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– • –
Hannibal remembered such evenings from simpler times. Will stood beside him, fingers at the desk's edge, then paced, glancing at Hannibal and eyeing the room much as he had on his first visit. The office's over-warm friendliness felt like a thin façade.
He adjusted his pen to sit neatly at the corner of his notebook. "Re-acclimating after incarceration is key to restoring normalcy."
Will gave a faint smile. "I don't think I've ever been a candidate for what is considered normal. Things are about as typical as they can be for me."
"Perhaps you could find ways to challenge the beliefs you established earlier."
Will frowned, eyes on the shelf behind Hannibal. "What's there to challenge? Sounds like you already have ideas for me, Dr. Lecter."
As a psychiatrist, he could suggest small steps to Will: visiting a coffee shop daily, joining a team lunch with his FBI colleagues, or even walking dogs with a group. The latter painted a vivid picture of Will with his litter, stretching along the sidewalk and leaving others behind. But as someone with a personal investment, Hannibal saw little value in Will's protective solitude. Loneliness, for someone truly unique, seemed inevitable.
"You're not the same man you were before."
"No," Will murmured. "I suppose I'm not."
"Then it's possible old mechanisms may not suit you now. Reassessing these defenses takes time, to let go of some and deliberately rebuild others," Hannibal said. "When was the last time you reached for your glasses?"
Will hesitated, then sat across from Hannibal. His tone softened. "I've seen too much of others, just as they've seen too much of me. Despite my innocence, there's no point in holding onto it now. Otherwise, we'd all be pretending."
"Precisely."
He leaned forward, faint amusement in his voice. "So this is all to get me to go outside?"
"Socialization is vital. I'm sure you're aware of its many benefits."
Will tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe. What time is it?"
His brow slightly lifted at the question. Time rarely mattered during their sessions. "It is now 7:14 pm."
"No, the show you're attending this weekend. What time does it start?"
That was unexpected. Hannibal masked his amusement at Will's almost impolite self-invitation. Will’s impulses towards him rarely arose without some objective. He considered pushing further, but ultimately chose not to.
"Saturday. The play begins at six."
"Alright. I can join you," Will hesitated almost as an afterthought, then said, "If you don't mind."
"Of course not, Will. I'd be glad for your company," he answered warmly. Will relaxed, leaning back against his seat, to watch him.
If the atmosphere seemed like a façade, then this plan would undoubtedly be a knife.
– • –
The evening seemed like something drawn from the surreal landscape of a fevered dream.
Just a few days ago, discussing evening plans in his office served as a window into Will's post-prison social life. Hannibal noted with no surprise how little had changed. But Will's decision to choose this occasion as a 'therapist-ascribed' stepping stone was a fascinating deviation. Hannibal had no companion for the event, and although he could easily have found one, this was a far better outcome.
It would be presumptuous and likely inaccurate to believe their conversation alone persuaded him. Will's reluctance was usually expected; dinners with more than just the two of them were uncommon. Two was company; three, a crowd. A hall with lights, music, and gossip rarely caught Will's interest.
Will arrived with an expensive bottle of wine. It seemed like a near-apology for his social misstep or guilt over their prime seats, which amused Hannibal. The gesture also appealed to their past, when such exchanges were common. Hannibal also had a gift, anticipating Will's limited wardrobe, his own offered simply for pleasure.
They traveled together in Hannibal's car to the theatre.
Now, they sat in the semi-private box seats, nearly shoulder to shoulder, even though space allowed more distance. The play began, the lights dimmed, and the room fell silent. The story quickly took an unsettling turn. Will's eyes brightened with concentration, his brows knitting as he watched the stage.
It was Hannibal's second time seeing The Pillowman. His first was in London, grander and with a different purpose. He once dismissed McDonagh's evolving-trauma theme, at least for himself. But this time, the play drew him in for a new reason. The theme of forgiveness.
Hannibal glanced at Will, whose fingers drummed lightly on his knee. Will shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of Hannibal's gaze before turning to face him.
"Katurian's sense of justice is guiding him right to his downfall," Will whispered closely as the two cops on the stage fiercely interrogated the man in question. "A little too obvious, isn't it?"
Hannibal gave a courteous smile. "Life is often like fiction and repeats itself. But I assure you, I am only here seeking meaning."
"Do you provide such disclaimers to everyone who joins you at these events?"
Amusement crinkled the corner of his eyes. He leaned conspiratorially. "No, I do not."
Will's lips curled into a smirk before he turned his attention back to the stage. Hannibal continued watching the play, though his attention kept drifting to Will with quiet interest. Will noticed, but paid him no mind aside from a brief, sidelong glance. That was just as well, because Hannibal wanted him to enjoy his time to the fullest.
It was easy to slip into the role Will planned. It seemed almost genuine, and perhaps it was, with consideration to their nature—a thin veil barely concealing truth, like a mime behind glass. Or perhaps not. Regardless, Hannibal embraced it, as he always did, with Will.
Tension with the public remained high. Even a hint of camaraderie could provoke a reaction. When Hannibal suggested they leave before the applause, Will nodded. This discreet exit contrasted the usual display of being seen and surrounded. Quietly moving in and out felt almost illicit, which had its appeal. Though he hoped for another chance to showcase Will if it arose.
Will left his seat to stand by Hannibal, waiting for him to rise. In the dim light, the soft shadows and his side-swept curls accentuated his features beautifully. Will casually ran his hand down his deep-blue tie and along his black suit, checking his appearance.
Earlier, in Hannibal's living room, he had stood before Will, wrapping the tie around his neck and carefully fastening it into a knot. It felt fitting that he should manage its appearance. Hannibal extended his hand patiently, while Will watched from under lowered lashes. He lifted his chin, allowing Hannibal to adjust the tie to perfection. After a moment, Will signaled that he was ready to proceed.
"Thank you. Please lead the way," he said.
– • –
"I'm not sure how you manage this," Will said evenly. He was eager to shed his suit jacket as soon as they arrived at his home, and Hannibal signaled for him to come over to help take it off.
"Comfort is fairly subjective," he said. "And each of us has our own standard for achieving it."
