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Bite Your Lip, Taste Your Lies

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Will watches as Hannibal pulls his coat tighter around himself and does his best not to laugh. Hannibal looks like a very displeased wet cat, standing in the pouring Oregon rain on a cold beach as CSI bustles around trying to glean any possible information from the scene before any more evidence is washed away. 

The scene is a particularly gruesome one as well, in the grand scheme of crime scenes they have visited as FBI consultants. Four teenagers had been brutally shot and then beaten as they had danced around a bonfire the night before. They had been found by a pair of very unfortunate surfers early that morning, and since the scene had very closely mirrored two others from the previous six months, including one just over the border into Washington, the state and local police had immediately called in the FBI. Or, more specifically, they had called in Will, who had garnered a bit of a national reputation in law enforcement circles courtesy of Garrett Jacob Hobbes and, much to everyone’s displeasure, Freddie Lounds.  

Will inhales the damp, salty air. It’s a nice change after spending the first two hours of their time in Oregon surrounded by the chemical, sterile scent of a morgue. At least Hannibal had gotten to have his fun. He remembers watching Hannibal looking over the dead bodies, a look on his face that Will couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t complete revulsion, or pity, or even a strange reverence, as some profilers have for the work of their subjects, but it was something that Will could almost describe as “recognition.” Now, that is a strange thought. He turns around as he hears the rocks crunching under Jack’s feet. 

“Well?” he asks. Jack sighs.

“The rain isn’t helping CSI any, and the rocks prevented any footprints from being left. The only thing they have is one casing that matches the  .357 casings left at the other two crime scenes, but those haven’t been able to be traced.” He hands Will a spent casing in an evidence bag. 

“No ballistics from the other crime scenes?” Will asks as he turns the bullet over in the bag. Jack shakes his head. 

“He takes the bullets with him, they’re pretty sure. He’s meticulous. Makes sure that all gunshot wounds are through and through head shots, execution style. All he leaves is one spent shell. He likes to taunt us.” 

“This killer is organized, and yet the sheer brutality of the scenes suggest someone with an extreme amount of contained anger.” Hannibal chimes in. As far as observations go, it’s a bit of a low hanging fruit; the profile is common enough - Green River, Bundy, Kemper, a few others spring immediately to mind. But Hannibal isn’t done yet. “But might I suggest that the scene is only meant to look disorganized and rage filled?” That gets Jack’s attention. 

“Explain, Doctor Lecter.” 

“Reading over the autopsy report and looking at the bodies for myself, I think it is more likely that our killer isn’t full of rage, but instead full of mirth, or at least, of curiosity. The wounds suggest anger, but the fact that the most likely cause of death for all victims is a single gunshot wound to the head, which would kill them instantly suggests that the kill wasn’t our suspect’s only goal. The mutilations were. He is experimenting, and he would rather not have his victims interrupting his work. For lack of a better term, he finds this all fun.” 

“I would rather his ‘fun’ leave more evidence,” Jack grumbled. “This is like the Ripper all over again.”

“Not exactly,” says Hannibal. “The profile of the Ripper differs slightly in that for him, death by mutilation and the subsequent displays are the goal. He doesn’t kill to test new methods of torture for his victims. He would know those already. The Ripper is established, this one is not, which suggests that the two are at very different stages in their lives. Most likely this killer is a young man getting his feet wet for some grander event that he is planning.”

While Jack looks even more surly at Hannibal’s careful dissection - too careful , much too careful, Will notices - of the Ripper profile, Will examines the empty casing through the bag carefully and sees the mark of a distinct firing pin down the back of the shell. Revolver. That explains the lack of casings at scenes. Their unsub has a definite knowledge of police procedure, or, at the very least, some common sense. A person with a revolver doesn’t leave casings unless they choose to.

“So in other words, we have a profile that includes half of the entire population of this area, one shell casing belonging to a weapon that is either not registered or illegal, and not a shred of DNA evidence or a fingerprint?” Will says. Jack grimaces and nods. Will sighs and hands back the evidence bag. He feels Hannibal staring at him. It makes the hair on his neck stand up. 

He closes his eyes and lets the scene wash over him. 


