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Frederick Chilton sits in his red sports car. The metallic stench of blood still clinging to his nostrils, his stomach lurches once more as his brain replays the scenes laid out in his home reminiscent of an 80s slasher movie. Pristine white surfaces streaked red like an abstract painting. Polished chrome caked in gore leaving his kitchen resembling an abattoir. Hannibal Lecter's words resonating in his ears. His dulcet tones were accompanied almost musically by the incessant beep of the medical monitor.
"When you wake, you will have no choice but to run"
But where does he run to? Frederick Chilton has no friends who will welcome him with open arms. Offer him sanctuary or a place to hide. With two FBI agents and a missing serial killer in various states of dismemberment in his house he can hardly go to the police or Jack Crawford. Dr Frederick Chilton had been well and truly framed. No one will believe him, he can hardly believe it himself. Looking as he does, his clothing drenched in who knows which corpse's blood. Checking into a hotel isn't exactly a viable option either.
He turns the key in the ignition, he would just drive. Maybe clear his head a little. As always the music picks up where it left off when the engine had been turned off. The volume always louder if it was something Frederick particularly liked or happened to be enjoying at that moment in time. A strong tenor voice fills the small space. Frederick Chilton extends a still bloodied and trembling hand to silence it.
"He is young he's afraid, let him rest". The lyrics from the prayer like Bring Him Home still his fingers. Never has this song reminded him of anything or anyone. He just loves it for the beautiful composition it is. As the song continues and the exquisite voice ascends: 'You can take you can give, let him live, let him live' Frederick Chilton is inexplicably reminded of Will Graham.
He practically runs from his car, pausing only to grab a bag from the trunk. One of the bags Dr Lecter had so kindly packed for him and that he nearly broke his neck tripping over in his hallway. Perhaps a broken neck is a better option than the hell he knows is yet to come. His stomach heaves again as he recalls the scene he left behind. Despite his lack of cane and the frozen ground at Will Graham's Wolf Trap home, adrenalin and fear keep his tread firm.
Never what you might call a dog person Frederick is strangely comforted by the plethora of cold noses and warm breath that nuzzle his fingers and groin with growing curiosity. Even as he stands fidgeting apprehensively on the younger man's steps, uninvited, disheveled and covered in blood. He sees no such curiosity in the depths of his piercing blue eyes. Just simple understanding.
'May I use your shower please?' He asks shakily his voice barely audible.
Will Graham says nothing as he stands to one side allowing his surprise guest access to his home. The dogs following dutifully behind as he closes the door.
Leading the way upstairs, he pushes open the door to the bathroom watching intently as Frederick Chilton walks silently and sightlessly into the dimly lit room. Clutching his leather overnight bag like a refugee.
'I will get you some fresh towels'. He sees Frederick Chilton nod but doubts he had heard what he has said to him.
He returns a few moments later holding freshly laundered towels. He is sure Dr Frederick Chilton is used to much better. They may not be the best, they may be old but they are clean and soft. Will Graham stops in the doorway. Frederick has divested himself of his soiled clothes. Clad only in a white undershirt which save one small spot remains brilliantly white and a pair of boxers. His eyes are fixed on the heap of discarded blood stained items which now occupy the bathroom floor. One hand grips the washbasin replacing the cane Will notes is absent. The other is curled, knuckle white in Winston's thick fluffy fur as he stands at Frederick's side like a century on duty.
Despite what Will knows is the gravity of the situation, he cannot help but smile. Remembering the night he had found the dirty lost stray on the road back to Wolf Trap. Pulling his car over he had spent ages trying to encourage the suspicious, nervous creature that he meant him no harm and only wanted to help him. Patience had won the day. The frightened animal had finally succumbed to Will's gentleness and perseverance. Taking a treat and allowing him to stroke his soft but grubby fur. As he looks from the now trusting dog to the terrified psychiatrist, he has the distinct impression he is going to have to employ very similar tactics here.
