"If you'll allow me to flirtatiously change the subject once again, I'm curious about something else."

Alana looked up from the dish she was drying. "What," she asked, smiling. Hannibal had that tone in his voice that told her he was choosing his words very carefully.

"Your reply, earlier." He handed her the last dish and picked up a towel to dry his hands. "When I asked you why we didn't have an affair."

A split-second pause in Alana's movements told him he'd fazed her, which brought a brief smile to his lips. "What about it," she asked, recovering.

"You said that it was because I was already having an affair. What if I hadn't been?" Her eyes shot up to look at him, wide with surprise. "I'm curious what you thought of me back then."

After what seemed to Alana like ten minutes of gaping like a goldfish (but was actually only a second or two), she regained her composure. "I thought you were a brilliant psychiatrist, and that I was lucky to be working with you."

Hannibal laughed; that low, quiet chuckle that had always made her breath hitch.

"I didn't ask you what you thought about my work, Alana." He replaced the towel he'd been using on its bar, immaculately folded, and looked back up at her. "I asked what you thought about me. Were you ever romantically attracted to me?" He asked the question lightly, as if he were talking about nothing less mundane than the passing of the seasons.

She lost her breath entirely for a moment, and felt a flush creep up her cheeks that she fought desperately to keep down, since she couldn't control the embarrassed smile that spread across her face. She turned away quickly but smoothly, putting away the plate she held as an excuse not to look at him. His closed-lipped smirk crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"If I answer that," said Alana, thankful that her voice remained steady, "then you have to answer a question of mine, too." She gathered her courage and turned to face him again, a mature but playful smile pursing her lips. He smiled brightly.

"Seems only fair," he answered.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Yes, I was romantically interested in you for a while."

"A while? How long?" Mischief twinkled in Hannibal's eyes, but Alana laughed.

"No, now you have to answer my question. One at a time." She took another sip of her private reserve; the flavour was excellent. It never got old.

Hannibal chuckled again. "Of course, my apologies. Ask away."

Alana thought about it for a moment, but ultimately said, "Same question."

"Was I ever romantically attracted to you?" She nodded. "Of course," he replied, "I still am."

Alana didn't think it was possible to choke on air, but she thought she may have come close just then. Like any good psychiatrist, though, she was excellent at hiding her reactions: she only turned a few shades redder than a fire truck. Hannibal picked up the open bottle of beer and strode over to where she was standing, placing himself directly in front of her and reaching around her to refill her glass.

"My turn again," he said, placing the bottle on the counter next to her glass and capping it. He turned to her, looking down directly into her eyes from only a few inches away. "What would happen if I were to kiss you, right now? What would you do?"

Looking up at him, Alana could do nothing but stare and try to breathe for a few seconds while a fierce internal debate raged just beneath her quickly thinning veneer of control. Options whizzed through her brain, images of possible futures flashing behind her eyes, mind racing so fast that she could barely think, until she couldn't think, and then the only coherent force in her mind was instinct, and it took over.

She kissed him. Without realizing it, her hands went to his chest and neck, and she stood on tiptoe to make their lips meet.

Then his arms were around her. She could feel him trying to be gentle, trying to control, but he deepened the kiss, pressing her body against his, bracing her back against the counter and leaning over her, arching her just enough so that she clung to him in order to maintain her balance. Her tongue brushed his lips and he abandoned all restraint.

He ravished her mouth with his lips and tongue, her body with his hands, strong and precise and demanding. She gripped his shoulders and sides, lost in the whirlwind of passion that consumed her mind. When she felt him grown hard against her, she managed to say his name, voice ragged, before he silenced her with another desperate kiss.

In one smooth motion, Hannibal dipped down and swept his arm under the crook of her knees, lifting her off her feet. With long, urgent strides, he left the kitchen and travelled upstairs, holding her like she weighed nothing at all. Alana had never realized how strong he was. He carried her down a hall and through a doorway, eventually setting her down in a room adorned with rich burgundy and gold, warm and dark. It took her a moment to realize it was his bedroom.

By the time she had, he had stripped off his shirt, never taking his eyes off her. She undid his pants as he pulled her dress off, quickly but not recklessly. His hands found her waist and slid up her back to unclasp her bra as shoes were kicked off, panties slid down, the last remnants of clothing struggled off their bodies.

He took her by the hips and led her backwards, lifting her into the middle of the bed by her thighs, and covering her with his body, kissing her. He entered her immediately, as though he couldn't wait, while his tongue traversed her shoulders, collarbone, and breasts. Strong fingers held her steady, caressing the arch in her back as she wrapped her thighs around his, struggling to make more of their bodies touch. All was heat and passion, the subtly dissonant strains of Brahms' Liebeslieder Wälzer still wafting up the staircase from earlier in the evening. Alana was lost, subject to Hannibal's ravening desire. He loved her with a fury unmatched by his usually genteel demeanor, and she found herself unable to stifle her cries. With each new sound his vigour redoubled, and he brought her to climax again and again, appetite seemingly insatiable.

Finally, as she lay trembling from exertion, still clutching his back, he slowly licked a trickle of sweat from between her breasts and then kissed her gently, looking at her with hazy, satisfied eyes. "Rest for as long as you need," he said, and lifted himself off of her. He stood fluidly and walked into his bathroom, shutting the door behind him. She heard water running for a shower a moment later.

He didn't take long in the bath, but by the time he came out, she was asleep in a tangle of sheets, dark hair splayed out behind her and damp with perspiration. Hannibal smiled faintly to himself, and picked up the clothes on the floor, folding them and placing hers in a neat pile on one of his chairs. Then he put on his nightclothes, locked and put his house in order for the night, and slipped underneath the covers next to her. He gave brief thought to setting a towel out for her, should she wish to take a shower in the morning, before allowing himself to drift into sleep, lulled by her deep breathing and dark scent.

In the morning, he was up far earlier than she, and had dressed, set out the towel for her, and prepared breakfast by the time she came downstairs, now clean and clothed. He smiled at her. "May I offer you some breakfast," he asked, polite as ever, but Alana smiled nervously and declined.

"You look worried," he remarked, voice laced with wary concern. She took a few apologetic steps toward him before stopping a few feet away.

"I think I should probably go home," she said slowly, trying to hide how incredibly confused her emotions were just then. "There's a lot I need to think about."

"Of course," said Hannibal, standing. He showed her to the door and opened it for her, but delayed her before she could go through it.

"Alana," he said, taking one of her hands in both of his, "I hope you know that no matter what you conclude about last night, you are always welcome in my home as a friend."

She studied him for a moment, finding gentleness and sincerity in his eyes, and smiled.

"Thank you, Hannibal." He smiled briefly, and then closed his eyes and kissed her brow, releasing her hand. He stood at his door, smiling faintly, until her car was out of sight, and then turned around and went back to his table to finish his breakfast.