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Will’s eyes are hazy and unfocused, pupils blown dark and wide, and his eyelids are heavy. Hannibal watches his long lashes graze his face with every sluggish, fluttering blink. Even through his own clothes and Will’s respectively, he can still feel the heat radiating off of him. He smells like sweat and sugary sickness, and the lazy dredges of arousal. He paints a beautiful picture; one that Hannibal might take advantage of with the quick strokes of pencil against paper any other time.
Right now, Will’s slumped in his bed, face half turned into his pillow, and his damp curls fanned out as Hannibal strokes his fingers through his hair. He’s entirely on top of the covers, too feverish for the comfort of a blanket or to register the chill in the house. He’s too feverish to notice much of anything actually, which is quite the point. Hannibal doesn’t dare disturb the quiet perfection of having Will soft, pliable, and laying so close that he can feel Will’s warm breath against his arm. He doesn’t think that Will’s even aware of his presence. He’d answered the door to Hannibal some few hours ago now, and even then he’d been dazed and mumbling. He hadn’t been able to string together a single sentence. Since then, he’s been laying in his bed with Hannibal sitting reclined against the headboard.
It’s somewhat surprising that he hasn’t drifted off to sleep considering how long they’ve been here in the dim lighting of his bedroom. He’s not exactly conscious, but he’s also decidedly not asleep, either.
Hannibal lets his fingers pet through Will’s hair again, down to the soft sparser hair at the nape of his neck. His skin is damp, much like the rest of him, and heat emits strongly from him where he’s burning up with fever. It’s not quite to the point of concern for Hannibal. Not yet. He’s not entirely satisfied with this little experiment, and he won’t let this indulgence be cut short. Especially when Will has so much to offer still.
Will makes a soft, sleepy noise and presses his head backwards, clumsily chasing Hannibal’s touch. His head lolls backwards enough that it’s tilted up towards Hannibal, face flushed and lax. Their eyes meet for a moment, long enough that Hannibal feels his heart do an exciting little double-beat in his chest. He partially expects to see recognition cross Will’s face, enough that Hannibal will have to lull him to sleep and take his leave before Will becomes lucid enough to remember anything. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been forced to do just that. Instead, Will’s eyes remain cloudy and entirely unaware. It feels more like he’s looking through Hannibal than at him.
Experimentally, Hannibal strokes his fingers back through Will’s hair, working out little tangles and letting his nails graze over his scalp. Will’s eyes flutter again in response, a contented sigh escaping him. He nudges his head minutely back into Hannibal’s touch, like a stray cat seeking affection. Hannibal finds himself smiling, privately pleased as he continues to feed Will’s starved need for human contact.
It’s a little addictive, seeing Will so uninhibited. It’s a kind of vulnerability that he doubts many (if any) have seen from him before. It’s something reserved solely for Hannibal.
Will shifts beside him, shuffling himself closer to Hannibal until Will’s front is pressed up along Hannibal’s hip and leg. He tucks his face between the pillow and Hannibal’s thigh, lips parted and his warm breath ghosting over Hannibal’s skin.
Gentle and coaxing, Hannibal continues to pet Will’s hair, trying to help settle him again as he tries to find comfort in his new position. He doesn’t reach over to confirm any suspicions, but he imagines that the indent in the bed where Will had been laying before is probably still body-warm.
Will settles rather easily, going nice and limp again before he shifts his hips forward just slightly. Hannibal can feel the drag of Will’s cock against where they’re pressed together, and it isn’t long before Will’s hips are pressing forward again.
And again.
Even if Hannibal weren’t paying particularly close attention to Will, it would still be alarmingly easy to catch the way his eyes roll back at the contact, mouth falling open just a bit more and his cock twitching in his sweatpants, mindlessly seeking friction. The smell of arousal is growing, though it’s still dampened and subdued, like it’s not quite registered to Will’s aflame brain that he’s seeking out that touch and release.
Hannibal keeps stroking along Will’s scalp, eyes trained on him. He watches his face, watches the subtle shifts of his body and expression, and the way his hips rock into Hannibal’s thigh where he’s pressed so closely. Will blinks sluggishly up at Hannibal as he continues to rock against his leg, which Hannibal helpfully slots between Will’s, indulging him a bit. The added pressure against Will’s cock must be exactly what he needed, because Will lets out a soft, breathy sound as his hips stutter forward, twitchy and abortive.
