Note: This was written for a prompt on the Shakespeare kink meme.
Portia had taken one look at Antonio sprawled across her marriage bed and walked right out of the room. It was her wordless compromise with her husband: Portia was his wife legally, socially and officially, but wherever Antonio was concerned, she had to be prepared to shift into the shadows for a while and give him the full, blinding strength of the light of Bassanio's interest. The merchant filled that spot more perfectly than anyone, with the delicate angles of his body framing the smoothness of his back, all of his crevices and the few weathered lines on his face pooled with sunlight.
The blankets almost fell just where they were needed to cover up his indecency. Almost. Portia didn't allow her gaze to linger on him long enough to catch every glimpse of bare flesh where it shouldn't have been. A single look was all it had taken before she slipped quietly back through the door and went on with her day, brushing past her husband without a word as he appeared, walking in the direction of the room.
Bassanio hadn't, however, brought Antonio to his room with the intention of committing further adultery. As if he wasn't already damned enough in that regard. His mind was a flurry of worry and forced calm, and both fought for control of his facial muscles as he moved to rouse Antonio so to offer him some water.
"Antonio, sweet." He murmured, placing a hand on that beautiful skin. Antonio burned as if his flesh were made of flame, which gave Bassanio an immediate impulse to tear his hand away. He resisted, instead concentrating on Antonio's tousled hair, slick against his face with sweat.
"Bassanio…" Antonio muttered, his voice heavy with sleep and his illness.
"I've brought you some water."
A weak nod of comprehension.
Bassanio slipped a gentle arm around Antonio. He watched as Antonio tipped the cup back, a dribble of water escaping from the side of his mouth, as he attempted to douse the flame of the sickness.
"Your wife was here before you." Antonio said. His words were muffled in Bassanio's shoulder.
"How did you know? I thought you were asleep."
"Maybe I was."
There was a moment of silence, only it wasn't a complete silence, because Antonio seemed to be making more of an effort to breathe, the air rushing out of him with more volume and force than usual.
Then Antonio continued: "But it isn't that difficult to assume. She always comes in and out while I'm here, like a ghost, or an apparition."
"She makes a great sacrifice to allow us this." Bassanio said, feeling a weak tremor of laughter in Antonio's body, laughter for nothing at all.
"You told her that she will always come second to me that other time. I doubt she'd have forgotten it already."
"Sometimes I regret saying that."
Antonio stiffened, the weight of him suddenly awkward in Bassanio's hands. "Why?" he asked, wondering if the fever in his body was distorting Bassanio's words.
"Because it's true."
There was another moment of silence, only it stretched longer and longer until it became a true silence, and Bassanio felt Antonio burning bright with sunlight and fever in his hands, so bright that it was almost painful to see him here, in the bed he shared with his lawful wife, almost painful to feel him, their combined sweat a bitter stain on his clothing.
Almost.
