A/N: Here's that really long ass fic I was talking about in my other Hannigram story. I hope to try to have weekly updates for you guys. I've got a long list of chapters already, so we'll see. Maybe I'll do two chapters a week. Currently up to 37 chapters and still going strong. There's also going to be a lot of other languages in this story because Will kinda has a kink for them and Hannibal could never say no. I'll post what they mean at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think! Thank you guys!


He couldn't remember having felt this empty. Not for a long while. The last time he had felt like this had been when his sister had died.

But this man wasn't his sister. The way this man clung to him wasn't like his sister. The way this man's eyes begged for something else to be the truth and what had happened to be a fake reality that they were all trapped in was not like his sister.

The cry of shock and pain still clawed to the air, the man's mouth hanging open in surprise as a warm stickiness collected between their tight bodies.

The hope that had been in Will's beautiful blue eyes was gone, replaced with betrayal that Hannibal knew all too well. But the longer Hannibal looked, the more he reconsidered Will's eye color.

It wasn't really blue. There wasn't really a color blue, just a lack of pigment refracting light particles with the shortest wavelength, like the sky.

The sky...

It felt like he would never see the sky again. Not with how Will tumbled from his grip and to the kitchen floor, the darkness of his blood now mixing with the other's blood that was already puddling.

They were supposed to go together, but Hannibal hadn't been blind. He had been giving and taking, pushing and pulling, hoping beyond hope that Will would see like him.

And oh, Will saw. It was one of his greatest weaknesses and one of his most fascinating aspects. But it wasn't enough to see. It had never been enough to see. To do. Now that was what Hannibal had wanted. Will to do something, something beautiful and breathtaking like Botticelli.

Will had been Hannibal's Botticelli. From the moment they had found each other, he could see Will as a great renaissance artist and Hannibal the humble canvas or the guiding mentor, sculpting Will into the God that Will deserved to be.

None of that mattered now. And it hadn't since the phone call, though Hannibal would be lying if he hadn't found the act endearing.

Will had wanted Hannibal to run and whether or not that was the once upon a time teacher channeling Hannibal himself from the Garret Jacob Hobbs' case or genuinely concerned for Hannibal, Hannibal couldn't say.

And the rain was cold, Will's warmth falling away into the night along with everything that Hannibal had allowed himself to grow comfortable with. He had broken his own careful rules and it had led to this. To him having to destroy something he had come to love, if this is what love felt like.

He had loved each person that was left for dead. They were his friends, or he had come to think of them this way. And what was blood and games between friends?

An end. That's what it was, what it was always going to be. Just because he had grown attached didn't mean that he wasn't going to protect himself. He came first, always first.

And not even Will Graham's tempera blue eyes would come before self preservation.


Eyes fluttered open in the darkness, shirt drenched with sweat. It took a moment for breathing to return back to a normal pace and it gave Hannibal a sense of amusement that even killers could have nightmares.

The memory hugged at Hannibal's stiff muscles as he pulled himself from the lavish bed and freed himself of the hindrance of his nightshirt.

Pain pulled at the wound in his stomach that had been healing rather well, considering everything that had happened and it took the small amusement away.

Pain wasn't something Hannibal much enjoyed lingering. The first taste was delicious, like a fine wine or a good aged cheese, but after a while, one could grow bored of the flavor and Hannibal had.

He got to his feet and found his slippers and robe, unable to let his high maintenance or taste go. If he was bound to live far away from things he loved to do, he was going to make sure he was comfortable in his misery with things he loved to wear, eat and look at.

With silk now soothing his aching shoulders, he wandered his way through the suite. It wasn't Italy, it wasn't France, it wasn't Austria, but it was working.

And New York City had its own special charm, Hannibal supposed. It wasn't as old or as rich in history, but it made up for it with good alcohol and art exhibits.

And he wasn't planning on staying here long, even if the piano and bar were nice after a long day of reading or drawing. He was biding his time until he could move them and in this current state that wasn't a choice.

Hannibal paused in his step beside the bar and looked out at the open curtains that had the nightlife pouring in through it.

His eyes dropped to a curly haired figure on the couch, outlined from the streetlamps below.

With a fresh glass of chardonnay, Hannibal stepped over to the couch, bathed in light from curtains that he had closed before he went to bed.

Will sat with a blank stare out of the window, a glass of amber liquid undrank and in one hand.

