Chapter Text
And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it
I won't fear love
Oh, and if I feel a rage, I won't deny it
I won't fear love
-Sarah McLachlan, “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy”
Three Months Later
“It’s a perfect day for a barbecue,” Jack Crawford observed upon one indeed idyllic Sunday afternoon. He gestured with his craft beer bottle at the heavens. “Not a cloud in the sky.”
“There is nothing like a cold beer and some good company on a day like this,” Bella agreed, smiling around at the small group of guests in the backyard of Hannibal and Will’s new home.
“Glad you like the beer. High-end craft brews are the only type Hannibal will allow in the house,” Will snickered.
“Anything less is for cretins absent of a proper palette,” said Hannibal, draping his arm easily around Will’s waist.
He didn’t mention that he used to brew his own beer, but that once he had admitted to starting that habit in service of Alana’s preference of alcoholic beverages, Will made him throw it away, supplies and all, in a fit of jealousy. Then they had angry sex against the kitchen counter. No, it wasn’t a tale fit for mixed company, but from the saucy look Hannibal shot him, Will knew he was enjoying the same memory.
“Well, I’m used to you serving only the best,” Jack nodded, oblivious.
“And as such, Jack, I’m obliged to correct you; this is not a ‘barbecue,’ but a garden party.” Hannibal’s smile was mildly reproving.
Will gazed at his lover, appreciating his adorable snobbery, plus the feeling of Hannibal’s warm, strong arm wound around his back, those long fingers planted possessively at his waist and hip. It was a grounding touch, and it was incredibly intimate. This was a hot day, and Will’s shirt was already clinging slightly to his skin; Hannibal’s behavior was making him feel even hotter in all the right ways.
For the moment, Will was fascinated by the simple perfection of being a couple in front of other people; how safe, wanted and protected it made him feel. Coming into his own as a murderer and con artist had not alleviated his instinctive dislike of socializing for periods longer than five minutes, but this, today, somehow, was really nice.
“You do have a lovely garden,” Bella enthused, “All those bluebells and daffodils, and my, what are those bright pink flowers? So gorgeous.”
“A close relative of wild blue phlox,” Hannibal explained, because if he used their proper name of Sweet William, Will would turn scarlet and probably slap him. Again, that was behavior best saved for their alone time.
“So let me get this straight,” Brian Zeller put in, hand in hand with Beverly, Jimmy close behind them. “You have beer, corn on the cob, strawberry shortcake, and you’re planning to make burgers and ribs on the grill...but it’s not a barbecue?”
Hannibal blinked with a frozen half-smile. He usually did not deign to acknowledge Mr. Zeller, nor his equally flippant cohort Mr. Price, although Ms. Katz was perfectly acceptable company.
“Actually, that’s a strawberry meringue pie,” Will corrected Brian, his face beaming with pride for his live-in lover, the talented chef.
“It’s a party, we’re in a garden,” Beverly snorted, rolling her eyes. “Get with the times, Zeller.”
“Speaking of gardens,” Jimmy put in, “how the hell did you manage to get those black-eyed susans to grow in so bright and strong? I struggle with those every year.”
Hannibal’s eyes flitted cheerfully over the assortment of blooms, from the bearded foxglove which obviously had its more nefarious uses, to the bergamots which Will had insisted on, because they smelled like Hannibal, spicy-sweet and tempting.
“You’ll have to ask Will, he’s a wonder in the garden. After reading only a few books on the subject, all of a sudden he was coaxing miracles from the soil. But then, he never ceases to amaze me.”
Will blushed and tightened his own arm around Hannibal’s waist, glowing and taking confidence from their closeness.
“And as to the grill, we’d best see to it, hadn’t we, my love?” Hannibal asked.
“Yeah, you show me the ropes, babe.” They nodded to their guests and drifted to their cooking duties.
“No,” Will muttered unprompted as he helped Hannibal brush the ribs with bourbon marinade, “You still can’t kill Zeller. He’s my friend.”
