Archive of Our Own ^beta

Will Graham was inside a woman. He could not remember her name at this point, but she clearly knew his; she was moaning it loudly into his neck with each thrust of his hips.

"Will!"

The accent was all wrong. Her lips wrapped around the letters in a way that should have been sinful but sounded discordant to his ears. She didn't move her tongue like she was grateful to have the privilege. She didn't breathe his name like prayer, promise and possibility. She whined in his ear like a bitch in heat, one of his dogs begging for food.

Will didn't pick this one for her voice, though. It was the hair that caught his eye this time. The fading bleach-blonde made it look silver in low lights and it was almost short enough for him to pretend. He was always pretending with these women, the line of warm bodies he brought to his bed to keep him from leaving it. He knew if the sheets were empty beside him he would get up to fill Hannibal's. To fill Hannibal.

He opened his eyes to stop himself from saying the wrong name. Maybe her name was Hannah and it wouldn't be too awkward.

Except it definitely wasn't. He slept with a Hannah last week for that very reason, he would remember if the woman beneath him had that name.

Will kept a steady rhythm in his hips as he ran his fingers through her not-gray hair. Pulling lightly at the strands in his hand, he bit down on the sensitive skin covering her pulse point. He could read her and knew exactly what he needed to do to keep her happy. Often, he found himself daydreaming about what would keep Hannibal happy. Would he be as violent a lover as he was a friend? Would he want that from Will in return?

If Hannibal would just make a move, he would know by now. Will refused to do it first, couldn't give Hannibal the satisfaction. So he was stuck going out to bars and letting Hannibal cook them all breakfast in the morning. That was a weird choice but it seemed Hannibal couldn't turn down the opportunity to feed long pig to another person. Maybe it was a power play? Most things were, with him.

"Will! Oh, God. Fuck, fuck fuck!"

His name, the profanity, the high pitch; It was all wrong. He zoned out as he threw away the soiled condom to the soundtrack of her praise. Will fell asleep with her head on his chest, the knowledge that Hannibal heard it all sitting heavy in his mind.

He woke to the sounds and scents of breakfast creeping under the door. The woman was still asleep, no longer on top of him, thankfully. He slipped out of bed into a T-shirt and boxers before meeting Hannibal in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Will."

"Morning," He grumbled, grabbing his mug already filled with delicious coffee. "Got any plans today?"

"Nothing you'd want your friend to overhear," Hannibal whispered as he glanced past Will to where the woman was leaving his room, already dressed with her hair disheveled.

"Oh! Uh, good morning. I didn't realize Will had a roommate. I'm Shelby." She was flushed from embarrassment rather than arousal now.

"Hannibal. I have prepared breakfast, you are welcome to join us," Hannibal responded smoothly, a slight smile on his face, though he couldn't quite hide the hatred in his eyes. Not from Will.

"No, it's alright. I really ought to be heading out now. I'll see you around, Will. Call me?" He raised his mug in salute when she left. He hadn't called any of the girls.

"Murderous plans then?" Will asked as if Shelby had never been there.

"Yes. I intend to bring home dinner, I will be leaving in the afternoon." Hannibal served breakfast, nostrils flaring when he caught the smell of sex on Will. "Today's mark is a flight attendant who insulted you, if you care to join me."

Will Graham was inside a woman. Hannibal Lecter didn't know her name but he would learn it. He kept track of every pig his Will brought home, though he had not killed any of them yet.

"Will!"

Hannibal tried to read with waning patience as the sounds of sex grew louder. There was nothing he could do except wait it out. Will would be his again come morning, as he so often reminded himself.

They lived together, ate together, killed together. Will chose Hannibal when they killed the dragon, when they went over the cliff, when they survived. They belonged to each other and no one night stand would change that, could change that. They were entwined irrevocably.

"Harder. Please, please!"

He would serve Will her thighs for lunch. Rare, on fresh salad from their garden. Display her in a Catholic church as the Virgin Mary, cradling her organs like they were the body of baby Christ.

"Please!"

It sounded almost like she responded to his thoughts.

