Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4897798.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hannibal_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Will_Graham/Hannibal_Lecter, Will_Graham/Original_Character(s)
  Character:
      Will_Graham, Hannibal_Lecter, Original_Graham_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Angst_and_Feels, Past_Child_Abuse, Depictions_of_Child_Abuse, Underage
      Sex, Daddy_Kink, Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Legally_it_would_be_non-
      consensual_because_of_the_age_issue_but_this_is_complicated_stuff, I_have
      also_tagged_as_non-con_to_be_safe, Someone_Help_Will_Graham, Empath_Will
      Graham, Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, destructive_love, Oral_Sex, Hannibal_is
      opportunistic
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-29 Words: 3245
****** In This Quiet Company ******
by octaviamatilda
Summary
     Sometimes Will's empathy fails him.
‘Hello Will.’
He didn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes. Just stepped over the threshold, shrinking
himself incrementally to get past the sharp heft of the doctor’s body that was
half in the dark doorway of his office. He draped his coat over the arm of his
usual seat but didn’t occupy it. The leather shone like jet. He looked away.
Hannibal quietly shut the door, and descended with a faint rustle of fabric
into his habitual chair. His brows remained raised as his gaze took in Will’s
posture. An awkward holding of his body, even by his standards. Sometimes Will
would take off to slink around the room, in the peripheries of the space where
the books and the shadows lived. But he remained where he was, hovering in
diffidence and eyes lowered to a point somewhere near Hannibal’s left wrist as
it rested on the arm of his deep backed chair.
‘Shall I ask, or would you like to tell me?’ Hannibal murmured.
Will didn’t startle, but his blue eyes met the pointed cognac gaze of the
doctor. One instance in only a handful since they had formed a closer
acquaintance.
‘Blunt, Doctor Lecter.’ The lilt in his voice almost suggested a smile.
‘I am capable of speaking plainly when the necessity arises. Clearly, something
troubles you. You are more than usually disinterested in observing the
etiquette of a formal session, so I take my cue from you.’
‘I’m sure you know quite how uncomfortable that level of attention would make
me.’
Will made to step behind the barrier of the chair, to face Hannibal with the
comfort of defence. Or he seemed to. Running his fingertips over the glistening
leather, he appeared to make a mental swerve. He sat down. Not in it, but in
front of it. On the floor, legs crossed. He didn’t look, or feel, meditative.
Faintly clammy palms came to rest, uneasy, on his khaki covered knees.
‘Do I? Make you feel uncomfortable, that is?’ Hannibal looked down at Will,
unfazed.
‘Presently, no.’
The very edges of shark teeth peeked out as Hannibal gave a smile of genuine
amusement.
‘Perhaps the answer to that question was obvious enough’, he conceded.
Will merely quirked the corner of his mouth. His pulse felt stronger in his
throat for the raising of his jaw, up, up, with a tightness to meet the
doctor’s patient regard. A grown man sitting on the floor like a child, not
quite at the feet of the not-quite responsible adult across from him.
He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. The quiet suction broke the silence.
‘I’ve been…wrangling this week, with a particular monster that I’m not certain
I want to grasp.’
Hannibal inclined his head slightly, urging the sticky flow of words.
Will continued, fingers clenching and unclenching slowly on his thighs.
‘Whether our worst selves are really just our worst selves. One compartment
amongst many. Or simply, the whole truth of who we are.’
‘Do you feel that they must be mutually exclusive?’
‘It is difficult to believe that some of us have a best self at all.’
Hannibal gave a small hum, reaching for the quotation in his mind. Taking down
the book from a shelf that stretches the back a little.
‘"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I
contain multitudes.” Walt Whitman.’
‘I recall meeting with Whitman’s finest offerings in high school. Longest few
hours of my life.’
The polite offer of a smile ghosted over Hannibal’s lips but was gone before it
came.
Will straightened his spine a little, resettled. ‘My father died a few days
ago. In prison.’
He grasped at the back of his neck, rubbing with damp fingers. He could feel
the pinkness of the skin at his nape, the warmth that rose as the words came
with difficulty.
‘I received a call earlier this week. It seems his liver finally disintegrated.
Cirrhosis is quite excruciating, I’ve heard.’
Hannibal brushed some invisible dust from his plaid trouser leg.
‘His criminal offence was a personal one to you too, then. For which of your
nightmares does he claim responsibility?’
Will’s gaze dropped to Hannibal’s throat, lower to his waistcoat buttons. They
were a dull brown, quite outdone by his seeking amber stare. His excessively
shined shoes failed to match up either.
‘He was a child sex offender’. Will’s voice pitched a little on the words. ‘His
sentence wasn’t especially long, and certainly not long enough to finish him
off. He died a long time ago, in truth. Some do, don’t they? I felt then, when
I was a child, that my life might be forfeit too.’
‘Your father was sexually abusive towards you.’
A slow breath. In. Out.
‘No, yes. Once. I’ve never seen a man so frightened.’
His voice was steady, focused. Utterly unlike when he made the deepest
disappearance into the grittiest layer of his empathy. The pendulum wasn’t
swinging, was casting no light. It didn’t need to.
‘My father was…he cared for me to his fullest extent. Well-meaning neglect is
how I’ve always remembered his parenting style. No mother, no wife. I was all
he had and he was afraid to want me.’
Will paused, wet his lips.
‘You miss him.’ Hannibal’s voice rang in Will’s ears as though the words had
been shouted, though it was only the usual susurrus of his accent. It thickened
when he spoke quietly.
‘A slave learns to love their chains.’ Will leaned forward, slightly thrown off
his delicate balance by the palm that he ran through his hair. He looked at the
translucent insides of his wrists as his hand came back to rest on his knees.
They stayed there, both, upturned in supplication.
‘Is that how it felt to love your father? That you were in bondage?’
The dark head of curls snapped up at the heavy emphasis on the last word.
‘Not precisely.’ Will didn’t elaborate.
‘What passed between you?’ Hannibal did not feign to hide his curiosity. Will
felt flattered.
‘He was in his cups, as he so often was. Even at 12 I was having nightmares. I
went to the kitchen to get some water. I expect he heard me, snotty and upset,
fumbling around in the dark. He embraced me from behind…’
 
