#dei's fics

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

Will climbs into the Bentley pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, leaning over the center console of the car to steal a kiss before Hannibal can even greet him properly. It’s been only a handful of days since their shared hunt, but between Will’s pursuit of his studies and Hannibal’s varied shifts, they’ve had precious little time to talk, let alone see one another. Hannibal’s lips part to accept Will’s eager affection, and he keenly feels the loss when Will pulls away and settles into the seat at his side.

Hannibal sees what Will meant about not being dressed for dinner—though he’s wrapped in Hannibal’s gray coat, the collar parts to the bunched neck of his faded red-and-gold Maryland hoodie; beneath it is a pair of straight legged jeans, and his worn, heeled black leather boots. It’s an outfit worn for comfort rather than function, hair pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, his makeup pretty but minimal; eyeliner and mascara, and a sheer, peach-scented chapstick, mixed with the faded scent of vanilla hand lotion.

Will notices his attention and picks self-consciously at the drawstrings of his sweatshirt, one of which pokes through the lapels of the vee-shaped collar. “I planned on being in the media labs until late. I’ve only got a henley on underneath.”

Hannibal bites back a frown. “I’m not worried, darling—or rather, not about your clothing. Do you need to spend tonight studying?”

“I’d rather see you,” Will replies. He flashes a grin when he sees the crinkle of consternation on Hannibal’s forehead. “Don’t grow a conscience on me now. You’ve been helping me slack off all semester. Plus, something tells me that if we don’t get this done now, you’ll be paying more for the tailor than you will for your suit.”

Hannibal huffs through his nose and pulls out into the flow of traffic. Will’s certainly not wrong. “I have a good relationship with my tailor. Her work is worth the cost, though perhaps not worth the lecture for my timing.”

[continue on AO3] || [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

They take her back to the barn, guts bagged, carcass slung over Hannibal’s broad shoulders. The ice breaks beneath their feet like every societal convention they have ever faced has shattered at the reality of tonight.

They hang her on hooks to butcher her body into pieces. Hannibal guides Will’s hand with the knife, pressed flush against his back. They breathe together, they move together, hyper-aware of each stroke of the blade, each spark of heat between their bodies. They shear the pelt from the meat, slice the meat from the bone. Some is put in the rusted chest freezer, older than Will himself. Hannibal picks through the organ meat, removes the doe’s liver and kidneys, a length of intestine. The rest he places within the other plastic bag to be frozen and made into next week’s dog food. They carry the kept organs, the tenderloins, and the doe’s femur back to the house. The meat is put into the fridge. The bone, Will gives to Winston on the kitchen floor. He can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him in what remains of the night, the gray light of the rising sun through the single-pane window. Will closes the hall door behind them, a solid barricade keeping Winston in, and follows Hannibal into the bathroom.

[continue on ao3] || [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

It’s more important now than ever that any contact between Will Graham and Abel Gideon is minimized to the point of appearing nonexistent. It’s one of the many reasons that they meet in their cars in shaded, unlit areas where darkened vehicles go unnoticed; why Will insisted on Abel getting a burner cell, and they no longer communicate via text message; short calls only to share time and location, no recorded messages. No evidence against them. And when they meet, both phones were turned off at home, SIM cards removed. They meet at the spot and wait for half an hour. If one doesn’t show, the other is to leave and wait to be contacted.

As of yet, it’s all been smooth sailing. Of course, no one has any idea what they’re planning, and conspiracy to commit murder is only a crime if they’re caught.

Tonight, Will is feeling nostalgic. It’s their last meeting before the hospital benefit. Will suspects there will only be one more after this. And in the wake of the progress that Annalise believes she and her husband are making, Abel has no wish to stray far from home.

Will meets him at the bridge atop the overpass. His hair is up, his face is rough, it’s Thursday night and Jack Crawford spent the earlier hours of the afternoon breathing down Will’s neck. Will promised him answers after the benefit. He’s yet to determine how, exactly, he will deliver those answers, but he’s always been good at improvisation. He has half of a plan. He’ll wing the rest.

Will imagines Annalise’s body hanging here. Despite the fact that he’s already decided on his own design, he likes the thought of it.

[continue on AO3] || [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

Saturday morning, Will packs a suitcase. Within it is enough clothing for the weekend, the full assortment of his makeup and brushes, and everything he’ll need for school on Monday. His dress is already waiting at Hannibal’s home, as well as half the clothing Hannibal bought him that night; he’ll bring more next week after finals.

It’s hard to deny that with his home closed down, the windows locked, his fridge cleaned out and nearly empty, every day feels less like Will lives here, and more like a place he stays in between going home to Hannibal. That feeling is even harder to ignore ever since Will packed up Winston and his belongings earlier this morning and drove him to his neighbor’s farm several miles down the road, where he’ll remain until the semester is well and truly over, and Will’s winter break is winding down.

