Chapter Text
Hannibal wakes to a wet nose nudging at his jaw and a soft whine above him. He grumbles, clinging stubbornly to sleep even as disproportionately large paws step on his chest. He cracks one eye open, peering through the soft early morning light at the little dark creature pestering him.
Chrysanthemum yips, and Hannibal shushes her with as much tenderness as he can muster immediately after waking.
"Good morning, Chrysanthemum," He says softly, reaching up to scratch her behind the ear. She wags her tail, darting forward to lick his cheek. Hannibal grimaces, wiping his face and gently rising so as not to send her tumbling over.
He looks to the side, smiling to himself when he sees a mess of dark curls still spilling over the pillow beside him. Good, he's still asleep.
"I suppose you're ready for breakfast?" He asks the pup, and he takes her eager pawing at his leg as an affirmative answer. Hannibal chuckles, stretching and releasing a slight groan of satisfaction. The hardwood is chilly underfoot, their home almost begging for a fire to be lit. He'll do so, soon.
Chrysanthemum jumps down from their bed and onto the floor, eagerly herding him toward the door. Breakfast first.
He pads out into the hall, Chrysanthemum hot on his heels, and stops to peer into the library.
As if sensing his presence, Winston perks up. He rises from his bed, nestled in the corner near the reading nook, and trots over to greet him.
"Hello, sweet boy," Hannibal coos, ruffling the fur on the back of Winston's neck with a soft smile. "Come along, it's time for breakfast."
Poor little Chrysanthemum is a bit over-eager as she descends the stairs, tripping over her paws and skittering down the last few steps. She's alright, but it is rather pitiful. Much of her is pitiful- the sweet pup has to wear a sweater when she goes out for walks. Soon, she will grow into a fine pet, like her companions. For now, though, Hannibal chides her for being so uncoordinated and assures her that someday she will have better control over those extremities.
Through the windows, Hannibal can see that the sky is grey, cloudy. An early morning fog has overtaken the block, casting their neighborhood with a pale sort of majesty. A bright red ribbon is tied round the street lamp outside, done in a large bow.
Behind him, the branches of the large tree in their living room rustle, accompanied by the light sound of ornaments knocking into one another. The frantic scuttle of claws on the floor warns him to brace himself before a large white body nearly knocks him off his feet.
"Ah, the Beast has awoken," He deadpans, though he smiles down at Zoe all the same. "Hello, Beast."
Zoe woofs at him, sending the other two into a tizzy. Hannibal merely shakes his head in forced annoyance as he makes his way to the kitchen.
"Hungry, I presume?"
She barks again and he chuckles. "Famished, yes, I suspected as much."
He pulls the container of homemade dog food from their fridge, feeding Zoe first with a bowl set on the opposite side of the kitchen from the others. In theory it prevents her from stealing from Winston and Chrysanthemum. In practice it is only marginally successful.
Once they are taken care of, Hannibal finds himself glancing at the stairs. Today promises to be quite taxing. Rewarding, of course, but with no shortage of stress. He can only hope the chaos is a controlled one. By all metrics, the smart thing to do would be to start a fire, fix a quick breakfast for the non-canine members of his family, make sure the house is neat and tidy, and begin preparations for the evening straight away.
And yet, he creeps up the steps, peeking into their bedroom with a soft smile. Still sleeping like a rock, despite the barking downstairs. He always sleeps quite heavily, now. Catching up on the hours lost to nightmares. It feels good, knowing that he rests easily in this life.
Hannibal crawls beneath their duvet, curling an arm around the other man's waist. He pulls close, nosing at the back of his neck. Will is warm, nestled in the comfort of their bed and soothed by a good night's sleep. Hannibal kisses his nape, gently moving until he meets the collar of his T-shirt.
The other man sighs, melting closer into his hold. Hannibal smiles against his neck, his palm dragging up Will's stomach to caress his chest. His kisses turn from gentle pecks to loose, open-mouthed presses, and Will tips his head back to grant Hannibal more access to the pale column of his throat.
