A guest room in Glacia, Thursday night Fandom time

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal settled his things in the wardrobe and wandered about the room, familiarizing himself with everything in it. Karla's hospitality was as impeccable as he would have expected, even if he had been for all intents and purposes kidnapped. He wondered darkly for a moment if Glacia had an equivalent of the FBI to investigate such things.

Which naturally led to other thoughts. Of Jack, of Alana. And especially of Will.

He stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, calming himself.

Jono	The equivalent of the FBI, in Glacia? Julian. Jono. How in the world did Hannibal keep befriending those types, anyway? To the point, in fact, where one of them was currently standing outside of the door to Hannibal's room, wondering if perhaps now was a bad time? //Hannibal?// It wasn't so much a word as it was a question, a light wash of inquiry, wondering if he was intruding. Maybe a sort of soft hint of, 'hey, I'm worried, I'm here if you need somebody' to go along with that.
Hannibal	Something about the violence and intellectual challenge of the job, maybe? Whatever it was, Hannibal had several fewer friends now than he had earlier in the day. He nodded, swallowed, and spoke just loudly enough for Jono to hear. "Come in."
Jono	Oh. Oh. That was a tone of voice that Jonothon had never heard from Hannibal before, and it had him hesitating at the door for a moment before reaching for the doorknob and letting himself in, pulling the door shut again behind himself. //Hey,// he said, tentatively. //Just wanted to check up on you, mate. Karla was in a hell of a rush to usher me away when you got in, and I never got a chance to ask if there was anything I can to do help.// But he had plenty of time to finish cleaning the canapés from the floor while Karla chased Hannibal up to the shower. So. That had been something.
Hannibal	And Hannibal would greatly appreciate that cleanliness once he got back home. For now, he turned to Jono and did his best to smile at him. It was a fairly credible one; he did have a lot of practice. "Thank you." He sat on the corner of the bed, and took a moment to think. "I don't believe there is, but I do appreciate your concern."
Jono	//Nah,// Jono replied, nodding once, //I figured that might be the case.// He'd danced this dance before. Though maybe with somewhat less murder than had been involved, not that he was aware of that much. //But I figured I ought to make the offer all the same. You don't have to force a smile for my sake, Hannibal. I'm not here because I think your pain is a spectator sport.//
Hannibal	That got a more humorous smile. "I hadn't thought it was. Although I wouldn't hold it against you to be a bit morbidly curious. It's human nature, isn't it?"
Jono	//Can't deny that,// Jono allowed. //We don't much care for mysteries, though if you're not feeling up to talking about what happened, I'm not going to push you for information. I know it wasn't your blood, I know you're more pulverized in an emotional sense than the physical one that Karla was letting on. And if there's anything you want to talk about, I'll listen. If you don't want to talk, I'm just fine with sitting here in silence, if that's what you want. Or leaving. It's your call, mate. No expectations, no demands. I don't expect you to perform, here. I just...// He shrugged. //... care.//
Hannibal	Hannibal waved Jono to sit. He wasn't sure if he could or should speak of what had happened, but perhaps the company would distract him.
Jono	Well, if Hannibal wasn't going to chase him out of the room, Jonothon was going to nod and take a seat in a nearby armchair. //Thanks,// he said, leaning forward a little. //... You know, I think this chair is actually more comfortable than the one in my room? There's how you tell Karla likes you, mate. You get the comfortable chair.// He... was rambling. Fabulous. //Hope she didn't put you out too much, kidnapping you away to Glacia like this.//
Hannibal	"I haven't ever missed a class before," Hannibal confessed. "I feel like I should be back there, doing something useful." Though given his current mindset, it was probably just as well that he not be around his students. "I feel..." he grimaced. "Like Sisyphus after his rock rolls back down the hill. I keep staring after it, wondering why it's fallen and how long until I have the strength to try again."
