He had stopped shaking. The short, stilted breaths brought on by near anxiety had turned to steady, practiced deep breathing. Will's view of the world was still marred, the flecks of blood across his glasses cooling undisturbed.

A twig snapped and his lips parted, allowing a bead of blood to roll between them. Fingers brushed against his temple before his glasses were liberated from his face.

"Doctor Lecter." He could taste the blood now, it might have been his own.

"You wandered off Will, people are starting to worry." Hannibal crouched, bringing his face level with Will's.

Was he sitting? Had he fallen at some point, stumbled as he got away from the unnecessary attention of the medics? It wasn't really his blood, even if it was in him now.

The fingers rested against his chin, avoiding the congealing droplets and with the slightest pressure, prompting Will to turn his head.

"None of it is yours, I see."

"No." It painted his lips and coated his tongue now, though. He could hardly see the doctor from the corner of his eye, but he could feel as he got closer, the breath against his skin. It was warm. The blood was going cold.

Curious, delicate swipes started just under his jaw and when he stayed in place the fingers on him fell away. The warmth from Lecter's tongue was chased by a shiver when his breath struck the saliva on Will's skin.

It was controlled at first, just against the drops and smears, but it wasn't long before his tongue passed across the planes of his cheek that had remained clean. Will imagined the feel of his stubble and the taste of his sweat mingling on the doctor's tongue. What would the man's refined palate make of him, seasoned with blood?

The swipes neared his lips, pressing to their corner and clearing the blood from the creases. Will opened his mouth, drawing a deeper breath and the doctor's tongue encroached on his teeth, carefully reaching out to Will's own tongue. A hand rested against the newly cleaned cheek and Will pressed forward into the warmth of the mouth in front of him.

He could taste the blood, it might have been his own, or in this moment, Doctor Lecter's.

Will pulled back to breathe, and when he tried to push forward again, regain the warmth, a thumb rested against his lips.

"Your face is still dirty."

The heat trailed up from his jawline, laid out by Hannibal's tongue.