Chapter Text
The first time Hannibal falls in love, it's two hours after the wedding to his new husband, and the first conversation they've actually shared with no one around to overhear. His uncle had insisted on the match and Hannibal had expected some shy wisp of a boy, no courage or brain to worry about. Something Hannibal had to keep in good health and comfort while his uncle and this boy's family sorted out whatever advantages such a union was supposed to bring.
What he received was a sharp-tongued, viciously intelligent man, who could tear a guest to shreds with a single look.
He was attractive - beautiful, even, with eyes like storm clouds and wild dark hair. He lacked the build of a true brute, but was hardly dainty. He shied from eye contact with everyone, but Hannibal was not a fool, and did not mistake that for submissiveness nor nerves.
That was what surprised Hannibal the most, he thought. He did not expect to be the one to show reluctance in this marriage nor to have any qualms about possessing his new husband as he saw fit. And yet, now, watching his new husband make himself comfortable, he can't bring himself to even think of seducing him. The potential coils in his stomach and makes him wary.
Will notices. Those sharp eyes, Hannibal would soon learn, never miss a damn thing.
"You needn't be so unnerved by my lack of unease, when you don't have any yourself," he says, with that lopsided, rakish smile that Hannibal would quickly find himself desperate to conjure at any given moment of the day. "It's an arrangement, Hannibal, not the end of the world." Will salutes him with a whiskey glass. "I'll sleep with a knife under my pillow if pretending to be afraid of you brings you comfort."
Hannibal does not know what to think, but he must admit that it would. He truly didn't expect Will to be so sure of himself and unbothered. Will's eyes drag up and down him, turned assessing and icy. "Just don't bring any mistresses or bastard children into my house and we're not going to have a problem."
At that, Hannibal tilts his head, and smiles. They stand across from each other on opposite sides of their marriage bed, where they will be expected to sleep. Among other things. Will hasn't expressed any revulsion towards that, either, but Hannibal won't let his guard down yet.
"And if I do?" he tests, because he can never resist testing.
Will merely smiles back. "Then I'll find a use for that knife after all. I know how to reinforce loyalty, and if positive doesn't work on you, I'll take the negative out on your lovers. All of them."
Hannibal did not expect to feel anything for his new husband but passive, obligatory lust, perhaps some fondness or affection after prolonged time together, the way one might grow to admire a trinket gifted to them without asking.
What strikes him in that moment is nothing of the sort. It is much more fierce, possessive, and hungrier than that.
"Do you expect me to make the same promise?" he says instead of that. Will looks him up and down, his smile turning sly, eyes dark.
"Yes," he says. "Of course I do. 'Til death do us part, right?"
"Whose death?" Hannibal teases. Will's laugh is just as pretty as the rest of him.
Yes, Hannibal thinks to himself, he is definitely in love.
Hannibal often finds himself wondering if his uncle knew that Bill Graham's son was more than a frail, submissive doll that served no more purpose than as an opportunity for an advantageous union. If he didn't know, but Bill Graham did, and told his son to be pretty and sweet and not talk too loud when there's company around, because they didn't need his uncle catching wise.
Will doesn't seem inclined to leave the house, so Hannibal doubts he is a spy. He's a reclusive kind of animal, seeking another only to sate a very specific need, such as calling one of the staff to bring him coffee – he would rather do it himself, he was very prickly about that, but he calmed when Hannibal showed him the contraption that passed for his uncle's coffee machine, agreeing it would be better for someone experienced to use it.
Sometimes he will seek out Hannibal, though that's usually to ask where he can find a particular book in the library, or to tell him Will has need for this thing or that, so that Hannibal might send one of their staff to collect it, or fetch it himself. On rare occasion, Will has entered a room – silencing everything inside it, even Hannibal's train of thought – and sat beside him without a word. No need for conversation, just companionship.
Ironically, it is when Will is in the same room as him that Hannibal aches for him most.
He has to wonder if this is all deliberate. If Will's father taught him how to be captivating and clever in some slow-working plan to ensnare all of Hannibal's attention and faculties. Hannibal is no fool, he cannot pretend it's impossible, but surely if Will were trying to make Hannibal fall in love with him (and had it not happened already), he wouldn't be so passive about it.
So perhaps Bill Graham did not teach his son to hide a wolf's pelt beneath sheepskin. But where, then, did this reputation come from? His uncle was the one to tell Hannibal his future husband would be a plaything, of no more importance than a favored pet. He had seemed so sure of it, convincing Hannibal that a tactical marriage was for the best, even if his husband was more pretty than he was smart, and would likely not provide much more than sexual satisfaction.
That was clearly not the case. So where was this little wolf hiding?
