Chapter 14
| TATTLE-CRIME EXCLUSIVE! - FLOUNDERING FBI? |
GET THE INSIDE SCOOP!
(pg. 3)
FBI CONFIRMS NO LEADS IN HORRIFIC SANDY POINT SLAYINGS.
"Special Agent" Jack Crawford admits to implicating innocent women. His excuse? — "The media is going batsh*t over the recent string of killings."
Of course we are! You aren't doing your job!
His recent target, only known as "Delilah," was seen being berated by the agent shortly after attending a function** together at the home of esteemed local psychiatrist, Doctor Hannibal Lecter.
Who is this poor mystery woman?
Is Jack Crawford just losing his touch, or is he losing his mind?
If we can't trust the FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATIONS, who CAN we trust?
MORE INFO TO COME!
**Also seen in attendance: Doctor Alana Bloom, who became incredibly hostile when questioned and declined to comment.
Hannibal snorted humorlessly and snapped his laptop closed. "Tacky as ever, Miss Lounds," he muttered to himself, leaning back in his seat and swiveling 'round a bit to glance at the clock. Noting that it was just past seven, he returned to the bedroom to find Delilah still fast asleep. For a moment, he debated crawling back into bed, or perhaps even waking her — her light snores and sweet, dreamy sighs made either notion equally enticing — but seeing as he'd already showered and dressed, and rather preferred she be well-rested upon waking, he opted instead to pull up a chair and wait it out.
Seeing Delilah's name in Lounds' pathetic excuse for an article hadn't surprised him in the slightest — it did, however, serve to annoy him to the point that he almost debated paying Miss Lounds an early morning visit… Almost.
Ultimately Hannibal chose to exercise self-restraint, for several reasons — first and foremost, it was utter foolishness. If he threatened Freddie Lounds at the mere mention of Delilah, it would only serve to further pique the plucky little tabloid blogger's interest in her. Not to mention, it also would have shone a blinding spotlight on the ever-strengthening thread between himself and Delilah; he was quite sure Lounds already had enough suspicions after the prior night's events, but he would be stupid to so outrightly confirm anything for her.
His final, and admittedly most selfish, reason for not castigating the "professional" busybody was that flitting off in the wee hours of the morning would, quite frankly, be inexcusably rude. He couldn't very well leave Delilah to potentially awaken, completely alone, in his home.
And Hannibal was neither foolish, or stupid — nor was he rude.
While he silently mulled all of this over, a soft glow soon began to bleed through the window as the sun finally rose, its warm rays bouncing off Delilah's curls and showcasing the contented flush of her cheek in the loveliest way. She always appeared so innocent and unassuming in sleep, as most people tended to, but the autumn morning's light made her look nothing short of seraphic — and the irony was not lost on Hannibal.
Ever-so-quietly, he retrieved a sketchbook and pencil from the drawer of the nearby nightstand, deciding to pass the remaining time immortalizing this moment in graphite.
…
The space around her was black as pitch and no matter how hard she squinted or how much she blinked, she couldn't even see her hand an inch in front of her face.
Delilah didn't find herself concerned in the slightest, however; it smelt comfortingly of coffee and decades-old magazines.
A gentle voice found its way to her ears through the nothingness.
"The average person wouldn't hear that sort of thing and just accept it, you know."
"I can't imagine anyone would refer to the good doctor as just average, Maggie…
Where are you, anyway? I can't see a damn thing."
"I'm over here…" As she spoke, a dim light began to creep into the inky darkness. "But you're going a different way, aren't you.
She didn't sound disappointed, nor did she sound particularly judgmental; the words had posed a question, but her tone was that of someone merely voicing the obvious.
Delilah turned toward the light and watched the thin, white band grow longer as it spilled forward and up, outlining a barely visible door.
"I think I've been headed this way for a while," she replied, the silent door opening as the light grew brighter. "Just been looking for… something… and taking my time, you know?"
"I know more than you give me credit for, young lady."
Taking a step toward the light, she laughed softly. "I give you plenty of credit, Mags, hush," she chided, eyes transfixed as she took another step forward.
"…There is something he's not telling you."
Delilah paused, for just a second, and the door immediately ceased movement.
Concern tugged at her belly and she whispered with a huff, "You speak as if I wasn't already aware."
"Oh, is that so, Miss Know-it-all?"
"Trust is learned, of course. And it goes both ways."
At that, the door whipped wide open and she was momentarily blinded by the brilliance of the white light. She winced and squinted away, blinking rapidly into the darkness and watching colourful bursts dance upon the black before finally fading away. As she tentatively brought her fluttering gaze back to the light, a tall figure casually sidestepped into the doorframe.
Delilah knew that silhouette and she itched to run to him at once, but Maggie called out again in that same matter-of-fact tone.
"I just hope you realize… once you commit to this path, there's no turning back."
"That was never an option," she said without hesitation. "I love you, Maggie."
"I love you too, sugar. Take care of yourself."
Turning away from Maggie's voice, her feet carried her toward the shadowy figure with a quickness and his features gradually came into view — impeccable suit and tie; darkened, russet eyes; sharp cheekbones; and a smile saved just for her… Hannibal proffered his hand and she reached out to give him her own.
As skin met skin, he took hold of her from all angles somehow and swiftly tugged her over the threshold; folding himself around her, swallowing her up, she felt his lips press against her ear and he sighed softly.
"Time to wake up..."
Delilah's eyes snapped open at once and her lids fluttered erratically against the pang of morning light. Laying on her left side, face half-smashed into the pillow and eyes blurry from sleep, she silently peered at what seemed to be an amorphous blob in front of her.
Once her vision cleared, she found Hannibal seated, cross-legged, in an armchair at her bedside; he was dressed in a flattering crimson sweater and dark chocolate slacks, with a sketchbook perched on his knee. His full attention was on the page, his hand twitching across it with sharp, yet precise movements. It was quite strange to see him clothed in something other than a many-layered suit, but she certainly hadn't any complaints.
"G'morning," she eventually murmured around a yawn, snickering as he startled slightly and his eyes darted up from his sketchbook.
