A/N: So I got really emotional about the episode Su-zakana (2x08), particularly the very heavy almost-Hannigram towards the end. So my mind went a bit crazy with that, and this is the result; enjoy!

Man cannot know true power until he has held the life of another in his hands and chosen to end it. A philosopher with a straighter moral compass might argue that the choice to spare a life wields just as much influence as its more sinister counterpart.

But Will Graham had never claimed to be a philosopher. And the events that had transpired over the past few months had done nothing if not confirm that his moral compass was far from straight.

And so he greedily indulged in the feeling of ultimate control that pumped through him louder than the huffing of his shallow breaths, louder than the stampede of his frantic heartbeat, louder than the whimpering pleas of the blood-drenched serial killer who kneeled before him.

Will knew the agony and confusion of having his thoughts and actions stolen from him; he knew what it was to have his very mind kidnapped and molested by a seemingly good-natured mental health professional. He'd been framed for grotesque and horrendous acts because his word had been invalidated by a manipulative monster-the same fate almost suffered by Peter Bernar tonight.

And so Will would do what Peter couldn't. He wouldn't merely make Clark Ingram suffer the same fate as his victims by sewing him into the bloated womb of a horse carcass. He would ensure that this barely humanoid creature never harmed another living soul again, be it via murder or deception.

"It won't feel the same, Will. It won't feel like killing me."

There it was again. That same voice that had once haunted Will's nightmares but now played the starring role in his most violent and gruesome fantasies.

The smooth, calm logic of Hannibal Lecter. Ever the voice of reason, but always the patron of chaos.

"It doesn't have to," Will responded as an almost knee-jerk reaction. He would kill this man because he deserved to die for what he'd done to Peter and his other victims, not as some sort of surrogate for Hannibal. Will would deal with his own personal vendetta in time. For now, he would seek justice for those who couldn't gain retribution on their own.

"If you are going to do this, Will, you have to do it for yourself."

The hint of desperation present in Hannibal's voice had increased, and Will felt another surge of adrenaline as he realized how much power he wielded power over both of these men. They were at his mercy, Hannibal and Ingram.

Will had the power to defy them now. He was in total control of not only his own thoughts and actions, but theirs as well. One squeeze of his index finger and the hunted would become the hunter; in the blink of an eye, the predator would morph into prey.

Taking one last deep breath, Will calmed his nerves, steadied his hand, and pulled the trigger.

But the tense silence that followed was far more jarring than any gunshot would have been.

It wasn't until Ingram crumbled to the bloody floor in a weeping mess that Will realized Hannibal had taken hold of the gun just as he'd tried to fire the weapon. Will stood with his hand still outstretched even as Hannibal calmly removed the gun from his grasp, and his mind struggled to process exactly what had just occurred.

He'd nearly killed a man.

Yes, the man in question was a serial killing monster who'd framed the innocent he'd been tasked with protecting. But he was still a man, nonetheless.

"With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you," Hannibal told Will once he'd pocketed the gun, stepping closer to cup Will's face in his hand. And although under any other circumstance Will would have tensed at the unexpected touch and increase in proximity, he couldn't find it within himself to do anything but watch Hannibal's face as the man continued to come closer.

"I can feed the caterpillar," Hannibal continued, his thumb now lightly dragging along the stubble on Will's cheek. "And I can whisper through the chrysalis," he added, his breath now warm on Will's face as he tilted his head ever so slightly and stepped even closer.

"But what hatches follows its own nature, and is beyond me," he finished, and it was only then that Will noticed the slight pressure of Hannibal's other hand gently lifting his chin.

Will should have seen it coming. In all honesty, everything about this situation had only ever been leading up to this one single outcome. But Hannibal had touched Will often enough before, in ways that straddled the border between companionable and possessive.

This pattern of behavior was nothing new. A few months back, Hannibal had crowded into Will's personal space and smelled him like a wolf inspecting the stunned rabbit it would soon devour. So when he'd begun to close the distance between them, Will had merely assumed that Hannibal intended to finally finish his kill.

Instead, the expected nip to the back of Will's neck that would sever his spine was replaced by the soft kneading of fingers at the base of his skull. The unexpectedly pleasant pressure against his mouth came next: not a rag soaked in chloroform held against his face from behind, but lips that moved slowly and almost reverently against his.

