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Hannibal looks up from his desk, giving the omega standing at his office door a polite smile. "Ah. Mister Graham, was it?" The omega nods, his eyes – blue, Hannibal notices, ringed with bright flecks of gold – darting around the bright-lit office, settling anywhere except Hannibal's face. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," the omega murmurs, rushing in and sitting in one of the small, comfortable wooden chairs on the other side of the desk. He brings his knees together, shoulders hunched, batting nervously at his thighs and biting his lower lip.

Hannibal regards him, head tilted, hands folded on his desk. He's in his late twenties if Hannibal were to guess, dressed in shabby clothing – poor, smelling faintly of distress and that sweetness consistent with omegas. Mint, and open air. He breathes in, and smiles when he becomes aware of another scent – likely the reason this delicate, squirrelly thing sought him out.

The omega clears his throat, chances a look up, and flushes when he sees Hannibal watching him, lowering his head again – demure and deferential to the last, as most of his breed are. "I, ah, I heard you perform…services," he says, swallowing harshly. One hand flattens over his smooth belly. "Help out people who are in trouble."

Hannibal nods, sighing through his nose. "I do," he says mildly, and the omega looks up at him. "Mister Graham -."

"Please," the omega murmurs, and raises a hand in a quick gesture, fingers curled. He winces, flushing deeper in shame at having interrupted an alpha of Hannibal's repute, and looks down at his lap. "Will is fine. I'm sorry. Please. Just Will."

Hannibal smiles, and purrs, letting Will hear it, so that he is soothed and knows Hannibal isn't angry with him. "Alright, Will," he says quietly. He straightens. "How far along are you?"

"I finished my last heat almost two months ago," Will murmurs. "It must have -. It happened then."

Hannibal nods.

"And the father?"

A spark of anger flashes through Will's eyes, thickening the gold, and he swallows, and looks away. "Out of the picture," he says tightly, his knuckles whitening and nails digging into his stomach. Hannibal nods again – too often, he has found, omegas find their way to him and ask for his help in this way. Victims of abuse, or something worse than that, but more often young things that got a little too worked up and swept away by notions of love and commitment, only to find when their legs closed and their slick ran dry, the promises evaporated with it.

He would have thought someone of Will's age to be smarter than that, but such is the way of the world.

He puts his elbows on his desk again, lowers his head until Will's eyes meet his. "I can help you," he says gently, and Will's lashes flutter in relief. "But you must understand, Will – this is an irreversible procedure. All life is precious, even life we did not think we would bear. You must be sure."

Will swallows. "I'm sure," he says tightly. "I need it gone."

Hannibal nods, and sighs. "Very well," he murmurs, and takes a sheet of paper from a tray, handing it to Will with a pen. "Please fill this out. It only asks for contact information and blood type, allergies, a brief summary of your situation. Everything is kept confidential, I promise."

Will nods, swallowing, and puts the sheet on his lap as he begins to fill it out. "How does it work?"

"I will give you a sedative, and use a general anesthetic to keep you unconscious during the procedure," Hannibal says, smiling when Will's eyes flash up, wide. "It's perfectly safe, I assure you. Once you are asleep, I will make a small incision, internally, to access the entrance of your cervix, and use forceps to open it." Will flushes, pressing his thighs together, and looks down, idly filling in his information as Hannibal continues; "I will use a combination of flexible probes and what is called a uterine curette, to divide the cells of the fetus, and then a syringe to remove the cells. Anything that remains will be cut away and removed after."

Will nods, wincing, his teeth set together and showing their edges. He finishes with his sheet and hands it back, letting Hannibal look over the fact that he has no known allergies, and that his story confirms – eight-week-old pregnancy, no emergency contact. Perfect.

"Will it hurt?" Will asks, after a moment of silence.

Hannibal nods, setting the sheet to one side. "There may be some pain from the forcible separation of your cervix, and bleeding is to be expected after the procedure. You may feel some ache for a while, but it should heal within a week or two. Of course, if that is not the case, I encourage you to come see me again."

Will nods.

"Will, I really must impress upon you the gravity of your decision, both as a doctor and a moral man. Choosing to abort comes with emotional consequences you may not be as prepared for as you'd think."

