Author's Note: The chapter comes from Will's POV this time, so I've stuck to referring to Hannibal as 'Han' as this is the name he - erring on the side of caution - gave Will in the last chapter. Sorry if it's little jarring. We'll be back to Hannibal/Dr. Lecter next time.

Comments would be so, so much appreciated - I'd love to hear what you think!

Chapter 2

The journey to the doctor's hotel room is made in charged silence. Will concentrates on the dull throb in his head, his accelerated heart rate, as they ride in the elevator and he's led through a tasteful, minimalistic hallway. He steels himself when a firm hand lands on the small of his back to guide him over the threshold, into an elegant suite (because of course, this guy has a suite) - all muted earth tones and soft light - and tries to relax, to mask the tension he feels at the purposeful touch, but it's been so long since he's even thought about letting his defenses down, since the desire for a warm body and practiced hands overrode his aversion to that kind of intimacy, that he feels skittish and unsure of his actions.

"Please, make yourself comfortable while I fetch us both drinks," Han says.

Will feels anything but comfortable. He glances around the stylish-but-generic room before shoving his hands in his pockets and settling his gaze on Han's back as the man consults the mini bar. His broad shoulders move fluidly beneath his tailored suit jacket, navy wool striped with a subtle burgundy thread, tapered at the waist. It probably cost more than Will's entire wardrobe put together. He wonders what he was thinking even coming here; why this exotic, erudite stranger is even giving him the time of day.

Barely a week back in the field - at Jack Crawford's insistence, his task of employing his 'imagination' to aid with the FBI hunt for the so-call Minnesota Shrike extended to this new case and any other grisly murder he's deemed useful for - and already he's being plagued by nightmares, by the intrusion of unwanted, oppressive thoughts; already the stress of it is leading him to make poor decisions, to drink too much, to pick up strange men in strange hotel bars (well, one man in one hotel bar) because it's better - less dangerous, somehow - than spending another night alone with the monsters in his head.

Even if the strange man in question is a fucking psychiatrist, Will thinks and heaves a deep sigh as his mind flits to his past crush on one Dr. Alana Bloom. Another shrink. Maybe he wants to be probed and assessed, subconsciously; solved like a puzzle. God knows he can't make sense of himself, most of the time.

"You will have to excuse the mess," Han says with a glance over his shoulder as he efficiently lines up his chosen miniature bottles of liquor and two glass tumblers on a shiny oak desk, "your presence here this evening is an unexpected pleasure."

"If you think this is messy I'm glad we didn't go back to my place," he replies, attempting levity as, diverted from his momentary introspection, he ambles towards a plush, suede loveseat (heading straight for the bed would surely be viewed as gauche, even for him). His hand hovers over the handle of a shiny blue-grey cooler that takes up most of the space on the seat, the only thing that comes close to mess in the otherwise pristine surroundings.

"Can I…?" Will asks, eyeing the box with a questioning look; the item seems curiously quaint, so ordinary as to be at odds with the man's ultra-refined facade.

"Let me," Han approaches Will with a smoldering look and hands him a fresh glass of bourbon in exchange for the cooler.

"Planning a picnic, Doctor?" Will scoffs as he sinks down onto the loveseat.

"I prepare most of my own food to eat when traveling. There is no telling the provenance of meat used in hotel restaurants," he says by way of explanation as he disappears behind Will to store the box out of sight. "I'm very particular about what I put into my body."

Will bites his tongue to stifle the crude joke that tries to escape in response to that revelation. "You like to be in control of what you eat," he remarks aimlessly instead. It makes sense; he gets the impression that Doctor Han likes to be in precise command of everything in his life. He can't say it isn't part of his appeal.

The man re-appears and undoes the button of his immaculate jacket before slinking onto the sofa, thighs spreading and left arm draping languidly across the back as he settles close to Will. "Indeed."

Will falters at the proximity, the sudden intimacy of it. The older man offers a small, enigmatic smile that makes his eyes crinkle; dark with secret promise. Will can't quite name what he sees there, not yet, and the novelty of that alone unnerves him, scares him a little, but it excites him more. He becomes acutely aware of his pulse, beating rhythmically in time with the ceaseless pounding in his skull, and he aches for it to be replaced with another, more pleasurable, sensation.

