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Demon Lover

Kabochon

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Summary: How would Clarice handle jealousy?

Timeline: After Hannibal

Rating: R

Copy: Part 1 of 1

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One of the ways she maintained equilibrium was dancing, to anything and everything that took her fancy. From his classical scores to whatever cruised the top of the charts, she took extreme delight in surging her physique to the beat. It also improved her flexibility. This led to frequent trips to music stores to keep her varied collection up to date. On their last trip to the music store, Clarice had been browsing among the #1 sellers and found herself entranced by what was emanating from the store’s ceiling speakers. The song was distracting because it stated so perfectly why she loved him. She had to have it. One of the clerks strolled past her and she asked him who sang the song and what the name of the song was. The clerk pointed two shelves over, smiling more than he needed to.

“Can I get your number?” he asked. She was a really good-looking chick. Clarice sighed. That was the main reason she hated asking for help. Men pawed her constantly.

“No, my husband would definitely not approve.”

“What does he have to do with me?”

Clarice rolled her eyes, thinking of Hannibal’s manner of dealing with the free-range rude. “More than you would want to know, I assure you. Thank you for your help.” And she strolled off to pick up the cd.

Once it was in her hands, she scanned the store for him. He was in the classical section, as usual. Normally, it was not the way to make eye contact with him, but the brush with the clerk had left a bad taste in her mouth that only he could cleanse. As if he felt her eyes on him, he looked up; his eyes shaded by gray lenses, and stared back at her. Hannibal Lecter held two cd jewel cases: Nights in Vienna and an Igor Stravinsky compilation. Clarice had asked him if he could find the Nights cd for her, and he had been searching for Stravinsky for quite some time. Since he had taken to painting Clarice while she danced, he had been leaning towards ballet compositions. From the annoyed look in her eyes, he could tell that she’d been affronted by another greedy pawing imbecile and was ready to depart. He began walking towards the checkout lanes when a title caught his eye. He turned to look at the cd when a female clerk approached him.

“Sir, do you need some help?”

“No thank you. I am fine.”

“That you are, if you don’t mind my saying.” She came closer to him and he caught a whiff of a gaudy perfume that blasted his senses. He winced from the acrid scent. The woman was older than Clarice and fairly attractive, if one’s taste ran towards bleached blondes. She was bigger than Clarice and filled out her uniform nicely. Her eyes were green and she had a nice smile. However, Hannibal wasn’t interested. He was perfectly happy with what he had at home. Nevertheless, he found himself wondering how Clarice would feel seeing him on the receiving end of such attentions. He quickly glanced up to see if she was watching.

“My name’s Allison.”

”Hello, Allison.”

“And you are…?” Clearly she wanted to know.

“Dr. McLaughlin,” he replied, his interest in the attention fading fast. Already he knew she was divorced, maybe more than once.

“Well, Doc…can I give you my number?” Allison’s voice was velvety soft.

Hannibal inhaled to stifle his desire to grin. There she was, headed this way and none too pleased if the furrowed brow was any indication.

“No, I don’t believe my wife would approve.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Softer.

“Oh, I think she does…” he said, just as Clarice came up. Allison turned to Clarice. “Yes? Do you need help?” Annoyance replaced the velvet.

“No, but you will if you don’t get out of my husband’s face and pronto.” There was steel in Clarice’s voice; it matched the steel in her eyes and Hannibal wondered fleetingly if Clarice would kill for him.

“This…is your husband?” Clearly, Allison didn’t believe it.

“Until death does us part. Now back off, Barbie.” Then, to Hannibal, “You want to come on?”

Amused beyond belief, he followed Clarice to the checkout lane, then out of the store to where the silver Jaguar XJR waited. As the engine warmed, he looked over at her. She was smiling. He smiled with her.

“After all this time, you finally get hit on? I don’t believe it.”

“I stayed merely because I wanted to see how you would react.”

“I was not pleased by it, that was for sure.”

“I see.”

She looked at him. “Let’s go home. I have something new to listen to.”

