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Chapter Text

Will Graham hated moving. He never felt younger or less in control of his life than he did when his father uprooted them and moved over and over again. He’d been to nearly half a dozen schools the previous school year alone, and he just wanted to start and finish out his senior year in relative peace and, if at all possible, in one place. 

The Baltimore house, at least, was fancy. He’d never lived in a house so unnecessarily large or ostentatious. It was nearly gaudy how the obscenely wealthy flaunted their good fortune. Beau Graham was a traveling journeyman, installing electrical for new homes or renovation projects. Donald Sutcliffe was his most recent benefactor, a cruel and petty man who’d offered up his Baltimore home as temporary lodging for the Grahams while he had Beau in New York completing several housing and retail projects for him. 

Even in late summer, Baltimore was nowhere near as hot as Will would prefer, the air far drier than Will was accustomed to in the gulf, and he felt, like a fish out of water. But, this was the first massive project Beau had gotten in a while, so he’d jumped at the opportunity, even though it took them so far from home. 

“The previous tenant left quite suddenly, not a word to me about his plans. It’s been nearly two months with no contact so I started renovations but all of their old furniture is still in the house, and I haven’t gotten around to disposing of it just yet. You are, of course, more than welcome to use anything you need.” Sutcliffe showed them around the large interior, Will eyeing the perfectly functional and well cared for furniture with a critical eye. Why did rich people always waste? 

“It’ll do just fine, Mister Sutcliffe,” Beau nodded, and Will had to glare at the wall to keep his eyes from rolling at Sutcliffe’s muttered correction of Doctor, if you will. “Me and my boy appreciate you lettin’ us stay here. It’s mighty kind of ya.  I’ll be headin’ up to the first site on Monday so I won’t be here much, but it’ll be good for Will. Keep him focused on his schoolin’.” Beau shook Donald’s hand and Will grimaced, knew he’d have to shake hands next. 

Sure enough, the man stepped in front of him, a sour smile on his face. Will wondered idly if Donald Sutcliffe had a truly kind bone in his entire body. “I’ll see you Monday, William. Bright and early; I seem to recall biology is your first class of the day. How fortunate you’re able to start out the year with the rest of your peers.” 

Will bit down on his impulsive desire to correct the use of his full name, shaking the man’s hand. He forced a polite smile to his lips and stopped himself from pointing out that he’d never felt as though his classmates were his peers a day in his life. 

“See you Monday.” 

---

Will was rudely awakened Monday morning by the sound of the front door slamming shut; most likely his father leaving for New York. Will wasn’t surprised his old man hadn’t bothered to say goodbye; their relationship was distant at best. 

Beau blamed Will for his wife leaving him, Will’s mother never really was the staying kind though, and Will doubted she would have stuck around even if she hadn’t had a baby she was unprepared for. She’d made a half-assed attempt at it for a few years at least, in and out of his life until he was six when she finally disappeared for good. 

Will didn’t doubt his father loved him, the man just really didn’t know how to express it and how to overcome his feelings of anger and betrayal at Will’s perceived slight of forcing his wife away. 

He grabbed his phone and tried to read the numbers through eyes bleary with sleep, the digits fuzzy from his lack of glasses. 5:09

What the fuck. It was way too early to be out of bed, forget about leaving the house. He flopped back over and tried to go back to sleep but all he did was toss and turn for several minutes before finally dragging himself from bed and to the en suite to get a glass of water for his cotton-dry mouth.

He’d come from humble beginnings, and though Will had never expected to have his own bathroom attached to his bedroom - nor did he consider it strictly necessary - he had to admit it was convenient, the privacy appreciated. 

He drifted back into his bedroom and stood in front of the fancy french doors that led out to the small balcony off of his room - also completely unnecessary - and nearly dropped his glass at the sight that greeted him. 

It seemed Will had a nice view of his new neighbor’s backyard, pool included, and a very nice view of the man about to use it. Older, but no less fit and hot for it, maybe hotter because of his age. Even with nothing but a tiny speedo on, he looked distinguished; his body lightly muscled and toned all over, his thighs flexing before he dove into the pool, parting the water and swimming just beneath the surface like a goddamn merman. 

He watched as the man propelled himself from one end of the pool to the other, only coming up for a breath of air once he made contact with the wall, and then sinking below the surface and twisting his body with an easy grace until it was facing the opposite direction. Will stood there, transfixed, while his neighbor repeated this process six or seven times, his mouth no less dry and his water forgotten as his grasp went lax.

Water splashed up his legs, pooled beneath his toes, and he gasped at the surprising chill. “Fuck!” He jumped back from the puddle, managed to find towels in the hall closet, and cleaned up the water. By the time he’d finished hiding away the evidence of his creeping, the man was gone. 

---

The school was larger than any school he’d ever been to before, but he supposed that was to be expected from a private school called Bishop Thorton’s Preparatory School. 

Bishop Thorton was the best, Doctor Sutcliffe had assured them. And, of course, with my standing at the school, you needn’t worry about the application process.

Funny how he hadn’t mentioned the issue of tuition until Will was already locked into his enrollment and Beau had expressed his solid enthusiasm for the idea. He’d taken the tuition cost as well as the uniform requirement out of his father’s invoice, lowering his final payout for all the work he had planned by a not-insignificant sum. But Beau hadn’t wanted to hear a disparaging word against Sutcliffe, the school, or the ridiculous expense. It was only lucky that Will had a rent-free place to stay in the city, and that Beau didn’t mind roughing it on the job site in order to avoid a timely and expensive commute.

We’re moving up in the world now, Willy! Graduatin’ from a school like that...that’ll get you places.

Of course, as ever, Beau had never bothered to ask Will if they were places he wanted to go.

It was easy enough to keep his head down, at least. The school was massive, Will easily able to fly under the radar even while obviously standing out as someone who didn’t quite belong.

Even though he managed to avoid most direct speculation by simply staying out of the way, the strategy wasn’t foolproof. There was still a flock of students who’d taken an interest in him, though Will boldly ignored them. There were those among the faculty and student populace who clearly thought less of Will’s mental capacities as soon as he opened his mouth, regardless of how eloquent or thoughtful his twang-heavy words were.-

His method of staying out of the way also had a tendency not to work when one went darting around corners without looking and consequently barrelled into another human being like a complete oaf.

“Oof - aw, Hell. Sorry ‘bout that,” Will muttered, cheeks flaming as the books in the girl’s arms slammed loudly to the ground. The sound echoed in the emptying corridor, most of the other students already moved on to their next class.

“Aw, Hell, Bev. Shucks, what a mess.” Will knew of the dark-haired boy that spoke, tone twisting in a garish, sarcastic stretching of Will’s Southern drawl. He was unfortunate enough to have three classes with him - Brian Zeller - a boy who thought himself far cleverer than anyone else did. 

Will despised Zeller and was sorely tempted to abandon his goal of invisibility just so he could put the smug little prick in his place. 

“C’mon, Zee, don’t be such an asshole,” the girl shot back without hesitation as she bent to retrieve her things. She glanced up to Will distractedly, the black, silky curtain of her hair parting to reveal shrewd eyes sparkling with interest once she realized who she’d collided with. “Ignore him,” she instructed Will with a smile.

Will could recognize an olive branch when one was waved dramatically in front of his face. He took it. “Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he smiled back, taking her hand when she offered it, shifting her books underneath her other arm to shake his hand. 

“I’m Beverly Katz,” her voice was mirthful, as though laughing at a joke only she understood. Will instantly liked her. 

“I know. We’re in six classes together,” Will laughed, shifting slightly uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze, it felt like she was seeing through him. 

Zeller huffed out a noise of frustration and rolled his eyes, shoving Bev in the shoulder hard enough that she nearly dropped her books again. “Let’s go, Katz. We’ll be late.” 

With an apologetic smile, she shrugged, and they both disappeared around the corner, leaving Will to find his way to class in peace. 

---

It was Friday, thankfully, the great maw of the weekend opening wide to swallow him up. His neighbor hadn’t been outside today, but Will had slept through his alarm and barely made it to school on time, so he hadn’t had much time to pout about it. 

His thoughts drifted to the way the older man’s body rippled and moved beneath the water, how his toned muscles looked as they shifted beneath his wet skin when he inevitably got out to towel off. He was so fucking hot, far superior to any of the sleazy, gruff men of Will’s time in the boatyards of the Gulf. 

He smiled absently at the thought of one of those men even being in the same room as his neighbor. 

“Mister Graham, is there something more interesting than my class you seem to be dwelling on?” Sutcliffe’s voice cut through the fog of his daydream and plopped him back down forcefully in the moment, the entire class turned to look at him and Sutcliffe’s eyes full of something dark. 

“No, Sir,” he drawled, hoping it would appease the man like it usually did with adults.

Apparently, Sutcliffe wouldn’t be swayed by a sir. “Doctor,” he admonished, and Will had to squeeze his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from rolling his eyes or huffing an incredulous laugh. The man was an egoist through and through, forced students and staff at the school to refer to him by his title only, even though he hadn’t practiced medicine in over a year and, from what Will had heard, was unlikely to ever again.

Rack up enough malpractice suits and rumors of sex for services rendered - off the books and away from insurances prying eyes - and you tended to have to face repercussions eventually. Even if you were a white, affluent male.  

“No, Doctor,” Will kept his face neutral, his eyes positioned somewhere just slightly to the left of Sutcliffe’s gaze. 

It seemed he had prostrated himself enough to temper the man’s mood somewhat, a firm very well and then he was moving back onto the topic of Punnett Squares and their place in the discussion of Evolutionary theory. Will had learned all this two years ago.

He sighed listlessly and kept his gaze hovering in front of him, though he sank back into his thoughts easily enough as Sutcliffe’s voice faded into nothing more than a droning lull. 

---

The weekend had flown by, and the second week of classes had officially started. Lunch was always an ordeal at any school, which is why Will had sat alone in the courtyard each day since he’d started classes the previous week. He was an outsider and always would be, too poor to fit in with the elite and too weird even for the rest. 

Now that Bev had him on her radar, it seemed she refused to let him eat in peace. “Hey Southern Comfort, got any room for three more?” Will shielded his eyes from the midday sun and looked up at her where she stood over his spot tucked in the corner of the courtyard. Then he looked over her shoulder at Zeller - who was rolling his eyes aggressively enough Will wondered if they could fall out - and another boy he hadn’t met before. 

He shrugged, scooting down the bench and gesturing vaguely at the spot beside him. “Sure, whatever.” 

“What sort of nickname is Southern Comfort?” The strange boy asked as he settled across from Will and Bev, Zeller on his right. 

“I dunno, it’s an apt enough nickname, it’s liquor and you seem like the underage drinking type. Just trying out names to see what sticks. Guess I could always just call you Graham.” 

Will didn’t even consider telling her exactly how apt it is, just not regarding himself. He thinks of his pa, late nights and early mornings spent with nicotine-stained fingertips and liquor-laced lips, the briny slime of it slick against aged yellow teeth. He doesn’t mention all the times he’s scraped Beau Graham up off the asphalt behind some dive bar in Biloxi or Lafayette, or the bleeding, beating heart of New Orleans. 

What would be the point? Just another sad, poor boy from the land where men aren’t fathers, they’re more like albatrosses around one's neck. 

He shook off the darker thoughts, let them dissipate in the nearly blinding light of midday. “Or you could call me Will?” He huffed a laugh at the face she made, clearly unimpressed with the idea of not having a nickname for someone. 

“You met the dickwad the other day, but that’s Price. He’s one of the good ones.” She ignored his suggestion completely and barreled on. 

Price blushed a little at the praise, and it was obvious, to Will at least, that he was head over heels for Bev. And if the furtive glances he occasionally made at Zeller were any indication, it seemed he might also have some interest in the obnoxious asshole. How unfortunate for him. 

Will plastered a small, welcoming smile on his face. He’d been taught from birth to be polite and to make people feel comfortable. He was a master manipulator and king of faking it until you made it.

“You had your meeting with Chilton yet?” Price asked as everyone got settled, crumbs clinging to his bottom lip already where he’d pulled out a sandwich. 

Will shook his head, thumbing at his backpack. “Gotta meet him after school today. Which seems sorta fucked up. If it’s after school I shouldn’t have to be doing school-related things?” Will grumbled quietly, taking a drink of water. He didn’t eat much as it was and had grown more than a little wary of eating around strangers after several years of his pa hardly being able to feed them.

Beau hadn’t been successful right away when he’d first started working on houses, boats, and whatever else he could get his hands on. There had been years where they’d lived in the truck for a month or two at a time, showered at the Y, and found food where they could. They were stable enough now, without being well off by any means, but the insecurity of an unsure childhood had stayed with him. 

“Ah. Yeah, Chilton is so serious about the success and happiness of his students.” The number of eye-rolls and finger quotes that accompanied the words lead Will to believe Beverly was being dramatic. 

“That bad, huh?” 

“We’re his last year of students, or so he claims. He wants to put in for the job opening at the BSHCI and he seems to think having no fewer than every single student in this graduating class in an Ivy is going to get him the visibility he needs.”

“Credibility is more likely what he needs. The guy’s a joke.” 

Will nearly opened his mouth to quip in that case he’d be no different than any other psychiatrist he’d had the displeasure of meeting, but caught himself just before his tongue started flapping. The last thing he needed was for it to get out that the weird loner kid had been seen and studied by no less than half a dozen shrinks in his lifetime.

He listened quietly as his three classmates began quoting some of the disliked counselor’s more routine lines, affecting ridiculous impersonations as they did so, drawing a chuckle even from Will, without context as he was. When they neared the end of their lunch period, Bev beckoned him with all the rest to get a move on before they were late for Calculus, and Will experienced the unfamiliar and unmooring sensation of being included.

He wondered if they would sit with him at lunch the next day; if he would have his own barbs about Chilton to share with the group. If he could make them laugh, make this last.

---

“Your grades are...impressive.” If the tone hadn’t indicated how begrudgingly surprised Doctor Chilton was, his raised eyebrow would have been more than enough. It was clear to Will that the man hadn’t even actually looked into Will’s file until he was sitting in front of him, probably too busy kissing the ass of someone smarter than himself to pay much attention to a new kid within his ranks. 

“Thank you, sir,” Will might have been raised to be polite, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a terror when he wanted to be. It was hard to be mad not being referred to as Doctor when you were being charmed to death by southern manners. 

Frederick Chilton was a tiresome, meddlesome man who was desperate to be more than he was capable of. He longed to be the smartest, most esteemed person in the room, but his intelligence didn’t even rank in the top fifty at the school. Will had met men with far less formal education and pretentiousness who exceeded Chilton’s mental prowess. 

And he would hate to tell him, but Frederick was most certainly not the smartest person in this room. Will watched him as his eyes scanned over the documents in Will’s file. Chilton sat at his desk like a King holding court, an air of pompous superiority around him that made Will’s skin prickle and his fingers twitch. He loathed men like the counselor, how utterly full of themselves they were while having no merit for it. 

“I suppose achieving academic success isn’t a particularly difficult feat when in a series of increasingly depressingly performing Tier Four schools scattered across the Gulf Coast,” he looked up at Will over the folder, his eyes and tone more than a little demeaning. “Have you ever completed a school year at the same school you started the year at, William?” 

“It’s just Will, sir. And nah, I’ve never finished at the same school. But I reckon my grades speak for themselves as to the importance of such things.” He watched with no small level of satisfaction as Chilton’s lip curled more and more at each slip of southern accent Will purposefully injected into his response. He might sound like a hick but he wasn’t stupid, and Chilton would do well to learn that quickly. Will didn’t want a school year full of more conversations like this. 

“Yes, well. I believe children crave stability in order to find success and ambition. What are your ambitions, William?” Will didn’t allow himself to visibly cringe at the continued use of his full name, simply adjusted his hands in his lap and looked directly into Chilton’s eyes. On principle he tried to avoid eye contact, eyes could be so confusing, too much to see or, in the case of Chilton, not enough. A vapid, empty mind full only of the unoriginal thoughts of others. 

“I’m not sure, sir. I imagine that’s what this meeting is about. Helping me establish my ambitions for the future. Secure myself a spot at an Ivy, I reckon?”  

Will grit his teeth against the snarl that threatened to curl his lips at the sound of Chilton’s exhale, not so blatant to be an actual chuckle, but a breath that belied his surprised amusement all the same. The smarmy little man across from him didn’t have such control over his own facial movements, his eyebrow giving a twitch as the corner of his mouth curled just so.

“Lofty. Any one in particular you’ve set your sights on?” Chilton’s continued amusement only further served to usher Will into a state of defiance; he jerked one of his shoulders in a shrug as he slouched further down into his chair, making a show of getting more comfortable.

“Supposin’ I’ll just try for ‘em all. Harvard, Yale, Brown, Princeton…” In truth, Will had given very little thought to attending any of these universities - had even less interest in pursuing them - but something about Chilton’s doubt rubbed him just too raw, and he found himself quickly building up the will to apply to them all and gain an offer of admittance from each one all the same.

He stared hard across the desk at the other man, silently daring him to continue expressing his lack of faith in Will. He knew he’d just made an obscene amount of work for himself - there would be applications, admission essays, extracurriculars shoved into his schedule for the sole purpose of bolstering his resume - but Will was struck with a sudden and intense desire to commit to it all just to prove this jackass wrong.

“Of course, I won’t attempt to dissuade you from reaching for the stars,” Chilton began, and Will gave a nod and stood, shrugging his backpack over one shoulder; he knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Perhaps you should pepper in a few more… local alternatives. University of Maryland. Maybe even Baltimore City Community College to start, just until you find your focus.”

“Sounds swell,” Will grunted as he stalked from the room. 

He forced himself to close the door behind him at a civil pace rather than allowing it to slam shut as he desired. He’d apply to the Ivys and the locals. He’d apply to every damn college in the tri-state area and then storm back into Chilton’s pathetic excuse for an office and shove each and every acceptance letter down the pitiful man’s throat.

---

Hannibal was a man more than accustomed to patience. He had, however, been intrigued by his new young neighbor. The boy seemed to be alone, no other people in or out of the house that Hannibal had noticed. He’d seen him, once, watching him swim from an upstairs window with the blinds only partially closed. He wondered how many mornings the boy spent gazing down into his pool. 

Tomorrow he would make contact with him, figure out precisely who he was. He wasn’t related to the man who’d lived there before, Hannibal was quite certain of that. Boris had been a loaner, no wife or children, no close familial ties. As far as he was aware the house had gone back into the possession of the landlord - who Hannibal knew to be Doctor Donald Sutcliffe - so he couldn’t quite determine how such a young boy had managed to move himself in. He would think him a squatter if he hadn’t seen him in his school uniform a few days prior. 

A whimpering cry sounded from behind him and Hannibal smiled. He didn’t revel in the distress of others, necessarily. He simply enjoyed restoring balance to an otherwise ugly world. This was one such opportunity for him to set the scales back to even by removing a rude and ugly pig from the herd. 

The son of his realtor from when he’d moved to Baltimore nearly ten years ago was strung up to a metal beam that ran through the center of Hannibal’s basement, his toes just barely touching the grate set into the concrete floor beneath his feet. The man had been younger then, a boy of around sixteen. He’d graffitied Hannibal’s home a few weeks after he’d moved in, though Hannibal had never let anyone know he’d been any the wiser about the culprit. He knew patience, he’d waited. Biding his time until it was safe for him to retaliate. A spider weaving its web and hoarding selfishly each victory as a meal for later. 

He would make veal of Joshua, he thought. Something hearty and youthful to pay respect to its provider, and to the boy he planned to feed it to. It was time for him to be a good neighbor, after all. 

He turned towards the continued sounds of sniffling cries muffled by the rag in the man’s mouth. Hannibal had already made several long cuts down his sides, he took a moment to watch the streaks of crimson as they traveled down his flanks and pooled at his delicately arched feet. He’d wanted to bleed him more slowly, but to ensure the meat was ready for dinner tomorrow Hannibal would need to work quickly. 

“Joshua, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve been inconceivably rude, a poor host. I do sometimes wander down multiple pathways in my mind at once, you see. I was planning my dinner menu for tomorrow. You’ll be a welcome addition at the table.” 

---

Life in Baltimore was different but, Will soon discovered, no less boring than any other place his dad had dragged him to. He reckoned much didn’t really change because his circumstances were the same as always: Beau fucked off to whatever job he’d found, leaving Will to fend for himself. Will had never had a parent there to urge him out of bed, send him off to school on time. More often than not, if Will wanted to be fed, he had to do the feeding. The only thing different about Baltimore was that he was now making frozen pizzas in an oven that managed to hold the correct temperature and eating it on furniture he’d actually feel guilty about using as a napkin.

School was insufferable, but that was nothing new for Will either. He wondered at how things might have gone for him if Beau had kept steady work in one place, if Will had been at any one school long enough for the teachers there to realize how bored he was. He’d surely have been advanced quicker than the average student, probably out of high school and into at least his first year of college by now, if he’d so chosen to pursue that path. The one time he’d suggested testing into a higher grade during his transfer to a new school, they’d laughed in his face. He didn’t bring it up again. Let them waste taxpayer dollars, let them waste his time; it wasn’t as if he was doing anything useful with it, anyway.

The highlight of his day was waking with the sun, oddly enough, because that meant he could happen to pass any of the upper-level West-facing windows to catch a glimpse into his neighbor’s backyard, where the man always kept to his morning swimming routine. Each morning that Will stepped outside to head to school was growing cooler and cooler, and he lamented the imminent loss of his own morning routine. 

He considered the steam he imagined he saw rising from the surface of the water some mornings and wondered if the pool was heated, if maybe his neighbor’s morning dips wouldn’t be deterred by the cold even as Autumn bore down upon them. He considered introducing himself to the delicious man and offering a solution to keep the water warm if it wasn’t. 

He’d yet to see a Mrs. Neighbor, after all, and even if one existed it was hardly the greatest obstacle Will had ever faced. He had more than a few married men under his belt. Upstanding, community men, the picture of devoted husbands and doting fathers; God-fearing, red-blooded American men, all of them - until they got Will all to themselves. 

He was so caught up inside his own head, thoughts twisted and occupied with his musings, that he nearly missed it when the subject of them called out to him as he shuffled down the sidewalk in front of his house.

“Sorry?” Will responded without thought, automatically turning toward the source of the noise. His stomach did a flip when it became apparent the greeting had come from his elusive neighbor, an amused smile quirking up the edges of his lips.

“I was simply bidding you a good afternoon,” the man repeated, and God in Heaven, the smooth, smoky accent that curled around the words made Will’s dick throb. 

Will paused, turning fully toward his neighbor’s house and taking in the situation with a quick scan of the area. The man seemed to be out watering the flowers bursting from the planters along his walk, and plucking any stray weeds or deadheads besides. He had a fistful of greenery in one hand, a classically shaped watering can in his other hand. He was doing all this - as well as gazing politely at Will as he awaited a response - in the loudest plaid, three-piece suit Will had ever laid eyes on.

“Oh. Good afternoon,” Will replied at length. He was mortified to find his first instinct was to voice the notion he’d have expected a man like him to have a hired gardener to do all this for him, and was relieved when he found himself instead spitting out an obvious, “I’m your new neighbor.”

