Knives were no good, even if the most skilled hand was wielding them, unless they were sharpened to the point where they could cut through even the toughest meat like butter. Hannibal respected this personal motto, as he had never once let any of his best kitchen cutlery turn dull. Gently, he ran his blades he had laid out on the table over the whetstone and inspected each one before lying it back down again. He experienced an overall feeling of delightful anticipation each time he ran a blade along the stone; he had managed to match the scrape of the blades rhythmically along with Will Graham's labored breathing. Will was then currently unable to enjoy in Hannibal's anticipation, as the effects of the ketamine had not completely worn off. Occasionally, Will's head would loll to the side and his hands would flex against their restraints as he struggled to escape some, no doubt, horrific nightmare. Once or twice his eyes flicked open, and Hannibal would cease his sharpening to await a reaction, only for them to shut again after a second.
After Hannibal had finished with his meticulous care of his cutlery, he knelt down in front of the chair Will was tied to, and smiled.
"Mr. Graham. I must say I'm slightly disappointed that you didn't put up more of a fight when you realized I had drugged your Carignan."
This time, Will's eyes flicked open and stayed open, wide with fear, as he took in the fact that he was completely devoid of clothing and tied to a chair in Dr. Hannibal Lecter's office. Hannibal continued to smile as Will's breath hitched and he briefly made an attempt to struggle against his restraints.
"I often wondered to myself, at times, if I had met my proverbial match in you. We're both so alike, you and I," Hannibal continued, "the only difference is that I have accepted my nature for what it is...and you have whittled yours down to a nightmare."
"I...I had this nagging feeling..always around you...that I...I", Will's words caught messily in his throat as he tried to come to terms with what was happening. "I never wanted to accept it...I never wanted to presume that someone I respected so much...could be...could be...".
"Could be the same as the monsters you so fervidly hunt on a day to day basis?" Hannibal interjected.
"You're not a monster...you're sick"
There is a moment of time that passes between Will and Hannibal where neither says a word. Will's twitching eyes-watery, and filled with regret, try to break the barrier between himself and Hannibal that he had never let himself break before. Hannibal, on the other hand, lets his eyes wander down Will's pale body, breaking whatever ounce of dignity Will had had before. He enjoyed Will like this. The vulnerability was so palatable he could almost taste it. But almost tasting was never enough; he wanted to experience Will in his entirety.
"You can convince yourself I am the monster, Will. But in truth I am nothing more than a man with an insatiable appetite", Hannibal whispers in Will's ear, letting his lips briefly brush across his earlobe. Will shudders visibly, chokes back some form of protest, and lowers his head in defeat. Hannibal wanted very much to continue toying with Will, to push him to the point where he was crying and whimpering without even having been touched, but he found that his bloodlust was getting the better of him.
Gingerly, Hannibal picked a blade up from the table and looked at it intently. "Cutting skin is such a delicate process. The amount of pressure that must be put on the blade in order to draw a sufficient amount of blood while not hitting any muscular tissue or bone takes a lot of practice" he chides. "Luckily, I've had plenty of practice". In a sweeping motion, Hannibal inserts the knife a few centimeters into Will's inner thigh and slices him down to his knee. An audible cry of pain escapes Will's mouth, and he desperately attempts to not let himself make eye contact with Hannibal. The blood trickles slowly, at first, and then starts to drip like a leaky faucet onto the mat below. The air hung heavy with that acrid scent of fresh blood, and Hannibal allowed himself to close his eyes and think of home. To Will's even further discomfort, Hannibal leans his head forward towards Will's thigh and slowly licks the blood down the length of his cut.
"You...you...you disgust me", Will hisses, his eyes still determined to focus on nothing in particular across the other side of the room.
"A man of your intelligence should have more to say than that, Will. Would you like me to remove your scrotum and see what conversation that prompts?"
Hannibal smiles, the blood on his lips redder than red, and licks a drop of the corner of his mouth-with relish. Will's blood tastes familiar, though he can't quite put a finger on it. Just as he picks up the knife again to make a second cut, he notices Will pushing his thighs back together. His heart-rate had increased, as evident by the sweat beads rolling down his forehead, and the blood from his cut started to smell different. Forcibly, Hannibal spread Will's thighs back out, only to see that Will Graham had become hard as a rock.
"Why, Mr. Graham", Hannibal laughed, "I do believe you have made things more interesting!"