Work Text:
Being a woman of discerning tastes, Bedelia was by necessity well versed in the subtle art of flirtation. She could easily read even the slightest of lingering glances, the coyest of hair-tucks, and the daintiest wetting of the lips. And, of course, if the subject felt particularly bold there was no need to analyze the Holy Grail that was the re-crossing of the legs. There was nothing subtle about the flirtation at hand now, though, and it was moving far beyond anything a simple leg-cross could convey. There was only one term Bedelia could use to describe what her new acquaintance Margot Verger-Bloom was in the process of. Crass though it may be, that term was eye-fucking the shit out of her.
Normally she wouldn’t have shown any interest in a woman who came pre-cooked and pre-heated. She preferred games of playful seduction, some lasting the course of entire evenings as libidos rose from casual attraction to intensities neither party could stand without making things physical. Margot presented her with no such game. Still, she had to admit there was something enticing about her brazenness. Something raw, something powerful, something that said I want you, I want you to know that I want you, and I don’t care if my new wife is right next to me while I go on doing it.
“I’m surprised we haven’t met sooner,” Alana said, apparently in blissful unawareness of her spouse’s intentions.
“It is nice to finally put a face to the name, but I can’t say I see why it’s such a surprise,” Bedelia said. “We don’t run in the same circles.” She was pointedly ignoring Margot for the time being. She’d let her stew for a while longer before going for the kill. Considering how clearly Margot wanted her, a little extra time wouldn’t be a factor.
“It’s just that…” Alana trailed off. She seemed to look through Bedelia, as if she weren’t there at all. Another partygoer bellowed a wine-soaked laugh nearby, and the sound snapped her out of her trance. “I meant that we both survived him, so I’d think we should know each other by now.” Alana’s labored emphasis on the male pronoun nearly made Bedelia roll her eyes, but she kept herself as composed as ever.
“Him? You don’t like saying his name, do you?” she asked.
Alana’s mouth tightened. “No,” she said curtly. “Do you?”
Bedelia’s lips curled up slightly just as Alana’s pressed closer together. “I can say it fine. The name Hannibal Lecter holds no bonds over me. Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal.” It was plain to Bedelia that the name cut Alana like a knife with each utterance, but she added another two Hannibals for shits and giggles before continuing, “There, see? We all cope at different speeds. I expect you’re in therapy?”
Alana was visibly shaken. “You expect correctly,” she said.
“And yourself?” Bedelia asked, finally giving Margot the attention she’d been so desperately demanding. “What can I expect about you, Margot?”
Margot smiled at her as much as she could without seeming monstrous to Alana’s mood and sipped her wine without a response. She clearly wanted to drag out a moment of mutual appreciation, when their eyes could lock and it wouldn’t appear unseemly. As it happened, their eyes locked immediately.
“Forgive her,” Alana said. “My wife usually doesn’t discuss her personal matters.”
“No, no,” Margot said, finally speaking up, the little smile still on her mouth, her fiery gaze still synced to Bedelia’s. “I don’t mind it. I’ll be honest: I don’t have a therapist. Alana’s pushing me to, but I haven’t found one I can trust. Although…” She paused and broke eyes to drink Bedelia in from head to foot. Alana was angled away and didn’t seem to notice, but Bedelia did, and she was sure anyone watching them could read the situation just as well. The unguarded nature of Margot’s appraisal triggered a rush of exhibitionistic warmth through Bedelia’s chest. It gathered there behind her breasts before pressing further south to spread its heat to the best parts of her.
“Although?” Bedelia pressed.
Margot swirled her wine a bit before continuing, “Do you still take patients, Doctor?”
Laughter was not something that rose up in Bedelia on a regular basis, but she actually had to fight some back at Margot’s question. She masked her amusement by bringing her glass to her lips, though for once in her life she had no actual urge to imbibe. Still, she took a swallow as she ordered her thoughts. It was her opportunity to accept or refuse Margot’s intentions, and it didn’t take her long to know she had no issue accepting them. “Yes, I do see patients,” she said. It was an easy lie to spin. The truth, though, was that she hadn’t had a single patient since Will Graham, who certainly hadn’t been attending regular therapy since his disappearance.
“How perfect!” Alana exclaimed. Her voice was too loud and enthusiastic for Bedelia’s taste, presumably from too much vino. She put her arm around her wife’s waist from the side, which Bedelia noted with a slight arch of her brow only made Margot’s gaze turn more lustful, not less. Bedelia had caught the attention of a dangerous woman indeed. Alana continued, “You’ve both been affected by... Him.” She grimaced. “That name really does hold bonds over me. I apologize. But considering your pasts, of course you’ll be able to trust her, won’t you, Mar?”
“I think so,” Margot said. “I think we could have an excellent doctor-patient relationship.” She reached her own arm around her wife, who let out a sigh and relaxed at her touch. Everyone except Alana herself would be able to tell that Margot’s gesture had nothing to do with actually easing her worries; she was merely showing off. “Alana’s right when she says I could use some examining.”
