Words Say More Than Words Can Say

"Will."

The word was like the sound of a lion crawling along the soil on its belly towards its prey. The breath came soundlessly, a controlled vibration against the flushed skin of Will's neck. Will tilted his head to allow better access to the ticklish skin below his ear. A stealthy finger traced the length of his waistband, raising goose bumps on his arms and his bare stomach. His breath came out like a breaking wave as teeth gently grazed his earlobe.

"Stop teasing me, Hannibal," he pleaded, sliding his hand around the older man's wrist and pushing it downwards. Hannibal chuckled richly, like the lion's hungry growl.

"I like to play with my food," he replied, biting hard into the skin of Will's neck, which was salty with sweat.

The pain caused a jolt behind Will's navel and he suddenly became disoriented. Before he could catch his breath he was sitting upright, fully clothed and alone.

"Will."

The word was like the wind dragging across pebbles, the tone questioning but not insistent. Will's vision focused slowly, Dr Lecter's office appearing before him.

"Are you all right, Will?" the doctor asked again. Will blinked up at him, confused.

"I think so. Did I drift off on you?" he smiled, apologetically, a gesture that was returned with warmth.

"You could say that. You lost focus and started muttering to yourself. Once it became clear you were not having a seizure, I thought it best to get you comfortable and let you work it out in your own time." The accent lent a caring lilt to Dr Lecter's words, which helped Will to find his feet now, though he knew it could just as easily cause his friend to appear cold and distant.

Still groggy, and eager to make up for passing out, Will strode towards the doctor and turned his head slightly, ready to kiss him, but a firm, strong hand against his chest stopped him.

"Will."

The word was like an icicle shattering as it hit the floor. There was the distance Dr Lecter injected into his voice with ease, though his eyes were soft. Will's eyes widened as Dr Lecter's voice pierced the mist of the hallucination.

"Will," he repeated, "I appreciate your interest but I consider us to be friends and colleagues. I couldn't possibly-"

Will's voice crossed over his words. "I don't understand what- oh." The truth dawned on Will, signalled by a blush rising in his cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry. I … I think I was … dreaming , or hallucinating, I don't know. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Not at all," Dr Lecter soothed, placing the desk between Will and himself. "For someone whose brain works the way yours does, sifting through hallucinations and nightmares to reach reality can be very difficult. We'll say no more about it." He smiled and opened a leather-bound book on his desk, which Will took as his cue to leave.

Smack.

The man's elbow slammed into Hannibal's mouth and he tasted blood. He saw the chance and grabbed the man's arm above the joint, twisting backwards. There was a crunch, followed by a pained scream. The man blanched, panting heavily, as Hannibal grabbed the back of his head. Hannibal licked his lips as he reached behind himself, his capable fingers closing over a sharp letter-opener. He leant back against the desk to give himself some support and turned the man sideways. Deftly, he stabbed the knife into the man's neck, at the far side, and dragged the blade towards himself. There was a spray of blood, which Hannibal licked from his own lips, accompanied by a high-pitched gurgle then – silence.

"Dr Lecter?"

The voice was tentative, shaky and familiar. Hannibal's mind tipped the problem over easily.

/Convince him he's hallucinating/.

"Will."

The word was like the hiss of a snake sliding out of its skin. Will took a step into the office, his eyes on the body at the doctor's feet. A bottle of wine was trembling in his hand.

"Dr Lecter," Will repeated, "I-I've had a really bad day and I can't tell what's real … and what's in my head." His eyes flicked up to meet Hannibal's. "Please … please tell me this is in my head." His voice wavered tearfully but Hannibal was not moved.

"This is in your head, Will." Calm, sure, collected. Not the voice of someone who had just slit a man's throat in front of an FBI special agent. Will shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"No, no, this can't … this, this has to be …" He was struggling to find a foothold in reality. Hannibal saw the solution like a road map in his mind.

"Will."

The word was like the unnatural smile of a reptile, cold, cold.

"If this were really happening," Hannibal continued, "would I do this?"

