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Language Lessons

copyright 1999, by Hannah

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.

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Language Lessons

Clarice Starling had decided to take a rest. She had gone upstairs and drifted off for a brief nap, merely wanting to escape the language lessons for a short while.

It is not enough that she has an excellent grasp of conversational Spanish and a workable knowledge of French, Hannibal Lecter insists that she perfect her French and learn Italian as well. At the moment, they are working on Italian. For the past three weeks he has steadfastly refused to speak to her in any other language. This is the same way he encouraged her mastery of the Spanish she had taken years ago in college. The Italian is proving to be more of a challenge, however. Lecter is quite enamored of the sound of the spoken word, and the remaining traces of Clarice’s accent - quite evident in her pronunciation - are particularly irksome to him. She has managed to make some progress, but not nearly enough to satisfy her demanding tutor.

Finally this afternoon, after an intensely focused morning of Italian exercises, she had excused herself citing exhaustion and an inability to concentrate properly. He had been surprisingly agreeable. Now she understands why.

Her wrists and ankles are bound to the four poster bed that they share, and Lecter sits in a chair at the side of the bed regarding her impassively with his deep, maroon eyes. Just the barest hint of a smile plays about the corners of his mouth.

"Ti sei goduta il tuo pisolino, mia cara?" (Did you enjoy your nap, My Dear?) Spoken in Italian, of course.

"Si, grazie." (Yes, thank you.) She answers him in kind, for he will accept nothing else.

"Quindi posso supporre che tu sia fresca e pronta a continuare?" (Then I take it you are refreshed and ready to continue?)

"Così sembrerebbe" (It would seem so.)

"Devo spiegare?" (Shall I explain?)

"Si, per favore" (Please.)

"Molto bene. Mi viene in mente che forse ciò che hai bisogno di eliminare è quel tuo noioso accento. Nella tua situazione attuale, sarà necessario farmi una richiesta per ogni cosa di cui avrai bisogno." (Very well. It occurs to me that perhaps what you need to overcome that tiresome accent of yours is incentive. In your current situation, it will be necessary to make a request of me should you require anything.) He pauses for a moment while she nods warily and then goes on. "Non risponderò a nessuna richiesta che non sarà decentemente espressa. Sono stato chiaro?" (I will not respond to any request that is not properly expressed. Do I make myself clear?)

"Perfettamente." (Perfectly.)

Starling sighs. This is so like him!

"E suppongo” (And I suppose) she begins, paying particular attention to her pronunciation, “che questo nuovo approccio sia completamente non collegato al fatto che ti piace vedermi in questa posizione?" (that this new approach is completely unrelated to the fact that you enjoy seeing me in this position?)

"Al contrario, mia cara," (On the contrary, My Dear) he begins with a chuckle. “ è legato al fatto che tu ti trovi in una posizione che ti piace” (Nor is it unrelated to the fact that you find yourself in a position that you enjoy.) He leans closer to her before he continues, so close that she can feel his breath on her skin. "Sei sicura che non ci sia niente di cui hai bisogno, Clarice?" (Are you certain that there is nothing you require, Clarice?)

She holds his eyes with her own and replies in a voice far stronger than she feels.

“Nulla che mi serva al momento” (Nothing that occurs to me at the moment.)

He smiles and settles back in his chair.

“Molto bene, allora. Forse dovremmo ripassare le tue lezioni” (Very well, then. Perhaps we should resume your lessons.)

He lifts a slim volume and begins to read to her in flawless Italian from a book of poetry. After he has read several selections, he pauses and asks her to discuss them. They are all quite lovely, and all have a pronounced sensuality to them. She forces her mind to focus on the literary aspects of this exercise and manages to offer an answer which seems to please him. His only comments are several corrections on her pronunciation, which he asks her to repeat after him. He then opens the book to another page and clears his throat before pausing and shaking his head.

“Che stupido da parte mia...“ (How foolish of me...) he begins, “questo è dopotutto un esercizio mirato ad aiutarti con la tua pronuncia. Sarebbe molto più utile se lo leggessi da sola, Clarice.” (this is, after all, supposed to be an exercise designed to help you with your pronunciation. It would be far more effective if you were reading this yourself, Clarice.)

He makes a show of offering her the book before noting. “Sicuro, non puoi prenderlo, vero? Penso che dovrei tenerlo per te mentre leggi. Cosa ne pensi?” (Of course you can’t take it, can you? I suppose I shall have to hold it for you while you read. How would that suit you?)

After she makes several tries at an affirmative answer, he seems satisfied and moves to sit beside her on the bed. He leans in so that he can follow along as she reads, and she is painfully aware that his body is just a fraction of an inch from touching her own. A cursory glance at the poem he has selected confirms her suspicion that its overtones are quite decidedly erotic.