He slipped his fingers under the collar and carefully removed Will's jacket. Though still warm, he no longer felt hot to the touch. Hannibal decided rejuvenation suited him better. He brushed his thumb over the coarse suit sleeve, but refrained from commenting or making offers, even though he wanted to.
He hung the jacket in the closet. When he turned back, Will was examining the deep-blue cufflinks at Hannibal's wrists as he ran a thumb absently over his matching tie. Hannibal offered a small, appeasing smile. It was a subtle detail he couldn't resist introducing. Will appeared unfazed once the realization settled, now relaxed in a well-fitting white dress shirt and dark high-waisted trousers. It was a rare but welcome sight to see him dressed in such a limited palette.
Will was still looking him over, fixed on their conversation.
"Your typical rustic approach, for example, clearly reflects many of your interests and achieves the same as mine," Hannibal expanded.
"You make it sound like a uniform. Doing this daily feels... restrictive." He gestured vaguely at Hannibal's clothes.
"But it also becomes part of you. We find comfort in the tools we choose to interact with our surroundings. My uniform may look different from yours, but its utility is quite similar."
"And are you comfortable?"
Hannibal took off his suit jacket and draped it over a kitchen chair as they entered. He looked back at Will, the conversation so charmingly benign and sincere that it called for a more direct answer. "I am."
Will nodded, satisfied.
"What did you think of the play?" Hannibal asked casually as he opened a cabinet.
"Besides the obvious parallels? Our relationship never struck me as fraternal."
The subtle quirk in his expression made Hannibal smile. What a delightful mood he'd found Will in. It was as enticing as it was dangerous. Amused, he sidestepped the more presumptuous remark and replied, "Yes, aside from the obvious."
"It uses violence as a way to examine, not merely for shock. Many black comedies tend to fall sadly into the latter."
Hannibal agreed. "McDonagh examined the delicate balance between beauty and horror to explore storytelling and the importance of writing, whether as a means to exorcise demons or to shield them. Though I don't agree with some of his conclusions, they don't diminish the play's beauty."
Interest piqued, Will shifted his elbows off the counter and watched as he uncorked the wine bottle. "What did you find lacking?"
Hannibal led them towards the living room, holding glasses in one hand and bottles in the other. When Will stopped him briefly to take the glasses, Hannibal returned a polite smile. "He suggests that a child's trauma inevitably becomes a story they keep rewriting into adulthood," he said, as they set the items on the table. "But some stories resist revision."
"Some stories should not be rewritten at all."
"I agree. Sadly, it's all too common. You're familiar with these retellings, the ones that continue to speak even after you've left their stomping grounds."
"Surely you also have places in your mind you'd rather avoid visiting."
Will's tone had a contemplative quality that seemed deceptively casual, and although his movements were as usual, today a slight rhythm accented each step. "I imagine most do, though I wouldn't generalize." Hannibal relaxed into the armchair. Then he followed Will's gaze as he evaluated him. Something about the subtle shift in his confidence tonight fit him like a well-tailored suit. His mongoose was starting to emerge fully from the shadows.
"And I take it you're not like most people?" He scoffed and sat casually in the armchair beside Hannibal before finally reaching for his tumbler.
Hannibal cast him an amused glance. He admired Will's almost preternatural ability to push back against his words. Where Hannibal orchestrated with evasions, Will led with the truth. He reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring until Will's finger tapped the glass. It took him some time to recognize that Will did this out of habit, never checking the pour, but always nodding in gratitude before drinking. It was a small ritual between them. Hannibal picked up the wine bottle Will had brought, poured some, and raised the glass to his nose. He gently swayed it from side to side to enjoy its notes, and–
–There it was, the knife.
He glanced at Will, but his expression remained unchanged. He was waiting patiently for an answer.
Hannibal thought about the faint smell buried beneath the others. He might have missed it if he wasn't already familiar with the drug and bottle. He considered the benefit of playing into Will's hand. One advantage was that it would make things quite interesting.
Slowly, he took a sip.
Then he stood to tend the fireplace, casually watching the pale glow turn into flames. He scattered ash over the large logs. Finally, he responded, "In that regard, I'm afraid I align with the general population. I am not immune to the parts of my mind that I don't instinctively wish to access."
Will looked down at him sharply, surprised that Hannibal had openly shared this, exposing his vulnerabilities for inspection. A flicker of the urge to ask the bigger questions—where do you go, what's in those rooms, and who do you see when you look inside?—crossed his face before it vanished.
Are there monsters inside that are greater than you?
Hannibal understood he could return when the time was appropriate. After all, Will was a very pragmatic man.
Will waited for Hannibal to finish tending the fire. Then he leaned forward and extended his loosely clasped hands. "When you find yourself in these rooms, and your mind overtakes your authority, where do you turn instead?"
Hannibal gave a wry smile and crossed a leg over the other. "Is this supposed to be my therapy session, Will? Flipping the coin on its head only serves to deplete the FBI's great resources."
He shrugged and reached again for his drink. "It's not my money. Well, I suppose it's all mine now. But today isn't therapy, and if you wanted me to stop, you wouldn't have phrased it as a question." His tone eased. "I thought we were just having a conversation."
Hannibal conceded, raising the glass to his lips. "Are you asking if I lose control?"
Will relaxed his posture, absentmindedly tracing the rim of his glass as he watched Hannibal swallow. "Yes, I am. But more importantly, I wonder how a man like you reins himself in."
"Beginning with the assumption that I lose control."
He shook his head, as if he expected the reply. "Now you're not playing fair, Dr. Lecter," he said, sounding faintly amused. "Humor me. I assure you, I am making a connection."
While Will's manipulations tore down Hannibal's carefully built layers, they also left him with a sense of satisfaction from being so thoroughly exposed to elements he had long been insulated from. Sometimes, such exposure was invigorating. But he was unsure of where Will intended to guide their conversation tonight. Hannibal preferred to end on a positive note, but the evening's friendly atmosphere felt increasingly fragile.
"I seek..." he began, watching Will closely. "Distraction."
