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You jumped when feeling Hannibal’s hand on your shoulder.
He noticed but didn’t lift it until you frowned a little. With a smile on his lips, he nod his head, stepping a little aside to take a look at the evidence in front of you both.
You’ve heard him speak, give his opinion, bounce Will’s idea, but you didn’t really pay much attention.
-
“What are you doing?” he asked, seeing you trying to climb up the counter in the kitchen, working the optics unsuccessfully, the stupid inflexible trousers you choose to wear that day being the cause of your additional frustration.
“I need… that stupid bowl up there,” you almost groaned, kicking your shoes off and grabbing a chair, feeling stupid for not going for that option sooner.
You heard him chuckle.
A hand at your waist stopped you and you stumbled back and almost tripped against the chair now by the counter as you looked at Hannibal standing dangerously close to you, reaching up.
For a moment all you could hear was the shuffle of his coat, his hand moving just slightly up as he stretched before bringing the bowl down to the counter.
“Thanks,” you mumbled.
-
Brian teased you about the shooting range high score. You never participated, but he caught you at the range a week earlier and when seeing your target being better than the one claiming a spot below the advert board, he insisted you replace it. Traditionally, it was reserved for the best shooter of the month, a little competition born among the agents. The previous one got removed sometime later, yours being the new “best” and no one got a better score than you in over a week.
“I’m going to go down to remove the target if you don’t stop,” you threatened as you were backing out of the office, cup in your hands.
“There are cameras,” he opposed, “You’d be ruining a running tradition!”
Then, you felt crashing into someone, jumping away, the hot tea from your cup spilling over on your hands as your grip tightened and you hissed.
Hannibal’s pleased smirk turned quickly when noticing the damage, but you didn’t have time to weigh on it too much – your skin was burning and you rushed to the kitchen to run it under a cold water, swearing.
“Let me see.”
You didn’t notice, but Hannibal followed, taking your hand now, wiping the burned space over softly with a thumb to clear the remaining water droplets off a little.
You fought the urge to withdraw, momentarily frozen.
He looked at you when you snatched away, returning your hand under the running water.
“You know I am a doctor, yes?” He joked and you laughed, shaking your head.
He patted your back and you watched him leave.
-
You rubbed your eyes, tired. Jimmy and Brian were going on and on about something over the evidence table near while you were trying to finish the damn paperwork. You pulled the shortest stick, having to put up with making a written description of found evidence before handing the boxes over for court processing.
“This is stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, “guys, please, can you take it elsewhere?” you asked. When these two started on, there was no outside world for their consideration.
They did hear you, but no answer came – all they did was close the box and head for the doors while still arguing, too consumed by their conversation.
But, as luck would have it, silence wasn’t a blessing you’d receive.
“Are you all right?” You looked up to Hannibal standing at the doors, realizing he must have had been there since the two of them left, holding them open, looking at you.
“Yeah,” you answered.
He came closer, curious, commenting, and you chuckled as you described your task, leaning back a little, relaxing into the chair.
“I’ll be done soon,” you said when he peeked into the box with the evidence you were processing.
Then, absent-mindedly it seemed, he placed his hand on your shoulder in a parting gesture, looking up when you caught it as he was about to lean away.
For a second there the two of you stared at each other. Then your sense kicked back in.
“Oh my god sorry,” you rushed the words out, letting go, but he didn’t move, staring at you, intrigued.
“I’m not mad,” he answered simply, looking back at the doors shortly before turning to you again.
Basically towering over, he seemed to observe you shortly as you tucked your hair back behind your ears, trying to regain some composure, hoping he’d take a hint.
He did not.
Saying something you couldn’t quite make out, he raised his hand up to cup your cheek, and everything in your screamed silently as you froze, blanking out again, torn between wanting to dodge away and lean in.
Was this even real?
Hannibal seemed to notice, very well aware of what he was doing and when you began processing the world around you again, he retrieved his hand before you could decide which urge was stronger.
“Whatever am I going to do with you,” you heard him say, the words making little sense.
