Will screamed internally as Jack Crawford, a man he had only met once before and got into an argument with, reached over into his personal space to intentionally violate it under the weak guise of fixing his glasses. He murdered the man many times over in his head, each time more satisfying than the last until his rage was exhausted and folded itself away.
The glasses were useless ornamentation, Will's vision a perfect 20/20. The glasses acted more as his first and last line of defense from other people who wanted to look at him and be seen by him. By putting them one, they created a physical barrier, his preferred frames(he had spares lying around everywhere) were too small for his face so that the dark plastic pressed into his flesh. Even the act of taking them off was a weapon and shield all at once, the gesture a diversion that allowed him a plausible out for him to direct his gaze elsewhere. His version of a coping mechanism for social anxiety, it was his shortcut around everyday mundane interactions that most 'normal' people handled with careless ease. Oh how Will envied that ability.
His existence was endless journeys into other people's minds if he allowed himself to look too long. Even going through the motions of ordering a coffee could be a trial. Gazes connected over the exchange of currency and then Will was suddenly aware of the fight he didn't have with his boyfriend, the pressures of finishing school in a timely manner, the debt that was being incurred from said education but dear god, he was thinking about changing his major because of the job market or lack there of and fuck all, it made Will's head ache as he purged another presence out of his mind.
So Will tensed up as Jack adjusted his glasses, the touch and the message it sent all unwanted, all making Will feel marked with a certain kind of filth that water or therapy couldn't clean off. He already knew what the man wanted from him, what Jack was so intent on taking from him whether he was willing or not. Will would try and tell him that it was useless, that ultimately that he was useless. At best, he was damaged goods and worst, a liability to human life. Will resolved that he would tell Jack there were others besides him but his protests was liable to fall upon deaf ears. Jack was already looking at him like he was the Oracle of Delphi, his own personal seer. It was a miserable sensation to realize that one's own self was already beaten before the starting bell was even rung. Will knew there was nothing he could say that would dissuade Jack..
God in heaven, Will felt sick, nausea already making bile rise up to burn his throat and coat his mouth in sourness. The Devil was in the details and Will felt like he had already punched his ticket to a hell of his own inadvertent making.
Hannibal was different. Will tried to stick to his earlier assessment but despite himself and his best efforts, the doctor was interesting. While others took offense at his brusque nature or simply put up with it because he was just so damn unique and useful, Hannibal accepted Will's unusual quirks for what they were, survival. Unlike others, he made no efforts to force himself upon the empath or try to fix him either. When their gazes met, it was only fleeting, Hannibal never forcing prolonged eye contact upon Will, letting his gaze land where it may.
It was currently less than a foot to the right of Hannibal's nose.
"Not fond of eye contact" was an understatement made by Hannibal but Will found himself wanting to work on it in the man's presence. In Hannibal's office, they had been sitting in silence for the better part of Will's unofficial allotted hour. During that time, he had forcing himself to edge his eyes over and upward to the man sitting so stilly across from him, present yet not intruding.
Paisley tie, ugly in his humble opinion but Will knew enough about culture to realize it was all in good taste, the bright jewel tones of it contrasting while still coordinating with the chosen suit of today. Will was a touch disappointed by it, Hannibal's choice a rather dull earthen brown in tone with a neutrally shaded dress shirt serving as its background. It was a departure from his favored plaid patterned and pin striped suits, Will wondering absently how Hannibal had come to that decision. He also wondered if pointing out the phallic symbology of ties would be considered rude or too obvious. Will could admit to himself that he found Hannibal attractive.
From the glimpses that he got, Will knew the generally shape of prominent cheekbones, ashen hair that held a strangely alluring sheen of silver in it, thin lips that were more a slash of color than defined, tanned skin that retained a healthy glow about it, a face that was lined and scarred in places giving it character yet still smooth enough to brag about a definite vitality.
