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Will is always twitching, pacing, fidgeting. He can barely stay still for half a second but the first time he meets Hannibal Lecter he’s frozen in place and can’t move. He doesn’t want to, hates it but stares right into Hannibal’s maroon eyes, creased in the corners with a hint of a smile, listens to his sensual accented voice shaping unspeakable truths and can’t lift a finger, he feels paralyzed. When the spell finally breaks, he bolts out of the chair, avoids tripping on Hannibal’s polished shoe by a mere inch, speeds out of the room with a snide remark, basically runs down the corridor and hopes he will never see the man’s gorgeous face again.
++
He has no such luck.
He is shaking like a leaf, when he tries to stop the blood flowing on the floor from Abigail Hobbs’ neck. Hannibal gently pushes his trembling hands aside and confidently applies pressure to the wound with his long steady fingers. He is calm, so, so calm. Stoic. Unshakable.
Hannibal remains this way while they wait for the ambulance and the FBI team to arrive, he doesn’t panic, just effortlessly climbs into the car to escort the girl to the hospital. Will finds him soundly napping in a chair next to the bed, holding Abigail’s hand, like it’s okay, like it’s a normal occurrence to have the sleeves of his cream sweater bloodied and crusted. Will gingerly lowers himself in the chair on the opposite side of the bed and can’t remember when was the last time he slept well.
Hannibal is weird. Or maybe Will is.
++
Will gets an impending sense of wrong in Hannibal’s office as the man shows him his psych evaluation paper that states Will is sane and fit for field work. This can’t be right.
The feeling of wrong intensifies when Hannibal has a non-reaction to Will’s stuttered confession that he liked killing. Surely, in his line of work Hannibal’s heard worse, but not even a raised brow? Or stiffened shoulders?
Will can’t get it out of his head. As he walks the dogs, in his mind he reconstructs every detail of the office, all the things he touched there to ground himself with minimal success, Hannibal’s imposing figure with wide shoulders and perfectly styled hair, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, soothing even voice. Beautiful. Hannibal is really strange and really beautiful, and Will is unable to read him. He’ll try again next week in their session.
++
The sense of Big Wrong doesn’t go away, it actually becomes more acute the more time Will spends in Hannibal’s presence. They have their weekly appointments and on top of that Hannibal starts consulting on cases. Jack finds his point of view a useful addition to the team, Will finds himself obsessed. He spares less of his attention to the photos of crime scenes and focuses instead on the way Hannibal holds them in his hands, how he tilts his head to the side, exposing more skin of his neck. His expression is neutral and all his movements are measured, but this head tilt seems real and unchecked. Will waits for the next time he does it.
++
Will starts provoking him and for some reason it feels like he’s poking a slumbering bear, like it’s dangerous. No one describes Hannibal as dangerous, they use words like sophisticated, professional, respected if a bit eccentric. Oh, he’s eccentric alright when his eyes twinkle as Will recounts his wicked nightmares or shares his theories about a new killer. Will smiles when he notices, Hannibal smiles back. His lips stretch and show a sharp canine. A shiver runs down Will’s spine.
Back home Will thinks about this smile, about the teeth. He’s restless and agitated, his thoughts keep running away from him and entering a dark territory. What if he had touched Hannibal? Pressed his thumb into the top lip and lifted it? Traced the pointy end of the tooth with the soft trusting pad of his finger? Would Hannibal have let him or snapped his jaws? Will shivers again.
There is a secret and an answer in there somewhere.
++
Jack is losing his mind over the Chesapeake Ripper and makes it everyone’s problem. The recent murders have very little in common with the way the Ripper kills, it’s obvious to Will, it isn’t to his boss. Jack is wrong but doesn’t want to hear it, his rage and loss blind him, he doesn’t want to fail again.
Will and Hannibal are talking quietly in a dimly lit university hall and Will is concentrating on catching subtle notes of the other man’s cologne when he’s rudely pulled out of this cocoon by Jack’s booming voice. They have a lead, they have to go now, apparently, and Hannibal is welcome to come with. Will knows they are going to see an amateur organ harvester instead of the Ripper so he’s not too invested, he watches Hannibal.
