Hannibal and Clarice savor a tranquil morning as they leisurely navigate the spacious and elegantly furnished rooms of their Buenos Aires estate. The gentle murmur of classical music emanates from a hidden sound system, infusing each corner with a soothing ambiance. Outside, the weather is unforgiving; the windows rattling and the trees bending to the dictations of the blustering wind. The rain hammers the ground in large, relentless drops.
Hannibal, wearing a crisp white t-shirt, black lounge pants, and comfortable house slippers, stands in the kitchen carefully and expertly preparing a cup of his preferred Neapolitan espresso. His affinity for loungewear has grown exponentially since the inception of his relationship with Clarice, conceding that they are much more comfortable for languid days spent at home. Ever a practical man, he has also expressed on a number of occasions his appreciation for the ease of access such items offer when languor takes a turn for the more intimate. Meanwhile, Clarice, looking relaxed in a navy blue tank top and grey leggings, leans against the counter, savoring a banana in the soft morning light.
"Any thought as to what you would like to do today?" Hannibal inquires, a gleam in his eyes as he observes Clarice enjoying her banana.
Clarice smiles, enjoying the sweetly subdued fruit. "I was planning to go for a run, but the weather outside is pretty miserable," she says, nodding towards the window as raindrops skate down the glass. "I think I'll head to the gym instead. Wanna come with me?"
Hannibal quirks an eyebrow, considering her offer. "The gym, you say? I suppose a change of scenery could be interesting." He takes a playful step towards her and, without breaking eye contact, gently leans in to take a bite of the banana still in her hand.
Clarice laughs, a melodic, infectious sound that fills the air. "You never miss a chance to surprise me, do you?" she says, with a fond shake of her head.
Hannibal chews thoughtfully, a playful smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. "One does try. Besides, it will be nice to see you in your element," he says, his voice dropping to a sultry tone. "Watching you move, so strong and graceful, skin glistening with sweat...it's quite a sight."
Clarice feigns a coy smile, savoring the last bit of banana before tossing the peel into the stainless steel compost bin. "Alright, then, stud. Let's get ready. I'll grab my gym bag." She approaches the doorway, stopping short and turning to face her husband, "Meet you at the car?"
"Be out shortly, my sweet."
As Clarice heads to the bedroom to gather her things, Hannibal sips his espresso, savoring the rich aroma and pondering the day's unforeseen turn of events. After a contemplative moment, he places his empty cup in the dishwasher and heads to the bedroom to change into his workout gear. He opts for a fitted charcoal grey shirt and black, slim-fit athletic pants with a matching windbreaker. Typically, Hannibal's typical routine consisted of a series of isometric exercises and pilates at home, either in the spacious den or on the terrace, depending on the weather and he would wear forego clothing altogether, save for a pair of shorts and sneakers. Before heading downstairs, remembering her occasional troubles with her thick hair breaking free from its confines, he grabs an extra hair tie from Clarice's vanity and slips it on his wrist. Just in case. He thinks, smiling to himself, a warmth welling in his chest.
When he meets Clarice at the car, she's placing a black Nike gym bag in the backseat. Now sporting a lavender zip-up hoodie that delightfully complements the cerulean of her eyes, her hair neatly tied back into a practical ponytail, "Ready?" she asks as he approaches.
"And how."
She tosses him the keys and they step into the sleek black Jaguar parked in the garage. During the brief drive to the gym, they chat about their planned workouts, outlining their fitness regimen as well as discussing upcoming city events that they might be interested in attending. Upon arriving, they are greeted warmly by the receptionist, who greets them by name, recognizing them as valued members.
After securing their possessions in their respective locker rooms, Clarice heads straight for the treadmill section to start her usual routine. She sets a steady pace on the treadmill, her focus on maintaining her lean and toned physique. Meanwhile, Hannibal makes his way to the rowing machines, carefully observing the gym's bustling environment with a keen eye, scoping out his surroundings and scanning for possible dangers.
