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Spencer tasted blood in his mouth as Hannibal’s teeth closed roughly around his lower lip, sucking the torn flesh into his mouth and licking at the bleeding wound.
Spencer nearly vibrated beneath Hannibal’s strong, sure hands. He winced a bit as the man pressed him more firmly against the unyielding wood of his bedroom door. He could feel Hannibal’s strong fingers tugging at his hair and leaving bruises on his throat as he held him in place.
His head was a mess of jumbled thoughts, everything clouded over with the sharp pain and the overpowering lust. It was difficult to breathe and he found himself gasping for air in between greedily sucking at Hannibal’s mouth. He tasted like spice and wine and his tongue explored Spencer’s mouth hungrily, mapping out the ridges of his teeth and tangling with Spencer’s own tongue.
He let out a keening whine and ground his hips desperately against the older man, moaning into his mouth. Shivering, Spencer fought to regulate his breathing as Hannibal’s hands dragged over his body, fingers tracing the contours of his throat and ribs and travelling all the way down to Spencer’s hips.
Those iron-like fingers gripped onto him and roughly shoved him flush against the door, not allowing him movement and leaving him panting and needy.
His breath was still coming in sharp pants whenever Hannibal finally pulled his lips away, meeting his lust-fogged gaze, his dark eyes ravenous with dark hunger.
“You taste magnificent, Spencer…”
Spencer jolted awake, shaking and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Scraping his fingers through his damp hair and across his scalp, he took several deep breaths to calm his pounding heart.
He’d never had a dream so vivid and real before. It took him several minutes to acclimatize to his bedroom. He forced himself not to think about the dream, instead focusing on what he could see from his bed: the red glowing numbers on his alarm clock, the faint, grey light just slipping through the curtains, his cell phone sitting silent on his bedside table and Hannibal’s last letter, folding haphazardly and shoved underneath an old text book, just the edges of the paper sticking out.
He swallowed roughly and clenched his eyes shut, still feeling his heart trying to jump from his chest. As he drew his knees up he became very aware of the throbbing erection between his legs and felt his face flush with embarrassment and horror, flashes of the dream floating through his mind.
Throwing the blankets back, Spencer jumped out of bed a little too quickly, his knees wobbling as he fought to correct his footing. Without much thought, he walked jerkily to his bathroom and turned the shower on, making sure that the water was as cold as he could get it before stepping under the pelting jets.
The cold water shocked him fully awake and he forced his thoughts to go to something other than the dream – nightmare, he corrected himself.
It had been three days since his poorly planned, impromptu trip to Maryland and he’d yet to hear from Hotch or anyone on the team. The three days had been a tense reprieve and he knew that when he came into work he wouldn’t be able to avoid the confrontation.
He fought not to grimace thinking about how Hotch was going to handle this. Would he be suspended? He doubted Hotch would go quite that far, but it was entirely likely that he would be forced out of the field for a while and probably taken off case work.
It wasn’t a pleasant line of thought, but it had the desired effect of getting his mind off of the disturbing dream he’d had. He could feel his arousal waning from the combination of the freezing shower and the thoughts of what awaited him at work later.
He stood under the icy blast for nearly twenty minutes before finally stepping out, shivering slightly and rubbing his hands along his arms. He dressed slowly and walked like a zombie to his tiny kitchen, only glancing at the clock as he passed.
It was still far too early for him to be going to work. He made a pot of coffee and had three cups before feeling warm enough to stop shivering. He thought of eating, but his stomach turned at the idea so he settled for coffee alone and busied his mind by thinking about the last case that the team had worked.
He waited as long as he could – nearly an hour and a half – before decided that it was late enough for him to show up at work. He might get there before even Hotch, but he couldn’t stand sitting in his apartment and thinking for another minute, so he left and tried to steel himself against the yelling he was likely to encounter when he got there.
Reid was surprised to note that he was not the first one in that morning. He spotted Prentiss at her desk, Morgan standing next to her, grinning widely with a cup of coffee in his hands. Rossi and Hotch were both in their offices and there were a few other agents from other teams there as well.
He frowned, feeling a strange bubble of unease settle into his gut. Hotch wasn’t alone in his office, but Spencer could only make out the silhouette of the other man. No one had told him that anything was going on and he’d had the last three days off… Had something happened?
He thought about the cases that they’d been working. None of them were big enough for the whole team to already be in. None except the Reaper case and he was sure that someone would have called him if they’d gotten a lead on Foyett.
Cautiously, he went to his desk and sat his messenger bag down, looking between Prentiss and Morgan.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
Prentiss gave him a funny look, frowning, “No… Well, nothing except that stunt you pulled in Baltimore Saturday.”
