Monster [malexmale]

Chapter Twelve

Granted, he let me hold his hand now and touch his shoulder to get his attention or something, but hugging? That might be taking it to a whole new level that he might not be ready for yet.

He spooned the food out onto separate plates and handed one to me. I nodded my thanks and took a bite, unable to resist a moan of pleasure. The variety of flavors assaulted my mouth like a party on Mardi Gras. I took my time eating, savoring each deliciously detailed bite.

Oh yeah, Hannibal should've been the Titan of food, because I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life-- and I ate a lot of weird stuff traveling with my mom.

"What did you do while your mother worked?" Hannibal asked, making me blink and look up at him, mildly surprised. I hadn't expected him to keep talking, but I answered nonetheless.

"Usually stupid kid things. I took a shot at shoplifting and my mom beat the crap out of me for it, so never tried that again. I eventually found one of those old broken piano toys that people buy their babies. You know, all bright and rainbow-y and gay as hell. But it worked and I would practice on that for a while. Never had a real piano up until I came here."

"Did you have siblings?"

"No," I admitted with a shrug, "My mother was very careful not to get pregnant. Well, most of the time. I was an accident. She really liked the guy, but when he found out she was pregnant, he took off and left her. Thankfully, my mom had a friend who took care of me while went off to work. I think her name was like Estelle or something. She made sure to keep me out of trouble and take care of me until I turned ten. We had to move because my mother's boss found out she had a kid, so they kicked her out."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I said, "My mom got jobs at brothels easily because of her species. I tried to help her, but she would always tell me that the last thing she wanted for me was to be like her. So she would take me around town to do little jobs, like cleaning up shops for pocket change or pet-sitting. Things like that. We did get a little more money when my mom met up with my biological father again and he had changed his tune about wanting a kid, but halfway through their relationship, my mother died, and he felt guilty, so he's been feeding me cash ever since. Don't know how he gets it, don't particularly care. My mother always told me to take what I could while I still had the chance, otherwise, I'd never get another chance." Hannibal nodded in agreement before he took our plates to wash them in the sink. I watched him, slightly intrigued.

Nobody had really asked about what my mom was like, or what we did before we came into money. It was nice to actually talk about it for once and have someone paying attention. It was rather sweet of him, actually. And I was so glad he was trying hard to talk more. I loved hearing his sexy voice, and oddly enough, the more I paid attention to him speaking, the more I noticed his Atlantean accent. It was an almost erotic sound, lilting and tender, with just the slightest roll in his Rs.

 "Hannibal," I said carefully, watching him glance at me, "Just out of curiosity... How do you say I love you in Atlantean? Like, just curious." I felt heat rising in my cheeks at such a silly question. Hannibal's mouth twitched again, but he turned back to the dishes, shaking his head.

"Not sure." He responded. I looked at him in confusion.

"You don't know?"

"Never had to use it." Hannibal responded briefly. A lump swelled in my throat, but I swallowed it down, aching for him. I averted my eyes to the numerous scars criss-crossing his body. Shades of white or pink, puckered or indented. It made me wonder how he could have scars, though. Most gods automatically healed. Scars would mar the perfection of their beauty. I wasn't sure if I should ask at first, but I couldn't really stay silent anymore. Guess one of my curses was curiosity.