The amused line of the man’s mouth twitched a bit higher, and he set down his can and handful of weeds before crossing over to where Will stood on the other side of his fence, dusting off his hands as he went. “Yes,” the man confirmed. “I’ve seen you in the area, briefly. Sadly, never at a time when a formal introduction was possible. Hannibal Lecter.” Hannibal extended his hand over the iron-wrought bars that separated them, his palm not as soft as Will would have expected it to be. 

“Will Graham.”

“There aren’t many of you over there, are there? Or are you all particularly quiet?” Hannibal queried, dipping his head in the direction of Will’s house.

“Just me and my dad - but mostly just me right now. He’s on a job out of state.” Will met eyes the color of whiskey, and wondered immediately if he should have been so forthcoming with such information. His pa had always told him to keep their business private and close to the chest.

“All on your own? Do you get by alright?” There was an odd mix of interest and concern in Hannibal’s silky voice, and Will felt pinned by the man’s gaze, as though he were a particularly curious specimen he hadn’t seen before.

Will gave a careless shrug, jostling the backpack slung over his shoulder to slip down his arm. He repositioned it, didn’t miss Hannibal’s eyes dart to the movement, and then to Will’s chest, before falling on his face once more. “It’s nothing new; Beau and I have been playing this game for years.”

“Bishop Thorton?”

Oh. That was what had drawn Hannibal’s eye. Will shifted uncomfortably in his stiff blazer, suddenly itching to pull at the tie around his neck until it loosened its hold around his trachea. Of course, he finally got a chance to meet his handsome neighbor face to face - who was way hotter up close, mind - and he was forced to do it in the unflattering uniform of his pretentious prep school. 

Another first for Will, since they’d stumbled into seemingly high society from their usual backwater Bayou towns: prep school. His entire first week had felt like Hell on Earth, and the first day of his second hadn’t been much better. He bit back the forlorn and sarcastic unfortunately that nearly fell from his lips, instead forcing his head into a nod of agreement. “Yes, sir.”

Hannibal was clearly pleased by the manners; Will had noticed a lot of adults in Baltimore seemed tickled by his quaint southern good manners. He always had half a mind to ask them if it was still considered good manners if he had only learned politeness under threat of getting his ass beat by his daddy. At best it was forced civility, nothing particularly respectful about it. But he’d let his neighbor think so if it meant he was any closer to getting dicked down by him.  

“It’s a very highly acclaimed institution for learning with a rigorous curriculum,” Hannibal’s gaze slid down to the grocery bag in Will’s hand, his smile faltering slightly as he caught sight of its contents. “I’m sure you hardly have time to enjoy a good, home-cooked meal.”  

Will gave a shrug as a wry grin slipped over his lips. “Is there a way for a teenager to sustain themselves without resorting to frozen pizza and ramen?”

“Yes,” Hannibal informed him without pause. “He befriends his neighbor. I’m making lamb this evening - more than enough for two. I’m afraid I must be quite insistent you forgo your original plans and dine with me instead.”

Will’s stomach buzzed at the thought of an evening with the attractive man. From the sound of it, they would be dining alone. He couldn’t stop his gaze from tracking to Hannibal’s left hand, pleased to find no evidence of a ring. Emboldened by the invitation, Will allowed his grin to curl wider, shifting his weight slightly to cant his hip out and wishing fervently once more he was outfitted in something more appropriate for seduction.

“You shouldn’t feed strays so freely,” Will warned with a coy glance. “I’ll show up on your doorstep every night looking for a fish if I find you just giving them away.” He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from spreading wider as the older man took the bait.

“Then I shall have to teach you, won’t I?”

Will gave a shrug, glancing away as though this wasn’t the exact outcome he’d been hoping for. “You’re certainly welcome to try. Let me freshen up a bit, and I’ll be over in thirty.”

---

Hannibal’s house was just as swanky and flamboyant on the inside as it had been on the outside, while somehow managing not to appear as ostentatious as the other houses in the neighborhood. Will could sense that Hannibal’s home was the epitome of a place for everything and everything in its place. He didn’t imagine anything went unnoticed or unappreciated, even if the result did end up making Hannibal’s home appear like a warm, cozy museum. 

“Please, have a seat in the kitchen. I will be with you momentarily,” Hannibal gestured in the direction of what Will assumed was the kitchen before disappearing around a corner. Will ran his fingers down the wall, committing the layout to his memory as he strolled leisurely through Hannibal’s inner sanctum. 

If homes had hearts like some believed, the kitchen was Hannibal’s. It was as pristine as an operating room; immaculate and with the scent of oranges permeating the air from a large wooden bowl centered perfectly on the stainless steel of the large island countertop, bordered by a cutting board made of a smooth, dark wood. 

“Dessert is an orange and chocolate mousse I had the pleasure of sampling in Paris many years ago,” Hannibal appeared in Will’s periphery, drawing a gasp from his lips. He’d been lost in the light veins of the grain making their way across wood the color of oxidized blood. “I didn’t intend to frighten you, forgive me.” Hannibal’s voice was soft, full of mirth, and Will had a flash of memory. His nana always said you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and, in that moment, he felt a sort of kinship with the fly. 

Will waved it off with a vague gesture of his hand. “You have a beautiful home,” he complimented. It was the polite thing to do, after all. 

Hannibal’s smile grew wider, and he stepped around Will, taking an orange from the bowl and bringing it closer to his nose, scenting it primly. Everything about the man was graceful, he had the hands of an artist, the long, lithe body of a jungle cat, and eyes that flashed the color of dried blood and amber as he surveyed his domain. He inclined his head at the compliment, and took up the knife. 

“I like to prepare the dessert ingredients first, so that I may devote my attention to the main event, as it were. Would you care to assist?” 

Will shuffled closer, close enough so that he could feel heat radiating off the man where they were nearly touching at their elbows. “Pa always said to show thanks through labor. Put me to work.” 

Dinner preparation was just as much of a performance as the dinner itself, Will was certain. Watching Hannibal work in his kitchen was like watching a dancer drift around a stage, painfully beautiful and more than a little mesmerizing. 

“What’s that?” Will pointed at the creamy yellow concoction Hannibal was working on, a furrow between his brows. It looked almost like grits, but it couldn’t be. Or if it was, Will would need to ask him where he’d managed to locate them locally; he’d spent days searching grocery stores when he’d first settled in. It seemed stores in Baltimore had forgotten they were still technically below the Mason Dixon so they didn’t stock grits, sweet tea or boiled peanuts, and it was a damn travesty. 

“We are having a traditional veal osso buco on a creamy garlic and pecorino polenta. That - ”  he pointed at where Will was gazing, “ - is the polenta base.” 

It was a novel experience to not be the smartest person in the room, and Will found himself fully enjoying it with very little shame. His cheeks flushed a light pink under the heat of the kitchen and Hannibal’s unwavering gaze, but not because he was ashamed of not knowing. 

“I’ve never had polenta. It looks like grits.” 

“I imagine you’ve not had quite a number of things seeing as you are only, what, fifteen? They are very closely related to grits, with a similar consistency and flavor profile.” 

Will snorted, which drew a curious look to Hannibal’s face before his features smoothed out into a smile. “Have I said something humorous?” 

“I’m nearly eighteen,” Will wasn’t offended, he knew he looked young, though he’d hardly consider himself as appearing fifteen. He was sure his youthful looks, soft curls, and pretty eyes had contributed to more than a handful of the men who’d enjoyed him most in the decaying, dreary boatyards scattered across the gulf. 

“It is a misfortune of the youthful that they balk at being seen as such. When you are my age, young Will, you’ll appreciate the gift of your charm and good looks all the more.” Hannibal’s smirk was filled with bright-white teeth, and his eyes glittered darkly. 

“Perhaps youth is a disease and youthfulness a symptom thereof. Maybe I just want to be seen as myself and not some cherubic young thing to be idolized.” Will chewed on his bottom lip, thoughtful as he gazed up at the older man. “How old are you?” 

“I’m tempted to adopt a phrase of the younger generation you seem so disdainful of and say old enough, but I suppose since you’ve been so forthcoming, I shall be so as well. I’m forty-eight.” 

“An old man. Ancient. Nearly falling apart. It’s a shock you’re able to stand upright and perform so admirably in the kitchen,” Will felt emboldened by their banter, letting a bit more of his brash sarcasm bleed into the conversation. 

Hannibal smiled again and pinned Will with a stare that made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t accustomed to, his heart beating a fast, staccato beat against his ribs under the weight of Hannibal’s gaze. “I perform admirably in all things, dear boy.” 

The moment grew tense between them, only snapped by the sound of the cooking timer chiming from the butcher board counter behind them. Will felt his lungs deflate and his chest heave with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Hannibal finally turned his eyes away from him to check on the oven. 

Cooking and preparation happened quickly after that, the two of them moving around each other in a nearly perfect harmony Will didn’t question too closely. He’d never felt such a connection with another person, and as fascinating as he found it, he didn’t want to examine it just yet and ruin the novelty. 

Hannibal had Will set the table as he went downstairs to collect a bottle of wine for dinner. 

“I understand you’re not of legal drinking age, but I hope it wouldn’t be terribly inappropriate of me to suggest a glass of wine to accompany dinner all the same. The veal will pair extraordinarily with a Rothschild I’ve had in the cellar nearly since I came to Baltimore.” Hannibal returned with said bottle in his large hands, and before Will could allow himself to get distracted again thinking about those hands, he nodded mutely. 

Hannibal corralled him into the dining room, placing the bottle on the table while he procured a bottle opener from a cabinet along the wall. “Are you sure you want to waste such an assumedly nice bottle of wine on me? I won’t appreciate it and if you’ve had it so long surely you’re waiting for a better opportunity?”

“I see no better opportunity than that of making a new friend. I believe this is the perfect occasion to serve it.”

Will could feel the weight of Hannibal’s gaze upon him again, just as heated as it had been in the kitchen while they took their seats at the large table, Hannibal placing himself at the head and Will directly to his right. Will loaded his fork with a manageable bite of veal and some of the polenta, bringing it to his lips and chewing thoughtfully for several seconds after. 

“I know I should probably have some moral or ethical dilemma about eating veal, but this is so good and I’m a teenager who planned on eating frozen pizza tonight; clearly I have no qualms about ethics.” Will laughed and was pleased to see a wide smile on Hannibal’s lips. 

“If it’s any help at all in your moral quandary, I source from a very ethical local butcher. And this particular lamb was quite precocious, well developed for his age.” 

“Don’t anthropomorphize the food,” Will chastised jokingly, lifting another forkful of meat and letting it melt on his tongue. 

Hannibal’s smile only grew wider, and Will couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t in on some particularly funny joke. 

“You seem quite astute for someone your age,” he observed, surprising Will with his uncanny ability to seemingly see things in such a way that Will thought only himself capable of. Hannibal was clearly a man accustomed to discretion and secrecy, perhaps it only made sense that he would figure Will’s out so readily. 

“I have an empathy disorder. I’ve always seen too much, more than most people. If I look too closely I can get lost in another person, lose my sense of self. Lines start to blur. It’s easier just to keep people at a distance. I build forts where other’s build camaraderie and connection. I feel like a ship tossed on the ocean sometimes, adrift in a sea of other people’s thoughts and desires.”

“Perhaps you simply need an anchor.” Hannibal’s smile had only grown, a flash of bone-white teeth framed by plush red lips. Will felt his stomach clench with heat at the display, something primal and long-buried pushing against the bone cage of his skull. “Do you build forts because associations come too quickly or because the things you see you don’t understand?” 

“Oh, I understand plenty. More than most, I reckon. More than I’d like to, for sure. I’m full of the emotions, the hopes and dreams and desperations of everyone I meet. Not a lot of room left for me in here.” He tapped the side of his temple with his forefinger, flashing Hannibal a charming smile.

“Perception is a tool that’s pointed at both ends. Pure empathy uncoupled from compassion - one of the few traits we’re taught from birth. What must it be like in your mind, I wonder.” 

“Who says I lack compassion?” 

Hannibal’s smile was too sharp, like knives glistening in an open drawer. He changed topics swiftly, and Will was left reeling from the whiplash and lack of an answer. 

“What are your plans for university?” 

The question was innocent enough, but it made Will pause. He didn’t have plans after he graduated. He’d always just sort of assumed he’d end up working boatyards or construction sites with his pa. 

At Will’s extended pause, Hannibal frowned. “Let me rephrase. What is something you’d like to do with your life?” 

Will might not have plans but he had plenty of likes, plenty of dreams. Being from nowhere meant that he often felt like he was going nowhere as well. An absent father and stranger for a mother didn’t really make for a stable foundation to build on, but Will had always dreamed of being somewhere else, being someone else. 

It was easy enough to accomplish being someone else with his empathy, but he tried to keep that a secret and ignore the implications. Starting his senior year had felt different than previous years, within the first few days of classes he’d received nearly a dozen packets of college applications and career development plans. It seemed prep schools took things far more seriously than his rural school had down in Louisiana. 

Will’s easy smile slipped from his face for a moment as he grew more and more contemplative. This was such a common topic, and yet something about it triggered a desire in him to sprint in the opposite direction. His life was full of low expectations and he wasn’t sure he knew how to even consider the option that he could be something other than what he was. His father was scared of him, Will knew. Ignorant to Will’s mind or his abilities. Therapists were fascinated by him, his peers didn’t understand him. The idea of carving out a piece of himself that could be wholly his own was a terrifyingly appealing concept. 

He must have taken too long to respond, because when he looked up, Hannibal was regarding him thoughtfully, his head tilted slightly to the side like a curious bird. “If it’s a topic you’d rather not discuss we need not pursue it. There are a multitude of other subjects we can explore.” Hannibal stood, then, declaring he would retrieve the dessert and for Will to remain seated. 

Will considered while Hannibal was gone why exactly he felt so unsteady when discussing his future. He had been given so few opportunities in life to even consider a future, that it felt like unchartered territory. But he had dreams, ambitions, regardless of what Chilton might claim or deem him capable of.

Hannibal returned with a flourish, placing a perfectly plated dessert in front of Will and then settling in front of his own, watching silently like some sort of predator bird as Will picked up his spoon and slid it into the creamy chocolate. 

“This is so good. I can’t believe I helped make this,” Will nearly groaned at his first taste of the delicate mousse, the flavor melting in the warmth of his mouth and filling his senses with the sharpness of oranges and the smooth richness of the dark chocolate. 

“I can assure you there are no creatures to empathize with or dilemmas to deliberate over with the dessert.” 

Will decided honesty was a good policy here, and it wasn’t like he was ashamed of his past. He didn’t feel like he had to be around Hannibal. “It’s not really a sore spot for me or anything, not difficult to discuss.  It’s more just that I was trapped in a hellish conversation with the school counselor today and he somehow simultaneously hounded me about not being goal-oriented enough and overly ambitious in my pursuit of an Ivy League. He’s obsessed.” 

“Ah. Would that be one Frederick Chilton?” 

“Yeah, how did you know?” 

“We move within the same social circles. Unfortunately.” 

Will laughed at the attached barb, settling more comfortably into his chair and scooping up more of the decadent mousse on his dessert spoon. “This girl at school said he’s got his eye on some job at the BSHCI. Whatever that is. And he seems to think getting us all into an Ivy is his ticket out of guidance counseling. Though he’s made it perfectly clear he sees me as a threat to his goal; a loose shoelace to trip over at the finish line.” 

Hannibal gave a genuinely surprised huff of laughter, and Will’s brow raised curiously. “Are my school woes entertaining to you, Mister Lecter?” 

“Not at all. It’s simply that I should think Chilton should be quite comfortable there. It’s an asylum, after all.” 

“They still have those? Talk about ethically questionable,” Will’s brow rose at the new information, taking it in. He found he agreed with Hannibal; he could imagine Chilton feeling right at home.

"Under the guise of a mental treatment facility, yes, but the name itself is rather telling: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Dear Frederick may not share the criminal aspect with its residents, but he deserves his own cell all the same if he thinks to make a name for himself there." Will could almost imagine Hannibal sounded scathing, clearly not a fan of Doctor Chilton. 

Will could barely conceal his bark of surprised laughter, shocked yet pleased to hear such things coming from the other man’s mouth. He wondered at what Chilton had done to bring forth such ire in Hannibal. “Well, he picked the wrong southern bumpkin to mess with if he thought I’d just lay down and take his suggestions that I’m some sort of mangy, inbred idiotic disaster waiting to set his reputation on fire.”

“You hardly seem like an idiot, Will. Frederick is simply often wary of those more intelligent than himself.” 

Will smiled, placing his spoon down for a moment to look across at Hannibal. The other man met his gaze, his eyes the color of warm spiced honey. “Forensics.” Will paused, clearing his throat and giving himself time to consider. Hannibal watched silently, allowing him the space to think. “I always loved crime shows and logic puzzles,” Will finally answered, a curious look on Hannibal’s face as he smiled at Will’s reply. “I like tinkering and figuring things out, exploring avenues otherwise left untread.”

“It’s a lonely existence to always be the most perceptive person in any group.” Hannibal placed his spoon in a perfectly straight line beside his dessert cup, mimicking Will as all his attention turned to focus solely on Will. Will could feel it like a brand against his skin, the weight of such a man’s regard.  

“You mentioned earlier that I might be decoupled from compassion, and while I’d like to argue that isn’t true I think what I will say instead of an argument is that compassion is a trait so burdensome that even God himself shed its mantle like some people might remove a too-warm coat.”

“You think God isn’t compassionate?” Hannibal had that curious look on his face again, head titled as he examined Will like someone might examine a chessboard. 

“He created everything and then, what? Decided he was bored and left us all to suffer? To die?” 

“Some might argue death is the most natural state to be. From nothing we were wrought and into nothing shall we be released. All things in all of creation experience decay. It could even be said that without atrophy our world might be thrown into a state of chaotic entropy. Stasis can only be found in order, can it not?” 

“The big bang doesn’t seem particularly orderly and it birthed our entire universe as we know it,” Will argued, sitting up straighter in his chair as they talked. 

“So, not God, then?” Hannibal joked, a striking smile pulling his lips up. His teeth were sharper than Will had noticed before, slightly crowded and incongruous in Hannibal’s mouth. It was the only aspect of the man that seemed completely human, while also being a testament to a creature who deemed himself the sole purveyor of his own fate. 

Will flashed him a smile of his own, leaning closer to the table but keeping his elbows from the surface. He imagined Hannibal was a man hell-bent on propriety, and Will didn’t want to offend his host. “All the same, it hardly seems fair to make humans only fit to die.” 

Something dangerous gleamed in Hannibal’s eyes at that, and the darkness coiled around his irises like a snake waiting in the shadows gave Will pause. “Do you consider compassion to be inherently fair? Does your worship rely on fairness, an even trade, in order to stick?” 

“I wouldn’t consider myself particularly worshipful. Just observant. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t say I’m totally devoid of compassion either. I care greatly about the things I feel, either with regard to how they circle my life like a hangman’s noose, or sometimes, even, compassion for those I care for.” 

“I imagine that list would be rather small in number. It’s hard to build a relationship with those you consider less than you.” Hannibal isn’t scathing in his observations, simply stating the facts as he sees them. And Will can’t argue. 

“Does God care less for his creation because they are beneath his feet?” 

“Do you consider yourself as God, Will? You mention him often enough.” Hannibal’s voice was coaxing in its warmth and jovial, the darkness in his eyes now replaced with a glimmer of mischief. He was teasing Will. 

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.” Will quoted with a wave of his hand. 

“How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us?” Hannibal continued, prompting Will to finish the words of Nietzsche, burning like blood-red, flaming rubies as they dripped from his lips.

“What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?" 

Hannibal’s gaze sharpened with interest even as his amber eyes warmed with a fondness, a cryptic smile playing over his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “How does one become a god, Will?”

Will gave a half-hearted shrug, mirroring Hannibal as he leaned back in his own chair. “Same way the Almighty did, I imagine: completely by accident.”

Hannibal’s smile widened, and in Will’s stomach, butterflies took flight.

---

After dinner, Will accepted Hannibal’s suggestion of a port to round out the night just as readily as he’d accepted the solitary glass of red he’d been granted for the meal. Secretly, he wished he’d been offered something a little stronger, especially once he caught a glimpse of the obscene collection of high-end liquor that made up the man’s sideboard. It was filled with aged scotches and pretentious brandies; the sort of merchandise they’d kept under lock and key at any of the nicer liquor stores Will had finagled himself into in the South.

Though it seemed, sadly, that his host’s intention was not to ply Will with liquor in an attempt to loosen him up, but merely to savor and enhance the experience. As the hour grew later and Will’s departure more imminent, it became more and more apparent that Hannibal had absolutely no intention of making use of Will’s company in any lascivious way.

Ah, well. It was only their first time enjoying one another’s company. Will supposed there was still a multitude of opportunities for all the rest lined up in their future as neighbors. All the same, he sipped gingerly at his port in an attempt to drag the evening out, ghosting about the study to examine the extensive book collection and assorted curios, finally pausing behind an expensive-looking yet elegant desk to gape at the multitude of framed accolades on the wall.

“Oh, Doctor Lecter, is it?”

“It is,” Hannibal confirmed from somewhere behind him, a twist of amusement in his silky voice.

It only endeared him to the exotic, intriguing man that they’d spent an entire evening together without him shoehorning the fact that he had a PhD - in fact, multiple - into the conversation the first chance he got. It was so unlike Sutcliffe, who merely deigned to teach high school Biology, and Chilton, who thought himself a veritable saint for extending his very valuable time and capable efforts to act as a guidance counselor for a bunch of rich teenagers.

Will gave a low whistle as he eyed the numerous degrees, certificates and awards. “You went all the way, huh?”

“And then some.” Hannibal’s voice was closer, then, and Will turned his body to find the man had drifted over to the desk as well, and stood nonchalantly on the other side of it.

Will shot him a small smile, his attention pulled to the drawings stacked upon the doctor’s desk before him. Asking permission to sift through them didn’t even cross his mind, but Hannibal voiced no concerns when Will began to rifle through the sketches. They were, to say the least, impressive. At the top were several architectural pieces with lines drawn so precisely Will might have thought they were a digital rendering if he hadn’t been able to see the flecks of graphite that graced the pages.

“An intellectual, a chef, an artist… You really must save some talent for the rest of us, Doctor Lecter,” Will teased.

“Something tells me you’re extraordinarily talented all on your own merit,” Hannibal countered gracefully. 

Will granted him only the flash of a mischievous glance before concerning himself with the sketches further down the pile: recreations of classical works, two full pages of a study of hands and one of eyes. Will did a double-take as he reached one toward the bottom of the stack, his hands faltering slightly as he twitched with surprise.

“This looks like me.”

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed simply, pulling Will’s confused gaze to him. The soft smile that curled his host’s lips was enigmatic, the glint in his eyes speaking to some private joke. “You bear a curious likeness to Saint Sebastian,” he explained further, reaching across the desk and gently pulling the page from Will’s fingers. He gazed down at the tormented figure before him, his expression flickering toward something Will could only think to describe as fondness. “Dark curls, round face, an effortless beauty achieved simply by being in existence.”

Will’s eyes dropped to the desk once more, his cheeks flushing with heat at the comment. Remarkable, how over the years Will had heard men describe exactly how they intended to fuck him, how determined they were to leave him an absolute wreck and begging for more. All the lewd suggestions and groping hands taking liberties, all met with stoicism, amusement, or a feigned innocence. And yet, one relatively innocent compliment from Hannibal had Will blushing like a virgin on prom night.

