Chapter Text
I
While on the beat in New Orleans, Will Graham had faced down cold-hearted murderers, violent drug addicts and gang members intent on making him their latest victim just for entering the scene of their crimes. But at the present moment, he found himself unable to move while sitting outside of a drugstore in Wolf Trap, Virginia.
Get out of the car, he thinks, buy the damn test. And see the reality of what you've done.
It was 10:30pm and the fluorescent lighting grated his tired eyes. He walked the aisles first, picking up dog biscuits that were fortuitously on sale, considered cheap tissues until he reasoned he had far too many unopened in his pantry already. Then grabbed the dreaded test that was next to the condoms and after-heat pills (too late for that, his thoughts whispered to him treacherously) and a chocolate bar to soothe his no doubt frazzled nerves after the result he was already sure would appear.
“That'll be $12.35,” the cashier said.
She was an alpha that was probably half his age, plain with dark hair. Vaguely she reminded him of Abigail, the same quirky teenaged mannerisms and relaxed confidence. She looked at him impassively, of course dozens of people bought these tests all the time. He was one in probably hundreds in the past few months, it wasn't even worth noting the one small purchase that would change his entire world. His head throbbed and a sharp pain made its way down the top of his head into his sinuses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry,” Will said, “this too.”
He set one of the travel sized nasal sprays on the counter, used to dampen scents particularly irritating to omegas with high hormone levels. He would undoubtedly need it in the months to come.
When Will arrived home his dogs were extremely happy to see him, they crowded around his legs as he struggled to put the small bag on the counter and pet each one individually to their satisfaction. The small slice of normality was desperately needed to counter what Will knew he had to do in order to be satisfied.
After treats were dispersed and his dogs were sufficiently rubbed down, he took the test and went into the bathroom. He followed the instructions as closely as possible from the included leaflet.
He received his results and stared at them for a few minutes. Immediately, he repeated the ritual again just to be sure.
“Shit,” he said.
A dog whined at the door and he kicked it open, letting in a small fox terrier to sit at his feet.
“Positive,” Will mumbled.
He slammed his hand on the sink in frustration. The dog at his feet whined.
“It's okay Buttercup,” he said to the skittish terrier, “not your fault.”
Will slowly sank down onto the cold bathroom tile beside Buttercup and pressed his face into her fur, breathing in the comforting dog smell. Soon after, a small gathering of dogs would file into the bathroom and wind their way around Will trying to comfort him, confused by his distress.
The same night Will slept restlessly in his bed he had terrible dreams. Dreams about death, about Abigail dying in his arms, about the murderers he saw when he closed his eyes in the waking world and about Cheryl White and her terrible revenge. He woke up to his sheets soaked with his cold, clammy sweat and a pounding headache, the scents in his nose sticky with blood. He tore open the analgesic he had bought from the drugstore and sent a few shots up his nose, it didn't help much. He wasn't able to fall asleep again until an hour before his alarm went off.
It was not a good morning and it didn't improve when Will received a call from Jack on his day off that a possible ripper victim had been found.
“I need confirmation,” Jack had said over the phone, “to be sure.”
Will had been awake for some hours, he had run the dogs around the yard in the cold winter morning. But now he was nursing a wicked headache, brought on by tiredness or nerves he couldn't tell. He had wanted a day to sit with the knowledge he was pregnant – the very phrase gave him a near anxiety attack thinking about it – before facing anyone else.
“Think I'm coming down with something,” Will said, “hope it's not contagious.
“Are you coming or not?” Jack said.
“I'll be there in an hour and a half.”
Despite his better judgement, he'd look.
“It wasn't the ripper,” Will said.
It had only taken him a few minutes with the man who had his throat opened up and played like an instrument to tell. The concert hall had been impressive to say the least, and his terrible visions just as awe inspiring. He wanted to be sick when he saw the phantom image of Garrett Jacob Hobbs complimenting him on his virtuoso performance.
“Who's he playing for?” Jack asked him.
“I don't know,” Will said, “But this is a man who doesn't usually perform.”
His headache blossomed. The team were crowding him, he wanted out of there as soon as he could manage.
Katz was eyeing him, she could probably smell the slight hint of sickness on him somewhere. He was sweating and felt out of sorts, likely symptoms of a noxious flu in the making.
“You okay?” Katz asked.
Will nodded, it hurt and he flinched visibly.
“Think I've got a cold,” he said, “ran with the dogs this morning.”
