Chapter 12   Coupling

Rated R for explicit descriptions of  physical exchanges.

The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling, contained herein were created by Thomas Harris. They are used without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the maintainer, creators or contributors to this site.

They strolled together arm in arm for what seemed like hours, as if they were walking through a garden, talking of this and that.  Their childhoods,  places he had been to, his time in Florence, the other people in Firman's Bar in Boston.

Finally he said, into the darkness "So how does it feel Clarice to have dealt rough justice with your own hands ?"

Clarice hardly had to think of her answer at all.  "It feels fine."  Part of her mind recoiled at this.  There was no reaction from her companion. "Did it feel good when you killed yours ? when you killed Paul ?"

"More a satisfaction, at a necessary task completed"

Clarice felt the floor shift under her feet again.

"I don't anticipate indulging that particular appetite any more. I have a more pressing necessity to occupy me."

Clarice, momentarily felt alarmed.  She spat out  " I'm not your fucking pet project.  I came with you on my own terms and mine alone"

Hannibal Lecter smiled into the darkness and rejoiced.

At midnight, Dr Lecter shot the bolts and Clarice caught sight of a streak of moonlight.  No words were spoken.  Clarice followed his shadow.  They used narrow rabbit trails at first and then a half overgrown bridleway.  They stopped from time to time at clearings and when travelling close to roads. 

Apart from the last 500 metres they were entirely in forest.  For the last stretch they crouched behind a hedge for a good half hour while both the Doctor listened and observed and sniffed the air.  Clarice began to chill to the bone, even under her heavy coat.  Finally the Doctor moved off, undercover of the hedge and returned 30 minutes later. 

They waited for the moon to slip behind a cloud, Dr Lecter indicated to Clarice that she should move and stretch her legs for a few minutes before they were due to move, then swiftly, crouched behind the bent hawthorn Clarice followed him to the service entrance at the side of the Countess's villa.  Clarice's heart was pounding as he ushered her through into the kitchen. Clarice followed him through, down the corridor she had stepped with him the previous night and then up a set of servants' stairs, concealed behind an elaborate brass grille.  She could hear soft conversation in the salon. 

The stairs were narrow and all stone, beautifully dressed but worn in the middle of the tread from long use.  Dr Lecter used a pencil flashlight to help guide her.  They seemed to spiral upwards for an eternity.  Finally he pushed open a wooden door into a pale blue room with only a small dormer window.  There was a simple four poster bed in the corner and a washstand with a pitcher of water and towels.  He invited her to sit by the window.

Clarice raised her head  "I'm so cold.  Take me to bed.  Please"

He stared at her for a moment and then turned to examine the sleeping arrangements.  Not really up to his usual standard, but this was the attic – part of the old servants quarters.  He sat Clarice carefully on the bed and carefully removed her shoes and her coat. Then he drew back the covers and urged her to curl up while he tucked them closely all around her.

"I have to check what is going on downstairs.  I won't be long" He laid one light kiss on her hair and left silently. 

Clarice concentrated on getting warm under the duvet and before she was aware of it, sleep had overtaken her.

Dr Lecter crept to the bottom of the stairs and the brass grille.  He could hear the local police chief and 2 other unknown voices, conversing with the Countess who was at her most imperious.  "You have searched the house and grounds and found nothing.  It is inconceivable that he would stay in the area – the surrounding countryside is too easy to hide in.  I will be extremely surprised if you catch him.  Once he crosses into Belarus even the Mafia won't be able to touch him.  He will be there tonight, I am sure.  As for Ms Starling – who knows ?  I am devastated that I can be of no more assistance.  Danesh will show you out.  Good hunting."

He heard the salon door open and close, Danesh's shuffling feet and the stumbled apologies from the police chief and grumbling from the two others

"Who the hell does she think she is ?  Get Matt to call Warsaw – I want every spook they have all over this estate, at first light"

Dr Lecter climbed the stairs silently once more.  As he softly shut the door Clarice woke and sat up in bed.

"All well.  You should get some rest"

Clarice settled back into the pillows.  She felt completely safe.  Dr. Lecter settled himself in the chair by the window.  The moonlight illuminated one side of his face.  His eyes remained in the shadows.

Clarice remembered a time when she was ill and couldn't sleep. Her Pa had sat in the corner of her room, reading some sort of self improvement book, running a finger along the lines, from time to time and sighing.  She was in a different country from him, now.  She felt no regret.  Not even a tinge of sadness.  Everything was different – the quality of the light, the smell of the air around her, the food, the taste of the water, what was read, what was said, the feel of the sheets on her bed.

She was adrift but she could see this long line attached to this figure on the beach.  It would just be a long paddle, that's all.  Clarice's eyes closed.  Dr. Lecter watched.

At first light Danesh moved them into the eaves through a trapdoor, hidden behind a huge pine wardrobe in one of the other bedrooms.  They could stand up in the roof space and there was some illumination coming from skylights.  It was very dusty. Every movement raised a haze that could be seen in the shafts of light. 

