#bedannibal

[bedeliainwonderland]

Bedannibal + text posts

[stellagibs0ns]

what a beautiful world it would be if we got lesbian bedannibal. taps mic. i said lesbian bedannibal. lesbian b

[filmsdkye]

hey we saw you across the courtyard and fucking HATE your vibe. can i kill you while she watches and psychologically dissects it?

[soneto66]

[kataarssis]

хороший муж должен уметь раскладывать жену на столе, поэтому сегодня на ужин беделия

[dirafames]

honestly i'm both

[hillhouseeleanor]

Interview With the Vampire by Anne Rice //Hannibal (2013-2015)

[bedannibal-lectaurier]

for the dysfuncentine prompt meme, how about bedannibal: 48. A failed tryst? 😈

ooof here be some pre-series sexy angst :)

There’s something about the warmth and humidity of Miami that seemed to melt all of the barriers between them. They’d attended each other’s panels at the conference and Bedelia had delighted in the spark of Dr. Lecter, her colleague. Hannibal, her patient, was a creature she had left behind in grey and dreary Baltimore. And so it had seemed natural to accept his invitation of a drink, and then dinner, just the two of them, at their hotel’s elegant waterfront bistro.

And when the check had come, and he had kissed her after paying, that had seemed natural, too.

So, they had stumbled, giddy as teenagers, to the elevators. His hands were everywhere, roaming her backside, fingering the curls of her hair. They’d kissed again in the solitude of the lift and she’d moaned as he’d pressed her up against the metallic wall, so lost in the moment they’d nearly missed their floor.

Hannibal made short work of the door, dragging her into his lavish suite. She kicked off her heels and all but launched herself into his lap as he reclined in one of the room’s pastel-colored armchairs. She ground against him, kissing him. She was so wild, so wanton, so hungry.

His lips traced the shell of her ear and he breathed, “Yes, yes. Oh, Doctor.”

Bedelia froze, stunned.

This was not an evening of passion between two colleagues. It was a tryst between a doctor and patient. She had been a fool to think otherwise.

“I…I need to go, Hannibal. We can’t.”

He looks at her, disappointment darkening the black pools of his eyes. “Why not?”

“You know why,” she says with emphasis.

“I respectfully disagree.” He releases his hold on her and she slides off his lap, collecting her shoes, wrapping herself in what is left of her tattered professionalism.

She leaves and he lets her go. She’d wounded him. But he’d wounded her more, when he let fall the veil between them and showed he’d only wanted the fantasy of Dr. Du Maurier and never Bedelia for herself.