Comparative Literature
Rube's Round Robin
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Summary: The similarity of literature and love.
Timeline: After Hannibal.
Rating: R
Copy: Part 1 of 1
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A
cold wind passed through the fourth floor bedroom of Dr. and Mrs. Fell.
The woman stirred, suddenly chilled.
Still half asleep, she turned over to where her companion should have
been. She reached out, needing
comfort against some unknown dread. Feeling
only the cool satin sheets beneath her hand, she murmured a name only one man
would ever hear. Now fully awake,
she looked about the room for her lover.
"Hannibal?"
A
dark form stirred in the corner, but the room was otherwise silent.
"Hannibal?
What is it? You okay?"
"Ah.
That is a question, now isn't it, Clarice?"
The
dark still form continued speaking, in the voice she thought she knew so well.
But now, there was something different.
Something wrong.
"You
know Shakespeare, my dear? The
'Scottish Play?'"
"Hannibal?
Ah... you are scaring me a little here..."
"'Full
of scorpions is my mind...'"
She
heard him move slightly, enough to switch on the small desk light, enough to
bathe his face in an eerie glow.
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The
cobalt shade made his face turn blue in the silver moonlight.
She heard, more than saw, him slide open a drawer, remove something, and
then he turned away from the desk. All
she could see were shades of black and blue as his shadow approached the bed.
The white sheers billowed from the window as another gust of wind swept
into the room. In the distance, she
heard the far off crack of thunder.
"Hannibal?"
she asked softly in a whisper that was almost a whimper.
He
did not reply, but continued his inexorable advance. She heard his bare feet pad across the hardwood floor, heard
the susurration of his silk pajamas as he moved closer and closer.
Slowly he came, precisely, with each measured step falling to a
peculiarly languorous beat. She
could scarcely breathe by the time he finally reached her side of the bed.
And
then he struck with a flash in the darkness.
A shriek swiftly stifled, and she was in his arms... though she did not
feel the warmth that usually came from his embrace. Rather, she felt a cold edge against her throat as he held
her. Their bodies were twisted and
he was behind her, pinning her arms in his strong hand.
His
breath was the only heat in the room as it hissed sibilant against her ear.
"Perhaps
a little Dickinson is more your style, Clarice, hmmm?"
The
back of the blade pressed harder into her neck. She could not stop the tremors rippling through her body.
And then she felt his touch as his hand released her arms and thrust
between her thighs.
"For
each ecstatic instant, we must an anguish pay..."
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Clarice
shuddered and shuddered in his cool, unyielding grip, heart hammering in her
ribcage, and she breathed an almost inaudible reply as the hand at her thighs
pressed against her.
"...all
zero at the bone..."
An
appreciative low growl and a reward, of sorts, a single caress of thumb and the
whispery sound of a lock of her hair sheared by sharp teeth.
A new game, then. Rewards... and punishments.
She'd
play.
"In
the beginning, there was nothing..."
A
quiet, harsh sound, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl.
A dip of the thumb into her core, and another lock of hair cleanly
severed, closer, this time, to the vulnerable skin of her throat.
Waltzing on the edge. A
reward, and a punishment. She'd
known he would object to her source in this case.
"Better
to rule in Hell..." he whispered, taking his turn.
He tightened his hold on her wrists, pinioned behind her back, and she
felt a small wrench of pressure in her shoulders.
Two
locks of hair gone. Electrical
scent of approaching thunder in the air. What
must she say next? And what stakes
were they playing for? It was so
hard to tell. Sometimes... he
played rough.
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"Take
me," she whispered. "Teach
me..."
"Mmm...
you are just beginning to know me."
The velvet of his voice caressed her and he rewarded her with a stroke
over her moistness. "I see you
love my voice when it causes you fear as well as gentle pleasure."
"I
used to question myself, Hannibal, why must I always keep away from the
edge?"
She
was rewarded with his mouth at her throat.
Ripples of pleasure made gooseflesh of her skin as his teeth closed on
the flesh just below her ear, and bit down... not gently, but hard enough to
cause her to shudder with the memory of his past... as well as the ecstasy of
now. "I love the fear, too,
Hannibal... please, speak to me more, and cause my adrenaline to rush or I shall
go quite mad!"
"If
it's a job worth doing, it's worth doing well," the lethal voice under her
ear growled.
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The
tension in her arms tightened, and she knew he wanted something more.
Beads of sweat ran down her forehead and stung her eyes.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision, though it was useless anyway in
this darkened room. She felt his
grip grow stronger and the blade press more insistently at her throat.
Just the slightest growl...
She
She
gasped out the first quote that surfaced in the raging waters of her addled
mind. "Full fathom five my
father lies..."
A
full-throated chuckle, and a slick caress.
But then, there too was the pricking of fallen hair on her chest.
She
let her mind wander in the general direction of Dante.
She'd read some, after learning of Hannibal's love for the Italian.
But she didn't know if she could come up with a direct quote...
"For
Love, when he discovers me near you, takes on a cruel, bold new confidence and
puts my frightened senses to the sword."
Where
that came from, she'd never know, but it earned her a gut-twisting and
sensational foray into sensuality. And
no more hair fell.
She
was close, so close, but the knife's edge still kissed the hollow of her throat.
He wanted something more.
She
dropped her head back, and, through her gasps, shot her last arrow.
"We can only learn so much and live."
Fin
Copyright 2001, Rube's Round Robin