Carelessly, Will leaned in the partial shade the door frame afforded and watched under heavy lids how Hannibal was busy fiddling in the kitchen.

Listless he blew a wet, curly hair from his forehead, dripped water remaining beads in the eyes and thus decided fell to the maltreated nerves, without taking his eyes from the psychiatrist.
Take a hot shower. Hannibal had advised him (well, probably more advisable), no sooner had he set foot on the land and closed the door behind him. In the meantime, I cook you a soup.
Will had, albeit with sporadic grumbling, obeys, and now, half an hour later, significantly warmed and hatched in casual clothes, based his dubious sentries on the border between kitchen and living room area. Hannibal had it though subtly pointed out to lie down on the couch near the fireplace and rest, but Will did not even think it.
He was a grown man, not a minor child who was sent to bed as soon as the suspected mumps or measles arose.

So he did the only thing that seemed interesting and remarkable in his current location – afford Hannibal some company while he preached his culinary arts.

The psychiatrist had got rid of his jacket, gathering up the sleeves of his bordeaux red shirt to the elbows, so that Will could see swelling muscle strands beneath the cream-colored skin with any grip he made. They disappeared in the blink of an eye but still it was a marvellous sight.
Hannibal held a proportionally small, sharp knife in his hand and chopped a ginger tuber into tiny slices. His whole body seemed to be involved in this act for his gaze was immobile and highly concentrated. A few strands of hair hung between his eyes, but he either did not notice it or ignored it intentionally. The lips pressed into a full, rose-colored bar, reminding of the features of an ancient Roman sculpture. Striking and hard as marble rock. Somehow inhumanly perfect.

A few feet away from him a pot of steaming liquid bubbled contently such as Will interpreted the gurgling sound. On the tabletop different oriental spices and herbs spread, a colorful palette of exotic powder crumbs that Will strongly compared to the fanned tail feathers of a peacock. It looked as if Hannibal made a three-course meal instead of a simple dish.
Will sighed inwardly. Sometimes he was really trying to shake his head in horrification, exaggerated by Hannibal's huge expenses.
It was already one in the morning and despite this ungodly hour, the psychiatrist ribbon actually an apron around, revived the stove and cooked him chicken soup (at least Will called it so because he wasn't able to remember the complicated name Hannibal had used for it - at this point his mind was a very simple knitted construct.).

More frequently Will had noticed in recent weeks that Hannibal slept through no single night. He preferred three-hour, maximum four-hour recovery periods, falling into a deathlike state of rest, but was instantly awake when Will wanted to steal out of bed secretly (which often was extremely embarrassing, for he was a man like any other and when he had to follow the call of nature, then ... well, then he had to go to the bathroom and it wasn't particularly edifying, that two-heeled, brown eyes focused his backside all the way down.).
His senses seemed sharpened without ceasing and were always receptive to the smallest disturbance the atmosphere held. At least Will was convinced that they would never need to worry about an electrical alarm system, if uninvited intruders should break into the house. Hannibal would either hear or smell them coming... and make short, tasty work out of them.

Some people just wanted to challenge their fate.

The thought of it led Will to an unwittingly smile. His reaction proved more than anything else how deep he had already sunk in the darkness, Hannibal led him through, drowning him deeper in moonlit water.
Strangely the profiler felt, however, reasonably well in this moment. The shower's sparkling water jet had relaxed his tense muscles and deprived him of the external cold, even if the inner counterpart unchanged took root in him.
To be true, getting rid of his uncomfortable suit was a personal blessing and he was glad about wearing sweatpants and an ordinary cotton shirt. Even grateful.

If one had seriously asked him in this second whether he was blessed or cursed with Hannibal, this man, this monster, this devil wrapped in meat and bones he would have shrugged his shoulders and said both noncholantly. And there would have been no better answer to it than this.

