À tes souhaits

Notes: "À tes souhaits" and "prosit" mean "bless you" in French and Danish.

I dedicate this fanfiction to Tsuyuri, my friend and beta for this OS.

Enjoy !

It all started with a snuffling. A reflex, a thing we make without thinking and Will didn't even notice it. Half an hour later, he sighed with annoyance when Hannibal sniffed for the umpteenth time.

They were in the living room of their Danish house where they lived since they had run away from the United States. Will tried to remain focused on the making of a fly for salmon-fishing, sitting on the carpet in front of the coffee table, while Hannibal composed on his harpsichord. The psychiatrist scratched out the sheet music with an irritated gesture and sniffed again, before standing up. He entered the bathroom, took a Kleenex and blew noisily, before throwing it in the bin. Then, he sat back behind his musical instrument. Encephalitis, their Irish setter, was lying against Will and raised his head, five minutes after, when Hannibal sneezed. Outside, Copenhagen was covered with snow.

…

The next day, there was no doubt anymore. When Will went downstairs from his bedroom that morning, he found Hannibal in his armchair, with his red and irritated nose leaning over a cup of tea, which smelled eucalyptus and ginger. On a glass pedestal table within arm reach, there was a designer tissue box which almost looked like an ornament. Almost. But Will was not blind.

"Do you have a cold, Hannibal?"

"Certainly not," Hannibal answered. "Cold just neutralized the mucociliary escalator of my nasal mucosa."

"What?" Will replied, deadening a yawn with his hand.

He dreamed only about a coffee and that his friend avoids using three-syllable words at such an early hour.

"Below fifty degrees Fahrenheit, the mucus flows from the nose, Will. I am pretty sure you have noticed this before," Hannibal rephrased, before taking a sip of his tea.

Of course he did. There were hard winters in Baltimore too. Except that they were inside the house, the floor heating kept the tiles lukewarm under his bare feet and, if that were not enough, a good fire crackled in the fireplace. In short, he walked in the vast house, in a t-shirt and underpants, and he was not even a bit cold.

He was going to point this out to Hannibal, but he took pity on him when he tightened his cashmere plaid around his shoulders and tried to hide his nose behind the morning papers. So, he headed for kitchen, scratching his three-day stubble that hid properly the nasty scar in his cheek, and Encephalitis followed him, wagging his upturned tail. Will gave him a candy and got a mug out of a cupboard to drink finally his coffee.

…

The very evening, when Will came home, frozen and exhausted, after a whole day giving lessons at the Faculty of Humanities of Copenhagen, he hung his trickling coat from the coat rack, removed his fur-lined boots, scarf, beanie and gloves, before stroking the dog who welcomed him as he was gone for centuries.

Then, he went towards the kitchen, drawn to the spicy fragrances that foretold a tasty dinner, before freezing by seeing Hannibal in the room. Leaned on the kitchen counter, he was absently looking at boiling water in a saucepan. The sweat was pouring off his pale face and a pile of used tissues was about falling down on the counter cluttered with some utensils and ingredients. Will sighed and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair.

"Okay, that's enough," he said, getting close to him.

Hannibal raised his head as he suddenly noticed Will's presence and didn't seem to understand what he wanted.

"What?"

"Hannibal, you're sick. Happens to the best of us. So, go upstairs and lie down while I call a doctor."

"I do not need a doctor, Will. I am a doctor. I have everything I need in the medicine cabinet," Hannibal shot back, agreeing nevertheless to leave the kitchen to reach his bed.

Will joined him in his bedroom, with a glass of water and some pills that Hannibal took without complaint, and sighed when he saw that he was lying with his clothes on. He sat on the bed and took Hannibal's shoes off. Then, he put a hand on his burning forehead.

"You have a fever. Take your clothes off; we have to bring your temperature down."

Will came back to the bathroom, filled a basin with cold water and took a washcloth, before joining Hannibal who was having trouble removing his pants. He put the recipient on the nightstand and helped him to make himself comfortable. When Hannibal was stretched out in his boxers, Will wrung the washcloth and mopped his sweaty face. The psychiatrist was staring at him without saying a word, his lids half-closed, letting Will take care of him. Will soaked the washcloth again, then wet his neck, chest, arms and belly, avoided the bullet hole newly healed on his side, and went down on his legs. Before he reached the calves, Hannibal was sleeping. For not wake him, Will got a blanket out of the closet and spread it on him, before leaving the room without making a noise, taking the basin.

He came back to the kitchen and began to clean. He didn't have the same cooking skills as Hannibal and was unable to guess which dish he wanted to prepare just by looking at the ingredients on the counter. Then he chose to make it a dish, which his dad called the "scraps' omelet" when Will was a kid and involved putting everything you could find in the fridge, in a frying pan with beaten eggs. On the counter, there was onions, bell peppers, some mushrooms and, of course, meat. Everything went good together, and quickly, the room was filled with smells and crackles that should have drawn Encephalitis. But the dog didn't come. He should take a nap somewhere, Will thought, and would probably come later to claim his dinner.