“I love you William. You know that, right? Hush darlin’, you’re shakin’.”
Ethan wrapped his arms tighter around his bird boned boy, pressed his face into
his silken hair.
William felt hot, sour breath in his burning ear. His white wet fingers gripped
the edge of the work surface. A large rough palm moved from his soft belly to
the front of his thin pyjama bottoms, stroking down with the calloused heel of
a sure hand. It moved over William’s little cock. He made a small noise.
The heat of his father hard at his back, immovable around him, froze him where
he stood. He wasn’t cold. Warmer, rather, than he had ever been in his short
life. How it would hurt his father to say no…
 
‘I got hard. Of course I did. The first touch from any hand but my own.’
Hannibal shifted in his seat, uncrossed his finely folded legs. Will watched
the movement of his hips, at his eye level where he sat, as the doctor
adjusted. He waited for Hannibal to come to stillness, though his next words
seemed to have got stuck somewhere behind his molars.
Hannibal spoke instead. ‘You didn’t seek to stay his hand. You didn’t want him
to stop touching you.’
Will leaned back then, his hands placed flat on the floor behind him. His torso
was angled away, his head tipped up to the man before him, raised to
acknowledge the statement that ought to have been said with less surety. Will
met his gaze directly.
‘He had his fingers around wrapped around me. Didn’t need his whole hand. He
reeked of cigarettes and cheap bourbon. I remember being worried that his
fingers were dirty. Fucking grease-monkey. But he had me in his grip and I
wanted him to want me. He was happy, I was making him happy. He bit my shoulder
and I came.’
Will closed his eyes briefly at his own words. Only now did a blush begin to
creep across his nose.
‘Did you tell anyone about it? I imagine that you didn’t have many friends.
Certainly none close enough with whom you could share this.’
‘You imagine correctly. The other kids didn’t understand me. Neither did my
father.’
 
“I’m so sorry…I’m…” His father mumbled as he staggered away. William turned
around to face him properly. Pity crawled up from his stomach. The man was
bloodshot eyes and trembling limbs and greasy hair and, oh…
“Daddy, it’s not…”
“I’m sorry William.” Ethan stumbled back into the darkness of his own room and
slammed the door.
William tore a handful of paper towels from the holder. He carefully wiped the
low cupboard door where his release had splashed white on the dark plastic
veneer.
 
