Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Green-Eyed Monster

A Study on Worth

Will had never wondered whether or not Hannibal was a beautiful man.

His attraction for him had nothing to do with physical looks, neither did the world's repulse for the monster.

Maybe he was to blame for his lack of perception. He had known the depths of Hannibal before the world could suspect them, it was a cosmical balance if he was the last to realize his surface appearance.

In any case, cosmical balance or domestic dismissal, any exploration of Hannibal was a journey into madness and symbolism. His depths, just as his surface, were meant to be labyrinthic and overwhelming. And if Will had guessed he had been about to live through a tale haunted by a far too powerful Monster, he couldn’t have predicted that he alone would be the Monster of that story.

The Green-Eyed Monster.

Act I

TRIGGER

            Hannibal Lecter was not beautiful.

            Not according to Will Graham, anyway.

            Not that he was mean or exigent, but the Doctor's characteristics lied elsewhere.

            Hannibal Lecter was intelligent. Will, better than anyone, knew the depths of his mind and the velocity of his thoughts. He could guess the infinite meanders of his cerebral palace, a metropolis of knowledges, memories and insights: its walls decorated with antique relics and tools for comprehension and interpretation, its libraries enclosing all the genius of humanity, its chapels resonating with divine and diabolic ideas.

            Hannibal Lecter was worrying. Will would often wonder how he had been able to spend so many hours with him without having his instinct screaming for survival or for termination. For whoever entered his life, Hannibal could, in a matter of seconds, become this looming shadow, this elusive figure that would stick to their skin, crawl underneath it, and lacerate the powerless mind. Or flesh, depending on his mood. Hannibal was akin to those monsters in horror movies. His face invisible, but his presence undeniable.

            Hannibal Lecter was twisted. This man was obviously fucked up. There was no arguing there. Stable, lucid, clairvoyant, yes. But fucked up. He would see beauty in horror and horror in beauty. He would laugh when all cry, stay when all run and embrace when all fight. He was either fucked up or a poète maudit, but he was intricately twisted around his own core.

            Hannibal Lecter was fabulous. Miracles were crafted under his fingers, wonders were unveiling themselves before his eyes. As if his mere existence called for marvels. The mere fact that he could exist outside of a Grimm tale was already a portent of sorts. He was fabulous, mythical, allegorical or plainly fictitious, Will wasn't sure, but he knew that the Monster came from and moved in spheres that didn't belong to the realms of reality.

            But beautiful? Physically beautiful? Will had never noticed anything supporting that hypothesis. And this was one of the rare instances where the world discovered something about Hannibal before Will had the possibility to guess on his own.

"Do we have to?"

"We don't have to do anything, Will. Not anymore."

"But you want to."

"I would like it."

            Will unfastened his belt with a sigh. What wouldn't he do for Hannibal... Murdering, hiding, running, flesh eating, he had accepted gladly. But partying? Really?

            They both stepped out of the car.

            The Durands' mansion was smaller than their own but closer to the neighborhood. Hannibal's megalomania and Will's antisocial behavior were to blame for that, not that any of them would ever feel bad about it.

            The house in front of them, accessible through a large path of pink stones bordered by red hibiscus, presented an arch entry supporting the weight of the big balcony of the second floor. There were less Corinthian columns and less climbing vine on the white wall than around their own place, but both houses had been thought with the same general aesthetic and the same architectural codes. Even if he had never been there before, Will thought he would have been able to give a fairly close description of the building and its garden.

            In the midst of his reluctant observation, the man heard a rattling on his left, saw a silvery reflection in the periphery of his vision, and extended his hand just in time to catch the car key Hannibal had thrown at him.

"What for?" he asked while pocketing them nonetheless.

            Hannibal was a better driver than Will, and their Bentley - that the Monster had been uncompromising about getting - had nearly exclusively known the soft and precise guidance of Lecter.

"In case you want to hide for a while," Hannibal simply commented.

"I never hid in any of the parties you dragged me to."

"Hiding would be more polite than sighing."

"Oh, and what will you do about my sighing?"

"The same I do for every other flaw of yours. Love it in silence. I am done questioning myself on the reasons for my softness toward you."

            Will smiled with amusement. He had noticed before the fall that Hannibal could tolerate much more from him than he could from the world. And a year or so of domestic life had shown the extent of that tolerance. Who else but him could boast about daily letting the toothpaste tube unscrewed and still live to tell the tale? If he had to be honest, though the first few times it had been a careless mistake, now he would leave it unscrewed on purpose. Just because he liked to remind himself and Hannibal how powerless the Monster was when it came to his empathetic partner. Yes, he had known greater power moves than unscrewing a toothpaste tube, but none nearly as efficient and telling against Hannibal.

"That being said, Will, if you don't want to come, we don't have to. I could drive you home and find some excuse to offer to the Durands. Or you could take the car and I could call you when I need a ride home."

"It's fine. I can survive that. I know it makes you happy, I can make an effort."

"Being with you has the same result."

"It makes you as happy as petits fours, champagne, and discussing leibnizian monadology around people that only vaguely pretend to know what you're talking about? I doubt that."

            His partner laughed it off and both men walked toward the entrance.

            Hannibal, as ever, was dressed in audacious colors. He had chosen for the day a paled turquoise dress shirt, a double-breasted waistcoat of a more vivid cyan hue, decorated with fine, intricate white embroideries shimmering under the sun, a silver buckle in his back to adjust the martingale. The pants he wore were of the same dominant color than the waistcoat, minus the patterns. All in all, the only acknowledgement of the heat and heavy sun was the absence of tie and the first button left open. Never that man seemed to let weather or circonstances have a say in his sense of style. Will didn't know enough to tell if it was a good choice or even acceptable colors to wear, but he still liked them. Not so much for their aesthetic values, but for the amusement they produced. Will had learned to love Hannibal's specific eccentricities, and his vain superficialities. He now enjoyed his husband's lingering glances at every mirror that would cross his path, or his silent twitch of the lips when Will would leave their room with nothing more than a washed-out tee-shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants.

            This time, Graham had offered more efforts with a white shirt opened to mid-chest and light pants, but nowhere near Hannibal’s level. No matter what he was willing to do for his lover, that would never extend to the point of waistcoats in summer, turquoise shirts and flowery patterns.

            The shaded and cooled interior of the Durands' house was a relief even considering the shortness of their walk from their car to the entrance. Yet, the relief was short lived as they were soon greeted by their hosts.

            Monsieur André Durand and Madame Thérèse Durand were Hannibal's favorite neighbors and the oldest member of their small community. Born in Paris nearly 80 years ago, the couple had found each other young, had married each other two months after their first meeting and had lived every day since then together, without any child nor pet to distract themselves from the other's company.

            André and Thérèse had met in an art gallery, Thérèse absorbed by the paintings and André by the people. They had right away decided to mix work with pleasure and had built their business together before reaching their twenty of age. Thérèse would paint, André would sell. Sell at the same price as the originals of which they only had a forgery, yes, but that little habit of theirs had made them very rich, very quickly. At age sixty, after four decades spent eluding the authorities and the white-collar investigators, they had decided to retire. Maybe pushed by the fact that they were on the verge of getting caught, but they were still happy with their decision and had deemed that they deserved a bit of rest. Since then, they had lived here, on an isolated portion of the Cuban coast, and had been very careful about which neighbors they allowed to settle near them. Those who were akin to them, those able to understand that reaching out to authorities would harm them just as much as it would harm the Durands, were welcomed to stay and join them for lunch. Everyone else... Let it just be known that the Durands were rich enough and clever enough to not have to suffer unwanted neighbors. That attitude had created around them quite the community. From thieves to spies, including but not limited to war profiteers, corrupted authorities and grand scale traffickers. There were about a dozen households dispatched along the coast and the forest bordering it. They had different backgrounds, and opposite drives, but two factors gathered them all in a caricature of a community: they were rich enough to live here, and wise enough to know that they couldn't call the cops on their neighbors without also sabotaging their own peaceful retirement plan.

            Will didn't like any of them. Except maybe the Durands. He wouldn't go as far as to say he liked them, but they were surprisingly tolerable. They were witty and acerbic enough to amuse Will with their comments and eccentric yet cordial enough to entertain Hannibal with their company. They were able to maintain conversations on all matters of art and society, but still respected Will's silence and disinterest. And, sometimes, when the Empath was in the mood to listen, they would share some anecdotes from their long, well-filled life, and all of them were always the most interesting moment of any mundane evening. The Durands were no monsters. Their greatest moral flow was their absolute lack of care for the monstrosity of their company. But their life was not shaded by the same darkness, the same painful inhumanity than his own life with Hannibal was. So listening to them explaining how they had fooled this aristocrat or had escaped that carefully planned ambush seemed more like entertaining fiction than harsh reality.

            No, the problem was not the Durand - though Will did think Hannibal was a bit too greedy in his social needs - it was that the party they were currently attending was gathering nearly all the households of their community. Which was far too many people for Will. But Hannibal had wanted to come, and Will knew just how many efforts the man was daily making for him. Even if not necessarily needed, it seemed fair to reward him from time to time.

"Doctor Lecter, Professor Graham, just in time, as always."

            Thérèse kissed Hannibal's cheeks, as was customary in the country where she had grown up, but shook Will's hand, knowing full well that the man would flinch at the mere idea of such a contact. Another reason why the Durands were not all that bad. They were just as good as Hannibal at reading social cues and at being pleasant to their guests and hosts.

"We could use your help, Doctor," commented André right away "I may have been a bit unreasonable about the cooking."

"When there is passion, there is no need for reason. Show me the way, and I will assist you in your unreason."

            And just like that, Hannibal was gone. Yet another damning factor for those parties. Hannibal being the social creature that he was, he couldn't remain still more than a minute before someone would demand his attention, his opinion or his presence. To the point where Will really had no idea why his husband wanted him to come with him in the first place. Clearly, he had more than enough company.

            Thérèse had stayed behind with Will, but she was a woman far too educated and far too intelligent to let awkwardness settle.

"Professor, will you be so kind as to accompany me to the courtyard?"

"Will is more than enough," he mumbled, not for the first time.

"Then Will it is."

            Yet he knew that as soon as Hannibal would be back, the ‘Professor’s would too. Titles were just the Durands' definition of friendly intimacy. Nonetheless, he accompanied the woman to the courtyard.

"So Will, I wanted to ask. What is your expert opinion on our new neighbor?"

"My expert opinion?"

"Your expert opinion. Your layman opinion. Both interest me."

