Chapter Text
Hannibal prides himself on his high capacity for restraint. He plays the long game with the FBI, he spends hours in sessions with clients slowly planting seeds, he believes he can do the same with Will Graham. It is intriguing to see Wills push and pull with the darkness that sits below his skin. He is just another toy, an antique music box he can wind up and observe, yet Hannibal finds himself replaying the moments his beautiful treasure attempted to squeeze the life out of his body.
He contemplates what Will said when he held his life in his hands, the pained words as he bore into him. There is something haunting Will, likely the result of both his flaring mind and Hannibal's contributions. Hannibal raises a hand to his throat, relishing the sting of his tender and bruised skin. He couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by its visibility, it’s a physical token of his effect on Will. The people he tends to keep around have desires for violence, but after watching the retribution he enacted upon Abigail's father, there was something different. Past clients he experimented with were typically isolated cases, yet with Will, he has crossed many emotional barriers he puts up for himself. He has never been so intimately involved as he has with Will. The uncanny ability to understand his mind, his tolerance for those who commit depraved acts, it all draws Hannibal in.
All of the unexpected interactions have spurred Hannibal into action, the first pig being slaughtered for his party, now it came time to set the scene. He glides through his kitchen towards the basement, recalling the plan he's made for the corpse, how to display it for Will alone. Other officers may see his work, but only he will truly perceive it.
When he reaches the industrial cooler, the frozen corpse stands rigid against the wall. He turns the temperature up to begin defrosting the body and starts gathering the tools he needs. Once the duffel bag is full, he picks the body up and carries it up the stairs, grunting occasionally from exertion.
He packs everything into a nondescript van in the back of his home. After checking to make sure the neighbors were not awake and no cars linger, he sets off to his destination.
When he arrives, he slides on a clear coat over his suit to lessen the mess. He makes quick work of the body, lugging it out of the van and off towards his destination. The skin is plush again, yet distinctly cold. He sets it down and slings the bag of tools onto the grass next to him. He starts on his piece, slicing and manipulating the skin like clay.
As the night grows darker around him, he finishes up his work. Peeling his gloves off, he reaches for his phone, typing up a quick email for Freddie Lounds, ‘I have insider information on the Lady Death case. If you want exclusive details on the killer, meet me here,’ with that he attaches coordinates to the location and hits send.
He peels off his messied clear suit, packing it away with his tools and making his way back to his car. Now all he has to do is wait until the impulsive redhead gets her scoop.
He decides to stop by his office, still needing to collect more meat for his party, refreshing a few sedatives he kept in his personal pharmacy would do him well. Parking in the lot, he strips off his suit jacket and heads out towards his office.
When he enters, he immediately notices something off, spotting light peaking out from below the door. Instinctively, he reaches for the scalpel in his pocket as he slowly opens the door. The office is silent, and he glances around the empty floor. This is when he hears a swish from the upper level of his office, with a swift head turn he finds Abigail, looking through the various books on his shelves. The grip on his weapon loosens. “Abigail,” leaves his mouth calmly yet firm.
She jumps slightly at the unexpected noise, turning to look at him below. “Hannibal,” she mirrors and clasps her hands around the railing.
After a moment between them, Hannibal caves, “Please come down from there.” He waves a hand to beckon her down. As the seconds go by, she stares down at him, a blank look in her eyes. She comes back into herself and finally makes her way to the ladder, climbing down to meet Hannibal. He extends his hand out for her to take when she gets closer to the ground. When they are finally on the same level, she takes a few steps away, creating distance. “Do the nurses know you are here?”
She shakes her head, “I couldn't be there any longer. I'm scared of what will happen when I close my eyes.” The exhaustion is evident in her features, bags hanging low under her eyes.
“What frightens you most?” Hannibal questions.
“I'll see them…all the girls, my dad, I can't-” she becomes visibly distressed from having to elaborate. She crosses her arms, holding them tight to her body, a similar self-soothing tic as the daughter of his latest kill. There was something more to her demeanor, Hannibal wants to draw it out.
“Dreams are our mind's way of processing information as the brain consolidates memories. You manifest your fathers kills, why have they attached to you this closely?”
Abigail lets hair fall in front of her face as she contemplates his question. It looks as if she is holding something back, but it nears the surface.
