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Doctor Hannibal Lecter has a mate.
This fact is irrefutable. Three years ago, his scent changed to accommodate the presence of an Omega in his life. For six days after the first night, there was a stark bite mark on his neck, a deep set of teeth marks that lined up with the edge of where his throat is tender and vulnerable – and that's nothing to speak of the claw marks in his back, the other bites littered down his throat, the bruises sucked to his chest and stomach. His eyes have garnered that ever-present ring of Alpha red only so thick in mated Alphas, and he has a Voice now, though he rarely uses it.
He has a mate. This fact is irrefutable.
He knows the scent of his mate; mint and lemongrass and edged with the ever-present scent of woods, of dry leaves and wet mud, of dogs. He knows the taste of his mate's sweat, knows the sweetness of his blood when Hannibal gets his teeth in his mate's throat. He knows the slick softness of his thighs, the strength of the muscles in his shoulders and back. Knows the burn of his claws and the ache of his teeth. He would track his mate for miles, for years, hearing only the sound of his howl. He would follow the scent of his slick through every State, across every border, if the Omega wasn't so good at hiding.
He does not know his mate's name.
The first time Hannibal smelled him, he was in the woods, disposing of one of his kills. He still remembers the scent, the iron-hot slick of blood rendered irrelevant when he'd first caught the fine golden filigree of heat-soaked Omega. He has, before that day and every day since, smelled nothing like it. It was a wild thing, something that tugged on instincts long held in check and pulled.
Had called 'Come to me, come find me, and reap the reward'.
He had found the Omega, caught him between his warmth and weight and a large, sturdy oak. Shredded the man's clothes and listened to his whine, his loud purr, felt desperation and desire in the way the Omega had clawed at him, and spread his thighs, whispering 'Please, please' into his neck. Hannibal is not the kind of man to do one-night stands, and certainly not the kind of man to chase random Omegas through the woods, but something in those sweet, golden-blue eyes had called to him. Something enthralling in the sweat-damp curls, the eagerly-bared neck. Something desperate and right, when he'd parted the Omega's thighs and fucked him brutally over the trunk of a fallen tree.
And when he was finished, the Omega had turned, had bitten him harshly on the side of his neck, deep enough to sever flesh, to threaten complete destruction of his jugular, and he'd swallowed, moaning with thirst, slick at the mouth, slick on his thighs, and wrapped his hands around Hannibal's larynx, choked and chugged until Hannibal was almost too weak to stand.
He'd passed out when the Omega kissed him, warm and wet with blood, and when he'd woken, the Omega was gone, and so was the body he'd been there to hide away.
Hannibal had gone out the next night, and the next, eager and desperate to find this creature of sweat and savagery that had so captured him, but the Omega never came, and so he had been forced to give up looking. Then, when a different hunger stirred in his belly, Hannibal went hunting again, and upon time to dispose of the second body, he had been, once again, ensnared by that scent.
Bolder in that moment, and certainly more prepared, Hannibal had given chase, had found the Omega in a similar spot, a similar situation. Had smiled when the Omega bared his teeth, fierce and righteous in his anger, had pulled Hannibal between his thighs and this time Hannibal was smarter, and gagged him with a coil of the same ropes he'd used to bind the body.
He'd bitten this creature, suckled eagerly at his neck, drinking in the sound of his muffled moans and ravenously taking pleasure in the slick, hot clench of his body. Again, and again, he had mounted that Omega, a slave to the primitive urges he has so long stayed above and beyond – what freedom it was, to find someone who could bear his own brutality, who moaned and arched into the savage clamp of nails in his thighs, who eagerly showed his neck to ask for another bite, another, another. This delicious, delirious thing who moaned and came when Hannibal shed blood.
When they were done, mating urges sated, the Omega had turned, grabbed the rope and wrapped it around Hannibal's neck, and held him tight, snarling, and slammed him against a tree hard enough that his head knocked, and he lost consciousness. Only for a moment, or so it seemed, but it was enough for the Omega to get away, through the river that ran too deep and heavy for Hannibal to cross safely in the darkness, and he'd been lost again.