The women were always so noisy, shouting their praises as if they wanted Hannibal to hear it. Will was never as loud. Was it so he wouldn't be heard through the wall? Was it because he was unsatisfied? Would he be louder with a man, with Hannibal? That was a dangerous thread to pull. Will would not be sleeping with Hannibal, he was straight.

He told himself this frequently. No matter the intimacy they shared and the lingering looks he thought he saw, Will had only ever been with women and continued now to bring them to bed.

Hannibal wanted him, had made it very clear from the day they met, but Will was not into men. There was nothing Hannibal could do to change someone's sexuality and he would never try, to do so would be unforgivably rude. He only wished Will didn't feel the need to find these pigs.

He had Will in every way that mattered, could hardly ask for more.

"Fuck!"

Will had gone through his Becoming and emerged on the other side more magnificent than Hannibal dared to imagine. They hunted marks and displayed them together. More than once Hannibal came home to a body, or parts of one, on the table, just like Randall Tier had been. He was regularly gifted the sight of Will in the moonlight, dripping pig's blood.

They ate every meal together, Will as sous chef while Hannibal cooked. The meat was almost always long pig, when it wasn't, they ate fish caught by Will in the river near their new home. Will's palate had become more refined so he could more deeply appreciate the food and the wine pairings.

"Oh, God!"

Their long discussions had resumed seamlessly after nearly four years without them, they frequently spoke on philosophy and theology long into the night. Every day to day conversation, the ones about groceries and physical therapy, was casual and lacked the awkward phase which comes when sharing space with a new person. Will still told Hannibal anything and everything on his mind, like when they were in therapy.

He even allowed Hannibal to be affectionate, physically and verbally. Yet the one part he would be denied-

"Will!"

Hannibal turned the page of his book without having read a single word.

It would be unfair to demand Will find sexual satisfaction with Hannibal, but would it be so unreasonable an ask that he not bring strangers into their home?

The next morning, Hannibal rose with the sun to make food for them all. He resented the women for taking the part one of Will he will never have, however, he would hate to be so rude as to exclude them deliberately, nor would he pass on the opportunity to feed someone meat from his ethical butcher.

Today's breakfast was quiche with smoked bacon from the flight attendant they butchered last week. The woman, Cleo, ate with them and made idle conversation without batting an eye. She even had a second helping.

"Call me, yeah? Bye, Will. Hannibal."

Will nodded.

"You never do call them. Why?" Hannibal asked. The women never came back, despite their obvious enthusiasm. He was not disappointed by this, Will couldn't care about them beyond physical attraction if he always found new ones.

"For one, I still don't have a phone, as you well know. Two, I have no reason to see any of them a second time," He answered.

"Not up to your standards, Will?" He doubted Molly Foster had been a better bed warmer.

"Not interested in dragging someone into the line of fire again. Don't wanna lead them on, can't kill every person I sleep with if they find out after repeat exposure, and I don't fancy including anyone new in our extra-curricular activities," Will elaborated, filling Hannibal with a deep sense of pride. Will chose him and continued to choose him every day.

Will Graham was drinking with a woman. She said her name was Pearl. He would forget it by morning. This one had a scar on her cheek that caught his eye. It was on the wrong side of her face and too long, but it was enough to remind him of Hannibal and that was what he wanted. Close enough to what he really wanted.

He bought her drinks with Hannibal's ridiculous wealth, never asked about the scar and she didn't ask about his. She tasted like the wine in her sangria when they kissed, notes of ash, blood and longing on the back of his tongue.

When they left, the familiar rumble of Hannibal's motorcycle passed their taxi. He knew Hannibal followed him on the nights he went out, every time he left the house alone. It was a small comfort to physically see he was affected by Will's actions. The mask he wore over his true emotions was so hard to read sometimes, he wanted to see it shatter under his jealousy, not just crack.

The drive back to the house was wet and too warm, Pearl an overwhelming heat on his neck. She lapped at him greedily. His father taught him to never call a girl a bitch, but he also taught Will to never kill or lust after a man. These women he brought home were bitches, they reminded him so much of his dogs; Needy, whiny, easy.

He kissed her how she liked, he moaned at appropriate intervals and held her waist with hungry hands. Will caressed and massaged with equal want and submission. All the while, he kept one eye on the leather jacket two cars ahead of them.

