A/N: Beta'd by the amazing backwards_blackbird on Tumblr.
They, of course, did not. They didn't involve murderers, though. No, instead, Hannibal trekked across his subconscious like a devilish Romeo, offering up that amused grin, only now it was paired with heated eyes. In Will's dreams, Hannibal laid Will open like a sweet instrument to be played, where Will's pleasure was the symphony and Hannibal was the conductor. Song after song was torn from Will's lips, each moan a refrain of melody and each gasp a rhythmic crescendo. And always, Hannibal grinning that devil's grin up at him.
Will awoke painfully aroused and exceedingly frustrated. He didn't feel rested at all. Images of a sly, hungry Hannibal refused to leave his thoughts: watching him try to stave off his persistent erection, watching him fail miserably, watching him jerk off into the toilet with harsh, needy, stifled moans.
Will crumbled onto the thousand-something thread count sheets and rode the aftershocks of his orgasm. He lie there, fighting the shame and forbidden thrill that came with masturbating in someone else's house. He had just come in Hannibal's house, into Hannibal's toilet, picturing Hannibal giving him a grin. That was some kind of fucked up.
He didn't move until the irresistible smell of bacon wafted in from downstairs. Bacon. Will heaved himself off the bed and got dressed in what he hoped was appropriate attire to strip wallpaper. He shuffled downstairs blearily, pretending to have just woken up. Hannibal was tending to a pan that was sizzling and bubbling. Will came up to peer over his shoulder. He was both surprised and proud when the doctor tensed slightly at his proximity, even if it was for a moment.
"Good morning, Will," Hannibal greeted, his accent rough. If Will hadn't spent the majority of his night hearing Hannibal's voice race through his head, he wouldn't have been able to hear the slight purr behind it now. Will was suddenly glad he had just come; at least he wouldn't have any inappropriate boners during breakfast.
"Morning," Will replied, his voice gruff with sleep. "Coffee?"
Hannibal tilted his head toward the carafe and delicate cup sitting on the island. A small jug of cream and a little pot of sugar stood next to the carafe, but Will ignored those, preferring the tangy, honest flavor of black coffee to the sweet, coy taste of it sweetened and white. And wow, this was some good coffee.
"Where on Earth did you get this?" Will asked reverently.
"The coffee? One of my friends from my time as a surgeon developed her own coffee roasting business. She sends me packages every once in a while." Hannibal moved the pan over to the island and scooped slices of bacon onto a pile of paper towels. He then began mixing something together in a bowl. "How did you sleep, Will?"
"Great," Will said. It sounded false to his own ears, and he winced a little. "You?"
"I found my sleep troubled," Hannibal said. "It seems our conversation lingered in me more than I had imagined it would."
"… Ah," Will replied. Really, how were you supposed to respond to that? Oh, really? Well, in that case, let me tell you about how I choked the chicken thinking about your smile. No. No, no, no.
Hannibal smiled up at Will, a self-deprecating flash of teeth that Will could add to his list of 'expressions that shouldn't be sexy but are on Hannibal Lecter.' This list was continually growing, it seemed. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable before breakfast. I was hoping to wait until at least lunch to discomfit you."
It took Will a second to realize that that was a joke. He cracked a grin, small chuckles growing into a full laugh. Really, how ridiculous could this get? When he calmed, he saw Hannibal watching him with an almost fond look in his eyes. Will grew warm.
"If you would," Hannibal requested, tilting the bowl to scrape at its contents, "take out the blueberries and blackberries from the fruit crisper?" Will did as he was told and placed them on the island, near Hannibal.
"No, we'll need them over here," Hannibal said, moving the boxes next to the stove. "Would you like to learn how to make fruit syrup?"
Will didn't have much of a choice, not when Hannibal looked at him so expectantly. "Of course," he responded. Hannibal's lips twitched, as if he was trying to hide a smirk—which, of course, he was.
"Join me," Hannibal said. When Will moved to follow his command, Hannibal stepped in close behind him, regarding the cookware from over his shoulder. "The first thing you do is put two tablespoons of butter into the pan and turn the heat on low," Hannibal said quietly. Will felt as if his heat had been turned on low as he moved to do as Hannibal said.
"Melt the butter, and keep stirring it so it doesn't burn," Hannibal continued, handing Will a spatula. "Now, add four tablespoons of brown sugar, just like that."
