Warnings: Sexy times ahead. I don't know anything about French cuisine. Neither am I a psychologist, lol.
"I'm having second thoughts about this," Will said as he lied uncomfortably on Hannibal's dinner table. Hannibal delicately used both hands to place the next piece of food on Will's chest, then looked at Will's expression. His response was soft and reassuring, spoken in his odd accent, "Will, as I've explained, this is necessary for us to progress in your therapy. This technique is rare, but not unheard of; enacting your dreams is the best way to understand what they mean."
"But this—" Will responded, agonized. He was blushing heavily at being naked in front of the doctor, and with each piece of food placed on him he felt more vulnerable. Hannibal had carefully prepared every dish he was placing on Will's chest and stomach, and though the food was not heavy, it was smothering. Every breath, every nervous twitch, made the food move, to the point where he thought they might fall off.
"Relax," Hannibal said quickly. He placed the last of the food, and picked up the glass serving cup filled with sauce. He dribbled the the cherry-colored liquid from the tiny spoon onto the thin slices of pork on Will's stomach and watched it slither outward and onto Will.
Finished, he stepped back to marvel at his masterpiece. This was one of his best works yet; the detective was the plate for his meal this evening, and the food looked superb. It was a shame he was the only one here to enjoy this, and yet he wouldn't want anyone else to share this moment. He felt as if he was dreaming, but this was Will's dream, though he had described it as a recurring nightmare. Hannibal suspected there was more to the dream than he had let on, but from what Will had told him, it consisted of Hannibal eating food off of Will.
When the doctor had suggested they reenact it, Will had been shocked, yet oddly receptive. It seemed the dreams were intense and unpleasant, and it had been easy to convince his distraught "patient" that this would help. Hannibal had only slightly lied when he told Will that they used this method in psychotherapy; in fact, it was used for resurfacing hidden memories within dreams, but no doctor other than Dr. Lecter would suggest re-enacting such a socially inappropriate theme.
Hannibal's mouth watered as he looked at the display before him. Will looked absolutely appetizing. The other food did, too, of course; the dishes he had selected contrasted nicely against the detective's pink and peach skin, in a way that conventional dinnerware couldn't. He licked his lips quickly. "Shall I begin?" he suggested.
The detective stared at the ceiling vacantly and couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he nodded uncertainly. As strange as the situation was, it was very much like his dream; Will felt like he was dreaming now, and perhaps he was. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a very long time. There were the nightmares with the stag, and there were new nightmares about Hannibal eating food off of him. What he hadn't mentioned was that after the food was gone Hannibal would start eating emhim/em, but that wasn't something he was willing to admit, out of fear.
When Hannibal leaned down, his arms to either side like a gentleman spider, Will was caught off guard as the psychologist's mouth descended onto the tidy salad arranged over his nipple. As he took a bite, eyes closed, Will stammered, "Sh-sh-shouldn't you use, um, a fork?" He felt Hannibal's breath ghost over his skin, raising goosebumps.
The doctor straightened and chewed carefully before replying as if finishing the sentence, "...And knife? I think it would be safer this way, don't you think? We're not here to hurt you, Will." The way he said his name was comforting, in all ways just like in their meetings together in his office, when they spoke of things Will never told anyone else. But this was not Hannibal's office, this was his home, on his dining room table.
The doctor's face was apathetic, serious as always, but his eyes gave him away; they glinted like dark brown stones, hard to read, yet somehow filled with a hunger that Will wasn't sure he wanted to understand. So he looked away, and with that, surrendered to Hannibal's discretion. Hannibal bent down, meticulously, and just as meticulously took another bite, this time taking into his mouth a thin strip of slow-roasted pork near Will's belly button. It sort of tickled, and Will couldn't hide the discomfort from his face as he kept himself still.
When Hannibal stood straight again, his fingers arched gracefully on the edge of the wooden table, he finished chewing and said, just as calmly as ever, "How is this making you feel, Will?"
Will thought for a moment. "It's—uncomfortable. I don't know if it's working. But it's just like my dream. Even with you... not using utensils..." Will rambled, the shame apparent in his tone. "It makes me feel... I'm not sure. I wish I could name this feeling. Like there's something bothering me, but my mind won't let me know what it is." Will knew he was rambling, it was what he did, especially when he was nervous. He hadn't been this nervous with Hannibal in a long time; their sessions together, the things they had been through together, made him feel at ease around Hannibal, relatively. This situation didn't really change how he felt. But it seemed to bring something new, something he thought his persistent dreams were trying to communicate to him.
