Work Text:
She chooses to play possum for a while. She heard his breathing change, she knows he is awake. She does not go as far as faking the deep breathing of the sleeping, but still, she keeps her eyes closed.
She slept very very well. She should be embarrassed that she conked out immediately after she came a second time and felt Hannibal follow her with a sharp exhale. But then, Hannibal being Hannibal, which means him being excellent at everything he does, he may be used to women falling asleep on him after being the subjects of his ministrations.
She does not want to think of other women with Hannibal. Besides, he hinted he had not done this recently. Months, years? Maybe he meant 3 weeks. She has absolutely no idea what he does with his free time, besides cooking and drawing. After years of knowing him, Hannibal still intrigues her. Now she knows a new side of him.
She remembers a warm wet cloth cleaning gently between her legs, but her limbs felt to heavy to move without his help. She simply could not open her eyes. She could not bring herself to care either. She was too comfortable. Through her lids, she saw that he had turned out the light. Then he was back besides her, then nothing.
She briefly woke up earlier to morning blue light and Hannibal spooning her. Maybe she made a sound. He whispered go back to sleep against her neck with his accent thicker than usual, probably on the verge of sleep himself. She did.
She is disappointed that they are not spooning anymore. She wished she would stop thinking so much and for once just act and roll towards him. Instead she feigns sleep. Why is Hannibal doing the same? Perhaps it’s a game to him. Perhaps he is feeling as shy as she is and dreading the morning after awkwardness. The thought is so ridiculous that her eyes snap open.
" You’re awake."
" So are you."
She is babbling, but he goes with the flow. He even manage to give a sense to what she says. Then she remembers that Will exists. At least she succeeded in forgetting him for a few hours. Score one for funeral sex. She is not even hungover. She went on a sex-induced coma on her endorphins alone. Score one for Hannibal.
He is kissing her. Even his morning breath tastes good. She hears what he says and decides she is not shy anymore. He says exactly what she needs to hear.
—
Damn the doorbell. Damn Jack and his accusations. Wasn’t it enough that he requested a tupperware last evening? His rudeness angers her, and she can tell Hannibal is furious by the way he stalked out of the room into his kitchen. She follows and find him slicing an apple at a sickening speed.
"Making a fruit salad?"
"It’s the first idea that came to me, after thinking very hard about punching Jack in the face."
He grabs a peach and gives it the same treatment. She grabs his wrist to make him stop, and he lets go of the knife with a sigh. " Hannibal", she whispers, " it’s not seven yet. Let’s pretend the last 2 minutes never happened and go back to bed." He nods and rinse the knife.
" This is just a snack. I’ll cook a proper breakfast later " he says, displaying the fruits pieces on a small plate. Then he says, much louder, "and Jack is not invited to breakfast this morning ! "
They hear the front door slams.
—
This could be a scene from a 70s movie, but instead of Sean Connery’s ashtray, it is an almost empty plate that sits on Hannibal’s broad chest. She plucks the last piece of apple and chews slowly, feeling sensual. The plate is swiftly discarded on the nightstand. He kisses her hand.
"Any plans for today?"
"Applesauce." She watches his mouth forming a little smile the moment he understands she is talking about her dog and not about cooking. "I need to go back home this morning and let her out, the poor thing. I did not plan a sleepover."
" Do you have time for non-funeral sex or would you prefer breakfast?"
" I’ll find time for both."
He tastes of peach and apple, with an undertone of something else that she identifies as essence of Hannibal. They kiss for a long time. Last night felt like and out of body experience, but this morning she feels everything. She takes his shirt off and hands it to him. They both smirk as he takes time to neatly fold it before throwing it at the foot of the bed.
She wants to feel every inch of his skin on her, she tells him so by rubbing his damaged forearms with each parts of her body they encounter. She is not queasy of the stitches anymore. He takes the hint and his movements become less guarded. He gives her what she would describe as full body caress, using his whole frame instead of just his hands or mouth. He rubs his face on the inside of her arms, on her sides, on her breast. He kisses them both and watch her nipples harden. He palms her little mounds gently and she realizes she is having sex with a true gentleman. For once, she isn’t under the impression that the man she is with has gotten his inspiration from a porno. It is both endearing and intimidating. She wonders about his first time, was he still a boy, was he a grown man?
She is wet since he promised her breakfast. She straddles him and her hands meet his. She brings his arms above his head and strokes his wrists and forearms. "Does it hurt ?"
" You are better than tylenol", he says. They kiss some more. She wants to touch him everywhere. She lifts herself up and asks him to turn around. He complies and she is now treated to his smooth back. She kisses the freckles on his shoulders, the beauty spots near his spine. She lightly scratches her nails from his neck to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and feels him shudder under her. He reminds her of a big cat, purring from her touch. She feels like biting the back of his neck, but chooses instead to kiss him there and breathe him in. She takes a pause and rests her cheek on his scapula, listening to his rapid heartbeat. The feeling is so intense she feels like crying again, but she helps him out of his thick pyjama pants instead. He turns and sits her in his lap, touching his forehead to hers. " Alana?"
" I’m sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed, that’s all." She sniffles. "I haven’t cried in years, and now I do it twice in less than 10 hours. In front of you. Sex with me is not supposed to be a weepy business."
He folds himself against her, resting his stubbled cheek on her shoulder. "I’m making a rule. No apologizing in bed with me."
" Deal " she mumbles against his throat. More kisses. His erection is warm and solid, resting between them. She barely touched him last night, but now she takes her time, watching his face contort in pleasure as she strokes him with both hands. His own hands knead her bottom reflexly, and she is once again reminded of a cat. He lifts her against him and they both groans when he pushes inside her in one easy stroke. She is a little sore from last night, but it is a good pain that only heightens her pleasure. She decides she loves Hannibal’s penis.
She could do this for the rest of her life. Their pace is easy, born out of wonder. They are both starved for human caress and intense sex. Their movements are everything except regular, like they are trying to reach the best combination of pressure and teasing with the least movement. This intimacy is a surprised to both of them. She is so excited she is leaking like a faucet and Hannibal’s thighs are glistening with her natural lubricant. She bites his neck and he comes with a surprised groan. The sudden surge of his hips sends her over the edge.
—
She takes a quick shower in Hannibal’s magnificent bathroom before slipping back in her dress and borrowing his red sweater against the chill. He presents her with coffee, creamy scrambled eggs with basil, bacon and a very fancy version of harsh brown. They smile a lot.
He tells her to keep his sweater, because it is cool outside and he suspects her coat is not warm enough. She tells him next time he wants to celebrate life, there is no need to throw a big expensive party. All he has to do is give her a call.