**This chapter contains mild sexual content. If that's not your thing, please feel free to skip this chapter. Do know that it will affect storyline to skip.**
Will wakes up to a different weight than what he's used to. Bleary eyed and sleep drunk, he tries to focus on whatever it is holding him down and silently begs that it isn't Hobbs again. No. This time it's Hannibal. Or, rather, it's Hannibal's entire right side on Will's left.
He wonders when during the night he ended up on his stomach with his hand under Hannibal's chest. And when did Hannibal end up nearly on top of him? Actually, Will realizes, the question is, when did they end up so tangled together? He can't even move anything without coming into contact with the other man.
Will finds himself unable to pick a reason to complain. It's oddly comforting, save for the fact that he really needs to pee, to have Hannibal like that. The slow, deep breaths are relaxing. But the position is so unlike Hannibal that Will can't help but laugh a little.
The action, Will realizes with horror, wakes Doctor Lecter. Oops. That wasn't supposed to happen.
"Good morning, Will," is the mumbled response.
"Good morning. Would you let me up, please?"
It's only then that Hannibal realizes the fact that he's all but pressed Will into his mattress. He gets up off the other man, trying not to laugh about the situation. That was never meant to happen.
Will gets up and bolts to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he returns to the bedroom, Hannibal has donned his robe over the silk pajamas and his normally impeccably tamed hair sticks up in all directions. It's strange to see the psychiatrist so out of character.
"Are you ready for breakfast?" Hannibal asks. "I could use something to fill me up."
"Absolutely," Will agrees. "I could use a little filling up myself."
Hannibal quickly makes sausage and mushroom omelets with red peppers. It smells delicious, and Will knows that it'll taste just as great. Hannibal's cooking always does. To Will, at least, it tastes like Heaven and home and something else he can never quite name so he gave up on trying. Even the coffee is a gift from God Himself.
"I believe now would be the time for me to inform you that I will accompany you to the crime lab today," Hannibal says as he hands Will wet dishes to dry. "Last night proved that what you do is far from good for you."
Will can't argue that. "If only Jack Crawford saw it like that…" He doesn't want to ask his next question, but the bug in the back of his mind demands an answer. "Speaking of last night, did anything happen that I wasn't aware of?"
The question catches Hannibal off guard—a rare feat seeing as the man is always composed and ahead of everything else. "You mean aside from your episode of night terrors?" He waits for Will to nod before continuing. "No. I assure you, there was nothing."
"I only asked because of the way we were when we woke up and because of my losing time thing." Will shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. "You'd tell me if there was something, right?"
"Of course, Will. Now hurry and dress yourself or we'll be late."
Will goes upstairs to put on a fresh set of under clothing and tops it with his usual plaid and jeans. He assesses the damage done to the bed before picking up his shoes and going into the bathroom. There's no time to properly shave, so he ignores the scruff and brushes his teeth.
"What do I owe you for ruining the guest bed?" he asks once he returns to the kitchen. "The sweat damage is pretty bad."
"No worries, Will. I am not concerned about that right now. Feed your dogs, then we'll leave." Hannibal washes the empty coffee mugs.
"Yeah, but you haven't seen it yet."
"If you would like me to look while you're outside, I will gladly do so."
"Okay." Will goes downstairs and outside to the patio where all the dogs are waiting patiently for him. They follow him to the bowls, waiting as patiently as they can while he scoops food into the eight bowls and somehow manages to feed them all at once. He decides he'll clean up their messes later, after he gets back from work.
Hannibal is waiting for Will when he goes back in. "Are you ready to go?"
Will looks around to make sure he doesn't need anything for work. "Yeah. I guess I am."
"Come along, then. We don't want to be late."
The psychiatrist is right. Crawford'll have Will's head—probably mounted on antlers, Will thinks morbidly—if he's late. Especially because of the missed day and all the other stuff that's going on inside Jack's head.
Hannibal tries to get Will to talk about his nightmare while he drives, but his attempts don't get very far. ("Hobbs was there and he was trying to kill me. That's all that happened," is the snappy response he receives.) Will won't say anything more, so Hannibal puts on some classical music and they finish the hour-long drive in silence.
Will warns Hannibal of the potential barrage of invasive questions courtesy Price, Zeller, and Katz before they enter the building. Half of it's to mentally prepare himself with explanations because he knows Beverly won't just take no for an answer. Neither will Jack, but that's an entirely different story.
