Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will waves his phone in Beverly’s face, holding back the scream he feels perched on the tip of his tongue. “What the hell would inspire you to do something like this, Katz?” When the screen goes black he opens it again, a page on the display showing a profile with his name and basic details, and an artistically shot image of him on the front lawn of the university, studying anatomical references for his latest sculpture. 

Bev doesn’t even glance at the screen, she doesn’t need to. She’s perfectly aware of the havoc she’s wreaked on Will’s perfectly dull, simple life. He’s received dozens of messages in the few hours since she put the account up, his phone pinging in rapid succession during class, pinkening his cheeks as he had to turn it to silent. 

“Look, Graham, you’ve run yourself ragged working three jobs with barely enough time to even focus on the classes you can pay for. We both know next year will be even tougher when your grant money runs out. This is a good option. A better option. Let some lonely Dom throw money at you just for existing.” 

“I’m pretty sure I have to do a bit more than just exist. This is a sugar baby website, Bev. Not just some crowd fund for my bills. There are...expectations.” 

Beverly laughs, that bright, teasing sound she reserves only for Will. “Well yeah, you have to be pretty too, but you’ve got that part down already. At least whenever you actually put in some effort. Plus, you were literally just saying how you wished you had a Dom so Matty would leave you alone. Two birds, one Daddy sized stone.” 

“I told you all that in confidence!” Will squawks, undignified and shocked. 

Bev rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh. “Drunk confidence, which is why I know how seriously you feel about it, even if you like to pretend otherwise in the sober light of day.” 

Will knows his mouth is open in disbelief, but he can’t seem to close it. “You’re a filthy traitor and I hate you.” He tosses himself onto the couch, putting his head in her lap and disrupting her photo editing session. 

She runs her fingers absently through his hair, balancing her laptop precariously on one hiked up knee. “Look, Will, if you don’t like it we can take down the profile and never speak of it again. But what if you do manage to find someone?” 

“I’ve had over a dozen messages so far and they are seventy percent let me see your dick, baby and the rest of them are just some form of hey.” 

Bev grins, looking down at him and closing her laptop. “So you have looked?” 

He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, determined not to scream at his best friend for her smugness. “Of course I fucking looked, you made a secret sugar baby account without my approval! I had to see what you’d done.” 

“Uh huh. And now that you know you’ll what? Shut down the account? Go back to working every second you aren’t sleeping or in class?” Her smirk falls, and she grows serious for a moment, her brows drawing together. “Will, I know you don’t like talking about it, and I know you hate people offering you help, but this felt like something I could do, you know? It isn’t charity if it’s like a business transaction. Sure there are expectations, but you set those expectations. You can make it a purely platonic relationship. Just dinners or events.” 

Will sighs, opening his phone back up to stare at the webpage, the cursor blinking aggressively in the empty text box of a never to be replied to message thread. “Well, if I decide to take sex out of the equation I’m going to need something a lot more enticing than how’s your day going, beautiful. At the moment I’m struggling to see who on here could possibly entertain me intellectually.”

“Well, it’s still the first day,” Bev points out, her fingers snagging in Will’s curls to give a soft but entreating tug. “Give it some time before you give up altogether, how about?”

Bev might’ve been the only Dom Will feels naturally inclined to follow directions from, giving a soft sigh but nodding. He drops his phone to his side and lets his eyes slide closed, simply relishing in the friendly contact and silence as Bev continues to pet through his curls and opens up her laptop again to work on her editing one-handed.

---

To no surprise of Will’s at all, the second day of messages is much akin to the first; suggestive and outright lewd remarks interspersed with simple but lame greetings and platitudes. By day three he’s all but taken to ignoring the incoming messages, disabling push notifications to his phone and only checking his email once a day to take a glimpse at his Sugar Bowl inbox.

He’s quickly grown into the habit of viewing the subject line of each email which shows a message preview, nearly all of which are easy enough to categorize and cast aside with a simple drag of his thumb to the left. It’s as he’s clearing out the recent flood of obnoxious emails that Will’s eyes catch on the preview of one, his brain registering the words a split second after his thumb follows the muscle memory of twitching to the left.

He hastily swipes right while the email is still highlighted, cancelling the action and keeping it in his inbox. He reads the first line of the message again, slower this time, to make sure he hadn’t been hopefully projecting essence into a website that has, until now, shown him largely anything but.

If I could see you everyday forever for only one purpose, it would be to draw you. You are without…

Will is surprised to find his mouth unexpectedly dry as he swallows around the heart beating in his throat, his stomach buzzing with interest as he clicks the email open to view the full contents.

New message from CarthaginianBarca

If I could see you everyday forever for only one purpose, it would be to draw you. You are without a doubt the single most exquisite creature I’ve had the pleasure of viewing. Too often I find my attention drawn to your profile, your single photo the tease of something miraculous; too far away for explicit detail, body and face turned so unintentionally demurely from the camera which sought to capture your beauty.

There are, of course, many attractive individuals on this website, but none quite as effortlessly so as yourself. Add to that the unexpected pleasure of learning you are studying the arts and I simply couldn’t fathom not seizing the opportunity to message you. To learn even more.

During the tiresome stretches of my somewhat drawn out days, I find myself wondering: Do you study music? Visual arts? Are you a performer? A dancer? I can imagine you’d thrive in any of these realms, but find I’m more persistent in wishing to know for certain.

Tell me, beautiful boy, how do you make art?

Yours,

H

Will swallows again, this time fighting to dull the roaring of blood in his ears. He shifts in his seat, suddenly unbearably aware of the heat pulsing through him and the very public setting in which he’s stumbled upon this message. He glances around the library, his cheeks burning hot even as he observes the few other students present are either absorbed in their own work or dozing slumped over their desks with heads cradled by arms and backpacks.

He isn’t sure why he feels as though so many eyes must be upon him, almost as if reading such a message has projected it out loud to everyone in his vicinity. It is...unequivocally other from the rest of the messages he’s received so far, that’s certain. Not only in the fact that it keeps his attention for more than ten seconds, but also because it’s the first one he’s even felt the vaguest of impulses to reply to.

He fills his lungs with the deepest breath he can manage, trying not to think too intensely when he allows his thumb to tap the reply icon at the bottom of the message.

Of course, starting a reply and actually starting one are two very different things. Will finds himself staring at the blank text box, cursor blinking impatient and mocking, with not a single character added to the reply before he catches  the time at the top of his phone and is forced to - much to his relief - cancel the impromptu response in favor of making it to his sculpting seminar on time.

He’ll reply when he gets out of class, he tells himself. Though of course, after class he’s famished, having skipped lunch in order to make a few final edits to the paper on the history of Baroque art he has to have turned in by six. He’s more than happy to leave his phone, ignored, in his pocket while he seeks out Bev and cajoles her into hitting their favorite pizzeria, which in turn leads them to going to their favorite on campus bar - one which is most popular with the college crowd for the mere fact that the workers there, more often than not, forget to check the IDs of students.

It isn’t until nearly one when Will and Bev stumble out of Tilly’s Pub and back to their dorm that Will remembers the phone in his pocket, flopping down on his bed to set an alarm and check his email one more time before passing out. He swipes away the barrage of new, unimpressive messages, sending them to his trash can unread until his inbox has been cleared down to the last read message. The one from CarthaginianBarca.

Emboldened by the buzzing in his body and mind, Will taps the message open once more. He chews on his lip as his gaze slides over the powerfully worded email again, wondering not for the first time that day if this guy is for real or if the whole message is bullshit constructed around a convincing and enticing foundation. All the same, he finds himself clicking on the Reply icon once again, this time words spilling into the text box unheeded by doubts and reservations.

Send New Message from SubvertingExpectations

Wow. You really know how to get a guy’s attention. All the same I have to wonder: Is the message you sent earnest and honest? Or is it a more flowery prose of the same boring platitudes I’ve been incessantly pelted with for the last three days? 

I must give you credit at least in standing apart from the crowd in the way of usernames. Astounding how many ‘big dicked’ and ‘filthy rich’ men frequent this website. I’m assuming you’re named after the better known Barca - Hannibal.

So tell me, Hannibal, do you truly draw? Or was your declaration as passionate as it was bullshit?

I sculpt, by the way. Though I’m also taking a course in graphic design and minoring in the Baroque period. 

Will hits send and watches as his message appears in their chat thread on the app. It isn’t until after he’s read his reply three times over that he realizes he forgot to add his real name to the end, his phone dying before he can remedy the issue. The exhaustion from his day and the drinks from the bar catch up to him all at once and he manages to fall into a deep sleep only achieved by the drunk, phone falling to the other side of his mattress as he drifts off. 

---

“Mister Graham, are we boring you today?” Will snaps awake, knowing he has drool at the corner of his mouth without even needing to see it. He cringes and shakes his head, cheeks flaming. 

“Sorry Doctor Sutcliffe. Late night.” Will offers up as the weak excuse it clearly is, the professor not impressed in the least. Whoever convinced Will to take a morning Biology lab his Sophomore year to finish out his degree requirements was a dick. 

“What you do outside of my class is of no importance to me. If you can’t stay awake and participate in the discussion I’ll need to ask you to leave.” The doctor pauses, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Maybe go take a nap.” The class laughs and Will flushes deeper, sinking into his seat. 

“I’ll stay awake, sir.” He tacks on the sir maliciously, knows Sutcliffe hates being referred to by anything other than doctor or professor. It has the desired effect, the other man giving a dismissive hum before returning back to the chalkboard behind him. 

Will manages to make it through the rest of the lab through sheer spite and willpower, pulling his phone from his pocket once class is dismissed to check in with Bev who’s studying for a major test later in the day. It’s only now he realizes his phone is dead, and he groans. The vibrations make his head throb, his temples pulsing violently. He really needs to stop letting Katz convince him to drink himself into a hangover every few nights. 

His mouth still tastes like something crawled inside and died, and he pulls out a pack of gum along with his portable charger before making his way to the library. He has an hour between classes and could use a quiet space to study… or nap. 

Forty minutes later he’s awake and mostly functional, and his phone is alive again, the display nearly too bright in the dark corner of the library he’d managed to curl into. He looks down at the Sugar Bowl app icon and sees a red notification sitting atop it, pressing it immediately. 

The first thing he notices is the time stamp, the reply from Hannibal sent at four in the morning, just a few hours after Will had sent his message and passed out. Either the man is an extremely early riser or he was waiting for Will’s response and replied immediately. 

New message from CarthaginianBarca

Your wit is sharper than I could have even hoped to dream - such a clever boy to suss out my given name so quickly. Though it seems the pleasure is all yours, as you’ve given no clues whatsoever as to your own. Shall I throw in my lot with fate and cast a guess amongst a million variables? Or will you be kind enough to indulge me with a mere request?

Call me presumptuous, but given your username - so ill-suited to the brand of cleverness I’ve already seen from you - and the recent updates to your photos yesterday evening, I can only guess your account was created and is controlled by an acquaintance of yours, either as a playful joke or a well-meaning extension of care. All the same, please thank whatever individual cares for your page for their recent gift of the influx of photos. You are even more stunning than I’d first imagined, and the new content was highly inspiring.

On that note: I do indeed sketch as a hobby in my free time. If you’d like proof as to such I’ve attached my most recent piece to this message.

I think I’d quite enjoy meeting you, mysterious boy. Would you do me the honors?

Yours,

Hannibal

Will stares down at his phone, reads the message again and then one more time for good measure. He taps away from the message to view his own profile, unsurprised - and partially livid - to see that Bev had been feeling very generous to the strangers on The Sugar Bowl and uploaded several of the pictures she’d taken throughout the previous night at the bar. He’s relieved at least when he finds they are all rather flattering, Bev too much of a professional even drunk to take a sloppy photo and launch it into the ether without thought.

He moves back to his inbox then, his eyes scanning the message once more before landing on the icon that hovers sandwiched between the messager’s linked username and the beautiful body of text that sends heat blooming to Will’s cheeks.

There’s the promised attachment, and he opens it without hesitation, nearly gasps when he sees himself drawn in charcoal. A perfect rendering of a photo he only vaguely recalls Bev taking last night. They really need to talk about that the next time he sees her. 

He traces along the lines of Hannibal’s drawing now, their subtle shading and the way they curve perfectly. It’s one of the most realistic drawings he’s ever seen done in charcoal, and it’s beautiful. He knows theoretically he’s attractive, Beverly reminds him often enough, but he’s never felt beautiful until this moment, until he sees himself in exquisite black and grey detail. 

Is this man for real? Will’s daddy always warned him against looking gift horses in the mouth, but he also always warned him if something seems too good to be true it probably ain’t. 

His finger hovers over the reply button, but he hesitates. Should he risk it? What if he offers to meet with this guy and he ends up being some sort of crazy fucking serial killer? 

He can almost hear Beverly’s response, her aggressive and enthusiastic support of his possible near murder. What can it hurt? She’s right, if he has a terrible experience he can just delete the app and never worry about it again. 

Send New Message from SubvertingExpectations

Hannibal, 

I’d love to meet you in a very public place. How about Tilly’s Pub tomorrow night at eight? It’s right off campus on university ave, I’ll be inside at the bar. 

• Will 

He hits send and immediately pockets his phone, not wanting to watch the screen for a reaction. He brings his ragged thumb nail to his mouth and bites anxiously at the cuticle. What the fuck is he doing? 

---

The bar is busy for a Thursday night - busy any night, really - so Will isn’t surprised when he’s forced to squeeze himself between two groups of students milling around the bar as he sidles up to the counter. The press of strange bodies against him and loud chatter does little to dispel the anxiety swelling up within him, though he’d been more than comfortable in this very setting just forty-eight hours previous with Bev at his side.

He knows the reason for his nerves, of course, but wishes also that some of the restlessness that stirred beneath his skin wasn’t due to the very real fact that, against all odds and his better judgement, he feels hopeful.

It’s silly, he knows. He’s barely had any correspondence with this man, hasn’t even seen a picture of his face - though he’s seen several of Will’s - but at the end of the day, though he imagined cancelling this meeting more than once over the last twenty-four hours, Will can’t stop thinking about the eloquent messages, the flowery poetry in regards to his beauty and intellect that are, admittedly, overzealous and almost hamfisted but at the same time strangely...flattering?

It was the drawing that sealed the deal, he’d decided the night before, after catching himself pulling out his phone to gaze at it for the tenth time mere hours after first viewing it. He feels both a burning humility and a gnawing hunger when he views himself through Hannibal’s eyes, and that was only from art that had been inspired by a mere photo. Will wonders what the man might be able to do after viewing Will in person, if he might, even, wish to do a study of Will in the flesh…

Will shakes the thought aside, his cheeks warm and fingers numb as he fumbles for his wallet. He’s in desperate need of a whiskey, preferably at least one before his company arrives, and it’s as he’s frantically thumbing through the singles in his billfold, realizing too late that he left his debit card in his dorm room, that a warm and confident hand presses against his low back.

There’s a voice at his ear a moment later, before he can even react, low and accented and sinfully smoky, breath fanning warmly against Will’s already too-warm skin. 

“Allow me, please.”

And wasn’t Will just surrounded by students? He’d only just himself pressed through the throng to make it to the bar, and now the man beside him - the very one he was meant to meet here, he knows this without a doubt - has materialized as though his very presence distorts the space around him.

Suddenly it’s just Will and Hannibal, pressed side to side, and Will is too terrified to look anywhere but at the man’s other hand, which is reaching out to flag down the bartender.

“You don’t have to -” Will finds himself at last, turning to shrug out of the casual and somehow still intimate touch, moving his gaze up the body that’s appeared at his side and -

Oh fuck.

He’s gorgeous. Obviously foreign, Will could tell enough by his voice, but his face also holds an Old World aesthetic, overtly European; sharp lines and thin lips and eyes the color of the whiskey Will was just about to order, hooded as they gaze at him expectantly, as his mouth moves to form more deliciously sensuous sounds -

“All the same, I would like to. Your drink?”

“Uh. Jameson.”

Hannibal gives a considering hum at that, and Will is surprised he can hear the sound over every other noise in the bar. “No,” he decides after a moment, his head tilting to the side and his eyes sliding to the liquor on the top shelf behind the bar. “I think if it’s to be whiskey, we ought to make it Macallan.”

Will blanches at the careless confidence in the older man’s voice. He’s never even tasted Macallan before, the drink far and away out of his modest price range, and he can’t imagine allowing a complete stranger to spend that kind of money on him. This is the part of him that’s bad at accepting gifts - charity, the word floats in the back of his mind, in a voice suspiciously similar to his daddy’s - the part that Bev had begged him to ignore when she’d signed him up for this ridiculous venture.

All the same, he finds himself piping up, refusing the generosity with cheeks heated with shame and indignation. “That’s not what I want,” Will argues stubbornly. 

Hannibal leans down to correct the distance between his mouth and Will’s ear once again, his eyes sharp and never leaving Will’s own. “Are you even old enough to be in here?”

The heat in his cheeks is something more akin to embarrassment, and Will gives a shake of his head, turning sheepish eyes away from the commanding presence before him.

“Then you’ll drink what I give you and be grateful for it, won’t you?”

Fuck.

“Yes, Sir,” Will relents, a shiver rolling down his spine and his stomach clenching pleasantly at the order. He can practically feel the honorific, the capital S, as it spills from his tongue completely unplanned and unprepared for. 

He’s never felt so attuned to a Dominant before, and the man before him is clearly that. Will has struggled his whole life with being a Submissive, with finding where he fit in with...everyone else. He’s spent more time than he cares to recount attempting to be something sweet and pliant, something perfect and befitting of what his biology has dictated he is to be.

He’s spent even more time failing, hating himself for it, wishing there were outside forces to blame but knowing all the same that something inside of him is just fundamentally... broken.

Receiving an order from Hannibal, complying with it, doesn’t feel like the defeat Will has associated with every other Dom he’s attempted to partner with. And the surge of pride and pleasure that barrels through him when the man graces him with a fond smile and a soft good boy is wholly unrecognizable as well.

Will likes it. He thinks he does, at least, because he says nothing more when the bartender arrives and Hannibal orders for the both of them - his suggested Mclellan. And when their drinks are in hand and Hannibal suggests they migrate to one of the more private booths in the corner, Will agrees to that as well. 

He forces himself to take only a small sip once they settle across from each other, though he longs to grasp onto liquid courage with both hands and down the whole thing in one go. Even with his meager background, he knows the value of what sits in his tumbler, knows very well that the Dom across from him likely sips at even more expensive drinks on the regular. 

He relishes in the slight burn that coats his tongue and throat, in the subtly sweet and smoky tones of the top-shelf whiskey. When Hannibal’s gaze falls heavily upon him, he takes another sip, this one slightly greedier.

“I’m not what you envisioned,” Hannibal guesses, apt as fuck and somehow not sounding offended in the least by it.

Will finds his mouth working wordlessly for an embarrassing amount of time before he snaps it shut and takes in a sharp breath through his nose. “That’s not a bad thing.” He replies at long last. “Most people that opt out of putting their face on their profile don’t...well, they don’t look like you. Handsome, I mean. I mean you’re…” Will snaps his mouth shut again to stymie his blathering, even more embarrassed than moments before when he’d done his best impression of a fish out of water.

Hannibal's smile is soft and pleased, his eyes hooded as he reaches across the table between them and ghosts a soothing touch down the inside of Will's forearm. "Thank you, Will," the man all but purrs. 

His fingers linger at Will's wrist a breath too long, no doubt aware of the way his pulse rabbits erratically beneath the thin flesh, his lips tilting slightly higher as he finally pulls his touch away. Will's face flames all over again and he's forced to drop his gaze from the amber in the other man's eyes to the one in the glass.

"You were right," Will blurts, apropos of nothing. "My friend made my profile. I'm not...good at this stuff."

"Yet here you are."

"I feel like a mess."

"You look beautiful."

Will pulls his eyes up to Hannibal once more, his teeth finding his bottom lip as his stomach clenches with pride. "Thank you for the drawing. You're very talented."

"I was blessed with an exceptionally breathtaking subject."

Will shifts in his seat, twists his tumbler idly before remembering the alcohol in it might soothe his nerves some and he takes another sip. "I'm not good at this." He repeats helplessly. 

"You're doing just fine."

"Not just the...meeting with strangers part. Any of it. I was raised by a prideful man that would rather see his son hungry than accept handouts. Bev told me to think of it like a transaction but…"

"You're wondering what that transaction would look like."

"I don't have a lot to offer."

"I disagree."

Will scowls at the gorgeous, nonplussed man across from him. "You don't know that. You don't even know me."

"I'd like to. What little I've learned of you has intrigued me. The communication we've shared enticed me. I have a sense for these things."

“You talk like we’ve had more than a handful of conversations in a dating app,” Will scoffs, immediately biting his tongue and wishing he could stuff the words back into his mouth. He really needs to learn to think before he speaks. 

Thankfully, Hannibal seems totally unbothered by his little outburst, smug smirk still firmly in place. “Tell me, Will, when was the last time you were with a Dominant?” 