"You look pensive, Will," Han comments, head tilting in consideration.

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. "I guess I'm just not entirely sure why I'm here."

"No?" Han raises a skeptical brow.

"Well…" Will searches for the right thing to say to that, but anything that comes to mind would sound disingenuously coy or mockingly trite if voiced. He takes a reflexive gulp of his bourbon instead, still hoping the alcohol will smooth off some of his rougher edges.

"I find you interesting," Han tells him, then pauses for a moment to trail his gaze down over Will's body - there's something casually predatory in it, animalistic in a way that makes Will's skin prickle with anticipation - before adding, offhandedly, as if it's a given, "And uncommonly attractive."

At that, Will feels heat spread across his cheeks and crawl up to the tips of his ears. He attempts to laugh it off as another measure of undue flattery, but he can read people, can spot a lie only too well, and sees nothing in the man's handsome face to betray his words. He can't remember the last time someone looked at him with such naked desire. He can feel the echo of it; it's undeniably seductive.

"Not fond of compliments, either," Han notes, sipping on his drink, drawing Will's gaze back to the elegant curve of his lips.

"I don't hear many."

"What an indefensible crime that is."

Will can't find a response to that, either; the praise dulled by the mention of the very word crime, as an unwanted flash of memory from earlier that day assails him with the cloying scent of burnt flesh and the feeling of self-disgust at not being quite disgusted enough by the righteous humiliation of the charred remains of a hateful man, gored and gelded, the swing of the pendulum and the feeling that—

"Are you having second thoughts about being here, Will?"

"No," he replies, a little too quickly, jarred from his wretched thoughts; he wants to be here. He's tired of his only source of solace being found at the bottom of a liquor bottle.

He lets his eyes roam over the other man's striking features to ground himself in the moment; high carved cheekbones, glowing almost bronze in the soft light, hair sleek and tidy and flecked golden-grey. Will feels the urge, suddenly, to mess it up, to dishevel his flawless clothes and see him moan and curse; to pull apart every put together inch. He blinks, looks away, stretches to rub a nervous hand over the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. "Sorry, it's just been a really long day and I—"

"And you've had enough small talk," Han says coolly and sets his drink on the table beside them. Will still can't place his accent. It sounds richer, thicker, now - appealingly so - in the comparative silence of the suite.

"Not to be so blunt about it," Will says with a small abashed sigh. Han's long fingers brush against his own as he reaches to take the glass from his hand, shifting in his seat to place it beside his own.

"I appreciate directness - if not discourtesy - and, as such, I will be direct about what I would prescribe for your headache, and whatever else may be troubling you, in this instance," Han says smoothly, and with his subtle shift they're all at once pressed even closer together, hip to knee. His tone remains cool even as his eyes rake hotly over Will's face. "The rush of oxytocin experienced during sexual climax has analgesic and anxiolytic properties, effective in reducing the physical pain from migraine or cluster headaches, among countless other ailments," he dips his head fractionally then inhales deeply, his eyes closing before he speaks again, the velvet rasp of his voice and the faint moisture from his breath against Will's jaw threatening to make him quiver. "Will you allow me to bring you to orgasm, Will?"

Will almost feels like he should laugh at that, at the absurdity of it, but his breath just comes out ragged; he feels done for, dizzy with arousal as the course of his blood flow is diverted to his burgeoning erection. He wants, for once, to take refuge in the offer of lascivious pleasure for pleasure's sake. He isn't immune to his baser impulses, however much he usually tries to convince himself otherwise.

"Yes," he nods and his hand twitches where it rests spread high on his own thigh, itching to reach out and take what's being offered, but he doesn't dare move yet. Han's fathomless amber eyes have him pinned helplessly to the spot, unable to look away as the man waits for something more than just consent. "Please," Will murmurs, shamelessly.

