WARNING: Getting dubcon-y from here on!
Will Graham reached for the mug, grateful as always for Hannibal's foresight. If his colleague had brought a teacup, Will wouldn't have been able to hold it without it rattling against the saucer.
Why were his nerves so jangled? It had been bad before, true, but since he'd agreed to take the sedative, it was almost as if he'd had an adrenalin dump.
All the more reason to drink the damn thing. His body and mind were ever more at war, and all for nothing.
"Thank you," Will said, steadying the mug with two hands. He bought it to his lips.
"Do be careful, it is hot," Dr. Lecter warned as he again chose the cushion right beside Will.
This time, Will managed not to flinch overtly at the man's proximity, though his body tried. He reassured himself again that Lecter chose that seat given Will's own pathetic inability to care for himself. No doubt Hannibal feared Will would tip the scalding hot beverage over his legs.
"Thanks for the warning," Will murmured, pursing his lips and blowing across the top of the steaming water.
Almost imperceptibly, Hannibal stiffened beside him, but when Will glanced at his face, it was smooth as a winter pond.
Will moved his eyes away, focused on Hannibal's tie, the wide double Windsor knot, distinctive, elegant, and like the man, excessive.
Will blew across the hot tea again. Again, the sense that next to him, Hannibal had drawn tight as a bowstring.
It was disconcerting, extreme. Will told himself it was irrational, even as he realized he believed that he sensed something.
"Do try a sip," Hannibal said. "I find that ginger aids a turbulent stomach. You will feel better once you have drunk, I assure you."
Will took a small sip, swallowed it grimacing as the tang of blood hit. "I'm sorry I can't savor the tea," Will apologized.
"William. I have told you, no more apologies."
Will nodded and took another sip.
Hannibal gestured to the small boat motor, propped up in the corner. "Is that a project or a memento?"
Will took a large drink and grimaced, swallowing quickly before the taste could register. "Both."
"The boatyards; inescapable. A broken motor. How apt that seems," Hannibal's voice, light and warm, as if trying to reassure a spooked animal.
Will shrugged. "You're my paddle, right?"
Hannibal smiled, but it didn't reach his obsidian eyes.
Will fought a fever-like shiver. The intensity in Hannibal's gaze was overpowering him.
Desire. Fascination. Yearning for. . .
"What?" Will asked, before he could stop himself. "What do you want?"
Hannibal's smile was, again, light. His eyes crinkled. "Dear Will, what do we not want? Are we not all creatures bound up with needs and desires?"
Will shook his head. Despite going slow, despite taking only a little, he felt the spinning disassociation of the drug beginning.
As if sensing Will's predicament, Dr. Lecter leaned forward. "You're feeling it?"
"It's….." Will struggled, felt a heaviness pervading his limbs. "S-s-strong." Fear made a traitor of his tongue.
"I'm sorry," Hannibal reached out, placing his hand over Will's on the mug handle. "I assumed you would only be able to manage a little of the tea, so I did brew it strong. Now come, one last drink will set you well."
Hannibal's cool hand gripped over Will's weaker one. Hannibal lifted Will's hand, working his arm like a puppeteer, bringing the mug to Will's mouth.
"Would you like to make that shape of your mouth again?" Hannibal's voice was lower, husky.
Will blinked back confusion at the words, and the tone of predatory desire.
"Wh-wh-what?" he asked, weakly resisting Hannibal's grip as the mug hovered near his mouth.
"I said it would be a shame to burn your mouth again." Hannibal's tone, soothing as the pressure of his hand over Will's increased.
Will pulled his head back, away from the mug. "I've had enough, I think."
Hannibal abruptly let go of Will's hand. "Certainly, shall I take it?"
"Yes, please." Will's hand felt like a balloon without the pressure of Hannibal's over his. He handed over the mug.
Hannibal stood. "I'll be back in a moment." He walked into the kitchen.
Will sat, feeling a strong sense of unease. First, that the mug had been dosed so strongly and Hannibal had said nothing to him. What if he'd taken a larger drink?
But then, it was so hot, Hannibal had to know he'd only be able to take a little.
But if he'd had more….
Second, and more discomfiting, was Hannibal's awareness of Will. And what he'd said. He'd said "shape of your mouth," Will was certain.
Of course, Will was also certain that he dined on blood and human flesh.
The world and his thoughts rippled like the waves of a weak tide, ebbing farther away as he sought understanding.
Will struggled to sit forward on the couch, acknowledging with a wince that he must respect his instincts, even if they lied to him.
Now he just had to figure out a way to leave the house or make Hannibal leave it.
Will was in no shape to leave, but he'd feel safer on the porch, even though it was removed from the main road.
Wavering, he stood. Already light-headed from lack of food, Will became even more confused by the sedative Hannibal had given him. Will stumbled, reaching out for the wall. Propped up somewhat, he swayed and made awkward progress forward to where the wall became the banister of the stairway. He draped his arm over the railing as he panted and fought back unconsciousness.
"My god! What are you doing?" Hannibal was at his side in an instant, taking his free arm and striving to offer support.
"I'm sorry," Will flinched away, shuddering uncontrollably at Hannibal's touch. "I'm s-s-sorry. Pl-please don't t-touch me."
Hannibal let go instantly. Will's gazed careened wildly in the grip of his empathy, augmented by the drug. He felt nauseous, like his whole body was a single nerve laying exposed to the open air.
"I-I," Will coughed, shuddering from the depthless black eyes that watched him, feeling their weight like a pressure on that exposed nerve, even as he couldn't meet the stare. "I want to g-go onto the porch. Fr-fresh air, I can't breathe, I need fr-fresh," Will started gasping, hating the sound as the panic bore down, as his systems shut down, focus narrowing like a pinprick in a blackout curtain.
Hannibal was a threat. With every cell of his body screaming, Will recognized it, and didn't seek to order the knowledge, or make it fit into a logical pattern.
Hannibal was a killer. Will was in mortal danger.
Will shoved off the railing, lunging at the door.
Hannibal easily beat him to it, shoving his shoulder and arm before Will, blocking it. "Will, you need to rest, not to exert yourself so."
Will's breath sawed in his lungs. A dump of pure adrenalin beat back the edges of the drug haze.
"I will rest," he panted, reeling slightly. Sweat popped on his forehead and arms as cold chills marched over his skin. "After you leave. Please." A desperate last effort to appeal to Lecter's civility. To pretend to know nothing, to be this wreck of a person, nothing more. Oblivious, not a threat.
Lecter stared at him, compelling him to look, to see.
Lecter wanted him to see.
The stag stood before him, watching Will through Lecter's obsidian eyes.
"No, no!" Will struggled back, yelling the denial. The stag lowered pronged antlers, dark eyes pinning him. The stag's antler's captured him, digging points into his upper arms. More antler points poised over his heart, his lungs, his stomach.
The stag's black plumage ruffled in the wind. A curved antler pressed to the artery in Will's throat.
Lecter pressed a hand into Will's throat. His other hand seized Will's upper arm as he drove him back. Will fell onto the stairwell, Lecter landing on top of him.
"No, no." Will battered at Lecter as the blood-choke dimmed his vision. "No!" He scratched at Lecter's arms.
"Shhhhh," Lecter whispered as Will's awareness faded. "No bad dreams, I promise."
Will's heart, fluttering in panic, tried to wake him.
Will gasped, as his arms fell off Hannibal. As he passed out, he felt the other man's lips press into his cheek.
