing can happen between them. Not tonight, at least. Hannibal Lecter lives between the shades of monsters and wickedness, but he draws a very bold line at any sort of sexual misconduct. Not to mention that if he gave in and Will had regrets in the morning, it could damage whatever they have built. That Hannibal would not allow.
He pushes Will back gently, which earns him a pitiful, petulant little whine. “Come back, you’re warm.”
“I will be right back. You need water more than warmth at the moment.” He replies with a strain that Will seems too drunk to notice.
Will sticks out his plush bottom lip in a pout, and once again, Hannibal’s self-restraint is tested. If I could kiss you now, I would. As a compromise, he runs his hands through Will’s hair once more (it takes a remarkable amount of self-control to ignore the quiet moan that slips from Will’s lips when he does it), then moves away from his temptation.
“What was the occasion tonight?” He asks as he fills a large glass with water. “I have never known you to be one for a party.”
Will hums dismissively behind him. “Zeller’s birthday. They like clubs. And shots. So… so many shots. Price can drink me under the table.”
“I cannot imagine the state he is in if you have come to me like this,” Hannibal teases. He takes the brie and prosciutto shortbreads he made earlier out of the fridge as well, knowing that even though it won’t help Will sober up, it’s unlikely his boy has eaten much.
Will laughs. “They’re probably having some crazy drunk sex right now.”
“Mr. Zeller and Mr. Price?” He guesses. He can't imagine Beverly Katz sleeping with Brian Zellar and Jimmy Price is certainly not partial to women, but it had never been confirmed.
“Mmhmm.”
“I was not aware they were an item.”
“Yeah, finally.”
Hannibal considers this; it does make sense. “Well, when two people work together as closely as those two do, I suppose such affections are bound to develop.” I hope they have developed between us as well, goes unsaid.
“Guess so,” Will answers quietly.
Hannibal takes a breath to calm his racing pulse then turns back to the table. Will has his face propped up in his hand and his eyes are opening and closing like he’s suddenly exhausted. Affection so profound skyrockets through Hannibal’s body at the sight of him so soft and sleepy. He would like to have many more nights of sleepy Will Graham in his home, preferably when he can lead him upstairs, lay him out across the sheets, and make love to him the way he deserves before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Not this night, he reminds himself as he sits down and pushes the plate and glass to Will. “Eat what you can, but I would like you to finish that glass.”
Will looks wide-eyed down at the plate, then back up at Hannibal. “You made me food?”
“Yes, did you not notice?” He teases, picking up one of the shortbreads and holding it up for Will.
“I was thinking,”
“Oh, yes, of course, you were. My mistake.” Hannibal chuckles and Will grins at him, big, silly, and beautiful. He holds the shortbread up to keep him focused, hoping Will might let Hannibal feed him. “Please?”
Will blinks uncomprehendingly (which shouldn’t be as charming as it is), then opens his mouth and allows exactly that.
The sensation of Will’s lips brushing against his fingers sends sparks down Hannibal’s arm. There isn’t much eye contact; Will is a bit too drunk for that, but Hannibal keeps his eyes on his boy the entire time. He couldn’t look away now if he wanted to.
Will hums appreciatively at the taste, which does nothing for Hannibal’s libido. “‘S so good,” He mumbles around the bite.
“I’m pleased to hear that.” He replies casually, not at all reflecting the purring monster inside of him who is preening with Will’s praise. "I am curious, Will, why you requested to be taken here instead of your own home. Not that I mind."
He shrugs rather dramatically and takes a sip of his water. "Neighbor has my dogs. House is too empty. Quiet." He pauses. "Lonesome."
"I was under the impression that you enjoyed the quiet," Hannibal is proud of how steady his voice sounds despite the thrill in his blood.
Another non-commital shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I just... enjoy your company."
A genuine smile pulls at Hannibal's lips. "Hopefully as much as I enjoy yours."
Will blinks back rather owlishly and then drops his gaze, but Hannibal doesn't miss the blush that is creeping up his neck.
They fall silent after that. Will continues to allow Hannibal to feed him, and before long the plate is cleared, the water is drained, and his boy looks about ready to fall asleep at the table. Hannibal lets him drift a bit while he takes care of the plate and refills the glass of water, secretly ecstatic about how comfortable Will is in his home. It’s calm. Domestic. Something Hannibal never thought he would want, but now craves as much as he craves exquisite music and fine art. Who would have thought that all of his preferences, his ideals, and his entire way of life could be upturned? Certainly not Hannibal.
Then he turns to look and suddenly feels very foolish. Of course, Will Graham could turn his life upside down; a boy as beautiful and fascinating as he is. His vicious little mongoose. His boy.
The love of his life.
Hannibal lets out a happy sigh of his own, then moves to Will’s side and offers his hand. “Time for bed. I have a guest room.”
Will gazes at his proffered hand, then looks up and meets Hannibal’s eyes. The moment freezes in time. All sounds and colors of the world fade. Nothing exists outside of Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen; time, space, serial killers and bloodshed, art and beauty, it’s all gone. For the first time in his entire life, Hannibal’s belly is full of butterflies and thunderstorms like a lovesick teenager. Will’s eyes are unfathomable oceans and calm night skies. Angelic.