            It was something of a habit inside their joke of a community. For the sake of their own security, they would sometimes lend their skills and experience in order to keep the whole group safe. The corrupted ex politician would keep them informed on the police whereabouts. Their local drug dealer would furnish the needed medicines when trips to the nearest hospital were not conceivable - which was the case most of the time for obvious reasons. And Will was always consulted each time a foreigner was moving in next door. Which was less than twice a year, so it was all in all rather manageable. Especially since it worked well with Hannibal's main purpose among their community, to dispose of threats.

"I have yet to see the guy. I don't have any opinion on him."

"We're in luck that he is here this afternoon, then."

"In luck indeed," Will mocked, unimpressed.

"You may not believe me, but the prime intent of this little gathering we're having here is to have fun and spend good times in good company. Our new neighbor happens to also be there, but it is not what I am most enjoying currently."

            And Will knew Thérèse was sincere. From what he understood, the old lady had never been one to worry about anything. She was too subtle to not have thought about the happy fact that their new neighbor and Will would share the same rooms, but it was very probable that she had organized this whole thing just for the pleasure of company. She, like André, was just too old to give much of a fuck about anything really.

"What is your opinion?" Will asked.

"Oh, I don't have your ability to judge characters, my dear. He seems like a decent fellow. Not the smoothest talker but that is all the extent of the complaint I have so far. I hope you will find nothing more to him."

"You hope? I didn't think you care much about whether or not the newcomers would stick around."

"I do care. Always. But, in this situation, other matters are at stake. We could really use his skills."

"What is he?"

"A hacktivist, from what I gathered."

"A hacktivist? Not just a hacker?"

"Is there a difference? I must admit, I suffer the limits of my generation."

"A hacker is not necessarily a hacktivist. Hacktivism requires moral values and political commitment."

"Either way, I hope he passes your screening."

"I don't s... Doesn't matter."

            They had passed the sliding back door leading to the courtyard and there were outside once again. But the heat was much more tolerable here than it was in the front garden, thanks to the tall walls, and the cooled air coming from the house.

            There were more people than Will had expected. There were only a dozen households and, most of them, like Will and Hannibal, were only made of a couple or a single person, but there were four or five families, and that was enough to fill the space with running children, brooding teens and overexcited pets.

            Pets, Will could deal with them. The noise, the movement and the hypocrite cordiality, not so much. He could suffer a meal with the Durands once a week, but up until then, he had always managed to elude that kind of gathering. Community was just not his thing. And clearly, next time, Hannibal will have to offer more than a "please" and a handjob to get him to come with him.

"May I offer you something to eat?"

            Plates filled with appetizers were being passed from hand to hand among the guests, settling the hungers until a late lunch.

"No thanks," Will answered, simply grabbing a passing glass. "Introduce me to your guy, so I can be done with it."

            The new neighbor - Will hadn't bothered to remember the name - was nothing like he would have expected. A loud, sweaty middle-aged man, with a receding hairline and a passion for Piña Colada. Nothing that Will's cared about so far, but he gradually realized that, not only Thérèse was right about him not being the smoothest of talkers, but he also wasn't the sharpest of tools. He seemed rather slow and distracted, far from the picture Will had of a cyber criminal competent enough to be actively wanted by the world. While probing a bit, Will began to suspect that this man's knowledge in computers was about as extended as his own. Which really wasn't a lot. All things considered, Will's conversation with the guy had been more entertaining than he would have thought. Something had woken up inside him, an old instinct back from when he used to interview suspects. And he knew, without being able to pinpoint it exactly, that this man was not what he tried to appear to be. In a community made exclusively of criminals and monsters, this man was guilty of his innocence.

"So?" had asked Thérèse, once the new neighbor had excused himself to go look for the toilets. "Do you think he could be a threat?"

‘Threat’ was a large world that covered a lot of very different situations, yet Will knew this man could not be defined by that word at all. Yet, he remained cautious.

"I need to know a bit more."

"Of course, we have all the time in the world. When you do have an opinion, I hope you will share it. In the meantime, please enjoy the party! We are about to set the tables for dinner."

            As Thérèse left, Will noticed Hannibal was certainly done with helping André and had joined the guests in the courtyard. Seated on the stone rim of the main fountain, he seemed to be in deep conversation with a woman Will had only rarely seen so far. ‘Deep conversation’ was maybe not the right description. It seemed like Hannibal was closely and respectfully listening to the woman's monologue and the Empath could guess by the way her eyes were strangely vague and her fingers were twisting themselves that it was important and intimate matters. For her at least.

            That was something that Will could still not understand. How could everyone here know what Hannibal was, and still run to him to confide their secrets and ask for his guidance. It wasn’t like the Monster had changed in any way. Lecter would still daily use this intimate knowledge to serve his own entertainment and twisted sense of irony. But that would not prevent anyone from throwing their intimacy at Hannibal's feet at the first occasion.

            Will decided his presence wasn't needed in this conversation, and chose to resume his little investigation. Talking to the new guy, trying to learn the truth had reminded him of what he used to like in police work and he now wanted to get to the bottom of this. Surely, André and Thérèse had been thorough in their gathering of information. Someone like this new neighbor could certainly not maintain such an identity if it didn't have some truth to it. Will's best guest was that there was a hacker in this man’s life, willing to lend him their reputation. And maybe someone not that far from him.

            From their discussion, Graham had learned that he had a wife and a daughter, it wouldn't hurt to get to know them a bit more. Just enough to be sure the opinion he was about to give to Thérèse was a reliable one.

            By the time he decided to try to spot the wife and daughter, the table had been set, and everyone was slowly walking to their assigned seat. Will quickly joined Hannibal near the central table. The Doctor smiled at him and his hand naturally found the small of Will's back.

"I am nearly certain I saw you socialize."

"Just helping Thérèse out. Tell me, can you spot the new neighbors? I am not sure I can tell them apart from the old ones."

"We have been living here for a year, Will."

"And?"

            Hannibal didn't answer. He simply let his amusement be known and looked around.

"The husband would be at the table closest to the gold duranta arch and the wife... There she is, near the buffet."

"Blue dress?"

"Yes."

"What about the daughter?"

            Hannibal looked around a second time.

"I can't see her anywhere."

"That's odd. We're about to eat."

"She could be with the others."

"With the others? Which others?"

"The other teenagers that are not here currently. I can't find... The Ecsicson daughter nor the Asher twins."

            Graham had absolutely no idea who those people could possibly be. Had they really been living near their house for the past year?

"Ok, I'll see if I can find them in the house."

"Can't it wait until after the meal?"

"It can. But it doesn't have to. I'm sure you will survive my absence."

"Survive doesn't mean appreciate."

"No whims. You have my presence every other second of your life. I think you'll manage. It shouldn't take me long. She is inside, or she is not. And unless she is doing something directly harmful to us, I won't even talk to her."

"Why would she be doing something harmful?"

"I don't think the father is the hacker he says he is."

"You think the daughter could be?"

"Or the wife. I'll find out. But I want to make sure she is not currently doing anything that could jeopardize us. She could be working for someone outside."

"If she is with the other girls, I don't think she can be doing much harm. The twins especially don't strike me as kids who could want to hurt their parents."

"They are teens, Hannibal. Of course, they could hurt their parents."

"As you wish. But please, don't deprive me too much of your presence. I would rather see this community collapse than wait too long for your return."

            Hannibal chastely kissed Will's cheek and walked toward his seat beside Thérèse. Graham, as for him, chased away from his mind his lover's last sentence, and entered the house.

            He didn't really know if he was so adamant about checking the house because he craved to investigate, because he was worried for their safety or simply because he wanted a way out from the party. That was the beauty of living with Hannibal. He didn't need to know before acting anymore. He would simply do what he felt like doing, and Hannibal would come afterward, applauding his achievements and cleaning his messes. The Cannibal had been a complicated story, and a painful relationship, but since the fall, he had made his life an easy and peaceful haven. The Doctor had been right from the beginning. Will just had to be true to himself for his life to gain its meaning.

            The first floor was quickly checked. Will knew all the rooms from his numerous previous visits, and no one had remained inside. As he made his way upstairs, it caught it right away. The warm smell of cigarettes coming from the main study.

            Maybe it was nothing more. Just girls being teenagers. That didn't mean Will was wrong about thinking the daughter may have something to do with her father’s false identity, but she could lie about that while being genuine about her will to be a part of their weird community.

            In order to be certain that it was indeed the girls in the room and not someone else sneaking away from the party, Will slowly opened the door, just enough to have a look inside. He had absolutely no desire to interrupt any ongoing conversation, so he remained carefully outside of the room.

            Yes, he could indeed see four girls sitting near the main window, all of them around sixteen, a half empty pack of cigarettes in the hand of one of them. Now that he could see them, he could indeed recognize the twin kids of the couple of spies next door. And one of the other two girls had to be the new neighbor's daughter. Will would have to find a way to talk to her at some point, before giving his opinion to Thérèse, but that could wait a day or two. For now, he only wanted to let the group at their own counter-party and find a new excuse to enjoy some more time alone inside, before joining everyone else in the courtyard. He had already silently closed the door when he heard it through the wood.

"I'd say Lecter."

            When he had taken a look, the four girls had been sitting in silence and Will had guessed they were simply lost in their thoughts. But he now understood that they were actually all waiting for the answer of one of them. And, though he didn't know the question that had been asked, the answer of it had been ‘Lecter’.

            He honestly had no desire to spy on that conversation. It was four teen girls smoking behind their parents' back, Will had no interest in anything they had to say, and thought it better if they were allowed some privacy. Yet they had pronounced his husband's name, making this conversation one that Will now had to listen to. Or at least just enough to guess what it was roughly about.

"Really?" another girl reacted.

            Will remained there, his hand flat against the wood of the closed door, ready to leave at the second he would receive more information.

"Yeah, of course. Why so surprised?"

"I don't know. The guy is like super old."

"He is not super old. I've slept with guys way older."

            It was a lie. The vagueness of the voice and the vanity of the tone were telling on their own, Will didn't have to see her to know that whoever had said that had shamelessly lied to impress her friends.

"Really? How is it?"

"It's nice. They have experience."

"It's really his age that's bothering you?" a new voice exclaimed.

"Well, he is old."

"He is also like a serial killer and a cannibal, isn't he? He’s that Lecter, isn’t he? Isn't that a bit more of a deal breaker than his age?"

"Oh, it's because you're new here."

"How's that relevant?"

"Give it a week or two. You'll forget it in no time."

"You're kidding right?"

"He is not the worst. Phin's dad stuffs all his hunting kills and displays them in their garden. I swear it's so creepy!”

“But, even if Lecter is not the worst,” resumed the voice that had reacted on the age, “how can you say him?"

"Why not?"

"You can have sex with any guy at this party, and you're chosing Lecter?"

