Chapter Text
At last, they’d found the venue. In the countryside near Westminster, Maryland there was an apple orchard and accompanying farm, full of historically preserved barns and outbuildings. It had been renovated into an event center and bed and breakfast called Celebration Farm. The grounds were vast and beautiful and a little wild in spite of it all; the orchard nearby could provide either a backdrop of apple blossoms for photos, or apple-picking activities for guests depending on the time of year. It was a combination of historic, fancy, and rustically charming. The dogs could attend and have plenty of space to run around and play.
“I’ll admit I had my doubts about being married in a barn,” Hannibal said on the drive home. “The saying goes that one must have been born in a barn if one lacks manners. But I found them charming.”
“I saw you petting that sheep,” Will said through a playful half-smile. “Maybe the sheep’s ordained. Or would make a good, uh… flower girl or something.”
“We’ve yet to discuss the role the dogs will play in the ceremony,” Hannibal said, mimicking Will’s expression.
“You really want them to wear little suits or bow ties or something, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?” Hannibal flipped the question at him.
Will laughed. “Pretty sure Buster would eat his costume off of himself before the thing even started.”
“A floral-crowned cone of shame then?”
“Perfect.”
Buster did have a thing for eating clothing, shoes, his plastic food dish, tearing up toys to get the squeaker out, and so forth. It was, then, no challenge for Will’s criminal investigation skills to figure out Buster was the culprit when they came home to find a feather pillow shredded all over the bedroom.
The basement door hadn’t latched properly and the dogs were out and about in the house. The others had managed not to be too naughty, aside from sleeping on the couch and getting it hairy, but Buster was, well, Buster.
Once Will had chased the pack outside, he joined Hannibal in the bedroom with the vacuum and a broom and dustpan. They removed their footwear so as to not track the mess around more than it already was. Will bent over with a sigh to start sweeping feathers into the dustpan while Hanniba picked up shredded bits of pillowcase, coat off, shirtsleeves rolled up.
Will’s flannel shirt was a static magnet for the feathers and within a minute he looked like he’d butchered a chicken. “Shit!” he swore through a laugh, trying to brush the feathers off and only generating more static electricity. He unbuttoned it and peeled it off into a feathery bundle.
“How angelic they look in your hair, darling.”
“Oh fuck, really…?” Will clawed at his curls, trying to get the little white feathers out.
Hannibal approached, holding one of the larger down feathers by the stem. When Will was distracted, he drew it lightly along his shoulder. Will shivered in response, a tremor racing through his body. “Hey,” he pretended to protest as Hannibal circled his free arm around Will’s waist and drew the feather under his chin now, making him shiver again. Will stole the feather out of his hand and tried the same thing, but Hannibal acted like it had no effect at all. Hannibal took his feather back and swiped it along Will’s collarbone, giving him a full body quake. In retaliation, Will stuck his hand in Hannibal’s armpit and tried moving his fingers there. Nothing.
“Oh, so the big bad Chesapeake Ripper doesn’t have a tickle spot?” Will teased.
“I might. But you haven’t found it yet.”
“Well, that sounds like you’re, ah… challenging me.” Will slid down Hannibal’s tie and opened his shirt, grabbing another down feather and sliding it across his neck and under his chin, across his forehead and cheekbones. “Nothing?”
Hannibal shook his head with a little smirk.
Will undressed him to his belt and tried both nipples, his back, and ribs. “Really? Nothing?”
“Not everyone is as sensitive as you are.” Hannibal reached out and dug his fingers unexpectedly into Will’s sides.
Will writhed out of his fiancé's grip, laughing out a gasp. “Okay, that’s it.” He pushed Hannibal on the bed and stripped him down the rest of the way. “Feet?” He brushed the soles of Hannibal’s feet with the feather, then tried his fingertips. “You have to be fucking kidding me!”
“I know your feet are your weakness.” Hannibal flipped him over and reached for his bare feet. Will hollered and tried (not very hard) to get away, but Hannibal pinned him down and tickled the bottom of his feet remorselessly until Will had tears in his eyes.
“That’s it, you’re gonna get it — hold still!”
There it was! He’d found it at last! The back of Hannibal’s knee, and only on the left side. It was so rare to hear Hannibal laugh aloud, though he was much more subdued than Will’s reaction had been.
“Gotcha,” Will said, breathing heavily as Hannibal pinned him again, now sporting a bulge in his briefs. “Fuck, I didn’t expect that to turn me on but—“
“Unexpected for me as well.” Hannibal kissed him hungrily, stripping him with hasty fingers to press their cocks together and thrust. It was a short but furiously sexy encounter that ended with both of them needing a shower to deal with the spills that had smeared between them and the feathers still sticking to everything.
“I guess Buster’s getting away with a slap on the wrist,” Will said as they dried off.
“I still think he needs a cone for the wedding.”