Hannibal's house and totally not Jono's, Thursday evening

[sharp_as_knives]

Since they'd returned to their actual home (Hannibal somewhat amused at Jono's embarrassment over calling it that), Hannibal had done quite a bit of cooking, and resting, and working out, and catching up on things, and being sat upon and/or glared at by cats. Jono had been doing much the same, but with less cooking and far more brooding.

Today, he seemed to have spent most of the day in the basement level, working off his mood by alternately focusing furiously on billiards and beating the hell out of the heavy bag. Hannibal was frankly surprised that neither the bag nor a billiard ball had been put through the wall yet.

And while the focus and working off energy were good in theory, neither of them seemed to be helping him much. So, Hannibal would simply have to intervene.

When he came downstairs, he brought a good-sized mug of coffee and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. He did, after all, know his audience.

Comments

[sharp_as_knives]

Always.

Hannibal grinned. "Perhaps we can find something else, then." He rubbed Jono's shoulder. "Or we could start with a massage?"

[furnaceface]

//That could get interesting...//

Considering the burns? It could get very interesting.

Note, of course, that this was not a 'no.'

[sharp_as_knives]

"Could it?" Hannibal grinned. "Let's try it, then."

[furnaceface]

//Look at you, always knowing exactly how to get me to stop pushing myself too bloody hard,// Jono murmured, leaning for a moment more before pulling himself back up to his feet. //Lead on?//