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Sinric comes storming in like a thundercloud, the skirts of his tunic stained with mud and his eyes blazing dark gold.

He orders a glass of wine and sits down at the piano, playing a rather passionately thunderous piece that suits his mood.

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Dr. Hannibal Lecter is sitting in a chair by the fireplace and listening raptly to all that passion, merely toying with the glass of cognac in his hands.

Sinric plays hard, pouring all of himself into it. He plays as if nothing exists outside himself and the music. As if fury itself was made of music. He plays till his fingers bruise and his breathing heaves.

Until he can play no more, frustrated tears on his cheeks and his lip bloody with biting.

When he is exhausted, Hannibal appears by his side with another glass of cognac.

Sinric is breathing fast, blinking back more tears. It takes a moment before he notices Hannibal or the glass in his hand. With a grateful nod he takes it, resisting the urge to swallow the cognac in a gulp. Hannibal wouldn't bring him a glass of anything that should be wasted so. He takes a slow sip, wincing as it stings his bitten lip.

Hannibal sits on the piano bench beside him and starts to play Bach, slowly and soothingly.

Sinric makes room for him, resting his head on Hannibal's shoulder as he sips the rest of the cognac.

Once it's gone, he rests his fingers on the keys, turning Hannibal's Bach into a duet. It's an exercise in enforced calm and control.

Hannibal turns his head, briefly, to drop a kiss on the top of Sinric's head, then keeps playing.

Edited 2017-04-21 10:45 (UTC)

Sinric sighs softly and keeps playing, focused as he can be on matching Hannibal's timing. His thigh presses against Hannibal's grateful for the company.

When the piece finishes, Hannibal orders more cognac.

Sinric leans in to rest his head on Hannibal's shoulder once more. He doesn't want to break the spell by speaking, words are still too loading with emotion. He slips his hand gently into Hannibal's, tangling their fingers.

Hannibal says nothing, holding on to Sinric's hand and leaning his cheek against his hair.

He may be remembering a mocking question Jim asks, in a reality slightly off from this one, an appendix of what-if.

He gives a tired sigh and lifts Hannibal's hand to kiss it softly.

That kiss says so much, so much he can't say aloud at the moment. Thank you. I'm sorry. I love you. Please hold me.

Instead he takes the second glass of cognac and sips it slowly. It's strong and heady, and helping.

Hannibal holds him while taking a sip or two of his own cognac, saying nothing, but seeming to understand perfectly.

The second cup gone, the heady liquor starts to make his fingers tingle and his head spin a little. He puts the glass down and stands, tugging gently on Hannibal's hand and nodding towards the stairs.

Hannibal stands, keeping his hand firmly around Sinric's.

Sinric leads him upstairs.

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