Thanks to Carmen for the beta read


Changing Heart
by elfin

[“How I’d love to get you on my couch….”]



Taking the morning paper from his desk as he picked up the telephone receiver, Lecter read the headline before speaking.

“Good morning.”

The voice on the other end was hesitant.  “Good morning, I’d like to speak to Dr Hannibal Lecter please.”

“Speaking.”

“My name’s Dr Alan Bloom, I work for the FBI, Behavioural Sciences in Quantico.  I was wondering if I could ask… for a favour.”

FBI.  The doctor couldn’t help but smile to himself.  “Of course, I’m always happy to help the FBI.”

“It’s more… of a personal favour.  I have a friend, an FBI Investigator, by the name of Will Graham.  He lectures here in Quantico in Forensic Psychiatry, but recently he became involved in a case, a serial killer.  He found the guilty man, saved a woman’s life, but not before he witnessed the wife bleed to death and the daughter hacked at like a Sunday roast.” 

The description was brutal, Lecter appreciated that. 

“A terrible thing,” he crooned softly.

“Yes.  Well, afterwards, Will spent some time in Bethesda Naval Hospital, on the psychiatric ward, and now he’s back at work.  Only… he has this gift – more like a curse – a photographic memory that records not just images but sounds and smells, every detail.  It’s difficult for him to forget what he sees and experiences.  He’s damn good at his job, but I’m worried that it’ll push him too hard one of these days.  He’s very… fragile, Dr Lecter.  I was hoping that the FBI could ask you to help out on the case he’s working right now, and that while you’re working with him, perhaps you could get him to open up a bit, to talk to you.”

Lecter considered what the man had asked him.  It would be like playing with fire, but this ‘Will’ sounded like he might provide some entertainment before dinner….

“It would be my pleasure to help.”  He reeled off his address, and heard the scrape of a pen as it was written down.  “Anytime, and I promise not to mention this conversation.”

“That would be… kind.  Thank you.”

“May I ask, what case is Investigator Graham currently working?”

“Of course, sorry.  It’s… an awful slang term, but they’re calling this guy ‘The Chesapeake Ripper’.”

Lecter was truly happy when he put down the receiver.  The man who was weeking to deny him his freedom – not that any FBI investigator would be smart enough to do so – would be in his hands.  Manipulation was an art, and Lecter was a fine artist.

*

Graham had rung later that morning to make an appointment.  Lecter had told him that he had patients until six, but that he would free up his evening.  Did he mind working in the evening?  No, he didn’t.  It would be his pleasure to help the FBI find this monster.

For the rest of the morning, Lecter had sat alone in his study and replayed the short conversation in his mind, hearing the tones and inflections of Will Graham’s voice.

He’d heard a weariness there.  Wary too, but not protective.  Lecter imagined a man in his forties, burned out.  He pictured a dark haired, tired looking man, sitting on a bed in a hospital ward wearing a white gown with nothing to cover his back, huddled up and rocking slowly back and forth.  It was a stereotypical image, but it amused him for a time.

Obviously their profile would have to be off in a couple of key aspects.  Lecter would have to keep him away from any educated conclusions until he’d had the time he needed to walk around inside Graham’s head and accentuate any nightmares that he might find there.

Later, he would find a recipe for liver and serve Graham’s insides up at a dinner party, perhaps for the good Dr Bloom and his wife, if he had one.  Did Graham have a wife? Lecter wondered.  He’d be able to find out very soon. 

He felt glad of this distraction, and of the challenge that lay ahead.

If the investigator turned out to be intelligent after all, maybe he’d scalp him while he was still alive, remove the top of his skull and fry his frontal lobe with a little garlic and butter.

Maybe he’d show Will Graham what real pain was.  He would at least have the satisfaction of knowing himself sane against Lecter’s own madness, for a few long moments before he died.

Hannibal smiled to himself, and left his study to lunch at a nearby Italian café.

*

When he opened the door to his visitor at just gone seven that evening, he realised how off the mark his imagination had been.

It was a rare occurrence and it disturbed him.  But not as much as his first unconscious reaction to Will Graham did. 

“Dr Lecter?”

“Investigator Graham, please, come in.  May I take your coat?”

Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he smiled.  “Please, call me Will.  It was very generous of you to offer your services.  Alan – that’s Dr Bloom – is a great admirer of your work.”

Lecter smiled what he hoped was somewhere between graceful acknowledgement of praise and acute embarrassment.  His mind was racing.

How could he have judged so wrongly?

Will was young – early thirties.  He was animated.  He had hair that smelt like apples and looked, in the dim hall lights, like spun gold.  But his eyes… they shone with the terrible knowledge of what he’d seen and the memories he couldn’t push away.  They were soulful, painfully expressive and burning with a hunger that Lecter knew instantly the young man didn’t understand and definitely couldn’t satisfy.

Hannibal wanted him.  And not as a main course at a dinner party.

He’d planned to take Will through to the study, to seat him in front of the desk and pick his initial theories to pieces, carefully, and without him noticing until much later on.

But he found himself leading the way into his lounge. 

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Please.  A beer, if you have one.”

Lecter nodded and left him for a moment. 

Taking the beer with a smile of thanks, Will sat silently for a minute.

"Why don't you tell me what you've seen so far?"  It was an open question.

"Okay."  Still, he hesitated.  "I didn't see the first two bodies.  Jack Crawford, Section Chief of Behavioural Sciences, called me in to give my opinion after the third victim was found."

Lecter waited.  He was a patient listener, and in the back of his mind he was busy committing every nuance of Will to memory.

"Internal organs were missing from the first two victims.  Liver in the first case, kidneys in the second."  Hannibal knew this to be true.  He'd eaten the liver with a wild berry sauce, the kidneys in a French recipe for a tart.  "But the third victim lost flesh from her back, and I don't understand that."

"What don't you understand?"

"He's keeping trophies.  Flesh just seems... an odd thing to take."

Lecter gave an inward sigh of relief.  Already on the wrong track, he could push the 'trophies' theory and steer the profile away from the truth.  Maybe he could keep this game for a while and enjoy it.

But rarely did he deny himself something he very much wanted.  Watching the young investigator trying to piece together a mental profile of the killer even as he talked was jolting.

Will continued to talk, with Lecter's encouragement.  He described the places where the bodies had been found, the wounds, the butchery, all in great detail.  He spoke of how the places had felt, how they had smelt.  He mentioned a sense of peace, that the killer was detached from the victims in a way, calm and precise.  But that in another, the killings felt personal.

His assessment, so much more than any usual FBI agent or cop would have given, was frighteningly accurate.  Lecter felt, at times, that Will was walking around in his head, looking at the world through his eyes, feeling it with his senses.  He itched to return the favour.

But he had to step carefully.  The mental instability that had put Will in the psychiatric ward at Bethesda was still close to the surface.  Lecter didn't want to scare him.  He wanted the young man to feel comfortable here, to feel that he could come around anytime to talk, to work, even just to drink and pretend for an hour or two that none of the horrors he'd described mattered.

It was obvious that Will possessed a photographic memory, but it went deeper than that.  Lecter heard pure empathy, Will speaking of the killer as if he understood something of his mentality.  It was exciting.  No one had ever known Hannibal before.

Only later, when Will had left and Hannibal was sitting up alone, staring into the empty fire grate and sipping red wine, did he realise what had been missing from the conversation.

Not once had Will mentioned his own feelings.  He'd been free with his interpretations of what he'd sensed, with ideas behind motive and reasoning.  But what he himself had felt about what he'd seen was still a mystery.  He hadn't judged.

As he'd shown his visitor out, in the early hours of the morning, he'd asked him gently, "Do you dream much, Will?"

For a moment, he didn't think he would get a reply.  Then the dark head had turned, and nodded once.

The man's honestly was breathtaking.

If he had to kill him, he would eat his heart.

*

Dr Lecter didn't sleep that night.  When the sun rose, he took a shower and made a pot of fresh coffee. 

