Work Text:
Love.
Man's greatest weakness— one that for decades, Hannibal had been foolish enough to believe himself immune to. Resigned himself to a life of solitude, out of fear as much as necessity. His weakness had found him, naturally, and Hannibal had been utterly powerless to do a thing about it. It hadn't stopped him from trying, though. He'd spent two years trying to chase it away, and another three trying to coax it back again. And now—
"Can I have a hint?"
He smiles in spite of himself, opening the door of his parked car with an amused huff. Now, love had found its home with him. Them. Poured itself into the deep cracks and fractures in Hannibal's soul, mended them with all the tender skill of a mother darning a worn sock. For five years, now, love had been his constant companion. To the day, in fact.
"Mylimasis," he sighs as he opens the passenger side door, taking a pale hand in his own with a sardonic smile. "I don't believe there has ever been an occasion that you've been in need of a hint."
Will only rolls his eyes as Hannibal helps him from the car, in equal measures endeared and unimpressed by the gesture. "I'm curious, that's all," he defends, and Hannibal shakes his head. "Is it shiny? Is it bigger than a bread box?" he lifts a dark brow. "Is it alive?"
At this, Hannibal laughs. "I don't believe I could hide a new dog from you if I wanted to."
"I didn't say a dog."
The two of them fall in stride as they approach the front door of their home. Their anniversary dinner was splendid, and Hannibal takes an opportunity to admire his husband's attire in the warm light of their front porch. He's in a fetching little suit, tailored just for tonight. It's a shame, really, that it likely won't be wearable in a matter of hours. So it goes. "It isn't a pig, either," he replies. "I don't imagine you'd be particularly pleased if I'd already done the work for you."
Will shrugs. "You might have picked it out, for us to butcher together tomorrow. I'd consider that a pretty thoughtful gift."
Their foyer is like a furnace compared to the chilly night outside, and Hannibal luxuriates in shaking the cold from his arms as he hangs his overcoat. Without so much as a glance, Will turns and offers Hannibal his back. Hannibal smiles to himself, slowly removing Will's coat and hanging it on a hook beside his own.
"I have no intention of doing any hunting tomorrow, I assure you," he says, and Will laughs knowingly. "In fact, I've made a point of adding nothing to my agenda."
Will's initial response is a gratified hum. He spends a lingering moment just standing in place, his spine close to Hannibal's chest. "That sounds nice," he says softly. "A day in. We don't do that enough."
Hannibal ducks forward to press a kiss just below Will's ear, breathing him in. Spice. Pine. Anticipation. Then like a spell broken, Will moves. He makes a beeline from the foyer to the kitchen, fetching a container from the refrigerator to give Orpheus and Zagreus their nightly feeding. The dogs in question are hot on Will's heels, no better than Hannibal for how they beg for the man's attention.
"Well, there is one thing on my agenda, actually," Hannibal clarifies.
"Oh?"
He leans on the counter, helpless but to admire Will even as he does something so mundane as feeding their pets. "That film you've been badgering me to watch with you. The one with the... fish man?"
Will looks up at him, a grin blooming. "You're finally going to watch 'Shape of Water'? Is that my present?"
Hannibal tries to conjure a look of offense. "Of course not. Your gift is much better, it's shipment is just delayed. But yes, we can watch 'Shape of Water' tomorrow, since you're so convinced that I'll enjoy it. I'll make caramel popcorn."
Will laughs, placing the empty food container into the sink. "You are going to enjoy it," he insists. "I think I know you well enough to predict your tastes, don't you?"
"I'm certain of it."
Slowly, steadily, Will drifts nearer to the backdoor. The air between them shifts. It turns tense, heavy. Charged with potential. Their eyes lock. The corner of Will's mouth lifts, just for a moment.
"Happy Anniversary, darling," Hannibal says.
And a moment later, quick as a flash, Will wrenches the door open and dashes out into their backyard.
His grin turning fierce, Hannibal allows himself one centering breath before he follows. He's careful to shut the backdoor behind himself, keeping Orpheus and Zagreus safely inside. Will has already fled into the woods just beyond their yard, the low branches of a tree swaying slightly in his wake and giving him away. Hannibal tilts his head, listens for just a moment, and gives chase.
It's certainly an atypical tradition, but no less enjoyable for it. Hardly any aspect of their relationship has ever been ordinary, at any rate.