"Frederick". He speaks in hushed tones, dropping the towels onto the closed lid of the toilet. 'You are safe now. We need to get you warm and cleaned up'. He searches the older man's face, his usually expressive green eyes flat and devoid of any emotion. Will physically aches in pain for the man he had once hated so much. He has been in his shoes. He has been alone with no one believing him. He has been framed for crimes he didn't commit. He slips his long fingers into Frederick's unusually unkempt hair. Feeling his body tense, he speaks softly and gently to him, just as he had done with Winston. He feels a muscle pulse in his jaw as he rubs his thumb against the side of his face. Just as he had done with Winston he tells himself. Glancing down at the dog for affirmation.
"Come on let's get you in the shower” Frederick doesn't move but Will feels a little of the tension leave his body. His grip on both the dog and the washbasin relenting. Winston beat a hasty retreat but only as far as the doorway, where he lies down to continue his century duty.
Bathing a dog on his porch in an old tin bath is easy, even if the dog puts up resistance. On more than one occasion if they were reluctant or frightened Will had got in with them. He sees fear creep back into Frederick's body as he withdraws his hand. Snapping his fingers Winston immediately returnes to his original position at Frederick's side, whilst his master turns on the shower.
Steam begins to fill the room He can put Frederick in the shower as he is, partially clothed but judging from the near catatonic state he is in that's exactly where he will stay till the water runs cold.
Will Graham cannot believe what he is about to do. Kicking of his shoes, he throws his sweater and T-shirt to the floor. Then firmly grasping the bottom of Fredrick's undershirt he hoists it over his head. For the first time in ages Frederick Chilton seems aware of what is going on. Those once again expressive green eyes colliding with piercing blue.
A different kind of fear coursers through his body. As his undershirt joins the ever mounting pile of clothes on the floor. Frederick Chilton feels totally exposed. In the home of a man he knows loathes him, it is of course better than being in the hands of yet another deranged killer. That thought brings him back to the present and the scar which crawls across his midriff like and angry serpent. The scar which he feels being traced by an inquisitive but gentle finger. He takes a sharp breath suddenly unsure what it is driven by! Fear, embarrassment or something completely alien to him. Desire.
Over the water running in the background he hears Will ask him if it still hurts. He shakes his head, unable to utter a coherent syllable as his last remaining piece of clothing falls to the floor, his boxers pooling around his ankles. Modesty seems childish now. He finally let’s go of the sink allowing himself to be guided into the shower. He hears the thin door clink shut behind him and stands beneath the surprisingly hot water, the steam engulfing him. He just wants to stand here and let the powerful jets wash away everything that has happened. His addled brain doesn’t equate how the soapy liquid is being roughly but therapeutically rubbed into his hair. The firm fingers that are massaging his scalp travel down his neck and he feels a cool musky scented gel against his skin. Slowly realisation dawns. Will Graham did not close the shower door on him. Will Graham closed the shower door on them.
Will closes his eyes. Just like Winston he repeats to himself like a mantra. Applying shower gel to Frederick Chilton like it is dog shampoo. But whilst Frederick’s current predicament is bringing out the sympathy, patience and understanding Will has for his four legged friends. The sensation of his soft skin across a surprisingly well toned back feels nothing like Winston’s or any of the other dogs. It is certainly not stirring any feelings he has ever know with them. Much as he would like to convince himself Frederick Chilton is just another stray he is helping, it isn’t working. The man whose rather pale flesh trembles ever so slightly to Will’s methodical washing, tormented him for weeks. Poked around inside his head and believed him capable of unspeakable things. But at times during all of this, Will believed he had seen glimpses of the real Frederick Chilton. Not the façade he put on for his colleagues or his peers. He couldn’t say his friends because he has sadly come to realise that Dr Frederick Chilton doesn’t have any real friends. The notion tugs sadly at Will’s heart. Conjuring up a gloomy image of the man he really is. His arrogance and self-opinionated pompous demeanour come packaged neatly beneath a dapper suit, pristine shirt and perfectly knotted tie completed with strategically positioned pin. They are used like a suit of armour. Strip them away and you are left with a half decent human being. All be it a very sad and lonely one.
