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When you fall in love with a person
Because your monsters have found a home in them-

That’s the kind of love
That owns your skin and bones.

Love, I am convinced is found in darkness.
It is the candle in the night.
-C. Joybell

“Will you hold still?  I cannot hope to clean your wounds if you keep moving so much!”  Will shifted uncomfortably on the bed, but managed to force himself into immobility, his own irritation ratcheting up another notch at the sharp tone in Hannibal’s voice.

“I’m trying,” he hissed through his gritted teeth.  “You could also make an attempt at being gentler.  He did sink four inches of steel into that meat you’re manhandling.”  Hannibal smothered a smile and pressed the gauze he was holding to the top of Will’s shoulder, satisfaction curling through his belly at the small gasp of pain Will breathed into the air.

“Jesus that hurts.  A little care would go a long way, damn you.”  The doctor loosened his grip fractionally as he wound the bandage into place over the gauze, securing it over the deeply bruised flesh.

“You were very brave,” he murmured as he turned Will’s face to examine the stitches he had administered just the day before.  “Taking it upon yourself to attack the Dragon as you did.  He could have killed you.”  The other man snorted and rolled his eyes.

“It would have been easier for you if I would have let him kill me.  Saved you the trouble of patching me up.”  Hannibal paused fractionally in his examination, quickly covering the sting in his heart at the thought of Will’s death at the hands of their former foe.  Before Will could question it, he went back to his task.

“What reason do I have to wish you dead?” he asked, almost keeping the tremor from his voice.  “We have come so far together, you and I.  We’ve traversed dark corners of the mind that others rarely glimpse, and have only managed to do so because we cling to one another.  You being dead would ensure my own demise just as surely as mine would cause some part of you to blink from existence.”  Will held his scathing reply while Hannibal probed the wound in his cheek.

“I do wish you’d quit sinking your teeth into your stitches while you sleep,” the doctor muttered beneath his breath.  “Our supplies are limited and I have nothing with which I can treat a severe oral infection.  Neither of us is well enough to leave this room for at least another couple of days, and I hardly doubt the employees of this fine establishment would be willing to procure heavily guarded antibiotics.”  He pushed gently at another broken stitch, earning himself another string of blasphemy from the man on the bed.

“Christ, stop it already,” Will bit out, pulling back. “I’m fine.  Just leave it alone.”  Hannibal relinquished his grip on the other man’s face and moved down the bed, pulling the covers with him. 

“As you wish, but do not lay blame to anyone but yourself for the scarring.”  Will nodded irritably and dropped his head back to the pillow.

“Fine.  A scar on my cheek to match the others you’ve left me.  What are you doing now?”  Hannibal raised his bloodstained gaze to meet the cool blue eyes staring back at him with undisguised suspicion.  Gods above this is tedious.

“I need to inspect your ribs to ensure they’re only bruised and not broken,” he explained impatiently.  “I do not need you thrashing about-”

“Hey, I don’t thrash-”

“Thrashing about like an eel when you sleep,” Hannibal overrode the protestations, “with the possibility that you’re turning your internal organs to Pâté.”  He pulled the edge of Will’s shirt out of the way to expose the long line of bruised torso, painted black and blue with the impact of their fall into the ocean.  The sight turned his stomach to knots.  Drawing another breath, he steadied himself and leaned forward, gesturing towards Will’s shirt. 

“Remove this, and I’ll make quick work of it.”  Will glared at him, but Hannibal’s face remained set and impassive.  Will wanted to strike him; surprise him.  Wipe the emptiness away and replace it with- 

It didn’t matter.  The impasse had to come to a conclusion.  He had to get the other man to stop touching him before he did something he’d regret. 

 “I’ve already dealt with enough of your insufferable mothering today.”  Hannibal snorted and pulled the blankets the rest of the way off his legs to fall to off the bottom edge of the bed, leaving the profiler completely exposed.  Will’s skin immediately lost what warmth he’d managed to retain.

