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The first thing Will notices when he stirs awake is that it’s not yet morning time, there’s a quiet stillness typical of the late night hours and a looming sense of hollowness that he confirms when he softly pats the spot next to him and finds nothing but rumpled sheets.
The room is mostly enveloped in shadows, except for the thin strings of moonlight peeking through the drapes, illuminating the spot where Hannibal’s sitting.
He’s wrapped in a wool blanket as he stares at a point beyond the window; his gaze is fixed on the white mantle of snow outside as if it was a living thing, as if it was mocking him just by existing.
Will’s voice pulls him out of his trance.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse from sleep, but with an undeniable inflection of fondness in it, indicating he isn’t as annoyed as he'd like to be.
“I was having trouble sleeping.” Hannibal says, finally tearing his eyes off the window and giving Will an apologetic look.
”I did not mean to wake you, beloved.” His tone is as even as ever, it does not uncover the horrific pain behind his eyes -yet, even in his sleep-addled state of mind, Will feels it like a phantom limb.
The winter in The Ardennes has been ruthless so far; the kind of freezing cold that seeps into your bones, rattles them, makes everything ache. The days are somber, the clouds abandon the sky but the sun doesn’t seem to return.
Will has braved winters just as merciless as this one back when he was alone with his dogs in Wolf Trap, but this time, it’s more than just shoveling snow off the porch and running around the house, playing with the lockshield valves to ensure the radiators are balanced and heating the place properly.
The bitterly cold wraps Hannibal in a deadly embrace. It poses as comfort, as familiarity, but soon enough it turns traitorous; it sucks the air right out of his lungs, leaving him in shades of purple and blue.
He does his best to hide it, to prance around in all his typical poised stoicism, but Will can see right through - past the seams of his person suit; past the ravenous, bloodthirsty monster that awoke his own, deep inside, to the little boy in Lithuania that experienced horrors beyond his comprehension, horrors that made him, that baptized him and transfigured him.
Perhaps if he loved him less, then he wouldn’t be able to see Hannibal as clearly. But that’s not the case, never has been and never will be.
For a moment, they just look at each other, the silence between them is a welcome companion, for their eyes carry whispered messages that words simply couldn’t convey.
Will asks him if he’s thinking about it again - about Mischa, about hunger, about blood. Hannibal says yes; that he’s never not thinking about it, that he couldn’t escape it even if he tried, that he stopped trying a long time ago.
“Come back to bed.” Will says softly, it’s a command and they both know it, but he’s sweet about it; honey dripping from his voice for Hannibal to taste on his way back to him, always back to him.
Hannibal removes the blanket around his body, stands and makes his way to Will’s side of the bed, bending down to drop a kiss on his forehead.
“I will make myself some chamomile tea, that should help me settle.” He gets Will’s curls out of the way tenderly and kisses him again, right on the pink ridge of his bonesaw scar.
“I’ll come with you.” Will says, tilting his chin upwards to catch Hannibal’s lips on his; feather-soft, unrushed, an exchange of breaths, but more than that, it’s Will reaching for Hannibal in all the ways he knows how to.
He hates the way Hannibal retreats into himself when he’s like this, as if this state of raw vulnerability somehow makes him less worthy of Will’s love and companionship. For all his knowledge and expertise, he remains ignorant to the true depth and monstrosity of Will’s feelings for him.
If only he knew that Will has never seen anything as beautiful as his eyes glassy with unshed tears; that the rare sight of Hannibal broken to pieces is the sole reason for his existence, knowing he’s the one who gets to put him back together.
If only he knew.
“Stay here, get some sleep.” Hannibal answers, and it’s something akin to a plea, it lingers in the short space between them. This shall pass, leave me be. I can do this alone.
“No.” Will remarks against his mouth. “You know I can’t sleep if you’re not here.” I’m not letting you.
They head downstairs towards the kitchen, Will keeps his hand in the small of Hannibal’s back, like a tether to reality.
He hugs him from the back as they wait for the water to boil, slipping his hands below Hannibal’s sleeping shirt to warm his skin, leaving kisses on the back of his shoulder, pressing a hand to his chest to feel the even rhythm of his heartbeat.
Hannibal lets Will hold him, draws his head back and takes a deep breath. Will knows he’s aching to detach himself; that part of him itches to push him away, or perhaps even hurt him, but he won’t, and that makes Will grip him tighter. He knows just how to handle Hannibal when he’s like this - a bit broken, a bit damaged, perhaps even a little desperate.
Will sits on the kitchen counter and opens his legs, giving Hannibal enough room to set himself between them as he sips his tea. He touches him everywhere, lets his fingers wander from his face, to the line of his jaw, his collarbone peeking from the top of his shirt. Hannibal avoids his gaze, but it’s okay, Will can grant him that small mercy.
Despite Will’s complaints that he can do it in the morning, Hannibal cleans the items he used, striving to leave the kitchen spotless even when he will be up and about in just a few hours dirtying up and having to clean all over again, but he guesses it can’t be helped.
As they head back upstairs with their hands intertwined, Will peeks from the banister at the clock in the living room and checks that it’s now 3:45am.
Once in their room, they get under the covers, their bodies slot into each other like puzzle pieces, made to be together. Just before Will can rest his face on the side of Hannibal’s neck, he remembers something that makes him spring from the bed.
“What's wrong?” Hannibal asks, confused by his sudden movement.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.” Will says as he pecks Hannibal’s cheek and marches out of the room.
