☣ silence

“Is that so?” He smirked, the curling of his lips carefully hidden behind the glass in a perhaps futile attempt to appear impassive. If she deluded herself into thinking he believed that, she was, after all, not the woman that he took her to be; no need in hiding then. No need, but there was something inexplicably appealing in charades—- especially if they could be seen through with such ease. “I’m glad to hear it. You will be much better off for it, no doubt.”

     The tilt of her head ever so slightly to the left betrayed her thoughts entirely; a bold, but not a foolish move on her part. She’d never been one to give up, even on the most menial of things and such movement qualified as the exact opposite. Her heart was, after all, as much her strength as it was her weakness. “Yes. Back to square one where I have no outside knowledge of any kind. Just what they’ve always wanted.” Her words taunted openly, though she knew not how to fear their reception; what worried her the most was how little he scared her.

With a slightly drunken chuckle he said, “Well, good evening, Clarice.”

    Clarice feigned hurt, "Only possibly? And here I thought I was doing so well." Once done altering his hair, she surveyed it, noting alterations that could be made to the puffed design; she filed them away for later, as she had promised. "Remind me again why you wear all that gel in your hair." So professional, even in their private life; it added another layer of intimacy to their true private moments. "You speak as if you'll have to force the wine down my throat." she cleared as she took his hand, rising from the couch in a graceful manner - one his condition wouldn't have allowed him to mimic.     She stood in front of him for a moment, hand still within his; with her other hand, arm long since healed, she pulled him down by his tie - gently, of course - and placed a tender kiss to his lips. "I love you." she said as she released him, removing her hand from his to work his tie off, slipping it from it's home around his neck. Don't need that. "Did we finish the bottle from dinner?"

With a slightly drunken chuckle he said, “Well, good evening, Clarice.”

    "It's all part of the charade, darling. I like to think of myself as an actress." Clarice laughed, moving both hands from his cheeks into his hair, brushing it off in different directions to add to the bodied appeal. "You want to play a drinking game? For me to catch up, you would have to win; do you think you can do that?" she tempted, teeth showing through her lips as they parted. "Hannibal, you picked that bag out, I'm only making use of it as best I know how." Clarice staightened her posture, sitting up, which brought their faces even closer together. "What if I promise the night will end like this - contigo encima de mí?"

With a slightly drunken chuckle he said, “Well, good evening, Clarice.”

    With her hands landing upon his cheeks, she returned the kiss, eyes slipping closed as they had the first time; funny how those little things never seemed to change. When she opened them, the took in the sight before her; no mask to peer through - pure. "Right place at the right time." she began, "More like wrong place at the right time." Either way, winning would imply competition; the FBI had cast her out, there was nothing but morals left to compete with. "Or maybe I just stick around for the cooking and kissing you is nothing but a chore." she added with a grin, allowing her own restraints to slip away. "I almost want to drink more to catch up with you there; looks like a good place to be. I mean, the view from here isn't terrible."

With a slightly drunken chuckle he said, “Well, good evening, Clarice.”

He stood, walked over to where she sat on the couch and picked her up before sitting down himself and placing her in his lap. He wrapped one arm around her, and put his other hand on the nape of her neck, gently lacing his fingers in her hair. He pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Clarice, my love, I am sorry.”

    "Cualquier cosa?" she asked with a smirk she’d long since adopted from his book of mannerisms. "Yo pueda sostener a eso más adelante." Her hands disconnected from his body, allowing him to slip her own shirt off as she had disposed of his. With his hands now burning holes in her skin, her hips took up their own rhythm; slow circles as she pressed down against him, soaking up the sensation. "That fire, my love, is one you would struggle to extinguish. Though, if this is one of the rewards, perhaps we should fight more often."       The pink muscle darted out between pearl-white teeth to meet the pad of his thumb, lightly brushing it with saliva. It was a rare occurrence that Clarice choose to use his name; it was intimate to her, the way it tasted, the way it felt. It wasn't like she lost desire to use it, quite the opposite; she feared it would lose its potency if she did. “No me gustaría que a destrozarlo.” she confessed, albeit wishing it came easier to her.

He stood, walked over to where she sat on the couch and picked her up before sitting down himself and placing her in his lap. He wrapped one arm around her, and put his other hand on the nape of her neck, gently lacing his fingers in her hair. He pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Clarice, my love, I am sorry.”

     "Me gusta cuando vas despacio." she cooed in return, hands moving from behind his head to rest on his chest, giving her an anchorage point. She didn't mind him doing all the work, grinding their hips together; she was more than willing to relinquish control - for now. "Don't pretend you don't like the idea; I know you too well to know when you're lying." Perhaps she only wished that was true.      Clarice leaned into the touches he splayed across her back, slipping her own hands down his sides. "Off." she instructed, tugging the red sweater up and over his head. "Un día, usted puede conseguir su deseo, mi amor."

With this thought, she made a simple decision: The world will not be this way within the reach of my arm.