Chapter Text
Will is pretty sure that if he checked his job description, it would say jack shit about undercover field work. Then again, on second thought, he’s not actually sure that he technically even has a formal job description. Everyone knows he’s Jack’s dog, and that’s all that anyone needs to know.
“Cheer up, Will. It’s a party,” Jack says, clapping a hand on Will’s shoulder. Will’s upper lip curls back slightly at the unwanted touch from the other alpha, and Jack quickly retracts his hand. “Look, I know all this high society pomp isn’t really your scene, but just treat it like any other case we’re working on.” Jack gestures around the expansive foyer of the concert hall, shining with crystal chandeliers and decorated with elegant tables full of appetizers that look more like art projects than they do food. “We’ve got the beginnings of a solid profile on this guy– old money, callous, bored rich boy. Now just keep investigating this scene, and see what you can find.”
“This isn’t a crime scene, Jack,” Will retorts, tugging at the collar of his ill-fitted suit. “There is no aftermath for me to read and analyze. Just a bunch of stuck-up peacocks strutting about. This isn’t where I’m most useful to you.”
Jack sighs, and gives up his attempt at a pep talk. “Just do your best, Will. We’re just trying it out. You’re the one who understands him the most. If the guy is here, you’re our best bet at identifying him in the wild.”
“Fine,” Will grits out.
“And remember to look out for my email about the psychiatrist I’m going to have you see.”
“Jesus Christ," Will mutters under his breath. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, waving Jack away.
This sucks.
In all honesty, Will understands why Jack wants him here. He has developed a decent profile for the current case subject they’ve been investigating, and this orchestral fundraising thing is exactly the kind of event that the guy would likely frequent. Socializing at this high society event, however grueling it may be, could potentially yield some leads. But the lights are too bright, and everyone is laughing too loud, and Will has no idea how he’s supposed to integrate into this crowd in a way that would allow him to scope out potential suspects.
A waiter with a silver tray full of champagne flutes passes, and Will snags two, downing them both in five seconds flat, something that will certainly help with the investigation.
“Nervous?”
Will chokes on the last sip of his champagne and coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve before turning.
Before him is a handsome and distinguished looking older man, maybe in his fifties, wearing a bold crimson suit and an obnoxiously knowing smile. His silver-streaked hair is immaculately coiffed, his tie knotted to perfection, and even in silence and stillness, his demeanor is somehow both completely cordial and utterly commanding. Will blinks as a faint wave of red wine and dark musk hits his nose. A fucking alpha, of course. He meets the man’s auburn eyes for one uneasy second before darting his gaze back down to the man’s tie.
“Maybe I’m just thirsty,” Will replies, not really giving a shit whether this guy buys it or not.
“You are new to this scene,” the man observes easily. His voice is deep and accented; something eastern European, if Will had to guess.
“Rather presumptuous to say that to a man you just met based solely on a couple seconds of observance,” Will replies with a hint of challenge in his voice, conscious of the irony of the statement when that is, in fact, what Will himself is known for doing. “I could be a seasoned veteran here who just also happens to be a shameless alcoholic.”
The man’s smile broadens into something less secretive, more welcoming. “I apologize. I have you at an unfair disadvantage. When I said that you were new to this scene, it was a statement, not a guess. You are Will Graham, are you not?”
Will freezes, one champagne glass still in each hand. “Who’s asking?”
“An admirer.” The man holds one palm out towards Will like he wants to shake his hand, then delicately plucks one of the empty champagne glasses from Will’s grasp, depositing it on another tray that floats past them. His hand extends towards Will again in offering. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I’ve read your papers. They are all excellent.”
No longer burdened by two empty glasses and somewhat disarmed by the feeling of flattery that’s risen unbidden in his chest, Will hesitantly offers Dr. Lecter his free hand. Before he can initiate a proper handshake in greeting, however, the man raises Will’s hand to his lips and brushes a chaste kiss across his knuckles. It catches Will so off guard that he doesn’t have any time to react before the man is lowering his hand again and releasing him as if it was nothing.
“Excuse me?” Will says, snatching his hand back. “The hell was that?”
“Forgive me; I am rather old fashioned at times.”