Their annual celebration had begun by accident. They'd been making love, naturally. Commemorating their first year since plummeting into the sea by instead drowning in each other. And their lives in the wake of their encounter with the Great Red Dragon had been wonderful, thus far.
Except.
Except that there was a certain... bittersweetness, in felling such a foe. In feeling the blood-soaked euphoria of that night. It wouldn't be replicated, they both knew it. The only worthy opponents that seemed to exist for either of them now were each other, and neither of them felt particularly inclined to kill the other. They'd both felt firsthand how unbearably dull life was without their shared company, after all.
It was a worthy trade, of course. Slight adrenaline withdrawal in exchange for day after day of bliss. Any twisted nostalgia for their time spent at each other's throats would simply have to be ignored.
And yet on that night, as their kisses became more heated and their caresses became more purposeful, something shifted. Hannibal's touches turned rough, even by their own standards, and Will's struggling changed from playful to desperate in moments.
Will's first strike to Hannibal's face had stunned them both. It was shocking. Painful. Exhilarating. Before they knew it, Will was sending Hannibal sprawling on his back on their wooden floor. They spent the night entangled, their actions part ruthless fight for dominance, part fucking like animals. They were both bloody and sated by the end, and the next year they'd done it again. And again. And again.
Now it is their fifth anniversary, and their annual game had only become more elaborate with every passing year. It begins with a chase. Something to get the blood flowing. Ever the gentleman, Hannibal always offers Will a head start before stalking after him through the forest. He is swift but silent as he relies on his senses— listening for movement, scanning the underbrush for disturbed foliage. The air is bracing, the rush of his heart warming him enough to stave off the chill.
Hannibal thrives on this. Although Will knows, beyond a doubt, that he has pleasure in store once he's caught, there is always a delicious note of terror in the scent he leaves behind. An eons-old fear that pricks at his prey's back and keeps him running even as he tires. Hannibal adores that fear. Adores the tension as it builds as much as when it finally breaks.
And Will is a very stimulating prey to pursue, as well. Quick as a rabbit and cunning as a fox, he weaves Hannibal in circuitous trails throughout the forest. Occasionally, he slows just enough to let Hannibal catch a glimpse of him, an enticing shape moving through the dark. Just enough to wet his lips. And then he's gone, speeding off in a new direction.
Hannibal is becoming short of breath as he attempts to kite Will into a clearing, frustrated as the gap between his prey and himself refuses to close. There's quite a lot at stake for Hannibal, tonight. Or at least, for his pride.
On their first anniversary, Hannibal was the one who eventually overpowered Will. Again, on their second, though Will gave him quite the fight. It was clear that Will enjoyed it as much as Hannibal did— biting and clawing at his husband until finally giving in and letting himself submit to Hannibal's passions.
And then, on their third instance of this ritual, everything changed. Hannibal attributed it to luck, even playfully insinuating that Will had simply distracted him with his indescribable beauty. These sentiments only served to cushion the truth.
Will had won. As fairly as Hannibal ever had. He'd outrun Hannibal for what felt like hours, and when they finally laid hands on each other, Will had beaten him into submission. To the victor went the spoils, not that Hannibal was ever shy about enjoying his husband's cock from time to time.
Last year, again, Will had emerged victorious. It isn't only within the context of their ongoing game, either. As time passes, it is apparent with every hunt and every catch. Will is getting better.
So much so, that he is surpassing Hannibal himself.
Hannibal loves his husband. He makes no secret of that. And seeing Will like this— adept, ruthless, utterly glorious— it thrills him. He adores seeing Will grow into the creature that Hannibal always saw within him, like David rending himself from his marble prison.
But by a cocktail of insecurity and competition, one that Hannibal can acknowledge but not temper, he is determined to win this year. To capture his prize, wrestle it to the ground, and ravish it.
If only to put an end to Will's ceaseless bragging.
When he steps properly into the clearing, Hannibal expects to find Will. Backed into a corner, ready to be plucked by the back of his collar. Instead, Hannibal is alone. Standing on the edge, glancing round for some sign of where Will had gone. He isn't sure which direction his husband had fled to, and the trail will only grow colder the longer he deliberates. He shuts his eyes, attempts to recenter—
The breath is knocked from his lungs when a solid weight pounces on him from the brush. Hannibal rolls with their momentum, coming to a stop on his back among the fallen pine needles with Will straddling his hips. Will's eyes are wild, his teeth are bared, his cock is hard. Perfection.
