Somnus

by radioheadlover368

Summary:

Plagued by relentless nightmares, Will Graham is seeking out help from his rather unique psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter. Hannibal gives Will an herbal tea meant to aid the nightmares away. But the nightmares don't leave, they transform into something new. Something erotic. All of them involving the man meant to keep Will "in his saddle".

Notes:

This is my first work on ao3 (or just writing fanfic in general) but I absolutely love hannigram and really liked this premise. Anyways let's hope the ao3 curse doesn't find me.

Chapter 1

For the third time this week, Will woke up panicked and soaked in sweat. His chest heaved like he’d run for miles, but he was tangled in damp sheets, his legs aching from tension and nothing more. It was only Tuesday.

He has had a nightmare every single night. Sometimes, he was lucky and didn't remember the details. Other
times, they clung to him like oil, coating every thought, every feeling, in dread. He didn’t just see the violence. He felt it. The tearing of skin. The resistance of bone. The helplessness in someone’s eyes before it went glassy and still.

It wasn't just the nightmares that ate away at him, it was the toll they took on his body. Every morning he woke up even more exhausted than the night before. His body felt like he was being dragged through the woods all night. But now he was awake, and he was going to have to make it through the day on pure willpower and bitter coffee.

He hated waking up like this. Grumpy, hollow, and strung out. But work only made it worse. Jack kept pushing, nudging him closer to the brink under the guise of duty. His way of “caring” was slapping Will with a psychiatrist and calling it good. Said he wanted to keep Will “in the saddle,” close to the cases but not close enough to be consumed by them. But Jack didn’t hold the reins gently. He shoved Will into the fire and told him Dr. Lecter would keep his mind where it belonged. How was Will supposed to keep his mind anywhere at all when Jack and Hannibal seemed to be playing tug-of-war with it?

Will rolled over on to his back, his bangs sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He took a deep breath in, trying to recall the dream he had just woken up from. He knew Hannibal would want to hear about it, he knew of Hannibal's fascination with him. During their sessions, Hannibal always had a look of interest when Will spoke, but he couldn't tell if it was just curiosity or something more. Something much darker.

Will was immediately pulled away from his thoughts when he heard his phone ringing on the small table by his bed. He knew it was Jack before he looked, and he knew Jack was only going to make his day worse.

 

***

 

The crime scene smelled like damp leaves and rot. The sun had barely risen, casting long, gray-blue shadows across the clearing. Will arrived looking half dead, wearing yesterday’s pants and a clean enough shirt. There hadn’t been time to shower, to feed the dogs, to even blink before Jack was barking at him on the phone. He barely had time to let the pack out before they were pawing at the door again.

He crossed the caution tape, boots sinking slightly into wet earth. He hadn’t slept. His body moved on autopilot now, mimicking stability, but cracking beneath. The forensic team was already there. So was Dr. Lecter. He stood just behind the perimeter, elegant as always, his overcoat unblemished despite the muddy terrain. He looked like he belonged in a museum, not at a murder site.

"Will!"

Will let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose just below his glasses. Of course it was Jack, already yelling at him when he had just gotten there.

Jack continued to walk towards Will, eventually standing directly to the left of him, "Will, you're here. We need you in there now."

Will could already see from where he was standing, but he continued to make his way closer.

“This isn’t the Chesapeake Ripper,” he said flatly, hands shoved into his pockets. “Whoever did this wants us to think it’s him, but it’s sloppy. There’s no symmetry. No care. This is a sloppy imitation."

Jack crossed his arms. “You sure?”

Will glanced at him sideways. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He crouched beside the corpse, noting the jagged incisions, the haphazard posing. There was no art here. No message, just ego.

“He’s trying to get the Ripper’s attention,” Will muttered. “Or maybe ours. Either way, it’s desperate and pathetic."

Will wasn't impressed at all, all he wanted to do was just go home and sleep. Actually sleep.

Jack continued talking, but Will tuned him out, he didn't have anything else to say.

Will continued staring blankly at the scene around him. The air was cold and damp, the early morning left dew scattered on the grass. He took a deep breath in, feeling the air in his lungs. He didn't know how much longer he could keep up like this

Hannibal took a step towards Will, greeting him with a precise gentleness. "Good morning, Will."

"Morning, Dr. Lecter," Will mumbled. This clearly wasn't a good morning. A good morning would consist of him waking up from an actual night of rest, taking his pack outside, then making himself an actual good cup of coffee, unlike the instant bullshit he didn't even have time for anymore. What's so instant about that? Hannibal has always made nice coffee, every time Will drank coffee from him it was smooth and bold, absolutely delicious, just like-

"You look pale this morning, did you eat?" Hannibal asked, pulling Will from his wandering mind.

"I didn't have time," Will replied flatly, still gazing at the nature around them rather than looking at Hannibal.

"Food isn't just something we need for survival Will, we use food to nourish the soul, right now you look like you could use that nourishment. Allow me to get you breakfast, my treat," Hannibal offered.

Will toyed with the idea in his head, a nice breakfast would definitely help his unfortunate morning continue in a better light. But at the same time, Will felt uncomfortable with all of Hannibal's too kind offers. He figured he could repay him somehow.

"Y'know I could honestly really use a bagel right now, and a coffee. I didn't even have time to make instant coffee, it's obviously not instant enough," Will said, letting out a dry laugh.

"I'm sure many places nearby offer bagels and coffee, I'd suggest you look one up, whichever sounds most appetizing we will stop at."

Will cocked an eyebrow at Hannibal, "You're letting me choose somewhere to eat?"

"Of course," Hannibal replied. "It would be unfair to impose my preferences when I am not the one in need."

Will glanced at him, a small twitch at the corners of his lips. Imitating a smile with his emotions dry and unreadable. "Alright, I know a place nearby with really good asiago bagels. The coffee is good too, maybe not to your preferences but I like it."

Hannibal let the corners of his lips twitch, not quite a smile but something polite. "Come, You’re done here. Let me get you something warm.” The warmth in his words didn’t match the look in his eyes. There was something hungrier there, something indulgent.

Will swallowed hard, unsure if it was the idea of food or the way Hannibal said come that left him reeling. Still, his legs moved. They walked to the car together, the air between them charged. Silent. Will didn’t know if he was hungry for food or something else entirely. But he followed Hannibal to his Bentley anyway.

 

***

 

The car ride was mostly quiet, the only noise between their quiet breathing was the low hum of the engine. Will sat in the passengers seat with his shoulder resting on the window as he peered out.

"Was the body a disturbance, Will?"

"No more than usual," Will joked dryly, continuing to watch the scenery out the window.

"Then something else seems to be bothering you, what would that be?"

Will gave a humorless laugh and glanced at Hannibal, "What you want a list?"

"If giving me a list will accurately help me make you feel better, then yes I'd appreciate it," Hannibal said, his expression was still unreadable.

Will stared at the side of his face for a moment, considering how composed Hannibal always seemed. Every hair in place. Every button fastened. Will felt like a pile of laundry next to him. Wrinkled, sagging, and half forgotten.

“It’s the dreams,” he said finally.

Hannibal's gaze shifted towards Will for a brief second, eyeing him without exposing any of his emotions. Hannibal's gaze made Will feel seen, yet studied in a clinical way.

"You're still suffering from these nightmares?"

"It isn't just nightmares they're more," Will paused. "They're more vivid and specific. There's more sensory than there used to be. I forget them when I wake up a lot, but I hate how restless every night is. I just want to go to sleep and wake up feeling truly rested for once."

Hannibal paused to think, "I have an herbal tea I can give to you, it produces a natural melatonin. Allowing you to go to sleep and stay asleep, and it should knock you out well enough to not remember a nightmare if you end up having one."

Will was quiet for a moment, considering if he'd take the offer. "That sounds like it'd be nice. I just don't want to wake up feeling like i didn't sleep at all. Where do you keep it at?"

"I believe I may have some in my office, but if not, I do have some at home. You have an appointment today at 7, I can gift it to you then." Hannibal has drank this tea many times and never had any issues, however, he did know that the herbs used to make it could potentially have some aphrodisiac qualities. However, he doubted it could cause any real issue. If Will drank too much, he could potentially have a sexual dream, but he most likely wouldn't remember any of the dream at all. He figures that waking up just a little bit horny with no apparent reason is not that bad compared to waking up with a panic attack.

***

The coffee shop parking lot was smaller than expected. The pavement was littered with cracks and potholes, very clearly not kept up to date. The building was small, tucked up next to a book store that clearly hasn't updated its display window in a long time.

Inside, the lighting was warm and dim. The atmosphere was cozy and comforting with a lingering smell of coffee beans and yeast.

Hannibal ordered for them both, getting two toasted asiago bagels with cream cheese. He ordered a hot black coffee for Will, and ordered himself an espresso. They waited patiently and silently for their meal.

"Order for Hannibal?" said a young woman standing behind the counter.

Hannibal gave her an insincere half smile and grabbed the platter she set on the counter.

"We should go sit by the window, over there." Will suggested. He enjoyed having an escape route. Somewhere he could avert his eyes to if he felt he needed.

They found a small table in the corner. Will sat on the side closest to the corner, letting the sunlight outside kiss his pale skin. Hannibal set down the food and then folded his coat neatly on the back of the chair.

