Abigail started daycare a year and a month after Will and Hannibal adopted her, and she loved it.
They sent her thrice a week to start, just enough to get her to make friends, to socialize, to be a normal toddler. They’d looked for a long time for a place that could work with her trauma, that didn’t punish her for tantrums she couldn’t control. Hannibal and Will were always on call, but had never once had to come in yet to diffuse a situation.
It felt oddly freeing, being so normal.
No one ever found Marcus. Whatever Hannibal had done to him erased him from the world forever, and good riddance. Will never asked, and Hannibal never told him. Abigail forgot about Daddy-Papa’s weird friend in a blink.
Once in a while, a new Ripper victim would appear, and the FBI would swarm the scene with excited agitation. It was after a day like that, that Will came home in a mood.
Hannibal had dropped many of his clients, claiming his own trauma, and was home more often than he wasn’t, and Will found him in the kitchen, methodically chopping vegetables for a soup.
“Why do you do this to me, huh?” Will asked, sidling up behind him, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s middle and pressing his cheek to his shoulder. “Can’t even go to work without you fucking flirting with me. Do you have any idea how distracting you are?”
One of Will’s hands found Hannibal’s tie and he brought it back over Hannibal’s shoulder, wrapping it around his palm, over and over, until Hannibal’s breath hissed between his teeth.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“I have a few suggestions,” Hannibal whispered.
“Oh no you don’t,” Will growled, giving the tie another tug. “Your name was all over that crime scene, and I’m the only one who has a clue. I’ve been thinking about you for hours . I intend to take my time , not give you everything you want in one go.”
When he turned Hannibal to face him, he looked entirely too pleased with himself. “The soup,” he said, a flimsy excuse that neither of them cared about.
“--is napping.” Will bared his teeth in a wicked grin. “You’re entirely at my mercy, Dr. Lecter.”
“I was unaware you had any.”
The kiss was sharp, biting. Will drew blood when he tugged at Hannibal’s lower lip, and Hannibal nearly crushed him backing him up against the wall. Will tasted copper and merlot, Hannibal flooding all his senses.
Abigail had started to sleep better, they’d moved her bed out of their room two months earlier and less and less woke up to her climbing over the two of them in the middle of the night. Now, Will dragged his husband by the tie to the stairs, where he shoved him against another wall and rutted up against him.
“I’ve missed you,” Hannibal murmured, cupping Will’s face as Will grinned, feral and hungry.
“Yeah?” He breathed. “Good.”
They took the stairs slowly, unable to keep their hands off each other, hushing the laughter and soft sounds that escaped them as they tiptoed past the nursery and shut themselves in the bedroom.
“I want you naked,” Will groaned, releasing Hannibal’s tie to tug his hair instead. “Right now.”
“You need to let me go for that.”
“Fine, start with me then.”
Hannibal never fumbled, but his fingers did skip a few buttons, returning to them, trembling, as Will sucked kisses against his throat, down to where his neck met his shoulder. He managed to get Will half bare before Will sank to his knees and worked Hannibal’s pants open, nuzzling obscenely at the bulge between his legs as he dropped one hand to stroke himself too.
“God, you’re a menace,” Will said. “I’m married to a goddamn criminal.”
He didn’t give Hannibal time to say anything, he took his cock between his lips and sucked, moaning against him, tongue rough and quick, teasing just where he knew Hannibal liked it.
Hannibal’s fingers twisted in wild curls, a little overgrown, long enough to frustrate Will and intoxicate Hannibal. He tugged, rewarded with a subtle press of teeth against sensitive flesh, not a bite, but a warning: Hannibal was not the one in control here.
Had he ever been, really? The moment he had met Will, his fate had been sealed. Will had known what he wanted, and gone for it, and Hannibal had merely been along for the ride.
Will sucked him until his knees were weak, until release was just within grasp, and then pulled back. He licked his lips, snapping the thin trail of saliva that connected them, looking up with pupils blown wide.
“Off,” Will growled, starting with Hannibal’s socks. Hannibal nearly ripped his shirt in his haste to get out of it, and soon they were tumbling together into the bed, Will astride Hannibal, biting bruises into his skin.
“Never get enough of you,” Will complained, hands tracing each scar, fingers seeking the places that made Hannibal shiver.
“We must rectify that,” Hannibal replied, his own hands coming up to squeeze over Will’s thighs, his ass, slide up his back and into his hair again to drag Will back into a kiss.
It had taken several weeks from Will finding out about Hannibal’s hobbies to him letting Hannibal into himself again, and that first consummation had been brutal. Something had awoken in Will, something feral and dangerous, and while he’d always given as good as he got, in everything, he’d never quite been so forward with his desires before.
Now, more often than not, it was Hannibal clinging to the headboard, stifling his groans against his arm.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Will pulled back enough to rest their foreheads together and hummed, eyes at half mast, hands cupping Hannibal’s face.