"Gotcha."
Will leans closer, his hands outstretched, obviously aiming to pin Hannibal by the wrists.
His hips jerk of their own accord when Hannibal seizes a fistful of Will's hair, forcing his head backwards. "You should've kept running," Hannibal grunts, and ruts their clothed cocks together again while his husband blindly claws at him.
Will manages to free himself a moment later, and doesn't hesitate to strike. His knuckles sing beautifully over Hannibal's cheekbone, making him groan and bite his tongue. "You were taking too long," Will pants, and punches him again, connecting with his jaw so powerfully that it's sure to leave an awful swollen shape for days. "I got impatient."
"You always do," Hannibal notes with a loose grin, and flips their positions. His hands wrap around Will's throat with an almost comforting familiarity. They belong here. "That's your greatest weakness, Mylimasis."
His heart tightens with fondness as Will tries to gasp for air, wheezing against the pressure crushing his windpipe. Clumsy but desperate, he paws at Hannibal's face. His husband's bitten nails dig into his cheek, and Hannibal smiles. "So impulsive," he coos, and when Will's hand drifts near his mouth Hannibal bites it playfully. "You would've evaded me, you know. If only you hadn't been so... cocky."
Will pries at the hands around his throat, bucking his hips in an attempt to displace him. He looks so helpless, so frightened, that Hannibal can't resist another moment. He leans close, aiming to steal a kiss from those trembling lips.
The impact of Will's spit on his face makes Hannibal flinch for a moment. It's hardly the most dignified tactic, but he can't help but respect his tenacity. The momentary lapse in Hannibal's focus is all he needs, and a moment later Will is fighting his way out of his husband's hold and gasping for ragged breaths. He wrestles himself from beneath Hannibal's weight with a savage strength, fighting his defiant way to his feet with glaring eyes.
"And you say I'm the cocky one," Will remarks dryly. His voice is ruined by Hannibal's rough treatment, a ragged, wheezing thing. "Couldn't wait until I tapped out to get some action?"
Hannibal comes to his feet as well, feinting right when Will swings at him. He tilts his head, landing a sharp blow to Will's stomach and causing him to double over. "Perhaps my weakness," he purrs, closing the meager space between them. "Is you, Will."
The next moment, a wet, stinging line is made along Hannibal's arm. He catches a glimpse of it, silver and crimson in the moonlight when Will draws back. Hannibal's upper lip twitches in a brief snarl, blood already wetting his shirt sleeve. Will keeps the knife at the ready as Hannibal steps back, the two of them circling one another like rival wolves in the clearing.
"I thought you maintained that you wanted to do it with your hands, beloved," Hannibal teases, and Will smirks.
"I'm not going to kill you, Han," He says with a strained laugh. "Not tonight, anyway."
Will comes at him, then, a veritable onslaught of cuts and jabs. Hannibal is left on the defensive for a fashion, dodging and retreating round their impromptu arena while his husband relentlessly takes advantage of every possible opening. In a matter of minutes, Hannibal is blessed with lines deep and shallow from Will's blade. A slice to the outer thigh, a stab to the side, a particularly painful gash just below his collarbone. With any other opponent, he'd be incensed by now. With Will, he is eager to wear the marks for as long as they last.
It is his lack of patience, again, that affords Hannibal the upper hand. Will tires, unwilling to back down, and when he slows Hannibal seizes his opportunity. He plucks a stone the size of his palm from the forest floor, having noticed it when it nearly tripped him previously, and strikes with biblical intent.
The stone hits Will's jaw, with an impact so sharp that it jerks his head to the side. He stumbles, clutching at his face, and for a moment Hannibal worries that he's dislodged a tooth or cracked his beloved's mandible.
Will spits red onto the grass. He stares up at Hannibal, and the breath leaves him. Will's eyes are dark, hot, fierce. His mouth is bloody, his posture feral, is white shirt ruined. He reminds Hannibal of the magnificent devil he'd seen slay a dragon, five years ago today.
Evidently the look Hannibal gives him also inspires some nostalgia in Will, because he lunges close and grabs Hannibal by the front of his shirt.
