Nothing for Nothing

He smiled. She'd seen him smile many, many times before. Their life was happy now. Smiles were soft and easy and frequent. And even before then, he'd had a way about him, like a cat toying with a mouse before biting through its skull. He'd smile, a predator knowing its prey was without escape. At one time, she might have thought she was his prey. Early. Very early. But of course she'd been disabused of that very quickly. She'd known after their first meeting, in fact, that he had no intention of hunting her. Not like he'd hunted the others. He'd never smile at her like he had his other victims, his sparkling maroon eyes the last thing they saw before excruciating pain overcame them and their vision went black.

Right now, Clarice Starling felt her vision going black. But not from pain. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Hannibal Lecter had long, elegant fingers. Only ten now—he'd had eleven when she first met him, and while the surgery to correct his polydactyly had been necessary, she found herself mildly disappointed with the change. His fingers were strong and dexterous from his skill with the piano and harpsichord and his talent with all forms of artistry and of course his finely honed power and control with knives, both for cooking and for killing.

All ten of those fingers were on her body. Tracing the curves of her from thighs to hips to waist to breasts. Delicate, gentle touches. The knowledge of their power making her tremble with want. She was not afraid of him. Not really. But knowing that he could rip her to pieces so easily even though he never would was an intoxicating thought. It colored most of their encounters like this, though she'd never told him so. She was rather sure he knew. He knew everything about her. That was intoxicating, too.

"Tell me, Clarice," he whispered. His breath tickled her bare breasts. He was so close but not nearly close enough.

"T-tell you what?" she stammered. He liked to talk, liked words and truths and little games like this. He made it very difficult for her to think at times like this. Though that was all part of his little game.

He chuckled, letting more warm air tease her. "Quid pro quo, my dear. You know the rules. Tell me what you're thinking," he prompted.

She wished he would give this up after all this time, but she knew she'd hate it if the day ever came that he didn't try to elicit these secrets from her. And that was what she told him. "I'm frustrated," she said. "Your games are frustrating."

"Oh?"

Clarice knew that tone of his. His hands continued to wander her body, though never getting near where she wanted him. Up and down her ribcage. His torso was bare and she could almost feel his warmth. He was always so warm. His body let off heat unlike anyone or anything she'd ever known. She would tell him that, too. "I'm frustrated that you're not touching me where I want you to," she explained.

"Yes, Clarice, I know you are. But you know what you must do. Tell me more," he hissed.

He was so close, she could feel the barest brush of his lips that time, just at the curve of her breast. "I…"

"Yes?"

"I want you so much," she confessed. "I want you to kiss me. I want you to touch me."

"Why?" he pressed.

"Because you make me feel like no one else ever has."

He rewarded her with a proud chuckle against her breast. His hands gripped her hips a little tighter. His lips and teeth dragged over her breast, a little reward for the truths she'd given him already. "How do I make you feel, Clarice?" he murmured against her skin.

"Warm. Warm and safe. And excited."

"Safe and excited?"

"Yes. Yes, I know you could tear me apart if you wanted to. But I know you never will," she said, letting that last unspoken truth slip away.

"Do you?" he goaded.

"Yes," she said again. She tried not to gasp at his touch, knowing it would just prolong this game of his. "I know you'd never hurt me like that. You'd never let me come to harm. You love me too much."

All of a sudden, Hannibal let go of her. Clarice's heart plummeted to her stomach at the loss of his light touches. But then, before she could even fully recognize he was gone, he was back. His face was at level with hers, looking down at her with a smile. She matched it. "What are you thinking, Doctor?" she asked, teasing him in return, running her fingers down his chest.

"You're right," he said softly. "I love you too much to let any harm come to you. I love you very much, Clarice."

Her smile grew. He was not the first man to tell her he loved her. But he was the first who had said those words in a way that truly meant something. And it meant so much. It meant everything, deep in her heart and soul. Maybe it was because she'd sought the love and protection and approval of her father since his death all those years ago. Maybe she had conflated her love for Hannibal with her love for her father. But if so, he had done the same to her with his love for his sister. He loved and protected her, wanted to teach her and see her grow. But they were so much more to each other than father and daughter, brother and sister. So much more.