"Why not?" the first girl asked again

"But why, though?"

"He is good looking. And he has such a nice smile. And what can I say, low voices do the trick for me. Last week, it was Monday or whatever, I saw him swimming near the creek and the guy’s ripped!"

"He doesn't look like he is."

"I swear though. That guy's shoulders... He can eat whoever he wants, that's not on that that my focus will be."

"Yeah... I don't know... That wouldn't be the one I'd go with."

"No but seriously, tell me one guy that is more good looking than Lecter in the neighborhood."

"Uh... I don't know... Phineas?"

"Phin' is a baby! He is like sixteen or something."

"You are sixteen."

"Yeah, but he is a boy. They are not as mature as us. So? One man, and I mean a real man, that is more good looking."

"I don't know... Khela?"

"Well, ask me again in a week or two. Because right now, I just can't get over the fact that you're simping for a guy who eats other guys."

"I am not simping. Just visually appreciating."

            Will could have laughed it all off if he was not so careful not to be noticed. Leaving the girls to their private discussion, he silently walked away and walked down the stairs. Though the content of the conversation had deeply surprised him, he had to admit it was nothing to worry about. As a matter of fact, the new neighbor's daughter - Khela, he had gathered from the conversation - was a bit too quick to argue against the other girls to be someone trying to infiltrate their community. He just had to talk to the mother to make sure it wasn't her but the daughter who was the wanted criminal, and then he could tell Thérèse that the newcomers were not an immediate danger to them. Quite the contrary. They had a daughter to protect, they needed the safety they could only find here.

            Having nearly solved this question, Will had nothing left in his mind other than the discussion he had just heard.

"You seem very amused."

            The Empath had returned to the courtyard and had discreetly regained his place by his husband's side.

"The things one can hear, I swear."

            If Hannibal had more questions, he didn't ask them, knowing full well that Will would have said more if he had wanted to.

            And Will only felt like talking about it hours later, well into the night, as the afternoon party was simply a recent memory already fading in the vagueness of his disinterest.

            The large Palladian window of their room was open, letting the nocturnal breeze and darkness enter in waves and cool their warm skins. They were bringing with them the distant citric smell from the avenue of orange trees bordering their property, with a singular sweet note from the skin of the fruits having been burnt under the sun all day long. They were in the middle of the night and could barely see each other, but the lingering smell of summer and warmth was perfuming the air between them.

"You know one of the girls has a crush on you?"

            Hannibal was laying on his back, his breath still a bit short from their earlier activities, and his eyes already closed in pure satiety. Will, as for him, was resting on his side, one arm over Lecter's body the other folded under the pillow to enjoy the last bits of residual freshness trapped between the linens.

"And which ‘girls’ are we currently talking about?"

"Don't remember their name. The ones that were missing during lunch. Turns out they were having quite the conversation in the study. One of them - not the new girl, nor the two twins, the fourth one - has quite the crush on you."

"Mmh."

            That was all the extent of Hannibal's answer. An acknowledgement of his understanding. Nothing more.

"That's all?"

            Hannibal cracked an eye open and slightly turned his head toward Will.

"What would you have me doing?"

"Maybe react to the information."

            Hannibal closed his eye again and sighed deeply, as much out of disinterest as out of content.

"She is far too young for me to have any desire to use that information. It wouldn't be entertaining to play with that."

"So, you don't think anything of it."

"Simply that she finally has something to share with that mother she can't bear."

"The mother."

"You have not noticed?"

"Notice what?"

            This time, Hannibal opened his eyes fully.

"Well, her mother."

"I don't even know who her mother is."

            He detailed Will's face for a couple of seconds, as if he was trying to spot a lingering trace of dishonesty, and when he found none, he let a smile twist his lips in adoration.

"Oh, Will," he whispered while carefully caressing his lover's forehead under his wet strands of hair, "I always thought myself to be someone out of this world but you show me daily how wrong I was, and how disconnected someone can really be with a bit of effort and a pronounced social anxiety."

"Are you done mocking me?"

"I have never once mocked you, Will. Adoration can never accommodate belittlement."

            Hannibal gently replaced some loose hair to frame Will's face and then rested his hand on top of the arm Will had put around him.

"The mother is infatuated."

"With you?"

"Don't say it with such surprise in your tone. Or if you do, don't blame any mockery on me. And yes. With me. Her husband is a mediocre man, really. And her first love has been a destructive and unloving one. I am beyond what she has settled for in her life."

"And she really finds you attractive?"

"Again with the surprise, Will."

            Hannibal finally rolled on his side, facing Will, his red eyes shining with amusement in the darkness of the room.

"You don't find me attractive, Will?"

"I think that, tonight alone, I proved enough that I do find you attractive."

"You proved it several times in a row. Tonight alone. Then why is it so surprising to you that others could share your tastes?"

            Carefully, Will moved his hand from Hannibal's ribs to his face. With the tips of his fingers, he caressed the exposed cheek, following the curves of the bones. Sometimes, as he was caressing his lover, a strange, debilitating fear would squeeze his lungs. He would fear, for a second, that his mere touches, as light as they were, would break the skin already too stretched by the gigantism of the entity it enclosed. He would fear that Hannibal's skin would tear on its own in long, harsh cracks. He would dream of it often. Behind his eyes, the skin would crack and Hannibal's being would finally adopt its real size, escaping the too small body in volutes of black, heavy smoke and darkening the whole world around Will like a blanket thrown over the sky. Except that, in Will's dreams, it was not frightening. It was a beauty whose loss he would mourn in the morning.

"I do find you attractive, Hannibal," he resumed, his voice as soft as his touch, "but what I find attractive, I don't think anyone but me is able to see it."

            Just like the Virgin Mary had screamed at the sight of Gabriel, if anyone were to see Hannibal how he was, how he really was, in his full beauty, they would scream and weep and pray.

"They may not see what you see," admitted Hannibal. "But they see something else."

"What, then?"

"My looks."

"What about them?"

"They are often deemed quite pleasing to the eye."

            Will squinted his eyes but, this time, he didn't voice his surprise. Though Hannibal had no trouble spotting it.

"That woman, like some other souls living around us, is physically attracted to me."

"Why?"

"Why is anyone ever attracted to anything?"

            Hannibal closed the distance between them, and Will could now feel the breath of his lover's words against his own lips

"They love how I look. They love how I sound. They love how I smell."

            Hannibal's hand traveled up Will's arm, his fingers brushing over the skin just enough to ignite it.

"If they knew what it is like, they would love how I feel."

            The elusive breath against Will's mouth was finally replaced by Hannibal's lips, just long enough for a gentle kiss.

"And they would love how I taste."

            Hannibal backed away, forcing a respectable distance between them, as if he was done with his demonstration and was now ready to take the questions from the audience.

"I can be attractive to all senses" he ultimately concluded. "If I so wish to be."

"And when you don't?"

"I always do. The conflicted morality behind lust has been a theme explored by the greatest tragedists since antiquity. And I have always been a theater enthusiast."

"So, you're saying that you're a fucking tease. Basically."

            Hannibal chuckled lightly, his laugh coated in sleep.

"Basically."

            Will rolled on his back.

            The ceiling was hidden behind the shadows, and he detailed the void above his head for several minutes.

"Maybe," he finally concluded to himself after the long reflection.

            Then some words Hannibal had chosen earlier came back to him.

"Some other souls? How many souls are we talking about?"

            But his lover was already lost to Morpheus, and Will simply let it go.

            Until the next morning as it was the first conscious thought that hit his mind.

            At the second he felt Hannibal moving next to him, ready to get out of their marital bed, the urge to interrupt the motion weighted imperiously on his shoulders and chest.

"Wait," Will mumbled against his pillow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said wait."

            Hannibal, in the middle of his momentum to get up, stopped himself, unsure of what Will wanted exactly.

"Wait for what?"

"Me."

            After that sole word, Will closed his eyes again and rubbed his face against the pillow, trying to dissipate the remnants of sleep. Once he felt closer to consciousness, he opened his eyes fully. Hannibal was still on the bed, his back against the headboard, his eyes expectantly on his lover.

            Will didn't rush though; he knew Hannibal's patience was one of the few endless things in this universe.

            He finally straightened up and, pushing the blanket aside, he sat on Hannibal's thighs, his knees framing his hips, facing the man now in front of him.

            A few seconds of absolute silence followed before Hannibal spoke again.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"I'm looking at you."

"I have noticed that much. My question was more about... what you are looking for."

"Other's projections. Now, could you stop talking please. I need to focus."

            It wasn't a question, and it wasn't polite. Will was rarely in a talkative mood, but, in the morning, he would never even try to pretend.

            Thankfully for him, Hannibal had always indulged his moods and his whims. The Cannibal stopped talking and, his eternal, unwavering amusement brightening his eyes, he let Will at his visual exploration.

            The Empath remembered what Hannibal had said to him the night before. And yes, his scent was one of the first things that stood out if one were close enough to the Monster. Hannibal smelled... good.

            Will was not knowledgeable in perfume. He never knew how to describe them. But if he had to try... He would say that it was heady. Hannibal's natural smell was subtle yet, once it was noticed, it would go straight to the head and chase the thoughts away. It was nearly impossible to describe it accurately. He didn't smell like anything Will could objectively define. But he smelled like largeness and freedom. Like vast nocturnal skies and cliffs battered by the winds and the waves. ‘Misty’ and ‘sharp’ would be words Hannibal would use. Will, as for him, would simply say ‘nice’.

            Hannibal's hair had slightly greyed since the very first time they had met. But blond locks could still be found hidden behind the darker ones, covering a palette from amber to black. Every single strand was always in its exact place, never suffering the slightest mess. It was something that Will had never managed with his own anarchic curls.

            The Empath's eyes fell from the hair to the face of the monster. There was a lot to be seen there. Maybe too much. There was a harshness and a violence there. It was made of curves and edges, no softness was to be found. Arrogance could be read in the very bone structure of the face, the lips standing out as if daring to be kissed and bite. A provocation Will had often answered to. The jaw, powerful and precisely defined under the skin, could be considered beautiful, but Will couldn't see it without remembering how it had closed on the Dragon's throat, like the wildest of beasts. Which didn't mean Will didn't find it beautiful. Quite the contrary. Simply that he didn't know what others could see there.

            Will's exploration continued toward lands that were mostly for his eyes alone. Hannibal's habit to overdress and overlayer was leaving a lot to imagination, and very few people had seen the Monster's body. Among those very few people, a teenage girl who was right in her description. Hannibal was ripped. In an uneven fashion that showed that this body was the result of a life of action rather than an effort at beauty. His waist was slender, even more so than Will's despite their height difference. The Cannibal was very careful with what was entering his body and always in strangely small quantities.