“He’s loud and obnoxious,” Hannibal pouted, glancing up at Will through long blonde lashes like the shameless coquette he was, but two could play at that game. “Think of the fun: we could murder Zeller and Price together, create a dual tableau honoring their close bond.”
“Zeller rooted for us, after we broke up.”
Hannibal looked up more fully, surprised. “Oh?”
“Yes. He was hoping we’d get back together, said we gave him faith in true love. And Price was all for us, too. Matter of fact, he was pretty rude to Caleb at that charity gala.”
“I’ve clearly underestimated them both,” Hannibal allowed, smiling broadly, “They are excellent judges of character.”
Hannibal thought back to that night at the gala, Will on Caleb’s arm and the pain reverberating between himself and Will as they stared at each other from across the room, unable to touch, unable to end the awful, aching distance between them. His face fell slightly.
Will kissed his cheek and murmured, “What?”
“It is nothing...only...” He looked around, obviously wishing everyone else would disappear. “Don’t ever break up with me again. Please.”
It amazed Will how far Hannibal had come. There had been a time when he would have suffered acutely under a vulnerability, a sadness like that and stubbornly concealed it in prideful silence.
“Hannibal.” Will kissed him again, on the mouth this time, soft and sweet.
Will wished he had been more successful in finding the perfect engagement ring; what better moment to propose than here, in their new home, among friends and family? But Hannibal had very distinctive tastes, and Will had spent hours scouring antique dealer websites after his boyfriend fell asleep, trying to find the one that was just right. He wished he could give him the ultimate reassurance in this moment, that they were joined for life; Will was never going away again. He had already let quite a few moments like this, intimate and sparkling, slip away because he didn't have the all-important ring, dammit.
They were interrupted by several new arrivals: among them Alana Bloom looking reluctantly impressed by the beautiful house and stunning backyard, and Frederick Chilton, bearing the distinct appearance of a man who truly had no idea why he was there.
“Frederick,” Will crowed, clapping the man on the back when he arrived carrying a large watermelon and looking distinctly suspicious of the entire affair. Some people are just born suspicious, Will mused, and others, like Dr. Chilton, just had good common sense. “So glad you could make it.”
Across the lawn, Jack looked at Bella, Beverly, Zeller and Price in amazement.
“Did you all ever think you would see Will Graham looking this comfortable in a social setting? As co-host?” Jack asked.
There was Will, making congenial small talk with an easy grin, decked out in a robin’s egg blue polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, almost as if Hannibal had dressed him according to his own tastes, but suddenly the cheerful attire couldn’t have seemed more appropriate. Will looked like the unrealistically good-looking, kind-hearted dad on anyone’s favorite sitcom.
“It’s amazing what a great relationship can do to help you feel centered,” Bella suggested with a fond smile at her husband.
“It’s even more amazing what some really good and very consistent sex can do,” Beverly interjected with a smirk. Everyone stared at her in momentary silence.
“I...brought a watermelon,” Chilton said curtly, almost shoving the fruit into Will’s hands. He glanced at the grill with another gust of instinctual wisdom and asked, “I’m assuming you have some vegetarian fare on offer?”
“Of course; there’s fire-grilled veggies coming up soon.” Will gestured with a false smile of encouragement. “Relax, Frederick, we invited you because you’re our friend.”
“Yes, well.” Frederick adjusted the collar of his short-sleeved gingham shirt as if the material was stifling. “Forgive me if I find your sudden camaraderie a touch bizarre, after the arguments we’ve had recently.”
“Oh, you mean regarding the way you run things at the BSHCI?” Will could feel Hannibal watching him, calmly cooking at the grill, not feeling the need to interpose into the conversation; he was just enjoying one of his favorite sights: Will Graham, at his manipulative best.
“Really, Frederick, it’s water under the bridge. I’m sure you took my notes quite seriously, didn’t you, after what my good friend Georgia Madchen revealed to me. You’ll alter the course of her treatment to something less aggressive, won’t you?”
