14. Interlude

Will awoke to pitch darkness. The fire in the grate had turned to ash; and through the sash windows, clouds smeared the sky, obscuring the moon’s brilliance. Despite Hannibal’s careful, tender lovemaking, Will’s body ached and thrummed, and he realised with a frown that he was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration.

He sat up and swung his legs from the bed. They felt a trifle wobbly, and he crossed gingerly to the nearest window, fumbling for the latch. It gave easily and he pushed open the casement. Cool night air swept over his skin, giving instant relief. The clouds parted again, allowing a shaft of moonlight to penetrate and illuminating the still waters of the Canal Pond. No fountain played there now, and the clashing stags were thrown into eerie relief against the night sky.

Shivering, Will returned to the bed. Hannibal’s scent was perceptible still; and wishing to surround himself with it, he pulled back the covers to burrow beneath them. Soon he was dozing, face pressed to Hannibal’s pillow, and not long afterwards sleep claimed him again.

The next time he stirred, it was to the click of a door followed by the soft susurrus of material sliding from skin. The mattress dipped and a warm body slipped under the covers, familiar arms gathering him against a familiar broad chest.

With a sigh, Will turned and buried his face against Hannibal's neck, the rich earthiness of his Alpha scent soothing the ache which throbbed deep within.

Soothing it and at the same time...

‘I am glad that you are back,’ he breathed, fingers exploring firm muscle beneath coarse hair.

‘Mm. As am I.’

Gentle touches and lingering kisses followed, until inevitably both were roused again to passion. When large hands cupped his bottom, fingers spreading to massage the firm flesh, Will groaned his pleasure and sought Hannibal’s lips for a deep kiss. It was some time before he again spoke, and his voice was husky with need.

‘You have a promise to keep.’

Hannibal chuckled, a deep-throated sound. ‘Yes, I do.’

Suddenly Will found himself rolled atop the powerful Alpha. He gasped as Hannibal grasped his legs, parting them to set him firmly astride.

‘Now.’ Gently, Hannibal clasped his hips and urged him upwards. ‘Kneel, Will. This shall be for you to control.’

A familiar position, this, and Will’s heart swelled at the thought that Hannibal was doing all in his power to put him at ease. Setting his hands on Hannibal’s chest, he began a slow rocking, his slick rendering the slide effortless. The intimate press of their bodies was exquisite, and soon he was panting his pleasure.

‘Now, please. Please, Hannibal.’

Eyes dark with desire, Hannibal reached between them and began a firm, insistent stroking along Will’s length. ‘I am most assuredly yours to command.’

And when, moments later, Will felt the press of hard flesh within him, his eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy.

‘See, Will? Your body gives beautifully to mine.’

Revelling in the rough cadence of Hannibal’s voice, Will sank down until he felt the Alpha’s swelling knot pressing at his entrance. Immediately, Hannibal’s hands clamped around his hips.

‘No, Will.’

Hurt welled unexpectedly and he stilled.

‘You said we were designed for this.’

‘And we are.’ Hannibal resumed his caresses, voice softer now. ‘But knotting is for mating, Will. For bonding. If I were to knot you, I would wish to mate with you. And I know that is not what you want.’

Not what I want.

Thumbs stroked his nipples, clouding his mind, confusing his senses.

‘I wish to give you pleasure, Will. Allow me to give you that.’

Stroking the sensitive buds to tightness, until Will was moving again, lost to sensation. Lost to everything.

Everything but this. Everything but him.

Hannibal brought up his knees and Will arched back, clutching the Alpha’s thighs, gasping as Hannibal drove into him again and again. Until he felt himself tightening deliciously within, drawing from Hannibal a long, loud groan and a final series of staccato thrusts. Unsteady fingers closed around his swollen sex and he cried out, throwing back his head as they peaked together.

Afterwards, lying in Hannibal’s embrace amidst crumpled sheets, Will stroked the arm curled around his waist and listened to the Alpha’s steady, deep breathing.

Not what I want?

His own words, turned against him. Yet that had been before. When stubbornness and doubt and insecurity had resulted in mistakes on both sides. Before he had known Hannibal’s heart. Before he had truly known his own. He thought of the letter, tucked away in the pocket of his favourite coat, and of the words that resonated from it like the sweetest music.

‘... without agenda or hope of return.

I love you.’

Hannibal sighed, his breath stirring Will’s hair.

I love you.

Heart pounding, Will eased out from beneath Hannibal’s arm. He sat up and looked sightlessly past his own reflection. Dawn had painted the sky in delicate pastel hues, and the first tentative notes of birdsong floated up through the open window.

I love you.

He gazed back down at the man lying beside him, body lax in sleep, stern features softened. And a surge of emotion – hitherto unnameable – washed over him.