"Exceptionality fades in recurrence," had been his only answer when Will had questioned him about the limited appetite.

            But more than simple thinness, his waist seemed even more slender thanks to the largesse of his chest and shoulders, the skin sticking to them and revealing with precision their shapes and their dances.

            The skin itself, it was marred with scars. His life was written all over his dermis. Mason's brand was just one among many. Some painful ones from his childhood, some formative ones from his teenagehood and some sublimating ones from his adulthood. Hannibal had two layers to cover himself and if his clothes were telling of his elegance, his skin was revealing his violence. Most of them, Will didn't know where they came from. He didn't have to in order to understand the general pattern. But he had his favorite. The long twin ones on Hannibal's wrists, where Will's anger had befell by proxy. For others, those who didn't know better, they were telling of a sadness Hannibal had never felt. But for the Empath who knew their story, they were proof of their journey, of the ground they had conquered together. They were possibly the most beautiful part of Hannibal's body. However, Will wondered what others could see there. Would they find beauty and poetry too in the plethora of scars and vestiges. Maybe they could. In order to see all of them, one had to look. They would have to search, and touch and taste the skin. Without close inspection, not much was visible apart from Mason's brand and the Admirer's Christic souvenirs. Even the bullet wound from the Dragon had mostly faded and blended with the complexion of the skin.

            Will finally backed away, done with his exploration. And ready to reach a conclusion.

            He himself had never been attracted to men, but he guessed that, if someone was mistaking Hannibal for a man, then yes... Maybe he could be deemed good looking. Though, if one were to ask Will how Hannibal was, he would have to name a hundred of adjectives before eventually stumbling upon this one.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

            Hannibal must have noticed that Will's demeanor or focus had changed.

"You said other souls?"

"I beg your pardon."

"You said other souls were infatuated."

"I did say that, indeed."

"How many?"

"Does it matter?"

            Will didn't answer, he simply waited for Hannibal with the same patience Hannibal had while waiting for him.

"I don't keep a count. Some. You know, you would have that kind of attention too, if our neighbors knew you existed."

"I don't seek that kind of attention."

"I don't either. I just merely enjoy it when it occurs."

"And how do you enjoy it?"

            Hannibal tenderly laughed at Will's suspicious puzzlement.

"There is no need to worry, Will. Your feelings are the only one I enjoy reciprocating. As for other's feelings, I simply enjoy stirring and poking at them and seeing how they exist in this world."

"One day, it's gonna backfire."

"You say that as if it was a bad thing."

            Seeing Hannibal in a tee-shirt was a sight to behold. Well, not a tee-shirt, really. It was a polo shirt, if one wanted to be precise. Yet it was nearly just as rare. Hannibal was not one for short sleeves and single layers. But Will had forced him into one. They had to go into the city, and they had to blend in. And, no Hannibal, an emerald green plaid waistcoat was not a discreet attire.

            Will had wanted him to wear one of those "I love Cuba" tourist t-shirts, but he knew Hannibal would have divorced him the exact second the words would have left his mouth. Instead, Will was the one wearing the tee-shirt and cap of the perfect tourist and Hannibal, after hard negotiations, had settled for a cotton pique Luca Faloni polo shirt and rose gold Randolph Aviator sunglasses to make his wanted face less recognizable. And yes, Will had rolled his eyes at the outfit. Several times.

"It costs more than the fucking car we're driving."

"It certainly does not."

"The point is to not be noticed. It doesn't matter how fashionable it is or if whether or not the cotton is from Egypt."

"It matters to me. More than going back to prison."

"More than me going back to prison?"

"Absolutely."

            And Will had rolled his eyes once again. But, in the end, they were able to walk the streets of La Habana without being glanced at or noticed by anyone.

"Is what we are currently doing really that vital, Will?"

"Why are you even asking the question?"

"Because I wonder."

"If the guy has reached his friend and talked to them, then we're done."

"Exactly. Either he has been able to, and there is nothing we can do to change that fact. Either he hasn't and he is now far too dead to cause us any problem."

"If we are discovered, they will raid our house before the day ends. We need to know if we have to run or not."

            The conversation stopped on its track as they stopped in front of the Gran Hotel Manzana Kempins. It was exactly the kind of place where Will had thought he would never set a foot in. Possibly the most expensive hotel in the city, maybe of the country, the white walls of the tall building were shimmering under the sun and creating the very peculiar halo that came with unmeasured luxury. It was inside the city itself, but surrounded by breathtaking historical buildings, so much so that, if one were able to have access to the swimming pool on the rooftop, then they would enjoy one of the best views of the city. In Will and Hannibal's case, they didn't even enter the building, staying carefully outside, in one of the alleys perpendicular to the main artery.

"If dear old Richard has been able to reach his friend then we need to kill them too. With a bit of luck, the information has not been used yet."

            They had screwed up. Mostly, Will had screwed up. They had spotted Richard Waxen about two weeks ago. Will had noticed him right away. The glint in his eyes, the dilatation of his nostril, his small twitches when young boys were passing by. Will had been absolutely sure. At the second Richard had entered his vision, he had known this one was bad enough for him to feel good about killing.

            Hannibal had asked him to wait. To make sure to know him fully before deciding how to act according to his judgment. But Will hadn't. He had anticipated the joy and the fulfilment, and hadn't felt like dealing with Hannibal's slowness on this one.

            It had been a problem between them before. They had talked about it and had yet to solve it. Hannibal was painfully slow, painfully unmoving. He never acted on his urges right away. Every single need, or desire, or thought crossing his mind had first to be denied, then submitted and then only, there was a possibility that Hannibal would do something about them.

"I don't have pulsions, Will. I have ideas. And I don't need to act on all of them."

            It wasn't out of cautiousness, nor out of uncertainty. It was simply that Hannibal wasn't eager. Killing was not a drug, it was a fine meal. There was never any necessity to it.

"Length is power, Will. My slowness is the result of the world's inability to force a rythme upon me."

            But Will didn't feel like waiting three years like he knew the Ripper could easily do. So he had tailed the guy. And he had been spotted. It was his fault really. Hannibal would have never made such an easy mistake and he would have never let the prey run away. Yet, when Will had come to him and explained everything, he hadn't offered the slightest reproach, hadn't voiced the well-deserved mockery. He had simply stood up, buttoned up his suit, and had followed Will outside. After that, they had found the guy quickly enough and, in no time, he had fallen under Lecter's efficient hands. And that had been at this moment that Richard had told them about his friend.

            The one with whom he was in Cuba. The one he had called after he had recognized Will Graham behind him. The one that he could still call to say he had been mistaken if they decided to let him go.

            Hannibal had killed him off. He didn't bargain, he didn't settle. And now, they had to deal with the friend problem.

            And of course, this friend had to be the husband of a US ambassadress.

"You're sure he was telling the truth? When he said he had called his friend. I mean, I’m supposed to be dead, he may not have even recognized me before seeing you. He couldn't have been lying?"

            Will had asked the question without letting the entrance door out of his side. If their prey could simply walk out of the building, that would help solve some of their problems.

"I don't know."

"Really? I thought you could hear heartbeats and smell anxiety."

"I can. But he was holding his bowels in his hands. He had other reasons to sound and smell like panic than a simple lie. Had he lied or had he said the truth, that would have hardly changed anything to the chemical production of his brain."

"Nice. Perfect."

"In any case, we need to enter the hotel."

"But if he doesn't know already that we are in Cuba, and if he sees and recognizes us, then we will be screwing up our life on our own. If the dead guy lied, then we have to stay away from the living guy."

"I didn't say we should meet the ambassadress' husband. Simply that we should enter the hotel."

            Will turned away from the entrance to face Hannibal.

"What do you have in mind, exactly."

"Well, we do know for sure he called his friend. His phone told us that much."

"Yes, but we don't know what they talked about. We don't know for sure he recognized me before seeing you. And "someone is following me" is not the same at all as "Will Graham is alive and in Cuba". We can deal with the police looking for Richard Waxen. But not with Interpol coming for us."

"Actually we can deal with both. But that is beside the point. Think about the phone’s history. We know that he called his friend who has not picked up and then that he tried for the hotel and only then he has been answered."

"And?"

"That means that one of the employees has redirected the call to the room."

"Again, and?"

"If no one has picked up the phone, this employee would know. If the call has not been redirected at all, this employee would also know. They won't be able to tell us what has been said, but if nothing has been said at all, if the two men have been unable to reach each other, we would know there is no need to go after the Ambassador."

"And how do you plan on getting that information?"

"My love, you would be surprised how much information can be obtained by simply asking."

"Asking for the phone’s record?"

"Just wait here."

"Why?"

"Because your manners can sometimes be lacking. And I say that with all the fondness in the world."

            Hannibal made sure his sunglasses were on the top of his nose, completely occluding his eyes, and, without any other explanation, he walked toward the hotel.

            Will knew better than to question Hannibal's efficiency. The wait, on the other hand, did not bring Will the same amount of confidence. He knew that hotels like this one had fierce security and Hannibal had nothing to hide his identity but a ridiculously fancy pair of sunglasses that would attract more attention that it would deflect. Will's imagination was still as fertile as ever and he couldn't help but play in his mind endless catastrophic scenarios, all variations of the same theme: Hannibal being gruesomely overpowered, possibly beaten to death.

            Having an intimate knowledge of Hannibal's body was truly helping his imagination to create breathtakingly realistic pictures in his head. The fact was that Will knew exactly how Hannibal would look, dead and broken.

            He knew how his bones would bend, how his blood would reflect the light, how his eyes would darken and how his skin would tear. The images were popping into Will's mind on their own, jumping on the front stage, photo bombing every other thoughts like farcical buffoons of nightmares.

            Only one thing put an end to that ever-going parade: Hannibal walking out of the hotel thirty minutes later, with a white piece of paper and a smile. Will couldn't help but blame him for being well and relaxed when he had been left outside under the sun and the weight of his imagination.

"Thirty minutes? Are you serious? I was this close to just storm in and save your ass.

"You know, Will, your anxiety is taking a heavy toll on your quality of life. Do you want to work on that issue with me? Therapy could give you tools to better deal with it."

"Fuck off, how about that?"

            Hannibal finally arrived by his side and took off his glasses.

"Our dear Richard called before his death indeed, but his friend refused to pick up. The reception told Richard his friend wasn't there. So, it was indeed a daring bluff from our playmate. He deserved his death to his last action."

"How did you get that information?"

"I asked."

"And they told you?"

"I also smiled, listened, supported and, yes, maybe, lied a bit. Next church on our path, I will confess and absolve myself of that great sin."

"Listened and supported?"