Will wasn't being devoured. He was being saved.

Because here, now, wrapped in this man's embrace, was the first time in months that Will didn't feel like a restless animal one step away from stumbling into a trap. He felt as if he'd broken a wing and hurtled down from the sky, left stunned in pain and confusion for ages, until he'd finally been rescued and cared for by large hands and caressing lips.

And now that he'd been saved, Will could finally begin to learn how to fly again.

Hannibal's massaging fingers traveled up from the nape of Will's neck to push into his hair, the thumb of his other hand now stroking along Will's jaw. Will could almost feel himself becoming whole again as Hannibal touched him, each tender movement filling him with new life. And so he moved closer, doing his best to communicate that yes this was what he wanted- and he wanted more.

Hannibal obliged him without question, his hand leaving Will's face to instead wrap around his waist. But the persona of benevolent caretaker vanished in the face of Will's supplication. Hannibal's kisses became more domineering almost instantly, his movements undoubtedly hungry as his tongue and teeth invaded and ravaged Will's eager mouth. Will could feel Hannibal pushing up beneath the hem of his shirt, his touch grazing the waistband of his pants before rubbing into his hip. Will instinctively shifted towards the sensation, pressing his lower body against Hannibal's, and he barely held back a groan as his groin rubbed against the other man's thigh.

But when Hannibal's fingers pulled roughly at Will's hair, tilting his head back to expose the vulnerable stretch of his neck, the illusion of safety shattered. Will sucked in a heaving breath like a man just barely saved from drowning, stumbling backwards as he tore free of Hannibal's embrace and shoved the other man away.

He continued to back away, clumsily moving as far from Hannibal as he could manage in the cluttered barn. He felt completely unstable and entirely out of his depth as his mind flooded with horror and disgust.

He'd let Hannibal manipulate him once again. And this time around hadn't even involved unconventional forms of therapy that bordered on psychological torture and brainwashing. Hannibal had merely kissed him, and that had been enough for Will to let him back into his head again.

Had he learned nothing in the past few months? He knew Hannibal was dangerous, that he couldn't be trusted, that his every move was an act of manipulation. And yet he'd let him kiss him- he'd even welcomed it.

Perhaps Will had never regained control of his mind at all. Even after everything he had endured, perhaps Hannibal had always still maintained a sphere of influence over his thoughts. Maybe he always would. And that was the most terrifying notion Will had ever entertained to date.

He could feel Hannibal's gaze still locked on him as he fought to control his breathing and cease the shaking in his hands. Will looked up against his better judgement and was met with a small smile, a complacent and even rather amused expression set on Hannibal's face.

It was now painfully clear to both of them who would emerge victorious in this battle for Will's mind. They both knew Will wouldn't be able to stay away for long, that he'd always end up crawling back. Whether it was out of an exhausted weakness, a sick curiosity, or an unwise desire, neither could say.

But one thing was certain: Hannibal would have him soon enough.

Rather than requesting transport from one of the many FBI agents who'd arrived at the scene shortly after his attempted murder and subsequent breakdown, Will opted to hitch a ride with Hannibal.

They'd arrived at the stables together, so really there was no reason the two shouldn't depart together. Because regardless of the events that had transpired in the past twenty minutes, Will was still determined to prove that he was stronger than Hannibal.

He knew that it was stupid to even entertain the thought that he might somehow mentally overpower the man who'd manipulated him from day one. But the more he tried to use logic and reason when dealing with Hannibal, the further from his grasp the man fled; perhaps it was time to throw methodology to the wind and capture the doctor with a less conventional trap.

Of course, Will had still yet to devise what this imaginary foolproof trap could possibly entail. His thoughts were unfocused and frenzied, and every time he settled on one possible plot, the same entirely unrelated idea shoved its way to the forefront of his mind: Will had nearly killed a man.

And Hannibal had been the one to stop him.

If it hadn't been for Hannibal, he would have been in handcuffs right now, having his fingertips tested for gun residue as a matter of mere formality. Will hadn't managed to force Ingram into picking up the hammer, and thus wouldn't have been able to plead even the weakest case of self-defense. He would have been convicted of cold-blooded murder without question, returned to the very cells he's just escaped. His exoneration would mean nothing if he'd shot a defenseless man point-blank in the head.

