Archive of Our Own

There was a gentle hum in the back of his head when he laid under the sheets. He had associated this with Will back in the days when society regarded him as a psychiatrist rather than a serial killer. A happiness that would hum and buzz around near the base of his skull, before seeping further and further and engulfing his entire mind. He hadn’t felt it in years.

There was no hiding the tender smile on his expression. His body was still warm and covered in perspiration. He sunk his weight down into the mattress, laying on his side to face his bed partner. That humming was spreading once more, encapsulating the moment and locking it away within the walls of his mind. Every sight, smell, taste, feeling. As long as he lived, he would cherish it.

He’d stripped himself bare for Will so many times before in the past, but never physically. Mentally, he’d dropped every single barrier he had in place. The walls, locks, and barricades that kept the world from seeing what was in the middle of the forts in his mind. A vulnerable, troubled boy hidden behind layers of brick and mortar. But he freely shared all of himself with Will.

He rarely exposed himself physically bare with anyone. He could count on one hand the amount of people he’d brought into his bed, and prior to this moment, each one had some sort of ulterior motive. Typically, it was a means of manipulation; it was easy to cloud someone’s mind with lust and attraction and make them do as you pleased. He avoided that method because sex had never been a genuine interest of his. Those parts of himself he didn't enjoy sharing with someone who had no commitment to him in the least.

This was Will, however. He wasn't manipulating, earning something, or feeling obligated to do so. They were equals. Will was his other half, the love of his life. In every aspect, he was utterly open to Will. The entire experience was so deeply personal to him, he couldn’t put into words how much it meant to him.

He had discovered a whole new world because of Will. A life filled with passion and adoration, something he’d never truly experienced in the past. Someone had finally discovered an entrance, torn through his stonework, and found the being in the center. Someone had pulled him close and sought him for more than the basic animalistic function of sex. And that felt amazing.
Perhaps he was letting himself get lost in the moment. Seized up in the bubble, the afterglow of sex. The only thing of importance was Will, himself, and the bed they slept in together. He felt like he was floating, suspended up in the air with strings of mirth and affection. He’d always been the master of his emotions, never letting himself become caught up in false optimism. With Will, it had been a constant ride of hope and disappointment. The highs of hope were worth every low.

Will looked uncomfortable. On his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he drilled a figurative hole in the wood. His expression had soured, the injured side of his face falling neutral as always. He had used no sort of protection. The aftereffects were admittedly strange. Will had never experienced something like this with another man. He could respect when someone needed to process such a new feeling. It didn’t upset him in the slightest.

Hannibal lifted his hand, moving it toward Will’s face. He intended to brush the column of his throat, run his knuckles along his jawline, ghost his fingertips along the scar, still pink with healing. Perhaps pull him closer, cling to the intimacy he was being allowed. It was always a question of how Will was going to react. The words that followed his motion, before he even made any sort of contact with his skin, made him freeze.

“You know I’m not gay, right?”

Hannibal’s hand remained hovered over his neck, mere inches away from the pale skin. He was just about to continue with his motion, ask for some sort of clarification, when Will commented further.

“That was…” He paused, looking for the word. “...disgusting.”

He withdrew from the man completely. The words had taken a needle and popped the happy little bubble that encased them. Hannibal felt his chest tighten with physical pain at the declaration. While he was unsure if his pain was visible on his face, he was certain that he didn't care if it was.

Hannibal rolled around, turning his back to the other. He’d been oh so patient ever since the fall. In accepting his attraction to another man, Will had come to terms with himself. Of course, he was aware of the man’s upbringing. But this wasn’t something he could so easily forgive.

He could forgive the slight discomfort on certain days, when Will was struggling more with affection. He could forgive the distant comments that were automated responses rather than actual opinion. This, however, hurt beyond measure. This was something he didn’t share with people. Something he had willingly shared with Will. Whether or not the man believed it, having this categorized as ‘disgusting’ hurt.

His eyes stung, tears forming a sheen over his vision. The surrounding world blurred. He blinked away the few that he could, refusing to let them fall. In spite of how badly an offhand comment had affected him, he refused to admit it. All the defenses he let crumbled down, falling as nothing but dust, were reassembling before his eyes.