“Jack Crawford believes you are complicit in your fathers crimes. I have witnessed the means you will go to survive. You have a lot that haunts your mind, Abigail.”
She squeezes the fabric of her sleeve, her mouth in a thin line, like she physically cannot get the answer out. Hannibal watches as she nervously fidgets, at a standstill of what to do. He gives her a soft expression, a signal that he can be trusted with the information. Finally the dam breaks, her voice coming out in a strangled whisper, “I helped him.”
Hannibal lets the corners of his mouth shift up, a welcoming expression. She freezes for a moment, as if to disappear, like speaking would cause a swat team to bust in and drag her away. He lets silence settle between them, coaxing the young doe for the food he's laid out.
Patience seems to do the trick as tears trickle down her cheeks. All the pain she's been holding back falling out, “He'd pick them, I’d find out where they were going, if they were alone, I knew I was doing something wrong.”
She heaves some air into her lungs before starting again, “but I knew I couldn't save them, I knew it was them…or me.” Tears stream freely, and uncertain eyes look for Hannibal. He opens his arms, meeting her halfway into a hug. She holds herself in his arms, soft cries filling their space.
Hannibal runs his hand along her upper back, speaking softly down to her, “I was wondering when you were going to tell me.” She quietly hics and leans her head into his chest. He held her for a few moments, it was times like these that the paternal tug actually felt true. It would never again be in Hannibal's nature to parent, but in many ways he saw himself in Abigail. She had everything ripped from her violently, and the aftermath only reminded her that the good times never existed in the first place.
“What am I going to do?” She pulls away, looking to Hannibal for guidance. She's unaware that she has jumped ship from one predator right into the jaws of another. It’s too late now, she is tied to Hannibal, tied to Will. Hannibal will light the way, even if it is not in everyone's best interest.
“I will help you as I have before,” Hannibal says while keeping his eyes on hers. Hesitation flashes across her face for a split second, but she quickly levels it back.
“I'll keep your secret, you keep mine?” she utters between them, a knowing lilt in her voice. Hannibal grows still for a moment, there is more to her words. Sly girl. They certainly do have more in common than he expected.
Hannibal remains unbothered, instead of answering, he goes to his cabinet to retrieve the various medications he needs for the rest of his work. He hears Abigail shift around, glancing at a few of the sketches on his table. “This almost looks like Will,” she comments, gently lifting the paper to glance at the others.
“Have you ever read Homer's poem of Iliad?” Hannibal starts speaking while still turned away, gathering his belongings into a bag.
She hums contemplatively, “That's Greek right?”
“Yes. In the story, Achilles and Patroclus are described as inseparable companions. They fought in the Trojan War together where Patroclus was killed. Achilles was devastated, he used his grief to enact revenge upon the army,” Hannibal explains while walking back to Abigail's side, stopping to gaze at the sketches along with her.
She doesn't respond, looking for a few more seconds before looking back up to Hannibal. He looks back, seeing a knowing look hidden behind her emotionless expression. “I believe it's time to go back to the hospital,” Hannibal concludes, starting to make his way towards the door. When he doesn't feel Abigail following behind he glances back at her. “I understand that it is not a comforting place to be, but the longer you are gone the more suspicious people will get.”
She makes a small huff and finally catches up to Hannibal. When they get to the car, there is a questioning glint in her eye at the van. Despite this, she climbs into the passenger seat without a word. Hannibal is grateful that she leaves the subject alone, he doesn't need her making any more assumptions, implicit or not. They start off onto the road, ten minutes into the ride she notices they aren't heading towards the hospital, “Where are we going?”
“We must stop at my home briefly,” Hannibal says with his eyes still on the road. She doesn't make any other comments and they sit in silence together.
Finally, they make it to Hannibal's home, he pulls the van around the back and the two switch over to his Bentley. Abigail remains quiet, which is the best option considering any questions would lead to unfavorable circumstances.
When the two arrive back at the hospital, he can smell the anxiety build in her system. Nurses wait outside as Hannibal approaches, he exits the car and she goes to stand beside him. Next to the nurses, Alana waits, wrapped tightly in a long coat. “Oh god Abigail, the hospital called me and said you were missing. I was so worried,” relief coats her voice as she walks up to the two.
“I'm alright,” she grumbles at the prospect of having to stay at the hospital again.