He ate in front of the evening news, with a glass of wine. Danish was still unintelligible to Will who was just starting learning it, but fortunately for him, English was the second most spoken language in this country and their television had a multilingual subtitles option. In this way, Will was feeling a little less disoriented.

Denmark was a strategic destination. Mainly because neither one nor the other had come here before. Nobody knew them and Hannibal was enjoying the climate that reminded him his country. They had lived in a motel for a while, then Hannibal had found this house that was become their home. Will had given up his death wish, when they had survived the fall, and embraced this life, for better or worse. They had dressed their wounds, taken the time to heal, and then Hannibal had resumed his psychiatric activities and Will had chosen to return to the path of teaching. Having some semblance of normality and routine was right for him, and the subjects of his classes didn't give him nightmares.

Hannibal made every effort to make him feel good; he didn't kill anybody since their arrival, but even so, Will felt there was something missing in his life. At first he thought there was because he missed his dogs. He could only hope that Molly and Walter were taking care of them. And then one evening, Hannibal came home with Encephalitis. One of his patients was a dog breeder and had given him the purebred Irish setter to thank him for his help. The quirky name was also Hannibal's idea. He said that the red fur of the dog and his energy reminded him Will's temper, when they met each other and when Will was ill. Will became quickly attached to the dog and forgave Hannibal for his tasteless joke, as he was grateful. However, the hollow in his chest remained hopelessly empty. Nevertheless, he had everything he wanted.

…

A little later in the evening, Will cooked a chicken soup and added ginseng, ginger and star anise. The scent reminded him the day Hannibal had made the same thing for him. His wouldn't certainly be as good as Hannibal's, but he did his best and put the steaming bowl on a tray before going upstairs. He didn't know when Hannibal had ate for last time and didn't want let him spend the night with an empty stomach in his condition. He entered the bedroom and found Encephalitis lying curled up at Hannibal's feet. The dog raised his head, seeing him approaching, and sniffed the soup's smell with interest. Will put the tray on the nightstand and sat down on the bed. Hannibal didn't move, but his breathing was calm and deep and his face wasn't covered with sweat anymore. Will stroked his forehead to make sure that the fever was gone and Hannibal opened his eyes. They silently observed each other for long seconds.

"You made me chicken soup?"

The question was another memory, a fish hook that brought him back a little deeper in his past, at a time when Hannibal had often this kind of disarming attentions towards him. Will didn't care whether they were sincere and preferred to think they did anyway. In those moments, the cannibal fought against conflicting emotions and feelings he didn't understand. But, deprived of the Will's presence, through his own fault, he had to admit that he loved him since the first time he saw him.

"Yes," Will answered, putting the tray on his lap.

Will took much longer, much more, to admit that to live without Hannibal was unbearable to him. He didn't know how long it were, not exactly, he figured it out at his expense and paid through the nose for his mistakes. Bedelia had opened his eyes. Bedelia they had devoured alive and killed together. The most intimate moment they had shared, with the killing of the Great Red Dragon. But since then, Hannibal kept his distance. So, Will took advantage of his weakness to get this touch he missed so much back, realizing at the same time it was what dug a gaping hole in his chest. He plunged the spoon into the soup, before blowing on it and putting it in front of Hannibal's lips. Hannibal sat up straight against the pillows, opened his mouth and took a sip, keeping his eyes on Will, and a second, and a third, until the bowl was empty, without saying a word. He was better, but seemed exhausted, so Will didn't linger and helped him to slip under the covers. Then, on sudden impulse, he leaned down to kiss Hannibal's forehead, before leaving the room.

…

Encephalitis woke Will in the middle of the night. The dog was whining and scratched the cover. Will stood up, half-asleep, and followed him in Hannibal's bedroom. Hannibal was babbling incoherently because of fever and fighting against his demons in his sleep. Will came closer to the bed and smelled the stench of sweat and disease. He had underestimated his friend's condition. Probably the flu, Will thought, rejecting the sheets, before slipping his arms under the shaking body. The skin was burning. Then, he carried him with difficulty into the bathroom and left him in the bathtub. He had to avoid thermal shock, Will remembered, and he adjusted the temperature, before leaving the water running on the body. Hannibal opened his bloodshot eyes, without understanding where he was, and struggled. Will knelt down and held him firmly. His t-shirt got wet, the floor became slippery, but he kept going, spoke to him softly, reassured him as best he could, and Hannibal finally gave up, whispering nonsensical words among which Will heard Mischa's name several times.

Shaking with cold, he waited patiently until Hannibal's temperature dropped, not caring about himself. Then, he turned off the tap and dried Hannibal with a large towel when he regained consciousness.