This was a big moment for him. Something he’d imagined, something he’d longed for. Until those words, it had been perfect. A slow, perfect, loving copulation with the man to whom he devoted so much of himself. This cycle of soaring faith and crushing disappointment would continue unless the man got over himself. Hannibal wasn’t sure how much longer he was willing to put up with this, but the thought of leaving or losing Will was far worse than the pain of being classified as ‘disgusting.’

“Hannibal…” Will began. He could hear the guilt and regret in every syllable of his name. It weighed down on him. A weaker resolve might have led him to roll over and wrap himself in the other man. Nevertheless, he refused to turn back, holding onto the feelings of rejection and disgust.

“Goodnight, Will.” He permitted, voice barely above a whisper. A part of him feared that if he spoke too loud, the other would hear the emotion in his throat. Hannibal prided himself on remaining stoic in any situation, but now he was struggling to remain that detached.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” The empath pushed. Hannibal could hear him shuffling around behind him. Something touched his shoulder. Will’s hand. The tips of his fingers brushed along the curve of his arm. It took every ounce of energy he had in him not to react.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered out, the flat of his palm pressing against his skin. It was warm. Will was naturally warm. “Let me-”

“Goodnight, Will,” Hannibal repeated. This time, it was louder, firmer. If he hadn’t just barely cracked when he spoke the former’s name, it would have been a perfect demand. But it did, and he had no doubt Will picked up on it, too.

He heard more shuffling. The warmth of another body grew closer and closer to his back. The torment in Hannibal's chest didn't suddenly go away despite Will and his active attempts to lessen it. In his memory, that moment would etch itself in stone, and he would repeat that extempore comment for a long time.

The hand slid down to his elbow before it slid down to his side. He didn’t react, didn’t stiffen in discomfort or relax in acceptance. His palm moved across his stomach, stopping over the bullet scar before it moved up to his chest. As the other's warmth reached his back, he closed his eyes to combat the new wave of tears.

He could feel the contrition coming off of the empath, a thick feeling that coated the inside of his throat. Hannibal could very well turn around and fall into the embrace, allow Will to drag him close and chase away the tightness in his chest. Give Will what he wanted, reassurance that he hadn’t ruined the moment. But he had, and the thought of his potential disgust followed that almost immediately. Will's actions didn't seem driven by care, but by obligation.

Traces of Will still clung to his stomach. The sweat was drying. It made him feel stiff and uncomfortable. It was rather late into the night. Too late for him to shower, though that seemed like a good excuse to pull himself out of Will’s arms.

Hannibal hadn’t felt disgusted. He’d felt happy, enchanted, and, above all, loved. He had thought Will felt the same. From the active consent, to the sounds that had echoed down the halls just moments prior. The assertion could have been some sort of reflex, but it ruined whatever he had been feeling previously. Even now, lying in the aftermath of it all, he didn’t feel disgusted. He just felt saddened.

“I’m sorry.”

He felt the breath of the words against the base of his neck. The remorse was quiet, desperate. It wasn’t aiming for reassurance of any kind this time. It was trying to reassure Hannibal. Repentance was all he heard, not denial of his previous claims. That wasn’t reassuring.

For a while, the room was heavy with their silence. As if he was trying to sway him either out of the bed or further into the embrace, Will moved even closer. He was pushing, encroaching, trying to make up for his mistake with affection. With all the past trouble he’d had with affection like this, it almost warmed his chest. If not for that word.
Disgusting.

Hannibal was almost ashamed that a single word was affecting him this much.

“You aren’t disgusting,” Will spoke, brushing his mouth along the base of his neck. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was… different. Not disgusting.”

Hannibal couldn’t pull himself to respond to anything the other was saying, but he internalized it just as he internalized everything Will said to him.

“I won’t get anywhere with you if I keep being an ass.” He said. “I want whatever this is to work. And I keep ruining it every time it gets nice.”

He heard the audible sigh that pushed out of Will’s chest. His face buried itself into the curve of his neck and shoulder, easing them further onto the mattress.

