A/N: Here we are again, clearly I'm a little obsessed, sorry to all waiting for updates on my other story's they will be along shortly. Also I still own nothing... This is set a shot time after Hannibal gives Popil his statement about Mischa's death.
Blooded Blooms
From a little spark may burst a flame.
Dante Alighieri
"Black Baccara Roses, my aunt had them sent along in light of my recent accomplishments." It surprises him not in the least to find the Inspector standing once more in the middle of his work space.
"Accomplishments?" The voice holds a slight edge and he smiles because he has secured the reaction he'd hoped for.
"In regards to my scholarship." Hannibal explained moving to tidy the room. Popil stood a moment longer in his office, finger tracing the dark whirl of one of the blooded looking blossoms. Hannibal himself had tested it once, had dripped warm blood onto the cut flowers that Lady Murasaki was so fond of. Unless one was aware of it, (or close enough, with an attentive nose), it was impossible to know, the dark liquid invisible on the velvet petals.
Hannibal paused in his work to watch as Pascal leaned in to inhale the soft, yet heady scent, there was a brief look of enjoyment which slipped back into neutrality, Hannibal finally at peace with deciding to leave these buds untouched. The expression pleased him and he had doubts that the crisp tang of blood would draw the same delighted look from the Inspector.
"I came to return this to you." He says abruptly, seeming to remember where he is, moving out onto the main floor with Hannibal.
"S'il vous plait." Hannibal takes care to brush his fingers over the larger ones of Popil as he retrieves his book.
"Was it to your tastes Inspector?" The cover is warm beneath his hands, the Inspector's abandoned heat- lovely.
"I mistakenly took the book with me last time we met; I had no intentions upon reading it." The voice is tight, strained, the other somehow subdued since Hannibal had given his statement about Mischa.
"I didn't enquire as to your intentions Inspector." Brown eyes meet his own and they look ages too old for the body in which they reside.
"I flicked through it once or twice, I think." If he's not very much mistaken there's a blush warming the honey-skinned cheeks.
"The third paragraph on page 36 is one of my favorites." His stomach feels odd, knotted with anticipation maybe? Not an entirely new feeling, yet rare enough. He pulls the book open and brushes aside the paper until he finds the page he wants.
"Upon reflection perhaps it was I who invited it." His eyes flickered between the book and Popil, clearly visible and shifting restlessly over the top of the opened pages.
"The stilled length of stream where we chose to swim felt glacial and yet the day was warm enough, the sun filtering down through the sparse tree line." Anticipation and- something Hannibal couldn't ignore as he caught sight of Popil's tongue darting out to wet dried lips.
"So I did not have to rest so near him, though as an oversight I did, our shoulders brushing as we laid on thinning grass and studied the browning leaves above. It was he who stretched up, arms reaching out lazily above his head, fingers brushing mine as they dropped gracelessly back to the earth. It could have been an accident, I will never know, but moments later they were twisting in mine and surely, that must have been deliberate. It was not so strange though, mapping his body not so different from touching my own. We were very much alike, mistaken as brothers so often, from that moment on though I was glad we were not. I fear this would have made my mother cry harder." Hannibal snapped the cover closed on the more erotic lines of text and finally took in the flushed face at length.
"Was that one of the pages you- flicked over?" He prodded.
"It may have been- I didn't commit much of it to memory." Popil's voice was unsteady.
"Yes, I suppose there are certainly more- memorable exchanges between the two." Hannibal watched intently for the reaction.
"I'll have to take your word for it and since I have returned your book I should now excuse myself. I have work that needs seeing to." Besides his cheeks flushing darker, the Inspector holds himself together well.
"What do you think of them Inspector?" Hannibal asks of the retreating back, not ready for the conversation to draw to a close.
"Of the- friends?" He stops, turning back to Hannibal.
"The lovers…" Curious how his mouth falls open for just a second every now and then, shock Hannibal can assume.
"As I said I've hardly glanced at it." Popil fences.
"Well of the passage I just read you then. Do you think he should have lain further from his- friend?" Hannibal counters.
"I-" Drawing out the syllable, stalling, thinking, deciding.
"I think it is just a book and hardly one worth discussing." He eventually decides on.
"One that I should not keep on my bookshelf- it is so dull."
"It does have underlying subversive aspects, which have little to do with the- topics you wish to discuss." Hannibal delights in the way he keeps shifting further towards the door and yet still remains where he is.
"An impressive insight into a book you have never given much attention to." Popil says nothing to this, moving to instead rake fingers through neat hair.
"And they say ignorance is bliss." A final dig.
"I should-"
"Goodnight Inspector." Only now does the other, with a small little woeful twist of lips move to leave and Hannibal can't help the odd sense of accomplishment that flowers below his stomach.
