"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality."

– Edgar Allan Poe

Chapter 10

21 August 2016

Three days.

It had been three days of numbness. Three days of pretending.

Hand-shaped bruises littered Delilah Bloom's body, but only in places hidden beneath the fabric of her clothes; he'd been careful enough to make sure of that. In the wee hours of the morning, Delilah had resolved to tell her mother what Travis had done. If she didn't believe her, even with all the physical evidence, then she would leave Maryland and never look back. She had thought to tell Alana first, but quickly changed her mind – her sister could find out later, when the police were dragging that son of a bitch to jail.

Without a car, the trek to Aberdeen was a lengthy process. Two bus rides, two rail car rides, a fair bit of walking, and three and a half hours later, Delilah found herself standing at the front door of her childhood home. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she reached a trembling hand into her purse and fished out her key, pressing it into the lock and gingerly stepping inside. She hadn't set foot in this house in nearly a decade, and the memories that came flooding back instantly made her feel sick.

"M-Mom?" She called out, quietly at first.

Clearing her throat, she called a little louder, "Mom –" The sudden whir of a circular saw made her jump, and she whipped around to face the direction of the sound – the garage.

So, Travis was home... but where was her mother?

A glance at the grandfather clock in the living room told her it was 11:35AM.

Cautiously, she moved through the rest of the house, eyes peeled for the woman in question, only to find every room was empty; it was Monday, a work day, but she knew they were still on vacation for at least another week.

Just as she was creeping back downstairs, the landline they still kept began to ring and her heart leapt into her throat. The racket of power tools continued in the distance, and she poised herself on the landing to flee if they stopped, as the phone rang precisely six times before switching to voicemail.

'Hey, it's me,' she heard her mother's weary voice. 'I'm not gonna be home until late... probably sometime tonight. Barbra's husband was in some kind of accident at work, and she needs someone to take her to the hospital. He's all the way up in Scranton, so... I-I'll call you when we get there... Please don't be mad. Love you. Bye.'

Delilah swallowed thickly as she glared in the direction of the garage, her feet suddenly propelling her forward without realizing what she was doing. She made her way through the kitchen and stopped at the door leading into the garage, hesitating for only a moment before gripping the doorknob tight and twisting it as silently as she could. She pulled the door open and found Travis hunched over what she figured was probably some crappy new project, completely unaware of her presence. He stopped then and she held her breath, watching wide-eyed as he stretched his back a bit and, without bothering to glance around at his surroundings, reached out to his left to switch on a small radio; he then picked up a rectangle of sandpaper and continued with his project.

Some stupid talk radio show sounded from the speakers and Delilah very carefully backed out of the doorway.

She fully intended to leave. Honestly, for one full second, she was going to walk away and out of the house, to make the ridiculous pilgrimage back to her cozy little apartment in Baltimore. She told herself she could try to talk to her mother another day...

But she couldn't leave.

It didn't feel right.

How could he just sit there, going about his day, without a care in the world, after what he had done to her?

It wasn't right.

Hesitating in the kitchen, her eyes caught a glint of something metal – something sharp.

A large, expensive, stainless steel kitchen knife was laying precariously on the edge of the sink. Delilah raked her teeth over her bottom lip and glanced back at Travis, just to be sure he was still distracted; confident that he was, she tiptoed sideways and snatched up the knife. Gripping the handle tight, she watched the light reflect off the blade and bounce around upon the wall as she tested the weight of it.

Now, this felt right; made her feel strong.

…

"No, no. Delilah, focus," Hannibal said, his stern voice tugging her back from her memories. She blinked away from the wall to focus on him again, and stepped forward to stand just two feet before him. A movement caught her attention in her peripheral and she looked down to find his hands clenched into fists, his thumbs jerkily scrubbing against the sides of his index fingers.

"... Are you upset with me?" She asked softly, looking up to watch his narrowed eyes relax some, just as his movements stilled. He shook his head once, but his lips stayed in a hard line and she found it difficult to fully believe him. "I know it's... wrong. I-I know. I k–" Her voice faltered and she had to take a deep breath. "I... killed him –"

Hannibal's lips suddenly twisted into a bemused smirk and he took a small step forward. "You think I'm going to chastise you for ridding the world one less piece of filth?"

"Aren't you?"

"No," he replied, moving forward again and bringing himself close enough that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. She swayed a little with the effort, her head swimming from the alcohol, and his hands reached out to hold her hips, keeping her steady.