Jono	It was an interesting comparison. After all, Sisyphus' fate was a punishment devised to rub in his face that he thought he was more clever than the gods. //Your class will get on without you for a week,// Jono shared, //though there's enough of a connection to the island from here that you can contact somebody to take over your class if need be. As for the rock...// He shrugged his shoulders again. //I don't think you're damned to push it for eternity,// he offered. //And even if you are, you're certainly not required to push it alone. But...// His brow furrowed faintly as he tried to puzzle out how to say what he wanted to say. //That doesn't make it less brutal now. As much as 'this too shall pass' is true, that doesn't always make the here and now easier to stomach, does it?// This was heartbreak, wasn't it? Heartbreak was crushing.
Hannibal	"No, it doesn't," Hannibal agreed. "I still failed. I have still lost friends." Will had still rejected his friendship, rejected his own nature.
Jono	//I'm sorry,// Jono murmured, and he very much meant it. //It's the doubt afterwards, isn't it? When you end up asking 'what could I have done differently?' Picking apart every little aspect of what you've done, inspecting it in minutiae, after the fact.// And hindsight was always perfect, wasn't it? //Makes the loss that much worse.//
Hannibal	Hannibal clenched his hands around the edge of the mattress, his jaw set. "I trusted someone." Offered him my friendship. But he rejected it.
Jono	//Ah.// Jonothon's eyes rested on Hannibal's hands for a few moments, and then he looked up, trying to meet his gaze. //That's worse, then.// He didn't need to be a telepath to catch the undertones of betrayal and rejection in that statement. //Trust is a dangerous proposition.//
Hannibal	Especially for someone with Hannibal's secrets. "I told him I forgave him. I'm not certain if I meant it." Forgave him for putting him in a position to kill or be killed by Jack, certainly. Forgave him for rejecting both Hannibal and his own nature? Possibly not. Or possibly he still held out a tiny ember of hope.
Jono	//Do you suppose you'll ever be able to mean it?// Jono lingered awkwardly in that seat for a moment, and then nodded to the spot next to Hannibal on the bed. //May I?// This just seemed like it had evolved into the sort of conversation you didn't have from opposite ends of the room.
Hannibal	Hannibal nodded to the second question. To the first... "I gave him more than I've given anyone in a very long time. He turned it down. I don't know if I can easily let that go."
Jono	Jono stood, making his way over to sit down beside Hannibal, his gaze falling back to the floor once he was there. //And when you've been that closed for that bloody long...// Ouch. //Serves to reinforce why you don't open up in the first place. Rough bloody reminder of it. For what it's worth, I don't think anybody's going to expect you to give more than you feel you're able. Especially not in the wake of something like that.//
Hannibal	"Bloody in more than one way," Hannibal acknowledged with a grim smile. It wasn't as if Jono were going to forget the state he'd been in when he'd arrived home.
Jono	//Bloody in more than one way,// Jono agreed, glancing sidelong at Hannibal, at that. //Care to talk about that, at least? Or is that something you'd rather not discuss?// He wouldn't deny his curiosity on that front. It wasn't as though he could pretend he wasn't—Hannibal would know better just as well as he did, after all. It was human nature to want to know.
Hannibal	"I..." Hannibal tried to find some words to say that would be descriptive without being damning. He pictured the scene that he'd left at his Baltimore home, and nearly vibrated with grief and frustration. He swallowed and consciously tried to relax himself again. "Not now," he answered a bit curtly, trying to smile to soften it. "Perhaps when it isn't so close." When he could think about it more objectively, speak of it without the danger of losing control.
Jono	//Not now,// Jonothon echoed, nodding again. He hesitated for a moment before leaning sideways just a little, just enough to kind of bump his shoulder lightly against Hannibal's, filling his next words with as much patience and reassurance as he could. //Not ever, if you never feel up for sharing it. I'm not going to press.// Much as he wanted to. His curiosity wasn't worth endangering a friendship over.
Hannibal	Sharing. Hannibal nodded again, then all but threw himself off the bed, unable to sit still any longer. "Thank you," he managed, squeezing Jono's hand for a moment before he stalked away to pace.
Jono	Ah, pacing. Jono knew that urge well enough, himself. He sat silently for a minute, just watching, before pulling himself to his feet. //Anxious, mate? Want a hand working some of that frustration off?// Sometimes it helped to just hit things.
Hannibal	It did. And sometimes it helped to carve things up. But even if Jono wouldn't actually be harmed by that, Hannibal doubted that was what he was offering. He flicked a glance over at Jono. "What did you have in mind?"

