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Title: What You Want
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
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 swallowed hard, raising his hand to knock at the door again. Before he could do so, it was pulled open, and Hannibal was standing there in front of him, wearing pajamas and a long robe. Will could do nothing but stare; all of his words seemed to have lodged in his throat.
He couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't come up with a single reason why he was here. There were so many, but none of them seemed to make sense at the moment.
Fortunately, Hannibal didn't seem to need a reason.
"Ah, Will," he said softly, moving back and opening the door wider. "Come in. I was expecting you." His smile seemed genuine, but Will could sense that there was something more behind it than mere friendliness. a shadow that lurked in the background.
"You were expecting me?" He hesitated on the doorstep, suddenly unwilling to enter the house. If he did, then there would be no turning back; he would have to go down the path he'd started on, and he wouldn't be able to change his mind once that door closed behind him.
He didn't want to change his mind, a voice in his head argued. He was taking this step with his eyes wide open, knowing that it could not only cost him Hannibal's friendship, but also his help with the cases he'd been assisting with. Will was putting it all on the line for a personal desire.
He wasn't usually this unprofessional. But something was driving him to this, something deep within himself that he couldn't control.
But he still couldn't make himself cross that threshold.
Why was he hesitating? This was idiotic, he told himself firmly. He'd come here to tell Hannibal how he felt, regardless of the consequences of that confession. It was ridiculous to stand here on the doorstep, drawing out the moment when he'd have to say those words.
Taking a deep breath, he took one step forward, then another -- and heard the door close behind him and the lock click into place. He swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry. Why had that click sounded like a loaded gun being cocked, primed and ready to fire?
Will blinked, trying to collect his thoughts. Now that he was here, he had to find some way of leading up to telling Hannibal how he felt, and that wasn't going to be easy. He couldn't just blurt it out; that would be too sudden, too surprising. He had to work up to it.
Walking like an automaton, he followed Hannibal to the kitchen, sitting down at the table across from him. He looked around, taking in the sight of two coffee mugs on the counter next to the steaming pot of coffee; it did seem as though Hannibal had been expecting him.
How could that be? He hadn't even known that he would be here until only a short while ago. Could Hannibal somehow see into his thoughts?
No, that was impossible. He was letting his nervousness get the better of him.
"Coffee?" Hannibal asked, going to the coffeepot and pouring one mug, then another, even though Will hadn't answered him. They'd shared coffee many times before; he knew how Will liked his coffee, just as he knew so many other things that Will struggled to keep hidden.
Could he already know how Will felt? The thought drove Will to his feet; he couldn't sit here and pretend that he didn't have anything to say, that something of the utmost importance hadn't drive him here at this hour of the morning.
He could feel Hannibal behind him, closer than he'd expected the other man to be. He didn't dare turn around; he couldn't face the object of his desire, not now, not before he knew what he wanted to say, how to phrase the words in the way that he wanted them to sound.
"I know what you want, Will."
Will's head jerked up, his eyes widening? Was that true? Did Hannibal know what he wanted, why he was here? Had the other man divined his feelings without being told?
Will felt Hannibal's fingers stroke across his cheek; he closed his eyes, wanting desperately to lean into that touch. Maybe this was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong. It felt like exactly what he wanted -- Hannibal's touch, Hannibal's closeness.
He could feel Hannibal's breath, hot against his throat, feel those cool fingertips on his skin. Slowly, Will turned to face Hannibal, realizing as soon as he saw the other man's expression that he didn't need to explain what he wanted -- or how he felt.
Somehow, Hannibal knew. Maybe he had always known, before Will had grasped the meaning behind his own feelings. Hannibal had gotten there first.
There were no secrets now. There was nothing standing in his way.
But Will couldn't make himself move. All he could do was stand there, frozen, immobile, so close that he could lean slightly forward and brush his lips across Hannibal's. He wanted to do that; more than anything, he wanted to kiss this man.
But he couldn't make himself move, couldn't force himself to take that last step, the one that would seal his fate and make it impossible to even think of moving back instead of forward. He felt as though he was in stasis, frozen in time, unable to move a muscle.
He had to make a decision, and he had to make it quickly, before the man in front of him grew tired of waiting, and the chance was gone forever.
He didn't expect that decision to be taken out of his own hands.
Will didn't know exactly how it had happened, but suddenly, Hannibal's mouth was on his, their lips meeting. Hannibal's lips were soft, yet demanding; Will could feel his own lips parting helplessly, of their own volition, to allow Hannibal's questing tongue into his mouth.
Hannibal's arm was around his waist, holding him in place, drawing him closer; he couldn't have pulled away even if he'd wanted to. The other man was leisurely tasting his mouth, exploring, taking his time, as though Will was a country to be explored and conquered.
Then Hannibal's hands were on his jaw, cupping his face; it was as though Hannibal was drinking from his mouth, inhaling his very essence. Will could feel his knees going weak; in another few seconds, he would either have to sit down, or collapse into Hannibal's arms.
Will felt weak, disoriented, confused. What was he doing here?
Kissing Hannibal, that's what he was doing. Or, rather, Hannibal was kissing him. This was what he'd wanted; this was why he was here.
When they both broke away from the kiss, Will could only stand there, staring at Hannibal. They had gone too far now to back away; he was committed to moving forward, to finding out just what was in store for him, no matter what the consequences might be.
He was terrified of what might happen. He didn't want to experience the emotional pain of giving himself to a man who might not want him for more than a brief time; he couldn't open himself up to that kind of pain .It would always be there; it would stay with him for a lifetime.
But that was exactly what he was going to do. He already knew it.
Maybe that pain was inevitable. Maybe he would, eventually, regret what he was doing. But he couldn't stop himself; it had all gone past the point of no return. This was what he wanted, and if he tried to turn away from it now, then he would hate himself forever.
He couldn't face Hannibal's eyes; that gaze was far too intense. He turned around, taking one deep breath, then another. Was he doing the right thing? Or was he insane to even be here? He no longer knew whether this was right or wrong; his world was crumbling around him.
All he knew was that he wanted. That he needed.
"I know what you want, Will." Hannibal's voice was soft, quiet. "And I'll give it to you. All you have to do is ask. Nothing more than that, and you'll have all that you need."
He wanted to believe those words, had to believe them. He had no choice; he was already caught up in a web that he might never be able to escape from, one of his own making. He had reached out to entangle himself in those sticky threads; and now, he couldn't break free.
Will closed his eyes, the one word he needed to say slipping from his lips.
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