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The Lecter household was practically booming with excitement over Abigail’s birthday approaching soon. Well, the east wing, at any rate. Will quickly grabbed his easel to stop it from shaking at the last blast. Hannibal brushed the drywall out of his hair, looked up, and sighed.
“Dearest, please remind me to screw in the chandelier tighter. I fear it’ll go out when I’m hanging from it again.”
Will nodded as he added a few final touches to his drawing. “Yes, darling. There we are. C’est fini.”
He smiled as his husband practically leapt off of the loveseat he was posing on and ran to kiss up and down Will’s arm.
“Ma querida…cara mia…” he muttered into his shoulder, nuzzling the black silk dress shirt.
Will tousled Hannibal’s hair and whispered sweetly, “Later…later…the drawing, darling…”
Hannibal reluctantly pulled away and inspected the work. He broke out into a bright smile.
“Magnificent, Will, absolutely magnificent! A perfect swirl of Modigliani and Picasso! Bravissima!” he praised. Will smiled proudly as he walked over to his fishing ties and started wrapping the bait slowly around the hooks as his husband watched transfixed. At that moment, Abigail came rushing down the stairs, excited and out of breath.
“Papa, have you seen Anne Boleyn’s head? I can’t find it and Beverly said I might have left it down here.”
Will picked up the doll’s head from the coffee table and held it just above her head with a grin. “This one, precious?”
She laughed and jumped for it. “Yes, Papa, now give it back!” He laughed as well and handed it to her, turning back to his hooks.
“Father,” Abigail announced, running to Hannibal and jumping onto his lap, “Brian and Jimmy are here. They came to surprise me for my birthday!”
“Did they, now?” he said in an adoring tone. “Which reminds me, il mio tesora, what presents would you like? Your papa and I have agreed that you are old enough for your own crossbow this year, but what else?”
She thought for a minute. “Oh! I need a new blade for my guillotine, and a new doll. But I already have all of the Tudors and the French Revolution monarchs.”
Will spoke up, “What about Robspierre and Thomas Becket, dear heart? They would be lovely additions to your collection.”
Hannibal added, “And Queen Boudicca would be a perfect introduction to early British and Roman history.”
Her eyes brightened, “Does this mean you and Papa will read me stories about ancient Rome?”
“Of course, tesora.”
The mail bell dinged and Abigail hopped down and walked over to a long ornate box and lifted the lid. A slender, pale arm appeared, holding the package in delicate fingers. She took the mail with a curtsy and very polite, “Thank you, Miriam,” and the arm disappeared back into the box.
Alana appeared at the top of the stairs, smelling like crackling embers, “Are those my nitroglycerin caps, honey?”
“And Auntie Margot’s dynamite sticks! Can we blow up my dollhouse, Auntie Alana, pretty please?”
“If your father allows it,” Alana said pointedly, looking at her brother. He smiled.
“Go ahead, Abigail. But you have to assist in cleaning the mess afterwards.”
“Thank you, Father!” she said happily as she skipped up the stairs to grab Alana’s hand, twirling her spider-silk cloak in the process. Will turned to his husband and tsked in a teasing manner.
“You spoil her rotten.”
“Only the best for the family, my sweet,” Hannibal said as he began to sharpen his favorite knife.
They worked in pleasant silence until the thin tip of a fencing blade suddenly appeared on his jugular vein. Hannibal looked up to see a glimmer of mischief in his beloved’s eyes. With a wink he slowly pulled him closer by the blade, dragging Will onto the other side of the loveseat, slicing open his palm in the process. Hannibal smiled as Will held his hand and slowly licked the blood from the cut.
“Do you remember when we first met?” he murmured.
“How could I ever forget?" Will chuckled softly. "The crime scene was horrendous. Intestines wrapped around the victim’s eyes, Byron quotes painted in elegant script with blood as the ink, kidneys missing.”
“One of my best works,” Hannibal said in a nostalgic tone, resting his head against Will’s shoulder, “You looked simply ravishing that day, caro mio. No one even noticed the corpse when you entered the room.”
They sat comfortably, reminiscing, when Will spoke up.
“Darling, if you want to prepare Abigail’s birthday feast, we should go hunting soon.”
“What about tonight?”
“Tonight! Hannibal, we haven’t made any preparations. Never thought you were spontaneous.”
“You bring it out in me,” Hannibal whispered with a kiss to his temple. “Let’s go, beloved. Like in our early courtship.”
“May I choose?”
“Of course, Will. Anyone.”
“The census taker that was rude last month. The one who ranted about our relationship and it ‘not being natural.’ I should have killed him on the spot.”
“Even with Abigail in the room, I don’t think I would have been able to restrain myself if you had done it.”
“Tease,” Will said lovingly, kissing the tip of his nose before standing, “Would you have Frederick get the car, darling? I’ll need you to help me load the trunk with the hunting equipment.”
“Yes, my dear,” Hannibal said as he stood up as well and walked over to the hangman’s noose bell. He pulled easily
BRAAAAAAAANNNNNNNG
“You rang?” Frederick said dryly, appearing from seemingly nowhere, one eye faded and glazed over as always.
“I did indeed, Frederick. Will and I are going out hunting tonight, so would you be so kind and bring the Bentley around front? We should be home by five. Oh, and clean the freezer out. The mechanic’s probably oily by now.”
“Mistress joining you?”
“Oh no, we’ve told her multiple times, not until lucky number 13 birthday rolls around. The car now, if you please.”
“Yes sir.” He lurched out the side door to the garage.
Will had found the man’s card and was on his way to the storage room when he paused and turned around to his husband with a worried look.
“Darling, I’m just remembering our last hunt. It was…intense, as I recall. Something primal seemed to break free. A wild look in your eyes. You frightened me, Hannibal.”
A devious smirk spread over his face.
“Do it again, mon cher."