Will hums, a lazy smile rising on his face. He's so stunning it almost hurts to look at him. Hannibal takes the torture eagerly.
"Good morning," he purrs, voice deep and rough from sleep. There's an edge of teasing humor to it, and he arches his spine to press closer. Hannibal sighs when Will's ass rubs against his hardening cock. He kisses Will's neck again, searching for the thrum of an elevated pulse against his lips.
"Merry Christmas, Will," he murmurs, and Will breathes out a laugh.
"Not unless you let me sleep through the day, it isn't," he says. Hannibal nips at his throat and Will's breath hitches, reaching to grip Hannibal's arm.
"Mmm, I think you'd be grateful if I did, darling."
"You think so?"
"Sleeping through tonight's festivities? The ones I know you've been dreading for weeks now? Yes, I should think you'd be pleased."
Will huffs. "I wouldn't say I'm dreading them," he argues, and as he does he rolls onto his back. He looks up at Hannibal, blue eyes narrow in the early morning light. He can't help but reach out, gently pushing a stray curl from his face.
Hannibal lifts a brow and Will rolls his eyes. "I'm not exactly keen on it, but I hardly think I can be blamed for that. The main appeals of a dinner party are good food and good conversation- I already eat better than any man in the country, and the only person I have any interest in making conversation with will be here long after the last guest leaves. What is there for me to look forward to?"
Hannibal laughs, leaning down to kiss his husband. "I appreciate you making an appearance, regardless," he mutters, already resuming his journey down Will's jaw and toward his collarbones.
"You'd sulk for days if I didn't," he says with a soft sigh.
He nips at the shell of Will's ear, delighting in the gasp it pulls from his lips. "Only because I would be bereft of your radiance, my love," he whispers, and the other man shudders. "Who would light up the room, if you chose to hide away in your workshop all night?"
Will catches him in a kiss, then. Arms curl around his neck, and Hannibal sighs. He settles atop his beloved, groaning into his mouth when their cocks brush through layers of fabric. Will parts his lips eagerly, and takes the opportunity to tug at Hannibal's hair. Hannibal accepts the invitation, delivering a quick bite to the other man's lower lip as he goes. He smiles into their kiss when Will pulls harder in response. The lovely thing makes it no secret that he enjoys how Hannibal's let his hair grow long. He rolls his hips, grinding against Will and feasting on the moan that falls from him. He craves more of that, no matter how much Will gives him.
Too stubborn to pull away, Hannibal pushes Will's T-shirt up his body, palms skating up the wonderful warm skin hidden beneath.
Will flinches, pulling back enough to make a soft noise of complaint.
"You're freezing," he whines, half-heartedly pushing Hannibal's hand away.
Hannibal simply smirks, drifting higher despite his husband's protests. Will yelps when Hannibal thumbs at his nipples, the sharp sound of surprise melting away into another rough groan when Hannibal rolls one between his fingers.
"I'll warm up soon, I'm sure," he says, his voice dipping low as he makes his way down Will's chest. The other man arches into it when Hannibal licks his other nipple, wrapping his lips around it just to savor how Will gasps his name and grips at his hair again. The sound of his name on those lips never fails to stop him in his tracks- it makes him dizzy for a moment, makes him lose sight of where he is.
The hand not tugging at Will's nipple quests lower, shoving its way beneath the waistband of cotton boxers to palm at his husband's hard cock. His body jerks- away from the touch initially, the cold of Hannibal's hand amplified on heated, sensitive skin, then into the pressure it provides.
Will reconnects their mouths, arching into the sensation for a moment before taking Hannibal by the hips and effortlessly flipping their positions. Hannibal goes willingly, every bit as in love with his mate's dominant streak as he was when he first become acquainted with it. One of Will's bare thighs finds its place between Hannibal's legs, and he grinds against the granted friction as Will yanks off his T-shirt.
"Lube," He growls, thumbs hooking into the waistband of Hannibal's pajamas. Too eager to even consider disobedience, Hannibal fishes the bottle from his bedside drawer. He lifts his hips, letting his husband strip him.