Will grimaces, certain his lack of recent experience will be what finally convinces Hannibal that Will is a dud. “It’s been over a year. My last experience wasn’t particularly good, and then the semester got chaotic and sort of stayed chaotic. I did summer classes in between terms this year and haven’t had time to even think about sex or relationships. If Bev hadn’t signed me up for the app we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” 

Hannibal nods along, steepling his fingers. “Do you mind telling me a bit more about why exactly your last interaction wasn’t good?” 

Will does mind, but he also knows it’s important to talk about this stuff in the beginning. Otherwise he’ll end up in another shit situation like he had with Christophe, who’d been good enough in theory, but who’d also consistently ignored Will’s safe word in favor of doing what he thought was best for Will. Will had a panic attack by the end of their last scene together, and his entire walk back to the dorms he’d berated himself, questioned why he’d even had a second or third date with Christophe after the first one had ended in a similar fashion. 

“If it’s an uncomfortable topic we can move on, darling boy. I’m not here to make you miserable.” Hannibal offers Will an out and he’s tempted to take it, but he shakes his head, curls falling into his eyes. He leaves them there, lets them act as a barrier so he doesn’t have to fully look Hannibal in the eyes as he confesses. 

“My last Dom was super traditional and strict. I couldn't be...what he needed me to be. I'm kind of a bad sub, I guess?” 

"I don't believe there is such a thing."

"Yeah, well. I'm willful. Too stubborn. Most Doms give up with me pretty quickly." Will knows he’s being unattractively self-deprecating but he can’t seem to stop the flow of confessions.

"Perhaps they simply didn't understand you. Didn't want to. Not all submissives require a firm hand and a short leash." 

Will snorts. "I think if a Dom actually tried to leash me, I'd choke them with it. Which is exactly the sort of attitude that most Doms take umbrage with."

"Well I've never been one to shy away from a challenge." Will thinks about the information he learned - or more accurately that Bev learned and flooded him with - and finds himself helpless to ask. 

“That tracks. I, uh, my friend showed me an article about you once I told her your first name. Not many Hannibals in the Baltimore area it seems. The article mentioned you were new in the field of psychiatry. A transfer from medicine - an ER doctor? It linked to a paper you wrote on social exclusion theory.” 

Hannibal hums in reply, a slight grin ticking his lips upward again. “I found emergency room work wasn’t working out for me and made the switch.” 

“Why?”

“I found myself with one too many patients I couldn’t save. I’m a bit like god in that way, I suppose. I don’t like my control being wrested from me. Healing minds is much more fulfilling work, and typically less deadly.” 

Will nods at that, as though he has any frame of reference for the experiences Hannibal has been through. “I bet that would be tough. For a Dom especially. To not be in control, I mean.”

“A wise Dominant understands when control is necessary and when it must be relinquished. The same principle doesn’t exactly apply to emergency surgery, however.”

Will’s throat grows tight at the thought of a Dominant relinquishing control to him. He can’t even imagine a scenario in which such a thing would occur. Before he can stop himself, his busy mind begins flitting through all the different ways a man like Hannibal might relinquish control, and all the ways someone like Will could wield it. He takes another sip of the ridiculously expensive whiskey to wet his dry mouth and uses the precious few seconds to flounder for something thoughtful to say.

“We’ve strayed from our original topic,” he points out. Smooth, Graham.

“Our transaction,” Hannibal agrees with a single, conciliatory nod of his head.

“Our theoretical transaction,” Will corrects stubbornly, downing the last of his tumbler and leaning back into the torn vinyl of the booth when he realizes how far he’s been leaning over his edge of the table. “The whole concept of the... sugar daddy thing is a little baffling to me, I guess. Exchanging money for...sexual favors…” Will’s cheeks heat at the words, and he wishes he had more whiskey to numb his nerves, wishes he’d not swallowed down the booze so quickly as he finds it loosening his tongue and reserves. “I get that. But Bev - my friend - made it sound like some people don’t even...expect that sort of thing? So what, people just throw money at a pretty face because they’re bored with how rich they are?”

He takes a shaky breath when the last of his tirade has fallen from his lips, turning a hesitant glance to the man across from him. Hannibal, to his credit, appears amused more than anything else, the fondness shining in his eyes piercing through Will and making him feel warm and admired and positively exposed.

“Some rely on a physical exchange. Others are merely lonely. Others still require a lovely piece of art to hang from their arm and agree with their every word at social events, but find themselves too odious to accomplish such a feat without incentive for the second party.”

“So which group do you fall into?” Will asks boldly, teeth catching his bottom lip and heart pounding in his chest as he awaits the Dominant’s self-classification.

“I enjoy good company, and all things I find aesthetically pleasing. A physical relationship would not be out of the question for me, but it certainly wouldn’t be a requirement of our arrangement. I may wish to take you to an event - an opera or orchestral performance, perhaps even one of the many benefits that I patron, but your presence there would hardly be considered arm candy.”

“So I’d hang out with you and you’d...give me money,” Will sums up lamely, hardly ready to tackle the concept of attending a benefit with such a refined man.

“Dinner. Two nights a week, I think, would be fair to your class and study schedule. And one more outing of our mutual agreement.”

“I work two jobs in addition to a full course load,” Will points out stubbornly.

“Not if you were my boy,” Hannibal amends smoothly, undeterred by Will’s weak argument. “Your schooling would be your full-time job.”

Will swallows around the lump in his throat and mentally crushes the butterflies that take wing in his stomach as the words my boy roll off of Hannibal’s lips in his perfect, smoky accent. “And you don’t want me to do...anything else,” Will tacks on again, still not fully believing such an outrageous claim.

“I don’t require anything else from you, no,” Hannibal confirms. His lips curl into a smirk as his eyes flit over Will briefly; when they settle back on Will’s face they’re positively smoldering. “I’m quite sure I said nothing of want.” Will struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat, bone dry as his mouth is, but a moment later the suggestive, enticing air that had rippled around Hannibal falls away, and his tone and expression are businesslike once more. “Accept my company and my gifts. That’s all that I ask of you.”

Somehow, it still feels like a lot to ask.

---

Will turns Hannibal down the first time he offers to refill his drink, but as time stretches on and they segue from one discussion to the next - this one far more comfortable as he and Hannibal begin discussing art - he allows the second drink. Hannibal doesn’t argue when Will offers to retrieve them himself, still hesitant to leave a drink alone with this relative stranger, and feels put at ease when Hannibal not only doesn’t take offence to this, but reaches into his wallet to send Will back to the bar with a fifty dollar bill.

The bartender is one he recognizes, though he can’t remember his name. He appears to be working solo this evening, single-handedly containing and serving his increasingly rowdy crowd. He’s also never busted Will’s balls about his obviously fake ID - stopped asking for it after the first time Bev had dragged him there, in fact - and so urges him to keep the other thirty as a tip and wishes him a pleasant evening before he can think better of it. It’s nearly careless, how easily he’s allowed himself to be comfortable spending Hannibal’s money.

Hannibal accepts the scotch with a nod and a murmured thanks when Will returns, and doesn’t inquire about his change. They talk a bit more about Will’s mediums and style preferences, and about Hannibal’s own artistic talent. Will blanches when the man informs him he received his scholarship to Johns Hopkins based on his artistic merit.

“They let you study to become a doctor for free...because you can draw? I didn’t know that was a thing.”

Hannibal, as with all the rest of Will’s rather rude blurtings that evening, doesn’t take offence to the question, but grants him a small smile. “Is it so difficult to fathom? Both require a steady hand, patience and confidence. The architectural drawings I drafted from memory showcased a mind both keen and retentive. Of course, I wasn’t admitted by my art alone; my test scores saw more to that, I’m sure. But even at sixteen they could see the talent I possessed. It’s a shame it didn’t work out for me as a career; I’ve always been fascinated by the human body. In any case, I’ve been quite happy with my shift to psychiatry.”

“Sixteen?” Will blanches for the second time in as many minutes. “Christ that’s...aren’t people usually in their twenties before they go pre-med?”

“Usually, yes.” Hannibal’s simple reply is filled with a well-earned smugness Will finds he can’t bother to find annoying. “I’m surprised by your shock. You yourself must have been admitted early to be in your junior year and not yet of drinking age. How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Will responds automatically as he takes a sip of his scotch, then immediately flusters and scrambles to correct himself. “Twenty. I turned twenty last week. Still feels... new, I guess. How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight. Will that be an issue for you?”

“No,” Will denies immediately upon finishing another decent sip of his scotch. And then, because he has no control over his own body at all, blurts out, “You look fucking great.”

Hannibal’s hooded gaze and the way his lips tilt up into a small smirk sends another wave of heat to Will’s cheek, causes his stomach to twist not unpleasantly once again, and Will hastily downs the last sip of his drink and clears his throat, stumbling to speak again before Hannibal can open his mouth and say something so charmingly eloquent that Will feels like even more of a dumbass.

“I, uh, I should probably be taking off. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.” He almost sounds half-way convincing, even though it’s the complete truth.

“I wouldn’t dream of disrupting your schedule,” Hannibal assures him, hesitates - perhaps for the first time that evening - and adds, “May I walk you out?”

Will is nodding before he can think to stop himself, and before he knows it he’s weaving through the increasingly dense throng of students towards the exit, his handsome stranger hot on his tail. He doesn’t hesitate when they slip through the exit, but bypasses the parking lot altogether to head straight for the sidewalk.

“You don’t have a vehicle here?” Hannibal questions curiously.

Will spins on his feet and pins the man with a cheeky grin, his confidence growing as the superior scotch he’s imbibed seems to swallow him full-force in a single moment, warming and relaxing him.

“You would advise me to drink and drive, Doctor?” Will asks playfully, loving the way the word doctor slips off his tongue; something coy and flirtatious. Something he never is. Will’s teeth snag his bottom lip as he glances over the man beside him. “I don’t own a car. I was just gonna walk back. It’s really not that far.”

“All the same, I wouldn’t advise traversing the streets alone after imbibing alcohol any more than I would recommend someone drive.”

Will finds himself tensing, frantically attempting to conjure a convincing argument against Hannibal’s very reasonable concerns, his suspicion mounting as he begins to calculate the very real likeliness of Hannibal offering to escort him back, or offering him a ride outright.

Will’s half-formed, semi-polite rejection withers and dies in his throat when Hannibal steps toward the road and flags down a taxi. He turns toward Will with a soft smile, and Will’s heart pounds harder even than he thinks it would have if Hannibal had attempted to cajole him into his own vehicle.

“I’d feel much more comfortable if you had a secure way of arriving home,” Hannibal informs him as he bobs his head in a nod of greeting to the waiting driver. “Of course, I don’t expect you to foot the bill,” he explains, reaching into his wallet and handing Will another fifty dollar bill.

He hesitates for a moment, gazing contemplatively at the billfold in his hand, and then reaches in to pluck out a small, white business card as well. “I suppose there’s no harm in giving you this, seeing as how you’ve already managed to suss out my identity.”

Will takes the proffered card without thinking, his eyes glancing down to flit over the information on the business card - the official one, the one Hannibal uses for referrals and networking.

“Please feel free to contact me anytime, Will. It was truly a pleasure to meet you.”

Hannibal opens the rear passenger door, stepping aside to bid Will passage, and Will can’t stop himself from returning the gesture, so completely thrown by Hannibal’s propriety that he can’t help but hope to reciprocate it

“Graham.”

“Sorry?”

“My name,” Will clarifies as a warm wave of embarrassment sweeps through him anew. “Will Graham. I - It, uh. It only seems fair. Since I know you. Not much to gather on me though, I’m afraid.” He brushes past the older man, sliding into the backseat and gazing out at him in the moment before he pushes the door closed. “It was nice to meet you too, Hannibal.”

It says a lot that Hannibal only offers him a small smile before the door closes, turning away immediately to be out of the general vicinity as Will gives his destination to the driver. He studies the business card his nervous hands turn over again and again for the short drive back to his dorm, and is immensely relieved when he discovers their suite is empty, Bev still at her Thursday night study group; he’s not sure he’s ready to unpack how the night went to her when he’s still attempting to know for sure himself.

He shuts and locks his door, a clear sign he’s turned in for the night should she get home and attempt to pester him. He, in fact, does not turn in, but lays wide awake on his bed, body still slightly warm and buzzing from the alcohol but mind persistently clear as he attempts time and again to shut out all thought and fall asleep.

He’s still awake when Bev comes home, listens to her complete her nightly routine and turn in herself. It’s nearly an hour later still that his eyes finally begin to drift closed, his mind slowly quieting from tumultuous contemplations and ever-tempting daydreams. In the morning he’ll blame his final coherent thoughts on the cozy slip into sleep, but in the moment can’t help but think it would be nice to have his financial burden lifted from his shoulders, more time to study and focus on his art, and nicer still to have a man like Hannibal for a friend.

---

“Graham! You sly dog, why didn’t you tell me you were seeing your Sugar Daddy again so soon?” Beverly bursts into Will’s room not unlike a wrecking ball, his door slamming loudly enough to make him grimace. 

“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen Hannibal since the weekend?” Will corrects her pointedly, her antics only increasing over the week. It’s Friday, six days after meeting, and Bev hasn’t let him forget it. 

Bev tosses a package onto his bed, hip thrust out and a smug smile on her face like she’s won some sort of bet Will hadn’t even realized they had. 

“What’s this?” 

“It has H.L on the notecard attached. Pretty sure it’s from your Daddyyyy,” she sing songs, and Will reminds himself murder is illegal and he would eventually miss her anyway if he killed her. 

“I haven’t texted him since Wednesday. We don’t have plans.” 

“Just open the damn thing! I’ve been dying since they gave it to me downstairs.” 

“How did he even know my address?” Will asks absently, fingers going a bit shaky as he slips the thick white satin ribbon from around the glossy black paper. Even the packaging looks expensive, most likely worth several dining hall meals. 

Once the paper falls away he’s left stunned silent, the familiar apple logo searing into his retinas. It’s the latest model, a sleek grey and there’s a separate box settled against the side that includes a pen. 

He also noticed a letter on a heavy cream paper, and reads that before even considering touching the tablet in his lap. Thousands of dollars, just sitting on his shitty retail store sheets. 

Dearest Will,

I have it on good authority from the salesperson this is the newest model and most commonly used at your university by the arts department students. 

I hope it provides you some inspiration in your studies and personally. 

This is a gift without expectations. Whether you wish to see me again or not, I’m happy to aid a fellow artist in his endeavors. 

Happy belated birthday. 

Hannibal Lecter 

The letters in his name are written in swirling, sweeping cursive, the lines bold and seemingly written using a calligraphy pen of some sort. Will swallows thickly, turning disbelieving eyes on the gadget. 

“Wow. He’s got it bad, huh? Must be some of that Will Graham charm I’ve heard so much about but never seen in action,” Beverly jokes, reading the letter over his shoulder. She plucks up the tablet and turns it over in her hands, inspecting it. “Damn, he went all out.” 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Will asks, helpless. He feels himself drifting a bit, a cavern opening up at his feet that he’s unsure how to traverse. 

Beverly, to his eternal gratitude, is all Dominant as she notices him struggling and swoops in to pull him against her, settling on the bed beside him and tucking his head beneath her chin. “You deserve this, Will Graham. Stop catastrophizing in that gorgeous, curly head of yours and think about the facts. You met a wealthy man on a website devoted to people wanting to spend money lavishing others with gifts. You went on a date with that man, you’ve texted him nearly everyday since you met. Is it really so out there he would show his appreciation and celebrate your birthday by gifting you with something useful for you?”

“It’s so much money, Bev. That’s, like, enough to pay for all my books for a year!” 

“Context, babe. Hannibal is clearly well off enough that the amount he spent is perfectly reasonable to him. He wouldn’t have bought it if he couldn’t afford it. Just enjoy it for what it is; a lovely gesture.”

It was a gesture, Will thinks, his brain a jumbled mess only slowly reorganizing itself with Beverly’s continued gentle petting down his spine and the soothing cadence of her familiar voice. But Will also believes Hannibal when he says it’s a gesture without expectation, and that alone shakes something loose in his chest and allows him to breathe more normally again. 

The texts between them have been nothing but chaste and curious, Hannibal clearly interested in Will’s mind perhaps even more than he’s interested in his body, and that’s a new sensation for Will. With previous Doms, with past lovers in general, there wasn’t really a typical dating period. More often than not, Will ended up on his knees and servicing the Dom within hours of meeting them. He’s never had someone so keenly interested in his thoughts, with how he saw the world. 

He’s not sure what to do with the gift he’s been given, Hannibal’s regard a heavy, but not stifling, weight. Will finds he welcomes that regard, that genuine care the Dominant seems to exude so naturally, effortlessly and honestly. He realizes, suddenly, he feels safe with Hannibal already, even now while spiraling he’s yearning to talk to the other man. He can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if Hannibal were here in place of Bev, if it were his stronger, experienced hands roving over Will’s spine and through his curls, soothing him and - if Will’s honest with himself - incensing him in equal measures. 

Will’s thoughts have been far less wholesome than Hannibal’s behavior the last week, and he’s been extremely thankful he has Bev as a roommate and lives in the RA residence so he doesn’t share a shower with the entire floor. He can’t imagine they’d appreciate his come staining the drain. 

He pulls himself together bit by bit, until he’s finally able to think more coherently. “I need to send him a message. Thank him. Something.” He tugs himself free of Beverly’s touch, and she immediately removes herself from his space. She’s such a good Dom, Will knows she’ll be amazing to a submissive one day, already so intuitive and caring. 

“What are you gonna say?” 

“Nothing for you to worry about. Out.” Will points to his door with a stern finger, and Beverly rolls her eyes but shoves herself off his bed and towards the open door. 

“You should send him some kissy emojis. He seems like he’d like those.” She deadpans, and Will throws a pair of rolled up socks at her as she laughs her way down the hallway. 

Will stares at his locked phone screen for several minutes, trying to fathom exactly what one says to a man who just bought you a thousand plus dollars worth of tech. He starts and stops several times once he opens their text thread, aimlessly scrolls up their conversation for a few minutes reading over the last week of messages before he finally clicks into the text response box. 

I got your gift. Thank you, it was extremely thoughtful. 

Before he can think better of it he sends another message immediately after.

How the Hell did you get my address, though? 

He hopes Hannibal won’t mind the language, he doesn’t catch it in time, his thumb already pressing send before he even considers whether it’s appropriate. 

Thankfully it doesn’t take long at all for Hannibal to respond, the dots popping up to indicate Hannibal is typing. 

I’m only sorry I couldn’t deliver it in person or on the actual day of your birthday, my apologies for the lateness. Don’t be too cross with the very helpful front desk girl, I told her I was trying to get a gift to you for your birthday and she said she would make sure it arrived. 

That absolutely doesn’t answer Will’s question, but opens up a whole host of new ones. 

How did you even know which building was mine? 

Will taps out quickly, a shudder running down his spine as his mind conjures the very realistic yet very unlikely sensation of someone watching him. He startles so badly when the phone in his hand begins to ring unexpectedly that he drops it to the bed. Though he could fathom a guess as to the caller, his stomach still twists when he sees Hannibal’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Will. I thought a phone call might be more direct than exchanging messages. ...The possibility exists that I also wished to hear your voice.”

Will stretches out on his back, twisting his head to the side to gaze at the gift beside him. Something electric buzzes beneath his skin, settles warm in his stomach, and Will finds his lips twisting into a grin. “Uh huh. And are you going to answer my question?”

“My talking is counterproductive to the goal of listening to you,” Hannibal points out, and Will can hear the smile in his own voice; his cheeks begin to ache as his own grin stretches wider at the subtle playfulness in the man’s tone.

“Hannibal,” he admonishes sternly, though he has little hope of actually sounding stern when he’s grinning like an idiot.

“I have an acquaintance in the campus housing administration. She was kind enough to provide your building information when I inquired about you.”

“That’s a huge violation of privacy.” He’s not mad about it. He’s not quite sure why he isn’t mad about it. “And gross misconduct on the administrator’s part.”

“Please don’t seek to disrupt her career; I’m exceedingly persuasive.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Will rolls to his side and trails a finger across the box that holds the most expensive item in his room.

“Above all else, I want you to feel safe, Will. I understand I’m still a stranger to you and may have overstepped my bounds in my...enthusiasm. But I’d be remiss if you found yourself uncomfortable in your own home, so with my gift delivered I’d like to assure you that I won’t use your location to my advantage again. It will be as though the knowledge was never mine.”

Will hums at that, the buzzing sensation coiling in his gut once more. “That’s gonna make it pretty difficult for you to pick me up for dinner.” 

He bites his lip in the wake of Hannibal’s surprised silence, chewing on it fretfully and beginning to wonder if he should have said anything at all. Maybe he should have just said thanks and been done with it? Maybe that speech was Hannibal’s polite way of backing off, the gifted tablet merely a token to thank him for his time. He opens his mouth, half-ready to stammer out a lame retraction to the invitation before getting off the phone as quickly as possible when Hannibal’s soft, smoky voice spills into his ear once more.