His cheek still had some stitching in it and his shoulder was wrapped and horribly bruised. The rest of him was well, even after the fall. Will had only sustained a concussion, which was a breeze to take care of for Hannibal.

All of it had been a breeze and Hannibal was more than certain that Jack Crawford might have been one of the reasons.

No one was looking for them. The warnings had dissipated as interest feigned. Hannibal had been more than watchful. Their faces were gone from the news, but that didn't mean they were off the hook.

"I didn't expect to see you up," Hannibal commented, watching curiously as Will didn't even so much as glance in his direction.

"The city that never sleeps," he muttered softly, simply blinking out at the city scape before him. "Never saw you living here."

"I can't very well show my face back in Europe quite yet," Hannibal responded, sniffing at his drink before taking a small sip, letting the flavor envelope his tongue fully before swallowing.

"You plan to go back?" Will's small voice questioned.

Hannibal hummed with a small nod. "That was always the plan."

"My mind feels fuzzy," Will whispered, eyes finally drifting lazily from the window and to where Hannibal still stood. "And my limbs are heavy."

Hannibal couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips and he tried to hide it behind another sip of wine. "I have you on some very good medication. There shouldn't be any pain."

"You're not going to try to cut open my head again, are you?" Will's head tipped to the side on a weak neck.

There was a spark of joy that shot through Hannibal at the memory, something smokey and hot. "Always the comedian," Hannibal said with a hint of a tease behind it. He inhaled deeply and glanced around the room before taking a seat on the cushion next to Will and those blue eyes.

Will's head tipped to the other side to watch Hannibal's movements as if that would protect him, not that it would do much to help him. He wasn't all that worried and it might have been the drugs, but Will didn't think he could push through the fog enough to really put much effort behind the conclusion.

Hannibal loved the way that Will's drugged eyes trailed over his body in the dark. They were alive despite the heavy medication.

Two, three, four times his eyes wandered the killer and Hannibal would always cherish the way those eyes lingered on different parts of him and the way the inflection in the blue would change with Will's thoughts, so curious as to what was running through the man's head.

"Couldn't sleep?" Will finally settled on, words holding a slight slur, southern accent slipping out. Will had taken in every detail of Hannibal and did his best to put the pieces together through the mess in his mind. The bed head, the bags under tired eyes, the open robe and bare chest.

"Your diagnosis?" Hannibal asked, finger absently caressing the rim of his glass, maroon eyes locked on Will intently.

"Nightmares." Will's tone was solid. "The question is..." Will's hand trembled as he pushed all of his strength into his arm to lift his whiskey to his lips and take a drink to wet his cottonmouth. "What do you have to be afraid of, Dr. Lecter?"

Hannibal gave a small amused huff of air and reached out, taking the glass from Will's hand. "I would suggest not adding alcohol to the cocktail that's already swirling through your body, Will."

Will couldn't have fought the man even if he wanted to. There was concern in Hannibal's tone that Will had learned was strictly for him. Not even Abigail had ever received the same level of unease that Will had in Hannibal's voice and Will was sure that made him special.

Hannibal placed both glasses aside on the coffee table that was more like a mirror in the dark, the bustling cars leaving light trails on the glass.

"Do I have to guess?" Will pushed on, eyes following Hannibal as the man got comfortable on the couch.

Hannibal licked his lips, thinking over the responses in his mind before deciding on one. He shook his head and met Will's eyes, with a small, "No."

Will did his best to turn more towards the man beside him and was sure the movements were not as fluid as his mind made them out to be.

"Then humor me, Dr. Lecter," Will said, his voice stronger now. "What do you have to be afraid of?"

"You."

The answer was simple and hung in the air as Will tried to take it in. Will inhaled deeply and gave a small scoff, a nervous smile on his lips, but Hannibal didn't return the expression.

"I'm nothing to be afraid of," Will threw out with a groggy shake of his head. "You can't be serious."

"Deathly."

The smile slipped from Will's mouth and his eyes once more searched the well put together man before him. Will wasn't sure how much time had passed from the cliffside to now, but Hannibal didn't look like he had changed a bit. Same grey well cut hair, clean shaven face, impeccable clothing, even if it was just evening wear.

"Why me?" Will gasped out, breath heavy as he tried to find the answer in the unreadable expression on Hannibal's face. His mind struggled even though the fog was slowly beginning to let up.