“Remove your shirt,” the doctor repeated, gesturing to the button up that Will had steadfastly refused to remove during the examination of his shoulder.  “And turn to your side.”  The doctor removed the bloodied gloves he had been using and deposited them in the trashcan they relocated.  When he turned back, Will still sat stubbornly in place, the shirt firmly in place.  Hannibal sighed and crossed his arms, trying his hardest to keep the tension between them from burning him from the inside out.  Gods above, if it is to be like this, it may have been better to let us drown.  At least we would have sustained the ocean life for a time instead of antagonizing one another into an early grave.

“I am not here to steal your virtue, Will,” he snapped.  “Only ensure you don’t die from your own recklessness.  We have all day to play this game, but I have to admit, my patience for your stubbornness is growing thin.”  Will glared at the floor, but said nothing.  Several minutes of silence passed; time seemed to slow in the way it did when Hannibal was trapped into doing things he hated.  He realized with a lurch he hadn’t felt that way since his piano lessons as a child.

At the memory, he relented, his gaze softening.

“I will need to probe your abdomen and side, but I will do my best to be gentle.  I cannot do my job if you remain clothed.  It will restrict my ability to identify your injuries.”  Will glanced up, their eyes meeting for the briefest flash before he nodded tersely and undid the remainder of the buttons holding the shirt in place, tossing it onto the floor behind him.  He closed his eyes and worked to turn on his side, bracing his head on the pillow of his arm.  With a quiet sigh, he waited for Hannibal’s invasive touch to bring further discomfort to his already sore body.  It wouldn’t be the first time we have brought pain to one another.  We know how to do little else.

When nothing happened, he cracked open an eye and raised his head.  Hannibal stood rooted to the spot, staring down at Will’s body.  An emotion Will didn’t want to name chased itself across the other man’s features. 

It looked oddly close to longing.  Surely not.  Not for me. 

“Are you going to spend the entire morning staring at me, or are you planning to get on with it so I can go back to sleep?”  Hannibal stepped back as if he’d been struck. 

“Apologies,” he murmured, clearly shaken.  “I had not been expecting you to finally, if reluctantly, agree when you’ve managed to fight me on everything else today.  It… surprised me.”  Will’s stomach churned with the tumultuous force of small birds trapped in a windstorm.  Heat rose to his cheeks, flushing across the back of his neck.  He tried to think of something to say that would remove the cloying tension from the room, but he found himself strangely unable to speak.  Hannibal sat down gingerly, his gaze anywhere but the bare flesh before him.

If Will didn’t know better, he’d say that the other man was embarrassed.  Except he doesn’t feel embarrassment.  Or anything else for that matter.

“Hannibal-”  Hannibal shook his head.

“Let us conclude with the unsavory business of my hands upon your skin.  Once I’m sure nothing is damaged beyond skin and muscle, I’ll give you something to help you sleep.” 

“Hannibal it’s not-” Hannibal cut him off with a raised palm.

“I’m going to place my hands at the top of your ribcage and press, working my way down.  If you feel anything sharper than tissue damage as I work, please tell me.  And don’t be brave, Will.  If something has been broken, I will need to know.”  Defeated, Will nodded.  Hannibal reached forward and placed warm, practiced fingers along the upper part of his back.  Will breathed through the pressure without more than a hint of pain. 

So you can be gentle.  The thought made his heart pound.

“The scar on your ribs- how did you receive it?” Hannibal asked as his fingers worked over Will’s side.  Will glanced down curiously. 

“Which scar do you mean?”  Hannibal pointed to a circular puckering of skin about the size of a nickel.  Will hummed and let his head fall back. 

“I fell from a tree when I was six.  Hit a branch on the way down.  It didn’t take kindly to the damage I inflicted upon it.”  Hannibal nodded almost to himself.

“And this one?” He pointed to a smattering of lines along Will’s ribs, bright and angry looking, still recent enough to be fresh in color. 

“Are you planning on cataloging all of my scars? Want to know what skin won’t look pretty if you presented it at your table?”  Hannibal’s hands stilled.  Will suddenly wished he could take the words back, but it was too late; the damage was done.

“I had no intention of serving any portion of you, Will,” the doctor murmured, hurt plain in his voice.  “I was simply trying to make conversation and our situation isn’t a safe topic at the moment.  While I understand that you had no intention of surviving the fall, we did.  I’m only attempting to ensure we stay that way.”  Hannibal stood from the bed and made his way across their hotel room.  He picked up a bottle of medication and examined the label before tossing it over to where the other man lay, stunned, on the bed.

