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Will paced fitfully, feet falling in the same patterns every time he went over rug and hardwood, back and forth, even steps divided between soft and hard texture evenly. He watched his feet as he went to make sure they landed in the right place with every step. He knew that Hannibal was watching him, probably taking mental notes on compulsive behavior, on repetition. He couldn't stop. His footfalls became faster and faster, working himself into a blur, his mind racing, hands clenching, thumbs rubbing comfortingly on fingertips.
"Every time I think that I've got him out of my mind, he comes back," he started after realizing he had been pacing silently for a few minutes. "I can go for maybe a day before I think about him and then there he is. Shirt bloody and eyes blank, staring into mine."
Hannibal made a noise, but Will wasn't looking at him. The floor was flying by as he watched. The pacing route became shorter by a step. He was whirling around, trying to keep his feet going with the rhythm of his brain.
"I can barely work. I can't sleep at night. I wake up and I'm drenched in sweat and all I can remember is killing, killing, killing." Will stopped, suddenly done with pacing. He took two steps towards the most comfortable chair Hannibal had in his office (he knew that, he had been here too often) and sat. He felt very still even though he knew his hands were still twitching.
"You say that therapy doesn't work on you, and yet you still come to me with these problems. Why is that?" Hannibal finally spoke. He calmly sat in the chair opposite Will.
Will stared at the knot in Hannibal's tie. "You know as well as I do that if I didn't show up, Jack would kill me."
Hannibal smiled thinly. "True. But you have no obligation to speak once you are in this room if showing up is the only thing required of you."
"Well, maybe I just wanted to vent," Will said, relaxing back into the chair. His muscles, still tense, started to ease. The cool smoothness of the leather was welcome on his arms.
"I am happy to listen," Hannibal said simply, folding his hands. "I could even try to offer my opinion, though I'm afraid you would reject it since that would be dangerously close to therapy."
Will laughed with no pretense of amusement. "Go ahead and talk. I can't guarantee I will listen."
"I'm afraid that would defeat the purpose, then. I'll refrain." Hannibal watched Will curiously for another few seconds, seeing his fingers lightly tapping unknown rhythms and his leg twitching in response. "Have people ever pointed out that you cannot keep still?"
Smiling darkly, Will raised his eyebrows at Hannibal, keeping his eyes fixed just below his gaze. "This is one of those screening questions, isn't it?"
"I confess, it is. But I assure you that I have no intention of reporting this back to Jack, if you were worried about that. Strictly between us."
Will shifted uncomfortably, crossing his legs and drawing every part of his body a bit closer to his center. "Yes, I have. As you may have noticed, I lead a rather high-anxiety life. It keeps me calm."
Hannibal nodded knowingly. "You move in certain patterns, repeating them in times of high stress or," he tilted his head, "I would wager, of great joy as well."
"Now I know that you're screening me and I have no interest in it." Will stood, his every movement tense, cold.
"I apologize. I let my curiosity get the better of me." Hannibal rose as well, following at a polite distance as Will let himself out the door. They nodded at each other, not quite meeting gazes, and that was all the goodbye they needed.
- - -
Hands press flat into his back, pushing him down. He still can't breathe but he can smell. And he smells blood before he feels it, running down his back and flowing across the crevices of muscles and fat. Someone is cutting into him, but he feels no pain. Only the dim awareness of being opened. The knife traces around his shoulder blade, splitting him deep. He is suddenly not sure if he still has skin. Or organs. He feels very empty in his guts.
And then something is lifted from him. He knows instantly it is his own flesh. His own meat. It is only now that he realizes he should be wondering who it is holding him down and butchering him. He is scared that he instantly knows the answer.
He can still hear. He hears human lips wrapping around his own flesh, sucking, biting, tearing it. The meat is raw. The sting of blood fills his mouth and he can taste it, taste himself. He is wonderful. It is the most erotic thing he can think of, tasting his own flesh. He arches in his bonds, trying to get more meat, trying to grind against the cushions he is on, trying to get any satisfaction. Nothing comes. He feels very empty in his guts. The knife pierces into him again.
- - -
He lay back down, flipping the pillow. Staring at the ceiling and trying (and failing) to not think of that coppery taste in his mouth, he reached his hands between his legs.
- - -
Hannibal smiled. "Of course."
Will was pacing again. "Have you ever thought about eating humans?"
He wasn't looking at Hannibal, but even if he had been, he wouldn't have seen a sign of distress. "The thought has crossed my mind. I think it is inevitable. We know we are animals and we eat animals, so of course sometimes we wonder what it would be like to eat human flesh. Not to mention the many criminals who give in to such temptations. I am no stranger to those cases."
Will's pace slowed. "I dreamt about it last night."
"Who were you eating?"
Will smiled grimly. "Me. I was being eaten but I could taste my own flesh."
"And how did it make you feel to be eaten?"
"I felt horny," Will said, laughing nervously. "And that's pretty scary."
Hannibal shrugged a bit. "The realm of our dreams does not necessarily correspond directly to reality. This does not mean that you find the prospect of being eaten to be sexually stimulating."
