Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The fuck do you think you're doing?”

Hannibal’s gaze snaps back to the man seated behind him, his fingers still hovering in the air to flick away the air bubbles from a syringe. He barely had time to school his surprise into neutrality, and for good reason. One minute, Will is convulsing with a seizure; the next, he is glowering at him, his eyes a dimmer shade of blue. His voice is deeper, huskier, without a trace of panic or confusion. He just sounds annoyed. 

It is most peculiar. It doesn’t sound like Will at all. 

Hannibal raises his hands as he approaches slowly, as if coaxing a wild animal into its cage. “Will, it’s alright. Let me help you.”

‘Will’ looks at him, then at the syringe, then at the metronome pendulum on the side table. Then, without preamble, he kicks Hannibal square on the chest, tipping back his own chair from the force of it. He doesn’t turn to look at Hannibal coughing and sprawled on the floor; instead, he scrambles out of his seat and out of the office, a mantra of “Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck—” echoing down the hall. 

He doesn’t stop running even when he steps out into the street, even when passers-by shoot him incredulous looks while he fishes his phone out from his pocket. “Come on, come on, come on— Hello? 911? Yeah, my name is Will Graham and I was just at Dr. Hannibal Lecter's clinic in Baltimore, and there's—” 

‘Will’ falters when he reaches the intersection, the traffic lights burning his eyes, the horns blaring loud in his ears, pounding into his skull. Somewhere distant, the light blinks green and he steps into the pedestrian crossing. 

“There’s— There’s something wrong—”

The world dims and goes sideways, and the last thing he hears is the chorus of tires screeching, a woman screaming in alarm, and Dr. Lecter calling out Will's name. 

It has been a hell of a few days for Hannibal Lecter. Unsurprisingly, Jack went to his clinic shortly after Will was wheeled into the Emergency Room and was gently barraged with questions— Yes, Will attacked him and ran away. Yes, he was most likely having a hallucination. No, he didn’t know the man was burning with a 102.2-degree fever at the time. Yes, he will foot the hospital bill, he insists on it. Will is his friend and he owes him this much. 

What is worse than Jack’s nosiness, however, is the wait. Hannibal had canceled his appointments to keep vigil at Will’s bedside during visiting hours, spending his time between writing reports and wondering about what happened that night. 

Hannibal wants to believe that he knows Will Graham. He can be unpredictable at times, of course, but he has memorized every detail about him — his eyes, his smile, his voice, his scent — and one thing is for certain; the man who ran from him that night wasn’t Will. He was only able to study him for a few minutes but he knows that there is a stranger wearing Will’s body (hell, it took him seconds to diagnose Will with his empathy disorder), and he intends to learn more about it.

Fortunately, the opportunity arises four days later. Hannibal is skimming through TattleCrime articles when he hears fabric rustling, followed by a soft groan. The voice — the same deep, husky voice from that night — croaks out, “Jesus fucking Christ, ow.” 

Hannibal closes his tablet and sets it aside. “Good afternoon, Will.” 

The Will-who-is-not-Will tenses as he regards him with those piercing ocean blue — not misty blue — eyes. His shoulders sag when he sighs, rubbing a palm over his face. “Oh, please. It’s too early for this shit.” 

He petulantly kicks off the blanket and sits up slowly, grimacing all the way. Hannibal doesn’t offer to help him, observing him quietly while the stranger — Not-Will — looks around the off-white private room. “Did you bring me here?”

“Technically, no. A few kind strangers called for an ambulance when you fainted in the middle of the street.”

Not-Will clicks his tongue. “Guess that wasn’t part of your plan, huh.”

“You could say that.”

He nods at that thoughtfully, gazing about the room once more before settling on the crook of his arm where the IV is connected. He prods it once then rips it out unceremoniously. Hannibal blinks in surprise. 

“Will?” he starts, but the man is already clambering out of bed and walking out of the room, his medical gown fluttering behind him to show his black boxers and thick thighs. Hannibal swallows thickly at the sight as he follows him, gathering his coat on the way out. “Will, what are you doing?”

“I need a beer. Or a smoke. Either works.” He swaggers past the nurses' station and swipes a half-empty cup of coffee, sips it, grimaces, and tosses it in a nearby bin. A passing nurse does a double take at the sight of him. “Sir? Sir, please go back to your room. Sir!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back in a bit, sweetheart. Just need some air,” he says as he pushes the metal door to the fire exit, startling a young janitor in the middle of his smoke break. Not-Will’s eyes brighten. 

“Just what I need,” he says as he plucks the cigarette between the young man’s teeth before climbing up the stairs. “Thanks, baby.” 

The janitor stares after him, more bewildered than aggrieved, and Hannibal could only shrug in lieu of an apology or explanation. He follows Not-Will further up the stairs. “Where are we going?”

“I’m heading to the rooftop. You can head back inside. I don’t need a chaperone, old man.”

Hannibal frowns at the insult. He has grown familiar with Will’s brand of rudeness; he even finds it charming. This, however, is entirely new and unpleasant, and he has to resist the urge to run up to him and snap his neck. 

He instead channels his anger into professional detachment. “Forgive me for stating the obvious but you are being terribly reckless. While I wouldn’t mind it any other day, you are still recovering from an infection. Come back in—”

“Fuck off, you’re not my dad,” he snaps as he pushes the metal door open, and the pale autumn sun shines down on them as they step onto the rooftop, its warmth insubstantial in the brisk wind. 

Not-Will doesn’t seem to notice the chill, padding to the railing with his bare feet, puffs of smoke trailing behind him. Hannibal briefly considers locking him out here or pushing him off the building. Despite his better judgment, Hannibal can’t help but be drawn to him; the man is vulgar, impetuous, aggravating, and oh-so-intriguing. He inhales deeply through his nose when he approaches. “Will—”

“God, would you stop calling me that? I’m not Will, alright? Thought I was being fucking obvious.” 

He bites back a retort when he offers his coat. “As I’ve said before, you are still recovering. It wouldn’t do you any good to have a fever again now, would it?”

Not-Will relaxes slightly at the gesture. He hesitates but his touch is gentle when he takes it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

He holds the cigarette between his lips while he wears it, the thick coat reaching up to his calves, and Hannibal couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed to see him covered up again. He quickly looks away and leans on the railing, staring down at the block below them. “May I ask for your name then?” 

The man stalls by taking a long drag. “Bobby. Bobby Bronson.” 

And that does it. His anger is forgotten, replaced entirely by curiosity and awe. “I will be honest, I have profiled and befriended Will these past few months and I never would have expected that he’d have a Dissociative Identity—”

“It’s not DID,” Bobby interrupts tersely. “Will prefers ‘multiplicity.’”

“Is there a reason for the preference?” 

“Look, we just— I don’t fucking know, okay? We have symptoms but we were never really sure, we never got diagnosed. And don’t even think about it,” he says, placing a finger against Hannibal’s parted lips. “Will and I disagree on a lot of things, but what we do agree on is that shrinks can't be trusted.” He pulls away then, his annoyance morphing into weary acceptance. The cigarette ash crumbles and falls. “And from what happened last time, you just proved our point.”

