Will remembers with perfect clarity every moment he and Hannibal have shared eye contact, from the very first fleeting connections to the long, hard stare downs after Will was released from prison. The shape of their gazes has changed exponentially in the last two days, and now all the darkness that remains is built of desire, both sexual and a undeniable yen to proceed down the inevitable path their lives are taking together.

In Hannibal's eyes Will can see the raw, unmasked version of the man he now knows almost as intimately as he does himself. There's no need for guarding now, no veil between them; the hunger in Hannibal's expression is for what they are becoming, what they can be together, not for what Hannibal can take. Will isn't Hannibal's undertaking anymore, he's Hannibal's equal. They're lovers in every sense of the word, two grotesque creatures who have found beauty in their conjoining, completion in their fusion.

Before now Will had never felt particularly drawn to sex, though it was something he enjoyed when it occurred. But the action of Hannibal dropping to his knees, the expression on his face and the color of his eyes, it all twists Will's guts into tight knots of exquisite, excruciating arousal. He knows Hannibal can smell it, as keen as his senses are and as near as he is to Will's heated, throbbing groin. He hasn't forgotten where this is meant to end, but instinct is compelling Will to find solidity and friction in his lover's touch, his hands aching with the desire to grip Hannibal's hair and hold him, pull him close. He curls his hands into fists and watches, breath rushing out of him as Hannibal's graceful, powerful hands do their work, following Will's command and opening his belt, stripping him bare.