He blinked once, to clear his eyes and his thoughts, and finally focused on the remaining sketch. “Wound Man,” he uttered out loud, his voice, perhaps, slightly rougher than it ought to be. It was odd. He recognized the figure immediately, though something about it felt foreign, like he could tell it was an amateur’s rendition of the original. But there was nothing amateur about any of the other classics Hannibal’s hand had recreated. He was grateful when Hannibal fed into the distraction and moved his attention to the last sketch in Will’s hands.

“A classic surgical diagram. And an illustration that I saw many times throughout my schooling. These things have a way of staying with you.”

Will had the sudden urge to inform Hannibal that everything had a way of sticking with him. He was no longer certain where to tread; he wondered if their conversation at dinner would have felt so effortless, so open, if he had known from the start that the man was a psychiatrist. He’d had his fair share of doctors trying to get inside his head already, the few he allowed in, at the beginning, too baffled by what they found to conceive of any way to help him.

He held back a sigh, replacing the surgical sketch on the desk and pulling his gaze up to Hannibal. “I know a little bit about that.”

The doctor made a soft noise of agreement, his body swaying into motion as he edged around the desk between them to stand closer to Will. “I’m certain you do,” he murmured, his gaze boring intently into Will. “I imagine you see far more than you would like to, and are able to forget even less.”

Will found his lips pulling into a sardonic smile despite himself. “I probably see far more than anyone would like to. Or should.”

That odd tension swelled between them again as Hannibal studied him silently. It made Will itch to shrink away and move closer simultaneously, resulting in the sensation of his body suspended in purgatory, torn between two movements. Then Hannibal’s mouth twitched into a small smile, the sharp, calculating edge of his amber eyes softened, and the tension was dispelled.

“I’ve kept you far longer than I should have,” he pointed out, though he made no move to step away, nor indicate that Will should either. “You’ll be falling asleep in class tomorrow if you stay any later.”

“That would hardly be your fault. I’m not exactly the best sleeper. And Sutcliffe is far from titillating.”

“Even so,” Hannibal tilted his head in acquiescence before shifting away and gesturing toward the door. “I’m afraid I’ll feel quite responsible if your marks should suffer.”

Will allowed Hannibal to walk him out, his stomach giving a twist when Hannibal’s warm hand fell to his lower back, guiding him with a gentle force. 

“Perhaps on the weekend, next time,” Hannibal suggested as they reached the front door, and Will’s stomach buzzed with excitement at the words. He had to fight the pull at the edges of his mouth, knowing that if he allowed his lips free reign at the moment there would be an absolutely ridiculous grin spread across them.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

"You’ve outdone yourself once again, Hannibal. This is phenomenal.”

Hannibal smiled down at his plate as he sliced away another piece of meat. “I was blessed with a phenomenal sous chef,” he countered genially, his smile curling wider at Alana’s huff of disbelief.

“I sliced vegetables - poorly, mind - and drank beer. I don’t think it’s exactly accurate to describe this as a joint effort.”

She wasn’t wrong; Alana had never had the patience or determination to take her time with mise en place. Hannibal found it interesting that the doctor had occupied his kitchen dozens of times over the years and never strived to hone the skills Hannibal taught her. 

Will, on the other hand, had watched with laser focus each time Hannibal had demonstrated an unfamiliar technique. He had asked questions and listened to Hannibal’s responses with a thoughtful expression. The second time he cooked with Hannibal, he scowled down at the cutting board with his concentration, but sliced, diced and chopped the ingredients before him with near perfection. By the third time, he no longer called Hannibal over to the stove to monitor his progress, the easy confidence of youth overtaking his anxious concern that he would do irreparable damage to the meal if left alone with it.

Their conversations had only grown more intriguing with each new interaction. Hannibal had sensed the echo of a call in Will with that very first theological discussion, could see more clearly with every passing day that the boy toed a fine line along the dark chasm that infected his mind. What was more interesting was that, unlike his usual inclination, Hannibal found himself less interested in nudging the young man bit by bit until he toppled headlong into that black space, but was more caught with the notion that he may, if left to his own devices long enough, decide to leap into the abyss all on his own.

There was a piece of Will that was just like him, a part of his mind that could become him, and it thrilled Hannibal to no end. To witness the boy’s increasingly overt attempts at seduction only added to Hannibal’s amusement. He wondered what might happen if he introduced the existence of Alana to Will, how he might react with the knowledge of a romantic partner in Hannibal’s life. Would he back off, or push forward all the more aggressively?

“Something on your mind?”

“In fact, there is,” Hannibal admitted, setting his fork down carefully to the side of his plate. He lifted his eyes to Alana in a sheepish gaze. “Though I fear you may suspect an ulterior motive to your invitation if I bring it up now.”

Alana abandoned her own fork, reaching instead for her glass of wine. “I’ve known you for years, Hannibal. I would never suspect you to act as any less of a gentleman than you ever have. Do you have a referral for me?”

“Not quite. ...I finally met the new occupants of the neighboring house. One of them, at least. A quite remarkable boy, with aspirations to study forensics and criminal psychology.” Best to include crumbs of truth in his story.

He could see Alana follow his track of logic instantly, the way she forced her shoulders to drop, so as not to betray the tension that snapped through her immediately. “Oh?”

“Fiercely intelligent, with an empathy disorder that allows him to assume the perspective of anyone -”

“Oh.”

“I’ve seen him make deductions quicker than most trained professionals, his mind making leaps to accurate conclusions that even he can’t explain -”

“Hannibal, no.”

“I thought, perhaps, since you’re well acquainted with Jack Crawford -”

“I said no, Hannibal,” Alana pitched her voice louder, higher, unignorable. “I don’t know how you could even suggest something like that, knowing what happened the last time I sent a young, brilliant student with promise to Jack Crawford.”

Hannibal tilted his head in consideration as he retrieved his own wine glass, giving it a swirl beneath his nose as he contemplated Alana’s refusal. “I’m certain Jack is hardly careless enough to make the same mistake twice. Surely he’s learned from his own history. You can’t expect he’d allow another Miriam Lass to slip away so easily.”

Alana tensed fully at the mention of her name, her shoulders drawing up to her ears as she set her glass back down with more force than necessary. She appeared tightly wound in an instant, as though the mere mention of the trainee would beckon her ghost to haunt them.

“We all learned from his mistake. And history has a way of repeating itself,” she bit out. Then, her shoulders slumped and her gaze dropped to her lap, her voice softening nearly to a whisper, weary and dejected. “You didn’t see what he did to her, Hannibal. It was awful. The thought of putting another person in Jack’s path after that, someone bright and innocent - I just can’t.”

“It was only a passing thought,” Hannibal assured her, reaching over to gently pat the hands that had taken to twisting the linen napkin in her lap. “You needn’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

They finished the last of their dinner in relative silence, and when Hannibal suggested a nightcap Alana, predictably, refused.

They stood on his porch, the last of the late summer sun dying on the horizon. Alana thanked him for a lovely meal, as she always did, and Hannibal pulled her close and pressed a soft kiss in goodbye to her lips, as he always did. 

He wasn’t successful in routing a direct line from Will to Jack as he might have hoped, but that only meant he’d need to become more creative in his efforts. There did remain some success in the evening, however, when, as he turned from Alana on the steps to go back inside, he caught the gentle sway of curtains on the house next door shifting closed from the corner of his eye.

---

Will absolutely wasn’t jealous of the gorgeous woman he’d seen on Hannibal’s porch a few weeks ago. He’d had dinner with the man several times since then, and she’d never even been mentioned. And he hadn’t seen her again since that one time. Hannibal had been soft with her, gentle in the way he’d cupped her face and brought her lips to his own. Will had watched, both enraptured and repulsed, like watching a train wreck happen before his eyes. 

He needed a distraction, which was probably why he leapt at the next thing that was waved in front of his face, clinging to any thought that wasn’t the consideration of whether Hannibal would be as soft with Will as he had been with the mysterious woman. Or if he’d handle him more roughly, holding him in place and keeping him pinned while he had his way with him.

“Ripper Ripping Again,” Will read aloud as he eyed the newspaper print style flyers plastered all down the row of lockers. They had been printed on paper in gauche shades of neon pink and yellow, and Will was sort of amazed someone had the gall to pollute the stiff dignity of the prep school with such an eyesore. No doubt they’d all be torn down by the time first period was finished.

Joshua Epson identified in latest Ripper display - Visit blogspace.com/tattlecrime for exclusive facts, photos, and theories!

Bev slipped her tablet out of her bag and pulled up a page, handing it over to Will. He scanned it quickly and scoffed. “What is this?” 

“Freddie wants to be a journalist after graduation. She started this tabloid blog to cover murders and other weird shit in Baltimore.” 

“Oh yes, this is quality journalism at its finest, for sure.” Will joked, a cough sounding loudly behind him. 

“What would you know of journalism? Did they even teach you how to spell the word in whatever backwater hick town you spawned from?”

“Hello to you too, Freddie,” Beverly shuffled herself between Freddie and Will, squaring her shoulders and Freddie huffed. 

“Down, attack dog. I’m only making observations,” Freddie smiled wide enough to show her teeth, but where Hannibal’s same display soothed something in Will, seeing Freddie do it only made him want to growl. What the fuck sort of dominance display bullshit was this? 

“If you want to be a journalist you should try writing about things that aren’t found on conspiracy theory websites or the dollar store magazine bin.” He pointed at the article currently on his screen, the headline proudly displaying FBI HOAX OR LIZARD PEOPLE COVER-UP?

“I suppose you’d be pretty well acquainted with the dollar stores, wouldn’t you Graham? Is that where you purchased your entire wardrobe? Did they give you a bundle discount for looking so pathetic?” 

Will clutched his blazer a little closer to his chest, suddenly painfully aware that it was the nicest article of clothing he owned, and wishing he’d ignored the heat of the early morning sun and shrugged it on when he left the house instead of opting to wait until the last minute.

He felt his cheeks heat with a flash of embarrassment, anger following closely on its heels; his pa would have a thing or two to say about letting these prep school snobs make him feel ashamed of where he came from. He clenched his teeth in frustration as the clever barbs that might have otherwise been quick to his tongue eluded him, his mind clouded with words like poor, shabby, unworthy…

Another sort of warmth flooded his chest when Bev spoke up without pause, her tone sharp and biting, her slim body seemingly growing twice in size between them as her hackles raised.

“That’s enough, Freddie. Why don’t you go harass someone who cares? Good luck finding that particular someone.” 

Freddie smiled again, happy with the level of chaos she’d managed. She turned on her heel and disappeared around the corner, her red curls flouncing almost vindictively behind her. Will’s eyes dropped back down to the tablet in his hand, the screen nearly faded back to black before he tapped it again, his eyes lingering over a gallery of photos linked at the bottom of the article. 

“What a bitch,” he murmured as he clicked on the photos and began to swipe through them absently, needing something to do with his hands to disperse the adrenaline fueled anger pulling a tremble to his fingers. “How does she even get actual crime scene photos? She must be doing something shady -” he paused, his eyes immediately drawn to the body in the photo he’d just landed on. 

It was the wound man. 

And not just the standard surgical study as Hannibal had claimed; this man’s body was arranged in the precise layout of the sketch Will had seen in Hannibal’s study. An altogether unique design, with tools and instruments that, as Will considered it more and more, were not part of the original diagram. 

Beside him, Bev was muttering something about a family friend in the FBI, but Will’s mind was far away, spinning through memories of observations, conversations. He felt as though he were in another space altogether, Bev foggy in the background as he stared down at the puzzle pieces before him, willing them to make sense.

The first assumption that sprang to his mind was that Hannibal had, for whatever unearthly reason, decided to sketch the Ripper’s homage to the classic rendition. It was morbid, but possible, except for the rather unignorable fact that Hannibal’s sketch had existed two weeks prior to the discovery of Joshua Epson’s body. How could the Ripper have known to display the man this way? Unless… 

Was Hannibal working with the Ripper? Will thought about the dangerous vibes he’d gotten off the man from the first dinner, and knew the answer in the same way that an animal senses danger or trees sense an oncoming rain.

Even if his instincts hadn’t moved him in that direction, a quick read of the rest of the article told him all he needed to know. He wondered who Freddie was spreading her legs for at the FBI for the sort of information she seemed to have. The body was only found yesterday, but the on site forensics team had speculated he’d been dead for over a month. Putting the date of death right around the time Will had first met Hannibal and gone to dinner at his house. 

A flood of dinners and late night conversations swirled through his brain, and a chill spilled down his spine, forcing him to hand Bev her tablet back, needing to distance himself from the image glaring at him from the screen, the condemning words. 

“Are you alright, Graham?” 

Will shook himself free of the cobwebs of his thoughts, smiling that false, easy smile at her that she always seemed to buy as authentic. “I see you’ve settled on Graham, huh?” 

She laughed and punched him, and Will could pretend for a little while that his world hadn’t just opened up wider than the mouth of Hell. 

---

Will was propped up on his bed with his school-issued laptop on his chest, reading through every article on the Chesapeake Ripper he could find. He’d never heard of the killer until he’d seen Freddie’s blog, but now he couldn’t stop researching him. He first read every credible news source that had reported on the matter and then, when a deep dive into the internet hadn’t produced the desired results - the FBI, it seemed, was quite keen on keeping the details of their active investigations quiet - he resorted to revisiting Tattlecrime.

Freddie was a sensationalist, to be sure. Every headline was either some god-awful pun or downright fear-mongering in an attempt to bait the clicks of the gullible. He was disheartened to see it seemed to be a viable tactic, if the hit counter on her blog was any indication, and felt slightly disgusted with himself as he clicked on an article and watched it tick up by one.

He read through each murder she’d covered, starting with Epson and working his way back. There was a veritable fountain of unreliable information to sift through - it seemed the Chesapeake Ripper had been quite busy tormenting Baltimore for the better part of a decade. 

Hadn’t Hannibal said he’d been in Baltimore for ten years? 

Will pushed the errant thought from his mind and clicked to the next article. Freddie reported all the same major bullet points as the local newspapers, but her articles were substantially more fleshed out, partially with radical arguments and weak-boned theories, but also because she seemed to have far more gritty details about the displays than the others reported, unburdened by journalistic integrity or the need to coddle the public at large.

The papers, for instance, only gave vague descriptions of where the victim had been found and spoke to excessive mutilation of the corpse. Only one or two had reported any trophies having been taken, but according to Freddie’s intel, there wasn’t a single Ripper murder that turned up an entire corpse, always one or two bits missing. Why on God’s green earth a killer would choose to nab someone’s kidney, lung, or entire fucking arm as a trophy was beyond him, but Will got the sense this wasn’t an exaggeration on Freddie’s part.

And the photos… Even if the redhead had the sick imagination required to make up all the horrendous details that peppered her blog articles - which was credit Will wasn’t willing to cede to her - the crime scene pictures that accompanied them told the story all the more clearly. There was a brutal elegance to the way the bodies were arranged, no two subjects the same. Time and care had been taken to ensure that every detail was perfect, down to not a drop of excess mess or forensic evidence being present at the scenes.

It would take a highly intelligent individual to be able to cover their tracks the way they did, someone fastidious, meticulous, with a flair and appreciation for aesthetics. The clean cuts, the removal of organs while leaving the rest of the body practically intact hinted at someone with excessive knowledge of human anatomy, perhaps even experience in a surgical setting…

Hannibal’s wall of accolades floated past his mind’s eye, and his cursed eidetic memory practically had the surgical certification he’d received from John Hopkins pulsing red, begging to be remembered, to be seen.

What ate at him most of all was that, should this nagging suspicion twisting through him prove true, Will was at a loss for how to handle it. The logical and, admittedly, moral thing to do would be to tell someone. Get a hold of the FBI, turn him in, make sure he could bring them something to show that it wasn’t just some childish prank. 

But that wasn’t his first instinct at all. When Will considered the truth he may have just stumbled upon, he instead felt the irrational desire to tuck it away, to keep it hidden and his. He struggled with the knowledge that his neighbor was potentially a cold-blooded serial killer and that only seemed to heighten the lust clenching hot and thick in his gut. 

He tried to move through the quagmire of thoughts crowding his mind; he couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in this. He might be apathetic about a lot of things nearly ninety percent of the time, but he rather valued his life and wasn’t too tempted to lose it by cornering Hannibal too soon. He needed to lure the man in, just like his pa had taught him with fishing. 

What he needed was a distraction and, with Hannibal gone for the weekend, it seemed like a perfect time to have a party. 

He called Bev, tried not to focus too closely on all of the puzzle pieces strewn across his brain. It was a dangerous line he was treading already; he wouldn’t toe over the line until he was sure it was relatively safe. 

He’d found a fully stocked liquor cabinet within his first week at the Baltimore house, a few leftover bottles of wine in the cellar as well. He brought a bottle of something white and fruity up to the kitchen and plopped it down beside the whiskey and the vodka he’d pulled from the cabinet.

“How the hell do you get lucky enough to live parentless in a house like this and have booze?” Bev was already slightly tipsy, her hair in loose waves around her face. She was pretty, Will observed passively, in an objective sort of way. Her hair was black, but not like ink, more like an oil spill reflecting the color from the light it absorbed. Her eyes were dark when he allowed himself to look at them, her face open and honest and her smile always a little sly and taunting. 

She’d opened up the vodka while he was gone, not his first choice for alcohol, his father being a Jim Beam sort of alcoholic, but Will didn’t want to explain to her the intricacies of a functioning alcoholic father who traveled for work so he could stay away from home and the memories like ghosts it held for him. She was already a little bit tipsy and, Will noted, at least a quarter of the bottle was gone. 

“Did you chug that?” He had to give it to her, that was gutsy. He liked Beverly. She was bold, brash, open in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. He and his father tended to communicate in grunts or passive commentary, but Bev laid everything out on the table and didn’t shy away from it. He envied her the easiness with which she moved through life. Throwing himself onto the couch beside her gave her the opportunity to jostle him with her shoulder.

“Don’t be a bitch about it. Catch up with me!” She pitched over to hold the bottle out to him, careful not to let any slosh over the lip. 

Will’s grin felt almost easy across his lips as he accepted the bottle thrust upon him and tilted it back for a hardy swig. He forced away the grimace the pungent alcohol threatened to twist upon his features and followed it up with another quick gulp. His eyes were stinging with tears as he forced his throat to work, and turned away briefly to cough for air until he could blink them away.

“Man, fuck vodka, that shit’s like drinking acetone” he wheezed, abandoning the bottle to Bev once more and gazing longingly at the whiskey. “Any self-respecting Southerner would go for whiskey first, anyways.”

“You know what’s actually like drinking acetone?’ Bev asked, tossing her feet up and into his lap so she could stretch out comfortably on the couch like some sort of overgrown lap cat. He half expected her to start purring as he took another sip in solidarity, waiting for her response. 

“Everclear. It tastes like some gross shit someone’s hillbilly uncle made up in their rusted-out bathtub.” 

Will laughed, some of the vodka dribbling down the side of his mouth and along his chin. He swiped his hand over his face roughly, cleaning it. “You know, I have a hillbilly uncle and he makes moonshine.” 

“You make it sound as though his moonshine is superior in some way, but I don’t think you know what that word means. Alcohol with only the purpose of hurting just doesn’t sound appealing to me.” 

“How much drinking have you done, Katz? Are you some sort of closet case alcoholic and you’ve been holding out on me all these weeks?” He passed the bottle back to her, more than happy to be rid of it. He’d need to go collect the whiskey. If only he could extricate himself from Bev’s clutches. 

He moved her feet off his lap as she paused to consider, a serious look of contemplation on her face. “Nah, not an alcoholic I think. I just hyper fixate on new experiences until I’ve learned as much as I can about them and then I move on. Alcoholism is so last year.” 

Bev immediately filled the hole he left with her feet, balancing the vodka bottle between her legs as she stretched her back over the side of the couch. Will retrieved the whiskey, a bottle far fancier and more expensive than anything he or Beau Graham had ever seen, and cracked it open. He downed a few shots worth of the liquid before he’d even made it back to the couch, Bev’s eyes wide as she watched him. 

“Maybe it’s you we should be questioning is a budding alcoholic, Graham. Damn. Did your dad put whiskey in your bottle as a baby or something?” 

Will laughed, handing over the bottle for her to try. “Yeah, and rubbed it on my gums when I’d cry.”  

“You’re twisted,” her words were teasing, and she took a gulp of whiskey large enough that Will was concerned for her. When she came up for air she winked at him and passed the bottle back. “That’s how it’s done!” 

Bev looked around the room, taking in the fancy decor. She didn’t comment on it, and Will was thankful for that. “We don’t have a television in here or anything, so if you wanna be entertained we’ll need to relocate.” 

Will wracked his brain for several seconds thinking of where they could possibly go. The previous owner had left a lot of furniture, but nothing to keep the attention of two drunk teenagers. Even if they were both smarter than their average peer. He thought about Hannibal’s house, how it looked a little like a museum while also feeling cozy somehow. And then he remembered his pool. Bingo. 

“My neighbor has a pool we could use. He’s gone for the weekend so I’m sure it’d be cool.” 

Bev agreed readily enough, each of them taking one more hearty swig from their respective bottles before abandoning them to the coffee table.

Moving things outside, it turned out, was easier said than done. When they got to the gate he realized it was locked by a code, and obviously as he didn’t know it they would need to jump the fence. 

“And you said you’re sure your neighbor is cool with you using his pool and stuff?” Bev wasn’t naturally inclined to being anxious, but she was a bit of a stickler about the rules and even though she was an overwhelming personality, she genuinely cared about making sure people were okay. She wouldn’t go to Hannibal’s if Will didn’t lie, so he told a small white lie to entice her. 

“He’s away at a conference and asked me to house sit. I promise it’s fine, I’m just an idiot and forgot the code. I’ll text him in the morning, but for now let’s go, ” Will implored her, yanking on her hand and trying to coax her closer to the fence. 

Finally, she allowed him to lift her over and once she’d landed - far more gracefully than should be possible - on the other side, Will scrambled over after her. He was accustomed to getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be, so it was easy enough, though he landed a little harder on his feet and then immediately stumbled to his knees.

“How are we supposed to swim without any clothes to change into?” 

“Could just go skinny dippin’,” Will drawled, his words already slurring just a little from the excess alcohol in such a short period. He might come from a long line of alcoholics, but he hadn’t built up the same tolerance that his pa had. 

“I’ve never done that before!” Bev exclaimed on a giggling gasp. Her eyes were bright in the muted yellow lighting of Hannibal’s patio, the light painting everything in shades of sepia. He laughed at her surprise, guiding her to sit down on the edge of the pool so they could at least stick their feet in the water. 

Will was at the stage of intoxication where everything around him felt like it was pulsing; every sound, every slight breeze vibrating along his skin and giving him a burst of energy. They talked, but if he were pressed to tell someone what they talked about he wouldn’t have been able to recall. Bev’s words floated into his ear and then were caught in the bone cage of his mind, devoured by the far larger creature already stalking the arena; a creature with dark skin stretched across sharp cheekbones and horns protruding from its skull, the lilting cadence of Hannibal’s voice following behind like some sort of specter, an auditory hallucination. 

“Graham!” Bev pushed at him, and the action was surprising enough that it broke Will from his twisting thoughts, nearly toppling him over into a sprawl across the smooth concrete of the patio. 

