AN-Cello Suite No.1 in G is by Bach. I chose it because, in my own personal opinion and experience, Bach is incredibly dull, and excruciatingly boring to play, especially while in the presence of other great, vivid pieces of readily available music. It reminds me of Franklin in that aspect. That and his connection to Tobias.

And I'm starting to write porn again. Hmmmmmm...

Also, I do not speak Lithuanian or know anyone from that country, so I had to rely on Google which is always a crap shoot. Hopefully Hannibal's line should be "If you keep asking me stupid questions, I will eat you."
Not terribly clever, but there you go.

UPDATE-Sorry about the misspell. I was dead tired when I wrote this and insomnia makes for a shitty proof reader. I have since fixed the error.


Straightening his tie and smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest and coat, Franklin mentally prepared himself for his session with one Hannibal Lecter. He told himself that he wasn't dressing up for the doctor, he was merely presenting himself in the best way possible and anyway, everyone knew that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery. Not that he was trying to flatter Doctor Lecter or imitate him either. He was merely showing his appreciation to an intriguing man who obviously had a very distinct fashion and a definite sense of control about his appearance and surroundings. Franklin saw no problem with simply reflecting back that those sort of sentiments.

If he really thought about it, and he had at great length…numerous times...probably more than was considered healthy but wasn't that why he was going to therapy. Whether he meant to or not, Doctor Lecter had shown him an entirely new side of himself, one that Franklin had never knew existed. With Doctor Lecter's guidance….in spirit….he still declined any offer of social engagement outside of their sessions…. Franklin had uncovered his own underlying elegance, like a beautiful butterfly emerging from its pupa. He certainly dressed better now and was experiencing more refined venues of life. All the artisan food shops he had followed Doctor Lecter into were a revelation really. An expensive one, yes, but worth every penny.

Of course, if he could convince Doctor Lecter to become friends with him instead of this patient doctor farce they had going on between them, Franklin could dedicate himself more fully to his new devotions and their budding relationship could take on its full bloom. It was so clear in his mind, a vision of himself, Tobias, and Doctor Lecter, who would be Hannibal by then, out for the night on the town. The three of them would be like some sort of pedigree wolf pack making socialites swoon at after parties and all the Baltimore upper crust and elite would be seething with jealousy. Everyone would want to be them, be with them….be him….and fight for their attention…his attention…. and friendship….his friendship….. like weeds warring for space at the bottom in hopes of just grazing the canopy with the leaves of the trees.

Warming up to that thought, Franklin wondered what kind of flower or plant Doctor Lecter equated himself to. Probably something refined but exotic, like an orchid. Or perhaps he would go classic and be a rose. Franklin mused to himself on this matter, resolving to ask Doctor Lecter that question today. It was harmless enough to merit an answer.

Even after all their time together, the doctor was still a stubborn enigma to him, Lecter easily ignoring or responding as neutrally as possible to any personal question with a professionally polite decorum. That or he sidestepped the inquires entirely by citing that it did not pertain to Franklin's treatment. His enduring indifference was frustrating but Franklin was patient or at least, he told himself that he was.

"Tell me Doctor, where did you grow up in France?" Franklin asked one session, deeming to late enough in their relationship to expand further on each other's origins.

"Though I did reside in France for a short period of time, I was born Lithuanian." Hannibal corrected smoothly with the kind of nonchalance that came from repetition and old habit. "It is a common misconception though. I have found that most do not have a discerning ear for accents."

"Oh…" Franklin said, gleaning what he could, which as per usual not very much, from his opaque physician. "So do you speak Lithuanian?"

Hannibal looked back at him with an utterly blank look that could have been anything from barely contained murderous intent, mild gastronomical discomfort mingled with a slight headache borne from annoyance, or extreme boredom, the kind that would set the random items in the room on fire just to see how other people would react. "Jei jūs nuolat klausia manęs kvailų klausimų, aš valgyti jums." he answered neutrally.