They enjoyed their food in silence for a few moments, until Will looked at Hannibal, sipping his drink and exhaled out of his nose.

"It looks funny seeing you drink out of a mug that small," Will teased, taking a sip from his much larger mug.

"It's an espresso, Will. It's a more strong and concentrated coffee compared to what you have."

"Yes I know what espresso is, I'm just saying I find it funny that you have such a small mug. It looks like something you'd see at a little girls tea party," Will laughed, he seemed to be enjoying himself much more than he was earlier that morning, his grumpy attitude had partially subsided.

Hannibal’s lips curled into something that resembled a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You find the size amusing,” he said mildly, “yet I find it elegant. Refined. There’s something satisfying about a drink that knows its limits.”

Will huffed out a laugh, tearing off a piece of his bagel. “That sounds like something only someone with no limits would say.”

"Do you believe I have no limits, Will?"

Will paused mid-bite, chewing slower now. He glanced up at Hannibal, the weight of that question lingering between them like the steam rising from his coffee.

“I think you pretend to have limits,” Will said. “You act like everything is perfectly portioned. Like you’ve got everything under control. But underneath, I think you could drink the whole pot and still want more.”

Hannibal didn't answer right away, he studied Wills face.

"You speak like someone who recognizes that hunger."

Will’s expression faltered for just a second. His hand tightened around his mug. “Maybe I do.”

The air around them grew thicker after that. The sound of the espresso machine behind the counter, the clinking of mugs, the distant chatter of other people's conversations, it all faded to a dull hum.

Hannibal took a slow sip of his espresso, eyes never leaving Will’s. “Is that why you have nightmares, Will? Because you deny yourself the things you want most?”

Will’s smile twitched at the edges again, but this one was sharper. “No. I have nightmares because of what I’ve seen. What I’ve done. What I keep getting dragged back into.”

“You make it sound like you're only ever a passenger in your own mind.”

Will shrugged, letting his gaze drift out the window again, but his tone was colder now. “Feels like that sometimes.”

“I could teach you to take the wheel,” Hannibal offered quietly.

Will’s head turned slowly back toward him. “And what would that cost me?”

“Nothing,” Hannibal said smoothly. “Or perhaps everything. It depends on whether you want control, or just someone else to blame when you lose it.”

The conversation continued slowly as they finished their meals. They both knew they were parting ways soon anyways. Will needed to be dropped off to his car so he could drive to Quantico, and Hannibal needed to go to his office so he could prepare for his first patient.

 

***

 

Will hesitated outside of Hannibal's office door, gathering himself before slipping into the carefully controlled space. He knocked once, knowing he didn't have to. 

 

"Hello Will, Come in," Hannibal said while opening the door, inviting Will into the room.

 

"Hi Dr. Lecter,"

 

The office smelled faintly of cedarwood and something darker, muskier, like old books and aged wine. Will stepped inside, his posture tense, shoulders slightly hunched from a long day of keeping himself barely upright.

 

"I found the tea, it's a blend of chamomile, valerian root, passionflower, and a touch of damiana." Hannibal had a small tin in his hand, wrapped with a small black ribbon.

 

Will wasn't sure what any of those herbs were, he knew people drank chamomile tea to aid in sleep and figured the rest would help with that too. "Is it just a loose leaf tea? I don't think I own anything to steep it with."

 

"It is. Fortunately I make tea in my office fairly often. You can borrow my tea strainer." Hannibal already had his tea supplies in his hands, putting them into a small bag and setting it by Will.

 

"You don't need to give me anything of yours, I could've just gone out and bought something," Will protested.

 

"I want you to make the tea properly, Will. I don't want you to buy something that won't allow you to steep your tea with its full potential."

 

Will glanced at the bag, sitting by the small tin. He sighed and let out a dry laugh. "I mean I'm sure whatever you have is much better than what I'd buy anyways, I can't even make coffee correctly."

 

"I'd suggest you invest in a french press and higher quality whole coffee beans."

 

"I don't always have time for that. Jack expects me to drop anything and everything to be at his side. When I don't, he makes sure I feel shitty for it." Will was sat now, in the chair across from Hannibal.

 

Hannibal nodded slowly, "I see. Tell me about your nightmares, Will."

 

"I don't always remember them, I can recall the feeling of panic and the small details. But the bigger picture is always out of reach. Having these incomplete nightmares just leaves me exhausted." Will paused and chuckled slightly, "The real nightmare is waking up at the ass crack of dawn feeling like I've been hit by a bus, then getting screamed at by Jack and making shitty coffee."

 

Hannibal released a dry exhale from his nose, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. "So the nightmares aren't what's bothering you, it's the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is caused by the nightmares."

 

Will nodded slowly while his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Yes."

 

Hannibal made eye contact with Will, noting how Wills lips looked pink and pert. "I believe the tea will alleviate the struggles of your predicament. The herbs will help relax your body and mind, allowing a full night of sleep without a disturbance. You'll wake up feeling less exhausted."

 

Will picked up the tin, fingers tracing over the black ribbon. The soft brush of it against his skin made him realize how still the room had gone. Hannibal was watching him. Not just politely, but thoroughly, like one might observe a painting they've only just begun to understand.

 

“Thank you,” Will said finally, his voice quieter now. “For the tea. And the strainer.”

 

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, wearing an expression of pleasure, "It's my pleasure. I hope it brings you rest."

 

Will stood, holding the tin and the bag in his hand now. For a moment, he didn't move towards the door. "Do you think it'll work?" he asked, his tone hopeful yet skeptical.

 

“I think,” Hannibal said, voice low and deliberate, “that your mind is a wild, intricate thing. But even the most unruly creatures can be soothed… with the right care.”

 

Will’s throat bobbed with a swallow. He nodded, murmured something like “Goodnight,” though he didn’t quite meet Hannibal’s gaze as he turned toward the door.

 

***

 

The kitchen was dark, only lit by the stove light. Will had finally gotten home, and he was able to get everything he needed done now that he was alone. He took care of the dogs, and he took care of himself.

 

But now, He stood at the counter, staring at the tin of tea like it might whisper secrets if he waited long enough.

 

He opened it slowly. The scent was unexpected. Floral at first, soft and familiar like chamomile, but beneath it something deeper, more complex. Earthy. Sweet. A little wild.

 

Will inhaled again, slower this time, and felt a tingle behind his eyes. It smelled like Hannibal’s office. It smelled like trust, and danger, and something he didn’t have a name for.

 

He reached for the tea strainer Hannibal had loaned him. Of course it was sleek, elegant, and impossibly clean. Will wondered how many cups it had made. Who had drank them. If this was something Hannibal did often. Prescribing rituals like this to his patients, or if this was different. He suspected it was.

 

He spooned a small portion of the tea into the strainer, careful not to waste a single leaf. The kettle clicked behind him as it reached a boil, steam curling up like breath into the dim kitchen light.

 

He poured the water slowly, watching the color bloom through the strainer, clouding the bottom of the mug like spreading ink. The scent intensified. Calming, yes, but something else too. Something more physical. It settled into his skin, like a hand pressing gently on the back of his neck.

 

He turned off the stove light, and walked to his bedroom. The light creaking of the floorboards was enough to wake buster, who walked up to Will waiting to be pet. Will leaned down, setting the mug beside him and scratched busters ear. Buster walked back into the living room eventually, satisfied. Will continued towards his bedroom.

 

His bedroom was dark, the mug in his hand was warm as he brought it to his lips. The flavor was rich and strange, slightly sweet with a bitter edge. Not unpleasant. He drank again, slower this time.

 

Within minutes, the tension in his shoulders started to dissolve. His thoughts began to blur at the edges. Like someone had opened a window in his mind and let the breeze in.

And in the quiet, half-lidded lull before sleep, he let his mind wander. To dark eyes, to careful hands, to a voice that always spoke softly, even when what it said was sharp.

 

The mug slipped from his hands and rested safely on the bedside table, forgotten.

 

Will Graham finally fell asleep.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Sleep offers no escape from his nightmares for Will Graham. Only hunger, confusion, and something darker taking root. He's no longer sure where the dreams end and the wanting begins.

And by the time morning comes, he knows nothing will feel normal.

Notes:

Sorry about the formatting in the last chapter, I started spacing out each line more than I was trying to LMAO. Anyways enjoy this new chapter!

Will felt like his entire body was a lit fuse, slowly burning out, getting ready to explode into pure bliss and pleasure. Everything he felt was too much, and simultaneously not enough.

He looked down inbetween his legs, seeing Hannibal taking his cock into his mouth while quietly grunting. Everything about him looked so perfect, his broad shoulders under Wills muscular thighs, his expression of lust and satisfaction, his messy fluffed up hair, the way his tongue softly grazed Wills leaking tip.

Will started to notice the marks on his body, he saw small bruises and bite marks covering his inner thighs, and his chest was freckled with hickeys. Being marked up by Hannibal only made him feel more aroused and needy. Will bucked his hips up into Hannibal's face, groaning and begging for more. "Hannibal... Please you feel so... hngh.. so good. I n-need more."

Hannibal put his strong hands on Wills waist and slowly guided them down to Wills hips, continuing to suck him off the entire time.