“Take two so you can get some rest without any pain.  I’m going to take a bath.”  Will swallowed hard.  He felt unbalanced somehow, as if the universe had turned on its side.

“Are you finished with your examination then?”  Hannibal nodded without turning around. 

“I believe we’ve both had more than enough intimacy for one day, don’t you?”  He didn’t wait for a reply.  Will watched him close the bathroom door, his chest feeling hollow and cavernous.  The room felt emptier without the other man’s presence.  When he was sure Hannibal wasn’t going to return, Will sighed and twisted the cap on the bottle he’d been thrown.  He didn’t bother to check the label, but shook two pills out into his palm before replacing the cap.  He swallowed them dry, too tired to try and source a glass of water.  Settling back against the covers, he closed his eyes and slept.

He wasn’t aware when the bathroom door cracked open and the blankets were replaced over his shivering form, tucked in to ensure they would stay in place.


Rough hands pinned Will’s palms in place, preventing him from moving much, not that he really wanted to.  Will stretched, tested the hold just to feel it.  The fingers laced through his own kept him down, let him move without relinquishing their grip.  He moaned out his pleasure, his thighs gripping the hips that pistoned a thick cock deep inside him, brushing against his prostate relentlessly.  The mouth that laved against his neck was covered with day old stubble, enough to add another layer of sensuousness to the lips that caressed his skin.  Will cried out weakly, stretching in the man’s grip, trembling with need.  The head lifted from his neck; Will caught a flash of bright maroon eyes before the mouth came crashing down upon his own.  Helpless in his desire, Will opened to the probing tongue, surrendered to Hannibal’s kiss as his body rocked on the thick length that took him over and over, filled him to bursting with every thrust.  The pace they set was relentless; within minutes, Will wanted to beg, wanted to feel those peaks of white hot pleasure overtake him as Hannibal claimed his body.  He gasped with it, moaned and writhed beneath the hard body that slid against his own.  He tried to breathe out his pleasure, tried to warn-

“Will-”  The voice in his head coaxed him closer.  Will moaned, chased the feeling.

“Will!”  The hands released him, fading away to nothing as he was roughly shaken awake.  With a gasping cry, Will came fully awake.  His body was drenched in sweat, hair clinging coldly to the back of his neck.  Beneath the tangle of the sheets, his body was still trapped within the dream; he was hard as iron, straining for any kind of friction, relief.  He bunched the covers around his waist, hoping with everything that it would go unnoticed. 

To his dismay, the hand on his shoulder belonged to none other than the star of the fantasy still playing itself back in his mind.  Hannibal stared at him with wide, worried eyes, his mouth halfway to forming his name for a third time.

“Christ, Hannibal, I’m awake,” he managed to croak out.  “You can stop shaking me now.”  The hand fell away immediately.  Will almost regretted the loss of heat.

“My deepest apologies,” Hannibal retorted, his voice icy.  “I was awakened by the sound of your distress and I sought to bring you some comfort in your slumber.”  A hand reached forward unconsciously to brush back the hair stuck to Will’s forehead; before he could stop himself, he leaned back, out of the way.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.  “I would have been-”

“May I remind you that you aren’t the only person in this room who needs to sleep to repair his wounds?  I thought you were having some form of your night terrors.  I simply wanted you to wake without the tedious theatrics you so often display when you are frightened.”  Hannibal stood from the edge of Will’s bed, stretching his arms above his head.  Will steadfastly kept his eyes on the floor and didn’t allow them to stray to the vast expanse of skin available to his fevered gaze.  When Hannibal climbed back into bed, he stood, ensuring it was dark enough to cover his straining erection.

“You needn’t have bothered.  I would have woken eventually.  I’m going to take a shower before I go back to bed.  Sorry I woke you.”  Hannibal turned his back without responding.  With a sigh, the profiler gathered a clean t shirt and boxers from the drawer of clothing they had purchased and padded to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  He didn’t bother with the light; the shocking ache left by his dream could only be faced in the comfort of the night.  He turned on the shower, giving the water a moment to warm as he stripped off the soaked shirt and boxers, dropping them unceremoniously to the cold tiles beneath his feet.  He stepped beneath the water, hissing as it hit the bandages.  Without a thought, he tore them off, tossing them towards the pile of soiled laundry.