They continued like that – the Omega never surfaced except when Hannibal hunted, like he knew when that time came, when Hannibal's hunger reached its peak and he was driven out to sate his need for flesh again. And flesh, oh, that is offered in spades. Hannibal salivates at the thought, knowing every time he hunts, he will see that Omega again.
He is not a man without means, but this semi-chase is its own kind of diversion, and brings with it its own enjoyment. It's a delightful notion, that there exists a creature so savage, so utterly capable, that still grows weak for him, that seeks him out and desires him so desperately to risk life and limb for the sake of his own pleasure.
But three years is a long time.
He decides, in a moment of clarity, that if this Omega is so desperate for him, then his needs will not go unanswered. Hannibal kills a man but keeps his body in the cellar, frozen so that it does not decay. And he waits.
His love does not disappoint.
He wakes to that scent. That lovely, sharp scent, and the creak of a floorboard outside his bedroom. He smiles, and rolls over in his bed, lets his eyes slip open for just a glimmer as the door opens, a smooth swing inward. It is dark, but the scent of his mate creates a shape in the shadows, a smooth prowling mass that growls and approaches Hannibal's bed like they've been doing this all their lives.
The Omega snarls, and reaches out, fingers stopping and curling an inch from Hannibal's bare shoulder.
"I know you're awake," he says, and his voice is rough and low. It is always rough and low, but Hannibal wonders if that's a side effect of his heat, if he always talks like that. He imagines waking to that voice, and shivers, opening his eyes fully.
The shadow looms over him, but then it prowls into his bed, and Hannibal turns, letting warm weight settle on his thighs. The Omega rocks his hips, a desperate, low whine in his throat that tugs, tugs again, compels Hannibal to flatten his hands on smooth flesh, to part the man's thighs and mount him until they're both sated.
"You kept me waiting," the Omega growls, breathing heavily, the only sound in the quiet room aside from the creak of the mattress beneath them. His hands slide up Hannibal's chest, flatten on his shoulders, his nails dig in. "Where the fuck were you?"
"Waiting for you," Hannibal replies. The Omega snarls, leans down and Hannibal tastes blood on his tongue when they kiss, the heavy scent of dead flesh hanging in the air between them. He smiles, purring; "Have you eaten, darling?"
"You can't hide your kills from me," the Omega replies. He paws desperately, gracelessly, at Hannibal's bedsheets, pulls them down to his hips and rocks them again. He's slick, soaking with it, stinking of it, and Hannibal moans when large, warm hands wrap around his throat and tighten. "You can't hide from me."
"It was never my intention to," Hannibal says, delighting in how difficult it is to speak with the hands around his neck. He lifts his chin, baring more, and smiles when he feels nails dig in, hears the Omega whimper and shiver as another wave of heat rushes down his spine.
He leans down, kisses Hannibal again, demanding his teeth, his tongue. Hannibal opens to him readily, snarling at the touch of teeth to his lower lip. He surges up and rolls them, presses the Omega onto his back and receives a gasp in return.
"Yes," he says, and lets Hannibal's neck go, carding strong fingers through his hair instead. "Please. Fuck me. I need it."
Hannibal smiles, leaning down, and pushes the bedsheets out of the way, pleased that his mate is wearing just a t-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot – he's probably burning up from the inside, his flesh sweet and warm under Hannibal's mouth, under his hands. He presses with greedy hands.
"Tell me your name," he whispers.
He receives a snarl in answer. "No."
Hannibal laughs, pushing his lounge pants down. He's hard, every inch of him eager to sink into the slick, tight heat he's been promised for the last three years. "Does it bring you pleasure, to keep this anonymous?" he asks. "Does it thrill you, that you don't know me, and I don't know you?"
"I know you," the Omega whispers. Hannibal blinks, rearing up. "I know you – Doctor Hannibal Lecter." He laughs, though it sounds more like a snarl. "My mate is a murderer."
"Mm, that didn't seem to bother you the first time we met," Hannibal says, though he purrs inwardly at hearing the Omega call him 'mate'. He is, at least, not denying that. He leans down, kissing warm and gentle along the Omega's bitten throat. "Or perhaps you were trying to kill me, and didn't have the stomach for it?"
He receives another snarl, lower this time, and nails digging into his chest deep enough that their bluntness doesn't matter. Hannibal growls when he smells his blood, filling the air, and he bares his teeth, parts his jaws, and bites down on the Omega's neck.
