Ch. 2: Phantom Spaces

Summary: Someone shows up in Will’s living room. There is a lot to discuss. Philosophy. Art. Kinks. Battle scars. You know, just the usual in Hannigramland. Porn ensues.


Over a year passes. The conversations Will has actually had with Hannibal begin to blur with the ones he regularly imagines they have. So many things were left unsaid. He talks to Hannibal constantly. It is a life lived in the twilight of hope and abandoned expectation, a pantomime of what could have been.


“Do you think this gastrique has the right consistency?” he asks of the bright red sauce he’s stirring. “It looks wrong.”

Hannibal knows, of course, but he never helps him out with these culinary forays. Will tastes the sweet acidic liquid and shrugs, drizzling it over the fish he has plated. It will have to do. The wilted vegetables are ready and he arranges the stems in an orderly manner. In a side drawer, he digs out a lighter and heads to the dining room to light a few candles. When he jogs down the two steps of the split level floor, he stops dead in his tracks.

Someone is standing in his living room by the piano.

Instinctively, Will reaches for something to use as a weapon. His fingers quickly close around a letter opener, but his brain suddenly catches up with his actions. He winces and runs a hand over his face, certain he is hallucinating. It must be a hallucination. Nothing else could explain the sight before him – a scruffy man in jeans and a track jacket layered over a hoodie. The figure sets down a large olive green duffel bag.

“Hello, Will.”

The voice resonates through the very marrow of his bones. His knees go weak and he drops the letter opener and grabs the sideboard to stay upright. The man narrows his eyes in understanding. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, he takes a step forward, hands reassuringly held up, unarmed.

“It is nearly 8pm in Maryland. You are Will Graham. And I have come back to you.”

An angry tear streaks down Will’s cheek.

“This is real, Will.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouts at the phantom and wipes the tears away with the back of his hand.

“I’m here.”

“No. Don’t.” He grasps the side of his head, furious that his psyche would conjure something so viciously painful.

“Look at me, Will. This is real. I am here. See?” Hannibal places a cautious hand on his arm and Will can feel the soft heat of the man. He can feel him!

“Son of a bitch!” he jerks his arm away in shock. 

Hannibal smiles – a full smile that travels all the way to his eyes and he extends his open arms. Realization dawns on Will and a choked sob slips past his lips. He falls into Hannibal’s embrace and his composure shatters entirely when a pair of strong, warm hands circle his back. Real hands. This was real. They hold each other for what feels like an eternity.

“What took you so long? I’ve been losing my mind waiting for you!” Will barks into the rough cotton of his chest. “Are you okay?? You weren’t seen getting here, were you? Oh god, Hannibal…”

Hannibal pulls back to look at the treasure in his arms. He doesn’t try to hide how hungrily he stares at this version of the man, how possessively he latches on to Will’s slender aproned waist, how his fingers trail over the perfectly tailored shirt rolled up over his tanned forearms.

“My dear, clever boy. You have outdone yourself.” He cannot resist palming the sculpted curls that tumble down over Will’s ears, nor can he stop from skating his bare knuckles over Will’s smooth jawline.

“I could say the same. What the hell are you wearing?” Will hugs him again just as tightly and pastes chaste kisses on Hannibal’s stubbly cheek, laughing and crying all at once. “You smell like cigarettes and motor oil.”

“Courtesy of my chauffeur, I’m afraid.”

Will rests his forehead against Hannibal’s, not content to let even air come between them. There are a tangle of questions for him that all threaten to rush out at once. Where has he been all this time? How did he survive? Where would they go? Why did truckers still not know better than to pick up hitchhikers? Impulsively, he kisses Hannibal’s mouth and asks instead “Are you hungry?”

Will’s lips are fleeting and entirely unexpected. Hannibal has stunned grin on his face. “I’m famished.” 

“Shower first?”

“If it’s all the same, let’s eat now.”

“Come on.” Will doesn’t let go of Hannibal’s hand.

