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It is very, very difficult to render Hannibal Lecter speechless. Not many people have managed it (save for vermin like Mason Verger when he stabbed a hole in Hannibal’s office chair), and even Will has only achieved it a handful of times. 

Today is one of those days. 

He left five minutes ago, and Hannibal is still standing in the same place in the kitchen where Will left him, fingers lightly pressed against his lips where just moments ago…

Heat, fear, and adoration curl around his heart and hold him tight. Hannibal doesn’t feel like he is inhabiting Earth right now; he feels high in the clouds, miles above perhaps, suspended in space. His brain feels fuzzy and fractured, split open by the fresh memories and the imprint on his lips of the gift that Will has given him. 

Or did he? A terrible, evil voice in the back of his head tries to break through the aura of bliss that Hannibal is floating in. He can’t blame his thoughts, he really can’t. It seems impossible that this has finally happened, after all of the time that he has prayed for it. Hannibal touches his lips one more time as if to press the heat back into the delicate skin. He can still taste Will there, so it must have been real. 

It must have. 

Just to be sure, Hannibal thinks back over the events that occurred before Will surprised him in the kitchen.

Today is Hannibal’s birthday. They got up early, they watched the sunrise together, Will went to walk Persephone, and then… 

The memory sends warm shivers down his spine, but again the voice at the back of his mind keeps ruining it. It’s a special occasion. It was a gift. Do not mistake the gesture for any more than it was. 

Hannibal wants very much to be wrong. They have danced in elaborate circles around one another for so long, not to mention that they have reached a certain level of friendship and intimacy now that a physical connection could not have been far behind. Hannibal can’t have been imagining the yearning in Will’s gaze. His imagination is severe and immaculate; he can conjure anything, but he could not conjure those moments, not a single one. 

He could not imagine the passion and chemistry between them just minutes ago when Will took hold of him and kissed him for the first time. He can still feel and taste his beloved’s tongue if he closes his eyes.

He wants this to be real. He wants this to be it; to be the day that Will’s barriers, diminished but still intact, finally come crashing down. He wants this to be the day the Will finally, finally touches him for the first time, and that tonight will be the last time that he ever has to sleep alone. 

He wants Will to come home and kiss him again and never let him go, he wants it more than freedom, he wants it more than blood, more than life, or air, or legacy. Hannibal just wants Will. 

With shaking hands and a mind so splintered with joy and fear, Hannibal Lecter moves from his place at the counter and opens the so-called “junk drawer” that Will insists is necessary. There he finds their supply of candles (less for a birthday cake and more for a candelabra, but it’ll have to do), as well as a stack of matches. His hands are still shaking and he goes through seven matches before he actually gets the flame to stay, but eventually, he’s able to light the wick. 

Remembering the tradition, Hannibal closes his eyes and concentrates. He thinks of soft chestnut curls, vast, depthless blue eyes, and a husky laugh, then he inhales and breathes his desires into the flame until the light goes out. He opens his eyes against the stream of smoke, taking in the empty house with an acute feeling of disappointment. 

He had hoped, no matter how off-world and silly it sounded, that the effects would be immediate; that the door would open and Will would come running right to him. Out one look at the clock suggests that his boy and their dog have only been gone ten minutes, not likely to return for another twenty, perhaps thirty or forty if Will is just as shocked as Hannibal is. 

Perhaps that is why he ran off so soon after doing it—he needed to escape what he had just done. What line he had just crossed. Is he regretting it? Angry at himself? Did Will run so that he could consider what that moment meant for them? For him? Or did he simply want to torture Hannibal just a little? 

For once, Hannibal has no idea. That frightens him.

If I am never able to have my way again, he thinks toward the Heavens as he glances longingly at the door. I do not care. I would do anything for this one gift. Let this wish come true. Just this once, please let this be mine. 

_________________

The Cuban sunrise is beautiful. Possibly one of the most beautiful things that Hannibal Lecter has ever seen, paled (no, eclipsed, fully and forever) only by the beauty of the man at his side. To his left, Will Graham is bare except for his hideous flannel pajama bottoms that hang low and enticing on his delicate hipbones. They are standing in the same position on the balcony that overlooks the ocean; elbows resting on the railing, shoulders relaxed but heads held high as a flock of birds twist and swirl like shadows across the brushstrokes of the sky. Purples and yellows and reds and pinks. Such a beautiful scene. 

They haven’t spoken a word since they went outside. Hannibal doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t. He and Will spend a lot of time this quiet; both are unbothered by comfortable silences and never feel the need to fill them with trivial nonsense. Everything is peaceful and Hannibal wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Once the sun has risen enough that the multicolored sky is mostly just blue, they finally leave the balcony and head into the kitchen where Sephie, their family's newest addition is finishing her breakfast. Hannibal never thought he would come to love a dog, but she has won him over wholeheartedly. She is multi-colored mixed breed of some sort that they found tethered to a pole in a field, dehydrated, emaciated, and completely helpless. Hannibal had been helpless the moment Will turned to look at him with those big, pleading eyes. (There had been an argument over her name; 'it's for Persephone, not encephalitis, you sadistic asshole,' Will had shouted when Hannibal laughed.) 

Sephie raises her head when they enter and yips excitedly; she's always so happy to see them. Will smiles at her and ruffles her fur. “That’s my good girl,” He coos, then disappears back upstairs to change while Hannibal busies himself by pulling out pots, pans, and ingredients for breakfast. Sephie behaves, thanks to Will, so she does not sit at his feet and beg for scraps, though she does look at him very intensely and very sweetly out of the corner of her eye, and if Hannibal ‘accidentally’ drops a piece of sausage for her, Will doesn’t have to know. 

