thewidewideworld | (no subject)

From here

Sinric's room is small, simple. A slightly narrow bed spread with furs, a long free-standing wardrobe and a padded window seat that overlooks the gardens. But what dominates the room is a large baroque harpsichord.

Sinric ducks his head, tucking some stray books away, hair hiding his face shyly. "I'm sorry, I know it's not much."

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From:

i_am_your_host

He breathes a short, low chuckle.

"I prefer to shine where there is no light," he half-corrects him, his lips slightly twisted.

"And I think we fit in different ways than we do with other people. I see parts of you in me, I see parts of me in you. Sometimes I think we are too much alike, where the similarities ought to repel instead of attract. But there are certain things about us that no one else will ever understand, no matter how much they mean to or how much they try. It's not flattery, darling. It's just what I see."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric feels he air go from him at Emcee's words. It's not just desire, not just dance of flattery and false warmth.

"One who understands the shadow parts, the parts we keep hidden behind the mask. Behind the smile." Sinric whispers breathlessly. "In the silences between the notes." His lips brush Emcee's.

From:

i_am_your_host

Sinric exhales, Emcee inhales.

"Yes," he breathes out, not much more than a whisper of air. "In the gray after dusk and before the dawn. When we are neither this nor that, or here nor there. Lost to others, but finding our selves. If just for that moment..."

And he touches Sinric's lips with his own. A touch. A caress. A kiss.

From:

thewidewideworld

"When we are neither theirs nor our own." Sinric answers, in just as breathless a tone, but knowing that Emcee understands him utterly. He brushes another caressing kiss over Emcee's lips, his own parted as he cups the back of Emcee's head so very lightly.

From:

i_am_your_host

Yes, is the wordless reply in his kiss.

Eyes fluttering closed, he gently slips his tongue between those soft, parted lips. Not to plunder, but still to touch, to stroke, to entice into a dance.

Still leaning on one hand, he rests the other on Sinric's thigh, gliding higher and dragging the fabric of his tunic with it.

From:

thewidewideworld

Fine, soft fabric, bright in colour and expensive. The wings of a butterfly. The petals of a rose. Just like his lips.

He answers the call to dance, lips and tongue moving with Emcee's just as they played downstairs. Answering each other.

His hand moves in Emcee's hair, stroking down to the base of his neck to cup, to curl. Echoing that breathless yes.

From:

i_am_your_host

Breathing into each other.

Their tongues are sweetened with wine, but Emcee still tastes of smoke, the bitterness of tobacco, the darkness of hard liquor. Yet he seeks the sweetness of Sinric's light, relishing it and grateful that he would share it.

He slips his hand underneath the fabric to touch warm skin.

From:

thewidewideworld

A moan mingles with the kiss and Sinric's eyelids flutter. Emcee tastes like hidden rooms and closed doors. Like the secret no-one tells.

His skin is smooth and hot, his body lean beneath the window-dressings of his clothes. His own hands hesitate, relishing the moment rather than rushing to reciprocate. This is no furtive seduction that need to follow form but a shared moment of understanding.

From:

i_am_your_host

His hand moves up to Sinric's hip, resting there as if at any moment he would pull him into yet another kind of dance.

His other hand threads through his long, blond hair, soft and silken, and he imagines how it would feel sweeping over his bare skin.

Emcee's lips curl in a faint smile that Sinric will feel through their kisses.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric returns that smile, breaking kiss just long enough to look into Emcee's eyes. "Tell you what thought make you smile?" He asks softly.

From:

i_am_your_host

He breathes a soft, quiet chuckle.

"You," he murmurs, sipping a kiss from his lips.

"How your hair feels, how your skin feels." Another kiss.

"How your lips feel." And another.

"I want to know how the rest of you feels..."

From:

thewidewideworld

"You know... what I am?" He asks softly, between kisses. There's a hesitation in his voice, needing to be sure first.

From:

i_am_your_host

"Yes," he assures him, cupping his cheek.

"You told me a long time ago. I remember."

From:

thewidewideworld

He ducks his head a little. "Forgive me, I worry. Sometimes people don't... react well to discovering when I am."

He lifts his eyes to Emcee's. "Thank you, for understand."

From:

i_am_your_host

Emcee kisses the corner of his mouth.

"Put all your worries aside, darling," he murmurs with a faint smile. "They have no place here between you and I."

And he kisses him again, full and warm, as if to drive those worries away.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric relaxes into his arms, into the kiss. He cups Emcee's cheek, his hand sliding down to caress the curve of Emcee's neck. His fingers falls to the opening for Emcee's shirt.

From:

i_am_your_host

Still kissing him, he purrs at Sinric's soft touch, letting him explore and set the pace.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric's kiss follows his hands, lingering on the hollow of Emcee's throat. He plucks the buttons of Emcee's shirt, hoping for more skin.

From:

i_am_your_host

Emcee tilts his head back a little as Sinric's lips find their way down his throat. He slips his suspender straps off his shoulders, before pulling his shirt open as Sinric undoes the buttons. His skin is pale but warm, his body boyish and slender. However there is no modesty in being free of his clothing as he sheds his shirt completely.

From:

thewidewideworld

"In another time, another place. You would have been one of my brothers." Sinric whisper, running his hand over Emcee's chest.

He kisses Emcee's neck again before leaning back to remove his own belt and tunic. His skin is just as pale, just as warm but far more feminine. The curves of his chest are that of a young woman's - high, small breasts and large nipples.

From:

i_am_your_host

"Indeed, I might have been," he muses softly.

He knows himself well enough to know his place, among people, in society. Someone who gives pleasure, and one in whom others take pleasure.

His gaze settles on Sinric's breasts. It's not the first time that he has seen breasts on a male body, but they are certainly the most feminine. Sinric is truly between worlds.

Emcee leans in to touch him much like he had done, with soft fingertips sweeping down the side of his neck and over his delicate clavicle. Running the backs of his fingers down the center of his chest, he then cups his breast in his palm, as tenderly as if anything harsher would hurt him. He knows it won't. But a touch that is gentle and appreciative of beauty ought to be a nice thing once in a while.

From:

thewidewideworld

As Sinric is accustomed to being different. to his strangeness holding him apart. Balanced on the line between the masculine and the feminine. But Emcee's understanding makes him feel... appreciated, for what he is.

He closes his eyes, breathing a soft sigh as he leans back on a hand. His nipples harden to the so gently touch. He can feel his heart quicken, his breathing with it.

From:

i_am_your_host

Emcee leans forward when Sinric leans back. He dips his head to skim his lips over the curve of his bared shoulder, while his thumb rubs slow circles around his stiffened nipple.

Differences ought to be celebrated and appreciated. And that's what Emcee does. But somehow, at the same time, differences don't matter to him. He manages to make the strange feel normal, the separate feel as if they belong.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric rejoices in the sensation, letting himself just feel it. It isn't often he gets to just enjoy the feeling of being touched.

And his breasts are so very sensitive.

He runs his hand through Emcee's hair, drawing him into a slow kiss. He strokes down Emcee's flank, settling on his hip.

From:

i_am_your_host

As they kiss, Emcee's fingertips trace along the soft swell of Sinric's breast, fondling and caressing it, indulging in the way it feels in his hand. And in the way Sinric responds.

He arches closer at his touch. His own hand sweeps down Sinric's back, following the curve of his spine.