“Every choice that I make regarding my patients’ treatment is strictly above board and highly individualized to their personal needs,” Frederick retorted pridefully.
“You tailor their treatment directly to your own needs of publicly peacocking your supposed ‘success stories’ in getting through to the deranged, but Georgia Madchen is a perfectly sane, highly intelligent and kind young woman recovering slowly from an illness and an ordeal. As you might imagine, I can empathize. Ever do that, Frederick, ever empathize?”
Chilton chortled snidely. “Well, not so much that empathy takes over my entire personality and I lose sight of my professional objectives. It’s not in the patients’ best interest that I throw all prudent methodology to the wind in favor of making them --” he added condescending air quotes. “--’feel better’. That kind of success has no longevity to it; I’m trying to effect real, positive, and lifelong change for these people. I understand that this is far beyond the sphere of your world view, Mr. Graham, so I will forgive your consistent and borderline invasive objections.”
Will’s smile deepened, and it was eerie, but that was nothing compared to the brutal montage of homicidal ideas cascading through his mind as he calmly watched Frederick’s smug face. That would be fun, but watching Chilton wither behind bars in the place he’d ruled with such ruthless greed sounded even more delicious. Chilton’s behavior was infuriating, and something obviously had to be done to get the BSHCI into more trustworthy hands. This conversation merely served as a final confirmation that Will approved of Hannibal’s plan to frame Chilton for the Ripper murders.
They had plans, Will, Hannibal and Abigail, for a European tour. Since Jack and the team had been verging a little too close for comfort, so that it was a matter of slight exhaustion to Will to hold them off from discerning the Ripper’s true identity, they might as well take this opportunity to shuck off their lives here, at least temporarily. Within the next few days, it would all be over; they would release Miriam Lass and let the dominoes fall.
Will would be on a plane to Paris with his boyfriend and daughter soon after, tossing the dreary and tiresome parts of his life here aside along with Jack Crawford and the FBI powers-that-be. Someone appropriate would replace Chilton, maybe Alana, if Hannibal exerted his influence with his usual expert skill, making whoever was in charge of that decision think they came up with the idea on their own. Will would send Beverly postcards from France, from Florence and Venice, from the greenest hills of Ireland and the highest pure white cliffs of Greece where the sea shone like sapphire glass.
“Oh, I never meant to impose,” Will put a hand on his heart with a patronizing sigh of faux-regret. “I hope you’ll forgive my unsolicited advice, Frederick.”
“I…” Frederick shot him an extremely weirded-out look, and Will had to fight the urge to break out into loud laughter at the sight.
“Make yourself at home, there’s beer in the cooler just there.” Will nodded at the melon. “I’m going to take this inside and slice it up.”
He found Bedelia Du Maurier alone in the kitchen; well, alone except for the open bottle of sauvignon blanc and the glass in her hand.
“Dr. Du Maurier, are you feeling shy today?” Will inquired as he started cutting up the watermelon.
“I’m a solitary person, and times of reflection are often those in which I find the most peace.” She set her glass down, casting him a weary half-smile containing a fair share of irony. “I cannot help but wonder why you invited me here. It would not be appropriate for us to socialize outside of session.”
“I brought you here to say ‘thank you,’ Doctor. Genuinely,” he added, and this part was true, “You helped keep me together during months when I couldn’t have done that alone. You kept me on the path.”
“The path of self-discovery?” She asked, refilling her glass with a slight tremor in her hand, although she did not spill a drop. “Or the path back to Hannibal Lecter?”
“They’re one and the same, but you knew that.” He popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Watermelon?” he added.
She shook her head, looking so tiny and fragile in her white sheath dress. “No, thank you.”
“You really put your all into my therapy, I mean you brought your A game. Why was that? I know you don’t put that kind of effort in for just anybody; you’re retired.”