“I love you.”
Hannibal’s world whites out behind his head. His ears are ringing, pounding, pulsing but he doesn’t need to hear the outside world. He just needs to hear those words fall from Will’s lips again and again and again. God, that’s all he wants.
Will clamps a hand over his mouth and his eyes go wide and panicked, and just like that, the moment is broken (Hannibal’s heart feels a little broken too, but he understands how drunken confessions work). “I’m sorry,” He mumbles behind his hand. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
Hannibal manages a lighthearted smile despite how gutted he feels. “You are quite drunk, Will.”
“That’s not…” Will winces and drops his gaze. “It’s not because I’m drunk.”
“We can discuss this in the morning if you would like, but I think it best for you to sleep. Come with me.”
Wordlessly, Will nods and gets to his feet without taking Hannibal’s hand. Whatever lighthearted mood was settling between them is gone. Hannibal can feel Will pulling away from him emotionally as they ascend the stairs, all of his fears suspended in the quiet tendrils of self-doubt. Hannibal wants to reassure him that everything is more than fine, wants to hold his boy against the wall and kiss the shuttered, closed-down look off of his face, but he won’t. Not tonight. He wants Will to be sure.
Will eyes the guest room dubiously but approaches the bed anyway without getting in. He’s hesitant, more so than usual, keeping his back turned so that Hannibal can’t see his face. He doesn’t think he’s welcome anymore.
That won’t do at all.
“Will—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” He bites back, words still slurred from the amount of alcohol still in his system. “Slip of the tongue. Forget it happened.”
A twinge of something close to anger rolls down Hannibal’s spine. As if I could forget what you said. As if I could pretend that you haven’t just moved all the stars in my sky by telling me you loved me.
“I will bring you something to sleep in,” He says instead, swallowing down his feelings on the subject and choosing to give Will the space he wants (which is the exact opposite of what Hannibal wants).
From his closet, he selects a pair of silk sleep pants and the closest thing to a t-shirt he owns, made from expensive, breathable modal cotton. When he returns to the guest room he finds that Will has already burrowed himself inside the blankets with his back to the door. His clothes are in a pile on the floor, carelessly discarded. (The irony is not lost on Hannibal that if anyone else had done this, he would abhor the behavior. Hannibal doesn’t think he could abhor Will Graham for any reason.)
Still.
He places the sleepwear on the wooden chest then collects Will’s clothes and folds them gently, He’ll wash them for Will to wear in the morning, or, more likely, he will wash them just before Will gets up, forcing him to stay for breakfast so that they can have this conversation and Will can’t run from him. (Even if he does run, Hannibal will follow. He will always follow.)
Hannibal perches on the edge of the bed by Will’s back. His curls are just barely visible under the blanket and he’s snoring very softly. Each breath pulls at heartstrings Hannibal didn’t know he had. He lays a hand on his shoulder, but Will doesn’t move. “Will?”
“Mmph,” Comes the grumpy, half-asleep reply.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” Hannibal says with a smile. Sleepy Will Graham is a new favorite version of his. “But I wanted to know if you required anything further before I go to sleep myself.”
The covers pull away from Wil’s face and he gazes blearily up at Hannibal, blinking and snuffling like a young puppy. Once again, Hannibal has to stop and breathe and just take in the man before him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. Will is prickly at best, and downright rude at worst on most days, but now Hannibal is seeing the gentle creature underneath, the one that has been reaching out for someone to hold onto, only to have his hand slapped away or ignored. Just wait for me until morning, my love. When we can speak freely without alcohol in the way.
Will’s smile is soft, fond. “Are you gonna tuck me in, Doctor?” He murmurs, just a bit too rough with sleep to be sultry.
Hannibal wasn’t going to do that, but now he certainly is. He puts his heart and soul into fluffing and tucking the blankets around Will’s body, all while his boy laughs quietly and allows the coddling (he’s definitely still drunk; he’d never allow this otherwise.)
Afterward, he resumes his place on the bed and grins. “Anything else?”
Will shakes his head. “‘M good.”
Hannibal has to physically hold himself back from pressing his lips to his forehead. Instead, he runs his fingers through his curls and cherishes the way Will’s eyes flutter open, briefly locking his eyes with Hannibal’s before they fall closed again. God, he’s so beautiful. Dazzling. “Then I wish you pleasant dreams, Will. Goodnight,”
Will hums a reply. Hannibal lingers on the bed for at least another minute, then makes his way to the door. He thinks he may need a drink himself after this, but the temptation is still very strong and he worries about his own self-control. He flicks the light off with a sigh. He doesn’t think he’s even going to sleep tonight—not that he needs it, but his mind is so full of Will tonight that—
“I love you when I’m sober too, y’know.”
Hannibal’s entire body goes rigid. His heart, his lungs, his brain, they all go offline. He turns slowly, calculated.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” Will sounds alert all of a sudden like the split-second decision to speak has woken him up. “Wouldn’t have told you, if… well.”
