Will lay in his tent by the river not far from his home, resting, a long and satisfying day of fishing behind him. The evening was warm and dry, a perfect end to a perfect day. A day spent entirely in solitude, in silence, in serenity. The small fire outside burned bright, Will waiting for the flames to calm before cooking his catch.
The dogs were safely tucked up back at his cottage and Will had an entire night to allow himself the freedom to escape among the stars and leave the real world behind, if only for a few precious hours.
Will's eyes drifted closed as he allowed his thoughts to wander, giving his mind the space to free himself from the blood and death in which he was so completely accustomed to being immersed, he allowed his thoughts to float towards the surface, breaking through its skin.
The vision that greeted him in his subconscious was not what he expected.
Hannibal.
"Hannibal…," he whispered.
"Hello Will," came the soft, deep, gentle voice.
Will's eyes flew open and he immediately sat up in the small space.
The confusion flitting across his face was to be expected.
"Pleased to see me?"
The Doctor was crouching, his face barely visible and dark eyes sparkling in the fading light, peering through the entrance gap.
He held up two glasses and a bottle of white wine with a slight smile. "To go with your catch."
Will placed the prepared fish above the fire, while Hannibal poured the wine. Will's mind was reeling with questions but one that pressed him the most simply had to be asked.
"What are doing here, Doctor?"
I am sorry to disturb you on an evening when you so clearly wished for solitude, however, I felt compelled to deal with this…. situation, as soon as it made itself aware to me."
"And what situation might that be exactly?"
Rather than relay a verbal response, Hannibal rose and walked around the dying embers. He crouched in front of Will before leaning bodily into the empath, pushing him to the ground. Will froze, the move completely catching him off-guard.
The latent attraction had been their since their first encounter but neither man had never given it voice, never even entertained the thought of acting upon it. Hannibal, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that that situation needed to be rectified.
Will found himself, in a rather pleasant if wholly unexpected position, pinned to the ground beneath his psychiatrist.
"Before I continue, I should point out that I am no longer your doctor and you, are no longer my patient."
Will was finding it progressively difficult to keep his breathing even, though it was little to do with the weight of the man above him.
"May I ask what brought this on?"
"I find your allure luring, Will, and I can no longer suppress my need of you - both mentally and physically."
Will stifled a laugh. "That's a rather cheesy line by your standards, Dr Lecter."
"What can I say? You cloud my mind, invade my senses. Your empathy leaves me breathless," Hannibal whispered, as he gently caressed unruly curls.
He didn't wait for a response from Will, leaning down to bridge the last vestiges of space that divided them.
And suddenly, the world stood still. Moments stretched to seconds and the sounds of the night were drowned out by synchronous heartbeats, intertwined fingers and the overpowering envelopment in another's aura. Hannibal leaned his head back to look at Will, but kept their bodies in close contact. His voice echoed with reverence as he spoke.
"Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest
is my beloved among the young men.
I delight to sit in his shade,
and his fruit is sweet to my taste."
"If you keep that up, Doctor Lecter, I won't be responsible for how this night progresses."
"And if I can but for a moment help release your mind from the trappings of your daily existence, please, sink into me..." he replied, his expression serene, as he radiated his want towards Will, who in turn, drank it down like a man dying of thirst.
Two catches in one day, Will thought to himself, as he sank into the embrace. Fishing for one's own sustenance sometimes yielded unexpected treasures.