Will glances around furtively, and finds that much to his annoyance, the doctor’s gesture did, in fact, turn a couple heads their way. “Yeah, that may’ve been an appropriate if old fashioned way to introduce yourself to an omega. ”
“It is a general expression of respect, admiration, and deference,” the doctor counters. “I do not reserve it solely for omegas.” Dr. Lecter’s lips quirk back upwards into a tiny, amused smile. “Do you take offense to receiving attention in a manner normally reserved for omegas? Surely that would imply some sense of superiority to omegas on your part.”
What the hell was this guy’s game? “You’re putting words in my mouth,” Will says, not interested in entertaining the conversation any further. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Try kissing my hand like that again, and I’ll pull your tongue out.”
The older alpha’s eyes spark, but before he can respond, Will turns and strides away from him pointedly. Relief floods his chest as he catches sight of the forensics team, and he makes his way over to where they’re leaning their elbows on a high table.
“Hey, soldier,” Beverly greets him. “How’re the trenches?”
“I’m about ready to put a bullet in my mouth,” Will replies, setting his remaining empty champagne flute down harder than necessary. Beverly and Jimmy cackle. “Why are you three here anyways? You don’t even do the same kind of profiling I do.”
“I begged Jack, ‘cause I wanted the free food and an excuse to dress up fancy,” Beverly says, popping a shrimp into her mouth. “Told him you’d need backup.”
“Which you do,” Zeller interjects.
“Then by all means, back me up,” Will replies drily. “I’ve tried making small talk with some of these people and have accomplished nothing besides making a fool of myself, and pissing people off.”
“There are an awful lot of alphas here,” Zeller observes, sipping from a glass of wine. “Easier to ruffle some feathers with all of them bumping up against each other. No offense,” he adds with a glance at Will, who waves him off easily. All of the forensics team were betas, something that was definitely a good counter balance in the lab on the occasions when Jack and Will butted heads.
“What did Dr. Lecter do that got you all hot and bothered?” Jimmy pipes up, and Will frowns.
“You saw that? Did it– Was it that obvious that I was annoyed with him?”
“It was like watching a silent film drama,” Beverly says. “It was awesome. I’m gonna get more champagne; try not to burn any bridges while I’m gone.”
Will sighs heavily as Beverly saunters away from them. “He was just– I don’t know, being kind of weirdly demeaning or something.”
Jimmy and Zeller exchange a glance that Will doesn’t know how to interpret. Before he can ask, Jimmy’s eyes focus on something behind him. Will turns, and rolls his eyes instinctively when he sees the good doctor, surrounded by other well-dressed party-goers who are all hanging off his arm and laughing at something he said.
“That man is a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Jimmy says.
Will squints at the broad-framed alpha who is exuding power and confidence from all the way across the room. “He isn’t exactly giving off sheep energy to me.”
“Well, okay, I guess in this metaphor–” Jimmy hesitates, and Zeller drags a hand down his face. “Okay, okay; I’ve got it. If betas and omegas are sheep, then alphas are herding dogs. And so, he’s like, a wolf in dog’s clothing.”
“That’s both offensive and stupid,” Zeller says, but mostly ignoring the sheep part, it sort of makes some kind of sense to Will. Even in a room full of powerful alphas, there was something about Dr. Lecter that felt subtly, uniquely sinister. Dangerous in a way that went deeper than even his formidable external presentation suggested. For a second, Will entertains the idea that Dr. Lecter may be a potential suspect, but dismisses the thought quickly, as he’s fairly certain that the man they’re after is an American.
“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s his deal?” Will asks, eyes still following the man as he makes his way through the crowd to speak with another alpha.
“He’s, well–” Zeller was shifting from foot to foot slightly nervously while Jimmy scratched the back of his neck, and Will’s curiosity was only growing by the minute.
“Spit it out.”
Zeller sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels before leaning into Will slightly, muttering in his ear, “He has a reputation for bitching younger alphas.”
Oh. Not what Will expected. “The hell? Consensually?” he asks warily.
“I think so?” Zeller says with a helpless shrug. “The story from the rumor mill is basically that it’s become a kind of open-secret of a challenge at this point. He’s a bit of a traditionalist, and highly values good manners, and if he feels he’s being challenged or disrespected in some way by another alpha, he’s been known to– court them. Like they’re an omega.”
