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brigdhAuthor notes in Part One.
After dinner the next night, Hannibal made his way back up to the deck; his leg made it hard to fall asleep. He walked very slowly with the crutch, but the deck was mostly deserted at this hour, except for some sailors doing– he supposed– necessary sailor things. It might be nice to be part of a crew, each person with their own place but all working together to make the ship sail. He was a little old to learn to tie knots, though. And the salt air wasn’t good for his violin’s strings. He made his way back and forth several times, hoping to find himself tired enough that even a broken leg couldn’t keep him awake. A few lanterns were lit along the space cleared for passengers to walk, providing just enough light to make the shadows darker.
His leg began to ache, so he moved to the railing and leaned against it, easing his weight off of the break. Unfortunately, he felt no closer to sleep. He was still standing there, considering another round of the ship, when someone came up beside him. It was Rose. “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“And now that you’ve found me, what do you propose to do?”
She smiled at him, the golden light from the lantern flashing off her spectacles and resting more gently on the curve of her cheek, before she turned to face the water like him, slipping her arm into his. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He shifted slightly, so that she was free to pull away again, but she seemed content to stay, her shoulder resting against his, her hand on his wrist. Her fingers sketched out small patterns, as though she were feeling his skin or the bones and pulse beneath, but more likely it was only an unconscious tic while she thought of something else. She was a tall woman, his height, and he found the warmth and weight of her against his side appealing. He was glad she could be at ease with him; when he had first met her, she had been wary, turning to stone at any touch she couldn’t avoid. Benjamin was good for her. She had always been strong, but the openness she had shown these last few weeks was new.
“You aren’t tired?” she asked.
“At this hour? Athene, you are vastly overestimating my capacity for sleep. I have hours yet to fill. I linger yet with Nature, for the night / Hath been to me a more familiar face / Than that of man.”
“Is it your leg?”
“I admit to having found that a broken leg is not as conducive to a good night’s sleep as one would think.” He grinned at her. “It’s so hard to find a comfortable position.”
The glance she gave him was warm and amused. “Perhaps you should find someone to help you with that.”
“Believe me, I would have, were it not that this ship has an unreasonable dearth of unmarried women.”
“What about the married ones?”
“Alas,” he said, patting her hand, “they all seem to be as faithful and chaste as you yourself.”
Rose laughed, perhaps a little harder than the joke warranted, but he didn’t mind. He was glad she would talk to him like this. He liked the way she had of noticing other people’s absurdities, and of holding herself at just enough of a distance that they were amusing rather than dismaying. She could be quick in conversation, though she often hid her brilliance and self-assurance and cool sarcasm beneath an air of propriety.
She tilted her head, looking at him consideringly. “This traveling has been difficult on you, hasn’t it?”
He shrugged. “What other choice do I have? I’ll survive.”
“Yes.” She sighed and turned back to the ocean. The lanterns had spoiled his night vision, so all he could see was blackness, with no dividing line between sea and sky. Even the stars seemed faint, more gray than white. “Hannibal,” Rose said after a time, breaking the silence. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Anything you ask. Well, anything within my abilities.”
“Oh, this is something you can do. If you’re willing.” She pulled her arm away so that they were no longer touching and turned to face him. He couldn’t quite make out her eyes, between the darkness and the glare of the lanterns, but her expression was calm. “When we get back to New Orleans, would you come and stay with us? It needn’t be permanent, but I would feel better if you were to stay with us at least until you’d healed. It would be so much less difficult that way.” One corner of her mouth turned up. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to worry about you, and Benjamin hates to go down to the Swamp.”
Hannibal hesitated. It seemed cowardly to accept when he had made such a point of refusing the same offer the previous day, but he couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse not to. Rose’s logic was, as always, air-tight. She observed his wavering resolve, and added in a persuasive voice, “Please come, for my sake. I would be grateful.”
He bowed his head. “It would be rude of me to refuse such a request. Particularly when it’s to my own benefit to accept.” He would be able to leave as soon as he needed to, after all. He wouldn’t stay long enough to ruin anything.
She smiled, then quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and walked off before he could react. He turned to watch her go; in the dim light, he almost thought he’d seen her blush.
If he was inclined to regret having succumbed to temptation, Rose and Benjamin gave him no opportunity to take back his agreement. Separately and together, they made such a point of anticipating his visit that he began to suspect them of conspiracy, though he couldn’t imagine what the goal was. It was pleasant, though, to make plans to see neighbors and old friends, to reminisce about the sights and tastes of New Orleans, to listen to Rose and Benjamin discuss how they wanted to furnish their new house. Much as he knew it could only be temporary, he looked forward to sharing their home. He would be happy there, safe and among friends. Even that was more than he could have asked for, and he was occasionally certain that it would be best for him to leave before he could grow accustomed to such a life. But there was nowhere to go, trapped on a boat as they were, and as he spent more time in the company of Benjamin and Rose the urgency of departure left him, and he pushed off thoughts of other cities for later.
The trip passed quickly with such things to fill the time. He taught Rose a new card game and they discussed Greeks other than Helen of Troy; Benjamin, unable to find a single instrument to borrow on the whole ship, sat beside him to listen when he would play, and sometimes softly sang. Hannibal persuaded the ship’s cook to lend them his copy of Twelfth Night, and the three of them staged a reading one night in the Januarys‘ cabin; Hannibal claimed the role of Viola for himself, with Benjamin as Orsino and Rose as a somewhat demure Olivia. Partway through they abandoned the text, inventing an entirely new resolution wherein Olivia succeeded in winning Viola’s hand in marriage by promising to wed Orsino as well (Sebastian, they all agreed, could be dispensed with as too obviously a deus ex machina), and they laughed themselves nearly to tears.
The last day before they arrived in New Orleans, Rose struck up an acquaintance with the captain, who agreed to show her how to read navigation maps. Benjamin and Hannibal passed on the opportunity, taking to the deck for fresh air instead. “I’ll be glad to be back,” Benjamin said. “Of course, at this point, I’d be glad to be anywhere that’s not on this ship.”
“Me as well. I missed New Orleans more than I expected to. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to come back, but fata obstant.”
Benjamin frowned. “So don’t hurry away again.”
“Would you miss me, amicus meus?” Hannibal grinned, to turn the question to a joke, but Benjamin answered sincerely anyway.
“Of course I would. Do you think I came to Mexico for Don Prospero’s company?”
“I thought you came because, as a good man, you would have considered it dishonorable to ignore a cry for help. Not that I’m not grateful, of course.” He was more than grateful; he was filled with a love for Benjamin and Rose that threatened to overwhelm him and spill out in uncontrollable, irreversible ways. They had risked their lives and wasted their money for his sake, and he would never forget it. They had defended him, borne him back to safety, believed in his innocence against all evidence. He only wished he deserved such friends.
“Stay until you’ve repaid the debt, then.” Benjamin’s voice was serious and he leaned in forward in his seat, putting a hand on Hannibal’s knee to give additional weight to his argument. Hannibal swallowed, close enough to see the lighter flecks in Benjamin’s brown eyes, to smell the clean soap and starch on him over the ocean salt. It occurred to him that he could close the distance between them and kiss Ben, hold him, try to persuade him to have one last tryst. But that wouldn’t be enough, and Hannibal refused to be the worm that sickened the flower of his marriage.
He looked away. “I think extending my stay is more likely to deepen my debt to you.”
After what seemed like long enough for Benjamin to surely read his every thought, Ben withdrew his hand and sat back. “The only thing I want from you is to be my friend.”
“You should acquire more extravagant tastes, then. Besides, you have plenty of friends. You hardly need one more.”
“What if I need a white man to testify for me?”
Hannibal glanced at him, not certain how serious he was. “God pray you manage to stay out of court. But if you should get involved in another misadventure, Shaw would testify for you. Or, if not him, Mayerling, or even Davis.”
Benjamin conceded the point with a tilt of his head, but crossed his arms. “And what if I need a white man to lie for me?”
Hannibal laughed shortly. “Why, amicus meus, are you planning some sort of criminal escapade?”
“You never know where the fates will lead. Piano music might suddenly fall out of fashion.”