“Bad idea with a head cold,” she said.
Will smelled the sharp bite of her alpha smell mixing with the alpha scent of the killer. The two smells melded until he could hardly tell the difference between the blood from the beta's body and the living skin of the team around him. The throb in Will's sinuses bloomed into a full blown stab of pain.
He was surrounded by alphas. Zeller, Katz and Jack and they were circling around him while they examined the area for more evidence. Will immediately wanted to throw up. He had to get out, the emergency exit glowed with a promise of cold winter air to clear out his head. He staggered, became disoriented and crashed right into Zeller on his way out.
“Hey Graham, watch it,” Zeller said, “not all of us have special before our agent title.”
Zeller tried to push him aside.
“Get away from me!” it might have been a shout or a groan Will couldn't tell.
There was a scuffle. Will caught Zeller in the shoulder, Zeller was quick to retaliate. Years of police experience had Will ducking and moving to the right, Zeller's FBI training had him compensating and nailing Will in the nose.
It was the most excruciating punch Will had ever received.
Sinus infection, Will thought blandly, Zeller couldn't hit that hard. He was a poor fighter.
“What the hell are you two doing!”
Jack's voice assailed his ears like shots fired from a gun.
Will pushed his way to the exit and stumbled into the dark hallway. When the door shut closed he might as well have been plunged into a disorienting darkness not unlike a deep, floor-less abyss. He threw up in a corner. He smelled blood. Not two seconds later he was grabbed by some of the team, a few unfamiliars he had only met in passing. They escorted him outside and supervised him as his nose bled all over the snow like a sick mockery of a crime scene. One of the officers handed him tissues from his pocket. Will hoped he remembered to thank him before he bled all over his shoes.
The day was only getting worse. Will sat alone inside of an FBI armoured van with a kleenex to his nose and his head tipped slightly back. The small satisfaction he could glean from witnessing Zeller getting a dressing down because he punched an omega in the face, wasn't going to make up for the chat he would have to have with Jack later.
However, when the van door opened it wasn't Jack but a slightly put out Price who climbed into the seat beside him.
They observed one another for a few moments until Price sighed and raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“Don't kill the messenger,” he said, “I'm just a nice, neutral party here to talk.”
“About what,” Will said, it was muffled behind the tissue but Price probably got the point.
“Why you hit Zeller,” Price said, “not that every one of us doesn't want to do that at least once a day.”
Will managed a laugh until it hurt too much and he had to press against his nose to get the pain to stop again.
“I didn't mean to hit him,” Will said, carefully angling his head so he wouldn't bleed more over himself than he already had, “I was being crowded. I panicked.”
Price sighed again, and looked everywhere but at Will.
“Right,” Price said, “do you know you're-”
Will made a non committal noise. This wasn't how he wanted everyone to find out.
“There aren't any other omegas on the team,” Price reminded him, “our noses are sharper. It's hard not to notice when you're bleeding all over the place.”
Will closed his eyes briefly. The tissues were growing stickier by the minute, he really needed a new batch.
“I won't tell anyone,” Price said, “Really, I'm surprised you waited this long to have one with surrogates lining up these days.”
Will glared at him. This wasn't what he wanted to talk about ever, let alone when he was trying to stop fluids from being expelled from his face.
“Surrogates are an omega's best friend,” Prince went on, “show up for birthdays and holidays and leave the hard part to the betas. Anyway, I'm sure you have some kind of a plan.”
Price watched him carefully for a while. Will tried very hard not to punch him, too.
“You don't have a plan,” Price said, “okay. I have kids myself, if you want to talk, we can talk. Otherwise it's none of my business what you do.”
Price meant well, even if he was supremely irritating and Will knew that he would keep his word if pressed.
“I don't want Jack to know,” Will muttered.
“Not until..?,” Price prompted.
“It becomes obvious,” Will said.
“Does the Dad know?” Price asked curiously.
Will didn't say anything.
“Okay then, Mr. Mysterious,” Price said, “but take it from me, it's better if you get paternity out of the way early.”
A hard knock on the window and Jack was beckoning Price outside. Will sat wretchedly and watched Price and Jack have an animated discussion until Jack crawled into the van. Mercifully, he was carrying a whole box of tissues. Will busied himself stopping up the blood while Jack watched him with heavy scrutiny.
“So you panicked because of a cold,” Jack said, “and started a fight with a member of the team. I should write you up for disorderly conduct.”
