Hannibal's house (not that Jono cares), Saturday evening

[sharp_as_knives]

These weeks on the island did not, for the most part, affect Hannibal the same as everybody else; sex was an enjoyable pastime, but one he could largely forego in the face of other...enjoyments. Which didn't mean he hadn't been somewhat restless and wanting this week. He'd sharpened his knives, filled his pantry, and been very artistic in doing so. But even with a multiverse of rude people to choose from, it seemed wasteful to do too much of that.


[OOC: For the one mentioned, specifics NFB. Warnings for blood, sex, and...just...general Jono and Hannibalness.]

Comments

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal drank in the sight of Jono's flames and the light they cast around the room. "That depends on why you've called me up here." His hands were itching for a paintbrush. Or a scalpel again.

[furnaceface]

There did happen to be one of each of those in among the assortment that Jono had set off to the side, incidentally. Though his other preparations suggested he was probably anticipating the scalpel seeing more use than the paintbrush.

//Wanted your opinion on something,// Jono murmured, nodding for him to take a seat next to him. //Artistic input, that sort of thing.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal strolled over, but pulled a chair from the edge of the room as he moved, sitting on it instead of the floor next to Jono, a faint smirk on his lips. "Oh?"

[furnaceface]

Really, Jono supposed he should have seen that coming. But he wasn't going to let it throw him. Hell, it was encouraging, in its own way. Hannibal was excellent at keeping Jonothon on his toes, after all.

He nodded, and his fire sparked up around him, turning and twisting and throwing off little glowing embers that twinkled and danced in the air, fading away before ever hitting the floor.

//Red,// he said, the orange of his flames deepening until they were nearly crimson tipped with brilliant yellow, //or blue?//

And at that, they shifted again, to an almost icy blue as they continued to twist and wend their way around the room, the sparks giving way to little tendrils of white flame that seemed to leap out as if looking to make an escape, only to crackle away into the darkness like tiny bolts of lightning.

//Bit of a dilemma I've been having.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal watched both colors equally hungrily, proud at Jono's control but not yet quite ready to let go of his annoyance. "What were you intending to use them for?" he asked.

[furnaceface]

//I had been thinking perhaps a private light show,// Jono replied, casting a look in Hannibal's direction as the fire doubled back, creeping across the floor, and then twining its way up Hannibal's leg, shifting about until it was snaking around him like some colour-changing serpent swimming through the air. //I don't do things like this near often enough. But I'm open to suggestions, as well.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal smiled, the expression one that had terrified many. As apologies went, this was quite satisfactory. He reached down into the flames, offering an arm in lieu of his leg. "For now, I should very much like to see red." And not all in fire.

[furnaceface]

Jono had learned a long time ago not to be afraid of that smile. Whatever it meant, however predatory it was, it was exactly the smile he had been hoping to see. The fire made its way up and over Hannibal's arm, twining between his fingers, creeping around his shoulders, shifting from the blue back to the red again, filling the air around Hannibal with more little glowing sparks.

//I was hoping you'd want more red,// Jonothon purred, the flames carrying his own want on an open channel for Hannibal to pick up on if he so chose. //I'm rather fond of it, myself.//

[sharp_as_knives]

"All you have to do is ask," Hannibal answered, still smiling. "Very, very nicely." He slid forward out of the chair, bracketing Jono with his arms. "If you think you can do that."

[furnaceface]

Oh, this was good. Jono half-closed his eyes, leaning into those arms as his flames wound up around them both. As he did so, he opened himself to Hannibal psionically, letting every ounce of his desire sit there between them for Hannibal to pick up from the fire.

//I think,// he murmured, //I would like very much,// and now there was a whisper of sensation riding those flames, like a telepathic suggestion of kisses, making their way along Hannibal's jaw, //if you were to assist me in finding all the red you might like to see.//

And then, for just a second, just long enough to mouth the word 'please,' a psionic suggestion of a whole Jonothon, looking at Hannibal hungrily before the illusion was dropped again and everything returned to fire.

[sharp_as_knives]

"Lovely," Hannibal admitted. "But not the sort of asking," begging "I had in mind." Leaning down, he bit Jono's ear nearly hard enough to draw blood, then scraped his teeth across his cheek and bit down again, this time where skin met flame, his tongue flicking out over the inside of Jono's skin.

[furnaceface]

Now there was a new sensation for Jonothon. A good amount of his body was numb, cold, thanks to the damage that had been done to it when he'd blown half of himself straight to hell, but there were always those moments when he felt something - felt something! - after going so long with no sensation at all. And what he was feeling now, teeth on his cheek, a tongue teasing the inside of his upper jaw, was almost too much to process, regardless of the damage to his nerves.

There was intent for him to drink in. There was Hannibal's hunger, there was every little suggestion that his psionic senses could pick up. And what he was feeling, he wanted.