"The lovely lady at the reception had quite a lot on her heart. I believe she found in me a trustworthy figure that could listen to her. We shared a meaningful moment of honesty, even if it was an unreciprocated one."

"What matters is that we now know it's safe. We can keep the house."

"A relief. It is quite the architectural wonder."

"What with the paper?"

            Hannibal looked down on the paper between his hands. It was small and folded, having been carelessly torn from what seemed to be an official looking paper, judging by the logo Will could spot on the corner. It was not Hannibal's work. His husband would have been so careful in the tearing it would have been undetectable.

"She gave it to me."

            Will took the piece of paper from his husband's hands and looked at it. A phone number written in purple ink.

"Really?"

"I said it was meaningful for her."

"Did you flirt with her?"

"I smiled. And I was kind. That gave us our information and put your mind at ease."

"Can't deny that."

            Will folded the paper and threw it in the nearest bin.

"Put your glasses on, we're going home."

            Will thought the whole story was behind him. He had messed up, Hannibal had cleaned up, there was nothing to add. It was a common occurrence between them, and more than once Will had fixed issues nothing but Hannibal's chaoticism had created. All in all, it was nothing to overthink, even for someone as good at dwelling as Will.

            Therefore, if one were to tell the story fairly and accurately, they would have to state that Will was not the one who had started it. And not the one who had escalated it to the point of lunacy.

            They were two days only after the Richard incident and Will had already forgotten about it. The day had finally been a bit kinder to them, after a week of suffocating heat. Will had enjoyed the most of it, taking his boat out, and working on their garden without having to soak himself in the pool every two minutes to fight off the nasty bite of the summer.

            He had spent the day outside, leaving Hannibal to tend to his usual housework, cleaning, cooking, washing and every other domestic matters that Hannibal handled with efficiency and good will. Therefore, though the day had been uneventful, it had also been long and tiring for the both of them.

            That evening, after his shower, Will came into their conjugal room, the hair still damp from the water, a bath towel around his neck. Hannibal was sitting on their bed, already under the blanket, his back against the numerous pillows. He had his tablet in his hands, and was scrolling through what Will guessed to be academic papers. What was more visually interesting, and that Will enjoyed every single time, was the round glasses he had on his nose, that he would only wear for long late reading to protect his eyes from the blue lights of the screen. Seeing him like that, sitting on the bed, the blanket to his waist, glasses on his nose and nothing but a light pajama on his back, it was a sight Will could never truly get over. Every single time, it was producing the exact same effect.

            That hardly-man, that Monster really, in such a domestic, casual situation. Reading for a while before bed, laying next to him under the blanket, maybe saying a couple of words about his day, that would have been unthinkable at the beginning of their life together. Mostly because, at that time, they couldn't be near each other without their hands and their mouths all over the other's skin. And because they couldn't talk to the other about anything else than veneration, deity, death and poetry.

            Now, things had settled down. That didn't mean they had cooled down. Hannibal and Will would always take each other in any room of their house, at any time of the day, in any position they could think of, if they so wished to. But their veneration for each other had finally found its place and it was now a background litany. Constant, undeniable, but there to support other divine words. Sometimes it would burst to the front of their heart through overwhelming chorus, and Will loved those moments, but they also had space for much more than veneration.

            It had taken them so much time. Nearly six months. Six months before their first trip to the grocery store together. Six months before Will would ask if Hannibal had seen his blue shirt. Six months before their first discussion about which color to paint a room. Six months before they would lie down in their bed at night, each to their reading, their hands tightly intertwined until sleep came for them.

            And, in Will's eyes, this domestic intimacy was obscener than any creative pleasures they had inflicted upon each other.

            That was something only Will had seen from Hannibal, only him had enjoyed. Hannibal had gutted other people before. He had fucked other men and other women. He had even already fallen in love with all his heart. But never had he been domestic. That belonged to Will's appreciation only.

            That was probably the reason why Will felt so deeply insulted and so profoundly attacked when, after having sat down on the bed and having grabbed his own book for the evening, he heard the characteristic sound of an incoming text message.

            No one texted them. They were called sometimes. At least, Hannibal was. By neighbors asking for his company or his medical expertise. But always during the day. Or, if it was an urgency, maybe in the middle of the night, but always through phone calls. Hannibal was a texter only for Will, and only to indulge his asocial whims.

            His suspicion triggered, not knowing yet what it was about, Will turned to Hannibal.

            His husband had put the tablet down on his lap, and Will could see that it had indeed been an academic paper, with graphs too boring and colors too tepid to have been made by anyone other than a worn out and lonely doctor of some dismissed field of hyperspecific study.

            The kind of thing only Hannibal could survive through and even – which was worse – enjoy. Yet he had put it aside right away to reach for his phone charging on the bedside table. Stating clearly that the text deserved more attention than their quiet domestic moment of reading. Will put down his own book to watch the screen of his husband's phone. Any healthy couple would have drawn the line at that, but Hannibal and Will were not an healthy couple, and Will considered that the good Doctor had done far worse to him than reading over his shoulder.

            Will noticed right away that the phone number was unknown to him. It didn't mean Hannibal didn't know it, though, as his husband would never register any numbers on his device, keeping them in a corner of his mind instead.

            Yet, before asking if it was anyone they knew, Will read the text carefully:

***

Hello stranger!

I've been thinking a lot about you, lately. It was really nice getting to talk with you the other day. I thought we could maybe see each other again, sometime soon, if you're up for it. A drink or something.

Let me know anyway, and I hope you had a nice day!

***

***

Btw, it's Ophelia! Sorry!

***

***

And sorry for the late hour also. But that's when we're the bravest, lol

***

            It took Will several unreal minutes to understand what it was about and connect what he had just read to the event of the past days.

"Wait... You gave her your number too? Your real number?"

"Of course, I did."

            Without answering the text, Hannibal turned off the screen of his phone and put it back on his bedside table before resuming his reading of the article.

"But... Why?"

            Will couldn't let go of it as easily, though. He was fixing the tablet between Hannibal's hands as if it was the phone and the texts were still there to be read.

"I was curious what was going to happen," Hannibal stated without looking away from his paper. "You see, she is actually already in a relationship. With the textbook definition of a toxic partner. For her, I represented both a dangerous temptation and a reassuring alternative. I wanted to know what she was going to do. Reach out to me and having to struggle with the fear of being caught by her partner and the twisted guilt of not being the perfect victim. Or let go of the idea of me, which means accepting her doom and settling for unfulfillment and unsafety."

            Hannibal turned to Will, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"The irony of it is, of course, the fact that I represent a safer future for her."

            Will was miles away from sharing that amusement, and Hannibal realized it right away.

"You. Gave. Your. Number." he tried to keep his blossoming emotion in check and failed miserably.

"How would I have known what she had chosen if I hadn't."

"You must be fucking kidding me!"

            Will stood up from the bed, and walked to the window, as if getting away from Hannibal would also get him away from his growing anger.

"I don't plan on answering, Will. If that is what’s concerning you. I was just curious what she was going to do. I now have my answer. There is nothing left for me to care about."

"This is even worse actually!"

"I will be honest, here. I don't see the reason for your distress."

            Will would have certainly punched him if Hannibal had been just a bit closer.

"Distress?"

"It seems like it to me."

            Will walked to the window, then to the door, then to the window again, trying to get a hold of himself. He knew that the worst thing that one could do against Hannibal was to let emotions outscream reason. Both were useful against the Monster, but both had to be listened to equally, and none could rule over the mind.

"My wrath, Hannibal. My fucking wrath. Do you really need me to list its reasons?"

"I don't need to but I would like it."

"First of all, your phone number is information that can lead to our exposure. You gave it away without even telling me."

            Hannibal's lips twitched but he said nothing. Had Will been calmer, he would have certainly guessed that Hannibal had thought about that on his own and had proceeded only because it was safe to do so. But he wasn't calm enough. And Hannibal didn't say a word, certainly judging it was better to let Will speak his mind out for now.

"Secondly, you were talking to her in order to find a way to keep us safe. That’s what you were supposed to be doing. It was a critical moment, and I can't believe you used it for your own sense of twisted fun!"

            Will knew it wasn't the true reason. He knew everything he had said and everything he was about to say would be nowhere near the real roots of his anger. But he himself wasn't quite sure where this anger was coming from. And he found that dwelling on it was actually painful, it was creating a burning sensation in his chest that he simply couldn't deal with at this moment.

"Thirdly, getting a blast out of a girl trapped in a toxic relationship, that’s goddamn low. Even for you."

            This time, Hannibal didn't remain silent.

"What are we, Will?"

            Will was taken aback by the direct question that he hadn't expected.

"What do you mean?"

"What I said."

"I don't understand your fucking question!" he exclaimed with frustration.

            Hannibal took off his glasses and neatly placed them on the bedside table before turning all his attention on Will.

"What do you think we are, if we are not toxic?"

"What? It's not the same at all! And you know it!"

"It is the same."

            Hannibal stood up from the bed and walked toward Will. Slowly. Hannibal was always slow and ineluctable. It didn't calm Will's anger but it did force it to step in an all new rhythm.

"I don't insult you," Hannibal continued. "I don't disrespect you. I don't disregard you. I don't lie to you. On the other hand, I gutted you."

            He was now a few inches away from Will, his long silhouette towering over his.

"I brought a lot to you, Will. And I will continue to bring a lot. But among all the offerings I will lay at your feet, safety won't be found."

            Hannibal's hand slowly bridged the space between them, and he caressed Will's cheek with adoration. His touch alone was burning the Empath's skin. A memory of the touch they had shared, years ago, in the kitchen in Baltimore, just before the apotheosis of blood.

            Another apotheosis of matching violence was on its way, Will could tell.

"Tell me the truth, Hannibal."

"I always do."

"Did you give that number to mess with the girl, or to mess with me."

"With the girl. But, you always reveal yourself to be the most entertaining and the most surprising element of any situation."

"Don't play with me about that."

"Why shouldn't I?"

            There was a provocation shining in Hannibal's eyes. A provocation Will instantly wanted to make him regret.

"You won't like me when I'm pissed, Hannibal."

"I beg to differ."

            Hannibal wanted for Will to snap and Will did just that. Everything always happened according to the Cannibal's whims, it seemed.

            Will grabbed the back of Hannibal's hair and pulled harshly on the short strands. Carried by the momentum, Hannibal's neck bent backward, and his upper body followed the motion. Will dragged him on a couple of meters so that it was back on the bed that Hannibal unceremoniously fell, elbows first, his waist barely on the mattress.