It was a fair assessment. Will probably at least deserved both a warning and a write-up but he knew that's not what he was going to get.
Will frowned, “I'm sick. Probably a sinus infection. I told you on the phone.”
“You need a doctor,” Jack said, “or a psychiatrist?”
Will's heart fluttered until he realized what Jack's question actually meant.
“A doctor,” Will said bluntly, “some antibiotics. A day or two at my house without a murder scene.”
Jack let out a long, tired sigh.
“I don't want to break you Will,” Jack said, “you broken?”
“I'm not breaking” Will enunciated, “I'm just sick.”
Jack frowned, “sick or not, you better get all the aggression out of your system before you show up for work next time.”
That was the end of their conversation but Will knew it wasn't really, it was only the beginning. He would be under more serious scrutiny from Jack from now on. Will vowed not to let himself get caught up again at a crime scene. He could still do his job, he could still be useful. He wasn't fragile.
At the medical centre on the way home, he received a prescription for antibiotics and a warning not to get in any more fist fights until his sinus infection cleared up. His doctor was a beta, an older woman who was an utmost professional. Doctor Magnolia, like the flowers that grew in the south. Jack had recommended her when he had first moved to Wolf Trap because she was conscientious and had come from his neck of the woods originally. Her accent and bedside manner comforted him, even when he wished it wasn't such a poignant reminder of a life he had left behind when he had turned 18 and had enrolled in college.
“If the pain doesn't ease up in the next three weeks,” she said, “come back and we'll make sure there's no swelling.”
Will hated going to the doctor's but he was probably going to have to get used to it, at least for the next nine months. He would need a decent gynaecologist, perhaps Hannibal could recommend one to him. He almost started laughing but stopped himself. No need to have his GP doubt his sanity too.
“You had a scent related trauma,” she said, “and a bad heat. You're pregnant and on medication. I'd appreciate it if you stopped by more often.”
“I'll make an effort,” Will said.
He got down off the examining table, relieved by his prognosis.
“I'm serious,” she said, “you're at risk for the scent membrane to swell. You don't want it to rupture, not in your condition.”
“What's my condition,” Will said tetchily.
“An empathy disorder,” the doctor said, “stress from a very difficult and taxing job, if your membrane ruptures the pain will be excruciating, it could have unpredictable effects on your visualization and scent relationships. You might not even know who you are or where you are after it happens.”
Will swallowed thickly. She had just described his worst nightmare as a possible physical reality.
“It won't happen,” she said, attempting to reassure him, “if you take care of yourself.”
“I'll try,” he said.
He hoped it wouldn't be an issue.
“Take the pills consistently,” she reminded him on his way out of her office, “or I'll take you to the hospital for an IV myself.”
Will went home and had a restless sleep with his dogs. He took his pills in the morning, he called in sick. He watched the snow fall slowly outside of his kitchen window and the blue light of an early morning colour the room in a melancholy feeling. Will acknowledged that there was a very small clump of cells growing in his lower abdomen that would eventually become a whole human being. He hoped he wouldn't screw them up too much but considered if they had him for a mother they were probably already doomed. He wasn't sure about the other half of their genes, besides that they were much better off for Hannibal's influence than his own.
He thought about his own awkward and lonely teenage years and hoped he wouldn't have to watch his own child repeat them.
He warmed up hot water, drank some herbal tea Hannibal left for him ages ago to help him sleep and played with the dogs. It was well after noon hour when he began hearing noises in the fields.
A strange sound, like a wounded animal crying out.
Will's dogs were peacefully strewn around him watching him wrestle with a boat motor he had stashed in his closet for lonely evenings, as old habits died hard and comforting actions even harder. They hadn't moved when the sound echoed through his room. A shiver of pain went through Will's injured nose. He smelled blood on the air, the kind that only came from an animal.
Perhaps inviting Alana Bloom to help him chase phantom dogs had been ill advised, but he had needed someone stable. Someone who wasn't wrapped up in complicated emotions. A third party required to listen to his confessions.
Alana had offered him advice, “You need to talk this out. About your state of mind, about everything.”
They had walked across the field near his house and almost to the woods in the afternoon sun. Alana had looked so beautiful against the dead winter fields, he had wanted to kiss her. Perhaps under different circumstances he would have.
“There isn't much to say,” Will said, it wasn't like he was going to tell her everything, “I haven't felt well since,-”
“Hobbs?,” Alana said, “Or Cheryl White.”
