brigdh

Title: Again to See the Stars
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: NC-17, brief mentions of drug and alcohol withdrawal.
Summary: Hannibal has (mostly) gotten through the withdrawal period, so he and Ben celebrate. By having sex. Ben/Hannibal, implied Ben/Rose/Hannibal
Disclaimer: The Benjamin January mysteries are by Barbara Hambly, and you should all read them.
Notes: A million thanks to my betas,

silverflight8 and

somebraveapollo, who are incredible and awesome.

somebraveapollo also helped me come up with a title.

This is set during the early part of The Shirt on His Back, and involves some minor spoilers for that book. This story relies a bit more on canon knowledge than did the first one I wrote. If you haven't read the book, but would like to read this story, here is what you need to know: Hannibal, who has spent decades using alcohol and laudanum/opium, has managed to quit both habits, between this book and the previous one, Dead and Buried. He does so successfully, but is just coming off the months-long suicidal depression that is a side-effect of withdrawal. Ben and Hannibal (and Shaw, their friend, but not Rose, Ben's wife, who is still back in New Orleans) are at a temporary fur-trading camp in the Oregon territory of the Rocky Mountains, for the plot-related reason of solving a mystery. At this camp, Hannibal has arranged a temporary "marriage" (scare quotes because it has no legal or religious meaning) that is explicitly intended to last only a few weeks, while both he and the lady are at the camp.

2,311 words. Also available on AO3.

Again to See the Stars
Walking back from the AFC camp, they passed a spot where the scattered stands of cottonwoods grew dense, reaching nearly to the trampled grass of the path; Hannibal checked his stride, looked around, and caught January by the wrist to pull him off the trail, all without a word. January followed him willingly enough– Hannibal couldn’t have pulled him a foot if he was unwilling– and had his suspicions confirmed when Hannibal glanced back at him, mouth curled up on one side. They didn’t have to go far to be hidden from view of the path; the trees and growing dark of the evening worked to their benefit, as did the pitch of the ground, sloping down toward a small stream to the west.

They came to a stop in the midst of the trees, leaves overhead blocking out the sky and casting them into an early night. It was quieter here as well, and January hesitated to break the peace; hesitated, too, to act first. But Hannibal seemed to feel no such doubt; his fingers were still wrapped loosely around January’s wrist, and he lifted their interlocked hands to his mouth and kissed January’s palm, then the tips of his fingers, then turned it over to kiss the knuckles like a lady’s hand. He looked up as he did it, dark eyes meeting January’s, mouth barely brushing the skin.

“You are ridiculous,” January said solemnly, though privately he was glad of it. As long as he had known him, Hannibal had been light-hearted, playful and rarely serious, and it had pained January to see him too sick and sore from the effects of withdrawal to laugh. Any sign that the depression that had struck him was passing was something to be grateful for; it had been slow to do so, with improvements prone to abrupt reversals. Only a few weeks earlier they had snatched a moment of privacy– and much as January liked their fellow travelers, such moments were frustratingly rare on the wide-open prairie they’d been crossing– and January had grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder, intending to kiss him. But Hannibal had tensed under his hand and pulled away, shaking his head with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. If now he was in a mood to be cheerful, January sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Virgin Mary.

Hannibal shrugged. “My tutors insisted that good manners were always appropriate. Fatum impendet; dum vivis, dum licet, fac bonus fias."

“I don’t think your tutors expected you to find yourself in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains. Besides, it’s not the politeness I’m objecting to.” He reversed their grip so that he was holding Hannibal’s hand, and bent to it with deliberately excessive grace, curving his free arm behind his back. Hannibal’s hand was long and narrow, the knuckles bony under January’s lips. “There. Tell me you don’t find that odd.”

But when he straightened up, Hannibal was grinning unrepentantly. “Odd? Not in the least. I would describe it as undeniably dignified and proper. Not to mention brief. I had thought we were on more familiar terms, amicus meus-”

This time January kissed him on the mouth, which was generally the only reliable way to make Hannibal stop talking. Hannibal’s fingers tightened around his, and they held like that for a moment, hand in hand, kissing almost chastely. Somewhere in the distance, a man shouted, too far away for January to perceive the words, and several voices rose up in answer. Hannibal stepped closer, and January felt his other hand come to rest on the back of his neck, stroking softly on the stripe of skin between his hair and the collar of his shirt.

