Starling lies in bed longer than usual, minutes dragging on for what feels like hours; her stomach in knots and her mind in upheaval with thoughts of the previous night's events. Confusion and concern tangle her thoughts as she grapples with how to properly approach Hannibal after his abrupt departure. Should she respect his need for space and solitude to process his emotions, or should she be direct and seek him out? The weight of uncertainty grips her, but the rumbling of her stomach eventually compels her to rise. She slips into her robe and pads quietly to the kitchen, seeking a mid-morning snack. Perhaps a bit of sustenance will help get her thoughts in order.
Hannibal stands at the stove, the air heavy with the heady aroma of spices as he meticulously crafts a sumptuous breakfast. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, as he remains absorbed in his own thoughts, ostensibly oblivious to Clarice's presence, though she knows he is anything but. She lingers in the doorway, studies him closely, sensing the conflict raging within him. The lines of tension in his shoulders and the deliberacy with which he focuses on his task speak volumes. It's as though he is attempting to quiet the maelstrom in his mind, to regain some semblance of control. Her heart twists at the realisation.
Summoning all her courage, she slowly, quietly makes her way over to him. She lays a gentle hand on his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. With deliberate care, she continues to run her hand across the span of his shoulders, leaning in to press a tender kiss between his shoulder blades. He pauses, his breath catching in his throat, but still does not move. Sensing his need for space, she whispers, "I'll be in the study," quietly removing herself from the room, leaving him to sort his thoughts.
In the quiet comfort of the study, Clarice settles onto the soft carpet, propping herself up on her elbows, a plush pillow under her chest for support, and a beautifully bound copy of Vita Nuova by Dante in her hands. She immerses herself in the eloquent work, hoping to understand and share in Hannibal's intellectual passions. She delves into his enchanting prose, having set the mood by selecting one of Hannibal's cherished Chopin CDs as background accompaniment, a soothing piano sonata filling the air with its lilting melody.
After a short while, Hannibal appears in the doorway, silently observing her relaxed form lying on the floor, absorbed in her book. "You appear quite comfortable," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Looking up, smiling softly, "Sometimes you just need a good lie-down on the floor, y'know?"
He nods, stepping into the room. "Chopin and Dante. You have chosen well, Clarice. Both are exquisite in their own right."
Their eyes lock, and for a moment, the tension from the night before seems to dissipate. Hannibal extends his hand, his gaze an elegant invitation. "Would you care to sway with me, Clarice?"
Setting her book aside, she places her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet with ease. They move together slowly, gracefully, the music enveloping them in a cocoon of tranquillity. Hannibal holds her close, his touch gentle, and as they sway, the complex array of emotions between them begins to unravel.
Clarice rests her head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He tightens his embrace slightly, his voice a soft murmur in her ear, "I understand that you're still considering things, but if it has any bearing on your decision, I would like it very much if you stayed, Clarice."
Her heart swells with warmth at his admission. "I made my decision long ago, Hannibal," she whispers. "I'm not going anywhere."
As they continue to sway, the soft strains of Chopin fill the room, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The world outside fades away, leaving none but the two of them in a shared moment of intimacy. Hannibal holds Clarice a little closer, his hands cradling her back, as if afraid she might slip away.
As the music slowly fades into the background, he guides their dance to a graceful halt. Their eyes lock, brimming with unspoken feelings. Hannibal lifts his hands to cradle the sides of her face, his touch delicate, reverent. Tracing gentle circles with his thumb, he commits to memory every contour of her countenance, paying particular homage to the gunpowder mark etched upon her cheek.
"Clarice," he murmurs, his voice low, soothing, almost like a hug.
Her breath hitches, the moment heavy with a tension that is as excruciating as it is exquisite. His eyes reveal multitudes—the vulnerability, the intense longing, the unyielding desire to protect her.
Slowly, he leans in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss as rich in intention as a promise, one that speaks of everything they have yet to put into words – the union of unconditional affection, deep-rooted fears, and unwavering hope; one that bridges the chasm betwixt their troubled pasts and uncertain future.
