Chapter Text
Will sat anxiously on the park bench as Beverly walked over. She was the only pharmacist who didn't make him uncomfortable when he picked up his refills of anxiety pills and pain relievers. Over the years, they'd become friends.
After Will left the FBI, he became a recluse. His daughter Abigail kept telling him to get out of the house. It would be good for him.
When Beverly caught wind of it, she told him she had the perfect idea and would tell him more when they met here.
“It's weird not to have a glass shield between us,” she said with a smirk.
Will relaxed a little. He noticed the folder tucked under her arm. “It is weird, but it's also nice. You brought paperwork?”
“It's my art portfolio,” she grinned. She took a seat next to him and offered the folder to him.
Will was dumbfounded. He had no idea what art had to do with any of this. He blinked slowly, trying to make a connection. “You've lost me. Why did you bring it?”
“It's mostly just some examples of what to expect if you want to help me out.”
“Oh, Bev, I don't draw,” he admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck.
She smiled at him. “Perfect, I wouldn't need you to do anything other than sit and be pretty.”
Will laughed, shocked at what he was hearing. He started to open the folder and then hesitated. His cheeks started to pink. “Wait, can I look at this in public?”
“Duh!” Beverly laughed at his politeness. “I put sticky notes over some of them. For model privacy, and so I don't scare you. If you want to join us, I seriously owe you. It's all very professional anyway, nothing scandalous.”
He slowly thumbed through the plastic sleeves that protected the drawings inside them. Papers of various colors and textures were layered with graphite, chalk pastels, and charcoal. Blue was used on skin that made it look like real flesh, and lavender was used to bring light into black hair.
“These are amazing,” he told her. Despite the protective sleeves, he worried his fingers would somehow smudge the artwork.
“Thanks,” she said. The softness of her voice showed Will that it meant a lot to her. She appreciated how carefully he turned the pages. “I was going for an art degree, then I decided pharmaceutical medicine was the career I wanted. Finding the art sphere here has been great, and I'm lucky that places have been accommodating for our drawing sessions.”
He nodded in understanding but struggled to imagine himself on a piece of paper. “So, you guys ran out of people to draw?”
Beverly shrugged. “People come and go. It's nice to have regulars, but it's also exciting when we have a new model to work with. It makes us think harder and reminds us we don't know everything.”
He chuckled and flipped to the last few pages. He was met with vibrantly colored vases, fruit, flowers, and even a deer skull resting on a dark piece of fabric.
“What are these?”
“Those are still lives,” she explained with bright eyes. “Next week we're drawing glass bottles and I'm very excited about it.”
He was transfixed. “Why are they called still lives?”
She leaned back and looked at the art over his shoulder. “It's a moment in time, like a screenshot. It was usually done with fruit and flowers to highlight the temporary beauty of life.”
Will sighed through his nose. “That sounds tragic.”
Beverly nodded as she considered his thoughts. “It can be, but it also makes us remember just how beautiful it was.”
Will felt himself settle into the bench. “Can't all art be a still life by that definition?”
“You're getting philosophical already,” Beverly teased. This conversation immediately made her want him to meet Hannibal. She decided to keep it to herself. She might as well add matchmaker to her resumé.
Will handed her portfolio back to her, and she gave him an overview of all the talented artists in her group. She stressed that it was always a strictly professional space and would pay him for his time.
“So, what do you say?” Beverly asked with excited eyes.
Will smiled and held up his hands. “Alright, you've convinced me.”
**
“You’re going to be a model?” Abigail asked with wide eyes. She blinked pointedly at her dad across the table.
Will smiled at her over the lip of his coffee mug. “It’s for a figure drawing event every two weeks. I wouldn't consider it modeling.”
“You’re going to be posing in front of people!”
“The pay is decent for a side gig,” he replied, continuing to convince himself it was a good idea. He blew on the steam and took a sip. The bitter taste helped his mind wake up. He sighed, making her grimace before smiling at him.
“You’re such a dad when you do that.”
“And you’re such a teenager when you judge your old man,” he replied. He stood and gently squeezed her shoulder before he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll have your dinner ready in the oven before you get home from archery.”
“Be careful downtown,” Abigail said faintly.
Will nodded, finishing his coffee and putting the mug in the sink. “I will be. I’m the one who taught you how to shoot an arrow, remember?”
She gave him an uncertain look.
“I won’t be back too late. I promise,” Will said, offering his pinkie. It was something that always stuck from when she was a kid. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will,” she said as she looped their pinkies. She got up from the table and grabbed her backpack. She skipped out the front door and got into her car, Will waving at her from the front porch until she was down the street.