In the kitchen, Will watches this alter ego of Hannibal with equal curiosity. His greying hair had been dyed dark and allowed to grow wild. He bats at the long bangs that catch in his eyelashes as he inspects the dish on the counter. “This looks marvelous, Will.”

“I think I messed up the reduction.”

“Ah. Was it me with whom you were speaking before?”

Will nods.

“A little thin perhaps, but preferable over something too heavy for such a delicate fish. Your own catch?”

“Of course.”

Will makes up a second plate, relieved he’d cooked with the intention of having leftovers. Hannibal eats rapidly, apologizing for not slowing down to properly appreciate Will’s food. He accepts a beer and guzzles it in big gulps. Will can’t quite get over the sight of Hannibal doing anything rushed. He reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Forgive me.”

 Hannibal sets down his fork. “What do you wish to be forgiven for?”

“All of it. Nearly killing us. Wasting our time while I was hiding from myself.”

“I find it unnecessary to absolve you for what is not your fault.”

“You took a bullet for me and I thanked you by tossing us off a cliff. You’ve lost weight, been living on god knows what kind of gas station fare, and, no offense, are dressed like a Eurotrash soccer hooligan. You’re the reverse image of me at my worst. I’ve reduced you to this while you made me a filthy rich playboy.”

Hannibal smirks. “I’ve enjoyed walking in your shoes, Will.”

“You’re wearing trainers.” He peeks under the table to confirm he hasn’t imagined them. “They have neon stripes. I’m pretty sure I never went around in neon anything.”

“I needed a different way to hide myself while I healed. This has been an unexpectedly interesting mask.”


“I met many people who I never would have encountered before. Seen and done things I never otherwise would have been open to experiencing. Besides, you’ve given me a great gift.”

“Better than a castle in Lithuania?” An errant thought reminds him he ought to tell Hannibal that there was a dead communist strung up as a firefly-shaped cochlear garden in his root cellar there. On second thought, he might table that for later.

“You’ve given me something I never dreamed of achieving: the gift of immortality. I am dead and yet I will live on.” His dark eyes glitter.

Will starts laughing and once he starts, he thinks he might never stop. “Now I’m sure I’m not dreaming. The Hannibal in my head is usually much more subtle about his god complex.”


Later, after he has showered and changed into a pair of Will’s flannel pajama pants, Hannibal looks a little more like himself. He has shaved and tamed his longer hair with a comb. Will is reading on the bed, waiting impatiently for him to emerge. He’s not quite ready to let him out of sight.

“I have something for you.” Will slides a business card across the duvet and Hannibal picks it up curiously.

“You are probably not aware that the box containing all your prized recipes was stolen.”

“Was it?”

“That is the name of the forensics technician who took it from evidence and sold it online.”

“How very naughty of him.”

“You can’t ever kill like the Ripper again.”

“No, of course not.”

“Maybe best to sit on it a while. Years, even.”

“Will you join me when the time comes?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’m already complicit, but you know my tastes lay elsewhere.”

“Yes, you prefer the monsters. If you are unsure, why give me this?”

“To thank you for coming back to me.” To beg you to stay, he thinks but cannot yet admit. Hannibal runs a tongue over his lip and nods. He carefully tucks the card away in the dresser drawer where Will had organized his old watches and handkerchiefs.

“A place was made for me in your world,” he observes, back still turned to Will.


“The boat in the bay is yours?”

“Ours,” Will corrects. “For when we leave. Which we should probably do soon.”

“Luxury suits you. It pleases me to see that you’ve made yourself at home here.” Hannibal pads over to where Will is stretched out on the mattress and sits down. “Yet like Goldilocks, you’ve stolen my side of the bed.” Will thunks his copy of Whitman closed with a chuckle. He runs a hesitant hand down Hannibal’s back, pausing to touch the divot where Dolarhyde’s bullet had entered.

“Tell me what happened.”