“I rather doubt it.” Hannibal shrugged. “I give you my word: if you descend to robbing banks, I’ll return from wherever I am, and swear under oath to your upright character and whatever alibi you’ve dreamed up.”
Benjamin stuck out his hand, and Hannibal shook it to seal the promise. “I’m going to hold you to that. Don’t go so far I can’t find you.” Hannibal nodded, perplexed but cheered.
Their arrival in New Orleans was chaotic, loud, and disorganized, much like every other disembarkation Hannibal had ever experienced. He followed Rose and Benjamin to their new home in the French Quarter, an old Spanish-style house set slightly off from the street. They set about reopening the doors and windows, letting the stale air of their weeks away be blown out. It had been agreed that Hannibal would stay in Benjamin’s study, while Benjamin slept with Rose, so that he shouldn’t have to climb the stairs to the other rooms in the attic on a broken leg. Accordingly, that night he was sitting on a bed he recognized from nights spent in the room in Livia Levesque’s garçonnière, though he’d never before slept on it alone; he was rather glad to be disturbed from his thoughts by a knock on the door.
Rose entered at his invitation, dressed only in a night shift and robe, her hair braided back for sleep. There was nothing indecent in her appearance, but she looked soft and open, the shape of her legs more obvious without petticoats, and he knew if he were to touch her, he would be able to feel the warmth of her body through the thin cloth. She still wore her spectacles, one point of familiarity.
“Is something wrong?” Hannibal asked.
“No, not at all,” she said. She readjusted the collar of her robe. “Are you comfortable here? Do you need anything?”
“I’ll be fine, thank you.”
She paused to take a breath, not meeting his eyes. “We were preparing for bed, and I thought of you in here, so close and yet... still so very far away. It needn’t to be so, you know. If you would like, you could come to my room.”
“Why?”
To his surprise, she laughed outright, her teeth showing for a moment. She cocked her head at him, eyes bright. “I was under the impression that you were experienced at this sort of thing.”
For a moment he wanted to kiss her so strongly that he nearly did; there was a vein of hidden happiness in her manner that he badly wanted to share. “I am, unfortunately. Which is all the more reason you shouldn’t ask such things of me; I might have taken you up on it.”
“And why shouldn’t you? I want you to; Ben wants you to.” She stepped forward and took his hands in hers, expression intent and sympathetic. “Hannibal, tell me: do you want us?”
He didn’t want to lie to her, but the truth was unbearable; his heart pounded in his chest. “You are my friends,” he said at last, knowing the words were inadequate and hearing the distress in his own voice.
Rose seemed to accept that as answer enough, her smile firming. “Then come with me.” She drew him to his feet, and he let her take his arm and guide him to her bedroom.
Benjamin was sitting on the bed when they entered, half-dressed in only shirtsleeves and trousers. The shirt was new, and clearly had been tailored for him rather than bought secondhand; the material was so fine that it revealed every line of his broad shoulders, the contour of the muscles in his arms. The white of the linen was stark against his dark skin.
Hannibal looked away, but shifting his attention to Rose didn’t help. In the stronger light of their room, he could see that her robe was a forest green that brought out the warmth in her skin and eyes. It was less ostentatious than Benjamin’s clothes, but still well-made, clinging to her form with the gracefulness of silk. She had been too much in the sun lately, in Mexico and on board the ship, and it showed on her browned cheekbones and nose, her more prominent freckles. In opposition, her hair had lightened, the bronze highlights transmuted to gold. She directed him to sit on the bed, ducking her head for a moment as she did, and he noticed the soft spot of skin behind her ear, the small, delicate curls of hair on the nape of her neck. When he’d sat, she perched next to him, cornering him between her and Benjamin.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Benjamin said, putting a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of Rose?”
“Why are you doing this?” Hannibal tried to smile, but suspected it came out rather sickly. “I mean, why now?”
Benjamin shrugged. “The beds on board the ship were much too small.”
Hannibal was startled into a laugh, and Benjamin’s hand relaxed. “I’ve missed you,” Benjamin said, his voice earnest. “I want what we had before.”
“Well, not exactly,” Rose murmured.
“No.” He smiled at her. “Rose refuses to be left out this time. It would be with both of us, Hannibal, if you say yes.” He held out his hand, palm up, and waited. Hannibal clasped it before he could rescind the offer, a joy growing inside his chest.
Rose traced softly down his cheek, then drew his face towards her; he was very conscious of the softness of her skin and of how his own flesh must feel, of the air in his throat and Benjamin’s strong hand around his. She kissed his other cheek, the warm soft touch of her mouth a contrast to her cool firm fingers. It was a chaste kiss, as kisses went. He wanted to kiss the freckles sprinkled faint across her cheekbones, the fingers still held to his face, and most of all her lips.
“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me,” he heard himself say, the first thing that entered his mind.
She raised her eyebrows, and he had the sense that she was laughing at him, though the only outward sign was where her mouth tucked in at one corner. “Indeed? That seems a low price.”
“You are going about haggling in entirely the wrong manner, Athene.
She continued to look at him, eyes still sparkling with the last of the laughter. Her hand dropped from his face to his neck and curved around behind it, a point of steady balance, and then she closed the distance between them and kissed him again, sure and on the mouth.
Rose kept her grip loose so that Hannibal was free to pull away, but though his mouth was gentle on hers, almost tentative, he leaned in, turning his body to face her. After a moment, he put his arm around her shoulders, still kissing her, and she felt her heart start to beat a little faster, her face flush with the newness and excitement of it. Hannibal’s other hand fumbled against the skirt of her robe before finding her knee and clasping it, then sliding very slightly up her thigh.
Rose had been right; she enjoyed his kiss. Laughter bubbled up inside her, a sense of the ridiculous at finding herself embracing Hannibal, whom she had thought of so chastely for so long. But to laugh she would have to break the kiss, and she was unwilling to do so; now that she was kissing him, she wanted to keep on doing so. She switched to light kisses, exploring kisses; she held his face still between her hands to kiss his cheek, the corner of his eyes, his neck, until he pulled free and took her mouth again. She parted her lips, wanting to taste him, and felt how Hannibal’s fingers tightened in response, digging into her shoulder and thigh. She pressed into him, deepening the kiss, when he abruptly pulled back and turned his head.
Benjamin had kissed his shoulder, and as Rose watched, he put an arm around Hannibal’s waist, enfolding him tightly from behind. He pressed his face to Hannibal’s hair and breathed deeply. Hannibal laughed and said his name, his voice somewhat shaky, and twisted in Benjamin’s hold to kiss him hard, one arm going around Benjamin’s neck. They kissed fiercely, like they feared being pulled apart, clinging to one another.
Rose leaned back, glad they could come together so easily. She had sensed the distance between them in Mexico, each grieving for the other, and had been sorry for it, knowing how close they had been. She didn’t feel excluded by their passion, but rather welcomed a moment to herself, to be able to watch instead of needing to do.
Hannibal tried to push back from Benjamin, who held more fixedly to him, catching Hannibal by the back of the head and pressing another kiss to his mouth, then another, and then a third, even as Hannibal laughingly objected. “Let me breathe, amicus meus, just for a moment–”
Rose reached across him and shoved at Benjamin’s shoulder. “Let him go, dear. He won’t disappear if you let him out of your hands.”
Benjamin grinned at her, somewhat embarrassed. “Are you certain about that? I’d rather not be obliged to follow him to another country again.”
Hannibal put his palms up in surrender. “You’ve made your point. I am sufficiently rebuked.”
“He’ll stay now,” Rose said confidently. She knelt and leaned across Hannibal to kiss Benjamin. His lips were slick; wet, she realized, from Hannibal’s kiss. Goosebumps traced down her skin and, as if following them, Hannibal’s hand moved across her waist. She balanced her weight against Benjamin’s shoulder as she drew out the kiss. She of course had grown to know his kisses– how he tasted and moved, his love and passion– but coming to him with her lips still sensitive from Hannibal’s kiss made it seem new and wicked. Hannibal had continued to touch her, long strokes over her back and sides, which woke her nerves and deepened her awareness of her body and all its parts. He toyed with the sash at the waist of her robe, twisting and tugging it before slipping forward to reach for the knot that held it closed. He stopped there, fingers brushing against her belly. “May I?” he asked.
