sharp_as_knives | Hannibal's hotel room, Friday morning

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Hannibal's hotel room, Friday morning

Hannibal had been uncharacteristically avoiding his phone last night, and so didn't notice Jono's message until this morning. He winced sympathetically at the anger, and wondered briefly if there were something Fandom at work here. After all, he'd been horrid himself the last few days, but he felt fine today.

He sent off a quick message back as he took stock of the food in the suite's kitchen.

Sorry to hear that; I hope you're feeling better today. I'm in the hotel's gourmet suite. Care to drop by and sample some food?

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"You're not bad with your hands yourself," Hannibal noted, nodding at the knife. "But then, you are a musician, so I shouldn't be surprised."

He plated the food and poured a bit of fresh-squeezed orange juice to go with it, then set the bread in the pan to toast as the last step.

He thought for a moment and cocked his head towards the rest of the hotel suite. "The dining room is an option, naturally, but there is more sun in the living room or bedroom, and a tray to put the dishes on."

He was just saying.

Oh, well, there was an opening that Jono could hardly ignore, right there.

//More sun in the bedroom than the living room, would you say?//

You know. For reasons.

Hannibal was very good at giving people openings.

"I believe there may be, yes." Hannibal pulled out the tray and started putting dishes on it. "Breakfast in bed always has an appeal, in any case."

//Oh? You know, that's something I've never had the privilege of enjoying?//

Outside of hospital beds, but that hardly counted. And sort of fell short in the 'enjoyment' category.

//There's a first for everything, I hear.//

Hospital beds definitely did not count.

"What, never?" Hannibal tsked. "Well, we shall have to amend that." He added the toast and silverware, made certain everything was turned off, and picked up the tray. "Right through here."

Yeah, there was no way in hell Jono was going to do anything but follow, here. Hannibal. That sweater...

A bed.

//Lead on,// he replied, a few steps behind Hannibal on the way to the bedroom. He was enjoying the view. //I'm anxious to see what all the fuss is about.//

"I look forward to showing you," Hannibal answered. Really, he was a very helpful and giving person.

He set the tray down on the bedside table. "Please, wherever you like," he told Jono with a gesture toward the bed. Or he could always be boring and go for the chair. Then he opened the blinds and closed the gauzy curtains to let the light in bright but diffused, nodded in approval, and headed for the bed himself.

Oh, pft. Like Jono was going to agree to breakfast in bed and then sit on a chair. That really just defeated the whole purpose, didn't it?

//Here's fine, is it?// Right there, on the bed, actually moving in so that he was seated fairly close to the middle of it. Not at all because body weight and gravity on a bed like this would encourage Hannibal to sit a little closer to him. Really. //I have to say, you really know how to set the mood for breakfast in bed, too.//

"It's an art," Hannibal said gravely, though there was a smile in his eyes. "I said I was an artist, didn't I?"

How convenient that the way the bed dipped had his side pressing against Jono's. He pulled the tray into his lap and settled in to eat.

//Anyone who's ever so much as seen the product of you spending time in the kitchen would be a fool for doubting,// Jono replied, closing his eyes a little as he set up a telepathic connection between them. Just a link of the senses, taste specifically. And maybe just a little extra, just enough to send an echo of the anticipation that he was feeling across the link to Hannibal.

Anticipation for the food, naturally.

//And anybody who gets a taste of what you're capable of ought to be further impressed from there.//

"I should hope so," Hannibal murmured as he got just the right combination of things on his fork. "I work very hard at it."

He took a bite and closed his eyes to savor the taste, doing his best to appreciate every facet of smell and texture as well.

There were moments when Jonothon forgot just how sensual an experience the act of eating could actually be.

This was not one of those moments. In this particular moment, it was almost certainly for the best that Jonothon was already sitting down, in fact. His eyes slid closed and he found himself leaning a little more against Hannibal, all the same.

//And it shows,// he managed. //Fuck me, that's fantastic.//

Colourful turn of phrase or an invitation? You decide!

Both? Both was good.

"We haven't even gotten to the egg yet," Hannibal pointed out when he was done with a few bites of that. He tore a piece of bread off and broke the egg yolk with his fork, then held out the piece of bread to Jono. "Would you like to do the sopping-up yourself, since you enjoy it?"