The torrents of hot water beat down on his skin, easing the tension from his muscles inch by painful inch.  He washed his hair, using copious amounts of Hannibal’s expensive hair products, smiling to himself at the pettiness of his actions.  Using his own cheap body wash, he cleaned the sweat from his skin, taking great care to avoid the wound in his shoulder.  When he finished, he stood beneath the water and let it ease what remained of the dream from his mind, melting his thoughts away to nothing. 

Almost nothing, he thought wryly, finally allowing his mind to settle into the state the dream had left him in.  His erection had yet to dissipate. He gathered himself in the loose circle of his hands, shuddering at the contact.  I shouldn’t do this.  He may hear… but Christ, I don’t care.  I want it.  Carefully, Will uncapped the body wash Hannibal insisted on using.   Feeling weak, he took a tentative sniff.  Need immediately coursed through his veins; the scent was viscerally male, filled with spice and citrus, a hint of expensive leather.

It made his mouth water.

Keeping his mind carefully blank, Will dispensed a small amount of the soap into his hands, recapping the bottle with shaking fingers and setting it back into the space that held their products.  Only then did he work the soap into a thick lather between his hands, and with a deep breath, brought them back to his aching erection.  The slick sensation brought a gasping moan to his throat; he swallowed the sound painfully as he formed a sleeve around his cock and began to thrust.  His mind strayed back to his dream and the man in the other room; in a flash, Hannibal was behind him, replacing his fist with his own large hands, whispering filthily into his ear.

Take what you need.  Show me how good it feels.

With a surprised whimper, Will came to the phantom crooning in his ear, came so hard, his vision blurred.  Thick ropes of come hit the tiles and washed away beneath the spray of water, clearing away the evidence of his passion as Will let the aching relief of his orgasm rock through him.  Shaking, spent, he shut off the water and toweled off, dressing in the comforting darkness.  He opened the door and made his way back to the bed, keeping his eyes from straying guiltily to the sleeping doctor as he settled back into his dampened sheets.

The darkness hid Hannibal’s small smile well.


The wound in his shoulder itched.  Will barely refrained from scratching it as he blinked blearily into the bright light of their room, searching for his companion.  Hannibal sat on the edge of his own bed in grey jogging pants and no shirt, discomfort plain on his face as he attempted to view the exit wound in his side with a small hand mirror directed at the larger mirror before him.  The damaged flesh looked red and angry; the sight alone made Will wince and close his eyes for a moment.  Without a word, he rolled from the bed and padded across the room, snatching the mirror from Hannibal’s grasp.

“Why didn’t you have me look at this?” he murmured angrily.  “Its close to infected and you already said we don’t have the medication to handle that kind of damage.”  Hannibal stared at him in shocked silence.  Will took the bottle of cleanser from his grasp and dispensed it onto the cloth before turning to properly assess the wound. 

“I had little doubt that you’d find the work tasteless, and tried to save you the trouble,” Hannibal finally bit out.  “Careful with that.  It stings.”  Will only smiled and pressed into the marred flesh a second time.  Hannibal swallowed a cry of pain and closed his eyes.

“I know it stings.  I told you that the last time you manhandled me.”

“I was not-” 

“Whatever you say, Hannibal,” Will replied breezily, patting the wound dry.  “Next time, go for gentle and you’ll receive the same.  Do we have gauze?”  Hannibal gestured towards the desk.

“Over there.”  Will nodded and stood, collecting the supplies he needed to complete the bandaging.  Holding the clean dressing the wound, he began tearing surgical tape from its roll in strips.  He allowed himself a quick glance down Hannibal’s back as he affixed the bandage in place, making sure he didn’t linger any longer than what could be considered necessary.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, pressing a cool finger to Hannibal’s spine.  An old, white scar that looked suspiciously like a knife wound stood out in stark contrast to the tanned flesh that flexed with finely honed muscle. 

The sight made Will dry mouthed and weak kneed with want.  Stop it.  This is not happening.

