Chapter Text
Hannibal's stroll through the sunny hills of Crete was interrupted by a striking sight – amidst fragrant clusters of blooming heather a handsome young centaur stood, sunning himself. He was trim, with gorgeous features, his coat a warm chestnut brown and shining silky in the late afternoon light.
Hannibal had long desired to lay with a centaur, but unfortunately, none he'd met so far had been willing to indulge him – nor had they been as lovely as this particular specimen.
Not one to let such a perfect opportunity for carnal pleasure pass him by, Hannibal approached the handsome youth with his best winsome smile. "What luck, for such a handsome stallion to cross my path! Please, let me crown you with larkspur, ivy and laurel to compliment your beauty!"
The target of Hannibal's amorous intentions was visibly unimpressed. "I know your kind, Satyr, and what use you might have for a Centaur. It'll start innocently, with some colorful weeds on my head, and culminate with something much less flattering and quite stiff up my backside!"
"Ah, but both are meant to flatter, my dear – a beautiful head and fine backside such as yours deserve to be treated with the proper reverence!" Hannibal tried to subtly highlight his own physique, puffing out his toned furred chest and canting his hips to draw attention to his own sizable assets. Though he had to admit – in terms of scale, he had nothing on his potential equine paramour. But one had to account for total body mass!
The young centaur nervously pawed the dirt. His eyes surreptitiously darted over Hannibal's body, lingering here and there, quite involuntarily, the rose of a fetching blush blooming on his cheeks.
Hunger pooled in Hannibal's gut as he stole another furtive glance, saliva pooling in his mouth as he eyed the handsome stallion's hindquarters. Nostrils flaring, he took a deep breath, letting the youth's strong animal musk – an intoxicating primal aroma – linger on his palate. The distinct enticing flavor of salty-bitter precome clung to the roof his mouth.
Hannibal longed to gorge himself on this delectable feast. Yearned to bury his face between the swell of those round asscheeks where the mouthwatering scent was strongest and sip directly from the source. Ached to coax that massive erection out of its soft sheath and rub himself against it like a cat in heat!
The young centaur was not left unaffected by Hannibal's bold flirtations – all four hooves nervously dancing in place, he uselessly tried to hide his own growing arousal. Heedless of those sharp hooves churning the ground, Hannibal stepped close – close enough to feel each other's body heat – and caressed a calloused hand over a flushed cheek.
The youth shuddered, uttering a startled nicker, but quickly relaxed. With a resigned sigh, he leaned into the chaste touch. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips before he bowed down, softly pressing his mouth to Hannibal's in a sweet kiss. "You may call me Will, my caprine seducer. I expect you to treat me with the ardent veneration I was promised," he murmured as their lips parted again.
"Please, call me Hannibal, dear Will. I shall worship at the altar of your fine body as if I was praying to Dionysos himself!"
***
Notes:
The Bacchanalia were the ancient roman version of the Dionysia – festivals dedicated to the god Dionysos/Bacchus. The ancient greek Dionysia were a celebration of the arts, centered around theatrical performances. The historian Titus Livius later decried the roman version as violent drug-fueled orgies – a definition the term is still associated with today.
Larkspur and laurel were sacred to Apollo, the god of healing, music, prophecy and archery.
Ivy was sacred to Dionysos, the god of wine, intoxication and ecstasy, also associated with theatre, masks, eroticism and madness.
Satyrs are followers of Dionysos and are associated with alcohol and sex. In classical greek art, they're usually depicted with large, erect penises and often shown masturbating or engaging in bestiality. Hannibal works quite well as a Satyr, unrepentant hedonist and lover of the arts, fine drink and food that he is.
Centaurs are an interesting juxtaposition between the untamed spirit of a wild horse and the intellect of a human. They pose both as fierce warriors as well as wise teachers. Will's character, profession and inner turmoil – violent animalistic urges clashing with a desire to remain morally good – are quite fitting of the dual nature of a centaur.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Surprise?
Didn't expect to add more to this, but here we are.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Will was on his way to his and Hannibal's usual meeting spot, a lovely sunny meadow covered in soft long grass that invited one to bed down for a nap — or some less innocent pastimes — when, with a rustle of enormous wings, a feathered obstacle landed in his path. A beautiful harpy settled on top of a fallen tree stump, the dry wood creaking as her intimidating talons dug into the bark.
"Greetings, little filly. I apologize for interrupting your day, but you might say I felt it my duty to warn you."
"Warn me? Of what?" Will pawed the ground, unsettled by the harpy's cold piercing gaze.