Hannibal is incapable of remorse, but he does feel a dull ache in his chest at the comparison. He isn’t like the other psychiatrists who wish to study and write about Will and his list of neuroses for fame or wealth; he wishes to elevate him, to encourage his darker instincts, to guide him along his Becoming — which has been postponed due to recent developments. But it doesn’t matter. Since he can’t change the cards he has been dealt with, it’s time to change his play, and if it means being chummy with Will’s alter, then so be it. “Would you like me to apologize?”

“Nah. I don’t think you’d mean it anyway,” he says as he takes another drag. “Here’s what I'm curious about though. The only reason why I ran off was ‘cause I presumed you were gonna hurt us— Not apologizing for the kick either.”

“Fair enough.” 

“But,” Bobby says, ignoring him, “then again, you could’ve done whatever shit you wanted while we were passed out these past few days. So my question is, what’s the fucking deal with that hypnosis thing? Were you trying to convince Will to sleep with you or something?” 

He was definitely not, but it did cross his mind briefly. Will is a handsome young man, after all, and he has yearned for him since that afternoon in Jack’s office. His hesitation says everything, Bobby’s lips curving up into a grin. “Well, shit. You’re one kinky motherfucker, Lecter. Knew you were kind of messed up.” 

“I wasn’t going to assault him if that’s what you’re implying,” he huffs, unable to keep the ire from his tone. 

“Oh, I know,” Bobby says slowly, and there is a glint in his eye that Hannibal recognizes. Wild. Mischievous. “You’re not that kind of guy. Figured you’re gonna hurt him some other way to get his attention.” 

He flicks the cigarette away as he inches closer, his two fingers walking up his silk tie. 

“And I won’t let you, you hear me? If you pull that shit again, I’m gonna sic the police on your ass, so I’m only gonna say this once.” 

Hannibal’s breath hitches when Bobby’s hand curls around his tie to pull him close, their faces mere inches apart. 

“You already got his attention, baby. The only reason why he hasn’t made a move is that he thinks you’re dangerous.”

His scent is much darker, earthier than Will’s own, and Hannibal licks his lips, wondering what he’d taste like. From how those ocean blue eyes dart down to look at his tongue, he knows Bobby is wondering the same. 

“Lucky for you, I don’t fucking care.”

Then Bobby leans in, crashing their lips together into a bruising kiss. Hannibal returns it with much fervor, cupping his jaw to urge him closer while Bobby licks against his teeth, begging for entry. Hannibal allows him, groaning softly into his mouth when Bobby explores him with his tongue, his hands desperately roaming his body, and it’s both too much and not enough. Hannibal pulls away to kiss and lick and bite his neck, crushing him against the railing while Bobby ruts against him, whining and begging beautifully to be fucked—

Then the metal door bangs open, followed by a loud, “Mr. Graham!” 

Hannibal stiffens, both alarmed and enraged by the interruption, and he considers snapping their necks before taking Bobby on the floor, beneath the open sky. He breathes deeply through his teeth and slowly, very slowly, pulls away to right his clothes.

Bobby only laughs, utterly unbothered. He sweeps his hair back as he regards the small group of nurses, now fast approaching. “Yep, that’s me.”

“What the hell are you doing out here, son? Do you even want to get better?” one of the nurses grumbles as they take him by the arm, scolding him as they lead him back into the building. He doesn’t listen, just throws a smile at Hannibal while he’s ushered away. “See you around, Lecter.” 

Hannibal says nothing in reply, incapable of speech even when Bobby and the nurses are long gone. 

He reconsiders his plans — exacerbating his illness, framing him for his murders — and it doesn’t seem as appealing anymore. It’s difficult to imagine being away from him — from them — for several days at a time when the opportunity is right in front of him. He needs to know more, to see more of them, to feel their lips and their body against his own once again. 

Hannibal only steps back into the hospital once he has made a decision. He calls Sutcliffe to schedule an appointment and passes by the nurses' station to inform them about the possibility of encephalitis. As for the framing — well, surely he could come up with something else. 

The arm of Miriam Lass resurfaces in the observatory one morning. If they would look closer, they would eventually find evidence leading them to one Dr. Frederick Chilton. 

Will isn’t there to witness it, spending the whole investigation confined in the hospital while he recuperates from encephalitis, and any of Jack’s attempts to speak with him were easily prevented by Hannibal and Alana. 

Hannibal resumes his practice once again, although he only takes patients who require urgent care so he could still visit frequently. He’s seen glimpses of Will throughout his hospitalization, mostly dazed with fever or medication, but it is mostly Bobby who fronts, chatting with him and teasing him constantly. (Admittedly, they spend most of his visits locked in the small bathroom, Hannibal’s large hand pressed against his mouth to muffle his cries while he fucks him hard against the door). 

It is a pleasant surprise then to find Will sitting up on the bed, his glasses perched on his nose, his curls falling over his brows as he looks out of the window. He turns when he hears the door click closed, a gentle fondness lighting up in those misty blue eyes. “Dr. Lecter.”

“Hello, Will,” he greets as he sits on the bedside chair. “How are you feeling today?”

“Never been better,” he admits jovially. “The doctors said I’ll be discharged next week.”

Hannibal smiles. “Yes, you told me yesterday.”

Will stiffens. “Did I?”

“Yes. I also asked if you’d like to have dinner together to celebrate your recovery. Is Friday evening still agreeable to you?”

Will’s brows furrow as he attempts to recall last night’s conversation. It is very subtle but Hannibal knows the exact moment he realizes that it was Bobby who was present then, his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

“Friday, um, Friday sounds good,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I can’t believe I forgot about it.”

“It’s no trouble, Will. You’re still recovering after all,” Hannibal says, and for a brief moment, he could’ve sworn he saw Will’s lips curl into a knowing grin, sharp and toothy. It must be the trick of the light, and yet Hannibal couldn’t help himself. He grins back.

Chapter Text

The desk creaks loudly beneath Bobby, his nails chipping into the grain as he clings to it for dear life. He vaguely wonders if Hannibal would punish him again for the damage, and the thought of being slapped or choked until he is a weeping mess nearly makes him come. 

“S-Shit— Harder!” he whines, gasping when Hannibal spanks his reddened ass and shoves him further up the desk, Bobby's hip pressing uncomfortably against the edge. The grip around his cock is tighter, the thrusts harsher too; it’s painful, and it’s exactly how Bobby wants it. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

He screams when he spills into Hannibal’s fist, and Hannibal, ever the gentleman, slows his movements to ease him through it, letting him slump heavily on the desk as he catches his breath. Hannibal pulls his hand away, wet and sticky with release, and brings it up to Bobby’s lips, watching in awe when he swallows down his fingers, laving each digit with his warm tongue. 

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal praises, rocking his hips forward, gentle enough to prevent overstimulation. A frown crawls its way to Bobby’s lips and he draws away from his hand. “You’re doing it again, Lecter.” 

“What?”

“Stop being careful with me. I’m not some fucking teacup, and I’m not Will. You can save that bullshit for when he’s around.” 

Hannibal stares at him in disbelief. He just provided a powerful orgasm and a compliment, and now he’s complaining? Even going as far as to drag Will of all people into it? 

“Why, I’m sorry. Am I boring you, Mr. Bronson?” he asks sharply, his grip tightening around bruised hips. 

