Will's sleep pattern had never been more sound, more even, more complete in its resulting restfulness. He awoke quiet and calm, surrounded by the aura and scent of arguably the deadliest man alive. Fate, I am thy mistress, he thought to himself, before opening his eyes to look at his bedfellow. Hannibal, of course, was wide awake already, a soft, knowing expression on his still sleepy features. He could murder me in my sleep and I'd never know, thought Will to himself, and I'd likely haunt him to the end of time, except he'd probably enjoy the fact that we couldn't escape each other even in death…
"Good morning, Will."
"Hannibal."
"You slept well."
"Oh I did, did I?"
He circled an arm around Will's waist to draw him closer. "Yes. Dreamless. Much like myself when all is perfect with the world."
"And you and I are perfect, are we?" Will asked, accepting the physical invitation to crowd Hannibal's personal space.
"No. You are perfect…," he whispered, leaning in to kiss Will before he could respond.
He rose from the bed minutes later, satisfied he had left the empath in an appropriate amount of disarray.
"Shall I make coffee?"
"If that is all that is on offer, then yes," replied Will, without a hint of frustration.
Hannibal smiled appreciatively. Less than two weeks together and Will's mirroring of him was becoming more finely attuned with every motion, every gesture shared and expressed. It made the crumbling of the walls beneath his hands, his lips and his mind all the more satisfying to Hannibal.
"It shall be ready in ten minutes," said Hannibal with a nod, not bothering to don his robe as he strolled to his kitchen, hearing the grunt and the flop back on the bed as he exited the bedroom.
It wasn't long before Will joined him, wearing a pair of Hannibal's boxers. Hannibal had wisely donned an apron before beginning preparing their morning meal. He eyed Will as he placed cups on saucers, while the coffee simmered hot and dark next to him.
"I don't recall giving you permission to borrow my underwear."
"Of course you don't," came the nonchalant response. "I didn't ask your permission."
"Somewhat rude, don't you think, Mr Graham?"
Will had grabbed a tumbler and was pouring himself a glass of cold water, his back to Hannibal. "Well, you stop invading my mind, and I won't poke around in your underwear drawer."
Hannibal folded his arms as Will turned to face him, sipping from the glass. In counterpoint to the cool slide of water down his throat, knowing Hannibal was watching, the temperature of the coffee pot began to peak.
"Are you comparing my traversing round your mind to your invasion of my undergarments?" Hannibal deadpanned.
Will lost it then, unable to contain the spluttering laughter as it erupted from the lips still around the rim of his glass. Hannibal took advantage of the momentary loss of composure to stride up to him and hoist him by his hips onto the sink behind.
All meals should begin with a Will Graham appetiser, thought Hannibal absently, lost to the emotional feedback loop emanating from Will. Hannibal broke the kiss before its further searing escalation, his disarray now apparent.
"Quid pro quo, Dr Lecter," said Will, with a genuine smile.
He hopped off the edge of the sink and walked calmly to the coffee pot, pouring them both a cup and handing one to Hannibal who had joined him there. Regaining composure came as quickly and easily to Hannibal as thunder following lightning, Will thought to himself in silent admiration, sipping the hot liquid.
Hannibal turned his back to Will, Will doing his best to train his gaze elsewhere, while Hannibal continued preparing breakfast.
"We have not yet broached the subject with which I know both of us have been preoccupied, albeit in the back of our minds."
Will didn't need to ask. "Simone Nascosto."
"Indeed," Hannibal replied as he whisked some eggs.
"He is dangerous," said Will, his eyes darkening.
More than you yet realise, thought Hannibal, though did not give voice to that thought.
"Do you think he sensed the same?" asked Will, still new to the reality of Hannibal's world by comparison to Hannibal himself. The mind of a psychopath is easy to understand when a version of the same exists in your own head, but the physical expression of those urges came only with discipline and training.
"No. Like you, in these matters he is young and inexperienced, a fledgling killer." The butter sizzled, solid oozing to liquid in mere seconds.
Will was sipping his coffee thoughtfully. "What's to be done? Maintain the status quo?"
Hannibal poured the eggs into the waiting pan, letting the heat work its magic, the transformation from something inedible to delicious quick and barely aided.
He turned to Will and dished their meal onto waiting plates. "I think in this instance I am required to do what I do best and get to know this new element in the life of our mutual acquaintance? Ensure we approve of Judith's choice?"
Will shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I assume you know you are doing it, but already you make him sound like an ingredient in your recipe for life."
Hannibal raised his egg-filled fork to his lips before replying. "So you concur. An intimate dinner might be in order?"