He feels like there isn't enough air in his entire house to fill his lungs. When his eyes burst open, the dampness of his sheets briefly make him consider that he'd wet the bed. He draws the conclusion quickly that he'd just sweat out half his body weight, judging by how his hair sticks to his skin. He hasn't felt anything in so long, and never anything like this. It's pure and raw, and for the first time it scares him. The way his heart pounds, his breathing rapid and unsteady. Anxiety is all in one's mind, it can be overcome with the mind as well. Breathing deeply helps, think about things that sooth you. Images of mutilated bodies cross behind his eyelids when he shuts them, and they fly open again. His body is tense, muscles aching like coiled snakes waiting to strike. He needs water, his mouth dry like a dessert; only he can't bring himself to get off the bed. He realizes he's shirtless, he never sleeps shirtless. Honestly, he can't even remember laying down the night before. It's nearly 5am and he can't remember where time went.
Shakily, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of his bed. He's never felt so unsteady on his feet; he feels defenseless. When his doorbell rings, he feels his stomach turn violently. He stumbles to the bathroom first, flinching at his own reflection. Unable to form a complete thought, he runs the cold water and tries to make his face appear more natural. The bell rings again just as he dries it, and he's at the door on autopilot. Neglecting the peephole, he opens it and stares into the face of Will Graham. Will's expression turns to one of confusion, than shock. Hannibal tries to straighten his posture, and fails; his legs too weak and he just wants to sit down.
"Dr. Lecter?" His voice is quiet, unsure as his eyes rake up and down his figure. Hannibal just stands in the open doorway, breathing heavily. "Hannibal, what happened to you?" He must have swayed on his feet, because Will is reaching for him. He can't remember the last time anyone touched his bare chest, and it's a strange sensation. He wants to speak, but he saves his energy for putting one foot in front of the other as Will half drags, half carries him to his leather couch. He thinks of a way to explain this, to Will and to himself, he doesn't even really know what's happening to him. Logically, he would classify this as a form of a panic attack, if it were anyone else. Not him, he doesn't feel panic. Anxiety is a feeling that flees him before it can ever really hit, and it makes him feel darker. For the first time in more years than he can recollect, he doesn't feel his dark nature battling his need to remain as human as possible. Will helps him lower himself onto the cool leather and as it touches his overheated back he shivers.
Will disappears for just a second, returning with a glass of water. He drinks it so fast her nearly chokes on it, and Will stands there awkwardly above him; hovering like a bird that's unsure where to land, but is too tired to keep flying. The empty cup finds a perch on the table, no coaster, and Hannibal inhales deeply. Will's sent wafts over him and he feels his heart rate decline dizzyingly fast. He lets his eyes shut as his body returns to rest mode, all of his energy draining. "What was that?" Will says again, sensing he's calmed, and he pries his eyes open again.
"Professionally, I'd say I had a panic attack. It's rather strange, I woke up like that. I've never had it happen before," he explains, a little surprised when Will sits down next to him. "I'm pleased you're here, oddly enough when I needed you, but what brings you here so early?"
Will looks from his eyes to his bare chest and then to the floor, "I couldn't sleep, and I figured you didn't sleep much either."
Hannibal is thoughtful for a moment, "I suppose you're correct, I don't sleep much. Did you come here for an early game of chess, or were you hoping I would have some insight as to what was causing your insomnia?"
Will smirked at the ground, and Hannibal eyed his face, "Actually, I wasn't here for chess but I'd love to play you."
"So the real purpose of your visit was the later, but you'd prefer the first?" Hannibal concluded, debating getting up to retrieve a shirt so Will stopped looking even more uncomfortable than usual.
"If you'd like to play, I think it would be interesting. Unless you'd rather go back to bed, then I'll go back home," Will said, bringing his eyes from the floor to Hannibal's face.
"Chess sounds lovely," and he gets up off the couch to retrieve his board. He pulls a shirt on first, then returns with his board. Will is right where he left him, perched on the edge of the couch. "You can get comfortable, Will. No need to act like a stranger." He settles down again, placing the board on the table. He runs his fingers over the wooden cover before lifting the board to reveal the pieces in small spaces under it.
"This is a beautiful set," Will commented, and Hannibal smiled slightly.
"It was my father's, the only thing I managed to keep with me from those years. The pieces are hand carved," he sets them up in perfect alignment on each square.