Amidst the lively environment stands Santiago, a young man with a sun-kissed complexion, bulging biceps, and a broad chest. His form-hugging neon green tank top and short black shorts reveal an array of tattoos and leave little to the imagination regarding his sculpted physique. Santiago frequently catches sight of Clarice and often finds contrived excuses to strike up conversations with her, clearly transfixed by her.
As Clarice begins her treadmill routine with a slow walk to warm up, Santiago approaches her with his usual swagger, flashing a confident smile. His thick, dark hair is slicked back, a gold chain glinting against his swarthy skin.
"Hola, Laura. Looking strong today," Santiago says, rolling the r of her name almost like a purr, his tone dripping with casual arrogance.
Clarice offers a polite smile, her focus remaining on her workout. "Thanks, Santiago. Just trying to keep up with my routine."
Slick with sweat, Santiago leans against the treadmill, his well-defined biceps flexing intentionally. "You know, you really push yourself hard. It's impressive. Maybe you could give me some tips sometime."
Clarice nods, her discomfort masked by courtesy. "Sure, maybe another time, but I really need to focus on my workout right now."
Santiago doesn't seem to take the hint, leaning closer and casually squeezing her bicep. "You've got some serious muscles here. Must be all those weights you've been lifting."
Clarice lets out a nervous chuckle, hoping Hannibal hasn't noticed the awkward interaction. "Thanks, Santiago, but I'm on a tight schedule and need to wrap up my workout before the weather takes a turn for the worse."
Hannibal, who has been silently observing the exchange from his position at the rowing machine, completes his set with precise, controlled motion. A subtle narrowing of his eyes as he watches Santiago's antics bely his displeasure lurking beneath his calm, collected demeanor.
After Clarice finishes her treadmill session, she makes her way to the free weights section to do a few targeted upper body exercises. Meanwhile, Hannibal, now seated at the lat pulldown machine, keeps a watchful eye on Santiago while maintaining his focus on his own workout. As Clarice begins her final set, exuding a sense of quiet confidence and authority, he decides it's time to approach Santiago directly. With deliberate steps, he moves towards Santiago with an elegant yet commanding presence.
"Young man, I would advise you to cease your attentions to the lady," Hannibal says, indicating Clrice with a quirk of his head, his voice steady and firm.
Santiago, taken aback by the older man's sudden intervention, attempts to brush him off with his trademark arrogance. "Oh yeah, viejo? And why should I listen to you?"
Hannibal's eyes glitter with a dangerous glint of amusement. "Oh, it's nothing much to me, though I've taken notice of your interactions, and she doesn't appear to enjoy them nearly as much as you do."
"Whatever, old man." Santiago huffs. "And let me guess, you're crazy enough to think you stand a chance with her, huh?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. She happens to be my wife." Hannibal reveals calmly, growing more amused by the second.
Santiago scoffs incredulously, glancing at Clarice and then back at Hannibal. "Yeah, right. I don't see any wedding ring on either of you. Nice try."
Hannibal simply smirks, turning to leave. As he does, Clarice finishes her last set and walks over to them, sensing the tension. She places a hand on Hannibal's arm.
"Hey, Drés," she says, using an affectionate nickname for his alias. "You about ready to go?"
Hannibal acknowledges Santiago with a nod, stealing one last glance over his shoulder at him. Santiago remains rooted to the spot, his expression one of utter disbelief, as Hannibal drapes an arm around Clarice's waist and they stroll together towards the exit.
As they draw near Santiago, Hannibal tenderly presses his lips to his wife's, causing her earlier unease to dissolve as she gazes up at him. "Did you have a satisfying workout, my dear?" he inquires, his voice laced with genuine warmth.
Clarice beams up at him, her earlier reservations fading. "I did, thank you. How 'bout you?"
Hannibal nods, giving Santiago one final glance and a subtle wink. The young man is left in stunned silence as they exit the gym.
As they step outside, Clarice leans into Hannibal, whispering, "Thank you."
"Always, Clarice. Always." Hannibal kisses her forehead softly.
Clarice, feeling exhilarated from the intensity of her workout, eagerly asks to drive the Jaguar home, expressing her love for the way it handles. However, Hannibal, having observed her past daring and what he sometimes considered reckless behavior with her own Mustang, has reservations about handing over the keys to his prized possession.