“You fucking bet you are! How many times do I have to tell you to stop holding back? You can hurt me. I can take it.” Bobby shoots him a brazen look, reaching behind him and spreading his ass cheeks apart. “What are you waiting for? Come on, daddy. Fuck me up.”

Hannibal knows that it’s a trap yet he growls, roughly hauling him up by the hair until Bobby's back is flush against his clothed chest. “Say that again.”

“Which part?” Bobby asks, his cold laughter cutting into a moan when Hannibal draws all the way out and slams back inside. “Jesus, f-fuck! Didn’t think it’d rile you up this badly,” he pants, grinding his hips back in a circular motion, sensuous and teasing. “Maybe if you make me come again, I’ll consider it.”

“You mouthy, stubborn, ungrateful brat,” Hannibal grits out, wrapping an arm tightly around his neck to keep him close, his lips a hair’s breadth away from Bobby’s ear. “You seek pain now, don’t you? Well, worry not, my dear boy. I will give it to you.” 

Then he begins a brutal pace, relishing in the choked-off cries as Bobby scrambles for purchase, torn between tugging down the arm constricting his breathing or bracing himself against the desk below to keep himself upright. He attempts both, pushing himself up on his toes for relief but he doesn’t find it, not with how Hannibal thrusts in too hard or too deep, uncaring for anyone’s pleasure but his own. 

“Han, please,” he whines plaintively but Hannibal ignores him, his teeth marking his neck and shoulders, nails burying into the meat of his thighs while he fucks into him. “Daddy—”

“Quiet,” he snarls, curling his fingers around Bobby’s throat until he gags, the skin turning purple. “You’re nothing but my dirty little whore, aren’t you? Just a hole for me to use and to stuff full with my come.” 

“Yours, all yours,” he rasps out. “Inside— Please come inside—”

Hannibal does, groaning into dark curls when he shoots his load into him, filling him up as Bobby shivers and keens. He smells it first before he sees it, bitter and salty, and finds Bobby’s cock leaking onto the carpeted floor as he comes a second time that night. Hannibal holds him through it, keeping him from crumpling to the ground. He holds him still when he tucks himself back into his pants, listening to his boy’s gasps and coughs as they both recover. Hannibal, of course, recovers first. 

“Can you stand?” he asks, and Bobby shakes his head, croaking out a soft, “Not yet.” 

Hannibal doesn’t wait for his acquiescence. He hooks his arms around his back and behind his knees to carry him to the pale blue couch at the side of the room. Bobby sighs and while Hannibal doesn’t see, he could hear Bobby roll his eyes at the bridal carry. He doesn’t say anything else thankfully, letting the good doctor clean him with his handkerchief. 

They remain quiet for a while — Bobby laying on his back, staring up at the pin lights; Hannibal kneeling on the floor beside him, replacing the handkerchief with a damp towel from the private washroom. Hannibal’s brows are furrowed, deep in thought as he wipes away the drool, sweat, and come from his lover’s body, only glancing up when he feels a tap — or was it a flick? — on his forehead. 

“Ground control to Major Tom,” Bobby says, his voice an utter wreck. “What’s with that face? What’re you thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking about Will,” he admits. It’s difficult not to since he was brought up earlier. 

As far as Will knows, they have their so-called cognitive therapy for an hour every week. They might linger to review cases or have a glass of wine, then he would leave for Wolf Trap. Bobby and Hannibal, however, had created a routine out of it, with Bobby fronting as soon as the conversation ended, stripping himself down and bending over the chaise or the desk. 

The sex is fun and satisfying, and their aftercare conversations are entertaining, yet Hannibal can't help but wonder how it’d feel if it was Will squirming beneath him. Would he be as talkative as Bobby during sex? Do his moans sound the same? What does he look like at the height of orgasm?

Bobby whistles. “Guess my performance wasn’t that good tonight, huh.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m kidding, Lecter,” he says, smiling. Not a trace of judgment in sight. “I know who you really want. Don’t worry about it.” 

Hannibal doesn’t look convinced but he’s willing to change the subject, reaching out to brush his fingertips along the bloom of bruises around Bobby's throat. “Would this be a problem?”

Bobby rubs it gingerly and looks over the new constellation of scratches and bites all over his thighs and shoulders. There isn’t any blood or broken skin but it’s a close thing. “It’s fine. I’ll cover it up before he wakes up tomorrow. Pretty sure he still has some old turtlenecks lying around.” 

Hannibal nods, his touch lingering. “You wanted that to happen.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s been a while since I got dicked down that hard. Guess I missed it.” 

Hannibal pointedly ignores the bait. “Was it too much?”

“You know it’s not,” Bobby says, softer this time, turning to his side so their faces are mere inches apart. “It’s perfect.” 

Then he kisses him, slow and sweet, hands running through his ashen hair and down his neck. Hannibal reciprocates with both ease and gentleness, and when they part to breathe, he finds ocean blue eyes glinting with mischief. 

“So. Daddy kink, huh? That’s a new one for you.”

Hannibal barely suppresses his groan. “I’d rather not discuss this with you.”

“What if I want to? Don’t I deserve some therapy sessions for whoring myself out to you?”

“You are insufferable.”

“I know,” he chuckles, giving him one last peck on the lips. “You fucking love me anyway.”

Hannibal takes his time driving to the Academy. His Friday mornings are clear of patient appointments to make room for the weekly cleaning (a necessity given the previous night’s affair), and Will’s earliest lecture is still at ten o’clock. 

While Bobby has his full attention every Thursday night, he makes time for Will every weekday morning, another routine that began shortly after he was discharged from the hospital. Similar to their first breakfast together, Hannibal brought home-cooked food to the BAU cafeteria one morning where they spent a few minutes eating and enjoying each other’s company. He didn’t ask for permission to continue but Will didn’t ask him to stop, so here they are. 

Hannibal makes his way to Will’s office, expecting to find him poring over test papers and reports with a half-empty coffee mug as a paperweight. Instead, he finds the man pacing by the large window, mumbling and fidgeting with his glasses and the fringes of his green scarf. The poor thing nearly jumps out of his skin when Hannibal knocks on the door, cheeks flushing pink at the sight of him. “Dr. Lecter. Hi.” 

Hannibal tilts his head, curious at his reticence until he notices how Will winces when he walks, one hand lingering over his scratched-up thigh, the other tightening the scarf around his neck as if to hide—

Oh. 

Oh no. 

He and Bobby had been rough before but never to the point of soreness or excess marks. On the rare occasion that there are marks, Bobby was careful enough to hide them, and the lack of care and preparation leads Hannibal to two possible conclusions—

One, Will forced a switch too early. 

Or two, Bobby wanted Will to know. 

Hannibal doesn’t know which one is worse. 

If Will knows about his arrangement with Bobby, would he ask him to stop it? Would he cancel his weekly appointments and drift away, demanding that they keep it professional? And if it was Bobby who wanted him to know, what does he wish to achieve from it? Is it some kind of sick joke just because he’s grown bored with him? Or has he planned this all along, biding his time since the hypnosis attempt? Is their relationship nothing but a ruse to alienate him from Will? 

Hannibal schools his expression into pleasant neutrality as he walks into the room, swallowing down his fears. There is a chance that he may be reading too much into the situation, and he’d rather wait for Will to confront him about it. He will deal with the fallout then. 

