Hannibal wants Will, too, more than he's ever wanted anything in his life, and for a man comfortable with his desires, that's saying a lot. But he doesn't answer in words. He hums, a low rumble in his chest, in appreciation of the sight of Will so open, vulnerable, needful. Before the sound ends he's moving, dipping down, wrapping his free arm around Will's waist, and hauls him up by the waist and by the hair. With three quick steps he crushes Will against the wall behind him, and kisses him hard enough that they will both be spitting blood for some time afterwards from their lips caught in the fray that only their teeth can withstand without injury. He doesn't let go of Will's hair; rather he twists his hand, pulling tighter, causing pain and demonstrating dominance. He drops his other hand to Will's hip and grasps it, his fingers digging into Will's flesh, and with that anchor he begins to grind against him, hard and steady.