Fair Warning: there's smut. In this chapter, mostly just masturbation, hand feeding, puppy play, and choking. But also this story is just all kinds of fucked up. We've got emotional/psychological manipulation. Mental illness/Will's condition. Hannibal being an exceedingly shitty therapist. Extreme sadism and masochism. Past abusive relationships. Violence. Pretty much Will just wants to be treated like a dog. And he's horrible at saying no (therefore suggestions of dub-con). Discussion of murder/cannibalism. Nobody helps Will Graham. But he doesn't die here, at least. Um… enjoy with caution?

The first time it happened, Will couldn't be sure it wasn't a dream. True, he was sitting in Hannibal's office. They'd been calmly discussing his dogs. Specifically, a new one he'd found. He felt aware, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He'd been losing time left and right.

"Another stray, Will," Hannibal smiled and shook his head. "Soon you're going to need a bigger house."

Will shrugged. Because he'd already given all the common excuses. If I didn't take them in, they'd starve. I'm better at relating to animals than people. They make me feel safe. He got this feeling, that Hannibal already knew without him having to say it. That he admired dogs for their utter simplicity. All they wanted was to eat, to run through fields, and to be occasionally given some attention. No ulterior motives. No lurking darkness.

When he thought about things from a dog's point of view, he went instantly slack and calm. Almost pliant. Almost happy. If he could just block out everything else, all the crime scenes, all the blood and pain of the world, and only spend time around dogs—he might reach a state of existential nirvana.

Sadly, nobody wanted to let him do that. And it was a weird thing to say, wasn't it? I just don't want to see people anymore. Please never bother me again. Leave me alone so that I can only spend time around animals and get some goddamned peace.

"You're smiling. What are you thinking about?" Hannibal raised his wine glass and sipped it casually. That was a thing. Whenever Will showed up at a session late, they'd open a bottle. All good stuff. Will drank it for the taste. Because it was expensive, and he'd feel bad refusing. But the numbing effect wasn't awful either.

"You know, how simple everything is for animals," Will said carefully. "Sometimes I wonder how we even got so complicated as a species."

Hannibal nodded, waiting for Will to continue. That was all he had to say. All he wanted to say. So they sat in not quite uncomfortable silence.

Will didn't want to talk about any cases. Didn't want to talk about the fact that he was slowly but surely losing his mind. At that particular moment, he just wanted to sit. To just be. Will Graham. To be certain about it.

But then Hannibal leaned forward and the atmosphere of the room shifted ever so slightly. Will made the mistake of flicking his eyes up from the floor to meet those dark, expansive orbs that sat inside Hannibal's skull… and for a moment, he got swallowed up. Floating in dead space and trapped at the same time.

"Tell me, Will," Hannibal said in that calm, calculated, oh so soothing voice, "do you ever have the desire to revert to a simpler state? Perhaps you long to go back to your childhood?"

Will snorted. "Childhood isn't simple. We only think it is because we forget what it was really like."

"True, I suppose. So what is it that you long for?"

Will chewed over that for a moment, looking down into the wine glass. He felt fuzzy. Not quite real. He glanced down at his watch. At least the numbers weren't melting. Probably a good sign. It probably meant he was awake.

"Could it be," Hannibal's voice got even softer, "that sometimes you wish you could inhabit the simplicity of an animal? To be fed, and cared for, and just allowed to exist?"

"That would be ridiculous." Will hunched over in his chair slightly. "I'm a grown man. I don't need somebody to take care of me."

"Perhaps not. But you can want it."

Will blinked. No. This was almost certainly not real. Not the way Hannibal was looking at him. A strange hunger lurking just behind his features—it reminded Will of the way people used to eye him when his friends still tried to drag him out to clubs. Always, the tall, strong, bulky men. Those would be the ones who cornered him. Stared at him like they wanted to eat him. Licked savage kisses out of his mouth, made him burn up from the inside out… they'd call him bitch. Like a dog. They were predators and they could sense his fearful desire. Sense that he just needed a collar around his neck and everything would be fine. White noise. Placid tranquility.

"I'd like to try an exercise," Hannibal finished his wine and set the glass aside.