“I was stabbed in a training incident in Lithuania,” Hannibal replied, flexing his shoulders.  The muscles beneath Will’s fingers bunched enticingly.  “The wound feels… better.  Thank you.”  Will ran a finger along the scar, watching as it disappeared and reappeared beneath his touch.

“Yeah, no problem.  This looks like it hurt.  The wound was deep.”  Hannibal shuddered at the third pass of his fingers.

“Are you cataloging every mark upon my body, then?” he asked, his voice filled with mirth.  Will stiffened and removed his hand.

“No, just… curious.  I don’t know that much about you.  Or what you’ve been through.”  Hannibal turned; his eyes caught Will’s own confused gaze.

“Yet you chose to save me when you could have easily taken me back to the clutches of Doctor Chilton and his ilk,” he replied quietly.  “Or you could have killed me.  Yet you made the decision to free us both.  I don’t believe I thanked you for that.”  Will stood and collected the discarded materials of his first aid to Hannibal’s side.

“Don’t thank me.  I didn’t think we’d live. I still don’t know if we will truly live again, hunted as we will be.  More than likely, we will grow to hate one another instead and one of us will cave and turn the other in.”  Hannibal watched him silently as he made his way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower and source us something to eat,” Will announced without turning.  “I need to stretch my legs.”  And I need to get away from you and your gazes before we both regret it.


The nightmare rose, as it so often did, from a jumble of incoherent images.  They all drifted disconnectedly before his eyes; a stag, a basin filled with clear water that trickled down its sides, turning crimson as the droplets fell, a shattered mirror, a broken tree.  The pain that came with it this time was staggering; instead of witnessing the damage he’d inflicted upon countless others in the years that preceded his fall from grace, those victims turned upon him, rending him limb from limb as they smiled their eerie, glowing smiles with far too many teeth.  One, a twisted shadow with the face of Clark Ingram, hauled the chunks of removed flesh to a newly gutted horse and began stuffing it with the pieces as he watched, helpless and so riddled with pain, it took ages for the scream to build.

But build it did.

Will’s chest hitched, convulsed as he struggled to take in the air necessary to cry out, but the sound wouldn’t escape his ruined vocal cords.  He struggled, forced to witness as the horrors of his own making took him apart inch by ruined inch.  I’m dreaming. I know this is a dream.  Need to scream myself awake, just scream myself awake, screammyselfawake-

A hand clamped down onto his forearm, wresting Will from the clutches of his night terrors.  Hannibal pulled him close, wrapped his arms protectively around the profiler’s shoulders as he struggled to calm the frantic beating of his heart.  The familiar scent of the doctor’s body wash drifted into his senses; Will pulled it into his lungs, holding the desperately comforting notes in his chest until it burned, forcing him to take another gasping breath.  Hannibal stroked a hand down his sweat soaked t shirt, massaging the worst of the tension from his shoulders.

“Shhh. It was just a dream.  You’re perfectly safe.  I have you.”  Hannibal’s breath tickled his cheek as he whispered words of reassurance into Will’s skin as Will struggled to get himself under control.

“Jesus-”  Hannibal stopped in an instant, pulling back far enough to see the profiler’s face.  Will screwed up all of his courage and buried his face in the other man’s chest.  The hands returned tentatively to his back, slowly stroking up into the damp tangle of his curls.  A small, pained sound escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Perhaps a shower,” Hannibal murmured.  “Wash the dream from your skin.  You’ve already experienced your terror for the night; you should be able to sleep now, hmm?”  Will shivered in the other man’s embrace, weak.

“Shower won’t help.  Bed is soaked straight through.  Will need to call for a change of sheets tomorrow.”  Hannibal’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second; Will could almost feel a decision being weighed.

“Shower and sleep on the other side of my bed,” the doctor offered.  “It’s warm and nightmare free.”  Will took a deep breath, relief he didn’t feel he deserved flooding his senses.

“Are you certain?”  Hannibal nodded against his uninjured shoulder.

“Go shower and come to bed.  I’ll be waiting.”  Will tried not to think about the implications of the other man’s statement as he made his way to the bathroom on shaking legs.