"B-But I'm a monster," she muttered, shaking her head even as the words left her lips. She didn't believe it, but she was supposed to – right? "It felt... good to kill him. That's wrong... right?"

"By society's standards, I suppose," he replied flippantly.

"And by God's... 'Thou shalt not –'"

Hannibal interrupted her with a light scoff. "Have you read the Bible, Delilah?"

"No."

"God himself has killed since the beginning." He trailed a hand up her curves and hooked his fingers at the nape of her neck, absently tracing her jawline with his thumb as he continued. "Manipulated others into committing murder, and other atrocities, in his name... Seldom does he bother to save those who don't deserve to die...

"Killing must feel good to God, too. Perhaps it's one of the few activities one can partake in to bring themselves closer to him."

"...I don't want to be closer to God. I'm not even sure I believe in such a thing."

Delilah watched the corner of his mouth quirk upward, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip as he regarded her. His other hand skirted up over her hip to splay across the small of her back, and her hands found his sides, gripping fistfuls of his shirt. "Kiss me," she insisted, tugging on his shirt to bridge the gap between them.

Canting his head, he leaned down and just barely brushed his lips against hers. "Tell me how you killed him," he whispered against her cheek, before pressing his lips to her flushed skin. She huffed a little and swiftly leaned up on her toes, turning her head to catch his lips herself. His fingers dug hard into her, pinning her to him as he took the reins and deepened the kiss. He released her mouth much too soon and she whimpered as he dipped his head to rumble in her ear, "Answer me, Delilah."

…

The sensation of the knife slipping into his back was bizarre. There was resistance, but not much; the blade had recently been sharpened, it seemed. When she pulled her hand back, the knife still firmly in her grasp, Travis let out an almighty gasp and swung around. He opened his mouth, presumably to scream, but seemed to be choking...

Strange, clicking gasps escaped him, before blood began to intermittently spray from his mouth. Delilah watched in fascination as he began swatting blindly at his back, and lifted the wet blade up so he could see it clearly. His already wide eyes bulged out of their sockets and he lunged at her like a drunken grizzly bear; she staggered back a step or two, then threw herself forward and slammed the knife into his throat.

At that, he let out a funny little squeaking gurgle and reeled back, and this time she let him take the knife with him as he crashed backward onto the concrete. Wiping a stray spray of blood from her arm, she stepped toward his twitching body and grabbed the handle of the knife again. His fearful eyes were haphazardly darting about, and she watched them with mild interest as she began rocking the blade from side to side.

"Do you think you'll go to hell for what you've done," she asked curiously, "or heaven because I've killed you?"

Travis didn't respond, of course, though his eyes did try to focus on her as she spoke. Ripping the blade out of his throat, she turned her face away as copious amounts of blood then gushed from the wound, and watched out the corner of her eye as he jerked and spluttered for far longer than she would have expected. With another couple desperate twitches, he finally stilled completely and she grinned.

…

"No, come back to me."

Delilah yelped as she suddenly felt herself being jostled around, and blinked rapidly to find Hannibal gripping her shoulders and staring down at her face. "There you are," he muttered, his tone mildly irritated.

"I'm–"

"Stop. Do not apologize; I won't tell you again." He took a slow breath and loosened his grip on her, running his hands up and down her arms. "You must stop punishing yourself for this. You did what needed to be done."

"'What needed to be done?'" She laughed in bewilderment. "Maybe the st-stabbing can be seen as-... as temporary insanity for what he did to me, but I didn't stop there – I think you know that."

"So?"

"...So?"

"Yes, so? It's called catharsis, Delilah, everyone needs an outlet."

"Catharsis... An outlet?"

"Have you turned into a cockatoo?"

Delilah could only stare at him for a long moment, before suddenly erupting into an involuntary fit of giggles. She slid down, out of his grip, to kneel on the floor and buried her face in her hands; tears of laughter fast dissolved into tears of frustration as she fought to control herself. This wasn't good – maniacal laughter was something crazy people did.

"I'm not c-crazy," she whispered into her palms, more so trying to convince herself than Hannibal; she heard him clear his throat then, and peeked through her fingers to find him crouched down in front of her.

"Of course not. You're just a bit tipsy," he assured her firmly, and another giggle bubbled up from her chest just as a loud hiccup took over. She pried her hands away from her face to discover he was holding a glass of water.