January shivered and broke away for air, took one deep breath before he was kissing him again, then the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. When his lips were against Hannibal’s ear, he said, voice low, “I don’t think your tutors expected you to be in this situation either.”

He felt Hannibal’s laughter down the entire length of his body. “Oh, I’m not sure of that,” Hannibal said. “The Greeks did get up to the oddest sorts of things.” His grip on January’s neck tightened, and he stretched up to kiss him again.

This time it was not chaste. He sucked at January’s lower lip until January opened his mouth, then deepened the kiss, both hands now fisted in January’s jacket to help him reach up. Though it had been months since Hannibal had drunk liquor or opium, January found himself still anticipating their tastes, that once-ubiquitous mix of bitter and sweet. Now Hannibal tasted of nothing so strong; only himself, slightly musky and shockingly human.

The thought made January close his arms tight around Hannibal, his fingers digging into Hannibal’s back and waist as though he could keep away all the world’s evils if he could just hold on hard enough. Under his layers of clothes, Hannibal’s body seemed like kindling, branches stripped of their leaves and too breakable. But he was pliant, and even as January nearly crushed him he made no protest, except for a sound deep in his throat that might have been a sigh or a groan or even a stifled cough.

January forced himself to loosen his grasp, and Hannibal pulled back a little to look at him, laughing soft and breathless. January had never bedded anyone who laughed as much as Hannibal did; he couldn’t help laughing in response, even as he tried to strip Hannibal of his jacket while simultaneously shrugging out of his own.

I missed you, he thought, almost giddy. I was worried about you. But that seemed somehow too much to say, and so he only asked, teasing, “What about your new wife?”

“She’s visiting with her brother.” Hannibal tugged up the hem of January’s shirt and slipped his hands underneath. After a brief contemplation of the lack of other places to put them, January dropped the jackets to the ground and began unbuttoning Hannibal’s waistcoat, a task made more difficult as Hannibal’s fingers traced his ribs, cool against his skin. “Besides, if faithfulness unto the grave is part of our arrangement, I fear I have misunderstood the situation drastically.” His voice had gone husky despite the light words, and he turned his face up for January to meet in another kiss, pressing into it hungrily.

“And you couldn’t spend an evening alone?” January said as they broke apart.

Hannibal tilted his head to kiss the underside of January’s jaw. His teeth scraped over the skin and his tongue followed, smoothing away any sting, and he repeated that trick down January’s neck to the crook of his shoulder. January undid the bottommost button of the waistcoat and slid his hands from Hannibal’s front to his back, then forward again; Hannibal’s shirt was warm with the heat of his body, the linen soft and wrinkled, and the waist beneath was slim but well-made. Hannibal’s hips fit precisely into January’s hands, the ridge of his hipbones evident enough even through the material of his trousers for January to drag his thumbs against. January spread his fingers wide and pulled, closing the space between their bodies; Hannibal responded by rolling his hips like a cat, rubbing against January without shame. “Oh, I suppose I could have managed it, if I had no other choice. But I had your benefit in mind, amicus meus,” he murmured.

January bit off his first response, which would have been an incoherent curse in any case. He shifted his thigh forward, between Hannibal’s legs, and was rewarded when Hannibal gasped in turn, fingers abruptly clenched on January’s skin. “Now I see,” January said, striving for coolness but aware of how ragged his voice had become. “You’re nobly sacrificing yourself for my sake.”

“And you’re showing a sad lack of appreciation.” Hannibal was panting, breath hot and moist on January’s neck, even as he continued to work his hips against him, movements that were a little rougher now, a little less precise. January lost whatever ability to converse he’d still had, his body demanding that he give all his attention to the friction between them; he pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s and in the silence he could focus on Hannibal grinding against him. He rucked up Hannibal’s shirt, needing skin against his hands. As January touched him, Hannibal thrust against him hard, letting his head fall back; his eyes were closed but his mouth was open, a loose strand of dark hair stuck to the sweat on his cheek.

January struggled not to groan, wishing for a bed, a sofa, even a wall; anything solid he could press Hannibal to and rut against him. Standing free as they were wouldn’t be enough; he could feel it already, his release maddeningly elusive. Hannibal stepped back, and January made an embarrassingly desperate noise. But Hannibal was pulling him into a kiss even as he did, messy and breathless, and his other hand slid down to cup January through his trousers. Another sound came out of January, seemingly of its own volition, and he could feel Hannibal laughing, though the hand on him remained steady, its weight heavy and wonderful on his cock. Hannibal stroked the palm of his heel over him, once, twice, three times, and January came near to spending in his trousers from that alone, like a boy.

