Chapter Text
“I don't remember”, Will said, while leaning on the wooden ladder behind him, watching the empty bin near Dr Lecter's desk to avoid looking at him directly. “This is getting worse. I am... I'm afraid I may be losing my mind.”
His chest rose, slowly, as he slightly bent his head backwards so it would rest on the ladder, closing his eyes for a minute second, to rest.
“I would not let that happen to you”, Hannibal answered in his usual, composed manner.
He was close by, almost at arm's length, and Will turned his head towards him, his hands still resting on the reassuring warmth of the ladder's wood.
“I'm losing track of time. I don't even recall coming here.”
“We shall overcome this issue” Hannibal said, as if it was that simple. “I believe you have a watch?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
Will lifted his hand, straightening up in the process. Dr Lecter took him by the wist, carefully examining the watch with his other hand. Will heard a light 'click'; Hannibal was checking the time on his own watch to put Will's on time.
“There”, he said. “Each time you feel lost, I want you to focus on it.”
“As an anchor” Will commented.
He let down his wrist and laid back on the ladder. He felt tired. He closed his eyes.
Throat exposed, but only Hannibal noticed that. Rising chest, the curve of ribs, blood flowing in the jugular vein of his neck, smaller veins swelling on his slender hands.
He slightly leaned in, silently inhaling the scent that rose up from the man.
Sweet, salted fever.
Will opened his eyes and found him there, at almost no distance from him, his face scrutinising and calm, as usual.
Hannibal could feel the heat of Will's body rising up to him.
“I don't know what to do”, Will simply said, his blue, oddly clear eyes giving him an innocent look.
Hannibal didn't answer, but watched his face attentively with a piercing gaze.
“How is your analysis doing, Doctor Lecter?” Will asked jokingly, because Hannibal closeness was making him ill at ease. “Can you see what kind of insanity is creeping under that skin of mine?”
“I could not say which” Hannibal answered -and Will swallowed uncomfortably. “But I assure you I will make sure to discover that.”
Will averted his gaze. A part of him was still hoping his condition was mostly physiological.
Suddenly, Dr Lecter's hand seized the wood of the ladder upside Will's hand, roughly, almost brutally, which seemed strange coming from such a refined man.
Hannibal's head leaned in even closer; Will could now feel the warmth of his breath on him.
“Can you still tell the difference between delusion and reality?” he asked, staring into Will's eyes with such intensity the other man slightly cringed.
“I... am not sure” he answered. “I think I can, but I don't trust my mind anymore, I-”
“Do not worry” Hannibal interrupted. “We will find a way for it. You are my friend, Will, and I wouldn't want Mr Crawford or anyone else think less of you because of your... condition.”
Will closed his eyes, trying to repress a shudder. He had not dared to think about that yet.
He opened them back soon enough, as Hannibal had taken one of his hands in one of his, the one which was not gripping the ladder.
“Let us do a simple exercise” Dr Lecter suggested while rising slowly Will's hand to chest level. “Tell me Will, how do you know this is real?”
Will didn't know. He didn't. He couldn't be sure.
A slight burst of panic made irruption into his chest, gnawing at the side of his heart.
But it was real. It had to be. It felt real.
“I don't know” he answered. “The wood. The ladder. The ground under my feet. It's real. It feels real.”
Hannibal observed him for a long time, probably trying to determine how convinced Will was of his own words. Then he looked at the hand he had taken into his and, very slowly, rose it so it would lay against the wood of the ladder, right above Will's curled brown hair. He pinned it there, firmly, but not harshly, so Will would be able to break free any time he wanted.
But Will didn't know what he wanted.
He wanted to know what was real.
“But is that proof enough?” Hannibal asked, his chin rising up oh so lightly and his eyes shrinking a bit, like a man who admires his work. “Are mere sensations proof enough? Sensations seem real in a dream, Will.”
This was too strange to be real.
Dr Lecter had taken Will's other wrist, and was elevating it also, so it would rest on the other side of his head, against the wood; the solid, warm, wood.
“Real” Will said.
I had to be.
Why was Dr Lecter acting so? Was he really? He had no reason to. He would never. He was a calm, collected man, who didn't touch his patient unless circumstances needed him too.
Will noticed he was freezing.
Hannibal's face was merely inches away from his.
“Illusion” Will whispered. “This is only an illusion. I am dreaming, I have to be.”
He tried to get free of the other man's grip but Hannibal, after letting him push him away slightly to show that he could indeed break free, then made a point in gently, but firmly, pinning his hands back against the ladder.
“You have to decide, Will” Hannibal whispered into the other's ear. “Illusion, or reality. Only you know it.”
“I- I don't know” Graham answered -and he noticed then that his voice was slightly broken. “I don't know, it does look like a dream, an illusion, but-”
“But.”
“...The sensations -the feelings- they seem real.”
“Perception” Hannibal repeated slowly. “You rely on physical stimulation to determine wither what you are experiencing is real or not.”
“Yes.”
As if he was deep in thoughts, Dr Lecter leaned in so much this time his cheek was almost touching Will's -burning it with warmth.
It felt real, but this was such an improbable situation.
“Why would you be imagining this, Will?” the soft, velvet voice of Hannibal asked, blowing gently on Will's ear and neck.
Graham's body jerked on his own, appalled by the implications of this sentence -by the implication of Will losing his mind.