"You are soaked," Hannibal noticed with a low voice.

"Don't worry about me, just try to get up."

Will helped him to stand up, and then supported him into the hallway, before guiding him in his own bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal asked when Will sat him on the bed.

"Your sheets are humid and I don't want to change them now. So, you can spend the night here," Will answered, before leaving the room to search Hannibal's drawers.

He came back with a pajama pants and gave it to him. Only then, he removed his wet t-shirt. He dried his chest and arms with the fabric, then threw it the laundry bin and turned to Hannibal. He suddenly realized that if he had seen Hannibal in underwear before, it was the first time he saw him naked, and that it was two entirely different things. He looked away hurriedly, his mouth suddenly dry, and brought the armchair, which was in a corner of the room, closer to the bed, before taking a cover in the closet. When he dared to look at Hannibal again, he had put his pants on, much to his relief. So, he sat in the chair and cuddled up to the blanket.

"If you sleep on this, your back is going to hurt tomorrow morning," Hannibal told him, stretching out on Will's bed.

"My only other choice is the couch in the living room and I prefer to stay close if you relapse. If Encephalitis hadn't awakened me, I wouldn't have heard you."

When he heard his name, the dog went into the room and lay on Hannibal's feet.

"There is a third option," Hannibal said, moving to make room for him.

Will didn't know what to say to that. Even worse, he found no valid argument to refuse. His mind was blank. But he had to do something, so he got up and, without a word, slipped under the covers. Immediately, the heat of the body next to him warmed him up and he sighed of well-being. On his right, Hannibal buried his head in the pillow, with his red eyes full of fever on him.

"Go back to sleep, I'm here if you need me," Will whispered, turning to him.

Hannibal followed his advice and closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing became regular. Will stayed awake for the while, gazing at his profile in the darkness, his hemmed lips, thin nose and high cheekbones. He seemed a bit more peaceful and Will finally fell asleep.

…

When Will woke up, after this night of interrupted sleep, the sun was already high. The first thing he noticed was his pillow that seemed strangely warm and hard. He put his hand on it and recognized the curves of a torso. He froze, because he also became aware of his morning erection that was pressing up against Hannibal's hip.

A hand stroked his backbone and he knew that Hannibal was awake. Unable to contain the shiver that ran through his body, he arched his back, which had the effect of pressing his cock a little bit more against Hannibal's side, and he had to bit his lip to remain silent. The hand went any lower on the small of his back, at the base of his butt, and Will couldn't control his leg, which rode along a firm thigh, until his knee touched the proof that he wasn't the only one in this way.

How could that happen? Will wondered. They had never even kissed each other before. Hannibal remedied this situation and cupping Will's jaw to press their lips together.

The kiss was desperate, needy, as if they had waited for it too long. Hannibal pinned Will on the bed and pressed frankly his palm against his member over his underwear. Will's body literally caught fire. He felt as if he didn't have sex for centuries, what was close to the truth. Hannibal pulled on his boxers, released his erection and took it in his hand. Will bit Hannibal's lower lip and grabbed his hair. He couldn't help but moved his hips and fucked this hand tightened around him, until he came brutally on his belly a few seconds after. He relaxed on the bed, feeling like a damned teen who had come in his pants, almost ashamed and unable to face Hannibal who lay against his side. He finally opened his eyes when he heard a wet noise.

Hannibal was licking his fingers as if it was the best candy of the world, staring at Will with his tawny eyes. Then, he leaned on his stomach and licked his skin until it was clean. Some part of Will wanted to push him away and ask him: what the hell are you doing? But the wet touch of his tongue was so pleasurable and Hannibal seemed to enjoy consuming this part of him.

When Hannibal was satisfied, he sank under the covers. His hair was a mess, he had dark rings under his eyes and his cheeks was turning red, but overall, he seemed to get better and nestled against Will with intent to have some rest just a few more hours. Will wasn't used to see him so lazy and wondered if he had to return the courtesy. But the man by his side didn't seem to want anything in return; he closed his eyes and relaxed on the bed.

Unable to fall asleep again, Will began questioning himself about the meaning of this embrace, and wondered why Hannibal had suddenly decided to stop being distant with him. Did the fever make him lose control of his acts? Will felt cottony, light and heavy and lost and exhausted. Without even put his underwear back on, he held Hannibal in his arms and plunged back into the twists and turns of the sleep.

…

When he woke up again, he was alone in the bed. He put a hand on the empty place next to him. The sheets were cold. So, Hannibal was up for a while. Will stretched and yawned, then stood up and walked out into the hallway, without bothering to put other clothing on but his boxers. A scent into the air told him where Hannibal was in the house. It smelt some coffee, grilled meat and toast. Will remembered then that he had nothing to eat since the day before and his body clock told him it was the middle of the day. So, he went downstairs in the kitchen. If Hannibal cooked, it meant that the flu was just a distant memory.