“I suppose I could retain the information a little bit longer...when will I be arriving to fetch you for this dinner of ours?”

“I have to finish up a project tonight, and tomorrow I’m working fifteen hours between my two jobs. Sunday?”

He half-expects Hannibal to cajole him into meeting earlier, awaits the argument that he needn’t keep either of his jobs any longer; maybe even the suggestion that Will call off for the evening and Hannibal’s promise to supplement the lost income.

Instead, he hears the older man’s pleased hum and the evidence of his own smile stretching wider when he replies, “Sunday sounds lovely. I’ll be waiting out front at seven.”

Will agrees and then, because the anxiety of expectations still presses heavily onto his chest blurts out in the midst of their farewells, “It’s just a dinner.”

Luckily, Hannibal sounds more amused than anything by this outburst. “What else would it be? Have a good night, Will. Good luck on your project.”

He feels better about the gift after speaking to Hannibal and finally allows himself to open it, getting it plugged in and setting it on his nightstand while it charges. He then throws himself into work so the chaotic thoughts ricocheting around his skull might be dulled by the focus of completing a task. When he’s happy with the draft he turns it in to his professor’s online dropbox, a full two hours before its midnight deadline.

It’s far too early to turn in for the night, but Will also hesitates to find Beverly for company. He’s not ready to tell her about their dinner date yet, knowing she will immediately begin a line of questioning that Will can’t hope to answer at the moment. In an effort to stay busy, he tidies his room. Fifteen minutes later there’s nothing left to distract him from the tablet that sits fully charged on his nightstand.

He’s not sure why his hands tremble when he picks it up. Even during the set-up process, Will can’t help but feel like he’s using something that doesn’t belong to him. It’s not until he gets some of his favored drawing and design apps downloaded that he begins to feel more confident, more natural. A classical playlist on Spotify further helps him to relax and Will spends the rest of the night drawing whatever flits into his mind. Sketch after sketch of him testing out his new pen, playing with brushstrokes and shading, each saved to the device’s drive before a new page is opened and he begins again.

He can’t remember the last time he spent so long drawing with no goal in mind, and he’s surprised when he realizes it’s two in the morning and he has nearly a dozen pieces already saved to his gallery.

He wonders, as he finally sets his new toy aside and allows his heavy eyes to slip closed, if Hannibal might like to see them sometime.

Chapter Text

By eleven in the morning, Will can already tell it’s going to be a rough day. He usually enjoys his student worker position in the library solely because very few people actually frequent the library - fewer still on the weekends. But finals are on the horizon, and students all across campus are scrambling to finish final papers, frantically search out references for their research studies, and cram for tests that will make up a majority of their final grade in a matter of weeks.

Damn hypocrites. None of these students cared at all about proper notation of references a month ago, and yet every single one of them seems to have chosen this particular Saturday to frequent the sacred space of the library, hounding Will to track down texts and explain their own damn projects to them, as if he has nothing better to do.

His entire six hour shift flies by with Will feeling ragged by hour three and with no hope to actually focus on his own work like he usually can. The day only worsens from there, Will’s cafeteria card getting declined when he pops in for a quick meal before his next shift, which results in him having to rush back to his dorm with only enough time to shove a few handfuls of chips into his mouth while he prepares a piece of bread with peanut butter. 

He chews it hastily while he makes his way to the coffeeshop he works off campus, taking care to swig some water between bites so the sticky mess doesn’t get caught in his throat with each swallow. He spends the next five hours making obnoxious, unnecessarily complicated drinks for the patrons that frequent it, some seem to have gotten the memo that it’s Ruin Will’s Life day, and make his job far more difficult than it needs to be while simultaneously degrading him for deigning to do something as plebeian as have a job.

It’s late by the time he drags his weary body back to the dorm and collapses into bed, and he almost misses entirely the package sitting ominously on his desk. He shifts up onto his elbows and takes it in, the glossy black wrapping and a copper-colored ribbon tied around it. 

His curiosity gets the better of him and he’s up and across the room in seconds, fingers slipping against the satin of the ribbon before he finally manages to untie it. He picks up the box and slides a finger along the bottom, parting the paper where it’s folded into a perfectly crisp, pressed seam.

The box is a heavy wooden monstrosity, something he knows he’ll end up keeping to use rather than tossing out with the recycling, and it’s engraved with etchings; a stag and wolf motif running across all the sides. When he finally opens the hinged lid he can’t hold in his gasp at the contents. 

A Montblac sketchbook with an antique black leather binding and a Staedtler pencil sits nestled in the bottom. Once he removes the sketchbook he also sees a set of new Copic markers and shudders with barely repressed arousal. He’s never been particularly materialistic, but he knows Hannibal sent him these things, and it makes desire pool in his gut. 

Upon opening the sketchbook his breath is trapped in his throat once more when he sees the beautiful and accurate sketch of himself that first night, seemingly seconds before Hannibal approached him. From memory Hannibal has sketched Will leaning against the bar, looking comfortable in his environment but also beautifully flushed with his anticipation. It’s a realistic enough rendering that he can almost smell the scent of whiskey and feel the flush across his cheeks. 

He traces the lines with his finger, this sketch done with a similar pencil to the one found inside Will’s gifts rather than the charcoal Hannibal had used last time. It feels familiar, somehow, intimate. Will finds himself with the desire to draw Hannibal in return, his slightly crooked smile as he’d sat across from Will looking so at ease and so fond, his hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes as the night had progressed. He’d seemed oddly approachable by the end of the evening, far less a token idol to be revered or feared and instead a companion. 

Will knows things are moving too quickly already, he’s nearly dizzy with the want thrumming through his veins and the comforting weight of Hannibal’s familiarity and his regard. He doesn’t allow himself time to reconsider before he pulls his phone from his pocket, sparing a passing glance to the low battery indicator, and opens Hannibal’s contact. 

The phone only rings three times but it feels like an eternity, and then Hannibal’s voice is filling the speaker and Will feels more at ease than he has all day, his limbs suddenly heavy and lax and his tensed muscles melting. 

“Hello dear Will, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Hannibal quips, and Will can hear the smile in his tone and mirrors it with a smile of his own. 

He flops down on his bed, the sketchbook laid out beside him, and laughs. “Wanted to say thank you in a more intimate setting than a text message I guess and didn’t want to wait until tomorrow when we have dinner.” It’s perhaps more honest than Will had intended, but he doesn’t fear Hannibal’s reaction as much as he might from another. 

“Ah. Your gift arrived in acceptable condition, then?” Will can hear a shift on the other end of the line and realizes with a slight grimace that it’s nearly midnight. 

“Sorry about the time, I’ve been at work all day and it slipped my mind. I can let you go -” 

“It’s no bother, Will. I was awake and therefore am available.” Hannibal interrupts, and Will breathes a little easier with the man’s easy acceptance. 

“It’s beautiful, Hannibal. The sketch as well as the rest. Your lines are so...evocative. You have an impeccable memory.” 

“It’s easy to create beautiful things when one has such a stunning subject.” Hannibal has said similar things before, but they never cease to make Will blush furiously. 

“What’s the occasion? I’m grateful and I loved the gift, but what’s it for?” 

“I was in an art supply boutique this morning and I thought of you.” Hannibal responds as though that’s a perfectly reasonable answer, as though merely thinking of Will is enough of a reason to buy him extravagant and expensive gifts with no expectations attached. “Since I’ve yet to forget your address, I chose to act on that advantage. I hope you’ll forgive my exploiting that particular loophole.” 

Will finds himself blushing deeper, clearing his throat so he sounds less breathless. “Thank you. I actually love sketching my statuary concepts in a physical sketchbook with paper and pencil before rendering them onto my tablet.” 

“I’ve always preferred a more manual method as well. I find it allows me to have a level of intimacy with the final creation I’m unable to achieve with more digital means.” Will nearly rolls his eyes and calls Hannibal old, but he manages to hold it in and disguise it with a laugh instead. 

His laugh devolves nearly immediately into a yawn, and he stretches out on his mattress, finally kicking his shoes off over the side and getting more comfortable. “I don’t want to keep you, I know we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow for dinner but I just got home and saw your gift and wanted to thank you.” 

“You sound exhausted, sweet boy. Why don’t you get some much deserved rest and I’ll pick you up a bit early tomorrow for dinner. Perhaps you’ll allow me to spoil you just slightly with a visit to the shop I most often frequent for my supplies.” 

“Sure. I’ll be free all afternoon so just message me. Goodnight, Hannibal.” 

“Goodnight, Will. Until tomorrow.” 

Will’s smile is broad as he hangs up and turns onto his side, drifting nearly immediately to sleep with thoughts of a smoky, soothing accent and whiskey-soaked eyes. 

---

“I wonder sometimes how stores like this can stay in business,” Will murmurs as he trails slowly through an aisle of the higher-end art boutique. Hannibal watches the young man’s movements with a keen eye, noting the items he pauses in front of, studies for more than a few brief seconds before moving on.

He uses the hush of the private conversation for the opportunity it is and shifts closer to the beautiful boy as he follows his steps, ducking his head closer to give his soft reply. The action also brings him close enough to take a subtle breath of Will’s scent, freshly showered and groomed, the brash citrus of cheap shampoo and mint toothpaste on his breath overpowering what little he can glean of the boy’s natural musk.

“How do you mean?”

Will gives a soft huff and turns a skeptical gaze upon him, and Hannibal privately delights in the ability to gaze openly at his crystalline blue eyes, even as they sharpen with criticism. “There can’t be more than a dozen people in Baltimore that can afford to shop here on a consistent basis.” He gives a nod to the set of custom mixed paints they’ve paused in front of, scowling as though their mere existence offends him. “I’m taking classes that cost less than those paints. Books included.”

Hannibal gives a hum and steps closer still, relishing the warmth that radiates from the boy’s form, and peers over his shoulder at the supplies in question. “These paints are hand-crafted,” he explains upon catching sight of the brand name. “The old-fashioned way, using only pigments and elements found in nature. Charcoal and dirts ground to a fine powder and mixed with animal fat or blood. Egyptians used cinnabar for the brightest reds, though we now know it’s mercury sulfide and toxic. Unprocessed blues are rare in nature, which make them costly to produce. This particular brand still produces their blues with azurite or lapis lazuli, hence the price tag.”

History lesson complete, he watches as Will considers this information, examining the product with new eyes, perhaps. After a moment, his teeth find his bottom lip and he gives a nod. “Makes sense. Kind of cool to think about, too. Using something so raw and God-given as dirt and stone to make art. Bringing something so ancient and pure into the twenty-first century.”

“Would you like them?” Hannibal can’t help himself, utterly charmed by the young man before him. His hand rests solidly at Will’s lower back as he reaches around him to pluck a set of paints from the shelf preemptively.

Will doesn’t so much bristle under his touch as shudder, blood flushing his cheeks immediately with an alluring blush that Hannibal must restrain himself from tasting.

“Oh - no, that’s - I, uh, didn’t mean to imply that. I don’t even paint,” Will explains as he flusters, turning so he’s facing Hannibal fully. “They would be wasted on me.”

“Impossible,” Hannibal denies softly, whole-heartedly believing it. “Sometimes it’s simply nice to have nice things. And then you’ll be prepared, should you fancy trying out a new medium. Of course, we’ll have to get you some brushes as well,” he reasons, urging Will along with a gentle press of the hand on his back to steer him toward the end of the aisle where the paint brushes are displayed. “Perhaps a few small canvases, just in case.”

He’s undeniably pleased when the lovely submissive doesn’t argue further but allows himself to be led through the remainder of the store, silently surrendering to Hannibal’s whims and declaring his preferences with increasing confidence when Hannibal presents him with various options. By the time they return to the car and deposit Will’s haul into the trunk, his cheeks are flooded with color, eyes sparkling as he chews on his bottom lip and offers Hannibal a shyly murmured thank you.

They’ve been traveling in companionable silence for several minutes when Will’s voice breaks through the quiet, his voice soft and nearly sweet. “You’re really good at that.” 

Hannibal looks to him briefly, but Will is looking out the window, watching the city flash by. “Good at what, sweet boy?” Hannibal prompts, and Will does turn towards him then, a small smile on his face and his teeth teasing at his bottom lip absentmindedly. 

“Putting me at ease. I always feel comfortable with you, even when I feel entirely out of my element.” The words are honest, and they pull a hollow pang to Hannibal’s chest, his heart aching for this boy who has experienced more than his share of hurt and cruel, selfish Dominants in his relatively short life. Hannibal doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it too long, can feel the anger on Will’s behalf rising up in him like a tide and he swallows it back and smiles at the boy. 

“You deserve to be doted on, darling. But I also perhaps have a bit of a secret advantage here.” 

Will raises an eyebrow, and Hannibal continues on, curious to see how Will might react. “You know I’m a psychiatrist; a surgeon before that. But my focus is Dynamics. My entire practice caters to those struggling with various aspects of their assigned Dynamic, be it submissives who feel they are lacking, or Dominants who often feel much the same. There is so much society tells us we must be, but very little truth to be found in those expectations.”

“Dynamics.” Will replies, and his gaze shifts away from Hannibal and back out the window again for several painfully long seconds. “That’s not why you like me though, is it? Not because I’m broken.” The words are teasing, but also heartfelt and tinged with enough pain and fear that Hannibal can’t help but reach out to cup Will’s cheek, pull his eyes back towards him as they reach the restaurant with wonderful timing. 

“Will. I find you breathtaking, and not just because you are beautiful. You have a wonderful mind, a bright soul, and I am thankful to know you. You aren’t broken. Your past Dominants, little that I know of them, were clearly misguided, untested, or simply hamfisted and cruel to ever have you thinking such things.” 

Will is quiet, but contemplative, the slight hint of concern in his eyes replaced with something curious. Hannibal presses on. “In a healthy Dominant and submissive relationship, the submissive is the one who truly holds all the power. The Dominant is simply honored to be allowed to wield it for them.” 

Something about the words, about Hannibal’s earnest delivery, seems to get through to Will and he smiles, bright and so pretty it nearly makes Hannibal lose his breath. “So what you’re saying is I get to make the rules?” Will licks his lips and Hannibal is certain the submissive knows exactly how he looks and what he’s doing. 

He hums in response and Will’s grin grows broader. “What I want…” Will drags out, letting his fingers curl around where Hannibal’s hand still sits against his cheek. “Is to have a lovely dinner with you.” 

Hannibal laughs, it’s rare someone catches him off guard, but Will seems to do it effortlessly. “That, my darling Will, can be arranged.” 

---

Will - sweet, shy thing that he is - demures when Hannibal offers to carry his gifts up to his dorm room when they return from dinner, but relents easily enough upon the second offer, leading the way with rosy cheeks and a flushed, bitten lip between his teeth that Hannibal greatly desires to snag between his own.

They linger in the hallway, Will toying with the key in his hand, and Hannibal is certain he’s mentally weighing the expectation of being invited in against the comfort Will has felt with him all evening. Unwilling to compromise the tentative balance they’ve arrived at, the self-proclaimed prickly boy at relative ease with him, Hannibal gently deposits the bags of supplies in his hands to the ground.

It’s a signal to the young submissive that Hannibal trusts him to see the task from here on out, and Will’s shoulders relax immediately with it, a small smile curling his lips as he finally finds the courage to tip his head up and meet Hannibal’s gaze.

“Thank you. For dinner and...everything,” he murmurs, his cheeks growing pink once more as he nods to the gifts at his feet. “I had a nice time.”

“I as well,” Hannibal agrees. “You are, as I suspected, excellent company.”

The flush of Will’s cheeks deepens to something painfully alluring and he ducks his head as the smile on his lips twitches and spreads to an all-out grin. He faces Hannibal once more when he’s able to wrangle it under control, the curve of his mouth suddenly something coy and flirtatious. “When, uh...when can I see you again?”

Pleasure and excitement swell bright and thick in Hannibal’s chest, and he welcomes the foreign sensations even as he attempts to quell the desire that twists warmly low in his belly. “When are you next free?”

“I’m off on Tuesday. Is that - that’s not too soon, is it?”

Hannibal graces him with a reassuring smile as he takes a step closer and shakes his head. It’s a risk, he knows, to dip his head down and place a chaste, tender kiss to the boy’s forehead, but he’s relieved to see only a placid contentment on Will’s features when he pulls back, the submissive’s eyes heavily lidded and a giddy smile twisting his lips.

“Not at all. I would love the chance to cook for you, if you’re comfortable with coming to my home. It’s a hobby and a passion of mine; I find great pleasure in the act of providing.”

Will’s smile falters slightly before curling into something playful. “Favor and fare?”

“Yes, troublesome boy,” Hannibal chides, though his own mouth pulls into a grin against his volition. “Will you humor me?”

Will considers the offer as his teeth fret once more with his plump, bottom lip. “Can’t promise entertainment, but I’ll eat your food, at least,” he jokes, beautiful blue eyes sharp and spirited. 

Hannibal’s answering smile is painfully genuine, hope swelling within him even as he attempts to quell his expectations. “Then I’ll send a car to pick you up at six. All I ask is that you bring your appetite.”

Will gives an amused huff as he slides his key into the door, pausing to scoop up the bags at his feet. “I’m a sophomore in college with expiring scholarships. That, I can do.”

---

Will had been dubious when his new - friend? patron? - acquaintance had invited him to his home for their next dinner. But nestled in the cozy armchair in the corner and watching Hannibal in his element as he danced around the kitchen made him feel undeniably and inexplicably safe.

“This seems like it’s more than a hobby to you,” he points out, perhaps rudely, as he studies the countenance of studious concentration that has settled over the Dominant’s expression as he carefully plates the side vegetables and starch before turning his attention to the meat still sizzling on the stove.

“More a version of personal therapy, if I’m being honest,” Hannibal admits without shame as he prods at the steaks to determine their readiness. “There’s something so fulfilling about creating something from nothing - especially something that will give sustenance to you or a loved one.” He pauses between applying the protein to their plates, his eyes darting to Will after the implicative statement. “Or anyone, for that matter,” he amends, and Will allows it, because he certainly doesn’t expect this near-stranger to include him in such a personal grouping at this stage in their... friendship.

“Smells amazing,” he notes as he finally works up the courage to stand from the chair Hannibal had directed him to fifteen minutes prior and makes his way closer, examining both the meal that’s been prepared and the man that made it. “You make it look so easy. But I can’t imagine what it must be like to take a bunch of ingredients and end up with something like that. In my house you were lucky to find a clean pot to boil ramen or mac n’ cheese in.”

“Perhaps next time you can assist me,” Hannibal offers flawlessly, “And I can teach you how easy it really is.”

“I suspect there’s a lot you can teach me,” Will agrees softly, shame curling through him even as he finds himself seeking out the doctor’s attention, knowing what he specializes in. “I’m not...a normal submissive. I don’t...find pleasure in bending to a Dominant’s will or - or take comfort in their...power.”

“You mean pain,” Hannibal cuts in smoothly, and Will has to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat before he can even hope to meet the other man’s gaze. “You don’t have to delight in pain to be a good submissive, Will. You simply have to be. Tell me, what form of scene is most effective for you?”

Will’s mouth goes dry at the question, his mind blank. “I don’t...I don’t know. I mean...that’s something I should know isn’t it? Why don’t I know that?”

Hannibal’s hand finds his cheek, slips soothingly through his curls, and he shushes Will as he guides him closer. “You don’t need to overthink it, darling boy. Just feel the question and answer; what practice best sends you into your subspace?”

Will squeezes his eyes shut against the hot tears that sting them, refusing to let them fall even as he dips his head out of Hannibal’s touch, ashamed and embarrassed. “I’ve...I’ve never...I don’t know, maybe I have but…I’d know, wouldn’t I?” He risks a glance up to the Dominant’s face and nearly sobs when he sees the patient, pitying look that covers it. “Is it fucked up that I’ve never…?”

“Not at all, sweet boy,” Hannibal assures him. The palm resting against his jaw shifts, his thumb brushing across Will’s cheek, and he’s embarrassed to feel the sensation of wetness brushed away, unaware even of the humiliating tears that have sprung from his eyes at the talk. 

“It’s a natural thing though, for me, isn’t it? I should know how to...what makes me...I should be able to do it -”

“It’s not up to the submissive to seek care for themselves,” Hannibal informs him gently. “Your previous Dominants have been sorely lacking, and for that I am sorry. You deserve someone that will help you to understand just how precious and perfect you are, dear one. You deserve praise and kindness, not a harsh, ineffective hand and words to shame and debase you.”

“I want to - I, I mean...can we -” Will nearly chokes on the request, has to wet his dry lips and avert his gaze from the man before him as he struggles for the words. “I’d...like to try something with you. Not - not anything sexual, just -”

“A simple scene to put you at ease,” Hannibal provides kindly, and his warm and gentle voice draws Will’s gaze nearly against his will. His expression is soft and fond, the thumb stroking across his cheek tender and familiar. “I think you would benefit from a Dominant showing you care, dear Will. True care. I’d like to feed you tonight. And I’d like for you to accept this gesture of provision while you sit safe and comfortable in my lap.”