            Will flexed his knee and passed his leg over the other's body to pin him down under his weight. He then grabbed the front of the man's ridiculously fancy pajamas. For a second, he thought he would tackle his lover down and maybe punch that overconfident smile from his face but finally he pulled him closer and smashed his lips with his own, with the violence of a well-deserved slap.

            As he was bruising his husband's mouth, Will couldn't help but think about the fact that he was doing exactly what Hannibal had wanted. He had reacted as he had been expected to react and that, even more than the texts themselves, was angering him, unleashing a torrent of hell in his brain.

            Hannibal was always playing some sort of sick game in the privacy of his mind, but this time, Will had no idea what the settings and the aims were. He was barely able to understand the boiling, suffocating feeling in his chest as he was forcing Hannibal's jaw open with his nail to claim his mouth. A red cloud of fury was darkening his sight, yet he knew he was not angry. Not really. It was something else than anger that was burning him. An irrepressible need. A devouring one. And a sense of imminent danger. But anger was easier to handle than whatever that was, therefore Will drowned himself into it.

            And, had Hannibal been more aware of the troubled state of mind of his lover, maybe he wouldn't have pushed it further. Though it wasn't the first immature choice Hannibal had made tonight and he did not hesitate before backing away from Will's mouth and rolling his hips just enough for their slowly hardening cocks to brush over each other.

"See, Will. I told you I would enjoy you."

            Will was having an internal crisis, and Hannibal, as always, was simply there to watch and enjoy, armed with his confidence and his predictions.

            And, at that second, Will wanted nothing more than to knock that victorious smile off Hannibal's face. By all means.

"Can't you shut up for once in your whole fucking life?"

            Using the physical leverage he had in his position, Will violently flipped Hannibal around, forcing him on his stomach, before gripping his hips tightly enough to bruise the skin and manhandling him until he was on his knees, his face on the mattress. Placing a hand on his neck to keep him in position , Will grabbed the waistline of Hannibal's pajamas and pulled it down in one swift go, baring his ass and thighs and letting the expensive cloth fall loosely around the knees. Now hard from the former foreplay and the new view he had of his husband, Will positioned himself behind Hannibal, used his free hand to lower the front of his own pants and to align the bared ass with his cock, before penetrated it in one quick, harsh gesture, forcing his whole length into Hannibal's dry, unprepared hole.

            The cry of surprise muffled by the mattress did nothing to move Will who kept his hand on Hannibal's neck to prevent him from getting up or moving away from the rough penetration. A muffled cry that sounded exactly like the one Will had stuttered in Baltimore, more than four years ago. After all, the two situations were extremely similar. Both featured obscene, violent, and tearing penetrations.

            Once he was deeply in, Hannibal's whole body tensing around his cock, he stopped himself for a second, taking in the feeling of that intimacy he had just forced upon his lover. For a second, he wanted to talk. To bite back. He wanted to demand Hannibal to consider his situation, wonder what that nameless woman would think if she could see him like that, ask if he still wanted to go around and mess with Will. But he realized he couldn't voice anything, he couldn't utter the first word. His chest was inflated with that oppressive, overwhelming feeling, that need Will couldn't name and couldn't even whisper.

            He knew that what he was doing was not a punishment for Hannibal - who really didn't mind that treatment that much. It was a necessity for Will. An uncontainable urge to prove something though he didn't know what.

            Therefore, he didn't speak, he didn't explain. He simply pounded into his lover, fucking him headfirst into the mattress, forcing him to take his whole length over and over again, until Will finally released himself deep into the abused hole. It had been a matter of minutes, really, the strange sensation of an unprepared intimacy mixed with a boiling hunger bringing Will prematurely over the edge before he could truly register what had happened.

            Once he had emptied himself with a bluntness and a baseness that was not customary for them, he found himself light-headed and weirdly aimless for a second. He remained there a moment, sensing Hannibal's warmth and his own semen around him, not sure what he was currently feeling, even less thinking.

            It had been too short and too brutal.

            Gone before it could be understood.

            Slowly, with a care that seemed parodical compared to the former violence, he lowered Hannibal's waist until it could rest on the mattress and gently pulled himself out.

            For a while, Hannibal didn't react nor say a word. He simply breathed in the scent of the mattress in silence, certainly gathering his wits. Will knew Hannibal had probably guessed what had been about to happen. He had read Will's behavior and had even set it in motion in some ways. More than that, he was probably more aware of what had happened in Will's brain than Will himself. But the intense moment that had followed had knocked him out of his mind, even for just a couple of minutes, as he had certainly not foreseen Will's abruptness.

            Hannibal didn't really like it rough.

            His sadism, like his masochism, was slow and cruel, not harsh and bruising. But Will couldn't find it in him to care. If not in the sex itself, Hannibal had found his fun in the mess he had created inside Will, and they were now even.

            Yet, seeing his lover like that, the pajama bottoms ripped to his knee, his hands squeezing the sheets, Will was hit by a sudden doubt.

"Hannibal?"

            Hannibal hummed slightly against the sheets.

"You... All that, it was... You consented to it right?"

            Hannibal chuckled and Will was as relieved as he was annoyed by that sound.

"What's funny?"

            Hannibal turned his head toward Will and he had a soft, amused smile on his lips.

"The fact that you thought for a second you could have manhandled me against my will. I know I am not getting any younger, but I hope you have a better, more accurate idea of my physical abilities."

            Putting his pants back up, Will let himself fall on the bed too, sitting by Hannibal's side.

"You're an ass," he stated.

"What is more," Hannibal continued, disregarding the half-meant insult, "do you truly believe that there is anything coming from you that I wouldn't want? Will, I consent to you killing me. Enthusiastically consent. Would I have liked lube better? Certainly. But I was positively thrilled nonetheless."

            Will let his back rest on the pillow against the headboard. He still felt strangely empty, as if his burst of... whatever had been worn out too quickly and nothing had been able to settle in its place left vacant. The lightheadedness was nearly sickening now, and he breathed in carefully to keep it under tight control, keeping the vertigo at bay.

            For a while he detailed Hannibal, still laying on his stomach, his eyes closed as to help his mind and body process what had happened. It was obvious that he was in pain, though Will had to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn’t moved in the slightest.

            First of all, Hannibal and pain shared a long and loving relationship. Though he was not a masochist per say (not in that aspect at least) he didn't experience pain like most human beings and didn't mind it as deeply. Pain was unpleasant to him, but it was not truly bothering.

            And second of all, Will realized that detailing Hannibal was slowly filling that sickening emptiness with a warm, confident feeling, taking up the place that the devouring need had defected. There was something infinitely soothing in the sight Hannibal was now offering and Will understood that it was that moment, that sensation, and not the rushed orgasm, that the strange need was craving for in order to be satiated.

            Therefore, when Hannibal tried to straighten up, Will gently but firmly forced him back against the mattress.

"Tut, tut, stay here."

            Hannibal looked at him without understanding, his gaze interrogative, raising a puzzled eyebrow.

"I would like to go clean myself, now."

"I know. Not gonna happen. Stay down."

            Will's hand found Hannibal's neck back, where small bruises were already forming, and he massaged the skin with tenderness, while keeping him down against the mattress in the process.

            Hannibal complied easily enough, but, when he reached behind him to re-dress himself, Will interrupted that motion too.

"No. Not that either. Sorry."

"Are you trying to keep me in an undignified position, Will?"

"I mean, it's the consequence, I guess. Though not the aim. I just think we need the reminder. You and me."

"What reminder?"

            Will lowered himself on the bed, until he was resting on his side, his hand caressing Hannibal's bared back, drawing the contours of Mason's brand.

"You genuinely had no ulterior motives when you gave that woman your number?"

"Of course, I had ulterior motives."

"I mean, in regard to me."

"No, I did not. I didn't know it would have such an effect on you. Though, when I noticed... Will, I would really like to pull my pants up if you don't..."

"Not happening."

            Will grabbed Hannibal's hand and brought it to his mouth, away from the loose pants. He kissed it gently but kept it trapped against him.

"Though when you noticed what...?" he encouraged Hannibal to resume.

"That you were proving yourself to be a more entertaining show, I admit I did not deescalate the situation. You surprised me, Will."

"You give your number to a random girl, and your husband is pissed, how deeply surprising indeed."

"You did not get me used to that kind of reaction. So far, you have been rather unbothered about... everything really. You know full well my commitment to you."

"Yeah, you're right."

            Will rolled on his back, keeping Hannibal's hand hugged against his chest. For a while, he observed the ceiling, trying to trace his thoughts and order them in his head.

"It's that girl. Not the hotel girl. The teenage girl. She got into my head. And then, impossible to not notice. Well, not notice per say but, like, think about it, you know?"

"I do not. Notice or think what."

            The leaves of the tree outside were projecting moving shadows on the ceiling, the moonlight drawing their contours in black and white. Will had his eyes on the dancing shapes, but was too lost in his introspection to really see any of them.

"I think you may be beautiful, Hannibal."

"That again? I will begin to feel offended, Will."

"I'm trying to understand myself, ok? Cut me some slack."

"You are right. I apologize. Please, continue. You were saying..."

            Will absentmindedly caressed the back of Hannibal's hand, following the bones and the veins he could feel under the skin, mapping the invisible structure of that murderous tool he was now fondling with love.

"I mean, my attraction to you has been undeniable, at least since the fall. I know I'm attracted to you. I have many reasons to be but... If you're beautiful..."

"That means other people also have reasons to be attracted to me."

"I thought I was the only one able to see beauty in you. Now, I'm learning that you wear your beauty on your face and body, and everyone can notice it. The world is not as safe as I thought it to be."

"How is it not safe? You are perfectly aware of my dedication to you, and though I am not kind nor gentle to you, I am intransigently faithful to you."

"I know, I know, that's not the thing."

            A breeze outside shook the leaves to their core, drawing waves of shadows on the ceiling.

"I'm not worried you'll cheat on me. I'm not completely dumb, I know you can't. It's rude, and it's low, and you don't fuck what you eat. Fucking them, that would be like zoophilia for you. Actually, I'm not worried at all. I'm just... I'm just pissed at the idea that some people, some nobodies, dare to hope to share anything with you. It's... I find it insulting. As if they were allowed to have anything from you, even if only in their dreams."

"You can't prevent people from dreaming Will. Not without a very exigent, very tedious, and very endless murder spree. You have to live with that fact, even though I understand the offense it represents."

"I know. I'm aware I can't do anything about it."

            He knew he was powerless. Maybe that had been what had boiled in his chest earlier. Maybe it had been his need. To take from Hannibal what that woman had dared to hope for.

"I wish I hadn't overheard this conversation at the Durands’. Paranoia does not suit me."

            Hannibal caressed Will's throat with the hand that was still trapped against him.

