Feathers and Venom
copyright 1999, by Lectergrrl
The setting was no longer Buenos Aires, much to Clarice Starling's dismay. Still, living her life with Dr. Hannibal Lecter disallowed prolonged stays anywhere.
But Arles proved adequate, if a little overwhelming. Clarice had no love for narrow streets and heavy pedestrian traffic. Her companion, however, seemed at home wherever he hung his hat. She admired his ease with which he blended with the crowd, switching identities as fluently as though he'd done it since childhood. As one who'd had some extensive exposure to undercover field operations, Clarice was able to keep pace.
A year had passed since the incident with Mason Verger. She never liked to linger on the memory, and usually treated it as some traumatic event that was best left alone, in that dark corner of her mind even Dr. Lecter could not reach. In the beginning it was mostly indecision that ruled her thoughts. Fear and excitement, coupled with an intense desire to clear the fog that fractured her reason.
It took a few months before Clarice Starling filed away her past and begun anew with her strange companion. Although Dr. Lecter had never so much raised his voice at her, fear still swam beneath the veil of intimacy. She had not yet concluded her analysis of Lecter's motives and in those moments alone there were times she considered fleeing. Not that she was kept prisoner in any way. Dr. Lecter had given her the choice to leave anytime she wished. Perhaps out of some obscure knowledge that she would never reach that plateau of independence yet. Where her thoughts even her own?
At most times, however, she was kept too occupied to wonder.
Tonight, there was no event planned for their schedule. Usually Dr. Lecter informed her over breakfast what he intended to do with the day and its evening. It was up to Clarice to follow or take up another agenda. She rarely did the latter. Today, however, had been quiet. She wondered, briefly, what was flustering the doctor. He had been quiet at breakfast and asked not to be disturbed for most of the morning.
She found him sitting on the balcony overlooking the Rhone. A glass of Gaja was in one hand, the other was pressing a pen to his lips. A sketchbook was open on his lap with an unfinished sketch of the romanesque ruins of the Arena visible from their vantage point. The night was warm and peppered with the sounds of summer insects. He dropped the pen to his book and bowed his head to sip his wine. When he finished, he casually greeted her with his stare still on the view. "Good evening, Clarice."
"I thought you might want something to eat," she said, leaning on the door jamb. She looked out at the night, her arms folded loosely at her breasts. The doctor glanced at her on his own time. When the hype about their disappearance cooled, Dr. Lecter had forgo cosmetic surgery and opted for accessories on public occasions. When they were home, he usually kept to his old self, much to Clarice's pleasure. She found him still the fetching older man she'd met in the dungeon of Baltimore State Hospital.
She had gone back to her natural dark hair.
"I find myself without appetite tonight, but thank you Clarice."
He did not ask her to join him.
After a moment, however, she decided against returning inside. "Is something bothering you?"
A low chuckle was her answer. "Oh Clarice, how quaint. I never considered you the type to enjoy role reversal. Shall I lie back and explain my demons to you while you hum and nod in understanding?" His tone was pleasant, as usual, though Clarice was still insulted.
"I was only asking ..."
"I wish to be alone. That is all. Nothing of my past or psychology to influence my preference."
"No, you don't, but I accept it. Are you waiting for an invitation, my dear?"
She was caught off-guard and looked at him. "To do what?"
"To sit with me," he replied simply.
"Actually, I'm rather tired. I think I'll retire for the night."
Again, surprise. She let her arms fall loosely at her sides. "No?"
"No. Not until you get to the bottom of the little mystery you've decided to pursue tonight." He waited for a response, and satisfied that Clarice had none, he deposited his unfinished wine on the table by his chair, and stood swiftly, the sketch book closed and placed upon his seat. Only then did he allow himself to look at her for the first time since morning.
She was flustered, he could tell, and trying admirably to hide it. Her body spoke to him better than she ever could, however, and he detected to tense set in her jaw, the curled fingers and the rectilinear back. He tilted his head as he appraised her. "Are you certain you want to know what's bothering me, Clarice?"
"I never expected a straight answer, Hannibal."
The sound of his name on her lips sounded bitter. He clucked his tongue and looked away. "Station might have changed, but certainly not your age, Dear." He advanced on her before she could retort. The movement startled the woman, who knocked her shoulder into the door frame with her instinctive turn to move away. He smiled. "We've been together a year, my dear. Our times together have been nothing but pleasant and enjoyable. But as a man, I'm sure you can understand that your frequent caution of me lends to ... a certain frustration."
"You're still a killer, Doctor."
"And you're still with me."
"We're talking about you, last I checked."
A dangerous smile lifted the doctor's lips. "Indeed." Another step brought him inside Clarice's personal space. He saw the tension rise in her muscles. He saw she was no longer amused.
"Tell me Clarice, last we touched intimately ... how did you feel?"
The question seemed out of the blue, and Starling took her time to respond. "I ... hardly remember it."
"How fascinating. I, on the other hand, recall it quite vividly. The warmth of your flesh ... the sweet taste of you in my mouth. I quite enjoyed it Clarice. Pity it never went further." She did not move away when he raised his hand to her throat. His fingers deftly caressed the depression between her collar bones, feeling for her pulse that accelerated under his fingertips. He smiled again, maroon eyes glinting from the inside lights. "Would you like to refresh the memory, Clarice?" he whispered softly.