He returns minutes later, dressed in comfortable but form-fitting black jeans and the blue button-down shirt that brings out the color of his eyes. It’s Hannibal’s favorite shirt on him. He wonders if Will knows that. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Hannibal traces the veins in his arms with his eyes, unable to look away. Will is truly a beautiful man.

“I’m going to take Sephie for her walk. I won’t be long.” Will says. Sephie, of course, has heard him, so she lets out an excited bark and trots off toward the front door. 

Hannibal nods. “Certainly. Breakfast may take nearly an hour, but I will have coffee and mimosas ready by the time you return.” 

Will gives him a strange look. “You do realize it’s your birthday, right?” 

“Yes.” He chuckles in response. “I assure you, this is for myself as much as it is for you.” 

Will shrugs as if to say ‘whatever you say, Doctor’. His eyes flicker around the kitchen counters, searching for something… Oh, it must be his keys. 

Hannibal can see them; they’re on his side of the island, hidden behind a stack of mail. He grabs them and shakes them so that they jingle. 

Will grins and comes around the counter to take them. Hannibal places them in his palm, resisting the urge to take that delicate wrist in hand and place a kiss right at the pulse point. “Thanks.” He says, still smiling. 

He means to say, ‘of course’, or ‘you’re welcome’, or ‘you should keep them on the hook so you do not keep losing them’. Really, Hannibal intended to say something, but whatever he meant to say dies in his throat, because all of a sudden, Will’s hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt, and Hannibal is being pulled down to his height. He doesn’t even realize that Will is kissing him at first, but he is. The kiss is neither gentle nor harsh, there are no tongues and no teeth, but their lips are crushed together and finally, after all this time, Hannibal can taste him.

Will tastes… Lord, he doesn’t even know. He tastes minty from the toothpaste but also sweet and far better than Hannibal ever imagined he would. His heart is hammering away, and Hannibal’s ribs no longer seem to be able to hold his lungs. He isn’t even breathing, doesn’t dare to because Will Graham is kissing him and he doesn’t want to waste a single second on something as trivial as breathing. 

Then, Will pulls away. Hannibal doesn’t chase his lips no matter how much he wants to; his body won’t move. He just stands there with what must be an almost hysterical level of shock on his face, letting the one he loves most in this world step away from the counter, out of reach—

Don’t go, he almost says. He doesn’t want this to be over. Hannibal isn’t even really sure that it even happened.

They stare at one another for only a second, Hannibal stoic and dumbfounded, Will vacant and intense. He’s searching Hannibal’s eyes for… something that he is too dazed to name, and he must find it because he suddenly smiles again, this one soft as opposed to teasing. He’s so beautiful. So wicked. 

Will doesn’t say another word. Then he walks away. 

Hannibal watches him go. He is still frozen in place at the island when he hears Will whistling for Sephie followed by the click of the metal leash, and he’s still standing there long after the door closes and the house falls silent.

_________________

Hannibal can tell there is something on Will’s mind the moment he walks into the kitchen. His scent isn’t off, but the thoughtful expression on his beautiful face tells all. Hannibal is in the middle of preparing a late-night snack for the two of them (salted tarts with pecan, brie, and a drizzle of honey). Usually, Will would be all over his workstation right now; he has a secret affinity for these, even if he would be too embarrassed to admit it out loud, but Hannibal knows, and he makes them as often as he can just to see the look on Will’s face when he brings the tray to him.

But Will isn’t paying attention to the snacks at all. 

“We should do something. Tomorrow.” He says as he props his shoulder against the wall.

Hannibal pauses what he’s doing to stare at him, the question plain as day. 

Will stares back with his eyebrows raised as if Hannibal is being deliberately obtuse as opposed to genuinely unsure what the game is. “It’s your birthday.” He adds slowly, the whole thing sounding like a question. 

Oh. 

Hannibal is admittedly, a little stunned. Tomorrow is the 20th of January, and it is, indeed, his birthday, but this is the first time that it has been mentioned. “You remembered.” He says, feeling a little dizzy.

Will looks startled by that response for some reason that Hannibal doesn’t understand, then he laughs. It’s soft, breathless, and just rough enough that Hannibal knows he’s being laughed at, but the sound of Will’s joy fills him with such overwhelming adoration that he doesn’t mind. Will Graham can be as rude and shrewish as he would like. 

Will’s grin becomes a vengeful little smirk, playful and fierce and fiery, and God, I love him so much it hurts.  

“Dr. Lecter,” He scolds. “I remember everything.” 

Well, he walked right into that one. There won’t be a day where Will doesn’t bring up some transgression of his just to be spiteful. He isn’t angry anymore, but Will Graham is nothing if not a wasp. A beautiful, dangerous wasp. (He must never call Will a wasp to his face though; he would rather not feel Will’s right hook a second time.)

It is still a wonder though. They do this now; tease each other. Their barriers have dissolved enough, it seems, that Will Graham has given him yet another gift, though really, this started nearly six months ago. So much has changed since then. Since a Great Red Dragon brought them back together, since a fall into the ocean, and a shared bed on Chiyoh’s boat. 

