Adult Content Warning
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Summary
It’s the physical sensation that passes through Hannibal when he sees Will exit the motel bathroom, shirt unbuttoned and his curly hair dripping down over his neck where it’s stuck to his moist skin. The boxers he’s wearing--which aren’t very different than any of the other boxers Hannibal has seen him in on those occasions where he managed to drop in on Will and the agent didn’t seem to care one bit about his own personal state of affairs--are nearly transparent, they’re so lightly colored. Not quite white, not quite blue, not quite grey. They hang low on Will’s hips, hips that are surprisingly curvaceous for his otherwise masculine figure, the waistband of them dampening slightly, coloring dark with the leftover hot water from the shower. Either side of the unbuttoned shirt barely conceals his nipples, the bare skin a neon arrow down to the thatch of dark hair that disappears into the fabric of his shorts. He grips the towel in his left hand, the veins pressing up under his skin, bulging with the day's tension and the near depletion of all of his sanity in the wake of living in the mind of a serial killer. He is beautiful, he is wet, and he is…
Wearing Hannibal’s dress shirt.