[OOC: Preplayed with the wondermous furnaceface and continued in comments! NFB]

[ETA: Now very firmly NSFW!]

Comments

[sharp_as_knives]

"I have no complaints," Hannibal murmured against Jono's skin. He tightened his hand enough to hurt and bit Jono's ear hard enough to draw blood.

It was heady, this power and control willingly given to him. This was what he needed; Jono could have whatever he liked physically. The fact that he wanted to hurt only made it better.

[furnaceface]

There was something about pain, to a man who lived a life half-numb to physical sensation. Tender caresses and warm embraces were all fine and good, but there was something about the sharp immediacy of pain and the way that it lingered that Jonothon craved all the more.

It was so rare that he felt anything at all, these days. Pain was the most real feeling he knew.

He wished he could gasp, then. He wished he could moan. He wished he could breathe, because all of his pain and appreciation could be so neatly summed in one slow, shaking breath. But if Hannibal wasn't complaining - and he certainly didn't seem to be - then Jonothon was going to enjoy this.

//Could write a bloody song in honour of your mouth... Compose a ballad, or a sonnet, immortalize your teeth in lyric... Lord, your teeth...//

[sharp_as_knives]

"I'd like to hear that," Hannibal answered, grinning. He sucked the blood from Jono's earlobe and raked his free hand across his shoulders. "What would it say?"

[furnaceface]

Well, there was an excellent way to make it difficult for Jonothon to think.

//Something... something... drink me dry... reminds me I'm alive... something...// He glanced sidelong at him, one eyebrow arced upwards just slightly. //Can't possibly expect me to deliver improvised iambic pentameter when you're making me feel like this.//

[sharp_as_knives]

"A true artist is always composing," Hannibal said in challenge. He stood and strolled back around to run his hand over Jono's back. The cuts were mostly bleeding sluggishly, a few last drops winding their way over his skin. Hannibal bit into one as he loosened his trousers and let them fall.

[furnaceface]

And there went Jono, shuddering with pleasure again.

//Keep that up and th'best I'll be able to manage at this rate is dirty limerick,// he murmured.

Don't worry, Hannibal. Jono wouldn't subject you to that sort of torment. He was the masochist in the room, after all.

[sharp_as_knives]

"If you can still manage that much," Hannibal said as he set his trousers aside neatly, "I'll have to try harder."

He gripped Jono hard, digging into the skin over several cuts and leaning against him, his chest pressing others as he bit into his shoulderblade between the wrappings.

[furnaceface]

//You're... off to an excellent start...// he shared, closing his eyes tightly as his hands balled into fists again. There it was, the immediate sting and the heat of another body and the sharpness of that mouth again. His hips shifted slightly, as best as he could manage to move with Hannibal's weight pinning him in addition to the wrappings, and he attempted to cast around for maybe one of Hannibal's legs with his own. Something to hold on to that was nearby. Maybe more silent encouragement to keep up the great work. //Words are getting hard as it is...//

Words were not the only thing.

[sharp_as_knives]

"I should hope so," Hannibal murmured, his lips moving over Jono's skin. His hands slid over Jono's back and ass, raking lines across the existing cuts with his nails, and his mouth followed them, biting and kissing and licking up the blood.

[furnaceface]

That mouth. Lord, Jono had half an inkling that Hannibal could devour him with that mouth and he'd be perfectly fine with that. His hips shifted again unconsciously, moving against the bench as Hannibal's teeth and lips and hands moved over his skin.

He was quickly losing his grasp of words, and coherent telepathy took far more focus than he was willing to take away from Hannibal's ministrations, but he did spare enough to send a wave of disjointed emotions, appreciation wrapped up in pleading, all twisting around a flash of red and borrowing, for a moment, Hannibal's own sensation of the flavour of Jonothon's skin and blood.

[sharp_as_knives]

Don't worry, Jono; Hannibal wouldn't take you up on that. At least, not literally.

He smiled and hummed at the sensations Jono sent, and took a moment just to savor them. Then he took advantage of Jono's movements and snuck a hand between him and the bench to curl around him as he bit down on another cut.

