Archive of Our Own

“This is Jack Crawford sitting here with: 

“Beverly Katz.”

“Molly Foster.”

“James Price.”

“Brian Zeller.”

“Chiyoh Lecter.”

“Hannibal Lecter.”

“Following the discovery of Hector Pence at the Old Mill Forest within the Willowmarch County Park. Now, if you could please start from your arrival at the Old Mill.”

“Yes, sir…”

Each interview had gone on longer than expected. Will was the last to go, though he wasn’t complaining. He could see the tense way each one of his friends went in and out of the room. 

Following the discovery of Hector, a whirlwind of action ensued, which was in line with a protocol Will was only mildly familiar with. Hank had all but discarded his badge when he saw Beverly. His attention was entirely on taking his daughter away from the scene, his paternal instincts outranking his judicial drive. Jack had the authority to take over and requested everyone meet him at the department for official statements. It was a few hours before the interviews were able to begin. Willowmarch wasn’t equipped for murder the way other places were. Resources weren’t exactly available in great quantities, which means it had taken longer than Jack would have liked for the other officers to arrive. Not to mention the location itself left much to be desired, a hike through the swamps was not exactly easy. They didn’t even have a proper CSI team. Some of the more seasoned officers were cross-trained, but there hadn’t been a need for anything more than that for decades. So, Will could admit, it was slightly laughable to see them supplied with the outdated camera and evidence-processing bags that had seen more of the inside of a storage closet than any real action. All in all, by the time anyone was escorted from the area it had been a good few hours. Hannibal hadn’t left Will’s side through it all, somehow aware that Will was trying exceptionally hard not to work as a mirror at that moment. His accent was a smoothing lilt, whispering things in a language Will did not know. It worked, in some strange way, to be able to focus on his words and not their meaning. He avoided the eyes of his friends, thought of Junie at home with Bambi. Wondering if she was hungry and if Bambi had remembered there were a few thawed-out trout in the fridge. 

Despite his upbringing, Will wasn’t one for police stations.  Well, perhaps because of his upbringing was the more proper way to explain it. Too often was he tucked away in Hank Katz’s office with a few broken crayons and the yellowing pages of an old coloring book to keep him company. Bar fights, DUIs, and various other misdemeanors always amounted to nothing extraordinary in permanence because Beau always bounced back. He sweated it out, did the classes, took the punishment, and played the role long enough to keep Will in his custody. There was never a chance to change that, but Hank cared enough to shield him as best he could despite it. However, Hank wasn’t here now, and neither was Beau. There was no cushion. Hannibal had been called back into his own interview more than fifteen minutes ago and that left Will in the waiting room, trying to dodge the stares of the deputies that were placing his face to his name curiously. 

Ain’t that Amelia Bordeaux’s boy?

He ain’t look nothin’ like his daddy, small mercies, Beau’s a damn bastard.

Yeah, but ain’t he a little odd? The boy still ain’t rig–

“Will? Are you alright?” Hannibal’s voice might as well have been calamine lotion on a sunburn. His warm burgundy eyes trailed across Will’s face as if cataloging each twitch of discomfort with extreme care. Will could see the way he yearned. Will wanted to respond in kind, lean into the graceful touch Hannibal was always so willing to give. But there was a voice that still sang in the gruff baritone of his father in the Sunday hymns of The Father that held his hand to his lap. Will wondered if Hannibal had a voice like that in his head and in what form it had taken.

God, he was so beautiful.

That’s all Will could think about, and it was damn shameful considering there was the shape of a dead man still burned into his retinas. But, he couldn’t help it. Hannibal had his hands in his pockets, shoulders straight as he crouched in front of Will, head tilted softly. 

“M’fine sorry, mind got ‘way from me. You okay, sweetheart?” Will asked, quiet and calm, only realizing after the quirk of Hannibal’s smile that he had slipped a bit, affection inflecting his tone unconsciously. Hannibal was kind enough to ignore it, standing and giving Will some space to recover.

“Quite so, it was rather painless. I suspect our statements are the least useful. We saw very little of Hector before being escorted away. Though Uncle Jack seems to disagree, I will not pretend to understand the nuances of bureaucracy.” Hannibal gave Will a good-natured shrug, sticking his hand in his back pocket.

“Uncle Jack?” Will scoffed, feeling slightly lighter for it. He could see the line between curiosity and disdain in Hannibal’s eyes. Looking around the station with a somewhat detached respect and bordering apprehension.

“He does seem to think he holds such authority.” Hannibal winked and pulled out his silver cigarette case before flipping it open with a satisfying click. It was only then that Will saw the engravings on the front: ‘H.L. VII’ in intricate calligraphy above a short inscription. Hannibal grabbed a self-rolled cigarette and put it between his sharp teeth, successfully pocketing the case before Will could ask.

 “I shall wait for you outside if that’s alright,” Hannibal smiled at Will, a soft thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I’ll be sitting here for you when I return.” He clasped Will’s shoulder and walked off, sneakers leaving dirt dust down the stained linoleum. Something was wrong, though Will wasn’t sure what, it wasn’t the obvious. Will knew well enough that the trivial routine of a police questioning was not enough to shake Hannibal. Nor was the macabre display they’d just come from. This was something worse, deeper, and gorier. Like swallowing a sword wrong and still having to perform. Will could see it in the way Hannibal held himself, his shoulders a little tighter and his face a little sharper. There was a new barrier between Hannibal and the world and it was something that Will had not been privy to during its creation. He wondered what could be so bad as to shake Hannibal Lecter. He wondered briefly if he even wanted to know, before, quite suddenly, realizing that yes he would always want to know when it came to Hannibal. Will wanted to crack him open and dig beneath the hard bits until he found the symphonic sinew of his inner workings and could truly see the violet rush of blood to his heart, pumping it with his fist until Hannibal gasped and begged for air. Will looked at the smooth planes of muscle on Hannibal’s back and imagined, for a moment, calling him back and letting him care for Will in the way he so obviously wanted.

“Will–Willoughby Graham?” Jack Crawford called out with something unreadable in his tone and it echoed in Will’s ears and down the planes of his throat to his hands. He looked away from Hannibal’s disappearing form and towards Crawford. A man who, unfortunately, Will hadn’t had the chance to truly figure out quite yet. This meant that being locked in a room with no natural lighting, metallic surfaces, and a very obvious two-way mirror was somewhat of a living nightmare for Will. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Crawford was looking at him strangely, eyes cast to the paper in front of him and back up to Will as if the two would magically make sense to whatever was going on in his mind. 

“Yeah, uh, ‘m right here,” he waved, eyes shooting back to the scuffed linoleum. 

“Yes, if you would follow me.” Crawford seemed to recover, his bureaucratic shield masking whatever momentary confusion had taken place. Will’s shorts didn’t have pockets, the damn things, so he ran his hands a final time over his thighs and followed the man inside the room. 

Will had been in here before, of course, but under wildly different circumstances. Back in his grade school days when Heleana Katz was still a traveling nurse and Gramma Katz hadn’t moved in yet, there would be nights Hank had to work late at the station. After school, he and Bevvy would make the trek over and spend their evening doing homework, pilfering for cash to get a fried chicken box from the Honey Hive next door, and playing games to keep themselves entertained. Many times, the interrogation room played as a stage for them to study or go over their presentations.

This wasn’t like that at all. 

Already walking in, Will could tell Crawford was frustrated. This meant he had no real leads to go on and in a town this small that was a roadblock. There weren't a whole lot of places to hide, but there were also a million places to go. If Crawford didn’t have an idea, the person behind this could be anyone and no one at the same time. Will sat in the metal chair and tried not to fidget, he knew he was innocent, of course, but that didn’t make the overbearing stare of Jack Crawford any easier to stand. As the man in question sat, he laid down his notebook and clicked his pen, sighing a moment before looking at Will. Will averted his eyes, training them safely on the man's forehead before deciding even that was too close and ultimately finding the notch of chipped paint on the wall.

Jack reached for the recording device on the table and pressed play, the winding tape crackled a moment before finding its footing and smoothing out.

“It is June 1st at 11:21 am. This is Agent Jack Crawford sitting here with…” Jack gestured for Will to speak and he cleared his throat.

“Willoughby Beau Graham.”

“Following the discovery of Hector Pence at the Old Mill Forest within the Willowmarch County Park. Now, if you could please start from the beginning.” It was a script, Will knew, but it was still a jarring reminder of what had happened mere hours ago.

“Of course.” Will began his short but seemingly important story. He recited when Bevvy had called him to enlist help, how he had recruited Hannibal and Chiyoh. Summarizing their fruitless search and leaving out his and Hannibal’s almost kiss, which felt much more world-shattering than Hector's death. Jack didn’t ask very many questions, Hannibal was right in his prediction that theirs would prove the least important. They arrived last, didn’t see much the entire day, and were wrapped up in their search for Cassie to make any observations otherwise. By the end of it, Jack looked at his notebook in silence. He flipped a few pages, scanned his notes, and looked back up to Will.

“Did you know Hector before his death?” Jack asked with a flat tone. It was a practiced inflection in his accentless voice. He worked hard to make himself unreadable, Will admired the effort but it didn’t work. Will could still feel the bargaining feelings of frustration and the way it filled the room angrily.

“I did, I mean, not personally. We wasn’t out sharin’ a beer on the weekends but I knew of him. My daddy, he, uh, he frequents the same bars Hector does–did, shit. Sorry,” Will rubbed his face and took a breath, “Hector was loud, I don’t think I ever seen him sober in my life. ‘S a horrible thing to say but I can’t say I ain’t exactly surprised we’re here.” Will paused, looking at his hands and letting Jack make his notes.

“You said he was loud, was he aggressive?” Jack pressed and Will shrugged.

“He been kicked out of his fair share of bars for hollerin’ and spittin’ if you know what I mean. But, I don’ think anyone would say Hector was aggressive, the man was barely on two feet most of the time.” Will offered and Jack nodded.

“And Clyde?” Jack asked with a forced calmness.

The question caught Will entirely by surprise and he frowned. Heart stuttering for a moment before evening out, he recalled his previous questioning in regards to Clyde. Far more casual, taking place in Hank’s office and mostly for the sake of paperwork. What happened to Clyde was an animal attack, everyone knew that. It was coyote season and the gators were restless in the heat, it was no surprise that a stumble into the swamps led to Clyde’s demise. Though, what that had to do with Hector—Will didn’t know. 

“Clyde? Wasn’t that the gators?” Will shook his head, trying to keep up.

“Listen, I’ve got two dead bodies and a missing child in the span of two weeks in a town that hasn’t seen anything beyond a goddamn bar fight in a decade,” Jack swallowed thickly and looked at Will earnestly, this time he didn’t look away, “Just tell me about Clyde.” It was practically a demand and Will knew he wouldn’t be leaving until he complied. Though, a thin terror struck up his spine as he saw what Crawford meant. He was right, Willowmarch wasn’t the kind of place where these sorts of things happened; it was quiet and peaceful. Of course, you had your drunkards and assholes, but that was anywhere. Will couldn’t recall there being a murder of any kind in Willowmarch since he’d been born.

“Clyde was…Clyde was an acquired taste to put it kindly, sir. He was known to get a bit handsy at parties. Got into fights, but mostly he was all bark no bite. Just had a helluva high horse. Drove people nuts. I mean he never did anythin’ crazy to me personally,” Liar, “ But I dealt with him enough to keep my distance.” Will offered, not really knowing what else to say. He didn’t like speaking ill of the dead, old superstition and karma still ingrained in his roots, but he knew Crawford needed to know what he could.

