The art gallery is beautiful today, but your boys are even prettier. Wills hair is gently gleaming in the light and Hannibal's hands move gently across the paper in his lap. Good gods they're perfect. Not even the statues of the gods you'd seen that morning could compare. Your eyes danced over them, your eyes clinging to every inch of their bodies. Will's head turns, his blue eyes grasping onto yours as he smiles, teasing "what're you looking at, pretty boy?" He grins at you