He looked back into the kitchen and then at his hands. A few years ago, the tan from his wedding band faded away. Moments like these were when he missed the weight of the ring on his hand. He was widowed, but he was grateful for the company of his beloved daughter. Even though Abigail wasn't biologically his, he'd raised her since she was a toddler and never doubted his role as her father.
Now, left alone in the kitchen, he missed the feeling of arms around his waist and a kiss pressed into his temple. He leaned against the wall and gently massaged his knee when it stiffened.
**
“There's a new model today,” Beverly told Hannibal as she carried the wooden chair onto the platform.
“You never fail to find them,” Hannibal said with a soft chuckle.
“If I hadn't, I worried that people would get bored and leave,” she sighed as she angled the chair to sit at a diagonal.
“I wouldn't have,” Hannibal added, letting himself ease back on the stool.
“If you leave, I did something horribly wrong,” she replied. “But the new model is a super nice guy. I'm just letting you know because I know you'll always let me know your thoughts later.”
Hannibal chuckled again, “I'm glad to have your ear as well.”
Will entered the room; Hannibal didn't notice at first. People often wandered in before the door was closed. He limped slightly, so Beverly met him near the stage.
“Hey, Bev. My leg is killing me…”
“I already got you a throne,” she said with an understanding smile. “You just have to sit today if that's all you can do. Let me know when you need a break. It means a lot that you’re here.”
Will thanked her and hobbled up onto the platform.
Hannibal's eyes snapped to him. He scanned the man as he eased himself down into the chair. He was immediately intrigued by the new model.
Will was oblivious to the stare, pleased that the chair had soft cushions. His hands ran over the wooden armrests carved with vine motifs. He immediately contemplated whether he could whittle a bow for Abigail with a similar pattern.
Hannibal immediately wanted to start drawing when he saw Will's pondering expression. Beverly saw the spark in Hannibal's eyes and smiled to herself.
Will felt awkward initially, but he eventually got accustomed to the staring. The only eyes he struggled to shake belonged to a man who often kept to himself. The only person he saw him speak to was Beverly. His eyes were the color of coffee with a splash of milk.
**
After a few sessions, Will knew the man with coffee eyes would arrive before the other artists. He watched the tall, stoic man take his spot at an easel and set up his workspace with mechanical efficiency. Beverly grinned when Hannibal caught Will's attention. She'd started to sense the pull between those two.
She'd been checking in with Will about his comfort with undressing. All of his sessions had been fully clothed or shirtless up until today.
“I'll go put on some music. Like I said before, feel free to talk to anyone . It's all about what you're comfortable with.”
Will looked back at her with a quick turn of his head. He was shocked how easily she'd picked up on his drifting attention.
“You have a very expressive face,” Beverly whispered with a grin. Her eyes flicked to Hannibal and then back to him. “You both do. Pretend I'm not here.”
She slowly walked to the far side of the room to grab sheets and pillows. The radio started with a soft buzz, then soft rock played.
“Good evening,” Will said as he put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He stood up a little taller than usual.
“A good evening indeed,” Hannibal replied. His voice was charming and pierced Will's stomach. He had an accent Will couldn’t place. Hannibal focused on arranging his pencils, each one carved down to expose more of its graphite.
Will found himself lingering. “How are you?”
Hannibal smiled at him. “I'm well. How are you?”
“Can't complain.” Will felt like he was making a fool of himself. He watched Hannibal turn to a new page in his sketchbook. “I was never an artist, so I feel like I can’t properly compliment your work…”
Will hesitated and was surprised when Hannibal set down his pencils, turning to look at him directly. Will held all his attention. It was suddenly warm in the room.
Will forced a tense smile. “You're very talented.”
Will clenched his fists in his pockets when Hannibal smiled. Hannibal had defined smile lines, his toothy smile was bright in the dim light. “The work you see comes more from my stubbornness than talent.”
“I'm not sure what to say to that,” Will admitted. He looked at the small platform he would be confined to shortly.
“You can say anything you'd like. Don't let rhetoric stop you.”
Will smiled back at him, finding his confidence again. “I never thought stubbornness could be a beautiful thing.”
Hannibal chuckled, watching Will's eyes narrow with the intensity of his smile. A new, wonderful detail to witness.
“Praise always stokes the creative fire when it's genuine. It's even more delightful coming from one's muse. Thank you for all your kind words and for giving us your time.” Hannibal scanned his face to punctuate his sentiment, “It's invaluable.”
Will wondered if the other man always talked like this. His heart fluttered when Hannibal reached out his hand. It was a feeling that was almost unfamiliar to him.
“I realize I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Hannibal Lecter.”