“And the girls he harassed, was there ever retaliation? Angry boyfriends?” Crawford spoke curtly, and Will licked his lips anxiously. He should correct him, it would be helpful, Will knew, but it felt too raw a thing to say. To expose this part of Clyde, even to help, felt like exposing himself. He thought of Hannibal, he thought of his hands and the way they wrapped around him in the bookshop and the chuckle that tickled his ear. The phantom warmth on his waist, like a blanket, as he laid his head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. And he imagined, because how could he not, someone or something taking that from him. Cruelty for cruelty sake and Will blinked back the tears in his eyes. Clyde was a bad dog, rabid and uncontrolled, entitled and sleazy but he was dead. Something or someone had put him down and Will, to his own chagrin, couldn’t entirely blame them for it. But, if it wasn’t for that reason, if it wasn’t Clyde’s usual stupidity that got him killed if it was something else… Will saw Hannibal’s eyes in his mind and ached with the phantom pains of potential loss.

“It wasn’t…” Will blinked and took a deep breath, looking up to Jack seriously, “It wasn’t just girls–it was sometimes– but…but not most of the time.” Will felt the air leave his chest a moment as Jack took in his meaning. He nodded and wrote a note down. Will wondered how he would word it, if he would be delicate and ambiguous or harsh and factual. 

Clyde Dunway was a homosexual.

Clyde Dunway was a queer.

Clyde Dunway was a faggot.

Will wondered how he would word it, if it was ever Will on the slab. If his father would ever find out, looking down at the cooling body of his son, feeling disgust instead of heartache. The Katz family, the only ones that would go to his funeral, Beverly feeling the licks of hellfire on her own heels as she saw her friend. Hannibal would leave eventually, likely with Chiyoh, and he would be nothing but a kind footnote in the life of the great Hannibal Lecter. He’d be okay with that, he thinks, as long as Hannibal thought of him kindly.

“Was this well-known information?” Jack cut through his thoughts, voice strangely tender like he knew what divulging this information was doing to Will..

“Known enough.” Was all Will could manage. 

Jack nodded and pressed the tape recorder to stop it. There was a moment of silence, the weight in the air too much to counter at the moment. Will could feel it squeezing the life from him, a sword above him. One wrong move and he was dead.

“Thank you, Willoughby,” Jack spoke, and it was interlaced with all the things the man could not and would not say for the sake of Will’s sanity in that moment. Will nodded curtly and stood.

“Can I…Can I leave now?” He asked, brows furrowed, and the tender ache in his bones weighing him down. Jack seemed to understand and didn’t push any further, though, there was a look in his eyes for a moment. Fleeting and almost reminiscent, like he was seeing a ghost. It made Will twitch, knowing that look too well and wishing to escape it. He wasn’t sure what Jack saw but Will wished he’d look away.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jack asked and Will shook his head vehemently.

“I drove.” He muttered and then practically ran from the room.

Hannibal was waiting for him, of course he was. He was sitting in one of the chairs, looking down at his watch with a frown and a jitteriness to his hand, the only sign that something was amiss. A bottled water sat at his feet and the wisps of his hair were curling at the ends in the charming way Will was quickly becoming fond of. And when Hannibal looked up, those deep redwood eyes bleeding into his own, he finally felt like he could breathe. There were no ghosts or corpses on the edges of his vision, no confessions being clawed from his throat like glass. The world cleared and Hannibal stood, stepping forward once then stopping, eyes looking around before landing back on Will. 

A question.

Will answered.

Will walked up to Hannibal and took his arms, strong from manual labor and too speckled from days in the sun, and wrapped them tightly around Hannibal. He tucked his head in the jut of space between his neck and shoulder and stayed there. It took a blink of a moment, just a flutter of a butterfly's wing, for Hannibal’s arms to embrace him back. Head tilting to Will’s curls instinctually. Will knew his eyes were closed, Hannibal always closed his eyes when he was overwhelmed or focused, two emotions that Will seemed to claw out of his constantly. He was shaking, or maybe Will was, he couldn’t tell. Hannibal smelled like the heat of summer and fresh moss. Underneath it all the sweet richness of whatever it was that made Hannibal unique. Will wanted to bottle it, keep it for himself forever. Will’s hands ran over Hannibal’s shoulders, tucked away as they were in the back of the station, and felt the muscle and hummed. Hannibal’s hands tensed around his waist. He inhaled deeply into Will’s curls.

“That can’t have been a nice smell, sweetheart, ‘m covered in sweat,” Will whispered, voice laced with humor.

“If this is what you smell like covered in sweat, I shall endeavour to bring it about more often, in more enjoyable ways of course,” Hannibal whispered, voice low in his ear before breaking away. The sudden space between them made Will unbalanced. He scowled at Hannibal through what was no doubt a very flushed expression. Hannibal looked proud of himself as if to dare Will to do something about it. And Will wanted to, honest, he did. His imagination ran wild as he fought the urge to drag Hannibal into one of the empty rooms and do something really stupid. To let Hannibal run his smooth hands and mold him into something beautiful, something that wasn’t scarred and mauled. He’d squirm under the unfamiliar pressure of it, the pain of being broken down and made anew, but perhaps Hannibal would be gentle. He’d let Will hold his heart, and he would hold his in kind and things would make sense for the first time in Will’s life. 

He wouldn’t though and they both knew it. 

Will hated himself for it, remembering how he had told Hannibal in the quiet dark that there was a longing for more, a longing for bravery, and how he hadn’t followed up one time. Hannibal didn’t seem particularly bothered by this, only ever pleased to be in Will’s company at all, but he knew that would run out too. Hannibal was everything Will ever wanted, and he didn’t even have the gull to reach out and take it.

“C’mon ‘s late and I gotta cover Bevvy’s shift,” Will said instead and tried to ignore the millisecond of disappointment on Hannibal’s face before they left the station side by side.

____________________________________________

Despite the hunt for Cassie Boyle being well and truly on, Hannibal had made his excuses to be excluded from it for the rest of the day. No one questioned it and there was not much to explain as news travelled fast in regards to the death of Hector. He wanted to mull it over more, really delve into the details of what he saw this morning but some deeper part of him knew he was racing against a clock. When Will had told him a girl had gone missing there was the acute fear that he was, in fact, too late and Abigail was gone. But, upon realizing this wasn’t the case he felt the metaphorical fire lick the palms of his feet. 

He took his motorcycle, wanting to be as quick as he could in regard to where he was going. He didn’t have a lot of time before Chiyoh would grow suspicious of his disappearance. She had gone back to her shift at the general store, in want of a distraction that was mostly for appearances and not entirely for her actual benefit. It took a lot to shake Chiyoh and the corpse of a drunkard ripped open by an overly eager, faceless murderer was not on that list. He knew they would discuss it later, between veiled symbolism and a warm meal, and come to conclusions of their own. But, for now, he had to see why Abigail showed him what she had. He knew, distantly, that her taking him to the hidden spot was both for a moment's secrecy and future reference. He just hadn’t anticipated that moment to come so soon.

It didn’t take long to get to the woods and it took even shorter to get to the spot. He kept his eyes trained on the markers he had mapped in his mind and tried not to feel the phantom tug of Abigail’s hand in his own as her mind guided him. The air was mild today, it would rain later, and the sun was fighting a losing battle against the storm clouds that were rolling in. Hannibal knew that gave him even less time to find what he was looking for. If there was anything to find at all. He had no way of knowing if Cassie Boyle’s disappearance was at all connected to Hobbs. It seemed a fitting prospect in terms of timing, and circumstantially it made sense. Hobbs hadn’t wanted Abigail involved, so he handed her over to the most trusted caretaker he knew and was seen long enough to create an alibi at the market. No one would suspect him, not truly, and it frustrated Hannibal beyond comprehension. 

His feet halted at the water's edge, just as he had last time, and scanned the area. Nothing had changed, no broken sticks or disturbed mud beyond the slide and prints of wildlife. No sign that Hobbs, Cassie, or Abigail had ventured here recently in any capacity. And Hannibal began to wonder if Hobbs knew about this spot at all. Perhaps Hannibal had gotten it wrong. Perhaps the reason she had orchestrated so deeply, so carefully was not because she wanted to show Hannibal her father's hidden space, but her own. Was this where she would go, where she would be if something went wrong? Is it the only place that was entirely and completely Abigail Hobbs? Hannibal felt his chest tighten and his hand curl into a fist, anger roiled in his body in the familiar waves of terror he greeted as an old friend. This wasn’t Hobbs' burial grounds, this was Abigail's safe house and she had shared it with him because she knew, deep down, that she would need it. Without much thought, Hannibal spun and punched the nearest object with a guttural, low shout that was soaked in by the wildlife around him. He did so again, and again until blood began to show on his knuckles and the pain rewired the anger in his brain into something productive. He blinked back tears and visions of starvation and resolutely focused on blue eyes and auburn hair. He looked down at his hand and cursed silently, it would need some care, which he could manage on his own. Though, Chiyoh would hardly allow it. At the glance of it, she would gain that slight crease in her brow, the flicker of worry in her face, and click her tongue with a wise maturity beyond her years. But, this would all happen later, much later he believes. He refocused, tucking his hand to his chest, and looked around once more.

So if this was Abigail's space…where was Hobbs’?

Hannibal looked around for clues he knew he wouldn’t find just for a while longer. Abigail was too smart to leave bits of herself behind, she would rub her footprints away and any sign of life with it. A dead end for now, but important for later. 

Hannibal left quickly, not wanting to stay any longer than needed, this too was part of her lesson. This was Abigail’s puzzle, and she had only just let him see the edges of the pieces, making out the final image would be a hard-won task indeed. The ivy kissed his bare arms as he weaved from the underbrush and back to his motorcycle, the sleek black bike shining in the dull glow of flickering sunlight. He could smell the rain in the air now, the electrical buzz of change, beauty, and destruction that it would bring. He took a deep breath and put his leather coat back on despite the humidity, ignoring the sting in his knuckles from exposed skin. He clicked down the visor of his helmet and turned his bike back towards the main roads.

Hannibal checked his watch at the next stoplight and smirked softly to himself before turning his bike in a very particular direction.

Edie’s Diner was busy given the circumstances. The familiar bell rang above his head, signaling his entrance as he looked for Will amongst the crowd. He caught sight of him, a head of wild curls rounding the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the pleased feeling he felt within his chest. His eyes scanned the mob of full booths as he stood at the small kiosk waiting to be seated. He had never been here on days that it wasn’t Will and Beverly and was faintly curious at who else ran the bustling linoleum of the diner. His question was answered when he came face to face with a familiar face of curls. She blinked a moment, frowning as if trying to place him before snapping her fingers.

“Aw hell! Hannibal, right? Well, how the hell are ya?” Brandi smiled, a welcome change to the doom and gloom of the day. She bent down and grabbed a menu. Hannibal noticed she was wearing the same uniform he had seen Beverly in before, covered with a small apron. Hannibal wondered if this was a recurring role she took on or if, given Beverly’s absence, she had simply stepped in.

“I’m doing well, given the circumstances. How are you?” Hannibal asked politely and tucked his hands in his pockets, not wanting the attention for the moment. Brandi shrugged softly with a new tension around her eyes.

“Towns in a real upheaval ‘bout Hector. Been a while since Edie’s called Uncle Marty for Cheyenne and I to help out, but it’s nice for a change of scenery. Just hope Bevvy is okay,” Brandi walked Hannibal towards the section around the bar corner where Chey was serving breakfast to a group of construction workers. Regular occurrence then, just sporadic, “ ‘M guessin’ you ain’t wanna sit in my section. I won’t take offense, but y’all owe me and Cheyenne lunch when this whole mess is over. God willin’ that be soon.” Brandi tapped her nails on the plastic menu and smiled softly, “Willie’s been off kilter, ‘opefully you help with that, sugar.” She winked at him kindly, and it was so friendly, so familiar that Hannibal was reminded why these were Will’s people. Will had few of them, but those he did have were a reflection of the best parts of him. Secret keepers, kind, warm, teasing, and funny in times when it perhaps wasn’t entirely appropriate. The outliers in a sea of solvable equations. Hannibal hoped, pathetically, that he would one day be involved in that circle.

