You Quench My Heart

Say, my love, I came to you with best intentions
You laid down and gave to me just what I'm seeking
Love, you drive me to distraction

Hey, my love, you came to me like wine comes to this mouth
Grown tired of water all the time
You quench my heart and you quench my mind

Celebrate we will
Because life is short
But sweet for certain

- Dave Matthews Band, "Two Step"

As he pulls the car out of the tawdry strip mall where Will's insurance sent him for physical therapy, Hannibal grips the steering wheel like it's the throat of the tall, redheaded physical therapist – athletic, good lungs, clean liver – who delivered Will to him in such terrible shape. Apparently, both Hannibal's conversation with the man before Will's appointment about his recent illness and the directive he'd issued that Will's pain be minimized had fallen on deaf ears. Instead, when he'd arrived to pick Will up, Will was waiting by himself in a wheelchair near the door so completely consumed with pain – face twisted, body tense, tears running down his cheeks – that Hannibal hadn't wasted any time asking for the man's business card. He'll get it tomorrow and soon a new physical therapist will treat Will. If he weren't consumed with rage, he'd be sorting through the recipes he'll make for Will once he's secured the pig's best meat, but now he can think of little more than what he's just seen and the trembling man in the passenger's seat.

Will tried to give him a weary smile when he'd first seen Hannibal, but he withdrew after that, climbing inside his pain as though it were a tunnel he had to pass through. He's the same ghastly shade of pale he was when Hannibal found him on the floor a few nights ago after he'd been sleepwalking. And this is with the painkillers he willingly took before his appointment, his face saying then that though he expected to be tired afterward, he expected also to have as much of Hannibal as he could get. Hannibal's hands twist the tan leather tightly enough to whiten his knuckles.

He takes a deep, calming breath and relinquishes his rage. It does Will no good now. Will, whose head hangs between his shoulders as he hugs himself with such force that every muscle in his upper body quivers. Hannibal reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. Will's shuddering breaths turn to hitched gasps. A tired groan of pure misery escapes him, the first noise he's made. Hannibal digs his fingers into the long, thin trapezius muscle so Will will know that Hannibal understands the black depths of his pain.

He runs his fingers up to Will's neck, still digging into the tense tissue, and drives recklessly until they're home.

"Stay here," he says as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. "I'm going to get you a shot."

Will doesn't acknowledge him. Hannibal walks quickly to the door, through the kitchen, down the hall, into the bathroom, and to the vial of liquid relief, and just as quickly back to Will, who hasn't moved, so lost is he in his tortured world.

Hannibal opens the passenger's side door, pushes up Will's sleeve, and sterilizes a patch of skin.

"This is going to burn. I'm sorry."

Will's deltoid is rigid under the needle. His arm will hurt well into tomorrow, but it can't be helped. Hannibal caps the syringe and puts it in his pocket so he has a hand free to massage Will's neck. Several long seconds pass before morphine dulls pain's sharp edge and Will breathes easier.

Will takes several deep breaths, opens his eyes, and rubs his shoulder, blinking at the sunlight. "That does burn."

He reaches up to rest his hand on Hannibal's arm and tips his head back, clearly needing a moment to shake off the vestiges of pain. Hannibal's thumb and forefinger move up to the tendons just beneath Will's skull.

"Better, though," Will sighs, his eyes falling shut again.

Hannibal moves his hand up to Will's sweat-soaked hair and rubs circles above his temple. He charts Will's skull as a phrenologist might, his fingers exploring the subtle contours while delivering considerable relief.

Hannibal turns his hand and caresses Will's cheek. He smiles sadly when Will's eyes flutter and he leans into the gentle stroke. He has a fondness for Will he did not anticipate. Will means more to him than he could ever have supposed.

"Come on," Hannibal says.

