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Clarice's Scenario, Episode Three

The third installment of Clarice's Scenario, the conclusion of my SOTL trilogy The Tattoo, The Shirt, and The Scenario. Rated NC-17.

Disclaimer: As before, the characters of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, et. al., are the exclusive property of Thomas Harris.

Kissing downward, Hannibal used his mouth and his teeth to pull down the thong panties that matched Clarice's gown. Her hips lifted off the bed as he tugged them down to her knees, then his hands pulled them off completely. After he sent them flying across the room in a sexy, slingshot motion, they, too, rested with the gown and pajama pants. Doing this elicited a sexy chuckle from Clarice's throat.

Now he got her to kneel on the bed, with him behind her. Her hands reached back, cupping and caressing his tightly muscled buttocks and slim hips in an inverted embrace as he held her close, his arms crossing over her breasts and shoulders, his mouth ravishing her neck with hungry, hot kisses. She then reached her left hand behind his head, cocking her head back so he could once again savor her lips. They then lay back down like this, his body hovering over hers as he began kissing his way down her shoulders and back, down to the small of her back.

Being one who avoided anal sex of any kind, Hannibal bypassed this area, but gently stroked and squeezed her buttocks as he began kissing down her legs. Clarice did not mind...her past boyfriends had wanted that kind of sex play, but she had never been interested. It pleased her that Hannibal respected that wish without even asking, his lustful tongue tickling her thighs, the sensitive zones behind her knees, and down her calves. He did not have a foot fetish, either, so he merely stroked her feet and toes with his fingertips, causing her to shiver with delight. He then kissed her tiny ankles...even the tiny, bright-blue-and-black Monarch butterfly tattoo that hovered above her right ankle. In the real world, he already knew about her getting it---checking her page on the FBI website had revealed this to him long ago. And although he normally didn't like tattoos on women, he thought Clarice's tattoo was beautiful.

As he had with the portrait of her on his left arm, Clarice had taken good care of her tattoo. He lingered there a few more seconds, then got her to lie on her back. She did so, letting him continue the slow, sensual tongue bath back up her trembling body.

"Mmmmmmm, yeah," she sighed as he kissed his way back up her legs, getting her to part her legs so he could slide between to kiss and lick her inner thighs. Already she was becoming wet, already her cunt was burning with need...but he held off, instead sliding back up her torso, his tongue flicking and tickling her navel, her stomach, her sternum.

Next he began worshipping her aching breasts with his hands and mouth. He caressed the fullness of her breasts, kissing and caressing the tops and the sides, then squeezed them together so he could lap at her cleavage. This sent electric shocks through her body, and they didn't abate when his mouth finally attacked her nipples. His lips, tongue and teeth gently nipped and tugged at the swelling, hardening nubs, causing her to wail with delight with every kiss. "Oh, God," she gasped, surrendering to him, her hands tangling into his hair as his kisses left her nipples raw.

He left her breasts, feverishly kissing and licking her shoulders, nibbling her neck and jaw, before their lips once again collided. Now it was his turn for the tongue bath, and Clarice did not disappoint.

She buried her face into his chest hair, inhaling his aphrodisiacally heady scent as she gave him the same treatment he had just given her. Now his nipples began to ache, his taut pecs and sternum being orally ravished by his Appalachian goddess, his body yielding to her passionate kisses. "Ooohhhh, Clarice," he whispered, his entire body drowning with arousal, his penis throbbing a mile a minute. She sensed his need and slid between his legs, rubbing his thighs and hips as she kissed each side of his pelvis.

"Ever had your prostate rubbed while getting sucked off?" she now asked.

"No," he admitted. "Will it hurt?"

"No...just lay back and enjoy it..."

"Oh, my..."

Trusting her completely, Hannibal held his penis to her lips. She started off by stroking his shaft with her tongue, teasing the purple-pink head with long, wet laps...then she kissed down to his balls. She buried her nose into the slight tuft of hair surrounding his package as she bathed his smooth sac with her saliva, the sensations washing over him in a way he had never experienced before. She paused long enough to wet her thumb, using it to rub the tiny patch of skin between his balls and anus. Underneath this tiny patch was his prostate, which immediately responded to her touch.