Will's neck was heating. Hannibal's proximity was causing his ears to roar, and yet it felt like total silence. His hands itched, but whether it was from an urge to pull the older man closer or to push him away, Will didn't know. He refused to find out.
"Now you need to let the sugar melt, and keep stirring," Hannibal breathed. "You're doing well, Will." Was something on fire? Was he on fire? Something was really hot. Maybe he was on fire.
"Good, see how that's thickened a bit? Now you add the berries. A small handful of each should suffice." Will added the berries. "Now you fold the berries into the sugar."
Do what now? Will couldn't fold sugar. What? He moved the spatula over the berries indecisively.
"Here, let me show you." Hannibal moved even closer to Will, so his front was aligned with Will's back, and grasped Will's hands. As a parent would teach their children, Hannibal guided Will's hand through the motions of folding. It seemed simple, now that Hannibal was doing it, but it was also far more complicated than Will could handle right now. Hannibal was pressed up against him, in a kitchen, surrounded by food that they were cooking together. It sounded like a sex scene in the making. Will wasn't sure he was ready for that.
Hannibal wasn't, either, it seemed, because he moved away shortly after. "Now just pour the syrup onto the crepes, and breakfast is done." Crepes? When had Hannibal made those? But there they were, perfectly trifolded, with a creamy sauce peeking out from the inside. Will poured the dark, lush, purple syrup over the crepes. They looked beautiful. Hannibal stood next to him and sprinkled powdered sugar over the syrup. Okay, now they looked beautiful.
They took their breakfast to the dining room and began to eat. "Do you know what is involved in removing wallpaper?" Hannibal asked Will as he cut his crepe with delicate precision. Surgeon's hands. Will tried not to imagine other ways those fingers could be precise.
"Um, yeah, I looked it up a couple days ago," Will said after he'd finished his bite of crepe. They were great, as Hannibal's cooking was always, but they tasted even better knowing that Will had created the syrup. He'd contributed substantially. It felt good. It felt healthy. "We have a couple of options. I think my wallpaper has a peelable top layer, which is unfortunate. We have to peel away the top layer, but there's a second layer that's harder to remove. We need to soften the adhesive and peel that layer off in strips. Now, they make wallpaper strippers, but apparently they have a very sharp smell, and I'm not sure I should use that with my dogs. The second option is using fabric softener, which apparently works about the same, but at least it smells good."
"I have no problem with acrid odors—spending a year of my residency cleaning bedpans made me impervious to such discomforts—but we can do whatever you wish," Hannibal said.
"Okay. Well, I have some fabric softener at home, but we might want to buy a second bottle just in case," Will said, crunching into his bacon. Hannibal watched him eat his bacon with a secret sort of smile, and Will chose not to read into it. Deciphering Hannibal Lecter was getting more difficult as Will got to know him more, and it was a startling sort of comfort for the empath. It felt normal, like Hannibal was a human, not a storyline of causes and effects.
They finished their breakfast and washed the dishes together, Hannibal soaping and rinsing while Will dried. It was peaceful and normal, and Will wished he could spend every morning that way.
They stopped by a store on the way to the house so Will could buy a bottle of fabric softener. The cashier, a plump, middle-aged woman, looked between Hannibal and Will with a strangely fond expression as she rang them out. "Aren't you two just the sweetest," she asked, handing them their receipt.
Will spluttered, but luckily Hannibal was as poised as ever. "Thank you," he said graciously, "have a nice day." He led Will out of the shop with a light hand on the small of his back. The cashier sighed behind them.
Will turned on Hannibal the moment they were out of earshot. "What was that?" he demanded, not quite angry but not quite calm.
"That was a sign of the impending social freedom of sexual orientation," Hannibal replied, his voice only faintly tinged with confusion.
"No, I mean, why didn't you correct her? We aren't a couple!" Will stammered over the word. Hannibal gave him a cool look.
"Then what are we, Will? To the eyes of society, we look like a couple. So, unless you wished for me to explain to that nice woman that you are a mentally unstable man and I am your psychiatrist, I see nothing wrong with the way I reacted."
Will deflated. "You're right. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just on edge lately," he confessed. Hannibal's face softened.
"It is perfectly fine, Will. You have a right to question me, just as I have a right to chastise you when those questions are foolish. Now come, we have work to do."
They drove the rest of the way to Will's house in comfortable silence. Hannibal had tuned the radio to the classical channel, and soothing strains of Brahms filled the car, which provided just enough background noise to put the two men at ease.
