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I swear, I know your heartbeat
Better than any song.
For you, I would ruin myself
A million little times.
Hannibal Lecter had experienced many terrible days in his lifetime. If he wanted to count them since birth, the worst would add up to somewhere just shy of a year, hours and days spent in misery of some form or another. He’d suffered broken bones, attended funerals of those he held dearly, bloodied his knuckles while learning to look after himself; he’d fulfilled old vendettas for the glory of the Lecter name before he had enough experience to understand that the name meant nothing without fear to keep it in reverence. A life lived as a wolf amidst the sheep that comprised the worst in society certainly hadn’t shortened the list, but the ones that stayed cemented in his mind had little to do with his chosen path in life.
The man that lay dead in his office certainly proved that point.
The most frustrating part of the entire situation was that he didn’t even know the poor sod that had bled out onto the carpet, likely staining the ancient wood that lay beneath, as if he refused to shed his mortal coil without leaving some kind of lasting mark in the home of a man that had no understanding of why he was there. Hannibal would have understood if this was someone related to a person who his enforcers had murdered. He would have been fine with it if the crime had been committed to keep him safe; if this man had died at the hands of the men he’d hired to guard him from threats just like this one. Of course, had either of those things been the case, he wouldn’t have felt the need to involve law enforcement at all. Since he had absolutely no idea why the man was there, it was best to keep his head, and his morals for that matter, well above water. Playing nice with Baltimore's brave men in blue might glean some knowledge that would take his time to get his hands on, and the sooner this whole sorry mess was behind him, the better. The lack of information sat beneath his skin like an itch just beyond his reach, making him feel tired to his very bones.
Hannibal hadn’t expected quite so many bodies to show up at his door, but he’d instructed Bennett to let them in without the usual security checks. He was just able to endure the probing questions and sideways glances upon hearing his instructions, the blatant stares at the understated opulence of his office as the fine men in blue rifled through his things as if he was the one on trial. He knew it was all routine in a homicide - invasion of space, of privacy, of peace of mind; three things that came in short supply with the responsibilities that lay upon his shoulders. Watching hands pick up and examine things that were older than the country in which he resided normally would have felt like a price just beyond what he minded paying, especially when those hands belonged to men who were predispositioned to suspect him of committing murder. Much to Hannibal’s ire, the Baltimore PD’s pet profiler was making it nearly impossible for him to pay attention to anything besides the way he moved through Hannibal’s space, as if the world was inconsequential, as was everything in it. All of his previous dealings with the police had not given him experience enough to handle someone like him. And how I’d to… handle you, Detective.
“Detective Graham.”
Silence met Hannibal Lecter’s smooth, honeyed query. Had it been any other situation, he would have taken insult, but the man that stood before him was clearly not mentally in the room with them. He’d handled Hannibal’s things far more than any of the other officers, as if he intended to leave his mark in smudges of nitrile instead of fingerprints, in long, probing glances instead of blood, or sweat, or tears. Now, as Hannibal wanted answers, the detective’s gaze remained irritatingly fixed on the ground, giving Hannibal ample time to hungrily study the edges of his profile; a cut-glass jawline that was softened by the curve of plush lips, the unkempt boyish length of unruly curls that emphasized the detective’s obvious youth enough to make a mockery of his clear intelligence. Hannibal should have been vexed that someone so inexperienced had been brought into his home, but the very thought of any negative emotions fled the moment he’d laid eyes on him.
Simply put, Will Graham was exquisite. A masterpiece. A man who could be molded into exactly what Hannibal wanted in a partner, if he was given the chance to know him better. And of course… completely and utterly out of Hannibal’s considerable reach. A fact of which I may need to remind myself if he occupies my home much longer. One look into his eyes and I may be convinced to divulge all of my secrets, just so I can see the minute changes in his expressions. Hannibal shook his head of his amorous thoughts and tried once again to draw the other man’s attention.
“Detective.”
Will didn’t hear his name the first time it was spoken, or even the second. He was too preoccupied with mentally reliving the last moments of the dead man at his feet, crumpled where he had perished only hours before. That the location of his demise was home to Baltimore’s most elusive businessman should have been troubling; that Will took one look at the handsome, distinguished gentleman and couldn’t coax his tongue from the roof of his mouth only exacerbated his irritation with this case. He couldn’t focus - could barely take a breath with Hannibal Lecter lingering near enough for Will to catch the edge of his cologne on the air; salt and leather and just enough botanicals to make the clean scent smell expensive. He wanted to run; he wanted to introduce himself with a firm handshake and eye contact that made him feel as if he belonged in this world of violence and subterfuge and bodies on floors old enough to make him wince. Neither action won the war just yet, but there was bloodshed on both sides.
