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He knew Will Graham liked him.
Yes, that much he was sure of, he could see it in the way the younger man “accidentally” sidled closer to him while they were talking, and he was well aware of the light touches that he felt on his arm. The question was, however, did he like Will? His heart, a shrivelled, ugly, pulsating organ inside his perfect body coughed “Yes. Yes you like Will.” But his smooth, perfect brain shook his head and denied the existance of the words starting with W and ending with L and wearing thick black-rimmed glasses.
Mischa Lecter, of course, inside his head, sang a little song about how “Hannibal and Will sat on a tree.” , the song ending unpleasantly with babies in carriages.
Trying to make the memory of his dead sister shut up, Hannibal leaned back on his chair. If Will Graham was a painting, he mused, he was the painter. An excellent painter, he smirked, looking at his fingers and recalling all the places it had been. But with the case of this Will Graham, he was a three year old child scrawling out a colourful drawing on scrap paper. He had to perfect this drawing. There was nothing to it other than to call Will, and ask him on a date.
Mischa Lecter, deep inside Hannibal’s head, danced a childish, joyous jig.
One.
“Tell me again why you’re agreeing to come fishing with me?” Will frowned, but it wasn’t one of the worried, nervous frowns, no, this was a happy frown, his hands curled tight around a fishing rod. “I mean, you hardly look like you even own fishing clothes, let alone know how to fish.” He surveyed the gentleman, who sat holding a reel with his finger and thumb, and looked distastefully at the can of worms. He had borrowed Will’s plaid shirts for the occasion, yet still managed to look as out of place as an elephant at a horse’s birthday party.
“I love fishing, Will.” Hannibal said airily, as he hoped the boat wouldn’t sink. “Fishing is what men do on lazy afternoons, fishing is a sport, a way of life!”
He hoped the worms wouldn’t crawl on him, disgusting creatures.
Will smiled, and speared a worm nonchalantly with the end of his hook. Hannibal liked to think he heard the worm screaming in pain. Will looked eagerly at Hannibal, a smirk creasing his face. It was as if he…knew. Hannibal gingerly picked up a worm, and watched it wriggle sadly in his hand, and he felt vomit tickling his throat at the slimy sensation. With a great to-do, he plopped the worm on the end of his hook, and stared at it, his upper lip curling in disgust.
“I do wish fishes have finer palletes. Worms are revolting.” Hannibal said cheerfully, as though he talked about the dietary habits of fish every single day. Hell, fish were his dietary habit. He tried not to look at the remainder of the worms wriggling around in their sad, rusty can and he smiled endearingly at Will, hoping that the other man would soon confess his undying love to Hannibal and he could get to stop pretending he liked being surrounded by annelids and insects.
“This is very fun.” He said, showing a sliver of teeth in his grin, creasing his eyes at Will, who frowned. “I wonder when we will catch our first fish.”
“Dr. Lecter?” Will scratched his head and raised his eyebrows. “We haven’t um… put the hooks in water yet.”
“Oh, of course.” Hannibal improvised wildly. “I almost forgot, since to an experienced seafarer like me, rods are almost unecessary.”
“Dr Lecter?” Will asked again, presently, an amused smile on his face at the expression Hannibal seemed to be having, a forced look of cheerfulness, almost like a grimace. “Are you scared of worms?”
“Worms?” scoffed Hannibal, as though Will had suggested he was scared of worms (indeed he had.) “Of course not, what human in their natural minds would be frightened of worms?”
Still, he scooted away an inch from the wriggling can.
“Will.” Hannibal’s voice jerked Will out of the rocking-induced trance he was currently in, and he looked at the man next to him, who had a look of alarm on his face, mingled with competetive triumph. “I caught a fish!”
“Reel it in then!” Will secured his own rod, and eagerly watched to see what Hannibal would bring in. Maybe a nice codfish. Tuna would be too good to be true, wouldn’t it? The older man tugged harder on the reel, and still, the fish wouldn’t budge, even though Hannibal’s face flushed with the strain. Will abandoned his own rod and surveyed the line.
“I must have caught a shark!” Hannibal panted, mopping sweat off his forehead as he heaved again.
“There are no sharks in the lake, Hannibal.” Will shook his head.
“Do not steal my glory.” Hannibal wheezed out. “If I catch a shark, it is my shark, and not yours.”
“Here, let me help.” Will grabbed Hannibal around the middle, and started pulling too, because right now was not the time to worry about boundaries, they might have caught a shark (that didn’t exist). A full minute of relentless tugging, and whatever Hannibal’s unfortunate hook had grabbed finally came rushing up. Sadly, it happened to be the boat, which capsized, leaving two floundering men in the lake, spitting out water and looking thoroughly disgusted.
“Hannibal!” Will sputtered, laughter tickling his throat (or maybe it was a small fish he swallowed). “Your excellent catch was the boat!”
Hannibal would have made a reply, he would have made a sarcastic, cutting witty reply, but his eyes were wide in horror.
