Work Header

Up For Grabs

Work Text:

"Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

Will doesn't look up. He never does. He's never been fond of Doms or their eyes.

"Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible."

He's always been on the side of seeing too much. He hates what he sees. He hates how people see him. Weak. Useless. An omega and a sub. He is nothing to Alphas like Jack Crawford and Dr. Lecter. They're only pretending otherwise.

Dr. Lecter's fingers brush Will's shoulder. The shudder that follows is involuntary. "I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind."

Dr. Lecter's presence is a beacon of surety to Will's left. His instincts—his damn weak instincts—crave Lecter's approval. His instincts can go screw themselves. "Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love."

Will huffs a mockery of a laugh. "You overestimate my 'decency,' Dr. Lecter. My orientations have no bearing here."

"I was making no such assumptions." Will turns slightly, enough to stare at Dr. Lecter from the corner of his eyes. Never look a Dom straight on. Never challenge. The rules of his childhood never leave. Will doesn't believe Dr. Lecter, but he sounds an appropriate approximation of sincere. "I believe you are a decent person. Your empathy allows nothing less. I imagine such decency made you a great asset in your work as a detective."

The pieces of the puzzle that is Dr. Lecter arrange far too quickly. He glares at Dr. Lecter through narrowed eyes. "Whose profile are you working on?"

Will looks into Dr. Lecter's eyes and sees a tiger, hungry and stalking. He sees himself trapped in Dr. Lecter's eyes.

He does not flee but his exit is as hurried as he can manage.

Stars stretch across the dark sky above him. They are innumerable. They are cold and distant, the way Will's thoughts never are. He wishes he could be like them. He wishes he could stay in the sky with them, so far away from the problems of this world and the people that fill it.

A sound pulls his attention back to this Earth. He is not alone.

He turns. His gaze falls on a raven-feathered stag. His body starts to follow his gaze, turning to take in the beautifully monstrous creature.

He's jerked back to reality by a hand closing over his throat, choking the air out of him. He blinks. Water sprays his face from the showerhead, blurring his vision. How...? He grasps at the large hand on his throat. His fingers are pruned from being in the shower so long. He can't find traction. He can't breathe.

He's shoved forward, a larger body trapping him against the tiled wall. He bangs his calf against the tub's faucet, but the pain is irrelevant in the face of blinding panic. He does not recognize the feel of the other's body. He's never.... Intimacy has never been his strong suit. The person is male. He's stronger. It isn't even a struggle, much as Will tries. He's overpowered. He's trapped.

His stomach drops as obvious sign of the other's gender presses against his thighs.

No. No, not this. He's been so, so careful. Who would...?

His question is immediately answered by the warm breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. "Be still."

Dr. Lecter? No. He can't.... He doesn't want.... The grip on his throat tightens to just shy of crushing. He wants to fight. He really does, but he can't even think with his vision going dark at the edges.

He is okay dying like this. It's better than the alternative.

He doesn't die. He's allowed a single gasp of air before the hand tightens again.

"Be. Still." Dr. Lecter's voice is absolute. He will be still. He has no choice.

His futile struggles cease. Will wasn't prepared. He can usually fight a Dom's command, but he never expected to have to hold his own in a hotel room.

He gives in.

The hand on his throat eases enough for him to breathe. He does. His gasps sound like sobs and he wants to ask why this, why him, but before he can, his attempt at words is cut off by a strangled cry as Dr. Lecter shoves inside of him. Dr. Lecter's grip shifts enough to keep Will quiet. No screaming to alert the neighbors. He clutches Dr. Lecter's arm. Tears mix freely with the cooling water of his ruined shower.

"Good boy," Dr. Lecter croons in his ear. His other hand splays across Will's stomach, holding Will in place as Dr. Lecter rolls his hips in and up, taking and taking.

He's never.... This is something Will has never experienced, never wanted to experience. He is not made for breeding. He is made too much for submission, can lose himself at the first wrong turn. He will lose himself to Dr. Lecter.

It hurts. It can't not. Even if he is physically geared toward this brand of abuse, the first time is always painful. He thinks it a small favor that Dr. Lecter is being kind in this. His grip is unyielding but he doesn't seek pain for the sake of pain. He's a tsunami, destructive in its wake but not intentionally so.

"You're doing well, Will. You're being very good."

God, he hates how his knees go weak. He doesn't need praise. He doesn't want it, but it still makes his senses ignite, every nerve on fire. He is a moth, falling into the lure of Dr. Lecter's flame.

"Stop," he whispers. Dr. Lecter allows him this.


His body reacts incongruently. He opens for Dr. Lecter, his body pulling Dr. Lecter in, welcoming his thrusts and seeking more. He's hard. He doesn't want to feel pleasure from this. He doesn't want to, but he has no choice. The biological component of his gender has been denied too long and this mating feels like nothing else. He feels fulfilled.

The hand on his throat lightly holds him, keeping his throat tilted back against Dr. Lecter's shoulder. The first needy gasp startles him. He belatedly realizes the sound is his. Dr. Lecter doesn't give him room to move but Will knows if he did, Will would be chasing this, pushing into Dr. Lecter's thrusts. His body wants more, more, more and he doesn't... he shouldn't give in to this.

He has always been weak.

"Please." He hates that word. He hates what he's asking with it. Even more, he hates the response he gets.

"Of course."

Dr. Lecter's knot fills him, locking them tight on a broken, wrecked sound from the depths of Will's soul. He moans as Dr. Lecter's come fills him. With this one act, Dr. Lecter has taken Will's life from him. His independence is over. He is a ruined man, a claimed omega and a sub that now belongs to Dr. Lecter.

His consciousness fades. This is his complete submission. He stands and lets Dr. Lecter's seed take root in his body. He knows the statistics. He's not on suppressants. He hasn't needed them for a while. Without them, the first mating always ends in pregnancy. Always.

He is still when Dr. Lecter separates them. He lets himself be turned, cleaned, dried, and laid on the bed. He stares at nothing. The soft robe he wears did not come with the room. Dr. Lecter moves about the room. Zippers open and close. He thinks Dr. Lecter has packed Will's suitcase. His stomach is quick to note the smell of food.

"Come." Dr. Lecter's hand closes on the back of Will's neck, guiding him to the small table by the door. There are two bowls set out with eggs and meat inside.

"Dr. Lecter," he tries. The hand on his neck squeezes once in warning and he falls silent.

"Please. Call me Hannibal. A little familiarity is overdue." Dr. Lecter sits across from him. He is the same as in Crawford's office—calm, self-assure, immovable. "You have questions, I'm sure. I will explain myself in time, but for now, eat."

He does. No matter what was in front of him, he would eat it.

He's pleasantly surprised. "It's delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Hannibal smiles at him and Will loses himself a little more.