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Will padded into the kitchen, his damp curls clinging to his forehead. Hannibal was right where he had left him, deftly slicing and twisting thin sheets of meat into floral designs.
Will walked over to Hannibal, lifting a waiting glass of red wine from the counter as he passed. “I don’t understand how you can cook right after a hunt.” He groused as he leaned back against the cabinetry. “I still smell like death and I showered twice.”
“And that is precisely why I suggested waiting until your suit arrived.” Hannibal replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement.
Will snorted and sipped his wine. “It’s going to take worse than this to get me to wear one of those ridiculous things. I’ll adapt.”
There was a beat of bemused silence as Hannibal curled another edible flower and placed it among the others on the slate. “I do believe you are letting your memories cloud your senses, Will. Close your eyes and tell me what you perceive.”
Will’s eyebrows raised. “Why Doctor Lecter - are you asking me to smell you?” Will grinned over the rim of his glass, his smile pulling at the scar along his cheek.
“Rude.” Hannibal tsked, still focused on his task.
“Pretentious.” Will retorted. But he pushed himself from the counter and leant forward, eyes fluttering closed. A small frown creased his brow as he took a deep inhale. “It smells… pink. Like bloody salt. Homey and dangerous.”
Hannibal smiled then, a fond, toothy grin as he looked up from his artistry to meet Will’s half-lidded gaze. “And do you not see how the acidity of the lime compliments such an aroma?”
Will let out a bark of laughter and reached over to pluck a delicate blossom from the slate. “I suppose I do, Doctor Lecter. I suppose I do.”