Author's Note: light M-rating for this chapter
Clarice is hot to the touch.
Her skin was flushed from the wine they'd consumed and from the heat of the fire and from his attentions. Hannibal Lecter was not a man who allowed himself to lose control. But he felt his control waning now. Clarice had already taken control of the evening away from him, which he relinquished gladly to her. Now, however, he was on the edge of losing control of himself.
Her offering had been unexpected and, after a split second of consideration, not unwelcome. Hannibal was not foolish enough to lie to himself and pretend he had not considered Clarice in a sexual manner. In their very first meeting, he was forced to overhear Miggs hiss that he could smell her cunt. Hannibal had never enjoyed vulgar language like that. And behind his glass cage, despite his exceptional sense of smell, he himself could not catch her intimate scent. Miggs was crazy, however, and prone to saying and doing filthy things like that. He probably couldn't have smelled anything at all.
But those words were in Hannibal's mind when Clarice first came into view. And his first thoughts of her were that she was surprisingly beautiful. Unpolished and trying to hide it. He found her a charming plaything at the time. And when she had left that Baltimore basement, Hannibal found himself thinking of her, wondering what, as Miggs would have put it, her cunt smelled like.
Her body had been hidden from view in the boxy suit she wore to make herself appear more professional than she felt. But Hannibal could imagine it. He had. For years. When the mood took him, he could imagine women he had experienced sexual pleasure with in the past. He could find an attractive woman and charm her with lavish food and drink and lead her back to her bed where he could delight in her body. He had not lived like a monk, for there had been no reason to do so.
Hannibal, however, was not ruled by his sexual appetites. So many men—weaker men, lesser men—were victims to their own libido. Hannibal Lecter was beyond such things. But he certainly was not without sexual appetite. Not in the least. And particularly not when it came to Clarice.
He had seen all of her body as she recovered from her physical injuries. He was a doctor, after all, and she was in his care. But his skills allowed him to put what he had seen into a corner of his mind and maintain propriety. A doctor does not make note of the attractive quality of his patient's body. And he had not. He had been honest when he told her that his care for her was outside of what they did here.
Now, however, his mind was assaulted by the memories of seeing her entirely unclothed. He knew what he would find when he disrobed her. He wanted to see her. Touch her. Explore her.
His thoughts from their dinner returned, when he wondered what sort of Clarice would be. He would be able to find out now. She had invited his touch, baring her breast to him, dripping warm wine onto her coral-colored nipple. It was a tantalizing action, one he would have never expected for her or any woman before. And she had told him he would not need to give up her breast.
She wanted him. She wanted him and she did not want him to let her go.
Another time, he would consider the meaning behind this, Clarice's motivations for such things. Now was not that time. He had spent all evening creating the perfect atmosphere for beauty and discovery and confrontation for her, to force out the last enduring vestiges of her traumas. Krendler had been the end of it, to Hannibal's mind. He had spent years considering what he knew of Clarice, and this was all that remained of what he had planned for her. And now was time for new things. No more consideration of the past, now only consideration of the future.
Hannibal could not even think of the future, in fact. All that mattered to him was here and now. This moment with Clarice. The shards of the coffee cup remained on the floor beside them, and Hannibal had to be careful not to kneel into them as he supplicated at her altar.
His lips suckled at her breast. His tongue swirled over the lingering flavor of the Chateau d'Yquem. The warmth of her skin heightened the taste of the wine as it merged with the taste of Clarice's skin. He grazed his teeth over her tightly furled nipple and she let out a shaky sigh.
Her hands came to rest on the back of his neck and in his hair. He'd slicked his hair back, keeping it elegant and out of the way. And now her fingers tangled and pulled at his hair in a manner he had not experienced in some time. He grinned against her soft, hot skin. She was enjoying.
Hannibal's own hands traveled up her thighs, feeling the hard muscle beneath the silk of the gown that still covered her. He journeyed up her hips and waist, outlining the gentle curves of her body. He reached the draped neckline of the dress and pulled his face away from her, noting the small hum of displeasure as he did so. His hands moved up to free her other breast from the gown and he kneaded her with each of his hands. She shuddered and leaned forward, pressing into his touch. But he was not prepared to linger there too long. His hands moved up still to the thin straps of the dress on her pale shoulders. He took great pleasure in watching the way those straps slid down her arms as her upper body was revealed to him fully.
