7 ways to cook a human: part 2

[mayalaen]

Fandom: Hannibal
Pairing: can be read as genfic, pre-Hannigram, or Hannigram
Theme: 7 ways to cook a human in 5+1 6+1 style

7 Ways to Cook a Human
2. Blanching (partially cooked and immediately submerged in ice cold water to stop the cooking process)

Hannibal’s pupils were blown, and it was the most satisfying thing Will had ever seen.  Sitting at the head of his own dinner table, Jack having excused himself to use the restroom, Hannibal looked like a king on his throne.  And as Will ran the dull edge of the knife over his own neck, looking Hannibal in the eye, he held his breath, listening to the sweet sound of Hannibal trying desperately to control his own breathing.

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He pushed harder, leaving behind first a white, then a red line.  He wasn’t cutting his skin, but toying with the illusion of it all.  Teasing.  Dousing Hannibal when all the man had been ready for was a nice dinner for the three of them.

Will dragged the knife tip down over his shirt collar and down over the seam of his button down.  Hannibal’s eyes were glued to the action, right hand frozen over his own knife.  He’d been ready to carve the meat for their guest when Jack had excused himself, but Will doubted Hannibal remembered that anymore.

Hannibal’s tongue poked out just a bit and ran over his lower lip.  Just a peek of pink before Hannibal caught himself and cleared his throat.

But Will was just getting started.  Never once breaking eye contact, even though it was difficult, he flicked the sharp blade under the first button on his shirt, catching it just right and sending the button sailing across the room.

Hannibal swallowed audibly, eyes darting up to look Will in the eye before dropping back down to the knife as if mesmerized by it.  Enchanted.

Will licked his own lips before slipping the knife under his shirt, out of Hannibal’s sight, and hissed in a quick breath as the cold metal touched his bare skin.

Hannibal’s right hand came to rest on the knife he’d been ready to use on the meat, and his fingers caressed it.  Itching to use it on Will.  Craving the physical sensation to go along with the visual feast for his eyes.  The show Will was putting on just for him.

Will pulled the knife out again, but this time he raised it to his lips, sticking his tongue out and touching the tip of the razor-sharp knife to his tongue.

Hannibal’s top lip twitched ever so slightly and he moved forward in his seat a fraction of an inch.  Wishing he was closer.  Wanting to touch.  Begging for more even though he’d never do so out loud.

No one else would’ve noticed anything was wrong with the man.  Almost everything about him was subtle unless one was attuned to his every move.  His every breath.  His every tilt of the head.

Will dragged the dull edge of the blade over the tip of his tongue before flicking it over his bottom lip.

Hannibal’s fingers twitched over the knife.

As Will ran the blade over his chin and back down to his neck, Hannibal took hold of his own knife’s hilt, his knuckles turning white immediately.  Just a flick of the wrist and Will nicked his own neck, blood welling even as Hannibal’s breath caught in his chest.

He looked up at Will, mouth opening a little.

“It smells delicious,” Jack said, his commanding voice smashing apart all the tension in the room and drenching Hannibal in the ice cold water of the here and now.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Hannibal said, recovering nicely as Jack took a seat.

Will set his knife down on the table as Hannibal began carving the meat of a young man they’d met a few weeks earlier.  He’d been rude one too many times and paid for his social blunder by becoming a lovely roast.

“Will, you have a little something,” Jack said, gesturing to his own neck, brow furrowed with concern.  “Looks like blood.”

“Oh,” Will said, feigning surprise.  “Excuse me.  I cut myself shaving earlier, and it must’ve started bleeding again.  I’ll be back in a moment.”

He left both men in the dining room, one completely oblivious to the other’s distress at having been dumped into a figurative bucket of ice and left too cool off way too soon when all he’d wanted to do was play.