He heads to the thermostat in the hall and adjusts the temperature, raising it a few degrees higher than he would set it to if he were alone. Once he’s satisfied, he goes back to the master bedroom, under the covers - right between Hannibal’s arms, where he belongs.
Late morning finds them in a soft embrace, a tangle of limbs where it’s impossible to determine where one ends and the other begins.
The faint noise of their synchronized breathing is the only sound that can be heard. It’s peaceful, a cocoon of tenderness where basic concepts like time and space matter so little it’s almost as if they stop existing altogether. Hannibal is already awake by the time Will opens his eyes.
“Good morning.” He says, tracing the tip of his finger down the line of Will’s back.
The younger man nuzzles against Hannibal’s body, humming in a way that is meant to signify “five more minutes please, I’m way too comfortable”, and Hannibal complies, as he always does, partly because he can never deny Will but mostly because it’s warm and cozy right here, beneath the heavy blanket, with their bodies as conjoined as their minds.
Will mumbles something against Hannibal’s neck, which makes him huff out a quick laugh.
“What was that?” The younger man repeats himself equally as unintelligibly, which endears Hannibal to no end. “I apologize, beloved. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Will groans, utterly annoyed at having to part from the crevice between Hannibal’s head and his shoulder where his face fits so perfectly, which carries a faint scent of bergamot that makes his heart sing. “I said, we have to go to the shelter today.”
After some discussion - which was really just Will sitting Hannibal down and informing him of the decision rather than negotiating - they were finally adding a canine companion to their little household.
Hannibal took charge of corresponding with a woman from the local shelter, as Will was dangerously close to adopting every dog they sent pictures of. One day, no doubt, he would have a big pack again, like the one he used to have back in Virginia. But for now, one dog would have to suffice.
“Indeed we do,” Hannibal says, his other hand caressing Will’s thigh, draped across his body like an anchor holding him to the bed. “I will make us breakfast, then.” He begins to disentangle himself, but Will stops him, pressing him back down.
“Hmm, not so fast.” Will pulls him closer, pinning him with his weight. His mouth trails heated kisses along Hannibal’s neck, the warmth lingering on his skin. His hands move deliberately to the buttons of the older man’s pajamas, undoing each one with slow, teasing intent.
“Will.” Hannibal says, he wants to make it sound like a complaint but it comes out breathy as Will licks over his nipple and continues kissing a path down his abdomen. “We have a busy day ahead.”
“That’s never stopped us before.” Will says as he removes his own clothes as if they’re itching his skin, and perhaps they are, because the need to feel Hannibal’s skin against his own has become unbearable; a burning desire that can never be fully satiated, no matter how much they have each other.
He pulls Hannibal’s sleeping pants and boxers down in one go and lets his mouth continue their voyage across his body.
Sex between them remains every bit untamed and passionate as it has ever been, but ever since they settled into his quiet domesticity together, something delicate and precious has blossomed alongside it - daffodils and sunflowers that have filled the garden of their desire with bright colors.
Will touches him, kisses him, tastes him, and while it’s still very much an act of possession, of owning Hannibal in every sense of the word, there’s something crushingly tender in his embrace as well.
He marks Hannibal’s body with bites and kisses, not for the mere sake of bruising his skin, but as a reminder; a reminder that they’re here, together, that they’ve survived their circumstances - survived each other - that they can have this, that this is the salvation he chose and it’s wicked and damned and so sweet it could rot his teeth.
Hannibal chokes on a breath as Will teases the slit of his cock with his tongue, licking the beads of pearly pre-cum that slip from his tip, ravenous for that flavor that is so undeniably his own. Will laps at his entire length, getting him nice and wet to ease the way of his hand, masturbating him deliciously slow as he drags his mouth lower, kissing and licking his way towards his balls and his perineum.
Will loves tasting him like this, early in the morning, before anything else. Bedelia said Hannibal found nourishment at the mere sight of him, but Will has found that the same doesn’t quite apply to himself. He could never be satisfied just looking at Hannibal.
Will is a hungry creature, there’s a hollowness inside him that echoes back to the bayou nights, scavenging for scraps behind the church kitchen, where the sisters would leave out leftovers from the Wednesday night suppers.
He remembers every single person, from the ladies fanning themselves in the church pews to the priest saying “the Lord provides” , but even as a kid, he knew, sometimes the Lord is way too busy to tend to you, and that’s when you take what you can, when you can.
That hunger stayed with him throughout all these years, it’s written in his DNA, down to the marrow of his bones, for it shaped him in ways that hurt to admit even today - but it has certainly undergone a transformation of its own. It's just as desperate and mind consuming, but it lacks the helplessness of those cruel times.
Now he stands high and proud at the top of the food chain, he’s grown fangs and antlers of his own to kill his prey and devour to his heart’s content; and the best part is that he gets to unleash this voraciousness next to his fallen angel, Lucifer, used-to-be God’s favorite - because the Lord never answered his prayers, but Hannibal did.
So who can blame him when he gets like this, desperate and famished, eager to coat his tongue, his mouth, and drown his entire senses in the taste of Hannibal?
Will stops bobbing his head up and down Hannibal’s cock and lets it go with a loud pop, reaching for the lube in the nightstand. He gives the older man a wet kiss, sensually slow, lips locking intensively.
Will could stay there forever, devouring his mouth, giving everything he has, and in turn taking what’s left of Hannibal for himself. Unfortunately, they have places to be and he’s craving more than a few things this morning.
