As much as Will's body deeply needs Hannibal's touch, Hannibal's mouth, Will isn't frustrated or upset that Hannibal pulls off Will's cock to speak. Hannibal's words are almost better than the physical touch, and Will's eyes lock on Hannibal's, his fingers still tangled in Hannibal's fine hair.
"I want to open your skin," Will says, his voice shaking with want. "Clean lines, with a knife," he goes on, shifting his hand to rub at the back of Hannibal's neck. "Or a scalpel," he amends, thinking about the one (or more) Hannibal already has on hand. "Your wrists, across the ones I should have given you myself," he tells Hannibal, his eyes moving over Hannibal's face. "Low on your belly, where it meets your pelvis, inside your thighs," he continues, listing off all the places he wants to leave his mark. "And your breast, above your heart," Will finishes, taking ownership of Matthew's attempt on Hannibal's life, of Hannibal's sex, and of Hannibal's heart.
Curving his hand around, he brushes his thumb along the line of Hannibal's jaw. "How would you mark me?" he asks, sliding his thumb down the center of Hannibal's spit damp chin.
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"I want to open your skin," Will says, his voice shaking with want. "Clean lines, with a knife," he goes on, shifting his hand to rub at the back of Hannibal's neck. "Or a scalpel," he amends, thinking about the one (or more) Hannibal already has on hand. "Your wrists, across the ones I should have given you myself," he tells Hannibal, his eyes moving over Hannibal's face. "Low on your belly, where it meets your pelvis, inside your thighs," he continues, listing off all the places he wants to leave his mark. "And your breast, above your heart," Will finishes, taking ownership of Matthew's attempt on Hannibal's life, of Hannibal's sex, and of Hannibal's heart.
Curving his hand around, he brushes his thumb along the line of Hannibal's jaw. "How would you mark me?" he asks, sliding his thumb down the center of Hannibal's spit damp chin.