He’d come to the understanding that Will might let him in to a certain degree, but there would always be this large, immovable thing between them that prevented progression in the direction they both desired. Will was used to hiding- it was safe for him in a town that was not used to making people like him. He loved his home, it was apparent in the lines of his laugh and lilt of his accent. He could see it in his tan lines and attire, the subtle way he offered help, and the muscles and scars born from manual labor. Willowmarch was within Will’s blood, but even so, he kept a bag packed and his gas tank full at all times. Will spoke very little of his past, less of his present, and never of his future. Though something had happened today, Hannibal knew that for sure. He knew something had happened the second Will stepped from the interrogation room and embraced him willingly, fully, and entirely. Whether that was a good or bad thing remains to be seen.

“Will’ll be over in a sec,” Brandi shimmied her way back into the crowd, and Hannibal set his helmet down in the booth. 

He waited only a moment, much to his delight, before Will stepped in front of him with a routine greeting on his tongue. His face was flushed with work, and he’d traded in his Edie’s uniform for a dark t-shirt, the stained apron tied around his waist holding his pens and paper. His curls were astray, charmingly misplaced and wild like that of a young satyr born to spring and unaware of his beauty. Hannibal felt the urge to draw him, capture him in this way, and he loathed that he had forgo his sketchbook for the day.

“Welcome to Edie’s, my name is Will, I’ll be–Hannibal?” The tension melted entirely from Will’s face, replaced with the stretching adoration of a true and genuine smile. Glistening eyes flickering across Hannibal’s form with delight.

“Good afternoon, dear Will, I found myself indisposed and felt the need to perhaps…satiate a hunger, and so I have wandered my way to you, beau chose .” Hannibal broke eye contact and scanned the menu for a moment, as if entirely enthralled by it. Will hitched his breath softly and swallowed. Hannibal looked back up, biting his cheek to keep the smile from breaking on his face as he watched the most beautiful flush of arousal fill Will’s cheeks.

“I know French,” Will replied, voice quiet, Hannibal smirked. He knew this in theory, of course, Hannibal had heard the easy switch between English and a dialectal French throughout his time in Willowmarch. He was not so naive as to think that it didn’t extend to Will, though it was still absolutely delightful to confirm.

“ Et toi, maintenant? Je vais devoir être plus prudent alors.” Hannibal watched and waited as Will fidgeted, looking around a moment before leaning down closely. His eyes were filled with a playful mirth before he spoke, and when he did, it was with a beautiful cadence that made Hannibal’s ears melt.

“ Mwen sètènman espere pa. Fransè mwen pa bon, men mwen menm non plis, chere.” Will’s voice was filled with an emotion Hannibal had yet to see from him, a lilt in his twang that was different, unpolished, and entirely intoxicating. Hannibal wanted to chew on it, taste each note of its flavor and suck the bone marrow dry. He wanted to be improper about it, to be impolite. He squirmed under Will’s gaze, the tables having turned on him entirely. Will seemed to catch onto Hannibal’s misstep and laughed brightly, shaking his head softly. 

“I know French, but you don’t know Creole. Interesting.” Will smirked and leaned back up, clearing his throat, “I’ll getcha a water, darlin’.” Will walked off all too casually as if he hadn’t just taken Hannibal’s composure with a few implications.

Hannibal let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair before hissing at the burn in his hand. He looked at his knuckles once more, the bleeding had stopped, and the blood congealed, but it would take nothing more than a flex to break it once more. Hannibal tried to sew himself back up, regain his poise. Yet another oddity of Will’s, another unique ability. It should make him uneasy, instead it made him hungry.

Hannibal watched as Will made his rounds, greeting and helping customers with all his usual charm. For how much Will enjoyed his solitude, it seemed he enjoyed caring for others more. He would retreat in his own time, but here Hannibal could see the joy it brought him. The ability to provide a warm meal and conversation, to walk the line of polite and stern and helpful yet elusive. Hannibal also saw everything Will did not, the longing stares of patrons and the whispering giggles of young girls. He saw the genuine looks of relief when Will offered to help an elderly couple with their garden the following week. He saw it all and he craved to touch, to belong there with Will. To have them be so indistinguishable from one another that their names began to be paired as one. Will and Hannibal. Hannibal and Will. Will and Han–

“Daydreamin’?” Will set a glass of water down and looked at Hannibal with fondness.

“I never had this issue before I met you, mio caro, I was firmly planted to the ground. But, alas, your beauty and charm have entranced me entirely. A lost cause, they say.” Hannibal held the teasing adoration in his voice that he knew made it easier for Will to play this little game of theirs. It was easier for deniability if, in some boyish way, they had their own games. Edie’s was so busy at the moment that Hannibal was entirely sure not a single person cared or heard what they were saying anyway, though.

“Damn shame, all ya got goin’ for ya now is that face ‘o yours.” Will tapped his pen to his temple as if thinking before clicking his tongue.

“You’ve ruined me entirely.” Hannibal accused lightly, and Will shrugged, a smile breaking out on his face. 

“Yeah…” Will let a soft breath escape his lips before clearing his throat once more, “Whatcha wanna eat?” He curtailed the conversation and flirtation with a teasing glint in his eye, and Hannibal pointed blindly to the menu.

“This.” Whatever ‘this’ was, Will wrote down in amusement.

“Biscuits n’ gravy? Anythin’ else?”

“When is your break?” Hannibal asked, leaning in closer, arms crossed and head tilted. Will seemed to debate telling him, sighing softly and leaning down ever so slightly. If this was their new game of cat and mouse, Hannibal found he rather preferred it to Will’s ever-present elusive nature. His hiding, when discarded, provoked a playfulness. Both were safe, Hannibal took note. He wondered how far Will would go, how far ‘safe’ actually was. He wanted to find out, he wanted to feel Will in a new way, devour his words instead of just listening to them.

“In an hour. Stick ‘round and you can give me one ‘a yer fancy cigarettes for givin’ me so much grief,” Will licked his lips and turned away before Hannibal could respond. Anticipation grew in his chest, bubbling up softly alongside a knot in his stomach and a warmth spreading across his veins. It was a foreign desire, one that left him slightly breathless in the face of it.

He and Will didn’t get the chance to talk again until his break. Will brought him his food with a pleasant smile and a wink. Hannibal ate his food in silence and found he genuinely enjoyed it, although he had yet to find a meal at Edie’s that was not satisfactory. The spices were not too strong but just enough to ignite the underlying flavors of the buttermilk and sausage. The biscuits were soft and airy and sank with the scent of sweetened butter under the weight of his fork. He hummed, pleased, as he pushed his plate away and finished his water. He diligently checked his silver case to make sure it did, in fact, have a few cigarettes left within. He knew Will was only half-kidding when he mentioned sharing one, and Hannibal would deliver.

Hannibal looked down at his watch and saw he had a few minutes until Will’s break. Edie’s had thinned out as the rush settled, and only a few tables were inhabited now. Brandi and Cheyenne were wiping down tables and debating some topic that Hannibal could not follow. Every so once in a while one of them would go to the jukebox, pick a song, and resume their work. Music was a large part of Will’s life, Hannibal was discovering, and adjacently a large part of those he kept near him. Beverly was evidence enough with her habitual arrival atto any location with the rumble and crash of her speakers playing a tune. The Antiquity was riddled with evidence of vinyls, tapes, and tracks that Will seemed enamoured with. Hannibal added this to his image of Will, painting a clearer picture in his mind.

“Willie’s out back, just finished up talkin’ to Terry. He’s givin’ Junie leftovers,” Cheyenne called to Hannibal when he stood up. He frowned minutely at the mention of the unfamiliar name before heading out the front door. He wanted to pull his motorcycle out back, make it easier to leave when Will’s break would inevitably end. And if it allowed a bit of posturing, then that was only a circumstantial side effect.

He rolled his motorcycle slowly from its spot and around the back end of Edie’s, where the gravel was rougher and the scent of grease and cigarette smoke was thicker. Hannibal felt his stomach twist softly as he caught sight of Will and just who exactly “Junie” was, a grin nearly split his face as he laughed.

Will was bent down, feeding a box of varying, messy meats and potatoes to a midnight-shaded furball that was yelping and jumping on Will with delight. She was held in place by a fraying, but strong, rope that was tied under a shaded area with a bowl of water. At his arrival, she nearly jolted, turning to him with wide eyes and the curious tilt of her head. She began wildly barking, which was really more of an untrained howl, but seemed confident enough in herself that it made Hannibal smile. Will followed her line of vision, and his reaction was much different and much more along the lines of what Hannibal was after.

________________________________

Will wasn’t immediately aware of what he was looking at until he became all too aware of it. He squinted as the sun fought its way through the clouds and basked a moment in the heat. It had been looking like they were going to get a storm but the clouds seemed to be rolling opposite of them, though that didn’t mean a damned thing in terms of the humidity. He’d been careful to keep Junie in the shade, her paws were protected on a scrappy old quilt he found in the closet, and he’d tied her in an area that wouldn’t get sun during his shift. Terry, Chey, Brandi, and he had all been taking turns feeding Junie and checking on her in between the rush of the day. He felt halfway guilty for it, even if Junie didn’t seem to mind one bit. She was mellow, for being a wild thing, and preferred the quiet routine of her visitors and the food they brought. 

So, it was no surprise that when the rumble of a motorcycle filled the back end parking lot, she was yapping to defend her little territory. She, surprisingly, stepped in front of Will as if to protect him, and that did make Will chuckle. He went to calm her before following her line of sight towards the owner of said motorcycle. There was a “motorcycle gang” in town that was more of a club that was really just a bunch of retired old guys who went out on Saturday mornings for rides. So, he half expected to just see one of their wrinkly faces nodding to him before speeding off. What he was not expecting was Hannibal fucking Lecter.

Will knew Hannibal had a motorcycle, of course. He had more than once strategically watched him work on the beast in his front lawn. But it was an entirely different thing to see Hannibal up close like this. The engine purred, not too loud and entirely flawless, no doubt from Hannibal’s constant tinkering and oiling. He was straddling it still, both feet on the ground and his arms crossed over his chest as if he needed the extra showcase of natural muscle. Will nearly wanted to roll his eyes at the blatant display, but he was too busy trying to keep his legs steady. The summer did things to people, Will knew, everyone got all “hot and bothered” as gramma Katz said, and went at it like spring bunnies. He’d never put much thought into that sort of thinking within himself because, well, he hadn’t had someone to think about in a long time. Now, he thinks, that’s changed.

Hannibal was glowing, if possible, in the way fresh peaches glistened on the trees like spots of sunlight amongst the greenery. He had the blush of a summer tan that stretched across his golden skin and towards his pink cheeks. There was a thin sheen of sweat visible on his shoulders, black tank top tight on the defined lean muscles of his body. His hair was lightening from the sun, and the golden highlights cut through the darker blonde. It beckoned Will’s hands like a siren song, he longed to feel and pull and see what sounds he could get out of Hannibal’s ever-poised nature. Hannibal didn’t look away from Will, a smirk spreading into a shark-like smile, smelling blood in the water. His sharp canines bit into his bottom lip, and there was a predator there, a hunter that made Will want to either gnash or wrestle until they were breathless one way or another. It made Will stupid in the head, like a jar full of stripped nails shaking around with no use. His hands flexed at his sides. He took a step forward, then another, and soon his hands were on Hannibal. His palms dug into the flesh of his shoulders as he looked directly into his eyes. He felt breathless suddenly, remembering their game earlier and the easy way they’d fallen into the danger of their adoration. He felt the warmth of Hannibal’s skin under his hands.