But Will would have done it anyway. If it hadn't been for Hannibal, he would have thrown away everything he'd worked so hard to get back. Just to prove that he could win someone else's battles even if he couldn't fight his own.

Regardless of what he'd done for him, Will wanted nothing to do with Hannibal Lecter. He was dangerous, cruel, and couldn't be trusted. It didn't matter if he'd acted in Will's best interest out of what seemed to be genuine concern for his wellbeing. Will knew better.

Of course, when the car stopped in front of Hannibal's house and he switched off the ignition, Will couldn't deny that something within him wanted everything to do with Hannibal Lecter. And that something might just prove to be too strong for Will to fight.

"Come inside," Hannibal told him as he climbed out of the car, and Will understood that his words were not merely a request. He had no reason to be here and certainly no reason to stay, and yet still Will obeyed.

"Are you hungry?" Hannibal asked upon entering the kitchen, Will following close behind him.

"I think you can guess my answer," he responded with an empty smile, doing his best not to think of all the horrors this kitchen had undoubtedly seen.

"How can I regain your trust, Will?" Hannibal inquired, his voice now heavy with sincerity as he came closer. "I've already saved you once tonight; what more must I do to make you see that I care for you?"

Will took a step backwards and away from Hannibal, only to have the cool metal of the refrigerator door press against him from behind. Hannibal was right; he had come to Will's rescue when he'd needed him most, saved him from himself before he could do something he'd regret.

But Hannibal was a serial killer. A mass murder who ate his victims because he saw himself as superior and viewed them as no more than livestock. He was an inhuman creature with no regard for anyone but himself.

Except Will. For some unknown, unexplained reason, he'd saved Will. This savage creature had been better than Will. When it had come down to the wire, the supposed monster had been the one standing on the moral high ground.

"Tell me what I can do to make you see," Hannibal repeated, almost pleaded, standing toe to toe with Will now.

"I don't know," Will admitted, and his voice sounded small, weak, and broken even to his own ears. He didn't understand how someone so terrible could seem so familiar, so earnest and heartfelt. Hannibal was looking at him as if he truly wanted to save him- as if he wanted to tuck Will away from the rest of the world and keep him safe from harm for all eternity.

Perhaps Will had been wrong about him. Maybe Hannibal really was just what Will needed to finally feel grounded again.

And so he gave himself over to Hannibal. He let him take control, let him win, let him foil whatever mystery plot Will hadn't even concocted yet. Will was tired of being alone, of being scared and confused; he wasn't going to deny the one viable opportunity for peace of mind he'd been presented with thus far.

There was no need for the pretext of gentle softness this time around. Hannibal's kisses were shamelessly rough and greedy, and Will felt desperate and restless as Hannibal pressed him hard against the refrigerator door. The doctor's palms rubbed into Will's thighs through his slacks, and Will eagerly maneuvered his hips in a vain attempt to increase the friction against his hardening cock. But Hannibal wasn't going to make this easy for him, Will quickly realized.

Hannibal broke the kiss to transfer his attentions to Will's jaw, his teeth nipping a line down to his neck. Will tilted his head backwards, eagerly exposing his throat as he wordlessly encouraged Hannibal to explore his neck, collar bones, chest, stomach….

Will let out a grunt of indignation as Hannibal suddenly moved away from him, but his annoyance was quickly replaced by a jolt of exhilaration as he was led from the kitchen and down a series of hallways to Hannibal's bedroom.

Hannibal had pulled Will's shirt over his head before they'd even crossed the threshold, and Will didn't protest as Hannibal next relieved him of his pants and underwear. He was pushed back onto the bed once he'd been sufficiently stripped, left to watch as Hannibal quickly and efficiently removed his own suit.

Hannibal's mouth enveloped his once more as he climbed onto the bed and over Will, his hand traveling down Will's chest and stomach to finally make its presence known on his cock. Will let out a heavy sigh as Hannibal's large, warm hand finally began to stroke him, slowly moving up and down his shaft. Will reached down with every intent of returning the favor, more than eager to feel Hannibal thick and heavy in his palm.