Hannibal indulges him, listing his wounds, describing each one in a clinical and disinterested way. Will is dismayed that he cracked Hannibal’s sternum and broke three of his ribs resuscitating him, but Hannibal assures him the effort saved his life. It is also what nearly killed Will – the strain only hastened his blood loss. Somewhat wistfully, Hannibal describes how he lost a sizable chunk of his kidney but, thankfully, the organ had been salvaged. The pieces must have been right here out there on the living room floor.

“What a waste,” quips Will.

Hannibal is astonished. “You’d have eaten it?”

He gives him a knowing wink that makes goosebumps crawl up Hannibal’s neck. “It does seem like the polite thing to do. In butter and chervil, I think.”

“Paired with an Amarone,” Hannibal suggests.

They’re smiling stupidly at each other now and it’s almost too much. Will isn’t sure what they are supposed to do next, so he takes his turn detailing the carnage his body endured. He enumerates the bones broken, the worst of the cuts, the long days of physical therapy. Hannibal asks to see the stab wound on his upper chest and Will undoes his dress shirt.

“This one concerned me greatly. I was unsure whether the thoracoacromial artery had been severed.” He rubs the scar with a thumb. “Such a quick and silly cut. It could so easily have been fatal.”

“Did you have nightmares?”

“Yes. Often.” Hannibal does not elaborate. He then examines his range of motion, clucking his tongue in displeasure. Both of Will’s shoulders are a wreck. He’ll likely be arthritic in them sooner rather than later. Bullets and knife wounds and cartilage damage from the routine stress of absorbing gun recoils had left them with only palliative options. Hannibal’s cool probing fingers drift to the thick band of scar tissue on his abdomen and Will flinches and sucks in a ragged breath.

“It’s…sensitive,” he says in a low voice.

Hannibal’s hands simply move to his face. “Your surgeon is to be commended.”

“Your handiwork? Or the woman who fixed Dolarhyde’s number on my cheek?”

Hannibal ignores the jibe and strokes the fading red line hidden underneath his curls. “You haven’t had her begin laser treatments on this one yet.”

“That one is yours.” Their eyes lock. The unspoken heat there is too dangerous to begin excavating tonight. Hannibal gets up and slips on a t-shirt. When he returns, Will has relinquished Hannibal’s side of the bed and shed his pants.

“I can sleep elsewhere.”

“A place was made for you, Hannibal.”

Without argument, he crawls under the covers and within seconds is fast asleep.


Hannibal flips a page of the Baltimore Sun he’s perusing. He’s in last night’s jeans and a v-neck t-shirt with unruly hair. It curls slightly at the back of his neck like a duck’s tail. Will wonders if he knows it is awfully cute. He wonders if this version of Hannibal would kill the man who dared pair such a descriptor with his name.

“I need to ask you something,” Will says. “Is your compassion for me still an inconvenience?” The elaborate breakfast spread between them suddenly feels like it puts a mile of distance between them. 

Hannibal sets the newspaper down very slowly, gauging where Will wants to take this turn of conversation. “Did you lie when you said it wasn’t good to see me after years of my incarceration?”

Will can practically feel how the wrong answer could shatter everything all over again. “‘Good’ wasn’t the right word. It was overwhelming.”

“What overwhelmed you?” he asks, sliding right into psychiatrist mode as though he had never stopped practicing.

“You know exactly what. I felt too much of everything. Everything about the situation.”

“What distressed you the most, then?”

“Does my distress excite you? Or are all my sensations to be savored?”

Hannibal’s microexpressions go blank. It is the only response Will needs. He decides to indulge him.

“It was that god damn glass. The glass that separated me from you, my profane mirror. You were soooo quick to dismantle the lies I’d crafted to move on without you, to move on in spite of you. I always knew you would reflect the truth to me the minute I saw you and I wanted to smash that wall of glass and smash your face for putting it between us. It made the life I’d built with Molly look like a demented puppet show. As if I was the one in a box all that time. But the glass was your lie and I despised it.”

