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Will leaned against his car in the parking lot, watching as the sun began to crest along the city’s horizon. It had been cloudy all day, threatening a downpour of rain that never came, and now it seemed the weather only relented at dusk. Typical. It was supposed to have been trout day, but with the ominous sky, it had never happened. Deciding to be productive one way or another, Will instead spent the day on the current case.
It had been his day off, but now he found himself exploring potential suspects. No one had been delighted with his sudden breakthrough on a weekend, and offered to check out any leads the next day, Monday, instead.
Will’s conscious didn't allow him to wait.
Night began to skirt behind him as the edge of the earth swallowed the sun. Cities were loud, crowded enough in the daytime, but night was always worse. Not only was there an abundance of rowdy young adults and revving cars, but it was the time of day the crooks came out, when the sidewalks weren’t necessarily safe, when any parking lot was fair game for drug deals, prostitution transactions, shady characters.
Proving his philosophy, a middle-aged man wearing a stained shirt stepped uncomfortably close to him, walking by and purposely leering as he headed toward his beat-up sedan. Will met the drunk man’s gaze as directly as he could, not backing down nor moving, his arms hooked in front of his chest and ankles crossed. The man either noticed the F.B.I badge handing from his jeans pocket, or simply the fact he didn’t shy away, and muttered “asshole” under his breath.
Will checked his wristwatch again. 7:48. He arrived at the lot only a handful of minutes ago, but already it was turning out to be the worse stop of the day.
Will felt a twinge of guilt when he saw a sleek black Bentley pull into the eroded lot. Will had interviewed a very nice gentleman at his manor, a retired military officer whom he enjoyed a luncheon with, and a computer technician during his break. Will managed to cross off three names from the list, now currently on his third when he got a call from Hannibal. He had answered Will’s voicemail, apologizing for the delayed response, and agreed to help him. That would have been fine four hours ago, but now it neared eight in the evening. And his next name worked a city bar, not necessarily his friend’s choice of atmosphere.
Out of everyone to agree to help, of course it had been Hannibal Lecter.
As Will listened to Hannibal’s car engine turn off, he couldn’t suppress the chill creeping down his spine. Only Hannibal had made him question his sexuality, made him question the truth in a forbidden kind of relationship, especially between a patient and doctor, two friends who were also coworkers. It didn’t make sense. Will had always been attracted to women, though it wasn’t that often. But any time he felt Hannibal’s gaze fall on him, sweeping up from his scuffed shoes, over his inexpensive outfit, and finally to his eyes, it felt like a challenge. He got chills when Hannibal was close, chills that he knew Hannibal saw and catalogued. It was as though whenever they lulled in conversation, they made up for in odd glances and strange sentences that Will could swear possessed a double-meaning.
As the man made his way toward him, Will lifted himself off the door.
“Thanks again for coming. Are you…” Will glanced at the strange man, the same guy from before, who stared at them with his car running. “…okay parking your car here?”
The glance was only noticeable to Hannibal, who pressed the small key in his palm. Behind them, his Bentley flashed its lights with a soft whistle. Will knew his friend didn’t seem the type to have grown up along a bad side of town, but what he lacked in street smarts he made up for in money. One scratch on that metal and Hannibal probably had an insurance plan to cover it.
“Of course. Is this the building?” He gestured to the brick structure behind Will, slipping his keys in a pocket. When Will predictably turned around to look at the grimy apartment complex, Hannibal took the opportunity to glower at the vulgar man a few yards away; his posture straightened, his eyes dark. The man, with a scowl of his own, put his car in drive and pulled away.
In a clash of hunters, Hannibal always won.
Will turned back around, oblivious. “Uh…it’s actually around the corner. Shall we?”
They walked outside the lot, on a sidewalk wide enough for them to stand beside each other and still allow for the occasional person to stroll by.
“I presume your earlier interviews were dead ends?”
Will nodded, his anxiety rising from the crowd spotted outside the bar. “All were promising. The profile fit. But when I met them, talked to them, I knew I wasn’t in the company of a murderer.”
Hannibal looked over. “You could tell by having lunch with them?”
“I could tell by the nature of the crimes verses the temperament of the person.”
The memory of analyzing the most recent crime scene flashed in Will’s head. The two bodies were purposely placed in a tender embrace, posed after their deaths. Toxicology tests had yet to come back, but Will knew every victim was dosed with something for an easy kidnapping. It was always a couple; two females, two males, and a man and woman. Will traveled inside the killer’s mind enough to know he forced them into sexual intercourse. The mechanics didn’t make any sense to him just yet.
“What can you tell about this man?”
“Matches my profile. I don’t have high hopes, but Jack would just make someone else stop by tomorrow to check this guy.” Will stared down at his shoes, “Can I ask why you chose to cut your Sunday short?”
Hannibal smiled as they approached the bustling entrance, the smell of unease so powerful he could taste it on his tongue, like Will thought himself a convict walking on death row.
“Perhaps to see you through this questioning. Make sure you survive the ordeal interacting with others.”
Will dryly laughed, stepping to the side to let Hannibal through first. They meandered their way through a lounge, the dinning area, until they reached a long train of oak. Will let Hannibal be his plow, his height and broad shoulders making it easier to wade through the people, his imposing presence and expensive suit making people think twice before stepping in front of him. Although the nature of their time together bordered more on business than pleasure, Will was still grateful for the man’s acceptance of his invitation. Hannibal was great at being his anchor.