"What does that mean?" Franklin said in awe. The foreign words had been so fluid, dropping effortlessly from the doctor's lips.

"I fear it does not translate well. Moving on….."

Glancing at his watch as he entered the waiting room that was becoming like a second home to him now, Franklin realized that he was a few minutes early. He always made it a point to be early after finding out how much Doctor Lecter valued punctuality. Normally he would have taken his usual seat and wait to welcomed in but a noise caught his attention, soft but annoyingly repetitive. It wasn't the low dip and roll rumble of shared conversation though, more like a strange squeaking punctuated by odd friction that vibrated when it sounded.

Unable to help himself, Franklin rose to investigate. Pressing his ear to the door, Franklin tried to decipher the sounds coming from within but could not equate them to any point of reference. Speculation and imagination running away from him, Franklin remembered hearing about stories of patients attacking their psychiatrist in fits of madness and rage. Actually now the more he thought about it, there had been one such story in the papers quite recently involving a female psychiatrist.

Worried for the doctor's safety, Franklin tested the door's handle to find it unlocked. He stared down it almost hungrily, the chance that it offered him. If this was a possibility, even a slim one, to save Doctor Lecter, how could he pass it up? This opportunity could be the ultimate ice breaker and new foundation of their relationship, one built on respect and trust.

His resolve strengthened itself with visions of a grateful Doctor Lecter, one who would so let Franklin call him Hannibal now, inviting him over to his famous dinner parties, one made specially in his honor. Satisfied that he was doing the right thing for all their sakes and safety, Franklin opened the door. Worst case scenario, he would just have to apologize if Doctor Lecter was with another patient.

To Franklin's shock and dismay, the good doctor did not appear to be in any immediate danger, his fantasies of heroism crashing down all around him as reality reasserted itself with a vengeance. Hannibal was in his office alright and he was definitely with another patient.

Well, more accurately he was in another patient, down all the way to the root. His partner was another man, the two of them stripped down to their gleaming flushed skin, their clothing cast off about in a messy fashion that screamed pressure cooked passion and heat of the moment decision making. They were positioned on the couch, facing the door. They would have noticed the intrusion if they weren't so heavily involved with each other, Hannibal rising and leaning up in undulating waves of tandem to nip and bloody any expanse skin that presented itself carelessly closest to him.

Even when faced with the obvious, it took a moment for Franklin to realize that Doctor Lecter was naked, having never seen him out of a suit or really in any state of undress, his only covering being the blood that dripped off his chin and stained his teeth red. Though it was silly to think of a person so unrealistically like that, Lecter looked practically born into a tailored three piece suit, he wore it so effortlessly.

The good doctor was leaner than his cut of clothe and broad shoulders would have suggested, the multiple layers of woven wool, linen, and silk hiding the tapered, muscular waist that drew one's eyes all the way downward past the toned dips and curves of hips to long muscular legs sculpted from and for speed and intent, the sharp cut appendages currently in piston like motion. Franklin was surprised to see how scarred Doctor Lecter was, random thin lines of white that shown like satin against the pale matte silk of his skin, his firm chest having a light dusting of hair upon it, the dark trail over its rippled planes like an arrow to where he was connected with his lover.

The man he was thrusting into was on his folded arms and wide spread knees, his pale back firm and with a solid core yet thin enough that his shoulders and vertebrae was a gnarly ladder of knobs and bone blades. Franklin didn't recognize him, the man's face hidden, his head buried in his forearms, bracing himself there with his elbows as he groaned into the crooks of his skin. He didn't seem to mind that his back was being torn up and bitten into with jagged circles, the rivulets striping his pale sides, pooling in the small of his back. He offered no more than a whimper from time to time, the noise from him sounding more desperate than hurt.