“She came to my office. She is afraid to go to sleep, we talked of what haunts her dreams,” Hannibal comments, noting the frustration that melts away from Alana's face at his explanation.
She looks between the two, raising a hand to squeeze Abigail's arm sympathetically. “You have faced something unthinkable, I couldn't possibly imagine what you're dealing with. I know the hospital isn't the best place, but you'll be safe here. I promise,” she says encouragingly.
“I wasn't even safe in my own home,” she spits out bitterly. Alana's face contorts with embarrassment, she tries desperately to find the right words, but in the end she gives Abigail a pitiful smile.
Abigail looks between Alana and Hannibal before wordlessly returning to the nurses and disappearing into the building. Now, Hannibal and Alana stand alone at the entrance, the soft purr of Hannibal's car behind him. She sighs disappointingly and looks over at Hannibal. “She's really struggling here, I don’t know where else she could even go,” Alana sounds drained.
“She needs time, the wound is still fresh,” Hannibal comments, meeting Alana's tired look with one of feigned positivity. He places a hand lightly on her upper back, and she gives him a wry smile.
“Have you heard from Will lately?” She says after a moment, looking hopefully at Hannibal.
He shakes his head, he hasn't heard from him since their last appointment. Thoughts of Will flash in his mind, flushed and bold, a promise of more on his lips. He delights in the recollection before giving his attention back to Alana. “No, we had a session last week. Other than the typical job oriented stress, I believed he was managing. Is something wrong?”
“I'm not sure, Jack's been concerned about his behavior. He's been more…erratic than usual,” her voice twinges with worry.
Hannibal pretends to worry, “I have a session with him soon, I will try to see what is bothering him.” While part of his statement is true, he knows he will do the opposite of help. Alana doesn’t need to know what his true plan is, thankfully she is easy to deceive. Her tendency to see the best in others, while a kind gesture, is an easy trait to take advantage of.
She sighs and gives Hannibal a weary smile. “Thank you, Hannibal. Will’s lucky to have you in his life.”
This comment delights Hannibal, he gives her a genuine smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The cold air nips at them, Alana pulling her coat tighter around her. She huffs before speaking, “It’s late, I’ll let you get home. Thank you for getting Abigail back safely.”
He gives her a small nod and walks her to her car. “Of course. Get home safe, Alana,” he says as she retrieves her keys and climbs into her car. She gives a small wave as she drives away.
Hannibal watches as her car disappears into the night. He makes his way back to the car, pondering on what Will’s unpredictable behavior could be. Along with the information the profiler has provided and the exaggerated ramblings of Freddie Lounds, he has done his own research into the woman known as Lady Death. He could see how Will could be so untethered by her actions, she seems to be a woman tired of being trapped in a role, moved to a point of no return as she takes back her power. Will is similar in many ways, many see him as just an eccentric mind or a gifted asset. Hannibal's ministrations have brought out his true nature, a person who was waiting to be unveiled. As Hannibal makes his way back home, he notices his phone ringing from the passenger seat. He pulls off onto the side of the road and checks the caller. He is pleasantly surprised to see Will's contact lighting up his screen.
“Will?” Hannibal asks as he answers the line.
“It won’t leave me alone, I can’t tell what’s real anymore,” Will’s voice is shaky over the line. Hannibal can hear shuffling in the background, he pictures the other pacing around his home, moving his body to try and straighten his tumbling thoughts.
“Is someone there with you?” he questions, trying to coax out more information.
“Yes…no…I-i don’t know anymore,” Will struggles to find his answer. As Hannibal continues to listen, he can hear whimpering, most likely his dogs sensing the breakdown.
“Jack must be overworking you, I understand you likely do not get enough sleep,” he tries to shift his worry to something mental, rather than the delusion stemming from his physical state.
“This can’t be just exhaustion. I’ve been seeing this thing for weeks now. I’m tired of it controlling my life,” he bites out.
“Don’t do anything rash, Will,” Hannibal warns, though selfishly, he would like to be witness to the darkness inside him again.
A cynical laugh croaks over the line, “Don’t worry Doctor, I’ll be safe.”
As Hannibal goes to respond, he hears a loud swoosh over the phone before the call abruptly ends. He lowers the phone, staring at the bright screen illuminating the dark car, curiosity sparking in his mind. There was a poison in his final words, this convinced Hannibal that he would do something dangerous.