Will's dogs were thrilled to see him, and Will instantly felt guilty. Luckily, none of them had accidents while he was gone. He really didn't want to see how Hannibal would have reacted to that. Lucy, a beagle mutt that he'd found a little over a year ago, sniffed at Hannibal's ankle and wagged her tail up at him hopefully. To Will's astonishment, Hannibal bent down and stroked over her fur softly. Lucy leaned into the touch, pressing herself against Hannibal's leg.
Hannibal looked up at Will, who was still watching him in awe. "What?"
Wills shook his head. "I thought you weren't a dog person."
"Your dogs are kind animals. While many times I find dogs to be unfavorable contributions to a home, what with their barking and their begging, your strays here do neither. They have let a stranger into their home without a single complaint. We left them alone for hours, and they have not seen you since yesterday. They deserve some affection," said Hannibal, scratching lightly behind Lucy's ears. She closed her eyes in delight. "Look at this dog. She expects nothing from you, other than the basic essentials of food and shelter. If I had not petted her, she would not have minded, but she appreciates the attention now that I have offered it. I am surprised you cannot see the analogy."
Will's face heated. "Are you calling me a dog?" he hissed.
"I could serve you far greater an insult, but no. I am saying that you, like your dog, demand nothing from humanity, but you will accept whatever it gives you. That is a compliment."
"Oh," Will said, feeling stupid. "Thanks."
Hannibal straightened. "You're welcome. Now, I believe we have a wall to uncover."
The men walked into the house and up to Will's room, Lucy following them dutifully. "You made a friend," Will teased.
"So did she," Hannibal replied. Will didn't know how to respond to that.
They unloaded their supplies onto the floor and started moving the furniture away from the walls. Will watched Hannibal take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. "Are you seriously wearing a suit and tie for this?" he asked disbelievingly.
"I was under the impression that casual clothes made you uncomfortable," Hannibal said with a raised eyebrow.
"Your suits are worth more than my comfort," Will tsked. "Be comfortable. Keep your suit clean. I can handle it." He grinned.
"Very well," Hannibal agreed. He left the room and went back downstairs, Lucy trailing behind him. Where was he going? Will wondered. He hadn't actually brought extra clothes with him, had he? Will been prepared to loan him some old clothes that might fit.
Apparently he had, because when Hannibal walked back into Will's room he donned a pair of worn jeans and a scrubby t-shirt.
"It's so weird," Will whispered just loud enough for Hannibal to hear, "how different you look out of your shell."
Hannibal pulled at the hem of his shirt. "I suppose the same could be said of anyone," he said, eyeing Will.
Will inclined his head, agreeing, and the two men got to work. Hannibal was stronger than Will had expected, lifting and shoving furniture with surprising ease. Will wondered how he had developed such musculature. Did he work out? Did he— nope, that thought was inappropriate, let's stop.
It took them maybe ten minutes to move the furniture out in the hallway. They pushed the bed to the center of the room and Will was reminded of his thoughts yesterday. Had it only been yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago.
Hannibal would look good on his bed, especially in those clothes. And that was more inappropriateness. Stop.
Peeling back the top layer of wallpaper was easy, once they got it started. Strip by strip, Americana flowers were torn from the walls to reveal a fuzzy, yellow paper. This was the paper they would have to soak in fabric softener. Will consulted his notes.
"Okay, we have to mix fabric softener and water fifty-fifty, and we spray that on the walls. But it says here we should score the paper first to make it more absorbent. How about you start scoring, and I'll get the solution ready?"
Hannibal wordlessly withdrew a pocket knife from his jeans and started carving careful holes in the paper. Will watched him work for a moment before going down to the kitchen, where he started mixing solution in spray bottles. He was done a few minutes later, and he carried the full bottles back up to the bedroom. Hannibal had gotten a large section of wall done, considering the amount of time Will had been gone, and Will was pleased to see that the paper absorbed the solution easily.
He sprayed everything Hannibal had done so far. Apparently, you were supposed to spray large chunks of wall and wait for the solution to do its chemical magic, and then the paper practically fell away.
It didn't quite work as well as Will had hoped. While it wasn't difficult to peel the strips of soggy paper away, they weren't very large strips, so Will had a lot of work to do. Hannibal finished scoring the walls and moved to help Will. After a few minutes, the sweet perfume of the fabric softener became overpowering, and Will had to open a window.
