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Hannibal did, in fact, get away with it for a while. He was so comprehensively obsessed with Will that it took Will some time to understand which details were Hannibal’s favorites. Also, Will was not used to thinking objectively about himself.
Will had always been short, and smart, and worried about just how deep his dark streak ran. He knew right away that Hannibal liked how smart he was, and how he was smart in very unique ways. In time, he knew all too well that Hannibal loved his dark streak, loved how it turned out to be not just a streak but an exposed vein of the bedrock of Will’s self, so like Hannibal’s own. It wasn’t until Will learned to stop worrying and love the cannibal that he discovered Hannibal also liked that Will was short.
There was a lot of hugging, at the beginning. Will started a pattern with his yes-I-love-you-too-Hannibal hugging, which turned into holy-shit-this-is-a-sketchy-escape-plan hugging halfway down the cliff. Then there was a lot of exhausted, pained hugging, which was as much about helping each other remain upright as anything, because they were both beat to hell and full of holes. It was a blurry swing between that and hugging Hannibal just because it felt good. Anyway, somewhere in there, Hannibal stopped swooning and started hugging Will back. Hannibal gave really nice hugs, very enfolding; squeezing hard while still being careful of Will’s poor, ruined shoulder. They always wound up with Hannibal’s arms on the outside, wrapped around Will, and (except when he was nuzzling him with his cheek like a big cat) Hannibal’s chin propped on the top of Will’s head. So that was the first clue.
Then there was a really cold morning, when Will wanted to get out of bed and go eat the amazing breakfast he could smell Hannibal cooking, but didn’t want to face the frigid air. Will couldn’t see his bathrobe anywhere, and didn’t want to take the time to wriggle into his usual ten thousand layers of his own shirts, and Hannibal’s sweater was folded on a chair next to the bed and looked really fuzzy. Yes, Hannibal’s sweater was next to the bed because it was their bed; so what? It didn’t have to mean anything. Will was married long enough to get a taste for having a warm body nearby when he slept. He had come too far to deny himself small comforts. So he put on the sweater, determinedly ignoring how it hung down past his ass and bunched around his wrists, and padded down to the kitchen, and Hannibal took one look at him and dropped a plate. That was the second clue.
The extended murder-vacation went on and on. Hannibal took Will gallivanting all over Europe, showing him his favorite art and architecture, and seeing some new places too. Hannibal would sketch for hours while Will people-watched. When Will found especial ugliness in the faces of the crowd, where once he would have forced himself to look away, now he tugged Hannibal’s sleeve and inclined his head just so. The spark that leapt between them in those moments was thrilling, making Will feel like he could dare anything.
Mostly he dared to delight in wickedness, but he also dared himself to find out what would happen if he touched Hannibal even more. What would happen if he sat beside Hannibal such that their thighs pressed snugly together? If he squeezed Hannibal's shoulder in passing, or the back of his neck? If he rubbed Hannibal's calf with his foot under a table? Hannibal, touch-starved for years and monstrously devoted to Will for longer than that, tended to react by stopping whatever he was doing, up to and including breathing. It was even odds whether his eyes would flutter shut or study Will carefully, but he never once told Will to stop, or indicated that he didn't want something, or asked Will what he was doing. Which left Will to ask himself what he was doing.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed one evening, and then climbed into Hannibal's lap. "I've never been with a man before. Never wanted to."
Hannibal, shuddering like a racehorse, brought wondering hands up to rest on Will's hips. "Do you want to be with a man now?"
Will found he liked having Hannibal look up at him in worship. He leaned down in benediction, until his lips hovered over Hannibal's, and murmured, "I want to be with you now."
Hannibal's grip tightened and he said, in a voice like smoke and falling rocks, "That's all I need to know." And okay, Will might be a latecomer to his own bisexuality but he had arrived with a vengeance, because at that he surged compulsively into a kiss that stole his air and shunted most of his blood to his dick. Hannibal’s mouth was clean and warm, with just a hint of the coffee and cream of dessert from earlier, and buzzing with quiet moans Hannibal seemed helpless to stop.
Will found himself bringing both hands up to hold Hannibal’s head still so he could kiss him harder, deeper. He had to balance on his knees where they were planted on either side of Hannibal’s waist, tightening his thighs, and Hannibal made a louder moan and rocked up against him and just like that they were grinding against each other, in their clothes and then slightly out of their clothes. Hannibal kept his hands on Will’s hips nearly the entire time, big hands that all but covered the narrow span, and held him steady as a rising heat and wildness built in Will’s blood until he came all over Hannibal’s stomach. When it was over Will slumped boneless against Hannibal’s chest and reached down, but at the first touch of his come-slippery fingers Hannibal went off too, twisting up against Will and crying out hoarsely. Afterwards, he couldn’t stop stroking Will’s back, spanning Will’s shoulders with his open hands, blatantly taking in the shape of his torso tucked against Hannibal’s own, and, well. Not for nothing did Will build an entire career out of interpreting evidence. He knew: Hannibal was hot for Will's skinny little body.