A scraping echoed through the air as Hannibal knocked the ginger slices on the wood plate and sprinkled them into the boiling water brew.
He stirred it twice before he turned and cleaned the leek in the sink. He broached it then. Will also watched the destruction of this vegetable in silence until a sudden inspiration advised him to escape the door frame and reach out to the man who turned his broad back at him as ever. He knew that Hannibal heard his approaching presence, and if not, he smelled it, but the psychiatrist remained motionless as Will embraced him from behind and his hands stroked over the abdomen. His fingers soon clamped onto the shirt.

The profiler let his chin rest on Hannibal's shoulder as he peered down silently on the knife, how he held it, waved it with outrageously casual dexterity. He did this a little while. Mone of them spoke.
The only noises around them were the snip-snap of the sharpened knife blade and the roaring water pot.

"Are you mad at me?" Will asked quietly, as he could no longer bear his own impatience.

Even now Hannibal didn't turn around, remained innocently in place, blithely decomposing the leeks into pieces.

"Do I have a reason to do so? ¨ he asked simply. His tone was indefinable.

In response, Will pulled the immaculately-off shirt collar slightly to the side with his teeth, buried his face in the crook of Hannibal's unprotected neck and inhaled the scent of the other man deeply.
The after-shave had completely lost its effect, however, had been generously replaced by the battalion of spices, Hannibal had taken from his inexhaustible stores. Will smelled curry and nutmeg, coriander and subtle demonic hot chili, the tart sweetness of fennel seeds and slightly sour lemon grass.
It reminded him of the Far East, the tropical climate, the icy flow of the rivers and snow painted on the roughness of mountain chains that all tourists swarmed up to. He had never left the American continent and also had no intention to, but he believed Hannibal would take him to a culinary safari at least. He thought about how many years they were granted to eat in front of each other, sleep in the same bed, kiss and hold onto in darkness.

¨Maybe.¨ he murmured into the smooth skin, searched with his half-open mouth after the pulsating carotid artery, marking the tangled path of his lips placing ghostly butterfly kisses on the warm skin.
After he had found it he licked teasingly over the burning spot like he'd suck at a particularly sweet fruit. His action was not without consequences. Although it took some time to make Hannibal surrender - when he lay the kitchen knife beside him and wiped his wet hands meticulously with a cloth, Will knew that he had gained the attention of the psychiatrist completely. He was proud.

To some extent, the knowledge flattered him to be able to seduce Hannibal, even let him forget his cooking for a few precious moments. However, he also knew that he had challenged the look Hannibal gave him now, as he turned to him.
The bright, electric light gleamed like fresh fireplace ash in the maroon iris, inevitably linked with his. Will could bear prolonged eye contact conceivable rare because it unsettled him and then he felt incredible lack of place. However, Hannibal's eyes were like a fire in the late winter morning when the snow flowed in thick flakes from the steel gray sky and the faces of the dead reflected on icy lake surfaces. Or an active volcano crater, on whose edges the magma gurgled noisily and gnashing.

He was fascinated by them and like multiple times before, he was captivated in the psychatrist's gaze.
Did he like it? The feeling of being tied up, bandaged like a mummy of ancient Egypt? Perhaps he had hated it earlier. Maybe he had it even abhorred once fervently. But that belonged to his past. Earlier, when he couldn't even take into account that playability benefits earned him such a restraint.
Since their very first meeting Hannibal Lecter had been looking forward to liberate Will's psyche of its social airs and graces, to reveal the raw savagery of his own existence only to subdue him shortly afterwards. But the psychiatrist had ignored a decisive factor - Also Will himself was able to exert some power on him. Not the power that one needs to capture a rabid predator successfully in its cage and swallow the key, but definitely the power (or rather the gift) to appease its growling.

