The tease is sweet, as is the insatiable desire that it signifies, one that Hannibal shares. This is not the first time that Hannibal's thirst has been seemingly bottomless, but it is rare, at odds with his more typical calm, collected, calculated control. He reflects with some amusement on the fact that they have made love in one form or another four times in a very short span of time. There is a common superstition that sexual activity drains one's strength, leading to the austere celibacy of Victorian-era intellectuals and some modern day pre-game athletes. And while he would not be surprised if he and Will soon collapse together to sleep for hours, Hannibal is finding that this feast of intercourse is on the whole an asset to his strength, and likely Will's as well.

"Impossible to reach the bones otherwise," he murmurs with a smile before pulling back, cupping Will's cheek for a moment, then rising, the water cascading down the lines and planes and curves of his body.

"I believe a shower may be in order before we go." He raises an eyebrow. "Join me?"