Will swallows, his shoulders tensing – he wants to argue, wants to snap and show his teeth, but he resists. Hannibal fights the urge to smile when he sees the darkness in Will's eyes. "I've thought about it a lot," he says, idly petting over his stomach. "I'm sure, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal sighs. "Very well," he murmurs, and stands. Will follows suit, respecting Hannibal's authority and standing when he does, and nervously pets over his wrists as Hannibal circles the desk and gestures for him to follow Hannibal into the examination room. "Get undressed, please."

Will trembles, but obeys, stripping down to reveal pale skin, soft muscle consistent with his breed. His shoulders are broader than most omegas, Hannibal thinks even a prime alpha would have trouble holding him down unless Will was in heat. Perhaps, he thinks, bring mounted was not a matter of conscious choice. But that's how omegas are – weak, wanting, when they're wet.

He turns away and takes from a cabinet a bottle of heavy sedatives, setting two pills to one side, fills a glass of water and gathers the tank of gas, placing it by the examination table in the middle of the room. When Will is naked, he stands, shaking and shivering, and Hannibal smiles at him, goes to him and wraps a hand in his hair, lets Will take in a deep breath of soothing alpha pheromones.

"That's it, darling," he murmurs, as Will's lashes lower, his irises flood with gold and his pink cheeks darken. Hannibal has often had to use his pheromones to coax sweet little lambs like him into pliancy, and Will is no different. He leads Will to the table and sets him atop it, smiling when Will trembles and whines, pawing at him.

Hannibal fetches the water and pills and hands them over, smile widening as Will gazes at them, drunk on his pheromones, not quite reactive. "Take them," he coaxes, and Will obeys with another whimper, as Hannibal noses at his soft hair – thick curls, perfect for grabbing, framing his face until he looks angelic. "Sweet thing, there you go. That's it." He pets over Will's neck, encouraging him to swallow the large pills, and takes the water from him when Will's hand goes weak.

He sets it to one side, and lowers Will to the bed. "The sedative will take a few moments to work," he says, and Will nods, lax and loose, and sighs as Hannibal corrects his stance on the table, lifting the stirrups and parting Will's legs, setting his calves into the stirrups and binding them tight.

Will winces, whimpering again in distress, and Hannibal pauses when, very subtly, he catches a trace of Will's slick. His brows lift, and he lets his fingers drift down Will's soft, pale thighs, lifts his balls and cups his hips to bare his hole. He breathes in, testing – his pheromones are designed to settle, not to arouse, and Will's reaction is curious.

He sees Will's pink rim, flushing and flexing beneath his gaze, a single little drop of slick spilling from him as Will starts to pant, fingers crinkling in the cover of paper on the table.

He moves from Will, gathering the tools on a little tray for the removal of the fetus, and Will's eyes widen when he sees them, his lips parted and his head giving a terrified little shake. "Doctor," he murmurs, words already slurring, and Hannibal sighs, pets through his hair and coaxes him into inhaling another deep breath of his pheromones. Will's hand twitches, but cannot rise. "Please. No. I changed my mind, I -."

Hannibal smiles, and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sweet thing, but you made your decision. Now you must live with it."

Will whines, loudly, enough that it sets Hannibal's teeth on edge and makes him snarl. Of all the lambs he's done this for, Will is the first to change his mind before the procedure even happened. But Will decided he doesn't want his baby, he doesn't deserve to be a mother for it.

"Please." Will's tension is ebbing, now, the sedative taking hold, and Hannibal smiles, turns on the gas, and places the breathing mask over his mouth.

"Hush, Will," he murmurs, and pets Will's sweaty hair. "It'll be over before you know it."

Will whimpers, but falls silent, his eyes closing. When he's under, Hannibal finally allows his anger to show. The irresponsibility of alphas, to mount and leave an omega or woman flooded and alone; the arrogance of these lambs when they come to him, begging him to help, to get them out of trouble. Life is precious, all life, and those that would willingly rob a child of the chance to be born angers him greatly.

He paces to between Will's legs, pulling the tray with him, and pauses when he sees the growing trickle of slick between Will's thighs. Now, that is curious. He tilts his head, pressing his thumb in with a soft growl, his sensitive nose giving him the sweetness that Will's body is producing. He is cloying, here, heavy, and Hannibal cocks his head, pushes in with his thumb to feel how Will clings and tightens around him, even unconscious.

