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Will was a perfect picture of submission, naked and splayed out on the bed, passive against the restraints. He didn't strain against the blindfold or even shift atop the plastic sheet that covered the mattress. One would have thought he'd fallen asleep. But Hannibal could see all the tiny indications that he was awake and alert. More accurately, he could hear them and smell them: the way Will's breath kept picking up a little as he let terror creep over him again, then smoothed out as he talked himself down; the waft of pheromones and adrenaline that emanated from him, fear and arousal mixed up into a heady concoction. Hannibal walked forward from the doorway, and he could see how Will's head turned just the slightest bit, picking up the sound of his soft footsteps.
He put a hand on Will's chest and a shudder rippled through the other man's body. Now he moved, little jerks of nervousness that increased as Hannibal slid his hand down to Will's stomach. He left it there, visualizing the configuration of organs inside this torso, the way they pumped together, connected by a beautiful, intricate system of arteries and ducts. Will's mind was more interesting to him than his body, but only by a very slight margin.
"Are you frightened?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet and neutral.
"Yes," came the whispered response.
"You don't need to be. You're holding the knife, aren't you?" Hannibal brought up the small, razor-sharp blade in his other hand and laid the flat of it against Will's ribs.
"No. You are." He could see Will struggling not to pull away from the knife.
"How could I be, when I'm the one on the bed? I'm all tied up, Will. You can do whatever you like with this knife."
Will was silent, his lips quivering as he thought that over.
Hannibal moved the knife up to rest it over his heart. "You can feel my heart beating under the blade. Just a push and you could be inside. I want you to be inside."
Now Will's lips opened and closed, like he was forming noiseless words—words of negation, words that might have had the power to keep him in his own head, if only he could give them voice.
"It feels good in your hand, doesn't it? Solid. Balanced."
They waited another minute, then Will let out a gust of air and his body sagged down against the bed. "Yes," he murmured. "It's solid. It's warm."
"Why don't you open me up a little? So you can see my blood."
Will nodded and sucked in a breath when Hannibal grazed the knife down his side. He stopped just under the last rib, turning the blade so that it parted the topmost layer of the skin. Will moaned as a trickle of hot blood ushered forth.
"It feels good to have this kind of power, doesn't it?" Hannibal's voice took on a cadence now, a soothing ebb and flow as he worked his way down Will's side. "To be in complete control over another person, even their skin, their blood..." He made two more quick notches, the blood beginning to pool beneath Will on the plastic sheet. "You could slide this knife in as far as you wanted... reach my kidneys, my liver... you could caress them with this blade."
Will was panting now, hard as a rock between his legs, although Hannibal wasn't terribly interested in that. "Yes," he said again, his voice harsh and breathless. "I could cut you open."
"Would you like to?" Hannibal lifted the knife and held it vertically, pressing the very top against Will's solar plexus. "Would you like to gut me like a pig?"
Will's cock twitched and he gave a strangled sound of anguish, as though he was aware of being lost in a mental maze but too far gone to get out. "Yes, I... please."
"Please what, Will? You have to tell me what you want to do to me. I need to hear it."
Will strained up against the tip of the knife and gave a needy sigh. "I want to cut you. I want to push the knife down until it's buried in you and then pull it down so it splits you open."
"And why do you want that? What on earth would that do for you?" Hannibal had leaned over now and was licking up the fresh blood as it spurted out of the cuts he'd already made, in between words.
"It would... it would let me taste you." As Will got the word out, it was like a dam of tension broke inside him, and he relaxed even farther into the bed. Hannibal smiled, his lips stained red. This was his favorite moment. The moment when Will finally slipped all the way into his head. It was not something he had ever experienced before Will Graham, someone understanding him completely, and it was the closest he'd ever come to feeling a true connection with another human being.
He knew if he wanted him to, Will would beg to taste him, beg Hannibal to let him carve out his own heart. The thought of how exquisitely Will would scream when the knife entered his aorta sent a shudder of pleasure through Hannibal, and he realized with mild surprise that he was hard now, too.
"You want to taste me," he said, his voice so quiet now, so intimate. "You want to swallow me down."
"Yes. Yes, please." Will pulled at the restraints, less like he was trying to get away and more like he was trying to float up off the bed. "I want to eat you. I want to eat every part of you." His cock was leaking copiously now, and Hannibal eyed it pensively. Almost without conscious thought, he leaned over and licked a drop of fluid off the rigid flesh, and Will's stifled shriek was satisfying, even if the taste of his come paled in comparison to his blood.
"Please, Hannibal, please..." Will was babbling, his pleas incoherent. Hannibal wished he could cut him open, could give Will what he wanted in this moment. But practicality stopped him. Will was more interesting to him alive, and although he could cut him in a way that kept him from bleeding out, he suspected that major injury would shut the doors to Will's mind, locking him tight inside where Hannibal couldn't get to him. He was too selfish for that.
"Maybe when you've earned it," he murmured, smiling fondly at the blindfolded face. "For now the blood will have to do." He swiped a finger through the sticky redness on Will's skin and slid it between Will's lips. The other man accepted it without hesitation, sucking it eagerly. He left his finger there while he continued to cut, working now on Will's chest. He made a neat row of incisions in a line below one nipple, each one releasing a hot gush of blood that Hannibal either licked at or carried up to Will's mouth on his fingers.