He winced and looked down at his desk, jumping whenever Morgan reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Reid…” he sounded like he was talking to a child and that made Spencer grit his teeth in annoyance. “What’s going on with you? The kid I know wouldn’t have threatened someone to -”
“I didn’t threaten anyone!” Spencer cut him off, his head snapping up.
“That’s not how Chilton put it,” Prentiss said gently, “He said you were angry and irrational and he sounded pretty sincere, Reid.”
The young man frowned, “I…”
“Reid!” Hotch was standing outside his office down, frowning down into the bullpen. “My office. Now!”
Spencer hesitated for a moment, still not entirely ready to have this conversation. His movements were stiff and slow as he made his way to Hotch’s office. Hotch had already gone back inside by the time he slipped through the partly opened door.
He blinked and eyed the man sitting across from Hotch and stopped short.
“Agent Crawford?”
“Dr. Reid,” Crawford inclined his head, but didn’t quite meet his eyes. Spencer frowned. He still wasn’t happy with the way everyone referred to him as “doctor” before “agent”. He understood that the PhDs were a big deal, but he’d worked hard to earn the title of “agent” few people acknowledged that.
Hotch motioned to the free chair beside Crawford and Reid sat slowly, not sure if he should speak first or let Hotch initiate the conversation.
“What happened Saturday, Reid?” Hotch asked, frowning at him. His voice was steady so far, though a bit hard.
Spencer sighed, “Nothing,”
“That’s not what Dr. Chilton said,”
“I know that you said you didn’t want me to go back to Baltimore, Hotch, but -”
“You’re right, I did say that. I distinctly remember giving you an order which you directly disobeyed.” As he spoke, Hotch’s voice became more and more angry, his dark eyes narrowed.
Reid closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “I know,” he said, “I know that it was a bad idea, but I – I needed to speak to Lecter.”
Hotch’s lips tightened, “Why?”
Spencer hesitated and Hotch scowled.
“Reid,” he warned, “if you’re hiding something -”
“It’s not… I’m not hiding anything,” he promised, “It’s just…” he bit his lip, “The letters he’s been sending…”
Hotch frowned. He knew about the letters, of course. Lecter didn’t have Reid’s home address and the letters always came through the FBI before Reid could get them. He’d written him several times since Reid had stopped visiting.
“What about them?”
“…He’s angry,” he said.
“Angry?” Agent Crawford frowned, leaning forward and studying Reid carefully. Reid frowned and didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes on Hotch as he spoke.
“Angry about what, Reid?” Hotch asked.
“Angry about me not going back to the hospital,” Spencer said, “His last letter… was disturbing. I went to Baltimore to talk to him about it. I – I needed to talk to him.”
“What did Lecter say in the letter that was… disturbing?”
Reid inhaled sharply and pulled the letter out. It was creased and a bit crumpled, but the words were still readable. He hesitated before handing it over. He’d known Hotch would want to read it and part of him had wanted to destroy it before he had to, but that would certainly have gotten him into serious trouble.
Hotch unfolded it and read over it, his nostrils flaring and his frown deepening.
“This is more than ‘disturbing’, Reid,” he said, “This is a blatant threat.”
“I know -”
“And you just decided not to come to me immediately after you read this?”
Reid’s jaw tightened a bit and he frowned, “Would you want anyone else to read that if it was you?”
“This isn’t me,” Hotch said, “this is you and you know better than to keep this sort of thing from me. You also know that you showing up at that hospital was exactly what Lecter wanted to happen.”
“And I didn’t care,” Reid hadn’t meant to snap, but he couldn’t help being a bit defensive. “Hotch, I couldn’t just let that go, I needed to confront him about it.”
“He’s in your head, Reid,” Hotch said, “that’s not a good thing. Not with Hannibal Lecter.”
“May I see the letter?” Crawford was already leaning forward, reaching toward the paper. Reid started to protest, but Hotch gave him a stern look and handed the letter over.
The agent’s face tightened with anger as he read.
“Something wrong, Jack?”
Crawford looked up, “No one told me Lecter had been writing Will Graham,”
Hotch started to say something, but Reid interrupted, “Maybe because it’s not your business, Agent Crawford.”
Crawford looked like Spencer had just slapped and Hotch scowled at his subordinate.
“Reid!”
“It’s true!” Reid said, “It’s not any of his business if Will Graham’s been getting letters from Dr. Lecter just like it isn’t your business who I talk to on my own time. I’m not talking with Lecter during my work and I’m not doing it under the pretense of working for the FBI. What I do on my time is not under your control, Hotch!”
Hotch rose from his seat, his face red with anger, “We’re talking about a violent serial killer -”
“I KNOW THAT!” Spencer’s voice rose to a painful pitch and he stood as well, snatching the letter from Agent Crawford before he could finish reading it. He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes.