She hesitated, feeling herself on the edge of a precipice, as though this was the point of no return. Hannibal retreated slightly when she didn’t answer, but she caught his hand, holding firmly it in place. She did want him to touch her, to be with him; she drew in a deep breath and relaxed her grasp. “Yes, you may.”
He quickly untied the sash and slid the robe from her shoulders. “Ah,” he said, his voice low and admiring, “you have freckles here, too.” He put his lips to the outermost edge of her shoulder and began to work his way in, dropping little kisses on each freckle. Rose dropped her head to Benjamin’s shoulder, closing her mouth to prevent a sound from escaping.
“It’s not the only place she does,” Benjamin said, drawing the robe further down her arms.
“Hush.” She swallowed; there was a tension all through her body, as though she needed to stretch her muscles, but she knew it was a more deep-seated craving than that. “Or I’ll tell him all about your least handsome features.”
“But I already know what Ben looks like,” Hannibal said, and then froze, so obviously regretting his words than Rose had to laugh, though she tried to do so kindly.
She found his hand and squeezed it. “I already knew.”
Hannibal sighed, and pulled his hand away to hide his eyes, but she could see his shoulders ease back down. “I rather thought you did.”
“No, I seem to be the only one kept ignorant,” Benjamin said, mock-angry.
Rose stood up from the bed and reseated herself on Benjamin’s lap, kissing his cheek as his arms went around her waist to hold her in place. She waved a hand at Hannibal. “So, make it up to me. Undress, I’ll see you, and we’ll all be even.”
He grinned. “If only all my problems could be solved so pleasantly.” He began to obey her direction, and Rose turned back to Benjamin, who assisted her in pulling off the robe, which he tossed to the foot of the bed. Her night shift was made of linen, woven so finely that it sat on her light as a mist, and nearly as sheer. Seated on his knee, she was taller than Benjamin, which gave their kisses a different feel, one she rather liked. As did he, if the ways his hands moved over her hips and up to her breasts was any indication. Benjamin leaned forward to kiss the upper curve of her chest, pulling the night shift tight against her so that her nipples were just visible as dark shadows beneath the cloth. She returned the favor by tugging his shirt off, revealing his broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist, the thick muscles of his arms and chest. He had a small patch of hair on his chest, darker even than his skin, and she ran her fingers through it, liking how it scratched against her palm.
She rocked closer to him, moving his thigh between her legs, and he et his hands to her sides; they were wide enough that his thumbs could circle the undersides of her breasts while his palms framed her ribs. He lifted one breast and kissed it through the night shift; she could feel the heat of his mouth, but craved it even closer. He licked at her, and his tongue dragged the texture of the fabric across her nipple. She arched her back, escaping the overwhelming sensation, but the movement only pressed her pelvis harder against him. He moved one arm behind her to support her so she wouldn’t fall.
She looked toward Hannibal; he had bent over to remove his second boot, wearing only his trousers still. His body was such a contrast to Benjamin’s; not just in color, though of course he was pale as milk, his torso and arms even whiter than his hands and face, which had been touched by the Mexican sun. And too she had known he was thin, but there was a stark reality to actually seeing him, lean and sharp-boned as an alley-cat, the knobbiness of his elbows and ankles giving him an oddly young look, as though he was still in his adolescence. He wasn’t unattractive, though; she liked the delicacy of his long limbs, the indentations that ran on the inside of his hipbones, narrowing to a V, the point of which was still hidden beneath his trousers. He was cool, in form and color and manner, compared to Benjamin’s warmth, and Rose found both pleasing.
She stood to finish undressing herself; Benjamin held to her until she backed out of reach of his arms, and only then reluctantly released her with a self-conscious expression. She smiled at him in acknowledgement as she raised the shift over her head.
Benjamin turned to Hannibal and laid a hand on his thigh to catch his attention, kissing him when he looked up. He moved closer to return the kiss, stroking Benjamin’s shoulders and arms and sides, obviously savoring the feel of his body, his more solid build. Benjamin’s kisses were less frantic than earlier, each one slow and appreciative; he paused frequently to pull back and look at Hannibal, as though he couldn’t decide what he wanted more, to have his mouth on him or his eyes. Hannibal’s expression was less emotional, almost wry, but his eyes were bright and he kept touching Benjamin in small, careful ways, fingertips brushing his chest, his cheek, his lower lip.
Rose dropped her shift to the floor and returned to the side of the bed, taking Benjamin’s offered hand. Hannibal glanced at her and then stared, letting his breath out in a long sigh of appreciation. She was unsure of how to respond; she had seen him treat Minou and Livia and other women in a similar worshipful manner, but never before had he done so to her. She felt disconcerted, as though he had become a stranger. Then he lifted his eyes to her face, grinned, and said, “Athene– though perhaps I should not have named you after a virgin goddess.”
“Who, then? Aphrodite?” Rose said.
Benjamin rubbed his thumb across her knuckles and murmured, “She was Athena’s sister.”
“Half-sister,” Rose said skeptically. “Certainly not her twin.”
Hannibal ignored their digression. “Who indeed? Who is there clever enough, fearless enough, and, well, owl-eyed enough to deserve the honor of your appellation?”
“You could simply call me Rose.”
“Sometimes I suspect you of suffering from a lack of poetry.”
Rose bent to kiss him, and he opened quickly to her, reaching for her thighs. She straightened up. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” he echoed softly, “I don’t.” He drew his hands slowly up her flanks, the merest featherweight against her skin. She reacted more than she would have to a firmer touch, particularly when he started back down, brushing over her stomach, her hips, the front of her thighs. It was like storm air moving over her, the fine hair on her skin standing on end, tingling with the promise of rain. She could feel her pulse beat between her legs.
Hannibal shifted to the inside of her thighs, each fingertip a bright shock against that sensitive skin. He avoided the place where she most wanted his hands, tracing along the crease of her hips instead. He leaned forward to kiss her navel, and his fingers spread in half-circles over the lowest part of her belly, his thumbs sweeping over the edge of the curls between her thighs. Her breath hitched; such a teasing touch was a torment, and she had to catch at his shoulders to keep her balance. He did it again, and this time it was less like the crackle of electricity, but still made her ache for more.
“May I?” he asked, and at her nod, touched her where she had been waiting for him. She felt his fingers slip in the moisture on her skin, but he didn’t press in, only trailed a line along the outside of her folds. He repeated the movement again and again, until she propped one knee on the edge of the bed and lifted her hips. Finally he brought his fingers to her clit, circling the most tender spot. Rose had to close her eyes, and so she didn’t know exactly when Benjamin stood, only when his arm wrapped around her and took some of her weight. He had undressed as well, and his erection pressed against her back, hot and hard. She rubbed against him, and he groaned quietly.
Hannibal spread open her folds and pressed his mouth there, his tongue moving over her, licking into her. Her legs wobbled and she clutched at Benjamin’s arm; he tightened his grip, kissing her hair, her neck, the side of her face. He ground his hips against her, panting low and fast in her ear. Hannibal explored her skillfully; wide flat sweeps of his tongue alternated with the firmer pressure of just the tip, right over her clit. He pressed his face harder against her for deeper access, lapping and sucking at her so eagerly she could hear the wet sounds. Tremors began to move through her, and she threw her head back against Benjamin’s shoulder, arching her throat and opening her mouth to gasp for air. Benjamin cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, his own movements unsteady with impending climax.
Her release, when it arrived, was sudden and sharp, shaking her like a leaf in the wind. Hannibal would have persisted, but she pushed him away, too sensitive for more. Benjamin helped her lie on the bed, which she was grateful for, since she felt entirely incapable of anything more difficult than trying to catch her breath. He kissed her sweetly, though he must have been desperate for his own release. Hannibal twisted back to continue touching her, long strokes along her arms, inexpressibly soothing. Benjamin shifted to kneel above him; Hannibal leant up to kiss him, his throat making a long line as he stretched up toward Benjamin. He did something with his hands that Rose couldn’t see, and Benjamin made a short, cut-off sound low in his throat. He met her gaze for a moment, love and a sweet joy obvious in his expression, and then he closed his eyes.