“Hi. Will Graham.” He flashed his badge to the bartender when they reached the counter. “This is my partner, Dr. Lecter. I called earlier.”
The man smiled at a woman sitting close by on a stool, sliding her a drink, before looking over at the pair.
“Graham, right. Didn’t picture you as scrawny over the phone.” He extended his hand for the both of them. “Mark Connors. A bit busy tonight. But figured it was better than my place. I only go there to sleep.”
“The third shift. Difficult to get used to if you’re not a night person.” Will ignored the slight, focusing instead on the man’s appearance. Mark was a tall guy, skinny. Hair slicked back with gel with an obnoxious smile, he didn’t show any signs of nervousness. His eyes were bright, awake. Clothes pressed and tucked in. He was sweating, but he probably ran the length of the entire bar often.
“Good thing I am.” He chimed, but his pleasant demeanor faltered when he met Hannibal’s intense gaze. Odd. Will’s eyes shifted between both men. Mark spoke up, “Uh, look, I hope you understand, but I’m not that alright talking about…you know, in front of patrons.”
“Not an issue.” Will was familiar with the excuse. “You have an employee area somewhere? Some kind of break room?”
“Yeah, uh-” He leaned back, gauging the room. “Hey, boss man!”
As Mark jogged over to his manager, a large man across the room, Will turned to Hannibal, having to speak over the volume of noise.
“It’ll be quick. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”
Hannibal’s arm rested against the bar’s counter. His lips bent slightly down. “You wish to question him alone?”
“You’re intimidating. You saw the way he looked at you.”
“Wouldn’t that help? You’re the sympathizer while I play the aggressor?”
Will heard a whistle, catching Mark waving him down at the end of the bar, gesturing to the open door behind him. Not only was the man scared of Will’s colleague, but his manners weren’t up to Hannibal’s standards of common decency. He knew the crowd inside would be no better, but he could at least deny Hannibal one single person to focus his irritation on.
He smirked. “Play? That’s what you call it?”
Hannibal watched him exit into the back of the business, disguising his disappointment as aggravation. He lowered his head, catching Mark’s eye as he closed the door behind Will. The man visibly stiffened, and looked away.
“Good evening,” the large man from before greeted Hannibal, “can I get you a drink while you wait for your friend?”
- - -
“You heard of the murders?”
“Hard not to.”
Mark stopped walking in the middle of the empty back hallway, resting against the wall in a way that told Will this was the back room. He pulled out a small notepad from his jeans pocket, flipping to the first scrap of paper.
“Gotta make conversation somehow with folks." Mark continued. "And it’s a hot topic of discussion.”
The guy was cocky, but most young men are when they make most their money off tips. It didn’t mean he was a killer.
“Most would say morbid.”
Mark shrugged, crossing his arms.
“If you watched the news,” Will continued, “then you probably know why I’m questioning you.”
“I fit the description?”
He nodded, looking down at the bullet points. “We’re looking for a white male around your age, height, and weight. You didn’t attend college, right?” His eyes flicked up, but Mark noticed how they stopped at his chin. He thought it was a tick until he realized the other man must just have a thing with eye contact. It made him wonder what kind of FBI agent had self-esteem issues.
“Isn’t profiling guess work?” Mark tugged at his shirt’s sleeves. “That they’re only as good as the person who made the profile?”
Will blinked. “I’m rarely wrong.”
“You’re the profiler? Damn. Sorry, no offense.” Lifting himself off the wall behind him, Mark subtly slipped a needle hiding in his sleeve into his closed palm. “What do you need to know? Where I was each time someone was killed?”
“Let’s just start with the basics. How long have you worked here?”
Hannibal opened the door, moving cautiously along the wall and cresting the corner. Normally a very patient man, he found it wearing extremely thin in the establishment’s atmosphere. No drink currently in existence could help him tolerate the talkative woman beside him, the smell of cheap beer, the crumbs of pretzels and peanuts littering the floor. Will had guaranteed a quick conversation, but it hadn’t been quick enough.
He observed the pair standing on either side of the hallway. Will was acting as Jack’s diligent pet, taking notes while hiding his eyes under that bushel of hair. Truth was, in fact, that Hannibal received and listened to Will’s voicemail the moment the recording appeared on his phone. He decided to respond much later in the day, knowing it would be easier to convince Will of a late night briefing at his home. They were already in the heart of Baltimore, and the moment he saw Will alone in that parking lot, fidgeting and deep in thought, he knew he’d be more than willing for some company. Though the man never admitted it, Will would never have to. Rarely did the man let down his reinforced walls, talk to someone without thinking about meeting their eyes. But he always did so with Hannibal.
As luck would have it, the flighty doe was only calm in the lion’s den.
Hannibal watched as Will asked the bland boy questions, his hand attentively scribbling down rushed notes and, what Hannibal knew to be, private insights.
Will would never know he was the lion. He wouldn’t show him what he truly was. He could never tell him everything and then just let him leave.
But there was something so final about eating that particular meal by himself.
Will didn’t notice the way he bit his own lip. Mark didn’t either.
