Chapter Text
“Will, what is this?”
The FBI Special Agent looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the breakfast table.
“It’s a duckling, Hannibal,” Will told him, taking a mouthful of strong black coffee – fresh from Hannibal’s fancy machine.
“I can see that it’s a duckling,” Hannibal snapped, his tone irritable, “I mean, why is it in my kitchen?”
Will got up from the table and crossed to the other side of the kitchen to the shoebox Hannibal was peering into with a look of distaste. Reaching inside, he gently scooped up the tiny ball of soft feathers and lifted the duckling to his face so he could meet its round black eyes. He missed Hannibal’s jealous look that he threw at the duckling.
“I found him,” Will said, stroking a fingertip over the bird’s small fragile body, “when I was walking the dogs this morning. He was abandoned, alone, I couldn’t just leave him.”
“You could have given it to your dogs to eat,” Hannibal grumbled, tearing his eyes from the duckling nestled in Will’s palm to pour his own mug of coffee.
“Don’t be so cruel, Hannibal,” Will told him sternly, “and he is not it – his name is Churchill.”
“Churchill?” Hannibal shot Will a sceptical look – though there was fondness in his eyes.
“What?” the FBI agent said, returning the duckling to the shoebox “I already have a Winston.”
Sighing, Hannibal moved close to Will and forced the younger man to meet his piercing eyes. The doctor recalled a time not so long ago that Will Graham would have run a mile if anyone had got as close to him as Hannibal was now. But those times were fading and with Hannibal as his anchor, Will was slowly conquering his anxieties.
Lifting a hand, Hannibal caught hold of Will’s chin and traced his long elegant fingers down his dark stubble.
“Such compassion,” he murmured, leaning his face close to Will’s, “reserved only for animals.”
“And, for you,” Will whispered, an embarrassed blush spreading over his cheeks.
Hannibal grinned wolfishly and breathed against Will’s lips, “I hope compassion is not the only thing reserved for me.”
Will’s eyes fluttered shut as Hannibal’s lips brushed his. Then the duckling started to cry. Breaking the kiss as if he had been stung, Hannibal glowered down at the duckling.
“I’m going to make a pie out of you,” he hissed at the baby duck.
“Why are you acting like that towards Churchill?” Will demanded, picking the duckling back up and cradling it protectively against his chest.
Hannibal didn’t answer. He turned his back on his boyfriend and his new pet.
“Are you jealous?” Will asked incredulously, trying not to laugh. The duckling pecked at his finger hungrily.
“That’s ridiculous,” Hannibal retorted hotly, not meeting Will’s gaze.
“You are!” Will cried triumphantly, lifting the buckling up again, “did you hear that little Churchill, Daddy Hannibal is jealous of you.”
Hannibal froze, “did you just refer to me as Daddy Hannibal?”
The colour drained from Will’s face and he tried to backtrack but Hannibal put a finger to his lips.
“Call me it again,” he whispered in a voice thick with hunger and lust.
Will opened and closed his mouth, embarrassment and arousal catching his tongue. Leaning down to kiss the FBI agent once more, Hannibal breathed in Will’s scent – noting with a feeling of victory his boyfriend was no longer wearing that awful ship-on-a-bottle aftershave.
Just as their kiss was deepening, the duckling twisted around in Will’s palm and pecked Hannibal hard on the back of his hand.
That was the first time little duckling Churchill was almost turning into dinner by Hannibal Lecter.