Hannibal put an arm around his neck to draw him close, his other hand still working, and Benjamin pressed his face to Hannibal’s temple. He buried his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, tugging some of it loose from his queue, his breath the loudest sound in the room. Rose could see the strain in his face, the moment when pleasure looks so much like pain, and she sat up, reaching for him; he broke just before she touched him. He cried out, his body jerking against Hannibal. She rubbed his shoulder and he embraced her, pulling her hard against him– or against Hannibal, who was caught between them. Benjamin’s skin was hot where she touched it, with streaks of sweat at the center of his chest and down his spine. Hannibal leaned back against her, grinning somewhat smugly.
Benjamin sighed, long and content. “Oh. That was... very good.”
Rose laughed, and put her hand under his chin to tip his face up into a kiss. Hannibal shifted restlessly against her, and Benjamin turned to him, kissing him hard enough to press him against Rose. She put her arms around Hannibal’s waist as he arched his back, muscles tense.
She moved back across the bed, making more room for the two men. Hannibal didn’t notice until Benjamin pushed him down, where he immediately rolled to his other side to face Rose. She lifted a hand to hold him, but he caught it and kissed her wrist. “My most dear Rose,” he said. “My dearest friends. How can I tell you how grateful I am?”
“This isn’t solely for your benefit,” Benjamin said, undoing the buttons of Hannibal’s trousers. “I have managed to find some measure of enjoyment for myself.” He slid the flat of his palm down the front of the trousers, where Hannibal’s erection pressed against the cloth. Hannibal sighed and laid his own hand over Benjamin’s, squeezing lightly.
“I want you,” Rose said, moving closer. Hannibal’s skin was smooth and warm and somehow deeply thrilling against her own, and she took pleasure in touching as much of it as she could. “I didn’t, before. I had thought that I simply didn’t– that perhaps it wasn’t for me.” She paused, searching for the right words. “But now I feel open. There are possibilities for me that I never expected.” She smiled at him, teasing. “Would you deny me the chance to explore them?”
“O brave new world! / That has such people in it!” He obviously meant the quote in jest, but he was looking at her with unreserved tenderness, his eyes black as ink in the dark room; he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling it forward over her shoulder to his lips. She embraced him, kissing him again, enjoying how keenly he responded to her, more methodical and less forthright than Benjamin. She tasted herself on him, like salt and earth, and held him tighter.
Benjamin dragged off Hannibal’s trousers, kicking them to the foot of the bed. Hannibal gasped into Rose’s mouth, suddenly rigid.
She lifted her head. “Your leg–”
“I’m fine,” He interrupted. “Don’t stop now, please.” He clutched her waist, then smoothed his hands up to her breasts, massaging them; he buried his face in her neck, kissing his way down to her collarbones. She saw Benjamin doing nearly the same, his mouth against Hannibal’s shoulder, his hands stroking Hannibal’s chest and stomach. Watching him and feeling Hannibal, she had a dizzying sense of being doubled. Hannibal’s kisses turned openmouthed, hot air panted against her skin.
Benjamin moved his attention to Hannibal’s cock, taking it in a loose grip and beginning to pump it unhurriedly. Hannibal tried to turn toward him, but Benjamin held him in place, so all he could do was twist his face back against Benjamin’s shoulder. “Ben,” he said, “Ben, God, faster–”
Rose could see that Benjamin didn’t obey, his stroking continuing at exactly the same pace, though he bent to kiss Hannibal. She reached out brush Hannibal’s hair from his face, then let her fingers skim down across his torso, his muscles fluttering beneath her touch, and then, with just a slight hesitation, added her hand to Benjamin’s. Hannibal made a soft, desperate sound, hips pushing up into their hold, and let his head fall down against the bed. Benjamin smiled at her across him.
Hannibal’s cock felt like soft skin over hard muscle, its color flushed and dark. She wanted to please him, to hear him cry out again, wanted to learn his body as she had begun to do with Benjamin’s. When he peaked, spilling over her and Benjamin’s fingers, she felt almost as if she had as well; the air caught in her throat and her body shivered.
Hannibal kissed them both, turning from one to other as though he couldn’t choose. “I can’t tell you how happy I am,” he said, finally settling to lie still. Rose curled close to him, Benjamin draping an arm across Hannibal’s side to lie his hand on her hip.
“You don’t need to,” she said.
January woke in the faint light of dawn, roused by Rose slipping out from under the sheet and letting in a draft of night-cool air. Hannibal was still deeply asleep, his back pressed against January’s chest, his head pillowed on one bent arm.
Rose, catching sight of his open eyes, smiled and whispered, “Go back to sleep. It’s early still.” The three of them had stayed awake for some time, speaking as casually in the shared bed as they might have the previous year over coffee in the marketplace or jambalaya on the porch of Rose’s room. The only difference lay in his ability to touch his friends now; he idly stroked Rose’s arm as he spoke, or rested his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder while listening. He found a sense of deep contentment in the easy closeness of their bodies. He and Rose had divided the task of recounting New Orleans gossip, their involvement in a murder investigation over the summer, and their plans to reopen Rose’s school. Hannibal told stories of his life with Consuela, the Opera, and Mexico City before he’d first been invited to her family’s hacienda. Most of what they discussed was inconsequential, though if Rose’s voice was halting and rough when she spoke of her friend Artois, or Hannibal’s too bright for some of his memories of Consuela, they passed over it easily enough.
January was torn, wanting to get up and help Rose with her usual tasks while the morning was still and quiet, but also tempted by the warmth of the bed, the soporific rhythm of Hannibal’s breathing. Not a terrible fate, he thought, to be faced with a choice where either option would make him happy.
He moved to sit up, and Hannibal stirred beside him, blinking his eyes muzzily. He glanced from January to Rose, his puzzlement fading as he woke, and changing to a satisfied expression. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“We can’t all sleep until noon,” Rose said.
He held out a hand to her. “You’ve just returned to town. You can’t possibly have a schedule yet. Take opportunities to be idle when they present themselves.”
She rolled her eyes, but allowed him to pull her back into the bed, settling complacently against him. January leaned back as well, resting on his elbows. “I’m not tired, though,” Rose said, reversing their handhold to intertwine her fingers with Hannibal’s. “You’ll have to give me something to do.”
“Oh, I can think of a few things,” said January, and smiled.
Hannibal (and others) citations:
Ine
Latin for "enter, come in"
Can honour set to a leg? no: or
an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no.
Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is
honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what
is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it?
he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no.
Doth he hear it? no. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea,
to the dead. But will it not live with the living?
no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore
I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so
ends my catechism.
-Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 1, Act V, scene 1. The character Falstaff gives this speech.
Whist is a four-person card game sort of like a cross between Bridge and War. German Whist is the same thing for two.
Fare thee well;
The elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy spirits all of comfort!
-Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, Act III, scene 2.
Collige virgo rosas
Pick, girl, the roses.
-De rosis nascentibus (also titled Idyllium de rosis), attributed to either Ausonius or Virgil.
Libertà va cercando, ch'è sì cara, come sa chi per lei vita rifiuta.
He goes in search of freedom, and how dear that is, the man who gives up life for it well knows.
-Dante, Purgatorio. Canto I, lines 71-72.
The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains—Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness
I learn'd the language of another world.
-Byron, Manfred, Act III, scene 4.
Twelfth Night would totally be more rational if it ended in a threesome. Long-lost twins are a cop-out.
Fata obstant
The Fates willed otherwise.
-Latin saying
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.
A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?
-Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis
O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't!
-Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act V, Scene 1
Again, there are others, I am told, who, with even less of human feeling, maintain (and I briefly touched on this point just now) that friendships are to be sought for defence and help, not on account of good-will and affection; therefore, that those least endowed with firmness of character and strength of body have the greatest longing for friendship. Thus it is that women seek the support of friendship more than men do, the poor more than the rich, the unfortunate more than those who seem happy. What noble philosophy! You might just as well take the sun out of the sky as friendship from life, for the immortal gods have given us nothing better or more delightful.
