Hannibal's house (that Jono clearly thinks is his), Sunday

[sharp_as_knives]

Despite Hannibal's former office well on its way to being converted to a workout room, Jono had gone out running today. Since it generally took him a while, Hannibal had decided it would be the perfect time for a very personal meal.

After his run, Jono had worked out. And then headed for the sauna. Hannibal sent him a bit of amused approval as he plated his lunch, then let him have his time alone - his wrappings hadn't gone back on in over a week now, but he had needed a bit more decompression time after returning home. It was a work in progress.

Meanwhile, he was going to enjoy his pot au feu - marrow bones to one side with some very good salt and toasted baguette slices, tender meat sliced thin with vegetables arranged nicely among the slices, and just a bit of mustard and horseradish swirled in.

Bon(e) appetit was probably too obvious a pun, wasn't it? Never mind, then.



[OOC: WARNING - CANNIBALISM. Contents of Hannibal's meal (and thus the discussion about it) very much NFB.]

Comments

[sharp_as_knives]

"It's a good feeling, I imagine." Hannibal reached for Jono's hand just for a moment. "Being yourself out in the open. Is it helping?"

[furnaceface]

Jono blinked, and then reached his hand back to take Hannibal's. Whatever he was processing right then, there was still that. The fearless hand reaching for his own. That was something he couldn't bring himself to turn away.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. Tried to gather his thoughts.

//I... think so. Perhaps? It'll be easier to tell when I'm not so bloody wound up about it all the time. Another week or two. See how some of the island's newer people handle it, possibly.//

[sharp_as_knives]

"We could have a party if you like," Hannibal said. It was, after all, his birthday soon. Which he would not be spending at a bowling alley, thank you. "Have them over here; give you the home advantage."

[furnaceface]

//A place where I can still retreat to my own space if need be,// Jono noted, cracking open one eye to look at... Hannibal, and very much not at the bowl in front of him. //I'll need to think that one over, perhaps. But I suppose it'll happen sooner or later anyway...//

He squeezed Hannibal's hand a little more tightly, and then shut his eyes again. Right, then. Probably best to not just sit here and stew over it for long.

//So, ah, what's on the menu today?//

Probably not veal, huh?

[sharp_as_knives]

Stew over it? Hannibal would be so proud of that thought about his stew!

"Pot au feu," Hannibal repeated. "But that isn't what you're asking, is it?" He took another bite, savoring it carefully. "How much would you like to know?"

[furnaceface]

You weren't the only one who could make terrible food puns, Lecter.

//I think the fact that you're even asking that question says volumes,// Jono noted, thinking to himself, not for the first time, that it was probably fortunate that he couldn't be ill. //Who, then?//

There had gone his appetite for the foreseeable future.

[sharp_as_knives]

But it had been delicious, hadn't it? Surely Jono might want to share a bit more.

"A teacher, as it happens," Hannibal answered. "Middle school. With a taste of his own, for young girls."

Another bite. Really, the man's taste was much improved now.

[furnaceface]

Jono gave a slow nod at that. Didn't dare let go of Hannibal's hand. Couldn't quite bring himself to open his eyes again, either.

//Sounds utterly repugnant,// he muttered. //I would've been fooled, going by the taste of him.//

So.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at that. "I hadn't realized you were sharing. I've tried to avoid blindsiding you like that." He smiled. "But yes. He's much improved, I think."

[furnaceface]

Jono did open his eyes at that, but mostly managed to just stare down at their clasped hands. He was processing, now, ticking through feelings like a damaged clock that needed so much more than a simple winding.

//I should've asked,// he said, simply. It was true enough. How he felt about what the meal was seemed irrelevant, considering he'd all but given Hannibal his blessing to continue doing what he did, so long as the victims were the unquestionably guilty sort. //Smelled it from the other room, didn't think twice about it. Until I did, that is.//

No matter what he felt about the meal, he was the telepath who hadn't knocked first or asked permission before hitching a free ride. That was just basic manners. He could hardly complain if what he'd sampled while he was making himself at home in Hannibal's senses was something he was morally opposed to. Which mostly just meant that he was trying to ignore the cold chill down his spine, instead.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal smiled. "I've told you before, you never need to ask before sharing my senses. I won't have you feeling guilty for taking advantage of the invitation." Whether he felt guilty about the rest was up to him, although Hannibal would argue that was equally silly.

And he couldn't resist asking curiously, "What did you think of it?"

