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Cream eddied slowly into his coffee, diluting the black liquid to its expected milky brown only part way. Brian scowled into his mug, wondering if his half-and-half had curdled. He bet it had. Fucking interns never shut the fridge all the way and his shit always ended up expiring.

He sighed, glancing down the line of stiffs still waiting for his inspection. Expired. Now, there was a choice euphemism.

He peeled his gloves off, throwing them in the wastebasket in a mock basketball toss. It was something Beverly always did. She shoots, she scores!

He washed his hands in antibacterial soap by the sink. His fingers still had a little too much twitch to them. Jittery from too much caffeine— two cold brews this morning and a plain bagel were not, in fact, substantive or nutritious.

There was no one else in the lab to see him leave early. It was Jimmy’s day off and the rest of his team was on medical leave, or worse. When he went to his locker to grab his messenger bag, there was his painful daily reminder of Will Graham. It wasn’t that he really missed him or the all weird shit he said but, there on the locker’s top shelf was the thick roll of cash Will had given to him—green as fresh grass, still smelling like new ink. He should've deposited it by now, though the original plan had been to let Will stew for a few days before returning it.

Brian didn't need the money, he had only taken it because there had been something so ridiculously satisfying about Will asking for something from him— desperation tugging at his mouth as he shivered in the cold, right outside Brian’s door.

But the time had passed to return the $1,000, hadn't it? He'd look stupid if he went to Wolf Trap tonight. His gut gurgled unhappily. He imagined all the the bacterium from the clotted cream roiling away like the sea against the lining of his stomach.

Stupid but he blamed Will for all of it, even the current status of the BAU lab with nobody in it to use the state-of-the-art equipment. Jack's office had been dark for more than a month. Brian had never thought he would wax nostalgic about him yelling down the hall for someone to “DO THEIR DAMN JOB, PLEASE,” but there it was. His own work was backlogged, he wasn't sleeping well, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done something wrong, something illicit by giving Will what he wanted, in a way he hadn't felt since those stolen moments with Freddie last year. But this wasn’t that, was it? He hadn’t done anything really wrong.

In his mind’s eye, Beverly was leaning against the wall across from him. Her deeply skeptical look suited her as well as her leather bomber jacket.

“C’mon, Zee. You can do better than that.”

He hadn’t really known what Will wanted Hannibal’s cell phone for. He hadn’t asked. Was he to blame for whatever shit came out of that?

Will had just showed up on his porch like it was nothing. Just batted long, trembling lashes and Brian had crossed ethical lines again.

He squeezed Will’s roll of money tight in his fist.

Fuck it. He was going to return it, no matter what that smug prick thought.

In his mind, he could almost see Bev’s smile again.

Gotcha, she said.


He called his mom on the way to Wolf Trap. He had put that off too long too. She spent most of the twenty minutes complaining about a fellow R&D immunologist whose work bench was always a clusterfuck, (his word, not hers).

“He leaves his beakers out on the weekend and expects me to check his cells,” she said, her breath coming out in a huff over his Bluetooth.

“Hmm, just tell him so we don’t have to keep talking about him, maybe? How’s dad?”

His mother paused.

“Him? Oh, he's fine. His metabolism and obesogen research was accepted with the Endocrine Society.”

Brian smiled. “That's good, tell him I said congratulations, will you?”

“You know, you could always tell him yourself.”

Cue the guilt trip -- the best way to drag a dying conversation on to its painful last wheezes.

“Stop by for dinner,” she continued. “You know, you haven't brought any girls home in a long time.”

“Women,” he corrected automatically. “Not girls.”

“I know that, you know what I meant,” his mom interrupted, her voice exasperated. “Why do you always have to be such a smart-ass?” Brian heard a long beep and then a muffled curse.


“Goddamnit, I’m getting a call from Merck. It’s about that grant. Call me later!”

Brian rolled his eyes. His mother had already hung up.

He was almost at Graham’s anyway. The house was visible in the distance, small and forlorn with its dark windows. The creeping edges of dusk hung like curtains across the sky. Will’s car obviously hadn’t been moved in a while, judging by the foot of snow on the cab. Brian parked his Jeep at the end of the driveway. At least the stairs leading up to the door had been cleared recently. He got out of car slowly, boots crunching in the snow.

When Brian looked down, he could see lines and circles of intersecting paw prints.

He patted his pocket, ensuring the money was still there. He would just knock and get it over with. Here’s your money, see you never. But on the porch, he paused, giving himself time to draw in one long steady breath. He pulled tense shoulders back, eyes drifting to the large windows overlooking the field.

It took a long moment for what he saw in the living room to make sense.