Hannibal had spent massive amounts of time imagining what Will would taste like as he browsed through his box of recipes. He wanted Will, wanted him so badly. Wanted to hurt him while having him. But he couldn’t do it, because it’d be the end of what they have now. He liked their friendship; eating meals together, spending time mulling over mindless conversation, helping him through cases. It was something Hannibal hadn’t possessed in decades.
And he didn’t want Will dead, truly. He only wanted him for himself, wanted to taste him as a meal but enjoy his company at the same time. He had to always retrain himself. Just keep himself a few notches from the tipping point.
Hannibal narrowed his eyes. Will, apparently, also didn’t notice the strange, narrow indent inside Mark’s suit sleeve.
“How long have you worked here?”
Hannibal had worked as a trauma surgeon long enough to know what lingered in the boy’s grasp. He had also stared in the mirror long enough to recognize what he saw in the boy’s eyes. And they were fixated on Will.
“About five years.”
Mark’s arms dropped to his side, and it was all Hannibal needed.
Will stifled a curse when his colleague appeared from nowhere, and he fumbled back into the wall as both men were suddenly attacking each other. Hannibal grabbed both of the suspect’s wrists, holding them in the air and Will could see a syringe filled with some sort of bright purple liquid; vibrant like window cleaner, or disinfectant.
Shoving the notepad away, understanding why Hannibal had interrupted them, Will reached out to pluck the needle from Mark’s fingers, but the man thrashed in Hannibal’s grasp from a burst of energy. Will stepped back again, watching warily as the two struggled against each other a bit more. Hannibal’s breathing never changed. He slammed the younger boy’s head directly into the wall and the body immediately went slack against it. Though one could claim self-defense, Will had an inkling there was a little bit more to it than that.
Hannibal caught Mark’s limp form and carefully set it on to the floor. Will watched as he did this, his eyes catching the subtle movement of Hannibal removing something from the front of his thigh. Before Hannibal could hide what had happened, Will stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder to force the man around.
The now empty syringe laid in his hand.
Will glanced at it, at the small puncture in the pant’s fabric, then up at Hannibal.
The man still looked coherent, but Will knew enough about strange substances to know that probably wouldn’t last long. Before Hannibal could protest, he pulled out his phone and pressed for Jack on speed dial. “Jack. I’m at the bar on 5th. Mark Connors. Well, he’s unconscious. Yes. There was an altercation, Hannibal is…” Will glanced over at his friend, who was tentatively checking his pulse. He seemed calm enough, though a bit agitated. “...hurt, I’m taking him to the hospital.”
Hannibal looked at Will, signaling that he had said something wrong. “Yes. Connors isn’t going anywhere.”
A door opened a few yards away, and the manager came jogging down with wide eyes. The crash earlier must have sent a reverberation through the walls, alarming some patrons and, obviously, the “boss man”.
“I have to go, Jack. Yes. Alright.” Will slipped his phone away, quickly instructing the manager to make sure Mark didn’t leave the area, then focused his attention completely on Hannibal. “Was it poison?”
“No. This doesn’t feel…toxic.”
Will frowned, watching as the normally collected man shifted on his feet, his stare slightly wavering. “Come on, we should leave.” He took Hannibal’s arm and looked back over the manager crouching down to inspect his employee. “Hey, is there an exit back here?”
“Y-yeah, the door down the hall. Leads right into the parking lot.”
“Great, thanks.”
Hannibal had knocked a man unconscious with his own hands, and now that strength had seemed to completely vanish under the influence of whatever burned through his body. Will clutched onto Hannibal, awkwardly, feeling his friend fight the impulse to lean against him. Even dosed with some bizarre window cleaner, the man’s dignity was still impeccable.
As they made their way into the parking lot, Will’s mind dwelled on the drug, how it had been meant for him. If Hannibal hadn’t intervened when he did, then perhaps it would have been Connors helping Will into a car, bypassers simply thinking he was a great employee, aiding a drunk customer home. It would have been so easy. Connors could drug drinks by slipping something, anything, into them. He could target anyone -even couples.
Will stumbled as they walked, but it wasn’t brought on by a cracked sidewalk or added weight. Hannibal’s hand, pressing softly against his shoulder blades, began to press a little harder. His hand slid down Will’s spine, tracing the vertebrate, coming to a rest on the small of his back. The warmth quickly enveloped his skin through his shirt, but really it felt like he wasn’t wearing anything at all. The touch burned his flesh, pressing into him, and Will had to suppress a pronounced shiver.
He looked at Hannibal, questioning, but there was nothing on his face that told Will what he did was in anyway purposeful. It looked as though Hannibal had no idea what he was doing.
Will fumbled with his car keys, trying to ignore the hand that was stroking his back.
- - -
“Do you still have the syringe?”
Hannibal sat in Will’s passenger seat with two long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t moved, opened his eyes, said a word since Will pulled out of the parking lot. The only noise was his deep, slow breaths.
“We’ll need it to- Hannibal? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
It was difficult to drive because Will kept turning his head to stare at the man. He still wasn’t used to the strange image of Hannibal in pain. The other man’s eyes opened in small slits, staring ahead at night-coated roads.
“My senses are heightened. My body is sluggish.”
Will grimaced as he made a right turn. Without a word, he tugged the air freshener off his rearview mirror and threw it in the backseat in a fruitless attempt to help. “John Hopkins is just down the road-”
“No.”