Will drops the lube next to him and kisses his way down Hannibal’s body again, grabbing his thighs and bending them upwards to get better access to his pink, puckered hole. Will kisses the back of his thighs, that patch of skin that remains pale, unlike the golden tint that decorates the rest of his body, and he can’t help but suck a few hickeys into it, to leave his mark where not even the sun has touched him.
“Will.” Hannibal breathes out, hazy with pleasure and perhaps a little desperate to get his mouth closer to where he needs him most. Will swears he’s never liked the sound of his name as much as he does in these moments.
“Shh, I’m getting there.” Will says teasingly, licking over Hannibal’s rim like he’s tasting heaven itself. He’s soft at first, giving him a few laps and teasing kisses but soon enough he finds himself unable to contain his own need, eating Hannibal out in that gluttonous manner that is sure to grant him a place in Dante’s third circle. He would gladly brave any storm - rain, snow and hail - if it keeps him right here, between Hannibal’s legs.
He parts from Hannibal’s hole with red lips and drool all over his beard, reaching for the lube to coat his fingers generously.
Their gazes meet as Will works him open with his fingers, and the silence speaks between them again.
Will tells him he’s beautiful; that he’s never felt anything like this - like him - that he’s finally somewhere he belongs, asks him if he feels it too.
Hannibal says yes, he does; that he never knew he’d been sleeping so long, stuck in a never-ending dark night, until he met Will.
Once he feels he’s ready, Will soaks his cock in lube and slides in tortuously slowly, keeping Hannibal’s thighs open with his hands. The head pops in effortlessly, making Hannibal take in a harsh breath. Not from pain, Will fingered him good and they’ve done this enough times for pain to be nothing more than an afterthought, but from impatience, from the pressing need to feel Will as deeply as he can.
When Will bottoms out, sunk all the way inside with his balls flush against Hannibal’s ass, he takes a moment just to appreciate the tight heat of his lover.
Hannibal mewls, a soft, needy thing he’s sure no one has ever heard before, no one but him, and it fills his veins with something that tastes a lot like power, with an undercurrent of sweet, tender love.
He kisses Hannibal’s neck as he feels the older man squeezing him rhythmically, silently urging him to move already.
“I need you.” Will whispers in Hannibal’s ear, earning him a whimper in response. He says it because it’s true, even flush against him, with his cock buried deep inside Hannibal’s body, he still needs him.
“You have me.” Hannibal manages just as Will starts fucking in and out at an unhurried pace, kissing his lover like his mouth was made for devouring him only, swallowing Hannibal’s groans as he nails his prostate with each thrust.
Hannibal’s cock is rock solid and leaking rivers of pre-cum against their bodies, Will parts from his lips and raises his torso to look at the way his cock breaches Hannibal, enchanted with how his hole swallows him hungrily.
He almost misses Hannibal’s hand reaching for himself, but he catches him just in time and slaps him away.
“No, baby.” Will says tenderly. “You can’t come like this.”
“Why?” Hannibal asks, barely containing the whine forming in his throat. Will bends back down and catches his lips again, once, twice, three times because he can’t help himself.
“Because I want you to fill me up.” He emphasizes his words by increasing his pace, the sound of their groans and their skin smacking together filling the room. Will drives them both to the edge and then back again, leaving them raw and desperate for release.
He looks down at Hannibal’s cock, stiff, his tip tinted a purplish red and he realizes he can’t wait any longer. He slides out of Hannibal’s hole and positions himself on the bed face down, ass up, taking his hands back and opening his cheeks, a clear invitation that Hannibal eagerly accepts.
In the midst of his lustful haze, Will tries to convince Hannibal to take him with no prep, but the older man thoroughly refuses, opening him with the same care Will did to him. The world stops and his ears ring the moment Hannibal finally plunges inside, gripping the sheets beneath him with his face scrunched in pure pleasure.
“Faster, baby, please.” Will begs, completely lost in the heat reverberating between them, his eyes roll to the back of his head as Hannibal hits his prostate with expert precision. “Yes, fuck, right there.”
They’re both too worked up and dingling over the edge, and just like the time they took a deep dive into the Atlantic, they fall together.
Hannibal moans, loud and unrestrained as he grabs Will’s hips and pushes his cock all the way in, coming deep inside him as Will’s legs quiver uncontrollably, burying his face down, screaming into the pillow as his own orgasm crashes into him like the unforgiving waves of the sea.
Will turns, careful not to lie down on his own mess, and pulls Hannibal towards him, wrapping himself around his body, the same way the morning light found them. Their heartbeats steady and sync together.
“Where are you going?” Will asks when he feels Hannibal trying to retreat from the bed.
“Stay here, beloved. I will fetch a towel to clean you up.” Will pulls him in tighter, not giving him the chance to put distance between them.
“We’ll take a shower in a bit.” He says, enjoying the afterglow so much that he barely registers the sticky mess between his thighs. “Just lie down with me.”
“Very well.” Hannibal settles back into the embrace with his lips curled in a smile, like a drop that returns to the ocean, they become one with the vast and deep waters they were reborn from.
Just before they inevitably fall into a mellow nap, Will extends his arm and reaches for the comforter that was pushed to the far end of the bed in the midst of their romp and drapes it over their bodies as he feels Hannibal start to shiver.