Will was most familiar with a strong jaw though that was almost always clean shaven smooth. Will found himself memorizing the dates that he noticed Hannibal with a five clock shadow. In a way, it was like finding out that God was fallible, that Hannibal was indeed human and that Will might have a chance. A chance at what was the question though that danced on the edge of Will consciousness, letting itself to be glimpsed but never daring to be fully realized.
Curiosity went hand in hand with imagination, Will wondering more and more to himself now on what Hannibal's eyes looked like. It was a dangerous question for Will to hold on to. A risked look could mean certain beginnings or endings on what Will found there. What secrets would he see nestled like hornets in those irises?
Contempt? Will was used to that by now. People offered it up to him often enough, openly for the most part. He was often being judged and found wanting, his 'gifts' setting him apart. Instead of elevating him like it would some others though, he was degraded by it, people conveniently accusing him of being a fake when he told them truths they didn't like. That or an attention seeker if they had no use for him themselves.
Fear? People who did not understand him stared back at him with wide eyes he fought to escape. He had no wish to be frightened of himself by knowing all the different ways he could achieve this. His mind made itself his own worst enemy and he already feared himself more than he was willing to let anyone else know.
Pity? Well, he had more than enough of that for a lifetime as well. It seemed to the default setting on other people, the ones who understood him or at least tried to.
Those emotions aside, it was professional curiosity Will most wanted to avoid, the discovery of which would mean a definite end to his association with Hannibal. Soothsayers of mental health tended to view Will as their golden ticket, looking at him hungrily with papers already written in the back of their head about his 'gifts'. They were vultures waiting to pick over his corpse. It was a fitting analogy considering Will's dearest wish was that anything published about him would be done so posthumously.
What would Will do though if he found something else entirely there in Hannibal's eyes? Lust perhaps? Will snorted at the rude intruding thought, the forced sound the first he had made in almost an hour. He was getting ahead of himself, dangerously so.
"What do you find so funny?" Hannibal asked, his accented voice softly neutral in tone, not offended but not sounding overly curious either.
"Just thinking…." Will muttered, trailing off. He wished he could curl up into himself now, his gaze dropping again as a result of his withdrawal from the situation. Looking for balance in retreat, he reacquainted himself with the finer points of Hannibal's waistcoat's buttons. Shiny. Polished. Will had come to expect nothing less.
Daunted but not defeated, Will still wanted to know more. He was already well familiar with Hannibal's wardrobe, the brand of handkerchiefs he preferred, how polished he liked his Italian shoes, the knots he preferred for his silk ties, the tailored cut of his clothe. Will made himself raise his eyes once more, sweat forming on his upper lips and around his temples from the effort.
Will resolved to be brave today. Fear ran the better part of his life, denying his sleep and killing off his appetite but made him love his whiskey. He deserved to know if he was right in choosing Hannibal. Whether the doctor wanted to be or not, Hannibal was his way out of the dark places that Jack sent him to. Will needed to know if he had built his fort of mental health on sand.
Buttons, ugly paisley tie, chin, lips, nose and then eyes but not looking at him, gazing slightly away and down at folded hands. If Will didn't know better, he would have said that the doctor looked as if he was praying. Biting back a laugh that threatened to come out very wrong sounding, Will felt suddenly dizzy from all wasted adrenalin pumping through his body and surprisingly aching disappointment that left him sore and cold in places he didn't know he had.
"Are you doing that for my benefit?" Will asked, the words coming out harsher than he would have liked.
"By your own admittance, you might find something you wish you had not." Hannibal said, his words pleasant enough but something about his tone made Will believe that Hannibal was taunting him.
"You don't think I'm strong enough to decide that for myself? Is this therapy or pity, Doctor Lecter?" Will gritted out, feeling angrier that he should have, than he had any real right to be. It shouldn't matter to him that Hannibal was baiting him by denying what he sought after, making all of his courage for naught. He should have taken it for what it was, a favor or an out, not the spark that lit a fury that tore through Will like wildfire.
