And FuckinPoind3xter in the Hannibal fandom with another drabble for my dear Aviator39 (if only we could gift like on AO3). Its short, its sweet, and its weirder than you think. Take it as you wish, this will be a part of a future story but does not take place within the story. I'm doing these for Aviator39 as a way to preview her characters a little and attract more followers. So enjoy my pretties
Suite Bergamasques', L. 75, he believes.
Its not like he wouldn't have notice, the home is too large, the echoes too broad and deep, he could have heard it a ways down the driveway.
Elegant fingers dance over a keyboard, honed and practiced from far too many years of discipline. He had taught her how to play those keys, caress them, tweak them, coax them into playing whatever her heart desired.
And she plays like a master, fingers fast and quick, a nearly sadistic smile peaking the corners of her lips, daring to break character. Her hair trembled and her shoulders remained squared, eyes fluttering closed as the trill enveloped her; always her favorite, a simple classic meant to draw out memories of grandeur and delight, and it worked its magic on a creature such as herself.
He so enjoyed watching her raptured by her own music, by her own hand, by the simplest of sounds when it usually took far more to sate such basic instincts.
And she was nowhere near basic.
"And yet I am a creature of habit," he remembers that night, wind beating at her hair, pulling her from her reverie of watching the city below them with hungry eyes. "And tis my prey feeding my nature."
She escalates into Nocturne Piano No. 2, in E flat major and his heart lurches somehow in his chest.
She sways slightly with this lighter tune, the echo pounding in his ears, filling the halls, making the place more grand for just being in her presence.
"Worship me," she demanded like a greedy child.
"As you wish," he complied, as if he had another choice.
She drifts off with the keys, sending his heart a flutter, her eyes still closed, a light hum coming from between parched lips, and her fingers finally settle into the keys, silence filling their tomb once again.