-Cicero, De Amicitia, 13.46
After dinner the next night, Hannibal made his way back up to the deck; his leg made it hard to fall asleep. He walked very slowly with the crutch, but the deck was mostly deserted at this hour, except for some sailors doing– he supposed– necessary sailor things. It might be nice to be part of a crew, each person with their own place but all working together to make the ship sail. He was a little old to learn to tie knots, though. And the salt air wasn’t good for his violin’s strings. He made his way back and forth several times, hoping to find himself tired enough that even a broken leg couldn’t keep him awake. A few lanterns were lit along the space cleared for passengers to walk, providing just enough light to make the shadows darker.
His leg began to ache, so he moved to the railing and leaned against it, easing his weight off of the break. Unfortunately, he felt no closer to sleep. He was still standing there, considering another round of the ship, when someone came up beside him. It was Rose. “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“And now that you’ve found me, what do you propose to do?”
She smiled at him, the golden light from the lantern flashing off her spectacles and resting more gently on the curve of her cheek, before she turned to face the water like him, slipping her arm into his. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He shifted slightly, so that she was free to pull away again, but she seemed content to stay, her shoulder resting against his, her hand on his wrist. Her fingers sketched out small patterns, as though she were feeling his skin or the bones and pulse beneath, but more likely it was only an unconscious tic while she thought of something else. She was a tall woman, his height, and he found the warmth and weight of her against his side appealing. He was glad she could be at ease with him; when he had first met her, she had been wary, turning to stone at any touch she couldn’t avoid. Benjamin was good for her. She had always been strong, but the openness she had shown these last few weeks was new.
“You aren’t tired?” she asked.
“At this hour? Athene, you are vastly overestimating my capacity for sleep. I have hours yet to fill. I linger yet with Nature, for the night / Hath been to me a more familiar face / Than that of man.”
“Is it your leg?”
“I admit to having found that a broken leg is not as conducive to a good night’s sleep as one would think.” He grinned at her. “It’s so hard to find a comfortable position.”
The glance she gave him was warm and amused. “Perhaps you should find someone to help you with that.”
“Believe me, I would have, were it not that this ship has an unreasonable dearth of unmarried women.”
“What about the married ones?”
“Alas,” he said, patting her hand, “they all seem to be as faithful and chaste as you yourself.”
Rose laughed, perhaps a little harder than the joke warranted, but he didn’t mind. He was glad she would talk to him like this. He liked the way she had of noticing other people’s absurdities, and of holding herself at just enough of a distance that they were amusing rather than dismaying. She could be quick in conversation, though she often hid her brilliance and self-assurance and cool sarcasm beneath an air of propriety.
She tilted her head, looking at him consideringly. “This traveling has been difficult on you, hasn’t it?”
He shrugged. “What other choice do I have? I’ll survive.”
“Yes.” She sighed and turned back to the ocean. The lanterns had spoiled his night vision, so all he could see was blackness, with no dividing line between sea and sky. Even the stars seemed faint, more gray than white. “Hannibal,” Rose said after a time, breaking the silence. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Anything you ask. Well, anything within my abilities.”
“Oh, this is something you can do. If you’re willing.” She pulled her arm away so that they were no longer touching and turned to face him. He couldn’t quite make out her eyes, between the darkness and the glare of the lanterns, but her expression was calm. “When we get back to New Orleans, would you come and stay with us? It needn’t be permanent, but I would feel better if you were to stay with us at least until you’d healed. It would be so much less difficult that way.” One corner of her mouth turned up. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to worry about you, and Benjamin hates to go down to the Swamp.”
Hannibal hesitated. It seemed cowardly to accept when he had made such a point of refusing the same offer the previous day, but he couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse not to. Rose’s logic was, as always, air-tight. She observed his wavering resolve, and added in a persuasive voice, “Please come, for my sake. I would be grateful.”
He bowed his head. “It would be rude of me to refuse such a request. Particularly when it’s to my own benefit to accept.” He would be able to leave as soon as he needed to, after all. He wouldn’t stay long enough to ruin anything.
She smiled, then quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and walked off before he could react. He turned to watch her go; in the dim light, he almost thought he’d seen her blush.
If he was inclined to regret having succumbed to temptation, Rose and Benjamin gave him no opportunity to take back his agreement. Separately and together, they made such a point of anticipating his visit that he began to suspect them of conspiracy, though he couldn’t imagine what the goal was. It was pleasant, though, to make plans to see neighbors and old friends, to reminisce about the sights and tastes of New Orleans, to listen to Rose and Benjamin discuss how they wanted to furnish their new house. Much as he knew it could only be temporary, he looked forward to sharing their home. He would be happy there, safe and among friends. Even that was more than he could have asked for, and he was occasionally certain that it would be best for him to leave before he could grow accustomed to such a life. But there was nowhere to go, trapped on a boat as they were, and as he spent more time in the company of Benjamin and Rose the urgency of departure left him, and he pushed off thoughts of other cities for later.
The trip passed quickly with such things to fill the time. He taught Rose a new card game and they discussed Greeks other than Helen of Troy; Benjamin, unable to find a single instrument to borrow on the whole ship, sat beside him to listen when he would play, and sometimes softly sang. Hannibal persuaded the ship’s cook to lend them his copy of Twelfth Night, and the three of them staged a reading one night in the Januarys‘ cabin; Hannibal claimed the role of Viola for himself, with Benjamin as Orsino and Rose as a somewhat demure Olivia. Partway through they abandoned the text, inventing an entirely new resolution wherein Olivia succeeded in winning Viola’s hand in marriage by promising to wed Orsino as well (Sebastian, they all agreed, could be dispensed with as too obviously a deus ex machina), and they laughed themselves nearly to tears.
The last day before they arrived in New Orleans, Rose struck up an acquaintance with the captain, who agreed to show her how to read navigation maps. Benjamin and Hannibal passed on the opportunity, taking to the deck for fresh air instead. “I’ll be glad to be back,” Benjamin said. “Of course, at this point, I’d be glad to be anywhere that’s not on this ship.”
“Me as well. I missed New Orleans more than I expected to. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to come back, but fata obstant.”
Benjamin frowned. “So don’t hurry away again.”
“Would you miss me, amicus meus?” Hannibal grinned, to turn the question to a joke, but Benjamin answered sincerely anyway.
“Of course I would. Do you think I came to Mexico for Don Prospero’s company?”
“I thought you came because, as a good man, you would have considered it dishonorable to ignore a cry for help. Not that I’m not grateful, of course.” He was more than grateful; he was filled with a love for Benjamin and Rose that threatened to overwhelm him and spill out in uncontrollable, irreversible ways. They had risked their lives and wasted their money for his sake, and he would never forget it. They had defended him, borne him back to safety, believed in his innocence against all evidence. He only wished he deserved such friends.
“Stay until you’ve repaid the debt, then.” Benjamin’s voice was serious and he leaned in forward in his seat, putting a hand on Hannibal’s knee to give additional weight to his argument. Hannibal swallowed, close enough to see the lighter flecks in Benjamin’s brown eyes, to smell the clean soap and starch on him over the ocean salt. It occurred to him that he could close the distance between them and kiss Ben, hold him, try to persuade him to have one last tryst. But that wouldn’t be enough, and Hannibal refused to be the worm that sickened the flower of his marriage.
He looked away. “I think extending my stay is more likely to deepen my debt to you.”
After what seemed like long enough for Benjamin to surely read his every thought, Ben withdrew his hand and sat back. “The only thing I want from you is to be my friend.”
“You should acquire more extravagant tastes, then. Besides, you have plenty of friends. You hardly need one more.”
“What if I need a white man to testify for me?”
Hannibal glanced at him, not certain how serious he was. “God pray you manage to stay out of court. But if you should get involved in another misadventure, Shaw would testify for you. Or, if not him, Mayerling, or even Davis.”
Benjamin conceded the point with a tilt of his head, but crossed his arms. “And what if I need a white man to lie for me?”
Hannibal laughed shortly. “Why, amicus meus, are you planning some sort of criminal escapade?”
“You never know where the fates will lead. Piano music might suddenly fall out of fashion.”