Will cannot begin to imagine what unspeakable horrors Hannibal Lector has inflicted on the hapless psychiatrist that had brought him blooded and terrified to his door. Whatever he has endured he can only judge by his own horrific experiences. But somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind Will Graham cannot help but feel strangely grateful that it has driven Frederick to him, allowing him to see the man behind the mask.
Will squirts more gel into his palm, he needs to get his mind back to the task at hand and off the track it was now hurtling down like an out of control freight train. The silky liquid coupled with a barely audible moan that emanates from Frederick does little to accomplish this. His soapy hand pauses, resting at the small of Frederick’s back. He cannot resist glancing down to where his hand sits. Up until now his eyes had been almost tightly shut or fixed firmly on a cracked tile just below the shower head. Frederick Chilton has a nice arse!
Will silently chastises himself. The poor man has come here looking for help, looking for a friend of sorts. Not to be abused or sexually objectified. He is in shock, probably not even totally aware of what is going on. He has clearly suffered enough distress for one day. The last thing Will wants to do is traumatise him yet further, by quite literally showering him with unwanted advances. Not wishing to scare Frederick any further or give him the wrong idea as regards his intentions; Will has stepped into the shower partially clothed. The wet denim of his jeans now clinging to him like a second skin. The now heavy material rubbing against his groin. Arousing him still further. He shifts uncomfortably trying to lessen the pressure. One soapy wet hand rests on Frederick’s hip the other moves up to his chest. He tries to keep as much distance between them as he possibly can. No mean feat in the confined space.
He feels the gentle rise and fall of Frederick’s chest beneath his fingers as he spreads yet more of the silky gel on his skin. The gentle rise and fall increases visibly as Will’s fingers brush inadvertently over his nipple. It peaks under the briefest of touches. He is tempted to linger, play with the clearly aroused peak but it won’t be enough; he realises that.
Whether it is from tiredness, the absence of his cane or the slightly slippery surface. Will isn’t sure but Frederick Chilton shifts uneasily stumbling backwards only fractionally but in the limited space of the shower. It is enough to bring his body hard against Will’s. The soaked denim abrading against his naked, firm and wet backside. The younger man’s hands instinctively go to his companions shoulders to steady him. Thrusting himself forward in a bracing stance. He waits for Frederick’s horrified reaction to his aroused flesh against him.
The day reads like a cheap trashy airport novel. Graphic murder and mutilation with corpses strewn about his home in the morning. A steamy encounter in a shower with a man you thought hated you in the afternoon. As his senses begin to come back to him Frederick Chilton isn’t sure which aspect of the day shocked him more. He is however in no doubt which has surprised him more.
From the moment he realised Will Graham was in the shower with him. That it was Will Graham’s hands massaging musky shower gel into his tense frightened body. A very different set of emotions have engulfed his body. He knows Will is just being kind, he is naturally good hearted. Something Frederick had come to realise over the weeks he had sent trying to get inside his head. Some things you just couldn’t hide. The pack of waifs and strays that had greeted him on the porch were testament to that. The younger man had clearly seen the state that Frederick was in and thought him not safe to be left alone, even in the shower. He was partially clothed for god’s sake obviously there is nothing sexual in him joining him in the shower. He had undressed him without preamble, emotion or embarrassment. He hasn’t touched him in any way that could remotely construed as sexual. Even as he had applied soap to Frederick’s slowly relaxing body ~ hell he could have been bathing one of his dogs.
