SUBLIME, Hannibal Lecter

͙⁺˚*･( 08. just a dinner )

'AM I COMFORTABLE IN SILENCE? OR IS IT EATING ME ALIVE?'

The air in Hannibal's kitchen was thick with overwhelming aromas, a stark contrast to the scent of death and despair that had followed Sloane all day. She leaned against the counter, a wine glass between her fingers, watching him move with grace and precision around the stove. Every gesture was deliberate, almost choreographed. She didn't know that for him, cooking was an extension of his art, a way to express himself.

Not that she was complaining.

Watching Hannibal cook was something spectacular.

"I have to say, I'm surprised," Sloane whispered, breaking the silence.

Hannibal looked up from the cutting board, intrigued. "About what, exactly?"

"That you're cooking something vegan," she replied with a faint smile.

He tilted his head slightly, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "Didn't think I was capable?" he arched an eyebrow, gently challenging her.

"Oh, absolutely not. But Jack won't stop talking about the meals he's shared with you. He describes them as otherworldly experiences. The first time, I thought he was about to have an orgasm while describing the dish he'd eaten," Sloane said, chuckling.

Hannibal held back a laugh, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Still, he's always talked about meat-based dishes. I assumed you didn't cook vegan on principle."

"But that would have been terribly rude of me, don't you think?" he replied, his tone light but loaded with meaning.

Sloane set her glass on the counter and sat on the stool. "And you're never rude, right?" she giggled, unaware of how true that statement was.

Hannibal Lecter didn't like being rude, but even more so, he didn't appreciate rudeness directed at him or those around him.

He gave her an amused look. "Indeed, no. Never."

The aroma of the food grew more intense as he stirred the contents of the pot. Then, without warning, he turned to her, a spoon in hand.

"Taste."

Sloane instinctively reached for the spoon, but Hannibal didn't hand it to her. Instead, he brought it directly to her lips, with a naturalness that completely caught her off guard. She hesitated, feeling her cheeks suddenly warm. The intimacy of the gesture made her uncomfortable, yet she didn't want to push him away.

She forced herself not to pull back and tasted.

The flavor was extraordinary, but her mind was too distracted by the weight of his gaze on her. They were still too close.

The woman leaned back, taking the wine glass again and holding it in front of her face in an attempt to hide the blush on her cheeks. "Really good," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.