He spent the morning shopping at his favourite small stores in a tiny district just outside of Baltimore.  During the afternoon he saw two patients who paid him handsomely to sit and listen to their problems.

On more than one occasion, he found his thoughts turning to Will.

He recognised the attraction within himself to a man very much like him in many ways.  He'd stayed away from personal involvement with all his clients, but Will didn't know he was a client.  He was going to be using Lecter as a sounding board.  He hoped that along the way he could get Will to open up to him a little about himself.

The woman lying on his couch asked him a question and he answered automatically, smoothly, as if she had his undivided attention.  She seemed satisfied enough.  Will would have noticed his distraction immediately he thought idly.

He was feeling like a teenager, giddy with the first stirrings of lust.  Of course, outwardly he remained professionally quiet and calm.

That evening, he had a date.

One of his more wealthy clients, Mason Verger, had invited him over for drinks.  Lecter had no illusions that Verger's intentions were anything but carnal.

He had considered taking his pleasure in the man.  But that was before Will Graham had turned up on his doorstep.  Now, he felt annoyance at Verger's presumptions.

Verger was not a nice man.  He'd assaulted and abused children that had been put in his father's care at the home the Verger family owned.

Mason been committed to Lecter's care thanks to money and a crooked judge.  Now it was time, Hannibal decided on the way over to the man's town house, to turn the tables.

When the door was opened, he was greeted by Mason wearing an expensive silk shirt and tight leather pants.  He led the doctor up to his apartment, turning back every two steps to smile at Lecter, working to put him at ease.

In the lounge, a bottle of champagne was on ice.  Mason picked up the two tall flutes in one hand and grabbed the bottle by the neck.  He popped the cork with his teeth and poured the bubbly.  But instead of giving one of the glasses to Hannibal, he placed them both on the mantelpiece.

“I don’t want to scare you away,” he whispered, hips swinging as he approached.

Lecter smiled, allowing the taller man to come close, to lay his arms on Lecter’s shoulders and clasp his hands behind the finely haired head.

Mason brushed his lips over the doctor’s mouth, and for a moment, Lecter imagined it was Will seducing him, coming to him willingly and confidently.  But his FBI beauty wasn’t going to be so easy, and Lecter was heartily glad.

He didn’t want Mason Verger.

“I have something I want to show you.”

Interesting.  “I’d love to see.”

Sliding his arms down, Mason linked his fingers through Lecter’s and led him to a room at the back of the house. 

From the ceiling, a noose hung down.  It was low enough for Mason to have the loop around his neck and keep his toes on the floor, but there was a chair nearby and the rope could be heightened by way of a pulley system.

Lecter looked up at the contraption.  He’d never enjoyed sex games.  He’d very rarely engaged in sexual activities with anyone.  But he knew one toy from another.

“How does it work, Mason?” he asked innocently.

Turning, surprise showing on his face, Mason replied, “What a strange psychiatrist you must be not to know that.”

Hannibal smiled then, a perfect smile.  “Show me.”

Releasing the doctor’s fingers, Mason laughed as he slid from his leather pants and pushed down his black briefs.

Hannibal glanced uninterestedly at the purple erection pointed up at him, watching Mason put his golden head through the noose and push off from the floor, swinging in an ungraceful curve across the open room.

Again, Lecter’s mind conjured up an image of Will, golden highlights in his hair picked out by the dancing flames of a log fire.  He hated Mason for bringing him out here tonight.

Taking a pill from a small silver box in his jacket pocket, Lecter held it out.  “Mason, would you like a popper?”

“Would I?!”  Stretching out a greedy hand, he took the pill, dropping it into his mouth, throwing his head back to swallow.

Mason swung further, hard cock bouncing at his blond groin, ass cheeks tightening as his arousal grew.  His feet kicked out and he smashed a mirror behind him, the glass shattering on impact, pieces spreading across the wooden floor.

An idea came to mind, and Lecter left the room for a moment, calling in Mason’s two friendly dogs.  Then he stooped to pick up a sharp shard of broken mirror.

Handing it to the swinging man, he suggested, politely, that Mason might like to cut off his face, and feed it to the dogs.

Laughing, taking the shard gladly, Mason began to cut.

With the first wet slap of flesh on wood, Lecter bent to encourage the dogs.  They padded forwards, lapping at the raw meat before one swallowed it hungrily.

Mason was digging the sharp edge of the glass into his cheek, blood tracing a hot path over his hand as well as down his throat.  A second piece of face dropped to the floor and the dogs growled at one another in competition for the food.

“I can still see your face, Mason,” Lecter told him, backing away to watch the more interesting show than the one Mason had initially planned.

The drugs kept the pain from the swinging man’s nerves, even when he dug the glass into one nostril and sliced off the end of his nose.

.
.

The copper stench of blood followed Lecter out into the street.  Gloves covering his hands, he closed the front door behind him and walked two streets before hailing a cab.

He’d broken Mason’s neck with the noose at the end, bored with the game.

But later, as he sat on his leather sofa sipping an expensive brandy and watching the flames of the fire, he heard the sirens of an ambulance and two police cars headed out toward the area of town in which Mason's house stood.

He wondered if they had been alerted to the man’s plight.  If so, was Will in one of the cars?  Would he be taken to the horrific scene?  Probably not, unlinked as Mason would be to the other killings of the ‘Chesapeake Ripper’.

But Lecter imagined that he might.  He’d see the mess of the dead man’s face, if indeed Verger had died, but there would be no remains on the floor.  The dogs had been licking up every drop.

It was accidental death, the cops would decide immediately.  A pervert playing a game that went beyond the sex and out into the realms of something only a few would ever understand.

Will would understand.  But before he would draw any conclusions, he would stand and take in the layout of the room, and the hanging man.  He’d paint onto the canvas of his mind enough detail to ensure his nightmares would be shrouded in red for many nights to come.

He’d ask himself the questions that wouldn’t even occur to the other dull cops.

Had he been alone?  Had the dogs been locked up at first, and released later?  Had Verger broken the mirror?  If so, how had he gotten hold of a piece of it?  Was the break of his neck an accident?  Could he possibly have done that?  Why would any man possibly decide to feed the flesh of his face to his pets?

Lecter found himself torn.  He would love to discuss the scene with Will, but at the same time, he was finding the idea of Will seeing the remains of Mason… distasteful.

He went to bed only an hour or so later, looking forward to the next day.  He didn’t give Mason Verger another thought until the morning.

*

Dr Lecter rose early.  He imagined he could still hear the ambulance sirens of the previous night.  Was Mason still alive?

The man was an atrocity.  After all the terrible, unthinkable things he'd done to those children, his family's wealth had managed to buy him out of a prison sentence and get him the best psychiatric help they could.  It had paid off, Lecter thought to himself with a smile.

But he didn't want to think about Mason Verger any more.  He was looking forward to a day with the FBI investigator who fascinated him so very much after just one visit.

Will was coming over at eleven to start work on the profile itself.  Everything they'd talked about during his first visit would form the basis of a very detailed profile of the killer.  It would also be accurate in every way but one.  And that one, single aspect would keep Will's suspicions away from the truth.

Just before eleven, Hannibal put a fresh pot of coffee on to brew and lit the fire in the lounge.  They would work for a time in the study, but later he would suggest they retire to the more comfortable room for a drink.  All work and no play, and all that.

Will was on time.  He had brought all the case files with him.  He looked tired.

“You look as if you’ve had a late night,” Lecter told him, leading the way into the ofice.

“The local police asked me to look at a crime scene.”  The doctor motioned for Will to sit.  “I didn’t get much sleep.”

He wanted to ask about it, but it was too soon.  “I’ve just put on a fresh pot of coffee….”

Will smiled, thankful, and nodded.  “That would be great, thanks.”

In the kitchen Lecter went through the motions of preparing two mugs of coffee while willing his body to calm itself.  The aroma of apples in Will’s shampoo, the gentle hint of spices in his after-shave, the underlying scent of him, all combined to tease Hannibal’s senses and test his self-control.

