Companion Song: "Waiting Game" by BANKS
"I'm thinking it over
The way you make me feel all sexy but it's causing me shame
I wanna lean on your shoulder
I wish I was allowed but I don't wanna cause any pain
And if I'm feeling like I'm evil, we got nothing to gain..
I'm thinking it over
What if the way we started made it something cursed from the start?
What if it only gets colder?
Would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart?
'Cause lately I've been scared thinking 'bout where we are...
I don't wanna say your love is a waiting game..."
This "cut unscene" occurs just after Will's session with Dr. Chilton where he is given sodium amytal, a tongue-loosening truth serum. The combination of the medication and a flickering overhead light causes Will to remember Hannibal shooting him up with some kind of drugs and inducing seizures, causing his blackouts and missing time to be much worse than what the encephalitis alone would do. He explains his memory to Chilton, who says, "That would be a radically unorthodox form of therapy" to which Will replies, "Yes, it would." This next bit begins at 26:45 as the sodium amytal Will was given continues to run its course.
"I wonder what Dr. Lecter will have to say for himself?" Chilton tapped his pen against his notepad. Will winced. The sound reverberated through the subterranean interview room and each pulse felt like ragged claws against his ears. The details of the room slowly drained away, leaving the shadows deep and sharp-edged. Chilton on the chair in front of him seemed like a lone island of brightness, an actor on a stage lit by a monologue spotlight.
"H-he won't s-say anything." Will's tongue was wet and heavy like spring snow. "Because you won't talk to him about me or my therapy."
"Will, I think-"
"That's what we agreed," Will said forcefully. He shook his head, trying to clear the clouds from his perception. "Don't talk to him. Don't let him near me."
"Of course, Will. Just as we agreed." Chilton had no features now, only shadows and contrast, over-saturated. "Now, tell me more about how Dr. Lecter treated you."
The truth bubbled up behind his lips, stretching down the back of his throat. Will fought against it, keeping his jaw locked. Behind Chilton, the dingy wall and doorway leading to the hall beyond dissolved the way an old movie might show a transition into a dream sequence or an underwater kingdom, wavy like sunlight on the bottom of the ocean. Figures slowly came into focus, black and white, a vintage memory. He saw himself kneeling on Hannibal's bed, reaching for him, inhaling his scent and then leaning in for that first drunken kiss. The one who got away, Abigail's voice echoed through the scene, a narrator to his drug-fuelled reminiscence.
Chilton was saying something, but it was muffled, inaudible. Will shook his head violently, sweat dripping from his brow, and tried to focus his eyes. "What?" he muttered.
"I asked you what else you talked about with Dr. Lecter during these little 'conversations'... I understand you discussed the cases and the killers?" Chilton crossed his legs and rested the notepad on his knee. "Did he ask you to identify with these despicable monsters? Encouraged you to find some empathy, some common ground? Do you think that influenced your desire to kill?"
"Jack wanted me to look. Han– Dr. Lecter – he wanted me to-to stop. I-I... I wanted to look. I wanted to help." Nausea swept him as the IV poured the poison into his veins, making the room spin. The black and white scene behind Chilton had changed. Now it was the storage room in the cellar of the Baltimore State Hospital, and he could see Hannibal's back, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he thrust into Will. His other self throwing his head back and moaning in satisfaction, knuckles pale as he gripped the pipe behind his head. Name the bait on your hook after somebody you cherished.
"I'm the bait," Will murmured, his breathing coming faster now, heart thundering behind his ears.
"What's that?" Chilton's voice rose through the primeval thudding in his head.
"What was the question?" Will managed through deflating lungs.
"I asked if you felt like Dr. Lecter breached the doctor-patient relationship. You've both referred to one another as friends having conversations. How personal was your relationship, exactly?"
The movie his mind projected on the wall behind Chilton changed scenes again with another old-timey blur transition. Will saw himself in bed with Hannibal, the morning after their second encounter. The table by the fireplace bore the remnants of their omelets, and steam rose gently from a pair of coffee cups. The breakfast was, however, abandoned, and Hannibal was kissing the space beneath Will's navel, moving his mouth lower in tantalizing increments before sliding his tongue along Will's length and taking him in. Swallowing the bait.
"W-we had drinks once. I– I caught a fish, and he cooked it."
