Introduction: A series of timestamps for 'Il Faut Souffrir Pour Etre Beau', though they can be taken as stand alone stories. These will focus on Will and Hannibal's marriage, during the happier times before everything fell apart. Includes such gems as phone sex and domestic bliss. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Distance/Intimacy

Cave-like. Dark, yet enough overspill from the open door to illuminate vague forms; the dresser in the corner, with the wardrobe tall and monolithic at its side; the hope chest, carved and ornate; the bottom of the white duvet cover embroidered with thick golden thread, drooping over the pine. Above it the bed, carrying within its care the long, sloping outline of a body.

On sock clad feet he walked carefully inside, leaving the door open like a lantern guide. The mattress gave comfortably beneath his hands as he climbed up, crawling over to settle behind the shape laying upon his side. One hand tucked up under his head, the other reaching out to trace the faintest outline of skin. Shoulder blade, he could feel, up to the dusky hairs at the nape of his neck.

The skin shivered and he smiled, listening as the breathing, which had been so silent, flared on a long inhale, then out in the same fashion. Leaning in, he followed the invisible line his fingers had left, of bone under skin with the tip of his nose, feeling his way up to the neck. A long breath in,mirrored, eyes open and hand straying to curl across the supine body pressed to him.

"You showered when you got home?" Will asked as he felt the body beside him wake, "I didn't hear you."

A soft, sleepy laugh from behind closed lips. Next to him, Hannibal rolled slowly onto his back, giving Will time to accommodate for the shift. The barest hint of eyes were caught in the faint light, opening with three steady blinks.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks of only moments spent together. Will felt as if he were caught in a bizarre limbo-like cycle in which his husband was constantly almost out of reach. Here, curled together, he couldn't focus on it too closely. Will lifted his hand to brush the hair from Hannibal's forehead, fingers lingering on the soft skin beside his ear. Barest hint of a smile on full lips.

"Still tired?" Will asked gently.

"I am sure I have slept enough," Hannibal's voice was thick and husky.

"When's your flight again?"

"Six thirty this evening. Time will soon be difficult to deal with, I fear."

"Only a couple of hours to Chicago," Will said, tracing his fingers down the curve of Hannibal's arm.

"Peirce wishes to take me to dinner when I land," Hannibal explained with little enthusiasm, rubbing at his closed eyes with rough fingers, "Unfortunately we are ensconced at the same hotel for the conference. Enough of an excuse for socialising."

"Not Thomas Pierce?" Will said with a frown; Hannibal's soft sigh was his reply, "I didn't know it was possible to physically be bored to tears, but last time I talked to him I think I was close. Which was at your boss's dinner, wasn't it?" Hannibal nodded, lifting his left hand to take Will's own, his fingers chill to the touch, "I'll never forgive her for those damned place settings. Also," he added with a small smile, "he clearly has a thing for you."

"I am well aware," Hannibal said, lazily running his long fingers over Will's wrist.

"I'll have to lay here, fearing for my marriage," Will said airily, "while Thomas Pierce steals your heart with his in depth analysis of hospital insurance loopholes and the last twenty five cases he's scored and how he'll become partner soon, he's sure, and...dear god that man was dull."

"You are far too awake," Hannibal said softly as he stared at the Will from the gloom.

"You won't be saying that when I tell you I've been up long enough to bake the sourdough," Will said, "and go out for eggs and sausage."

A moment of quiet, then a shuffling as Hannibal rolled onto his side, facing him. Will laughed quietly as a strong arm hooked him and pulled him close, a mouth rushing to the soft flesh of his throat to scrape sharp canines across the sensitive patch. Always a possessively dominant reaction when Will successfully predicted him.

"My darling, what would I do without you?"

"Make your own breakfast?" Will suggested.

"I would trust no other hands to serve me."

"I'm sure that sounded more romantic in your head," Will said, amused, even as Hannibal gripped him tightly.

Laying half atop him, Hannibal fit his head under Will's chin and puffed hot breath against his clavicle. Warm and safe, was all Will could think as he ran his hand through the soft strands of Hannibal's hair, safe and content. Only six months ago just the thought of this being his reaction to an alpha would have made Will Graham laugh in your face; or bring you down to size with a few choice words. Now, he refused to admit it as hypocrisy and instead labelled it a turn of fate.

