This is my first fic in a long time. I can't tell you how glad I am to be back at the laptop and letting my imagination run free.
I've recently finished reading the Hannibal Lecter series and, of course, the films, so thought I'd try my hand at writing the unorthodox couple.
Warning:
There are words in this that people may find offensive and suggestions of sexual abuse (nothing graphic, but it's there and could be a trigger)
Please pay attention to the rating, it's M for a reason!
The characters don't belong to me and all mistakes are mine. I hope you enjoy!
My breath came out in short bursts as I attempted to calm my racing heart. My fingers gripped the wheel of my mustang, and I counted to ten. What the hell was I doing?
I knew he was here, I told them he was here, and yet they wouldn't come. They wanted him dead. It didn't matter if the way it came about was illegal. Murder, pure and simple. The FBI would turn a blind eye. It seemed that was all they were capable of doing these days.
They turned a blind eye on the Drumgo incident. My report, the report of the DEA, told them what really happened. How that bastard at Baltimore PD forced our hand. I told them, told them to hold. Told them to abandon the mission. It was too dangerous, there were too many people, and the baby. The baby.
Even now, after all this time, I still felt that sickening feeling as I thought about the child. He would grow up without his mother. It didn't matter that the mother in question was a HIV positive drug dealer. She was still his mother, and he deserved the chance to know her, if he wanted.
Yet, they turned their backs. Abandoned me and left me to drift in the crashing storm that was the media frenzy which followed the failed drugs bust.
Now, they were doing it again, only this time it wasn't my career they were gambling with. It was his life.
I shouldn't care. I should just turn my engine back on and drive away. Why should it matter if Hannibal Lecter died? He had murdered so many people. Feasted on their ruined corpses. Why should I care if he finally gets what so many people feel he deserves?
Closing my eyes as I resumed my count, I could see his maroon gaze staring at me. Daring me to… do what? Walk away? Save him? He smiled at me in my mind's eye. His thin mouth curling in that infuriating grin. He knew. He knew what I was going to do, even before I did.
Damn it!
I slammed the door shut behind me as I checked my gun. The clip was full and my spare already in place in my holster. On silent feet, I crossed the grass, vaulting over the fence that lined the farm and raced over to the barn.
I could hear screaming from inside, it was muffled with a hint of static. My breath eased as I realised it was a recording.
I pressed my back against the barn, gun held up near my face as I braced myself to enter. Voices sounded from inside, but I couldn't make out what they said, and there was something else. Was that… pigs?
Another quick breath and I slid open the door. "FBI, freeze!" I shouted; my gun pointed out in front of me. There he was, face masked, arms spread out like some bastardised depiction of the crucifixion. My heart stopped as my mind finally realised what it is they were going to do. The pigs banged against the wooden doors that held them at bay, their squealing echoing across the barn.
For a moment, my eyes met those of Dr Lecter. I could see his crease with a smile as he took me in. It was a second, only a second and yet my heart faltered at his gaze.
A shot rang out and I dove to the side, losing sight of Dr Lector as I rolled away. My gun raised and I fired in the direction the shot came from. My mark landed and a man fell to the floor as blood sprayed from his leg. I hit the artery; he'll be dead in moments.
Another shot and I rolled once more, swinging my gun round and firing twice. I missed. I scrambled to my feet and dove into one of the stalls. The smell of manure and sawdust assaulted my senses as I crashed against the wooden wall.
"Put down your weapon," I shouted. Another shot. Wood splintered around me as the bullet missed my head. Quickly, I stood and fired over the stall. Two more shots and the sound of a body falling to the floor. A quick scan of the barn showed no one else and I ran to Dr Lecter.
"Good evening, Clarice. Just like old times."
"Shut up." I said, my voice breathless. My heart pounding as I pulled a knife from my boot. "Can you walk?"
"I can try," he said, as if he were commenting on the weather. "You look well." A shiver ran over me as my fingers brushed against the exposed skin at his wrist.
"I'll cut you loose. If you touch me, I'll shoot you." I looked up at him, his maroon eyes pierced me.
"Understood." His voice washed over me. That one word had my blood pounding harder than all the shots put together. I turned away, not able to hold his gaze.
"Do right, and you'll live through this."
"Spoken like a true Protestant." I huffed out a breath as he spoke. "Better hurry," he said as there was another mighty bang against the doors. Damn, those pigs were strong.
I managed to cut the bonds of his left wrist, my fingers shaking with what I tried to convince myself was fear. The grunting of the pigs became louder, more insistent as they started to break their way through the wood. "This might go faster if you were to give me the knife." I looked up at him again and I fumbled with the leather at his wrist.
Part of me scream to run, to keep the knife, to not trust him and leave him to his fate. But when I looked into his eyes, I placed the knife in his free hand, squeezing slightly in warning. He only raised an eyebrow.
"There was a third in the loft." I looked to my side. "No, Clarice. Behind me."
I looked him over before glancing up. Movement caught my eye, and I dropped down to the side, firing as I did. Two shots, or was it three?
There was a burning in my shoulder, and I was flung back by the force of a fourth bullet I didn't hear. My vision blurred as I saw Dr Lecter walk towards me, now free from that awful cross. He picked up my gun and knelt towards me.
The doors containing the pigs burst open and unconsciousness overtook me.
There was something soft beneath me. I tried to open my eyes, but they were too heavy. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, my head empty for the first time in years. Clear.
Something pulled at my shoulder, and I turned my head, my eyes cracking open to see a figure standing over me.
"Shah," a voice said. I couldn't see his face, but his voice washed over me. "It's alright, you're going to be alright." My eyes closed I allowed him to sweep into my dreams. I could feel his fingers on my skin. I wasn't sure if it was real. His touch grazed down my arm, stopping at my wrist before traveling back up.