The heavy silence between them was telling.
“Jack wondered if I was broken,” Will said, he laughed nervously, “do you think I'm breaking?”
They stood in the cold, frozen fields together. Alana touched his face and the warmth from her gloved hand was the best thing Will had felt in a long time.
“No,” Alana said, “but I worry about your stability. It can be hard to only look, objectivity requires a lot of work.”
It was harder to acknowledge the unspoken 'because you're an omega' at the end of it. Will suddenly felt small and vulnerable, it was precisely how he didn't want to feel.
“Did you talk to Hannibal about your symptoms?” Alana asked.
“No,” Will said.
“Is that because you're worried that he might try to diagnose,” she said, “or is it because you might have to let down Jack?”
“Neither,” Will said, “I can keep doing my job. I'm sick not an invalid.”
“Hannibal asked about you,” Alana said, “when I went over for dinner last week. He seemed concerned. He said you had cancelled last week's appointment. In fact, the last two appointments.”
The bitter taste in his mouth appeared for many reasons.
“That's why you offered to stop by,” Will said, “to check in on me, for him?”
It made him feel sick. He'd wanted to hold her, kiss her, touch her but it was clear that she had seen him as some kind of accessory to an alpha she was attached to and not just a man.
“Yes and no,” Alana said, “when Hannibal worries, I get worried. Beyond professional concern.”
He considered it. Considered telling her everything. But plain old embarrassment stopped him from going any further into her confidence. She saw him as she scented him; a distant, emotionally compromised omega. Her mistaken perception would only get worse if he mentioned what had happened during his last heat.
“There's nothing to be concerned about,” Will said, if he could have snapped shut the entire contents of his mind, he would have, “I'm not Jack's broken pony or Dr. Lecter's pet patient. It's nothing I haven't handled before. I'm tired. Some rest and I'll be ready to look again.”
“Will,” Alana said, “I want you to feel safe, for your own sake. Not for anybody else's. If something's wrong, talking to somebody can help.”
As kind as it was sincere, Will could only refuse. He didn't ask anything more about Hannibal or his hallucinations after that.
A few days later his sinuses were clearing, his head felt better. He seemed to be improving. After receiving conformation from his GP's office that he was in fact pregnant and the tests from the drug store hadn't been faulty or lying no matter how much he wanted it, it was time to face the music. Will was feeling emotionally out of sorts. Hannibal wasn't precisely a responsible solution but they hadn't talked about their encounter since it had happened. Will remembered it like a dream; the feeling of being touched, of being treasured. He wanted to know if what he felt was real. He knew no matter how much he wanted it, he had to break it off before their relationship became anything real.
It was apparent that Will had walked in on something when he arrived at Hannibal's house and saw that the table set for company had been recently vacated. The air smelled sharp with unfamiliar alpha, a strange and sickly smell. It bothered his healing nose and reminded him of the concert hall, the sticky smell of alphas surrounding him, manhandling him. Pushing him around.
“You sent Alana to check up on me,” Will said.
Speaking of pushing around, Will had a few things on his mind. It was a harsh greeting after a long period of silence but Will was in no mood to negotiate.
“I wonder why you drove an hour in the snow to tell me,” Hannibal replied, cooly.
Hannibal was obviously perturbed by Will's recent absences. Will wondered if he had offended Hannibal's alpha sensitivities or his social ones. Will followed him to the kitchen where he was extracting one of the uneaten courses from an oven.
“That was very subtle,” Will said, “sending a messenger. Are you doubting my ability to function without you, Doctor?”
“A reasonable question. It's not as though you have a clear social bond with anyone,” Hannibal said.
It was a biting remark. Things were going to get nasty if they kept this up. Will wanted them to get nasty.
“If her opinion meant so much,” Will asked, “why didn't you call Dr. Bloom last time?”
Hannibal gave him a look. It was after all, quite a rude insinuation. None the less food had been placed in front of him, it had smelled wonderful. He had no idea what it was beyond a fruit dessert. He should have refused, hospitality was charged with a lot of things when an alpha was involved but it smelled too good to deny.
“She didn't posses what you needed,” Hannibal said.
Maybe, Will considered, food wasn't the only thing he was starved for.
“Are you saying because she's a beta,” Will said, “she's not as good?”
“Of course not,” Hannibal said, “what you required was absolute security, not steady comfort. A fortress to contain the fear, no matter how dubious.”