“Good morning, Will. I’ve brought cream of mushroom soup and toast for us to enjoy today.” He lays out the mat and utensils on the table, then uncovers the glass tupperware. In the silence, Hannibal could feel the young man’s gaze fixated on him. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I just— I was—” Will falters, idly tapping his fingers on the back of the chair. A moment passes awkwardly between them but he obeys when Hannibal gestures for him to sit (his wince is subtle but definitely there) which is a good sign. Will doesn’t touch the food though. “Dr. Lecter, did something happen yesterday?” 

Hannibal takes a sip before he speaks. “What do you mean?”

Will stares at him for one long moment before he sighs sullenly, taking the spoon. “It’s— It’s nothing.” He attempts to eat, taking a generous bite out of the toast and several spoonfuls of soup (the stock boiled from various vegetables and the bones of one unpleasant councilman) before he tries again, “I don’t know, I just— Do I seem different today?”

Hannibal looks at him. Really looks at him. 

Here is Will Graham, a beautiful man with an equally beautiful mind, worn down by secondhand guilt and the FBI’s pursuit of justice. Here is his beloved, so close yet so far from his reach. He has wanted him since Jack introduced them, a want intensified by Bobby’s presence, and he will do whatever it takes to keep them both. 

It is unfortunate then that while being forthcoming worked well with Bobby, Will needs time and patience. It took him days before Will no longer flinched from his presence, weeks before he allowed gentle touches, and now months, a hospitalization, and the assent from the man’s alter to reach this level of camaraderie. He will not jeopardize it with the truth. Not yet. Not until he’s certain that he wouldn’t frighten him off. 

But then… Perhaps a hint or two may be helpful. 

Hannibal clears his throat. “You look tired. Sore. Either you spent all night grading papers,” he grins, playful, “or perhaps you had some fun.” 

Will blushes a furious shade of red, mouth opening and closing like a fish in an attempt to defend himself, but Hannibal doesn’t let him. He reaches over and fixes his glasses, fingertips trailing down his ear, his jaw. “I’m teasing, Will. You’re lovely as always.” 

Will’s breath hitches, misty blue eyes staring into maroon. There is a glimmer of hope there that reflects Hannibal’s own, and he feels a burst of delight when Will sighs and leans into his touch. Then, very quietly, he asks, “Hannibal, what are we?”

Hannibal has to resist the urge to ravish him there and then, has to remind himself that this is Will, not Bobby, and that he has to be patient, gentle. He cannot presume or dictate. He has to wait for his remarkable boy to come willingly. 

“What do you want us to be?”

It is the wrong question to ask. Will purses his lips, drawing away and closing himself off. He glares at the food and opens his mouth to speak, startled when footsteps skid right outside his door. 

“Mr. Graham? Sorry for the bother, I just have a question about last week’s readings.” The trainee, a slight young woman with a shock of blonde hair, falters as she looks at the two of them. “Is— Is this a bad time?”

“It’s fine. We’re done here anyway,” Will says bitterly before Hannibal could protest, gathering his lecture notes and making his way to the door. He doesn’t even look back when he says, “Goodbye, Dr. Lecter.”

“Will.” Hannibal stands to follow, thinking of what he could say or do to save their conversation. None comes to mind. He lets Will go and their meal remains unfinished. 

The knock comes at 7:05 PM. It is too early for their appointment yet Hannibal couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. He missed Will. 

He hasn’t seen him since Friday’s breakfast partly due to an ongoing investigation, but he’s certain that Will has been avoiding him, scrambling his own schedule to make sure that they wouldn’t be in the same room together. Until tonight, that is. 

Hannibal’s lips unfurl into a soft smile when he opens the door. “Will. Come in—”

The young man lunges at him, gripping him by the lapels to crash their lips together. Hannibal gasps, stunned that he is kissing Will, his beloved, until he realizes that his hair is combed back save for a stray curl, his glasses nowhere to be seen.

“Bobby?” he rasps between kisses. “What are you doing? Where’s Will?”

Bobby smirks wide. “Shut up and sit on the chaise.” 

Hannibal doesn’t go but allows himself to be backed into it, sinking into the cushion with a huff. He watches as Bobby hurriedly removes his clothes, tossing them to the floor before he is on him again, kissing him hard as he strips Hannibal off of his jacket and vest. Hannibal lets him but couldn’t help the downturn of his lips. “You said you’d hide it. You wanted Will to see.” 

“Got my reasons,” he says, deftly unbuttoning Hannibal's white collar shirt. “Stop fucking pouting. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Hannibal doesn’t agree, not quite, yet he lets Bobby unzip his fly to release his half-hard cock, lets him spit on it before he pumps him to full hardness. “Just don’t think about Will right now, okay? I wanna have a quickie before he shows up.” 

“Bobby,” Hannibal warns, his hands tight around Bobby's hips, and he knows that if he wishes this to stop he could easily push him off and lock him out of the waiting room until Will returns. But he hasn’t seen either of them for so long. He needs this. 

Hannibal guides him down, eyes widening when he feels the head slip in readily, the passage slick and loose. Bobby flashes him a wide grin. “Prepared myself in the car. Didn’t want to waste any time.” 

Bobby sighs happily as he sinks onto him inch by inch, groaning loud when he’s fully seated. And Hannibal… Hannibal is a mess. He breathes harshly through his teeth, clinging to the last threads of reason as he holds Bobby still.

“This is imprudent.” 

“When did it ever stop us?” Bobby laughs, rolling his hips to savor the stretch. “Oh, come on. Fuck me, daddy.” 

Hannibal snarls. Bobby has ruined him entirely and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He grips him hard, nails digging into his back as he drags Bobby down to meet his thrusts. Bobby treats him just as harshly, biting his lip, his earlobe, his neck as he rides him, his cock thick and red between them. He tugs at Hannibal’s hair, licking across his swollen lip, then smiles fondly. “Good luck. Don’t mess this up.”

Hannibal’s rhythm stutters to a stop. “What are you—”

Then Bobby slumps forward, abrupt, quiet, and boneless.

“Bobby?” Alarm races through Hannibal’s veins as he lays Bobby across the chaise to check on him, gently patting his cheek to wake him and feeling for his pulse when he doesn’t. Bobby's breathing is deep, his heart beats calm and steady beneath his touch, lashes fluttering as if in sleep. He looks peaceful like this, and Hannibal considers leaving him here to rest when he gasps suddenly, eyes open wide as he frantically looks around the clinic. 

“What the—” the boy squirms, cheeks burning red as he looks down to see where they’re both connected, and when his eyes dart back to Hannibal’s, the ocean blues are replaced by misty blue. “Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal doesn’t know what comes over him. He kisses Will, a wild and passionate thing, swallowing Will's gasps and moans as he melts under his ministrations. Hannibal is vaguely aware that he is too rough with his tongue, with his hands, and finds that he doesn’t care. He is a man starved seeking nourishment and he will have his fill. 

“Oh, Will,” he murmurs against his jaw, suckling the skin there. “How I adore you, darling. My beautiful boy.”