Hannibal hadn’t brought up the idea of being married on paper and neither did Will. Of course, everyone in the village who knows Michael Boyd and Nikolai Tsvetkov has some suspicion that something is going on between them, but, much like their friends back in Baltimore, they are unfortunately mistaken. They are just friends who share a living space, but it isn’t just a facade. Nikolai and Michael are friends, just like Hannibal and Will are friends. 

Friends. 

They are friends. Again. 

A real, steady, wonderful friendship. Stronger than their first, before their story twisted itself all up to Hannibal’s design, more honest and real than the falsehoods and betrayals that followed and no longer matter. 

Will Graham considers Hannibal a friend. His closest friend. The closest one he’s ever had. 

Close in every way but one. 

But he dare not complain. Never again will he take for granted anything that Will is nothing loath to give. They had been so fragile in the beginning, beyond the physical damage from the fall. Once Hannibal’s fever cleared and Will’s temporary paralysis (caused by Will's skull hitting a rock when the current swept them away) finally began to subside, the only thing in the world they had to do was talk. 

Will yelled frequently. He cries when he’s angry and his cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink when he’s doing both at the same time. No matter how distracting it was, Hannibal listened, and then Hannibal would talk, and Will would get angry again, and turn away. One night, Will even threw a punch. Hannibal didn’t block it; he let the pain come and the blood run down his lip, smiling when Will shook the impact from his hand and looked fiery and stunning and alive. 

After that night, things became a bit more mellow, and as the tension dissipated, Will stopped yelling. Their talks were still intense, but never loud. 

(Will still yells at him a lot, but Hannibal doesn’t mind. Now it’s about silly things, domestic things.)

Everything is so different now. With Jack and the FBI behind them, and a boring golden wedding band lost to the sea, they live comfortably. Peacefully. As friends do. 

So, no, Hannibal Lecter will not be complaining. 

It doesn’t matter how in love with Will he is. It does not matter how much he would love to kiss Will right this moment because he will not.  Hannibal will not press this. Will Graham is, and always will be his friend, and if that is where the boundary stays, then that is where it stays. Hannibal wants him more than anything, but he will not touch him unless Will allows it. Those are the rules.  

For Will, Hannibal can follow them. 

Across the kitchen, Will is still staring at him, still smirking slightly, but no less curious. 

“What brought this on?” Hannibal asks, forcing his voice to be casual and curious. It succeeds, reflecting nothing of how he feels inside; molten warm, and starving. It should be embarrassing how little it takes nowadays for Will Graham to pull at his heartstrings. 

Will scoffs, breaking eye contact and shifting toward the counter to steal a grape from the bowl. “Well, if you recall, last year you were almost septic, and I was mostly paralyzed.” He deadpans with a grumpy frown. There’s still a glint in his eye though, he’s still teasing. 

It’s Hannibal’s turn to smirk. He drops his gaze down to drizzle the honey over the top of the tarts as if nothing has changed. “Trying to make it up to me, then?” 

“We’ve been… here almost a year too,”  Will says with a shrug. “I think we have more than a few reasons to celebrate.” 

His heart swells three sizes, threatening to break Hannibal’s ribs. When he tries to speak next, it is a real challenge to keep his voice level. “Did you have anything in mind?” Anything. Anything you want. 

“It’s your birthday.” He quips. 

Ah, he wishes it were so simple. If Hannibal were to wish for anything, it would be Will Graham underneath him, gasping, moaning, whispering his name while he placed claiming bites on his beautiful, porcelain throat. Such an image is so lovely… and so achingly far away. There is nothing wrong with wishing for it, but if it is a boundary that is never crossed, Hannibal can live with it. He can live this quiet, friendly, occasionally bloody life they live simply as friends if it means he continues to have it. 

That does not mean Hannibal won’t settle for his second favorite. (It isn’t really settling though; their shared hunts are the greatest adventures he’s ever had.)

“Well, there is that dreadful Senor Pérez down at the docks…” 

Will does not look shocked at all. He rolls his eyes and Hannibal can’t help but smile. It is rather adorable, if not rude. “Is that it?” Sarcasm drips like venom from his lips, Hannibal tracks the movement just to watch the way his tongue clicks on the final syllable. It’s a silly thing to notice, but Hannibal stares at those lips long enough that he notices everything now. 

He snaps his attention back to the present, relaxes his shoulders, and looks up at the ceiling for a moment to appear thoughtful. 

“Do I have parameters?” 

“I’m already letting you kill someone,” Will says with just a touch of sultry warning.  “Don’t push it.” 

Yes, indeed. Hannibal actually does think for a moment. He hadn’t thought about it before, so now that it is being suggested, he really has no idea. All he does know is that he wants to spend it with Will. What they choose to do with the day, Hannibal doesn’t care, as long as Will is by his side. 

But, Will is asking, and so he gives it another moment’s thought and gives the next most honest answer he can think of. “I think I would like to be up early.”

Will pushes off the wall and strides up to the counter. The teasing atmosphere is gone; Will is listening to him, interested. “How early?”

“I would like to watch the sunrise, and I hope you will join me.” He answers with a proud little smile that requires no effort to muster. He is proud, and he is happy with where and what they are now, “You are right. We do have many reasons to celebrate.”

Will meets his eyes for a moment, curious and soft. The blue of his eyes rivals the ocean their home resides on. Then, he quirks a smile and Hannibal feels dizzy all over again. “What time is sunrise?” 

_________________

Later, they’re sitting side by side on the sofa watching Rashomon (another tradition of theirs that started out as a way to torture one another with their different tastes but has become more of a delightful bonding experience. Will still complains about the films, but so does Hannibal when it’s Will’s turn. But, neither of them suggests they stop doing it).