She notes, with no little irony, that his sense of play is one of the qualities that she finds most attractive; and then she begins to read the selection aloud. He allows her to finish before pronouncing her reading unacceptable and demanding that she try again. He is not satisfied until her eighth attempt, and with each one he seems to move just the slightest bit closer without ever actually touching her.

Her voice becomes increasingly unsteady as she reads. This does not escape the Doctor’s notice.

“Tutto bene, mia cara?“ (Are you alright, My Dear?) he inquires pleasantly. “C’è qualcosa che ti serve, forse?” (Is there something that you need, perhaps?) She is aware of his scent and his mouth, which is agonizingly close to her neck.

“No, grazie” (No, thank you.) She forces herself to say the words, and even manages to control her tone of voice somewhat. She will not let him win so easily.

“Come desideri.” (As you wish) he replies calmly. He casually turns several pages before settling on the next selection. “Forse non avremmo bisogno di sentire questo così tante volte?” (Perhaps we won’t need to hear this one quite so many times?) he suggests pointedly.

Clarice casts him a withering glance that is almost comical given the circumstances and begins to read. This time he stops her after the first stanza.

“Sembra quasi andare peggio man mano che andiamo avanti, Clarice. Forse se tu facessi uno sforzo a concentrarti” (It almost seems to be getting worse as we go along, Clarice. Perhaps if you made an effort to concentrate?)

He is baiting her. She is determined not to rise to the challenge.

“Scusami,“ (Forgive me) she says quietly, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. She finds what she is looking for there. “Tenterò di concentrarmi sul compito questa volta” (I’ll try to keep my mind on the task at hand this time)

“Vedi cosa puoi fare” (See that you do) he instructs, in a tone that is almost sullen.

There are only five readings required this time before the Doctor gives his approval.

“Hai letto per un po’, Clarice. Forse gradiresti un bicchiere d’acqua?” (You’ve been reading for some time, Clarice. Perhaps you’d like a glass of water?)

“Sì, “ (Yes) she replies, “sarebbe molto gentile.” (that would be lovely.)

“Sicuro. Hai solo bisogno di dirmi ciò che ti auguri che io faccia” (Certainly. You need only tell me what you wish me to do.) His smile is absolutely evil.

She sighs and requests a glass of water, which he goes to retrieve after making her repeat the request several times.

When he returns, she smiles sweetly and asks him if he would be so kind as to help support her neck, as it is all but impossible to sit from her present position. Her pronunciation is perfect. He resumes his place beside her and slips one hand behind her neck, supporting it as she brings her lips to the glass that he offers with his other hand. After several sips, she thanks him and turns her head slightly so that her hair brushes lightly along his forearm as he withdraws.

She catches his quick intake of breath and looks up to meet his eyes. He leans toward her, his lips just short of touching her own and asks in a whisper, “Dovremmo ripassare le tue lezioni, mia cara?” (Shall we resume your lessons, My Dear?) He is gone before she can respond, standing up from the bed to return to his chair.

She manages to stop herself just short of an audible whimper. She has given up any notion she might have entertained that her control could outlast that of her teacher. She is, however, still determined to test the limits of his control a bit farther before relinquishing her own.

She allows a breathy sigh to escape her and readjusts her position on the bed, arching her back to the extent that her restraints will allow as she does so. She wisely avoids permitting the smile to cross her lips as she hears him clear his throat with focused deliberateness. His little game is having the desired effect on both of them, it seems.

“Sei abbastanza comoda, mia cara?” (Are you quite comfortable, My Dear?) he inquires in a tone far too measured to suit her.

“Ora che me lo chiedi, “ (Now that you ask) she replies, her own voice more assured than either of them might have expected, “mi sta venendo il torcicollo. Forse non ti dispiacerebbe aggiustare un po’ i cuscini?” (my neck is getting a touch stiff. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind adjusting the pillows a bit?) Once again, her pronunciation is determinedly perfect.

“Per niente” (Not at all) he murmurs. His lips curve into a smile and he rises and comes toward her. He bends over her to rearrange the pillows, once again allowing his body to fall just short of touching her own. This time she is prepared. She arches her back, her breasts making contact with his stomach. She expects him to pull back, but he surprises her. Instead he presses just a fraction closer to her and slides his body along hers until he is looking into her eyes, just skimming over her nipples as he does so. An involuntary gasp escapes her.

“Va meglio, Clarice?” (Is that better, Clarice?) he asks, his tongue sliding out to run over his lips.

“Sì” (Yes) she breaths.

“Puoi pensare a qualcosa d’altro che ti piacerebbe?” (Can you think of anything else you’d like?) he presses, with a wicked grin.

“Giusto un po’ ” (Quite a bit) she admits. It is barely a whisper.

