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Will never realized how much Hannibal touched him until he stopped completely.
Of course, after the fall, touch was necessary. Images like flickers of light flashing on a screen: Hannibal’s arms pulling him from the waves, his hands cleaning his wounds with gentle, almost reverent touches, his body pressed as tight as possible against him, fingers running through damp curls in a room painted gold with the sun. Touch was given freely and abundantly, and Will, in his fevered state of fire and delirium, ate it up like a starving man.
Nourishment indeed, he had thought in a brief of moment of lucidity.
Will continued to drift in and out of consciousness, the haze of fever and pain proving to be too much for him most days, until it wasn’t. He awoke one morning, body sore yet mind clear, and realized two things almost instantaneously.
One, his fever had broken sometime during the night, and two, Hannibal was half-rolled on top of him, face tucked into his neck, snoring softly into the hollow behind his ear.
Teeth glinting in the moonlight, ripping out the throat of a dragon –
Will panicked.
He bucked Hannibal off, who gave a rather undignified snort at the treatment, and sat on the side of the bed, breathing hard. His hands fluttered between his stomach and his throat, unsure what to protect first.
“Will?” The voice was sleep-rough and warm, and everything that Hannibal Lecter wasn’t.
He looked over his shoulder, and his mouth went dry at the sight of bedhead and heavy-lidded eyes so open with affection Will felt like he was drowning in them. Eyes that slowly became concerned the more they blinked at Will.
“Will, what’s wrong? Did you have another nightmare?” Hannibal reached out but stopped when Will flinched. His eyes dropped to Will’s hands, his makeshift shields, and pain flashed briefly across his features before schooling them into a look of careful, cool neutrality.
“I apologize for scaring you, Will. You should know I was only here to help you, as you tend to lash out and cry in you sleep, which could potentially upset your stitches. I would never take advantage of you in such a state,” Will made a harsh noise, not quite a laugh, as he watched Hannibal roll away, back toward him, to sit up. His shoulders slumped at the noise, his words so quiet that Will had to strain to hear them, “or at least, not anymore.”
Hannibal stood and began making his way to the door. He was dressed in sleep pants and a sweater. The entire scene felt surreal. Where was the man, the murderer, who left him gutted on a kitchen floor? Who manipulated him to the point of madness? No, this was the man who left Will his broken heart in a church, who cradled him in his arms while bathed in blood and moonlight…
Will, lost in memory, almost missed the words being spoken to him.
“My room is just down the hall. Do not hesitate to ask if you need anything. Your recovery is important, so you may sleep as much as you wish, but I’ll call you when breakfast if ready. You’re already looking better compared to yesterday, but the meal should be kept to something simple, easy, comforting…”
He walked around the bed and out of the room as he talked, a confused ramble that was more for his benefit than Will’s at that point. Will felt completely out of his depth.
However, as the bedroom’s door clicked closed, it wasn’t lost on him that Hannibal, who was so fond of eye contract and the control it gave, had not looked at him once since he pushed him away.
---
The days came and went like the ebb and flow of the tides of Will’s life. Day and night were the waves crashing against his cliff, wearing him away until time was nothing but pleasantly numbing white noise that quieted his violent mind.
He would have let it swallow him if it weren’t for Hannibal.
Hannibal, who had become a focal point, the rock to grab hold of when he was drifting too far or too deep.
Of course, Will thought wryly to himself as he watched Hannibal sketch something out across the room, grabbing hold is just as much a metaphor as the rest of our fucked-up lives.
The reality was that Hannibal hadn’t so much as accidently brushed him since that morning months ago.
Not that things were bad. In fact, Will thought things were quite well. Their beach house was cozy but had enough space for them to breathe as themselves if they needed it. The food was more that good with Hannibal’s cooking, and despite their years separated, conversation came easy and was as fulfilling as any meal. Hannibal taught Will harpsichord, which was more or less a success. Will taught Hannibal how to fish, which was more or less a failure. It had been several years since he laughed as hard as he did when Hannibal’s face had crinkled up in disdain for touching such an animal who lived in such an unsanitary environment, Will, why do you find this so amusing?
Even now, the memory brought a smile to his face as he huffed a laugh. Hannibal looked up at the noise, smiling indulgently at Will, before turning back to his drawing. Affection, Will hesitated to call it anything stronger, seemed to pour from his downcast eyes. Will basked in the warmth. It didn’t drown him anymore.
He wanted to crawl into Hannibal’s lap and bury his face in his neck, the smooth rumble of his voice grounding him as he talked about his process. He wanted it enough that his chest ached and his hands gripped the covers of the book he was supposedly reading.
But he knew Hannibal would step back, smile politely, and make an excuse to leave the room, like he’s done again and again to Will’s casual advances.
Hannibal would push him away. And it broke Will’s heart.
