Aces
Rube Lecter
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Summary: Clarice clarifies.
Timeline: After Hannibal.
Rating: PG-13
Copy: Part 1 of 1
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The
sticky-sweet smell of the gasoline from the stove smelled almost appealing,
it’s scent similar to that of a fine aged wine. Of course, like the wine, a
bitter taste would greet the tongue if one were to consume that gasoline. Unlike
the wine, however, it would not taste like a delirious explosion on the pallet.
Moreover, you are likely to die if you drink gasoline.
These
are the thoughts that occupy my mind as I go about making our daily last meal.
The thoughts are a guide, a way to escape the surreal guilt in my situation. I
feel like I have kidnapped Clarice. Although when I posed this to her, she
claimed that she went willingly, even joyously, into my arms. Clutches. Ha.
I
played the piano today, earlier this afternoon. I made sure to hit a D below and
middle C, but it had no affect on Clarice who was in the room with me,
straightening the hem of a gown. My breath stopped in my chest, I’m sure, when
she made no movement and said nothing. I’m not sure it was relief.
I
don’t have any inkling of a clue as to why I am so bothered by her being with
me. Oh, I cringe even as I think the words. After all the planning and hoping
and dreaming, she is with me, and all I can do is complain about it and
contemplate why I do. I wish it wasn’t so right now, but there is dinner to
cook and that means I will continue to focus my thoughts on this subject matter.
I am finding myself very worried for Clarice, more than attentive to her
needs. She thinks it’s charming and sweet, but I think I’m apprehensive that
she will leave me. All of me protests her leaving but I have that demon on my
shoulder that keeps crooning my unworthiness of her. I can’t help but agree
with that voice.
I
used to be able to block these thoughts out of my mind, shove them away with
Mischa in my Palace but after about two days of doing this, my mind decided it
would torture me with doubt. It’s only been a week of she and I, together, and
already I am thinking this way. It will be a small miracle if we do stay as one.
I am still amazed at her. Her sweetness and her wit disarm me and
sometimes I haven’t a clue what to say to her in return. I have never been
exposed to people of her sort, the kind deserving the title of humans.
I hunger for that part of her and hunger for it in other people but I have yet
to find it. That soul only exists within Clarice Starling.
I was foolish in thinking Mischa could take her place in the world.
Mischa,
as Clarice has taught me to realize, exists within herself and within my Memory
Palace.
She
came in the kitchen a moment ago, carrying a class of Chateau d’Yquem with two
glasses. She smiles at me, and I know why. We haven’t had a glass of d’Yquem
since the first night together and this brings a pang to my stomach. We
haven’t made love since that night, either. Some wishful part of me suggests
that maybe that is why I am feeling as rocky about us as I do. I know this not
to be true.
I
stir the dish on my stove- for the moment; I have forgotten what it is.
Ah, I know, I realize as I inhale the flavorful scents. Consomme Franklyn,
Petits a la Russe, Olives, and pickled figs. Dessert will simply be Gateau
d’Anglais. The wine will go perfectly, I realize, but then so would have
unchilled red Bordeaux. Her taste and my taste have become almost
indistinguishable from one another. “Hannibal,
will this do?” She gestures to the d’Yquem. I nod my head, not trusting my
voice.
She
sets the wine down and gives me a quizzical look. It seems as if I can not hide
my uncertainty from her, for she always calls me on it.
“What’s
troubling you?”
I
have no choice but to speak now, else she really becomes worried.
“Nothing,
my dear. Just a bit fatigued.” She shakes her head.
“You’re
so quiet. You’ve been so quiet lately. Something has to be the matter, tell
me.”
I
am at a loss for words and I seem to convey that. My face must radiate great
confusion for she crosses the floor and takes my head in her hands.
I
can smell her perfume tremendously now, and it tickles my sense. She is yet
again intoxicating and I may not be able to think about what she is saying.
“Is
it...that again? Oh, Hannibal.” She sighs and releases my face, slumping her
posture and leaning against me. I sink into the touch, unable to resist her
sweet figure. “How many times to I have to reassure you,” she mutters from
my shoulder. I do not know the answer, and I tell her this. Her head lifts. “I
love you. How much clearer can it get?”
I
cannot reply and turn back to the stove. Exasperated, she reaches across me and
switches off the burner. I am perplexed. Dinner may now be ruined, but she does
not care.
“Come
into the bedroom,” she tells me, and heads there herself. I follow, seeing no
other option.
When
I get there, she is standing in the middle of the sunlit room, posture almost
regal, and the sun hitting the sides of her body like an aura. She draws her
hands to her deck and her dress drops down suddenly.
I
make no move and she stands there still, nude. Her flesh is peach colored and I
vaguely remember it from that night. Her breasts, what should be the physical
center of my adoration, only receive a passing glance. She sees this and I think
it angers her. Her flesh turns rosy as she crosses over to me.
“Get
into bed. Now.”
I
shake my head and she narrows her eyes. Grabbing her hand harshly in mine she
drags me over to my bed and throws me down onto it, and practically throws
herself on top of me. Her breasts bounce as she hovers above me, hair hanging
down in her face, skin alit by the late afternoon glow of sun. Her legs wrap
themselves on either side of me, and her hands rip my white shirt off in a few
tugs. She is speaking to me, and the passion and anger behind the words catch my
attention and inflame her to another level.
“I
want you to know, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, that I am yours and you are mine and
nothing will change that, despite the fact that we don’t even sleep in the
same room. I am not just one of your studies of the human race and I refuse to
be suffocated under your cold demeanor. I love you and I will fuck you and you
will fuck me back because that is what we are going to do. All right?”
I
nod. She nods to herself and her hands go to my pants and discard them faster
than I seem to blink. I do not think that she, well we, are going to spend much
time on foreplay, because she is already aroused, I can smell it, and I sense
the hardening in my loins and she feels it too and a smile crosses her face.
I
am perspiring and she keeps pressing herself onto me and I can’t help but
groan. My Clarice...I wish things were.... I don’t know, but I don’t feel
right. Her hand reaches for my penis and slides it inside of her...Oh, God the
feeling is incredible and I know for the second time that I cannot forget her or
this ever in my life.
“Say
it, Hannibal,” she whispers through gritted teeth. “Say it and mean it, or
by God, I’ll leave you right now and never look back.”
That
causes my heart to jump in my chest. I don’t want to lose her, I don’t want
to lose her to this foolish doubt. I cannot think anymore, all I know is her
body riding mine.
“I
love you, Clarice, don’t ever leave me...”
She
smiles again and leans forward as I approach orgasm.
“My
darling Hannibal, you have a full hand of aces. I think that qualifies you and
I, don’t you?”
I
don’t think about the fact, or I don’t care, that there are only four aces
in a deck of cards.
Fin
Copyright 2001, Rube Lecter