Because it is just his luck, the hotel in the small tourist town messes up their reservations and it ends with him and Hannibal having to share a room with a king sized bed. And of course Hannibal is too much a proper asshole to let Will just sleep on the floor, so he is now having to share a bed with his not-psychiatrist who he is having decidedly complicated feelings about. He stands frozen on one side of the bed, his bag in one hand and the room key in the other. Hannibal for his part, places his suitcase on the bed and starts pulling out a set of pretentiously patterned, silk pajamas and a black leather case that very obviously is a toiletry bag that probably costs more than Will’s suitcase and its contents combined. He glances up at Will, and Will can practically see the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. 

“Are you planning on standing there all night, Will?” he asks, placing the suitcase on the little stand he had taken out of the closet. Will gives himself a mental kick and puts his bag down on the bed and digs through it to find his own toiletry bag. 

“No, no. Sorry,” he says. “I was just caught up in the scene from today.” It’s a lie, and he suspects Hannibal knows this, but he doesn’t say anything. “You can shower first if you want to. I don’t care.” 

“If I could request to shower second, that would be preferred,” Hannibal says. “I have a.” He pauses. “Rather extensive routine that is not shared by everyone. I would hate to deprive you of hot water.” 

“Oh, okay then,” Will says, trying and failing to not think about what Hannibal could possibly mean by that. “I’ll make it as quick as I can so you don’t run out of hot water either.” He gathers up a shirt, his plaid pajama pants, and a pair of boxers before he makes for the bathroom, hoping that Hannibal hadn’t seen him turning red. 

He brushes his teeth before getting in the shower and letting the hot water chase the slight chill out of his bones. He thinks about Hannibal as he does. Clearly, the man is flirting with him - Hannibal isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is - the glint in his eyes had all but confirmed what Will had suspected since Minnesota. He isn’t going to lie to himself: he is not at all opposed to the idea of sharing a bed with Hannibal. What gives him pause is the exact nature of their relationship. Hannibal isn’t his psychologist, but it is not so long ago that he also gave him a rubber stamp of a psych eval. Coming out and telling his coworkers that he is in a relationship with him would not be the best look for either of them. 

Wait, relationship ? He shakes water out of his eyes and works shampoo through his hair. Where had that thought come from? Not twenty minutes earlier he had been reluctant to share a room and a bed with the man, and now he is thinking about their hypothetical relationship going public. It must be the jet lag talking. Well, not all jet lag - it’s been a long time since he’s had sex with anyone but himself. He is only human, after all.  

He finishes showering as fast as he can, scrunching his hair dry and wrapping a towel around his waist before leaving the foggy bathroom. He chooses to forgo putting his clothes on; if Hannibal is playing a game, he may as well play along. 

Hannibal looks up from his IPad as Will leaves the bathroom and his eyes practically bug out of his head. Surprisingly, Hannibal seems to be “only human” as well. Will goes to his suitcase and opens it, putting his toiletry bag and pajama pants back in and tossing his boxers and t-shirt on the bed before looking at him. Hannibal hasn’t moved, IPad gripped limply in his lap and his mouth slightly ajar. 

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Will says, pulling the shirt over his head before turning around to feign modesty as he drops the towel and pulls on his underwear. “Is it alright if I sleep in just boxers and the shirt? It’s a little warm in here.” 

Finally realizing that he is staring, Hannibal blinks and twitches his head as he shakes himself back to reality. 

“That’s perfectly acceptable,” he says, getting up and gathering up his toiletry bag. Will notices that he leaves his pajamas sitting on top of his suitcase and has to contain a smirk. This is hardly chess. It’s barely even checkers at this point. Will hears the shower turn on as he settles himself in the bed and opens up the book he had started on the plane. 

He focuses on the book for a grand total of about ten minutes before his mind starts wandering to the fact that Hannibal still has yet to get out of the shower. Suddenly having an absolutely wicked idea, he swings himself out of bed and tiptoes to listen intently at the bathroom door. He can’t hear much through the heavy door and the running water, but just before he gives up completely, he catches just the faintest sound of a shuddering sigh. 

He’s lived with enough roommates to know what that sound means. 

Will goes back to the bed and feigns interest in his book, eyes darting towards the bathroom door as the water turns off. Hannibal comes out with a towel around his waist, his broad shoulders slightly shiny and pink from the hot water and his hair falling in a mop over his eyes from being toweled dry. Will makes no secret of staring him up and down, a sense of control taking over him as he did so. 

“How was your shower?” he asks, putting the book in his lap and folding his arms behind his head as he leans back against the headboard. Hannibal flushes, the apples of his cheeks and neck turning pink as he picks up his pajamas. 