The loud, long moan that elicits makes his heart stutter, and then leap to a gallop. Suddenly, simply kneeling between this sweet creature's legs, of one more moment without his tight heat wrapped about Hannibal's cock, is an insulting thought.
"Mount me," the Omega demands, and he's trying to use his Voice, Hannibal can tell, but it's been too long, and he doesn't have it anymore. Hannibal, as a carnivore and an Alpha, gained his Voice when he bit this man, but his diet has maintained it. He has all the power, and when he pulls back, the Omega gasps, like he realizes it too.
"I will," he says, purring, and wraps a hand in the Omega's soft curls – sweaty, bloody, he reeks of slick and smells almost unclaimed, and that thought is as unacceptable as the last. "Tell me your name."
The Omega swallows, and whines, and shakes his head.
"Come now, darling. I'll give you what you want if you tell me your name." He leans down, kisses the Omega's panting mouth, smiles when he receives a soft, plaintive noise in answer, and the Omega's hands turn gentle, abruptly, seeking to soothe and entice. "Just your name, that's all I ask."
His mate whines again, swallowing harshly. His hips arch and Hannibal growls, his cock sliding through the slick staining his soft thighs. Oh, God, he would push in and take his pleasure now, if he had the pride of a lesser man.
"Don't be shy," Hannibal purrs, tightening his hand in the Omega's hair, tugging his head back to hear him gasp. His shirt is still on, bunched up and twisted, and Hannibal puts his other hand on his chest, feels strong muscle and a heavy-drumming heart. He's wet here, too, sweaty and needy. "Tell me your name."
Like a single domino in a long line, the Omega collapses, pushed, and Hannibal closes his eyes, feels him shudder and shake and tighten his thighs with a desperate, needy sound.
"Will," he breathes. "My name is Will."
Hannibal smiles, and rewards his mate with a soft purr. "Will," he says, and nuzzles Will's flushed cheek. He runs his free hand down Will's chest, pushes with his thighs to get Will to spread – after all, such a sweet gift deserves a reward.
He pushes in, finding Will just as open and eager as he has been every time he lured Hannibal into the woods, and Will snarls, arms and legs wrapping around Hannibal and hauling him in, deeper, faster. Hannibal winces as Will's teeth snap around his neck, tighten and tense, and he snarls as Hannibal presses both hands to Will's thighs, folds him, and builds up a slow rhythm.
It is, apparently, unsatisfactory to Will. He parts his jaws and snarls, clawing at Hannibal's back. "Fuck me harder," he demands, and Hannibal huffs a laugh, but keeps the movements of his hips slow and rolling, giving Will the deep pressure he desires, but none of the brutality, none of the pain.
He presses his nose to Will's neck, breathes in deeply of him – that scent, God, he wants to drown in it. Will clings to him, a mess of writhing muscle and snarling teeth, and Hannibal sucks in another breath, drags over the roof of his mouth. No suppressants, nothing hinting at birth control. Interesting.
"Do you watch me, and go into heat when I kill?" he asks. Will growls, raking his nails up Hannibal's back, and doesn't answer. Hannibal does not kill like clockwork, after all – that kind of pattern is a one-way ticket to being caught. Yes, he hunts every few months, but not down to the day like Omega heats are; there should have been evidence of Will trying to find him out of cycle. But no, when Hannibal hunts, Will comes out.
Will's neck is pale, the bruises Hannibal gave him last time long-faded, and he snarls, fucking in more harshly, loves the sound of Will's eager whimper and the feel of him clenching up, aching for his knot. He will have to be careful, after – Will has proven himself more than capable of taking advantage of him when he's lax and sated, too quick and too savage for Hannibal to keep hold of. He cannot let his slippery mate escape him again.
He parts his teeth and clamps down with his jaws, and Will shudders, moaning loudly, his cock twitching and spurting hot and thick between their bellies. His ass clenches up, seeking, desperate, and Hannibal slows his thrusts again, rolls his hips to get Will deep. He relishes the clamp of muscle, the bruising clutch of Will's hands.
"I don't watch you," Will breathes, ragged and soft. "I don't."
