You're the one that I belong to
You're the one that I let go
You're the fire escape I run to
Fate is swallowing me whole.
~ S. Ryder
Will shot up from his bed, sweaty and breathing heavily. Nightmares, of course. Again. And yet, it was always immediately after these nightmares that his thoughts went directly to Hannibal, his psychiatrist.
Although the word psychiatrist was used loosely, and Will felt that it was hardly the right term. However, it was used instead of the awkward, questionable silence they often shared concerning what they really were. Patient and Doctor? Hardly. Enemies? Well, no and yes. Friends? Perhaps…but what kind? Surely a unique type of relationship.
Night by night, and especially this particular night, Will would cling to the only comforting thought his mind could conjure. Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter's pristine, statuesque figure. His sharp, pointed features. His sickeningly appealing aroma. It was comforting… and yet it was horrendously frightening.
His mind was hazy. It was hazy but it was determined. His thoughts were misty, groggily focused on one man. He stood shakily and walked towards his bathroom, repeating the steps he was taking in his head.
"My name is Will Graham...my name is Will Graham." He turned the shower on, and began to strip his clothes off.
"It is three o'clock in the morning."
The warm water splashed upon his pallid, damp skin.
He clamped his eyes shut. The sunken yet piercing eyes of Lecter were vivid his mind. So vivid he felt as if he were looking into them.
His hand strayed slowly to his lower region, and he began to stroke himself – rhythmically. Cautiously.
What was he doing?
Will opened his eyes and removed his hand. The simple shampoo from his head began to burn his eyes. He gasped, sputtering and coughing as the showerhead kept its steady flow of water from above him as if it were mocking him in his vulnerable state, and not aiding the situation.
"Shit!" He stumbled out of his shower and grabbed the nearest towel he was able to find.
Minutes later, feeling much less hazy and far more steadfast, Will Graham found himself rushing into his usual plaid shirt and reliable jeans and rummaging about his drawer for his car keys.
His dog padded beside him silently and tilted his head with puzzlement.
"Take care of the house. I might not be back tonight." Will stroked his friends head gently before vacating his small one bedroom and locking the door with a click.
His hands were shaking profusely as he quirked his keys and his engine grumbled into submission.
The small house disappeared behind him, and the roads before him seemed to be behind him as well, all too quickly.
He was shaky. Befuddled. Scared. Vulnerable. Innocent. Naïve.
Yet as he grew closer to Hannibal's house, a small seed of something else began to grow deep inside of him. A kind of pent up anger, an unresolved frustration.
The silhouette of Hannibal's house was a menacing sight. Will ground his hands against the wheel of his parked car. His knuckles were white.
Each step he took towards the front door was determined. Calculated.
And upon reached it, he suddenly felt his confidence, his determination, waver. What was he really doing here? What the hell was he doing?
Before he doubted his own intentions any more than he had, he sucked in a ragged breath and rapped his knuckles against the door so hard that his fist reddened.
Oh jesus. What am I thinking, what am I doing. Christ –
The lock made a delicate click, and the heavy door began to open.
Incrementally, Will could make out Hannibal's dangerous features amidst the dimness of the hall.
"Will? Is something wrong?" Had he just been woken up, one would not be able to tell. His thick Germanic accent was as clear as ever and his voice was calm.
Will let out his breath and pushed past Hannibal without so much as an acknowledgement of his presence.
His mind began racing, and Hannibal's house was oppressing, full of darkness and secrets. It closed in around him.
He stalked hurriedly towards Hannibal's office door and burst into the achingly familiar room he had come to know so well. It had become a calm place, a kind of comfort.
He heard the slow footsteps behind him. They were precise and steadfast.
Soon, the inviting, terrifying, delicious smell followed and Will stood with his back facing door, unable to turn around.
"What are you doing here, Will? Did you lose time?" Said the calm voice behind him.
"I…-" His voice cracked. "-I didn't lose time, dammit!" Will spat. He felt the unsteadiness slowly returning to him.
"Is something wrong, Will? It seems you are…aggravated in some way."
Will slowly wobbled around until he leant backwards on the desk and was able to face Hannibal with the security of not reeling backwards.
"Y-you…" Will took a shaky step towards his opponent. "-what do you think you're doing? Getting in my head? Making me think—"
"I am not sure I understand your meaning Will. Perhaps you are having an episode-" Hannibal took several steps towards Will and put a steadying hand on his arm.
Will jerked away, bringing his widened eyes up to meet Hannibals.
"You see? There – you… your doing it-…" Will glanced at Hannibal's slender hand as it did not remove itself – but tightened its grip on Will's arm.
