Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will stood on his doorstep radiating discontent. Soft snowflakes clung to his curls, which had begun to grow out again. Hannibal surprised himself by wishing that they would. He missed the wildness of his hair, and the way it sometimes fell into his pale blue eyes when he was trying to be secretive. Will had returned from the asylum much changed in manner and appearance. He wore less flannel, kept his hair neat, and rarely wore his glasses around Hannibal anymore. Not all the changes were displeasing. Hannibal very much enjoyed the wrinkle-free dress shirts, but the hair was another matter. Although Will looked good with it neatly trimmed and tamed except for that single stray lock that resisted styling, he didn't always look right. The incongruous aesthetic bothered him, and as the days ticked by, Hannibal increasingly desired to correct this flaw in the fresco he was helping to paint. As hard a man as Will was, Hannibal had never forgotten how soft his hair felt.

"Will, what a surprise. Do come in," Hannibal said motioning him inside.

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter," Will replied trailing snow and a heavy aura of melancholy behind him.

Hannibal helped him of his coat in the foyer. Will knew better than to proceed further into the house until his wet outer garments and snow covered boots had been removed—something Hannibal wished all his guests would intuit. After hanging up the coat, he returned with a pair of house slippers, which he kept in the closet specifically for his favorite patient. Their actions were both comfortable and routine like a dance they had performed many times.

"I did not expect to see you back so soon. You closed the case in two days then? Impressive. You are getting even better at separating form from madness," he said.

Will laid a hand on Hannibal's shoulder steadying himself while he put the slippers on as if Hannibal was a piece of convenient furniture and neither asked permission nor apologized. It was an invasion of personal space bordering on rude, and had it been anyone else, Hannibal would have been hard pressed to keep his lip from curling in disgust. But today this little rudeness made him smile. He wanted Will to invade his personal space, and was pleased whenever Will felt comfortable enough to do so. It was these little intimacies that allowed him to draw Will further into his world and under his influence.

"I only needed one day," Will said grumpily, "but Jack made us stay and go through the evidence again 'to be sure.'"

Hannibal cocked his head slightly to the right. "That seems reasonable," he said confused by what he sensed was something more grave between the two agents. "He is protecting the chain of evidence. What else is upsetting you?"

"I'm upset because I'm always 'sure'. If he doesn't know that by now...," Will trailed off—his eyes growing unfocused in the dimly lit room as his mind retreated to some unpleasant memory.

"To be fair, you were also sure that I was a killer. Do you remember?"

Mention of the Copycat pulled Will away from whatever autopsy room or blood-soaked crime scene he was analyzing. "How could I forget," he said with a look that was far from friendly.

They looked at each other through the masks they each wore wondering if this was the moment someone would reveal himself. At the other end of the house, a clock began to chime, and by the tenth bell the moment had passed.

"Come. Let me get you something to eat while we discuss the case," Hannibal said.

"Actually,I came to borrow some meat and potatoes," "Will said as he followed Hannibal into the kitchen,

He glanced over his shoulder as he took two glasses from the cupboard. "Of course I do not mind, but why the sudden interest in the culinary arts? You don't cook."

"I cook," Will said and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hannibal rolled his eyes. "Adding milk to something that comes from a box is not cooking although it may be masochism," he said and left Will in the kitchen while he fetched a bottle of wine from the basement for them to share.

The younger man was in the same offended attitude—hips cocked, arms crossed— when he returned with a forty-five-year-old Merlot bottled in Umbria. He poured two glasses and held one out to his patient hoping to coax him into unfolding himself. "As your psychiatrist, I cannot allow you to indulge in these toxic behaviors when it is in my power to stop you. Please, tell me what you wished to prepare this evening, and I shall be all too happy to cook it for you. With some modifications of course."

Will took the glass and practically drained it in the first gulp. His cheeks were stained red in embarrassment. It was an uncommon reaction for so slight an insult. Curious. Regardless, Hannibal found the blush much to his liking.

"It's not for me. It's for the dogs. I make their food myself."