"Tell me," he promoted. "Tell me, and then I'll kiss you."

"Always with your games," she chided, her fingers still dragging along his torso. "I was thinking how I get frustrated by your games, but they're a part of you, so I love them. I was thinking how you're my father to me in the same way I am Mischa, but we are so much more than that."

"That's very true," he agreed.

"Kiss me," Clarice reminded him, demanding her payment. "Quid pro quo, Doctor."

His smile grew at that, the way he was always so proud and pleased when he played along like this. It was their fun, this silly thing they could share.

At last, he leaned in to kiss her. His mouth was hot and hungry, just like the rest of him. Clarice wrapped her legs around his hips to draw him in closer. His body pressed flush against hers, and his hard erection was trapped between their bodies. She tried to shift, tried to get him to touch her more, create more friction between her legs while his tongue surged into her mouth and his lips caressed hers in a way that always left her breathless.

But as she continued to writhe beneath him, he pulled away. His kisses travelled down her jaw and her neck and between her breasts and down her stomach until he was settled between her open legs.

"Please," she whined, bucking her hips at him, needing him to satiate this ache.

"You tell me all the secrets of your heart, and I'll bring you pleasure like you've never known. But nothing for nothing, Clarice."

Oh and he was so right. She knew he wasn't bluffing, wasn't exaggerating. How often were they caught in this same orbit of teasing torment? Too often for her to count by now. He'd not tired of demanding her secrets. She'd not tired of reaping the benefits he conferred for her forthrightness. "I've told you all my secrets," she told him, not knowing what else she could tell him now, after all this time.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. He waited for her response by nibbling on the flesh of her inner thigh.

Clarice gasped, moaning and trembling as she felt the slight sting of his teeth against her skin. "I don't know what else to say," she said, her words nearly lost in her moans. "I would tell you anything."

"Would you? Why?" he challenged.

"Because—oh!" His tongue granted her a single swipe over her dripping folds.

"Clarice," he growled. She knew he would do no more until he got an answer to his question.

"I have no secrets from you. You know everything about me."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes. I don't keep secrets anymore."

"No? But you kept secrets before."

She shook her head. "Not since…"

He showed mercy, licking her once more.

Clarice swallowed hard, trying to find the words. "Secrets were for self-preservation. Privacy meant people wouldn't judge me. Think less of me. You don't do that."

When she blinked her eyes open and looked down, she could see him smiling up at her. That soft smile, again, not the hungry one. Though the hunger she saw in his eyes was one she quite enjoyed to see.

She continued, "You know every part of me. I don't want to hide from you. There's nothing to hide."

"Because you know I would never think less of you?" he asked. Though he was not really asking. He already knew the answer was yes.

"Only if I hid away from you. And I never would," she vowed.

He nodded serenely. "Thank you, Clarice," he said softly.

Clarice bucked her hips in response. "Hannibal," she whined. "Nothing for nothing."

"Of course," he agreed. "How would you like to collect your earnings?"

She nearly started laughing, but she couldn't really make anything more than a whimper escape her lips. Clarice hoisted herself up on her elbows so she could look down at him, lying on their bed, poised between her legs, his face mere inches from where she wanted him. "I want you to eat me out," she said, making sure to emphasize her West Virginia accent, making each word as filthy as possible. Give him a bit of the delicious torture she'd endured. "I want you to make me come with your mouth and make me scream till I can't stand it anymore, and then I want you to fuck me hard."

In contrast to her rough words, he tilted his head up to press a sweet, gentle kiss to the pale skin of her abdomen just above the line of her coarse curls. "You shall have it, Clarice," he promised.

His lips caressed her folds. His tongue plunged inside her, thrusting in and out and lapping up her wetness. His lips closed around her clit and he sucked hard and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, just the way she liked. And with in moments, he had her screaming. Her back arched up off the bed as the tension built her up higher and higher. Her whole body was a rubber band, so tight right before it snapped. When her release finally overtook her, she was nearly sobbing with the power of it. His strong hands held her thighs and hips. He'd leave bruises, surely. Bruises he'd later trace with that talented tongue. He'd take good care of her. He always did.