Frederick Chilton stumbled backwards in fear. Oh nothing remotely like the fear he had stumbled backwards in at his home earlier. He quickly banishes the memory from his mind. This was fear of being found out. His treacherous body reacting so quickly and intimately to the briefest and most innocuous of touches from Will. Frederick is shocked at his own response as the musky scented gel that lathered across his chest. He realises that Will is keeping distance between them not wanting to encroach of his personal space. But within the confines of the cubicle Frederick realises just how close he must be. Despite the heat and steam from the water he could feel Will’s breath against his wet hair. His fingers brushing his nipple and its instantaneous reaction to the younger man caused Frederick to take a small step backwards, forgetting where he was and stumble oh so slightly. Thus bringing him into direct contact with Will’s partially clad, well-toned and highly aroused body.
For what seems like an eternity both men remain motionless under the steady stream of remarkably still hot water. When Frederick doesn’t instantly recoil in horror from his straining erection, Will returns his hands to Frederick’s chest. Both of them this time, ensuring that the older man is pinned firmly against the length of his body. He slowly drags a thumb across each hard nipple, feeling them pucker to his touch. Thrusting his hips forward against Frederick’s arse he pinches the taught buds. This time there is nothing inaudible about the guttural moan which escapes from Frederick Chilton’s lips. The sound arousing Will beyond all reason. He is torn between tearing of his soaking jeans to feel his flesh against the other man’s or to leave them on savouring the strangely erotic friction the sodden fabric is having against his highly sensitised skin.
Frederick’s head falls to one side, his dark wet hair clings to his face. Will cannot resist the expanse of skin from below the ear, down his neck and along his collar bone to his shoulder, nipping and sucking the exposed area. His hands travel across Frederick’s ribs, brushing over his scar and resting on his hips. Will feels Frederick press back against him and an involuntary keen escapes his own lips. His restrained cock is begging for freedom, aching to be touched.
Will revels in the feel of Frederick against him, moulding him to the contours of his own body. His hands continue on their languorous exploration, his thumbs tracing the outline of Frederick’s hip bone to the top of his thigh. Trailing his fingers through the light covering of hair, teasingly close but not touching him intimately. His fingers bite gently but firmly into the other man’s flesh pulling him tightly against him. Will grinds himself against Frederick, his cock throbs mercilessly against his bare arse. Oh how good it would feel to slip between those softly rounded cheeks and into his tight body. But this isn’t about him, about what would make Will feel good, although so far he was hardly complaining. He feels Frederick shift his weight spreading his feet. An invitation Will cannot resist. One roving hand retuns to Frederick’s upper body and its tormenting assault on a flat brown nipple. The other slowing moving to cup and caress his unbelievably smooth balls. Will cannot help but smile. He can envisage many things in his head, but Frederick Chilton in a salon of some sort getting waxed! NO! The absolute smoothness however tells him a very different story. The image may have made Will smile the end result is turning him on even more. Rolling the deliciously silky sac between his fingers he grasps them firmly in his upturned palm, his thumb brushing against Frederick’s cock for the first time.
Frederick Chilton pushes back hard against Will Graham. His skilled fingers tormenting him wildly but arousing him more than he thought possible. His lightly calloused fingers feel so erotic against the velvety smoothness of his newly waxed skin. A personal idiosyncrasy, having a small intimate area waxed from just behind his balls to his cock to heighten his pleasure. If lucky during sex, but more often than not during masturbation.
Despite everything Frederick cannot help but feel a smile tug at his lips. Certain that Will did not expect that. Will’s fingers constrict around him. He didn’t expect this! The assault on the tight bud of his nipple increases. The sensation burns directly to his groin at the exact same time that Will’s teasing thumb connects with his swollen cock. He cannot contain the agonised whimper that escapes his lips. Even under the stream of water Frederick knows his cock is leaking precum. Rock hard and desperate for the touch of another human being. As Will’s fingers finally encircle his shaft it is all Frederick can do not to explode in his hand. A sensory overload overwhelms his body, starved of almost anything, he inhales sharply desperately trying to regain control. His knees sagging a little as Will’s hand gently pulses up and down his shaft. That wicked thumb of his swiping across the weeping tip. Frederick’s head rolls backwards in sheer pleasure. The small difference in height bringing it to rest on Will’s shoulder. For the first time in his peripheral vision he can see rather than just feel the younger man. He can certainly feel the sharp teeth that nip his neck.