“Dimmi” (Tell me.) His voice is thick with desire.

“Mi piacerebbe che mi scopassi” (I’d like you to fuck me) she purrs.

He smiles. He will not let her off so easily.

“Da dove dovremmo incominciare?” (Where shall we start?) he asks.

“Baciami” (Kiss me.) She is almost pleading.

He lowers his mouth, but stops just short of her lips.

“Cos’era questo, mia cara?” (What was that, My Dear?)

He is more than close enough, but even in this state of arousal she knows better than to raise her mouth to his. She looks into his eyes, more than a little annoyed at the amusement she sees there, and repeats her request.

He is satisfied this time. His lips descend on hers, forcing them open with his tongue. She responds with savage hunger, her reward a low moan from her lover. They kiss for some time before he pulls back, freeing his mouth from hers. She feels his breath hot at her ear and hears his ragged whisper.

“Vorresti le mie mani su di te, Clarice?” (Would you like my hands on you, Clarice?)

“Oh sì” (Oh yes) she moans, and makes the request even before he can demand it of her.

He smiles, but makes no move to touch her. She notes with chagrin that his voice comes to her in even, measured tones when he speaks.

“Dovremmo lavorare attorno ai toi vestiti, mia cara, o vorresti che li togliessi?” (Shall we work around your clothing, My Dear, or would you like me to remove it?)

“Forse dovresti toglierli” (Perhaps you should remove it) she replies, with an admirable effort at controlling her tone.

“Molto bene” (Very well.) He produces the knife as if from thin air, and she moans audibly. There is an evil glimmer in his deep maroon eyes as he notes, “Sono abituato ad una reazione assai differente con una lama nella mia mano, Clarice” (I’m accustomed to a far different reaction to a blade in my hand, Clarice.)

“Mi dispiace deluderti” (I’m sorry to disappoint you.)

He laughs softly and moves his free hand to her breast, kneading it gently through the light fabric of her dress. He slips the blade of the knife under one thin strap at her shoulder and slices it cleanly. Still fondling her, he runs the tip of the blade lightly along her collar bone and watches her face hungrily as her eyes close and her mouth parts slightly with her arousal. He reaches the other strap and slices through it as well.

He pauses for a moment, and she opens her eyes to look into his. He raises his eyebrows slightly, a question. She moans her answer.

“Per favore” (Please.)

Again, he runs the tip of the knife lightly along her collarbone. When it reaches the hollow of her throat his hand travels downward between her breasts. He begins at the neckline, the sharp blade easily cutting the thin fabric down the center of the garment, the point faintly grazing her skin as he runs it down along her body.

His task completed, he sets the knife aside for the moment and peels the dress back from her, his hands retracing the path just taken by his blade. He slips a hand behind her back, encouraging her to arch up. As she does so, he roughly pulls the remainder of the garment from underneath her, tossing it onto his chair at the side of the bed. His hands travel up from her hips to cup her breasts, his thumbs lightly brushing her nipples. The sound that escapes her is somewhere between a moan and a sob.

He leans forward and kisses her roughly. His hunger is evident in the cruel assault on her mouth, and she finds herself surprisingly close to a climax simply from the thrusting of his tongue between her lips. She strains upward, trying to bring as much of her body into contact with his as she possibly can, and he presses himself against her. She feels his erection hard against her leg and whimpers with overwhelming need.

It is at this point that he pulls back and gazes down at her.

“Clarice, sei squisita” (Clarice, you are exquisite) he sighs, unabashed lust gleaming in his eyes. He reaches out a hand to caress her face, and she nibbles lightly at the edge of a finger.

“Dove le vorresti, Clarice?” (Where would you like them, Clarice?) he pauses for only a second. “Le vorresti dentro di te?” (Would you like them inside you?)

She can only nod in agreement, a soft whimper escaping her as she does so.

“Questo dovrebbe bastare per il momento, suppongo” (That will have to suffice for the moment, I suppose.) He concedes this with a tone of tolerance and smug satisfaction.

His hand moves between her legs and brushes lightly over her panties as she gasps and raises her hips from the mattress to meet his touch. He slips into her through the cloth, the smooth silk entering her along with his fingers, rubbing deliciously against her as he strokes her.

Her climax is brief but intense, heralded by one sudden cry of pleasure. It does little to calm her arousal, but the release does help to focus her. She is aware that he has given her just enough to extend his opportunity to play with her, and curses the knowledge that she will not be satisfied until she feels him inside her. She is gratified to note that he is all but panting and his desire is evident underneath the veneer of control.

“Hannibal,” she murmurs.

“Si, mia cara” (Yes, My Dear.) his voice wavers only the slightest bit. “Cosa vorresti?” (What is it that you’d like?)

“Vorrei che ti spogliassi” (I’d like you to undress) she replies, surprising him with the assurance of her tone.

