The return touch sends a twist of desire up Will's spine that has him arching minutely in sympathy, his mouth going dry. It's almost not a touch, the barest graze of fingers on fingers, but there are so many nerve endings, and the meaning is so entirely clear, that it makes heat pool in Will's groin and spread through Will's chest. He has a half formed thought about calling to delay the taxi, taking those precious extra minutes and learning what it feels like to have Hannibal's cock in his mouth or just find something solid and press Hannibal's back to it, kiss him until they're both breathless and rumpled. But the timeline they're on is tight as it is, and even a ten minute delay might find them missing their flight. As appealing as that might be, forced to stay in a hotel until the morning, there's too much in motion already behind them; an extra night in Baltimore would almost certainly mean their capture.

Will's heart is pounding hard enough that he can feel it in his wrists, his throat, between his legs, and while he knows where the lines are at the moment (and won't cross them), he can't stop himself wanting. He takes a breath and looks in Hannibal's direction, knowing Hannibal can see right through him, knows he's half hard in his pants and remembering what it felt like to have Hannibal moving inside him. Even just the thought makes Will's asshole clench, and he can feel the dampness there, Hannibal's come still slowly leaking from him.

"How long is the flight to Paris?" he asks, not bothering to clear the huskiness out of his voice or mask the desire in his eyes.