Helicarrier Gift Exchange
Fic for canadian_kazz for the gift exchange at avland.
Title: Hot Dog
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: G. Yeah, that happened.
Summary: Will eats bad food. Winston helps.
Will deposited himself in the living room chair, grease-stained paper bag in hand. The dogs fathered around in interest as he produced the wax paper parcel. Two foot long hotdogs dropped in a fryer until they reached a temperature roughly equivalent to the surface of the sun, served on a sub roll with chili, cheese, and mustard.
The dogs sat quietly around him. Winston rested his head on the arm of the chair as Will peeled away the wax paper at took a bite, molten cheese, a little heat from the chili, the tang of yellow mustard. Near his elbow, Winston panted, pink tongue flopping past his lips. Will licked the grease from his fingers.
The careful attention Hannibal gave to his cooking, the selection of fresh ingredients, the meticulous preparation, clean knife-cuts and never over-cooked, was a welcome change of pace. But every now and then, Will preferred to entertain his vices. Growing up poor had left Will with a near super-human tolerance for food that was fast and cheap, and prepared on a grill seasoned with more than its fair share of animal byproducts. The sad truth was Will enjoyed putting terrible things in his body, if only to prove there were things in the world more toxic than he already was.
The food settled into the pit of his stomach like a bowling ball. Einstien, Steiner, for short, the shih tzu mix who was blind in one eye drooled on the toe of Will’s boot and thumped his matted tail on the floor. Will’s eyelids grew heavy as he chewed and swallowed, more slowly. Shadows grew at the corners of his vision, and then the world grew bright again, more vibrant.
An elk, with a mane of glossy black feathers pawed at the ground with cloven hooves. Abigail was there, lingering on the stairs, peering through the railings. She was wearing a flannel nightdress. She was smiling.
“You know you shouldn’t sleep in your chair,” she reminded him, moving around him. “It’s bad for your back.”
Will nodded, lazily. She reached out and took his hand and shook it.
Will opened one eye in time to see Winston gingerly pulling one of the hotdogs from between the two halves of sub roll.
“Ah,” Will sat up straight. Winston dropped the hotdog on the floor, licked his lips, and dropped his tail between his legs.
“That’s bad for you,” Will said, shooing the other dogs away. He looked to the sandwich still in one hand, with its nibbled-on end.
Winston eyeballed him sagely out from under dark lashes and let out a quiet woof.
Will lifted his eyebrows. “I’m still eating that.”
Title: Hot Dog
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: G. Yeah, that happened.
Summary: Will eats bad food. Winston helps.
Will deposited himself in the living room chair, grease-stained paper bag in hand. The dogs fathered around in interest as he produced the wax paper parcel. Two foot long hotdogs dropped in a fryer until they reached a temperature roughly equivalent to the surface of the sun, served on a sub roll with chili, cheese, and mustard.
The dogs sat quietly around him. Winston rested his head on the arm of the chair as Will peeled away the wax paper at took a bite, molten cheese, a little heat from the chili, the tang of yellow mustard. Near his elbow, Winston panted, pink tongue flopping past his lips. Will licked the grease from his fingers.
The careful attention Hannibal gave to his cooking, the selection of fresh ingredients, the meticulous preparation, clean knife-cuts and never over-cooked, was a welcome change of pace. But every now and then, Will preferred to entertain his vices. Growing up poor had left Will with a near super-human tolerance for food that was fast and cheap, and prepared on a grill seasoned with more than its fair share of animal byproducts. The sad truth was Will enjoyed putting terrible things in his body, if only to prove there were things in the world more toxic than he already was.
The food settled into the pit of his stomach like a bowling ball. Einstien, Steiner, for short, the shih tzu mix who was blind in one eye drooled on the toe of Will’s boot and thumped his matted tail on the floor. Will’s eyelids grew heavy as he chewed and swallowed, more slowly. Shadows grew at the corners of his vision, and then the world grew bright again, more vibrant.
An elk, with a mane of glossy black feathers pawed at the ground with cloven hooves. Abigail was there, lingering on the stairs, peering through the railings. She was wearing a flannel nightdress. She was smiling.
“You know you shouldn’t sleep in your chair,” she reminded him, moving around him. “It’s bad for your back.”
Will nodded, lazily. She reached out and took his hand and shook it.
Will opened one eye in time to see Winston gingerly pulling one of the hotdogs from between the two halves of sub roll.
“Ah,” Will sat up straight. Winston dropped the hotdog on the floor, licked his lips, and dropped his tail between his legs.
“That’s bad for you,” Will said, shooing the other dogs away. He looked to the sandwich still in one hand, with its nibbled-on end.
Winston eyeballed him sagely out from under dark lashes and let out a quiet woof.
Will lifted his eyebrows. “I’m still eating that.”