The Lecter Variations

House of Wolves
Part I in "The Lecter Variations"
By: TheGoddessofDeath

It is too quiet, and he knows it. The bell in the bell tower down the street has just struck its eleventh chord before falling silent. Hannibal never even looks up from where he is working. Nothing but a dead body as his companion, which he is happily dragging his work knife through the chest cavity. Blood has stopped flowing through his specimen's veins days ago, so none of the red nectar is spurting from the severed muscle and nerves. Just seeping slowly from the wounds he makes, tainting his manilla latex gloves. He loves this activity most of all; it brings him some sort of delicious pleasure he could never put a name on.

His knife stills and he lifts his head precariously. Hannibal has heard his visitor's approach, and he knows not what they want. Grinning devilishly, Hannibal licks his lips and slinks into the shadows along the walls, knife still in hand.

Blonde locks fall into her eyes, and her breathing increases. "Damn window," she mutters, noticing the gash now adorning her right calf from the crank's mechanism in the windowpane.

"Damn window? Damn girl." The low voice reaches her ears and she shivers.

"Hannibal, show yourself. I have no time to play foolish games with you."

Smirking, he emerges from the refuge of the shadows, a coy grin on his face. "What, dear sister? Have no time for foolish games? Come now, of course you do. Why else would you have come to visit me? To rid me of my solitary despair?"

Licking his lips again and placing the knife in his lab coat pocket, he stalks toward her, a look of hunger in his eyes. "And what brings such a young girl out here all alone on this cold night? Don't you know it's past your bedtime, Mischa?"

"Shut up, Hannibal."

"Oh, mad today are we?" Hannibal purrs at her, running his hands along the dip of her neck and her shoulders. "You are but a mere fifteen. You have no right being out this late at night. What if someone caught you coming in here?"

Mischa shuts her eyes and shoves away from him. "Get your fucking hands off of me. You think cause you're twenty one you have some right in bossing me around? I just came to bring you food, cause aunt Murasaki wanted you to eat."

She shoves the basket at him and he knocks it out of her hands with a swipe. The wine bottle shatters on the floor, its contents staining the cement and the perfume of fermented grapes dominating the air.

"You can go tell her I don't want to eat, god damnit." Eyes narrow, looking to the green broken glass on the floor.

"Actually," he moves toward her again, stepping on shards from the broken wine bottle and taking the knife out of his pocket. "No, she sent a lovely main course along." Hannibal runs the blade of the knife underneath the young girl's chin, smirking. "Come now Mischa, won't you join me for dinner?"

"You haven't even looked at the food." Mischa is not so naive, but she follows her brother to his office.

Hannibal shuts the door behind her, grinning as she sets the basket down on the nearest table to set it up.

"Mischa, do not fool with the food. Come here."

An eyebrow quirks but she complies, moving with uncertainty toward her elder brother. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," he says with a intake of breath, baby blue eyes roving over the female's sleek form. It is one thing he is not accustomed to: a woman's body. Although Mischa is a few years shy of legal age, Hannibal still can spot her female aspects rather easily and is all too ready to acknowledge them. "I'm just admiring my beautiful meal."

"Meal?" she asks, a hint of disgust in her voice. "You cannot possibly be serious."

"Hm? Mischa," Hannibal says, standing up from where he is and moving toward her again. "Have you ever wondered what your dear brother would taste like?"

The blonde frowns, brown eyes showing her confusion and hate. "Don't tease me about my near death with the Nazis. I could almost feel their dinner knives cut into my flesh and bone..."

"But you were saved, were you not? And did we not escape the house of wolves?"

Mischa sighs, nodding her head. "Yes."

Another smirk graces Hannibal's face. "And who saved you, the little lamb, from the snapping jaws of those wolves?"

"You did." Her voice is no longer pompous, but meek and mild. She knows she must submit to her brother or another guilt storm was just over the horizon.

"Precisely," Hannibal growls as he reaches her, his arms making their way around her shoulders. "Now, answer my question," he demands, mouth against her ear. "Have you ever wondered what I have tasted like?"

Mischa wants to push away but she cannot. She has already denied Hannibal a few times prior; any more and she was liable to get cut by the knife she knew her elder brother had in one of his lab coat pockets. Still, she shakes her head in a negative answer, swallowing hard.

"Oh? You haven't?" Hannibal lowers his teeth to nip at his sister's tender skin of her neck. "You've never had lonely nights where you laid awake in your bed, wanting a male's touch, and all you can think of is your brother?"