Hannibal looked over Will in silence a moment longer, eyes taking in the man's appearance. Curly hair longer than normal and so tempting, begging for fingers to tossle it. Chin and cheeks in need of a shave. Eyes still tempera blue and deliciously clouded with chemicals.

Hannibal was always careful of any movement that he made or any words he put out into the universe. He played a game of chess with fate herself and he was always so careful about the sacrificed pieces he sent forward into his war. Everything was calculated with every possible outcome present in his mind before he made a choice.

But for once in his life, he didn't think. He simply did.

Hannibal's fingers reached out and pushed at soft curls until he could fully see Will's eyes in the city lights. His fingertips traced the scar he had created, sensing the tenseness from Will as the memory swam to the forefront of the man's mind.

"Losing you terrifies me," Hannibal replied in barely more than a whisper, fingers tangling further into Will's curls.

"Then why do you want me dead?" Will's eyes slid closed as Hannibal's fingers tugged a little harder at his hair. A smirk took over Hannibal's lips at how Will still gave into any of Hannibal's whims without question.

"I only want you dead if I decide it's your time," Hannibal answered, voice husky in the dark. Hannibal's eyes watched as Will's Adam's apple bobbed with a swallow. "Now is not the time."

"And how would you do it?"

The words of the past echoed around the suite and Hannibal's smile grew hungrily, eyes dragging down Will's throat.

"With my hands."

Hands were personal. Hands were intimate. Hands would be the end of Will Graham and he welcomed it. When the time came, of course. And Will couldn't think of anyone else he trusted with his own death more than he trusted Hannibal, how ever twisted that conclusion was. Maybe he did belong back with the criminally insane...

Will's eyes flickered open at that and were met with an intense maroon gaze that bore deeply into him, seeing him inside and out.

"I'll be gentle," Hannibal pushed into the silence between them. The hand still lost in Will's hair loosened its grip and traveled down to Will's jawline. An index finger hooked his chin and lifted his face until his neck was fully exposed, pale in the light. "You'll enjoy it."

The words were whispered with a warm breath that Will could feel against his skin like brush fire. Whispers of breath kept contact, oxygenating the fire enough to flush the investigator's cheeks.

Hannibal watched closely as the blush crept from Will's cheeks, to his neck, the dip of his collarbone and across a bare chest, under bandages.

Hannibal let Will's chin go free and whether it was due to the drugs in his system or not, Will's stance didn't change, neck bared against the moonlight.

Hannibal took in the marble artwork for a moment more, internally fighting a war with himself that he didn't have to engage in very often. The normally quiet voice in his head, that he could push down for more logic based reasoning, was screaming at him to give in for once.

Through the cloudiness of Will's mind, something bright and brilliant pushed its way in, being the first clear thing Will had experienced all night.

A whimper left Will's parted lips without his permission at a pair of wicked teeth against his neck. One of Will's hands shot over his mouth, the other clutching at Hannibal's silk covered shoulder for balance in the mist that was in his mind.

Will's pulse fluttered like hummingbird's wings beneath Hannibal's lips and his tongue trailed the vein, exciting another delectable sound from Will, though it was muffled.

Will wasn't sure if his mind had ever been so clear before in his life. His senses felt anything but dull the longer Hannibal leaned over him.

A dangerous thought was sharp in his mind as Hannibal's teeth grazed across his skin and over his pulse. One of the very last memories that Will had of Hannibal was the man ripping The Red Dragon's throat out with his teeth. The same teeth that now danced down to Will's collar.

It was carnal, lighting through Will at how easily Will trusted he wouldn't meet the same fate. A man with the taste for flesh, Will's own flesh, with teeth so close to what could end him in seconds. It was obscene how arousing the idea was and Will was ashamed of that being his only clarity.

There was a shift beside Will on the couch and pressure was added to either side of his legs as Hannibal straddled him. Hannibal gathered up Will's wrists and trapped them above the man's head at the top of the couch.

Hannibal looked over Will fully, proud of his work that would surely leave Will marked as his when morning decided to break.

Hannibal watched as Will's chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly as Will's blue eyes looked everywhere but where Hannibal wanted them.

"Look at me," he commanded, voice gentle but firm, accent thicker than it normally was. Will's eyes immediately shot to Hannibal's face at the order, breathing only more labored at the sight of swollen lips. Hannibal leaned closer, warm breath now fluttering across Will's face. "All of your attention must always be on me."

