Chapter Text
Hannibal wakes that morning, disoriented and heart beating wildly, with the vivid painful memory of Mischa's disappointment and the emotionally fraught task she'd set for him still fresh in his mind.
Instead of getting up as usual, he promptly falls out of bed, his arms and legs not quite where he expects them to be. He tumbles onto the floor with a loud thump, all four limbs flailing about, his expensive silk nightwear tangled around him. A frustrated little huff escapes his brand new furred snout.
The scent of dust mites and cleaning products assaults him, so much stronger than even his hypersensitive human nose was accustomed to.
It becomes clear quite quickly that, against all odds, the nightly visitation from dear Mischa's ghost wasn't just some idle yarn his mind had spun for him after imbibing too much red wine.
She made good on her fantastical threat and, somehow, turned Hannibal into a dog.
He laboriously worms his way out of the tangle of his pajamas. He makes the effort to pick them up in his muzzle and leaves them on the rumpled sheets, but the overall disarray he has to leave behind is almost physically painful to behold. A dog's paws are not made to straighten out a bed.
Hannibal paces up and down in front of the mirrored doors of his wardrobe, craning his neck to get a good look at his new canine body. It takes a while to get the rhythm down, and he's thankful for the lack of an audience and a dog's apparently inability to blush, as he keeps stumbling over his own large paws. He's no expert on dogs, but he likes to think he looks quite regal at least. Big and strong, yet elegant, his fur shining silky and almost golden in the morning sun. While he's never been shy or embarrassed about his physique, it's still odd to be running around effectively naked, if covered in fur.
His testicles flop around with every step - it's obscene and utterly distracting. He eyes the furred sheath on his lower belly with scepticism, reluctantly licking it clean after relieving himself in the shower. This will take some time getting used to.
Over the course of the day, he tries to make peace with his peculiar predicament. No doubt someone will soon check on him, a lapse in his punctuality and carefully organized schedule will immediately ring alarm bells among many of his acquaintances.
He manages to turn the faucet in the shower off and on to quench his thirst, but by the time 2pm rolls around his stomach is clenching and rumbling with hunger. He could open the fridge, but the thought of the mess he will undoubtedly make, trying to get at any of the hopefully dog-safe edible contents, makes him cringe. He only truly knows to avoid grapes and chocolate and all the meat is tightly shrink-wrapped or frozen solid. He'll resort to it, very grudgingly, if he isn't discovered before the day's end.
It's in the late afternoon, after his phone has intermittently rung eight times over the course of the day, usually showing Alana's name on the screen, that the woman finally comes by in person to check up on him.
The closer he and Will grow, the more tedious his ruse of a romantic relationship with her becomes. In that regard, his surprise transformation is an unexpected relief.
He'd thought she'd gained a little more experience with dogs after acquiring Applesauce, but he can smell the sour scent of her fear, the moment she catches sight of his, admittedly intimidatingly large, new form.
"When the hell did Hannibal get a dog? It's fucking huge, has he been hiding it?" She mutters to herself, keeping a careful distance between them.
He is tickled by the evidence that Alana doesn't censor her swearing when she thinks herself unobserved. She's always so very careful to sound sophisticated when she talks with him.
She uselessly searches his home for a sign of his presence, her heels clicking back and forth across the tiles of the foyer and up and down the stairs as she aimlessly checks the same rooms, over and over. Frustrated with her dithering, Hannibal tries to herd her to the study, thinking to use some props to hint at his desired course of action - there is a very nice pencil sketch of dear Will among a stack of papers on his desk that might just clue her into calling their resident dog expert.
His annoyed growls and grumbling whuffs unfortunately only make her more wary of him. On the plus side, too scared to deal with a big combative dog on her own, she soon pulls out her phone. Hannibal's muzzle unconsciously opens in a panting doggy smile when he hears Will's muffled voice pick up on the other end.
Hannibal tries to pass the time until Will's arrival by checking over the house one last time, to make sure nothing incriminating has been left out in the open.
His entire body perks up when he hears Will's voice again, undistorted by a phone speaker this time, his whole hindquarters shaking with the sudden ecstatic wagging of his tail. He puts the indignity of his body's embarrassing behavior off to lament and examine later, his big paws already scrabbling clumsily over carpet and slick tiles as he hurries towards his Will.