Will had almost eaten the entirety of the tart before he could even acknowledge how delicious it was. The cream had been heavenly. He was probably going to be screwed when the pregnancy cravings hit, he wasn't much for desserts but Hannibal made everything taste so good.
“Feeling better now?” Hanibal asked him.
Will glared at him and licked stray cream from his thumb. He was supposed to be angry, his privacy and sense of self had been invaded. But here he was being plied with food, acting the part of the wounded omega.
“What's dubious about my fortresses,” Will asked.
He tried not to sound like a petulant teenager, he probably failed.
“It isn't something you've ever acknowledged wanting,” Hannibal said, “But I did examine your pills on the first night. They were tampered with.”
Will noticed the fine wool suit vest and the way it moved over Hannibal's back. With clarity he recalled Hannibal's nude, muscled shoulders. The way the lats flowed into the base of his well muscled backside. Will quickly looked away, the skin under his collar reddening. This is why he had stayed away for so long, memories were easier to suppress until confronted with their source.
“I tampered with them myself,” Will said.
“Do you remember tampering with them?” Hannibal asked him.
“Not clearly,” Will said, “The case with Cheryl White had me thinking things I wouldn't normally consider.”
Like sleeping with his unconventional psychiatrist. He took in Hannibal's grace, his charming character and control and realized he was probably messed up from the start. Will was attracted to authority figures; he had been all his life. One particularly kind beta cop who looked after him when his dad wouldn't as a kid, and he had been sunk. It was so disgustingly typical.
“Did you loose yourself to her, Will?” Hannibal asked him, “Are you still lost?”
The food was gone and instead there was a dizzying feeling replacing it. He didn't know why but lately when he'd been around alphas they smelled wrong, only Hannibal smelled right. And here he was dealing with the consequences because of it, at the cusp of something he knew instinctively would lead to troubled places.
“I don't know,” Will said.
Sometimes when Will thinks back to their fevered mating he feels like that was the one time he saw the real Hannibal, the one without any pretence of civility. His perfect predator.
The same man whose alpha scent lit up the pleasure paths in Will's brain.
“Let me help you, Will” Hannibal said.
Hannibal's hand carded through Will's hair. It felt so good, for once in his life Will couldn't think of a single excuse not to let himself be carried away by the feeling.
“Why did you call Alana,” Hannibal asked him, “you longed for her for a reason. Tell me what it was.”
The press from his forehead to the nape of his neck had him nearly purring like a cat. Will took a deep and shuddering breath.
“Security.”
It was the craving that drowned everything else out of his head in a chemical bath, Will could literally visualize every cell in his brain responding to the alpha he had stupidly latched onto during his heat. It was only instinct to reach for a connection, even if it was tenuous and fraught with uncertainty.
“Do you not feel secure?” Hannibal asked him, “You have a job and a home.”
“It's not that simple. I heard an injured animal on the field” Will said, “and nothing was there. Everything smells different. ”
“Different in what way,” Hannibal asked him, as he continued stroking his hair.
“On fire,” Will said, “burning, sometimes burnt. But I'm not in heat anymore. I won't be for a really long time.”
“Because you've confirmed you're pregnant,” Hannibal said,“how does that make you feel?”
It was a stupid question, Will almost laughed.
“Surprisingly relieved,” Will said, “I was always worried someone would bust in. Irrational fears about getting knocked up by a stranger.”
“We're more than strangers,” Hannibal said, “I would like to think.”
Will nodded, “Yeah. And I wanted you to do it.”
I begged you like an animal, Will thought, and you mounted me like one.
“Would you mind,” Will asked, “checking?”
It's an intimate thing to ask, something only bonded people and family tend to do. It's extremely submissive. Will knows he doesn't belong to anyone and he doesn't want to, but when Hannibal presses his nose against Will's exposed throat, a deep primal itch is scratched that Will had been waiting weeks to have answered.
“You don't smell pregnant yet,” Hannibal said, as he inhaled deeper, “But you smell like fear. Tell me what you're afraid of right now.”
Will said carefully, “in two months I'll smell like you and everyone will know what I did. I'll have to answer a lot of awkward questions at work and so will you.”
“You attacked a co-worker,” Hannibal said, “aggression is an indicator of repressed fear.”
“Jack already told you, didn't he?” Will breathed deeply, “There was nothing repressed about it. I didn't want him near me. I was confused and sick, felt vulnerable. Lashed out.”