Will’s mouth gapes and closes soundlessly, unable to form words in response to the confident declaration and plan provided for him. All he can do is work to close his slack jaw and nod his consent silently before following Hannibal into the dining room.

The table is long and resplendent, with an ostentatious centerpiece crowding the middle of it, room enough for at least a dozen inhabitants. Despite this, Hannibal sets both of their plates at the head of the table and then pulls out the chair at that seat before primly taking his place and beckoning Will forward.

Will eases his weight across the Dominant’s legs cautiously, as though Hannibal will realize at any moment that Will is far too big for such an act and ask him to cease immediately. But he doesn’t, merely looping a casual but firm arm around his middle to hold him in place and pull him to relax the rest of his weight against Hannibal’s torso.

“There we are,” Hannibal murmurs, sounding undeniably and inexplicably pleased at this outcome. “Comfortable, sweet boy?”

“Yeah,” Will murmurs, even as he self-consciously shifts his weight, silently hoping to find a position in which Hannibal needn’t bear the full brunt of his inexperience and neediness. “It’s...yeah, this is fine.”

Hannibal doesn’t concern himself with Will’s uncertainty, simply plucks up one of the forks set out by their dishes and loads a bite onto it. Will’s cheeks flash warm when the Dominant actually blows gently on the steaming morsel before raising it to Will’s mouth.

“Veal and saffron risotto. A rather savory dish, but not too heavy. Appropriate for the turning weather,” he announces as Will accepts the bite and chews it thoughtfully.

“It’s amazing,” Will murmurs as he swallows his bite, eagerly opening his mouth for the second even as the heat in his cheeks seeps down his neck. It’s a slightly awkward affair, just in the way of being so incredibly foreign, but it’s also difficult to feel properly embarrassed when tasting something so delicate and refined. “College kids don’t get to eat like this. You’d be repulsed if you knew what my breakfast and lunch consisted of, I bet.”

His stomach gives a pleasant twist when Hannibal turns his face to briefly nuzzle into Will’s neck. “Please don’t tell me.” He pulls away from the intimate gesture just as quickly as he initiated it, setting the fork in his hand down gently and plucking up a slice of baguette with a tomato and herb salsa topping it. 

“Balsamic bruschetta,” he describes as it too is brought to Will’s mouth. Will takes a delicate bite of the bread and nearly moans over Hannibal’s next words. “Tomato jam, basil, garlic and balsamic dressing on toasted french bread.”

“God, that’s incredible,” Will sighs upon swallowing his mouthful, licking his lips to chase the balsamic reduction that lingers there.

“What would you like next, sweet thing?”

Will immediately turns bashful as control is turned over to him, ducking his head and squirming slightly in Hannibal’s warm lap. “Risotto, please.”

He settles, eventually, the silence surprisingly unstrained between them for the first few minutes while Will adjusts and fidgets and then finally allows himself to be held and fed. The food is divine, and Will loses himself for a while indulging in its decadence. 

“Would you like some wine?” Hannibal’s voice breaks through the silence and Will’s breath gets caught in his throat on a gasp. He finishes chewing and nods softly, cheeks flaming when he swallows and nearly immediately Hannibal has a wine glass in offering against his mouth. 

He opens and sips, Hannibal careful to give him enough to taste and enjoy but not too much to cause embarrassment or to stain his chin. He licks his lips thoughtfully, tasting the various undertones of the wine. He’d had a Dominant once who was a wine connoisseur, but he was certain the man paled in comparison to Hannibal’s wine cellar. 

“Is that vanilla?” Will comments, and he can practically feel the pleased purr Hannibal rumbles out. 

“Quite right. This particular wine is plum with hints of smoke, vanilla and red currants. Do you drink much wine, Will?” 

Will blushes again, this time at the implications. Drinking always feels a bit thrilling to him, even after all the times he’s partaken, due to his age. This feels like an elevated version of that, exciting and mildly mortifying. “I, uh, knew someone once who loved wine. We’d always drink before and after a scene.” He cringes, realizing his misstep. He hadn’t intended to mention scening, but there it was, out on the floor. 

“Ah. A prior Dominant, then?” Hannibal didn’t comment on the safety concerns drinking before a scene conjured to mind, glaring red flags for most had been normal behavior for Will. He knows now that it hadn’t been a healthy relationship, that the Dom hadn’t treated him well. Or at least, he knows that in theory. It’s easy to accept what you’ve been told by others, and far more difficult to internalize it. 

He worries that a part of him will always feel like he deserves the shitty Dominants, that there’s something innately about him that calls out to those men like a siren call. 

“I know it isn’t safe, but it helped calm us both. He was into some pretty heavy stuff, I think he got nervous -” Will was rambling, he knew he was, but thankfully Hannibal’s warm palm resting solidly against his stomach moved up to his chest, caressing him softly, and brought him back from his spiraling. 

“Darling, you aren’t at fault for the bad choices of your past Dominants. You are a good submissive, you’ve sat so wonderfully for me this evening, perfectly obedient and trusting.” Hannibal pauses then, and Will is tempted to turn towards him so he can see his eyes and figure out what he’s thinking. “Perhaps you’ll indulge me after dinner? Accompany me to my study for a nightcap?” 

Will nods his acceptance even as the more skeptical part of him wonders if it’s such a good idea. He pushes the negative thought away, grounding himself on what he’s observed from the evening so far. 

Hannibal doesn’t seem to be salacious or overly-friendly in any regard other than ensuring Will feels safe and pampered. He hasn’t as yet encouraged Will to overindulge in his drinking, the wine offered to him seemingly more a compliment to their meal than being used to lull him into complacency. He’s also offered Will sips of water, in fact, which makes Will feel even more certain in his assumption that Hannibal doesn’t want him drunk or even tipsy.

The aforementioned nightcap is a simple port, and a modest amount at that. The paltry offering only further soothes Will’s lingering suspicions, and he accepts the glass by its delicate stem and takes a small sip of the rich contents, confident the Dominant merely holds to a traditional and worldly view of dinner as an experience to be relished rather than a simple moment of sustenance.

“If you’d like to continue,” Hannibal offers softly as Will strolls around the edges of the room and takes in the impressive collection of books and artifacts that span the walls, “I thought perhaps I could read to you.”

Will latches on to the suggestion immediately, already fuzzy with the notion of Hannibal’s low and smoky accent purring words for his pleasure alone. “Do you want me to sit on your lap again?” It feels less of a question and more of a hopeful suggestion. 

He tries not to feel disappointed when Hannibal responds, “No.” Though the word is almost immediately followed by words carefully selected and offered, Hannibal’s features both confident and testing. “I thought perhaps, for this, you would kneel for me.”

“Oh,” the suggestion punches the breath from Will’s lungs, his cheeks burning hot once more even as his stomach twists pleasantly at the idea. “I - uh, yeah. O-okay, I can.”

“Only if you feel comfortable doing so,” Hannibal amends, and Will’s skin flames hotter still when he chances a glance to the Dominant before eagerly seeking the wall next to him.

“No, yeah, I mean. Yeah, that...that’s something I’d like to try, I think.” Will feels like he might simply combust when he sees the pride shining in Hannibal’s eyes, and he has to look away. He’s never had a Dominant look at him like that, like he’d done something right, especially from so little effort. 

“Why don’t you go get settled; the chair by the fire should do.” Hannibal wanders away, standing in front of the wall of books while Will turns on his heel and walks back towards the chair. 

He falls to his knees, a thick rug framing the chair so he’s not terribly uncomfortable, and stares into the empty fireplace. Hannibal interrupts his eyeline soon enough, bending at the waist to light the fire. The warmth stretches across the hardwood and seeps into the carpet, crawling into Will’s bones and putting him even more at ease. 

Will leans his cheek against the upholstered arm of the chair, and Hannibal tuts gently at him when he sees him. “I will procure you a pillow, darling. I plan to keep you here for a bit.” Will smiles, a little lopsided, at the genuine show of care and regard. Not for the first time he’s hit with the realization that Hannibal is a good Dominant. He’s not some untested, hamfisted Dom floundering for control. Everything Hannibal does is meticulous and controlled, he has total ownership of his entire life. It fills Will with an easy confidence, soothing his nerves. Hannibal’s in control, everything will be fine. 

When Hannibal returns he has an ornate, but surprisingly soft pillow, and he instructs Will to lift up enough to slip it beneath his knees, cushioning them further from the floor. “Thank you, Da- Sir,” Will flushes anew, looking hard down at the floor and hoping desperately Hannibal didn’t hear his slip. They haven’t even discussed details of their relationship yet, not gone over preferred honorifics or kinks. Just because they met on a Sugar Baby website doesn’t mean Hannibal enjoys being referred to as such. 

It seems Hannibal did not miss Will’s stumble, and he hooks his palm beneath Will’s chin and forces his gaze up until blue eyes meet amber. “I don’t think that’s what you were trying to say, sweet boy. What did you want to call me?” Hannibal is smiling, and he just looks so fond it settles Will’s roiling stomach and he clears his throat. 

“Daddy.” 

Hannibal hums in response, settling into the chair and pulling Will closer so his cheek is resting against Hannibal’s outer thigh, the book sitting on the opposite knee. “Your desires are perfect and valid, darling. We already know you enjoy when I call you my sweet, good boy. It’s a natural progression. You see me as an authority figure who provides stability and care. And I am happy to provide it, I’m honored you feel comfortable with me.” 

Will’s cheeks still flame, but he feels calmer already, as though saying the word aloud has given him the opportunity to lift a weight from his chest and feel more confident in what they’re building. And they are building something, their relationship already with more depth than any of his previous Dominants. They haven’t even had sex yet and it’s already so good, just sitting together in the same room so intimate it feels like a caress over sensitive skin. 

He settles more comfortably against Hannibal, and Hannibal’s fingers find his curls and caress through them until his palm finally settles against Will’s nape, one of his fingers sliding down along Will’s pulse; checking his heart rate, Will is certain. 

“Would you like for me to read now?” Will smiles, hiding his face against Hannibal’s thigh, the other man’s pants so soft against his red cheeks. “I’m afraid I’ll need to hear an affirmative, sweetheart.” 

Will’s stomach clenches at that new endearment, something he’s never even considered before, but it feels so right with Hannibal’s smoky accent wrapping around it. “Yes please, Daddy.” Will murmurs, and Hannibal rewards him with a gentle scritching against his scalp. 

“Good boy. We’re reading Dante’s Inferno tonight, in the original Latin.” Will nearly rolls his eyes - of course they are - but he hums instead, sliding his cheek across Hannibal’s pants just to feel how soft they are. 

Hannibal starts soon after, his voice a perfect cadence, soothing and evocative in equal measures. Will feels himself sinking into it nearly immediately, and time starts to get fuzzy, his thoughts like warm honey coursing through his brain and his breathing evening out until he feels nearly on the edge of sleep. 

“Will?” Hannibal speaking directly to him pulls at something in the back of Will’s mind, but he remains floating, safe and content where he’s cuddling Hannibal’s thigh like a body pillow. Hannibal’s fingers move down his neck to hook beneath his chin, lifting his face up so Hannibal can gaze down at him, a small smile on his lips. 

“Are you floating, darling? You look beautifully blissful.” Hannibal observes, and Will wants to reply, he does, but his tongue feels as thick and heavy as his thoughts, slow to move and slower still to form words. “I think it might be best for you to stay the night in my guest room so I can keep an eye on you.” 

Between one blink and the next Will is being nestled into deliciously soft sheets, cool against his warm skin from being so close to the fire, and so close to the heat seemingly radiating off his Daddy. 

Daddy. The word floats around in his head like dandelion fluff, weightless and never stopping long enough to fully sink in. He feels like  he’s simultaneously burning and cool and silk, and he doesn’t try to dwell too long on any one particular thing. He’s certain he returns his Daddy’s smile when he looks down at him with one of his own, because the other man’s grin only grows more broad as he cups Will’s face in his strong, broad palm and caresses along his jaw. 

“Goodnight, my good boy. You’ve done so well tonight, I’m so proud of you.” The words take a few seconds to assemble in Will’s mind, but once they finally make sense, he feels a pulse of pleasure deep in his gut, and his throat feels warm with the affectionate praise. 

He closes his eyes even before the lights go off in the room, and sinks effortlessly into sleep. 

It feels like only seconds have passed when he’s awoken by the soft susurrous of the door opening, Hannibal nearly silent like a jungle cat as he peers into the room. Will makes a rumbling, plaintive sound in his throat as Hannibal starts to turn back around, and the Dominant stalls, looking at Will through the darkness. 

He approaches on quiet, sure feet, picking his way through the shadows easier than breathing, more than familiar with his space. He stops at the edge of the bed, a curious look on his features as Will looks up at him through the corner of one half open eye. “Are you alright, Will? I was just coming to check that you were still sleeping soundly.” 

Will’s chest aches with how careful and thoughtful Hannibal is, how well he cares for him, as though Will were something precious and rare rather than a broken, sorry excuse for a submissive. He pushes those thoughts away quickly, still floating too securely to let them touch him, and reaches out a hand to wrap around Hannibal’s wrist, tugging lightly. 

Hannibal hesitates at first, and Will tugs again, a little whine slipping out of his throat. “Come to bed, Daddy. Hold me?” 

“Will,” the Dominant begins, warm and gentle; hesitant. “You’re still in a space where you can’t completely consent -”

“Just hold me,” Will insists sleepily, and this time when he tugs again, tacking on a soft please on the breath of a sigh, Hannibal’s body is pulled into motion.

He shushes Will as he carefully climbs over him, slipping beneath the covers as Will hazily attempts to decide if he wants to feel his Daddy’s form curled protectively around him as they spoon or turn around so he can curl up into the man’s chest. 

Hannibal makes the decision for him, looping his arms around Will’s middle almost chastely and pulling him back to rest against Hannibal’s chest. Will immediately melts into the solid warmth of the body behind him, feeling impossibly safe and held with this man that is still a relative stranger to him; with this Dominant that makes him feel as though none before him has - cherished, protected, worthy.

He releases another sleepy, breathy sigh when he feels Hannibal’s nose tuck into the curls behind his ear and hears the man claim a deep, steady inhale of Will, his own released breath something akin to a satisfied sigh before he places a chaste and tender kiss to the nape of Will’s neck and then snuggles his face into the pillow behind Will’s head.

Will wants to say something - anything - to show his appreciation, his contentment. His gratitude. He forces his sluggish mind to run through his options, phrases he can speak even with his voice thick with sleep. He gets as far as axing the rather obvious this feels nice as a simple thank you, Daddy takes the lead in his internal debate, but his eyes grow heavier, his body lax and drifting, and the next time Will’s lips part it’s simply to give one more soft exhale as he falls back into sleep.

Chapter Text

“These are all so amazing,” Will’s voice is breathless in his wonder, his crystalline blue eyes wide and darting from piece to piece as they stroll through the exhibit. Hannibal might even agree with him, if he could keep his attention focused on anything but the young man at his side.

But Will is so entirely beautiful, so enthusiastic and awed as they move through the installation the Baltimore Art Society is hosting this month, that Hannibal can barely be bothered to pull his gaze away except to observe the pieces that capture Will’s attention the longest.

“To think they’re all local. Like. All this talent is sitting right here in Baltimore. I mean -” Will whirls around to face Hannibal, and Hannibal does his best to pretend as though his gaze had been resting somewhere other than the brightness of Will’s smile. “What the hell are all these people doing in Baltimore? They should be in New York, or, or -”

“Baltimore has its own rich culture of the Arts, sweet boy,” Hannibal reminds him. “Surely you understand this, given your decision to enroll here.”

“My decision was prompted more from a financial aspect than a cultural one,” Will admits, his voice lowered to ensure the conversation stays between the two of them. “Baltimore offered me a scholarship. And the cost of living here is like... way less than New York City. I could hardly turn it down.”

“I’m so very glad you didn’t,” Hannibal interjects, finally relenting to the desire to reach forward to push away the wild curls that have spilled across Will’s forehead. The blush that floods and pinkens Will’s cheeks is unfathomably alluring, and Hannibal has to actively remind himself this boy is not officially his yet; that he can’t simply press forward to feel the heat of Will’s flesh against his lips at his leisure, or taste the enticing flush with a quick slip of his tongue.

He drops his gaze from Hannibal’s, ducking his head as he so often does when he’s complimented and praised, and the action only furthers Hannibal’s desire to rain even more upon him, until the shy boy grows accustomed to the positive reinforcement and then craves it. Seeks it.

He looks as though he’s about to respond, with shy reluctance but possessed by politeness, no doubt, when the private bubble they’d found themselves ensconced within shatters with a single, amazed word.

“Hannibal?”

Hannibal pulls his attention from the blushing boy before him to locate the source of his name, his annoyance at having their moment interrupted dulled slightly when he discovers who the interloper is.

“As I live and breathe, Hannibal Lecter!” Diane Komeda announces as though she’d just seen god himself. The frail woman struts forward and seizes Hannibal’s hands with her own in a proprietary fashion, bending forward to ghost kisses to each of his cheeks before pulling back and pinning him with a reproachful glare.

“You have been conspicuously absent from productions this year! Don’t think I haven’t noticed, darling. And, of course, there’s something to be said for the lack of invitations stuffing my postbox recently…”

“Work and extracurricular activities have kept me from the opera this season,” Hannibal admits with mostly genuine lament. He adores having met Will, of course - and eagerly agrees to any and all days the young man might be available for company - and that has bled into more than one missed performance at the Baltimore Opera House. All the same, he can’t say he completely regrets allowing the opportunities to pass him by. 

What he would truly appreciate would be the opportunity to get Will dressed up, to have his boy on his arm to enjoy the opera alongside him and, afterwards, inevitably and completely unintentionally charm any and all they might speak to.

“I see you have a companion this evening,” Diane notes with a sharp and playful glance from Hannibal to Will and back again. “Might this charming thing be part of these extracurricular activities you speak of?”

“Diane, this is Will Graham. Will, Diane Komeda. A good friend and my own personal confidant on the board of the organization that is putting on this exhibition tonight.”

Will extends his hand politely and offers a soft greeting, but Hannibal can’t help but notice the way he presses slightly closer to the man at his side, the tension falling from him when Hannibal places a comforting hand to his lower back.

“What a charming young man. You must share Hannibal’s interest in the Arts, then, if he’s convinced you to join him at this stuffy, old event,” Diane demures.

“My darling Will is a sculptor.” Hannibal interjects proudly, takes pleasure in seeing Will, flustered and sweetly flushed at the words, skin the color of pomegranate seeds as his cheeks flame. 

“Student.” He corrects shyly, looking down at the floor. And that just won’t do, Hannibal wants Will to feel as confident in himself as Hannibal feels about him, and the emotion hits him suddenly, a sharp realization that his fondness might have more weight to it than originally realized. 

Before he can combat Will’s volley, Mrs. Komeda fills the void, growing characteristically enthusiastic. “Oh! We host a student art exhibit twice a year; you simply must submit something, darling. The next one is in the New Year, just after the start of term. Oh, you will enter, won’t you? If you’ve caught Hannibal’s discerning eye you must be something quite wondrous.” 

“He truly is a thing of beauty.” Hannibal praises, and Diane chuckles, a hand landing on his arm as her smile grows conspiratorial. 

“You are well and truly smitten, my dear. I’ve never seen you like this! I expect that postbox of mine will be quite full in the near future with invitations to all the dinner parties this sweet creature will inspire. At the very least we should get together for a more private affair. I’ll bring my own submissive as well; oh, Lukas and Will would get along marvellously, I’m sure.” 

Will pales slightly at the prospect, an observation not lost on the bubbly Dominant before them; she shifts the conversation with a seamless transition and endless poise, ushering them towards the lounge for refreshments before Hannibal can even hope to respond to her rather overt show of interest in Will. She kisses them both boldly on the cheek and gives them some privacy, knowing they will most likely need to discuss what comes next for the evening.

Hannibal would like to reassure the beautiful, uncertain creature beside him, explain that he needn’t attend a dinner party - or any function, for that matter - just to make Hannibal happy if he himself would be uncomfortable. Before he can attempt any reassurance, however, Will is turning to face him fully, swaying closer to erase the gap between him and ducking his head closer to Hannibal’s neck.

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed,” he admits softly, and Hannibal is pained to hear it, an assurance that it’s perfectly fine if Will wishes to depart now on the tip of his tongue before his beautiful boy adds, on a shy, uncertain whisper, “I think I’d like to kneel for you again.”

Hannibal swallows around the lump in his throat, his chest expanding and filling with warmth at the idea that Will has not only begun to learn and understand his body’s tells and urges, but seeks to fill them with Hannibal, to find safety in his presence.

Dinner is a perfect experience, Will kneeling quietly by his side and gratefully accepting small bites of food from Hannibal’s hand, and smiling sweetly up at him when Hannibal leans low to whisper words of praise and appreciation into his ear. 

