Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 There’s a particular scent that you know but won’t recognise unless it’s right there in your nostrils, like petrichor when you’re feeling especially melancholic. Everybody talks about the smell of grass after the rain, but you don’t truly know what it is until it’s right in front of you, and you’re staring aimlessly outside of your front door, your eyes not focusing on anything in particular. 

 That’s the sense that Will Graham felt when his nostrils inhaled the very specific scent of damp concrete, reinforced by the cold sensation against his skin. At first, the temperature made him assume that he’d had night sweats again, the remnants of trauma that he still experienced some nights with flashes of an assailant wedging a knife into his shoulder, but no. There were no familiar, scratchy sheets beneath his body to soak up his perspiration. 

 It was just simple, solid hardness against all of his limbs. When he tried to sit up to figure out where he was, the room spun with a nauseating intensity that momentarily made him feel as though he was going to lose the contents of his stomach, but with a dry wretch, he found that there was nothing to lose. 

 So he started trying to feel his way across the floor in the room, using his sense of touch to make up for the lack of light, only to discover that he couldn’t feel anything with his hands. He felt concrete with his arms and legs, so how was it that his hands felt oddly numb? He tried to hold them up in front of his eyes, straining to focus, yet all he saw in front of him were two dark, peculiarly shaped lumps. 

 He tried to move his fingers but they were strangely constricted within some sort of binding, and he gently thumped his appendages against the floor. Every moment that passed just made his situation feel more dizzyingly dreamlike, and he truly wasn’t sure if he was even awake. 

 Yet, in the back of his mind were flickers of images. A beer-stained bar, dim yellow lights, glass after glass of whiskey. Alana. There was no way that he’d have gone to a bar alone, Alana was definitely there. She’d managed to convince him to join her after their lectures were completed, and he had joked that attempts at dabbling in social forays only ever ended poorly. 

 Well, this was one for the books. 

 Suddenly his vision was lost to a bright light flooding into the room and briefly stealing his sight, causing him to softly hiss through his teeth and recoil back against a wall. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but at first, all he could make out was a vaguely humanoid figure across the other side of the room. 

 “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr Graham,” came the low, accented voice. Crisp, firm and with a slight note of amusement. 

 “Where am I?” Were the first words to stumble forth past Will’s lips as he tried to rub at his eyes with the useless stumps on the ends of his arms. 

 “In my home,” came the reply, so unaffected that it felt unnerving. “Or, I suppose I should say, our home.” 

 “I don’t understand,” Will muttered to himself, straining to see the man who slowly stepped towards him. 

 A few threads began to form within Will’s mind. The man’s steps were silent, why? He glanced down and managed to make out black-socked feet padding across the floor. No shoes, well that answered that question. How was it that he didn’t hear a door opening or closing before the light came on? That question led him to shudder. The man must have been in the room with him the entire time. Watching. 

 “There isn’t much that you need to understand, Mr Graham,” the stranger said as he crouched down in front of Will, reaching out to gingerly touch a dark curl of hair that caused Will to flinch and withdraw. 

 “How do you know my name?” Will croaked, his throat dry. 

 Slowly he could make out features on the man’s face. Amber-hued brown eyes watched him with an intensity that made him feel distinctly like the subject of some sort of science experiment. The man had sharp cheekbones and full, bowed lips that pulled into a muted hint of a smirk. He looked familiar. 

 “I tend to remember the names of those who introduce themselves to me, Will. May I call you Will?” The man asked, his accent difficult to pinpoint but certainly European. 

 Will simply stared at him, trying to remember. 

 “...You have a stupid name,” Will murmured, only half directed at the other man. There were flashes of memories being conjured in the back of his mind; Alana’s friend, an old mentor of some kind. He could remember a three-piece suit standing out in the bar, the man almost like an alien having descended upon Earth without having done their proper research on how to blend in. 

 It was in stark contrast to how the man was dressed before him; there was no waistcoat or jacket to be seen, but instead, just plain dark slacks and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar unbuttoned. 

 “It’s Carthaginian, actually,” Hannibal replied with a minute frown. Hannibal Lecter. That was his name. “Given your current circumstances, you may wish to reconsider insulting me.” 

 “Alana—” Will mumbled, sitting with his back against the wall. He could feel the chill of the concrete through his thin white t-shirt, and he glanced down to see that not only was he wearing only a pair of grey boxers, but that his feet had been bound similarly to his hands. Some sort of fabric, bandage perhaps, then wrapped in black duct tape. 

 “Is completely fine and none the wiser,” Hannibal responded, a flicker of annoyance appearing on his face so quickly that it was barely perceptible. “You needn’t ask about her, nor anyone else for that matter.” 

 Will furrowed his brow in frustration. “Why am I here? What is going on?” He asked, his voice rising as his confusion only increased. 

 “Sweet boy, you are here because I want you here,” Hannibal said bluntly, his voice taking on a soothing tone that belied the reality of Will’s clear captivity. “You are still suffering from the remnants of a rather intense sedative coursing through your system, so you may not remember much of our encounter last night, but I assure you that it was quite life-changing.” 

 “...I spilt a drink on your jacket,” Will mumbled, desperately trying to remember what had led him to this. 

 “Yes,” Hannibal confirmed with a soft huff of laughter, “you did. You also berated my profession, and had a few rather colourful words to say about those like myself who find themselves in a position of wealth.” 

 “Then I started feeling sick,” Will muttered in a hushed voice, looking down at his bound hands again. “You told Alana that you’d make sure I got home okay…” 

 “I assured her that I would take care of you,” Hannibal said slowly, his voice brimming with purpose. “That’s exactly what I intend to do, Will.” 

 With that, Hannibal reached inside his trouser pocket and produced an item that was all too recognisable, the kind of soft woven fabric band that Will was used to shopping for every time another stray found its way into his life. 

 He instinctively shook his head, trying to back away but finding that he had nowhere to escape to, the wall still behind him. “No,” he murmured, lifting his hands up in front of his chest in an attempt to defend himself, though his limbs felt horribly heavy. 

 “In order for you to remain here, Will, you are going to need to be a good boy for me. Now, I know many things about you, namely that you are well versed in the matter of obedience training,” Hannibal said, almost casually, as he lifted the collar to present it. Pale brown fabric with dark stitching, too big to fit a dog but clearly made to mimic those made for canines, rather than some sort of BDSM prop. 

 “Fuck off,” Will uttered, his heart beginning to thump frantically behind his ribs. 

 Before he could even hope to react, Will was slammed hard against the wall, an elbow jammed against his throat. He choked out half a breath, his bound hands desperately beating at the arm firmly keeping him pinned in place, struggling to breathe. 

 “ Language ,” Hannibal hissed, his eyes narrowing into a thinly veiled glare. “You shall regain control of your vocabulary or I shall have something far more unpleasant to stick to your gullet. Is that understood?” 

 Will’s limbs scrambled hopelessly against the smooth flooring, nothing seemed to move the psychiatrist holding him in place as Will desperately sucked in little breaths. 

 “Speak,” Hannibal commanded firmly, pressing his elbow a little harder against the brunette’s windpipe. 