Until this moment Frederick’s hands had hung limply at his side or on occasion used to steady himself against the tiled wall. At one point when Will had been gently soaping his lower back he been tempted to touch his hardening cock. Now there was only one thing he wanted to feel beneath them Will Graham. His heart beat so hard and fast it reverberated in his ears. His arms slowly moved backwards, his hands connecting with Will’s powerful thighs. His fingertips tentatively touching the soaking wet denim that he still wore, reaching still further until he can feel his firm backside encased in the clingy wet fabric. Damn the man for being so chivalrous and keeping his clothes on.
“At last” Frederick hears Will whisper heatedly, his hot breath caressing his ear. The breathlessly whispered words cause Frederick’s body to twitch, his cock thrusting into Will’s hand. The younger man’s grip tightens and then slowly slackens to caress the underside of his shaft. Falling into a slow easy rhythm he lazily strokes his needy flesh. From the position they are in, it is almost as if Will is stroking himself. Leaning back into Will, Frederick can feel the strong contoured planes of his well-toned body flush against him. One hand comes to touch Will’s bearded face. He loves the feel of it, imaging how it would feel against his own now clean shaven cheek. His fingers thread into Will’s wet hair, tugging at the tangled mass; the dampness making it seem even longer than it already is. The exquisite combination of touching and being touched so intimately, Frederick feels his balls tighten, heat pools low in his groin and he instinctively rubs his arse across Will’s sheathed erection. He needs to cum.
The idea of ejaculation without any actual stimulation either from intercourse or masturbation intrigues Will, it is something he has never experienced. As Frederick’s bare arse brushes hard across his aching cock he realises this is something that is about to change imminently. The heavy stitching in the material and seams are causing an intolerable friction on his throbbing length. The fingers entwined and tugging at his hair are arousing in their own right, Fredrick’s deliciously silky balls and responsive cock are just about to push him over the edge into ecstatic freefall. He feels Frederick’s breathing shallow. His sack is so tight and every vein and ridge on his quite impressive length is ready to burst. The engorged head weeps into his palm as he skims the tip, even under the water Will can feel the dewy bead and spreads it along Frederick’s shaft. Increasing the intensity of his stroke he presses himself and his own arousal against Frederick. With a quick move he slows the stream of water down. He wants to feel Frederick cum, savour it, and not have it washed away in an instant.
Frederick’s body tenses, his fingers tighten in Will’s hair, his breathing loses any steady rhythm and he presses himself harder against Will. He cries out. Hearing his name fall from Frederick Chilton’s lips in passion and total abandonment is Will’s undoing. He cums hard pressing into him. Fredrick’s semen spews hot and sticky into his hand as his own cum pools in his soaking jeans. Will moans loudly at the sensations engulfing his body. It has been a long time since he has enjoyed an orgasm of such intensity.
Fredrick Chilton struggles to remain upright. Unsteady without his cane, his legs threaten to buckle under him. Every ounce of strength milked from him by the most powerful orgasm he has ever had in his life. His body is trembling from pure unadulterated pleasure. He feels Will’s arms tighten around him, supporting him, in more ways than one.
Properly cleaned up, dried and in fresh clothing, Will silently leads Frederick downstairs. Sitting him down in one of his comfy old chairs. Will hands him a glass of whiskey. The dogs are gathered before him in front of a roaring open fire.
“Everyone this is Frederick” Will addresses the assembled hounds. Then turning to a rather bemused Frederick he smiles: “Frederick this is everyone”