I had a free afternoon.
Dr Hannibal Lecter was concerned, greatly concerned. He had not felt such... stirrings since his youth. The dream of Clarice - the fantasy - had awoken said stirrings with some alarming force. He was quite sure he had never felt like this before, and this was disconcerting in itself. He was not a man who pined. He was a man who wanted. He was a man who got and possessed.
Little Agent Starling, so young, so brave... so utterly delectable. What a mind, what depth and reality there was to this woman! He was sure that she was unrivaled, unparalleled, when it came to others.
But she was also completely unattainable. As was he to her, if she should return his stirrings. Did he want her because he could not have her? Was he really so typical, so predictable?
Did he want her because she was there, available? Was he latching onto anything new and young, a brief respite, a breath of fresh air in his cold, dank dungeon? Was she bait? Was she torture?
Lecter was certain that Clarice would despise being used as anything, even if it won her Jackie-boy's approval. Advancement was bittersweet if it came on the heels of utilisation, especially for such a hard-working young woman, such as she was.
Dr Lecter resolved to find out more.
Trainee Agent Starling and Dr Hannibal Lecter MD's next scheduled meeting was late at night. Winter was blackening the sky at four p.m and snatching daylight from the outstretched hands of humanity. Tree branches were thick against dark blue horizons, and winds bit at exposed cheeks and fingers.
Of course, Dr Lecter had no idea of the darkness outside. Only that it was late in the day. And Clarice had clearly just come from the hot showers, flushed cheeks and throat, damp hair, and moisture at the creases of her elbows. Lecter did not mind at all, if it meant that she shucked her overcoat immediately, exposing her heated pulse to the cold air.
Leaking warmth and perfume into the air, Clarice had no idea of her appeal. She was still fussing with her coat, settling it perfectly on the back of the chair. She did not notice Lecter close his eyes briefly, and inhale indulgently. Music sang in his mind, a rising crescendo of sensation. It was like a starved man being given the finest cuisine known to humankind.
Dr Lecter had survived on memories, before Clarice. But now, faced with a new offering, old, repetitive memories paled next to her sensational magnificence. He found that there was no solace in his memory palace any longer, only in her presence.
Agent Starling sat down, and looked up. By now, Lecter had composed himself, and schooled his features into polite interest.
"To what do I owe the delight, Agent Starling?"
"I'm afraid Buffalo Bill has taken another girl, Dr Lecter." Clarice looked pained. Lecter enjoyed her wording; 'girl', not 'victim'. They were more than that to Clarice.
"Whom has he snatched?"
"Catherine Martin, Senator Ruth Martin's only daughter."
"And you have ruled out political agendas, I'm sure?" Clarice looked a touch surprised.
"No, we haven't, why?"
"Ah, Clarice, Clarice, look to his previous victims. Where any of those poor girls politically connected?"
"No, but we cannot rule out-"
"I'm afraid we can, Agent Starling. Something tells me our Billy doesn't care for their families, only their waistlines." Clarice's mouth bent, her revulsion clear. Lecter savoured the emotion, loving its tang on his tongue.
"Alright, I understand. Now, if you please-"
"Ah, ah, ah. Remember our deal, little Starling. Quid pro quo." Clarice's eyes half-closed, before flitting open again, and inhaling through her nose. Her frustration was as delicious as her disgust, sweeter, perhaps.
"Fine. Go, Doctor."
"Why do you think you were chosen for this... honour, Clarice?" Dr Lecter leaned forward a fraction of an inch. He wanted to watch her. Her emotions were so varied, so obvious on her face and in her body. It was addictive, she was addictive.
"I hope Mr Crawford found me suitable for the job." Lecter tipped his head to the right, like an animal listening. He didn't doubt that. Clarice's abilities were many.
"I think - if you'll permit me - Jackie-boy likes you. Do you notice him watching you, Clarice, out of the corner of your eye? Do you think he wants you, sexually? True, he is much older, but do you think he imagines scenarioes, exchanges, fucking you?" He let the expletive hiss out, softer than silk. Her reactions were not as obvious as he expected. She looked up into the corner, almost rolling her eyes, which he would have found impertinent had he not found it quite so endearing.
"That doesn't interest me, Doctor." Her mouth quirked upwards in one corner. Lecter's eyebrows rose delicately in surprise.
"Does it not? It interests me greatly."
"Why?" Ah, curious Clarice...
"I would lay the blame at the door of boredom, Agent Starling, but I do like to wonder..." He let himself trail off, hoping she'd take the bait.
"Wonder what, Doctor?" Perfect. He let their shared silence elongate, stretch between them, before answering.
"Do you think Jackie-boy likes to dangle you in front of me like the tasty morsel you are, and let me wonder and think on how good you would taste?" Lecter could smell her now, all woman and darkness and curiousity and wanting. His heart soared. He watched her shift in her seat with some satisfaction.
"I don't know Doctor. What do you think?" Her challenge was sweeter than honey.
"What do I think?" he repeated softly, eyes fixed on hers, "How slippery of you, Agnet Starling. I rather imagined you'd play along."
"I'm no plaything, Doctor." said Clarice, with veiled rage colouring her tone. Dr Lecter was in ecstasy.
"Oh no, my dear, no, no, no. I would never begin to presume such an aspersion." Dr Lecter waited until Clarice's muscles relaxed slightly before continuing.
"Besides, I see you more as a playmate, my dear."
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