It was hard to believe that this was their home. Will, teetering on the brink of consciousness, silk sheets gliding against skin, rolling over in bed. It could have absorbed him entirely and he would be content. Eyes fluttered to meet the morning and Hannibal was not there. Onto his back once more, one arm raised above his head, heavy eyelids sliding closed. Everything was warm. Faint sounds of the city drifted into the bedroom, muffled and far away. Will sat up, stretched out, sheets falling around thighs.
The Atlantic, vast, shimmering, outside the window across the room. Something about the grandiosity was amusing. Will exhaled, mouth melting into a sleepy smile.
It would take some getting used to, he imagined. Standing under the showerhead, a sleek glass stall that Will guessed could fit 6 or 7 people. Heated tile flooring. A mirror for a wall. Polished silver finishes. He stared at himself, beads of water rolling down his arms, his sides. They'd been there four days now. No amount of time is going to get me used to this. He stepped off the tile, onto a bath matt, looked around on the wall for the 'off' switch to the heated floors. Some of the more elaborate touches to the apartment were simply, he concluded, too much. Too excessive.
Will, towel tucked into itself, hanging off his hipbones, in the kitchen. Sleek gray granite, black cabinets, white and silver accents. A large island, an ornate oven, a wine fridge, a walk in pantry. It was no wonder why Hannibal picked this place. The kitchen sat just off the front hallway, in the corner of the open, oversized apartment. A few ornate pieces of furniture, bookshelves, in front of a small fireplace in the opposite corner, near the dining table, chairs brilliantly white, stark against the dark hardwood floors. Sun streamed in from the balcony off their sunken living room. Polished, angular, modern. Will had commented, on their first day there, that it didn't seem much like Hannibal's style, and Hannibal responded by leading him out onto the balcony.
"Ah. I see."
Large, weathered granite of the building framed the sliding glass door that Will stepped through, onto sleek sandstone tile. Vines carved out of stone wrapped around the waist-high railing at the edge of the balcony. Actual vines, crawling up the granite, around their corner of the building, twitched in the breeze. Plants held up in decorative pots by small marble pillars. Sharp wooden furniture. Shining glass accents. An intricately beautiful grandiosity to it all.
A wealthy couple, Hannibal had explained, bought the apartment in its entirety ten years prior as a vacation property, and had used it only twice since. Will wondered aloud how Hannibal could know for sure that they wouldn't choose this year to come back. Hannibal was far too gleeful in admitting that he didn't, in fact, have any idea. That didn't help Will's nerves. Nor did the fact that they had entered so casually, suitcases in hand, stopping to introducing themselves to another tenant they'd run into on the way.
He felt a similar uneasiness that morning as he stepped, barefoot, onto the balcony and into the beating sun. Oddly warm for so early in the year. Sandstone hot underneath his feet. Hair dripping onto his shoulders. Fingers fidgeting with his towel.
"Good morning, Will."
"Morning."
Hannibal sat on the long wooden bench against the wall at the beginning of their balcony. Pressed a mug of coffee into Will's hands as he approached. Will took it silently. Did not sit. His sips, hesitant. Hannibal must have noticed his eyes darting in the direction of the city, visible a few miles down the shore, slightly inland. Three stories below, the street hummed with the murmur of the morning commute. Cyclists weaving through people, accompanied by the occasional motorcycle or scooter. Footsteps and conversations. All of it so close. Too close.
"No one is looking for us, Will." Hannibal. Loud. Comfortable. "Especially not here."
He knew Hannibal was right. Months-dead. Old news, from the east coast of a country that no one here seemed to care too much about. Still, the jump from a single secluded cabin to an apartment in a city of a quarter of a million people seemed a bit extreme.
Coffee searing against the back of Will's tongue. "I know. It's just…"
"Having trouble adjusting?"
Will didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the buildings that lined the shore, leading towards the city.
"Are you feeling… alright?"
Smile disappeared. Will's concussion, he knew, was undoubtedly part of his uneasiness. Headache never really leaving, washing over him in waves. "I've still got that headache." A less-scalding sip. He sat on the bench next to Hannibal. "Better than yesterday, though."
Hannibal, trained eyes on Will's face, looking for something in the creases. Will glanced up at him through stray strands of hair. "It's just the headache. I promise."
