Behind the Mask: A Hannigram Fanfiction

12- Chef

     Work the next day was quiet. Hannibal was cautious to keep himself under the radar, not wanting to alert Detective Crawford to any discrepancies. People came into the clinic, and they walked out satisfied. Hannibal was polite and subdued.
     In the kitchen that evening, Hannibal fixed them tea. They drank together at the kitchen table, and William was captivated by the scope of the room. The counters swept across a larger area than his entire house, and the wooden cabinets glistened with his reflection. Everything was adorned with golden handles and knobs, and in lieu of a pantry there was an entire wall of sturdy shelves. Spices, fresh produce, eggs, bread— there was not a single empty space on the shelves.
     "I find things to be much more accessible this way," Hannibal remarked when he caught William looking. "Don't you think? Better than a humid old pantry."
     William nodded in agreement and took a sip.
     "You seem lost today. Are you alright?"
     William shrugged. "Not really. This is..I don't know. I've been through a lot."
     "Yes, you have." Hannibal smirked. "And I suppose I am at fault for that."
     "Not just you." He traced the rim of his teacup with his thumb. "I'm the one who went and fell for you so quickly. Dragged you into my world."
     "I got here on my own." He waved his hand dismissively. "But I appreciate the company."
     William couldn't stop the soft smile that crept up his face.
     "You need a break," Hannibal said decisively, taking a large swig of the last of his tea. "Come. Let's fix dinner."
     "Let's?" He raised an eyebrow.
     "Together, yes." He winked. "I'll guide you."
     William had never cooked anything in his life. He had always subsisted off of what his father gave him, along with raw fruits and cheese and breads. Nothing that required actual cooking.
     "..Alright." He stood. It couldn't hurt.
     "Perfect." Hannibal beamed, waltzing across the kitchen towards the large shelves. He held out his arms. "Now pick."
     "Pick?" William asked, shocked.
     "Yes. I am nothing if not adaptable. Pick any spice you like, and together we will create a dish based off of that."
     It was a monumental task for someone who had no idea what any of these spices tasted like. He'd heard all of the names, and he knew that he'd probably tasted about half of them just from eating Hannibal's cooking— but none of them were labeled. Jar after jar of fresh and dried herbs were before him in a beautiful spread of green.
     "Wow." He surveyed his choices, reluctantly reaching for a jar filled with dark grey powder.
     "That's pepper, darling."
     "Oh." He pulled his hand away. "Um.." He reached again for a jar of plump green leaves. The jar was cool, and as soon as he brought it closer he could smell the earthy scent the leaves gave off.
     Hannibal nodded, impressed. "Basil. Versatile. Sweet with a little punch. Good choice." He thought for a few seconds; that was all he needed. "I'll make a pesto."
     "This is pesto?" William had heard the word millions of times since he'd arrived in Italy, but he'd never known what it was made of.
     "It will be." Hannibal moved swiftly, taking another jar of what looked like nuts and a bottle of rich yellow liquid. Salt, pepper, and a block of cheese, all arranged in his hands expertly.
     He set it all down on the counter and reached into one of the cabinets. There, he retrieved a mortar and pestle.
     "Pesto, originating from the Italian verb meaning 'to crush'," Hannibal said. "We will crush the basil in here to create a paste with olive oil and pine nuts." He picked up the bottle with the nozzle on top. "Hold out your finger."
     William did, and Hannibal gently dispensed a few drops of the oil onto the tip. "Taste."
     Slowly, William put his finger into his mouth. He licked up the oil, his eyes closing for a moment as a magnificent flavor exploded on his tongue. It was rich and earthy, sweet with a lemony undertone. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.
When he opened his eyes, Hannibal was staring at him with exhilaration. He lightly took hold of William's wrist and dispensed a few more droplets onto William's pointer and middle. He raised William's hand up to his mouth. His warm lips enclosed around his fingers, his tongue brushing across the fragile pads. It reminded William of their first full night together— he sighed with pleasure at the thought. It felt so good to have this man want him so badly.
With hesitation, Hannibal finally removed William's fingers from his mouth. Not a morsel of the oil was left.
"Goodness," he sighed. "You are very good at distracting me."
William smiled. "I believe you were showing me how to make a paste?"
"Here." Hannibal tossed the basil into the mortar and added oil and pine nuts. "You do it. I'll start on the pasta."
"I don't know how to do this."
"Just crush it. It can't be messed up."