“Scusami?” (I’m sorry?)

“Vorrei che ti spogliassi” (I’d like you to undress) she repeats, more careful with her pronunciation this time.

“Come desideri” (As you wish.)

He removes his clothing swiftly, returning to lay alongside her. He presses himself against her and props himself up on an elbow so that he can look down into her face expectantly.

She smiles up at him and shifts her hips just enough to rub against him. The sound comes from deep in his throat, very close to a growl. She presses her advantage, shifting again and increasing the contact. His arm flashes out and clamps down, pinning her hips to the mattress. When he speaks, his voice is soft, just above a whisper.

“Un ammirevole sforzo, mia cara, ma non così ben riuscito come potresti credere” (A lovely effort, My Dear, but not so successful as you might believe.)

Before she can answer, he brings his head down, his tongue dipping into her mouth as his lips close over hers. The kiss leaves her breathless, and she struggles to maintain what little control she has just regained. He continues his onslaught with a hand at her breast, pinching and teasing a nipple.

His mouth still deliciously on hers, he shifts position. He moves over her, his erection pressing between her legs, and rubs himself against the wet silk of her panties. A surprised yelp of pleasure bursts from her and her hips grind against him.

He moans into her mouth, ready to end this, to take her now. He pulls back, intending to remove the final barrier between them.

“Hannibal, please!” she cries. In the intensity of her arousal, she forgets her Italian and reverts to her native tongue. It is a mistake. He stops, poised over her, and looks down into her eyes.

“Cos’hai detto?” (What did you say?) he demands sternly.

She is unable to focus for the moment and looks at him blankly. “Please,” she repeats, again in English, and realizes her error immediately. He moves off of her.

“Hai dimenticato le tue lezioni così facilmente, mia cara?” (Have you forgotten your lessons so easily, My Dear?) he scolds. “Un peccato.” (A pity) he brings his face close to hers, licking his lips. “Ero più che pronto a stare dentro di te, Clarice” (I was more than ready to be inside you, Clarice.)

He moves a hand between her legs and grabs her roughly, jerking upwards and forcefully shifting her position. She whimpers.

“Mi dispiace. (I’m sorry) she begins. “Sicuramente comprendi il tuo effetto su di me…” (Surely you understand your effect on me...)

“Infatti” (Indeed.) His eyes hold hers as his hand slips inside her panties and he begins to stroke her just enough to maintain her arousal. His own arousal is still evident, but he has an iron hold on it for the moment.

She continues her explanation, but in her almost frantic attempt to appease him she fumbles for the right words, paying little attention to her pronunciation. She is, of course, obliged to repeat herself – several times. By this time she is quite frankly begging.

She feels the tip of his nose trace along her jawline and hears his rough whisper. “Così vuoi essere scopata” (So you want to get fucked.) He places particular emphasis on the last word, and she finds it difficult to breathe.

“Sì” (Yes) she manages.

“Spiegami ciò che vuoi” (Explain to me what you want) he orders, roughly turning her face to him so that he can look into her eyes.

“Ti voglio dentro di me” (I want you inside me) she offers carefully.

He would like to make her wait; but her wetness, the rich scent of her arousal is far too tempting, his own hunger too great. In an instant, the knife is back in his hand slicing cleanly across the crotch of her panties, allowing him access. Her harsh gasp of anticipation tears at his control.

He flings the blade aside as he moves between her legs. He holds himself over her, poised at her opening, and smiles down at her.

“E’ questo ciò che vuoi, Clarice?” (Is this what you want, Clarice?) His tenuous grasp on control is evident in his voice.

She produces a choked whisper. “Sì” (Yes.)

“Sei proprio sicura?” (Are you quite certain?)

“Sì” (Yes) she groans. “Questo è esattamente ciò che voglio. Per favore, Hannibal” (This is exactly what I want. Please, Hannibal!)

Both moan as he enters her, his thrusts slow and measured. Again, she arches her body up to meet his and again he presses into her. His mouth covers hers and he groans as her tongue darts between his lips. She pushes her hips up toward him and he plunges into her more forcefully. It is over quickly, each impatient for release, and he allows himself to collapse onto her.

After a time he raises himself up and moves to kiss her, his lips whispering softly over hers.

“Hannibal,” she murmurs.


“Mi slegherai ora?” (Would you untie me now?)

“Non credo, mia cara” (I think not, My Dear) he replies pointedly, and she looks up to see a devilish glimmer in his eyes. “Sospetto che il tuo italiano necessiti di un po’ di lavoro in più” (I suspect your Italian could use a bit more work.)


Author's Note: Many thanks to Angela for taking the time to translate my dialogue into Italian. It adds so much to this fic, and for that I am most grateful!

copyright 1999, by Hannah

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