“Will Graham,” he replied too quickly before he remembered Hannibal knew that already. To Will's relief, Hannibal only smiled at him. They shook hands. Hannibal felt the warmth radiate from him.
Over the last few sessions, Will noticed Hannibal captured his emotions in his work. Will didn’t know how he did it. When he was uncertain about a pose, Hannibal’s drawings were defined with loose edges. When he was comfortable, the blending was gentle. The sketchy lines of short poses were powerful. In the longer poses, Hannibal’s precision shone.
At the end of the previous session, Hannibal drew his side profile. Confident lines detailed his features. Will's nose wasn't a perfect line; Hannibal saw the ridge from where it had been broken before. Hannibal placed individual strokes to mimic the direction of his lashes and eyebrows.
Everyone in the room had amazing skills and a distinct style, but Hannibal had a knack for always making Will appear on paper exactly like himself.
The rawness of your work leaves me in awe.
Will wanted to tell him that.
As other artists started to walk in, Will returned to Beverly, who was pretending to be busy on her laptop.
“I felt like a voyeur,” Beverly whispered with a scrunched nose. Will grinned and was glad to have his back to Hannibal.
He could feel the heat spreading up his neck. “It was just friendly conversation.”
“If you say so,” she said as she stood up from her seat.
The pair worked together to make a slope of pillows before Will stepped into the walk-in closet to undress. He tugged off his flannel, plain T-shirt, and his jeans. He was left in his briefs. He took a slow breath and dragged his hands through his hair. The worst part was nearly over. He pulled off his knee brace.
During a stand-down, Will was shot and his kneecap shattered. His heart broke just as painfully when Abigail had to see him struggle. Despite the scar only being a six-inch line, bolts and a traumatic recovery rested behind it. It healed without complications. It was a pink line down his skin, but Will assumed everyone would see it as a flaw.
A mark of failure.
His therapist told him the best way to cope with his scar was to remove its power.
He felt himself spiraling, so he revisited the text Abigail sent him.
Don’t let anyone tag you online, okay? I can’t have friends find out you were a federal investigator who got severance and became a playboy.
That was enough to make him smile again. He slipped on the dark green bathrobe he brought from home.
Will refused to look at anyone as he stepped onto the platform. He liked to fade into the background. The pay dampened the blow to his psyche. Beverly explained their rules and expectations for the new artists in attendance before Will had his cue.
He untied the robe and shrugged it off his shoulders. Hannibal’s eyes flickered over to watch Will’s trapezius flex as he stretched. Will turned before his eyes could trail lower.
He grabbed a long walking stick for the first set of poses of the night. He braced on it and bent one leg behind him like he was taking a step forward. He looked off to the left and raised one hand behind his head. He squeezed his neck and let his elbow drop so his arm could hang comfortably.
“Perfect,” Beverly said as she grabbed pen and paper. “Five minutes for this one.”
Will let his body settle into the pose by taking a slow breath. The quick warm-ups helped break through his temporary insecurity. The music was peppered with sounds of pencils, charcoal, and pastels. Hannibal couldn’t see his face, so he was able to focus on the foundations of his gesture work. He knew he could focus on the details later.
In those five minutes, Hannibal had enough contours drawn that it was recognizably the man in front of him.
For the next pose, Will moved the stick behind him. Bracing on it forced his chest forward. He looked up at the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He hummed a few notes of the familiar melody to find another wave of comfort.
Hannibal stared at Will's hair. The curls reflected the light like a halo. His body was lean but had clear muscle definition. Hannibal particularly liked the way the light hit his obliques.
The bass from the music mimicked Hannibal’s heartbeat, slow but loud in his ribs. He drew Will from the waist up and was able to refine his lines and block in the darkest shadows. He could have gotten into shading if he hadn’t been distracted by the fact that Will had spoken to him.
None of the other models made him work so feverishly. There was a refreshing realness to Will. Hannibal found him beautiful in that way.
After a few more poses, Beverly told everyone to take a ten-minute break. Will and Beverly lingered behind. She was circling the easels and tables, looking at everyone’s work.
“This is always my favorite part,” Beverly smiled. He walked over, tying the robe back around himself.
“It never gets old, does it?” He marveled at how each drawing was always unique.
“Never,” she agreed. She bit her tongue, guiding him around the room in a way where Hannibal’s work was last. Will didn’t realize until she walked away from him.
Hannibal’s sketchbook was open to reveal two pages instead of one. Will’s pose spanned across them, the break between pages fit along his hips. No details were missing. Will swallowed, looking at each swipe of a pencil detailing his hair and the lines where his thighs were pressed from his boxer-briefs. His eyes wandered lower. He froze.