Interesting. And impossible, for Will's cycle cannot possibly line up to actions he's not aware of. Hannibal fucks in again, snarls, bites down harder when he brings blood rushing to the surface. Will's mating bite is a scar now and Hannibal reopens it, drinks down the sweet, slick rush of heat-spiced blood.
"Please," Will moans, and he's desperate now, so desperate. It's cruel to deny him.
Hannibal is cruel.
He plants his hands on Will's thighs and forces himself to pull out. Will snarls, viciously angry, and tries to rise up but Hannibal keeps him pinned. He's stronger, and Will is in no position to fight him. He drags his eyes down, hating that in the darkness all he can see is outlines and shadows. He cannot, though, spare a hand to turn on the light.
He swallows, speaks lowly, his throat vibrating with his Voice; "Reach beside you. Turn on the lamp." Will shudders, but obeys, and Hannibal is treated to the sight of him. Will's face, his neck, his chest is a brilliant red, burning from the inside. His thighs are shining with slick, paler than the rest of him like he spends a lot of time outside.
He is beautiful, with sweat plastered to his face and his eyes wild and shining gold. He growls, lifting his upper lip, and Hannibal snarls in answer.
He does let Will go, then, but only to wrap a strong hand around his throat, forcing his submission. Will's eyes flash, narrowed enough to only show his wide pupils, and he lifts his chin in equal parts challenge and invitation.
"Are you going to hurt me, Hannibal?" he breathes.
Hannibal tilts his head, eyes falling to the bite on Will's neck. "Possibly," he concedes. "But I would rather not."
Will's lips twitch, a half-feral smile and something deeply satisfied, like he won a bet with himself. He purrs, loudly, angles his head so more of his neck shows above Hannibal's thumb, and reaches out to pet him with gracious, tender touches. "I can be good," he breathes. He's coaxing, a lure with a sharp hook hidden beneath his sweetness. "If that's what you want."
Hannibal huffs, and smiles. "Until you're satisfied," he replies. "And then you'll attack. You have a pattern, darling."
Will moans, arching up, pressing his throat into Hannibal's palm. "I won't this time," he says, and Hannibal wants to believe him, but he knows better. He is no fool. "This time is different."
Hannibal wants to ask why, why this time, but his attention is caught as Will's hand slides between his legs, and he pushes three fingers into his pink, tender hole. The sound of his slick is obscene and loud and Hannibal snarls, outraged at the idea of his Omega using his own hand when Hannibal is right here and perfectly able to service him.
He releases Will's neck and yanks his hand away, replacing fingers with his cock, and he covers and mounts Will, fucks him brutally as Will whimpers, hisses 'Yes' and 'Please' and it's mixed with cries when Hannibal moves just right, cockhead brushing his prostate. He's spasming again, incensed because he's in heat and he can't control himself.
Hannibal yanks on his hair and kisses him and Will gasps, bares his teeth, bites, his claws dug into Hannibal's nape. It is a feedback loop of aggression and satisfaction – as an Alpha, Hannibal is ingrained with the instinct to keep things away from his neck, but Will touching him here means Will is here, and Hannibal wants to satisfy him, wants to see his mate's lovely eyes go dark and wants to know what he looks like when he's so thoroughly fucked he can't move.
His free hand flattens on Will's hip, tugs him down so Hannibal can cover him, angle him up. His cock strikes something hard inside Will, his descended, fertile place, and he snarls, because he understands.
He hasn't felt that in Will before. Will is fertile. That's why it's different.
"Please," Will says, and his jaw is tight, the word low and pained because it hurts, this way, Hannibal knows it does. His thighs corral Will's, force him to hook his heels high on Hannibal's back, force him to angle his body in the reverse mounting position, that will get Hannibal's seed as deep as it can to that fertile place. "Please, I need you to -."
He stops, but Hannibal knows. And it's been months since he felt the primal satisfaction of mounting his mate – his control only stretches so far.
He slams deep and comes with a roar, biting Will's bruised mouth and drinking in his sated moan as Will tightens up around him, coming again. Will's legs fall, lax, as Hannibal rolls his hips and works his knot inside of Will, and it swells up, tying them together. His hand moves from Will's hair to his neck and he lifts his head so Will cannot chase him, cannot bite him.
