A/N: Sorry for the delay, real life sucks sometimes. Anyway, hope you like the update. Smut is coming very soon, I promise.

Chapter Wanings: graphic depictions of blood and violence, non explicit homophobia.

so come on

i'll take you on, take you on

i ache for love, ache for us

why don't you come

don't you come a little closer

Blood oozes out from Matthew's stomach, the sticky substance painting what used to be a silver bench crimson.

Will watches on, unblinking, as Hannibal digs the metal rod in deeper, skin ripping open to accompany the object. The older man twists it before pushing downwards, and Will hears the sickening crunch of a bone breaking fill the room.

He hadn't asked how Hannibal knew where to find Matthew, he hadn't even been surprised that the other man knew. He was so eager to see Hannibal in this state that he didn't care.

He'd been worried at first, when they'd arrived at Matthew's street. The houses were packed closely together, mere metres separating each home from the next, and Will was certain someone would hear them, even at such a late hour. They were incredibly lucky that one of Matthew's neighbours had decided it was the perfect time to throw a party.

Even inside, watching Hannibal turn the other man into a picturesque victim of the Chesapeake Ripper, he could hear the pumping electronic music. It would have annoyed him, at any other time, but he couldn't help but be thankful for it as it smothered the screams and hurt whimpers that escaped Matthew's mouth.

The body was laid across his kitchen bench, a steel little island in the middle of the room. Hannibal had snuck up behind him when they'd first entered the house, injecting him with some kind of fluid that made him placid before hoisting him on top of it. Will had watched, awed, as Hannibal cut the body open, Brown's eyes wide as he watched his own blood trickle down his torso and onto the tiled floor.

Hannibal had cut right down his middle, ripping his chest open until Will could see the expansion and contraction of Matthew's still working lungs. Hannibal brought a cooler with them, and Will had held it open while the doctor ripped the organs from Brown's body before carefully packing them away.

He'd died before Hannibal had started to really mutilate the body, and Will felt oddly upset that Matthew wouldn't be able to see the artwork Hannibal would eventually turn him into.

"Would you like to help?" Hannibal's asks, his voice pulling Will from his trance like state.

He moves his gaze from Matthew to Hannibal, eyes trailing the long strips of dark blood that cover the plastic suit he wears, the odd splatter that covers his face.

"I… Yes."

There are already various objects sticking out from Matthew's cooling body. Will doesn't think there's much room for anything more, but he'd hardly done anything and watching Hannibal have all the fun only heightened his desires.

Hannibal reaches an arm out, beckoning him to his side. "Enjoying yourself, my dear boy?"

Will nods slowly, torn between getting a closer look of Matthew's body and looking to see what Hannibal was doing. He opts for the latter, lips twitching into an amused smile when he sees the doctor pull a crowbar from the black duffle bag they'd brought with them. It's new, the silver of the sharp edge shining in the light, but a crowbar all the same.

"Seriously?"

Hannibal returns the smile, "For old time's sake."

Will snorts then, shaking his head, "It was barely two months ago."

"All the same," Hannibal says. "I thought we'd start with familiar territory."

He moves to stand directly behind Will, their bodies almost pressed against each other. Both arms curl around Will's waist, with one hand holding the bar and the other motioning for Will to do the same.

"Shall we do it together?"

Will's chest flutters with warmth at the question and he nods once more, "Like last time?"

"Mm, except this the Chesapeake Ripper is talking to you, and not just in your head."

Hannibal's mouth is positioned close to his ear, close enough that Will can feel the warm puffs of breath trail down the back of his neck, making him shiver. He knows the reaction doesn't go unnoticed by Hannibal, and he's glad the other man doesn't mention it.

"Ready?"

Will breaths the word yes, and Hannibal starts to lift the bar. Together, they lodge it through Matthew's throat, blood sweeping out through the tear and bubbling from his mouth.

"I haven't heard anything," Will says into the phone the next night. "Nothing from Jack."

"Nothing on TattleCrime either," Hannibal replies. "Perhaps Mr. Brown hasn't been found yet."

"He didn't seem like someone who'd have many friends," Will mumbles, almost tripping down a step as he follows his dogs into the yard. "How long do you think it'll be till they do find him?"