Before he even knew what he was doing or Hannibal had a chance to answer him, Will was up and out of his seat. His hands moved on their own accord, grabbing hard to jerk Hannibal's head up, Will looming over the other man as he pressed the doctor into his chair. Gazes met and locked, honing in on one another. Will found that Hannibal's eyes were just as unique as the man they belonged to.
Rich brown with crimson undertones, a rare shade of maroon, not often seen in irises, though Will was hardly an expert at such things. He didn't even like to study his own eye color much less become familiar with anyone else's.
Remarkable color aside, it was what they didn't have in them that Will found so fascinating. Hannibal's eyes were so clear, so utterly devoid of any palatable emotion if was chilling as Will searched for something, anything to relate to. Yes, there was a mild curiosity, one that bespoke that he was watching and interested in what Will was doing. Other than that though, Hannibal was a total blank.
Will had never felt more disappointed and grateful all at the same time, Hannibal looking coolly back at him, seemingly unperturbed by the mild assault on his person or the bruises Will's fingers were making.
"Yes, Will?" Hannibal voice somehow sounded miles away from him, Will's gaze darting between placid eyes to thin lips turned up into what was definitely a smirk. Hannibal had wanted him to do this or something like this. The real question was 'why'.
Stumbling back, Will felt sick with himself, at his little violence. He had been led down to this course of action for unknown reasons, the safety of this place shuddering all around him as his forts began to crack and crumble all around him. Will meant to leave, to scoop up his coat and bag from off the nearby couch. Perhaps along the way, he would manage to slur out an automatic apology. That or a farewell. Will meant to do a lot of things so he was stunned when he was shoved back into his chair, Hannibal's form baring down upon him.
"Where do you think you are going?" Hannibal asked, his voice still so calm and professional even as he pinned Will in place with knees, elbows, and leverage. He forced eye contact on Will now, who tried to shy away from it. It was hard to avoid while Hannibal pressed their foreheads together though. "What did you want to find that wasn't there when you looked?"
"Nothing. Just…..nothing." Will sighed, ceasing his struggles to glare at Hannibal whose eyes were still so damnable clear. The man could have been making his shopping list or reorganizing his schedule for all Will knew, instead of trapping him in a chair.
"You are disappointed by this? Why?" Hannibal asked. Will focused on his breathing, trying not to think about how close the doctor was to him or how turned on he was by this. Intimate contact didn't happen often for him and casual touching was for other more sane people. It was near overwhelming to feel the body heat from another mingle with his own, to be so close that he could smell Hannibal's cologne or lack there of. The doctor smelled only lightly of soap made from sandalwood and lemongrass and the salt of his own sweat.
Will tried to pry in mind out of the gutter and from the company of his far more base desires but was failing miserably as treacherous thoughts told him that he was close enough to Hannibal that if he just tilted his head to the side that they would be kissing. And wasn't that a thought, working his lips over Hannibal's.
Flesh followed desire without meaning to, Will finding himself pressing up against Hannibal, but not in struggle to free himself as he locked lips with the other man. That got a reaction, Hannibal gasping, from surprise or something else entirely was anyone's guess. Will took at as a sign to continue, running his tongue over Hannibal's bottom lip before skipping ahead to lap at his tongue. The doctor was minty tasting, though Will had never once seen Hannibal do anything as mundane as chew gum. Knowing him, Hannibal probably only partook the herb fresh or made a refreshing mouthwash from it.
Breathlessly, Hannibal started to draw away from him but Will was having none of it. As soon as the pressure left his body, Will launched himself at Hannibal, the doctor landing back first onto his polished floors with Will on top of him, still trying to keep them connected at the mouth.
Will's hand's weren't idle after impact either, fingers slipping in under silk to unknot it. "I hate your fucking ties." Will whispering into Hannibal's mouth, finally breaking off the kiss to do so. Hannibal grinned at him in answer, making no move either way to aid or stop him.
"Then do something about them."