"Oh, Clarice," he gasped, her mouth finally engulfing his penis, fellating him while she continued rubbing his prostate. The combined sensations drove him out of his mind, his hips rocking off the bed, his fingers entwining into her silken hair as he fucked her mouth like crazy. He held out as long as he could, but her mouth and hands were just too much. "Oooohhhh, Clarice, YESSSSS!!!" he wailed when he came, his screams of pleasure ringing in her ears, his man juice blasting hot and sticky into her hungry mouth. Some of it had blasted onto her face, but she drank every sweet drop, licking her lips and savoring his taste when he had finished coming.

She kissed her way back up his panting body, and he did not mind tasting his own come on her lips when he kissed her again. "Clarice, I love you," he whispered breathlessly, meaning every word, never holding back his kisses.

"I love you, too, babe," she sighed, and she meant it as well. She was glad that he had enjoyed himself...glad that he was, for the moment, satiated. "Would you like some of mine?"

"Ohhh, yes."

Now she straddled his face, her hands propped on either side of him, his hands squeezing and manipulating her breasts as he unleashed with cunnilingual kisses. Clarice was now flying toward ecstasy herself, the feel of his hands on her body and his mouth on her cunt driving her insane.

Her shoulder-length hair tickled his still-hard cock when she threw her head back, Hannibal's torturously sweet mouth and sexy tongue probing and savoring her tender labia, darting toward the soft inner tissue of her opening...his tongue entering and exploring the wetness within. Finally, he concentrated his efforts on her aching clitoris. That did it.

"Oh, God," she screamed, her soft moans turning into loud, raging cries of climax. Her body shook as she was seized by a seemingly endless chain of orgasms, her hips swiveling toward his face, dancing to the rhythm of his mouth. Soon, the two of them starting in the position she was already in, facing each other, she would take his cock.

They would try every position they could think of as he penetrated her, positions from the Kama Sutra and Tantric books as well as ones they invented on the spur of the moment. At one point he knelt on the bed, holding her in the "drop-catch" position, her arms and legs wrapped around him as she bounced on his cock. This position jabbed her G-spot, causing her to come twice...but he was still raring to go.

They would lose themselves in this blissful, almost eternal tryst, their lovemaking reaching almost Tantric heights of pleasure...finally, her legs slung over his shoulders in a variation of the missionary, they reached orgasm together, their bodies jelling into one, their screams echoing throughout the entire house before they finally collapsed.

Her legs back down, his penis slid back out with a satisfied plop. They lay their like that, their bodies drenched in sweat and come, their love causing their eyes and bodies to glow as they drifted off to sleep...

Hannibal's eyes flashed open at 4 in the morning. He had gone to sleep at 11, and hadn't realized what had happened...until he looked down.

The sheets were sticky with sweat and come. He'd had another wet dream. Only this time, it was more intense than all the others...he had obviously orgasmed more than once, because there was almost a river of come on the sheets. So much, in fact, that he had to strip them from the bed and replace them with fresh ones.

After changing his bed, Hannibal walked into his bathroom and took yet another shower...only this time, he once again surrendered to the masturbatory urge, Clarice always in his thoughts.

In Arlington, VA, Clarice was masturbating in her bed, the scent of the homegrown Vetivera di Amoro and thoughts of Hannibal sending her over the edge with pleasure. Since Ardelia was home, in her side of the duplex, Clarice had to bite into her blanket to stifle her screams.

She climaxed easily and often, her body thrashing about on the bed as the orgasms washed over her, one after another...one more intense than the last. She was sad, though, when she was finally satiated...and wanted, more than ever, to be with him so they could make love for real.

What neither of them knew was that their reunion would come sooner than they thought...and that it would be Paul Krendler and Mason Verger who would send them, finally, into each other's arms.

