No Blood, No Heartbreak: Will and Hannibal in a World Without the Tender Touch of Death

I love consuming AU fics where Hannigram have always been together, still murderers, but without the resistance, without the shattered teacups. These AUs are rare, so I often find myself theorizing about what their dynamic would be like if they had found each other earlier.

Perhaps Will was an FBI trainee, and Hannibal a guest lecturer at Quantico. In this world, they would recognize each other immediately. Will wouldn’t be repressed, but a killer hiding in plain sight. A meeting like Tobias and Hannibal’s, two predators recognizing one another across a crowded room. Hannibal would find excuses to be alone with this beautiful trainee, drawn to him. Will, curious about the handsome and eccentric foreign doctor, would indulge him. “Look at those hands. He has the hands of a killer.” He would say. Their conversations would be thick with innuendo, double meanings, words that whispered secrets through the corners of breath.

Then Hannibal would say one day, “Have dinner with me, let me cook for you.” And Will would play hard to get, but he would go. Their love would unfold seamlessly, no obstacles, no repression, just the natural movement of two bodies colliding, merging, as they were always meant to. No friction except the one under silk sheets.

In this world, Hannibal would allow himself to express his desire for tradition. His eccentricity only extends as far as his gentlemanly heart allows. He is the kind of man who would want to be traditional in his deviance. Marry a man, be frowned upon by society, yes, but season it with a deeply conventional domesticity. He wants to be a good husband. He takes pride in perfection, and marriage would be no different. Their life would be one of flawless grace, of carefully curated happiness. A beautiful home, children, an enviable life, Hannibal would flaunt it at social gatherings. “My husband this, my husband that.“ The light of his life. He would turn a blind eye to anything that disrupted the illusion. Will isn’t depressed, he’s just moody. Their children aren’t traumatized, they’re being refined into beautiful diamonds. This is how he is in canon; this is how he would be here, too.

And Will would be possessive, grumpy, and horny, just as he is in canon. He would keep a straight face as Hannibal pressed his lips to his neck, whispering dark delights. He wouldn’t demand space; he would always want to keep an eye. “My husband this, my husband that”, emphasis on mine, a threat, a territorial claim.