Notes: Chilton speaking Spanish is a headcanon I seem to have caught.
I wrote the second half of this chapter listening to the Iron and Wine version of Such Great Heights, if listening to music while you read is your thing.
Chilton is in a bad mood with Will. He frowns and mutters beneath his breath as he flicks aggressively through a textbook he is reading on the bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose.
Will should be making notes, or planning, or thinking about Hannibal, but he is inexplicably drawn to Chilton; he finds himself unable to look away. He sits on the sofa, pretending to study a guidebook, but he keeps looking up at the psychiatrist.
He isn't sure why Chilton is so arresting when he is angry; perhaps it is the fact that his hair is sticking up slightly from his fingers tugging through it. Will wants to run his own fingers through it. The thought is disarming but not surprising. They have kissed twice now, after all.
Will can't hear him properly, but he is convinced that Chilton is muttering in Spanish. The thought makes him swallow hard.
Eventually, the temptation to provoke him into a row is too much. "What are you muttering about, Frederick?" he asks.
Chilton glares at him, fixing him with a firm stare over the rim of his glasses. "I think that is quite obvious, William."
"I told Freddie not to publish that photograph."
"Why?" Chilton's voice is confused, distrusting. He narrows his eyes at Will.
Because I don't want you to be perceived as a threat. "I'm just not sure the world is ready to see that," Will says lightly.
His aim is to antagonise Chilton, and it works. Chilton snaps the book shut and shoves it to the bed. "Why not?" he demands.
"It's, ah, quite graphic, Frederick."
"You don't want people to see us... you know?"
"Kissing, I believe it's called."
Chilton goes pink and folds his arms. Will feels the beginnings of a smirk, and he is vaguely aware that it is a long time since he had so much fun with another person.
"As it happens," Will continues, pushing himself lightly to his feet, "I have no issue with the world seeing it. You may recall it happened it public."
Chilton does not reply. Will takes a step towards the bed. Chilton is avoiding looking at him; Will realises that he wants Frederick to look him in the eye. Normally, such things make him uncomfortable, but he has a strong desire to hold eye contact with Chilton before kissing him so hard it bruises him.
What is wrong with him?
"Do you want to see the photograph, Frederick?"
"Leave me alone," Chilton snaps.
Will digs the phone out of his pocket and scrolls to the photograph, holding his phone out to Frederick. "There you go."
"I'm not looking."
Will isn't sure what makes him do it. He seems to have no control whatsoever around Chilton. Pouncing onto the bed, he straddles the smaller man. Chilton struggles, shocked, but Will has the advantages of position and strength. He pins one of Frederick's wrists to the bed and places the phone in front of his face.
Chilton frowns slightly as he looks at the picture. It is glorious; Chilton's eyes are shut in the photograph, an expression of pure ecstasy on his face. One of his hands is tangled wantonly in Will's hair. Their mouths are open, and a glimpse of pink tongue is visible.
"What do you think?" Will breathes. He is aware of his heart racing in his chest.
Frederick doesn't speak. Instead, he makes a small sound in his throat that sounds like a squeak. He looks at Will with his cloudy blue eyes, the ones that Will had found so interesting, and Will sees confusion and fear in their depths, but also desire.
Will is lost.
He allows his phone to drop to the bed and kisses Frederick, forcing him down against the pillow. Frederick breathes something against Will's lips, words he can't understand, before giving into the kiss. As their lips work, Frederick flexes his wrist in Will's grasp, trying to free it, but the sudden power that surges through Will is an irresistible aphrodisiac, and he grabs Frederick's other wrist.
Will is aroused. He wants Frederick, wants to tear off his stupid shirt and drag his tongue down the scar on his stomach before licking lower, lower, lower down his body.
He forces himself to pull back when they are both short of breath.
"Please," Frederick says.
Will relents, releasing his wrists and rolling off him. He is panting. He leans back against the pillows and stares at Chilton. He is not used to feeling so bold when it comes to this sort of thing.
"I... I meant please let me breathe. You didn't have to get off me," Frederick says shakily. His cheeks are scarlet.
