Will gasps when Hannibal's hand fists in his hair, tight enough to pull, sharp little pains across his scalp making his cock throb between his thighs. He tips his chin upward minutely, meeting Hannibal's eyes as he unwraps his fingers from around Hannibal's dick, arms hanging loose at his sides, his chest wide and exposed. It's strategic; he doesn't want to stop touching Hannibal, but he does want Hannibal to see that Will is ready to give himself up to this, to let Hannibal control him if that's his wish, or to receive Hannibal as an equal if he desires that instead.

"I want you," Will says, and it's obvious, but he hasn't said it aloud until now, not in a sexual connotation. He wants more than just sex from Hannibal, and Hannibal knows that too, but right now it's all he wants. He's ready for that inferno Hannibal just described, for the slow burn that's been smoldering here between them to catch fire, to burn bright and leave them shattered in the aftermath.

"Hannibal," he says, his voice a low, rumbling plea. He's trembling in anticipation, still servile at Hannibal's feet, his chest heaving, his pulse picking up speed, waiting for Hannibal's next move.