Work Text:
Stitches
Hannibal was not the kind of man she thought she would end up with. She was the first surprised when they became friends. Sort of. It was not the kind of friendship she had shared with other men, before her job sucked down pretty much all human interactions outside of coworkers and immediate family. Hannibal was not like other men. He was the weirdest person she had ever met, and that said a lot. She was, after all, a psychiatrist for the FBI. All the nuts rolled downhill there, some behind bars, some in front of them.
At first she sat there, intrigued by this long, lean man and his exotic accent. He seemed to know everything about his students. He had once told somebody to stop gobbling his fries, because the noise he was making reminded him of the pigs his uncle used to breed. The young man was sitting at the very back of the class, all up the lecture theater, and had nearly choked on his meal. Hannibal had not even turned, he was writing something on the board.
He would say «Come in, Doctor Bloom», while she was still raising her hand to knock on the door of his office. Was it the pattern of her steps? She tried walking differently down the corridor, or even buying a pair of shoes who made very little noise. He still knew when she was turning the corner. Then it hit her. He could smell her. The idea was both creepy and extremely erotic to her young mind. Had Hannibal ever been blind, to develop this ability? She never dared ask him about it, much less ask him if her deduction about his higher sense of smell was true.
She wasn’t even wearing perfume. She started buying odor free laundry soaps and natural hair products. Still, it was as if he could feel her presence. But then, she started feeling his too. Hannibal had this energy around him, the same as when clouds thickens and darkens before a storm. Atoms vibrated a little faster when he was in the room. Nothing passed under his radar, ever.
—
She feels the stitches on his forearms as he caress her, a strange sensation that is both unpleasant and heartbreaking. The fear of loosing him, the horrific vision of his bloodied figure hanged and slashed, both flash into her mind and she has no time to stop the thoughts. She can’t help herself and she stops kissing him to caress the inside of his arms, gently, and she finishes the action by grabbing his hands. He watches her face as she watches the damage on his beautiful forearms. Embarrassingly, she burst into tears.
He murmurs comforting words in English, then what must be Lithuanian, and they hug each other for long minutes. She kisses his neck, his hair, and finally settles her ear against his neck, listening to the strong, slowing heartbeat, breathing deeply.
«Sorry about that», she says. «Call it a delayed reaction.» He answers by caressing the length of her back with just his hands, wrists held away from her skin. They are still sitting on the harpsichord bench. Big thumbs caress her cheeks and wipe the tears away.
«No need for apologies. Unless you refuse we move to more comfortable furniture for kissing.» His attempt at humour works and she smiles and kisses the corner of his mouth. «Bedroom», he says. «My stitches will throb if I have to support you against the harpsichord.»
So they end up on his huge bed. She helps him with his shirt, gets his arms out of the sleeves with care. His body amazes her, she did not suspect he has all those muscles. His chest feels fantastic against her bare breasts and she rubs her torso on him while he lies there caressing the back of her thighs, eyes half closed. Her dress is somewhere near the foot of the bed and her panties feel so wrong against her skin, she wished she had not wore them tonight. Now that would have surprised Hannibal. Maybe next time.
She sits up and lays a palm on his erection, pulsing through his pants. This soft pressure makes his breath hitch and his fingers circle her wrist, a warning. «Be gentle with me, Alana», he whispers. «I haven’t done this in a while.»
«Let’s be gentle with each other», she answers. «It’s been a while for me too.» Three years and 8 months, she thinks, as she slowly unbuckles his belt, pops open the button and zips down the expansive trousers to reveal grey boxer briefs. She kisses one nipple and hooks her fingers beneath both waistbands and pulls down, while he helps her by lifting his hips briefly. He is naked and his pupils are huge. She finds herself kissing his penis, because it looks delicious. It throbs warmly against her lips and she rests them there, one second, two, before she is flat on her back and Hannibal is kissing her with a hunger that makes all her internal organs clench in anticipation.
When they come up for air he makes short work of her panties and sits up, holding her legs on his hairy thights, caressing the back of her knees with his big hands. He pulls her to him without visible effort and slowly bends forward, lifting her hips to kiss her near her navel. She feels totally opened and relaxed at the same time. Maybe it’s the wine, but she never felt as desirable as in this moment, with Hannibal breathing her skin and kissing slowly down where her pubic hair becomes a soft down, paler than the trimmed thatch of her mound. His thumbs part her lips very gently, and his tongue is there, just a quick lap. They both groan. She thinks she will come very, very soon.
She feels his erection agains the small of her back as he tastes her lips and dips his tongue inside her vagina, before lapping her clitoris once again. He sucks on it, and grabs her hand, and suddenly the orgasm hits her, making her yelp with surprise.
She comes back to the warm weight of Hannibal, he is leaning on his forearms and raining tiny kisses around her face. «Jesus», she says. «The name, is Hannibal», he answers, and she swats his butt and laughs. His erection is warm against her thigh, and she wants him inside her now, her insides cramp with need. «I’m on the pill», she blurts out, and his lips caress her ear and he whispers «no condom?» She shakes her head no and she feels his thumb at her opening, rubbing slowly in and out, then the smooth head of his penis and he pushes slowly in, and stops after an inch, letting her adjust. "Breathe, Alana" he whispers, and she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it has been a while and she finds she is trembling like a virgin. Hannibal’s hand finds hers once more and his thumb is wet and she realize it is her own juice and she almost comes once again. She kisses Hannibal and he pushes the rest of the way in, his efforts to be gentle making him tremble as much as she is. They kiss again, slowly, languorously, enjoying the feeling, saying hello.
They finally move, and god it is so very good, she feels how beautiful and perfect and raw their sex is, Hannibal’s sheets soft and warm beneath her back, his skin slick with sweat and rough with hair, the welcomed weight of his trembling muscled frame on her. He watches her with his hair falling into his face and she is so happy she laughs, and she looks down and see his dark penis slides slowly in and out of her, thick and glistening, and she comes so hard she sees stars and feels the tremors from her toes to the root of her hair. Hannibal lets out a long shuddering sigh, and she feels his warm offering spurts inside her. She sleeps, a deep slumber where she doesn’t dream at all.