"Another day or so. Frederick isn't a fan of tardiness, he'll want to know why Matthew isn't showing up to work."

"'spose so."

"Will you be alright when Jack does call?"

"I think so. Just don't say anything that could incriminate me, right?"

"And be extra careful of who's watching."

"I know, I will."

"Good," Hannibal murmurs, "Please do let me know when you hear something."

"I will," Will repeats, throwing a ball with his free hand for the dogs to run after. "Are you going to help?"

"Perhaps, if I am asked to," Hannibal says. "I like to know what's going on."

A laugh escapes Will's mouth in a puff, the warmth creating a faint mist in the cool evening air, "Of course you do."

"Mm, will I see you soon?"

"Dinner?" Will suggests, watching the dogs play happily. "Tomorrow, or maybe the day after. I've never had lung before."

Hannibal chuckles, the sound low and smooth even through the phone, and Will smiles to himself.

"Remarkable boy. I'll see what I can do."

"I look forward to it."

"Until then, Will."

Will's smile widens as he leans down the retrieve the ball from Winston's mouth, "Goodnight, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal's body presses against yours, his torso solid and warm against the smooth skin of your bare back. His arms are wrapped around your waist, fingers ghosting over your abdomen as lips trail over the skin of your shoulder.

Looking down, you can see the blood covering his arms, his hands. The pads of his fingers trace patterns against your stomach, the crimson turning your skin into a beautiful work of art.

You can hear yourself moaning, pathetic whimpers and cries escaping your mouth as Hannibal kisses down your body, as you feel his hands, slippery with blood, stroke your painful erection.

Your bodies press together, glide together, a mix of blood and sweat making skin stick to skin in the most delicious way possible. It's magnificent, you think, to finally be wrapped around each other like this – bare, in every sense of the word.

You can feel the pressure rising in your stomach, and you plead with him for faster, and harder, and—

Will wakes with a gasp, chest rising and falling with harsh breaths as he reaches blindly for his phone, the standard ringtone blaring in the silent room. When he does find it, he checks the time and caller ID – 5:28 AM, Jack Crawford – before answering it and holding it against his ear.

"What?"

"Will," Jack says, voice hard. "Sorry to wake you, but the Ripper's struck again."

Forcing an annoyed sigh from his mouth, Will responds, "I thought Chilton had better security."

"It's not Gideon. You were right."

"Then who is it?"

"We don't know. I'm at the victim's house now. He was a nurse at the hospital."

"Are you sure it's not a copycat?"

"It's definitely the Ripper's work. I'll text you the address."

Jack hangs up before he can say anything else, and Will sighs, rubbing at his face before pushing the duvet down and moving to the shower.

He's still painfully hard when he steps under the warm water, his mind still fuzzy with arousal. He feels guilty for doing so, but, with one last paranoid look towards the bathroom door, Will wraps his right hand around his cock firmly. His head falls forward, forehead resting against cool tile as he lets the remnants of his dream wash over him.

The house is a chaotic mess when he arrives.

Brown's neighbours loiter outside their homes despite the early hour, curious eyes trying to get a glimpse of anything they can. Various men and women sporting thick FBI jackets are already working out the front, gathering any and all evidence they can find to suggest who was there two nights before.

Will knows they won't find anything.

The building is closed off with bright yellow tape, but Will casually slips under and into the house, the investigation team parting for him wordlessly. Jack meets him at the door, brow furrowed with exhaustion and annoyance, and ushers him into the kitchen. Will follows blindly, stopping in the open doorway to process the scene.

Matthew's body still lies on top of the bench, the previously flowing blood now dry and clotted against his skin and its surrounding surfaces. The objects he and Hannibal had lodged into his body remain where they were, the stainless steel still glistening under the bright kitchen light.

An odd, pleasant feeling flutters in his stomach, and Will suddenly understands all too clearly why some murderers like returning to the scene of their crimes.

"He's been dead for a few days," Beverly tells him, a camera held in her gloved hands. "At least two."