Ah, there it was, the dogs, Will's one true love. Since resuming his therapy, Will had been reluctant to speak of them. Hannibal suspected he was trying to protect them with his silence, which made this request all the more perplexing. It showed a trust Hannibal had not thought he had earned yet. "You make their food from scratch, yet feed yourself things that barely belong in a pig trough. I begin to think we should have left you in the asylum."

Will stared into his glass and sighed. The mention of his incarceration rekindled his melancholy, and Hannibal regretted making the remark.

"It's better for them, and I enjoy it. Don't you enjoy cooking for your friends?" Will asked.

"More than anything,"

"It was time to make another batch, but Jack called me away before I could cross it off the list. I know I'm out of meat and a few other things, but the store will be closed by the time I get back to Wolf Trap. Raiding your pantry seemed like the next best solution."

"What have they been eating in your absence?"

Will grimaced like he'd ingested something sour. "Alana bought some pre-made junk. Organic, she says, but I know better. That stuff is all garbage. I can't bring myself to let them eat it again, but it's all I have at the house. I figure anything is better than that."

Anything? How strange you have become, my dear Will. "I would be happy to oblige, but only if you cook it here. It is a sight I must see to believe."

...

Hannibal returned with a basket overflowing with the requested ingredients. When asked about his preference of meat, Will had looked at Hannibal dubiously and rather coquettishly asked what choice he had. Although Hannibal did have fresh cuts of real bison and venison available, for that wise crack, Hannibal opted to provide "pork" instead.

While Will washed and prepared his work station, Hannibal poured himself a second glass and settled in for the show. Cooking required passion, particularly when cooking for someone you cared about. It was one of the reasons he found such pleasure in it. When the prospect of friendship with another man first presented itself, this moment, this exact scene had played out in his head a dozen times. After becoming better acquainted with Will and his Lunchables style lifestyle, those hopes had faded...until now. Admittedly, in Hannibal's fantasies Will was preparing a meal for him instead of his dogs. Despite the plot twist, Hannibal felt more grateful than annoyed by it. Here was a pleasure he would not be experiencing otherwise were it not for Will's family of strays.

Will began by sorting the ingredients, examining each vegetable for flaws. Hannibal noted with both amusement and indignation that some did not meet his standards although Hannibal had been careful to pick only the best. Will never even asked about the meat. If he had any reservations about feeding his dogs less conventional game, he must have already dealt with them on the drive over. Perhaps the knowledge that this would not be the first time it had been fed to them made it easier. Before the arrest, Hannibal had looked after the dogs many times. Will was smart enough to figure out the rest.

"Would you like to talk about the case?" Hannibal asked watching Will pick through his kitchen knives, experimentally holding each one until he found a blade that felt comfortable.

"There isn't much to say. The unsub was a jealous husband picking off women who looked like his wife. It was pedestrian. I read his design within minutes, but that wasn't good enough for Jack."

"Are you more upset that it was not interesting or that Jack did not respect your opinion?" he asked.

"Trust. Jack didn't trust my opinion. My jumps were always good enough for him before, but ever since...Abigail, Jack doesn't trust my objectivity."

"Do you trust it, Will? Your objectivity?"

"No, but I know the reason for that. Its hard to be objective with your voice in my head, Doctor," Will said tapping his temple within the flat of the blade. "Jack doesn't know about that though so this is something else. Something new."

Hannibal nodded as Will returned to slicing vegetables. His knife skills were inelegant but steady. That was a good foundation to improve upon. Hannibal closed his eyes and listened to this living moment wanting to record for his memory palace. The sound of the knife ripping through the flesh of an onion made him feel languid and nearly peaceful. He wondered if he could arrange for this to happen again. He could get used to having Will Graham in his kitchen.

Will cursed, and Hannibal smelled blood in the air. He opened his eyes and found Will cradling his hand. The knife lay abandoned on the cutting board. A thin line of crimson blood ornamented the pine. Hannibal moved quickly to assist. "Let me see," he demanded.

Will hesitated before accepting aide. "Sorry, guess I should have been more careful."