Will's lashes flutter, and drop down low, so only a slit of his eye is revealed. He sighs, hands flexing on Hannibal's heaving ribs, and lifts his hips instinctively, wanting Hannibal's knot to stay up for as long as it can, wanting him to fill Will as much as possible this round.
Will usually does not allow Hannibal a second taste.
Hannibal allows himself to go slack, just a little, his eyes closing as his orgasm renders him temporarily mute. The satisfaction rolls down his spine, to his hips, wanting him to press deeper into his mate. He leans down, noses at Will's thrumming pulse, and sucks a bruise to his neck.
Will's arms wrap around him, tightening, and Hannibal gives a growl of warning.
He hears Will laugh. "Relax," he purrs, and pets Hannibal's hair. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
Hannibal huffs, and lifts his head, resting against Will. He pushes at Will's hips, allows him to settle into something a little more comfortable, though the position itself is not the best to wait out a knot. Will's heels press to his thighs, arches of his feet absently petting.
"You want to breed," Hannibal says, and it's not a question.
Will tilts his head, presses his lips together, and sighs. "Yes," he murmurs.
"If you were more inclined to share more than one night with me, these last few years, I could have given you a child," Hannibal says, for of this, he is certain. He has never felt the particular, physical evidence of Will's fertility, but if he's not on birth control or suppressants, a single heat would have likely done the job. Or, between, if he was willing to warm Hannibal's bed every night.
Will shifts, and makes an uncomfortable sound when Hannibal's hand slides to his slick stomach, smearing through the mess he made.
"I know," he breathes, and his hand flattens over Hannibal's, tight; a warning. "But tell me, Doctor Lecter, would you trust an Alpha who was out there to bury a man, not to turn his affections the second he was satisfied?"
Hannibal blinks at him, and laughs. "So you decided to attack first?" he says, and finds the idea so delightfully sensible.
Will lifts his chin in challenge.
"What changed your mind?"
Will swallows, the gold fading somewhat from his eyes, his instincts to mate and breed sated for now. "This," he says, and gestures to Hannibal's room as a whole. "You let me come to you. Let me invade your home, potentially harm you, just to…" He licks his lips. "See what would happen, I guess."
Hannibal smiles, and leans down to nuzzle Will, pleased when Will tilts his head and allows a kiss. "Your premise is still flawed, darling," he murmurs, and Will stiffens, tightens his hand in Hannibal's, on his stomach, and in his hair, at his nape. "I know just as little about you as I did when we first started."
"Mm, but I know you, now," Will replies, smiling wide. His hand gentles on Hannibal's neck, slides to his cheek and presses softly. "I've seen you, for years." His head tilts and Hannibal cannot resist kissing him again – an action that makes Will laugh, cheeks flushing a newer, pretty pink. "I think if you had ever grown tired of my game, you would have stopped hunting for me. Or I'd be dead."
Hannibal cannot help but agree. "I never wanted to harm you, Will," he says. Will's hips shift, as Hannibal's knot deflates. He pulls back, still wary of Will's violent temper, his savage moods. Will pushes himself upright, breathing heavily, and wipes a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.
Hannibal reaches for him. "Stay," he says.
Will eyes him, warily, teeth sinking into his lower lip. He swallows, and his voice is hoarse when he says, "Or what?"
Hannibal tilts his head, and frowns. "You are not a prisoner, Will," he says, and he means it. "Be it you, or any Omega I might have chosen in my life, my intentions for a mate have never been to harm them, or chain them. I seek an equal." Will flushes. "I daresay you are a perfect match for me, with your violence."
Will hums, and puts his hands over Hannibal's. "What do you do with the bodies?" he asks. "They are buried with less than they had when they were alive."
Hannibal smiles. "Most hungers can be sated by flesh," he murmurs. Will shivers, his eyes flashing. "Some, when it is alive and wet…" His hands slide down, slide in, touching Will's pale, slick thighs. "Some when the heart is no longer beating."
Will shivers again, a deep, deep hunger in his eyes, and Hannibal wonders what happened to the first body, that first night – if, perhaps, Will ate it whole, consumed it to replenish the calories and sate the hunger for blood brought on by heat.
"Stay," he says again.
Will shakes his head. "You don't even know me," he replies.
