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The Shirt

The Second Installment of The Tattoo, The Shirt, and The Scenario. Rated NC-17.

Disclaimer: The Shirt takes place almost a year after Hannibal's Tattoo, and covers the weeks before, and after, the Evelda Drumgo bust in Thomas Harris' Hannibal. As before, the characters of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, et. al., are the exclusive property of Thomas Harris.

The black-and-grey portrait on his arm had been very well cared for in the months since he had visited Daniel Jamison's shop. The colors had not faded, the beautiful face and haunting blue-grey eyes looking as fresh and new as the day it had been needled in.

The flowing gown she wore was still vibrant, the baby lamb she held in her arms as bright-eyed and innocent as ever.

The black Celtic script spelling out her name had not faded, either. Every detail, every nuance of his own original sketch had been beautifully captured...worth every penny of the $5000 he had paid for having it done.

Clearly, this was young Daniel's masterpiece, as well as his own.

Before he got the tattoo, Hannibal Lecter had made it a point to conceal his body, even from himself. Though he had an excellent, slimly muscled physique, he often kept covered up by his clothes, by the pajamas he once wore to bed.

These days he slept nude, visions and thoughts of Clarice Starling invading his every dream...and he welcomed her every intrusion. She was, after all, the reason he got the tattoo in the first place. It was her face, her name, her body, that had been etched into his arm.

This fact kept him in perpetual sexual arousal, though he tried his best to conceal his urges.

He wasn't having wet dreams yet, but he knew they would soon follow. How could they not...when, night after night, his dreams saw him making such deliciously slow, sweet love to her? He hungered for her lips even now, hungered for her soft, limber body against his.

Night after night, her legs would wrap around him, her hips would move with him, as he took her in glorious fashion. Night after night, she felt wonderful, her strong vaginal muscles wrapping around his penis with every thrust...her sweet, warm honey making the ride very slippery. Night after night, her cries and wails of pleasure would echo in his ears, met by his own as they climaxed long and loud, their shared orgasms burning them to the quick of their desire...his semen blasting hot and creamy inside her, mingling with her juices.

As he pondered these things, Hannibal decided not to go shopping until later. Nor would he take his usual shower today.

Instead, he drew a nice, hot bath, stretching out in the tub as the hot water enveloped his wiry, muscular body...his feet propped up on the end.

The water felt heavenly, almost like a lover's caress...almost like the touch of Clarice's soft hands. Immediately, the burning between his thighs...the wonderful sensations of arousal. As the water slid over him, Hannibal became fully erect, the purple-pink head of his penis bobbing and peeking above the water. Momentarily forgetting his self-control, he succumbed to these sensations.

Lathering both hands with the musky-sweet body soap he used when he bathed, Hannibal began to masturbate for the first time in so many years. With a slow, fluid motion, he stroked both soapy hands over his penis, his eyes languidly closed, his body and mind reeling with desire. "Ooooohhh, Clarice," he sighed, pretending that it was her hands, not his own, giving him pleasure.

Soon his hips were rocking in the tub, water splashing everywhere as he took his left hand away from his penis to grip the tub. His right hand kept stroking, stroking slow, then faster and faster over the 8" phallus, the feverish heat building, his moans filling the spacious bathroom.

He stopped long enough to rise to his knees, bracing himself for what was about to happen, thrusting into his hand as if he were thrusting inside Clarice. Then...

"Aaauuuuhhh!!!" he sobbed, tears pouring from his eyes, his orgasm taking over all common sense. "Aaaauuuuuuhhhh...aaaauuuuuuunnhhhhhh!!! Aaaaaauuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh, CLARIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!"

Hannibal screamed his passion to the heavens, his hot come exploding from the depths of his balls and out of his penis, spattering into the tub and onto part of the bathroom wall. Then, thoroughly drained, he collapsed back into the bath to savor the warm glow that washed over his body.

Satisfied, but regretful, Hannibal finished his bath. Before draining the tub, he took his washcloth and wiped the wall, where droplets of his come had splashed onto it. After, he took his towel and dried the water off the floor, taking another towel to dry himself.

He then made a promise to himself, to save his passion for his beloved Clarice, to hold it in until they got back together. He knew he would not be able to keep that promise...his love, his desire for Clarice was just too strong.