"Just a few little social calls?" Chilton raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Will forced himself to nod, a sweaty lock of hair falling over his damp forehead. Despair swelled within him as the vision behind Chilton shifted again, dark at the edges like a vignette or a silent film degraded by time. The hotel room in Bloomington, Minnesota bled into view and he was forced to watch as Hannibal encircled him from behind in the tenderest of embraces, a hand over Will's heart, lips at his neck. Will could feel that body now, shielding him, holding him close, protectively.
His name, an invocation. Will.
Hannibal Lecter has no reason other than his own amusement and curiosity. His words to Beverly intruded on the scene, souring it. He teared up, the despair gathering under his jawline, constricting his tongue.
"I suppose that's no more than usual for an acquaintance of Hannibal's," Chilton droned on, writing something on his notepad.
"Amusement and curiosity," Will said before he could stop himself. He couldn't breathe. His heart was breaking again, right now, as the drugs forced him to relive it all, tearing down the mental barriers he'd erected for his own sanity.
I let you into my body. Fucking me for fun, j-just because you could – I mean, did you even want me, or was it part of the g-game? Wind me up and see what you could get me to do? See how much I'd let you do to me?
"And how about your past, Will? How deeply did Hannibal dive into you?"
"Dive into me?" Will stuttered.
"Dive into it," Chilton either repeated or corrected himself, Will didn't know which.
"I told him about my mother." Will couldn't stop his words before they came out. He clamped down in his mind and shut his mouth.
"What about her?"
Will took a measured breath, trying to ignore the vision behind Chilton. It had changed again. Hannibal's bedroom, after they'd made love, sitting on the bed with their legs twined, Hannibal's hand on his.
Why did you keep the secret so long?
Because she was my mother.
"She left when I was five," Will said. "I barely knew her. That's all."
Chilton studied him with canny eyes. "Nurse?" he said after a stretch of observational silence. "Please increase Mr. Graham's dosage."
"What? Why?" Will demanded, straining unconsciously against the straps that held his wrists and ankles to the chair.
"I believe you're being less than forthcoming." Chilton crossed his legs again and switched the notepad to the opposite knee. "Not exactly what we agreed upon, is it?"
"No, no, no," Will said rapidly as the nurse tipped up the small bottle of sodium amytal and filled the syringe again. He turned back to Chilton, rage blazing through his veins. "Mom left when I was five and dad fixed boat motors – we moved around a lot and I had a dog named Bandit, what the fuck else do you need to know?"
"Please, Will, there's no need for abusive language." Chilton nodded to the nurse, and she stabbed the needle into the IV port and pressed in the plunger.
"Shit," Will murmured as the world slid off a plate and splattered at his feet. The nurse lifted his head as it drooped, and shone a light in his eyes, one and then the other. She nodded to Chilton and withdrew.
"What else do you remember about your sessions with Hannibal?" Chilton clicked the pen's tip in and out twice. It sounded like the cocking of a gun, an audible threat.
"The lights. In-injections." Will shook his head and swallowed down his nausea. He could feel the ghost of Hannibal's touch on his wrist as he put the needle oh so gently into the crook of Will's elbow. Then Hannibal's lips over the injection site, kissing the sting away. Those same lips on his in the shower, the water cascading around them, wrapping their damp bodies in steam. The wall behind Chilton became that steam, a New England fog obscuring its entire surface. Little by little, shapes emerged, grayscale. He saw himself in Hannibal's arms, hair slicked back with water. Will watched himself slide out of Hannibal's grip and get on his knees, lips poised and rosy with desire.
The mist came again, obscuring the scene. A silhouette stalked from one side of the room to the other, threading its shadow through the fog. The edges sharpened, and the outline of the stag emerged. Will squeezed his eyes shut and let his head droop down, chin against his chest. He slumped in the chair, the cuffs the only thing keeping him upright.
"You've given him too much!" Chilton snapped at the nurse. "Will. Will, wake up."
Will didn't move. The dark tableau behind his eyes continued, showing him a kaleidoscope of his affair with Hannibal in dreamy succession. Hannibal tying him to the bed, Hannibal tearing his clothes off in passionate fury, his hand on Hannibal's outline as he drove the Bentley. Cruelest of all came a long stretch of images where he re-lived every moment of Hannibal taking his virginity.
"Oh, well done," Chilton said somewhere in the distant darkness, his words barbed with sarcasm. "I suppose, by necessity, I must end the session. What's your name? Nurse Thompson, I will see you in my office for a formal reprimand tomorrow morning at nine sharp!"