As anticipated, Beverly leaps on Will the second she gets him alone. She fires off question after question and Will does his best to answer all the ones he sees fit.
"No, we're not dating. There isn't even anything between us." Will frowns and wishes Jack and Alana had never said anything.
"You mean, there isn't anything between you other than the fact that you now live together." Beverly scrapes a swatch of fabric with a stick. "Have you been inside his bedroom yet?"
Had Will been drinking anything, he would have sprayed it all over. "What kind of question is that? And why is this any of your business?"
"It's a question to help me better understand the situation. Have you or not?"
"I have," Will mumbles, desperately trying to find a way out of this conversation.
Beverly's previously blank expression turns very animalistic, and if Will had to pick an animal to describe it, he's pick a tiger. "Have you been in his bed?"
"Beverly, what the hell?!" Will bangs a fist down on the nearest solid object, which happens to be a metal table. "You know what? No. I'm done answering questions. I'll see you at lunch." And he turns to walk out.
"Will, wait! There's only one more question. Why are you even there anyway?"
Will stops in the doorway. "As Doctor Lecter put it, I'm there for a different type of therapy."
"What does that mean, a different type of therapy?"
But Will doesn't hear because he's halfway down the hallway.
As he walks into his classroom, the thought of earlier strikes him out of left field. It really wasn't so bad waking up underneath Hannibal like that. Really, it was comforting and something worth getting used to. At least, to Will. Maybe Hannibal didn't feel the same way on the matter. Will hopes he does, and then wonders why he hoped that.
He groans at his weirdness and sits behind his desk to prepare for the upcoming lesson. His thoughts wander off to Doctor Lecter when they should be on the topic of discussion. He wonders what lies under all those expensive layers of designer clothing, and that totally isn't a strange thing to be thinking, and… oh. That is not the response Will expected. Ugh. At least there's no one else in the room. Maybe he'll just cancel the lecture.
Not with only ten minutes' notice, Will realizes when he looks at the clock on the back wall. Well crap. There's gotta be some way to fix the situation. Will scratches his arm sharply, digs his nails in until he's left behind angry red stripes. It works.
Then Hannibal walks in. And the effort is wasted. Will lets out a noise of frustration.
"What are you doing here?" Will asks, not standing up. "I thought you were helping Alana with The Decorator's profile."
"I was." Hannibal walks until he's leaning against Will's desk. "Then Jack Crawford asked me to come tell you that he cancelled all your lectures today and that we're free to leave whenever. Would you like to go now?"
"Yeah. Just give me a minute to get my stuff together." Will digs at his arm again and deepens the red marks. He knows Hannibal won't buy it, seeing as nothing he carried in has been opened, but it's worth a shot.
"I'll bring the car around back" is the only response before Hannibal walks out. The air where he stood catches his scent when he turns. Will most definitely does not inhale it. Of course not. That would be crazy.
Will does, however, stand and shuffle his folders into his arms to carry them to Hannibal's car. He may or may not be stalling, delaying the inevitable. Satisfied with his lagging, he finally slips out of the room and out the back exit.
Hannibal's waiting, his car idling in the shade. Will quickly joins him in the passenger seat and puts his stuff on the floor between his feet. It will take no harm from the air conditioning, he decides.
They talk about the would-have-been lecture—determining angle and velocity of a gunshot based on blood spatter patterns—for the entirety of the drive to Baltimore. Hannibal's comments on the matter are minimal. It's hard to have an image-based discussion while driving, and he can always look later when they're sitting at the table.
Except Will doesn't want to talk any more once they get back. He goes straight outside to his dogs, where he stays for the morning, as is becoming routine. Hannibal comes outside while Will's cleaning up the dog messes.
"Will, I'd like to speak with you about the case and your mental state," the psychiatrist says once Will is no longer busy.
"Can we sit to do that?" Will wipes sweaty palms on jeans.
"Absolutely." Hannibal moves the chairs so they can sit face- to-face.
Will doesn't sit in the chair so much as he flops down gracelessly and undignified. "Tell you what, Doctor Lecter. I'll tell you one thing for every one thing you tell me. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."
"That's just fine." Hannibal sits. "I'll start. You called this killer The Decorator. Why is that?"
"Jack Crawford calls him The Decorator," Will corrects, "because the children are arranged like centerpieces at a table. My turn. Why do you want me to get better so badly?"
"You have a brilliant mind, Will, and it would be a horrible shame for it to shatter. My turn. How soon do you expect to catch this killer?"
