Note:

Nearly two years later, here's a really short sequel to my Caged series (Caged, Imprisoned, Liberated if you haven't read them!).

Over the thumping, relentless beat, Will Graham could barely hear his own murderous roar as he pushed away the clinging, forceful hands of the man gripping him. The man was big; bigger than Will, with a gym-enhanced muscular physique. Will was stronger than he looked, though, and the force of his shove made the man's bright blue eyes widen in surprise.

"Don't touch me!" Will shouted, although it was pointless. Despite the fact that the sheer number of people in the nightclub was so huge that the two men were practically standing on top of each other, he doubted the stranger could make out the words.

The man snarled something back at him. Will didn't make out the words but the man's lips formed the shape of 'fucking murderer'. Will knew he had been recognised.

He reached for the man, unsure of what he was going to do. He wasn't angry as such. He was irritated. Bored.

A smooth, surprisingly cool hand wrapped around Will's wrist as he reached out and he turned to find soft brown eyes looking back at him. Another stranger, this time with a kind face. He offered Will a soothing smile and placed his other hand on Will's arm, steering him away from the rude man with the sort of quiet, innate authority that Will missed more than anything in the world.

Will found himself outside. The alley was cloaked in a fine mist of cool drizzle. He looked at the man who had saved him from making a scene.

He was small; it would be easy to break this man, Will thought. He had narrow, delicate limbs and thin hips. His black hair was long and ruffled. He was younger than Will by at least fifteen years.

"Sorry about that," he said gently. He had an accent which Will couldn't place- perhaps French or Spanish. "You looked like you were going to do something you would regret."

"I doubt I would have regretted it." Will frowned, then looked down at where the man's hand was still curled around his wrist. "But thank you."

"My name is Dom," the stranger said. He gave an embarrassed grimace. "I know your name."

Will was never sure what people expected him to say when they said that. A denial? A bloodthirsty spike of anger? To Dom's credit, he seemed to have abandoned the topic already, lighting a cigarette with an expensive-looking lighter. Hannibal would approve.

"Why are you here?" Dom asked him, taking a long, deep drag. Will was momentarily distracted by his lips. They were sensual and full.

"I get bored," Will replied slowly. "I get lonely." His own honesty shocked him. He didn't have friends these days. He didn't share his feelings.

"That's understandable. You've been alone for a long time, Will." Dom wasn't handsome, not really. His face was a bit too much of everything. Too much mouth. A strong, long nose. Brown eyes that were too huge to be properly lovely. But the whole picture was a delight.

He offered Will a cigarette and Will took it without comment. He allowed Dom to lean forward and light it while he held it in his lips. This close, he could smell Dom's aftershave and the clean scent of his shampoo.

Dom wanted him.

Will sighed, wondering what such a lovely young man could want from him. Will was past forty now, although only just, and there was a fair smattering of silver hair at his temples. He was still what Hannibal might reprovingly refer to as 'a poor dresser'.

It wasn't even an option. It was now five and a half years since that fateful evening when he'd been separated from Hannibal. "Dear Will," Hannibal said quietly. He reached out and brushed Will's cheek as he had done countless times before this. "Remarkable Will."

There hadn't been anyone since. Who could compare? The closest intimacy he had allowed himself was the few people he had murdered since then.

"You are lovely," Dom said. He was so straightforward and gentle. "You have such fascinating eyes."

Will exhaled slowly, shakily. He felt lost. He had never understood the dance of courtship, and Hannibal had led him firmly, showing him the steps he expected. But nobody else behaved as Hannibal did. Will didn't know how to flirt. He was surprised that he even wanted to. He took a long, deep drag from the cigarette.

Dom smiled at him, amused. "Sorry. I don't mean to make you feel awkward."

"You aren't." Will scratched his curls. "Well, you are, but…" He shrugged.

Dom chuckled. The rain was making his hair stick to his forehead. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his black Converse. He reached out and tweaked one of Will's curls.

"Dom. I'm double your age." Will cringed as he heard the words leaving his mouth.

But he was lonely. So lonely. And Dom was lovely and utterly unbothered by what Will had done.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Will asked softly.

Dom's fingers dipped lower, dragging down Will's stubble. "Do I look like I am?"