Will could hear the clatter of a gurney being wheeled into the room. Rough hands unstrapped him from the chair and hauled him up, then tossed him onto the waiting bed. He resisted out of instinct, trying to tear his arms from the hands that held him, kicking out and arching his back, but his body was uncoordinated, his brain thick and syrupy. Handcuffs closed around his wrists, cuffing him to the safety rails of the gurney. He struggled fruitlessly for a few moments before giving in and laying back. Were his eyes closed? He couldn't tell. His vision was clouded with pulsing red-black and his chest felt crushed, pressed under heavy stones as some kind of draconian, puritanical torture.
Sensation of movement. Buzz as cell block doors were opened. Clatter of orderlies' keys. Murmur of the old-timer's voice. "What'd you filthy demons do to 'im, huh? Come in here and try that on me and I'll send you back to hell!"
The orderlies now, as though underwater. "Just leave him. He's passed out. It'll be easier to move him if he's awake."
"Works for me."
The clang of his cell door closing, and then subterranean quiet and definite darkness.
***
Will woke up in his bed. The cell loomed around him, strangely large and shadowy, as if it had something to hide. He sat up one vertebrae at a time, and lowered his feet to the floor.
"Here we are again, despite my best efforts."
It was Hannibal's voice. Will turned to the door of the cell. The dingy cinder block hallway had been replaced with Hannibal's bedroom, as if the cell had been transported there. Will stood slowly and stalked forward, wrapping his hands around the bars.
Hannibal was there, all right. In his bedroom with Will. Will stared at his other self that stood at the edge of the bed and looked at Hannibal, who came forward from the doorway, loosening his tie. Behind him, the decorative set of armor in the hallway gleamed in the soft lighting.
"If that's your best effort..." the other Will shrugged with a flirtatious smile. He took the tie from Hannibal's hands and slipped it over his head before tossing it to the side carelessly, as if tempting Hannibal to protest but knowing he wouldn't. "I don't think you were trying very hard."
I take off his jacket next, the Will behind the bars thought, and he was right. The other Will slid Hannibal out of his suit jacket and tossed that, too, daring Hannibal to say or do something about it. Hannibal responded by taking Will roughly by the hips and turning him around, twisting one arm behind. The other hand crept around his middle and splayed out against Will's stomach, then slid up along his sternum, pressing him backwards into the hold. Hannibal's lips climbed along the side of his neck.
"This isn't a dream," the Will behind the bars said aloud, heart lodged in his throat. "This is a memory."
Will remembered this day. It was during the totem case. Hannibal had come to his house to check in after Will lost time at the crime scene. He'd ended up driving three hours in a fugue state, arriving at Hannibal's doorstep a few days before. It was the next morning after he and Alana had talked in his classroom about the kiss. Another day he'd lost time.
But this act, these moments – he'd forgotten? No, he had a photographic memory. This happened during the blackout. He'd lost the entire day between when Hannibal talked him into a trip to Baltimore, and when he'd woken up in the middle of something quite intimate many hours later.
Will closed his eyes, sensed his heart quicken against Hannibal's palm. He melded himself to the other version of him, joining their consciousness. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer behind the bars, but inhabiting the body of the Will from the memory. He felt the ivory points of Hannibal's teeth press into his flesh and braced for them to penetrate the skin and sink beneath the surface. Instead, Hannibal laughed gently and nuzzled the place he'd almost bitten. "Your heart's pounding already."
Will smirked and spun out of his hold — knowing that Hannibal had allowed it, of course — and caught Hannibal's wrists in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. "Don't even try to tell me yours isn't."
Hannibal leaned in and put his lips tenderly against Will's mouth. "Of course it is — but the chase excites me far more than the conclusion. A cat can play with a mouse for hours before eating it."
"Is that so?" Will asked playfully, letting one of Hannibal's arms free just so he could pull a handful of gray-brown hair, tilting his chin up and exposing his throat for kissing.
Hannibal let out a barely audible but clearly helpless little moan in response to Will's lips and tongue moving along the smooth flesh that connected his shoulder to his neck. It was his turn for a teasing almost-bite.
Suddenly, Will broke off and turned with a flippant smile towards the bed, abandoning Hannibal completely. "Come on, if you're coming," he said over his shoulder.
