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Hannibal doesn't actually notice until several minutes into their main course. They're at the dining table as usual in the evening, working their way through a very enjoyable Blanquette de veaux when Hannibal looks up to see Will staring at him, a little too intently. At the same time, Hannibal notes a vague lassitude beginning to spread through his limbs and he puts his knife and fork down, thoughts racing. He keeps both benzodiazepines and barbiturates with his supplies, and he doesn't know if Will has gotten into them or procured something of his own from other sources. It is, of course, a very good sign that Will is trying out different ways of expressing himself, yet mildly worrying that he's chosen to do so without any prior discussion of method. After almost a year together, this is not what Hannibal would have expected Will to do, but Will has always been unpredictable at times. Perhaps there is a purpose he has yet to see?
"What family of drugs and what dosage, please?" he asks. He has no way to guess what or how much he has ingested. It must have been in the wine, or he would have tasted it. He looks at his glass which is two thirds drained. No discoloration that he can see, but then again he would have noticed that before now. He'd poured it himself.
"Let's take a break," Will says brightly, putting down his cutlery, pushing his chair back. He smiles, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands, elbows on the table. "We need some diversions, don't you think? I thought a game of hide and seek would be fun." Will's glass is full, untasted, right there by his plate. An obvious thing, which Hannibal had disregarded.
"Will, I would feel much more confident if I knew what you put in my wine and how much. There is sometimes a delicate balance to these things." He feels a little sleepy, his limbs heavy and comfortable where they are. Relatively fast acting then, even when ingested, but he can't tell what he's been given.
"Oh, you don't need to worry about feeling confident." Will smiles at Hannibal. It's… anticipatory. "I'm finding it rather satisfying, being the one keeping secrets about what I'm putting on the table. I've done my research, though."
"Very well," Hannibal says, "I'll play along." Who is he to deny Will his amusement. There are many things he would do if Will asked him to, and this seems simple, if childish. Although Will likely has some twist of the game in mind, or Hannibal doubts he'd have suggested it in this particular way. He will just have to trust that Will has, indeed, done his research correctly and not given him anything which will depress his breathing overly much or sink him into a coma. Although with Will's background, things should be relatively safe. He doesn't know what Will has planned, but he doubts it involves his death. "Hide and seek, you say."
He pushes his chair out, feeling heavier by the minute. Will watches across the table.
"I'll count to ten," Will says, not unkindly. "I'll count very slowly, but when I'm done I'm coming to find you, so I really think you should hurry up. One."
Hannibal breathes out and heaves himself up out of his chair. He feels like he woke up in the middle of an REM cycle, his body sluggish the way it almost never is. He gives Will an accusing look. Will grins back, boyish and unrepentant. It makes his scar twist the skin around his eye in a way which would probably look disturbing to an average person. Hannibal thinks it charming.
"Two."
Hannibal retreats through the doorway into the hall, toward the stairs. He feels exhausted already, and the thought of climbing stairs in any kind of rapid fashion is daunting.
"Three!" Will calls behind him from the dining room.
Hannibal sighs and starts up the stairs, trying to imagine himself in a state of mind Will might find diverting. He discovers he doesn't have to try hard at all. Dazed. Confused and a little worried. He draws the line at frightened, he decides, as he stumbles on one of the last steps, having to lean heavily on the bannister while his head swims, his field of vision shrinking. Will is still calling numbers from downstairs, but Hannibal mostly hears a static whine in his ears by now. He forces himself to start down the corridor. He is weaving, struggling to stay on his feet. There's a door. It's identical to the others and Hannibal has no idea whether it's the one that leads to the library or his bedroom. It's not Will's which is at the end of the hallway. He clutches at the handle, his leaning weight making it swing open earlier than he meant it to. He falls to the floor, half inside the room, half outside.
The floor is comfortable. He feels warm and relaxed. Hannibal realizes he's closed his eyes and opens them again. The fringe of the large library rug, hand woven in dark crimson and gray, is right in front of him. He tries to listen for Will, but either his hearing is so impaired he can't hear him or Will has stopped counting. Stopped counting, and is coming to find him.
Hannibal rolls over, gathering his wayward limbs out of the way of the door. He closes it by pushing on it. He does so in as controlled a fashion as he is able, because rising from the floor to actually reach the handle seems insurmountable, but he doesn't want to be sloppy. Not even like this. He needs to hide, because Will is coming to find him.