Hannibal looks excited. In the backseat of the car, his posture is ramrod straight as usual and his long legs are crossed at the knee but he rotates his ankle, his foot sways a bit with the motion. Will fixes his gaze there, hungry for any signs that Hannibal is actually a real person and not a statue. He is wearing long socks, they are visible where the material of the pants rode up a little. Will wants to see his skin, touch it to see if it’s warm. His hands are rough and calloused from manual labor, but maybe if he used his lips to check the temperature? Will starts. What the fuck? He raises his eyes to Hannibal’s face and hears him say that all of this is very educational. Like you don’t know all of this already, Will thinks fleetingly, and frowns. His thoughts are a mess today.
They arrest the man in the middle of a new organ removal and Hannibal needs to step in to save the victim’s life. Will observes, slack-jawed, as Hannibal takes his jacket off, rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, puts on medical gloves and plunges his hands into the man’s chest cavity. He is poised and efficient, stabilizes the man until the medics can take over but it all feels like a failure. The meat should have remained in Hannibal’s hands.
++
Will is good at his job, he trusts his instincts and his instincts have been screaming at him from the very first time he saw Hannibal. The man is twisted, there is something terribly wrong with him and no one sees it except Will. He lies in his bed and his mind runs a mile a minute. The dots are connecting and the picture they form is sick.
The right thing to do would be to call Jack and tell him everything. If Will is correct, and he usually is, Hannibal should be behind bars. But if he’s caught, Will is going to lose him. There will be no exhilarating conversations, no staring into each other’s eyes and no one is ever going to understand Will again. Jack is using him, Alana pities him and looks vaguely scared, the science team just only tolerates him. Will is going to be alone, again. There will be no curious cat-like head tilts, no sure hands offering him wine, no shark smiles at completely inappropriate moments. Absolutely no expensive fabrics covering elegant joints. There will be no time for Will to become brave and ask Hannibal if he’s allowed to touch.
This doesn’t feel like the right thing to do the more he contemplates it.
Will must tread carefully and on his own. He can’t give Hannibal away to anyone.
++
Will is gawking and he knows it. Hannibal is talking to Jack and doesn’t pay Will attention so Will is safe to explore him from head to toe. His shoes are very shiny, his expression is blank, the usual. Will tries to catch something more, to solidify or cast away his suspicions, but there’s nothing.
When Hannibal finally looks at him, Will hopes that his face betrays only his standard lack of social skills and not his overwhelming crush or his criminal speculations. Hannibal’s face stays impassive and maybe Will hopes for the opposite.
They continue working on new cases, Will continues cataloguing all there is on Hannibal. In their private sessions Will’s eyes stray below the belt, Hannibal doesn’t comment on that, he only comments on murder, the usual.
++
When it really is the Ripper, there is no mistaking it. Will wonders if Hannibal is too tired to hold their regular session today, if he’s going to cancel. The tableau is exquisite and Will is not afraid to admit it to himself anymore. It must have taken a lot of power to arrange it, Hannibal’s muscles must still be burning with exertion. He’s not here, Jack said he’s busy. A shame. Will might have been able to get a fraction of emotion from him if Hannibal was gazing at his own creation.
There are no calls or texts from the man to announce their appointment is called off and Will is choosing words to subtly compliment Hannibal on the way to his office. He feels the need for a more direct approach, maybe a confrontation, maybe a real fight. If Hannibal punches him, Will is going to relish it, he just wants to rattle him, he just wants something.
The little speech he prepared flies right out of his head when Hannibal opens the door and Will is level with the man’s strong chest.
“Hello, Will,” comes a greeting and a click of shoes on the hardwood floor as Hannibal opens the door wider and steps aside.
“What?” Will cranes his neck higher than usual to look at Hannibal’s face to find a pleasant smile, interesting, then rakes his eyes down his body, down his neck, torso, hips, thighs, below the knees and stops at his feet. Black leather shoes.
“Please, come in,” says Hannibal and goes to his chair, deeper into the room. Every step is echoing with a sound his stilettos make. He sits and crosses his legs.