 Will’s eyes widened as fear seeped into his skin and he used every ounce of energy in his body to force out a strangled, “...I understand—” 

 Hannibal released him, yet as Will slumped forward to draw in a deep breath, the taller man seized the opportunity to swiftly wrap the collar around Will’s neck, buckling it tightly in place before stepping back and rising to his feet. It was then that Will felt that there was something more to it, some sort of plastic box attached to the side, and two small metal prongs touching his skin.

 “There,” Hannibal said smugly as he pulled at his shirt, tidying any creases that may have formed. “That looks far more appropriate, don’t you think?” 

 Will could only quietly seethe as he sat huddled on the floor, unable to even soothe his throat with the combination of duct tape and now the collar encasing his skin. He felt a quiet, slow-building rage bubbling beneath the surface, held back only by his exhaustion and the drugs still in his blood. 

 Hannibal let out a soft sigh. “I had hoped to explain things to you slowly, in gentle stages, however, it appears that you may benefit from more of a firm hand.” He reached up to straighten his shirt collar before continuing, “You see, Will, I am a man who is not afraid to take what he wants. What I want, in his moment in time, is you. You understand how dogs work, yes? That mentality of positive and negative reinforcement? That is how you shall live here, in your new home. As a dog. My dog.”

 “What is f—” Will forced himself to bite his tongue, trying to swallow against the dryness in his mouth. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just hold me captive, people will find out.” 

 “Do you truly think that anyone will wonder where you have gone?” Hannibal asked in a soft, almost sweet voice. “That isolated man who loathes social interaction, living alone in the woods. I imagine it’s terribly easy for one’s mental health to dwindle in such a state. How many men like you do you think go missing and never turn up, Will? Having hurled themselves off of a bridge somewhere when the loneliness became too much.” 

 Will felt a sickness gathering low in his gut, creeping up towards his chest. Alana would notice, wouldn’t she? But then, Alana was friends with Hannibal, she trusted the man. Surely there was someone else in his life? Staff at the academy, or… 

 “My dogs—” Will blurted out suddenly, falling forward onto his hands as he stared up at Hannibal with desperation. 

 “Well, they’re hardly going to inform the police, are they?” Hannibal remarked in a flat tone. 

 “No, my dogs, please tell Alana to check on the dogs, they can’t be left in the house on their own!” Will said quickly, scooting forward across the ground, his bound feet making it difficult to do anything other than clumsily crawl. 

 Hannibal’s lips twitched and he stepped close, causing Will to flinch. He leaned down slowly to place his lips beside the other man’s ear, his hot breath tickling the small hairs there. “Don’t worry, Will, they’re not in the house on their own,” he whispered almost tenderly, “I left the front door open. I’m sure they’ll be just fine. Or they won’t. Either way, problem solved.” 

 If there was one small silver lining to Will’s hands being covered, it was that they made for a surprisingly harsh impact as he managed to box the side of Hannibal’s head, knocking him nearly clean off of his feet. There was a lot that Will Graham could tolerate, even at the expense of his own well-being, but someone messing with his found family was not one of them. 

 “You fucking psychopath!” Will yelled, launching his full body weight at the other man, knocking him onto the ground. Just as he was about to try and pummel him, a sharp jolt through his neck caused his entire body to seize and convulse, a sharp electric current burning at the sensitive flesh of his throat. 

 Of course, it had to be a fucking shock collar. 

 Hannibal easily manhandled him onto the ground, pinning Will down onto his front. He pulled one arm almost brutally behind Will’s back, his hair falling loose over his forehead as he used his free hand to slip a small remote out of his pocket and dangle it tauntingly to the side of Will’s face. 

 “Negative behaviour will be met with negative punishments,” he said, his voice breathless and faintly manic. “Do you understand, Will? It’s certainly not an ideal way to reinforce positive behaviour, but I shall resort to any means necessary to break you down. I have been very kind to you today, but my kindness has a limit. Now, you will be a good boy and stay still, won’t you?” 

 Will was silent for a long while before finally, reluctantly nodding his head. 

 “...Good,” Hannibal murmured before carefully getting off of Will’s back, leaving him awkwardly positioned on the floor as he struggled to right himself. “I shall leave you to ponder your circumstances, then once I believe that you have had enough time to consider how you may better your attitude, I may provide you with some water.” 

 The taller man made his way over to one of two doors in the room, covering a small keypad on the wall as he input some sort of code. He gave Will one final glance, “You should be aware that the correct term is ‘Antisocial Personality Disorder’, however, I think you’ll find that my personality is quite sociable. Good day, Will.” 

 With that, he switched off the light, slipped through the door and left Will alone in the darkness.

Chapter Text

 Will set himself two goals that seemed like the most achievable first steps to get himself out of the unexpected captivity. The first was to try to free his hands so that he could finally use his fingers, which seemed like the most important start to his escape. Completely doable, right? 

 Time was difficult to monitor in the room, even if there had been light there was no clock on the wall, no windows, no anything . It was disturbingly bare, just a grey box, the monotony only broken by two doors. So as he started to pull at the duct tape with his teeth, he couldn’t really tell how many minutes had passed, or when those minutes transitioned into hours. 

 It shouldn’t be difficult. You just grab the tape with your teeth and pull, which he did. Over and over. The adhesive was thick, reinforced by threads woven through the glue that he could feel against the tip of his dry tongue every time he used it to try and pry up an edge to give his teeth a better grip. 

 Nibbling turned to biting which turned to desperate, angry mouthfuls of his fist, chewing out of desperation, low sobbing sounds building in his throat as he failed to pull up even a centimetre of the tape. His hands began to shake with the frustration building beneath his skin, like insects crawling under every single layer of his dermis, reminding him that he was a failure that couldn’t even get a bit of fucking tape off of his hands. 

 He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he was slamming his hands into the floor, scraping them against the cold ground in case that could help somehow. It was a combination of desperation and self-destruction, the frustration driving him to do anything he could to try and silence the ever-growing sense of dread that told him he was well and truly fucked. 

 By the time he moved on to his second goal, he was exhausted. Every breath stung, he could feel the dryness of his throat with each inhalation, and swallowing was agony as his mouth refused to produce enough saliva to soothe his flesh. But still, he was determined. 

 He crawled awkwardly across the floor on his knees and started trying to turn the handle on the door that Hannibal hadn’t used. It was a round handle so there was no way to properly grip it, so instead he would carefully press his two black lumps for hands against it and very slowly turn. 

 Slip. Click. Slip. Click. Slip. Click. 

 It might have been locked, but what if it wasn’t? There was give, the handle could shake and rattle if he hit it, so it’s not like it should have been impossible. Yet every time he tried to turn it, it would only move a little before the tape slipped off of the sleek, hard object. 

 It wasn’t long before he had resorted to pummeling the door with his fists, his elbow, his shoulder. He was too angry to feel pain, too tired to care about the pathetic little wailing noises that escaped his lips when he finally slid down the wooden barrier and onto the floor, pressing his head against the door. 

 He had run out of patience but it was hard to feel scared with so little energy left in his body. Instead, he just felt resigned and angry with himself. He had been a homicide detective, this shouldn’t have been so difficult, yet somehow Will Graham found himself curled into a fetal position in a psychopath’s basement. 