“I missed you too,” he told him finally, as though Hannibal didn’t know, as though every action wasn’t screaming Will’s devotion to him. “But what did we decide about your sprees, hmm?”
“Once a year, every year, until I’ve been good enough for two,” Hannibal smiled, and Will grinned back.
“You’re showing off,” Will said. “Testing my skills and my nerves . As if I don’t know every inch of you by now.”
“Perhaps I merely wanted your attention.”
“Perhaps you should learn how to ask nicely.” Even as he said it, Will reached for the bedside drawer. There was no holding back. It had not taken long for him to see the beauty in Hannibal’s artwork. He’d seen it even before he’d known who to blame. Now, it stirred something within him, some confused pride that he could never entirely wash away. And the target Hannibal had picked…
“I had forgotten all about that salesman,” Will murmured, kissing his way down Hannibal’s chest. “How did you even find him?”
“He was very insistent with his business card,” Hannibal deflected, breath coming in quicker pants. “Will.”
“What? Am I distracting you?” Will pressed a kiss to the hollow of his hip, nipping sharp over the skin there.
“Yes,” Hannibal groaned, a laugh pouring forth warm as he spread his legs to accommodate Will between them. He dropped a hand into his hair and gripped the curls just a little too tight.
Hannibal had always prided himself on being… unreadable, on being mysterious and difficult to decipher. He’d started to open up with Will, when this had still been a short-term plan in his mind, but never like this. Now, he allowed Will to see every dark, shadowed part of himself; he gave his pleasure as freely as Will did. So when Will’s lips pressed agonizingly chaste kisses to his thighs, he moaned.
Foreplay could last for hours with them. There were days both were wired, flushed, trembling with need because Abigail had interrupted their explorations by waking from a nap, or calling from her room. But today, Will was determined to exhaust Hannibal and himself before she even knew he’d come home.
Lips and tongue, then lubricant and fingers, two to start, and Hannibal was panting into the room, gripping the sheets by his head with white knuckles and Will’s hair even harder. Will kissed reverently over Hannibal’s stomach, a low laugh escaping him as he found Hannibal’s prostate and deliberately teased around it, never quite giving enough for that spark to ignite.
“You wanted to play naughty,” Will told him, licking delicately where thigh met groin, avoiding the places Hannibal wanted him most. “This is what happens when you’re naughty.”
Hannibal groaned, folding a leg over Will’s shoulder, using that and his grip on Will’s hair to draw him in closer. His cock bumped against Will’s nose, and Will snickered.
“I am not above taking things into my own hands,” Hannibal warned.
“Yeah, I noticed.” And Hannibal was beautiful when he did so, violent and rough and leaving bruises across WIll’s skin. But tonight, Will wanted to take him to pieces. He gave a particularly rough thrust of his fingers, punching a gasp from Hannibal, and surged up to kiss him again.
They were beyond protection, beyond a need to avoid cleanup. Whenever the opportunity arose, they chose to be as close to each other as they could be, skin to skin, only the limits of their own bodies keeping them apart. Will pushed inside with a low groan, biting red marks into Hannibal’s collarbone to muffle himself.
“Move,” Hannibal demanded.
“Not yet,” Will murmured. “I’m taking my time with you.”
Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will, holding on almost too tightly, letting his hands drag down Will’s sides and over his back when he arched up, leaving marks behind. Will hissed and shifted, just enough for Hannibal to feel, just enough to pull a sound from him, before pressing their foreheads together.
“God you feel so good,” Will whispered, smiling as Hannibal preened.
And then he started to move.
There were days when they took their time, when a Sunday morning fuck was slow and lazy, half-awake and sloppy.
This was a claiming, a rough need to possess and be possessed. Will fucked into Hannibal and Hannibal let him, one hand dropping back to shove against the headboard, the other down to stroke his own cock as Will raced them both to the finish. They kissed, when they could catch the other’s lips, they breathed when they couldn’t, panted breaths pushed from them with every rough slap of skin.
It felt good. It felt right.
Hannibal came first, hard enough to spill up his chest and underneath his chin, and Will ducked his head to lick him clean as his body shivered and tensed, and he filled Hannibal up with deliberate deep thrusts.
The afterglow was more of a collapse, the two of them in a heap, trading lazy, sloppy kisses and murmurs of praise.
“Still mad at you,” Will murmured, with no heat or honesty to it. “This should count against your total for next year.”
“Pity. I was going to make marsala.”
Will adored Hannibal’s marsala, regardless of the main ingredient, and Hannibal knew it. Will shot him a halfhearted glare. “That’s cheating,” he said.
“I play only the hand I am dealt.”
“Manipulative bastard,” Will said, nuzzling their noses together. He was just considering a round two when, from down the hall, a little voice called out.
Hannibal sighed fondly. “Duty calls.”