"What might "it" be? You are clearly in a state of confusion, Will. Perhaps I need to take you ho-"
"NO!" Will raised his voice. He was certain he heard it echo, bouncing against the high ceilings and vast stretches of empty walls.
Hannibal tilted his head, looking at Will quizzically. He did not say another word.
"Everything you do…everything about you. Its – it's a trap. Your trapping me – and… you think I don't know?" Will's voice was shaking. A tinge of nervous adrenaline began to grow inside of him.
"Your smell… your eyes… everything. You draw me in like a predator. You are luring me in, aren't you Hannibal?" Will felt a layer of sweat on the back of his neck.
Hannibal stood, not breaking his gaze from Will, and said nothing.
"AREN'T YOU?" Will's heart was thumping so loud – he felt as if he could hear it like music playing in the background. Setting the scene.
He tore his arm from Hannibal's grasp.
"Will, perhaps we should discuss this during our session tomorrow-"
"You know what? Stop. Stop talking." Will took a breath to steady himself. "You should know now. You've done it. Hannibal – you did it to me. You succeeded. Are you happy?"
Will felt a better sense of stability. He stood up now, straighter than before.
"What else did you expect? Did you think that maybe it wouldn't work? Well it did. It damn well did, Hannibal! And here I am!"
Will ran his hands nervously through his recently washed curls. His eyes went to Hannibal's mouth. Its downturned corners, a rosy little shape of a pout. In a haze of uncertainty, he found himself biting his own lip. He was frustrated, and perhaps in more ways than one.
He began to pace. The office seemed warm now, too warm. He tore off his jacket and let it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.
"All this time… -"
Hannibal remained stalk still, hands planted in his pockets and mouth unmoving. His eyes, however, traced Will's movement. His gaze was fixed on the pacing, nervous, shaggy haired man in front of him.
"I was…never your patient-" Will stopped his pacing. He swiveled around to face Hannibal, who remained still.
He took several steadying steps towards him.
"-and you knew that…"
Hannibal opened his mouth as if to speak, but found Will's finger pressed upon his lips as a silencer.
"Don't say anything."
Will felt a coil of giddy excitement in his stomach, along with the painful yearning that Hannibal's scent always induced.
He slid his hand around Hannibal's wrist, gripping it tightly. He found himself surprised that his doctor made no move to resist it.
Their eyes were entangled. Neither broke the others gaze, and the air around them seemed to freeze in anticipation.
With caution, Will began to push Hannibal backwards. He forced him, leaving him no other choice. He was held in a cage with Wills eyes pinning him to the corner. They were set, and they were raw with longing. The prey was cornering his predator now – and the lines of doctor and patient were blurred. Who was the patient? Who was the prey? Who was the doctor? The predator?
Will stood at arms length and pressed Hannibal gently against the wall with his hands furled around the collar of his night shirt.
Hannibal remained calm. His expression unreadable.
Will brought his mouth inches from Hannibal's ear, making sure to let his breath fan across his doctor's neck as he spoke.
"I am not your patient, Hannibal –"
It was these words that seemed to strike a chord, and in Hannibal's eyes there was a flash of something – excitement? A thrill?
Perhaps it was the glee of hearing the words said. Will – declaring himself to Hannibal. Declaring, in some ways, what he wanted.
"-and I-…I think I want…something else."
Hannibal parted his lips, and Will could see his chest rising visibly. The F.B.I agent slid both of his hands underneath the silken night shirt and pressed against the smooth chest that he found there.
Will traced his fingers along his doctor's shoulder blades. He felt his hands begin to shake again. His nerves would take him over – and yet the only thing in the world that could calm him down was right in front of him.
But…ah. Yes. He knew.
He knew what would bring a calm to the raging madness. He knew what would break through the dizzy, neurotic fog that his mind was constantly in the midst of.
He knew what they had both been waiting for. Perhaps all their lives.
Will brought himself to Hannibal's level.
Pinning the doctors arms against the wall, Will Graham pressed his lips against Hannibal Lecter's own.
And it was a feeling. They both had a feeling. Strange. Unbridled. Unchecked. But it was a feeling.
For the first time in months – Will could see clearly. He could see into the depths of a crystal clear lake that had once been murky. He had once been drowning in it… and now, he was swimming – no – floating.
Hannibal did not fight Will's advance, but relaxed under his grip.
Their mouths were open, their tongues were avidly exploring one another. There was no hesitation – no regret.
Will pressed his torso against Hannibal with such uncontrollable force that it could nearly be taken as aggression. His clothing became hot, irritating.
"Don't say anything." Will said, his lips moving against Hannibal's jawline.