I think I sighed as I felt his lips press against my brow.
Consciousness came back to me, slowly. Blinking my eyes open, I saw I was in a bedroom. Not mine. I furrowed my brow as I took in the dark walls, a drab navy-blue wallpaper probably meant to look masculine.
There were no pictures lining the walls, just a large print of a boat at sea. I knew that print, remembered Krendler boasting at its acquiescence, remembered the smug feeling in my chest when I realised it was a fake, knowing he didn't. What the hell am I doing in Paul Krendler's house?
I pushed myself to my elbows and the room started to spin. Leaning to the side, I put a hand to my head until it passed. That was when I noticed the dress.
Looking down myself, I saw I was wearing a beautiful, black dress. The front plunging in a V almost to my navel, and a slit halfway up my thigh. The shoes, I noticed, were the same ones he left for me in the photo booth. A memory of Dr Lecter leaning over me, the gentle tug at my skin as he stitched my wound, a brush of his lips on my forehead.
I wanted to feel disgusted, violated that he dressed me. But I didn't. Maybe it was the light-headedness, or the drugs I could still feel swarming around my system, but I felt a thrill at the thought that he chose this. He picked it out and dressed me.
No! It was wrong, so wrong. I wasn't his doll to dress up as he liked. The thought firmly in my head, I pushed myself off the bed, stumbling as I made my way across the room. I allowed my anger to carry me, allowed it to overtake any other feelings I may have to force me out the door.
If I didn't, I was afraid I wouldn't do what I knew I needed to.
I fell against a table just outside the bedroom. There was my holster, empty. My gun, empty. A pair of handcuffs and… a phone!
Clutching the edge of the table, I pulled myself along, falling as I reached the end. He had unplugged it, ripped the wires out, but hadn't damaged them. It would have been easy for me to put them back. I could call for back up. I didn't know where I was, but as soon as I told them who was here, they would arrive quickly. Probably within the next 10 or 15 minutes.
My fingers toyed with the wires, that voice in my head begging me to do it. Fix it and call it in. I let the wires slip through my fingers, reaching instead for the cuffs on the table. I stood on shaking legs and secured the metal rings in the waist band of my underwear, praying they would stay fixed under the tight elastic.
Voices floated upstairs. Male. One was slurred, but the other. The other I would know anywhere. His rich timber floated to me, and I could feel it in my bones. I shivered.
"This won't hurt a bit." Dr Lecter's voice said. I couldn't hear the reply, or at least, couldn't understand it. It was only him. Only his words that reached me. I would be able to hear it across a crowded room, with music blaring in all directions and plugs in my ear. If he spoke, I knew I would hear him.
Slowly, so I didn't fall again, I made my way downstairs. The voices grew louder as I reached the landing and through the crack in the door, I could see who else was there. I froze.
What have you done, Doctor?
I walked to the door and could see Paul Krendler sat at the head of the table, Dr Lecter beside him cooking something over a portable stoke. The frying pan sizzling in his hand. The smells coming from the room were divine, but I couldn't trust them. I knew the Doctor too well to do anything else. My hand brushed a snow globe that was sitting on a small table in the hall. I closed my fingers around it. I might have hesitated before, but not now. Paul Krendler might be the sleaziest and most arrogant man I had ever had the misfortune to meet, but that didn't mean he deserved whatever it was Dr Lecter had planned for him.
"Clarice, what are you doing up?" Doctor Lecter looked up at me and I almost forgot the other occupant of the room. He was dressed in a rich Armani tuxedo, perfectly cut to his body. I felt something pool in my stomach as I looked at him. Something I hated and feared in equal measure. "You should be resting," he continued as he lit the pan he was holding on fire. "Get back to bed." He turned from me as he placed the pan down.
"I'm hungry," I said as I finally pushed the door open. Paul looked to me, his face blank as his eyes roamed over my body. There was a blue cap on his head and some drool dripping from his mouth. What the hell did Dr Lecter do to him? "Hello, Paul." Paul didn't reply.
"Paul don't be rude," Dr Lecter turned back to us, dropping some onions into the pan. "Say 'hello, Agent Starling'."
"Hello, Agent Starling," Paul finally said, his eyes once more running down my body, stopping at the V on my chest. "I always wanted to watch you eat." I saw Dr Lecter stiffen as Paul spoke and I couldn't stop the shiver of revulsion run down my back.
"What have you got in your hand, Clarice?" Dr Lecter asked, clearly deciding to ignore Paul for the moment. "Something to bash me over the head with? Put it on the table." I hesitated. It was my only weapon but when my legs gave out slightly, I put the globe down, using it to keep my balance. "Good girl."
"Hey," Paul said. "That's mine." Neither of us paid him any attention.
Dr Lecter walked around Paul and pulled out a chair. "Now, sit down." I wobbled slightly as I took the few steps forward, almost falling in the chair. Dr Lecter's fingers brushed my shoulder ever so softly before he turned away. "Clarice." He looked over his shoulder a me. "Love the dress. It's beautiful." His dark eyes swept over me. It wasn't the predatory gaze Paul gave me, but warm, appreciative. I hated myself for the flush that came over me. "What do you think, Paul?"
"Nice."
"Why don't you say grace, Paul?" Dr Lecter turned and walked to the serving table behind Paul and started to stir something in the pot.
Paul's voice was slurred, confused as he answered. "Me? Grace? Ok. Bow your head," he whispered at me. "Father, we thank thee for thy blessings, and dedicate them to thy mercy, we are about to receive. Forgive us all, even white trash like Starling here, and bring her into my service. Amen."
