Chapter Text
Will gets flashes of consciousness after the fall. The cold of the water with Hannibal’s arms tight around him, the water he willingly drew into his lungs, because that was the whole point of this, wasn’t it?, to die here with Hannibal, to leave the world, but leave it together?
But the next flash he gets is Hannibal dragging him up onto the shore, the bitter chill of the air on his damp skin and clothes, the sting of the open wound on his cheek, coughing roughly, wetly. The world goes dark, and next he wakes up, he’s in the passenger seat of a car, and he’s damp but warm because the heat is on full blast, it’s silent except for the sound of the road beneath the tires and Hannibal’s hand is wrapped around his own, holding on tight, as if letting go means letting Will slip from life.
When he finally comes to for good, he’s first aware of Hannibal’s hands on him, touching his cheek and neck, Hannibal’s hands as gentle as ever. Will is used to Hannibal’s gentleness being followed by violence, but even if that’s the case once again, Will’s not sure he can bring himself to care.
He intended to die from that fall, from the water. If fate, if Hannibal, has seen fit to save him again, then the time he has left belongs solely to the forces of nature now. To fate, and to Hannibal.
(Hannibal is almost certainly a force of nature.)
Next, Will becomes aware of the pull of the stitches in his face, closing up the gaping, aching wound in his cheek that Dolarhyde had left. That’s what Hannibal is touching, it seems--Will guesses that the stitches are fresh then, no doubt lovingly sewn by Hannibal himself while Will was still out. He feels a dull throb near his eye where he was hit, and the sting in his upper chest from the other knife wound, probably also stitched closed, if Will had to guess. He aches dully, but it’s not even close to pain he’s felt in the past, and barely registers.
Wherever they are now, he’s sitting somewhere soft, and it smells just slightly musty, as if it’s been unused for quite some time. An abandoned house then, perhaps, or maybe one of Hannibal’s many secret residences. If Hannibal picked it, it’s sure to be safe, Will thinks. Far from danger, far from the police’s suspicions as to where they might run to. Will figures that the last thing Hannibal wants is to be caught again, especially now.
Will’s head tilts forward a little, into Hannibal’s hands. They’re calloused, but the skin is so damn warm against him, and it feels like relief after so much cold. The tenderness feels perfect after so much strife.
But it must tip Hannibal off. He speaks up, his voice just as tender as his hands, “Are you awake, Will?”
Will almost prefers to pretend he isn’t. If Hannibal intends to... punish him, for throwing them both over a cliff, for trying to kill the both of them, he won’t do it while Will is sleeping. So long as Will’s asleep, he’s safe, he’s free to bask in Hannibal’s affection, to let himself know what it means to be loved by him, without fear of the sharp backlash that too often follows.
The scar across his belly gives a dull throb. He hasn’t forgotten how Hannibal punishes betrayal.
“I have no intentions of hurting you again,” Hannibal says, as if reading Will’s mind (Hannibal reading Will’s mind has been the problem all along). Even without opening his eyes, Will can hear the approval in his voice. “I’m not angry about what you did. If we had died, it would have been a poetic way to go. A lover’s leap, if you will.”
And somehow, Will believes him. They’ve... opened themselves up to one another now, the truth has been laid bare between them after all these years, and Will doesn’t feel the intent to lie or mislead. He believes Hannibal, and he cracks open his eyes, only to be met with the warmest look he’s ever seen on the face of anyone looking at him. The love is pouring out of Hannibal. Everything from the open smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, to the soft lines of his face... everything about it screams adoration, and it’s almost too much--Will has never had anyone gaze upon him like this, and even before when Hannibal would look at him with that special twinkle in his eyes, it was never as upfront as this.
It’s so fucked up, but no one has ever been so deeply in love with him as Hannibal is.
“Will.”
Hannibal says his name in reverence, like a prayer, and Will forgets to take a breath.
“How are you feeling?”
“Alive,” Will croaks roughly--there was seawater in his lungs, at some point--his voice strained, “Mostly.”
Hannibal’s thumb strokes across his cheek, leaving Will to shiver, as he explains, “Good. Your face and chest are stitched up now. Neither are life-threatening, but it’s going to leave a scar, I’m afraid.”
Will would shrug, if he had the energy for it. He says dismissively, “What’s a few more?”
Hannibal doesn’t seem to disagree with the sentiment. He has his own fair share of scars, after all. But when he speaks, there’s a touch of regret in his voice, “I do wish he’d avoided your face.”
Will understands the half-spoken compliment without Hannibal needing to say it directly. He lets out a breath as he tries to swallow the words, closes his eyes again so that he doesn’t have to watch Hannibal still looking at him like that, even though he can practically still feel his gaze on him.