"I think you'll be the one coming." Hannibal caught up with him, and thrust him against the wall next to the bed, nearly upsetting the nightstand. Hannibal trapped him there with his hips, crushing their mouths together. Will shifted his weight in a quick reversal and caught Hannibal flat-footed; it was enough to toss him against the bed. Will barely had a chance to gloat before Hannibal pulled him onto the bed and straddled him, pinning both wrists to the mattress. He pressed his lips feverishly against Will's throat, moving them up to his mouth.
Will came up for air. "Let's play a game," he proposed between his labored breaths.
"I think we're already playing." Hannibal slipped his hand down Will's gray jeans after pushing his loose shirt out of the way of the waistband.
Will arched his back and inhaled sharply, but caught Hannibal's wrist before he could go further. "You said you wanted to be a cat."
"What game do you propose?"
Will squirmed under him. "The one we played the first day we met."
"A game of inference," Hannibal recalled, unbuttoning the front of Will's shirt further to expose more of his collarbone.
"We try to guess things about each other." Will caught Hannibal's hands in his own. "You make an observation. If you get it right, you get to take something off of me. Then it's my turn."
Hannibal smiled openly and let Will anchor his hip and flip him over. Will settled on Hannibal's chest, blanketing him with the length of his body, playing with the buttons on the vest he was wearing over a white oxford. He folded his hands on Hannibal's sternum and rested his chin on them. Hannibal put his hands through the dark strands of his hair. "Let's play, then," he conceded.
"I'll go first." Will licked his lower lip. "You plan out your day down to the minute. You even, ah, plan for flexible time. In case something comes up."
Hannibal ran his fingers down Will's cheek, emitting a gentle sound as the pads dragged over his stubble. "Correct."
"I knew it." Will sat up and took off Hannibal's shoes, tossing them heedlessly away.
Hannibal drew him closer again and Will perched on his hips, Hannibal's hands caressing his thighs through the denim. "You," he said, "have spent the cost of your house on medical care for your dogs."
Will laughed disbelievingly. "Uhm... well, it gets expensive. Max had cancer. Buster broke his leg and got an infection. Zoe's, uh, diabetic, so..." He chuckled. "Correct."
Hannibal turned him over and removed his shoes and socks both. "Cheater," Will chastised him. Hannibal pulled his own socks off, which didn't directly match his tie but echoed the same color palate.
"Better?"
"Even Steven. Your turn." His word was twisted in his mouth as Hannibal fondled him through his clothing, none too gently. "Stop cheating," he panted, trying to catch Hannibal's wrist again. Hannibal picked up one of Will' s feet and started rubbing it. Will tried to ignore the treatment. "You don't own a single tee-shirt. And I'm willing to bet you've never worn one by choice."
Hannibal dropped his foot back to the bed. "Right again."
"Come here."
Hannibal complied, climbing over Will so he could unbutton the starched shirt and slide it free. Hannibal undid his own cuffs, taking a cue from Will and dropping the shirt to the floor with no ceremony. Will slid his fingers through Hannibal's chest hair, thumbing his nipple appreciatively.
"Now who's cheating?" Hannibal pressed in for a kiss, trying to get at the buttons of Will's shirt again.
Will pushed his hand away. "Can't change the rules in the middle."
Hannibal dropped his head for a moment with a sigh that mixed bemusement with frustration. "All right. You lost your virginity to that college girlfriend whose feet you massaged. You were perhaps 20, or 21."
Will's brows shot up, and he felt a blush creep along his jawline, then rise to his cheekbones. "Late bloomer," he said softly.
"Making up for lost time." Hannibal unbuttoned Will's plaid shirt and Will sat up to let him strip it away. Hannibal trailed his tongue, hot and wet, from Will's nipple up over his collarbone, then to the tip of his chin. "Hurry, Will, I can't wait much longer."
"You think about home."
Hannibal froze suddenly. Will shrank back at the look on his face, which seemed both angry and vulnerable. It passed after a moment, emboldening Will to speak again. "You never talk about it, but you think about it."
Hannibal climbed off of him and lay on his back. Will sat up and kissed him. "I'm sorry, was that –"
"You're right," Hannibal admitted. "I should never forget how perceptive you are."
"I shouldn't have, ah..."
Hannibal ran a hand through Will's hair and cupped his cheek. "Home isn't just a place. It's the people there, the time of life. My home doesn't exist anymore. It won't exist again until I build another one."