He looked up to see her face. It was a beautiful face. Her lips were thin but nicely shaped. Her cheekbones were prominent, one dusted with the old gunpowder burn. Her eyes were usually a bright blue, but were now dark and blown wide with her arousal. And her hair, a dark blonde that shimmered gold in the firelight, was soft and gently curled with that effortless elegance she seemed to possess. This was the Clarice he had seen all those years ago, the Clarice he knew he could reveal beneath the weight of all that kept her beaten down into her place. She was exquisite, finding her truest form.
She pushed the straps off her arms to free them, and her hands sought his cheeks, holding him in an almost reverent manner. Hannibal felt something bubble up in the back of his throat that may have turned into a purr of contentment. She was reaching out to touch him, and to touch him gently. Perhaps even lovingly.
"I shall not let you go, Clarice," he vowed, speaking soft and low to her. He reached up to brush his fingers against her cheek and push her hair behind her ear. "Not until you wish me to."
A smile appeared on her lovely features. She leaned in, and Hannibal met her halfway, pushing himself up. He hand one hand resting on the top of her thigh and the other now tangled in her hair as their lips crashed together for the first time.
Her kiss, like the rest of her, was strong. Insistent and utterly glorious. The taste of their wine was stronger here than it had been when dripped onto her breast. His tongue sought hers, feasting on every little morsel of flavor. He felt Clarice wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close to her. Physical closeness had never been something that Hannibal Lecter allowed himself to experience with any frequency, but it was certainly welcome in the right circumstances. This was certainly that. His hand on her thigh slid up and curled around her waist, pressing her even closer.
The need to explore her further soon overtook him, however. He pulled his lips off of hers, gasping for air as he began his journey down the beautiful column of her pale neck, pausing to feel the thrum of her pulse against his tongue, sucking gently on the artery beating rapidly with Clarice's increased arousal. But he moved on from there as well, licking a line right down from her ear do her clavicle. Little breathy gasps escaped her as she indulged in the sensations he created for her. Her unabashed enjoyment spurred him onward, fascinated by this study of her reactions and experimentation with her. He wanted her with a ferocity that was still only barely restrained. But restrain it he would. He would keep control on himself until the time came. But not just yet.
Hannibal returned to his worship of her beautiful breasts while his hands went to her calves, feeling them soft and supple. He moved upward, this time beneath her silk dress. The silk of her skin was almost as soft as the dress as he skimmed over her knees and thighs. The dress fabric moved with him until it was bunched up at her hips and Hannibal found himself surprised once more.
He pulled his lips from her breasts so he could look down. He felt nothing impede his journey up her legs to her hips and waist, save the hindrance of the dress. And when he looked to confirm his suspicions, he found that, yes, she was entirely bare beneath the gown he'd given to her. No undergarments whatsoever. He'd made sure there were plenty of things she would need in her precise size in her bedroom, but Clarice had chosen to forego such things tonight. She had dressed herself for dinner without putting on any underthings.
A throaty chuckle came from her, and he looked up to find her smirking. "Would've ruined the line of the dress," she explained.
Hannibal found himself smiling in appreciation at her comment. Quite naughty of her. He had anticipated an encounter with her at some point, if not tonight then soon, but he found himself surprised by her once again. Clarice must have had such anticipations in her mind as well. He'd not expected it from her.
With a rather naughty grin of his own, Hannibal took her thighs in his large, strong hands and pulled her body to the edge of the chair and spread her legs around him so he could lean in closer to her. He was getting a bit stiff from kneeling as he was, but oh he would not deny himself this delight.
She allowed him to bare herself to him in this most intimate of manners. He could see her body glisten with want. And for the first time since the words had been put into his mind, he could smell her cunt.
He did more than that, in fact. With great enthusiasm, Hannibal buried his face there between her thighs. His tongue darted out to taste her, to plunge inside her and flick at her. He sucked hard and her hips began grinding against his hungry mouth. Her hands were tangled in his hair once again, keeping him right where she wanted him, and he held her thighs tight, keeping her right where he wanted her.