“There you go.” Hannibal encourages quietly, leaving his thigh pressed against the growing outline of Will’s erection.
Will’s still looking at Hannibal, or at least in his general direction, and there’s something particularly lewd about that fact, while he’s lazily, unknowingly humping against Hannibal’s leg like a dog.
Hannibal’s words seem to egg Will on. Even while delirious, the encouragement does wonders for his affection-starved mind, and Hannibal watches with no small amount of satisfaction as Will’s thrusts become more pointed. He’s pressing himself as close as he possibly can to Hannibal’s thigh, a damp spot forming through his sweatpants where Will’s cock is leaking.
Hannibal’s own cock isn’t immune to having Will Graham all but splayed out for him, lazily rutting against him and panting. He’s half hard in his pants, and the pressure only grows with every gruff sound that spills from Will’s lips, unfiltered and terribly needy.
He watches as Will’s glazed eyes rove lazily around the room, over Hannibal, not registering the scene around him. He’s barely pulling his hips away anymore, instead grinding up against Hannibal’s thigh in uncoordinated little rocking motions, panting and letting out soft little mhhn sounds on every exhale.
It’s embarrassingly easy to lose himself in the act of simply watching Will. He looks good like this; lost in mindless pleasure and his skin flushed pink. He continues to stroke Will’s hair, combing through any tangles and letting him tilt his head up into every touch with cloudy eyes and his mouth slightly agape, the slightest hint of his tongue peaking past his open lips. Hannibal isn't quite strong enough to stave off the thoughts of easing Will’s mouth open just a bit more, thumb pressing into the soft pink of his bottom lip, feeling his tongue lick lazily at it. He can imagine the wet, warm heat of Will’s slack mouth around his cock instead of just a finger.
Breath catching in his throat, Hannibal allows himself the barest amount of relief by bringing his free hand to his lap, palming over the outline of his erection where it’s pressing painfully against the seam of his pants. He continues to lazily stroke himself over his clothes in time with the stroke of his hand through Will’s hair. The idea of traveling back home with his own come drying on his clothes and skin doesn’t sound entirely desirable, but the longer he watches Will, the more he thinks it might be a price worth paying.
He tries to catalog every detail of Will throughout this, every tiny expression that flits across his face, and every sound that slips past his lips. He locks it away safely in his mind where he can revisit it greedily later, in the privacy of his home where he can get a hand more properly on himself and indulge fully.
All the while, Will continues to rub himself against Hannibal’s leg with less and less finesse. He’s practically wrapped himself around Hannibal’s leg, grinding against him in needy, lazy little thrusts. Hannibal can feel more than see the growing damp spot on Will’s pants as he chases his orgasm. He’s sure the material is clinging to Will’s skin, slick with precum as his cock leaks helplessly. Hannibal wets his lips at the thought.
Will’s sounds are only growing in volume as his desperation climbs, all breathy grunts and wavering whines. Hannibal slowly swipes his spit slicked thumb along Will’s bottom lip, feeling the man’s hitching breath against the digit. Will’s brow furrows, sweat beading along his forehead and his cheeks flushed rosy. Experimentally, driven mostly by the recklessness that accompanies arousal clouding his judgment, he presses his thumb past Will’s lips. He presses the pad of his thumb against Will’s tongue, warm and wet. Will’s mouth is still lax, but he reflexively suckles gently around the thumb a couple of times in between the hitching gasps and moans he’s letting out as he grinds against Hannibal.
With admitted reluctance, Hannibal removes his hand from his crotch, doing his best to ignore his own arousal. “Lovely boy.” Hannibal encourages quietly.
Will whines in apparent response to Hannibal’s words, eyes rolling slightly as his hips stutter. His mouth falls open again around soft, panting breaths, so Hannibal withdraws his finger from his mouth and resumes stroking Will’s hair, silently encouraging him.
He gives Will’s hair the tiniest tug as he works his fingers through his sweat damp hair and is rewarded with Will’s accompanying moan. Hannibal feels the corner of his mouth twitch up into a small self-satisfied smirk. Will makes a sound like maybe he’s trying to say something, like he’s trying to summon some kind of lucid thoughts through the fog of arousal and fever. Instead, a high, whining sound comes from his throat, dripping in desperation. It isn’t the kind of sound that he’s heard from Will before; certainly nothing so needy and pitchy. Hannibal can imagine any noises Will would make in bed would be quiet and rehearsed, much like the rest of him. It’s strangely arousing, seeing him so flayed open with want and need that there’s unbidden, unfiltered sounds spilling from his lips. Hannibal’s meddling has allowed Will to arrive at this point, and isn’t that an intoxicating thought?