"Th-than-k yo-u," she struggled to speak through yet more hiccups, shaking hands reaching out to take the glass.

He immediately pulled the water just out of her reach. "Take a deep breath and hold it," he instructed, and she sucked in a breath at once, mashing her lips together as she stared at him. "Now swallow it."

Quirking a brow in confusion, she stretched her chin out a bit and awkwardly tried to swallow. The motion prompted her to force air out of her nose and she momentarily feared she would pass out, her mouth falling open to take several deep breaths to stymie the sensation. Once she'd caught her breath, she yawned softly and looked around, waiting. Silence followed and she smiled a little, as she realized her hiccups were gone.

"Neat trick," she muttered, and he merely smirked.

"Drink. Slowly," he said, offering her the glass of water again; she nodded and took a few small, careful sips as he leaned back on his heels to watch her.

When she'd finished the glass, he took it and helped her to her feet, guiding her by the hand back to the chair behind the desk and nudging her into it. "I hadn't accounted for you being a lush," he teased, pouring the last of the water into the glass and handing it back to her, before tugging his own seat closer and sitting down; their knees were touching now and he laid his deliciously toasty hands over her exposed lower thighs.

"Oh, Delilah," he sighed thoughtfully, sliding his fingertips along the hem of her dress. "What am I going to do with you?"

Delilah peered over her glass of water at him and suggestively brushed her foot against his calf. "I may have a few suggestions..."

He offered a lopsided smile in return and slipped his thumbs up under her dress, sending shocks of electricity through her... before tugging the hem flat and smoothing the fabric against her legs; she scowled as he then pulled his hands away and leaned back heavily in his seat, but said nothing.

After a long silence and another half a glass' worth of water gone, Hannibal spoke, his tone more professional now. "If I am pushing you too far, you may say so at any time and we will stop for today. However, I would like to continue... if that's alright with you?"

Tapping her nails against the glass in her hands, Delilah sighed and hooked her ankles together as she nestled back in her seat. "Fine by me." She shrugged, taking another swig of water before setting it on the desk and laying her hands in her lap.

"You said that you regret nothing – explain."

"... Explain what? I meant what I said. I do not regret what I've done."

"So you would do it again, then? If Travis were here, alive, right now?"

"Well, no... It was quite a messy process; wouldn't want to soil your nice things."

That garnered a chuckle from him and he rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, dropping his chin to his knuckles as he observed her thoughtfully. "Delilah... Thinking back on the day I visited you in the hospital, do you recall what I assumed your diagnosis to be?"

"Post-traumatic stress disorder? Yes, I remember."

"Right, and you said to me that you couldn't recall having been through any trauma."

"Yes...?" She squinted at him in confusion, genuinely unsure as to where he was going with this train of thought. "What, um–"

"Delilah." He sighed exasperatedly, stretching his hand up over his cheek to massage his temple. "You murdered a man you'd known your entire life, a man who was meant to be your father figure, who raped you... And yet, you still don't believe you've been through any trauma?"

"... Which part am I supposed to be traumatized by, exactly?"

Lecture Hall #3

Quantico, VA

4:47 PM

"I brought you some coffee."

Will's eyes shot up from his desk to find Alana awkwardly loitering in the doorway, with a small paper cup from the cafeteria clutched in her hands; he watched a couple of students duck around her to leave, and suddenly the room felt somehow more crowded as he realized they were alone. Needlessly shuffling papers around, he nodded jerkily and watched her out the corner of his eye, listening to the echoing click of her heels as she moved into the room. She stepped right around the desk and leaned her hip against it, pinning a page to the surface – one he was planning to fiddle with to avoid eye contact – as she offered him the coffee.

"Er, thanks," he mumbled, gingerly plucking the cup from her hands and immediately setting it on the desk. "Just one? Are we doing sharesies or –"

"I can't stay long... Delilah'll probably be home soon and I was gonna pick us up something to eat."

"Ah." Will kept his eyes fixed on the piece of paper wedged under her hip, finding he wanted it more now that he couldn't actually pick it up. "So, uh... bye, then?"

Alana sighed and shifted against his desk a bit – though, not enough to free the damn piece of paper. "I said I couldn't stay long, not that I had to take off right this second."

"O...kay..."

Something shuffled around in his peripheral and he forced himself not to look for the dead man he knew would be there, instead quickly removing his glasses and digging his fingers into his eyes.