Their kiss is violent, too, in its own way. Hannibal takes the liberty of assessing the damage himself, thoroughly examining his husband's mouth with his tongue. He laps at the blood pooling in Will's mouth like a man starved, savoring how it sticks to his own lips. Stained with Will's colors, he shivers, his hands taking their fill of a lithe, sculpted body.
Will weaves his arms around Hannibal's neck, moaning low into their shared space. The blade of his favorite pocket knife presses to Hannibal's nape, and as they kiss both of their mouths curve into mad grins.
"Drop the knife," Hannibal warns, his lips tacky with blood and saliva.
Will only kisses him again, taking Hannibal's lower lip between his teeth and biting hard enough to add a few drops of Hannibal's own blood to their feast. "No," he growls, and presses the metal more insistently to Hannibal's flesh.
Another kiss, savoring. "I'd rather not take it from you."
Their bodies mold together, hips rutting desperately. This game is always long, but Hannibal can feel anticipation bubbling just beneath the surface, so hot that it threatens to scald him. Both in himself and in Will.
"I'm not giving up yet," Will insists anyway, and Hannibal is caught between admiration and annoyance. "Just," he mutters between kisses. "Taking a little— break..."
With a wet, hot sigh, Hannibal reaches up and snatches Will's wrist. Will manages to knick him across his neck as Hannibal moves him, shallow but searing as fresh blood trickles down his spine. He spins Will in his hold, twisting the arm still gripping the knife cruelly behind his back.
Will struggles, yelping when his arm is strained further. Hannibal's other arm holds Will securely in place, even as he twists and flails in anger and desperation.
"H-Hannibal—" and his breath hitches when Hannibal pushes further. It would be easy, and they both know it. Easy for Hannibal to dislocate Will's shoulder. Snap his Humerus. Bring him to submission with blindingly painful force.
"Drop it, Will."
For a few moments, the forest is silent. Will's panting breath makes small clouds on the air as he deliberates, no longer struggling. Hannibal waits, watches, holds.
Will's fingers unfurl, the knife landing in the grass with a soft thud. Hannibal smiles.
"Good boy."
The shudder that runs down Will's back is electric, and the beast behind Hannibal's sternum rumbles with pride in response.
"Knees."
Slowly, without a word, Will sinks to kneel on the ground.
"That's it," Hannibal praises, and shoves the other man forwards.
Will tries to catch himself, and Hannibal forces his hands behind his back again, both of them this time. He holds Will's wrists with one hand, the other yanking off his own necktie. "In case you have a mind to play any more tricks," he explains, tying the fabric around his husband's wrists tightly. He imagines that Will might still be able to wriggle his way out, dexterous as he is, but he doesn't really expect Will to try. If Will had really wanted to keep fighting, he certainly could have. He knows how to break a simple hammerlock. No, Will had chosen to give in.
He's still moving, writhing about on the ground and trying to find purchase in his position. With a grunt, Hannibal hefts his hips upwards. Will's knees find the ground once more, and Hannibal presses a firm hand on the other man's nape to force his head down, cheek squished in the dirt. His back arches sinfully, a weak whimper slipping past his teeth as his hands strain against their binds.
"You'll be still if you know what's good for you," Hannibal warns, deliberately polite as he eases off of his fresh prey. Will wriggles his hips, shifts a little on his knees, but overall he heeds the warning. Hannibal reaches around Will's waist for his belt, roughly tugging his trousers and boxers partway down his thighs.
He takes a moment to admire the flesh there, pale in the moonlight— his fingers trailing over the silken skin and raising a shiver in the man he loves. Unhurried, almost lazy, his touch drifts upwards. With one demanding hand, he pulls one of Will's asscheeks to the side. Will tenses at the notion of Hannibal observing his hole, struggling as much as he can in this stance. Hannibal brings his palm harshly down over the other man's ass in a quick reprimand, and Will's hips jerk.
Without any further preamble, Hannibal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small container of lube. They'd both known fully well how this evening would end, and so he'd been sure to store it on his person before leaving for dinner. They were meant to be indulging in primal urges and violence, but he still fully intended for their pleasure to be mutual, just as their pain had been mutual.
Will whines softly when Hannibal brings his wet fingers to his entrance, making quick work of prepping him. It's easy, easier than he'd been expecting.
Hannibal smirks. "You fingered yourself earlier, didn't you? Eased the way for me, for when I took you."
The man beneath him doesn't confirm nor deny, only groans low and presses closer, seeking out more of Hannibal's touch.