“Uh. No?”
“My home is two residential blocks away. Shorter distance.”
“Hannibal, you’re going to the hospital. It’s nonnegotiable.”
A hand came to rest on Will’s thigh, squeezing it. He instinctively eased off the gas petal, startled, as Hannibal leaned more into his space. Will’s adamant stance on the issue quickly lost its foundation. “I have everything I need…at my house.”
He wouldn’t argue with Hannibal, not with those dilated pupils that made his eyes look like a famished shark. Though, truth was, Will was eager to give Hannibal over to the professionals at the hospital. He was uncomfortable seeing Hannibal out of his element, not knowing what he was dosed with. The fear of him convulsing, seizing, dying in the car wracked his imagination, the images unfortunately clear and on a loop in his head.
Hannibal was a doctor too though, or, used to be. As long as he wouldn’t have to perform open heart surgery, Hannibal should be able to coach him through a treatment if it came to that.
Will made a left onto Hannibal’s street, glancing down at the hand that was still firmly grasping his thigh. He glanced over at his passenger. The other man had a hand pressed back against his nose, his eyes closed but head facing front. His other hand gripped his leg like a lifeline, and maybe it was. He had never seen, or heard, of Hannibal sick. It was a doctor’s nightmare.
So maybe his behavior wasn’t so much caused by the drug, as it was by him being fearful.
Maybe, Will thought, this was Hannibal scared.
“Do…you know what you were dosed with?”
Hannibal exhaled through his nose, his eyes flickering briefly over to Will. “A sedative.”
Bullshit. What kind of sedative was brighter than a neon light? Will would have to take his word for it; it wasn’t like the drug was rampaging through his system.
Pulling into his colleague’s driveway, Will wasted no time jumping out and running over to the opposite side. Hannibal was already halfway out, but he managed to steady the man as he tried ineptly to shut the door. Together they walked to his porch, and Will slipped his hand inside Hannibal’s jacket to gather his keys.
“I cannot thank you enough…Will.”
“Don’t thank me,” he helped Hannibal step inside the warm house, “This was my fault.”
He set the taller man down on the closest chair in the sitting area, deciding to keep the lights off in fear of any sensitivity to the brightness Hannibal may have. He jogged back to close the front door, slipping off his own jacket and setting it on the coat rack.
“Tell me, tell me what you need. What to do.”
Hannibal relaxed against the posh chair, his hands reaching out to grasp the length of the armrests as his head leaned back on the cushion. “The kitchen, a glass of water.”
Will crouched, trying to find his eyes. “Water? Hannibal, you need medicine.”
“You smell anxious, Will. Fearful. You needn’t be, the drug is not fatal.” His voice was soft, just above a whisper.
“How can you know that? If he used that stuff on the victims-”
“He killed….them while they were under its influence.” Pause. “It was not the injections’ doing.”
Will still wasn’t convinced, but he deemed Hannibal stable enough for him to nod wearily and jog off into the kitchen.
The drug was meant for Will, and how Hannibal’s body managed to handle it was off-putting. Hannibal was bigger than him and the symptoms were prominent. Will gathered he’d probably be dead just from the dosage. Guilty didn’t even begin to cover what he felt.
Power-walking back into the living room, Will stopped dead in the doorway. Some water spilled onto the floor.
Hannibal had stripped himself of his shoes, socks, jacket and tie. They laid unfolded, dropped on the floor around him. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, still resting on his shoulders, and his fingers were currently occupied unbuttoning his shirt.
“Wha-what are you doing?” Will sputtered, snapping out of his surprise and quickly approaching his, normally modest, friend. “Hannibal-”
Will set the drink down on the coffee table, immediately reaching to place his hands on Hannibal’s. Upon contact, the other man paused, looking up at Will without expression. He frowned and took his hands away, but checked Hannibal’s forehead. It was abnormally warm. Will had his fair share of fevers as a child to know.
“You’re burning up. Is that why…uh-”
Hannibal leaned toward and pressed his head against Will’s abdomen. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t trying to get comfortable, nor was he trying to find ways to tolerate his sickness- he was smelling him.
Hannibal’s arms slid up the sides of Will’s legs, resting at his hips.
He stared down at him, watching as his body rose and fell from his deep breathes. Wires were mixing in Will’s head, snapping frantically as they tried to balance the attraction he felt toward a half-naked Hannibal, and the terror he made him feel as his fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans.
Will’s scent had always been easy to pin down, even in a crowded room; he just had to follow that cheap, ill-fitting aftershave and deodorant, masking the underlying aroma of unease and discomfort. Perhaps it was favoritism, but Hannibal had never been so easily able to track someone, to sense someone’s presence at such a distance.
As the drug ran amok through his bloodstream, he could smell even more of Will. The abstract concept of beauty solidified as he inhaled deeply, practically tasting the sweet, nervous sweat on Will’s skin and the trapped heat between his legs.
He didn’t let his smile press into Will’s stomach, didn’t want him to know just yet how endearing it was to experience the cautious way he tried to nurture him. Will’s hand ghosted the back of his scalp, too scared, too out of his depth, to follow through and cradle his head.
“Hannibal…” He heard Will whisper. “Hannibal.”
The man sounded, looked, so beautiful when Will tried to fight against his wariness. He released his hold on the other man, landing again on the chair’s back.