“Um, yeah, thanks,” Will murmurs and follows him to sit in his own chair. He doesn’t mean to be rude, especially with Hannibal, but he can’t tear his gaze away from the man’s tasteful high-heeled shoes. Hannibal either doesn’t notice, which is unlikely, or doesn’t mind because he starts with his regular questions about Will’s week and well-being. Will attempts to follow his lead and manages for only a second.
“There was a new Ripper kill… Aren’t you tired?” Will winces as soon as the words leave his mouth.
“Pardon?” Hannibal’s fine eyebrows lift and his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. That’s something, it encourages Will.
“Your shoes, very beautiful, by the way,” he begins and Hannibal twists his ankle, this way and that, to demonstrate it better. He’s not wearing any socks today, the skin is slightly tan on the bridge of his foot, Will can see a bit of hair on his shin where the pant leg doesn’t cover it. He loses his train of thought.
“Thank you, Will,” answers Hannibal. Will darts his eyes from the stiletto to his face, he’s smiling again. “It’s the first time you see me wearing them but it’s not my first rodeo.”
Will’s never heard Hannibal use informal language before. It’s really exiting, makes his heart beat faster, almost as much as the visual of him.
“Why today?” he can’t help but ask. “Fuck, sorry, that was uncalled for, sorry.” He knows he’s blushing.
“It’s okay, Will, you have an inquisitive mind.” Oh, Will thinks, you have no idea. “The answer is whimsy, mostly. And some of my patients benefit from seeing another person non-conforming to the strict gender expression.”
“So you’ve been wearing them all day?” The Hannibal being the Ripper conversation can wait, Will concludes, he forgot everything he had to say about that, the body of Hannibal Lecter occupies all of his mind now. It has occupied his mind longer than the other thing. This might be a ploy, Will honestly doesn’t care.
“I have,” Hannibal confirms. “I am quite comfortable, Will, I assure you. How have you been, truly?”
Bad, thinking about you, going crazy, Will thinks but doesn’t voice it. He tells Hannibal about his erratic sleeping patterns, about the pressure Jack puts on him, about his dogs needing a bath. All of this is inconsequential, they both know it, the only significant thing is that Hannibal is right in front of Will, stunning and showing skin, smiling periodically, playful. Will is losing his ability to find topics for conversation and keeping his eyes anywhere but on Hannibal’s tantalizing feet.
At some point one of the shoes slips from his foot, half-dangling in the air and revealing Hannibal’s heel. Will grinds his teeth together and clenches his fists. He wants to offer something, he wants to reach out. That would be unprofessional. On the other hand, his inaction recently has been unprofessional as well. He must be making a face because Hannibal stops talking and cocks his head to the side, fucking again, and asks:
“Something the matter, Will?” he has the audacity to sound concerned.
“Uh, something, yes,” he doesn’t know how to continue. He’s been slapped on the wrist for wanting something too many times, it destroyed a piece of his soul every single one of them.
“Can I do anything to help?” his voice is so soft, his skin is also soft, probably.
“Yes, actually, you can.” Will smiles and knows that it’s sad. “It would be wildly inappropriate, though, so better not,” he finishes, looks at the floor and sees Hannibal’s shoes. He sighs, clenches his fists tighter.
“Is it about the shoes? I can change.” His tone is back to carefully devoid of emotion again and that just won’t do.
“Don’t. It is about the shoes but don’t change. Please.”
“What is it really about then?”
“Are you tired?” Will asks the second time, the desperation in his voice is obvious.
“Because of the shoes?” Hannibal sounds and looks incredulous, like it’s a possibility that never crossed his mind.
“Yes. It must be uncomfortable to have them on for so long.”
“They are custom-made, it isn’t an issue. But I appreciate you caring about me, Will.”
“What if I want to care about you more?” it comes out stupid, so, so stupid if Hannibal’s confused face is anything to go by. The skin of Will’s fingers is blanched from how hard he’s been clenching them.
“I don’t quite understand, Will.” So it seems that Will is able to rattle him, a pity that he’s hardly holding on himself. To hell with this, he thinks. If he dies by the hand of the Chesapeake Ripper because he’s pathetically in love and horny, so be it. He looks Hannibal dead in the eye and begins:
“I’m going to say something extremely out of line, you can stab me for it if you so choose, but I really can’t keep it in anymore.” Hannibal’s feline eyes narrow but he doesn’t react otherwise. “Would you like a foot massage? I would love to give you a foot massage very much right now.”