He waits for Will to move his feet out of the car and onto the driveway before offering Will a steadying hand that becomes an arm and then a shoulder. Will stands shakily by himself while Hannibal goes to his left side and ducks under his arm. Hannibal is patient with Will, who is shaking and panting again by the time they reach the kitchen. He stops when Hannibal tries to turn him into the bedroom and rests his right arm against the door frame so he can lean into it and off of his injured leg. Hannibal waits for him to catch his breath.

Will's eyes are pained and exhausted yet full of spirit when he looks at Hannibal.

"I was looking forward to that bath. I mean, I live with seven dogs and I think I stink."

Hannibal studies him – peaky where he isn't flushed, tachycardic and hypertensive from exertion, still hurting because Hannibal gave him just enough morphine to take the edge off but no more, thirsty from an arduous hour of sweat and pain – but sees nothing bad enough for him to insist Will go to bed.

"You do stink," he agrees. The corner of Will's mouth quirks with amusement.

He gets Will settled on the toilet seat, starts the bath, and leaves to get Will some water. He stops in his bedroom to hang his jacket up and remove his vest, tie, and shirt so he's left in his undershirt. He leaves his trousers on but suspects Will will get him to remove them, too. Will wants to move faster than he physically can.

Yesterday, Hannibal felt oddly threatened by that aggressiveness. It's been clear to him since his first exchange with Will Graham that the man has deep-seated anger he does not fully acknowledge. Today, though, he'd seen that Will's aggression toward him is purely sexual and has little to do with his anger. Indeed, Hannibal was intrigued when Will appeared with the scent of semen on him, masked poorly by deodorant, and then driven so wild by Will's advances that he'd had to initiate physical intimacy. His plans for Will haven't changed. This is yet another way, perhaps the best way, to help Will see who he really is. Sex is a powerful motivator, a powerful driver of action, not just for Will but for Hannibal, too. Hannibal knows now not to exempt himself from that drive when it comes to Will Graham.

Will has his shirt off and is using it to clean the sweat from his face when Hannibal returns with a glass of water and an extra pain pill. Will swallows the pill and drinks half of the water without taking his eyes off of Hannibal. He sets the glass aside and rakes his eyes possessively over Hannibal's upper body. Hannibal can't stop his pulse from quickening or blood from pooling in his groin. Will is an intoxicant and he knows it.

"You don't have to keep your shirt on," Will suggests, his body flushed with desire.

Hannibal's eyebrows jump a fraction as he slowly untucks his undershirt, grasps the hem between thumbs and forefingers, and lifts the fabric over his head. Will drinks in the sight of him. His open admiration, the way he parts his lips, the gallop of his pulse – he is truly beautiful. When he glances up to meet Hannibal's eyes, desire shines in his own.

"Or your pants."

Will's eyes widen when Hannibal doesn't hesitate to reach for his belt. Now it's his turn to catch Will off guard. He keeps his eyes on Will's captivated face, noticing the activity in Will's pants out of the corner of his eyes. He presses himself against his abdomen before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. His trousers fall in a whisper of fabric. He steps out of them and slides them away.

Will is mesmerized by the tent in Hannibal's black silk briefs. His mouth hangs open as he stares. After a moment, he takes a deep, shaky breath, his fingers twitching as though he imagines himself tearing the briefs off and taking Hannibal in his mouth. When Will licks his lips, Hannibal knows that's what he's thinking about. Blood surges to his trapped cock.

"Your turn," Hannibal prompts.

Will's expression falters and the excitement fades from his eyes. The fingers of his left hand drum on his thigh just above the wound. It's a tic he's developing. It appears when he imagines his future and sees himself scarred.

"My turn," Will grumbles.

Always so unsure about himself. And now he thinks he's ugly. Hannibal gets down on one knee in front of Will and stops Will's hand, though the gesture is unnecessary: Will has nearly ceased breathing in surprise. Hannibal doesn't let himself smirk. He warned Will that this was a dangerous game.