Will listens in fascination, not quite following. “He courts alphas who disrespect him?”
“Well, not always just the ones who disrespect him,” Jimmy cuts in. “He goes after power, too; anyone who takes up space and draws attention. Anyone who he thinks needs to be taken down a peg.”
“Yeah,” Zeller says. “Or fresh blood. Hotshots who are new to his circles and don’t know who he is yet. And as for courting them like they’re an omega, I think it’s like, partially a bit of a dominance thing. A power play. Either way, the next part of the pattern, as far as I can tell, is that he invites them to sleep with him with the mutual understanding that it’ll be a battle for physical dominance. And based on how the alphas who he takes to bed act around him afterwards… it’s pretty obvious that none of them have ever, well, ended up on top.”
“Is that why– Is that why everyone treats him like that?” Will questions, his bafflement warring against the erotic intrigue of it all.
“Like he’s the dominant alpha in any room he enters?” Zeller asks dryly, and Will nods. “It’s definitely a big part of it, yeah.”
“Jesus. Fascinating.”
“Yeah, so, just, keep that in mind, I guess.”
Will blinks, only understanding Zeller’s meaning after a moment of processing. “What, you think he’ll take interest in me?”
Zeller and Jimmy give him an identical look that says, Really?
“Graham, I think he’s already taken an interest in you,” Jimmy says. “You’re exactly his type. Young, pretty, and stubborn.”
“I’m not ‘pretty,’” Will objects in irritation, and Zeller tries to stifle a laugh.
“Stubborn,” he points out, and Will sighs in admission. “Holy shit,” Zeller says suddenly, looking just past Will’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you like you’re on the menu tonight.”
Will stiffens, and for a second, he listens to Zeller, and doesn't turn, but then he thinks, Why the fuck should he care? So he turns.
And wow, he’s in trouble.
Will Graham’s job is to hunt down other hunters, and he’s damn good at it. The moment he locks eyes with Dr. Lecter, he knows that he’s looking at one. The way the entire upper half of his body is angled towards Will, the subtle but intrigued cocking of his head, the intense and undeniable glint of hunger in the doctor's eyes–
“The concert will begin in ten minutes. Please make your way to your seats,” a pleasant voice says over a loudspeaker, and the doctor’s eyes snap away from Will all at once as the party-goers begin to filter into the concert hall. Will is startled to find that there’s a strange kind of nervous flutter in his gut, and he shakes his head as if that’ll dispel it.
“Oh, wow,” Beverly says, reappearing with four flutes of champagne somehow held in her hands as she glances between Will and Dr. Lecter. “You’re in trouble, Will.”
“I’ve gathered,” he grits out, accepting another glass from Beverly and once again downing it in one go. “Jesus, let’s just get this thing over with so I can get away from this guy.”
Zeller and Jimmy exchange another look. Will is too irritated to even ask.
The concert is nice. Surprisingly nice. After a couple tense minutes fending off the instinctive discomfort of being surrounded by people on all sides, Will finds himself closing his eyes and relaxing into the gentle singing of the strings. When the concert ends, he has to blink himself back into his body, and is surprised to find that he’s disappointed it’s over.
Before he can join the crowd of standing and applauding audience-members, he finds the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Turning his head slightly, a shiver travels up his spine as he once again locks eyes with Dr. Lecter, seated at the end of his row and staring at him shamelessly. Will feels suddenly self-conscious, borderline naked, knowing that the doctor had been watching him shake himself out of his dazed reverie. The alpha in him tells him to maintain eye contact until Dr. Lecter breaks first. The everything-else in him forces him to avert his eyes and ignore the older alpha as much as possible.
As they filter out of the concert hall, a light touch on Will’s elbow sends his hackles raising, and he flinches away from the contact.
“I apologize for startling you,” Dr. Lecter says, and Will can practically feel the rest of the forensics team watching with unabashed interest behind him. “I fear that we may’ve gotten off on the wrong foot earlier. I would love to amend that by inviting you back to the VIP lounge for a drink with some of my friends and colleagues, if you’d honor me with your presence. I truly would love to discuss your writings,” he adds.