He payed for the taxi with Hannibal's money and lead her to his room on eager legs. Neither of them turned on the lights so they fumbled in the dark on his bed, giggling like teenagers and grinding like adults. Will became what she wanted.

He let her get on top and remove his clothes at her own pace. He whimpered pathetically when she got off him to strip and she cooed, "Shh, I know, baby."

He laid back and wondered if this is what Hannibal would want from him, too. He was so controlling in every other aspect of his life, would he want to control Will in bed? Probably not.

When they killed, which was the closest they came to sex, Hannibal watched him with unguarded adoration. His eyes rarely left Will when he was bloodied, always enraptured and happy to be along for the ride. When Will told him what the plan was for a hunt, exactly what Hannibal needed to do, he listened without question.

Day to day, Hannibal was just as subservient. If Will wanted something, he got it. Hannibal would deliver his every wish while crawling on bruised knees, even seemed grateful to have the opportunity. He would breathe Will's name like prayer and whisper praises all day long.

No, Hannibal would not like Will as he was now. He would not ask Will to keep his hands above his head and his hips still between powerful thighs. He would want whatever Will desired from him, because now that he had Become, Will knew what he truly wanted. And he deserved it.

In one smooth motion, he flipped their positions. He placed a hand on her cheek and resumed the pace she had set. She gasped, half laugh, half moan, as he sucked on her collarbone.

He fucked her while tracing her scar and closing his eyes.

Will Graham was drinking with a man. In a gay bar. Will went out looking for someone to have sex with and he went to a gay bar. Hannibal Lecter was going to kill someone.

For months they lived with a comfortable, if not pleasant, routine. They killed and ate pigs they found together then every week or so, Will found a woman to keep his bed warm. He outsourced his carnal pleasures because he was used to being married and needed the satisfaction.

Hannibal could have lived with this. He was in love with Will and loved in return, but Will was straight and would never want him like that. Except Will obviously wasn't straight, he had a man's arm around his waist and was leaning into it.

The pig was taller and broader than Will, with graying hair and beard. He was bending down to whisper in Will's ear when Hannibal left. He could not stand the sight of his Will like that, so close to another man. He had barely held himself together each night he listened to Will through the walls, the very idea of hearing a man moan out praise made his skin crawl.

Would Will be louder if he was with a man? Which position would he prefer? The questions Hannibal had so ardently stopped himself from asking were now screaming at him. They were no longer day dreams and hypotheticals where he was Will's lover, they were curses of a reality where Will didn't love him at all. Didn't see him, didn't want him, just used him to get away with murder. Used him to have someone to blame if they ever got caught.

It would not happen. Hannibal wouldn't let it.

He knew his fear was irrational even as he pulled onto a strip of empty highway and a plan began to form in his head. The man would die, it was unspeakably rude to covet something that did not belong to you. Will would be the one to kill him and Hannibal would record it. So he had have proof he was not the only guilty party if they ever came to trial. So he could tie them together in one more way. So his Will could never leave him again.

The aftermath tugged at the back of his mind. He would have to do something to keep Will from the bed of another man. If he did not want Hannibal, he would have no one, want no one.

His stomach churned violently and he sped up, as if he could outrun the feeling.

They were connected, inconceivably so. Where Hannibal's desires ended and Will's began was impossible to tell. Clearly, the distinction was better defined here than he previously thought. The women had been tolerated as a temporary comfort for Will as he adjusted to having Hannibal and nothing else. Even if Hannibal did not want this arrangement himself, he felt Will's want for it and could do nothing to separate it from his own emotions, couldn't bear the thought of any separation between them.

This change in rhythm, kink in the machine, missing cog of Will's heterosexuality that Hannibal had built the rest of the mechanism of their life around, was entirely intolerable. He would do everything in his power to repair the imbalance in their reality, starting with the death of the pig who touched his Will.

Hannibal didn't return to their home that day, instead spending the night tracking down the man. Social media truly was a magical thing.

Owen Mackenzie, 48, 5'10" and about 180 pounds. He worked in the lumber yard on weekdays and spent his free time painting lackluster landscapes. He lived alone in an apartment only a short drive from their house, he had no pets or close family and often spoke of running off to Canada. No one would think anything was wrong until long after all the evidence had been digested.