Hannibal had drawn his scar.
It was faint, but it was there. The other values were pushed heavier into the paper, but the scar was so soft it looked like he'd smudged it with his finger.
Will thought he would be unnerved by it, but he felt unburdened. The scar was drawn by careful hands.
Beverly waited by the door and stopped Hannibal when he walked up.
Quiet, she mouthed to him and waved him over. Hannibal’s brows raised as he peeked his head into the room. He saw Will looking at his work with soft eyes. He looked touched by it.
Hannibal couldn’t linger for a second longer and strolled into the room. Will slowly leaned up like he hadn’t been hovering inches from the paper.
“Is it time for a critique?” Hannibal asked with a thin smile.
“If that means I’m looking for mistakes, I don’t see any.” Will was entranced, his gaze drifting to look at Hannibal. “This is so detailed.”
“The beauty is often in the details,” Hannibal agreed. His chest felt tight. He silently wished for Will to see a completed art piece of himself. “I’m glad you like it.”
Will went to speak, but suddenly remembered he was in a robe. Beverly saw his panic and quickly tucked into their conversation.
“Amazing as ever, Hannibal,” she said sincerely. “If I got better lamps, you could flaunt those chiaroscuro skills of yours.”
“We could rival Caravaggio and Rembrandt,” Hannibal replied as he loosely crossed his arms. Will took that as his sign that he could return to his platform.
Once everyone was back in the room, Will settled on the box they'd pushed flush to the wall. He bent his good leg and crossed it so his foot draped over his other thigh. His other leg extended out so he could rest his foot on the floor. He braced his upper back on the wall and slid his hips forward. He turned his head to rest it on his shoulder and the wall behind him.
“Fifteen minutes good, Will?”
“Absolutely.”
Hannibal's heart raced again. He was in Will's line of sight. Will's lips turned upward into a brief smile before he stared at a spot on the floor.
Hannibal chose to focus on Will from the waist down. The way Will had looked so closely at his work before was thrilling. Hannibal wished he'd known what words were on the tip of Will’s tongue. He started shading within minutes. He covered the entire page in graphite and then used a kneaded eraser to lift the highlights.
He rarely used the reductive methods, but he wanted to focus on all the light radiating from Will rather than how shadows settled on him. As the time came to an end, he ripped off a small piece of the eraser and shaped it between his fingers. In a delicate motion, he dragged it over the page. The scar on Will's leg appeared.
“Alright, guys, time for the last and longest pose of the night!”
Will grabbed his water and took a few sips before he sat on the ground in front of the pillows. “Can I have a sheet?” he asked Beverly.
Beverly beamed as she grabbed a white sheet and passed it to him. “Got us drawing drapery too, huh?”
“I figured I'd keep it interesting,” Will replied with a grin. Will stretched out over the pillows, tossing the sheet over his lap. He bent one knee and kept the other stretched. He extended his arms over his head and let them rest on the pillows behind him. The sheet was placed where it was easy to imagine he had nothing on at all.
He turned his head to the side. He'd been too nervous to look at Hannibal all night, but now he was comfortable enough. Daring enough. His eyes drifted to him, pointedly.
Beverly wanted to laugh, but refrained. It was obvious Will was enjoying himself. She glanced at Hannibal before she grabbed her chalk pastels. Hannibal’s eyes widened before he scanned the man before him in his entirety.
“Thirty minutes!” she said.
Hannibal barely heard her. Will's eyes on him made his cheeks burn like he'd finished a glass of wine. Hannibal relaxed his eyes and tilted his chin up. Will saw a flicker of a smile.
I see you, Will. Is what his expression told him.
Will closed his eyes. He let his body sink into place, knowing Hannibal had looked right back at him. His chest swelled when he realized Hannibal would be looking at him for at least the next half hour.
Hannibal extended his arm and held a pencil out to check his initial proportions and gesture lines. As he went to confirm the angle of his neck, Will opened his eyes for a moment. He watched Will’s lips twitch towards a smile. It made him almost snap his pencil in half.
Will’s eyes closed again as he tried to ignore the way his heart was cartwheeling in his chest. He focused on his breathing and nearly drifted off to sleep. He was woken up when Beverly made her closing remarks for the day.
Will went to get dressed. When he returned, a lot of people left for the night. A small group huddled around each other’s pieces, but Beverly and Hannibal lingered in their respective sections.
“Great poses today,” Beverly said as she flung a satchel over her shoulder. She smirked at him. “You said you'd never modeled before, and I'm starting to think you lied to me.”
“Scout's honor,” Will replied with a cross of his fingers.