But Hannibal's other hand shot out to grip Will's arm, pinning his wrist to the bed and making it clear that his touch wasn't welcome. Will felt a jolt of annoyance at the thought of Hannibal taking from him without allowing him to take anything in return; yes, Hannibal's touch was more than pleasurable, but it was far from fair.

Hannibal's grip on Will's wrist tightened as his hand began to move with more force along his cock, and Will suddenly found it difficult to breathe as Hannibal's mouth continued to move hungrily against his own. He felt as if he was being consumed by Hannibal, like he was being smothered by an insatiable animal intent on swallowing him whole.

He was doing it again. Hannibal was controlling him again, dictating Will's every move and preventing him from having a mind of his own. But almost as soon as Will came to this conclusion, Hannibal broke the kiss and pulled away from him.

"Hit me," Hannibal breathlessly suggested, and Will stared up at him in baffled confusion.

"What?" Will panted, completely caught off guard. Hannibal's hair was hopelessly disheveled and his face was flushed with heat, but he seemed to be entirely serious.

"It will be therapeutic for you. You are clearly in distress. Hit me; it will help."

"What? No, that's…what?" Will babbled, still completely flabbergasted. "I'm not going to hit you," he finally got out after taking a calming breath.

"Very well," Hannibal said with a casual shrug. His hand returned it's pull on Will's cock, and he released his grip on Will's wrist as he began to kiss as his neck and chest.

His arm now free to move of its own accord, Will reached up to lazily run his fingers up and down Hannibal's back and broad shoulders. But no, this hadn't been what Will had wanted-he'd been after Hannibal's cock in his hand, not playing pattycake with his shoulder blades. Will held back a huff of frustration as he realized that Hannibal had drained all the fight out of him by giving Will permission to strike him. Always one step ahead, Hannibal had seen right through Will and deflated him with one simple phrase.

But Will was determined not to accept the role of mere bystander. He would take charge, he would defy Hannibal's inflexible dominance. And what better way to go about exerting his influence than having his cock sucked by a man who considered himself so impossibly superior?

"I want you to suck me," Will told him, making it clear that his words were a demand rather than a request.

Hannibal looked up at him questioningly, with what seemed to be an almost amused smile. It was almost as if he was wordlessly asking "are you sure this is what you want?". It was a challenge, and one Will got the feeling he shouldn't accept. But he wasn't going to back down now. Especially considering how damn inviting Hannibal's mouth looked.

Hannibal maintained eye contact with Will as he continued to stroke him, shifting down to explore his balls with open-mouthed kisses. Will let out a hum of relaxed approval, drifting in contentment as Hannibal's lips moved over him. But when Hannibal unexpectedly dragged his tongue up his Will's shaft in a long wet stripe, Will felt a jolt of desperate energy rush through his muscles. He let out a shameless, pleading whimper as Hannibal moved back up to slide the head of Will's cock into his mouth.

Will's legs twitched restlessly and he clenched the bedcoverings in his fists as Hannibal's tongue played with the vein at the underside of the head even as his hand continued to pump up and down his shaft. Will's hands released the sheets to instead grip Hannibal's hair as he sucked him in farther, and it was all Will could do not to shove his hips up into Hannibal's mouth. He could hardly fathom that one man could bring him so much pleasure with just his mouth and hands; Hannibal was taking him apart with every movement, evoking louder noises and more vibrant sensations with every passing moment.

But in an instant of blissful clarity, Will came to the sudden realization that even now, Hannibal was still in charge. He'd remained in control this entire time. If anything, getting Hannibal to suck him had only given him more power over Will.

"That's enough," Will panted, pushing Hannibal off of his cock without warning. But when Hannibal looked up at him with wet lips and heavy eyes, it was all Will could do not to throw his dignity to the wind and beg Hannibal to suck him for all eternity. Luckily Hannibal climbed off of him before Will got the chance to recant.

"I suppose you're ready for a greater progression in our encounter, then," Hannibal observed as he pulled open one of the drawers of his bedside table and produced a container of lube.

