Hannibal moves exactly as Will wants him to, and it's almost as if Hannibal can read Will's mind, if that simple tug was enough to tell Hannibal every desire in Will's head. And maybe it was, because Hannibal knows Will better than anyone's ever known him. It's why Hannibal was so easily able to manipulate him, and also why Will was able to do the same in kind. It's also why Will is here, in Paris, in Hannibal's bed; Hannibal found Will's deception and, possibly in a moment of mania or weakness, he offered Will a way out, one Will hardly hesitated to accept.

Here and now they don't even need to speak, moving together like two halves of a single entity, like something that was long ago cleaved in two and is now desperate to come back together. They kiss perfectly in concert, parting exactly when they both need to breathe, and when Hannibal's pelvis shifts to put Hannibal's cock down between Will's thighs, Will tips his hips like he knows precisely where he needs to be despite having never been penetrated this way, having only ever had sex with a man, this man, a little more than twenty four hours ago.

They'll need lubrication, Will knows, but he wishes it could be as organic as it feels. His body doesn't feel like it needs to wait, and Will doesn't want to, the leg Hannibal shifted out of the way hooking around Hannibal's muscular hamstring and pulling him down and in, the head of Hannibal's dick slipping past Will's hole as the ridge of Hannibal's shaft skids down. Will makes a broken sound against Hannibal's mouth, his hands gripping Hannibal's back as his body rolls up into Hannibal's, speaking of impatience and unsated desire.