As much as it disconcerted Franklin, it seemed to displease Doctor Lecter, who reached down to grab a handful of sweat damp curls, hauling the man up onto his hands. When he leaned over the man to start licking whispered words into his ear, Franklin recognized the bottom as a patient of Doctor Lecter's though one he had only seen in passing. If vague memory served, the man was usually an evening appointment. Franklin had only deigned to notice him because he seemed to have more appointment times than him if his familiarity with Doctor Lecter was any indication and was always poorly dressed, usually covering in plaid, sweat, and open distress.

He was still covered in sweat but Doctor Lecter didn't seem to mind, the gourmet licking it off of flushed skin like it was the finest of wines. The man beneath him groaned through kiss swollen, bruised lips, babbling something that Franklin missed but obviously Hannibal understood if he next actions were any indication.

The coupling coming to a sudden stop, Franklin watching in awe as the doctor's lover was made to lean back until his wounded back was pressed flush to Doctor Lecter's chest, painting it with smears of vivid life. In an impressive show of strength and balance, Lecter picked him just behind his knees, thrusting up as he drove his lover down on his cock. The noises that man had been smothering into his forearms came out in bright shouts now, loud and unfettered, his arms curling back behind his head to anchor themselves into Lecter's ashen hair, tangling it. He was coming untouched, both set of hands too busy supporting, grabbing, or grounding each other, the spray hitting the rich material of the couch with a heavy wet sound, staining it with strings of fake pearls.

When the man's head rolled back, lax from relief and dizzy from pleasure, Lecter struck, his teeth catching the crook of neck exposed to him. Biting down into the offering, the doctor drove himself a few more times into his prey, his willing victim, his lover. His eyes snapped open and upward to meet Franklin's own, holding him in place. Franklin watched in morbid fascination as blood ran down slick flushed skin, aided in its swift journey by copious amounts of sweat, spider webbing the man's heaving chest with glossy wet crimson as he was rag dolled up and down in place for the doctor's pleasure.

Still keeping Franklin in place with eyes that were more sanguine than earth, Doctor Lecter came with a low growl. There was no other way to describe the sound that filled the room to its veils of shadows and made Franklin tremble, his skin crawling from the hunger that rode the noise. He found himself able to withdraw, Lecter releasing him as the doctor closed his eyes as if savoring the taste of the meat in his mouth, biting down harder with a wet sound. The man in his teeth groaned token protests but accepted the marking with no other complaint. His fingers grip upon locks of ashen hair were so tight, it was a small wonder they had not been torn out at the roots. Having enough brains to close the door softly behind him as he retreated, Franklin fell back into the waiting room, wondering what he should do next.

"Franklin, you have to convince yourself the lion is not in the room….when it is, I assure you, you will know….."


"God damn it, that hurt! What the hell was that all about? Putting me on display like that…."

"I was attempting to make a point."

"About what? You're inability to lock a damn door in appropriate situations."

"It was my design."

"Go eat a dick."

"If it's yours…."

Franklin realized he must of sat and thought about the issue for far too long when the office door opened up to reveal a fully dressed and as always immaculate Hannibal guiding out his patient, a light yet possessive hand resting on the disheveled man's elbow.

"I believe we have made some excellent progress today." Franklin heard Hannibal say, the other man snorting rather rudely at the comment.

"Same time next week?" the man grumbled as he went along with the feigned normalcy, his gaze flickering between Hannibal and the way out in equally quick intervals. If he noticed Franklin, he didn't bother to show it, even while the man was glaring daggers at him.

"Or as often as you need. My door is always open to you, day or night." Hannibal offered as he watched the man dart away before deigning to acknowledge the other man in his waiting room gaping up at him. "Ah, Franklin. I apologize. My last appointment ran a little late. It was unavoidable I am afraid."

"Really? That is all you're going to say? Who was that guy?" Franklin ended up yelling by the end of his compliant.

"A friend and a very special case in need of some unusual and aggressive therapy.", Hannibal answered in his unflappable manner, practically stoic considering he had just been caught fucking another man in his office.

"Could I….", Franklin asked before he could stop himself.