The house is immaculate, hotel-esque and disturbingly unlived in. It's large enough and clean enough that they probably have help, but from the foyer to the kitchen Will spies none of them. From the photographs lining the mantlepiece, Will discovers his host family looks exceptionally different from Hannibal; darker hair and lighter eyes. Their youngest can't be a year older than him, and Will can't help but wonder what Hannibal does to him.

Upstairs there is a grandiose library and an older girl's room. The master bedroom Will sees only through a two inch slit of cracked door space. The lights are out but Will catches the frilled bed skirt from the corner of his eye as he passes by. He's been listening to his heartbeat redouble for a while now, waiting for this gothic fantasy to collapse. Instead the hallway remains empty save for the two of them, when Hannibal shows Will to his bedroom.

"This is it," Hannibal says gracefully. "Is it just like you imagined?"

Hannibal's room reminds Will of one of those Kmart cutouts he's never clipped. All of the furniture is regal in miniature, playful without being substandard. There's a wooden bunk bed, presumably for his host family's biological child to share with Hannibal. There is a small desk full of art supplies, pictures painted with fingers and tacked to the wall above it. The house itself remains barren of life.

"No one is home," Will says slowly. He turns to Hannibal as something scarier than shame creeps his spine and sinks into his shoulders. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Hannibal shrugs. "Are you surprised?"

He feels like he's in the wrong section at IKEA. Will chews his bottom lip, trying not to linger on the elaborate train station in the corner of the room. Next to it there is an incomplete building constructed with Lincoln Logs, and beside it a chest of toys Will struggles to imagine Hannibal playing with under any context.

"Surprised is an understatement, Hannibal. Your intellect is damn near impossible for your age."

They've held conversations on everything from WWII to Sesame Street, and Hannibal is so poignant in his deconstructions it's almost frightening.

"Thank you." Hannibal smiles like he's licking icing from his lips. "But a truly strong person doesn't need approval anymore than a wolf needs approval from sheep."

Will offers a bitter chuckle. "When you talk about your classmates you take the stance of an outsider."

Hannibal's smile widens and he inclines his head like he's been delivered a spectacular compliment. "I'm not like them," he offers without further explanation.

Will shuffles his hands in his pockets. "You're still a child."

Hannibal is smug, thumbs at the waistband of his pants in a silent dare. "Prove it."

Unhinged since before the car ride, Will allows himself the grace of a predator. He strides forward twelve inches at a time, until Hannibal is backed up against the windowsill. He's never had to look this far down his nose at someone he wants to fuck; Hannibal's head doesn't come close to Will's shoulders. The height disparity feels like something dirty Will never wants to clean.

Will bows his back and braces his arm on the wall so can make eye contact. "If I'm the sheep...what does that make you?"

Hannibal bats his lashes like he feels anything close to bashful. "A lamb?" he asks, like he doesn't even believe himself.

When the silence settles, Will brushes loose hair from Hannibal's eyes and shakes his head. "A yearling, at least," he says, although the clarification offers no real reassurance.

"Teach me more," Hannibal pleads in a low whisper, pressed forward on the tips of his toes. He watches Will's adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Please?"

The first touch of their lips ignites Will like lightning, pinpricks of explosive pleasure firing his nerve endings like rounds from a semiautomatic weapon. Their features don't quite line up because much like the furniture in the room, Hannibal is a man in miniature. Will's cock flags for half a second, and he almost convinces himself he's normal.

"Don't treat me like a child," Hannibal pulls away to command.

He pushes at Will's pursed lips with his tongue and when he doesn't assent Hannibal bites him in retaliation. The blood sends him into a frenzy, fingers sinking in his shirtsleeves as he sucks Will's sore lip into his mouth. Will resists a shudder, cradling Hannibal's head in his hand as he curls around his smaller frame.

"More," Hannibal demands breathlessly when Will tries to pull away.

The touch of their tongues creates combustive energy; fire doused in blood. When Hannibal finally deigns entry, he melts in Will's mouth like a perfect cut of veal. His jaw slackens and Will abandons self-control, plunging his tongue inside and mimicking the movement of sex. Hannibal bats ineffectively back, lips slick as they slide together. They kiss until they're forced to part for air, mouths sloppy and wet as any child at the dinner table.

When Will looks like he might vomit Hannibal lifts his arms and pulls his shirt over his shoulders. There's a red stain around the collar, dark beside Hannibal's moonlit skin.