Margot was so, so blatant, yet still Alana noticed nothing wrong. Maybe it was just the angle or the booze keeping her in the dark, but it was far more likely she’d blinded herself with her intense love for Margot. Bedelia might have found it tragic were she an outside party, but given that she’d all but confirmed her plans to please Margot in ways she was sure her wife could not, no one could call her an outside party any longer. She’d have Margot, and she’d have her soon. As far as the other half of the marriage was concerned, there was always the option of a ménage à trois, but Bedelia thought Alana to be far too much of a naïve little mouse for that, and she had no patience for wet blankets. In that respect she far preferred wet sheets, slick with the sweat and sex of a lover. She did know how to have a good time.
“It’s settled, then?” Alana asked. Her hopeful tone really did come off as pathetic given the circumstances.
“I believe so,” Bedelia said. “And you know, I’m glad we met here as well. I must thank Jack for extending me the invitation.”
“Between us girls,” Alana said, lowering her voice, “I think Jack has a thing for you. And he’s quite handsome, don’t you think?”
That did make Bedelia chuckle. “A thing for me? I’m flattered. Unfortunately for Jack I’m sad to say I no longer have an interest in male suitors.” Margot practically salivated at the words.
For her part, Alana deepened her expression to concern. “No longer have an interest in men? Is it because of him?” Her hand shot to her lips in apparent shock at her own words. “God, I should know I don’t have the right to ask that. It’s like you said, we cope at different speeds.”
Bedelia masked another laugh with another sip of wine. At this rate she’d be laughing outright within moments, so she determined it was time to quit while she was ahead. After all, she’d already hooked her prey. “Yes,” she said. “Different speeds. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, if what you say is true I ought to find Jack so I can let him down gently.” She set her now-empty wine glass on a nearby table and opened her clutch. She still kept at least one business card with her at all times, partially out of habit, partially as a reminder of better days. She plucked one out and offered it to Margot. “Please feel free to call, but take your time. I’ll be ready…” she dragged out a pause, “…any time you feel the need.”
Alana thought it to be an offer of comfort and reassurance from doctor to patient, but to Bedelia and Margot it was more of an extended, erotic wink in the form of a sentence.
Having left her intended impression on both of the Verger-Blooms, Bedelia turned away and allowed herself a somewhat triumphant but typically restrained smile as she headed for the venue’s exit. She wouldn’t be speaking with Jack tonight. Margot had given her more pressing matters to attend to at home: Matters that required touching, teasing, and exploring. Her body still held secrets waiting to be discovered, even as well traveled as she’d been sure to make it. This time she planned to start with the pads of her fingers. She’d gently glide them along her lips, taking all the time she needed to fully wet her hand. Once she was satisfied, flushed, and craving more, she’d switch to one of the battery-operated toys she kept in her bedside table. The only trouble would be choosing which one was up to the task of pleasing her.
She made out of the gala in as straight a line as she could muster, and the valet brought her Volvo around without questioning the wine on her breath. She had to admit, the evening was only improving with every moment.
Somewhere along the highway—it was hard to tell where, perhaps due to the drink, perhaps due to her lurid thoughts—she realized she’d never known a wife or husband of a woman she’d bedded. She’d had plenty of lovers who were quite openly otherwise spoken for, and more still who played at innocence only to be betrayed by the bands of pale flesh on their ring fingers. In that way, the fact of Margot’s marriage to Alana was something new, and it made her more excited than she’d been for some time, especially about a simple twosome. She shared strong ties with Alana—through Jack, and through the shadows Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter had left behind them—and a fling with the one true love of someone she was connected to in so many ways tasted deliciously sordid to her lips.
She supposed it was some kind of kismet that Margot should be dropped in her lap now that all signs pointed to her old patient—or was he a friend?— having a married gay lover of his own. Joining Hannibal’s fun made a twisted sort of sense. She had no intention of running away with anyone as he had, but she most certainly did intend to ruin every inch of Margot’s body just as she was sure Hannibal had already ruined every inch of Will’s. The two of them had always been in sync that way.
It really was a shame that she couldn’t call them up, wherever they were. She hadn’t had anything more than a threesome in almost a year. Someday soon, perhaps.
But for now: Margot. Little married Margot, who’d soon phone her for an appointment—of sorts—and without hesitation, at that. Bedelia would ask her to keep her rings on while they fucked. She couldn’t imagine anything more electric than the sensation of someone else’s promises-made-gold against her naked flesh. Grazing her nipples. Her vulva. She needed to feel the chill of it against every part of her.
Her right hand found its way between her legs as she sped down the road. Dangerous as it was, she sighed contentedly and began rubbing herself up under her dress through the silky fabric of her lace panties. She might need to have the dress dry-cleaned after, but she couldn’t hold back her urges any longer—not with so much wine in her system. So she continued, and as she pressed her fingers against herself more and more fervently, three words strobed in her mind:
Little.
Married.
Margot.
And then three more:
You’re all mine.