The man's distinct scent reaches him well before he sees him, so much more intense to his sharp canine sense of smell. The varied aromas of his pack mix enticingly with hints of fish, motor oil and Will's own unique notes of sweat and musk. A pitiful relieved whine escapes Hannibal's throat as he practically throws himself into Will's arms, licking at his face in the facsimile of a kiss. Luckily, Will isn't put off by this enthusiastic and slobbery greeting. Hannibal basks in the wonderful sound of Will's laughter, the wonderful feeling of those strong calloused hands expertly rubbing his cheeks and ears, and preens at Will's acknowledgement of his new form's handsome looks. He just wants to melt into those pleasant touches.
He doesn't spare Alana another look and eagerly follows Will to his car. Fortunately, a warning growl is enough for Will to spare Hannibal a ride inside the transport box he brought. It looks far too small to be comfortable for him.
As he curls up in the passenger seat, shuffling his front across the center console to bed his head on Will's lovely strong thigh, the delicious musky scent of the man's crotch reaches his nose. He will never admit to swooning, but that is indeed what he does. He can't help but bury his nose in the vee of Will's legs, breathing deeply to properly take in the tantalizing unique bouquet, his cold wet nose jostling Will's soft cock inside his pants in his eager olfactory exploration. He yearns to examine that intimate part of Will's body more closely, but regretfully concedes that now is not the time.
Will takes the sudden assault on his privates with surprising equanimity. His own dogs probably sniff at him curiously all the time - a thought that has irrational jealousy churn in Hannibal's gut.
He's appalled at Will's ridiculous name suggestions and very relieved that he ultimately settles on his murderous alter ego's moniker. His Will can be so delightfully cheeky!
Digging his nose deep between Will's thighs, Hannibal soon dozes off, calmed by Will's scent.
***
Hannibal takes the collar in stride, but the overly enthusiastic greeting of Will's pack, and Hannibal's hostile reaction to the curious noses aiming for a whiff of his furry behind, quickly sour the mood. Hannibal is taken aback by just how strongly he's affected by Will's reprimand.
At dinnertime, he ignores Will's puzzled amusement at his odd table manners and refuses to dwell on just how good Will's praise feels, for something as banal as putting his dirty bowl in the sink. The new, distinctly canine part of his psyche is very eager to be a 'good boy' as often as possible, much to his chagrin. His traitorous tail wags happily in spite of his own mortification.
Will, soft-hearted dog lover that he is, easily accepts Hannibal's presence in his bed. Hannibal categorically refuses to settle for some threadbare blankets, when he can cuddle in bed with his Will instead.
The very next morning, he can't resist the temptation presented to him, with Will in nothing but a towel, slung low around his hips, his skin still flushed and glistening enticingly from the shower. He sticks his muzzle underneath, immediately surrounded by the wonderful intense scent of Will, his mouthwatering natural musk more distinct after cleaning off old sweat and dander. Hannibal hungrily licks all the way from Will's balls up his perineum and across the wrinkly folds of his asshole, dismayed when his intimate explorations are cut short. He ignores Will's scolding, too pleased with himself as he savors his stolen taste.
It seems Hannibal can build up a tolerance to Will's disappointment. He feels much less affected than when Will had berated him yesterday for his aggressive behavior towards the other dogs.
Or perhaps his own arousal just outweighs his shame.
While Will gets dressed and ready for work, Hannibal hides behind the couch and grudgingly licks at his aching cock. Trying to soothe his arousal proves largely futile, but at least the bright red erection doesn't stick halfway out of its sheath anymore.
***
Life as a dog isn't too bad, all things considered. The all-day access to Will - a Will who now seems permanently charmed and endeared by his antics and casually touches him with easy affection any time Hannibal is near - is a definite point in favor of his new canine existence. Will's touch, especially any time he scratches behind Hannibal's ears or above his tailbone, makes him want to roll over onto his belly and beg for more.
He's very pleased with himself for managing to bully his way into coming along to Quantico, but ends up momentarily depressed at the revelation of the FBI's plot to draw him out into making a mistake.
It ultimately only makes him even more determined to win Will over. The man won't want to turn him in once Hannibal is done seducing him - the unfortunate limitations of his current animal form be damned!
He puts his new resolve into action the very next morning and wakes Will up with a blowjob.