Will squatted near the victim’s head where it rested at the very edges the pristine white carpet, lost in thought. Hannibal used his full name in his third attempt to garner Will’s attention. It succeeded in lifting the detective’s eyes from the bloodstains, but Will’s face was still completely blank - he was deep within the dead man’s pathology, following breadcrumbs to the places and motives that ultimately left him with two neat bullet holes in his chest and a bludgeon wound to the back of his head, and a man who had no idea how he’d died in his home. Will had no doubt that Hannibal was innocent - he’d only had to see the look of mild disgust in his eyes to believe him. It still left him with more questions than answers.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, turning the dead man’s face none too gently with glove-covered fingers. “This guy knew how to shoot. He’s got the burn marks on his fingers to prove it. He was obviously here with a purpose, but—”
A warm, strong hand descended onto his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. Will’s gaze sharpened, locked on the hand that now held him firmly in place. He traced long, elegant fingers up the expensively attired arm, around the curve of a decidedly masculine throat and wide, expressive lips, up the slope of an aristocratic nose to stare into Hannibal’s exasperated blood and gold eyes. Will’s breath caught in his throat. His entire world narrowed to where they were now connected, every nerve ending on fire. Hannibal’s touch felt like flying too close to the sun; the detective suddenly wanted to burn until his bones turned to ash. He’s older than you - while that might be your thing, he will want nothing to do with someone who is barely getting his life together. Get your thoughts in order before you embarrass yourself.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Will finally rumbled. His words came out grumpy, but he didn’t take them back. Hannibal’s eyes widened. A smile broke out across his face, rising from his previously stoic expression like the crest of a wave.
“Perhaps you are not the man to tell,” the other man replied, “but seeing as I can’t find your superior, I wished to point out that your team is tracking your corpse’s blood all over my carpets.” Will’s eyes widened. He glanced around and groaned.
“I apologize, Mr. Lecter. I didn’t see—” Hannibal waved away his halfhearted attempt at an apology.
“I can arrange to have them cleaned if you’ve any idea how much longer this is going to take. I have dinner planned for this evening and would like to be able to—”
“You won’t be going anywhere,” said a voice behind them. “Let alone entertaining guests in an active crime scene. We still have a load of questions for you, just so we can… clear your name in this mess.” Senior Detective Sorensen stepped around the worst of the bloodstains, his thin, pallid face undeservedly smug. Will barely noticed the foul tone he took with the man of the house. His gaze remained fixed to his shoes. You’ve been one of the men contaminating the scene - the tips of your loafers were stained a faint red as a result.
Hannibal opened his mouth to reply, but the detective beat him to it.
“Mr. Lecter may be guilty of other sins, but this murder wasn’t his doing. And you may want to watch where you step. You’re making quite a mess and he has every right to insist that the department foot the cleaning bill.”
Hannibal’s eyes widened; Sorensen scoffed.
“And how do you—”
“There’s blood on the tips of those hideous shoes,” Will informed him, cutting off whatever scathing remark the other man had been planning to make. “You and at least one other officer is contaminating my crime scene, and Jack will not be happy when he finds out.”
“How dare you—”
“Don’t you have evidence to collect from the glass doors in the kitchen?” boomed a voice that made the senior detective flinch. He slunk back just as Chief Crawford stepped through the crowd of loitering officers, who parted like the Red Seas in his wake.
“Sir, I was just—”
“Cut the shit, Sorensen,” the detective interrupted. “If it hadn’t been for you being the closest to the scene, you wouldn’t even be here. Now get where I told you to be, or I’ll make sure you don’t leave your desk for a month.” Sorensen’s thin lips turned downward in a facsimile of a frown.
“He isn’t supposed to be here without an escort,” he fumed, pointing an accusing finger at Will. “He’s barely out of academy and you—”
“Careful,” Jack replied. “Don’t forget who’s in charge. Will has plenty of escorts around him to assist. You are welcome to see yourself out.” Sorensen’s piggish eyes widened.
“How dare—”
“Desk duties for a month. Want to keep at it?” Sorensen closed his mouth. His shoulders drooped fractionally. Had he not been so fascinated with the young detective, Hannibal might have felt a pang of sympathy. The young overtake us all, eventually.
“Fine,” Sorensen muttered. “When he fucks this up—”
“You’ve already done that yourself,” Will pointed out. “Remove your shoes before you go, Detective. I’ll need them to rule them out in possible patterns, since you stomped through every available ounce of blood on the floor.”
Sorensen cursed and untied his shoes, heaving them at Will with as much force as he could muster without looking like it was on purpose. With downcast eyes, he turned on one socked heel and stomped from the room, barking at anyone who dared be in his path. Will watched him get into his car before turning back to his boss. To his surprise, Hannibal was striding forward, and offered a hand in genial greeting.
“Good to see you again, Jack.” They shook hands. Will wanted to ask how they knew one another, how it might muddy the waters if Hannibal was guilty of any part in the death of the man at his feet. He wanted to ask a great many things, but ultimately, he wanted to be done with the crime scene as much as everyone else.