Hannibal stopped before he did, and fumbled at the opening of January’s trousers. He worked the buttons loose one-handed, not moving the other hand he had pressed against January’s chest, and reached inside to wrap his fingers around January’s cock. His palm was dry and the angle awkward, but it was finally what January had needed, and the mix of relief and pleasure wiped any other thoughts from his mind. He came quickly, with a low cry muffled by Hannibal’s mouth.

He stood for a moment, pressing his forehead to Hannibal’s, capable of continuing to stand, but of nothing more than that. Hannibal kept stroking him; his hand on January remained tight even as he gradually slowed the rhythm, drawing the last sensations out into a languorous haze. When January opened his eyes, he found that Hannibal was using his other hand on himself, had at some point managed to open his pants and free his own cock. He was clearly close, his arm shaking a little as he moved. “I can do that,” January said, curling his hand over Hannibal’s.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, incongruously polite even in a voice rough with desire, and slipped his hand from underneath January’s, lifting it to his shoulder for support. His cock twitched as January closed his fingers around it, and his hips thrust into the fist January made. Even at times like this, he was rarely at a loss for words, so January had to count it as a success when he dropped into his native English: “Yes, like that, please–”

He ducked his head and leaned forward against January, all his muscles tensing, and came with his hand clenched so tightly on January’s shoulder that his nails were painful through the shirt. January supported him as his legs wobbled, air rasping in and out of him.

“I think I’ll sit down,” he said unsteadily, and nearly collapsed at January’s feet, toppling back to lie flat. He stretched out a hand to wipe it clean on the grass by his side, then draped his arm over his eyes.

January– less abruptly– sank down, leaned over him to clean his hand as well, and sat back at his side. He rested a hand on Hannibal’s chest, feeling the rapid pace of his heart, the heave of his lungs as Hannibal struggled to catch his breath. Hannibal’s long hair had mostly fallen out of the queue he’d had it in earlier in the day, and it lay on his shoulders and in the grass around his head, disappearing into the shadows. January twisted a strand in his fingers and tugged gently. “I am appreciative,” he said, remembering the last thing Hannibal had said in their earlier game. “Very appreciative.”

“Of me?” Hannibal said dryly. “I’m hardly so difficult to seduce that it’s worth an excess of gratitude.”

January shrugged, leaning back on an elbow. “There are things other than difficulty to recommend you.” He felt content; all he wanted was to lie here and talk idly with his friend. Eventually he might gather the energy to roll Hannibal again, or perhaps not; maybe instead the cold and damp that came with night would drive them back to the lodge. “You know, Rose threatened to lock the doors of the house against me, if I came back without you healthy and whole.”

“Hmm. She told me she’d never speak to me again if I didn’t keep an eye on you. Though what she expects me to do that Shaw isn’t perfectly capable of, I can’t imagine.” Hannibal’s arm still covered half his face, even as he spoke; January pushed it aside and bent to kiss him. It was lazy, and slow, and by the time January raised his head, Hannibal’s arms were around his neck. “There is that,” he said.

“I have a very considerate wife.” It hurt January a little to talk of Rose, but less than it did to not talk of her. “See how well she’s arranged for my happiness?”

“Willst du immer weiterschweifen? Sieh, das Gute liegt so nah.” A note of wistfulness crept into his voice, but it had grown darker since they first entered the trees, and pale as he was, January couldn’t see his expression. He touched Hannibal’s cheek, softly; Hannibal turned into the contact, bringing his mouth to January’s hand, and January could feel his smile, felt how it grew stronger before he pressed another kiss to January’s fingers.

***

Hannibal Translations:
Ne ut qui millia annorum victurus sit; fatum impendet; dum vivis, dum licet, fac bonus fias.
Do not act as if thou wert going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over thee; whilst yet thou livest, whilst thou mayest, be good.
-Marcus Aurelius

Willst du immer weiterschweifen?
Sieh, das Gute liegt so nah.
Lerne nur das Glück ergreifen,
denn das Glück ist immer da.
Wouldst thou ever roam abroad?
See, what is good lies by thy side.
Only learn to catch happiness,
for happiness is ever by you.
-Goethe