"I'll find a way," William teased, but he started to move the wooden pestle in circles anyway. He carefully pressed the wood down onto the nuts, crushing them into a fine powder. It was easier than he thought it would be.
     Hannibal was already moving again, retrieving some more ingredients from the shelf. "I prefer fresh pasta to dried," he said. "Quicker to cook with a more homey flavor."
     "I've never had fresh pasta, I don't think."
     "There was a dish at the ball, I believe. An appetizer."
     William couldn't remember the specifics of the dishes he'd had that night. All he knew was that everything was decadent and delicious.
     "Now you'll get to try it again." He retrieved a bowl from below and poured a large amount of flour into it. He then cracked a couple of eggs into the middle and stirred it all together.
     "This will create a dough," he explained. William kept stirring, watching the crushed basil combine with the oil to form a green paste. He felt accomplished.
      In what felt like mere seconds, Hannibal was already taking a formed ball of dough out of the bowl. He sprinkled some flour onto the counter and set the dough on top, beginning to flatten it out with his hands.
     "We create the shape this way. I'll cut it into thin strips, and it'll cook in just a few minutes. How are you doing?"
     "I think I'm getting it."
     Hannibal leaned over to look. "Perfect," he said, smiling. "You're a natural. Here, you can help me with this now."
     He continued to press down on the dough until it was a flattened rectangle. He then rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a sharp knife. William flinched, and Hannibal definitely noticed. He looked slightly hurt.
     "You never have to worry about me, caro. Here," he held out the knife, "you do it. I'll guide you."
     William moved to his side of the counter and stood in front of the dough. Taking the knife, he stared down at the counter, clueless.
     Hannibal stood right behind him, placing his hand on top of William's and guiding him towards the counter. He moved their hands to cut a thin, long strip of the dough.
     "See? It's not hard." His voice vibrated in William's ear. He could feel Hannibal's body pressed against his own, Hannibal's breath on the back of his neck. He was weak in the knees.
     They kept cutting. William wanted to turn around and pull Hannibal towards him, forgetting all about dinner to kiss him. But he knew that Hannibal always finished what he started— plus, he knew this was going to be good food.
     Hannibal suddenly leaned forward to kiss William's cheek. "You're doing very well," he reassured him. "You're a chef now."
     "Oh Lord, I'm nowhere near it." William chuckled nervously. "You're doing it all for me."
     "I could move off of you, but..I don't think either of us want that."
     "No." William stopped, giving into his desires and turning around. He planted a kiss on Hannibal's lips, resting his hand on the back of Hannibal's neck. "God, no."
     Hannibal smiled and kissed him longer. "I fall for you more every day."
     "Me, too. And your cooking."
     "Right. Cooking." Hannibal shook his head. "Only you could distract me from cooking."
     "I'm rather special, aren't I?"
     "Oh, absolutely." He kissed William again. "Now let me get this water started."
     He set a pot of water on the stove and put it to a boil. He tossed the fresh pasta they'd made into the pot, stirring it.
     "Just a minute or two," he said. "There's some plates in that cabinet on the left. Could you get two? Oh, and wine glasses! I've got a white that will be perfect with this."
     William nodded and did what he said. There were so many cabinets— "the left" was not enough instruction to know what to do. He chose one at random and opened it.
     His stomach dropped. Inside of the cabinet, there were a few slabs of meat wrapped up in paper. His jaw set and he immediately closed the door.
     He wasn't sure how much of that was human.
     Hannibal had his back turned, luckily, so William chose the next cabinet and found himself successful. He sighed in relief and got out the fine china that was in there.
     "Thank you, dear. And this is already done." Hannibal turned off the flame. "Bring me your plate. I'll serve you."
     Hannibal piled his plate with cooked pasta. The pasta on its own looked delicious, but then Hannibal reached for the pesto and William felt his stomach growl. He scooped some of it onto the pasta and tossed it with the fork, turning the pasta green.
     "There you are," he said, satisfied. "It's so rewarding to eat what you've made on your own."
     "Thank you."
     "Thank you, my chef. This will be the best meal I've ever had, I'm sure of it."
     It could be one of the last, if we're not careful. William shook off the thought.
     Hannibal had already noticed his defeated expression, though. He put a hand on William's shoulder.
     "Hey," he said, "we're going to figure this out. Alright? It will be easy, and then we will be safe. I swear."
     "We need to protect each other. I don't trust Margot to protect us."
     "I don't, either. Please, do not worry. Tonight is for enjoyment."
     They ate together, and Hannibal was right— it was the best meal William had ever had.