‘I slept more soundly that night than I had in a long time.’
Hannibal allowed his eyes to linger on the front of Will’s trousers, the hard
bulge there quite obvious with his pelvis thrown out in front of him. Will made
no effort to conceal it. Merely shifted a little to adjust his weight, become
burdensome on his over-straightened elbows.
‘Your first sexual encounter was satisfying, with someone who you loved and
whom loved you in return. Few of us are so fortunate.’
Will watched Hannibal watch him.
‘My father wasn’t satisfied. Not with me. I couldn’t make him come. I hadn’t
done enough, I thought. He found his satisfaction with all of the other little
boys.’
Will took in the twitch of Hannibal’s full lips. He had caught that scent of
jealousy in Will’s words and the taste moved to the back of the doctor’s
throat. Will could see it as Hannibal swallowed. Down on the floor, he felt a
sudden desire to backhand the sharp jaw of the man as he leaned further forward
in his chair, perching on the edge.
‘The blame for your father’s subsequent actions is not yours to bear. Is it the
boys that you see in your nightmares? Blue- eyed, Caravaggio curls, fine white
hands like yours? Or do you see your father?’
‘I never see my father. He is always behind me.’
Quite suddenly, Will heaved himself from the carpet, standing to turn away from
Hannibal, arching his back and popping his shoulders as he went.
Will heard the gentle creaking of the doctor’s chair and the low breath of
effort as he rose too. Quiet steps, almost silent, on the deep weave of the rug
beneath their feet. Will’s back rounded fractionally, like a cat pricked by
over-awareness, when Hannibal stepped up behind him. He couldn’t really feel
the heat through Hannibal’s suit: he imagined he could.
‘You were not of the age of legal consent when your father touched you. But
your consent was given, wasn’t it?’
‘The notion that silence signifies consent is one too disgusting for wider
acceptance.’
‘And you were silent. He ought not to have taken that for granted. But you were
content to let him.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘At what price does your contentment
come now?’
‘Your complicity.’
As tangible as the vibration of energy in the air before a storm, Will could
feel Hannibal’s smile. His throat tightened. This time, he must say it.
‘You have my consent.’
A large warm hand came around to Will’s tensed stomach, pulling him back into
muscled bulk. The strong chest was the same. Hannibal smelled overwhelmingly
clean though. The younger man released a staggered breath when the doctor’s
other hand came up to his neck, lightly grasping his stubbled jaw to turn his
head just a little into Hannibal’s. The exhale at the shell of his ear was
moist and warm and heavy. Too much, like everything Hannibal did. And
deliberately invasive, just like Ethan Graham and his big paws and the panting
he couldn’t quite stop and the grunt he made at the feel of his boy’s cock
hardening in his fingers….
Will lurched forward out of the immaculately manicured grip that kept him
pressed against the memory. He didn’t realise he had closed his eyes until he
had opened them in facing his friend. His friend who wasn’t quite old enough.
This, this, it must be done differently this time. He didn’t want to make the
same mistake.
Will held out a hand, pushing the doctor away. He acquiesced with a gentle
step. Hannibal was hard in his trousers; blue eyes, heavy lidded, considered
the large ridge supressed within the confines of the perfect tailoring.
 
Oh, Daddy…it’s not your fault. I understand. I understand. Let me, please, let
me…
 