“Sorry, what did you ask?” Will gave her his most charming smile, waving his hand in front of him like he could recover his concentration by simply swatting away the distractions. 

“I said that I wouldn’t be opposed to some new experiences tonight other than juvenile delinquency,” Bev’s words were far crisper than Will would expect from someone who’d drank at least half her weight in booze, but when he looked at her she appeared totally sober, if not a little mischievous. 

“It’s hardly juvenile delinquency, Katz. Everyone drinks in high school,” Will rolls his eyes and she punches him in the arm again. “Besides, who else is here to catch us?” 

“I wasn’t even talking about the booze. I was talking about the breaking and entering,” she laughed, low and full-throated and warm. It made Will smile to see her so relaxed. He found himself entering the tipsy-headed space of feeling epic amounts of appreciation for those he held dear. And since that number of people was infinitesimally small, Bev was getting the brunt of his regard. “You didn’t actually think I was going to believe that your hot neighbor let you house sit for him, did you?” 

“Less talkin’ and more dippin’,” Will smiled back, jumping to his feet and peeling his shirt off over his head. 

“Guess we might as well add public indecency to our record while we’re already here.” Will barely even felt the cold when they finally jumped into the water, his body warmed by the alcohol and the intensity of Beverly’s joy. 

---

Hannibal had arrived home from his conference to an alarm notification on his tablet showing a motion detection warning from two nights prior. He opened the app for his security system and pulled up the video from the timestamp on the notification. 

Approaching midnight on Friday he watched with no small amount of delight as Will Graham assisted some dark haired girl over his fence and then joined her moments later. He sped up the video as it showed them sitting with their bare feet in the pool, but he slowed the speed down again when clothes started coming off. 

He wouldn’t say he’d thought of this before because, in truth, he hadn’t really considered the boy much at all outside of the intellectual stimulation he provided. There was something about Will that far surpassed his peers, even surpassed those much older than him. Hannibal hadn’t even felt such a mental connection with Alana, and he’d known her since her days in graduate school when he’d mentored her. He knew precisely how sharp she could be, how vast her knowledge. But where she had knowledge derived from books and formal education, Will was an amalgam of instinctual insightfulness and naturally occurring intellect. 

He was brilliant, and, it seemed, also exquisitely made. He looked like some sort of temptingly lovely eromenos, all soft swells and long, lithe limbs. Hannibal watched, enraptured, as Will dove into the still water of his pool, cutting through it like a sharp, fine blade. The girl jumped in seconds after him, both of them laughing. 

They stayed for nearly an hour, floating and splashing and simply standing, tips of their toes barely touching the bottom in the deeper parts of the pool. Finally, they climbed out of the side, dripping water where it pooled at their feet, shining darkly in the low motion-sensing lights all along his back patio. 

Will pulled his boxers on over still damp skin, but tossed his shirt to the girl and let her dry off with it, turning away from her to allow her a moment of privacy even though they’d just both been nude as the day they were born together in the pool. 

Hannibal couldn’t identify the burning in his chest as jealousy until it unfurled like a flower opening to the dawn as Will made his way to the fence, the girl following after, and he simply helped her back over. It appeared as though nothing untoward had happened between the two youths unless it had happened at Will’s own home. That could still very well be the case, but something in Hannibal felt calmed by the evidence to the contrary. 

It seemed he would need to have an interesting conversation with the boy at their next dinner. He’d need to make sure to collect the perfect cut of meat for the occasion. 

---

“How was your conference?” Will found himself honestly curious, at first he’d suspected conference might be a euphemism for murder, but he’d actually looked up the event when Hannibal hadn’t returned unexpectedly early. There really had been a gathering of individuals from across multiple fields at Brown University over the weekend, Hannibal an actual guest speaker on the topic of social exclusion. 

Will was surprised the knowledge of Hannibal’s profession didn’t rankle him like it might if he were any other person. He didn’t feel violated when Hannibal went traipsing through his mind, he felt accepted and understood to a degree he’d never imagined he’d find. While Hannibal didn’t share his curse of empathy, he still seemed to see far more of Will than anyone else ever had or even could. 

It was now Friday, and he’d missed having dinner and late night conversations with the Doctor. Hannibal had been suspiciously absent for the days following his return from Rhode Island, but Will hadn’t wanted to impose himself into a situation where he might not be welcome. 

“It was very agreeable, Will. Thank you for asking. And what of your weekend? Did you get into anything noteworthy?” The question was innocent enough, but there was something in the thread of Hannibal’s voice that caused the hairs along Will’s nape to stand on end and his jaw to drop ever so slightly. He recovered quickly, shuffling around Hannibal to grab the bowl of dry ingredients for their biscuits. Will was making a recipe of his own tonight, hand-making biscuits to go along with the cured meat and pork loin Hannibal had procured from his butcher. 

Will had been considering the facts as they’d been laid out in front of him in black sans serif font on his school laptop. Scrolling through page after page of Freddie’s articles on the Ripper, on his kills, on the absence of something at each and every scene. Hannibal had an oral fixation to rival Will’s own, and not just for cock. He had the teeth, the mind, the cutting wit of a predator, and was clearly the apex of his species. Each scene had something missing, an arm here, a slice of thigh there, a whole slew of organs. It hadn’t taken much from there for Will to start considering cannibalism. 

He was only slightly disturbed at his lack of seeming concern. Had, in fact, spent an admittedly comical twenty minutes debating out loud to himself and the empty room the merits of indulging in Hannibal’s cuisine the last time he’d shown up on Will’s doorstep, thrusting a casserole dish of leftover steak and kidney pie into his hands and proclaiming his renewed concern for Will as he’d passed the frozen pizza section in the market earlier that day. 

In the end, Will had stuck the dish in his oven, still not entirely sure whether he fully intended to eat it until it was warm, filling his borrowed kitchen with a homey comfort Will hadn’t experienced since his mother took off when he was six. It tasted just as delicious as anything Hannibal had ever served him; whether that was because or in spite of the other contributing factors, Will didn’t rightly know.

All he knew was that he’d spent an inordinate amount of time in his youth knowing what hunger felt like, and far little in comparison was he familiar with the oppressive comfort of having someone to care for him. He reckoned he’d eat any damn thing Hannibal put in front of him if only to show the man his appreciation for doing so.

“It was just another weekend,” Will passed off with a shrug as he set to breaking down his stick of butter. 

His pa and him had always just used a pastry cutter to cut the butter into the flour, but Hannibal had suggested an alternative method of freezing the stick and then grating it into even smaller pieces. Will watched the frozen shards of fat collect beneath the hand grater until he’d worked his way through nearly the entire stick and then dumped it into the bowl of dry ingredients. 

“Nothing of note. There’s never anything of note,” he lamented as he dumped the milk into the mixture as well.

Hannibal gave a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement and moved around Will, continuing his work on making a thick gravy to top the biscuits and meat with. Will had to admit it felt domestic in a way that he hadn’t experienced in over half his life. Even his vague memories of the times when his mom was actually around and they’d eat as a family didn’t carry quite the same feel, the same weight, as these moments with Hannibal. The kitchen was like a sanctuary, and Will was more than happy to pray to Hannibal as god of this domain. 

“I find it particularly curious you say nothing of note happened to you this weekend. I have it on good authority that you divested yourself and a female friend of your clothing and made use of my pool while I was away.” 

Will didn’t knock the grater off the counter when he slammed his hands down onto the edge of it, but it was a near thing. He caught himself and leaned his weight against the counter, his fingers leaving spots on the stainless steel where his body heat radiated and fogged the surface. 

“Did I?” His voice came out far more breathless than the teasing lilt he’d intended, but there was a part of his hindbrain that was concerned about how Hannibal might react. Though Will truly didn’t fear Hannibal on a conscious level - he found the man endlessly fascinating and knew the feeling was mutual - the fact still remained that Hannibal was a solitary predator and had been for many years prior to Will barging into his life. Perhaps he wouldn't take kindly to Will traipsing all over his privacy.

“I’m sure you must have me confused with someone else. I stayed in all weekend. Studied.” Will let his voice go up in a teasing lilt to make sure Hannibal knew he was joking, that he wasn’t actually trying to get himself out of this.

Will’s stomach twisted as Hannibal arched a brow at his claim, an amused smirk lifting the edges of his mouth ever so slightly. “Is that so? Must have been someone else, then. Curious, that they would come from your yard.”

Will gave a little half nod of agreement, relief sweeping through him when it seemed Hannibal was willing to let the accusation - and its weak denial - drop for the time being. He stuck his hands into the biscuit mixture and began to knead the ingredients into a sticky mess of batter, tensing only slightly when Hannibal reached around him to pull a stirring spoon from the utensil holder to Will’s right.

And that was it; Hannibal dropped the subject in favor of going over the merits and drawbacks of using cornstarch rather than flour to thicken a gravy. He instructed Will on the optimal combination of meat to fat when preparing homemade sausage - to which Will bit back the ill-advised urge to ask what percentage of people you should be adding - and split off into a ten minute diatribe when asked about the proper occasion to use dried versus fresh herbs and spices that Hannibal somehow managed to make interesting.

He managed to talk about food right up until they sat down for dinner, where he then segued into probing questions about Will’s childhood, wondering who had taught him how to make biscuits, at what age had he learned, how long had it been since he’d made them before tonight? 

They weren’t exactly memories that Will was keen on dredging up, but they kept the doctor occupied on a topic that wasn’t Will’s faux pas, which he was slowly beginning to grow more embarrassed by. How could he not have figured that someone like Hannibal Lecter would have security cameras on his property? 

It was such a blatant oversight that Will found himself digging into his own psyche, attempting to parse out if he hadn’t known, subconsciously at the very least, that he would be caught. It would be unwise to push boundaries with a man he considered, with near certainty, to be a potential serial killer.

Between that and Hannibal’s rather benign dinner talk, Will found himself momentarily thrown for a loop when Hannibal eventually circled back to Will’s little late night adventure. They had adjourned to the study for a glass of brandy, Hannibal perched upon a leather chair before the fireplace as Will took to his usual prowl around the room. It was stuffed to the brim with books, first editions in English and many other languages, odd curios and artwork and Will found there was always something to examine, even after having visited nearly a dozen times.

“Are you getting along well with your classmates, Will? I imagine you must feel some added pressure to fit in, knowing that you will be attending Bishop Thorton for the entire school year, rather than waiting to be plucked up and moved elsewhere at the whims of your father’s work schedule.”

Will raised his shoulder in a shrug, turning away from the arrangement of small animal skulls on the mantle above the fireplace. He examined the deep amber of the brandy in his glass before giving it a gentle swirl and taking a small sip.

“I don’t really consider my classmates. Never have. I find most of them too dull to bother with, and they think I’m too unnerving to interact with.”

“I find you entirely charming, even if you do experience a lapse in manners from time to time.” Hannibal gave him a considering look, peering up at Will from where he sat calm as anything in his chair, as if he hadn’t just once again accused Will of trespassing on his property. “All the same, I suppose I must at least thank you and your girlfriend for resisting the urge to fornicate in my pool.”

Will drained the last of the brandy from his snifter and abandoned the glass to a nearby side table. “Are we still on that?”

“We are,” Hannibal confirmed with a serene nod.

“You don’t seem to mind the breaking and entering that much...but fucking Bev in your pool, that would have been unforgivable?” When Hannibal’s only reply was stony silence, Will pressed on. “Would you have watched, I wonder? If it had been me. Would you have been jealous?” He let the accusation hang between them for a moment, heavy in the thick quiet of the room, only the fireplace daring to make a sound, before finally divesting Hannibal of his misguided assumption. “She’s only a friend. There’s only one person I’ve been interested in lately.”

Will’s smile was sharp, his eyes honed in on the slight uptick of Hannibal’s lips. The other man was surprised, Will could sense it. Could see it in the tensing of his jawline and the way his eyes went predator-dark, his inky black pupils nearly devouring the entirety of his irises, already the dark color of old blood. 

“Well in any case, I think I’m innocent until proven guilty, right?” Will fluttered his eyelashes and moved closer, like a jungle cat stalking its prey through the underbrush. He already knew he had Hannibal pinned, knew the good doctor would allow him nearly anything if for no other reason than his curiosity. 

“I suppose. There are avenues we could pursue to verify the identity of the nude boy in the video, ensure the physique belongs to you.” Hannibal’s gaze grew impossibly darker, Will’s throat nearly vibrating with a contented purr as he finally reached him, pouring himself into his lap and spreading himself across his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged there, filling up Hannibal’s vision, his space, until he could see or sense nothing else.

Hannibal didn’t protest, didn’t make even a movement to adjust Will’s weight or touch him at all. It was maddening, already, how desperately Will wanted Hannibal’s hands on his body. He’d wanted him for weeks, and now that he had him in his sight, seemingly placid and unbothered beneath him, Will wouldn’t relent. 

He ground down against Hannibal in an obvious display, but still the man remained the epitome of refined dignity and decorum, his hands laid out elegantly along the arms of his chair, the leather a deep brown and indented slightly where Hannibal dug in his fingertips. It was the only indication the man gave that he was paying attention at all, and Will smiled to see the beginnings of Hannibal’s perfect control slipping. 

“You could always feel for yourself whether my body matches what you saw on the screen. They do that with fingerprints, right? Facial recognition. Why not other appendages?” Will let his head fall back, breaking his gaze from Hannibal’s eyes for just a moment as he leaned against him, his cock already hard and tenting his pants obviously, Hannibal’s only just beginning to stir if the bulge in his dress slacks was any indication. 

“What do you suggest, Will? How could we best assess this situation? I really would hate to wrongly accuse you of an act you didn’t commit.” Hannibal’s voice was calm like the waters of the bayou seconds before a gator strike. Will could feel the instinct at the base of his spine to run, but the heat clenching in his stomach compelled him otherwise. 

Will moaned unabashedly, tilting his entire body forward so their chests pressed together and Will could breathe directly into Hannibal’s ear. “You’re a doctor, I’m sure you can figure out how to examine the situation appropriately.” 

Hannibal huffed a small laugh at that, watched on impassively as Will practically got himself off grinding on Hannibal’s lower abdomen, their cocks brushing together through their clothes with every few twists of his hips just so. Hannibal didn’t make a noise, didn’t raise a hand to stop Will or to guide him, simply let him do as he pleased. 

With Hannibal’s eyes on him, Will felt emboldened to a nearly dangerous degree. He let his teeth graze against Hannibal’s earlobe, hiding a satisfied smirk against the doctor’s hair as Hannibal finally let out a small sound of surprise at the sensation. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Will gave up his teasing, deciding the direct route would be the fastest way to getting fucked over Hannibal’s commanding, heavy wooden desk. 

“Tell me.” Hannibal’s voice brooked no argument, not that Will would have tried to hide anything at this point even if it had been an option. 

“I saw you, the first morning here. You were swimming and I wanted to lick the water off you, wanted your cock in my mouth, down my throat, filling me up inside.” He ground his ass down against Hannibal’s thigh, relishing in the feel of his muscles tightening to keep Will stable in his lap. 

“Filthy boy. What else.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement of fact. Will expected Hannibal had been more than aware of Will’s thoughts, of his not so subtle flirtations. 

“Most recently? I’d really like you to bend me over that desk and fuck me until I can’t breathe,” Will groaned, low and loud in his throat as his cock brushed against Hannibal’s, who was now hard enough to have the outline of his cock perfectly visible through his pants. Will wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the weight of him in his palm and the width of him in his ass. 

“You really do have the filthiest mouth, Will. What do you propose we do about that?” Will moved his fingers to rest against Hannibal’s cock, trailing along his zipper and teasing at his button. Still Hannibal put up no protest, so Will went for it, flicking his button open and gyrating so that his own cock bumped against his wrist where it sat low between them. 

He was so close already he could taste it, like embers on the back of his tongue, his entire body hot and pulled taut, ready to snap. He’d been on edge for weeks, desperate to feel Hannibal’s hands on him, to experience everything the good doctor had to offer. It seemed Hannibal was perfectly attuned to Will’s precarious position. Before Will’s brain could process the motion as movement, Hannibal’s hand landed on the sharp jut of Will’s hip and pressed firmly down, his broad palm like a brand against Will’s body. 

He came in his pants with a little whimpering cry, shocked to orgasm by the weight of Hannibal’s touch, the intensity of his regard. When Hannibal smiled it was full of teeth, and Will felt himself propelled forward without any forethought, his lips colliding with Hannibal’s in a graceless mash of teeth. His hand slithered into Hannibal’s now open fly, cupping his cock where it sat warm and hard beneath his silk boxers. 

The kiss only grew in intensity, Hannibal’s fingers flexing where they still rested against Will’s hip, pulling him forward and guiding him back in subtle motions like a ship on a gentle ocean tide. “Hannibal, please,” Will pleaded, not even fully certain what exactly he was begging for. 

“Shh, sweet boy.” Hannibal soothed him, his hand circling around to Will’s lower back now, keeping him held firmly in place as Will slipped past Hannibal’s underwear until his fingers finally touched skin. Hannibal didn’t try to hide his reaction this time, he allowed Will the hard-won honor of seeing his gaze flicker, his lips parted on a small sigh of pleasure. 

Even having just found his own release, arousal clenched in Will’s stomach when his fingers finally wrapped around the solid heat of Hannibal’s cock. He squeezed around the girth, slid his fist, bent awkwardly as it was, as far down his shaft as he could. It was easy to ignore the cooling mess in his own pants, the flare of embarrassment that burned his cheeks, when his grip slid up to Hannibal’s cockhead and he felt how wet he’d made the stoic man beneath him.

“Want you to come,” Will panted frantically against his lips as he jerked Hannibal’s cock as smoothly as possible. “Want you to ruin your perfect fucking pants for me. Will you?”

Hannibal’s eyes shone bright like a predator honing in on its prey as his hand joined Will’s within the tight confines of his slacks, guiding him in the pace and cadence he preferred. It was rougher than Will usually was with himself, and Hannibal focused on circling around the head of his cock more than Will typically did, but it didn’t take long for the doctor to go a little breathless with it. 

He didn’t cry out when he came, but his lips parted ever so slightly and it was enough to compel Will forward to capture his lips in a bruising kiss that was more teeth than finesse. He could taste the bright copper of blood against his tongue as Hannibal’s seed coated the inside of his pants, some of it dripping down Will’s fingers. 

Will pulled his hand free after a few seconds, enjoying the oversensitive shudder it pulled from the typically stone-faced man as his fingers dragged along his shaft. He brought his wet fingers to his lips and licked them clean, watching Hannibal’s eyes glint dangerously as he took in Will’s debauched display. 

“You truly are a depraved creature, Mr. Graham. What are we to do about this rude behavior?” Hannibal’s voice was teasing, but there was also just the hint of a threat contained within it. A gleam of a knife blade in an open drawer. 

Will’s grin was broad and just as sharp as he smirked tauntingly at Hannibal, climbing out of his lap and working on righting himself and his soaked pants. “I’m sure we can find something appropriate.”

Chapter Text

“Thanks for the leftovers the other night, made everyone at lunch super jealous because I practically moaned my entire way through the meal.” Will laughed as he placed an empty container on the counter beside Hannibal where he was currently slicing vegetables in preparation for a stew he’d planned for dinner that evening. 

It was growing colder, by no means uncomfortably so just yet, but all the same, Hannibal wanted to keep Will hearty and healthy. 

The thrifty teenager had been making up excuses for nearly two weeks to see Hannibal in between their usual visits, the latest, seemingly, to deliver a glass container Will knew Hannibal didn’t require. 

It had started with an innocent enough request for Hannibal to help Will with references for a paper in his psychology course. He made use of his knowledge that Hannibal was a guest speaker at his recent conference, dropping by under the guise of wanting to know more about social exclusion theories. 

After that, it had been a question about how to change the fancy lights - as Will had called them - in his foyer. As though someone as sharp as Will Graham didn’t already know how to change a light, no matter the style, or at the very least how to seek out the information online rather than knocking on his neighbor’s door. 

Most recently, before the errant Tupperware, it had been a humble request for practice with his driving. The boy planned to take his test soon and without his father around to help him he’d not had much practice. Those drives had been...interesting. After that night in Hannibal’s study, he hadn’t permitted Will to touch him in such a bold way again, keeping Will desperate was proving to be far more interesting. But he hadn’t anticipated the strain he would place on himself, his desire for Will something nearly palpable in the enclosed space of his car. 

“We’re having a Boeuf Bourguignon with homemade rye bread tonight. Would you care to assist?” Hannibal gestured to the ingredients already laid out in perfect order across his pristine countertop. He’d already made the bread, all that was left was to lightly toast a few slices and to make the stew. 

“Least I can do is help cook it if I’m going to eat it.” Will’s smile was teasing and, not for the first time, Hannibal imagined what he’d look like painted in blood, his lithe arms and fine-boned hands deep inside the chest cavity of their fallen prey. Hannibal had never considered himself lonely. He was alone, but that wasn’t the same thing. Now that Will had been introduced to his life, Hannibal suddenly had multiple avenues opened to him for a companionship he’d long assumed lost to him. 

“You can start on the Bouquet garni,” Hannibal saw Will’s eyebrows raise, his sparse and hobbled together French learned from a life on the gulf hardly elegant enough to decipher most of Hannibal’s more formal usage. “It’s a bundle of thyme, bay leaf, and parsley. However, I prefer to chop my herbs finely and let them simmer in the pot rather than placing them in whole.”

Will made a soft noise of acknowledgment, moving seamlessly into his place at Hannibal’s side. Hannibal allowed the occasional touch, a sway of hips here, an elbow brush there, but even he was coming to the end of his patience. He found he wanted Will in a way he was wholly unaccustomed to, his presence igniting something within Hannibal that felt dangerous and obsessive. He wanted to consume Will, devour him whole, and keep him within him forever. 

They conversed about Will’s studies for several minutes, he was doing exceptionally well, which was to be expected. Hannibal found he wanted to treat him for it. 

“How do you feel about the opera, Will?” 

Will gave a careless shrug of his shoulder as he meticulously diced the onion in front of him. “I never considered it enough to feel any way about it.” He glanced up from his cutting board, shooting a mischievous grin down to where Hannibal stood at the stove, searing the meat for their stew. “When you’re born and bred in the Bayou, Wagner and Puccini aren’t exactly a staple in the foundation of your education.” He paused, taking an aborted step closer to Hannibal before returning to his task. “That smells amazing.”

Hannibal allowed a minute smile to curl his lips at the insight into Will’s past, as well as the compliment. “But you know about Wagner and Puccini. I’ll take the vegetables here now,” he nodded to the pan before him as he moved the beef to the plate where the sauteed bacon waited.

Will scraped the minced onion into the prep dish already full of carrots and garlic and delivered it to Hannibal, dumping it carefully into the fat and grease that still sizzled in the bottom of the pan. Hannibal pushed the contents around dutifully for a minute before draining out most of the fat.

“I know about a lot of things,” Will murmured as he pushed the bowl of pearl onions and measuring glass of wine and stock closer to the stove. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not... dis interested. But knowing something in theory is different than knowing something in practice, you know?”

Hannibal added the remaining liquids to the dutch oven kettle and hauled it into the oven with a hum of agreement. “I do know. All the same, I’d enjoy exposing you to some practice. If you’re amenable to it, that is.”

