Taking Turns

written by: Sloan Richardson

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

That was the only sound which filled the expansive Buenos Aires home of which Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter shared. Starling sat in a room two rooms from where the clock was, though its sounds were so boisterous that anyone on the same floor could hear it quite clearly, and on the others should there be absolute silence. Waiting, Starling sat on a comfortable couch in the den, one leg crossed over the other as she fiddled with her fingers. There's a slight impatience in her actions, for all she truly wanted was for Lecter to return from his errands. She rather detested times in which she got ideas for the two of them whenever he was not home. It happened a lot more often than she cared to admit.

A pleased smile erupts across her features, however, once she hears his key in the lock, the door slowly opening before he finally comes in. He's carrying patient files—not enough for her to immediately jump up to help, but there's a substantial, notable amount. It seemed that no matter where he was he could make a more than decent living with his degrees, even though the names upon them have changed periodically. Blue eyes monitor him carefully, the ideas she has spinning around in her head, burning at her lowermost abdomen like a raging wildfire. The imagi alone is enough to get her excited.

"Hello, my dear…" He greets her, taking off his shoes. Lecter pushes them aside, noting how her heels are not there, or any shoes for that matter. Upon closer inspection, he sees the pair of heels on her feet. Curiosity came to those all too haunting and hypnotic maroon hues as this catches his attention. "Did you have errands as well?"

"Nope…" Her reply is short, simple. There is no need for it to be longer, she believes. Her lips remain pursed inward, moving from side to side almost playfully as her own eyes scan over her lover, knowing all too well what lie beneath the suit her wore.

"Clarice, I must admit… you have my attention." He speaks, saying what she already knows. "What have you been doing?"

"Oh, nothin' really… just thinkin'…" Her voice trails off as her eyes dart off to the side, her actions done in such a way as to tease him—more so than she usually would.

"Thinking, you say? What about? Nothing tedious or tormenting, I hope."

"Oh, no… nothin' like that…"

A soft chuckle leaves her lips in response, painted not. For a moment, her eyes go off again, this time looking somewhere else before returning to him.

"I was thinkin' we should do somethin' fun… somethin' different… new…"

Her voice drifts off yet again, though her eyes stay glued to him. Starling can feel her heart rate increasing at the signature smirk which came to his features, the corners of his lips tugging upward devilishly. Most of the time, that smirk would drive her insane. However, it was her turn to make him go crazy.

"What did you have in mind, Clarice?" His accentuated voice added even more emphasis to her name, which sent shivers down her spine—as if she wasn't turned on just by her thoughts already.

She sits back even further into the furniture, looking up from Lecter's body to his face. There's a substantial amount of wickedness there in those crystalline orbs. Her hand blindly guides itself towards the table beside her, pads of her fingertips dancing across the polished surface, leading her to the desired object. From it, Starling's digits draw up a blade. It was uniquely crafted—the blade about four inches long, give or take some length more equitable to half an inch than a quarter; the handle was a rather beautiful honey-color, a lioness carved above the letters 'C. M. S.'. She recalls the day that Lecter had brought it home, and now she has a superlative use for it.

"Well… it involves a few of our…" a pause transpires as she clears her throat. "…favorite toys."

Both of her hands go to playing with the blade for a long moment before tossing it up in the air, catching it by the handle with chilling expertise. Admittedly, she had wanted a reason to do that for quite some time. She was just glad her clumsiness had not kicked in then, cutting her hand up before she even pitched her idea to its full extent.

"What d' ya say, hmm? Wan' t' play?"

She waits there for his answer, hoping he would have taken the bait—so to speak. She watches, listens as Lecter chuckles in response, the sound deep and captivating to her all at the same time. She could hear the mischief there, so thick in the air that she swears if she reached out, she could feel it somewhere. Lecter takes off his suit jacket, expertly placing it on the back of a nearby chair. There's an electricity rushing throughout him in response to the custom made knife, one that Staling makes note of. She's got him—right where she wants him. As her hands work with the metal, she cannot keep from watching as his tongue permeates his lips, moistened them though it's apparent they need no such thing.

"For me to turn down such an offer would make me a fool, love. Do you think I am a fool?"

"Oh no, no, no. You should know that by now. It's 'xactly why I'm pitchin' it to you."

She grins, her own deviousness seeping from her as it did him. She cannot help but to note how he approaches her, movements slow yet sure, each step exciting her more than the one before it. Moments later, his fingers touch her, going from her temple to her cheek to her jawline and finally ending up at her neck. This time, it's Clarice's turn for the touch to crackle in her eyes. God, how she wanted him, she wanted him so badly it began to physically pain her. However, she understood all too well that she had to take her time…take this slow. No rushing would be allowed—for haste was not welcomed in this rendezvous.

