Hannibal sits in bed, reclined against the pillows, struggling to unwrap a pack of gum, sporting a brand new pair of glasses. Earlier that day, he had visited the optometrist and come home with a slick new pair of spectacles—rectangular tortoiseshell frames with a dark bronze wire inlay; very dapper and very much in line with the Doctor's impeccable taste.
Clarice appears from the en suite, climbs into bed next to him, and watches him struggle with the wrapper for a moment. When did he get new glasses? She wonders, then mentally shrugs it off. She grabs the book resting on the nightstand and flips it open. She reads a few lines, but finds it nearly impossible to concentrate with Hannibal's incessant huffing, puffing, and crinkling. She places the book facedown on her lap, intently watching Hannibal's current plight.
"Infernal thing. Why won't you open…?" He turns the pack over in his hand and brings it closer to his face, squinting, mouth half-open. "No, I believe I've tried that already."
Starling feels her heart swell. She loves seeing him like this—so at ease, so oblivious; loves knowing no one else on earth has seen him this way. He gives a low grumble. "Clarice—" he begins, ready to ask her assistance with the cellophane wrapper, but is cut off by a poorly concealed snort behind her hand. He throws her a quick sideways glance before reaching into the bedside drawer and pulling out his harpy, setting it to the wrapper. "Might I inquire, my dear, as to what is so humorous?" He slices through the plastic with a dramatic flourish. "Ahh!" he exclaims, satisfied, turning his attention now toward his grinning bedfellow.
"The Enigmatic and Terrifying Hannibal Lecter," she says, shaking her head slightly.
"I am terrifying. Just ask this pack of gum." He slips a piece in his mouth and extends the pack to her, which she declines.
"I don't think I've ever seen you chew gum before." She states rather matter-of-factly.
"I don't often indulge, but one likes to be prepared," he says with a slick voice and a wink.
Starling raises her eyebrows. "Yeah? Prepared for what, exactly, H?"
"A gentleman never tells, darling." He looks back to the pack, thoughtful. "Wintermint…indeed. Cool and refreshing."
"Ahh, 'kay," she says with an exaggerated lift of her chin. "Well, you two have fun over there."
He puts the gum on the bedside table and picks up his own book: a trusty, well-worn copy of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Softly, she traces the curves of his figure with her blue eyes, eventually settling on his face, his lips, his nose, his new glasses… his new glasses. Yes, she does quite like the glasses. He looks so… academic… professorial. They suit him perfectly. He is so handsome. She smiles widely. You've done well for yourself, Starling. Your man is fucking hot. She feels herself grow warm and realizes she's been holding her breath. When she finally exhales, he turns his head toward her.
"Everything all right, dear?" he asks, closing the book over his index finger.
Her mind flashes to their meeting in the dungeon with the little desk Barney had procured. School image. Yes or no? "You got new glasses." Yes.
"I did." He sets his book down beside his gum and his harpy, turning his full attention to his companion. "Thoughts, comments, concerns…?"
She tilts her head to one side. "I like them," she says so sweetly he feels the need to be touching her.
Taking her hand in his, he squeezes it lightly. "Thank you. I had hoped you might. I would have asked you along this morning, but I didn't wish to pull you from such serene slumber."
She shakes her head to dispel any notion of hurt feelings, still feeling the heat pulse between her legs. "So… these plans of yours, do they involve me?"
"Every day, forever, if you'll allow it."
Smiling sweetly, "You know, the specs kinda remind me of that little school desk Barney set out for one of our meetings at the asylum." Clarice murmurs, her voice tinged with nostalgia and something deeper. "Very academic. Very...sexy."
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across Hannibal's face, the kind that sends a quavering feeling down Clarice's spine. His voice is a velvety purr, rich with amusement. "You know, I always thought you looked quite fetching sitting at that desk, Agent Starling."
Her laughter is soft and melodic, like the gentle chime of crystal glasses, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and desire. She shimmies closer, her presence magnetic. "Is that so, Doctor? Should we examine this in further detail sometime?"
Hannibal's eyes darken with intrigue, a predatory gleam evident. He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I think I'd enjoy that very much. You with your cheap shoes and good bag, me behind the glass, watching your every move with rapt attention. Perhaps you could stop by for a conjugal visit of sorts." He hums, the sound sultry and oh so enticing.
Clarice leans in closer, her breath warm and teasing against his ear, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. "About those plans...God damn, H. These glasses...they're really doing it for me." She is hardly able to form a coherent thought.
His grip on her hand tightens, drawing her nearer. The air between them thickens, charged with electric anticipation. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them palpable. "My schedule is quite open at the moment." After a brief, tantalizing pause, he adds, "Agent Starling."
Without further ado, she climbs on top of him, her movements slow and deliberate. She smiles, a beguiling blend of shyness and boldness that sets his pulse racing. "Well, Doctor Lecter," she says, her voice taking on a commanding tone that sends another thrill through him, "That is fortunate, indeed. It seems I need your help with my latest case."
Hannibal tilts his head, his expression one of intense curiosity. "Is that so? What exactly is the crime, Agent Starling?"
Her smile widens, and she traces a finger down his chest, her touch light but tantalizing. "I don't remember saying anything about a crime, Doctor," she says, her voice a sultry whisper. "This case is far more...personal."