Hannibal felt a lightness swirl in his head and free even more of the restraints he kept guarded so carefully since the moment he met Will Graham. The glass of water hovered by him, and Hannibal took it, his hand resting on Will’s a few seconds longer than normal; relishing in the warmth. He savored the cold liquid next, feeling it rush down his throat. It would do nothing for his rising temperature, but it offered a temporary relief that his clothes couldn’t satisfy. He knew Will’s gaze was on him. For the first time in his company, he gathered, Will’s eyes never shifted anywhere else.
The concentrated attention was flattering, like he was a new case Will didn’t understand; and that was fascinating to him just as it was concerning.
When he looked up at Will, he wasn’t surprised to find the bright crimson contrasting against his pale cheeks. He could taste the embarrassment radiating off of Will like it was a warm roast sitting on his tongue. He could hear the man blink, the sigh he tried to suppress, and even the normally faded sound of his thumping heart. Everything usually faint, it was as though the entire universe came to a stop around Will; like Will Graham was the only thing in existence, the only thing he found himself, his body, his mind caring about. He began to question why anything else had never mattered.
“Do you want more?” Will dangled the empty glass.
Hannibal stared at him, straight-faced, for a few seconds before answering, “…no. Thank you.”
He began to shrug both his waistcoat and shirt off as Will set the glass back down on the table, and he only watched, at a loss, when the garments added to the pile along the floor. He heard Will’s swallow excess saliva.
“Do…would you want to take a cold shower? Do you have any ice packs?”
Hannibal’s eyes closed again, suddenly breathless, and he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, face toward the floor. Will struggled to keep himself afloat, not wanting to drown in the misery of knowing it was his fault Hannibal was like this. It had been his voicemail that brought him to the bar. Will felt another fragment of his psyche crack when he couldn’t help but notice the sparse, light hairs along the man’s chest. He shouldn’t be having those thoughts while Hannibal was in such a condition. Maybe his mental instability was more unhinged than both Hannibal and he thought.
Every word he said, there always a prominent delay. Will wasn’t sure if he even realized. “…No. I just…need to let… the substance run its course.”
“I’m going to stay with you. Hannibal.” He intended the declaration to comfort Hannibal, but it only sounded like a protest against the thoughts pleading for him to just leave.
Hannibal smiled, actually showing teeth, on the verge of chuckling. The image he created burned in Will’s memory; not even his imaginative mind’s eye could have conjured such a sight of emotion and appearance. Will reminded himself of the situation that made him like this, and he gathered himself at the seams.
“Do…you want to lay on a bed?” Will extended his hand, guessing Hannibal wouldn’t decline the comfort of a mattress over a stiff chair. What he didn’t guess, however, was the sequence of motions his colleague would carry out.
Hannibal accepted the gesture, gingerly grasping it while carrying the rest of his weight on the chair’s frame. And when he began to lead him toward the hallway, to the stairs, Hannibal’s feet stayed rooted where they were. Will stumbled, like a boat forgetting about its anchor, and in turn forced Hannibal to stagger as well. Shirtless, he pressed himself against Will to steady them both, but Will immediately knew it wasn’t appropriate.
A hand wrapped around his lower back, sliding against his shirt’s fabric and making him immobile. The other hand caressed the side his cheek, and it moved up to push aside misplaced strands of hair from his eyes.
Hannibal was an anaconda that slowly ensnared him. Will didn’t move in fear of accidentally touching his flushed chest, didn’t speak because he couldn’t. Will looked up at him, gently trying to lean away from his fingers in his hair, his thumb circling his cheek. Meeting his dark eyes, Will lifted his hand to stop Hannibal‘s own. Still passive, he did the same thing with the man’s arm wrapped around him.
“Maybe you should just…stay here.”
It was getting difficult to ignore Hannibal’s forwardly affectionate behavior, as evident by the flutters in his stomach or hammering heart. The man didn’t seem sick in the traditional sense, and Will began to regret not taking him to the hospital. He hesitated before placing his hands on Hannibal’s bare shoulders, directing him a few steps over to the posh sofa before pushing him down. Hannibal was docile as he handled him, oddly compliant as Will lifted his legs on the couch and adjusted a decorate pillow under his head. Will had to shake off his hand as it snaked up his arm.
“Just…just lay here. Try to sleep.”
The sofa, somehow, carried the entire length of the man as he laid along it. Wearing only pants, Hannibal grimaced as he tried to get comfortable. Will assumed the man had probably bought the sofa for its decorative qualities.
Will backed away, making sure Hannibal wouldn’t try to get back up again. He seemed too fatigued to make any attempts, eyes closed and his breathing evening out. Will looked over his shoulder, down the hallway, able to guess where the bathroom was on the ground floor. He glanced back at Hannibal -he looked asleep- and he hurried out of the room.
“You have to be joking…”
Inside the bathroom’s cabinet, there wasn’t much of anything. A fine-tooth comb, floss, a still-packaged toothbrush. Will picked up a small white bottle, but the brand was primary used for headaches, even if it claimed to help a high temperature. He didn’t feel confident giving Hannibal more drugs to counteract something undefined.
Will put the medicine back, clutching the sink’s rim and sighing. Hannibal probably had a stock pile of medical supplies somewhere, but he had no idea where to start looking. Something told him he probably shouldn’t.