Fear returned to cloud her thoughts. She shook under his ministrations, but something held her in place. Frozen. She could say nothing either. But her body did. Dr. Lecter did not miss the way she leaned slightly into his tough, the way she arched her neck faintly back. "Was that a yes?" he teased, bringing his free hand to her bare shoulder, twining his fingers with the strap of her summer dress. She exhaled for a long moment, her eyes closing under the weight of indecision.
The hand at her throat moved slowly down, cupping a breast, massaging it through the thin fabric with slow, sensuous strokes. All at once, however, the light touches ended, and she felt her panties roughly pulled upwards beneath her dress, eliciting a shocked gasp from her. The fabric slid easily between her nether lips, a wetness she hadn't realized was there spreading easily on her inner thighs. She opened her eyes to Dr. Lecter who was gazing at her lewdly, the hand on her shoulder pushing her against the wall, the other releasing her panties to push at the other. "A year is amply enough, don't you think?" he asked, his voice thick with arousal.
This time, she nodded.
The trip to the bedroom felt like eternity.
The heat was prominant now that Dr. Lecter pressed behind her, a noticeable curve in the tightly tailored trousers he wore. Clarice let out a barely audible whimper as she fumbled for the door knob, finally slipping inside with Lecter close behind her.
When she turned, the doctor captured her face in cool hands and kissed her. It was exquisite. She could not describe it, only enjoy it. Her lips parted easily, allowing him entrance. She inhaled, her senses filling with him, his musk, his closeness, his cologne. She pressed against him, her breathing heavy with longing.
He was the first to pull back. His hands, warmed by her flesh, trailed down her arms and wrapped fingers through hers. "You were given ample time to resist Clarice ... and you chose to come here, with me." Whether this was a confirmation for his own motives, or a declaration to put her own mind at ease, Clarice was unsure. He pulled her hand, leading her toward the large four poster bed. Clarice followed mutely, her thoughts trapped in a whirlwind of confusion and hesitation. Dr. Lecter turned and let go of her hand, staring softly into the young woman's expressive eyes. "Undress me ..." he whispered.
"Undress me," he repeated, more forcefully. Starling's lower lip quivered slightly as she moved to unfasten Lecter's shirt, her hands uncovering the concealed clasps and removing them easily. Soon his shirt was open, revealing a broad chest with whispers of pale hair scattered at its midst. Clarice stared in fascination, but soon her curiosity swelled to the point where she removed all of the doctor's clothing without hesitation. Lecter stood pleased before her, and proceeded to do the same for his younger companion. The clothes were then tossed to a chair, already forgotten as Hannibal lowered her to the bed. Clarice trembled all over as the doctor covered her body, his hands caressing the rich flesh relentlessly. And just as she was tensing and about to get up, he captured both wrists in his hands and moved them above her head. Clarice wailed in faint protest, her knees bending slightly to test his weight. All she managed was to invite the doctor to press more against her, spreading her legs in the process.
"Do you trust me?" he asked abruptly, her wrists still held by the firm grip of his hands.
Everything screamed in her to say no. But what whispered from her lips was a simple yes, and this made the doctor smile. Whether triumph was present in the sudden lightness in his features, she would never be sure. But she was certain of one thing; things had changed.
She whimpered softly at the first intrusion. She wanted to scramble free, but his hold was inexorable. She squirmed lightly, moaning at the torrent of sensations flooding her body ... such novel feelings - such terrifying feelings. She arched her throat and closed her eyes. Cool-again hands pressed over the sides of her head and forced her back to focus.
"Do you like it? This deep?" he growled low, thrusting his hips pointedly. Clarice wailed again, this time a greater measure of pleasure bordering her tone than before. "No-one's ever been this deep, have they Clarice?" he asked, and she shook his head no. In truth, no-one had ever even touched her this way ... yet the double-entendre had been unmistakable. She cried out again, her legs wrapping firmly over the doctor's back, as though never wanting to let him go. Her hands, now free, embraced the taut arms stretched at her sides, clinging to anything that reminded her she wasn't drifting away to some faraway haven. She whimpered again, the hands now back at the sides of her face, pressing harder, forcing her to look wide-eyed at her newfound lover. "Look at me when I'm coming inside you ..." he whispered, maroon eyes brilliant as they bore into her. "As you come ..."
Clarice's subsequent cry was far more passionate than any she'd uttered up until this moment. Hesitancy became foreign to her, doubt long gone. All that mattered was the connection binding her and Lecter together. She sighed, feeling the familiar whispers of pleasure building inside of her, roaring into something more wonderful ...
But then Lecter was gone. What was with her was a hollow shell, devoid of the passion from before. She was being fucked, senseless, by an empty body. She sobbed and closed her eyes, her fingers unable to close over Lecter's hands in her palms so much they were squeezing, wailing like a lost child as she felt the torrent of pleasure released in a hot flash of relief. Inside her she felt his essence fill her, invading, learning the secrets of her body she'd kept such a tight lock on. And the only time she'd offered the key, she had offered it to a hollow soul. She opened her eyes to the ceiling, smelling his enticing scent close to her nose. A slight shift in her eyes revealed a patch of brown hair, and Clarice realized he'd fallen asleep in the curve of her neck. His hands were still entwined with hers, and she sighed again, sadly, rolling her head the other way and letting herself fall into the natural sleep of the exhausted.
copyright 1999, by Lectergrrl
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