Their bedroom opened out onto a terrace that overlooked the nearby woods and drop-off to the Atlantic Ocean. It was evening and the full moon was out, beautifully illuminating the veranda. They had forgone using overhead lights, enjoying the moonlight cast. Clarice had studied the cd she’d bought…it was by Jill Scott and the song that had captured her attention was “He Loves Me.” Now it sounded through the speakers while she danced in front of the open terrace doors. She wore only a white tank top and matching thong and her eyes were closed. The song was beautifully sung in E-flat and the more Clarice listened the more she felt Jill’s words were written by her, for her and were coming out of her...

you love me especially different

every time you keep me on my feet

happily excited by your cologne

your hands your smile your intelligence

you woo me you court me you tease me

you please me you school me

give me some things to think about

ignite me you invite me

co-write me, you love me

you like me, you incite me to chorus

She undulated back and forth, whipping her hair and reaching back, splaying her fingers. The tank top rode up, exposing her navel and Clarice took the reach back, back, arching smoothly all the way, back until her palms caressed the blue Berber carpet, a mere twenty-four inches from her feet. She was in a perfect arc backbend, defying her personal laws of physics, lost inside the music.

Hannibal had been waiting for the perfect move to immortalize her on canvas. Tonight he was using watercolors and he sat in the open terrace doorway, using the moonlight as his source of illumination. He had been watching her dance and had gotten lost with her inside the words of the song. What was that song? Whatever it was, it was moving him to do more than paint Clarice. He almost missed the move she made…he had been there with her instead of sitting a few feet away…and he blinked, snapping out of his reverie. She was doing a backbend and he stared at her, blinking one more time, imprinting the position in his memory palace. The song was on Repeat and he listened to it again, memorizing the words…you tease me you please me…

That was one way of describing her effect on him. Clarice was upright again, turning and rocking her naked hips to the beat. Hannibal dipped his fingers in the watercolors and walked towards Clarice, no longer concerned with immortalizing her on canvas. He got right up on her, circling her, and ran his paint-dipped fingers over her skin. Clarice threw her head back, her hair brushing his cheek. He reached with his other hand and ran his fingers over her back, leaving five pale paint trails. Hannibal dipped down and ran a hand up each leg over thigh to hip. Clarice didn’t seem to mind him painting her, in fact she found it extremely erotic and reached down to remove the tank top so he would have more surface to cover. He obliged, running his paint-tipped hands over her breasts, her belly, everywhere…his hands finding the thong straps and tearing them off her, leaving her fully naked. She turned in his hands and the paint was all over her body. The torture became more than he could stand and he reached and cupped one curvy buttock, pressing her heat against him and Clarice pressed his chest and dipped backwards again, over the curve of his arm. To balance herself, she raised one leg up, up, up until she was open like a pair of scissors and to torture him, she placed her calf on his shoulder and sighed his name, once again placing her palms down on the carpet.

Sometime later, they were in the shower. He was meticulously washing the paint off her, still moved by her erotic display of affection. Clarice leaned against him, her eyes closed, cognizant of his warm hands washing her but the woman in her was recollecting, questioning her loyalty, her motives.

‘Okay, Clarice, you were jealous. Go on and admit it. You have every right to be. That skanch was doing more than just checking him out. You didn’t think you’d be angry. Good job on not letting him see how upset you really were. That took a lot of effort, girlfriend, major. So what would you have done had she not backed off? Is he worth it? Is he worth everything? What would you have done, Clarice? How far are you willing to go for him? What are you willing to do? What will you do if it happens again? Surely you don’t think he is unappealing to other women? Look at him…what makes YOU so special? Do you think you can continue to hold his interest? What is it about you that has held him so far? Is it because he knows something you don’t? Better recognize, girlfriend. Recognize and represent. We ain’t going nowhere.’

“Mmmm,” Clarice purred, one hand reaching up to stroke his cheek, “that’s right…”

* * *

A few days later, they were shopping again, this time for clothes. The way they did it was easy: he shopped for her and she shopped for him. Having grown used to Hannibal’s luxurious taste, Clarice enjoyed indulging herself in matters of shopping. Today she was picking out shirts and ties and other accessories for his extravagant collection of beautifully cut suits. Even the roaming eyes of the clerks didn’t faze her as she chose a gorgeous indigo shirt and matched with olive accessories. These colors would look fantastic on him. She held up the tie next to the shirt.