Brian nods, grimacing as he says, "The body has been inserted with approximately twenty four objects, we can't tell for sure until we take them out. Most seem to be surgical—"

"But not all," Jimmy cuts in. "The crowbar – lovingly lodged through the neck, as you can see – is rather peculiar, but not enough to excuse this from being the Ripper's work."

"His lungs are missing, ripped right from his body," Beverly continues. "We won't know for sure until we get him onto our own table, but it looks like he was still alive during the process."

Will rubs the knuckles of one hand over the sharp stubble of his jaw, a long sigh leaving his mouth. Jack's looking at him expectantly, as if his insight holds the answers to all of his questions. He's right, but Will can't let him know that.

"Definitely looks like the Ripper," he murmurs, slowly circling the bench, careful not to tread on the dried blood covering the floor.

"Feel like him too?" Jack asks, voice rough.

Tilting his head to the side, Will closes his eyes. It's more for show than anything else, small gestures that will make Jack think he's having trouble understanding the scene in front of him.

The usual pendulum doesn't swing in his mind, rather, images of Hannibal, blood soaked, face contorted in concentration, flash behind his eyes. He feels his stomach jolt, not unpleasantly, at the memory.

"Yeah," he says eventually, nodding. "It has…what was missing with Gideon."

"What can you tell us about it?"

"I don't know, Jack. You know I've always had trouble with the Ripper. He's hard to read."

"Try harder then."

Will sighs, the first signs of irritation colouring his face. "Why, can't you do it? I don't carry this unit. I'm barely a part of it."

"This is important, Will."

"I know that," Will says, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. "But there's only so much I can do. I'm not a mind reader, Jack. What I can offer you is limited, and when it comes to the Chesapeake Ripper, I'm not particularly useful. He's a sadistic psychopath who likes mutilating bodies and taking organs for the fun of it. I can't give you much more than that."

The lie leaves an uncomfortable taste on his tongue. He doesn't like hiding his admiration for Hannibal's work, for the art of it, but he knows he has to.

"What do you think he does with the organs, then? They could lead us to him."

"I doubt it," Will tells him, ignoring the stare of everyone else in the room. "He most likely keeps them somewhere untraceable. The organs would need careful refrigeration, otherwise they'll…spoil."

"Spoil?" Brian asks, looking between Will and Jack. "You think he's eating them?"

"No, maybe, I just…organs are a weird trophy. If he doesn't take care of them properly, they'll rot and he'd be forced to dispose of them," Will says, looking intently on the dead body as to avoid eye contact.

"Maybe our guy is a cannibal," Beverly states, mouth set in an expression of disgust. "I wouldn't be surprised. He's already a serial killer."

"How about we focus on our current issue and discuss the possibility of the Ripper being a cannibal later," Jack says, looking around the room with a tired sigh. "We've got a lot to process."

He sends a pointed look to the agents who had stopped working in favour of watching Will, nodding in satisfaction when they scramble back to doing their jobs.

"Are you going to stay and help?"

Will knows he doesn't have to, but there's a part of him that wants to stay, to continue to see how they treat his and Hannibal's work.

"I didn't drive all the way here for nothing," he answers, taking the offered pair of gloves and getting to work.

"How was it?"

Will smiles softly from his spot on the counter, eyes watching Hannibal as the other man fills pots and pans with various oils and spices.

"Good," he admits. "I liked it."

"A lot of people do."

Will hums in agreement, resisting the urge to swing his legs like a small child. He's surprised Hannibal's even letting him sit there; he doesn't want to push it.

"Did you see the article?"

"Indeed I did," Hannibal replies, carefully placing the first bit of meat in the pan, a sizzling sound filling the kitchen. "Miss Lounds was quite quick to upload her thoughts."

"Always is," Will mutters. "She snuck into the house to take pictures. No one even saw her."

"Perhaps she has allies on the inside."

"Maybe."

"It would be beneficial."

"That it would," Will agrees, sighing. "Did Jack call you?"

"Around lunch time," Hannibal tells him, flipping the strip of meat. "He wants my help."

"With what?"

"Profiling the Ripper. He said you and I may be able to create something more…solid."

Will snorts before sipping at the glass of wine Hannibal had handed to him when he'd first arrived, "How fitting."