"Only if I top," Will responded almost immediately. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for: the chance to assert himself over Hannibal without a doubt, to make it clear that he was the one in charge of the both of them. Will's time had finally come in the form of fucking Hannibal into his proper place.

"As you wish," Hannibal conceded, returning to the bed to lift and spread Will's legs.

"What are you doing?" Will asked, startled by Hannibal's unexpected movement. But he found himself shifting towards the pressure of Hannibal's thumb nonetheless, and he was instantly distracted by the pad of the other man's finger rubbing small circles against his opening.

"I said I would allow you on top," Hannibal reminded him. "I did not say I would allow you to fuck me." With that statement, Hannibal slowly pushed a lube-slicked finger into Will, entirely wiping his mind of any and all possible arguments. A second finger soon followed the first, and was eventually accompanied by a third.

The slow rhythmic slide of Hannibal's finger-fucking lulled Will into a tensely calm state somewhere between relaxed pleasure and desperate need. Will's breathing seemed unable to decide whether it should slow or quicken, grow deeper or shallower, and his muscles clenched even as his entire body floated on a cloud of calm.

Hannibal's hand quickened, dispelling Will's confusion as his fingers pushed deeper and spread wider, angling ever so slightly to give Will just a taste of the pleasure he so keenly craved. When Hannibal's fingers finally slid out of him, Will looked up to see Hannibal pull on a condom before slathering his cock with lube. He bit back an embarrassingly high-pitched whimper at the sight of Hannibal's large hand languidly sliding up and down his own shaft. Will had half a mind to ask him to continue touching himself just so he could watch for a bit longer.

But then Hannibal leaned back against the pillows and beckoned Will over him, stretching out like some sort of Roman deity summoning a cup of the finest nectar from his favorite serving boy.

Will had nearly forgotten about his previous demand altogether, but true to his word, Hannibal intended to let him on top. So he climbed over Hannibal straddled his hips, then slowly lowered himself onto his cock. Will sucked in a heavy breath as Hannibal's thick, warm length pushed into him from below, letting out a long low moan when Hannibal began to move beneath him.

The feel of Hannibal's cock sliding in and out of him, the force of it pushing into him again and again, was like a godsend. Will had been fucked before, but never with such a perfect balance of measured, deliciously forceful thrusts at just the right angle to send his head spinning. Hannibal seemed to enjoy fucking him in a way that left Will overwhelmingly satisfied but still constantly agitated and hungry for more. He'd zero-in on Will's prostate just to provoke the little moans and whimpers Will tried to hold back to no avail, then he'd go back to his more casual thrusting to pull a needy growl from the back of Will's throat.

Hannibal's hands were on Will's hips now, sliding up and down his thighs, pushing up his stomach-always close but not close enough to his deprived cock. And when Will reached down to take hold of himself, to relieve a bit of the tight strain building up within him, he was promptly rewarded with a firm smack to the ass. Surprised but not discouraged by the sudden stinging blow, Will tried again, and was reprimanded in the same manner.

"Do you like it when I hit you, Will?" Hannibal asked, his voice low and breathless. Will was momentarily dumbstruck by the way Hannibal's labored breathing had thickened his accent, his speech now even more rich and entrancing than usual.

"Maybe," Will responded, using the most aloof tone he could manage.

"I think you do," Hannibal told him, his fingers squeezing into Will's left asscheek before giving it another smack with his palm. Will winced even as a smile tugged at his mouth, his hips jerking forward at the force of Hannibal's blow. He was beginning to think Hannibal might be right.

"Hit me back," Hannibal suggested without warning, and Will felt the smile instantly vanish from his face. "I know you want to hurt me," Hannibal continued, his words rough as he continued to shove himself into Will.

"Do it," Hannibal insisted, his lips curving into a challenging smile.

And so Will took a deep breath, steadied his nerves as best he could with Hannibal Lecter fucking him out of his mind, and punched the good doctor in the mouth. The sudden rush of adrenaline he felt as the skin of his knuckles made contact with the soft flesh of Hannibal's lips was like no other surge of adrenaline he'd ever experienced during sex.

Looking down at the mess he'd made of Hannibal only increased his restlessness, making him all the more hungry for something hard and cruel and savage. Blood dribbled down onto his chin from the cut on his split bottom lip, and his gaze was filled with such a dark and carnal lust that it sent shivers of fear up and down Will's spine.