“Miss, that is lovely together.” An older woman was nodding in appreciation at Clarice’s color scheme.

“Yeah, I think my boyfriend will really like it.”

“He should. I never would have thought to match indigo and dark olive. What color suit would go with that?”

“He has so many, I’m sure this would match quite a few of them.”

“Hm. Well dear, have a lovely day.” The lady went back to her own shopping. Satisfied with her choices, Clarice went to the counter. In all, she had chosen seven shirts, ten ties, two beautiful pairs of cufflinks, several silk handkerchiefs, two fedoras, several pairs of trouser socks and six pairs of elegant silk boxers. When the clerk gave her the total, Clarice merely opened her wallet and paid cash. Ignoring the surprised looks, she took her receipt and her bags and left the elegant clothing store. Not wanting to be burdened with carrying the bags, she took them to the Jaguar and placed them in the trunk. Clarice wandered back into the mall, haphazardly scanning women’s stores looking for him. She had no idea what he was going to buy her and thus did not know which store he would be in.

Clarice searched her mind for what her wardrobe was lacking to glean a clue as to what he would want for her. Sighing, she looked down at her shoes and then back up. Hannibal had her wardrobe completely covered. She had no idea what he would think to buy her; he gave each facet of her wardrobe full attention. Had she mentioned anything to him about anything in particular? No. Did he say anything specific? No. Clarice walked and walked and came upon a fancy lingerie store. Aha! He’d torn her thong the other night when she was dancing, and it was so like him to replace torn or ruined items. She walked into the store and found it amusing that no one greeted her. There were at least five clerks and they were all clustered around someone. Clarice stopped next to a mannequin that was clad in a lace catsuit. She looked at it, smiling wryly, thinking how she would like to dance for him in it. When one of the clerks moved, she saw whom they were clustered around. Hannibal was sitting in one of the chairs, looking like royalty in his dark blue outfit; sunglasses perched in one breast pocket. Four of the clerks were waving items in front of him and one of them simply stood nearing him, smiling.

Hannibal watched the cloying assistants dance around him with various items. When he had come into the store to pick out some lingerie for Clarice, he had been browsing undisturbed for a few moments. Then one of the clerks asked him if he needed help and that had been the beginning of the onslaught. He was amused. His courtly elegance and courtesy had obviously done more than inflamed these culture-starved women and the show began. He had wanted some more nightgowns specifically, and whatever else that caught his eye that might look good on Clarice. He had given the manager Clarice’s size and she had sent the clerks off for whatever they could find that this distinguished gentleman would like.

The manager recognized quality when she saw it and she wondered briefly how old this gentleman’s lady friend was. Certainly not his age as he had selected things that would look spectacular on a young, toned body. ‘Cotton candy, probably,’ the woman mused, inwardly disappointed at the man. What did they see in those bubble headed baby girls, other than the chance to feel young again? She smiled wryly and then asked him if he wanted to see anything else.

“Yes. I would like to see a selection of thong underwear, please. In white, red, green, violet and blue.”

Thongs? For the love of God! He had to be at least sixty. His young strumpet was sure to give him a heart attack. Thongs? But she did her job.

Hannibal nodded when he had had enough and asked the manager to total his purchases. He rose and looked over by the entrance and saw Clarice standing by the catsuit mannequin, staring at him. He looked over her and walked to the counter to pay. Amused, Clarice signaled for the attention of one of the clerks. As Hannibal paid for the items, he tuned in to listen to what Clarice would say.

“Yes, I would like to see this catsuit in a size four please.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The manager gave Hannibal his total and he paid in cash. She handed him his purchases in four nice bags and bid him good day. He nodded in response and slowly walked towards the exit, watching to see what Clarice would do.

When the clerk came back with the catsuit, Clarice nodded. “I’ll take it. I just know my man’s going to love it.”

“I bet he will, ma’am,” the manager replied. “That handsome gentleman who just left bought some things for his lady friend. There must be a holiday I know nothing about.”

“Really?” Clarice said, biting back her smile. “What’d he get?”

“Thongs, among other things,” the manager said. “And he had to be at least sixty. What’s a handsome older man like that doing with some cheap, bubblehead strumpet is beyond me. Probably going for the thrill of being young again. She’s going to give him a coronary in those things he bought.”