Will leaned in slowly, brain scrambling for purchase. Hannibal looked at him in wonder, eyes flickering softly to Will’s lips before licking his own. Will felt a smile tug at his own lips. He could feel Hannibal’s breath on his face as he, in a last-minute grasp for power, turned his head and dragged his hands to Hannibal’s back pocket. He rested there a moment, a suggestion and possessive touch born of the ache he could feel beginning to scream in his canines. He wanted to bite, he wanted to taste. He felt the thin object he was after and reached into Hannibal’s pocket and dug out the silver case. He tucked his head into Hannibal's shoulder, whispering softly:

“Mèsi, cheri.” Will swallowed before he allowed his desire to gain some slack on the line, and he bit softly at Hannibal’s ear before leaning away. When he did, as he expected, Hannibal’s eyes were closed. He looked absolutely taken, a stray piece of hair falling into his face as he sat motionless on his motorcycle, “Light it for me?” Will asked, blinking his eyes at Hannibal, who, upon gaining his bearings, nodded softly and shut off his motorcycle.

Will stepped back to give him space, and when Hannibal stood, he seemed to tower. Will knew, logically, that there were only a few inches Hannibal had on him, but in this moment, he seemed like some golden god. He took out a lighter from his pocket, and Will snapped the case open, breaking eye contact only to run his fingers along the self-rolled thin sticks. He knew this was fancy stuff, it smelled delicious, and would likely be some of the best cigarettes Will ever tasted. He pondered if he could ask Hannibal for a whole case and if the man would oblige him. Likely.

He took one out and tucked it between his teeth. When he looked back at Hannibal, he was smirking, flicking the lighter and letting the flame burn a moment. He suddenly took his palm and laid it on Will’s cheek. Will froze, entranced, as Hannibal pulled Will forward gently so the cigarette would reach the flame. It was a grasp for power and control in their game. And Will was quickly becoming addicted to it. 

He took a drag of the cigarette and was pleased to find he was correct: it tasted delicious. He hummed as the smoke filled his chest and the smooth drag sent a small rush to his brain. Will held in the smoke a moment before taking his own hand, lifting it to push the lighter away as he leaned in closer to Hannibal. They were dangerously close, and Will felt the twisting heat boil in his stomach as he exhaled, watching Hannibal take it into his mouth easily. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was an exchange and the vibrations of tension in the air could light a damn fire. They stayed this way for a moment, Hannibal polite enough not to push, and Will unsure if he was ready to quit playing. Then: 

“What happened to your hand?” Will had, of course, noticed it back inside but elected to ignore it as Hannibal seemed hellbent on doing so. Will knew the look of busted knuckles from a thrown punch, intimately familiar with it on his own body, though it was novel to see the congealed blood and scrapes upon Hannibal's. Will didn’t know if he liked it or not, if he should like it. He found himself slightly, irrationally, jealous of whoever had made the boy lose his propriety so quickly and with such violent vigor.

“Clever boy.” Hannibal practically purred, and Will rolled his eyes, taking another drag.

“Answer the question, darlin’.” Will took Hannibal’s hand from his cheek and looked at it tenderly, “I know a thrown punch when I see one.” 

“I’m afraid my emotions regarding this morning got the best of me. I’m sure the tree is not very grateful for the unprompted assault.” Hannibal offered, and Will could see that it was a half-lie and half-truth. He wouldn’t be getting the entirety of the story from Hannibal, but he could be okay with that. There would be a day, he believes, where even the hardest truths would be laid out like pulled-out molars. Blood would stain their fingers where they’d dug each one from the other's mouth.

“I can clean it up, you shouldn’t just—“

“Chiyoh will do the honors, trust me. Even if I allowed you this, she would undo your work entirely.” Hannibal clasped their hands together instead, and Will was careful not to dig into the tender spots. He could always hear the fond emotion in Hannibal’s voice whenever he spoke of Chiyoh.

“You two look out for each other.” Will summarized, and Hannibal nodded.

“It can be a lonely time, otherwise.” Hannibal supplied a somewhat diluted vision of his past that he allowed Will to see. The glimpse, foggy and dark but still…kind. He could see it then, two lonely, strange creatures navigating the streets of the world alone. Chiyoh’s dark eyes and Hannibal’s enchanting ones, chosen words like poetry to manipulate and meld their world. Whispered secrets, harsh truths, subtle laughter. It made him smile.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Hannibal whispered, and Will blinked. He frowned for a moment before he let out a huff of laughter. Hannibal let his hands fall entirely, and Will took a drag of the cigarette. 

“Bastard,” Will whispered, and Hannibal shrugged.

“I’ve been told.” 

Will found his footing again and was grateful suddenly that they were tucked into the ease of the back of Edie’s. He’d gotten carried away; he was beginning to be reckless. But Hannibal made him want, made his desire in a way he wasn’t even aware he could. It was a terrifying thought to realize how easily he would throw away his armor if it meant being closer to Hannibal. And yet, still, there was that tedious voice, squawking like a crow in warning, reminding him what happened the last time he was reckless…he shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

“This is June, but I been callin’ ‘er Junie. Ain’t that right, darlin’?” Will approached Junie with an open smile and extended hand. She sniffed him only a moment before leaping onto his lap as he bent down. Will looked up at Hannibal, who was watching them both with a sort of dazed expression, taking in the scene as if to remember it. Will smiled up at him, so suddenly taken that he had to blink away his sudden nerves.

“C’mere and sit, she's gonna have to come to you, she’s still jumpy.” Will nodded for Hannibal to sit, and the boy obliged quickly. He laid his palms out openly and looked at Junie curiously. For all his openness, the wolf pup was suspicious, veering forward only slightly to catch a whiff of Hannibal in the air. She thinned her eyes, leaping unevenly from Will’s lap and hopping over to Hannibal, leaning low as she stretched to sniff him. She backed away as if zapped, eyeing Hannibal like it was a test before going forward once more.

“It’s quite alright, my dear, I mean you no harm, little one,” Hannibal whispered, and the low thrum and rumble of his voice did the trick. Junie jumped forward, crawling up to him and sniffing him all over to get an idea of him. Will chuckled as warmth spread across his chest. 

“Here, you’ll be nothin’ short o’ ‘er best friend if you give ‘er some food.” Will handed Hannibal one of the sausages from the container, and the boy fed Junie thoughtfully.

“In that, we can agree.” Hannibal whispered as he petted Junie softly, “You take in strays often?”

“Not really, came ‘cross her on the road. She’d been attacked, bleedin’ out ‘er neck real bad, but I got ‘er stitched up. Dunno how she lost her leg, way the skin is sorta seems like it's just how she was born.”

“It would make sense, the defect would mark her as weak by her mother. She would be abandoned entirely. It is a miracle she lived to meet your gracious hospitality; by all means, she should be dead.”

Junie seemed to warm up entirely to Hannibal as they sat together. There was a sense of natural warmth and belonging that radiated in the moment. It made Will wish he could stay here forever, showered in the flickering affection of Hannibal and his soft coos to the puppy who had all but fallen asleep in his lap. Hannibal, who was running his hands through her fur absently, talking to Will like he was the most interesting person he’d ever met. Will didn’t quite understand why Hannibal liked him so much, but he was profoundly grateful for it. Good things like this didn’t happen to Will very often, and he was getting comfortable with the fact that perhaps he could have this small thing. He’d begun to weigh the damage he could withstand if he kissed this boy the way he wanted to. How much righteousness he could take from his friends, his father, from God. He wondered if he could withstand it or if he would crack under the pressure of the all-seeing eyes bleeding into his bones and clawing at his desire. 

Was red always the color of desire, or did the devil make it that way? Did God? Maybe that’s why he had to bleed for it. Crimson, vermillion, scarlett…Hannibal.

Will sighed, heart tugging softly as he watched Junie leap from Hannibal’s lap to finally find her comfort back in the shade, unbothered and unwilling. Hannibal chuckled and watched her go, eyes lazily bringing their way back to Will. 

“Will?” Hannibal asked, head tilted with the hound-like curiosity that flickered in his eyes. Will wanted to uncage it, let Hannibal mark him and scar him. He didn’t want to forget, he wanted to feel.

And suddenly the distance was too much, and Will was shaking horribly, and the only possible solution his stupid brain could come up with was the pink softness of Hannibal’s lips. Waiting seemed futile, safety seemed a moot point, and his father's voice was a distant echo. He watched Hannibal stand, dusting off his pants. Will watched the dust plume around him, pebbles falling to the ground with soft clacks and echoes in his mind. And then Hannibal held out his hand, and from Will’s point of view, he was shining . The summer sun caressed his skin and created a subtle halo around his misplaced strands as if the sun itself was stretching out to touch. 

They stood nearly chest to chest, unmoving in that strange quiet. Hannibal still held Will’s hand, clasped between their bodies, and perpetually warm. He watched Will’s face, eyes flickering across it curiously before landing on his lips. Will saw all the emotions cross his face, all the desperation and patience and anticipation. He adored it, the power he held in that moment, watching Hannibal wait in his poised obligation to manners that Will wanted to destroy.

“Hannibal, I really wanna–”

The back door swung open, and Will reacted in that survival instinct sort of way that he hated himself for having. His hands came up, and in the blink of an eye, he shoved Hannibal back hard enough to make the boy stumble on his feet momentarily. Will heard the screeching echo of his stumble like nails on a chalkboard and winced. He turned, jumping away from Hannibal’s space and occupying his hands with the burnt-out cigarette in his hand. His eyes were wide, terrified, and he half-expected to see his father standing there looking at him like he was the dirt under his whiskey-covered boots. He expected the Reverend to recite a prayer, drag him to church, and exorcise whatever was twisted in Will’s heart. He trembled with fear of it as he looked up.

“Willie! We're packed in ‘ere, break over!” Terry’s gruff, friendly voice called through the crack in the door before it shut moments later.

Silence settled.

Then the cold dread.

Will didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to face what he had just done in the cool reflection of Hannibal’s eyes. Or worse, Hannibal’s emotionless eyes. The ones Will had met that first day whom he saw nothing and hungered to see something. The cold disdain that Hannibal wore like armor on himself in moments of uncertainty. He fisted his palms and swallowed thickly, his spit like tar in his esophagus as he blinked back the preparatory rejection in his eyes. They stung, his heart hammered. Things were suddenly horribly wrong, and it was entirely his fault.

“Hannibal–”

“I think I should go,” Hannibal’s voice came out low and soft. A near whisper.

“Hannibal, please–” Will turned and saw Hannibal had turned away, making his way towards his bike. Will wanted to scream, his hands went to his hair, and his lungs suddenly felt too small to support his body. “I didnt–I thought…fuck!” Will closed his eyes and began to curl in on himself.

“Will. Will look at me.” Hannibal’s voice was suddenly stern, a dim glow in a cold room, “I am not upset with you, I promise.”

And the worst part was that he meant it. The bastard actually fucking meant it. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t even upset, not in the way he should be. He was understanding and utterly calm, and Will had just shoved him nearly off his feet. It didn’t make sense. Will blinked away the suddenness of his tears. He looked up, searching Hannibal’s eyes for the rejection, anger, and disgust. For the retaliation against Will, the metaphorical knife hidden in his belt to dig into his flesh. He waited for it to come, to be gutted like a trout and ripped apart for his discretion. But no such violence came.

Hannibal laid a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“I am not angry with you,” Hannibal repeated.

