Will knows as well as Hannibal does where their trains of thought are going, have gone, and Will finds himself less and less surprised at how often they cross paths perfectly. He inhales deeply through his nose, able to smell the subtle scent of the olive oil even before Hannibal opens the bottle, and Will wonders if Hannibal would cook him in it as well as use it the way he plans to now. He knows all about Hannibal's proclivities where cuisine is concerned, has wondered idly since he knew what Hannibal was if Hannibal had a dish in mind for him. But the comment Hannibal makes here leads Will to imagine that when Hannibal does finally eat him, it will be a simple preparation, something that will leave Will's true flavor shining through.

Right now, however, all Will can think about is how Hannibal is about to touch him. He just felt all of this not that long ago, but it feels like days rather than hours, and this time he'll have the benefit of seeing what's happening, the gift of getting to watch Hannibal's face. The hours between the last time and this time have tied them closer together than Will had imagined, and Will doesn't feel the slightest bit detached or anxious. All he feels is heated anticipation.

Will's eager to see how Hannibal will go about getting him ready, if he'll stand at the side of the table like a chef or climb onto it like a lover into a bed. Will's eyes move to Hannibal's hands, and his legs fall wider apart, ready to feel Hannibal's long, elegant fingers inside him again, making space inside for more. "I'm glad I taste good to you," he says simply as his gaze moves up to Hannibal's face. "Right now that all I want."