Hannibal slowly took his mouth off of Wills cock to encourage him in finding his pleasure, "You're doing so good for me, being such a good boy. You look beautiful like this, Will. Taking the pleasure you need." Hannibal wrapped his hand around the base of Wills leaking erect cock and began slowly stroking him. "Be good for me and finish, I know you need it. You've been so good waiting for this."

Will couldn't handle himself anymore, everything felt so good, so real. He felt himself come, heard Hannibal's words of encouragement as he talked him through his orgasm.

Will looked down, noticing he was lying on his back with his thighs up on Hannibal's shoulders. His thighs and chest were covered in markings from Hannibal. Now, his chest and stomach was covered in his own come. He had one arm behind him, white-knuckling the headboard. His other hand was gripping onto the sheets. Everything felt so good, so perfect.

 

***

 

Will woke up, chest heaving with his body dripping in sweat. He woke up like this every morning, but this time it was different. He was gasping and trying to catch his breath, while his memories started returning to him.

"Fuck," Will whispered breathlessly. "What the fuck was that?"

Will pulled the sheets off himself and looked down, his boxers had a huge wet spot. He felt blood rush to his face with embarrassment. He was in his mid-thirties for fucks sake, why is he having a wet dream like a horny teenager? and about his psychiatrist of all people? He continued to stare, he noticed the markings weren't there anymore. He quickly ripped his shirt off, seeing no hickeys on his chest either.

"What the fuck." Will was still panting, out of breath and struggling to sit up right. For some strange reason, seeing no bruises and hickeys felt like a loss. What was wrong with him? Why did he miss them?

Before Will could think, he felt a throbbing sensation inbetween his legs. He was still so hard.

"No no no... What the fuck," Will brought his palm to his forehead and tried sitting up.

His movements made the fabric of his boxers rub against his overstimulated cock, and fuck it felt good. He heard himself suddenly let out a breathy groan at the contact.

He couldn't do this anymore, he needed to get up and do something to distract himself from this... predicament. He stood and began rummaging through his laundry basket in search for a clean pair of boxers and a new shirt. He found some and stumbled putting them on.

Will finally made his way to the kitchen, seeing the clock and noticing it was 5:42 am. At least he was up early enough to make it to work on time.

Will grabbed his kettle and began filling it with water, before setting it down on the stove, waking up a few of his dogs. He turned the stove on and made his way to the door to let them outside.

When he returned to his counter, he really couldn't ignore the bulge in between his legs. He leaned over, putting his elbows on the counter and resting his head in his palms. What the fuck was wrong with him? He really just came in his underwear at the thought of Hannibal? His name alone sent a wave of arousal through Wills body, causing him to shudder and quietly gasp.

He continued to try and ignore his erection (which was only going to make it worse). He grabbed his can of shitty instant coffee and added 3 tablespoons to a mug. He then poured the hot water over it and stirred to allow the particles to dissolve into the water. He really needed a coffee machine. Maybe he can add cold brew to his list of groceries? No, he prefers his coffee hot, with a warm nutty flavor. Cold brew doesn't really have that. But then again, his coffee he has now doesn't provide a nice flavor profile either. He'd rather have Hannibal make his morning cups of coffee.

Hannibal. Will felt his cock jump at the thought of his name. He really needed to take care of his erection.

Will let the pack inside and while they made their way back to the living room, Will took himself and his coffee to his bedroom. He set it down on the bedside table. He then looked down and he could see a wet spot on his boxers already forming, Hannibal's name alone made him leak with precome. His face began to feel hot with embarrassment and shame from his uncontrollable arousal.

He lied back down on his bed with his back pressed against his creaky headboard. He slowly pulled his cock out of his boxers, the friction felt agonizing. He wrapped his hand around his already wet dick and began to slowly stroke himself, just like he imagined Hannibal had done to him before he came. He felt ashamed thinking about Hannibal while masturbating and he tried to come up with something else to think of. Alana? Will had a crush on her in the past that only lead to a dead end. He tried to imagine the kiss they shared, but it only made him feel angry. Being horny and angry at 6am is not really what Will wants to be doing. He decided to try and imagine being intimate with her, but he couldn't. He hated the idea of that. He only wanted to think about Hannibal. His throbbing cock was becoming painful from his resistance, and he let go. He was desperate to get rid of his insatiable need.

Will imagined the dream, imagined the way Hannibal's mouth had felt on him. The markings, the praise, everything was so intimate. He needed it. Will closed his eyes and leaned his head back, stroking himself even faster. He began quietly whimpering and couldn't help himself when he started whimpering Hannibal's name. But then he finally felt it, that release he's been desperately waiting for.

As Will caught his breath, he looked down. This time he noticed the come on himself is real, and not just some wet dream. The shame immediately crawled back into him, wrapping itself around his gut and pooling low in his spine. He rolled onto his side, still covered in sweat and he buried his forehead in his palms. Why is he like this? What would Hannibal do if he found out what Will did? He didn't want to think about it anymore.

At least he finally woke up feeling like he got a little sleep for once.

Today he was going to try his hardest to ignore Hannibal, hopefully he would be busy with his clients and wouldn't be able to visit Quantico. But he knew he had another appointment tomorrow, Thursdays at 7pm he sat in Hannibal's office. But how was he supposed to sit there now? Will stood up and made his way to the bathroom. He would think about that later. Right now, he just really needed to clean himself up.

 

***

The fluorescent lights in the office buzzed faintly. Too bright, too alive. Luckily Will wasn't as tired as he had been recently. Will sat hunched at his desk. One hand was resting over a stack of crime scene photos with case files, the other was idly tapping a pen against his thigh. The movement was too fast, too jittery.

He didn't have time to shower away his shame that morning, he only had time to scrub the sweat off, before shoving himself into clothes that likely hadn't been in the washing machine for a few days. But the memory still clung to his skin like a phantom sense, the musky heat, the feeling of mouth. 

He shifted in his seat, rubbing his palm over his chest. He wanted to feel those marks again.

The dream. God, the dream.

Everytime he blinked it played behind his eyes like a projection. Flickering and pulsing. Hannibal's warm lips, the drag of his tongue. The weight of his hands pinning Will’s hips down. His voice, low and possessive, murmuring filth like it was worship.

His cock twitched in his slacks, Wills grip on his pen tightened.

"Will?" 

He flinched. Beverly.

"You okay? You look flushed. Zeller said you looked extra twitchy today too."

Will let out a heavy sigh, still fidgeting with his pen. "I'm fine, just tired."

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You’re gripping that pen like it owes you money.”

Will looked down. The pen had snapped clean in two between his fingers.

“Shit.” He tossed it into the trash and tried to smile. “See? Tired.”

She lingered a moment, concerned, but eventually nodded and walked off.

He watched her go, then sank back into his chair, eyes unfocused. He was unraveling. He could feel it. Like a thread being tugged from deep inside. And the worst part?

He didn’t want it to stop.

 

***

Will pushed open the bathroom door and locked it behind him. He gripped the sink, breathing hard, watching the sweat bead on his forehead. His pupils were blown wide, and his cheeks burned.

This couldn’t keep happening.

He turned on the tap and splashed water on his face. Cold. Not enough. He was still hard. Still aching. Still picturing Hannibal’s mouth.

His knuckles went white around the porcelain.

Maybe if he could just get it out of his system, just one more time, he could function again. Just enough to get through the next meeting. Through the next autopsy photo. Through Jack.

His hand drifted toward the waistband of his slacks, just for a second.

The dream was repeating in his head, Hannibal's words wrapped around him, unwinding him.

You look so beautiful like this, you're doing so good for me, Will.

A knock on the door.

Will froze, his heart in his throat.

"Will, you in there?" It was Beverly again.

He swallowed hard and stepped back from the sink, "Yeah, I'll be out in a second."

When he emerged, his face was clean. But his cock was still throbbing and the burn in his cheeks still felt hot.

 

***

Hannibal walked confidently into the Bureau. In his hands, a small bag containing a glass tupperware container of breakfast for Will. However, Hannibal didn't see Will at his desk. 

"You looking for Will?" Beverly asked, standing near Wills desk.

"Yes, do you know where he is?"

"He was in the bathroom a minute or so ago, I think he has a fever today. His cheeks were really flushed and he was sweating a lot when I last talked to him. He's even twitching more than usual." 

Hannibal was silent for a moment. "I see, I brought him breakfast," Hannibal said, lifting the bag towards Beverly. "Do you think that might help? Or do you believe he needs medical attention?"

Beverly let out a laugh at Hannibal's remark, "No I think he's fine, he probably just needs some aspirin and what ever breakfast you made him."

Hannibal nodded, noticing a sudden shift in the air. He could smell it. 

"Speak of the devil," Beverly laughed, aiming towards Will. "I better go get back before Jack throws a hissy fit, you two enjoy your breakfast." Beverly walked away quickly, leaving Will alone with Hannibal.

Thats when Hannibal placed his finger on it, the smell. Will Graham stood before him, he was flushed bright red and sweating, even more than usual. But the smell, he didn't smell like that typical offensive aftershave he tended to use. No, he smelled like desire, shame, and arousal.

Will looked anywhere but at Hannibal's gaze, eventually landing on the bag in Hannibal's hand. "Is that what Beverly meant by breakfast?" Will asked, his voice hoarse. 

"Yes, it is." Hannibal slowly took the tupperware out of the bag, grabbing a napkin and a fork and setting it down on Wills desk. "Tell me, Will, did the tea I gave you help?"

