Clarice Starling stood at the vanity, the soft yellow light gentling her features. It was late, and the house was enveloped in a hushed quiet, punctuated only by the occasional whisper of wind against the old glass panes. She removed her earrings, small silver hoops that gleamed in the darkened room, and placed them in a small dish beside her jewellery box. Her movements were unhurried, familiar, as though they had been performed a thousand times before—because they had. She glanced at her reflection, at the way her golden hair fell loosely over her shoulders, how her skin caught the light. There was no tension in her posture, no hesitation. Only the comfort of routine, the kind that had settled into her bones over the past year.

Behind her, Hannibal Lecter reclined against the headboard, one arm resting casually across his abdomen, the other holding a book he had long since abandoned in favour of watching her. He was dressed simply, as he often was at this hour, in a plain white t-shirt and soft sleep boxers. But even in repose, there was something about him that demanded attention, something in the sharpness of his gaze, the way his presence filled the room.

He watched her with a quiet intensity, his eyes tracing the lines of her back, the curve of her neck, the way her muscles moved beneath her skin. There was an ease between them, a sense of intimacy that had grown stronger with time. He did not need to speak for her to feel the weight of his attention, and when he finally did, his voice was a low murmur, rich with something that was almost reverence.

"Take off your shirt, Clarice."

She paused, her hand hovering above the vanity, and met his gaze in the mirror. "And why would I do that?"

His expression did not change as he repeated, simply, "Take off your shirt."

A smirk played at her lips as she turned slightly to look at him. "Are you operating under some misguided assumption that you're going to get lucky tonight?"

Hannibal's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Am I not?"

She raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "My, my, you're awfully confident."

He set the book down on the nightstand, his gaze never leaving hers. "Confidence, my dear, is merely the product of experience."

Clarice laughed softly, shaking her head. "Confidence and directness seem to be your forte tonight. And here I thought you were all about nuance."

"Nuance is for more delicate matters," He said, his voice dropping to a soft, teasing murmur. "Tonight, however, I prefer to abandon all pretence."

With a playful sigh, she reached for the hem of her shirt. She didn't break eye contact as she lifted it over her head, the fabric sliding smoothly over her skin before she tossed it onto a nearby chair. The cool air brushed against her now-bare shoulders, but it wasn't the air that sent a shiver down her spine—it was the way he was looking at her, as though she were something sacred.

"There," she said, her voice calm, though it carried the faintest edge of something more. "Now what?"

Hannibal's eyes darkened, and he sat up a little straighter, moving with that fluidity that always reminded her of a predator, not in the act of hunting, but in the moment just before, when every nerve was attuned to the pulse of life around it.

"Now," he said quietly, "we enjoy the evening."

She smiled at that, a genuine smile, one that reached her eyes and softened the edges of her usual guardedness. "Is that what we're calling it?"

His smile widened, and there was warmth in it that she had learned to trust. "That is what we have always called it, Clarice."

She couldn't argue with that. They had always been careful with their words, choosing them with the precision of surgeons, carving out meanings that suited them, and them alone. But beneath those words, beneath the playful exchanges and the careful dances around their pasts, there was something solid, something real that had formed between them.

She sauntered over to the bed, sliding in beside him, feeling the warmth of his body as he shifted to accommodate her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was a sound she had grown accustomed to, one that had become a part of her nights, a rhythm that anchored her in the dark.

"Tell me, Clarice," Hannibal's fingers idly traced patterns along her arm, "what do you think the odds are tonight?"

She tilted her head up to look at him, seeing the familiar glint in his eyes, the one that always made her feel as though she were the centre of his universe. "I think," she said slowly, "that the odds may be in your favour, Doctor."

His smile was small, satisfied. "As do I."

They didn't need to say anything more. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the knowledge of a year spent learning each other's patterns and proclivities, each other's deepest desires. She knew him as well as he knew her—perhaps better in some ways, because she understood not only the man he presented to the world but the man he was when the world was not watching.

Clarice rested against him, fingers skating over the plane of his chest. She could sense the shift in the air between them, the way the quiet comfort of the evening had deepened into something more palpable, more charged. His hand on her back was gentle, but there was an intentness to his touch, a slow, calculated movement that spoke of more than just affection.

She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, catching the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Well, baby, you still haven't told me what you're after," her voice low, carrying the same playful note she often used when she wanted to see just how far he would take their little games.

Hannibal's fingers slipped beneath the edge of her bra strap, brushing against her skin with the barest pressure. "I should think, Clarice," he began, his tone as smooth as fine wine, "that my intentions are rather clear."