He could be there to anchor him, to connect them at the peak of his delirium. It would do wonders to integrate Hannibal's hold on his life, to convey that his control is something safe. He decides to go to him, he will learn that whatever state he’s in, he can rely on Hannibal to be his backbone.
Hannibal slows to a stop when he reaches Will's driveway, headlights beam onto a dark house, he notices the front door is open. Considering the frantic phone call he received, he reaches into his glovebox and grabs a syringe and a flashlight. The syringe contains a sedative, Hannibal will only use it if Will attacks him. It reminds him of their last appointment, Hannibal had it coming asking Will to choke him, but being ever the preservationist, he takes it anyways.
As knuckles make contact with the door, it slightly creaks open, exposing the dark house to Hannibal. He illuminates small spotlights around the space, the rooms are in varying degrees of disarray. He is halted in his investigation by the sound of low growling, below him a small dog is standing defensively, protecting the house and the rest of its pack that sleep and lay soundly behind it. It is an amusing sight, a tiny animal so confidently protecting its territory. When Hannibal tries to take a step inside the small Russell Terrier lowers its ears, signaling to Hannibal to back up. He takes the hint, it didn't seem like Will was inside anyways.
Shifting attention towards the exterior of the property, he shines the light around until he spots footprints leading out. He follows them to a large tree, its branches spindling out in every direction like a kraken. Hannibal hums and attempts to squint through the darkness around him. Around him the tracks go every which way, making it difficult to find a definitive path. He is distracted by a wet feeling against the back of his hand, he finds it is one of Will's dogs. It is a particularly beautiful dog, its coat a harmony of colors, he remembers Will telling him about this one.
“Hello Winston,” Hannibal says while turning his full attention to the animal, smoothing his palm over his head. Winston's tail wags at the attention, and the dog sits down on the snowy ground. “Do you know where Will is?” Hannibal looks back around, Winston stands up again and starts heading in a specific direction. Hannibal follows, hoping the dog will bring him to Will. He is pleasantly surprised when the dog does guide him to Will.
The man is crouching low to the ground, hands gripping around his head. When he hears Hannibal approach, he quickly gets to his feet. “Who's there?” His voice is shaky and fearful, he is holding something in his hand. When Hannibal gleams his light over Will's form, there is a glint from the object in his hand. It's a knife, Hannibal concludes, he needs to tread with caution.
“Put the knife down Will,” Hannibal whispers in a gentle tone, slowly raising his arm to shield himself. “It's Hannibal, you called me.”
“You aren't Hannibal, you've been following me, whoever you are,” Will clenches his eyes closed and shakes his head violently, “No, whatever you are.”
Hannibal closes his lips into a thin line, even in Will's most delirious moments, his ability to discern Hannibal’s true self is still so strong. “You are having another episode Will, it is only you and I here, whatever specter is haunting you, I assure it is only in your mind,” Hannibal remains collected, speaking calmly like one would to a wounded animal.
“Please don't lie to me,” Will cries out, his voice is pained. Tears are streaming down his face, and he uses his free hand to scrub at his eyes. The hand holding the knife, as well as his entire body, is trembling harshly.
“I promise we are alone here, the creature terrorizing you is only a hallucination,” Hannibal says while inching ever so closer to Will. Spotting his movement, Will grips the knife harder and makes crushing eye contact with Hannibal.
“What's happening to me?” The words come out in a wail, and before Hannibal can answer him, Will drops the knife to the snow. Hannibal pauses, simply observing what is happening. Will begins convulsing where he stands, his eyes rolling back in his head. It's as if he is being possessed, but Hannibal knows better.
He approaches Will, raising a hand to cup his jaw. Long fingers rub across his face, dampening as he drags across the sweat on his head. Being this close, Hannibal is overwhelmed by the smell of Will. There is the sickly sweet smell of his illness, the salty tang of the sweat that clings to every part of him, the animalic scent of dog hairs stuck to his clothes, and finally the deep and musky scent of his skin. Hannibal takes it all in, simultaneously holding Will upright. Using the thumb of his other hand, he raises Will's eyelids and checks his eyes. They are bloodshot and wetness still surrounds them.
