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Will Graham wanders, as he has become accustomed to doing, into Hannibal Lecter’s office. Except, it is not evening and he is not here for a session. And Hannibal’s office is not the calm haven Will usually walks into but a wrecked catastrophe of a crime scene, two still-cooling corpses laying within it.
One of whom Hannibal had killed in self-defence after Will had failed to detain him during an arrest attempt gone very wrong.
Will is writhing in guilt at having put his friend in harm’s way, at having forced him into an Alpha dominance fight with a psychopath. He desperately needs to see Hannibal, to know that he is alive and whole.
And then, Hannibal sees him.
And Hannibal does not smile, or sigh in relief. His eyes do not light up with joy. He does not run a look across Will's body to check for damage.
No, instead Hannibal roars, a purely Alpha response, drawn deep from the core of his biology, and strides across the room before crushing his mouth to Will's and kissing him as though he wants to wrap his very being around the Omega to keep him safe. As though he could actually achieve this, if only he kisses with enough power, enough ferocity.
And Will, who had spent his own few moments suspended in the feeling of losing Hannibal, before Jack had thought to reassure him, kisses him back with the same fervour of alive, safe, mine.
When, finally, they must break for air, it requires such force that both men stumble backwards a step. Enough space for Will to catch Hannibal’s eyes fully and know they are sharing the same thought.
Bite me.
Bond me.
It can't happen here, not in an active crime scene, with Jack Crawford of all people standing not five feet away. But Will knows, with certainty, despite the brevity of their acquaintance, despite the questions of professionalism that will occur, that it is a matter of when, not if. He knows that this is the last day, perhaps the last hour, in which either of them will go unmarked and unclaimed.
Hannibal smiles at him, a micro-expression the equivalent of a beam on anyone else, and offers, by way of explanation, “I was worried you were dead.”
Yeah. Didn't feel any better to you, then.
Jack strolls up at this point, looking mercifully unruffled by this development but impatient to continue his work. “Gentlemen,” he says, with the barest hint of a grin in his voice, “I had no idea.”
“Nor we, I believe,” replied Hannibal, looking to Will, who shakes his head minutely.
“Really?” Jack raises an eyebrow. “In that case, Beverly Katz is going to be unbearably smug with regards to her, quote, ‘superior intuition’.”
“God, really?” Will groans.
“Quite the agent, your Ms Katz,” Hannibal says, amusement in his tone.
“Quite. Now, if you've finished re-assessing your relationship, I would like to get a statement from Dr Lecter.”
“In fact, I would rather benefit from a seat at this point, I think,” Hannibal tells them. At this, Will takes a moment to properly assess the damage Hannibal has sustained and takes in the blood and bruising with dismay, every nurturing, protective Omega urge he never usually feels rushing to the surface.
“You're hurt,” he breathes, and only conquers the urge to kiss Hannibal again by leading him gently back to his seat and checking over his injuries.
Jack follows them and briefly questions Hannibal on why Budge would have come to his office. It's clear there is something on Jack’s mind as he listens to Hannibal's calm answers but he seems happy to leave Will alone with him after a perfunctory statement is made. He even deigns to wink at Will as he crosses back to the bodies.
Hannibal watches him go, saying, “I hope that there will be no need for a further statement.”
“Jack will likely want to grill you some more but only because Jack loves grilling. Why? Busy week planned? Because I think we need to have a talk of our own at some point.” Having finished checking Hannibal over, Will leans against the desk and begins cleaning the blood from the doctor’s face.
“I think it is possible I may be unavailable for some days to come.”
“Oh,” replies Will, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. He continues to work on Hannibal’s injuries, gaze downturned, until he feels a hand gently lift his chin.
“Can you truly not tell why, William?”
Will looks at him, then, at the blown pupils, the limbs still trembling from adrenaline, the stiff, controlled posture. Then he leans in and scents, needing to be sure.
“Did you just smell me?” Hannibal asks, wry and warm.
“You're going into rut,” Will breathes.
“Indeed. The fight with Budge triggered a influx of Alpha hormones and then, when I kissed you…” he trails off, with a look halfway between apology and delight.
“I triggered you.” Will runs a hand across his face in dismay, dislodging Hannibal's own. “I let him get away and put you in danger and then I forced a rut on you. I dragged you into my world and out of your control.”
Hannibal’s mouth quirks up minutely and he retrieves Will's hand to hold it against his chest. “William, I got here on my own.” He smiles, and with his other hand, traces the lines of Will’s mouth. “But I would be grateful of some company.”
“You mean…” Will's mouth suddenly feels dry.
“I do. And, if you don't mind the intrusion, I believe you may currently be… receptive.”
Will stares. He hadn't realised how much strength he had been using to tamp down his arousal until he saw the look in Hannibal's eyes as he said that.
How do you make the word receptive sound sexy?
“You can smell me?”
“Still difficult to avoid, given your continued use of that appalling aftershave.” Hannibal looks thoroughly amused.
“I changed my mind, I'm leaving and you can deal with your rut all by yourself.”
Will has no intention of going anywhere but Hannibal’s bed – or possibly his sofa, or the backseat of his car if time is a factor – but Hannibal's reaction to this is worth the lie. As the psychiatrist pulls Will bodily from his desk into his lap, accompanying the motion with a growl that Will feels in every cell of his body, Will wonders how often he could get such a reaction from the Alpha, whether it is just the hormones or their connection provoking the display.
“If you dare leave my sight for even a moment, dear Will, I shall be forced to remove both your legs at the knee.”
“If that's your idea of dirty talk, I'm disturbed to say it's working.”
“I want only to have you by my side so that I may indulge myself in the knowledge that you are alive, safe and mine. For the rest of our lives, if possible.”
“That's going to make working a bit tricky…”
Then Hannibal is kissing him again – possibly, Will is aware, in order to stop the stream of sarcasm issuing from him – and Will thinks the suggestion of quitting his job in order to do more of this every day is probably the most sensible thing he's ever heard a psychiatrist say.