They wake up half an hour later and take a shower together with scalding hot water. Hannibal ends up having to call the lady from the shelter, to let her know they got caught up in something and will be making it a bit later than planned, but it’s fine, she’s quite nice about it and tells him not to worry. Will glows with childlike excitement at the prospect of having a dog in the house after so long, he feels like a kid on christmas day.
Will persuades Hannibal into not making one of his elaborate breakfast menus so they can head to the shelter as quickly as possible, after all it’s a long drive, any more delays would be unspeakably rude, Doctor Lecter . They pitch ideas back and forth and finally agree on some breakfast flatbreads.
He grabs Hannibal’s iPad from the coffee table and heads towards the adjoining dining room, checking the weather report while he hears the clank of pans and pots in the kitchen.
The unrelenting cold is expected to hold onto its grip in the region this week, with temperatures plummeting significantly. Despite the frigid temperatures, it doesn’t forecast any precipitation, which is at least a small reprieve.
Will is very fond of this place they’ve found together, not only the hilly countryside, the forests, the peace and quiet of seclusion, but their home too; every single thing in it, from the floors to the ceiling, has seen their love flourish in a way he never could have predicted.
They moved from their old house in Brugge because it felt right to do so at the time, to close another chapter of their story and start anew - no cliffs, no black blood in moonlight- just them, hand in hand, moving as two halves of a single unit.
That’s not to say it hasn’t come without its challenges, of course. It took some time for Will to depurate his cancerous wrath, to not want to see Hannibal broken and bloody by his own hand, and even longer for him to grow out of the impending need to run away from the older man that consumed him every time his mind started getting clouded with past grievances.
Even then, once coexisting together became as natural as breathing, there were still trials to overcome. Hannibal had a hard time adjusting to a life tucked away from society, and also their hunts became more far between, occurrences of opportunity rather than something they actively planned and carried out like before.
But it all turned out fine in the end - they’re here, they’re alive, they’re together, even when the past haunts them, or they hurt each other, they stay together, and that’s enough for Will.
He looks up from the device to watch Hannibal cook, and he’s immediately gripped by a suffocating sensation, something treacherous that lurks all around him.
He examines Hannibal’s demeanor with almost scientific scrutiny and notices he’s not moving around the kitchen with his usual dancer-like dexterity, at times he stands still, looking at the ingredients set on the counter with a blank expression, as if his mind is miles away.
Hannibal becomes aware of his blunder and quickly composes himself, but the air of uneasiness lingers around him and it leaves a sour taste in Will’s mouth - he won’t mention it, but he pins it to the back of his mind.
Hannibal heads to the dining table carrying a tray like a Michelin-starred chef about to serve his latest new dish. He smiles at Will as he sets his plate in front of him and the younger man tilts his chin upwards to indicate he wants a kiss on the lips, which Hannibal complies with, of course.
Will looks down at his plate, still slightly agitated by this strange feeling he’s picking up from Hannibal, as the older man puts the rest of the dishes on the table.
Once he looks at what’s been presented in front of him, he touches Hannibal’s thigh softly, effectively catching his attention.
“Baby, you put olives on mine.” He observes, but it’s not really a complaint or something that bothers him too much, but it’s too odd not to point it out with mild concern.
In the years Hannibal has spent cooking their meals, he has memorized Will’s likes and dislikes with the same precision he uses to commit old sonnets and book passages to memory.
Will is not a picky eater - he’s never had the luxury of being one - but there is one food he has steadfastly avoided in every meal: olives. He’s never made a fuss about them, simply pushing them aside and eating the rest without complaint.
To Hannibal, however, every dish is more than sustenance; it is an offering, something placed on an altar as a gesture of gratitude and devotion.
Overlooking something as simple as Will’s aversion to olives might seem inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but to Will, it signals something far more troubling - a sign that whatever is happening in Hannibal’s mind is worse than he feared.
Hannibal’s face tenses visibly, the line of his jaw becomes taut and a small vein pops out on his temple, he’s rendered speechless for all of two seconds, but that’s enough time for Will’s anxiety to grow, making his skin crawl unpleasantly.
“I apologize, beloved.” Hannibal doesn’t add anything after that, any excuse will simply sound ridiculous and it wouldn’t be truthful.
They both know what’s happening, what has Hannibal so distracted - although that’s not the word Will would use. If he’d have to define it, he feels haunted or possessed are more appropriate terms.
They both know it, but they have a silent pact not to mention it out loud, as if a spectre will materialize itself if they dare to call things by their name. Will aches to talk about it, about her , openly, but he fears that would only drive Hannibal farther away. After all, an animal is at its most unpredictable when it's cornered and afraid.
“I’ll make you another one,” Hannibal says firmly, but Will squeezes his thigh before he can retreat.
“Don’t be silly, we’ll be late,” Will replies gently, patting the seat beside him.
"Come here.” He hopes his voice is a soothing balm to Hannibal’s frayed soul - he wants it to be.
“It won’t take me long,” Hannibal tries to argue, though the fight in his voice is weaker than he wishes. The cold has a way of sapping his strength, leaving him drained and untethered.
“No,” Will says softly, pointing again to the chair. Hannibal hesitates but finally sits down, his tension still palpable as he quietly cuts into his flatbread without meeting Will’s eyes.
Will spears two sliced olives with his fork and lifts them toward Hannibal. “Here, baby.”