One question now remained...did Clarice feel the same way?

It was less than two weeks before the fish-market massacre in Washington, D.C., where only Clarice and Evelda Drumgo's new baby would survive the ensuing shootout. In the seven years since their first meeting, Hannibal had written to Clarice, still holding back his true feelings, still challenging her to face her deepest torments...still showing her nothing but the respect she so richly deserved.

Today, however, he decided to chance it.

Emboldened by the sweet release of his bathtub masturbation, Hannibal threw the towel on the rack, then strolled into his bedroom nude. Going to his closet, he pulled a dark-blue shirt off the rack, then took it from the hanger and laid it out on the bed.

It was his old shirt from Chilton's asylum.

Before making the trek to Memphis, where he would make his escape, he had sneaked it---and the piece of Chilton's pen he'd used to free himself from his handcuffs---under his clothing. He had kept the shirt stuffed in his underpants, keeping it there until he got to the airport. After killing the tourist and taking his belongings, IDs, passports and cash, he'd thrown the shirt on under his new clothes.

Though he no longer wore it, he washed it every two days, keeping it fresh, keeping it separate from his other clothes. He knew there would be need for it someday, and that day had arrived.

Next, Hannibal went to his dresser, where he kept some of his grooming products...deodorant, hair gel, cologne, comb, lip balm. He applied the deodorant, then picked up a bottle of his favorite cologne spray and spritzed some on his torso, shoulders, and neck.

The cologne, an expensive, musky-sweet concoction called Vetivera di Amoro, would provide added inspiration. He set down the bottle and returned to the bathroom, retrieving a dry towel to place underneath his shirt. Then, opening the shirt fully and spreading it out, he sprayed some of the cologne over the inside of his shirt, then spritzed more over the outside, making it rich with his scent.

Satisfied with this task, he went to his desk and took out several sheets of blank white paper and a black-ink pen. Then he sat down and began writing his latest letter to Clarice...a totally different letter than he had ever written her before.

My beautiful Clarice,

Here is something I've wanted to give you for a very long time. I slipped it out of the asylum when Dr. Chilton shipped me to Memphis, and I've kept it with me these seven years, in the hopes that we'll see each other again.

Just for you, I've kept it laundered and fresh, and I took the liberty of spraying my favorite scent on it before mailing it to you. Do you like it?

I know I'm late in saying this, but I apologize for asking you that question regarding the "visualizes, scenarios, and exchanges." It was rude of me, and none of my business. But I don't think I was being rude when I told you you needed more fun out of life, was I?

Now I must ask you to do me a favor, Clarice. I haven't minded you turning in the other letters I've sent, but please do not turn in this one. Keep it, and my shirt, with you. You're in a bad enough situation with the FBI as it is...to turn over such an intimate treasure would be fatal for your reputation, as well as your career. As I said in Memphis, people will say we're in love.

You don't have to answer now, my sweet. Until we meet again, think about what I've told you. I do hope you enjoy the shirt...if you want to, you can even wear it, but only when nobody is around to see. That includes your dear roommate, Ardelia. I know she's your best friend, but don't you think it's best to keep our secret from her, as well?

With everlasting affection,

Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

Nothing had been lost on him these last few years. By checking the FBI's website from time to time, he had found out that Clarice's career had been kept in a state of limbo, despite her efforts in bringing down Jame Gumb. He had found out that, for undisclosed reasons, she had been removed from Behavioral Science almost immediately after graduating from the FBI Academy, and had been put in the no-man's land between the DEA and the ATF. It was a damnable shame, and obviously motivated by corruption in the highest offices of the Justice Department.

He knew Clarice had enemies, and that it wasn't her fault.

All the more reason for this letter...

As soon as the ink was dry, Hannibal retrieved the Vetivera di Amoro and spritzed each page with it, making sure she would not forget his scent.

Then, when the cologne was dry, he folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, with her name written on it. He set the letter beside the shirt, then dressed for the day. During his shopping, he would buy his first bottle of Chateau d'Yquem in many years...a 33-year-old bottle, almost the same as Clarice's age. He would also buy a long, sturdy brown shirt box to place the shirt and letter in before mailing them to Clarice.

Four days before the Drumgo shootout, Hannibal added more of his scent to the shirt and letter. Then the package began its' journey to Arlington, VA, where Clarice now lived.