“It was quite...relieving, thank you,” he says, also turning his back to Will as he pulls on the pajama pants - no underwear , Will notices - before turning back around and getting into his side of the bed. Will dog ears his place in the book, puts it on the bedside table, and turns his light off, laying down and turning to face Hannibal. 

“I may try to kick you out of bed,” he tells him. “I’m not a very good person to sleep with. I apologize in advance.” 

“I’m sure you will be a satisfactory bed partner, Will,” Hannibal says. He turns off his own light and settles down into bed, laying on his right side facing away from Will. But it wasn’t a rejection. It was an invitation. 

Feeling the need to exert more control over the situation, Will makes Hannibal wait another forty-five minutes before he rolls back and plasters himself to his back. He wraps an arm around Hannibal’s stomach, tucks his nose against his neck, and exhales. He feels Hannibal shudder under his hand. 


“I’m sorry Doctor Lecter ,” Will drawls. “I must have been asleep.” He makes to pull away, but he is stopped by a vice grip on his wrist. 

“I did not say that I minded,” Hannibal breathes. Will tucks his head back into the curve of Hannibal’s neck and presses a kiss into his skin with just the barest hint of teeth. He hears him swallow and feels the movement of his Adam’s Apple against him as he leans up to whisper into Hannibal’s ear. 


Hannibal turns in his arms and crushes their lips together. Will feels the scrape of teeth on his bottom lip and returns the favor, shoving his tongue in Hannibal’s mouth as he adjusts their positions to pin him to the bed. He shoves his thigh up between Hannibal’s legs and feels him hard against his thigh. Hannibal moans into his mouth, and it sends shivers down Will’s spine. 

He detaches himself from Hannibal’s mouth to start biting down his neck, sucking deep bruises into the skin as he goes. He hopes Hannibal has an emergency scarf in that suitcase of his. Will digs the fingers of one of his hands into the slight softness of Hannibal’s hips to force him to grind on his thigh as Will bites down on a nipple. Hannibal moans again at the combination of the sting of his nipple and the pressure on his cock and Will grins and repeats the motion. He moves his free hand down to the tent of Hannibal’s cock in the silk pajama pants that he wears, rolling his palm over the dampness that he feels surrounding the head. Will lifts his head up from abusing Hannibal’s nipples to finally look him in the face. Hannibal is flushed and sweating, his pupils blown wide even in the dim light coming through the curtains. 

“Why Doctor Lecter, it seems that you’re just like the rest of us after all,” he croons, rubbing over Hannibal’s cock again to see his breath hitch. “You’re all buttoned up and proper when you need to be seen, but deep down, you have the same vices as the rest of us.”

A strange look crosses Hannibal’s face as he says this. It is the look of a surprised predator, a tiger startled out of brush. In that moment, Will knows that he has a dangerous man pinned under him. He hasn’t gotten as far as he has in his life by not trusting his instincts. The realization doesn’t unsettle him as much as he thinks it should. If anything, he feels emboldened to bring his other hand to Hannibal’s hips and force him further into the mattress. 

“What do you think your patients would say if they could see you now,” he says in between biting his way down Hannibal’s stomach. “If they could see the enigmatic Doctor Lecter, giving in to his most base instincts.” He yanks the pants off Hannibal’s hips and swallows him down as far as he can go. It has been a while since he has given anyone a blowjob, and there is no need to choke and ruin the experience for the both of them. 

Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, letting out what amounts to a shriek as Will envelopes his cock. Will runs his tongue up a large vein travelling the length of his cock and swirls it around the exposed head, dipping it into the loose fold of his foreskin to collect the fluid that had gathered there. 

“Will!” Hannibal pants out his name and buries his fingers in Will’s curls. Will gives a particularly hard suck as a reward and brings one of his hands under Hannibal’s knee to shove a leg up and out, spreading him open. He keeps the other hand free to fist around the base of the cock in his mouth, stroking what he couldn’t reach. 

Hannibal rolls his hips almost unconsciously, causing Will to raise up with the motion to avoid being choked. It’s as good a cue as any to pull off and move lower, sucking each of Hannibal’s testicles into his mouth before moving his way down to lick over his hole. 

The residual taste of lubricant startles him enough so that he sits up completely, much to Hannibal’s dismay. His protest is almost a whine. 

“How much of this did you plan, Doctor Lecter?” Will asks, circling a finger around the edge of Hannibal’s hole and feeling the flesh flutter under his touch. “Or is this just a side effect of your shower routine?” He pushes just the tip of his thumb inside Hannibal’s tight heat and Hannibal breathes heavily out of his nose. 