[furnaceface]

Jono managed to not give Hannibal a stinkeye for that question mostly because he knew that it came from a completely genuine place. Hannibal wouldn't be asking if he didn't want to know. Probably.

So he shrugged.

//Well-prepared. Tender, full of flavour,// he offered, trying not to let his psionic voice sound as flat as he felt. //I enjoyed it until I thought too hard about it, actually. As with everything else you cook, it's a work of art.//

The 'but I have issues with the fact that it is people' part, he was certain Hannibal could piece together for himself.

[sharp_as_knives]

"Thank you." Hannibal stroked his thumb over Jono's hand. "For the compliment, and for being honest." He took another bite of the stew, then offered, "Would you like me to tell you more about it, or leave it there?"

[furnaceface]

Jonothon had been, for as far back as he could remember, the victim of a morbid sense of curiosity. He sat there in silence for a few seconds, mostly just to reason with himself that there was no way in hell he could say yes to that offer without loathing himself a little more for it later on.

//Haven't got the stomach for it just yet,// he replied, because dammit, Hannibal, you weren't the only one who could make terrible puns with double-meanings. //That bit, I think, is a work in progress.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal smirked at the pun. "As you will. Perhaps by the time you have a stomach, you'll have the stomach for it." He rubbed Jono's hand then let go of it to fix himself a piece of toast.

[furnaceface]

//Perhaps,// Jono echoed, watching Hannibal do his thing while silently pondering if he ever would just take this part of him at face value, too. //I think I still have a lot to wrap my head around, so far as that goes.//

What with all of the times he'd nearly been cannibalized himself, for starters.

//Open invitation or not, I'll probably start asking what's on your plate before sampling again, at least for a while. This is something I'm not quite ready for yet.//

Yet? Yet was maybe a touch optimistic, really.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal would take that as a promising Freudian slip. "Ask as often as you like. I will always be honest with you. And I'll try to keep it off my plate when I'm certain you'll be sharing." Relationships were about compromise, he supposed.

And then, because he was trying to lighten the mood a little shit, "Not on the menu for the wedding, then?"

[furnaceface]

//If you put people on the menu for the wedding, Hannibal, I swear to god I'll have somebody move the reception to the bowling alley.//

Who needed threats of divorce? Jono understood Hannibal's sensibilities well enough.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal laughed. "Touché; no people. In any event, I would have to teach Eliot how to cook it, and I doubt that would go over well."

[furnaceface]

//Probably a cooking lesson you'll want to save for a different occasion,// Jono agreed, relaxing slightly. It was no wonder the X-Men were so good at banter. It was good for sucking the stress out of things that would break a person's mind if they let themselves dwell on them too hard. //For the time being, at least when talking to people like Eliot, it'd be a better idea to stick to meats that never had a name.//

Please.

[sharp_as_knives]

"Cows often have names," Hannibal pointed out. "And pigs."

[furnaceface]

//You know what I mean,// Jono replied, wrinkling his nose. //Nobody puts an obituary for a cow into the paper, either.//

[sharp_as_knives]

"I imagine I could find one somewhere," Hannibal said. He smiled. "But yes, I do know what you mean."

And he'd refrain from telling Jono this particular pig's name, unless he asked.

[furnaceface]

Jono probably wasn't going to ask. Unless this was brought to attention again, or he saw a name in the paper and that morbid curiosity got the better of him, or all of this came back around to bite them in the asses. He wasn't going to ask.

He was going to sit there, though, looking down at the entirely innocuous-looking stew, and once again ask himself just how bloody damaged he had to be, to find this an offense forgivable enough that this was still where he wanted to be. Or maybe it really was just him. Lord knew he spent enough time in places where nobody would really think much of it, where Hannibal's actions actually were a punishment suited to the crime.

//Good.// His shoulders sagged then, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead in his hand, elbow on the table. Poor manners, perhaps, but he just needed to slump for a moment all the same. //I think where I stand on this is still a work in progress. My head hurts.//

But that could just be how hard he'd slammed up his old psionic walls, to make certain he couldn't feel Hannibal's enjoyment of the dish, or wouldn't accidentally pick up some more of the taste of his dinner. He was still trying to scrub his brain free of the last sampling.

[sharp_as_knives]

It would be a lie to say Hannibal wasn't slightly disappointed; he still hoped for the day that Jono would happily join him in all his meals. Then again, Will had seemed to do that, and it had been a lie; Hannibal much preferred honest distaste.

He stroked Jono's hair for a moment in between bites. "Would you like a massage after lunch?"