It was monotonous, stripping away the old paper, and Will found himself settling into a gentle sort of peace. Snag, peel, rip. Snag, peel, rip.
The only sign of the passing time was Will's increase in hunger. When it felt like every soft rrrrrip was accompanied by a stomach grumble, he stopped working and turned to Hannibal.
"I'm hungry, what about you?" he asked Hannibal.
Hannibal looked over him once. "Starving."
They took a break to get lunch. Hannibal had brought another cooler of deli food, so they ate sandwiches and discussed how much longer they would need to work.
"I think it's coming along very well, don't you?" Hannibal asked.
"Definitely." Will grinned. "We can finish that today easily. I decided to go with the taupe, by the way. I trust your taste."
"Very well," said Hannibal, his eyes warm. "I think we should continue to remove the wallpaper, however, before we begin painting. You might be forced to stay at my house for a few more nights."
"What, more free food and ridiculously soft beds?" Will asked sarcastically. "I mean, if I have to. I guess."
Hannibal smirked. "If only the company were better, you might enjoy it more."
"Took the words right out of my mouth," Will sighed dramatically. "I mean, really, if I have to have one more stimulating conversation, I think I might die."
Hannibal laughed, startling Will. He still wasn't used to seeing the doctor so uninhibited, and it thrilled him to see how much Hannibal was opening up. "How tragic. Ah, my friend is back."
Lucy had found her way into the kitchen and sat so that she was pressed up against Hannibal's shoe. He bent down to ruffle her fur, tickling at her chin when she licked at his fingers.
"Her name's Lucy," Will said suddenly, remembering his manners. "I found her when she was just a puppy. Someone had just dropped her at the side of the road."
"Humans are the cruelest of beasts," Hannibal remarked. "It is inspiring to see a man such as yourself choose to take in dogs in need."
"What do you mean, 'a man such as me?'" Will asked. He wasn't upset—he was past the point of thinking that Hannibal would ever mean him offense—but he was curious.
"Will, you have chosen perhaps one of the most difficult careers in the world. Every day, you must confront the worst types of human imaginable and step into their minds. You must become the very thing you hate, daily, and you must go to bed at night riddled with secondhand psychosis. And what do you do with such a miserable life? You survive. You take in stray dogs because they need you, and because they cannot comprehend the darkness into which you must gaze. You are an admirable man, Will Graham. Lucy is one of several witnesses to that."
Will was honestly touched. "I, I'm not sure what to say," he admitted. "Here I was thinking you're the noble one, taking two weeks out of your life to help an unstable patient."
"Well, I never said I wasn'tadmirable, as well," Hannibal joked, and the mood was instantly light again.
Will was amazed at their ability to transition from heartfelt confessions to light-hearted banter. He had always been socially awkward, unable to do more than answer direct questions and talk abut the weather. He had never had the graces necessary to develop a rapport, yet here he was, words flowing from his brain to Hannibal's ears in easy waves of expression.
"Well, as fun as self-entitlement can be, we have a lot of wallpaper to peel, and I, for one, am very sick of the smell of fabric softener," Will said, putting his empty dishes in the sink.
Hannibal rose and put his dishes on top of Will's. "Let us continue, then."
Removing all of the wallpaper in the house took the rest of the day, and everything smelled of "blue water," whatever that was supposed to smell like. Will wasn't sure he ever wanted to smell it again, not after today.
They drove home—to Hannibal's house—and Will was relieved to breathe air that didn't smell of conditioners and artificial fragrance.
"I would offer to wash your clothes to help get rid of the smell, but I doubt it would help," Hannibal said lightly.
Will laughed. "No, it wouldn't. Thank you, though."
Dinner was an easy affair. Hannibal prepared something Will wasn't familiar with, and hearing the fluid syllables of its name didn't exactly help. It was savory-sweet and filling, and that was all that mattered. It made him sleepy and warm, content to curl up on Hannibal's sofa and chat for the rest of the evening about growing up in Louisiana and how different it was from Maryland. Hannibal seemed very interested in his life before the FBI, before he became haunted with the ghosts of murderers, and Will was happy to explain to him what life was like in the South.
Once Will started yawning after every other sentence, Hannibal declared it was bedtime. Will was in no position to argue. Sleep greeted him like an old friend—though Will had always seen it as an enemy—and he was amazed when he opened his eyes and couldn't remember his dreams. He'd always remembered his dreams. What was happening to him? And why did it feel so goddamn good?