"Aww, Come on, H. Just this once?" She pleads with big doe eyes, knowing he can never deny it. Reluctantly, he agrees to let her drive but not before cautioning her to rein in her typically adventurous driving style, especially considering the unpredictable weather conditions.
As they settle into the car, she connects her iPhone to its audio system and begins searching for a song. After finding it, she hits play, and the stylings of Shania Twain's Any Man of Mine fill the car with the sound of violins and the whooping of her powerful voice.
Hannibal lets out a groan and protests, "Clarice, not this infernal noise again."
However, Clarice remained resolute, singing along with great enthusiasm and even gesturing to him during certain parts of the song. One line in particular she belts loudly while pointing at him and gyrating in her seat: " Any man of mine better walk the line. Better show me a teasin', squeezin', pleasin' kinda time. "
Despite himself, Hannibal can't help but laugh, squeezing her thigh and even finding himself humming along at one point.
After a minute, Hannibal can't help but interject, "Clarice, keep your eyes on the road. I'd like to be able to demonstrate that teasin', squeezin', pleasin' kinda time you and Madame Twain so require."
Clarice laughs heartily, reaching for the knob and turning the volume down."Okay, okay, H. We'll get you home in one piece so you can make good on that promise."
Upon returning home, they are greeted at the door by their housekeeper, Henriette. With her hair in a neat bun and crisp apron around her waist, she ushers them inside with a look of concern etched upon her face.
"Dr. Molina, Mrs. Molina," Henriette addresses them as they step out of their damp shoes and place them neatly on the mat near the door. "The storm is getting worse. It's supposed to last all night."
"Thank you, Henriette," Hannibal replies, his voice calm and reassuring. "We'll stay in and make the best of it."
After exchanging a few more words with Henriette, Hannibal and Clarice head to their master bathroom. The bathroom, a luxurious space with marble floors and a spacious glass-enclosed shower, quickly fills with steam as the hot water cascades down, creating a cozy and tranquil atmosphere.
In the shower, their movements are initially practical, washing away the remnants of their workout. However, the intimate setting soon ignites a more passionate connection. Hannibal's hands move with a tender yet possessive grace over Clarice's body, while she responds with equal fervor, their shared laughter and whispers accenting the sound of the water.
Hannibal's eyes roam over her body appreciatively, taking in the curves and tones of her figure. With slow, deliberate movements, he reaches out, his hands moving with a combination of tenderness and possession. With his tongue, he traces the droplets of water rolling down her neck and along her collarbone, sending goosebumps spreading across her skin.
"You're so beautiful, Clarice," Hannibal whispers, his breath warm against her ear.
She pulls Hannibal towards her, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss, deepening as they lose themselves in each other. Hannibal's hands move lower, cupping her hips and pulling her closer. Clarice feels his lean, taut body press against hers, and their caresses become more urgent, reflecting their growing desire. Hannibal's fingers twine through Clarice's wet hair, tilting her head back to expose the graceful line of her neck. He kisses and nips at the sensitive skin there, marking her gently with a possessiveness that sends her spine quavering.
He lifts her effortlessly until her legs wrap around his waist, pressing her back against the cool, tiled wall of the shower. Hannibal enters her with a slow, deliberate pace, giving Clarice time to adjust to the growing intensity between them. The warmth of the water cascading over their entwined bodies heightens their connection.
As their passion crests, their kisses grow hungrier; their whispers turn to desperate pleas. Hannibal's vermilion eyes blaze with intensity, reflecting both the depth of his desire and adoration for Clarice. With each movement, their passion becomes more urgent, a tumultuous blend of gentle caresses and frantic touches as they race toward the pinnacle of pleasure.
In the throes of climax, Clarice and Hannibal cling to each other, their breath coming in short gasps. Waves of euphoria wash over them, culminating in their shared longing and unspoken understanding. The laughter that had initially accompanied their playfulness now softens into murmurs of contentment.
Hannibal envelops Clarice in a protective embrace, holding her close as she leans into him, feeling safe and loved in his arms.