Not the power to shape it the monster's fangs but definitely the strength to give his wrath a tamer pace. Both held a very specific, manipulative component to it. In their relationship they played with feelings, with gestures, with their bodies, with each other's mind. It was an edifying game, unless you weren't overly exaggerated and careful not to push the partner to a limit that he was not allowed to transgress. Will knew he had reached such a limit now and it annoyed him that not Hannibal but Frederick Chilton had led him on this edge.
He pressed his lips a little too harsh against Hannibal's neck and his teeth flashed out, biting there and there.
A few of these marks were raised coral red on the toned skin and some of them would certainly give birth to purple bruises soon after. Hannibal estimated such evidence as love (he called them jewelry of skin), but usually it was he covering Will's body and neck with this teeth, dabbing his exposed flesh similar to a leopard skin.
Will stopped maltreating Hannibal's throat when the psychatrist put his hands on his cheeks. He directed him to his lips, gently pulling him into a lazy kiss bribed with intensity and overwhelming heat.
Will tasted a pinch of pepper on Hannibal's gourmet tongue, while it pushed into his mouth. Or was it cinnamon? Or something else entirely? He did not know. He only knew he was afraid to lose himself in the tumult of sensations and temperature fluctuations postulating his body. Silencing dizziness washed over him, but before he slumped to the ground Hannibal wrapped an arm around his waist like an iron vise while the other supported his back. He pressed Will's body firmly to his own as he wanted them to melt into one being.

"Don't be too good. Otherwise you won't ever get rid of me.¨ Will murmured, gasping for air after they broke the kiss .

Hannibal replied his warning with a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"That's exactly what I try to imply.¨ he said softly and Will couldn't tell whether his words were meant jokingly or seriously. "Am I successful? ¨

¨Very.¨

The profiler threw a quick glance at the soup pot.

"This work isn't necessary. Really. Hand me an aspirin and I'll be fine.¨ he said apologetically.

Hannibal showed a thin smile.

"You're my mate.¨ he explained in simple gratitude, sliding with his thumb tip almost tenderly over Will's lush lips. They showed an obscene shade of red by now. "It's my immovable right to cook for you and I gladly take every opportunity for it.¨.

Will looked at him but didn't smile back.
"Mate ..." he echoed. He wrung the letters from his mouth like a towel drowned in soapy water. Mate. It sounded strange in his ears. Hearing it made him think of bestial creatures of the wilderness and meticulous selection. Not necessarily what he used to get in touch with Hannibal mentally.
Well, except for the animal-like creature, perhaps. The Wendigo still visited him in his dreams, although he Hannibal gourmet forays in the picture was long ... Hannibal interrupted his thoughts by leaving collide with each other tenderly her forehead.
The expression in his eyes was unfathomable and dark as the bottom of the Dead Sea.

"Don't like the term? ¨ he asked. He seemed amused.

"Well, ... yes, but...¨ Will bowed his eyelids, until only two slim slots flickering cobalt blue were visible. "It's just funny to hear it from your lips."

"So? ¨

Hannibal's breath was warm and salty and tangy as a summer breeze in Tuscany and held a shallow laughter hidden.

"Why? ¨.

"Because it somehow still seems strange if you say such things to me or give me such a ... title. I mean, what follows next? Companion, darling, honeybeam? I don't think I could ever get used to it. It sounds kind of possessive.¨
As he spoke, he had tangled with each additional word in its own records so that the last syllables gushed like fountains from his vocal cords. A thieving redness had crept his cheeks.
Hannibal took it with a smile.
"You may get used to it.¨ he said firmly. "And you will.¨
It surely should not sound like a threat. But for Will it did. A gentle threat.

He sighed. Then he looked at the psychiatrist with a mixture of curiosity and regret.

"Let's say, I would actually consider you as a pet - which is not true. Then what does Hannibal see in you then?"

"Hannibal?" He cleared his throat, as his mouth was suddenly incredibly dry and scratchy. "What ... what am I to you? ¨

Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't I just say that? ¨ he asked in mild surprise, but also a bit reproachful. "Will, you'd better listen when someone speaks to you."
Will did not respond. Instead, he slipped out a bit from Hannibal so that their forehead no longer touched. Also their mouths won a more moral distance. Hannibal's lips were like poison for Will. Sweet, dizzy poison.
The mouth of his opponent fell down rapidly. He looked unsatisfied but said nothing. (Not yet). The profiler took a deep breath. His hands ran down over Hannibal's chest like water, feeling the firm flesh and muscles below.