Will didn't consider himself 'caught and tamed', mainly because their marriage was hardly conventional. Two halves, that was how Will saw them, two broken halves all patched together. No one else would fit quite right.

"I'm going downstairs," he kissed the top of Hannibal's head and then sat up as Hannibal rolled onto his back once more, "give it about seven minutes."

The blood sausage was thick and brown, and sizzled aromatically in the olive oil. The trip to the butchers that morning had been tipped with excitement. Hannibal had been working himself ragged these past few weeks, what with a large reshuffle at the hospital after the retirement of the head of the surgical department. Lots of politics and position snapping, enough that it reminded Will of FBI interdepartmental power struggles he'd always done his best to avoid.

Always coming home tired, sleeping until noon or after, and then working on reports and propositions and other people's paperwork or responding to emails. So much so that it was mainly work, lunch and then dinner before Hannibal was back at work on the night shift. He wouldn't call it lonely, because that wasn't quite accurate; helpless. Will felt a little helpless, in the face of it all.

So making the sourdough had been pleasing, as had buying the blood sausage and the pale blue duck eggs from their friendly local butcher,Hannibal was a long time customer and Will had been adopted by association. Now the eggs cooked in big, fat misshapes, sprinkled with marjoram, nestled in with the sausage and crisping chunks of bread. He was just serving when Hannibal walked in dressed in his heavy green housecoat and took his place at the table, hair run through with fingers rather than a comb.

"Thank you," he said genuinely as Will set the plate before him.

"Coffee or tea? I made both."

"Coffee, please."

Will handed him a cup of black, bitter coffee, poured himself some broken orange pekoe and, once everything was in its place, sat down at his own plate. The first mouthful was warm, succulent but with a crunch of fried bread and the sweet, headiness of the marjoram. Across from him, Hannibal was enjoying his food; Will could tell because his eyes were closed as he chewed, head held perfectly straight, and his coffee was as yet untouched.

A surge of warmth had him taking a drink of his tea. There was still an underlying resentment for such feelings. The very idea that serving his alpha could bring out that euphoria sickened him. Will continually had to re-evaluate his thoughts, set them out and analyse them. Only then could he be happy with the idea that the happiness came from somewhere other than a lowly biological reaction.

Hannibal never reacted this way with anyone else. The thought allowed him to reinstate his previous thoughts. Two halves of one whole.

"Good?" he asked, cutting through the yolk and watching it spill.

"An understatement, darling. I feel my body has been craving protein, but recently I have been taking it like medicine. No time for taste. This," he said, spearing a sliver of sausage, "is truly food for the soul. Did you go to Grossets?"

"Mmm," Will nodded, humming before he swallowed, "He asked how you were. Made me realise you haven't been there yourself in a while."

"I find my time unsavoury," Hannibal sighed, wiping his mouth with a heavy napkin, "small people scurrying around me, doing small things with small results. Still, it is necessary in the grand scheme."

"It better be," Will said, making Hannibal look to him curiously, "or I'd be down there myself asking Marissa why I've barely seen you for twenty days. It's not just the butcher that's been missing you, you know."

"And how would you ask her?" Hannibal inquired.

"Physically," Will said, just on the wrong side of dark.

A warm but knowing smile graced Hannibal's lips. It had been a minefield, when they'd first met, disentangling the myriad of subtle expressions the man shifted through like water through cracks; almost imperceptible, but noticeable nonetheless, and over time creating streams and rivers big enough to see clearly. Hannibal was a surprisingly private person, despite his seeming love for the social animal. It was an endless amusement for Will to see the polite but disinterested visage of his mate scan the populous at large, only alighting on very few with a spark of genuine curiosity.

And only on one with single minded attention. Will knew the look Hannibal adopted across the dining room table. He wore it often nowadays. Satisfaction.

"Such poetry to your imagination," Hannibal said, then his eyes sparked abruptly as if remembering something, "ah, but I had meant to ask last night, about your consultation yesterday. How was it?"

"Oh. Right. Well..." Will scratched at his forehead and suddenly didn't feel like eating, "it wasn't exactly productive."

"Dr. Findlay came with a high recommendation," Hannibal said, looking a little put out.