As he spoke, I glanced down and saw a full place setting before. Complete with a knife and fork. Quickly, I looked up at Dr Lecter. His back was too me and my fingers crept along the table until the reached the knife by my plate. I didn't look as my fingers closed around the cold metal handle, my eyes fixed on the broad back of the Doctor before. I watched as he lifted his head sharply when Paul called me 'white trash'. But he didn't interrupt.
"You know," Lecter said once Paul was done. "I have to tell you, Paul, even the apostle Paul couldn't have done better. He hated women too."
"May I have some wine, please?" I asked as Dr Lecter placed a bowl in front of Paul, a straw hanging out of it.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Clarice. Not with the morphine. I think you should eat some broth. Ok?"
"By the way, Starling," Paul said." There was a job offering I worked into the blessing. I'm going to congress you know.
"Are you?"
"Come around campaign headquarters. You could be an office girl. Can you type and file? Can you take dictation? Take this down, Washington is full of corn-pone county pussy."
I could feel my anger rise as the words left his mouth. But I couldn't let it show, I needed to remain calm. "I took it down; you said it already."
"Paul." The rage that seemed to have been simmering within him since Paul first spoke to me now edged his voice. "Now you're being rude, and I hate rude people." A thrill rushed through me at that tone, and I clenched my legs together. "Drink your broth like a good boy." Dr Lecter put the straw in Paul's mouth, and he took a sip, instantly pulling away as he swallowed.
"Well, that's not very good, buddy." Paul laughed and I saw Dr Lecter's lips turn up in a cunning smile.
"I admit, I added something to yours, perhaps it's clashing with the cumin. But I assure you the next course is to die for." He came to me, another bowl in his hand. The voice in my head screamed at me. This was my chance, I had to do it. Kill or be killed, that was the choice I had when I shot Evelda Drumgo, it was the choice I had now.
Hating myself, I pulled the knife up, aiming for Dr Lecter's leg. Without a second's hesitation, he caught my wrist, the drugs still in my system making my movements too slow, too sloppy.
"Come on, Clarice." He tried to pry the knife from my hand, but I held firm. "That's a good girl," he said as he pressed a pressure point on my wrist and my fingers finally let the blade slide free. Tutting, he shook his head. "I should have known," he said fondly, bopping my nose with the knife.
Our faces were so close, our breaths mingling. I watched as his eyes dilatated and fall to my mouth. That rush went through me again. I was so confused. One moment, I was planning on sticking a knife in his leg, the next I wanted to stick my tongue in his mouth. Wetness began to gather at my slit and Dr Lecter inhaled deeply, his eyes flashing as that incredible sense of smell caught the scent. His head moved forward, only millimetres separated us, I could almost feel him on me.
My confused heart beating wildly. If it weren't for Paul, for whatever it was Dr Lecter had done to the smarmy bastard, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from closing the distance. Oh, how I wanted too.
I did the only thing I could think off; I went for him again. I pushed myself up, the chair toppling behind me as I lunged for the doctor, my hands aiming for his neck. Dr Lecter easily caught me. My wrists firm in his grip and he slammed me into the table, his body covering mine. My skin hummed at the contact, where he pressed against me between my legs. It took every ounce of self-control I processed not to writhe against him. My muscles trembling with the effort.
His sigh caressed my cheek. "Given the chance, you would deny me my life, wouldn't you?"
"Not your life," I whispered. Never his life.
"My freedom, just that. You'd take that from me." A sigh. He pulled back slightly, and I looked up to see his eyes surveying me, looking through me. His rich voice almost a caress. "And if you did," he continued. "Would they have you back, do you think? The FBI? Those people you despise almost as much as they despise you? Would they give you a medal, Clarice, do you think? Would you have it professionally framed, and hang it on your wall to look at, and remind you of your courage and incorruptibility?" He gave me a small, sad smile. His eyes surprisingly melancholy as he pressed me further into the table. "All you would need for that, Clarice, is a mirror."
My breath came out in a rush as we stared at each other. His gaze intense and arousing.
I was two people in that moment; Agent Starling, the woman who wanted to lock the doctor away, for the rest of his life, and Clarice, the woman who… I could feel the two of them fighting, each one scratching for dominance over the other, and I didn't know which one I wanted to win.
He was right, the doctor was right. The FBI despised me. They had proven over and over again they had no appreciation for me. Even if I took Dr Lecter in, would anything change? Would they take me back, restore my good name?
Do you even want them too? Clarice asked. Agent Starling silenced her with a sharp jab to the jaw. I flinched at the imagined impact. I didn't know what I wanted any more. I had worked so hard, harder than almost anyone, and all I had for my trouble was speculation and rumours dogging every step I took.
I looked over the table. The fine wine, candlelight, immaculate place settings. He had done all of this, for me. Had taken Paul Krendler, a man who was not just content with forcing his unwanted advances on me, but also actively thwarting my every attempt to advance in my job, to even do my job.
If Krendler had left me alone, Dr Lecter wouldn't have even spared the man a second look. Probably wouldn't have even spared him a first glance. This was for me.
Agent Starling could feel her influence falling away and pushed the image of the nurse in my head. The nurse whose only crime was working at Baltimore State Hospital for the criminally insane. She was just doing her job and Dr Lecter ate her tongue.
"I had plans for that smart mouth, but I'm never going to hire you now." Paul's voice broke the spell.
Dr Lecter's face twisted in disgust, and he didn't even look at the man as he spoke. His eyes still fixed on mine. "Paul, remember what I said? If you can't be polite to our guest, you'll have to sit at the kiddie's table."
"I know where I'd like to sit," Paul retuned, his words slurred. "Right between that pretty cunt of yours."