There you go," Will said. "I imagine there are complex inner worlds where you could find solace, especially when the doors you want to keep shut in your mind stay slightly open."
"Your perception stays sharp, as always."
"But even within that retreat, there remains authority. What if every door you opened only led you back to places you'd rather avoid?"
"Are you speaking from experience?"
"You know I am. You saw to that," Will said tersely.
Those words caused a ripple, but they only tapped into surface irritation, not anger. It was a modest step forward for them. "Such lapses are uncommon." He carefully managed his expression and chose his words, steering away from the distant past where small shoes marked a haunting ground, and focusing on the recent. A brief flicker of emotion flashed behind the tumbler as Will listened. "But even in its rarity, whenever I have recently been exposed to discomfort, it has compelled me to act."
Will's eyes widened. "How so?"
He reflected before saying, "The impact of your absence on my world was profound. It was surprising that a typically simple decision now required reconsideration. So, I took it upon myself to manage it."
Will was stunned by the confession. Hannibal could almost follow every thought as he processed the words and their meaning. Will's hands moved restlessly at his sides; the liquid in the tumbler danced with his unease, and his brows furrowed in confusion.
Hannibal carefully lifted the whiskey bottle and poured once more until he heard the faint tap.
"It affected you."
It was more of a question. Hannibal replied, "It did. There was a sense of loss I couldn't shake. Does that surprise you?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "I figured you had your reasons that probably involved something you could benefit from by freeing me. But I didn't expect it to be... loss, and I hadn't anticipated you sharing your feelings so openly."
Hannibal slowly recognized a minor flaw in his reasoning. His vulnerability was a weapon, meant to destabilize. But here, it was met with gentle confusion, not hostility, as Will handled it with almost delicate hands. A subtle discomfort grew at the idea of being pitied. He had expected disbelief or rejection. That, he found, was easier to accept. He had caused enough harm that such feelings should be beyond Will's current understanding.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm and sincere. "Then allow me to clear up the misunderstanding."
The astonishment on Will's face softened, like crumpled paper pressed flat by a hardcover. The cracks remained in the slight downturn of his lips and the narrowed eyes when he refocused on Hannibal, as if listening intently rather than lost in his thoughts. Hannibal casually took another sip, allowing the scrutiny. The warmth of the fire now filled the air, vibrant and sharply distinct from the stillness of their section, where silence maintained its hold. Hannibal sensed a change as Will's gaze fixed on him.
"Will you relinquish yourself to me?"
Hannibal went still. The words were as soft as a sigh, yet they resonated clearly throughout the room.
Will licked his lips, anticipating a reply—one Hannibal would give. He sensed it from the moment he tasted the red wine, as if blindfolded in a sacred ritual. Relying only on instinct was unusual. He turned the glass, examining its contents. The question was the only sign he knew Hannibal was aware of what happened to the gifted wine bottle, and Will didn't want him to resist.
With a cautious tone, Hannibal asked, "Is this meant to be retribution, Will?" There was at least some tentative understanding after Will explicitly said he wasn't trying to kill him anymore, though it still helped to clarify.
"It crossed my mind," he answered, tapping his shoe on the floor. "I should ask if you think you deserve it."
"You could, but would my opinion matter?"
"No, it wouldn't," he said, and Hannibal gave a subtle, agreeable nod. The tapping ceased as he rose. "This is about natural curiosity and its consequences."
Will strode purposefully into view, and Hannibal leaned back to observe him. In his mind palace's archway, he gathered sensory details: sharp, woody cologne mixed with Will's natural scent, the slightly twisted, deep-blue tie, the gift he offered, testing his luck. Will had accepted it with mixed feelings and perhaps restrained pleasure. It complemented the intensity of his gaze. Hannibal pressed his lips together, feigning deep thought.
"You'll have my reins, then," Hannibal murmured. He tipped the wineglass back and took a savoring drink. "To do with as you wish."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Will's face, and Hannibal wanted to probe further, disrupt the balance, and see if he wavered. The possibilities of Will's intentions intrigued him. "Would that please you?"
He looked into Hannibal's eyes. The smooth blue rings sharpened into something unreadable. There was a tangible allure to them, to witnessing the shroud he used against others turned expertly against him. It sparked hunger. The floor lamp bathed Will in warm light as he leaned forward and rested his hand on the armrest. Dark curls escaped their styling constraints, cascading like cherubic waterfalls that lightly rained close to Hannibal's temple when he turned his head. Smooth fingers brushed Hannibal's before grasping the stem of his wineglass. Silently, he yielded. Will took the glass, moved it behind them, then refocused entirely on him.
Hannibal swallowed.
"Yes." Will's voice was calm, absolute.
Hannibal waited patiently while he slipped away from him. Then Will stopped at a measured distance, standing just a step from his own chair.
"Come with me."
He slowly rose to his feet, following Will until they stood close together. Hannibal paused, looking to him for further instruction.
"Do you know where I want you?" he asked.
Hannibal glanced at the floor. Rocks had been reshaped and recrystallized into dense, interconnected mosaic patterns that spread elegantly. Imperfections became veins that intertwined with apparent intent, swirling toward each other. It felt appropriate. "I have a general idea."
Will said nothing. Slowly, Hannibal lowered himself in front of him, and Will followed the movement as he sank to the marble floor before taking the final step back. He settled into the armchair.
They remained silent. Will seemed to appreciate the quiet just as much, offering room to adapt to this unfamiliar reality. The sensation of uncertainty came with the shift involved in contemplating, then choosing a new action. There was always a thrill in the unknown, especially with Will, but it also made him wonder if drinking the wine was the right choice. He shifted focus to the intimacy between them. Will's legs, apart, formed a symbolic cage confining him without touch. Hannibal simply reconsidered.
"How does that feel?"
He could offer an array of words, but none would truly encompass the feeling that their closeness now inspired. So, he chose a simple answer that Will would value. "Novel."
Will hummed in agreement. "You've given me many firsts. I thought it was time to return the favor."
Will's deceptively gentle words belied the nature of Hannibal's favors. In quiet reflection, he lifted his head with effort.
"It seems like you have something to share," Will said.