Interesting.

But he has a job to do. The anesthetic will keep Will under, but he has other appointments today, and cannot linger. He sighs, and absently licks his thumb clean, growling at the taste of this sweet omega that so willingly crawled into his lair. He thinks of what he will do to Will, when he's done – he will take Will's sweetness, gather his slick and his blood and serve it with his wine. He will melt Will's trembling thighs from the bone, slow-roast the meat and feast upon it. Motherhood makes lambs so delightfully sweet, soft and flavorful with that second life they were so willing to cast aside.

He sits on a stool and pulls close to Will's limp body, tugging him down until he can access Will's opening. He pushes in with two gloved fingers, shivering at the scent of Will's slick as it explodes in the air – he is certain he's never smelled anything like that. The omegas that come to him hold no allure for him, never have, but Will.

He thinks, as he prepares the forceps and scalpel, of how Will sounded, desperate and terrified and begging. Of the pretty gold in his eyes when he'd succumbed to Hannibal's pheromones – of what else he could have made Will beg for, if he had pushed just a little harder.

He shivers, growling at himself, and works the forceps in, spreading them to reveal Will's soft, slick inner muscles. He presses with a finger, until he feels the tense opening of his cervix, and works the scalpel in, making the little incision that will encourage the muscles there to part, and fits another set of forceps between the little jut of bone, spreading Will wide – perhaps wider than necessary, but he's unnerved by Will's effect on him, and though Will is asleep, the idea of making him suffer for it is a satisfying one.

But Will's body parts for him so eagerly, so wet and sweet. Hannibal cannot help breathing in again, his mouth flooding with saliva as he tastes that mint, and chocolate, warming his skull and making him harden in his suit pants. He snarls, and grabs the curette, working it past Will's cervix and up, until he finds the little give, the resistance, of a fetal attachment.

He sighs, but continues, working the curette inside of Will as he feels the small cluster break apart, sliced to pieces. Blood and slick coats his gloved fingers as he works, and oh, even Will's blood smells good, not rank with iron and too sharp, but utterly sweet, in a way nothing else has.

It makes him angry all over again. Will is clearly a beautiful omega, in his prime, wet and wanting and to dare deny any alpha his rightful claim on his body, the evidence of his legacy, fills Hannibal with a rage he cannot describe. He is rougher than intended, tearing at Will's uterus with the curette until he gushes with blood, and yet still more slick, soaking into the table.

Hannibal snarls as he finishes, the procedure quick since Will, at least, did not wait long to terminate his pregnancy. He works the bloody curette out, growling at the tiny chunks of meat that cling, and sets it to one side, grabs the syringe and works it harshly into Will, sucking up what remains. When that is done, he removes it and the forceps parting Will's cervix, pulling the bloody ends out and setting them to one side.

He stands, then, and pulls off one of his gloves, watching Will's lashes flutter, still under the effects of the anesthetic. His lips are parted, his breathing slow and even, his hands limp and lifeless on the table.

"Look at you," Hannibal snarls. His claws flex – he wants to hurt Will for doing this. For ending his pregnancy, for tempting Hannibal so much with his slick and his sweetness. His lip twitches upward, his teeth bared in a snarl. "You arrogant, devastating thing." Oh, if he had the time, he would devour Will whole, wake him so that he was aware as Hannibal did it. Lambs scream so loud when they're scared.

Hannibal snarls again, shoving his gloved fingers into Will's bloody, wet hole, forcing him wider than even the forceps have him, and they fall out with a soft clatter to the ground. Will's body jerks from the strength of Hannibal's hand, his muscles clamping involuntarily, tightening around him, so wet, so sweet.

Hannibal hisses, and looks down at where four fingers are buried in Will's entrance, glove shining and bloodied. He makes another rough sound, and palms at his suit pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them and pulling the halves apart so he can take his cock out. He's hard, flush-red, leaking at the tip.

"Well," he murmurs, and pulls his fingers out, eyeing the tremble of Will's thighs, the even rise of his flushed chest, the masked pink of his lips, "since you're so cavalier about consequence."