The disgust on Dr Lecter's face swiftly changed to wrath as the impact of those words reached us. His fingers released my wrists, and he made to move. I grabbed him, afraid of what he might do if I let him go. Paul might be a smarmy bastard, but that didn't mean I wanted him dead. Right?
"Just ask that little nigger friend of yours," Paul continued. "She'll tell you. Oh, how I made her scream."
Anger like nothing I had ever felt before flooded my veins. Paul laughed, like a child who had just been told they could get an extra slice of cake. Memories sawm through my mind, memories of Ardelia. Of a night, so long ago, when her normally rich skin had turned pale. How her eyes looked like they were in a constant state of tears. How she locked herself away and didn't speak. How her answers never fully satisfied me.
With a strength I didn't know I processed, I pushed the doctor off me and lunged for Paul. I was going to kill him, was going to rip his throat out with my bare hands. Was going to sink my teeth into him. Was going to bite and rip and tear until there was nothing left.
What was left of the morphine in my system caused my world to tilt and I fell against the table. Strong hands caught me, and I was pulled against Dr Lecter's chest.
"As much as I love your blood lust, Clarice, I do not this this the best moment. The morphine, you know." He held me firm, his own body trembling, with anger or desire, I didn't know. Maybe both. I could feel him against me, the hard pains of his chest and the more prominent hardness growing lower.
He slipped a hand around my waist, fingers splaying across my stomach as I struggled against him, but he wouldn't let me go. "Patience," he whispered in my ear. I sagged against him, allowing my weight to be held up by him. Dr Lecter pressed a kiss to my temple and shifted me to the table. I leant on it, resting my backside on the edge.
"I think," Lecter said as he walked over to Paul, "you should go to the kiddie's table, Paul, since you can't seem to behave yourself." Paul was still giggling like a child, not even noticing when Dr Lecter wheeled his chair from under the table. I watched as they backed out of the room, my blood still pounding in my ears.
As the door swung shut, I slumped onto the table, exhausted. My eyes caught sight of the candlestick I had knocked over in my attempted to get to Paul. My actions were not my own as I reached for it, Agent Starling using my momentary distraction to direct my limbs. My hands shook as they clasped the candlestick at the centre of the table. I needed to end this. This was my chance.
Agent Starling was screaming at me to follow them, to bash the doctor around the head and call for back up. Clarice was just focusing on the sensation of his hardness pressing into my backside.
My skin flushed and heat swept over my body. I rose a shaking hand to my face and brushed the stray hair that had escaped my ponytail in the tussle with Dr Lecter. I placed the back of my hand against my neck and could feel my pulse thrumming.
The door to the kitchen opened and Dr Lecter entered the room, wiping his hands with a tea towel. The white cloth was stained red. His eyes took in the candlestick, my hands and the knuckles turned white from the grip I held on it.
His eyes met mine and he quirked an eyebrow. I pushed away from the table. "I came halfway around the world to watch you run, Clarice," he said softly. "Let me run, huh?"
I relaxed my hand but didn't let go. "Is he dead?" I asked, a sinking feeling coming over me. Not from Paul's death, but from the fact I wasn't the one to cause it. Agent Starling reprimanded me, but she was drowned out by the memories of Ardelia.
"No, Clarice," he replied, throwing the towel over the bookcase (unsurprisingly not holding books, this being Paul fucking Krendler's house). "I would never dream of taking what was yours. As much as I would savour every moment cutting the life from the man who had caused you so much pain, Mr Krendler belongs to you."
Mine, he was mine. In that moment, Paul's life was mine to control. Mine to end, if I wanted. Agent Starling was strangled as Clarice yelled; yes! Yes, God yes! Kill the fucker.
My thoughts must have shown on my face as Dr Lecter took a step forward, his expression elated by what he saw in me.
"There's that fire I adore so much. My lioness, my warrior." He moved with that feline grace, eyes never leaving mine. A predator examining their opponent. "Maybe now you understand. Understand why I do what I do. Understand the desire to rid the world of those who contaminate it."
I did. How often had I seen out justice system fail? How often had I seen the guilty walk free and the innocent plundered? Even in the FBI, people like Paul Krendler, who manipulated, bullied, abused, blackmailed their way to the top. Not caring who they crushed under them as they climbed the ladder.
"But you don't stop at those who deserve it," I said. "There were innocents, weren't there?"
I backed up, bumping the table as I did, causing the legs to creak a little at the force. Dr Lecter was on me then, leaning over me, but not touching. The candlestick clattered to the floor as I braced my hands behind me.
"Hmm, yes, I suppose there were." He leant into me, placing a hand either side of my waist. I tilted back, still keeping the millimetre distance between us. "Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me 'stop. If you loved me, stop'?"
I froze. His voice was so soft, face so open. That carefully crafted mask finally fallen away. His expression open, full of yearning, and I saw the truth deep in those maroon eyes. He meant it. He would stop. If I asked him, it would be over.
He would be free. We would be free. The sins of his past would be just that: past. No more innocents on the slab, and we... we could be together.
Could I do it? Leave everything behind and stay with him?
Not in a thousand years, Agent starling said in my mind.
"Not in a thousand years," he repeated. Tears burned my eyes as I realised, I had said the words aloud. Something flicked in his eyes. He lunged forward, teeth bared in a fierce snarl as he went for my throat. But I didn't flinch. Not from him, never from him.
Dr Lecter stopped short, the snarl falling, and his eyes bored into mine. "That's my girl." Then his lips were on mine. A single tear escaped and ran down my cheek, my heart breaking at what I had just lost. Damn Starling, why did she have to be so incorruptible?