Will’s about to retort back with something decidedly not proper for a high society charity event, but then he sees Jack standing off to the side close by, frantically trying to get his attention with a tiny wave. Jack’s eyes are nearly bulging out of his skull as he sends Will a couple of tiny vigorous nods, silently beaming the message into Will’s mind that You have got to take this opportunity. Will just barely represses an exasperated hiss.
“Sure,” Will says. “Thanks. Sure.”
The doctor beams, and holds his arm out, gesturing politely to a back hallway.
“See you later, Will,” Beverly calls with barely concealed glee, and Will flashes her a subtle middle finger when Dr. Lecter’s back has turned.
The VIP lounge of the fancy-ass concert hall looks exactly how Will would imagine a VIP lounge at a fancy-ass concert hall would look. Low lighting, disgustingly expensive liquor, and dark and distinguished looking couches and chaises dominate the room, which is filled with well-groomed alphas in perfectly tailored suits. Will is suddenly hyper-conscious of his musty old suit, which no longer fits him right and is of noticeably worse quality than everyone else's. Then he remembers that he doesn’t give a shit, and feels much better.
“Your drink of choice?” The doctor asks, already holding a tumbler in his hand.
“Any whiskey is fine,” Will replies, sticking his hands awkwardly into his pockets and instinctively shuffling until his back is to the wall so that he can survey the whole room.
It stinks of alpha in here. No amount of fancy cologne and constraining suits can mask the mire of testosterone and the unique musks of each alpha. The entire space is so ridiculously hyper-masculine, hyper-alphan, that it’s nearly enough to make Will laugh.
The doctor passes Will his whiskey, and Will makes a conscious effort to not let their fingers touch in any way as he accepts it and takes a sip. He feels his eyebrows raising on his head of their own accord as he goes in for another drink. It’s good. It’s really good.
“I apologize again if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” Dr. Lecter says, gesturing for Will to sit on one of the velvet chairs as he watches him drink intently.
Will hesitates for only a moment before relenting and sinking into the chair, not missing the way that the doctor doesn’t seat himself until Will has, lingering over him for a moment longer than necessary. “I wouldn’t say you made me uncomfortable,” Will half-lies, because it feels like it would be an admission of weakness to say that he had, in fact, been somewhat uncomfortable.
“Oh, well then, I’m quite glad to know you aren’t bothered by such gestures,” the doctor says with a smile, and Will still feels like he doesn’t have the upper hand here, and he doesn’t even really know why. It pisses him off. “Now then– I’d love to know, when conducting research for your paper on determining the time of death based on insect activity, did you–”
“Are you interested in me sexually?” Will interrupts.
There are a couple of surprised and amused chuckles from the alphas nearby, which Will ignores. Dr. Lecter blinks. His head cocks slightly in that bird-like way, and that somewhat amused smile reappears on his face. “Rather forwards, Mr. Graham. I’m flattered, really, but perhaps this isn’t the time or place for such conversations.”
“Cut the bullshit,” Will says firmly. “You insult my intelligence by playing dumb.”
The doctor’s brows raise slightly on his face, and his smile cracks open further into something viciously delighted. “I once again find myself apologizing to you. I’m afraid I simply find riling you up to be too irresistible. To answer your question more directly, in both body and mind, I find you wildly attractive, yes.”
Wildly attractive. A shiver travels up Will’s spine at the blunt confidence of the confession made in that dark velvety voice. He finds his nails digging into the arms of his chair.
“You do know that I’m an alpha, too,” he says, avoiding directly addressing the doctor’s bold admission. “Even if I were interested, we’re inherently not sexually compatible.” Will doesn’t even really stand behind the words, but he wants to say them anyways, as if they’ll dissuade this man who looks ready to pounce on him.
“Surprisingly closed-minded, Mr. Graham,” Dr. Lecter muses, swirling his wine glass contemplatively. “We live in an age where there is far more acceptance for sexual deviance of all sorts, and I’m quite comfortably open about my own. I mean no offense by this; it’s simply a difference in preferences, but I usually find omegas to be too soft and too easy for my tastes.”
