Lord Black

Title: Lord Black

Author: ExcentrykeMuse

Word count: 1k

Rating: PG

Prompt: Rebecca is Cool: A Harry/Hannibal fic? pretty please? Post war maybe Harry moves to the states to get away from the Weasleys and bumps into Hannibal because he is either A) MACUSA’s representative on the muggle side or is the one chef that Hannibal can stand?

Lord Black

“Let me get that for you.”  Hannibal was nothing if not polite.

The man in front of him was a mop of messy black hair and bottle green eyes hidden behind round glasses.  The most fascinating scar poked out from behind his bangs shaped, oddly, like a lightning bolt.  It was as if someone had taken a knife and carved the shape onto his forehead on purpose, fresh, almost as if it had been as recently as last week.

Hannibal pulled together the man’s folders that had tipped off the desk and straightened them before handing them back.

“Thanks,” the man said, a half-crooked smile on his face as he accepted them back.  “You’re not Jack Crawford, are you?”

An easy mistake to make given that they were both in Jack Crawford’s office, waiting for the man to appear.

“No,” Hannibal replied, taking in the man appreciatively, from the fitted pinstriped trousers to the matching waistcoat.  The man’s luscious silk tie that was in a deep shade of mauve was tied in a double Windsor knot, and although he was casually dressed in shirtsleeves and without a jacket, his monogrammed cufflinks were inlaid mother of pearl.

The man, Hannibal realized, noticed that Hannibal had noticed him.  In fact, he seemed to be noticing Hannibal in return.

“Black,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

Hannibal smoothly took it and was not expecting the spark of electricity to run up his arm at the contact.  Hesitating a moment from the new sensation, Hannibal pulled himself together and replied, “Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

Black didn’t seem to notice the electrifying pulse that shivered between them.  Still, he didn’t let go of Hannibal’s hand.  Hannibal was of a mind to let him keep it.

As Hannibal stood there, his hand in Black’s, he gazed into the bottle green eyes of the man who was such a mystery.  Surely this man was not an F.B.I. agent.  He was too well dressed, to begin with, and he was also British, which would seem to disqualify them.  There was, however, the odd fact that Black was sitting on the edge of Jack Crawford’s desk with a stack of files next to him, a briefcase discarded on the floor.

Who was this man?  Why was he here?  And why did his mere touch send thrills up Hannibal’s spine?

“You’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

The statement was unexpected, but Hannibal took it with aplomb.  Black, after all, was gazing at Hannibal just as intently as Hannibal was gazing at him.

“No, I have never been married,” he answered calmly.  “And yourself?”

At this, Black chuckled to himself, as if this were some sort of an inside joke.  Hannibal merely observed him and waited for an answer.

“I am doing everything I can to avoid an engagement.”  Black turned and looked at the large pile of files beside him, although he had yet to release Hannibal’s hand.  “I went so far as to request an assignment here in the United States.”

Daringly, Hannibal reached up with his free hand and clasped it over their joint hands, securing the connection.  The jolt of pleasure, if possible, seemed to become even stronger.

Black looked down briefly, a smile quirking his lips, but otherwise didn’t comment.

“You have my condolences.”

Black paused for a moment.  Then: “I consider myself fortunate.”  He paused again.  “Do you believe in soulmates, Hannibal?”

The non sequitor, more than the question, surprised Hannibal, but he tried not to let it show on his face.

“I have never seen any evidence—” he began, but Black rudely interrupted him, not that Hannibal (for once) minded.

He squeezed their hands and a shock of electricity skated from the tips of their fingers up through their wrists and into their arms.  “You don’t consider this evidence?”

Hannibal licked his lips.  “I—”  He was uncertain what he was going to say, only knowing that he was lost in those green eyes.

It was at that moment that the door opened and Jack Crawford unfortunately walked in, all bluster as usual, and Black dropped their hands immediately.

“Ah,” Jack opened with, looking between them.  “Dr. Lecter.  So glad I could pull you away from your patients.”  He turned to the other man.  “What are you doing on my desk?”

Black just looked at him, unamused, and took out a card from his breast pocket and held it out.

Jack looked at it suspiciously but took it, looking at it briefly before taking in the man before him.  “Oh.  You’re the new one.”  He looked at the card again.  “The Earl Black.  Why do you MACUSA agents always have titles?”

Standing, Black pushed his glasses up his nose, causing his bangs to spread.  His scar peaked out from under them briefly.  “Do we?” he asked no one in particular.  “Maybe that’s why they’re making me use it.  I never bother with it back home.”

Jack grunted. 

“These need your signature,” Black said, gesturing the large pile of files, and Jack just looked at it balefully.

Hannibal took the moment to pull his own card from his breast pocket and present it to Lord Black.  “I should love to have you for dinner.”

Black took the card and looked it over with a raised eyebrow.

“Braised lambshanks?” Hannibal checked.  “Seven o’clock this evening?”

Laughing a little, Black told him, “For a moment, I thought you meant to eat me for the main course.”

“Oh, no,” Hannibal replied boldly, taking a step forward toward Black so that he could take in Black’s natural scent.  “Perhaps, though, for dessert—”

The End