The click of the cuffs echoed through the now silent dining room. Dr Lecter pulled back. "That's interesting." He lifted our now joined wrists. "That's very interesting. Where's the key?" I didn't answer, just forced myself behind the walls Agent Starling was rebuilding. "Where's the key?" He pressed into me again, his voice sharp. Still, I remained silent.
Swiftly, Dr Lecter turned and reached to the side. I didn't understand what he was doing until he slammed out hands on the table, a wicked looking knife in his free hand. "What do you think?" He asked and touched the edge of blade to my skin. "Above, or below the wrist?" Our eyes met as he raised the knife above his head. "This is really going to hurt."
I understood what was about to happen a second before he swung down. Using all the strength I had left, I whipped my hand off the table, taking his with it as the knife cut into the wood, right where Dr Lecter's wrist had been moments before.
Lecter's shock at my sudden movement gave me the chance I needed. I gripped the hand connected to mine and pinned it to my side, my free hand wrapping around his opposite wrist. I twisted until his fingers released the hilt and pulled him round. Dr Lecter made to pull away, so I wrapped a leg around his waist. My core screamed as I used it to lift the other.
I locked my ankle behind his back and pulled him in. Dr Lecter staggered as I shifted his centre of gravity. The hand not pinned to my side coming up to slam against the table, stopping him from falling on my completely.
His body was now hovering above me. Pressed between him and the table, I finally allowed myself to really feel him. All of him. Clarice had broken through the wall when I saved his hand.
We were panting, my chest heaved against his. "Not in a thousand years, Clarice," he reminded me. There was pain behind the fury, the sight of it silenced Agent Starling forever. It was just Clarice, and Clarice knew what she wanted.
My free hand reached into the waistband of my underwear, freeing the key that had, miraculously, stayed put between the thin fabric and my skin.
"Yes," I agreed, holding the key up between us. "Because, if I loved you, I would never ask." I silently pleaded with him to understand. The choice needed to be his. I would never ask him to be anything other than he was. He knew what I wanted, but I would never force it. It was his choice, only he could decide what he wanted to be. Who he wanted to be.
Dr Lecter's eyes flicked between mine and the key before he took it from me. Keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he unlocked the cuffs at our wrists, throwing them aside to clatter on the table. "Is this an ultimatum, Clarice?" His hand came back to rest on the table by my head.
"I don't believe in ultimatums," I said. "They're too much like conditional love, and my love isn't conditional."
"But your company is," he said. I paused at this. I wanted to deny it but couldn't. If he continued as he was, could I really stay? I could love him; I would always love him. But could I stay with him, knowing I would be a party to it all?
"I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know if I could, could live with the idea that I was, in some way, the cause of… even passively, I don't think I could be a part of ending someone's life, just because they happen be the mediocre musician of an orchestra, or..." My voice failed as tears spilled. The Paul Krendlers of the world, I could live with. The nurses who were just doing their job, I couldn't.
"No, I don't think you could, either," he said. The pause between us was painful. Any moment, I expected him pull away. To place my feet back to the floor. To walk away, forever.
Unconsciously, my legs tightened around him, my hand coming up to grip the lapel of his jacket. As if I could keep him there by sheer will.
"How about a compromise?" He brushed a finger across my cheek, wiping away the tears. "The substandard flutists and nurses of the world will be safe from me. But I cannot, will not allow the Paul Krendler's or Frederick Chilton's of the world to so much as look at you the wrong way." His thin lips quirked into a teasing grin. "I won't even ask you to partake in my more exotic meals, unless, of course, you wanted to." A small smile lifted my lips as I searched his face. "My love is not conditional either, Clarice." He leaned forward, our forehands touching.
"And what would my compromise be?" I asked.
He paused for a moment before answering, his voice low and serious. "Your life. There is no going back after this, Clarice. You will always be wanted and hunted by those who attempt to capture me. Even if, in 5- or 10-years' time, you tire of me and choose to leave, you could never come back to your life here."
I knew that already. I knew, if I chose this, chose him, I would have to leave everything behind.
"Would you tire of me?" I was nothing like those women he had been with before. I wasn't sophisticated or well bred. I was nothing, a nobody from nowhere. No family, no job, and only one friend in the entire world that I could call my own.
"Not in a thousand years," he whispered. His breath caressed lips and I took a shaky breath before closing the gap.
The kiss was gentle, exploring, his lips moving against mine in a perfect dance. My hand tightened onto the lapel of his jacket while the other cupped his neck, pulling him closer. Eyes fluttering closed as one of his hands stroked my waist. His tongue licked the seam of my lips, and I opened for him.
It became a battle of teeth and tongue. My legs tighten around him, grinding him to my centre. The doctor moaned and I bit his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth. His hands gripped my waist with such strength, I knew I would have bruises. The thought sent a thrill through me, and I rubbed against him.
Gasping, I broke the kiss and tilted my head back. Dr Lecter instantly took my offering, his lips latching onto the pules point, his sharp teeth biting into my flesh before his tongue licked away the sting. "Doctor." My voice was a low moan, right from the bac of my throat.
He pulled away, a teasing glint in those maroon eyes. "I think we are far past 'Doctor' now, don't you, Clarice?" I have him a small smile, flushing a little at the intensity of his eyes.
"Hannibal," I corrected, enjoying the feel of his name on my tongue. Hannibal closed his eyes and inhaled deeply at the sound before crashing his lips to mine once more. I fell back on the table, Hannibal pressed above me, his hand roving over my body before I felt his fingers at the bottom of the V in my dress.
Those calloused tips teased my skin as they traced their way up, putting the material away to expose my breast. I arched into him as he circled my nipple, my head falling back on the table. My hips gyrated with each pass he made around until he finally pinched them between his thumb and finger.
