Chapter Text
A common misconception that Hannibal faces (too often, far too often) is that confidence and social dominance must equate to a sexual equivalent. It is a phenomenon that Hannibal encounters far too often with female Beta patients of his; successful, intelligent and kind women who are forced to either ‘settle’ or surrender their high-profile jobs to the egos of their lovers. Women who are treated with fear and near-disgust by male Betas, and with open disdain from Alphas.
It always fascinates Hannibal, the narrow-minded ignorance of the self-proclaimed superior gender. It is for this reason that Hannibal must take pains to choose colognes which negate the Omega scent; not fully, but just enough that he is able to move almost invisibly. Trial and effort have produced perfumes that leave just enough Omeganess that the obvious emptiness of hormone inhibitors doesn’t bother the Alphas he associates with – but also not enough to stir those natural urges for domination, possession, and procreation.
Natural urges. How disgusting, and how amusing; that those who pride themselves on their apparent superiority cannot muster up the self-control to act as more than animals. So Hannibal stays well away from Alphas. Modern technology and the twenty first century work wonders when they finally come around. A combination of sex toys, creativity, and a little chemistry, leave Hannibal the proud owner and (most definitely anonymous) patenter of an almost perfect replica of an Alpha’s genital appendage – complete with knot and refillable artificial semen. It is this invention and its resultant wealth that Hannibal uses to fund his extravagant lifestyle, rather than the inherited fortune that, in reality, was completely lost to the Soviet and Nazi governments.
By the third year of his Baltimore practice, Hannibal is fully-established, fully single, and fully content.
And then he meets Will Graham.
Hannibal would be lying if he said that he wanted Will from the moment the man entered Jack Crawford’s room. No, it was love (or the like) at first sight, when Hannibal happened to overhear part of the Alpha’s lecture as he was on his way to visit Alana. Eyes averted, scruffy and unshaven, voice a mumble that half his audience strain to understand – and yet, as he tilts his head towards the picture of grotesque death, Will Graham’s voice clears. His eyes widen, and for a brief moment, he’s a shining image of brilliance.
That was the moment that Hannibal decided he wanted Will Graham and his erratic brilliance for his own. Truth be told, if Jack hadn’t approached him, Hannibal would have lured Alana into introducing them.
Thankfully, however, Jack does approach him. An omega psychiatrist, Jack thinks, might calm Will where an Alpha will almost definitely antagonise. Hannibal agrees out loud, though privately he’s almost sure that Will will not adhere to the standard behaviour of an Alpha towards an omega. Indeed, he’s counting on it.
He’s not wrong; Will is just as aggressive with him as he is with Jack, though that is most likely due to his presence in the room, rather than any of Hannibal’s actions. Normally, Will’s behaviour – rude, bordering on obnoxious – would have earned him a solid position on Hannibal’s list of ingredients. Instead, it delights him.
“I don’t find you that interesting,” Will tells him, even as he savours the food that Hannibal feeds him. Hannibal wonders if he is the first omega ever to have cooked for Will. It’s a distinct possibility, and it delights him; that he will be Will’s first, and his last.
Something unfamiliar stirs within him – something he hasn’t felt in decades, since Misha. Protectiveness.
I don’t find you that interesting.
“You will,” Hannibal replies simply..
It takes time for Will to accept that Hannibal has no desire to psychoanalyse him. It never occurs to him, Hannibal notes with a mix of delight and fond exasperation, that the Alpha doesn’t consider even for a moment that Hannibal might have a desire for something else. This doesn’t dampen his own desire for the profiler, of course; after all, it is evident that Will’s obtuseness is a result of the abhorrent treatment inflicted upon him by the rest of the world.
But these things take time, and Hannibal is nothing if not patient. That is why he and Will sit in complete silence in Hannibal’s office. From the moment the profiler had entered the room, he had seemed distracted; appearing to barely hear Hannibal’s pleasantries.
This doesn’t trouble Hannibal. Will’s breathing is steady, his heartbeat calm in a way it almost never is. You are silence, Will told him once, and he didn’t have to explain just what a relief that was for a mind that never quite stopped screaming, even in the deepest of sleep.