Will’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. The mention of the tea sent a small jolt of something down his spine. He remembered drinking it before bed, remembered the earthy bitterness on his tongue and the way it had settled warmly in his stomach. He also remembered the dream that followed. Too vivid, too tactile, too real. He remembered waking up gasping, hard, and needy

“I… slept,” Will muttered, eyes flickering to the food but not moving to touch it. “Okay”

Hannibal tilted his head, slow and deliberate, watching him. “Okay.” he echoed, with a trace of amusement. “Was it restful?”

“I don't know." Will finally looked up. Direct eye contact was always a risk. Hannibal’s gaze felt like pressure applied to a bruise. He was too observant, too close, even when he wasn’t touching Will at all. “I had dreams,” Will added, regretting it the second it left his mouth.

Hannibal’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but something near it. Something darker, hidden behind his eyes. “Dreams are often the mind’s way of untangling unmet needs.”

Will’s fingers twitched. He clenched them into a fist. “I didn’t ask for analysis,” he said, but there was no real bite to it. He was trembling slightly, just beneath the surface.

“No,” Hannibal said smoothly. “You didn’t. But I’ve found the subconscious rarely asks for permission before it reveals what we truly crave.”

Will’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His tongue felt like lead. His body was too aware of itself. His pulse in his throat, the slick sweat at his lower back, the soft ache lingering in his groin. He wanted to sit. He wanted to hide. He wanted to lean in and hear Hannibal say more of those terrible, beautiful things he’d imagined last night.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the food,” he said, his voice scraping low and uneven. He didn’t reach for it.

“You’re welcome,” Hannibal murmured. “You should eat, Will. You’ll need your strength.”

Will’s lips pressed into a line. His chest ached with the need to do something, anything, to dispel the heat pooling low in his groin. He grabbed the tupperware, more forcefully than he needed to.

“I have to get back to work,” he said, stepping back too quickly.

Hannibal inclined his head, just slightly. “Of course. But do let me know if the dreams persist. There are other blends I can prepare.”

Will looked up sharply. “I don’t want a prescription for what’s happening to me.”

“I wouldn’t offer one,” Hannibal said, voice like silk. “What’s happening to you isn’t a sickness. It’s a truth. And truths are best not buried.”

Will's jaw clenched. He picked up the container, cradling it in his hands like a barrier. His heart was still hammering. His breath still short.

But he forced his eyes up, forced himself to meet that gaze one last time.

“Sometimes,” he said, “truths are just chemical imbalances with good storytelling.”

Hannibal smiled. This time it reached his eyes. “And sometimes, they’re an awakening.”

Will didn’t answer. He turned, too fast again, and walked off without looking back.

 

***

Will's fingers trembled slightly as he spooned the dried tea leaves into the strainer, watching them unfurl and swell with the hot water. The scent was earthy and rich, the same as before. Subtle, floral, grounding. But this time, it hit him differently.

The steam rose in a curling ribbon. Will exhaled, watching the swirl fade into the dim light of the kitchen. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the way Hannibal had looked at him today. Like he knew. Like he could smell the shame and need clinging to Will's skin. Like he wanted it.

His cock twitched at the memory, just slightly, an echo of the ache that had lingered all day. He gritted his teeth.

He hadn't touched himself again since that morning, hadn't let himself. He thought ignoring it might help, that maybe if he pushed it down far enough, the fire would burn out on its own. But it hadn't. It had just burned brighter, hotter.

He took the tea to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. His thighs were tense. His skin flushed.

Will stared down into the cup. It was just a drink. After all, he did sleep better last night. If he ignored the dream and the way it lingered throughout his body all day, he did sleep through the night. He didn't wake up as tired as he usually did. What's the chance that the tea and dream were connected anyway?

He swallowed a mouthful. Then another.

The warmth spread through him, thick and slow, like smoke in his bloodstream. He closed his eyes. Let it pull him under.

The cup emptied, and so did his mind.

 

***

 

Will opened his eyes and was somewhere else. Not his bed. He was lying on his back against something smooth, cool. Silk? He didn't have time to think about it.

"You came back to me," Hannibal said, voice like velvet against bare skin.

Will couldn't speak. He couldn't look away.

His body was bare, his legs parted, cock already hard, chest rising and falling like he'd just run a mile.

"You're honest here," Hannibal murmured as he knelt between Will's thighs.

"Unhidden. Beautiful." He leaned forward, mouth brushing Will's inner thigh, just a whisper. Will gasped, his hips jerking reflexively.

"I missed these sounds," Hannibal whispered against his skin, pressing kisses upward, so slow, so measured. "The way you beg without words."

Will whimpered. He couldn't help himself.

"Please."

Hannibal's mouth was inches from Wills already leaking cock. He pressed his lips against Will's thighs, slowly sucking on his skin. He was leaving beautiful marks against Will's pale skin. "Tell me what it is you're begging for, beautiful."

Will arched his back up, almost getting off at the praise alone. "I want your mouth. Please. I need-fuck, I need you."

And Hannibal gave. He wrapped his lips around Will's cock in one smooth, practiced motion, swallowing him down until Will couldn't breathe anymore. The heat, the pressure, the rhythm, it was all too much.

Will clawed at the sheets, already whining, already close, already spiraling.

Just as Will could feel himself about to finish, Hannibal looked up at him, eyes gleaming, mouth full of him, "You're all mine now, Will.

 

***

Will woke up with his cock already hard, painfully so. His boxers were damp with precum and clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He groaned into his pillow, trying to will the arousal away. As if he had any control over it anymore.

He didn’t quite remember what he’d dreamed this time. Not yet. Just flashes. Hands, a voice, the weight of a body pressing down on him. Heat. Tongue. Need. It all blurred into a singular ache.

His thighs shifted together instinctively, the friction making him twitch. He rolled onto his back, panting, already flushed with shame.

He tried to ignore it. He tried to just get up, to go feed the dogs, to be normal. But the second he moved, the head of his cock brushed against the damp fabric of his boxers and he choked out a desperate groan. Short, breathy, pathetic.

“Fuck-” Will hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

It was no use.

His hand slipped beneath his waistband before he could think. He was leaking so much already, precome pooling in his palm as he wrapped his fingers around himself. He gave himself a firm stroke and gasped.

Hannibal’s voice was in his head immediately. Whispering filth and praise. That same calm, deliberate cadence, saying things Will knew he shouldn’t crave to hear.

You’re doing so good for me, Will.
Don’t fight it.
You’re allowed to want.
You’re allowed to take.

Will bucked up into his fist, teeth clenched, letting out a low whine as he jerked himself off, fast, desperate, chasing the release like he needed it to breathe.

“Hannibal... P-Please." His breath hitched, voice cracking. 

The orgasm hit fast and heavy. A jolt of raw pleasure that left his stomach sticky and his body shuddering in aftershock.

He stayed there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving. Every inch of him was buzzing, oversensitive, and unsatisfied. Not because it wasn’t enough, but because it was, and that terrified him.

His pleasure had a name now. A face. A fucking voice.

And that voice belonged to a man he had to sit across from in just a few hours.

Will bolted upright, wiping himself off with the hem of his shirt. His skin was flushed and damp, his thoughts a mess of panic and regret. He stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on his face.

7:08 AM.

He had only twelve fucking hours before he would have to face the man he couldn't stop getting himself off to.

He gripped the sink, knuckles white.

“No,” he muttered aloud, heart pounding. “I can’t. I can’t go.”

The tea. The fucking tea. He drank it again. That had to be it. It was too strange now, too consistent. Hannibal had to know. Was that the point? Was it some twisted mind game, something deeper, and more manipulative?

Will backed away from the mirror, as if he could escape his own reflection. He felt watched. Cornered. Played.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he landed on Hannibal’s number. His thumb hovered over the screen. He could cancel. Say he was sick. Say there was a case. Say anything.

But he paused.

Hannibal had a strict cancellation policy. Exactly twenty-four hours notice, or the session still gets billed. That was the rule. Hannibal never broke it.

But Will had a gut feeling. The kind he usually reserved for crime scenes.

He’ll already know.

Will's stomach turned. What if Hannibal already expected him to cancel? What if he wanted him to? What if this was the test? The real session, happening outside the office?

He closed the phone.

No. He wasn’t going to cancel.

Because if Hannibal was playing a game, Will needed to know the rules.

And if he wasn't… then Will needed to figure out why he kept waking up with his body craving him like this.

Craving him like he belonged there.

He kept telling himself the dreams weren’t real. But some part of him wanted to make them real. To open the door and let the monster in.

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I haven't decided exactly how I want this fic to end yet, but I'd appreciate suggestions! Or feedback, anything really

Chapter 3

Summary:

The day of the appointment inevitably arrives. Wills anxiety rushes through him as the clock ticks away, slowly bringing Hannibal closer.

Notes:

I worked on this chapter little by little, and honestly I lost motivation to finish it a lot. Anyways I finally finished it so just ignore the mistakes I probably made, I only read it once.

Will Graham spent the morning pretending he wasn't counting down the hours. He couldn't tell if the knot in his stomach was from anticipation or dread. 

He fed the dogs on autopilot, hands moving through the steps while his mind paced tight circles. Kibble, water, back door. The click of the latch felt too loud, like a clock hand slamming into place. 10:07 a.m. The appointment sat at the end of the day. Waiting.