Closing his eyes from frustration, the image of Hannibal, sprawled along the couch with a flushed chest, immediately popped in his mind like it had waited for the first opportunity. He turned the faucet on, cupping his hands under it and then promptly splashing his face. After the third time, Will wiped his skin with a hand towel, looking at himself in the mirror.
The permanent blush was finally receding. He took a deep breath, and headed back into the sitting area.
…Only to find Hannibal missing.
He wasn’t on the couch, he wasn’t seated anywhere. Will crept into the room, eyeing the couch, glancing at the front door. Leaving him alone had been a mistake. Obviously the man was delusional. Maybe he stumbled off and-
Hair was pushed off the back of his neck.
Will instinctively caught the hand, turning around to find a very much awake Hannibal behind him. Eyes frightfully clear, nearly black. Afraid of the answer, he whispered, “What are you doing?”
“My…intentions are quite clear, Will.”
“…You’re not feeling...well, Hannibal.”
Moving him back onto the couch wasn’t going to work this time. Hannibal was different, a curtain lifting from his eyes. He was the one drugged, but Will felt like it was himself who needed saving.
“You should…sleep.”
Hannibal didn’t relent with his touches, and his hand once again came up to cup, caress Will’s jaw line, his stubble. A relaxed, but small smile swept across his features. Will shuddered, grasping the man’s hand but didn’t push it away.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital.” He continued to whisper, anything louder and he felt as though it would spook Hannibal, “But first I’m going to call Jack.”
The mention of their coworkers name triggered something, and Hannibal pressed forward, his grip on Will’s chin suddenly strong, and made their mouths come together. Bodies crashed against each other; one clothed while the other half-naked, chest pressing against chest. Hannibal’s arms slid down and fingers latched onto shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of Will’s cheap plaid.
Will was pliant, still against Hannibal as he used his body, his mind short-circuiting from what his mouth was currently in contact with. When his head caught up with the situation, he struggled, and pushed himself away from Hannibal’s painfully tight grip. He detached himself from the consuming kiss.
“What are you doing?”
He took a few steps back, reaching up to wipe at his mouth. He could taste the metallic red where sharp teeth had nicked his skin.
“I’m bleeding.”
“It suits you.”
It wasn’t a clinical tone, it wasn’t even the voice of Will’s endearing friend. It was a growl that sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t Hannibal. At least, it wasn’t a side of Hannibal he had already met.
Will gently pressed at his mouth, unable to keep his fingers away from the gash. It stung. Maybe Hannibal wouldn’t remember any of this; it was just the drug making him loopy. Like alcohol.
He could see the drug in his eyes, something akin to a lust. The predatory kind. Hannibal had been hunting for something this entire time, and Will had been too naive to realize it was him.
He took another hesitant, scared step backwards, but Hannibal easily reached out and grabbed him once again.
In the struggle, Will managed to turn around, attempting to grab something close by for leverage. Hannibal held him in a firm grip, pressing his front to Will’s back, immobilizing him. He grunted, cursing, as Hannibal pushed a leg between his own. He immediately stopped his motions, not wanting to inadvertently grind against his psychiatrist.
But the leg settled between the valley and Will tried to inch himself higher so he wouldn’t feel the knee against his dick. His breath hitched.
“Hann--ibal-”
A heated, strong hand snaked around his waist and held him possessively, the other on his shoulder moved upwards, trailing his jaw, his lips deliberately lazily, before curling around his neck. Hannibal really was a snake, enveloping and slowly crushing him. The hand squeezed his neck, teasingly, as that fucking knee nudged the spot between his legs.
He gasped, and Hannibal pressed against his throat to feel the escaping air. Despite himself, the friction began to overload Will’s senses, and it felt good against his body. A heat began to radiate down below.
It’s just a physical reaction.
But then the hand left his neck, traveling down his arms that were hooked against Hannibal’s own around his waist. Will felt the hand roam over him before sneaking under the end of his shirt. He fidgeted in the grasp, shivering at the feel of Hannibal on his bare skin. He watched the hidden appendage travel under his shirt, exploring, sliding over sweat-slicked skin before moving to his back. It snaked down, under his jeans and boxers, to his ass.
“Hannibal, s-stop!”
It meandered over to his hip, then began to sneak around to the front. As just he came in contact with dark hair between his pelvis, Will saw spots in his vision when Hannibal leaned down to bite into his neck.
Adrenaline surged through him faster than any bullet.
Will thrashed, violently this time, not caring if he hurt him, and broke out of Hannibal’s grip.
He stumbled away, grimacing and hissing at the blood that began to ooze from his neck. He pressed against the shallow bite with his hand, fixing his jeans with the other.
In less than a minute, Hannibal had made him bleed in two separate places. The situation was deteriorating, fast.
Hannibal let him go more out of curiosity than comeuppance, wanting to savor the image of Will’s bloodied mouth, taste the copper in the air as red liquid seeped from his neck and through his pale fingers.
“You’re beautiful, Will.”
“You’re…not yourself, Hannibal.”
Will still felt the lingering touch of his hand, how it inched so close to his cock. He thought he knew every mood of Hannibal, which weren’t many. But this was something new, something brought on by the drug. Will wasn’t sure if that he liked it, no matter how much he liked Hannibal.