“What’s it like?”
For a moment, Hannibal is genuinely startled. “Pardon?” he asks in confusion, because Will is suddenly looking at him, a kind of fierce desperation in his eyes.
“Having a mate,” Will clarifies. He’s meeting Hannibal’s gaze, which is rare enough that it is strangely unnerving. “What’s it like?”
Hannibal had known, of course, that Will had never had a mate. Still, the confirmation is pleasant. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” he replies calmly.
Surprise crosses Will’s face – surprise, and something else that has Hannibal suppressing a triumphant smile. “Really? But you…you know,” he trails off with obvious awkwardness, gesturing vaguely in Hannibal’s direction. “You’ve never…?”
“Oh, I’ve had brief encounters with the occasional beta,” Hannibal says dismissively. “But no. I prefer to stay away from Alphas. I prefer my independence.”
It would also be near-impossible to indulge some of his more alternative interests with such a partner, but Will doesn’t need to know that.
(Not yet, in any case.)
“Yeah,” Will mumbles. “Fair enough.”
“And you? What has kept you from seeking out a mate?”
A bitter laugh – more a scoff, really – escapes the younger man’s mouth. “You know what, Doctor Lecter. Don’t be disingenuous.”
“I’m understand that it might be difficult for you,” Hannibal agrees easily. “But there are surely omegas who are willing to embrace your faults and virtues.”
The profiler looks unconvinced. “Yes, because every omega dreams of a mate who dreams of killing, who becomes a killer for a living. What isn’t there to like about an unstable Alpha with more dogs than friends, who can’t even protect himself?”
“Exactly what I mean. You become a killer in your mind to protect the living,” Hannibal points out, because he knows that Will not take kindly to Hannibal’s desire for Will to act on his own. “Despite your difficulties, you demonstrate profound care for living beings that rely wholly on you. You exaggerate your flaws, Will. Perhaps you hide behind your perceived negative attributes to avoid the potentiality for rejection.”
“Moreover,” he adds as Will opens his mouth to respond, “your application of gender stereotypes is disappointing. Not every omega wishes for a protector, particularly in this era.”
For a moment, Will appears about to spit back an angry retort; but his expression fades into weariness. “Sorry. You might be…you are right. I’ve just never met an omega who wasn’t wary after actually spending time with me,” the Alpha says tiredly, slumping back in his chair and taking off his glasses to rub at sleep-reddened eyes.
Something about the defeat in Will’s body language rouses the same coil in Hannibal’s stomach, the same tightness of his heart that feeding Will the first time raised within him.
He bites it down, however; this is the opportunity he has been waiting for, and sentiment is not worth making a mistake at this juncture.
“I believe you are wrong,” Hannibal replies, averting his gaze towards his lap in a gesture of wholly feigned nervousness. “Wrong, and perhaps a little blind.” Will is oblivious, and while it does play in his favour that Will has been left bereft of protection from the world for so long, it does annoy Hannibal. “You do know an omega that enjoys your company. Who would enjoy more.”
Will had already looked up when Hannibal started speaking, obviously startled by the uncharacteristic aggression in his tone.
“You-“ the profiler chokes out, “you – you mean, you-“
Hannibal looks up at Will from under his lashes. His hands fidget for a moment till they settle in his lap again, wrists bared.
“Join me for dinner tonight,” he says softly; a command couched as a question.
Will bites his lower lip, hard. A pinprick of blood pools and he licks it away hastily. “Okay,” he mumbles, as he stares transfixed at Hannibal’s hands.
Another drop forms. Before the Alpha’s tongue can dart out to catch it, Hannibal lunges forwards; presses his mouth to Will’s, capturing the blood. It is warm and metallic, with a tang that is wholly Will.
Before the younger man is able to react, Hannibal is already walking towards the door. “I will see you at eight, Will. Please don’t be late.”
It takes the Alpha a long, stunned few seconds before he swallows hard and pushes himself hesitantly to his feet. “…I won’t,” he stutters, movements jerky as he moves to pass Hannibal.
The psychiatrist smiles. Trails his fingers down Will’s arm; a promise that leaves Will’s eyes wide. “I know.”