Return of the Lambs

Salvation

"I'm a lucky woman to be marrying you?" Starling demanded as he begins to clear the table with a soft smile.

"Indeed you are, no woman has ever touched me as you have and lived."

"Why would you say that?"

Lecter paused over the sink, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"To think I haven't even proposed with a ring. Forgive me, Clarice. That was terribly rude of me."

"I'm not marrying you, Dr Lecter."

He was still cleaning with his back to her.

"Oh, you will. You see, we have both known for a while how we feel about one another. Do you recall that day when I brushed against your finger? A simple touch, and yet you felt the energy pulsing between us. I saw it in your eyes. I drew you, you know, holding the lamb that you walked so far to save. You were in my dreams, walking towards me naked holding that lamb and yet I could not touch you. When I asked about Crawford, if he desired you, I saw how you changed. I saw in your eyes what you wanted, who you truly wanted to touch you."

"Stop-"

He touched her face, lifted her chin.

"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever tell me to stop? If you loved me, you'd stop?"

She froze, remembering.

"You can't love."

He turned back to the dishes and sighed, though her answer intrigued him.

"Perhaps last night was not demonstration enough."

Clarice crossed her arms and looked out at the river.

"Animals can fuck, Dr Lecter. It doesn't prove anything."

He spun, furious,

"That is what you thought? You thought I was fucking  you?"

She said nothing.

He grabbed her roughly, hands still warm from the water and pinned her against the wall, slamming her hands above her head and holding them there.

"Do you want to see me fuck, Clarice? I'll do it against this wall."

It was harsh, it was cruel and yet she felt no hatred, no contempt as she stared into his eyes. 

He pushed her into the bedroom and let her fall on the bed.

"Now, I will fuck you, as you so eloquently put it."

And he did.

-

As he does, he allows himself to remember.

He remembers that bastard from the FBI, the bastard Paul Kendler whose brain he fried for Starling at that meal. Dr Lecter knows that he wanted Starling, he knows how he insulted her. 

She whispers his name.

He remembers Miggs and what he whispered to punish him for disrespecting her, the courteous and receptive student who came to interview him, who responded with a slight smile when he looked up from the ridiculous test after he licked his fingers to turn the pages and winked at her.

She says his name again, a desperate plea.

He remembers running his finger along hers in his cell, committing that small act to his vast memory palace in rooms he has created just for her.

Dr Lecter wants her, he wants to treat her with respect. He wants her under his control, he wants to bite her flesh and taste her blood but never consume her.

As he lays with her arms cradling him, he realises that he may have found his salvation in her.

He whispers it in her ear in his language, his hand still stroking her face with infinite care.

mano ėriena

The woman he would do anything to save, even from himself.

My lamb.