As per usual, Hannibal has outdone himself. The hand carved nativity scene on the mantelpiece is surrounded by real poinsettias, pink petals blooming beside broad, fine tipped leaves and brittle pinecones. Fresh garland is twined carefully around the staircase railing, and the whole house reeks of pine from the barren fir tree stationed by the fireplace. There's a set of white lights coiled around a box of unopened ornaments on the floor, tinsel glittering from the glow of the fireplace.
Hannibal laughs from the kitchen while he preheats the oven. "Shall we string our own popcorn?"
Will's head snaps upright, turning to find Hannibal leaning casually beneath the entryway. Chopin ends and Tchaikovsky follows, filling the room with a powerful waltz from the antique record player on the table beside the couch. Hannibal beckons him with a sweeping look and Will obeys without hesitation. He swallows, pulling himself away from the hand sewn stockings to join Hannibal under the doorway.
"I didn't know what to get you," Will admits, staring at the ragged edges of his cuticles.
Hannibal touches the dip in Will's waist, lifting his chin with his free hand until their eyes meet. "Your company is more than enough."
Will's gaze flickers above them to the greenery hanging in the archway, and he barely manages to hide his smile. "So was this just a convoluted plot to seduce me?"
Hannibal's lip quirks as he leans forward to brush a smile across Will's mouth. The orchestra swells behind them when Hannibal tilts his head to plant a kiss on his throat. When Hannibal pulls away, Will is breathless, curling his fingers into the fabric of Hannibal's overpriced shirt.
"Many species of mistletoe are extremely poisonous," Hannibal announces. "Ingesting even a small amount can cause death. Isn't it funny that we should find ourselves kissing beneath it?"
"Mocking death," Will answers softly.
"Speaking of mocking death," Hannibal says coolly, inclining his head to the body on the floor. "I think it's about time we prepared this pig for the oven, don't you?"
Will turns to the criminal laid out on the tile, a thin sheet of plastic separating the bloodstains from the edge of the living room carpet. The corpse is probably still warm, face flushed from the struggle that ensued prior. They bend simultaneously, but Hannibal stops him before Will can get a good grip.
"Lift with your knees," Hannibal reminds him.
Will chuckles softly and nods. "Wouldn't want to end up on your naughty list."