"Then let me learn you. Let me breed you. And, if you are not satisfied, you may leave, until you wish to find me in the woods again."
Will's eyes are dark, wanting. He rakes his gaze up and down Hannibal's body, and then, slowly, gives a single nod.
"No more talk of other Omegas," Will demands. "You're mine."
"I swear."
"Then…I won't leave," he says, and Hannibal smiles. "But I won't hesitate to kill you, once and for all, if you try and hurt me."
Hannibal laughs, and pulls Will to him, delighted when Will accepts his kiss, accepts his touch, and spreads his legs again. "I would expect nothing less."
Will growls, and is no less savage even with this new agreement. He splits Hannibal's neck, tears his back until he bleeds, and snarls when Hannibal fucks him, hard and brutal as his mate likes. The scent of Will, his pain, is a delicious aftertaste and one Hannibal drinks down greedily.
He keeps Will, sates his body, sates his hunger. He feeds Will pieces of the body he stored, finds it with new bite marks when he first goes to it, confirming that Will did, indeed, devour parts before coming to find Hannibal in his bed. His house reeks of Will's heat-scent, minty and strong, and Hannibal cannot take a single step without his mouth watering.
He learns, in the time between Will's surges of heat, that Will was hunting him long before that night in the woods. He would see Hannibal's kills, his art, and one single missed dose of suppressants had thrown him into his cycle, though it did not emerge until the night Hannibal left to dispose of the body, the day after. He learns Will has dogs, has no family to speak of; learns that he is a fisherman and thinks it a delightfully apt metaphor for his sweet, savage mate.
He learns what wine Will likes, what his favorite cuts of meat are. He plays for Will, lulls him to rest with violin music and melodies on the harpsicord. He learns what Will looks like when he's wearing one of Hannibal's shirts, his underwear, and nothing else.
He learns, and falls more in love with every moment, with every smile, and thinks he sees the same emotion reflected.
When Will's heat is over, he wakes to a cold and empty bed. Longing and fierce outrage surges in him, a snarl on his lips that Will would leave, for hadn't Hannibal given him everything he wanted? Hadn't he given Will a Voice, given him a bite – and, possibly, a child?
His anger carries him down to the kitchen, where he stops cold. There is, sitting beneath a carving knife, a folded piece of paper. He goes to it, and opens it, reading;
I had to take the dogs out and feed them. I haven't abandoned you. I won't.
He reads it again, fingers crinkling the edge of the paper, and sets it down, breathing out harshly. Will didn't leave, not really. Hannibal will see him again – soon, he hopes. Desperately hopes.
Even as he thinks that, he lifts his head, hearing the front door opening. He goes, and stalls, when he sees it's Will – Will, with new bites and bruises on his neck, down his bared arms, littered along his jaw. Will, his hair fluffy and a mess of dark curls, his eyes a bright ocean-blue, only ringed with gold. Will, who reeks of a happy, satisfied Omega, as he closes the door and hangs up his coat.
Will turns to him, and smiles.
"Hey," he breathes.
Hannibal smiles back, and goes to him. He takes Will by the hair, presses him against the wall, and kisses him until they're both breathless.
Will laughs. "Missed me?" he teases, and Hannibal has, deeper than he can fathom.
But instead he merely says, "I'm glad you're here."
Will hums, low-lidded, and smiles. "Me too," he purrs, cupping Hannibal's jaw. His head tilts, and Hannibal leans in, nosing at his neck, breathing in the scent of his mate – Will, satisfied and sweet on his tongue. His hands flatten on Will's bruised hips, pulling him close, and their purrs are loud in the silence.
"Can you stay a while?" Hannibal breathes when they part.
Will huffs, and rolls his eyes. "I guess that depends," he says, teasing and playful. "You got anything to eat?"
Hannibal laughs. "I'm afraid, darling, you've quite depleted my stores."
Will hums, and lifts his chin. "Then I guess you need to go hunting." Hannibal blinks, and Will leans in, catches his mouth in a kiss that is passionate and promising. He pats Hannibal's chest, and pulls away, shouldering his coat. "I'll see you in the woods. Don't keep me waiting."
And despite the fact that it means Will is leaving, despite the fact that he already aches at the idea of his mate's absence, Hannibal smiles.