"Greedy thing," he coos. "Why do you fight if you're so eager to be fucked, hm?"
He feels Will clench at the words, his hips rocking slightly. "H-Have to make you work for it," he pants, twisting his head to send Hannibal a mischievous look over his shoulder. "I've got to keep you in check somehow."
"Humbling?" he prods, lifting a brow. "Is that what this is meant to be?"
As he speaks, Hannibal circles Will's prostate. Maddeningly slow, enough to make Will moan loudly in the still of the night.
"Come on," he half-whines, and Hannibal thrusts a third finger inside just to watch him gasp and shut his eyes. "S-Stop gloating and just fuck— ahn— just fuck me already."
A part of Hannibal would like very much to deny him, to keep teasing him and make him beg and squirm in the dirt for hours. Maybe next year.
Hannibal sighs in relief when he frees his cock, slicking it up with leisurely strokes. Will, made wanton by his unending impatience, sways his hips from side to side enticingly as he waits.
He mewls when the wet head of Hannibal's cock rubs over his hole, hands tugging against the tie around his wrists. Hannibal waits. Just for a moment, just long enough to hear Will whine and huff a quiet "You won, alright? Now hurry up."
"Happy to," he says with a teasing lilt, and pushes forwards.
The tight, hot pleasure of Will's body is secondary to the deep, drawn out "Fuck!" that pours from the younger man's mouth. Will's fingers curl into fists, release, extend— useless where they lie against the small of his back.
Both men groan when Hannibal bottoms out, his hands gripping tightly at Will's hips. Will tries to move a moment later, seeking more, and Hannibal's grip only tightens.
"I'm going to have to teach you some restraint, darling," he muses, rubbing a condescending circle into Will's hip. He rocks into Will, slowly, and a glimpse of metal in the light catches his eye. Hannibal plucks the discarded knife from its resting place, sitting innocently in the frozen grass beside them. "You really are far too demanding."
Will gasps when Hannibal drags the blade over the curve of his ass. "You like me that way," he argues, and he's entirely correct.
Hannibal begins to fuck him properly, then, earning him a satisfied moan from the man beneath him. "I still don't understand why you make this so difficult," Hannibal says, cadence stilted with his thrusts. "You love this, I know you do."
His husband's eyes are glazed, staring at nothing in particular. "I do," he whispers, keening when Hannibal angles his hips just so. "I do, I love it, fuck!"
He wipes the blade off on the back of Will's ruined shirt, cleaning any stray dirt from its surface. Hannibal's composure is slipping, the anticipation and adrenaline making his orgasm unfairly quick in its approach. He slows somewhat, holding off the end for a while longer.
"Perhaps you're in need of a reminder," Hannibal suggests, once again teasing the cool metal over Will's flushed skin. "Something to— what was the phrase you used? Keep you in check, the next time you think to fight me."
Will shudders when Hannibal takes the knife to his left hip, just above the swell of his ass. The way he tightens around Hannibal's cock when the blade first draws blood is nearly enough to make him come, crimson beading from a short vertical line in Will's quivering flesh.
"God, Han, please—" He cuts himself off with another gasp when Hannibal carves another short line just beside it.
"Easy, Will," Hannibal purrs, connecting the two lines at their centers in a simple but meaningful symbol. The 'H' now dripping blood over Will's pale skin isn't deep enough to leave a permanent mark, but he'll be acutely aware of it while it heals. Will hisses when Hannibal presses his hand over the mark, blood soaking his palm.
Snarling, Hannibal drops. His body covers Will's back, pinning him more surely to the forest floor. He braces himself on his palms, finally giving in to the urge to claim Will like a beast claiming its mate. Will howls in satisfaction as Hannibal fucks him, his thrusts hard and deep, the older man's stomach constantly shifting against him and agitating the fresh cuts on his back.
Hannibal runs his tongue over Will's nape, beaded with sweat even in the cold. He inhales deeply, letting out an absolutely ruined moan in response to the scent. Will's trapped fingers clutch clumsy at the front of Hannibal's shirt. Air is whistling through Will's grit, bloody teeth. He's perfection. Absolute, wild perfection.