With a puff of laughter, he set the book and pencil upon the nightstand and smiled. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
"Very well. You?" She rolled onto her back and stretched, wincing as delicate aches and pains made themselves known across her body.
Hannibal moved to sit upon the bed and brushed a few locks of hair away from her face. "I honestly cannot recall the last time I've slept so soundly," he replied quietly.
Leaning her cheek into his hand, she smiled and pressed a kiss to his palm. "You make my stomach fill with butterflies," she murmured, her ears ringing as she realized she'd spoken out loud rather than keeping that particularly silly tidbit to herself. To her relief, Hannibal didn't laugh, but instead leaned forward to press his lips to hers. His hand slipped around her throat and he cradled her jaw as he deepened the kiss, groaning softly into her mouth as she moaned. As his hand started to travel downward, her stomach suddenly growled loudly and she scowled against his lips.
Chuckling quietly, he pulled away and rose to his feet. "I've brought up your things from the foyer," he said, gesturing toward her purse which lay beside his sketchbook. "And I've set aside some basic toiletries for you in the restroom. Take your time while I cook us some much needed breakfast, hm?"
She nodded sleepily and Hannibal turned to leave, but he stopped short and crouched to retrieve what remained of her clothing from the floor; she noticed not only had he managed to shred her lingerie, but her dress was now sporting its own sizable tear. "I'll find something comfortable for you to wear, as well; can't promise it will fit, but it will be intact."
"Oh, thank you."
"I'll be sure to have this mended as soon as possible— don't argue with me," he added sternly.
Delilah snapped her lips shut and shook her head, unable to wipe a grin from her face as she watched him leave.
A muffled buzzing drew her attention to the nightstand and she snagged her cell phone from her purse. Upon unlocking it, she found a text from Alana.
— 'If you wake up and I'm not there don't freak out. I stayed with Will.'
Then another abruptly followed,
— 'Not like that, you pervert.'
She snorted lightly and quickly tapped out a reply,
| 'Ha, sure. I'm still at Dr. Lecter's anyway. Just woke up.'
Several moments passed, during which she could see the three little dots appear and then disappear a few times, before Alana finally replied with,
— 'Oh. Ok.'
| 'Is there a problem?'
— 'No, I was just surprised. It's nearly 8AM.'
| 'So he let me sleep in? Don't make it weird.'
The three dots came and went a few more times and Delilah rolled her eyes. Shutting off her phone, she tossed it back into her purse and shoved the bedclothes away; she had the sudden, pressing need to use the restroom and was entirely not in the mood to have an argument through text messages.
Beside the bathroom sink she found a sealed toothbrush, mouthwash, floss, and a small black box she was startled to think she recognized immediately. Her stupid grin resurfaced as she picked it up and found that it was, indeed, a brand new bottle of the very same perfume she'd been attached to for at least the last two years. "Just full of surprises aren't you?" She muttered to herself, still smiling as she gently set it down to finally take care of her protesting bladder.
When she was through and had washed her hands, she moved to examine the shower and stared quizzically at the knobs. Not fancying the idea of scalding or freezing herself first thing in the morning, she wrapped herself in a fluffy, lusciously soft towel and pulled the door open to fetch Hannibal — but instead had to yelp in surprise. The man in question was standing just outside the door, with his head slightly canted and an impish twinkle in his eye.
"I brought up something for you to wear, for now… Is everything alright?" He asked, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amusement.
"Yes, I'm alright. Sheesh, you're stealthier than a cat," she muttered, taking a couple steps back so he could follow her in. They shared a brief kiss as he lightly tugged at her towel, which she dropped without hesitation; she then let out a squeak as he spun her around without warning, flattening a hand over her stomach to press her back to his chest, and maneuvered them both to face the mirror.
"Stealth is a remarkably useful skill," he murmured, his eyes blatantly roving her naked body with what appeared to be a mix of hunger and pride, as his free hand casually traced the curve of her hip. She followed his gaze all the way down, then back up to the very visible bite mark his teeth had made between her neck and shoulder, and watched him lean in to place an open-mouthed kiss to the wound.
"Mmh," she moaned gently, a shiver snaking its way down her spine as she felt his tongue gently graze the tender flesh.
Chuckling softly, his hand slipped away from her abdomen and stood aside to tap a knuckle on the counter. "Do you have what you need?"
"Well, yes, but…" She snagged the still unopened perfume box and quirked a brow at him. "How—"
"I've seen the bottle on your vanity, Delilah," he cut in with a tickled sort of exasperation. "It would be wise not to underestimate my observational skills moving forward."
"You never cease to surprise me," she mused, setting the box down and moving back to the shower. Without her needing to ask, he switched the water on and waited a moment for it to warm up before moving aside for her. "Thank you," she said, sighing softly as the hot water and just-right pressure worked in tandem to soothe her sore muscles.
"Æbleskiver?" She heard him ask suddenly, and she peeled the curtain back to squint quizzically at him.
"Bless you?"
Hannibal laughed as he picked her towel up and hung it back on the rack. "Danish pancakes, of a sort."
"Oh, that sounds wonderful," she said, retreating back into the water. "Yes, please."
"Come find me when you're through."
"I won't be long," she called back, listening for his retreating footfalls as she grabbed the shampoo and set to task in washing her hair. When she heard nothing, she paused mid-lather to peek around the curtain and found he had, in fact, left. "Stealthier than a goddamn cat," she mumbled, finding herself amused rather than disquieted, as she perhaps ought to be.
Will Graham's Residence
346 Leigh Mill Rd., Wolf Trap, VA
- 5:43 AM
Soft whimpering jolted Alana from a restless, though thankfully dreamless sleep; she jerked upright, much too quickly, and winced at the sudden twinge in her neck. Grumbling obscenities, she massaged her neck and glared across the room at the source of the whining — one of the smaller dogs, crying to be let out. When one noticed she was awake, all hell broke loose and the rest of the horde began scuffling their feet on the floor, wagging their tails and huffing their own discontent. Noting that Will was still fast asleep, she clambered out of her chair and quickly ushered them all out of the bedroom.