Clarice melts into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she returns the kiss with equal zeal, and for a moment-a moment existing entirely outside of time, all that exists is the gentle press of her lips upon his and the warmth of their intermingling breath.
With their foreheads resting against one another, Hannibal cradles her face, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. He closes his eyes briefly, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Thank you, Clarice," he whispers, voice laden with gratitude. "Thank you."
They hold each other close, savouring the closeness and finding strength in each other's presence. After a moment, Clarice pulls back slightly, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I should probably go get dressed," she says, her voice nearly inaudible.
Hannibal's eyes glimmer with a mischievous glint. "Mmm...I'm not sure that's entirely necessary," his response is smooth, laced with a hint of teasing.
Interest piqued, she arches an eyebrow, "Oh?" she murmurs, her voice carrying a playful challenge, "Care to expand on that?"
Taking her hand in his, touch warm and reassuring, he wordlessly begins guiding her towards the staircase. Clarice's heart races as realisation dawns on her, a wave of expectation rushing through her veins.
As they ascend the stairs, the anticipation builds between them, a palpable energy that neither can ignore. Halfway up, Hannibal pauses, turning to Clarice with such intensity that it sends a quaver down her spine. "Are you absolutely certain about this, Clarice?" he asks, voice deep, husky.
She meets his gaze, her eyes a mixture of certainty and undeniable desire. "Yes, Hannibal," she replies. "I'm absolutely, unequivocally certain that this is what I want."
He nods, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, continues to lead her up the stairs. They stop finally outside his private sanctuary, the door slightly ajar and beckoning them inside, urging them to allow the outside world to dissipate into nothingness. Hannibal pushes the door open, turning to face her as they step inside.
"Clarice," he says, his voice low and steady as he brings a hand to cup her cheek, "you know you are my equal in every way. This moment—it is ours; yours and mine."
A surge of emotion washes over her, the depth of his sincerity touching her heart. "I know, Hannibal," she whispers. "I'm ready."
With a gossamer touch, he lifts her robe from her shoulders, allowing it to cascade to the floor, pooling around her feet. His hands grasp the hem of her nightgown, lifting it slowly, his lips trailing kisses along the newly exposed flesh. She stands before him, vulnerable though unafraid, as he absorbs every inch of her. His hands return to her face, thumbs trace the delicate contours of her cheeks. Their lips meet once more, a slow and reverent start that quickly deepens in intensity. Their bodies press together, the warmth between them kindling a fire that has long been smouldering, now erupting as an all-consuming conflagration.
Hannibal slips his shoes off before he guides her to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, each step taken with the intention of ensuring she feels cherished and cared for. He eases her down, his eyes locked on hers, as if afraid to break the connection they have woven between them.
His mouth travels down her jawline, planting hot, humid kisses along her neck, his breath warm and intoxicating against her smooth skin. She sighs in response, arching her back slightly as he reaches the sensitive spot below her ear, sucking gently; hands roaming over her body, igniting little fires everywhere they touch.
Hannibal lowers his head, his tongue lightly brushing across one peaked nipple before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently. His left hand caresses and kneads her other breast, eliciting a moan from Clarice, her head falling back as the sensation ripples through her. His lips and tongue savour every inch of her skin as his hands explore her thighs, smoothly ascending towards their convergence, his fingers tantalisingly close to the centre of her desire.
With delicate fingertips, he parts her folds, revealing her swollen bud. He inhales deeply of her sweet scent before lowering his head, his tongue gliding slowly upward, a long, satisfied moan rumbling in his chest as he feasts on her, licking and sucking at her sweet spot with a fervour that leaves her breathless and writhing beneath him. Her hips buck in response to his skillful ministrations, waves of pleasure rippling through her body. With her hands tightly gripping his hair, she pulls him closer as she cries out, her voice ragged with need. Hannibal hums in response, the vibrations sending her even closer to the edge.
His fingers join the dance, slipping into her wet heat as his tongue continues its relentless rhythm. He thrusts slowly, expertly curling his fingers to find that elusive sweet spot, each movement designed to bring her closer to the edge. Her breath hitches as he hits his mark, a crescendo of pleasure building within her. With each stroke, he guides her to the pinnacle of pleasure, her body arching as she reaches her apogee.
