Hannibal looks at him, and sees everything. He sees wide pupils, flushed cheeks, red lips parted in quick breath, neck twitching with quick pulse. He sees his lover's face contorting in pleasure, in pain, in agony and ecstasy, in transcendence. He sees his lover on his knees as Hannibal thrusts his cock into his mouth, on his hands and knees as Hannibal again fucks him from behind, and on his back as Hannibal fucks him face to face, Will's legs up and pressed back to his chest. He sees his lover spread-eagled, or bound with silk ropes in intricate knots, or trussed like a pig ready to be slaughtered while Hannibal holds a knife. And he sees Will's face as he thrusts his cock in Hannibal's mouth, as he takes Hannibal roughly from behind or face to face, as he binds Hannibal and tortures him into such sweet, sweet ecstasy. He sees all of it right there in the face of the man he loves, and it is glorious. He wants so badly to cancel the taxi and figure out some way they can just do it all now, now.

But they can't. They won't.

"A little over nine hours," he answers, his voice smooth as always, but his own wide pupils, flushed cheeks,and parted lips telling their own truth.