Hannibal did not relent. Clarice thrashed around as his lips and teeth and tongue continued to work her over. At a certain point, his control would snap. She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Their desire for one another was overwhelming at times and seemingly endless. Though he possessed significantly more self-discipline than she did.

Clarice's body had not calmed yet when his mouth left her. She twitched with aftershocks and then his cock thrust deep inside her to get caught in the rolling clenching of her orgasm.

His groan was music to her ears. His voice always had a musical quality to it, but hearing him in the throes of passion practically brought her undone all over again. She was the one he had chosen. It was Clarice Starling who had turned the good doctor's head. After having lived so much and so well and so differently than she, he had found her mind and heart and body worthy of being lavished with his attentions. She was worthy, she knew, more worthy of praise and promotion than anyone else. Clarice Starling had fought past the misfortune of her circumstances to succeed on her merits. And if all it ever brought her was the recognition and reverence of this one man, it would be enough. He had shown her that it was enough. No institution of authority, built by the same misogynistic bigoted sons of bitches who had torn her down all her life, could ever truly see her glory. And even if they could, they weren't worthy of it. But he was. Hannibal the cannibal was worthy.

His thrusts were hard and deep and rough and fast, just like she wanted. Clarice could feel herself floating away as the never-ending pleasure nearly tore her from consciousness. Hannibal was getting quite close, she could tell. She shifted her hips to thrust in time with him as best she could. The bed shook and squeaked with the power of their movements. He leaned in to kiss her messily, but neither of them had the breath enough to remain that way for long. He buried his face in her neck, and she knew what was coming.

She came before he did, as he always ensured being a gentleman about this and all things, and Clarice took the opportunity of their position to bite down on his muscled shoulder as her body shuddered with pleasure. And when his climax took him, he sank his teeth into the edge of her clavicle. She screamed, muffled into where she was biting him, not wanting to let go just yet.

When he finally stilled, she unclenched her jaw and fell back onto the bed. He had not held on when he bit her. He never did.

"You bit me," he said, eyes sparkling with mirth and slight surprise.

Clarice nodded, looking up at him. "Quid pro quo," she teased. She did notice, however, that his mouth was not bloody. He must not have broken the skin. Sometimes he did. But not every time. She, however, had sunk her teeth deep into his muscle. She could taste his blood on her lips, and she could see it starting to drip from the wound on his shoulder.

"We shall have to get cleaned up before we fall asleep, Clarice," he chided lightly. He leaned in to kiss her, though he spent more time licking his own blood off her mouth than actually kissing her.

It was in her mind to apologize for the severity of the wound, but she found she did not regret doing it. She'd not apologize if she wasn't sorry. He wouldn't like that. He'd think it a deception. And it would be. A deception to herself and to him if she said she was sorry for it.

Eventually, however, their bodies cooled. He'd gone soft inside her, and she was starting to get a cramp in her hip from the way they were laying. Hannibal kissed her one last time and extricated himself from her. "A bath, my dear," he announced, holding out his hand to her.

Clarice pushed herself up from the bed, feeling like her whole body was wobbly. Hannibal immediately noticed her difficulty as she stumbled toward him. He scooped her up into his arms without a word. She did not complain. She enjoyed this, feeling delicate and treasured and protected in his arms. Clarice held him around his neck, careful to avoid the injury she'd inflicted on him. He did not seem to notice. Hopefully he'd not need stitches. It was an awkward location, and he'd not have very good dexterity stitching himself up, though she knew he was capable of such a thing.

They settled into a warm, soothing bath together before she knew it. His strong chest was at her back and his arms were around her body. "Have you developed a bloodlust, Clarice?" he asked.

He was teasing her again, but she didn't mind. She felt far too good to mind his games right now. "Only for you."

Hannibal chuckled and kissed the side of her neck, just above where he'd left a bruise of his own bite. "I'll take the compliment."

"I didn't really mean to do it. But the way you bite me when you come, I was curious what it would be like."

"And what was it like?"

"Enjoyable, I think."

"You think?"

"Well, once isn't enough to really get the feel for something like that."

"Most people might disagree with that, Clarice."

"We aren't most people."

He sighed happily. "No," he agreed, kissing her neck once more. "We are certainly not most people."