Will knew Hannibal loved him. He knew.
The words had never once been spoken. Never even hinted at. But he knew.
Could feel it in the way they touched, the careful brush of fingertips against his back as they moved around one another, the deliberate weight of his hand upon Will's shoulder when he anchored him against the storms that raged within his mind, in the slow and agonising crawl up Will's body as they came together in the darkness.
He can remember the fear in Hannibal's eyes the moment he had dared to turn and kiss him, to curl his hand round the back of his neck as he pressed into the heat of his body. He had seen the hesitation, the apprehension... the abject terror.
And he had thought it the simple measure of uncertainty.
It wouldn't be till later that he realised it was because he was already so lost that Will could see it in the fragmented layers in the depths of darkened eyes that left his own just as quickly as his did, unable to hide and somehow scared of revelation.
He should have been scared himself, to know that it was not infatuation, not affection that wound them closer, ropes binding them with no room to move. It was as simple and devastating as being the missing piece, of finding out the shape of yourself perfectly fit the hole carved in another's heart.
And they in turn sunk into the once hollow place, no longer bleak and chilled, filling you up to bursting, and it's almost agonising but that it feels too good.
He should have felt so very scared.
But how could he, knowing that only one man had the strength to contain him, to catch and keep the pieces scattered in the turbulent winds that ripped and tore at the fibres of his being, carefully gathering them up and returning them to him, holding him together.
And Will would never ask for those words. He didn't need them.
Not when he could feel it with every breath against his fevered skin, arms tight beneath his back.
Nothing but darkness. Never any light. But Will didn't need it to see the naked adoration that would cloud his eyes, could taste it instead in the sweetness of his kiss, his soft, slow devotion. He could feel it soaking into his skin with every touch, hands hot against his skin, their fingers laced as Will arches his back, pressing up, desperate, aching...
He knows that it will end. Lying there in the dark, the sheets still tangled, breath warm on the back of his neck, heavy arm curved around his chest, hearts finally calm.
It can only be a matter of time. Something as all consuming as this could not possibly be built to last.
All fires must burn out, he thinks.
And perhaps he knows what he's thinking, perhaps he feels it too and is just as horrified at the thought, for he presses his hand over Will's heart, steady and strong, a gentle kiss behind his ear as he whispers his name in the dark.
"Will."
And Will realises why he's never needed to hear the words. Because he's been saying them every time he's said his name.