Slow Burn +poisonedbyinsidiousdarkness
'Are you judging my word choices, Dr. Lecter,' {she teases, knowing that he is perfect, no matter what anyone else says, or what he argues. If he thinks her a tad immature for using such a word than so be it, but she refuses to take it back; it's too fitting}
{When he comments on their relationship she listens intently, leaning a tad closer, relishing the way he speaks so highly of her} ‘I’m glad I was as much of a joy for you as you were for me,’ {she smiles, finishing off the remainder of her beer before being graciously topped off once again. Slow down, she scolds herself, but she doesn’t take the warning, merely shrugs it off. Her tongue is getting loose and her actions will probably soon follow. She’s back to thinking about being his understudy, being younger and more impressionable. He mentored her, and she studied him, it was the perfect combination. Although, she’d always wanted more when it came to Hannibal, the parts that he wouldn’t allow, it would have never been professional. There were times when she’d considered crossing the boundaries, but she never wanted to ruin what they’d built up nor did she want to be forward or rude. Alana would never want to push her former teacher, but at times, especially when she was alone, she craved him like a drug. In his presence she’d begun to feel lightheaded, but maybe it had been that way all along. That’s when she was certain she’d always compare everyone to him, and those men would never measure up, they’d never be enough. This could easily explain why she’d been single this entire time; she’d simply been waiting on him, or the illusion of him}
'Never,' {she smirks} 'that's your fault…you've taught me to be insatiable, to always want more out of life. Not to mention you spoil me with my own reserve of this wonderful beer. You've always been too good to me, Hannibal, and I appreciate that.'
{Taking another hearty sip of her beer, the doctor watches him move about the room. Watches as he so carefully and yet with ease, remove the dish from the oven and glide back across the room. He flitted about as if he was a dancer, and she knew he was light on his feet; they’d danced a few times in the years they’d known one another. It was mostly dancing at fancy parties with fellow members of their profession and yet she’d always felt as if they’d been the only two people in the room. Shaking her head she snaps back to reality, feeling her pulse race as he comes closer to her, directly behind her in fact. Quickly, she drains the rest of the beer in her glass before setting the empty cup onto the counter in front of her. Her dainty hands work at the apron strings at her back until they fall open and she’s gliding the white material away from her slender frame. Carefully, she folds the fabric and places it next to her glass, eyes glancing down to where his hand rests alone and all she wants is to reach out and caress his skin}
'I should start on the dishes,' {she offers, feeling a tad hazy after consuming so much alcohol in such a short period of time} 'On second thought,' {she murmurs, stepping away from the counter and feeling her high heels move sideways and she knows any moment she'll hit the floor. Before she reaches the ground however she's spun enough to be face to face with Hannibal, her hands coming out instinctively to catch the front of his shirt, tugging a little harder than intended, popping a few buttons as she steadies herself. Her cheeks are flushed and she feels embarrassed, those small buttons hitting the hard wood with a clatter (at least in her head it's louder than usual). Blue eyes glance up from the stark white apron around his waist, traveling upward further noticing a bit of his chest hair poking out from the shirt, his tanned skin mocking her and enticing her all at the same time. Those clear orbs reach his throat and then his jaw but she doesn't want to look in his eyes, she knows he's probably annoyed with her behavior}
'I'm sorry,' {she apologizes, truly meaning it, but she can't seem to help press her frame closer to his own. She's angled herself in a way that she's not flat against his chest, her hip protruding into his stomach. She enjoys his warmth, but she'll never say it, she's busy taking in his manly smell, the smell she remembers in her brain for always} 'I think I broke my heel,' {she informs, glancing down at her left foot, seeing the heel of her shoe dangle, ready to break off completely} 'Maybe that last glass spoiled me too much,' {she cracks a small smile, cheeks still rosy as she laughs gently}
"You've always been a highlight of my day, Alana. It's no wonder why I 'spoil' you. This is me merely reciprocating. It's not all the time I am able to honestly want others around. You're the exception. Remember that."
( The doctor reassures of that this is indeed Hannibal on his own wanting her to be here with him. That she isn't confined into the group of other colleagues or friends and she will never be apart of the ordinary. Hannibal Lecter is a man that knows exactly when to separate work from fun and vise versa. Friends come at a rare scarce pace and work related business is a part of his life that is the most serious but with Dr. Bloom it could never remain that way. Especially in his head where all his thoughts roam free against Lecter's will at times. )
( Standing this close to her, hands begging to feel the softness of her hands under his, he barely registers her comment about starting the cleaning up process. But honestly if Hannibal was that invested in something other than this woman herself he would have noticed that there weren't any dishes to be cleaned from the beginning. In the moments to come everything occurs so swiftly that even to Dr. Lecter it's almost as if the influence of his wine has taken control over his mind and body. ) "Easy there, I have you.." ( Her hands are clasping at the vertical alignment of the buttons down his dress shirt. Fuzzy chest feeling quite a breeze now as they;re shattering to the hardwood floor. Strong hands steady her body as she faces him. Their bodies having not once square inch of room between them. No complaints if the psychiatrist is being honest with himself. Lifting her from the underside of her upper arms, he braces her body keeping her upright the best he can as they're bent over near the cabinets of his kitchen. )
"Lana"
( Hannibal breathes her name, his face dipping down towards her. Eyes scanning down to her own, missing the strong contact they shared. The embarrassment seeps upon the porcelain plane of her cheeks, a deep rose settling but for Hannibal there's no need for her to feel this way. In front of him at least. Out of all people she should feel comfortable in any situation around her counterpart doctor. Then again he can feel why her nerves are on tiptoes as he feels the same from time to time he feels the overwhelming need to be near her, to look at her, to touch her. Since the time of meeting her it's always been there but execution has been holding him back, the inappropriate nature of it all ceases all brain activity of Alana in that way. There will come a time, not now but most definitely in the future he can't hold off these thoughts for much longer. )
"Shh, there's no need to apologize. It wasn't me you broke."
( Attempting to issue a teasing air about the kitchen, he assists her onto her one foot before bending back down and removing her still intact heel while the other falls to the ground useless. )
"You can blame that one on me. I was the one who poured it."
( Smirking, he stands tall now, closing in on her body purposely yes but he wants to make sure her feet are trustworthy. The sides of his first two fingers dare to stroke the crimson tint to her lively cheeks and why stop what's going to happening eventually? Gently coming up to her face, his fingers sear softly along the smooth skin and he stares at her with all the admiration that has been pent up for all these years. Clearing his throat before he's lost in the moment and does something against his patient nature his voice is lodged in his throat ready to speak. Against his better judgement he takes her hand into his and ushers her to the dining table. Pulling out the selected chair, he allows her to sit. )
"Food will calm down the brew."
( Situating the food on the plates, decorating the plates, always going over the top because it's in his nature to express. The swivel of the spoon spreads line of mass chaos of the selected sauce for the meal before he's walking over to the the table, plates in hand. )
"Bon appetit, Lana."