(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[From here]

Sinric leads Hannibal to his room, to his bed. He kisses Hannibal deeply and gently pushes him onto the bed. He undresses. Slowly.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric whispers softly, oversensitive and sore but he burrows into Hannibal's arms gladly. It takes a very long time before he comes down enough to lift his head and kiss Hannibal's cheek softly. "Thank you."

[cook_the_rude]

The only answer the usually so verbose Hannibal can muster up is a kind of fond grunt.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric smiles and closes his eyes, fingers tracing soft patterns over Hannibal's shoulder as he lets the lethargy of the little death wash over him. It's clear he still have something on his mind but at least the storm within had abated.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is, apparently, perfectly willing to bask in the shared lassitude until Sinric is ready to wake up and talk.

[thewidewideworld]

He dozes on and off, fingers brushing Hannibal's skin in his wakeful moments. After a while he leans up and kisses Hannibal softly. "Will you tell me what it's like to kill?" He asks, almost as if it's a natural continuation of a conversation.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes, gladly," Hannibal says. "What part of it?"

[thewidewideworld]

"What it is you feel. What power you draw from it." He toys with Hannibal's long fingers, twining them in his own.

[cook_the_rude]

"I feel like a panther, taking what he wants while those around him think he's just a dark housecat," Hannibal muses. "I create out of destruction, I nourish and feed those around me with my creation and bind them to me."

[thewidewideworld]

"Nourishing them from your creations binds them to you? Even if they are unaware of it?" He asks, rolling into his back to look up at Hannibal.

[cook_the_rude]

"It does," Hannibal says. "Even if it is vegetarian, at that."

[thewidewideworld]

"By sharing your creations with them, you draw them to you. As a provider?"

[cook_the_rude]

"As a provider, as someone who points them on their way," Hannibal says, "as I prefer it. It helps me shape the world as I would like it to be."

[thewidewideworld]

"As someone they trust and respect." Sinric muses, still tracing lazy patterns over Hannibal's skin. "That is the power you draw from your table, from your cooking. But you said yourself, such power comes from those who don't eat the meat of your kills?"

[cook_the_rude]

"It is much stronger when they do," Hannibal says.

[thewidewideworld]

"Surely that's not the only power you draw from the kill?" He asks curiously, head cocked as he studies Hannibal's face.

[cook_the_rude]

"No," Hannibal says. "I remove these people the narrative and turn them around to serve mine, to change that of those I share them with."

[thewidewideworld]

"You guide the thread, influence the weave to your own pattern and that of those around you." Sinric lays back, resting his head on Hannibal's chest. "No wonder you shine so."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal nods. "I weave my own story, and flesh and blood make the fabric stronger."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans up and kisses Hannibal softly but deeply, drinking in the taste of blood and flesh and power and light on Hannibal's lips.

[cook_the_rude]

"We should..."

Hannibal sighs into the kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric draws back enough to let Hannibal breathe, to let him speak. He wants to hear it.

[cook_the_rude]

"One day, I should take you to my world again and cook for you in ways I can't here," Hannibal sys.

[thewidewideworld]

He gives Hannibal a playful smile. "I'm bound to you already, Hannibal. Flesh and blood. But I would be interested to share a meal with you. To learn more about your power."

[cook_the_rude]

"You might watch me cook," Hannibal says, "even if it's not the flesh of my enemies, or yours. Whoever it was that raised your hackles like that."

[thewidewideworld]

"It would be a pleasure to watch you cook, in your own kitchen and your own domain."

Sinric shakes his head. "A miscommunication. That's all." At least that's what he's trying to convince himself. "I tried to help a newcomer, but my help was unwelcome." He tries to keep the irritation out of his voice.