Beverly rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Well, keep it up. I'm glad you've been able to get more comfortable.”
“Thanks. I'm surprised, too.” He rubbed his shoulder.
Beverly pointedly tilted her head towards Hannibal with raised brows.
What was that? she mouthed.
Not sure. Will replied with a smile and a shrug. She smirked.
“How's Abigail?” she asked.
“Good. She's starting to look at college applications. I feel ancient.”
“Yeah, I agree, that makes me feel ancient too. I remember when she was up to your hip.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “See you in two weeks?”
Will nodded. “Two weeks.”
Go talk to him, she mouthed before she walked away. Will blushed and started a mental checklist of his belongings instead.
“See ya, Hannibal!” she said as she passed him.
“Goodnight, Beverly,” Hannibal said with a fond smile. She mouthed to Hannibal to talk to Will. His smile faltered.
Will passed by the larger group as he headed towards the door. He gave them genuine compliments, which caused the other artists to blush and say it wasn't their best work. Hannibal slowly gathered his supplies, appearing deep in thought.
Will failed to think of what he could say after his confidence got the best of him. He made his way out into the hall. Hannibal followed a few steps behind him. Will spared a single glance back before his stomach tied itself in knots. They both turned down the hall to take the elevator.
Will wished he could let the elevator door close, but he stuck his foot out to keep them open. He wasn’t going to be an asshole to someone he wanted to talk to again.
“Thank you, Will,” Hannibal said with a small smile.
“Not a problem,” Will said. His voice nearly cracked, making him wish to sink into the floor.
Hannibal wanted to stay there longer. If he were lucky, the elevator would break. “It was nice speaking with you today,” he said as the elevator started to descend.
“I agree,” Will said. The tension chipped away in small pieces. “I hope we can talk more next time.”
“I am always early,” Hannibal said as a gentle reminder.
“I could stay a little late as well,” Will added with a quick scan of Hannibal’s reaction.
Hannibal smiled as the elevator stopped at the ground floor. “I'd enjoy that.”
When the doors opened, he motioned for Will to step out first. Will obliged and then waited for Hannibal to walk with him.
Hannibal walked next to him. The pair took up the entire walkway as Hannibal continued the conversation. “I’d love the chance to work more on the last pose from today. It was inspiring.”
“I’m sure we can arrange it,” Will said with a nervous smile. “I'd hate to keep you from finishing a piece you like so much.”
“It's much appreciated,” Hannibal said as they walked out of the building and into the parking lot. Hannibal’s car was first. A silver Bentley. “Have a wonderful two weeks.”
“You too,” Will said with a timid wave. Hannibal smiled and got into his car.
Will climbed into his Bronco and watched Hannibal’s car leave the lot. He braced his hands on the wheel and let his head hang between them. He let it drop too far and hit the horn, scaring himself.
During the drive home, the reality sank in of how much of a flirt he'd been. His tension changed to relief when he saw Abigail's car in the driveway.
He opened the door and was rushed by Winston and Daisy. They weaved between his legs excitedly.
Abigail stirred from the couch. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey,” he smiled. Abigail turned to sit backward on the couch and rested her arms on the back of the cushions.
She smiled back at him. “Why are you blushing so much?”
“It's just windburn,” he said immediately. “I decided to drive with the windows down.”
“So, how was the modeling gig this time?”
“Fine,” Will said with a tense smile. He took off his shoes by the door and felt his face. His cheeks were warm.
“You're acting weird,” she smirked.
“How?” Will asked as he went to the fridge to grab a beer.
“You just made your case worse, you know? You only drink when you're stressed.”
“Sometimes I drink after a good day!” Will said as he popped the cap off.
“Then what was so good about it?” she teased.
Will laughed and took a long sip of his drink. He walked over and fell onto the couch next to her. “Is this how it felt when I asked you about the lacrosse guy you liked?”
“Oh my god, you have a crush on someone?” Abigail beamed, taking the bottle from his hand. She held it behind her and out of his grasp.
“I didn't say that!” he said, failing to take his drink back from her.
“Yes, you did! Why else would you phrase it like that?”
“Please give me my drink,” Will said as the dogs snuggled beside them. He was smiling again.
She gave him a stern look. “You have to tell me one thing about them. Deal?”
“Deal.” Once he had his drink, he took another sip. “ He's in the art group with Beverly.”
She gently nudged his arm and groaned. “That doesn't count! That's nothing!”
“Think about it,” he chuckled into the bottle. He watched her roll her eyes.
“Dad, I knew you weren't straight. The only woman I've seen you look at was Mom.”