Hannibal is silent. His lips are parted and it’s probably the closest he’s ever gotten to his mouth hanging open. He’s not reaching for a scalpel, though, so maybe it’s not a bad sign.
“Well?” prompts Will.
Hannibal clears his throat and pulls air into his lungs to say something but nothing is being said for a couple more seconds. Will doesn’t look away.
“The chairs are too f…”
Will doesn’t bother to listen to the end of the sentence, he gets up, rounds his chair and pushes it closer to Hannibal’s. Not too far away now.
Hannibal is quiet again and a wave of shame so potent hits Will, he stands upright only because he’s holding the back of the chair. He is being a dick, this is horrible and wrong. Hannibal has always been patient and courteous with him and Will is forcing himself on him. This is so fucked up.
“I’m sorry, Hannibal. I’ll go. I’m sorry.”
He starts to walk away and it unfreezes Hannibal.
“Nothing to apologize for, Will. I would love a massage, thank you.”
Will sits back in his chair, bends forward and takes Hannibal’s ankle as gently as he can. His hand is shaking. He doesn’t dare look up into the man’s face, keeps his attention squarely on removing the stiletto and carefully placing it on the floor. He squeezes his thighs and puts down Hannibal’s bare foot on his lap. He was right, the skin is soft, well-groomed. He runs the pad of his index finger along the instep experimentally and Hannibal flexes his toes. Will’s cock twitches, he squeezes his thighs closer together.
“Um, are you ticklish?” he asks and is immediately embarrassed by how rough his voice sounds. He didn’t even do anything.
“Not terribly,” answers Hannibal. His voice is deep and husky, but it always is, it’s one of the reasons Will doesn’t sleep well.
Will begins by smoothing his palm down from Hannibal’s ankle to his toes, enjoys the tenderness of his skin. He takes his foot with both hands, his thumbs move to the ball of it, rubbing slowly. He doesn’t have the experience of wearing heels but he imagines this place gets sore by the end of the day. Hannibal emits a faint sound, it might mean Will’s doing okay. He rubs more firmly as he progresses on his sole to his heel, pauses there for some time to relieve the pressure, goes up to Hannibal’s Achilles tendon, then down again. He massages every toe individually, they twitch when he hits a good spot. He can feel that his face is burning, it’s so intimate, he’s never done this before, never wanted to. Now, with Hannibal’s graceful foot cradled carefully in his hands, he can’t think of anything he wants to do more. Well, taking into account his rapidly hardening dick, there is something else he wants to do.
Keeping his gaze down and Hannibal’s foot on his lap, he bends again and grasps his other ankle. He takes off the other shoe, sets it next to the already discarded one, Hannibal appreciates neatness, after all. He notices that the little toe is slightly pinker than the rest, squished too long in the narrow stiletto. Will’s heart flutters. Such a rare sight of vulnerability from such a strong violent man. Will lifts the foot closer to his face, blows on the toe, like his dad did with his scrapes when he was a boy, then loses himself in the moment and kisses it.
“Will,” gasps Hannibal.
Will jerks his head up, terrified, and sees that Hannibal’s eyes are black, his mouth is open and his tongue is pressed to his lower teeth. His breaths are uneven, his nostrils are flared. Hannibal doesn’t look angry, he looks undone. Will feels undone.
He drops his forehead to the bridge of Hannibal’s foot and closes his eyes.
“Please, let me. Tell me I can,” he whispers.
“You can,” comes a ragged reply.
Will sighs and kisses the little toe again, kisses each toe in order, moaning under his breath. He licks a long stripe up the instep, moaning louder, gripping the foot harder. Hannibal rubs the ball of his other foot up and down his throbbing cock, curls his toes around the dripping head over his pants. Will grunts and nips Hannibal’s heel. Hannibal applies more pressure on his cock, his toes slide down Will’s length and knead his balls teasingly. Will’s dick blurts out more precome, his fingers spasm.
“Hannibal, fuck,” he’s panting now.