Will pours the lube onto his fingers, immediately moving to slip one inside of Hannibal. Hannibal hisses, clenching around the intrusion. Will lifts a brow, though his curiosity is feigned. What a precocious creature.
"It's cold," Hannibal grits, willing himself to relax around his husband's finger regardless. The awful boy hadn't warmed it at all before entering him.
The other man looks down on him with mocking sympathy. "You'll warm up, right?" he teases, tossing his words back at him with a curl of his finger. Hannibal catches Will by the jaw, kissing him fiercely and sinking his teeth into Will's lower lip for his trouble. Will moans into their kiss, quickly inserting another finger. Their connection only breaks when Will finally nudges his prostate, and Hannibal tips his head back into their pillows with an obscenely satisfied sigh. Will takes the opportunity to travel lower, nipping and sucking bruises wherever he roams. He's mainly courteous- leaving the more glaring marks on his collarbones, chest, the meaty slopes of his waist- but Hannibal groans his mate's name in protest rather than pleasure when Will leaves a rather large red mark quite high on his throat.
Will chuckles at his displeasure. "What?" he purrs. "The color suits you. Seasonally appropriate."
Before Hannibal can remind his husband that he doesn't need help accessorizing, Will noses at his ear, speaking in a low whisper that sends a shiver rolling up his spine.
"Besides, why is it so unsightly? Don't you want everyone to see that you're mine?"
Hannibal moans and Will takes the opportunity to stretch him with a third finger, filling and spreading him in a way that is at once lovely and lacking. He wants more, more of his mate, more of Will.
"You'll wear it proudly, won't you? Show everyone who you belong to?"
"God, Will- yes. Whatever you say, darling, just- ah! Just take me, I'm ready for you."
Will sucks on the lobe of Hannibal's ear for a moment, clearly enjoying how he shudders and squirms at every touch far too much for his own good.
"Ask nicely," he growls, once again brushing his prostate.
Hannibal chokes on a moan, rolling his hips back into the touch. "Will-"
"I'm listening."
What a tease. What a horrible, insufferable, cocky boy. He should be ashamed of himself.
"...Please?"
He barely has time to whine when Will's fingers leave before the wet head of his husband's cock is resting insistently against his rim.
"There, was that so hard?"
Will takes one of Hannibal's legs and hoists it over his shoulder. His eyes fall shut when Will finally sinks in, a low moan pouring from his lips. Their position has the head of Will's cock pushing deep, pressing on Hannibal's prostate again and again when he immediately begins to thrust.
"Fuck, I love it when you're good for me, baby."
Hannibal bites his lip, clutching at a fistful of soft grey sheets. Will is fucking him hard and fast, so intense that he can almost feel his mind leaking from his ears. His cock twitches, neglected, and he wouldn't dare touch himself when Will is like this but fuck he wants to.
"You wanna know why?"
He glances up at the other man, his heart thudding violently into his rib cage. Will is flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his knuckles white where they grip Hannibal's leg. He whimpers softly. Will lets his leg fall from his shoulder, only to press both of his knees to his chest, folding Hannibal in half and making him feel near mad with pleasure. A salacious sound escapes before Hannibal has any say in the matter, his body clenching and squirming as Will looms over him protectively.
"It's because you wouldn't do this for anybody else," he growls, the snap of his hips almost cruel.
A sharp exhale leaves Hannibal, though whether it could be called a laugh in this state is highly debatable. "You'd never-" he cuts himself off with a moan, struggling to even speak through the waves of pleasure he's being bombarded with. "Never l-let someone else find out."
Will's nails dig into his thighs. "You like that, don't you?" He grunts, his hips starting to falter. "Fuck, you like that I don't want anybody to think they can come near you."
"Yes," he confesses, too blissful by miles to lie. His husband's possessiveness is nothing short of divine, the most beautiful thing he's ever bore witness to.
As a reward for his honestly, one of Will's hands falls from Hannibal's thigh and wraps around his cock. Almost immediately, Hannibal feels his abdomen tightening. His hips buck, encouraging stimulation wherever he can possibly get it.