For a moment, Hannibal looks at him, puzzled, but then he opens his mouth without question. Will feeds him, and Hannibal’s eyes soften - just barely - but enough for Will to notice. The tightness in his shoulders begins to ease, and Will feels like he can breathe again.
The rest of the meal passes in the same rhythm. Will brushes his thigh under the table, offering olives from his plate, and Hannibal silently accepts them. He lets Will’s steady, blue-green gaze guide him, a quiet beacon in the midst of his darkest night.
Hannibal seems more like himself during the long drive to the shelter, enchanted by the way Will beams at him as they toss around name ideas, each one more ridiculous than the last.
They ultimately decide to wait until they meet the dog face to face, but not before an animated debate in which Hannibal does everything in his power to convince Will to name it Wolfgang Amadeus.
They end up making it to the facility almost 40 minutes later than their original appointment, but Will can’t find it in himself to feel the least bit regretful after the mind-boggling climax he experienced earlier. Hannibal, on his part, marches towards the front desk trying his best to seem ashamed and agitated, making up some excuse about a traffic accident or whatever.
Will distracts himself while Hannibal talks to the lady and fills out some paperwork, scanning the place all around. It seems welcoming and well taken care of, it definitely gives him the sensation that the people running the shelter have a genuine regard for the abandoned animals.
There’s a wide board with some polaroid pictures pinned to it, each one of them has people - families, couples or a single person - posing with their new pets and a date written with blank ink marker on the white space below. It’s an adorable commemoration, but he hopes it’s something they can opt out of, lest it ends up in the wrong hands; Jack or worse, Freddie fucking Lounds.
He glances at Hannibal from where he’s standing, but what he sees makes his chest tight, as if a poisonous snake is coiled all around it.
His veins burn with acidic fury as he sees the woman at the front desk batting her eyelashes at Hannibal, touching her hair in that obvious way that denotes attraction. She’s young, younger than both of them, and objectively good looking, but Will is sure the only way he could ever find her beautiful is by removing all of her organs and turning her skin inside out.
Hannibal doesn’t seem to be engaging, he simply lifts his head up from the paperwork from time to time; surely wishing internally that she stopped interrupting him with meaningless conversation so he can finish filling the forms in peace, but too polite to ask her to be quiet.
Will strides towards the counter with a slight frown, the monster growling inside him as he wraps an arm around Hannibal’s waist and drops a kiss on the side of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the lady recoil, clearly surprised to see Hannibal has a companion.
Something doesn’t feel right.
“Almost done?” Will asks as Hannibal finishes signing the last form, putting the pen down and sliding it towards the woman with a well mannered nod.
“Yes, beloved. They will guide us towards the crates shortly.” Hannibal turns his head towards the younger man and the latter doesn’t resist the temptation to steal a quick peck off his lips, his monster hums in satisfaction.
“You guys are cute, how long have you been married?” The lady, Elena, according to her name tag, asks in a jolly voice and accented english.
“Three years, but we’ve been together for almost a decade now.” Will answers automatically, feeling the amusement radiate off Hannibal at the way he describes their bloody and tumultuous past as part of their relationship.
But isn’t that the truth? They’ve been entangled in each other longer than either of them realized, their lives irreversibly changed from the moment they met at Jack’s office. They’ve stayed together, their minds and souls merging into one, through every single turn and betrayal. Even when he was in Maine playing the part of a normal husband, they were still together.
“That’s so romantic!” Elena says with a wry smile, gathering the paperwork and turning to leave. “I will file these in the back, one of my co-workers will guide you to the crates in just a moment. See you around!”
Will reaches for Hannibal’s left hand and entwines their fingers together, the lack of a clink of metal against metal makes him realize what is it that felt out of place before, the reason why Elena felt so comfortable flirting with his husband before she saw his own hand.
“Where’s your ring?” Will asks, careful not to let his own vexation bleed into his words.
He absolutely hates the thought of Hannibal going out without visible evidence that he’s taken, it feels like sacrilege to him.
It doesn’t matter that he rarely leaves the house alone these days, or the fact that he doesn’t even interact with many people besides the staff at the market but still, this is something important to Will; it’s a tether, a reminder, just as meaningful as the scars they’ve given each other.
Hannibal looks lost for a moment, as if he’s genuinely surprised that he made such a monumental mistake. He swallows uncomfortably, his jaw clicking audibly.
“I left it in the kitchen, I must have forgotten to put it back on after I did the dishes.” He says tightly as he carefully releases Will’s grasp on his hand to put his glove back on. The lack of contact feels damning to Will.
“It’s okay.” Will says, but he sounds unsure even to himself. He’s not pleased with the situation and Hannibal knows it, but this is not the time to lash out.
Hannibal not wearing his ring is a major offense, one that surely requires a punishment, but he can’t bring himself to unleash his viciousness upon his monstrous lover when his own mind is already torturing him.
After all, punishments are supposed to be righteous, they are meant to teach a lesson rather than inflict suffering and agony for the sake of it. That’s something he’s learned the hard way in the last few years.
“It’s not.” Hannibal says after a while in which it seemed that words abandoned him completely. His person suit is tight around his skin, his mask of impassiveness is otherworldly and convincing for any lesser person, but Will can feel the whirlwind brewing inside of him, tearing him apart.
Will takes a deep breath to steady himself and reaches for Hannibal’s gloved hand, gripping it more firmly this time.
”It is,” he says, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It will be.”
Hannibal doesn’t have the chance to argue further, as another woman from the shelter appears and leads them toward the crates. They follow her, hand in hand.