Will didn't realize the words were on his tongue until they spilled out in an insistent rush. "Build it with me."
Hannibal looked up at him, brow furrowed in surprise, dark eyes shimmering in the soft lighting.
"I never had one – ah, a home, I mean. Not really. Wasn't just that we moved constantly, it was – like you said." Will took a breath and moistened his lower lip before pressing them together. "I think we could," he said, then went quiet, painfully aware of what his confession meant. His head was pounding, his pulse a constant tide of pain behind his eyes.
"Say what you mean, Will."
"I can't. I shouldn't."
Hannibal sat up and eased Will beneath him, planting a kiss against his mouth. "Will," he said. "Speak."
"I have feelings for you," Will blurted out, overcome by the terror of the truth, his voice barely above a whisper but then steadily getting louder as he rambled. "I-I know we're just friends and I know we keep getting into these situations, and I know that I-I'm part of the problem because I'm clutching for balance–" now that he'd begun, he couldn't stop. "And there's no definition for what this is, and with Jack and the murders and, shit, you're my therapist for all intents and purposes and it's stupid – I should be able to – not have this happen. But it happened. It's been happening and– I can't make it stop." He let out an agonized sigh. "It's too late. I can't take it back, I can't pretend it doesn't exist."
Will shut his mouth with a wince, simultaneously horrified at what he'd just confessed and euphoric at the prospect of giving voice to everything he'd been feeling since Hannibal came into his life. Just like pulling the trigger and ending Garret Jacob Hobbs, there was no way to take it back, no way to unsee.
Hannibal didn't respond vocally, but his body did. He shifted his posture with purpose so Will could feel the pressure against his thigh. He brushed Will's hair back from his forehead before indulging in a long kiss that varied in invasiveness and force, lasting for many savoring moments. When it broke, Hannibal undressed Will the rest of the way, then himself, bringing the surfaces of their skin together again.
"I guess the game's over." Will tried on a mischievous smile, but it didn't fit.
"It is. But I want you to know that I have a desire to give your offer serious consideration." He reached down and gathered Will to himself in one hand and gave only one tantalizing thrust, leaving Will at his mercy for a moment. "So many sweet things you've said." Hannibal was looking down at him, breath tickling his lips, their mouths inches apart.
Within that moment, Will left his memory body and found himself once again standing behind the bars of his cell, watching at a distance at the two figures on the bed.
Hannibal's fingers drifted over the other Will's brow, smoothing back his hair. "Say it again. Tell me again, Will."
The other Will stared up at him, eyes wide, and whispered, "What did I say?"
***
"Will."
Will slowly rose to the surface, his vision transitioning from cinematic black to a drab, institutional gray ceiling, bathed with a sickly light. He felt drunk, fuzzy-headed, limbs like sand, soaked in sweat. He was on a gurney, handcuffed to the safety rails. Swiveling his heavy head, he saw Hannibal Lecter standing at his bedside, wearing dark pants and a shirt that was abnormally casual for him, but still had a collar. Over it was a white attendant's coat.
"Hannibal?" he asked hesitantly, scanning his surroundings. Icy fingers gripped his heart. It was the storeroom again. He was alone with the man that had drugged him and purposely induced seizures, egging on the blackouts and the lost time and the hallucinations. Wind me up and watch me go, he thought bitterly. And yet, here, looking inexplicably perfect in the poor lighting and foreign clothes, was the man he'd wanted to build a home with.
That person wasn't real. The furious, hissing voice came from the lockbox inside his head where he'd mentally forced all of his antipathy and pain, a survival technique for navigating his continued contact with Hannibal, a necessity for keeping him close in order to bring him down, someway, somehow. That was yet another mask. There were layers of them, and you never made it to the skin and bone.
No, his heart argued. There were times where I did.
"Will, what happened?" Hannibal put a concerned hand on his where it gripped the safety rail of the gurney with white knuckles.
"Is this r-real?" Will tried to sit up, but everything felt so heavy, like he was laying under a lead blanket.
Hannibal paused, running his thumb along the back of Will's hand. "Do you want it to be?"
"I don't know," he heard his mouth say, and cold dread seeped into his heart and lungs, weighing down his voice. It was the truth, because it had to be the truth. He couldn't stop it.