“I don’t understand. Why are you so passive? Get angry, shout or somethin’!” Will suddenly felt trapped beneath his gaze, and his molars stung with the growing heat of his thirst. He needed to bite into something, gnash into tender flesh to prove he deserved the anger. He deserved the guilt. This didn’t make sense. Hannibal’s kindness just didn’t make sense.

“I will not.” Hannibal let his hand fall and turned to straddle his bike, “There is a fear within you that I cannot fix because you let it dictate you. I am privileged enough not to share this fear, for I have not lived the life you have, but it would be cruel of me to be angry at you for protecting yourself. Although I do question what you’re truly afraid of, tesero, where you yearn to walk is not a path you would be walking on alone. Darling, is the self-flagellation worth it?” Hannibal smiled softly, though it held no pity, only adoration as if he hadn’t just left Will with a world of hurt and thoughts to stew over in his addled brain. He felt the pain in his chest, the truth of Hannibal’s words.

“I…I’m sorry.” Will whispered, hugging himself.

“I know.” Hannibal put on his helmet and revved his engine. He slowly rolled around the corner before Will heard the rise and fall of the powerful beast as it went to the main road.

“Willoughby Graham!” Terry shouted again, and Will jumped, wiped the tears from his face, and sped inside.

The rest of the day went slowly, and Will felt the slowly growing pit of regret and terror that he had done irreparable damage to his relationship with Hannibal before it even truly began. His feet were hurting as the cuts reopened and blisters formed. He let the pain seep and distract him as he leapt from table to table with a saccharine smile. The routine did little to soothe Will’s nerves, and he wanted to do nothing more than run to Hannibal’s house and explain himself. But, he wasn’t even sure if that was welcomed. Sure, Hannibal had said he wasn’t angry, but that didn’t rule out a plethora of other emotions. Will had hurt him, he saw that, hurt him in a way that stung like a scorpion. Slow poison and paralysis until he had to cut Will out entirely.  

Will grabbed his jacket from behind the counter and headed out back to lock up and grab Junie. He was looking forward to going home, showering, and sifting through the thoughts in his mind that sliced into his membrane like a dull blade. Junie was waiting for him, curled up by the door with a look of joy at his appearance. He chuckled softly, bending down to undo the rope, and tugged her in the direction of his truck. He tried to ignore the motorcycle tracks in the dirt.

“Will, hey, wait up!” 

He knew who it was before he turned. Her dirty blonde waves were crimped from loosened braids, and she’d changed from her clothes this morning. Now, she wore a hoodie and shorts despite the heat and was shadowed and curled up on herself softly against Edie’s exterior booths. 

“Molly, hey,” Will felt sweat trickle down his neck as she looked at him. Her large eyes like two sorrowful planets orbiting his mind and begging for attention. He tried his hardest to shut her out.

“Hey, Will. How, uh, how ya holdin’ up?” Molly rolled the words in her mouth for a moment and tried a smile. She was fidgeting, nerves radiating off her.

“Work helps. Gotta get home though,” Will explained, and she nodded slowly. Her eyes scanned the nearly empty parking lot.

“Yeah, Bevvy said you was coverin’ for her. That’s awfully kind,” Molly fiddled with her hair before blinking up to Will, “I wanted to talk, if you have a sec?” Molly pointed to his truck. Will wanted to say no, he did, but she was practically screaming at him with all the emotions ricocheting in her irises. Molly Foster was always a bright ball of emotion, her eyes never had armor or shields to them. She had the privilege to wear her emotions on her sleeve, always mellow and sweet like iced tea. But she was loud. She was so very loud, and he was so very tired.

“Sure, yeah.” Will nodded, grabbed Junie, and put her in the truck bed with her blankets and the leftover jerky from earlier. She settled, and Will took a deep breath as he got into the driver's seat. They sat for a moment as silence engulfed the car, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Will wondered if they were bound to stay like this, forever suspended in the silence of things they both needed to say to each other. It was Molly who broke first.

“Today fucked me up.” Molly whispered, swiping her jacket sleeve over her face, “I kept thinkin’ ‘bout how easy that coulda been one of ya’ll, ya know? I mean, I know Hector wasn’t the most sound a mind individual, but still…with Clyde. I didn’t see it, ya know? Like—I heard, same as everyone else, but I didn’t see . And now…Now I keep seeing it in my head. Making up imaginary scenarios, you know what I mean?” Molly kept her eyes on her lap, as if it was a struggle to sift through her mind. He wanted to help, but he was barely holding together himself. His ability to support others was dwindling quickly. And of course, Will knew what Molly meant, it was the reality of his life. He would have laughed if it were at all appropriate. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Will rubbed his face and took a deep breath, trying to imagine what Bevvy would tell him, “You can’t let it eatcha, cause it will. Eatcha right up.” Will's words were a thin mockery of Beverly’s sturdiness, but he hoped they came off somewhat less diluted than they sounded. In the trunk, Junie howled softly.

“I dunno how. With Clyde and Hector, little Cassie goin’ missin’?” Molly tapered off, her voice dying with a crack. She finally turned to Will, and despite his preparedness for her perceived sadness, witnessing it pointed at him was an altogether different monster. She looked so sad, the kind of sad that made you ache. Glossy big eyes and a red nose accompanying the lost expression of someone begging for direction. It made Will queasy, it made his own eyes sting.

“ ‘S scary, Moll–but I don’t think…I think it’ll be okay. Over soon, at least. Crawford seemed pretty hellbe–”

“I like you, Will.” 

And that truth, as remarkable as it was for each of them in kind, settled in the silence. Will felt his chest tighten and a thin sweat break out in the moisture of his palms. He had hoped to avoid this, foolishly wishing that Molly would either lose interest or stay quiet. Molly, of course, was never the kind of girl to go about things quietly, so it was probably nothing short of a miracle that it took this long. Will opened his mouth, but Molly shook her head.

“I need to get it all out, m’kay?” She looked to him for confirmation, and he simply nodded, trying to keep his face neutral, “I know you know. I know e’ryone in this goddamned town knows. I practically been sweet on ya since grade school. But, I never—I thought we would just fall into it one day.” 

He wasn’t prepared to tell Molly that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, and why exactly he had to say no. He didn’t want to reject her, to see it shatter across her features so soon after what happened with Hannibal. He was barely holding it together as it is. Maybe this was the punishment, the cosmic retribution he was screaming at Hannibal to give to him. 

“But, I gots to thinkin’ and after today… It scares me. To lose you. Scares me because what if you didn’t know?” Molly was fully facing him now, searching his wide eyes for an answer he could not give her.

In retrospect, he should have known it would happen, but that didn’t make the suddenness of it any easier. In one moment, Molly was leaning in, and the next, Will felt the soft cherry-chapstick-covered smoothness of her lips. It wasn’t a kiss so much as a crash of lips and a desperate question. Will didn’t move, he couldn’t because he knew almost instantly that this was wrong. Wrong in the way of wearing two left shoes and walking lopsided all day. The kind of wrong that you knew the source of but were too stupid to fix. He felt Molly tilt her head, encouraging, and Will let her, his mind racing with images of a life he would not have. Two pathways converging into one, thrusting him into a decision he had been ready to make all along. He grieved the image of it for a moment, the life Molly had for them. What she thought would come of this, and he saw how he fit into it. Miserable, wrong-footed and exhausted. He loved Molly, sure, but not the way she loved him. He always would love her, but he couldn’t be in love with her.

That part of him was quickly belonging to someone else.

“Molly–wait, stop. Stop, I can’t–” Will pulled back and shook his head, breathing heavily. Molly was frozen, staring at him, and a frown creased her brow.

“What?”

“I can’t be…I can’t be what you want me to be. I ain’t what you need. Or want. I’m not that man.” Will knew he wasn’t making sense, and it would do nothing to help the situation. But, he suddenly felt the violent desire to rub clean the places Molly had touched him and replace her with maroon colored eyes and artist's hands. He needed Hannibal to fix him, to seal the cracks, to break him entirely.

“I don’t understand…I thought…oh, god,” Molly shoved her face in her hands, and Will could feel the heat of her embarrassment.

“Molly, it’s not what you think–” He reached out, but she recoiled, trying to get space in the cramped front seat of his truck.

“God, this whole time I thought you…”

“Molly–”

“For years, I’m so stupid. I’m so sorry, just forget–”

“Molly, please–”

“I’ll leave, just please…I hope we can still–”

“I’m gay! Molly, I’m gay…I–fuck.” 

Will realized what he said a few moments after he had said it. It was sort of this strange cosmic tilt on the axis of his mind. The tangible declaration of his life, his being, something he had held so tightly and terrifyingly to his chest. The target on his back, the whisper in the back of his throat, the sharp canines of his dog teeth cutting into his tongue as he kept his eyes carefully trained. He knew this about himself, of course, he did. He knew this by the fourth grade when he’d taken a particular shine to Joey Calloway and his stained overalls and dark hair. He knew every time they played and wrestled, and Will ached for Joey’s attention and adoration in ways he didn’t quite understand was not normal. And when Joey moved away and Will went mute for two weeks, he had a lot of time to get to understand things, new things. Realizations that had him shivering in church under the eyes of a bleeding Jesus carved into a cross. Feeling like Reverend Bloom was lighting a match under his secondhand boots and letting the heat bite his ankles. 

But, it was an entirely different beast to know yourself than to declare yourself.

Molly wasn’t moving, in fact, her eyes had been trained on Will for almost a full minute now. Like she was rearranging furniture, and Will was mapping out the room for her. He was growing increasingly more nervous, scenarios playing out on what Molly would do. Will liked to think Molly was kind, understanding, but he also knew she was sharp and temperamental. If she wanted to, she could ruin his life, and he had just willingly given her the ammunition. 

“You’re—what?” Molly shook her head, eyes glassy with confusion. She tucked her curls behind her ear, fist engulfed by her sweatshirt, looking younger than Will had ever seen her. His tongue was bleeding with the bite of his truth as he granted it out once more.

“I’m gay.” He whispered.

“Oh.” Molly's voice was barely heard in the shattering silence of the car. She was fidgeting again, a loose string on a hem. Debating on what to say, on how to say it. Will wondered who she would tell, if she would give him time to pack and hit the road beforehand.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’, just…if you could please not tell anyone. It’s—my daddy and—“

“I’d never tell. Ever. Not until you want me to.” Molly was suddenly serious, her voice stern and soft all at once. The clouded confusion of her features cleared, and she shook her head vehemently. Will felt the ice begin to melt in his terror.

“Thank you.”

“I won’t pretend I ain’t shocked–though, maybe I was just blind. I dunno. But, I won’t lie to ya. It’ll take me a while to get over you, but I ain’t got a problem with you bein’ gay.” Molly assured and wasn’t that just a goddamned thing, “but I’m still in love with you. I gotta separate myself from that now. Gonna hurt like a sonuvabitch too… but I ain’t mad at ya.” She gave him a small smile, and Will felt the slack of chain give a little, the desire within him peaking around the corner with a cautious optimism.

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Molly giggled, “You’re a good man, Willoughby Graham, you’ll always be a good man.”

And this time, when Molly kissed him, it was a soft touch to his cheek. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. When Molly whispered a nearly indecipherable goodbye, he didn’t bother stopping her. It was as gentle as he could be, in his honesty, he had set them both free, but that didn’t make the sting burn any less. 

