It would perhaps please Will to know that he is the first man to grace the table. And that Hannibal fully intends for the first death on that table, aside from le petit mort of orgasm, to be one that he and Will are equal parts in. However, the sight of Will there, naked and vulnerable even in his beauty, brings exquisite thoughts to his mind. As he crosses the kitchen to retrieve the olive oil from its cabinet, he imagines again how he would kill, prepare, and cook Will. Perhaps not in that order.

"Preparations will be simple," he remarks, closing the cabinet and turning toward Will, bottle in hand. Extra virgin olive oil, the pure, unadulterated stuff. Hannibal's preparations demanded quality.

He comes closer, his eyes again traveling the lines of his lover's body. "You look delicious just as you are. Some olive oil will merely bring out your flavor."