So, given that, she sets aside just a brief moment to lose herself, leaning into his touch. Her eyes slip shut but then soon open again. As bright blues connect with those sinisterly colored ones Lecter possesses, she cocks her head back some, licking her lips in her own rather seductive manner.

"Then, why don't you be very good for me, and have a seat right beside me… how does that sound?"

Let the games begin… her mind instantly resounds, watching him sit down before standing up herself. She can see how enticed he is, her words and actions setting something loose within him—something far more wild than anything else. She's both surprised and not surprised by his obedience. As she stands there, her posture is straight, shoulders high and she feels quite queenly then, as regal as Lecter thought her to be. The sun shines in through the curtains, setting her hair ablaze. She appears much like a poetic mixture of the lioness on her knife, and a phoenix. It's something Lecter notes, and enjoys more so than he admits. As she paces around him in an oblong circle, she watches him closely, fingertips still playing with the weapon of which she had yet to use. He speaks—the words so low she barely catches them, though she does, and she notes how he's teasing her back. They sure did enjoy their back and forth banters, didn't they?

"As if I'm in for a surprise."

A breath of a laugh, guttural and far more sinister than even she knew she was capable of came from deep within her as she stops, glancing to him. She feels as though she will never get enough of just looking at him, and she's right. Slowly, her tongue darts from her mouth, licking her lips as her head turns slightly.

"Don't be so damn cocky, handsome… you're in for a real treat… as am i… see, that's the thing about this game, Hannibal—if anyone's even capable of walkin' away, we'll be doin' it happy."

Her West Virginia Accent is thick, laced with a carnal desire that only Hannibal Lecter had been able to unlock. A slight wag of her brow follows her words, and then, as if her body moved in only just a blur, she stands before him. In an even more swift motion, she straddles him, the blade between her teeth as her hands teasingly rub his pectoral muscles over his shirt. She feels them, and they make her even more excited—if that is indeed possible. After a while, she takes hold of the blade's handle and pulls it from her teeth, brushing the tip up and down his shirt. It is a good thing for Lecter and his shirt that she knows how to sew.

"Do you know what I plan to do with this, Hannibal Lecter?"

"I could hazard a few fairly probable guesses, though I have a very strong instinct that I will have preferred you to just show me…"

"Good answer,"

And with that, the knife cuts all the way up his shirt, slicing all the buttons off the fabric. The sound of them falling resounds in both of their ears, permanently locking it away in their memory palaces. She's careful; however, to not cut him in the process—there shall be a time for that, but not quite yet.

"Clarice…" The way he says her name sounds almost like a protest, though he does not say anything further.

"Hannibal…" She purrs against his ear as she pulls the article of clothing away from his frame and tossed it aside tactlessly.

With his upper torso exposed to her now, she cannot help but to feel impetuous. She has to remind herself that impulse is not allowed in this act and the ones to follow. Setting down the knife on the couch beside them, she reaches behind herself and gradually unzips her dress, before pulling it over her head. It too finds itself on the ground, as well as her shoes. She's bare to him now, but he is not. What a shame. Now she has to move. After undoing his belt and yanking at it with a bit of stubbornness, she moves to her knees before him and rids him of his trousers and socks and underwear. Starling finds a pleasant sensation fill her in response to his hardened shaft—a self-satisfied feeling, biting down on her lip roughly. Does she decide to give him a little satisfaction now, or does she wait? She waits. Straddling him again, she notes how his hand is sneakily and cautiously moving towards it, as if to take it for his own use on her. She takes it before he can, however, and makes a clicking sound of disapproval much like the one he had made years ago when he was still incarcerated. This is not how the game is to be played.

"Ah, ah… no," She speaks in a disciplinary tone, the knife to his throat. "It's not your turn yet, my heart."

"Turns, Clarice? Hmm…"

"Shhhhhh…."

With that, she lowers the blade from his neck to his clavicle, digging it into the skin just below the bone before cutting. It's not deep enough to do any terrible damage, but it is enough to draw blood. Leaning down, she lets her mouth go to work, licking it from him before kissing along him until she is at his neck. Having swallowed the blood, the taste still lingers there—and oddly enough, she's craving more. She begins to kiss the flesh of the left side of his neck, feeling him moaning beneath her lips. It deepens, deepens, deepens until she's biting him roughly enough to break the skin—more blood pooling into her mouth. Forcing herself to pull back from him, her mouth is covered in his sanguine fluid, eyes dark and animalistic. It arouses Lecter even more to see his lover this way—and he was his taste now. She's seconds from obliging him. Kissing him deeply, she sightlessly guides the metallic weapon into his hand before pulling back.

"Your turn."