Will didn’t move for a while, it felt like his bones were locked up with something he hadn’t a name for. He got this way when he was younger, when the world got too loud and things didn’t make sense. He would freeze up, get quiet, try to find a way to make himself stick to Earth. He would go out to the swamps and dig for worms, fingers squelching in mud as they clasped around nightcrawlers. Hands tucking bones in his pockets, clanking them together for the hollow noise of death to echo around him.  His daddy used to shout at him until he talked again, until he was normal again. As if the abrasive starkness of Beau Graham’s voice was enough to move mountains…and Willoughby’s temperaments. It worked sometimes, in the way fear and survival motivated a creature to adapt. But now, alone in his truck, he felt the silence creep in, and there was no angry father to shake it from him. And he found that this time, it wasn’t fear that had his voice frozen.

He’d said it out loud, for the first time in years, he had said it out loud.

It was real.

It was all real.

Will let out a small gust of air that resembled a laugh before it built and bubbled into a full-blown fit. He felt crazy, he probably was, but he felt something akin to freedom lick a wound he wasn’t even aware was bleeding. Something stopped counting down within his mind for the first time in years, and he saw the world in the way he ought to, and he ached. He ran his hands through his hair and felt the curls knot in his fingers. But, it didn’t feel the same, soothe the same because they weren’t—

Oh.

Hannibal.

Will knew he had an imagination, but it didn’t take any amount of it to remember the way he’d hurt him earlier, as unintentional as it had been. He had seen it in the corners of Hannibal’s eyes before he could put his armor on, before he could close the shutters of his emotions. Hannibal was always in control of his emotions, and Will had been keenly aware of this since the beginning. Whatever it was that made him that way was likely something Will had no right to know or imagine. But he wanted to. He wanted answers only Hannibal could give him, all the knowledge, secrets, stories, and all the adoration. He wanted to know what Hannibal loved and hated. He wanted to know what made the man tick, dig his claws into him until Hannibal dug back and they were both something entirely and devastatingly new. 

He wasn’t aware when he had started driving. Distantly, he knew this should probably concern him. Nothing good ever came from his daydreaming, but in that moment he truly didn’t give a damn. The whole world could end, and it wouldn’t stop him from driving to where exactly he needed to be. He could feel the rot in Willowmarch begin to unravel from his body, twine and rope releasing some invisible shackles as he drove on and on towards his destination. His skin was on fire, and he briefly wondered if this is what it would feel like from now on, if every time he reached for affection, he would feel that flame like a hearth. No longer a searing pain in his vision but something else entirely. This is how it had felt before, when Hannibal touched him. It felt like his skin was on fire in all the ways it should be, flushed with life and energy and longing. A desire so strong he felt it in his soul, a Heaven’s mark upon his shoulder. An angel's kiss on his cheek.

The only thing that kept Will from crashing and storming up the long driveway to the Old Beaumont place was Junie. He needed to get her home and comfortable before he likely (hopefully) disappeared for the night. It was a lot of weight to put in his actions, but he needed to follow through. There was a devil on his back that he could only shake with the answers Hannibal could give him. It took nothing but a certain maniacal look from Will for Bambi to rise from her place in the kitchen, cooking dinner for an ungrateful drunk on the couch, for her to promise to look after Junie while Will was away. He ignored the calls of his father as he twisted and turned to his room and changed. He didn’t answer when Beau shouted, banging on the doorframe with explanations so loud it made Junie bark. He didn’t flinch when Beau grabbed his arm and demanded an answer for his urgency. He simply put on a fresh t-shirt, jeans, and boots and slid past the anchor of his father and towards clearer waters. In the back of his eyelids, he saw the bite of a picture. Beau for Hecter, Hector for Beau. He shook this from his vision as he stepped back into the setting sun of Willowmarch. His daddy didn’t follow.

Will felt the fire of a man much greater than himself overtake his confident speed as he trekked up the driveway and towards the familiar front door. He saw Hannibal’s motorcycle parked in the gravel driveway and frowned as he ran a tender finger along its body. 

“Is this going to become a pattern?” It was Chiyoh who answered the door, a single raised brow and thin, emotionless eyes. He wondered what Hannibal had told her, if he told her, or if Chiyoh was so in tune with Hannibal she knew already.

“Is he here?” Will didn’t care if he was rude, and he had the impression that Chiyoh didn’t care either. She eyed him warily, taking in his buzzing hands and twitching demeanor, and a small smirk glided on her lips.

“Who?” She tilted her head, blowing softly on her nails.

“Hannibal.” Will gritted out.

Chiyoh took a moment, inspecting her nails before looking back up at Will. It was agonizing, her own game, Will was being thrown into. Her predatory glare was like a panther in the night, and not for the first time, he felt exposed beneath her gaze.

“He’s in the garden. Bitter, no doubt. Do tell him not to pick at my work, I would so hate to do it all over again.” She responded in her cryptic, mock-laziness as she turned and closed the door. Will stood still a moment, his eyes flickering to the land behind the Estate, where he knew the gardens likely were. He could hear the distant chirp of birds, the subtle sway of the weeping willows. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him before he cracked his neck and not-so-gently raced around the Estate.

He found him, as Chiyoh mentioned, in the Garden. The setting sun cast large shadows and the sun-kissed haze of late evening through the expansive flora. Will counted three statues, each looking straight out of a museum, carved marble stone with soft expressions reaching for the sun. Throughout were touches of tea garden designs, influence from a culture that was not inherently Hannibal’s. Though somehow, still a part of him. A bench was at the center of the swirling display, and there the silhouette of Hannibal Lecter sat hunched over a sketchbook. His blonde hair caught the sun like fire, glowing on the edges with a god-like etherealness. His features lay softened with concentration as the flush of a sunburn dusted his cheeks and made him seem tangible and real. Like the forsaken son in a Grecian tragedy. It made Will’s mouth dry and his brain fuzzy with static. He kept himself at the edge, not quite stepping into the garden. Feeling, at the moment, entirely unwelcome. 

“Three times.” Will began, his slightly cracked voice like shattered glass in the tranquility. Hannibal froze, turned halfway towards Will, not quite fully facing him.

“Pardon?” His eyes were cast down, demure and playful, yet genuinely confused, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Three times you’ve tried to kiss me and I’ve stopped you–,” No. Stopped wasn’t the right word, “ I’ve denied you because of my own fucked up problems,” Will felt the burn of tears begin to rise in his eyes and this time he didn’t attempt to swipe them away when they fell. His hands were shaking, “Why do you keep tryin’?” Will’s voice broke at a whisper in the end. His gust of confidence diminishing entirely.

Hannibal didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he closed his sketchbook and put his pencils away, perhaps sensing the weight of the conversation. When he finally turned towards Will, it was with the most genuine, open expression Will had ever seen from him. He was letting Will see him entirely so that the words he spoke could be taken as gospel. And by the beauty in the sun rays around the boy, it really did feel akin to church.

Apprehension, longing, anger, desire, hunger, hunger, hunger.

“It seemed rather shameful not to,” Hannibal began with the sort of aloof shrug that didn’t at all belong to him, “You ask me why? Well, in the simplest terms…why, my dear Will— because I want to kiss you.” 

It was everything and nothing, too much and not enough, and soon Will was entirely unaware of his own feet storming over. He was aware he wasn’t using the pathway, flowers squishing beneath his boots as he decorated the beauty of this garden with his destructive touch and need. He was not a clean animal, nothing proper about his upbringing or thoughts, no purebred training to keep him in line. He was filthy with thoughts and feelings from himself and the baggage of the world around him. He would desecrate Hannibal too, make the boy unclean and wrinkle his shirts and get dirt on his perfectly defined cheeks. Hannibal would devastate him as well, he could feel it already. They were going to destroy each other, rebuild each other, and it was going to be beautiful.

“Molly Foster kissed me.” Will whispered, abruptly with the need of pure honesty, “I didn’t—it was wrong. All I could fuckin’ think about is how I wanted you. I needed you to…” Will swallowed thickly, watching the confused lust break in and out of Hannibal’s mind.

“To what?”

“To mark me. To mark me so she never even thought about touchin’ me again.” Will felt shameful for it, the need to possess and be possessed. He knew it was wrong, or rather, he should think it was wrong. But he was never polite, he hadn’t lied about that, and somehow he’d made Hannibal smile. Somewhere between a sneer and a predatory glaze. His eyes scanned Will’s face at last. There was no moment of hesitation, no cosmic snap of electricity in a far-off storm. There was the silence, there was their breathing, and then there was none of it.

It was less of a kiss and more of a bite. There was a demanding need within that had Will grabbing Hannibal’s face and yanking it towards him with the force of a starving man. His thumbs caressed the smooth planes of Hannibal’s face, mapping it out blindly. Hannibal, ever the opportunist, seemed to catch on rather quickly as his hands found Will’s hair and pulled just enough to elicit a groan of pleasure through Will’s body. The other boy touched him like he was dealing with something precious he’d finally gotten permission to grasp. Free hands scaling down Will’s neck, shoulder, torso before gripping his hip and pulling him in tightly. Hannibal’s canines bit softly at Will’s lip before he opened for him entirely. There was no finesse or romance to this, or perhaps this savagery was their particular brand of romance. It didn’t matter, it mattered too much. Will dove deeper, tongue and teeth gnashing with desire as heat pooled in his stomach. He yanked at Hannibal, bringing him closer until he could claw at the other boys back and felt the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“Jesus Christ,” Will mumbled, air tightening in his lungs.

“Not quite,” Hannibal responded before moving from Will’s mouth to his jaw, experimenting and biting at the bone. Will hummed and bent backwards in line with Hannibal’s gentle fist in his hair. Dancing the line between a demand and a request, gentleness and cruelty. It made Will liquify. Hannibal did as Will asked, biting gently on his neck, bending Will backwards with the need of his desire. Will felt his balance give and lean entirely on Hannibal, arms tightening around his neck, grasping for purchase. He shoved for balance, suddenly needing his own control. 

Hannibal brought them back chest-to-chest, and Will took his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and tugged him back.

“Easy, cowboy ,” Will held Hannibal in place and watched as his pupils swallowed his irises. A soft gasp emanated from Hannibal's swollen lips. 

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh,” Will leaned in, pressing their cheeks together with a devious grin, “I’m gonna have fun with you, sweetheart.” Will bit softly at Hannibal’s jaw until the boy was twitching, and then, and only then, did Will finally devour. 

Will lost track of time before they had to separate, if only for the need for air. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen with lust, and pupils blown with desire as they bore some sick, depraved reflection of one another. Hannibal’s hair was in disarray, and Will didn’t even remember tugging on it entirely, but he liked it. He liked that Hannibal looked disassembled, like a toy ripped apart from the box and remade to Will’s design. Pink bruises sprouted on Hannibal’s neck, a mark that made Will smile with possessive charm he didn’t even know he had. Will watched as the haze cleared from Hannibal’s eyes, catching up with the moment and blinking away his hindbrain. He huffed out a gust of laughter, and Will smiled, aching to feel his teeth on his flesh once more.

“Only you, tesoro, can undo me so quickly.” It was said with reverence, with charm and the hesitant fear of being under the control of a power that was not yourself. Will let his thumb caress the soft skin beneath Hannibal’s eye, a nearly imperceivable smile playing at his lips.

“Take me somewhere?” He asked, breathless. Not entirely sure what he meant, but knowing Hannibal understood when he laid his forehead against Will’s and nodded.

“Anything. Anywhere,” he whispered as he tucked his face into Will’s neck once more, inhaling deeply, and Will let him. Hannibal left a wet, soft kiss on the junction of his shoulder, and Will fought the urge to lose his spine entirely, “I am yours.”

“I know.” Will kissed him again, simply because he could, “I got you.”