A barrel-chested man with silvered hair was fucking Will Graham—violently. He had Will trapped, pressed tight over a narrow trundle bed. The man’s profile was distinct, familiar. The haughty, almost wolfish features, the cold eyes and light hair falling over his forehead. Brian knew that face.

Hannibal fucking Lecter.

Will seemed to be having no qualms being screwed by the man who had hurt, killed and eaten so many. No, his whole body was flushed pink, his neck and chest exposed as Hannibal pulled him back by his hair, turning him towards the window. Brian’s heart jumped to his throat until he realized Will’s eyes were mostly closed, blind and unseeing. His lips parted in agony or pleasure, Brian couldn't tell which.

He blinked stupidly, but the surreal scene remained, Hannibal thrusting away like a fucking machine, the bed thumping forcefully against the wall. To top it off, Will's dogs were just laying around the room, napping in beds and nests of blankets, as if this was a completely normal occurrence.

Brian backed up slowly, unable to look away. A branch cracked under the heel of his boot.

It was the moment it all went to hell.

Hannibal glanced sharply towards the window. He saw Brian instantly.


Brian turned and started to run. He barely had a second’s head start before he heard the screen door slam open behind him.

His phone, he could call -- a large weight slammed into him. His cell went flying, several feet away and into a pile of snow.

“Get the fuck off of me!” he shouted, kicking his legs.

Hannibal held him down as if he was insubstantial, frowning at him the same way he would at a fly in his bisque. He was also completely, utterly naked and apparently, not cold at all judging by the massive erection pressed into Brian’s hip.

“I don't know you, do I?” Hannibal asked with a small frown.

“Fuck you.”

“That's quite rude,” Hannibal said, lips twitching in distaste.

“Bring him back into the house, Hannibal,” Will called.

Hannibal dutifully did. He hauled Brian up off the snow with a tight grip—unyielding on the back of Brian’s neck, no matter how much he struggled.

Will was waiting for them in the hallway, hunting rifle in hand. He, at least, had the decency to put on boxers and a shirt. The articles of clothing were scant enough that Brian could see discoloration around his wrists and mid-thighs, fresh bruises already swelling over yellow, faded ones.

“I can’t believe this…” Brian said, staring at him. “All this time you were with him?”

All this time?” Will repeated. “Like when I was in the hospital? I did get gutted, you know. Had a colostomy bag, the works. Does that sound like something I would've been in on?”

Brian said nothing. Hannibal’s hand was still on him, and the weight even felt threatening. Of course it was threatening, they were probably going to kill him and eat him, wash his expertly crisped flesh down with an overpriced pinot noir. Panic rose like a wave in his belly.

Will rolled his eyes. “Hannibal, let him go.”

Hannibal did, leaving him to stand by Will’s side. He regarded Brian with a vacant kind of interest— curious but largely unaffected. Brian was not convinced. He knew what Hannibal was capable of.

“Is this where you kill me? You really think you can get away with that?”

“Would I really take you into my house to kill you?” Will asked. He made a bland gesture towards his hodge-podge of a living room. “Take a seat. Then we’ll talk.”

Brian looked around at the strange array of worn chairs. He studiously avoided Will’s rumpled bed.

“I think I’ll stand, actually.”

“Suit yourself,” Will said, shrugging. He flicked open the breech to show Brian that his rifle was unloaded—had been this whole time— then flicked the safety on before he laid it across the ugly striped chair nearest to him.

“This may be hard for you to believe, but nobody here’s out to get you.”

Brian looked nervously at Hannibal. Still naked, still impassive.

Will followed his gaze.

“Hannibal is— he’s not who, or what, you think. He’s fake. Synthetic.”

“He’s what?” Brian glanced at Hannibal. Hannibal returned his gaze without changing expression. There was no outrage or even disagreement.

“He’s a robot. My robot,” Will repeated. “To be precise.”

Brian huffed out a laugh of disbelief. “The hell he is. Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Believe me? You never did before, I know. But third time’s the charm, Zee,” Will said, his voice faintly mocking. “Exhibit A. Hannibal, show him, please.”

Hannibal looked at Will as he lowered his hand down to the right side of his narrow hips. He dug his nails deep across the bone, peeling back a thick layer of skin without so much as a flinch.

Brian jerked, questions already forming on his tongue. But the show wasn’t over. There was only a little bit of blood and Hannibal had somehow managed to pinch out a two inch flap of skin. He held the flesh up, so that Brian could see underneath. There were no signs of human anatomy— no red muscles or sinewy tendons, just a strange silvery metal. Hannibal was not human. Or at least, this one wasn’t.