“I realized that it was in my best interest to keep you on the path,” she admitted, shivering and taking a gulp of wine. “Hannibal has never been happier, and I haven’t felt quite so safe in years.”
“Did he threaten you?” Will asked, washing the sticky watermelon juice from his hands, then casually lifting the plate of fruit so he could bring it back outside.
“He’s Hannibal.” Bedelia glared at him, just for a moment, but it was infinitely satisfying to Will that he had managed to make her impeccable facade wobble. “He didn’t have to threaten me. I simply knew.”
“Hmm,” Will murmured cheerfully. He’d always wondered about the terms of their arrangement. It sent a shimmer of pleasure down his spine, knowing that Hannibal had been that desperate to keep him in his clutches. He couldn’t really focus on Bedelia anymore, but she was still looking at him with a slight grimace.
“Your smiles used to be so rare.” Finishing her glass and pouring another to go, she added, “Now everytime you smile, I really wish you wouldn’t.”
Obviously preferring her chances with the company outside, she slipped away into the yard.
Alana had taken in the sights at the party with cautious reserve, but eventually she felt like she ought to say something to Will. She found him alone a little while later, setting out some silverware, napkins, and homemade vanilla bean ice cream to accompany the gorgeous strawberry pie.
“Hi, Will.”
Oh, Alana. Always earnest, so well-meaning and above reproach.
Inside, Will was rolling his eyes all the way to the back of his head, but he let her just do her thing.
“So, where’s Abigail? I was sure she would be here today.”
“She's teaching a knitting class at the library,” Will explained. “She’s coming by afterwards, with some of her homemade cookies. Save room.”
“Hmm. I have to say, I’m impressed with everything you and Hannibal have built here,” she allowed.
Will glanced up, his brows lifting. “Oh? As I live and breathe.”
“You don’t have to be a bastard about it,” she laughed, oblivious to what an absurdly underestimating statement that was. He currently lived to be a petty bastard. Well, among other things, of course.
She flipped her silky dark hair over her shoulder and pursed her pretty lips, a sight he once would have swooned over. Now, he couldn’t even remember how that felt.
“I was worried,” she continued, “First, you were Hannibal’s patient, and then so quickly you were a couple, and then you were practically adopting Abigail when she was still grieving--”
Will groaned good-naturedly. “Here we go.”
“I mean, for God’s sake, Will, she calls you and Hannibal her fathers.”
“That’s probably because we’re her fathers,” Will mused, his eyes listlessly darting over the assembled guests, mentally logging who might need a drink refill and counting up the number of requests for pie, with or without ice cream. This conversation was already so boring.
“You’re so goddamed confident, and haughty, and smug. What happened to you, Will Graham?” She set her hands on her hips, her lilac sundress blowing gently in the warm breeze.
“I thought you came over here to tell me you were impressed.”
“The entire thing is very impressive. You and Hannibal are blissful here. The house is lovely. I’ve never seen that many enormous dog beds in the same room with a harpsichord, by the way.”
“The dogs like to listen to Hannibal play.” Will grinned, this time a real one, his face lighting up, blue eyes glowing. “We all do. They know not to get too close.”
“Abigail is well-adjusted, stable, excelling in her courses. She goes to her therapy and when she’s around the two of you, it’s obvious she’s entirely comfortable and feels at home. I don’t know how you pulled it off. It has evolved now to the point where I look crazy if I try to object to any of it.”
“We wouldn’t want you to look crazy, now would we, Alana?” Will tsked as he cut himself a slice of the strawberry pie. “We all know how you feel about instability. Might be too much for you to handle. Pie?”
“Smug,” Alana complained, reaching a hand out for the plate of scrumptious, fluffy meringue pie. “Bastard.” She took a bite. “Oh, my God.”
“Jeeesus,” Will sighed as he enjoyed the first taste of tart fruit and meringue so light it was a cloud on his tongue. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must pay my compliments to the chef.”