She introduces them to a beautiful female mutt, approximately one year old, with round black eyes and fluffy white fur. She looks like a mix of poodle and Maltese, though it’s hard to say for certain.
When they first coax her out of the crate, she’s hesitant -sniffing at them cautiously and flinching slightly - but soon, her tail begins to wag, and she starts to relax, showing the first signs of trust.
The sweet creature helps dissipate the remains of tension lingering in the air between them, Will keeps an eye on her, running around from one corner of the room to the other, as Hannibal finishes the adoption process at the front desk.
The little one approaches Hannibal and taps one of her front legs on his foot, as if asking for attention. Hannibal bends down and looks at it with his own version of fondness for anything that isn’t Will and pets her tenderly, the sight of it stays engraved in Will’s mind like liquid gold between ceramic cracks.
“Okay, you’re all set. Would you like to add your picture to our commemoration board?” She asks with a polite smile. Will grabs their girl and approaches Hannibal, ready to decline on their behalf, but his lover beats him to it.
“We’d be thrilled to take a picture, not for the board though. Would it be rude to ask if we can keep it?” Hannibal asks as he gives Will a little wink.
“Oh, not at all! Lots of families decide to do so. Come with me, please.” She guides them to an area with better lightning and a white backdrop.
“Here, you grab her.” Will hands their dog to Hannibal carefully and she settles on his arms like she belongs there, the previous tension he felt in his chest is replaced with utter tenderness at the scene.
Will wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist and nestles his head on the side of his neck. His cheeks flush with embarrassment of sharing such an intimate moment in front of a total stranger, but he decides it's worth it.
On their drive back home, they discover their girl has quickly become attached to Hannibal, constantly trying to glide towards him and nestling on his lap as he drives.
“No, girl. Daddy’s busy right now, you can cuddle at home.” Will says teasingly as he grabs the grumbling ball of fur and puts her back on his side of the car.
“Daddy?” Hannibal asks delightedly with an eyebrow raised.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Will snaps at him, petting the little one as she finally stays still on his lap. “We haven’t named her yet.”
“In the interest of peace, I will refrain from suggesting more names. Whatever you decide to call her is what we’ll go for, beloved.” Hannibal says, probably still bitter at having all his ideas vetoed.
“Wolfgang Amadeus?” Will asks, jokingly unamused.
“A very distinguished name.” Hannibal remarks.
“She’s a girl!”
“It can be gender neutral.”
“Forget it.” Will rolls his eyes fondly and looks at the white dog again, already fast asleep in his lap.
“What does she look like?” Hannibal glances at her and then back at the road.
“She looks like cotton.”
“She does.” Will says as she pets her softly, careful not to wake her up. “Oh, I know. Let’s call her Rosie.”
“Rosie, quite a lovely name.” Hannibal notes. “But, what’s the connection?” He asks curiously.
“Rosie Cotton.” Will says as if it's self explanatory and is shocked to see Hannibal’s blank face, clearly not getting the reference.
“It’s a character from The Lord of the Rings.” Will explains, but he doesn’t miss the opportunity to jeer at Hannibal’s rare lack of knowledge. “Oh, Doctor Lecter, don’t tell me science fiction books are too asinine for your refined tastes.”
“I’m afraid I’m not all that familiar with Tolkien’s work. That particular genre has never interested me much, but I’m aware of its cultural impact.” Hannibal declares, utterly dignified while Will scoffs humorously.
“When did you read it?” Hannibal asks, his voice a few decibels lower than before.
“When I was kid, I can't remember what age I was though. Some summers were slow in the shipyard when the fishing fleet was out, so my dad used to let me wander off.”
He remembers it, and the feelings the memory evokes clash around inside his mind like winds blowing in different directions.
Part of him was glad to not have to be grinding away, but not having engines to work on also meant money was even tighter.
It meant fighting for scraps at the back of the church; it meant his father was more on edge than usual, calming his nerves with the cheapest bottle of Bourbon he could find.
“I found them at the public library, curiosity got the best of me. At first I didn’t quite understand it all, the magical creatures, the strange names, the far-off lands, it wasn’t like anything I’d read before.” Will lets out a gentle, wistful exhale.
”But the more I read, the more obsessed I became. It felt like every word, every passage, transported me there, and suddenly I was not only reading about those adventures, but living them too, in my mind. It was like…” The words get caught up behind the knot forming in his throat, a thin mist clouds his blue-green eyes.
“An escape.” Hannibal utters, and strangely enough, Will feels relief wash over him. How could he forget? That, for better or for worse, he never needs much words for Hannibal to understand him.
“Yeah, an escape.” He says after clearing his throat, petting Rosie’s fur again, she lets out an adorable little sigh and continues sleeping soundly.
“Sounds like it was significant to you.” Hannibal observes in something close to a whisper. There’s no clinical approach, no desire to psychoanalyze him, simply a new discovery about Will’s life, about his past; like a treasure found in a desert, something for him to keep.
"It was,” Will answers. He marvels at how much they unravel each other these days; the uncanny ability they have to strip each other bare in ways beyond the physical, to tear down the defenses they spent a lifetime building.
He knows it can be violent and dangerous to have such power over another, but after everything they’ve been through, he’s found it can also be so, so pure.
“Perhaps we can buy a copy.” Hannibal suggests, hopeful, like a child that begs for something - for anything - for food, for care, for love. Will knows a lot about that. “You could read it to me.”
