Hannibal Lecter licked his lips, his tongue skating across his teeth.

"Your move."

"I know, I know. I'm not as good as you at chess."

Clarice studied the board intensely, pondering her next assault. She fooled around with her loose ponytail, her eyes brushing every piece, careful not to miss any hidden catches her husband may have had up his sleeve. She remembered how badly she had been beaten last time, and swallowed hard. Sighing, as if already beaten, she captured the white bishop in her fingers and took his knight.

Grinning coyly, Dr. Lecter took her bishop with his own, managing to check her in the process.

"Check."
"Argh, damnit! How could I miss that...?"

He chuckled again. She moved her rook across, half-fuming, sacrificing it to defend her king.
"Hah!" She quipped, before rolling her eyes upward to gaze into his. The little red pinwheels in his eyes were dancing. Shit. Not a good sign.

"Mmm, interesting, my dear. I trust you didn't see this, either."

Haughtily flicking her rook off the board with his own, her king was once again threatened. "Check...wait, no... check mate."

"Lost again," She muttered, brushing her nails against the marble floor as she configured her legs to sit indian-style. Hannibal didn't seem to acknowledge her comment; he continued to stare into her eyes. She blinked at first, but then understood. He spoke.

"I don't suppose losing be too unfavorable in this situation, Clarice, wouldn't you say?"

She grinned, and then suddenly she found her lips pressed to his, their fingers entwined. The chess pieces scattered as they urged their bodies closer to each other, desperate to seal the space between them. White pawns mingled with black ones, black knights rolled alongside white bishops.



For, in the face of love, all battles are meaningless.