Weeks passed. The dreams were still fresh in Clarice's memory, still invading her every waking and sleeping moments. She had to be careful not to give herself away...not now that Jack Crawford had finally gotten her back in Behavioral Science.

She proceeded in the investigation into Hannibal's whereabouts with secret reluctance, all the while suspecting that things were not as they appeared to be. Why would Krendler suddenly back off? Why now?

Fearing that Ardelia would find Hannibal's shirt in her closet, Clarice now began wearing it under the baggy sweaters and sweatshirts she often wore, keeping him close to her...keeping Ardelia and Crawford from finding out the truth. This morning, for instance, she wore it under her Kentucky Wildcats sweatshirt and shorts for her jog.

Her feelings for Hannibal were growing stronger with each delicious dream, each passionate scenario that played in her mind, over and over, knowing full well that his feelings for her, wherever he was, were the same. As her mind dizzied with thoughts of him, she pulled her Mustang into the woodland park, pulling into the parking lot before locking down her car and starting her daily ritual. Here she was free from Krendler's snide insults, free from the cares of the world...

Moments later, a battered blue pickup truck pulled alongside her car. Bob Seger's You'll Accompany Me was currently playing in the CD player, but the driver didn't match the truck or the music. He wore a dark tweed coat, black fedora over slicked-back hair, dark Gucci loafers, dark Oakley sunglasses, and a nicely cut suit. Clarice had not seen him, having jogged far up into the woods.

He had watched her from the hillside, every morning, since returning to the States. I've made my mind up it was meant to be...someday, lady, you'll accompany me, Bob Seger sang, over and over, as the driver of the truck drank in Clarice's shapely, fit curves, her silky hair bouncing with every stride, the sun playing and bouncing off of her body as she ran.

Transfixed with this image, today he broke into her car, enveloping himself in her scent. She had remembered his Italian cologne, must've known someone who could make a stateside version, because her scent was similar to his own...yet different, sweeter, more feminine. He had become quite aroused, so much so that he had used his mouth to caress her steering wheel, going down on it as though he were burying his face, his mouth, into her cunt. He knew he couldn't stay long, so he savored what he could, letting her scent fill his nostrils, his lungs, savoring their combined Vetivera di Amoro as long as he could stand it.

Sensing that she would return soon, Hannibal Lecter left her car, locking it back before getting into his truck and leaving...leaving for his rented beach house on the Maryland shore. Again he felt this precious ache, but this time listening to Bob Seger, or even Metallica, would not quench his thirst for Clarice.

He stopped at Camelot Music in the Baltimore Galleria Mall, unrecognized, and continued with the practice he still was not accustomed to...buying rock CDs. The music he selected today was Madonna's Erotica and Ray of Light CDs, Meredith Brooks' Blurring the Edges, KISS' Hot in the Shade for their power ballad Forever, Sarah McLachlan's live album Mirrorball, the Pure Moods pop/New Age compilations, Type O Negative's Bloody Kisses, and CDs from the techno-industrial bands Nine Inch Nails, Massive Attack, and Orgy. For now, that would be sufficient.

Remembering Clarice's small, yet shapely body, he next went into Victoria's Secret. There, he bought her some of the sexiest lingerie he could find...underwire push-up bras, thong panties, a pure white pima cotton gown, a pair of green silk short pjs, two soft lace teddies, and two silk chemises...similar to the ice-blue gown she already had. He then went to Dillard's and continued buying her new clothes...sweaters, slacks, shoes, dresses, even a sexy silk evening gown with a beaded jacket. All the while, he hoped he'd bought the right size.

He also purchased jewelry for her, a couple of diamond tennis bracelets, several pairs of earrings, and a couple of necklaces. He also remembered her fondness for silver jewelry, so he bought her four pairs of silver earrings, three silver pendant necklaces, and six bracelets. When he was finished at the mall, he went to the East side of Baltimore and stopped at an adult bookstore, where he added some new Tantric sex books and videos to the erotica collection he already had. He didn't buy a copy of the Kama Sutra, suspecting that Clarice already had a copy.