"You are magnificent, Clarice," Hannibal's gaze devours her, taking in every inch of her lithe form. "Perfect," he mutters, his voice strained with unchecked want.
Clarice's eyes sparkle with mischief and desire. "And you're wearing far too many clothes, Doctor," she teases, her voice a sultry whisper.
Hannibal's eyes darken with a blend of amusement and lust. Without breaking eye contact, he rises from the bed, his movements fluid and purposeful. His fingers deftly unbutton his shirt, the fabric slipping from his shoulders and falling to the floor. He unbuckles his belt and rips it carelessly from its loops, his remaining garments quickly following, leaving him standing before her, completely exposed.
Clarice's breath catches as she takes in the sight of his lean and powerful frame, her cheeks flushing with anticipation and unbridled admiration. Hannibal returns to the bed, his body a perfect juxtaposition of strength and grace.
Leaning over her, he brushes a strand of hair from her face, "Better?" he asks, his voice a velvety caress.
She reaches up, her fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. "Much better," she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips.
Hannibal kisses her deeply, savouring the moment before gently flipping her onto him, moving into a sitting position and drawing her onto his lap. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms encircle his neck. With deliberate slowness that belies the exigency she feels coursing through her, she shifts and lowers herself onto him, taking him inside her inch by delicious inch. A soft moan escapes her lips as she revels in the sensation of being filled by him. Hannibal's head falls back, his eyes briefly closing as he groans in pleasure, hands firmly gripping her hips, nails digging into her smooth, silken skin.
She begins to readjust, situating herself atop him, lifting her body before sinking back down again and taking him inside once more, riding him slowly at first to savour each delectable sensation. Gradually, she picks up the pace, breasts bouncing with each downward thrust, hair creating a sensual frame around her face. Hannibal watches her through hooded lids, filled with unguarded desire as he admires her unrestrained passion. Clarice cries out with each powerful thrust, clinging to him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Hannibal trails kisses and nips along her neck, sucking the sensitive skin as he thrusts into her relentlessly, fervour matching hers. "Take me, Clarice," Hannibal encourages, his voice hoarse with raw lust, "I belong to you. Take what is yours."
"Oh, God... Hannibal... ohhh... fuck ," she moans, her eyes screwing shut as pleasure washes over her. "I'm so close..."
"Come for me, Clarice," he commands, voice thick with a lustful ownership.
His command is her undoing. She cries out loudly as her orgasm crashes through her, wave upon wave of ecstasy overwhelming her senses, pulsing around him. He bucks his hips, driving into her as he seeks his own release, spurred on by the tightness of her walls clenching around him.
Finally, Hannibal reaches his pinnacle, his body tensing as his own orgasm takes hold. He spills himself deep inside her, filling her as her name tumbles from his lips. Clarice moans softly, relishing the feeling of him throbbing within her, bodies still tethered together as their pleasure ebbs.
At last, spent and breathless, Clarice falls forward against him, her trembling figure struggling to regain her bearings. Hannibal wraps his arms around her, holding her close as he places soft kisses on her shoulder, whispering adulations in her ear, his breath tickling her skin.
They lie together in the afterglow, their bodies still entangled, basking in the warmth and intimacy of the moment. The room is filled with a serene quiet, broken only by the steady in and out of their lungs.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Clarice murmurs, her voice barely audible.
Hannibal's fingers trace gentle patterns on her back. "How long?" he asks, tone curious, sweet.
She contemplates for a moment, her eyes closing as she delves into the deepest corners of her memory. "A lot longer than I probably wanted to admit to myself," she finally confesses, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"Mmm, yes, I believe I know what you mean," Hannibal replies, a quiet understanding in his voice. They lapse into a momentary silence, savouring the unspoken bond that stretches between them.
"You know, I thought about you every day," Clarice says, voice tinged with vulnerability.
Hannibal's arms tighten around her, his touch reassuring. "As I did you, my dear," his voice warm and sincere. "Each day, without fail."
Clarice lifts her head slightly, her eyes meeting his. "Really?" she asks, a mixture of hope and disbelief in her gaze.