"I feel I should apologise for pinning you to the bed," Will replies, although he doesn't mean it.
"Truly, there's no need." Frederick visibly hesitates, then reaches out to touch Will's fingers. "Why do you keep kissing me?"
Will is trying not to think about it too much. "I like kissing you," he says simply.
"But... Hannibal..."
Will closes his eyes. He is aware that he hasn't thought of Hannibal for at least twenty minutes, and he can't remember the last time that happened.
"Don't ask me whatever it is you're about to ask," he says.
"Did you kiss him?" Frederick asks quietly, ignoring him. Will still has his eyes shut but he can feel Frederick's eyes burning into him.
"No."
"Did you want to?"
Will swallows. There is sweat on his neck, sweat that pooled there when he was hot with desire for Frederick Chilton. It has cooled now. "Yes," he says.
There is a long moment of silence before Frederick surprises Will by tucking his face into Will's chest and cuddling into him. Will can feel his hot breath on his neck.
"I wish you didn't," Frederick says gently.
Will wraps his arms around Frederick. He is soft and warm. There is nothing unpleasant, or odious, or unpalatable about the psychiatrist in this moment.
"Me, too," Will replies.
A tear rolls down his cheek. It lands in Frederick's hair.
"I'm sorry," says Will. He is sorry for everything; sorry he dragged Frederick out here with him, sorry he loves kissing him so much but can offer him nothing else, sorry he is such a fucked up mess. "I'm sorry," he says again, and realises he is repeating it over and over again.
Frederick Chilton looks up at him, frowns softly, then cups his face in gentle fingers and kisses Will. It is the first time he has initiated a kiss between them, and it tastes different to Will. It tastes of something soft he doesn't know the name of. It tastes bittersweet.
When he draws back, Frederick is biting his lip. "Don't be sorry," he says.
He sits back on his heels, steadily maintaining eye contact with Will even though his chest is rising and falling quickly. His lips are swollen, his hair a tangled mess.
Will reaches forward and unfastens the top button of Frederick's shirt, pausing to see how he will react. When Frederick nods once, he unfastens the rest of them, surprised that his fingers are trembling.
Frederick's chest is golden, with dark hair. The scar on his abdomen is pink, not yet faded to white completely. It is oddly neat. Will's fingers brush it, and he wonders if his will look like this. He doesn't think he will mind if it does.
The shirt is pulled off. Frederick brushes the edge of Will's t-shirt tentatively, and Will hesitates, but he nods and lifts his arms so that he can peel it off. There is an awed look in Frederick's eyes as he looks at Will's torso, and Will looks at his dressing properly for the first time as Frederick fusses the edges of it.
He expects to feel sick, to think of Hannibal, but all he thinks of is the gentle hand brushing his skin.
They kiss again, naked skin burning as they roll down so they are facing each other, wrapped in the other's arms. Will is warm and tingling all over.
Chilton tries to unfasten Will's jeans with one hand but he can't, and he swears in Spanish, smiling shyly at Will as they break apart for a moment.
Will wants to speak; there are words in his throat, but he doesn't manage to get them out. He fumbles with his own jeans and then Chilton's trousers, and with some wriggling both men are naked.
"You are beautiful," Frederick breathes.
"Frederick."
These are the last words they say for a long time. Will strokes Frederick, who curls his hands around Will's shoulders, whimpering at the contact. His nails bite into Will's skin. He is hot and hard in Will's fingers, his end already glistening.
He is close when Will feels Frederick slide one hand down his front and wrap his fingers around Will's length, making Will moan. They lie together, touching each other, only breaking eye contact to close their eyes when they gasp for breath or cry out.
Frederick finishes first, burying his face into Will's shoulder as he does. His fingers falter around Will, but seconds later they are steady again, and Will muffles his shout in Frederick's hair as he finishes.
Will feels a sense of peace. His mind is blessedly empty, a state he rarely experiences. He is vaguely aware that he is sweaty, naked and sticky, wrapped around another man, but that doesn't seem as important as holding Frederick close and feeling him stroke his back absent-mindedly.
Everything has changed.