Master, brother, friend, lover. How many people’s happiness are in your guardianship? How much power is in your possession to do good or evil, to bestow pleasure or pain?

Bending, he pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s jaw, prickly now with stubble. Another to his cheek. And against his lips, he whispered with infinite tenderness, ‘Hannibal Lecter, without agenda or hope of return, I love you.’

***

The space beside him was cold when Hannibal was roused to wakefulness by his valet’s discreet cough.

‘I beg your pardon, sir, but you wished to be informed when Mr Lecter was awake.’

Blinking, Hannibal sat up and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yes, thank you, Umber.’

‘I have drawn your bath, sir.’

‘Very good.’

‘And I have ordered fresh linen.’ After a pause, he added, ‘I believe that Mr Graham has already taken breakfast and is at present walking in the grounds.’

With a respectful bow, Umber disappeared into the adjoining bath chamber, leaving Hannibal to muse upon the very good fortune he had had in engaging such a discreet and industrious servant. Will’s scent permeated the sheets, and while nothing would have pleased Hannibal more than to preserve that delicious fragrance, the myriad damp patches were rather less appealing.

A quarter of an hour later, refreshed and decidedly more respectable in appearance, he descended the stairs eager to locate his Omegan lover. For lovers they most certainly were; and if he could not persuade Will to mate with and marry him, then he would endeavour at least to have this for as long as Will would allow.

Preoccupied almost to the point of brooding, it was not until he entered the dining parlour and saw his uncle tucking into grilled bone that Hannibal remembered why he had been awoken in the first place.

‘Good morning, Uncle. I am glad to see you are suffering no ill effects from last night.’

Robert Lecter looked up, fork halfway to his mouth, and waved it in greeting.

‘Ah, Hannibal. At last. I was beginning to wonder whether I was destined to spend my final hours here quite alone.’

‘Your final hours?’

Quirking a brow, Hannibal wandered over to the side table and poured himself a cup of tea from the silver service.

‘Are you expecting not to return from the wilds of Paris?’

‘You know precisely what I mean.’ He received an arch stare. ‘The only person I have seen since rising this morning is your young man.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Now it was his turn to glare. ‘What precisely do you mean by that?’

His uncle harrumphed. ‘Do not pretend to be affronted, Hannibal. It does not suit you.’ He lay down his fork and fixed his nephew with a shrewd eye. ‘Did you think that I noticed nothing of what was occurring last night?’

Hannibal’s eyes hardened. ‘Will Graham is not a subject for idle gossip, Uncle.’

But Robert Lecter merely smiled. ‘I am glad to hear it. He seems a most commendable young person. Set on joining his uncle’s law practice, is not he?’ And he nodded approvingly. ‘I have some knowledge of Mr Crawford. He is well-respected in legal circles. Although,’ he added, ‘I have often wondered at the benefits of apprenticeship. Far too much observing and too little actual practise. Best just to get stuck in, in my view.’

Hannibal stared. ‘How is it that you are so well acquainted with Mr Graham’s plans?’ And then, with a growl of annoyance, ‘Anthony.’

Looking not at all chastened, his uncle admitted airily, ‘It just so happens that I did chance to stop in at Valentine Hall on my way down.’

‘And did it also just so happen that Anthony felt it necessary to regale you with details of our visit to Kent?’

‘He might have mentioned the subject once or twice.’

‘With a particular emphasis on our encounters with Mr Graham, I suppose.’

‘Well, Mr Graham was not the sole topic of conversation, but -‘

‘I shall throttle my cousin!’

‘Hannibal,’ interjected his uncle gently, ‘Anthony may at times be a trifle indiscreet, but he is not malicious. He said nothing that was injurious either to Mr Graham or to you.’ Reaching out, he touched Hannibal’s arm. ‘Rather, he was concerned for you – specifically for the precipitous manner of your leaving Kent, and for your state of mind afterwards. Besides,’ he added with a twinkle, ‘after last night’s comings and goings, you can be certain I would have formed my own suspicions. I have eyes, my dear nephew.’

Somewhat mollified, Hannibal nevertheless made a mental note to have several choice words with his cousin at the next available opportunity. And as for his uncle’s teasing...

‘I trust that you have not spoken such nonsense to Mr Graham.’

‘Hannibal, really.’ Robert Lecter tutted crossly. ‘That you should even ask! Besides, I did not actually speak to the boy – I merely saw him, wandering about outside with that infernal dog of yours.’ He picked up his cutlery again and heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘Although at least he is not wasting half the day in sleep. A pity the same cannot be said for the rest of your household.’

‘It is barely nine o’clock.’

‘Even so.’ Suddenly serious, his uncle looked at him earnestly. ‘Hannibal, I hope that you are not trifling with the boy’s feelings.’