He sprang out of bed, more alive than he'd felt in years, and took out his toiletries. He'd forgotten to shower yesterday, too caught up in a haze of arousal and mortification to think about cleanliness, but today was a new day and Will felt like a new man.
He took his toiletries and the towel Hannibal had provided into the nearby bathroom, which looked like something out of a hotel that costs Will's yearly salary per night. The shower was black marble inlaid with brushed chrome, which complemented the dusky red walls very well. Will studiously avoided looking at the toilet as he relieved himself, then he turned the shower on and waited for the water to get hot. A few seconds later, steam started drifting over the glass doors. A few seconds? It took Will's shower three minutes to warm up!
Will sighed, frustrated at luxuries he never knew existed and would now be unable to forget, and stepped under the spray. The showerhead was large, like a watering can nozzle, and it poured directly over Will's head. It felt like he was standing in hot rain; it was magnificent. Will almost didn't want to wash, content to stand in the summer storm of Hannibal's shower, but he eventually did, lathering up his hair and body with the small amount of shampoo he'd brought. The shower drummed on his shoulders, pushing at muscles just hard enough to relax them, but not hard enough to hurt.
Will lingered in the shower for as long as he could without feeling wasteful. He scrubbed a towel through his hair, dried off most of his body, and looped the towel around his waist. He left the bathroom and turned to walk back to his room and collided with Hannibal.
The doctor grabbed Will's arms, stabilizing him. Will looked up to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat. Hannibal's eyes were roving over Will's body with a fierce hunger that made a red-hot blush creep up Will's neck. Will breathed in, smelling Hannibal's decadent cologne, and tried not to shiver too noticeably.
He felt Hannibal's fingers stroke his arms gently, not letting go but not holding him tightly. Will could pull out of Hannibal's grasp easily, if he wanted to. Will didn't.
He leaned into Hannibal, tilting his head—and his towel slipped. Will suddenly remembered that he was in almost nothing, standing in Hannibal's hallway. He jerked away from Hannibal and clutched at his towel, trying to hide with his hands what the cloth couldn't. Knowing his luck, Hannibal saw everything anyway.
"Perhaps I should let you get dressed?" Hannibal asked, amused. His eyes were still hungry, feasting on Will's chest between glances up to his face.
No, no, that's not necessary, Will thought. "Yeah, we've got a lot of work ahead of us that probably requires at least underwear," he said aloud, only half-joking. He would gladly stay half-naked if it kept Hannibal's eyes like that.
Hannibal moved aside, letting Will pass. Will felt hot eyes following him and forced back a shudder. Hannibal checking out his ass was one of the hotter things Will thought he'd ever experienced.
Will got dressed reluctantly, every article of clothing feeling like a layer of armor hiding his body from Hannibal's view. He chose not to put on his usual aftershave (and it was a horse on the bottle, thank you very much) because he knew it bothered the doctor, and he rather didn't want to give him a reason to stay away.
The drive to Will's house was tenser than normal, but not uncomfortable. Will wanted to wash the fabric softener off the walls before they were painted. After he was done, they would go to the hardware store and pick out paint chips for every room, then bring them back to test them in the light. Will hadn't actually planned the second half of that, but he was happy Hannibal had suggested it. He really did want things to be perfect, now that he had spent so much time getting everything ready.
When Will and Hannibal walked into the house, Lucy rushed to greet Hannibal. He smiled, kneeling down to say hello properly. He had worn his jeans again, but he replaced his t-shirt with a black v-neck. It looked sinfully good on him, and Will marveled at how different it made him look, yet again. This shirt suggested that Hannibal was the type of man who could throw on a leather jacket and hop on a moped, racing down Italian streets to drink beer and write freeform poetry.
Well, that was specific, wasn't it? Will shook his head at himself, walking into the kitchen to drop his jacket on the table, where he noticed tiny green shoots sticking up out of the peat pots.
"Hannibal," he called into the living room. "Our plants germinated!"
Hannibal came in to look at the sprouts. "Awe-inspiring, is it not, how a dry seed and a little water can create life?" he mused. "Can I plant them?"
Will looked at him, surprised. "You want to plant them? That involves dirt, you know."
