Chapter Text
The streets of Paris glowed a quiet blue-gold in the twilight fog. Meanwhile, in the vibrant world of those who considered themselves wise and learned, those who were fools like the rest- wealthy fools, perhaps, but fools nonetheless- parties were being thrown, even on nights such as these. And these nights, as Hannibal Lecter knew, were all but made for games like the one he played now.
The bronze and marble room bloomed in otherworldly tones of warm champagne. It was as if the walls themselves had heard the old money names of tonight's attendees, and were shining twice as bright so that no one would miss that they had made an appearance. The radiance felt forced. After the dark blues and steel grays of Hannibal's Baltimore home, he thought he would be dazzled by the gold and silver and warmth of Italy- but he couldn’t quite bring himself to appreciate it. And he really should have felt out of place in a leather jacket- would have, if he were still in Baltimore- but he had long ago decided that sometimes practicality had to outweigh the strange comfort of formality.
The man who had gone by Hannibal Lecter for most of his life scanned the room. His target wasn't hard to find. He hadn't been Hannibal's first choice of victim, but when plans change, one needed to adapt. And the Chesapeake Ripper was exceptionally adaptable. Besides, Roman Fell was perfect for what Hannibal had in mind now.
He had already begun to make his way through the crowd, prize locked in sight, when he felt a familiar pair of eyes on him. He couldn't help but pause to find their owner.
It wasn't Will. Of course it wasn’t. The man looked like Will, though, and Hannibal wondered what he could do to this pale imitation of his beloved, given the time. He would be starting from a little further than he had with Will, if the well-coiffed hair was any indication, but not too much further, if the two glasses of champagne in his hands had anything to say about it. Hannibal considered a first move but it quickly proved unnecessary. It seemed the man had noticed Hannibal, as well.
"Anthony Dimmond," The stranger said as he approached, warm voice and sweet vowels adopting the quality of a fine honey.
"Boris Jakov," Hannibal responded, inclining his head politely. He tried to infuse the passion Will had naturally inspired into the words, hoping Dimmond would pick up on the offer.
"I would offer a hand, but…" Anthony gestured with the glasses.
"Ah, yes. It's a double fisted kind of bash." The inuendo dripped out of Hannibal's mouth before he had a chance to think through what he may be offering. The man laughed. White teeth flashed in the golden light.
"Do you know Roman well?" He asked curiously. "You were staring with the thinly veiled disdain of someone who does.” Ah. There it was. Hannibal hadn't misread Anthony’s interest, only where it was directed. He paused for a moment and thanked his stars that Anthony made for such a talkative companion. And a keen eyed one, at that. But not too keen- he seemed to have missed Hannibal's slightly more obvious intentions.
"I was his TA at Cambridge," Dimmond explained, apparently unbothered by the lack of an answer. "He was insufferable, even then."
To punctuate the sentiment he downed one of the glasses in a single swig, tilting his head back and showcasing his bobbing Adam’s apple. It felt uncaringly intimate. Under most circumstances, Hannibal would have found Dimmond's behavior demonstrably rude- but something about his charismatic tone and similarity to Will kept the part of Hannibal that kept track of such things pleasantly subdued. Besides, Hannibal himself was using thoughts of his beloved to carry a conversation at the level required of this sort of event. And his beloved had been very rude.
"Have you ever read one of his books?" Dimmond asked, plowing through Hannibal’s polite silence. Hannibal raised his eyebrows in a facade of interest. Dimmond smirked, leaning in conspiratorially, and said in a soft whisper, "They're terrible. You know they're terrible. you're just too polite to say. Blink if you agree."
It seemed almost certain now that he may have been flirting. And while the man had been wrong about Hannibal having met Dr. Fell, he was undeniably right about the books. They were terrible. Atrocious, one might even say. It took a lot to get on Hannibal's list by literary merit alone, but Dr. Fell was an exceptional author. And besides, who was Hannibal to deny a request from such a handsome man? And so, Hannibal Lecter blinked obligingly. And Anthony smiled at him.
“See? I knew it.”
If this wasn’t flirtation, than Hannibal was more out of practice than he thought. Anthony swirled the champagne in his remaining glass and sighed.
“That doesn’t stop him squatting over his keyboard and depositing a fresh one every six to eight months, of course. Meanwhile, it takes me six to eight months to write one line. “
“Why?” Hannibal asked, taking a sip out of his own glass. He already knew the answer. Poets weren’t hard to spot once one admitted to being a writer.
“Poetry is hard,” Anthony responded earnestly. Hannibal allowed himself to preen, proud of getting even something so easy right. “Too hard for Roman, certainly. It’s easier for him to slide into academia and dissect the work of others than it is to stand by his own words.”
“One can appreciate another’s words without dissecting them,” Hannibal pointed out. He was familiar with the type Dimmond was referring to. They bored him terribly. In some strange way, speaking with Anthony reminded him of his conversations with Will. “Though, on occasion, dissection is the only thing that will do.“
“Spoken like a true artist. Or, perhaps, a doctor,” A new voice interjected smoothly.
Hannibal stiffened. The voice was familiar... but it was so out of place, so impossible, that Hannibal was sure he had misheard. Anthony Dimmond acknowledged the intruder with a fond smile, offering him the second, still-full glass. The man reached for it gratefully. Hannibal tried not to let his shock show.