He wouldn’t take pleasure in Will’s death, he knew now.  Instead, he wanted from the young man what Mason had wanted from him last night.  Something in Will’s smile, in the windows of his eyes and his body language told Lecter that Will wasn’t unattainable.  But neither would he be easy. 

Lecter didn’t want to take his pleasure, he wanted Will to give it willingly and to enjoy it.

He’d tried to rape his first victim, but the man had fought, clawed with fingernails, punched with his fist until Lecter had turned it into a broken, fleshy mass with his teeth. 

He didn’t want to hurt Will.

Taking the coffee into the study, he put the two mugs onto the desk.  Will had already laid open the case files, but he was sitting back, face in his hands, his eyes closed.

Lecter felt sorrow.  What had he done by dragging Will into Verger’s sad fantasies?

Unable to stop himself, he dropped a sure hand onto the cotton-clad shoulder, feeling the leather of the holster and the silken weight of rich, expensive cotton beneath his fingers.  He squeezed once.

Will immediately looked up, and he smiled tiredly.  “I’m sorry.”

Lecter shook his head once.  “Don’t feel that you have to apologise.”  He indicated the mug as he walked around the desk to his chair.  “It’s a strong Colombian blend, it might help.”

Will leaned forward and picked up the mug with two hands.  “You’re very kind, thank you.”

Pulling his chair close to the desk, Lecter waved his hand over the open files.  “May I?”

“Of course.”

For a few minutes, Lecter scanned the lines of text briefly, and looked over the photographs of his own work.

Then he took up a fountain pen and some sheets of plain paper, which he spread over the surface of his desk.

“Shall we start at the beginning?” he suggested.

Will nodded, and started to talk between sips of coffee.

“White male.  Between thirty and forty, probably more toward forty.  Professional, calm, precise.  He’s utterly controlled, even when the wounds seem frenzied, they’re not.”

“Profession?”

“He has some anatomical knowledge.  The incisions are very precise, and he knows where to cut to take his chosen trophies.  On top of that, he must be keeping the body parts somewhere, or what would be the point of taking them?”

Lecter wrote as Graham spilled ideas and thoughts.

“What about motive?”

Will put the empty mug onto the desk.  “I keep thinking that it’s someone with a grudge.  But I can’t seem to get a lock on what it’s a grudge against.”

“Maybe profession and motive are connected?”

“Maybe….  A professional grudge?”

For two hours, they sat and exchanged ideas.  Lecter wrote up a profile of himself with just a couple of important inaccuracies.  Injecting humour into the proceedings wasn’t easy, but Lecter did it subtly.  He was starting to find that making Will smile, never mind laugh, wasn’t an easy thing.  But it had its own rewards.  When he chuckled, his ducked his head, as if embarrassed, or as if… he didn’t deserve to enjoy himself.

Finally, Lecter dropped his pen down and gathered up the papers.

“Why don’t I put on another pot of coffee and make some sandwiches?”

Will leaned back, hands behind his head, and stretched, popping his spine.  “That sounds wonderful.”

Lecter smiled.  “Here,” he handed the profile over.  “You might like to read them in the lounge.  It’s definitely more comfortable, and warmer.”

Taking the papers, slightly surprised by the doctor’s offer, Will rose.  “I don’t want to outstay my welcome, Dr Lecter.”

“I don’t think you could, Will.”  Hannibal reached for the empty mugs.  “But if you have somewhere to be….”

“No.”  His response was just a little too fast, and when Lecter glanced up, Will looked away.  “No, not at all.”

.
.

Hannibal put a large plate of turkey and cranberry sauce sandwiches down on to the coffee table.  Will was sitting on the sofa reading the profile.  He accepted his coffee gratefully.

“We’re looking for a doctor,” he told Lecter as he sat down in one of the armchairs.

Lecter hesitated for just a moment.

“Someone who’s just been struck off perhaps.  But he’s not proving anything to anyone but himself.  He’s not trying to say anything to anyone, so he won’t make a mistake and he won’t leave any clues.  He doesn’t want to be caught.”

Will went back to reading the profile.  Hannibal watched him, raking his maroon gaze over the soft hair, the pale skin, the blond hairs on his arms where his shirt sleeves were rolled up.  He wore a wedding band, but he hadn’t mentioned his wife, or any children.

Lecter didn’t broach the subject.  He didn’t want to.

When Will finished reading, he set down the papers and picked up his coffee, reaching for a sandwich.

“I should get this to Jack Crawford as soon as possible,” he told the doctor.  But he seemed loath to move.

It was a chance.  Lecter didn’t take many chances.  This, he thought, was worth it.

“Could I offer to cook you dinner tonight?” he asked casually.

Will looked across at him, smiling, and Hannibal felt his own heated reaction.  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.  It would be good to talk to you.  You’re a very interesting man, I’d consider it a pleasure getting to know you.”

Even the gentle blush that touched Will’s cheeks couldn’t throw water on Lecter’s excitement.

*

After cancelling his appointments for the early evening, Lecter sat for a time and tried to order his thoughts.

Mason Verger was somehow still alive, although he was in a coma and not expected to recover.

Lecter knew he was playing with fire.

Will could easily see something, either at a crime scene or in the house, which would switch him immediately to the right track.  He was already seeing through Lecter’s own eyes.  All he had to do was find a mirror.

He should kill the man, make it look like suicide.  He could tell them that Will had been upset by the scene the previous night at Verger’s house, that he’d been talking to Dr Lecter about it.  Will could be found with his wrists slit, somewhere apt.  Maybe at his home, to be found by his wife or son.

But he didn’t want to hurt Will.  Not like that, anyway.

To hear that beautiful voice cry out in sharp pain as his nipples were bitten would be a rare joy.  To hear him scream as his ass was split by the thick trunk of a dildo, or by the heavy weight of Hannibal’s cock….

Lecter sucked on his bottom lip, willing his body to cool and calm.

The doorbell disturbed his musings and he waited for a second ring before getting up from his chair.  He disliked the hope within him that it was his FBI Investigator, but when he opened the door and found a thin, grinning man with wire-framed glasses and a clipboard standing on his doorstep, he disliked the stranger even more.

“Excuse me,” the man started.  “We’re taking a census along your street, recording professions and salaries of those who live here.  If I could have a moment of your time I have a questionnaire that I’d appreciate you providing answers to.”

Dr Lecter nodded, and stepped back.  “Of course.  Please, do come in.”  He watched the man’s back as he passed and smiled as a shark would.  “I was just thinking about dinner….”

*

It amused and touched Hannibal to watch Will enjoying his food.

“Was Mr Crawford satisfied with the profile?” he asked, sipping the Chianti he’d chosen to accompany the meal.

Will nodded.  “He faxed it out to all the field offices while I was there.”

“Good.  I’m glad I could be of some help.”  Lecter let a moment pass.  “Do you mind if I ask you something about yourself?”

He hesitated, but lowering his fork, he shook his head.  “No, of course not.”

“You’re not an FBI Agent?  You have a specific title, Investigator.  Why is that?”  Lecter honestly didn’t know.  But he could have made an educated guess.

“I didn’t pass the FBI’s psychiatric screening.”

Surprise was easy to manufacture for a man who lived behind a mask.  “Really?”

But Will tilted his head and smiled an odd smile.  “You knew.”

This surprise was real.  “What makes you say that?”  Lecter kept his tone measured.

“Something in the way you look at me.  I don’t know what.”  He took another mouthful.  “Jack didn’t want to let me go.  He thinks I have some sort of… gift.  So he got me a job lecturing at Quantico in the Behavioural Sciences department.”

Lecter kept his questions light, as if they were passing thoughts, not carefully planned queries.  “But you’re working on this case?”

“Jack brought me in.”

“Because of this… gift he believes you have?”  Will nodded, and Lecter knew that to push any harder now would close down all of the man’s defences.  He noted Will’s empty plate and stood.  “Can I tempt you to desert?”

.
.

It was a pleasure to see Will relax at last.