"That's it, baby. Let me come in you, yeah?"
Hannibal nods frantically, whining for more.
Will pounds him into the mattress, but beneath the roughness is an undercurrent of undying devotion, as always.
"Mine," he snarls, and Hannibal breaks.
He comes with a broken call of his husband's name, staining his stomach and Will's hand. His head feels filled with cotton, so far from their home and yet fixed on this moment.
Will loses all grace, pounding into him so urgently that Hannibal will certainly be sore the whole night through. From wherever his mind is currently residing, Hannibal imagines that this is by design. The sonnet of bruises and aches scrawled across his body to be read and reread throughout the upcoming party.
He presses his sweat-soaked forehead to Hannibal's shoulder when he comes, releasing his legs and going nearly boneless against him. His breath is hot against Hannibal's collarbones as he gasps for air, completely sated.
"Shower?" Hannibal offers after a fashion, and Will lets out a sound of displeasure.
"Breakfast," he grumbles.
Hannibal laughs, his system flooded with dopamine and his body held to earth solely by Will's body, warm and alive above him. "Alright. At least allow me to clean myself a bit before I cook, then."
Will pulls away at that, frowning down at him for a moment before speaking. "No, I've got it. Go take a shower, I'll make breakfast."
"You're sure?"
He smiles softly, and Hannibal's heart feels warm. "You're gonna be in that damn kitchen all day as it is, babe. Let me make breakfast for you."
Hannibal nods, stretching as the ache begins to set in.
"Fed the dogs?"
"Yes."
"Let 'em out?"
"Not yet."
His brows furrow as he pads over to the dresser. "I can tell you didn't start a fire."
"I was distracted by a different pursuit of warmth."
He snorts, fishing a fresh pair of boxers, some lounge pants, and a suspiciously familiar burgundy sweater from their drawers.
"Stealing my clothes, are you?" he prods, watching as his husband dresses. The sleeves of the sweater hang loose on his body, partially covering his hands and making him look deceptively fragile.
Will smiles up at him and Hannibal is reminded for what must be the millionth time that he loves this man more than anything on earth. "Consider it payment for breakfast. Fair?"
Hannibal smiles back. "Fair."
-
Will's prediction was correct, for the most part. Hannibal spends the bulk of his day in the kitchen, tirelessly preparing every offering until their counters and refrigerator are piled high with the fruits of his labor. Will mainly stays out of his way, offering to taste things and wash dishes here and there. After being quiet for a near suspicious amount of time, his husband reappears looking entirely delectable, dressed in midnight blue and charcoal grey with his curls artfully framing his face. Hannibal has half a mind to carry that boy back upstairs and undo all of his hard work. He abstains, but only just.
"You're breathtaking, mylimasis."
Will smiles, helping himself to a glass of steaming apple cider from a large pot on the stove. "You're not so bad yourself," he says. He brings the cider close to his face and inhales, eyes slipping shut at the fragrance before he takes a sip. A deep noise of approval rises from his chest. "We don't have to serve this, right? I can just hide it away and keep it all for myself?"
Hannibal chuckles, his attention focused on arranging a large platter of hors d'oeuvres. "We must teach you to share, at some point."
"You'll get to it one of these days," Will says, and he leans closer to press a warm kiss on Hannibal's cheek. "You really do look great, you know."
Hannibal straightens his posture, preening under Will's praise. "I still need to freshen up before the guests begin to arrive. Would you be willing to set the table for me?"
Will turns him by the jaw, kissing his lips this time. "Sure thing."
-
It never stops feeling fantastic- Entertaining. Hannibal adores putting on a show, even more so with Will by his side. His inner Provider is more content than ever, with his husband and their pets soothing his need to care for someone on a daily basis, but it still flourishes under opportunities like this one. Still soars when it sees their social circle- admittedly smaller than it was in Baltimore but no less pleasant for light company- warm and joyous and fed at Hannibal's hands. There are few greater joys than the noticeable silence once dinner is served, the way the chatter of idle conversation dies away as each guest becomes entirely preoccupied with the meal. Beautiful.
