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Title: Love in Any Language
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: NC-17
Table: writers_choice
Prompt: #535, Language
Author's Note: One-shot.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.


Will let his head fall back, moaning softly as Hannibal's hands moved down his sides to grasp his hips. He felt decadent, and at the same time vulnerable, exposed. He was naked on the kitchen counter, his legs wrapped around Hannibal's waist, his lover deep inside him.

They'd never done this in the kitchen before; it had always seemed like one of the places that was off-limits for sex. But today, they'd been unable to stop themselves.

Will hadn't realized what Hannibal had meant to do when the other man stood up from the table, walked to his chair, and pulled him into those strong arms. But he'd soon found out.

This was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. For some reason, it felt much more decadent and naughty to have sex on the kitchen counter than it did to have sex on Hannibal's desk, or the couch, or anywhere else in his vast house.

And Will was sure that he enjoyed it more because of that decadence.

He tightened his legs around Hannibal's waist as his lover thrust harder into him, leaning back as he did so. Nothing had ever felt this good; he was spiraling higher on a whirlwind of sensation, his senses taking over to lift his body higher into the clouds.

Hannibal murmured something in his ear, words that he didn't understand. Will wasn't all that good with languages, but this was one he'd never heard before.

Maybe it was Hannibal's native language, he told himself. Maybe it was something that he'd learned while he was in another country, before he'd come to American. Maybe it was just something unintelligible, words that he'd made up specifically for the two of them.

Whatever it was, the words inflamed Will, made his desire for the man he was with rise even higher. All he wanted was for this to last forever, for this pleasure to go indefinitely.

Hannibal's hips thrust forward again, bringing a groan to Will's lips. The feeling of being filled, of being taken, was like nothing he'd ever felt before. No one had given him this kind of pleasure before Hannibal -- and no one else ever would.

The whispered words came again, Hannibal's warm breath tickling his earlobe.

Those words pushed him even closer to the edge; the combination of Hannibal's voice, hands and body was lifting Will higher into ecstasy than he'd ever been before.

What language was that? What was Hannibal saying? He wanted to ask, but his tongue felt thick; he knew that he wouldn't be able to form the words. The question could barely take shape in his head; at the moment, he couldn't articulate it.

All he could do was wrap his arms around Hannibal's neck and hold on to him for dear life as the pleasure spiraled ever higher within him with each hard thrust; he couldn't speak, could hardly breathe, could barely draw breath to moan out Hannibal's name.

When his climax came, he let himself go, his body spasming and trembling in Hannibal's arms, his legs tightening even more around his lover's waist.

And when it was over, he could only collapse into Hannibal's arms.

They were silence for long moments, Hannibal holding onto him tightly as he slumped over the kitchen counter, Will clinging to him with the last vestiges of strength still left in his spent body. He was panting, his heart racing, his chest heaving.

Strange how making love with Hannibal seemed to take so much out of him, he reflected. Maybe it was because he gave so much during their lovemaking.

But Hannibal gave just as much, if not more. And he did all the work, Will thought with an inward smile. He should be more tired than he seemed to be.

He couldn't help but marvel at Hannibal's inner reserves of strength; he was always amazed by his lover's capabilities. Just when he thought he knew Hannibal, the other man would reveal another side of himself, making Will wonder if he was some sort of chameleon.

Hannibal murmured those soft words again, his voice barely audible.

"What language is that?" Will managed to ask, his own voice breathy. "I wish I knew what you were saying, Hannibal. But I'm not good with languages."

"Lithuanian." Hannibal raised his head to smile tiredly at Will, then raised a hand to stroke a hand through the younger man's soft, dark curls. "I believe that I have lapsed into that language at other times when we have been in the heat of passion."

Will nodded slowly, realizing that Hannibal was right; he had done that, on more than one occasion. "The only foreign language I'm really familiar with is French," he admitted with a slight smile. "So I have no idea what you were saying to me."

"I was telling you that you are beautifully tight, that you feel heavenly, and that .... that I love you," Hannibal answered, his voice very soft.

The words seemed to hang in the air, wrapping around the two of them.

It didn't matter that he didn't understand the words that Hannibal was saying, Will thought to himself. He could hear the love in those whispered words -- hear it in the tone of Hannibal's voice, feel it in the way that his lover held him close.

He knew that Hannibal loved him; he didn't need to know that he'd actually put that feeling into words. But it was nice to hear the words aloud.

"Love is love, in any language," he said softly, finally raising his head to gaze into Hannibal's eyes. "You don't need to tell me that you love me, Hannibal. I know you do. But I'll admit, I like hearing it. And I like to say those words to you, too."

"Then say them," Hannibal murmured, turning his head to nip at the tender flesh of Will's throat. "Tell me that you love me, William Graham. Let me hear the words."

"I love you," Will whispered, his head falling back and his eyes closing as Hannibal's lips moved down to the sensitive hollow at the base of his throat. "I love you. I'll love you forever. Always. Until the end of time. I'm yours, Hannibal. I always have been."

He could feel those lips curving into a smile against his skin.

Love was love in any language. It didn't matter what words Hannibal spoke to him with; what matter was the emotion behind those words. He could read that emotion loud and clear without understanding a syllable of what Hannibal was saying.

He knew that Hannibal loved him. That came through not only in the tone of his voice, but the way Hannibal touched him, the way he kissed and held him.

The love came through in his voice, no matter what the words were. The language wasn't important; the feelings it contained meant everything.

Hannibal was whispering into his ear again, more words that Will couldn't understand. But the love in his voice came through loud and clear -- and that love was all that Will needed to hear. That love meant the same thing in any language, and he would always respond in kind