Five Second Rule
I was digging through my drafts folder and found this random, mostly finished little ficlet. So I polished it up and present you with some random Hannigram.
Hannibal greatly enjoyed the times when he got to linger in the bowels of the FBI as he was today, leaning over a lightly putrefied body with contained fascination as Jack’s forensic team fussed around him. Admittedly, much of that enjoyment came from the fact that Will was generally nearby and often endearingly vulnerable in this environment, but even when Jack dragged Will away to his office – which he had done just ten minutes ago – Hannibal still took great pleasure in the chance to brush up on his understanding of the FBI’s inner workings. Indeed, he had spent a very entertaining forty-five minutes discussing the use of turmeric in fingerprint identification with Mr Price, the knowledge of which already had Hannibal both rethinking his post-kill clean up routine and considering whether he had anything in his freezer that might work well in a curry. Something delicate and fragrant, to go with the flank of that appalling parking attendant from the previous week, who had been sadly lacking in either quality.
It was, therefore, with pleasant images of arranging his next tableau – something involving flowers, perhaps, for Will – thronging in his head that Hannibal followed behind Price, Zeller and Ms. Katz as they made their way to the break room, having decided that they would make no further progress in the case without “choking down a disgusting amount of sugar,” according to Ms. Katz. Hannibal had nowhere pressing to be, after all, and would happily wait the whole afternoon in order to see Will again once he was released from Jack’s clutches.
That thought might have given Hannibal pause on any other day. However, just at the moment it crossed his mind, he happened to witness the greatest atrocity of his life.
“Oops, butterfingers!” Ms Katz trilled, as a glazed, rainbow-sprinkled doughnut slipped her grasp and landed on the floor, sprinkles down. And then Hannibal watched in fascinated horror as she bent to retrieve the soiled pastry, blew on it and, shrugging, said the words that struck disgust into Hannibal’s very soul.
“Five second rule!”
And then she ate it.
Hannibal had to leave the room. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to vomit otherwise.
Will caught up with him later in his lecture hall, where Hannibal was restoring inner harmony by rearranging the library of his mind palace. He had developed his own shelving system – the Dewey Decimal was hardly up to scratch – and was replacing some volumes of poetry when the smell of aged paper was joined by the ever-welcome scent of Will’s presence. Hannibal opened his eyes to find the profiler regarding him with a mildly concerned expression, perhaps discomfited by Hannibal’s apparent lapse into a vegetative state. Hannibal had yet to introduce Will to his palace, though of course versions of him already resided in many of its rooms.
“Hello Will,” Hannibal said, assuming a placid and affable tone in order to reassure his friend that he was perfectly well.
Will, somewhat worryingly, was not fooled, his magnificent brows drawing together in concern. Hannibal automatically catalogued the expression for future commitment to paper. He would have to find several hours soon to do so: his mental file of unrecorded images of Will was becoming somewhat unwieldy. Perhaps one day he would be able to coax Will to pose for him in the flesh. Perhaps in nothing but the flesh, his beautiful form freed from all that frumpy, everyman plaid, the firm, strong plains of his muscles exposed for Hannibal’s perusal…
“Is something wrong, Doctor?” Will asked, pulling Hannibal from his reverie, his tone brusque as ever but tinged with genuine care, the presence of which caused something to tighten painfully in Hannibal’s chest. He sighed and decided it could do no harm to inform Will of his friend’s unhygienic crassness. Will would likely brush it off as perfectly acceptable behaviour, causing a little tarnish to his appeal that Hannibal would be rather grateful of at that moment.
“Will, have you ever heard of something called the ‘Five Second Rule’?” Hannibal asked, unable to keep his mouth from twisting into a slight moue.
Will looked up at him in surprise and then slapped his hand across his eyes. “Please tell me Bev did not do that in front of you,” he groaned.
Hannibal raised an eyebrow, amused by Will’s apparent embarrassment.
“I’m afraid to say she did,” he said, gently despite his stomach lurching slightly at the thought. “You do not approve?”
“Doctor, I live with a pack of dogs. Do you really think I would eat anything that had come into contact with my floor?” Will grinned and Hannibal’s breath hitched. “And I’m pretty certain I clean my floor more than most people, present company excluded.” Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat. “I keep telling Bev she needs to stop, it’s a really filthy habit.”
And then, well, there really was nothing for it but to close the gap between them and kiss Will, firm and sure and with just the slightest brush of tongue to really get the point across.
“Hannibal!” Will pulled back and Hannibal reflected ruefully that he would have preferred the first time Will addressed him by his first name not to have been with such shock in his tone.
“I must apologise, Will. That was not how I had planned…” he trailed off as Will’s eyes snapped up to his.
“Plan? What plan? There was a plan?” Will asked, his eyebrows threatening to detach completely from his head and rocket skywards.
Ah yes, the plan. The one in which Hannibal would – with the help of Will’s rapidly worsening encephalitis – break the empath, frame him and imprison him, to be kept under lock and key until the time might come when Hannibal wished to play with Will’s brain once more. The plan which, Hannibal now realised, he had not thought through with his usual precision, because it would be inconvenient to have to visit the BSHCI every time he wished to kiss Will. The plan which would now have to be abandoned completely because there was little… there was absolutely no chance Hannibal was not going to keep kissing Will, now that he had started. Kissing and, with any luck, much, much more. Assuming Will would let him, that is.
Will, who had pulled back but not out of Hannibal’s embrace.
Will, who was looking up at Hannibal from beneath those ridiculous, beautiful lashes.
Will, who was very definitely smirking and leaning in close to whisper in his doctor’s ear, “Well, Hannibal, it seems you don’t have a problem with all filthy things.”
And it was true because, as they soon found out, there were some things Hannibal was very happy to eat off the floor, even after they’d been there much longer than five seconds.