Title: Teeth
Author: Marystormshade
Pairing: Will/Hannibal
Rating: M, suggestive themes, adult situations, and um...stuff.
Summary: Hannibal is a domineering son of a bitch. Even when he's not trying.
Note: Mostly from Hannibal's perspective in a secondy third person...thing.
Xxxxxxxxxx
William Graham was small for a man of his age. Small, sleek, but with a wire strength that Hannibal found himself somewhat fond of. And it is in one of their earlier conversations that he notes with slight thrill the way Will, when provoked, swallows quicker than usual while dragging the back of his hand along his stubble.
"It's not like that." Will say's with a distinct 'this is embarrassing' tone.
"Of course not." Hannibal drawls slightly as he leans back into the leather of the chair. He holds back an amused smile when Will glares at the ceiling for an instant before pushing up his glasses once more.
"The dreams are irrelevant, they have no current importance within the parameters of the case."
"No, no of course not." Hannibal repeats once more as he studies the way Will's eyes flick about the study, catching occasionally.
"Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears black."
Will looked up and his eyes crossed with Hannibal's. He shot them back down.
"No. I make it a rule to only visit crime scenes during the most visible period of time. That way you can observe to the maximum."
Hannibal hums as he, with great grace, unfolds his legs, one from the other; like a piano players fingers pulling from the keys.
"Such interesting personal laws you have, you must share them with me over dinner." He comments, standing to his full height, his Cassini plaid suit un-crumpling as he stretches. His tone of voice leaves very little room for argument as he watches Will, waiting for him to stand and follow.
He does.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lector is staring at him in the most disturbingly arousing way so that Will fears he'll never finish chewing.
Apparently, they're eating a lamb stew which Hannibal had allowed to heat slowly throughout the work day. Will doesn't comment on the fact that the lamb has an interesting texture, compared to some of the lamb he's had, it doesn't seem like an important fact. And it really isn't, not with the way that Hannibal is studying him.
Hannibal wants to embalm the image of William sitting compliantly at the dinner table, eating with little regard to the way that when he brings the fork to his mouth his elbows bump against the edge of the table, and the fact that the cuff's of his button up shirt have small dots of rosemary vinaigrette splattered on them.
He finds it terribly endearing.
He see's.
He sees the way that Will strums his thumb across the metal of his fork and knife while he cuts into the meat. He sees the pulse of blood concealed beneath thin skin on Will's thin and malnourished face. The purple blue vessels that peek from sleeves are demanding his attention and Hannibal swipes his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he considers the reactions and repercussions of pressing his thin lips to the veins, wetting the color, perhaps adding teeth to the mix.
He wraps his lips around another bite of meat and contemplates the expression Will is giving him.
He watches Hannibal with great consideration. And what Hannibal is almost certain is awe.
Clearing his throat Lector brings his napkin to his lips, dabbing the sauce off carefully.
"You stink of fear Will, but you are no coward. Tell me, what is it that has you in such a fit?"
Will himself has the decency to look perturbed by Hannibal's statement, though, he still responds regardless.
"This. You. I'm not a patient, but I'm not quite a friend, not a colleague or coworker-not really, but we're both here at your house, eating a meal and drinking what I can only assume is extremely expensive wine, and discussing the theological meaning of killing...Somehow this doesn't seem to fit what I imagine (for lack of a better term) normal people would consider proper socialization."
Will stated this with little change in vocal volume or emotional inflection, however his eyes did seem to focus as tongue ran along his bottom lip subtly. Hannibal follows the motion with his own eyes.
"Perhaps we are not normal. Our intelligence could be at fault for that."
"Yes, maybe."
There is silence for a few more moment as they both quietly enjoy each other's company.
Xxxxxxxxxx
It is after William's third glass of wine that he finally loosens enough to pose a question.
"I saw you at my lecture on Tuesday. What were you doing there?" Will asks, pulling his glasses off and tapping them absentmindedly on the palm of his hand before he places them on the table, vertical of the now clean plate.
Hannibal looks up from his own white plate, smeared with red and brown drying crusty sauce as he contemplates the best answer. Finally, he decides on the truth.
"I found you very interesting to watch." As he says this Hannibal places his hands in front of his face, like a steeple as he leans his lip against the rough digits. Eyes train on Will, who's fingers are trembling gently as he lifts the wine to his mouth, sips, and places it back on the table.
"How am I...'interesting to watch'?" Will asks and it is then that Hannibal notices the fact that William's chest is rising and falling at an increased pace, that his pupils are slightly wider than usual and that when his hands are trembling, it's not because of anxiety.
He's excited.
Hannibal allows a coy smile to flit across his face as he stands, picks up the bottle of wine, walks to Will, and begins to pour.
"Your voice is very soothing. When you don't stutter that is."
"Ha."
"I also find the way you move to be very fascinating. The pure graceless gaunt that you somehow manage with."
Will says nothing but instead downs the fourth glass of wine and looks up, staring at Hannibal's lips. In response, Hannibal leans down toward Will and his nostrils flare in what could be interpreted as mixed disgust and arousal.
"I thought you got rid of that after shave."
There is little conversation that follows.
Xxxxxxxxxx
Hannibal must admit, Will is simply delectable.
He may as well have been gift wrapped just for him.
Hannibal Lector had never found sex to be all that gratifying. Yes it was pleasurable, and yes it relieved stress. But he never felt anything towards his past partners, and if he did it was only a hunger in the most eloquent way. He was simply hungry.
His tongue pulls past the second lower rib as he allows his teeth to scrape at the firmness of the concealed bone.
Even now as Will swallows and his throat tenses then relaxes Hannibal finds himself in consuming need. Not to devour, but instead to consume.
He leads.
Will follows.
William was beautiful. Especially when drowning in his own mind.
Xxxxxxxxxx
William Graham is not familiar with these sheets. Or these smells. Let alone the sounds. So, when he wakes to the feel of Egyptian cotton, neoclassic music, the sizzle of meat on metal and oil and what he can only assume is the smell of baking bread, he is more than a little confused.
He's never been one for cooking. Or waking up in different houses.
He slips from the sheets and fumbles around on the nightstand, looking for and failing to find his glasses. He glances down at himself and see's crescent shaped marks. Upon further inspection he sees that they extend from his inner thighs to clavicle, turning into what can only be seen as hungry bites.
The teeth marks glare with pink ferocity from his white skin, as if daring him to doubt their existence.
And it is in this moment that Will pushes his fingers into his eyes, causing spots to appear. And only when the spots dissipate does Will comment on the situation.
"Bastard."
The mongoose searches blindly for another moment for some clothing to don himself in before he goes to meet with the snake.