Hannibal moved slightly closer, readjusting his kneeling position, alert to the brief brush of warmth that seeped through his shirt. His expression remained calm, but he didn't hide the uncertainty in his voice. "This is a deviation from the options I anticipated."
"You expected to be met with anger," Will said quietly. "A language of violence, etched into our future until the engravings started to blur. Is that what you imagined?"
"Yes."
Will said, "There's a clear conflict between your attempt to suppress your human nature and your innate curiosity. I notice this because you intrigue me as well. Now, you've demonstrated that your betrayal was essentially a form of self-betrayal."
The words draped like a heavy cloak. Here he, was on the cold floor, placed there by his own will and Will's design. The possibility, once abstract, now had no alternative frame. Will wanted to know. If Will had no intention of killing him, or of exacting violence, then that was the only conclusion. Such a turn would be sudden and ill-considered. There was likely still a window to stand, brush off his trousers, say something casual, and end this. He could dismiss Will for the evening. Will might even allow it.
He didn't move. His earlier judgment was correct: his vulnerability was a misstep. Yet this predicament was orchestrated long before that. There was still something he was missing, and that admission alone was unsettling.
"Eventually, I understood that you wouldn't stop until you felt I had taken my pound of flesh, and even after that..."
Hannibal noticed the significant glance at the cuffs of his shirt, just below where Will's first marks by proxy were on his skin. The drug was fully taking effect; his muscles relaxed, and he needed more time to compose himself. His voice came out more contemplative than he intended as he asked, "You believe I'm running from something?"
Will leaned in close. "I believe you have an inclination to understand, which both motivates and unsettles you. I think a part of you wants to be stopped. Am I wrong?"
He thought about how Will's presence had quietly woven into his life. Only later did he realize that choosing separation might be difficult. He had wondered if Will felt the same. Now, he wouldn't have to for much longer. He exhaled slowly, pushing past the discomfort. "The web of connection between us is a point of interest for me."
"And you chase that goal at the expense of everything, including yourself, the one you defend so fiercely. Where will this path take you?"
"Discomfort breeds doubt, doubt leads to fear, and fear encourages unwise choices," he said. Will didn't let him evade the question.
"Is that what drives you?"
"Not exactly. But the unknown is seldom explored without at least some of it. Most would say it's a core motivator."
"But you're not most people," Will said. Hannibal responded with a twitch of a smile. "When I think of you and fear, it comes to me as a detached emotion, like a molted skin you can intentionally choose to wear. A relic preserved to hide among others."
"Can't it be both one and the other?"
"And how much of the other would that be?" Will asked.
But the question didn't really need an answer. That emotion, even from childhood, had been subdued, then crushed when he faced danger and tragedy. He had quickly decided it served no purpose except for the ones he chose. Yet it had resurfaced, creeping back in a small, unprecedented way.
"Change affects us all, even when we believe we've shed our last layer. Recognizing that I remain vulnerable to influence has been a humbling experience," Hannibal admitted.
Will blinked, suddenly stiffening. He said quietly, "I'm surprised you're admitting this. I'm not used to it."
"Neither am I," he acknowledged. "You can attribute it to my relaxed inhibitions, if you wish."
"I think your mind is far more resilient than that."
Hannibal couldn't deny it. He struggled to keep his head up, and his arms hung loosely at his sides. While his lips felt a bit slack, his mind stayed sharp as he spoke. "What drives you now, Will?"
The living room hearth flickered warmly with crackling wood, and Will glanced at it. A burst of orange light reflected in his eyes as he turned back to him. "Since you refuse to put an end to this relentless pursuit, I will bring you to heel."
– • –
Among all the drugs he had experience with, this one was comparatively mild.
What began as curiosity in controlled settings became a necessity. Some situations in his free time demanded tolerance. He could never be too cautious. Though his options for avoiding unwanted outcomes in this way were limited, he could learn to read his body's signals, knowing when to push and when to pull back. Now, he was especially tested. Tonight's choices unsettled him. With Will so close amid chaos, most of his mental barriers failed. His mind stayed alert yet distracted, and his body yielded to each gentle sway.
There was a moment of extraordinary helplessness. It seemed like he might fall to the ground, but the only coldness he felt was when his hand struck the marble floor. Instinctively, his other hand gripped Will's ankle, feeling the tendons tighten. His focus shifted from Will's foot to the armchair's hoofed leg, awaiting an inevitable response.
Will stayed still until he released his grip, then stood and moved to Hannibal's side, taking in his state with a keen, sharp gaze. This quick reversal was something he should have long expected. Will was a natural hunter, after all. Then Will wrapped his finger around his tie knot as Hannibal regained his composure and leaned back, observing him.
He took a slow, measured breath. "May I make a request?" His words caused Will to stop. He remained silent, and Hannibal interpreted it as an invitation. "My tie is available for your use. Please take it instead."
Will said, "I didn't realize we were opening the room to suggestions."
But his fingers slipped from the fabric as he leaned in to reach for Hannibal's carmine tie. Hannibal followed the action as he unknotted it. Once it was free, Will casually straightened his collar, his knuckles briefly brushing against Hannibal's skin before pulling back. Hannibal sighed. Drew his arms together even before Will was behind him. A warm hand guided him forward; he heard fabric slide before he felt it—teasing, indulgent, tightening above his wrists. The quiet strength with which Will secured the restraint was unexpectedly distracting.
He tilted his head back, meeting Will's half-lowered eyes. With hands still loosely holding the tie ends, Will loomed over him. Hannibal inhaled, eyes closing briefly, and caught the intoxicating scent of desire. It was riveting.
"You should take pride in your work," Hannibal said, slightly breathless. "Humility is merely a prison for the artist."
"I'm sure you can attest to that." As if following Hannibal's advice, he stepped back, reached for his drink, and lifted the glass to his mouth as he watched him.
Hannibal wet his lips. A calm expression now masked the flicker of Will's desire. There was a struggle he could no longer sustain, especially not with how he knelt like a lamb presented or how Will regarded him—like an ultimate possession, like a god judging his claim. Vulnerability fostered a risky honesty in all the ways that mattered. Now, it had also affected his physical state; his body had adopted honesty, and it was only a matter of time before Will noticed. His breathing quickened. He debated hiding his reaction but ultimately decided against it.
