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Hannibal, naked under a silk robe, finishes making tea for them both, and smiles at Sinric.

"Come here," he says.

Sinric crosses to him very readily, a towel wrapped low around his narrow hips, otherwise bare and clean.

"I hope you slept well I feared I might dream but I don't recall crying out."

"You didn't," Hannibal assures him, pouring water into the teapot. "And I did. I hope you feel better?"

"That's a boon at least."

He runs his hands through his hair, carding out tangled. "I'm still angry and a little afraid but I no longer feel at risk of bursting into tears or flying into a rage."

"Jim will hopefully know better now," Hannibalmsays, wiping a tiny speck of water off the countertop.

"Out of fear of you and Security perhaps. Not because of me. I doubt I've heard the last from him."

He leans against the bench, letting his hair fall over his face. "He may not try something so dramatic again but I am a victim too him. He will pick at me again as boys throwing stones at street dogs - for the pleasure of causing pain."

His tone is not self-pitying, more considered and aware. He has clearly put thought into where he stands now.

Edited 2016-11-07 06:40 (UTC)

"He doesn't dare take his problems where they belong," Hannibal says. "One could argue that it's somewhat cowardly."

"Just so." He nods, leaning in to breathe in the steam of the tea. "But to face the truth would be be to destroy himself as well as his obsession."

He shakes his hair back and sighs. "I planned to leave today. If the last few trips have proven, it may be some time before I have to face to him again."

"Who knows what might happen with him and Sherlock in the meantime," Hannibal muses. "If he is back, Jim will be too busy to pester you much, and too happy to even want to."

"Or perhaps I will come back stronger than before. And show him what street dogs do when they're tired of having their tails pulled." It comes out half jokingly.

"Once he knows you can and will bite back," Hannibal says, "he will rapidly lose interest in pestering you. Especially if there are no witnesses."

He sighs and drapes himself on the sofa, the towel falling open down the length of one milky thigh. "I wish I had your confidence."

"You do have the anger to drive it."

"But like the wind on the sea, I fear it may falter when I need it most." He rests his head in his hands. "Perhaps I will find strength in my journey."

"You have, so far,,every time," Hannibal points put. "New skills of dealing with dangerous people come with each new situation."

"It makes me wondering who I'll be by the time I reach Ragnar. Somehow I imagine myself old and tired." He shrugs, smoothing his hair back and sprawls on the sofa. "But perhaps I'll be hardened, stronger."

"It does take time," Hannibal says. "Allow yourself years in exchange for knowledge."

"Is it vain to mourn the cost to my looks also?" He asks, half teasingly.

"I'm no spring chicken, either, and survived that," Hannibal says. "What's most important stays -- your skills, your knowledge, the experience you gained."

Sinric rises to cross to Hannibal, cupping his cheek and drawing him into a kiss. "You wear your experience with a nobility and dignity I envy. Even the brand. I wish I felt so at ease with my own scars, even this new one."

"You can learn that," Hannibal assures him.

Sinric lifts his head, shaking his hair back and taking a deep breath. The action seems to steady him, his shoulder back and his chin lifted. He nods and steps to Hannibal, drawing him into a kiss.

He's done feeling sorry for himself this morning.

"That's the spirit," Hannibal murmurs, kissing him back avidly.

Sinric purrs into the kiss, pressing his bare chest against Hannibal's. He runs his hands over the silk of Hannibal's robe to feel the hard muscle of the man beneath.

There's something about the way Hannibal kisses that never fails to make Sinric fell valued.

Amids the kisses, Hannibal presses smoothly into the touch, enjoying Sinric's touch on his body.