Imagine Book 2

A Deadly Therapy Session- Hannibal Lecter (Hannibal) Pt.3~ The Dinner

Fem Y/N.

𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

The drive to Hannibal's home passed in a haze of anticipation, the city lights blurring outside the Bentley's windows. Y/N found herself hyperaware of every small movement, every subtle shift in Hannibal's expression as he navigated the evening traffic. His hand remained on hers, a warm anchor in the surreal turn her life had taken.

As they pulled up to his house, Y/N was struck anew by its understated elegance. Like the man himself, the exterior gave hints of the exquisite taste within, but reserved its true splendour for those invited inside.

"Welcome," Hannibal said, opening her car door with a gallant flourish. "I hope you'll forgive the lack of preparation. I usually prefer to plan my menus well in advance."

Y/N smiled, allowing him to guide her up the steps. "Somehow, I doubt your impromptu cooking is anything less than spectacular."

A pleased look flickered across his features as he unlocked the door. "You flatter me. Though I admit, I do enjoy a challenge."

The interior of Hannibal's home was just as Y/N remembered – richly appointed without being ostentatious, every piece clearly chosen with exacting care. But there was a different energy to the space now, a charge in the air that made her pulse quicken.

"May I offer you a glass of wine?" Hannibal asked, helping her out of her coat. "I have a lovely Châteauneuf-du-Pape that I think you'll enjoy."

"That sounds perfect," Y/N replied, following him into the kitchen. She'd always loved this room, with its professional-grade appliances and meticulously organized workspace. Now, watching Hannibal move through it with practised ease, she saw it in a new light – less a room than an extension of the man himself.

Hannibal poured two glasses of deep red wine, handing one to Y/N with a small bow. "To new beginnings," he said, his eyes never leaving hers as they clinked glasses.

The wine was exquisite, rich and complex on her tongue. Y/N savoured it as Hannibal began to gather ingredients, his movements graceful and purposeful.

"I thought perhaps a simple pasta dish," he said, selecting herbs from a small indoor garden. "Fettuccine with a wild mushroom ragout, paired with a salad of bitter greens and pomegranate seeds." He glanced at her, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Unless you had your heart set on something more... exotic?"

Y/N laughed softly, remembering some of the more unusual dishes she'd experienced at his table as a patient rather than a guest. "That sounds wonderful. Though I have to admit, I'm more interested in the company than the menu tonight."

Hannibal's smile deepened, a predatory gleam entering his gaze. "As am I, my dear. As am I." He set a cutting board on the counter, selecting a knife with the care of a surgeon choosing a scalpel. "Perhaps you'd like to assist me? I've always found cooking together to be an intimate experience."

Heart fluttering, Y/N moved to join him at the counter. He positioned her in front of the cutting board, then stepped close behind her, his chest warm against her back as he placed the knife in her hand.

"Mushrooms first," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. "A fine dice, if you please."

His hands guided hers, demonstrating the proper technique. Y/N tried to focus on the task, but found herself increasingly distracted by his proximity, the solid warmth of him, the subtle scent of his cologne.

As they worked, Hannibal spoke softly about the dish, the history of the ingredients, the way flavours combined to create something greater than their individual parts. But underneath the culinary lesson, Y/N sensed another conversation happening – one of touch and shared breath, of the way his fingers lingered on her wrist, the subtle pressure of his body against hers.