He tried his coffee. The instant grit caught at the back of his throat. He drank it anyway, standing by the sink with the mug pressed against his lip, staring at nothing. The house smelled like rotted wood, dog, and a faint, stubborn echo of the tea. He hadn’t meant to keep the tin on the counter, but there it was. Ribbon tucked back in place. An accusation in metal.

He reached for it, but didn’t touch it. He pulled his hand back like he’d nearly set it on a burner.

He told himself it was just tea. The dreams were just dreams. That should have helped. It didn’t. All it did was make the heat under his skin feel more deliberate, like someone had dragged a match along his nerves and walked away to see if he’d burn.

He kept trying to rationalize it. Hannibal was supposed to ease his mind, to smooth the restless edges that kept him pacing through his own head. Maybe that ease, that steady, deliberate comfort, was too much compared to the constant strain Will was used to. Maybe his subconscious didn’t know what to do with something that felt good without a catch. So it twisted it into touch and heat in the dark. But that didn’t explain why the dreams felt so solid, why the heat of them lingered long after he woke, or why he couldn’t stop wanting to go back. It certainly didn’t stop him from waking up harder than he thought possible and furious with himself for it.

The tin of tea sat there, ribbon still perfectly tied, the neatness somehow louder than any mess. He could feel it staring him down. If he stayed in the house, he’d stare back. That was no good. He needed to breathe air that didn't make him feel like he's drowning in his own panic.

Will pulled on his jacket, letting the worn fabric swallow his shoulders. The woods behind his house waited, a quiet that didn’t ask questions. When he stepped outside, the cold hit him like a clean blade. Crisp and sharp, smelling faintly of pine and damp leaves.

Maybe a walk could finally clear his head.

 

***

The path behind the house was still slick from last night’s frost, each patch of frozen ground crunching under his boots with a muted sound. The air was cold enough to feel like it could cut through him. Will welcomed the sting. Maybe it would scrub his thoughts raw, make them easier to manage.

It didn’t.

Every step only seemed to stir them deeper. His mind, restless as a hound, kept circling back to Hannibal. Hannibal’s voice, low and precise, working its way under his skin. The way he looked when he listened, still and intent, like Will was the only thing in the room worth watching.

His mind was racing through the blurred memory of the dream. The image made his stomach knot tighter, though it wasn’t all dread now. Something heavier dragged through him, pulling heat up from the place he didn’t want to acknowledge. He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, curling them into fists as if that would keep the thought from traveling further.

His boots sank into a patch of mud, the soft give beneath his feet sending a jolt up his legs that reminded him of the dreams. How they always began with a look. That look on Hannibal's face was just as unreadable as always, but the glint in his eyes revealed how much Hannibal enjoyed being in between Will's legs.

The trees ahead blurred for a second, his breath catching without warning. He forced his pace faster, like distance alone could rush the thoughts out of him. But the more he tried to shut it out, the more the thoughts pressed in, warm and close and wrong.

He told himself it was panic. The flush across his cheeks, the heat crawling down his neck, that was just his body’s way of protesting the appointment. But even out here, with the wind in his ears and the cold reddening his face, he knew that wasn’t all of it.

By the time his trail curved back toward home, his pulse had settled into a strange, uneasy rhythm. Half fear, half hunger, and no clear line between the two.

Will’s boots sank again into the soft mud, each step sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold. His hands had long since left his jacket pockets, curling and uncurling as if trying to grab something solid to ground him. But there was nothing solid. Only the weight of Hannibal in his thoughts, pressing closer with every heartbeat.

The crisp scent of pine and frost no longer calmed him. It sharpened the edges of desire he’d been trying to deny. Hannibal’s voice, that low, deliberate cadence, played over and over, overlaying the crunch of the frost beneath his feet. He could see the tilt of Hannibal’s head, the way his lips parted slightly when he listened, like he was savoring every word. That image twisted in Will’s chest, dragging a heat so deep and sharp that it had nothing to do with fear anymore.

He found himself leaning against a tree, his forearm rough against the bark despite the fabric between them. His forehead rested against his forearm as he stared at the ground beneath him while his mind unraveled. Each inhale brought the scent of cold earth and pine, and each exhale carried a little more of the tension coiling through him. His body was insisting, demanding, and the harder he tried to ignore it, the more impossible it became.

The dream came back unbidden. Hannibal’s hands, the way he had touched him in Will’s imagination, deliberate, knowing. Will’s stomach knotted and clenched, and his hands itched to replicate the memory. The thought made him flush hotter than the winter air could touch. He pressed himself harder against the tree, as if the rough bark could contain the tremor rolling up his thighs.

Finally, the edge of control gave way. Will’s fingers moved, reluctant at first, trembling, as if even acknowledging the sensation aloud would betray him. The cold air mixed with the warmth creeping along his body, a contradiction that made him gasp. His pulse hammered in his ears, the sounds of the woods fading until only the friction and the image of Hannibal remained.

When it was over, Wills breathing was ragged and shamed, a low groan caught in his throat. His body tingled and shivered as if trying to convince him it hadn’t just happened, and yet the ache of wanting more lingered, gnawing at him even as he forced himself to move, retracing his steps back toward the house.

At least his mind was a little quieter now.

 

***

Will stared down at his wardrobe, a small, muted collection of shirts and slacks that all seemed wrong in some subtle way. He wanted something that would make him look good. Not flashy, not loud, not noticeable in the wrong way, but still precise enough to earn Hannibal’s unspoken approval. His fingers lingered on a gray button up, then a pale blue one, and finally he settled on a simple, well-fitted salmon button up. 

He tugged it over his head, feeling the fabric settle against his shoulders, then stepped back to the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him seemed uncertain, taut with worry. His hair fell in untidy strands, and the flush on his cheeks from the walk earlier had faded into a residual tension that made him look more exposed than he wanted to appear.

He smoothed the front of his shirt again, tugged at the cuffs, adjusted the collar. Every movement was measured, meticulous, desperate to appear composed, competent… desirable, in a quiet, restrained way. His stomach churned, a low, insistent heat that had nothing to do with nerves alone.

Will made his way to the front door as his eyes flicked to the clock. 5:32 p.m. The appointment was looming faster than he had realized. His pulse quickened. Every second spent hesitating was another second closer to Hannibal, another second for his thoughts to twist into something unbearable.

He took a deep breath and stepped toward the door. The cold metal of the knob bit at his palm, a sudden jolt that mirrored the flutter of panic in his chest. He froze. Just walking those few steps to the car, felt monumental. His chest tightened, his hands fidgeted at his sides.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, leaning slightly against the door, caught between wanting to leave and wanting to vanish entirely. Outside waited the drive, the car, Hannibal, and all the tension, anticipation, and forbidden desire that came with it.

Will exhaled slowly, forcing one foot forward. Then another. And finally, with a hesitant push, he opened the door, letting the first chill of the evening brush against him as he stepped into the waiting world and toward Hannibal.

 

***

The engine hummed under him, low and steady, but it did little to calm the storm inside Will’s chest. Hands gripping the steering wheel, he kept his eyes on the road, though the streetlights blurred around the edges as his thoughts spiraled.

Every turn of the wheel brought Hannibal closer. Every red light felt like a cruel pause. Will’s mind replayed the dreams again, more vivid than they had any right to be. He could feel the heat crawling through him, a low, insistent thrum that had nothing to do with the cold night air. He clenched his jaw, tried to focus on the traffic signs, the reflections in the rearview mirror, anything to pull his mind away from the impossible desire curling inside him.

But the harder he tried, the more urgent it became. The way Hannibal had looked in his dreams, the way he had touched him, the way every whisper and glance had been loaded with passion and desire. Every mark left on Will's body: a physical reminder of Hannibal's presence. Will’s pulse hammered in his ears. His fingers flexed over the wheel, knuckles white.

He reminded himself it was just a session. Therapy. Rational. Professional. And yet, the fantasy he carried felt just as real as the street beneath the tires. He hated himself for it, even as his body betrayed him, hot and needy, demanding what his mind could not allow.

Finally, the familiar building came into view. Will’s chest tightened further. He eased the car into a spot, hand trembling slightly as he shifted into park. He let the engine tick down, and for a few seconds, he simply sat there, inhaling, trying to ground himself. The cold of the leather under his palms, the faint scent of pine from the vents, the distant murmur of the city, all of it was meant to remind him to breathe. To compose himself.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, trying to empty the tension coiling in his stomach, though he knew it would return the moment he entered the office. His hand hovered over the door handle. Outside, the night was quiet, waiting. Inside, his own anticipation throbbed with every heartbeat.

Will opened the door. The chill of the evening brushed against him again, but this time it carried the weight of inevitability. Each step out of the car was a step toward what he both feared and craved. The appointment wasn’t just a meeting. It was a reckoning.

 

***

The door opened before Will could knock.

Hannibal stood framed in the threshold, tall and deliberate. His presence was filling the space like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. His eyes swept over Will in one measured pass, pausing just long enough to make Will feel as though every inch of him had been catalogued from the salmon shirt to the faint flush across his cheekbones.

"Will," Hannibal said smoothly, stepping aside. "Come in."