The most enticing thought is that Will is the one who originated this deception himself. That he held his bugged teddy bear at night and confessed to it that he hoped his future husband would be kind to him. That he prayed his little prayers and kept his head down and his clothes on so that he was the picture of purity and innocence to everyone in the room. Aside from their wedding night, the conversation wherein Hannibal fell in love, Will has not shown his fangs. He's quiet and polite and the epitome of pretty, dumb plaything whenever 'the adults' are talking.
The potential reality of seeing that mask come off for the very first time is so erotic Hannibal can't think. He's so far on his back foot he's at risk of falling right over. Whether Will notices or not, he doesn't act on it, and doesn't call Hannibal out on his apparent lack of insistence that Will fulfil his husbandly duties. It is possible that he's too wary of bringing it up, lest it drive Hannibal to action.
Hannibal is aware of his uncle's dealings in a peripheral way. He will inherit the land, titles, wealth, and business dealings when his uncle passes, but for the most part he has only sat in on meetings, and not dealt with anyone on his own. He knows their faces, their assets, their desires. He watches and picks them apart in his mind like a housecat vetting his owner's friends.
It is not unlike how Will watches him, when he thinks about it, but that train of thought is uncomfortable. Try as he might, Hannibal cannot bring himself to distrust Will. Will has never given him cause to doubt his motivations, his behaviors. He is delightfully and frightfully honest as a person, it is simply up to Hannibal to dissect that honesty from his silence and reclusion.
All this thinking of Will is sure to drive him mad. They talk on occasion, enough for Hannibal to understand that Will is incredibly clever and a masterful conversationalist. Every exchange is like a friendly spar; two champions on equal footing keeping each other's skills sharp.
Hannibal cannot help but think that, when he does ascend to his rightful place, he will be all the more stronger for having someone such as Will at his side.
"Are you attracted to me, Hannibal?"
Hannibal looks up, startled by the question. It's the first thing Will has said to him the entire day, and while Hannibal is used to long and comfortable silences with his husband, he's pleasantly surprised that Will chose to initiate conversation this time.
He regards Will, considering the question. Will meets his gaze steadily. He wants to know the answer, Hannibal can tell, but in the same way one might ask if the forecast promises rain. It is a question posed in the interest of preparedness, not emotional investment.
For the briefest moment, Hannibal considers lying. But he knows lying to Will is fruitless, in the end. He has a way of figuring things out that Hannibal strongly admires.
"Physically, yes," he says. Will blinks, slowly, and doesn't otherwise react. "Emotionally? It's harder to say."
Will tilts his head. "Is emotional attachment important to you?"
Hannibal, again, takes a moment to consider the question, and his answer to it, as thoroughly as he's able. If he does not have a response that satisfies Will, Will is more than capable of picking apart the details until he finds the truth in the matter – a truth Hannibal doesn't want to be unprepared for.
"I enjoy when my partner succumbs to pleasure," he says. "Seeing it, and knowing that I was responsible. In my experience, that's easier to achieve and far more satisfying than when the connection is purely based on lust."
Will's lips twitch in a small smile, smug, and Hannibal knows he faltered somewhere, though he cannot for the life of him identify where. "I wonder," Will murmurs, "if this preference is a superiority complex, or an attempt at reconciling your loneliness so that it doesn't consume you."
A curious distinction to make. Hannibal frowns at him. "I don't follow."
"Would you find me as attractive if, in this moment, I went to my knees and said 'Please, Sir, my husband, my Master, do whatever you want to me', or if I simply came to you now, and told you I wanted to feel close to you, that we could do whatever you desired as long as held me like you loved me?"
Hannibal is not prepared for the sudden equal and opposite pangs of longing and desire that swirl together, indistinguishable except for their points of origin. Because that is the problem, isn't it? Hannibal is already so, so in love.
He presses his lips together and wets them. "Before you, the first. Now… Now, I don't know."
Will's smile widens. "I'm a good mimic, Hannibal. I can be either."
Hannibal winces. "I wish you hadn't told me that. Now I'll never know what you're thinking."
"Then I suppose the only real way to tell is to take me by surprise, isn't it?"
Hannibal stares at him. Even knowing this conversation would be filled with traps, and even speaking so carefully, Will has taken him by surprise yet again. He's rather good at that, Hannibal thinks. "Are you attracted to me, Will?"
"Very much so," Will says, sitting back in his seat. He says it so easily. Perhaps it should be easy, Hannibal doesn't know why he feels so unmoored since the moment they met. He knew he was betrothed, he knew he would have no choice in his husband. He knew that it was an arrangement of mutual gain for their families, and that they would be strangers for a long time.
But he hadn't expected Will. By his very existence, he puts everything Hannibal considered as fact into question.
"Does it upset you that I haven't acted?" Hannibal presses.