When Will was satisfied with his appraisal, he sat down. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused when he looked at Hannibal, scanning his face, his scrutiny dropping to the slight rise in his chest before shifting downward. Will's eyes narrowed, tension clear on his face, and he glanced briefly at the ceiling. After a moment, he looked back at Hannibal, began in a neutral tone, but hesitated. "Are you–"
"Having an involuntary response to the drug? Not quite." He wasn't self-conscious, though Will's boldness was notable. He could have taken the polite route and said nothing.
Will exhaled, leaning back and furrowing his brows as he reevaluated the evening. "I didn't think–” he stopped. “This was not what I intended for tonight."
Hannibal knew. Things could have gone differently, and still might. The drug was a sedative, but given how much time had passed, Will likely realized he wouldn't be sleeping. His tolerance was more beneficial than he'd expected.
"I understand, and the situation isn't the reason for this," Hannibal clarified to prevent any misunderstanding. Will hesitated before meeting his eyes, but Hannibal maintained his focus, shifting and relaxing his arms in the restraints. "Though I have to admit, I'm slowly getting accustomed to being the target of such sadistic urges. It seems we're learning more about ourselves and each other."
Will finished his drink too quickly. The previously stifled heat seemed to pour out of him like nectar shimmering in a blue sky. But he also straightened his shoulders, as if bracing himself for the moment when this tentative step into the unknown might cause everything to unravel.
Hannibal tilted his head slightly. "What changed?"
"You," Will said, still visibly conflicted. "Tonight. If I asked why you did what you did to me, would you tell the truth?"
He replied cautiously, "Would you like to discuss it?"
Will stared into his empty glass, then placed it on the small table. "No."
"Did it truly never occur to you that I might reciprocate your feelings about me?"
Will's expression grew somber. He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Not quite. Action and sentiment have always seemed so… separate with you."
Part of him wanted to hide, yet he kept revealing his hand to Will. He longed to push further, to hear more, even if it ended badly. Was the union of these qualities what Will wanted to give and receive? Yet, he already knew the answer, especially now that Will was trying to hide his discomfort about his own subtle admission. Will needed conviction.
He asked calmly, "And now?"
Will watched him, and what he saw eased his tension marginally. "Seeing is believing, I guess," he said. "Here we are, amidst the impossible. You're still able to speak."
"I am, indeed."
He wasn't surprised. He glanced at the clock above them and asked, "What else are you capable of?"
It seemed a loaded question, but at its core, it wasn't. Will wanted a direct answer. It opened up a world of unforeseen possibilities for the night's outcome.
Will raised his shoe, looking questioningly. As realization dawned, Will lowered the shoe to rest between his thighs. Hannibal didn't hide his astonishment. His eyes widened slightly, and he drew a quick breath even as he shifted to make space for him. His voice faltered. "Will-"
"Shhh," he urged, voice low with intent. His lips parted as if in hesitation, then closed again, before he said, "You've been doing so well for me."
His body jerked, breath trembling out before he could stop it. Maybe he really was losing his grip. Will's shoe pressed lightly against him as his fingers curled on the cold floor. A faint flush touched Will's cheeks, but his eyes met his boldly.
Will leaned in and casually raised his brow. "I asked you a question."
"Given the amount I drank, the effects should start to diminish in roughly eight minutes. I'd prefer not to complicate matters by speaking while under physical duress."
A flash of calculation crossed Will's face as he considered Hannibal's request. After a tense pause, he nodded.
Though tempted by Will's touch, Hannibal made a conscious effort to ignore it as the minutes passed. He positioned his hands on his left leg, smoothly moving his fingers along the elastic band below his calf before reaching into his sock for what he sought. "What do you want me to tell you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"The truth," Will said.
Hannibal remained silent. His jaw tensed, a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth. Genuine reluctance didn't suit him at all.
Will insisted, dropping his shoe back to the floor, "Not white lies, not sins of omission."
Nothing but the truth. He weighed his options but saw none. Will had built a wall to block the games they'd played since their beginning. He was determined to get what he wanted, come what may. There was no reason to keep resisting once he had decided.
"Then any inference you've made so far has been the truth."
A faint sound blended with the crackling fire casting golden specks behind them. Will's face stayed unreadable until he exhaled, then his brows furrowed with unspoken questions. Hannibal sensed the fortress of silence they'd held minutes before starting to crumble.
"You're the Chesapeake Ripper."
He admitted, "I am."
"What are you going to do with me?" Will asked.
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully.
Will remained seated even as Hannibal's hands moved behind him. He softly said, "I think you do."
Hannibal was honest. He didn't have all the answers. He looked at Will, who was cautious of his movements but receptive to his gaze, who seemed only faintly apprehensive about the confession, as if he had been expecting it, as if it were inevitable.
This wasn't a matter of submission or morality. It was about acknowledgment, and more importantly, Will's demonstration of his own choice, removed from influence.
A calm realization washed over him at the sight—Will would never reject him for his true self. What he'd felt was missing before became obvious. All he had to do was listen past the distractions and truly see what was before him.
Will was choosing.
Gradually, he relaxed his hold on the scalpel, lifted the blade away from the tie, and let it rest in his open palm before it fell. Relief was the sound of a pin dropping in a silent room.
Will's chest rose and fell, but Hannibal stayed motionless as a lifetime of tension seemed to unwind, then reform around them. A flicker of disbelief, then a growing heat darkened in Will as they waited for the tension to subside. Yet it felt endless, because something so easily formed couldn't be broken just as quickly.
Hannibal wet his lips, testing the waters. "Do you like seeing me on my knees, Will?"
The silence trapped Will's quick intake of breath.
"It's quite refreshing to see more of your honesty," Hannibal said, with a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Could you please remove my restraints now?"
Will gave a wry look, glancing between him and the knife on the floor. "No, I think I won't."
"Then, may I touch you? I've wanted to do so since my knees hit the floor, before you disrupted tonight's plans at the office," he said, his voice earnest. "I've desired too much of you, even from our first meeting."