When he needed a clean palette, Hannibal moved down, wrapping his fingers around one of Will's thighs with a small noise of pleasure. The flesh was firm and soft here, growing ever more sensitive the closer he moved to Will's groin. He was careful, making shallow cuts that hurt but didn't release much blood. Will made such beautiful cries of pain each time, his agony wrapping around them both and transforming into something divine.
Hannibal became so absorbed in his work that it took him a moment to realize Will was muttering his name in a harsh, panicked tone. He looked up sharply, wondering if Will had started to slip out of his trance somehow, but it became clear that Will was begging him to stop for a different reason.
"Please, I'm so... you'll make me..." Hannibal brushed the blade across the crease between his thigh and his groin, and Will threw his head back, sucking in a sharp breath. "So close," he gritted out.
Occasionally Hannibal forgot that Will needed to reach a physical conclusion. He had no such need, at least nothing pressing, and he found the act itself a bit tedious. These sessions sometimes made him hard, but it was a pleasant side effect for him, nothing more.
"Tell me, then. Tell me what I want to hear." Hannibal tapped his thigh with the flat of the blade. "And I'll let you finish."
"I don't know what... I want to taste you, please, I want to slide the knife in..."
"Not that." Hannibal felt himself brush against the edge of irritation. Will knew what he wanted to hear. Even in this state, he could be so resistant. "Tell me about the girl. Tell me what you'd do to her with this knife."
"The girl," Will repeated, his voice wavering. "I'd..." He grew silent, and Hannibal knew he was fighting himself. That impulse to deny his urges was strong, ingrained. "I'd hurt her," he managed finally.
Hannibal drew the flat of the knife up the length of Will's cock. "How?"
"Fuck." Will's whole body jerked. "I'd... oh God, I'd stab her. I'd sink the knife right into her."
"She'd struggle." Hannibal wrapped his fingers around Will's cock and pinched a bit of skin just below the tip. He started teasing the skin with the knife—not cutting, just brushing the metal against it.
"I'd hold her down. I'd—oh God—grab her and hold her so I could get the knife in please—"
"Would you watch her die?"
"Yes, yes, I'd watch her eyes until—until all the fear was gone and." Will stopped abruptly to draw a strangled breath, bucking up into Hannibal's hand. "And there was just nothing. Until she was just nothing."
"Good boy," Hannibal said, and drew the sharp part of the blade across the pinched skin lightly, following it with his fingernail, pressed down hard. His nail wasn't enough to part the skin, but it would certainly feel to Will like he'd been cut. Will let out a shout of pleasure and shock, his whole body seizing as he came onto his stomach. The fluids he released mixed with the blood that had begun to dry there, and Hannibal observed the tableau appreciatively. Will was now covered in his own blood, sweat, and come, shivering and spent, and he'd never looked more beautiful to Hannibal.
He put the knife down and stood up, pressing a chaste kiss against Will's cheek. Will turned his head to face Hannibal, but he didn't say anything. He typically couldn't at this point, lost in a haze of endorphins and fantasies. Hannibal liked to think that at this point Will was imagining himself laying there beside the girl, watching as the life bled out of her and she became meat.
He picked up the knife with a little sigh and went to retrieve his clean-up kit.
***
When Will woke, he was clean and dry, and wrapped in a warm blanket. The lights were dimly lit and barely illuminated the figure of Hannibal, as he sat in an armchair beside the bed.
He thought Hannibal might be asleep, as his eyes were closed, but they slid open when Will shifted, trying to sit up.
"Go slowly. You don't want to open any of the wounds."
Will lifted the blanket to see several tidy lines of butterfly bandages on his pale skin, each line tracing a thin trail of pain. "Ow," he said, his voice coming out in a croak.
"Yes." Hannibal sounded vaguely amused. "You wanted quite a lot tonight. I can bring you something for the pain, if you need it."
Will stopped moving for a moment, taking stock of how he felt. He couldn't remember exactly how the session had gone—he never could, the details were always fuzzy—but he could remember doing a lot of begging. It had worried him at first, having wounds he couldn't precisely remember receiving, but Dr. Lecter had been right: the sessions were working. He felt less afraid after an evening here.
"No, I don't think that's necessary." The soreness was nothing compared to how tired he felt, like he could sleep for several days. "I just want to lay here for a while, if that's all right."
"That's perfectly fine. I will only insist that you eat dinner in a few hours, and I'll bring it in to you. I'm preparing something very iron-rich—just the thing to bring back your strength."
Will's stomach rolled for a moment at the thought of food, as though he'd recently eaten something that disagreed with him, but then it passed and he nodded, feeling sleepy and grateful. "Thank you, Doctor." A thought occurred to him, and he opened eyes he hadn't known he'd closed. "I didn't say anything... bad, did I? During the session?"
Hannibal stood and leaned over him, pulling the blanket back up to his shoulders. "You just told me what you wanted. Nothing more. Slowly but surely, Will, we are releasing your demons."
The pillow was so soft beneath his head, as Will burrowed his face against it. "Thank you," he said again, his voice muffled. "I don't know how to repay you for any of this..."
"I'm sure we'll think up something." Will was only half-aware of Hannibal closing the door behind him as he left the room, and a moment later he slipped back into a peaceful slumber.