He wanted to move closer to Hannibal. Ignore the fact that his hair was soaking wet and lean against his shoulder. Feel it rise and fall with gentle breaths. But he didn't. Something rooted him to where he sat, clutching at his ankles and calves, winding up his waist, his torso, reminding him not to move.
"I'm…" Shoulders heavy, stomach sinking. "I'm going to go get dressed."
Clothes uncomfortable on his skin. Hannibal left to shop, asked if Will wanted to go, but he declined. The apartment felt bigger without Hannibal in it. Will paced the length of it once or twice, eyes fixed on the Atlantic. Thinking quick and frantic thoughts about nothing. Fingers twitching. Decided to leave.
Will kept his chin tucked down towards his chest, eyes pointed at the ground, as he walked. Believe entirely what Hannibal said – nobody was looking for them. But the constant and intrusive thought that someone might recognize him, and everything would topple around him, was incessant and overwhelming. All the same, there was something welcoming about the murmur of civilization. A young woman, dark hair and deep eyes, smiled at him from the open window of the office at the entrance to the marina, and suddenly the sun was warmer and the day brighter. He hadn't been smiled at by anyone but Hannibal in months. He returned the smile, sheepishly wide. A cool breeze shifted his hair around his ears.
He had planned, initially, just to check on the ship, then to go into the city, acclimate himself to his surroundings. But once he felt the deck under his feet, he surrendered himself to his body, acting independently of his mind. Raising the sails. Watching how they moved in the wind. Eyeing the currents.
Half a mile or so off shore. Releasing the break, slowly paying out the anchor chain as the boat drifted gently backwards. Backing down with the engine, attaching the anchor line to the cleat. The boat stopped drifting. Rocked gently in place.
It was, admittedly, a gloriously beautiful day. The sky a vivid, storybook blue, clouds cartoonishly white and soft. The sun, bright white, just below the top of the sky. A trickle of a breeze against his warmed skin.
Will sat near the bow of the ship, squinting slightly in the sun. He could, if he looked hard enough, make out the edge of the cluster of buildings where their apartment was. Eyes scanning back and forth along the shore. Vigo proper sat, large and inviting, what looked to be a few miles down the shore from the apartment. It really was a beautiful city. He wondered why Hannibal had picked it.
The breeze picked up and Molly tilted a bit to the left. Will stuck his hands out, balanced himself, palms against the deck until the breeze dried down. Funny, he thought, to want to be back out on the ship after just having left it. But things felt different out here on the sea. Quieter. Easier to breathe in the open air. He could release the thoughts that were too big for himself, watch them float away from him, towards the vast expanse of turquoise above and below.
The clouds seemed to avoid the sun, so Will stood and found his way into the cabin in search of sunscreen. His eyes landed on the armchair by the door of the cabin and a small pinching in his chest made him turn his head away. There was still a small indentation there from Hannibal, where he had curled up and slept the last 3 nights of their voyage. His back was still recovering. Sunscreen tight in Will's fist. Wished he had just risked the sunburn.
Will had been sleeping on the far side of the bed since their arrival in Spain, leaving room in the middle of the bed for the ghost of Abigail. The emptiness at the pit of his stomach gnawing at him with dull and jagged teeth, leaving him red, raw, covered in bite marks that itched whenever Hannibal got too close.
Sunscreen in his palms, gliding over his forearms. Will wondered if he'd been too hostile recently. Blamed his behavior, partially, on the headaches from his concussion. Thought about it and realized he hadn't touched Hannibal once since that night. The thing gnawing at him bit down and did not let go. Lost in unknowing, unsure if he felt so terribly because of the distance between them, or if it was the distance itself that made him feel terrible. Sunscreen on the side of his neck now, chemical smell singing his nose.
He couldn't quite reach all of his back. If Hannibal was here... And then he was, palms working in wide circles, fingers pressing into Will's sides. Will closed his eyes and breathed in the daydream. The gnawing in his stomach stopped and the sun shone warmer. Didn't realize, at first, that he was smiling.
Sun at the beginning of its slow descent, still high in the sky. Will wondered what Hannibal was doing, right then, at that moment. If he too watched the sun and the clouds. If he was thinking of him. The gnawing faded to a dull ache. Surprising how much he missed him, having seen him just an hour or so ago. A breeze picked up, the sun ducked behind a cloud, and the ache worsened, Will realizing that his first want in the chill was to be beside Hannibal for warmth.
Oh.
The moment was small, smaller than Will expected. Quiet too. The realization, a soft and pleasant peace.