"I'm tired of drawing clocks," Will smiled in spite of himself. Aware of the way his body was responding to Hannibal's tone of voice. They way he folded in, trying to make himself appear smaller. Some perverse sort of defense mechanism, that actually made him just that much more enticing to would-be hunters.

Prey. I am prey. And he's realized it.

Will shook himself. Tried to close those particular mental latches. Because he hadn't been acquainted with that part of his personality for such a long time. Not for years. He liked it too much, and it was bad for him.

The problem with pure empathy is when you can see your abuser's point of view and think that everything they're doing to you is perfectly reasonable.

Most Doms were gentle with him. Sensed that he wouldn't ever say no, even though he had a safeword, and limited themselves. Other ones, though. Well, they figured a lack of protest was as good as permission.

He still had the scars all over his back. From the time he'd let himself be whipped bloody and then some. He almost lost consciousness. Had to go to the hospital. God, he'd loved every minute of it.

"Will… are you still here?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Will snapped back to attention, holding back the Sir that wanted to jump from his lips. He was drunk. That was it. How had that happened? Hannibal had refilled Will's glass a few times, but still. He didn't think he'd become that much of a light weight.

"Come here," Hannibal smiled, "and sit down on the floor."

Will resisted the urge to obey immediately and without question. Because that was the kind of urge that tended to get him in trouble. The kind of urge that kept him saying yes, when he really should say stop.

It was the same urge that had him still working for Jack, that kept him inhabiting the minds of vicious killers, even though he knew it was driving him almost completely out of his carefully constructed sanity.

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow and tried to look nonchalant.

"I want you to sit at my feet and try to occupy the mental space of a dog for a little while. I think you would find it soothing. Perhaps anchoring."

"You're joking," Will forced a laugh.

"No. I'm simply offering what you want so that you don't need to embarrass yourself by asking for it."

Will swallowed hard.

Maybe this was one of those dreams. Where Hannibal was hot and naked against him. Violating him in all the best ways. He had the hands for it. Large and muscular. All strong, hard planes against Will's thin frame. And his voice… so sure. So confident. Low and sweet and utterly terrifying.

"Am I hallucinating?" Will asked aimlessly. Because of course, if he were dreaming, the figments of his own fevered mind wouldn't provide him much help.

"No. Your name is Will Graham. You're sitting in my office. It is approximately eight-thirty. And I have just given you a command. Do you plan on following it? I'm not fond of repeating myself."

Will's hands shook slightly. But the rest of him felt so bizarrely calm. Like a little fawn, trapped in the floodlights of a roaring semi-truck.

Better, braver, saner men would have told Hannibal Lector that this was definitely an inappropriate breach of a doctor/patient relationship. That even unstable people knew the difference between a psychological exercise and something that bordered on unsavory.

But Will Graham stood up, took the few strides to close the distance, and plopped down on the floor. Cross-legged, leaning his back against Hannibal's chair. Because this was almost definitely a dream, and fuck it, Will might as well enjoy himself.

He felt the weight of Hannibal's hand on his head. Relaxed all the muscles he hadn't even known were tense, as Hannibal began to slowly card his fingers through Will's soft, brown curls.

"You're a good boy," Hannibal said almost absently. It wasn't a put on. Not overt or sexualized, the way it sounded when other people said it. No. It was exactly the way Will talked to his dogs. And that fact alone sent an odd shock of heat through Will's body.

They sat like that for some indeterminate amount of time. Will's mind went completely blank. Like somebody turned on the radio to static and just let it play. He only resurfaced when Hannibal stood up and offered him a hand. He let Hannibal pull him to his feet. Stood in a daze as the other man helped him into his coat.

"I think this was a very productive session," Hannibal smiled.

Will noticed, not for the first time, how incredibly sharp and wonderful his canines looked in the right light. He could imagine them sinking into his flesh far too easily.

And just like that Hannibal ushered him out of the office, and Will was on the other side of the door, wondering what had just transpired.

The second time it happened right after a blank space. One minute Will was working on his fishing lures, and the next, he was on Hannibal's doorstep. Hannibal looked a bit confused, but happy to see him.

"Ah, Mr. Graham. I wasn't expecting you, but come in. I was just sitting down to dinner."