With a couple of glasses of expensive red wine and a brandy-laced coffee inside him, he was sitting in one corner of the sofa nursing a glass of Glenlivet.  The bottle of whiskey had cost Lecter a thousand dollars two years ago, but Will wasn’t to know that, and Lecter didn’t want to tell him.

What would the liquor taste like in Will’s mouth?

“Tell me… when you think about these crimes, do you imagine yourself in the killer’s mind?”

There was a definite hesitation before the answered, “Yes.”

“How?”

A soft, drawn out breath.  “I… see things at the scene.  I remember everything; not just what it looked like, scents, sounds, colours….  It’s difficult to know how to explain it.”

Lecter sat forward.  “You’re a eideteker, Will.  A photographic memory and a highly empathic mind. It's a rare thing.  In your profession I imagine it's more of a curse than a gift."

Will nodded.  "Crawford doesn't see it that way."

"Because if he did, he'd have to feel guilty about using you."  Hannibal watched the young man take a drink of the expensive whiskey and savour the taste before swallowing.  The subtle movement of Will's throat caught his attention for a long moment, during which several images presented themselves to his imagination.

Lecter had to think for a second about what he'd been saying, but he didn't let the hesitation, or his interest, show through.

"It scares you, doesn't it?  Sickens you?"

The wine, the brandy and the whiskey had melted the ice in the blue eyes, and they were soft when they met Hannibal's.  "Yes."

"I understand that you can't switch it off, as people probably think you can. You find yourself almost becoming the person you're chasing."  Another nod.  "Do you worry that one day it'll take over?  You'll find a connection with someone you're hunting, one that terrifies you?"  He drew out the word 'terrifies', knowing that he was pushing just a little.

Without the alcohol in his system, Lecter decided, Will would have shut down instantly.  But he was warm, woozy and comfortable.  He felt safe, the doctor realised.  Irony at its best.

"I have dreams when I... am these people."

"Tell me one."  He added as an afterthought, "If you don't mind."

A shake of the head, and again Lecter's attention was torn from the conversation for a moment, this time by the reflection of the fire on the silk of Will's hair.

"Some of them are recurring.  In one of the frequent ones, I'm in a hospital, and I'm dressed in surgical gowns, with white latex gloves and a facemask. I... step out of these double doors into an empty corridor.  It stinks of chemicals.  And I look down at my hands.  I'm carrying a metal dish, and lying in the dish are two small human kidneys.  Then I start to hear screaming.  I drop the dish, and turn.  It clatters to the floor as I push open the doors I've just come out of." 

He took a deep breath. 

“It's an operating room, and on the table in the centre there's a man lying on his front.  He's still alive, fighting and screaming, but metal braces at his wrists and ankles are holding him in place.  Then I see that he's bleeding.  His back's cut open and I know it's his kidneys that are on the floor in the corridor."  He swallowed and glanced up again.  "That's when I wake up screaming.  Only, you don't do you?  You think you're screaming the place down, but it just comes out as a pathetic whimper."

Lecter shifted slightly in his chair.  His body and - unusually - his heart, had both reacted to the description in different ways.  Never had he felt so much for one man.

"I'm not going to promise I can rid you of these dreams, Will.  But I can offer you some advice."

Will took another drink and let his head fall against the high back of the sofa.  "I've had psychiatric help, Doctor." 

The strength of the bitterness in those words stoked Lecter's arousal considerably.  Despite everything, Will was a strong man, a fighter.  That was why he still did what he did, more to the point, that was how.

Hannibal shook his head, dismissing the suggestion.  "I'm not talking about that kind of help.  I'm talking about simple things.  Drink less coffee, cut it out entirely if you can still function.  Make sure you don't sleep in the dark.  Buy a night light, a small candle that's safe to burn without watching over it.  Or keep your bedroom curtains open and let in the moonlight.  Don't read crime reports before bed.  Watch something harmless on television, or read a gentle book." 

He was rewarded with a genuine smile. 

"Dreams, Will, are your subconscious mind ordering its thoughts.  If you know that there's something you're avoiding facing, it'll plague you when you're asleep.  Talk these things through with someone.  Bring them to the forefront of your mind."

"Easier said than done."

Smiling, Lecter said, "I didn't say it would be easy."

He turned the conversation along a less personal path then, asking Will about the students he taught and his lectures.  He told, in turn, of his love of the Baltimore Orchestra, but of his boredom with the members of the board, and his thoughts of moving abroad, of spending some time in Italy or Paris.

They talked until the early hours of the morning.

During a short, companionable silence around two thirty, Lecter listened while Will's breathing evened out.  Eyes closed, head against the back of the sofa, Will had fallen asleep.

Lecter watched him for a long time, admiring him openly now.  He was slim bordering on skinny, but he did have some muscles in proportion.  The sharp, defined collarbone seen through the open collar of his shirt, the long sweep of his neck, the curve of his lightly-stubbled jaw, full mouth, lips slightly parted in sleep....

Time to get sleeping beauty to bed.

Stretching his legs, Lecter moved to crouch by the sofa.  Cupping his hand around Will's shoulder, he murmured to him softly, "Come on, Will.  I have a very comfortable spare room."

Will snapped awake.  "Sorry!  God, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be sorry.  Stay here tonight."

For a moment, he thought Will was going to decline, to ask his host to call a cab.  But instead he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Completely."

"I don't want to put you out...."

"You won't."

A wonderfully shy hesitation, then, "Thank you."

"Do you need to call anyone?  Your wife?"

Not surprised that Lecter had asked, Will shook his head.  "She's out of town."

Crushing the urge to ask for details, Lecter showed Will upstairs.

He pointed out the bathroom and his bedroom before opening the door to the spare room.  He always kept the bed made up.

The decor was a deep red, with wooden panelling.  But the open curtains allowed the moonlight to flood in, giving the dark red a much lighter hue.

Will followed Lecter into the room and turned.  His eyes sought out the rare maroon gaze, and held it for a long time.

Lecter was the one to speak first, and when he thought back on it later, he realised he'd been challenged.  And for the first time in a long time, he had lost.

"Have a dreamless sleep, Will."

"Thank you."

.
.

Lecter cleared up downstairs, listening for movement upstairs.  He hummed to himself contentedly, enjoying the knowledge that Will was sleeping not far away.

Dr Bloom had been right in his determination that Will needed more help than he'd been given at Bethesda.  Well, maybe not more, but definitely a different kind of help.

He needed to talk and be listened to, rather than evaluated and judged.  He needed someone who could see through his defences and understand why they were in place.  He needed someone who would love him but not depend on him, who could offer a haven in which Will could blossom.  He had an incredible spirit, but it had been crushed by those around him and although it fought to free itself, it remained trapped.

But what that meant was that everything remained trapped right along with it.  Will was challenging Hannibal in order to challenge himself.  He was pushing himself, trying to free something.  Lecter wasn’t sure what.

Inside Will was a hysteria that had been building for years.  His stay in Bethesda was a silent scream, but not a release.

It would take something much more for that.

Having done the washing up, Lecter took himself into his study and checked his appointment book for the next day.  Reading down the list, he selected three and pulled their files from his filing cabinet.  Sitting back, he read his own notes on each patient.

Two hours later, he selected one.

Stretching, he put the files away again and glanced at the clock.  Almost five.

Switching off the lights, he started upstairs, smiling to think about Will sleeping soundly.  As he passed the closed door of the spare bedroom, he leaned close, listening.

“You think you're screaming the place down, but it just comes out as a pathetic whimper."

Quickly, he opened the door and stepped in to the moonlit room.  Will was still asleep, he thought, but he was moving restlessly on the bed and making soft grunting sounds.

Lecter sat on the edge of the large bed, the mattress dipping.

“Will?”  Leaning over, he hesitated to touch the sleeping man.  “Will?  Wake up.”  The grunts became the whimpers of dream screams and Hannibal stroked his hand as gently as he could along Will’s bare arm where it lay over the sheets.

He woke suddenly, gasping for breath, looking up at Lecter before glancing around.

“What was it, Will?”

Reaching up, Will wiped tears from his eyes with his fingers.  “Sorry.  Did I….”  He caught another breath.  “Did I wake you?”