Sephie is sprawled on the floor at their feet, snoring softly in her deep sleep. ‘See, she’s bored too,’ Will had grumbled about ten minutes in, which had made Hannibal laugh. 

They’re about halfway through when Will, who is a little drunk, suddenly quips up from beside him: “Did you really think I wouldn’t remember your birthday?” 

Hannibal doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t bother to hide his smile. Will’s memory is impeccable, eidetic; the only time he had forgotten anything was when Hannibal was tampering with his mind while it burned. Will would obviously know his birthday, Hannibal is simply surprised that Will brought it up and wants to celebrate. 

He doesn’t say that. Instead, for Will’s little jab earlier, Hannibal puts a little false hurt in his voice and says: “Well, to be fair, Will, you did forget for three years.” 

They turn to look at each other at the same time. Will’s mouth is open, shocked, and a flash of vicious indignation sets his eyes on fire. He makes a high-pitched, offended noise and turns his head away so quickly to glare at the television. “I am not even going to dignify that with a response.” He snaps. Oh, he’s lovely when he’s angry at me. 

“Actually it was four years because you had encephalitis and you forgot quite a few things during that time.” He adds, simply because he can.

“Fuck you.” 

_________________

After the movie ends without blood being spilled between them, they let Sephie out while they clear their mess, and they move upstairs to retire. They have separate rooms now and Sephie normally sleeps with Will in his room. Hannibal does occasionally reach out in his sleep for a body that is actually across the hall. He wishes they weren’t sleeping separately. 

Will bids him goodnight, soft but rough with sleep, and turns to enter his own room, but suddenly, Hannibal doesn’t want him to go. 

“Will I be watching the sunrise alone?” He asks in a way that is meant to sound curious and teasing, but deep down, he is unsure. 

“It’s your birthday.” Will reminds him grumpily, complete with a sigh for extra drama. “I’ll be up.” 

Hannibal feels elated. Sunrise is only hours away now, but he can’t wait for it to come. “I look forward to it. I hope you have pleasant dreams, Will.” Dream of me, only of me. 

“Goodnight, Hannibal.” He murmurs as the door is closed. 

For a few minutes, Hannibal just stands outside the door and listens to the sounds of Will getting ready for bed while admonishing Sephie for trying to run off with one of his socks in an urgent, forceful whisper. It’s after midnight now, it is officially Hannibal’s birthday. He wishes for the same thing every year with no luck, but there is no harm in trying again. 

I wish I could open this door and crawl into bed with you. I wish I could hold you while you sleep so that I could feel your chest rise and fall with the life in your lungs, feel your beating heart under my hands. I wish it would race for me. I wish you understood that the only thing in the world I want is you. 

Eventually, Hannibal retreats down the hall to his own bedroom. He lies under the covers, surrounded by miles and miles of space that only smells of him.

__________________

Hannibal’s head snaps up the second he hears Will’s keys turning in the lock. His body feels like it has been filled with concrete; he wants to run to WIll, but he can’t move. He won’t say that he’s afraid, not even to himself. 

There’s a rustle of sounds; Sephie’s leash being removed, the keys clacking against the wall when Will hangs them on the hook where they are meant to go, followed by the soft padding of footsteps across the floor in the direction of the kitchen. 

Will appears in the doorway, flushed from the walk, and his curls slightly askew from the ocean breeze. His eyes find Hannibal’s immediately, but there is nothing inside them. Will is hiding himself, and it makes the monster that resides underneath Hannibal’s thundering heart howl and ache until those blue eyes soften with a relaxed, pleased smile at the sight of the two mimosas on the counter in front of Hannibal (who doesn’t actually remember making the drinks).

Will takes a few slow, calculated steps forward. Hannibal tracks him with his eyes locked on Will’s vacant expression until they are standing in nearly the same positions they were previously. Will glances around at the array of empty pots and pans, and unprepared ingredients for a dish that Hannibal has forgotten to make. “What happened to breakfast?” He asks. 

Instead of responding, Hannibal’s monster snaps. 

He surges forward, throws his arms around Will’s back, and crushes their lips together for the second time this morning. Will lets out a startled little sound but Hannibal doesn’t (can’t) stop. He welcomes the heat of Will’s body against his own and tilts his head, deepening their kiss, and finally, Will begins to kiss him back. Oh God, please don’t walk away from me again. Stay right here where you belong. Beside me. With me. Never, ever leave. Hannibal’s thoughts are racing, his hands are trembling, his heart is somewhere between breaking and euphoric and he can hear the rapid, rushing blood behind his ears. 

His body is becoming as alive as his thoughts; there is a growl perched just behind his teeth that is hidden well by air being forced out of his lungs. There’s a bead of sweat rolling down his hairline and moisture gathering at his back and chest. A lust so deep that it leaves cracks pools at the base of Hannibal’s abdomen, settling hot and heavy in his cock that is straining against the fabric of his sleep pants. Will sighs into his mouth, soft, sweet, and sinful— Hannibal was such a fool to ever believe he was the one who held the power between the two of them. Will’s other arm is wrapped around his waist and clutching at the back of his shirt. His blunt fingernails dig into Hannibal’s skin. 

It feels like bliss. 

It hurts like love. 

In a rather hysterical moment of clarity, Hannibal thanks anyone who will listen for the power of birthday wishes. His just came true. 