Will whimpers, too overwhelmed to speak, his fingers curling around his chest hair as Hannibal laps up the sweat from his neck. It is only when Will feels large hands push his knees forward, bending him in half, that he finds his words again. “Dr. Lecter, wait—”

Hannibal pounds into him without warning and Will cries out, reaching above his head and clinging to the edge of the chaise to brace himself. It is too much, too overwhelming, and yet he can’t help the satisfied mewls that erupt from his chest, the pleasure building in his gut. “Hannibal! Oh god, oh god, please! I need it, I need you—”

“Lovely thing,” he growls, tugging at his ear with his teeth. “How I’ve longed to do this to you.” 

Will keens softly, overcome by sensation — the stimulation on his cock as he ruts between their bellies, the persistent pressure on his prostate, and their sounds, loud and obscene in the empty clinic. Most powerful among these is the lust shared between them through his empathy. Will can feel it tingling beneath his scalp down to the soles of his feet, tangible and heady, and he knows that he wouldn’t last long.

“Hannibal, I can’t— Hannibal, please—” He pleads and screams his name, over and over again, toes curling when he comes all over their chests and Hannibal loses himself, desperately fucking into him until he shoots his load inside. He releases Will’s thighs and nearly collapses on top of him, arms straining with exertion. 

They lay in the chaise together, wordless and panting, until Hannibal regains the strength and composure to sit up, lifting Will with him until he’s propped against his chest. Hannibal picks up his fallen jacket and places it around Will, rubbing his back and nuzzling his head with his cheek.

“What just happened?” Will asks breathlessly and Hannibal chuckles, low and rumbling. “I believe something we should’ve done months ago.”

Will hums, pulling the jacket tighter around himself. And then, “You know about Bobby.”

Ah. Of course. 

Hannibal presses his lips together and nods. “I do know him. One could argue intimately.”

There is a pregnant pause followed by a weary sigh. “That explains a lot. For how long?”

“Since your hospitalization.” 

“Christ.” 

“Does it upset you?”

“No,” he says, dragging out the word. “I mean, this isn’t the first time it happened. You’ve met the guy. Bobby does whatever he wants, and I’ve guessed that there was something between you two — between us. Last week just confirmed it.” He fidgets with the buttons on Hannibal’s shirt. “Why did you hide it from me?”

It is Hannibal’s turn to sigh wearily. He wishes to tell Will the truth in much different circumstances, perhaps during a candlelit dinner of some sort, but… Well. Might as well say it now. “I didn’t want to scare you off with my advances. Bobby said you found me dangerous.”

Will tenses in his embrace. “Oh.”

“Do you believe it still?”

“Now more than ever.” 

“Is that so?” he asks, feeling Will nod against his jaw. “I’m sure. Bobby only likes dangerous men like you. You’d chew us up then spit us out the moment you get bored, and I don’t think either of us will survive it.” 

“I won’t hurt or abandon either of you, I swear it,” he murmurs into his curls, and Hannibal is amazed to learn that it is the truth. Will, however, thinks otherwise, snorting derisively. “That’s rich, coming from someone who lied to my face for months.” 

“And yet you allow me to hold you close, just like how you held and pleaded for me earlier. Is this your forgiveness, Will?”

Hannibal couldn’t see his face but he could feel him turn warm, his ears burning red. “Forgiveness usually warrants an apology.”

“Then I will apologize and swear that I won’t lie to you about this ever again. No more secrets. Am I forgiven?”

“Maybe,” he says, snuggling closer. “You terrify me, Dr. Lecter.”

“Do I now?”

“You have this peculiar way of crawling past my forts and defenses. Ever since we met, I told myself that I shouldn't let you in, and yet, here we are. It worries me.”

“Here we are, indeed. But that’s not what you’re truly worried about, is it? Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here, and Bobby wouldn't trust me enough to agree to our arrangement.” He pauses, thinking. Understanding. Then carefully, he asks, “Darling, be honest. Were you afraid that the reason we remained silent was because I preferred Bobby over you?” 

Will pulls away suddenly, his face contorted in pain and nausea, and there, Hannibal could see it clearly. Envy. Fear of rejection.

His gaze softens but Will doesn't see it, his own eyes quickly filling with tears. “Do you? Because if you do, I’ll just make sure to switch whenever you’re around. I’ll be out of your way, y-you don’t have to deal with me again—” 

“Will, dearest, look at me,” he instructs kindly, cupping his face. “I confess, I adore Bobby. I would not lie about that. He is terribly uncouth and brusque in the most charming way, but he’s not you. I wanted you the moment we met, and I would have pursued you regardless of his presence. Everything I did, from our breakfasts to our trysts, was so I could spend more time with you.” Hannibal huffs out a laugh. “Frankly, if you weren't diligently ignoring me these past few days, I was hoping to ask you out for dinner or a night at the opera. Not as friends or coworkers, of course. I would've told you everything then.”

Will looks at him intently, brows furrowed with concentration, then he opens up, eyes wide, the tension leaving him all at once. “You mean it. You really mean it.” 

“I do.” 

“Hannibal, I’m a mess.”

“I love your mess. I’m not disturbed by your mind or by the various parts of your soul. They make you unique, special, and I’d like to remind you of how much I adore them every single day, if you’ll have me.” He places a tender kiss on the crown of Will's head. “I love you, Will.” 

Will gives a shuddering laugh, blushing and giddy. “You love me?”

“Yes. And I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me.” 

“Do it. Make me believe, and say it even then.”

“Then I will. Anything for you,” Hannibal promises as he draws near, their noses touching. “Ti amo. Je t'aime. Aš tave myliu. I love you dearly, my darling. My beloved Will.”

Will smiles wide, the blues in his eyes as vibrant as the clear morning sky. “I love you, too.” 

They kiss and hold each other for as long as they can, their touches delicate and exploratory.

Somewhere, deep in his mind, Will hears a sigh of relief accompanied by a smug grin. 

Fucking finally.

Chapter Text

“Is Bobby your only alter?” 

The question comes two weeks later between mugs of coffee and plates of eggs benedict. Will swallows a forkful before he says, “There’s three of us in total.” 

Hannibal leans forward, unable to conceal his intrigue. He has been curious, of course, but these past few days were spent making up for lost time, lingering in Will’s office and Hannibal’s bed as they discuss their new relationship. There hasn’t been an opportunity to ask. Until now. 

“Does he have a name?”

“He calls himself Adam Raki. He only comes out when I’m at home, or at the observatory.” At Hannibal’s quirked brow, Will supplies, “He loves astronomy so I try to visit at least once a month.” Will takes another forkful — yolk- and hollandaise-soaked English muffins with a thick slice of bacon, taken from a homophobic store clerk. Chews then swallows. “Do you want to meet him?”

Hannibal stares, stunned by the offer. “Only if all three of you are agreeable to it. I don’t wish to impose.” 

“Hannibal, you’re my boyfriend,” Will chuckles, eyes bright with affection. “You’d end up meeting him sooner or later. Might as well do it now.” 

Hannibal smiles, wide and fond. “Alright. When shall we set it then?”

Will takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Are you free this Saturday night?” 

Hannibal arrives in Wolf Trap at seven o’clock sharp. He asked Will earlier what he should bring as a gift, and Will simply huffed a laugh and said, “Just yourself is fine. Adam will take care of everything, trust me.”