When he came home in the early hours of the morning, Will was asleep. Hannibal changed out of yesterdays clothes and started making breakfast for two. If the pig was still here, he would not eat with them. No one would, anymore.

Will joined him as Hannibal set the table for two. "Good morning, Will."

"When did you get back? Your bike was gone when I came home last night," Will replied. Something dark sat in his voice, on a throne of shame and antlers. It was worry, or regret, or resentment.

"I went out; left you and your guest to the house." It was a lie, like all good ones, wrapped around a kernel of truth. Will could see too well, though, nothing in his eyes showed he believed Hannibal.

"Didn't bring anyone back with me."

Hannibal kept his eyes trained on the knife in his hands, and hoped in vain that Will could not read the shock he felt. He sounded calm to his own ears, but Will's had always been more sensitive to borrowed voices, he used one too often himself to not know the differences. "Oh? No young lady catch your eye?"

"Not any who were there for my type, no." Hannibal knew what he meant, knew Will heard the engine follow him to each bar, and still couldn't bring himself to admit to the weakness of stalking. The Chesapeake Ripper stalked prey, not potential lovers. That kind of behavior was for people like Franklyn Froideveaux. People who couldn't earn regard in any other way, pathetic pigs who could not stand being away from their obsession for another minute.

Hannibal withstood three years of distance from his beloved. This was different.

"A shame, truly," He told the sausage on the counter, gripping the knife too hard. At least it wasn't the blade, this time. The first night Will brought a woman into their space, Hannibal sliced his hand so bad he couldn't write for a week. He ground his knuckles through the silent motions of cooking and filled the plates with as much peace as he could muster.

When Hannibal served breakfast, Will picked up the thread of conversation still floating between them. He spoke lightly before taking a bite. "Where were you?"

"No where of consequence," Will raised an eyebrow, "I went for a ride and lost track of time."

"Alright," He leaned back and crossed his arms, "Any plans for the day?"

"I have errands to run, I will be spending the day out in town." They needed groceries and Hannibal needed to prepare for their next dinner guest. Will planned to do small chores around the house, take it easy, as he put it. The rest of the week went much the same until Saturday, when Will would normally go out again.

"Don't bring anyone back with you, if you could," Hannibal said from where he was perched with a book he wasn't reading. He flipped a page idly. "I'd like some peace and quiet tonight."

Will looked up at him, searching for the real reason for the request. Hannibal kept his eyes firmly on the page, restricted Will's observation to the body language Hannibal could control, unlike the emotion in his eyes. "Could always go to theirs."

That got him to look up. It was pathetic. They both knew Will wouldn't dare, but he could and Hannibal was unable to ignore it, even when his reaction was exactly what the remark was meant to provoke. "Of course you could."

The eye contact was empty, left hollow to be filled by conversation without words. Ones they would not be having today. Will narrowed his eyes and left.

Will Graham's kitchen was covered in blood. He got out of the taxi, noticed the motorcycle was parked exactly where it was before he left, and opened the door. Only to find tile dripping red and a ruined tablecloth.

He hadn't been startled by blood for a long time, or even coming home to it, but the amount, and the mess it made, put him on edge. There was a knife in his hand before he realized he moved.

Where was Hannibal? Had they been caught? Would they have to move again? He hardly spared a second for the idea that Hannibal was the source of the blood. Definitely the cause, though, it couldn't be any other way. Will couldn't bare it.

He relaxed when he saw Hannibal, double layered in his suits, both three-piece and plastic. Triple layered if Will counted the person suit, barely held together where Hannibal sat at the table… Across from someone who was bleeding from dozens of cuts. Some shallow, along his throat and wrists, others deeper. The tips of each finger had been completely severed.

"Who's this?" Will asked, infusing his voice with as little emotion as possible. The man's head shot up violently to the newcomer. Will couldn't place where he knew the face from.

"Will!" The man gasped hoarsely, lips forming clumsily around letters and bruises.

"Do I know him?" The question was aimed at Hannibal, though his eyes were locked on the beaten thing before them.