With the dogs let free to roam the yard and take care of their own business, Alana quietly made use of the bathroom herself, then prepared a strong pot of coffee. Fresh cup in hand, she grabbed her phone and settled in on the couch, ready to wait as long as it took for Will to wake up on his own.
Two hours, half a pot of coffee and six well-fed dogs later, and he still hadn't woken up.
Alana poked her head into his bedroom for the umpteenth time and sighed, shooing the dogs away and shutting the door again. Shuffling back to the living room, she picked up her phone and sent Delilah a text so she wouldn't worry.
| 'If you wake up and I'm not there don't freak out. I stayed with Will.'
She paused for the briefest moment, then quickly added,
| 'Not like that, you pervert.'
It barely took a moment for three dots to pop up in the messenger box and Delilah replied,
— 'Ha, sure. I'm still at Dr. Lecter's anyway. Just woke up.'
At first, she was merely surprised that Delilah was already awake, but the fact that she was awake and still at Hannibal's house struck her as remarkably odd. She would have expected him to send her sister off in a cab or to have taken her home himself by now; she knew he tended to wake with the birds and Mondays were generally just as busy for him as anyone else…
She tried and failed several times to tap out a reply, but each sounded more suggestive and unnecessarily confrontational than the last, so she simply settled with,
| 'Oh. Ok.'
Alana hit send, immediately cringing at how passive-aggressive that sounded, and was thoroughly unsurprised by Delilah's reply.
— 'Is there a problem?'
| 'No, I was just surprised. It's nearly 8AM.'
— 'So he let me sleep in? Don't make it weird.'
Alana scrambled to remedy the situation with a thorough explanation that she wasn't trying to insinuate anything, but Delilah never replied. She called twice and was sent straight to voicemail each time, so she tossed her phone onto the couch cushion and glared into her empty coffee mug. Happy barking and skittering suddenly pierced the silence and she glanced up to find Will yawning as he wandered into the living room.
"Oh thank fucking god, you're awake," she mumbled, setting the mug down and rising from the couch.
He paused amidst rubbing sleep out of his eyes, then blinked at her as if he weren't sure she was really there. "Y-You stayed."
"Of course I did," she replied, puzzled. "I said I would."
"I know but…" He trailed off and cleared his throat, allowing himself to be distracted by the dogs; he gave each one a good morning pat on the head before offering her a smile. "I see you fed and let them out, too. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Coffee?"
"Lemme hop in the shower real quick, but yes. Please."
Delilah finished her shower in record time, unabashedly eager to just be near him again, and gave her teeth a thorough brushing before opening the perfume and spritzing it on her pulse points; she added a little to the brush out of habit and carefully ran it through her hair, being cautious to avoid inciting frizz.
Quite pleased with the resulting cozy blend of lightly-floral spiciness mingling with the herbal earthiness of his haircare and body wash, she hung up her towel and stepped out of the bathroom.
On the foot of the bed, where she expected to find "something comfortable" to wear, lay nothing more than one of Hannibal's white, perfectly pressed, button-up dress shirts. Bemusedly wondering whether he'd be coming back with at least some shorts or something, she tugged the door open and listened for a moment, to the gentle sizzle of bacon frying and light classical music playing, but found no sign of him returning to the room.
"Dirty bastard," she muttered around a laugh, snatching the shirt and doubling back to the bathroom.
Only bothering to undo the top two buttons, she pulled it over her head and eyed herself in the mirror. The buttery-soft cotton caressed her skin in all the right ways and the hem landed just a couple inches shy of her knees — it was no different than wearing a dress, really, but she found that the sleeves were much too long.
After trying several times to fold just one of them properly — the way she'd seen Hannibal do on numerous occasions — she eventually conceded defeat and crammed them up into bunches at her elbows.
As all the delightful scents of breakfast cooking grew more pronounced, her stomach felt as though it were trying to eat itself and she abruptly ducked out of the bathroom. The discarded sketchbook on the nightstand beckoned and for one wild second she seriously thought about taking a peek, but dutifully resisted temptation and instead scampered down the stairs. She found Hannibal hard at work in the kitchen, of course, presently tending to some eggs frying in a pan.
"Hello, beautiful," he said without glancing up.
"Hello, handsome," she replied. "Smells lovely in here."
Hannibal inhaled deeply and tossed her a grin, giving her the distinct impression it wasn't the food's fragrance he was savoring. "That it does. And thank you."
Resting an elbow on the counter, she peered over at what seemed to be a tray of large, fluffy doughnut holes. "Are these the, uh… A-Able…ski-…wer?"
He laughed and nodded. "Close enough."
After giving the eggs a few turns from a pepper grinder, he transferred them two to a dish, then added a couple rashers of bacon and triangles of toast to each. Taking up the plates, he nodded for her to grab the pancakes and paused for a moment, seeming to study her for some reason, then led her into the dining room without a word.
Natural light filtered in through the sliding glass door, illuminating the place settings that still remained from the night prior. Eyeing the various foliage, fruits, and that remarkable lotus blossom, Delilah moved to the head of the table to set her serving plate down beside a tin of caviar and a little bowl of orange marmalade; two glasses of water, two mugs, and an intricate coffee press also awaited them. She snagged a mug at once, pouring coffee into hers as well as Hannibal's, and hummed contentedly as the hot liquid poured down her throat.
"Mm. Nothing compares to coffee made in a press," she muttered appreciatively. "…The caviar is for the eggs, I assume?"
"Agreed. And correct," he said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and gesturing for her to sit. "I urge you to give it a try, if you've never had."
"I'll try anything once," she replied, taking her seat and smiling up at him. He seemed to study her, yet again, for the briefest of moments, before he returned her smile and gently eased her seat forward for her; she compulsively wiggled in place a bit, unable to ignore the fact that she was entirely starkers save for his shirt.
"Comfortable?" Hannibal asked as he took the seat to her right, his tone rife with amusement.