Before him stood Will Graham, looking perfectly at home surrounded by golden filigree and pretentious academics. Ever handsome, well manicured, wearing what was clearly a bespoke suit. The fabric showcased Will in a way polyester and flannel never could. It embraced his planes and curves instead of concealing them, seams effortlessly tracing the lines of his body in a subdued celebration of the human form.
Hannibal felt the room spin subtly. It felt as though the floor had been pulled out from beneath him. Will ignored him, falling easily into Dimmond’s embrace. Hannibal finally felt the weight of the situation slam into him.
Will pulled Dimmond into a brief kiss. The two men’s bodies melted together, Will’s empathy on clear display as he allowed himself to be molded and positioned to Dimmond’s whim. Once the kiss had been broken, Will tucked himself into Dimmond, guiding the other man into a casual but undeniably tender position, his head resting near Will’s neck. Clearly, the posturing was meant to taunt the doctor. His suspicions were confirmed when Will finally looked at him, revealing the feral glint in his piercing blue eyes. He saw the beast that had been growing beneath Will’s broken façade since he had realized what Hannibal was.
While Will’s eyes glowed with ferocious recognition, his face betrayed none of their fraught history. Hannibal felt strangely proud.
“Introduce me to your friend, Anthony?” Will asked sensually, his fingers skating over Anthony’s lithe frame as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Of course,” Anthony responded, focused on Will even as he spoke. “Boris Jakov, I’d like you to meet my partner, Will Graham. Will, dearest, meet Boris Jakov.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Doctor Jakov,” Will said, innocently offering a hand. Hannibal shook it warmly and without hesitation. He refused to admit that he had been thrown off guard. Will may be a prodigy, but Hannibal was the master.
“Doctor?” Hannibal asked curiously. He had not mentioned his profession and wanted to see how Will might explain away the knowledge. “How are you so sure?”
“I know your type,” Will said with a conspiratorial smile. A little joke for them alone. Clearly, this Will had developed a taste in jokes not dissimilar to those Hannibal had made at his own dinner table.
“I’m not sure I’m acquainted with your type, Mr. Graham,” Hannibal responded with a tight-lipped smile. It was easy to fall back into the patterns of this game. The dance had become as familiar as breathing to the man.
“Oh, you wouldn’t be. Will is one of a kind,” Dimmond interrupted eagerly. Hannibal’s eyebrows quirked slightly. Now that his beloved had made an appearance, the man’s rudeness was far more evident. He was truly a pale imitation. Next to the original piece, his flaws were glaring and obnoxious.
“I was a profiler for the FBI,” Will interjected before Dimmond could add more to the conversation. Clearly, he felt the same.
“Was?” Hannibal responded softly. His gaze did not waver. An unspoken challenge.
“My work changed me. I’m sure you can relate,” Will replied, holding Hannibal’s eyes steadily. A half-smile flitted onto his face. “I outgrew that stage of my life. Got too big for the pond, you could say. And I had saved enough money over the years that moving to Europe to make a new life wasn’t entirely unrealistic.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling. My life has taken a similar trajectory, as of late,” Hannibal offered with an almost gentle smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Roman Fell making his moves to leave. The smile did not change, but his expression grew subtly cooler.
Will followed Hannibal’s gaze back towards Roman. He raised an eyebrow, hiding the motion with a glance back to Dimmond, who seemed willingly distracted by Will’s body pressed against his own.
“Anthony?” He asked coquettishly, “Would you get our coats? I think Dr. Jakov may be ready to leave. We should probably do the same.”
Dimmond looked at the man in his arms, his smile full of sensual promise. “For you, my dear? Anything.” Dimmond kissed the former profiler posessively, holding him tighter for a moment before reluctantly unwrapping himself and turning to address Hannibal with a grin.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jakov. Until we meet again!” With a final flourish, and one last doe-eyed glance at Will, Anthony Dimmond turned and retreated into the crowd.
Will watched him go with an unreadable expression. When the man was out of sight, he rolled his neck and leaned towards Hannibal with an amused, hungry expression. “So sorry about him, Doctor. Possessiveness can be an attractive trait, but he hasn’t yet perfected it. He often comes off as rude .”
“No need to worry. Your presence far outshines any tarnish Mr. Dimmond may have left on this lovely evening.” Although the smile Hannibal gave was nothing more than polite, his eyes were full of mirth. Will smirked. His posture changed to something more predatory.
“It looked like your dinner guest was on the move,” He murmured, stepping closer to the doctor. “I better let you deliver your invitation. Wouldn’t want you to lose your chance.”
“I’m sure my guest can wait,” Hannibal replied, bringing a wistful hand up to Will’s face. It felt a strange parody of how they had stood over Clark Ingram. It felt so long ago, now.
“Yes,” Will whispered, staring at Hannibal’s lips almost mournfully. “But Anthony Dimmond cannot.”
The air crackled with invisible tension. Hannibal took in the sight of his beloved and wished, not for the first time, that his relationship with Will had been one where this could become a kiss. He felt certain that, should he make such a move, it would be reciprocated… but now was not a time to take chances. He prepared to say the necessary goodbyes.
Before Hannibal could even begin to form his next words, Will had closed the gap between them, bringing their lips together in a deep, passionate kiss. It seemed to last only a moment before he was pulling away, leaving Hannibal ravenous for more.
“Until we meet again, Doctor Lecter, ” Will breathed into Hannibal’s mouth. He untangled himself from the embrace smoothly. Hannibal simply stared, feeling, for the first time in a very long time, truly shocked.
With one final, lingering look, Will Graham turned and melted into the crowd.