Moving into the space between them, taking a step of his own measure, Will came
to within an inch of placing his lips on Hannibal’s. The surge of that thing,
that unnameable thing, that drew them together set Will’s gut to curling in on
itself with a tight heat. Hannibal’s eyes were nearly black, dilated to a
discomforting flatness. His self- control was astonishing.
Fingering the buttons of Hannibal’s waistcoat, moving butterfly touches along
the fabric, Will pulled back a little. Gave himself enough room for what he
meant to do. Eyes drifting down, he watched the pulse in Hannibal’s throat. He
unpopped the waistcoat buttons, then the shirt buttons, one by one. Pulled the
tails from Hannibal’s trousers. The clink of the belt buckle gave Will pause;
his heart seemed to stutter against his sternum and the roiling feeling in his
stomach narrowed down to a twitch of his cock. He licked dry lips. The top of
the doctor’s trousers he opened but revealed him no further. Slowly, Will sank
to his knees. The plush carpet was in no way reminiscent of cheap kitchen
linoleum. He could pretend. He was good at that.
He gazed up, knowing, knowing, that Hannibal saw what Will wanted him to. Wide
blue eyes earnestly raised as if to God the Father. The doctor swallowed; a
flicker of something elemental, unrestrained, passed across his face. At his
feet, Will offered himself in calmness. A quietude he hadn’t felt in weeks. He
leaned up, grasped Hannibal’s thick waist and pressed his face to his belly.
Substantial, darkly furred and so warm…
Will gave an open mouthed moan at the feel of it against his lips, his
forehead, his nose. His tongue tangled through the trail of coarse hair that
disappeared beneath the waistband of Hannibal’s underwear.
A sharp intake of breath hovered in the cool air and set to creep from
vertebrae to vertebrae down Will’s back. He arched, moved forward, ducked his
head. Kissing, sloppily, along Hannibal’s cock, straining against the black
fabric. A hand came up to the back of Will’s head, fingers carding through the
curls. Will leaned into the caress, eyes sliding slowly shut as the fondling
touch moved down to behind his ear, to his jaw, cradling him to bring his gaze
gently up.
Hannibal spoke, in a tone of voice Will had never yet heard.
‘William, are you sure?’ He was older, gruffer, as pleasingly unsmooth as the
Bayou piece of trash Will had left behind 20 years ago. His hindbrain response
sent a shock of shame along frazzled nerve endings. His fingers curled in the
soft fabric of Hannibal’s open trousers.
‘Yes, Daddy. I want to make you happy.’ The molasses-thick curl in his accent
came back to him so quickly. No, no, it had never left. Like a tattoo ingrained
beneath the skin. He drew down the waistband and instantly opened his mouth,
lips parted expectantly, as the doctor’s weighty cock sprang free. Above him,
the stoic grunt of Ethan Graham. Just right. How did he know? How did he know?
Damp eager lips drew the fat head of Hannibal’s cock into his mouth, though he
barely stopped to suck before he drew the length further into his mouth, heavy
on his tongue and hot like the thinnest silk over forge-fresh iron. Hardly
mindful of his teeth, Will took the older man’s cock even further down into his
throat and swallowed around the thickness. The hot salt of his flesh forced
Will to breathe through his nose and hope not to gag. Spit dribbled down his
stubbled chin as his blue eyes flickered up; amber coals for eyes, Hannibal
looked down with a fondness that bled like venom through Will’s veins. The grip
of fingers beneath his jaw, grown harsh now, made Will throb in his trousers.
Little William, frail, resilient, unrepentant William, had been raised on
poison. Comfort was harm to him.
Hannibal’s hips began to thrust forward gently, then with less restraint when
Will did not offer complaint. Hard over his tongue, pressed flat to the bottom
of his mouth by the relentless movement and weight. In, out. Again, again,
again. Will hadn’t realised that he was crying, not until the doctor’s thumb
scrubbed a hot tear through thin stubble.
He could not really sob, though he wanted to. Tears of genuine grief, of fear,
of anger at himself. They streaked his hollowed cheeks and his shoulders
heaved, though Hannibal’s cock in his throat stopped any noise. The older man
bucked into his mouth, hushing and cooing and trying to calm him with a strong
hand in his curls. It was obscene, and Will could begin to feel himself drift.
To dissociate.
 
I am not here. It is not me. My name is Will Graham and it is not me…
 
Sharp nails raking along his scalp, pulling his hair straight until he could
feel the sting.
 
It is not him. Not Ethan Jacob Graham…I can’t find you daddy…
 
The heat, the smell, the sharp tang, the stuttering and pulsing in his mouth
was pulling him back to the present moment. To Hannibal’s office, the low light
of gentle lamps and the fine suit cuffs by his ears and hot rough palms on his
cheeks.
It had been the wrong decision and he felt sick with it. He fell onto his
backside, utterly imbalanced without Hannibal gripping him. The doctor came
down in front of him, crouched and searching for Will’s eyes. For his part,
Will looked anywhere that wasn’t at his friend. He wiped the back of a shaky
hand across his mouth, catching the spit and cum on his chin and jaw. The salt
taste that clung to his tongue made him want to gag but he rose in as steady a
manner as he could.
‘I have to go, Dr Lecter. I’m…I’m sorry. I need to leave.’
Will stepped back. He was still hard in his trousers, even in his disgust. He
ignored it.
‘Will, we should talk about what just happened. Allow me to cook for you.’
No, not that dreadful politesse that Hannibal used for everyone. He didn’t want
it.
‘I can’t…my dogs. I have to go.’ Will took another pace back, searching for his
coat and bag, as Hannibal approached him slowly. He appeared unruffled, neat as
ever. Exterior unchanged. Will wanted to cry out with the absurdity of that;
that it wasn’t fair. Instead he dashed out, neither meeting Hannibal’s eyes nor
waiting for a goodbye.
Hannibal stood by his door, gazing after Will, eyes unreadable.
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