Chapter Text
Heavy steam wafted through the hallway, fogging Will’s glasses.
“Fuck,” He whispered, hastily removing his spectacles to wipe them on his shirt.
Vision restored, he continued; the scent of sandalwood and musk permeating his nose.
“Catch the lion in his den,” Graham thought to himself as he padded along the teak wood floor, his gun steadied in both hands.
As the brunette tiptoed into the bedroom, he couldn’t help but gawk a little.
There was a stunning, ebony, 4 poster bed, covered in a deep crimson duvet, with a steel grey throw at the foot of it. A plush, Persian rug (likely authentic and bought at an obscene price) covered the expanse of the floor, leading to ceiling high, arched windows. The walls were sparse but tastefully decorated with abstract art, some of which was recognizable as Hannibal’s own work.
The shower thrummed as Will crept towards the door; more steam billowing around him. He wiped his glasses a second time, cursing himself for not wearing contacts...typical idiot move as a cop, he chided himself.
He turned the corner, stepping into the washroom.
Through the fog, he made out the blurred shape of a luxurious clawfoot tub; and to the left, an impressively tall and amply wide shower stall.
Will’s mind suddenly dumped ice water onto itself as his breath caught in his throat...acknowledging the audacity of what he just walked into.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?!” he nearly muttered.
“Wait...what the actual fuck ARE you thinking??” He took a breath, struggling a bit in the thick steam.
“Did you actually think you’d catch the bastard...pull him out of the shower, naked; bring him in to the station, and just tell the boys ‘I saved you the trouble of the strip search?!”
Will stared at the floor, his mind racing.
“Shit, yeah, that’d go over *so* well, Graham…Pfft...right…” He squinted at the shower.
Through the glass, he could make out Hannibal’s silhouette. He noted that the glass wasn’t nearly as fogged as his glasses; surmising it must just be another luxury of the wealthy.
His mind took in the vision before him.
He had never really noticed just how muscular the man was. His skin, shining and glistening in the hot water looked smooth and taught in all the right places.
When the hell did he have time to work out? The flat planes of his chest, perfectly framed the apex of his sternum; delicate lines of his ribs transitioned to rippled muscle along his sides, like a swimmer, Will thought. He even had that youthful, yet masculine abdominal divide, and stunningly deep grooves shaping the V of his…
“Ngh!!” Will swallowed whatever sound his body was intent on making, trying to ignore the sudden twitch in his pants.
He held his gun in a vice grip, leaning against the far wall. Thankfully, the shower spray seemed loud enough to stifle his near mishap; but he couldn’t ignore a pesky blush creeping over his cheeks.
Will watched, as Hannibal scrubbed a soap bar across his long torso, up over his chest, down behind his neck. His glossed body appeared dreamlike given the steam and afternoon sun.
His cock gave another interested bob.
Almost provoked by his own body, Graham crept over to the foot of the tub, and knelt, watching, trying to configure his point of attack; his head swimming.
Hannibal’s large hands were lathered and slick; his long fingers massaging his scalp. Will saw him arch his head back into the spray, those dark, wide lips slightly parted.
Large, firm hands slid down his sides to massage what Will concluded were...rather strong, shapely looking legs. They looked powerful.
The brunette sank to his knees; chest pressed to the edge of the tub.
Lecter replaced the soap in it’s dish, and ever so slowly, his hands drifted down to his dick. He gave his cock a few languid strokes, a moan echoing in the tiled room.
Blood rushed to Will’s cock. He found his breath coming hot and fast.
The doctor rocked his hips through his own fist, gaining speed; his eyes rolling up into his head as he arched his back, canting his pelvis forward.
Will froze. His heart as loud as the shower in his ears.
It was like a train wreck; he couldn’t look away. But this was the furthest thing FROM a train wreck! More like the boiler room!
His mind reeled.
When the hell did he acquire feelings for his shrink?! Was it *because* he was his shrink? Maybe he should ask him...wait...NO! What?!!
Graham screwed his eyes shut, and let a hand palm his tenting pants, just to adjust it a bit. The delicate friction sent electric current through his entire length.
“Just calm yourself down, Graham,” Will’s rational brain-cells whispered.
They were then promptly, and not so subtly, squashed by his libido.
“You’re watching your shrink jack himself off for Chrissake!” Will tried to steady his breathing. “Pull yourself together, damnit!”
It was useless. Will’s body fought for autopilot as Hannibal began to pant; the wet suction sounds against his cock all the more accentuated with the acoustics of the room. His strokes were coming faster; his voice emitting deep, gravelly grunts and mewls.
