Questioning reality

When Will first met Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he didn't think much of him. He thought of him as plain, with exotic features and annoying accent. Who tried to psychoanalyze him. Which was an effort created to fail. Because Will knew every little trick therapists use, and he was good enough to know that those tricks wouldn't help him. His helping Jack catch the bad guys would help him. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a pester, a simple bother who should return to his office and leave Will alone to deal with his problems.

The second time Will saw Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he was fed by the man. Literally. Will realized the older man must have been a better cook than a psychiatrist. He still wasn't interested at what the doctor had to say.

Until they got to Garret Jacob Hobbs' house, until Will pulled the trigger again and again and again until he lost count and then there was blood, only blood. Red liquid, red life flowing away from the young girl to his hands, their clothes, to the floor, everywhere except for where it should be. And there was Dr. Hannibal Lecter, calm and efficient, taking control and saving Abigail's life in a way Will himself couldn't.

Seeing the man holding Abigail's hand in the hospital, seeing him sleeping by the patient probably exhausted by the day's events but still there, still offering his strength brought a calmness to Will's usual uneasiness. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Dr. Hannibal was indeed interesting.

Visiting the Doctor at his office, at his domain it was like meeting another man; still efficient and calm, but no more plain. There was nothing plain about his place or the man himself. Will knew that he could only understand a person in their own place, where they did things as they pleased, checking their taste… the Doctor's office, immaculate, clean resembled the place of a university professor, an intellectual, a lover of books and art. The clothes Dr. Lecter wore, Will imagined were more expensive than his monthly wage. In anyone else, that suit would make them look ridiculous. Not on Dr. Lecter though. The suit fitted him, the heavy mahogany furniture fitted him, the second floor filled with books showed who exactly Dr. Lecter was.

And Will would have been an idiot if he didn't accept that the Doctor had been right that time they had breakfast together. Will did find him interesting.

After a while Will thought he found a friend, someone who could understand him, someone who didn't need to psychoanalyze him in order to get him, to get the little things that made Will continue trying. It was a nice feeling.

Until one night he woke drenched in sweat, heart beating erratically in his chest, clothes clinging uncomfortable to his body. That in itself was nothing new. This time however the reason was not nightmares; there had been no serial killer whose mind Will had invaded the day before. The state of his lower body made it clear it was a wet dream that had caused the disturbance in his dream. Will had forgotten all about wet dreams. He hadn't been a teenager for a decade and a half, his hand provided all the comfort he needed. Sex with a woman wasn't an option these days. Will wasn't as heartless as to screw someone over with his half-fucked mind.

As he stood and pulled off his soaked t-shirt he tried to remember the specifics of the dream. He didn't remember much, only a sensualism, an eroticism, feelings and touches by a faceless person and a strange, but very much welcome, calmness. Under the cool spray of water in the bathroom, Will touched himself thinking of Alana. It made him uncomfortable using her that way to bring himself to a satisfying orgasm, but he knew it was the only woman in his close circle he could see himself with. Now if the eyes that filled his vision were the colour of the autumn evening instead of a bright summer sky, Will chose to ignore it.

And if the rest of the week the dreams continued, Will was just thankful they kept the nightmares at bay. As long as he couldn't remember the images but the serenity they brought, he was willing to not try to understand them

What he couldn't ignore was the arousal he felt the next time he saw Dr. Lecter. Images of the forgotten dreams came slowly in the front of his memory. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling when he understood what exactly his dreams consisted of; namely himself and a Doctor Lecter, much less immaculate, much more aggressive, a lot sexier. And.. wait a minute? Where did all these thoughts come from?

"Will, are you listening to me?" Dr. Lecter asked as he stood from his armchair. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Umm… yes." Will would actually want a couple of bottles of wine, and if possible his nightmares back. He sat straighter on his own armchair and crossed his legs carefully in his attempt to hide the strange effect his therapist, his male therapist, had on his body.

"Something disturbs you…" Hannibal calmly remarked as he handed Will the glass and returned to his seat, taking in Will's rather abnormal breathing, his intense gaze never leaving Will's face.

"Ahhh… I've been having these dreams…" Will started saying and Hannibal nodded helpfully. Will didn't know what to say though. He took a sip of his wine, a rather large one feeling the liquid burning him down to his stomach.

"Will?"

Of course Dr. Hannibal Lecter was not a man ready to let anything fall without catching it in his hands. His large, long fingered hands, Will's brain happily provided. "Yes, Doctor."

"Would you like to talk about the dreams?"

Hannibal's accented voice brought Will back to reality and stared up to see the psychiatrist looking at him, a bit of apprehension transforming the usually calm face. Will took a moment to appreciate that face, not objectively beautiful but… handsome? Attractive? A few days back and Will would have laughed at his brain's attempt to describe the man as handsome.

But that was before.

And this was now.

Now Will wanted to have Hannibal touch him, feel those tender looking lips kissing his own, the hands touching his skin, the broad shouldered body cushioning his from behind as...

He stood, frantically looking for a way out.

A hand on his shoulder made him turn around and stare at the eyes that haunted his dreams. "Will?" He took a step back, instantly missing the warmth from Hannibal's palm as the other man let it down by his side. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"Rain check, Doctor."

Hannibal stood there looking at the open door, for the first time wondering what had upset Will Graham.

Hannibal's exquisite mind and his classic, but rather out of fashion, choice in clothing sometimes made it difficult to those around him to remember that he was a still young man and in a nice fit. The moment Jack had told Will the Doctor had been attacked in his office, Will, for the first time after a long time, prayed to whoever was willing to listen to him to have kept Hannibal safe. His friend's often Mephistophelian approach of religion and God in general would have laughed at his thought, but until Will laid eyes on him, he just didn't care.

It was a shock to see Hannibal hurt and bloody, his hair falling down his forehead for the first time, looking years younger and more vulnerable than ever. Will felt guilt for dragging the doctor to his own nightmare. And shame because of his arousal. For the first time, the sight of Hannibal was beautiful. Blood and gore aside, the man looked beautiful. There was no other adjective to describe him. Will clutched his hands by his sides overpowering the need to push the hair out of the forehead, to kneel in front of Hannibal and pull him in a hug, hide his face on the man's neck and just breathe his scent in, memorizing it.

The smile on his friend's face brought him back to here and now and Hannibal's voice was a balm for his nerves. "I thought you were dead." So did Will.

Later that night Will contemplated the truth. When he thought of Hannibal he thought of a friend, his only touch with reality, his reliance. But at nights, in his dreams, when he let himself free, Hannibal was his lover, the one to hold and touch Will, the one to bring him pleasure and make him whole.

It was due time to accept that maybe, just maybe, he was not one hundred percent straight. Now, the question was; what about Hannibal?

finis

A/N: Written for a Hannibal kink prompt on dreamwidth, which was the first time I wrote for.