Will looked so sweet and earnest, so full of lust and longing, that Hannibal had to temper the grin curling his lips as the boy nodded his mute agreement to the invitation.

“Now, we’ve three hours to cover while our stew simmers. And I’ve just the activity to occupy our time.”

The slight flush that had begun to grace Will’s round cheeks spread, his pupils dilating inky black and wide as his youthful, filthy little mind no doubt dredged up all manner of inappropriate solutions to battle their excess of downtime.

“Just show me what to do,” the boy agreed, nearly breathless with his longing. Hannibal’s grin split wide then, almost eager to dash the poor boy’s lustful hopes, keep him on the edge just a bit longer.

“Actually, dear Will, I was hoping you could show me what to do.”

---

When Hannibal had suggested an activity to occupy three hours of time while they waited for the completion of their dinner, Will had to admit he’d had less than pure notions as to what might occupy their time.

Tying lures was, far and away, the absolute last possibility his horny little brain had even bothered considering.

“You’re a natural at this,” he murmured as Hannibal selected the perfect tuft of feather to complete his already rather enticing lure. “An artist in all things. Even fishing lures. I really did advise you to leave some talent for the rest of civilization, Doctor. I wasn’t joking about that.”

“If I’ve produced any beauty at all it is only because you guided my hand.”

Will gave a soft, derisive snort at that. “I guided your hand into tying off your bits and bobbles. The rest all lies in the eye, the gut. You can’t teach that. Can’t teach someone how to make something beautiful any more than you can teach someone to be beautiful. It’s a natural state. One which you already occupy with fearsome clout and pomp.”

They turned their faces away from the lure set-up and magnifying glass then, gazes locking and soft smiles dancing across their lips. For a brief, hopeful moment, Will thought Hannibal might lean in to close the distance; in the flash of a hazy, outlandish breath, Will thought he might lean forward himself.

But then Hannibal turned back to the subject before them, and carefully finished knotting off the last of flare on his lure with a steady and meticulous hand. He reached forward to caress a finger over the puff of feather that peacocked off the tail of the lure, giving it the natural shape of a small fish that bigger prey would be helpless but to attack.

“Every artist has a muse. What do you think my muse is, Will?”

Will stared at the sharp profile of Hannibal’s beautifully sculpted face, his fingers twitching against the urge to rise up and touch. “I think you’ve no intention of letting me or anyone else know what drives you.” He flashed the doctor a wry grin, leaning closer until their shoulders jostled against one another genially. “Whether in art or in life.”

“I daresay my willingness to divulge makes no difference on the matter,” Hannibal murmured as he released the completed lure and began again with a fresh hook. 

His long, graceful fingers swept over the spread of broken shells before delicately plucking up a bit of abalone. It looked rough and muted sitting on their dry desk, but Will knew the iridescent sheen that would ripple over it as it zipped through the water on the end of a line. He found himself charmed by the notion of something so beautiful masking something cold and deadly, found a new appreciation for the seductive luring of prey. A moment later, Hannibal’s words registered in his mind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, dear Will,” Hannibal began, turning his intense gaze onto Will; Will was helpless but to meet the doctor’s eyes, see the twin looks of appraisal and appreciation glimmering in their warm amber depths. “You are exceedingly clever. And I don’t doubt your ability to clamber over any and all walls placed before you.”

“You think me rude enough to just break into your mental forts?”

“Well you did break into my backyard,” Hannibal’s lips twitched slightly in amusement as Will’s face grew warm, no doubt flushing at the reminder of his drunken escapades. He turned his attention back to the lure in front of him and Will felt as though he could suddenly breathe again. “Though I’m not entirely certain your invasion in this instance would be purposeful,” Hannibal mused out loud, a curious tilt to his head as he began binding the shell to the new hook, shining brightly under the desk light illuminating it. 

“You see so much without even trying; I imagine for you pressing into someone else’s mind is as instinctual and inescapable as breathing air. And,” he added, eyes sharp as a hook darting back over to Will, “I must admit the more I consider it, the more I find myself believing this occurrence is more of an inevitability than anything. More curiously, I’ve come to the conclusion I’m thrilled by the prospect of you seeing me.”

Will’s heart slammed in his chest as he caught a glimpse of the shadow that prowled behind Hannibal’s whiskey-soaked eyes, his stomach giving a pleasant lurch at the confession. “Me too,” he admitted, his voice breathless and barely above a whisper.

It would have been the perfect time to take the plunge and lean forward, close the distance between their mouths and declare all this again with lips and teeth and tongue, if the kitchen timer hadn’t chosen that exact moment to go off.

---

“Mr. Graham, please stay behind after class is dismissed.” Will looked up from where he’d been doodling in the margins of his Biology notebook; the entire classroom full of students turned to look at him. It was far too early in the morning for Will to have to deal with Sutcliffe’s bullshit, but he nodded his head silently in acknowledgement. 

Class moved at a glacial pace after that, and Will had filled up two pages of his notebook with random drawings - none of them nearly as good or precise as anything he’d seen of Hannibal’s - and then the bell finally rang to denote the end of first period. 

Students filed out of the class, the sound of shuffling feet nearly as loud as Will’s pulse throbbing in his ears. He couldn’t imagine why Sutcliffe would want to keep him after, Will was acing his class and was quiet and generally well behaved. 

He’d heard rumors about the teacher, but had no way of knowing whether any of them held weight. There were students that claimed Sutcliffe offered extra help to certain students, often in the form of solo sessions with the doctor. 

Will waited until the room was empty before he started to pack his things. Sutcliffe shut the door behind the last student and made his way to Will’s desk, resting his hip against the edge and crowding Will’s space. As Will bent to retrieve his bag his face was mere inches from the teacher's crotch. It took everything in him not to roll his eyes. How obvious . 

“You wanted to speak with me Doctor Sutcliffe?” Will looked up at the man through his lashes, more than accustomed to men such as him. He knew what they wanted when they looked at him, knew exactly what dark desires they craved to seek in his body. 

“Yes. Your grades are outstanding, Will, but I have a feeling they could be even better with the proper guidance. I’m sure it gets terribly lonely in that big house with your father so far away, sure some company would be well received and appreciated,” he paused as though waiting for Will to immediately agree and prostrate himself in front of him. When Will didn’t respond, he pressed on. “I could come by some evening after school, help you more fully acclimate yourself into the societal fabric here. In Baltimore it isn’t just about what you know, dear boy, but who.” 

Will wanted to gag at the unsubtle implications so heavy-handedly thrown at his feet. Before he could manage a way to tactfully decline though, he saw an opportunity present itself. Will nearly laughed with how fortunate he was. He’d invite Sutcliffe over, making sure to tell Hannibal of how atrocious the man’s behavior was. It was only a matter of time once the information was suggested that Will could prove to himself once and for all whether Hannibal was the dangerous killer and maneater he thought him to be. It was perfect. 

“You know, Doctor Sutcliffe, I think I’d really appreciate that. How does tomorrow evening sound?” 

---

Having Sutcliffe over had been a nightmare, but Will had been pleased when, at the end of the night, the man had managed nothing more than a few inappropriate brushes of his hand against Will’s thigh. And to top it all off, Hannibal had seen Will escort Sutcliffe out and Will was more than certain Hannibal could sense the lust practically rolling off the other man. 

It was now Friday, and their night at the Opera was mere hours away. Will went straight to Hannibal’s once he returned from school, the man leading him directly into his bedroom with little more than a few pleasantries exchanged.

All the pieces of a suit far fancier and more expensive than Will could ever afford on his own were laid out on the bed like a burnt offering to a god. Will’s eyes skimmed over the creamy white of the button up, the nearly midnight-navy of the jacket. The buttons were bronze, and there was faint stripping down the fabric of the jacket and the pants. A dark tie and pair of sapphire cufflinks so dark a blue they nearly looked black were laid out down the chest of the shirt. A pair of Italian leather shoes sat on the floor at the edge of the bed, completing the ensemble. 

“How did you even know what size I’d be?” Will inquired, turning to face Hannibal as he heard the man move behind him. 

“I estimated. You’ll remember that I’ve had my hands on you.” The words were teasing and sent a jolt of arousal to Will’s stomach. Hannibal had barely touched him since that night, driving Will nearly mad with desire. 

“Do you always go all sugar Daddy and lavish young, impressionable boys with gifts?” Will teased, letting his fingers trail down the soft, fine fabric of the dress pants that he just knew would be nearly perfectly tailored to fit him curve for curve. Estimates aside, Will expected the suit to fit as though it were bespoke. 

“I hardly think you to be so impressionable, Will.” He said it with a flourish of his hand, as though he could wave the thought away. Will found himself wondering if Hannibal bristled at the suggestion that he’d need to be as hamfisted as Sutcliffe in order to garner the attention of someone such as Will. He wondered if he’d struck a nerve. He decided to push a little harder, still keeping his voice taunting and jovial. 

“You forget, I can see the things you want me to see, but I can also see some of the things you don’t.” It was the closest Will had been to telling Hannibal the truth, and he could see how the words brought something dangerous to life in Hannibal’s eyes; a creature stirring from its slumber, a dragon coiled tightly around its horde before burning Will to cinders and ash. 

“What is it you see, dear Will?” Hannibal didn’t move a muscle, but he didn’t need to for the hairs on Will’s nape to stand on end. 

When he looked into Hannibal’s eyes this time, he saw a tiger, not a dragon, poised and ready to pounce if Will answered incorrectly.  

Tiger tiger, burning brightly, in the forests of the night… 

“I see a handsome, debonair man who promised me a fun night at the Opera. As if there could be such a thing,” Will teasingly rolled his eyes, winking at Hannibal as the tension finally broke. He took up the offerings laid out on the bed and excused himself to the bathroom, finally releasing the air from his lungs when he was safely on the other side of the door. 

He showered quickly, cleansing himself of the day’s scents and detritus, knowing his monster had a particularly sensitive nose. He stared for several long minutes at the perfectly pressed suit that hung from the golden hook on the bathroom door, considering its significance. He still vividly recalled some of the men he’d been pursued by in the past, their paltry efforts at gift-giving nothing when compared to that of the doctor. A trinket here, a few well-worn bills there, nothing even remotely on the level of a suit made specifically for Will. He knew, intuitively, that it most likely cost a small fortune. Knew that didn’t bother Hannibal in the slightest. 

He couldn’t delay much longer, still able to hear Hannibal shuffling nearly-silently in the room adjacent, catlike and graceful on his feet. It brought a smile to his face and calmed his frazzled nerves to think of this powerful man and the weight of his regard. He found himself almost giddy in his excitement to share in Hannibal’s love of the opera, honored the man considered him worthy enough for the experience. He only hoped he lived up to the expectations Hannibal had obviously set for him, knowing with both an innate sense of dread and exhilaration what would become of him if he didn’t.

---

They settled into Hannibal’s box, some of Hannibal’s acquaintances settling in around them. Will knew he couldn’t climb into Hannibal’s lap or slip between his knees while Faust played in the background like he truly wanted, so he conceded by taking the man’s hand halfway through the first act and holding it tightly between their seats where no one could see. 

Hannibal gave no obvious reaction, though Will smiled when Hannibal gently squeezed his fingers. Hannibal had allowed so little touch between them over the last few weeks that it was nearly enough to bring Will dangerously close to coming in his pants again like some teenager without control. He regulated his breathing and actually managed to pay attention to the performance. 

He could relate to Faust and his temptation to make a deal with Mephistopheles. Wasn’t that precisely what Will had been doing all this time with Hannibal? Who some might, rightly so, consider the Devil? His nana had always said the Devil comes in pretty packaging and that sin can look right as rain if you don’t look too close.

Satan in a Sunday hat.  

Will felt like he was looking plenty closely at Hannibal, seeing both the Ripper in the form of a demon with skin the color of an oil spill stretched wide over too sharp bones and horns that grew from his crown, as well as the man. Hannibal was a beautiful man, after all, enticing and incensing and perfectly made for Will. He’d never felt closer to his true self than he did when he was with Hannibal, had never known himself as well as he did since meeting the doctor. 

“We can break for intermission if you’d like, Will. There are refreshments and a restroom at your disposal.” Hannibal’s voice broke through the fog in Will’s brain and he realized two acts had passed and he’d somehow managed to lose time. 

Hannibal bypassed the main lobby bathroom, and Will raised an eyebrow as Hannibal took them to a stairwell tucked away in the far back corner and up a flight of stairs. The upper floor of the Opera House was devoid of people, no need for access up here when all the elbow-rubbing was happening on the lower floors. 

As soon as Will made it through the door of the ridiculously extravagant bathroom, complete with marble countertops and golden water basins, he heard the lock click behind him. Within seconds he was being pressed firmly to the counter, the marble cutting into his stomach uncomfortably. He let out a huff of surprise, Hannibal’s body tight against his back, the other man apparently hard where he ground himself against Will’s ass. 

“I didn’t realize handholding was such a kink for you, Doctor Lecter.” Will teased, licking his lips as he looked at himself in the mirror, Hannibal’s gaze meeting his own in the glass and burning through him like a raging inferno, leaving nothing in its wake. 

“Insufferable brat; you know not what you do to my patience, darling boy. My will is iron, yet you temper it with the heat of your presence. I find I want to mould you into all sorts of unpleasant shapes.” 

“Do it, then,” he taunted, but the words fell from his lips more like a plea. “You should fuck me, right here bent over this fancy fucking counter. I’d let you; spread my legs and beg you to take me, to split me open and leave me wet and dripping with your come through the last three acts of this performance.” 

Hannibal laughed, though it sounded strained. It made Will’s thighs clench at the idea that he could pull such a sound from the usually perfectly controlled man. He leaned yet more weight against Will’s back, dipping his head to nuzzle his cheek against Will’s neck. Will thought about the ridiculously expensive cologne he knew Hannibal had applied just after shaving, thought about how the scent might rub off on him, linger against his skin to warn all others he was marked, taken. He knew Hannibal felt the shiver that spilled down his spine at the thought, felt it in Hannibal’s smirk pressed to the knob of his jaw, lips hovering near his ear.

“When I have you, sweet thing, it will be on my black silk sheets so I can see the creamy contrast of your skin against them.” 

Will rolled his eyes playfully, grinding himself as best he could against Hannibal’s bulge. “Sap. We won’t make it through the rest of the night if you don’t do something. I can feel how much you want me, Hannibal. So take me.” 

A considering hum was all he got as a warning before he was being twisted around, his back now slammed against the marble as Hannibal claimed his lips bruisingly, his mouth swelling with the force of Hannibal’s kiss. He tried his best to return it, but Hannibal fisted a hand in his curls and kept him held firmly in place, his hips pinned against Will’s and forcing him back against the vanity. Unable to move or adjust the angle, he simply had to allow Hannibal to do what he wished. 

“I could unlock the door, invite some of the men from downstairs up here to attend to you. Perhaps I could call your good friend, Doctor Sutcliffe, since you seemed to so enjoy being a harlot for him.” 

“Harlot? Are you calling me a slut, Hannibal? Feeling jealous again? Does it make you see red when you think about his hands on me? Don’t know why, it’s not like you’ve touched me in weeks.” 

“I’m touching you now,” Hannibal reminded him, his voice low and sharp, but no less deafening than if he’d yelled.

Will’s laugh was loud, ringing in the room before Hannibal took his mouth again. When he was allowed to breathe again, Will cleared the air. “Sutcliffe is a creep. He came to my house under the guise of keeping a lonely boy company and helping him fit in with the upper crust but really he just wanted to take advantage like he does with a lot of students at the school. Kids who care a lot more about his approval than I do. It was unspeakably rude behavior.” 

Hannibal’s eyes grew even darker at the revelation, his grip on Will’s hair and his hip tightening to an almost painful degree. Will let out a little whimper of distress and Hannibal only clutched him tighter. “Unspeakably rude, indeed. What of your rudeness though, young Will? Taunting me for weeks, teasing me all night with your heavy, fluttering eyelashes and your pretty, pouting lips. You’re enough to drive a man to any number of rude behaviors, to be sure.” 

Will managed to get a hand between their bodies, grinding the heel of his palm against Hannibal’s cock and his knuckles against his own growing erection. “Why don’t you show me what you do to rude boys like me, hm?” Will knew the moment the words hit home, Hannibal’s lips parting in a bestial smile. 

“You wouldn’t want to see the things I usually do to rude boys, darling. But perhaps I can punish you all the same.” 

Hannibal removed Will’s seeking hand, getting Will’s pants undone and around his knees before turning him again so he was now bent over the washbasin, his face close enough to fog the glass of the mirror. He watched as Hannibal peeled his underwear down to settle below his asscheeks, exposing him just enough for the man to palm at him hungrily. Hannibal made short work of releasing his cock from his own pants, though he only pulled it through the open zipper rather than removing them entirely. The difference in their state of dress was enough to pull a whimper from Will, heat pooling in his stomach as he arched his back to grind against Hannibal tauntingly. 

“You gonna fuck me after all? I’m sure I could take you, wanna feel you splitting me open,” Will groaned when Hannibal slapped his ass for the filthy words, admonishing him. 

“You really must work on this crass language, Will. It’s unbecoming of a boy such as yourself,” his words were a tease and a promise wrapped in one, and Will bent himself even further across the basin to allow Hannibal more room to move behind him. “Here I am, making every effort to introduce you to a little culture, enlighten your mind, and how do you repay me? Filth and taunts pouring from that pretty little mouth. You’d best learn to watch it, lest I find another use for its existence.”

Hannibal’s hands left where they were framing Will’s hips, his thumbs dipping into his crack to spread him open and expose his hole. An unexpected sound echoed off the marble of the bathroom, and it took until the split second afterward, when he felt wetness soak his entrance, for Will to realize Hannibal had spit on him. The sole thought of how uncouth the action was made Will whimper, his whine choking off on a gasp as he felt the tip of Hannibal’s hard length prod against him.

He moaned, dropping his chest lower to the vanity and spreading his legs as wide as the pants that still entrapped them would allow. Finally, finally, he would have Hannibal inside him. But Hannibal didn’t sink inside. Instead, he rubbed his cockhead back and forth over Will’s slick hole, applying just enough pressure to tease at slipping into him before pulling back, sliding his cock between Will’s spread thighs instead, brushing against the balls and cock that hung heavy with arousal between them.

Will gave an annoyed huff and attempted to push his hips back the next time Hannibal teased at his entrance, but only earned a low growl and bruising hand stilling his hips for his efforts. “Hannibal -”

“I think it’s quite time you let an adult handle things,” Hannibal cut his pout off sharply, the manicured nails of the hand wrapped around Will’s bare hip biting into him for added effect. “You’re far too accustomed to playing your own games, twisting a situation until you receive what it is you desire from it.”

Will pulled his gaze from the black and grey flecked marble beneath him, finding Hannibal’s eyes in the mirror. “I suppose you’ll be the one doing the twisting from here on out, then?”

“No, that will still be you,” Hannibal’s lips twitched into a smirk then, and the careless, mischievous, suggestive curl to them made Will’s heart ache. He looked so human when he allowed his features to be shifted in such a way; obtainable. “Though in a far different sense than you were anticipating, I imagine.”

Will moaned at the sheer number of fantasies that sprung to mind, gasped and groaned as Hannibal took that moment to begin sliding into him in earnest. He only went as far as his cockhead, slipping the tip just far enough inside Will to stretch him around it, make him ache for something deeper, harder.

“Hannibal,” Will mewled, trying to gain traction to force his hips back, but Hannibal’s hold on him was solid, keeping him held firmly in place so he couldn’t control the movement. 

“Be still,” Hannibal growled, his teeth in Will’s nape as he bent over him more fully, Will’s stomach pressed painfully against the sharp marble beneath him. His fingers grappled at the slick surface, useless. 

Hannibal pulled out again, leaving Will even more bereft before pushing his hips forward and once more parting Will’s flesh achingly slowly. It was maddening, the stretch not enough to be what Will needed.  

Exacerbating his desperation, Hannibal reached around his heaving stomach and trailed his fingers against Will’s upper thighs, dipping into the damp heat behind his balls and then tracing back up again, smooth pianists fingers tapping against Will’s overheated flesh, mapping out his shaft with a firm palm. 

Between one overwhelmed, choking breath and the next, Hannibal had wrapped his hand around Will’s cock entirely, pulling his foreskin completely back to expose his wet, red head. Will hissed through his teeth, desire thrumming through his veins like cocaine, flooding his system with heat. 

“Since you enjoy coming in your pants like a desperate teenager, perhaps that is what we should do now. Come in your new suit and sit with your mess growing tacky and dry between your thighs for the rest of the production before I take you home and consume you wholly,” Hannibal taunted, his breath warm against Will’s nape. 

Before Will could respond Hannibal had pulled away from him entirely, leaving Will heaving with a sob that wracked his entire body at how cold and empty he felt. He’d barely managed to drop a whine, sweet like sugar water, from his lips when he realized Hannibal was on his knees. The man held his palm firmly against Will’s lower back, keeping him bent and pinned in place.  Will didn’t need to wait long to discover why, Hannibal’s other palm making its way to Will’s asscheek, spreading him open for Hannibal’s gaze. 

Will felt his face flame at the intimacy, the closeness, he could feel Hannibal’s breath against his hole where it fluttered welcomingly for Hannibal’s perusal. The doctor seemed as impatient as Will, leaning forward to lick a large swath from Will’s balls all the way up his crack, letting his tongue dip into Will’s entrance where he could feel his pulse beating wildly. 

Hannibal kept him spread, used his shoulders to knock his thighs even further apart so Will had to stand on the balls of his feet to remain steady, his elbows grinding painfully against the countertop. Not that he was complaining. He reached back to help the man, cupping his own ass in both of his hands to spread himself even wider, giving Hannibal more room. 

“Slut,” Hannibal chastised, but it sounded more like praise as he wrapped one hand around Will’s hip, keeping him in place, his other hand reaching around to massage at Will’s cock again as Hannibal’s tongue found his hole, tensing and curling as he parted Will’s flesh and ate him out with a fervor Will should have expected from a cannibal. 

It should have terrified him to have such a man consuming him, but it only worked to further fan the flame in Will’s core, pulling whimpering keens from his chest as he watched himself in the mirror, his face flushed and his curls matted at his temples. 

A soft chime sounded in the bathroom, jerking Will to awareness. Hannibal paused in his ministrations with a soft hum, teeth scraping threateningly over the swell of Will’s ass.

“Intermission is nearly over. You’d best finish soon, dear boy. I shall be most displeased if we miss part of the performance, moreso if we make a scene returning to our seats.”

Will choked on a whimper as Hannibal went back to work on his hole, the mere possibility of having to feign dignity with the uppercrust after such a debauched interlude sending a crushing wave of anxiety through him even while arousal clenched hot and forbidden in his gut. If they returned to their seats it would be obvious to anyone who looked closely enough that Will had been undone in a lecherous way, unable to hide the glittering shine of his eyes as Hannibal took him apart piece by piece. That Hannibal owned him.

That thought alone was enough to push Will right to the edge, and he embraced the fall in the same moment Hannibal’s hand returned to idly stroking his cock, his palm twisting over Will’s leaking head perfectly until he seized up and spilled over. Hannibal gave a pleased hum, pressed directly to his entrance so Will could feel it vibrating through him. He wiped the mess Will had left on him against Will’s briefs and then pulled away.

