Chapter Text
I'm just about worn out with you crazy sons of bitches!
Will put his palms on his face as he remembered losing it in Hannibal's incarceration chambers.
He had stormed into the large room, his enraged form storming towards the misbehaved prisoner reflecting off of the glass, the thin veil the only thing that kept himself and Hannibal physically separate. When Will glanced at his own form dressed entirely in black attire reflected to overlap with Hannibal dressed in his white prison uniform, Will enraged and Hannibal's lips starting to curl at one side in amusement, amusement that his plan with the Red Dragon had succeeded, Will already knew that he had lost. More than that, he ceased to be so angry.
He had stormed into the establishment, The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It had been quite surprising how superficial his rage was to the point where it was laughable. He was more pissed about how Hannibal had managed to trick him again while conspiring with a new killer than his genuine concern for Molly and her son.
"How's the wife?" Hannibal had asked nonchalantly, continuing on with the running joke.
"How is my wife?" Will had repeated, maintaining his rage.
How was his wife? Will sighed. He didn't want to be thinking about that now, not as the tires of his car skidded past the mud and droplets of a light drizzle hung onto his shields, fuzzing his view of the road towards the motel, resembling the confusion contained in his view of his own life and situation.
Will you go back, Will, if going back has a point?
If life gets maddeningly polite, will you think of me?
Think of me, Will. Don’t worry about me.
Replaying such words that had been spoken to him by Hannibal hit him in the chest like little daggers. That made him quite upset. It made him feel like he had made a mistake. There had been a fork in the road in his life, and he had taken a turn that he could not undo. He often asked himself if he had been so reluctant to come back into the FBI scene because he knew if he did, he would have second thoughts about the life he had chosen. But he knew that he didn’t have to wonder.
You came all the way here and never got to kill anyone.
Hannibal's words rang inside his head. They were the only real thing to him now that he was in such a psychologically compromised state. Hannibal’s words habitually did that. Will had learned that the hard way through the few years he had known him. Now that he had seen Hannibal and gone through the profiling of criminals and the chase again, an act that had once agonized him yet through time had stabilized him, old wounds were returning, reopening. They felt painful and fresh, familiar and reminding him of the old times. Times that Will could still have, if he wanted to, but emotionally speaking, what was the point of chasing after criminals that were definitely not Dr. Lecter, nor without the psychologist physically by his side, free and accessible in private at all times?
How disconnected be had felt at first with the case, besides the sorrow for the victims, and how connected he felt about everything now that it was abruptly over. The wounds inside him seemed to be reopening. The pain of it made him feel alive, not dissimilar to how in moments of distress brought upon by Hannibal, the only thing that seemed real was the sound of the doctor’s voice inside his head. It all boiled down to the visiting of an old flame.
Will started to see why he was driving so recklessly to the motel. Exposure to his past, the sight of Hannibal, knowing he had seen him for the last time, the closure of the case along with his involvement after the death of the Red Dragon had left him hanging, in a sense.
Was it good to see me?
It hadn’t been, only pain. How could he ever win? The possibility of it being good to see him brought him pain. Their entire conversation was being recorded. He had hastily left because the sight of Hannibal asking him that question threatened to break his composure.
Even as he walked out of that room and beyond, Will had reminded himself that Hannibal wanted to torment him, that was what he did– he liked to burrow inside Will’s mind and live there. And god knows how imprisonment had twisted Hannibal in all the ways he hadn’t been before. But another part of Will that had been responsible for threatening to break his composure knew that there was always an ounce of truth in whatever the psychiatrist was driving Will to think. And then there was Will’s own biology, not always sensitive to the complexities happening in Will’s head. He wouldn’t be surprised if the rush of adrenaline from his anger at Hannibal earlier that day had acted as a trigger as well.
He had arrived at the motel. The car's stopping set his surroundings down and settled him into a calm that made more apparent what was happening to him. He felt his opening swimming in its own wetness and felt heat rush through his body, breaking into a light sweat against the cold, humid air.
His hands, having a mind and wanting a volition of their own, now and again hovered between his legs.
He was not going to masturbate. It felt wrong to do it. A repulsively cheap alternative to what he really wanted. His heat was an inconvenience at best, at worst, a wretched, aching reminder of what he had lost. He could pull through this. He had gotten through spans of heat numerous times before.
But had any of those situations been about someone who had seen him, changed him, touched him more profoundly than Hannibal Lecter? Even more so, that was even more so not a reason to give in. Will started thinking about other things, the life that waited for him and his dogs that would be happy to see him return.
He downed a quarter of a palm-sized bottle of liquor that was in his room’s minifridge and then grimaced the taste. He decided to take a shower to rinse off the grime.