Zeller had already commented on the pale, half healed bite on his throat when he'd gone back to work the first day. They had never gotten along and Will had watched bitterly while Zeller got the promotions because he was an alpha when Price deserved them more. The thought of Zeller seeing Will's stomach growing distended with child was nauseating. It had been aggravated by a crime scene. His reaction was unconscionable but certainly understandable.
The soft brush of warm air over his ear had Will shuddering all over. Hannibal had moved very close to him, nearly embracing him. The sensation was an absolute high; it felt like safety, security all the things he had been denied the last few months. It scattered his troubled thoughts like chafe over a field of wheat.
“What do you want from me,” Will whispered, “I can't tell. Can't even imagine.”
“I want nothing you wouldn't give to me freely,” Hannibal said.
“You could have walked away that day,” Will said, “you knew what was happening before I did.”
“I didn't want to leave you alone,” Hannibal said, “I worry about you.”
“Which is why you encouraged Alana to visit,” Will said, “that wasn't appreciated by the way.”
“She enjoys your company and I assure you, she went with little influence from me,” Hannibal said.
“I don't,” Will swallowed, “trust people. Not like that.”
Hannibal cupped his face gently and Will couldn't help the unbidden emotions that rose to the surface in a torrent, images of Abigail having her face cupped in the same way. Hannibal had been so good with omegas, they'd always fall all over him and try to placate but not Will. He'd been standoffish from the start, no matter what biology compelled him to say or do.
“Let me look after you,” said Hannibal, “during your pregnancy. And if you like, afterwards.”
Will was rendered speechless.
“I have my own life,” Will said, woodenly.
Hannibal smiled at him. It was a strange and mysterious expression, Will was impressed to discover he couldn't read what was behind its true meaning at all.
“As do I,” Hannibal said, “but we seem to get along when necessity forces us to convene. I'm not asking you to give up anything for me or for our child. Allow me to help you with whatever you require and ease the hesitance you feel.”
“What if I wanted an abortion,” Will fired back.
“Then it would be your right,” Hannibal said, “and I would help you arrange it.”
It was probably the only sane reproductive decision Will could make under the circumstances.
“I don't want one,” Will said.
Hannibal stroked the back of Will's neck gently.
“The snow is very heavy,” Hannibal said, “stay here tonight.”
Will looked away, he studied the gleaming convex ovens behind Hannibal. He had come to Hannibal's home with the mind to be angry and he was dismayed to see where it had gotten him.
“The dogs will miss me,” Will said.
Don't say yes, he counselled himself, do anything to avoid spending the night. Jump out the god damn window if you have to.
“They have enough food and water,” Hannibal said, “they'll be fine.”
Will could see the depths of Hannibal's eyes reflecting the dim light in the kitchen. The yellow lights highlighted specks of blood red in the deep maroon, they were very strange. An unusual, if beautiful, genetic quirk. Will wondered if their child would have eyes that looked the same.
“All right,” Will said.
Pretence had dissolved as the lights in the beautiful stone house were dimmed one by one. There was a lot of comfort in darkness, at least for Will who felt like every light filled second was taking some piece of him away. At the threshold of Hannibal's bedroom Will endured a sudden attack of nerves. His pulse increased and his heart began to race.
But Hannibal had appeared behind him and placed the gentlest hand against the small of his back and pushed him forward. Will took a step and another and sat down on the edge of the bed, drinking in what he could see in the low light. Dark wood wardrobes, green walls and accents. Absurdly beautiful paintings that had highly symbolic meanings Will couldn't begin to fathom. It was like a Boschian garden of Eden. The bed was, of course, a four poster with ornate wood carvings. Will sat down on it and felt the luxurious sheets give under his fingers as they instinctively clenched.
Most importantly, the room smelled like Hannibal and only Hannibal. Will inhaled deeply. He remembered how he had felt during his last heat, he had hated the thought of anyone near Hannibal but himself. Even thinking about Abigail, a barely mature omega that he saw more as a daughter than anything else, had made him agitated.
Hannibal had taken something from a wardrobe and laid it beside Will. At a glance, it was a silk, long sleeved pyjama top. Probably the upper half to a gentleman's set. Will stared at it hard as Hannibal left the room, probably to the washroom for his nightly ablutions. Perhaps also to give Will privacy in considering whether or not to wear it.