He was a little shorter than Will, who had to bend his head slightly to kiss him. As their lips met, Will pulled the younger man close, holding him by the hips. He allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Dom's full lips were soft and warm.

When they drew apart, Will looked into Dom's eyes, which were alight with desire. He was smiling slightly. Despite his young age, he had deeply etched lines at the corners of his eyes, marks imprinted by the way he crinkled his face when he smiled. This would be an easy man to live with. Simple. Happy.

Then Dom wasn't smiling. Something like fear clouded his gaze as he looked over Will's shoulder.

And Will knew, with a deep certainty that twisted his stomach, exactly who was standing there.

"Go back inside," Will breathed. He released his hold on Dom's narrow hips. "Go now. I'm sorry."

Dom swallowed, then nodded and turned, stumbling awkwardly over his own feet as he went back inside.

Will closed his eyes. What would happen now? He had been waiting years for this moment. He hadn't intended it to start with him kissing a stranger.

"Well, Mr Graham," came the heavily accented tones that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, "it appears I've caught you at an inopportune moment." Hannibal was angry. His words were heavy with it.

Will was struck by the absurd thought that he could run. Hannibal was not in touching distance of him yet. He might even outrun him; it was doubtful that Hannibal as at peak physical fitness after so long locked up.

"You killed Chilton, then," he said instead, still not turning around.

"Unfortunately, no. The good doctor was not working late tonight."

"A pity." Will meant the words. He loathed Chilton.

"Don't try to change the subject." Hannibal was moving towards him. Will let his eyes close. His heart was thundering in his chest. Let Hannibal do what he would. "I am not pleased, Will."

"Does it matter that he is the first?"

Hannibal was right behind him now, not touching. He bent to whisper in Will's ear. "You're mine, Will. You know that."

Will's skin was aflame. Hannibal's possessive words in his ear were more arousing to him than any kiss with anyone else. "You're late," he murmured.

Hannibal paused, then gave a smoky chuckle. It was so familiar, like sinking into a hot bath. Only Will could stand with the most dangerous person in the world behind him, laughing darkly, and feel at home. It was insane. It always had been.

"How late am I?"

"Five years," Will replied, as Hannibal slid his strong fingers around Will's throat. He didn't squeeze, merely let them rest there.

"Five years? I do apologise. You know I cannot abide lateness."

"Rude, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal pressed his mouth to Will's jugular and let it rest there for a moment, breathing warmly against his skin. "You would settle for a mediocre life, an average life, with an average person, would you? I can leave you here, if so."

Will exhaled. He knew Hannibal could feel his pulse racing against his lips. "I have lived a generally mediocre life for what feels like a very long time. I am bored of it."

"This is not the greeting I had planned," Hannibal purred dangerously against his neck.

"I'll make it up to you," Will promised, and he knew that he would; later, Hannibal would think of some terrible way to get his revenge. Will shivered in dark anticipation. He had missed this; the excitement, never quite knowing where he stood.

Hannibal grazed Will's skin with his sharp teeth. In the distance, sirens blared. "We should go," Hannibal said.

Will turned and kissed him. Nothing compared to kissing Hannibal. It was a work of art, a performance; tonight, Hannibal had assigned Will Graham the role of reluctant captive, holding him firmly by the back of his neck and devouring his mouth with almost painful intensity.

When it was over, Will drew back and greedily stared at Hannibal. He was not disappointed by the amount of blood on his lover; there were broad streaks of crimson on his face, and dried scarlet flakes in the neat, greying hair.

"Fuck, I've missed you," Will murmured.

"I have missed you." Hannibal flashed him a rare, broad smile. His pointed canines were startlingly white. "I have not missed those flannel shirts."

"You can tear it off me later."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "I was not going to wait for permission, but thank you."

He took Will's hand and led him from the alley, out to a plain red car. He held the door open for Will to slide inside and then climbed gracefully into the driver's seat, scowling as the engine sputtered to life.

"I apologise for the disappointing vehicle we are to escape in."

Will smiled. He watched Hannibal frown as he pulled out into the road and they set out. "Where to?" he asked.

Hannibal smirked. "Freedom."