[furnaceface]

Oh, had Jono been praising Hannibal's mouth? Because his hand? His hand was Jonothon's favourite thing in the whole history of things. Hello, Hannibal's hand. Jono liked you. Hell, he was straining against his restraints, his movements still limited, though that strain really only served to pull his wounds open again.

He still wasn't one with the words, especially not now, but maybe that was for the best, since the best he probably would have managed at this point would have been a 'yessssssss.'

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal had no problem with you pulling your wounds open again, Jono. It just gave him more lovely places to bite and lick.

He had no problem tightening his grip, either.

[furnaceface]

That. That right there should have warranted at least a gasp. Probably a moan. A gasp punctuated by a moan. So, get on that, Jono's body. Gasp and moan. No? Well, that was almost as frustrating as the leather that was currently holding him down. He was going to have to have words with his body about that one. Where did it get off--

No, scratch that. Jonothon knew where his body got off, and in fact, at this current moment, it would be difficult to forget. Hence the way he was trying to move himself against Hannibal's hand, most of his weight supported by his knees and as much of his chest as he could keep solid. He wasn't even making attempts to communicate at this point, so much as keeping an open channel between himself and Hannibal, keeping his surface emotions right there within reach in case Hannibal wanted to pick at them to see what sort of reactions he was getting. Every now and again, a thought would filter through as well, raw and disjointed and absolutely filthy, all teeth and skin and heat.

[sharp_as_knives]

Those were really very lovely thoughts, too. Hannibal closed his eyes to enjoy them and thought very loudly about the enjoyment of seeing Jono like this. If that enjoyment was maybe slightly darker, more aggressive than usual, he could be forgiven that, couldn't he?

[furnaceface]

Forgiven those thoughts? Hell, Jonothon was clinging to them, drawing more excitement from them, in fact. Aggression didn't worry him, and the inside of his own head was lined with thoughts so dark they still made the ones he was picking up from Hannibal seem chipper by comparison.

They were less predatory, perhaps, but in some situations, Jonothon craved the sensation of being the prey.

[sharp_as_knives]

Whereas Hannibal was a very good predator.

He pressed up close behind Jono, giving him as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, and his hand tightened further as he bit down at the crook of Jono's neck, hard enough to draw blood again. His free hand wrapped around Jono's chest, playing through the flames as he wondered idly how far in he could reach.

[furnaceface]

Clear to shattered bone, if he so chose. Almost everything besides that had been burned away.

It wasn't so much a statement, again, as a vague notion of the fact that it was possible, as Jono's flames flickered harmlessly around Hannibal's fingers, warm and alive and so much more him than even he cared to admit. It was difficult for Jono to not pick up the gist of that idle thought when Hannibal's hand was moving so intimately through the very core of his being.

He was leaning his head to the side, to give Hannibal better access to the crook of his neck where he had bitten, and he was still writhing underneath him, his body practically screaming out for more. He didn't seem bothered by Hannibal's curiosity, not in the least. He could hardly fault a person for wondering, after all.

Hell, even he was half-curious about what would happen if somebody tried who wasn't a murderous, half-mutated pawn of a marrow-sucking mutant cannibal. Only one person had ever actually reached a hand in there, after all, and in Gayle's case it had been something of a special situation. She and Emplate had both had something personal against Jonothon, and the endgame there would have been his death, or worse.

That curiosity, too, was there on the surface for Hannibal to pick at, and if he so chose, the layers of those thoughts could be peeled away to get the whole gist of it. Or not. Jonothon was making his disjointed surface thoughts readily available, at this point, rather than trying to form coherent words with them. What Hannibal did with them from there was completely up to him.

[sharp_as_knives]

Well, he wasn't mutated or a pawn, anyway. Nor particularly desirous of Jono's death.

Hannibal bit down again, leaving overlapping bite marks on Jono's neck. Encouraged by the curiosity, he moved his hand deeper into Jono's chest, flexing his fingers in the flames.

He stroked him harder, adding just a touch of fingernails, and as Jono's other thoughts registered, he sent back focused thoughts of his own. There was remarkably little condemnation there, just a vicious protectiveness; he hardly cared what diet or vengeful plans others conceived of, but they had best not go for his friends.