'My name is Will Graham,' he thought firmly. 'I'm in Quantico, Virginia, and it's...' He squinted down at his watch, taking care to be as inconspicuous as possible as he studied the face of the clock. 'Four... fifty-two... in the afternoon... My name is Will Graham...'

He heard Alana sniff lightly, prompting him to finally look over at her as he shoved his glasses back onto his face; she had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her lips in a hard line as she scowled at the board behind him. Her eyes looked a little glossy and he cleared his throat, unsure how to proceed.

Just as he was about to make some sort of attempt to ask what was wrong, she stepped away from the desk and threw her arms in the air. "I cannot believe Jack is investigating my sister!" She exclaimed, slapping her hands to her sides and shooting him what he perceived to be an accusatory glare.

"H-Hey now," he stammered, seizing the opportunity to grab the paper from the edge of his desk and carefully threading it into the pile he'd already made. "I didn't tell him to do that. You know I tried to dissuade–"

"I know that," she snapped. "God damn it, Will, of course I know that."

Will felt an uncomfortable twisting in his stomach, and he abruptly turned away to locate his briefcase. "I know it-it's disconcerting but just... don't worry, okay?"

"Don't worry?" She repeated coldly. "Oh, gosh, thanks. Yeah, that's totally helpful."

Snatching his briefcase up from the floor, he slammed it on his desk, yanked it open, and began blindly cramming things into it. "What the hell do you want from me, Alana?" He caught sight of the coffee cup he'd somehow managed to not knock over, and picked it up to take an angry swig; he grimaced at the taste of the lukewarm swill, but forced the mouthful down before chucking the cup into the trash.

Alana laughed then, sounding a touch manic, and the – admittedly paranoid – thought that she had poisoned his coffee suddenly crossed his mind, as he whipped around to face her.

Tears glittered like little dewdrops at the corners of her eyes, as she stared at him with morose amusement. "Sorry... Took me about fifteen minutes to work up the nerve to come in," she explained quietly, clearing her throat as she rubbed her arms. "I just-... I just need someone to talk to. I'm scared for her, Will."

He frowned and chewed on the corner of his mouth as he regarded her, before tentatively inching forward and twitching his arms open to offer a hug. Alana crumpled against him at once and buried her face in his shoulder; he froze briefly before resting his hands on her upper back, nervously patting her shoulder blades as he muttered lamely, "It-It's gonna be okay..."

"I just don't kn-know what he thinks he's going to find." She sniffed loudly and turned her face outward, flipping a bit of her hair into his mouth in the process. Will reached up to flick the strands away from his lips, then smoothed her hair down against the back of her head.

"Listen," he tried again, "unless you have reason to think she had a hand in any of this –"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then... who cares?"

Alana scoffed and pushed herself away from him. "I care! You know how obsessed Jack can get, when he gets an idea in his head."

He couldn't immediately find a way to argue with that, so he tried another tactic. "But-... But it doesn't matter how obsessed he gets, because he won't find any evidence. We both know she didn't do this; it's ludicrous to even think –"

"It fucking matters because she is unstable, Will. How do you think someone with Dissociative episodes is going to handle being investigated by the goddamned FBI?"

Will clamped his mouth shut and scrubbed a hand over his face; he knew she had a very real point. He didn't presume to know Delilah all that well, but he couldn't imagine anyone would take the situation very lightly.

They stared off at opposite corners of the room for a long while, both deep in thought, before he finally formulated what he thought to be the only solution. "Why don't you just... be upfront with Jack? Tell him she has episodes a-and she's working on getting better?"

"But –"

"Alana, I know you want to keep her business hers... now, anyway." He'd muttered the last bit under his breath, but she let out an indignant huff that told him she'd heard. "However," he continued loudly before she could argue, "if Jack thinks you're hiding things from him, it's only going to fuel his interest. Just be as honest as you can and... and maybe he'll back off?"

Alana squinted at him for a long moment, looking thoroughly unconvinced, before her scowl finally lessened and she sighed. "I guess you're right," she mumbled, groaning as she massaged her under eyes with her fingertips. "Alright, I'll talk to the dumb bastard."

Will snorted as he resumed gathering his belongings. "Jeez, Alana, tell me how you really feel," he mumbled, and she laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time he'd heard in a while; he couldn't help but grin in return.

Just as he was securing his briefcase shut, she stepped up to his side and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, and he canted his head to face her though he couldn't quite bring himself to look her in the eye.

