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Hannibal blinks in surprise when he lifts the wine to his nose, breathing in the sweet, floral notes on the Pino Gris Will has poured for them both. They've been working through the case of Chardonnay Will last purchased, and so he notices the sudden change.

Will smiles at him, the scar on his cheek making his flesh dimple twice on one side, and takes a seat. Hannibal sips the wine, lets out a soft sound of appreciation, and sets his glass back down. "Accommodating for the change in weather?" he asks.

"A little variety never hurt anyone," Will replies coolly. He tilts his head, poking idly at the ceviche Hannibal prepared for dinner's appetizer. He spears a piece of fish dripping with lime juice and eats it. "That's how Alana tracked you down – Bedelia bought the same wine every day." Hannibal smiles, for Will's tone is the barbed and acidic thing it always is when they speak of her. Consuming her leg did little to gentle his beloved's sharp teeth.

"Ah, so the rotation is in the interest of self-preservation," he says. Will does nothing in reaction save eat another piece of fish. Hannibal's head tilts. "Does it please you to acknowledge your superiority over her?"

Will does react, then – a small frown creases his brows, his lips turn down in the corners, and his eyes grow dark.

"I've noticed you've grown an affinity for blondes."

Will huffs, and meets his eyes. "I'm sure you have your theories as to why."

Hannibal lifts his shoulders in a small shrug. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to prove yourself."

"Is that what you think I do?" Will asks. He sounds genuinely curious, the brief flash of displeasure melting from his face as he assumes a cool, aloof expression. "Would you rather I fall into a dull routine, and make it easy for those that would see us back in prison to track us down?"

"Of course not," Hannibal says, smiling. His head tilts, when Will's eyes lower, and he takes another drink of wine.

Will huffs again, and his eyes lift in a brief roll. "I'm not in the mood to play your games, Hannibal – say what you're thinking or leave me in peace."

Hannibal laughs into his wine, and shakes his head. "Perhaps I'm simply marveling over your ability to still cling to lingering feelings of inadequacy – even jealousy. Bedelia hardly graces my thoughts anymore."

Will's shoulders stiffen.

"If I could," he says, in a rumble like a hunting cat's purr, "I'd destroy every room in your memory that holds anything that isn't me."

"A daunting task," Hannibal replies mildly. "Why?"

"Seems only fair," Will says. "You consumed me, I consume you; even Steven." He shows his teeth in his smile.

Hannibal knows it will incense Will to say it, and so he does; "I consumed her much more thoroughly than I will ever have you, darling."

Will's jaw tightens, and he sets his fork down with a very particular, slow deliberateness. Hannibal's smile widens. "Does that make you angry?"

"Did she taste good?" he asks.

"You ate her too, Will – you tell me."

Will's eyes flash to him, dark beneath his lowered brow. "No," he snaps. "I mean other parts of her. Did they taste good?"

Hannibal blinks at him, surprised by the question, though it quickly melts into another warm, wide smile. "I wouldn't know," he purrs. Will's jaw bulges at the corner as his molars grind together, his nostrils flare – he thinks Hannibal is lying to him. "Our entire relationship never grew more physical than a single kiss, before she fled from my side."

Will stares at him, neither letting shock nor relief show on his face. His shoulders lower, just a fraction. "You're not lying," he says, like speaking the words will make them false. Hannibal shakes his head. "Why?"

"When the lamb sees the wolf for what it is, it's difficult to lure it closer," Hannibal replies with another small shrug. "She and I stayed in separate bedrooms, and only engaged in performative affection for the sake of our cover."

"That must have been difficult for you," Will says.

Hannibal tilts his head.

"You're very physically affectionate." Another flash of uncertainty passes over Will's face, coloring his eyes the shade of blue reminiscent of stained glass, furrowing his brow into another crease before it eases. His cheek bulges as he dips his tongue to the innards of it, running along the line of scar tissue as he has started to do when he's thinking. "You always have been."