Will murmurs Hannibal’s name against his lips, but it sounds all wrong. It isn’t a sound of ecstasy or a plea for more; it’s gentle but serious and it means Will wants him to stop because he wants to talk. 

Hannibal slips his tongue inside to keep him from speaking. Any other time, Hannibal would be fine with it but there is still the lingering fear that has remained dormant for nearly a year that still nips at his heels on nights when the bad dreams wake him and Will is miles away in another room. 

I cannot reverse time. This is my last opportunity to make things right. If I fail, he will not forgive me again. I will lose him completely if I fail a second time. Any mistake could drive him back to that woman, that wife of his. I cannot afford to make mistakes. 

But now Will is trying to pull out of his arms and Hannibal just tries to hold him tighter because there is a chance that this could be that very mistake. This could be the apple in a lovers’ sacred garden. 

He has no idea what Will is going to say when they part, and if there is even the slightest chance that it is a rejection, he doesn’t want to hear it.

He won’t. 

Hannibal pours all of his love into this kiss, desperate, frantic, terrified this won’t last. Please don’t. Please let me have this.

“Hannibal,” Will tries again with a little more force. He places both hands on Hannibal’s chest and very gently pushes him back. Weak to his beloved’s will, Hannibal releases his lips, but does not let up his grip on Will’s slender body. He can’t yet. He just can’t.

Will doesn’t seem to mind. “Easy,” He whispers when Hannibal lets out a raw, hitched-sounding breath. His soft, warm palm comes up to cradle Hannibal’s jaw and he strokes his thumb across the skin so gently , yet it feels as hot and painful as the Verger brand. 

Hannibal gasps desperately for air, but the air around them is thick with the scent of Will’s new aftershave and his lips are still wet. He still tastes Will on his tongue, in his throat, in his heart, and in the deepest part of his belly. No dish or dessert could compare in decadence. His senses are completely overwhelmed with the love he has for this man and how desperate Hannibal is to keep Will from running from him. 

Will’s lips are red and slightly swollen from the bruising force of Hannibal’s kiss and his cheeks are that beautiful dusty pink that reminds him of fresh cherry blossoms. It’s then that Hannibal realizes that Will is smiling. “Relax.” He soothes, removing his hand from Hannibal’s face (he instantly aches with its loss) to place it on the back of his neck. His fingers explore the soft blonde strands so tenderly that Hannibal’s eyes flutter. It feels so good. Will’s touch feels the way music does when it is just so beautiful that it warms your blood from the inside out. “Relax.” 

This time Hannibal does close his eyes, but it doesn’t help because he just keeps seeing the moment over and over again, dancing across his eyelids. He opens them to find Will’s eyes so that he can anchor himself to this world. When he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glassy darkness of Will’s dilated pupils, he sees a beast. A starving, burning monster. He has a brief moment of rational thought when he decides that it’s no wonder Will pulled away. Hannibal must look mad. Clinically mad. 

Look what you have done to me, beloved. 

Will doesn’t say anything. His fingernails lightly scratch at the back of his skull to comfort and relax him through the onslaught of emotions that rival the power of God. 

Hannibal used to pride himself on his ability to always remain in control of his emotions. He could take his feelings and shove them into rooms where they would either perish or grow into something more. Until the day he stepped into Jack Crawford’s office, Hannibal would never have believed he was capable of such internal treachery. 

It does not matter. Will is here. He is here. 

They stay like that for quite a while. Will strokes his hair and Hannibal clings to him in return. After some time, he does find himself giving in to Will’s commands and the frantic, aggressive tsunami of emotion finally begins to dissipate. The desire still burns brighter than ever; that will never go away now that he has been allowed to touch, but Hannibal is soon able to string a coherent thought together.

That also proves to be a mistake, because now that the fog has cleared, he feels rather mortified. That is a new feeling; Hannibal can’t remember the last time he didn’t accept any of his more emotional outbursts with ease. 

Will doesn’t seem to mind. He studies Hannibal’s face with a sweet little smile, his eyes tracing over scars and cheekbones and lips (and every time Will glances at his mouth, Hannibal has to resist the urge to kiss him again). Now that Hannibal can see Will’s face, his earlier fears are dwindling down to nothing too. Will Graham is no longer angry. He would not be so cruel as to dangle something like this in front of Hannibal’s eyes, only to snatch it away. He has done so once before, and now he has no reason to, so he won’t. 

He could. He very much could, and this time, Hannibal wouldn’t be able to lash out as he has in the past with a curved knife or a bone saw. No, if Will Graham were still that cruel, Hannibal could hate him for it, but the love he has wouldn’t let him do anything about it. 

“Hey,” Will says quietly. “You still with me?” 

Oh, the way he says it, so kind, so gentle, so caring… His Will is not cruel. This is real. Hannibal nods slowly, still dazed and hopelessly devoted. 

Will’s smile grows to something teasing and familiar. “You freaked out on me for a second.”

Humiliation makes him glare, but there is no doubt that the way his Will can create galaxies with his kiss and still have the energy to be a rude little thing is beyond thrilling. “To be fair,” He huffs out. “You kissed me first.” 

“I did.” He says this like it isn’t the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened.

“Why?”

Then Will gets that look on his face again; the same one he had last night when Hannibal was surprised that he wouldn’t remember what today was. “It’s your birthday.”

Ah. That hurts more than it should. Will could still be teasing him; he’s been very adamant in reminding Hannibal of that fact. But, regardless, simply because he can’t bear no knowing, Hannibal takes a deep breath and asks very carefully: “And, come midnight?” 

