Hannibal is not one to rush pleasure, always taking the time to savor a meal, a kill, an opera, a lover. He could kiss like this for hours, luxuriating over the taste of Will, the feel of his lips, his skin, his lover's hardness pressed next to his own. When Will pulls back and meets his eyes, Hannibal tilts his head, curious as to what he has in mind, and settles his own hands at Will's waist, refraining from any more stimulation so that Will has the opportunity to enjoy exploration without a however pleasant distraction. He smiles as Will explores his cock, the member in question gently pulsing in Will's hand, and the smile widens and warms as Will's fingers move lower to his testicles, enjoying Will's expression as much as his touch, the desire burning in his eyes and catching at his breath. Other men might feel vulnerable there, legs splayed, another man's hand on such sensitive organs, but Hannibal has nothing but trust for this man. He would put his life in those hands.

It is to Hannibal's surprise, then, how he finds himself reacting when Will's fingers venture lower. Truly, it is not unexpected, and yet Hannibal finds himself drawing a quick breath. It has been a very long time since he has been penetrated, always preferring to be in control, dominant, when intimate with men, considering especially that up to this point the purpose of those intimacies had been manipulation. But now, Hannibal has already laid claim, and their relationship is one of mutual respect, mutual trust. Perhaps allowing Will to assume that dominant position would further strengthen that bond with a demonstration of that trust.

And he finds himself desiring it. Needing it. Wanting to feel Will touch him there. Take him there.

Hannibal closes his eyes, draws another, slower, breath, then opens his eyes to again meet Will's. With their eyes locked, Hannibal moves his hands from Will's waist to the sides of the tub, and slides down, just enough to tilt his hips and open the way for Will's fingers.

"Yes, Will," he whispers.