If Hannibal had been giving him space to work out his desires, it was appreciated but not at all necessary. Will, while never interested in men, knew what he felt for Hannibal was beyond mere sexualities. He had accepted it the night of the fall. But theory and practice were two very different things, and while Will was more than willing now, the prospect of Hannibal and intimacy and bedrooms, especially when his touch had brought nothing but pain before, had been daunting.
But now the thought of Hannibal pulling him down the hall towards his bedroom, laying him out on those silky crimson sheets he’d only taken peeks of, mouthing down his neck, chest, lower lower oh god Hannibal lower –
“Good night, Will. I have an early trip into town tomorrow, so I thought an early night would be for the best. Don’t stay up too late.”
Will blinked, shifting to adjust himself discreetly. Hannibal had packed his pencils away and was now looking down at him with a gentle, teasing smile. Will swallowed. He wanted to kiss that smile, grab Hannibal’s hand, curl up in his arms, breathe in his scent-
“Yeah, I won’t. Good night, Hannibal.”
Hannibal nodded before turning away. Will stared after him, desperate in his need to get him to stop. Will hated going into town, hated the looks and the whispers. He had never gone with Hannibal, even back when he used to ask him to go before it became clear Will was a lost cause. But now…
He was such an idiot. A goddamn idiot.
“Hannibal, wait.”
A pause in the doorway.
“Would it be fine if I went into town with you tomorrow?”
Surprised eyes turned to look at him. Will could hardly bear to see him.
“I just have some…things to find in town you know…” He gestured with his hand, feeling like an awkward teenager all over again, stumbling over himself to ask his crush on a date.
“Will, I –”
“You know, it’s stupid, it’s fine, whatever –”
“Will.”
He swallowed hard. Hannibal looked entirely too fond of the mess he was trying to arrange into words.
“Will, I would be more than happy if you decided to accompany me into town tomorrow. I’ll cook a nice breakfast before we go. I also would suggest getting to bed early as well. We wouldn’t wasn’t you falling asleep on your feet, now would we.”
As Will watched the sun rise from where he was huddled under his blankets, his nerves plucked to a sharp hum that kept him up all night, he knew falling asleep was the last thing he’d do today.
---
The market was beautiful, and although he shouldn’t have been, Will was pleasantly surprised. Hannibal was never the type to shop in a supermarket, but Will still hadn’t been expecting a carefully tended farmer’s market, bursting with fresh, homegrown foods. There were homemade wines and cheeses for Hannibal, but also booths of freshly caught fish and fishing supplies for Will.
Elegant but rustic. Beautiful yet homey. Hannibal and Will.
Will had been deciding between the benefits of two homemade lures when an excited voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Mr. Hall!”
Will frowned at the use of the alias, turning to see a young man bounding up to Hannibal, beaming. He was at least a decade younger than Will, with a cherubic face lined with thick blonde curls. His wide green eyes spoke of mischief, humor, and…desire. Will watched as the boy, since that’s exactly what he was, a boy, wrapped his arms around Hannibal, who returned the embrace with a laugh.
Will was suddenly aware of his worn-out flannel, his scuffed boots, his scars.
He had never felt more unwanted in his life.
Unaware he was staring, Hannibal caught his eye and beckoned him over. Will, still shocked by the whole exchange and why the fuck are they still touching? felt as if he were watching someone else from afar. A train running right off the tracks.
He was heading straight off a cliff for the second time in his life.
“Thomas! I’d like you to meet someone very special to me,” the boy practically preened at Hannibal’s words as Will swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.
“This is Eliot. His family runs the local vineyard, and he’s next in line to inherit the company. He had me taste a couple of his own personal blends, and I wouldn’t be lying when I say this young man had a future in the industry,” Hannibal’s hand, which had been resting on Eliot’s shoulder the whole time, gave it a firm squeeze, and he smiled warmly down at the open adoration on the boy’s face.
“Oh, Mr. Hall gives me far too much credit. I’m just starting out, but he’s been so supportive,” he leaned close to Will and winked, “he says I’ve got a taste for it, if you know what I mean.”
Will knew. He could see it clear as day in his mind: Hannibal and Eliot sprawled across each other, breathing heavy, skin shining, laughing, while Will sat at home alone so many weekends, touch-starved and wondering why he wasn’t enough…
He forced out a laugh that he knew fell flat, but neither Eliot nor Hannibal seemed to care.
“And Eliot, this is Thomas, my most dear and trusted companion. We’ve been through much together.”
By the way Eliot’s eyes lit up, Will knew that he too hadn’t missed the choice word “companion.” It wasn’t not saying he was Hannibal’s lover, but it wasn’t saying he was either.