Will regards him, eyes dark, faint smile still on his face. "No," he says. "I think it's sweet. I like that you're so considerate of me, my eccentricities, my whims, my comparative cruelty. I think most men would have called me a frigid bitch and exerted their right as my husband on me way before now."
"You are many things, Will, but frigid is not one of them."
Will's smile gentles, grows fonder. "I appreciate you saying that," he murmurs. Then, he sighs, and looks away. "Since we're being honest with each other, I'll admit I had my doubts. About what kind of man you were, about if we would be able to stand the sight of each other, and I…" He breathes in slowly, blinking once. "I like being around you, Hannibal. I do feel close to you, on a… I suppose you'd call it a cosmic level. Like we understand each other even after so short a time, and not really knowing much about the other person. You make me feel comfortable and cared for, and I count myself very lucky that, of all the people my father could have made me marry, you are the one I can call my husband."
The longing in Hannibal's chest grows fangs, snarling at the vault door of his ribcage. Hannibal is glad Will isn't looking directly at him; he's sure it shows on his face. He can't think of a single thing to say in response.
Will sighs again, then stands up. "Thanks for letting me talk. I've wanted to get that off my chest for a while."
"Will," Hannibal calls, unable to hide the roughness from his voice. "Please don't leave."
Will smiles at him, and dips his head in acquiescence. He approaches and sits beside Hannibal on the plush couch, a proper distance away but close enough that Hannibal can feel his radiating heat. His husband is a walking space heater, Hannibal has needed far fewer blankets since Will joined him in his bed.
"What are you reading?" Will asks, nodding to the book in his lap. Hannibal had quite forgotten it existed.
"It's a series of essays by a French philosopher," Hannibal tells him.
"So not in English," Will says, laughing when Hannibal shakes his head. "Will you read to me?"
Hannibal swallows hard enough his throat clicks. "Of course I will."
Will's smile widens. He leans in and rests his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder, going totally lax against him. He takes Hannibal's hand and entwines their fingers. Hannibal's pulse stutters, then races at the intimate touch. How Will can undo him with something so small, Hannibal may never know. God help him when and if the moment comes when they do have sex.
He's sure Will can hear how hard his heart is beating, the careful steadiness of his breathing. Hannibal's voice is quiet, still rough, when he opens the book back to his page and begins to read. Will closes his eyes, their breathing syncing. Hannibal might be spouting gibberish for all he knows, he can't concentrate on anything but Will's hand, warm in his, the weight of his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder, the scent of him filling his lungs.
Hours or minutes or lifetimes might have passed before Will makes a sleepy noise, and straightens. He meets Hannibal's eyes and smiles. "I'll see you at dinner," he promises, brushing his fingers along Hannibal's cheek in the briefest, most tender caress Hannibal has ever felt. Then, he rises, and leaves the room.
It takes all of Hannibal's strength and self-control not to rise and follow him, to press Will down onto their bed and make love to him until neither of them can stand. He doesn't know if that's what Will wants, he doesn't know if this is a test. He doesn't know what to do.
So, as many might when faced with an impossible decision, he remains exactly where he is, paralyzed. It is the first time he can ever remember being so. His fingers curl, still clinging to Will's warmth, and he brings them to his thigh, digging in until his nails cause pain.
He exhales slowly, and closes his eyes.
It is inevitable, he supposes, sharing such proximity with the man he loves and unable to act upon it, that Hannibal begins to behave…impatiently, with others. Will is the only person whose presence he can stand, even though it borders on physically painful at times.
Will looks up when Hannibal enters their bedroom, his movements short and stiff as he sheds his suit jacket and undoes his cufflinks. Without a word, Will rises from his place by the window, closed book set down by his glass of whiskey, and takes Hannibal's jacket from him, hanging it up in the closet.
The gesture is so comfortable, so natural, that Hannibal can only stare at him, frozen in place.
"I could hear your uncle and my father shouting all the way over here," Will says, either not noticing or ignoring Hannibal's sudden stasis. He gathers Hannibal's cufflinks and returns them to the container on top of their dresser, before turning and regarding Hannibal. His expression is neutral, but his eyes betray sympathy. "Is Chilton proving his usual difficult self?"
"The fault is mine," Hannibal replies, blowing out a breath and turning his attention to his tie. "I may have…lost my patience with him. Said some ill-thought things."
"You?" Will huffs a laugh, that pretty, lopsided smile coming to his face. He takes Hannibal's tie when Hannibal hands it to him, rolling it into a neat little coil and placing it beside the box where his cufflinks are. "I couldn't imagine what that might look like."
Hannibal's lips purse and he sighs.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Will asks.