Will squeezed his eyes shut. "God, Hannibal..."
And how thrilling it was to hear his name spoken so softly. Hannibal waited patiently until Will's eyes slowly opened again. When Will's gaze finally settled, he looked more resolute than before. And contrary to what he had often imagined, Hannibal did not swell with triumphant pride. Instead, his expression softened. The pause stretched between them, long enough for both to recognize there was nowhere else to look now but at each other.
"Yes."
– • –
At first, he did nothing.
The evening's heaviness persisted. Will watched him with a matching patience; after a lifetime of desiring this, now that it was finally here, oh, how he wanted. Hannibal leaned close, pressing his head to Will's thigh. Will's fingers clenched then relaxed, and Hannibal noticed the restrained urge to reach out. He absorbed the warmth, its pull, and its frailty. Quiet relief lingered, knowing they had made it through the outcome. Alive, whole.
Hannibal turned and kissed Will's inner thigh. And Will watched through lowered lashes as he moved closer, tracing his lips along in a delicate inquiry, leaving a warm whisper through the fabric. Will's legs parted with a sigh, the response he had been longing for.
Hannibal left little room for anticipation, and Will's sharp intake of breath unraveled his focus.
"Taste," he whispered, reverent lips brushing him. "It's remarkable that I haven't experienced this until now. I've always wanted to craft a complete sensory portrait of you." When Will clenched his fists again, Hannibal's lips twisted in triumph.
Will's breath caught as he spoke. "What does it say about me that I'm letting you?"
"What does it say about you?" He countered softly, without judgment. Will stayed silent, save for faint sounds. His cheeks flushed, and he closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Hannibal with hunger.
Hannibal sealed his mouth over him, his tongue flicking out to press against the cloth barrier, like sunlight filtering through a curtain.
That was when Will finally reached for his head.
"Hannibal–" he warned, pulling his hair. "Fuck… Hannibal, wait."
He withdrew, watching Will squeeze his eyes shut, in his resolve to step back from the sharp spike of arousal. Will's grip loosened, almost cautious of his pleasure, even as he kept Hannibal close. Struggling to rise, he finally leaned in until Will had to tilt his head back to keep up. Their eyes met before he closed the distance.
Hannibal whispered, barely grazing their lips, "You need not struggle for what is already yours to claim."
Will's resolve flared. He kissed Hannibal with fierce determination, fingers digging into his jaw and sliding into his hair. Hannibal gasped as Will's tongue slipped into his welcoming mouth. Will tasted like the salt of the sea, like the promise of spring, like Will. It engulfed Hannibal; he wanted to devour him. When Will rose and pulled Hannibal close, his legs staggered from lingering weakness, but Will held him steady, arm firm around his waist as they descended.
There was an undeniable pull to this vulnerability. Will had him at his mercy, and he reveled in it. It felt like devotion, like surrendering to one's God to earn a place beside him. Will kept him in that state, tongue tracing teeth before reconnecting with his own, and all Hannibal wanted then was to free his hands to pull him closer, until they merged.
Will seemed to understand. He stepped back, and they stared, panting. Will's eyes flicked to his lips as Hannibal regained his footing. Then, he reached to loosen the bindings, only to find that a strip was already halfway cut. His teeth brushed Hannibal's throat dangerously, eliciting a strained moan. But the tension eased in the next moment as Will tore the fabric, murmuring, "Upstairs," as it dropped.
But they barely moved. Will's hurried hand slipped under his shirt, which was temptingly distracting, as lips trailed from jaw to mouth, then down Hannibal's throat. When he kissed his Adam's apple, Hannibal let out a muffled moan, and Will's tongue traced the vibrating sound of his need with a lascivious swipe.
"It's a bit too late for that, don't you think?" Will whispered against his skin before leaning back to hold his chin firmly. "You don't need to be in control. I want to hear you."
"The evening has been in your hands."
"Has it? You romanticize surrender, mythologize it. Yet, you're still controlling how I perceive you."
There was strength in how Will guided conversations with quiet authority, around the point he had already established. He shaped each moment while allowing Hannibal the illusion of choice. This was no exception. "I always imagined it would be easier to–"
"I know," Will said, his gaze disarming. "But it excites you, so you should let go."
Those words easily bypassed Hannibal's defenses with a simple, gentle invitation, drawing him toward what he desired. Will wanted him exposed, unguarded. He grabbed Will's shirt to steady himself amid the overwhelm of his longing, but instead, he pulled him closer, brought his fingers to card through those beautiful dark curls, and kissed him.
Will made a breathy, encouraging sound against his mouth and rose onto his toes to return the kiss, filled with emotions waiting to be untangled. They blindly waltzed, backing toward the stairs. Will leaned back to tug at his bottom lip. When he withdrew, Hannibal's eyes opened to the sight of Will, lips a deep rose hue, flushed and swollen.
"These need to come off." He pressed Hannibal against the wall by the railing, sliding a possessive hand from his shirt down to his waistcoat, then to the top of his trousers. His hand settled on the buckle, and Hannibal exhaled sharply, glancing downward before refocusing on Will.
Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow that ebbed near the hearth. The light reflected in blue eyes, pinning Hannibal in place; he couldn't look away. Hannibal unbuttoned his waistcoat, then slipped deftly to his shirt. Will watched. His hand moved along Hannibal's hip, fingers skating over fabric like the rim of a whiskey glass—a habitual motion that suddenly sharpened his desire. Will unbuckled his belt. Next, he yanked at his own tie, but Hannibal caught his gaze. After a pause, Will stopped, then reached for Hannibal's shirt instead. He was fascinated by the sensual precision of Will's fingers, exposing him with a single hand. A moment later, he gripped Will's deep-blue tie, hands less patient now than when he had fastened it.
"You've been watching me all evening, while tied up with one of your possessions. Do you enjoy being the one to finally release me?"
"It was a gift," he reminded Will. "I chose it to accentuate your eyes."