There was nothing perverted here, no craving, no sexual need. Merely the desire for exploration, for an anchor on the high seas to hold on to. Will stopped moving his hands when he felt Hannibal's heart beat underneath him. The pulse pounded with surprising vehemence against his palms and suddenly it was Will as its rhythm would connect with his breathing, maybe even converge. Like two bodies sharing a single heart... the thought bit his memory so brutally it felt as if a hail of glass shards stumbled over his shoulder blades.

"For Frederick Chilton I'm a madman.¨ he said. "A fascinating patient who would ignite a lot of global interest and fame, he could publish a whole study on my brain and my visions. He is attracted by the commerce and worldly success, although he claims otherwise. How about you? You're a psychiatrist and a cannibal. Am I your problem case of the century or the Christmas dessert? ¨

No sooner had the last syllables rolled off his tongue, perfect silence spread in the room. Even the water seemed to be scared to simmer louder.
Hannibal's face was cured as in resin, sealed and somehow ... prepared. Lifeless. Loveless. empty.
Have I ever experienced Hannibal angry? Will asked himself abruptly. Did I ever see him cry? Seen as he falls into madness? As he overturns tables, decorates the carpet with plate shards as it is propagated in Spanish dramas?
The answer to all these questions was a simple no. And paradoxically Will didn't feel comfortable about it.
He felt the arms that enveloped his body. When he wanted to elude them tentatively, they moved no single inch away. They would not let him go. Didn't want to give him away.
Will swallowed.

"Hannibal? ¨ His voice was as hesitant as he had hoped. "Hannibal, are you mad at me now? ¨

It should be a joke, but neither of them laughed.

The mention of his name seemed to retrieve the psychiatrist in the present again. He blinked. Once, twice. The third time he looked at Will. Long and thoughtful.

"I guess, Frederick has sown doubt about my intentions while you had your little chat in the rain. It just surprises me that it may retract harvest so quickly.¨ he said finally.
And he had deceived the profiler with the perfectly smooth baritone, the bitter component would not be passed out like a red wine stain on a garnished with fabric lace Tischdeckchen.

"No, the doubts were already put in the ground. He only germinated them.¨ Will replied.

"Do you believe rather him than me? ¨

It sounded offended.

Will turned his head slightly to the side, as Hannibal's lips wanted to catch his again. (Maybe this time to bite him.)

"Sometimes I don't know what I should believe at all.¨ he answered honestly and it was a fact he probably internalized since the first meeting with Dr. Lecter.
Two fingers wrapped around his chin and forced him to look up again. Reluctantly, Will followed the command and fell prey to the burning sanguin. Behind them the water pot spat worryingly high splashes into the air and clapped flippantly onto the onyx black stove.
Hannibal gave no attention to it.

"Believe in what is between uns.¨ he said factually. Will sighed.

"And what is this between us? ¨ he asked.

There it was again, this existential fear, making his stomach rotate in loops. Hannibal raised his lips to a failed crescent.

"It's for eternity.¨ he answered imploringly. "You may doubt everything, but never my intentions towards you. They are pure. They are strong. And they are always faithful.¨

"Are they anemic? ¨Willasked.

Hannibal cocked his head.

"This I cannot promise. You know it, know what I am."

His face turned into an act of distress, but Will knew Hannibal was only distressed because he did not meet Will's expectations here and therefore had to disappoint him.
That blood would flow didn't trouble him for a single breath.
The profiler snorted. He did not know if he should be relieved about this confession or even more worried. The fear in him had waned a bit.

"I don't doubt what you are or who you are, Hannibal.¨ he said finally, decided that he should put these thoughts ad acta for once. "I doubt ... myself.¨

Hannibal lowered his shoulders. He seemed a little mollified. A fact so Will thought, would volatilize with security, Profiler his lips apart first brought to unveil the disastrous night's last measly detail.