Glanced at the sun as it slid into blue once more, out from behind a cloud. It had barely been an hour or two But he knew he needed to go back, suddenly, overwhelmingly certain.
Then he woke up.
Will's entire body ached. Tense and cold. Head pounding. Heavy eyelids forced open to meet a black sky, a bright moon.
Shit.
Hannibal woke that morning and found Will had drifted in his sleep. Inches away, far side of the mattress, on his side. Sheets draped over his waist, sun against his back. Hannibal's eyes rested on the scar on Will's shoulder. He slid closer. Rested his forearm on Will's side, hand draped down, fingers against his chest. Lips above his ear.
"Good morning."
Will's eyes shut tighter. "Mmm."
Muscle sliding under skin, and through his arm Hannibal could feel Will tensing against him. Suddenly the morning felt less inviting. Hues in the air changing from warm sepia tones to desaturated blues.
Still, then.
Hannibal withdrew his arm.
Will hadn't been entirely present, not since the mention of Abigail on their journey here. The way he sat, the way his eyes wandered, never quiet settling on Hannibal's. The cadence of his words and the twitches in his fingers. He insisted that he was not upset. Hannibal couldn't help but be reminded of a Will who had murdered Freddie Lounds, a Will who would run away with him and Abigail to Italy. Hannibal could feel this Will, like that Will, pulling away, quick and gentle tugs.
But Will insisted he was fine. So Hannibal, though every part of him screamed not to, ignored the tugs. Acknowledge them, and they would strengthen. He'd approach the distance between them when things settled. If they settle.
Will insisted again, on the balcony, when Hannibal pressed a mug into his sleepy hands and asked if he was alright. "I've still got that headache." Towel around his waist. Droplets rolling over his collarbone. Eyes narrowed against the sun.
Hannibal wasn't sure about the words. But Will glanced upwards at him from beneath tired eyelids, dark lashes, earnest and whole, agonizingly blue. "It's just the headache. I promise." The tugging quieted, and Hannibal felt himself reluctantly settling into the fact that Will was here. Will was genuine. Still, he was unable to settle in entirely. All he wanted was Will's head on his shoulder, damp from the shower. He shifted, almost imperceptibly, closer. Offering. An unformed question turned in his stomach. Will, in turn, didn't move closer. The space on the bench next to Hannibal ached against his side when Will left it to go change into his clothes.
The streets here were busy and Hannibal loved it. A stark and welcome contrast to the gloomy isolation their cabin brought. He weaved in and out of people, early afternoon sun beating down on his shoulders, heating cobblestone beneath his feet. The murmur of conversation. Footsteps. Atlantic lapping at the edges of the docks next to the street. Hannibal closed his eyes. Inhaled. It smelled different than the last time he was here. That was to be expected, though. This was a different Spain. He, a different man.
Will wasn't at the apartment when Hannibal returned. He placed the groceries he'd purchased on the kitchen island. Wine in the wine fridge, food in the pantry. The sun inched towards the horizon. He read, for a while, stretched across the couch near the door to the balcony. Halfway through the book. Purples fading fast to pinks. Hannibal, upright on the couch, thumb as a bookmark, staring blank to the sea. It can't have been that long. Sun perched atop the horizon. Can it? Pinks to oranges. Hannibal stood in the doorway of the balcony. A slice of the sun below the horizon now, and the oranges grew deeper. He thought he might cook to distract himself. Eyes scanning the apartment for a note Will might have left.
Sauce of ginger, chile, lime, gochugaru. Chilled while he prepared the rest. Gripped the octopus by its head, tentacles curling in the boiling water. Oil. Salt. Pepper. Yogurt across the plate - two plates. Hannibal ate one, the other grew cold. Each bite harder and harder to swallow. He tapped his knife against his plate. Forced himself to breathe through his nose. Conscious inhales and timed exhales. Twitching at the sound of their downstairs neighbor unlocking their door.
There were significantly fewer people on the street, now that it was getting dark. Hannibal walked quickly, footsteps matching heartbeat, both steadily increasing. Past the complexes. The restaurants. The tiny rows of shops. A marina, large ships, wealthy families. Another, smaller marina, then another, smaller still. He turned into the third. Dusk air warm and thick, but just underneath his skin, he was sickeningly cold.
A patch of empty water, at the end of the fourth pier, where Molly had been docked just this morning, and Hannibal tried not to fall as the world was pulled from under his feet.