Despite the part of his brain telling him it’s time to run, the part of him that’s been trying to force himself away from Hannibal since the beginning... Will doesn’t see the point in fighting it anymore. Fuck, he’s been fighting this urge for... what, five years now? Close to that. He’s tired. He’s bone-deep tired of pretending to be something or someone that he’s not, tired of burying the part of himself that Hannibal’s spent so much time digging up. He tried to separate himself from Hannibal, and he’s found himself dragged back, again and again, and even now, they’ve both been spared and forced back into each other’s orbit once more and...
The universe, God, whatever force might exist out there that’s beyond Will’s comprehension... whatever they are, they seem pretty damn intent on Will being with Hannibal, and Will’s not going to fight it anymore if the universe wants it that fucking bad.
He exhales and lets his face slump into Hannibal’s strong hands; he isn’t disappointed.
Even the way Hannibal touches him is almost overstimulating. Hannibal’s hands, so willingly capable of destruction, hold his head like it’s made of glass, like something precious, meant to be cherished. Hannibal’s fingers run back through his hair, his fingertips move across Will’s cheekbones and forehead and the bridge of his nose, until Hannibal’s hand is cradling Will’s jaw and Will feels the pad of Hannibal’s thumb ghost across his lips.
The movement sends a chill down Will’s spine, but he doesn’t go against it, doesn’t pull away or tell Hannibal to stop. He’s not really sure he wants him to.
Hannibal’s thumb hovers over his lips for a second, as if waiting for resistance, and when none is given, it lowers to Will’s lips again, tracing them over once more with only a bit more pressure than before.
When the thumb lightly tugs down Will’s lower lip, he’s not sure he can take it anymore. Will’s not sure how long Hannibal’s felt this moment coming, and Will knows what Hannibal wants, what Hannibal’s wanted for years and just won’t seem to take.
It’s too much build up for Will--he needs the resolution and he’s sick of waiting.
“Do it,” he tells him, doesn’t bother to open his eyes, because he can feel Hannibal’s surprise in the sudden stillness of his hands and the hitching of his breath without needing to look at him.
“Will,” Hannibal says again, and Will's not sure his name has ever been able to communicate so damn much as it does with Hannibal; disbelief, reverence, adoration... and somehow, it’s a request for permission. Will is damn near knocked off his feet at the thought of Hannibal asking for permission for anything, much less this.
“Just kiss me,” he spits, before he can change his mind, before he can go back on what he’s decided to commit to, what he committed to the moment the fight with Dolarhyde began, the moment he took Hannibal’s hand to let him pull him from the ground, the moment he leaned into Hannibal, put his arm around him, and tipped them over the ledge. Or perhaps the moment was far earlier than that. Perhaps some part of him had committed to Hannibal the first day he met him in Jack’s office, the first time he learned that, for the first time in his stupid, lonely life, that someone else could play the same mind games he could.
Hannibal gives him just what he asks for.
Will inhales sharply through his nose as he feels Hannibal’s lips press to his, and suddenly his heart is in his throat as if trying to eject (trying to climb into Hannibal’s mouth instead? the mental image is interesting, Will must admit, even if Will doesn’t want to think about Hannibal eating his heart); Hannibal’s mouth is soft, fuck it’s soft, and though Will had no intention of it, he’s suddenly kissing back, moving his lips against Hannibal’s more than Hannibal had seemed to dare.
One of Hannibal’s hands is tightening on the back his neck--but it’s possessive, not threatening, and Will suddenly feels like he’s falling all over again, tumbling forward into Hannibal’s mouth, plummeting over a cliff, except that this time he’s not sure how far the fall is, how far down he’ll go before he hits rock bottom, and he wonders if it really will be the death of him.
(If it were, it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.)
Hannibal separates their lips, and then Hannibal’s forehead is pressed to his and Will is breathless, like he just ran a mile. It feels like shit to admit it, even in his own head... but he’s almost certain that one small kiss was more exhilarating than any sex he’s ever had, and he’s suddenly dizzy to think about what the hell sex with Hannibal would even be like. Jesus, he’s not sure he’s ready to even think about that.
But he is sure that he wants another damn kiss. He wasn’t ready for the first one to end, despite the need for air, and he tilts his mouth forward against Hannibal’s again.
He feels Hannibal’s fingers twitch--in surprise--feels the breath Hannibal sucks in against his upper lip, and feels his heart racing, chest swelling, moves their lips together slow and sweet. Perhaps it’s no surprise that they fall into a natural rhythm, since they’ve fallen into nearly every other rhythm together--they kiss like they’ve kissed a thousand times before, like it’s practiced, like they know what the other wants and what they’ll do before it’s even done, even though the steel butterflies flitting around his stomach are a firm reminder that this is still desperately new.
