Loving Lecter Archive Index Header

Recent Acquisitions

All Stories by Theme

All Stories by Author

All Stories by Title - A - F

All Stories by Title - G - L

All Stories by Title - M - S

All Stories by Title - T - Z

Appetizers - Short Works

Challenge Section

Crossover Stories

Works in Verse

Other Lecterfic Sites

Fanfic on the Web

Author's Resources

Submission Guide

Browse Main Index

Old Habit

copyright 2002, by Avengerdeb

Disclaimer:    The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling were created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

Send Feedback to Author


1 of 6 l 2 of 6 l 3 of 6 l 4 of 6 l 5 of 6 l 6 of 6


“Clarice.” A husky whisper near her ear disturbed her slumber.

“Mmm…” she moaned sleepily.

“Clarice.” A soft kiss and then sharp, white teeth tugged on her earlobe. “Darling, wake up.” His slightly metallic voice murmured in her ear again, a note of urgency implicit in his tone.

“Hannibal,” she mumbled, stirring lazily.

A trail of warm, wet kisses down her neck and along her throat that culminated in a gentle bite made her shiver. Automatically, her arms wound around his shoulders, her hands moving over his neck to his head and then tangling in his hair. It was getting longer than he cared for it now and soon she’d have to cut it for him.

He lay between her legs. His erection hot and smooth and taut seemed to be straining for release. Clarice was barely awake, yet her body was eagerly responding to his kisses and caresses, each one delivered with heart-stopping accuracy to one of her erogenous zones. Testing her with two nimble fingers, he smiled as she writhed beneath him.

“You’re so wet for me, darling.” Hannibal bowed his head over her breast. Drawing the peaked nipple into his mouth, he sucked on it and Clarice felt the corresponding thrill of excitement tingle between her legs. “Are you ready to come for me, hmmm…?” Turning his attention to her other breast, he grazed the pebble-hard nipple with his teeth.

“Oh, God!” Clarice quivered and her hips surged off the bed seeking friction by rubbing against her husband’s groin.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Hannibal chuckled.

“You know damn well that I’m always ready to come anytime we’re in the same room together let alone the same bed.”

“Playing hard-to-get, Clarice? Tsk, tsk. You’ll give me an inferiority complex,” he teased.

“The woman hasn’t been born who could accomplish that feat.” Her voice sounded strangled as though she had to concentrate on the words to get them out in her current condition.

“Other women, no…but you do have your moments, my dear.”

Before she could formulate a flippant response, he plunged into her abruptly and began thrusting with such force that Clarice gasped at each intimate invasion. Not that she minded, but they usually worked up to it gradually when both of them were fully awake. While it didn’t shock her, she was surprised by the uncontrollable desperation that seemed to be driving him. Then coherent thoughts dissolved into unmitigated pleasure as her orgasm hit hard and she began keening his name in an unending mantra.

Clarice’s eyes closed as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through her body and his voice whispered her name with compelling reverence. Her labored breathing had barely calmed when Hannibal pulled out of her still hard and, apparently, aching for more. Turning her over onto her stomach, he pushed her legs apart into position and swiftly knelt up behind her. Grasping her hips tightly, he drove into her again before she could find the words to make him slow down.

She raised herself up on her elbows to gain some leverage. Hannibal’s thrusts were measured and deliberate now, driving into her with an intensity that was almost frightening. Though she knew that he would never hurt her, the wildness she sensed in him did little to reassure her of his intentions. One of his hands left her hip to cup her breast, fondling it with unerring skill. Clarice sighed appreciatively at his touch then shuddered as his fingers suddenly pulled at her nipple, tugging hard and eliciting a moan of unadulterated pleasure.

Deftly, his hand moved down her chest and over her belly to explore the slick folds of flesh between her thighs. Clarice held her breath poised on the precipice of another heart-shattering orgasm. Typically, she didn’t have long to wait. Hannibal paused only seconds before his fingers began to manipulate her to a climax while he continued his thrusts. She screamed his name into the darkness as his strokes accelerated, pushing him over the edge to join her. Her legs trembled from the strain of maintaining the awkward position then she collapsed onto the bed as Hannibal rasped her name in completion.

They laid there in a sweaty heap, breathing raggedly until he found the strength and will to pull out of her. He kissed his way up her spine then nibbled on her shoulder and rolled onto his back. His eyes were still glazed with spent passion as he turned his head to gaze at her and Clarice felt her heart pound furiously at the tenderness in his expression.

“Did I hurt you, love?” he asked in a voice still husky with the remnants of indulged desire.

When she shook her head, he seemed satisfied and lifted his arm in a silent invitation. She gravitated towards him until her head rested comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. Placing her hand over his heart, she closed her eyes as he stroked the damp tendrils of hair from her face.

“I love you, Clarice.” The words he so often spoke aloud now held the ring of an apology as well as an admission of affection.