“Ouch,” Will laughed, holding his stomach. “Well, it's somewhat new to me, alright?”
Abigail smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her close.
“How are you doing, kiddo?”
“I'm good.” She raised her brows slightly and looked up at him. “Do you think missing a target and spearing someone's tire is an easy accident?”
“Not if it's you,” Will said with growing concern. “Did you shoot someone's tire?”
“No, but I considered it. People are assholes.”
Will laughed in relief and rested his head on hers. “They can be. Some aren't so bad.”
//
That night, Hannibal sat in his studio and flipped through his drawings from the past few months. There were drawings of other models, vases, bones, and then the pages of Will began.
Will's pieces were a beast of their own. They carried a new ferocity that his previous work lacked. His mind told him he'd been struck by inspiration. While it was partially true, he was also smitten.
The empty room engulfed Hannibal's sigh. He left the book open on his desk and forced himself to abandon it. He drank a glass of wine before he went upstairs to bed.
His mind drifted as soon as his head hit the pillow, his cheeks warm from the wine and how Will looked at him with a refreshing intensity. Nothing about it felt accidental.
**
Beverly was surprised to see Hannibal arrive at the studio before her. He was waiting outside the classroom and looking at something on his phone.
“Hey there," Beverly said and looked at him with uncertainty. “You usually aren't here this early.”
Hannibal chuckled to himself. “Hi, Beverly. I got here early so I could ask a favor in confidence.”
Beverly pulled her bag strap higher up on her shoulder. Hannibal ensuring their privacy made her immediately grin.
“Is this about Will?” she asked. When Hannibal's face flushed, she chuckled. “No teasing, I promise. What do you need to ask me?”
“We spoke about the possibility of staying later in the evenings,” he said as she put in the PIN to unlock the door. “I’d like to finish one of my pieces, and Will was open to the idea.”
“Of course you can stay late,” she said, setting her things down at a small table. “I’ll give you the code so you can lock up when you leave.”
Hannibal was visibly relieved. “Thank you.”
“Mhm,” she smiled. “Which pose is it?”
Hannibal set down his bag and grabbed the sketchbook from it. He flipped to the page of Will's last pose. Reclined and seductive.
She spoke softly, seeing the concentration of Hannibal's efforts on the page. “He’s inspired you, hasn't he?”
Hannibal gave her a slow nod. “He has.”
**
“So, how much time do you think you need?” Will asked. He managed to suppress a grin and a suggestive tone. It felt like a small current of electricity was running down his body.
He watched Hannibal look at his watch and ponder for a moment. “Is thirty minutes too long?”
“That's completely fine with me.”
He watched Hannibal grab the pillows and roughly arrange them to match what had been there before. When the scene was set, Will let his muscle memory guide him into the pose. He grabbed the sheet and tucked it around his legs and lap.
“How's this?”
The question was innocent, but it made Hannibal choose silence over his flirtatious impulses. He looked at his drawing and then at Will.
Hannibal spoke softly, finding words that would still get a potential rise from Will. “Tilt your chin up and spread your legs a little further apart.”
Will felt his heart slam into his ribs. The pose instructions were simple, but Hannibal’s tone made it arousing. Will begged his lower body to stay flaccid. It obeyed.
He shifted his body, then looked to Hannibal for confirmation. Hannibal nodded slowly but looked intensely between his paper and Will's body. Will felt his eyes trailing up his arms and down his chest. It was exhilarating to the point that he had to close his eyes.
“Would talking distract you?” Will asked.
“Not at all,” Hannibal replied. He was distracted by Will enough already. “I mostly wanted to get the shading finalized. My lines were already placed how I wanted them.”
Will heard him stand up from the stool and walk to the end of the platform. His heart beat faster before he opened his eyes to watch him. Hannibal saw the confusion in his eyes and explained what he was doing.
“The lighting isn't quite right,” he said with a warm smile.
Will nodded, watching Hannibal's intense focus as he adjusted the light.
“Perfect,” Hannibal whispered to himself. It sent a chill down Will’s back. He watched Hannibal take his seat and immediately start working.
“Are you an artist full-time?” Will asked him. He kept his eyes open as they spoke.
Hannibal let out a brief chuckle. “It would be a wonderful life to lead, but no. I'm a psychiatrist.”
“That's important work,” Will said and had to stop himself from nodding.
Hannibal nodded instead. “It's fulfilling to help those in need, but it's also not for the faint of heart.”
“I'd imagine so,” Will replied. “I felt the same way about my job.”
Hannibal turned to his paper and pencils as he asked his questions. “What's your profession?” he asked. Will watched his hand move with skilled practice.