He bit his lip when he fell, but he can't really feel it — only taste it. There is a tiny smear of blood on the floor by the rug, and he can't let it stay there. Will will see it and know he's here. Hannibal needs to remove it. He studies the contour of it, slowly congealing. For some reason, he is still staring at the blood in front of him when Will suddenly appears by his side, laughing warmly into his ear, hand heavy high on his back.
"And there," Will says, "is where I'd get you."
"Hmm?" Hannibal says. He tries to turn toward Will, but Will pushes on his shoulder blade and Hannibal's hands slide out from under him as he is pressed into the floor. The polished wood is cool against his cheek, but very comfortable. Restful.
"And then," Will's voice continues from somewhere far away, "I'd twist the knife where it's stuck in the bone. Watch you writhe on it. Try to get away."
That sounds nice. Knives are lovely. Will likes working with his hands, and knives are extensions of hands. Like claws, talons, sprouting from nail beds, spurring out from ulnae and tibiae.
"Will you do that for me, Hannibal? Try and get away?"
Away from what? He's so warm and comfortable, and he just breathes against the smooth flat of the hardwood floor, letting his body sink further into relaxation.
"Ohh no," Will says, warm reproach in his voice, "no sleep for you."
And then there is a sharp pain, radiating out from just above his knee, easily penetrating the comfortable numbness he's been resting in. Hannibal jerks his leg up under himself, struggling to push himself forward, put some distance between himself and the source of the pain so he can regroup and attack, but then someone, Will, is pushing him down again, except now Hannibal isn't completely relaxed anymore and the way his head twists, cheek pressing against the rug, is not as comfortable.
"Come on, Hannibal," Will says. "Try for me. Try to get away."
Hannibal makes an effort to gather his thoughts. Will has drugged him, he must remember that. He is drugged, and Will has caught him, and Will wants to… It's unclear what Will wants. For him to try to get away, so he can enjoy subduing Hannibal again?
Will's hands are heavy on him, pushing him down, but Hannibal gets his knees underneath himself again, forcing himself to breathe deeper. He flings an arm backwards. He's too weak to do any real damage, but his fingers catch in Will's shirt and he pulls, trying to get Will off balance. It doesn't work very well, but Hannibal pushes on, drives himself forward in a slide over the rug resulting in very little distance covered, but he is following the spirit of Will's wishes, is he not?
Will laughs at him, hauling him back again, his cheek burning with the friction against the rug. "Yes," Will says quietly, exultantly, "yes, exactly like that. That is just what I want."
Hannibal breathes a few more moments, cataloging the sting in his lip, the vague ache of his leg, the tingling in his cheek. Were it not for the way his thoughts moved, like slow, dark currents held back by massive panes of glass, he would be able to give Will more of a fight. If he could wake his body up out of its reluctant consciousness. But perhaps Will enjoys him like this. Close to helpless.
He gathers himself on his side, slow and unthreatening. If he is to succeed in doing anything that isn't swiftly aborted by Will pouncing on him again, Hannibal needs to come up with something unexpected.
Hannibal turns over onto his back, letting his arm spill gracelessly across the floor. He relaxes as much as he can again, letting his eyes slide halfway shut and gazing up at Will through his lashes. He is not sure he could ever be drunk enough to earnestly offer himself in this particular fashion — his head tipping back and to the side a fraction showing his throat, his lips slackening as his mouth slides half open — but it's worth it for the way the focused intent in Will's expression freezes, transforming into stunned disbelief.
Doing all of these things makes Hannibal realize that the fog in his head is, in fact, receding somewhat. Whatever Will gave him is not strong enough to last long, or it's possible that his body with its heightened resistance toward certain drugs has assisted him in fighting off the lethargy. Still, he continues along his chosen path, shifting his hips against the floor and adding a shaky exhale ending in a low moan to his performance.
Will leans back, considering the seemingly changed circumstances. He is on his knees, his hair a little unruly from their activities. To Hannibal's delight, he can see a slight heightening of color along his cheekbones, down his neck. Will is obviously taken aback by his subterfuge.