The water poured on him. He couldn’t get himself to give himself a cold shower. So he let the water warm him like a man’s embrace would. The shower gave him a warmth that he didn’t know he needed. It told him that he had been cold, a sensation that he had been oblivious to until now.
Meanwhile, Francis crept to the side of the bed. He stared intently at the bathroom tiles, steam coming from the shower.
Francis let out a low guttural sigh, an immense sense of power coming over him at the thought of the profiler being helpless and in heat. It spoke to him at the core of his being. Was Will even thinking straight? Francis edged around the room and confirmed that Will wasn’t even in the bedroom– he was in the shower. Even more vulnerable. Francis was aware of how humans slipped while bathing and dropped dead in a bat of an eye.
Francis heard the water. When he closed his eyes, he felt as though he were crouching in a cave in the middle of a waterfall that enveloped him.
His target was taking a long shower, and he couldn’t hear any kind of action in the bathroom, so he wondered if Will had fainted. He didn’t know if the thought excited him with arousal or concerned him. He wondered if he should check in on him. He very much liked the image of Will naked and unconscious on the shower floor.
Will did not know when he decided to go to the lounge bar downstairs or when the thought of going there had even occurred to him. It was sometime when he was showering that he decided that he was going to go. He did scent some alphas vaguely around him. But their scent was like they were everywhere and nowhere at once, behind his eyes and surrounding his head as the shower water downed on him.
He dried himself and walked towards his trunk to put on some fresh clothes. The place that he was staying was pretty nice for a motel. Living with Molly had heightened his standards compared to living as a bachelor, and this place was one that in a pinch, you would take your family to. The bar wouldn’t be so bad. He didn’t feel like drinking the hard liquor in the little bottles of his room’s minifridge. He had tried some earlier and hadn’t liked the quality. He smiled. That was Hannibal’s voice inside of him. Besides, the tiny bottles in the minifridge were probably overpriced.
And the drinks at the lounging bar aren't? Will had to assume they weren’t. He was thinking with this sex at this point. All the intricacies of logic would bend like they were made of chocolate to fit whatever his overriding drive wanted him to do.
Hopefully, the shower had cleared up his scent. He had put on a pad scented with peppermint and lavender or something of the sort. He hadn’t read the flavor on the packet so carefully. He was going to come back in quickly after the bar. It was a nice stroll to clear his mind, probably even to see a family to remind himself of what he would see when he drove back home tomorrow.
To wreck a family, Will thought sarcastically as he imagined an alpha husband catching his scent and imagining all sorts of obscenities as his wife and children dined. Or a poor well-meaning husband confused and bothered by the unwelcome intrusion. Will felt his heart thump pressure into his ears as the elevator, doors now sealed, carried him to the lobby and stopped with a metallic ding, the red carpets that he stood on and on the walls around him adding to the muffled sensation.
As mentioned, though still pretty mediocre, it was a higher-end motel, if a motel could be one. Low-life degenerates sought leverage over omega strippers who didn’t know any better. From the shabby way that Will was dressed, despite the fact that he had taken a shower, he could pass as an alpha. Probably his overgrown curls did not help, but casually alpha-passing nonetheless if nobody scented him. Black jacket, black shirt, and pants. One alpha that stared at him, who seemed to know he was an omega though, probably wondered what he was doing here. A hooker with an attitude? A sad one that had gotten lost? This was the moment, Will thought as walked passed the dim hallway to the better-lit bar and lounge.
Still curled behind Will’s bed, it took a moment for it to register to Francis that Will was gone, likely for a while. Francis thought of the deliberation contained in the way the naked man had picked his clothes and dressed himself before heading out. He hadn’t put on cologne, but from the attentive way he had gotten himself prepared, he might as well have.
Will was looking for mates!
Francis was so angry he felt like ripping the bed apart, sending its feathers flying everywhere. Reason told him if he did this and Will came back with a pal, they wouldn’t have a nice bed to have sex on. Not a very romantic sight.
So Will was going to go get an alpha from the bar? Francis had to chuckle despite himself as he lurked in the shadows of Will’s room. Based on the types of alphas that Francis had seen lurk around here, Will was better off hanging around with Francis. Francis felt his member swell from the competition, and the Dragon seemed to approve; it purred with excitement. Francis stifled his laugh or whatever sound that escaped his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping it would also send a message to the creature deeper inside him to hold his horses. Will Graham was going to a bar to seduce alphas, he thought again. Francis didn’t know why, but the concept was funny to him.
Francis could watch while Will had a one night stand. Sexy. Francis wouldn't kill while Will was with someone else. That would put him at risk. It would draw too much attention to him. When Francis had broken into Will’s room, he had still been undecided on whether to kill him or interrogate him, but the choices were getting further multiple now that Francis was considering Will bringing in a second person into the room for unforeseen purposes.