"Then let's continue," Hannibal said, matter-of-factly. And he did; this time he had a bite of dessert, which was placed delicately on Will's hip. This was too much, Will thought, as he felt himself shiver. "Ib id="docs-internal-guid-47514010-d1fe-27cd-ebf6-c9ea07 efa420"—/b" he started, but didn't know what he could say. There was something alluring and frightening all at once about Hannibal's head, his mouth, so close to Will's crotch.
Hannibal noticed his breathing heighten and his pupils dilate even more as he stared at anything but Hannibal. There was a slight smirk on the doctor's face when he said, "I notice you seem to be having more trouble with this now. Perhaps we should stop?"
There was something sarcastic about saying that now, in the middle of everything. The suggestion was unwelcome; it put Will in control, and that was... annoying. He frowned and cast a glance at the doctor, who confidently stared back.
"If not," Hannibal said, before Will could change his mind, "I think you should give me more details about this dream. Is there anything missing?"
The detective took a shallow, shaky breath and said, "You were completely quiet. You just kept on eating everything off of me, until there was nothing left. And..." He hesitated. "Well, you were dressed like you always do, in a nice suit, and it was more like you were at a dinner party. But I don't remember anyone else being present." He felt the lie on his tongue like a hot pepper; there had been one other at this disturbing dinner party: Hobbs, his dead face staring at them both. He hadn't partaken, he'd just watched, even smiled when Hannibal had begun eating Will's flesh.
Hannibal stepped away for a moment and picked up a glass of wine. "I will try to eat the rest, then," he said. "Don't worry, Will, we will unlock the meaning of your dream." He savoured a sip of wine, then continued. "Once we do, we can start you on the path of mental health." After putting down the glass, which clinked on the marble of the countertop, Hannibal's gaze rose toward Will, lying on the table. The human plate was very still, like a statue... or a corpse. Hannibal allowed himself to imagine it, for a moment; he found it odd to find the thought bothering him, yet there was something strangely appealing about having full, unrestricted access to Will's body.
Hungrier now than before, he resumed his place over Will, his regal face composed and expectant. Will met his gaze, and Hannibal solemnly bowed his head once with the kind of grace Will was becoming used to seeing from him.
This time when he descended onto Will he stayed there with each bite. It was gourmet cuisine, but he did not eat it with the care he usually did. Hannibal felt his hidden savageness rise, and allowed it out, just a bit, unable to hold it all back; bent over above Will, he felt more like the wild beast gnawing on the flesh of his prey than a psychologist helping a patient. It was exhilarating. He felt young again.
As he ate he could hear scratching, and while he was chewing carefully he looked over at Will digging his nails at the smooth and hard wood beneath him. Will's breaths came in little gasps, and sweat began to bead up on his forehead and other places. The smell of the food mixed in with the scent of Will's body; the result was intoxicating. That intoxication plus the way Will twitched and shuddered had Hannibal panting, though he made an effort to keep his breath slow and even. As a psychologist and for his own self-preservation, Hannibal had to keep his composure.
Yet, he found himself imagining that the pork he ate was Will's flesh. This led to an unwelcome arousal, and he felt himself grow hard within his pants. This surprise made him pause and lick his lips. Hannibal knew he didn't want to eat Will; however, there was something appealing about it. The doctor felt his controlb id="docs-internal-guid-47514010-d1fe-27cd-ebf6-c9ea07 efa420"—/bwhat Dr. Du Maurier would call his "human veil"b id="docs-internal-guid-47514010-d1fe-27cd-ebf6-c9ea07 efa420"—/bbegin to slip.
As he hesitated, he noticed he was having more of an effect on Will than he had thought: Will's forming erection was disrupting some of the carefully placed food that kept this whole thing somewhat modest. Hannibal straightened part of the way and looked at Will's face with a just-barely quirked brow.
Will saw that one raised eyebrow and the grim line that was Hannibal's mouth and thought he had crossed the line. The lust had washed over him as Hannibal moved from his upper chest to his lower stomach, leaving behind a trail of sauce and crumbs where he'd once been. The doctor moving so deliberately toward his crotch had been sexy.
His erection was visible from within the pile of food on his crotch. It was mortifying, and yet there was relief when everything clicked into place in his mind—why he was having the dreams. He knew he owed Hannibal an explanation.
