Title: that kind of animal
Fandom: Hannibal (TV)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Will/Hannibal
Length: 1310 words
Content notes: There’s petplay and implied hunting
Summary: Will is not a housepet.
Notes: I've been meaning to write something like this for ages and finally did the thing! I am so pleased with myself.


Fingers card through Will’s hair as he sleeps, curling at the base of his skull and pulling gently as the strands there, urging him into consciousness.

He blinks, lifting his head slightly, sniffing once, and staring at Hannibal with tired eyes. He’s not ready to be awake yet, not ready to start moving and having the day unfold at his feet. He just wants to sleep. He always just wants to sleep.

“Up,” Hannibal says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Come Will. Time to start the day.” He smiles and god, Will finds it horrifying the way his heart flutters and his breath catches in his throat at the sight.

He stretches, sucking in a breath and pushing himself upright. Hannibal rests a hand on the back of his neck, humming a soft tune to himself as he does so. Will bows his head, eyes closing and holds his breath, fear and anticipation building in his stomach.

This is how he lives his life, in a mixture of terror and thrills and he still isn’t sure if it’s the worst way to exist or the absolute best.

There’s a dog next to the bed, a large, wolfish looking beast that lifts it’s head when Will’s feet hit the floor. It huffs once, stretches, then gets to it’s feet, looking up at Will with an easy expression of hope.

Will reaches out, brushes his fingers through it’s fur, a few soft notes spilling from his lips.

Hannibal laughs, a soft, pleased sound, and removes his hand from Will’s neck, striding over to collect his robe and offer Will out his own. He puts it on, not thinking twice about the action, and the dog moves to his side, pressing up against his leg and trying to herd him towards the door.

It makes Will laugh, bending down for a moment to show the creature a little affection. Hannibal watches from the door of the room before stepping out into the rest of the little place they call their own. Or at least that Hannibal calls his.

Will, well, he’s not sure what is his own at this point. What he can call and claim and touch whenever he pleases. He’s still learning the rules to this strange game, still trying to catch up and puzzle out what comes next.

Following, WIll and the dog both head towards the kitchen, the animal heading to a food bowl that has some scraps left from the night before and WIll settling at the table, his eyes focusing on the wood of the tabletop. It’s a soothing thing to study, to trace with his fingers and memorize over and over again.

Hannibal has prepared most of breakfast the night before, all that must be done is to actually cook various items. Will doesn’t even have to look up to know that the food is being treated with such care, that whatever gets put in front of him, no matter what it might be, will have been prepared with skill and a kind of craftmanship he’s not seen with anyone else’s cuisine.

He lets himself fall into the noise of it all, lets his mind wander and his limbs fall away. He’s only partially aware that he has a physical form, that he’s even in the kitchen or with another person. It’s easy to lose himself in times like this, when no one touches him, when the only thing is sound and and he can just drift.

Not that it often lasts very long.

Hannibal puts a hand on his neck again, pulling him back into his body, into the world around him. There’s food across from him but he has no plate directly in front of him. WIll blinks, feeling himself grow hungrier when the smell of breakfast hitting him and his eyes can’t help but focus in on the plate just out of reach.

Hannibal smiles at him, a little more sharp than before. They both know what this means, know what is to be expected of him.

Will sinks to the floor, swallowing hard as Hannibal pets him on the head once before moving to sit at his side of the table.

The dog looks at him curiously, head tilting as if it were confused, but then goes back to drinking and pays them no mind. Will almost wants to laugh but stops himself because that’s not a part of this, it’s against the rules.

Moving his body carefully, he crawls towards Hannibal on hands and knees, resting his head against the man’s knee, looking up at him, lips parted just slightly. He’s hungry, his stomach is starting to get loud with how much he wants food, but he knows he can’t push it too far, knows that he won’t get anything if he does that.

Hannibal nods once, moving to gently run hands through Will’s hair with one hand and spear a piece of meat on his fork with the other. Will sits up a little straighter, mouth opening and eyes shutting.

When he feels the meat press against his mouth, he tries not to be too eager in getting it inside him. He licks his lips after, hoping for more but not sure what to do to get it. He knows to be patient, that Hannibal will feed him if he can just sit still and be quiet but his stomach feels like it’s trying to jump out of his throat in it’s desire for food and it’s leaving him almost dizzy.

He should have eaten last night. He should have let himself have something but he was so tired, it was just easier to lay down and sleep.

Hannibal does feed him, pieces of meat and vegetables, one small bite at a time. Will knows he’s supposed to be savoring the food, appreciating it, but it’s hard when he’s this hungry. Instead of doing so, he consumes quickly, hardly tasting anything.

Once they’ve both had their fill though, Will feels himself starting to get restless. His feet are numb from the position he’s been sitting in and and his body wants to move, to stretch and walk and maybe even run.

He whines, the noise slipping from him accidentally.

Hannibal laughs, reaching down and lifting his head up, making Will look into his eyes and shift, even more uncomfortable now than he was a moment ago.

“Do you want to go out?” He asks the question almost innocently, as if he didn’t know the answer already. They both know he’s aware though, this is all a part of the game.

WIll nods, licking his lips again and trying hard to not close his eyes or look away. Doing so would mean he doesn’t get a damn thing he wants.

Finally Hannibal relents, lifting his head and getting to his feet. WIll starts to get to his feet, planning to follow, but halts when Hannibal makes a gesture with one hand. He knows what tha cue means so he heels, sitting back down and waiting..

Will doesn’t have a leash or a collar, he’s not made to walk on all fours the entire day or eat from a dish on the floor. That’s not how this thing works.

Instead, he’s left to wait by the empty chair as Hannibal picks out clothes for him. He’s cleaned, then dressed and and made usre to look as presentable as Hannibal wishes him to look. Then they leave.

They go into the world, they go amongst their prey.

Will is not a housepet, he isn’t left to laze about and not earn his keep.

They step into the busy street, into the bustling world around them. Will lifts his head, smells the air, then starts looking around them, watching the people, studying each of them and how they move.

Will is a hunting dog.