______________________________________________

Thrice in Hannibal’s life had he been entirely at the mercy of another. The first time it happened, he was a boy in the snow begging a voiceless God to bring his sister back. He had promised himself, after regurgitating up the meat of his sister into the snow, cradling her baby tooth to his chest, that he would never again be at the mercy of another man or god. When he had given himself over to the care of the orphanage, he remained diligent in his own ways. He listened, survived, but he was in control. He remained in control as he was cleaned, fed, and dressed in the propriety of his given name. He gnashed at the sinew of his vocal cords until they produced sound, and he wasn’t spitting up the blood of his past in each sentence. He got wiser, finer, and figured out the great mystery of the human psyche. He molded it to his liking, gained a taste for the control and manipulation, until finally his power erupted on the body of the man who had started this all. And when desire came knocking in the form of boyish love, he let himself go—just enough—but not enough to be subjected to the mercy of another. That, he could never allow again. 

Even when Murasaki promised safety and warmth and the knowing smile of a woman who had seen his shadows. Even when she had been kind and cruel and tender and tedious. Her temperament was always a swirling cacophony of melancholy, grief, and adoration. She loved him, as she would always say, she loved him because he was different. It was only when the differences outweighed his ability to hide them that she had seen. In her insight, she found creatures that were too twisted, too dark, for her to love. He had let her go, as she requested, and withstood her punishment. Silence and cruelty were dealt out equally, like lashes on his tongue for a crime he did not commit alone. She would hate him now because she hated herself.

But this, now. This was mercy. And not the kind Hannibal was entirely familiar with. This was a kindness for the sake of a gentle smile, sharpened with the teeth of a hunter who would still tear into flesh. And might still yet. Willoughby Beau Graham was a beast of Hannibal’s heart, clawing and making room for himself in the echoing tombs of his mind palace and demanding space, demanding to have keys and locks of his own. Will was tenderly pressing Hannibal to his knees and demanding supplication every time he gave his attention. This was an addiction. 

So, with a startlingly low amount of anger and with Will’s arms around his waist, he realized this was the second time in his entire life he was at the mercy of another. 

“You guide us, simply lean softly.” Hannibal instructed him, feeling the excitement of the other boy as he gripped softly to the front of Hannibal’s shirt. His warmth molding around Hannibal’s spine and clattering the spare helmet against his own, “Okay?”

“Okay. M’ready.” Will assured and Hannibal revved his engine to life as he slowly rolled down the driveway and onto the main road.

There was no finer feeling, Hannibal thinks, than where he was in this moment. He had many reasons, many things to worship and remember. There were countless times in his life that he had taken moments and stretched them to his tongue and tasted and chewed and devoured them. Paintings, books, people, lectures, poems. But no art in the world compared, no meal could satiate him so deeply. Will was a beauty beyond words, strong and unmoving yet kind and generous. Hannibal felt his stomach flip with an uncharacteristic nervousness as Will clasped tightly around his middle and tucked himself closer. 

Hannibal could forget, here in Will’s embrace, the horrors and pressures of what awaited him when the sun rose. He knew there would be work to be done and time that fought against him. He needed to check on Abigail and retain his favor with Hobbs, perhaps figure out exactly what was taking Murder to such artistic levels in the bayous of Louisiana. But here, none of that existed. Instead, there was a peace that he hadn’t felt in years.

Will tested his influence, leaning softly as they turned down a side road smoothly. Hannibal could feel a bout of surprised laughter in Will’s chest. It was only when they rolled to a stop at the next light did Will speak.

“Think you can go fast?” Will whispered, gravel in his throat that made a chill run down Hannibal’s spine.

They were at the juncture of a long expanse of dark road, limited streetlights, and limited traffic. The darkness was only cut by the starlight and the brightness of the moon. It was a staging ground for something else, a welcoming space for those who were other, and Will was begging him to speed into it.

Who was Hannibal to deny him?

“Hold on tight, amore mio,” Hannibal spoke, feeling the revitalizing need to do as Will asked. Will's fingers dug into Hannibal’s chest, adjusting himself to comfort. Hannibal revved the engine once, twice, and again for the final time as the red light flashed green.

Will shouted, voice bright with laughter and gleeful cheers as Hannibal sped them off into the darkness. Their surroundings were a blur, the singular headlight on the motorcycle lighting the way like a lantern. Hannibal smiled, feeling it stretch his face awkwardly before settling down. 

It was almost three minutes before Will squeezed Hannibal’s chest twice, a silent signal to slow down. When Hannibal obliged, Will tilted them towards another side road, this one entirely dirt-covered. 

“Slow down ‘ere, there’s a clearin’ up ahead where we can talk.” Will spoke loudly over the engine, “We needa talk.” Will reiterated, and Hannibal felt confusion brittle his bones. Will was an unpredictable beast, the kind of creature you could tame and feed before, years later, for no known reason, it would twist and tear your throat out. Hannibal saw this shadowed in his kindness like a balm. He felt the white canines digging into his neck, either for a kiss or for death. He thinks, if it were Will, he would be okay with either.

“Okay.” He replied and rolled slowly down the path before Will patted his thigh twice again. Hannibal felt the heat of it, the hesitance in the grip before Will let it remain there, sliding up and down softly as Hannibal finally brought the motorcycle to a stop.

They didn’t move for a moment, Will’s head still resting softly on Hannibal’s back. Their breathing synced with the rise and fall of fluttering, boyish heartbeats. Hannibal wasn’t sure what to do, he had never been so undone by a singular person in his entire life. Will held the reins, could ask him anything, and Hannibal would fall to his knees. It was a devastating thought only balmed by the sudden and welcoming touch of Will’s lips upon Hannibal’s nape.

“We can walk from here, sweetheart,” Will spoke with an off-kilter reverence as he slid his hands from Hannibal’s thighs, up his flanks, and to his shoulders, where he pressed for support as he stood. He took off his helmet, laid it on the back of the motorcycle, and looked at Hannibal through the wild, untamed curls in his eyes. There was a sudden shyness that Hannibal found utterly enchanting. Will’s confidence came and went as quickly as the ocean tides, rising and falling with the moon guiding him in boldness. 

Hannibal turned off the bike and removed his helmet, trying to fix his hair before Will chuckled softly and tsked.

“ ‘ere,” Will smirked and ran his fingers through Hannibal’s hair slowly. His calloused fingers untangling each knot before tucking the longer strands behind his ears.

“I’ve been meaning to get it cut,” Hannibal explained for lack of anything better to say, eyes trained on Wil’s concentration.

“Don’t.” Will spoke absently, the demand falling hungrily from his tongue as he stepped back far enough to allow Hannibal to stand. Hannibal looked at him, his head tilted slightly, before nodding. Another submission to Will’s desires. Will held out his hand, and Hannibal took it- he thinks he always would now.

It took them nearly fifteen minutes to make it to a place of Will’s liking, and when they did, Hannibal understood why. The field was freshly plowed, large hay bales scattered across the land like spots on the horizon. The grass was soft, plush almost, and squished tenderly beneath their boots. Out here, there was barely any light pollution, even less than the location of their first date, Hannibal noted. It was almost pitch black, and the air smelled of summer dampness and heat that was on the right side of comfortable. Will suddenly broke away from Hannibal and headed towards a large oak tree on the edges of the open field. Hannibal watched as Will’s muscles flexed with familiarity as he swung up a branch and stuck his feet in the crook of the branches, reaching up before yanking down a distressed-looking backpack.

“Bevvy and I used to come ‘round here. We hid this in case we forgot anythin’ we might need.” Will explained and tossed down the bag before leaping from the branch to the ground. Hannibal felt his mouth go slightly dry at the display, and he wanted to chastise himself for so easily being taken.

“Oh? And what treasures did you deem worth to hide?” Hannibal chuckled, and Will’s eyes crinkled as he beamed.

“Blanket or two, flashlight. Nothin’ fancy.” Will shrugged and pulled out a much-loved checkered blanket that was threadbare enough to be re-sewn several times over. He carefully laid it out and motioned for Hannibal to sit. He obliged, running fingers along the soft fabric and imagining all the times Will had come here alone, seeking solitude in this reticent pocket of Willowmarch. 

When Will sat beside him, he gently tugged the back of Hannibal’s jacket, making the boy lay down. Will laid beside him, arms touching and hands clasped together. It was this, Hannibal thinks, that would break him. The gentleness of Will’s demands to give and receive comfort, the need for proximity and touch, while also despising it entirely. The rawness of desire, flesh torn open and bleeding while begging to be understood. Hannibal felt his chest tighten, and some nameless emotion rose in his throat. It had never been this way, not even with–Hannibal took a deep breath.

“Big Bear, Little Bear…and- there’s the North Star,” Will pointed at the speckled sky with a confident smile.

“Lupus,” Hannibal spoke finally, pointing to the collection of stars in the distance. Will looked at Hannibal with a frown. “It is the wolf constellation. In Greek mythology, the wolf was depicted as a sacrifice to Centaurus. Left bleeding upon its horns. In other stories, Lupus is the ancient King Lycaeon who offered Zeus human flesh at his table. As a punishment, Zeus cast him to the sky.” Hannibal recited smoothly, gesturing to the different stars in the constellation as he spoke. 

“Show off.” Will chuckled, but his eyes remained upon Hannibal entirely.

“I was quite introverted as a child, it gave me time to read.” Hannibal explained.

Will hummed and scooted a fraction closer. He sat upon his elbow for a moment, seeming to hold some silent debate with himself before blinking it away. Hannibal waited, watching the movement of his eyes and the cogs of his brain move fast and sharp like a dagger. And then, miraculously, Will laid his head upon his shoulder and stayed. Hannibal smiled and curled his arm around Will, tucking him in further until the other boy was comfortable, head upon Hannibal’s chest, listening for the metronome of his heart.

Here, they could stay forever.

“It’s so easy with you, why is it so easy with you?” Will whispered, unmoving, “Did you ever–have you…Has it ever been like this before?” 

Hannibal thought to himself. He thought back to Italy, to the shallow string of curious companionship he allowed for the simple pursuit of study. He remembered the dinners and practiced conversation and ironing out the discomfort of his speech until it came smoothly and sweetly from his mouth. He and Chiyoh playing their games of wit, seeing who could get what they wanted from whom. Which means of influence was best served where, how, and would leave them with the likelihood of survival. Hannibal thought of the last time he ached, he desired. He remembered her face, smooth and kind, with gentle hands caressing his face and promising him things she would not keep. Her clemency more temporary than he knew, her cruelty a wicked knife. Dealing out a punishment that left him aching and knotted and ripping at the seams. 

“No. No, it has not.” Hannibal answered, voice tight, and Will, sensing this, curled into him.

“There was someone before you– before this,” Will began, “ I thought, at the time, that it was love. Which is just fuckin’ laughable when I look back on it now. But, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of good examples prior, so I took what I could get. We met at summer camp when I was sixteen, he was, at the time, everything. He made me feel like I wasn’t the only person on the planet who felt the way I did, it was liberatin’, you know? To know for certain that if I was goin’ to any kinda Hell, I wouldn’t be alone.” Will paused and laid his hand on Hannibal’s chest, grasping his shirt softly, “But that wasn’t love. It was fear, constantly. It was pretending I didn’t care when he kissed a girl at prom or went steady with Johanna Beth the same week he told me he loved me beneath the bleachers between third and fourth period. What we had was cruel. He liked the control. He liked knowing I would stay in his back pocket.” Will’s voice was merely a whisper by the end of his confession. Hannibal took it in, frowning softly as he steeled his rage. Rage would not serve him in this situation, he could not tear Will open and rip out all the parts of his past that caused him pain. There was no pleasure in the ownership of it, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to. 

“For the longest time, I felt that was what I deserved. But, then, you came along and I was so fuckin’ scared because nothing about us felt like how things were with Mattie.” Will sighed. He ran his hand from Hannibal’s chest to the side of his neck and leaned up. His eyes were glassy with emotion, a quivering smile on his face.

