How often had Will imagined Hannibal looking down at him the way he had just done?
Too often. After Hannibal left, Will lay very still on the bed. He could still smell Hannibal's cologne on the sheet. Will closed his eyes and inhaled.
He wanted to separate the man who murdered and butchered people from the man who looked at him like he was the most special creature to exist. If only this had happened two days ago. If only Will had realised that Hannibal cared for him as more than a friend before he found out about his other habits.
He wasn't scared of Hannibal killing him. He was scared of Hannibal killing other people.
He was scared of Hannibal killing other people, and doing nothing to stop it. How could he stop it when he cared so much for him?
A tear rolled down his cheek. He reached up to wipe it away.
How could he live with himself now?
He couldn't deny how much he wanted Hannibal. The knot that had tightened in his stomach when Hannibal had gripped his hair had been pure lust. He had dreamed of Hannibal's touch for so long. In his dreams, Hannibal had always been dark, powerful and, at times, cruel. Perhaps somewhere, on a subconscious level, Will had always known the truth.
Perhaps he had known and been attracted anyway.
He had never had particularly good self-preservation instincts.
Why had Hannibal just left? Was he repulsed by the discovery of Will's true feelings? Somehow, Will knew that wasn't true. He was special to Hannibal. He was important.
Will was going to go and find Hannibal and make him face that. He was angry with Hannibal for all this mess. Will couldn't leave, but he was going to make sure that Hannibal was no more comfortable than he was.
He hobbled to the wheelchair and wheeled himself out of the room, following his instincts down to Hannibal's bedroom. His heart was thundering. His arms hurt from travelling like this. The door was ajar, and he pushed at it tentatively.
It had started to rain outside, and a faint silver light illuminated the room through the blinds. Hannibal had his back to Will. He was shirtless, rifling with efficiency through the rail in his wardrobe.
Will watched the muscles in his back flex beneath the skin. He was beautiful.
Hannibal froze, then turned to look at Will. For a moment he said nothing, and Will's eyes dragged down his torso before he could stop them. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a teenager faced with his crush, not like a fully-grown disaster of a man faced with his cannibalistic best friend.
"What are you doing, Will?" The words were gentle, calm. But Will saw Hannibal's jaw tighten, saw his throat move as he swallowed.
Will pushed himself into the room, but stopped short of actively approaching Hannibal. He wasn't that stupid yet. He wasn't sure how Hannibal would react if he thought Will had decided to attack him. "You can't just... then leave me, you can't." The words meant nothing and everything, coming out through clenched teeth.
"Will, can you be clearer, please?" He was trying to get a reaction.
Realising that he was on the verge of tears, Will clenched his fists in frustration. He opened his mouth to try to respond, but found that he couldn't quite phrase how he was feeling. He wanted Hannibal to want him. He wanted Hannibal to be his slightly superior, clever friend, not a murdering monster.
Hannibal surprised him by changing the subject, his voice soft. "Why were you with that insurance salesman last night?"
"I- I didn't know he was an insurance salesman." Will rubbed his face, agitated as he often was as he tried to navigate the twists and turns of his memory. "I fell asleep on the couch. I was dreaming- dreaming of the feathered stag."
"You have mentioned it."
"It represents you... but I didn't know that. I was chasing it- getting closer. I woke up in a field."
"I believed that your sleepwalking had improved, Will." The voice was stern, gently reprimanding.
Will ignored him, lost in the mess of his thoughts. "I figured I must be getting close to the Ripper. When I saw him, I knew he was a killer. I could feel it. I thought it was him."
"Why did you not seek assistance?"
Will shook his head. "It wasn't that simple. He was the Chesapeake Ripper." Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Well- no. But he was, in that moment. I had to catch him."
"So you went after him, unarmed, not even wearing a coat." Apart from the fact that he was facing Will with no shirt on, this could have been a therapy session. "What do you think that says about your personality?"
"I'd like to say brave, but I'm not sure that I am." Will smiled bitterly as he considered the question. "Determined?"
"You are attracted to danger." The words were a caress that Will could feel on his skin. He could taste them on his tongue.
His eyes raked Hannibal's body again. "I suppose I am."
"Is that why you have followed me to my bedroom? I am a man who has killed many times, a man who has killed in front of you. I have broken your ankle so you have to stay with me. Yet you still followed me."
"Sometimes I don't feel like I have a choice when it comes to you."
Hannibal hesitated. It was impossible to read him.
Will wheeled his way over to him slowly. He was terrified, and he knew that was obvious on his face. But he needed a resolution. How long had they been dancing this dance? Tiptoeing around each other, playing with fire?
He stopped in front of Hannibal. Sat in this chair, his face barely came to Hannibal's chest. He could smell the warm smell of his skin from this close, and he forced himself not to close his eyes and breathe it in. He tried not to remember that the other thing that came to mind when he thought of Hannibal and skin was bloody murder.
Fingers shaking, still half-afraid he was going to be rejected, he reached out and placed his hand on Hannibal's stomach.
"How do you feel, Will?"
Will couldn't look at Hannibal as he responded, instead staring at his chest. "Like a lamb to the slaughter. A very willing, possibly foolish, lamb."
Hannibal chuckled at that. Will felt it vibrate beneath his fingers.
"How do you feel?" Will asked, forcing himself to look up and meet his gaze.
He could see the moment where Hannibal seriously considered not telling him. Then he sighed and cupped Will's cheek gently. "Undeserving," he said quietly.
He helped Will stand up, taking his weight against him with ease. Will's hands were pressed against his shoulders for support, Hannibal's arms around Will's waist. Hannibal looked down at him, his eyes bright.
It was Will who kissed Hannibal, in the end. The moment stretched out painfully, beautifully, and he reached up, covering those lips with his own. The first kiss was gentle. If it had been between any other people, it would be described as sweet.
Will's skin was on fire when he drew back slightly. "I'm important to you." He didn't know why he said those words at that moment, but they came tumbling out.
Hannibal pulled Will's head forward again, so their foreheads were touching. He looked at Will. "The most important."
No three words had ever mattered as much as those words mattered. Will heard the sob escape him as he crushed his mouth against Hannibal's again. The most important person to a serial killer. The most important person to the person who was most important to him. He couldn't get his thoughts straight.
Hannibal deepened the kiss, and he lost himself in it. He could taste the salt of a tear which had escaped. He knew Hannibal could taste it, too.
"I have an appointment," Hannibal said against Will's mouth. "I have to get ready. I'm sorry."
It was the first apology Will had ever believed from him. He could feel sweat pooling on his brow. He was aroused, painfully so. He could feel that Hannibal was in a similar predicament.
"You may stay in here, if you like. I will return after the appointment." Will could only nod his head, surprised at the offer, and he allowed Hannibal to sit him gently on the bed.
Hannibal selected a shirt and slid into it smoothly. Will felt like he was watching two realities at once; the reality of his immaculate psychiatrist and the reality of the precise, artistic killer he had been hunting.
The whole scene was both unsettling and wonderfully domestic.
Hannibal fastened his tie and put his jacket on, careful to align his cuffs correctly. Will smiled at the motion.
Hannibal inclined his head, turned to leave again, but paused when Will spoke.
"Is it wrong to say I am glad that this happened?"
He received a wolfish smile. "I'm quite possibly the wrong person to ask."