Sufficed to say that Hannibal is nearly beaming with pride by the time the party has relocated to the parlor. Will and Hannibal's acquaintances dot the room, drinking spiced cider and mulled wine and eggnog. There's a noticeable cluster near the fire, basking in its glow, as well as a smaller group gathered near the piano. His heart melts.
The opening notes of 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas' sound through the parlor, Will's long skilled fingers softly coaxing them from the keys of their piano. Hannibal leans against the wall, admiring him. He filters through the sound of the party until he hears Will's voice, smooth as honey as he speaks in awkwardly accented Italian. 'Very beloved in America,' He's explaining over the notes. 'Forgive me, I don't know any European Christmas Carols, yet.'
Hannibal feels helpless, drawn to him like a moth. Will shines in the light, always has. He shies away from it, all the same- the attention. But he's wonderful, when he allows himself to be.
Will glances up from the keys and, sensing Hannibal's watchful eye, immediately meets his gaze from across the room. So very wonderful.
"I can practically hear you purring from the foyer."
Hannibal is pulled from his reverie by a voice over his shoulder. He smiles politely at her. An art curator he'd met not long after he and Will moved to Florence.
"Alessandra," he says. He nods down to the little boy clinging to her leg, next, his tie miserably askew. "And Paolo, hello. Are the two of you enjoying the party?"
"I am, thank you. And it's clear that you are, as well," she teases, sending a pointed glance Will's way.
Hannibal shrugs. "I love to entertain. It's always an honor to cook for my friends."
Alessandra gives him a look that heavily implies she thinks it may be more than that, but she leaves the comment for now. "Paolo would like to ask you something," she says, nodding down to her son. "Go ahead, sweetie."
Paolo fidgets, looking resolutely at his shoes. "Um, is it okay if I go play with your dogs outside?"
Hannibal takes a moment to look around the room, scanning the parlor. All seems well. He smiles down at Paolo. "I don't see why not, providing your mother is alright with it. They love to play."
"I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't get too rough."
Hannibal laughs. "If anything, I'm worried Zoe may be too rough with him. I'll join you, the night air may serve to lessen my post-meal drowsiness."
"If you're sure, I won't say no to the company."
Hannibal fetches Chrysanthemum, predictably delighted for an opportunity to go out into the yard and play. Winston and Zoe are already outside- it would be a cold day in hell when Hannibal trusted Zoe to behave in the presence of a crowd. When he joins Alessandra and Paolo on the back porch, warm cider in hand to curb the chill, Alessandra is watching Paolo play tug with Winston, a pale blue rope between them and Winston's tail swishing happily from side to side as he pulls.
"It's meant to snow tonight," Alessandra tells him, eyes fixed on her son.
"Is it?"
She nods. For a minute or two, they simply watch together. Zoe finds something to roll in, and Hannibal can't even bring himself to be annoyed when he sees her tongue lolling from her mouth in glee.
"How are things with Max?"
Hannibal looks at her from the corner of his eye. "Splendid, as always, thank you." When she isn't forthcoming with a response, he feels compelled to elaborate. "He's insistent that one is meant to open a gift on Christmas Eve, as a tradition. I haven't bent to his will just yet, but I may lose my conviction by the end of the night."
"I think I've heard of that before."
Zoe, Chrysanthemum and Paolo chase each other in circles, nipping at one another's heels. When Zoe gets a bit over-excited he scolds her, reminding her that Chrysanthemum is too small to play roughly. He also spares a moment to remind Paolo to be careful, lest he fall and scrape a knee.
Alessandra laughs. "You're good with them, you know."
He lifts a brow. "Children?"
"Dogs."
Hannibal nods. "I admit I was never overly fond of animals. It was Max who warmed me to the idea. Now I can hardly imagine our lives without them."
"You two are good together."
"We bring out the best in one another," he agrees.
"That's what mates are meant to do, isn't it?"
