My Lying Love



Summary: Written for Hannigram Day. Here’s a smutty piece for your enjoyment. Will has cabin fever and he and Hannibal invent a game called “A Truth and A Lie.” They lose track of the score…

Characters: Will Graham/ Hannibal Lecter

Chapters: 1/1 [COMPLETE]


“My turn,” Will said. He took a deep breath and he pursed his lips in thought. “I sometimes jack off while touching the scar on my stomach.”
“Oh Will. That is too easy.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Of course it is…”

Notes: I wrote this, coincidentally, before I saw‘s fanvid. My original title was “The Lying Game,” but once I saw this I knew a title change was in order. If you haven’t seen this extraordinary homage to the show and to Hannigram, stop what you’re doing immediately and watch this. It is now canon imo and should be the promo to S4. It’s like the opening of a Bond film, except really good:

They had been in the Appalachian cabin for nearly five weeks. Hannibal was mobile again and healing remarkably well given his wounds. He had even resumed his activities in the kitchen and Will was all too happy to cede the room to him. Instead, Will took long walks in the woods and came home with strings of bright, firm-fleshed trout and small game snared and killed with deadly precision. It was a pleasant, quiet sort of life. But they knew it could not last forever.

They were starting to make the first of the real motions to pack up and run. Escaping the country undetected would not be easy. An unprecedented manhunt was underway with Kade Purnell leading the cavalry. Far too many avid Tattlecrime fans had volunteered to assist in the search. Freddie made no mention of Jack in her ongoing coverage of the ‘murder husbands on the lamb’. Whether they had finally sacked Jack for his negligence or whether this was a planted omission and was done purposefully to mislead them was unclear. Either way, they would take every precaution conceivable. Will’s criminal instincts were well-served by his intimate knowledge of the FBI’s procedures. He had devised a clear plan to slip through border control and customs. They could hardly fail, Hannibal thought, but even then, he was devising a safety net using his many loyal and unscrupulous contacts. They would not fall unprepared again. 

Will sighed. It was the third time in so many minutes he had done so.

“Something wrong, love?”

He shrugged and let the book fall into his lap.

“Plot not holding your attention?”

“Nah. S’ok.”

Hannibal nosed his scalp and inhaled. “You have the scent of boredom about you.”

“You can’t smell boredom, Hannibal. Come on.” His only response was to huff a laugh and nibble Will’s ear. “I’ll take that as a full confession.”

“Does the truth matter so much? If it does, I’m not wrong.”

“No, you’re not. I’m bored out of my mind.”

“How shall I distract you?”

“I dunno. Tell me something.”

“A fairytale?”

“No,” he quickly said. “The tales from your home country are gruesome and nightmare-inducing. Just, tell me something else. A regular story maybe. Or a memory.”

Hannibal hummed into his neck, infatuated by the way his sinews and flesh absorbed the rumble of his voice. “You want the truth as much as you want a fiction.”

Will turned to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “Maybe? Tell me a truth and tell me a lie.”

“Ah. A game, then.”

Will nodded.

“Alright.” Hannibal laid back and considered several options. He began to speak, then cut himself off and mulled some more. Precise wording would be critical in this game. “I often regret not eating my mother.”

Will went rigid. “Jesus FUCK Hannibal!”

“Which is the truth and what is the lie?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?! That is not even…no…that is not a thing someone says. Even with our understanding and knowing who you are. Just. No.” Will had automatically clapped a hand over his eyes, refusing to allow himself the sight which could see so much.

“You’ll have to look at me if you want to win.”

Chills ran down Will’s arms. He peeked through his fingers and then pulled his hand away but clenched his eyes again. He saw the truth. He always saw if he allowed himself to look. “You didn’t…um…It’s true that you didn’t…do that. You only regretted it once. Maybe twice. After your sister. When you grieved and knew the way your belly and your grief could feel heavy and sated. But that was before you had fully…grown into yourself. Before you refined the beast.”

Hannibal actually smiled. How clever his little mongoose could be.

“My turn,” Will said. He took a deep breath and he pursed his lips in thought. “I sometimes jack off while touching the scar on my stomach.”

“Oh Will. That is too easy.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Of course it is. You rarely masturbate these days. But when you do, you always touch your scar.”

“Damn. You’re right. We’re 1 to 1. Go.”

“I imagined I was you when I was with Alana. I imagined how you would have taken her and pleasured her on that sad, sparse mattress in the middle of your living room.”

“Lie. Massive lie.” Hannibal broke into a toothy grin. “You imagined something alright. You imagined Alana was me. You seduced her and you bedded her but the angles were too soft and the curves were all wrong. You wanted calloused fingers and hard hips and my cum growing cold between our gasping chests.”

Hannibal schooled his features, lest he show too much amazement and reveal how completely, hopelessly, smitten he was. He would allow Will anything, give Will anything. It was ridiculously inconvenient.

“I’m still pissed at you about that, you know. You didn’t have to use Alana in our games.”

“I believe it is your turn.”

“Nice deflection, Hannibal. You might want to talk to your therapist about your inability to acknowledge others’ feelings when they are given to you honestly.”