"It really is something, I've never played on one so nice," Will said, reaching to move his pawn forward. For some reason it pleased Hannibal, the way Will was gentle as if the piece would shatter.
"Well, I am glad it's with me you're playing," Hannibal moved his piece.
They went back and forth a few times in a comfortable silence, until the words came out of Hannibal's mouth without any real thought, "Would you consider us friends, Will?"
The question caught him off guard, and the other man looked up at him. Eye contact was not something Will did often so willingly, and Hannibal couldn't look away. "Neither of us are really men who have friends."
Hannibal's lips twitched, "That is true, but that doesn't mean the two of us aren't."
"Two loners who choose to not be lonely together," Will mused, and Hannibal smiled. He'd done way too much smiling and feeling, it was making him uneasy.
"That is a good way of putting it."
"I'd say we're friends, our own version of friendship. You're probably the only friend I have," Will added.
Hannibal looked away then, making a move that put Will in check, "As I think you are my only friend."
Will snorted, "You're on everyone's good list, no one has a bad word to say about you. You have many friends."
"Will, I am the person people expect me to be. They like me because I act in a way that they want me to. You, on the other hand, seem to demand to see me on a more personal level and I don't typically allow that. You're my exception," Hannibal responded honestly.
Will tried to move out of check again, but this time Hannibal had him, "Check mate."
"I'm your exception? I'd guess you're mine too, I break all my own rules with you."
"What rules are those?" he asks, leaning back away from the board.
"Never getting too close, never let anyone inside your head," he sounded slightly angry at himself for allowing it. But in the next second he had closed the gap and crushed their lips together.
He responded instantly, his hand coming up to touch Will's cheek. He entertained the idea of pushing him off, but Will's fingers tangled in his hair felt far too good. He'd never kissed another man before, though the thought had crossed his mind. Before he killed them, sometimes after, when the thrill and adrenaline left him so high he needed to channel it somewhere. Will ended the kiss far too soon, but he pulled his head away when he felt the other man retreat. "I'm sorry," was the last thing he wanted to hear in that moment, but that's what Will said.
"No need to be sorry," was the best he could come up with. It sent chills up his spine, the feeling of Will's tongue touching his. The soft flesh grazing against his teeth that had done unspeakable things. Then Will was kissing him again, rougher than before. His hands weren't gentle in his hair, and he was unsure what Will wanted him to do.
His mouth left his, and traveled to his neck, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head in approval. "The reason why I'm here, Hannibal," the rough voice whispered against his ear, "Is because I know." Hannibal's entire body tightened. "I knew all along, I just couldn't see it because I didn't want to. It's you, you're the ripper." Lecter didn't respond, expecting to feel cuffs on his wrist or a gun against his head, but instead Will kisses his neck again.
"I don't follow," he mumbled hoarsely, not bothering to open his eyes.
Will responded by biting the skin of his neck, and he let out a quiet noise. "I want to know if there's anything else that gets you going," he whispered against his skin, the warm breath raising the hairs on his neck. He knew he should make Will stop, or try to talk his way out of this, or do something. Yet, when Will's hand slithered up his shirt and touches his chest, he didn't care. The other man pushed him down on the couch, on his back. His hands traveled up and down, watching the rapid rise and fall of Hannibal's chest. "Do you like it?" he asked, aware the other man had no idea what he was talking about. His hands found Hannibal's throat and a knowing look crossed his face, "Having your air stolen?" and his thumbs clenched down at the same time, crushing the man's windpipe. Hannibal hardly struggled, instead his hands came up to weakly grasp at Will. His fingers clung to him more like a lifeline then pushing away what was killing him. His fingers loosely grasped his shirt, and Will couldn't resist the urge to squeeze even tighter. He stopped apply more pressure when he felt as though he would break Lecter's windpipe. Having that amount of power was so beautiful, feeling the way Hannibal's body switched from tense to slack as he grew weaker, and watching his eyes droop and his lips blue was fascinating. Shaking with effort to keep applying pressure, Will suddenly released him. Hannibal sputtered, unable to inhale and swallow. Will reached down to brush his hair off his face, feeling the fingers that grasped him tighten their hold.
Will sat straight up in bed, his heart racing. He looked around, half expecting to find Hannibal dead on his floor and a bloody knife in the sink. That dream was like nothing else, and it disturbed him so much he wondered if when he told Dr. Lecter himself about it if he would be bothered by it too. The thought faded quickly, since nothing disturbed Hannibal Lecter.