Hannibal took his hand. Will had sliced open his thumb, but thankfully that was all. The cut was deep, but Hannibal couldn't determine how deep beneath all the blood. He raised the injury to his lips and sucked away the blood that was obscuring his view. He heard Will's breath hitch in alarm, but Will did not pull away.

It was a pity Hannibal had long ago given up on wanting to kill and eat Will because he tasted fantastic—a heady mix of copper and woodsmoke with just a hint of sweetness. What a feast he would make. The problem with eating the rude was that they never tasted as fine as the righteous. Hannibal pulled away, feeling lightheaded, and looked again at the cut. Blood was already refilling the wound. He was tempted to go back for seconds. "I will need to stitch this up," he said.

"No really, I'm fine," Will stammered.

"Fine? Are you also a doctor then?" Hannibal asked and wrapped his patient's thumb in his pocket square.

Will grunted. "It's just scratch. It's nothing. I was shot once you know."

"How could I forget," he smiled repeating Will's words from earlier, but Will did not seem at all amused by his joke.

Chapter Text

From the beginning, he had known this was a bad idea, but like a lamb to slaughter, he came anyway. I did it for my dogs, Will insisted. It wasn't a lie. The thought of feeding his dogs the canine equivalent of Lucky Charms made him ill, more so than the thought of them eating people strangely enough. That probably said a lot about his declining mental state, but he'd deal with that later because it wasn't the only reason he'd come.

Traveling with Jack and the forensics team was never pleasant for someone with his personality deficiencies. On cases where there was no mystery to solve and virtually nothing to do except to wait for the lab results, it was unbearable. Small talk was torture for Will, but the alternative was alone time with Jack, which wasn't much better these days. Sure everything seemed fine following his release from the asylum. Time healed all wounds except when those wounds were already infected.

As the weeks passed without turning up any hard evidence of Hannibal's crimes, his alliance with Jack grew strained. Some of it had to do with Bella's worsening condition, a lot of it actually, but that wasn't the only thing changing. Will was changing too. Jack sensed the danger, but could not see the extent of the rot and ruin that had found a home inside Will. Whatever parasite Hannibal had left in him had grown and reached the end of its incubation period. He felt it like a second heartbeat knocking against his ribcage trying to punch a hole through his chest and escape.

The clickity-clack of shoes against the hardwood floors brought Will's attention back to his present predicament. 'Speak of the devil, and he shall appear', Will thought when Hannibal laid a basket of meat and fresh vegetables on the countertop. Or would 'beware Greeks bearing gifts,' be more appropriate in this case? He wasn't sure what game Hannibal was playing at tonight with this little performance, but it seemed best to play along. Hannibal wanted him to cook in front of him. Big deal. He had already done much worse in pursuit of the good doctor's trust. He could sing for dogs' supper. This should be easy, harmless and fun, which was precisely why he worried. Hannibal had a knack for turning even the simple things into a teaching moment.

Will picked through the vegetables and set aside any that were bruised. He also tossed some that weren't, for the pleasure of it, and received a ghost of a frown from his benefactor. Yes, that's right. I'm being terribly rude right now. What are you going to do about it?

Hannibal didn't speak much except to ask about the case. It was a common tact with him—always directing Will's mind back to a world of bloodshed and murder in the guise of safe harbor and therapy—but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was how much Will enjoyed it, this voyeurism.

The clothes, the haircut, the change in his mannerisms. It began as an act, an intricate lure to catch a particularly clever fish, or so Will told himself. Judging by the way Hannibal looked and acted around him lately—a little more relaxed, a little more predatory—there was genuine interest in the bait. What Will had failed to account for in the equation was his own vanity. Every little compliment or look of surprise made Will feel proud. For the first time, someone looked at him and saw something remarkable instead of only seeing his instability.

Will was in a bad place, but was he so far gone that he couldn't swim back to shore when it was over? And if he couldn't, what did it even matter? There was only one person who cared about him, and he would be behind bars for the rest of his life if Will succeeded in his mission. It was a miserable end whichever way the cards fell. No sense in worrying about self-preservation now.