"Stop talking such sick nonsense, Hannibal. I have never once thought of you when I do desire such things."

"Is that so?" the male is quick to say, arms releasing her for the moment.

For a fleeting second, Mischa relaxes as Hannibal turns from her and is silent.

That is, until the knife is pulled from his pocket.

"Not once did you see me in your mind's eye as you touched yourself? As your finger explored your inner depths, did you ever think it to be mine?"

Even with the knife, Mischa does not feel threatened... yet. "Don't flatter yourself."

Not a word is spoken from the elder male, just a chuckle. Mischa shivers as the cold blade her brother possesses touches her slightly warm skin. "Really, I don't flatter myself, dear sister. You seem to forget the walls are far too thin to be making noises in the dead of night."

It is then she realizes her face has grown red and her eyes are now narrowed. "You've been listening to me?"

"Surprised? Why, I thought it would turn you on. To tell you the truth, I've always been fascinated with the female anatomy. Especially yours."

The blonde swallowed hard, looking rather frightened now.

"Now, Mischa, will you let the doctor examine his meal, or do I have a little more persuading to do?"

Fingers are now flicking the tip of the knife's blade, droplets of blood flying to and fro. Mischa is not so sure if it is blood from Hannibal or from a previous victim of autopsy. All the same, the blood hits her pale skin. She hardly notices; her focus is on her brother's face now coming near her once again.

She knows he is expecting an answer, but her throat has closed up on her. Words seem like a task to create, so she does the only thing she can do. She nods in the affirmative, knowing there is no way to hold Hannibal off any longer. He has her beat, and why not give in?

Who was around to see?

No one but God.

Oh God no. Her faith overwhelms her in a brief moment, knowing this is a sin. How would they ever be saved?

"Hannibal, this is a sin," she speaks barely above a whisper. "The lust of a brother or sister, and... well... consummating it..." Mischa speaks carefully, worried she will say something wrong or something to offend her brother.

Hannibal smirks, teeth scraping along her now exposed left shoulder. "No need to worry, Mischa. I've sinned enough in the past for both of us. Besides, won't it be fun to live in Hell with your beloved brother?"

Mischa cannot believe he can take damnation as a joke.

"Besides, we will not die for a very long time. I will look after you, as I always have. Come now, let us eat."

As the words leave his mouth in a heavy murmur, Mischa starts slightly upon feeling a hand moving to undo the buttons on the front of her black dress. Gold buttons flash to a blind audience as the dim light from the gas lamp hits the surface.

The top half of the dress now pools at her hips, and she is content to show her bare chest to him. Hannibal takes it in silently, only the sharp but subtle breaths he inhales into his nasal cavity makes the slightest noise. It is almost animalistic, and Mischa swears Hannibal now looks like one of those wolves he had mentioned earlier.

"Well, you have developed nicely, have you not? Last time I gazed upon your naked form you were much, much younger."

Before he had hit puberty, he never knew what the heat that gripped his insides when he saw his sister was called. Now he knew.

It was pure, unadulterated lust.

He is almost a blur as he pushes her into the wall, mouth latching onto her neck and hands groping at the still developing mounds of flesh adorning her chest. "Yes, quite nicely," he groans into her neck, his breath tickling her faintly flushed skin. "Now, let us see if the rest of you is as adult as I think it is."

Hannibal knows she has just grown to experience her womanly duty in the world, and he is all too eager to see what is under her skirt. With a swift yank, the entire dress falls to her feet, leaving her only in simple underwear to cover her most sacred region. When he closes in, he smells lavender trying to cover up a much stronger scent of blood and her essence. It is captivating, and he knows he wants to see more, taste more, feel more.

Deft fingers slide to take off the last offending article on his sister's barely developed body. He is right, she is in the middle of her monthly bloodshed. The scent of the menstruation causes some animalistic urge to make this female, his very own full-blooded sister, his. The desire to dominate is strong, and he pulls himself up again.

By now, Mischa is trembling. Half with want, half with fear; the blade of the knife once again finding its way to prod her skin. "Mischa," her brother's silken voice reaches her ears. She does not respond to him, just another sharp intake of breath on her part as she feels an unknown, but certainly not unwelcome intruder enter the warmth of her nether region. It's made easier by the warm blood that rests inside, aiding whatever it is that is now probing her, searching for that nub of nerves that no foreign hand has ever touched.