He could feel the pressure building, and Hannibal's hips gave a frenzied buck underneath Will.
"Oh…god..." Will moaned, then brought his lips to Hannibal's once more. The psychiatrist gave a gentle bite to Will's lower lip, making Will growl predatorily.
They ground against one another, entangled in a mess of pajamas and the scent of fresh aftershave in the air.
Hannibal's eyes were piercing and dilated, and his arousal was difficult to contain – yet he did not attempt to tear his hands away from Will's grasp to finish himself off. He stood, helpless, and at Will's complete mercy. And he did not wish to change it.
With each indulgent buck of Will's hips, Hannibal could feel himself growing closer and closer.
Will dragged his tongue languorously along Hannibal's jaw, trailing down to his neck. There, he began to nibble and suck until he was placing small, rosy bites along the immaculate neck of the doctor.
Hannibal's chest was nearly heaving, and as much as he tried to conceal his excruciating pain he allowed a small moan to escape him.
The sound was enough to make Will scream – but all that he was able to do was emit a garbled whimpering sound against Hannibal's chest.
"I…I cant…" the smell of Hannibal was consuming Will, and it seemed to become more delectable by the millisecond.
His grip on Hannibal's wrists weakened, and hands slipped from their grasp entirely; instead, beginning to explore Hannibal's body with fervor. He could no longer resist the urge. Still forcing the man against the wall with the force of his body, he trailed he hands along the chest - making small circles around the now hardened nipples - and dragged his hands gently down the abdominal muscles which were also clenched in frustrated arousal.
Will sank down to his knees, placing loving, gratuitous kisses along Hannibal's torso. His anger had all but fizzled away, and what took its place entirely was pure longing. Pure and untarnished, young and irrepressible - desire.
"Will…" Hannibal's head was tipped back in desperation. His eyelids were drooping. The lack of control, the lack of containment – it was beautiful to Will. He savoured every second of it. He feasted his eyes.
"…allow me to…speak…." Hannibal's voice, even, was unsteady. His pristine hair was now ever so slightly mussed, and a chunk of it fell across his damp forehead.
"Yes." Will breathed onto the aromatic skin on his doctor's stomach.
A strong hand threaded itself through Will's curls, and Will's heart began to skip. After several quiet minutes of Hannibal gently, affectionately stroking Wills hair, twining it around his fingers and catching his breath –
"Do you not think that…perhaps we would find it more comfortable to situate ourselves…-" Hannibal took an anxious breath, as if he were dreading the reply. "-in a bedroom?"
Several seconds of silence followed. Hannibal unwound his fingers from Will's hair and instead reached out his hand.
Will glanced at it for several seconds.
Slowly, he placed his own trembling hand (and trust) in Hannibal's palm and brought himself to his feet.
He held Hannibal's gaze. "A…bedroom." He said with uncertainty.
Hannibal gave a slow nod, casting his eyes towards the floor. "Only if—"
Will pressed his lips against Hannibal's ravenously, silencing him. After a minute of heated passion, the kiss was broken by Hannibal.
"I will interpret your physical gesture as a positive sign." The corner of his mouth, swollen from the countless kisses placed upon it, quirked.
"Don't psychoanalyze me." Will quipped, but found himself slowly leaning into Hannibal Lecter's arms. The comforting smell. The analytical remarks. In a strange way, Hannibal was the only home that Will had ever known - ever would know.
And Will didn't mind. Perhaps amidst his madness, his uncertainty of who he was, or where he would be from one moment to the next – perhaps it would fade. Perhaps it was only Hannibal that would remain the steadfast constant. The unmoving lifeboat in a sea of turbulent water.
"I did not wish to presume anything –" Hannibal mumbled into Will's soft, hazelnut curls. "If perhaps you wish me to take you home-"
Will brought a hand to his friend's soft mouth.
"I won't be going back home tonight, Doctor Lecter."
And go home, Will did not do.
He claimed Hannibal for his own, and Hannibal took the silken reigns of control that he had so easily held onto, and gave them up to Will.
That night was not one to be forgotten, and Will was right in every assumption.
He was never a patient of Doctor Lecter's.
He never would be.
They had met their match in one another, and soon the Chesapeake Ripper and Will Graham the convict would realize that whether they knew it or not – they would always be tied to one another by an invisible thread. They would always come back to each other in the end.
And perhaps they would even get married in the process, a recurring thought that often spurred various esthetically pleasing images for Hannibal – who had given it more thought than he would ever admit to Will.
He couldn't even begin to imagine the various designs they might use for the invitations.
And what kind of meat would be used to serve the wedding guests.