Then, after driving to a downtown wine shop for bottles of Batard-Montrachet, Chateau d'Yquem, and Chianti, he also stopped at a tobacco shop for a carton of his favorite Dunhill cigarettes. Then, en route to his hideaway, he made a final stop...a New Age shop, not the one Clarice had visited, for some candles and vanilla-amber massage oil. He bought enough candles to start a forest fire, pillars of different sizes, tapers, votives, tea lights...as for the oil, he bought a large bottle, then bought a small warming device and massage-oil "carafe" to keep at his bedside...for his eventual reunion with Clarice.

When Clarice finished her run and unlocked her car door, the first thing she caught was Hannibal's scent. Was she hallucinating again? Had he really been here? Was he still here?

These questions reeled in her mind as she sat in the driver's seat, letting his masculine musk wash over her. She placed her right hand on the steering wheel, two o'clock position.

Yes, he had been here.

She now knew he was back in America, and was glad...especially after the spot of trouble he had run into in Italy, with Rinaldo Pazzi. Her first impulse was to report this to Crawford, but then that would be a direct line to that fucking Krendler, whether they liked it or not. No, she decided, it's best to be quiet. She had not betrayed his trust with the shirt, she had not with the erotic dreams she'd been having, and she sure as Hell wouldn't now.

He would consider that rude, she remembered, thinking back to the night Hannibal escaped from captivity seven years ago. She knew he would never hurt her, even after she had gone along with Crawford's Plum Island con in order to get the information on Jame Gumb. She'd regretted lying to him---she had herself been lied to about Plum Island by Crawford---but he knew she was only doing her job. And besides, she'd kept her end of their "quid pro quo" agreement and told him about the screaming lambs, about her childhood.

For that, Hannibal Lecter had done the one thing he had never done with anyone else...he had forgiven her and spared her life. Most importantly, he had already fallen in love with her.

As she thought about these things, Clarice revved up her Mustang and pulled out of the park. As she left, Paul Krendler pulled in in his Rolls Royce. The mere sight of the restored, roaring black Mustang with the "STARLING" vanity plates caused him to sneer. "Goddamn egotistical bitch," he grumbled as she drove away.

His spies had not known of Hannibal's visit, had not known that he had been in her car---let alone made love to her steering wheel---while she jogged. They hadn't gotten there in time...if they had, Krendler would have had all he needed to not only hand Hannibal over to Mason Verger and his thugs...but to get Clarice drummed out of law enforcement forever. "It won't be long," he thought as he began the jog toward the Verger helicopter, which waited five miles down the road. "Common country pussy'll get hers...bitch."

In a matter of days, Verger and Krendler's scheme would play out. Once Hannibal was confirmed to be back in the U.S., after killing a poacher, Clarice would stand accused of being in collusion with him, even of aiding his escape seven years earlier. Krendler would produce a package she had not known about, a package of expensive Italian soaps, lotions, and perfumes from Hannibal, as well as a note:

Clarice,

Do you ever wonder why the Philistines don't understand you? It is because you are the answer to Samson's riddle. You are the honey in the lion.

Hannibal.

Krendler would also bug her car, tracing her movements, in the hopes that Hannibal would reach out to her again. This was a moot point, because now Clarice would be out of a job. Kill two birds with one stone.

They just didn't count on her witnessing their thugs kidnapping Hannibal at the grocery store...nor did they count on her charging to his rescue.

During the visit to Muskrat Farm, it would be Clarice who was in need of rescue. Two tranquilizer darts would knock her unconscious, and keep her that way for a couple of days. Although he himself was badly injured, Hannibal carried her, like a groom carrying his bride, to the safety of her Mustang before they finally escaped.

During his brief captivity at Muskrat Farm, he had been tortured with a cattle prod to his torso and face, Margot Verger had pulled out a clump of his hair, and he had been very badly beaten. But his concern was more for Clarice than himself.

As soon as they were in his beach house, he didn't bother administering to his own wounds right away. Instead, he ran a soothing, warm bath for Clarice, tenderly stripping her of her clothes and her weapons before easing her into the tub. There, he washed her like her were washing a newborn baby.