Hannibal hooks his thumbs inside the waistband of the sweatpants and underwear Will wore to physical therapy. Will places a hand on Hannibal's shoulder so he can lift his hips and Hannibal slides both garments off in one quick but careful move, leaving Will in nothing but his socks. Now it's his turn to stare. Will's cock, already hard, twitches as blood shoots into it quickly enough to leave Will lightheaded. Will's breathing goes ragged and his fingers knead Hannibal's shoulder urgently. Hannibal waits for Will to tell him to stop staring but the command never comes. Will's nails dig into his flesh. It's Hannibal who makes the choice to look away, and it's a difficult one. If Will weren't in dire need of the bath he'll shortly take, Hannibal would have already taken Will's cock in his mouth.

Will seems to know what he's thinking when he finally shifts his gaze to Will's eyes. Will reaches down clumsily to yank his socks off and moves his feet into the tub. Hannibal helps him all the way in, making a note to get one of those shower chairs that Will will see as an affront to his dignity but which he nonetheless needs. Water laps over the edge of the tub and spills on the floor as Will begins to hurriedly splash himself, thinking only of getting clean so he can pursue the nearly naked man in front of him.

Hannibal puts a hand on Will's chest to still him and chuckles when Will starts. He'd been so intent on his task that he'd forgotten Hannibal for a moment.

Will understands Hannibal's intentions when he sees a loofah and a new bar of soap Hannibal picked out this afternoon just for Will. Its spicy aroma with a woody base is meant to compliment aspects of Will's personality. Hannibal will be able to smell this on him days after he uses it, so it must reflect a substantial part of who he is.

Will rests his back against the wall and watches with undisguised interest as Hannibal wets his hands, lathers them with soap, and indicates that Will should raise his right leg. Hannibal starts with his foot, massaging circles in the sole and hitting pressure points that make Will gasp. He holds Will's foot and runs his fingers between Will's toes, recording each of his responses for later. His strokes become longer as he moves up tendons to the calf and works the muscles of Will's lower leg from different directions.

He pauses at Will's knee, his thumbnail next to a scar nearly an inch long and old enough to be from childhood, and looks inquisitively at Will.

"Broken bottle. On the beach. I fell on it. I must have been five or six."

Hannibal bends down and kisses it, just barely brushing his lips against Will's skin. His head bent as if in supplication to the trace of the wound, he looks up at Will through his lashes. Will's eyes are nearly black, all blown pupil. Now he's beginning to see that his scars don't mar him but rather make him who he is. That they make him beautiful.

Hannibal continues to Will's quadriceps, changing his stroke so his thumbs move slowly and incrementally up Will's thigh. Will reaches out and touches Hannibal's bare shoulder as though he craves more contact. Hannibal stops before he goes too high and bends Will's leg so he can access the muscles of the hamstring. He works the outer side slowly, digging his thumbs in, before moving inward. The angle is more difficult, but he manages. He stops again before he reaches Will's groin, though he's sorely tempted to touch Will.

Will makes a noise of frustration. He's been insistently hard the whole time, but then so has Hannibal. Hannibal smirks at him this time and Will narrows his eyes in false annoyance. He knows this is payback for his teasing at lunch.

With great care, Hannibal reaches for Will's injured leg and begins with his foot, careful to use angles that won't cause him pain. Will helps by lifting his leg below the knee and holding it in place so Hannibal has better access and can use both of his hands. Will doesn't relax right away, but by the time Hannibal is done with his foot, his eyes are closed and pleasure shows on his face. Eyebrows raised, lips parted, head tilted back: he looks pre-orgasmic. Hannibal memorizes his expression.

He stops when he reaches Will's knee and encourages him to put his leg down. Hannibal rinses the soap from his leg and runs his hand down to Will's foot again. Will watches him curiously. When Hannibal shifts his gaze to the mangled mess of Will's left thigh, Will's eyes follow him. His expression hardens and the ghost of a frown appears on his face. He would fidget if he weren't calmed by the massage and painkillers.