After a particularly long quiet spell from the other side of the kitchen, Will looked up to see what was wrong. Hannibal leaned against the refrigerator, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly like he was listening to an opera. Nothing would be easier than slitting his throat right now. Will tightened his grip on the handle of the kitchen knife instinctively. It could end tonight if he wished it, but was that what he wanted? To be done with it?

Because God was humorless and for some reason had a soft spot for Hannibal Lecter, Will sliced open his thumb in his distracted state. "Shit!" he yelped and dropped the knife. He bore down on the wound with his good hand to staunch the flow of blood. When he looked up, Hannibal was already moving towards him. Unconsciously, Will stepped back and bumped into a countertop. This must be how the wounded antelope felt when the lion stalked it to its inevitable grave.

"Let me see," Hannibal instructed.

Hesitantly, Will did as he was asked, but with blood in the water, he wasn't enthusiastic about trusting the shark.

Hannibal took his hand; lifted the cut to his lips; and began to suck it clean.

Will's breath caught in his throat as a jolt of pain shot through his hand; however, he dared not pull away. This was a trust excersise. That was clear even if Hannibal were not staring at him with Will's own flesh between his teeth. Well drink up, you jackal. Drink as much as you like. This is my body given to you.

His treacherous blood flowed out of him like it wanted to belong to Hannibal. Will shivered when he felt Hannibal's tongue glide across his knuckle. Christ, it was so warm inside Hannibal's mouth. It felt so strange. He felt so strange. Heat started to creep up his arm.

Will felt weak by the time Hannibal released him. With a surgeon's hands, the doctor re-examined the cut now that it had been 'cleaned'.

"This could have been worse. Nevertheless, I'll have to stitch it up," Hannibal said matter-of-factly like nothing had passed between them.

"No really, I'm fine," he stammered.

"Fine? Are you also a doctor then?" Hannibal asked and wrapped Will’s thumb in his pocket square.

"It's just scratch. It's nothing. I was shot once you know."

"How could I forget," Hannibal said looking unbearably smug as he tossed Will’s words back at his face. “Wait here. I'll go get my things.”

Will sighed heavily. This was too much. It was supposed to be a simple errand. Go to Hannibal's; borrow some food; get in and get out. So far he hadn't accomplished anything other than putting himself on the menu. Will looked at the nasty slice across his thumb. Blood had filled the wound again, blood as red as the meat that lay untouched on the countertop.

Because he was curious, Will stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked. His blood tasted like copper and the onions he had been slicing prior to the accident—nothing surprising there. Hannibal could have named what Will had eaten for breakfast, down to the blueberry syrup, and described it in perfect iambic pentameter.

"I'm not Hannibal Lecter," Will grumbled feeling both relieved and disappointed. "I'm not. I'm nothing like him."

They say 'the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves'. Maybe that was true. Maybe one day he'd regret not surrendering to Hannibal's master plan. For now, this was enough. For now, this was what he needed.

The former surgeon returned with a leather bag, which looked old—like it belonged in a historical medical drama. He motioned for Will to be seated.

"Would you like some whiskey before we begin? I'm afraid I have no other anesthetic to offer."

Will shook his head and took a seat in an upholstered chair in the corner of the room.

Hannibal knelt down on one knee with the medical bag open besides him. He cleaned the wound with antiseptic this time and began threading his needle. "I see now why you do not cook. That was frightfully clumsy," he said as he made the first stitch.

Will grunted as the needle bit into his skin. "Don't act so surprised. We both know I'm about as graceful as a bull in a china shop."

"You are much tastier than a bull," Hannibal said wearing a strange little smile.

Will blinked. The smile drew his attention to a smear of dried blood at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. There was something disconcerting about seeing his own blood outside his body particularly when worn by a man who killed and ate people for a hobby.

"Uh, you've...ah, you've got something right there," Will said demonstrating by pointing at the corner of his own mouth.

"Oh?" Hannibal said and licked the wrong corner while he continued stitching Will up. "Better?"