"Tell me, Mischa." Hannibal's voice reaches her ears again, and she writhes against him, a cry of pleasure emerging as an answer, and an affirmation that he is doing it correctly, "You have never thought of these hands touching you when your fingers encircle this flesh?"

As these words are spoken, the strong fingers within her find her clit and she pants his name, "Hannibal..."

Mischa shakes at the heightened pleasure point her brother managed to find, his slightly calloused hands running over her very sensitive inner flesh.

"In your fantasies, my hands have never made you shiver and shake, or cry out a name that tasted like bittersweet chocolate on your little tongue?"

Despite the teasing his fingertips have managed to accomplish, Mischa decides she has had enough of his banter. "Hannibal... enough..."

Even that comes out in a moan.

"Oh? Have you had enough of Brother's fingers?" Hannibal smirks to himself, withdrawing them from his sister's warmth. His digits are soaked in the blood that smells of her. The crimson residue is wiped onto his pristine lab coat, looking like a wildcat slashed him across his chest.

Mischa sighs in a sort of relief. Her elder brother moves away slightly, but his hands reach out to take her in his grasp once again. "You must be exhausted standing up. Come, let us sit down."

Not even waiting for an answer, Hannibal grabs her by the arm, yanking her over to his desk in the other corner of the room. Even though the room is small, it seems like her death march.

The two end up at the cluttered desk, in which Hannibal proceeds to sweep all of his documents and trinkets that made a nest on the desk onto the floor. He knows he will curse himself later, but right now he does not care.

"Here, have a seat."

Mischa shakes her head, but Hannibal lifts her up and sets her naked form on the desktop. The cold wood makes her shiver, and Hannibal wastes no time parting her legs and sitting in his chair. The blonde shuts them again, almost ashamed of her brother seeing her. Almost.

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't deprive your brother of what is his. Come now..."

This time Hannibal wrenches her legs apart, revealing a ruby jewel. "Hm, Mischa. Your monthly blood makes my mouth water so. Here, let me have a taste."

Mischa shuts her eyes, preparing for her brother's tongue to engulf her clit. The adrenaline rushes through her, and she shakes involuntarily.

It never comes. Instead she feels a rough metallic object. It runs up and down her inner works, prodding at her clit and vagina. She swallows as she realizes what it is.

The handle of the knife Hannibal had been welding earlier is withdrawn from the younger female, feminine blood dripping down the pale wood, dripping to mingle with the blood on the blade. The metal is biting into her brother's hand, yet he shows no acknowledgement to the fact. Hannibal is too content on the handle of the knife.

Taking it into his mouth, he sucks it dry, holding his sister's offering on his tongue a moment before swallowing.

"You taste like the finest wine, Mischa."

Hearing her name coming from her brother's mouth, in which a corner has an escaped blood droplet staining his skin.

What is to happen now? Is he content with what he has gotten so far, or was that only the prelude? Watching him carefully, Mischa observes fingers undoing his pants.

"Now, Mischa. Now that the wine has been tasted, the main course can begin."

As she fears, Hannibal rises from his chair, pants and whatever was underneath following to pool at his feet.

The sight of her brother's cock makes her whimper, but she had little time to think about it before a pair of strong hands push her down to the cherrywood of his desk. The coolness of said desk runs up and down her spine.

Before she can comprehend what is happening, Mischa tenses as a burning heat tears through her.

It is nothing like she has ever felt before. It feels like someone shoved their fist into her, and she struggles to make the pain ease off. She has heard from some of the elder females that she attends school with that this is what sexual intercourse was supposed to feel like. This was supposed to happen. She writhes beneath him, tears pricking her eyes and struggling to get away.

"Stop it." Hannibal hisses at her, a hand latching around her throat. "Don't you want to be Brother's little whore?"

All Mischa can do in reply is whimper, tears streaming down to land on the desk below the two bodies now moving in a sort of urgency.

Mischa's eyes close, afraid to even watch Hannibal as he thrusts. The color behind her eyes is white, with a faint trace of green. She knows she'll hate the color for as long as she lives.

When it happens she is unaware. All she can feel is Hannibal tensing above her and a warmth filling her abdomen.

She knows somehow that it is over, even though Hannibal does not get off of her. The warmth of him is still within her, but all the fear and anger has dissipated.

Mischa is nothing now. Just what her brother has made her.

As her body heat mingles with the temperature of the cherrywood desk, and Hannibal's breath decreases Mischa wonders if she, the little lamb, was saved from the wolves after all.