“It’s not a Cinderella deal.” Will replies, sharp as a blade but also gentle. He’s not reprimanding; he can tell that Hannibal is (though he is loathed to admit it) indeed, freaking out. This is a reassurance. “I kissed you because you wouldn’t, uh… well, you wouldn’t kiss me.” 

Hannibal blinks several times. 

“You needed me to come to you. It took me a while to figure that out.” Will sounds almost mournful when he says this. 

“I could not handle the consequences, should my feelings not be returned. Or accepted.” Hannibal explains. 

“I know that. Thank you for waiting.” The sad expression is replaced by a beautiful smile. Will leans close and Hannibal breathes him in, feeling drunk off of Will’s happiness and the scent of his skin. “May I kiss you again?” He asks in a hushed, hopeful tone.

“Please.”

And he does. 

The kiss is much softer, much kinder than Hannibal’s. He melts into it, clutching at Will’s shirt so tight it is in danger of being torn, but he allows Will to take this over. Take him over. They relax into each other like they’ve been doing this for ages. Will is warm and inviting. Strong. Stable. Steady. 

This, right here, holding onto and being held by Will, being allowed to touch him like this, is one of the most perfect moments of Hannibal’s entire life. He doesn’t even need to chase Will when he pulls away a second time. He’s too happy. 

“Hey, you’re not allowed to be sad on your birthday either.” 

Hannibal opens his eyes and finds that Will’s face is blurred. He hadn’t even felt the tears falling down his cheeks until Will pointed it out. His boy’s eyes are concerned and loving, but there is a hint of amusement there too (he hadn’t known what to expect when he chose to kiss Hannibal this morning, and he is both pleased with and confused by the strong reaction. He may even find it endearing). 

His words are strange though. Does Hannibal look sad? He certainly doesn’t feel sad. But whatever Will is seeing must still be there, because the smile curves downward into a frown, and that is unacceptable. 

“Oh, beloved. My Will.” He whispers, sounding only slightly broken.  “I am not sad. Not now that I have this. Not now that I have you.” Will’s eyes light up beautifully. Hannibal doesn’t stop himself from touching his face—Will’s cheeks turn pink under his fingertips, and his throat suddenly feels very tight. “I am simply… I am happier than I can put into words. I cannot contain it.” 

“You don’t have to contain anything. Feel whatever you need to feel.” Will says, pressing his lips to the underside of Hannibal’s jaw. “This isn’t a one-off, Hannibal. I’m yours, okay? All of me.” 

The words are reigniting the near animalistic desire in Hannibal’s blood, and when Will lavishes his mouth with tongue and his strong but delicate frame shivers against Hannibal’s body, it’s almost enough to make his control snap. 

“I’m not going to run from you. You can have this, love.” Will vows between kisses. “You can. Stop thinking so much.” 

Is it that simple? 

Will has said it, so it must be so. 

As if to confirm his thoughts, Will beams up at him before he stretches up to deliver a final kiss on Hannibal’s swollen lips, then pulls out of their embrace to grab both flutes of mimosa and holds one out for him to take. He holds the class up in a toast. “Happy birthday, Dr. Lecter.” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around Hannibal’s waist. 

Hannibal touches their glasses together before taking a sip. It’s slightly warmed from the time they spent touching, but mixed with the taste of Will Graham on his tongue, it is perfect. 

It is, indeed, a very good birthday. 

_________________

They do not go to bed right away, no matter how desperate Hannibal is by the time they finish their drinks. It isn’t because Will isn’t ready (he makes that abundantly clear), he just wants them to make the most of the day. Will doesn’t seem to understand that Hannibal would cancel all of the plans they made just to take him upstairs and worship his body. 

Unfortunately, Will is very insistent that Hannibal be patient just a little while longer, so Hannibal reluctantly lets him go. Will leaves him with a near-painful erection and a head fuzzy and dizzy with love. 

As a compromise, Hannibal is allowed to touch Will all day long. They have an early lunch (since breakfast never ended up panning out), Will holds his hand on the table and Hannibal licks a drop of chocolate from their shared dessert off of his lips. Afterward, they travel to a rustic and surprisingly elegant wine tasting outside Havana, holding hands, exchanging heated looks but chaste, comfortable kisses in front of the other attendees. They end up stopping for coffee, then taking a trip to the outdoor market that Hannibal frequents, and Will does not stop touching him the entire time. 

It occurs to Hannibal around mid-afternoon while they’re strolling through town that Will is giving him yet another gift with his affections. He’s allowing Hannibal to play into that desire he has always had, to be able to publicly claim Will as his own, to have his boy on his arm, and show the entire world how proud Hannibal is to have him. He is allowing Hannibal to show everyone who Will belongs to. It isn’t one-sided either; Will is claiming Hannibal right back. 

They finally arrive home just as the sun is beginning to set, and they prepare dinner together. It ends up being a bit of a disaster; they keep pausing for more touches, more kisses. Will breaks a plate and Hannibal knocks a pot onto the floor so they have to start over, but they’re both a little tipsy and laughing too hard to care. 

Dinner is actually spent on the balcony instead of the dining room table. They rest their plates on the balcony ledge and watch the sky go from blue to black with the approaching night. 

“I have something else for you,” Will announces out of nowhere, blushing when Hannibal looks over at him in surprise. “An actual gift I mean.” 

“You are the greatest gift.” Hannibal argues, momentarily offended that Will could think anything less. 

