Colliding worlds (Hannibal x OC)

Fresh air

Like most mornings, Hannibal's hand found Frances' skin before the morning light even registered in his brain. Somehow through the night, the young woman had turned away from him, cuddling into a ball facing the door; she never turned her back to an opening. A reflex for people who felt unsafe, one his paranoiac patients could show. But she wasn't mentally sick, except for her case of PTSD. If she had travelled in the wilds with a company of knights of the fifth century, or worse, a dwarf, a wizard, two men and four hobbits – the elf would NOT be mentioned lest his jealousy surged – hunted by wraith riders and foul creatures, she had every right to be anxious about being ambushed. The subconscious always prevailed, no matter what the mind knew. From her writings, he had learnt how dangerous her life had been until now... And this world, being his wife, well... It wasn't as safe as people could think, and Frances knew it well. After all, it was just recently that a serial killer had attempted to kill him. And she slept in the Chesapeake Ripper's bed after all ... anxiety was to be expected. Even though, as a couple, they had gone way beyond the initial arrangement. Somehow, he wondered if she still expected death by his hands someday.

Hannibal's fingers curled around her small waist; her soft flesh called for his attention. Frances sighed, scooting a little further back so that her whole body brushed his. Her hips, warm and plush, suddenly rubbed a very specific part of his anatomy that turned very eager. Hannibal's full lips landed on her shoulder, his tongue tasting her warm skin with delight. A soft hum was her only response, and his hand slid over her waist, caressing the warmth of her belly as he pulled her closer. His mouth feasted on her shoulders and nape, suckling, tongue swirling, lips wet with desire as his hand slowly moved further down.

As usual, Frances didn't protest when Hannibal joined their bodies, the quiet gasp quickly swallowed by another moan. Day after day, he enjoyed making love to her at daybreak. At dawn, she was always half-awake, pliable under his hands, her body responding to his every whim. Eyes closed, plush curves and muscles rolling sensually as she unconsciously took him. The moves of a dancer; and even in her state of half sleep, her body responded to his every command. Available for the taking whenever intimacy called to him. Like a dessert on a table or a ripe fruit awaiting to be picked, always ready to welcome him.

Panting, Hannibal caressed every bit of her flesh, tasted every inch of her skin, relishing in her sweet scent, marvelling that, even in sleep, she was always willing to welcome him. They were so evenly matched, even in the most intimate of places. Was this love? Hannibal's body tensed as he groaned his release, long fingers tightening around her throat. Pleasant bliss followed and the psychiatrist gathered the young woman in his arms, gently nuzzling her neck. She reached for his hands, pulling them to her chest before sliding back into oblivion, her breath gently slowing down, her wild curls tickling his neck.

Love. He certainly wished no harm to come to her. Her genuine smiles made his chest flutter, her pleasure calling his pride. Her beauty enthralled him, her courage and intelligence just as much; a worthy woman by his side. And she was HIS. His to love, his to possess, his to touch ... his to kill.

Was this love?

Frances stirred sensually in his arms, rolling on her back without breaking the contact. So much for getting back to sleep but again, lovemaking was about sharing energy, and Hannibal always gave his utmost. Her lidded eyes were now peeking at his flushed face; for a moment, the psychiatrist wondered if she could read his mind. Had she guessed his existential interrogations? Cocking his head aside, his eyes detailed the soft curves of her reddened cheekbones, choosing to linger on the rosy lips that begged for a kiss. Neither awake, neither asleep, Frances barely acknowledged the soft touch of his lips before he slid out of bed. Her whimper of disappointment made him smile, as he ran the hot water in the adjoining bathroom.

The least he could do, if his desires had pulled her from restful sleep, was to help her emerge from slumber. A cup of tea would have been ideal, but she would no doubt protest about his absence much more than about the wakeup call. The days where they could linger in bed were scarce. Hannibal plunged the little square towel under the scalding water then wrung it carefully before walking back to Frances.

— 'Close your eyes,' he ordered gently.

Frances complied, and he lay the hot towel over her eyes and forehead with a tender gesture. The young woman hummed her assent; he had introduced her to this Japanese tradition a few months back and gained her approval. Hannibal smiled as she wiped her face with the piece of cloth, cleaning her skin. Frances had never visited Japan, but she would fit in nicely. She loved kendo, adored sushi and had a very strict moral code. She also enjoyed rules, learnt by observation, could push herself much further than she should and had a few habits that seemed very Japanese. Such as the way she folded laundry, sitting in seiza on the floor – remains from her Aikido classes. Or the way she drank Sencha tea, one hand over the bottom of the cup, just like a Japanese lady.

Hannibal wanted to take her to Japan, but for once, he was quite afraid of the questions she would ask. He had avoided talking about his surrogate aunt as much as possible, this ancient love still fresh in his mind. And now ... he nearly felt unfaithful. Damn human emotions! The strict minimum of information had been shared regarding the Samuraï armour on display in the corridor, or his skill at kendo ... or with the knives.

— 'Must you always be so perfect, darling?'

Frances' comment startled him out of his thoughts. Her warm chocolate eyes watched him carefully now, and he had no doubt she caught the pang of sadness and resignation in his own gaze before he retrieved the towel and kissed her cheek. Perfect. Far from it, especially to her. But he couldn't help who he was and wouldn't change it for the world. She had no choice but to accept it, or begone.

— 'Come, my beautiful. We're going out of the house for Christmas Week.'

His comment caused her eyes to shine brightly. One week, just the two of them was enough to stir her curiosity. But no matter how convincing she was, Hannibal refused to divulge his plans. A surprise was a surprise after all.