Once they've dried off and changed into their favorite lounge clothes, Clarice is in an oversized, soft sweater and comfortable leggings, while Hannibal opts for a cozy black sweatshirt and loose-fitting sweatpants. They make their way to the kitchen, where Hannibal sets about preparing a light, comforting meal of butternut squash soup infused with rosemary alongside slices of sourdough bread freshly baked earlier that morning.
"Shall we cozy up on the couch and enjoy a movie?" Clarice suggested, a gentle smile gracing her lips
"Sounds delightful," Hannibal replies, leaning closer to plant a tender kiss on her lips from across the kitchen island.
"I'll go browse our options."
As the inviting aroma of the soup envelopes the room, Clarice settles in front of the large, high-definition TV and accesses their Amazon Prime account. She scrolls through the vast selection of films until she stumbles upon one that she'd listened to Ardelia yammer on about for days after seeing it. Although she hasn't seen it before and is sure that her husband is in the same camp, the description sparks her curiosity and convinces her to give it a chance.
Hannibal returns to the room, carefully balancing a tray loaded with the steaming soup and freshly baked bread. He places it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "What shall we watch?" he inquires, often deferring to his wife as he has seen very few movies in his lifetime. He is still wary, though, as he has yet to forgive her for the time she made him endure nearly two hours of middle-aged actors prancing around and failing miserably to pass as hoodlum teenagers in Grease. That was a film he watched primarily from the quiet comfort of his memory palace.
"How about Erin Brockovich ?" Clarice suggests, settling comfortably into the couch.
Hannibal arches an eyebrow. "Hmm, I'm not sure. What's it about?"
Clarice explains, "Julia Roberts plays a tenacious woman who helps a small town fight a major corporation over water contamination."
Hannibal mulls it over, intrigued by the premise. "A strong female lead, you say? That sounds promising."
Clarice teases, "You sure you can handle it? It might be too highbrow for you."
Hannibal's face lights up with a loving smile as he tears off a piece of sourdough bread and tosses it her way with a playful flick of his fingers. "I happen to adore strong women. After all, I did marry one," he remarks, voice tinged with a combination of adoration and amusement.
She giggles, catching the bread and popping it into her mouth before hitting play on the remote.
As they settle in to watch the film, they are both drawn into Julia Roberts' performance. Her sharp one-liners and unwavering determination captivate them both, and Hannibal cannot help but draw a comparison.
Placing his empty bowl on the coffee table next to hers, he remarks, "She exudes a certain ferocity, don't you think?" His voice carries a hint of admiration. Playfully nudging her, he adds, "Reminds me of someone I know."
Clarice laughs, cuddling closer to him under the warmth of the plush blanket, taking in his comforting scent. "You know that hoopty she drives? It's just like my old Pinto from my academy days," she reminisces with a giggle. "And then she gets hit by a Jaguar—just like the one in our garage." She glances at him teasingly, evoking a chuckle.
"Imagine if that's how we had met," she muses.
Hannibal laughs softly, shaking his head. "It would undoubtedly be you who was at fault. But those days are behind us now. Everything you desire is within your grasp."
In response, she grasps his hand and places a lingering kiss on the lightly stubbled line of his jaw.
As the movie credits start rolling, Clarice turns to Hannibal with a curious look. "What did you think?"
"I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised," Hannibal says, his tone genuine. "Julia Roberts delivered a compelling performance, and the story was, dare I say it, rather engaging."
Clarice snuggles closer to him, feeling content. "Well, there's a first time for everything."
Hannibal tenderly wraps an arm around her, holding her close as the storm rages outside, their home a warm sanctuary from the tumult of the outside world.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Clarice playfully teases, "So, when do you plan on teasin', squeezin', and pleasin' me, big guy?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Without a moment's hesitation, Hannibal looks down and captures her mouth in a passion-filled kiss. She responds in kind, their kisses growing deeper and more urgent, hands sliding beneath clothes as their desire intensifies. Just as the heat between them reaches a fever pitch, Clarice suddenly pulls back, a fleeting sense of reality piercing through the haze of passion. She remembers Henriette and the other staff milling about nearby.