"Dr.—" escaped his mouth before Hannibal placed a well-manicured finger over his lips. The touch sent a shockwave of pleasure through his body, and it took all his willpower not to jump up nervously; he fidgeted and guiltily met Hannibal's eyes.
"Stop and think carefully about what you say next, Will," Hannibal said very quietly, almost whispering. It was an intimate moment. He was close, like a lover, and gentle.
Will, speechless, nodded once very slightly, and Hannibal lifted his finger. He stayed leaning over the professor and waited.
The professor gulped and looked toward ceiling The emotions were conflicting and overpowering. Hannibal's proximity awoke feelings he didn't think he could feel about a man, and yet there was that primal fear he'd felt since the moment they had met. In addition, Hannibal was too collected, too reserved, which seemed simultaneously fake and genuine. It was perplexing, and so Will's curiosity had kept him drawn to Hannibal.
He found himself admiring the bangs splayed haphazardly over Hannibal's forehead, which were usually so quaintly neat. Was there something more to this attraction? Did Will want to see what lay beneath that refined exterior?
A flash of a memory overlay his vision; he saw clearly that tense moment when the doctor had climbed into the ambulance to try to save a life. He had swiftly taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. At the time everyone, including Will, had waited in silent, anxious anticipation as he had attended to the victim. Will was clueless about why he was thinking of that now. Had it really been so strange to see Hannibal's bare arms?
He forced the memory away and gave the excuse, though true, "Dr. Lecter. It's just... It's been a really long time. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, trying to hide from his shame. He heard Hannibal rise, felt his presence diminish, but still refused to look.
"You do not need to apologize," Hannibal responded professionally. "I often encounter these sorts of reactions as part of my work. But it is important for you to understand it. What do you think caused your arousal?"
Was there a hint of hope in that question? Will let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding with a rush of air and shook his head. "I... You were getting close to..." He shrugged and shifted uncomfortably.
But not all the food was gone; some of the dessert crumbled and fell, falling down sensitive places, making Will jerk slightly. Hannibal's hand quickly moved to steady what hadn't fallen, lightly brushing the skin of the detective's thighs, very close to his hard-on. Will gritted his teeth as his erection pulsed, getting harder. "Doctor! We need to stop," Will gasped, sitting up and moving to cover himself. Crumbs tumbled down his chest, catching on the sticky mess that remained as they fell, before a hand stopped him.
Hannibal's cold eyes studied him as he pushed Will back down on the table. "Calm yourself," he murmured, keeping Will down with gentle pressure. The detective watched him, fear and uncertainty in his gaze, his breath short and raspy as he gasped for air.
Assertively the doctor said, "I think there is something more to this dream of yours. Tied to your arousal, perhaps—what aren't you telling me?" As he spoke he let go of the cake. He brought his fingers to his mouth to lightly suck them clean of crumbs and crème, not relishing doing so as it was fairly rude, but doing it for the sake of his friend who could not afford to be left like this while he went to fetch a napkin. He saw Will's enlarging arousal out of the corner of his eye with no little interest.
"Whb id="docs-internal-guid-47514010-d205-8595-daae-b8795a 7f60c0"—/bwhat?" Will stammered, shaking his head just slightly as if clearing out his ears. He blinked, startled, and licked his lips nervously.
Hannibal couldn't keep the smile from his face then. Had he inadvertently put on a show for poor Will?
"Your dream. There is something more to this dream, correct?" Hannibal suggested. Finished with his fingers, he put his hand knuckle-down on the edge of the table. The other hand remained on Will's chest, which was warm and alive, making it difficult to move away. Plus he was using it to keep his balance; he stood with knees and back bent to keep his erection under the table and out of sight. Will did not seem to notice his slightly off-balance stance.
Will feverishly said, "There is something I didn't tell you but... it's not something that turns me on! It's frightening and horrible, and..." He shook his head. "I can't stand any more of these dreams. You said this would help, but it's only making things worse!"
"Why?" Hannibal said, worried now. "Are you having another vision?"
Will shook his head vehemently. "No. It's just..." He dug his knuckles into his eyes, as if he could push out the visions he'd seen. "You haven't finished eating. But when you do... I don't want what happens after that. I can't..."
He was panicking. Hannibal watched him with pity. "I am sorry to see you tortured so. We should not drag this out any further. Let us finish, then."
"No!" Will said, trying to bolt upright, but Hannibal pushed back hard, and Will landed back on the table with a thud. "Doctor!" he exclaimed, but Hannibal was determined.