Hannibal nods. "One of the worst parts about my imprisonment was the absence of touch. To be unable to feel, even for a moment, the heat of another person beneath my hands." Will's jaw clenches again. "But I will admit this, Will; you have the power to undo me with just a look."

Will's mouth twitches, fighting a smile.

"I can honestly say no one else has held that power over me. In that regard, you are singularly triumphant."

Will hums, brow arching in that way it does when he's smug, and he eats another piece of fish. Then, he sets his fork down again, washing the mouthful down with wine, and sits back in his chair with a quiet sigh.

"Poor Bedelia," he murmurs, and laughs.

Hannibal smiles. "I'm flattered."

"I have no interest in stroking your ego," Will replies, lifting his chin. "But I'm also not the kind of person to bear bad sex – if you weren't good at it, I wouldn't fuck you." Hannibal laughs again, taking another drink of wine. Will's head tilts. "What about Alana?"

"What about her?"

"You tasted her too, I imagine. Often." His eyes are dark again, but not quite so sharp with jealousy. Alana is an older wound; not a surrogate and reminder of Hannibal's betrayal, not a replacement for Will in Will's eyes, but an indulgence in a lovely companion with the added advantage of providing a cover for Hannibal's behavior at the time.

So he nods, setting his glass back down. "I think you'll agree with me when I say pleasing a woman is immensely satisfying." He smiles when Will nods. "How about Margot? Or Molly?"

Will huffs, and looks away again. "Margot didn't let me," he murmurs. "Of course, given her proclivities, and her agenda, I'm not surprised. Gave it the ol' college try, of course. Molly…" He grins, cheeks bulging and mouth softening with lingering affection. "I won't say she married me for my mouth, but I think it helped."

Hannibal smiles. "I can personally attest – you make good use of it." Will's face colors with a light blush, he shifts his weight and clears his throat. "Though perhaps that ties into your desire to prove yourself, again."

"Fake it 'til you make it," Will says. "I don't have your confidence."

"Confidence comes with time and learning," Hannibal replies. "You are worlds apart from the man I first met, and a year from now, you will be different again. Your evolution didn't end on the cliffs."

Will hums, and his eyes slide over, locking with Hannibal's – a deep, unending ocean of blue and green, drawing him in to drown. "You're right; it didn't," he says, very quietly. He tilts his head, and Hannibal's eyes drop to the tempting arch of his throat, before rising, attention caught by Will's smile, the flickering, promising heat in his eyes. "If you could eat any part of me," he purrs, "what would you take?"

"All of it," Hannibal replies, because he has thought about it often. If it were the kind of gift Will could give more than once, he would devour Will in his entirety every night. Will shivers, biting his lower lip. "I would shear the meat and fat from your ribs, and mix cuts from your back in the mornings. I would stuff your heart with rosemary, season your brain with lime and cilantro."

Will's eyes drop to their meal. His smile widens.

"What else?" he whispers.

Hannibal stands, circling the table, and Will pushes his chair back, turning in it, so Hannibal has room to kneel between his spread legs. He flattens his hands on Will's calves, stroking to the backs of his knees, noting with delight how Will tenses, relaxes in turn, lowers his lashes and stares down at Hannibal like the oncoming rush of a tidal wave.

"I would take your ribs, and your femurs," he says, dragging his nails up to cup Will's strong, thick thighs. Will reaches down with one hand, gently curling his fingers through Hannibal's hair. "I would drain you of blood and make a glaze for your thighs, and bury the bones within our bed so I could always sleep between them."

Will shivers again, eyes turning black now, shining in the low light. His free hand lowers, fingers spreading wide to tease the tips against Hannibal's, thumb brushing down the growing hardness between his legs. Hannibal leans in, drags his mouth open and wet along the line of Will's cock, delighted when Will lets out a breathy, hollow sound.

"I would harvest your seed, and add it to my wine," Hannibal breathes. Will's stomach clenches beneath his t-shirt, his legs spread a little wider. "Make sausage from your intestines. Grind up the marrow in your bones and use it to clay-bake your shoulders."