Hannibal’s bed was as warm as he had promised; far warmer than Will’s own had been.  He’d returned from his quick but thorough shower to find that Hannibal had taken up the side of the bed by the door, leaving his own sleeping space open for Will to occupy.  The profiler dropped his laundry into the bag that contained the rest of his dirty things and made his way to the bed, folding himself contentedly beneath the sheets with a sigh.  The blankets felt like heaven as they tangled around his legs, and as he pressed his face into the pillow, he breathed in the scent of Hannibal’s shampoo, letting it wash him clean.  The aroma filled his entire being with a sense of security he hadn’t felt since they fled Baltimore.  It’s him,  he suddenly realized.  It’s always been him.

The man in question lay on his side, back facing where Will lay in quiet contemplation.  He hadn’t bothered changing his attire; the broad expanse of his muscled back was visible to Will’s hungry gaze as he watched him breathe deep, even breaths.  The scar he had examined earlier gleamed faintly in the low light.  Will turned on his side in the same direction, barely able to keep his fingers from reaching out to touch the skin before him, stroke his fingers along the marred flesh as he had before.  He wanted to know if it was as hot as the sheets lead him to believe it was.  He wanted to cling, breathe in the smell of Hannibal’s skin… his realness.  Coming to terms with their situation and his feelings regarding the other man seemed so easy in the darkness that surrounded them; here, in the safety of night’s embrace, he could have anything he desired. 

Will wanted everything.

“Hannibal?” he whispered to keep himself still.

“Yes?” came a muffled reply.  Hannibal’s voice rumbled with the thunder of sleep.  Will wanted to make him moan in that voice.  I can’t do this to him.  Not with how I’ve made him feel over the past few days.  He will turn me away.

“Nothing,” he finally murmured.  “Sorry for waking you.”  The silence stretched around them, filled to the brim with things that wanted to be released into the bubble that seemed to surround the bed, blocking out everything but the two of them.

“Are you worried about sleeping?” Hannibal whispered back.  “I can’t imagine what nightmares you carry with you from our previous life, Will.  It may take some time for you to move through it.”  Will shook his head before he remembered Hannibal couldn’t see him.

“No.  Not worried about sleep.  I just-”  He sighed.  I’m not brave enough.  Will never be able to just… tell him.  Hannibal turned to face him, his eyes almost black in the low light.

“Talk to me, Will.  Tell me what is on your so troubled mind.”  Will snuggled further into the covers as if protecting himself.

“I don’t want to talk,” he muttered.  “I want- I want to-”  Hannibal reached out slowly and cupped the back of the profiler’s skull.  He moved forward, his eyes holding the question.  Stop me.  Will watched him inch closer, quiet fascination brimming from his features.  The fingers on his head pulled gently, bringing Will with their coaxing touch.  Inches from contact, Hannibal paused, his eyes searching Will’s face.  The hand in his hair flexed, bringing them another half inch closer.  Hannibal’s eyes dropped to Will’s mouth; he licked his lips, breath coming in a short, delectable puff of air that washed itself over Will’s skin.

“Will-”  Will placed a single finger to the other man’s parted lips.  Their eyes met briefly, wide and shocked, before Will replaced his finger with his mouth.  The world around them went quiet as their lips touched for the first time, a gentle press as soft as a feather.  Will pulled back for a fraction of a second before Hannibal made a small, desperate sound in the base of his throat and pulled him back.  Their mouths crashed together with wanton desperation.  The hand in Will’s hair tightened, guiding his head to turn so Hannibal could deepen the kiss.  Will suddenly found himself on his back, pressed into the pillows as six feet of cannibal maneuvered himself between Will’s open thighs.  Their hands tangled, Will’s own pinned to the bed as they devoured one another.  Like my dream.  Exactly like my dream.

The seal of their lips broke as Hannibal crawled over him, covering Will’s body with his own.  Their mouths met again, a small flash of tongue begging entrance against Will’s bottom lip.  He opened for Hannibal to lick his way into his mouth, gently fucking him with his tongue.  It was everything Will needed it to be. 

He never wanted it to end.

“Say yes,” the doctor whispered against his lips before kissing him again.  Will stilled, unsure of what he was being asked.  The hardness pressed between his legs as Hannibal rolled his hips answered for him.