At the thought of drawing unwanted attention towards him, a fear grew inside him– what if Will had gone to the first floor to call the authorities? He would tell them that an alpha had broken into his motel room and was hiding. Will could have known he was here because his scenes were heightened towards alphas when in heat, and even if it wasn’t from the smell, Will could have found out nonetheless but kept quiet lest he put himself in danger. Will was smart, and he could even suspect that that person was the Great Red Dragon the FBI was looking for. Then Francis would be arrested. He climbed on top of the radiator and considered jumping out the window and climbing down the wall, safely landing onto the plush trash bags in the recycle tubs.
But Francis doubted that was what was on Will's mind (if he still managed to have one amidst the heat) as he had left the room.
He scanned Will’s belongings, a black duffel bag with a few pairs of clothes. Nothing too valuable, nothing too sentimental. If Will had a one night stand and decided to run off with the guy, Francis would never see him again. The notion made Francis almost growl with disapproval. The Dragon inside him did not like the notion that he had missed an omega in heat, a missed opportunity.
Then, there was another possibility of Will doing it in the alpha’s room and coming back. Usually omegas went to the alpha’s place. Fuck. Francis couldn’t believe he had been so stupid to let him get away. But then, if Will returned after a bang, Francis could have him clear-minded. But the thought of that scenario sucked the energy out of him and made him sad. He liked Will in heat and wanted him in this room, with him, alone, and he regretted letting him go.
If Will brought his hump buddy in here, Francis could get rid of the other alpha and claim him. Or he could kill the two together and rip their throats apart while they were still entangled in passion. He liked the idea.
Two floors below, Will nihilistically waited for his two orders of drink. He was not hoping or expecting that an alpha would come over. He was going to wolf down a quick drink and another, he would be scentless. He had around fifteen minutes of a window to be almost scentless or at least not as alarmingly scentful before sweat broke out through his recent shower that hung on his body like a quickly expiring anonymity cloak. His hands were trembling. The bartender was an oblivious beta, though Will knew he could sense Will was not exactly stable.
The shower seemed to have aggravated his sensitivity; the world was much clearer for him to perceive now. The arousal hit him like a sick feeling in the stomach, it was nauseating. The bartender served him a drink without saying a word and went back to polishing the wine glasses with a napkin, almost peacefully. Will decided to take his drink over to an empty table. The talking bar was lit and exposed, the high stools difficult for Will to stay still without triggering waves of vertigo in him, whereas the tables were more softly lit with lampshades placed beside pots of vegetative plants, situated next to cushier and stabler chairs and couches lining the walls. Calming piano played at the tables rather than classical rock at the bar.
He smelled an alpha from the other end of the hall but didn’t bother to look. Smell was enough. Looking made it too obvious. He got two drinks because he couldn’t choose between the two and also because he wanted to take one upstairs.
The bar was not crowded, thankfully, or was it not thankfully? He would be lying if he said he had come down here with absolutely zero intent of finding an alpha to fuck. Also, in a public space like this the presence of lots of people diluted, masked, and obfuscated his scent to a passerby, making it less embarrassing since the scenter would be unsure where the scent was coming from or whose it was. That being said, the lack of a crowd did not necessarily mean less chance of meeting an interested alpha. The presence of fewer made the ambiance of a place such as this more intimate; it now required nuance to its courting, gave space for hunting and focusing, or luring and blocking out, depending on which side of the court you were on.
He paid the waiter and slipped into one of the lower tables, holding the two drinks and placing one opposing the other, one opposing him, which he knew would look weird, but he didn’t have any other choice.
He caught glances of an alpha staring at him. Sitting in a motel bar like this in his time of the night in that particular pose, staring at Will like that, Will wouldn’t be surprised if he were to find out that that alpha had raped or killed a few omega strippers that didn't matter. Not the kind of thing that the FBI would find interest in, especially his unit, nor the kind of thing that even the local police would find interest in. Yet it happened far more often than the numerous cases Will got assigned and routinely dug into like monotonous work. Such alphas were common as twopence and littered the world, yet they barely made it to the bureau or the news for that matter, unless there was something separately unique about the killings. Almost never was. And if there was, there were also rumours about departments within his bureau that were in charge of cover-ups. Luckily or unluckily, Will did not know, he was not in that department. At any rate, it was possible that Will was looking at your run-of-the-mill serial killer. Will found himself tempted by him. He did not believe that the alpha would kill him, but it was alarming even to himself what breed of alphas he found alluring or he himself seemed to lure when in heat.
