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

[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?"

[furnaceface]

//Might have to take you up on that,// Jono murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head faintly into Hannibal's touch. There it was, there was that thing that had caught his attention right from the start, that understanding that he needed somebody who wasn't afraid to touch him, who could reach out as casually for his face as for his hand. //The sauna's good for starting to wind down, but I never quite get all the way on a good day, really.//

And the whole surprise people-tasting wasn't a signpost for a good day. Sorry, Hannibal.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal suppressed a sigh, but smiled. "A massage it is, then. A massage in the sauna, even, if you like. I haven't been in there yet today." Nor had the cats, who would undoubtedly queue up to join them.

[furnaceface]

Why have a room made of warms if not for cats, right?

//... You know, I don't think anybody else out there has ever managed to make a massage sound even better in so few words.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Possibly to have a room full of warms and not cat hair?

Hannibal chuckled. "I'm very good with words." He finished the last of his meat and followed it up with the bread and marrow. "And with my hands."

[furnaceface]

//These things are both true,// Jono replied, once again very much not paying attention to Hannibal's meal. Really. Much. Okay, there was that whole morbid curiosity thing. Remember that?

He was watching intently, now. It was something about Hannibal's mouth, he was pretty sure. Hard to look away.

//I can attest to both.//

They'd both won him over, in their way.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal was very good with his mouth, too. In many ways. And very good at tempting people and at winning them over.

"Let me clean these dishes, and we can begin," he said. "I have some lovely herbal oils I made for class this week. One is rosemary and pine."

Which made for a wonderful touch to some dishes, but was presumably masculine enough to suit Jono's tastes in massage.

Pun only partially intended.

[furnaceface]

Jono wasn't going to think too hard about Hannibal offering to massage him with an oil that he'd made for cooking class after watching him eat that particular meal. Okay? Okay.

Anyway, the pine would presumably leave him smelling more like a clean floor than a tasty meal. Hopefully. Probably. Anyway.

//Sounds good. Anything I should get in the meantime?//

[sharp_as_knives]

Consider it an exercise in trust, Jono. Or just in Hannibal's perverse sense of humor.

"A towel," Hannibal suggested as he headed for the kitchen. "And either the cats, or something to occupy them elsewhere. I'm not letting them in once my hands are covered in oil."

[furnaceface]

//A towel, and the cats,// Jono echoed. //That, I can do.//

He pushed himself to his feet, then. Not that he was in a hurry to get away from the table. Even if he probably wouldn't be spending much time in the dining room for a while after this. It was just that...

Okay. He was in a bit of a hurry to get away from the table, mostly in favour of heading somewhere and doing something that didn't leave his thoughts all tied up in half-strangled knots. Anything that could get his mind off of this would be great, really.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal took care of the dishes and leftovers, got everything packed away neatly, found the oil and headed upstairs. He took a bit of extra time to get out of his clothes and into a simple robe, not rushing, but not dawdling either, giving Jono a bit of time to settle - but not too much. He enjoyed putting him back together far too much to pass up an opportunity.

[furnaceface]

Really, Jono needed most of that time just to round up the cats. Not that he necessarily enjoyed having them plodding across him in the middle of a massage, either. But it was a tried and true step up from locking them outside the door and then listening to them both yowl to get in for the whole time they were in there.

The towel, at least, was easy enough to manage, and also happened to be all Jono was clad in by the time Hannibal made his way into the room.

It felt a little less like laying himself bare these days than it usually did. Something about already baring his flames took a little bit of the trepidation out of the rest. Funny, that.

At least he looked fairly comfortable, too, sitting down on the wooden bench and watching the cats sprawling out as though they owned the place.

//Which you both more or less do, don't you?//

Cats.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal came in and closed the door behind him, shaking his head at the splayed piles of fur on the seat. "Comfortable?"

[furnaceface]

//Not half as comfortable as they are, I'd wager,// Jono replied with a shrug. //But then, I think I still have far too many bones in my body to be able to reduce myself to a puddle quite the same way those two can.//

[sharp_as_knives]

"Maybe. But I'll do my best," Hannibal promised. He sat by Jono and wrapped an arm around him, kissing his cheek.

[furnaceface]

Just so long as it didn't involve another helping of pot au feu, Hannibal was welcome to make Jono as boneless as he possibly could.

//Holding you to that,// he murmured, turning his head a little to nuzzle against Hannibal's own cheek. //Let's see how good you are with those hands, then, hm?//

He'd been bragging about them a few minutes ago. Jono expected miracles, here.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal smiled. "Shall we start with your head, then?" He opened the oil and got a little on his fingers before setting it aside to massage Jono's temples.

[furnaceface]

//That... would be... yes, please.// Jono's eyes were shut and he was leaning into Hannibal's touch again. //Good place to start, I think.//

Since he had that headache and all. It would be therapeutic and a great distraction.

[sharp_as_knives]

The herbal scents of the oil would be nicely soothing, too, if Jono wanted to try smelling them. And Hannibal knew enough about just where Jono's head hurt most to be very good at this by now.

After a few moments of massage, he murmured, "Can you smell it? You can share again if you like." It was safe now, no need for those walls.

[furnaceface]

Jono's shoulders bunched upwards slightly at that, and his eyebrows lifted a little.

//I can smell it myself, the faintest bit,// he shared. //Sharing is a bit like effort at the moment, though.//

True enough. Using psionic powers with a headache really wasn't Jono's favourite pastime, even without the possibility of aftertaste trauma.