When the kiss breaks again, Hannibal pulls back a little further, and Will licks his lips subconsciously. He tastes blood and saltwater on them, faint, but present. Hannibal’s thumb is back to stroking the undamaged cheek, and it coaxes Will into opening his eyes.
And Hannibal’s still looking at him, staring at him as if he can hardly believe Will is real, and there... there are tears in his eyes. Will can see the moisture brimming along the bottom edge of his eyes, making them shine in the low lighting, and...
It makes Will suddenly aware of his own tears. He’s not sure how he missed them before, because with his eyes open, he can tell he’s crying, can feel the sting of salty moisture, and he realizes that Hannibal hadn’t just stroked his cheek for the hell of it (though he probably would have anyway). There’d been a tear there that Hannibal had wiped away.
“Hannibal...” Will can hear the way his voice wavers, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking for, what he’s going to say. He’s always been conflicted, his entire life he’s lived in conflict between who he is and who he wants to be, and it’s only gotten worse, more, since Hannibal (before Hannibal and after Hannibal, he thinks of himself as practically two separate selves now, even though he knows that’s not really true). Hannibal is... everything Will’s ever denied himself for the sake of social normality, Will’s id in human flesh, driving him to manipulation, to murder, and now... to this.
Hannibal kisses him again, and it turns out that it's exactly what Will was asking for.
He leans into the kiss even more than before, and it’s still all lip, no tongue, no teeth, still gentle and sweet and full of words neither of them can really say yet, words neither of them are ready to speak or hear, but still want to communicate and Will won’t admit it to himself but he might just be shaking, just a little bit, and he doesn’t want this moment to pass.
Will’s tired of denying himself everything, at least for now, for this moment. He killed with Hannibal and it was beautiful, more beautiful than even Will could have imagined, and this... this is beautiful too. Part of Will is terrified, more terrified to be in love with Hannibal than he ever was to kill with him, but this moment, here, being held so gently in Hannibal’s hands and finally just accepting that he wants this... it’s been a long time since anything has felt quite so right.
And what a fucking mess they are. They just killed a man together, enjoyed killing a man together... and here they are, crying like babies over a kiss. Fuck, the situation is almost laughable. The both of them, murderers, and sentimental, overemotional saps who cry over kissing more tamely then a pair of preteens kissing for the first time.
Will only breaks the kiss when he can’t stand it anymore, when he thinks he might just fall apart from the simple contact, when he thinks that Hannibal’s strong hands aren’t going to be enough to hold him together.
His lips part from Hannibal’s and he leans forward, rests his head on Hannibal’s chest just like before, and lets himself exhale the intensity that he can’t keep bottled up in his chest, let’s this contact... calm him.
Hannibal’s hands hesitate, much like they did before at the top of the bluff, they hover over Will’s shoulders for a long moment, as if giving Will a chance to pull away or change his mind, even though Will is far too tired to do either. Only a moment later does Hannibal touch him, gently laying his hands on Will’s shoulders, sliding them across his back until Hannibal’s arms are wrapped firmly around him.
His forehead is pressed up against Hannibal’s neck, and he feels... warm and secure. Will’s not sure he’s ever felt anything like this before--he’s been embraced by a lover, of course, but... it wasn’t like this. And Will’s not sure if it’s because he’s only been embraced by women before or... or if it’s just Hannibal. It’s probably just Hannibal. Will wouldn’t feel this same serenity being held by anyone else, because no one else has ever known him the way Hannibal knows him, intimately, to his core. Hannibal sees him, and no one else Will has ever loved has ever seen him so clearly as Hannibal does.
(No one Will has ever loved has made him see himself so clearly.)
That and it’s Hannibal. The man is... almost beyond the natural in too many ways, too strong, too intelligent, too immortal, and Will can’t help that being held like this, pressed to Hannibal’s broad chest and wrapped up in his strong arms... he feels safe. And Will isn’t sure he can remember the last time he felt safe, but he feels it now, feels Hannibal’s protectiveness wrapped around him like a cocoon (or a chrysalis, perhaps), and pointed outward toward the world like a shield around the both of them.
Hannibal won’t let anything hurt him. Will can feel it in the way Hannibal cradles him to his chest, his fingers pressing light circles into Will’s back, his cheeks resting gently against Will’s hair as Will slowly breathes in, smelling the same blood and salt he tasted on Hannibal’s lips. If anyone were to burst in on them like this, Hannibal would use himself as a shield to save Will from whatever came, just as he did so few hours ago, putting himself between Will and the Dragon, taking a bullet for him.