"Why? ¨ the psychiatrist asked quietly.

"I thought about kissing Frederick. Just for a brief moment, two seconds perhaps, but I thought about it. Says nothing good about our current state, right? ¨

It was out. Freed. Will felt as if he had pelted the psychiatrist with firecrackers.

Hannibal looked at him.

"You didn't kiss him.¨

It was a statement, not a question. Will stared at his feet. Minutes passed. He heard the clock ticking her mechanical ticking in the background .

¨No.¨ he answered. Hannibal looked at him with varying interests.

"Why not? ¨

Each letter was carefully chosen.
Will licked his chapped lips.

"Because I want to kiss you.¨ he replied. "And when I kiss Frederick, I think that I'll never kiss you again, and when I think about that I get sick.¨ He exhaled slowly. "I don't want to cheat on you, you man-eating bastard - I want to spend my life with you, preferably in front and not on the dinner plate. Is this really too much to ask? ¨.

This time Hannibal stared at him in irritation, with wide eyes. Will suffered, enjoyed it, threw it down. And waited. Hoped that it was worth the wait.

¨Oh.¨ said the psychiatrist after what felt like an eternity. Then, after a pause, again. ¨Oh.¨.

Will frowned. Such a reaction was not typical of Hannibal. He would have excepted a more eloquent reply.

"Oh!? ¨ he hissed piqued. "That's all you have to say about this? Oh!? ¨

He admitted it, he was disappointed. Especially since he realized the importance of severity as well as the horrific truth of his own statements just now.

Hannibal did not answer. Instead, he still seemed to be paralyzed mentally, arms behind Will's back. Will asked himself dumbly if anyone had ever talked so straightforward to Hannibal before. although he knew exactly what kind of favorite meat he took between his teeth.
And of course he couldn't remember anyone who called Dr. Lecter a bastard and survived the next day, let alone the next week ...

Well, he had not seriously taken his anger to be polite and he doubted he could quarrel (which would certainly occur sometime, for each pair clashed there and then that was inevitable) without curses and other unsightly phrases.

However, suddenly Hannibal did something that washed away all his doubts and imaginary excuses - He hugged him. Tightly and needy.

Their bodies clung together like parts of a puzzle, their chests collided. Will felt Hannibal's heart hammering against his own and the psychiatrist's lips kissing the delicately sensitive spots his collarbone offered.

Each fiber petrified under his skin. A cocoon of flesh, fabric rustling and human heat enveloping, grabbed him, drove oxygen from his lungs and the blood from his cheeks.
He gasped, but so quietly that he hoped the psychiatrist would not hear it (which honestly was a fruitless hope). After a few seconds in which he excepted Hannibal's steady breath hitting against his covered up bones, the hot water jumped in its steel prison and the clock's mechanical innards rubbed together, he slowly, almost insidiously, relaxed.

His hands trembled as they climbed over the waist of his opponent, running them up to his broad shoulders and clasped around his neck. Single finger tips clung in a neatly combed head of hair, almost desperate. An exciting breath swirled his perception, let them be sharper. Susceptible.
It was one of those rare moments where Will Graham gave himself completely and without limitation into the touch of another person. Somehow this embrace seemed more intimate to him than any kiss they had exchanged within the last month and he received the change in Hannibal's demeanor like a squire, who waited on his knees in front of the king's throne receiving the accolade.
And he realized something fundamental. His reasoning, why he hadn't kissed Frederick Chilton, was not quite right. It was patchy.

In fact, he couldn't bear to disappoint Hannibal, betraying him in such a manner. He refused to risk not being able to fulfill the expectations that this man put in him. He wanted to prove a murderer and psychopath his worth, and he wasn't ashamed about it. Not anymore. Was he crazy in this sense? Fraught with an irreparable brain? Maybe even insane? Yes, probably. But Hannibal Lecter was it too then. And this thought, this knowledge gave Will the comfort he needed to accept a degree that made their relationship be clear and outbalanced. Possible.

