When he heard the car in the drive, he stepped behind the heavy floor-length drapes covering the backyard facing windows of Starling's living room. It was hard to miss the Mustang's purr, even for someone less observant than he. Daring to expose a single eye, he kept it trained on the front door. A strange combination of anticipation and anxiety settled heavy and unfamiliar in his stomach.
The jangle of keys, and then….a growl of pure fury softly escaped his throat and lips. Her lips were currently devouring another's, hungrily seeking with teeth and tongue, alternating between wet kisses and gentle nips on his throat. The man was reciprocating in kind, while one hand was closing the door behind them, the other was lifting a shapely leg and wrapping it around his body. Suddenly the man turned them, Clarice was now completely off the ground, back against the front door, spiked heels digging into the man's lower back. He was pushing her evening gown down her shoulders, a coral tipped breast was briefly exposed before the man's mouth swooped in to take possession.
" Mmmmmm…"
Clarice's moan deeply affected Hannibal Lecter. At night, in the dungeon of the Baltimore institute, he had often fantasized of her, and these scenarios were always very detailed and rich in all of the senses. He had thought about the sounds she would make when lost in passion. In fact, he had not been far off in his imaginings, the pitch and tone were almost spot on. To have to now stand here, trapped unless willing to be exposed, and watch as another savored her was more tortuous to him than years in a small dank room with no view. In that moment, he longed for no view. For perhaps the first time in Hannibal's life he would have chosen flight over fight, if only he had selected a hiding spot with an exit. How unfortunate his earlier hubris in believing that such an escape would be unnecessary.
The man was murmuring as he worked his lips from nipple, to collar bone, to the delicate place behind her ear. Although the distance of the room separated him from the couple, Hannibal's expert hearing allowed him to make out those three cliché words so sincerely and sweetly uttered to his Clarice by that man .
"I love you."
The man stopped in his ministrations and was now cupping Clarice's face in his hands and looking deeply into her eyes. Hannibal witnessed her indrawn breath and stiffened demeanor. As if a switch had flipped, her body language no longer spoke of love play. She was detached, removed from the situation. Hannibal only wished he could be as well.
Hmmm, yet how very intriguing.
Obviously disappointed in her reaction, the man not so gently set Clarice back onto her own two feet. She had recovered herself somewhat and was now trying to appease, "John, I…"
"Damn it Claire, do you know what today is? You haven't mentioned it, so I'm guessing not. A year today, a fucking year. Didn't you wonder about the dinner and the flowers on a Wednesday night? We've been doing whatever it is we're doing for a year today, and you still won't open up to me. I'm good enough to screw but not to love?"
A beat of silence from her and then, "John…I care about you, I enjoy our time together. We have great sex. They're just words. What does it matter?" Clarice asked, beseeching yet bemused.
A look of sadness and anger on his face, "If you have to ask that, then there's nothing here for me." He reached around her to open the door. She grabbed his forearm, "John, I picked you up. Let me…let me at least take you home," hurt apparent in her voice.
"No, no…I can't be around you anymore. Not right now. I'll walk, catch a bus, whatever." He sidestepped, opened the door, and disappeared into the night.
Simultaneously closing and deadbolting her front door while adjusting her dress, Clarice let out a heart heavy sigh. She rested her forehead on the cool wood and said aloud, voice filled with self-recrimination, "Good going Starling."
"I actually couldn't agree more, my dear," rasped a familiar voice directly behind her right shoulder.