Will lets out a soft pattern of little ah sounds as he rolls his hips, eyes unfocused but still undeniably looking at Hannibal.
He lets Will continue to chase his orgasm, delirious and growing steadily louder with every desperate drag of his cock over Hannibal’s leg. One of his hands scrabbles uselessly against the mattress, fingers tugging at the sweat soaked sheets under him. Hannibal can’t help but wonder if he’d take a hold of his cock if he directed his hand.
“Go on,” Hannibal encourages, voice gruff as he stares down at the man coming undone beside him. His cock gives another earnest twitch in his pants and he allows himself the minimal relief that accompanies grinding the heel of his hand down against his erection. Will’s face is the prettiest shade of pink, cheeks rosy and skin shining with sweat. Hannibal can’t help the images that dance temptingly through his mind; and since he can’t indulge himself the way he wants to, not physically, at least- he lets himself play out his fantasies. He pictures working his cock over Will’s pliant body, spilling over his fist and across Will’s fever-pink face, pearls of come shining where they’ve hit across his cheeks and lips. The idea alone leaves Hannibal biting back a sound nearing something of a growl. He would look beautiful, claimed by Hannibal. “Come on, come for me.” Hannibal directs.
Will pants open mouthed and heavy, eyes rolling back as he presses his head back into Hannibal’s touch. His hips give a few more twitching jerks forward before his entire body shutters, everything winding tight and his mouth going slack around a hitching moan. Hannibal presses his hand over his cock, a ghost of a touch, as he watches Will come apart.
He continues to pet Will’s hair throughout his orgasm, delighting in the way he practically nuzzles against him.
He goes practically boneless as soon as the last waves of his orgasm ebb, collapsing fully into the bed with half of his body pressed into Hannibal. He watches Will’s chest rise and fall, breathing heavily. There’s an obvious wet spot on the front of Will’s sweatpants that he imagines will quickly cool and grow uncomfortable. By that time Hannibal should have long since excused himself from the scene. Still, he finds himself lingering. He scratches along Will’s scalp, feels the damp hair at the nape of his neck. He breathes in the smell of his clever, burning mind. He can smell the thick scent of his arousal and spend, and the smell of his sweat and shampoo; all of the things that smell so distinctly Will.
Will makes a fucked out sound when Hannibal shifts, eyes fluttering shut. There was never any real question about Will’s awareness (or lack thereof) during the events that just unfolded. He was incoherent from the time Hannibal arrived, and the only difference now is that Will’s boneless and half-asleep after getting himself off like an animal in heat against Hannibal’s leg. If anything, he’s likely even more disoriented.
Reluctantly, once Will’s breathing has returned to normal and it's clear that he’s drifted into a light sleep, Hannibal withdraws his hand from Will’s hair. Will’s face scrunches up momentarily and he lets out a discontent sound. Hannibal pauses for just long enough to let him settle again before quietly extracting himself from where he’s been resting half underneath Will.
Will rolls easily into the warm space that Hannibal leaves behind, curls falling into his face. He makes a barely audible humming sound into the mattress, shifting around, and Hannibal silently curses the infuriatingly human part of his brain that has his cock twitching again at the sound alone, still aching for release.
Hannibal wets his lips again, his mouth dry as he watches Will dozing on the bed a mere foot away, unaware of anything that’s just transpired. He won’t remember upon waking, Hannibal is sure. Even if he did recall anything, it would be nothing more than a hazy, fever-drunk memory strung together in blurry images more like a dream than reality. There’s a delicious kind of satisfaction in that alone; knowing that Will is likely either going to wake with no memories and a damp spot in his boxers, or he’ll awake with bleary flashes of the evening that he’ll likely file away as a horrifically embarrassing dream that he’ll never dare mention.
“Sleep well, Will,” Hannibal says quietly. Will doesn’t so much as stir this time. Hannibal clears his throat, giving one last attempt at adjusting his cock in his pants before he quietly leaves the room. “Until next time.”