Will can't say he minds the view, watching Hannibal wash himself, and though it's perfunctory, just meant to facilitate getting dressed so they can go to the pharmacy, seeing the water running over Hannibal's smooth, pale skin is a beautiful sight. Hannibal's body is reacting to the cold, his skin starting to go pink where the water is hitting it, his nipples and scrotum tightening against the onslaught. But the look on Hannibal's face tells a different story, and Will wonders if some of those reactions are to do with something beyond the drive to stay warm. In fact, based on the way Hannibal is looking at him, Will is certain there's a level of pleasure being derived from the discomfort.

Will understands it because he feels some of it himself. He wouldn't say he's enjoying this experience; the cold water makes him feel a little panicky low in his belly, hurts the skin on his feet and the more sensitive parts of his anatomy. But there's an ache there behind everything else, one that throbs though him like a heartbeat and makes his insides tighten almost pleasantly.

He splashes water over himself, turns to let it run through the crack of his ass and rinse the last of the oil and come away. He tips his head back and the water runs over his face, pulling another soft gasp from him before he rights himself again. He turns, meeting Hannibal's eyes.

"Done," he says, another shiver working through his body, involuntary and uncontainable.