“Pleasure. Ah! Mr. Hall, I almost forgot to mention, my family’s holding a dinner party next weekend. Of course we’ll be sending out formal invitations, but I wanted to extend mine…personally.”
A coy smile.
“It’s a lot of pomp and circumstance, but there’s good food, good wine, open beds…”
A mocking pity glance in Will’s direction before turning bedroom eyes toward Hannibal.
“…if the road home is too cold and broken.”
Will was done. He might not be enough for Hannibal after all, but he didn’t need it flaunted in his face by an insolent child.
“Alexander, when you finish up here, I’ll be in the car.”
He walked away, teeth gritted and eyes stinging with tears, a part of him hoping Hannibal would follow him.
He didn’t.
---
The clock read 3:49, and Will couldn’t sleep. The ride home had been filled with tension, Will shutting down Hannibal’s concerned attempts at conversation with icy glares and stony silences. Dinner was hardly better. Neither was very hungry, and after an awkward good night from Hannibal that wasn’t returned by Will, both retired to their rooms early.
Now, Will was lying awake and suddenly couldn’t remember why he hadn’t confronted Hannibal about the entire mess.
He rose quietly, sadness shifting into anger shifting into something even more dangerous. A rage that he had not felt since the night of the cliff.
If he was so important, if he was so special, if he supposed to be Hannibal’s equal, then why –
Will slammed open Hannibal’s door, startling the man straight up in bed, eyes wide.
“Will –”
“Why him, Hannibal?”
“I- I’m sorry?”
“You’re not stupid, Hannibal, so don’t fucking act like it.”
“Will, I don’t know what –”
“Yes you do. Yes you fucking do. So tell me, what was it about Eliot? Was he more than willing to pick up the knife for you? Did he make all the right choices, accept the gift on the first try? Or is it something else entirely? A warm body to fill a warm bed and distract you from your ‘cold and broken’ lover?”
The words felt like knives, cutting them both. Will felt his lips curl into a bitter smile.
“Or am I wrong again? It’s not him, but rather it’s me. I’m the one who’s lacking. Well, what did I do wrong, Hannibal? Do I disgust you? Are my scars marring whatever beauty you thought might be worth the pain? Why won’t –” his voice cracked, cutting him off. Will buried his face in his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. His voice dropped, all anger abandoning him to a cold and empty shell.
“Why won’t you touch me anymore?”
There was a rustling noise from the bed, and suddenly Will was engulfed by Hannibal’s arms. The feeling broke something free from inside him, something small and soft and hurt, and he clung to Hannibal as he pulled Will down onto the bed, a fresh sob tearing through his chest.
“Will. My dear, sweet, lost Will.” Hannibal was stroking his hair, attempting to quiet his labored breathing. It reminded Will so much of that first morning that first fucking mistake, and he buried his head in Hannibal’s neck like he had wanted to do for so long.
“Oh, my darling boy, I thought that was what you wanted. You were affectionate, yes, but so are good friends who have been through much together. I was happy with anything you were willing to give, my own feelings aside.”
“How could you possibly think –”
“I remember that first morning and how you reacted to finding me in your bed. I remember Molly and Walter, Will, and I remember my own mistakes that broke us apart. And while you were more than I could ever wish for, I know I’m hardly what you could call a prize against all you’ve lost. All I’ve caused you to lose.”
Will burrowed deeper into Hannibal’s arms at his words, shaking his head violently, “No, no, I chose this, I chose you, Hannibal. That night on the cliff, I knew. I knew what I was getting myself into. And I was so wrong that morning, I was so wrong and confused. I knew, but it was hard, but I chose you, Hannibal. Every part of you.”
“Will.” Hannibal’s voice was stricken, “Will, I’m sorry I’ve made you doubt me. Eliot is nothing to me. He is nothing but a child who assumes and implies too much for his own good. How could you think there would be someone who could even close to comparing to your beauty, your brilliance? I’m eternally sorry that I’ve made you question my intentions, when I have felt nothing but love for you.”
Will’s heart stuttered in his chest at the words. He had guessed, he had hoped, and Bedelia had implied as much but –
“You love me?” he whispered, hands fisting into Hannibal’s sweater. They stood together on the edge of another cliff, somehow more perilous than the last.
“Will, I love you.”
And they were falling, not into water, but into something warmer and more beautiful.
“I love you, too.” The words slipped out, but Will meant every one. He felt Hannibal’s sharp inhale, felt his hands twist into his own t-shirt.
Intertwined.
After more soft words and wandering hands and mouths, and the sun began to repaint the room gold again, Hannibal drew the sheets around them before taking Will back into his arms.
“Sleep now, beloved,” and together they slipped into waves.
---
Will dreamt of sinking, arms surrounding him, holding him close. When he reached the bottom, he didn’t drown. He took a deep breath in as a pair of lips pressed to his. He smiled.
He had never been more alive.