Clearing her throat, she snagged the tiny mother of pearl spoon from the caviar and proceeded to add a thin line of black roe to the sunny yolks of her eggs as she carefully considered her next words.
"I should warn you," she finally began, busying herself with adding a bit of egg and caviar to some toast, "that I am positively ravenous this morning and I cannot be held responsible should I spill anything on this crisp, white shirt of yours." She took a bite and quickly sucked a drop of yolk from her bottom lip, just managing to catch it before it fell — she hadn't planned that, but it did well prove her point.
Hannibal chuckled softly. "Though I have many more crisp, white shirts, I am particularly fond of that one and I just might be upset if you ruin it." There was an underlying warning in his tone that set her stomach butterflies aflutter again.
"…And what will you do to me if I ruin it?" She asked quietly, eying him sideways as she fiddled with a piece of bacon.
"Are you curious enough to find out?"
Taking a deep breath, she shoved the bacon into her mouth and averted her gaze forward; if she wanted to finish her breakfast, it seemed as though a change of topic was in order.
"Did you make those for me?" She blurted out, blinking over to find him mid-sip of his own coffee. He snorted into the mug and coughed lightly, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"You may have been on my mind, yes," he hedged at first, before adding flippantly, "though I do seem to find it increasingly rare for you not to be on my mind, these days."
Delilah's face burned at that and she felt the warmth bleed all the way to the tips of her ears. He smiled as he reached out to push a damp curl behind her ear and caressed the no doubt pink-tinged flesh with his thumb and forefinger. "No woman has ever looked so radiant when they blush as you do, my dear."
"Oh stop, you're going to make me combust," she muttered, prodding at her egg with a bit of toast.
"Perhaps that's my goal," he teased, returning to his meal.
"Perhaps…" She dropped her hands to her lap and shot him a suspicious squint. "Or perhaps you're trying to distract me."
"I am doing no such thing," he clipped, taking a bite and setting his utensils down.
"So, will you tell me what it all means, then?"
Resting his forearms on the edge of the table, he laced his fingers together beneath his chin and stared her down. "What makes you think any of it means anything at all?"
'So that's how he wants to play it,' she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Well," she began tentatively, "you clearly spent a great deal of time on them."
"That depends on your definition of 'a great deal,' but I suppose."
"I overheard Bella say that those at the far end were the same flowers Persephone was picking just before she was taken by Hades…" When he didn't reply, she continued, "And with the addition of the plums and violet blossoms — which are currently wilting spectacularly, might I add — I'm going to risk sounding supremely full of myself and guess that that one is meant to represent me."
He didn't nod, nor did he shake his head, but the corners of his lips raised ever so slightly. "I see… And the next?"
She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled abruptly. "The pomegranate mountain is rather obvious, Hannibal…"
Hannibal closed his eyes for a brief moment, clearly stifling some sort of reaction to her wording — whether he was entertained or annoyed, she couldn't be sure. "So," he said, focusing his gaze on her again, "do you think I mean to capture you?"
"I don't need to eat any pomegranate seeds," she muttered with a sigh. "You've already caught me, and I have no desire to ever be rid of you."
The honesty of her own words struck a chord somewhere deep in her chest and a sudden wave of nerves caused her right leg to vibrate. Whether it was wise or not, she couldn't deny that he had his hooks in her good now and it would take nothing short of a major catastrophe to pry them loose. Even then, she couldn't really be sure.
Somehow, some way, her very existence seemed to have begun to wind its way around his. She hadn't the foggiest idea when it started, but it had and it didn't seem likely to stop or slow any time soon. Once upon a time, perhaps, she would have scoffed at the idea of becoming so enamoured, so swallowed up by one person. But she couldn't lie to herself and say she minded.
She suddenly felt a firm hand on her trembling knee and the tremors ceased at once. "You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that," he replied with a quiet ardency. "…What do you make of the final piece?" He asked, gently massaging at the inside of her leg with his fingertips.
Delilah could only hum softly, her legs instinctively parting for him as his fingers teased upward as far as they could go. Unexpectedly, he then removed his hand from her thigh and she very nearly whined in protest, but he quickly moved his seat around the corner to sit directly beside her; draping his left arm over the back of her chair, he snugged his hand directly between her upper thighs and her breath hitched.
A groan rumbled deep in his chest when his fingertips slid against the wetness pooled there. "Will you always be so ready for me?" His voice rumbled in her ear and both of her hands fluttered to his, coaxing him to move his fingers as she raked her teeth along her bottom lip.
How on earth could she mind allowing him to overtake her when he made her feel so… "Oh god," she whispered, her thoughts beginning to swim.
"I have asked you two questions thus far and you have yet to respond," he said sternly, keeping his hand still as stone. Her hips rolled a little in a bid to beg him deeper and he tutted in her ear.
"It's… h-highly likely," she replied breathily, and he rewarded her by pressing his fingertips just a fraction inside of her.
"Good girl," he said, those two words and the way he said them causing her to keen softly. He chuckled wickedly in response and she felt his warm tongue drag along the shell of her ear. "My my… We're learning all sorts of things this morning, aren't we?"
"Will you always t-tease me like this?" She stammered, and he laughed again.
"If it continues to gift me this sort of response, absolutely. I wish you could see yourself… Practically panting like a cat in heat."
Her face burned and she tried to scowl convincingly at him. "You bastard."
"It's delicious," he whispered, catching her earlobe between his teeth and easily teasing a far more vulgar moan from her lips.
"Hannibal…"
He let his teeth drag across her flesh as he released her ear and commanded placidly, "The final piece, Delilah, tell me now."
Biting down on her bottom lip, Delilah shut her eyes and took a few deep breaths to collect herself. When she opened them again, Hannibal was still staring at her and still he refused to move his damned fingers. "I have no idea," she finally said, levelly and honestly. "Shall I take a wild stab in the dark, or will you kindly elucidate for me?"
He nodded once and straightened his back a bit, though his hand hardly so much as shifted. "Peacock feathers are thought to symbolize various things the world over," he said. "Knowledge… Feminine prowess… The ability to thrive in the face of adversity… Resurrection."