“Likewise,” Jack replied. “Sorry for all of that. We should be able to collect what we need and be out of your hair in no time.” Hannibal nodded, his eyes affixed to the back of Will’s neck. Jack followed his gaze, face softening into something almost fond.
“I see you two have met. You about done, Detective Graham?” Will nodded and stood, peeling the gloves from his hands with practiced ease. The two men stood side by side, staring at him expectantly. Will bristled under the scrutiny, addressing Jack, ignoring Hannibal completely.
“This man was taken out by a professional. My guess is he’s some kind of low level thug - you may have a file on him back at the precinct. Likely in for petty theft, aggravated assault, maybe home invasion. He knew how to use a gun.” Will pointed out through the hall. “He likely saw this house as an easy target, like all the others on the block. He came in through the back door, and made it only a few steps before he was taken out by Mr. Lecter’s security detail.” Hannibal’s eyes widened a fraction.
“What makes you think my men are involved?” Will shrugged, and avoided his gaze.
“The mark on the back of his neck.” Hannibal dropped his gaze back to the body. Will used his foot to gently turn the man’s head, revealing a small abrasion in the crude shape of an eagle imprinted into the skin like a stamp. “Your bodyguard has a ring in the same pattern. I noticed it when he let me in.”
“We can discuss that theory back at the station, Detective,” Jack cut in smoothly. “I’d like to let Sorensen squirm about his footprints, and this was clearly self defense, even if Bennett is involved.” Will nodded, letting his shoulders relax.
“I would also rule it as self defense, if my opinion matters at all. Clearly, your men care a great deal for you, Mr. Lecter. Mr. Bennett had the situation under control before you were even aware of what had transpired.” Their eyes met. Hannibal’s skin cooled beneath the neutral, assessing stare. I know what you are, that look said. I know it, but it plays no part in this case, so I don’t care.
“Can we pack up the body?” Jack asked, breaking the mounting tension in the room. “I’m sure Mr. Lecter would like to get on with his day.” Will shrugged, wondering how much the other man would be able to accomplish with bloodstains stamped into carpets that likely cost more than his car. Not that money seems to matter to you. Everything you do is… just business, isn’t it? This will be handled with all the finesse of every other aspect of your dealings, and by next week, nobody will know that this transpired. An unfortunate end made by one man’s underestimation of you.
“Sure,” he agreed. “I’m done with it. Bag and tag and I’ll see you back at the morgue. I’ll finish my report there.” He turned to leave, but Hannibal’s hand stopped him once more.
“Might I exchange numbers with you, Detective Graham?” he asked, reaching into his jacket pocket. He removed something from a metal case and held it out for Will to take. “In case I remember anything of import that might assist bringing this case to a hasty conclusion.” Will stared at the sleek black business card for a long moment before taking it. Their fingers brushed; an thrill ran up Will’s arm, making everything from the tips of his fingers to the cap of his shoulder tingle.
“My personal cell is on the back,” Hannibal murmured. “In case you’d like to save my number.” Will tucked away the card in his pocket before removing a crumpled card of his own. He held it out but offered no words of acquiescence.
“Sorry, Mr. Lecter. I have no real need to save your number. I only take business calls on my desk phone. Number’s there if you need anything. Leave a message if I’m not in.” Hannibal’s eyes widened in blatant disbelief. Before he could retort, Will was already threading his way through the crowd, gone from his sight as if he’d never been there to begin with. As if you fear the outcome of proximity as much as I.
“Will Graham,” Hannibal murmured beneath his breath, retrieving his cell from his pocket. He thumbed to his texts, and sent a discreet message to the head of his security team before tucking it away.
[04.16PM] We will discuss what happened after dinner tonight. In the meantime, find out everything you can about Detective Will Graham. Have a report on my desk by tomorrow morning.
[04:17PM] Understood, sir. I’m on it. Anything in particular you’re looking for?
Hannibal snorted, as he typed out his response.
[04:18PM] Everything, Bennett. If you need particulars, begin with the places he frequents when he isn’t working for Baltimore’s finest. Where he went to school. His age - any current or past amorous associations. I’d also like to know if he frequents any restaurants or bars. Establishments where a chance encounter would not feel engineered.
[04:20PM] I’ll have my findings to you as soon as possible.
Hannibal slid his phone out of sight, and relished in the hushed quiet that surrounded him now that the police had been escorted from his home. The amount of blood that remained should have disturbed him, but it would be remedied before the day was out, and he had far more important things to do than worry about a man of no consequence. Not when I can begin to put a plan into motion. When I can reach for you, and hope that you reach back.
