Chapter Text
Will never woke late by anyone else’s standards, but somehow he was always up later than Hannibal. This particular morning was no exception, and he wandered blearily down the stairs and into their kitchen, drawn by the smell of coffee.
Hannibal was busy making something else, but it wasn’t until Will had taken several sips of coffee - some decadent blend that Hannibal got directly from a farmer in town - that Will registered what it was.
“Pancakes?” he asked. Hannibal smiled at Will’s surprise, but before he could respond Will asked another question: “Why do I smell cinnamon?”
Hannibal tutted. “It’s not cinnamon you smell, Will.” Will raised an eyebrow. His sense of smell was nothing compared to Hannibal’s but he knew what cinnamon smelled like. “Or rather,” Hannibal continued, “it is not only cinnamon you smell.”
“Fine.” Will’s tone was terse but he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, sensing Hannibal’s eyes on him and the warmth of Hannibal’s pleasure radiating through him. Hannibal loved when Will indulged him. Will still liked to put up a fuss - for old time’s sake, he thought to himself - but he’d been indulging Hannibal too long for either of them to believe he didn’t enjoy giving in.
“Cloves,” Will added, after taking several deep breaths. “Cloves, and … nutmeg?”
“Very good Will,” Hannibal’s voice rumbled in his ear, deep and throaty. His accent was always thicker in the morning. Will shivered. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know Hannibal was standing much closer than he had been only moments ago. He could feel the other man’s heat. He leaned forward, closer to Hannibal, intending to take in the scent of him, when something struck him.
“There’s something else,” he said, frowning.
“Clever boy,” Hannibal said, knowing exactly the reaction those words would elicit. Will whimpered softly. The response was near Pavlovian at this point - not that it bothered Will. Not anymore. Hannibal’s lips grazed the skin beneath his earlobe before pulling away. “Can you identify it?"
Will opened his eyes and looked at Hannibal, irritated. Hannibal was smiling at him, an annoyingly smug look that made Will want to both punch him and kiss him breathless.
“You do like to wind me up,” Will said. The heat singing through his veins had nothing to do with the coffee he was still holding. Hannibal’s eyes danced. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Allspice.” Hannibal lifted a small bowl where he’d combined the spices.
Will frowned. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, all spice. “Wait. Are you making pumpkin spice?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I sent Alana a card this morning.”
He sent Alana cards periodically, at what appeared to be irregular intervals but, knowing Hannibal, probably related to something specific. Will hadn’t asked. His feelings about Alana were still complicated. He had no intention of intervening, but his participation in Hannibal’s campaign of fear was passive at best.
Hannibal had gone back to stirring and Will looked more closely at the bowl. The batter was … orange.
“Ok.” Will drew out the word, still staring at the odd-colored pancakes. He sniffed. Pumpkin. “And for some reason that made you want to make - what? Pumpkin spice pancakes?”
“The card inspired me.”
Will laughed as Hannibal’s reasoning became clear. “You sent her that card? It seems so unlike you.”
Hannibal hummed in amusement. The postcard was one Will had picked up because he’d known Hannibal would hate it: a dancing latte cup with the words “It’s Pumpkin Spice Season!” in bright orange letters across the top.
“I’m certain she’ll know it’s from me.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Of course she will. That ridiculous penmanship of yours would give you away even if nothing else did.” She would also know Will picked it out and assume he was a more active participant than he was. He should probably feel irritated about that but when he tried to summon the emotion all he felt was amusement.
“Aesthetic is important in all things, Will,” Hannibal chastised, but he still had that small smile on his face. Will was smiling back, watching Hannibal sprinkle the spice mixture into the batter. “The fascination with pumpkin spice is a singularly American trait.”
“Is it?”
“I have found it to be, yes.”
“You thought I might be missing it?” Will tilted his head slightly, taking Hannibal in. There was a hint of color across the other man’s cheeks. “And you like pleasing me,” Will added softly.
“I do.” The emotionlessness of Hannibal’s response gave him away. He focused on measuring out a precise amount of batter and pouring it into the pan, spreading it evenly into a perfect circle.
Aesthetics. But Will had to admire the elegance and precision.
Hannibal still wasn’t looking at him and Will cleared his throat.
“What if I told you I was never really a fan of pumpkin spice?” He asked. He managed to keep enough of the tease out of his voice that Hannibal turned around swiftly and stared at him, eyes intent. Will shrugged. “I mean, it’s fine, I guess.”
Will bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Hannibal’s jaw actually dropped. It might have been due to surprise, but the flush still visible on his cheeks and the parted lips were so inviting that Will couldn’t resist stepping forward and pressing his own lips to Hannibal’s, his tongue darting between them.
Before Hannibal could reciprocate Will pulled away, lowering his eyes. “But you know I’ll eat anything you feed me.” He heard Hannibal swallow and he smiled at the floor. Sniffed. “Careful Hannibal. That one’s burning.”
He laughed and sipped his coffee as Hannibal turned back to the pancake and swore.