Will shivered as Hannibal’s heat left him, remained panting and red-faced as he clutched at the vanity with his pants down around his thighs. He attempted to collect himself as quickly as possible when Hannibal rinsed his hands, righted his hair and tie, and then cast an expectant and unimpressed glance in Will’s direction. 

Even with his pants pulled up, his sweaty curls pushed out of his face and his jacket and tie tugged back into order, Will and Hannibal still appeared as though they came from two entirely separate worlds. Will’s chest grew tight, his heart giving a pitiful throb as he studied their reflections, picked apart every way in which he was nowhere near presentable enough to be in the company of Hannibal Lecter in a bathroom, let alone at the opera.

If Hannibal had any similar thoughts, he kept them to himself. It seemed his penchant for shaming and embarrassing Will only burst forth during their sexual activities. As if he’d been tapped directly into Will’s disparaging musings, Hannibal caught his chin, tilted his face up, and bestowed a soft kiss to Will’s lips.

“Extraordinary, tempting boy. Let’s get back to our seats before we’re missed, shall we?” He moved to the doorway, unlocking and opening it as though doing so were entirely casual gestures. As though he hadn’t just had Will a gasping, whining mess only moments before.

“Did you mean what you said? About taking me home?” Will had to ask, because perhaps it had simply been something erotic to say in the heat of the moment, perhaps he had no intention of actually fucking Will that night or ever. And if Will allowed his hopes to be bolstered only to be let down, he knew it would crush him.

Hannibal gazed steadily back at Will, looking for all the world like nothing risque had taken place at all and raising a single unamused brow. “I don’t make idle threats, Will.”

It was enough for Will; enough to send his finally slowing heart back into double-time, enough to rekindle the arousal that his orgasm had begun to quell only minutes prior. Enough for him to crave something more, something real. He only hoped he’d also survive whatever he had coming to him, knew he wouldn’t really care even if he didn’t.

---

Will expected an expediency to their arrival home, expected fumbling hands and warm, panting breaths shared between kiss bitten mouths. He had anticipated the grind of their bodies coming together as Hannibal slammed him into the still partially open door, closing it from the force of their weight alone. 

He’d imagined seeking mouths leaving blazing trails along throats and collarbones, Hannibal’s large cock rutting shamelessly against his own through the fabric of their dress pants. 

What he got instead was a smirking doctor pressing a glass of water into his hands and softly commanding him to drink it. 

So, he did. 

He saw no other option laid out in front of him; Hannibal was a stubborn man and he’d either deliver on his promise to tear Will apart on his big, fancy bed, or he wouldn’t. And Will really had no say in the matter. 

“It looks like you have the capability to be a good boy after all; you simply purposefully choose not to be,” Hannibal noted with a sly grin and a raised brow as he returned to the room, gaze settling on Will’s now empty water glass. 

“Figured I’d need to stay hydrated for what you have planned,” Will teased, easy as anything. It was so simple to be this for Hannibal, like donning an old, well-worn coat. 

“Come, dear Will. I’ve kept you waiting quite long enough, I should think,” Hannibal held out a hand to Will, his grip firm as he took Will’s hand and led him upstairs, returning to the new depths of the house Will had only just been introduced to earlier that same night. 

If the kitchen was the heart of the home, Hannibal’s bedroom felt like the thrumming pulse, so many fine, intricate details of the man evident in everything Will’s eyes fell upon. A small seating area with a blue, crushed velvet chair and a book sat atop a small side table. 

The door to the right of the bed that Will knew led to Hannibal’s walk-in closet, clothes and ties hung in perfectly straight rows, coordinated by color and function, was firmly closed. The en-suite door to the left was still partially cracked open, a sliver of white marble tile just barely visible in the low light. It all felt so far away from just a few hours prior.

A suit of armor stood silent vigil in the far corner, the walls painted a pleasing, deep blue that Will already felt lost in. 

Crisp, freshly made sheets in a different color than what they’d been when Will’s new suit had been spread across them broadcasted where Hannibal had disappeared to while Will had dutifully finished his water. 

Will looked from Hannibal to the bed and back again, a gleeful smirk stretching his lips wide. “Did you freshen up for me?” He was nearly incredulous at the thought someone as well maintained as Hannibal Lecter had changed his sheets in earnest anticipation of Will’s arrival. 

“I told you I’d see you displayed against dark sheets, sweet boy. And so it shall be.” 

Will’s heart leapt to his throat as Hannibal prowled toward him, pounding relentlessly against his trachea, choking him. Will did his best to swallow the saliva quickly gathering in his mouth around it and allowed Hannibal to peel him from his tailored coat. “I should trust by now you’re a man of your word,” Will conceded, dipping his head in a way that was reverent while also cheekily mocking. Hannibal leaned forward and nipped at his lower lip for his trouble, fingers deftly diffusing Will’s tie while he murmured against Will’s mouth.

“I shall do my best to only bolster that confidence. All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth come only from the senses.”

Will gave an incredulous huff as Hannibal quoted Nietzsche, his own hands coming up to begin tugging away at the doctor’s defenses. “The truth is rarely pure and never simple,” he volleyed back, his voice strained as Hannibal moved his skillful fingers to Will’s fly, his own numb digits fumbling childishly over the buttons of Hannibal’s dress shirt.

“If you are out to describe the truth, leave elegance to the tailor,” Hannibal murmured as he pushed the dress slacks from Will’s slim hips.

Will gave another huff, seizing his fingers in the pelt of hair that covered the man’s chest and hauling him closer still. “You know all about elegance, don’t you, Doctor?” It took every bit of Will’s self-control to utter the word doctor rather than Ripper, and his tongue and throat burned for it. He itched to show his hand, longed for Hannibal to understand that he saw and accepted him as so much more.

But it wasn’t yet time.

Will still didn’t technically have concrete proof, and was as yet unsure of the depth of the killer’s affection for him. If Will revealed himself now it was just as likely Hannibal might kill him on principle rather than continue giving in to his baser urges.

And Will really, really, wanted Hannibal to fuck him.

Hannibal never bothered responding to his, admittedly rhetorical, question. He continued tugging at Will’s clothes - and then his own, when Will’s curiously inept fingers took too long to prove productive - until the both of them were bare, and then he twisted Will and shoved him bodily onto the bed, climbing over him immediately so Will was pinned to the mattress on his belly.

He shuddered when Hannibal placed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck and then scraped his sharp teeth over Will’s shoulder. Will didn’t know when the Hell Hannibal had managed to palm some lube in the chaos of disrobing, but he must have been prepared for all eventualities because when his fingers spread Will’s cheeks and stroked over his furled, dry hole they were slick with something entirely other than saliva.

Will groaned, spread his thighs wider, and bucked his hips back into the warmth of Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal shushed him, tone low and breath hot against Will’s ear, and then deftly pushed in with two fingers. After the tease at the Opera House, it was enough to have Will panting into the pillow beneath him, ready and desperate for more.

“Please,” he grunted out, even as his voice cracked when Hannibal’s fingers spread within him. “Fuck, please, Hannibal. I need more. I need you.”

The growl that rumbled from Hannibal’s furred chest and through Will’s sweating back sent desire clenching hot in Will’s lower belly. He choked on his own breath when Hannibal’s cock quickly replaced his digits, thrusting into Will as though he belonged there entirely - he did - and as though Will were merely a vessel to house him - he was.

Will’s entire body felt on the edge of pleasure already, his brain alight with the arousal of being so thoroughly owned by this man. Hannibal filled him completely, his cock spreading him open from the force of each thrust, his eyes and nose and ears all crowded by the sight, smell and sound of Hannibal Lecter fucking him so perfectly. 

Hannibal’s breath came in warm pants against the back of Will’s neck where the larger man was draped over him, keeping Will pressed down into the mattress. The sensations spilled a shiver down Will’s spine, threatening to shake his bones loose. 

Never in his life had Will been fucked so well and so roughly while also with so much care. His cock rubbed against the bedding, and he tried desperately to force himself back even harder on Hannibal’s cock.

“Fuck, yeah, baby, just -” Will’s voice choked off into an unintentional whine as Hannibal tilted his hips between thrusts and began battering against Will’s prostate head on. “Just like that,” he moaned breathlessly as he squirmed beneath Hannibal’s hold. “Fuck, I’m gonna come -”

“No,” Hannibal commanded, and the soft, yet, still terrifyingly undefiable edge to the single word pulled Will back from the precipice of release.

Hannibal pulled out of him entirely then, his hands forming sharp claws around Will’s hips and flipping him bodily until he was spread out on his back, stretched beneath Hannibal’s lithe but powerful frame; defenseless.

Will’s hands shot up to the form above him, grasping for purchase along Hannibal’s broad shoulder, tugging entreatingly at Hannibal’s hip even as Will’s legs lifted to clench around him. Hannibal didn’t waste any time sliding back into him, holding Will’s gaze with sharp eyes almost hazy with arousal until he was buried deep inside him and then pulling out and rocking back in gently once more.

He’d never seen Hannibal so close to undone, his eyes were nearly obsidian in color, the whiskey bleeding out of them until only his inky pupil remained. His lips were pulled back, exposing his teeth and making Will instinctively want to show more of his neck, bare himself before the greater predator in his midst. 

“Hannibal, please. I’m so close,” Will’s voice was hardly recognizable, high and lilting as he begged for relief. His orgasm burned low in his stomach, his cock twitching in sympathy when Hannibal wrapped his fingers tightly around the base, the digits slipping around Will’s balls to keep them all held firmly together. 

“If you come for me now, sweet boy, you will come for me again before I’m finished with you,” Hannibal growled, his voice gone rough with desire and his teeth gleaming bone-white in his skull. 

“Yes, yes, please!” Will pleaded, writhing beneath Hannibal and trying to entice him further. He could see the edge of danger in the tension of Hannibal’s shoulders, in the glint of his eyes. He wanted more, needed to have everything. 

Hannibal released his cock, hammering his prostate over and over until Will was clinging to him, arms and legs wrapped tight around his monster as he spilled between them. Hannibal never stopped fucking him, even as Will started to shake and cry, real tears dripping down his temples and matting his hair as he moved from oversensitive to totally overwhelmed. 

“Inside, please, Hannibal. Come inside,” Will keened, clamping his heels even tighter behind Hannibal, pulling the man deeper until he imagined he could feel Hannibal’s cockhead in his stomach. 

Will could feel Hannibal’s cock twitch violently as he coated Will’s insides with his come, a soft snarl of pleasure as Hannibal leaned closer and bit into Will’s shoulder with his too-sharp teeth. He didn’t draw blood, but Will knew it would bruise, and Hannibal didn’t stop, leaving marks all along his collarbones. 

Hannibal didn’t pull out, remaining buried inside Will until his cock finally softened enough to slip from his clenching, desperate body. Within seconds he’d made his way between Will’s thighs, his shoulders spreading Will’s legs even further apart as two of Hannibal’s fingers found their way to his entrance, pressing in with his own come to smooth the way. 

“Fuck,” Will breathed, and Hannibal smiled viciously from between his legs. He’d never had someone so close after they’d fucked him, and it set something alight in his chest to see Hannibal so comfortable in his ownership of Will, forcing his come back into Will’s pliant hole like he belonged there. 

“I told you that you would come for me again, Will. I’m a man of my word, as I’ve mentioned,” Hannibal’s grin was nearly feral as he licked over Will’s flaccid cock. Will might be young, but he was still nearly in pain from the electric shock of Hannibal’s warm, pink tongue against his oversensitive flesh. 

He felt hot, like he was burning from the inside out. Hannibal’s fingers felt torturously good where they spread him open and filled him up, his tongue like a brand against Will’s cock. Will’s mind was hazy and he couldn’t stop it from drifting to the old saying about cannibal’s teeth and trust, pulling a desperate laugh from him. 

Hannibal seemed to take his laughter as an invitation to kill him by moving from Will’s cock down to his entrance, licking his tongue in between where his fingers held Will open. “Oh my god,” Will panted, breathless as Hannibal sucked against his rim. “Jesus, Hannibal -”

“You were so intent on having me, dear Will,” Hannibal reminded, mouthing idly at his tender balls until Will whimpered and attempted to squirm away. “All that time and energy poured into a seduction, tempting me at every opportunity…” He nipped at the thin flesh of Will’s inner thigh, just a breath away from his sack, and then sank his fingers deeper into Will’s twitching hole, Will could feel them pressed tightly against his walls. “You’d best be prepared to suffer the consequences of your actions.”

“I am,” Will whined, hips still twisting but this time attempting to push himself further onto Hannibal’s hand. His cock was starting to fill out again, the white-hot jolt of every brush against his abused prostate slowly turning back to a warm, simmering pleasure that stretched to both fingers and toes. “I want to.”

“So you say,” Hannibal murmured, crooking his fingers roughly against Will’s inner spot; Will gave another desperate whine at the sensation, one which grew in pitch and timbre as Hannibal’s tongue laved over his sore rim once more.

“I do, I will,” Will groaned, the words tumbling from his lips without thought as his entire body drew taut, began to tremble. “I’d do whatever you want, whatever you ask of me, anything, Hannibal -”

Will choked on a strangled cry as Hannibal swallowed his needy cock down, body arching off the bed as his orgasm barrelled through him. He could feel Hannibal’s throat pulsing around him as he drank down Will’s release and sobbed for it, hands fisting in his own curls and pulling tight as searing pleasure washed through him again and again.

He didn’t realize tears were still streaming down his face, that his chest was heaving in painful spasms long after the pleasure dispersed, until he was being pulled into Hannibal’s arms, against his strong chest, Will’s wet face tucked into Hannibal’s neck. He slowly became aware of warm, strong hands petting gently down his arms and back, the soothing string of words that may have been English or something else entirely pressed into the curls by his ear.

Eventually, his lungs remembered how to draw air properly, his thundering heartbeat fled from his ears, and the fine tremor that had buzzed through his body settled, leaving Will’s limbs still and heavy. In the morning he would feel immature, embarrassed by his loss of control, and utterly perplexed as to how it came about. But in that moment he simply felt safe, held. He moved with every breath through Hannibal’s thick chest, like a gently rocking boat, and was fairly certain he heard Hannibal murmur pleased and proud that’s my good boy before he lost his battle with consciousness and slid into sleep.

Chapter Text

Having grown up rambling from town to town in the backwater Bayou, poor as dirt and hungry more often than not, Will was not well-accustomed to receiving gifts. Beau had done all he could, of course, with a gift for Will every birthday and Christmas - and one bountiful year, when work had been especially fruitful, an Easter basket - but more often than not they were small tokens, sometimes costing even less than the discarded newspaper pages they came poorly wrapped in.

Beau would collect bits and bobbles for Will’s lures, or save up to get him a new fishing rod, or books that were well beyond both Will’s age group and Beau’s comprehension. The times work was scarce, Beau would take Will out fishing - making memories, he’d call it, but Will knew he’d rather be making money for rent if he had the choice. He suspected the catch they brought home was truly to feed them when money was low, filling their bellies as much as their memories. The times work was plentiful, Beau would bring Will down to whatever boatyard or back alley junk shop he’d gotten a job doing repairs at. That present was called gettin’ an education, and according to Beau it was the gift that kept on giving. Teach a man to fish, or to fix boat motors...

Whatever the gift, whatever the value, part of the cost was always Beau’s heart and soul, his thoughtfulness. He’d always done what he could to do right by Will, even when he had to think outside the box to do it. So Will had experience with receiving creative gifts.

He’d never been given a dead body before, though.

Sutcliffe’s lifeless, mutilated corpse was a sight, drawing Will in and stealing his breath, and all he could focus on for the first several seconds of staring at it was that Hannibal knew he’d be arriving early today.  

Will had told him, of course, when the incorrigible Doctor Sutcliffe had not only not given up in his attempts to coerce Will into situations where the two of them would be alone and undisturbed, but actively rallied the classroom as an appropriate place for such interactions; bright and early, well before first period, and before even the janitors would be making their usual rounds. Will had found it odd Hannibal had responded to that information with only a gentle nuzzling into Will’s neck and the soft but firm suggestion Will attend the so-called academic enhancement consultation being offered to him.

Sutcliffe’s body - what remained of it, at least - was propped against the front of his desk at the head of the classroom, half-sitting on its surface in a mockingly casual pose. His abdomen and chest had been ripped open, his heart placed conspicuously on the desk next to him like a shiny red apple. 

The organ appeared damaged, as if badly butchered out of the pig from whence it came, and Will felt a twinge of uneasy confusion. The Ripper’s tableaux were always done with clean-cut, surgical precision. A moment later, he realized a microscope had been set out onto every lab station, an unidentifiable - though easily guessed - sliver of red tissue pressed on plates and waiting beneath the lenses of each and every one.

I place his heart beneath a microscope, the only way to properly view what little of it there is. This is my design.

Will blinked and shook his head as the errant thought invaded his mind, turned back to the body. His eyes were missing - two magnificent blooms of yellow hyacinths protruding instead from his sockets - as were his hands.

He gazed upon youth and beauty with envious lustfulness, so I took his eyes. He attempted to touch that which was meant to be untouchable to him, so I took his hands as well. This is my design.

Though he couldn’t say for sure without examining more closely, Will was certain there were a few more organs missing from the torso of what once was Sutcliffe. Will stood immobile just inside the doorway of the classroom, staring blankly at the scene before him as Hannibal’s design, his art, spoke to Will in a way he was, frankly, slightly unprepared for. His reeling mind was just beginning to turn over the consideration of what Hannibal would be serving for dinner that evening when a scream sounded behind him.

---

“You were on campus pretty early. Nearly two hours before your first class, in fact. In my experience, boys your age tend to prefer sleeping in until the last minute. What brought you in so early?” Jack Crawford was an imposing man, his voice deep and booming and his eyes shrewd. Will felt as though Jack might see nearly as much as Will did, though it wouldn’t be enough. He’d never find the monster he was searching for.

Will sighed, slouching down in his seat. He’d already been asked the same question by two of the responding officers. “I was supposed to meet with Doctor Sutcliffe to discuss potential avenues of education advancement. Universities, career paths.” He gave a noncommittal wave of his hand as he trailed off.

“Isn’t that the sort of thing you’d discuss with your counselor? Chilton, isn’t it?” Agent Crawford confirmed as he sat behind the very man’s desk. Frederick had been nearly beside himself with excitement at being involved at all, even if his only contribution was the sacrifice of his office.

“It is,” Will agreed. “He may have been taking a more personal interest as a sort of...friend of the family.” No use telling the FBI the doctor was a lecherous shit that would have just as soon bent Will over his desk than been keen on helping the boy figure out his future.

Jack Crawford’s bulk flexed subtly, his eyes growing sharper with interest. “Well, then. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Will gave a shrug. “He hired my dad for some contract work. We’re staying in an empty property of his. I didn’t really know him personally.”

“All the same: any idea why someone would want to harm him?” Jack’s eyes narrowed at Will’s amused scoff. “Something funny?”

“Someone yanked his guts out and sliced up his heart to make microscope slides. That’s far and away a bit more extensive than simply harming him. The Ripper wanted to destroy him. Tear him down as the man he was and build him up into something - ...What?” Will faltered as that sharp look shadowed the agent’s face once again.

“What do you know about the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“Hardly anything, I just moved here. Enough to know one of his kills when I see one, from what I’ve read.”

“That doesn’t seem to disturb you.”

Will gave another half-shrug. “The world is a disturbing place, Agent Crawford. I’d hardly get through it at all if I flinched away from every ugly, awful thing.”

“Finish your thought,” Crawford demanded. When Will only stared at him blankly, he prompted: “Tears him down and builds him up into... Into what?”

“Something beautiful. Something other. To the Ripper, man is the true horror. He does what he does because he believes he’s making the world a more beautiful place.”

“For not knowing much about the Ripper, you sure seem to think you know how he operates.”

“I’m a particularly insightful person.”

The look the agent pinned him with was both appraising and calculating, and might have otherwise bothered Will if his mind hadn’t still been spinning with the experience of having seen a Ripper tableau in the flesh. Finally, he gave a single nod and then tipped his head toward the door.

“Thanks for your time, Mr. Graham.”

“Just Will,” he corrected as he stood from his seat. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you more. I will leave you with this advice, though: if you or your people see a student running around, female, redhead, get her off campus. She loves to poke her nose into this kind of exposé, and she can smell a story a mile off.”

“Good to know,” Crawford murmured to his back as Will made for the door. “Will.” Will turned, surprised to find Crawford had risen as well and closed the distance between them far quicker and quieter than Will would have expected for a man that size. He extended a simple business card in Will’s direction. “If you have any more... insights? Give me a call.”

---

Hannibal had left his door unlocked that afternoon, a habit which had become almost customary. Will let himself in, prowling to the kitchen to seek out the doctor as an electric buzz simmered in his veins. Even though he’d been fairly certain as to what Hannibal Lecter really was, having finally obtained the undeniable truth had Will giddy with glee and dizzy with anticipation.

As ever, when faced with yet another indicator that Hannibal was an exceedingly dangerous man, cold-blooded killer and cannibal, Will found himself once more merely stumbling faster and faster toward the danger rather than away, eager to soak in the brilliance of Hannibal’s existence.

He found the man in the kitchen, as expected, prepping the ingredients for their dinner. Will slipped up behind him, pressing himself along Hannibal's back and nuzzling between his shoulder blades without greeting. 

"Hello, Will," Hannibal greeted with a twinge of amusement in his voice. "How was your day?"

"Long," Will murmured into the base of Hannibal's neck, lips brushing against skin and hair alike. "Enlightening." 

At Hannibal's soft sound of interest, Will's hands found his hips, entreating him to turn around. He pressed against the man's front as soon as he did, caging him against the counter and nuzzling into the hollow of his throat. 

"I don't want to talk about it right now. I just want to fuck you. Will you let me?"

"Dinner -"

"Dinner can wait," Will interrupted, tilting his hips against Hannibal's. He had arrived incensed, and the spicy scent of Hannibal's cologne and the solid heat of his body was only driving Will into further arousal. “Let me have you. Please, Hannibal,” he pressed the soft plea against a pulse that was maddeningly steady, rocking his bound erection against Hannibal’s thigh in pace with it.

Hannibal’s hand caressed Will’s jaw, forced the tilt of his head up to meet his eyes. They were darkened with his own lust - the only outward sign that Will was affecting him at all. “Impatient boy,” he chided fondly, “To the bedroom with you.”

---

Hannibal had waited patiently all day to observe the state in which Will would come to him; aroused was nowhere near the foremost of his expectations but he greeted it with curiosity and appreciation all the same.He’d followed the reports as more and more news sites picked up and ran the story, and though they did not identify the unfortunate student that discovered the body of Donald Sutcliffe, Hannibal knew it was Will who’d found him first. 

He thought perhaps Will might arrive upon his doorstep in a solemn manner, either disturbed by what he’d seen or struggling to comprehend it. Hannibal had grown accustomed to being incapable of predicting Will’s behavior, but he couldn’t deny his intrigue at this response.

On the way up to the bedroom he mused upon Will’s desire, assuming the boy would turn frantic as soon as they reached their destination; tearing off clothes between desperate, needy kisses. He didn't expect to be seduced with tender, confident caresses and soft kisses that made him ache just a little bit inside. 