Delilah's eyes widened a fraction, but she held her tongue as he went on.
"The lotus blossom itself is widely associated with enlightenment, rebirth, and ascension."
"Do you mean to change me, then?" She asked, knitting her brow as she still tried desperately to tease his fingers deeper. He shook his head as he suddenly accommodated her, deftly slipping two fingers in to their hilt, and she hissed with pleasure as she arched her back and latched tight to his sleeve. She spread her legs wide and leaned her head back against his forearm, moaning softly as he began to — agonizingly slowly — pump his fingers.
"I merely seek to facilitate your own personal growth, Delilah," he whispered tenderly, as though he were uttering sweet nothings in her ear; something told her these were his idea of sweet nothings. Again, she couldn't find it in herself to be bothered.
"You have so much remarkable potential," he continued in a low rumble, his hand steadily picking up the pace. "I see it in your eyes when we are alone… More frequently, lately, when we're not. The way you carry yourself, the way you speak of what most would argue to be unspeakable things…"
The pressure building inside of her was nearly unbearable; between the words he uttered and the increasingly vigorous, yet highly skilled movement between her thighs, she cried out as she scrambled to catch hold of him, clumsily tugging his face to hers and kissing him hard. She felt him delve his free fingers into her hair and grip a handful tight as he then added his thumb, only needing to grind twice before she was screaming into his mouth. Her legs snapped shut around his wrist and she shuddered violently, digging her nails into the scruff of his neck as her walls repeatedly clenched around him.
Eventually, she began to relax again and her legs fell lazily apart; she winced as he slowly retrieved his fingers, her body trembling with oversensitivity. He nudged her toward him and she slumped against his shoulder, twitching now and then as she worked to regain control of her breathing. He disentangled his hand from her hair to gently stroke the side of her head, and she peered up through heavily-lidded eyes to watch as he slipped his wet fingers into his mouth and licked her from his skin.
Nuzzling her nose against his neck, she let out a shuddering sigh and placed a kiss to his throat. "…Hannibal?"
"Mm?"
"I could get used to this."
Hannibal chuckled and tilted her head back so he could look her in the eyes. "As could I," he replied softly, studying her face for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and giving her a squeeze as he kissed her lips. Once she'd been rendered sufficiently breathless, he set her back in her chair, readjusted it, and returned his own to its proper place so they could finish their meal.
"So, uh, did- did you sleep ok?"
Alana reluctantly glanced up from checking her phone yet again — bothered that Delilah still hadn't responded — and shook, then nodded her head. "Yeah, no, it was fine. It's not the first time I've passed out in a chair."
"I should have given you the bed," he muttered before taking a swig of his coffee, obviously embarrassed.
"You know damn well I wouldn't have taken it anyway, so there's no sense beating yourself up about it now."
He offered her a lopsided smile as he ran his fingers through his wet hair and she returned it before opening her mouth to speak again, but her phone suddenly rang and she scrambled to answer it without checking the screen. "Del—"
"Whatever you're doing, I need you to stop and head into the office immediately."
She blinked at the jarringly deep voice that had interrupted her. "Jack?"
"No, it's Pippi Longstocking," he deadpanned before letting out a huff of annoyance. "I need you to come in as soon as possible. Lounds posted her little article this morning and piddly news stations are having a field day with it. I have something scheduled later that will hopefully smooth things over, but while I'm busy I need you here making sure we didn't miss anything."
"Miss anything? Like what?"
"I don't know — anything. Connections, motives. Clues to who could have possibly—"
"But I thought—"
"It's not the Ripper, Alana. It can't be. The third body was left to the dog… What does that say to you?"
Alana furrowed her brow and chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. "I mean… Maybe he got lazy?"
"Maybe. But laziness doesn't exactly fit with what we know of the Chesapeake Ripper now, does it?"
"No…"
"Exactly. So get your ass into the office. Katz and the others are already examining the bodies again. I'll check in with you after my meeting."
"Uh, okay. But I'm not in Baltimore right now and I'll have to make a stop at home, so it'll take me about an hour more to get there…"
"Fine, but don't dawdle. I'm serious, Alana."
"I won't," she clipped, then added tentatively, "but, remember, I'm not a detective, Jack… If I don't find anything… Jack?"
There was total silence on the other end and she pulled the phone away from her ear to discover he had already hung up.
"Asshole," she grumbled, letting out a sigh as she rose from the couch. "I'd better head out. Are you going to be alright?" She asked, eying Will as he continued to stare down at his half-empty coffee mug; she leaned forward and waved her hand in his face. "…Hello?"
Will shook himself out of his daze and nodded. "What? I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Y-uh, yeah. I think my brain is just a little confused by the sudden abundance of sleep."
She laughed softly and stuffed her phone in her purse. "Good… Good. Y'know, I think you should do something for yourself today. Maybe go fishing?"
"Yeah, maybe…" He gingerly sat his cup on the coffee table, then stood abruptly. "Alana?"
"Yes?"
He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing hold of her upper arms, and awkwardly cocked his head to press his lips to hers. Alana's eyes widened exponentially and she could only stare at him in shock, at first. While not unwelcome, it was certainly unexpected.
Just when she started to finally relax and her eyelids fluttered closed, her lips moving to fit to his, he released her arms and took a quick step backward, causing her to stumble a bit. She caught herself and touched a hand to her mouth.
He seemed to take her shock as a sign that she didn't appreciate the advance and his face immediately blanched. "Shit, sorry. Sorry, I—"
"What?"
"I shouldn't have— I'm such an idiot."
"Will—"
"I asked you to stay and we agreed it didn't mean anything. You're just being nice a-and I—"
"WILL."
He froze mid-ramble and she took a deep breath. "Will, I didn't—"
"You have feelings for Hannibal, don't you?" He asked in a rush, stunning her again. "I should have known. I'm sorry."
"What? No!"
"No?"
"No!" She repeated hotly, crossing her arms and taking a step back. "What the hell makes you think that?"
"I mean, you did, at one point… Didn't you?"