"Well, I mean he was a nice guy," Will shrugged, trying his best, "but he didn't have anything new to bring to the table. Just like all the others, really. He diagnosed that my prolonged use of suppressants has created problems with hormones, halting ovulation," Will knew he was reciting the words mechanically, as if distancing himself from the problem with terminology would make it easier, "he suggested the same hormone therapies I took last time. The ones that didn't work."

"I see. No other suggestions?"

"Adoption," Will said wryly, giving Hannibal a challenging stare, "or surgery."

"Of which all procedures' risks far outweigh the benefits. I would not see you under the knife for this."

"I agree," Will nodded, even as his eager hormones wished for any reprieve from this barren future.

"Then I will make sure to keep an eye out at the conference, in case anything useful arises," Hannibal said, "medical science never stands still."

The fact that he treated it with a certain amount of casualness made Will relax, even as he couldn't help but worry, deep down. His husband never made a big deal of the revelation of yet another failed attempt. Yet the irritating feeling of worry was still there in Will's mind, that Hannibal deserved someone who could give him a child, a future. Would you stop him if he left? The question wasn't considered for long, dismissed as quickly as it always was.

"Thanks."

"Never feel the need to thank me, darling."


"Ok, eleven down. Shoenberg's 'Moses and something'. Four letters, second is r," Will drew out the last letter a little as he stuck the top of the stylus in his mouth and ran it over his teeth absently.

Against his back Hannibal moved minutely in his slight slouch, bringing his arm up to wrap it around Will's waist. In return Will nestled further as he lay on the couch with his legs sprawled and his feet on the arm rest, pressed against Hannibal's side. Will could feel breath tickling through his hair as Hannibal leaned his face down to look at the back-lit surface of the tablet in Will's hands; he could imagine the ever so slight narrowing of eyes, staring head height off into a room somewhere in his vast palace. There was a rustle as Hannibal adjusted the newspaper on his knees and the breath disappeared.

"Aron," he said after another pause, his fingers splaying and retracting over Will's stomach.

"I'll take your word for it," Will said as he drew it in messily, "find anything interesting on at the Lyric for when you get back?"

"Nothing jumps out at me," Hannibal replied.

"I thought you said Fidelio was coming in October?"

"Cancelled. The soprano has contracted laryngitis; normally puts them out of play for weeks. I feel it is a typical example of my luck nowadays."

"I'll find something," Will said as he started on twenty four down: Oswego tea, four letters, second 'a' – mind rummaging quickly and efficiently through his neatly filed alphabet, fingers flicking through pictures and memories of scents and tastes and related subjects even as his own tapped against his leg rhythmically, coming to it as it emerged in his mind, remembering drinking it when he was younger to calm a fever, taken as medicine, different names known under: also known as Bee balm, or blue balm. He made a soft sound and twirled the stylus into a good hold as he wrote 'balm' into the blank white spaces, "there's always something."

"Coming home to you is enough of a treat, darling."

The line was enough to make him laugh absently, taking a moment to focus on the hand against his abdomen, its soothing rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat. The sorts of words he should despise for their placation, but instead accepted for their truth.

"Smooth talker."

"You must give me some practice," Hannibal said, the rustling returning along with a waft of air against his right arm as the newspaper was turned over, "I will need to be sufficiently charming at this conference. Didera Callis is attending on the second and third days. I am adamant to ensnare her."

"Callis, Callis," Will repeated the name as he continued his puzzle, "I recognise that name. Is she Health Board?"

"Senior Vice President and Chief Medical Officer of St James. A be all and end all sort."

"Yes, I remember," twenty two across, insect catcher, three letters: 'net', the stylus squiggled; Will sounded dry as he spoke, "she's one of the ladder riders, as you so nicely put it."

"There was a modicum of nepotism in her choice for the post. Still, I am willing to exploit myself for the sake of an unfair tactic. Though I will be taken on merit rather than connections. Head of surgery is still up in the air, and I know they have candidates chosen."

"They'll lose what little respect I have for them if they pass you over for heading up the unit."

"Your support is welcome," Hannibal's voice was tinged with familiar warmth.

"I only endorse what I've already tested."

"Then I am glad I've made such a good impression," Hannibal said, amused; the hand continued its hypnotic tempo, only stuttering when Will took his stylus in his lips and reached down to run his fingers over the back of Hannibal's hand, light enough to barely tickle the fine hairs.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments," Will smiled, mumbling around the stylus tucked into the corner of his mouth, "Twenty eight across, father of King Hadad, Genisis thirty six, thirty five. I've got the last letter as d."

