Chapter Text
His appointment with Hannibal had been early for once, in an attempt to start rather than end his day on a positive note, and to get him through the early morning lectures that he normally fumbles his way through in a coffee-infused exhaustion-induced haze.
He fumbles through today’s lectures, but for a different reason this time; confused, shocked optimism cuts through the haze but leaves Will tripping over his words, trailing off mid-sentence as the ghost of Hannibal’s fingers trail down his arm.
Calm. Breathe.
The command fails to sink in through the long drive back to Wolf Trap. With no case to occupy his mind (a rare luxury that he’s both grateful for and annoyed about), Will turns his attention to the slowly accumulating pile of housework and repairs that needs to be done.
Calm. Breathe.
However, no matter how frequent the repetition or how Will attempts to cement it with routine manual tasks that normally serve as some barrier between him and the outside world. Arms covered to the elbows in soap suds, shirt splattered with water and wet fur as one by one each of his dogs is subjected (with varying levels of enthusiasm and willingness) to their weekly wash.
There’s no dignity in this task, and maybe that’s why he revels in it; the simplicity of scrubbing through wet fur, his dogs’ cold noses and sloppy tongues pressed against his shirt or face in hilarious appeal for the torture to cease.
For just a few moments, there’s just this. Long collie hair clumping in his hands till he’s forced to take a break to wash it all off. The cool splash of soapy water that dries sticky against his skin under the spring sun.
He’s fine until one of the dogs he’s washing happens to have hair just this side of blond; the strands fine and dark under the water, but with a hint of paleness in the light.
Hannibal’s hair would be like this, Will thinks absent-mindedly as he squeezes shampoo onto wet fur. Perhaps a little longer; long enough to tug, were Will brave enough to press his lips against the omega, to wrap an arm over those broad shoulders.
What would those lips taste like? Not like Alana’s not at all. Though Hannibal’s are never chapped, they don’t have the lushness of his female counterpart. No – in Will’s fantasies, Hannibal’s lips are soft but slightly rough, yielding without weakness…
Maybe I’ll find out tonight.
Buster whimpers underneath Will’s hands – clenched too tightly in the dog’s short coat as a pulse of nervous nauseous excitement ripples through his body.
“Sorry, sorry,” Will murmurs quickly. He rubs Buster’s side before scratching his head in apology, thrusting all thoughts of Hannibal’s sharp cheekbones and inviting mouth towards the opposite corner of his mind.
Later.
Those thoughts and half-formed images stay mercifully consigned to the recesses of Will’s brain until he’s pulling on a hastily-ironed shirt and fumbling with the buttons. The material is expensive and stiff, purchased for the wedding of his only childhood friend. The last time he’d worn this, he was standing beside Hannibal at Mrs Hobbs’s funeral.
In the mirror, Will sees himself swallow heavily at the memory. Ideally, this night will scourge any earlier associations from the fabric.
If not, he can always burn it.
That latter thought – that things might not work out, that tonight will be nothing more than an awkward meal as Hannibal realises he’s made a mistake by even considering allowing Will to see him intimately – creeps up on Will slowly and then suddenly.
Suddenly he’s on his knees, gasping and choking as panic’s invisible hands grip his neck.
Calm. Breathe. Calm, he reminds himself. Draws out the sight of Hannibal’s dark crimson eyes gazing at him through fine pale lashes. Strong tanned wrists upturned, in a deliberate gesture of submission.
Calm.
This time it works, just enough that Will is able to push himself back onto his feet.
From then, everything is autopilot. Coat, bag, keys, wallet, phone. Most of the dogs barely stir when he walks towards the front door, too exhausted from the excitement of their baths. Only Winston follows Will to the door, though he doesn’t attempt to sneak through the door like some of the others occasionally do. Will allows the dog to nudge against his leg briefly, offering his hand for a brief lick. Satisfied, Winston turns and pads away towards the rug he’s claimed.
The drive to Hannibal’s house goes surprisingly quickly, though Will is careful not to speed. The notion of getting pulled over at this juncture is nothing short of horrifying. He blasts classic rock the whole drive, loud enough to keep him on the verge of out of his head until he’s pulling into Hannibal’s street.
Even though he is given the chance to knock, it is clear that Hannibal has anticipated his arrival; the psychiatrist answers the door immediately, serene and immaculately-dressed as always.
“Good evening, Will,” he says calmly, but there’s a slight flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.
Though he’d talked himself in and out of this the whole day, that slight chink in Hannibal’s normally impenetrable armour (no doubt a deliberate reveal, which makes it all the more sweet) gives Will just enough courage to forego words, as he steps forwards to brush his lips clumsily against the omega’s. His are chapped and rough, but Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, making a small noise of contentment. When Will tentatively places a hand on the psychiatrist’s waist, the man relaxes slightly into the touch.