"Will," Hannibal whispers, feigning a clumsiness he's no longer feeling quite as severely as he pushes himself up first onto his elbows, and when that brings no other retaliation than a stare from Will, further to sitting. He reaches out his hand, slowly bringing it closer to Will's face. Will only sits there, on his knees, foolishly unguarded. Hannibal could end this now, hurt Will badly enough that his little experimental hunt would come to an abrupt end, but he doesn't really wish to do that. Instead he leans forward, slow and a little wobbly to show Will how incapacitated and harmless he is, making a show of drowsy eyelids and unsteady breathing. His hand connects with Will's cheek and Will inhales sharply, twitching a little as Hannibal slides his palm along his cheek and across the side of his head until his palm is firmly anchored. With a gentle grip around Will's neck he slowly brings their heads together. Will still does nothing but stare, eyes wide as Hannibal slowly gathers one leg underneath himself. When they're almost, but not quite close enough to kiss, Hannibal pushes himself upright, using his grip on the back of Will's head as leverage, almost toppling Will over as he gets to his feet and bolts to the door.
The fun and games is not over yet.
As Hannibal bursts out of the room, skidding a little on the smooth floor, he has to fight a sudden surge of vertigo. It makes him stumble heavily into the opposite wall. Apparently, the drugs are still firmly ensconced in his system, and his ability to think more clearly doesn't mean his body will obey him to the letter quite yet. There is a wordless growl of rage coming from the library behind him and Hannibal closes his eyes for a heartbeat, feeling a shiver of delight.
He needs to move. Hannibal is willing to place his fate on the scales of chance in a myriad of ways, but he won't run full tilt down the stairs with drugs affecting his sense of balance unless his life depends on it. Sadly, this might cost him his advantage.
His suspicion is correct, and he is only able to take two steps toward the front door before he is abruptly tackled to the floor, all his air shoved out of him by the impact. Will holds him down with his entire body, stretched out on top of him like a leopard covering its prey before closing its jaws around his neck, breaking his spine and strangling him.
"Thought that was clever, didn't you," Will hisses into his ear.
"It would have been remiss of me," Hannibal pants, "not to take advantage of any weakness I could find in a situation where I did not have the upper hand."
"Very. Effective." Will punctuates his words by yanking Hannibal's arms up behind his back. It's quite uncomfortable.
"This would have been easier if there would have been a knife in my shoulder, the way you described it earlier." Hannibal remembers thinking something about… bone spurs. Perhaps he could draw them later.
"Oh you remember that? You were a little out of it. Or did I misjudge the dose that much? I know you're a good actor…"
"Yes, you do." Hannibal smirks into the floor.
Will breathes harshly against him. His legs are tangled up with Hannibal's, and even though there is nothing overtly sexual about the position, Hannibal feels infinitely more aroused like this than he was earlier, bluffing his way out of Will's grasp. Will pushes his arms up further, and the strain makes Hannibal breathe; a long, steady breath against the tiles. He still feels a touch of vertigo, but it's easier to handle face down on the floor. The position is making him think about how good it would be to sleep, but he can't sleep now. Not when things are so interesting.
"No," Will says, "not that good of an actor. You were falling asleep before. Are you falling asleep now?"
"I'll let you be the judge of that," Hannibal says.
"How about," Will says, "if I kept adding knives. Just. Drove them in along your spine, all in a row. Yes?"
Will shifts his grip and touches Hannibal lightly, small taps with his fingertips down his back that surprise a groan out of Hannibal with the images they provoke. Providing Will was careful, he could put a bristling forest of blades into Hannibal's back and not immediately kill him. Will would look strikingly impressive, driving them in just so.
"You'd be weak with blood loss and shock before long," Will continues. "And still be trying to crawl away."
"In truth," Hannibal says, because he feels he has to point this out, "I would let you do whatever you wished to me." Will's grip on his arms has slackened, and he is more of a comfortable weight against Hannibal than actively trying to subdue him. Hannibal's thoughts are a little fuzzy, but it's nothing he can't handle. He shifts, feeling all the points of contact between him and Will and luxuriating in them.
"I feel… like you're trying the same trick twice," Will remarks.
Hannibal smiles against the floor. "You are magnificent like this, as well as in my mind's eye. How can I not respond to that? You could have asked me for whatever you needed and I would have given it to you gladly. Although I suppose the way you orchestrated it is not without its charms. I can feel you appreciate it."
Will pauses for a few moments, leaning on Hannibal's arms, but he does not withdraw. Hannibal can feel his breath stirring the hair at the back of his neck. "You know," Will finally says, "sometimes I wonder if you even feel things like that. Attraction. It feels... too commonplace for you."
"You have lived in close proximity to me for most of a year. Do I still seem so removed from the world to you?" Hannibal actually feels a little disappointed with Will's lack of observational skills.