Hannibal froze in the act of raising his cup to his lips. ‘Trifling?‘

‘You are being hesitant, which is most unlike you. Usually I would not speak of such things, but in the circumstances...’

‘And what circumstances would those be?’ he gritted, a surge of protectiveness for Will welling within him.

‘I know, of course, that he is Omegan,’ continued his uncle gently. ‘And consequently an excellent match.’

‘Will is not defined by his Omegan status,’ muttered Hannibal, the next moment reddening as he realised his error.

‘Neither is Will defined by his origins.’

At this, Hannibal looked up sharply. ‘Then you know.’

‘That the boy’s natural mother is not Mrs Graham? Yes, I know.’

‘And yet you would not advise me against entering into such a union?’

‘Hannibal Lecter, do not you know me at all?’ A rare frown creased his uncle’s brow. ‘I hope that it is not his situation which gives you pause.’

‘No, it is not,’ snapped Hannibal, rising from his chair and pacing to the window. Guilt at the memory of his behaviour towards Will in the early days of their acquaintance weighed heavily on him in that moment. And then there was Fogmear... He stared out bleakly, confronted with the memory of a day he wished only to forget. ‘And since you press me to say it, I will tell you in confidence that I proposed marriage to Mr Graham in Kent, and he refused me.’

A short silence followed.

‘May I ask why?’

‘You do not want to love me... You do not want any of this...’

The tightness in Hannibal’s chest increased. He swung around, lips twisted in a mirthless smile. ‘Because there was a time when his situation did give me pause. He knew it and he quite rightly told me to go to the devil.’

‘I see.’ Robert Lecter eyed him speculatively. ‘And yet here you both are.’ He held up a hand to pre-empt Hannibal’s protest. ‘I am aware that I am in no little danger of overstepping my bounds, and I shall say no more about it – except that you should not be too discouraged, my boy.’ And then the twinkle was back. ‘Indeed, judging by the way Mr Graham was looking at you last night, you should not be discouraged at all!’

At this, Hannibal could not suppress a rueful smile. ‘I shall miss you, Uncle. Do not stay away for too long.’

‘No, no.’ And without looking up. ‘I shall be sure to return for the wedding.’

‘Uncle!’

***

‘Ripper, stop!’

Will swatted away the cold nose that was pushing insistently into his cheek. Thus far, he had greatly enjoyed his walk; following the directions of an under-gardener, he had at last located the elusive hunting tower, and after having taken an impromptu swim in a nearby woodland pond, he lay now amidst lush, ankle-high grass, stripped down to shirt and breeches, gazing sleepily up at the elegant stone facade.

Chastised, Ripper wandered off to snuffle at a nearby patch of forget-me-nots, and Will closed his eyes with a sigh. If only he could slough off the physical discomfort that had driven him from the bliss of Hannibal’s bed – limbs restless and skin too tight, too hot. But even his swim had provided only temporary relief.

The sun stroked warm fingers across his face, lulling him at length into a light slumber. And for a while, soothed by the breeze and the muffled symphony of birdsong, he slept.

***

‘Will?’

Stirring slightly, he frowned. Something felt wrong.

‘Will, wake up.’

Hannibal, and a tone that demanded immediate compliance. Will opened his mouth to retort, but all that issued forth was a whimper.

Something is wrong. What is wrong with me?

Hannibal repeated his name, impatience tinged with something disconcertingly close to panic colouring his voice. ‘Will, open your eyes. Now!’

‘Stop shouting!’

Scowling, he blinked hard, and Hannibal’s towering form swam into view.

‘I would if you would do as you were told the first time.’ But beneath the snap, Hannibal’s relief was tangible.

Will struggled to sit up as confusion gripped him. His breeches were wet. Wet again, after his swim? But no, they had dried as he had lain beneath the sun...

Then there it was – the unmistakable scent of slick. Uncontrollable, copious slick. And suddenly everything made dreadful sense. The restlessness, the persistent aches, his increased body temperature. Oh no.

Hannibal crouched before him, trying to conceal his worry, and laid a cool hand against his brow.

‘You have a fever,’ he muttered; then the next moment he inhaled sharply, eyes flying to Will’s. Eyes turned suddenly almost black.

‘I know,’ whispered Will miserably. ‘Hannibal, I believe I am going into heat.

Focus. What can you do?

‘Stay here.’

Squeezing Will’s shoulder, Hannibal stood up abruptly and walked towards the hunting tower. On either side of the short flight of steps leading to the front door, a pair of fierce-eyed ravens carved in stone perched atop symmetrical pillars. Hannibal took hold of one of the ravens and tilted it sideways, revealing a hollow base and a large key concealed beneath. He cast an anxious glance back at Will. Ripper had appeared from beneath a twisted clump of rhododendron bushes, and Will now sat half-slumped against the panting dog.