"Yes. Yes! I was buying you drinks last week at the bar." Right. The gay bar. The man, Owen, continued with surprising speed, "Please help! This psycho broke into my house and took me here."

"That's terribly rude. I am not a psychopath." Owen almost looked more incredulous than pained for a second, before Hannibal jammed a knife into his thigh and he screamed. The Ripper persona was pulled over-tight across Hannibal, barely fitting over the crazed beast Will knew prowled wildly within him. The points of ravenstag antlers pierced the flesh of the killer facade and showed as tooth and glare on Hannibal.

"What's this about, Hannibal?"

"I think he's in love with you or something? He hasn't shut up about touching what isn't mine," Owen managed to grit out between ragged breaths.

Will waved off his response, he already knew Hannibal was in love with him. If Bedelia hadn't told him, he would have to blind to not realize by now. He also knew Hannibal was a jealous man, had been since they met. He saw Will as his alone, couldn't bare anyone crossing that line. "Obviously. I mean what changed that you're going after Owen now and not anyone I actually slept with?"

Hannibal's eyes snapped to his, Will watched his pupils dilate with hate and awe as he sneered, just a small movement of his upper lip. Will saw Hannibal's emotions clearly; He despised the fact Will remembered this name, above any other name he could have recalled, he knew that of the man tied to their dining chair; Equally, Will thought it was obvious he was in love and Will was his, they belonged to each other.

"This one's different, Will. I'd like you to kill him," Hannibal said smoothly.

The only difference was the gender. Before last week, Will only danced with women. He hadn't meant to go to a gay bar, just stumbled in and wasn't bothered to leave when he noticed. Hannibal was only violent now because Owen was a man?

He had thought Will was straight.

Will gripped his knife firmly and stabbed it into Owen's throat, twisting until the body stopped moving.

Will Graham was covered in blood. Hannibal Lecter could not be more in love. There was not a moment of hesitation before Will killed the man, not a hint of remorse in his eyes. Hannibal knew he looked starstruck, his eyes wide and jaw slack. He was starstruck. In awe. In love.

"You're perfect." The words fell from his lips without effort or though, as if his brain melted out his mouth. He was standing now, not sure when or how he moved, but he was cradling Will's face reverently, admiring the smears of death between them, the dilation of Will's pupils, the stickiness of blood in stubble. "Remarkable boy."

"You really thought I just wasn't into you like that." It wasn't a question.

"Truly, I believed you were not. Thought you were bedding women to cope with the loss of your wife," Will cringed at that mention of Molly, but Hannibal continued, "To see you with a man changed that."

"Why make me kill him? Why not just make a move, Hannibal?" To think, it could have been so easy. All this time, Will just wanted him to make a move.

"I must admit my mind was corrupted by jealousy. The idea of him with you drove me mad, I imagined your reaction to his presence tonight and came up with only disgust directed my way." He had so clearly seen the hate Will would surely demonstrate. The vitriol that would clog Hannibal's ears when it was thrown by his love. The hesitation to kill when it wasn't for pleasure. "You have surprised me, yet again, Will."

He looked at Hannibal then, seeing, feeling, with his empathy. Hannibal knew Will saw every thought he'd had about this situation. "You really are blinded by love."

"Yes," Hannibal breathed in reply. As horrible as it was to admit, it was true. He could not see Will clearly through the lenses of his own eyes, cloudy and rose tinted as they were. "You corrode and control every rational thought."

Then Hannibal was being kissed. Will's hands were in his hair, on his neck, in his hair again. Hannibal's own stayed firmly on Will's jaw, tracing the scar Dolarhyde left on his cheek, feeling the stretch of muscle that never worked quite the same when it healed. Hannibal whimpered against Will's lips, unable to stop himself. Never before had his control fallen so firmly from his grasp, but if the tightening of the grip in his hair was any indication, Will appreciated the lack of restraint.

Will pulled away to mouth along his jaw and Hannibal whined at the loss. He was completely without dignity, held together only by Will's hands and lips. He was sure if Will pulled away now, he would not recover, never use the evidence he gathered today, never do anything at all. He was too invested.

The last of his thoughts other than Will, Will, Will, fled when Will bit down on his throat, spilling fresh blood between them.