The older man pounces then, Will eager prey as soft lips find his own with bruising force, demanding hands cup his jaw and slide to tug harshly at his soft hair, steering the motion of their kiss. Will feels like he's being devoured; a slick, searching tongue tastes him, teeth graze his tender lips, and he submits to the other man's hunger, desperate to sate it and feast his own fill. He responds to every sure movement in kind, relishing in the fevered heat, the taste of him - bitter fruit and bourbon - as his own graceless hands scrabble over wide shoulders and planes of supple muscle, seeking more contact.

Han's mouth trails down over his chin, teeth tug at the scruffy hair there and continue to nip and lick across the line of his jaw as keen fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, making contact with every freshly exposed inch of shivering skin. Will's cock is fully hard now, struggling against too many layers of fabric as he rocks his hips fruitlessly and pulls at the other man's silk tie, attempts to tear the maddening layers of clothing away from his frame.

"Patience, Will," he's warned when the hand seeking Han's belt is caught by the wrist and pushed gently away before he's being pulled to his feet, craning his neck so as not to break the kiss. It's been so long, he realizes, since he's felt like this; since he's had another human being so physically close, his body reacting to every touch in ways he'd forgotten it even could. He feels greedy for it, the sharp pangs of longing overtaking the dull pain in his head. Han casts Will's jacket and open shirt roughly down over his shoulders and off, onto the floor, before gently removing his glasses. It's that action that leaves Will feeling freshly exposed, more naked than he does deprived of his shirt. His mouth is reclaimed as the taller man guides him steadily back by stuttering hips until he's pinned against the wall, the lush warmth and crushing friction against his erection making him moan wantonly into Han's mouth.

"Wait," Han commands, voice husky as he pushes his palm flat to Will's bare chest, just center-left, where his heart hammers against his ribcage. Will clings to the other man's flanks and draws him back for another desperate kiss, teeth tugging sharply at Han's bottom lip before they separate again, and he's gratified to feel the man's breath catch at that, hips twitching indecently against him. Han brushes a thumb firmly across the small, stiff peak of Will's nipple in response and looks at him with hooded eyes, tells him again, sternly, to wait before pulling away. Although Will whines at the loss, he stays where he is, like one of his dogs would at the same command. He doesn't dare disobey; the promise of what's to come enough to make him behave.

The man disappears into the bathroom and Will concentrates on his breathing, on the hum of blood rushing in his ears. He only realizes that his eyes have fallen shut when he feels determined fingers begin working on his belt, undoing his fly; when he opens them again Han is on his knees in front of him, jacket and tie discarded and crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. There is a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms beside him on the floor. "You came prepared," Will taunts as he's freed from his pants and underwear, chest heaving when his cock bobs obscenely, inches from the suggestion of Han's luscious mouth, while teasing hands trace up the backs of his near-trembling thighs.

"He who is best prepared can best serve his moment of inspiration," Han purrs, a smug smile quirking his lips as he stares ardently up at Will, wide hands smoothing upwards, over the curve of his ass.

"Coleridge," Will identifies the quote with a huff of bemused breath. He's grateful for the wall at his back, presses steadying hands against it to maintain his balance as he asks, "Is that what this is, Doctor? A moment of inspiration?"

"Certainly. I was struck by myriad inspirations at the very sight of you," he says, smile widening, voice like brushed silk as it spills against the achingly sensitized head of Will's cock before his tongue laps at the crystalline droplet of precome that has pooled there, dragging flat and slow across the slit as if to savor the taste.

"Oh, God," Will whimpers as Han draws one hand back to encircle the base of his cock, angling it just so, as the other continues to massage his ass, grip tight enough to keep him in place. Han watches him, drinks in every ecstatic reaction as he licks a wet stripe up the underside of Will's erection, tongues at the tip, suckles there, before swallowing his length down inch by teasing inch, until Will is engulfed by the effusive warmth of Han's mouth.