Pleasantly fatigued by the vigorous bout of sex and being unexpectedly awakened for it, Clarice was already drifting back to sleep. Her sluggish mind laboriously formed the question: “Why would I ever doubt it?” Unable to summon enough strength to voice it aloud, she decided to ask Hannibal about it later. Little did she know that she wouldn’t have long to wait for an answer.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wrapped in the tentacles of a nightmare Clarice both inhabited her own body and watched from a distance as a spectator to the events that unfolded with ever-increasing familiarity. She’d had the frightening dream numerous times before in many slightly different variations. In it she was running, always running…away from something or to it…she could never be sure. Her heart beat faster when she slipped and stumbled along the way. As a sensible woman and an ex-FBI agent, she preferred to confront danger and face it down or blow it away. Sadly neither option presented itself in her dream. She could only run, spurred on by the black terror that engulfed her mind, threatening her with devastating eternal sadness.

Clarice finally reached the point where she realized that she was dreaming and only needed to wake up to be rid of the horror she was experiencing. She was certain that she was thrashing around in their bed…so why didn’t Hannibal wake her? Normally, when this happened her husband would sense her distress almost before she did and she’d wake with his comforting arms around her. She would feel the soothing caress of his lips pressed warmly against her forehead, eyelids, nose and then finally her mouth. When this didn’t happen, it disturbed her infinitely more than the bad dream. Giving herself a hard shake, she managed to tear herself from the terrifying nightmare to find that she was alone in their bed.

Although she was disappointed to find Hannibal gone, it did not upset her now that she was fully awake. They had discussed her dream in its varied incarnations often and he had assured her that in time both the meaning and the explanation for it would become apparent. Wringing with perspiration, shaky and a bit weak, she swung her legs out of the bed and walked to the bathroom. Running a face cloth under the faucet in the sink, she wrung it out and wiped off, then dried with a fluffy towel from the linen closet. She powdered her body with the outrageously expensive concoction Hannibal had made especially for her. Then she walked to her wardrobe and chose a coral confection to don.

Feeling much cooler and calmer, she decided to look for her husband and see if she could lure him back to their bed. Out the bedroom door, across the hall and down the stairs, her feet carried her in search of what had prompted him to leave in the first place. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep and rather than disturb her, he would stroll down to the study and devour some new medical journal to keep current with his psychiatric practice. Other times, he chose to read simply for enjoyment and then she’d find him sitting in his chair with a cognac and a volume of Shakespeare or Dante. Smiling, she placed a silent bet with herself over which author had captured his interest this early in the morning.

Reaching the study door, Clarice found it closed and rapped on it gently with her crooked index finger. “Hannibal?” When there was no reply, she tried the door. It was unlocked and she eased it open. “Hannibal? You in here?” The only light in the room shone from the moon through the French doors. Dismissing this as a possible retreat for him, Clarice started to pull the door closed when a disturbingly unpleasant odor, one she was certain she should be familiar with, made her hesitate. Then she heard the distinctive clink of a glass being set down on a table.

“Ah, Clarice, do come in, my dear.”

She started involuntarily at the words that seemed to reverberate off the walls. In the silence the sudden invitation was overly loud and a bit disconcerting. “Hannibal Lecter, you should be ashamed of yourself. You nearly scared me half to death,” she chastised in a teasing voice.

“Did I?”

“Yeah.” She giggled nervously and found herself quite at a loss to say why. Then she knew. “Why in the world are you sitting here in the dark, alone and drinking? Is something wrong?”

“That would depend on what you consider ‘wrong’, would it not?” His tone was flat and distinctly confrontational for no reason Clarice could fathom.

“Stop it, Hannibal. You really are frightening me now. Please turn on the lamp. I can’t see you, darling.”

“Go back to bed, Clarice. I’ll join you shortly.” Now his voice was curt and it sounded very much as if he was ordering her around.

“N…no. I don’t think so.” Icy fingers of fear raced up and down her spine. Why did he insist upon sitting there, hidden from view in the shadows? And that sickening odor…something she still couldn’t quite place…was beginning to make her decidedly uncomfortable. “I…I want to see you. Right now. Please do as I asked?” She heard him sigh deeply.

“Are you certain you won’t go to bed and wait for me there?”

The man was nothing if not inscrutable and mysterious and he did so love a good game, but Clarice sensed something different now…something dangerous and dark and potentially threatening hanging there in the air between them.

“Very well, then I’ll….” Suddenly the lamp was switched on and for a brief moment, she was blinded as her eyes tried to adjust to the light. When they did and she could focus clearly, the sight that greeted her left her speechless.


PART 1 of 6

1 of 6 l 2 of 6 l 3 of 6 l 4 of 6 l 5 of 6 l 6 of 6

copyright 2002, by Avengerdeb

Send Feedback to Author


Site Copyright © 2001 by Loving Lecter - The Fan Fiction Site.

This fan fiction site exists to honor characters created by Thomas Harris.
No infringement of rights is intended and no profit, of any kind, is made.