It’s tempting to deepen the kiss, but then a slight gust of wind ruffles Will’s hair, alerting him to the fact that they’re still standing in Hannibal’s doorway. He reluctantly pulls back, with a small thrill of delight when Hannibal leans forwards in a momentary attempt to recapture the kiss before coming back to himself.
“Dinner,” Will mutters, slightly fidgety.
The psychiatrist smiles, controlled as ever but for the slight flush of his cheeks. “Dinner,” he agrees, dropping his gaze just slightly before looking up at Will from under his lashes in a mimicry of the morning. Calculated, and no less sincere for it.
“Filet mignon with salad and roasted potatoes,” Hannibal tells Will, who stares at his plate with some shock. It’s not that the food doesn’t look unappetising (far, far from that) but…
“This is very…um…”
“English?” Hannibal suggests when Will trails off.
That’s not actually the word Will was thinking about; pub would have been more accurate. “It looks – smells – fantastic,” he hastens to clarify. “It’s just a bit of a…departure…from what you usually offer up. Not that I’m complaining,” Will adds hurriedly, because the steak looks amazing and he already hasn’t eaten the whole day so the delay of awkwardly trying to get himself out of what must seem like a considerable insult to his host is not helping. Before he can get his foot any further in his mouth, Will carves a corner of steak and practically shoves it into his mouth.
Damnit, how does Hannibal make steak taste decadent?
Hannibal’s eyes are kind, if amused, when Will (still chewing) finally dares to look towards the psychiatrist. “I wanted to make you comfortable, Will,” he says gently. “I enjoy making you comfortable.”
A lump forms, just briefly, in his throat. Oddly, Hannibal’s words do not grate at Will’s inner Alpha. It’s probably because Will knows Hannibal by now, knows he wouldn’t ever say anything to suggest that Will is weak in any way. The way he stresses the word enjoy – it’s active reassurance that Will is making the omega feel good.
It’s so very manipulative, so perfectly crafted. It makes Will fall in love just a little bit harder.
After that, Will makes no effort to restrain his expressions of delight at the food. He takes his time, conscious of Hannibal’s deliberately watchful gaze; makes sure to broadcast his appreciation, not only for the consideration of Hannibal’s cooking, but also for his softened tone and the delicacy with which he handles their dinner conversation. No talk of broken teacups or Will’s latest case. They talk instead of music and opera (Will knows little of either, but Hannibal is only too happy to educate with a rare enthusiasm that is profoundly endearing), of Will’s dogs and fishing.
By the time they have finished dinner, Will has completely shaken off the anxiety from earlier. A combination of contented fullness, the warmth of the room and Hannibal’s regard, and the frankly excellent wine bolsters his confidence in a way that nothing has before. After the omega has returned from taking the empty plates to the kitchen and left them to soak. Will has worked himself up to moving to the couch, legs spread wide. Hannibal takes the unspoken invitation, moving to stand between them and smiling slightly as Will’s large hands grasp his waist lightly.
Light, but firm enough to hopefully get across the possessive interest that is finally drowning out the uncertainty and self-loathing under which it is normally cloaked. “Is this alright?” Will asks, for once actually confident as to what the answer will be.
Hannibal leans down to press his lips chastely to Will’s in silent answer. Goes willingly as Will pulls the omega into his lap (where he belongs, Will’s inner Alpha growls in triumph). He's keenly conscious of the man's weight, largely comprised of lean and powerful muscle.
This time, Will takes control of the kiss. Sweeps his tongue lightly over the outline of Hannibal’s mouth till the other man opens up obediently. One of Will’s arms wraps around Hannibal’s back in support, the other rising to grasp the back of Hannibal’s head. He lets his fingers trace lightly across the omega’s neck, smiling into their kiss when Hannibal lets out a gasp of surprise at the sensation.
“Wait-” Hannibal starts to say, turning his head away.
Cute. “No,” Will says with another smile. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to control you?”
“Will-”
A nip to Hannibal’s bottom lip – hard enough to draw blood – silences the man. “Because I can do that, Hannibal.”
And then Will brings his hand around to circle Hannibal’s throat, thumb placed just over the man’s trachea. It’s a gesture of possessiveness, of ownership. “Mine,” Will pulls back from the kiss to whisper against Hannibal’s lips. No threat, no promise. Just a gentle statement of fact.
Hannibal moans. It’s real and unforced, the omega that Hannibal so carefully suppresses reacting on instinct to an Alpha – to Will.
And with that Will’s restraint is gone.
