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Hannibal still occasionally finds it difficult to believe he gets to have this. After everything they've been through, he still gets to lie beside his impossible, beautiful, marvelously cruel boy as he sleeps, happily untroubled by nightmares since he embraced his becoming. He gets to trace the scars with which he's embellished Will's lithe, tanned form, confident that Will won't jolt awake in terror at the slightest touch.
The fine, almost indiscernible tracing of silver across Will's brow always draws both his hungry gaze and the lightest of touches. He came so close to consuming the mind that consumed his every waking moment, and one day Bedelia will have to answer for that cunning piece of manipulation.
There are times he looks at Will when he's like this -asleep, defenseless, trusting- and his mouth waters. He can almost taste the delicately seasoned butter he'd use to fry each morsel; can, if he concentrates, recall the unique texture of the organ as it melts on his tongue.
He still hungers to taste, to bite and chew and swallow Will down, but the very idea of a world without Will in it is anathema, so he resists. Will always resist. When he longs to grab, to tear and devour, to take every part of Will into himself, he instead restrains himself to gentle touches, to soft caresses, to the press of carefully closed lips on fragile skin.
There is a word for this, he knows, in several languages, but he'd never thought to experience a love strong enough that it might manifest. He hadn't believed himself capable of such a powerful, visceral emotion, but Will is singularly able to challenge him, to change him into something new, even as he himself is changed by the act of changing Hannibal.
He cannot, will not, rend the meat from Will's bones, or crack those bones apart that he might scoop out their marrow. He will not gorge himself on crisp skin and moist flesh, but he can and will continue to sip from the bottomless well of his delight.
Will squirms and mumbles his way to consciousness as Hannibal deftly rolls him onto his back and shoulders his knees apart with unmistakable carnal intent. Will's fingers snarl in ridiculously luxurious cotton sheets and his toes flex and curl with pleasure as Hannibal sucks down his still quiescent flesh, holding it cradled on his tongue in a steady vacuum of hot-wet-tight with that ever-present edge of teeth-teeth-cannibal-teeth danger.
"Jesus, Hannibal, are you trying to condition me to expect this kind of treatment every morning? What is it they say, three weeks to form a new habit? You're already two thirds of the way- Hey, where are you going?"
Hannibal pulls back just enough to free his mouth and glares up at Will, lips pursed in a moue of distaste.
"I've told you before about quoting junk science in the bedroom, Will. You know very well I cannot abide it at the best of times, but this-"
"-is not 'junk science'." Will smirks and arches his back, nudging Hannibal's pout with the damp tip of his erection as he dares to interrupt. "It's not Maltz's fault his anecdotal observations were taken as fact by professional idiots." He drags his tongue across his bottom lip and then bites the slick flesh before allowing a cocky grin to stretch his mouth wide. "So now you owe me a blowjob and an apology. I'll accept breakfast in bed as reparations."
With a wiggle of his hips, he relaxes back into the pillows, arms coming up to fold behind his head. Hannibal watches his performance through narrowed eyes.
"You set me up, you wicked, wicked boy. And to what end, I wonder, when you must know you have only to ask."
Will shrugs, a full-body maneouvre that somehow ends with one leg draped over Hannibal's shoulder, his ankle nudging the back of Hannibal's head in an attempt to encourage him to continue his interrupted ministrations.
"Do you delight in besting me, Will? Is that it?"
Holding Will's amused, victorious gaze, Hannibal lowers his head and sucks him back in, slowly closing his teeth around the root until it can't help but hurt. The flesh in his mouth lengthens and thickens as Will's eyes lose focus, as his breath quickens and catches.
Hannibal moans in delectation and swallows around the morsel of his gloriously twisted perfect boy that he will never grow tired of tasting. When the urge to consume becomes too great, he will always have this.
And when fellatio doesn't sate the beast within, he'll always have the option of flipping his sweet Will over and opening him up with thumbs and tongue until he begs. And begs. And begs.