‘I shall be only a few minutes,’ he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, and Will managed a faint smile of acknowledgment.

The tower’s accommodations were basic, but fortunately all was in readiness for the start of the shooting season. A quick check of the second floor bedchamber revealed that the four-poster bed had been made up with fresh linen. The small fireplaces in each room had been laid and the kitchen was stocked with basic necessities.

Hannibal returned to find Will waiting at the bottom of the steps. Flushed and clearly embarrassed, he managed to look everywhere but at Hannibal as he asked, ‘Should not we return to the house?’

‘We could,’ was Hannibal’s slow reply. ‘If that is what you would like. I thought perhaps you might prefer somewhere a little more private.’

At that last word, Will’s blush deepened. ‘I – yes, thank you. That is most considerate.’

Considerate?

Bristling a little at Will’s distant politeness, Hannibal suppressed the urge to snap at him, but his frustration lessened considerably when he saw how mortified the boy was. He descended the steps and, without preamble, pulled Will into his arms.

Had he felt the least resistance, he would have released him instantly, but Will melted into his embrace with a choked, ‘Hannibal’.

‘I have you,’ he murmured roughly. ‘I have you, Will.’

Once inside, it seemed the most prudent course of action to install Will immediately upstairs. Hannibal led the way up the winding turret staircase and into the bedchamber, all the while holding fast to Will’s hand.

‘It is a trifle stuffy in here, but an open window will soon take care of that.’

Will cast an uncertain glance at the bed. ‘I do not wish to ruin the sheets.’

‘Nonsense.’ Relinquishing Will’s hand, Hannibal leaned across and, in one brisk motion, stripped off the coverlet and dropped it onto the floor. ‘There. And there is fresh bedding in the closet. I shall instruct my valet to bring a change of clothes.’

Will blinked. ‘Oh, my coat and boots. They are still outside.’

‘Do not worry. I shall retrieve them.’ Hannibal hesitated. ‘In the meantime, you should remove those breeches, Will. You cannot be comfortable.’

Will huffed a laugh. ‘That is somewhat of an understatement.’

Their eyes met, and Hannibal itched to go to him again. But the lure of the scent-drenched Omega was already proving exceedingly difficult to resist, and if Will’s heat triggered a rut...

‘I will send word to your uncle that you are indisposed. And I shall enquire after your aunt.’

He backed towards the staircase, attempting valiantly to ignore the look of disappointment on Will’s face.

‘I will come back as soon as I am able

Will did not dwell long on Hannibal’s stilted and uncomfortable exit – other considerations quickly took precedence. Despite the open window, the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly stultifying as his body temperature rose still higher. Having stripped off his soaked breeches and drawers the moment he had heard the front door close, he soon found it necessary to rid himself of his shirt as well. Discarding his ruined clothes in a rolled-up ball beside the bed, he crawled between blissfully cool sheets and prayed that the worst would soon be over.

***

‘Close your eyes, Will. Relax your body.’

‘I shall try.’

Sobs subsiding, he took several deep breaths. Allowed his muscles to grow lax.

‘Good. Now, I want you to picture your favourite place in the whole world. Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

Father’s stream, through the woods behind our house.

‘Think about what you can hear...’

Rushing water, birdsong - that comical chorus of wood pigeons, an occasional gust of wind shaking the tree branches.

‘...and smell...’

The freshness of the water, almost sweet on my tongue. Earth and grass.

‘...and feel.’

Cold up to my waist. Pebbles between my toes. Sun on my face.

‘Are you there now, Will?’

‘Yes.’

‘And is it helping?’

‘It eases the ache.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘What do I do now?’

‘Now you stay there, Will, for as long as you need to. And whenever you want to go there again, you just put your head back, close your eyes, and wade into the quiet of the stream. Do you understand?’

Will turned his tear-stained face to the side, eyes full of gratitude.

‘I think so. Yes. Thank you, Aunt.’

***

‘Will.’

That scent...

‘Will.’

The freshness of the water, almost sweet on my tongue. Earth and grass.

‘Will, come back.’

A weight on the bed and a gentle palm cupping his cheek pulled him from his deep reverie.

‘Hannibal?’ He opened his eyes with an effort and smiled. ‘It is you.’

‘Of course it is me.’ Hannibal looked at him quizzically. ‘Can you sit up?’

At that, Will scowled. ‘I am not ill.’

Annoyingly, it was after all something of an effort to push himself upright, but Hannibal did not comment. Instead, he reached across to the adjacent dressing table and took up a cup and jug, pouring out a generous amount of water.

‘Here, drink this. It is perfectly fresh – I took it from the stream that runs behind the tower.’

Will took the cup and sipped the ice cold liquid, eyeing Hannibal over the rim. ‘Where is Ripper?’

‘I returned him to the house. He would be only a liability here.’