“I didn’t plan this ,” he says, rolling his hips down to try and impale himself further on Will’s thumb. “I’ll admit that I was hopeful when our reservations got mixed up, but I did not think this was a strong possibility.” Will latches onto the last part of the sentence. 

“So it was still a possibility, then?” he says, replacing his thumb with a pointer finger and pressing in as far as it will go. Hannibal throws his head back and bears the purpling skin of his neck. “Did you think that you would be the one to seduce me, Doctor Lecter? Did you plan to be the one to take the lead, like I was some sort of blushing virgin who didn’t know right from left?” He crooks his finger to find his target and Hannibal arches under him, grasping at the sheets beneath him.

“That’s the thing, Hannibal ,” Will purrs. “Turnabout is fair play. And I intend to play.” He leans down to lick around Hannibal’s hole again, pressing his finger into his prostate again as he does so. Hannibal’s moan is loud and lecherous in the quiet of the room. 

“I could never predict you, Will,” he pants. “Every day we see each other, you surprise me.”

Will leers up at him from between his legs. 

“For someone who makes it a point to read people, you seem to be surprised an awful lot Hannibal.” He bites at the inside of his thigh.

“Only with you Will.” 

Will hums as he pushes the tip of a second finger into Hannibal. 

“You sure can make a boy feel special, can’t you,” he says, a more rational part of his brain pointing out how conversational he sounds. He ignores it. “Where’s your lube, Doctor Lecter?” he asks between sucking a matching bruise into the opposite thigh. “Don’t tell me you left it in the bathroom?” 

Hannibal shakes his head. 

“No, it is in my bag with the rest of my toiletries,” he says, his breath heavy. Will wants to lick the sweat from the hollow of his throat. 

“Perfect,” he says, stroking his fingers over Hannibal’s prostate once more before pulling the both out and getting off the bed to rifle through the suitcase. He purposely avoids the bag where he knows the lube is, just to make Hannibal wait, and when he finally pulls it out, the large bottle is almost a third empty. 

“I’m glad you made sure to pack the necessities,” he says, returning to the bed and situating himself between Hannibal’s thighs again. “After all, how could you go even a couple days without something in your ass?” He presses three slicked fingers inside Hannibal all at once. Hannibal chokes out a moan, so loud Will is almost concerned about Jack across the hall. Luckily, Hannibal chooses to muffle himself by latching on to Will’s neck to bite and suck matching bruises into his skin as Will continues opening him up. 

Will pull Hannibal off his neck by his hair, gripping at the back of his head and forcing his chin up. 

“Turn over,” he whispers in his ear. He has to let go of Hannibal’s hair to let him do so, but he is rewarded with a view of the broad, untouched expanse of his muscular back and trim waist. Perfect. 

He pulls his fingers out and wipes his hand on the sheets before raking his nails down Hannibal’s back and taking two handfuls of his ass, spreading him open. He dips his thumb into the loosened hole to feel it clench around the intrusion. 

“Hmmmm, you did a great job with yourself in the shower. Made it so easy for me to stretch you out, get you nice and open for me,” Will says as he takes his thumb out and ruts his cock between Hannibal’s cheeks. Hannibal arches into him like an animal in heat, begging Will without using his words. 

“I guess I should reward you,” Will muses, continuing to slowly rut his hips against his ass. “After all, this wasn’t what you were expecting .” With the last word he steadies his neglected, throbbing cock and guides it into the tight heat. Hannibal gives a full body shudder as Will pushes into him, tightening even more around his cock and making them both moan deeply. He has to pause before he comes immediately and ruins this for both of them, although some part of him knows that Hannibal wouldn’t mind that at all. 

When he finally collects himself he grasps at Hannibal’s hips and thrusts hard into him. Hannibal cries out, clenching the sheets in his fists, and it spurs Will on. He thrusts in hard again and again, aiming carefully so that Hannibal clenches down on him. When he feels his orgasm building at the small of his back and in his balls, he slows down to a slower roll, wanting to draw this out as long as he can. He leans over Hannibal’s back as he rolls his hips, gently taking his earlobe in his teeth. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Will asks him, punctuating the question with another hard thrust. “I’ve thought about it too. I’ve thought about it since the case with Stammets, about seducing you in your office, where you the king hold your court. We’d ruin your furniture in between your other patients, and you would have to find an excuse as to why you would rather them sit on a chair today as opposed to the chaise.” He gives in to a primal impulse and swipes his tongue through the sweat shining between Hannibal’s shoulder blades. “And to think,” he pants between deep thrusts. “All I had to do was rub up against you and you’d bend for me like clay.” He bites hard at the flesh of Hannibal’s shoulder and sits up to admire his cock half-in, half-out of his hole. He pulls out and rolls Hannibal back over, hiking his hips up to sit on his thighs as he pushes back in with one long, slick thrust. Hannibal moans loudly again, so Will leans down to kiss him deeply again, shoving his tongue in to muffle the noises, just in case anyone happened to be awake to listen. 