Jono writhed in Hannibal's arms at that bite, projected a knot of lust and appreciation and a flicker of morbid fascination at what Hannibal had just done. Behind the fire was a no-man's land for most, even Jono himself spent as little time as was possible with his hands behind that flame-obscured void where his face had once been.

//Oh, god,// he said, voice an impressive approximation to a desperate gasp. //That. That. Please, please, touch me, please, take me. I'm yours, Hannibal. Inside and out, I'm yours.//

Hannibal always managed to make being touched seem new again. Jono couldn't deny, now, that he was desperate for that again.

[sharp_as_knives]

Mine. Just a thought rather than said out loud, but fierce and feral and clear. Hannibal bit down again, biting and sucking and licking at the raw edge of Jono's skin. His hands moved, too, one to skim through the faint resistance of Jono's flames, pushing and pulling at them, and the other to dig into his side, nails scoring lines over Jono's hip.

[furnaceface]

Jono sent back a wave of agreement when he heard that thought, of confirmation, twisting through his flames on the link that had settled between them. He tilted his head, giving Hannibal easier access to any part of him he might want, while his hips writhed a little under those fingernails.

His own hands were still free, which meant he was going to use them, fingers reaching up to grab a handful of Hannibal's hair, very much encouraging him to keep on doing what he was doing with his mouth. If Jonothon ended the night with some interesting teeth-marks on his face, all the better. Not many people would notice if he wrapped his bandages just a tiny bit higher between here and wherever the trip was this spring break.

Of course, that thought was the farthest from his mind right then. Then, the thought that came most immediately to mind was, more.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal pulled back enough to meet Jono's eyes, his expression still fierce. "How much more?"

He still wanted red.

[furnaceface]

Jono's own gaze flicked up to meet Hannibal's, and he held it for a moment, want so clear in his expression that he couldn't have looked hungrier if he'd been able to lick his lips at the thought.

//How much do you want to take?//

Jono wasn't afraid of you, Hannibal. That ferocity was very much what he'd been hoping for, tonight.

[sharp_as_knives]

Jono wasn't the only one that relished the chance to be himself without being feared. Hannibal enjoyed the fear, too, but having someone strong enough and deadly enough not to fear him - that was an experience.

"Enough to paint the room to match your fire." Hannibal's voice was a near-growl as he pictured what he wanted: a play of firelight over liquid, red on red, Jono in the middle of it, splayed out just for him.

[furnaceface]

Jonothon shuddered, knotted his fingers in Hannibal's hair a little more tightly, and then leaned in to nuzzle his face into the crook of Hannibal's neck. God, the man knew how to get a reaction out of him, didn't he? And Jono, who craved sensation and touch and who soaked in pain and pleasure in equal measures, couldn't say the image didn't appeal to him.

//A masterpiece,// he murmured. He didn't need a head to survive, what was a little blood? And it would lead to the satisfaction they were both craving. //Show me. Please, take all the red you need.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal glanced to the side where he could see the assortment of knives set out and chose a small, curved paring knife. He trailed it lightly over the skin just under Jono's shirt and smirked. "Did you intend to go clothes-shopping after tonight?"

[furnaceface]

Jono raised a challenging eyebrow to match Hannibal's smirk.

//I do own more than this one outfit, you know.//

Unless Hannibal was holding the BDSM hostage in exchange for another shopping trip. In which case, Jono probably wouldn't take much persuading.

[sharp_as_knives]

"Fewer button-ups, though," Hannibal answered. "Especially in red." He raised an eyebrow. "You can remove it, or I can." He tugged at one of the buttons with the knife.

[furnaceface]

Really, the answer here was practically a no-brainer, wasn't it? Jono's raised eyebrow was now paired with a smirk, settling in around the corners of his eyes.

//Please, don't let me stop you.//

Red button-ups were rare in his closet, perhaps, but overall fairly easy to replace.

[sharp_as_knives]

And Hannibal never minded clothes shopping. Or taking Jono to do it. The knife hooked under the edge of the shirt, slicing through the threads that held each button on. Then again under the edge of one cuff, pulling Jono's hand up. Hannibal's free hand curved around it, lacing their fingers and holding it steady as he cut through the fabric, slicing the sleeve in two.

[furnaceface]

Hannibal was definitely a master of building anticipation, wasn't he? Jono watched the knife at work hungrily, the flames twisting around them carrying along his appreciation of the deftness with which Hannibal used it. If the shirt was hanging in shreds around him before long, all the better.

It was like a promise. Jonothon squeezed Hannibal's hand a little, silently voicing his approval.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal kissed Jono's hand and let it go in favor of the other, treating it the same way. The shirt fell away, leaving pale bare skin to frame the flames in contrast. He pushed Jono back to lie on the blankets, enjoying the sight and the anticipation for a moment. The knife wouldn't cut easily through denim, but it would, in Hannibal's hands, flick the button free of its hole and pull the zipper slowly down.