Hannibal examined the mark on Will's hand where the IV had been inserted. "My contacts tell me Dr. Chilton met with you tonight. What did he give you, Will?"
Don't tell him! "Sodium amytal." The words left his lips before he could stop them, heart thrumming in his ears.
Hannibal let go of Will's hand and reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing a penlight. He shone it into Will's eyes, first one, then the other. "It seems to still be in effect," he noted casually, replacing the light.
Panic sweat broke out over Will's already damp brow. Have to fight it, he told himself.
"What kinds of things did Dr. Chilton ask you?" Hannibal inquired, taking Will's hand again. His touch was in no way comforting.
"H-he wanted to know – about you," Will managed, halting himself as much as he could.
"What did he want to know about me?"
"How you t-treated me, m-my therapy, my, uh, my family..."
"And what did you tell him?" Hannibal's eyes had gone dead, glassy and impersonal, like the eyes of the antelope above his fireplace. He lifted a finger to brush one lock of sweaty hair out of Will's eye.
"I told him I remember." Will jerked his free hand against the restraints, wishing he could physically clamp it over his mouth. The room was spinning and he felt nausea clawing behind his jaw.
"What do you remember, Will?"
Fight it, or die. Those are your choices.
Will lost the battle for his tongue against the sodium amytal. "You drugged me and used the lights to give me seizures," he gasped out before panting in several panicked breaths.
He's going to kill you. Hannibal had gone preternaturally still, his face no more emotive than the bust of a long-dead conqueror gathering dust in a museum. What Will said next would determine his fate.
"But Chilton – h-he made Abel Gideon believe he was the Chesapeake R-ripper." Will turned his hand in Hannibal's to grip it more tightly.
"Do you think he's implanting memories in you?" Hannibal tilted his head to one side, gone from terrifyingly emotionless to intrigued.
"He knows how to do it." That wasn't a lie, so it was easy enough to say, even with the drugs saturating his blood.
Hannibal seemed to consider. "Frederick should know living in a glass house is reason enough not to throw stones," he said.
Will gave him a pained smile. "This is, ah, Chilton we're talking about."
"Indeed." Hannibal seemed to consider. "Did you consent to this?"
"He put some papers in front of me, and-and I signed them." Also not a lie, just a sin of omission. Will forced himself to relax and breathe. This could work, if he was very, very lucky. "His nurse gave me too much and I-I must have passed out for awhile until your friends brought me h-here."
"Will." Hannibal's voice was softer now. "Don't sign anything else Chilton puts in front of you, do you understand?"
Will nodded, letting his eyes drift shut for a few moments. Hannibal pressed a cool hand against his forehead, then smoothed back his damp hair. "Can you sit up?"
Will took Hannibal's offered hand. Hannibal slid his arm around Will's back and helped him rise. "If I release you, will we be safe?"
"Yes," Will promised. He was far too sluggish and lightheaded to be a match for Hannibal, but being free would up his chances if need be. Hannibal produced a key ring from the stolen coat and unlocked the cuffs. Will swung his legs over the side and stepped down on the floor only to cling to the side of the gurney, trying to get his sea legs as the world pitched and sank beneath him.
"I imagine you fought the drug's effects." Hannibal stood at Will's side, but broke the touch connection. "And Frederick overcompensated."
"Yeah, I fought." Will kept his grip on the cool metal of the safety bar, squeezing it tightly. "I-I don't think he suspects... this... but I-I kept... I didn't say a word."
"I applaud your efforts."
Will took a shaky breath and put his other hand on the railing as well, bending his body and lowering his head. He was starting to feel a little more grounded. Standing and moving around was certainly helping.
As if he was a tide pulled by the moon, Hannibal inched closer. Closer, so that when Will did lift his head and straighten his shoulders, Hannibal was right behind him. He could feel the heat of Hannibal's living body hovering around him like a halo, an aura. Hannibal slowly put his hands on Will, reaching around to splay his fingers out on his chest over his heart, the other curling so gently around his throat. Hannibal applied just the lightest pressure, and Will was pliable under his touch after a breath or two, allowing Hannibal to press their bodies together, letting the side of his face come to rest against Will's ear and hair. They lingered in this embrace, Hannibal's fingers moving up Will's throat to lift his chin and expose his neck, breathing deeply of his scent. Will closed his eyes to relish the sensations, to make them last, to lose himself in them. If he had his way, if Chilton came through for him, this could very well be the last time. Once he cut Hannibal off as his therapist, there'd be no reason for him to be on the grounds. Perhaps he wouldn't risk coming anymore.