 Exhaustion must have taken over eventually and caused him to fall asleep because it was the sound of a door clicking open and light spilling into the room that caused Will to stir, groaning softly as his eyes tried to adjust to the light and he attempted to push himself up into a sitting position. 

 “I think that I have allowed you to stew in the misery of your misdeeds for long enough,” came the calm, smooth voice of Will’s captor as he approached him, once again stepping silently with only socks to cover his feet. 

 “Let me go,” Will whispered, struggling to find his voice as he blinked the figure into view. 

 “Now why on Earth would I do that?” Hannibal asked as he placed a black messenger bag on the ground beside himself. Will could tell from the stitching alone that it probably cost more than he’d spent on every bag he’d ever owned combined. 

 He watched as Hannibal opened up the main flap of the bag, unzipping it and slipping his hand inside to retrieve a bottle of water. His throat felt like sandpaper just looking at it and, if he could have salivated, he would have been drooling. The Doctor made a show of holding the bottle in front of Will’s face before opening it, demonstrating that he was breaking the seal with a soft ‘crack’. So, not tampered with, then. 

 “You must be thirsty, poor thing,” Hannibal practically cooed the words as he knelt down, pushing the bottle forward. Will instinctively recoiled, but the draw was too tempting. Hydration would allow his brain to function more effectively, so he reluctantly allowed the man to press the plastic to his lips. 

 The first drop was heaven. Hannibal purposefully controlled the flow, preventing Will from taking great mouthfuls and instead creating a steady flow for small sips. He felt droplets falling down the side of his lips, spilling along his chin and throat. He didn’t miss the way in which Hannibal’s eyes followed their path. 

 Will almost groaned when the bottle was pulled away from him. “Steady now, too much and you’ll make yourself sick,” Hannibal chided, as though speaking to a child. He replaced the cap on the bottle, tucking it back into the bag, before casting his eyes over Will's agitated, withdrawn form. 

 He gave a loud click of his tongue as he took in the little bite marks and dents all over Will’s bound hands resting on his thighs. “Look at the state of you,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. He reached forward to roughly grab Will’s wrist, pulling his arm forward and causing the man to stumble onto his knees. 

 Hannibal gripped Will’s bound, stump-like appendage and turned it this way and that, tutting as he took in each little attempt at freedom. He gazed at one particularly deep bite mark, Will’s front teeth indented into the layers upon layers of tape, before bringing it up to his face. Will watched in silent, bemused horror as Hannibal slowly opened his mouth and gently pressed his own teeth against the mark, revealing the sharpness of his cuspids, and the slight misalignment of his incisors. 

 Will could hear the man’s soft breaths against the duct tape as he watched Hannibal’s eyelids flutter closed, a subtle sense of rapture encompassing his expression as he seemed to be feeling each little ridge of Will’s teeth with his own. There was the faintest flash of pink as his tongue pressed against the material, slicking the black with his saliva. 

 As Hannibal withdrew, looking almost flushed from his actions, Will simply stared at him, his lips parted in disturbed wonderment. It almost would have been fascinating, if he hadn’t been watching a deranged kidnapper. 

 “You should be more careful with your paws, dear,” Hannibal murmured, peering at Will from beneath his lashes, before finally letting go and allowing Will to scoot backwards across the floor to distance himself. “I should like to prepare you some breakfast, would you happen to have any food allergies or intolerances?” 

 Will gawked at him. “...No,” he mumbled, slightly dumbfounded by the question. He wasn’t about to believe that Hannibal cared about his well-being for a second, but there was still something intensely unsettling about his manner. He was treating the situation as though Will was a guest in his home, not collared in a small, empty room. 

 “Perfect. Well, it shan’t take me long to finish preparations. I shall leave you with the light on, too much darkness can be quite unpleasant for the psyche.” Hannibal stated before picking up his bag and casually leaving the room, once again abandoning Will to nothingness. 

 However, this time, he had light. Sadly it didn’t reveal much to him, certainly nothing that could aid his escape, but one thing that it did show him was a small, black device mounted up in one of the top corners of the room. 

 A camera. 

 He would have bet a year’s wages that the bastard thing had night vision, too. 

 He had the deep desire to pace, to try and release some of the awful pent-up energy that had gathered from the man’s little visit, but his attempts to stand up were fruitless. Every time he got close, the rounded shape of his bound feet would eventually cause his balance to give way and he’d find himself back on the floor. He was beginning to understand why Hannibal had called them ‘paws’, as he was perpetually trapped on all fours if he wanted to move anywhere. 

 When Hannibal finally returned, it was with far more items than Will had expected, and he watched cautiously from a corner as the taller man started to unfold a small metal table and matching chair, creating what appeared to be a little dining space as he unpacked Tupperware containers from his messenger bag onto the table. 

 Without a word, he decanted what looked to be some sort of scrambled egg dish with vegetables and perhaps meat, then proceeded to sit down, pull out a fork from his bag, and… Eat. 

 He didn’t even address Will, didn’t explain anything about what he was doing, he just sat and ate his little pre-prepared meal whilst the teacher watched in utter confusion. At some stage, he pulled out a flask of a hot beverage of some kind, which he sipped in between bites, but that was it. 

 Will could smell the food and, against his better judgment, he couldn’t help but feel an uncomfortable pang of want. The eggs looked fluffy, he could detect hints of herbal seasoning, and there was the start of a painful twist in his gut. He never ate much at work and he hadn’t eaten before he went out drinking with Alana, so with a guesstimation of time passed and the kind of meal that Hannibal was eating, it must have been breakfast or lunch, so he had definitely missed a fair few meals.

 Hannibal finished his dish by patting his lips with a cloth napkin and neatly placing all of his containers back inside the bag. For a moment it seemed as though he was going to leave the room, rising to stand and facing the door, but then he stopped and turned to face Will instead. 

 “Ah, please forgive me, I nearly forgot about you. You’re just so terribly quiet that it’s easy to imagine that you’re not even here at all,” Hannibal quipped with a false little smile. 

 ‘ Fucker ’, Will thought, his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t going to give Hannibal the satisfaction of his anger, he could recognise bait when he saw it, so instead he just continued to watch and wait. 

 Hannibal reached back into his bag and produced another plastic container, but this one was smaller than the others. Instead of sitting down on the chair, he crouched low to the floor and held out a hand. “Come here, wouldn’t you like to see what I’ve brought you?” 

 Will didn’t move. He was not going to be spoken to like a dog. Hannibal frowned. 

 “It would be awfully rude of you not to show gratitude when I have prepared such fine cuts of meat for you, dear Will,” Hannibal said, though now his voice carried a subtle but distinct implication of a threat. 

 “I’m not eating— whatever it is that you’ve brought,” Will said defiantly. 

 “But you haven’t even tasted it,” Hannibal retorted with a note of mock offence. 

 “You’ve already drugged me, do you think that I’m stupid enough to eat anything you give me?” Will replied, feeling a small but welcome return of his confidence. The water had definitely helped. 

 “Yes, I drugged you, and brought you here, where you can’t even turn a door handle by yourself,” Hannibal said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smirk. “You’re disabled and wearing a shock collar, what purpose would it serve me to poison you? Besides, I wouldn’t do that to the food.” 