These sorts of parties are a dance of sorts, progressing from one step to the next gracefully and fluidly, and it isn’t long before they’re having a digestif in the parlor room, cigar smoke spicy and pungent as it hangs in the air around them. 

There are roughly a dozen Dominants and their submissives in various states of undress and stance, some kneeling like Will while others function as furniture for their Dominant’s to rest their feet on, or stand silently behind their chairs holding their tumblers. Hannibal watches as condensation beads against the glass of his drink, spilling down Will’s fingers to glisten like diamonds in the low light of the room. Hannibal winds a hand in the boy’s curls, gone a bit unruly as the evening has progressed, and he smiles when he sees Will shift into the touch, nuzzling gently against Hannibal’s palm. 

“Sweet thing, you’ve performed so well for me tonight. I’m unbelievably proud.” Hannibal doesn’t try to hide the fondness in his voice or to lower his tone, and his friend and colleague, Bedelia Du Maurier, takes notice, a smile unraveling on her perfectly red painted lips. 

“Hannibal, I must say you’ve found yourself quite the boy.” Her own submissive, Anthony, chances a glance to the side from where he’s bent on all fours, the black and red leather of Bedelia’s designer heels shining where they perch against his back. 

Hannibal hums his agreement, wrapping his fingers beneath Will’s chin and tilting his face up, tracing a thumb beneath Will’s eye and watching them close, his lashes casting long shadows down his flushed cheeks. The slip of sea glass he sees in them before they flutter shut appears glassy; Will is content but not under as he’d been for Hannibal the first night he’d kneeled for him. 

He can’t help but notice the way Will’s body shuffles restlessly from time to time even as he melts into Hannibal’s tender touches, having grown attuned to the submissive’s presence and needs with alarming swiftness. He files away with displeasure a note to speak to Diane regarding the distinct lack of cushions available at the soiree - an absence one floating in subspace would have tuned out completely, but not so for his darling Will. He must be feeling the ache in his knees terribly, and Hannibal twines his fingers into the soft curls at the nape of his boy’s neck, scratching gently at his scalp until Will deciphers the touch for the beckon it is and blinks up blearily at him.

“Are you uncomfortable, sweet boy?”

Will’s eyebrows twitch into the ghost of a frown, the subtle blush that has so far graced his round cheeks darkening. “I like kneeling for you,” he responds, his voice a soft rasp from disuse.

“A pleasure to hear,” Hannibal informs him, “But not at all what I asked you. Come here, darling.” He urges the submissive to rise and Will does so, actions slow and stiff, taking great care not to disturb Hannibal’s drink as he pushes himself to his feet.

He’s wonderfully pliant from there, allowing Hannibal to pull him nearer, slipping sideways onto his lap with no other instruction than Hannibal uncrossing his legs, brilliantly intuitive to his Dominant’s unspoken request. He allows Will to keep hold of his drink, aware the act of servitude will be a comfort in the face of the one he’s just lost, and makes great use of both free hands as he applies slow, soothing strokes up and down Will’s spine with one and pets lightly at the boy’s thigh with the other.

He devotes his attention wholly to the lovely thing in his lap until the tension begins to unspool from Will’s body and he grows lax, leaning his weight against Hannibal’s chest and keeping his drink propped up on his knee. His curls are tucked just under Hannibal’s chin as Will rests against him, and it settles something within the Dominant to have the boy so content, warm and heavy and so very present against him.

When he’s certain Will can retain his relaxed state without Hannibal’s active ministrations, he turns his attention back to Bedelia and resumes their conversation as though it had never been interrupted.

“The two of you just returned from Italy, didn’t you? Tell me, how did you find Florence?”

---

Will feels warm, safe, and happier than he has ever been with any Dom before Hannibal. His bones feel like goop, his knees wobbly rubber when he finally slides from Hannibal’s lap. He leans against the wall for support while he waits for Hannibal to collect their coats, and when Hannibal returns to him it’s with a blinding smile, pleasure and pride shining in his amber eyes. 

“You know you’re buying me ice cream now, right?” The words spill out before he can even contemplate rethinking them, and he blushes deeply and looks at the floor. What happened to the days when he shuddered thinking about being given things? He barely recognized himself sometimes lately, though he couldn’t say that was always a bad thing. 

When he chances a shy glance up to the man before him, Will is relieved to see the Dominant appears amused more than anything by the demand.

“Am I now? Why, perchance, would I purchase you a sugary travesty when we had dessert mere hours ago?” Hannibal helps Will into his coat and offers his arm, leading him through the thinning crowd and towards the exit. 

Will finally replies once they’re outside, finely dressed men and women spilling out across the Baltimore sidewalk like precious gemstones. “Dessert was stuffed dates. Dates, Hannibal.” 

“Yes, the mascarpone was a bit dry.” Hannibal flashes him a conspiratorial smile and Will rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh. He can see Hannibal nearly preening from the corner of his eye, has noticed the Dominant with a similar look on his angular features anytime he realizes he’s made Will happy. It sets something ablaze in Will’s stomach to consider how much Hannibal cares for him already, how the other man works so tirelessly and seemingly effortlessly to make Will’s life easier and full of joy. 

Conversely, the shadow of doubt that dwells nearly constantly in the back of his mind begins to nibble at Will’s contentment, reminding him that this is too good, that it can’t possibly keep going the way it has been, if past experience is any indication. Will pushes away the intrusive thoughts resolutely; it’s hardly fair to measure Hannibal against the failures of his past Doms, not when the man has more than exceeded his expectations and gone out of his way to ensure Will’s comfort with seemingly no expectations in return.

Will cuts another look at him when he doesn’t continue, and Hannibal laughs. “Fine, you absolute terror. Let’s go get ice cream.” 

There’s a small shop just off campus that Will favors, not only because it’s owned and operated by a rather nice family but because it offers a ridiculous variety of flavors that alternate on a regular basis. Hannibal gets a plain scoop of vanilla ice cream in a cup, but Will doesn’t even pause to be embarrassed as he piles his rocky road and cake batter ice cream with nearly every topping in the little shop.

“If you’ll dare to eat such a concoction in front of me, I shudder to think what you might get up to when I’m not around,” the older man informs him with a slight grimace as he pays for their selections.

Will smiles around the spoon he’d just shoved into his mouth, eyes sparkling as he plucks the ten dollar bill Hannibal had just been handed in change and tucks it into the tip jar on the counter. He swipes his tongue over his lips to collect any stray chocolate sauce, his stomach buzzing pleasantly when Hannibal’s eyes track the motion intently.

“Guess you’ll just have to be around a bit more often then, won’t you?” He teases brazenly.

The Dominant scowls at him playfully, his free hand finding Will’s lower back and gently guiding him toward the exit. “You dare to shame me for my lack of presence but don’t forget, dear Will, that it’s your schedule gumming up the works more often than not.”

He has a point, and even though he’s not actually attempting to bust Will’s balls over it, Will feels heat creep up his neck all the same. Already Will has come to understand how much more time he wishes he could spend with the Dominant - his Daddy - and knows the only thing keeping them apart is Will’s stubborn refusal to relinquish the security he finds in keeping his multiple jobs, his hesitancy to instead place that trust and security in Hannibal .

There’s been more than one instance of Will contemplating calling in to get out of his shifts in favor of seeing Hannibal instead, but that shadow in his mind always fills him with doubt before he can ever make the phone call. Maybe next time, he had thought the first time he’d denied himself the urge, then we’re already understaffed, the next time the fancy had nearly taken him.

It’s been easy to find an excuse not to follow through on taking time off, let alone leaving his jobs entirely, but at Hannibal’s words - soft and understanding, with no pressure within them at all except for the ache they instill deeply within him, Will wonders if it might not just be better to take the plunge. He can always get another job if he needs to, after all; perhaps even return to his current work, if he leaves on good terms.

He’s so lost in these thoughts as he stabs idly at the ice cream in his dish that Will mistakes Hannibal’s gesture of opening the door as an invitation and blindly strolls through it just as another person is entering. Will jerks to a stop, pulling his treat closer to him so it doesn’t end up all over the front of the boy he’s nearly just collided with, and feels embarrassment and anxiety flush through him anew when he realizes  the newest patron of the shop is none other than Matthew Brown.

“Will? What are you doing?” Matty asks, as though he’s shocked to see Will outside of campus and doubly so to see him with a distinguished - obviously wealthy - older man. Hannibal doesn’t lord his money over other people, but there are some things about him that can’t be overlooked; his obviously bespoke suit being one of them. 

Matthew eyes Hannibal up and down, appraising him in such a hamfisted way that Will feels his cheeks prick with embarrassment, before finally settling on the hand that is still plastered to Will’s lower back. “Matty, this is my Da - Dom - Hannibal. Hannibal, Matthew Brown, a fellow classmate.”

Matt gives an annoying, low whistle, a smarmy smile on his face. “Will Graham with a Dom? Have to admit I never thought I’d see the day. This is a feisty one, Hannibal, you sure you’ve got a firm enough hand to keep him in line? You look like you’d be the spoiling type, ruin a perfectly good submissive.” 

Hannibal’s hand glides up Will’s spine to stroke through his curls, scratching gently at his scalp. “I adore spoiling him when he’s so well behaved. He deserves it. My lovely boy knows just how to bend me to his will, don’t you, darling?” The last is directed to Will, Hannibal’s head ducking down to murmur demurely against Will’s temple. It’s a display that might have caused Will embarrassment or annoyance with past Doms, but with Hannibal’s gentle touch and warm, rich words flooding Will’s ear, he finds himself nearly floating again in the haze of pride that sweeps through him.

“I’ve never been a fan of the firm hand theory,” Hannibal continues as he straightens, directing this explanation to the Dominant before them. “Will and I subscribe to a more peaceful lifestyle, one where we both feel secure in our respective places within the relationship. I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Will floating in the serenity of his sub space, lost in a haze of contented stillness where everything goes quiet and peaceful.” 

Will chances a glance up from the ice cream melting in his hand to Matty, flushing once more at the inquisitive and envious gaze his dark eyes have pinned on him. “I could have been sweet with you, if you’d told me that’s what you wanted.”

“I - I didn’t know -” Will stammers, anxiety twisting in his gut the longer he stands before the Dominant who’s been doggedly pursuing him since their freshman year. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, dealing with Matty and his unrequited attraction. He just wants to be alone with Hannibal, wants that warm buzzing feeling back, flooding every inch of his body, every dark corner of his mind until there’s nothing but nothing. “We weren’t even -”

“This is hardly appropriate,” Hannibal cuts in, his hand smoothing down the curls at the nape of Will’s neck before giving him a soft, reassuring squeeze. “Will owes you no explanation for his life choices and is obviously uncomfortable with this topic. Now, I believe you were entering this establishment for a particular reason, and we were just leaving. If you’ll excuse us.”

Hannibal ushers Will around where Matty is still standing frozen in the doorway, resuming the warm, reassuring strokes down his spine as they stroll away down the sidewalk. “I’m sorry you had to bear witness to me losing my temper like that, Will,” Hannibal informs him softly after they’ve put a half a block between them and the ice cream parlor and come to stand next to Hannibal’s Bentley. “It’s very frustrating for me to see young Dominants with such misguided notions. It’s no wonder you sought out a more seasoned Dominant, if that’s the sort of behavior you’ve encountered thus far-”

The press of Will’s lips silences Hannibal’s; they’re soft and cold and taste like vanilla. Hannibal’s mouth slackens at the contact, but doesn’t seek to deepen the kiss beyond the chaste gesture Will has instigated. Hannibal’s amber eyes are dark when Will pulls away, and warmth fills him against the cold sting of Autumn air.

“Thank you.” Will wants to say more, wants to explain how much it means to him that Hannibal just stood up for him, that he’s so innately different from everything Will’s had before and how he’s - Will’s coming to realize with increasing clarity - everything he needs. But his tongue is frozen as he gazes up at his Daddy, strong and sure and gazing back at Will like he hung the damn moon, and all Will can manage is another soft thank you.

Hannibal’s lips twist into a fond smile, his free hand raising to brush tenderly across Will’s cheek in silent response before turning away to open the passenger door for him. They are silent on the way back to Will’s dorm, the low hum of Classical music and the soft slurps of Will enjoying his ice cream the only noise between them, and Will spends the time thinking about how effortlessly Hannibal has attuned to him and his needs.

He thinks about more evenings like this, and what mornings with his Daddy might be like as well.

He thinks about security and failsafes, shows of trust and leaps of faith, and thinks it might be about time to take one.

---

By hour three of studying for his calculus final Will is so unbearably bored and ready for a distraction that he’d have answered his phone on the second ring even if he hadn’t known it was Hannibal calling. He stutters out a nearly breathless hello, his heart beating an erratic cadence against his ribs as soon as he hears the personalized ringtone he’d set for his Daddy.

“Good evening, sweet boy,” Hannibal greets, and Will’s stomach twists at the term of endearment. The man had realized with embarrassing swiftness how affected Will was by such words, by even the hint of praise being offered, and he uses the knowledge against Will mercilessly and at every chance. “I hope I’m not interrupting you?”

“You are, but I’m extremely grateful for it,” Will admits. “My last final is tomorrow and with nothing else to concentrate on I’ve been forcing myself into productivity. I think I’ve read through my notes three times over now, but I still can’t help but feel like I’m not prepared in the least.”

“With your clever mind, I have no doubt you are more than capable.” Hannibal’s confidence and praise makes Will squirm in seat, cheeks warm. “I could offer another distraction, though if you feel you need to concentrate on your studies I certainly understand -”

“No,” Will denies immediately. “No, I need a break. Tell me.” It’s been a few weeks since the art exhibit, and with finals and winter break looming Will’s only been able to see Hannibal a few times a week for all-too brief dinners, many of them needing to be at little dives on campus to accommodate his hectic schedule.

He can hear the smile curling Hannibal’s words, can see it in his mind, and his breath catches. “A home visit to my final patient of the day finds me in your area. I thought perhaps an impromptu visit -”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, cutting the Dominant off once more. He flushes at the sound of Hannibal’s warm chuckle in his ear. “Yes,” he says again after a steadying breath. “Please come over. When can I expect you?”

“I’m approximately ten minutes away.” 

Will blanches as his eyes make a sweep across his filthy bedroom. “Sounds great. Just...let me know when you get here.” He wonders if Hannibal can hear the sudden strain in his voice, the anxiety swelling up within him. If he does, he doesn’t comment on it, merely wishes Will farewell and ends the call.

Will is on his feet immediately, hastily scooping up the dirty clothes strewn across his floor and bed and depositing them in his stuffed full hamper. He curses as he shoves the items deeper, cramming the new articles inside and then immediately opening the window sitting above it. It’s damn-near freezing out, but Will is suddenly certain his room smells like a college frat house stereotype, and he cringes thinking about Hannibal’s refined sense of smell.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he tidies up, looking like a frenzied transient in the rumpled t-shirt he’s worn for the last two days. He strips it off and buries it with its brothers within the hamper, moving to his closet to pull out one of the few button-downs he’d allowed Hannibal to purchase for him. He hadn’t exactly been a fan of the whole model it all clothes shopping experience, but there were a few items Will had grown partial to from the endeavor - the striking azure collared shirt being one of them. 

Every time he looks at it he remembers the way Hannibal froze entirely when Will stepped out of the dressing room; all but his eyes, which roved up and down Will’s form with appreciation and something akin to hunger. Every time Will wears it he remembers that moment, remembers the way he stood before a cultured and refined man like Hannibal and captured the entirety of his attention, if only for a moment.

The room looks passably better with the clothes at least out of sight, though the area of his desk is still littered with the debris of a weeks worth of late-night cram sessions and hastily scrawled notes. He makes his bed hastily, the sheets mostly straight, and then gets to work tossing protein bar wrappers, soda cans, and half eaten chip bags into his trashcan. 

He freezes halfway to the kitchenette when he hears a sure, heavy knock reverberate against the suite door. He stares guiltily at the door, as though Hannibal can see through the wood, and he darts the last few steps to toss the bag in a dark corner. “Coming!” 

He’s breathless when he answers the door, his stomach twisting once more when he comes face to face with Hannibal’s warm eyes and fond smile. “Hi.”

“Hello, darling boy.” He steps past Will when invited in, his gaze sweeping the suite, taking in his surroundings. “You’ve more space than I would expect, for a college dorm. Separate rooms?” Hannibal questions, his eyes alighting first on Bev’s door and then on Will’s.

Will huffs a laugh, trying to catch his breath. “My first semester was spent in the sort of room you probably expected; barely big enough to cram two beds and two desks along with two people inside. But my roommate started dating Bev’s and we just sort of swapped once Bev and I became friends. Reba doesn’t mind being stuck with Francis in a tin can all day, and I get to stretch out in my own space when I need to.” He ushers Hannibal toward his room, eyes darting around as they enter to assess it one last time, though there’s little he can do at this point to correct anything he overlooked.

“Chilly in here,” Hannibal observes, and Will flushes and mentally kicks himself for leaving the window open.

“Helps to keep it open when I study.” He lies, en route to close the aforementioned window. “Keeps me alert.”

He turns back to the man to find his own gaze taking in the details of Will’s room, studying every facet of it as though he can learn more about Will’s life by visual osmosis. When his eyes fall upon the expensive painting supplies Will had stashed in the corner - as yet untouched - he feels his cheeks flame even hotter.

“I’ve been really busy with final projects. And studying,” he says by way of explanation for their unused state. He bites back the urge to remind Hannibal he did warn him such an exorbitant purchase would be wasted on him. “When I have time -”

Hannibal’s palm, only slightly chilled from being outside, gently cups his cheek and halts Will’s excuses. The way his thumb strokes Will’s cheekbone feels like a request for silence. “You’ve only had them for a few weeks, Will. I hardly expected you to go home and begin painting that very night. They could sit untouched for years, for all it matters to me,” Hannibal explains. “It simply pleases me to know you have them. Just in case.”

Will blushes further, clearing his throat. “I, um. I actually have a gift for you.” He knows he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t just get it out now. “Sort of. It’s not much…” He goes to his desk and removes the papers from his top drawer, gritting his teeth against the tremble threatening to unsteady his hands as he passes the documents to Hannibal.

Amber eyes gaze curiously down at the top page, sweeping over the contents before moving to examine the page beneath it.

“It’s a copy of my class schedule,” Will explains. “This semester’s and next’s. It’s...my only schedule.” His breath catches when Hannibal’s gaze moves to him, filled with a warmth that sends Will’s entire body buzzing. He’s incredibly intelligent, and surely catches the meaning, but Will finds himself explaining anyway, his mouth refusing to cease moving as his nerves frazzle and fray, his eyes dropping to the papers in Hannibal’s grasp. 

“I put in notice at my jobs. Both of them. I still have a few days left, but as of next week I’ll only need to worry about classes and studying and...and spending time with you.” He takes a breath and forces himself to pull his gaze up to the man before him. “I want to spend more time with you.”

The papers fall from Hannibal’s hands as he steps forward to close the scant distance still remaining between them, his hands cupping Will’s face and lips molding together before the pages even finish fluttering to the floor. 

“You extraordinary creature,” Hannibal breathes against Will’s mouth when he finally pulls away for air, and Will is left gasping, clinging to the other man with clawing fingers. 

They share a heavy look, full of meaning and a mutual understanding, and Hannibal starts walking them back towards Will’s bed. “I’m sorry about the mess…” Will feels flustered, exposed in a way that’s not altogether uncomfortable, but is certainly new. 

“You’re perfect, my sweet thing. Such a good boy for Daddy, hm?” Hannibal smiles, and it's both soothing and full of teeth. Will’s stomach clenches with his desire, and he leans forward to kiss him again, tumbling them onto the thin, narrow mattress. 

“This isn’t how I thought our first time would go.” Will laughs, awkward but somehow reassured by the weight of Hannibal pressing him into the sheets, the room suddenly sweltering even with the winter chill still lingering in the corners. 

Hannibal pulls away from Will then, the eye contact enough to make Will squirm beneath him, but he fights through his embarrassment, unafraid of allowing Hannibal in, and knowing if he were to lose himself in the Dominant he’d still be safe and cared for. 

“We will move at your pace, Will. If you’d rather allow me the honor of laying you out against the silk sheets of my home, I will refrain from ravishing you.” Will can see the words Hannibal is biting back, even in this allowing Will total control of how they proceed, even with how obviously aroused Hannibal is; his desire so clear in his ink-spill pupils and the hard length pressed against Will’s lower abdomen. 

“I want this, want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks, Hannibal.” He wants his Daddy to know how serious he is about this, that it isn’t just another scene to him, but the man’s name still feels awkward falling from his lips. 

It seems to affect Hannibal, though, the Dominant swallowing thickly and closing his eyes for a fraction of a second before he’s looking down at Will and claiming his lips again. His hands fall to Will’s hips to squeeze firmly before sliding up his torso as he slots his body between Will’s eagerly parted legs. Will moans and bucks his hips up against Hannibal’s, groaning at the sensation of their lengths brushing together. 