The fear in his stomach had, however, laid to rest quietly. It would come to the surface again, this was no question, but it had retired for the day so Will didn't thoughtcalmed tremendously.

A little later found Hannibal cleared his throat and spoke again. Something in his tone seemed broken or cracked. Will preferred to ignore this. He didn't want to challenge Hannibal any further than he already had.

¨Will.¨ he said. "Would you consider to leave this man-eating bastard alone in the kitchen? Otherwise the soup will never be ready, I fear.¨

He avoided eye contact, which was unusual. Almost as if it would be unpleasant to him.

"Hm, does your madman distract you too much from cooking?" Will asked in gentle mockery.

Hannibal ended her embrace without answer, went to the water pot and finally released it from its steaming, overflowing pain. The tormented stove was probably just as grateful.

"He's stubborn." he said as he'd need to confirm the analysis.

"You like it when I'm stubborn."

"Occassionally."

"Liar."

For this Hannibal had no answer.
Will stuffed his hands in his pockets. He bit his lower lip as he remembered something that still gave him slight migraine. The last brick in the wall, as the saying was. One of the premonitions Chilton had unleashed on him.

"You know, I loved Alana Bloom once.¨ he began incoherently. "I put my heart to her feet and she trampled over it as if it were a fresh polished parquet floor and she a tap dancer. What will your love do? Will it also trample over me sooner or later? ¨

"What makes you think just getting to such questions? Champagne really doesn't gut.¨ you

It was an added lax, repellent joke, but Will took it not amiss. He feared to have crossed a line with his previous opening of the Hannibal himself had not known until a few moments ago that they existed.

"It's not the champagne.¨ he merely meant. "I want to prepare myself to the case, if there should be one. This is alles.¨

"You will only fall one more time, Will.¨

"And where? In your freezer? ¨

"In my arms.¨ He said it with such equanimity, as he would read the results of a blood test. "And possibly on the couch, as I recommended you to half an hour ago."

"Forty minutes. And you didn't recommend it, you reminded me of it.¨ Will told him with an innocent smile, then lifted up his hands disarmingly before Hannibal felt compelled to counterattack. "All right, I'll go to the living-room then.¨

He pushed himself away from the kitchen counter and moved shuffling toward the corridor as he paused in his movement.

"Oh, before I forget, Hannibal? ¨

Hannibal did not even look up. The leeks seemed more important. Snip-snap.

"Yes? ¨ he said.

Will smiled.

"Hannibal Lecter.¨

Hannibal frowned.

"Yes, this is my name.¨ he said cautiously. "Your point? ¨

"Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal ... ¨ the profiler enjoyably clucked his tongue. ¨ ... Will Lecter. William Lecter.¨ he said reverently, extended his name intentionally in a lush sounding length.
He grinned from ear to ear as he realized that Hannibal's knife hovered motionless in the atmosphere, the view of its owner fixed at him.

"Hannibal and William Lecter - Well, how does that sound to you?"

Was he wrong or did Hannibal's facial features derail for a few millimeters? It made Will grin.

"According to the soup - take your time, honey. I'm doing a lot better now.¨

With thesefinalwords,hefled fromthekitchenwithout turninga single timearound.

Although he heard a metallic clang as the knife fell from Hannibal's hand and heard something one you would have referred to as 'swearing'. Hannibal mumbling "fuck!" was still funny as hell.

Only when he arrived in the living room and had made himself comfortable on the couch, he allowed to cover his face with a pillow to silent his laughter. And his diaphragm hurt while having the amusing knowledge he had Hannibal Lecter, murderer, cannibal and psychopath probably brought the shock of his life.

He could get used to the word Mate if he needed to. A memorable term in the psychiatrist's dignified vocabulary. No problem.

Husband, however, was a term Hannibal wouldn't bring upon his lips that easily.

But Will urged him to nothing. They had time after all.