“It’s the drug talking. Not you.”
“I’m thinking…clearly.” Hannibal nodded. As he stepped closer, Will matched his with a step backwards. “I think you should do the same.”
His words were precise, meaningful. Not drunken slurs or odd rambles.
“I’m flattered, Hannibal, really, b-but I’m not…this isn't...”
“You are.”
Will backed up, hitting the couch’s edge.
“Do not lie to me, or to yourself.”
Hannibal closed the distance, making sure to keep his hands at bay as to not overwhelm the startled doe even more. He leaned down and kissed Will, tenderly this time, and Will couldn’t help but lean into it.
He wanted to close his eyes and just melt into the kiss, pretend that there wasn’t something horribly wrong with the situation. Pretend that Hannibal wasn’t under the influence of some hypnotic. But he wasn’t that delusional. He liked Hannibal, much more than a friend, but would never consider taking advantage of him while like this. Even if Hannibal tried to take advantage of him.
Will tried to break the kiss, and when he found he couldn’t from a hand creeping up the base of his skull, he bit Hannibal’s tongue hard enough to draw blood. Eye for an eye.
Hannibal stepped away slightly, cursing something in a language Will didn’t understand.
“We shouldn’t do this.” He exclaimed, abit nervously.
Hannibal stared back at him, at the gash on his lip, something dark lurking in his eyes that wasn’t the drug.
“I think…I think I should just leave. You should rest. I- I hope you’ll call for an ambulance if you feel…worse.”
Will was amazed, astonished as he made progress across the living room. Slowly, he grabbed his jacket hanging from the coat rack, then glanced at the front door. “I’m- I’m just going to go now.”
When he grasped the door’s handle, opening it just an inch, Hannibal appeared beside him and closed the door. Will expected something, a threat or some sort of beckon, but not the man physically beside him. How could a person move so quickly? So quietly?
“There is no leaving, Will. I will not allow you to.”
Frozen, petrified, Will felt Hannibal back on him, forcing him to drop the jacket.
“Do not lie to yourself,” he continued, his hands finding themselves back under his shirt and jeans. “I can smell you.”
Will whimpered as a blunt nail scraped against a nipple, as the hand from before continued its ravishment from earlier and slipped under the front of his pants.
Will instinctively clutched into Hannibal for support when he grasped his dick, already finding precum at the tip. The hand along his chest eased around to his back, pressing Will against him more securely as he worked the man down below, stroking his length and taking his time as he did so.
His fingers jabbed into Hannibal’s broad shoulders as he ghosted over his genitals, making more heat and a liquid spill. Will gasped, shuddering as Hannibal held him.
“You’re mine, Will.” Hannibal breathed in his hair, smelling the mint and woodsy scent of his shampoo, but it was the arousal that made his own dick stir. It was pure, unadulterated lust that smelled of shame and embarrassment. “You belong to me, always have. No one will ever see you as I do now.”
Hannibal didn’t have to wait for the body against him to shudder again, and he used the distraction to press his weight down on Will, forcing him to the floor and he promptly followed. The change of positioning reawakened Will when he landed on the floor. It was devastatingly submitting, not giving him an advantage whatsoever.
His shoes thumped against the ground as he tried to shuffle away, but Hannibal was already crouched over him, looming, towering. His sheer weight, his hidden strength to pinned Will down.
“No one will ever have you but me.”
Although Will didn’t go down easily, Hannibal’s breathing barely hitched. Even with a rising body temperature, there wasn’t a line of sweat framing his forehead. He was going to have Will, he was going to do it because he had wanted to for a very long time --since the moment Will walked into his office. The drug released something within him that made this all possible. He was going to possess Will in a different way from all the others, in a way that was still foreign to him.
Hannibal licked Will’s neck, focusing most of his efforts on the bloody bite mark from earlier. It was a drug he would never grow tired of, Will’s blood sweet on his tongue and intoxicating his senses more than any random man-made concoction could ever hope to do.
Will tried to buck him off, but the man was a brick wall. He sucked bruises along his collarbone and neck, making new teeth marks as he nipped. His jaw never closed entirely against his flesh, but Will was nervous of the possibility as he seemed lost in his own world of blood and broken skin. As his body pinned him down, his hands roamed freely, purposely. One traveled back under the front of his shirt, tracing his nipples until they hardened. As he took one particularly sharp bite on his neck, Will took a sudden intake of breath. Hannibal seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth again, tasting, licking his bloodied lips.
When he pressed against Will, he shook his head, ashamed, feeling his own hips rise and buck because he was hard and he wanted this for ages. His eyes caught the bundle that was his fallen jacket close by on the ground.
He panted, and made a soft, but prolonged whine in the back of his throat as he tried to pull himself away from the man that made his legs weak and his face red. He managed to free one of his hands, and reached, frantically, for the jacket. Fingers stretched for the fabric, wanting to use it as something, anything against the man on top of him.
But then Will could only watch, defeated, as Hannibal leaned up and over to throw the coat across the room. He reached for the top of a nearby wooden stand by the front door, and Will panicked as the metal faintly shined in the dark.
Hannibal was drugged, he wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he was doing- maybe, Will hoped, the drug would run its course soon. Maybe…he prayed, neither of them would remember any of this.
Hannibal wrapped his fingers around the envelope cutter, bringing it down with precision on Will’s exposed neck.