The fact that he’s affected Hannibal in such a way, that he’s made him hard just through his very existence sends a pulse of arousal low in Will’s gut. His back arches of its own volition when Hannibal’s hands spread out across his chest, breath ripped from his lungs as Hannibal grips at Will’s shirt and tears, renting it open to expose his chest.

“I liked that shirt,” Will’s pout turns breathless as Hannibal’s hot mouth finds one of his nipples and sucks, his fingers eagerly mapping out the shell of Will’s ribcage, his heaving stomach.

“I’ll buy you another,” Hannibal promises in a slurred murmur against Will’s skin as his tongue and lips map out the expanse of his chest. He buries his face in the crook of Will’s neck and breathes deep before his hot, wet tongue darts out to taste him there as well. “I’ll buy you a dozen more.”

Will whimpers as their cocks rub together once more with a smooth roll of Hannibal’s hips and he drops his head back to allow the man greater access to his neck even as his hands come up to tug at Hannibal’s jacket. “Take it off, please,” the words come out as a strangled whine when Hannibal’s fingers find the nipple his mouth has abandoned, “Take it all off. Want to feel you.”

His breath is stolen once more by another searing kiss before Hannibal relents and shifts off of him to comply with his request. Will takes the opportunity to divest himself of his own clothing, throwing the tattered shirt to the floor and eagerly kicking off his jeans and boxers. All the while his eyes rove greedily over new expanses of skin as Hannibal bares it to him.

Vague memories surface in Will’s mind when the pelt of hair across Hannibal’s chest is revealed to him, the hazy recollection of how it felt under his fingertips and cheek when he’d woken that first morning tucked against him, how warm and safe he had felt with his body curled against his Daddy’s as he contemplated skipping his classes for the day and allowing sleep to take him once more. The memory is a comfort in the face of this new intimacy and the only thing that stops Will from shyly averting his eyes when he catches sight of the uncut and rather large cock proudly jutting up between Hannibal’s legs.

His cheeks flame when he thinks about that sinking inside him, and he pushes the thoughts away and reaches out to the Dominant. His mouth goes dry when Hannibal closes the distance between them without hesitation, hunger blazing in his eyes, and slowly sinks back down onto Will’s bed to settle over him again. 

Will’s legs spread for him immediately, framing Hannibal’s hips with his thighs, and when Hannibal dips his head low, Will arches up to meet him partway, moaning into the kiss as Hannibal’s hands card through his curls and pet down his neck.

Will’s own hands reach up to examine Hannibal’s furred chest, fingertips slipping through the surprisingly soft hair before skating higher to strong, broad shoulders. They clamp there tightly when Hannibal’s mouth drops to Will’s neck once more, urging the man closer as he scatters wet, greedy kisses down the column of Will’s throat. A tilt of his hips produces friction between their groins, and Will moans when the action alerts him to how painfully hard he’s grown.

“There’s lube in the drawer to the right.” Will’s voice is a rough, broken thing as he frames the request as an instruction. Then, because he wants to be undeniably clear about what it is he wants, adds breathlessly, “Please touch me.”

Hannibal works quickly with that information, Will still contemplating what it will be like to have the Dominant inside him, to be so connected to one another, that when slick fingers reach between them to stroke against his hole Will keens at the pleasant surprise. He spreads his legs farther, tilting his hips into Hannibal’s touch, and lets out a low whine when one of the fingers breaches his entrance and slips into him easily.

“That’s my good boy,” Hannibal murmurs against Will’s lips as he drinks down Will’s breathy sighs. “So eager to open up for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Will pants, giving his hips an insistent wiggle, “Another please, Daddy. Wanna feel it.”

Will whimpers as Hannibal’s second finger pets teasingly at his rim, the languid thrusting of his finger inside Will never ceasing. “Greedy boy,” his Daddy growls with a soft nip to his chin, but Will doesn’t feel like he’s being chastised. “I think a lesson in patience is in order.”

“I believe you’re the one that used the word ravish earlier,” Will points out, his tone bratty with his incredible lack of patience.

“That was before I saw you laid out for me like a sacrificial offering. Beautiful, tempting young thing. I will take my time with you.”

Will’s half-formed retort likening Hannibal to God dies on his tongue when Hannibal surprises him by pressing into his hole with both fingers the next time he slides in. Will chokes on his surprised gasp and then groans appreciatively, bucking his hips to encourage Hannibal’s touch deeper, faster.

“Of course, I never can deny the things my sweet boy wants, can I?”

“No,” Will agrees breathlessly, another moan punched from his chest when Hannibal’s fingers spear deep and curl against his prostate.

“No, I can’t. I’ll give you everything in my power to give, if you simply ask me for it,” Hannibal promises, showering kisses down Will’s neck and across his chest as he speaks. His fingers stroke against Will’s walls, occasionally spreading to stretch him, but he doesn’t go near Will’s prostate again, despite the way Will’s hips are squirming in an attempt to silently direct him. “My fortune is yours. My devotion, yours. Just tell me what you want, Will, and I’ll do anything to make it happen. To make you happy.”

“Your cock,” Will groans as he finally falls into a rhythm with the movement of Hannibal’s fingers. “Fuck - please, please get inside me.”

Hannibal complies without comment, and though Will requested it, he still gives a small whimper when Hannibal’s fingers leave him. The snap of the lube bottle opening again precedes the wet sound of Hannibal’s hand fisting his considerable cock, preparing himself to enter Will. He pauses as his slick head meets Will’s rim, ignoring Will’s frustrated groan and waiting until he unscrews his clenched eyes and meets Hannibal’s gaze.

“This isn’t a scene, but we can still stop anytime you want to, Will. Please don’t forget that.” He sounds so sincere, so earnest, it makes Will’s heart clench, but he’s desperate, a moan escaping before he can manage to form words.

“Oh God, don’t stop - please, don’t stop,” Will whines as he attempts to tilt himself down onto Hannibal’s thick cock. Hannibal doesn’t move, his eyes glinting mischievously as he watches Will whine and writhe against him. 

“Beautiful boy, you undo me with every plea.” Hannibal keeps on hand on his cock, guiding it torturously slowly past Will’s tight rim, Will’s body sucking him in greedily. Hannibal’s other hand goes to Will’s hip, his fingertips digging in hard enough to leave bone-white impressions behind when he slides them further down, lifting Will so his ass rests against the Dominant’s thighs, his legs hanging off the bed on either side of Hannibal’s body. 

“Daddy, please,” Will begs again, and this time Hannibal finally snaps his hips forward enough to push his cock fully inside, Will accepting him easily, a sigh of relief and pleasure falling from his lips. 

He feels nearly mindless already, and when Hannibal starts to pull back out Will clenches his thighs around the other man, holding him in place even as his walls wrap around him like a vice. Hannibal ceases all movement, watching enraptured as Will moves his body down against Hannibal’s own, and Will feels nearly giddy with pride and arousal and an almost searing level of devotion to this man who’s been so patient and so kind with him, who’s promised him the entire fucking world if only Will might ask for it. 

After what feels like hours of waiting, Will finally feels his ass meet Hannibal’s strong thighs, and he gives himself a moment to rest, basking in the enjoyment of being so desperately full. He’s never felt so full before, no Dominant before Hannibal ever touching him in quite so many places or spreading him open to such an incredible degree. His rim burns with the stretch, too much too fast most likely, but he doesn’t care. He only wants more. 

“Take your time, be a good boy.” Hannibal’s voice breaks through the chaos of sound and sensation and emotion pounding through Will’s mind and he looks up into his Daddy’s eyes and sees nothing but adoration and the dark inky-blackness of arousal flooding his usually whiskey warmed eyes. Will is certain his own eyes are reflecting the same overwhelming feelings, his entire body alight with desire and pure, unadulterated need. 

“I need more, want to feel you now and until my exams are finished. Until the holidays are over” The words come out on a moan, but Will manages a playful wink up at his - his - Dominant, pulling a startled laugh from the man filling up the space above him as well as he’s filling Will’s body. 

“Sweet thing, who’s to say I won’t be inside of you every day between now and the end of time? I would have you just like this, pliant and beautiful and rapturous in your ecstasy forever and I feel I would always remember this time, would never have drunk my fill of you.” 

Even though his words are teasing, Will can hear the truth in them, and Hannibal’s hips never cease their movement, if anything his Daddy acquiesces to Will’s plea and fucks into him deeper, though no less worshipfully. Between one slow thrust in and the next, Hannibal shifts his body lower, effectively pinning him to the bed and giving Hannibal’s mouth free access to every inch of Will’s skin it can reach. He immediately takes advantage of this new position by pressing wet, tender kisses across Will’s chest, up the column of his throat, pausing in his trail only to murmur soft words between one greedy taste and the next.

Will can’t parse out the foreign words spilling from Hannibal's tongue, can barely even concentrate on them enough to pinpoint the language, but he knows without a doubt the sentences spilling out across his skin are words of praise, and devotion, and commitment. The sort of words uttered when you have nothing else left at your disposal to swear your fealty to another, and Will basks in the warmth of their loving glow, absorbing them greedily.

He isn’t a passive participant, rutting his body down against Hannibal’s every thrust, feeling himself spread and filled so perfectly, as though they truly were made to fit one another. It’s too soon, he knows it’s absurd to think it, but he can’t filter out the mantra of love that seems to be beating a cadence in his mind to match the cadence of his heart in his chest. 

Will lets out a strangled sob when Hannibal’s soft lips and even softer words reach his mouth, Will arching up to claim Hannibal’s lips even as the man drinks down Will’s needy, overwhelmed sounds. Will reaches out to him, hands grappling for Hannibal’s shoulders, biceps, slipping around him to clutch at his back - any purchase he can find to pull the Dominant even closer to him. He exercises what little freedom of movement he still has with his lower body and tilts his hips higher yet even as he squirms beneath the pleasant comfort of Hannibal’s solid weight, still attempting to meet him thrust for thrust.

When Hannibal’s hips pause, pressed flush against him and buried as deeply as possible, Hannibal dips his mouth to Will’s ear, his soft words spilling hot into it as his lips brush against the shell. “Look at me, my love. My beautiful, darling boy. I wish to see you.”

Will’s eyes flutter open immediately at the request, locking gazes with Hannibal as soon as he shifts to press their foreheads together. Maintaining extended eye contact with another person has never been an easy feat for Will, least of all with a Dominant. He sees too much of others, loses himself so easily in their minds; a minnow easily swallowed by a larger fish. It can be difficult to claw his way back to himself, to purge another person from his already crowded mind. Dominants especially are harrowing creatures to risk such a connection with, their bold and severe nature so easily able to overpower Will’s. Perhaps that’s why he’s always had problems submitting to his Doms in the past, Will’s overwhelmed mind finally revolting to push against any sway that another might attempt to hold over him.

When he looks into Hannibal’s eyes, amber darkened to nearly a muddied red with his lust, he doesn’t feel the Dominant’s power and will force its way past the barriers of Will’s mind. Instead, he’s flooded with the almost suffocating warmth of Hannibal’s adoration and amazement. Will stares into Hannibal’s eyes and gives his hips a slow roll to encourage movement to resume, and thinks he’s never been so happy to drown.

Hannibal’s hands slip beneath him to tilt Will’s hips a bit higher as he rolls his own hips in answer, and Will moans when Hannibal’s thick cock presses expertly against his prostate.

“Hannibal,” Will gasps out, blinking rapidly to clear the moisture from his eyes when his Dominant’s face begins to go blurry. “Daddy, I -”

“I know, Will,” Hannibal murmurs, a slight smile curling his lips as he repeats the action, this time earning a sob torn from Will’s throat when he shifts one of his hands to wrap around Will’s aching, leaking cock. “Let go, darling.”

Will sobs as he comes, arching up to claim Hannibal’s mouth in a desperate, biting kiss. Hannibal thrusts into him twice more, filling him better than ever as Will clenches around him in his pleasure. The next time he stills, Will can feel his cock pulsing deep inside him, swears he can feel the burning seed of the Dominant as he claims Will so completely.

Hannibal seems as reluctant as Will to part, even now while they are sticky with the cooling mess between them and with his Daddy’s cock growing soft and most likely oversensitive within the still twitching, clenching depths of his body. Will has the irrational thought he’d happily stay just like this forever, and a part of him is absolutely certain Hannibal would agree. 

Will stretches, finally, in Hannibal’s gasp and the Dominant loosens his grip on him but doesn’t pull away entirely, his softening cock finally slipping from him. Will can feel the light trickle of his release that follows him and his cheeks flame at what a mess he probably looks. 

As though Hannibal can read his thoughts, he smiles down at him with the lazy, contented smile of a jungle cat who’s just had a particularly wonderful meal, and leans down to kiss him again. “You’re beautiful, sweet boy. Resplendent. I would paint you like this so that I could see it every day for the remainder of my life.” 

Will only blushes deeper, forcing himself to reach over to his nightstand and grab a handful of tissues from the box. “You’re making fun.” 

“I’m wholly serious, darling creature. You will haunt the halls of my memory palace until it crumbles to nothing more than dust and shadows, no matter the path we take together - or not - in the future.” 

Will senses the out he’s being offered by the Dominant, even after their first blissful time together, and it nearly makes his lips turn down in a frown. “Hannibal, I want this. I quit my jobs because of how much I want this. I’m all in.” 

Hannibal’s smile is bright enough to be nearly blinding, and Will finds himself helpless but to smile back, pressing a quick, brash peck to his Daddy’s kiss-swollen lips. He pulls away from Will only long enough to settle on his side in the narrow bed, pulling Will flush against his chest with an arm wrapped tightly around his back. 

This close Will can see the flecks of black and gold that seem to glimmer in the other man’s whiskey eyes, and the scent and proximity soothes something in him he didn’t realize was aching.

Hannibal sighs, pressing a kiss to Will’s sweaty forehead.  “And what a wonderful gift your trust in me is; it pains me all the more now to admit we’ll need to reschedule our weekend plans.” 

“But it’s nearly Christmas.” Will blurts out without thinking, immediately feeling guilty for stating such an obvious thing and most likely only making his Daddy feel even worse. Despite knowing this, he can’t stop himself from tacking on a nearly poutful, “Why can’t I see you?”

“I’m so sorry, darling. I’ve been called away for a conference with extremely poor timing. I called tonight on the off chance I might be able to see you just once more before I fly out first thing in the morning.” 

Will shifts his body until he is curled even closer to his Dominant, not relenting in his squirming until Hannibal’s arms are wrapped completely around him and their foreheads are pressed together once more. “Fly?” Will’s only ever flown once before, and he despised it, terrified of dropping from the sky every minute, breath catching and heart pounding with every bump of turbulence; his stomach twists sickly at the thought of his Daddy getting on an airplane. “How long will you be gone?”

“Just to Toronto, and only for the weekend, my love.” He glides one hand up Will’s spine until he can slip it between them to gently brush away the curls that have fallen onto Will’s face, his adoring gaze never leaving Will’s. “Rest assured that nothing will stop me from flying right back Monday evening just as soon as my presence is no longer required.”

Will chews on his bottom lip as he considers this for a moment. “I’ll still see you on Christmas Eve, then?”

Hannibal’s arms loop around him tighter still, pulling him closer until their legs are tangled together until not even a breath can separate their mouths. “Christmas Eve,” Hannibal agrees as he brushes soft kisses against Will’s lips. “And Christmas Day. And all the remaining days of your holiday break. Will you forgive my brief absence, sweet boy?”

“Will you call me every day?”

“Of course,” Hannibal promises on a breath before his questing tongue slips into Will’s mouth. 

Will sighs into the kiss and basks in the warmth and safety of his Daddy’s embrace, closing his eyes against the sting of prematurely aching at his absence. As they share soft kisses while drifting into the liminal haze of sleep, he tells himself his sudden and irrational fear of the Dominant not returning is silly and unfounded and almost believes himself.

Chapter Text

There aren’t many things Will Graham has in common with his father - the love of working with their hands and a grim determination to push through life on their own making up the majority of their shared traits - and Will is surprised to discover the existence of another, the very same that pushed him from their shitty little double-wide to jump neck deep into student debt so he had a chance at more.

He understands, in retrospect, why it’s always been so easy for Beau to turn to alcohol to drown out his worries and sorrows; it does a damn good job. 

Will grimaces against the taste of the cheap booze even as he pours himself another shot, the ghost of something vastly superior haunting the edges of his mind. He doesn’t think about Macallan, or how much better it is than the swill Bev is able to get an older student to buy for her, or how it was the very first drink Hannibal had bought him, the night they met and everything changed.

He stares glumly into the amber liquid that reminds him too much of a fond, familiar gaze and screws his eyes shut as he downs that one too. He keeps them closed, gripping the cool edge of the counter and focusing on that rather than allowing himself to recall the heat of a body pressed to his own, how safe and held he was as that strong body moved against him, inside him -

It’s only been two days - two of the three Hannibal swore he would return by - and Will has been so morose in his absence even Bev has taken pity on him. Hannibal will be flying back the following night, will be with Will in just over twenty-four hours, and still he aches with a loneliness he wasn’t prepared to feel.

“Hey, Will.”

The soft voice shatters through Will’s destructive, self-pitying spiral, and he blinks through the dampness in his eyes as he turns toward his visitor. “Hey, Reba. Need a drink?”

“I can get it,” she assures him as she steps confidently around the island and into the kitchenette. Will moves aside from his place in front of the booze to make room for her. “Francis would like another ginger beer, though.”

Will watches slim, delicate fingers place the empty glass in her hand on the counter and begin the dance of drifting over the bottles until she identifies the gin and retrieves it. “Sure,” he agrees, moving to the fridge.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Reba notes softly as she works, the motions of her hands steady and practiced. “Really, you’re quiet most nights. But there’s a sadness about you this time.”

“You see a hell of a lot for a blind girl.” The words pour off of his whiskey-loosened tongue, crass and unimaginably rude, and Will freezes in front of the open fridge, wishing desperately that he could take them back.

Reba only smiles as she replaces the cap on the gin and turns her search for the vermouth. “People don’t hold their defenses as tightly around the blind for just that reason,” she informs him sagely. “They think their secrets are safe, that we can’t see them.” She pauses in her preparation, her eyes needlessly finding Will in that eerily accurate way she can. “In reality, I think we see far more than most people do. You know a bit about that too, I think.”

“You been able to turn that high-powered perception onto D over there?” Will nods his head to where Francis and Bev are lounging on the couch, realizing belatedly that it’s a useless gesture. “That one’s a tough nut to crack.”

“I see in him what I need to,” Reba responds breezily as she drops an olive into her glass and then plucks up the completed concoction. “You did too, or you wouldn’t have felt comfortable switching dorms with me.”

“Maybe,” Will shrugs unnecessarily and moves to snag the bottle of whiskey as soon as Reba steps back from the area. “Maybe I was just in it for the private bathroom.”

The girl ignores his quip, lips curling into a soft smile around her sip of martini. “You care deeply about people, Will. Even when you don’t really want to. It’s why you miss your Dominant so much right now.”

“Is he still griping about that?” Bev gives a beleaguered sigh as she joins them, reaching over the counter to tug the bottle of whiskey from Will’s hands with a pointed look. “Hannibal will be back soon enough, Will. There’s no need to be such a downer when we’re trying to have a good night.”

“It’s no wonder I have abandonment issues,” Will snipes back as he attempts to reach back for the bottle of whiskey. Bev dances two steps back out of his reach and grins as she takes a pull directly from the bottle. “You’re all leaving me to rot on campus alone for the next month.”

Bev rolls her eyes and reaches across the counter once more to pluck up the ginger beer Will had abandoned there, passing it to Francis as he makes his way over to join them as well. “And I guarantee you won’t even notice we’re gone as soon as Daddy Warbucks gets back into town. I’m sure he’ll keep you plenty busy.” When Will only passes his glare from Bev to the bottle she’s still got sequestered in her grasp, she gives him another pointed stare. “The walls are thin, Will, and you are quite loud.”

Will’s cheeks heat at the accusation, even as another, less innocent heat blooms in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of their evening together. It had felt wonderful to surrender himself to Hannibal so fully, and Will’s still certain he’s never slept better than he did that night, though he could have done without the bit where Hannibal woke him to say goodbye at four in the morning before slipping out to catch his flight.

Reba didn’t let them continue their bickering, clearing her throat and stepping between them fluidly. “Let’s go play never have I ever. I take it there might be some interesting new additions we can discuss.” 

Will sighs but complies, and for the next hour he doesn’t let himself feel too despondent about his missing Dominant, instead distracting himself with teasingly ribbing his friends, and the brightly blushing cheeks of Francis as Reba divulges some of their secrets. 

---

It’s late by the time everyone heads out, Bev leaving with them to get some fresh air. Will is pretty certain that’s code for going to see the new girl he’s been seeing her with on campus, but he’s a good friend and is saving up poking fun at her for a time when she’s far less chipper - just like she does to him. 