Will pushed himself up off the deck, stiff, into a sitting position. Eyes sliding in and out of focus, adjusting in the dark. A thick haze filled his head. Exhausting. The warmth of the day had left with the sun and Will tucked his arms against his chest. Did I fall asleep? Huffing away the cold. How long have I…? Tongue felt too big for his mouth. Tips of his fingers tingling. An uneasily familiar sensation. He stood. Knees cracking. Raised the anchor with tired and heavy arms.
The young woman who smiled at him earlier stood at the edge of the pier as he pulled Molly in to dock. She watched him as he worked to secure the ship.
"Peligroso esta en el agua esta tarde de la noche."
Tightening the knot. Rope rough in his palms. "Yo sé, lo siento. Accidentalmente quedé dormido." Voice unexpectedly rough. He cleared his throat. Jumped with a thud onto the dock.
"Estás bien?"
Will looked to her. Dark eyes wide, a ghost of a frown, genuine concern.
"Si. Gracias."
Will's body knew the way home but his mind lagged a few steps behind. Moonlight illuminated street. He passed no one. Or maybe he did. He wasn't quite paying attention. Not entirely present. Hard to see through the haze. The scene that met him as he entered the apartment, though, forced his mind back to his body, cleared the fog.
Hannibal kneeled in the living room. Small trash bin in one hand, surrounded by a sea of shattered glass. Light bouncing off small shards like diamonds, a beautiful shimmering portrait of catastrophe.
"Oh my god," Will, at Hannibal's side in an instant, hand on his shoulder, half kneeling next to him. "What happened?" Three fingers dripping with scarlet.
"I seem to have cut myself." Hannibal, not answering the question. Off. Words slipping clumsily off his tongue.
Will took Hannibal's hand in his own. Turned it over. Tiny slices along the pads of his fingers, blood dark and beading. "Doesn't look too bad." Hand again on Hannibal's shoulder. "Here." Pulled him into a standing position. Hannibal tilted as he stood. Grabbed both of Will's shoulders. Stood square in front of him. Redness under his eyes.
Will didn't have to ask but did anyway. "Are you drunk?"
Hannibal, again, didn't answer. "You left."
Will's hands on Hannibal's elbows. A tense, steadying grip. "I went out on the boat. I needed to clear my head." Hannibal's hands moved to Will's face, palms fiercely tight against cheekbones.
"I…" Gazed dropped to Will's mouth. "I thought you'd gone."
"No, I-" Will realized. An overwhelming chill at the base of his skull, spreading atop his shoulders. "You – no," Tongue tripping over words. "You thought I'd… gone?"
Hannibal nodded. Thumb pressing at the corner of Will's eye.
"So you…" Will trailed off. The shards of clear and green glass strewn around them. "You broke… a wine bottle?"
"Two." A shadow of embarrassment fell across Hannibal's brow. He turned away from Will, letting his hands fall to his sides.
"After drinking them, I assume?"
Head dipped down, hair falling over his forehead. "Yes. I'll clean them, it's just my hands…" Balled into fists. "I'm sorry." Certain syllables drawn out a bit too long, faint traces of wine in each word.
Will's chest filled, heavy, hot. A clutching at his ribs, scratching the walls. "No, no, don't-" Breathing away an ache not unlike the one he felt on the deck of the ship earlier in the day. "I'm sorry. I anchored the ship and accidentally fell asleep." He stepped forward. "I would never..." His own hand on Hannibal's face now. "I'm not going to leave you."
Hannibal looked up to meet Will's gaze and Will did everything he could not to fall apart then and there. Turned away to stare at anywhere but Hannibal.
"Sit." Hoping Hannibal didn't notice the slight crack in his voice.
Silence but for the soft melodic chimes of glass against stone floor. Odd how such small sounds seemed to echo throughout the enormous space. Hannibal sat back on the couch, bloody fingers and drunkenly secured bandages tucked into his palms, watching silently as Will swept. Large amounts of glass, no liquid. Will wondered if Hannibal drank them both and then threw them, or if he'd done so one at a time. Knuckles tightening around the handle of the broom. This is my fault. Sideways glances at Hannibal. Imagining the glass connecting with the wall. Splintering. Floating, slow, in every direction. The stem slipping out of Hannibal's hand and the rage and heartbreak across his face. Will stopped sweeping. Stood straight. Still.