“That was the best I’ve ever felt.” He admitted, his words small and hesitant. Despite the fact that it sounded like he didn't want to say it, Hannibal felt the quiet truth in it. “So no, it wasn’t disgusting. And I’m sorry.”

He let himself relax again, though made no movement to turn back to him. Will seemed receptive to the slacken in his body language. His hand trailed along his collarbone, following the curves and edges at a delicate pace. It surprised Hannibal. The empath had never actively comforted him, pulled them close together, promptly sought some sort of reciprocating affection.

He didn’t feel a demand in the motions along his skin. He felt gentle, almost soothing touches that dulled the ache in his chest. It didn’t get rid of it; this particular thorn in his side wouldn’t leave anytime soon. Eventually, he would extract it, lock it away within a room adjacent to the euphoric memory of tonight.

For a second, he thought the other was going to pull away. A minimal chill went down his spine as he felt the other move. Instead of standing and leaving, rolling over and ignoring him like Hannibal had done, he propped himself up on his elbow. Using the leverage to lean over him, Will lifted his hand.

His touch moved up to brush the column of his throat, the run his knuckles along his jawline, and ghost over the curve of his cheekbone. Before cupping his face in his palm, his hand drifted across the scar below his eye. The thought of seeing the other made him uneasy, dreading the rush of emotions that would accompany it. The empath eased him down to lie on his back, leaning over him.

Will didn’t once waver in his pursuit. The cannibal held his breath, as if that would prevent the layer of teardrops from forming. When their eyes finally met and he exhaled, the breath stuttered out.

Will was smiling down at him. A gentle, empathetic, saddened smile. How much distress had appeared on Hannibal's face? He brushed off that thought as Will leaned further over him, the messy curls atop his breath skimming against Hannibal’s forehead.

Typically, Hannibal was quick to react to everything. Especially affection, and specifically from Will. He was slow to react as he felt the brush of his mouth. The thought of pulling away, of rejecting it, of dismissing Will like Will had dismissed him, came to mind.

That wasn’t what he did.

What he did was pull the other closer and lean into the affection.

The hand on his cheek traveled back to his hair. The motion between them was slow, gentle, easing back into the cloud of intimacy. Hannibal ran one hand up the other’s arm, stopping at the scars along his shoulder. Everything with Will had been slow. A gradual build to this moment. Years spent creating this bond, this inseparable bond. Three years waiting in a cell for him to recognize this connection. Months on end, trying to get him to accept it.

Will pulled back just enough to look down at the other. Their breathing mingled with the close contact. Hannibal held his breath, waiting for the spell to break again. He could feel the empath smile against him.

“I am sorry.” He repeated once more as he pulled back to look into Hannibal’s eyes. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know I didn’t mean that.” His eyes gleamed as he stared down. “I meant the feeling of something dripping out of my ass was disgusting.”

Hannibal couldn’t fight the smile that burst onto his face at the closing statement. Will grinned and laughed above him, happy to get that simple smile from him. It was a small assurance. They could always fall back to their old patterns, even when Will ruined their intimacy and domesticity.

It hurt. He couldn’t deny the situation had hurt. The devoted and adoring regard Will showed him eased him, even though Will had been the one to upset him. Not completely. Never completely. He wouldn’t pull the empath back into their bed like this for a while. Not till he felt like he could without the threat of potential revulsion.

His hand found its way into the mess of unruly curls. The other laid down, head resting on his chest. As if he was mirroring him, Will’s hand tangled within chest hair. With a sigh, he eased himself into the embrace.

“Crass.” He scolded at the last comment. His partner replied with a chuckle, settling down on top of him comfortably.

It didn’t take long for Will to fall asleep. He could feel the shifts and changes in his body. The slowing of his breathing, heartbeat, the way this body stilled under the blanket of sleep. How the motions on his chest stopped, and he relaxed. Will always relaxed in his sleep, more relaxed than Hannibal had ever seen him awake.

Hannibal didn’t sleep that night, but he spent most of his time staring at the man on his chest.