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Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Prompt: 11, Hunger
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Will sat up in bed, sighing as he punched the pillow. Again. For what felt like the hundredth time since he'd turned out the lights and tried to go to sleep.
It was useless. He couldn't sleep; he'd known from the moment his head had first touched the pillow that it was pointless to even try. He didn't want to try to sleep; he didn't want to be here, safely in his own home, tucked away in Wolf Trap.
No, he wanted to be at Hannibal's house. In his bed.
He had thought that after what Hannibal had done to him tonight in the office, the place where they'd already been intimate more than once, he would feel sated. But he hadn't. That euphoria had worn off before he'd even made it all the way home.
He'd thought about Hannibal all the way there, wrestling with the almost irresistible urge to turn around and go back. But he hadn't done it, even though he'd wanted to.
Hannibal had told him to go home, and he wasn't going to risk making his lover angry. If Hannibal didn't want him there tonight, then he had no right to be there. Even though all of his senses screamed at him to go back, he'd kept driving, refusing to retrace his path.
He'd do what Hannibal wanted, but that didn't mean he liked it.
He had driven by rote; there was no memory of the time he'd spent on the road.
By the time he got home and parked the car in front of his house, his hands were slick with sweat on the steering wheel, and his breath was coming in panting gasps. His hands itched to turn on the engine again and to take off back towards Hannibal's house in a screech of tires.
He hadn't done that. He had forced himself to get out of the car, walk calmly into his house, feed the dogs, and head up to the bedroom.
He should have known that he wouldn't be able to sleep, should have known that he couldn't possibly have been sated for the night by that small taste he'd had of Hannibal. He was till hungry for more, hungry for the satisfaction that only Hannibal could give him.
Tomorrow night. He would only have to wait until tomorrow night, and he'd have what he wanted.
If he could hold out that long, Will thought, punching the pillow again before he lay back down, closing his eyes. If only he could sleep tonight, then tomorrow would be that much closer.
And he would be that much nearer to finally being sated.
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