“Yeah, you’re drunk. I’ll be right back.” Will chuckles, pushing off the railing and disappearing into the house. 

Hannibal watches him go, and for once, it doesn’t ache. He pours them more wine while he tries to guess what Will’s gift may be, but Will returns quickly. In his hands is a single, flat, blank envelope.

He narrows his eyes in confusion. 

Will doesn’t hesitate to hand it over, so Hannibal takes it and examines it perhaps a little closer than necessary because his boy laughs at him. “Go ahead.” He says with a wave of his hand.

Hannibal slides the contents out, and his breath catches. Between his fingers are two airline tickets with the final destination being Rome. Behind that are train tickets to a place that is forever stained on Hannibal Lecter’s heart, and he immediately feels tears pricking at his eyes. 

Oh, my love. 

“You said you wanted to show me Florence. Now you can.” He explains softly, full of hope and detectable excitement. He rests his hand on Hannibal’s back. “It’s been long enough, we’re safe to visit.” Will’s lips press against his throat. “Provided you can behave yourself.”

Hannibal is about to quip back when he notices the departure date is so, so much sooner than he thought. “Friday?” He balks. That’s mere days from now. 

“Mmhmm. For three weeks.” 

“Weeks?” 

“Yep. I called Chiyoh while you were gone the other day and she’s agreed to house-sit and watch Sephie.” 

The implication is clear. “Just the two of us,” He whispers, rapt and in love.

Will smiles, then kisses his cheekbone. “Just the two of us.” 

“Will, I—” What can he even say? For the second time, Hannibal is so overwhelmed with the swelling emotion inside of him that he has lost his capability for words. Nothing is genuine enough, special enough, good enough. The only thing he can think of to say is the utter truth. “Thank you. This is…” Again, his words fail, but deep down he feels Will understands. 

“You’re happy then.”

“Happier than I thought it possible to be.” Again, it is nothing but the truth. Then, perhaps because he has no idea what else compares, or because he can now, or maybe just because it’s simply the truest thing Hannibal can say, he gazes over to drown again in perfect blue eyes and blurts: “Will, I love you.” 

Will looks startled again for the briefest of moments, but it quickly becomes that bright, brilliant smile that still steals his breath whenever Hannibal is permitted to see it. “I love you.” He answers.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

“Do you?” He rasps, unsure and overcome. 

“I do.” Will urges. He takes Hannibal’s hand and squeezes it for emphasis, forcing him to look him in the eye and pay attention. “I do. Maybe I am as crazy as everyone said, but I do. I love you, Hannibal.” 

It feels better than forgiveness. It feels better than freedom or redemption or a satisfied hunger. 

“Say it again.” The ‘never stop saying it’ goes unsaid.

Will sighs, not unkindly, then turns him so that they are toe to toe and wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck, and pulls him close. Hannibal’s arms come up to encircle his waist. Will kisses him once, then says: “I love you. I did even when I didn’t know that I did. When I thought that I didn’t. You are the blood that gets caked under my nails after a hunt. I couldn’t wash you off. I threw you off a cliff to see if the ocean would make me clean.” The last part is said with a laugh, and Hannibal can’t fight his smile. “I know where I stand now. Where I’ve always stood, where I am meant to be. I know what I want.” 

Hannibal’s mouth suddenly feels very dry. “And what is that?” 

“You.” He answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Just you. And… whatever comes with it.” Then Will brings their lips together and everything fades to lust. 

_________________

In the end, they just barely make it to the bedroom. 

They get up the stairs, tearing clothing from their bodies and littering them on the floor. There is nothing else in the world besides the sound of Will’s soft moans, the feeling of his hands in Hannibal’s hair, and the heat between their bodies. They part for just a few seconds for Will to remove his jeans, but Hannibal ends up getting impatient. He rips the offending garment off, keeping a hand on Will’s waist so he doesn’t fall, then hooks both of his hands around the backs of Will’s thighs and lifts him from the floor. 

“Hannibal—” He gasps in surprise. Will almost instinctively wraps his legs around his hips and hooks his ankles together while his hands scramble for purchase on Hannibal’s shoulders. 

Hannibal slams the two of them up against the wall so that Will has something to brace his back on. Will’s cock is pressed against Hannibal’s belly, straining and soaking the fabric of his boxers. It’s gloriously hard and Will is blushing from his chest to his cheeks, panting and occasionally letting out a stunned whining sound like he can’t quite believe this is happening. 

“Oh, my god.” He gasps. “Oh god. That was… that was so hot, holy fuck.” He’s laughing now, giddy and inappropriate, but Hannibal just grins and claims his mouth. 

This time, there is nothing to talk about. Will responds to the kiss eagerly, with hungry, ferocious glides of his wine-sweetened tongue. Hannibal keeps one hand under his thigh but uses the other to grab a tight fistful of chestnut curls—he wants to cage Will beneath him and shield him from anyone who dares to touch what belongs to him. 

In a flurry of possessive fire, Hannibal thrusts them up harder against the wall, grinds up against Will’s cock to make him cry out, then bites down hard near where his neck meets his shoulder. Will keens, frightened and tight with arousal. “Say you’re mine, Will,” Hannibal growls against his throat, laving his tongue over where he drew blood. Will nods frantically but it isn’t enough. Hannibal sucks purple marks into his skin so that everyone will see them. “Say you belong to me.” 

“I do, I do, oh God.” 

“Tell me how it feels.” 