He was under no illusion that Alana wasn’t going to keep an eye on them, but that was fine. She had dubbed herself Abigail’s angelic savior since the first day she visited the girl in the hospital, yet frowned upon Hannibal and Will for caring in a more genuine way. They weren’t going to be hanging around here much longer anyway. In the meantime, as long as she didn’t get too close or too rude about it, the matter of Alana’s suspicion that their family arrangement was unhealthy was no more than a faint amusement.
If she only knew how twisted life could be on the way to getting healthy.
***
“Are you kidding me with the pie?” Will accused, stealing a moment to mischievously chase Hannibal into the kitchen.
Hannibal glanced at him in amusement as he placed several dishes in the sink. “I hoped you would like it.”
“You can be more direct about it if you want.” Will’s eyes twinkled as he slinked nearer and caged Hannibal against the sink.
“I made it just for you. I can’t help myself...whenever I cook or bake, I try to imagine what would please you. I think of my food in your mouth, slipping past your naughty lips…” Hannibal traced Will’s lips and carefully brushed his groin against Will’s, both of them sighing at the growing hardness. “Melting on your tongue, gliding down your throat. I want what I feed you to be so delicious that you can’t stop moaning over every morsel.”
Hannibal had on a slim-fitting blue linen shirt with a white pattern of hibiscus flowers, which, along with his dark green shorts and what he referred to as his “summer loafers,” should have looked ridiculous. But he looked like a perfect, sophisticated model, someone who ought to be posing majestically on a yacht. The sun blinked in through the window, slipping lovingly over Hannibal’s hair so that the silver and blonde gleamed; his eyes were warm and always curious, always pushing Will, always.
“Mine,” Will said softly, pressing a hand to Hannibal’s chest and staring intently into his eyes, “All mine.”
“Yes,” Hannibal whispered into their kiss, taking Will’s lips slowly, tracing them with his tongue before licking deep into his mouth for a thorough and languid exploration, sucking Will’s tongue. His hands were firm on Will’s hips, tracing the bones, digging his thumbs into delicate, recently bruised skin to reassert ownership, and Will tugged his hair, hard.
“What do you want to put in my mouth, right now?” The words were raunchy and playful, but Will was panting with need, his taste buds watering.
Hannibal growled, pushing Will into the study. He locked the door, then pressed a big palm to Will’s head to drive him to his knees. With wanton, angelic eyes, Will unzipped Hannibal’s shorts and eased them down, then licked his lips in eager anticipation. Hannibal’s beautifully thick cock stood at rigid attention, and Hannibal was quivering in urgent desire.
“All for me?” Will smiled. “I guess you’d better be quiet, Hannibal, no matter how this makes you feel. We don’t want any of our guests to overhear.”
He leaned in and licked gradually up Hannibal’s hard length, keeping eye contact as he played with his balls and then swirled his tongue around the tip, savoring the precum. Finally snapping, Hannibal grabbed his head and fucked desperately into his mouth, letting out a series of feral, low grunts. Will could only imagine how Hannibal’s heart must be pounding because his own was thundering through his ears as his veins sang with delight. He loved the way Hannibal handled him, with roughness that, in its loss of control, was more tender than the softest touch could ever be.
“Bad boy,” Hannibal said raggedly when it was over and Will was swiping up a spare drop of cum to suck off of his thumb. “Atrocious behavior. You couldn’t wait for the party to be over. At some point...”
Hannibal took a few more heated breaths as he tried to compose himself, zipping his shorts back up and running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“At some point we shall have to have a serious discussion about your exhibitionist streak.”
“And my raging libido. It’s so inappropriate. I’m sorry. Will you make me so sorry later, baby?” Will spoke gently, carefully playing Hannibal’s game, giving him all the ammunition he needed to be absolutely filthy towards him once they could be alone again.
Hannibal yanked Will’s hair to urge him back up to his feet. When they were face to face, he answered, “You’re going to be very, very sorry, Will. I’ll make you cry..”
“Promise?”