But he couldn't get free.
As soon as he had gotten out of Dr Lecter's loosened embrace, he was pushed and pressed back harshly into the ladder. Hannibal didn't look collected anymore, his fierce gaze piercing Will's brain, pinning it to the back of his head just as his arms where maintaining him roughly against the wood.
“Shhh...” Hannibal said as if Will was a beast that needed comforting. “Don't move... Don't resist, it's so gentle... like slipping into a warm bath.”
Hannibal's grip on him hurt a little, but not so much as for Will to want to struggle. He didn't know if this was actually happening, and all his mind was focused on understanding what was going on. This couldn't be happening.
One of Hannibal's arms slipped behind his back, and he embraced him like a partner in a waltz, cheek against cheek, lightly rocking him into comfort.
“This is very real” Hannibal said in an eery voice.
No, this is not, Will thought, petrified by fear and anxiety. This is a dream, and I am crazy.
He leaned into the embrace, into the false warmth which felt so true and reassuring, taking a grip on the other man's vest. He couldn't face himself.
“You are not crazy, dear friend” Hannibal whispered lightly into his hear.
They were now pressed one against another, and Will couldn't care less. He felt scared, terrified, and the most powerless he had ever felt in his entire life.
Sanity drifting away from him.
“Shhh” Hannibal repeated gently. “It's alright, don't fight it.”
Will could feel the other man move against him now, his hands caressing his back in comforting motions, holding him in that strange embrace that was neither a cradle nor a waltz. But it was soothing, so when Dr Lecter eventually reached for his mouth, Will merely complied.
It felt strange. Why would he entertain this kind of... thoughts, towards Hannibal?
His kiss wasn't gentle; rather fierce, devouring, in total contradiction with everything Will knew of his collected, refined psychologist.
His mind was in a strange place.
Hannibal's mouth was now on his neck, ravaging him, and his hands, equally famished, were tearing the front of his shirt apart.
He felt less like a human and more like a beast, savage, untamed, ferocious. Will was but a puppet in his claws.
It felt soothing. Under this attack, Will didn't have to think anymore, to wonder how much of this was real, how much of him was already mad; the assault made it all clear: nothing of it was truly happening, and he was either dreaming, hallucinating, or already completely gone.
He had no fear left in him.
He was half undressed when Hannibal harshly turned him so he would face the ladder rather than him, the remains of his teared up shirt hanging on his back, his pants being quickly pushed down by impatient hands; Hannibal then pressed himself entirely against his back, and Will shuddered.
He now felt scared, but excited at the same time. Something in this had brought him back from the verge of insanity -either this was real or not.
Hannibal bit him lightly on the side of the neck, pausing, with some sort of regret. He then abandoned his biting to smell Will's hair instead.
The sweetest scent on the most malleable body. His predator instincts urged him to eat him raw.
Will panted lightly, gripping the ladder with two hands. He couldn't see Hannibal now, he could only feel his body on him, his hands, and what he was doing with his fingers; that felt good; that felt like reality and madness had not consequence at all anymore.
“Don't move” Hannibal breathed unto his neck, and Will brassed himself for what he thought was to come. “Don't move.”
Legs slightly parted, Will griped the wood even harder, biting his lips to retain a gasp.
It hurt, although slightly, even if Hannibal was sliding in slow. “Shh, don't resist” his soft voice said behind him. “Remember what I told you? Like slipping into a warm bath.”
He had a firm grip on his hips, which he used to stay steady and consistent during the whole time it took him to settle in fully.
When he was, he paused an instant, resting his head against the brown curls.
Will felt his own body tremble and, while Hannibal's breath sounded regular and levelled, his own came out erratic and rasped.
He hanged unto the ladder so hard the articulation of his hands had turned white.
He felt like his body was on the verge on collapsing. If Hannibal just pressed a little further, a little harder, he would break Will apart.
And he did.
Will shuddered and cried and grabbed everything that presented itself to his distressed hands, while the other man inflicted upon him an odd pain and such pleasure he had never felt before, his fingers pushed into his hipbone, his mouth mostly breathing or nibbling on his neck, licking the occasional tear he managed to push out of him.
When he finally came undone, Will blacked out in blissful darkness.
When he came to his senses, he was alone in Hannibal's office. The light was on, but there was not a noise. Not even a sign Hannibal had been there.
Will was fully clothed, but his shirt was teared up, and he could feel a certain wetness in the front of his pants.
He took a look at his watch and,
it was only two minutes past the time of his meeting with Hannibal.
A noise in the next room startled him; it was the toilet flushing. Moments later, Dr Lecter entered the room, drying his hands with a paper handkerchief.
“I apologise for my lateness” the man said in his usual, calm, collected way. “A mishap with the hand towel.”
He stopped when he saw Will's clothing, through which one could probably notice Will's beating, panicked heart.
“Dare I ask what happened to your shirt?” Dr Lecter pondered. “Did Mr Crawford test your limits yet again?”
Will couldn't utter a word. He was frozen in horror.
“What is it, Will?” Hannibal asked in a slightly concerned tone. “You don't seem quite like yourself, tonight.”
“I don't know”, Will croaked with a dry voice. “I think I might have had a... a woken hallucination. I- I- I think I'm losing my mind!”
“Of course not” Dr Lecter said calmly, throwing his used up handkerchief on top of the others in the bin. “I would not let that happen to you.”