Hannibal places a wet hand on Will's sternum. Will's eyes go wide as Hannibal leans across the tub wall to kiss him. Hannibal adjusts his erection so it can rub against the porcelain, then runs his other hand up Will's cheek and into his hair. Will reaches up with a wet hand for the back of Hannibal's neck and parts his lips. Hannibal accepts the invitation with his tongue and is rewarded with a small moan from Will. Will kisses languidly, letting Hannibal lead. Though relaxed, Will isn't entirely sure of himself; his intimate experiences have been hindered by his fear of opening himself to others. He's gotten over that fear remarkably quickly, but he remains more or less inexperienced.

Hannibal closes the kiss with a smile and takes Will's bottom lip gently between his teeth. Will's stubble grates the tender inner flesh of Hannibal's lip in a way that is not altogether pleasurable, but the beard burn is well worth it when he sucks Will's lip and Will gasps harshly with need. Will's eyes are wide again. No one has done that to him before.

Hannibal releases Will's lip and pulls away with a sensual, possessive smile. Hormones sing through his blood. The earthy scent of Will's desire pulses like a ground bass beneath a symphony of spicy, woody soap and neutral bathwater, the oddly pleasant staleness of dried sweat in Will's hair, and the salty tang of pre-come from Hannibal's cock. He closes his eyes and breathes in the bouquet as he allows himself a few quick pumps.

"No touching," Will says playfully through the thick haze of desire. "Not until I get to touch."

The thought of Will touching him sends a pulse of electricity to the nerves in his groin. His dick jerks almost painfully in response. The hint of a growl joins Hannibal's long exhale as he lets himself go.

Will has that wickedly pleased look on his face. Power and possession dance gracefully around raw, animal need. When they do eventually fuck, they're going to tear each other apart.

Hannibal's hand tightens around the loofah as he flexes his arm. Will does this to him, makes him so powerfully lustful. Makes him want to grab and slap and bite and take. Will belongs to him. Will is his to shape and mold. His.

Will stares rapturously as Hannibal lets part of his darkness show. His exhale shudders and he runs his fingers up Hannibal's arm, then sits up to crush his lips against Hannibal's. He laps hungrily at Hannibal's mouth and growls. Hannibal takes over and the kiss becomes all teeth and tongues. Will grabs urgently at Hannibal's shoulders, his chest, his neck, his cheeks, his hair. Hannibal just barely has the presence of mind to hold Will steady so he can touch. Hannibal's blood follows Will's hands, the pili of his skin erecting everywhere Will touches him.

He has no idea how long Will's impatient hands course over his flesh and make his blood burn. Though overeager, Will remains deliberate and thorough – much more so than Hannibal expected him to be. He pauses to thumb Hannibal's nipples and somehow knows the pleasure his nails can give when he slides them lightly up Hannibal's cheek. Perhaps he is not as inexperienced as Hannibal had supposed. That thought hardly registers amid the intense sensation. He's tuned like an instrument to Will's hands; Will plays him with surprising expertise.

When they eventually part, Will stares for a moment while he catches his breath, his lips livid and cheeks flushed, then grabs the soap and sponge and hurriedly washes his chest. When he's done, Hannibal washes Will's back just as quickly while Will does his best to wet his hair. Hannibal turns the shower on so Will can shampoo his hair and pulls the plug in the tub. By the time he's put a towel down to soak up the water on the floor so Will won't slip, Will is rinsing his hair. He winces when he moves his leg to turn off the shower but pain is no match for his desire-driven impatience.

"Careful," Hannibal warns when Will holds his arm out to be helped up. He waits for Will's acknowledgement before he slides his arm under Will's, braces himself, and lifts. Will puts more strength into the awkward motion of getting out of the tub and onto the tub wall than Hannibal thought he had left, another measure of how powerful his desire is. Once he's scooted the arm's length to the toilet set, Will mercilessly moves his leg, annoyed by the way it encumbers him, then grabs the towel and dries like he's late for the best moment of his life.