“Those worms.” He said, trying not to tremble undignifiedly. “They could be anywhere.”
Mischa Lecter, in his head, stuck out her tongue, the five year old’s equivalent of the middle finger.
X
Two.
“Alana, I need your help, and I request you give it to me now.” Hannibal’s voice rapped sharply down the line, whilst in his head, Mischa sang the sad Lithuanian song for failures (“I am a failure and I deserve to die. Kill me now and…”)
Alana Bloom had known Hannibal Lecter for seven years, and he was devilishly charming, handsome, somethimes strange and maybe a little eccentric. But he had never, ever asked for help, ever. She savoured the moment like a can of hot soup.
“Yes, Hannibal, how may I help you?” Alana felt like an airhostess.
“You know Will Graham?” He asked unecessarily. “Yes, I need you to tell me what he likes doing.”
“Well…he likes…” Alana stopped and a hilarious realization overtook her. “ARE YOU TRYING TO DATE WILL GRAHAM?”
“Dating is a vulgar term.” Hannibal snapped.
“Beverly, get this!” Alana yelled excitedly into the other phone. “Hannibal Lecter is trying to woo Will Graham!”
“NO WAY!” Beverly screamed so loud, that even Hannibal, on another phone, could hear her.
“Ok, um, Hannibal, he likes horses.” Alana hastily told Hannibal, dying to discuss this with Beverly. “Take him out riding or something!”
Hannibal Lecter had experienced his first three-way phone call.
“Hannibal, where did you learn how to ride?” Will marvelled at the ease Hannibal seemed to carry in his riding clothes, how they hung gracefully off his lithe, dancer’s body. Hannibal stroked the chestnut horse, and smiled regally at Will.
“Us Lithuanians have no need to learn riding. It comes naturally to us.” Hannibal observed as Will jumped into his saddle, and then surveyed his own horse. He swallowed dryly. It was very high up. Very, very high up. He put his foot into the stirrup and tried to hul himself up ungainly, and sat on the saddle. His horse began to walk slowly, and Hannibal felt as if he was on a speedboat. He wondered what the people would think, to see Count Hannibal Lecter VIII on a speeding horse, looking regal, and perfect as he always did. Hannibal smiled down at his horse. This was fun. He liked this. He would take out a loan and buy a horse. Two horses. He would be the Horse-Riding Chesapeake Ripper.
“Shall we go for a nice gallop?” Will asked, surveying Hannibal on the horse. He had heard that the man was high born, and regal, and thus he wondered why he looked so terrible on the horse. He looked as if he would fall off any second. Maybe it was a Lithuanian method of riding.
“Is my horse not galloping?” Hannibal asked, his voice rising. “What is it doing?”
“Walking.” Will snorted, and tugged slightly on his horse’s reins, a command which the makestic animal obeyed by starting to trot, and then moved faster and faster, Will’s hair whipping in the wind, his cheeks flushing with excitement. Hannibal’s horse, every the copycat, ran after Will, except the poor man on it was not feeling well.
Oh God, what is this thing even doing, he thought, his eyes widening as the horse galloped faster and faster.
“Shall we go for a few jumps?” Will called, bringing his horse to a halt, and looked at Hannibal. The man looked positively green, his hands clutched tightly on the horse’s reins.
“Were we not jumping for the past five minutes?” He croaked. “Were we not jumping exceedingly high?” The horse he was sitting on snorted, an expression Will felt like using, yet was concerned about politeness. After all, this was still Hannibal, even if he was sitting awkwardly on a horse and had a greenish tinge to his skin.
“You can’t ride horses, can you?” Will asked nicely.
“Of course I can.” Hannibal brushed hair off his face, and looked down his nose at Will. “Horses in Lithuania are not this indisciplined. They are perfect models of good behaviour.”
“Oh.” Will said.
He hated horses, Hannibal decided angrily. Stupid animals. He should eat horses. Hannibal the Horse Eater.
That was when he fell off the animal.
Mischa snorted unladylikely in his memory.
Three.
“Horses were a disaster, weren’t they?” Alana tried not to laugh, she tried really hard. “Too bad.”
“It was your idea.” Hannibal muttered into the phone. His body felt red and sore in at least fifty different places, and he was sure that if he were heterosexual, his ability to conceive had been affected by the horse. Stupid horse. “What else should I do?”
“Well, this is a general idea…” Alana said thoughtfully. “Try staying with the man a night in a hotel room. You’re rich arent you? Pay the hotel to tell you that there’s only one room available for you guys to share. Lots of bonding, Hannibal. Lots.”
“That is a wonderful idea, Alana.” Hannibal smiled, and his annoyance with Alana disappeared along with the aches in his body. “You are very ingenious.”
Alana tried not to laugh.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Will, I think my car has broken down. Oh, dear.” Hannibal said, feigning sadness and heartbreak at the breakdown of his car. They were in the middle of a highway, and Hannibal had stopped his car there because the hotel he had paid to let them share a room was exactly five hundred metres to the left.