"We can't," she whispers, breathless and flushed, "not here," her eyes darting around nervously. Hannibal nods, understanding the gravity of their situation. They hastily adjust their disheveled clothing, their hearts racing, stealing furtive glances around to check if anyone has caught on to their clandestine moment. The fear of being discovered adds an extra layer of thrill to their passionate encounter.
As they exchange a meaningful, knowing gaze, they quickly and eagerly walk to the bedroom, gently closing the door behind them with a resolute click. Once they find themselves alone again, all their pent-up emotions come rushing out. They embrace each other tightly, propelled by an irresistible wave of yearning. Clothes are shed with urgency, each piece discarded in a haphazard trail leading to the bed, which they collapse onto, their bodies tangling together in a heated rush. Hannibal's hands trace the curve of Clarice's waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between them. Her fingers weave through his hair, tugging gently as their lips meet in a fervent kiss.
Hannibal's lips trail down her neck, leaving a hot trail in their wake, while Clarice's nails rake lightly down his back, eliciting from him a low groan. His hands are demanding yet gentle as they roam Clarice's body, soft gasps ushering forth from her lips. She arches into his touch, breath hitching as he finds all the places that make her melt. They find a rhythm that carries them higher, closer to the edge, the room filling with the sounds of their shared passion—their whispered names, breathless moans, and the rhythmic creak of the bed mingling with the soft rustle of sheets. Their gasps and sighs build in a crescendo that echoes off the walls. Finally, they collapse into each other's arms, their bodies spent and their hearts full.
As they lie there, basking in the afterglow, Clarice's thoughts drift back to the movie they'd just watched; the relentless pursuit of justice and fighting for compensation and fairness linger in her thoughts. She turns to Hannibal, her voice soft in the quiet room.
"You know, Hannibal," she says softly, "after seeing how much difference Erin Brockovich made, I was thinking about what we could do with our resources. Maybe donate some to charity?"
Hannibal considers her suggestion, his gaze thoughtful. "Yes, we could indeed make a meaningful impact," he replies slowly. Then, with a hint of mischief, he added, "Or perhaps we could put in a pool. Just think," he pauses momentarily, and Clarice can nearly hear the smile spread across his face. "We could have a grotto built...perfect for all the clandestine encounters that surely await us."
Clarice laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Pool sex, H?"
"A man must have his dreams, Clarice," he retorts with a playful smirk. "What do you think?"
"Both," she replies without missing a beat, her eyes sparkling. "Definitely both."
Hannibal's expression softens into a thoughtful look, his mind shifting gears. "Speaking of perceptions," he continues, his voice taking on a more introspective tone, "do you think of me as old? This morning at the gym, your hapless suitor Santiago called me viejo ." He mimics Santiago's exaggerated accent with a hint of amusement.
Clarice's eyes widen in disbelief and then narrow with annoyance. "What? Babe," she exclaims, leaning up on one elbow to look him squarely in the eye. "First of all, you don't look a day over fifty-no, forty-five - And let's be honest, you're toned, tanned, hot as hell, and you keep me very satisfied—" She grins mischievously, "in bed, on the couch, on the floor, in the car..." Her fingers trace patterns on his chest. "As for this greying at your temples? I think it looks distinguished." Her fingers move to graze the hair above his ears, and after a moment, she adds with a cheeky grin, "So does Henriette."
Hannibal, not the type to ever require any sort of validation, allows himself this rare moment of disquiet with his wife. His lips curl into a small smile at her reassurances. "Henriette has impeccable taste," he remarks dryly.
Clarice continues, her tone turning more serious. "Trust me, H, Santiago is your typical gym rat dolt with a protein shake for a brain. Next time he hits on me, I should tell him, 'My husband once removed a man's skull cap and made an amuse-bouche from his brain because he kept making passes at me.'"
Hannibal chuckles softly, pulling her closer. "I think we may need to find a new gym," he says with a wry grin.
Their laughter fills the room, coalescing with the warmth of their shared intimacy and the ease of understanding between them. In that moment, Santiago's ill-placed comment fades into insignificance, overshadowed by the strength of their connection and the playful banter that always seems to find its way into their conversations.