Hannibal's vision of the surgery is closely similar to Will's. He imagines the room as far more dining than operating, with soft candlelight, classical music playing in the background, Will naked and lying on the table. He would be entirely conscious, a spinal block rendering insensate his body from the waist down. The tools would be neatly and inconspicuously laid out, almost like a place setting for a fancy dinner party. Hannibal would wear an apron instead of a gown. And the surgery itself would be akin to a sexual act, penetrating and claiming. He imagines Will's eyes on him as he deftly removes the kidney, imagines Will's chest rising and falling with breath quickened not by fear or pain but by desire.

The thought of it all, so clear in Hannibal's head, is likewise making him hard, and he hums into the trembling kiss, just shy of a moan in its need.

"Yes." His hand slips around Will's waist and draws him closer to kiss him a little more firmly. "I would prepare our meal within minutes after the removal, and you and I would share it together."

He kisses Will again, then moves, straddles Will's hips, and leans down to capture his lips again, flexing his hips, his cock sliding alongside his lover's.