Oh, sneaky.

//As a matter of fact,// Jono murmured, accepting the piece of bread gratefully, //I would love to. One of my favourite parts of breakfast, in fact.//

Because it wasn't like he was simply going to pass it back to Hannibal once he'd sopped the yolk into the bread, after all. He took a moment to soak up some egg, and then he turned slightly, offering the food to Hannibal by holding it to his lips.

How else was he meant to do it?

Any other way would be very messy! They couldn't have that. Hannibal leaned forward enough to eat the bread from his hand, his lips brushing over Jono's fingers as he did.

After all, he wouldn't want to leave any yolk behind, would he?

Well, Hannibal was the only person in the room who could lick off Jonothon's fingers for him. Otherwise he'd have to resort to using a napkin and what a waste of perfectly good egg that would be.

//Oh, that's nice,// he practically purred, referring to the flavour and the feel of Hannibal's lips against his fingers is nearly equal measures.

"Very," Hannibal agreed. He swallowed the bread and licked his lips slowly. Then leaned back and took another bite of the meal.

He paused with it at his mouth and looked at Jono from the corner of his eye. "Food is so much more than flavor. There is the smell, and the feel of it in your mouth. Would you like to share those as well?"

Because he was betting things could get very interesting with Jono.

It hadn't been long at all since the last time Jono had been able to eat. Five months? Not too bad. Except that there was still another lifetime packed into his head from back in December, messing up those numbers in a big way.

So when Hannibal offered to share more sensations with him, Jono found himself caught for a moment, trying to picture what the last such sensation was.

//Smell what you smell? Feel what you feel...?// There was actually a longing note in his voice at the suggestion. //I would be remiss to turn down such an offer.//

"Then don't." That was nearly a purr. Then Hannibal slipped the fork into his mouth and began enjoying his meal as much as possible.

And Jonothon opened himself up to that much more of the sensation, of the play of Hannibal's tongue in his mouth. Taste, smell, anything that had been lost or damaged thanks to his mutation was right there, Hannibal's keen senses amplified all the more by just how long Jonothon had spent without.

He closed his eyes tightly, practically curling himself around Hannibal unconsciously as he did so. In exchange for the borrowed senses, moving back along the link between them was a sense of awareness, of just what this was doing to him. The overwhelming senses, the pull it had on Jono's mind, the dizzy sensation that had him sitting somewhere between nostalgia and longing and want.

... Mostly the want. Increasingly, the want.

The food, of course, was excellent, and Hannibal was used to taking the time to enjoy it. But Jono's enjoyment magnified it further, and Hannibal leaned into him, doing his best to focus on it all.

Because feedback was a wonderful thing.

There really was something divine about a sensory feedback loop when all of the sensations were positive ones, wasn't there? If Jonothon's enjoyment enhanced Hannibal's, and Hannibal's enhanced Jono's, where exactly did that leave them?

With Jono's fingers knotting a little in the fabric of... either it was the bedsheet or Hannibal's sweater, Jono wasn't entirely certain, but he was hanging on for dear life either way. And this was just what sharing breakfast could do? Jonothon probably wouldn't be able to sustain a link with anything more decadent than this.

//Big fan of your tongue right now,// he informed Hannibal, his voice maybe just a touch distracted. //Big fan.//

Hannibal was only slightly less distracted, given he was actually having to chew and swallow.

"Are you?" he murmured. "I'm told it's very talented." And that was Jono's ear he had his mouth on now. He wasn't going to finish breakfast after all, was he?

There was breakfast? Jono couldn't remember that far back. Right now, he was slightly distracted by the unique sensation of biting his own ear. Now there was something he'd never done before.

//Get many compliments about your teeth, too?//

It would be a crime if the answer was no. But maybe the way Jono's appreciation was echoing along the link between them would help make up for that? Especially if he sent the sensation of the same gesture right on back.

Ah, telepathy.

"The better to eat you with," Hannibal answered with a low chuckle, before he got distracted by Jono's phantom teeth. He kept just enough presence of mind to move the food tray back to the table before he gave Jono's ear and the side of his neck the attention he might a kiss.

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