He closed the gap between them faster than Will could think, like a snake gliding smoothly over the bloody carpet. He slipped a hand around the back of Will's neck and brought their lips together. With a relieved sigh, Will melted against Hannibal's chest, his free hand gripping the hem of the doctor's waistcoat.

Hannibal never felt the need to have sex for his own pleasure, but he could rise to the occasion, so to speak, when the situation called for it. This was one such situation. The further he went with Will, the less likely it was that the poor man would believe what he had seen today. With that thought, Hannibal brought his hips closer to Will's, running his tongue over Will's lower lip as he did so.

Will exhaled audibly – Hannibal could feel the warm rush of air against his cheek – as he opened his mouth, permitting entry for that tongue. After a few more moments, Hannibal took the wine bottle from Will and released him from the brain-washing kiss.

"Why am I dreaming of you like this?" Will asked, directing the question more to himself than Dr Lecter.

Hannibal checked his heartbeat, breathing slowly to keep it low enough for him to think sharply. He ignored Will's question, placing the bottle on the desk then rolling his shirt sleeves down. He quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat and slipped it off, followed by his tie. Folding them neatly, he put them on the desk as well then turned to see Will tugging his jumper over his head.

Hannibal made eye-contact and saw Will's pupils dilate slightly, large though they already were. They moved closer to each other, each taking off their own shirt at the same time, until they were close enough to feel the heat from each other's skin. Hannibal could feel the air reverberating between then from Will's rapid heartbeat. The air smelt sickly sweet, and a little salty from their sweat. Hannibal licked his lip and tasted the copper of his blood, with a dull sting as his saliva entered the cut. Will's eyes followed the slow analytical movement of Hannibal's tongue, and his own suddenly replaced it. Will's breath came out in a soft moan as their tongues touched.

Hannibal held back an irritated snarl when fingernails bit into his hips, a warm, living pulse drumming against his chest. Instead, he grabbed Will's hair with one hand and pulled until the neck was better exposed, then allowed his lips to find the throb that revealed the location of blood. The feeling of life so immediately beneath his mouth, so vulnerable, filled him with irrational excitement. The rush from the power he felt in this position, coupled with the bulge in Will's jeans rolling against his groin, meant he didn't have to concentrate to keep his erection. Fighting to keep himself under control, he sucked hard at the skin over Will's pulse. Will grunted and involuntarily moved his hips. With this, Hannibal pulled away from Will and continued to undress himself.

His dark, alert eyes kept Will's steady, if only half-open, gaze as he allowed the map in his head to play out the end of the scenario. Will kicked his underwear to one side with his jeans and spat on his hand, before smearing the liquid on the sensitive underside of Hannibal's blushing penis.

The contact ripped a groan from Hannibal, who let a small flame of pleasure ignite in his gut for a second.

"You have a great body. Is it really like that?" Will whispered.

This is him accepting this as a dream, thought Hannibal triumphantly. He smiled with feeling and walked Will over to the desk, stepping lightly over the dead body. They kissed fiercely while Hannibal slowly worked Will around, until his back was to the doctor. Hannibal pushed him a little roughly against the desk and bent him forwards. As he leant over him, he breathed into his ear.

"Will."

The word was like the crackling of burning wood and full of lust, but Hannibal's face was blank and calculating, as his hand closed around the wine bottle. He raised it up, working out the weight he'd have to out being the blow. Then, he dropped it on Will's head.

Will slumped against the desk, unconscious. Hannibal steadied his breathing.

Will woke in his own bed with no recollection of how he got there. His head ached ferociously and he was very aware of a soapy smell about him. With a grunt, he pulled himself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

What a bizarre dream, he mused, as he emptied his bladder. Which criminal's mind did that come from?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something in the mirror that made his blood turn to ice. A large purple bruise shone like a beacon through the fog of sleep, on Will's neck, stinging with every beat of his heart, now that he'd noticed it.

Almost praying to find nothing, Will touched a hand to the back of his head and felt a hard ridge where his headache was centred. He looked at his fingers. Dried blood was stuck in tiny flakes to his skin.

Will blanched. In the mirror, he could see a figure in the doorway.

The word was like the tension in the air right before a lightning storm, causing hairs to stand up on the young man's arms and neck.

"Will."