He pushes his cock into Will's slick body, snarling as he's immediately enveloped in hot, clenching muscle. Will spasms around him again, and the force of Hannibal's thrust startles a whimper out of him, his brow creasing. Hannibal pauses, eyes Will but finds him lax, still asleep. He works his hips against Will's spread thighs, digs his nails into Will's hips and yanks him closer, fucks through the blood and slick and soaks himself in Will's scent.

He can't help thinking how Will would react, if he were to wake in this moment. He'd scream, probably, panic and whimper and only submit when Hannibal bit him, forced him to spread and take it. Tell him he'll give him a baby, if that's what Will wants, and kill him if he tries to refuse. And Will – sweet, tempting, terrible Will – he'd want it. He'd cry and moan and beg and he'd want it, Hannibal is sure.

His sensitive cockhead feels the tension of Will's cervix, still-parted though he's not in heat. Feels the tear where his incision was made, feels where the forceps clamped and hurt him. He grips Will's hips, snarling at the clinging remains of torn flesh as he fucks between them, angles his cock until it forces through the tight ring of Will's cervix, makes him part – oh, he'll hurt after this. Good.

He doesn't knot Will, though he is utterly tempted – no time, alas, no time for that. Instead he pulls back, spills inside of Will's murderous, sinful body, and strokes himself through the rest, coating Will's rim and the table beneath them with his seed.

He sighs when he's finished, immediately going to the washing station and cleaning his cock and hands, correcting his clothes. Then, he grabs a medical wipe and cleans Will's thighs, pushes in with his fingers until the wipe has cleaned Will's torn rim. Will is still bleeding, still gushing slick, and Hannibal snarls, angered and outraged that he's still enjoying this, or at least that his body is reacting favorably to it.

He opens the windows, clears the air of sex, semen, alpha anger. Forces himself to be calm as he pulls Will's legs together, pushes the stirrups down, and slides his underwear back up his legs, fixing them on his hips, and puts a pad between his legs so that he won't leak and stain his clothes. Then, he removes the mask, and busies himself with cleaning his equipment as Will comes back to the waking world.

He surges up with a cry, flinching and putting a hand between his legs, shuddering and whimpering, his eyes filled with tears as he looks at Hannibal. "You -. Fuck." He runs a hand through his hair, terrified and in pain, his scent still so sweet even in distress.

His eyes close, and Hannibal sighs as tears start to fall, staining his cheeks. "I warned you, Will," he says, drying his hands. "The reality of losing a child is not something to be taken lightly."

"I begged you to stop," Will whimpers. "I begged, I said I didn't want to -."

Hannibal pauses, and takes on an expression of soft, guilty confusion. "Forgive me, Will," he says quietly. "But you didn't. You didn't say a word once we came into this room."

Will trembles with another violent sob, putting his head in his hands, and Hannibal sighs again, goes to him and pets through his hair, letting Will breathe in his calming scent.

"Take as much time as you need, darling," he murmurs. Will sobs again, nods weakly, and Hannibal gives his nape one gentle squeeze, before he pulls away. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

 

 

Objectively, Hannibal knows that his loss of control is unforgiveable. Abortion is illegal for omegas, that's why he offers the services he does, but if Will even suspects of anything untoward happening, he might risk jail for the sake of stopping Hannibal from continuing on. If Will caught a trace of his semen, if he sought another doctor's advice for a second examination, it could damn Hannibal entirely.

He should have killed Will. No matter how sweet, how beautiful he had been, how lovely his pain was, it was stupid to leave him alive.

He is very surprised, then, to see Will darkening his office door not two weeks later. He is not the pale, shivering lamb he had been when they first met – no, rather, Hannibal looks at him and sees something prowling, something predatory.

He offers a charming smile and folds his hands. "Will," he purrs. "What can I do for you?"

"You and I need to talk," Will says, closing the door and taking the same seat he'd claimed before. Unlike the first time, his knees are spread out, his hands steady on his thighs, his chest and belly exposed as he sits straight, chin lifted as though in challenge.

Hannibal tilts his head.

"I have another problem."

Hannibal sighs. "Will, given your recent procedure, you really shouldn't be engaging in any sexual activity -."