“I think I want to give you a massage, too, Will.” Will looks at him and can’t believe all of this is happening. Hannibal’s high cheekbones are flushed, his lips are puffy, like he’s been biting them, one of Hannibal’s hands has an armrest in an iron-grip and the other is curled loosely around the man’s very big, very hard dick. His foot doesn’t stop stroking Will.
Will isn’t able to find words, he just groans.
“Or would rather fuck me?” Hannibal smirks.
Will doesn’t know what to do with himself. He clutches Hannibal’s foot with hungry fingers and bites in the middle. Hannibal grunts.
“Is that a yes, Will?” His voice is hoarse and he’s smiling wide, all sharp teeth on display.
Will nods frantically because he can’t make himself speak. He gives Hannibal’s feet one last loving squeeze and sets them on the floor delicately. Hannibal’s up the next second and before Will has time to react he is being pulled up by the hair and kissed so passionately he loses his breath. He moans into Hannibal’s mouth, winds his arms around the man’s neck and tugs him closer. Hannibal pushes his thing between Will’s and encourages him to grind into it. The feeling is so good, Will’s been aroused for so long that he’s going to come in a handful of moments.
He detaches from the man’s lips and Hannibal wastes no time before he starts sucking open-mouthed kisses down his neck.
“Hannibal, wait, I’m not going to last like this,” he ends on a whine when Hannibal bites his jugular.
“We can’t have that,” he says into Will’s clavicle as he swiftly unbuttons his shirt. Will reaches up to deal with Hannibal’s tie, his hands are clumsy but he manages. He moves on to his jacket and vest, Hannibal’s already pulled his zipper down and yanks his pants and underwear.
“You get your clothes, I’ll get mine,” Will mumbles awkwardly. Hannibal gives his forehead a sound kiss and undresses with lightning speed. Will is half a second behind.
They stare at each other’s naked bodies and Will is in awe. He runs the back of his fingers down Hannibal’s belly, buries his fingertips into Hannibal’s dark pubic hair and scratches lightly. Hannibal sways towards him.
“You are so beautiful,” whispers Will.
“So are you,” says Hannibal equally quietly. He cups Will’s cheek in his warm palm and Will nuzzles into the touch.
“How do you want it?”
Hannibal sweeps his eyes around the office and goes to bend himself over his chair, elbows resting on the back of it.
“Like this, I think.”
“Do you, uh, do you have anything?” Will feels like he’s nineteen again and has no idea what he’s doing.
“In my desk drawer, top one on the left.” At least Hannibal knows what he’s doing. Will opens the drawer and sees a bottle of lube, two-thirds full and a couple of condoms. He has no right but he feels jealous and bitter. Hannibal is an attractive man, he’s single, he can do what he pleases but he isn’t fast enough to school his expression into something neutral. Hannibal notices.
“Is something wrong?”
“Do you have sex with all of your patients?”
“No. I use the lubricant on myself after our sessions, when your scent still lingers.”
Will’s eyes are bulging out of his skull.
“What?”
“I believe you heard me.”
“Okay. And the condoms?” He looks at them like they offended him somehow.
“I wasn’t sure if or when or how you’d agree to fuck me.”
“Oh my god,” Will’s head is spinning.
“The condoms are there just in case. I saw your medical record, not only the necessary information provided by Jack Crawford, all of it,” he finishes. There is no shame in his tone, he doesn’t apologize for the violation. “My papers, stating that I am clean, are in the same drawer.”
Will takes the lube out, leaves the condoms in and approaches Hannibal.
He takes in the expanse of his strong back, toned ass, shapely long legs, firmly planted elegant feet. He understands the urge to consume. Will presses close with his whole body and Hannibal shivers, it gives Will the rush of power and overwhelms him with tenderness. He puts his hands on Hannibal’s waist and kisses his neck, Hannibal stretches it to give him more room. Will exhales and kisses lower, along his backbone, kneels when the position becomes awkward. He puts the lube on the floor to take both Hannibal’s asscheeks and spread them, continues his kisses from his tailbone to his hole. The need to lick him is as powerful as it was with his feet so Will laps broadly.