Will crossed the threshold, because he felt dizzy. Because all the colors were surreal. Because Hannibal had told him to.

He allowed himself to be led into the dining room. Hannibal had a hand on his shoulder. But for some reason it didn't seem possessive or threatening. His touch felt gentle. Careful. The way you'd hold a piece of delicate glassware.

The table was set for one. A candle lit. The food smelled delicious. But Hannibal did not disappear into the kitchen to fetch another plate. No. Instead he led Will up to the head of the table and nodded to the floor next to his chair.

"Sit," he said firmly.

He didn't wait for Will to obey. He simply sank down into his chair and resumed his meal as if there'd been no interruption.

Will stayed standing for a few moments. But then he remembered that Hannibal didn't repeat himself. That each order would only be issued once. No coercion. He could either take it, or leave it. Hannibal would not force the issue.

Perhaps it gave him the illusion of safety. Perhaps it was a type of manipulation specifically tailored to Will's particular condition. Whatever the reason, Will found himself sitting on the floor before he could even really think about it.

"Good boy," Hannibal said it in the same tone as before. He gently patted Will on the head. Then he ate in silence for a little while.

Will watched Hannibal eat and an odd feeling curled in his stomach. Some bastard child of lust and starvation. He couldn't remember the last time he had a meal. If Hannibal didn't bring him food, he often didn't cook. Didn't eat. Forgot about it.

But as much as he wanted to stare at the food, he found himself watching Hannibal's face instead. Because Hannibal wasn't looking back at him. It was safe to study. The wide, broad bones, angular jaw, hint of wrinkles around the eyes—everything about him screamed dominance. Control.

The kind of man you could surrender to so fucking easily. Will almost slipped off thinking about it. Those hands wrapped around his neck. Those lips whispering in his ear. It's ok Will, I'll take care of you, just relax.

He shuddered slightly. Blood rushing to the surface of his skin. Making him feel overly warm.

Hannibal set down his fork and picked up a cut of lean meat with his fingers. It looked like pork. Sliced thin, covered in a dripping red sauce. Hannibal moved with grace and complete certainty. He held the piece of food directly in front of Will's mouth without even looking down.

"Go on," he said softly, "you're hungry."

This wasn't right. He was a man. Not a dog. He shouldn't sit on the floor and accept tidbits from the table. He shouldn't allow himself to be hand-fed.

But god, he wanted it.

He parted his lips hesitantly and bit down on the meat. It tasted as wonderful as it smelled. Plum sauce? Something like that. He took another bite. And another. And the meat was gone. Hannibal wiped his fingers on a cloth napkin and picked up his fork again. He took few more bites before selecting another piece of meat for Will to eat.

This time, after Will had eaten what Hannibal offered, the other man didn't draw his hand immediately away. He left it in front of Will's face. Fingers still dripping in sauce. It seemed almost instinctual, for Will to flick his tongue out and lap at the liquid, to lick Hannibal's fingers clean.

Hannibal didn't react. Didn't shove his fingers further into Will's mouth and tell him all about what a nasty little whore he was. No. He just waited until Will was done, then the meal went on.

He fed Will quite a few more scraps. Sometimes pausing to let Will suck on his fingers. Other times drawing away. Nothing said. For the most part, Hannibal seemed to ignore Will's presence, in the exact same way one would ignore a pet. It was thrilling. It didn't make sense.

Will had often wondered if perhaps his sexuality consisted of numerous crossed wires in the pain and pleasure centers of his brain. He liked feeling humiliated. Liked being hurt. But this… this was something else entirely.

He felt utterly at peace, and yet, his cock was hard, pressing shamelessly against the fabric of his jeans. He felt elated and tranquil in the same breath. Eager and content.

Hannibal finished eating and sat back in his chair, sipping his glass of wine. Before very long, he cleared the table, helped Will to his feet, and sent him back out the door, into the cold. Not so much as a squeeze. A kiss. An explanation.

Later that night, in his own bed, Will couldn't help it. He wrapped a fist around his cock and stroked himself languidly. Savoring it. Imagining Hannibal's thick, certain fingers—his surgeon's hands. What would they feel like buried inside him? Teasing him open?