Hannibal tilts his head inquisitively. “Did you not reach through it and untwist the lie that separated us? Quite a clever sleight of hand, I must say. I hope Uncle Jack wasn’t too angry with you. I imagine he wanted a more definitive ending to our outing with the Dragon. At least one too few body bags filled for his taste.”

“Jack was forcibly retired six months ago. I’m not sure if it’s safer now that he doesn’t have access to the FBI’s labs or more dangerous because he has all the time in the world to brood on your fate.”

“Our fate,” Hannibal qualifies. He straightens the edge of the newspaper to evenly match the edge of the table. It is a funny, incongruous habit, considering his appearance. He is dawdling, letting something simmer before hurling it at Will. “And how is the wife these days?”

Will doesn’t flinch. He expected this inevitable low blow. “I divorced Molly the same day I became the Lecter heir. Can’t keep those details out of the public records, I’m afraid. Freddy had a field day with that one. Or don’t you read the Tattler anymore?” Will takes a long sip of his espresso. “If good old Freddy is to be believed, I am your most inconvenient murder husband.” Each syllable hangs coiled threateningly in the air. They had never openly addressed that rather unfortunate moniker. They had never really openly addressed most things, when it came down to it.

“For the serial killer with aspirations of escape, an accomplice would be rather inconvenient.”

“Your ‘accomplice’ is the reason you escaped in the first place. You had always planned to leave with me. For years you waited.” Will cannot help but think of the made-to-measure wardrobe Hannibal had waiting for him in Italy when he arrived and the other little things he found lying around this property that suggested he had always been part of Hannibal’s considerations. But it is too soon to begin nitpicking all the ways they tried and failed each other. That doesn’t mean, however, that he’s going to allow Hannibal to gloss the truth as he pleases.

“Was I left to wait as punishment?”

“That would have been terribly petty.”

“You used a linoleum knife on me because you decided I wasn’t worthy of your Japanese steel. Don’t lecture me about pettiness.”

“Touché. You sipped wine and waited for Dolarhyde to ‘change’ me while I bled out on this very floor,” he counters.

“In my defense, I was told it was an excellent vintage. Some glutton dumped the rest on the ground.”

Hannibal bites back a smile and the tension in the room slackens. “No, Will. It wasn’t punishment. I left as soon as I could manage. After my ‘accomplice’ helped me sustain major internal damage and drowned me, I lived hidden in an ER veterinarian’s basement for two weeks.”

“You didn’t…”

“No. Jack would have been looking for that.”

I was looking for that.”

“Without money or papers or, truthfully, the desire to run too far, I took to nature, as you taught me. I passed the winter in an abandoned fire watch tower in Wyoming and later travelled along the back roads through the national forests. The landscapes are beautiful out west.”

“You mean they are dramatic. Which they are. I just wish you’d bothered with a post card. A call. Something.”

“You hoped I would compromise us to ease your concerns?” Will sighs. Yes. No. He wasn’t sure. He only knows how painful the waiting had been. How much bitterness built up over the not knowing. Over the being left behind. 

“The frustration was mutual, I assure you,” Hannibal says.


That night, Hannibal forgets to breathe when Will’s hand finds his under the covers. Hannibal tightens his long, surgeon’s fingers over Will’s and pulls his fist to his bare chest. Will can feel Hannibal’s heart hammering beneath his knuckles. The same heart he forced life back into. He is testing the waters, cataloguing Hannibal’s reactions to him.

“I didn’t mean to let go,” Will says under the cover of darkness. “I woke up and my hands were empty.”

“I couldn’t get us both out. Not as we were.”

“I won’t let go again.” It is as much a promise as it is a threat.

“My tenacious little mongoose. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Hannibal slips his arm around Will’s shoulders and pulls him to rest in the crook of his neck. When they wake the next morning, their hands are still entwined.


“I need to ask you something,” Will starts and Hannibal knows it will be more careful cross-examination. They are working their way through a bottle of cognac after supper, so whatever is gnawing inside Will’s head must be on the more troublesome side.

“Your crimes…they never involve a sexual element.”