"Are they?" she countered, arching an eyebrow, though she made no move to pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her body curving against his, the impossible warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of their clothing.

His smile hinted at secrets only half-revealed, one that had undone lesser souls than hers. "You've always appreciated clarity," he said, his hand moving to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair with a languid, almost lazy grace. "But I believe you also appreciate a certain… ambiguity."

Clarice felt the shiver that ran through her, not from fear or uncertainty, but from the anticipation that curled low in her belly, a slow-burning ember that had been kindling all evening. "Only when it suits me," she replied, her voice a shade huskier now, softening into a heat that matched his.

"Then tell me, my love," Hannibal whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, "what is it that suits you tonight?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of his nearness wash over her, the sound of his voice, rich and velvety, wrapping around her like a second skin. When she opened them again, she found his gaze had sharpened, the intensity of it making her pulse quicken. "Hmm...I think you'll do quite nicely," she said, the words slipping from her mouth almost unbidden, but once spoken, they carried a weight of truth she couldn't deny.

Hannibal's smile deepened. "As you wish," he murmured, his hand slipping from her neck to her shoulder, tracing a line down her arm until it came to rest at her waist. With a fluid motion, he turned her, guiding her onto her back, his body pressing against hers with a controlled and insistent pressure. His hands moved with precision, sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts, his fingers teasing the edge of her underwear. He paused, his gaze meeting hers, as if asking for permission, though they both knew it was a formality, a part of the ritual they had long since established.

Clarice's breath hitched, and she nodded, her hand coming up to rest against his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his stubbled jaw. He took it as his cue, pulling her shorts down her legs with a dexterity that made her shiver, his touch leaving a trail of small fires in its wake. He followed the motion down her body with his mouth, placing a kiss to the inside of each thigh, the sensation sending a shockwave through her. He paused at the apex of her legs, and when he looked up at her, his gaze was feral, predatory in an entirely intoxicating way. "You're exquisite, Clarice," he whispered, his voice a low growl that resonated through her. "A masterpiece."

She arched toward him, her hands gripping fistfuls of his hair as she felt his mouth descend on her, the warmth of his tongue a soft, wet caress against her skin. Hannibal's attentions were meticulous, each stroke of his tongue, each flick of his lips, designed to bring her to the brink and beyond. He knew her body, knew how to tease, how to build her up slowly, drawing out the pleasure until she was a quivering mass of desire, her moans filling the room as she surrendered to the intensity of her orgasm.

When he finally withdrew, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with passion, he moved back up her body, his hands cupping her face as he captured her lips in a fiercely tender kiss. His hands slid beneath her to unclasp her bra with a skill that made her smile. As he pushed the straps down her shoulders, he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat and whispered against her collarbone. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, her voice trembling with the force of her desire. "I want you, Hannibal."

His name on her lips was his undoing, and he crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss that was both savage and tender, a clash of teeth and tongues and breath that left her dizzy, aching, wanting. His hands roamed over her body, fingers tracing her hips, the swell of her breasts as he pressed her deeper into the mattress, his weight a welcome force against her.

He pulled back just enough to lift his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before he descended on her again, his mouth finding the peak of her breast, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin until she was once again arching into him, her hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as she moaned his name. She slid her hands down his chest, over the hard flanks of his abdomen, to the waistband of his boxers. She tugged them down with a sense of urgency, her need for him a physical ache that pulsed through her with every beat of her heart.

When he finally settled between her legs, she felt the weight of him against her, the heat of his skin, and she knew she was lost, lost to the man who had claimed her heart and soul in ways she could never have imagined. He moved slowly at first, his thrusts gentle as though savouring every moment, every sensation. But the slow burn of yearning quickly turned into a blaze, and soon they were moving together in a rhythm that was as old as time, a rhythm that spoke of a need that went beyond the physical, beyond the here and now.

She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she met him thrust for thrust, her body singing with the pleasure of it, with the knowledge that this man, this impossible, dangerous man, was hers, just as she was his. When he finally came, it was with a deep, guttural moan, and she followed him over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her release as she held him close, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync.

They lay there for a long time afterward, their bodies still tangled together, the sweat cooling on their skin as they slowly came back to themselves, back to the world around them. Hannibal was the first to move, shifting to the side just enough so that he could cradle her in his arms, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"You are magnificent," he murmured, his voice low and reverent.