When the tremors begin to subside, Hannibal cautiously scoops Will up. He glances around and finds Winston sitting near, watching the situation play out. When he begins back towards the house, the dog follows close behind. He was something of a guardian over Will, Hannibal thought to himself that each of the members of his pack must speak to an insecurity he holds of himself.
They arrive back to the house, Winston slinking inside first. The small dog growls again for a moment, but when it smells Will, it backs down and trots back over to the rest of the pack. Hannibal sets Will down on his pull out bed. He cringes slightly at the thin mattress Will sleeps on, but now wasn't the time to fret over those details. He begins stripping Will in a clinical manner. The damp clothes set aside, Hannibal leaves Will in nothing but boxers.
When Hannibal stands to go to the kitchen, the small dog growls from its position on the ground. While Hannibal could clearly protect himself from the dog, he didn't want to hurt something Will cherished so much. He slowly steps out of the room, spotting a large container on the counter. The container is full of small brown chunks, the treats jostle when he grabs it. It was not the most clever move on Hannibal's part as a large majority of the pack surrounds him at the counter. Some pant happily while others whine for food. A small smile curls from Hannibal's lips, he grabs an equal amount of treats and hands them out to the pack.
Hannibal was never one for pets, he didn't see the use in caring for a creature that could provide nothing for him. He understands why others have them, a sense of companionship, protection, or even esteem. None of those things were necessary for Hannibal, all of them he could achieve on his own. Despite those feelings, his fondness grew for Will at the sight of his pack. It so clearly spoke to Will's beliefs, his loyalty, his care, his desire to be needed in some capacity.
After the dogs received their treats, they retreated back to their respective spots, leaving Hannibal to his lonesome again. He examines the contents of his cabinets and fridge, for both a specific reason and to appease his curiosity. The man has very little food for himself, Hannibal imagines filling them, making sure he eats 3 meals. He imagines how much of a difference that would make for his health, pleased at the concept of providing for Will in this manner. He gets back to the task at hand, collecting various ingredients to create a rudimentary soup for him. It would be nowhere close to the standard Hannibal wishes for, but it would have to do for now.
On the counter sits: chicken broth, a bag of baby carrots and celery, and the few spices Will had. Hannibal was fairly certain these ingredients were meant for his dogs rather than himself. It was a sweet thought, that he would put his dogs over the care for his own health, it makes Hannibal wonder how far his self-sacrificing tendencies go. As he starts cooking up the soup, preparing the produce and heating the stove up, his mind wanders back to that idea. The closer he and Will got, the more he would sacrifice for him, there was something so tempting about that. He closes his eyes while stirring, imagining Will, scraps of flesh between his teeth, rage and possession swirling in his mind, all for Hannibal. He would be his own personal guard dog, he would treat him with the utmost care but also assure he stayed in check. They would ensure each other's commitment.
A smile blooms on his face at the thought, the water begins boiling, a plume of steam rising against his face. He pours some chicken broth into the pot and adds the vegetables. As he cooks, the realization of how domestic this all was crosses his mind. Cooking in Will's home feels more intimate, gone are the extravagant art pieces and designer flooring, instead replaced with small items collected over a lifetime and creaky floorboards. Hannibal thinks of how much he would enjoy cooking his own cut here for Will. Despite the good mood Hannibal is in, the voice of reason in the back of his mind beckons. Do not hand out trust this easily. The moment he sees your truth, he will run away like the rest.
Ever since their relationship has become more entangled, physically and emotionally, Hannibal spends more time thinking about what's important to him. The years of running are past him, he's built a life for himself in Baltimore, and while the threat of being caught is always in his mind, he quite enjoys what he has created. Then Will Graham came into his life, a tornado of a man, someone who was honest despite backlash, a man who saw into his soul and wasn't disgusted. Hannibal could try and deny his desire for companionship, but deep down the empty hole left from the past would always crave to be filled.
The soup is on a simmer when he hears the slightest creak from the other room followed by an exhausted groan. Hannibal grabs a glass, filling it with water and maneuvering through the house like he owns it. Will looks up from his bed, a confused and embarrassed expression etching into his features. “Dr. Lecter?” The question was a proposition for further elaboration. Hannibal ignores it and sets the glass on his side table.
“I will explain in a moment Will, for now please drink that water,” Hannibal says matter-of-factly, before making his way back to the kitchen to continue cooking. Disappointment appears at being regarded in a professional manner again, but he assumes it is a defense mechanism to protect his feelings. With that understanding, he lets it go, there would be a time and place to press him further on it.