 Will felt and, unfortunately, heard his stomach give a feeble rumble, causing his face to burn with shame and embarrassment. If Hannibal didn’t possess the remote to the shock collar wrapped around his neck, he would have punched the brazenly broadening smirk off of his face. 

 Hannibal approached him until Will had his back against the wall, and he held up the little container in his hands. He peeled back the lid, tucking it underneath the box, to reveal small, thin slices of what appeared to be some kind of red meat. At first, Will thought that it was raw, but he could just about detect the thinnest layer of browning along the edges, as though it had been licked by heat for mere seconds. 

 “I can’t eat that,” he blurted out, furrowing his brow at the box of meat. He wasn’t the kind of man to opt for a well-cooked steak, but blue certainly wasn’t to his tastes. There was an inescapable grotesqueness to it, something visceral that made his stomach turn regardless of his hunger. 

 “Of course you can. In fact, you shall,” Hannibal said softly. He placed the box down on the ground and reached into his pocket, momentarily revealing that familiar little remote before pulling his hand away again. A reminder. 

 He picked up a slice of meat between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it up for Will to see. It was glistening with juices, and Will could smell the heavy, savoury scent wafting from it. “Now be a good boy for me, and open wide.” 

 Will firmly shook his head, ashamed of the soft whine that escaped his throat as he pressed his lips together tightly. He should have been fighting back, there was always the option of biting Hannibal, but the truth was that the thought of being shocked again made him afraid. He was smaller, weaker, unable to use his limbs effectively, and he was hungry. 

 But he wouldn’t relent so easily. 

 Hannibal tutted. “I do so wish that you wouldn’t make me resort to such barbaric methods, but you leave me no choice.” With that he thrust his other hand forward and seized Will’s throat, wrapping his large hand around Will’s slim neck and holding it tight. Not quite crushing, but sending a message of how much damage he could do if pushed. 

 He forced the piece of meat to Will’s lips, smearing the juices across the younger man’s mouth. He increased his grip on Will’s throat in little increments, slowly putting pressure on his windpipe until the brunette finally relented just enough for Hannibal’s fingers to push inside his maw. 

 He pressed the wet meat to Will’s tongue, holding it in place. “See? I prepared this, especially for you. It’s a very rare cut,” he whispered, gradually easing up his grip on Will’s neck. “Seasoned only with salt and pepper and just a touch of garlic powder to compliment the natural flavouring.” 

 Will found himself whining again, his pulse racing with his rising panic, as his mouth was held open with Hannibal’s fingers. At that moment, the psychiatrist seemed to loom over him in a way that made Will feel terrifyingly slight. 

 “Let the flavour build on your tongue, that’s it,” Hannibal murmured, his eyes darkened by the dilation of his pupils as he started to gently rub the piece of meat up and down Will’s tongue, pushing back far enough to make him gag slightly. 

 Finally, he pulled his fingers back with a firm command, “Chew.” 

 Will chewed. 

 He barely tasted it. 

 Instead, all he could focus on was Hannibal’s face, as he brought his dripping fingers to his own mouth and started to lightly suckle on the digits, consuming the combination of flavours that were the meat and Will’s mouth, emitting a low groan of pleasure from his throat. 

 Will trembled slightly as he swallowed, the meat sliding down his insides feeling like a violation. He wasn’t provided a reprieve, as Hannibal was quickly pushing another slice of meat between his lips. “There’s a good boy,” he whispered, though at least this time he didn’t keep his fingers inside Will’s mouth, instead they were prepped and ready with another slice. 

 Will tried to focus on chewing, afraid that if he rushed too much he might choke. Hannibal’s eyes never left his face, gazing at his moistened lips with a kind of desire that Will had never seen before. Hannibal’s free hand moved, catching Will’s eye, and for a moment Will was overcome with a sense of nausea as he witnessed the man adjusting the obscene erection tenting his slacks. 

 “Shh, shh,” Hannibal soothed, “don’t worry about that, focus on your breakfast,” he said as he noticed Will’s line of sight, and he gripped at the brunette’s stubbled chin to tilt his head back and deter him from staring. He continued to feed him slice after slice of meat, never giving him a break between swallowing, and holding his head in place until the container was empty. 

 “You did so well,” he said softly, giving Will’s chin a little stroke with his thumb before pulling his hands away. He ran his tongue over his fingers, lapping up the remnants of juice and saliva, as Will slumped down against the wall and panted softly, his entire body quaking with little tremors. 

 Hannibal abruptly stood and walked away, only to return with the cloth napkin. He was slow and deliberate as he wiped Will’s mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his ‘meal’. Will had to force himself not to look at the man’s blatant arousal, desperately trying to will the food to stay down. 

 “I must go and wash up,” Hannibal said, simple and matter-of-fact but with a gentleness to his voice as though attempting to be somehow disarming; however, it was an ill-fitted act. “I shall let you rest, you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” He lifted a hand, as though tempted to reach out and touch Will, but he soon lowered it again. 

 Will could barely focus as Hannibal went to pack away his things, leaving the table and chair in the room. Though just before he slipped out of the door he murmured a few words that made all of the hairs on Will’s body stand on end. 

 “You’ll need to relieve yourself soon enough, but don’t worry, I’ve prepared for every occasion.” 

Chapter Text

 “No, I’m not doing that.” 

 “You’ll need to eventually. There’s no bathroom down here, so you truly have no alternative.” 

 “I would literally rather piss myself.” 

 “I will not have you soiling my floors.” 

 “It’s fucking concrete! Shit, I didn’t— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t swear again.” 

 Will’s heart felt as though a small bird was trapped inside, frantically fluttering its wings in a bid for freedom, as he met dark eyes glaring down at him. He saw Hannibal’s hand reach for his pocket, the remote , but it stopped just short. 

 “I appreciate your apology, Will. For that, I shall be lenient,” Hannibal said firmly, redirecting his hand to smooth down invisible creases along his waistcoat instead. He was more dressed up this time, likely to see clients or engage in some kind of activities outside of torturing his pet lecturer. “However, you must stop this stubborn nonsense.” 

 “Don’t make me do it, please,” Will asked softly, reluctantly resorting to begging in the hopes that it might cater more to the psychiatrist’s ego. 

 Hannibal let out a small sigh, taking a step back, his hand still gripping the empty plastic bottle he had brought into the room that afternoon. “There is one alternative,” he said quietly, though the disappointment in his voice sounded disingenuous. 

 “...What’s the alternative?” Will asked cautiously, his eyes flickering between the bottle and Hannibal’s face. 

 “I could always administer a catheter,” Hannibal said with a small shrug of his shoulders. “I was a surgeon before I decided to delve into minds rather than bodies.” 

 Will felt his stomach plummet at the thought. He swallowed hard and tried to will the most pathetic expression he could muster, gazing at Hannibal with wide, puppy dog eyes and trying to get his bottom lip to tremble. “ Please ,” he begged again, “I’ll go in a bowl or something, but what you’re suggesting is mortifying. Surely you must see that?” 

 He could see Hannibal losing his patience and he instinctively flinched when the man took a step forward. “I am going to lower your boxers, and you are going to do as you are told,” he stated stiffly, there was no scope for argument in his icy tone. 