He took a small cup and poured water over her head, being careful not to let any get into her nose. Then he took some sweet-smelling herbal shampoo, far superior than her usual Aussie Mega, and washed her hair. Once her hair was rinsed, he took a bar of peppermint herbal soap and a soft washcloth and washed her face, her body, with much delicacy. She was still breathing, but he knew he had to act quickly if she were to survive the tranquilizers.

His heart fluttered as the washcloth passed over her breasts, down her body...in the tub, with the dirt, blood, and makeup washed away, Clarice had never looked more beautiful. The bath finished, he took two large, pale-green towels and laid them on the beautiful cherry bed he had saved for her. Then, ignoring the splash of water that drenched the floor, as well as himself, he lifted her back up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

He wrapped one towel around her long locks...the other, he rubbed gently over her body to dry her off. Next he massaged her hair and scalp dry, then returned to drain out the bathtub and wipe the floor dry with the towels before placing them in the hamper.

He next went to the chest of drawers nearby, which held the lingerie he had bought for her at Victoria's Secret. He produced a pair of green silk bikini panties and the short pajamas before returning to her. He put the panties on her first, then the pajamas, before tucking her into bed.

Now he went back to his room to retrieve some medical supplies, then returned to her. He administered an IV, giving her an antidote for the tranquilizers and some fluids to keep her nutrient levels normal. Then, reluctantly, he returned to the dresser and got out a couple of silk scarves. WIth these, he tenderly tied her wrists to the bed. This was not meant to harm her, but to keep her hands away from her face and the IV from slipping.

As with the "quid pro quo," this was for her own good.

For the next several days, Hannibal hovered over his beloved like the proverbial mother hen, even after she had regained consciousness. On the fourth day after she regained consciousness, hours after seeing her late father's remains had helped her let go of the anguish over his death, she finally noticed what had happened to Hannibal at Muskrat Farm.

"You're hurt," she whispered, the concern on her face genuine when she saw the bruises on his face and the burn marks on his eyebrow. She reached out to him, softly touching his face. He did not flinch when she touched him, her fingertips featherlight on his injured eye.

"It'll pass, my dear," he replied. "Physical injuries always do."

"Not like the emotional ones, right, Doctor?" Again, her concern was genuine. For once, her candor caught Hannibal off-guard. "What's that supposed to mean, Clarice?" he gently scolded.

"What I'm saying is 'quid pro quo,'" she now said, her eyes holding his. "Now I've told you about my life, Dr. Lecter, about how pissed off I've been over my daddy getting killed. You've helped me cope in ways I'll never be able to repay you for..."

"Even for digging up your father's grave?"

"Even that."

A long pause. "What I'm trying to ask is...who are you, Dr. Lecter? What kind of life have you had? I mean, besides all the people you've killed. Before you say anything, I'm not trying to be rude...I just want to know more about the man who saved my life, that's all. You've not been rude with me, and I've told you everything about myself."

Sadness washed over Hannibal's blue-violet eyes. "I...I can't," he stammered. "It's too painful, Clarice...I don't want to burden you."

Clarice moved closer to him on the sofa. "You don't have to talk about it now, if you don't want to," she whispered.

For the first time since their acquaintance, she could see tears in his eyes. Ashamed, he tried in vain to wipe them away, to hide them from her, but she wasn't fooled. Again, she touched his face.

"It's all right, Hannibal, you don't have to hide from me..."

With such loving words, the facade of the psychiatric sadist finally crumbled. "I swore I'd never shed another fucking tear," he wept, the tears pouring down like warm summer rain. "Oh, Clarice, if you only knew..." Now Hannibal Lecter cried for the first time since he was a boy, his sobs breaking Clarice's heart and causing her to cry once again. They sat on the sofa and wept for a very long time, holding each other, comforting each other, until they were all cried out. He did not apologize for this loss of control...in fact, he was relieved that Clarice had trusted him to let him reveal this side of himself. He was also relieved that she had given him the comfort he had so desperately needed.

