Work Text:
Will Graham was no stranger to being misinterpreted in social settings, but nothing prepared him for their dinner in Switzerland.
Hannibal, ever refined and elegant, had insisted on taking him and their five-year-old daughter, Misha, to one of the finest restaurants in Geneva. “A pleasant family evening,” he had said, which Will translated to “another opportunity for Hannibal to observe human behavior while indulging in haute cuisine.” He hadn’t resisted—mostly because the food would be good and Hannibal always ensured their wine cost more than Will’s first apartment rent.
They settled into a cozy corner of the restaurant. The atmosphere was warm, filled with the quiet hum of conversations in French and the occasional chime of silverware against fine china. The scent of butter, garlic, and freshly baked bread wove through the air. Hannibal helped Misha adjust her napkin, his usual air of composed tenderness on full display, as though every movement was part of a carefully orchestrated performance. Will sighed, flipping through the menu, resigned to his fate.
That was when the waiter arrived.
Young, strikingly handsome, and with a charm that was just a little too polished, he leaned toward Will with an easy smile. “Bonsoir, monsieur. May I recommend something special? The chef has prepared a dish that pairs excellently with your… refined tastes.” His voice was low, intimate, his eyes lingering on Will’s face just a moment too long.
Will blinked. Hannibal did not move, but Will could feel the shift in his posture—a predator scenting blood.
“I’ll just have the steak,” Will said, clearing his throat, missing entirely the way the waiter’s lips curled ever so slightly.
“Excellent choice,” the waiter murmured, before his gaze flickered over to Hannibal. “And for your… companion?”
Will knew that tone. He was being flirted with. And Hannibal was being dismissed.
The tension at the table thickened, almost tangible in the air.
Hannibal, ever the picture of civility, folded his hands together, his lips curving in a slight, unreadable smile. “I will have the same,” he said smoothly. “Though I do hope the service is as… attentive to all guests.”
The waiter barely spared him a glance, focusing instead on Will. “I’ll make sure you have the best experience possible, monsieur.”
His voice dripped with intention, and this time, there was no mistaking it. He leaned just a fraction closer, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of Will’s menu as he retrieved it. “If you’d like a personal recommendation for wine… I’d be more than happy to assist.”
Will huffed a quiet laugh, bemused. “I think we’re fine.”
“I’d still be happy to pour a sample for you.” The waiter’s smile was effortless, confident. His gaze flickered to Hannibal, then back to Will, a silent, deliberate omission in his attention. “Something rich. Full-bodied. I believe it would suit you.”
Will felt Hannibal’s gaze burning into him, cool and composed but carrying the unmistakable weight of something dark and possessive. His fingers twitched, itching to reach for Will’s hand, to assert a claim he would never put so crudely into words. But instead, he merely observed, his expression unreadable, his smile measured, his stillness more threatening than any outburst ever could be.
Misha, oblivious to the tension, happily swung her legs under the table. “Papa Hannibal makes better food.”
The waiter chuckled, oblivious to the storm brewing beside him. “I don’t doubt it,” he said smoothly, before lowering his voice just slightly, directing his next words solely to Will. “But sometimes, monsieur, it’s nice to try something… new.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this friendly with customers?”
The waiter smirked. “Only the ones worth it.”
Hannibal’s fingers curled ever so slightly against the tablecloth. His posture remained the same, relaxed, composed—but Will knew better. He could feel the quiet, simmering fury just beneath the surface.
The waiter lingered a moment longer, gaze locked onto Will’s, as if waiting for a response. When none came, he finally straightened, flashing a final charming smile. “I’ll be back with your orders shortly.”
Will exhaled, turning toward Hannibal. “Okay, that was something.”
Hannibal picked up his wine glass, his expression unchanging, but his fingers holding the stem just a touch too tightly. “I was under the impression Switzerland was known for its neutrality.”
Will snorted. “Are you going to kill him?”
Hannibal took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving Will’s. “That depends. Do you plan on encouraging him?”
Will groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Oh my God, you’re jealous.”
Hannibal hummed, setting his glass down with deliberate care. “You are mine, Will.”
Will rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his smile. “Noted. Now, please don’t make our waiter disappear.”
Hannibal sighed, reaching for his napkin, his voice smooth, but carrying a weight of promise beneath it. “I will make no promises.”
As the evening continued, the tension didn’t dissipate—it merely shifted, curling into something heavier, something unspoken. Will could feel Hannibal’s gaze on him with every sip of wine he took, every glance he spared toward the waiter, who seemed determined to steal fleeting moments of Will’s attention.
The waiter returned with their food, setting Will’s plate before him with a lingering touch that made Hannibal’s fingers curl imperceptibly against the tablecloth. “If you need anything at all, monsieur, don’t hesitate to ask.”
He reached out as if to adjust Will’s napkin, fingers grazing his wrist in an unmistakably intimate gesture.
Will felt Hannibal stiffen beside him. He suppressed a grin. “I think we’re all set.”
The waiter lingered a second longer, his gaze dipping briefly to Will’s lips before he finally, reluctantly, stepped away.
Hannibal watched him go, his gaze unreadable. Slowly, he turned back to Will. “Enjoy your meal, my love.”
Will smirked. “Oh, I intend to.”
And he did—though part of his enjoyment came less from the food and more from the quiet, simmering fury radiating off his husband, who was already contemplating exactly how to reassert his claim by the time they got home.