“My therapist ended our doctor-patient relationship when she felt she was no longer able to treat me effectively. I doubt she will reconsider now, given your latest visit with her.”

“True. Okay,” Will fiddled with the comforter in concentration. “….Um…I once got so aroused during our therapy that I wanked in your bathroom.”

“Will all your statements be related to sexual activity?”


“I see. Very well. You did get aroused in session a number of times. Particularly when I touched you or we found ourselves making prolonged eye contact without talking. I believed at the time you were simply emulating my own desire for you and so I ignored it. Sexual transferrence is a common therapeutic problem. However, your response to the embarrassment your heavy erection caused you was to wander around with your back turned to me. I doubt you realize how much worse you made it on me and, by extension, yourself. Watching you move about and touch my possessions is one of my great pleasures.”

“You stared at my ass constantly. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Sir-Sketch-A-Lot. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we didn’t just rip each other’s clothes off and fuck right there on your desk.”

“Indeed. I often considered it.”

Will raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So why didn’t you?”

“That would have been highly unprofessional.”


Hannibal looked at Will innocently. After all, he had done no such thing. “What?”

“You drugged me and stuffed a tracheal tube down my throat. You’ve changed my clothes without my permission while I’ve been unconscious I don’t even know how many times. Professional ethics are not exactly your strong suit. I’m not even sure how you managed to bullshit your way through the certification process, knowing what I do.”

“I passed with flying colors, I’ll have you know. You would have done well to have learned a thing or two about cheating on psychological examinations, Special Agent. Even granted my transgressions to facilitate your becoming, I have not, nor will I ever, engage in salacious acts to whet a physical whim of so base and greedy a nature. As much as I wanted to see you spread on my desk and mewling under my rough touch, I did not pursue that line of thought.”

“Sure you didn’t. You never thought about it at all.” Hannibal pinched Will’s thigh in response to the tease. “So where’s the lie in my claim?”

“It is easily detected.”

“Is it?”

“You didn’t masturbate in my office bathroom. You did it in my guest bathroom at home. The one and only time you accepted an invitation to one of my cocktail parties.”

“Damn. Did you know all along or did you just realize it now?”

“I had suspected. That was very naughty of you, Special Agent Graham.”

“I’m sure you can guess what happened.”

“But of course. Nearly every guest in attendance was admiring you, hoping to get your name and, if lucky, your number.”

“That Komeda woman practically jumped me. She’s what, 60? 70?”

“It would be indelicate to say, though your latter guess is closer to the truth. Mrs. Komeda is an enthusiast. I cannot fault her appreciation of you. Her tastes in that regard are impeccable.”

Will blushes at the compliment. “Your turn.”

“I too struggled with my composure that night. You looked like a wild thing among dead-eyed dolls. Later I took myself in hand and spilled several times in my sheets, thinking of your mouth and your hands.”

The absurdity of hearing Hannibal speak like this made Will laugh. “This is a tricky one. YOU are a tricky one.”

“I do like competition.”

“You didn’t struggle during the party, at least no more than your usual lack of chill.”

“I do not lack ‘chill’.”

“Yeah you do. Hannibal ‘no chill’ Lecter, formerly MD. Print that on your business card.”

“Your rudeness is a defense mechanism. And not an especially useful one.”

“Unless I want to get myself snacked on.”

“Case and point. Rude, William.”

Will kissed Hannibal, letting his searching tongue and biting teeth do the apologizing. “You love your rude boy.”

“Beyond measure or soundness of mind, it would seem.”

Will hummed happily. “I think you were fine until you were straightening up the house at whatever o’clock because your obsessive asshole perfectionism won’t let you sleep without absolute order. You discovered the indiscretion in your restroom, fucking bloodhound that you are, and that is when you lost it. You smelled the perfume of semen on the air and you desperately wanted it to be mine.”

“You left a tissue in the waste bin that could easily have been disposed of elsewhere. You wished to be caught. It was a plea for attention.”

“Ha. You wish. You stood there for a long time, gripping the sink counter, just staring at it. Watching it stare at you. You refused to touch it, because it might not be mine. You struggled. You grappled with the demon inside who wanted to know and wanted to taste and wanted to take me once and for all. But you wouldn’t give in to the urge. You let it sit there and taunt you.”

“Your mind is divine. You perceive the moment exactly as it was.”

“You came that night alright. But not upstairs. Right then and there. And you didn’t touch yourself. You spilled right in your pants and ruined your suit. And you didn’t give a shit because you were thinking about my mouth and hands. The way I would have looked while I did it, knowing you would know. Wanton, you told yourself. You were disheveled and panting and furious at yourself and you thought of me touching the wet stain on your plaid pants and you fucking came again.”

“Just so.”

“How the hell you managed to deceive me for so long, I’ll never know. Chalk it up to the encephalitis, I guess. I see you, Hannibal.”

“We were both of us blind to each other in many respects.”

“What’s the score?”

“Hmm…I seem to have forgotten.”


Hannibal pressed a hard kiss into his mouth. “Yes,” he whispered. “But now it occurs to me that you don’t need your pants. Take these off and let me distract you further, my darling, lying love.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s