The late hour gives him pause when his phone rings shrilly from its place on his nightstand, and he approaches it with slight trepidation, his toothbrush still in his mouth and foam threatening to slip out from the corners of his lips. 

Seeing Hannibal’s name on the screen nearly makes him choke, and he snatches up the phone, answering before he’s fully ready. “‘Lo?” He barely manages, sucking obnoxiously at the toothpaste trying to escape, and rushing to the bathroom to spit.

“Will?” He hears Hannibal’s voice, and it is his voice, sounding amused and sleepy on the other end of the line. He mutes the phone for the half a second it takes to clear his mouth and then he’s gasping into the phone. 

“Daddy?” He sounds breathless even to his own ears, and he blushes furiously at how pathetic Hannibal probably thinks him. 

“Hello, sweet thing. I apologize for the late hour, I found myself missing you and simply wanted to hear your voice.” 

Will shakes himself, the grin stretching his lips most likely making him look ridiculous, but he can’t help how happy he is to hear the other man’s voice and to know he’s missing him too. He shoves the doubts out of his mind and lets Hannibal’s voice fill his thoughts instead, syrupy sweet and thick. “Missed you too.” 

Hannibal hums in reply, silence stretching out between them comfortably for a few seconds. Will makes his way back to his room and settles in bed, tossing his covers back and sliding beneath their warmth. It’s been getting colder at night, and he finds he misses Hannibal’s heat beside him even more than he misses the man between his thighs. 

“Will?” The sound of his voice startles Will, and he realizes he must have drifted for a moment, lost in his memories. 

“Sorry, Daddy. Was thinking of you.” Will flushes down to his toes at the implication of the words, even though he hadn’t intended them to be lewd they still feel naughty coming from his mouth, and he hears Hannibal inhale on the other end of the line. 

“What were you thinking about, naughty creature. Were you touching yourself?” Hannibal doesn’t hesitate, taking charge of the situation and guiding them. Will’s never done this before, he’s not even sure where to start, but he knows Hannibal will keep them both well cared for. 

“Not yet, just got into bed,” he hesitates, his cheeks flaming but his voice steady as he forces himself to continue even through the embarrassment. “But I’m hard for you, already.”

“Don’t touch yourself, Will. Let Daddy guide you, hm? I’ll take care of you, darling.” Hannibal’s voice is as stern as Will’s ever heard it, and it shoots fire through his limbs to pool in his stomach, his arousal a palpable thing. He feels desperate already, like he’ll go mad if Hannibal doesn’t touch him, or at least let him touch himself, soon. 

“Yes, Daddy. I’ll be good.” Will whines down the line, and he hears Hannibal chuckle at the same time as he hears the rustling of sheets. He wonders if Hannibal is also in bed, tucked comfortably beneath the covers but missing Will as achingly as Will misses him. 

“My good, sweet boy. Always so well behaved for me, aren’t you? Get yourself comfortable if you aren’t already, I want to explore you for a bit.” 

“‘M comfortable,” Will murmurs as his eyes slip shut. Perhaps if he can’t see how empty his little room is he can pretend he’s not alone, pretend the warmth of the phone pressed to his cheek is the ghost of a breath as his Daddy whispers to him from hundreds of miles away. “Still in my pajamas, though. Should I take ‘em off?”

“Not quite yet,” Hannibal instructs; Will is certain the huskiness in his voice isn’t due to fatigue, or the result of their connection; each of them stranded alone so far from one another and tied together with only a microchip acting as both speaker and receiver. 

Will has a brief recollection of tin-can telephones from his impoverished youth in the Bayou, a wild thought snagging in his mind that he and his Daddy were connected just the same, that if he adjusted the phone pressed eagerly to his ear, his Daddy would feel the strain and tug of the string even where he lay in another bed, city, country. Hannibal’s voice pulls him back to himself, cutting through the warm haze that settled over his mind with every drink earlier that evening and centering his focus on the now.

“Your hands are my hands,” he tells Will lowly, each word smooth and succinct, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation. “I’d like first to simply slip one beneath the hem of your shirt, feel the warm softness of your belly for a moment.”

Will’s breath catches as he obeys, the feeling of his fingertips trailing across his stomach oddly erotic for how innocent a gesture it truly is. He dips his fingers into his navel, pets them through the soft, thin trail of hair that stretches from it and disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers. His fingers skirt hesitantly against the barrier, itching to travel further south and yet stayed by the fact that his Daddy hasn’t requested it of him. 

“Your ticklish nature didn’t escape my notice the other night,” Hannibal informs him, his voice twisted with a teasing tone that is as unexpected as it is welcome. “Though I found myself too distracted at the time to explore it further. I rather think I’d like to explore your ribcage, if I were to work at a more leisurely pace.”

Will follows the unspoken directive, a breathy huff shaken from him as his fingers drag across the thin, sensitive flesh stretched over his ribs even as his cock twitches with interest. It would be more effective if it weren’t himself exploring the area, but somehow the illusion of his hands belonging to Hannibal is enough to switch something in his mind, to tell his body to arch and squirm away from the light touch even as his cock throbs and leaks at the nearly uncomfortable sensation.

“I imagine my tongue would follow suit, taste every dip and curve even as they are mapped by my hands. But, alas, there’s only so much we can accomplish in our current locations. A bit higher, now; to your nipples.”

Will’s groan is an involuntary thing, shuddering from his chest unbidden as soon as his fingers draw over the nub of one nipple. His free hand clenches tightly in the sheets at his side, because he’s fairly certain he’ll start touching his aching cock with or without his Daddy’s instruction if he doesn’t occupy it with something else soon.

Will had played many times before, with several different Dominants, and none of them had managed to elicit even a ghost of the sensation from Will that Hannibal’s simple guidance and silky voice managed to do, even with the distance and the static coming down the phone line. Will hadn’t even realized his nipples were particularly  sensitive until he had his Daddy murmuring to him so sweetly and directing him on how to use his hands as Hannibal’s own. 

He moans again, bucking his hips up against nothing, the air bringing the prickle of goosebumps to his flesh. “Daddy, please…”

“Begging already, sweet boy? I’m afraid it won’t get you far tonight, you’ll take what I give you and when I deign it so.” 

Will whimpers at the easy dominance in Hannibal’s voice. Everything is always so easy with him, Will feels himself already skirting the edges of his space, that warm and floaty sensation thickening his thoughts and turning them molasses slow and just as saccharine. He knows, logically, Hannibal won’t allow their play to go far enough for Will to fully slip away, especially not with Hannibal so far away and unable to guide him and care for him after, but the edges are enough, soothing all the previous sadness he’d experienced all day. 

“Yes, Daddy.” Will bites his lip even though the other man can’t see it, letting his voice lilt over the vowels. He grows curious, recalling one of their hundreds of conversations since meeting, and Hannibal’s assurances they would test all of Will’s yellow limits again to see if they became reds or greens under the right hands. He lets his nails dig in, just slightly, and then takes the peaked bud between two fingers and pinches. It pulls a surprised gasp from him, and his cock pulses a bead of pre-come at the tip. 

He’s only ever experienced pain as a form of punishment before, by hands and fists and implements wielded by lesser men than Hannibal Lecter, by those far less worthy of the assignation of Dominant. He knows that now, thanks to his Daddy’s gentle reminders and coaxing, something in them sticking in Will’s mind even through the doubts and the worries. 

“Is it good, sweetheart? Tell me what you’re doing, I know you aren’t simply exploring as I instructed you,” he pauses, and the silence that stretches between them is dangerous and it sits in Will’s stomach like magma, turning him inside out. He’s so desperately aroused and they’ve barely even started. “Once we are in the same space together once more, we’ll need to discuss punishments for misbehavior, hm? But tonight is for pleasure only, my love. So don’t fret overly much.” The mirth is apparent in Hannibal’s voice, and it settles something in Will he hadn’t realized was anxious.

The fact he’s pushed the Dominant into bringing up the punishment conversation makes his cock stir surprisingly. He’s never enjoyed pain, but he’s starting to contemplate Hannibal - and Bev - have been right all along, and the reason he’d never liked pain was because of those heavy-handedly inflicting it and their purposes for it.  

“Sorry, Daddy. I got excited. Just wanna make you feel good.” Will keens, his voice going soft and sweet in a way it never does. He feels like he might shake apart with how hard he’s vibrating, his bones feel hollow and his mind is getting hazier by the second. 

“It seems you are quite focused on making you feel good, my mischievous creature. But that’s alright, we can make you a good boy again with just a little focus. Now, I believe I asked you a question, Will.” 

Will closes his eyes so he can think, and he’s finally able to grasp with shaky fingers at the question Hannibal is referring to. “I was pinching my nipples, Sir. Wanted to see how it felt if it hurt just a little.” 

Hannibal swallows a sound and it makes Will’s cheeks flush that he’d caused the Dominant to need to suppress his own noises of pleasure with just his words and actions. “Is that so, darling? So you like for it to hurt, just a little? We can certainly work with that.” 

Just as Will starts to settle in excitedly, prepared for some more pain play, Hannibal halts all of his plans immediately. “Sometime in the future. When I can be with you to oversee things. Tonight is about you obeying me, yes?” 

Will swallows thickly and nods before realizing Hannibal can’t see him. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll obey you, whatever you say.” 

Hannibal chuckles at that, but the sound isn’t unkind, it’s fond and comforting. “Of course you will, you are always so perfect for me, sweet thing. I know you can be on your best behavior for me now. Why don’t you keep touching yourself. Let’s feel your throat, your pulse thrumming just beneath the surface.” 

If Hannibal were here Will knows the Dominant would do just that, checking his pulse to ensure he was alright. Will lets his hand travel from where it had settled lightly on his stomach and trails it along his collarbones before finally settling against the dip of his throat. 

“Would you like to know what I’d do to you if I were with you right now, precious boy?” Hannibal’s voice filters in through the cobwebs gathering along the edges of Will’s thoughts.

“Yes,” Will pleas, uncaring of how desperate he sounds. How wanton he feels. 

“If I were there I’d simply touch you until you were squirming and needy, much like you are now, and then I’d place my palm against your throat and I’d squeeze, just lightly, just enough to have you know I was with you.” Hannibal lets the words sink in and then continues when he hears Will’s breath kick up a notch. “Don’t squeeze yourself, darling, I simply wanted to tell you what I’d like to do were I with you. I think we can find better uses for your hands, yes?”

Will’s throat spasms beneath his loose grip as he swallows harshly at the implication, his cock giving a needful throb. “Can I touch myself now, Daddy?” He asks breathlessly, his free hand already drifting closer in anticipation.

“Only if you promise to go slowly, darling,” Hannibal’s voice is low and husky with his warning, and Will’s breath catches at the sound of it. “I won’t abide impatience simply because I’m not there to see to you myself.”

Will pulls in a steadying breath, quelling the urge to grip at his cock to relieve his ache, instead merely allowing his fingertips to drift softly up his shaft. “I’m so hard,” he moans mournfully, and Hannibal’s chuckle reverberates in his ear.

“I’ve no doubt. Are you wet for me, sweet boy?”

“Dripping,” Will admits, a choked whimper lodged in his throat as he swipes his thumb over the wetness at his head, swirling through it lazily. 

“At the moment it feels as though distance is my greatest enemy. Were I there, I’d waste no time in tasting you.” There’s a heavy beat of silence and then Hannibal’s voice sounds again, low and firm. “Do it for me.”

Will’s dick twitches as more blood still surges to the organ, the command causing Will’s stomach to clench pleasantly and his balls to tighten. He gasps as he swipes his thumb through his pre-come once more, moaning around the digit as he sucks it into his mouth. It’s not the first time he’s tasted himself, curiosity having sparked that experiment long ago, but the added layer of voyeurism as Hannibal listens to him do it, as Hannibal imagines doing it himself, brings Will nearly to orgasm alone.

“Daddy, I’m...I’m not sure how much longer I can wait,” Will admits, reluctant to return to caressing his cock for just that reason. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but -”

“You never could, my love. Touch yourself for me, Will. Let me hear your pleasure.”

Will doesn’t need to be told twice, and a broken whine catches in his throat when he takes himself in hand in earnest and strokes. He gives a twist around his leaking head on an upstroke, drawing another breathy moan, and across the line Hannibal echoes the sound.

“That’s right, darling. Let yourself feel it,” Hannibal’s own voice has gone breathy, words stilted, and a moment later Will understands why. “Chase your pleasure and know that I am doing the same, wishing desperately that I were with you. Inside you.”

“Oh, fuck -” Will cries, back arching off the bed and hand spasming around his cock as his orgasm barrels through him.

He’s floating and hazy, enough to be comfortable but not enough to be unsteady when he finally catches his breath several moments later. He only regrets that he must have missed his Dominant’s orgasm, as lost as he was to his own pleasure, because when he comes back into reality Hannibal is speaking. 

“Wait, what?” Will’s mouth feels dry, his tongue fuzzy, and he grasps for the water bottle he knows is on his nightstand blindly, finding it and bringing it to his lips. 

“I said, darling boy, do you have a passport?” 

“Yes, Sir?” Will isn’t sure where this line of questioning is going, so out of left field after the last several minutes. 

“Excellent. You arrive at 9am. I won’t be able to greet you at the airport, but I’ll send a car for you.” 

“I’m sorry?” He asks again, needing to confirm the absolute insanity spouting from his Daddy’s mouth. 

Hannibal chuckles at his obvious confusion, the sound fond and warm. It makes Will smile, even though the laughter is at his own expense. “I’ve booked you a flight, Will. It leaves at half-past eight in the morning, so you’ll need to be at the airport in a few short hours. You should try to get some rest.” 

Will fish mouths for several seconds before collecting himself, rubbing a hand down his face. “You bought me a plane ticket… to Canada?” He laughs again, this time in bewilderment. “Your orgasm couldn’t have been that good?” 

“The pleasure I find in your company far surpasses any other, sweet thing. I wish you here with me, even if it only for twenty-four hours before we must return to Baltimore.” 

Will’s smile is so wide his cheeks hurt, and the pain and fear that had been aching in his chest all day disappears entirely, leaving nothing but a burning, pleased joy in its place. Hannibal wants him. He enjoys his company enough that he’s paying to fly him to Toronto to essentially stay the night. Will wonders, with a slight echoing pang of that previous ache, whether Hannibal has been as lonely as Will. Whether the other man could truly care for him so deeply already. 

“Okay, Daddy.” He doesn’t think he’ll manage to sleep, but he puts his phone on speaker and flips to his side, closing his eyes. He falls into a peaceful rest to the soothing cadence of Hannibal’s voice, the smile never leaving his lips.

Chapter Text

Will is still feeling a little shaky from the flight as he stands in the lobby of Hannibal’s fancy hotel. He’s always been a nervous flier, and even the relatively short and painless flight from Baltimore to Toronto had spiked his anxiety, leaving him flushed and nearly overwhelmed with the need to have his Dominant - his Daddy close. 

The room is gilted and grand, full of golds and navy blues and thick, red velvet curtains blocking the entrance to a speakeasy themed cocktail bar in the back of the building. Will’s fingers twitch against his thigh, and he tries to remind himself of Hannibal’s text message. Of his directions. 

Hannibal had left instructions with the front desk to give Will a room key upon his arrival, but the butterflies in his stomach are making his feet drag across the echoing marble floor.  He feels so out of place in a hotel as nice as this one, feeling eyes on his back as though every person in the room is watching him and judging him; finding him wanting. It leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat and a burning in his chest and makes him wonder what Hannibal could possibly see in him.

He’s interrupted from his treacherous thoughts and his lurching stomach by a bright, bubbly girl who approaches him with a bounce in her step, the pin affixed to her pant suit flashing in the low lighting of the space - Pippa. 

“Mr. Graham?” She gives him another once over before nodding her head as though confirming her own question. “Doctor Lecter asked us to greet you upon your arrival and see to any of your needs. Shall I call up room service for you?” She looks at him again, taking in his most likely queasy expression and unsteady feet. “Perhaps a warm towel and some chamomile and ginger tea?” She chuckles, and it calms Will enough to pull a smile to his lips.

“Sorry, I’m not good with flying, so I’m feeling a bit out of sorts. Just the key to the room would be great, I don’t need anything else.” He doesn’t want to overstep or presume Hannibal’s allowances or expectations here, and also he’d simply rather find a bed to be horizontal on until the shakiness easies from his bones. 

“Of course, Mr. Graham. Right this way!” Will’s stomach roils as he follows her, his mind disconnected and fluffy, still stuck up in the plane all those miles above the earth. He needs to calm down before he sees Hannibal, hopes he’ll have time for a shower and maybe take a nap.

The shower never happens. Will collapses onto the massive bed the moment the door swings open and Pippa leaves him, pressing his face into the pillowcase that still smells faintly of Hannibal and is asleep within seconds. When he wakes again the sun filtering in through the large veranda window is the muted color of dusk. His cheeks flame shamefully when he sees Hannibal sitting, casually elegant, at a heavy wooden desk on the other side of the room, his sketchbook out. Will can see the sloping charcoal lines even from here, though the image they make is too far away for him to piece together. 

“Hello, beloved.” Will’s entire body shivers at the sound of his Daddy’s voice, at the warm words, as sweet and savory as salted caramel. Beloved. It isn’t quite I love you, but it’s still nearly painfully intimate. Will makes a broken little noise in his throat and is off the bed and across the room in seconds, dropping to his knees beside Hannibal with a cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his dress slacks.

It’s unhealthy how much he’s missed him, even just over the brief time they’ve been apart, but he’s incapable of bringing himself to care. He’s never felt so cared for, so adored and safe with anyone else besides Bev, and it’s different with Hannibal. More intimate. 

“Hi, Daddy,” he breathes into Hannibal’s knee, nearly purring in contentment when he hears Hannibal put down his pencil, carding his fingers through Will’s hair. He knows he smells of sweat and the stale air from the plane, but Hannibal doesn’t comment; simply sits in silence and enjoys being together in the same space. 

It could be minutes or hours later when Will jerks awake again, realizing he’s fallen asleep leaning against the Dominant’s leg. “Welcome back, darling. A shower is in order, I should think. And then there’s the unfortunate business of your punishment.” 

At Will’s inquiring sound and sleepy eyes Hannibal chuckles, pulling Will up by his chin so he’s kneeling, raised up on his knees with his hands resting against Hannibal’s thighs to keep him steady. “Did you think I’d forgotten, sweet boy? You were disobedient last night and we need to address that so that we may move past it without it burdening our dynamic.” 

Will nods, knowing Hannibal is right. If he left Will to stew in his guilt for too long the submissive would suffer, their entire dynamic thrown off balance. His Daddy would suffer. And that, more than anything, Will cannot abide. 

Hannibal helps him to his feet and leads him to the large bathroom, a shower and a tub here just like in Hannibal’s own home. The show of wealth is nearly obscene in its gaudiness, not as lavish as Hannibal’s but also not as quietly, passively elegant. He’s guided into the tub and leans his head against the basin edge as Hannibal pours some fragrant oils into the water, warm enough nearly to scald - just how Will likes it.

He fades in and out as Hannibal washes him, his hands intimate and familiar over Will’s body, massaging his scalp. It feels nice to be provided for, to have the Dominant care for him so fondly. After being thoroughly doted on, he’s finally wrapped in a fluffy blue towel and left to stand in the center of the room whilst Hannibal rummages through some of his belongings. 

“I brought very little with me for such a brief trip, but I believe this will do,” Hannibal turns back to Will, a few of his silk ties in his hands. They haven’t had much opportunity to do full bondage scenes, but Hannibal has put Will in chest harnesses before, or even once bound his wrists together to keep him from fidgeting while they read in his study. 

“Have a seat for me, Will. You may keep the towel on for now while we discuss the scene.” It’s already so much different than anything Will has ever known before, his previous experiences fraught with Dominants who only knew how to show their position through fear. Hannibal has never treated Will that way, even the simplest of scenes always discussed fully as equals prior to its occurrence. 

Will shuffles onto the soft sheets and picks absently at a thread of the towel wrapped around his gently trembling body. Hannibal sits beside him, placing the objects he’s gathered on the bed between them. Hannibal’s hand settles against Will’s, keeping him still and calming his nerves. Will’s eyes fall to the darkness outside the window and he feels a pang of disappointment that he slept so long and lost so much time with Hannibal.

“A spanking first, with your hands and arms bound and a blindfold over your eyes. Then I’d like to fuck you while you’re still tied up for me, relying on me to provide for your needs. I think a reminder that you can expect me to always do what’s in your best interest, a reminder that you can trust me, is in order.” 

Will whines a little, his heart aching that Hannibal would ever believe Will doesn’t trust him implicitly. He knows he’d only even pushed their boundaries last night to test their stability. His previous relationships - if they could even be called such - had foundations built on sand, crumbling away at the slightest pressure. Hannibal is solid bedrock, unshakeable and sturdy. Will knows he can trust his Daddy, and he wants to prove it to him. 

“Yes, Daddy.” The words are soft, low, and Hannibal hooks him by the chin again, bringing his face up so their gazes meet. 

