Once Hannibal had departed for the kitchen, Will had settled into the massive, beautiful bed. For now he stayed on top of the covers, figuring it might be prudent for himself and Hannibal to clean themselves at least cursorily in order to not necessitate immediate laundering of the sheets. The duvet is lush and made of fine fabric, so it doesn't irritate Will's skin when he lays back on it, his upper body supported by a cluster of soft, expensive pillows.
Now that he's alone and recumbent, he takes a moment to look around. The flat is decorated in the style to which Will has become accustomed to associating with Hannibal, a richness to everything, an aesthetical purpose. This room doesn't feel comforting exactly, but the way it puts Will on edge isn't to do with fear. It's more like there's a feeling of anticipation, like something could happen here with a moment's notice. It's an oddly sexual energy, and Will wonders if this room has always been decorated this way, or if Hannibal requested someone come and make changes before their arrival. He knows the fact that he's here was never a sure thing, but it had been discussed before Hannibal (in whatever way he did) discovered Will's deception.
There's no high mounted mirror here, however, which Will finds a little disappointing, but he has a feeling Hannibal will be receptive to the suggestion of that addition. Will imagines what it would look like, to be able to lay back and watch Hannibal fuck him from an external position, what his face would look like when Hannibal was pounding into him, the way the muscles in Hannibal's back and ass and thighs would clench with the effort. He's spent and exhausted, but the idea makes heat flash through him, and he closes his eyes to the wave of arousal. It isn't that Will hasn't enjoyed sex in his past, but there have only been a very few instances where he's thought about having it with a specific person outside the moment when he's engaged in the physical act.
Will opens his eyes when he hears Hannibal approaching, his bare feet padding on the wood floor, and when Will turns his head and meets Hannibal's eyes he feels a collision of the desire from before and an entirely nonphysical longing. Hannibal sets the glasses and the corkscrew on the bedside table, and Will has a flash of a vision, of Hannibal getting into the bed and the two of them coming together, everything blurring until it's nothing but a flurry of skin and mouths and touching, the wine open but no glasses involved, liquid being poured into mouths and spilling over, running down over skin, soaking the bedclothes, sex and wine and sweat and come. Will swallows, and he knows Hannibal can see every indication his body is giving of his lust, the flush rising to his skin, the quickening of his breath and hardening of his nipples.
"I'm thirsty," he says, and he knows Hannibal can tell he means it in more way than one.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(I'm sorry this is so late! Weekend was a bit crazy.)
Date: 2016-03-13 06:51 pm (UTC)Now that he's alone and recumbent, he takes a moment to look around. The flat is decorated in the style to which Will has become accustomed to associating with Hannibal, a richness to everything, an aesthetical purpose. This room doesn't feel comforting exactly, but the way it puts Will on edge isn't to do with fear. It's more like there's a feeling of anticipation, like something could happen here with a moment's notice. It's an oddly sexual energy, and Will wonders if this room has always been decorated this way, or if Hannibal requested someone come and make changes before their arrival. He knows the fact that he's here was never a sure thing, but it had been discussed before Hannibal (in whatever way he did) discovered Will's deception.
There's no high mounted mirror here, however, which Will finds a little disappointing, but he has a feeling Hannibal will be receptive to the suggestion of that addition. Will imagines what it would look like, to be able to lay back and watch Hannibal fuck him from an external position, what his face would look like when Hannibal was pounding into him, the way the muscles in Hannibal's back and ass and thighs would clench with the effort. He's spent and exhausted, but the idea makes heat flash through him, and he closes his eyes to the wave of arousal. It isn't that Will hasn't enjoyed sex in his past, but there have only been a very few instances where he's thought about having it with a specific person outside the moment when he's engaged in the physical act.
Will opens his eyes when he hears Hannibal approaching, his bare feet padding on the wood floor, and when Will turns his head and meets Hannibal's eyes he feels a collision of the desire from before and an entirely nonphysical longing. Hannibal sets the glasses and the corkscrew on the bedside table, and Will has a flash of a vision, of Hannibal getting into the bed and the two of them coming together, everything blurring until it's nothing but a flurry of skin and mouths and touching, the wine open but no glasses involved, liquid being poured into mouths and spilling over, running down over skin, soaking the bedclothes, sex and wine and sweat and come. Will swallows, and he knows Hannibal can see every indication his body is giving of his lust, the flush rising to his skin, the quickening of his breath and hardening of his nipples.
"I'm thirsty," he says, and he knows Hannibal can tell he means it in more way than one.