AN: This is a one shot that I have devised. I am debating on whether or not to create an entire story to fit this into, so reviews and opinions are much appreciated. I do not own any of the rights to the television series Hannibal, I only own the rights to my created character. Please enjoy, bon appetit!
It seemed as if the world was flying by at an incomparable pace as she sat in the passenger's seat of the luxurious Bentley, her eyes fixated out her window and not on the man behind the wheel. The dark sky causing all of the lights from cars and buildings to look like artificial stars, for no other light existed, at least not currently. The two doctors had not exchanged words since the university benefit, the tension ever growing between the two. Why had he become so stoic? Why did he have so many secrets? Her brow furrowed in frustration as she let out a defeated sigh.
"Where were you the other night?" her voice was soft, barely audible over the classical music now lulling through the air.
She looked at him finally, his chiseled features shadowed by the evening darkness.
"Do I get an answer? Or are you going to continue to ignore me?"
The impatience in her voice made the corners of his lips curl in a slight form of distaste. She knew he found her agitation "rude". Yet that angered her further, HE was being rude. The ever courteous Dr. Hannibal Lecter was being a run of the mill, typically rude man. After another few long moments of silence he let out a sigh, not removing his eyes from the road, "You know where I was, do we have to continue playing this game?"
Her scoff of annoyance awoke the fire of attentiveness in him that she was ever so fond of, "And what game, Hannibal, do you propose we are playing? We may be alike but that does not mean I follow you everywhere you run."
He closed his eyes at the soft accent beneath her liquid voice. Her voice reminded him of home, the rippling streams that ran past his family's castle in Lithuania. She reminded him of his sister, almost too much to make their acquaintance difficult to bear, and yet she was different enough, American enough, for him to discern the two.
"No," he stated simply as he pulled into the long, gravel driveway beside his home, putting the car in park before finally turning to look at her, "It is my job to follow you where you run."
Any normal woman would have fled his presence by now, but not her. No, Dr. Mischelle Laima, practitioner and educator of criminal psychology, was not afraid. She was altogether intrigued by the man who was sired from the same motherland as her. The man who's tragic tale had made her heart ache nights prior. A man who made her feel like she was not alone in the world. The two made their way into his home, the dark woodwork and lavish furnishings were expected from him. She smiled softly to herself as she followed him into the kitchen, her cerulean gaze marking his every step. The clink of the crystal wine glasses, the squeak of the wine key as it twirled into the cork. The pop as it was expertly removed from the incredibly aged bottle. Her eyes fluttered slightly as the intoxicating aroma of the vintage wine wafted toward her, inhaling slowly.
"Chateau Latour Bordeaux 1941...Hannibal you spoil me," she smirked, watching the smile curl upon his lips as he poured the dark liquid into the two glasses.
"This is one of the few bottles of my parent's private collection that I was able to acquire, I see only fit to share it with someone just as worthy to enjoy it," he remarked, slowly approaching her with one arm extended, the glass in his hand. His eyes were gleaming, their garnet hue made her breath catch in her throat as she took the glass from him, like a lion stalking its prey.
"I smell cherry...anisette...a floral hint of sorts," she closed her eyes and inhaled again, allowing the wine to cloud her senses, "lavender...and orange peel."
He beamed at her sense of smell, "Quite right you are my dear," he took a long whiff of his own glass before tilting it towards her slightly, "to what should we toast?"
It was her turn to have that predatory gleam as she tapped her glass to his, "To not being alone in the world, and finding someone to enjoy all its pleasures with."
Hannibal met her gaze intently, sipping from his glass before taking her hand and leading her into the sitting room. They sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying their wine and the small fire he had started, the golden glow licking her porcelain skin. His fingers danced on her arm, feeling how smooth she was, wondering all the while how he had gotten to be so lucky to finally find someone with whom he could be himself. Mischelle turned her gaze toward him, a chill of delight running down her spine as his fingertips ghosted across her collarbone, the black, glittering, backless cocktail dress that adorned her figure suddenly felt constricting.
"Hannibal, I-"
Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep.