The warmth of the office folded around him the way it always did. The light pooled in amber tones, books lined in meticulous rows, the faint scent of spice and cedar laced through the air. It smelled like Hannibal. Too close, too intimate. Will's pulse jumped, betraying him before he even entered the room.

He walked in stiffly, trying not to notice the subtle brush of Hannibal’s shoulder as he passed. He could feel it anyway, a ghost of contact that followed him deeper into the room.

“"You’re flushed," Hannibal observed once the door clicked shut. The way he said it was knowing, deliberate, the words pressing down on Will’s nerves.

"It’s cold outside," Will answered, his voice rougher than he meant. The excuse sounded thin in the air. Hannibal tilted his head as if indulging the lie, his mouth curving faintly, not quite a smile.

"You’ve been drinking the tea." Not a question. A certainty.

Will shifted, the chair suddenly too soft beneath him. "Yes."

"And the dreams continue." Hannibal’s tone carried the faintest pull of satisfaction, as though the words themselves already gave him the answer he wanted.

Will’s chest tightened. He nodded, staring into his lap, rather than Hannibal’s eyes. "They do."

"Tell me about one," Hannibal said. The suggestion was calm, but it hung in the room like a dare.

Will’s throat closed. The dreams surged forward anyway. He imagined Hannibal’s hands, deliberate and knowing, the weight of him pressing Will open, the way his voice bled into Will’s bones. His stomach tightened, heat coiling low, and it took every shred of willpower not to flinch beneath the vividness of it. His body was reacting against every thought as he felt his slacks get tighter around his groin. 

"They’re… vivid," he forced out, his voice thin. "They feel real."

Hannibal leaned forward slightly, the lamplight sharpening the lines of his face. The movement was small but felt seismic, like gravity itself had shifted toward him. "Real how?" he asked softly.

Will’s nails pressed crescents into his palms. Every word Hannibal spoke shot straight to the growing erection between his legs. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell him everything, to offer it up like confession, and he wanted to bury it so deep it never saw daylight. The contradiction churned inside him, unbearable. "Sensory," he muttered. "Like memory."

Hannibal’s eyes darkened, a subtle glint catching in them. "Memory is indulgent, Will. It does not always return reality, but rather the shapes of what we ache for most. Our dreams can tell us what we dare not speak aloud."

The words slid through Will like heat, dangerous and precise. He could feel the heat gathering through his body.

"Do you want them to stop?" Hannibal’s voice was smooth and bold, every syllable deliberate.

Will’s lips parted, the honest answer clawing to be let out. No. God, no. He bit it back, swallowed hard. "I don’t know."

Hannibal studied him as though the hesitation itself was a confession. He leaned in a fraction closer, his eyes never leaving Will’s face. "Do you fear the dreams," he asked gently, "or do you fear what it would mean to want them?"

Will’s heart slammed against his ribs. His mind screamed at him to look away, to anchor himself in the safe distance of reason. But his body wouldn’t obey. He felt the weight of Hannibal’s gaze pressing into him, stripping him bare in ways he couldn’t fight. He couldn’t tell where fear ended and desire began, only that both had their teeth in him now.

"Will. I want you to tell me about your dream. Begin with the first one." Hannibal's voice felt like a flame dragged across Will's body. The heat in his groin was growing.

Will looked away. He didn't think he had the strength to look Hannibal in the eye. Especially if he was going to have to humiliate himself. "It started somewhere unfamiliar... but it wasn't uncomfortable. It just wasn't a place of recognition." Will paused. He took in a deep breath before glancing back towards Hannibal. He couldn't manage to look him in the eyes but he settled his vision on Hannibal'a shoes. "You were speaking to me in the dream. I wasn't used to hearing the words you spoke to me, but once I heard them it felt like those words have been missing all my life. Never spoken until now.

"What exactly did I say to you, Will?" Hannibal leaned forward, entering Will's space even more. Pushing him towards being undone.

Will’s mouth felt dry, the words catching in his throat before they could form. Every attempt sounded wrong, stripped of the weight they carried in his dream. His voice faltered, barely audible. "You... you told me I was beautiful." He swallowed hard, eyes fixed anywhere but Hannibal’s. "That I was being good for you."

"You are beautiful, Will. And you’re being very good for me right now." Hannibal’s voice lowered, deliberate, coaxing. He reached out, his hand finding Will’s jaw, fingers pressing lightly as he tilted Will’s face back toward him. Will’s breath caught at the touch. It was gentle, but commanding.

His eyes flicked up, finally meeting Hannibal’s. Shame was there, yes, but threaded through it was something rawer, longing, stripped of defense. Hannibal studied it like scripture.

"You mistake yourself for unworthy." Hannibal said softly, thumb brushing against the corner of Will’s mouth. "But what you desire is not corruption if I am willing to give it to you."

Will’s chest heaved. The words burrowed into him, collapsing what little distance he had left between want and terror. He couldn’t tell anymore if Hannibal was pulling the confession out of him or placing it there.

"You truly don’t have to feel shame for wanting this," Hannibal murmured, his hand still steady on Will’s face. "Not when it’s something I would give you freely."

Will’s lips parted, but no words came. The need roared too loudly inside him, drowning reason, hollowing him out until the only thing left was the unbearable ache to be seen, claimed, undone.

And Hannibal, damn him, could see it all.

"Tell me, Will," Hannibal pressed, his gaze unwavering. "Do you want me to take that shame from you?"

Will’s throat worked around the answer. His pulse thundered. He didn’t nod. He didn’t speak. But his silence was an admission, and Hannibal’s hand on his jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, in approval.

"Good, Will," Hannibal murmured, each syllable deliberate, almost tender. "You’re exquisite in your honesty, in your desire... giving yourself over so beautifully. You make it effortless to see how willing you are, how much you need this."

Will’s voice was ragged when it finally broke the silence. "I want it, Hannibal." His eyes squeezed shut, as though he could hold back the shame threatening to drown him. His body was betraying him, every nerve burning, craving, demanding. His mind clawed for control, but his body was already surrendering.

Hannibal tilted his head, studying him like a specimen under glass. "What is it you want?" His voice was velvet, his thumb brushing Will’s temple in a touch too tender to be anything but deliberate. "Tell me."

Will drew in a shaky breath. His throat felt raw, every word scraping against the bone of humiliation. "I want my dreams to be real," he whispered. "In them, you know what I need before I can say it. You give it to me without hesitation. And now-" his voice faltered, the admission strenuous. "I need you to make me feel that. I trust you."

Hannibal’s gaze sharpened at the word trust, as if savoring it. He let his hand slide down, fingers framing Will’s jaw, his thumb grazing over Will’s lower lip. "Brave," Hannibal murmured, approval threading through his voice. "Brave and beautiful. Do you know how good you sound when you ask?"

Will’s cock twitched, humiliatingly obvious, and he shifted in his seat as though the movement could disguise it.

Hannibal rose slowly, with the elegance of inevitability, and moved to stand directly before him. His height pressed down on Will, deliberate, suffocating. Then, he gracefully sank to his knees in front of Will.

Will’s breath stuttered.

Hannibal’s hands came to rest on his thighs, firm and unyielding. He pushed gently outward, parting them, inch by inch, until there was no space left between them. "Look at me," Hannibal instructed.

Will forced his eyes open, only to find Hannibal’s gaze fixed on him, unwavering, steady as a blade pressed to skin.

"Do I have your consent to continue?" Hannibal asked, as if they were discussing a fine wine rather than the unraveling of Will’s restraint.

Will nodded, shuddering. "Yes."

Hannibal’s lips curved, the faintest hint of satisfaction. "Good. Always so good when you let yourself be led." His voice dipped, intimate and commanding at once. "Now breathe, Will. Breathe, and let me give you what you’ve asked for."

Will couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Every thought of disgust, every whisper of self hatred, was being stripped from him with Hannibal’s words. The quiet, steady encouragement, spoken as though it was meant for no one else in the world. Each syllable pulled him deeper under, until shame blurred into nothing. He was trembling, his body betraying the war his mind was still trying to wage.

Hannibals fingers found their way to Wills zipper, slowly pulling Wills throbbing, leaking cock out of his pants. Hannibal gently purred, "Oh, Will. You've been waiting so long for this. You're so good. So patient."

The words alone made Will shudder. He subconsciously began to grind his hips into the chair, as a needy groan got caught in his throat. He tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut, his chest exposed as though he’d been laid open. Vulnerable. Offered. Hannibal hadn't even began to touch him and he already felt like he was about to come.

Hannibal wrapped his hand around Will's aching cock and slowly began to stroke him. "Tell me when you get close, Will."

"I can't. I'm already so close" The shame was already clawing its way back into Wills mind, clinging onto anything it could.

"There is no shame. You have waited, you have endured. Of course it comes quickly. It is only proof of how much you needed this... and how much you need me." Hannibal said. He continued stroking the base of Wills erection while he brought his mouth to Wills tip. He slowly licked and sucked on him, feeling Will squirm under his touch.

"Hannibal I'm really close." Will muttered, stumbling over his words through broken groans. The sensation was sharp and overwhelming, tearing through him in a rush he couldn’t contain. His entire body shook, every nerve lit up, as if Hannibal had reached inside him and rewired the way he experienced release itself.

Hannibal kept going, he wanted Will to finally find that release he's been so needy for. 