His head rolls back, eyes fall closed as he hurtles towards incoherence, losing himself to sensation when Han swallows, again and again, tight throat contracting deliciously around the head of his cock. He feels heat coil in his core, spreading until he's on fire; suddenly consumed by a blaze of unchecked emotion as his thoughts flash, unbidden, back to the crime scene he'd spent most of the day attending - the body there, kneeling in supplication just like the man in front of him is now - and Will whines, pulls back, as a stab of nausea threatens his stomach. He forces his eyes open when he feels the blunt graze of teeth against his tender flesh - a warning, demanding his attention - and he reaches a hand out to tangle in Han's hair, clutching to keep himself moored. His gaze on Will hasn't wavered, still fearsome and fearless, gleaming above sharp cheekbones, so starkly beautiful against the hollows of his cheeks as he sucks harder, faster, and it works; brings Will back to him, into the present and out of his own mind.

"Please…fuck, please…." Will hears himself moan while Han's mouth works him tirelessly; hands roam to roll and tug at his sac, to stroke and still his convulsing hips, only to return to ring the base of his shaft, firm pressure there keeping his climax at bay. He feels his release in sight but still maddeningly out of his reach. Han's every movement is artful and deliberate as he draws out Will's pleasure. This isn't an act of supplication, but of domination. He has Will utterly at his mercy, like this; not attempting to make him come as much as to make him suffer, exquisitely so, teasing him to the precipice only to deny him again and again, and with another broken, wanton cry Will realizes that what he's pleading for isn't release at all, but more of the same.

As if hearing his thoughts, Han draws back slowly and lets Will's length slide from his mouth with an incongruously chaste parting kiss to the slick tip while a seeking finger traces backwards, short nail scraping gently across his perineum, causing Will's breath to hitch as it breaches the cleft of his ass to press gently at his entrance. "Are you ready for more?" Han asks, the hot tickling sensation caused by his breath ghosting over damp, responsive skin all but guaranteeing his acquiescence as he cants his hips in silent response.

Han makes a quiet sound of approval at that and withdraws his hand from where it teases between Will's legs, raises it to his mouth and slides two fingers between his lips in a reproduction of the way he'd just taken Will's cock into that same luscious space. Will finds himself captivated by the sight, unable and unwilling to look away until the man shifts suddenly, wrenching a small, shocked gasp from Will's throat when swift hands grab and twist his hips, spinning him unceremoniously so that he's facing the wall, his own fingers fanning against the rough seagrass wallpaper there to steady himself.

There's a soft slap between his thighs, encouraging him to part them wider, followed by the returning warmth of Han's large palm covering his ass cheek, pulling to reveal his entrance before a spitty-wet fingertip rubs over his hole. He strokes in small, exasperating circles before the motion is accompanied by the slightest scrape of stubble on his skin, gloriously at odds with the smooth slide of the softly probing tongue that follows.

Will raises his arms so that his elbows press flat against the abrasive surface of the wall and crosses his wrists in front of his face to form a pillow that he can rest his head against, to stifle the quiet obscenities pouring from his lips as Han eats his ass like it's ambrosia. He takes his time to explore Will there, to taste his skin and work his tongue inside, liquid warmth stretching him to the edge of his senses. Will feels both achingly vulnerable and powerful at the attention; the contradiction pulling him apart.

"Oh, fuck…" he murmurs against his knuckles when a sudden whisper of cool air signals Han's retreat and a long, lubed finger replaces his tongue. Han rubs at his rim before working the digit all the way into him, excruciatingly slowly, causing Will's body to tense, his stomach grow hollow as the muscles there clench at the intrusion.

"Do you enjoy being penetrated, Will?" Han asks with a pleasingly thick scratch to his voice.

"Hmm," he hums as his hips buck of their own accord, his forsaken cock twitching, dripping, aching for the sweet, wet friction of before. Han ceases his movements but doesn't withdraw, still buried inside him to the second knuckle as he waits patiently for the reply he wants. "Yeah, yes, I do," Will says breathily, attempting to relax as the finger picks up its slow, burning glide within him. "It's just - ah - it's just been a while."

"Tell me, how long has it been?"

"Years." The word spills out of Will's mouth with a tight sigh of impatience. His jaw clenches. His last one night stand with a man, with anyone, had been in New Orleans after he'd left the force. He'd been in a different dark place then, one he'd rather not revisit; his newly discovered demons don't need any more company.

"And why have you denied yourself for so long?"