Will inhaled slowly, relaxed his hands from their tight clench and began unbuttoning his shirt. He noticed with extreme acuity that there weren't any pyjama bottoms provided but the shirt was large. It would probably fall to his thighs. Not obscene, but not very modest either. It was typical alpha behaviour to offer omegas their clothes, scent marking them. Will quietly vowed to keep his underwear on at all costs. (Even if he was fighting a losing battle, even if he could feel warmth creeping across his skin from the scent marking and food and everything being done right, even when he didn't know what he had wanted to happen in the first place).
He slipped the shirt on, it was probably silk or satin he didn't know the difference just that both were incredibly soft on his skin. The colour was a deep green. It made his skin tone look almost sallow. He shucked the rest of his clothes, belt, pants, socks and folded them relatively neatly on a chair in the name of good manners.
In a moment of clarity, it hit him he was in his psychiatrist's house in nothing but his briefs and an oversized pyjama shirt. He may have let out a small, hysterical laugh. His palms were sweating, his heart pounding. He didn't know what to expect. He touched his stomach gingerly, there was no tell-tale swelling, there wouldn't be for at least another few months. But if he imagined it, he could feel his stomach as distended and swollen as it would be when he was further along. At five months, maybe six he would be forced out of any field work, Jack would be so angry with the both of them...
“You're thinking about what will happen,” Hannibal's voice startled Will, “in a few months time.”
“Trying not to,” Will said, “it's not working.”
“Perhaps I can help,” Hannibal said.
Hannibal encircled Will's waste until their bodies were nearly flush. Maybe it was the feeling of Hannibal's hands moving down to his thighs, the soft material rubbing against his hips. The scent of an alpha strong and willing, touching him. He relaxed.
“What do you want, Will?” Hannibal asked him.
The question caught him off guard, he wasn't sure how to answer. Sex was perhaps the most literal and blunt answer he could offer. Followed by comfort, companionship. Desperate human needs he had tried to deny and had failed to, over and over again. But that wasn't the issue, sex had never really been the problem.
“Teach me,” Will said, “how to lose myself.”
There was a smile forming on Hannibal's face at the base of Will's neck, Will could feel it growing. The return of the predator, his alpha who had breathed hot air against his cooling sweat.
He felt Hannibal's hands tighten around his hips, felt his fingers slip under the hem of the night shirt and slowly tug down his briefs. Will stamped down the hesitation he was feeling, the sudden affront to his control over the situation. Of course he was still in control. He could tell Hannibal to stop and he had no doubt he would honour his request. He could put on his clothes and walk away, get in his car and drive an hour in a storm to see his dogs.
The cool air between his legs made goosebumps rise all over his skin. He didn't have any answers except that this was what he wanted at that very moment, just like he had wanted to get pregnant during his last heat. He stepped out of his briefs and turned around to take what he wanted.
He felt Hannibal's hands against his wrists as they squeezed his arms and pulled him forward. Will looked at Hannibal and tried to see.
Initially, he saw the easy image of a man who enjoyed fine things, who was harmlessly ostentatious; who kept himself closed to anyone who might enter his life so he could maintain his own. Who let Will in under conditions neither quite understood. Will saw through Hannibal's eyes that he was looking at a patient and a partner, a curiosity and a lover. It was a strange dichotomy to experience. But underneath it all was the predator Will had gotten to know, the man who had soothed him through his last heat. Who taught him what sleeping with an alpha could be like. That was the man who was holding Will now, the tremor of darkness that ran under an otherwise unassuming front.
The man who was pressing his hot mouth to Will's and making him breathless, who was leading him to bed. It was a doctor's clandestine relationship with a patient, it was so very wrong and that's why it felt so right.
Will groaned against the mouth that was plundering his as his knees pressed down against the mattress of the bed. He was torn between submitting to the assault or trying to keep up with the hands that roamed over his body. His grip was as strong as Hannibal's but he didn't want to lead, he wanted to be lead.
“Follow your instincts,” Hannibal said softly into his ear, “they're telling you exactly what you need.”
“Yesss,” Will hissed.
His body ached so much for it, he couldn't stand it.
Will exposed his throat to Hannibal. It was an offering, a sacrifice. He could mark him again over the already healed bite he had left over a month ago.
“Very good,” Hannibal said.
Will felt the soft sniffs at the base of his shoulder, his neck and along his ear. The sharp pain/pleasure of teeth as they punctured his skin...
The bite encouraged his body to seize and his skin to come alive with feeling. The back of his spine arched in an imitation of a heat infused lordosis effect. Will felt wet, though significantly less than a high hormonal heat, it was still enough to make him recall the sensation of being slick with it.