His teeth sink into the back of Will's neck. Starving, greedy, he feels the skin break at his insistence. The instant that the first warm, rich burst of blood rises to wet Hannibal's tongue, Will nearly screams. If they had any neighbors to speak of, Hannibal might worry about the police being called. Will tightens irresistibly, sucking in exhilarated lungfuls of fresh air.
Hannibal delights in every moment of his husband's orgasm. Not only the maddening sensations around his cock, but the wavering pitch of the other man's moans, the desperate stretch of his spine. The way his pleasure seems to draw out when it's coupled with pain, leaving him caught in waves of bliss for long seconds before he finally turns limp beneath Hannibal's body.
Hannibal himself isn't far behind, groaning in ecstasy and lapping at the blood spilling over Will's neck as he fucks his way to a blinding orgasm.
When he returns to himself, Will is mewling in overstimulated pleasure. Hannibal lazily grinds his release deeper inside of the other man, and Will only bites his tender, split lip, and shuts his eyes.
The clearing is loud with their combined panting breaths, plumes of hot air pouring from their lips. Boneless, Hannibal presses a loose kiss to Will's bite. Will twists, awkwardly seeking Hannibal out until their mouths meet in a slow, metallic kiss. A single thread of red ties their lips when they part, catching the moonlight before breaking.
Pupils blown, teeth bloody, feral and indescribably beautiful— Will looks Hannibal in the eye and smiles.
-
"There's something on your mind."
Hannibal looks down at the body cradled in his arms. They're both covered in bandages, sore from head to toe. Will is a bit dazed on painkillers, his lovely blue eyes refusing to focus entirely on their television screen. Hannibal sighs, stiffly reaches for the remote, and pauses the film. "What makes you say that, Mylimasis?"
Will laughs to himself, practically purring beneath a plush blanket. He presses closer to Hannibal, wincing slightly at the protest of his muscles. The two of them might need to retire this tradition, soon. They weren't young enough to bounce easily back from the strain to begin with, and the years have only made their bodies protest more. "Because I know you," he mutters. "And I can tell when you're fixating on something. Now spit it out."
He only sighs, running his fingers along his husband's abdominal scar. It takes a moment to make himself speak, but Will is, for once, patient.
"Did you let me win?"
Shame pools in his stomach when Will snorts, like Hannibal is being silly. "Is that all?"
"You've bested me the last two years," Hannibal observes with a minute shrug. "I'd thought that perhaps... well, perhaps I was growing too old to challenge you."
Will breaks from his embrace, then, lifting himself on a palm and hovering over him. "You're serious," he confirms, studying Hannibal's face, then gently tilts his swollen jaw with a loving hand.
"Baby," he whispers, then guides Hannibal into a soft kiss. "I fight harder for you than I do for anybody, you know that."
Hannibal smiles into their next kiss, savoring the tenderness in their wounds as much as the tenderness in their words. "You never need to fight very hard for others," he observes, utterly besotted. "Your prey are like lambs before a lion, beloved. You're magnificent."
Will rolls his eyes, kisses Hannibal's cheek where it's bruised and painful. "You're flattering me to deflect. It's cute but isn't working." His fingertips brush the hair back from Hannibal's temple, more grey than blonde, now. "I beat you before because I put everything I had into it, not because you're slipping. I still put everything into it."
"Do you?"
His husband turns nearly sheepish, cheeks turning rosy as he fiddles with their blanket. "Is it so hard to believe that I still want to impress you, sometimes? I've always liked how you look at me— like I'm so fascinating to you." Frowning slightly, Will swallows. "I couldn't take it if you ever got bored of me, Han."
Now it's Hannibal's turn to take Will's face in his hands, to kiss him ardently and nudge playfully at Will's face with the tip of his nose until he smiles. "I could never tire of you, Will. I love you."
Will sighs, melting back into their embrace. "I love you, too," he mumbles.
Hannibal watches him with a nearly foolish smile, carding his fingers through Will's rumpled curls. Love. His greatest weakness.
"...I let you win the first time, though."
Hannibal laughs, tipping his head back with it. Will laughs along, his chest shifting. "Liar," Hannibal replies.
"You'll never know for sure," Will teases, and Hannibal traces the shell of his ear with a wandering fingertip.
"Perhaps a rematch is in order, then."
Will groans. "Not today," he says.
Hannibal chuckles again. "Certainly not. Soon, though."
Will smiles sleepily, long lashes casting delicate shadows over his face where he lies against Hannibal. "Sure. Soon."