“Easy? ” Will asks, disgust curling in his gut as he raises an eyebrow at the doctor. “You know, tacking on ‘no offense’ to the start of that statement does not in any way make it less offensive or degrading.”
“I understand your reaction, but I meant what I said quite literally. There is nothing particularly erotic to me about a being whose body and biology were designed to entice and accept me. There is nothing wrong with the open affection and eagerness that many omegas display towards alphas, and nothing shameful about the way their bodies react naturally. It’s simply not what I personally find arousing.”
“And what do you find arousing, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks boldly before he can stop himself, taking a sip from his stupidly expensive whiskey.
“Forcing insolent young alphas into total submission on my knot.”
Will chokes on his drink for the second time that night, and some of the older alphas in the room laugh heartily. Was this normal? Did these people usually revert to this kind of crass locker room talk in these more private, exclusionary spaces? One or two of the younger alphas were looking away, blushing or coughing uncomfortably, and Will wonders how many of them Dr. Lecter had personally bitched.
“Are you alright, Mr. Graham?” Dr. Lecter asks in amusement, watching him sputter, but Will is still stuck on the absolutely insane statement that he just made.
‘On my knot.’ He was knotting these alphas? It wasn’t physically impossible for one alpha to knot another, but it was highly unheard of as far as Will knew, and surely very difficult to execute without causing damage or extreme pain. For the briefest second, he tries to envision it– what it would feel like, having something that thick pushing for entry at his– His breath skips, and he crumples up the passing thought and crushes it into oblivion in the back of his mind.
“I’m quite alright,” Will replies finally, his dislike for the man in front of him only growing. “Forgive me if the crass statement you just made caused me to choke on my drink.”
“Never apologize to me for choking, Will; I’m aware that I am at times a bit too much for some to handle,” the doctor says shamelessly with the tiniest hint of a smile. There’s more good-natured laughter from the surrounding alphas, and the cold fury in Will’s chest wars against the heat that’s rising in his cheeks, his most primal instincts snarling to him that he is being challenged and he needs to bite back.
“Would you like to know what I find arousing, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, and there’s a hum of interest from the room at this turn.
The older alpha blinks slowly, intrigue clear on his face. “I would.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because you’re never going to find out,” Will says, and the doctor blinks again in clear surprise. “I don’t choke because something is ‘too much to handle,’” Will adds scathingly. “I choke when I find something distasteful. ”
Will lifts his chin as he stares Dr. Lecter down without blinking and catches the briefest glimpse of the shining red of his eyes, swimming with a complicated maelstrom of admiration and rising fury. And then Will turns on his heel to leave the room, which erupts behind him with hoots and laughter, delighted by the drama of the bold and scathing rejection.
Will holds his head high, ignores the feeling of eyes burning into the back of his head and perhaps also his ass, and doesn’t look back.
It’s only once he’s hailed a cab that Will remembers he was supposed to be, you know, doing his job. At this point, he’s too drunk and frazzled to really care.
Well, thank god that at least he’s never going to have to see that guy again.
Finally back in the comforting familiarity of his house, Will collapses back onto his bed and pulls his laptop into his lap. One more email check, and he can finally rest, and hopefully sleep off the incredibly weird and irritating night he’s had.
Rubbing his eyes, Will opens his email, skimming it briefly before his eyes land on a message from Jack titled ‘Connecting you with psychiatrist.’ Will sighs heavily for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and opens it. Freezes. Shoots up in his bed. Reads back over it in disbelief.
Will– cced the psychiatrist I’m assigning you and putting you two in touch. He is highly recommended in his field, including by Alana Bloom, and has even consulted with the FBI before on cases. I think he’s a perfect fit for you. Reminder that this is not a request. If you’re continuing this work, I’m requiring you to see a psychiatrist. See you Monday!
And below that– Another email, a reply–
Will, it was an unexpected pleasure meeting you at the charity concert today.
I’ve attached my number below, as well as the address of my office. Please contact me at your leisure so that we can set up your first appointment. I am rather booked at present, but for you, I can be flexible.
I look forward to speaking with you again. I think that Jack is quite right– I will be a perfect fit for you.
Warm regards,
- Dr. Hannibal Lecter
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me–”