"I have little to no qualms with getting dirty, Will," Hannibal replied calmly. Will tried to ignore the euphemism. He failed, ears pinking. "I would like to plant them. It would give my senses a reprieve from the odor of fabric softener."
"Sounds good to me," Will shrugged. "Take the dogs with you. They could use some time outside. The garden hose is next to the air conditioner and all the tools are in the garage."
Hannibal left, and Will released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It would be a relief to spend some time away from Hannibal's presence, honestly. He very much enjoyed the older man's company, but he was accustomed to hours upon hours of alone time, and he had been feeling a little stifled under Hannibal's watch.
Washing the walls was an easy job, but the drywall had been damaged in some areas and Will made a mental note that he would need spackle when he went to the hardware store. He ended up finishing rather quickly, so he started cleaning his kitchen for something to do.
Hannibal rushed in a half hour later. "Why did you neglect to tell me that you grow raspberries?" he asked, speaking a little more quickly than usual. To Will, who had gotten used to Hannibal's understated range of emotions, this sounded like pure joy.
"Um, because I don't?" Will responded, baffled slightly. "There are some wild bushes beyond the edge of my property, but I've never eaten any of them; wild berries are poisonous, you know."
"Nonsense," Hannibal waved him off, popping a berry into his mouth. He had a handful of them, Will realized, and they looked just like normal raspberries. "Here," Hannibal offered, "have one."
He pushed a berry onto Will's lips and Will accepted it, tongue accidentally catching Hannibal's fingertip. Hannibal's eyes grew hungry again, darkening to a deep burgundy. A split second passed, tension like heavy static charging between them. Before Will could remind himself of all the reasons this was wrong, he latched onto the doctor, kissing him passionately. It felt like everything came to a halt as Will pressed his lips to Hannibal's, and he was devastated when Hannibal's lips felt like stone against his own. Had he misread the situation? He began pulling back, ready to apologize.
But then strong arms were wrapping around his waist, raspberries thrown on the counter, and Hannibal was kissing back, finally. Hannibal's kisses were unlike any other that Will had ever felt; Hannibal moved forcefully, consuming Will and absorbing his passion through the union of tongues. And, oh Hannibal's tongue was really good at that thing just then; he should do it again.
Hannibal quickly took control of the kiss, as Will had so hoped he would, and almost bent Will backwards in his ardor. Will's hands pushed their way up Hannibal's arms, sliding along firm, tan skin and soft, black cotton. They gripped Hannibal's neck, fingertips brushing along the tips of his perfectly trimmed hair. Hannibal huffed a breath through his nose and twisted, and then Will was pressed against his countertop and Hannibal was shoving a leg between his, and then there was pressure right where Will needed it most. Will arched his back involuntarily, dragging his hips across Hannibal's thigh. Hannibal shivered—he fucking shivered—and pushed against Will even harder. Will felt a responding ohmyGodHannibalhasanerectionbecauseofmewhat? press into the junction of his hip, and he broke away from the kiss, gasping.
Hannibal looked down at him, eyes unfathomably dark and lips swollen cherry-red, and moved his hands down Will's back lightly. The tickling, promising sensation made Will's eyes flutter closed, and he felt rather than heard Hannibal chuckle darkly.
"If I had known feeding you raspberries would cause this sort of reaction, I would have done it a long time ago," Hannibal purred.
"Hannibal," Will started, clenching his eyes shut to push back his need to takehavegive, "that had very, very little to do with the raspberries."
Hannibal chuckled again, and the warmth against Will's front disappeared. Will opened his eyes, a protest about to leave his lips, but he froze. Hannibal had just barely moved back, but he was leaning towards Will, hands pressed into the countertop behind the younger man. The change had brought Hannibal's scrutinizing face very close to his own, and he closed his eyes again, overwhelmed.
"And here to think, you thought they were poison," Hannibal breathed into Will's ear. A few moments later, the front door opened, and Will opened his eyes just in time to see Hannibal leave.
"I'm still not convinced they aren't," he whispered. He pressed the butt of his hand to his crotch, willing away his aching need. If anything, the pressure made it worse, and Will resigned himself to a very uncomfortable remainder of the day.
A/N:Whew! Who else needs some water?
As always, if you see any mistakes that I or backwards_blackbird missed, let me know.
Personal note: LeakyCon is coming up (I'm so excited!), and I will definitely be there. I know it's a long shot, but will any of you be joining me?
Thanks for reading!