Will loses track of how long they stay that way. It’s so long overdue that they’re probably overcompensating, and Will won’t try to claim he’s fully awake through all of it. It’s been a long day, and Will lost too much blood to be expected to stay conscious for much longer.
Eventually, Hannibal speaks up, just as his fingers push back through Will’s mess of curls, “You should rest.”
“Hmm,” Will agrees weakly. Part of him doesn’t want to move at all, doesn’t want to lose peace now that he’s found it, accepts it, and accepts living with it. It’s too good to give up.
But when Hannibal starts to move, he moves with him and lets Hannibal pull him to his feet. Even with a bullet wound in his gut, Hannibal is sturdy enough to support his weight and lead him through the small home, down a short hallway to the door leading into the bedroom. Hannibal carries him towards the bed, sets him down on the edge, then kneels down on the floor in front of him and the look Hannibal gives him makes Will think of worship, even though it seem ridiculous for Hannibal to worship him. If either of them is a malevolent deity, it’s most certainly Hannibal.
His hands raise to the buttons of Will’s shirt, the top two already undone from Hannibal’s stitching of the chest wound, and pause once more, putting the power of rejection once more in Will’s hands... but Will knows that Hannibal has undressed him before, more than once, sees no use in stopping him this time when Will’s fingers are probably too clumsy right now to work the buttons anyway. He doesn’t move away or tell Hannibal no, and soon Hannibal’s fingers are unbuttoning his blood-stained shirt, one by one, until he opens it, slides it down Will’s arms and tosses it aside.
Will almost expects more contact--or perhaps expects is the wrong word. He doesn’t think Hannibal will touch him, his bare chest, not now, not with how Hannibal is treating him, but... he can sense that Hannibal wants to. He knows Hannibal would love nothing more than to put his hands all over him, but he won’t, not until Will tells him he can.
And there’s something particularly strange in knowing that, that Hannibal is willingly giving him the power to decide, when Hannibal was content before to make so many other decisions for him.
Hannibal’s hands go to Will’s belt next and remove it quickly, but he leaves his pants alone. He tugs down the covers and helps Will beneath them, covering him up, tucking him in, before he sits down on the bed next to him to stroke his fingers through Will’s hair as Will closes his eyes and starts to drift under the strange serenity he gets from having Hannibal pet him like this.
He’s shaken awake suddenly when he feels Hannibal start to move, realizes immediately that he’s leaving, and a panic grips Will suddenly; without thinking, his hand darts out to catch Hannibal’s just as he rises to his feet.
Hannibal stops immediately, turns to look down at Will with interest on his face.
“Where are you going?” Will asks, surprising himself a little with the intensity of the words.
“Back to the couch,” Hannibal replies, “to sleep.”
Will doesn’t let go of Hannibal’s hand as he processes the words, and Hannibal doesn’t pull away. It just... doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t want Hannibal to sleep in another room... it’s such a ridiculous sensation, something Will never would have guess of himself, but Will doesn’t want Hannibal to be that far away from him. He’ll actually feel safer having Hannibal close.
“Don’t,” he finally says, letting out a breath. “Just sleep here. The bed’s big enough.” Will’s not sure he could handle Hannibal... touching him through the night, but... he doesn’t want him far from arm’s reach. He’s not ready for it, not just yet.
“As you wish,” Hannibal says, giving Will’s hand a soft squeeze before lowering it gently to the bed. Will watches, can’t help but watch, as Hannibal pulls the sweater up over his head, as Will realizes that... he’s never seen him shirtless, though he compartmentalizes the thoughts for another day, another time, and instead just watches Hannibal round the bed to the other side and join him under the covers.
Hannibal keeps his distance, probably already knowing that Will needs it, but he smiles warmly as Will looks at him and he says, “Good night, Will.”
Will’s heartbeat slows, calms, as he watches Hannibal close his eyes, feels at ease knowing Hannibal is with him. He watches Hannibal until his breathing is slow and steady, even though Will had been tired before, he wants to watch Hannibal fall asleep in front of him.
And there’s something even more settling about that; Hannibal trusts him. Will could attack Hannibal right now, could find some way to hurt him in his sleep, but... Hannibal is giving him the power to make that choice for himself. Or he has enough trust in Will to believe that he won't hurt him again.
Will doesn’t want to hurt Hannibal, not with... the number of doors that have opened up for them now, not with the endless possibilities that lie ahead. The part of him that’s afraid of his inner demons has gone quiet for now, and he just wants to see where this new path will take them.
He lets out a breath, closes his eyes, and follows Hannibal into sleep.
(He follows him into the dark.)