"I…seriously?" Will grunts in frustration. Han responds by withdrawing his finger smoothly and pulling back from Will's body. He doesn't say anything else; there's no further sound of movement. Another display of power, a reprimand for his petulance. All that lingers between them is electrified air, the scent of cologne and clean sweat, and the pleasure he's holding to ransom. Will knows he's gone too far to deny himself now. He's resigned to the fact that it's easier to expose his vulnerability to a stranger than someone he knows; there's less to fear when there are fewer expectations. He can't chase someone away if he doesn't really have them in the first place. He tilts his head back, sighs again, and admits in a rush of breath, "It can be too much, okay? Like with eye contact. It's something I can live without it, usually."

"Usually," Han rasps as his hands start a slow, tickling trail up Will's thighs. "But not now."

Will hates himself for the whimper he releases at the return of the man's touch. "You said it yourself," he answers, voice tremulous, "orgasms are good for relieving pain."

"The pain in question - your headaches, your other torments - are a result of seeing too much through the prism of the work you do with the police, yes?"

"Yes," he grits out in grudging acceptance as one warm hand winds around his hip, the other caressing the seam of his ass.

"You said you have unpalatable thoughts. I imagine what you see colors everything else in your mind. Your values and decency remain present but stained; you cannot control the associations you make, the dreams you have."

Will can feel his heart flutter, a pulsating stab creeping back into his head, knitting his brow. If he felt exposed before, he feels wide open now; stripped in more ways than one. Defenceless against the truth of it. But maybe this is part of what he doesn't know he wants, even if he'll never fully admit it to himself; to be laid bare and seen - to see himself - through the eyes of someone else, someone other than a monster.

"Is it your thoughts that scare you more, Will, or the ease with which they come to you?"

Will snaps at that, even if his indignation at the psychiatrist's intrusion into his psyche remains in stark contrast to the appeal of the intrusion into his body. He tenses, hips pitching forward as looks over his shoulder to see Han's face, to better read his intentions. "Is this your idea of foreplay?"

"In part," Han utters smoothly, eyes wide and face infuriatingly impassive as he allows his breath to ghost over the moist sheen of lube now smeared across Will's ass, tone almost soothing. "It was you, after all, who suggested that we get to know each other. I simply hope to better understand how to give you what you need," he pauses to press his lips tenderly to the hollow at the base of Will's spine. "To help you find your way out of whichever dark place you find yourself in."

"I…" he starts but bites back the rest of his response; cursing himself for even starting it. He turns back towards the wall, lets his forehead rest there as he exhales sharply. Will feels like his mind has spilled over, been glimpsed through cracked bone and flayed skin. Every nerve feels raw, yet he can't resist the hands that dance across his skin as he arches his back, spreads his legs wider, still eager for more contact. He takes a deep, steadying breath. "It's not my mind I want you to get inside of, Doctor."

Mercifully, he relents at that, and Will's sure he can feel a satisfied smile on the lips that press into his skin before there's searing heat, his tongue there again, so insistent, followed by the press of two freshly lubed fingers. "Is this what you want from me, Will?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

Permission assured, Han plunges both fingers into him with purpose while his mouth applies suckling pressure to the plump curve of his ass, sharp teeth not quite piercing the thin veil of skin, sucking a fierce bruise there as he drives in deeper, stretches him wider.

Will groans at the sweet sting of it, arches helplessly when Han's mouth applies more force to his tingling flesh while masterful fingers crook to find his prostate. Han's jaw relents, tongue laving, lips lingering on their mark before pulling back with a smacking sound, all the while massaging the bundle of nerves inside him with conflicting, sedulous care. "Should I bring you to climax through prostate stimulation, Will?"

"No," he practically snarls as he attempts to tilt his hips forward, edging away from the pressure, the prospect of coming - of ending this - too soon, and shudders violently when the motion causes the leaking head of his cock to graze against the textured surface of the wall, leaving a wet smear in its wake as his hips snap back towards the very sensation they were bucking to escape.

"No," Han echoes, and Will can feel as well as hear the gravel in his voice as it dances over his hypersensitive skin. "What would you prefer instead?"