Will’s hands tugged at his clothing, but with measured, controlled movements, removing the articles expediently but with care. When Hannibal laid out on the bed before him, Will crawled up to hover over him, retrieved the lubricant from the nightstand, and worked him open with his fingers for several minutes, administering soft kisses and licks to his inner thighs, his hips, his hard, aching cock where it lay heavy and leaking against his stomach. 

When Will pushed into him, it was with a control Hannibal would not have expected a seventeen-year-old male to possess. Will gasped as he bottomed out inside him, hips pressed flush to Hannibal, and his face buried in the crook of Hannibal’s neck as he shook and panted for breath. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Will groaned against his skin, and Hannibal hummed in agreement and wrapped his legs around Will’s waist. It had been some time since he’d been with a partner in which he’d been the one penetrated, and there was something about doing so with Will that simply felt right.  

Will pulled away and then thrust into Hannibal once more, rearing up to gaze down at him as he did so with wet eyes. “How is it all so good with you? Everything, no matter what we do - it’s perfect; you’re so perfect.”

“We are well matched,” Hannibal agreed, his tone surprisingly breathless as the intensity of Will’s thrusts heightened. 

Will whined , even as he shook his head in disagreement. “You’re so much more than me, more than I could ever hope to be.” His nails dug into Hannibal’s hips as his own snapped against him, breath coming short and words babbling from his mouth, seemingly without even his knowledge of speaking them. “You’re so beautiful, your art is beautiful. And you did it for me, killed him because of me.”

Awareness as to what Will was referring to snapped cold and bright in Hannibal’s chest, his self-preservation instinct taking over as he seized Will by the throat and shoulder and rolled them until their positions were reversed. He bared his weight down into the hand wrapped around the delicate column of Will’s neck, his guard up, body and mind on alert -

“What do you know?”

Will’s hips never quit twitching instinctively upwards, though Hannibal’s weight atop him didn’t leave much wiggle room for actual thrusting. And then Will did what he did best, and surprised Hannibal; his lips twitched into a breathless smile as he pressed up into the grip around his throat.

“I know you’re the Ripper. I know why you display your kills the way you do. ...And I know what you do with the parts you take.”

Something clenched tight in Hannibal’s chest, nearly left him breathless, and he thought it might be something akin to hope. But the odds that Will actually knew, that he understood and accepted -  

“You’re so certain?” 

Will’s face was growing red with the pressure Hannibal was applying to his arteries. He perhaps only had another half a minute before he would lose consciousness. Even so, he didn’t struggle against Hannibal, didn’t fight him. He only grinned wider, pet gently over Hannibal’s hips, and winked at him as he wheezed out, “Nothing’s as unpleasant for the belly as hunger. I stopped being a picky eater years ago.”

Arousal twisted hot in Hannibal’s gut and he released his grip, moved his hands to fist in Will’s curls, and leaned down to steal his breath in a wholly other way. Will moaned into the kiss as Hannibal began working his hips with fervent intent, suddenly struck with the ardent need to have Will inside him, to bring this marvelous, unpredictable boy to his release.

“We are identically different, our lines blurring together and growing fainter and fainter,” Hannibal nearly purred, his entire body alight with pleasure as he took in this new knowledge, the obvious, blatant acceptance Will gave him. He looked so peaceful beneath Hannibal, as though he would have gladly let Hannibal take his life and consume him whole if he so desired.

Hannibal would take everything. He could imagine it with perfect clarity. He’d feast on Will for weeks, taking everything he had inside of himself and coveting it greedily like a dragon hoards his gold. He’d eat his heart first, immediately, while it was still warm from Will’s chest, raw and dripping down his lips and chin like rubies. 

“I want to see more,” Will coughed, still catching his breath even as Hannibal drove it from him with every downward thrust of his hips. There was little finesse in his motions anymore, Hannibal seeking out his pleasure and, through that, giving Will pleasure all his own. He’d never considered Will as anything other than beautiful, his cherubic face and his singular mind more than enough to draw Hannibal’s regard and appreciation, but Will was resplendent spread out before him now, a feast for Hannibal’s senses.

And, he concluded with another perverse yearning of hope, perhaps just as evolved as Hannibal; able to see the pigs that walked the earth for what they were, to understand the beauty of elevating them to something more, to understand what use such creatures truly served to predators like them. If Will wanted to see more, Hannibal would show him. He would show him everything, teach him everything. 

He felt Will’s thighs flex beneath him, could see the tension in his stomach, his entire body, as the boy grew closer to orgasm. He knew, suddenly, that he was Will’s first. The nearly feral creature beneath him had been fucked plenty prior to his seduction of Hannibal, but even with his seeming ease, he could sense Will had never penetrated another. It shook something loose within him, pulling a snarl from his throat and pulling his lips back from his teeth in a possessive display. 

“Come for me, sweet boy. Show me how much you love me, how much you want me,” Hannibal leaned close to nip and suck at Will’s throat, never ceasing his pace. Will’s cock filled him wonderfully, sliding along his prostate with every inward thrust.

It was as though Will had simply been awaiting Hannibal’s approval, his entire body tensing and then going totally lax and pliant as his cock twitched inside of Hannibal, streaking his insides with his release. Hannibal had never much cared for the sensation with previous lovers, but with Will, he preened at the feeling, enjoyed the warm wetness of the boy marking him, staking his claim. 

He pulled off Will even before the boy had finished coming, shuffling up his stomach and settling on his chest. He thumbed Will’s lips open, sliding his cock past his plush mouth and over his wet, pink tongue. 

Sighing contentedly, Hannibal slipped his hand behind Will’s head to cradle his skull and keep him aloft so he could fuck slowly into his open mouth. Will’s eyes brimmed with tears as Hannibal pushed into his throat, pulling a growl from Hannibal as Will’s throat fluttered around his cockhead. The sweet, willing creature was a natural, perfectly made for Hannibal. 

“That’s it, darling. You’re taking me so well,” Hannibal wondered at why they hadn’t done this yet, could gladly glut himself on Will’s body and mouth for the rest of his life and never be sated, always hunger for more. Will’s gaze was sharp, glittering with a self-assuredness and pride that drew a smile to Hannibal’s lips. 

It didn’t take long before he was spilling onto Will’s tongue, pulling out just enough to paint the remainder of his seed all over a pouting mouth and Will’s softly curved chin. Hannibal used his thumb to rub it into Will’s skin, slipped his fingers into Will’s mouth and massaged his come onto the writhing muscle of his tongue. “You look gorgeous like this. If I could see you every day for the rest of forever I would remember this time the most fondly.”

Will’s smile was bright and bold as he purred like an overgrown housecat beneath Hannibal, pulling a surprised sound from him as Will managed to flip them over so that he could lay side by side and curl himself into Hannibal’s arms. “Sap.” He accused, but the word was so earnest, so terribly fond it made something in Hannibal’s chest ache. 

Hannibal pet fondly along Will’s wet cheek, his palm making its way to his spine to smooth down it gently. “Rest, dear Will. You have class tomorrow.” 

---

Will had drifted to sleep nearly immediately, though he’d desperately tried to claw himself back from the abyss of unconsciousness so he could talk more with Hannibal, share more with him. As it was, he’d been exhausted by the day’s events and the massive reveal already exposed, and had fallen promptly into a peaceful slumber. 

He’d awoken to Hannibal bringing him breakfast in bed, spoiling him completely; a concept wholly unfamiliar to Will but something he could absolutely get used to. 

He brushed his teeth and ran some wet fingers through his hair before slipping back into his clothes from yesterday. He had a spare shirt at school he could change into, his blazer and pants still clean enough to pass. Hannibal had indulged his laziness to a detrimental level, allowing Will no time to get fresh clothes even with only living next door. He suspected the man might secretly wish for Will to spend the day in clothes that he had pressed against, left to lie in a crumpled pile on the floor, soaking in the scent of Hannibal’s home for the night.

“Will I see you tonight?” Will asked nonchalantly as Hannibal moved effortlessly around him, as though Will had always been in his space and existed alongside him. It brought a smile to Will’s lips that he barely concealed. 

"I'm afraid I already have plans." Will bristled and grew still. He hated that his own monster seemed to have green eyes as he stepped away from Hannibal and moved to the open armoire, complete with a full-length mirror lining the left door. 

 "I don't like that you're still seeing her." He grimaced internally, his attempt at casual falling somewhere far closer to petulant.

"No? Perhaps you should do something about that." Hannibal’s tone was lighthearted enough, but Will could hear the underlying taunt, the suggestion. He flashed Hannibal a cruel grin in the mirror as he fiddled with his collar in an attempt to cover some of the worst of Hannibal's love bites. It was nearly a lost cause, his neck below his collar riddled with marks in varying shades of black, yellow, and brown, some still fading from their last time together.

"Suppose I could just let her know her boyfriend is fucking his seventeen-year-old neighbor," Will suggested with a devious smirk, one that faltered almost immediately as reality settled around him. “Not that it much matters. Gettin’ kicked outta the place in a matter of weeks, anyway. Someone killed my landlord.” He groused as Hannibal slid up behind him, hands skimming his hips and mouth worrying another mark into his pale skin, higher up his throat and unable to be hidden with the rest. It soothed something in Will against every desire he had to remain angry. 

Hannibal hummed and moved his lips to Will's ear, breath stirring the baby-fine hairs along his nape. "I'm disappointed, Will. A clever boy like you...surely you can find a more creative solution. As to your living arrangements, I should have thought there was no question you’d be staying here. With me. After all, what are neighbors for?"

The smile Will gave him in the mirror was full of teeth, a nightmare creature come to life, and the smile he received in return was a promise waiting to be fulfilled. 

---

Freddie made it her mission to convince the entire school Will had killed Sutcliffe - never mind the Chesapeake Ripper had already received public credit for the kill - and though she wasn’t far from the truth, it was tiresome to get suspicious looks every time he ran into a fellow student in the hallway. By the end of the week the murmurs had died down, most people taking her words with a heavy grain of salt, though some of the lingering looks remained.

Will had barely slept all week, between late night study sessions and the family of small mammals who’d made the attic their home. He’d been so exhausted that he’d sliced his hand open while trying to make a frozen pizza for lunch earlier, and now he was being disturbed mid-masturbation by the shrill ringing of his phone interrupting the frantic panting of the bear and twink fucking on his screen. 

It really wasn’t his fucking week.

“‘Ello?” He mumbled, hissing quietly as his cock shifted against the sheets when he sat up straighter in bed, letting the blankets pool around his hips. 

“Will?” Will went totally still, as though his lack of movement could somehow be telegraphed down the phone line and convince his father to hang up and try again later. “Willy, are you there?” 

His brain short-circuited back to life, static filling his ears for a minute while he collected himself and tried to calm his breathing. He’d been so close, and it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured down his spine as he tried to come down from his plateau of arousal. 

“Hey, pa. Everything alright?” Will stood, wincing slightly at the sensations against his overheated flesh. He pulled his shorts back on, the ones that rode up his thighs and sat snuggly at the bottom of his asscheeks, catching himself in the mirror with a smile before refocusing on his father. 

“Son I’m fine, but what about you? They told us at the jobsite this morning that Sutcliffe was dead. The company that owns all of his holdings is still offering to let people stay on the job to finish up the renovations, but I can come back and we can go on home if we need to.” His words tapered off like he wasn’t sure how to fully complete the sentiment, wasn’t entirely committed to coming back and running home with his tail tucked. Will didn’t think it was worth mentioning that there was no home to return to, never was. Just an endless chain of trailer parks and motel rooms that paved the hunt for the next big job.

Will took a deep, steadying breath. Trying not to give away too much while also sounding firm in his convictions. “Pa, no. I’m fine. They came by to tell me I’d have to be outta the house by the end of the month since we didn’t have no official lease, but the neighbor - Doctor Hannibal Lecter - he’s offered to let me housesit for him while he’s away for the next few weeks and even offered me the spare room until the end of the school year.” Will paused again, this time to focus on selling the lie. “I know we need the money, and also I’d just really like to finish out a school year, my senior year, at the same school I started it at, you know? I’m doing real well in classes here.” 

He could hear his father’s sigh of relief even through the silence on the other end and knew he’d won. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. “That’s good, Willy. I always knew you were a smart boy. Is this doctor on the up and up? He a good man?” 

Beau had been oblivious to Will’s antics all across the Gulf, or if he’d known he’d turned a blind eye to it, so Will wasn’t sure whether his father cared about Hannibal being a good man, or if he cared about something else. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Sure Hannibal was a cannibal and a serial killer, but he was also good to Will. He’d fed him, clothed him, and taken care of him in all the ways that mattered for months now. “Yeah, pa. He’s a real good man. People really respect him, and he’s even helping me look at colleges and stuff for next semester.” 

“Alright, if you’re sure. I can send some money for a mover or something if you need help getting stuff outta the house -” Beau started, but Will interrupted him.

“None of this stuff is ours, Dad,” Will reminded him flatly, to which Beau muttered a stilted right, right. “It’ll all be fine here, I promise. You don’t need to worry ‘bout me anymore, pa.”

Will waited as his father seemed to process everything, letting out an audible sigh now as Will heard him light up a cigarette. He was drinking too, most likely, even at two in the afternoon. “Daddies always worry. It’s in the job description an’ everything.” After another moment, Beau let out a loud sigh. “Alright, son. Well you just let me know if you need me, like I said. Be good, Willy.” 

Will didn’t even have a chance to respond before the line went silent and the call disconnected. “Fuck.” He breathed out to himself, shaking himself free of the nervous energy that had overtaken him during the call. He’d been scared, albeit minimally, that his father would actually try to come back and take him away. He’d have never allowed it, knew Hannibal wouldn’t have allowed it either, but he shuddered to think of the lengths Hannibal would have gone to keep him. Will and Beau might not have a typical father-son relationship, but he didn’t want to see him dead or hurt. 

He composed himself, taking some more breaths until he felt calmer and his lungs didn’t ache quite so badly with worry, and then he made his way outside to distract himself. 

Hannibal had been working in his garden for the last few days, with Spring just around the corner the doctor had been preparing. Will would be moving out of his own house soon enough so he barely even glanced at the slightly overgrown hedges before he made his way into Hannibal’s yard through the back gate. He stopped at the little pool house he knew doubled as a garden shed, grabbed a few tools, and pulled his shorts even higher on his hips so his ass practically hung out of the bottom. 

Will knew Hannibal wasn’t home yet, but he’d return soon enough and when he arrived, Will would have a little surprise for him. Perhaps he could replant some of Hannibal’s exterior herb garden. Even though it was still fairly chilly, Will managed to work up a sweat while he worked, perspiration clinging to him like a second skin. He became so engrossed in the work he didn’t hear Hannibal arrive home, missing the sound of the gate closing and unaware of Hannibal’s presence until the man was draped across his back, rumbling a greeting in Will’s ear. 

“Fuck!” Will screeched, pulling the pruning shears too roughly through his hand and reopening the wound from his earlier pizza dramas. He pushed out a breath through his teeth, grinding on them to keep himself from shouting any additional curse words at Hannibal. 

The man only seemed mildly amused by the outburst, catching Will’s flailing wrist in his iron grip and bringing his palm closer for inspection. “What did you do, darling boy?” Hannibal nearly purred, pulling Will until he stumbled against his body. The doctor’s lips were warm and more than welcome against Will’s abused flesh as Hannibal pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s palm, a slight frown of worry pulling his lips down when he backed away enough to look at Will more fully. 

“Cut myself trying to open a pizza. Shoulda just eaten the leftovers you put in the fridge for me,” Will grumbled, settling himself more wholly into Hannibal’s arms and tucking his nose into Hannibal’s neck, breathing him in. “It’s been a really long week,” he admitted on a sigh. “And I used to not mind bein’ alone. Now I feel like I’m just counting down the days until April.” Will mumbled into the doctor’s flesh, nose and lips edging upward until Will could tilt his head back far enough to peer up at the man. “Your company is intoxicating, Doctor,” Will grinned despite himself, his sour mood and his smarting hand. “And I come from a long line of addicts.”

“There’s no reason to wait until the end of the month, Will. If you wish to join me now, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

Will’s heart clenched in his chest, his gut pulsing with a pleasing tingle. “Yeah?”

“Certainly,” Hannibal agreed with a genial smile. His palm found Will’s cheek, large and warm, and tilted his face higher yet to place a chaste kiss to his lips, even as his other hand followed the swell of Will’s scantily-clad ass. “Though I’ll ask you to put on something a bit more appropriate and entreat you to mind your manners; we’re having company for dinner.”

He pulled away, leaving Will bereft of his heat and touch, a sour taste in the back of his throat and a solid suspicion as to who would be joining them.

---

Irritatingly enough, Alana Bloom was a perfectly pleasant person to know. She was sweet and demure while still being fiercely intelligent - enough to hold Hannibal’s mercurial interest, at least. She didn’t talk down to Will, even though he was just a kid compared to the two of them; in fact, her face brightened when Hannibal introduced them - he had obviously spoken of Will to her in the past - and spent the entire first course asking about Will’s interests and plans for higher education. When he mentioned Chilton had all but scoffed at his desire to apply to an Ivy League, Alana bristled visibly and shot a knowing, annoyed glance to Hannibal.

Despite her best qualities, when she was around Hannibal reserved his soft smiles and lingering touches for her, so Will despised her on principle. Moreover, she gazed at Will’s monster with innocence and trust shining in her big, blue doe-eyes. Blind eyes. It was clear to Will that while Alana Bloom had Hannibal, she didn’t know him, not like Will did. And that offense, above all, was inexcusable to him.

Will didn’t understand how Hannibal could stand to keep playing pretend with this alibi in a wrap-dress when someone who truly understood him, saw him, and accepted him was standing right in front of him.

When Hannibal requested Will assist him with dessert, Will followed him to the kitchen in a mood, pressed too closely against him at the counter, and had wandering hands swatted away by Hannibal more than once. Hannibal had already mentioned Will was staying with him, so he could hardly adjourn to his own house at the end of the night without raising suspicion. He requested Hannibal at least keep her quiet if he insisted on getting his dick wet, but Hannibal’s only response to that was a knowing smirk as he left Will with the remainder of the dishes and attended to his guest in the study.

Even in the room down the hall, Will could hear the slight swaying of the bed, soft gasps, and muffled moans. He hated that the noises made him hard and refused to touch himself under the circumstances. Instead, he laid with his arms pressed stiffly to the bed, eyes screwed shut and mind desperately attempting to shut out the evidence of what was happening down the hall. He let Hannibal’s phantom voice fill his mind, remembered whispers of praise, of reverence; Hannibal telling Will that they were the same, that he was clever, that he needed to take matters into his own hands if something bothered him.

Will finally drifted to sleep amongst dark fantasies, picturing crimson stark against pale, lifeless flesh and blue eyes that would never look at Hannibal again.

---

Hannibal watched as Will paced across the kitchen floor, moving from work station to work station while Hannibal diced vegetables. He looked like a caged lion prowling for his next meal, and Hannibal couldn’t help but smile at his frustration. Will was a singularly lovely boy at his happiest, he was an undeniable force of nature when he was angry. 

When Will got close enough Hannibal reached out for him, ceasing his movement to press a kiss to his curls. It was a placating gesture as much as one of fondness, and he could see how Will bristled with it just slightly. He was sure if it had been anyone but him, Will would have been infuriated at the notion, would have struggled with the petulant desire of youth to remove himself from Hannibal’s touch. 

As it was, Will simply huffed, hands held stiffly at his sides and fingers tapping out an annoyed cadence on his thigh. “Sweet boy, you worry needlessly. I’ve told you it’s simply performative. When I’m with her I think only of being buried inside of you.” 

“I don’t worry that you want her more than me. You couldn’t possibly, she doesn’t even know you. Not like me.”

“Not like you,” Hannibal agreed, dipping his head to nuzzle against Will’s throat. “There’s no one like you.” He knew precisely how Will felt about Alana, how he considered her an interloper in their home. Will became a protective, territorial creature driven purely by passion and jealousy whenever Alana came over, he was particularly awful when she stayed the night. Not in any overt way that Alana would most likely notice, but Hannibal could nearly smell the rage burning off his boy.

“Doesn’t mean I have to be okay with you touching her,” Will countered, finally giving into the clear temptation he’d struggled with, and pulling himself out of Hannibal’s arms. He moved to the stove, needlessly stirring the contents of the frying pan there to give the withdrawal the illusion of purpose rather than the punishment it was intended to be. “Or her thinking she’s yours. That you’re hers.”

“But I’m yours,” Hannibal corrected with soft insistence, ignoring Will’s desire for space and planting himself directly behind him, chest pressed to his back as he brushed away the curls obscuring the nape of Will’s neck and placed a kiss there.

“Prove it,” Will shot back peevishly.

“Perhaps I’m waiting for you to do the same.” 

The declaration gave Will pause, swept aside the childish tantrum of emotions choking him, and sent the wheels in his mind into motion. Hannibal could practically see him begin to map out the various paths he could take to achieve his goal. A motivated Will Graham was a force to be reckoned with, and Hannibal knew Alana continued to exist on very limited borrowed time. “How would you kill her, beloved?” It was the first time Hannibal had been so overtly communicative of his desire for Will’s becoming, the first time he’d plainly stated what they both knew would be the culmination of Will dealing with the problem of Alana Bloom.

“With my hands.” Will’s voice was a growl, and something twisted in Hannibal’s gut as he watched him prowl back over to Hannibal’s work station, taking the knife from his hand and wrapping his own slender fingers around it. “I want her to know what she’s done, to realize she never had you. I want her to see me and know she’s lost.” 

“There was never any competition, Will. I have been wholly yours since the moment you first stepped into my home. After knowing how deeply, how totally you see me, I would never be parted from you now.” 

Will turned in his grasp until his slender body was framed in the gap between Hannibal’s thighs, Will’s back arched delicately over the countertop behind him. He was only a few inches shorter than Hannibal, even now, yet he sometimes felt so small in Hannibal’s arms. As Will looked up at him now, Will had never seemed larger or more fierce. His eyes were a hard, gunmetal blue, the color of a turbulent storm at sea. “You can’t just say pretty words to me and think I’ll simply forget that you were fucking her in our bed just last night, Hannibal. Did you even change our sheets after?”

It was Hannibal’s turn to snarl, his lips pulling back over his teeth in frustration. “I would not have you sleep on soiled sheets. You need not even ask, Will.” He knew Will was angry and lashing out, but Hannibal wouldn’t abide such a suggestion of rudeness, even from his vicious darling. 

“I don’t have to like it, and I won’t. I might understand you say it’s all for show, that none of it matters, but it doesn’t change the fact I had to listen to her cry out for you last night when that should be mine alone by right. She’s unworthy of your love or your monstrosity. But, perhaps, totally worthy of mine.” Hannibal smiled as Will’s gaze locked on his, as his boy leaned up on his tiptoes and claimed Hannibal’s lips in a bruising kiss that drew blood nearly immediately. 

“I shall make it up to you until the end of days, my heart.” Hannibal breathed against Will’s bloodied mouth, smearing his own blood against Will’s lips and licking behind his stained teeth. 

Will finally pulled away to breathe, his eyes glittering in mischief. “You can start tonight.” 