“I know that,” his voice was softer, “but that doesn’t change the fact that it is still not any of your concern. I was trained to deal with people like Hannibal Lecter; I know what I’m doing. It was stupid of me to force my way in there, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going back to the hospital. I know what I’m doing and I can get him to open up.”
“Half a dozen seasoned profilers have tried,” Crawford said, “What makes you think you can?”
Reid scowled, turning to look at the other agent, “Because he’s talking to me.”
“…He talked to Will Graham too,”
Reid bit his lip, staring at the other man for a long, tense moment. He was really getting tired of people telling him that. Lecter was locked in a cage. He couldn’t hurt him.
“And whose fault was that?” he snapped.
Crawford again looked like he had been slapped and Spencer didn’t wait around for Hotch’s reprimand this time. He stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him as he went.
He nearly ran right into JJ on his way back to the bullpen and stumbled backwards, apologizing several times before she offered him a small smile and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay, Spence?”
He forced a smile, running a hand through his hair and nodded, “I’m fine,”
She looked skeptical, “Sounded kind of tense in there…” her eyes travelled to Hotch’s office and he grimaced. He was really going to pay for that soon.
“It’s fine,” he lied, trying hard to keep the smile in place, “Hotch is just concerned, that’s all…”
“We’re all worried, Reid,” she said gently.
His throat convulsed. “Don’t be,” he said, “I’m fine.”
It took over a month, but Spencer did eventually find himself sitting in that uncomfortable folding chair in front of Hannibal’s cage.
“I’m surprised to see you again,” Hannibal noted, watching as the young man shifted and fidgeted in the chair. “I expected you supervisor to make sure you would not be permitted back after what happened last time.”
Spencer looked down, his hair falling in his face a bit and Hannibal was surprised at how much he’d truly missed seeing the awkward innocence of his Spencer.
“I made a decent case of why he couldn’t stop me,”
Hannibal grinned brightly, “Did you?”
Reid sighed, nodding slowly, “Of course, there are new conditions,” he said, his voice very quiet and calm.
“Conditions?”
“Dr. Chilton will be listening in on all of our conversations,” he said, “And if he hears anything that bothers him, he’ll report back to Agent Hotchner.”
“Agent Hotchner is worried about your safety.”
He only hesitated a moment before nodding, “Yes,”
“Are you?” Hannibal asked curiously, watching Spencer’s lips turn down into a small, uncertain frown.
“Should I be?” he asked, meeting Hannibal’s steady gaze.
“I doubt I can pose any danger to you from behind this glass…” Hannibal said, looking pointedly around the cage he was in.
Spencer tilted his head, a tiny smile on his face, “We both know that isn’t true,”
“So why are you not concerned?”
“I’m too curious to be concerned,” he said.
Hannibal’s grin showed just the barest hint of teeth, but it was enough to make Spencer shiver a bit.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” he reminded the younger man.
“Was that a threat?”
Hannibal looked thoughtful for a moment, still grinning when he answered, “It is merely a statement,” he said, “though probably one you should keep in mind.”
Spencer looked slightly amused, but he didn’t say anything, looking down and studying his hands for a long moment. He bit his lower lip and Hannibal inhaled sharply at the sight, enjoying the way his teeth looked pressing into the tender flesh.
His long fingers twitched a bit and indecision flashed across his partially concealed face.
“If you have something to ask, Spencer, ask it.”
He looked up, eyes wide, and slowly nodded.
“There’s something I want to know…” he hesitated and continued after Hannibal nodded encouragingly. “The people you killed… did you enjoy it?”
Hannibal thought about that for a second, “You mean did I find killing them arousing?”
“…Yes,” Spencer’s voice was a bit rough as he nodded and his face flushed a faint pink as the blood rushed to his cheeks. It was a beautiful look.
“Occasionally, yes,” Hannibal admitted, “but not often. They were seldom worth more to me than the meat they provided.”
“What about eating them?” Spencer asked, his voice carefully clinical, like he was trying to keep himself utterly removed from the conversation. “Did that arouse you?”
Hannibal grinned, “More often than killing, yes,” he said, “Though I got more enjoyment out of watching others consume them unknowingly.”
Spencer’s stomach twisted at those words and Hannibal watched with interest as he ducked his head, his lips tightening a bit.
“Personally, Spencer, I find intelligent conversation and art to be far more stimulating,” he paused, watching Spencer react to those words before continuing, “I must ask, though… Why the interest in what arouses me?”
Spencer flushed again, his face nearly bright red as he stood quickly and tugged his hair behind his head, avoiding looking at Hannibal at all.
“I have to go,” he said, his words clipped, “I’ll speak to you later, Dr. Lecter.”
He was already halfway down the hall and Hannibal laughed gently, pressing himself as close to the glass as he could and calling out, “Don’t stay gone too long, Spencer. I get so bored in here alone!”
-end-