“S-stop-”
A thin line of blood welled up from his pulse point, trailing down and pooling at his collarbone. A growl rumbled in the back of Hannibal’s throat, pinning Will’s back under his weight as he leaned down to lick away the line of red. Will turned his head, definitely not liking his lips. He let out a strangled groan as Hannibal’s hands slid under his shirt, both of them, and the smooth fingers teased across his skin.
Will arched when the cutter ghosted across a nipple. He looked back at Hannibal, finding ravenous, dark eyes clouded with a hunger, a lust. His were probably a matching pair.
Will opened his mouth to plead, shout, curse, but speech was not effectively possible when Hannibal kissed him, hard.
Tasting his own blood on his lips, Will moaned, ashamed and petrified underneath the man, and he struggled under Hannibal’s tongue. His hips jerked mindlessly.
He struggled for oxygen as Hannibal tried to single-handedly swallow him whole. He never wanted to taint their professional relationship, knew it wasn’t possible with his mental instability, never mind the fact he had been dancing around his attraction for Hannibal for months. When he felt both his pants being pulled and Hannibal’s, Will’s body trembled in both fear and enthusiasm; the feelings were pretty much interchangeable now.
Will loved the feel of his skin. Will loved the sensations it evoked. He whined, though, tried to hold back the tears as Hannibal began to slide in and out of him. His body trembled under Hannibal‘s, tensing and shuddering.
He could feel Will’s muscles tightening in fear and ecstasy, adding to his frenzy, to the substantial lust he had for the man.
Hannibal ran his tongue over sweat-slicked skin, it tasting so sweet, just like he imagined it would. Hands ran over his nipples, teasing and pinching them until they came to life. Will’s noises were divided between whines and groans, jerking from Hannibal’s touch and then pleading for more.
He licked the leftover blood from his neck as the streams began to dry along Will’s body, as his hand also trailed Will’s body; fingers stained with his blood leaving marks in their wake. His wide, hazel eyes widened as Hannibal stroked his dick, stroking in time with his own thrusts. Hannibal wanted to take his time with Will, but he couldn’t control himself from pushing into the body below him again and again. Any evidence of limitations did not exist anymore.
Hannibal shifted his body often, thrusting in at different angles to watch Will’s vast array of expressions. His efforts were rewarded when Will’s lips let out a loud gasp as Hannibal pressed against the nerves that laid buried deep inside him.
Hannibal pulled out, leaving just the head in before plunging into the tight heat again, striking hard against the spot. Will shuddered, his eyes rolling up as his entire body tensed. The feeling overwhelmed him and a wetness seeped out. Hannibal could feel Will’s cock throb between his fingertips.
If Hannibal were to stop, he knew Will would beg him to keep going.
Tears leaked from his eyes as he rammed into him harder, stroking him harder.
Hannibal moaned, and it was loud in the quiet house. Will felt so impossibly good. So unbelievably wonderful. Hannibal buried himself deep inside Will, as he stroked his dick quickly. He loved the feel of Will in his hand, pulsing and throbbing. He would put him in his mouth if he didn’t think Will would try to scoot away again.
Hannibal wanted to feel Will reach his climax in his fingers, wanted to feel his muscles clamp and spasm against him. He thrusted in and out, striking particularly hard, watching his expression. Will’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his chest heaving, his mouth silently screaming with each push.
Suddenly then, his body arched up. Will cried out in a scream, something between pleasure and agony, as his released soaked Hannibal’s hand and an area of his own stomach. Hannibal lost himself in Will’s scream, his senses intoxicated, besieged with the smell and sweet taste of Will’s blood, with the feel of his body convulsing in pleasure just underneath him, melting against him. It made him thrust and bite with more ferocity, made his groans lower as the heat grew with each of his pivots. Will’s hips bucked against Hannibal’s own greedily.
Hannibal claimed his mouth as he climaxed, forcing his tongue down Will’s throat, his movements frantic one moment, languid in another, possessive, devouring him. Will was under his care, he was helpless- Hannibal knew he loved it just as much as he did. Will shuddered as he collapsed back on the floor, whimpering as Hannibal sped up his tempo. His thrusts grew sloppy, almost frantic for the release until he finally came inside him. He bit Will, hard. Tasting raw flesh.
Will shouted from both the puncture and the saltiness that stung his entrance.
Hannibal smothered Will, landing on top of him, breathing quiet but fast. He noticed the bruises along Will’s neck that would deepen tomorrow. The other man didn’t bother moving; he knew he couldn’t with Hannibal’s weight on him, still inside him as his cock began to soften.
They were silent as Hannibal acted as a blanket, both of them submitting to the aftershocks, both of them motionless. As Hannibal listened to Will’s gradually slowing heartbeat, he fixed his eyes on the bloody bite marks just below his jaw. A hand reached up to touch the red droplets, and Will flinched.
“You’re not going to leave.”
Will opened his eyes, staring at Hannibal. Their eyes locked. “No. I'm not.”
He hugged him then, in a loose, lazy embrace. Hannibal turned on his side, putting more of his weight on the floor beside Will and closed his own eyes. Letting out a rough sigh, Hannibal embraced Will back. His arms wrapped around his body, tightly.
“I have disinfectant in the cabinet.”
Will just gave a bittersweet smile.