He furrows his brow. “No. I find such violence extremely vile.”

“It is base,” Will supplies. “Vulgar. Although that perspective is almost unheard of for someone with your profile. You never did fit any mold.” He chews nervously at his cheek, the next bit an awkward gamble. “Bedelia was a convenience. She made your life more aesthetically pleasing and she helped you run. Alana…I suppose that was to have what I couldn’t have? For curiosity’s sake?”

“And convenience too. She provided me with an alibi. Matters of convenience seem to weigh heavily on you lately.”

Will ignores the deflection. “Are you asexual, Hannibal?”

“Certainly not. I have never denied myself any pleasurable experience. I thought you would know that by now.”

“Does your…sadism…extend to all arenas of your life then? It was present in your therapeutic practice and your culinary pursuits.”

“Despite my unorthodox methods, my patients almost universally found great relief under my care and my guests always left happy, full, and hoping for another invitation. It is not sadism if everyone is enjoying themselves. That would be a contradiction in terms.”

“How do you explain your interior design then, other than deeply creepy? Your art collection is gruesome.”

“It is a fair representation of European themes. Nothing more.”

“The horns and the skulls  -”

“-mere eccentricities. No different from my choices in suiting. Harmless fun.”

“Not for the kudu mounted on your wall.” 

“Tell me, Will. Many of your killers did confuse their pleasures. Is that something you fantasize exploring? Do you wish your only satisfaction to be found by co-mingling the violent with the erotic?”

“No,” Will sputters, flustered that he would even ask.

“Since you wish to speak of lovers and pleasures, you may be interested to learn that BDSM only provides the illusion of sadism and masochism through the machinations of consent. I suspect you have tired of illusions.”

“I have grown positively weary of them. Tell me something true.”

Hannibal brushes at the hair in his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. Quite unconsciously, Will mirrors the movement, fiddling with his own disobedient curls.

“We could talk of how you enjoy me like this. Disheveled. Imprecise. Seemingly vulnerable.”

“‘Seemingly’ being the operative word. Only a fool would believe you are anything but calculated with the most exacting of specifications. You are still in total control.”

“Not of you.”

“No. Not of me. Nor am I able to control you. Not entirely. It’s what escapes my sights that frightens me.”

“I am many things, Will, but I am not a true sadist. Like your empathy, the heightened senses I was born with are not easily managed.”

“You feel yourself too much. I feel everyone else but myself. We suffer from an affective abundance.”

“Although each of us is capable of it, I never wanted to give you cruelty, Will. I only wished to show you how we might pluck out and elevate the ugliness of the world that affronts us so uniquely.”

“But you used cruelty to achieve those ends! You hid my own illness from me; encouraged it with your hypnosis. You drugged me. Gutted me. Imprisoned me. You’ve tried and mostly succeeded at killing everyone close to me, time and again.”

Hannibal shifts in his chair, an odd rippling gesture of discomfort revealing itself on his surface. “And what did you do, Will?” His voice is barely audible and he’s gone completely still. “You wily, untamed, hurtful boy…”

Will stares down at his hands. Shame crawls up the back of his neck. “I…I refused to reciprocate the only true love and recognition you’ve ever known. That we’ll ever know. Again…and again.”

“And again,” Hannibal finishes for him. There are unshed tears in his eyes.

Will cannot bear to witness Hannibal’s pain. “No more illusions, Hannibal. No more lies, no more glass. Not between us.”

He sniffs and takes a deep breath. “I concur. We are well past the need for pretensions.”

Will takes a deep swig of his cognac and sets the empty tumbler down on the coffee table, his mind made up. “Come with me.”

Hannibal hesitates before finishing his drink and following Will down the hallway.

In the bedroom, Will pulls out one of Hannibal’s tuxedos and sets it on the bed. He lays out a pair of shoes and accessories to match. “Get dressed.”

Hannibal resists the urge to ask where they are going and obeys. Will disappears into the bathroom to change into his own formalwear. He puts on an old pair of round, tortoiseshell glasses, salvaged from a former life. When he is ready, he finds Hannibal sitting at the edge of the bed, brimming with curiosity. 