The alpha sat at the back end of the bar where the lounging couch curved at the corner, drink in one hand, surrounded by a few talkative friends, a mix of betas and alphas. Perhaps there was an omega in there, Will was not sure. Dressed fairly nicely but not exactly formally, an odd tune off business casual, the confident alpha possessed dark eyes and dark hair. Will found a glint of something definitely serial in that look. Even if that alpha was not a serial killer, he was definitely on the spectrum of narcissism or psychopathy.
With nothing better to do but acknowledge the stare by merely glancing in his direction, swiftly observing him, and privately thinking about him, Will turned the other way and continued with his drink. The alpha could still see the side of his face. After a couple of sips, Will decided that he was being overdramatic. That alpha was not a killer. Not that it mattered to him at this moment. Just rough of a person. Probably not that good of a person. But probably not a serial killer. He realized, as though a passing remark, he was searching for Hannibal in the wrong places.
The shower had not helped. The unclothing, hot water, and steam had stimulated him– his sex thought that something was happening when nothing was happening. It was squirming, its parts individually moving in what could only be metaphorically compared to how a coral reef would sway in bolder tides, as though preemptively responding to a probe that wasn’t there. Will didn’t like it when they did that, its haphazard creepy-crawlers scattering his thoughts like glass marbles across the floor. He kept shifting his legs under the table because what was up his legs felt– too fragile– like it would break into pieces any moment. But the alternative was a dull ache whose echoes reverberated through him and intensified at every pulse. And yes, the two modes did alternate. No matter where his mind turned, the image was always, his body shoved into his face, his legs locked into his, his arms running across his back. They flashed in his head like an unwelcome premonition. They warped his facial expressions no doubt, and he had to constantly stroke his hands through his face to make sure he wasn’t giving away a sense of too much derangement. The tactility of the brail of his fingerprints running down his fuzzy cheeks attempted to bring him back to the present and get the vulgar images out of his mind, which didn’t work. It only further stimulated his senses. This continued, until the things in his mind wasn’t mere images anymore and he got a sense that he was much like a psychic seeing a vision of the future, for the alpha next to the table responded to him.
The alpha at the next table wasn’t even being discreet. He was definitely reading Will's body language. None of his group at the table noticed. It was typical for a kind of man who had fake friends for a living.
Will wondered what the alpha was thinking. He probably assumed Will was waiting for someone since he was sitting alone with two drinks on the table. Or worse, that he was a sad and desperate alcoholic downing two drinks alone in a motel bar. Then there was an assumption that was worse than that: Will was inviting the alpha to join him or any alpha to come and join him. In any way, it was unlikely that the alpha staring at him would assume the truth, which was that Will didn’t feel like drinking the hard liquor from the mini fridge in his room and had come to the bar to drink in better lighting and ambiance. He was probably not going to finish the second drink and was going to get it to go if that was an option.
But the moment Will so much as showed an inclination to leave, he heard the alpha at the next table shuffle his things and lamely excuse himself. Will left his second drink on the table and escaped toward the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.
The alpha was going to follow him to his room. Why talk at a bar when you can follow him straight to his room? Will didn't know if he was glad, annoyed, or scared. He was definately aroused, that was a constant that need not be mentioned, but from him or despite him, he did not know. He had probably looked too shaken to hold a genuine conversation over drinks.
Will was unsure what he wanted out of this, so he decided to go with the flow. Whatever happens will happen. He followed the maze of twists and turns through the flights of the building, the hallways, the myriads of carpets and soundproofed chambers. Then, as if guided by an instinct that wasn’t entirely his own, he decided to lose the alpha that was following his footsteps in this empty row of hallways and flight of stairs. He decided to skip a floor and wait until the alpha followed him and then skid off to his actual floor.
But when Will reached the third floor, his fake floor, he skidded to a halt. The alpha was waiting for him beside the window at the end of the hallway.
“Hey,” the alpha said.
Will’s heart raced. Something wasn’t right. The way the alpha stood, and the way that poachy “hey” rang off the walls, triggered a fight or flight response in him in, of course, a non-arousing way. If it hadn’t been clear to him before that the vibe was off, it was apparent now. Will aborted his plan, which he now realized had not been so smart, and hastily headed back to the safety of his room, a frown on his face as he closed the door behind him.
The sound his target made as he rattled the lock was welcome music to Francis’ ears.
This was his chance! Adrenaline took over Francis, he pranced lest Will ever get away again, thinking if he got away again, he was never going to come back. Even seconds before he hit him, he wasn’t yet decided on whether to kill him or to immobilize him or to rape him. As for the latter though, he didn't think it was quite rape, as Will was in heat and searching.
Will was knocked out from behind before he had a chance to turn.