"I-It's nothing..."

She sighed gently and rubbed her thumb against his cheek, presumably to remove a smudge of the burgundy lipstick he could see coating her lips. "Glad to have you back. I missed you," she said earnestly, giving his shoulder a squeeze before turning abruptly and stalking away.

"Yeah," he muttered, looking up to watch her and Garrett Jacob Hobbs exit the lecture hall in tandem. "Me too."

Hannibal Lecter's Office

– 4:50 PM

The ordinarily loquacious doctor found himself at a momentary loss for words, as he took in Delilah's clearly genuine confusion; she truly didn't understand, and in turn Hannibal himself didn't understand. If the sexual assault hadn't had any sort of lasting effect on her, and the fact that she had committed a murder hadn't, what could possibly be left?

Unless...

"Delilah, let's try word-association again."

"...I thought you said no more games?"

"It is not only a game, it's a therapeutic exercise."

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "Fucking semantics..."

Hannibal scowled. "I do realize you're still under the effects of the alcohol, but there's no need to be insolent." Her face crumpled at that and she rubbed her nose, whispering an apology as she sat up straight. Tamping down his irritation, he shifted in his seat as well, and began straightaway.

"Retribution."

She opened her mouth and abruptly snapped it shut, effectively gifting him the answer he sought. Licking his lips, he leaned forward in his seat and canted his head, silently willing her to look him in the eye; she did, after a moment's attempt at avoidance, her brow twisted with apprehension.

"You know you've done nothing wrong, don't you?" He asked quietly, though it was absolutely rhetorical. "That's why you don't regret. Your issues stem from your conscience, but not in the way I'd initially assumed; it's the potential ramifications of your actions spurring your subconscious'... penance, so to speak."He had to grin at his own incredibly apropos terminology – given she'd strung the worthless man up like Christ, how could he not make good use of Christian phrasing?

Delilah fell silent and he watched as she nervously dug her manicured nails into her thighs. "I'm supposed to... feel guilty, aren't I?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper now, and he glanced up to find her eyes shimmering, pleading with him for an absolution she didn't seem to realize he had already given. "There must be something... wrong... with me. Deep down, I-... I'm wrong?"

Hannibal took a deep breath and shook his head, looking her square in the eye as he replied with utmost conviction, "No, Delilah, there is nothing wrong with you."

"But –"

"You have a rare gift. The ability to see past what has been pointlessly ingrained in you from infancy. Delilah, sometimes, some people simply need to die –"

"But I didn't just kill him, Hannibal!" She wailed, suddenly jumping to her feet and shoving her chair back in frustration; he watched it sail across the room, but thankfully fall short of denting his wall, and stayed rooted to his seat as he casually turned his attention back up to her.

"I know perfectly well what you did," he replied. "You fashioned a striking portrait from essentially nothing – inarguably elevating Travis Bloom to something more, in death, than he would have ever amounted to in life."

"I took him apart," she ground out through clenched teeth. He watched her stuff her fingers into her hair in frustration, knocking a few pins out of place as she began to pace before him. "I-I watched him bleed out, watched the light leave his eyes, and then I spent fucking hours cutting him into pieces – with his own power tools, no less. I used rope and a nail gun to crucify him, for fuck's sake –"

"I would have liked to see that."

Delilah froze and turned to blink at him; he watched her struggle for a response before he cleared his throat and urged her to continue. "What then? After you constructed your tableau, what did you do?"

"I... I took his useless heart and I wrapped it up in plastic shopping bags... And I left it on the kitchen counter while I went upstairs to shower."

"How did you get upstairs without tracking blood all over the house?"

"There's, um, a sink near the washing machine... I attached a hose to the faucet and rinsed off what I needed to – the tools, most of the garage floor, and my legs and feet; I dried off with a shop towel, then went upstairs."

"Smart," he replied, nodding absently as he filed away each little detail in his mind. "What did you do with the towel?"

"Burned it in the fireplace, along with my clothes... Then I cleaned it out, and took an outfit from the back of my mother's closet to leave in."

Hannibal found himself rather impressed. "And what did you do with the ashes?"

"... Ashes?"

"From the fireplace."

"Oh... I put them in a bag and dumped them in the trash outside a neighbor's house, down the road a ways."