The tension built slowly. Will's fantasies became a bit more feverish.

Hannibal's teeth ripping into his flesh. Thick cock pressing inside him. The burn of being too full. Freefall. Can't take it. Too much. God. More. Yes. More.

Will may or may not have grunted Hannibal's name as he came all over himself. He should have felt ashamed. Should have felt something besides the blanket of calm that settled over him.

He was fucked.

The third time—god help him—Will was looking forward to it. He fucking anticipated it. And things were so much worse. Because Hannibal just sat there, across from him, not doing anything. The office buzzed with the utter silence. The unspoken words of every book on every shelf rang in Will's ears.

But he wasn't going to say anything. He couldn't. What if he really had imagined it all?

"You seem agitated tonight," Hannibal offered, smiling as always. "Something on your mind?"

"Everything," Will answered flatly.

He shifted in his chair. Felt the weight in his coat pocket. The collar—thick, brown leather with a heavy silver buckle. Usually it stayed under his bed. In a box. And sometimes, he'd just take it out and look at it. Maybe put it on and drown in memories for a little while.

But it had been ages since he took it out of the house with him. Not since that night at the hospital. When he made himself promise. Never again.

Really, he hadn't meant to bring the collar. Just to look at it. But he'd put it in his pocket before he could stop himself. He'd fingered the soft leather the entire drive over. Fantasized. Wanted.

Fuck.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and took a few deep breaths. Tried to stamp down the wild fire that burned in his belly.

"I feel like I'm spinning out of control." He said every word calm and measured. Or at least, he tried to. But it all spilled out kind of frantic.

"And why is that? Have you been loosing time again?"

"No… well… yes… but that's not why."

"Then why do you feel out of control, Will?"

"It's because—I've been wanting things. Things that are bad for me."

"Drugs? Alcohol?" Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "I don't need to be worried about you hurting yourself, do I?"

"No," Will breathed. "It's more that I want other people to hurt me."

"Yes. You are a masochist. I'm aware."

The words settled between them in perfect stillness for a moment. And then they crashed like a tidal wave. Will felt the flush rise in his cheeks.

"Well, it's not healthy. Right?" Will blurted out, grasping at straws. "I shouldn't want that. I shouldn't want to be abused."

"You're right. But that's not what you really want, Will. You want to be owned. Controlled. Put in somebody else's care. There's a difference."

Will gulped down air. He'd never felt quite so detached from reality. But at the same time, he hadn't felt so alive in years.

"What do you mean?" He asked carefully.

"It all makes perfect sense. You feel powerless over your own sense of identity, so you want to place the responsibility for your well being in somebody else's hands. The pain is another matter. But I think its more the intensity of the sensation that you're attracted to. It's not that you want to be hurt so much as you want to dissociate. To check out of your mind and revel in your own physicality. What you feel is a logical survival instinct, considering what you deal with on a daily basis."

Will blinked.

At best, when people found out about his odd little proclivities—they took advantage. At worst, they called him a pervert. Unstable. Screwed up. Wrong.

And there was Hannibal. Psychoanalyzing him. And for once in his life, Will didn't hate it. He actually felt relieved.

"As your friend, I'm here to help you any way I can." Hannibal sat up in his chair just a little bit straighter. "If you feel the need to put control in somebody else's hands, I would gladly accept that responsibility. But is that what you really want?"

Will wondered, not for the first time, if his life had just become one long drug trip. It felt similar to the time he'd accidentally taken LSD. Nothing made sense. Non-linear. Non-continuity. Shapes and colors. Highlights and shadows that were just a little bit too sharp to be real.

"Are you saying that you'll fuck me?" Will laughed. But really, it wasn't a joke.

"No. I'm saying that if you wish it, I can try to provide a healthier outlet for your masochistic impulses. I can take control away without hurting you, or letting you hurt yourself."

The words tumbled around inside Will's brain. It sounded reasonable. Then again, these sorts of things usually did. In his current state, he would probably have agreed to anything.

Except.

"What if I asked you to fuck me?" He barely whispered it. Stared at the ground while he said it. Because god. He didn't actually just say that. Did he?