"Th-that is neither here nor there. Maybe, at one point, sure. I had a-…" She coughed awkwardly, entirely unwilling to say the word 'crush;' it was just so… juvenile. "I had minor f-uh, feelings for him, yes, but that was… It was circumstantial."
After several moments of silence, Will quietly asked, "What, uh… What were the circumstances?"
"We'd known each other for a while; worked closely together. He was my mentor, after all. And… and I hadn't really had a chance to get to know you yet."
"That was delicious."
"It was, wasn't it? Absolutely… delicious." Hannibal replied cheekily, tossing her a wink as he stood to gather the dishes. She moved to assist, but he tutted and politely shooed her back into her seat, insisting she enjoy another coffee whilst he took care of tidying up. She made herself comfortable as she watched him move in and out of the dining room, feeling entirely useless but just indolent enough not to put up a fight about it.
He had the breakfast dishes cleared in no time and immediately set in on deconstructing the place settings, prompting her to jolt out of her seat and let out a noise of protest around a fresh mouthful of coffee. He paused and glanced over at her in question, waiting patiently while she cleared her throat and dabbed at her lips with the back of her hand.
"Please don't just toss them," she finally said. "I'd like to keep some, if that's alright?"
Hannibal smiled, evidently pleased. "Of course," he replied. "Would you like me to prepare a bouquet?"
"Yes, please." She returned his smile, then leaned over the table to study the lotus. "Is this real, by the way?"
"Absolutely," he said, one brow quirked as though the notion of him ever using fake plants was entirely absurd. He stepped over and plucked it out of the bowl, gently shaking off the water before setting it in her hands. "Nymphaea caerulea, or Blue Lotus," he said, his tone taking on that professorial air it did when he felt the need to educate her, "is an especially curious little plant. The concept of enlightenment is thought to be quite literal with this one, as it is — however mildly — psychoactive when ingested."
Delilah blinked at the flower resting in her palms. "You eat it?"
"Not exactly. The buds and flowers are either ground into hash and smoked, or steeped for tea. Ancient Egyptians thought it quite useful for sharpening the mind, and occultists have utilized it as a sacrament to heighten their consciousness during particular rituals. Furthermore, the concentrated oil is a delightfully potent sedative."
"Hm…" She smirked up at him and gave him a teasing nudge with her hip. "Should'a slipped some into Will's coffee last night."
Hannibal chuckled and shook his head. "The flavour isn't unpleasant but it is noticeable. Though I doubt he'd recognize the taste, he would have known something was off regardless."
"He seems like a rather paranoid person."
"Well, yes, but… You are suggesting I drug him, mind."
"Fair." She shrugged and gently set the blossom back in the water. "Here's hoping he got some decent sleep last night, at any rate."
He merely hummed in agreement and picked up the bowl, immediately returning to the clean up, though this time he allowed her to assist.
Once the table was fully cleared and all the dishes had been washed, Hannibal produced a vase from a high cupboard in the kitchen and began crafting a bouquet from the freshest-looking remains. When a beautiful little arrangement was done to his liking, he carefully wrapped the bouquet in a bit of butchers' paper and tied it off with twine before nestling it back in the empty vase.
"When we get you back to the apartment, you'll want to cut just an inch or so off the stems, at an angle," he instructed. "Be sure to change the water every day and place them in the refrigerator at night if you'd like them to last."
"Mm, will do." She sidled up to his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck as she leaned up on her toes to kiss his lips. "It's lovely, Hannibal. Thank you."
"You're lovely," he countered softly, grinning as he tightly grabbed hold of her waist and hoisted her up without warning. She squeaked a little and dug her nails into his back as she wrapped her legs around him, giggling as he nipped at her bottom lip before carrying her out of the kitchen.
"You know, strangely enough, I can climb stairs on my own," she teased as he carted her up the steps.
He paused at the bedroom entrance and quirked a brow at her. "Ah, but why should you have to when I can so easily carry you?"
"By that logic, why should I ever need to walk again?"
"Muscular atrophy is nothing to trifle with," he replied, with comical seriousness, before continuing on into the bedroom and depositing her on the bed. His eyes fell upon his undisturbed sketchbook and he glanced at her curiously.
"I didn't look," she assured him. "I wanted to, but—"
"But that would have been quite disrespectful," he finished for her, his tone almost apprehensively appreciative. As she nodded, he grabbed the book and sat himself down before her; after another moment's pause, as if debating whether or not he really wanted to, he finally tipped the cover over and sat the sketchbook open atop her lap.
Feeling strangely nervous, she kept her gaze fixed on him long enough to take a deep, steadying breath, then dropped her eyes to the page; her breath caught at once and she stared in utter disbelief at the portrait before her.
It was a near picture-perfect image of herself, fast asleep, with her face half-smashed into the pillow, and the visible portion of her lips upturned in a sweetly serene expression. With just a pencil, he'd managed to capture the gentle glow of toasty warmth in her cheek; her eyelashes looked real enough to touch; and the folds in the blanket, as well as the kinks in her hair, had movement. The light filtering in through the window caressed everything just so, making her look like a sleeping angel.
"Oh," she whispered after a time, completely lost for words. Absently touching at her lips as she studied the same lips, mirrored in graphite, she had to swallow the sudden ball of emotion lodged in her throat.
"Do you—"
"Hannibal," she interrupted firmly, "if you're about to ask me whether I like it or not, I may have to slap you."
He chuckled warmly. "I'll take that as a yes."
"How long did this take you?"
"Half an hour, give or take."
"Half an-… Jesus," she muttered, resisting a strong urge to touch at the drawing. "Amazing."
"I didn't want to wake you and needed to pass the time," he casually replied, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
"I'm beginning to think that you're either a remarkably detailed hallucination, or you're not entirely human."
That evidently caught him off-guard; he half-scoffed, half-laughed and knitted his brow in bewilderment. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't know anyone who has their toe as perfectly dipped in as many wildly varying waters, so to speak, as you do— former surgeon, current psychiatrist, Michelin-star-level chef, artist…"
"Michelin-star, you say?"