Looking up to him you frowned, finally realizing the gesture although inherently intimate wasn’t meant as affection. Not when his eyes were this cold, his lips thinned, displeased.
Confused, angry with yourself, you shot up, closing your laptop, practically running away.
-
“Come on in,” Hannibal said.
“I’ll wait here,” you answered, smiling courteously.
Maybe it was childish of you, but you didn’t care so much – this sudden distance you’ve put between the two of you was to sting him now but hurt you in the long run and you were aware.
Jack sent you to drop a copy of the final profile Hannibal asked for and pick his closing evaluation. You didn’t feel like going but had no legitimate reason to refuse and Jack gave you his well-trained ‘try me’ look when you attempted to talk yourself out of it.
“It’s freezing,” Hannibal insisted, opening the doors a little wider for you, “I promise, you have nothing to fear,” he added.
So, out of politeness you silently cursed, you slipped in as he closed the doors, leaving to get the papers.
Luckily, it did not take him longer.
“I was hoping to talk to you if you’d allow for a conversation?” he spoke as he headed back to you.
“What about?” you asked, extending your arm to take the papers, hoping the same politeness that forced you in would force him to hand them over.
It did not.
“Your condition,” Hannibal answered, and you retrieved your hand.
“What condition,” you said, a trace of treat in your voice.
“Are you familiar with the term skin hunger?” Hannibal asked, tilting his head, “Also called touch starvation, it is common but easily addressed.”
Unsure what to say, you extended your hand again, asking for the papers silently.
“My doors are always open,” Hannibal said, handing them to you.
-
You looked it up.
Because of course you did.
And it made sense.
Because of course it would.
He didn’t pay any more attention to you – not that he ignored you, there was no passive aggression in Hannibal’s behavior, but he took care not to stand next to you, not to bump into you, keeping his distance.
As if you two did not know each other.
The sting a few days prior worked, then, you thought. So much easier now.
You two didn’t speak casually until a week later when he was leaving Jack’s office, finding you alone in the evidence room.
“Hello,” he tried, cheerful.
You gave him a nod in return.
“It’s quite late,” he commented, and you sighed, leaning back, agreeing.
He stepped in while you explained you’ve got the last two bags to get through and that you’ll be done completely then, listening.
“I did my research, by the way,” you said, “on skin hunger.”
“Yes?” he prompted you on and you leaned in again, shifting a little uncomfortable.
“You said … the issue is… well, easy to address?” you struggled the words out, feeling stupid.
“Are you often uncomfortable with the idea of intimacy?” Hannibal asked, which only annoyed you.
“Yeah,” you laughed out an answer.
“I am not surprised,” he answered, through smiling a little, “Touch starvation is common, treatable with simple solutions such as massage, a weighted blanket, perhaps contact with an animal.”
“I’m not going to the petting zoo,” you chuckled, bitter.
“I expected you to find the idea amusing,” Hannibal answered.
“Massages take forever to book,” you sighed, “Well, anyway…right… thank you…”
“Touch stimulates the release of oxytocin and serotonin, same hormones discarded by exercising, too,” Hannibal continued.
“Yeah…” you nod your head.
It wasn’t like you didn’t have enough of that. Coming off a case meant your legs hurt and your arm was still sore – after all, running and being thrown around was sometimes part of the job.
“Perhaps I could be of help?” He asked.
You looked up to him, frowning and he stared at you, waiting for your reaction.
“How?” you asked.
“We both are human,” he simply answered.
For a moment there you considered him to be joking, a weird snickering laugh leaving you, but he didn’t move a muscle, watching you still, close, and you found yourself hesitant suddenly, clearing your throat.
“I assure you, this is not an offer I’d be giving to anyone,” Hannibal said, “do not misunderstand – I consider you a colleague, one I am fond of and I have no intentions to mistreat your trust.”
“Hannibal, I do like you,” you started, a little annoyed, sighing. He must have had known, after all – you were friends. Casual, uncomplicated, straightforward – just friends.
Taking a breath to continue, you didn’t find the right words, shaking your head.