Hannibal leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers together over his stomach. "It seems you thought of everything... Though, I must say it was incredibly dangerous to commit yourself to such an arduous task, not knowing precisely when your mother would be home."

"I didn't exactly plan it ahead of time..."

"Yes, and that was your first mistake."

Delilah simply stared at him, quite obviously dumbfounded, before cautiously stepping toward him. "I-... You really don't think I did anything wrong?"

"The only thing I know you did wrong, Delilah, was not think it through beforehand. Though you did live in the house once upon a time, it was well-known that you and he didn't have the best relationship; it would have been rather peculiar for the authorities to discover one of your shiny, golden hairs at the scene...

"Most assaults and murders are committed by someone who knows the victim, statistically speaking – either as far removed as a mere acquaintance, or as close as a family member. Frankly, you're damned lucky you weren't targeted as a suspect."

"Oh, I was."

"...Is that so?"

Delilah nodded and smoothed her hands together as she continued forward. "A few days after the... incident... Some cops came to the café and started asking me all sorts of questions – you know, about Travis, the last time I saw him, and such.

"They asked if I had an alibi for that day and I just blurted out that I'd been working; they asked if anyone would corroborate, and I said Maggie was the owner, so... They took her aside to question her, too. Then they came back, said they were sorry for my 'loss,' and for bothering me, and told me to call the local police if I heard of anything pertaining to his murder... And that was it."

Hannibal quirked a brow in disbelief. "You mean to tell me Maggie lied for you?"

"Yes... When I spoke to her after they'd gone, she said she just told them it was a Monday, so I was definitely working that day; she didn't even ask me what it was about... just told me she loved me, and left it at that."

"... Absurdly lucky, my dear."

Delilah smiled ruefully as she stopped just before him, gently prying his hands apart so she could lower herself sideways onto his lap. "I know," she replied, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she fiddled with his tie.

His hand shot forward of its own volition and he gripped the back of her neck, urging her head down level with his so he could whisper a warning in her ear. "Next time, you will be sure not to leave so many loose ends..." He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear, feeling her shiver as he then brushed his lips across her cheek to place a small kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"N-Next time?" She whispered, sounding marginally frightened even as she gripped his tie in her fists and turned her head just enough to fit her lips with his.

Hannibal indulged himself in a decidedly predatory grin before biting down on her plump lower lip – just hard enough to issue a squeak of surprise from her, and possibly a little more. She then moaned obscenely against his mouth and he shifted both hands to grip her sides, lifting her up and maneuvering her body with ease; he twisted her around to face him directly and she sandwiched her legs on either side of his lap at once, gripping tight to his shoulders as she lowered herself down firmly. She found his lips again with an endearing eagerness, and he relished in the taste of a sweetness that was all her own, which mingled pleasantly with the hint of watered down absinthe that coated her tongue.

This flirtatious little dance of theirs had gone on long enough for his liking, and he wanted nothing more than to hike her dress up and make her scream his name beside the dying fire.

Heat rushed through Delilah's veins, setting every nerve ending on fire as she dug her nails into Hannibal's shoulders and ground herself against the bulge she could easily feel pressing against his slacks. She felt his hands glide firmly down her curves to dip under her dress, bunching the fabric and trying to urge it over her hips. Leaning her weight on her knees, she lifted up to assist him and her lips tickled as he chuckled softly against her mouth; his hands were already gripping her bare ass and he was clearly amused to have found she wasn't wearing anything under her ridiculously formfitting dress.

Delilah pried her lips from his to catch her breath, unable to remove a self-satisfied grin from her face as her hands dove to undo his belt.

"Not so fast," he chided, suddenly rising from his seat and taking her with him. She yelped and clung to him as he spun them around, and she heard him shove a few things out of his way before depositing her on the cool surface of his desk and plucking her arms from around his shoulders. "Hands flat on the desk," he instructed, and she did so at once, leaning back to rest her palms just behind herself as he then began to casually loosen his tie.

A thrill of excitement sent a tingle up her spine as she watched him with rapt attention. He seemed to be studying every inch of her, as if trying to burn the image of her, half-naked on his desk, into his memory. She slowly began to spread her legs and raked her teeth over her bottom lip, pausing and wincing some as she felt a sudden twinge; pressing a hand to her lips, she peered down at her fingers to find a small smear of blood.

Evidently he'd cut her lip when he'd bitten her earlier, and she was only slightly surprised to realize the knowledge only served to fuel her desire. "Please," she asked softly, parting her legs further as she reached out to beckon him near.