He quickly ate up the remaining bite-sized cake. Doing so brought him right next to Will's erection. He hardly noticed, however, as it took all of his attention to hold down Will's thighs in addition to his chest. Surely Will could buck him off if he thrashed hard enough, but he didn't.
Some of the topping had melted and pooled on Will's hips and run down his thighs. Hannibal found himself unable to resist. With relish he licked the crème off what he could reach, and delighted in the shivers that sent through Will's body. Will tried to say something but his words audibly choked in his throat.
Hannibal rose as much as he dared, still putting pressure on Will's thighs and chest to keep him down, and with a slight sigh said, "There, it is done. Now, tell me what happens next."
Will was shaking with restraint. His head felt muffled beneath conflicting emotions, but heaviest of all was the lust rampaging through his nervous system. It took hold of all his senses. There was a whiff of expensive cologne, and the sight of Hannibal's increasingly messy hair, and the slick warmth of Hannibal's hands.
But then there was the fear. In his mind, Hannibal was about to eat him. His teeth would slice right through to bone with every bite, and through it all, Will would feel pleasure like he'd never experienced before. In his dream he had ached to be eaten, had wanted to be devoured by this man he had come to trust and admire. He felt dirty and guilty for this emotion, which clung to him like spiderwebs even when awake, invisible but there all the same.
The sound of Dr. Lecter's voice broke through the tangled web of his thoughts. "Tell me, now, Will. This is very important," he cajoled.
Will looked up at him, agony written in the lines of his face, and said, "You eat me. When the food is gone, you just start... tearing into me with your teeth..." There were tears in the corner of his eyes, but they did not fall.
Hannibal swallowed hard. "How does that make you feel?" Hannibal said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.
Will frowned at that, but responded, "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't feelb id="docs-internal-guid-47514010-d1fe-27cd-ebf6-c9ea07 efa420"—/b"
"How does it make you emfeel/em?" Hannibal repeated, harshly.
Startled by this, Will found himself saying, "It feels good! In the dream it feels... pleasurable. Not like it should feel at all." He covered his face with his hands. "What is wrong with me, Hannibal?"
Hannibal smiled, safe in the fact that Will wasn't looking, couldn't see the glee he felt. Will emknew/em, but didn't know. He would know later, Hannibal was sure of it, but right now, in this moment, the truth was hiding behind Will's feelings for him, the Chesapeake Ripper. That was what his dream was so plainly trying to communicate. This was a surprise, and a delight.
Thoroughly enjoying the charade, the dance, the emgame,/em Hannibal said, low and comforting, "There is nothing wrong with you, Will. Dreams often communicate with us in unconventional ways. Being eaten by or eating someone is often interpreted as having feelings of lust for that person."
"So... wait," Will said, rubbing his face and taking another shaky breath. "Is my dream saying that you like me? Or that... I like you?"
Hannibal regarded him clinically and asked, "Which do you think is the case?"
"I don't know. I don't know!" Will replied with heightening frustration. He sat up as far as Hannibal would let him, propping himself up on his elbows to keep his position. "Can I please get up now?" he pleaded, avoiding meeting the other man's eyes.
"No," Hannibal said simply. "We must finish the dream. And then you will know the answer."
Will looked at Hannibal, shocked. "You can't mean..." His brows furrowed in confusion.
Hannibal's revealing eyes still held that worrisome hunger that was so carefully buried within the rest of his face. "Yes, Will. I must eat you."
The doctor said it so calmly, so glibly, that Will couldn't believe it. When he bent down, his mouth coming closer, the detective reacted with real fear and thrashed, trying to get away. Hannibal kept a decent hold on him, and quickly put his lips on the tip of Will's manhood. Luckily for Hannibal, Will completely froze at the touch. "Doctor—!" he half-yelled, half-gasped, and shuddered with pleasure. He fell backward, hitting his head with a thunk.
Hannibal swallowed him up with ease, though that was not to say he was small. Will's arousal was hard and hot in his mouth, tasting of the buttery crème and the tangy taste of arousal. Hannibal savored it for a moment before sucking and bobbing his head.
Will was shocked into inaction by this. He felt faint. His whole body tingled and yet felt numb, powerless. There it was; the pleasure he'd felt at being eaten alive. Eaten alive by his reserved friend, the psychologist and former surgeon who helped save lives and minds—how sick was that? How had he let his line of work sully the doctor's image like this? Now look at what he was doing...
