Chapter Text
“How does it feel, Will, to have the serial killer you’re so very desperate to catch holding you down like this?”
The voice is muffled, but clear enough to understand through the door to Dr. Lecter’s office, where Jack is poised to knock.
What the hell?
Another voice makes a pained noise, and a groan.
“Tell me, Will,” the other voice comes again, “are you enjoying the fact that the Chesapeake Ripper caught you first?”
“Hannibal!” Will shouts, and Jack draws his gun, stepping into the office, mentally preparing himself for something gruesome. He can only hope he’s in time to save Will and Dr. Lecter from the Ripper.
What he finds instead, is Will Graham, naked and flushed, bent forwards over Dr. Lecter’s desk in the middle of his office - with Dr. Lecter holding his head down with a hand on the back of his neck, as he stands behind Will, bent partially over him. Will’s hands are free, and he’s gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white with the strain. Lecter appears to be fully dressed, though his tie has been removed, and the top few buttons of his shirt are open. In the hand not holding Will down, he’s holding a very sharp looking letter opener. Both men freeze at the sight of Jack with his gun raised.
“What the hell is going on in here?!” Jack shouts, surveying the room - empty, but for Will and Dr. Lecter, who are in a very different kind of compromising position than Jack had assumed based on what he heard. Neither of them move - Dr. Lecter is almost unnaturally still, his grip tightening both on Will’s neck and the knife in his hand.
There’s a long, tense silence, where the only sounds are Will and Dr. Lecter’s heavy breaths.
Finally, Will speaks up. “It’s- uh… not what you think?”
Will’s voice seems to startle Dr. Lecter out of whatever state he was in, because he blinks, and releases Will from his hold, placing the letter opener down before straightening up and taking a slight step back. Will whimpers.
“I thought I just heard the Chesapeake Ripper threatening you, Will. You two want to explain what was actually going on?”
“If you’ll turn around and let me put my pants on first,” Will says, making no move to stand up.
Against every instinct telling him not to take his eyes off them, Jack acquiesces, tucking away his service weapon and turning his back. There’s a shuffle of clothing, and after a few moments Will lets him know he can turn back around.
“Well? I’m waiting.” Jack crosses his arms, fixing them both with a scathing look.
“It’s, um… roleplay?”
“Roleplay,” Jack echoes, incredulous.
“It’s perhaps not the most orthodox of therapies,” Dr. Lecter finally speaks up to say, “however Will and I discussed it thoroughly beforehand and we believed it might hold some therapeutic value.”
“For Will to be dominated by the Chesapeake Ripper.”
“To begin with, yes. We had a scene planned which would involve him taking control of the encounter.”
“You were going to- you know what? I don’t want to know. I’m never going to be able to scrub the image of Will Graham bent over a desk at knifepoint from behind my eyelids. I came here to tell you both about a case. I’m just going to leave the file with you and you can call me in the morning.” He tosses the manila folder onto one of the two chairs in the room, before turning and walking out.
—
Will sighs, shakily, once Jack has stepped out of the room, the slamming of the door still ringing in his ears.
“That may have been the most embarrassing moment of my entire life,” he grouses.
Hannibal just chuckles. “It would have been much worse if he hadn’t believed your roleplay excuse.”
“I guess I should be thankful that you’re such a good manipulator, then.” Will sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Jack sure killed the mood, though. I guess let’s look at that case file.”