Clarice lay sated for a moment, the world narrowing to the tempo of their breaths, the soft, tender glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across their bodies. Hannibal's hands still traced languorous paths over her skin, each touch deliberate; the soft pressure of his fingers against her back, the bow of his lips on her shoulder—the remnants of their recent intimacy, a lingering caress of affection and hunger.

"And I'm not done yet." Clarice husked after a moment, giving him a wicked grin as her hands skated over his chest with light, exploratory motions. Her touch was a promise, an unspoken invitation that stirred the embers of their passion anew.

With a slow movement, she rolled him onto his back, positioning herself above him. Her legs parted, her thighs brushing against the outsides of his, and she looked down at him with an expression of both invitation and challenge. Her fingers traced a path down his abdomen, moving lower, until she encountered the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

Hannibal's eyes darkened as her hand wrapped around him with a confident touch. He responded with a low, throaty murmur, his breath quickening as she guided him. His hands found her hips, steadying her as she shifted, her movements purposeful as she straddled him, her gaze never leaving his.

Clarice raised herself above him, her lithe figure bowing as she lowered herself, the sensation of him filling her drawing forth a soft gasp from her lips. She began to move, hips rolling slowly, sensually. The pleasure that surged through her was a heady mix of anticipation and fulfilment as she moved with a practised ease.

Hannibal's hands glided over her back, tracing the contours of her spine, guiding her with gentle insistence as she rode him, her movements becoming more fluid, more intense. His eyes were fixed on her, watching her with hungry admiration, relishing the sight of her, the way her body responded to him.

Clarice's breath quickened as she pressed her chest against Hannibal's, the heat of his skin igniting a shiver through her body. Her hands, gripping his shoulders with a growing urgency, urged him to match her increasing need. The intensity of their movements crescendoed into a symphony of pleasure, each sensation amplified by the contrast of his touch, the roughened heat of his body, and the guttural groans that rumbled through him.

With a sudden shift, Hannibal's hands slid from her breasts down to her hips, his fingers gripping her with a possessive strength. He pulled her close, his gaze locked onto hers as he manoeuvred her onto her back, his movements easy and confident. The abrupt change in position was a deliberate, assertive claim, his dominance melding seamlessly with the intimacy they shared.

Clarice's eyes fluttered open as he flipped her, the world around her spinning. His hardness pressed into her, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned over her, the promise of what was to come evident in every movement. The way he positioned himself, his body hooking over hers, created a new angle of connection, intensifying the pleasure with each thrust. His rhythm became purposeful, relentless, and Clarice's moans filled the room, melding with his ragged breath as they reached the summit of their shared passion. Their orgasms collided, a mutual release that sent them both spiraling into a state of euphoric exhaustion. Clarice's body shuddered beneath him, her nails digging into his back as the climax overwhelmed her.

When the tremors of their pleasure subsided, they relaxed into each other, their bodies entwined in a tangle of sweat-slicked skin and shared breath. Hannibal rested his head on her shoulder, his breathing coming in slow, contented sighs. Clarice's hands trailed gently over his back, her touch soothing and affectionate as she revelled in the afterglow of their union.

"Are you satisfied, Doctor?" she murmured, tracing his jawline, her voice a sultry whisper as she nestled closer to him, her body moulded to his.

Hannibal's response was a low, rumbling laugh that raised goosebumps on her skin. "I am, indeed," he said softly, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "But I am always eager for more."

xx

In the hushed darkness of the night, the room lay cloaked in shadows, the faint glow of moonlight casting a silver sheen across the bed. Clarice lay beside Hannibal, her body still thrumming with the echoes of their recent passion, yet sleep refused to claim her. The heat of his skin against hers only served to remind her of the desires that had been sated but never fully extinguished. The air was thick with the scent of their lovemaking, the sheets still slightly sweat-dampened, and as she lay there, her arousal slowly began to stir once more.

Beside her, Hannibal slept soundly, his breathing deep and even, his expression softened in slumber. Yet she knew the man beneath that calm exterior, the dark, enigmatic soul she had come to crave as much as she had once so long ago feared. A slow, wicked smile curled her lips as she decided to rouse him.

She moved carefully, her hand trailing down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. Her touch was light, teasing, fingers dancing over his skin, tracing the taut lines of his muscles. She pressed her lips to his chest, planting soft, lingering kisses as her hand continued its journey downward.

When she reached the waistband of his boxers, she didn't hesitate. She slipped her hand beneath the fabric, her fingers closing around his length, already half-hard against her palm. She stroked him with deliberate slowness, delighting in the feel of him growing firmer with each touch, her breath hot against his chest as she kissed her way lower.