Yes, Hannibal wants to say. Yes, tell me that my uncle is a fool. Tell me you're in my corner. Touch me, Will, for the love of God please just touch me…
"I don't believe so," he says. "Unless you have the power to turn back time and prevent me from acting foolish."
Will tilts his head in that way he does that Hannibal has come to realize means that Hannibal has said something, or given himself away somehow, with his body language or intonation or some other measure that Hannibal is incapable of regulating around Will.
He steps forward. Hannibal's breath catches, lodged in the teeth of this monster that has grown so starved and large in his chest since Will arrived. And then Will is holding him, his arms beneath Hannibal's, nails dug into his shoulders, hugging him so tightly. Hannibal cannot help the ferocity that grips him, making him hug Will back and bury his face in Will's neck.
His scent crawls down Hannibal's throat, soothes that beast, calms his heart even though it still beats powerful and unsteady. Will's warmth is like a physical balm on his frayed nerves, easing the tension from Hannibal's shoulders as Will remains in place, solid as a rock and so utterly, overwhelmingly grounding.
Will tilts his head, his voice quiet as though afraid of being overheard; "Hannibal," he breathes, and Hannibal merely holds him tighter. "For what it's worth, I will always, always and completely be on your side." His hands smooth down Hannibal's spine, wide and warm, then back up. "Chilton is a turkey, stuffed and dressed and ready to be roasted. He won't last much longer."
There's an edge to Will's voice that Hannibal should absolutely question, should take and observe and try to understand, but Will is finally in his arms and so close Hannibal could kiss him and so Hannibal dares not break the moment even in the interest of self-preservation.
"That means the world to me, Will," he says.
"You're mine," Will vows, drawing back so he can press their foreheads together, the kindest and most torturous thing he could do – just like him, Hannibal thinks with a smile. Will's fingers touch his cheek, graze his jaw. "It's you and me now, okay? Even if the whole world seems against you, I'm not. I never will be."
Hannibal might die if he doesn't kiss Will now. He might die if he does.
Will smiles, off-kilter and wide and beautiful, and finally pulls away completely. Hannibal reacts too late, and is forced to let him go. "Come to bed with me," Will calls, going to fetch his book. "Tomorrow will be a better day."
It's the sweetest, most painful torture to lay down beside Will in bed and not touch him. It's even worse when Will slides up against Hannibal's back and throws an arm around him, nose pressed to his nape, fingers lacing with Hannibal's lightly over Hannibal's stomach. It hurts, and Hannibal is not used to this kind of pain. It freezes him in place and makes him ache all over.
"Will…"
Will hums sleepily, squeezing Hannibal's hand.
"Thank you."
Will hums again, and merely tightens his grip. "Good night, Hannibal."
"Good night."
Hannibal should be surprised when his uncle finds him, three days later, and tells him Chilton was executed in his home. A quick kill, a knife through his neck and then forward, so all the cartilage was ripped out along with his jugular. His home was set on fire to get rid of any evidence.
Will came home from one of his infrequent trips out that morning smelling of ash.
The second time Hannibal falls in love is when Hannibal finds him again. He can tell Will knows he knows. He offers no alibi, no apology. Just quiet, assured defiance. Confident and honest in everything he does, as he has always been. And Hannibal strides forward, pulls him to his feet, and kisses him as he's been dying to for what feels like a lifetime.
Will laughs, startled but eager, the kiss quickly ended since he's smiling so wide. He leans into the possessive, fierce grip Hannibal has in his hair and presses a kiss to Hannibal's cheek. "You're not angry?" he whispers roughly.
"You are singularly the most captivating person I have ever met," Hannibal breathes, words closer to a snarl than anything else, "and I have been in love with you since the day I married you."
Will's eyes widen when he meets Hannibal's. His lips part, pinker now, a little swollen from the force of Hannibal's kiss. He swallows harshly, and lets out a small self-conscious laugh.
"I suppose you are capable of taking me by surprise," he says.
"If I could marry you again, I would," Hannibal confesses. "But I have only new vows; you are mine, and I will make sure you never want for anything."
Will smiles, affection shining in his eyes. "Nor you," he says. "I know you're restricted by your position, too exposed, under too much scrutiny, but I'm not. I can be your agency in this world. I want to be." He swallows again, breathing in and looking at Hannibal's chest, frowning. Hannibal leans in to kiss the crease between his brows away, gentling his hand in Will's hair and cupping the back of his neck instead.
"I should have told you what I was doing, though," he continues, sighing. "I tend to…behave rashly, when I think about people being difficult with you. I don't like it." He rests a hand on Hannibal's chest, drumming his fingers lightly. "Promise me you'll tell me when it happens? So I can take care of it?"
Whatever Hannibal had done in a previous life, it must have been truly remarkable, to reward him in this one with Will. "I swear," he rasps, and kisses Will again.