“Just this right now,” Will said with a fragile confidence. “I was a profiler, but I decided it was better to separate myself from it.”
“That is also very important work, but I'm sorry to hear you had to step away,” Hannibal said softly.
“It proved to be too much for my heart of steel.”
Hannibal looked over to see a mixture of humor and forlornness on Will's features. Hannibal shared a silent moment with him, noting how open Will was with him already.
Hannibal returned to his work, his eyes being the last thing to drift back to the drawing. “I hope it's not ignorant for me to say that I'm glad you found this opportunity.”
Will spoke softly. “It's not ignorant. I'm glad I did too.”
Hannibal worked on the soft shadows of Will's thighs, applying pressure at the end of the fabric’s edge and easing up as the values softened on Will’s skin.
“Do you like being a psychiatrist?”
Hannibal chuckled at the question. “I’m afraid I don't have a simple answer.”
“We have time,” Will replied and let his face settle into the pillows.
“I have a lot of emotions tied up in my role. I'm an ear that needs to be able to provide direction to the blind. If they aren't blind, they're lost in the wilderness and need help getting out. They know there's a way out, but they have no compass. For some, it's easy to lose sight of the trail. As much as I want to be their guide or companion, it's a choice they have to make. If they trust me, I will do my best to help them find their way home.”
Will relaxed as he listened to Hannibal talk. His voice was soft like the pillows cradling him. “You have a way with words, doctor.”
“That's quite the compliment,” Hannibal replied, his voice still gentle to his ears. “How do you feel in your new role here?”
“It's been eye-opening,” Will said, weighing the words on his lips. “Believe it or not, I have self-esteem issues.”
“We all have our doubts,” Hannibal said and brought his hand into his lap to take a brief pause. “It looks like you've been feeling more comfortable as of late?”
Will nearly nodded again but remembered he wasn't supposed to move. It made him aware of how often he relied on gestures more than words.
“A bit, yeah,” Will admitted. “Part of that is to try to…” Hannibal scanned him over as he trailed off. His eyes revealed his patience. “I'm trying to push past the bigger issues,” Will said.
He wanted to talk about his scar and remove its power, but he couldn't get the words out. Not yet.
“I hope that it's been leaning in your favor,” Hannibal said. He started to shade Will's lower stomach. Detailing the small hairs trailing up from his waist and above his navel made Hannibal's throat bob.
“So far, yeah,” Will said with a soft smile.
“I'm glad to hear it,” Hannibal replied.
Will decided to take the chance to look at Hannibal instead. He tried to see Hannibal as a posing model.
His shoulders were broad, and his arms were strong. His hands moved steadily. His fingers centered on the very end of his pencil, resting it on his middle finger and pinching it between his thumb and index finger. When he moved the pencil in sweeps, his middle finger and index extended.
His legs were long and toned, one of them bent to prop a foot on the bottom bar of the stool. His thighs were muscular and pressed against the fabric of his pants. He forced himself to close his eyes again. He felt himself getting warm.
“If you'd like to rest, I can wake you when time is up,” Hannibal said calmly. His voice made Will clench his jaw.
“I should be alright.”
Hannibal smiled to himself and got back to work.
The silence reminded Will of quiet days at home. It was peaceful. He knew someone else was nearby. It wasn't lonely. For those same reasons, the silence was the opposite of what Hannibal felt at home. It was warmed by the presence of another. The silence could be broken or, better yet, shared.
After a few minutes, Will took in a deeper breath and slowly exhaled. He opened his eyes to see Hannibal smirking at his paper.
“I definitely dozed off,” Will chuckled.
“That's quite alright,” Hannibal replied and let his eyes flick over to him for a moment. “If you need to go home, we can end the session.”
“How much time is left?” Will asked, blinking a few times.
“Only five minutes,” Hannibal replied. “Would you like to see it?”
“Of course,” Will said. Hannibal smiled and waved him over. He started to put up his supplies.
Will let his body stretch out, spreading his fingers and arching his back. Hannibal turned his head away to look at something else because otherwise he would stare. Will extended both legs before sitting up, grabbing the robe he'd set on the platform out of Hannibal's view.
Will pushed himself to the end of the platform to let his knees hang off the side before he stood up. He slid on the robe and walked over to Hannibal's station as he tied it around his waist.
Hannibal stood up and stepped off to the side. He wanted to give Will the chance to get as close as he wanted to.
Will was used to Hannibal's skill and flourishing, but as soon as he rounded the easel to look, he stopped in his tracks.
“This is incredible,” Will whispered. Hannibal smiled. Will braced his hand on the seat of the stool as he was confronted with the drawing in front of him. “How…?”
