a sophisticated palate

So, they had stumbled, giddy as teenagers, to the elevators. His hands were everywhere, roaming her backside, fingering the curls of her hair. They’d kissed again in the solitude of the lift and she’d moaned as he’d pressed her up against the metallic wall, so lost in the moment they’d nearly missed their floor.

Hannibal made short work of the door, dragging her into his lavish suite. She kicked off her heels and all but launched herself into his lap as he reclined in one of the room’s pastel-colored armchairs. She ground against him, kissing him. She was so wild, so wanton, so hungry.

His lips traced the shell of her ear and he breathed, “Yes, yes. Oh, Doctor.”

Bedelia froze, stunned.

This was not an evening of passion between two colleagues. It was a tryst between a doctor and patient. She had been a fool to think otherwise.

“I…I need to go, Hannibal. We can’t.”

He looks at her, disappointment darkening the black pools of his eyes. “Why not?”

“You know why,” she says with emphasis.

“I respectfully disagree.” He releases his hold on her and she slides off his lap, collecting her shoes, wrapping herself in what is left of her tattered professionalism.

The crisp night air brushes across her face, bringing her instant respite. Bedelia inhales deeply and steps onto the patio, leaving the overheated room behind her. She closes the door, trying to shut away the loud sounds of the party.

Yet the echoes still reach her ears.

Bedelia sighs and perches on the edge of the wall. She knew she should not have come here. Her friends insisted she needed to relax, but, if anything, she feels more exhausted. A loud explosion of laughter makes her flinch; she thinks longingly about the quietude of the library, its dimmed lights, and even the tiny letters blurring in front of her eyes after too many hours of reading. She looks at the plastic cup in her hand, brings it to her lips, and then changes her mind. She can tell by the smell alone that the beer is vile even by average standards. And hers are far from average.

“You are missing the party.”

She did not hear the door opening, nor the steps, but his unexpected presence does not startle her.

“There is not much to miss.”

Hannibal stands next to her and smiles. Bedelia gives him a wary side glance. He is wearing an overly colourful silk shirt and a pair of dress pants, not an outfit one would associate with a college student, but somehow it looks good on him. He always appears a tad out of place, yet perfectly appropriate.

“It is a fun night,” he carries on.

Of course, he would say that. A centre of attention at every party. Or so she heard.

“This is hardly better than a frat party,” she retorts.

“I would not know anything about that,” he responds, untroubled by her less than friendly manner.

Bedelia swirls the plastic cup in her hand and sets is aside. She looks out into the street, once again questioning her presence here.

“I knew you could use a proper drink,” Hannibal speaks after a moment.

A hand reaches out in front of her, another plastic cup, yet the scent of the liquid is instantly inviting. He brought her red wine. Bedelia frowns, but takes the offering.

“Thank you,” she says.

“It is not French, but it is a decent vintage,” he adds.

Bedelia’s lips press into a thin line. He knows that it is her favourite. She is annoyed that he remembered that.

She likes that he did.

His smile widens as he watches her take a sip, raising his own cup in a silent salute.

“It is nice to see you outside of the campus” he says and perches next to her.

“Are you keeping track of my whereabouts?” she asks, ignoring this faint attempt of courtesy.

“No,” Hannibal responds, his smile unwavering, “I meant, it is good to unwind.”

Bedelia’s mouth twists, she considers ignoring him, but his instance on the subject strikes a nerve.

“So you are concern about my social life then?” she returns and takes a sip of her drink.

Hannibal chuckles.

“I just think you might be missing out, that’s all,” he answers, stroking the ridges of his cup.

“What I am missing out on exactly? Cheap drinks? Awful music?”

“It is a good way to meet new people,” he comments, “Or to get to know someone better.”

Bedelia frowns anew. She knows what better means in Hannibal Lecter’s vocabulary. Or so she heard.

A shrieking sound erupts behind them, followed by a wave of continuous cheering. Bedelia reckons a new drinking record has been unlocked.

“I do not think I am going to get to know someone here,” she counters.

His head tilts while he considers her words, but his self-assured expression does not falter.

“Perhaps, but it is a good way to start. Or at least have some fun,” he notes and finishes his drink in one mouthful as though to mark his point.

There is that word again. Fun.

“Well, there is nothing stopping you from having some.” She motions to the door.

He grins anew; she can see the roguish gleam in his eyes even in the dark of the patio.

“What about you?”

She wonders why he is so insisting when they are countless people inside ready to fulfill the fun quote for many nights to come.

Perhaps, he got bored with the ease of it all. Perhaps, he needs a challenge.

She will not be his challenge.

“I think it is not your place to be concerned about me,” she states firmly.

She tosses the cup aside; Hannibal continues to look at her with the same smug smile, his confidence still unspoiled.

“I just don’t want you to be missing out,” he says simply.

She does not know whether it is the wine or the urgent need to wipe the smirk of his face, but her body decides before her mind has a chance to oppose. She shifts closer to him and places her hands on his face, pulling him towards her. Her lips press against his, and she hears a gasp resonating within his throat. Pleased with his reaction, she brushes her lips softly against his, then deepens the kiss. It is unrushed and deliberate. His gasp turns into a whimper, and he wraps his arms around her back, drawing her into his embrace. Just then Bedelia pulls her lips away. Hannibal looks startled. His lips remain parted, his eyes shining with fresh brilliance. There is no more arrogance in the glare, but something different, something more intense. Bedelia withdraws from his embrace and stands up, taking pleasure in seeing him undone.

“I am not the one missing out,” she speaks, then turns around and leaves.

She smiles to herself as she makes her way to the exit. The feel of his lips still lingers on hers like a heated imprint, but she ignores it.

She fastens up her blouse with extensive concentration, eyes locked on the buttons. She does not need to look at them, but she does not want to look at Hannibal.

“Are you sure you cannot stay a bit longer?” he asks, again.

“I told you, I have an early appointment,” she answers, adjusting her sleeves.

Still avoiding his gaze.

“I will prepare breakfast,” he continues, not ready to admit defeat.

Bedelia sighs and turns to look at him. He is leaning next to the bedroom door, wearing nothing but his pyjama pants. Her eyes follow the broad line of his chest, and she swallows a different kind of sigh.

She knew they should not have spent the night at his place. She knew he would try to keep her from leaving.

“I do not want to be late,” she states firmly.

She picks up her watch from the bedside table, disregarding the sight of the tangled sheets, still holding the heat, and scent, of their bodies.

She knew she would want to stay.

“Can I at least offer you something to take with you?” he persists as he picks up her blazer.

“I am fine, thank you.”

She allows him to help her put it on. Her gaze moves swiftly across the room, making sure she did not forget anything. She ignores the enticing warmth of Hannibal’s body as he stands behind her. He hands her the purse with a sad smile. He does not dare to pressure her further, but he is far from hiding his disappointment.

“Thank you.”

She takes her purse and readies herself to leave, paying no attention to his sullen stare.

Or his dark, shining eyes.

Hannibal escorts her down the hallway and opens the door for her. She is about to step outside when his arm wraps around her waist.

“I cannot let you leave empty handed.”

He spins her gently and draws her into his embrace. His lips press against hers in a kiss so deep it makes Bedelia’s body shiver. A surge of heat rushes through her, setting her senses alight. She inhales sharply when their lips part, the world still hazy around her.

“Will I see you later this week?” he asks.

She knows she should say no, but the sensation of his kiss still melts through her veins.