OOM: for Ganymede

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's room in Milliways is quite simple, for his standards.

There is a book case full of well-worn old books, a small fireplace with a comfortable-looking chair, some historical prints of Florence, and a small harpsichord. There's a desk, and a desk chair to go with it. Most furniture is vintage midcentury modern, unobtrusively luxurious and classic. He even has what must be a small kitchen, made up from two towers and an island.

Everything is rich, warm wood and mature colours -- an off-grey, and some accents in oxblood red.

Comments

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede doesn't touch anything when he enters the room; nothing but his feet to the floor, hands carefully kept in his pockets, eyeing the furniture. The kitchen is impeccably neat, ad Ganymede can't help smiling a little at it--it's very much Hannibal's style, and very much his priority.

"It's very you," he says quietly, in that timeless sort of voice, a hint of a smile coming through.

[cook_the_rude]

"It's been my home away from home for a year now," Hannibal says. "Ever since I've become Bound here."

[the_cupbearer]

"You could have asked for one larger," he replies, reaching out a hand and trailing his fingers along the harpsichord's side, feeling the veneer of the wood underneath.

"Oddly, though, I don't see a bed," Ganymede says, turning once more around to see all corners of the room with a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth. "Or do you simply not sleep in one? It strains the imagination to see you hanging from the rafters like a bat," he murmurs.

[cook_the_rude]

"I don't like rooms dominated by beds, unless they're bedrooms," Hannibal says. "So my bed folds out."

[the_cupbearer]

"From where?" he asks.

[cook_the_rude]

"It comes out from what looks like cabinets in the base of the book case," Hannibal explains.

[the_cupbearer]

"Entertaining," he says, with a little smile.

"And so now you have me here, willingly," Ganymede says with an expressive shrug of his shoulders. "What do you intend to do with that?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Offer you a drink," Hannibal says. "Everything else would be rude."

[the_cupbearer]

"And I know how you hate that," he says. "I put myself in your hands--or failing you wanting to go that route, I'll take a Manhattan," Ganymede smiles.

"Assuming you know how to make one."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal turns one of the kitchen towers and opens a cabinet on some well-assorted bottles.

[the_cupbearer]

"If you keep everything as clean as you do your kitchen, then we'll have some very interesting fun."

[cook_the_rude]

"I know how to clean up, or avoid spots," Hannibal smirks. "People can spill their guts to me, but the furniture won't notice."

[the_cupbearer]

"Is that literally or figuratively," he asks delicately.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Hannibal answers, smiling.

[the_cupbearer]

"I trust we'll be keeping the spilling of anything vital to me on the latter level," he says, amused.

[cook_the_rude]

"What's vital, to an immortal?" Hannibal asks.

[the_cupbearer]

"Anything more than about a pint of blood, let's say," Ganymede replies, head tilting as he circles Hannibal slowly. "Surely you wouldn't need much more than that if you aim to keep me useful," he murmurs with a slow smile.

[cook_the_rude]

"A pint of blood can go quite far," Hannibal says. "In ruining a rug, for example."

[the_cupbearer]

"Do you plan on using my pint of blood to ruin anything?" Ganymede asks, silky and gentle-voiced.

[cook_the_rude]

"I had not, right until now," Hannibal says, smiling.

[the_cupbearer]

"And now that I have?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Now that you have, I wish to taste immortality," Hannibal says.

[the_cupbearer]

"There are probably easier ways to do that," he says. "Taste immortality."

He could think of a few offhand.

[cook_the_rude]

"I can't easily think of any recipe involving semen," Hannibal muses. "Blood, on the other hand..."

[the_cupbearer]

"White Russians," he chuckles. "There's a whole cookbook with it, actually," Ganymede says. "You should look it up."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal snorts with laughter. "Oh Ganymede, what a fount of knowledge you are!" he says. "That way, we'll never get down to business, because now I need thate cookbook."

[the_cupbearer]

"Yes, you do," he says, slipping a hand around Hannibal's waist, familiar enough to pull it off. "But you needn't get it right this moment, I assure you you can collect it any time."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal willingly follows.

"I think for the next bit," he ponders, "you will need to be naked."

[the_cupbearer]

"You think?" he asks, amused, and beginning to take off his shirt of dark blue breezy cotton, and bright white trousers. "Your surety could use some work."

It doesn't take him long to disrobe, though, and he ends up very shortly bare save for the bleached snakebone choker and an anklet.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes off his jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves.

"Would you lie on the desk, please?"

[the_cupbearer]

"Face up, or face down?" he asks politely.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal thinks for a moment.

"Face up, please," he decides.

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede obliges him, laying back comfortably across the desk although his legs below the knees dangle down.

"And what now?"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes a scalpel out of his drawer of drawing materials.

"Patience, Ganymede."

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede raises a brow, but lays back to watch Hannibal interestedly, head resting on his bent arms. His chest is slim, but deep enough when he breathes to make him look muscular, capable.

"Am I to be your canvas?" he asks silkily, chin lifting while he licks his lips.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sets his scalpel to Ganymede's nipple, and gives it a twist, sending it into a spiral, then sideways, back and forth.

He peers at it, eyebrow raised. In a thin line of blood, hardly more then a scratch, there's a small snail sitting on Ganymede's chest, with the nipple as the center of its shell, which extends outwards in that spiral through and around the areola.

[the_cupbearer]

His chest twitches, muscles contracting in response to the scalpel's cut; he can feel the sting of his skin being split but when he glances down, though he's careful not to move too much, he barely sees any blood.

"You drew a snail on me," he says, as if asking to confirm that's what the design was supposed to be.

[cook_the_rude]

"Accurately observed," Hannibal says. "They have been on my mind."

[the_cupbearer]

"Might I ask why?" he asks, laying his head back again. "And more importantly, why is it on me?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Snails like to eat in company," Hannibal says. "I think you need another one."

[the_cupbearer]

"Do they?" he asks with the smallest of chuckles. "And how would you know that, my friend?"

[cook_the_rude]

"I raise my own," Hannibal says.

[the_cupbearer]

"Do you? And do you feed them to things you want to eat later as well?" he asks, well familiar with the concept."

[cook_the_rude]

"I prefer oysters for that," Hannibal says. "Oysters, acorns, marsala."

[the_cupbearer]

"How Roman of you," he laughs, turning his head to Hannibal and reaching up to make the man look at him.

"I know another ancient thing you should have."

[cook_the_rude]

"What is that?"

[the_cupbearer]

"You can't guess?" he asks, with a mercurial smile flitting across his mouth. "Honestly?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Tell me," Hannibal says.

[the_cupbearer]

"You're looking at him," Ganymede answers softly, eyes almost half closed as he looks up at Lecter.

[cook_the_rude]

"Define have," Hannibal says, considering he scalpel.

[the_cupbearer]

"Let me put it to you this way: you may drink of me what you like, but I request all eating be solely metaphorical," Ganymede laughs.

[cook_the_rude]

"That puts me in a quandary," Hannibal says.

[the_cupbearer]

"Does it?" he asks. "And what quandary do I put you in by that?"

[cook_the_rude]

"I was going to eat the end result, not drink it," Hannibal says.

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede waits for a second at that, and laughs, letting his head fall back. "By all means, Hannibal, do what you like with the end result."

[cook_the_rude]

Taking up his scalpel again, Hannibal draws an Eye of Horus over Ganymede's other nipple.