"Stop." Will lifts a hand, just like he did before, but this one is flat and wide and stills Hannibal's words on his tongue. "I know you're not going to admit to the truth. You can't, and I understand that." He lowers his hand, and Hannibal merely stares at him, and wonders if the lamb's wool was hiding this wolf all along. "I know what you did to me. What you've done to all those omegas in the press. Butchered, childless, discarded like the trash they are."

Hannibal's brows lift.

"But." Will pauses, parts his lips, shows Hannibal the tempting curl of his tongue. "I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Doctor Lecter. Don't lie to me."

Hannibal presses his lips together, straightens in his seat, and gestures, wordlessly, for Will to continue.

"Not a day after I got back to my hotel, the father's parents called me," Will tells him. "I guess he has a habit of knocking up omegas during their heat. Turns out they're willing to offer me a lot of money, to buy my silence, to help raise the kid." His eyes flash, dark and golden, and he narrows his eyes at Hannibal. "But problem is, I don't have a kid anymore."

Hannibal tilts his head.

"You took it from me," Will says, and sits forward – still wincing, Hannibal notices with no small flicker of pleasure, glad that Will is hurting for his sins. "You took my child away and now you owe me a new one."

Hannibal hums, drumming the sides of his folded hands on his desk.

"Tell me, Will," he murmurs, "what are you suggesting?"

"I'm not stupid, Doctor Lecter," Will hisses. "I know what it feels like to wake up fresh-fucked. I know what you did." Hannibal does not answer, doesn't allow himself to give any physical tell – realizes a second too late that no tell is the biggest one there is. Will's lips twitch, part in a wide, savage smile. "You wanted me. Took advantage of that want."

Hannibal swallows.

"You didn't kill me. Maybe one day you'll tell me why, but here I am, fertile and telling you to breed me. Imagine it – making another alpha pay to raise your child." Will sits back when Hannibal growls, but he is still smiling. Such a proud wolf, it's a wonder it could have made itself so invisible amongst the lambs. "You can drug me again, if you want. If that's what it takes to get you off."

When Hannibal doesn't answer, Will tilts his head, rubbing his thumb along the corner of his mouth.

"Though," he purrs, "I'd rather watch you, even if I can't move. Maybe you have something for that."

Hannibal's fingers clench, his knuckles whitening as Will spreads his legs, and oh, he's wet, Hannibal can smell it. He's slick, just at the suggestion. What a curious creature.

Will's eyes flash, at his continued silence. "You owe me a baby," he snarls, "but if you're not willing to give me one, I'm sure there are plenty of others who will."

Hannibal shoves himself to his feet at that, snarling loudly, and Will grins, rising as well. Backs up as Hannibal circles the table and prowls to him, until Will's shoulders hit the door and he bites his lower lip. He does not bare his throat – no, Hannibal senses he will have to drug or overpower him to get him to do that.

"You arrogant, sinful, delightful thing," Hannibal growls, flattening a hand over Will's neck. Tightens his fingers, until the flesh turns white, then pink, and Will's eyes flash, and widen, but he doesn't fight. Perhaps he thinks Hannibal intends to choke him into unconsciousness, to mount him over the desk. The flood of his slick-scent is heavy and maddening, the gold in his eyes hypnotic.

"Yours," Will rasps, his pulse thrumming. "If you have the guts to take it."

Hannibal shows his teeth, and purrs when Will smiles.

"Clear your schedule, Doctor Lecter," he whispers, and cups Hannibal's face. Doesn't seem to care that Hannibal is still an inch away from choking him. His breathing is shallow, rapid, his pulse flying, but his hand doesn't shake. "I'm not leaving this office until you've given me what I want."

Hannibal blinks at him, and smiles, and does what he was not able to with the mask on – he kisses Will, with teeth and starving tongue, shuddering as Will moans and goes limp in his arms, denied of air, still arching and soaking wet and so, so sweet. He wonders, idly, if Will has the power to send him into rut – an occurrence that hasn't happened since his teenage years, and yet his head is warm, alight with anticipation, thinking of all the ways he could brutally harm Will for daring to be so arrogant, so tempting, so deliciously perfect.

"Come, darling," he purrs, and leads Will towards the examination room. "We'll see if you can bear what it means to be mine."

Will smiles, breathless and on fire with victorious pride, eyes bright and gold, and obeys without another word.