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shallow breath through his nose, fighting to control the yearning in his loins as he readies the blade to make the final passes along the irresistible plane of Will’s neck. Hannibal leans over his body, bracing himself on one arm of the chair, leveling the razor against Will’s skin, just below the sharp angle of his jaw. Will feels the soft brush of Hannibal’s breath across his lips and his eyes fly open, searching. Hannibal’s hand slips, startling at Will’s piercing gaze as it meets his own, and nicks the skin above his pulse point. Hannibal scrutinizes Will’s neck, his eyes drawn to the wound like a magnet. He watches the bright red blood well to the surface of the cut until a single droplet gathers, clinging to the edge of the ragged skin before