Will Graham

Hannibal is looking forward to that process, to watching Will as his personal battle with that aversion to taking life continues. He suspects the struggle is different now than before tonight, because that moment of decision, of shift in allegiance, of becoming wholly Hannibal's, marks a turning in that tide. Will had come to a peak, where his drive for the beauty of death and his pull of conventional morality were evenly balanced, waiting only on his choice for one or the other. And Will had chosen. And now it was merely for the remaining traces of that morality to be snuffed out. Hannibal imagines killing someone as Will watches, as the act stirred up emotions in his lover's chest, excitement, fascination, even arousal. Then they would kill together, and find ecstasy in the act and each other while covered in the lifeblood of their worthy sacrifice. Hannibal imagines the person beneath their knife to be Jack; even though it is likely to not actually be the man they had once plotted to kill, symbolically it would be, since Will would be slaughtering what Jack represented once and for all.

Will's silent signal is quite clear, and Hannibal smiles, allowing his eyes to drift down to his lover's lips, as that lovely tongue smoothed over them. He desires greatly to kiss him, fondle him, undo Will's pants and take out his cock and stroke him right here, right now, until his lover cried out as his seed spilled over Hannibal's hand. But they can't. He must save that impulse a little longer.

Soon, he mouths.