“No, no I’ve been doing some work downstairs.  I was going to bed.”  Belatedly, he lifted his hand from Will’s arm.  “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”  But Lecter did get a smile. “Too much coffee.”

Hannibal smiled and rose.  “Goodnight, Will.”

Lecter went to his room, and heard footsteps cross the hall a couple of minutes later.  Will went to the toilet and then back to bed.  But for a moment, Hannibal imagined that his bedroom door might open and his visitor might step inside.

He needed to push a lot harder, but in a way that would bring Will to him, not push him away.

*

Louie Parks had suffered from the desire to kill for a long time.  He’d see men in the street and have to have them.  When they wouldn’t co-operate, he’d have to force them.  Usually they’d die.

Lecter had chosen him over the others for two reasons.  This was his first appointment with the doctor.  It would be easy to say that he hadn’t turned up.

The second reason wasn’t sitting as easily with him.  He’d imagined what would happen if Louie spotted Will in the street.

The appointment was at eleven.  His next appointment wasn’t until three.  It gave him plenty of time.

Parks was punctual.  He was friendly and trusting.  Even when Lecter covered his mouth with a chloroform-soaked cloth and held his collapsing body against him in an intimate embrace. 

In the seconds it took for Louie to fall unconscious, Hannibal imagined holding Will so close.  If he had to kill his FBI Investigator, he wanted it to be painless and intimate.  He wanted to hold the slim body close against his and feel Will’s blood run over his hands.

But for the first time, he would prefer to feel semen on his fingers, and he wanted to feel a warm, living body wrapped around him willingly and happily.

He hoped that Parks’ death would facilitate that.

*

Jack Crawford met Graham just outside the house where Louie Parks lived.

“It’s a bad one, Will,” he told his friend as Will got out of the car.

“When isn’t it?”  He pulled his coat tighter around him and watched his breath in the chilled air.  Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he stepped around Crawford and entered the house. 

*

It was later than Lecter had expected when the bell rang. 

He already had the living room prepared, the log fire lit in the grate.  But he waited, finding some small, twisted pleasure imagining Will standing on the doorstep in the mess he was sure to be in.

After five rings, he crossed the hall and opened the door.

Will was far from hysterical.  His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his long winter coat, gun hanging in the holster at his side, his eyes hard and cold.

"Can I come in?" he asked, still unsure of his welcome.

Lecter stepped back.  "Of course."

Closing the door, he watched Will cautiously step into the wooden floored hall.  "There's been another killing," he started, and shivered.

"Why you don't come through?"

Another hesitation, and then a nod, and he followed Lecter through into the lounge, keeping his coat wrapped closely around him.

Settled on the sofa, Lecter in the armchair, Will stared at the flames dancing in the grate.

"Will?"

"The scene... it was wrong somehow."

It seemed a strange way of describing a dead, naked man who’d had his kidneys and liver removed, the base of his scrotum sliced off and his testicles torn out.

"Wrong?"

"It felt as if... as if it was personal.  But not personal between the killer and the victim.  Personal between the killer... and me."

Hannibal felt a curl of dread spiralling down through the pit of his stomach.  He had a little trouble keeping his tone steady.  "What makes you say that?"

"There were photographs on the wall of the bedroom where we found him.  They were of men.  Jack ran them through the system this afternoon.  All of them are listed as missing persons.  This guy was a killer.  The last photograph tacked to the wall was of me."

Lecter knew this.  He'd cut it from a newspaper and taken it with him, put it with the others.  He stayed quiet, hoping Will would continue of his own accord.

"I think that the man who killed him put that photograph of me up there.  It didn't fit somehow, but I don't know how."  Leaning forward, he took his hands from his pockets and linked his fingers.

"Do you think this is the same killer you've been hunting?"

"Yes.  There were... mutilations.  Organs that were missing.  I was thinking about our profile," Lecter nodded, "we said that this man has a grudge against something, but we didn't know what.  I don't think that's right.  I think he's ridding the world of people that repulse him."

Where there should have been fear of discovery and the planning of action to dispose of this investigator who was so close to his goal, there was only sharp arousal.  Will's intelligence, his insight, was breathtaking.

"Is that why he's doing this, is that his need?  Or is it simply incidental?"

Will considered the question, eyes trailing over Hannibal's face for a long moment.  "It's incidental.  It's not a need he has.  He's different from other serial killers.  He's absolutely calm.  He lives like any other man, you could have a conversation with him at a party and never know." 

Lecter listened, fascinated despite himself, as Will's introspection created an accurate profile from his own imagination.  "He doesn't see these murders as crimes.  He enjoys killing but he doesn't need to.  It's not an urge, it's a..." he searched for the word, "a career.  There'll be no pattern because he isn't following one.  He could go weeks, months without killing.  But for some reason, he's picking up the pace."  Rubbing his temple, he sighed.  "I just don't know why"

"That's a very professional profile there, Will.  You can't expect yourself to know everything about him."  Inwardly, he smiled to himself.  There was a warmth in his belly, melting the dread.  "You're not him."

Will's head snapped up, his face crumpled for a moment and Lecter thought that the tears he'd expected from the outset would finally flow.  But Will brutally quashed the emotion, and his features blanked once more.

With a private sigh, Lecter rose.  "Let me get you a drink."  Will nodded briefly.

By the time Lecter returned, a mug of honey tea in his hand, Will had taken his coat and holster off and was slightly more relaxed in the corner of the sofa.  Handing the mug to his visitor, reassuring him that the sweet-smelling drink would do him no harm, Lecter sat down in the other corner instead of returning to his armchair.

"I'm sorry.  I wanted to talk to you, to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

Lecter smiled gently.  "You're not losing your mind.  But with an imagination like yours, it must be very difficult not to lose yourself."

Will nodded.  "I don't know who I am.  I've spent years in the minds of rapists and killers.  I think... I got lost somewhere along the way."

It was heartbreakingly honest.  Hannibal simply wanted to reach for him, reassure him that William Graham was more unique than he'd ever know.  Affection wasn’t a feeling that he was used to, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

His body was screaming to be closer, to touch.  He sat forward just a little, tilting his head and pitching his voice to a gentle tone.

“Do you think it’s time to find yourself again?”

Will met the unusual gaze, holding it for a time.  Lecter felt like someone was walking around in his mind, but he didn’t break the contact.  He started to reach out.  Caught himself.

Smiling gently, Will asked, “Do you want me?”

It took a moment to get over the surprise of the direct question.  But he owed directness in return. 

“Yes.  Very much.”

Will broke the lock of their eyes, glancing away and nodding to himself.  But he made no attempt to move.

Slowly, Lecter shifted to the centre of the sofa.  Never in his life had he felt this exquisite excitement, a mix of arousal and hunger, desire tempered with… not love.  Anything but that.

This time, when he reached out, he didn’t stop until his fingers touched the silky hair at Will’s temple.  Soft blue eyes followed his every move, as if expecting to be hurt. 

Nothing was further from Hannibal’s mind.  He leaned across.  "You're a remarkable man, Will."  And tentatively, their lips touched, parted, Lecter's tongue flicking out for a first taste.

Will’s hand came to rest on Lecter’s arm, on the cotton of his shirt.  It wasn’t enough.  He wanted skin on skin.  He wanted to feel and be felt.  He wanted things he hadn’t thought about for a long time until this rare, vulnerable man had arrived on his doorstep.

“Will….”

The hand on Lecter’s arm stroked up, following the curve of the rippling muscles, over the wide shoulder, coming to rest around the back of Lecter’s neck.  When it settled, Will deepened the kiss.

Lecter was a little scared, holding back from taking Will into a crushing embrace.  But lips were moving over his own, a powerful tongue licking over his, tracing the layout of his palette.  He couldn’t resist wrapping one arm around the slim form and moving them closer.

As he did, Will’s arms came up around his neck.  There came an urgency into the kiss, a hunger Lecter realised they shared.  This first time would be about sating that hunger.  Lecter didn’t let himself think about afterwards.  He didn’t want to think about the emotions he was feeling right at that moment.