"You can pull everything off. But is there anything I can do to alleviate this feeling?"

"As if. You want to alleviate fuck all. You get a kick out of messing with it."

"I did. Tonight was very entertaining for me. But now that I had my fun, I wish you nothing but rest."

            Will considered him for a while. It was what was bringing him relief and a satisfying sense of revenge. That was what was answering his need. To see Hannibal like that, undeniably owned. And an idea slowly bloomed in the depths of Will's mind.

"Nothing you can do. But there's something I can do."

            Hannibal didn't answer, certainly sensing that it was not something he would enjoy tremendously. But it was too late, Will had set his mind.

            He sat up, and then passed his leg over Hannibal's waist, one knee on each side, hovering above him. Just thinking about what he was about to do was enough to ignite sparkles of pure delight in his belly, definitely chasing away the nauseating emptiness. With efficient gestures, he lowered the front of his sweatpants once again, just enough to free his now flaccid cock.

"My dearest love..."  Hannibal, his now freed hand hugging the pillow against his cheek, interrupted Will’s thoughts with the cordiality of someone there to negotiate. "You are well aware that I can never get enough of you. But I have to admit you were a bit... rough, earlier. I am not sure I can take a second go at it."

"Don't worry. You won't take anything. Just stay where you are and be beautiful in silence. Please."

            Will took himself into his own hand, and began to gently stroke his cock back to life. It was not the most pleasurable of sensation, as his last orgasm had not been so long ago, but he forced himself through the discomfort, caressing his slowly hardening length while keeping his eyes on the bared ass offered to him. When the precum began to lick out of the tip of the glans, he used it as a makeshift lube to ease his ministrations, a kindness he had not shown Hannibal, but he knew he would need some more encouragement to reach his release.

"How did she look like?"

"Who?"

"You know who. That woman. Describe her to me."

"Absolutely not. I won't have you masturbate on someone other than me, Will."

"I'm jerking off at the sight of your ass, Hannibal. Now, describe her or I'll have to do more than just look at it."

            Hannibal hesitated for a second before finally complying, with a noticeable annoyance behind his voice.

"Tall for a woman. Dark skin, clear eyes. Small lips and full cheeks. Long curly hair that falls on her shoulders."

            A pretty detailed mental image was slowly forming in Will's mind. An image he could now place in the room with them.

            Continuing his back-and-forth motions with his left hand, he gently grabbed the back of Hannibal's head with his right one and forced it on the side, making him look at the corner of their room.

"That's where she could have stood," he said, his breath shortened by the desire building up in his stomach.

"Feeling territorial, Will?"

"What would she have thought? If she had been able to see you right now. Exactly like that. What would she have thought of you?"

            The mere idea of the world witnessing Will's unique place by Hannibal's side was enough to bring him right to the edge.

"I can't tell."

"Try."

"She would have thought she had no place between us. She would have seen me as I am, irremediably out of reach. Already owned."

            That last bit was enough to drag Will over the edge and he came in long bursts, coming in waves, his semen spouted out and sprayed upon Hannibal's bare ass and thighs, leaving large white marks like angry paint left to dry on a canvas.

            Will, breathing heavily after this second climax, took a few minutes to calm himself, waiting for the dancing black spots to leave his vision. Only then, once the last wave of pleasure had been knocked out of him and he had been able to breathe again, he could admire the oeuvre beside him.

            Hannibal was laying there. Soiled in pleasure. Their mutual ownership now undeniable. A pure picture of perfection.

            Exhausted, Will let himself fall on his side, his cheek against the mattress, his chest raising and deflating according to the rhythm of his still short breath.

            For a second, he observed Hannibal's face, partially pressed against the sheets, and his hands, away from the mess that had been made over him, caressing the soft fabric of the pillowcase. And Will felt an indescribable sensation of peace and satisfaction wash over him. He relished in it, bathed in his intense felicity as the slumber was circling his mind, until he noticed Hannibal trying to reach for his pants once again.

"Shh, no," he softly whispered while taking Hannibal's hand back into his own.

            Will could tell Hannibal had in extremis held back a sigh.

"For how long would you like to have me like that?" he asked nonetheless with a cordial detachment.

            Will grabbed the pajama top and carefully placed it on Hannibal's back, low enough to cover Mason's brand but not a inch lower, leaving the mess he had made in full display.

"I think a night would do us a world of good," he murmured, already halfway into sleep.

"Us?"

"Yes, Hannibal. You and me. Us."

            Will leaned forward, until his forehead rested against Hannibal's shoulder, his arm tightened around his neck.

"If you're cold during the night," he whispered in a yawn, "wake me up, and I'll think about it. Otherwise, I want you to stay like that until I wake up, tomorrow morning. It's the trace of the pleasure you brought me. I thought you would be proud of it."

Will barely heard Hannibal's last words before sleep won his mind over.

"Of course, I am proud of it, Will."

            The first thing Will did the next morning was to check that everything had stayed exactly as he had wished it. As soon as he opened his eyes and the memory of the day before, half engulfed in slumber, reached his consciousness, he raised himself on his elbow and carefully detailed Hannibal's butt and thighs, covered in dried semen, left undisturbed by the night.

            Hannibal, already awake, submitted himself to that inspection with good grace but as soon as Will seemed to be satisfied, he began to assert his own interests.

"May I shower, now?"

            The simple fact that he had indeed been waiting for Will to wake up and that he was now asking for his authorization was filling Will with a gloating sense of fulfillment. Hannibal had certainly understood that Will had needed to prove his rightful entitlement to him and, as the good and devoted husband he was, the Cannibal had given him the exact answer to that need.

"Sure, if you must. But give us another minute, please."

            Hannibal nodded, and Will tightened his arms around him, enjoying their hug, leaving small kisses on his husband's neck.

"You're not annoyed with me, right?" he asked nonetheless, in-between his kisses.

"Why would I?"

"Cause I didn't exactly give you anything you enjoy, yesterday."

"Will, I..."

"Yeah, I know. You want everything I give you. But you know what I mean. Among the things I'm giving, some are pleasurable, some are not. When I'm not using a coaster, you're enjoying the fact that I exist and that I'm here, but you don't really enjoy that I'm messing with your treated wood or whatever."

"You are right. It was none of my favorite forms of intimacy, but I perfectly understand that you needed to have it that way. I'm happy to have been able to accompany you through your introspection. That is what a life partner is for."

            Will let go of him and rolled on his back.

"You're so compliant. I never know where you truly stand."

"I stand where my words are, Will. Always. Does my compliance annoy you?"

"No. I mean, you're so painstaking and intransigent about how the silverware should be washed or what shampoo I should use, it's nearly fair that you're so easy on how I can take your ass."

            Hannibal pursed his lips despite himself. He never liked it when Will didn't speak of sexuality with the sacralization it deserved. For Hannibal, sex was a divine act of veneration and it required to be spoken of as such. And of course, Will's most intense pleasure was to do the exact opposite simply for the sake of messing with Hannibal.

            It always worked.

"I think I will shower now."

"Sure, go ahead."

            Hannibal stood up, kissing Will's forehead on his way to the bathroom. For a second, Will hesitated to follow him but finally decided against it, granting Hannibal his well-deserved quiet time.

            Actually, the whole day was quiet after that. After a rich breakfast, Will made the most of the cooler hours of the morning to work on the wooden dock leading to his boat, which could really use some repairs. Once the sun began to hit a bit too harshly, he found refuge in the pool where he lazily swam until Hannibal called him for lunch.

            It was only after lunch that they mentioned again what had happened the day before.

            Will was laying down on the couch in the main study, the book he hadn't read yesterday in his hands. He was oscillating between the written words and the latent post-meal slumber when Hannibal walked past him, toward the desk where he wanted to retrieve the glass Will had left behind to go wash it in the kitchen.

            Will's eyes were right away caught by the passing silhouette, following it through the room. Hannibal always moved with the grace of those who belonged, taking all the place in every room he entered. Though, today, behind his usual elegance, Will could spot a stiffness telling of an obvious discomfort. Obvious to Will. To anyone else, there was nothing out of the ordinary in how Hannibal moved around. But Will knew his gait, knew how he held his body, knew how he used it. And he noticed the latent pain right away.

"Hannibal?"

"Mmh?"

            Hannibal answered without looking at Will, picking up the forgotten glass on the desk.

"Would you mind coming here for a moment?"

            Hannibal turned toward him, tender suspicion darkening his eyes.

"Is it a trap?" he asked conversationally.

"A trap? What, you're afraid? Do you feel threatened?"

"Afraid, no. Threatened, of course."

"Would you mind or not?"

            Hannibal considered the idea for a while, then decided to indulge it as he often tended to do, promptly walking to Will.

"What is it?"

"Gimme the glass."

            Hannibal handed him the empty glass he still had in his hand and Will put it down on the gueridon next to the couch.

"Will, I want it to be cleaned. Not to travel from table to table across the whole house."

"Come here."

            Will opened his arms and it was not something Hannibal had ever been able to resist. Sitting down on the couch, he lowered his upper body until its side was resting against Will's torso, his head finding its rightful place in the hollow of the neck.

            Will's arms instinctively tightened around his husband's body, hugging him against his chest.

            For a while, they remained like that, Hannibal caressing the back of Will's left arm, his nose pressed against his tee-shirt, while Will was softly caressing his back, massaging the long muscles bordering his spine.

"I wish you could stay here in my arms," Will whispered against Hannibal's hair.

"I am staying here."

"Indefinitely."

"Mmh... That would not be very practical in our everyday life."

"I know. 'T sucks."

            Hannibal raised his head and Will lowered his so their lips could meet in a soft kiss. Once Hannibal had settled his cheek back against Will's chest, the Empath's hand, which had massaged his back through their kiss, traveled lower and slipped under the Doctor's waistband. With Hannibal's obsession for stringently tailored clothes, Will's hand didn't have much space but he didn't truly need to. Instinctively - maybe thanks to a year of daily shared intimacy, his middle finger found his husband's hole and began to circle it. Hannibal sucked the air in just a bit too harshly, and then pressed his mouth against Will's shirt to prevent any unwanted sound from him. The snobby and aristocratic man praised himself on his self-control and his immediate reaction - though very mild if compared to an average human being - was telling of a genuine discomfort.

"You're in pain?" Will asked.

            As he expected, Hannibal didn't answer, focused that he was on the perfect control of his breath. Will could say he was not happy with himself and his involuntary reaction.

"Are you hurt?" he tried again.

            Something in Will's voice must have been telling him that this question demanded an answer for Hannibal gave one.

"No. There is no need to worry, Will. I am not hurt, simply extremely sore."

"You feel it at each step?"