He kept the knowledge to himself at first, not sure what he wanted to do with it, if anything. Will was not naive. He knew that some people were inexplicably attracted to his appearance, at least until his personality drove them off. It was just very odd to think that Hannibal was one of those people. Hannibal liked... cathedrals. Murder tableaus. Meat so elaborately spiced nobody could identify the animal it came from (people, when in doubt it was always, always people). Slow, philosophical conversations laden with obscure puns. Bedelia du Maurier, luminous as Venus on the half-shell. It seemed incongruous for him to also like a tetchy man who had to cultivate stubble to avoid being mistaken for a twelve-year-old girl. One of these things was not like the others.
Now that he knew, however, he couldn't help but exploit it every so often. Sidling up and insinuating himself under Hannibal's arm, or backing up against his broad chest in the sure knowledge that he would be tugged close. Splaying his fingers when he touched Hannibal, to watch Hannibal's pupils dilate as he took in how delicate Will's hand looked against, well, any part of Hannibal, who could not get any more Scandinavian without being literally carved from stone. The lap-sitting gambit became a regular part of Will's sexual repertoire, and one lazy morning he added getting blown lying down, with his legs thrown over Hannibal's shoulders and his heels drumming on Hannibal's back. Will never got to reciprocate because the position reliably made Hannibal shoot his load in the sheets, so when his curiosity and bravado reached critical mass, he demanded to blow Hannibal first instead.
He saw the appeal immediately. Will was used to eating pussy: good, sloppy fun all around. Sucking dick was subtly different, with more of a power dynamic; he realized how vulnerable Hannibal was like this, with an important body part inside Will's mouth, past Will's teeth. He felt tender, and powerful, and trusted.
He thought of something, and giggled so much he had to pull off for a second.
"Cos'è?" Hannibal asked thinly. The bedding was bunched in his white-knuckled fists.
"'Trust is two cannibals giving each other blowjobs,'" Will quoted, and licked Hannibal's balls while he tried to stop snickering. Hannibal groaned and very nearly came in Will's eye. Evidently, blowjobs carried risks for both parties.
They were in Paris in January for Cirque de Demain when there was a severe cold snap. Will could see that the cold was getting to Hannibal. There was a certain (extreme) temperature below which he clearly struggled with associations he would never, and very possibly could not, speak of. Bundled in his heaviest greatcoat, he seemed blind to the lights and spectacle all around them.
"Hannibal, I'm cold," Will announced, stepping close. Hannibal draped his arms around Will's shoulders, but remained absent.
"Still cold," Will said, and unbuttoned Hannibal's coat. It was so big - and, let's face it, Will was so slight - that Will was able to step inside and close it behind him. He wound his arms around Hannibal's waist and buried his face in Hannibal's chest, smelling wool, chocolate, a hint of blood from whatever (whoever) was marinating back at the hotel. Slowly the temperature inside the coat rose, and Hannibal grew more present. His arms tightened around Will, and he tilted his head to regard Will's upturned face. "Will?"
"I'm onto you, you know," Will said, instead of, Don't go away, stay with me.
"How so?" asked Hannibal carefully.
"You like that I fit in here with you. I mean, really like."
Hannibal looked shifty. Before he could even start dissembling, Will cut him off by snuggling closer, pointedly rubbing against Hannibal's erection.
"I wouldn't want you to think me shallow," Hannibal said at last.
Will chuckled. "God forbid."
"Nor would I wish to make you uncomfortable."
Will blinked. "You think I can accept being-" he lowered his voice, "-a killer, but not being reminded that I'm short? Hannibal," he chided.
"I am your first male lover," Hannibal muttered, "I worried it might - you are not short!" It was rare that two of Hannibal's trains of thought crashed verbally. Will grinned.
"I'm pretty short. It's okay. I have long since made my peace with being both short and skinny."
"Gracile," Hannibal argued, "elegant. Delicate and deadly."
Will shrugged, as much as he was able with Hannibal squeezing him indignantly. "If you say so."
"I do say so. I shall have to say so more often! My darling, I have been remiss."
Will groaned. "I've created a monster."
Hannibal pressed a fervent kiss into his hair. "Mon petit," he said, and the naked affection in his voice made Will curl just a little tighter into their embrace. Truth be told, he thought he would enjoy hearing how Hannibal saw him.
He sighed, and agreed with a smile, "Ton petit."