Will gave a single nod in response and Hannibal smirked. "Good boy," he whispered, words now in Will's ear, making Will shiver horribly. "Never cover your mouth in front of me again, do you understand?" Will gave another nod, letting the heat from Hannibal's body sink into his, defrosting his flesh that he hadn't thought as freezing until this point. "I want to always hear your voice."

Before Will could focus in on an understanding, Hannibal's tongue licked at the shell of Will's ear.

"Hannibal," Will gasped, squirming under the tight grip. He could hear Hannibal's low rumbling chuckle in his ear. Teeth snatched at his ear lobe and the moan that left Will made his shame bloom across his skin in rose petals.

Lips traced his skin tantalizingly slow, to his jaw and over his cheeks, a breath away from a feeling Will had dreamed about more than once before he was torn to pieces by the man over him.

"Will," Hannibal whispered, lips hovering just above Will's. Will's eyes were clouded over, but on Hannibal, just as ordered. "Aš einu tavęs valgyti."

"I don't know what that means," Will muttered, eyes flickering unsteadily between Hannibal's. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips and he could see the dark flash in Hannibal's eyes.

"Yes, you do," Hannibal said slowly, making Will tremble. "Use that breath taking mind of yours."

Lips mouthed at his jaw and it only made Will's mind hazier, his thoughts evading him as he struggled for an answer that he knew Hannibal would want.

The words repeated over and over in Will's mind, echoing through the stark empty mind palace he had slowly been building. It took a moment longer for the words to finally find purchase and Will gasped as teeth bit into the flesh just below his jawline.

"Devour me," Will blurted out, squirming under the teeth that were assaulting him.

Before Will could catch his breath, Hannibal's lips attacked his hungrily. Will sat powerless under Hannibal's grip and wondered if his other victims felt as alive when Hannibal took over them.

Electricity shot through each of his faculties and to the tips of his fingers and toes. His body moved naturally against the restraints on his wrists, back arching off the back of the couch when Hannibal's tongue trailed a path over Will's lips.

Will's mouth was sweet, tongue torturous as it met Hannibal's. It reminded him of Capezzoli di Venere, deep rich dark chocolate, chestnuts and a healthy portion of brandy swirling together in a mind numbing confection.

Hannibal couldn't help but notice how awake Will felt beneath him. Pulse fluttering madly against Hannibal's fingers. Wired and responsive to his touch. Sounds lewd and alert, making Hannibal's insides twist in a way he had never felt them do before.

It wasn't unpleasant and Hannibal wanted more, as always. Greedy as ever. Everything was for him and his pleasures. No one came between him and what he wanted, but tonight was a night of firsts and it wasn't about to stop.

There was a sharp inhale from Will and he pulled away from Hannibal with a grimace on his face and clenched teeth. His body hesitantly reclined back into the couch and Hannibal was swift to release his hold, actually surprising himself with how he cared if he hurt the empath or not.

Wills arms slowly dropped to his sides and one of his hands went to the bandaging that covered his shoulder, face still screwed up in pain and teeth still bared. Will's other hand rested on Hannibal's knee, gently rubbing assurance into the fabric that covered skin.

"I think the medication wore off," Will whispered, palm of his hand instinctively putting pressure on the stab wound in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. His eyes slid closed and he took a deep breath.

"I-'' Hannibal's voice cracked and one of Will's eyes opened enough to watch as a fist went to Hannibal's mouth and he cleared his throat. "I can give you some more, but it will most likely put you back to sleep."

"Maybe you should take some too," Will teased softly, voice barely above a whisper. There was no mistaking the drowsiness that plagued Will's tone. "Nightmares do not become you, Dr. Lecter."

Will watched curiously as the normally so well put together man before him looked away and a slight pink tinge covered his high cheekbones.

"Hannibal?" Will questioned, hand caressing the man's knee from where he still sat, straddling Will's lap. Hannibal's amber eyes met Will's in the darkness. "When did you start dreaming about me?"

Hannibal simply shook his head in answer and climbed from the couch to go to the kitchen where he dug through a cabinet of medical supplies until he found what he was looking for. With a small glass vile and a syringe now in hand, Hannibal knelt down beside Will.

"I'm not going to wake up dead, am I?"