The impertinent ringtone of Hannibal's mobile phone interrupted her, and she glared angrily at the electronic device he removed from his pocket.
"Jack, what is it?"
Hannibal spoke into the phone, giving Mischelle a beseeching glance as he stood from the suede sofa, walking towards one of the many windows as he spoke to the FBI agent on the phone. Mischelle was infuriated, her eyes darkening as she placed her empty wine glass on the coffee table, standing abruptly before stalking to the other side of the room, arms crossed and temperament boiling as her inflamed eyes stared out the other window. Hannibal hung up his mobile device after completing the interesting conversation with Agent Crawford, before turning back to the sofa, only to realize she was no longer seated.
"Mischelle?"
He noticed her standing with her back to him, the crème skin of her back contrasting against the onyx tone of her dress. She was angry, he could smell it.
"Mischelle, darling," he placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her to face him.
THWACK.
The palm of her hand collided with his cheek, startling him momentarily. Garnet and sapphire battled, the mutual hunger they shared setting fire in their bodies. Hannibal retaliated by bringing his hand across her face, the slap echoing through the room. Mischelle gasped, grasping her face as she felt the stinging pain, her eyes burning with anger. She turned to face him, bringing up a stiletto-clad foot and pushing it into his chest, kicking him backward. She watched as he stumbled back into the sofa, and it was then that she pounced, grabbing his wrists and pinning his arms over his head.
Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep.
Their gaze turned to the cell phone that had fallen onto the sofa cushion, Hannibal twisting one of his hands free in an attempt to reach for it, only to be thwarted by Mischelle bringing her stiletto down on his wrist, trapping it between the sole and spike of her shoe. He glared up at her before bringing his foot to her strong abdomen and pushing her away, changing the odds as he pinned her body beneath his. She turned her head away in rejection, but he fisted his hand into her elegantly styled chignon which had long fallen out of place, tugging at her hair and forcing her to look up at him. In a flash her mind raced, So this is what it must feel like, she thought before all of her thoughts were washed away.
Hungry lips consumed one another in a passionate kiss, tasting wine on each other's tongues. Hannibal ground his hips into her own, feeling her moan vibrate against his mouth. Mischelle clawed at his back, as if she could rip through the expensive fabric of his shirt. She felt him hike up the hem of her dress, pulling at the lace of the vintage garter she wore, his mouth now assaulting her neck.
"Hannibal," she groaned, her body arching up into his as he bit hard at her skin, feeling the blood dribble down her neck.
He growled, sucking up the ruby red elixir that was escaping from the bite he had just made, his eyes rolling back into his head as if he were a great white shark, tasting his first meal of the night. His hands made quick work of the garter on her thigh, pulling both it and her stocking down to her ankle before roughly yanking off her stiletto and throwing all three items to the floor. He sat up between her legs, looking at the flushed expression on her face, her golden locks sprawled around her head, her neck bruised and blood drying where he'd bitten her. He sighed, licking his lips and tasting the metallic tang of blood as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before taking off her other shoe and stocking. He then proceeded to push her dress upward around her hips.
Mischelle sighed, but grew impatient, he was far too overdressed. Steadying her feet on his chest, she pushed him back again, giving her a moment to stand. She took this moment to straddle his waist, hooking her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling. Hard. Buttons of the expensive dress shirt flew across the room as she yanked the article from his body, her sharp nails clawing at his chest. Hannibal let out a pleasured sigh, feeling her cut into his skin. Mischelle watched the thin lines of blood appear on his sculpted form, and she kept her gaze trained on his own as she knelt between his legs, bringing her tongue to trace up each one, painfully slow.
"Mischa," he sighed, not even realizing he had used his sister's name as a shortened version of her own. His fingers twisted in her hair, bringing her mouth to crash against his as he lifted her into his lap.
His eyes sparkled with dark lust as he pulled her dress up and over her head, the lace of her bra brushing against his skin. She smelled of the ocean, salt water and sand, she also smelled of something darker, more entrancing. Mischelle wound her arms around his neck, kissing, sucking, and biting at every inch of skin she could reach, grinding her pelvic bone against his.