Hannibal took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time, humming a tune from a ballet he’d attended as a student at Johns Hopkins. The shower was blisteringly hot when he stepped beneath the deluge; hot enough to melt the stains of his awful, eventful day to nothing. A faint scent of Will’s skin clung to his hands as he lathered them, fingertips drifting down the strong, fine muscles of his torso to take purchase in his pubic hair. He was already hard; achingly so. He’d been hard from the moment Will had snarked at him downstairs. Nobody in his professional life had the nerve to stand up to him, or the youth to understand that to do so was to risk his own life. Will was like a breath of fresh air - a wind through a long-closed door that had been wrenched open at the very sight of him standing in Hannibal’s office as if he was born with the right to be there. A place I want you to be - a place where you belong. Beside me, for the rest of my days.
He imagined digging his teeth into the soft skin of Will’s throat, creating a delicate bouquet of bruises as he fucked him, filling his body and mind, leaving his imprint in whispered praises and exclamations of fingerprints in the strong, pale skin of Will’s hips. He did not envision delicate lovemaking - the sex he foresaw was brutal and vibrant, a tug of war on his heart and his body as he staked his claim on the man beneath him. It was everything he wanted from Will in a single action; his entire being offered up on the pyre of what could exist between them. That’s it, his mental image whispered, watching the space where he stretched Will open on his cock turn pink and glistening as he took what he wanted. Give me everything, and I shall give you the world on a platter at your feet. Let me have you the way you wish, let me fall to my knees and worship you. But first, offer yourself to me.
Hannibal’s own trembling hand quested lower. He gasped as his fingertips grazed the sensitive, rose colored crown of his cock. In his imagination, Will, his face covered in tears, gasped for breath as Hannibal fucked into him, pinning him in place as he entwined their fingers against rumpled, sweat soaked sheets the color of the blood on his carpet. Words like yes and love and more escaped the phantom’s lips; Will was completely lost in how good he felt, how much he was being shown, and given, and offered. Hannibal tipped his head back beneath the water and stroked himself, teasing the thick vein that pulsed against his grip. The Will in his mind, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat, begged in a voice hoarse from passion to be allowed to come. Hannibal only grinned and took him harder, the thump of the headboard against austere plaster echoing through the vast halls of his memory palace, driving the rest of his thoughts from Hannibal’s mind. With a hoarse cry, he came in thick ropes across his fist, his entire body shaking as the waves of sensation crashed into him. His legs felt like rubber; his entire body felt flushed and sensitive. Hannibal panted for breath, and reveled in the pounding timpani of his heart as it thudded into his ribcage. Mine. You have no idea, but you, Will Graham, will belong to me.
30 minutes later and a reassurance from Jack Crawford that Will was still hunched over his desk, Hannibal made his way downstairs with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, his hair still damp from the cool water he’d splashed over himself after his orgasm. He thumbed through the search results to a query he’d typed into the browser on his phone, his eyes scanning for the information he sought. When he found what he wanted, he dialed the number, humming along to the hold music as he opened his refrigerator to remove a bottle of red wine and a cold steak laid across a bed of fresh greens. I wonder if Will enjoys cooking. If he’d like to watch me prepare a meal I can serve him with my hands.
“Open Blooms,” a perky voice chirped. “This is Ariana. How may I help you?”
“Good evening,” he replied, clearing his throat of the lump that had suddenly formed. “I would like to place something of an unorthodox request, as I would need it prepared and delivered with some haste.”
“We may be able to help,” the woman on the other end murmured. “What are you thinking, and how soon?”
“Roses. And I need them tonight.”
“Tonight?” the voice parroted. “But sir—”
“I will pay you triple what the flowers are worth, and tip handsomely as well,” Hannibal gently cut her off. “I have a small window with which to reach their recipient and would very much like him to know how I feel as soon as humanly possible. Tonight would be ideal.” The voice on the other end sighed, as if all of her romantic dreams had just been realized within their exchange.
“May this kind of love find me one day,” she cooed. “I’ll make it happen. What kind of roses are you thinking?”
“A dozen long stem white roses,” he replied. “Delivered to Detective Will Graham at the Baltimore PD.”
“You got it,” she replied. “We are right down the street from the precinct, so I can walk there when I finish preparing the bouquet. Any note to go along with them?” Hannibal hesitated for a fraction of a moment before he replied.
“Not this time. But if I’m as lucky as I hope, this won’t be the last delivery you make for me. For now, I simply wish to spoil him until I can make him mine.”
“And spoil him you will, sir. I’ll email you the receipt. We will send you a notification upon delivery.”
“Thank you,” Hannibal murmured, turning back to his meal. “For your assistance. Have a pleasant evening.”
“You as well,” Ariana purred. “Your detective is one lucky guy, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Let’s hope he feels the same,” Hannibal laughed. “Take care.” He hung up the phone, anticipation bubbling inside his chest. For you, I’d carve up the world, but we must begin small. Ready or not, Will. Here I come.