The thought was simultaneously a comfort and a source of inexplicable anguish.
No. He was a fool. Pumped full of truth serum and he was still capable of lying to himself. Hannibal would find a way. Of this, Will was certain. Just as certain was the knowledge that Hannibal would kill again. Who was next, he wondered, that Hannibal could silence forever the way he'd silenced Abigail?
He loved a murderer. Had wanted to build a home with a monster. Still wanted to, deep down, despite everything.
It had to stop. It all had to stop.
But not right now.
Hannibal let go and stepped back. "I shouldn't have done that."
"Why not?" Will turned to face him, ravaged by the current of sorrow that flowed through him with such force that he was sure it was evident on his face.
"You're still under the effects of Chilton's clumsy therapy."
"Yeah, well..." Will reached out to touch Hannibal's arm just above the elbow. "I can't lie. So ask me."
"Will, the first thing you asked me was if what you were seeing was real. You're not in the right place."
"Really?" He took a furious breath and dragged the heel of his hand across his cheek. "Why else did you come here? We know how this ends, it's how it ends every time, so w-why... pretend otherwise?"
Hannibal's hand closed around his throat as a warning, cutting off his words. "Quiet," Hannibal ordered with calm, deadly poise, such a contrast to the roiling sea inside of Will. "This room isn't soundproof." Will dropped his hands to his sides and Hannibal slowly relaxed his hold, until his fingers only held the pulsing flesh with the lightest pressure, perhaps, Will thought, unable to stop himself from savoring the warmth, the feel of Will's pulse under his skin.
Will's face was immobile, as was his body, but a tear, then another, flowed from his left eye. They curved around his jaw, wetting the back of Hannibal's hand. When he spoke, his voice was soft but sure. "I just want to feel something else. Something besides numb, or terrified, or guilty, or hopeless." He took a shaky breath. "Please, ask me."
Hannibal's hand left Will's throat and settled on his damp, flushed cheek, thumb brushing away the next tear that fell. "Chilton fumbling around in your head could only have made things worse for you, Will. Your pain is palpable."
"Then make it stop," Will whispered, leaning into his hand, pressing it to his face with one of his own. "Or make it hurt somewhere else."
Every nerve in Will's body was taut, fiery, as he reached for Hannibal, sliding his touch along the place where his shirt met his waistband, one warm finger snaking beneath the fabric to touch his skin. "Ask me," he requested, so softly he could barely hear his own voice.
"Will."
Will tried to move closer, but Hannibal's hand went back to his neck, holding him at a distance. "Please," he whispered one last time. "I can only tell you the truth right now."
At last, Hannibal relented. "Do you want me?"
"Yes."
Slowly, Hannibal let his fingers leave Will's neck and wind behind his head, twisting into his hair, the other stealing out to take Will around the small of his back. And then they came together, and Will's mouth demanded his as he threw his arms around Hannibal's neck in a feverish embrace. Will drowned in his scent, his incredible warmth, the taste of his lips. Hannibal broke their kiss and ran his mouth down along Will's throat as he exhaled in sudden ecstasy, fumbling clumsily with the buttons of Hannibal's shirt. Hannibal took his hands away, swept him up in a sudden lift and deposited him on the mattresses on the floor of the store room. Will reached for him, but Hannibal stood and moved out of his reach.
"You're sure?" Hannibal paused. "This is what you desire?"
"You are what I fucking desire, now get over here," Will demanded, kicking off his prison-issue shoes and wiggling free of jumpsuit and shirt, leaving him in his shorts. He got on his knees on the makeshift and held out a hand. "Ask me again and you'll know it's the truth."
"That's not necessary." Hannibal's voice was neutral, with maybe the tiniest glimmer of good humor. He approached with deliberate slowness, a satisfied half-smile playing over his mouth at Will's insistence. Hannibal knelt and put his hands on either side of Will's face and lifted his lips to meet his softly, then with more intensity. Will embraced him tightly and Hannibal murmured in assent as Will abandoned his mouth to kiss his immobile throat, its pulse strangely calm, even. Hannibal ran his hands over the litany of scars on Will's shoulders and chest, thumbing the bullet wound that Jack had given him, then traced his fingers along the cuts of his muscle, to the satin skin of his inner elbow, and then his wrist, lifting it to his lips as Will tongued his collarbone and slipped some of his buttons free one-handed.