"Ah, no. Let me just...," He wet this thumb and wiped the blood away like a mother would tend to her child. The intimacy of the moment made Will feel bold. He cupped the doctor's chin and pulled the his eyes away from his work. "Hannibal...what do I taste like?" he said giving voice to the question that was burning a hole in his mind.

"Like an unfinished symphony, my dear Will," Hannibal said without pause. His eyes were serious and lips a thin, straight line. (***)

Will swallowed. "You seem to have given that some thought."

"Indeed. Something from the baroque era, I should think."

It was the crinkling of skin at the corners of his eyes that gave him away. Will groaned when he finally got the joke and gave Hannibal's head a little shove. "You mean the broke era? Cute."

Hannibal laughed and tied off his final stitch. "Well if you have to explain the joke..."

"Then it means you're not funny."

"You wound me, Will." He said placing a hand on his own chest suspiciously near the spot where Jack had shot Will last year. Another joke? Probably.

"Enough already, Chuckles. Can I cook with this?" he asked and waved his hand.

Hannibal stood and helped Will to his feet. "You can, but I would rather that you did not. Seeing you bleed all over my kitchen was quite enough for one lifetime. Tell me what to do, and I will do the rest For the rest of the evening, I am under your command."

"Now that is the funniest thing you've said all evening."

Chapter Text

"Hannibal...what do I taste like?" he said giving voice to the question that was burning a hole in his mind.

"Like an unfinished symphony, my dear Will," Hannibal said without pause. His eyes were serious and his lips a thin, straight line.

Will swallowed. It didn't shock him that Hannibal had already thought about it, not really. What unsettled him was that Hannibal saw something of value in him at all. In all the world, Hannibal was the only person who didn't pity Will for his shortcomings. Hannibal had betrayed him to be sure, but now it was Will's turn to play the traitor. Fitting. They were so alike, he and Hannibal, but Will hoped that they were just different enough for him to do what needed doing in the end.

"Shall I finish?" Hannibal asked with the needle poised over the wound.

Some moments have layers, which are invisible to reason. Will locked eyes with Hannibal and felt a peculiar warmth settle in his chest. "Be my guest," Will said and felt the effect of his words instantly.

A shadow passed over the doctor's face as he tied off his final stitches. He dropped his needle and thread into his medical bag with an uncharacteristic sloppiness that belonged to somebody else...or something else. Hannibal remained on his knees and never looked away from Will's face as he removed his plaid jacket and more carefully folded it and set it aside. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up revealing strong, muscled forearms that did not belong to any psychiatrist. Piece by piece, Hannibal removed his carefully constructed costume, and David became the monster Goliath.

A chill curled itself around Will's spine, but it was already too late to run. It had been too late for a long time, and now...Hannibal had Will's belt buckle in his hands.

Will grabbed Hannibal's wrist and made an unintelligible noise.

"Shhhh, it is alright. I am not going to hurt you." Hannibal said in low dulcet tones. It was the voice he used in therapy—the voice that brought him back from Jack's crime scenes and made feasts from terrible tragedy. "You are safe with me."

"Liar." Will growled. He was about as safe as a pig on a pig farm, but for reasons beyond his understanding, he let Hannibal pry his hands away. Hannibal scooted forward and pushed Will's thighs apart.

His initial alarm evaporated with surprising speed, and Will watched the developing scene with an odd sense of detachment. "What are you doing?" he said and felt foolish for even asking. It was perfectly obvious what Hannibal was doing. More importantly, why am I alowing this? he wondered, but the answer was just as obvious.

This is how I am going to catch the Chesapeake Ripper.

This was it. This was the whole ballgame. It was one hell of a trust exercise to be sure, but there would be no room left for secrets between them afterwards. Will could resist Hannibal. He might not be strong enough to overpower Hannibal alone, but he could certainly escape from him. However, Will found himself willing to endure this. It seemed so much...better...than the alternative.

If he fled, that would end it for sure. The therapy. The dinners. This life. Everything would end and there would be no going back.