Hannibal stirred beneath her, a low, rough sound escaping his throat as he began to wake. His hand moved to cover hers, stilling her movements as he opened his eyes. The darkness in them was unmistakable, even in the faint light of the moon, and it sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

"What do you think you're doing, Clarice?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but laced with the growing edge of arousal.

She didn't answer, not with words. Instead, she kissed lower, her lips brushing over the hard lines of his abdomen as she freed him from his boxers. He was fully erect now, the heat of him searing against her hand. She looked up at him through her lashes, and her blue eyes held him whole as she took him in hand, stroking him with slow, intentional movements.

"Waking you up," she finally whispered, her voice a sultry purr as she kissed the tip of him, her tongue flicking out to taste him. She let her lips trail downward, her hand resuming its languid, teasing strokes along his length.

His breath caught, and she felt him harden fully in her hand, the response she had been looking for. "And what do you intend to do now that I'm awake?" His hand moved to tangle in her hair, holding her head still. He groaned, his hips arching slightly as she moved lower, twitching in her hand as she finally reached the base of him.

She looked up at him one last time before taking him into her mouth, sliding down his shaft and taking in as much of him as she could. She felt his hand tighten in her hair, a low growl escaping his lips as she sucked him deep, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salt of his skin as she worked him.

"Clarice," he soughed almost desperately as she bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks to take him deeper. The sound of his pleasure only fueled her own, making her move faster, her hand stroking the base of him in time with her mouth. She smiled against his skin, her lips ascending his length before she looked up at him again.

"I want to taste you, H… to feel you inside me… to see you lose control."

His response was a low growl, the sound vibrating through his chest as he tugged her up, flipping her onto her back with a swift, predatory adroitness. His hands were rough as they gripped her hips, pulling her toward him, his eyes tenebrous with a hunger that made her heart race.

He brushed his fingers against her slick folds, feeling the heat and wetness that had gathered there. A slow, devilish smile spread across his lips as he teased her, his fingers slipping just inside, enough to make her hips buck against him. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

"So wet and ready," he whispered, his tone thick with satisfaction. "All for me."

Clarice let out a breathless moan, her body bridging with her need for him and overwhelming any semblance of control. She wanted him with a desperation that bordered on madness. "Please, Hannibal," she gasped, her voice trembling as she pleaded. "Please…"

He pulled back just enough to look at her. "What do you want, Clarice?" he asked, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "Tell me."

"You," she breathed, her hands gripping his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

His lips brushed over her throat, his touch featherlight as he continued to goad her, deliberately withholding the satisfaction she craved. "Be specific, my dear," he murmured, his fingers sliding deeper inside her, eliciting another frantic moan from her lips. "Tell me exactly what you want."

She bit her lip, her breath ragged as she fought to find the words in her clouded mind. "I want you to fuck me," she finally admitted. "Hannibal… please…"

"Mmm, Clarice Starling wants me to fuck her, does she?" Hannibal's grin widened, a dark chuckle thundering in his chest as he revelled in her submission, a potent aphrodisiac. "And what is my name, Clarice?" he asked, his voice a growl as he plunged his fingers into her again, making her cry out in pleasure.

"Hannibal…" She gasped.

"Hannibal what?" He goaded, moving his fingers ever so slightly within her.

"Hannibal Lecter," she barely managed to utter, her body arching beneath him, straining for more. "Please, Hannibal…"

"And who am I?" he pressed, his lips grazing her skin as he pushed her further, his voice a dangerous undertone.

Her breath hitched as she felt his words reverberate through her. "You're Hannibal Lecter," she breathed, her voice trembling with the raw, unfiltered need she felt for him. "The serial killer, the cannibal… the man who outwitted the world… who has taken everything he desires."

A dark, satisfied chuckle escaped him as he thrust deeper, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. "And that turns you on, doesn't it?" his voice a dangerous whisper, his breath hot against her skin. "Knowing exactly who I am… what I've done… it excites you, doesn't it, Clarice?"

"Yes," she admitted, her voice a broken whisper. "It excites me… you excite me… everything about you… everything." She writhed haplessly beneath him. "Now please, Hannibal, just shut up and fuck me already."

Hannibal's eyes darkened, a mephistophelian grin painting his lips, his hold on her tightening as her confession fueled his desire. "As you wish," he growled, positioning himself at her entrance. "You're going to take every inch of me, and you're going to scream my name."