So here he is, feeling rather unprepared as he walks up to the porch.

Hannibal has visited Wolf Trap a few times before but only to feed the dogs when Will is away, and now, he can hear them barking and milling about the living room when he knocks on the door. After a moment, it cracks open, and there, he sees Adam Raki. 

He is wearing a brown striped sweater and a beige button-up shirt, the collar and cuffs peeking out. His attire is warm and so pleasantly Will, but two drastic details differentiate them. One, Adam’s hair is neatly trimmed. And two, his face is clean-shaven. 

Adam looks so much younger than either Will or Bobby like this, and his eyes — they stare up at Hannibal, wide with wonder, the blues tinted with purple. Periwinkle. 

Hannibal falters in his greeting. “Good evening, Adam. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” Adam greets, his voice much softer than Will’s. He tries to look at Hannibal’s eyes, then his forehead before giving up entirely, staring at his shoulder instead. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. And please, call me Hannibal.” 

Adam only nods and opens the door wider, letting him in. 

The dogs sniff Hannibal as soon as he walks through the door, nosing his hand for sausages. He doesn’t pay them much attention other than idle patting, his gaze lingering on the young man before him. 

It is truly fascinating how different the three of them are, and Hannibal feels the same desperate pull he felt towards Will and Bobby. He has yet to know how, but he must have Adam for himself as well. 

Adam tenses under his attention, glancing at him warily. “What is it? Why are you staring?”

“My apologies, Adam. This is the first time I've seen your face without a beard.”

“Oh. Well, I like how it feels. I like my hair shorter too. I always trim it on Friday nights, then we let it grow out during the week. It’s much cheaper if I do it at home than going to the barber.”

“It suits you well,” Hannibal says, smiling.  

Adam ducks his head at that, a hand reaching out to gently tug at his hair. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. He fidgets with it a second more before he gestures vaguely at the kitchen. “I’m heating up dinner. You can sit on the couch while we wait.”

They eat dinner in silence — boxed macaroni and cheese with steamed broccoli. Hannibal doesn’t comment on it, eating dutifully while Adam reads through a Playbill magazine. He watches how Adam’s lips curl and part as he quietly mutters each word, how he opens his mouth wider every now and then as if to ask a question or start a conversation. Adam never pushes through, however. He withdraws at the last second and goes back to reading. 

Hannibal is familiar with such behavior, having dealt with patients who were reluctant to speak for various reasons. For Adam, it is easy enough to imagine how he has been ignored or spurned by people throughout his life. He most likely has no one else to talk to but Bobby and Will as of late, and Hannibal wishes to change that. He plans to be one of his trusted companions no matter what.

Hannibal offers to wash the dishes and Adam lets him, murmuring a small “thank you” before he goes to the living room. After he has dried the last plate, Hannibal finds him there, surrounded by his pack on the carpeted floor. 

Hannibal sits down on the couch, legs crossed, watching how Adam pulls his knees up to his chest and pets the largest of the dogs, a mixed-breed molosser with short brown fur. The whole pack seems content to lounge around him, languid and lazy, a contrast to Adam who begins to fidget. It is small at first, just lightly tapping his feet before he aggressively scratches at his jeans and gnaws on his lip. Then suddenly, Adam blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

Hannibal blinks. “What for?”

“I can’t tell what people are thinking but I’m probably boring you, so I’m sorry. I don’t usually have people over so I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to disappoint you, not when Will and Bobby like you, and I— I just really don’t want to ruin what you three have. I don’t know if you’d rather go home than stay here with me, and I’m sorry that you drove all the way here when it’s hours away, and Will keeps on saying it’s okay but I never know for sure, and I really don’t want you to hate me just because I don’t know what to do right now and you keep on staring and I can’t tell what you’re thinking—”

“Adam. Adam, darling,” Hannibal says, approaching him carefully. “I’m not leaving, and I don’t hate you. I can never hate you.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Adam breathes out shakily as he hugs himself. The dogs seem more alert now, and one with shaggy fur and floppy ears — Winston, Hannibal recalls — noses Adam’s arm before laying its head on his lap. It seems to ground Adam and Hannibal imitates it, slowly raising a hand to place it on his shoulder. Adam flinches at the touch but doesn’t pull away. 

“If I am feeling bored or upset, I will tell you. I promise you that. But right now, I am simply pleased to see you, and while I may seem reserved, I am looking forward to becoming your acquaintance, or better yet, your friend.” 

Adam remains still for a moment, focusing on his breathing. Once he is calm, he glances up at Hannibal, searching, before quickly turning away again. “Okay. But please don’t stare. It’s weird.”

“My apologies then,” Hannibal says, releasing him and looking down at Winston instead. “Is there anything you’d like to do tonight? A hobby or a routine, perhaps?”

Adam hesitates. “I don’t think you’d like it. I was told it’s quite boring.”

“I’m eager to try,” he insists. “Show me.”

There is a beat of silence before Adam gets up, telling the dogs to stay before he heads up the stairs. Hannibal follows him to the bedroom, merely observing when Adam takes a small narrow case from a shelf. Hannibal waits for him to come back down to the living room or to lounge on the bed, but instead, Adam opens the window and climbs up on the roof. 

Hannibal stares after him. Memories of Bobby escaping his private room come flooding back. “Adam? Darling, what are you doing?” 

He only beckons him over. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

Despite his reservations, Hannibal follows him, careful not to damage the stitching of his bespoke suit as he climbs out of the window. When he peeks out, he finds Adam sitting comfortably at the very top, close to the chimney, the unlocked case resting on his lap as he looks through a monocular telescope. 

“Come on,” Adam repeats, grinning ear to ear. “The view is better here.”

Hannibal joins him and as soon as he sits by his side, Adam says, “Did you know that the Perseus family is best observed during fall? It might take a while with how cloudy it is, but you just need to know where to look. There.” 

He labels the constellations — Andromeda, Perseus, and Cassiopeia, among others — and Hannibal listens quietly as the autumn sky is mapped out. It goes on for a few minutes before Adam suddenly stops and offers him the monocular. “Do you want to see it?”

Hannibal smiles as he takes it, feeling its weight in his hands. “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Hannibal peers through the eyepiece and the skies open up to him. It isn’t as clear as the telescopes at the observatory, but the stars become more defined and distinguishable. It feels closer. More intimate. 

“How lovely,” he murmurs.

“They are. Now, here. I want you to see this.” 

Hannibal feels gooseflesh on his arms when Adam wraps his hand around his, tilting the monocular to the eastern sky.

“There. Can you see? They look like stars but they’re actually—”

“The four Galilean moons of Jupiter,” Hannibal finishes for him. “Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto.”

“Exactly,” Adam says softly, awed. “Not many people remember its names. Do you study astronomy too?”

“In a way, yes. My father taught me how to navigate with the stars when I was much younger, although I spent more time seeking out Jupiter and Orion.” 

“Four of Orion’s stars can be used for navigation though, namely Rigel, Bellatrix, Alnilam, and Betelgeuse. Here, let me show you.” 

Adam animatedly points out the stars before listing down the sixty-seven moons of Jupiter, and as Hannibal listens, his mind wanders to the summers back in Lithuania, back to the little girl wandering through the forest by their castle as she shows him various insects and flowers. When she smiles at him, it is as radiant as the sun. 