He hesitates. "Max and I are not soul mates," he corrects with feigned discomfort. A clever element of their cover, entirely Will's idea. More adaptable with considerably less effort.
Alessandra falters. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's alright."
"I just assumed."
"I understand."
"They say that mates look at each other differently than other couples, that's all."
That gains the attention of Hannibal's pride. "Do they?"
She nods. "There's some extra glimmer there. Fate showing itself, maybe. Recognition."
Privately, he enjoys the idea that any observer could see their bond. Outwardly, he sighs. "Max and I know each other perfectly well, I assure you. I need no vision to see his potential."
"I can tell," Alessandra says. She looks out to the yard then, smiling softly at her son.
"Have you two ever thought of adopting?"
He freezes. Studies her face. "Dogs?"
"Children."
It takes him a moment to respond. "It's not something we've discussed, no," he says. In truth it isn't something he'd spent much time considering, starting a family with Will beyond an ever-expanding collection of hounds. Now, he finds himself imagining what joys that may hold.
She nods. It doesn't escape him that she suddenly seems quite tense. "Probably for the best."
"What makes you say that?"
She sniffs, trying to force casualty. "Just that they can get in the way of things, I guess. I quit painting for nearly a decade when I had Gabi."
"She couldn't come home for Christmas this year?" he prods, trying to divine if this is the source for her discomfort. The feeling leaving her is not sadness, though. It's fear.
She shakes her head. "No, she's working tomorrow, I'm afraid. Another seasonal fluff piece or something, I don't know. She's always researching the strangest stuff for those people."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Alessandra forces a weak laugh. "They, um. They had her looking into all this True Crime stuff a few weeks ago. She was telling me all about it. Sending me all these grizzly details. Speculation." She swallows. "Pictures."
Her eyes flick away from Paolo, meeting Hannibal's for just a moment. Pure terror. "Kept me up at night, I guess. Made me paranoid. You never know, you know? What could be lurking in the dark corners of your life."
He tilts his head. "Best to keep your mind well-lit, then."
Alessandra stiffens, taking a breath. "I think Paolo and I are about to head out. Maybe I'll let him open a present early, try your husband's tradition for myself. Thank you again, for having us, Anton. It's been lovely."
He watches as she straightens her bag with shaking hands, calling out to her son. Hannibal beckons Chrysanthemum, preparing to slip back into the house.
"Merry Christmas, Paolo," He says warmly.
"Merry Christmas Doctor Velks!"
Hannibal looks up at Alessandra. Smiles at her for just a moment, not quite bothering to let it meet his eyes, and then they're off into the night.
He weaves easily through the steadily thinning crowd, smiling and checking in with guests until he finds Will. He's chatting with a few of his coworkers, and Hannibal feels no guilt when he interrupts, his husband's pained smile speaking for itself.
"Darling, may I speak with you in the kitchen?"
"Sure, everything good?"
"Of course," He lies, "but I'd rather discuss it in private."
Will raises his brows, following him to the kitchen. His mask slips away once they're alone, revealing Will in all of his slightly-weary sharpness.
"Bad news?" he asks, clearly seeing the fresh displeasure in Hannibal's features.
"Good news, for you."
Will frowns.
"It seems you'll be able to escape this party early, after all."
"...What do you mean?"
Hannibal looks around for a moment, though he knows they are alone. "Alessandra Bernardi knows."
Will's face goes pale in an instant. "You're sure?"
"She's suspicious, at least. I don't think she's planning to do anything rash, but I'd rather not risk our holiday being ruined."
He nods, already forming a plan in his head. "I'll sneak out the back in just a..." he freezes. "Shit. Her kid."
Of course, the two of them may be killers but certain things are still beyond them. "It would be best, I think, to allow miss Bernardi to return home first," Hannibal agrees. "Lure her out once Paolo is safe."
"Right. Any requests?"
He thinks it over. "Heart, perhaps."
Will nods again, quickly darting in to peck Hannibal's cheek. "I'll take care of it, love. Enjoy your party, I'll see you later tonight."
"Be careful."