“Why wouldn’t you have told me?” He hears himself asking.
Will scoffs, but it goes wrong somewhere in the middle and it sounds more like a watery gasp. “Why do you think?” He snaps, voice catching on…
Oh, Will.
Hannibal crosses the room in three steps and sinks back down on the bed, but his boy won’t look at him. The room is dark enough that he can’t quite see Will’s face, but there’s a tightness in his jaw like he’s trying to keep himself together. Once upon a time that may have been a welcome sight, but not anymore. Not now. He reaches out slowly and tilts Will’s face around with a tentative touch to his cheek. His heart sinks to the floor when a tear drops onto his skin.
It’s like Will’s mind and body are two separate entities at this moment; his body melts into Hannibal’s palm at the same time he squeezes his eyes shut, no doubt trying to escape whatever tangle of thoughts he has snared himself to. Hannibal brushes a stray curl away from his forehead, listens to the way that Will’s breath catches at the contact, and decides to break more rules.
“You thought I would reject you.”
“Aren’t you?”
Hannibal could almost laugh, but he doesn’t. Will would think he was laughing at him. “No. I simply believe this is a conversation we shouldn’t be having at two in the morning while you are intoxicated.” He can practically feel the doubt pouring off of his boy, so he leans down and kisses his forehead like he’s been wanting to all night. “I want you to be alert, aware, and able to absorb everything that I want to tell you, beloved, so you must wait until morning. I care for you too deeply to allow anything otherwise. Do you understand?”
There’s a pause, then he feels Will nod slowly. “You do have… feelings for me, then?” He sounds so nervous and hesitant that it cracks another piece of Hannibal’s resolve.
“Is that so surprising?”
“For me, yes,” He answers. “I mostly feel bad for you; I’m pretty fucked up.”
Hannibal grits his teeth; Will isn’t saying that to be proven wrong, he genuinely believes it and that is unacceptable. “I assure you, Will, I am just as… fucked up as you are.”
The laugh that gets pulled from Will’s lungs sounds startled like it was punched out of him. “I’ve never heard you swear before. It’s kinda hot.” As quickly as he says it, he quickly covers his face with a mortified groan. “I’m sorry, I’m still drunk. Ignore me.”
Oh, but that isn’t an option at all. “I will not. I have a proposition if you would like to hear it.”
“Shoot.”
“I would like very much,” Hannibal caresses Will’s cheekbone to make sure he’s paying attention. “To take you downstairs to my bed. Just to sleep,” He adds at Will’s sudden excitement. “I would simply like to hold you for as long as you will allow.”
He doesn’t need to see it to know that Will’s face is flushed that lovely rose color; he can hear it. “I would like that. A lot. Please?”
Hannibal smiles, then stands and moves the blanket to the side. Will is nude except for his boxer briefs, and he takes just a few seconds to admire the beauty before him with love in his heart before he holds his arms out in question. “May I?”
Will seems confused as to what Hannibal is asking, but he nods nonetheless. Hannibal slips his arms beneath his body and lifts him from the bed with zero effort. Will clumsily wraps his arms around his neck and clings for dear life as they move. He has his eyes shut, most likely because his mind is swirling, but Hannibal is fixated on his blush. For someone so fiercely independent, you do not seem to resent being manhandled by me, he thinks with delight.
He closes the door with his foot and deposits Will down on his sheets, then sheds his robe and shirt. He crawls beneath the sheets, heart jackhammering in his chest as he wraps his arms around Will and pulls him close. They’re facing each other so in the dim light, Hannibal can see the frown that’s knitting his eyebrows together and can feel the tension in his body.
“What is it?”
“I’m not good with… sharing a bed. I sweat a lot, and I have nightmares. You probably should have left me—”
“Sheets can be washed and changed. If you experience bad dreams, I will wake with you and hold you until you feel safe again. Do not worry about me, Will.” Hannibal assures him gently.
Will releases the breath he was holding and finally, finally relaxes into Hannibal’s embrace. It will take a while for him to fully believe what Hannibal said, but that does not matter. I will have the rest of my days to convince him of how much he means to me. I will never stop showing him.
“Hannibal?”
“Hm?”
Will hesitates, then: “I know you said not until I’m sober, but can I… can I make a request?”
“Depends on the request.” He answers, propping himself up slightly. “What would you like, Will?”
“Kiss me. Just once. Please?”
Hannibal closes his eyes as a dizzying amount of adoration floods his bloodstream. He doesn’t say anything, he just tilts his head and does exactly what was asked of him. Will melts into the kiss, letting out a soft, needy moan that takes an exorbitant amount of self-control for Hannibal to ignore. He keeps it chaste and polite, but he knows as he cradles Will’s face in his palm and can feel the rapid pattering of his boy’s heart that Will can feel the emotion behind it.
They break apart and Will is nearly panting from just that alone. Hannibal shushes him gently, bundles him up against his heart, and rubs his back in calming circles until his breathing evens out. “Sleep, my love. I have you now.” He whispers.
Will sighs, hooks his arm around Hannibal’s back, and molds his body until there is no space between them at all.
They both dream peacefully this night.