“Shit,” he breathed. “That’s why you wanted his phone. Why you gave me all that money. That’s—”

“Rebirth Synthetics,” Will said, rolling each word smooth with his tongue. “The work is quite meticulous, isn’t it?” He glanced at Hannibal appraisingly. The robot only flattened his skin back down, pausing to lick away the blood from his fingertips. A strangely human gesture, for a robot.

Brian knew he was staring and he didn’t care.

“You have heard of them right? They have commercials, I think.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. The one with the girl and her—puppy,” he said. But the TV ad, a soft woman’s voice over sensitive piano music, bleary late at night, paled in comparison to who—what—was standing in front of him.

It sank in gradually, what Will had done, what he had created, what he had been fucking. “Shit,” he muttered. “Shit. This is crazy.”

“I don't recall asking for your opinion, Zeller. Just don’t need you sending the BAU here to kick down my door. Again.”

Brian glared.

“Yeah, that wouldn't do, would it?” he said. “If the BAU busted down your front door it would sure be hard to get your rocks off. Coitus interruptus and all that.” He waved his hand at the sheet-strewn bed behind him.

“Or would that be robot interruptus? I'm not too sure of the correct terminology here. You know who would know? Jack. Too bad he’s laid up in the hospital next to his dying wife because of—”

“Tell everyone you want,” Will said quietly. “Tell Freddie Lounds so she can write about it on Tattle Crime. Deranged Special Agent Blows His Savings on Hannibal Love Doll. Maybe I'll finally get some peace.”

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“You're free to leave, you know,” Will said. “You don’t have to stick around to catch my crazy.”

“I just came here because I wanted to give you back your money, okay? Sorry, didn’t realize you’d be too busy getting fucked by a fake Hannibal Lecter!”

Will took a step closer, something flickering in his face. He looked like he wanted to punch him, and it was enough for Brian to fall silent, holding his breath tightly to his ribs. But Will didn’t touch him: just stared, forbidding and dangerous. Hannibal had followed his steps and Brian could swear the robot even looked concerned.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Will said, his voice low and silky. His face was taunting as his gaze trailed over Brian, impersonal as a stranger’s. “Best sex I’ve had in a long time. Felt so full; thought he wasn’t going to stop until he fucked me to death.”

Brian flinched. He tried not to imagine the words, to give shape to the dark urge he felt. He tore his eyes away from Will’s, to the robot standing almost protectively behind him. The thing was staring at Brian with flat, dead eyes. He was naked and muscular, lubricated dick still mostly erect from being inside— inside Will. Fucking him.

“He would like to try it, Will,” the robot Hannibal said in a helpful tone. “I am detecting an elevated heart rate and increased blood flow to the pelvis and genitals.”

Will arched his brows in surprise. A twisted delight curled his mouth.

“Really? You know, the Hannibot isn't a one-trick pony. He gives a good blowjob, too.”

Brian recoiled. “I'm not like you. I don't get off on fucking killers.”

Will smirked. He gave a pointed look at Brian's pants, the fly already slightly strained

“Evidence says otherwise. What's the matter Brian, did you enjoy peeping from the window a little too much?”

“It's just biology,” Brian said. He could feel his face warm. “Can't help it.”

“Prove it.”


“It's just biology, right? All those primal urges and drives firing away. Might as well be ants on a hike for nectar. No one’s fault for anything -- it’s destiny. Isn’t that what they taught you in medical school?”

A yawning pit bloomed in his stomach. His feet felt rooted to the floor.


Will tilted his head curiously. “And biology doesn't lie, does it. We both know that well enough.” He looked again at his robot. “Hannibal, I want you to suck Brian's dick. Give him what he wants.”

Brian made a small noise, his legs squeezing together.

“Please. He killed my friend.”

Neither of them could speak.

Will exhaled first, his breath coming out shaky and insubstantial. “Then why are you so fucking hard, huh? Tell me you don’t want it. Tell me you’re normal.”

Hannibal reached for Brian, pinning him against the foot of Will's bed with one hand. The skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, almost real but for the texture— unlined and smooth. His other hand pulled down Brian's zipper, then his pants and boxers. Brian's cock was undeniably hard, swelling up traitorously in front of the robot’s mouth as soon he was exposed.

He looked at Will when Hannibal bent, lowering his head, tried to say No as a wet tongue flicked up his length. The sound died in his throat, aborted by the hot squeeze of Hannibal's lips up and down his shaft.

He only gasped as Hannibal sucked him deep, straight into his throat. The robot pulled away quickly and soundlessly, before repeating the move again. There was an almost mechanical air to it, the robot’s mouth widening for more cock, no matter how much Brian squeezed at his skull with his hands. He watched his cock press past Hannibal's lips with a kind of numb shock. The robot’s eyes were open, but there was no excitement there. It was Will who watched them from across the room with his hooded eyes that had Brian pushing deeper.

