#m verse

[tyquu]

My stupid super son

[masonverger-rising]

He is methodical. One by one he sets his tools out along the bench, swaying as he walks in time with the bobbing of the houseboat. It’s a wreck, hollowed out pretty much save for the workbench and the chair bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. Once his job is done, he’ll torch the whole thing, tidy up nice and neat so none of this gets back to the boss.

All he’s waiting on is his latest project, due to be delivered in ... he checks his watch as he takes it off his wrist ... five minutes.

Crick-crack his neck goes, his back. He tucks his watch into his jacket pocket and lays it aside, out of the way. He cracks his knuckles and flexes his wrists and looks up at the sound of voices on the dock.

Right on time.

“Put him in the chair,” he tells them as they drag the man in, “You know where to go for the money.” And if they’re smart they’ll go right off and collect and then get the hell out. There’s no room for curiosity here, and there’s no room for wagging tongues. He makes sure that the restraints are fastened securely and ducks down to look at his guest’s face for a moment.

He takes smelling salts out of his pocket and holds them under the man’s nose.

“Good evening, Mister Lecter,” his voice is smooth, European but so carefully neutral that it’s almost impossible to place him by specific nation, “The pleasure is all mine.”

@ifyouaskmeto 

[masonverger-rising]

ifyouaskmeto:

He’s already walking towards the scene, nostrils flaring as they take in the metallic scent of blood.

One of the officers peels away from the blood bath, eyes lighting when he recognises Hannibal.

“Just the man,” he says in French. “We’ve got a couple left alive.”

Hannibal gazes past the officer, and then back at Mason.

For a fraction of a second Mason’s tempted to blow the cops off, shrug at the bodies lying in the street and say not today, man, it’s date night. Swan off knowing that there’s someone suffering because he didn’t feel like lifting a finger.

But. He knows Hannibal likes to get his hands on something bloody and pulsing, and there’s not often an opportunity to do so with such an appreciative audience.

“Anything we can do to help,” Mason says, eyes wide behind his glasses. He reaches over to touch the small of Hannibal’s back.

[masonverger-rising]

[sleep meme] Hannibal clasps Mason's foot gently, kneading the arch with his thumb. After a thoughtful moment, he shifts his grip so he's holding Mason by the ankle, weighing him.

My muse is asleep. Go into my ask box and wake them up however you'd like.

The light from the window gilds the backs of his eyelids. Mason takes a deep breath and sighs, he curls his hands against the bed covers and stretches his toes. “Feels good,” he mumbles, still hoarse with sleep. He pries an eye open and looks at Hannibal standing at the end of the bed, and smiles.

“What’s happening?” He can’t recall anything that he has to do this morning. Mason stretches and pushes the covers off, feeling a little too warm.

[masonverger-rising]

There are a few moments of quiet aside from the purr of the engine. Mason has been looking out the window at the countryside passing by, the late afternoon sun makes it all warm and golden. He stretches in his seat and turns back to look at Hannibal driving. This is the moment when he would usually reach over to feel his husband’s thigh, but today they aren’t alone, so instead Mason twists around to speak over his shoulder.

“Not far now.” He says. He doesn’t know exactly how far it is, but he doesn’t feel like he could stand waiting much longer.

Hannibal had spotted the man first, they’d been in an open market and before the raised voices Hannibal had been staring at one of his favourite storekeepers struggling to keep his cool while being berated by a customer. They both recognised him in a moment -- as they’d pulled into the field that was used as a parking lot for the market, this asshole had nearly sideswiped their Bentley to get to one of the dozen free spaces.

It was little more than an exchanged glance and they knew what their plans for the day would be -- Mason slipped back to the car park and made sure that the man’s vehicle would be useless, while Hannibal had gone to comfort the stall holder, and pick up a few things.

And of course, when the car had failed to start they had very helpfully offered the irate man a ride.

“This isn’t the right direction.” The man huffs. “I was better off stranded back in that fucking field--”

“Without phone reception?” Mason smiles.

[masonverger-rising]

♣

Send ♣ for a drunk message

text: lettme take u  out text: andtext: fo dow nto the pl acetext: kis

[masonverger-rising]

“movies are made for watching, not for asking questions.” moar meemz

Mason makes a strangled noise and drapes himself over Hannibal’s lap, his limbs splayed out. “It doesn’t make sense!” He stretches and squirms. “You aren’t even enjoying this, you’re just making fun of me.”

[masonverger-rising]

"Not good enough. Try again."

Mason freezes, his mouth still hanging open. He blinks and starts over again. “I stopped to see Claude on the way home -- we got distracted, but--” Mason checks his watch, it’s barely past seven. “I ... I’m not late!” He’s feeling defensive thought he’s not sure exactly what he’s done. A sinking feeling: has he forgotten something? This feels very much like he’s forgotten something important.