Hannibal spoke first. "I have to say, I'm quite embarrassed."
"If it makes you feel better, if I thought you'd left me, I'd probably do the same thing." Broom in hand, he began to walk towards the kitchen.
"You would?"
Will stopped, turned. Hannibal, twisted around on the couch, arm draped over the back, eyes sharp but unfocused.
"Yes."
There was something about Hannibal's vulnerability. The back of Will's neck tingled, fingers twitched. He needed to touch him. Didn't know if he could. Broom propped up against the kitchen corner. Snatching a wine bottle off the middle of the island. Will marched back to the living room, sat on the couch, cross legged, next to Hannibal. Fought the cork out of the bottle and took a large swig.
"What are you doing?"
"You said you had two bottles. I'm catching up."
Hannibal's eyes grew wide with a different sort of fear. "Will, that is a Gran Reserva Cabernet Sauvignon. It has to breathe after opening. Let me get the decanter." He spoke as though they'd committed a despicable crime.
Wine spilling into Will's mouth, pressing a smile against the lip of the bottle. "It's fine. I like it how it is." Rotating his wrist, dark wine swirling around inside. "Plus," Lips against glass. He tilted it back and took another sizeable swig. "It's more fun this way."
Hannibal considered the words for a moment, eyes landing on Will but looking somewhere further away. Will tilted the bottle again, drinking rapidly, a rushed attempt to quiet the fidgeting he felt underneath his skin.
"I've always loved that about you, Will." Hannibal spoke softer now, some level of drunken casualty, permeated by a more serious edge.
Hot underneath his shirt collar. Will shifted on the couch, moved closer. More wine to fill the pause.
"Your ability to succumb to spontaneity." Eyes on the bottle. Then Will's face. "You give yourself entirely to a moment, letting it take hold of you without thought or calculation. You revel in the thrill of the unconscious decision. Primal and passionate."
The wine, cherry, chocolate, on the back of Will's tongue. Locked onto Hannibal as he drank.
"That being said…" He sat back, then forward, palms pressed against his knees as he stood. "I really must insist on getting you at least a glass."
"No, no, wait-" Will uncharacteristic, tilted the bottle vertically. Drank the last of it, about a glass or two, in a few enormous gulps.
Hannibal had never looked more horrified.
"Done." Will stood as well, a bit too fast, bubbling of the wine sloshing around in his skull.
"Wow." He blinked. "Stronger than I expected." Eyebrows raised at himself as he took a slight misstep, one palm extended to balance himself.
"More expensive than you probably expect, too."
Will did not try to hide his childish smile. "Sorry."
"No you're not."
"No, I'm not."
The buzz from the alcohol, his ability to succumb to a moment, or the way the moonlight streamed in from the balcony and hit the side of Hannibal's face. Will didn't know what it was that magnetized himself to Hannibal. Moving so that he stood directly in front of him. Began to steer the conversation towards where he needed it to go. Where he knew Hannibal needed it to go.
"I really am sorry, Hannibal."
Hannibal's shoulders moved in the satisfied way they did whenever Will said his name.
"I didn't want to make you worry." Reaching out. Hannibal's hand in his own. He turned it over, eyes tracing the creases. Running his fingers over the caked and crumbling blood on Hannibal's palm. "I know I've been… distant." Standing close enough to hear Hannibal's soft bursts of breath. Heartbeat rapid in his wrist underneath the pads of Will's fingers. "It's like you said, I don't adjust well. My thoughts are too… large for my skull. Too opaque. Like a thick fog I can't see through." Fingers tucking bandages tighter around cuts. Pink stains on white cotton turning darker red. "It's like I can't swallow. I can't breathe."
He brought Hannibal's other hand into his own. Held them both. Remembered the quiet moment on the boat earlier today. Clung to the realization.
"I've spent most of the time we've known each other thinking you brought the fog. That it was your fault, and by your singular doing, that I was suffocating in it." He lifted Hannibal's hands to his face. Tilted his head. Pressed his mouth to Hannibal's knuckles with closed eyes. "But I know now," Lips soft and light, brushing against each finger. "You don't bring the fog. You dispel it." The bandages rough against his lips. "It disappears and leaves a clarity that I'm… not used to. I've been living my whole life in the fog, so… I don't know what that clarity is. I don't know how to define it, or how to live in it. So I pull away. Retreat into the familiarity of unknowing."