"Have you ever known me to be dishonest?," Hannibal replies, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. He reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "You'll remember I travelled halfway around the world to watch you run."
Clarice smiles radiantly, her expression lighting up her face. "It's strange, isn't it? How two people so different can find such a connection."
"Not so strange," Hannibal replies, his lips curving into a smile. "We are more alike than you might realise."
She chuckles softly, her fingers delicately tracing the contours of his face. "I suppose you're right," she agrees. "In all the ways that matter."
Hannibal's eyes reflect the deep respect and admiration he holds for his deep roller. "You are truly remarkable, Clarice," he murmurs. "Your strength, intelligence, and compassion are enviable. You've endured so much, and yet you remain unbroken."
Clarice's heart surges at his words, emotions stirring within her as the vaguest hint of tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes. "You've seen me at my lowest, Hannibal. You've watched me crash and burn..." she confesses, her voice unsteady but earnest. "And yet, you regard me with such reverence, as though I'm something other than a failed experiment."
"You are exceptional, Clarice. Anything less would be a disservice to you," Hannibal responds simply, his voice resonating with unwavering conviction. "And I was correct in my supposition that it would be quite something to know you in private life." He plants a kiss on the soft down of her hairline. "It is an honour beyond measure."
She leans in, touched by his admission, brushing her lips against his, overwhelmed by gratitude and a deepening love. "Thank you, Hannibal," she whispers, her heart swelling with affection. "For everything."
He draws her closer into his embrace, holds her tightly, arms acting as a shield against the uncertainties of the outside world. "No, Clarice, thank you. You have stirred something within me that has long been dormant. The thought of losing you now; that you may come to regret your decision... I don't know that I could bear another loss so profound. I confess, it has been something of a torment these weeks past."
Understanding flickers in Clarice's eyes, though she wonders what exactly he means by another loss. She resolves to find out, bit by bit as their relationship continues to evolve.
"I could never regret this, Hannibal," she assured him softly, her voice a comforting murmur. "Any of it. I had no idea what I was missing all these years." She chuckles lightly, tracing patterns in his chest hair, "It seems we have some lost time to make up for."
A nearly imperceptible sigh of relief escapes Hannibal Lecter's lips, his forehead gently meeting hers in a heartfelt gesture. Oh, my darling," he whispers, a quiet hopefulness showing through, "you will be good to me, won't you? Because we're going to have a strange life."
Starling, recognizing the Hemingway reference, reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, her sparkling eyes holding his maroon ones whole, refusing to let go.
"Yeah... what the hell." She raises her lips to his, kisses him softly, slowly. He smiles, pulling her even closer, tightening his arms around her.
They linger, enveloped in each other's arms, finding solace and fortitude in the presence of one another. As they revel in the moment, Clarice's stomach suddenly emits a loud, audible growl, prompting them to reluctantly part. She lets out a light chuckle, breaking the intensity of the moment. "I had to skip breakfast for more... pressing matters," she confesses with a sheepish smile, her cheeks flushing pink.
Hannibal's lips curl into a sly grin, eyes twinkling with affection. "Allow me to rectify that oversight, my dear," he says, voice warm with amusement. She moves to rise from the bed, stayed by Hannibal raising a hand and guiding her back into a comfortable reclining position. "Ah-ah—stay right where you are. I shall return momentarily."
With a swiftness that belies his age, Hannibal jumps out of bed and exits the room in long strides. Mere minutes later he reappears, balancing a tray with a silver cloche, a steaming cappuccino, and a small vase holding a single red carnation, a symbol of admiration and love, settling it carefully over her lap. She tucks in to the quiche he had been preparing when she found him earlier in the morning, enjoying each delectable bite. He attentively offers her a selection of fresh blueberries, strawberries, and winterberries, positively delighting in feeding her by hand. Their intimacy deepens as she playfully takes his fingertips into her mouth, tantalisingly sucking on them. Before long, they are once again entwined in one another.
Morning fades into afternoon, and then evening, though neither seem to notice or care that the hours slipping away into oblivion, happy as they are to have at last found one another