Hannibal reached into Wills pants and pulled out his dick. He said nothing and never broke eye-contact as he stroked the shaft. Will's face grew hot. There was no going back from this either: not for him, not anymore, not ever. Adrenaline and nervous energy flooded his system. This was the price he'd pay for justice. 'No sense in worrying about self-preservation now,' he reminded himself and couldn't deny how good letting go felt.

"Whose unfinished symphony am I, Hannibal?"

"Your own of course. I am not your creator, Will, whatever you believe. You began composing this piece long ago," Hannibal said with a sly smile. "I am only a musician—one eager to hear those final notes." Then he lowered his gaze, and took Will into his mouth.

It began slow. Hannibal took no more that the barest nibbles. He sucked and pulled back then kissed the tip and repeated. It didn't take long for Will to become hard.

"Christ," Will breathed.

"Hardly, but you will be singing his hallelujahs soon enough," Hannibal assured him.

There was no hurry or urgency to Hannibal's pleasuring. He was taking his time and showing no mercy. He liked to use his hand around the base, which meant Will's entire length received attention. No part of him was left wanting. Garret Jacobs Hobbes might have called it honoring him. Will suspected it was closer to sadism since this was Hannibal after all, but Will didn't care. In that moment, he wanted everything Doctor Lecter was offering

"Finish me", he begged. They were dangerous words from a desperate man. The still rational part of his mind knew that Hannibal didn't just want a lover. He wanted a partner—a creature like him. "Finishing" didn't end here. This was a beginning, not an end.

Hannibal's tongue made quick circular motions around the head of his penis. Will nearly came when it happened, but strong fingers dug into his calf. The pain caused his climax to retreat, but not before a loud moan escaped his lips.

"It is not time for the finale," he heard Hannibal say when he drew back next.

"Can't," Will managed to reply.

"You must."

When he felt Hannibal's mouth around his girth again, he also felt teeth.

It didn't hurt. Hannibal's intent was merely to threaten, but the warning achieved its purpose. Will started counting the hairs on top of Hannibal's head in an effort to distract himself from the onslaught of sensation. It worked well enough to allow Will's analytical mind to function again. He observed Hannibal's pale skin turn rosey and pink around his ears and heard the doctor's breath hitch between mouthfuls. It amused Will; thrilled him; made him want to come. Hannibal wanted him, wanted him passionately, and he was being a total glutton about it. How long had Hannibal been waiting for something like this to happen? "Enjoying yourself, Doctor Lecter?" Will managed to say.

Hannibal squeezed his leg again. He was gentle and reassuring up until he did that damn thing with his tongue again.

Something clicked into place as Will strangled the cry that rose up in him. He grabbed Hannibal by the back of his neck and stood up. Hannibal remained on his knees and steadied himself by grabbing Will's ass. Will loomed over him in full control now. He thrust his hips forward pushing himself into Hannibal's mouth. Take as much as you like—" in fact take it all," he said finishing the thought aloud with a Hannibal-esque sense of smugness.

He threaded his fingers through Hannibal's hair and fucked into his mouth. He thought he heard Hannibal choking...or maybe laughing. Will couldn't tell the difference above the ringing in his ears and honestly, he didn't care.

When his orgasm came, he watched with fascination as the muscles of Hannibal's throat moved and swallowed all of him. When the spasms through Will's lower body subsided, he let his hands fall away. Shock and numbness settled in as the heat drained out of him. He looked up at the ceiling in silence, and felt Hannibal pull away and zip him back up.

"Do you see now, Will?"

Startled back to the present, Will looked down into the affectionate eyes and smile of his friend. Oh he saw it alright, and he knew that this was going to happen again somewhere down the line. Hannibal would make sure of it.

"I'm beginning to," he said and helped Hannibal to his feet.

Hannibal wiped away the spit and semen from his lips, and for some odd reason ruffled Will's hair until it was a disheveled mess. "That was good enough for a dress rehearsal. Now, let us tend to your dogs. Tell me what to do, and I shall finish the cooking. For the rest of the evening, I am under your command."

Will laughed and continued to laugh until there were tears in his eyes. "That's the funniest thing you've said all evening."