"You could easily sell work like this and make a killing, Hannibal. And it only took you thirty minutes?"
"Mm, thank you… But how many stars, exactly?"
"Oh, stop, I've already stroked your ego enough."
He merely stared her down and she snorted through a huff. "Oh alright, five stars!"
"The highest is three."
"They'll just have to change it for you, then."
Hannibal positively beamed at her and she returned his infectious smile. Carefully setting the sketchbook on the nightstand, she got up on her knees and splayed her hands across his chest, giving him a good, sudden shove to knock him back onto the mattress; she draped herself over him at once, straddling his stomach, and bent down to kiss his lips.
"I don't quite think I'm imaginative enough to have dreamt you up all on my own," she announced, leaning back to look him square in the eye. "So you should know I've settled on the whole not-entirely-human thing."
"Is that so?" He inquired through a laugh, skirting his hands up her legs to grip her hips firmly; as he lifted her up, he shifted backward, then pulled her down hard onto his pelvis. "If I'm not flesh and blood, what am I?"
"Oh, you're flesh, but…" She hummed softly and rolled her hips as she thought on it. "You know that moment… It happens before a thunderstorm, or an earthquake, or something— when everything is strangely peaceful and so perfectly still, but you can just sense that something is on the horizon? You feel it in your blood, and it's exciting and terrifying all at once."
"The calm before the storm…?" He supplied quietly, undoing the buttons of the crisp, white dress shirt as he peered up at her.
"Yes, that. That's you."
After an awkward minute or more of Will stammering for a response to Alana's revelation, she cleared her throat and proceeded to attempt cramming her feet into her stupidly uncomfortable high heels.
"Listen, if I don't get going I think Jack may explode. We can shelve this and come back to it another time, okay?"
"I-I uh, y-yeah. Sure. I guess. But wait—"
"What?"
"Will you be driving by Port Haven, by chance?"
Forgoing the shoes and deciding she'd rather risk the short walk to the car barefoot, she slapped a lock of hair out of her face and blinked up at him. "Port Haven? Uh, I think so? Wh-…" She cut herself off as comprehension dawned on her and she sighed. "Oh, Will, I don't think that's such a good idea right now."
"She probably thinks I've forgotten all about her."
"Abigail knows you're busy, Will…" Even as she spoke, it was clear he had made his decision; he was already haphazardly tying the laces of his shoes. "…And you're just gonna attach yourself to the roof of my car if I say no, aren't you."
"I mean, that's not a bad idea."
Alana snorted and rolled her eyes. She had an awful feeling about dropping him off to see Abigail, but she really didn't have time for a squabble right now. "Fine. Let's go before Jack decides to implicate me just so he has someone to blame for this shit."
No more than ten minutes into getting hot and heavy again, a phone suddenly rang throughout the house and Hannibal let out a groan. "I should probably get that," he mumbled, nipping at her lips once more before begrudgingly plucking her off of his lap and depositing her onto the bed. Leaving her naked and flushed, with an adorably despondent pout, he swiftly stepped down the stairs to his study.
Scowling at the phone, he took a moment to collect himself, then answered calmly, "Doctor Lecter speaking."
"Hi doctor," Jack's voice replied, hardly coming as a surprise to him. "I received your message last night and I was hoping you'd come down to assist me soon-ish while Will's on his little… vacation."
Rolling his eyes at Jack's poor choice of words, Hannibal rounded his desk to sit and took a cursory glance at his schedule. "How soon is 'soon-ish?' I happen to have several back-to-back appointments this afternoon—"
"That's fine. You can meet me at my office in half an hour, then? If all goes well we can have this whole thing settled before lunch."
"Well, that's awfully presumptuous of you, Jack. You know I am generally glad to help in any way I can, but—"
"I'm guessing you haven't checked the news this morning," he interrupted testily. "Lounds published a scathing article about me on her little blog and it's already hit some local news stations. My own name and the FBI as a whole are being drug through the mud as we speak — inciting panic, no doubt, as the media is wont to do."
"That is a shame, Jack, but I don't see what I can possibly do to fix that," Hannibal replied quietly, feigning ignorance in an effort to force Jack to be more forthright.
"I have a meeting scheduled with a reporter for the Times and I've already said you'll be there."
"Ah, I see."
"Listen. If you make a statement assuring the public that we were discussing the case and not just fucking around playing dress-up tea party… My hope is it will buy some time and calm everyone down for a while." After a moment's pause, he added urgently, "Hannibal, please. People trust your word and trust is what the FBI sorely needs right now."
Hannibal inhaled deeply and suppressed a sigh by clearing his throat. "Yes, of course. What time is this meeting, exactly?"
"Eleven. I'd rather you come by a bit earlier than that, though, so we can—"
"Get your story straight?"
Jack laughed humorlessly. "That's one way to put it, sure."
"I have something else of personal importance to tend to first, but I'll be there by ten at the latest."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Hanging up the phone, he tugged open the top drawer of his desk and retrieved an unmarked envelope, then quickly made his way back to Delilah. Distracted with the annoyance of his perfectly planned morning being ruined by a phone call he honestly should have ignored, he was mildly startled to find her tending to herself at the centre of his bed. Checking his watch to find it was just barely past nine, he opted to simply stand in the doorway and watch her.
This proved to be his second mistake of the morning, for as he watched her free hand crawl its way up her chest to grip her own throat, he felt himself grow uncomfortably aroused; when she mewled his name around a particularly needy moan, remaining a spectator became too much to bear.
Silently he stalked across the room and, after slipping the envelope into her purse, he swiftly pried her hand off her throat to replace it with his own. Her eyes snapped open, alight with surprise and a thrill of fear, at first; quickly they became heavily-lidded with lust and she sank her teeth into her plush bottom lip.
"Come for me, my Delilah," he commanded, tightening his grip just enough in his attempt to urge her over the edge, but not near hard enough to do damage.
"Please…" She whined.
It took everything in him to refuse her, the evidence of his internal struggle pressing harder than ever against his slacks. "Just come for me, now," he whispered, his tone softening as his resolve threatened to crack.