He smiles, kisses him again. "I will be, don't worry. I love you."
"I love you too, darling."
-
The last guest has left by the time Will returns, tired and bloody but unharmed, with a delicious-looking heart in tow. Hannibal tries to inquire about the state Alessandra's body shall be found in, come Christmas morning. 'You said you didn't want to open gifts early,' Will had said with a smirk. 'You'll have to wait until Christmas.'
They've settled down since then, fresh meat carefully stored away, blood washed from beneath Will's nails. They're curled up on the sofa, Will halfway in Hannibal's lap as he nurses the last of the apple cider.
"We'll have to move again soon," Will muses, watching the fire crackle away in their hearth.
"I suppose that would be wise, yes. I'll be sad to leave Florence, but I'd rather not chance becoming suspects in miss Bernardi's murder."
"I wanted to spend Valentine's Day here."
"We could go to France, next," Hannibal offers. "Have a Parisian holiday together."
Will laughs softly. He sounds tired, if Hannibal isn't careful he's liable to fall asleep in his lap. "A bit cliche, don't you think?"
"Merely a suggestion."
He nods, taking another sip from his mug. "We'll figure it out."
Hannibal watches him. The soft light from the fire dances over Will's angelic features. He's never seen someone so entirely perfect. He reaches up, cards his fingers into Will's hair. The other man sighs, eyes slipping closed. He's back in that stolen sweater, comfortable and content. Domestic, in a way Hannibal never dreamed of being able to witness.
"Do you want children, Will?"
His eyes snap open again at that. He chokes. "I- I haven't really thought about it," he stammers.
Hannibal narrows his eyes. "You're lying."
Will huffs. "I'm not."
He lets the silence hang for just another moment, and Will collapses like a house of cards. "Things are just...different, now."
"I'm listening."
Will scrubs at his face, curling closer to Hannibal. "I did want kids. Before, I wanted kids. Now, I'm not sure. Maybe someday. If we ever decide to stop..." Will trails off. Sighs. "If we ever stop, I might want them."
"I agree with you."
Will looks visibly relieved.
"Bringing a child into our current lifestyle would be more than irresponsible. Unfair. Harmful, even. For all of us. But if you do eventually want to settle down, I'd consider it an honor to start a family with you."
He frowns up at Hannibal. "We have a family already. You and me- that's our family. Us and the Pack."
He nods toward the large tree in the corner of the room. Chrysanthemum is curled up beneath it, her dark fur glowing in the twinkling lights. Zoe is sprawled out before the fire, belly-up on the rug. Hannibal cranes his neck and spies Winston, fast asleep in his usual armchair.
"Someday I might want more. For now, though, that's more than enough for me. More than I thought I'd ever get." He lifts his chin, kissing Hannibal's jaw. "I'm happy like this."
Hannibal cups Will's cheek, quietly regarding him. That blue. He could fill books with endless words about that lovely, wonderful blue.
Will gives him a sweet lopsided smile, fond and amused at once.
"Are you ever going to stop looking at me like that?" He asks.
Hannibal strokes the curve of Will's cheek with the pad of his thumb. There has never been a man so in love as he is with Will Lecter-Graham.
"If I saw you every day, forever, Will- I would always look at you just like this."
His smile widens, and Hannibal sees shimmering tears gathering in his husband's eyes.
"Good," he says, voice wavering with the effort of maintaining composure. "Then that's all I need."
Hannibal brings him closer, his kiss long and lingering. When they part, he notices a flurry of snow outside their living room window.
"It appears we may have the proverbial White Christmas after all," he says, gesturing toward the window.
Will brightens. "Oh yeah, it's after midnight, isn't it?"
Hannibal grins. "Does that mean I'm allowed to say it, now?"
"If you'd like."
Hannibal kisses him again, Will's touch bringing with it warmth and safety the likes of which he never imagined.
"Merry Christmas, Hannibal," Will murmurs when they part.
Hannibal presses his forehead to Will's, collapsing his world down to the space they share.
"Merry Christmas, Will."