"Bedad," Hannibal said without missing a beat, continuing as if by rote, "before there reigned any king of the Israelites. His name is oddly fitting."

"Oh?" Will asked as he wrote it almost unintelligibly with his left hand.

"It means solitary, alone."

"Don't go all sentimental on me," Will said wryly, even as he linked his fingers with Hannibal's when the other sought his touch.

"I dislike missing you," he said as the rustle returned, the newspaper folding, "but absence makes the heart grow fonder," Hannibal's right hand carded unexpectedly through his hair, making Will's eyes close in pleasure, "as they say."

It was enough, in that moment. Feeling, Will had found, was a constant between them, whether it be touch, sight, talk, memory, sharing, just-being. There was a resonance, an understanding simple enough to give them both peace. As Will sighed comfortably, Hannibal's long fingers trailing his scalp to leave a disorder of curls and waves in his wake, that same link resonated like a tightly pulled string. Bound and tied with a tight knot, enough that even compounded human experience encapsulated in a neat little proverb couldn't truly do it justice. Not for Will.

"What time is it?" he asked, his voice thick with contentment and pleasure.

"Nearly three."

The contented feeling slipped slightly but caused greater damage than it should, the fault line of their touch shifting by a mere centimetre, enough to cause an earthquake. Enough to tear and topple. Don't go all sentimental on me. Will wished his words could be closer to the truth.

"I'll make you something for the plane," Will said suddenly, sitting up to put his tablet on the table and then stand, feeling antsy and out of place, "even first class food is plastic crap these days. There's leftover roast beef from last night. I'll make you some of that Vietnamese anise thing you liked the other month. We've got rice, cardamoms. I'll put it in a tub. Sound ok?"

In answer Hannibal put his newspaper onto the coffee table, perfectly aligned with the right angle of the corner, and stood to kiss him. Always the sort of answer Will resented and yet longed for. A last kiss for a while now. Will held onto it.

"Smooth in more ways than just talking are we?" Will murmured against soft lips as Hannibal stayed close, noses bumping, "Hope you're not practicing this technique too."

"Heaven forbid," Hannibal smiled with the right side of his mouth, eyes bright and alive, watching him intently.

It had started raining by the time they'd bundled into Will's Volvo truck and headed for Baltimore Washington International. The windscreen wipers made an irritating whine as they wiped the steady droplets to the side, a waterfall of colour caught from passing headlamps and traffic lights.

"I'd say I hope you get better weather," Will said, looking up to the glum sky, making night seem quicker what with the heavy clouds blocking the sky, "but you'll be stuck in the conference centre. Probably for the best, the forecast is pretty horrendous for the next few days."

Which was when he realised he was talking about the weather and forced himself to stop. Hannibal stayed quiet, even as Will could see him glancing surreptitiously at him whenever he thought Will wasn't looking. The lights changed and Will pulled out, turning right with a few other cars to head along the curving tarmac to the departures entrance. Above them planes landed and took off in the miserable air. Will listened to the thump and whine of the wipers and chewed at the inside of his bottom lip.

Departures was a little crowded, forcing them out from under the protection of the building's purpose built roof.

"Just give it a few minutes," Will said, "someone'll move."

"We're later than I thought," Hannibal said, checking his watch, "I should have considered the weather."

"It's only..." Will looked at the little clock on his dashboard and read it aloud, "five to six. Shit. Sorry, I didn't realise," he dragged his hand across his face roughly; the antsy feeling still hadn't left.

"No harm done, darling," Hannibal said softly, reaching up to touch his arm; Will leaned in and allowed the kiss, awkward as it was over the gear stick. It lingered and Will found himself running his hand over Hannibal's hair, down onto the skin of his throat above his shirt collar.

"You should go, in case they stop you at security again."

"That was a simple case of mistaken identity," Hannibal said with equal amounts reproach and delight.

"They did apologise," Will said, smiling, "if it happens again maybe you can wangle a few free flights out of them as compensation."

"If it happens again," Hannibal said, tone a little dry, "I will be convinced I have a doppelganger."

"Call me when you land?" Will said as Hannibal opened the door out into the rain, the sounds of airport tannoys and cars filtering over the sound of the wipers and the weather.

"I will," Hannibal said as Will handed him his bags, "Goodbye, dearest."