 Will tried one final, shaky little, “ Please ,” but Hannibal had crouched down in front of him and was roughly tugging at his waistband. 

 “On your knees, don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be,” he said sternly, not assisting as Will awkwardly tried to get onto his knees as instructed. Hannibal pulled the grey fabric of Will’s boxers down over the curve of his ass and further down his thighs, baring his genitalia to the chilly temperature of the small room. 

 Hannibal just watched him for a moment, or more specifically, studied the man’s groin with unashamed curiosity. He reached out to touch with two fingers, causing Will to jolt, just lifting the head of his flaccid penis as though examining a patient.

 “It’s curious,” he murmured, “how Americans claim to value freedom and autonomy, yet so many insist on unnecessarily mutilating their children for the sake of some fabricated ideal of aesthetics.” He huffed out a small breath of air, unimpressed, before letting go. 

 “Yeah, well, I wasn’t old enough to object, so I’d appreciate it if you could not add to my humiliation by insulting my junk,” Will replied brusquely, trying not to shiver. 

 “Please, don’t misinterpret my distaste for judgment, you have a fine appendage, Will,” Hannibal said, moving in closer with the bottle in hand. His eyes roamed downwards again, studying Will’s anatomy, causing the man to get that little surge of nausea again. “Now, I’m going to hold the bottle to your body, and you are going to relieve yourself, and there shall be no more arguments.” 

 Will froze as Hannibal did just that. He reached out to carefully lift the brunette’s flesh and hold the tip against the opening of the empty water bottle. His hand was cold and the sensation was peculiar, simultaneously intimate and clinical, and wholly unpleasant. 

 For a while, they both just knelt in silence. Will tried closing his eyes, taking deep breaths, and staring at the ceiling, but nothing was happening. His bladder was starting to cramp, sending uncomfortable little pangs of pain through his lower abdomen, but oddly enough having a man stare at you while you try to pee into a bottle isn’t actually very conducive to peeing. 

 “I can’t go like this,” he muttered, shifting awkwardly and looking off to the side as he felt the ire of Hannibal’s glare on him. 

 “You can,” Hannibal stated curtly. “I am quite prepared to wait.” 

 “I can’t , not with you staring at me,” Will protested, beginning to worry the dry skin of his bottom lip between his teeth in frustration. 

 “Then I shan’t stare,” Hannibal said before suddenly lunging forward, pressing the bottle firmly to Will’s slit as he wrapped his free arm around the man’s shoulders and moved close to his ear, bringing his voice down to a soft whisper. “Close your eyes, relax your body.” 

 Will reluctantly closed his eyes again, trying not to shudder from the sensation of Hannibal’s hot breath against his skin. “I can’t relax,” he said quietly. 

 “Yes you can,” Hannibal uttered, their bodies pushed uncomfortably close together. “You can be a good boy for me, Will. I know you can.” 

 A faint, breathy whine escaped Will’s throat before he could stop it, his skin searing with shame. On some deeply buried, base level there was a tiny part of him that found itself relishing the comfort, and that disgusted him. He didn’t want to feel comforted, he was being held against his will. 

 “Come on,” Hannibal continued in that gentle, palliative tone, his hand beginning to rub small circles across Will’s upper back, the stiff fabric of his lavish suit jacket making subdued little shifting sounds. “Let your muscles loosen up, I’ve got you.” 

 This went on for some time. Gentle, soothing words accompanied by rhythmic little strokes. Hannibal didn’t show any signs of impatience, only persistence. When the first sound of liquid hitting the inside of the bottle broke the peace, Hannibal lightly squeezed Will’s shoulder. 

 “That’s it, there we go,” he whispered, rubbing Will’s shoulder as drips became a full stream. “Well done, I am so very proud of you.” 

 The relief was intense, to the extent that Will could feel his body begin to tremble. Hannibal slowly withdrew to ensure there was no spillage as Will’s body visibly started to slump as he finished relieving himself into the bottle. The combination of physical respite, guttural shame and disturbing dehumanisation was overwhelming and, as Hannibal pulled the bottle away and Will sank down to the floor, the teacher couldn’t help the tears that started to gather in his eyes. 

 Hannibal didn’t speak as he went about capping the bottle and placing it inside a plastic bag, presumably for extra hygiene. Nor did Will react when the older man reached out and started to pull up his boxers until they were back in place. He allowed Will to curl up against the concrete, humiliated and unresponsive. 

 When the door clicked closed, Will remained where he was. In that moment, everything seemed futile. He couldn’t remove his bindings, he couldn’t leave the room, he couldn’t walk. He felt empty, numb. So, he just stayed there, on the cold, hard ground. Slowly his thoughts drifted to his pack of dogs and, as he pondered what had become of them, his tears turned into shaking, silent sobs. 

 Again he lost all sense of time, though the light illuminating the room from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling prevented him from receiving any true sort of rest. He drifted in and out of daydreams, alternating between paralysed nothingness and intense heartache. 

 “We cannot have you sleeping on the floor again,” were the words that pulled him from his thoughts. “At least, not directly.” 

 Will raised his head sluggishly to glance at Hannibal, who was now sans waistcoat, tie and jacket as he reentered the room. He was carrying a large beige mass in his hands and it didn’t take Will long to register that it was a huge dog bed, the fluffy material covered in little brown paw prints. The older man proceeded to walk to a corner of the room and placed it down, neatly fluffing at the edges. He stood back to admire his handiwork, looking pleased. 

 “What’s through that other door?” Will snapped suddenly, sitting upright, his lump-like hands planted firmly on the floor as he stared at Hannibal. 

 “It has quite a dense sponge layer at the bottom—” Hannibal responded, still looking at the dog bed and ignoring Will’s question, “—so I think that you’ll find it quite comfortable. I have a blanket as well, but I couldn’t carry—”

 “What’s through the door?” Will asked again, his voice raising to almost a shout. “You always come through the door with the keypad, what’s the other door for?” 

 “Will, you don’t need to know—” 

 “What’s through the fucking door, Hannibal!?” 

 Will’s entire body tensed, his muscles straining, as he felt a sharp jolt against the side of his neck. He tried to paw at the collar with his useless hands, panting slightly as the shock eased away. He stared at Hannibal, wide-eyed.

 “We’ve spoken about your use of profanity, Will. I find such vulgarity to be most unbecoming,” he said firmly, the small remote gripped in his left hand. 

 “What’s through the door?” Will asked again through gritted teeth. It could have been a broom closet for all he knew, but there was something nagging at his mind that it was important. He couldn’t let it go, it felt imperative that he find out somehow. 

 “You won’t be going through either of them so I hardly see how that information can be of use to you,” Hannibal scoffed, his patience clearly wearing thin. 

 “Tell me,” Will rasped, stumbling slightly as he tried to get up onto his feet, moving closer towards Hannibal.” 

 “Or what?” Hannibal asked, cocking a brow. “You’ll hit me again? That didn’t go well for you last time, did it, pet?” 

 That endearment was the final straw. 

