Chapter Text
“Professor… uh… Professor Lecter will be here in… any… uh… any minute,” Will stammered from in front of the podium. Rows of undergrads blurred into one another as the psychology grad student peered over them toward the door at the back of the lecture hall, hoping Dr. Lecter would appear sooner rather than later. He had no idea how to lead the class--he was here to grade papers and organize labs, not to teach the kids anything.
“Where is he?” came a high-pitched, demanding voice from somewhere in the center of the room.
Will bit the corner of his lip. “Uh… he’s just running late,” he ran a hand through his unkempt waves. “I’m sure it’s…” he sighed, realizing he was totally unsure what to say. His eyes darted nervously around the room. “So maybe… let’s talk about the reading?” Will didn’t intend for it to come out as a question. The awkward shuffling of papers and snickering around the room made him antsy.
Will circled around to stand behind the wooden podium--Dr. Lecter’s normal post--and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We had, uh, pages 324 to 385 for today… did anyone have any questions or…” he trailed off, gazing hopefully around the room and hoping someone would save him from himself.
A curly-haired blonde in the front row raised her hand and Will nodded gratefully in her direction. “So… it talks about our senses as adaptation, but I don’t really get this thing about pain fitting into it. Like, what does pain have to do with the senses?”
“Ah!” Will smiled slightly. “Good question! So… um…” he flipped through his copy of the textbook. “So our senses exist to help us through the world, right? And, uh, when something… uh… when something hurts--”
Will was interrupted by the thick door at the back of the room swinging outward. As he saw Hannibal enter, dressed characteristically sharply in a dark blazer and burgundy button-down, cheerfully swinging his leather briefcase, Will breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“When something hurts, Will?” Hannibal asked as he trotted down the aisle.
“Oh, well… uh… I was just, ah, saying that pain is… can be…”
“Pain can be good, right?” Hannibal smiled toward the group of students.
“Yeah, um, even though pain isn’t pleasant, it’s… adaptive.” Will averted his eyes, staring down at the book on the podium.
“It can be pleasant, though, after all,” Hannibal joked, patting Will on the shoulder. Smattered giggles arose from the rows and Hannibal smirked in reply. “Thanks for taking over,” he whispered to his visibly nervous TA.
Will smiled awkwardly and swept his book off the podium, making room for Dr. Lecter’s. “I’m sorry I was late,” he announced to the room. “One can rarely predict what trouble a car may present. So… shall we? Let’s pick up at the fantastic place Will has left us--page 341!”
Will blushed despite himself and sat down in the chair reserved for him at the side of the room. Fantastic, he thought. He thinks I’m fantastic. It was a throwaway comment--Will could rationalize this. But the heavy grip of Dr. Lecter’s hand on his shoulder had burned into his skin. Fantastic.
It was all he could think about for the next fifty-some minutes--the way it’d felt, the way Dr. Lecter had smelled like leather and cigarette smoke, standing so close to him. He inhaled absent-mindedly, hoping to somehow catch the scent from across the room. Will hadn’t always felt this way about his mentor. He’d asked to work for him at the beginning of last semester, wanting a chance to get to know the man who published so prolifically Will doubted he had anything even vaguely resembling a personal life. He’d always felt a strange kinship with Dr. Lecter--even when he knew him only by reputation. A lonely man, he’d assumed--charming, sure, but beneath it all, lonely. With how much he’d dedicated himself to his work, he had to be.
“Will?” Dr. Lecter’s thickly accented voice shook him from his daydream.
“Oh!” he startled. “Hi--sorry--hi!” He shook his long hair from the front of his glasses to peer up at the handsome man who towered over him. The sheepish smile on his face gave away the fact that his mind had been somewhere besides room 232.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” the professor smiled in return, the “you” lulling from his full top lip--the lip Will had come to find himself thinking about more than he’d like to admit. “For taking over.”
“Oh, sure! Sure! Not a problem,” Will shook his head, standing to meet Dr. Lecter and swinging his messenger back over his shoulder.
“Well, it was much appreciated. My car battery died. I was able to get a jump, but wasn’t in too much of a rush because I knew you could handle the class.”
“Oh, well… I think you overestimate me, Doctor,” Will chuffed.
“My dear Will, I could never,” Hannibal’s voice softened a bit--or at least Will imagined it did. “I’d love to treat you to dinner for your help.”
Will tapped his foot nervously. “I… uh… sure,” he gave in with hardly any resistance. “I’d like that.”
“My house at 8? Shall I pick you up or--”
“No, no, don’t worry! I’ll pick myself up.” Will stumbled over his words.
Hannibal chuckled as he scribbled his address on a post-it-note and handed it to Will. “As long as you pick yourself up and deliver yourself promptly to me, that works.” He winked playfully. “See you then?”
Will nodded and as soon as Dr. Lecter had his back to him, swallowed hard. It’s not a date, he told himself. It’s not a date. It was the same line that would run through his head all day, all evening as he tore through his closet, trying to find something respectable to wear--something worthy of his mentor’s affections.
He looked at himself in the full-length mirror, freshly showered, hair quickly fluffing up. Even wearing nothing but an old pair of boxer shorts with dog bones on them, Will wasn’t satisfied. It’s not a date, he chastised himself, but still stepped out of his dog boxers and rummaged through the dresser, searching for something more sophisticated. Will settled on a pair of small black boxer briefs--ones he’d bought on clearance just in case he’d ever get the chance to wear them for somebody. Excepting the time he’d put off laundry too long and run out of clean underwear, no one else had seen them--and even then, it had just been Winston, his retriever mix.
Will laughed exasperatedly at the thought of anyone but Winston ever seeing him naked. His skinny frame, paired with a slight belly from night after night of frozen dinners, wasn’t exactly the thing to drive anyone wild, he figured. Even the concept of Dr. Lecter finding him attractive was nonsensical to him, but yet here he stood--eyeing the fit of the tight boxer briefs, hoping beyond all hope that Hannibal would soon be doing the same.
A pair of jeans, navy blue V-neck t-shirt, and black blazer later, and Will was finally content. He reached beneath his shirt, nervously rolling on another layer of deodorant, before tossing a couple of Milk-Bones Winston’s way as he left the bedroom. “Okay,” he said aloud. “Wallet. Phone. Keys.” He looked around the kitchen. “Shit!” Will remembered that he’d been meaning to swing by the liquor store for something to gift Hannibal. His cabinet was stocked only with a third of a bottle of cheap whiskey, but he felt guilty going empty handed. “It’ll do,” he muttered to himself, and headed to the car, glass bottle trembling slightly in his grip.