"Oh, I see. You were not worried. Let alone compassionate. You were simply wondering how much of an impact you have made on me."

            Will couldn't deny the accusation and he remained silent, his digit circling the hole, poking it just to make it react. Then, after a while of puerile teasing, Will carefully began to press his finger inside.

            This time, Hannibal kept his breath under tight control and nothing but the contraction of his back muscles told of his pain.

"Is that a definitive decision from you, Will? The lube and us, we are parting ways for good?"

"I want to try how you truly feel. Just once."

"Twice now."

"The first time, I was not paying attention."

            Will nonetheless stopped his progress.

"You wanna go fetch the lube?" he asked, willing to contradict his plans if Hannibal truly wanted to.

"If you want to forgo the lubrication for this time, so be it. But please, be mindfully gentle for the next couple of days. Dry penetrations are a highly unsafe practice."

"I could have hurt you badly..."

"You could have. You did not. Had you, I wouldn't have minded. It is not what truly matters. Be gentle for a while, and I will be perfectly fine."

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

"That is not what I meant."

"I know. Now, hush and brace yourself."

            Will resumed his slow progress, pressing his finger deeper into Hannibal, forcing his way into the dry, tight and unwelcoming hole. He could sense Hannibal working on his muscles, pushing on them in order to ease the penetration and soon enough, Will's middle finger was buried whole into Hannibal's intimacy, the palm of his hand resting on the curve of his butt.

            Carefully moving his finger around was provoking direct effects on Hannibal's breath and muscles, each micro friction awakening a wave of irritation for him. But, since the fall, Will had become selective in his empathy and, currently, he didn't care much about Hannibal's pain, amazed as he was at the power and control he had over something as personal as his husband's breath.

"So?" Hannibal asked between two muffled hisses. "How do I feel?"

            Will could sense the soreness around his finger. Too warm, too moist, too reactive. He could picture how red it had to be, how thin the worn-out wall must have become.

"Sensitive," he answered. "And raw."

"Satisfied?"

"It's perfect."

            Will laid a kiss on the top of Hannibal's hair.

"Never forget that I made you that way."

"I would not dare to."

            Will stopped moving his finger around, allowing Hannibal to finally breathe more deeply and more serenely, but he kept his finger inside nonetheless. Hannibal would certainly read it as a looming threat, reminder of the power Will currently had over him, but it was nothing of the sort. Will was simply enjoying the feeling of his husband's muscles pressing around his finger, the intimacy that specific touch created between them.

            He remained there, having no interest in putting an end to the moment they were sharing. For a while, he considered the idea of taking a nap. He would have think that having Hannibal trapped against him, kept in place by nothing more than his finger, would be incredibly erotic, igniting his most primal desires, but it was quite the contrary, actually. It only felt... right. Having Hannibal in that position was not as exciting as it was soothing and comforting.

            Yes, he decided. It was too relaxing not to take a nap. And if he could get Hannibal to fall asleep too, perfectly at ease in this restrictive embrace, the moment would be absolutely perfect.

            After all, everyone was happier the less freedom Hannibal was left with.

            Maybe it was a dangerous line of thought... It probably was. For now, a nap was all it was about, Will convinced himself.

            Waiting for sleep to come, he let his free hand travel across Hannibal's back, and his eyes lost themselves between the numerous paintings that were decorating the study.

            All of them carefully chosen by Hannibal, they were telling of a culture and a sensitivity Will didn't have. Not that he minded. Everyone in their community knew that Hannibal was the educated one, when Hannibal was alone in his belief that Will was a refined and sophisticated mind.

"As always, Will, I know you more accurately than you know yourself," Hannibal had said the one time Will had dismissed his opinion on that matter.

            Yet, here he was, confronted with the profound disparity between him and Hannibal. He had no idea how to look at the numerous paintings in front of him, or what he was supposed to think of them. He didn't even know if he truly had any kind of taste for visual arts, he didn't know if he liked anything at all.

            That's when the thought hit him, somewhere between two colorful canvases.

"Hannibal?"

"Mmh."

            So he had been near sleep, Will gloated. If the idea that had just overwhelmed his mind had not been demanding immediate attention, he would have backed away and let his lover fall asleep, but he was now too excited by the newfound perspective.

"You ever sold your drawings?"

            Hannibal breathed deeply to wake himself up, and Will sensed his head move against his chest, to find a better spot to rest.

"Yes," he finally said. "Often, as a teenager."

"For the fame?"

"For the money. My anatomical drawings gave me a scholarship for my medical schools, and I sold a lot of anatomical charts to publishing houses, to answer the requirements of my scholarship. I also sold some purely artistic drawings to Parisian galleries during my teenagehood. To alleviate the financial burden that the death of my uncle had placed upon my aunt's shoulders."

"You stopped once you had money?"

"I stopped doing it for money. But I continued selling them. After my graduation, I became something of a naturalistic illustrator. Still as of today, you will struggle to find any modern medicine textbook that does not feature my drawings."

"And did you ever take commissions?"

"Commissions?"

            Hannibal raised his eyes. He had picked up that Will's curiosity was not innocent and was now detailing him with suspicion, trying to trail his devious idea.

"Yes," he carefully answered, "for publishers. Sometimes for universities."

"How much do you take for a commission?"

"What do you want, Will?" he cut it short

"I was wondering what it would look like, if you were to draw yourself exactly the way you were yesterday evening. I'm sure that would be a masterpiece. We could hang it in the study, so I can have it under my eyes anytime I want. For once, a piece of art I would enjoy."

"Absolutely not," Hannibal simply stated before letting his head fall back against Will's chest.

"That's a bit dismissive. You're not even giving me a single good reason for that ‘no’?"

"How about several good reasons. First of all, I don't want to. That is an excellent reason."

"That's your bad. I thought you had taste in arts."

"Secondly, our guests often finish their evenings in that study."

"Yeah. And? Your point?"

"I didn't take you for an exhibitionist."

"I'm fine with them knowing that you are owned."

"Thirdly," Hannibal resumed without honoring his remark with an answer, "I am an artist, not a pornographer."

"Say the guy who draws naked men all day long."

"Those are antic heroes, carriers of epic fables."

"You're a modern one, you carry human tragedies on your back."

"I don't draw them with semen all over their behind."

"Maybe that's a lack of creativity from you."

"Fourthly," Hannibal continued, once again disregarding Will's comment, "you will never have enough money to commission me anything."

"I have a very rich husband."

"Then ask your husband to pay for it. See what he answers."

"I could simply steal the money."

"Will, what is the code of our credit card?"

"Which credit card?"

"Any credit card."

            Will did not answer. Hannibal was the keeper of their money and Will had never cared enough to ask him anything. He didn't even have the first idea of how much they currently owned. He just knew they were loaded.

"That is what I thought,” Hannibal concluded from Will’s silence. “What is mine is yours, Will, but in terms of money, your lack of caring put you in the position of having to ask me every single time you want to buy something. You need my authorization for any cent coming from our accounts."

"That's incredibly controlling, Hannibal. You should let go of the micromanaging power trip."

            Will, in direct answer to his own comment, crooked his middle finger inside Hannibal, pressing the tip of it against the sore wall. Immediately, Hannibal pressed his face back against Will's chest, muffling his hiccup of pain, and his careful breathing.

"Will," he whispered in a tone made low by the tension around his breath. "I would have been able to appreciate the irony of your remark even if you had not painfully illustrated it."

            Will chuckled and tightened his hug around his lover.

"Sorry," he murmured before kissing Hannibal's cheek, ear and neck. "Sorry, Hannibal, it was just too tempting."

            He continued to kiss his way to forgiveness, covering with his lips every inch of skin he could reach.

"You want me to stop?" he nonetheless asked against Hannibal's ear.

"To stop what? Teasing me? That would be a charming perspective."

"Fingering you. If you want me to stop, of course I will."

            Hannibal didn't answer right away, his face settling against Will's throat now that he had disciplined his breath back into stillness. But finally, after a silence long enough for Will to first believe he wouldn't be given any answer, Hannibal shook his head.

"You want me to continue?" Will asked.

"If I don't want you to stop, what conclusion can you draw, Will?"

            Punishing the insolent sarcasm right away, Will crooked his fingers again and moved it around, dragging Hannibal back to the edge of his self-control, silencing him into short breath and gasping hisses.

"Feeling like being cocky still?"

"It was worth it," Hannibal panted. "Though next time, I may consider my answer more carefully."

"That would be wise indeed."

            Will slowly massaged Hannibal's back with his free hand, helping him to relax his muscle now that the pain had subdued.

"I should keep you like that. Continually sore and sensitive. Makes punishing you far easier."

"And what should I be punished for, exactly? If you were honest with yourself, you would know that there was no behavior to punish on my behalf."

"I am honest. And I know that, Hannibal. Apart from your usual level of messing with me, you did not do anything. It's on them for having dared to make you theirs in their mind. But I can't do anything to them, so you have to pay the price for them."

            Will let his chin rest on the top of Hannibal's head.

"Now that I am saying it aloud, it doesn't sound that fair," he mused.

"It is not," Hannibal agreed. "But I don't mind it. I've noticed that your attention is much better spent on me than on any other lesser soul. I don't care if it is kind or cruel, I should be the one receiving the whole of it. If you were to lay the blame where it belongs and take it away from me, you would have to deal with my own jealousy. And, trust me, it is nothing yours can be compared to."

            And Will knew that Hannibal was deadly serious. Each word a lethal threat.

"And you said she thought you to be the safe alternative for her."

            Hannibal chuckled, and that was the last irony they shared before finally taking that nap that Will had craved for.

            Yet, when they both woke up, exactly in the position they had fallen asleep in, Will felt like giving its last word to that conversation.

"It won't happen again, Hannibal."

"What won't?"

"That. I needed it. It was an urge I couldn't control, but I know it was a one time thing. Not that I don't enjoy hurting you. But that should remain a luxury treat, not a needed nourishment."

"No more need to mark your territory?"

            Will tenderly caressed his forehead and temple, his fingers adoring the skin of the Monster. Lecter closed his eyes, and sighed at the touch.

"I am well aware" Will resumed "that you know you belong to me. That there is nothing in you over which I don't have complete ownership. The same ownership you have over me. We have blurred together and now we can't live on our own. We both know that none of us has a way out. Trying to step away would be pointless and vain. And you are not one to waste your effort. I admit I have experienced a... burst of possessiveness. But I should know better."

"What about the world?"

"What about it?"

"I know to whom I belong. You know to whom you belong. Does the world know?"

"Who cares?"

"I certainly don't. I guess we will soon see whether or not you do."

            Hannibal poked and watched. That was what he did. Poking. Watching. Nothing more. But the thing was... it always worked.