Hannibal opened his mouth and ran his lips along the inside of Will's wrist, tantalizing, teasing. Will sighed into his neck, clutching desperately against Hannibal's shoulder, opening his pants with one hand and fondling him with firm purpose. Hannibal kissed the raw spots where the cuffs had chafed as Will lifted his head away from his shoulder and looked him in the face. Hannibal's fingers explored the line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, then slid up his neck again over the handprint of warmth he'd left behind on Will's skin. Will's breath alternated between deep and shallow and his heart raced beneath Hannibal's fingertips.
"Don't stop." Will put his arms around Hannibal's neck again and pressed himself against Hannibal's immobile frame, a hand on the back of his head, slipping his fingers through Hannibal's hair. Will felt Hannibal's body respond, soften, his defenses and his objections melting away.
Hannibal lifted Will's chin with the corner of one finger and kissed him with deliberate gentleness, then warmth, then passion. Breaking free at last, they shared breath, foreheads together, before Hannibal reached up and brushed Will's hair from his brow with one hand and slid his other down between his legs. Will made a soft, appreciative sound, closing his eyes, pulling the rest of Hannibal's buttons free, a couple of them tearing from their threads and flying away to parts unknown.
"Look at me," Hannibal said. It was a request, not an order, but Will did so as Hannibal brushed his hair back again. "Your beauty... is arresting. I find that it constantly distracts me. I am not used to such a lack of focus."
Will half smiled, traced his fingers through a silver streak in Hannibal's hair. "You're in my head. You're everywhere." His hand wandered back to the space between Hannibal's shoulder blades, and he pulled Hannibal close again. And despite it all, I will miss you when you're gone.
Hannibal eased him back onto the bed and freed him of his last article of clothing before shrugging off the jacket and ruined shirt. He put his mouth on Will's neck again, then on his lips, caressing him in a way that brought the desired response. After this short preview, he pushed his trousers down further to free himself and gathered them both in his hand, trapped between their bodies as they lay together. Will's fingers dug into Hannibal's back as Hannibal used his free hand to cup the back of Will's neck, just at his hairline, a possessive grip.
He eased up after a few moments and snagged the hair on the lower base of Will's head, pulling it gently, then with more force to lift Will's head from his shoulder. Looking him directly in the eyes, Hannibal's body seized with his finish, the sudden warmth added to his hand on Will making his climax follow only a few moments after. His body went limp, and he crumpled, trusting Hannibal to catch him, which he did, easing them both the last few inches down onto the old mattresses.
"I wanted to bring you a measure of comfort. Relief. What you asked for. Something besides pain."
"You did. You are." Will slid into his arms again, resting his head on the place just below Hannibal's collarbone. Hannibal apparently couldn't stop himself from inhaling the scent of his hair, and smoothing it with his fingertips, emitting a contented sigh that struck Will in the heart.
After a long silence, Will asked, "Why did you come here tonight? Because you heard Chilton was going to test me?"
Hannibal didn't answer immediately.
Will shifted against him. "Maybe that was it. And the rest was unplanned. But you wanted to know what I'd told him."
"Don't presume," Hannibal warned, though his voice was tender.
"Then enlighten me."
"You bring me immense pleasure, Will. You always have," Hannibal said after a time. "That pleasure came from physical sources. But I find that bringing you solace gives me a sense of satisfaction. And purpose." He ran his fingers through Will's hair again. "You awaken me, Will."
Will sat up and looked at him. "What does that mean?" he inquired cautiously.
Hannibal leaned up and kissed his mouth, then his forehead with blessed reverence. "I don't know," he answered.
....and CUT!
Now, start the episode again. It's the next morning. Hannibal comes to see Will for their appointment, but Chilton intercepts him. He tells Hannibal that Will remembers all of the shady therapy techniques that Hannibal used, and that Will is now under his exclusive care. Go home, Hannibal, there's no meeting for you! Later in the episode, more of Will's memories emerge, and he realizes that Abel Gideon was with him at Hannibal's house the night Will mistook him for Garret Jacob Hobbs. Abel could snitch on Hannibal if Will plays his cards right. Chilton is convinced to transfer Abel back home to roost...
...stay tuned!