#mutual obsession

The sky had been threatening rain for most of the afternoon.

Dark clouds gathered above the estate like bruises upon the horizon, swallowing what little sunlight remained and casting the grounds in shadows. The gardens below the manor swayed beneath the weight of the coming storm.

Standing by the tall windows of his office, Hannibal watched the weather roll in.

One hand rested behind his back while the other loosely held a crystal glass of wine. The room around him was silent save for the distant ticking of a clock. 

Thunder murmured somewhere in the distance.

Yet it was not the storm that held his attention.

It was you.

Far below, moving through the winding garden paths. A wicker basket hung from your arm as you clipped blooms, selecting only the finest specimens.

Hannibal found himself smiling.

He had intended to spend the afternoon reviewing notes from a patient.

Instead, he had spent nearly twenty minutes watching you, his wife, collect flowers.

Not once had he found this a poor use of his time.

The first drops of rain struck the glass.

Then came more.

Within moments, a curtain of silver descended from the heavens.

You tilted your face upward as rain touched your cheeks.

Even from this distance, Hannibal could imagine the expression that would grace your features.

Appreciation, you had always possessed an unusual fondness for storms.

Finally, gathering your basket close, you made your way toward the house.

Only then did Hannibal turn from the window.

The sounds of laughter drifted through the manor.

A shrill squeal echoed from somewhere down the corridor.

Then a crash.

Hannibal closed his eyes briefly, his children. 

“You'll never catch me!” Cassian yelled triumphantly somewhere.

A second crash followed.

Leaving his office, Hannibal stepped into the corridor.

The scent of rain had already begun to seep through the old house.

Downstairs, the front door opened, and he descended the staircase to greet you. 

You stood there beneath the chandelier, a few damp strands of hair clung to your temples. 

Tiny droplets glittered upon your skin.

Your basket overflowed with dark roses, foxglove, and crimson dahlias.

Without hesitation, Hannibal crossed the foyer toward you, “There you are,” he said softly, his gaze fixed entirely upon you.

You glanced up from your basket.

“I was only in the garden,” you replied lightly, setting the flowers upon a nearby table.

“It felt considerably farther away than that,” he said, taking your hand into his own.

His thumb brushed across your rain-cooled skin, causing a small smile to chase over your lips. 

His eyes softened, oh how he loved that smile.

Thunder rolled through the manor.

His hand lifted your hand toward his lips, pressing lingering kisses against your knuckles. 

“Would you be a dear and put the flowers in water?” you asked softly, gesturing towards the basket.

“With pleasure,” Hannibal replied immediately, reaching for the arrangement as though you had entrusted him with something sacred.

You smiled faintly.

“I should dry myself before I begin leaving puddles in our foyer,” you said lightly, before disappearing toward the upper floor.

For several moments, Hannibal remained where he stood, then he turned his attention toward the flowers.

Few things pleased him more than handling objects you had chosen.

The dark roses were placed within a crystal vase with the dahlias and the foxglove. 

Every stem was adjusted until it met his standards, only then he was truly satisfied. 

The storm continued to murmur outside as he carried the arrangements toward his office.

By the time Hannibal had seated himself again, the office door opened.

You entered wearing fresh clothes, your hair still slightly damp from drying.

Without ceremony, you crossed the room and perched yourself upon the edge of his desk.

One leg crossed over the other.

Hannibal leaned back in his chair, and for several moments he simply admired you. 

His eyes moved across your features with the same appreciation one might reserve for a masterpiece hanging in a gallery.

Finally, he folded his hands, “Dearest, what do you desire for dinner this evening?” he asked quietly.

You considered the question, humming thoughtfully. 

Before you could answer, the office door burst open with startling force.

Both of you looked toward the interruption, as your two children burst in.

Ophelia stormed into the room first, her hair slightly disheveled, and she was carrying a torn electrical cord. 

Behind her came Cassius, unlike his sister, he seemed entirely calm. 

His small hands were folded behind his back as he followed her into the room.

“Mama!” Ophelia exclaimed excitedly, holding up the damaged cord, “The electric chair broke,” Ophelia explained matter-of-factly.

She held up the severed cable. 

Cassius nodded gravely, “It stopped making sparks,” he added quietly.

The room fell silent for a moment as Hannibal pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I see…” you said carefully.

“Can you help us fix it? Please?” Ophelia asked eagerly.

Cassius stepped forward, “It only caught fire a little,” he informed you helpfully.

Hannibal’s attention returned entirely to you.

“I would very much prefer to occupy your mother's attention at the present moment,” he said calmly.

Ophelia groaned dramatically, “But the chair!” she protested.

“There are alternatives,” Hannibal continued smoothly, and immediately the children perked up, “There are?” Ophelia repeated hopefully. 

“Certainly,” Hannibal replied.

He gestured vaguely toward the corridor, “Why don't you play with the guillotine instead?”

Ophelia and Cassius considered it for a long moment before they nodded at each other.

“We haven't used the guillotine all week.” Cassius nodded in consideration.

“The dolls are waiting!” Ophelia cheered.

Hannibal looked pleased with this solution.

Then, they turned toward the door.

“Very well, We shall leave you to your romance.” Ophelia sighed dramatically.

Cassius nodded and the office door closed behind them after they left. 

Silence settled into the room and you exhaled slowly. 

Now that you were alone, Hannibal’s hands found you again, then his lips.

He kissed you slowly. His mouth brushed yours once, then again, before trailing downward eagerly along the line of your jaw.

You leaned into him, allowing the world to dissolve around you as you only focused on the sensation.

His kisses continued along your throat, before descending to the delicate curve of your collarbone. 

Then you sighed.

It was small, almost lost beneath the sound of rain.

But Hannibal noticed immediately, and paused at once. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening.

“What is troubling you, my love?” he asked softly, his voice low and attentive as his hands stilled against you.

You exhaled, fingers lightly brushing against his sleeve as though grounding yourself in him.

“I have just been caught up with the house and the children lately,” you admitted gently.

Hannibal studied you for a moment in silence.

“You should not be held back by your maternal duties,” he said calmly.

You shook your head faintly, a small smile touching your lips, “Oh… it is not that… I do enjoy them.” you clarified quietly, your gaze steady as it met his. “I simply wish I had more time to indulge in other activities with my beloved husband…”

The words hung between you for but a second before Hannibal’s expression changed at once. 

Something darkly pleased flickered in his eyes, warm and possessive all at once, as though your confession had been an offering he had been waiting for.

Without hesitation, he closed the distance between you again.

His mouth returned to yours, more consuming in its devotion. He guided you backward until the edge of his desk met the back of your legs, and then, he seated you there among scattered papers and half-forgotten notes.

His hands framed your face gently as if you were something sacred, something not to be rushed or taken for granted.

“You shall have all the time in the world,” Hannibal murmured against your lips, his voice softened, “To indulge every need you have.”

─── ꒰ 🌘 ꒱ ───

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