"Fuck, you know…" Will pleads, eyes screwed shut as he abandons the tattered remains of his reserve. "I want you to fuck me, I want…I want your cock."

He hears a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl at that and a hand snakes around his hip to take hold of his neglected erection. "Such language," Han hisses, plainly triumphant while feigning displeasure as he withdraws slick fingers from Will's body, causing him to clench and keen in their absence.

Will lets his head roll back when lips brush the tender bite mark on his ass one last time and then he feels the coarse glide of fabric over his skin, covering his back as Han rises and wraps a strong arm around his chest. He's marched on trembling legs through the suite, his nape lavished with fervid, biting kisses on the way before he's brought to a halt at the edge of the expansive bed. Will feels light-headed, knees threatening to buckle as the taller man nuzzles his sweat-damp hair and fists lazily at his length with one hand while the other trails up from his chest to the base of his throat. "Get onto the bed," he orders and withdraws his touch.

Will complies; drops to his knees, crawls onto the crisp sheets and flips himself over to lie back on the large, downy pillows. He basks in the sight of the man in front of him; neat hair wrecked, lips shiny-wet and slightly swollen from tasting him, the fabric of his pants pulled enticingly tight over the hard length of his straining erection. Despite it all, Han maintains a maddening air of composure as he stands there, chest rising and falling steadily, black eyes raking wolfishly over Will's splayed, naked body. Will feels overcome by a shard of that same lupine desire.

"Get undressed," Will barks, licking his lips and spreading his thighs wider. He feels torn by the waves of competing need washing over him; he wants desperately to both possess and be possessed by this man, to take and be taken.

Han's eyes narrow at the command, though he does as Will bids, slowly unfastens each pearly button on his shirt to reveal a thatch of peppery-dark hair across a broad, toned chest. His pants and underwear follow, sliding over slim hips and lightly muscled thighs, infuriatingly fastidious until he's naked at last and his cock - uncut, flushed and full - arches towards his belly.

Will swallows, mouth watering at the display. Emboldened, he reaches between his legs to stroke himself - gently pulling at his shaft, teasing the head with his thumb - equally hungry hands itching for the contact he's being denied. "You promised me an orgasm."

"I did," the older man says and bends, provocatively exhibiting his taut ass, to retrieve the discarded lube and condoms from the floor before prowling towards the bed. "And I always keep my promises."

Will's thighs are soon parted, hoisted up around Han's waist by strong, searching hands as he's kissed with fervor, willing mouth surrendering to the sweep of Han's zealous tongue and the forbidden taste of himself there. His hands rake through the hair on the other man's chest, the fine sheen of sweat there, before seizing his cock, eager for the smooth, scorching hardness of it, and pressing it firmly against his own, crying out as he strokes them both in earnest.

Han presses into him, grinds their hips together, as he tilts Will's chin up to expose his neck. He nips at the skin over Will's fluttering pulse, mouths over the knot of his Adam's apple, and Will feels a thrill at the threat of teeth there - so frail, so easily broken, under sharp incisors - the contradictory pangs of fear and arousal causing him to rut against the other man while his throat convulses and his hands tangle tightly in satiny hair, warring with the competing desires to pull him closer and push him away.

When Han draws back, he looks faintly savage; teeth bared as he tears open a condom wrapper, black pupils ringed with fiery amber. Will feels a spark of something; not recognition, exactly, but a vague awareness, and a whisper of menace. He feels overcome by the fray and tangle of his emotional wires; reflections from Han combining with the horde of other horrors in his head before he's lost in the fugue, consumed by a need that's not his own.

His hands claw at Han's biceps, fingers flexing as he rears up abruptly and flips their positions. Will crawls over him to straddle lean thighs, using the full force of his weight to grasp fiercely at the larger man's wrists, pinning them under protest at either side of his head before capturing his mouth with so much force as to seem feral; stealing each labored breath, teeth clashing and drawing blood from tender lips. Hot whips of want lash at his skin; he wants to own this beautiful man beneath him, wants to trace the delicate structure of his skull, peer into his depths, to know and see and taste every inch of him, inside and out; he wants to hear him mewl and moan with pain and pleasure, both, and beg for merciful release.