“It feels so good, you— Ah, you feel so good.” 

His boy is trembling and Hannibal’s thighs are beginning to burn, so he moves his hand to cradle the back of Will’s head and pushes them away from the wall and into the bedroom. 

“Tell me you’ll stay.” Hannibal demands as he throws his love down onto the sheets and crawls between his spread legs. His boy is gasping, possibly hasn’t even heard his question, so Hannibal bites down on Will’s thigh. “Say it. Tell me now.” 

Will moans deep in his throat, his hands frantically grasping for whatever he can hold onto. “I’m staying. I’m not gonna leave.” 

“Again.” 

“Fuck, Hannibal, please, just—“

“Tell me, Will.”

Maybe it’s the rawness of his tone that isn’t quite hidden well enough behind the layers of lust and pleasure that makes it click, but Will seems to understand that Hannibal needs to hear him say these things. He has waited years for this, and overnight their entire dynamic has changed, but it has left Hannibal with an undeniable sense of whiplash. It does not do well to dwell on what-ifs but there is something so precious at stake. There can be no room for misinterpretation. Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t survive if something broke them. 

“Hannibal,” Will murmurs, tugging at his hair to force their eyes to connect. Hannibal goes willingly, nearly brought to tears by the sight before him. 

Will Graham is a beautiful man. The moonlight outside their window pools across the bed, illuminating his skin like soft ivory and darkening the curls to near black. He looks as beautiful flushed with pleasure as he does covered in blood. He’s shaking slightly, glistening with a light sheen of sweat from arousal and his cock is swollen and leaking across his belly all for Hannibal. 

Will pulls Hannibal up so that he can kiss him again, sloppy, deep, and sensuous, then pushes away so that he can run his fingers down Hannibal’s chest, resting his palm just over his racing heart. He takes hold of Hannibal’s hand and presses it to his own chest in the same place. Under Hannibal’s palm, Will’s heart stutters. 

“You feel that?” 

Hannibal nods because he does . He feels the way Will’s heart reacts to his every touch. Will tells him he loves him, that he’s staying, that he wants this and he’ll never run away again, and Hannibal feels the truth in every word with each pulse of his beating heart. 

Finally, Hannibal looks up to catch Will’s eye. Hannibal knows he’s close to tears again but so is Will, and suddenly, he no longer feels afraid. With one look at the unshed, raw emotion in his boy’s eyes, all of the fears fall away.

“You believe me now?” Will asks, just light enough to be teasing, but rough enough to betray how affected he really is. 

Hannibal just nods, too overcome to speak. 

“Fuck me like it, then.” 

Hannibal doesn’t have to be told twice. 

_________________

Nearly two hours later, once they’ve both come out of their post-orgasm dazes and Will is dozing peacefully against Hannibal’s messy chest, he looks up with a big, sleepy grin and tells Hannibal he loves him. 

“Aš tave myliu.” Hannibal replies rapturously, pressing a kiss to Will’s forehead. “Did I hurt you at all, my love?” 

“Constantly.” 

That forces a laugh out of both of them and Will relaxes even more in his arms. “I’m fine.” He reassures, tucking his head under Hannibal’s chin. “I feel… fuck. I’m uh… still resolidifying my bones.” 

“I apologize to your bones.” 

“You should.” 

They fall silent for a little while, just holding each other in the safety and silence of their room. The ocean crashes against the beach very softly in the background, and Hannibal takes a moment just to bask in the blissful feeling of where their lives have brought them. He’s so comfortable just holding Will that he almost begins to doze off himself… until suddenly Will is laughing. 

Hannibal looks down in confusion as his boy is suddenly giggling like a child. He isn’t offended, just curious. “Have I missed the joke?” 

Will coughs in an attempt to stifle his laughter. “We uh…” It starts up again, good-humored and wicked sounding and Hannibal can’t help but smile at his ridiculous lover even though it takes several minutes for him to be able to speak again. “We forgot to kill that guy.”

Hannibal blinks in confusion, unsure of what… oh. The conversation last night, the birthday present of a hunt, their intended target… all forgot about and slipped away once Will decided to kiss him. 

And suddenly Hannibal is laughing too because it doesn’t matter. No kill would ever compare to the feeling of finally having Will Graham in his arms. Nothing ever could. 

_________________

Much, much later, well into the witching hours, Hannibal is still awake. He can’t bear to close his eyes. Will sleeps soundly beside him, nestled on his side in the crook of Hannibal’s arm. This is not the first time that he has watched Will sleep, but it is the first time he has been allowed to hold him through it. Even in their shared bed on the boat, they never slept like this. 

Will makes a sleepy, snuffling sound and shifts a tiny bit closer without waking. His chest aches the more he looks, but he dare not look away. He dare not. 

Hannibal strokes his fingers feather-light down the line of his beloved’s strong jaw, over the ridge of his nose, the scar on his forehead… 

Your beauty is unparalleled. No author could put it down on paper, no artist could capture it on canvas. My own drawings of you vex me so. Try as I might, you are a son of Venus with the heart of a warrior; no match for graphite or ink. 

Even as his eyes ache with sleep, Hannibal does not stop watching, until he cannot keep them open anymore. He curls his body around Will’s, and his wild thing with the face of an angel sighs and smiles in his sleep. Hannibal feels he will never need another birthday wish as long as he lives. He has everything he could ever desire. 

_________________

Will’s birthday is six months later in mid-June. 

Hannibal surprises him with a ring. 

Will, very ecstatically, says yes.