***
The party was over and they were cleaning up the yard, clearing away the empty plates and bottles, then folding the chairs and returning them to the shed.
Will lingered in the moonlight and stared up at the sky when they were done. Hannibal stood behind him, arms wrapped around his middle, face tucked into his neck.
“What are you thinking about, mylimasis?”
“I’m thinking I’d like to keep this place, this house.” He turned to kiss Hannibal briefly, tenderly. “Our house. We might like to come back someday. I know I would.”
“If we can, I should like it, too. We’ve made so many memories here that my palace is gleaming with the light of them.”
“Give me some more memories?” Will smiled, leading Hannibal inside, through the beautifully expanded kitchen, past the study with its ponderous artwork on the walls, its impressive bookshelf, regal harpsichord, and dog pillows.
They had boarded the dogs for the party, and they had the whole, quiet house to themselves for the night. Will suddenly wanted Hannibal to make love to him in every single room, and he realized he was saying goodbye to this place, just for now. So many more adventures lay ahead, but the path to Hannibal always led back home.
He walked upstairs backwards, slowly lingering and teasing Hannibal with his feisty gaze. “You know, before summer came, I never really thought about you wearing shorts.”
“It would be utterly intolerable to pass so hot a season wearing full trousers every day. Even I must make concessions to the weather.”
“I really like the way you look in those shorts, Hannibal.”
It was a bit of an understatement. Will couldn’t quite decide which aspect he liked best: being able to see so much of Hannibal’s legs during the day, or the way the shorts accentuated Hannibal’s ass.
“Well, then I shall consider it a happy concession.” Hannibal blushed slightly, reaching the step below Will and running one finger down the front of his shirt. “As for your attire, the items I chose for you look absolutely charming.”
“I guess you probably think you’ll be able to convince me to accept the ‘trousseau’ of clothes you’ve commissioned for me, for Europe.”
“I think that you’re going to be a good boy and come into the bedroom with me.” Hannibal walked past him, his eyes burning in the shadowy hallway. “We have much to discuss.”
“Like what?” Will asked, turning a lamp on because he wanted to see Hannibal, wanted to watch his face shifting expressions of fear, longing, arousal and wildness, wanted to watch his body moving above him, driving into his own, pulling Will apart at the seams.
“This,” Hannibal smiled, pulling Will’s shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He caressed Will’s body like it was the first time, with desperate craving and fervent obsession.
Will moaned as Hannibal’s fingertips coasted over his shoulder blades, down the hard curves of muscle in his arms and across his chest, teasing his nipples, drifting down his belly where his breath caught, helpless, pinned in place by Hannibal’s gaze.
“And this,” he said huskily, unbuttoning Will’s shorts and pushing them off, slowly massaging his ass, laying a softly wet kiss on his upturned mouth, tasting Will’s invitation to kiss him forever, steal all his breath and every tomorrow he had to give.
“This,” Hannibal added, biting Will’s neck and cupping his erection through his underwear, making him whimper, fingers digging into Hannibal's shirt and twisting. “Lie down for me, beloved. It’s going to be a long night.”
“I thought you were planning to punish me tonight, and be rough about it,” Will ventured tremulously, staring up at him as he lay on his back and Hannibal hovered over him, stroking his face, letting Will’s stubble prickle at his fingers.
“Yes, I am, in due time. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
“Very much,” Will whispered.
“My good boy. First, I want to make love to you.” He kissed Will again and again, until Will was dizzy with it, hungry for more, a floating sensation taking over his body. Hannibal always knew what he needed.
“Hey,” Will sighed, catching Hannibal by the shirt collar and smiling, slightly dazed. His lips were swollen, eyes lust-blown and enamored.
Hannibal looked down at him expectantly.
“Hi,” Will said, running his fingers under Hannibal’s shirt, pushing it up to feel more and more of his hot, smooth skin, the strength of his back, the way Will’s touch made his breathing grow hectic.
Their eyes locked and Hannibal smiled again, warmly. “Hello, Will.”