Hannibal's eyes glitter with interest. "Oh? Do continue."
Clarice leans even closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "The case is as such: you're in this dungeon wasting away all by yourself, and I'm a lonely FBI agent who can't help but think about you at night."
"That is quite an unfortunate case indeed, Agent Starling," Hannibal murmurs, his voice a low, seductive growl. "What do you propose we do about that?"
She pauses, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a mixture of challenge and longing. "Well...we might start by finding out if you live up to my fantasies."
Hannibal's eyes gleam with a playful glint as he moves his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep, lingering kiss. The kiss is intense, filled with a depth of feeling that leaves them both breathless. Their hands begin to explore, tracing familiar curves and lines with a renewed sense of urgency and tenderness.
Clarice's fingers thread through his hair, while his hands roam over her back, pulling her even closer. The room is filled with the soft sounds of their murmurs and heavy breaths, a symphony of shared passion. Each touch, stoking the flames of their desire, the playful banter giving way to a profound, intimate connection.
As the night stretches on, they lose themselves in each other, their love and longing intertwining in a perfect dance of passion and tenderness. The intimacy of the moment deepens, a shared sense of belonging enveloping them, making the night unforgettable.
Several hours later, they lie wrapped in each other's arms, Hannibal tracing lines the length of her bicep with his finger.
"Perhaps I should visit the optometrist more often." He murmurs cheekily.
The following morning, the sun begins to peek over the horizon, spilling over the rooftops, painting the sky in lovely muted pastels of pink and gold. Hannibal, ever the early bird, slips out of bed as Clarice quietly sleeps, careful not to wake her. He prepares their morning tea service and takes it out to the terrace that extends from their bedroom suite. The delicate scent of jasmine mingles with the crisp morning air as he sets the tray on the small wrought-iron patio table.
Leaning against the terrace railing, Hannibal rests his forearms on the cool stone, his gaze fixed on the city below as it gradually emerges from its slumber. The streets begin to come alive, and for a brief moment, a sense of calm washes over his usually intricate thoughts.
Meanwhile, Clarice awakens to find Hannibal absent from their bed. She wraps herself in a light robe, feeling the cool morning air against her skin. The French doors to the terrace stand open, and as she steps out, her eyes rest on Hannibal, lost in reflection, his back to her. She lingers by the doorway, arms crossed, her heart swelling with deep affection and admiration for the man who stands before her.
After a moment of quiet reverie, she breaks the silence with a soft, affectionate voice. "He wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there, leaning against the balcony railing, holding the universe together."
Hannibal turns to her, a gentle smile brightening his face. "Not quite, my darling," he responds, setting his tea down and opening his arms to her.
Clarice steps into his embrace, feeling the warmth and strength of his arms around her.
"Now I am holding the entire universe."
She teases him gently, her resting on his chest, her voice playful. "You're such a hopeless romantic, Hannibal."
He chuckles softly, the sound a deep, comforting rumble in his chest. "Only for you, my love."
They share a tender moment of laughter before settling down together for tea and coffee, basking in the gentle morning light that envelops them, creating an almost tangible sense of peace and tranquility.
After finishing their drinks, they make their way to the kitchen for a light breakfast. Henriette, their dilligent housekeeper, is already bustling about, tidying up the space. Henriette, similarly aged to Clarice, often displays a coy and twee demeanor around Hannibal. She frequently bestows compliments about his sartorial choices, the treats he leaves for the staff, and his overall impeccable taste in decor and interior design. It didn't take long for Clarice to pick up on Henriette's keen attentions toward him. Hannibal, on the other hand, remains blissfully unaware, his affection reserved solely for his partner in crime as well as in life.
This morning, Clarice is adorned in a light, flowing sundress, resting just above her knees, while Hannibal sports his new spectacles and a cream-colored linen shirt with the top few buttons undone. As Henriette catches sight of him, her face flushes, and she appears slightly flustered. They exchange warm pleasantries, and Clarice can't help but notice Henriette stealing subtle glances at Hannibal as he prepares breakfast.
With a glint of mischief in her eye, Clarice asks, "Henriette, have you noticed Andres' new glasses?"
Henriette stammers, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "Yes, I have. They look very nice on you, Doctor Molina."
Clarice gives Hannibal a wink, who shakes his head quietly, amused. "Thank you, Henriette," he responds graciously. "Have you had your breakfast? You are more than welcome to join us."
Politely declining, Henriette makes her exit, eager to escape before her flustered state further betrays her. "No, thank you, Doctor. I have some other tasks to attend to."
Once Henriette leaves, Clarice and Hannibal tuck in to their meal. Clarice can't resist playfully needling him about the obvious crush Henriette has on him. "You know, she's absolutely smitten with you."
Hannibal chuckles softly, dismissing it. "You exaggerate, my dear."
Clarice's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Am I? It's rather sweet. Just don't forget which one of has memorized your extensive case file."
Hannibal reaches across the table, taking her hand in his. "Never, my love. I am ever in your beneficent hands."
Their gaze meets in a silent understanding, a testament to their enduring love and deep connection. As they finish their breakfast, the outside world begins to stir, but in their sanctuary, it is the shared moments that seem to hold everything together.