---

Hannibal Lecter was not a man accustomed to the sensation of feeling surprised. He was meticulous, a perfectionist, and planned well in advance for all eventualities. Still, when he arrived home to find Alana’s car in his driveway, he had to admit he was seized by curiosity. Given that he and Alana had agreed to meet at the benefit rather than arrive together - a silent concession he’d ceded to his surly boy in an attempt to quell his deliciously ferocious jealousy - there was no reason to expect Alana to call upon him before the event.

More curious still, he entered his home to the sound of laughter; Alana’s bright, tinkling notes and, more surprisingly, Will’s honest, unpracticed cackle. He found the pair of them in the study, sitting together on the couch, each with a drink in hand, and a slew of papers scattered, ignored, on the coffee table before them.

“Welcome home,” Will all but purred, genuine amusement still laced within his tone as he took a sip of the dark wine in his glass.

“And what a welcome home I’ve found,” Hannibal agreed with a nod. “Alana, forgive me, I’ve only just finished with my final patient. I thought we were meeting at the benefit.”

“You thought right,” Alana confirmed upon finishing the last of the beer in her pilsner. “Will asked me to stop over to look over his application for Georgetown.”

“A thirsty and humorous endeavor, no doubt.”

“A drink to celebrate a job well done,” Will countered smoothly.

“Will promised me you wouldn’t mind one glass of wine,” Alana added, casting a suspicious and disapproving glance in Will’s direction. 

“We got to talking about Frederick Chilton,” Will finished, flashing a conspiratorial smirk to the woman next to him before polishing off the rest of his drink as well.

Hannibal studied the two of them; Alana’s cheeks slightly flushed from even a single beer, as they were wont to do, and Will’s own self-satisfied air, the jealous, petulant boy absent and in its place a confident, relaxed creature. Hannibal prided himself on his awareness, whether in himself or in all things around him. Of course, he noticed the way Will’s eyes tracked the empty glass that Alana set on the table before them, the way his pupils dilated and his lips twitched in an aborted smirk.

“A mirthful topic indeed,” Hannibal agreed. His boy truly was something spectacular. He could just detect the light notes of plum and apricot from Will’s glass, hops, and something entirely other in Alana’s, and not just the blood of a half dozen pigs he’d slaughtered through the years that he’d been adding to the recipe.

“I should probably head out, finish getting ready for the event,” Alana stood, a little unsteady on her feet and her complexion sallow. He could smell the bile on her already, a sickness lurking just beneath the surface. He wondered what Will had planned for the lovely Doctor Bloom this evening, and knew that no matter what it was, it stood to be interesting. 

“Of course, I’ll see you out.” Hannibal’s gaze fell to Will as he led Alana from the room, a hand at her waist. He heard Will follow them, hovering in the doorway to watch them - gaze focused like that of a hunting cat on the place where Hannibal’s hand connected with her body -  as Hannibal walked Alana to the front door, pulling her close and kissing her far more passionately than necessary. He did so enjoy making his darling boy green with envy. 

---

It wasn’t often Will found himself at a loss for words, his tongue loose, and his limbs filled with a constant state of energetic restlessness. But as he listened to Alana let herself into her house, something bubbled up within his chest that seemed to shut down the eager, boundless energy and turn it to something focused and sharp, brutal, and unforgiving as a knife’s edge. 

As he listened to her heels tap an unsteady cadence across the hardwood of her living room, he couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. He knew his monster so well, knew he’d encourage Alana to return home early. Expected that he’d insist, even. And now, less than two hours after they’d left Hannibal’s home, here she was. Little Red Riding Hood returned home. 

Will had found Hannibal’s kill room a few weeks prior, though he’d not spoken about it to his lover. Tonight he’d borrowed one of Hannibal’s murder suits, the clear material, along with his knowledge of basic forensics, ensuring Will would be able to pull this off. He’d realized several days ago that he’d have to kill her dispassionately, that her death would lack the hands-on intimacy he preferred. But the fact remained he’d never killed before, and he didn’t want Hannibal involved in this particular hunt. Which meant he’d needed to be resourceful. 

The gun he’d found in Alana’s bedroom felt lighter in his hand than he’d expected. The metal was warmed by his skin, even through the surgical grade gloves he wore. He’d been around guns enough in his life that it felt comfortable against his palm, steady where he had it aimed at the doorway to Alana’s kitchen. 

It felt right to wait for her in the kitchen, the heart of the home a suitable final resting place for her. He might dislike her on principle, but he wasn’t petty; he’d make sure to shoot clean. 

The look of confusion on her face when she stumbled into her kitchen, one heel hanging from her finger and her other leg teetering on the remaining shoe, nearly made him laugh. “Will?” Her voice sounded like it was coming into his ears through thick cotton, and only then did he realize he was breathing heavily, the warm panting air fogging up the edges of the collar that rose from his plastic suit. 

When he’d previously imagined this moment, Will had always made sure to tell Alana Hannibal wasn’t for her, that he never could have been, even if Will hadn’t entered the picture. In his fantasies, Will spent hours peeling away the woman’s convictions as he peeled away her flesh. Now that this was actually happening, however, Will found he didn’t want to spend time gloating, didn’t need to talk through his feelings, or express himself in any way other than removing the final obstacle from his life with Hannibal. 

“Goodbye, Alana.”

He shot her in the chest, not wanting to engage in the risks of a slow death in an environment he knew he couldn’t control completely, but also wanting to make sure her death looked like nothing more than a robbery gone wrong. It needed to be just messy enough to not garner additional attention or scrutiny. Bland, regrettably far blander than Will would like, but forgettable. A tragic misfortune, nothing more.

He took several items from her jewelry box, made it look like he’d tripped and knocked over the television in her living room, and left the house in relative disarray before slipping out of the back door, making sure to break the lock open from the outside and double-checking he still had the spare key with him on his way out. 

---

The hour was late when Hannibal arrived home from the benefit, but he was unsurprised to see Will was still up and about, waiting for him. He was perched at the kitchen island, another glass of rich, red wine grasped lazily in his hand, the bottle and a second empty glass at his elbow.

“Did you have a nice evening?” Will asked him sweetly as Hannibal shrugged out of his overcoat; he gave the wine in his glass a swirl, gazing demurely down into the dark, sloshing liquid rather than at Hannibal directly.

“The benefit was a great success,” Hannibal agreed with a nod Will didn’t witness, drifted over to where he was camped out at the island. “We nearly doubled the desired goal in donations for the foundation.” 

He ducked his head to nuzzle briefly against Will’s cheek, nostrils flaring as he took in the scents that clung to his devious boy. He smelled of satisfaction, of gunpowder and sweat and the artificial floral notes that hung suspended in the air, courtesy of the plug-in stuck to the wall of Alana Bloom’s kitchen.

“I’m sure Alana will be thrilled to hear it,” he added, voice low, tone testing. “Sadly, she fell ill not long after we arrived and thought it best to go home and rest.” His eyes tracked Will’s own gaze, still locked upon the glass in his hand, trailed to the pulse in his neck, thrumming under his skin more erratically than necessary. “A pity she won’t be able to join us in a celebratory toast.”

Will gave a noncommittal hum as Hannibal plucked up the bottle of Malbec, a favorite of his, and filled his own glass. The delicate clink of the rims of their glasses colliding briefly was almost loud enough to overshadow Will’s murmured Congratulations, Doctor.

Hannibal let the bouquet flood his senses, tilted the glass and allowed the liquid to pool on his tongue, worked it down his throat slowly to savor every sweet and sour note of the red. And then he shifted closer again to Will, slotting just behind where the boy sat, and tucked his nose against his throat to pull in his scent once more, full and spicy, straight from the source.

“All for the best, really,” he murmured himself, lips dragging over Will’s smooth skin, resting for a breath over his thudding pulse, growing ever more frantic under Hannibal’s attention. “I fear she’d feel wildly out of place during our subsequent celebration.”

He let his sharp teeth drag over Will’s sensitive skin, nipping firmly but gently into the meat of Will’s shoulder and relishing in the shiver it sent spilling down his boy’s spine. “You owe me a story, Will,” he declared in a low rumble as his lips continued to move over the boy’s flesh, addicted to the tremors that pulsed through his body, overjoyed and smug to be the reason for them. “I intend to pull it from you one way or another. Though I think, perhaps, the bedroom would be the best place for just such an interrogation. Do you agree?”

Will downed the last sip of his wine, placed the stemware onto the stainless steel counter before him delicately, and then swiveled in his chair to face the man that had come to frame his form from behind. His voice was breathless, though no less sweetly teasing when he replied, “I defer, as always, to your vastly superior knowledge, Doctor.”

The walk upstairs was full of anticipation, Will preening like the well-fed predator he was. Hannibal was under no illusion as to what had transpired earlier in the evening, but he wanted to hear the words from his ruthlessly cunning boy, needed Will to paint him a picture so that he might still be able to induct the moment into the halls of his own memory palace. 

Will sat on the edge of the bed when they arrived, spreading his lithe, lean legs out wide like a king at court. Hannibal found himself helpless but to kneel between them pressing biting kisses into his inner thighs; the unmistakable scent of vinyl clung to the denim there, and Hannibal was at once surprised and also not to realize Will had, at some point, discovered his basement. Such an exceedingly clever boy. 

“Tell me, dear Will, how did you find Doctor Bloom tonight?” 

“I found her lacking, as she’s always been. I left her bloody, but not nearly as bloody as I would have preferred.” 

It was Hannibal’s turn to preen, pleased with how vicious the creature before him had become already, with so little guidance or coaxing. The monster within Will that had first reared its head to greet Hannibal’s had grown on its own and had always existed beneath the layers of performative humanity Will wore like a shroud. Hannibal had suspected as much not long after first meeting the young man, but was pleasantly surprised to find he needn’t pull at the stitching of Will’s person suit; the boy was more than happy to shrug out of it himself.

Instead, Hannibal busied himself with unzipping Will’s jeans, pulling them open and down along with his underwear, and letting them collect at his heels; the boy kicked them off to the side mere seconds later, running his foot along Hannibal’s outer thigh coyly. 

“I want to use your throat, Hannibal. Will you let me?” Will was brazen in his desire, bold in his declaration, and Hannibal would deny him nothing, but especially not this. He longed to feel Will coming into his power, would gladly give himself over to the willful youth, body, mind, and soul. 

He didn’t bother with a reply, simply bent his head until his lips touched the leaking tip of Will’s half-hard cock and then slipped his lips down his thickening shaft, taking him wholly into his mouth in order to feel the sensation of Will filling for him, his foreskin drawing back with his arousal. When Will was fully hard, Hannibal pulled off, replacing his mouth with his hand and giving him several smooth strokes. “Tell me what happened tonight, Will, and you may have whatever you desire.” 

When his mouth returned to Will’s cock he retained eye contact, watching Will’s gaze grow dark like storm clouds as he watched Hannibal consume him. 

“I waited for her,” Will informed him, voice catching slightly in conjunction with a particularly powerful suck from Hannibal, “Knew you’d send her home early, knew you had a key to her house. I sat in her kitchen...thought you’d appreciate the poetry of that - fuck -”  

Will’s voice strained around the expletive as his cock reached the back of Hannibal’s throat. His hands found their way to Hannibal’s hair, not guiding but simply holding on as Hannibal increased his pace. When he spoke again, there was an undeniable tremor in Will’s tone, try as he might to shut it out, cover it with the bravado of forging on through his narrative, even as Hannibal hummed around him and pulled a full whine from Will’s throat.

“I shot - shot her with her own gun, a terrible home invasion gone wrong when the homeowner showed up unexpectedly. A truly tragic event.” 

Hannibal placed his hands on Will’s hips to encourage him to thrust, opening up his throat as Will finally started moving with a soft moan, his cock plugging Hannibal up perfectly and bringing tears to his eyes even with his lack of gag reflex. 

“God, baby, you look so fucking good like that. Feel so tight wrapped around my cock,” Will’s drawl was more apparent than ever, his voice lazy and smooth over the vowels now that he had completed relaying the life-changing moment he’d seized earlier that evening. Hannibal continued his worship, taking Will all the way into his throat and clenching around him until he hissed with pleasure and Will’s fingers turned to claws in Hannibal’s hair, pulling him up and down along Will’s slick shaft, each downward motion ending with Hannibal’s tongue curling against Will’s balls as he took him fully. 

“She didn’t even have time to realize what was happenin’ before I killed her. Wish she woulda. Wish she’d realized how thoroughly she’d lost.” Will gave another moan as Hannibal moved his hand between his own legs, pressing against his growing arousal to release some of the pressure. Just listening to Will speak about what he’d done was enough to have Hannibal achingly hard, and Will’s breathless command of “Yeah, baby, touch yourself,” brought him dangerously close to the precipice of orgasm.

His eyes watered as he looked up at Will, and he could see the blazing inferno within Will’s gaze as he recalled his night. He seemed to draw stability from thin air, shrugging away the persona of overwhelmed youth effortlessly and slipping into something darker, more confident. His voice didn’t waver when he told Hannibal, “I staged it all, made sure to break the backdoor lock from the outside, and left her for the neighbors to eventually smell and find. Only wish we’d killed her together, that I coulda staged her as beautifully as your works of art.” 

Will sighed, his eyes slipping closed as he forced Hannibal all the way down on his cock, holding him there with an almost alarming amount of confidence until Hannibal’s lungs ached with the need to breathe. “My biggest regret is that I couldn’t take anything from her to gift to you. I woulda loved to see what you’d have made of her heart, darlin’. Maybe her tongue…” 

Hannibal’s cock flexed violently against his palm through the fabric of his pants as he came, staining the inside of his dress slacks with his release at Will’s pouting declaration. Will’s sharp gaze cut to him immediately, his grin nearly feral as he saw the mess Hannibal had made of himself. 

“You like that idea, baby? Like the thought of me actually providing for you for once? Bringin’ a fresh kill home so you can turn it into something transcendent in the kitchen?” Will moaned as Hannibal increased his pace, his lips nearly raw from how quickly they slid along Will’s wet flesh. He moved to focus on the tip of Will’s cock, tonguing just below the head. 

“Gonna come, Hannibal, don’t stop,” Will’s voice was all at once thready and high, the low, calm, self-assured presence evaporating at the edge of release. Hannibal’s teeth grazed along his shaft just before Will yanked him free of his cock, his warm come splattering against Hannibal’s cheeks, and lips, and chin. 

Will was a sight above him, resplendent with his cheeks flushed, his normally sharp eyes hazy with pleasure. His lips were parted slightly, his chest heaving as he panted through the aftermath of his orgasm, continuing to guide his cock to slide through the mess he’d made of Hannibal long after he finished spilling.

“Christ, you’re incredible,” Will murmured, gazing down at Hannibal on his knees as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing. “There’s not a damn thing you’re terrible at, is there?” Warmth flooded Hannibal as Will’s beautiful, kissable lips twisted into a lazy grin. “Well, maybe staying clean,” he teased, bringing his thumb forward to swipe at some of the mess at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth. He brushed tenderly over Hannibal’s bottom lip, painting it with his come, until Hannibal gave in to the temptation to seize the digit lightly between his teeth, pulled it into his mouth to suck it clean. “Seems like I got to feed you something after all.” 

Hannibal growled, rising to his full height to loom over Will before pressing the boy back into the mattress and falling upon him like a starving man at a feast. Perhaps they could both sate one another on more than just a good meal tonight.

---

Hannibal had never been able to avoid a bit of dinner and a show. He knew his hubris may one day find him caught and caged, much like the fish diorama currently encased in gelatine and laid out before those gathered at his dinner table, but it was impossible to resist. 

“The pursuer and pursued. The victorious and the defeated.” Hannibal waved his hands in a flourish at the dish, Will and Jack eyeing it with both appreciation and mild trepidation.

“An apt description much of the time. I feel especially defeated today.” Jack seemed more morose than usual, if that were possible. Hannibal fought back a smile, morphing his facial features into something resembling a moue of distress. 

“The loss of Doctor Bloom has made all of our hearts heavy this week.” 

“The Ripper’s in the wind, Alana is gone. Life is coming up all zeros right now. I could use a win.” Jack’s eyes moved to Will where he sat in the place of honor at Hannibal’s table, as he always did when company was over. Hannibal knew what Jack wanted, why he’d accepted this dinner invitation. 

“When life makes you feel like the pursued, sometimes all it takes is a change in perspective,” Will nearly purred with satisfaction as he turned the gelatine display around, showing the other side to Jack Crawford. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Will. I had an offer I wanted to extend.” Jack was not a man known for his smooth transitions or subtly, hamfisted as ever whilst trying to navigate the conversation. Hannibal was already aware of precisely what Jack had to offer Will, and he was curious to discover how his boy would react. 

Will raised a brow, a curious cat as he sat reclining loose-limbed and regal in his seat. “If it’s congratulations for my graduation you can send your regards to Frederick Chilton. I’m sure he’d be thrilled.” 

Jack laughed, long and loud at that, a booming sound that filled up their space. Will’s grin was self-satisfied and content, a snake waiting patiently for its dinner. “Chilton doesn’t have many friends on the force either, I don’t blame you for your dislike. But no, this is about what comes after your graduation.” Jack paused for a dramatic effect Hannibal imagined was wasted on Will, before barreling on. “I’d like to offer you an easy entry to the FBI Academy.”

Hannibal turned his gaze to Will, who was currently, at just a month shy of his eighteenth birthday, brazenly sipping from his wine glass as he held the FBI Agent’s gaze. There was a beat of silence as the drink slipped down his throat, wherein Will may have been just as likely considering the wine as he was the offer, and then the boy’s lips twisted into a tight, sardonic grin.

“I don’t meet the requirements.”

“Hence the easy entry,” Jack reiterated, nonplussed by Will’s initial reaction. “I’m willing to pull all the strings I need to in order to overlook the standard protocols for applicants.”

“When I say I don’t meet the requirements, I’m not talking about my age falling a year or so shy of the minimum for enrollment. I mean I meet none of the requirements. I’d be five years too early, no bachelor’s or work experience. Agent Crawford, I’ve not even passed my driving test yet. The best thing I have going for me is physical fitness and relative proximity to Quantico. In what way do you see me fit to join the Academy?”

Hannibal listened to the conversation placidly as he sliced and served the aspic to each of their plates and poured the more appropriately paired vodka for himself and Jack.

Jack accepted the proffered spirits with haste and a nod of gratitude to Hannibal, draining half the tumbler in a single swig and then turning his full attention to Will once again “There’s no way to sugarcoat this and I don’t intend to try. I believe you have a very unique way of viewing things, Will. Of viewing people. I’ve thought so since that first day I met you; when you sat across from me after discovering the mutilated corpse of your professor and started talking about how the Ripper thinks.”

If Will’s eyes slid to Hannibal at that, it was only to flash him a grin around the first bite of his dinner. “Delicious as ever, Doctor.” He had Will’s gaze only long enough for his lips to curl into a smile of his own, and then Will’s mood shifted with his attention, disdain creeping into the edges of a too-polite smile spread for the agent.

“I didn’t tell you how he thinks, in so many words,” Will corrected, pausing mid-bite and gesturing with his loaded fork. “From what I recall what interested you was the fact that I’d pegged it as a Ripper murder at all.”

“Still does. You identified the killer - correctly, I might add - as the Chesapeake Ripper with hardly any working knowledge of him and no experience in the field. It takes a very keen mind to interpret something like that so effortlessly. I think, with the proper training and education, you’d be on track to be one of the finest profilers the FBI has ever seen.”

Hannibal had wanted to stay neutral and silent for this exchange, but could not deny himself the impulse of inserting himself into the conversation at that. “While that is high praise coming from you, Jack, I feel the need to express my concern that it’s not entirely warranted - with no disrespect to Will, of course.” His boy gave a slight jerk of his head, his solemn yet amused expression indicating only agreement with Hannibal’s interjection. “After all, you’ve only had one conversation with the boy. That’s hardly enough to know the merit of a potential FBI Special Agent, no matter how brilliant the subject.”

“I agree,” Will piped up finally. Hannibal was pleased to note the determination that had set Jack Crawford’s jaw, tensed the thick line of his bulky shoulders, was beginning to wane under the scrutiny of his dining companions. “I’m deeply flattered, of course, and I thank you for your interest in my future, but I’m afraid the FBI isn’t in it. Come Fall semester, I’m going to be attending Brown.”

Hannibal couldn’t stop the soft, inquisitive sound that rushed from his throat at that declaration, and Will turned a sweet smile upon him, stunning blue eyes shining with pride. “I got the acceptance letter this morning. I had planned to tell you tonight, but didn’t realize we were having a guest for dinner. As it stands,” Will gave a nod of his head, the solemnity of the gesture broken by the wide grin that had stretched across his lips. “Yeah, I’m officially enrolled at Brown.”

“Congratulations, Will.” Hannibal’s chest swelled with a multitude of emotion, pride amongst the brightest and boldest, followed closely by the clawing anxiety and crippling loneliness that tore through him upon considering Will attending a university that was six hours away from Baltimore.

Though he was proud to see Will making his own way, and derived no small amount of satisfaction from seeing Jack desperately grasping at any possible chance of apprehending the Ripper - and subsequently being denied - Hannibal had to admit he did entertain the fleeting notion of twisting the events unfolding to his own will, pushing his boy to take the opportunity with the FBI, if only to keep him somewhere close. He’d still need to move out to live on campus, of course, but Quantico was only a stone’s throw from Baltimore; they’d still be able to see each other so often…

Across the table, Hannibal could see Jack struggling with the same desire to force the issue, though for vastly different reasons. He was polite, though, when he managed to push out a mostly sincere congratulations, followed immediately by the most typical question asked of a college freshman: what’s your major?

“Brown is an excellent research university,” Will explained, as though that information weren’t common knowledge to everyone seated at the table. “I might look into biochem. Or forensics.”

Jack Crawford, ever the man to seize any opportunity presented to him that even vaguely coincided with his own agenda, jumped at that bridge in the conversation. “If forensics is what interests you, you could learn under some of the best at Quantico. It’s not all about jurisdiction and search and seizure - there’s plenty of science courses -”

“I’m not your ticket to catching the Ripper, Agent Crawford,” Will cut in, his voice cold and tone edged with the sharpness of finality. “Or any other killer you intended to point me at. Thank you, again, for the compliment of your trust and esteemed evaluation, but I’m simply not interested.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Will,” Jack muttered, his fork pressing with needless vigor into a dish that was primarily composed of gelatin. Jack Crawford was obviously not a man accustomed to hearing the work no, nor taking it for an answer. “But I have to respect your decision. And, of course, wish you all the best in your schooling.”

Hannibal studied Will carefully as Jack backed down, saw the considering look the boy gave the agent over the rim of his wine glass before taking another generous swallow of the Chenin Blanc. Finally, he breathed a sigh and tilted his mouth into a smile that blatantly telegraphed how generous Will was feeling.

“Tell you what, Jack. You get any bodies that drop in Rhode Island that need a second look, come find me at Brown. If it doesn’t interfere with my schoolwork, I’ll tell you what I see.”

Hannibal’s stomach gave an unexpected twist at the seemingly charitable offer, blood thrumming and mind already swirling with half-formed possibilities for tableaux. It was as much a kindness to Jack as it was a challenge for Hannibal, and suddenly he had the overwhelming desire to have his boy alone, to ask him what game he thought he was playing.

Will would hardly see it as fun or fair to tell him, but Hannibal knew he would play regardless, so why not keep things interesting? It would cost him little and make Will happy. And wasn’t that what good neighbors were for?