“Did your mouth just go dry?” Will asks, seeing how his appearance has affected the good doctor.

“I believe it did, yes.”        

He smiles at the admission, glad to see Hannibal is willing to play along. “You asked me to attend the opera with you on several occasions.”

“I did. You refused.”

Will goes to the small wooden stereo on the armoire and turns it on. One of Puccini’s great arias lilts up to the ceiling, filling the room with passionate despair.

“I like music, Hannibal. Very much. It’s just that it overwhelms me. I get swept away when I empathize with the vocalists. I suspect you knew that.”

“I had hoped that was the case.”

“To test my reaction to an extremely stressful situation.”

“Yes – and possibly use it as an opportunity to bring you further into my confidence.”

“That would have been a lie, Hannibal. I’m going to smash your illusion and show you what I think of being toyed with like that in public, in the company of Baltimore’s snobby, vapid elite.”

Hannibal is a little breathless now. “Show me, Will.”

He turns up the volume on the stereo and waits a moment with eyes closed, letting the pendulum swing, once, twice, three times.

Will holds out his hand. Swallowing hard, Hannibal allows himself to be lead. Will jerks him forward without warning and throws him into the walk in closet, kicking the door shut behind him and violently shoving Hannibal against the back wall of clothing. Boxes jar off the shelves and fall open, spilling fine leather and tissue paper around them.

“I can’t do this, Hannibal! We’re only at intermission. You knew this would happen,” he accuses harshly.

Hannibal looks around the wardrobe, realizing Will means it to be the coat check at the Modell Performing Arts Center. He immediately understands the game. “Look at me, Will. You are not alone in this.” Unbidden, Hannibal’s hands have wended around his waist, keeping the man half-strangling him close. “It is not weakness to be overwhelmed by beauty. Can’t you see how it has moved you?” Will growls and pushes him further into a rack of blazers and Hannibal lets out a surprised laugh. Will adjusts his grip around his neck. “We should rejoin the others,” he chokes out. “Our absence will be noted.”

“No! You started this. You wanted to see me lose control in public.” Hannibal protests and Will smothers his mouth with a hand. Through the door, the muted sounds of the soprano soar into the night. Will closes his eyes as the music overtakes him, he swoons and flushes at the singer’s overtures of impending death and then he suddenly pulls back his hand and kisses Hannibal hard. He has one hand around Hannibal’s throat and the other running desperate circles through his hair, mussing it beyond repair.

“I misjudged – ” Hannibal tries pointlessly.

“You…you who so love your dignity. You would deprive me of mine for your own amusement.”

He tries to deny it but is cut short by Will fumbling to undo his bowtie and kissing him again, this time forcing his tongue past Hannibal’s full lips and making him gasp. Will’s hands wander harshly over Hannibal’s body, finding his hard curves and valleys. In a single motion, he rips open Hannibal’s tuxedo shirt, sending mother-of-pearl buttons skittering across the wood floor. He dives into Hannibal’s skin, mouthing hungry kisses down his chest, pinching his firm nipples through the ruined cloth, palming his crotch into painful arousal. Hannibal is panting and moaning that they’ll be heard, all the while pulling Will closer, tasting his beautiful boy for the very first time.

“I’m going to make you sing, Hannibal. Everyone will know what I do to you. Will you sing for me?”


Will stops, blinking slowly, leaving his last kiss with a departing bite to Hannibal’s bottom lip. “Get on your knees, cannibal,” he whispers.

There is a flash of anger in Hannibal’s eyes, followed by realization. “We’ll be found out. Disgraced.”

“Then you’d better be quick. Show me how much of your dignity you’ll give me just to see mine abandoned.” He takes off his glasses and puts them in his jacket pocket, then guides Hannibal down to the ground with a firm hand to the shoulder.