He pressed his palm against the small of Will’s back, spreading his fingers, dipping into the waistband of his black trousers.  With his free hand he started to unbutton the snowy white shirt, trailing fingertips over skin as it was exposed.

Will moaned into his mouth, pressing forward.  His erection was prominent through the soft material of his pants. 

Lecter lifted Will’s right leg over his own two, letting the young man feel the answering response of his own body.  At the same time, he parted the two sides of the shirt before he even realised that Will’s fingers were tracing the light hairs on his own chest.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so little control over a situation.  The trust he was putting in Will, the trust the other was showing him, was something Lecter just wasn’t used to.  He didn’t allow himself to get out of control.  It was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

Yet Will pushed him back against the sofa, taking over, taking control.  Before Lecter could react, Will straddled his legs, kneeling up on the sofa over him.

Only then did Will pull back from the kiss, leaning away slightly.  His blue eyes were alive, dancing, while Lecter knew there was a warning in his own maroon gaze.  Silently, Will questioned it, expression creasing for just a moment.

Lecter didn’t want him to run, to think that this wasn’t welcome, and before Will could make a decision, Hannibal slid both hands up to cup around either side of his neck.  He stroked the smooth skin over the top of Will’s spine with his fingertips, stroked his thumbs slowly up and down his throat.

The gesture bordered on threatening, but Will leaned into it and later Lecter would remember that with concern.

Drawing him down, Lecter kissed him again.

Since that first night they’d met, this had been burning between them.  Now released, they reached for one another like desperate teenagers.  Will’s unbuttoning of Lecter’s shirt continued down to his fly, unzipping it.  Gently, he reached inside Lecter’s pants, lifting the heavy, erect cock and dark, taut balls out of the confines of his underwear.

Hannibal dropped his head back to the sofa, breaking the kiss to gasp at the bold and intimate contact.  It was a few seconds before he collected his scattered thoughts and returned the favour, leaving one hand cupping Will’s neck while the other took a gentle hold of his genitals.

Leaning forward to reclaim the kiss, Will brought them into closer contact. 

The silky skin of their erections brushed, the steely rods bouncing together.  Both men shuddered, moaned into each other’s mouths. 

As they pressed against one another their tongues clashed as closely as their cocks.  The friction alone would have been enough, but Lecter wanted more for Will the first time.

Ending the kiss, he moved his lips close to Will’s ear.  “Stand up.”  The murmur of desperate denial seared Hannibal’s heart.  “It’s okay, Will.  I want this to be good for you.”

Following Will to his feet, Lecter toed off his shoes, stepped out of his trousers and underwear and shrugged off his shirt.  Innately comfortable with his nudity, he watched Will do the same but leave his open shirt on.  Lecter smiled to himself at the small vulnerability, and reached to take Will’s hand in an unusually sweet gesture.  He led him over to the thick red rug in front of the burning fire. 

Kneeling, Lecter pulled Will down to him.

They sat opposite one another, slowly moving together.  Lecter’s fingers combed into Will’s hair while his other arm snaked around his waist, under his shirt, making no effort to remove it.

Will inched forwards, nudging Hannibal’s knees apart with one of his own, being careful not to hurt him.  Starting on the wide shoulders, Will stroked his hands over his arms, across to his chest, brushing over hard nipples.  Lecter shivered, but Will didn’t stop.  He moved down, over the flat stomach into wiry pubic hair.

Lecter groaned, low and rough, as a sure hand wrapped into a fist around his aching cock.  He mirrored the contact with only slight differences.

Hannibal alternated between a tight stroking of Will’s cock and a firm but gentle grip of the light testicles.

Grabbing the back of Hannibal’s head with his other hand, Will pulled him close and kissed him hard.  Lecter was surprised, and for a moment, a needful streak of violence fought for release.  But he quashed it and kept his touches arousing.  He eased, but didn’t break the kiss.

A moment later, Will jerked against him and came, coating Hannibal’s hand.

Lecter moaned softly, pulled back to look at the glorious mess, and climaxed as Will’s thumb brushed over the crown of his cock.

.
.

In the aftermath of orgasm, Lecter gathered Will up against him and held him, feeling a rare, acute need for reassurance.

Will kissed him, his face and head, murmuring words Lecter couldn’t hear.

They found a comfortable position, sitting up against one another, Will with his back pressed into Lecter’s front, the strong arms wrapped around him, his head dropped onto his lover’s wide shoulder.

It was pure, unadulterated affection, and as much as it frightened Lecter, he needed to hold Will close.  Like this, he could almost forget who he was.  Was Will feeling the same?

“Do you ever forget?” he asked quietly.

“Do I forget what I know?  What I am?”  He shook his head.  “Never.  But sometimes… I want to so badly….”  He didn’t finish.  Lecter knew, though.  Death was the only true release open to Will.  A couple of days ago, he’d have been more than happy to grant him his wish.

Now, he couldn’t imagine causing this man any pain beyond that shared between them in passion.  He wanted to hear Will screaming his name, but only when prompted by the desperate need for climax. 

He nuzzled the dark, silky hair softly, breathing in the scent of shampoo over the heavy aroma of sex that marked them both.

How dangerous was this that had found him?

*

They retired to bed not long after, and woke with the sunrise. 

After separate, short trips to the bathroom, they lay in bed, Will on top, and moved against one another until the slow burn of morning arousal turned into the fire of orgasm.

Hannibal woke again a couple of house later.  Will was lying over him, arms draped around him, one leg curled over Lecter’s right thigh.  He stroked the small of the slim back, fingertips tracing over the small bumps of Will’s spine, until the young man shifted and woke.

It was gone ten.  Real life beckoned them like a skeletal finger.

Reluctantly, they rose, showered and dressed.

At the front door, they stood together like strangers.

“I enjoyed last night, Will,” Lecter told him truthfully.  “But you have your wife, and if you need it to have been just one night….”

Will shook his head, lifting his hand to Hannibal’s shoulder.  “No.  My wife and I… it doesn’t matter.  I want this.  If it’s okay with you….”

Lecter nodded.  “Later, perhaps?  You could bring any new information to me and we rework our profile.”

With a smile, Will agreed. 

*

Fastening his tie in the mirror, Lecter caught himself yawning. 

Four afternoons, evenings, nights passed in bliss.  The profile of the Chesapeake Ripper had seen very few updates, and indeed, after three, possibly four crimes committed in the space of a couple of days, the killer seemed to have paused.

He had neither the energy nor the inclination.

Tonight, Lecter was going to Symphony Orchestra’s Christmas concert.  And he was going alone.

He’d thought about asking Will, almost had during the previous evening’s dinner.

But something had stopped him.  He wasn’t sure that to involve Will in his social life was a good idea.  In the back of his mind, there was always the dark possibility that he’d have to either kill his lover, or leave the country.

He was far too attached to Will now, just sharing his body.  To share his life too would be another tie that bound them.

.
.

By the end of the concert, Lecter was glad he hadn’t invited Will to join him.

There was something he had to do, for his own sake, for the sake of the classical music-loving audience, and for the symphony board, of which he was a member.

The third flute player had to go.

His playing was an insult.

Lecter waited in his car until he saw the bald man leave, and followed him to his home.  He kept a small bottle of chloroform in his car, and poured a little on to his plain white handkerchief before ringing the doorbell.

Rendering his victims unconscious gave him the time he needed to prepare.  The average kitchen usually provided him all the items he required.

By the time the musician regained consciousness, he was lying on the floor of his own lounge, his feet and hands tied, a piece of thick black tape over his mouth.  He was naked.

Lecter watched wild, terrified eyes follow his moves around the room.  He’d laid out all the items he needed on the coffee table.  They could be clearly seen, up through the glass, from where the man lay, bound on the carpet.

“You should have learnt your craft better,” Hannibal told him as he picked up a narrow, sharp knife.

Kneeling beside the squirming man, he imagined, for a moment, Will lying in the same position.  He wondered if there would be the same terror in the beautiful blue eyes, or would it be different?  Would there be accusation?  Betrayal?  Would Will welcome death?

