Hannibal moans, the agony of Will's slow touch coupled with the sweetness of his words, like the perfect wine paired with an exceptional meal. He can see quite clearly Will doing as he describes, binding Hannibal in perfect contortions, pulling the rough ropes tight, leaving Hannibal only enough motion, only enough slack in the rope around his neck, for the barest of breath. He has been bound before, at Will's request, for Will's approval and complicity, but never by Will himself, never by his hands. Hannibal finds the idea incredibly arousing. It is, perhaps strangely, not as rare and intimate as being taken by a lover, yet he still desires it. In truth, he has desired it in particular for some time now, in the same way that he has desired for Will to attempt to murder him with his own hands. Attempt to be righteous, and in doing so become exactly what Hannibal has wanted him to be all along.

"So tight," he echoes, the speed of his hand increasing ever so minutely. "Would it please you to leave your marks upon my flesh? For my very being to bear witness to your dominance? To my submission?"