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Title: Waiting For His Touch
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Author's Note: This is a one-shot fic inspired by the "ladder scene" in Episode 1X10, "Buffet Froid."
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 stared at Hannibal, unable to tear his gaze away from the other man. He shouldn't be here, talking to Hannibal like this, baring his soul. He should be able to deal with his own problems. He shouldn't go running to Hannibal whenever he needed to talk.
Why was he here? Why was he growing so dependent on the strange relationship he and Hannibal seemed to share? This wasn't like him.
He was used to being alone. He was used to handling things on his own.
But lately, it felt as though his life was becoming far too complicated to handle alone -- and Hannibal was, after all, his unofficial psychiatrist. When he needed someone to talk to, someone to whom he could let words pour out, Hannibal was the obvious choice.
The problem was, the more he was around Hannibal, the more he wanted things that he knew the couldn't have. Things that would be impossible between a doctor and his patient. Things that bordered on unethical, though at the moment, he couldn't care less if they were.
Right now, all he wanted was for Hannibal to break through that veneer of civility that barely existed between them, and do something forbidden and dangerous.
He'd do it himself, but he didn't have the courage. No, it would have to be Hannibal who made the first move. The last time he'd tried something like that, with Dr. Bloom, the results had been disastrous. And if he was brutally honest, he hadn't really wanted to do that, anyway.
It had been like kissing a dead fish. Thoroughly unappealing in every way.
Will had thought that if he had tried kissing a woman, any woman, he would suddenly discover that he was indeed attracted to women, even though he'd never felt that he was. He simply pretended to be, to keep up outward appearances.
He wasn't attracted to Dr. Bloom at all. Against his better judgment, against all the warning signs in his mind, he was attracted to Hannibal Lecter.
That was why he was standing here, watching Hannibal as the other man prowled the room, his back pressed against the ladder that led to Hannibal's impressive collection of books. That was why he was waiting, with bated breath, for Hannibal to turn around and look at him.
Will couldn't move, could barely breathe. He could only stand here, waiting for his touch.
His eyes widened as Hannibal turned towards him in one smooth movement, their gazes meeting. This was it, then, Will told himself, his breath catching in his throat. This was the moment when Hannibal wold move closer to him, and their lips would finally meet.
He had wanted that for so long, he could almost taste Hannibal's kiss already. He leaned back against the ladder, trying to relax, closing his eyes and raising his face, anticipating the soft warmth of Hannibal's breath on his skin.
But it didn't come. After several long moments, he opened his eyes again, to find Hannibal watching him with a bemused expression on his face.
Color immediately suffused Will's cheeks; he almost felt as though Hannibal was laughing at him, even though he was sure that the good doctor would have the presence of mind not to do so aloud. But the look on his face suggested that he was doing just that, inwardly.
His feelings weren't funny. They were nothing to laugh at. He should be angry, annoyed; he should be feeling betrayed that Hannibal hadn't taken advantage.
Or should he? Was Hannibal simply waiting for a time of his own choosing?
If that was the case, then Will would be patient; if it meant that he could have Hannibal, then he would wait forever, if need be. He had long since learned the value of patience; if Hannibal wanted to tease him, to make him wait until he thought he'd go mad, then he would do so.
If Hannibal wanted to play games, he would go along with that. As long as he had what he wanted in the end, he would gladly play the mouse to Hannibal's cat.
Will closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the ladder. He didn't realize that Hannibal had moved closer until the felt that warm breath against his cheek, the bare pressure of Hannibal's mouth brushing against his parted lips.
His eyes flew open, a soft gasp coming from his throat. Had that been ... a kiss?
Indeed it had. Hannibal had kissed him. He wanted to raise his hand to his mouth, to lay his fingers over the place that Hannibal's lips had so briefly touched.
But he restrained himself from doing that, instead watching Hannibal as the other man stepped back. That little smile was still barely curving Hannibal's lips, but he didn't look as though he was laughing at Will any more. No, now he looked satisfied, like the cat who had swallowed the canary.
Had he brought that look to Hannibal's face? Did the other man want him just as badly, or was he only playing a game that was sure to leave Will disappointed?
There were so many questions that he needed answers to -- and he wasn't going to get those answers by just standing here, not speaking out. But he couldn't make himself move; it was as though his body was trapped in a kind of lethargy that refused to let him move a muscle.
He wanted more than this. He needed more. His body was burning for another touch, another kiss, anything, as long as Hannibal would touch him one more time.
His chest rose and fell with a regularity that he hadn't thought it would manage, given the fact that he felt as though the breath had been snatched from his throat. To all outward appearances, he wasn't affected by that kiss, even though it had turned his world upside down.
Did he dare reciprocate? Could he take a few steps forward and kiss Hannibal back?
No, he decided, trying to keep his breathing on an even keel. Anything that happened between them would have to be instigated by Hannibal. He wasn't going to make the first move.
If he made that first move, it would make him look far too needy. It was better that he hold back, even though his body felt as though it was burning to ash from the inside with the intensity of his need.
His eyes widened as he realized that Hannibal was moving towards him again, with a look in his eyes that Will could only describe as "hungry." In that moment, he was convinced that Hannibal wanted just as much, if not more, than he wanted the other man.
Will's entire body tensed, waiting for his touch. When it came, the grip of Hannibal's hands on his shoulders was almost painful, but more welcome than he could put into words.
Then Hannibal's lips were on his again, and he was lost in their kiss.
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