‘I suppose so. Have you heard from my uncle?’

Hannibal shook his head.

‘I sent a servant to deliver the message but he is not yet returned.’

His reply sounded strained, and suddenly Will was excruciatingly aware that not only was he naked beneath the thin sheet bunched about his waist, but that he was hard and dripping.

He handed back the cup and dropped his gaze, fingers plaiting into the sheet as he fought the urge to cover himself completely.

‘You should go.’

But Hannibal did not move. ‘I do not want you to be alone.’

‘For this I think it is best that I am.’

‘Will.’ Hannibal’s voice was a rough caress. ‘Look at me.’

When he did not immediately comply, his chin was tilted by a gentle finger, and with a sound of frustration he lifted reluctant eyes to the Alpha’s.

Hannibal regarded him with brow furrowed. ‘Am I intruding? Have I overstepped my bounds bringing you here?’

‘No, of course not.’ Will bit his lip.

‘Then why do you wish me away?’

Increasingly agitated, Will sought vainly for the right words.

Because I am afraid. Afraid that I will demand too much. That you will come to see this as a trap. That the ugliness of obligation will taint the beauty of exploration.

But when it came to expressing these fears, he found himself frustratingly mute. And Hannibal’s expression grew wary.

‘Is it a question of trust? Are you afraid that I will hurt you if I stay?’

Frustration boiled over quickly into anger. ‘You fool.’ His voice shook and he knocked Hannibal’s hand away, glaring fiercely. ‘It is not you I do not trust. It is myself.’

For a few moments, Hannibal looked at him impassively, the air between them humming with tension.

‘Do you imagine there is anything you could ask of me that I would not willingly give?’

‘You are not comfortable. I can see it.’ He tried not to sound accusing.

‘Will.’ Hannibal sighed harshly. ‘I do not wish to take advantage of you.’

‘Do you want me?’ he countered?

Amber eyes burned into his. ‘Yes, I want you.’

‘Do you want me because I am in heat?’

‘I shall not dignify that with a response.’

Will placed a palm over Hannibal’s heart. It raced as if in sympathy with his own, and suddenly there was nothing to fear. ‘Neither do you need to. Because I know that you want me – me, Hannibal.’

‘I am relieved to hear it.’ But his face had lost some of its hauteur and he laid his own hand over Will’s.

Earnestly, Will held his gaze. ‘Then please extend the same courtesy to me.’

Without breaking eye contact, Hannibal carried Will’s hand to his lips. He feathered soft kisses over the knuckles, and would probably have gone no further had not Will reached out to trace those beautiful lips with trembling fingers.

Scent bloomed thickly between them. Hannibal’s. His own. And the inches separating their bodies seemed suddenly an unacceptable gulf. Something mortifyingly close to a whine escaped Will’s lips, and he sought instinctively to hide the fresh bloom on his cheeks by ducking his head into Hannibal’s chest.

Comforting arms closed around him. ‘What can I do, Will?’

Will sighed, pressing closer, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist. ‘I do not know.’

Hannibal rested his chin atop Will’s head, breathing him in, the boy’s natural scent elevated to fevered sweetness. It called to that instinct deep within him – that terrible need to take mate bite – which he knew was typically Alphan, but which he had long ago rejected in disgust as something base, a crude throwback to an uncivilised age. Yet surely there could be nothing less than beautiful in what he felt for Will: a whole-hearted desire to cherish and adore and worship with body and with soul.

Will pushed into his touch, nudging his chin up, nuzzling against his throat.

‘I know only that I need you, Hannibal.’

The words were breathed into Hannibal’s skin.

‘Please.’

And then there was no more hesitation, no more holding back.

Grasping Will’s face, Hannibal brought their mouths together in a kiss of devouring hunger. His eagerness was matched by the unclothed boy, who rose to his knees and gripped Hannibal’s coat, pressing against him in a long trembling line. Exploring fingers swept down the beautiful bow of Will’s back, following the ridges of his spine. Appreciating the loveliness of the Omega’s body as once he would have sighed over the exquisite construction of a Stradivarius. And as Hannibal’s fingertips dipped below the curve of Will’s bottom to trace teasingly around his swollen slickness, Will moaned and shuddered against him.

‘Lie down,’ murmured Hannibal, bestowing a lingering kiss on Will’s parted lips. ‘Allow me to take care of you.’

Allow me to love you.

As slowly he undressed, it was at first enough to gaze and take his fill of lissom limbs and blue eyes heavy-lidded with desire; to listen to Will’s impatient sighs and fretful sounds with more pleasure than could ever be derived from the finest Bach concerto; the anticipation a thrill in itself.

And then, at last, the rapture of moving over and against the beautiful body of the beautiful boy who moved against him. He pressed tender lips to Will’s hot cheeks, the hollow of his throat, the dewy skin over his rapidly beating heart.