It feels empty here. And, in truth, Will has little to no desire to stay here by himself when the commute is just as far from Hannibal’s home as it is from his own. It’s probably too much to presume without asking, even though he’s nearly certain Hannibal would welcome him, but…

He’ll ask this weekend. Worst case scenario, he returns home during the early week; best, he’ll stop back home on Monday and pack the rest of his things.

The thought lightens his steps, lightens his heart. Soon. Soon they’ll be safe and the truth will be laid bare and everything will be okay. Hannibal will be his to keep.

[continue on AO3] || [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

Hannibal expected putting the mattress on the floor to be a concession, physical comfort lost in exchange for Will’s emotional comfort gained. But when he awakens in the dark in a place that smells like Will, surrounded by texture and warmth and softness, it hardly feels like a sacrifice.

He’s uncertain what woke him at first—but realizes soon after with the click of nails on the floor that it’s the old dog returning from the kitchen, a shepherd mix that is much more agreeable than Hannibal expected. Perhaps it’s the animal’s age, or simply the strength of his training. But Winston returns to the living room and flops down with a groan before the smoldering fireplace, and Hannibal’s instincts ease with the knowledge that he and Will are contained and safe.

His internal clock tells him it’s early morning; reaching over to where he set his phone, the screen lights up and displays 3:57am in stark white letters. Several hours to sunrise, yet he’s uncertain how early Will meant for them to go out. Whether it’s worth attempting to doze a while longer, or—

A quiet sound; a stretch of skin and muscle and sinew and bone, and the quiet pops to signify a body at rest coming to motion. Will lifts his head from the pillow and blinks, wild-haired and bleary-eyed. “Mmm.” Drops his head to the pillow again, and whispers, “What time is it?”

[continue on AO3] || [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!hannibal (35)

There is an ache in Hannibal’s shoulder when he awakens. It’s deep. Persistent. His muscles, too, are pleasantly strained in ways they aren’t usually.

He knows the cause well before he opens his eyes; knows it from the scent of skin and his own shampoo on a familiar form. When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Will’s bare back dappled with bruises and faded scratches and a patch of gauze exposed to the open air, taped right along Will’s hairline.

It conceals the imprint of his teeth. His bite. His mark, which Will demanded with an unfaltering eagerness and wore last night with exhausted, sated pride. A low, satisfied rumble builds in Hannibal’s chest, a viscerally pleased hum of sound as he leans forward and touches his mouth to that bandage, then to the nape of Will’s neck.

Will doesn’t stir. His breath is soft, and his body radiates sleep-warmth. The acceptance is not just a conscious thing—even Will’s subconscious no longer recognizes Hannibal’s movements as those of a predator, a stranger. It knows him. Knows it is safe around him: a cub nestled inside the den of his kin. The danger that lies here is not to Will, and never could be. They are only a threat to those on the outside.

And, as Will said, that ownership and belonging goes both ways. It is the only rational explanation for how Will was able to sink his teeth into Hannibal’s flesh and live; his motivations were known, understood. Accepted. Reciprocated.

These matching wounds of theirs will surely scar. Even apart, they will never be parted. The evidence of Hannibal’s influence will follow Will to the grave.

[continue on ao3] | [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

The bathroom is hot, humid. The air circulates only from the window Will cracked open before he began. The tub is full of water warm enough to pinken his skin; Will’s laptop is open and sitting on the closed toilet seat. His leg hangs out over the side, too long to fit as he gently draws the razor around the delicate bones of his ankle. Shaving is a chore, but that’s the last of it—he hasn’t bothered for a while, but he’s found the routine to be helpful in getting him into a certain mindset.

Namely, the one he and Wilhelmina share.

He can’t call it solely hers anymore—for indeed, Will now finds himself living there more often than not, and though she feels like a sister that lives inside his skin, her impulses are no longer something to entirely ignore, or to entirely indulge. Instead, Will’s actions are a matter of temperance between the two. Her ideas filtered, moderated, and applied by Will’s consciousness to a place where they’re both satisfied with the outcome.

He’s changed. And as Will slumps back into the water and allows it to lap around his narrow shoulders, folding his legs back beneath the scented water, he is satisfied with that change.

The feminine comes easier, now. So, too does his embracing of the masculine in its wake. The line he walks is one that can switch from day to day, but one that is solely his. There’s no need to worry anymore for the thoughts of others. Hannibal accepts him as he is. Wants him as he is.

Will has almost everything he could want. Almost.

[continue on ao3] || [from the beginning]

[maydei]

genderfluid!Will (20) & doctor!Hannibal (35)

The inside of Abel’s car is dark. Will’s skin crawls at the thought of being here, concealed and alone, but a familiar environment breeds comfort, and they need comfort and safety for this talk. They need trust. He needs Gideon to trust him.

“You know what I’ve been doing.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m working for the FBI.”

Gideon turns and stares. A moment of silence stretches into an eon. “I… am not seeing how this isn’t leading to me being immediately arrested.”

[continue on ao3] || [from the beginning]