“Ah, Will.” He hears Hannibal from above, he hopes he’s allowed and licks once more, then again, circles his tongue around the rim. Hannibal bends lower, widens his stance, pushes his ass into Will’s face. For a glorious moment Will can’t breathe and he moans deep in his throat.
“Will, it’s going to be over way too soon.” Hannibal grips his hair again and pulls him away from his ass. “Fingers now, please.”
Will complies. He drizzles lube on his trembling fingers and rubs one on Hannibal’s hole. He watches, mesmerized, as it disappears slowly inside the hot tight passage.
“Faster. You’re not going to break me.” Hannibal Lecter, naked sweaty blushing impatient Hannibal Lecter is demanding Will to get to it and finger him. The image will burn into Will’s heart.
He slides his finger in fully, pumps it in and out several times and Hannibal’s strained voice orders him to add another. He pours more lube on Hannibal’s rim and goes in with two.
“Crook them a little, yes!” Hannibal’s moan is long and deep, his head is thrown back and his eyes are shut. “Like this, keep going like this.” So he keeps going. When he feels Hannibal’s muscles become lax, he nudges his third finger in but Hannibal stops him with his hand around his wrist and a confident “That’s enough. Have me.”
Will slicks his cock and gets up from the floor. He’s so turned on he can’t catch his breath as he lines himself up with Hannibal’s hole. He starts pushing in and is taken aback by how perfect Hannibal feels, how tightly he hugs him. Will’s inhales are shallow and uneven, a small whimper escapes from behind his teeth. He drapes himself over Hannibal when he bottoms out, circles his arms around the man’s chest. Hannibal’s heart is racing.
“Okay?” he asks weakly.
“Yeah, give me a moment,” Hannibal whispers. Will sucks a kiss to Hannibal’s nape, glides his palms down his torso, holds his hips. The need to move is strong and he grinds in small circles. Hannibal groans quietly and to distract him Will takes his cock in hand. It’s heavy and dripping, makes an obscene noise when Will begins stroking him. Hannibal’s groan is louder this time.
“Fuck, you feel insanely good, you’re so wet,” Will mumbles into his neck, he grinds in harder, moves his hand faster on the man’s cock and feels Hannibal relax bit by bit. “Can I move?” he really needs to move now.
Hannibal grips both armrests, arches his back and nods. Will withdraws a few inches and trusts back slowly, he tries very hard to go slow but it’s nearly impossible, Hannibal’s body sucks him back in every time he pulls out, the tighter he strokes him, the more pliant and responsive Hannibal becomes: he moans louder, undulates his hips, leaks freely over Will’s fingers. His thrusts get rougher, the nails of his hand that clutches Hannibal’s hip bite into skin. Hannibal goes in his tiptoes and pushes into Will’s next shove, hard, and the chair moves forward on the floor.
“You’re not getting away from me, Hannibal,” Will grunts and latches onto Hannibal’s hips with both hands so tightly he knows there’ll be bruises.
“No, n-no, I’m not,” Hannibal Lecter stutters and moans. Hannibal. Lecter. Stutters and moans because Will is fucking him. The thought crushes Will and opens a floodgate.
“I’m never letting you go. I’ll take care of you and protect you, I’ll admire your art until you get us both killed, you have my word.”
“Will,” whines Hannibal. The sound pierces Will and pushes him that much closer to orgasm. He’s pounding into Hannibal fast and hard now, sweat beads on his temples making his hair stick. Hannibal’s skin is also glistening, Will wants to taste. He runs his tongue between his shoulder blades.
“I fucking love you,” he breathes the words into the skin there and comes so hard his vision blurs. The moment his confession is out, Hannibal tenses under him and climaxes with a long keen.
They stay attached and silent, their chests are heaving. When Will’s cock softens and slips out of Hannibal, he steps away. He is unsure what to do now. Hannibal turns to him and gives him a thorough look. Will feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin, maybe Hannibal is going to help him with that.
“I love you, too.”
Hannibal’s hair is in disarray, his lip is bloody and there’s come and lube running down his thigh. He is the most bewitching and terrifying creature Will’s ever seen. And they love each other.
“Come home with me?” Will asks.
Hannibal smiles and takes his hand.