It was nearly photographic. His body was rendered in full shadows and light. He looked alive. His face was calm, and his hands were cupped softly towards the sky above him. His legs looked strong but were in a state of rest. The fabric lines followed his hips and folded on itself. No muscle was rendered taught. Everything was soft.
“Shit, Hannibal, I'm horrible at articulating this.”
“No, you're not,” Hannibal said, watching Will's cheeks go pink. He felt his start to warm. “Anything you say is valuable.”
Will suddenly remembered what he wanted to tell Hannibal before. He locked eyes with him and knew it was now or never.
“You capture the…rawness of me,” Will whispered. “I've never seen myself like this before.”
Hannibal's stomach tied itself in knots. Will's words etched into his ribs. He took in a breath as if to hold onto the feeling longer. Will's blush lingered, realizing Hannibal was profoundly moved by what he told him.
Hannibal stepped closer and looked deeply into Will's eyes. “I think that's the most genuine compliment I've ever received.”
“I've wanted to say it every time I see your work,” Will replied. His gaze was full of longing. “That's why I'm so speechless around you.”
Hannibal refused to look away. “You often pluck my words and toss them to the wind. While you are the muse, rest assured, I feel just as vulnerable as your artist.”
Will nodded, remembering he was no longer a statue. He politely excused himself and went to the closet to change. Once he closed the door, he pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was beating like a jackhammer. He didn't leave the closet until he recollected himself.
“Would you like to walk out together?” Hannibal asked as Will reemerged.
“Sure,” Will replied, tossing the robe over his shoulder. Hannibal smiled politely and walked in front of him.
Will lingered by the Bentley as Hannibal set his supplies in the passenger seat.
“Thank you for staying late,” Hannibal said to break the silence. Will was grateful Hannibal found words when he couldn't.
“Thank you for making it a lovely experience,” Will replied. He watched Hannibal's hand close the door. He didn't see a ring. “I'm glad you could finish it.”
Hannibal looked at him with a shine in his eyes, a smile tugging at his cheek. “I wouldn't even consider it finished. I'd love to show you a completed piece of mine.”
Will searched his expression for a sign of a joke and didn't find one. “What do you mean it’s not finished?”
“It isn't,” Hannibal insisted. “I'm content with it, but I'd hardly consider it done.”
“I want to see you finish it,” Will said quickly. He swallowed in hopes of carrying some of his doubts down from his lips.
Hannibal's face instantly relaxed at the remark. They shared another quiet moment as Hannibal found himself at a loss for words. He pulled back the collar of his shirt in an attempt to cool down.
“I'm honored,” Hannibal said, his voice nearly a whisper.
“I know, two weeks is a ways away…”
They smiled at each other.
“It's always worth the wait to see you, Will.”
**
“What's his name?” Abigail asked Will the next morning.
“Hannibal,” he said as he added caramel drizzle to her coffee. “But I'm trying not to get ahead of myself. I don't want to jump the gun.”
“Well, something is going on. You got back late!”
He handed her the coffee and smirked. “I appreciate the excitement. I promise I'll tell you if something serious is going on.”
“I'm looking him up,” she smiled.
He let out a chuckle and pinched the bridge of his nose. She hugged him before she jogged out the door with her bookbag.
“You raised me!” she called back to him.
He walked onto the porch and watched her drive off. He sat on the porch swing, listening to the ambient noise of nature and the dogs. The early morning breeze rustled the large tree in the front yard.
He spent the day cleaning the house, among other chores. When he took a lunch break, he saw Abigail had sent him a message.
He's a psychiatrist!!! He looks so serious in all of his photos…
He politely asked her to stop digging and not to send him any photos. He wanted to learn more about Hannibal in his own time.
Unbeknownst to Will, Hannibal also did research. He stopped once he saw a few news articles for the same reason. He wanted to know Will personally rather than through the lens of biased news sources.
Later that night, Will showered before bed and opened one of the windows to let in a nice breeze. He climbed into bed and watched the curtains billow. He thought about Hannibal. Their expressions were clearer than ever when they'd been alone. His posture had softened as they spoke, encouraging Will to settle into the mattress behind him as if he were in the room.
At the same time, Hannibal stretched out in his bed. He was reeling from the time they'd spent together. Will was pleasantly disarming. He tilted his head back as he imagined Will lying on the studio platform. Their eyes could have burned holes into each other if they kept looking.
Will felt his breath tremble as he imagined Hannibal touching his scar. Hannibal let out a long sigh as he imagined Will calling him onto the mountain of pillows. Will's sigh stretched into a soft sound of pleasure; Hannibal sharply inhaled a moan.