The floor was packed with trunks, tea boxes and memorabilia from years ago.  Toys, sledges with rusted runners, oil paintings black with old lacqueur, silk and lace brown edged with age and filigreed by moths.  Books and journals, leather bound the pages spotted with mildew.  Some beautiful glass vases and chandeliers coated in rimed dust. Framed photographs of the countess's former life, before the war.

The searchers confined their efforts to the gardens of the villa and the surrounding forest.  They heard a helicopter on the first day and dogs. Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter lived on the top two floors of the countess's villa for that week, exploring the attic museum.  Dr. Lecter told her a little of the countess's history and a great deal about the furniture, glassware and silver they found.  Danesh would bring them bread, salami, cheese and tea in a samovar in the morning and a light cooked meal in the evening.  They ate in a different bedroom every night.

Dr. Lecter insisted on watching as Clarice went to sleep.  Then he would retire to one of the other bedrooms and stare at the passage of the moonlight over the ceiling until he decided to close his eyes.  After a week the searchers departed.

"You really need to leave soon.  Word will get out" said the countess over supper on their tenth evening.

"I agree Elizabeth, but it is going to take at least two weeks to get Clarice a new passport and the visas that we will need.  We will just have to be careful in the interval."  He turned to Clarice.  "I thought perhaps Russia first and then Buenos Aries"

"Fine.  That sounds fine"  Clarice's voice surprised her.  It was rock solid.

Hannibal Lecter smiled and addressed his next comment direct to Clarice's conscience.  "There will be no regrets."  It was a bald statement, almost a command and as in most things relating to travel and new places, the Doctor was proved correct.

Years later Clarice reflected on this moment and imagined it as the final twist of a tuning key – the grand piano now perfectly voiced, ready to play.

They played bezique, piquet and bridge in the evenings, by candlelight and to spice things up a little, Clarice taught the countess the rudiments of poker.  Dr Lecter played sometimes on a harpsichord.  To keep her mind active, Clarice asked him to teach her some Italian.

Dr Lecter's housekeeper appeared one morning with two Gladstone bags and the countess took a couple of trips in the Citroen to deal with the necessary paperwork.  They would be leaving separately, Clarice being escorted into Russia by Danesh. They would meet in St Petersburg.

One night they went up to one of the larger bedrooms after dinner to watch the sun flare over the forest.  The birches had already turned gold and were losing their leaves.  It had turned much colder in the past week and a steady, north easterly wind had started to blow off the plains, sucking smoke and sparks up the chimney from the open fire in the large salon.

Clarice looked at the burning wreckage of the sunset and suddenly felt an intense desire to separate everything, sever all shackles, ropes and chains.  She wanted to extract herself from this now suffocating limbo.  She just wanted to go, away from this place.  She wanted to be free …. with him.  She felt she could see very clearly, beyond the horizon.

Clarice looked at him for a moment.  The sun had fired his eyes. There was something else they had to do.  She stepped away from the window and stood close to him, looking intently into his eyes.  This contract had to be sealed

Her decision was instant and without any further hesitation she placed a hand behind his neck to draw him to her and kissed him.  His lips were very soft.  She opened her mouth slightly and tentatively started to explore his teeth with the tip of her tongue.  His reaction was a sharp intake of breath and a drawing back.  She held his neck, vice like and finally she felt his shoulders relax and both arms came round her to draw her close.  He took a deep breath in as their bodies melded together and she tilted her hips into his.  The kiss deepened and both tongues began to explore freely.

Clarice moved her hands to the lapels of his jacket and he took this as a sign to draw back a little.  Clarice ran her hands inside it to slip it off his shoulders and slowly undid his shirt buttons .  He raised his arms to allow her to undo the cuffs, looking at her all the time.  Her hands drifted to his waist.  His stomach muscles contracted as she undid his belt and unzipped him. She could feel the hard swell under the silk of his underpants and brushed her fingers over it as she released his trousers.  He breathed in as she did this and she felt his thigh muscles contract.  Her breasts brushed past the straining cock under the material as she bent down to help him out of his trousers and shoes and socks.  His feet, she noticed had as perfect nails as his hands.  She slowly stood upright again, not touching him this time and was rewarded by fire in his eyes.  Slowly she approached him until they almost touched.  "You may undress me" she whispered. 

He breathed slowly as he unwrapped her.  Her breasts were fuller than he remembered and looked stunning in the silk she had bought in Warsaw.  In the chill of the bedroom her nipples were straining against the glossy fabric .  He caressed them savouring every slip under his fingers and the feel of her breathing under his hands.  He precisely moved the straps of the chemise off her shoulders.  It fell silently to the floor.  He cupped her breasts in his hands drinking in their fullness.

Then he looked into her eyes and drew her close, feeling her nipples brush his chest and his penis strain against the fabric of his pants and her stomach. This touch clearly fired her because she started to explore his mouth with her lips and teeth while slipping her hand inside his briefs to release his cock and to massage his balls.  The head of his penis felt incredibly soft, to her fingers.  He reciprocated by running his hand over her buttocks, rounded and contracting as she moved her hips forward under his touch. 