"Bye."

The drive home seemed a little cold and too quiet, even though they'd hardly talked on the journey there. Little things were missing, the soft breathing, the shift of material, the subtle scent of Hannibal's cologne and his heady musk. The seat beside him felt absent.

On coming home Will decided not to judge himself on the fact that the first thing he did was go to their room, find Hannibal's green, heavy wool jumper he'd been wearing for the past few days, and slip into it.

He fell asleep on the sofa a few hours later after a meager dinner of leftovers, some program he hadn't been paying attention to on BBC America about the Celts playing unnoticed on the television, the neck of the jumper pulled up over his chin and mouth.

Content, but alone.


By the sixth ring, Will was biting at his thumb nail.

"Come on," he muttered softly to no one, rolling over to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling.

It had been a slow day, enough to leave him feeling more bereft than he was sure was reasonable. It had started promising, with approval coming through for his research grant, but then had fallen down when he realised it would take three weeks to process. No way to start anything big, no way to go ahead with the things he did have planned, and he knew he should be planning out the budget for his project but...

He didn't feel up to it. Things were too quiet. The house was empty from room to room. He'd gone for a walk to their local park to eat his lunch, but the presence of other people became an irritant. The bright sunshine had attracted families and children ran across the grass unheeded by others, screaming and shouting. Watching them had felt like staring at his own inadequacy.

The feeling was always there, that he'd done this to himself. The suppressants had been a part of his life since he was sixteen, making it possible to function as an unbonded omega in a world where that was truly not an option, and only now, after years of faithful service, had they betrayed him.

Will hadn't been able to stand looking at the little girl climbing the tree or the three little boys throwing bread into the duck pond. Would you stop him if he left? the question kept returning, no matter how many times he shooed it away. He felt heavier when he returned. The house was quiet. Two days without another voice within its walls was seeming like an age.

"Come on, pick up," Will said a little more forcefully, sitting up in bed and shivering as the blankets fell away from his bare chest; it was as he was leaning awkwardly off the bed to reach for the wool jumper that the rings stopped. Will grabbed the garment and sat up quickly, hoping he didn't sound too eager when he said, "Hannibal?"

"Hello? Is that Will?"

A stranger's voice. Will stalled, fingers tight around the jumper in his fist. The sound of voices in the background. A strange sort of anxiety rose in his chest.

"Yes," he said, feeling utterly lost, "who is this?"

"It's Tom. Tom Pierce. We met at Marissa's dinner the other month?"

"Uh huh."

"Right, well, I just thought I'd answer and tell you Hannibal's indisposed at the moment. You want me to tell him you called?"

"Yes," Will said, adding "please," when he realised how blunt he sounded.

"Ok," Tom sounded forcibly cheerful, "Well, it was nice to hear from you again."

Will hung up. The phone found itself chucked unceremoniously onto the floor. The jumper followed soon after. Curling up to sleep was the only thing he did find easy that day.


Ringing woke him. An automatic, floundering hand made for the side table but found nothing. Only as the ringing stopped did Will become compos mentis enough to remember it was coming from the floor.

"Shit," he muttered, hissing at the cold as he left the warmth of the heavy duvet just as the phone began to ring once more, lighting up the like a firefly on the carpet.

He grabbed it quickly and retreated to the bed, snuggling down into the pillows before answering.

"Hello?"

"Darling," Hannibal's voice.

"Where the hell have you been?" ground out in a muffled voice before Will could think about how surly it sounded.

"Apologies," Hannibal said, undeterred, "I was indisposed at dinner when you called. A frightful affair. Pierce recommended a local restaurant," Will found himself relaxing as Hannibal spoke, even as he tried to keep his irritation close at hand, "Inedible would be putting it mildly."

"He took you to dinner again?"

"I fear I may have underestimated the thing he apparently has for me."

"I should have told him to fuck off while I had the chance," Will said tiredly.

"I could pass on the message," Hannibal said, amused.

"Feel free," Will found himself laughing softly.

"So, I ordered room service on my return and have just finished taking a well needed shower, and it is now," a pause while Hannibal checked, "half past eleven, and I wish I were home with you rather than lying in this sterile room."

"I thought they booked you the suite?" Will said, even as he smiled at the sentiment; the anxiety was shrivelling like grapes in the sun. The voice kept him close, enough to ignore the more difficult questions.