Finally, Will felt it. He bucked his hips up, chasing the pleasure Hannibal gave him while he rode out his orgasm.

Will sagged back against the chair, chest heaving, his body wrecked in a way he had never felt before. He had chased this feeling after the dreams. Alone, desperate, and humiliated, but it had never come close to this.

Hannibal watched him with quiet satisfaction, eyes dark but unreadable, as though cataloguing every reaction for later. He reached out, steadying Will with a hand that was almost tender.

"Good," he said softly. "You did very well."

The praise cut through Will deeper than the release itself. He swallowed, unable to meet Hannibal’s eyes, every inch of him aware that he had given himself over, and that Hannibal had claimed it without needing to take anything by force.

 

***

The silence in the car was unbearable. Will sat in the passenger seat, his thighs pressed tightly together, his body thrumming with restless, frantic energy. He'd tried to leave after Hannibal had coaxed him apart in the office, but Hannibal hadn’t allowed it. He hadn't let him go. And part of him, the honest part, was relieved. The need still clung to him like static, gnawing, growing sharper with every second he spent in Hannibal’s presence.

But now, sitting beside him, it was impossible to contain.

Will rocked subtly against the seat, grinding his hips down in shallow, guilty movements. He chased any friction he could get against his cock. His knuckles were white where they clutched the door handle, the other hand gripping the center console as if it were the only anchor keeping him from unraveling completely. Muffled sounds escaped him, strangled whimpers and grunts forced down into his throat, though not enough to go unnoticed.

Hannibal’s eyes never wavered from the road. His grip on the wheel was loose, unhurried. His voice slid into the tight, trembling space between them.

"You don’t need to restrain yourself, Will. You’ve restrained yourself long enough."

The words landed with the force of permission. They sank into Will’s skin, twisted down into the heat burning low in his stomach.

"I can’t-" Will’s voice cracked, his head falling back against the seat, shame warring with hunger. "I can’t just... fuck myself in your car like some needy whore." The confession clung to his chest, digging its teeth into anything it could, raw and venomous, and the moment it left his mouth he hated himself for it. It was a punishment. A condemnation he couldn’t stop throwing at himself.

Hannibal didn’t flinch. He didn’t even glance away from the road. His tone was as calm as the steady hum of the engine. "No, Will. You are not a whore." His hand shifted briefly on the steering wheel, deliberate, unhurried. "You are a man who has been starved. And when something long denied is finally offered, hunger will never be polite."

Will’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven pulls. Hannibal’s words pierced through him, through every barricade he’d built. He wanted to argue, to cling to the disgust because it was safer than admitting how much he wanted . But Hannibal’s voice unraveled the excuses before Will could even form them.

"You mistake shame for control," Hannibal continued, quiet but absolute. "But look at you now. Trembling. Grinding against the seat as though it could ever satisfy you. Do you truly believe that makes you debased? Or does it only make you honest ?"

Will couldn't form words. Only a guttural sound that escaped him as he ground down into the leather seat, palm pressed firmly against his cock.

Hannibal's voice was unhurried, close enough that Will could feel the cool air shift with each syllable. "Do it, Will. You don’t have to keep hiding. Take what you need here, now, and tell me, out loud, what you want while you do it. I want the truth of you, not the careful version you hand the world."

Something in the permission unraveled the last of Will’s restraint. He let his hand move below his waist band with a rough, needy rhythm, breath hitching between shallow moans. "I... I need you to make it like the dream," he confessed, voice rough and small. "Do what you did in your office. Mark me, take me, talk to me while you do it. Leave marks, hickeys, bites, tell me I’m yours. Tell me how good I am. Please ." He palmed his cock through his boxers, feeling how he leaked on himself in desperation.

"That’s it, Will," Hannibal said, his tone smooth, deliberate. Less like comfort and more like command. "You’re doing exactly as I want. Keep going. We’ll be home soon, and then you won’t have to imagine my touch. You’ll feel it."

Will’s breath shuddered out of him. His fist moved over his cock in quick, desperate strokes, the motion awkward in the confined space of his pants. He didn’t want to have to fuck himself, not like this at least. Not with only his hand, not when Hannibal was sitting inches away, maddeningly composed. He needed more. He needed Hannibal’s mouth, his hands, his body pressing him down until there was nothing left but release.

But the ache in his groin left no room for patience. Every nerve screamed for relief, even as his mind recoiled from the thought of finishing like some needy animal in Hannibal’s passenger seat. Pathetic, his shame whispered. And yet Hannibal’s voice cut through the noise, steady and unyielding. Keep going.

So he did, gripping harder, rocking against the leather, biting down on a groan. It would have to be enough, at least for now.

 

***

 

Will had been in Hannibal’s house many times. He’d eaten at his table, stood in his immaculate kitchen, sat in his living room surrounded by the man’s taste. But the bedroom was new.

The air felt different here. Still curated, still deliberate, but lived in. The books stacked neatly on the nightstand, the faint scent of cedar and clean linen, the way the sheets were folded so precisely. It was Hannibal unmasked, at least in part.

Will sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling like he didn’t quite belong. He tried not to imagine Hannibal lying here, rising here, beginning each morning in the same careful, exacting rhythm. The thought lodged in him anyway, a pulse he couldn’t quiet.

From the hallway came Hannibal’s calm footsteps, and then the man himself, carrying two glasses. He had wine in one hand, and whiskey in the other.

"My apologies for the delay," Hannibal said smoothly, as if even his lateness was intentional.

Will accepted the whiskey, the glass cool against his hand. "No need to apologize." He took a sip. The burn at the back of his throat was nothing compared to the burn coiled low in his body. He set the glass down, fingers lingering on the nightstand.

Hannibal watched him. "I am proud of you, Will. You came here despite your fear. You’ve offered yourself to me in your honesty, even through your self loathing. That is bravery." He sipped his wine. "And bravery deserves reward."

Will gave a breathless laugh, dry and thin. "I think you already rewarded me. In your office."

"What I gave you there," Hannibal said, voice soft like silk, "was a taste. A sample of what awaits. Tonight, you will have more than a dream. You will understand, fully, how good I can make you feel. And you have been patient. Patient enough to deserve it."

Hannibal set his glass beside Will’s, then climbed onto the bed with deliberate grace. He pressed lightly at Will’s shoulders, coaxing him down onto the mattress. The gesture was gentle, but the command in it was unmistakable. Will yielded, back against the sheets, heart hammering.

Hannibal’s fingers found the buttons of Will’s shirt. He unfastened them one by one, as though opening a gift. Each button exposed more skin, more vulnerability, and Hannibal savored the act with unhurried precision. At last the salmon-colored shirt slipped from Will’s body, tossed on the floor.

Hannibal lowered his head, lips finding Will’s chest. He kissed along the pale skin, tongue tracing a slow line before catching one nipple between his teeth. Will gasped at the sharpness, the sting followed by a flood of warmth. Hannibal sucked, nipped, left bruises that bloomed purple against flushed skin.

Will groaned, back arching. His voice cracked when he spoke. "Please… Hannibal, please."

"You are doing so well," Hannibal murmured against his chest. His hands bracketed Will’s waist, holding him steady. He moved lower, kissing and tasting as he went, until he reached Will’s thighs.

Will writhed, desperation spilling out of him. "God, I need it. I can’t-" His hips bucked upward, seeking pleasure.

"I know," Hannibal said, patient, indulgent. "I will give you what you need. But only when I wish to." His tone carried the weight of ownership, and it made Will tremble.

With elegant precision, Hannibal unfastened Will’s slacks and slid them down, discarding them carelessly. Will groaned, squirming against the restraint of fabric until Hannibal stripped away the last barrier, boxers joining the pile.

Will’s cock sprang free, flushed and slick with precome. Hannibal’s hand closed around the base, his thumb dragging across the head. Will made a strangled sound in his throat, hips jerking helplessly.

"Please," Will gasped, voice frayed. "Please, Hannibal-"

At last Hannibal bent, taking him into his mouth in one smooth movement. The sudden heat, the suction, made Will cry out, raw and uncontrolled. Hannibal sucked him down, lips stretching to the tip before sliding back, tongue curling along the underside with calculated skill.

His hand stroked the base, perfectly timed with the movements of his mouth. Hannibal set the pace, slow and torturous, and Will was left undone. He was choking on his own breath, reduced to fragments of language between sobs and moans.

"Hann- Hannibal, feels- Hngh... feels so-"

"You see?" Hannibal murmured, lips gliding over him, voice vibrating through Will’s shaft. "Patience yields its reward. You are good for me, Will. So very good."

The praise hit him harder than the pleasure. Will’s fingers knotted into the sheets as he begged, body straining toward release. Every word broke against his throat, useless, but the plea was clear.

And Hannibal, of course, made him wait, slowing down.

Not a mercy, but an assessment. He eased back with infuriating control, lips leaving Will only to breathe across him, cool air where heat had been. Will’s whole body followed the retreat like a tide chasing the moon.

"Hannibal." It came out wrecked, pleading.

A soft hum. "Not yet." Hannibal’s hand flattened over Will’s lower belly to still the desperate lift of his hips. "I want your mind with me as much as your body. Give me both."

Will dragged in a breath and found nothing to stand on. "I am with you."

"Not enough." Hannibal’s thumb made a slow circle at the hinge of Will’s hip, patient. "Tell me what you’re thinking right now."