“Once it’s over it is forgotten, my sweet boy. All is forgiven and we can carry on as we have, stronger for it. I treasure you, Will, and I want you to believe that.” 

“I’m sorry -” Will blurts, swallowing down the rest of his words as his cheeks flush at interrupting his Dominant. 

Hannibal only smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Will’s forehead and smoothing his curls back from his eyes. “I know you are. You’re my good boy, always. Sometimes we just need a reminder, and I will always be here when you do.” 

The words could sound foreboding, threatening, from any other person. But from Hannibal they simply sound true. Will knows Hannibal will always be there to catch him if he falls, to support him when he needs it. That realization helps some of the tension uncoil in his stomach, his nerves settling just slightly. 

“Tell me your colors, darling.” 

Will blinks sluggishly at Hannibal for several moments before realizing a response is expected. “Red means stop, yellow means slow down or I need to discuss something, and green means I’m good, we can keep going.” 

“And your safeword?” Hannibal prompts once Will goes silent again, and Will shakes himself to try and clear his thoughts. He still feels warm and a little nauseous, his brain slightly fluffy from the prolonged anxiety of his flight and the tension coursing just beneath his skin at being a disappointment to his Dominant. 

“Winston,” Will supplies dutifully, a small smile slowly pulling up the corners of his lips as he recalls the dog waiting for him back home. The summer can’t come soon enough. 

“And what’s your color right now, Will?” 

“Green, Daddy.” Will answers immediately, not really even giving consideration to the question. He’s expected to be good, to give his Daddy his total obedience. He’ll be fine, he’s sure. Feeling groggy and uncomfortable from his flight isn’t an excuse to stall a punishment. Even as he thinks it he knows it isn’t true, knows Hannibal would allow him anything and would never force him into something he wasn’t prepared for. But he shakes it off, shifts closer to Hannibal on the bed.

“Very good, beloved. Come, lay yourself out over my lap.” Hannibal searches Will’s face and seems hesitant, but ultimately he moves to spread his thighs and allow Will the room to move if he so chooses. Warmth floods Will’s chest at the trust but shame sweeps it away; he doesn’t feel worthy of that trust. 

Will still crawls into his Daddy’s lap at his behest. His towel is removed in short order, and Hannibal spends a few minutes running his hands along Will’s spine, cupping his ass, soothing down his thighs. Every time Hannibal touches him it feels like he’s memorizing each dip and curve, every inch of his flesh committed to his memory palace like the most precious of treasures. It makes Will flush under the weight of such adoration, his stomach feeling squirmy and his cheeks too hot.

Soon, Hannibal shifts them so he can collect the silk ties from the ornate bedspread. He first wraps Will’s wrists, then another tie goes around his elbows to keep his eyes tied together. Finally, the last tie -- a pale pink silk -- is placed over Will’s eyes and tied behind his head. “Color?” Hannibal checks in one final time, and Will replies helplessly with green even though he’s feeling more and more uncertain with each gentle caress of silk. 

And then the first blow hits and the word Winston is pushed from Will’s lungs and past his clenching teeth faster than he’s even able to process it. Faster than he thought possible, not even a fully formed thought before it’s out of his mouth and settling heavy and thick between them.

Hannibal goes still beneath Will and then seconds later he’s scooping him up to sit on his haunches, removing his touch from him in case Will doesn’t want it. “May I touch you?” He asks, always so thoughtful, and Will’s throat feels torn apart by the sob that suddenly wracks his body. He nods shakily and Hannibal moves immediately, collecting him in his arms and wrapping him tight, holding his tear-streaked face against Hannibal’s neck so Will can feel his pulse, desperately trying to match his own heart's cadence to the steady, reliable one in his Daddy’s throat.

“I’m s-sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to disappoint you again,” Will wails, the sound laden with tears and his throat thick with them. His tongue feels coated in salt and his cheeks are growing tacky with liquid, and still Hannibal keeps Will’s face pressed to his neck without a care for the mess Will is making of them both. 

“Enough of that, my love. You’ve not disappointed me at all. I’m unbelievably proud of you for using your word, sweet boy. You have done exactly what I’ve asked of you and trusted me.” Hannibal soothes, running his fingers absently through Will’s curls and down his spine. Will loses himself to counting each stroke for so long that when he blinks his eyes open again, blurred through the film of water collecting at his lash line he’s uncertain how much time has passed. 

He sniffs loudly, and Hannibal pulls him away far enough to look into his eyes, but keeps his hands on him, the constant flood of praise and sweet words still falling from his lips but Will is having trouble clinging to any specific one, all of them tumbling together in his cluttered mind. Hannibal takes one of the water bottles he’d preemptively placed on the bedside table and opens it with one hand in order to allow him to keep touching Will, bringing the room-temperature water to his lips and watching him drink dutifully, speaking to him as he swallows. 

“You have performed wonderfully, beloved. You are perfect for me. I’m honored to have your trust. That you used your word for me is breathtaking. You’re exceptional.” Hannibal presses the words to Will’s temple, to his earlobe as he tucks some errant curls behind it. He kisses the streaks left behind by his tears away, leaning over to collect the towel and using it to clean Will’s face before turning them onto their sides to spoon, pulling the blanket over them. 

It’s warm and pleasant beneath the heavy sheets and with his body pressed firmly to the mattress by Hannibal’s steadying weight. The rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest is a lifeline Will clings to, letting his own breathing fall into the same pattern until he feels as though his lungs are no longer aching with deprivation. 

He doesn’t know how long they just exist like that, but finally he coughs, wincing when it feels like sandpaper dragging across his dry throat and tongue. Hannibal responds immediately, reaching out for the water again, all the while keeping his broad palm against Will’s hip. Will drinks again, this time with his eyes locked onto Hannibal’s, and his brain feeling less fuzzy, more centered in the moment instead of stuck up in the sky still on the plane. 

He’s suddenly unbelievably embarrassed, certain Hannibal thinks him absolutely ridiculous for breaking down over the mere suggestion of a spanking. He tries to explain himself, but the words keep getting caught behind the cage of his teeth. Finally, at Hannibal’s continued calm, resolute patience, Will sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at him as he speaks.

“I, uh, I’ve only ever flown once before and it wasn’t a good experience. I try to avoid flying as a general rule because I’m always worried I’ll have a panic attack.” He pauses, sighing softly when Hannibal takes his hand and presses it to his own chest so he can still feel the steady beat of it beneath Hannibal’s shirt; constant, stable. 

“I was just so happy to see you, I guess I didn’t realize I wasn’t in the best headspace from being afraid.. . I know it’s unreasonable for me to have missed you so much when you’ve been gone a mere handful of days, but I have. I do.” Will flushes brilliant pink at the raw honesty, a little whimper escaping his throat. 

“You’re overwhelmed,” Hannibal observes, and though Will still has his eyes closed, he can feel Hannibal’s gaze. He melts into the other man’s touch when he cups Will’s face, his thumb brushing gently against the arch of his cheek. “I am truly so proud of you, Will. It’s part of my duties as your Dominant to gauge your state and determine your readiness for a scene, and I failed to see the signs of your distress in my own joy at simply having you in my presence. For that, I am sorry. However, you’ve given me the greatest gift in your continued trust, and in your use of your safe word in a moment of need.” 

Will opens his eyes at that, and his breath catches in his throat at the bare truth in Hannibal’s eyes. He flushes, suddenly wanting to hide away from the intensity of Hannibal’s regard while simultaneously wanting to lavish in it forever. He knows he needs to tell Hannibal the rest, though, the thoughts that linger like a sleeping dragon at the edges of his every thought. It was time for full disclosure so they could grow stronger. Together. 

“Hannibal, I -” he chokes back a sob, fresh tears salting his lashes and streaking down red cheeks. 

“Take your time, sweet boy. Whatever it is, we'll work through it together. We’ll be alright.” Hannibal sounds so sure, so confident in his fondness for Will; in their connection. It gives Will the boost he needs to come clean. 

He feels like he should be ashamed for still being so impacted by events from his past, but he wants to let them go. He needs to move forward and be happy. With Hannibal. 

“I know we haven’t talked much about my past Dominants. And what I have told you will probably make this pretty obvious. But, uh, I haven’t had the best experiences with being a submissive, especially regarding bondage and being blindfolded.” He swallows heavily, looking directly into warm amber eyes. Hannibal’s steady gaze gives him the strength he needs to carry on. 

“One of my Dominants liked to tie me up and blindfold me and leave me alone for hours at a time. Sometimes he’d just leave me on a bed, arms and legs tied to the frame. Sometimes he’d put me in a closet, in the dark, and tie me up in increasingly uncomfortable positions.” He hesitates, but he wants to continue. He feels like he needs to exorcise the dark memories. 

“Once, he tied me to the rafters with my toes barely touching the ground and he just left me like that until I nearly passed out. And he would always blindfold me as a punishment because he knew it only overwhelmed me more. My empathy - the way I connect with the world - is so visual, but it’s also an amalgam of all my senses. Removing one sense only makes the others work overtime, leaves me feeling unmoored; my thoughts chaotic and terrifying.” 

“Oh, my darling. You’ve been through so much and yet you’ve persevered. You’ve overcome more in your short years than some do in an entire lifetime. I’ve always known you were strong, powerful, capable. Now I see you’re tenacious and triumphant.” Hannibal kisses his forehead chastely, not yet willing to stop talking it seemed. 

“What that Dominant did to you was wrong, Will. Your limits should never have been disregarded; your safewords never left to fall ignored on uncaring ears. He was cruel and not at all what a Dominant should be.” 

“I know that. I know. It took me a little while but I finally realized he was the one in the wrong. And with you… sometimes it feels like so much. I’ve never been so happy or felt so cared for. So safe and so loved -” he stills, entire body growing taut at the accidental slip. 

Hannibal’s smile is bright enough to rival all the stars in the sky. “My sweet submissive. Will, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. I’ve only been waiting for you to realize it.” He laughs, pulling Will close and showering his lips and cheeks with kisses. 

“I love you too...if it wasn’t obvious.” Will’s blush spreads down his throat and across his chest, but he’s never been happier. He feels like he has bubbles in his chest and they’re all threatening to burst with the weight of his joy. 

Hannibal settles them back down, then, pulling Will against his chest and leaning over to grab the bottle of water one more time. “Let’s get some sleep, my love. We have an early flight tomorrow.” 

Will cuddles as close as possible, molding himself to Hannibal’s side. He loves him. And Hannibal loves him in return. He can’t imagine anything better than just this; falling asleep loved and held in the arms of his Daddy. 

“Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.” He whispers into the shadows gathering in Hannibal’s collarbone, night settling in fully outside. He can’t be certain as his eyes grow heavy and close, eyelashes fanning out like spiders’ legs across his cheeks, but he thinks he hears a rumbling purr of contentment and Hannibal’s soft, accented voice purring lovingly in another language; words he can’t translate but understands anyway. 

---

Will personally thinks he performs admirably while weaving through the airport, a throng of bodies pressed far too close and stealing his breath. His lungs are burning by the time he and Hannibal reach pre-boarding, and his fingers are tapping a random, nervous cadence against his jean-clad thigh while they wait. 

He doesn’t start to shake until their luggage has been stowed in the overhead bins and the seat belt light flickers to life. It’s just a fine tremor in his hands at first but it quickly spreads until he’s shivering in his seat like a fearful prey animal caught in the sights of a predator. 

It’s worse, somehow, than it had been when he’d flown the day prior. He’d been on such a high; the knowledge he’d get to see Hannibal -- to touch him -- overwhelming enough it had kept him from having a panic attack. Now, all he has is Hannibal’s firm hand on his, keeping him grounded in place. 

“Will?” Hannibal asks, low and inquiring. Worried. Will feels bad for worrying his Dominant over something so silly. People fly every single day without the dramatics, why can’t Will? He doesn’t respond right away, he can’t, but Hannibal doesn’t press him, simply squeezing his thigh encouragingly. 

“It’s not always this bad,” Will manages a self-deprecating laugh and Hannibal steps in immediately, unwilling to listen to Will being cruel to himself most likely, but Will’s also sure he’s concerned by the insecurity he can hear in his own shaky words. 

Hannibal places a palm to the nape of Will’s neck, elegant fingers sliding through his sweaty curls and coming to rest gently along the curve of his throat. It’s partially the same as scruffing a scared animal, Will knows, but Hannibal’s also checking his pulse; ensuring Will doesn’t fling himself head first into cardiac arrest, he’s certain. 

“What do you need, my darling boy?” Hannibal keeps his voice soft, placating, and that, combined with the word my has Will whimpering. It’s such a small, broken sound, and he clutches Hannibal’s thighs until his knuckles go white and start to ache from the pressure. 

He doesn’t reply for so long his thoughts start to go hazy. Then Hannibal tightens his grip on Will’s neck and he collapses into the hold, his entire body going lax and pliant. He counts the breaths between each second, his pulse thrumming at a gallop in his throat, and swallows. 

“You, Daddy. I just need to be as close as possible. Could I - “ he stops himself, feeling absurd, but Hannibal makes a curious noise and massages into Will’s straining muscles. He clears his throat, embarrassed, but works through it and locks his gaze with Hannibal’s, a level of calm certainty taking him over. He knows now that Hannibal loves him; knows he’d give him anything in the world -- if only Will would ask for it. 

So, he asks. 

“I want to warm you, Sir. For as much of the flight as possible; at least until I feel more calm and in control, more myself -” 

Hannibal stops him with a kiss, the pride and adoration evident in the soft corners of his whiskey eyes. Will flushes under the weight of that gaze, it’s a heady, heavy thing to be granted Hannibal’s regard; Will loves it. More than he ever imagined he would. 

“Of course, my good boy. I’m so proud of you, thank you for asking so bravely for what you need.” Hannibal’s free hand moves to the front of his pants, nearly about to start the process of opening them when Will lets out a little whimpering growl. He sounds like a wounded animal, and he blushes again, color permanently staining his cheeks. 

Hannibal stops, a painfully fond smile quirking up his lips. He sits, always patient, assessing and waiting for Will to ask. 

“May I, Daddy?” The words are so saccharine they taste like sugar water on his tongue. If he heard them from anyone else he’d think the submissive was faking, but all he feels in this moment is a blissful, open surrender and the beginnings of peace settling in at the frazzled corners of his mind. 

If Hannibal’s emotional gaze is anything to go off of, Will would say his Dominant is equally moved by Will’s genuine sincerity; the both of them settling briefly into this moment before. A moment where they can each be who they are with no structure or form. Just two men who love one another and find comfort in that care and intimacy. 

Hannibal removes his hand with a gentle huff of laughter, gesturing for Will to proceed. He leans back in his chair, all leonine elegance as the attendant walks by and he smiles at her. Her own mossy eyes are soft as she watches Will pull Hannibal free from his slacks with focused care, public displays common. Will reassures himself they’re not the first or most likely even the hundredth couple she’s watched conduct a scene on a plane due to nerves.

Will worships Hannibal with his eyes first, pupils most likely blowing wide and ink-pot black as he leans close. The scent of Hannibal; musk and cloves and comfort nearly overwhelms Will all over again, his vision blurring as tears leak from the corners of his eyes. When he unzips him it’s with reverence, his oral fixation bringing saliva pooling against his tongue and bliss filling his mind like cotton.

He looks up at Hannibal from beneath long lashes, and if Hannibal’s gaze is any indication, the aesthetic must be an appealing one. Will knows what he looks like; small and pretty, long curls framing his flushed cheeks. It gives him an extra burst of confidence where usually he might be self conscious, the arousal evident in Hannibal’s bourbon eyes enough to compel him forward. 

He darts his tongue out first, wet and pink and so very desperate, sampling and savoring Hannibal’s musky flavor at his slit. He doesn’t tease him long, wanting him to stay soft so he can warm him through as much of the flight as possible. 

Will hums appreciatively, settling into Hannibal’s lap and already feeling lighter, the closeness of his Dominant enough to provide him with the security he needs to soothe his nerves. Hannibal’s cock feels like a lifeline, Will’s mind going serene and calm now that he’s proving himself useful, so intimately connected to Hannibal. 

Hannibal had done a wonderful job of talking Will down the night before, but even still, Will’s sleep had been dreamless and hadn’t left him feeling well rested. Something about the weight of his Daddy against his tongue and filling his mouth, and the feel of gentle fingers running through his unruly curls lulls him into somewhere between sleep and waking. 

Will is vaguely aware when Hannibal unbuckles him and guides him so softly onto his knees between Hannibal’s thighs, his mouth never needing to detach from his Daddy’s cock. He isn’t even aware of the plane stabilizing in the air, the people shuffling around them, or any of the announcements over the system, too caught up in their bubble. 

He suckles, instinctively, from time to time, and he hears the soft groans of his Dominant with each hollowing pull of his cheeks, drops of salty, flavorful pre-come coating his tongue and only causing him to swallow further. Hannibal’s willpower would be impressive if Will were more focused and aware, the man never once growing too hard to stay comfortably in Will’s worshipful mouth. 

Will feels a sense of absolution, of rightness, as he provides this simple yet incredibly intimate service to the man he loves. Nothing, not the potential worries awaiting them on the other end of their flight, or even the plane itself, could pull Will out of his bliss at this point, and he sighs contentedly as his eyes remain closed and his breaths even out, sleep pulling him down as gently as the caress of Hannibal’s fingers against his jaw. 

It’s minutes, hours, days later when Will is roused from his subspace, his Daddy’s soothing hands stroking more insistently across his cheekbones, along his temples. Will blinks up blearily at his Dominant, warmed by the fond expression stretched across his lips, in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“It’s time to come back, darling. You need to be in your own seat for our descent.”

Will blinks again and swallows the saliva that had pooled in his mouth in his haze with a soft whine. Hannibal’s smile stretches, his thumb swiping away the spittle that had leaked down Will’s chin. “I know, darling. You were so good for me. I think I’d like to reward you this evening once I have you home. Up, now,” he commands with a gentle murmur, and then his hands are slipping beneath Will’s arms and urging him up. 

Will goes like a limp doll, deposited heavily back into his seat by soft hands and soothing words. He blinks and gazes at the seat in front of him, attempting to place the hideous fabric pattern and interpret the images flashing on the unused screen. A moment later, Hannibal’s soft chuckle meets his ears like music, and then his Daddy’s hands are at his waist, stretching across him, securing the belt in his lap. He’s vaguely aware of the soft chime, alerting all other passengers to fasten their seatbelts. He hears a woman speaking over the intercom, saying something about Dulles Airport, but doesn’t truly comprehend it, nor does he care to.

He thinks he might float forever, warm and numb in a husk of himself, and be utterly happy for it. And then the plane begins its descent.

Will's breath hitches at the first tilt of the plane downwards, his hands snapping to his sides to grip his armrests. It feels like a sudden plunge, as though he’s reached the apex of a rollercoaster and is about to plummet into nothing, though logically he knows the process isn’t as sudden or violent as all that. But coming from the security of subspace, the glorious feeling of being used and appreciated by his Dominant and jarred back into reality, Will can’t stop the trembling groan that squeezes through his clenched teeth.

Hannibal's hand is warm and solid on the back of his neck, guiding his head toward where their seats join, and he presses his forehead to Will's.

 "Look at me, beloved," he murmurs, and it's only then that Will realizes he's squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that colors burst into the blackness. "Will," Hannibal speaks again, his voice with that familiar edge of loving sternness. "Look at me." 

Will blinks open his eyes to the sight of ruddy amber, staring intently into the heart of him, carving out a place all his own -- "It's still just you and me, love. Only you and me." Will nods and allows himself to be pulled closer still, meets his Dominant's soft press of lips with a rapturous sense of belonging . 

“Daddy --” Will whimpers between the joining of their mouths, and Hannibal nods and presses close once more.

“I know, my darling,” he murmurs between soft kisses. “I have you. And if I have you, that means you’ll be okay, doesn’t it? Don’t I always care for you as you need?”

“Yes,” Will sighs, melting into his Dominant’s embrace. He’d be surprised at how quickly he was slipping into subspace once more, just from Hannibal’s soft, assuring words and confident touch, if it weren’t for the still lingering pleasant haze of their scene throughout the flight. “I trust you,” Will murmurs, reaching out to grasp at Hannibal’s lapels, tugging him closer, smoothing up to grip his broad, powerful shoulders. “I love you. I think I’ll always love you, no matter how this ends.”

“Who’s to say this will end?” Hannibal questions. His voice is soft as his lips travel from Will’s own to trace along the tears that streak his cheeks, but he doesn’t sound offended by the implication, nor worried in the least that it may come to pass. “Nothing will pull me from you, Will. Nothing. And not a force on this earth can pull you from me.”

It’s a bold statement to make, even bolder still than their declarations of love after such a brief period of knowing one another. It’s almost dark in its possessiveness, a feral, claiming sort of declaration, but Will believes him entirely, and only feels comfort in it.

As he gazes into his Dominant’s eyes, enraptured by his Daddy’s love, the plane touches down. And for the first time in his life, Will feels like the ground is solid beneath him.