"Your new lover, of course. You see, he and I have history. Of the intimate kind." She straightened and puffed up her plumage. "I'm afraid old Hannibal is as capricious as he is caprine. His kind don't get attached, just flitting from fling to fling, like a busy bee pollinating flower after beautiful flower. Oh, the nectar of each is a sweet treat he'll savor, to be sure, but the petals will eventually fall off the bloom and Hannibal move on to a fresher blossom."
Hannibal had been nothing but attentive and exuberantly affectionate towards Will since they'd first laid with each other. He'd not given any indication for Will to doubt his sincerity. Nevertheless, in the weeks since their first meeting, Will had told himself not to become too attached, well aware of a Satyr's fickle nature.
The harpy's blunt unsolicited warning still stung his pride.
How did she even know about their tryst? Had she been stalking them, perhaps still attached to Hannibal herself? Was her interference born of sympathy or jealousy?
Will was pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by the harpy's voice. "You're still young and naive, but if you're smart, you might decide to move on to greener pastures before Hannibal does. Lessen the sting of abandonment by taking the reins and trotting off to find more stable companionship with one of your own kind. I highly doubt an inexperienced filly like yourself will be the one to finally convince Hannibal to settle down and remain faithful." She looked down at Will with infuriating pity and mocking condescension, raising his hackles.
"And if you're smart, you might decide to take flight before I decide to pluck you for your impudence!" Will reared up, kicking out with his forelegs, sharp hooves cutting through the air, dangerously close to the bird-woman's vulnerable bare chest.
With an ear splitting screech, she hopped out of range and took flight once more, only leaving a few stray feathers behind.
Will felt morose in the wake of the unsettling encounter, suddenly quite unenthusiastic about meeting up with Hannibal following this rude reminder of the likely precarious nature of their relationship.
He couldn't help but compare himself to the aloof beauty of the harpy. How could he measure up to such an elegant creature? He couldn't be more opposite.
How could he ever hope to keep Hannibal's attention?
***
Sitting on his haunches, lost in thought, still in the place where he'd been waylaid by the harpy, was how Hannibal found him eventually.
"My love, what has you so out of sorts? I feared something had happened to you. Or worse, you'd decided to move on and leave me heartbroken." Hannibal petted through Will's mane, the gentle caress enough to break Will's resolve and he haltingly retold his mess of a morning.
Hannibal comforted him through his tale, whispering assurances and promises, proclaiming his lasting devotion to Will.
His lover's soothing presence soon calmed Will's roiling emotions. Hannibal's touch and voice were also stirring in an entirely different manner however, and they soon bedded down in the shade of an olive tree to reacquaint themselves with each other's bodies.
***
When Will woke he was alone, the spot by his side where Hannibal had rested already cold.
He stretched and caught a whiff of a delicious scent — the aroma of roasting meat carried by the breeze. Appetite peaked, he followed his nose and soon found Hannibal in a nearby clearing, tending to a firepit, the plucked carcass of an enormous bird browning over the flames. The sight was as unsettling as it was enticing — such swift retaliation Hannibal had meted out against the one that had so upset Will a mere day ago.
"I did not expect you to avenge me quite so viciously. Am I to be next on the menue should I ever dare to step out of line?"
Hannibal looked visibly affronted at the suggestion. "Never! Bedelia here took liberties I simply couldn't forgive. How dare she try and chase you off with portents of doomed romance?" He freed a steaming thigh from the roast and held out the succulent treat for Will to sample.
Will rarely ate meat and then mostly fish. It felt both exciting and forbidden to take that first bite. To do away with an erstwhile rival with such finality. It was cooked to perfection — juicy, tender and lightly seasoned in a way that complimented the gamey flavor.
They ate until they were sated, bellies filled with a rude bird. With their feast consumed they settled back down in a sunny spot, tucked close together, for a lazy nap.
Notes:
RIP Bedelia with the horse related puns.
Harpies are an interesting conundrum. They seem to have originally been wind spirits, always depicted as half-bird of prey, half-woman creatures, but depending on the author, they're described as either beautiful maidens or ugly hags.
Virgil described them like this: Bird-bodied, girl-faced things they are; abominable their droppings, their hands are talons, their faces haggard with hunger insatiable.
Now, the main reason I turned Bedelia into a harpy is that the mental image of her ending up as a rotisserie chicken for Will and Hannibal to feast on just wouldn't leave me alone lol.
I think she makes a fine harpy regardless. Her attitude is aloof and unconcerned with other people's struggles, except for how interesting a challenge it might pose to solve. A removed bird's eye view of humanity, you might say.
In a fun subversion of a canon moment, it's also a callback to her saying that if she found a wounded bird by the side of the road, she'd crush it, almost offended by another's weakness.