“I like who I am when I’m with you.” He whispered and bent down to softly kiss Hannibal like it was a prayer. He whispered against his lips sweet nothings as he gently caressed his cheek, memorizing his face–Hannibal realized.

“You terrify me, Will,” Hannibal felt the confession tear from his throat with a violence so sharp he thought he would cough up blood. Will understood he had more to say because he simply laid back down, giving Hannibal the privacy to express the dark trenches of his mind in the dark.

Above them, a star died.

“I had thought I understood what it took to be in love, to want and give affection. I…” Hannibal faded off and felt the screaming in his head from a burning room: “I was very much in love at a point in my life.” Hannibal spoke softly.

“Who was it?” Will asked, not a lick of judgment or bitterness in his tone. He kept his inflection purposely flat. Hannibal was grateful.

“When I was a child, there was a great tragedy that befell my family, which left me an orphan. It would be a few years before they were able to locate my Uncle Robertus, freshly married and living a life of Lecter-born luxury in Italy,” Hannibal paused, licking his lips and taking a deep breath, “I was a young man whose speech was taken, my agency was limited. Chiyoh was a help, of course, she was my voice. She spoke for me, learned sign language to communicate for, and with me. The world was less cold because of my dear cousin.”

“Christ, Hannibal.” Will squeezed Hannibal’s hand and let his other hold Hannibal’s shoulder gently.

“But, it was not Chiyoh who brought me back to myself entirely. My uncle’s wife, Lady Murasaki, was the one who had taken the time to get to know me. She spent many months giving me my speech back, aiding nightmares, and teaching me to hone my grief through the art of sword fighting, channeling my anger into the smooth movements of Kenjutsu. Her gentleness and affection blossomed as easily as my lessons in the arts. She saw in me a freedom to express her desires, and I saw in her…everything. I was sixteen and naive. Love to me, then was anyone willing to feed me.” Hannibal swallowed thickly as he felt the cool blade of a sword cut his flesh with each confession. It was pulled from him by Will’s gentle hand, and Hannibal was shivering with the ache of it. He wanted to hide, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to make something bleed so perhaps it would be less obvious that he was the one bleeding to begin with.

“Hannibal,” Will sat up and looked down at him with the widest and most emotionally scattered eyes Hannibal had ever seen on the boy. He was looking all over Hannibal’s face, trying to make sense of what he had heard.

“Due to a set of unfortunate circumstances, I found her affection and love for me had a limit. She swore to me secrecy and silence, to which I respected. Now she exists as a ghost in my vision. I have been banished, though it was for the best. We were both at fault.” Hannibal smiled sadly, and Will shook his head, “You are the only other person alive who knows this.” Hannibal wanted to laugh at the realization, but somehow, in the face of Will’s battling emotions, it felt inappropriate.

“She–Hannibal, you were sixteen.” Will took Hannibal's face in his palms and blinked rapidly, “Look at me.”

Hannibal barely could with Will like this. It was like staring directly into the sun.

“She should have been protecting you– Hannibal, you could barely speak.” Will’s voice was wobbling at the edges. Sadness? No, something else. Anger, perhaps.

“I could communicate fine, I was not an invalid.” Hannibal huffed and fought against Will’s touch, but he was unrelenting, holding him gently and sternly.

“You were a kid. You didn’t ask for that. You were alone and looking for someone to care for you, and instead of doing that, she took advantage of you. That is not your fault, do you hear me?”

And quite suddenly, the truth of that was something Hannibal had never considered. His body began to tremble with it. He saw the clarity of Lady Murasaki in his mind. All the flaws he had so willingly overlooked coming to light under the unforgiving gaze of Will’s words. All her sharp edges and manipulations, her obvious desperation for control. Her need to hold Hannibal on a leash until she realized she could not. Then she cast him aside like a bad dog in the rain. And she left him freezing and cut his tongue. She was cruel. 

“I–” Hannibal choked out, brows furrowing. Will blinked back his own tears as he kissed Hannibal’s forehead, a soft thing. It sent thoughts scattering in Hannibal’s mind, and suddenly silence befell his turmoil. Will’s kisses traveled from his forehead to his eyelids, his nose, his jaw. Hannibal couldn’t tell what Will was saying, the mumbled words a whisper of affection against his chilled skin.

Hannibal brought his hand to Will’s hair and tugged, the force causing Will to pull back and eye Hannibal with unveiled lust.

“We don’t–if you don’t want–” Will tried, and Hannibal shook his head. Devotion grew with each moment that Will held him. Will, a miracle in the shape of a mess of curls, looked at him and told him it wasn’t his fault. Told him he was perfect the way he was, kissed him like he was something worth knowing. Hannibal wanted him to see, wanted Will to understand.

“Kiss me.” Hannibal let it fall from his lips in an uncharacteristic show of supplication, and suddenly Will nodded and leaned over Hannibal entirely. His form shadowed the starlight as he looked down at Hannibal, eyes wandering across his face for a moment. A small smile on his lips as he leaned into Hannibal’s grip on his hair.

Will maneuvered himself to straddle across Hannibal’s legs, taking his hands and tracing the smooth lines of Hannibal’s shirt. He moved with calculated desire, biting his lip like a temptation created for Hannibal’s benefit, fingers small tendrils of mystery reaching for the hem of his shirt. 

Hannibal felt his breath hitch, his stomach tightening as he fought to keep still beneath the soothing pleasantness of Will’s weight on him. He fought a groan as Will adjusted his stance, smirking softly at the slow grind down he permitted. Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut, squeezing tight before Will clicked his tongue.

“Eyes on me, Cowboy. I wanna see you.” Will whispered his demand before placing his hands beneath Hannibal’s shirt and pushing it up slowly. Almost instantly, Will was bending down, placing soft, placating kisses upon Hannibal’s stomach. He felt his stomach twitch and tighten beneath the heat of it as he dug his nails into the softness of Will’s hair for purchase. Will’s explorations were bordering between excitement and reverence, molding his callouses roughly along each small indentation of Hannibal’s ribcage. Counting softly, as he rose further and further. He looked at Hannibal, a devious grin upon his innocent features. 

“Can I?” Hannibal asked, breathless and desperate as he squirmed beneath Will’s ministrations on his chest, sucking and biting like a man starving. Will hummed, and the vibration went straight to Hannibal’s groin. He groaned softly before placing his hands on Will’s waist and shoving his own hands beneath Will’s shirt. His thumbs caressed his skin, smooth and heated against a racing heart against his ribcage. He wanted to dig his nails into the flesh, mark Will as his own, sweat and lust curling as a singular scent in the air.

Hannibal had enough.

It was a moment between his bucking up and switching their places entirely that had Will lying on his back, a yelp cut off into a moan as Hannibal kissed him. His teeth grazed the tender flesh of his lips and bit, Will’s gasp being an entrance for Hannibal to dig deeper. Their mouths were a symphonic melody between desperate caresses and keening that made Hannibal fuzzy in the head. He was sweating, the heat around them aiding his need. Will, it seemed, was in no better shape.

“Off.” He demanded, grabbing Hannibal’s shirt and practically ripping it off. At the new expanse of skin, Hannibal watched Will’s pupils shine as he slid his hands over his shoulders and dug his blunt nails into his flesh. Will was squirming beneath him, movements grinding up onto Hannibal’s desire over and over as he mumbled demands for Hannibal. Their kisses were sloppy, uncoordinated and Hannibal was sucking marks into Will’s neck like a necklace. Wanting to erase Molly and Mattie and whoever else dared lay a hand on Will in the past.

It was too much and not enough, and Hannibal needed more. He grabbed the hem of Will’s shirt and went to lift it up before Will froze. His hands grabbed Hannibal’s wrists in a seemingly reflexive motion. It was so sudden that Hannibal felt a cool dread in his stomach, the familiar ghostly pressure of Will’s earlier fearful rejection playing in his mind.

“Will?” Hannibal whispered.

“You…you ain’t ever seen me without a shirt before.” Will winced, and Hannibal frowned as he realized this was true. In all the blistering heat of summer, Will was always wearing a shirt. This seemed odd for a boy who, more often than not, explained he would be fishing or ‘creaking’ with Beverly and company. 

“I can promise you, my darling, it will be received with gratification.” Hannibal kissed him again, and Will moaned into it.

“You can’t laugh.” 

“Why would I laugh?”

Will sighed and motioned to sit up. Hannibal gave him space and straddled Will’s legs as they settled back on the blanket. He looked sheepishly up at Hannibal before looking away. 

“Whatever it is, Will, I promise it doesn’t matter to me,” Hannibal assured.

“I went through a crisis at seventeen when I realized I was a queer in a town that would hang you for it. I got drunk, Bevvy’s cousin is a tattoo artist, and well–” Will closed his eyes as he took off his shirt.

Hannibal was prepared for pretty much anything; he could handle a bad tattoo. He had seen many throughout his years and doubted anything from Will’s mind could at all be considered “bad”. 

 But this was not that at all. This was, if possible, more a temptation to Hannibal’s passions than before. He looked at the ink, placed just under Will’s chest in the slight curvature of his ribcage. Two words, glistening with sweat on his smooth muscles. “Sweet Boy” A declaration, a truth, a promise. Hannibal felt himself twitch.

“It’s bad I know but I thought if everyone saw that and not the ugly ass fuckin’--”

“ Mio Dio, tu sei la tentazione incarnata, mio ​​dolce ragazzo.” Hannibal whispered, mind going awry as he reached out and grazed a finger across the calligraphy. He leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Will’s waist, arching him back so that Hannibal could taste the words beneath his tongue. Salty, tender flesh bit at his taste buds and demanded worship while his senses honed in on all the ways and things that made Will squirm with pleasure. He would keep this forever, tucked away in the most selfish parts of his mind. Will was his to love, to haunt, to be haunted by. 

“Hannibal, fuckin’ hell.” Will gasped as Hannibal moved to pay particular attention to the sensitive, raised buds of Will’s chest. He was practically keening beneath Hannibal, arching into his touch pliantly. Hannibal was working diligently to map out each slope and plane of Will’s body, Fingers caressing and counting the bones of his spine, knobs too prominent for Hannibal’s liking. Making meals in his head to make them go away. The careening swarm of noises Will made with Hannibal tugged and bit and pulled at his flesh with a ravenous carelessness that left bite marks and sucking bruises. He would draw this later, keep it there for his mind.

“Hannibal wait– wait, m’sorry.” Will spoke and Hannibal paused his ministrations, “ I don’t–if we don’t stop…I don’t wanna do this in a field like some Willowmarch Trash. You deserve more than that. I deserve more than that.” Will explained softly, holding Hannibal’s face and kissing him deeply.

“You are probably right, it would be unwise to go further considering our emotional states. Tonight has left us both feeling perhaps too vulnerable.” Hannibal finished, seeing the relief in Will’s eyes.

“You aren’t mad?” 

“Never at you, never about this.” Hannibal kissed him again just to solidify his statement, “Although, I will demand to see you this way more often. I no longer wish to see you hiding, my Adonis.” Hannibal caressed the tattoo once more, and this time Will laughed brightly. Tension melting from his bones as he sat up with Hannibal.

“Okay, cowboy, calm down. Save some of the smooth talkin’ for when you need it.” Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal and hugged him tightly, and here too, Hannibal thought, he could die. 

He thinks, not for the first time, Willoughby Graham was going to be the life and death of him.

And later that night, when Hannibal dropped Will off at home with the heated kiss of a man going off to war, it was Chiyoh who would vocalize the terrifying truth of this. In the darkness of the hallway, illuminated by the moon in all the ethereal tenderness of an angel, glassy eyes filled with worry:

“Are you being safe?” 

And it would be Hannibal who replied, broken and tender:

“As much as I can be.”

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