When he pulls back for breath, Han has stopped struggling against him, carefully watching Will's face before the fight falls away and muscles yield beneath him, the man's lips twitch towards a cunning, breathless smile.

"I am willing to relinquish control to you Will, if it is what you want."

"It's not," he practically grunts, discomfited by his own assertion. His fingers flex and tighten on the other man's wrists and his face crumples into a frown, eyes scrunching shut. He isn't sure what secret, surrogate wants he's given voice to; which thoughts have spilled out of him in words as well as actions. "It's what you want. It's…I can feel it. It comes off of you in waves."

"Such is your empathy," he says plainly, as if the revelation is entirely normal.

Will swallows thickly and loosens his grip on Han's wrists. He opens his eyes but doesn't look at the man under him when he says, resentfully. "My imagination is...vivid."

"Have you been diagnosed with hyper-empathy disorder?"

His jaw tightens, teeth clenching almost painfully as he bites his tongue. Fucking psychiatrists, Will thinks. He nods and shifts his hips back in retreat, arousal dampened by discomfort.

"To perceive is to suffer," Han says, almost dreamily, and reaches a hand up to cup Will's face, stopping him from recoiling further. Will's surprised to find the other man's eyes still eager, almost fond, as he gazes up at him, stroking a thumb across his cheek and then lower, over his lips. "What a glorious puzzle you are."

Will feels twin surges of relief and shame mixing with the same jarring, unending hunger as before. He needs this, just for one night. It doesn't really matter if this obliging stranger catches a glimpse of his various peccadillos and peculiarities, does it? It's not like he'll ever have to see him again.

He rolls his hips slowly, tentatively, seeking the same reaction as before, and darts his tongue out to taste the salty pad of Han's thumb, still pressed to his bottom lip.

"You look both fierce and frightened, Will," he says and moves his hands down to trace over Will's ribs, to his waist, adjusting so that his sheathed cock slides into the crease of Will's ass. "Which is it to be?"

"I'm not frightened," Will says, resolute even as his voice quivers at the lie. He's always frightened - fear has been one of the few constants in his life for as long as he can remember, whether finding ways to flee from it or face it - but if he's doing this tonight, or at all, he thinks, this is who he should be doing it with; someone strong enough to hold the pieces of him together if he threatens to break apart again. His eyes flutter as he winds his fingers into the thick hair on Han's chest before pressing his palms flat to take his weight as he raises his hips.

"Good," Han purrs and sits up to draw Will back into another torrid kiss, agile fingers slick, pressing cool and firm into him with ease, "because I still have a promise to keep."

His fingers are soon replaced with the blunt head of his cock, the breach causing Will to unleash a strangled, yearning sob as his hole clenches in time with his fists as they seek purchase on the tensing muscles of Han's back. He feeds his cock slowly, torturously, into Will's tight body; stroking him, steering the descent of his hips until the sweet burn ceases and Will is so full that there's no room left for the shadows that lurk in his empty spaces.

Han rolls them then, towers above Will and shoves his knees up, bends him double as he holds him fast and fucks him hard. It's as brutal as it is blissful; Han sinks ever deeper, covers him with biting kisses as propitious hands wring every drop of pain-tinged pleasure from him until he can't think, can't speak beyond the panting, plaintive sounds that pour out of him.

"I'm…oh fuck - Han, please - I'm close...I'm going to…" Will babbles, eyes tight shut against the onslaught of sensation when waves of electric pleasure build and ripple through him, inwards and upwards through his solar plexus, extending shocks from his curling toes to the twitching tips of his fingers.

"Yes," Han pants as he allows Will's weary thighs to drop and curl around his waist before reaching up to cup Will's nape in a firm but tender grip, his other hand pulling Will's cock at a frenetic pace, countering every shuddering thrust. "Look at me, Will," he commands, "look at me and let go."