As he prepares a bowl for Will, he hears loud gulps from the other room. Soon he appears back in the living room, setting the dish down on his coffee table and taking a seat across from him. Will looks dumbfounded between the food and Hannibal's pleased expression. “You really should keep more food in stock, Will. Thankfully I was able to make something simple for you. It is a simple bowl of chicken broth with carrots and celery,” Hannibal explains.
Will gapes for a moment before coming back into himself. “So you made me chicken soup?”
Hannibal shoots him a ghost of a smile, “Yes.” After another moment of silence between the two, Hannibal starts again, “Eat, Will.”
With that order, Will reaches for the bowl, grabbing it with shaky hands. He drinks it down in a hurry, a content sigh escaping his mouth when he finishes. He glances up at Hannibal, embarrassment evident in his demeanor. “So what happened?”
“I received a panicked call from you. When I arrived you were not here, Winston showed me to you,” as Hannibal speaks, the dog in mention ears perk up at the sound of his name, “When I had found you, you were crouched in the snow. In your distress, you threatened me with a knife before having a seizure. I brought you back here.”
Will's body visibly becomes rigid at Hannibal's words, he grows pale and pulls his eye contact away. “I don't remember anything,” he raises a hand to grip his forehead, “I-I’m sorry. Something is really wrong, I feel like I'm slipping away.” His other hand grips the covers below it, Hannibal can sense the growing discomfort in Will's form.
He stands from his seat, straightening his suit in preparation to leave. “Now that I have assured your safety, I'll let you rest,” there is reluctance in his voice but he knows he should be careful not to come on too strong. As he turns to leave, he feels a tug on the back of his jacket, causing him to pause in his movements.
“Wait,” rings out in the quiet of the room.
Hannibal continues to face away from the other, part pleased and part cautious as to what he will do next. The silence grows thick as Hannibal stands strong in his conviction.
“I need to make it right,” Will's voice shatters the fragile tension between them. The words cause Hannibal to shift around, not fully face in his direction but enough to expose his face. He keeps it trained in a measured expression, waiting for Will to make his choice.
“There is no need. You are my friend, Will. I care about your life, it is not a favor that must be returned,” Hannibal is surprised to find none of what he says to be an exaggeration. He enjoys being in service of Will, typically his actions are calculated to end in his benefit. He is finding that he gets nourishment at the mere knowledge of his effect on Will. The manipulations he subjects others to usually result in entertainment, little playthings he throws away when they no longer serve a purpose. Something inside him doesn't want to throw Will away, instead he wants him all to himself, to preserve his fevered mind like a precious relic.
Will pauses, he didn't think this far, his confidence faltering. Hannibal thinks he must be rewarded for his boldness. He walks back over the short distance, cupping his palm over the other's forehead. The other skin is damp, not burning up as it was before. He shifts his hand upwards, carding it through greasy hair and lingering. Finally, Will speaks up, “Not just this. I bailed on my appointment,” there is a shift in his tone, his voice lowering and the smell of arousal starts overtaking the musk of his skin. “I…I strangled you,” he glances at the marks that wrap around Hannibal's throat. “And I didn't finish what I started,” while he doesn't elaborate, Hannibal understands that he is referencing his abrupt visit to his office. “So please, let me do…something,” he concludes.
Hannibal delights in his forwardness, it is not as open as he would like, but he understands Will is akin to a frightened animal. It is much easier to gain his trust in increments, to focus on the quality of his care rather than quantity. He sits on the end of the bed next to Will, slipping his hand from his scalp to his own lap. “And what will you do?” he asks without pressure.
This seems to make him falter again, but Hannibal waits patiently for him to gear himself up. He gives him a soft expression, sitting still when the other shifts forward. Now sitting on his knees on bed, Will slides a hand around Hannibal's jaw, he softly rubs his thumb over his cheekbone. Hannibal turns more towards him, to allow for better access, looking to the others eyes in search of his expression. Will's pupils are dilated, looking around his face before sharing in eye contact once again. The blue ring of his iris nearly hypnotizes him and he leans forward as the other does.