But when he went to take Will into his mouth, the heat-honeyed scent of slick sent his pulse into a discordant frenzy. Almost without volition, he sought blindly the source – that delicate, quivering ring of muscle now flushed bright red and glistening – and with a feral growl he pierced deep with his tongue. Will arched from the bed with a loud cry, grasping Hannibal’s hair. The gesture, at once demanding and submissive, only served to increase Hannibal’s ardency. Greedily he sucked, glorying in the taste, the scent, the high little cries wrung from Will. Until it was no longer enough.

‘Turn over.’

He hardly recognised his own voice in the low rasp, but Will complied with unhesitating eagerness, rolling onto his stomach before scrambling onto hands and knees, curving his spine, tilting his hips.

Presenting. For me.

Sliding his arm around Will’s waist, securing him so that they were skin to skin, Hannibal took himself in hand and, feverish in his desperation, entered Will in one swift thrust. Will cried out, writhing back against him, and Hannibal groaned as the muscles of Will’s hot, tight passage contracted around him. He grasped Will’s curls and tugged, pulling him up and back against the length of his body until his swelling knot encountered the barrier of Will’s sweetly rounded cheeks. The temptation to push on – to plunge his knot deep and make Will irrevocably his – bit with savage force, and he froze, horrified by the urge.

Will wriggled fretfully. ‘Do not stop.’

When the only response he received was a deep shudder, he reached up and twined his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, tugging none-too gently.

‘I shall not break, Hannibal.’

The almost-snarl which vibrated through both of them should, perhaps, have alarmed him, but Will felt in that moment only a glorious sense of power. Hannibal wanted him. Hannibal wanted to bond with him. He could feel it. In the possessive clutch of Hannibal’s hands, the rapid beating of his heart, the tight press of his forehead to Will’s back. And oh, how Will wanted it too. Yet he knew that they should not – not while lost in a haze of heat and lust. And not when Hannibal was still so clearly conflicted. For surely that way led only to doubts and regret. So he swallowed the pleading words and reached for the hand on his waist. Guiding it down, he placed it on his erect, dripping length, and moaned as Hannibal’s fingers curled immediately around it.

‘Yes, touch me.’

As Hannibal began slowly to stroke, Will undulated against him, gasping at the myriad of sensations flooding his overstimulated body. Suddenly, Hannibal surged up over him, hands moving to grip his hips. Unbalanced, Will fell forward onto the bed, braced on his forearms. He turned his cheek against the cool sheet, eyes half-closed in bliss, as Hannibal took him then with almost savage force, driving deep and hard. The rhythmic pummelling of the knot against Will’s rim reduced him to incoherent whining, and when once more Hannibal reached beneath him to stroke and tug, he came with a fierce and desperate cry. Hannibal quickly followed, burying his face against Will’s neck with a stifled groan.

***

They slept, and when they awoke they again made frantic love. Hannibal brought Will to the brink of ecstatic tears, pinning him down and suckling his nipples until they were so sensitive, Will climaxed untouched, sobbing. Then he took him, with gentle fingers encircling his throat, and Will came a second time as Hannibal, too, found his release.

For three days it was thus. They explored each other’s bodies voraciously, with eager, seeking lips and tongues and fingers. They slept pressed together, Hannibal’s body curved around Will’s. Occasionally, Will heard hushed voices and muffled footsteps below, which explained the food which Hannibal would intermittently wake him with, and which they fed to each other with messy fingers and tender smiles.

On the fourth day, Will awoke clear-headed and fever-free. Head pillowed on Hannibal’s chest, he looked up through a tangle of curls and felt a tug in his heart at the expression of contentment on the slumbering Alpha’s face. Smiling, he crawled up over Hannibal’s body and settled beside him, leaning over to bestow a feather-light kiss on lips slightly parted in sleep. When Hannibal only sighed and shifted slightly, Will repeated the action, to little more response. But when he slipped his tongue inside Hannibal’s mouth, he found himself captured by firm hands, rolled over onto his back and pinned beneath a deliciously heavy weight. Giggling, he grinned up at Hannibal, who was attempting an expression of sternness.

‘Good morning.’

‘Hmph. It would have been better had you woken me at least an hour after dawn.’

Will snorted. ‘Look at the clock on the mantle, Hannibal. Dawn was several hours ago.’

Alert eyes narrowed on his face and Hannibal reached up, pressing the back of his hand to Will’s forehead.

‘Your fever has broken.’

‘Yes.’

‘Your heat is at an end?’

There was something almost akin to regret in Hannibal’s tone, and Will grasped his hand, bringing it to his lips before releasing it.

Softly then, ‘I believe so. And you?’