He groaned, "I won't take you here like some common prostitute," he stated firmly, gripping her hips to still her motions.
She looked at him with a mischievous grin, "Is that so Dr. Lecter? Very well, then I'll take you myself," and with that she brought her hands between them, unbuckling the gold belt buckle at his waist and pulling the leather belt out from his trousers.
Her nimble fingers made quick work of the button and fly of the hand-tailored pants, and as she pushed him to lean back against the sofa, she stood briefly, pulling them downward along with his briefs. She licked her lips as she saw his hardened erection, straight and stiff against his muscled abdomen. Her knees found the soft carpet in front of the sofa, and before he could retaliate, she had him in the wet warmth of her mouth. Hannibal let out an audible moan, his head falling back against the sofa, enjoying her dominance and rough ministrations. He bucked his hips, thrusting his cock into her mouth, hearing her gasp at the unexpected motion.
Mischelle closed her eyes, enjoying the musky taste of him. He tasted spicy, dangerous, and exciting. She felt him thrust his hips upward again, but she bit down on the head of his erection, causing him to scream.
She smiled as he pulled her off him, seeing the taunted fury in his eyes, "Something wrong?"
He smirked evilly, "You saucy minx, you want to play that way, eh? Fine." He pulled her to her feet by her throat, her eyes wide as her air supply was cut off from her. Hannibal threw her on the sofa, her back towards him, and he pinned her there.
Stroking his shaft he placed his other hand on her back to keep her in position. Mischelle gripped the back of the sofa with a sigh, looking over her shoulder to see the animalistic gleam in his eyes. She had no warning, and could only let out a strangled cry of pleasure as he shoved into her from behind, his hips slamming against her ass.
Staying buried within her tight sheath, he hooked one of his arms through hers at the elbows, pulling her flush back against his chest, his other hand roamed her firm, voluptuous chest, ripping the lace bra and throwing it to the floor. His fingers tweaked and pulled at her nipples, one than the other, and he listened with delight as she squealed and squirmed for him. He didn't move, merely rubbing his cock inside of her, before finally bringing his hand that had been occupied with her left breast up to her throat, squeezing gently.
He brought his mouth to her ear, "The louder you are, the harder I squeeze, understood?"
Mischelle accepted the challenge with a smile, throwing her head back on his shoulder and letting out an echoing moan. Hannibal chuckled at her, gripping her throat tightly as he began ramming in and out of her at an obscene pace. Her sight went white as he thrust in and out of her, pleasure coursing through her veins beyond measure. Her moans and cries, despite strangled due to his clutch on her throat, rang throughout his home.
"H-H-Hanniba-l! Han-Hanni-b-bal!" his name fell from her lips as her body quaked, his moans loud in her ear as his body bucked and slammed against her own, the slapping of skin mixed with the heady moans and screams from two was the greatest form of ecstasy he had ever experienced; well, almost.
"Mischa...oh God Mischa!" Hannibal groaned as felt her tighten around him, his body shaking violently as their orgasm vibrated through their bodies. Mischelle threw her head back with a violent cry of passion, his name ringing in his ears.
Sweaty and exhausted, Hannibal lay with the female doctor in his arms on the sofa, his fingers combing softly through her hair.
"So what did Jack want?" Mischelle inquired, her head resting on his chest, listening to his slow heartbeat.
Hannibal smirked, "He wanted to inform me that the identity of our last victim has been discovered. It seems she was a member of the University council. Her liver and cheeks had been removed."
Mischelle looked up at him, "Oh."
He chuckled, "I never did ask what you had made for dinner the other night."
"Shiitake brochette with confit liver and cognac demi glace," her eyes gleamed as she recalled the delectable meal she had prepared in his kitchen, "and she was far too opinionated to be on the council anyway."
Hannibal smiled and kissed her hair, loving that he had finally found someone who shared his discerning palette, as well as his passion for murder.
AN: Just to clarify, Mischelle's last name is Lithuanian for "luck" which I thought was quite interesting given her...interests. Please R and R and we'll see what becomes of these two! Thank you!