“Han’bal, look,” Mischa would say, her dainty finger holding up a yellow butterfly. “It’s a skipper.” 

There is a dull ache in Hannibal’s chest as he recalls it, but Adam’s voice feels like a balm, soothing the pain away. He doesn’t dare interrupt him lest it stops the healing warmth from expanding beneath his ribs, and now Adam is eagerly talking about theoretical astrophysics. “After the big bang, the expansion of the universe slowed down. But then, after seven billion years, for some reason, it speeded up again and it's been speeding up ever since. Some day, everything you see here will disappear forever. And, eventually, the night sky will be almost completely dark.”

“That’s spectacular, Adam.”

“It is,” he agrees, cheeks flushed from both excitement and the cold night breeze. Hannibal wants to lean in and kiss them. Instead, he nods in affirmation when Adam offers, “I can tell you about the Membrane Theory.”

Hannibal arrives home at around three in the morning. 

Adam is one of the most remarkable people Hannibal has ever met, and he spent the past few hours listening to him as he speaks about the stars and the planets and the void, not once interrupting. He only leaves when Adam tells him that it is time for him to sleep, yawning as he bids him good night. 

When Hannibal wakes that morning, he finds a text from Will. It reads: 

thank you for yesterday
adam had a great time
hope you did too 
- w

He smiles and sends a reply, asking if he can come again next week. 

Hannibal visits Adam every Saturday without fail. They have dinner together, wash the dishes, then spend the rest of the night stargazing on the rooftop. The only difference now is Hannibal always brings gifts whenever he visits, starting with his homemade macaroni and cheese — preserved and packaged, of course. 

“I know you’re fond of the brand you have, but I made these in case you’d like to try something new,” he explains, showing him the powder packets made out of five kinds of artisan cheeses. 

“You made your own?” Adam asks, fascinated by the components. 

“Yes. I’m familiar with drying the pasta, although finding the right recipe to dry the cheese mixture took some time.” He explains it all to Adam who listens to him with rapt attention, asking follow-up questions as he goes along. While his expressions are subdued, Hannibal can’t help but preen under Adam’s intense gaze. He always enjoyed talking about cooking, and now, here is a brilliant young man, clinging to every word he says. 

The very next week, Hannibal walks into the house with the familiar scent and finds a plateful of steaming creamy pasta. 

“I wanted to try it today,” Adam says as he lays down their plates and utensils. 

Hannibal grins at that, proud and pleased. “I hope it’ll be up to your standards, then.” 

He watches Adam take the first bite, memorizing how his eyes flutter close as he chews and swallows. “This is delicious. Thank you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal grins wider, falling deeper in love with this boy. “You’re very welcome.” 

“I always wanted to be an astronaut,” Adam says after recounting spaceflight records. “Will thought it was a great idea while we were kids, but as we grew older, it just seemed impossible. We couldn’t afford to move to Washington back then and there weren’t any scholarships for aerospace engineering at the time. Law enforcement was much easier to get into.” 

Hannibal hums thoughtfully as he returns the monocular to Adam. “If you were given a chance to pursue it, would you take it?”

“Don’t be silly,” Adam laughs. 

“Would you though, dearest? Hypothetically.” 

Adam hesitates then, his forehead furrowed in contemplation. “No. Will and Bobby are saving lives by working with the FBI. That’s more important than what I wanted.” 

Hannibal says nothing in reply, simply admiring the lovely thing as he gazes up at the sky once more. While he might deny it or wave it off as insignificant, Adam has sacrificed many things to make sure that Will and Bobby are happy  — from painstakingly grooming them every week to caring for their home and their dogs to discarding his dreams for theirs. Now, Hannibal wishes to provide Adam that happiness as well. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Hannibal says one Saturday evening while they are seated in the living room. Adam glances warily at the new stack of packaged pasta. “That isn’t the surprise?”

“Not quite. Would you mind closing your eyes?”

Adam’s eyes narrow with worry, and Hannibal chuckles. “Do you trust me, dearest?”

Adam nods slowly. 

“Then close your eyes. I’ll give you your gift.”

There is a moment’s hesitation before Adam relents, clenching his eyes shut, and Hannibal moves to retrieve the gift from the Bentley. When he returns to the house, Adam is antsy, tapping a quick rhythm on his thigh. “Hannibal?”

“I’m here, darling. I’m here,” he murmurs. “Now. Open them.”

Adam does, and his eyes widen, periwinkle sparkling in the light. He stares at the astronaut suit Hannibal is holding up for him, and he stands, reaching out to touch the sleeves. “This— This is for me?”

“Yes, it is. I’ve been thinking about it since we last spoke. I’d be glad to support your future studies if ever you’d change your mind, but in the meantime, I do hope that this is enough.”

“That’s— Hannibal, that’s—” The words fade from Adam’s lips. Laughter threatens to escape him whenever he attempts to speak, so he gives up entirely and rushes forward, wrapping his arms around Hannibal and the astronaut suit. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Adam,” Hannibal says after a beat, stunned to find himself in Adam’s embrace. He wants to ask if he can hold him too, wants to ask if he can kiss the crown of his head. What Hannibal asks instead is, “Would you like to try it?”

Adam looks at him as if he hung the moon and the stars. “Yes, please.”

Hannibal waits for him in the living room, sitting on the couch as he reads through one of the coffee table books he recently bought for Adam. He is browsing through photographs of nebulae when he hears a quiet, “Hannibal, look.”

Hannibal does and his heart leaps. The astronaut suit fits Adam perfectly, but what takes his breath away is Adam’s unbridled joy. He is smiling so wide, his cheeks flushed pink when he asks, “How do I look?”

“You look wonderful, darling,” he says, and Adam’s joy burns even brighter, laughing sweetly at the compliment. His laughter is contagious and precious and Hannibal did that, Hannibal made him happy somehow, and he can no longer resist, standing and approaching him. “Adam?”

“Yeah?”

Hannibal stops in front of him, their shoes barely an inch apart. He lifts his hand, hovering by Adam’s cheek. “May I hold you?”

“Oh,” he says, surprised by the polite request. “Yes, of course.”

Hannibal cups his face like he had done with Will countless times before. Unlike last time, Adam doesn’t even flinch beneath his touch, sighing and nuzzling his palm, and Hannibal’s breath hitches at the sight. His voice is like velvet when he asks, “May I ask for another favor?”

“It depends. What is it?” 

“May I kiss you, darling?”

Adam blinks, his face and ears turning redder, but he nods. Then Hannibal leans in to kiss him, all soft and gentle.

It is chaste but no less passionate, with Adam parting his lips to let him in, his fingers curling around his lapels to pull him closer. They breathe each other in when they part, their noses touching when Hannibal rests his forehead against his. It takes a while before either of them can speak, and Hannibal breaks the silence first. “Shall we look at the stars then?”

Adam nods, bright and giddy. “Okay.” 

Hannibal can scent Adam’s anxiety the moment he walks into the house the following week. It lingers in the air, dark and bittersweet. 

“Good evening, Adam,” he greets as he hangs his coat. “Is everything alright?”

