Will's need is delicious, and Hannibal holds him close for a few moments, kissing him deeply, meeting Will's bucks and grinding with a steady roll of his own hips. His desperate motions remind Hannibal somewhat of the ortolan bunting, in resemblance if not in purpose, his beating wings a struggle toward captivity rather than against it. Will has spoken of being bathed in wine, and Hannibal imagines what it would be like to drown him in it, holding him down as he fucks him, watching the bubbles rise to the surface as the air in Will's lungs is replaced with wine. Those wine-soaked lungs would make an excellent dish.

He breaks the kiss and pulls back, smiling gently at his lover. He has made a promise, and it is one he will keep. It does not mean that he will not fantasize.

"Shhh," he hushes, stroking his lover's hair to calm him, the gentleness of a shepherd stroking a sheep that is nervous before the knife. "Shhh." He reaches up and carefully untangles Will's arms from around his neck. Thus freed, he leans in and brushes one last gentle kiss on Will's lips. Then, very slowly, he begins to travel downward, kissing his lover's neck, nipping at the pulse point, then running his teeth along Will's collarbone. He moves lower, finding one nipple with his mouth and suckling at it as he circles the other nipple with his fingertips. At once he bites down on one while pinching the other.