Sweat
He was nose to nose with a corpse, head spinning and overwhelmed by the heavy scent of decaying flesh. Hobbs' lips brushed against the side of Will's mouth as he hissed "see", his fetid breath sending bile rising up the profiler's throat. Hands tightened around his wrists, cold to the touch and nails digging painfully into the tender skin.
"Will?" A soft voice cut through the black backdrop of his mind. He latched onto it, struggled to define it when everything was mutating and shifting to form greater nightmares.
The sound of hooves pounding the ground echoed through his dreams, raven feathers coming down upon him like rain. Another voice called his name. It was deeper and sharper so that Will could focus easier. The body, the feathers and the smell of decay faded and he cracked an eye open to be greeted by a harsh light.
"I fell asleep," Will murmured as he blinked owlishly, pushing his glasses up when he found them hanging precariously on the end of his nose. Having sunk deep into the chair, he pushed himself up and fixed his eyes on his knee to keep from meeting the other's stares.
Hannibal was kneeling before him with one hand on Will's arm while Abigail had his hand wrapped gently in hers.
"Are you ok?" She asked. "You look terrible."
"Abigail, get me a towel please," Hannibal commanded a little more sharply than intended.
When she left, Will turned his gaze to a point closer to Hannibal's eyes. "I saw Hobbs again. That hasn't happened for months."
"We can talk about it in the morning." Hannibal replied as he undid the other's shirt buttons.
"I sweat all over the chair again, didn't I?" Will shivered and finished unbuttoning the shirt himself, peeling the damp material off. Just as he was trying to remove his sopping undershirt with Hannibal's help, Abigail walked back in with a towel and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the sight.
Hannibal took the towel from her and ran it firmly over Will's damp hair. "Avert your eyes, if it makes you uncomfortable," he said with a slight teasing rise in his voice. He wrapped the towel around the trembling profiler.
When Will had left and Hannibal was wiping off the sweat with another towel, Abigail asked, "Does it happen a lot?"
"Most nights," he answered almost absentmindedly.
"I didn't know. He's lucky then you're here." She paused for a brief second. "It's weird; you remind me of my dad….Well, before he went…"
It gave Hannibal pause.
In the late nights filled with murmured promises, trembling frames and stale sweat, even when there had been hands gripping arms tight enough to bruise, Hannibal never thought of hurting Will. He was consuming Will in ways he never had with another being. He was tasting salty skin beneath his tongue and making a promise to keep his Will safe.