The sounds Hannibal makes as Will pounds him into the mattress are some of the most erotic sounds he had ever heard in his life, deep, rich things that practically drip with pleasure. His nails rake down Will’s back and he wants them to ache tomorrow, to remind him that he overpowered and brought down the walls of the man below him. He hopes Hannibal can hardly walk, however difficult that may be to explain to Jack and the team. He does his best to curb the sounds of both their moans, not wanting to add suspicious noises to the mix of oddly placed collars and scarves and the way Hannibal winces with any quick movement. Hannibal occasionally babbles in a language that Will can’t place, the foreign words doing wonders for his ego: he has fucked Dr. Hannibal Lecter to the point of forgetting English. 

Eventually, the ache in his balls becomes to maintain, and he speeds up his thrusts, the sounds of slick skin on skin obscene in the room. 

“Fuck you feel so good, Hannibal,” he pants. “Fuck!” A few more hard thrusts has him coming hard inside him with an almost sinful moan, collapsing forward over Hannibal’s chest and clutching his hips so hard that he hopes they’ll bruise. He pants hard as he comes down, loosening his grip on Hannibal only slightly as he licks into his slack mouth. He can still feel Hannibal’s hard cock dripping between their stomachs. He looks down at Hannibal, winks, and then starts moving down his body with his tongue. He pulls out when the angle becomes too awkward, Hannibal letting out a small noise of complaint before Will shoves three fingers into him, pushing his come back up into him.

“Will!” Hannibal gasps, thrusting his hips, wanting more. 

Will gives it to him, taking his cock in his mouth again and twisting the fingers inside him. Hannibal nearly jumps off the bed with a restrained shriek, forcing Will to grab him by his already sore hips. Will presses into his prostate one last time and sucks him deep, and that’s all Hannibal needs to come, shooting pulse after pulse into Will’s mouth. He lets out short, pretty little moans as he comes, burying his hands in Will’s hair again to hold him in place. Will swallows down everything Hannibal gives him, letting his softening cock fall out of his mouth onto his stomach and pulling his fingers out of him.. 

They lay entangled for a while after, panting harshly as they came down from their highs. Will kept his head pillowed on one of Hannibal’s spread thighs, not caring that they were both slicked with sweat and lube, or that come was leaking out of Hannibal and creating yet another wet spot on the mattress. 

“Well.” Hannibal is the first of them to speak, his throat sounding raw and his voice still slightly breathless. “That was certainly...unexpected.” 

Will looks up from where his head is on Hannibal’s thigh. 

“Yeah, I guess it was,” he says, moving up to lay next to Hannibal and pulling him back into his chest. “But I didn’t hear any complaints.” He licks over a deep purple hickey under Hannibal’s jaw. “It almost makes me think you messed with our reservations on purpose.” 

“I can assure you, this was a completely organic occurrence,” Hannibal says. Will’s ego gets another little boost when he feels him wince as he shifts his hips. “I am rather upset that I did not think of it first.” 

Will scoffs, snuggling into the sheets and pulling the comforter over them. 

“You’re a self-righteous asshole, you know that?” he asks, feeling sleepy from the post-sex hormones coupled with the jet lag of an east to west flight. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

“Hmmmm, it does not,” Hannibal agrees. “But maybe it should.” 

Will snorts into his shoulder and pulls him closer. 

“Go to sleep, Hannibal. I’m jet lagged, and so are you, even if you don’t want to admit it. We can discuss the particulars of this in the morning.” 

To his mild surprise, Hannibal doesn’t put up a fight about it. He just relaxes back into Will’s chest and sighs. 

“Goodnight Will.”

“Goodnight Hannibal.” 

Just before Hannibal drifts off, he hears Will whisper in his ear.

“Maybe tomorrow you can tell me how the Chesapeake Ripper has evaded capture for all these years.”