Will had never wanted him more.

He pulled Hannibal up by the shoulders into a crushing kiss, tonguing the wound he'd created and savoring the warm tang of blood. He took a fist full of Hannibal's disheveled and sweaty hair, twisting it harshly in his fingers until Hannibal's mouth opened in supplication and let Will inside.

This was what he'd wanted.

Will's felt a thick and heady want shiver through his entire body as Hannibal's hand suddenly made its presence known on his cock. The kiss fell apart as Will burried his face in the crook of Hannibal's neck, eagerly jerking himself into Hannibal's fist even as Hannibal's cock pounded into him.

He gave up on trying to hide his desperation as Hannibal's hand and hips increased in speed, and he shamelessly gasped and whimpered and moaned Hannibal's name over and over again as he nuzzled into his neck. He begged Hannibal for release in a high, weak voice, even as he pleaded with him in a gravelly growl to make this wonderful tension last.

But Hannibal was relentless, ramming into Will in a way that brought a high pitched keen to the back of his throat as he simultaneously attended to Will's cock with a firm and fast hand. God, Will had needed this. He'd needed this for months. Hell, maybe he'd needed this since that very first evening, when Hannibal had approached him in his darkened classroom after a lecture. He'd needed that mouth, those hands, that cock. And now he had them. Sucking, stroking, fucking.

Now Will had him.

And as his figurative grip tightened, so did the ever-building tension low in his gut, strung tight over and under and in between every sinew and ligament and muscle that made up his trembling body. He was spiraling towards orgasm, he knew; with every forceful pump of Hannibal's hips and relentless tug of Hannibal's hand, Will knew this coiled pleasure inside of him was bound to snap any moment.

Will's breath hitched and his fingers tightened in Hannibal's hair as his hips began to spasm, and Will was vaguely aware of Hannibal's blunt fingernails digging into his asscheek. And then he was letting out a shameless cry as he exploded with a shudder, hard and desperate and deliriously delicious. He could feel himself tightening around Hannibal's cock , and Will absently grinned into the other man's neck as Hannibal's thrusts became more frantic and hungry.

Hannibal was now fucking to find release rather than fucking to torment him, and Will reveled in the difference. A few frantic thrusts and Hannibal was spent as well, emptying himself into Will with a series of heavy groans. He lowered himself back onto the pillows once he'd finished, once again spread out like a satisfied monarch who'd just enjoyed a good meal.

Will lifted his hips until Hannibal slid out of him. But instead of gathering his clothes or even occupying the bed space beside him, Will merely draped his body over the other man. Hannibal didn't protest as Will rested his head on his chest and tangled their legs together, and he found himself lightly running his fingers along Hannibal's forearms, biceps, shoulders, collar bones.

Although he'd never expected to find himself in this sort of post-coiltal position with this cannibalistic man, he had to admit it wasn't all that strange. Will was comfortable here, with Hannibal's fingers gently carding through his hair. He felt safe.

Yes, Hannibal was a killer. He had to be stopped.

But he was also one of the few good forces in Will's life. He cared about him enough to keep him from throwing away his freedom via murder; enough to recognize what Will wanted, needed, craved, and to give it to him; enough to know what Will thought of him and let him into his bed regardless.

And when Hannibal whispered that he'd kept Will from killing Ingram because he didn't want to lose him, Will believed him. Hell, Will ate up his words like a starved beggar, stretching up to kiss him with all the impassioned gratitude of a rescued damsel in distress.

So perhaps Will could defeat Hannibal in the outside world if he tried; perhaps the combined forces of his perceptive skills and FBI resources would be enough to one day take down the Chesapeake Ripper.

But Will's goals no longer included putting Hannibal behind bars. He would leave that up to the men and women out there, to the moral codes and ethics of the outside world where humans liked to presume reality existed in clean-cut shades of black and white.

No, Will was content exactly where he was: sleepy with sex in the bed of the cannibalistic serial killer who'd saved him, unbothered by thoughts of right or wrong.

His moral compass now broken and discarded, Will Graham had finally found peace in the arms of chaos.