"I would have to refuse, Will. I'm afraid it would damage our working relationship."

Will didn't say anything else. He couldn't trust himself to open his mouth. Instead, he dug into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the collar. He pulled it out quickly and tossed it onto the table beside him.

"What's that?" Hannibal nodded, staring. Of course he saw exactly what it was. Must be part of the game.

"My collar," Will mumbled.

"Would you like for me to put that on you?"

Will nodded, listless, resigned.

Hannibal stood. Confident, measured steps. He picked up the strip of leather in those large, strong hands and he carefully looped it around Will's neck. Fastened it quickly. Mechanically. Will barely had time to revel in the sensation.

Then he felt the familiar, vague weight on his skin. Settling down. Allowing him to let go. Hannibal patted him on the head.

"I'm going to sit at my desk and finish up some work. You can sit beside me until you feel ready to go home."

Then Hannibal strode away. Sat down and began to draw. Will followed after a few minutes, settling onto the floor at Hannibal's feet. He leaned against the chair. Hannibal's hand came down to rest on the crown of his head.

"You're a good boy, Will. Everything will be ok."

He wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe so fucking badly.

His head spun, and his cock throbbed, hard and angry about being ignored. He still didn't know whether he was awake or asleep. But it didn't matter. Because just then, he wasn't responsible for himself. He didn't need to worry. He could just be. The dim electrical humming of old appliances. The wind in the trees. All the wonderful noises in the world that weren't words. All the sounds that didn't mean anything.

Sometimes Will would show up at Hannibal's house. He'd sit on the floor, and Hannibal would hand-feed him his dinner. Then afterwards, perhaps Hannibal might relax on the couch, read a book, while Will sat at his feet.

Other times, Hannibal would come to Will's house. Cook him a meal. Allow him to eat it with silverware. Afterwards they might go on a walk. Some days, Hannibal would simply keep his hand wrapped around Will's ropey bicep. Other days, they'd actually use a leash. Either way, it sent twisted little thrills through Will's nerve endings.

He was more at ease than he'd been in a long time. And yet, he felt wired. Full of potential energy. He masturbated a hell of a lot more frequently. He couldn't help it. The more distant and calm Hannibal acted, the more he wanted.

It was torture. It was wonderful.

The next step came because Will's car broke down in Hannibal's driveway. No point in calling a tow truck till morning. Hannibal didn't offer the guest room. Instead, he made a nest of blankets for Will on the floor—right at the foot of his bed.

Will was all nerves. Hardly slept. Tossed and turned the night away, thinking what if. What if I just crawled up into bed with him? Would he be angry? Would he kick me out? Or would he finally fucking touch me?

But of course, Will stayed on the floor until morning. He was, after all, a good boy. He'd been well trained by a lot of brutal masters before he'd ever met Hannibal. He'd never dream of disobeying an order, bit it implicit or explicit.

Hannibal rose with the sun and made breakfast. Will got his food in a bowl, set on the floor, next to the table. He ate quiche without using his hands. Food caught in his beard. Smeared across his face. When he finished, Hannibal cleaned him up with a warm towel.

After that night, the nest of blankets stayed at the foot of Hannibal's bed. A silent offering. A gesture that said Will was always welcome, even if he didn't always stay.

But he found that he slept on Hannibal's floor more often than he didn't.

"Will?"

"Yes?"

Will blinked. Like waking up from a dream. Everything swam for a moment before it came into focus. He was sitting on the floor in Hannibal's living room. Like he had been when he zoned out.

Still undressed. Because he'd slept there the previous night. And he hadn't bothered to put his pants back on. Hannibal didn't seem to mind if Will was just in a t-shirt and briefs. In fact, his gaze lingered just a few seconds longer than it usually did.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Hannibal nodded downwards.

Oh yeah.

The problem with just being in your underwear, is you can't really hide an erection. Will wasn't sure how long it had been there. But it throbbed. Ached. Touch me.

"Um… a little bit. But it's fine."

"You know, it's quite all right if you want to take care of it. You have my permission," Hannibal's gaze had already dropped back to his book.