He finally removed his tie and tossed it aside before slowly stepping between her legs; holding her gaze, he took her hand and slipped her fingers past his lips, gently laving the blood from her skin.

"So sweet," he muttered, as he released her hand and lowered himself to his knees before her.

"Wha-" Her eyes widened in understanding as he suddenly hooked his strong arms under her legs and yanked her hips forward, situating her so she was seated at the very edge of his desk.

Shifting her palms to better steady herself, she watched in fascination as he splayed his strikingly large hands over her inner thighs, her chest heaving with panting breaths as she felt his thumbs trace lightly up and down her folds. He hummed as one may when presented with a particularly decadent dessert, and she felt her face burn as the reality of her situation dawned on her:

He was her psychiatrist – a man to whom she'd just confessed that she'd butchered someone without remorse – and now he was digging his fingertips into her thighs, planting searing kisses along her skin, nipping at her labia– "Oh!" She threw her head back and keened softly, toes curling as he licked and kissed at the tender spot he'd bitten, before he mirrored his actions on the other side.

Just when she thought he would focus his attentions where she needed them most, he skipped over her clit entirely and flicked his tongue back down again, causing her to wail in frustration. She didn't think she could take much more teasing, and as a ringing sounded in her ears she initially thought it was only in her head.

Without warning or preamble, Hannibal suddenly dove his tongue deep inside her, his thumb finding and roughly massaging her clit as he redoubled his ministrations. Crying out a string of half-finished obscenities, she threaded the fingers of one hand through his satin soft hair and held on tight as her body trembled under his efforts.

The ringing persisted and she vaguely understood it was a cell phone – hers, perhaps? – but she couldn't bring herself to care, and he didn't stop until she was screaming his name to the ceiling. Gasping for breath, she released her death grip on his hair and sank back flat against the desk; the moment she felt him back away, her legs snapped shut and she squeezed her thighs together, hips rocking of their own accord as she rode the aftershocks to bring herself back down.

As the pesky cell phone finally stopped ringing, she lazily opened her eyes and found herself momentarily disoriented. The entire room was upside down and it took a moment to comprehend that her head was hanging partially off the opposite end of the desk.

"Oof, jeez," she muttered, hands trying to find purchase on the smooth surface beneath her to lift herself up. Hannibal was hovering over her in an instant, hooking an arm around her waist while cradling her head with his other hand and pressing a tender kiss to her lips as he guided her up. She could taste an intimately familiar tang on his tongue that she didn't find entirely unpleasant – though he did appear to have wiped his face and for that she was appreciative.

Just as they broke apart and Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, the ringing started up again and she huffed in annoyance. "That's mine, isn't it," she grumbled, scowling when he simply nodded in reply. He offered her his arm and she took it gratefully, allowing him to help her down from the desk. Tugging her dress back over her hips, she reluctantly fetched her purse and unearthed her cell phone, not at all surprised to see Alana's name in bold letters on the screen.

Tapping her thumb on the green button, she took a second to clear her throat before answering with what she hoped to be a casual, "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Alana snapped. "Did you pass out or something?"

"Mm, no. I'm still at Doctor Lecter's office."

"What? It's almost six, why aren't you home yet?"

Delilah felt the man in question suddenly step up behind her to slip his arms around her waist and place a kiss to the hollow below her free ear. She grinned and reached behind herself to teasingly brush her palm along the tightly stretched fabric of his trousers, and she felt a low growl rumble in his chest.

"Is everything okay?" Alana asked, her voice edging dangerously toward that high-pitch it always did when she was trying not to panic.

"I'm f-... uh, fine," she replied, trying to focus as Hannibal nipped and licked at her neck. "Session was just really, um... involved today; we didn't even notice the time. Sorry to freak you out."

"It's alright. I'm easily freaked out these days." She sighed heavily. "Well, I'll just come pick you up, then."

"Sure, that'd be great."

"I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay, thanks."

Delilah hung up the phone and tossed it into her purse, letting it drop to the floor as she leaned her head back against Hannibal's shoulder and closed her eyes. He planted open-mouthed kisses along her neck before catching her earlobe between his teeth and gently biting down. "Mmh," she moaned softly, stretching her arms up and loosely gripping the back of his neck. She felt his hands lay flat against her stomach, one skirting upward to cup her breast as the other kept her cemented against him.