He finally gently pushed her away to step out of his briefs .  She followed his lead.  He sat on the bed and watching her all the time gently drew her to straddle him .  Clarice's breath became shorter as she felt his cock bucking under her.  Her breasts were achingly full, the nipples exquisitely hard and sensitive to his breath. 

He bent his head and ran his lips and tongue around each areola and then gently suckled.  Clarice was desperate to have him inside her.  He seemed to sense this and encircled her waist and turned her softly into the sheets.  They were linen, cool and smooth. 

He was half kneeling between her thighs, leaning forward, his weight on his arms.  He studied her face intently gauging every bite of the lip, every flash of the eye as he started to make small exploratory strokes.   She could feel the head of his penis against her folds, stiff, like velvet at the tip.  He whispered to her in Italian.  She caught the odd word – amore, belissima, adorera.

"Please" she breathed

He thrust a little deeper and felt her folds enclose him completely. He had to drop his head to her neck and still for a moment to keep control. He spoke her name softly, savouring every syllable

When he looked up she formed the same word again her eyes liquid with desire.  Watching her the whole time, he withdrew his full length and then applied one smooth thrust to his full depth.  She arched her back and gasped , wrapping her legs around him to hold him deep inside.  He felt her cervix spasm as he held himself still for a moment.

He heard her small pants of surprise and then delight as he lifted her hips with both his arms and hugged her close in.  He began to move gently inside her.  She could feel his abdominal muscles contract at each stroke and ripple against her clitoris.  This built her fire which he stoked with each movement .  She could see the muscles between his ribs straining  and she ran her fingers over them and felt a fine tremor, covering his whole body. 

He changed his position a little and the next thrust seemed to strike her very core. Clarice gasped.  She began to move her hips encouraging him to thrust deeper.  Her movements became more frantic as she felt her climax build.  He waited until he could feel her internal muscles contract and then pushed as hard as he dared.  He held her hips still against him as she squeezed around him and then fell on her neck as he emptied himself inside her.  Clarice cried out incoherently and felt his breath coming in wracking sobs as his climax fell over both of them.  She felt herself open up and drink as the fire consumed her. 

They lay spent, skin slick with sweat for a long time as their breathing slowed.  He turned his head and moved sideways a little without slipping out of her and stared at her  - the curve of her eyelashes, her cheek with the powder burn.  Now it had happened it was wondrous to him that she was here, that he was inside her, contained completely.  He bent his head to kiss her shoulder. 

Clarice stirred.  She turned her head on the damp pillow and studied his face in this new, completely blissful state.  The lines had gone from his forehead and had smoothed out around his mouth.  His skin glowed in the half light.  His eyes were limpid and black as she imagined a stags to be at rest.

Almost apologetically he kissed her gently on the lips and withdrew.  She gently pulled his head down onto her breast..  His arm encircled her waist and they tangled  their legs.  He appeared to sleep almost instantly.  Deep slow breaths over the curve of her stomach.

Later he woke and with the gentlest of smiles turned her back into him.  He moved her hair and kissed her neck as he moulded his body to her back and hips and legs.  His arm encircled her.  They slept like this for the rest of the night, his breathing so silent she could only feel it against her hair.

She woke at dawn.  There was only a single linen sheet covering them but his body heat seemed to cover her entirely.  She studied his right hand half curled  on the sheet in a pool of light coming through the curtains.  The length and breadth of his fingers, the immaculately manicured nails the veins like ropes of lapis lazuli.  She smiled at an old Ardelia comment "Men with big hands have all the best equipment"

How could this hand create so much mayhem and then caress so deliciously? 'It is just a tool Clarice just as you were a tool.  Now you are an individual.  Stand or fall on your own Clarice.  Make your own way.'

"Good morning Clarice"  She heard the whisper in her ear and the kisses on her back and shoulders.  She turned to him, uncertain of what she would see.  Calm, innocent merriment she thought and then a shadow of something passing behind the eyes.  She responded instinctively.  She laid her hands on either side of his face and kissed him deeply.  She felt the sharp intake of breath and a shiver that ran through his entire frame.  She felt impelled to encircle him with her body to still it – arms around his back, legs wrapped around his hips.  When the trembling lessened she pulled back a little "I want to be with you" she said quite simply.  As she said the words he could feel the breath being sucked out of him like silk scarves being drawn from a conjuror's sleeve.  He kissed her slowly and deeply.

Finally he lay back and studied her face, minutely, looking for some physical change.  He saw none, other than the look in her eyes.  With a small smile he said "A thousand years, and it seems like only yesterday"

No lights. No fire, just the heat and light of their minds and bodies and the all enfolding duck down covers and the heaviness of linen sheets.

The sex during the following week was, by turns, rapacious and languorous.  In between they whispered their histories to one another.

Danesh left food for them laid out on a large oval silver salver and clean bed linen wrapped in muslin, outside the door of their room.  He would collect the food, almost untouched, in the evening along with the rumpled sheets.

Their passports and visas came finally, wrapped inside a musical score – Bartok's Bluebeard's Castle.  Clarice didn't hesitate.  She knew that she would be able to embrace and contain whatever it was, behind this last door.