Hannibal shifts his weight in a way Will's never seen a child imitate. "Want some advice?" Hannibal asks.

Will isn't sure what for, but he nods anyway, wiping the sweat from his brow and rolling his shoulders. "Shoot."

"Never eat food after you dissect something in science class," Hannibal makes a show of removing each sock. He wiggles his toes against the carpet. "You just might get sick."

Will undoes the first three buttons of his own shirt. "Is that what you're doing? Dissecting me?"

Hannibal trips out of his pants one leg at a time while Will watches, flooded with fondness.

"Why, Mr. Graham?" he giggles fiendishly. "Do you like it?"

"Call me Will," he says at last, adjusting his glasses.

Hannibal couldn't look more pleased. "Isn't that inappropriate?"

Will's voice rumbles with amusement. "Because our relationship has been perfectly professional up until now."

"Will," Hannibal repeats wistfully. "Do I sound like a grownup when I say it?"

Will flicks his nose and Hannibal scrunches his face. "Not one bit."

"What about now?" Hannibal smooths his hands over the front of Will's pants and picks at the zip. "When I ask for your grownup cock?"

The distinction should make Will feel disgusting, but it doesn't. It turns him on. Will wonders if this is what children sound like in the sex industry. America's seedy underbelly is its worst unkept secret. He silences the troubling thoughts with surprising efficiency. Instead he refocuses on the present, afraid to breathe when Hannibal's fingers tug Will's pants down an inch at a time. How is it he always ends up feeling like the victim, when the only other person in the room is a child?

"It's little," Hannibal complains, pulling at the waistband of Will's underwear. "Let me make it bigger," he suggests.

Will is stiff before Hannibal can peel the fabric from his dick. Next to Hannibal's thin wrist his cock appears thicker, heavy when he lifts it with both hands. Violence permeates his brain, thoughts of the face Hannibal might make if he rammed his cock down his petulant, condescending throat. Despite the urge to throttle him, Will keeps his touch delicate, barely ghosting Hannibal's skin.

Hannibal smiles up at Will from behind blond eyelashes. "I think he likes me," Hannibal remarks as it inflates and lengthens.

The authenticity of his own laughter shocks him. Hannibal's eyes are wide. "I think you're right," Will admits softly.

He doesn't need to guide Hannibal to his cock but he does it anyway, caressing his cheek and trying to keep the monster inside tightly leashed. He drags his thumb over Hannibal's lower lip before pressing into his mouth, holding his jaw open as he angles his hips forward. The girth of his head stretches Hannibal's mouth into a circle, but he remains undeterred as he tries to swallow more of him, hardly halfway down before gagging.

When Hannibal pulls away to catch his breath, his jaw is slack, drool spilling over the slit. His hands move in sync, encasing Will's cock in a slick, tight channel. He pumps his hands up and down and leans forward to lick the precum dribbling down the shaft.

Will wants to tease him, to give him a taste his own medicine. "Had a lot of practice with that?"

Hannibal puffs out his chest. "I've been doing it since I was a kid."

Will snorts. "You are a kid."

The words sting like pricks from a razor; grounding. It's hard not to think about why Hannibal said something like that, impossible not to imagine the other men who have done this to him. Hannibal tries to suck him a second time and bumps his teeth hard enough to make Will flinch. His cockhead swells with blood and Will swears. He squeezes his thumb below Hannibal's collarbone and pulls his cock away, testing the sharpness of his canines with his thumb.

"When you don't know what you're doing, ask for help before you mess up."

Hannibal's eyes light up, thrilled, and he snaps his mouth shut. "Teach me correctly the first time and I won't have to mess up at all."

Will has never been so delighted by the urge to wash a child's mouth out with soap. The next time Hannibal gives it a go the graze of teeth is absent. Tears well in Hannibal's bright red eyes when the tip of Will's cock knocks his uvula. He pulls back to cough while Will kisses Hannibal's forehead and wipes his lips clean.

"Yours is a lot bigger," Hannibal protests.

Hannibal stares into his eyes while Will supports him with one hand and tickles his tummy with the other.

"I've had a lot longer to grow it."

Hannibal fists himself in his underwear, finally frustrated. He pulls Will's cock from his mouth with a wet pop and lets his y-fronts fall to the floor.

"Do you like my little prick, Mr. Graham?"

The base of Will's cocks pulsates, hot. He grips himself tight to maintain control and takes a step back. "Will," he corrects quickly.

"Will," Hannibal repeats, bumping his pelvis against his knee. "Play with me again."