Will sat there for a moment, wondering exactly what he should do. Because it would be awkward, right? To jerk off right there. In the same room as the object of his twisted little desires. Just the thought of it… well just the thought of it made the problem a whole lot worse.

Because Will's cheeks burned with humiliation, and that just made him harder. He had the collar on. He'd been drifting in and out of sub-space for almost twenty-four hours straight and it was too much to handle.

Really, he didn't make decisions anymore.

Not when Hannibal was around.

So, if Hannibal said it was ok, then who was Will to argue? He had permission. Everything would be fine. Everything would be wonderful.

He trailed his hand carefully up his thigh, breath catching with the sensation. Even if Hannibal wasn't watching, Will could feel the other man's presence. Looming. Like a mountain in the distance. Will slipped his hand underneath the elastic band of his briefs and wrapped a fist around his cock. One slow stroke. He bit his lip.

"Undress yourself. Leave the collar on," Hannibal's voice drifted casually.

Will looked up. The other man's eyes were still fixed on his book. The order was clearly for Will's benefit. To help him along. He peeled off his t-shirt and tossed it aside. Then he wriggled out of his underwear, leaving him completely naked. Exposed. His heart raced, pounding in his throat.

"There is a tube of lubricant in the top drawer of the side table," Hannibal offered in the same tone as before. All business. All detachment. Will's blood felt like molten lead.

But he scrambled on his hands and knees, over to the side table, placed by the end of the couch. He slid the drawer open and grabbed the tube of KY.

"Lie down on your back, and finger yourself." And with those words, Hannibal's voice changed ever so slightly. Still casual, but more firm. More like a command than a suggestion.

Will shuddered and obeyed immediately.

He sprawled out on the carpet, feet on the floor, knees bent. God. It had been a while since he'd done anything like this. But he unscrewed the lid and squeezed some of the lube onto his hand. Slicked his fingers. Warmed the stuff up.

Will let out a long breath. Then he put a hand down between his legs. Trailed a finger between his ass cheeks. And maybe, he imagined it wasn't his hand. It was Hannibal's thick finger. Circling his hole, teasing, flirting, but not quite pushing in.

Maybe Will let out a little choked noise when he pushed an index finger past the first tight ring of muscle. Because that first intrusion always felt a little bit weird. A little bit not right. But he tried to relax. Squirmed his finger around until he found it. That tense little knot of nerve endings that made everything ache in the good way. That sent a little shock of pleasure rocketing through him when he grazed across it.

And yeah, ok, he gasped.

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Hannibal's words drifted down from above. Like the words of some obscure deity. Some vaguely interested higher power.

"You, Sir," he breathed without thinking.

"Me doing what?"

"Your fingers stretching me open, getting me ready for your cock."

"I see. And why is it that you want me to penetrate you?"

"Because it would feel like you owned me. It would feel good."

"But Will, I already own you. And you feel good right now, don't you?"

Hannibal's foot came down on Will's chest. Shoe and all. Pressing just enough weight to be uncomfortable. Will moaned, and slid another finger into himself.

"I want to give you pleasure, Sir," Will stuttered breathily.

"This is pleasing me... I think what you really want is my approval. You want to know that I find you attractive and worthy of attention. I do, Will. You are a beautiful pet. I just can't make love to you, because I wouldn't be able to control myself. I would hurt you."

"But I like being hurt."

Hannibal's foot pressed down into Will's ribcage just a little harder. Will's fingers nudged against his prostate again, and he couldn't hold back the little keening noise.

"You wouldn't like what I would do to you," Hannibal said softly, "now go on. Stroke your pretty cock for me. I want to see you orgasm."

He didn't need telling twice. Will fisted his cock with rapid, jerky motions, rubbing against his prostate and panting. The tension built somewhere deep inside him. At his very core. The tingling ache spread. Every nerve sang a sweet little song of torment.

Too much. Not enough. Fuck. Shit. God damn it.

He crashed. Burned. The wave of pleasure swept over him. His cock jerked, spitting little stripes of come across his abdomen. His internal muscles clenched around his fingers. Everything slid out of focus for a moment.

He opened his eyes. Hannibal's book had fallen to the floor. The larger man stared down at him the way a wolf probably looked at a lamb before snapping it up in one gulp.