 Hannibal had made a mistake in trying to keep Will fed and watered, as his mind may have been slowly breaking but his body had more energy, and that energy was launched directly into Hannibal Lecter. Will moved close enough to kick off from the ground with his bound feet, clumsy but forceful, and he rammed his head straight into Hannibal’s stomach, knocking him onto the ground. 

 He pummeled at him, raining down hits against Hannibal’s arm and hand until the remote slipped from his fingertips. With that threat out of the way, he delivered hit after hit with his duct tape-covered hands, against the man’s chest, shoulders and neck. Hannibal raised his arms in defence, trying to block the hits. 

 Wave after desperate wave, Will managed to land a punch to the lower half of Hannibal’s face. It took him a moment to register the blood on Hannibal’s lip, at which point it was too late. The speed with which the pale-haired psychiatrist manhandled him was enough to knock the air out of Will’s lungs, as he found himself flipped over onto his front and pinned roughly against the floor. 

 “Let go of me!!” Will yelled, wriggling frantically against the floor, only for Hannibal to jam his elbow into the younger man’s back, his other hand seizing Will’s shoulder in a vice grip and forcing him even harder against the ground. 

 “I expected better of you—” Hannibal hissed and Will could feel spittle hit the back of his neck, unsure if it was saliva or blood, “—than to behave like some feral mutt. This is all for your own good.” 

 “My own good!?” Will sucked in a breath as Hannibal snarled against his ear, pushing against him again. “I can’t use my fucking hands! You let my dogs go! You made me piss into a fucking bottle! I have a job, a life!” 

 “Your life was a pathetic non-existence,” Hannibal almost growled the words, pressing his mouth to the side of Will’s neck, his wet lips brushing against the sensitive skin as he spoke. “I am giving you purpose , this is what you want .” 

 “I don’t want this!” Will’s voice cracked as he felt something firm digging into the base of his spine and Hannibal shifted above him until it was pressed lower against his backside. “Wait, wait, n-no, don’t—” 

 Hannibal shushed him, rubbing his cheek against Will’s stubble in some mockery of affection. “You will relent and you will behave, like a good pup. You pushed me to this, so you will endure the consequences.” 

 Will’s fingers tried to gain purchase on the cold, smooth floor, his digits turning pale. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt the start of short, rhythmic thrusts against his body, Hannibal’s breathing building hot and heavy against the side of his face. 

 “You got what you wanted,” he whispered, digging his fingers into Will’s shoulder, his nails catching against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “Now, I get what I want.” He shuddered out a faint groan and then there was movement and rustling and it took Will a moment to register what was happening. 

 Hannibal was unbuckling his belt and opening his fly and for a moment Will thought that his heart had stopped, but with some vague modicum of relief, he realised that Hannibal didn’t seem to be stripping any further layers. It did, however, mean that he could feel every inch of the man, the fabric of their underwear doing little to disguise his arousal as he rutted himself against the soft curves of Will’s ass outside his boxers.

 Will’s breathing quickened, short and sharp little inhalations, the combination of Hannibal’s literal weight and the weight of his actions making it feel as though he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. That familiar nausea was back, his stomach lurching with each stroke of Hannibal’s erection against his ass. 

 Hannibal’s own breathing became more stuttered as his hips worked faster, and he released Will’s shoulder only to grab a handful of his curls; not quite pulling, but gripping firmly as his thrusts gradually grew increasingly erratic. 

 “You’ll— you’ll understand that it’s good for you,” he panted against Will’s ear, a shaky moan leaving his lips that Will could tell meant that he was close. “ You will .” 

 Will braced himself, his body stiffening, trying to bite back a whimper as he felt Hannibal’s hips give a few last, hard shoves before his body froze in place with a groan that reverberated against his skin. After a moment of tense silence, the older man’s weight still holding him against the ground, he could feel a small patch of wetness cooling against his boxers. 

 Things were a bit of a blur as Hannibal climbed off of him. He could hear the sound of a zipper, a belt, and finally, a shirt being smoothed down. He couldn’t hear Hannibal’s steps, never wearing shoes. He remained on the floor, his chest stinging, as though there would never be enough air for full lungs again. 

 The one thing that brought him out of his daze was the sound of a door being unlocked. He forced his head up to look, and what he saw made him feel a white-hot rage so intense that his entire body started to shiver. 

 “I don’t believe that you deserve these privileges, but I am going to grant them to you anyway. I am not unkind, regardless of what you may believe,” Hannibal stated as he stepped away from the open door, his skin flushed pink and his hair slightly askew. He held out a hand, as though he was presenting a wonderful gift. 

 Inside that second door was a toilet, a sink, a towel and a small stock of toilet paper. 

 Will’s stomach promptly emptied its contents onto the concrete floor.

Chapter Text

 “Ahh, don’t—” 

 “Shh.” 

 “It tickles, p-please stop—” 

 It had been three weeks since Will had woken up in that cellar. He knew this because he had started to take notice of when Hannibal would turn the light off for night, and when he’d give him breakfast. He didn’t feed Will by hand as often anymore, instead he had been given a large metal dog bowl. During week two, Hannibal had given him steamed vegetables with his meat, and Will had sobbed at the sensation of broccoli on his tongue, finally something green and fresh. 

 In some strange way, he’d become accustomed to the routine, though every week there was at least one incident that resulted in bruises at minimum, typically on both of them. However, Hannibal had gotten very good at predicting when Will was going to aim for his face. He refused to allow himself to become resigned to such a bizarre fate, even if the temptation grew stronger every day. 

 Morning meant lights on, breakfast, and binding changing. Hannibal would remove all of the tape from Will’s hands and massage the blood back into his fingers, before instructing him to use the toilet. Then he would be given food, and some polite conversation, followed by his hands being re-wrapped. He was discouraged from using his hands to pick up the cuts of meat, the threat of being shocked always looming. 

 Hannibal would bring him fresh underwear and a t-shirt, which Will noted had definitely been collected from his own house, and tug his clothing off. He’d be given a quick wash down in the small bathroom, and Hannibal would run a thick, round brush through his curls. It took a week for Will to stop fighting him during that part of the routine. 

 During the day, Will was left to his own devices, once again unable to use his hands. He had very little means of entertaining himself outside of plotting. Hannibal had given him a small ball, which Will had promptly attempted to launch directly at the psychiatrist’s testicles, but reluctantly he did find the patronising gift useful for easing his boredom at least a little. 

 Evenings were when Hannibal came down after what Will presumed was his day job. The process was similar to the morning routine, though sometimes Hannibal brought a plate of food down to eat at the little table. Will couldn’t tell if it was designed to taunt him, or if it was simply because the man wanted company while he dined. 

The entire toilet situation hadn’t been without a few unpleasant incidents; Will had to essentially train himself to go when his hands were freed, before breakfast and after dinner. The few times he had needed to go during the day he quickly discovered that wiping with lump-like appendages was a horrific challenge, and the resulting forced sponge baths were a nightmare that left him feeling sick with shame. 

 Dinner times were also the times when Hannibal was most likely to seem restless and keen to try and coerce Will into more dog-like behaviours. ‘Playing fetch’ hadn’t gone down especially well, but Hannibal had actually been quite pleased when Will finally bit him on the ankle, hard enough to break the skin. He’d shocked him but he did so with a smile. 