"I noticed, and I felt the same about yours," he said. His hand slid from Hannibal's bare shoulder to his nipple. He rolled it softly and then pinched. Hannibal's moan spilled freely as he leaned his head back against the wall. Will observed him with slow satisfaction. "The way you wore it tonight suited you, with carmine streaks like gentle lashings across your skin. Would you like that?"
Hannibal tried to imagine it. The sensation and the blossoming welts on his back. No, lower. The union of pain and pleasure from his beloved's commanding touch. To be truly marked by Will, even for a moment, felt both unfamiliar and intoxicating. Whatever hidden desires Will harbored, tonight's sight of him bound likely brought them to light.
"Would that please you?" he asked for the second time.
Will hummed. "Perhaps, but that's a different question. Let's discuss it another time."
Another time.
Will placed a hand on his waist, then guided him to face the wall. Hannibal bent his head until his crown touched the wallpaper. When Will leaned his chin on Hannibal's shoulder, the silence was broken only by their breaths. With eyes closed, Hannibal slid his fingers into Will's hair and drew him close for a kiss. Will's hand drifted from his chest to cup his jaw, deepening the kiss until it became desperate, infused with a possessiveness that made his head spin.
"How far are we going with this?"
Hannibal paused to reflect on his ability to maintain a coherent conversation and said, "I'm prepared for any contingency."
Will took a deep breath and suddenly chuckled. "Contingency, really?" he said, lifting a brow as if Hannibal had said something ridiculous.
He might have, but the timbre of Will's unrestrained laughter brought a strange comfort and provoked an unanticipated reaction. And his thoughts were exposed because Will's gaze turned considering. The sensation edged close to discomfort at being seen, destabilized by his actions and the consequences for both of them. It was unfamiliar.
Will's hand dropped from his waist. He held the silence, as he deftly unbuttoned Hannibal's trousers and pulled down all the fabric, exposing him completely. When he finally wrapped a hand around him, there was no softness, only a ruthless, exhilarating shift.
"Will," he gasped, closing his eyes and shuddering.
Warm lips pressed to Hannibal's shoulder. When Will let go, his hot exhale lingered. His hoarse, strained voice sounded like a self-reminder. "We should go upstairs."
Hannibal was still catching his breath. "I was being quite literal earlier."
Will paused. He drifted his hands down Hannibal's back, then lower, gliding over his cheeks before reaching his entrance. A low groan escaped Will as he circled his thumb around the sensitive rim, gently stretching it. Hannibal inhaled sharply, his mouth slightly parted. Will held Hannibal's hips to keep his balance, pressing their bodies together without hesitation—the firm line of Will, separated only by his trousers, rubbed against Hannibal.
He gasped, his head falling against Will's shoulder. "I did mention I share your curiosity."
"I'm realizing that now. What did you imagine? Did I come back just to push you against your door and take you? Did we even make it anywhere near these stairs?" Will pressed his mouth to Hannibal's ear, teeth grazing his skin.
The surge of his arousal was so abrupt it felt as if his breath was wrenched from him. "There is—" he began. He wanted to say there was no fantasy left to chase, not with Will before him, but Will offered no mercy. He allowed no pause, no breath. Hannibal's pulse betrayed him, pounding against Will's lips as he sucked at his neck. He gasped and dropped his head. His hips jolted forward, only to meet with slow, taunting strokes. Hannibal stared, transfixed, as Will's hand closed around him.
"Will," he managed.
"Or did you picture soft sheets against your skin as I slowly unraveled you?"
He erred by pausing for just a moment.
Will's touch slowed to a crawl before stilling. The teasing look on his face vanished, replaced by a focused, serious expression. "Spread your legs for me, Hannibal."
His face tinged at the language, yet he followed. He noticed Will's breathing quicken as he reveled in the obedience he chose to surrender. Will's buckle unfastened with a resonant sound, and Hannibal briefly missed his touch, but it returned, resuming slow strokes with just enough pressure to make his eyelids flutter.
A warm hand rested on his back. He glanced over his shoulder as Will's eyes darkened while brushing his knuckles down his spine. Will pressed closer, slowly, until their bodies aligned. Hannibal's breath hitched, and Will sighed softly as if in response. The heat was disarming. Hannibal noted where Will deliberately avoided touching, the implications heavy. Before he could unravel his thoughts, Will rocked again, sliding with perfect friction between his thighs.
"Oh," Hannibal murmured, arching against him. Will's hand slid to his nape. He guided Hannibal's head down, then thrust his hips. As Will sank closer, Hannibal clenched his legs around him.
"Christ," Will said, his voice edged with arousal. He rolled his hips, and his hand moved faster, setting a relentless rhythm. Hannibal sensed it—the unbroken barrier of emotion, the frustration beneath it, the longing, and the rawness, all overshadowed by their inevitability.
He moved his hips backward to match his thrusts, and Will's hand followed. Hannibal gasped, gripping Will's shirt behind him in a desperate effort to keep steady. Will groaned harshly against his skin, his movements faltering from their previous rhythm. He was close. Sweat traced a line down his temple, and Hannibal, compelled, followed it with his tongue. He tasted salt and desire, of himself and Will. Will stared at him, stunned, then his pupils expanded impossibly wider.
He withdrew and then thrust again, harder, and Hannibal's voice fractured into a desperate sound. "Touch yourself," Will urged through his gritted teeth, "but hold on, for me."
He clenched a fist around himself as he was set free, while Will's hands settled firmly on his hips. Their movement created a discordant harmony, muscles tense with pleasure. Will looked downward, his chin resting on his shoulder, his breath ragged in his ear, his heat pulsing between Hannibal’s legs. He loosened his grip on Will's shirt, hooking his arm to draw him even closer by the small of his back, craving an impossible proximity. A sharp inhale echoed in his ear before Will lifted his head and—
"Hannibal."
It was an irreparable undoing.
He froze. The willpower he needed to obey Will was insurmountable. Pleasure clawed at the edges of control as he gripped himself tightly to stave off his own orgasm while Will bucked, warmth spilling over him and marking his thighs. His mind echoed with the sound of his name on Will's tongue.
When Will wrapped a hand around him again, it forced him to close his eyes from the intensity. Still breathless, he gave Hannibal a moment, running a hand slowly over his chest before gradually resuming the rhythm.