"I think you should get cleaned up and go home to feed your dogs, Will. They're probably hungry."

"Yes, sir."

But Hannibal did not move his foot. He still had Will pinned to the ground. And it didn't seem like a good idea to struggle. The moment might shatter. Something in the back of Will's head squirmed with terror at the thought of it.

For the first time since this had all started—he felt the danger of it. The panic lurking under the surface. Because really, he'd let Hannibal do anything. He'd never say stop. No. I don't like that.

He'd lie back calmly, as Hannibal took him apart with a whip, or a belt, or even just his hands. He'd sigh peacefully as his blood spilled out across the floor.

Powerless.

There was a difference between being subjugated and being cared for. So far, Hannibal had been doing the later. But the spark in his eyes said a lot about how quickly that could change.

"One day, Will," Hannibal smiled. "I'll ravage you. But not today."

Will nodded meekly.

Hannibal slowly lifted his foot and allowed Will off the floor. He dressed quickly and left. Everything felt irregular and frantic. Adrenaline. Anticipation. Fear

Will stayed away for a while. But not too long. He felt pulled towards Hannibal by a magnetic force. Like a little moon, drawn in by something with a much larger gravity.

Hannibal kept himself aloof. Will kept his clothes on. They did the usual things. The feeding. The walks. As they settled back into a comfortable place, Will even started sleeping on Hannibal's floor again.

"Do you still think about me when you touch yourself, or have I scared you away from the idea?" The question drifted across the breakfast table.

Hannibal had showed up at Will's house early, carrying a bag of groceries. He cooked Eggs Benedict, along with a variety of different vegetables and a few thin slices of bacon. Absolutely delicious.

Will chewed his food carefully and addressed his coffee mug when he spoke.

"I still think about you." Silence held for a while. Will finished eating. Hannibal cleared their plates and began to do the dishes. He always insisted on such things. Liked to clean up his own messes.

"You know, the amount of power you give me is intoxicating. You're so trusting. I worry about it. Because you would let me do terrible things to you."

"Yes."

"It takes an incredible amount of self control not to ruin you, Will Graham. I want to. But I can't. I'd consume you entirely. There would be nothing left. I fear I would do you irreparable damage."

"You wouldn't be the first. You've seen the scars," Will mumbled.

"I want to open them up again. Change each one. Make it mine. I want to cover over every mark that someone else has left on you. Claim you entirely. But I'm not sure you'd survive it."

Will blinked. Because even though other people had inflicted serious injuries on him, it had always been a heat of the moment accident. Nobody had ever been conscious of the fact that they wanted to hurt him badly enough to kill him.

But Hannibal calmly dried off each dish, and placed it on the rack. He gazed at Will with those eyes, like black holes and deep space. It made every mechanical function accelerate. Will's breathing. His heartbeat.

Awake? Asleep? Did it matter?

He felt like pure horror. A mess of anxiety and elation. The crime scene that started out as a romantic night in. Will blinked and saw himself on a metal slab. All carved up. Pieces of him missing. A bite mark out of his neck in the shape of Hannibal's teeth.

He didn't want that.

Did he?

He opened his eyes and Hannibal had gotten a lot closer. Crossed the kitchen so he stood over Will's chair. In his space. The word cornered floated across Will's brain.

Everything happened like a cubist painting. Disjointed. Cause and effect jumbled.

A large hand came down to rest on Will's shoulder. Another one in his hair. Fingers tangled, forcing his head back, yet cradling him gently. Like a precious thing.

Hannibal breathed Will's air. Their faces were so close. Almost touching. And then time froze. Slid sideways. Their mouths pressed together, just barely brushed against each other. It was nothing like being eaten alive.

But it made something deep and dark lurch in Will's stomach. Almost hunger. Not quite. Something primal. Something hot, wet, and vivid.

A few more careful kisses, then Hannibal's tongue flicked out. Gently traced the crease of Will's lips. And of course, Will opened up. Offered himself up for consumption.

Their tongues tangled. A complete electrical circuit. Sparks of pleasure flickered, almost foreign in their intensity. Will made a small noise. Hannibal's fingers tightened in his hair. Around his shoulder.