Will laughed again. He felt wild. He felt like nothing could stop him. He stopped pacing and stood very still because if he moved, he was afraid his whole body would go flying. "I think that I might."
"Maybe there is an aspect of power there. The idea of being consumed, of having someone possess you completely."
He shivered. It sounded so simple coming from Hannibal's lips. It sounded so simple and it sounded incredibly sensual.
"Who was it that was eating you, Will?"
Will grinned, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. "You."
- - -
They kissed again, teeth knocking, tongues trying to claim each other. Two sex-starved men, though one of them had it under a lot better control. Will gripped hard at Hannibal's suit jacket, wrinkling the fabric and pulling, trying to pull it off of his shoulders. If he had been a stronger man or the suit worse made it would have torn. Hannibal took his hands from where they had been greedily exploring Will's chest and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. He ground their hips together and kissed Will as he unbuttoned his vest, taking that off, too. He was left in half-undone shirtsleeves, tie almost tied but still looped around his neck. Will was unbuttoning his shirt as he watched, opening it, but unable to get out of the sleeves without moving from the desk and neither one wanted to do that.
Hannibal pushed Will's undershirt up to his armpits, his hands exploring the landscape of ribs and stomach, taut and soft with hair. Will moaned, grabbing Hannibal's shoulders. Hannibal understood and started to undo Will's pants.
"I guess I should probably tell you—" Will started, his voice shaking and he wasn't sure if it was from mounting anxiety or arousal. But Hannibal had already slipped a hand under his waistband, so there was one fewer conversation he had to have.
Hannibal smiled and Will could almost trick himself it was genuine. "I had my suspicions," he said, his hand stroking Will where he was already hard and wet, aching for touch.
They both shed their pants, and underwear, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Hannibal kicked them aside. He was more struck by how unprofessional it was that his clothes would be wrinkled than fucking his patient. Will arched, grinding against Hannibal's thigh. Hannibal couldn't help but exhale with pleasure, letting his erection grind into the crook between Will's thigh and hipbone.
"I guess this is the point where I broach the subject of how we are going to fuck," Hannibal said quietly, and it send a shiver down Will's arms and back to hear the obscenity.
"You can fuck me. I mean, like fuck fuck me. Ass or... otherwise." Will shook. He needed this so much. He felt so empty in his guts.
"Seeing as how I did not come prepared with lubrication, I am inclined to choose 'otherwise', if that it alright with you." Hannibal withdrew himself from Will for the longest second of their lives and returned with his wallet. He drew a condom out of it and dropped it on the floor again.
"Yes, yes. I like that. Please." Will let his fingertips run from Hannibal's exposed collarbone, down his still-clothed chest, and to his bare hips while Hannibal rolled the condom onto himself. Hannibal experimentally put one, then two, then three fingers inside Will, who rolled his hips into it and gasped. Satisfied, Hannibal slowly slid his length into Will. There was no purchase on the desk for Will to make Hannibal go faster. This was no accident. He moaned and pleaded for more, but Hannibal only smiled softly.
Gradually, very gradually, he increased his pace, and as he fucked Will faster his composure broke just a bit. His hair fell in front of his eyes, a slight layer of sweat on his face as he fucked Will hard into the desk. Will couldn't say words anymore, only gasps and moans, his voice raising in pitch and loudness until he felt like his chest was cracking in two. Hannibal arched over Will's chest and kissed his shoulder, then bit it hard. Will's eyes flew open wide, half-screaming in shock and arousal and as Hannibal dug his teeth in harder, almost hard enough to break skin, Will orgasmed hard, his whole body convulsing. Hannibal was not too far behind, pumping for another minute before gasping and coming, his rhythm breaking and his knuckles white.
Hannibal pulled out of Will and nearly collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. "That was incredibly good," Hannibal said, and Will is sure that there was a genuine smile there for a moment. He smoothed Will's hair back, a too-affectionate gesture that Will appreciated anyway.
They slowly started to collect themselves, sitting up and standing, surveying the damage, collecting their clothes. Will picked up everything and started to gingerly walk towards the bathroom.
"In pain?" Hannibal said, watching his deliberate footfalls.
"Just well-fucked," Will responded, almost meeting Hannibal's eyes but flickering away at the last moment. After a beat, he spoke again. "You can break skin next time, if you'd like."
"Next time," Hannibal said, nodding. It was not a question.
- - -
Hannibal exhaled slowly. "I'm loathe to use the word to describe anyone. It's such a relative term."
"Do you think something's wrong with me?"
"Yes, I do. But I do not want to fix you."
"What's wrong with me, in your opinion?"
"You have problems with making eye contact, you use repetitive movements to cope with strong emotions, your body language and facial expressions are often forced, you have a narrow field of interests. There is no mystery to what I think."
Will laughed once. "It's a popular diagnosis for me."
"I'm not diagnosing you. You simply asked my opinion. I have no wish to analyze or diagnose you without your explicit permission."
"What about the other things? The hallucinations, the anxiety, the dreams..."
"I have my theories. I think it is not controversial to say that you have experienced plenty of trauma."
Will made an unsatisfied noise. "And the cann..." he trailed off. "The dreams?"
Hannibal's smile looked like a knife. "I see no problem."