Will's flesh is firm yet supple, and Hannibal can easily imagine how he would prepare it, as well as how it would taste. Will would be delicious. Hannibal notes Will's tone, thick with arousal, and finds himself swallowing as well, his pulse heavy, his cheeks flushing slightly, his cock beginning to ache. His mouth is watering, but it's not merely from the hunger of his belly, but also of his heart, of his soul. There is more going on here than merely a reaping of a life for the sake of an aesthetic experience. More than merely the creation of something beautiful out of darkness and death. No, there is an intimacy here that Hannibal has never before experienced, and it is at once exhilarating and humbling. Consuming Will would be an act of deep love, something greater than himself, than either of them. Even if it never happens, even the thought is something spiritual.

"I would want to share it with you," he answers, his voice smooth, even though the thread of tension, of desire, underneath is hardly hidden. "The butchering...the preparation...I would even want you to taste the results." He moves his hand up from Will's rump cut and brushes his fingertips back and forth atop his lover's thigh. "I would want you with me, for as long as possible."