Inspired by this post ( post/56661531357 )

Title: Playing Doctor

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/You (female!Reader)

Rated: M, because smut

Summary: You've recently been seeing Dr. Lecter as your therapist and the doctor-patient relationship transforms drastically once he suggests a "self-administered treatment".

Hazel eyes grazed your face for a moment, flickering with something. You hadn't the faintest idea what it could be, but the silence seemed heavier in the air, almost stifling.

You had just given a synopsis of what had transpired since your last session with Dr. Lecter—he merely nodded between the events described, occasionally scribbling words down on the leather notebook in his lap. While waiting for a response, you glanced around the office—eyes lingered on the bookshelves above; the lush red wall behind Dr. Lecter; the muted plaid fabric of his three-piece suit.

"It's sounds as though you are under a great deal of stress."

You let out an exasperated breath, "Well, yeah." You crossed and then re-crossed your legs, shifting in the grey leather chair.

"I suggest you try masturbating," his tone nonchalant, his face impassive.

"Um, wha- I mean," a nervous laugh escaped which you quickly attempted to disguise as a cough. You picked a piece of imaginary lint off of your blue summer dress, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, yeah, I guess I could keep that in mind…"

You adjusted yourself in the chair once more, thinking to yourself that you probably would carry out that recommendation later; it's not like you hadn't noticed how attractive Dr. Lecter was. Everything about him radiated sensuality and dominance.

After a moment, you dared to glance up at him—something shifted in his facial features, something demanded rather than implied obedience. His eyes held a predatory glint, his mouth set in a tenuous smirk.

Oh.

He meant here. Now.

You didn't know what to think. This would be totally unethical, incredibly illegal, and yet you felt an ache between your thighs.

It was suddenly hot, too hot in this office. Your gaze darted to his again, his expression unwavering.

You've imagined this scenario before—imagined being touched by those dexterous hands. You've heard stories of his legendary dinner parties, his culinary prowess. How he could produce a masterpiece whether it be on fine china or a canvas.

…Fuck, you wanted this.

Fabric pooled in your lap as you lifted yourself higher up in the chair; your sandals abandoned on the wooden floor. The heels of your feet pressed into the soft leather, your thighs spread obscenely. Fingertips slipped beneath the lace lining of your panties, circling that spot already pulsing with need.

Your head tilted back, your body arching as you felt your heartbeat begin to race. You could hear the blood rushing through your head; feel the slight shake in your limbs. Breathless, pathetic whimpers filled the room as you mentally replaced your own hands with Hannibal's.

Those skilled fingers, applying exquisite pressure with maddening precision—knowing with every shift of your hips and wanton moan what to touch next. Sweat prickled to the surface, covering your skin in a light sheen.

Behind your eyelids, you saw Hannibal's eyes glint with lust as a gasp escaped your lips. How he'd turn positively primal as he'd insert a digit into your wet cunt; then two. Moving those fingers in and out, thumb swirling over your clit relentlessly. Your body was set ablaze; your mind only concerned with impending release.

You could barely breathe, your choked-off moans increasing with your pulse. "Oh, Hann-", you bit down hard on your lip, face contorting with pleasure.

Your back arched further as your mouth opened in a voiceless cry—body jolting with warmth as your orgasm took over.

Your eyes were closed as you waited for your respiration to return to a normal rate. Your legs felt shaky as you lowered your feet back to the floor, removing your hand from underneath your panties. He had heard you begin to cry out his name, you were sure of it.

The sensation of faint breath on your skin was what caused you to open your eyes. Hannibal's were gazing into yours, his hands gripping the armrests, body looming over you. The look on his face was ravenous; your session far from over…