That was all he had the will to think before his mind went blank from pleasure. He hadn't lied before, when he said it had been awhile. Hannibal was sucking him in earnest, too, like he wanted it; Will moaned over the sound of quiet slurping. Not only was the feeling of Hannibal's sophisticated tongue amazing, but so were the sounds his mouth was making. Will's whole body flushed with heat and desire.
It did not take long. He didn't even have the presence of mind to give any sort of warning; all of the sudden, he climaxed, gasping and pushing up into that wet heat, pumping his essence into Hannibal's willing mouth. He held onto the edges of the table for dear life as he felt like the life was sucked out of him. When it was over and he was overly sensitive, Hannibal carefully sucked off all the juices from his hardness and drew back with mouth closed. He rose up slowly, savoring the flavor in his mouth like he did his wine. Satisfied, he swallowed, then licked his lips. Breathing hard, he looked at Will's blissful face, and, feeling his gaze, Will looked up at him, too.
They shared a quiet, charged moment. Hannibal broke the stare first, his elegant hand reaching up to fix his hair, methodically pushing his bangs to one side and smoothing them down. The other, pink with sauce, swept lightly over Will's chest as he pulled it toward himself, until it broke contact and was stationed primly at his side.
Hannibal half-turned, about to move away, when Will noticed the bulge in his pants. He quickly looked at something else, but he already felt the prickles of excitement in his stomach at the sight.
Hannibal left, going into the kitchen, and Will heard him turn on the faucet and begin washing his hands. Will could only lay dazed on the table, covered in the remnants of food. His mind had gone with his orgasm, and he didn't have the presence of mind to begin to clean himself up. Thoughts raced through his head, emotions swept through him at an amazing pace, and all he could do was mentally hold on.
Hannibal returned with a towel, still wiping his hands. After an awkward moment of getting off the table—apologizing profusely for the mess, though it seemed Hannibal was trying his best not to mind it—Will stood and took the towel from him, using it to cover himself, and followed Hannibal to the bathroom. Hannibal helpfully ushered him in, taking a sly peek at his ass before closing the door.
Will took a very long, cold shower.
Later, dressed and dry, Will walked into the kitchen and then the dining room and found both rooms as pristine as they always were. He walked back and into Hannibal's living room to find Hannibal sitting calmly on the couch, reading a book.
Will approached and sat on the chair off to the side, so as not to have to face the doctor directly. Hannibal put a bookmark neatly in place and daintily placed the book on the end table nearby. He folded his hands in the lap of his crossed legs and watched the detective stiffly sit back in the armchair, like he was trying to seem casual.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Hannibal queried, just like a psychologist would ask about someone's day. His odd accent hid his feelings about the matter, perhaps, but Will took offense to his chill attitude.
Will grimaced and shook his head. "I think I'm going to go..." he said ponderously, rubbing his index finger into the arm of the chair.
"That is fine. I will see you again soon," Hannibal said calmly. He stood when Will stood, and smoothed his suit down. Will knew the way through the house yet Hannibal followed, making Will jumpy as he opened the front door and stepped out. Hannibal stood in the open gap to watch him leave. Before Will could step away, he said, "Despite the circumstances, I ask that you do not miss our next appointment."
Will nodded in that vigorous yet clumsy way of his when he was stressed. Silently he walked to his car. Hannibal watched him go for a moment before shutting the door. Leaning his arm overhead where the door met the frame, he used his other hand to turn the deadbolt. There he stood for a minute, thinking.
Then he pushed himself away and walked to his phone, and dialed his psychiatrist.
In the car, Will sat for a brief moment as the engine hummed. Then he put the car in reverse, and drove away from Hannibal's house, his mind a jumbled mess. Despite that, he felt uplifted, almost... happy. Perhaps it was just giddiness. He wanted to laugh and cry at once, but he would wait to do either later, when he lay awake in his bed late at night, alone with his dogs, where no one could see.
I don't claim any copyright to the image I used or the show or anything like that.
More about human tables / plates / whatever you want to call it: look up Nyotaimori.
Inspired by some other works of fanfiction. It's a new show so there isn't much fanfiction yet, and I really enjoyed contributing. I hope you enjoyed it.
Leave a review if you enjoyed this! You can also leave a prompt or request in reviews, on my blog at h3fanfics . wordpress . com, or on my new Tumblr at morbidixy . tumblr . com :)