The spell was broken when their eyes met. Will’s mouth flattened and he tugged his boxers down, kicking them unceremoniously to the side. He was pale and lithe, his cock as hard and thick as Brian's.

Will fisted his own dick, his eyes rapt on Hannibal’s bobbing head. Brian realized he was matching their rough rhythm with his hand—and then Brian was already too close, too soon.

A pleading sound escaped from his throat. Will blinked, then murmured a command. The robot shoved Brian bodily most of the rest of the way onto Will’s rumped bed, leaving his legs to fall down the edge. There was the flip of a cap, followed by a familiar squirt of liquid. His leg was pulled up. Suddenly, Hannibal was easing fingers between Brian's cheeks to circle his asshole.

He pushed just the tips of his fingers inside before more lube was added, then his fingers were back, searching and invasive. Filling him up, and making him squirm.

The sting was good, an ache Brian wanted to chase to the finish line. As he lay there, Hannibal’s mouth sealed again around the base of his cock.

A part of him wanted to fuck Hannibal’s mouth harder for everything the man had done, the other wanted Will to join him, to choke Hannibal together. His thoughts and desires jumbled incoherent— to leave now, to grab Will's arms and shake some sense into him, to pull away from Hannibal and fuck Will into the mattress. He was sweating, unbearably hot despite the not quite warmth of Hannibal's skin, the wet curl of fingers inside.

Hannibal twisted his fingers inside him just once and then maneuvered Brian so he was in front and on top of him, Hannibal’s chest resting against his back.There was the familiar slippery sound of lubricant again, as Hannibal slicked his cock.

“Wait,” he groaned, when Hannibal began to guide his cock inside, pressing inch by artificial inch. Too much. Hannibal didn’t listen but Will made a pained sound. He came to them, eyes almost ink black with pupil, his cock hard in his hand. He hadn't bothered to take his tee-shirt off but Brian didn't care. He bit his lip when Will sat on top of his thighs, facing him. Hannibal helped steady him.

Will's dick brushed against Brian’s stomach, damp and thick. Hannibal had stopped moving, waiting as Will shifted up, taking Brian’s cock, easing it into his hole. Brian’s mind splintered, an involuntary noise now torn from both of them. There was almost no resistance at all, just a sweet give until he bottomed out, his toes curling and balls tight against Will's ass.

“Move,” Will gasped out, but he wasn't talking to Brian. Hannibal strained to reach Will, sinking deeper into Brian.

They were going to fuck each other through him and he couldn’t stop them.

Hannibal's slight push had Brian arching his back, his dick rubbing something in Will that made him curse. Brian wanted— to press his mouth to Will’s, breathe hot against his lips, but Will was already leaning forward, kissing the robot as violently as he had shoved himself on Brian’s cock.

“Will,” Brian managed.

Will pulled away from Hannibal, his mouth open and wet, his eyes shining.

Then Will raised his narrow hips and slammed down, again and again. Brian shuddered, his head rocked back and onto Hannibal’s shoulder. He gripped at Will's sides, palms skidding over feverish skin and the hem of his shirt.

The pace was brutal and breathless and Brian couldn't slow it, could barely do more than hold on. Will rode him so hard he couldn't get any relief from Hannibal's cock, couldn’t move at all. Hannibal’s cock stayed seated all the way inside him, rubbing relentlessly against his prostate with every slap of Will's body on his.

“C’mon,” Will murmured, “I need it, I need you.”

Brian muffled his moan against Will's collarbone, he snapped his hips up without thought of Will's comfort or pleasure. There was only the easy tight glide of his cock.

Will came with clenched thighs, hand pressing against his mouth. His dick spurted hot between them. It was the only time the robot made a sound. The squeeze of Will's hole was enough to make Brian come. He remembered there wasn't even a condom between them.

He pulled out too late, dread fizzling his nerves. Will winced, already attempting to stand. It was as if someone had walked in on them, they moved apart so quickly. The silence felt tainted and strained.

The robot quickly untangled himself to join Will. The thing still had a hard on and it looked ridiculous and obscene now. Brian gathered his clothes as well as his wits. He was sticky, sore and uncomfortable in places he’d rather not think about.

Will had turned his back to put his boxers back on. Semen oozed down the back of his leg.

He didn’t know what to say. Various words came and went, clinging to the back of his throat.

“Will,” the robot murmured. The hairs on Brian’s arms rose. He really did sound like Hannibal. The robot touched the small of Will’s back with a gentle hand. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Brian swallowed. He didn't wait to hear or see the answer. He pulled his pants back up, zipping quickly.

The roll of Will’s money was left on a chair as he walked out the door. He didn’t look back.