Hannibal wasn't sloppy. He handled his power with the utmost caution. They kissed slow and deep. No rush. They had all the time in the world. Will's head spun. His skin prickled. A rush. Like drugs. Like the best fucking kind of drugs.

Adrenaline. Oxytocin. Dopamine. All singing through his veins. Screaming yes. His cock twitched, starting to fill out in his jeans. His skin burned. He wanted, no, needed more.

Will reached out blindly. Placed his hands on Hannibal's broad chest. Pitiful. Imploring. He ran his fingers down Hannibal's lean torso. Stopping at the line of his belt. He paused, hesitated. Maybe that was his mistake.

Because just as he'd approached, Hannibal pulled away. Smooth, calm, collected. He left Will panting. Sweating. Dizzy.

Hannibal smiled gently, "I've wanted to do that for some time."

And will opened his mouth. To say something idiotic. But… sex… please… want. He closed his lips. But he couldn't quite control his impulse to wrap his fingers around Hannibal's hips. To look up at him with wide eyes. To present himself as vulnerably possible.

"You're quite the oddity," Hannibal chuckled, cupping Will's chin and running his thumb over the younger man's plump lower lip. "So ready to give yourself up, yet so very fearful. Do you like to be scared?"

"Maybe."

"Well then. Perhaps I can give you something that you want after all."

Slow, gentle, Hannibal's hand slid downwards, wrapping around Will's neck. He tensed. And for a moment everything came into focus. The sizzling tension stretched out between them in the silence.

Then Hannibal squeezed. Compressing Will's windpipe, making it impossible for him to breathe. Will didn't struggle. He sat placidly and accepted his fate.

First his face felt hot. He felt his blood throbbing. Rushing around. Frantic. Then his extremities began to tingle. The panic gripped him. But he still didn't squirm. He just looked up at Hannibal's blank expression.

Strange elation. Giddiness. Everything began to go fuzzy at the edges. Hannibal tightened his grip, adjusted it slightly.

"Can you feel that, Will? Your life is in my hands. I could destroy you. I could let you exist another day. It's all in my control. You are completely powerless."

Such words shouldn't have sent such a burning pang of arousal through him. But god. They did. The world swam. Perhaps he'd go unconscious. He had three minutes before brain death would start to occur.

His lungs ached. Screamed with a lack of oxygen. He couldn't do anything about it. Even if he wanted to fight… Hannibal was much larger. Stronger. He'd already be weak from the lack of air.

All he could do was trust.

The fear washed over him. Because there was no concern in Hannibal's expression. No affection. No elation. Just utter calmness. Perhaps warped fascination. His mind frantically spun out. What if Hannibal decided to just watch him die?

He blinked, trying to stay focused. The panic buzzed into an eerie silence. No thoughts. A blank piece of paper. Will slid into the dark for just a moment.

Then Hannibal let go.

He caught Will as the younger man sagged off his chair. Held him steady. Almost like an embrace. Hannibal's breath sounded ragged and heavy in Will's ear. Perhaps he wasn't quite as unaffected by the moment as he'd seemed.

"Thank you," Will whispered. "For not killing me."

"What?" Hannibal pulled back. Looking at him. There it was. Human again. Appalled that Will would say such a thing.

"For a moment it seemed like you might," Will mumbled. He felt tired. So tired. Even though he'd only just woken up.

"Isn't that what you wanted? To believe I would? To really be scared?"

Will nodded listlessly.

Hannibal planted a small kiss on his forehead. They stayed like that for a long while. Hannibal bent down, arms wrapped around Will's torso, just breathing together.

Will looked at the clock above his sink. The numbers stayed steady. He probably wasn't hallucinating. He'd probably just kissed Hannibal in real time. But even with the older man's warm body pressed against him, he still wasn't sure.

Well, there you have it friends. My first shot at Hannigram. I hope it lived up to all your twisted expectations :D

There's definitely at least another chapter of this, where actual sex ensues. I'm not sure when that will go up. But you can watch my profile for news about updates or you can follow me on tumblr (taylorpotato . tumblr . com).

Reviews, follows, and favorites are oh so sexy.

xoxo