"They did," Hannibal said as explanation.

"Oh. Well," he cleared his throat, "Is the conference going well?"

"Very well, but that isn't why you called me."

"No, I guess it wasn't."

"Are you using the weighted duvet I left?"

"Mm hmm."

"I had hoped you would like it. Is it helping?"

"A little. And I do like it. What time's your flight on Friday?"

"Ten past eight in the evening."

"Remind me to tell whoever booked your flights to fuck off as well, will you?"

"Of course."

"I miss you. Been missing you all day."

"Do you miss me now?"

"Bits of you," Will said softly, shivering as his skin prickled at the timbre and quality of Hannibal's voice, changing subtly.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Are you trying to seduce me, Dr. Lecter?"

"I was not aware I had to."

A soft exhalation of breath, eyes closing, touch heightening, "You could always try."

Over the phone, Hannibal's sibilants took on a slightly slushier quality than usual, mixing with the consonants and vowels to create a flowing glide of language akin to waves upon the shore. Will listened and allowed it to wash across his skin, hairs rising on cue. Hannibal was not one to voice his feelings without recourse, and Will knew that he must understand the need in him, the need to feel close while so far apart.

Loneliness. Anxiety.

"How would you have the sorely missed parts of myself seduce you, darling?"

An abrupt laugh, "Are we doing the dirty phone call thing now? This is a turn up for the books."

"You always exposit on your overactive imagination. Perhaps I am simply exploiting it."

Still smiling, "Hands," Will admitted, swallowing, "I...like your hands. Like it when you..." he cleared his throat and tried to shy away from the embarrassing vulnerability of voicing his desires, and fall closer to the freedom of speaking them in an empty room, "when you touch me."

"Where, darling?"

"The-the insides of my thighs."

"I always hold you when I do," Hannibal sounded reminiscent, "from behind. Pulled tight against me, to keep you close."

Imagining was nearly good enough, but pulling the duvet down behind him in a piled up mess and pushing back against it fueled the fantasy. Will could imagine the weight behind him had breath of its own, warm and hard as the long fingered hand slid down between his legs to press against the soft skin of his inner thigh.

"You're warm," Will continued, part memory, part desire, "And you kiss at my neck, always when you get your chance."

"Only when you bare it for me."

"Only for you," Will breathed out as his hand slid up, the sensitive skin of his wrist pressing across his half hard cock even as his fingers continued to tease the sensitive skin beneath.

"Of course," Hannibal said, his voice tuning dark, slickly dangerous, "because you are mine."

"Yes, always," just above a whisper, "always."

"What would you have of me?"

"Your teeth a-against my throat and...and my leg," Will thought he could feel the tight grip of a hand at his knee, lifting it roughly, "you pull it back, over your waist. You expose me like no other can. You see me."

"My beautiful darling. That you offer yourself is enough. I would give you pleasure. Tell me how."

"Inside," Will insisted, "I want your wonderful hands in me. You always know just where to touch," his voice hitched as Hannibal interrupted swiftly, three words that went straight to his crotch.

"Caress yourself darling."

It was impossible to disobey, and the disconnect was electrifying even as it was bizarre. It was his hand reached down, across his chest, his abdomen, past the tuft of curling hair and his eager penis, and yet it was Hannibal's fingers that entered him. As they slid inside Will thought he could feel his mate's breath against his face as he pressed his cheek to the phone to catch the words seeping through.

"Always a spectacle, to watch you lose yourself. Bliss leaves you undone, vulnerable to me. I wish to open you like a gift. Touch deep where no other can. Would you give yourself to me, dearest?"

"A little late for that," Will breathed heavily as the three long fingers rocked inside, drawing jolts of pleasure with every curl, twist and thrust, "you're everything to me."

"Will, how you know me. I would have us together for as long as there is breath in us. For as long as my hands can touch you and bring sweet sounds to your lips," Will slid the fingers deeper, catching a moan in his throat with mixed success, on his back, legs splayed up and over the rolling duvet, "for as long as you would allow me see you unmasked. For as long as you will let me inside."

"You feel so good," Will said softly, mindlessly, face hot even as the cool air caught the sweat on his flesh, chilling his skin, "so close."

"I am sure I have two hands, dear Will."

"Hannibal..."

"I would have myself take you within and without."

