Consummate, Hannibal|Chilton, PG, Silence of the Lambs
Title: Consummate
Fandom: Silence of the Lambs
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hannibal Lector|Frederick Chilton
Disclaimer: The characters of Lector and Chilton are not mine. I'm merely borrowing them and will return them posthaste.
Notes: Written for the contrelamontre challenge - love - in 47 minutes.
That had to be it.
That minuscule crinkle of flesh at the corner of his mouth. The little dimple that pulled tight whenever he was afraid and damned if he'd advertise it to his patient.
He could smell the dear doctor of course. It made his teeth ache. He'd sooth them with his tongue and pry the scents apart.
Marzipan and meatball. Unsurprisingly, the rich, poisoned taste of almonds over the all-too-common blue-collar taste. Or was it the other way around? He didn't know and that... that was surprising. Unexpected. In a word, thrilling.
Hannibal told him as much, though not in so many words. The bulk of sound he pressed to his third lingual molar, which was loose. Federal institutions were not well known for their high-quality cuisine after all.
The night following the dear doctor's first visit, Hannibal dreamed. Standing in the center of a horizon-less field of poppies, He'd held that particular tooth out to Frederick. Suspended by his fingertips on a string of that dreadful flavored dental floss. Cinnamon. Even though Frederick tasted nothing like cinnamon and wasn't that odd?
Frederick kept coming back and Hannibal kept running his tongue over his own teeth instead.
Things were shaping up a bit. They were sorting it all out. Soon, Hannibal decided as he watched the corner of Frederick's mouth. For there were things that held promises most dear and other secrets to enjoy. Frustration was a fine vintage. Aged in oak and so delightfully bitter. Hannibal wondered if Frederick had any idea how frail he was? The fragile way he clung to the insides of Hannibal's nostrils after his most awkward invasions. Perhaps he would tell Frederick that as well.
Yes, soon.
Fandom: Silence of the Lambs
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hannibal Lector|Frederick Chilton
Disclaimer: The characters of Lector and Chilton are not mine. I'm merely borrowing them and will return them posthaste.
Notes: Written for the contrelamontre challenge - love - in 47 minutes.
That had to be it.
That minuscule crinkle of flesh at the corner of his mouth. The little dimple that pulled tight whenever he was afraid and damned if he'd advertise it to his patient.
He could smell the dear doctor of course. It made his teeth ache. He'd sooth them with his tongue and pry the scents apart.
Marzipan and meatball. Unsurprisingly, the rich, poisoned taste of almonds over the all-too-common blue-collar taste. Or was it the other way around? He didn't know and that... that was surprising. Unexpected. In a word, thrilling.
Hannibal told him as much, though not in so many words. The bulk of sound he pressed to his third lingual molar, which was loose. Federal institutions were not well known for their high-quality cuisine after all.
The night following the dear doctor's first visit, Hannibal dreamed. Standing in the center of a horizon-less field of poppies, He'd held that particular tooth out to Frederick. Suspended by his fingertips on a string of that dreadful flavored dental floss. Cinnamon. Even though Frederick tasted nothing like cinnamon and wasn't that odd?
Frederick kept coming back and Hannibal kept running his tongue over his own teeth instead.
Things were shaping up a bit. They were sorting it all out. Soon, Hannibal decided as he watched the corner of Frederick's mouth. For there were things that held promises most dear and other secrets to enjoy. Frustration was a fine vintage. Aged in oak and so delightfully bitter. Hannibal wondered if Frederick had any idea how frail he was? The fragile way he clung to the insides of Hannibal's nostrils after his most awkward invasions. Perhaps he would tell Frederick that as well.
Yes, soon.