Hannibal turns to look at him, a small smirk playing at his mouth, "I think he wants us to explore the possibility of cannibalism."

Will laughs, the sound escaping in a puff of air as he looks towards the strips of lung that pile on Hannibal's chopping board.

"I'm sorry I let that slip."

"No matter," Hannibal assures him. "It's hardly important if we're the ones profiling him."

"Still," Will says, "I can't imagine it'll help."

He watches as Hannibal adds more meat to the pan, a delicious aroma filling the kitchen as it cooks.

"You've fed me human meat before, haven't you?"

Hannibal allows himself a small smile at the blunt question, "Yes."

"I couldn't tell the difference."

"I didn't expect you to," Hannibal tells him. "Most people wouldn't be able to, especially when I prepare it as I do."

"How long have you been eating it?"

"I acquired a taste for it as a young man."

"Do I even want to know how?"

Smile widening, he turns back towards Will, "Perhaps that's a story for another night."

Will nods silently, bringing his wineglass to his mouth for another sip.

"To be perfectly honest," Hannibal says slowly, stepping away from the stove and towards Will, "I'm surprised you figured it out so quickly."

Will shrugs, "I merely suspected it. You're the one who confirmed it."

"You don't seem particularly bothered by it," Hannibal points out, hand reaching out for Will's wineglass. Will assumes it's so he can refill it, but the other man surprises him by bringing the glass to his own lips and drinking its contents.

He follows the movements of Hannibal's throat as he swallows the sweet liquid, subconsciously swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he does so.

"It's hardly the worst thing you could do," he eventually says.

Hannibal's lips tilt upwards in a small smile, "No, I suppose it's not."

Will watches as he returns to the stove, flipping the meat just in time to stop it from burning. He watches the lines of Hannibal's back, the movement of his ironed shirt as he works. It reminds him of the dream he had the night before, and he feels a warm flush creep across his neck and face. He hasn't had any time to process what the dream had meant, and he doesn't think sitting on Hannibal's kitchen counter is the best place to do it.

He's almost glad when they hear the doorbell ring, the sound barely audible over the sizzling of the meat.

"I still can't believe you invited Jack," Will tells the doctor, hopping down from his spot on the counter.

"He said he wanted to talk," Hannibal says. "I thought dinner would be a good idea."

"Of course you did," Will mumbles fondly, already moving to the main entryway as he continues, "I'll answer the door, shall I?"

Hannibal smiles as he adds another strip of meat to the pan, listening carefully as Will goes to answer the door and let the other man in.

"What is it you wanted to discuss?" Hannibal asks Jack once they're all seated at his dining table, plates and glasses full.

"Ah, yes. Yesterday, at the crime scene, Will mentioned something that made us think perhaps the Chesapeake Ripper is…consuming the organs he takes from his victims," Jack answers, and Hannibal suppresses a smirk at the evident disgust that accompanies the notion.

"You want Will and I to explore that possibility in depth?"

"I'd like you and Will to create an extensive profile," Jack clarifies. "With your psychological training, and Will's ability to empathise with serial killers, I think it would be extremely beneficial."

Hannibal takes another bite of his food before turning towards Will, "What do you think?"

Shrugging, Will replies, "I'm willing if you are."

"Of course I am," Hannibal tells him, smiling while Jack nods in satisfaction.

They spend the rest of the meal discussing how the profiling will work, and when Jack mentions how good the 'lamb' is, Will looks at Hannibal with mirth shining in his eyes, and a small, personal smile gracing his features.

Will stares down at his phone, lips parted in silent shock as he reads and rereads the latest text from Hannibal. He hadn't known what to expect when his phone lit up with the message, but this definitely wasn't it.

The words I'd like to take you to the opera are displayed on the screen, black against the familiar grey bubble.

He doesn't know how to reply, doesn't know if Hannibal's merely sharing a thought or if he's actually asking. Opera wasn't something he'd ever been interested in, but the fact that Hannibal enjoyed it didn't surprise him at all. He types a reply, going with his first assumption, but quickly erases it when another text comes through.

Next Saturday, if you'll let me.

He reads it another three times before finally settling on a response.

Are we celebrating?