 He had started to resort to more physical interactions instead. Ruffling Will’s hair, scratching just behind his ear, and trying to tickle him under the chin where his stubble had been growing into a thicker, fuller beard. He hadn’t tried to force himself on Will, but some evenings his excitement was impossible to avoid. He would want to be close, breathing more heavily, forcing Will to endure his touches for longer, sometimes pressing their bodies together far more than necessary whilst Hannibal pet his hair and sniffed at his neck.

 When Hannibal finally grew bored in the evenings, he would switch off the light, and Will would reluctantly curl up in the large, plush dog bed he’d been given. Hannibal had also provided him with an incredibly soft throw blanket, which Will would pull over himself. Sleeping was never easy, and he’d wake up with stiff legs, but at least it wasn’t the floor. 

 In the third week, however, one of their evenings was a little different. Hannibal had finally decided that Will’s foot bindings needed to be removed so that his feet could be examined for any signs of damage, to ensure that there had been no accidental restriction to blood flow. 

 This was how Will found himself sitting in the dog bed, his legs out straight, as Hannibal kneeled on the ground in front of him and slowly peeled away the tape, followed by the thick layer of bandages. Will’s feet were terribly pale, the skin delicate and soft to the touch where moisture had gathered and been trapped beneath the coverings over the weeks. 

 Hannibal took one of his feet and started to slowly slide his fingertips along the bottom, long strokes from the heel to the underside of his toes, causing Will to squirm and shudder. 

 “Ahh, don’t—” 

 “Shh.” 

 “It tickles, p-please stop—” 

 “Will—” Hannibal said his name sternly, meeting his frantic gaze, “—it is vital that you allow me to ensure that your circulation has not been impeded.” 

 Will didn’t miss the subtle huskiness in Hannibal’s voice before the man’s fingers were back to stroking the bottom of his foot, causing him to splutter out a series of desperate little whimpers as he tried to keep his leg still.

 There was a momentary reprieve when those lighter touches turned into a firmer sort of massage, Hannibal’s large hands rubbing and kneading at the base of his foot and then along the sides and top, making Will flex his toes with an uncontrollable little groan. But as Will peered at the other man’s face, there was a predatory little flash in his eyes that told him that this wasn’t the sort of response that Hannibal was looking for. 

 When Hannibal lifted Will’s other foot, his entire body convulsed with a rough jerk and a choked noise as he felt the tip of one of Hannibal’s nails scratching along the entire length of the underside of his foot. He nearly kicked the Lithuanian in the face as he tried to escape the ticklish assault, but Hannibal seized his ankle in a vice-like hold. 

 “Now now, let’s be calm and gentle, shall we?” He murmured with a smug little hint of a smile, sliding his nail along Will’s foot again, making him blurt out a flurry of breathless half-curses as he twisted his torso and dug his nails into his own leg to try and endure the attack. 

 “Stop, stop, please!” Will begged as Hannibal raised a brow at him, feigning innocence, before beginning to gently scratch at the centre of his foot. Whatever came out of Will’s mouth was not in the English language. 

 By the time Hannibal finally let up on his sadistic foray, Will was panting and borderline delirious, slumped half in the dog bed and half on the floor as Hannibal firmly rubbed both of his feet. Just as he was beginning to catch his breath, the air seized in his throat at a soft, wet sensation against his big toe, and he felt his stomach lurch as he slowly lifted his head to witness the slick muscle that was Hannibal’s tongue, sliding from his toe to the ball of his foot. 

 “ God ,” Will muttered under his breath, a fierce shiver shooting up his spine as Hannibal’s tongue moved down his foot, his moist lips smoothing along the delicate skin. A low, guttural groan accompanied his licks, travelling back up Will’s foot only to take two of his toes into his mouth, the suckling motion creating utterly lascivious little sounds. 

 A breathy little moan escaped Will’s lips without his consent, a heady concoction of confusion and reluctant enjoyment making him feel almost woozy as Hannibal worked his tongue between his toes, scraping his teeth along the undersides. When he finally pulled away his eyes were almost black, his pupils blown to conceal his irises until only a thin ring of crimson remained. 

 “Quid pro quo, Will Graham,” he uttered, his voice borderline wrecked with blatant arousal, each syllable verging on a growl. “I am going to need you to be a very good puppy for me.” 

 Will snapped out of his stupor to quickly shake his head, instinctively trying to back away, scooting across the dog bed. “I don’t want to do it,” he protested, his words stumbling out in a clumsy rush, breathless and panicked. 

 “You don’t even know what I am going to ask you to do,” Hannibal said slowly, each word pronounced so carefully and deliberately that they felt like little stones being pelted at Will’s chest. “I simply wish to inspect your mouth, you’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

 Will shook his head again, his jaw instinctively tightening, but Hannibal was on him in a flash, grabbing him by the shoulders and hoisting him upwards to drag him towards the table and chair. He seated himself and pushed Will into a kneeling position in front of him, his bound hands uselessly trying to slap away the taller man’s forceful grip. 

 “Be a good boy for me and open your mouth,” he commanded, holding Will’s shoulder with one hand whilst the other seized ahold of his jaw, roughly pressing in his fingers and thumb to force it open. 

 Will choked out a defiant noise, but the feel of Hannibal’s manicured nails pressing into the delicate skin of his face had his mouth reluctantly opening, breathing hard as he winced at the pain. He attempted to throw out a string of expletives, but all that came out were incomprehensible vowels. 

 “Now now, let me see puppy’s big, strong teeth,” Hannibal murmured in that sickly sweet little voice that he often liked to use when he was about to do something particularly demeaning; soft and a little higher in pitch, almost melodic. 

 He let go of Will’s shoulder to thrust his index finger into Will’s mouth instead, pushing at the inside of his cheek and leaning in close to peer at his molars, tilting his head like a curious bird. “I can see that America’s fixation with flossing has not been lost on you, pet. Pearly whites indeed.” 

 He started to poke and prod at Will’s bottom row of teeth on the left side, pressing the pad of his fingertip hard against his canine with an appreciative little hum as saliva started to pool in Will’s mouth. “Ah yes, it was these little ones that left an indent on my ankle, hm?” 

 Will made a useless little noise in response, his eyes narrowing in a glare as Hannibal started to tap on his teeth, one by one. 

 “As you’ll recall—” the Doctor said slowly as he abruptly pulled his finger out of Will’s mouth and let go of his jaw, causing Will to snap his mouth shut, “—I am always well equipped to reinforce good behaviour, but I did bring a couple of other tools with me this evening. Expanding my repertoire, as it were.” 

 He reached into his pocket and pulled out the shock collar’s remote, giving it a little shake in front of Will’s face, but then he did something that Will simply could not predict. The clack of Hannibal’s belt buckle being released filled his ears, and his heart started pounding painfully as he looked down to see the other man unbutton his trousers and pull down his zipper. 

 Hannibal loudly clicked his tongue as Will went to move away, his gaze averted as soon as he saw the ashen-haired man reach down to pull himself free from the slip in his boxers (of course, the asshole wore silk boxers ), prompting him to tense and remain still. 

