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"They say there are seven words that will make a person love you. I don't think I've come up with them yet, with you."
🔥 Seven Words 🔥
That Will had agreed to go to dinner with him was unusual in Hannibal's life. He had been after the profiler for so long that he already doubted his own seduction, for Will showed no sign of understanding what Hannibal expected of him.
His sketches with Will, or of Will. His musical compositions on the harpsichord. His hundreds of words just for Will, either on paper or from his lips. His small, innumerable physical contacts.
Will was immune, blind. There came a time when, weary, he had pushed the profiler to the maximum of its capacity within the disease he was suffering from. Still, nothing had worked.
Maybe that's why when Will walks through the door of his house a little more dressed up than usual, Hannibal smiles. Maybe that's why when Will smiles back, Hannibal's heart stops just a little. He's in love with him, he's known it for a long time. He accepts it.
-Come with me.
He wants Will to be aware of his presence. He wants Will to be filled with him, his empathetic gaze focused solely on what he's doing.
- Sure," Will says. I'll follow.
Hannibal walks towards his private temple, his kitchen. A place where he knows his every move is controlled, measured, and where he can show his full potential. With his right arm he invites Will to sit on a stool, next to the kitchen island, from where he won't miss a thing.
- Is this for me?
- Who else? I don't get many visitors, Will. Please, help yourself.
A small tray with two glasses, the best bottle of wine Hannibal has, and several hors d'oeuvres make Will's stomach rumble.
- Sorry, I'm hungry. I've hardly eaten anything with work.
- I'll sort it out shortly. In the meantime, eat, I wouldn't want you to pass out in my kitchen.
Will laughs and Hannibal knows he wants to hear that smile every day.
- Here," he hands Hannibal his glass. At least toast with me.
- To us," Hannibal says. To tonight. To the now. You have to savour the present, Will, you never know what might happen.
Will nods and a slight blush covers his cheeks. He knows why he's there, and he knows Hannibal senses it. The hand holding his drink trembles slightly. The two men look at each other, not quite knowing what to say. Hannibal wishes he could crack that head open to find out what he's thinking, and Will thinks that if he speaks he's likely to say something embarrassing.
- I was wondering what you were doing here," Hannibal says.
- Seven words," Will continues speaking after seeing Hannibal's confused face. A long time ago I read that there were seven words that made a person fall in love with you.
- Did it work?
- They never said what those seven words were.
Will's blue eyes sparkle above the wine glass he's drinking from, and Hannibal thinks only of taking it from his lips and taking that place himself.
- Why did you agree to come here today, Will?
- Seven again. I was tired of you thinking me an idiot. I didn't want your interest wasted, like I didn't care at all. I'm not blind, Hannibal.
- Come here.
Will rests his glass on the island and approaches Hannibal with a trembling smile on his lips. They've never been so close. Hannibal is still holding his, and is still holding it when he pulls Will to him and wraps his arms around him.
- Touch me. I'm not going to hurt you.
Will's hand moves up to Hannibal's waist and the apron he's wearing, white, spotless. He can't help but be aroused by the heat Hannibal gives off on his body. It's too much.
- Dear Will. You've cost me dozens of drawings. About ten musical masterpieces. And thousands and thousands of words. Are you aware of that?
- Yes, Doctor.
- You owe me compensation.
Hannibal kisses him and in doing so confirms what he already knew: he doesn't want to kiss lips other than his own. He gasps against Will's lips as Will thrusts his tongue in and they share the taste of wine. Poetry in Hannibal's ears, tongues clashing and lips filling each other.
- I need...
Will throws his head back, exposing his Adam's apple, which Hannibal kisses.
- Tell me and it's yours, Will.
- I want to make it up to you - he nuzzles the back of Hannibal's neck, still feeling his lips on his neck. Take me to your room.
Hannibal pulls away and kisses him again as he unbuttons his apron, which falls to the floor. He doesn't even realise he's stepping on it as he escorts Will out of the kitchen, their hands clasped, and a sweat shared between them from nerves. Every now and then he turns to make sure that Will is there, that it's not a product of his Mental Palace, that what Hannibal has imagined so many times that it hurt in the end is about to happen.
- I want you to make love to me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to touch me, to hold me tight, to make me remember how bad I've been giving you a hard time all this time. Of course I was aware, Hannibal. I always knew it.
- Smart boy.
Hannibal closes the door even though he knows no one will disturb them. A possessive little gesture, his bubble with Will that he doesn't want to get out of. He smiles when Will plops down on his bed, and stretches out a hand inviting him to join.