With a powerful thrust, he filled her completely, his name spilling from her lips in a breathless cry as he claimed her all over again. The power of his thrusts was staggering, each movement deep and driving, pushing her closer and closer to her summit. As he pounded into her with relentless force, he wrapped his hand around her throat, applying just enough pressure to heighten her pleasure, a sensation that elicited a surprised gasp, the faintest smile playing at her lips.

"Say it again," he demanded gruffly. "Say my name, Clarice."

"Hannibal… Hannibal Lecter," she rasped tremblingly. "Fuck, Hannibal… harder."

His grip on her throat tightened slightly, each thrust into her urgent and desperate, as if trying to take her breath away entirely. "You're mine, Clarice," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming her in every possible way. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," she cried out, her body tightening around him as she teetered on the edge of release. "Yours, Hannibal… always…"

"Is this what you wanted, Agent Starling?"

She didn't respond, her mind an overwhelming whirl of sensations that made it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought.

"Answer me." He snarled, commanding her full attention.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his intense gaze. She fought to steady her voice, struggling to form the words amidst the chaos of her pleasure. "Yes…fuck…yes." She finally managed.

Hannibal's hand tightened around her throat with just the right amount of pressure, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "Look at me while I fuck you, Clarice." He pounded into her frantically, his voice a fierce whisper in her ear. "Now, be a good girl and come for me."

She obliged, shattering around him, her orgasm crashing over her in a breathless cry, her body convulsing with pleasure. Hannibal followed close behind, his own release tearing through him as he drove into her one last time, his name echoing in her cries as she submitted to him fully. As he withdrew, the heat of his release still pulsing through him, he didn't let her recover immediately. Instead, he shifted between her thighs, his breath hot against her flushed skin. Clarice lay sprawled on the bed, her body trembling with the aftershocks, her thighs slick with their mingled passion.

Without warning, Hannibal's mouth descended on her, his tongue sweeping over her swollen clit with a deliberacy that made her back arch off the mattress. He licked deeper, savouring every inch of her as if it were a rare, exquisite delicacy. Clarice moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair as she bucked against his mouth, his tongue sending sparks through her already-sensitive body.

Hannibal lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze. "You taste divine," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Every inch of you… utterly intoxicating."

Before she could respond, he gathered their combined essence on his fingers, bringing them to her mouth. Hovering just above her lips, he challenged her with his gaze as she opened her mouth, taking his fingers between her lips. She sucked on them slowly, her tongue swirling around the tips, relishing the taste of them together.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he pushed his fingers deeper into her mouth, watching her enjoy every last bit. "There's my best girl."

Her eyes fell closed, a soft moan escaping her lips as she did just that. When she finally released his fingers, her eyes met his again, her lips quirking into a satisfied, devious smile.

Hannibal's mouth found hers in a deep kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, the taste of them both still lingering. But beneath the hunger, there was something more profound—a connection that transcended the physical, binding them in a way neither could—or wanted to—deny.

When they finally broke apart, their breathing was laboured, their bodies still humming with the afterglow of their passionate tryst. Hannibal's hand trailed down her body, his touch soft and reverent now, as if he were memorising every millimetre of her. Settling into the bed, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms protectively around her, offering a sense of safety and warmth. She nestled into him as he traced soothing patterns on her back, his touch conveying his all-abiding affection.

"I love you, Clarice," he said softly, his fingers tenderly brushing a lock of hair from her face as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Clarice closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and placing a delicate kiss to his chest. "I love you too, babe," she hummed, her voice filled with heartfelt emotion. "So much." She tilted her head to look up at him with a soft smile. "Thank you for that, by the way," her voice was light and filled with gratitude. "It was... extraordinary. And exactly what I needed."

Hannibal's eyes were warm and his features soft as he responded. "I'm pleased you found it so. I quite enjoyed it as well, in ways that words may fail to capture."

Clarice's smile deepened, reflecting the depth of her feelings. "I'm glad we're able to do this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means more to me than you know."

"And you, my dear, are a source of profound delight," he said softly, his tone touched with a rare vulnerability. "You never cease to surprise and amaze me."

Their shared warmth enveloped them like a cocoon, the remnants of their passion now a comforting, cherished memory. The taste of their love lingered on their lips, a sweet reminder of the deep connection they shared. With a final kiss, they surrendered to the night, their hearts and bodies intertwined.

"Sweet dreams, my love," Hannibal whispered.