Shame tried to surface, but Will swallowed it down raw. "I’m... frightened I’ll embarrass myself." His voice shook. "And I want you so much it hurts."

"There is nothing embarrassing about honesty," Hannibal said, and bent to press an open mouthed kiss low on Will’s abdomen, where muscle fluttered under skin. "Again."

"I want you to keep making it like the dream," Will forced out. "The marks. The voice. I want you to keep me right on the edge until I ask for it properly."

A glimmer of satisfaction touched Hannibal’s eyes. "Better." He grazed teeth against the inside of Will’s thigh, a precise bite that drew a startled sound from Will’s throat. Hannibal soothed the sting with his tongue, then left another mark higher, closer. "I need you to keep being good."

Will’s hands clutched at the sheets, then hesitantly at Hannibal’s shoulders, the width of him, the solidity. "Please."

"Ask me well," Hannibal murmured, the words a brush of breath against skin. He wrapped his fingers around the base again, firm but refusing the rhythm Will’s body begged for. "Use your words."

"I want your mouth," Will said, voice breaking. "I want you to tell me I’m good. I want you to keep me there until I can’t- until I have to beg."

"Then keep being good," Hannibal said simply, and took him in again. Slow, controlled, terrible in his generosity. Will arched, a helpless sound torn from him, but before the world could go white Hannibal eased back, tongue lingering, hand steadying the tremor that ran through Will’s legs.

"Breathe." A command, almost tender. "Feel me. Stay with me."

Will swallowed a sob of frustration that turned into a laugh on the exhale, shaky and disbelieving. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"Of course." Hannibal’s lips curved. "You asked me to make your dream real. In it you did not come quickly. You learned to be patient, to savor all of it, and to trust that I would not abandon you in the wanting."

"I trust you," Will said, too fast, because it was suddenly, terribly true.

Hannibal’s hand tightened in approval. "Then show me. Keep your hips down." He guided Will’s thighs wider, pinning him with nothing but poise and intention. Another slow descent, heat and pressure and the glide of tongue that made Will’s vision blur, and again, the pull away at the edge, leaving him shaking, breathless, eyes bright with frustrated tears.

"Good," Hannibal murmured, and the praise made Will’s chest rise sharp as if struck. "You are listening. You are staying. You are mine to steady."

"Hannibal." Will’s voice came out a ruined whisper. "I’m right there."

"I know." Hannibal kissed the side of his shaft as if it was a blessing. "You will tell me when you are ready to beg for it. Not from shame. From certainty."

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth." Hannibal said, and the word felt like a hand closing around Will’s throat and heart at once. "Tell me that you want to be undone by me. Tell me you want the marks. Tell me you want my voice in your ear while you fall."

Will’s eyes fluttered shut. He nodded, then caught himself and forced the yes into air. "Yes. I want all of it. I want you to undo me. I want your marks, your voice, please."

Hannibal rewarded him with a long, devastating stroke of mouth and hand combined, just enough to send Will teetering, then stopped, palm splayed over Will’s abdomen.

"Beautiful," he said, and the word landed like truth. "You are learning."

"Hannibal," Will gasped, beyond pride now. "Please. I’m begging."

A satisfied breath. "There you are."

Hannibal rose over him, bracing one hand beside Will’s head. His other hand slid up, framing Will’s jaw, turning his face to get their eyes locked. "Look at me."

Will did. The room narrowed to that gaze, that impossible calm. Hannibal’s thumb pressed to Will’s lower lip, felt the tremble there.

"When you let go," Hannibal said, low and certain, "you will do so because I tell you to. Because you trust me to catch you. Do you understand?"

Will’s answer was a wrecked, grateful "Yes."

"Good," Hannibal murmured. "Then hold a little longer for me."

He went back down, relentless and exact. The rhythm he chose this time was merciless, calibrated to keep Will hovering, each retreat a razor’s breadth from relief, each return a promise he could almost, almost reach. Hannibal’s voice threaded through it, praise and instruction braided together. Stay, breathe, good, mine.

Will clung to the words like rope over a drop. He was shaking, eyes wet, mouth open on broken sounds, and still he held because Hannibal asked it of him, and because the instant he gave permission to fall, Will knew it would not feel like falling alone.

He didn’t know how much time passed like that, a handful of breaths, a lifetime, only that when the command finally came, it would land like salvation.

Hannibal felt the moment Will’s body crossed from trembling obedience into free fall. The way his thighs tightened, the breath that hitched and wouldn’t come, the helpless tilt of his hips searching for a final inch of contact.

"Now," Hannibal said, voice steady. "Let go for me, Will."

The command broke over him like heat. Will’s fingers clawed at the sheets, then found Hannibal’s shoulder and held on. The world tunneled to mouth, hand, voice, to the precise pressure of Hannibal’s palm at his hip keeping him grounded while the rest of him came apart. The sound tore out of him, half plea, half cry, and he went, shuddering hard, release wrenching through him in strong, helpless pulses.

"Good," Hannibal murmured into the rhythm of it, not letting him drift or drown. He stayed exactly where Will needed him. Mouth and hand guiding him through the curve and down the other side, easing the pressure when it tipped to too much, tightening again when Will’s body begged for it. "That’s it. Breathe. You’re safe. Very good."

 

***

The orgasm had rushed through Wills body fast, flushing out every last bit of physical strength he had left. He thought the way Hannibal made him feel at the office was intense, but it was absolutely nothing compared to how Hannibal had made him feel only a few minutes ago.

But now, Will was laying naked and alone on Hannibal's bed, too tired to get up. He heard Hannibal's footsteps walk into the room as he sit up half way.

"Let me at least wash you off with a rag if you don't want to shower right now," Hannibal said, pressing the warm wet rag on Wills skin, softly wiping him off.

Will forced words past his dry throat. "I’ll shower," he muttered, rolling onto his side, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "I know how particular you are about cleanliness. I just didn’t want to get up yet. My legs are cramping."

Hannibal paused, cloth resting lightly against Will’s ribs. "Then let me run you a bath. The warmth will ease the ache, and you wont need to stand." His tone left no room for argument, though it was not a command. It was persuasion woven through care.

Will shut his eyes, as if to hide from the offer, though the thought of sinking into heat tugged at the stiffness in his muscles. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Hannibal’s movements were soundless efficiency. Will heard the faint rush of water from the adjoining room, the sound of Hannibal’s fluffing the towels, the quiet steady footsteps as he paced through the bathroom. When Hannibal returned, his presence folded back over Will. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand cupping Will’s cheekbone, thumb brushing once across damp skin.

"Will you come with me to the bathroom?"

Will opened his eyes groggily and nodded his head, getting off the bed and walking to the bathroom with Hannibal.

The air there was warm, heavy with rising steam. Hannibal helped him lower into the water, the heat rushing around his sore muscles in a way that dragged another reluctant sound from his throat. His body sank deeper on instinct.

Only then did Hannibal begin to undress himself, folding each garment with careful precision before joining Will in the bath. The space was small enough that their knees brushed. Hannibal reached for the cloth again, lathering it with soap before bringing it to Will’s hair. Fingers pressed gently against his scalp, working in slow, methodical circles that left Will’s eyes fluttering closed.

Hannibal moved from hair to skin, tracing each plane of Will’s body with steady care, as though cataloguing him all over again. Will let himself drift, not fighting the touch, too tired and too undone to resist. When Hannibal finally turned the cloth to himself, it felt less like routine hygiene and more like a ritual they were sharing, bound together in silence and steam.

When it was done, Hannibal helped him out of the tub, the cool air rushing in to meet his heated skin. Will stood unsteadily, dripping, while Hannibal pressed a towel into his hands and used another to dry his shoulders and back with practiced care.

The clothes Hannibal had set out were soft and warm front the gentle steam. They loosely fit for Will but were undeniably comfortable. They hung loose on his frame,  casual compared to Hannibal’s perfect fit. Will almost muttered something about the absurdity of it, standing here in borrowed fabric, drowning in a man’s life tailored to precision. But instead, he only let the fabric settle over him, strangely grateful for its unfamiliar comfort.

When Hannibal finished with his own clothes, he found Will waiting in the bedroom, half-sitting, half-slumped against the headboard, hair still damp, eyes heavy-lidded but watchful. For the first time in a long while, Will didn’t feel like prey under Hannibal’s gaze. He only felt cared for.

And that intimacy was almost more dangerous than anything else.

Without a word, Hannibal pulled back the covers and slipped into bed beside him. He didn’t protest when Hannibal’s arm came around him, drawing him gently into the warmth of the sheets. His body was too tired to resist, too hollowed out from everything he’d just given.

Hannibal’s fingertips grazed along his shoulder, then down the length of his arm, the touch so light it felt more like the ghost of a movement than a true caress. Over and over, slow, deliberate, a rhythm designed to calm. Will’s eyes slipped closed, his breathing evening out as he leaned into the steadiness of it.

Will breathed slowly, finally drifting off to sleep. For the first time in what felt like years, Will didn’t dream. No tangled visions, no nightmares pressing claws into his chest. Just the warmth of another body beside him, the quiet reassurance of a hand moving against his skin.

Finally, Will truly slept.

Notes:

Sorry if I made any typos, I proofread a few times but I probably still made a few mistakes.