The phone lay beside him, a lamplight in the dark, as Will wrapped his freed left hand around his weeping cock and bit out a soft, croaky groan, while the other continued down between his legs. An imagined heat spilled from his right side, where the duvet pressed, where Hannibal's toned flesh pressed, warming him. The warm, smooth metal of his wedding ring slid against the soft skin, making him jolt and shake at the added sensation.

"Such smooth skin," the voice seemed clandestine as it radiated from the small speaker, "You blush, so fresh and free when I tease my fingers against it," Will bit down on his bottom lip, the sharp pain keeping him grounded, "Blood rushing, it makes you alive in this moment, even as it is dubbed la petite mort," the roughness Hannibal gave to the silky words made him shiver and his breathing quicken, "I would have you die a little for me," Will felt his world spiral in anticipation of the word, "darling."

"I can't..."

But the words were untrue, for he could, and did. Will rode out the orgasm to the feeling of Hannibal surrounding him, holding him close, touching him inside and out, sweet words against his throat, knowing him so utterly as to be able to touch him over hundreds of miles without so much as a stutter.

When the high slid down, and down, Will realised he was laying in the dark, cold and wet. It was difficult to care. Wiping his hand across the sheets,he could launder them tomorrow, he grabbed the phone and pulled the duvet up and over him, nesting underneath until his head was absorbed down into the puffy mass.

Hannibal's voice was ineluctably vainglorious, "Well, was it good for you too?"

Closing his eyes and opening them, Will hummed, even as the euphoria of the act gave way to the reality of his situation.

"Can't wait till you come home and show me the real thing. I'm sure you'd have some adjustments."

"Nor can I. Experiences with you are always virginal in their opportunities."

"You know I'm not as innocent as you presume," Will said, curling further in on himself.

"It is your innocence that I admire for its resilience, even as much of you gives in to the call of your subconscious desires. And I do so enjoy watching you give in."

"Trying to corrupt me?" Will asked, jokingly.

"I think it's a little late for that," Hannibal said with a smiling tone as he parroted Will's words back at him, "but I accept you."

"All of me?" the itching anxiety nipped, returning to swamp the tingling contentment.

"Whatever it may be."

"Even if I can't have kids?" the words blurted out without the ability to keep them in, and the anxiety flared high and threatening.

"I do believe you alone are more than enough for me, darling," said without hesitation or placation; a simple, true statement, "even if it were to be this, mere words between us for the rest of our lives, nothing could desecrate what we share."

"How did I get this fucking lucky?" Will asked hypothetically, his hand rubbing at the light pain in his chest; everything seemed so fragile, yet made strong by confident words spoken in earnest.

"I sometimes ask myself the same thing," came the reciprocation, "sans crude language."

"Oh of course," Will said, smiling.

"Of course, darling."

"God," Will said, looking at the screen of his phone to see the time, anything to change the subject, "it's after twelve. Do you have any early seminars?"

"There is a talk at nine on advanced surgical polymers I was tempted to attend."

"Then you should sleep. I know how you hate mornings," Will said, feeling his heart tighten at the thought of hanging up, "I'm...I'm sorry I kept you up."

"Oh? I'm not."

"Hannibal," said with affectionate scorn, "you're a prurient hedonist at heart."

"Only for your skin, dearest."

"Get off the phone," Will laughed, shivering at the memory, "Oh, and pass on my message to Pierce would you? Maybe it'll discourage him from taking you to any more lousy dinners."

"An interesting theory. I will test it."

A pause, where neither spoke and yet nor did they leave. Just steady, soft breathing and the idea, the concept of a presence kept close by the open connection. The ever subtle fear kept at him, skulking in the background even as it had been dismissed by Hannibal's sure words. Would you stop him if he left? Will hated that the doubt lingered.

"I don't want you to go just yet," he admitted after a long pause.

"Then I will be here, until you sleep."

"You don't have to..."

"And yet I wish to. Sleep, darling. I will be here."

The phone lay beside him, beneath the heavy duvet, like a hand reaching out. They lay together, and for once he could not care enough to chastise himself for the need and the want to feel close to his mate, nor resent himself for his lack of foresight, nor others for their proximity and his distance. Will felt the touch of the light upon his skin, and knew that the doubt would fade in time. Just as everything did, eventually.

But Hannibal would be there, always, until he slept.