He put the thoughts from his mind and pieced the musician’s skin with the tip of the knife, just at the base of his rib cage.

He tried to scream, but his sealed lips meant that the only sound was a high squeal from his throat.  It was a sound Lecter knew well.  He liked it.  Ensuring he cut only skin, he draw the tip of the blade downwards, slicing his victim open all the way to the root of his flaccid penis.

The sound changed slightly in pitch, and the man’s movements became more determined.

Taking up the long, slim, boning knife, Lecter thrust it through the man’s abdomen, narrowly missing his spine, driving the razor-sharp tip into the floor under him.

Blood was seeping from the long wound and starting to flow from the single stab. 

Picking up his carving knife again, Lecter opened up his victim, barely noticing when he passed out from shock. 

The doctor worked methodically, thinking about Will, about how it would be to kill him, to feel his blood on his hands, to hold him more intimately than he did even in the throes of orgasm. 

Would sliding his fingers into the warm flesh feel the same as it had two nights ago, when he’d pushed first his index finger, and then the two either side of it deep into his lover’s rectum?

It would be slicker, certainly, and tomorrow, he determined, he would do the same, only after he’d come inside Will’s ass as he had done the previous night.  The semen would add that sticky, warm wetness that was otherwise lacking.

He didn’t want to kill his lover, because killing him would mean losing him.  In his time he’d met men – like the determined Mason Verger – who liked pain.  They had told him stories about inflicting pain on themselves and others to reach arousal.  Lecter had listened with interest, although he’d never found it particularly erotic.

It wasn’t the thought of hurting Will that was turning him on now, more the idea of Will grasping at him, crying out his name, begging him to stop, all in the heat of desire.

Picking out his prize from the bloody mess that had once been a symphony flautist, he bagged the man’s liver and cleaned up carefully before leaving the apartment.

*

The week between Christmas Day and New Years had been unpleasant. 

Will had spent Christmas Eve with Hannibal at his townhouse.  Lecter had cooked a sumptuous meal, all of the ingredients having been bought from the market that morning.  They’d exchanged small gifts, sampled a very expensive brandy that Hannibal had imported only the previous week, and finally made love in front of the fire, as had become their favourite pastime.

But Will hadn’t been able to stay the night.  He and his wife and son were expected at her parents for the holiday.  Dr Bloom had apparently talked Will into going.  Lecter had seriously considered paying the meddling doctor a visit.  But he understood Will’s attachment to the annoying man, and had hitherto resisted the temptation.

For six days they didn’t seen one another, having not been apart for more than forty-eight hours in the last seven weeks.

On January 2nd, at ten in the morning, while Lecter was with a patient, Will arrived on his doorstep.

The rest of the hour with the inimitable Anthony Jenkins, was unbearable.  He was a patient whose addiction to sucking other men’s cocks, usually prostitutes, but policemen too if they could be persuaded as he lounged in jail, often amused Lecter.  But not today.

As soon as Hannibal had seen the man out, Will jumped him.

Lecter responded to the desperate kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover and leading the way through to the study. 

They undressed hurriedly, not a word passing between them.  With a sweep of his arm, the usually immaculate desk was cleared.  Items clattered and crashed to the carpet, but neither man paid any attention.

Keeping his open shirt on as usual, Will let himself be pushed back onto the wooden surface and lifted his legs, parting them, planting his heels on the edge of the desk.

Coating his index and middle fingers in saliva, Hannibal pushed them roughly into Will’s ass, turning and scissoring them, riding each cry and desperate plea not to stop.  A minute or so of rough preparation, and he thrust his dry cock hard into Will’s body.

The scream of pain and satisfaction aroused Lecter beyond his control, and his thrusts became violent.  He leaned down, grasped Will’s shoulder with one crushing hand and his hip with the other.  He ignored his lover’s straining cock, but locked their gazes. 

The blue eyes were wet with unshed tears, but Will never once asked him to stop. 

His own maroon irises were brightened to red with his arousal.

Will’s hands clung to Lecter’s arms and, as he dropped back to the desk, he clawed his nails over the taut muscles.

Hannibal gave a deep, rough yell and came hard, bathing Will’s insides with his semen.  For a few more long seconds he kept moving, stimulating his over-sensitised penis, causing sparks of pleasure so close to pain he couldn’t tell the difference. 

When he finally stilled, he knew Will hadn’t found his own release.  He knew he’d been too brutal and although his lover had needed it, he wasn’t about to get off on it.

Slowly, he eased out of Will’s sore ass.

“My dearest Will, how much I’ve missed you….”  He helped Will up off the desktop and eased him to the carpet.  “Easy now, I want to make you feel as good as I do, to show you how much what you just did means to me.”

Will couldn’t speak then.  He just nodded, and lay back.

Not wanting to give the stretched sphincter time to recover, Hannibal replaced his erection almost immediately with his fingers.  The hot channel was slick and wet with his semen.  His spent cock twitched as he leaned down and took his lover’s semi-erect penis into his mouth.

Will moaned softly, lifting his head to watch himself being swallowed to the hilt.  He opened his legs further, bending his knees slightly, and was rewarded with a third and forth finger inside him. 

He hardened quickly in the doctor’s skilled mouth, and as the fingers slid in and out of him, agonisingly slowly, it didn’t take long before he was coming, spilling himself down Lecter’s throat, his anus tightening around the man’s hand.

When he finally opened his eyes again, Lecter was kneeling next to him, grinning.

“Welcome home, Will.”  With an answering smile, Will sat up, accepting his lover’s hand in his own.  “A shower perhaps, then some lunch?”

“Perfect.”

*

The twice-annual, symphony board dinner parties were usually the dullest nights of Hannibal’s year.

This year, Lecter had found a way of amusing himself.  The morning of the dinner, he took the flautist’s liver from the freezer and defrosted it on a plate in the kitchen.

He found a recipe idea in ‘Larousse Gastronomique’, a French cookbook he’d picked up on his travels and had, from time to time, flicked through, making notes as he’d read.

Above this simple recipe, at sometime in the past, he’d written ‘Sweetbreads’.  It was a good idea, and he made some that afternoon, preferring to bake his own.  The house smelt of sweet, fresh bread by the time he’d finished. 

He showered early and changed before collecting the ingredients he needed for ‘Ris de veau’. 

Chopping the liver into small, delicate medallions, he fried them in a little garlic, and added a rich tomato puree.  Sampling the result, he found the taste to be delicious.  The board members would appreciate such care taken in cooking.

.
.

Despite his little amusement and the fine wines he’d served, Lecter spent the evening only half-listening to the conversation.

More and more his thoughts were turning to travelling, to leaving Baltimore for somewhere more cultured.  But he didn’t want to go alone, he wanted Will at his side, and as yet he hadn’t found the right time to broach the subject.

He hadn’t killed since the flautist, and they’d had no new evidence to add to their profile for a couple of weeks.  The FBI was no closer to finding the Chesapeake Ripper than they were almost two months ago when the investigation had started.

He’d successfully distracted the one man who might have had a chance of catching him.  No one else had the intelligence or the insight.  If he vanished now, the case would eventually be abandoned.

His guests left relatively early, and Lecter was still musing half an hour later, when the doorbell interrupted his clearing up.

Leaving the dirty dishes on the table, he went to answer the door.

He couldn’t help his happy smile when he saw who his visitor was.  “Will, what an unexpected pleasure.”  Stepping back to let the young man into the house, they shared a long kiss as Will passed.

As he shrugged off his coat, Will smelt the warm aroma of cooking, and the faint echoes of perfumes and aftershaves.  “Am I disturbing something?”

Lecter shook his head once.  “No, Will.  The ladies and gentlemen of the board have left.”

Surprised, Will glanced at his watch.  “I’m sorry it’s so late….  If you’re tired….”  When he met Lecter’s questioning eyes, there was a twinkle in his own.

Only then did the doctor realise that Will was playing with him.  “You…!”