Will's lips part, half-forming Hannibal's name, before the air escapes him in another soft, wanting noise. Hannibal smiles, nuzzling his erection, breathing in the salty musk of Will's arousal, that deepens his scent entirely, turns him from whiskey and wilderness to the damp emptiness of a cave filled with diamond.

He smiles, and reaches up, brushing a thumb along Will's soft lower lip, down his throat where there lies a smattering of fading bruises, fresh welts. "I would eat your neck raw," he murmurs, and Will's pulse jumps beneath his touch, his hand shakes against Hannibal's skull. "I cannot think of anything that would make it taste better than it already does."

Will gasps, eyes closing briefly, and he tilts his head to bare more of his neck. Hannibal flattens his hand, gives a gentle, cupping squeeze, and drags his touch down Will's chest, across his thrumming heart, and presses with the heel of his hand to Will's trapped cock.

Will groans, chin lifted, head tipped back, and Hannibal gently tugs the tab of the zipper with his nails, eases his slacks open, and reaches in to pull out Will's erection, flushed with blood and leaking at the tip. He rises on his knees, drags his lips along the shaft, and parts his jaws to swallow Will down.

Will hisses, gripping his hair with both hands, rolls his hips and shoves his knees over Hannibal's shoulders to make him arch, extend his neck as Will pulls the seal of his mouth down to the base. Hannibal breathes in through his nose as best he can, salivating at the feeling of Will's flesh clogging his throat, bruising tender muscles. His throat spasms and Will lets him pull back, tugs him down again and ruts against face.

Hannibal flattens his hands on Will's thighs, grips tight and lets Will use him, tongue flat and warm on the shaft of Will's cock, teasing the cut head when Will lets him rise to breathe. Reflexive tears brim in his eyes and he lets them gather and fall, purrs when Will brushes them away. His cheeks are red, chest flooded with heat as Will groans softly, panting, so cavalier and needy as he uses Hannibal's mouth.

Will never lasts long when Hannibal uses his mouth – perhaps it is the sharp flash of prey-animal fear, letting a predator's teeth so close to such a vulnerable area. When Hannibal gives him a very gentle, but undeniable press of teeth, Will releases, spilling thick and warm down the back of Hannibal's throat. Hannibal swallows eagerly, growling low as he grips Will's ass and holds him still, sucking as hard as he can so that Will has no choice but to give him everything.

He keeps working his tongue over Will, as he softens and begins to flinch, oversensitive. Still, Will's hands gentle, but don't tug him away, and only when Will's cries turn to soft whimpers, only when Hannibal has licked the last of his release from the slit of his cock, does he let Will slip from his mouth, and gently tucks him back into his clothes.

As the zipper finds its place beneath the button of Will's slacks, he breathes out heavily, running a hand through his hair. He bows forward, cupping Hannibal's face, and licks between his bruised, parted lips, flavored with lime and wine, stealing the taste of himself back from Hannibal's tongue.

He curls his fingers around Hannibal's skull, catching his breath with quiet, heaving inhales. He rests their foreheads together, unable to stop himself petting, sliding his thumbs along Hannibal's blush, down to the hinge of his jaw, up and over his temples.

"When we're old and grey," he murmurs, "you can have all of it."

Hannibal blinks, shaken despite himself.

"Keep me alive as long as you can," Will says. His eyes are bright, now, brimming with satisfaction, with the sharp saltwater aftertaste of his love. "I want to be able to see it – to see you, when I'm feeding you properly."

"I swear," Hannibal vows, rasps, throat tight.

Will smiles, and kisses him, before he straightens and corrects his seat. Hannibal rises, knowing he will not receive reciprocal affection until afterwards – Will likes to have him for dessert, and Hannibal is more than happy to indulge the mountains and valleys of Will's sex drive.

He takes his seat, and drinks his wine. Not to rid himself of the taste, but to enhance it. They continue the rest of their meal in quiet, amicable, sated silence.