If you want to think of it that way, Hannibal replies almost instantly, and Will can picture the faint smile the other man undoubtedly has on his face.

He knows there are questions he should probably ask, more details he should gather, but something in his gut does a little flip at the thought of going to the opera with Hannibal, so instead he just sends a quick I'd love to, and hopes he's not making a tremendous mistake.

Hannibal buys him a tux. A proper, tailored tux made from what Will knows is expensive material. He'd tried to argue at first, but had eventually given in and taken the garment bag with a resigned sigh.

He'd trimmed his beard and styled his hair for the occasion, a single, soft curl falling across his forehead elegantly. The appreciative look Hannibal had given him when he'd emerged from the bathroom had not gone unnoticed.

The car ride there had been mostly silent, and now he stands a step behind Hannibal as Baltimore's elite continue to approach them, mindless pleasantries being exchanged back and forth.

He feels uncomfortable; like he's being judged. He's hyperaware of the looks he and Hannibal receive, or, really, that he receives. Everyone seems to be sizing him up, gossiping about the arm candy Hannibal had brought. The feeling makes his stomach flutter unpleasantly and, by the time he introduces himself to what feels like the fiftieth person, he's leaning in towards Hannibal, whispering quietly to excuse himself to the bathroom for a moment.

The other man looks him over, subtle concern etched on his face, and asks, "Would you prefer if we left?"

If he were to be truthful, Will would say yes. Alas, he feels guilty that Hannibal would even offer to leave, after putting in so much effort, and so he finds himself shaking his head at the suggestion.

"No, no, it's fine. Really. I just need a breather."

Hannibal nods and smiles faintly, "It will quiet down when the act begins, but if you change your mind…"

"No, I'm fine. I'll be fine," he assures him, quickly, flashing a smile before turning away, leaving the man with their current company.

"It really is a pity, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal looks away from Will's retreating form and back towards their company, sending the couple a tight lipped smile.

"What is, Mr. White?"

"Whenever my respect for you begins to return, you seem to go back to male playthings."

"Richard!" the woman standing in front of him gasps, swatting her husband's arm. "You ought not to say things like that."

"It's perfectly alright, Elizabeth," Hannibal murmurs, cocking an eyebrow at the other man before continuing. "It is because I have a plaything, as you so eloquently put it, or because he is a male?"

"Both," Richard mutters. "It's not proper, Hannibal. It gives you a bad image."

Hannibal smiles then, the sharp points of his teeth on display as he maintains eye contact with the other man. "Does it?" he says, perfectly calm. "Funny, no one has ever said anything."

"Everyone thinks it."

"Mm, do you share your husband's opinions, Mrs White?"

"No, of course not, dear," the woman replies quickly, sending her husband a pointed look. "I daresay Richard's just had too much to drink."

"Indeed," Hannibal murmurs, looking towards the door as Will reappears. "If you'll excuse me, my plaything and I must find our seats."

"Feeling better?"

Will nods minutely, forcing a quick smile to his face. "Everything okay? You look annoyed."

"Nothing that cannot be easily dealt with."

"Okay," Will says slowly. "How long till it starts?"

"Any minute now," Hannibal tells him, placing the palm of his hand against Will's lower back. "Come, we'll sit down."

Warmth floods through his body as Hannibal leads him into the performance room. It's smaller than he expected, more intimate, but he doesn't comment. Their seats are on the edge of the left side, and Hannibal lets him have the spot next to the isle. It's a small relief he won't have to sit next to anyone but Hannibal during the performance; he'd never been good with large crowds.

The room quickly fills, men and women dressed in impeccable suits and vast gowns taking their seats. Hannibal leans towards him to murmur his opinions of some of the people they see, his breath hot against Will's ear. The sensation makes him squirm lightly, and he's grateful when the lights dim and Hannibal straightens his posture, his full attention shifting to the woman who graces the stage.

The people around him seem completely enamoured with the woman as she starts to sing, and although the music isn't exactly enjoyable to Will, he can appreciate the beauty of it, the art.

Still, he finds himself spending the night watching Hannibal from the corner of his eye.

I'm excited about the next chapter so it should be coming soon! Until then, you can hmu on tumblr (snaxo) or twitter ( snaxoo).