"You have never made an effort to change our relationship before." Will sounds strained.
"One could argue that you yourself were trying to change our relationship this evening."
"Not in a flirting way!"
"Are you certain? I am starting to grasp the full meaning of your little game. Showing me initiative, overpowering me, hunting me… all these look very much like coquetry intended to make me change the way I see you." It becomes more clear the more Hannibal thinks about it. It puts a warm glow inside of him, diffused by his general sense of well-being at the moment.
Will barks a short laugh. "You're not… I think only someone removed from the world would think this romantic."
"You enjoy it, Will. Does it make you feel closer to me?" Hannibal hopes it does.
"Oh god, you're fucked up…"
"Does it excite you?"
There is no reply, and Hannibal turns around, Will's grip on him offering no resistance. He lies on his back on the tiles, watching Will who seems unwilling to retreat entirely. He is balanced on elbows and knees above him, fencing Hannibal in. Will's face is flushed, his gaze locked in height with Hannibal's sternum.
Hannibal cocks his head, studying Will, considering. "Does it arouse you?" he asks.
Will finally breaks, exhaling shakily as he descends, capturing Hannibal's mouth in a kiss. It is their first, and as such Hannibal takes care to experience it fully, in all its little contrasts. Will's lips and tongue aggravate his torn lip and lend a hint of blood to their kiss, which is as it should be. Hannibal is sore and the tiled floor uncomfortable, but the warm lassitude from earlier lingers as well as what he believes is a certain sense of euphoria, and he finds it easy to be the soft, malleable partner to Will's trembling, agitated efforts. He was not lying when he implied to Will that he feels attraction, although the mental part of it has always been greater than the physical. He suspects this will be doubly true at this moment. There are only so many drugs Will can have used on him, and even if the effects have lessened, there likely will be some that remain for hours yet.
Still, he enjoys this very much. There are many aspects to love, and Hannibal appreciates them all when they have to do with Will.
Will breaks off, growing still against him. "You're… I can feel you not appreciating what we're doing," he accuses.
Hannibal places his hand on Will's cheek, caresses his scar with his fingers. "Have you already forgotten that you dosed me with sedatives?" he asks, feeling Will try to not flinch away from his touch. He is still sensitive about the way the Red Dragon's knife changed his face, although he shouldn't be. Will looks like what he is — splendid.
"Oh." Will takes a few deep breaths. "Of course. Sorry."
Hannibal can't help but to smile at that. His Will, so full of contrasts, so capricious. "I assure you," he says, "I very much enjoy anything you give me."
Will clambers off of him, sitting next to him on the floor. Hannibal stays lying down. It seems too much of an effort to do anything else.
"I've been wondering what we're doing here," Will says, his voice hesitant. "What we've been waiting for. I thought this would be a good way of changing things, but I think I prefer you fully cognizant and capable."
Hannibal puts his hand on top of Will's where it rests on Hannibal's chest. He pats it, filled to bursting with pride and love. A part of him recognizes that his emotional response is almost certainly influenced by his body breaking down the drugs, but he doesn't mind. Will is learning from his experiences and Hannibal is happy to be of assistance.
"I am so proud to have you in my life," he says. He has never meant anything quite as much ever before. Will's hand twitches under Hannibal's as if he's considering trying to pull it away, but Hannibal holds on to it, happy to be close.
"You're usually less to the point in your declarations when I haven't fed you sedatives first, but okay," Will says. He sighs. "This isn't at all what I thought would happen."
Hannibal thinks about the events of the evening: a meal together, a surprise, a chase and a meaningful conversation about their relationship. "You were bored, and felt our life here to be stagnant," he summarizes. "You wished for things to change."
"Basically yes," Will says. "You don't take offense at the way I went about doing this?"
"Why would I?" Hannibal replies.
Will laughs. He tugs at Hannibal until Hannibal's head is resting on Will's lap. Hannibal gazes up at him, content with life. Will looks a peculiar mix of happy and sad. It looks beautiful on him. It's a little difficult to stay awake. Not in the same way as when they were upstairs (they were upstairs, weren't they?) but still. "Do you mind if I sleep here, just for an hour or so?"
"I'm going to hold you to everything when you wake up, but sure, go ahead and sleep it off," Will says.
"I adore you," Hannibal says, because he can't not, and falls asleep with Will's hand trailing through his hair over and over, steady as waves.