Hannibal doesn't tell him to slow down. He's impressed by Will's ability to fight through pain. Will's hair sticks up in all directions after he scrubs it with the towel. Hannibal sniffs with amusement when Will runs his fingers through it in an effort to tame it. He offers Will the comb that had been just out of Will's reach. Will rakes the comb through his hair once and holds his hand out again so Hannibal can help him up.

The short trip from the trashed bathroom to the guest room is quick but uncomfortable for both Will, who's tired and hurting, and Hannibal, who's still confined to his underwear. Will's erection has faded by the time Hannibal helps him sit on the foot of the bed. Before Hannibal can sit next to him, Will slips a finger into the waistband of Hannibal's briefs. His eyes demand permission. Hannibal bends to kiss him, then climbs onto the bed on his knees to help Will scoot back until he's reclining against the headboard. He remains on his knees and relays a silent yes when Will catches his underwear again.

Will licks his lips before lifting the material up and over Hannibal's lively penis. He stops and stares and then, like a fascinated child, he reaches over and grips Hannibal like he's been waiting years for this moment. Hannibal keeps his eyes on Will's as Will slowly strokes and squeezes. The angle is wrong, but Will's hand on his cock feels undeniably good. He lets Will satisfy his curiosity, exaggerating his noises just a bit to teach Will what feels best.

When Will has done all he can do from the awkward angle, Hannibal slips his briefs all the way off and kneels next to Will again. He runs his hands along Will's chest, feeling the tight pectorals with tortuous slowness that tests even his patience. But this must be done right. When his hands linger on Will's refined abdominal muscles above the navel, Will digs the nails of his left hand into Hannibal's tricep, urging him to go faster. This is still part of the game, though, and Hannibal draws out his downward exploration for another long, full minute.

Will takes a harsh, anticipatory breath as Hannibal finally slides his fingers down Will's cock, closes his hand firmly at the base, and strokes upward. Will's gasp makes the wait worthwhile. Hannibal pumps slowly but deliberately, taking note of Will's reaction to each change in pressure, angle, and speed. He works Will for a few minutes using only Will's pre-come for lubricant. When he releases Will to retrieve actual lubricant from the drawer of the bedside table, he sees Will's appreciation of his forethought peek through the haze of sensual pleasure.

He touches Will's chin and leans in for a quick kiss, remaining inches from Will's face. "Do you trust me?"

As they did at lunch, Will's eyes say yes for him, but Hannibal waits for him to say the word.

"Yes."

For his direct, earnest answer, Will earns a smile before the next test. Carefully, Hannibal straddles him. Panic rises and fades in the span of a second, but Will doesn't move: total trust. He's passed. Hannibal rewards Will for his trust by slicking his palm and fingers and showing Will what an artist with surgical dexterity can do.

Will moans into his kisses and tries to touch Hannibal in return. How gentlemanly. He's too uncoordinated to do more than fumble; he doesn't protest when Hannibal bats his hand away. Hannibal takes his left hand to his own cock so Will won't think he's being neglected. Will gets the message. He plants his palms on the bed and bucks into Hannibal's hand as best he can.

Hannibal brings Will close to the edge before he slows the pace and loosens his grip. In Will's liquid eyes, he sees the sexual side of the passion that drives him. Just as watching the darkness come out in Will when his mind works endlessly fascinates Hannibal, watching him skirt the edge of le petite mort titillates. Will's eyes flash with the confidence of a man who knows he is, what he wants, and how to get it. He grabs Hannibal's shoulders and crushes him with an urgent, needy kiss that melts into a moan when Hannibal changes the variables of pace, pressure, and angle.