 The man’s hand went back into his pocket, tucking away the remote, and what he revealed next caught the light in a brief glimmer of metallic reflection, causing Will’s Adam’s apple to bob uncomfortable in his throat. A knife. A short, curved blade attached to a wooden handle with a metal loop on the end. It resembled a linoleum knife, Will knew the shape from his Father’s insistence on doing all of the DIY and maintenance in their home growing up, but there was something slightly off about it, not entirely traditional. 

 He sucked in a breath as Hannibal’s hand shot out towards him, pressing the blade against the side of his throat, following the curve of the column of his neck. It was tilted to a slight angle so as not to cut, at least not immediately. Given the man’s penchant for violence, it didn’t feel like a bluff, but a tease. 

 “You are going to be a very good boy for me, aren’t you?” Hannibal asked, his voice smooth and low, as he urged Will’s face closer, his legs open wide for the profiler to sit between them. 

 Will could feel the heat radiating off of him, the glimpse of swelling flesh in his periphery. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to think about it. He’d never seen another man’s anatomy in person, not on purpose, not like this. Sure there had been photos of bloated corpses in his curriculum, the odd accidental glance in a locker room, but this was… 

 “Open your sweet mouth for me, Will,” Hannibal broke through his thoughts, causing him to blink up at the man’s face, his brow furrowing. 

 “Please don’t make me,” Will begged quietly, pouring every ounce of desperation that he could muster into the words, praying for pity. 

 Hannibal gently shushed him, stroking the fingertips of his free hand along Will’s jaw to cup his face, a false comfort. “Pet, I am not offering you an option, this is an instruction and you are going to follow it. I am only doing what is best for you, you’ll come to understand that quicker if you just stop fighting. Now, open your mouth.” 

 Will did not open his mouth. Hannibal had to grip his jaw again, squeezing until Will’s cheeks were stinging hard enough for him to relent and part his lips with a pained half-whimper. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut when he felt hot flesh touch the corner of his mouth, hoping that at the very least he would not be forced to watch. 

 The scent made him feel ill. It wasn’t that it was bad per se, there was a mild scent of soap amidst the heavy, natural musk of the other man’s sex; but it made it more difficult to pretend that it wasn’t happening. He felt the warm, smooth head of Hannibal’s cock being dragged across his bottom lip, a slight moisture clinging to his skin. 

 “Now pet, I’d like you to use your tongue,” Hannibal murmured and, when Will didn’t react, he put just enough pressure on the knife to spark a little sting across Will’s neck. 

 With great reluctance he started to push his tongue from his mouth, flinching when it first made contact. He didn’t move it, he just pressed it against the tip, holding still as he felt his body begin to tremble slightly. The taste was unusual, brackish with a slightly astringent note. 

 “There we go, that’s a good boy,” Hannibal said as he started to run his fingers through Will’s curls, all the way from his scalp to the back of his head, repetitive motions that Will had no doubt were intended to provide some sort of illusion of consolation. “Try giving it just a little lick for me.” 

 His mind started to become numb, falling into a kind of submissive state. No, not exactly that, he wasn’t submitting to anything, he was surviving . He tried to channel a self-preservation that covered his consciousness like a blanket, easing him into a malleable condition that would allow him to endure this. 

 Will’s body moved whilst a part of his mind settled into a safe, dormant space. 

 He gave the flesh a slow, gentle lick, running his tongue across the head in a single, short stroke. That one simple movement was enough to cause pre-come to leak from the slit and down onto his tongue in a strange burst of flavour. He distantly registered the sound of Hannibal’s breath hitching in his throat and felt his hand gently grip a handful of his hair. 

 “Such a good boy,” he whispered, releasing Will’s hair to start petting him, stroking from his hair to his jaw, his cheek. “Just like that, be careful with those dangerous teeth of yours, just use your tongue.” 

 Will worked on autopilot, his tongue gently lapping. He didn’t need to be able to see, he could tell from the movement and the different angles against his tongue that Hannibal was moving himself in hand as needed, encouraging Will to taste different spots along his sizable shaft. The movement stopped when the tip of Will’s tongue hit the ridge along the underside of the head, and Hannibal let out a stuttered, audible gasp that melted into an almost helpless-sounding moan. 

 That was when something inside Will snapped and self-preservation turned to self-destruction. 

 He opened his eyes, tilted his head and suddenly pushed his neck against Hannibal’s knife as hard as he could, trying to force the blade into his throat, and was rewarded with a searing pain. The pressure was short-lived, however, as Hannibal attempted to pull the knife away. A hoarse, unrecognisable noise spilt forth from Will’s throat, some sort of guttural growl, as he tried to force himself back onto the knife. 

 It was a bit of a blur. He couldn’t use his hands properly, but his feet were unwrapped which gave him a better purchase on the ground for him to try and throw himself against the knife, but simultaneously Hannibal was trying to pull his hand away and it wasn’t long before he succeeded. 

 In a mess of limbs, Will found himself tackled to the ground, the knife discarded and Hannibal’s hand wrapped around the side of his neck. “Stay still,” he commanded firmly, using his other hand to push Will against the floor as he thrashed and flailed. 

 “Kill me or let me go!” Will yelled, lifting his legs to try and kick out against the stronger man, feral and desperate. 

 “I need to see how deep the cut is!” Hannibal’s voice rose to almost a shout, and the volume took Will by surprise, causing him to go still. 

 When Hannibal pulled his hand away to examine the wound, Will felt slightly light-headed at the sight of how it glistened in the light, slick with blood. Then both hands were on Will’s neck, forcing his head to the side, and he heard an audible sigh of relief. 

 “It is merely superficial,” Hannibal said, his voice almost shaky. “You will be fine, though I can’t say as much for your sanity.” 

 “Oh, now you’re worried about my fucking sanity?” Will forced himself to sit up as Hannibal climbed off of him, awkwardly tucking himself back into his underwear and fastening his trousers and belt. “So it’s alright if you threaten to kill me, but God forbid I carry it through for you!” 

 “I don’t wish to kill you, though you certainly make it tempting,” Hannibal retorted with a flash of annoyance across his face, tutting as he looked down at where Will’s blood had smeared across his clothing. “I have been doing this for you and you have been nothing but ungrateful.” 

 “What the actual fuck are you talking about!?” Will asked with utter exasperation, holding his wrist to his neck to help stem the slowing flow of blood trickling down his skin, some seeping into the fabric of his collar.

 Hannibal simply stared at him for a moment, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “I am aware that you likely do not remember, the sedative combined with the amount of alcohol you drank that evening almost guaranteeing the fact, but I had rather hoped that your subconscious would eventually come around to some sort of understanding.” 

 “Hannibal—” Will said quietly, resisting the urge to slam his head into the nearest wall, “— what are you talking about? You need to explain.” 

 The other man looked hesitant but, after a moment, he reached into his trouser pocket, the one not containing the remote, and produced a phone. “I don’t typically bring this down here, not that there is any signal even if you were to steal it from me, however, it seems that this is necessary.” 

 He stepped over to Will, ignoring how the younger man instinctively flinched as he knelt down. He seemed to navigate through his phone and, upon finding what he was looking for, turned it around to present the phone screen to Will. It looked to be a video, and Hannibal silently pressed ‘play’. 

 “That’s— me ,” Will said softly.