Hannibal nudged Will’s face aside with his nose to scent gently at his neck. ‘An Alpha’s rut is dependent on an Omega’s heat, Will. Yes, I am myself again.’

Will stiffened slightly at that, and Hannibal lifted his head to shoot him a reproving look. ‘Which means only that as well as wanting you just as much as ever, I would very much like to take a bath.’

Mollified, Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and pulled him down into a tight embrace.

‘Later,’ he murmured against his lips, and for full an hour not another word was spoken.

***

The next time he surfaced, Will found himself alone. Light streamed in high through the open window, the sun at its meridian, and a welcome breeze stirred the sultry air. Blinking, he sat up and stretched, yawning widely. He cocked his head, listening to the sound of familiar footsteps, and trained his eyes on the door expectantly. When Hannibal appeared, clothed in breeches and a hastily tucked-in shirt, wet hair falling in spiked tendrils across his forehead, Will quirked an eyebrow.

‘Have you been swimming?’

It was then that he noticed the note in Hannibal’s hand.

He held it up. ‘From your aunt.’

‘Oh, how is she?’

A blush of shame spread across Will’s cheeks, for until this moment he had quite forgotten poor, ailing Mrs Crawford.

But Hannibal was smiling. ‘Quite recovered. It was, after all, a temporary malady. Possibly, your aunt surmises, a result of eating questionable fish for lunch on the day of the ball.’

Will’s brow creased. ‘I thought that she was suffering from a headache. And I do not remember fish on the menu that day.’

Hannibal came to sit beside Will, running gentle fingers through his hair and pulling taut the curls before releasing them. Immediately, all thoughts of Mrs Crawford’s mysterious short-lived illness evaporated, and Will leaned into Hannibal’s touch, eyes half-closed in indolent pleasure.

‘Come back to bed.’

‘Oh no.’ Rising smartly, Hannibal pursed his lips and held out his hand. ‘I am taking you to bathe, Mr Graham. There is a pond nearby that I use often for such a purpose. It is perfectly secluded.’

‘Is that where you took your bath today?’

‘It is. And it was most invigorating.’

‘You mean cold.’

‘I mean cleansing.’

Will pouted. ‘Are you suggesting that my smell is objectionable?’

‘I am suggesting that when we receive your uncle this evening, it might be considered impolitic of us to greet him smelling of each other.’

‘Oh.’ Battling disappointment, Will endeavoured not to allow it to show. ‘He is coming to take me back?’

‘He is.’

Will allowed himself to be tugged up; and as he was drawn in for a lingering kiss, he wound his arms around Hannibal’s neck and tightened them possessively.

I do not wish to go.

‘Mrs Crawford has been anxious for your wellbeing and is eager to see you.’ Eyes glinting, hands sweeping delicious trails across Will’s skin, Hannibal added, ‘However, I am of a mind to hold a dinner on Friday next; and as it will doubtless continue until dawn, it may be that you are obliged once again to send your uncle and aunt home in the carriage and lodge here for the night. Do not you think?’

‘Definitely,’ grinned Will, pressing close and capturing Hannibal’s mouth in another hungry kiss.

It was mid-afternoon before finally they stumbled from the room.

***

Hannibal had ever been proud of his iron resolve, but watching Will frolic in the clear waters of Cascade Pond was enough to test even his usually indomitable self-possession. They had ventured forth wearing only breeches and shirts – rather too little for public display in Hannibal’s view, although admittedly the contrasting textures beneath his feet, of soft grass and warm earth and crisp bracken, had proven most pleasant – yet the moment they had arrived at the pond, Will had immediately stripped down to his drawers. He stood now hip-deep, a pale nymph among blushing water lilies, face tilted to the light which spilled on him like liquid gold. So beautiful, Hannibal could scarce draw breath.

‘Do you intend to stand there until sunset?’

‘Perhaps.’ He smiled, still riveted. ‘I have at present little motivation to move.’

‘Is that so?’ Will stepped out into slightly shallower water, the thin undergarment clinging and transparent. And with a coquettish smirk, ‘Are you quite certain?’

‘Will Graham, you are outrageous,’ growled Hannibal, but already he was pulling his shirt free of his breeches. He cast it off and waded in, eyes fixed on the grinning minx of an Omega who held him so in thrall. Catching him easily, he wound possessive arms about his slender waist and pulled him close, huffing in amusement as Will’s hands fell immediately to unbuttoning his breeches.

‘You wear far too many clothes.’

‘And you, so often, astonishingly few.’

Will’s slender fingers wrapped around his length, cool and water-slick against his heated flesh, and gladly Hannibal surrendered the argument, eyes narrowing in pleasure. When he spilled, it was with head bowed, lips pressed to Will’s damp curls.