“I rather doubt it.” Hannibal shrugged. “I give you my word: if you descend to robbing banks, I’ll return from wherever I am, and swear under oath to your upright character and whatever alibi you’ve dreamed up.”
Benjamin stuck out his hand, and Hannibal shook it to seal the promise. “I’m going to hold you to that. Don’t go so far I can’t find you.” Hannibal nodded, perplexed but cheered.
Their arrival in New Orleans was chaotic, loud, and disorganized, much like every other disembarkation Hannibal had ever experienced. He followed Rose and Benjamin to their new home in the French Quarter, an old Spanish-style house set slightly off from the street. They set about reopening the doors and windows, letting the stale air of their weeks away be blown out. It had been agreed that Hannibal would stay in Benjamin’s study, while Benjamin slept with Rose, so that he shouldn’t have to climb the stairs to the other rooms in the attic on a broken leg. Accordingly, that night he was sitting on a bed he recognized from nights spent in the room in Livia Levesque’s garçonnière, though he’d never before slept on it alone; he was rather glad to be disturbed from his thoughts by a knock on the door.
Rose entered at his invitation, dressed only in a night shift and robe, her hair braided back for sleep. There was nothing indecent in her appearance, but she looked soft and open, the shape of her legs more obvious without petticoats, and he knew if he were to touch her, he would be able to feel the warmth of her body through the thin cloth. She still wore her spectacles, one point of familiarity.
“Is something wrong?” Hannibal asked.
“No, not at all,” she said. She readjusted the collar of her robe. “Are you comfortable here? Do you need anything?”
“I’ll be fine, thank you.”
She paused to take a breath, not meeting his eyes. “We were preparing for bed, and I thought of you in here, so close and yet... still so very far away. It needn’t to be so, you know. If you would like, you could come to my room.”
“Why?”
To his surprise, she laughed outright, her teeth showing for a moment. She cocked her head at him, eyes bright. “I was under the impression that you were experienced at this sort of thing.”
For a moment he wanted to kiss her so strongly that he nearly did; there was a vein of hidden happiness in her manner that he badly wanted to share. “I am, unfortunately. Which is all the more reason you shouldn’t ask such things of me; I might have taken you up on it.”
“And why shouldn’t you? I want you to; Ben wants you to.” She stepped forward and took his hands in hers, expression intent and sympathetic. “Hannibal, tell me: do you want us?”
He didn’t want to lie to her, but the truth was unbearable; his heart pounded in his chest. “You are my friends,” he said at last, knowing the words were inadequate and hearing the distress in his own voice.
Rose seemed to accept that as answer enough, her smile firming. “Then come with me.” She drew him to his feet, and he let her take his arm and guide him to her bedroom.
Benjamin was sitting on the bed when they entered, half-dressed in only shirtsleeves and trousers. The shirt was new, and clearly had been tailored for him rather than bought secondhand; the material was so fine that it revealed every line of his broad shoulders, the contour of the muscles in his arms. The white of the linen was stark against his dark skin.
Hannibal looked away, but shifting his attention to Rose didn’t help. In the stronger light of their room, he could see that her robe was a forest green that brought out the warmth in her skin and eyes. It was less ostentatious than Benjamin’s clothes, but still well-made, clinging to her form with the gracefulness of silk. She had been too much in the sun lately, in Mexico and on board the ship, and it showed on her browned cheekbones and nose, her more prominent freckles. In opposition, her hair had lightened, the bronze highlights transmuted to gold. She directed him to sit on the bed, ducking her head for a moment as she did, and he noticed the soft spot of skin behind her ear, the small, delicate curls of hair on the nape of her neck. When he’d sat, she perched next to him, cornering him between her and Benjamin.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Benjamin said, putting a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of Rose?”
“Why are you doing this?” Hannibal tried to smile, but suspected it came out rather sickly. “I mean, why now?”
Benjamin shrugged. “The beds on board the ship were much too small.”
Hannibal was startled into a laugh, and Benjamin’s hand relaxed. “I’ve missed you,” Benjamin said, his voice earnest. “I want what we had before.”
“Well, not exactly,” Rose murmured.
“No.” He smiled at her. “Rose refuses to be left out this time. It would be with both of us, Hannibal, if you say yes.” He held out his hand, palm up, and waited. Hannibal clasped it before he could rescind the offer, a joy growing inside his chest.
Rose traced softly down his cheek, then drew his face towards her; he was very conscious of the softness of her skin and of how his own flesh must feel, of the air in his throat and Benjamin’s strong hand around his. She kissed his other cheek, the warm soft touch of her mouth a contrast to her cool firm fingers. It was a chaste kiss, as kisses went. He wanted to kiss the freckles sprinkled faint across her cheekbones, the fingers still held to his face, and most of all her lips.
“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me,” he heard himself say, the first thing that entered his mind.
She raised her eyebrows, and he had the sense that she was laughing at him, though the only outward sign was where her mouth tucked in at one corner. “Indeed? That seems a low price.”
“You are going about haggling in entirely the wrong manner, Athene.
She continued to look at him, eyes still sparkling with the last of the laughter. Her hand dropped from his face to his neck and curved around behind it, a point of steady balance, and then she closed the distance between them and kissed him again, sure and on the mouth.
Rose kept her grip loose so that Hannibal was free to pull away, but though his mouth was gentle on hers, almost tentative, he leaned in, turning his body to face her. After a moment, he put his arm around her shoulders, still kissing her, and she felt her heart start to beat a little faster, her face flush with the newness and excitement of it. Hannibal’s other hand fumbled against the skirt of her robe before finding her knee and clasping it, then sliding very slightly up her thigh.
Rose had been right; she enjoyed his kiss. Laughter bubbled up inside her, a sense of the ridiculous at finding herself embracing Hannibal, whom she had thought of so chastely for so long. But to laugh she would have to break the kiss, and she was unwilling to do so; now that she was kissing him, she wanted to keep on doing so. She switched to light kisses, exploring kisses; she held his face still between her hands to kiss his cheek, the corner of his eyes, his neck, until he pulled free and took her mouth again. She parted her lips, wanting to taste him, and felt how Hannibal’s fingers tightened in response, digging into her shoulder and thigh. She pressed into him, deepening the kiss, when he abruptly pulled back and turned his head.
Benjamin had kissed his shoulder, and as Rose watched, he put an arm around Hannibal’s waist, enfolding him tightly from behind. He pressed his face to Hannibal’s hair and breathed deeply. Hannibal laughed and said his name, his voice somewhat shaky, and twisted in Benjamin’s hold to kiss him hard, one arm going around Benjamin’s neck. They kissed fiercely, like they feared being pulled apart, clinging to one another.
Rose leaned back, glad they could come together so easily. She had sensed the distance between them in Mexico, each grieving for the other, and had been sorry for it, knowing how close they had been. She didn’t feel excluded by their passion, but rather welcomed a moment to herself, to be able to watch instead of needing to do.
Hannibal tried to push back from Benjamin, who held more fixedly to him, catching Hannibal by the back of the head and pressing another kiss to his mouth, then another, and then a third, even as Hannibal laughingly objected. “Let me breathe, amicus meus, just for a moment–”
Rose reached across him and shoved at Benjamin’s shoulder. “Let him go, dear. He won’t disappear if you let him out of your hands.”
Benjamin grinned at her, somewhat embarrassed. “Are you certain about that? I’d rather not be obliged to follow him to another country again.”
Hannibal put his palms up in surrender. “You’ve made your point. I am sufficiently rebuked.”
“He’ll stay now,” Rose said confidently. She knelt and leaned across Hannibal to kiss Benjamin. His lips were slick; wet, she realized, from Hannibal’s kiss. Goosebumps traced down her skin and, as if following them, Hannibal’s hand moved across her waist. She balanced her weight against Benjamin’s shoulder as she drew out the kiss. She of course had grown to know his kisses– how he tasted and moved, his love and passion– but coming to him with her lips still sensitive from Hannibal’s kiss made it seem new and wicked. Hannibal had continued to touch her, long strokes over her back and sides, which woke her nerves and deepened her awareness of her body and all its parts. He toyed with the sash at the waist of her robe, twisting and tugging it before slipping forward to reach for the knot that held it closed. He stopped there, fingers brushing against her belly. “May I?” he asked.