Will entered the room and, immediately, a red hairball came and rubbed up against his legs. Encephalitis licked his fingers and wagged his tail, happy to see his master. Will stroked the dog, then raised his head and met Hannibal's glance over the counter. The time stopped, and for a few seconds, Will didn't know what to say and felt both naked, vulnerable and idiot. Hannibal stood in front of him, showered, and dressed with taste and with neatly styled hair, whereas he was a walking disaster. He ran vainly his fingers through his curls and scratched his lower abdomen where his sperm had dried.

"I..." He tried to say. "I'll take a shower," he decided, before beating a retreat hastily.

Will wasn't feeling well, in fact. There was a throbbing pain in his lower back and his skin tingled when the warm water ran on his body. He leaned his forehead and palms on the cool wall and breathed slowly. No man touched him like this before. He had never ever desired one. Hannibal was he destined for being the exception to every established rules in his life? He began to get used to the idea. His stomach noisily gurgled, so he quickly took his shower and dried himself. He shivered as he got out of the bathroom and hurried to come back to his bedroom to put on pants and a thick sweater, which failed to warm him.

When he came back down, Hannibal had set the table and was waiting to enjoy a late brunch with him, since it was two o'clock, as Will noticed it, passing in front of the pendulum clock of the ground floor corridor. He set down at the table with Hannibal, without a word, and took a sip of coffee in his cup, before sniffing. The strong drink warmed him and he sighed of well being. He didn't know how to start the conversation. It was a new and unpleasant feeling, because talking with Hannibal always seemed easy before. Since their first session, he was never afraid to tell him what he thought. Will wondered why it was easier to admit that he dreamed about killing him with bare hands than to confess that he wanted to be fucked until he couldn't walk anymore.

"About this morning…"

"We can pretend nothing happened," Hannibal interrupted him, buttering a toast.

"Is that what you want?" Will asked, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

"What about you?"

"Don't answer my questions with other questions, Hannibal, I hate it, and do me a favor, keep your fucking shrink stuff for your patients."

Hannibal preferred not to raise the rudeness and took the time to eat something, before answering.

"I have no wish to carry on as if nothing happened," he admitted.

"So, will you tell me why didn't this happen sooner and why you're distant more than ever for weeks?"

"Because I was not sure you wanted it too."

"Hannibal, please, I left my wife for you, for Christ's sake!" Will lost his temper, standing to pace the dining room.

"You know very well it is not exactly what happened. I thought there were enough changes in your life, without needing to add any more."

"Do you know what I think? I think I'm not the one who didn't know how to deal with all this. I think you waited for me so long that when I finally ran away with you, you did what you had to do to keep me on your side, no matter what. I think you transmit your fears on me, because if I fought against my feelings about you for a long time, when I made my decision, it was irrevocable. I died at the bottom of the cliff, just as I was dead in your kitchen with Abigail. I was a walking dead, before coming back to life when the ocean spit me out on this beach."

Hannibal didn't answer immediately, because Will was right in fact. He just couldn't to deal with the gnawing fear of seeing him disappear. So, he had wrapped Will in a protective cocoon and caged the beast in him, without understanding that, in reality, this beast was exactly what Will wanted desperately.

"I chose you, Hannibal. You and all you are. You cannot restrain your true nature forever anyway. I'm not afraid of you."

The psychiatrist stood up and came closer to Will. Actions speak louder than words. So, he stroked Will's jaw and kissed him with the savagery which he held so far. The brunet moaned against his mouth and took perverse pleasure in messing his hair up. Hannibal buried his nose in his neck and smelled the sweetish scent of fever on the wet skin.

"Will..." He murmured.

"Hmm…" He muttered, sniffing.

"You are sick."

"Noooo…"

"Go back to bed, before you feel faint. I take care of everything," the cannibal said, kissing Will's cheekbones and forehead.

Will nestled against his chest, fighting bravely against the flu.

"I think I'm not able to walk up the stairs by myself," he mumbled in Hannibal's ear.

Hannibal raised a skeptical eyebrow, before smirking. There was something irresistible in Will's feverish eyes, half-closed lids and red lips. He carried him in his arms, as this night at Muskrat Farm, into his own bedroom. The sheets were freshly changed and smelled like the softener. Will wanted to lie down, but Hannibal made him sit to undress him.

"Stay with me."

"I have to clean the kitchen."

"It'll wait," affirmed Will, lying down completely naked on the covers.

"Get warm, I'll be back in five minutes," Hannibal told him, before leaning to kiss him and moving away reluctantly to get some pills in the bathroom.

He was about to leave the room, when Will sneezed.

"Prosit," he said in Danish, looked at Will wrapped himself in the covers.