Will does, finds that in the moment he wants to see, to be seen, as he opens his eyes and arches his back and pistons his hips, wailing indecipherably as he catches sight of the man above him - equanimity compromised at last as he growls, jaw clenching around bared teeth - and Will can feel the wildness he sees there and it pushes him - both of them - over the edge. Will's orgasm draws him into a tensile line as he feels Han's limbs grow taut, the man's lithe body quaking around him - inside him - and his ragged fingernails bite into the flexing muscle of Han's ass before he's spilling over Han's fist, sordid stripes of come arcing and clinging to the hair on his chest while the man's hold on Will tightens, the thumb against his cheekbone clings with a desperate, bruising pressure, as though it could crush him and the trembling, aching thing he's become.

For a glorious moment, nothing else in the world exists; just a singular sensate mess, the salacious sound of slapping skin and heavy, clamoring breath, before it ends with one final, punishing thrust, and Will feels the light dip and fade around him.

There's weight after that, heavy and boneless, before the edges of Will's vision regain color and acuity. His legs grow limp when Han starts to slide out of him, petting at Will's face when his body reacts, attempts to hold him there for a fraction longer. He presses a wet, lingering kiss to Will's slack mouth before he rolls off, over onto his back.

Will closes his eyes. The air hangs heavy around them, filled with the sounds of slowing breath and the musky scent of spent sex. Will listens to Han move, the sound of his footsteps retreating. For once, he doesn't say anything. Time to go, Will thinks, and sighs as he turns onto his side, allowing himself one moment more for his legs to stop shaking and his mind to start working, before he gets up.

The bed dips behind him, and he flinches at the sudden touch to his shoulder, makes to reassure the man that okay, he's just about to leave before he's pulled to lay on his back again and a warm washcloth is pressed to his belly, removing the sticky-wet remains of sex and sweat from his skin. "I can…uh, you don't have to—"

"I'm well aware," Han cuts him off, hand stilling below his navel, gazing at him with something like amusement as Will attempts to hoist himself up on his elbows. Will notices that he's cleaned himself off, combed his hair back into place. His mask replaced, in part. "But I will anyway, if you'll allow me."

It isn't phrased as a question so Will doesn't answer, just lies back and, with his eyes closed again, lets Han rub the washcloth over his stomach, through the hair at his groin and between his legs, around his throbbing, sensitized rim. He feels slightly shamefaced, shy under such scrutiny, even after everything they've just done.

"Would you deem my treatment effective, Will?"

His breath comes out hard as he laughs. The pain in his head all but gone, for now; a benefit from the rush of endorphins, as prescribed. He opens his eyes and schools his features. "I think I'll live, Doctor."

"That you will," Han says with a flicker of a smile as he runs a hand through the curls at Will's temple before withdrawing the cloth, disposing of it, and lying down close beside him.

"I should get back..." Will says after a long moment of silence, moving away as self-consciousness prickles his skin, like gooseflesh.

"Stay," Han says; a straightforward command, like the others he's given Will tonight, and places a hand on his forearm, drawing his gaze. "Sleep here. Join me for breakfast in the morning."

Will doesn't answer, but he doesn't leave, either. Instead, he lies back down on the bed and blinks into the darkness when Han turns out the light.

He can't deny that the idea of sharing a bed - of waking up to a warm body, soothing words after inevitable nightmares, lazy morning sex, breakfast together - is nice. Too nice. A fantasy he won't afford himself. Instead, he focuses on the sound of Han's steady breath and waits until it deepens, evens out with sleep, to do what he always does and run away before he gets too awkward, before he has something for just long enough to miss it when it's gone.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position and, biting back a hiss of pain from the forgotten bruise he can feel blooming on his ass, runs a hand through his messy hair. He feels sore and stretched, but sated, and it takes the edge off of his impending sense of dread and the distant thud already gaining rhythm in the back of his skull.

Will stands and doesn't look back, afraid to wake the man with the weight of his eyes alone. He doesn't want to hear that velvety voice again, sleep-rough, asking him to stay (or worse, not asking, this time). Quietly, he collects his clothes from their various scattered spots throughout the room and dresses by the door before slinking out of the suite and into the elevator, back to his third floor single economy room and back to reality, whatever fresh horrors it might bring.