Hannibal had unbuttoned Will's shirt quickly and slid it down his shoulders far enough to tie it in back as a makeshift restraint. Hannibal had leaned back on an extraordinary high pile of pillows and pulled Will over him. Will groaned as he felt Hannibal's cloth covered cock rub up against his groin.
“I want you to do it to yourself, Will,” Hannibal said, as he grabbed Will's hips, “show me how much you want to have our baby.”
Will panted, he was so aroused. He wanted, wanted, wanted with all his being and had no idea what precisely he was supposed to do to get it. He scrambled with Hannibal's pyjama bottoms, barely able to move his arms, until he exposed his alpha cock already slick with precum. He positioned himself with the help of Hannibal's strong grip and hovered over his alpha's cock.
“I want it so much,” Will gasps, “god, I want it.”
“Take it for yourself,” Hannibal encouraged him.
It's a long, slow tortuous slide as Will's body slowly opens to the cock he's taking inside. He's not in heat, the easy slick isn't available for him to use to sink down quickly. Will feels every inch as it fills him up, opening up his body again for Hannibal's sperm. He can see Hannibal so clearly from this position, watch the little flickers of pleasure and pain across his face. Will has him in a tight grip and even if he is a panting, wanton mess he has Hannibal right where he wants him. Groaning under him, burying himself in Will's ass.
“Harder,” Hannibal directed him, his voice strained, “you're doing so well, go further.”
Will groans. This is almost what he wants but not quite, he can ride Hannibal's cock over and over, feel the pleasurable pain of being stretched open. He moans and arches his body and feels the cock hitting deep inside of him when he bottoms out. A sweat has broken out over both their bodies and Will marvels at how Hannibal looks with his tousled hair and shirt askew, the sweat collecting above his top lip. He loves it like this, loves watching Hannibal's carefully constructed exterior fall apart under him.
“Please,” Will begs, “please I need more.”
He can't come, no matter how hard he tries and riding Hannibal's cock to the hilt isn't enough. He's not sure what to ask for so he rolls his hips and is rewarded with the sound of Hannibal's breathy gasps.
“More,” Will groans, and he feels unhinged as the sweat trickles down his back forming into small puddles along his spine, “give it to me.”
Will hears the snarl before he registers what's happening. His torso is torqued, he's lifted off of the cock that was giving him so much pleasure and forced onto his stomach. A strong hand has a tight grip in his hair, almost to the point it hurts. He feels the pressure of a hand on the back of his neck. He's face down in the pillows, his air flow is compromised. He's delirious from near asphyxiation and can feel his ass being stretched again by Hannibal's cock and he doesn't care if he dies like this, he's getting exactly what he wanted.
A ruthless fucking commences, Will can hear the sound of their skin smacking together, can feel his glutes take the force eagerly. He's going to have bruises along his hips and thighs. He's being marked. His breath has nearly left him but at the last moment he hears Hannibal's choked voice, he feels the sperm enter him in hot, thick spurts. It fills him up and Will moans into the pillows with the last bit of air he has.
Hannibal slides out of him, relieves the pressure on his neck and efficiently helps Will onto his back. Will gasps as his still turgid cock is grabbed. They're doing it together because Will can't possibly keep his hands off himself now, the feeling of his breath being cut short is fading, the stretch in his ass is still deliriously good and he comes quickly over both their hands, his abdomen shaking from the strain.
Will collapsed onto his back, absolutely boneless and blank. They laid side by side for a few blessed moments, the sound of their panting the only noise in the room. Hannibal eventually extricated himself from the bed and offered Will some tissues. They cleaned themselves up silently. Will disentangled himself from Hannibal's shirt so he could lay on the cooled sheets. He nearly dozed off after a few seconds of his head hitting the pillow.
“People shouldn't be allowed to have beds this comfortable,” Will mumbles.
He pressed his face against what felt like a puffy arrangement of clouds and considered.
“Does anyone really need eight pillows?”
He heard a soft laugh, felt the press of a kiss to the edge of his mouth.
“Go to sleep, Will.”
In the early hours of the morning Will made his way from Hannibal Lecter's bed and into his absurdly luxurious shower. He cleaned himself up, got dressed, left the house and sat in his car for almost twenty minutes staring at the freshly fallen snow before resting his head against the steering wheel.
“That was distinctly not breaking it off,” Will said aloud to himself.
He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. It would be a long hour drive home.