Or as close to a blowjob as he can manage in his this shape. The long agile tongue of a dog is certainly very advantageous for oral sex, but he has to be careful to avoid nicking the sensitive skin with his sharp teeth.
To be fair, he takes great pleasure in the act himself. Perhaps the seduction is unintentionally mutual, as he quickly loses himself in the delicious tastes and smells of Will's body, eagerly licking up the precum that beads at the tip of Will's lovely cock. The weight of it rests perfectly on Hannibal's tongue as Will groans his way through an early morning orgasm. Hannibal hungrily swallows his release and meticulously licks all traces of Will's seed from his softening erection. He pants a smug doggy smile when Will can't even muster a properly outraged tone in the aftermath, his admonishment of 'bad dog' sounds more fondly exasperated than scandalized. Dear Will's body clearly needed the sexual relief and Hannibal is more than happy to provide his assistance.
He hides behind the couch once more to take care of his own arousal, while Will prepares their breakfast. He guiltily nudges one of the dog beds over the wet stain his own orgasm leaves on the carpet.
***
The communication barrier only begins to truly bother him when Will has an emotional breakdown during an afternoon walk and Hannibal's clumsy big paws and the stick in his mouth refuse to write out a legible message of love and support.
At least his futile antics manage to cheer Will up, but it is a painful reminder of the downsides to life as a dog. Even a dog in Will's competent care.
Later, as they lie in bed, he cuddles close, Will falling asleep with his face pressed into the soft warm fur of Hannibal's chest. It's the only thing he can offer to soothe Will's turbulent emotions.
***
It's while Hannibal's prowling the property, succumbing to the canine need to mark his territory, that he discovers Freddie Lounds breaking into Will's barn, snapping photos of Randall Tier's remains in the freezer.
He doesn't even consider the possible ramifications of his actions before he viciously attacks, with clear killing intent. He might have a certain respect for Lounds' resourcefulness, but he will not risk Will getting charged for Tier's murder. Noone is going to take Will away from him again!
While he ends up shot in the shoulder for his trouble, he gleefully watches as Lounds breathes her last and feels buoyed by Will's anxious fretting over his injury. Hannibal can tell the shot took a clear path in and back out without causing any major harm, but he still secretly enjoys looking pitiful for the sake of receiving Will's anxious care.
Getting called a 'good boy' again has him embarrassingly euphoric once more and his tail happily wags despite the pain he's in, the traitorous appendage.
He bravely endures the visit to the vet and resulting grogginess and light nausea following anesthesia and surgery. It's worth it for letting him bask in Will's affectionate attention.
He's even more ecstatic when he wakes from his post-anesthesia nap, to Will serving him a plate of food.
He'd expected to hate the kind of bland food Will serves his dogs, but his very sensitive nose and taste buds are thankful for the lack of seasonings. The high quality raw materials Will uses to feed his pack do all the necessary work in making their meals palatable.
Hannibal takes a bite of what looks and smells like nicely browned pork loin and feels blindsided when he recognizes the distinct taste. The pig on his plate is of the long variety and Will quite casually confirms that he's serving Freddie to his 'good boy' as a reward for his protection. He can't help but shower his Will in slobbery puppy kisses, beyond ecstatic at this development.
To think - all it takes for Will to turn a murder victim into a meal is an attack on his dog! Didn't Randall Tier hurt Buster before Will beat him to a bloody pulp? There's definitely a pattern here.
Hannibal gobbles down his delicious treat. It tastes of satisfaction.
***
Hannibal enjoys Will's overt mother-henning in the wake of his injury. It's nice to feel so appreciated and cared for.
Will stops his half-hearted protests against Hannibal's amorous advances, eventually baring himself willingly to give Hannibal's agile tongue better access to all his most sensitive spots. The rush Hannibal feels every time he brings Will to orgasm is unlike anything else, leaving him smug and oddly proud at the sight of Will, blissed out from his ardent caresses. He doesn't mind taking care of his own arousal afterwards. He's grateful Will allows him to service him this way at all. He's quite certain he'll never get enough of the smell and taste of Will's pleasure.
Hannibal can't help but notice an overall decline in Will's mood however.
Several times Hannibal wakes in the night to Will desperately hugging him close, muttering that he can't lose him and about how much he misses Hannibal, how much he worries about him and just wants him back - fuck the FBI and the whole convoluted entrapment plan.