“Yes,” he moaned, reaching for the headboard.  “For the love of god, don’t stop.  I-I need-”  Hannibal filled his mouth with his tongue, tugging at his clothing.  Between the two of them, they shed Will’s t shirt and their boxers, letting them fall from the edge of the bed without another thought.  Hannibal reached for the bedside table and removed a sleek, clear bottle from its depths.  When Will raised an eyebrow, he chuckled darkly.

“A man can hope,” he whispered against his lover’s lips.  “Even psychopaths.”  Will watched greedily as Hannibal slicked his fingers, coating them with the gel before reaching down.  Gentle fingers sought between Will’s thighs, questing lower until they found the puckered skin of his opening.  Will gasped, his entire body pulled tight at the first circling finger.

“Shh, darling,” Hannibal murmured as he slowly pressed inside.  “Relax for me.  Let me in.  I won’t hurt you.  Nothing would be more distressing.”  Will moaned weakly as the other man worked his finger deeper, massaging the oil into his body as Will trembled in his arms.  Without being asked, he bent his knees, spreading his legs wider, a silent plea for more.  Hannibal reached for his lips and circled him with two slick fingers before slowly breaching him again, pausing every time a hint of pain flickered across the profiler’s features.  Will writhed against him, the feeling so deliciously pleasurable, he wanted to expire.  Hannibal took him slowly, working him open with all the patience and care left over from his profession.

When he was able to work three fingers smoothly in and out of Will’s relaxed opening, Hannibal smiled against the profiler’s lips and crooked his fingers up, brushing against the soft bundle of nerves he’d been purposely avoiding until that moment.  Will cried out hoarsely, his vision going white with the intensity of his pleasure. 

“Please-” he begged, panting.  Hannibal’s lips found his own as he circled Will’s prostate once more.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.  “I could watch you tremble for me against these pillows all night.”  Will nodded frantically.

“Christ, please-”  Hannibal slowly withdrew his fingers and reached for the bottle once more, liberally coating his cock.  He was hard as steel and so sensitive, the smallest touches as he slicked himself almost did him in.  With gritted teeth, he worked the lube along his erection until he could handle no more.  Will watched between his spread thighs, his eyes glassy and rounded with need.  Hannibal placed the bottle back on the night stand before settling back into place.  With a deep breath, he found Will’s lips, parting them with his tongue.  They kissed until Will melted back into their embrace; open, ready.

“Breathe for me,” Hannibal whispered as he lined the spongy head of his cock up against Will’s entrance.  Will moaned and nodded; Hannibal pressed his way inside the first few inches.  Time seemed to stop completely.  Their shocked eyes met; so much passed between them in that moment that Will’s world and everything in it shattered.  There was only the feeling of being taken, filled, changed.  He wasn’t Will Graham, scourge of the FBI any longer.  He was skin and breath and life; the man beneath Hannibal Lecter’s body, pinned open and taken by the man he couldn’t live without.  It stole the breath from his lungs, blew his entire mind to tiny pieces.

Hannibal pushed forward in one long thrust until their hips came flush, his body shaking with the enormity of the experience they now shared; everything they had been to one another suddenly and inexorably culminated into a single, crystalline moment that would be burned into his memories for as long as he lived.  When their eyes met, the fragility on Will’s face; his disbelief, desire, relief, flooded through Hannibal’s system like a warm bath.  In that moment, there was nothing but Will.  His heart squeezed gently in his chest, cutting Hannibal’s breath to nothing.

He held himself still, trying desperately to think of anything other than the all encompassing heat surrounding him, the squeezing warmth of Will’s insides.  They breathed together, giving Will time to settle into the stretch before the profiler nodded with a small smile.

“Please,” he murmured, tilting his hips.  “I want you.  Please.”  Hannibal laced their fingers together and pinned Will to the pillows; Will’s pupils blew wide, a small breath broke through his composure.  “Please,” he begged, stretching into Hannibal’s hold with obvious enjoyment.  Something warm and greedy spread through Hannibal’s system; he grinned and reached for Will’s lips, resting their foreheads together as he steadied himself.

Slowly, almost lazily, he began to roll his hips.