After a leisurely swim, they lay side by side on the grassy bank, heads pillowed on moss, fingers tangled together. And as their clothes dried in the muggy warmth of afternoon, they talked. They talked as they had one cold, crisp November morning in Hertfordshire, of art and culture and music. And Hannibal found himself falling in love all over again.

‘Have you read Beckford?’ Idly he reached across and plucked a burr from Will’s hair.

Will hummed. ‘My father’s library has a copy of Vathek, but I confess it is not to my taste. I prefer encyclopaedias to novels.’

‘I was thinking more of his letters. Specifically, Dreams, Waking Thoughts and Incidents.’ And upon Will’s enquiring look, ‘A collection detailing his European travels. Beckford gave a copy to my father after he sojourned here one summer as a young man. I shall look it out for you – given your fascination with the Continent, I believe you would enjoy it.’

‘Thank you,’ Will said softly, leaning in to bestow a kiss which Hannibal was only too willing to accept.

‘Waking thoughts.’ A sigh escaped Will’s lips, and the tender light in his eyes brought a lump to Hannibal’s throat. ‘I thought of you often, after Kent. Every day. Every night.’ He smiled dreamily. ‘One evening, I stood by my bedchamber window, looking up at the night sky – Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. And I wondered if you could see it too. I wondered if our stars were the same.’

Infinitely moved, Hannibal tucked a curl behind Will’s ear, choosing his words with care. ‘I believe that some of our stars will always be the same. It is my dearest wish that they should be.’

They fell once more to silence, heads close together, hands still entwined.

***

Upon their return to the hunting tower, they found waiting for them a light repast of bread, cold meats and plump vine tomatoes fresh from the greenhouse. Conversation was more fragmented now, the mood decidedly subdued as the hour of Mr Crawford’s arrival approached. Wishing to bring a smile once more to Will’s face, Hannibal took up a knife and proceeded to carve the skin from the largest of the tomatoes, rolling it carefully into the shape of a rose.

‘For you.’

Fingers stained red and dripping juice, he held out the delicately twisted bud across the kitchen table. Will accepted it with a delighted chuckle.

‘Am I to eat this or find a vase for it?’

But the shine in his eyes belied his light-hearted response.

Hannibal’s heart too ached at the thought of their imminent separation – so much remained unsaid and unresolved between them. Yet it was hardly a permanent goodbye; Will would not be returning to Hertfordshire for full another week.

They dressed in fresh clothes laid out by Umber in their absence. Hannibal tied Will’s neckcloth, and then stood patiently as Will reciprocated with blue eyes full of laughter, exclaiming over his own clumsy attempts to manipulate the length of linen into a serviceable arrangement.

‘At home we do not use half so much starch, I think!’

Despite the less-than-impeccable result, Hannibal would not have adjusted it for the world.

***

It was a fine, still evening of muted birdsong and creeping shadows. They heard the curricle’s approach as it clattered up the winding track, and walked out onto the flight of steps to wait.

‘I hope the journey back to the inn is not too wearisome.’ Hannibal’s voice was husky. ‘The curricle will take you back to the house, where your carriage is waiting.’

‘You are not coming with us?’

‘No, I prefer to say farewell to you here, Will.’

He heard a sigh, and the next moment felt the gentle press of Will’s forehead between his shoulder blades. His lover’s arms slipped around his waist.

‘Thank you, Hannibal. These few days have meant –‘

Will’s voice faltered and Hannibal’s chest tightened. He grasped Will’s hand and lifted it to his lips, bowing his head to press kisses to the palm. And when, inevitably, that was not enough, he turned and claimed Will’s lips as well.

A jangling of harness announced the curricle’s arrival, and with supreme reluctance Hannibal broke the kiss.

Mr Crawford waved from the driver’s seat, face wreathed in smiles.

‘Hello there. Will, dear boy, it is a relief to see you looking so well.’

‘Thank you, Uncle.’

Suffused with a delightful blush, Will descended the hunting tower steps, and Hannibal followed close behind, protectiveness overriding discretion.

‘I took the liberty of driving myself, Mr Lecter. I hope you do not mind. Your butler furnished me with excellent directions.’

‘Not at all. You have saved my groom a long walk back, which no doubt he appreciates greatly,’ commented Hannibal, eyes still on Will, who glanced back at him with a brief, self-conscious smile before mounting the passenger seat.

Hannibal stepped back, jaw working in frustration. There was still so much that he wished to say – and much still to resolve between them – but somehow they had run out of time.

Mr Crawford gathered the reins and Will turned again to Hannibal.

‘Goodbye.’ His expression was openly affectionate and more than a little wistful. ‘I hope that we shall meet again very soon.’

For one reckless moment, Hannibal contemplated hauling Will down and dragging him back to the hunting tower, propriety be damned. But he only nodded, gaze steady on the boy he loved so entirely, a promise in his smile that was for Will alone.

‘You may depend upon it.’