Especially not now.

[furnaceface]

Hannibal's own focus was a relief, laying out that protectiveness like a blanket for Jono to curl up in, an odd but welcome counterpoint to the sharp sting of his flesh and the hot sticky wetness of blood on his skin. One of Hannibal's hands was dragging him closer to the edge and the other was driving him half mad, and Jonothon would have had difficulty deciding which hand was doing which if asked. Both, in this moment, were doing something fearlessly intimate, exploring him for what he was without reservation.

Flame twisted around Hannibal's hand, danced along his arm, wrapped itself around him, dangerous but pleasantly warm. Inviting. Welcoming. Of course it was. The fire was Jono, was his mind if not his spirit, and it recognized Hannibal as a friend, as something that helped fill that gaping void that was left behind every time a piece of him was torn away.

He appreciated the protectiveness, and he wrapped it around himself and extended a blanket of his own in turn, of trust and appreciation and a fierce sort of protectiveness as well.

He appreciated the lack of condemnation. He'd loved Gayle once, lifetimes ago. He hadn't had it in him to condemn her then. He didn't care to try, now, years after the fact.

He appreciated Hannibal. There were very few people who could take him as he was, scars and all, and not recoil once they saw what was underneath the second skin that he pulled up so that nobody would know what rested at his core.

[sharp_as_knives]

There were just as few who understood or appreciated Hannibal; by necessity he let few in, and even Jono might not care for all of him if he knew. It was a statement of fact, no self-pity behind it; it seldom bothered him.

Now, though, with Will's rejection so close and raw, he found himself enjoying Jono's acceptance, drinking it in greedily, wanting that connection.

[furnaceface]

Jonothon had seen the uglier sides of a lot of people in the past, people who he still held his arms open to now. He had difficulty picturing something that would be so damning for Hannibal, given what some of those things were. But he wasn't going to pry; it was no business of his unless it was something he was trusted with.

Instead, he kept feeding that connection that Hannibal was reaching for so thoroughly, putting a little more thought into strengthening that link between them. It didn't take much, not with Hannibal so thoroughly entwined in his flame, pressed against him, hands on him. It was a matter of unfolding a little more of his mind, turning up the volume a little. He was already inclined to start getting loud right about now, as Hannibal's hand worked him until he was standing on the brink about to topple over the edge. It wasn't quite a picture painted between their minds, but the suggestion was there, a notion of Jonothon standing on a cliff, arms open, inviting Hannibal to push. Maybe even to fall with him, if he so chose. There was something liberating in sharing the free-fall, and he'd be quite happy to act as the buffer against the rocks below.

It promised to be quite the drop. While Jonothon was in free-fall, that was when he forgot to be broken.

[sharp_as_knives]

And Hannibal always had loved to live dangerously. He licked at the wounds he'd made on Jono's neck, grinning ferally and twisting both hands as he sent back fierce enjoyment.

Why fall when you could jump?

[furnaceface]

It was the ferocity of Hannibal's emotions that did it, every bit as much as his mouth, as his hands, as the heat of skin against skin and the slick of hot blood and the bite of his restraints as Jonothon strained against them. His body tensed, arching as best as he possibly could, all things considered. His hands balled into fists, white-knuckled and gripping hard to the legs of the bench.

He couldn't gasp or moan, but between them, in his head, he managed. He couldn't lean forward to kiss Hannibal so hard it hurt, but in his mind as they fell, he was devouring Hannibal right back, grabbing him and pulling him in for a kiss that was so real in his head that they might as well have been face to face, tongues and teeth and lips, two predators instead of one.

He couldn't smile, but before their free-fall ended, in his head, he was pulling back just long enough to flash Hannibal a playful, almost triumphant grin.

He couldn't lick Hannibal's neck, but that was hardly going to stop him from opening up every sensation that was at the fore of his attention, so that Hannibal could experience that free-fall just the same way he was if he so chose.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal fell into those images, those sensations, with intense enjoyment and curiosity, a hunger to experience everything. He grinned back at Jono in reality and his thoughts, breathing in the scents of skin and blood and heat.