He could do this with Will for a very long time, bringing him to the edge and pulling him back, but Will doesn't have the strength for it. He's straining to move his hips in rhythm with Hannibal's hand and Hannibal knows he won't stop until he reaches his goal. That much has been clear about Will Graham from the beginning: he's nothing if not relentless.

Knowing it's time to watch closely, Hannibal studies Will's expression as he gives Will the push he needs to soar. Head thrown back, throat exposed, Will bucks into his hand one last time and stays tense for a trembling second before he spills himself onto Hannibal's hand and his own stomach. Hannibal has never had a more beautiful lover. Will's orgasm fuels his own and he comes on Will's stomach in exquisitely thick stripes before Will's cock gives its last twitch. Will opens his eyes in time to see the end of Hannibal's orgasm. A smile appears for a second on his sated face as he collapses bonelessly against the headboard.

Hannibal swings his leg up and over Will's damaged leg and smacks his shoulder against the headboard, equally spent. He leaves just enough room between them that they don't touch but easily could. With his right index finger, he starts at the bottom of a patch of semen oozing down Will's stomach, runs it up Will's abs like he's plating sauce, and tastes the mixture with both sexual and culinary satisfaction. He knows Will is watching and that Will knows this look of pleasure by now: it's the one he reserves for the very best morsels.

When Hannibal opens his eyes, Will is trying to grin at him even though he's still coming down and half asleep. His amusement endears him to Hannibal even more.

"So, what," Will murmurs, "this happened because you were hungry?"

Hannibal smirks through his own afterglow. "I do enjoy alternative sources of protein."

Will sniffs as his eyes fall shut. Hannibal slides off of the bed to get a warm, wet cloth. He wipes the evidence of their pleasure from Will's stomach and encourages Will to scoot down so he can lie on his back. Will slides down in a heap and Hannibal covers him to the shoulders, then sits next to him and lightly brushes his still-damp hair.

"I'll wake you up when dinner is ready."

Will can't offer more than a tiny nod, already in the arms of the sweetest, easiest sleep Hannibal has ever seen overcome him. He's content in a way known only to animals and children. In spite of his repeated forays into violence and darkness, Will remains innocent. He isn't untouched by violence and darkness, no, quite the opposite, but Will's innocence is so pure that corruption doesn't stick easily to it. The forts protecting his innermost qualities, the essence of who he is, remain strong in spite of the repeated assaults by the violent personalities he allows inside his head. But they cannot protect him forever. Perhaps, before they fall and the raging armies rape, pillage, and raze the earth, he will embrace his violent urges and hence his potential to be an even greater being than he is now. Only then will his forts hold, for only then will the assault on his defenses turn to aggressive offense. Will could be a beautiful killer.

Hannibal traces two days' worth of stubble that's come in around Will's thickening beard. The short, stiff hairs prick the pad of his left index finger first on Will's cheek and then on his neck. He pauses at Will's carotid artery and feels life pulse through him. This finger pinched Will's femoral artery shut eleven days ago. Hannibal marvels at the warm, strong blood under his finger now, in such opposition to the lifeblood that spurted out of him onto indifferent concrete, that tried to flood past Hannibal's finger before he clamped the artery, that tried again during surgery to spray the clinically indifferent surgeon, that resisted stabilizing for a long hour after surgery, that came so terribly close to draining Will of the hard, true fact of his existence and placing him out of Hannibal's reach forever.

A tear on his cheek surprises Hannibal. He doesn't wipe it away. Instead, he bends down to press his lips worshipfully to Will's carotid. He slides down on his side next to Will and slots his head into the space above Will's shoulder where he can feel and hear Will's pulse strong and steady in his neck. He places a possessive hand on Will's chest. The scent of their combined release dominates the close space of the bodies pressed warmly together, a reminder not just of life but of love.

Hannibal holds Will tightly, breathing in his essence, until his arm turns heavy on Will's chest and he, too, sinks into sweet and easy slumber.