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 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.