Clarice bit her lip to keep from sounding off on the woman. “People have the right to see whom they choose, madam. What does age have to do with it?”

“Come now, sweetheart,” the manager replied, “I’m sure your boyfriend is at least your age. I can’t imagine you wanting to date someone twice your age.”

Clarice fumed, barely in control of her temper. “As I said, what does age have to do with anything? I’m paying cash. Please ring me up.”

The manager, realizing that she’d offended the young woman, did so. “I am sorry if my comments offended you, dear. Please accept my apology. Sometimes I go off when I see things that don’t make any sense.”

Clarice had been about to accept the woman’s apology, but her last remark all but pissed her off. “I imagine you would like someone like him for yourself?”

“Honestly, yes. He was very distinguished, very handsome. I can see myself on his arm.”

Venom deadly in her voice, Clarice snatched her receipt and retorted, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think so. I don’t plan on letting go of it. Have a nice day.” And she marched off, rage consuming her.

III

She hadn’t even pretended not to be upset. Hannibal knew she was angry when she’d gotten in the car, but declined to bring up the situation. He began driving, Scarlatti emanating from the speakers. Clarice leaned back and closed her eyes, reining in her temper. After a few minutes, he looked over at her. Her face was flushed and he could tell by the rapid tick at her throat that she was furious. Now he began to be concerned. What could have transpired back there to infuriate her so that she wasn’t even speaking to him? Hannibal felt himself growing cold within, felt his interior began turning shades of black. What indeed.

“Clarice?”

“Yes, Hannibal?” she said. Her voice was calm.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“I will be, my love.”

“What happened?”

“The manager was offended that you would be romantically linked with a, what did she call me, a cheap bubblehead strumpet?”

“She called you that?” His voice was cold.

“Not me per se, but whomever you were buying for. The distaste was obvious. She feels that you should resign yourself to women near your age.”

“She said that?” Colder.

“Not in so many words. Then she said she couldn’t help sounding off about things that don’t make sense. I told her that people have the right to see whom they choose, what does age have to do with anything?”

“Right.”

“She assumed my man was my age and then said she could see herself with you being that you were so distinguished and handsome.”

“And what did you say to that, my dear?”

“Well, her exact words were, ‘I can see myself on his arm,’ to which I replied that I didn’t plan on letting it go. Then I left.”

He smiled. “Do you feel better?”
”Yes.”

“I imagine that another woman’s interest in me rouses your fighting spirit. Tell me, my dear, how would you handle it if that interest was to go far.” Hannibal’s voice was like velvet.

“Far as in how? You wouldn’t be a willing participant, would you?”

He shrugged. “Does that matter when a woman is determined? Tell me, my love…how would you handle that?”

Clarice sat up, her hands drawing into fists. “I would let her know that you are taken, and if that didn’t work…umm, more persuasion would be required.”

Hannibal’s words were hungry, seeking. “What would you do?”

“Beat the hell out of her if she didn’t back off…”

“What else, my dear?”

Clarice closed her eyes, thinking. She loved Hannibal. In spite of and because of. Of that there was no doubt. She was with him because she wanted to be. She had no reason to distrust his feelings for her; his protectiveness was a sharp reminder of his love for her. But he was right. Such things didn’t matter if a woman was determined. Clarice knew it. She knew how far Hannibal would go for her, he had already done it, but how far would she go for him? Did she have it in her? Wrestling with her conscience the other night had brought those emotions to the surface. They were her demons. An image of some other woman kissing Hannibal, touching him, doing the things that she did to him reared in her mind and her fists clenched. No way. No way in hell. Clarice knew what she would do. Damn straight. She knew exactly what she would do. No point in bullshitting about it, either.

“I would kill her.” The resolution in her voice was like iron.

“Would you, Clarice?” He had wondered about that.

She turned to face him and he could see it in her eyes.

“You would kill for me?” His voice was seductive.

“Yes Hannibal. I would.”

Hannibal reached with his free hand and caressed her face, running his thumb over her lips. She kissed his thumb and held his hand with her own.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “hopefully, you won’t have to…”

Fin

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