Chapter Text
The fire was down to embers. Evening pooled in the corners of Hannibal’s office, and the tea between them had long gone cold. Their sessions had grown quieter over the months—less about parsing Will’s traumas and more about parsing the tension between them. It was a kind of therapy, Hannibal insisted. Learning to sit with what remained.
Will sat with his legs splayed, a little too loose, one arm slung over the side of the chair. He was tired in that peculiar way he got when his thoughts ran too long and too hard without speaking.
Hannibal waited.
Will’s voice broke the quiet. “You ever notice how dogs bite to show affection?”
Hannibal’s brow lifted, just slightly, one of his fangs caught on his lip. “Affection, or possession?” He said.
Will shrugged, not looking at him. “Same thing, depending on the dog.”
A beat passed. Then another.
Hannibal closed his notebook, very gently, Instead turning to stare at Will, licking his lips instinctively,“You’re not talking about dogs.”
“No,” Will said. He tipped his head to the side, let his gaze wander along the spines of Hannibal’s books, the gleam of glass decanters in the lamplight. “Last week. You left a mark.”
“I recall.” No apology. No question.
“I liked it,” Will said, offhanded, like it was just a detail—no more important than the time of day or the weather. “Didn’t think I would.” His eyes drift off to the side, a small smile draped upon his lips.
Hannibal’s gaze sharpened, not with surprise, but with something far quieter. Satisfaction, maybe. Curiosity.
“Because it hurt?” he asked.
Will’s mouth twitched. “Party. Because it stayed.”
Hannibal stood, slow and silent. He crossed the room with a patience that made Will’s skin prickle. He stopped in front of him, not too close. Just close enough for the air to shift.
“And now?”
Will met his eyes, steady. “Now I’m wondering if you’d do it again.”
A pause. Then: “Take off your shirt.”
Not a question. Not really a command, either. Something in between.
Will pulled it over his head in one slow movement and let it drop to the floor beside the chair. He didn’t move otherwise—just watched as Hannibal stepped closer and knelt between his legs, sleeves still buttoned, posture immaculate.
“I think you misunderstand,” Hannibal said softly, hands ghosting along Will’s ribs. “This isn’t indulgence. It’s instruction.”
Will huffed out a breath. “Sounds like therapy.”
“Very good,” Hannibal murmured, and pressed his mouth to the skin just under Will’s ribs.
He didn’t kiss. He bit—deliberate pressure, deep enough to make Will’s fingers curl against the arm of the chair. The pain wasn’t sharp. It bloomed, slow and dark.
Hannibal pulled back and examined the mark: a flush of red, the skin already beginning to rise.
“Again,” Will said.
This time, Hannibal didn’t ask. He moved with a fluid, precise rhythm—ribs, hipbone, collar. The bites came slow, each one laid down like a seal, a vow, a silent sentence in a language only the two of them understood. Hannibal’s hands stayed calm, careful. But his mouth was another thing entirely. It was instinct—stripped of pretense, all intention and control.
Will let himself sink into it, spine curving against the leather. His breath was steady, but his chest rose with it, heat curling under his skin. Hannibal groaned softly with the last one, sinking his teeth deep into wills tummy.
Will moans quietly, making a fist in Hannibal’s locs.
Hannibal paused at his throat. “This one will show,” he said.
“I know.”
Hannibal’s teeth grazed the skin just below his jaw, then sank in. Will didn’t flinch.
When he pulled back, the mark was already purpling.
Will exhaled through his nose, slow. “You always this clinical when you bite someone?”
Hannibal smoothed his thumb over the newest mark. “Would you prefer me messy?”
Will’s voice came rough, almost a growl. “I’d prefer you honest.”
For a moment, Hannibal looked at him—truly looked. The air felt thick, like they were suspended in it. Then Hannibal stood, methodically straightening his sleeves.
“You should get dressed.”
Will stayed where he was, shirt still crumpled on the floor, chest flushed and scattered with red. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
He stepped away, as if the air hadn’t changed between them, as if Will weren’t lit up with heat and marks that would darken by morning.
Will let his head fall back against the chair and stared at the ceiling.
Dogs bite to show affection.
And sometimes people do too.