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Title: Trapped in Unreality
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: R
Author's Note: Sequel to "Careful What You Wish For."
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's head was pounding as if it was an anvil being hit by a hammer.

He didn't know why he couldn't raise a hand to his head, or why he was lying on his stomach. He never slept on his stomach. He usually slept on his back.

It took him several long moments to realize that he couldn't put a hand to his head because his wrists were bound , held down at the edges of his bed.

He wanted to struggle, but something told him to lie still, to find out just what was going on before he made any rash decisions. Struggling could bring disaster down on him; he had no idea why he was being held captive, and he didn't want his captor to get any ideas about harming him.

It took Will several more long moments to realize that his legs were bound as well -- and that he was stark naked, his body bare and exposed.

The thought made a cold rush of fear go through him. Who had done this? Who was holding him prisoner -- and why? What was going on? Why couldn't he remember?

Slowly, memory began to come back to him -- which escalated his fear.

Hannibal. He remembered turning to go upstairs to his bedroom -- and seeing Hannibal standing there on the steps. His nemesis had moved towards him, and then ....

Hannibal had overpowered him with chloroform, and had apparently carried him upstairs to his bedroom, undressed him and bound him to his own bed. He didn't want to think about what Hannibal intended to do to him, especially now that he knew what Hannibal had done all of his other victims.

Did this man intend for him to be a victim? Was he some kind of sacrifice? Or did Hannibal have something else in mind for him -- something that would ultimately be much worse?

Will swallowed hard, closing his eyes and trying to fight back his fear.

There was no reason for him to be naked, not unless Hannibal intended to .... No. Rape couldn't be his intention. He'd never thought that Hannibal desired him.

But rape wasn't a crime of desire, wasn't it? It was considered a sex crime, but in Will's eyes, it had little to do with sex. It was about fear, about power and control. Hannibal didn't desire him -- Hannibal wanted to terrify him, to show him that he had all of the power, that he was in control.

He wasn't going to let that monster see how frightened he was. He was going to be cool and calm, and he would talk his way out of what he thought Hannibal intended to do.

He might not be able to save his own life, be he wasn't going to let Hannibal victimize him sexually. He wasn't going to give in to that. He'd face death before he would be a rape victim.

How was he going to stop that from happening? a voice in the back of his mind asked. Was he going to simply ask to be freed, and expect Hannibal to be a gentleman and do so? Did he expect that depraved monster to apologize for all that he'd done, and to go on his merry way?

Hannibal certainly wasn't going to let him go and then hold out his hands for Will to slap the cuffs on him and cart him away to jail, that was for sure.

Will tested the bonds; they were far too tight for him to hope that he could break free.

He was in a lot more trouble than he'd ever thought he could be in. And his panic was escalating, no matter how much he tried to push it down and bury it.

Hannibal was either going to rape him, or kill him. Possibly he planned to do both. Though Will was sure that he'd use a condom, so as not to leave any DNA traces. He would probably be found days later, dead in his own home, in his own bed, and people would think the worst of him.

They'd probably think that he had been the victim of some man he'd picked up to have sex with ..... and they'd whisper about how he must have enjoyed rough trade.

Everyone knew that he was gay. That wasn't the problem.

Will didn't want to be seen as a victim, as someone who made himself available to men and let them have their way with him. He wanted them to know that Hannibal had been his killer.

Would anyone know? Would they even guess? Jack might, but he was the only one who would more than likely put two and two together and get seven.

Would anyone else even care that he was gone? Will knew that he had a few tentative friends amongst the FBI, but he wasn't what anyone could by any stretch of the imagination call popular. It wasn't as though anyone would really even notice that he wasn't around any more.

What would people say when he was gone? Would they talk about him behind their hands in whispers, or would they openly acknowledge the facts of his death?

He tugged at the bonds again, even though he knew that it was useless. He was starting to feel as though he was stuck in some sort of unreality, trapped in another man's body.

This didn't feel real. It was all too strange, too bizarre.

This couldn't be happening to him. Things like this didn't happen to people like him. He'd thought that he would meet his death chasing a suspect, out there in the field.

Instead, he was apparently going to either be raped and murdered by a cannibalistic serial killer. Will shuddered to think of what Hannibal would do with his body; he didn't even want to consider it. He knew all too well what that monster was probably planning to do with him.

Would his body ever be found -- even parts of it? Or would he simply disappear, never to be seen again, without anyone knowing what had happened to him?

That was the most frightening thought of all.

There was no point in struggling. He should simply lie here and wait, take deep breaths and try to calm himself, It was really his only option at the moment.

But that was what Hannibal wanted him to do -- to lie here and think about what was happening, and to let his panic escalate until he couldn't fight it off.

He was more and more feeling as though he was trapped in another man's body, as though this was some play he was sitting back and watching. This couldn't be happening to him. This was just some dream, some hallucination he was having. It was a trick that his mind was playing on him.

But as Will flexed one wrist and tried to pull at the cords that bound him, he knew again that it was no dream. This was all too frighteningly real.

He knew that Hannibal was here somewhere, in his house. Was the bastard already setting plans in motion that would convince people of how Will had died?

Was he planting some "evidence" that Will had been killed by a random rapist?

Will raised his head when he heard footsteps on the stairs; Hannibal was coming back to the bedroom, and his stomach roiled at the thought of what might be coming.

Was Hannibal going to rape him? Was that the fate that was in store for him -- raped and murdered, then having his body dismembered and eventually eaten by someone he'd once been foolish enough to think of as a friend? Was this what had been intended for him from the moment of his birth?

Or had he brought it on himself by being drawn towards a flame that he couldn't stay away from? Had this somehow been his own fault? Was he responsible for what was happening?

Will closed his eyes, his muscles tightening, his nerves strung taut.

The footsteps stopped, and Will could almost feel Hannibal's eyes on him, that gaze traveling over his naked body. His skin crawled; he wanted to cover himself, but couldn't.

"Ah, you're awake at last," Hannibal murmured, his voice almost a purr. Will turned his head towards the door, to see his nemesis standing there, a predatory smile on his face.