"You have no idea how I have fantasied about this," Hannibal said, voice rough with arousal. "Fantasied about you laid out before me. A buffet for my own personal delight."
"What are you waiting for, then?" I asked. I unlocked my legs from around him and spread them, my arms stretching above my head. "Feast."
The sound that came from him at my words was not human, yet not animal either. It was something else, something Other. He descended on my chest, lips closing around my already peaked nipple. I gripped the end of the table above me and arched my back.
The pressure he was building within me was glorious and I could feel my wetness already seeping from me. Hannibal pressed his crotch into mine and I frantically ground against him, desperate to generate any form of friction.
Hannibal lifted me slightly and unzipped the back of my dress, his other slid along my thigh, gathering the material and causing my skin to burn at his touch. He wasted no time and soon the dress was pulled over my head and flung to the side.
I lay on the table, my black lacy underwear the only clothing I now wore.
"Exquisite." It was something between a moan and a prayer as his eyes finally took in my naked torso. In that moment, I honestly thought I might come just from the look on his face. Pure unadulterated adoration.
One hand landed on my waist, rubbing small circles, while the other traced the contours of my body. His fingers glided along my collar bone, gently grazing over the bullet wound I had taken in the barn. Down to my chest, taking it's time on each nipple, giving them both the same loving attention. My hips bucked as he pinched them both in time.
Lower and lower they went, my stomach going taught as they passed over, until they stopped, just above where I was so desperate for him to touch.
"Hannibal," I moaned as I lifted my hips, trying to force his hand down.
"My name on your lips is sweeter than the greatest symphony." A finger ran along the soaked fabric. Teasing, so teasing. I bucked again. "So responsive, so wet. I can smell it, you know. Even from here." He inhaled deeply. "I could smell that scent, every day, for the rest of my life, and it would never be enough."
The combination of his finger and his voice were so erotic, I couldn't take it. I reach down, I would put his damn fingers there myself if I had to. Hannibal grasped both my hands in his large one, pulled them back over my head. His body covered mine, pressing me harder into the table. His other hand, still working me through my pants, now trapped between us.
"Hannibal," I moaned as he pressed my clit. The damp fabric scratching it in the most delicious way.
"I'm going to remember this, every moment, every flush of your skin, every tone of your voice. It will be branded in my memory palace, and the room will grow, it will be the largest one there." He hooked a finger around my underwear, slowly pulling them down. "I have waited 10 years for this, Clarice. 10 years of dreaming, of fantasizing, of building that room in my mind ready for this moment. And, after tonight, I have no intention of waiting another 10 years to add to it."
"No," I breathed, my voice heady. "Never. Hannibal, please." He slid my pants down my leg and when they were far enough, I kicked them away. I was now completely bare before him. His fingers slid up my leg, it was so achingly slow I squirmed beneath him.
"I'm going to make you come, screaming my name, Clarice." He split my folds, and I finally felt him on me, circling my entrance. "First on my fingers." He slipped on in me. I gasped at the intrusion, lifting my hips to meet him. It curled inside me, cause spots to dance across my vision. I took a shaky breath. "Then on my mouth," he continued, slipping in a second digit.
He was stretching me, taunting me. He pumped into me, his fingers curling inside me and the pull inside grew tighter and tighter. I stained against the hand still holding my wrists, but he didn't let go.
"Then," he said, his breath tickling my neck. Three fingers now penetrated me, roughly slamming into me and his thumb pressed onto my clit. "I'm going to make you come on my cock."
I shattered. My climax came so strong and sure, it lifted me from the table as I arched into him. His name the only cogent thought in my mind, the only sound on my lips as my world ended and was remade.
I could still feel his fingers moving within me, working me through the aftershocks. It wasn't until my body sagged against the table once more, did he remove them.
Hannibal brought his hand up to my face, I could smell myself on his fingers as he slipped one past my lips. I moaned as the salty taste of my release coated my tongue.
"Do you like that?" He asked as he withdraw his finger. "Do you like to taste yourself on me."
"Yes!"
He kissed me, sucking my tongue into his mouth, moaning as he too tasted me. Finally, he released my hands, and I plunged them in his hair, pulling at the strands. I was frantic for the feel of him. When he broke from my lips to trail kissed down my neck, I pulled the bowtie free from his neck and undid the top few buttons of his shirt.
Too impatient to finish the rest, I plunged my hand into the gap and scrapped my nails across his chest, fingering the fine hairs that littered it. I wanted to feel his skin, needed to feel it against mine.
I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, but before I could continue my work on his shirt, Hannibal lowered himself down my body.
I groaned in frustration as I lost my grip on his shirt.
"I have a very specific order I want to do this in, Clarice," he said against my thigh. I could feel his grin. Another deep inhale caused him to make the 'Other' sound again. "You smell even better up close."
"Hannibal," I almost pleaded with him.
"All in good time, my dear." He kissed his way from the top of my thigh in, my leg spreading further to accommodate him. His nose bumped my clit, and I jerked against him. My second climax already well on its way, the build-up starting from the moment I tasted myself on his finger.
Hannibal sucked my swollen bud into his mouth, his sharp teeth grazing it, and I wound my hand into his hair, keeping him in place as I shamelessly road his face. One of his hands gripped at my waist, not to stop me but to encourage.
I lifted my leg over his shoulder, pressing my heel into his back
A kiss pressed against my opening and his tongue slipped in. Hannibal let lose a growl, so fierce I could feel the vibrations on his back, as he finally tasted me from the source.
"Hannibal," I panted, his cleaver tongue licked up my centre.
"That's it," he said against me, his breath caressing my clit. "Say it. Say my name," he demanded.
"Hannibal."
"Again!" A finger joined his tongue, pumping into me as he licked and kissed my clit. The stimulation had me squeezing his head with my thighs, grinding against him with ferocity.