Wrapping strong arms around him, Lecter kissed Will’s mouth, pushing his tongue between the welcoming lips, while all the time moving them into a room they very rarely went into.

Will just let himself be led, not realising where they were until the soft velour of the doctor’s couch met the backs of his legs, the firm cushion of the expensive chaise-longue giving just a little as he walked into it.

He broke the kiss and looked down, smiling when he asked, “How long have you been waiting to get me on your couch?”

Lecter grinned.  “This is not what I usually do with my patients, Will.”  Easing his lover down, he delighted in Will’s laugh, in the joy dancing in the blue eyes.  He maintained the predatory smile on his face, claiming his lover’s mouth once again as he lay atop of the slim body.

Will’s arms went around him, hands flattening on the strong back, caressing in long, firm strokes.

“Ah, my Will….”  Hannibal licked the full curve of Will’s lips, sucking on first the top, then the bottom one before moving on, leaving a trail of kisses over the stubbled jaw.

Will leaned his head back and to one side, one of his hands coming up to play the doctor’s short ponytail through his fingers.  “I like this,” he murmured softly.

“Good….”  Lecter unfastened the top two buttons of Will’s shirt and licked a path along the pronounced collarbone, nibbling ever so gently on the bone through the smooth skin.  He knew he was in too deep now, knew that he was no longer playing with fire, he was standing in the flames. 

Reaching between them, he unfastened the other buttons, meeting the open, bright blue gaze as the other man just watched him.

And then, Will whispered what Hannibal had thought never to hear, and had been glad of it.  “I love you.”

Lecter stopped, wanting suddenly to deny all this, all he felt for Will, all he’d imagined.  But he knew it would be a lie, one that would tear them both apart.  Why else, if he didn’t return the feared emotion, was he planning on asking Will to leave with him?

“Will….”

A finger pressed against Lecter’s lips.  “You don’t have to say it.  I don’t need to hear it.”

It was ridiculous, Lecter thought then.  Of the two of them, Will was the one for whom the words would mean everything.  His wife no longer said them to him.  Maybe his son did, but that was different.

“You can’t know how much or how deeply you’ve touched me, Will.”

Smiling, lifting his head, Will kissed him, silencing him for now.

They undressed one another, taking their time.  Will’s holster and gun, ever in the way of their love-making, was tossed to the floor with the rest of his clothes, save his shirt.

Naked, Lecter pushed himself up on one hand and lifted Will’s left leg with the other.  Arousal and trust provided the preparation he needed, and there was very little pain when Lecter pressed into his lover, slowly and gently.

His thrusts were to a rhythm they set together, one that stilled as they kissed and sped up as their shared orgasm approached.

In the afterglow, they lay together, squashed side by side, not talking. 

Both had much to say.  Hannibal wanted to bring up the idea of a couple of months in Paris, maybe even longer.  Will wanted to tell his lover that he was going to leave his wife.

In time.  They had all night.

“Let me get us a drink,” Lecter said after a long time, rising from the couch.

“Thank you.”  Will rose too, pulling on his underwear and pants, and picking up his holster.  He left his shirt hanging open on his shoulders and padded out of the room, fastening his trousers as he went.

Crossing the hall, he walked into Lecter’s study.  Over the weeks, he’d started to treat the townhouse as his own home, encouraged by Hannibal.  He hadn’t spoken of his affair to anyone, not wanting to share, but over the Christmas holiday, he’d examined his feelings for the doctor and realised how strong they were.

He wandered idly along Hannibal’s bookshelves, fingers trailing along the spines of the books.  One was slightly out, as if recently looked at.  There was a red bookmark peeking out of the top.

He could hear Hannibal in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee laced with a little brandy.  It was fast becoming one of Will’s favourite drinks.  Absently, he pulled out the book and opened it at the marked page.

It was a French cookery book, and on the page that he’d opened, above one of the shorter recipes for calf liver pate, was written the word, ‘Sweetbreads’.

Something slammed through the warmth surrounding him into his brain; a terrible knowledge that he immediately, brutally dismissed.

It didn’t mean anything.  It couldn’t.

But he knew it did, and he knew what that was.

“Will, there’s something I need to ask you….”  Lecter stepped into his study carrying two mugs of coffee.  When he saw what Will was holding, he stopped speaking.  “Will?”

His lover had turned, the book left on the shelf behind him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”  His voice held steady, and his expression was almost a disbelieving smile.  He wasn’t sure if he believed his own mind, despite it never having let him down before.  “You’re the man we’ve been profiling, the man I’ve been hunting.”  He wanted to laugh, hysteria touching the edges of his mind.

Crossing the carpet, Lecter calmly placed the mugs on to the desk.  He looked at Will for a few long moments before nodding.  He wouldn’t insult his lover by lying.  “Yes, Will.  It’s me.”

Will shook his head once, slowly.  “Cooking,” he said to himself.  “You don’t keep the body parts, you cook them.”  He took a deep, shuddering breath.  The hysteria vanished as fast as it came to be replaced by grief.  “What did you cook for me?”

“Don’t do this, Will….”  Lecter took a step forward. 

Immediately, Will pulled his gun from the holster hanging off his left shoulder.  He palmed it but didn’t aim it, nor did he release the safety.

“Did you plan on killing me?” he asked, anger seeping into his grief-stricken voice.  “Which part of me would you have eaten?”

“At the beginning I was going to kill you if you got too close.  But Will, I meant every word I’ve said to you.”

“Every lie, you mean!”

“No.  I never lied to you.  I just didn’t tell you.”  Lecter forced himself to stay calm.  Tears were blossoming in Will’s eyes, and the doctor knew his lover wouldn’t be able to fire on him.  “I was going to ask you to come away with me.”

“Why did you kill those people?”

“The world’s a better place without them in it, Will, believe me.”

“Tell me why!”

“You know why.  You know me.  You know me like no one else ever has or ever will.”

Turning slightly, swiping at his eyes with the back of his left hand, Will tried to make some sense of what he now knew. 

“I would never have hurt you, not after everything we’ve shared.”

“What do you think you’ve done?”  But his anger was swiftly turning inwards.  “Why didn’t I know?  This is what I do, this is what I am….”

Lecter’s voice was quiet.  “You were blinded, Will.”

“Oh god….”  His breath caught on a sob and he hiccuped.

Hannibal wanted so much to reach for him, to take the gun from his hand and just hold him until he believed the words,

“I love you, Will.  I didn’t believe it, wouldn’t admit it, but I do.”

But Will shook his head.  “How could you possibly expect me to believe that?!  You’ve killed at least three people since we’ve known one another.  If you loved me, you’d have stopped.”

“You know it’s not that easy, Will.”

“Why?”  He was paying no heed now to the tears on his cheeks, his breaking heart.  “You used me like Crawford does!  You fucked my mind and you fucked my ass.”

“You know that’s not true.”  He stepped forward, and heard the safety clicked off.  Pain, death, didn’t scare him.  Pain was simply a matter of perception.  Death was an ending to it all, a blank slate with no feeling.  Losing Will was the worst thing he could imagine.  “Trust yourself, Will!  You know how you feel.  You know it’s mutual.”

“I can’t trust myself.  I should have known and I didn’t.”  A terrible calm came over him.  His shoulders dropped, his eyes dulled.  “Which part of me did you plan on eating?”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“Which part of me….”

“You have to listen to me….”

“Which part of me did you plan on eating?”  He shouted the question again.

Lecter sighed softly.  “Your heart, dear Will….”

Without hesitating, Will lifted the barrel of the gun to his temple.  “Be my guest.”  A second later, he pulled the trigger.

.
.

*

Dr Lecter left his Baltimore townhouse an hour later.

On the floor of his study lay the body of FBI Investigator Will Graham.  The left side of his skull was shattered from the inside out.  His own gun was cradled in his right hand, slightly away from his body.

Lying on his chest was a single red rose, its thorns clinging to the white cotton of his shirt. 

On the desk there was a folded note addressed to Dr Alan Bloom.  It read simply,

‘For a while, he was truly happy.’



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