days of the week
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Hannibal chews his own bite, more blueberry than actual pancake on the end of his fork. He swallows before he speaks. “You say that like it’s not a gift to me,” his voice is very quiet but he keeps his eyes so soft that the words feel even more silent. “Be a good boy and finish your breakfast.”
Will is pink still, painted high and low when Hannibal adds in a second later, just under his breath, “don’t make daddy ask again.”
Series
- Part 1 of days of the week
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"Camping?" Will asks, eyes wide.
"Camping," Hannibal answers and stacks a box atop another.
"I—" Will starts and the words just won't come at all. Hannibal raises a brow but goes back to his work, opening the truck at the bay. The sound of the metal makes the younger stumble over the start of his very next words. "Yeah, you know what? I'm not even going to ask," and finally his thoughts catch up to his movements. "Wait," he steps closer to the back of the truck, looking in, "do you even know how to camp?"
Series
- Part 2 of days of the week
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"I think it's the new sheets," the younger comments and steps into the kitchen, stopping just at the island, fingers touching the rounded corner. The satin robe hangs from the corners of his elbows. It's so fucking endearing. "They eat me. I can never get out."
There's a glint of mirth in the older's eyes, even more so in his words. "Do they now? I know something else that would like to eat you."
"Something or someone?" Will answers, watching as a spiral of chocolate falls from the edge of the spoon and back into the pot.
The older smiles, lifts a shoulder in invitation. "Both. Come here. Do you know what today is?"
Series
- Part 3 of days of the week