Hannibal is heartened by this development in Will's attitude towards him - after all, wasn't that his goal? - but feels helpless to soothe his beloved's fears and growing depression.
That is, until he remembers a certain young woman, stashed away in a secret cliffside vacation home.
It's clear to him that Will thinks he's either dreaming or having a hallucinatory encephalitis relapse, but he goes along with Hannibal's prompting anyways, bemused by his dog's weird antics. Will slowly relaxes the longer their drive goes on without him suddenly waking up, feverish and disoriented.
When Abigail rushes out of the house to greet him, Hannibal can clearly see the moment a confounded sort of realization washes over Will's face and he shoots the dog by his side a speculative look, tinged with no small amount of outrage. Hannibal's perceptive darling has finally caught on, it seems, no matter how surreal and unbelievable the situation truly is.
Hannibal wisely decides to keep his distance while Will reconnects with Abigail, giving him some time to process everything.
The unavoidable confrontation - between just the two of them, alone in a guest room later that evening - is a lot less explosive and dramatic than Hannibal had feared. Will seems mostly relieved, if still full of disbelief at Hannibal's animal transformation. He voices his reluctance to keep Hannibal as a pet, now that he knows his new dog is in fact a man. Though perhaps some of the guilt Will has felt lately, at letting a dog sexually pleasure him, is alleviated by the revelation.
Hannibal curses his inability to speak.
He'd sooner spend the rest of his life as Will's lapdog than return to a human existence without him, or one where they're forced into antagonistic roles. Can't Will see that they're meant to be together, no matter their physical shapes?
He jumps into bed with Will, cuddling close, feeling unusually needy and agitated. He's relieved, his anxiety soothed, when Will hugs him close and eventually falls asleep to the even sound of Will's breathing.
***
The following morning Hannibal wakes Will with the by now routine loving caresses of his tongue, enjoying the aroma of Will's early morning arousal. Unable to verbally express just how much he means to Hannibal, giving Will pleasure is the next best thing he can do to show his love.
Will is more accommodating than usual. Maybe the knowledge that it isn't really a dog hungrily licking at his ass, but the man he's been missing, has removed his remaining inhibitions. Whatever the case, Hannibal greedily takes his fill of what is so freely offered, gorging himself on the delicious buffet of Will's body.
He's dumbfounded for a moment when Will tells, no, commands him to mount him.
Hannibal's cock suddenly aches with the desire to fuck into Will's tight body, to make him his and paint his insides with his seed. The animalistic urge to claim Will this way is overwhelming and Hannibal gives into it, draping himself over Will's back, his frontlegs instinctively curling in to hold on tight, his hips jerking erratically with his need. His erection finally finds the warm tight hole, slick with his own saliva, and he frantically hammers into Will with lust-hazed abandon. The pleasure is blinding, oddly more intense than what he remembers ever feeling as a man, and he loses himself in the act, panting hot breath into Will's neck as his hips thrust relentlessly in their search for release. When the knot slips into Will's tight passage, expanding and squeezed near unbearably tightly, he tumbles over the edge, senseless with pleasure for a moment. He can feel Will's own orgasm, his inner muscles contracting with his climax and Hannibal licks blindly at any bit of Will he can reach, desperate to express his love in this moment of shared bliss.
He comes back to his senses when Will pulls at his muzzle to press a kiss to his nose. The declaration of love that accompanies the sweet gesture has an instant effect, as Hannibal's body seems to shrink and expand uncomfortably at the same time, in different places, until he's human once again. He collapses onto Will's back, the sudden change leaving him weak and disoriented. His now knot-less softening cock slips out of Will's ass.
His chest feels uncomfortably tight with emotion when he refers to Will as his love, for the first time out loud.
With his ability to speak returned to him, Hannibal finally recounts the wild tale of the odd redemption quest the ghost of his dead sister had assigned to him. With Hannibal back to human once more, the whole ordeal sounds even more unbelievable. Will takes the whole thing in stride and Hannibal can only marvel at his beloved being more concerned about taking advantage of a dog's innocence than any of the other ridiculous events of the past few weeks.
He won't complain though. And eagerly welcomes Will's body into his own for a reciprocal marking of ownership.
There's a few things he'll miss about his life as Will's dog. He might continue to wear the collar when it's just the two of them.