"Clarice, are you sure you don't want to go with me?" Ardelia Mapp asked as she prepared for her trip to Charleston, SC. "A little fresh air and Lowcountry cooking'll do you a world of good..."

"Naw, I'll be okay," Clarice Starling replied, her ear still bothering her almost a week after the fish-market massacre. "I'm still feelin' pretty shitty...we'd get on each other's nerves."

"All the more reason for you to get the Hell out of Dodge with me. You really need to get out of Arlington for awhile, I'm worried about you..."

"Really, I just need to be by myself this week, Ardelia...I wish I felt like it, but I want you to enjoy being at your sister's. I'll be fine."

Ardelia thought a minute. "I don't like leaving you here, but I know I won't be able to talk you into going," she said with much reluctance. "Just be careful, okay? I'll call and check on you, make sure you're all right..."

"Ardelia..."

"I mean it, Clarice. Be careful, and make sure you get some sleep, got it?"

Clarice grinned as she helped Ardelia pack her trunk. "Okay, Mom," she teased.

I wish you were going with me," Ardelia grinned back, hugging Clarice before leaving. "Tell you what, I'll bring some goodies from Charleston, okay? MaryLeigh's canned some of her October beans, and I know you like those..."

"Sounds great. Now YOU be careful driving down, got it?"

"Got it. See you next week."

Ardelia hadn't been gone two hours when there was a knock on Clarice's door. Thinking it was that fucking Paul Krendler trying the come-on again, she went to the door and looked through the peephole.

To her great relief, it wasn't Krendler. It was a Federal Express delivery man, about 35 years old. She unlocked the door.

"Yes, may I help you?" she asked.

"Are you Clarice Starling?" the man asked.

"Yes, I am. Why?"

"I have a special delivery package for you, could you sign for it, please?"

Clarice looked over the paperwork to make sure it was legit, then signed for the package. "If you don't mind my saying so, Ms. Starling, you must have a secret admirer," the FedEx man said pleasantly, handing her the package. "This came from Italy."

"Italy?" she asked in a confused tone.

"I'm not surprised, either...you're really pretty. Would you like to go out sometime?"

As before, with Chilton, Krendler, and so many others, Clarice brushed it off. Especially after seeing the man's wedding band. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I don't think your wife would like that. Drive carefully now."

Clarice then closed and locked the door, then looked again through the peephole. The FedEx man wasn't angry, but was obviously dejected as he went back to his truck.

Taking her package to her bedroom, Clarice's mind began to wander. "Who the fuck do I know from Italy?" she asked herself as she opened the package.

When she lifted the top of the box, the Vetivera di Amoro filled her nostrils immediately. Peeling back the tissue paper, she soon realized who had sent her the package.

There, before her, was Hannibal Lecter's dark-blue asylum shirt. It was neatly folded, and sitting on top of it was the letter he had written. Like the shirt, the pages of the letter were liberally sprayed with his scent.

After briefly glancing over the letter, she brought the pages to her nose. Then, seized by curiosity, she set down the letter and gently lifted the shirt from the box and to her nose. The sweet, musky cologne smelled like nothing she had smelled before in her life. The subtle nuances of leather, vetiver, sandalwood, and bitter orange countered with the other smells, the delicious scent washing over her senses completely.

This cologne was definitely not available in America.

Almost immediately, she was seized by the precious ache of sexual desire that had eluded her for much of her life. No man had ever stirred these feelings inside her, no boyfriend she had ever slept with had aroused her so completely...no man had ever sent her soaring toward orgasmic delight with just the memory of his voice, his eyes, without having ever made love to her.

At this moment, Clarice Starling realized just how much she missed Hannibal Lecter...and how much she wanted him.

During that week, her dreams began with hurricane force...and just before Ardelia came home, she took care to hide the package, shirt and letter, on the highest shelf of her closet. She tucked it in the very back, only bringing the shirt out when nobody was around...just as her Hannibal had requested.

Exchanges and Fantasies...

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Clarice's Scenario Just Gets Hotter and Hotter...
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Hannibal & Clarice Finally Consummate Their Love...Outside Of Their Dreams...
Hannibal & Clarice Make Their Escape In the Conclusion of Clarice's Scenario...
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