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Title: Tendrils of Seduction
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Table: writers_choice
Prompt: #484, Seduction
Author's Note: Sequel to A Little Bit Closer.
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. soar


It felt like they were strangers again.

Why was it that there were times when he felt completely comfortable with Hannibal, as though he could tell all of his secrets to this man and trust him implicitly -- and there were other times when all of his senses screamed at him to run away?

He couldn't take his eyes off the other man; Hannibal wasn't doing anything other than sitting there, one leg crossed over the other, patiently waiting for Will to speak, yet he seemed so seductive, as though he was somehow beckoning to Will to move closer.

He wasn't going to do that. He wasn't going to make the first move; that was for Hannibal to do. It was his decision to make.

If Hannibal wanted to take things in the same direction that they had gone last night, then he would have to instigate it. Will wasn't going to let himself lose control; not this time. He'd done that last night, almost throwing himself at Hannibal.

He was ashamed of those actions now. He should have more self-control than that, he berated himself. He shouldn't throw himself at a man he barely knew, a man who was dangerous and disquieting and had the ability to get inside his head.

But he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stay away from Hannibal if he tried, and that was precisely what made this man so dangerous to him.

Try as he might, he couldn't resist Hannibal.

Oh, he might put up a token struggle, try to convince himself that he didn't need this man, that he didn't want him more than he'd ever wanted anything. He might even try to convince himself that he didn't need the pleasure that Hannibal was capable of giving him.

But in the end, all that pretense would vanish; all the walls would come tumbling down again. He would be in Hannibal's bed, in Hannibal's arms, moaning out his lover's name, taking whatever Hannibal wanted to give him. He knew that all too well.

He had no self-control when it came to Hannibal. Even when the other man wasn't openly trying to seduce him, he managed to do so just with one look, one gesture. Hell, he didn't even have to gesture. He just had to fix Will with those magnetic eyes.

He couldn't resist that come-hither gaze. At this point, all Hannibal would have to do was lift a hand and crook his little finger, and Will would be his.

Will hated to admit that he was so infatuated, but there it was. He had no way to deny it; he couldn't turn his back on all that he felt, even if it was a bit embarrassing to admit that he was so caught up in this man. He had to be honest about his emotions.

Was he in love with Hannibal? He didn't think so.

But he was definitely fascinated by the man, unable to pull away from him. Every move that Hannibal made, every expression that flitted across his features, was like a seduction to Will. He could read so much into those expressions, even without words.

He didn't need to put what he felt into words. It was enough that those feelings existed; finding words for them was too troubling, too exhausting.

Besides, what did words mean? Words could be seductive, yes; they could make him understand exactly what Hannibal wanted of him, and what Hannibal wanted to do to him. But Will had discovered in no uncertain terms that actions could speak much more loudly than words.

It was Hannibal's actions that drew Will to him; it was the touching, the kissing, the feel of their bodies bare against each other, the joining, the exquisite pleasure that came from it. None of that needed words. It was a seduction unto itself.

Truthfully, everything about Hannibal seduced him. The other man's lips, his eyes, his graceful movements, his facial expressions .... There was nothing about his lover that he didn't find seductive and beautiful. Hannibal drove him to distraction.

Was that love? Or was it merely lust? Will didn't know.

He'd never really understood what love was supposed to be -- and until he'd met Hannibal, he hadn't really understood lust, either. Oh, he had thought that he wanted other people; he'd thought that he knew what desire could be. But he had been wrong.

No one else had ever made his body burn with desire the way that Hannibal did. With just one look, just one smile, Hannibal held him mesmerized.

No one else had ever been able to do that. No one else held such sway over him; no one else had ever been as fascinating as Hannibal was. And now, with this new relationship, this physicality between them, he was stripping away layers he'd never thought existed.

There was so much more to Hannibal than he'd at first thought, so many more layers than there appeared to be from that smooth, lacquered surface. Yet even though he had come to know Hannibal better than ever after that first night, now it felt as though they didn't know each other at all.

Why did he have to sit there, with that smirk on his face, as though he knew everything that Will was thinking and feeling?

Did Hannibal know that he was driving Will insane with his mere presence? Did he know how much he was wanted? Could he sense the desire building within Will, the need to touch and to be touched, the need to be swept up and taken?

Of course he could. That gaze saw everything, divined everything.

Will didn't doubt that Hannibal knew exactly what he was feeling. He was sure that the other man was being deliberately provocative, sitting there without saying a word, just letting that gaze work its own peculiar magic on Will. He knew exactly what he was doing.

There was no escape from that cool, contemplative gaze, just as there would be no escape from Hannibal's arms once the other man decided that he'd had enough of this waiting game and got down to business. Will knew that he would lose this game even before it had begun.

Even though the silence between them made him feel as though they were strangers again, just sitting down for their first session, his desire for Hannibal was all-encompassing. He couldn't hide it, try as he might. Hannibal would always see right through him.

There was no way for him to avoid that gaze, nowhere to hide. The tendrils of seduction were reaching out to ensnare him, to wrap him in their enticing coils.

It was useless to try to resist. He was helpless to do so.

As though Hannibal knew exactly what he was thinking, the other man stood up, moving to where Will sat. He grasped both of Will's hand and hauled him to his feet; for a moment, they stood there facing each other, still gazing into each other's eyes.

Will didn't know what he read in those eyes. It might be lust, it might be love, it might be nothing more than the desire to have his way with him. He couldn't tell. But whatever it was, he instinctively responded to it, his own desire crashing down over him like a wave.

Then he was in Hannibal's arms, and those lips were on his. Hannibal was kissing him, those hands moving over his body, pulling him close; one hand splaying across his back, the other moving down to cup the rounded curves of his ass.

All he could do was cling to Hannibal, feeling weak with desire, knowing that he had been seduced without words, drawn irrevocably into the other man's arms.

This was where he belonged. This was the only place he wanted to be. If that made him weak, then so be it. He was weak when it came to Hannibal; he had no control, no will of his own; he was putty in Hannibal's hands, clay to be shaped and molded.

From the beginning, he had been well and truly seduced.