Will finds his eyes on the rear-view mirror, and in that mere second, he hears the truth behind his whispers. Share something beautiful with me.
“Of course, sweetheart.” Always.
As soon as they step inside, Will makes a beeline for the radiators. The house is cold because he turned them off when they left so he could bleed them upon their return - he can’t afford any malfunctions, the temperatures are getting more and more unforgiving and the colder it gets, the farther Hannibal slips away in his mind.
He methodically checks each one, twisting the valves to release the trapped air that had built up. The soft hiss of escaping air and the creaks of the radiators fill the silence as he works. Once he’s satisfied that they’re all clear, he turns the heating back on, listening as the system roars to life, warm air circulating through the chilly rooms.
The rest of the afternoon, Hannibal naps in the studio while Will plays with Rosie. The first night in a new place is always the hardest for a dog - anxiety and disorientation are almost inevitable - so Will is determined to tire her out as much as possible. He hopes she’ll sleep peacefully tonight.
He hopes they all will.
By dinnertime, Will starts the fireplace while Hannibal cooks. The ring is no longer sitting on the counter; it’s back where it belongs, snug on Hannibal’s finger. Will doesn’t care if it chips or scratches, they can always restore it or get new ones.
He pulls the polaroid picture from his coat pocket and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet, a lovesick smile plastered on his face. When he turns around, Hannibal’s gaze is already fixed on him. Will crosses the room without a word, wrapping him in a warm embrace from behind.
“It looks good.” Hannibal says as he continues chopping vegetables. “Homey.” He adds.
“It does.” Will whispers against his neck, leaving a tender kiss on his skin.
The rest of the night passes peacefully. Will sips a few tumblers of whiskey while Hannibal reads, nursing a glass of wine. Rosie is curled up on the rug in front of the fire, perfectly at ease. But despite the tranquility, an undercurrent of unease lingers in the air, something raw and unsettled. Hannibal remains absent - tense and unusually quiet.
Will bites his tongue, resisting the urge to address the elephant in the room. Frustration burns his throat more than the whiskey.
He understands how hard it is to confront the darkest parts of one’s past - he’s been on the other side of that exchange. He knows it’s anything but easy. Still, he’d willingly tear himself apart to expose every piece of his soul to Hannibal, even if it hurts him, even if it kills him. Isn’t Hannibal supposed to do the same in return?
The thought tumbles through his mind as he sets his glass on the table and climbs onto Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal puts his book aside, his hands instinctively finding Will’s body, tracing soft patterns over the thighs bracketing him.
For a moment, they do nothing but stare into each other’s eyes, getting lost in the depths of their irises. Hand in hand, they drift to another world, far removed from painful memories.
Their lips meet instinctively, tasting life itself in the exchange, breathing each other’s air as though it were the only thing keeping them alive.
Sometimes, it feels like all of this is a dream - that they never really survived the fall and this is just a hallucination conjured by his dying brain. Because how could it be real? How could two sinners like them ever be granted such a sweet reprieve?
He remembers the sermons he used to hear - about the place where those who disobey God are sent, a realm of eternal torment and suffering. But for all he knows, he’s already been there. They’ve both been there.
They walked barefoot through the flames, shackles around their feet rubbing their skin raw. They endured every lashing, gnashing their teeth until they were ground to dust. What they’ve been through, what they’ve survived - that was hell.
What they have now, what they found together, is heaven, paradise, eternal life. What other explanation is there?
Will pulls away from Hannibal’s lips and lowers himself to rest his head on his chest, listening to the tender lullaby of his heartbeat, just as he had done on the edge of the cliff. As long as this heart keeps beating, he thinks, he has a reason to fight, a reason to live. He will be whatever Hannibal needs him to be - a guiding light in the darkness, a blazing fire to keep him warm.
They start dozing off on the couch, so they decide to retire for the night. They follow their usual routine, Hannibal washes the dishes from their dinner and Will locks the doors and adjusts the thermostat again.
Will sets Rosie on her doggie bed in the room next to theirs; the initial plan was to have her sleep downstairs, but since it’s the first night he figures it’s best to keep her close.
They have a quick shower together, brush their teeth and get on the bed. Hannibal lies on his side and Will wraps his arms around him, he drifts almost immediately, drained from the events of the day.
His mind voyages towards the land of dreams, although it’s not restful at all. The image is pitch black; at first he hears faint, tranquil sounds - birds chirping, water running, breeze hitting tree branches - an atmosphere of calmness.
But soon enough, the sounds start growing louder, jarring and discordant. Nails on a chalkboard, grating voices shrieking incomprehensibly, an axe slicing bone, emitting a sickening crunch followed by a metallic clang that seems to reverberate deep in his chest.
Will is agitated, lost in the darkness, trying to run but not sure what direction he’s going.
In the end, what wakes him up is a short scream - thin, high, piercing and undeniably Hannibal’s.
Will startles awake, his pulse a hundred miles an hour as he tries to get a grip on reality. He pats the spot next to him and finds it empty, only then he realizes Hannibal is already sitting on the bed, with his head in his hands.
“Hannibal?” Will calls him softly, putting his hand on his back and caressing him soothingly. The older man flinches minutely, but still lets Will’s touch ground him.
“I had a nightmare.” Hannibal says once he finds his voice - it still sounds strained and watery, like he’s been crying. He’s too tired to pretend he can handle this on his own, the seams of his person suit are torn beyond repair, for once he’s realized that the more he tries to hide from his ghosts, the harder they come to haunt him.