“Wow.” Will’s eyes widened. “What are we gonna do?”
“Well, there is a hotel about fifteen minutes away.” Hannibal knew he was a wonderful actor, and mentally gave himself an Oscar for his stellar performance. “Maybe they might have a room?”
“Oh, that’s lucky!” Will pulled himself out of the car and walked alongside Hannibal, his feet kicking up gravel. “Is it a good hotel?”
“Only the best.” Hannibal said, because he had made sure of that. Will might be used to staying in sad little five-star establishments, but it was nothing less than nine-star for Hannibal. No way. The two men walked in silence, and Will consulted his watch, as darkness touched them with inky fingers.
“Hannibal, we’ve been walking for fifty minutes. We’re in the woods.” He said, frowning as the trees loomed ominously.
“Well. The hotel might have moved.” Hannibal said darkly, cursing his ill luck.
“I think we’re lost.” Will’s eyes widened in fear. “We should wait the night I guess. We could find our way in the morning.”
“I am not sleeping in the woods!” Hannibal hissed angrily. “I will never sleep in the woods like a common squirrel.”
“Wow.” Will snorted. “Maybe you should have brought a map.”
Darkness fell irrevocably, and the two men couldn’t see in front of them. The battery on Hannibal’s smartphone died sadly as their last bit of light was extinguished, and the two men dropped down tiredly. It wasn’t cold, however, and what tiny hope Hannibal might have had for a night spent in each others arms were quickly dashed when Will chose a tree, and told Hannibal that he should choose a tree too.
As they lay down, an ominous growling resonated from Hannibal’s stomach.
“Will, I am famished. What are you eating?” Hannibal muttered, because crunching sounds were indeed echoing from Will’s side of the tree. The younger man tossed Hannibal a few hard, solid objects.
“Acorns. Have them.” He informed, before going on and crunching the remaining nuts up.
Hannibal sighed dolefully, and tossed away the nuts.
“I would rather eat my own bladder.” He said, sadly.
He was officially giving up on Will Graham.
He hated Alana Bloom.
He would eat her, but she would probably taste like lies.
Mischa Lecter, inside Hannibal’s cavernous mind, ate her supper, and waved it tantalisingly at her brother.
Four
Will Graham sat on his rocking chair, inside his house and considered things deeply. Winston sat next to him, licking his hand, but for once, the handsome dog went ignored. Hannibal liked him. That much Will was sure of, and he knew, he knew that he himself liked the dapper classy man more than what was rightly friendly. But until a week or so ago, he had literally no hope for the man. Hannibal was elite, upper class, and he was better than Will. He would never socialize with someone whose hobby was fishing, and grooming dogs. But in the past week, Will recollected with a grin, the man had seemed almost human. He was scared of worms. He fell off a horse. He whined for three hours when they were stuck in the woods. Yes, Will realised with a slight blush, Hannibal Lecter was definitely human, and he was worth a try.
“Hello, Hannibal.” Will smiled, dropping the use of the term Doctor Lecter, because it was terribly off.
“Hello Will.” Hannibal’s reply was taciturn, as usual, and he smiled at the man, before inviting him inside his large house. He wondered why Will was here, and felt a dark cloud settle over his head. They were probably going to get a cursed date. Again.
“Did you cook for two?” Will asked cheerfully, sitting at the couch, and Hannibal wondered why the man did not seem upset by Hannibal’s failure at the last three outings.
“Why, I---yes.” Hannibal said, startled, because he usually cooked for two anyway. “Would you like to eat dinner with me?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.” Will smiled, and scratched the back of his head.
The dinner was exquisite, as always. It was roast lamb (actually lamb for a change, because Hannibal was too let-down over his disaster dates to go hunt the rude) and mashed potatoes. Of course, the potatoes weren’t mashed crudely, with lumps, no way. It was classic, smooth potato.
Will decided he would help washing the dishes, and whilst carrying out this task, turned to Hannibal.
“I really liked those times we went out, you know.” He said, moving closer to the man, who fumbled with a dish towel. “It was fun.”
“But it was terrible.” Hannibal admitted darkly. “It was wrong, and horrible.”
“I liked it.” And shy, terrified Will Graham, the little boy who once did not say a word in class, stood on his toes, and kissed Hannibal Lecter full on the mouth, and even dared to let his hand touch his shoulder. Will Graham, who was twitchy, and nervous, and never made the first move, leaned into the kiss, which the other man reciprocated, and smiled against his lips, their teeth slightly touching.
“I must fall off more horses then.” Hannibal whispered, delighted. “It seems you like that.”
“Oh yes.” Will said dryly, still incredibly close to the other man. “Very arousing. Even more arousing than when you caught your own boat.” A puff off laughter ghosted between them, and neither could tell who laughed.
Mischa Lecter, inside Hannibal’s head, packed up her bags, and left his thoughts.
Her job here was done, and Will could replace her now.