The kiss they share is leagues different to the one in his office. The last was rushed, an explosion of emotions in the moment. It was gnashing and tearing each other apart. This one is slow, an in-depth exploration of each other's mouths. This was another moment Hannibal hadn't intended for, but in no universe would he reject. He allows Will's tongue to slink around, against his teeth, and the length of his tongue. Will's other hand grounds itself against Hannibal's shoulder and squeezes when the kiss becomes more heated.
Will is first to pull away, his warm breath pants gently against Hannibal's skin. He lays his head down on Hannibal's lap, unconsciously rubbing his face pants. Hannibal feels his mouth water at the sight, exhaustion has made Will pliant and much more unabashed than usual. Will brings his hands up to start unbuckling his belt. When it unclasps, he looks up for approval. Hannibal doesn't respond, instead laying his palm around Will's jaw. He smooths his thumb across his cheek, stopping at his lips and pushing against them slightly. He feels the other's tongue sneak out to tap the finger.
With that, he continues, pulling the belt out and tossing it to the ground. As much as he should care about the expensive accessory and its handling, the scene below him requires his full attention. Will unbuckles his pants and Hannibal lifts his hips to assist in Will's goal. When his pants and underwear are pushed low enough, Will pulls his hardening cock from his barriers. Apprehension consumes him for a moment, as if every moment his confidence pushes him, his anxiety threatens to overtake. To encourage him, he sinks his fingers back into his hair, gripping tightly at the crown of his head. A quiet gasp echoes in the room and Will closes the distance between his mouth and Hannibal's cock.
Hannibal swallows thickly as Will licks a line up the length of his dick. He closes his lips around the head and licks rings around it. Hannibal keeps his eyes locked on the scene, wanting to see every sight to remember for later. Will tries to lower himself, only getting a couple inches before a muffled choking sound could be heard. The noise causes a quiet moan to fall from Hannibal's lips and the hand in his hair to tighten. Will groans around his cock and the vibrations buzz around his length. “You’re learning fast,” Hannibal whispers between them. The words egg Will on, who begins bobbing his head in earnest.
As he sucks him off, Hannibal can feel Will shifting in the bed. He looks over to find him laying on his stomach, his hips bucking into the thin mattress. The desperation of it is a drug to Hannibal, Will trying so hard to please him, so much that he needs to find his own release in the process. A wicked smile starts to grow on Hannibal's face, he glances between his rutting hips and rudimentary blowjob, unsure of which should have his attention.
Hannibal stops gripping Will's hair, slowly sliding down to his back. He rests his palm in the small of his spine, encouraging the movement of his hips with the push and pull of his hand. Will continues his work on Hannibal's cock, pulling off for air but still gliding his tongue over him. The other's breathing is heavy and it hitches every now and then as he humps the mattress. The scene is so explicit that Hannibal can feel the veil slipping, his tight control on his composure slipping with every slide of his tongue.
The hand on his back slides back up, pulling Will by the hair up and off his cock. “Come here,” Hannibal orders, the other following wordlessly. He clammers up and over straddling him on the bed. Hannibal rests his hands on the others hips, guiding them slightly to move against his body. When Will gets the hint, he begins rutting against him. The two breathe into each other's mouths, kissing every now and then, making lethal eye contact between each other.
Will humps against his stomach, cock still tucked inside his boxers, Hannibal knew he wasn't getting as much as he needed but he wasn't racing to finish anyways. The two sit together like that for minutes, choked moans and heavy breathing filling the room. Leaning his head forward, Will whispers into Hannibal's ear, “Does this make up for it?”
A chuckle akin to a growl escapes Hannibal's mouth, he leans down and bites into Will's neck. The other gasps in surprise, but bares his neck further. Hannibal sucks a bruise, just low enough to be covered by a button up. He revels in the fact that they are both marked by the other. Part of him wants to devour Will here and now. He kisses up his neck and bites at his earlobe before responding. “It's perfect.”
Will shudders at the praise, his thrusting becoming wild for a moment. In their recent exploration of their physical compatibility, Hannibal has found Will enjoys praise. He notes there is much to praise. “You're doing amazing,” he whispers to him. Will lays his head down against his shoulder and sinks his hand down to pump Hannibal's cock.