"Hannibal!"
He bit me. Those sharp teeth trapping my clitoris had me roaring his name as a second wave came over me. It was hard and more intense than the first. My nerves even more sensitive that before.
I was trembling all over as I came down, Hannibal lapping up every drop of my release before he gently put my leg down and softly kissed his way up my body. The kisses weren't seductive but comforting.
"Are you alright?" He asked when he finally reached my head, concern lacing his words.
"Incredible," I said, a lazy, satisfied smile blossoming across my face. He kissed me, softly. I could taste myself on his tongue. I have never before tasted myself. No one had put their fingers in my mouth after they has been in my core, no one had ever kissed me after almost sucking my dry.
It was an experience I was happy to have again, over and over.
I shifted a little and felt his very prominent bulge straining to get free, and I wondered how he would taste. How he would feel in me, in my mouth. How he would sound as I sucked him as thoroughly as he just sucked me. How it would taste as he spilled onto my tongue.
"Take it off," I said against his mouth.
Hannibal pulled back; one eyebrow raised. "Take what off?" He asked, innocently.
"All of it." A hungry grin spread across his mouth, but he hesitated.
"Are you sure." I know he was thinking about my shoulder. The morphine had been slowly wearing off and I could start to feel a dull throb, but I nodded. There was pain, an ache, but nothing compared the ache now reforming inside.
"Take. It. Off." It was pure command, and his hips bucked as a rush of desire flashed over his face. An idea occurred to me at his reaction, and I tucked it away. That would be a thought for another day. We had both waited for this for too long. There would be other days to play, we had the rest of our lives after all.
Hannibal pulled back and stood. I followed, sitting up at the edge of the table as his nimble fingers started to work on the buttons of his shirt. I didn't offer to help. I wanted to watch him. Watch him strip for me, shed that final mask and leave himself as bare to me as I was to him.
His shirt fell from his arms, revealing a toned but not overly muscular torso. There was a grace and strength to the lines of his body. Scars littered his arms and chest. Scars from where Will Graham shot him, scars from the twisted 'treatments' of Frederick Chilton. One day, I would kiss and caress each one. Show him with each touch just how beautiful I found him, all of him.
My attention was diverted from his chest when his hands went to the buckle of his belt. Slowly he released it, not bothering to pull it from the loops before undoing the button of his trousers. The sound of the zip running down went right to my core.
Hannibal shifted slightly on his feet as he kicked off his shoes and socks. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of his trousers and my breath hitched as he pulled them down, taking his boxers with them.
Finally free, his erection directed its attention to me. I had never been one to really appreciate the aesthetics of male genitalia, but Hannibal Lecter's was staggering, extraordinary. I pressed my thighs together as heat flooded my system.
Reaching forward, I gently traced the outline. Hannibal let in a harsh intake of breath when I touched him, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I wrapped my fingers around him and tugged gently, pulling him forward to give me a better reach.
"Touch me," I said as he placed his hands on the table to keep himself steady. He quickly obeyed, placing them on my waist instead. I opened my legs, allowing him to step between them. I tightened my grip slightly, testing, seeing what he preferred. When I squeezed a little harder, Hannibal gripped my waist, a low moan coming from his throat. I smirked and squeezed again, running my hand up and down the length of him. My nails scrapped against the velvet skin.
"Clarice." My name was a prayer on his lips, and I hummed in approval, giving him another pass as a reward. His arms were trembling with the effort of keeping still.
I ran my thumb over his tip and whispered in his ear. "I'm yours, Hannibal Lecter." Another squeeze. "And you are mine."
"Always," he moaned.
I released him and brought my hands up to cup his face. His marron irises absorbed my grey ones as I let him see the full extent of my love for him, my desire for him, and my willingness to destroy anyone who would ever dare to harm him again.
"You are magnificent," he said as he pushed a strand of hair from my face. Reaching between us, he lined himself up with me. "Beautiful, glorious." He inched into me. "My lioness." Further. "My warrior." Further. "My goddess."
With a grunt, he sheathed himself within me. His most intimate spot hitting mine. My head fell against his throat, and my arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer. My legs wrapped around him once more, keeping him fully enveloped by my most inner walls.
"I love you," I whispered against his skin.
"Oh, my Clarice." He stroked a finger along my spine. "Mere words cannot express my feelings for you."
"I only need three."
Hannibal pulled his head back to look at me, an expression on his face I was almost certain no other person had seen before. "I love you, Clarice Starling. From now until forever, I am yours."
"And I am yours." A tear slipped down my cheek as he kissed me. As one, we started to move. Our rhythms completely in sync as I met his gentle thrusts. It was slow at first, both of us taking the time to grow accustomed to feel of the other. I ran my hand down the firm planes of his back and my lips found the pule at his neck.
I pressed a kiss to it, letting my tongue out to explore the texture and taste of him. Hannibal's thrusts became harder at the first flick of my tongue on his neck, penetrating me deeper than he had. I smiled against him and bared my teeth.
He released his 'Other' growl as my teeth pierced his skin and his jerks became faster, harder, deeper. I could taste his blood, and the metallic tang fuelled the fire he had so carefully stoked.
"Harder," I panted, my nails digging into his back. "Harder." He did not disappoint. With a grip on my waist that was just the right side of painful, Hannibal pounded into me.
"Clarice," he hissed. "So wet, so tight, so-" The muscles on his neck strained as he held himself back. He wanted me to come first, I knew it, but I wanted him to unleash. To let go. To release the monster everyone feared so much.
"Take me," I said, letting my head fall back, his blood still tingling my tongue. "Hannibal, take me!" I met his eyes, and he hesitated, silently asking permission. "Bite me, Hannibal. Taste my blood, drink it like I drank yours."