"...Huh, déjà vu," she muttered, arms falling to her sides and eyes fluttering open to gaze at the deep red wall on the opposite side of the room.

"I'm fairly certain I've never fondled you in this particular spot before," he replied quietly, chuckling against her ear as he then removed his hands from her body and began plucking bobby pins from her hair. She knew her meticulously crafted hairdo must look like a rat's nest by now, complete with an ungodly number of tangles, but she never once felt any pain as he carefully removed each and every one.

When he was finished he leaned over her shoulder and held his palm out flat in front of her. "I have counted exactly twenty-one of these," he informed her, depositing the small pile of metal into her hands.

"Sounds about right. You'll probably find a stray in the coming days," she replied with a snort. "Or months... Hell, maybe even years from now." Crouching down to drop the bobby pins into a small compartment of her purse, she fished out a hair elastic and quickly raked her fingers through her curls before tying them up into a half-assed bun.

Stretching as she stood, she turned to face him only to discover he was gone. A light suddenly switched on to her right and she whirled around to find him in the process of turning on all the lamps. Rather than simply watch him, she crossed the room to turn the desk lamp on and began gathering the bottles and glasses onto the silver serving tray; he finished flooding the office with unpleasant false light and took the tray from her hands, offering a small smile of gratitude before stalking off to stow it away in the back room.

When he returned, his shirt sleeves were rolled back down and buttoned properly, and he set about redoing his tie as she collected his suit jacket. "Thank you," he said quietly, slipping it over his arms and adjusting it to fit just right.

Delilah smiled and adjusted the collar of his shirt, smoothing it flush over the neck of his tie. "Wish we had more time..." She sighed wistfully, running her hands over his lapels before leaning up on her toes to kiss him one last time; he indulged her for a moment before pulling back and caressing her cheek.

"Soon," he said simply, doubling back to gather her shoes. She took the pumps and slipped them onto her feet, watching him roll his personal chair back behind his desk before returning the spare to its proper spot.

Just as she was adjusting her bra and rechecking that the hem of her dress was down as far as it would go, a knock sounded at the door and the pair glanced up.

"What impeccable timing," Hannibal muttered, moving to guide her to the door and scooping up her purse along the way; she hooked it over her shoulder and whispered a particularly loaded 'thank you' that had absolutely nothing to do with her purse. Hannibal winked before dipping down to murmur in her ear, "This Sunday, I beg of you not to wear this dress – or anything remotely similar... I won't be able to keep my hands off you, if you do, and that would be highly inconvenient."

Delilah bit her tongue and offered her best innocent face. "Sweatpants, then. Got it."

With a light snort, Hannibal pulled the door open and offered Alana a pleasant smile. "Hello, Alana."

"Hey-" She stopped abruptly and stared wide-eyed at Delilah, clearly taken aback by her ensemble. "What in the hell are you wearing?"

No one could ever accuse Alana Bloom of being one to mince words.

"Clothes, Alana," she replied coolly, and her sister scoffed in return.

"Barely."

"I had a date, if you must know," Delilah lied quickly. "Before my appointment. Went a little longer than expected; no time to change."

"Uh-huh... Why didn't you-... With who?"

Finding herself deeply irritated at the sheer disbelief in Alana's tone, Delilah narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to snap at her, but Hannibal cut her off with a loud and purposeful clearing of his throat. "It seems you two have much to discuss, and I have a few things to tend to myself. If you'll please..." He gestured them toward the stairs and Delilah stepped out of the office, amused that he could manage to stay so polite while effectively kicking them out.

Alana stared at her for a long moment before shaking herself out of her stupor and looking to Hannibal. "Right... Good night, Hannibal."

"Pleasant dreams," he replied quietly, and Delilah had to bite her lip to tamp down a self-conscious titter.

They started toward the steps as Hannibal shut the door to his office, Alana's eyes darting pointedly over at her every step of the way; halfway down the stairs, she became entirely fed up and stopped abruptly. "What, Alana?"

"I just-... Are you bleeding?"

Delilah blinked and instinctively licked at her lower lip, feeling a light sting and tasting pennies. "Oh, yeah, uh..." She tried to think of a reasonable explanation, but came up woefully short, her cheeks burning as she shifted her purse to her other shoulder just for something to do.

Alana suddenly laughed and threw an arm around her, dragging her down the stairs as she muttered teasingly, "Must have been one hell of a date."