Will, head still bent, looked up to Hannibal, who stood, shoulders slumped, eyes wet. Fingers woven between bandages. "I'm not retreating anymore."
He leaned in. Felt Hannibal's breath hot against his lips.
And just before they touched, Hannibal pulled his fingers from Will's hand, placed a gentle palm on his chest, pushed him away.
"I don't…" He stopped, a heavy breath. Will only now noticing his heart slamming against his ribcage. "I don't want drunk or empty intimacy, Will." Eyes darting rapidly between Will's. "I don't want to take advantage. I only want this if it is real, if this is truly you speaking to me, here and now and present."
Pulse screeching to a stop and Will felt as though his chest might burst.
"You really love me, don't you?"
Hannibal's whispered response. "Yes. I do."
"Then you'll know," Will, so close, feet tangled with Hannibal's. "This isn't drunk or empty. Well. Not empty at least."
They both smiled, laughter like feathery bursts of air.
"I'm trying, poorly, to…to tell you…" Will raised his face. Tip of his nose atoms from Hannibal's.
"I love you, Hannibal." And though he stood up straight, Will felt Hannibal's whole being collapse against him. "I really do. I love you, I-" Cut himself short to press his lips, himself, to Hannibal hearts straining through tissue, beating through the walls, off each other. He slipped an arm around Hannibal's waist and pulled him in. Teeth hard against his lips against Hannibal's, nose pressed into his cheek.
Lips parted. Hannibal's tongue tasted of oak and blackberries. Will scraped the top of it lightly with his teeth. Hannibal's hand under Will's arm, sliding up his back, gripping the base of Will's skull tight and pressing their lips harder together, his tongue farther into Will's mouth. Laden breathing through nostrils. Almost panicked. Desperate. Hungry.
And then Hannibal pulled himself away and pressed Will's head against the crook of his shoulder. Wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Will went slack in Hannibal's arms as the weight he carried with him disappeared, curling away into the air like smoke. Clarity with the absence of fog, bright, ringing in Will's ears.
It rang, still, in the shower, minutes after their reluctantly broken embrace. Heat from the water soaking deep into Will's skin, warming him to the bone. He closed his eyes, face in the stream, water rolling off his brows, clinging to his lashes. Even the cool tile felt warm against his feet. Wine in his blood pumping around his body, rocking him gently on his feet. He raised a hand to his mouth. Ran his thumb along his lips. Pressed his fingers to them and imagined they were Hannibal's lips, pushed viciously against him.
The confession had been the plan. The kiss, an expected response. And though it was fulfilling and he felt as though his heart would beat itself to breaking, some small piece of Will felt unsatisfied. The pit of his stomach still gnawing at itself.
Will knew what he wanted. Blood shifting to different parts of him. He tilted his head back, water pounding against the curve of his throat. He'd left the bathroom door open deliberately. Tired of waiting for himself to muster up the courage. Waited, instead, for Hannibal to make his own move.
Hannibal's footsteps were soft underneath the roaring of the shower, but Will heard them, which meant he'd intended them to be heard. Still, he kept his eyes closed, face under the showerhead. Pushed the hair out of his face. Hannibal's eyes seared his skin. A few seconds of feigned ignorance. Finally he turned. Hannibal leaned against the doorway to their bedroom. Staring. A darkness behind eager eyes. Will stood, exposed. Half hard. Stepped towards the side of the shower in silent invitation. Hannibal began to undress. Will watched. Eyes mirroring Hannibal's.
He'd seen Hannibal undressed before but there was something about the night that gave his arms, his chest, a different kind of lean and powerful sheen. The gnawing grew painful. Chest tightening when he realized he'd never seen him entirely undressed. Underwear kicked aside. Silk. Of course. Will tried to suck in air but felt like he'd breathed none. He grew harder unexpectedly fast.
And then Hannibal was in the shower. Gliding towards him. Warm skin slick against warm skin. Will took his face into his hands, initiated this kiss as well, forgetting to breathe, trapping water between their lips. A chill between them when they pulled apart.
"You love me." Hannibal. A question, not a statement. Whispered against Will's lips.
"Yes."
Will's arms curled up, hands gripping the backs of Hannibal's shoulders, running down the length of his arms, moving to his stomach, his waist, his hips, traveling down his thighs. Every part of him. God. Head rushing. It felt so good to finally touch him. To allow himself. Hannibal's arm slipped around Will's waist, pulling him in, pressing against him, water pouring over their backs, sealing them together. Will felt Hannibal's cock near his thigh. Turned away from it but did not pull away entirely. Pressed his back to Hannibal's torso, his own hands trailing down his stomach, the base of his shaft.