She hesitated, feeling herself on the edge of a precipice, as though this was the point of no return. Hannibal retreated slightly when she didn’t answer, but she caught his hand, holding firmly it in place. She did want him to touch her, to be with him; she drew in a deep breath and relaxed her grasp. “Yes, you may.”
He quickly untied the sash and slid the robe from her shoulders. “Ah,” he said, his voice low and admiring, “you have freckles here, too.” He put his lips to the outermost edge of her shoulder and began to work his way in, dropping little kisses on each freckle. Rose dropped her head to Benjamin’s shoulder, closing her mouth to prevent a sound from escaping.
“It’s not the only place she does,” Benjamin said, drawing the robe further down her arms.
“Hush.” She swallowed; there was a tension all through her body, as though she needed to stretch her muscles, but she knew it was a more deep-seated craving than that. “Or I’ll tell him all about your least handsome features.”
“But I already know what Ben looks like,” Hannibal said, and then froze, so obviously regretting his words than Rose had to laugh, though she tried to do so kindly.
She found his hand and squeezed it. “I already knew.”
Hannibal sighed, and pulled his hand away to hide his eyes, but she could see his shoulders ease back down. “I rather thought you did.”
“No, I seem to be the only one kept ignorant,” Benjamin said, mock-angry.
Rose stood up from the bed and reseated herself on Benjamin’s lap, kissing his cheek as his arms went around her waist to hold her in place. She waved a hand at Hannibal. “So, make it up to me. Undress, I’ll see you, and we’ll all be even.”
He grinned. “If only all my problems could be solved so pleasantly.” He began to obey her direction, and Rose turned back to Benjamin, who assisted her in pulling off the robe, which he tossed to the foot of the bed. Her night shift was made of linen, woven so finely that it sat on her light as a mist, and nearly as sheer. Seated on his knee, she was taller than Benjamin, which gave their kisses a different feel, one she rather liked. As did he, if the ways his hands moved over her hips and up to her breasts was any indication. Benjamin leaned forward to kiss the upper curve of her chest, pulling the night shift tight against her so that her nipples were just visible as dark shadows beneath the cloth. She returned the favor by tugging his shirt off, revealing his broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist, the thick muscles of his arms and chest. He had a small patch of hair on his chest, darker even than his skin, and she ran her fingers through it, liking how it scratched against her palm.
She rocked closer to him, moving his thigh between her legs, and he et his hands to her sides; they were wide enough that his thumbs could circle the undersides of her breasts while his palms framed her ribs. He lifted one breast and kissed it through the night shift; she could feel the heat of his mouth, but craved it even closer. He licked at her, and his tongue dragged the texture of the fabric across her nipple. She arched her back, escaping the overwhelming sensation, but the movement only pressed her pelvis harder against him. He moved one arm behind her to support her so she wouldn’t fall.
She looked toward Hannibal; he had bent over to remove his second boot, wearing only his trousers still. His body was such a contrast to Benjamin’s; not just in color, though of course he was pale as milk, his torso and arms even whiter than his hands and face, which had been touched by the Mexican sun. And too she had known he was thin, but there was a stark reality to actually seeing him, lean and sharp-boned as an alley-cat, the knobbiness of his elbows and ankles giving him an oddly young look, as though he was still in his adolescence. He wasn’t unattractive, though; she liked the delicacy of his long limbs, the indentations that ran on the inside of his hipbones, narrowing to a V, the point of which was still hidden beneath his trousers. He was cool, in form and color and manner, compared to Benjamin’s warmth, and Rose found both pleasing.
She stood to finish undressing herself; Benjamin held to her until she backed out of reach of his arms, and only then reluctantly released her with a self-conscious expression. She smiled at him in acknowledgement as she raised the shift over her head.
Benjamin turned to Hannibal and laid a hand on his thigh to catch his attention, kissing him when he looked up. He moved closer to return the kiss, stroking Benjamin’s shoulders and arms and sides, obviously savoring the feel of his body, his more solid build. Benjamin’s kisses were less frantic than earlier, each one slow and appreciative; he paused frequently to pull back and look at Hannibal, as though he couldn’t decide what he wanted more, to have his mouth on him or his eyes. Hannibal’s expression was less emotional, almost wry, but his eyes were bright and he kept touching Benjamin in small, careful ways, fingertips brushing his chest, his cheek, his lower lip.
Rose dropped her shift to the floor and returned to the side of the bed, taking Benjamin’s offered hand. Hannibal glanced at her and then stared, letting his breath out in a long sigh of appreciation. She was unsure of how to respond; she had seen him treat Minou and Livia and other women in a similar worshipful manner, but never before had he done so to her. She felt disconcerted, as though he had become a stranger. Then he lifted his eyes to her face, grinned, and said, “Athene– though perhaps I should not have named you after a virgin goddess.”
“Who, then? Aphrodite?” Rose said.
Benjamin rubbed his thumb across her knuckles and murmured, “She was Athena’s sister.”
“Half-sister,” Rose said skeptically. “Certainly not her twin.”
Hannibal ignored their digression. “Who indeed? Who is there clever enough, fearless enough, and, well, owl-eyed enough to deserve the honor of your appellation?”
“You could simply call me Rose.”
“Sometimes I suspect you of suffering from a lack of poetry.”
Rose bent to kiss him, and he opened quickly to her, reaching for her thighs. She straightened up. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” he echoed softly, “I don’t.” He drew his hands slowly up her flanks, the merest featherweight against her skin. She reacted more than she would have to a firmer touch, particularly when he started back down, brushing over her stomach, her hips, the front of her thighs. It was like storm air moving over her, the fine hair on her skin standing on end, tingling with the promise of rain. She could feel her pulse beat between her legs.
Hannibal shifted to the inside of her thighs, each fingertip a bright shock against that sensitive skin. He avoided the place where she most wanted his hands, tracing along the crease of her hips instead. He leaned forward to kiss her navel, and his fingers spread in half-circles over the lowest part of her belly, his thumbs sweeping over the edge of the curls between her thighs. Her breath hitched; such a teasing touch was a torment, and she had to catch at his shoulders to keep her balance. He did it again, and this time it was less like the crackle of electricity, but still made her ache for more.
“May I?” he asked, and at her nod, touched her where she had been waiting for him. She felt his fingers slip in the moisture on her skin, but he didn’t press in, only trailed a line along the outside of her folds. He repeated the movement again and again, until she propped one knee on the edge of the bed and lifted her hips. Finally he brought his fingers to her clit, circling the most tender spot. Rose had to close her eyes, and so she didn’t know exactly when Benjamin stood, only when his arm wrapped around her and took some of her weight. He had undressed as well, and his erection pressed against her back, hot and hard. She rubbed against him, and he groaned quietly.
Hannibal spread open her folds and pressed his mouth there, his tongue moving over her, licking into her. Her legs wobbled and she clutched at Benjamin’s arm; he tightened his grip, kissing her hair, her neck, the side of her face. He ground his hips against her, panting low and fast in her ear. Hannibal explored her skillfully; wide flat sweeps of his tongue alternated with the firmer pressure of just the tip, right over her clit. He pressed his face harder against her for deeper access, lapping and sucking at her so eagerly she could hear the wet sounds. Tremors began to move through her, and she threw her head back against Benjamin’s shoulder, arching her throat and opening her mouth to gasp for air. Benjamin cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, his own movements unsteady with impending climax.
Her release, when it arrived, was sudden and sharp, shaking her like a leaf in the wind. Hannibal would have persisted, but she pushed him away, too sensitive for more. Benjamin helped her lie on the bed, which she was grateful for, since she felt entirely incapable of anything more difficult than trying to catch her breath. He kissed her sweetly, though he must have been desperate for his own release. Hannibal twisted back to continue touching her, long strokes along her arms, inexpressibly soothing. Benjamin shifted to kneel above him; Hannibal leant up to kiss him, his throat making a long line as he stretched up toward Benjamin. He did something with his hands that Rose couldn’t see, and Benjamin made a short, cut-off sound low in his throat. He met her gaze for a moment, love and a sweet joy obvious in his expression, and then he closed his eyes.