Will carefully set his gun on the floor, spreading his own legs; knees grinding on the cold tile. One hand gripped the tub while the other rubbed and cupped and squeezed.
“This is so...wrong…” he attempted to tell himself. But his rational mind was receding to the background of his psyche as his own hips began to rock.
The doctor was thrusting in earnest; slapping wet flesh on flesh. His eyes were shut tight, his body rigid.
The sounds were driving Will mad. His hand began to rub in time to Hannibal’s strokes; both men coming undone.
Will bit his lip, anticipating Hannibal’s climax as the man’s ass clenched; the sight alone nearly sending Will over the edge..
To his surprise though, just as Will thought he would come, the man stilled -- pressing one hand to the shower wall, to steady himself, breathing heavily.
Graham’s mind went blank for an instant before flooding with the acknowledgment of horrendous pain coursing through his cock.
Gripping tighter on the tub, he took a sobering breath.
“Edging??” he thought.
He watched, trying to breathe through his nose, as Hannibal turned his face to the spray, leaning forward against the wall, shoulders quivering.
“He didn’t even finish, and now I’m stuck here with…”
His mind did a magnificent backflip as it righted itself, seeing the doctor go to turn off the shower. He was stupidly, and acutely aware of the very real possibility Hannibal may catch him in his own bathroom, in a rather compromising position.
“But he’s hard as a rock...if he caught me, I could finish him off…’’ Will’s eyes bugged out of his head in simultaneous acknowledgment and banishment of that sudden thought.
This was not his design.
His cock twitched, as though to not so subtly contradict him.
As Hannibal rubbed his hands over his face, Will dove across the floor, scrambling out of the room, nearly slipping on the tile, praying his attempt to be silent wasn’t just foiled.
He stumbled back into the bedroom, valiantly attempting to re-wire his brain.
Breathless, he frantically searched for a place to hide; settling for a place behind the corner of the wall that jutted out between the main door and the bed.
Furiously trying to slow his heart-rate, he saw Hannibal emerge from the washroom.
The man stood, godlike, in the watery light; a towel draped over his shoulders, the ends dangling just above his nipples. Such a classical European look about the man; Adonis in his bedroom; dripping with sexual prowess.
Will’s mouth went dry.
Hannibal stretched his neck to one side, removing the towel, and using it to dry his pecs; his abs, and behind his balls. His legs flexed, as he did so; beads of water glinting on his chest hair.
His dick was a dusky pink; at least half hard, swaying as he moved.
Graham’s own cock was throbbing.
He watched the doctor place the towel on the bed, then go to an impressive walk-in closet; his spectacular (*carved from marble) ass now front and center of Will’s vision, as he assessed his options.
The doctor selected a hunter green suit, with a corresponding shirt, belt, socks and tie, laying them neatly over a chaise-lounge near to the bed.
His back still to the young profiler, Lecter carefully selected an aftershave from his dresser-top, massaging the oil into his jaw and neck.
Pressing himself to his shield of a wall, Will inhaled deeply, swearing it was mixed with pheromones. Nothing ‘naturally’ smelled like that. The scent alone made him want to jump out of hiding, throw the doctor to the sheets and…
“No! This is a job, you stupid, useless…” he scolded himself frantically searching for signs he had given himself away.
Hannibal opened another bottle, greased his palms, and ran his hands through his hair; ever artfully tousled.
He assessed himself in the vast mirror; chiseled cheekbones glowing pink from the hot water and his prior ministrations. His treasure trail softening to a sleek golden hue as it dried. He reminded Will of a wild cat; muscled, instinctual and deadly.
The older man sauntered over to the chair, assessing his clothing. He picked up his tie, studying the pattern.
Graham had to move; the man was getting dangerously close to...well...basically stepping on him.
The profiler drew a few deep breaths, closing his eyes for a few counts, steadying himself.
3...2...1…
Will darted around the corner, landing in a fighter’s stance, gun drawn.
But the doctor was nowhere to be seen.
Graham’s heart rate fluttered as he leaned over a bit to peek around the corner of the washroom.
“Where the Hell did…”
Out of nowhere, fabric was dragged across his eyes, blinding him; his body pulled flush up against a massively muscled form; cock pressing against his ass.
He dropped the gun in shock, his mind holding on to what little it could comprehend.
An arm wrapped possessively around his chest; his captor leaning into his neck, deeply inhaling the scent of him.
“Hello, Will.”