“Perhaps I should be more descriptive,” he interrupted when seeing you struggle again, “What I am offering is a simple rest, closeness. Respectful of your bounds and change of heart, of course.”
You eyed him, unsure, through weighting it in your mind.
“Why?” You asked finally “I mean, why would you offer that?”
“You are in need, I want to help,” he answered without hesitation, “it would also be a source of contentment for me.”
Again, you weighted his words, finally giving him a nod.
Hannibal eased a little, It seemed, and you looked up to him again, rubbing your forehead.
“You said you will be finished with your work soon?” he asked and you agreed, “Then perhaps, it is not so late –“
He stopped when seeing you take in a sharp breath, nodding his head.
“Come,” he simply said, “I will wait. The decision is yours.”
-
You rushed through the showers at the gym, still undecided.
Shaky.
The offer tempting, you found yourself torn and indecisive. On one hand, the idea of physical closeness excited you, on another hand the reassurance Hannibal seemed to offer so sincerely sounded … too good to be true?
You couldn’t make up your mind when getting into your car and leaving, but as you got to the last intersection that would take you to Hannibal’s house comfortably, you found yourself reaching for the indication sign.
He was dressed casually – in what you judged to be a fresh shirt. Smiling, he invited you in quietly.
“Would you like some wine?” he asked, “I opened a bottle of Pinot Noir, it should be about ready to be enjoyed.”
“Just a little, maybe?” you asked, giving him a nervous nod.
He smiled, gesturing towards the stairs.
“Follow the music, I’ve changed the sheets.”
That, for whatever reason, did not easy you at all and you tried to think when were you this nervous last time?
“Pull yourself together,“ you whispered to yourself as you reached the bedroom doors, “you’re the current best FBI shooter for fuck’s sake, not a high school’s last virgin.”
Hannibal’s bedroom was, just like the rest of his house, bathing in expensive trimmings. Heavy dark curtains, textured wallpaper, thick rugs, and wooden floor. The lights were dimmed, windows probably creaked open behind the curtains, the room cold. Debussy softly playing from god knows where, you read the spines of the books on his bedside table.
You heard Hannibal on the stairs as you were taking your shoes off, stepping aside for him to come in unable to move further yourself. He met your nervous look, smiling through curious, handing you a glass.
“To courage,” he toasted
Idiot, you chuckled.
“Make yourself comfortable, please,” he said, gesturing towards the bed, coming to stand his wine glass on the bedside table, “I’ll start a fire.”
You headed to sit down, standing your glass next to his and finding he did pour less wine for you than he did for himself. He closed the windows, walking to the fireplace when you caught his look again.
“Tell me, why are you nervous?” he asked.
You shrugged, taking a breath.
“I don’t think I’m nervous,” you lied, “just awkward, that’s all.”
“We’re two consenting adults, besides, all we will share is a bit of intimacy,” Hannibal answered.
“I’m not saying my awkwardness is reasonable,” you answered, taking your jacket off, and folding it in your lap.
“It is natural, I do not blame you,” Hannibal said, standing straight.
He came to take your jacket, placing it on the chair near, stopping there to look at you sitting on the bed a little too stiff for what you judged to be his taste since he thinned his lips a little displeased.
“Is there something you’d like me to do? Or not, perhaps?” he asked.
Like what.
Is he going to force you to ask for it?
You shrugged, shifting a little as he came closer, sitting down on the bed next to you.
“You were right,” you stuttered a little, chuckling at yourself “I am nervous.”
“Naturally,” he commented, reaching to hold your hand in what you judged to be a very calm manner, a stark difference to your shakiness he surely noticed.
Luckily though, he didn’t comment on that.
“We are tactile, as you know – a kind human touch is required for our well-being,” he spoke and you found yourself easing a little, concentrating more on the sound of his voice more than the words. He seemed to study your fingers with his, opening your palm, brushing softly against your knuckles and you looked down, closing your eyes for a moment.
It didn’t help much, though – he just made the shakes worse.
“Lay down,” he told you, “I’ll be back soon.”