Hannibal had rescheduled all of his morning appointments specifically so he could take care of… this. To finally, completely, release all of their pent-up frustrations in as many ways and as many times as it took. This would have been their time for some experimentation; his chance to push her as far as he could to find all of her little quirks and kinks — of which he was certain there would be many to uncover.
He found himself growing more and more irritated with himself as the seconds ticked by.
It wasn't as though he had any real obligation to assist Jack, but he couldn't deny that the idea of making a formal statement as part of the 'other side,' regarding his very own murders, didn't hold a sort of Machiavellian hilarity that absolutely tickled him… Amusing as it may be, however, running damage control for the FBI certainly wasn't anywhere near the list of things he'd like to take care of this morning.
The temptation to bury himself within Delilah and forget the rest of the world was fast bordering on overwhelming; he was very close to his breaking point, when she suddenly cried out and began to writhe about on his linens. Gently releasing her throat, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and enjoyed the show as she rode the waves.
When her twitching subsided, he quirked a brow and gave her a half-smile. "Better now?"
She hummed in response, then muttered, "I would have preferred…"
"Oh, trust me, so would I," he rumbled, making his irritation quite plain. He sighed and sank down onto the bed, absently massaging her calf muscle as he stared at a spot on the wall.
"Something's come up, I gather?" She said suddenly and he nodded. "A patient crisis?"
Hannibal shook his head. "A Jack Crawford crisis. And he has requested my assistance. He seems to be, however reluctantly, leaving Will out of it for now."
"Figure you'd better go, so it stays that way?"
"That's part of it, yes."
He expected her to inquire further but instead she just sighed heavily, sitting up and slipping off the bed. "I'll go freshen up, then."
"I'll gather you some clothes," he said, then added before she could comment, "actual clothes, this time."
…
Feeling more than a little put-out, Delilah reluctantly nodded and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. After using the toilet and giving her hands a thorough scrub, she brushed her teeth again and dithered at the counter afterward.
"Where should I put this toothbrush?" She called out, assuming she should toss it in the bin but curious for his response all the same.
"There is a stand there," he replied, sounding amused. His voice was just on the other side of the door, so she pulled it open and quirked a brow up at him.
"I hadn't expected to be using it again anytime soon."
He sighed and took it from her, dropping it in the toothbrush stand beside his own before grabbing the hairbrush and quickly taming his mussed hair. "Well, I expect you'll be using it again very, very soon," he said quietly, setting the brush down and snaking an arm around her waist to pull her near.
Delilah felt that ever-persistent warm flush spread across her cheeks and they shared quick kiss before he led her back to the bed. Laid out upon the now smoothed-out duvet was an entire outfit comprised of a thin, black, long-sleeved shirt; a pair of stretchy black pants, suitable for exercise; a pair of running shoes, and black socks to match. In contrast, the sensible bra and underwear he'd also thought to include were a bright red — the colour of fresh blood. Everything was clearly brand new, although the tags had been removed.
"What?"
"I was saving this for a… special occasion," he said, his explanation only serving to puzzle her further. "But seeing as I, regrettably, cannot keep you in this state much longer, it will have to do."
"What sort of special occasion," she asked, beginning to dress. "A bank heist?"
Hannibal laughed and shook his head as he busied himself with changing his slacks. "Not quite."
Perplexed though she was, she decided to just let it go and flopped onto the edge of the bed to pull on her socks and shoes. When she sat up straight again, Hannibal was waiting with her purse and his sketchbook in his hands. She took the purse and, noticing an envelope had been slipped inside, glanced up at him questioningly.
"Open it when you get home," he instructed before proffering the book, as well, which she took gingerly. "I think you will appreciate others in there. Feel free to keep any you find yourself particularly attached to."
Delilah snugged the rather weighty book to her chest and smiled bemusedly. "Alright… Thank you. Again."
With a warm smile, Hannibal guided her to the kitchen to procure her flowers, then on out to the car. It was just misting slightly, not raining hard enough to be a bother, but he still made a point to hurry her into the vehicle. When they were seated and buckled in, Hannibal slid the key into the ignition and paused, seeming to debate something.
"Delilah?"
"Yes?"
"I had a very pleasant time with you."
"So did I," she replied, canting her head at him as she smiled through her confusion. "What's the matter? Did you not expect to enjoy my… company?"
Hannibal let out a short puff of laughter through his nose and started the car. "Oh please."
He didn't speak again as he drove, though his hand would often drift over to touch at her — either to squeeze her thigh, or simply to brush fingers against fingers; he never seemed able to keep from touching her for long. Eventually, she captured his hand and threaded their fingers together, pressing her lips to his knuckles before letting their twined hands rest upon her lap.
The pair seemed to both slip in and out of deep thought and, though Delilah did wonder where his was currently at, she allowed her own mind wander back to the dream she'd awoken from that morning.
Try as she might, she couldn't imagine what he could possibly be keeping from her. She knew it had only been a dream, but she also knew that the Maggie of her subconscious had most assuredly spoken the truth — he certainly hadn't revealed all of himself to her, yet. Whatever it was, though, she decided she was confident that he would tell her when he was ready; she would give him as much time as he needed, just as he'd done for her.
"We're here," he announced suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Oh, damn," she mumbled and he laughed in an understanding sort of way, kissing at the tips of her fingers before disentangling his hand from hers.
When she was settled in Alana's apartment, he pulled her in for one last parting kiss; it wasn't chaste, nor was it hungry — it felt like a promise, this time. A vow that this would not be the last morning, or night, that they would spend together; but rather, it was only the start of… something.
"I will see you, at the very latest, this Friday," he said as they parted. She couldn't stop herself from pulling a face, which prompted him to add in a warning tone, "I won't hesitate to bite that lip next time you pout at me."
"Mm, promise?"
The corners of his mouth twitched upward, but he didn't give in to her tease. "Have a pleasant day. And should you need anything, do not hesitate to call me," he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before stepping out and gently pulling the door shut behind himself.