Warning: spoilers for Hannibal Season 2. Includes explicit content featuring a sexual relationship between Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. 18+ only. Not affiliated with NBC.
Story Summary: Will’s relationship with Hannibal enters a new stage of transformation the night he kills Randall Tier and imagines the Chesapeake Ripper in his place.
After more boundaries are irrevocably crossed, Hannibal and Will begin a game form of love-hate: an unrelenting passion that thrills and consumes them. inevitably, one will lose the lust-match; and the other will emerge victorious.
Excerpt (rated PG-13):
Under the shower head’s pounding spray, awash with sensation, Will floated in and out of awareness. He did not remember how to turn off his thinking mode: it was ever activated, even during moments of attempted relaxation. Always in high-gear, he used his empathy as a tool to anticipate his enemy’s next move. He assessed the situational danger, and analyzed the flaws he found beneath the Chesapeake Ripper’s façade.
Personally apprehending the mass murderer who had not only gotten inside his head, but also killed the girl he had originally saved from death, appealed to Will’s intrinsic sense of virtue. He reminded himself that at the very least, he would sleep more soundly at night once Hannibal Lecter and his deadly influence were safely caged. Adopting a solely objective stance in his role as the doctor’s secret enemy would have been less complicated; but he had chosen to sacrifice himself for the cause. Thus, he continued to ensconce himself within the cracks of the Ripper’s human persona whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Will had never expected the rekindling of their friendship to engender within him a bizarre and disturbing affinity (codependency) for his confidante-cum-nemesis; though he admitted it was easier to receive and accept the psychiatrist’s influence when he made himself emotionally available. His convincing performance brought out Hannibal’s hidden vulnerability. Despite the possible payoff, being the lure came with dire consequences, and the side effects – automatic empathy and subsequent beguilement – were debilitating. Unfortunately, Will had not anticipated the depth of his own attraction to danger.
He sighed. Fire-hot water from the shower nozzle sluiced down his chest. It was astringent, though neither unpleasant nor distracting enough to redirect him from reliving the recent past. Vividly, he recalled gripping gelled hair that had lost its stiffness and given way to fine-spun softness.
Harsh hands bore down on hard leather; succulent lips sported beads of blood…
Overwhelmed, Will let a quiet moan slip past his lips. He cursed his eager imagination and overly-detailed memories. Both were a detriment to his mental and physical well-being (not to mention, his sanity). Struggling to ignore the sensory snapshots his ever-active brain used as bait for deviant temptations, Will snatched the bar of soap and worked it into a lather; washing his body with precise, perfunctory movements. The sooner he finished, the more quickly he could hope to distract himself with the platonic comradeship of his dogs.
It was discouraging, how inspired he was to transform the once-normal ritual into an act of erotic commemoration – how the mundane routine of showering had devolved in frank sexual fetishization.
Blame Hannibal Lecter.
“I do,” he said aloud. All along, Will had suspected it would only be a matter of time before he advanced to the optional next stage in his meticulously-plotted courtship: allowing Hannibal to seduce him, should the occasion present itself. Though lacking the experience fortify his flirtation with same-sex experimentation, Will could not honestly deny his reluctant attraction to his once-trusted therapist. He thought he would have had time to plot – to choreograph each move and remain in control. At one point, he had even wondered if he would need to feign arousal to sustain the ruse.
But the night of Randall Tier’s murder, something had shifted – the remaining boundaries between them had weakened when Hannibal tenderly caressed his battered hands, and cleansed his wounds with a reverence that was nothing less than pure adoration.
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