“Bedroom, now,” Will hisses, surging to his feet so quickly that Hannibal almost stumbles till Will catches him.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like dessert-” The omega breaks off with a loud yelp as Will yanks his hair, hard. No retaliation or protest, however, he follows Will's pull to arch his back against the Alpha's chest, head against Will's shoulder.
Hannibal shivers when Will’s breath washes over his scent gland.
“Now.”
If Will had previously thought to consider what Hannibal would be like in bed, little spoon would have felt rather uncharacteristic. The role seems to suit the man surprisingly well, however, as they lie chest to back, sweaty and satiated, on Hannibal’s frankly excessively large bed, dark silk sheets pushed messily to the floor. He pushes his ass back slightly into Will’s still-swollen knot (sending a jolt of tired arousal through Will yet again) with a contented sigh.
The back of the omega's neck and shoulders are peppered with bite marks, and his throat will likely bruise in the places where he directed Will's hand.
Fuck me harder, Hannibal had demanded, canting his hips back and tightening his muscles around Will's cock, fuck me like you own me, darling.
The endearment was strange on Hannibal's tongue, as though he had never used it before. That made it all the more charming.
Now, one of Will’s arms is wrapped possessively around the other man’s midriff, and Hannibal seems happy enough to examine the Alpha’s large, callused palm.
“Hannibal,” Will murmurs as the other man continues to trace abstract patterns over the skin of the Alpha’s arm.
“Yes, Will?” The omega looks over his shoulder to meet Will’s eyes.
“You know you could have just asked,” he says neutrally.
Hannibal frowns, apparently in honest confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I’m attracted to you. I want you. Not because you’re an omega. Though,” and Will releases Hannibal’s waist to reach down to where they’re still joined, “it’s certainly a nice bonus.”
Hannibal tenses in Will’s arms. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
“Dinner. The way you approached me, earlier. Christ, the way we just fucked. I appreciate it, but you really could have just asked.”
When Will lifts his head to meet the omega’s eyes, he is surprised at the jolt of arousal and protectiveness that the man’s uncertainty causes.
“I…” For the first time since they met, Hannibal seems unsure of what to say. “I didn’t realise you’d noticed.
Will barely avoids rolling his eyes, instead doing his best to project reassurance as he cranes his neck slightly to press a kiss to Hannibal’s forehead.
“I’m not good at interacting with people, Hannibal, but I am good at reading them,” he points out. “Besides, it was hard to miss. You wanted me to feel like an Alpha. Like I was being a good Alpha, and like you were a suitable omega for making you feel that way. I don’t mind,” he adds, “Not at all. I’m flattered, if anything, that you went to the effort.”
The body pressed against his chest relaxes slightly, though Will can still sense the omega’s uncertainty. “Flattered,” Hannibal repeats, clearly attempting but failing to keep his voice as expressionless as possible.
“If you want me to change, I will,” Will says frankly. “If you want me to pin you down and choke you out, I'll do that. I’ll still want you either way. I told you before - I'm not the kind of Alpha an omega wants. But if you want me to try, I will.”
The knot has deflated sufficiently by now that Will figures it should be safe to pull out. But as he makes to do so, Hannibal reaches back quickly to grasp Will’s thigh, stilling him.
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but Will doesn’t mind. It’s just Hannibal being Hannibal; processing new data, weighing up his options. It's Hannibal trying to deal with the kind of blunt sincerity that he offers but is surprised to receive.
The fact that he wants Will’s cock in him while he does so is rather endearing.
Finally Hannibal says, quietly, “I have no desire for you to change, though I may have been late to realise as much. It was rude of me to be duplicitous.”
“It’s fine-”
“It was rude,” Hannibal repeats a little more firmly. “I wanted you to express your interest in me, without my having to initiate anything myself. For one such as I to expect conformity to such an outdated tradition was unfair and-”
Hannibal is rambling. It’s painfully and surprisingly adorable, and wholly unnecessary.
(More likely than not, it's also just as crafted as everything else. Will couldn't care less.)
Will reaches over to clasp his palm over Hannibal’s mouth. “It was very rude,” he agrees. In one fluid motion, he pulls out of Hannibal and rolls on top of the man, pinning him down. “Which,” he continues, “is why I fully expect you to make it up to me. At length”
The other man looks up at him in wide-eyed surprise.
"You still...?"
Will manages to hide a smug smirk - because for all his confidence, Hannibal can still be thrown. "You're a dick," Will says, moving one hand to stroke Hannibal's face gently. "And I like it. I like you. And if you feel bad about that - like I said. Make it up to me."
The omega stares at him for a long moment, considering. Will waits, outwardly calm but heart racing.
Finally, finally, a smile forms on the other man's face. “I believe that can be arranged,” Hannibal says, and reaches up to pull Will down for a kiss.