The question stained the air and made Hannibal smile, a small sense of control starting to form for him again. His fingers worked on opening the syringe and he shoved the tip of the needle into the lid of the vile, the liquid crystal clear as it danced in the moonlight.

"You wouldn't wake up," Hannibal corrected, taking Will's arm and looking carefully over it, fingers gliding across soft skin.

"Am I going to wake up?" Will asked, shivering at the light contact of Hannibal's fingertips. Will's eyes looked over the glimmering needle tiredly.

"Do you want to wake up?"

Will's gaze dropped to Hannibal who sat quietly, expecting an answer. Will tossed the question around in his slightly clearer mind, tasting each aspect of it carefully, the way he had learned to do whenever he dined with Hannibal.

The words that came from Will's mouth caught him off guard and they must have had the same effect on the killer because his eyebrows rose inquisitively.

"Only if I'm beside you."

"You're married Will," Hannibal muttered, trying to dismiss the comment by pulling Will's arm a little closer. Will winced as the needle pressed into his skin and a slight burn entered his forearm. "I don't believe-"

"Don't grow a conscience on me now," Will interrupted, dragging a maroon gaze to his face. The needle was pulled free and Will could already begin to feel the fog slipping over his mind once more. He did his best to fight through it even though he knew he would lose. "You kissed me, remember?"

"Yes," Hannibal said softly, getting from the floor to throw the syringe away. "I did." When Hannibal returned, he looked over Will who was still in the very same position. "And I want to keep kissing you, Will Graham."

Blue eyes made of Botticelli brush strokes stared at Hannibal through the haze of medication and Hannibal sighed.

What a wicked game they were playing. What wicked things Will did to him. Will infected every single one of his dreams, every single waking thought. It was like a disease. It was torture to love him.

"I want you to keep kissing me," Will's slurred voice said into the open night. "I want everything you have to offer."

"You're letting the medicine speak for you," Hannibal warned. "Let's get you back to bed."

Will stuck out an arm haphazardly and Hannibal took it, pulling Will to his feet. The man stumbled and Hannibal quickly scooped Will into his arms, ignoring the stiffness from the bullet wound. Will couldn't walk now. He shouldn't have even been out of bed in the first place.

Will's arms circled around Hannibal's neck and Hannibal did his best to ignore how Will's head rested against his shoulder, breath warm against his neck.

"I was serious," Will said as Hannibal began his trip around the coffee table that he still needed to clean. "I want to wake up beside you or not at all."

Hannibal's footing stuttered and it was enough to make Will sit up to meet Hannibal's eyes with concern. Hannibal was shocked. He had never had a person be so willingly close to him. Not even Alana had meant anything to him. She was simply a pawn to his fated game of chess.

But Will...

Will was special. Will had always been special.

"You'll be sorry," Hannibal cautioned despite the fact that he was sure Will's cognitive abilities were mostly shut down. "You won't like me in the sunlight."

Will didn't say anything, simply shook his head and rested back against Hannibal in exhaustion, nuzzling his face deep into Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal's feet moved of their own accord, not listening to the logical voice in his mind, instead listening to the small voice that seemed to be winning every battle that night.

Hannibal found himself in his own room that still smelled of night terrors, despair, and sweat.

He gently lied Will into his bed, staring down and the weak body that was one hundred percent in his control. He could end it here and now if he really wanted to. There were so many ways too. Overdose, strangulation, and smothering were among the first few ideas to push into Hannibal's mind, but he ignored them.

He slid out of his slippers and removed his silk robe, deciding to leave cleaning up to a future Hannibal.

The bed was accepting and dragged Hannibal down into it, a tiredness in his limbs that he had not noticed before.

He pulled the blankets over Will's body and then his own, his eyes shutting, Hannibal spent.

Hannibal jumped, eyes shooting open as Will's head came to rest on his chest, fitting so naturally that Hannibal swore their bodies were made with the other in mind.

Fatigued fingers tangled themselves in the hair across Hannibal's chest and Will's breath was hot against Hannibal's bare skin.

Will's small snores filled the room and Hannibal's fingers once more tangled in dark curls. He leaned down and placed a kiss to Will's head. He would deal with the aftermath tomorrow. The consequences could be a problem for another day.


Aš einu tavęs valgyti- I'm going to eat you.


A/N: Thanks again to my wonderful beta, PitaGonzalezMe on twitter.