Hannibal put an arm around his neck to draw him close, his other hand still working, and Benjamin pressed his face to Hannibal’s temple. He buried his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, tugging some of it loose from his queue, his breath the loudest sound in the room. Rose could see the strain in his face, the moment when pleasure looks so much like pain, and she sat up, reaching for him; he broke just before she touched him. He cried out, his body jerking against Hannibal. She rubbed his shoulder and he embraced her, pulling her hard against him– or against Hannibal, who was caught between them. Benjamin’s skin was hot where she touched it, with streaks of sweat at the center of his chest and down his spine. Hannibal leaned back against her, grinning somewhat smugly.
Benjamin sighed, long and content. “Oh. That was... very good.”
Rose laughed, and put her hand under his chin to tip his face up into a kiss. Hannibal shifted restlessly against her, and Benjamin turned to him, kissing him hard enough to press him against Rose. She put her arms around Hannibal’s waist as he arched his back, muscles tense.
She moved back across the bed, making more room for the two men. Hannibal didn’t notice until Benjamin pushed him down, where he immediately rolled to his other side to face Rose. She lifted a hand to hold him, but he caught it and kissed her wrist. “My most dear Rose,” he said. “My dearest friends. How can I tell you how grateful I am?”
“This isn’t solely for your benefit,” Benjamin said, undoing the buttons of Hannibal’s trousers. “I have managed to find some measure of enjoyment for myself.” He slid the flat of his palm down the front of the trousers, where Hannibal’s erection pressed against the cloth. Hannibal sighed and laid his own hand over Benjamin’s, squeezing lightly.
“I want you,” Rose said, moving closer. Hannibal’s skin was smooth and warm and somehow deeply thrilling against her own, and she took pleasure in touching as much of it as she could. “I didn’t, before. I had thought that I simply didn’t– that perhaps it wasn’t for me.” She paused, searching for the right words. “But now I feel open. There are possibilities for me that I never expected.” She smiled at him, teasing. “Would you deny me the chance to explore them?”
“O brave new world! / That has such people in it!” He obviously meant the quote in jest, but he was looking at her with unreserved tenderness, his eyes black as ink in the dark room; he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling it forward over her shoulder to his lips. She embraced him, kissing him again, enjoying how keenly he responded to her, more methodical and less forthright than Benjamin. She tasted herself on him, like salt and earth, and held him tighter.
Benjamin dragged off Hannibal’s trousers, kicking them to the foot of the bed. Hannibal gasped into Rose’s mouth, suddenly rigid.
She lifted her head. “Your leg–”
“I’m fine,” He interrupted. “Don’t stop now, please.” He clutched her waist, then smoothed his hands up to her breasts, massaging them; he buried his face in her neck, kissing his way down to her collarbones. She saw Benjamin doing nearly the same, his mouth against Hannibal’s shoulder, his hands stroking Hannibal’s chest and stomach. Watching him and feeling Hannibal, she had a dizzying sense of being doubled. Hannibal’s kisses turned openmouthed, hot air panted against her skin.
Benjamin moved his attention to Hannibal’s cock, taking it in a loose grip and beginning to pump it unhurriedly. Hannibal tried to turn toward him, but Benjamin held him in place, so all he could do was twist his face back against Benjamin’s shoulder. “Ben,” he said, “Ben, God, faster–”
Rose could see that Benjamin didn’t obey, his stroking continuing at exactly the same pace, though he bent to kiss Hannibal. She reached out brush Hannibal’s hair from his face, then let her fingers skim down across his torso, his muscles fluttering beneath her touch, and then, with just a slight hesitation, added her hand to Benjamin’s. Hannibal made a soft, desperate sound, hips pushing up into their hold, and let his head fall down against the bed. Benjamin smiled at her across him.
Hannibal’s cock felt like soft skin over hard muscle, its color flushed and dark. She wanted to please him, to hear him cry out again, wanted to learn his body as she had begun to do with Benjamin’s. When he peaked, spilling over her and Benjamin’s fingers, she felt almost as if she had as well; the air caught in her throat and her body shivered.
Hannibal kissed them both, turning from one to other as though he couldn’t choose. “I can’t tell you how happy I am,” he said, finally settling to lie still. Rose curled close to him, Benjamin draping an arm across Hannibal’s side to lie his hand on her hip.
“You don’t need to,” she said.
January woke in the faint light of dawn, roused by Rose slipping out from under the sheet and letting in a draft of night-cool air. Hannibal was still deeply asleep, his back pressed against January’s chest, his head pillowed on one bent arm.
Rose, catching sight of his open eyes, smiled and whispered, “Go back to sleep. It’s early still.” The three of them had stayed awake for some time, speaking as casually in the shared bed as they might have the previous year over coffee in the marketplace or jambalaya on the porch of Rose’s room. The only difference lay in his ability to touch his friends now; he idly stroked Rose’s arm as he spoke, or rested his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder while listening. He found a sense of deep contentment in the easy closeness of their bodies. He and Rose had divided the task of recounting New Orleans gossip, their involvement in a murder investigation over the summer, and their plans to reopen Rose’s school. Hannibal told stories of his life with Consuela, the Opera, and Mexico City before he’d first been invited to her family’s hacienda. Most of what they discussed was inconsequential, though if Rose’s voice was halting and rough when she spoke of her friend Artois, or Hannibal’s too bright for some of his memories of Consuela, they passed over it easily enough.
January was torn, wanting to get up and help Rose with her usual tasks while the morning was still and quiet, but also tempted by the warmth of the bed, the soporific rhythm of Hannibal’s breathing. Not a terrible fate, he thought, to be faced with a choice where either option would make him happy.
He moved to sit up, and Hannibal stirred beside him, blinking his eyes muzzily. He glanced from January to Rose, his puzzlement fading as he woke, and changing to a satisfied expression. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“We can’t all sleep until noon,” Rose said.
He held out a hand to her. “You’ve just returned to town. You can’t possibly have a schedule yet. Take opportunities to be idle when they present themselves.”
She rolled her eyes, but allowed him to pull her back into the bed, settling complacently against him. January leaned back as well, resting on his elbows. “I’m not tired, though,” Rose said, reversing their handhold to intertwine her fingers with Hannibal’s. “You’ll have to give me something to do.”
“Oh, I can think of a few things,” said January, and smiled.
Hannibal (and others) citations:
Ine
Latin for "enter, come in"
Can honour set to a leg? no: or
an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no.
Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is
honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what
is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it?
he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no.
Doth he hear it? no. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea,
to the dead. But will it not live with the living?
no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore
I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so
ends my catechism.
-Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 1, Act V, scene 1. The character Falstaff gives this speech.
Whist is a four-person card game sort of like a cross between Bridge and War. German Whist is the same thing for two.
Fare thee well;
The elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy spirits all of comfort!
-Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, Act III, scene 2.
Collige virgo rosas
Pick, girl, the roses.
-De rosis nascentibus (also titled Idyllium de rosis), attributed to either Ausonius or Virgil.
Libertà va cercando, ch'è sì cara, come sa chi per lei vita rifiuta.
He goes in search of freedom, and how dear that is, the man who gives up life for it well knows.
-Dante, Purgatorio. Canto I, lines 71-72.
The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains—Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness
I learn'd the language of another world.
-Byron, Manfred, Act III, scene 4.
Twelfth Night would totally be more rational if it ended in a threesome. Long-lost twins are a cop-out.
Fata obstant
The Fates willed otherwise.
-Latin saying
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.
A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?
-Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis
O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't!
-Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act V, Scene 1
Again, there are others, I am told, who, with even less of human feeling, maintain (and I briefly touched on this point just now) that friendships are to be sought for defence and help, not on account of good-will and affection; therefore, that those least endowed with firmness of character and strength of body have the greatest longing for friendship. Thus it is that women seek the support of friendship more than men do, the poor more than the rich, the unfortunate more than those who seem happy. What noble philosophy! You might just as well take the sun out of the sky as friendship from life, for the immortal gods have given us nothing better or more delightful.
-Cicero, De Amicitia, 13.46