Adam nods vigorously, unable to look at him. “Everything’s fine. I guess.” 

Clearly not, Hannibal thinks while Adam fidgets through dinner preparation. Every now and then, he glances at Hannibal, opening his mouth as if he wishes to say something, only to withdraw just as quickly. It is only after dinner when Hannibal is drying the last of the dishes that Adam blurts out, “Do you want to have sex?”

Hannibal nearly drops the plate, whipping around to stare at him. The poor boy is red-faced, staring at him eagerly. He looks absolutely delectable, and Hannibal can’t help but smile. “If you’re willing, I’d want that very much.” 

Adam swallows thickly but nods, taking Hannibal’s hand and leading him to the bedroom. He seems to lose steam with every step they take, and when he finally closes the door behind them, the poor thing is frozen in place, idly tugging at his sleeves. 

“Take off your clothes, dearest.”

Adam’s cheeks flush pink but he does what he’s told, removing his shoes and socks, his belt, then his pants and boxers. He flushes brighter as he holds onto his sweater, pulling it down to hide himself. “Can I keep this on for now? It’s cold.” 

Hannibal smiles, utterly lovestruck. “Of course. Now, up on the bed.” 

Adam sits by the headboard, his knees folded up to his chest as he watches Hannibal undress. It isn’t that he is making a show out of it but Hannibal takes his time, folding his clothes as he goes until he is completely nude, and Adam is as red as a cherry when his eyes wander down to Hannibal’s length. 

Hannibal towers over him when he kneels on the bed, reaching for the lube tucked away in the drawers (easy enough to find after a few nights spent with Will and Bobby) before kissing Adam tenderly. With gentle hands, he coaxes Adam to straighten his legs and runs his hands beneath his shirt, lightly pinching and rubbing against his nipples until they pebble. Adam moans his name against his lips and it tastes sweet on his tongue.

Hannibal barely suppresses a shudder, disbelieving that this is truly happening, that Adam Raki is writhing beneath him, welcoming his touches and his affections. He kisses a trail from his mouth, down his neck, down and down onto his stomach, and Adam regards him with half-lidded eyes as he places a tender kiss along his inner thighs. As a warning, Hannibal says, “If you’d like me to stop, just say so.” 

Then he takes Adam in his mouth. 

Adam keens softly as he feels himself constricted by Hannibal’s throat. He grips the pillow beneath him as he rocks his hips up into Hannibal’s mouth and Hannibal hums, swallowing it all. Then Hannibal reaches down to spread his furled hole with his thumbs and Adam startles, sitting up suddenly. “Wait, please—”

Hannibal pulls away immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

He blinks up at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“I— It’s always been Bobby and Will who fronts when we have sex. I’ve used toys before but I— I’ve never—”

“You precious thing,” Hannibal says, kissing him again and Adam melts against him in relief. “It’s alright. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll just take my time preparing you.”

Adam only nods, dazed when Hannibal pulls away to lube up his fingers. He slides one first, slow and cautious, a hand patting Adam’s thigh to ease him through it. He has penetrated Will’s body countless times before but Adam is extremely tight, his breathing quick and shallow as he’s breached. 

“Take deep breaths, dearest. There. That’s a good boy.” 

He pushes in the second finger when Adam calms down, earning a startled whine when he rubs against the sweet spot inside. Hannibal pushes in a third until Adam is panting, rocking his hips against his hand. 

“Are you ready for me, darling?”

“I think so,” he breathes, squirming when Hannibal pulls his fingers out, only to be replaced by the head of his cock. 

Adam is deliciously snug around him, and Hannibal has to take his time before he bottoms out, Adam’s legs trembling by his sides. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, peppering his cheek with kisses. Adam sighs shudderingly as he nods. It is enough for Hannibal. He cannot wait for a second longer.

He begins to move, slow and deep thrusts, much different from how he makes love to Will or how he roughly pounds into Bobby. He takes his time, easing Adam into it until he is whimpering, biting his lip to quiet his sounds. Hannibal tuts at that, brushing his thumb across them. “I’d like to hear you, Adam. Don’t hide from me.” 

Obediently, Adam lets out his soft moans whenever Hannibal pistons in, his head thrown back, eyes closed in pleasure. “Ha— Hannibal—” 

Hannibal grunts as he picks up the pace and Adam clings to him, brows furrowing when he thrusts too hard, too deep. He squeaks out in distress, his nails digging into Hannibal’s shoulders. 

“Hurts,” Adam says quietly. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says, slowing his thrusts to a grind. “There. I’ll be gentle.”

Hannibal waits until Adam loosens his grip before he returns to his initial steady pace, persistently hitting his prostate. Soon enough, Adam is moving his hips on his own, his arms wrapped around Hannibal’s neck for leverage. “Hannibal—”

“Yes, hold onto me, darling,” he says, voice much lower and rougher than before as he picks up his pace again, careful enough not to push in too deep. He wraps his hand around Adam’s cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. 

Adam clenches around him, sucking him in, and it doesn’t take long before Hannibal comes with a groan. Adam gives a startled cry as he’s filled, mouth open wide as he spills into Hannibal’s fist. He is gorgeous when he comes undone, and Hannibal hovers above him for a moment longer, memorizing how Adam looks at him reverently through glassy eyes, how his sweat-damp curls frame his angelic face, how he shivers when he reaches out to him, guiding him to rest on the bed. 

They lay together, side by side, chests heaving as they recover. Minutes of silence pass between them before Adam shakily reaches for the box of tissues by the bedside drawer and Hannibal helps him, grabbing a handful to clean them both. 

“You did so well, dearest,” he purrs, kissing him tenderly. “My lovely, brilliant boy.” 

Adam hums, pleased by the praise. He languidly returns his kisses until he finds himself too tired to continue, resting his head by the crook of Hannibal’s neck. 

“Did it feel good?” he asks in a hushed tone, and the corners of Hannibal’s eyes crease with fondness as he massages his scalp. “Of course, darling. It was splendid.”

Adam yawns and nuzzles him one last time, and Hannibal can feel the shape of his smile against his skin. “I’m glad.” 

The world is still dark when Hannibal wakes. He turns to his side, watching Adam sleep, his breathing soft and deep. He presses their foreheads together, placing quiet praises and kisses on his curls until the winter light shines through. When his lashes flutter open, he finds periwinkle replaced by a misty blue gaze. 

“Morning,” Will yawns and stretches. 

His lips quirk up. “Good morning, beloved.” 

Will scoots closer, resting his head on his chest and smiles, lopsided with sleep. “You look happy.” 

“I am.”

“Sounds like you and Adam had a lot of fun.”

Hannibal shivers at the pleasant memory. “Yes. You could say that.”

Will draws back a bit, cupping his face and staring into maroon eyes. “You can have him as much as you want. Just don’t forget about me, alright?”

“Why, are you still jealous of your own alters, Will?”

“I’m not,” he snaps, but there’s an amused grin on his lips. Hannibal grins back, kissing his neck as he looms over him, pushing Will’s knees up to his chest. 

“Don’t worry, dearest. As I’ve said before, I adore Bobby and Adam. I will do anything and everything for their happiness. But...” He savors his beloved’s small gasp when he slips inside, still slick with last night’s lube and come. “You’ll always be my favorite.”