Finally, he told her about his family. "Tyson Hannibal Lecter was the name my adoptive parents gave me when I came to America," he admitted. "I was 6 years old when I left my homeland..."

"Where were you born?" she asked.

"St. Petersburg, Russia...back then it was Leningrad, during the Communist era. My birth family was Lithuanian, quite well-to-do, like the Lecters...I was born on our farm outside St. Petersburg, and my birth name is Vanya Mikhail Zorukov. I've never used it, though...too many memories."

"So you were a war orphan?"

"Yes. Toward the end of the war, my entire family was wiped out by surviving members of Hitler's SS. They were killed because they had not only opposed the Nazi regime, but because they were opposed to Communism as well. Anyway, a whole gang of the SS invaded our farm one night...they made me, my sister Mischa, and our Papa watch while they gang-raped Mama, then they beat and shot Mama and Papa to death. They had also rounded up a group of children from neighboring towns to use for food, and they put them with Mischa and me...in our barn."

Hannibal started crying again as he continued. "Every time they would take one of the children, they would use the excuse 'Let's go play in the snow.' More often than not, they would also rape and sodomize the children before killing them...the day they killed Mischa, they had really intended to kill me. But I was too thin, Clarice, so they took her!"

The grief sent Hannibal into a rage, causing him to overturn the coffee table as he rose from the sofa, then he grabbed the Louis XIV armchair and threw it across the room before turning his attention to the bookcase, toppling it and throwing books all over...all the time being careful not to hurt Clarice.

"They FUCKING TOOK HER!!!!" he raged. "She was only a baby, GODDAMN IT!!!!!!!...why the fuck didn't they kill ME?!?!? HUH?!?!?"

As Hannibal went on this rampage, Clarice was not the least bit frightened...still, she gave him his space, letting him wail and sob his grief until he was totally drained.

Electricity...eye to eye...

As Meredith Brooks sang on the CD player, Hannibal now regarded Clarice with sad, tearful eyes. "Oh, Clarice, why did you make me remember that?" he now asked.

Hey, don't I know you?...I can't speak...

"To help you, babe," she replied. "To show you that it's okay to let go, just like you've shown me." He thought a minute.

"You know, I should be angry with you, but I'm not. Nor could I ever be."

Stripped my senses...on the spot...

Clarice took a tissue and gently wiped the tears from his face. "You feelin' better now, Hannibal?" He responded by kissing her courage spot. She kissed his burned eyebrow.

I've never been defenseless...

"I kept your shirt," she now said.

"I know," he replied. "You had it on when you came for me at Muskrat Farm. I also know about the cologne you had made, similar to mine. I found it in the trunk of your car. How did you know what was in it?"

I can't even make sense of this...

Clarice shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

You speak and I don't hear a word...

They looked at each other longingly, silently knowing what would happen next. Hannibal softly smoothed his fingertips over her courage spot, then slipped his arms around her waist. Clarice did not resist as he pulled her to him, enjoying the feel of his hard body pressed to hers. Her hands gripped his shoulders.

What would happen if we kissed...

For the first time outside of their shared dreams, Hannibal pressed his lips to hers.

Would your tongue slip past my lips...would you run away?

Again, Clarice did not resist, her mouth now opening with his, welcoming his silken, slippery tongue into her mouth.

Would you stay...or would I melt into you?...

He explored and traced the soft wetness with his tongue, coaxing a response from her own.

Mouth to mouth...

Soon their mouths and tongues were dancing with passion, the memories of the dreams and their own pent-up desires finally overwhelming them.

Lust to lust...

"Clarice, I love you so much," he whispered between kisses. "I've loved you since the day I met you..."

Spontaneously combust...

"Mmmmmmm, Hannibal, I love you, too," she confessed in kind, the two of them lying on the sofa to begin consummating their seven-years' love...

TO BE CONTINUED...

Song lyrics taken from You'll Accompany Me by Bob Seger and What Would Happen by Meredith Brooks.

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