Your mind was going in quick circles, and you tried to think of any way you’d be comfortable laying down, before curling up a little. The sheets smelled of bergamot, you thought and you were glad he pushed the duvets and covers to the feet of the bed, glad that you don’t need to think about them.
When Hannibal returned, he came to sit on the other side of the bed and you watched him rolling up the sleeves of his button-down, chuckling.
He asked quietly, interested and you found yourself easing a little as you shook your head, still smiling.
“You’re a doctor,” you commented, “that’s a… very doctor thing. Your sleeves. Sorry, that sounded funnier in my head.”
“No need to apologize, it’s important to share one’s thoughts when intimate,” he answered, smiling himself as he came to lay down on his side as well, facing you, and you adjusted a little, “are you comfortable?” He asked.
You gave him a nod, drawing in a breath.
Hannibal let out a breath, quiet for a moment and you bit your lips together, trying to think of what next.
“Close your eyes,” He suggested.
You tried, but couldn’t keep them that way for long, chuckling nervously as you opened them again, apologizing.
He didn’t seem to mind, and you began growing annoyed over how stupid you were feeling.
“You live alone, yes?” he asked, “when was the last time you let anyone this close?”
You laughed, trying to remember, failing.
“Hannibal?” you asked, looking at him “I… I think I need you to take over,” you chuckled, nervous, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Do you trust me then?” He asked and you gave him a quick nod, wanting to hear no more questions.
His touch was warm, his skin soft and it gave you a moment to process that he cupped your cheek with his long fingers again just like before.
“Come closer,” he whispered, directing you, and you shifted a little, obeying. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair, and it wasn’t so hard suddenly, to keep your eyes closed.
You could hear him shift a little as well and then you felt your knees softly pressed against his legs, your forehead resting against the collar of his shirt.
“You’re still shaking,” he observed, whispering, and you chuckled.
It felt good, you thought, not to be in control for a moment and you forced yourself to ease a little.
His hand moved to your back and you felt him draw a pattern with the tip of his fingers, the fabric of your shirt brushing softly against your skin.
Hannibal spoke, but you didn’t listen, breathing in his scent. Woodsy but cold, you thought, exactly as one would imagine.
“It’s all right to doze off,” he said.
“I won’t,” you snickered.
“Why?” He questioned.
“I don’t want to miss this.”
Wait, I didn’t say it did I?
He smiled at your answer, you could tell. Sighing deeply, he eased a little, coming to play with your hair again, and you found yourself picking on the seam of his shirt softly.
You laid like this for a while and you listened to his breathing, adjusting a little, feeling yourself relax into his embrace, narrowing. The fire was going strong, Debussy playing quietly, and you wondered how long will he tolerate you there.
“Hannibal?” You asked, being granted a hum in answer, “Is this really all right for you?”
“It’s welcomed,” He answered, “I am glad to see you ease, proud to be the cause of that.”
You laughed at his answer, shaking your head – it sounded a little corny, but still true enough for you to consider him sincere.
He played with your hair, drew fingers across your back, rested his chin against the top of your head. Hannibal held you close – and came to rest his leg between your knees, asking silently for consent.
It was comfortable to just stay there like that, little to no words spoken, and the only reminder of the world existing outside of the breaths you shared, was the crackling of fire and the soft piano. It was Hannibal, strong and surprisingly muscular underneath his shirt, and you thought how dangerous could he be if only he wanted.
Then again, you didn’t take your gun along either, did you?
“You seem to like that,” He said and you hummed in question.
He touched the back of your neck very softly again, brushing slowly across the vertebrae, chuckling at your reaction.
You quickly drew a hand up to your mouth when hearing the soft moan escape your lips, laughing along with him.
-
“No, Beverly, I’m telling you, she’s Like Robin hood with a gun,” Brian praised you as you reached the evidence room.
You shot your best target yet, Brian going all nuts about it.
“You have to enter the official shooting competition this year,” he told you “Just… promise. Come on.”
“Okay, jeez,” You laughed.