Will’s mouth fell open in pleasure; Hannibal took the opportunity to fill it with his tongue as they fucked.  Will’s feet locked behind his back, urging him deeper.  With a groan, Hannibal released his lover’s hands to grasp his hips, pulling him forward and onto his lap.  He brought their bodies flush, felt a gentle sting as Will’s nails sank into the flesh of his shoulders and back, raking down in desperation as he fucked him, filling him over and over.  The flushed and engorged head of his cock brushed against Will’s prostate, bringing muffled cries to Will’s lips as he claimed the profiler’s body.  Hannibal broke their kiss with a gasp, burying his head against Will’s neck, biting gently into the soft flesh of his throat as he picked up the pace.

Sweat poured down their bodies, easing their movements until they glided together as if coated in oil.  Will gripped the headboard, holding himself in place to take each slam as Hannibal pounded into his body.  His orgasm rolled in on a horizon of pleasure, brought closer with each wave of sensation that crashed along the shores of his psyche.  Hannibal’s hands held his hips in place, pinning him to the bed as they rocked into each other, giving and taking in equal measure.  Will’s cock, swollen pink and leaking against the muscled planes of his belly, lay wholly ignored between them.

“Good?” Hannibal growled against his neck.  Will nodded wordlessly, frantically trying not to come.  Not yet.  More.  I need more.  As if he could hear him, Hannibal smiled; Will could feel the press of his teeth as he selected another bit of flesh to mark.

“Show me, darling.  I want to feel you come on me.  Show me what I do to you.”  Will’s heart beat frantically against his ribs; as much as he wanted to continue, he couldn’t deny the command.  His hands left the headboard to pull Hannibal into a searing kiss and with a groan from his very soul, the first white hot peak of of pleasure blew him to fucking pieces.  Ever the perfect lover, Hannibal fucked him through each crest, whispering against his lips as Will moaned, weak and exhausted, completely wrung out from the sheer intensity of his orgasm.  He used the last of his strength to grip his lover’s shoulders, sinking his nails to hold Hannibal in place.

“You too,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Need to feel you fill me.  Give to me, Hannibal.  I want it all.”  Hannibal slammed into him once, twice, three times more.  With a quiet cry of some semblance of his name, Will felt a new warmth flood his insides, bringing gentle tremors to the surface of his skin.  Hannibal fucked him through his pleasure before he collapsed within the circle of his arms, spent and struggling for breath.  Will stroked a hand through his hair, soothing him as his heart slowed, its beats settling into the same rhythm as his own. 

The room fell quiet, but it no longer felt oppressive.  Right, Will’s exhausted brain offered.  It feels right.


“You’ve got marks,” Will murmured as he swept his hands along the delight of Hannibal’s shoulders.  “From- you know.”  He held his hands in front of Hannibal so he’d get the meaning.  “They look like crescent moons.  Kind of pretty.” Hannibal brought Will’s hand to his mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers before drawing them back around his waist.  Will lay his head against the swell of the other man’s shoulder with a contented sigh.

“I will wear each scar you left me as the badge of honor it is meant to be,” Hannibal replied, disengaging the shower head to clean the rest of the soap from their bodies without turning around.  Will snorted, too comfortable to move as the water poured down his hair and face.

“Not sure they’ll scar, but they’ll be there for a while.”  His fingers swept over the depressions, watching them pinken with exhausted fascination.  Hannibal replaced the shower head and turned in his lover’s arms, gathering him in for a kiss.

“Perhaps not this time,” he remarked.  “But with frequency, they’re bound to leave a lasting reminder of our passion.”  Will raised an eyebrow, even as he reached for Hannibal’s lips.

“I think we need some sleep first,” he whispered against the doctor’s mouth.  “Then, I’d be happy to try again.”  Hannibal smiled and turned the water off.

“Sleep and room service.  And… I believe we are well enough to move on, if you’re feeling up to it.”  Will’s eyes gleamed in the low light as they dried one another gently.

“Somewhere with a beach?”  Hannibal nodded.

“I believe we are both in need of a long vacation.  I see no reason to start somewhere dull.  On one condition.”  He kissed the profiler’s delighted lips before tugging him out of the room.

“What’s that?” Will asked as he crawled beneath the sheets and into Hannibal’s waiting arms.  Hannibal smiled and pulled him close, placing a small kiss on his forehead.

“You’ve got to quit biting your stitches.”