Will felt, in his back, the rumbling in Hannibal's chest. Voice deep.
"Say it." Lips at his ear. Breath hotter than the scalding water.
"I love you."
Hannibal, hard, at the small of his back. His tailbone. Will pressed against it. Grew along with it. Hannibal's hands were on his sides now, running from chest to waist, gripping at his thighs, fingers dug into flesh.
"Again."
Head to the side, Hannibal's hunger in his periphery. Hand wrapped around himself now. Flushed and swelling in his fist. "I love you." Alternating words and heavy breaths. Water rolled off the head of his cock, sending a shiver into his abdomen. Hannibal reached for it, fingers barely grazing it before Will pushed them gently away.
"No…" Eyes closed. Chest heaving. He bucked his hips, forward, away from Hannibal's, but leaned, shoulder blades harder against his torso. Neck rolling backwards, head resting on Hannibal's shoulder. "Not yet." Soon. Hannibal had waited this long and he could wait just moments longer. Will wanted him, a puddle at his feet. Drunk off not wine but on the hold he had on the man behind him. He stroked himself slowly. Hannibal's shoulders went rigid and Will's body surged. Right now, Hannibal was his.
"Will." Hannibal's aching 'Don't.'
Will's head rolled to the side. "Not yet." Pressed his lips to Hannibal's neck. Hannibal responded in kind, shifting his shoulder so Will's own neck would arch further back, pressing his lips to the front of Will's throat. Sucking. Dragging his teeth along wet skin. Will moved his hands along himself faster now, running his thumb over the slit. Swore he could feel Hannibal shaking. Choked as Hannibal's mouth found his, tongue forced its way towards his throat.
Will bit down on a moan. Hannibal's hands on his hipbones like fire, and he could not take it any more. He spun Will around, pressed an angry kiss to the side of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. Forced him against the glass, hitting his head. Hannibal's hands on his shoulders, moving down his arms, his hips, felt Hannibal's lips on his chest, his stomach, his – oh god
"Ahh - fuck-"
Will gripped Hannibal's shoulder, fingernails piercing skin, his head, hair clutched between his fingers. Hannibal's mouth around him, tongue on the head of his cock and his whole body went slack, knees quaking beneath him. He reached out to the side and grabbed at nothing, pressing his head against the glass.
"Jesus-" Mouth wide in a gasp, water splashing off his face. Shocked he hadn't collapsed. Body pulsing with his heartbeat, the rhythm of Hannibal's mouth.
"I'm…I," Head rolled forward. "H…Hannibal, I-" Hair hanging down off his forehead. Water rushing over his eyelids. "I'm close, I-"
Hannibal didn't stop. Gave no indication of stopping. Will opened his eyes, saw Hannibal kneeled on the tile, free hand working at himself, long rhythmic strokes.
"F-fuck-"
Will, hand trembling, grabbed the back of Hannibal's head to pull it away. Hannibal gripped side of Will's waist, took Will deeper into his mouth, eyes flicking upwards. Starving. Horrifying.
Will caught flame. Steadied himself on Hannibal's shoulders as his body convulsed with the force of the release. Raw inside Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal held him there as he finished himself off as well, seconds later, rolling his head to one side, breath heavy against Will, palm against the glass.
He let Will fall gently from him. Swallowed as he stood. Pressed his face to the side of Will's neck. Panting heavily over the water.
Towel-dried hair still damp atop soft pillows. Soft Atlantic moonlight pouring across their bodies from their picturesque window by the bed.
Hannibal and Will, awake, aware, alive. Facing each other, unblinking. Seeing. Knowing.
"You taste sweeter than I expected."
"You," Will laughed softly. "Are obnoxiously well endowed." Hannibal's eyes creased into a smile. "I was hoping you wouldn't be, but of course…" Will trailed off. Wine making his eyelids heavy. Hannibal's thumb rested where his ear met his cheek.
Limbs woven together. Fingers drifting over skin. Breathing each other in.
Hannibal's lips at his forehead, breath against his brow. Eyes open less and less with each blink. Sinking slowly. Slurred speech.
"Goodnight Hannibal."
"Goodnight, sweet Will."