#sleepingawake

As a psychiatrist Hannibal knows the effects that this time of year has on humans. The short period of daylight, often grey with heavy clouds; the biting cold and bleakness of it all after the colourful spectacle that autumn always brings. He has never felt affected by it, keeps his house and office pleasantly warm with a fire in the fireplace and his thoughts focused on work. But this year it seems his muse has left him on the last sunny autumn day they had, a few weeks before.

Which has led Hannibal to contact an old acquaintance of his at the local university. His social network spans wide, his name and presence present in many of the high society of Baltimore. Anthony Dimmond is among his own closer-knit circles, a frequent guest at one of his dinner parties, an art lover much like Hannibal himself. When he told the man of his lack of inspiration the young brunette had offered him the possibility to attend one of the many life drawing classes he organises for the art students. Has given Hannibal a timetable with dates, the topic of the class and the name of the models he has invited.

Hannibal had thanked Anthony and promised that he would look into his schedule to see when he might have the time to attend one of the classes. It had taken another few days until Hannibal finally had time in the afternoon to make his way to the university once again. His schedule in the afternoon and evenings was usually full, many of his patients working themselves and only finding time in the later hours of the day to attend to their psychological health.

Traffic had been kind to him today and Hannibal finds himself right on time as he exits his car, immediately pulling up the collar of his coat to keep the cold from assaulting his neck. The evenings quickly becoming colder now and the air smells crisp and clean, the first snow would surely hit the city soon. Grabbing his leather office bag in which his sketchbook, pencils and scalpels are safely stored he locks his car and makes his way to the entrance of the building the class is held in.

When he enters the room the two handful of people present already raise their heads, curiosity obvious in their faces. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen”, he announces to the room, walking towards one of the last remaining empty chairs, putting down his bag and shrugging out of his coat, placing it carefully over the back of the chair. The model was nowhere to be seen, the spot in the middle of the room not yet occupied and it seems their teacher wasn’t here yet either. “I am merely a guest here today, please, do not let my presence disturb your work. Mister Dimmond has been so gracious as to allow me to try and find my muse in one of your classes”, Hannibal explains when he feels the eyes of a few of the students still on him.

His words seem to be enough to break their stupor and they politely avert their gaze, just as a man enters the room, dressed in a simple suit and Hannibal assumes it must be the teacher of the class, because he smiles at each of the students. Next to him stands a young man only clad in a simple robe, likely their model for the afternoon. Hannibal remembers the name ‘Will Graham’ written on the details of today’s lesson, the topic has slipped his mind since it was not of importance to Hannibal, he does remember the bolded “NUDE” that was noted next to it.

The young man, Will, makes his way towards the centre of the room, shrugging out of the robe and folding it, setting it down next to the boxes which have been draped with a sheet of dark red velvet. “Please, Will, just like we discussed”, the man who entered with him hums, and Will nods, moving his body to settle in a position which was surely of importance to the topic of the lesson, much less so for Hannibal.

He finds himself taking in the beauty of the man in front of him, his lean body and gentle flex of powerful muscles under pale skin. The light dusting of hair on his chest, the dusting of hair that forms a trail down to his cock and the neatly trimmed beard. Finally, Hannibal lifts his gaze to Will’s face, beautifully framed by a halo of dark brown curls and a set of gorgeous ocean blue eyes. At the sound of rustling, Hannibal averts his gaze, watching as the students begin to prepare their materials and Hannibal follows suit, pulling out his sketch book and pencils, laying them out on a small table near his chair. Surprised by his own eagerness to begin sketching, his mind almost wild with the many things he wishes to commit to paper.

Hannibal takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes and when he opens them after several long moments, he begins to let his pencil ghost over the paper, beginning to sketch the rough shape of Will’s head. Time is usually something Hannibal is acutely aware off but when Will suddenly shift, moves off the crates and reaches for the robe, Hannibal finds himself blinking, the students around them already in the middle of packing away their supplies. It has been quite some time since he had last been so lost in his own drawing that time simply slipped away from him.

Hannibal slowly closes his sketchbook and puts it away together with his own supplies and rises from his chair just as Will is about to leave the room, grabbing his bag and slinging his coat over his arm. “Mister Graham, Will, if I may?”, he speaks once he is close enough to the younger man so that he does not have to raise his voice to get his attention. “Excuse me for my poor manners, approaching you in such a way. I-...”, Hannibal continues, frowning when he finds himself at a loss for words, another thing that usually does not happen in his life. Interesting.