Time slows as they move together, Hannibal thrusting up into his fist and Will thrusting against his stomach. His teeth clench as he gets closer to coming. Will seems to take notice and quickens his movements. When he sees Hannibal's eyes close, he leans in to say something. “Come for me, I need it,” desperation laces his words, it is absolutely intoxicating. This is what the exercises have been attempting to bring out, it feels like they have reached the precipice of this behavior. Hannibal wants it all, he wants Will to need it, to need him. He will give him whatever he desires, he will take whatever he wants. Now, he wants Will to finish him off.
When Will rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, that is what does him in. Come spurts out, coating his vest and Will's bare stomach. The other's humping quickens as Hannibal goes over the edge. A grunt pushes out of Hannibal's mouth as he rides out his orgasm. When it's over, Will doesn't move from his spot, picking up the pace again. Hannibal encourages him, guiding the movement of his hips against his body. “Hannibal…I..I can't..” he chokes out in a strangled voice.
“Can't what?” Hannibal says cooly back, leaning down to lay open mouth kisses up his neck.
Will struggles for a moment to voice his needs, but he manages to get it out, “I need to come.”
“And how can I help?”
“I-i…” Will struggles to find the words, rutting uselessly against him.
Hannibal grabs his hips to halt him, “What do you want, Will?”
“Touch me..please,” the shame in his voice is no good.
Hannibal will have none of it, he moves one hand to his cheek. “Tell me what you want and I will give it to you.”
Will clenches his teeth, he gives Hannibal a frustrated look, though he pays it no mind. If Will wants to start this, he must be willing to finish it as well. “Touch my cock…just please I need to come,” he rasps out and surges forward to give Hannibal a sloppy kiss. He happily returns it and takes both hands to pull Will's boxers down.
The man's cock springs out, Hannibal appreciates the sight before taking it in the circle of his index finger and thumb. He tightens his hand around the head and slowly lowers it down the length of his shaft. When he begins pumping in earnest, the man in his lap lets a groan fall out of his mouth and lays his forehead on Hannibal's shoulder to watch. Will thrusts mindlessly into his fist and Hannibal can feel his body tense as he nears completion. The speed of Hannibal's hand moves quicker, and he uses his free hand to grasp Will's jaw and make him look up. “I want to see,” he murmurs between their lips. Will shudders and holds eye contact with the other.
Will comes with every ounce of energy he has, back arching in Hannibal's lap. Their eyes stick on each other, Hannibal drinking down every drop of this image. He continues pumping, slowing his pace through the aftershocks and coming to a stop once he feels the other twitch from overstimulation. Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's back, resting his chin down against the other's shoulder. “Fuck Hannibal,” he utters breathlessly. Hannibal is too late to withhold the quiet chuckle at his exhaustion.
“I should hope this leads to much needed rest for you,” Hannibal says softly, grabbing Will's shoulders and pulling him back to look at him. He is as wrecked as one could be, cheeks flushed red, lips swollen and glossy, his body is glistening with sweat in the dark room. He lays the other back down into the bed, who goes without a fight.
As he stands from the bed, he looks down to see the wet spot soaked into his vest. Pleasure coils in his gut at the messy clothing, the thought of their come mixing together is intensely gratifying. He removes it and folds it over his arm. When he looks back at Will, the man is blinking sleepily up at him. He gives him a soft smile and wipes his sticky bangs from his forehead. “Sleep well, Will,” he whispers to him as he falls asleep, looking much more at ease in comparison to before.
Hannibal walks back to his car, every nerve alight in his body. The closeness and intimacy catching up to him with every step, for a moment his thoughts were fully consumed by the other man. The two sides of his brain fight for dominance, one desiring a relationship with Will, wanting to be by his side, to kill with him, for him. The other combats every claim, trying to remind Hannibal that Will is just another chess piece to be manipulated, that his affection for the man is just a side effect of getting too close.
He drives back to his home in silence, using the long ride to sift through his contradictory urges. How did he let himself get this entangled? What can he do to break free and take back control? For every thought that pushes him away from Will, ten more appear in his favor. Why isn't he trying harder to have the upper hand with him?
Hannibal does what he can to not only make sense of his conflicted feelings, but also to come to terms with the fact that he is even conflicted in the first place. Maybe his mind is too clouded to make a good judgement.
When he arrives back home, the sun is peeking out from the skyline. He pulls his phone out and dials a particular contact. The ringtone sounds out in the car, then the line picks up.
“Good Morning, Dr. Du Maurier. I would like to set up an appointment.”