“Oh Will, I…” For once in his life, Hannibal is speechless. Will braces against a shelf and adjusts his stance to watch. He waits. If Hannibal had reservations, they evaporate when he sees the smoldering, daring desire pulsing off Will’s entire frame. He takes the pants zipper in front of his face down between two teeth and frees Will’s length. Shamelessly he inhales and moans, then licks the underside of Will’s cock, making it bounce obscenely.

It is happening so fast. Will is driving this moment and there’s no savoring it; this is what Hannibal has earned for pushing the man so unethically and he doesn’t even care. He’ll take whatever Will is offering, in whatever guise, whenever. He sucks the heavy erection with enthusiasm, swirling a tongue over the hard flesh and taking it deeper and deeper. Will clutches at the shelving for dear life and they’re both grunting and keening. It’s unclear who is enjoying this more. Hannibal works him into his throat and Will cries out and grabs Hannibal’s neck by the scruff. Hannibal responds by humming in ecstasy and sucking more vigorously. Will grows bold and pumps himself into Hannibal’s hot mouth and Hannibal smiles and makes a show of dragging his teeth along the exposed organ. Will bites his lip and rolls his hips more, holding Hannibal’s head and pushing his mouth onto him, making him moan and gag around his cock.

“That’s it. Look at you, Dr. Lecter, letting me fuck your mouth. So hungry to have me, anywhere, any way. Do you want it?”

“Mmysss,” he burbles.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” Hannibal gasps and sucks with loud, slurping noises, his own sounds joining Will into a depraved chorus. Their eyes meet and Will lets the final walls around his empathy go and he can feel how desperate they are to please and be pleased and its so so good and the feel of Hannibal moving underneath his hands only for him is just too much and…

Will orgasms so hard he nearly blacks out. Only in the last glorious moments does he pull out just enough to glaze the last few roping splatters over Hannibal’s absurdly erotic mouth, painting him in pleasure. Will is swaying against the wall, barely upright, while Hannibal carefully tucks him back in and straightens his clothing. He stands, his own apparel thoroughly destroyed. Somehow, by some dark art, Hannibal runs a hand through his wild hair and even covered in semen – perhaps because of how nonchalantly he wears the transgression – he manages to still look debonair and dangerous.

“Watch,” he tells Will and Will focuses again on the sight before him. Hannibal runs his tongue over the slick cum on his bottom lip and hums with a satisfied grin. Will leans in to lick off the rest and they kiss again, at first slowly, then building again into something so intimate it has them closer and more tangled than before.

“We missed the beginning of the third act,” Will says.

“So we did. Perhaps we’ll have to try again.”

“I take it you liked this rendition?”

“It was a stunning performance. Most unanticipated.”

A big, honest smile comes easily to Will. “They won’t miss us if we are gone a little longer.” Will’s hands go to unfasten Hannibal’s pants and he stops him.

“Let me. I’m already too far gone.”

Will crooks an eyebrow. Hannibal pulls himself out and starts caressing himself, hunting down another kiss from his pink-cheeked lover. Will glances down between them and he laughs in surprise at the thick, swollen cock in Hannibal’s hand.

“Eastern European boys…” he says, by way of justifying his unwieldy size.

“I guess so.” Hannibal holds his gaze as he quickly starts to unravel, gasping in short pants and jerking involuntarily.

“You’re going to come?”

“Uh huh.”

Will hands Hannibal his dress jacket. “Come for your Will.”

Hannibal utters something that sounds suspiciously like a foreign curse and he ejaculates hard into his own coat, dropping his forehead on Will’s shoulder. Will nuzzles him and kisses his neck as he rides out the remains of his orgasm.

Once they have recovered and started straightening the disorder they caused in the closet, Hannibal asks, “Is this how it is going to be?” He is genuinely curious.

“This is how it was tonight. This was my design.”

Hannibal nods, still sucking on his lip unconsciously. “Then tomorrow shall be mine. Fair?” 

Will pauses and thinks, working his jaw nervously. “Of course,” he agrees, knowing he has no other choice.


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