Hannibal's eyes darkened in feral delight; his teeth bared in an untamed grin. The monster unleashed. The face that so many had seen before their death. The face that so many rightly feared.
The fire in me blazed and became an inferno as Hannibal the Cannibal lunged for my next and sunk his teeth into my soft flesh.
He pounded into me, going deeper than anyone had gone before, his jaw locked around my neck. With each thrust he was hitting that sweet spot inside me.
"Yes! Yes!" My words were a mix of coherent and incoherent syllables as his rough hands groped me. This was no longer gently, no longer loving. It was animal, desperate, driven by a need so long ago planted.
Hannibal ripped his mouth from my neck, my blood dripping from his lips as his head flung back and my name ripped from his throat. His release was so powerful I could feel him spill out of me as he continued to thrust.
Still, I road on. Lifting my hips against his as he came down from his high.
"Hannibal. Hannibal," I cried, the intensity taking me over.
"That's my girl," he said against my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth but not biting down. "Come for me. Come with my name on your lips." He pressed a finger to my clit before pinching it.
"Hannibal," I cried as he pushed me over the edge for the third time.
Hannibal and I never went back to Chesapeake again. While we did, occasionally, venture back to the States, we never risked the bay. Even though it remained a special place to us both, the place we first came together, it was too steeped in history, both Hannibal's and mine, to be a safe place.
We didn't linger long at Paul Krendler's lake house on that first night, just long enough for me to prepare a farewell present for Ardelia. True to his word, Hannibal left Paul to me, and, with the doctor's help, I succeeded in extracting a confession from the former Deputy Assistant.
I was surprised with myself when I found I felt nothing as I sliced into Paul's flesh. No revulsion and no joy, just a fierce sense of justice as I pictured Ardelia's distraught face after what Paul had done to her.
Paul's body was found by the local police. Mutilated, castrated, half his brain missing (my gift to Hannibal for his help), and a tape strapped to what was left of his chest. The tape was Paul's verbal confession of collusion, conspiracy, conspiracy to commit murder, blackmail, bribery, abuse, and rape. I omitted the names of his living victims, leaving the decision as to whether to tell their story to them.
When Hannibal and I left Paul's house, we worked for a few weeks, gathering evidence to support the confession. Leaving no way out for the deceased Krendler and no way for those who supported or covered for him to weasel out of it. We uncovered Paul's crimes, linking them to many in the higher places of government, even to the director of the FBI himself.
Pride swelled in my chest as I watched Ardelia stand up and bravely testify, her determined face beautiful framed on our TV screen. She told the world what Paul Krendler had done, who had known, and who had covered for him. On her testimony alone, several important players in the justice department and FBI had been forced into retirement, inditements pending against them.
Her courage and strength flowed from her and helped it to grow in others. Many women came forward, so were other agents, some were administrators at Justice, some were waitresses or hotel maids. Paul Krendlers name and legacy were as mutilated as his body and the reputation of Special Agent Clarice M. Starling was repaired and beyond reproach.
It was Hannibal's idea. If I just disappeared, they would know I was with him, and they would hunt me as fiercely as they hunted him. If I died, no one would look for me I would be safe, and finally get what Hannibal felt I deserved.
The tale was woven, how Paul had (truthfully) framed me to have me suspended. How he and Mason Verger planned to kidnap me as a trap for Hannibal Lecter. How I was fed to the pigs just as Hannibal arrived and he slaughtered everyone in the barn because of it, doubling back to deal out his own personal brand of justice on Paul Krendler last.
My blood already in the barn, thanks to the shot to my shoulder, a body 'borrowed' from the morgue (a Jane Doe with similar height and build to me), the altering of dental and medical records and Clarice Starling was dead. Her picture hung on the wall of the FBI's fallen and a grand funeral to honour the agent they had so willingly turned their back on.
Hannibal and I watched it when it was broadcast. I didn't believe, for one moment, most of the people there were sad to think I had died. It was only the sight of a small few that caused my heart to hurt. Ardelia, dressed in a beautiful black trouser suit. Jack Crawford looking older and more tired than I had ever seen him. Pilcher, Roden, even Will Graham had come out of his self-imposed exile to say goodbye. They were the ones I watched, the ones I knew who truly grieved, and the ones I truly grieved for.
I now spend my days traveling, exploring, expanding my knowledge, and just enjoying the silence of the lambs. In the time we've been together, the number of grizzly deaths had depleted around us. Sure, there were still some days I wouldn't enter our kitchen until Hannibal had finished his meal, but my conscious never bothered me about them.
Agent Starling was well and truly gone and Clarice would always be happy with the loss of another Paul Krendler or Frederick Chilton.
Argentina became our home. A beautiful mansion on the outskirts of a small town. The people were friendly and soon we were inducted as one of their own. The locals adored Dr and Mrs Hoyt and were forever grateful for their generosity and kindness.
Hannibal and I remain together, and each day is better than the last. I have days where I miss my old life, more specifically, my old friends, but what I have gained in giving myself to Dr Lecter far outweighs what I lost.
He is fun and generous. Teasing and loving. I don't even mind our arguments, mainly because of the way we will always make up.
Our appetite for each other hasn't diminished from that first night, only grown, and each time is just as good as the last. Sometimes fierce and passionate, sometimes animalistic and desperate, sometimes slow and romantic. It didn't matter which, afterwards, Hannibal always made me feel loved and cherished.
So, here we are, dancing in the moonlight, basking in the joy that has become our lives. Our home filled with the most beautiful possessions, but I know I hold the most precious of all in my arms, and I have no plans of letting him go. Not in a thousand years.