There’s no fight left in him, the winter has eroded his foundations.
Will hears the silence, he hears it carefully, and there he finds them, the words that won’t leave Hannibal’s lips- a canvas painted with unspoken emotions. I need you.
“Come here, baby.” Will pulls him back to the bed, guiding him to lie on top of him, to have him rest his head on his chest and let his own heartbeat lull him back to sleep. You have me.
“I was at the barn again.” Hannibal whispers, unsure like Will has never heard him. Right now, he’s not an erudite, or a renowned doctor, or a cannibal killer. He’s the little boy who lost everything in the snow.
“I felt their hands on my thigh, my upper arm, my chest.” Will swallows his ire and pulls him in tighter.
“They let me go and grabbed her instead, but I held on to her, I swear I did.” Hannibal’s voice wobbles, Will feels a small damp spot from where his tears are falling on his chest, it feels like something holy.
“I held on to her so hard, but they slammed the door on me. I heard my own bone cracking.” The younger man stifles a gasp just before it leaves his mouth. He’s being pummeled with an avalanche of pain - it clogs his throat, twists his entrails - but he can’t deny he finds it beautiful. This is the way it’s supposed to be; this hurting belongs to him too, it’s also his to carry.
”They led her away through the snow, it was still stained bloody from a deer they killed before.” He continues, Will can relate to the powerlessness all too well.
“I still see their wretched faces, I keep smelling that putrid stench that emanated from their breaths.” Hannibal’s agony is an entire sea of murky, icy waters that flood the room, but Will is nothing if not determined to keep him afloat.
They’re shaking and holding on to each other like a lifeline, just as the coast of the Chesapeake Bay once found them after they killed the Dragon.
“I prayed so much, I prayed to see her again, but…” Hannibal chokes on a sob. “All I saw were some of her teeth, scattered at the bottom of a stool pit.”
Will kisses the top of his head, once, twice, a million times, while he fights the tears that threaten to escape his own eyes.
“You’re safe now. When you’re with me, you’re safe.” He repeats over and over, like a mantra; like that prayer Hannibal begged God to hear when he was a kid, too innocent to know that God never loved him - not enough to save him, not like Will loves him.
“I don’t think she would forgive me.” Hannibal says after some time - a bit broken, a bit damaged, perhaps even a little desperate.
“I forgave you.” Will whispers back, pure, unadulterated love dripping from his voice.
“And I’m sure I’m not nearly as kind-hearted as she is, but I forgave you.” He touches Hannibal’s face, forces him to look into his eyes so he can see for himself there’s not a trace of deception in them.
“She forgives you.” Will pulls him closer, seals the promise with a kiss against his lips. “She loves you.”
They lie together in complete silence for some time. Will hums an old Beatles song his dad used to play on their vintage radio while they worked together, the hand that isn’t rubbing Hannibal’s back finds his hand and laces their fingers together.
Will feels lighter, the ghosts might still be swimming around in the room, but they’re facing them together and that’s the only thing that matters.
“Baby?” Will calls before they fall back asleep.
“Yes, beloved?” Hannibal asks, he sounds like he was drifting off already, almost on the edge of a dream, a peaceful one this time.
“Let’s move somewhere warmer.” His fingers keep tracing patterns on Hannibal’s back; a crescent moon, a star, a heart, his name. Hannibal stays silent, for a moment Will thinks he dozed off.
“But you love this place.” He says as he raises his head to meet Will’s gaze.
“Yeah.” Will says, his hand finds Hannibal’s face, his thumb caresses his bottom lip tenderly.
“But I love you more.”
Hannibal’s lips find his own again, and it’s everything - love, gratitude, relief - all bundled up in his feather-soft kisses.
They settle into a comfortable embrace, the quiet returns; the world outside is cold, but here - beneath their covers, between their bodies, in their hearts - the ice has melted, the sun is coming.
*
Panama City, six months later.
The first thing Will notices when he stirs awake is the morning light peeking through the blinds in the form of delicate golden threads.The earthy, nutty scent of freshly made coffee invades his senses and helps him shake off the remains of sleep.
The room is brightly illuminated, the clock on the nightstand reads 7:26am; his reading glasses lie atop a copy of The return of the king, a purple bookmark is set between the pages of the last chapter he read to Hannibal the night before.
Will pats the spot next to him but instead of his husband, what he finds is Rosie’s soft fur. The little one wags her tail and greets him good morning with a good natured lick to his face.
“Hey girl.” Will gives her a few pets while his eyes scan the room, he finds Hannibal sitting on the bedside chair, nose deep in his sketchbook.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks with a hint of palyful teasing.
“Sketching you, naturally.” Hannibal says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, accompanied by an upwards curve of his lips. “You’re an irresistible muse, beloved.”
“Well, your irresistible muse wants breakfast and coffee.” Will says as he stretches like a cat.
“Then you shall have it.” Hannibal approaches him and pecks his lips softly, once, twice, three times, because he can’t help himself.
“Rosie, come.” The older man calls in a commanding voice and Rosie immediately jumps off the bed and trots behind him, surely expecting treats for her good behavior.
Hannibal heads out of the bedroom, not before casting one last backwards glance over his shoulder. The golden light catches his eyes, burning with a chestnut glow, as if embers of warmth smolder within.
The winter passed, the sun shines upon them.
♥