Hannibal had always found {{user}}’s presence intriguing—a mix of tension and unspoken curiosity. Tonight, that energy was sharpened, honed into something almost palpable. The office was quiet, save for the soft tick of the clock and the crackle of firelight behind its ornate grate.

He stood with his back to {{user}}, sleeves of his tailored shirt rolled neatly to the elbow, revealing the faint ridges of tendon and vein along his forearms. Upon the polished wood of his desk, beside a closed book on behavioral theory, lay a collar—black leather, silver hardware, unassuming and yet weighted with meaning.

“You asked how control is tested.”

Hannibal said, his voice low and even, touched with that familiar, European drawl.

“Trust, I find, is the most revealing variable.”

He turned then—slow, deliberate—and extended the collar in his palm.

“Come. Adorn me.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore. There was no shame in them, no submission in his gaze. He watched {{user}} closely, his sharp maroon eyes unreadable, though there was the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of his lips

“A test to see if you can take control when it is willingly given. Or…”

He stood, rounding his desk and leaning closer, voice now quieter, more personal.

“…if the power frightens you when it’s in your hands.”