Will's gaze cataloged every detail—his relaxed lips, furrowed brows as his pleasure spiked, his hair falling in loose locks over his face. As his breathing quickened and his eyelids drooped, Will steadied his jaw and claimed his lips, his tongue brushing and then tasting deeper. He moaned into Will's mouth until his name escaped reverently as they parted. A warm, curling heat was rising low, beneath the relentless touch.
"Look at me," Will said, with his thumb tracing his cheekbone. "I want to see you."
But even now, Hannibal sensed a disconnect lingering between his sense of control and his desires. Falling into Will's empathy demanded a steep leap of faith on his part.
Will spoke honestly. "I can stop. Do you want me to?"
He released a shaky exhale. "No."
"Then you have to stay with me."
Hannibal understood that Will didn't intend the inference he drew from his words, but it still brought him comfort all the same. Stay with me. Wasn't that at the heart of their dilemma?
Will pressed his lips to his shoulder, humming pleasure into his skin. Held his hips steady while stroking him. Sensing the rising pressure, he searched for Will's gaze, which he found—eager and waiting. Then his lips parted in a quiet, broken moan, and Will leaned back slightly, with lips also parted, drinking him in. Within this neural mirror, it was almost impossible to distinguish where he ended and Will began, lost in the maze of Will's focus as he reached the peak of his climax.
– • –
He shifted slightly in Will's grip, uncertain whether to step back; perhaps he'd overstayed his welcome. But Will tightened his hold and pulled him closer into the curve of his body. Nimble fingers traced Hannibal's sides and swept along his abdomen. Hannibal hesitated. Then, he relaxed into the touch and pressed close, his head leaning back to rest on Will's shoulder. This brand of care was unfamiliar. He had never been on the receiving end quite like this, nor been in a situation where such attention was needed or desired. Of course, there was the relaxed intimacy afterward with others, but it was simply physical. One day, he hoped he could tell Will.
Tonight, they pushed past familiar limits, dissolving old boundaries. The moment required time and words to settle, to become reality without fraying. Will had arranged the evening under a tight kaleidoscope. The longer Hannibal thought, the faster things warped.
"I think we should discuss it, after all."
Will let out a long, deep sigh. "Don't."
Hannibal waited. He was acutely aware of the tension stiffening Will's shoulders, the slightly tightening hand on his hip. Though initiating the conversation ran counter to Will's earlier stance, he believed it was necessary.
"A resolution isn't needed. But if we don't at least explore the surface of what brought us here, then everything today might seem true, but it would lack authenticity," Hannibal said cautiously. "Is that what you'd prefer?"
Will pulled back, turning with a frown. "I—No, it's not," he said, shaking his head. "You're right."
"I have wounded you many times, even while I was aware I didn't want to." Hannibal sensed the sharper reply Will was holding back. He leaned against the wall instead, studying Hannibal intently.
"So why didn't you stop?"
There was no easy answer. The impulse to exploit and unfamiliar emotions had tangled so profoundly that he found himself drawn in different directions, trying to understand both Will and his own fascination at once. He made an effort to answer, though he knew his words would hurt. "There was a novelty in witnessing suffering and experiencing unease. But it was new in other, simpler ways, too. You burned beautifully, so I was curious to see what would happen."
Will closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them without speaking. They stood quietly for a few minutes until he eventually asked, "And then?"
"Watching became more difficult. I hoped it would end because I knew I couldn't risk losing your presence or your life due to my curiosity. I don't want to hurt you if I can avoid it."
He asked, "Can you honestly make that promise?" He hesitated, shook his head, and then said, "Forget it."
"If I told you I mean no harm to you, either through what I do or fail to do, would that suffice for now?"
"It wouldn't be sustainable," he said, though he was not rejecting him. When Hannibal stepped forward, Will allowed the kiss to his crown.
Dark curls muffled his voice as he said, "I know." He stayed close but pulled back from Will. "You came here seeking resolution. Did you find it?"
"I think so."
"Was your original intention to deprive me of freedom?" It may be hard to hear, but following Will's example of acceptance, he might also consider accepting this possibility.
Will hesitated. "I wasn't certain what tonight might hold, but I needed everything to stop. If I left you to your own devices, I wasn't sure where the line was or if you'd even notice when you crossed it," he looked up at him. "But as we spoke, I came to realize I couldn't, even though a part of me still wanted to."
Natural curiosity and its consequences, indeed. Hannibal appreciated that Will had brought them here. Though he understood the danger it posed to himself, to let both their impulses run freely. Hannibal looked at him, fascinated.
Will asked, "You would retreat into distraction, wouldn't you?"
"My mind palace contains vast places I could visit. They can be torn down and rebuilt at will; I wouldn't be alone."
"But you would be."
Hannibal said nothing, though Will was right. Every space had its limits. His freedom wasn't a risk he could consider indefinitely.
"I admit I can't guarantee that part of me still doesn't want to hurt you, but I don't want to see you suffer like that. Even if I took that away from you tonight, I would–"
"Be moved to action," Hannibal said softly.
"Yes," he sighed. His gaze was open and honest.
"Thank you, Will." He meant it. Will's lips twitched slightly, unsure how to interpret his words, and Hannibal softened, watching as he grappled with his sudden, growing awkwardness.
"We should..." Will gestured vaguely between them.
After moments like this, Hannibal often left quickly unless he knew his partner wished to stay close. Yet now, he sought to prolong the intimacy, to linger in the cocoon of touch. Everything was different with Will.
He reached for Will's wrist and gently brushed his thumb over the steady pulse. Then he urged, 'Stay,' and Will took a deep breath, gradually relaxing and moving closer.
"Would you like to sit by the fire afterward?" Hannibal asked.
Will gazed at him in silence. Then he rested his head on Hannibal's shoulder, and together, they watched the dwindling flames. The action was a tentative, delicate thing. Each gentle gesture from Will, Hannibal knew, was deliberate. Hannibal watched, neither claiming nor clinging, but simply to witness.
"Sure," Will said quietly. "That would be nice."