Will Graham was certainly a specimen, mentally and physically. The perfect subject of study for a psychiatrist; intelligent, empathetic, physically able, and yet broken. That broken fragment was particularly impressionable, able to be bent and adjusted and slowly rebuilt into something akin to Hannibal Lecter's design. This mental malleability is what led to Will Graham stripped and sprawling across Hannibal's desk.
Hannibal stood above him, fully clothed, examining every part of him. His eyes swept from the harsh angle of Will's jaw, to his rounded muscular shoulders, to jutting hip bones trailing innocently towards the one thing Hannibal's eyes always seemed to come back to. Hannibal's self control faltered for a fraction of a second as he allowed himself to lightly trail his tongue across his lower lip. It was a quick, almost imperceptible motion, but Hannibal knew that the lack of control he suffered in Will Graham's presence was one of the very few, minuscule chinks in his practically flawless person suit.
Will's breathing slowed as he closed his eyes and lay contented on the desk, allowing Hannibal's eyes to roam every inch of his vulnerable body. He flicked his eyes open upon hearing a slight hitch in Hannibal's breath, and was just in time to catch his tongue dart out of his mouth. It was a simple, human act, but Will was aware of its significance. Hannibal lost control, if only for a moment. He allowed something beyond his own logic to control his actions, and Will felt an urgent heat pool in his stomach at the mere thought of what he could do to Hannibal.
A muscle twitched somewhere in Will's abdomen as Hannibal's eyes met his. He broke away gently after a few seconds of tension, looking instead at the gentle beige paper that Hannibal held along with a lump of charcoal. "Aren't you going to draw me, Doctor Lecter?" he asked in a low voice, like wet gravel underfoot.
"But of course, Will. I was simply observing your form before attempting to render it," Hannibal replied in a steady tone, although he avoided looking directly into Will's eyes, choosing instead to draw from memory the body that he already knew too well yet yearned to know better.
He looked up mid-stroke to find Will shifting his position on the desk, and his gaze inadvertently came to rest on Will's hazel eyes. He realized his mistake as soon as he made it for he could feel his pants becoming the slightest bit too restraining and Will had seen yet another slip in his composure.
The chink in Hannibal's armor was getting bigger by the second as he examined Will's face in a most professional manner outwardly, but secretly he scrutinized his pink lips with the desire of a young man, inexperienced in both emotion and lust. Will rarely saw Hannibal in this form; he was raw and somewhat real, tangible in a way that Hannibal never was with anyone else. This Hannibal did not think like its counterpart. It somehow lacked the capacity to hide the reality of its emotion from Will Graham. He was Hannibal's weakness, his only flaw, and yet Will was not pushed away. He was welcomed by Hannibal, his presence seemingly appreciated in the times when Hannibal was shrouded by his person suit. But in moments like these, when Hannibal couldn't seem to hold himself back anymore, Will always wondered why he was allowed to witness it; why he was the only one to experience Hannibal Lecter as a carnal, unrestrained being without dying an instant later.
And that was exactly what Will thought when Hannibal slowly rose from his chair with intent clearly written on his face in a language completely unreadable to Will Graham yet entirely too familiar. He walked towards Will with a purpose, eyes boring holes into his own. Will sat up on the desk and leaned forward to meet Hannibal's lips. This was routine by now, neither common nor rare. Will knew the silky texture of Hannibal's lips just as Hannibal knew the feel of Will's chapped, worried ones. Their lips moved together with such synchronicity that one would assume it had to be a calculated action, but Will Graham knew that beneath the veil of composure Hannibal was coming apart; loop by loop, strand by strand, his person suit was being unraveled. And that was why Will allowed himself to relax under his touch, not so much out of trust, but rather obligation. He felt a certain need to give back to Hannibal what he was unintentionally giving Will, a glimpse of something not quite understood. Something only Will could understand.