"As soon as Beverly matches the fibers to a usable source. We'll go from there. My turn. Why not just have me find someone who'll stay in my home to stop the sleepwalking?" Will wipes his palms again, hoping the question wasn't too blunt.
The space between Will and Hannibal shifts, takes on a slightly darker feel. Will fidgets with a string in his shirt. Maybe Hannibal doesn't detect the new off-note when Will's question tumbles into the air.
"Are you asking why I personally invited you to stay with me?" Hannibal's demeanor is calm as ever and Will has no idea what—if anything—is going on inside the man's head.
"If that's how you want to look at it, yeah." The spacious yard seems too far away and too close at the same time. Will thinks his heart might have skipped a beat during the constriction of the world.
"Why are you curious about that?" Hannibal asks, his voice the only thing keeping the world from choking Will entirely.
"Please just answer the question, Doctor Lecter." Will puts his hands over his eyes as if to wipe them, but they just stay there. He stands up sharply, scraping his chair across the cement. "You know what, forget the question. I'm sorry I even asked."
The ground tilts and shakes as Will moves to go inside. Doctor Lecter reaches out, catches the other man's wrist. Will thinks he should fight the grip. Instinct says to, right? He doesn't fight.
"Will, if you'll grant me permission, I'd like to answer." Hannibal's words are barely audible over the thunder in Will's ears.
"Okay." Will takes a deep breath to steady himself.
"I invited you to stay with me because you are my friend." Hannibal places one hand on either side of Will's neck, his thumbs lingering on the other's cheeks. "You're also more than just my friend. I admire your brain and what you do with it."
Will isn't sure what to do with himself. He puts his hands on Hannibal's arms and tries to avoid eye contact as much as he can. Hannibal's grip makes that almost impossible, which sounds a panic alarm in the special agent's head. Will releases a breath, glancing around like a frightened and vulnerable animal, before his eyes flicker up to Hannibal's and stay.
"Will, your brain is amazing," Hannibal continues. "The rest of you is simply a bonus."
"Um." The definite lack of personal space shuts off all brain activity. Will has never been so confined before, not even at a crime scene. He isn't sure why the most logical solution seems to be kissing Hannibal, but it works.
Well, until Hannibal pulls him closer, further eliminating any sense of personal space. Except it's okay because he's only using it as a way to deepen the kiss. And then Will's spiraling out of control, down into darkness, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp.
"Oh," is the only coherent thought in Will's head.
"If I may comment, that was rather enjoyable." Hannibal traces his thumbs over Will's cheekbones. The only response Will can give is a nod, and Hannibal laughs lightly. "Come. I'll make an early lunch."
Will, still lightheaded and wobbly, attempts to walk into Hannibal's house. Wow. That was… not what he expected. He didn't take the doctor as the kissing-back type. Not when it was like that, anyways. An apology bubbles up, and he clamps down on it just before it slips from his lips.
Hannibal steadies Will by placing a hand at the small of the other's back and guides him inside. "I would not object if that were to happen again."
"I'd like it to happen again," Will admits, a little too freely for his own liking. "You know, I've been thinking about that all day."
"Have you now?"
Will nods. "Yeah. And I've been meaning to tell you, the way you hold me when we sleep reminds me of college."
"Interesting. Would you care to tell me more about it?"
"Uh. Not much to say, other than there was this girl I dated who clung like an octopus because I was the most stable thing in her life. I slept best the nights she stayed over." Will shrugs. "That's why I like staying here."
"Would you like to lie on the couch after we eat?" Hannibal holds open the kitchen door for Will. "I'm sure there is enough room for the both of us to share."
"I'd like that, yes." Will sits in his usual chair at the counter.
"Do you mind just salad? I'm afraid I forgot to prepare anything again."
"That's fine. As long as I don't have to make it, I'm alright with anything." Will laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "Brick noodles get boring after a while."
"I still don't understand how anyone could put such trash into their body. And willingly at that." Hannibal plates two neat salads and places one in front of Will. "Bon appetit."
Will eats slowly, not wanting to seem too eager to cozy up on the couch with Hannibal. He washes and dries his own dishes once he's finished, then walks with Hannibal to the office where there are couches. They settle in on one of the larger pieces of furniture.
It's odd, Will thinks, that he's still fully clothed. Not that he cares, really. There's not a lot of time to care because he's drifting to blackness. The last thing he feels is Hannibal shifting barely closer to press a cautious kiss to the back of his neck. He fades to black.