(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

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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[i_am_your_host]

Emcee breathes out a throaty groan as Sinric's weight now rests on his hips, and he spreads his thighs a little further, letting him sink down, taking him deeper.

From under smoky eyelids heavy with lust, he gazes up at Sinric's body. He runs his hands up his sloping back and sides, as svelte as a mermaid breaching. Emcee moves underneath him, rocking him like wave after wave.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lifts his arms above his head, wrists crossed as he moves with sinuous grace. The Persian slave-boy and the golden daughter of Spring in one combined.

He rides Emcee's thrusts in perfect harmony, inner muscles squeezing in counterpoint. His own eyes slipping closed to let his other senses rule.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee watches Sinric in a haze of desire, a languid, barely-there smile on his slack lips.

He rests his hands for a moment on his slender hips, not to restrain but to follow each graceful swerve. Still locked in a dance with him, where every groan he makes is joyously delirious.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric arches back further still. Not to show off his not insignificant flexibility as he usually does but for the sheer and honest pleasure of feeling the way Emcee moves inside him.

He arches back all the way, reaching to rest his hands on Emcee's ankles, his blonde mane brushing his calves.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee utters Sinric's name in a gasping moan. The sight of him, so lithe and lean, keeps him hard. His dancer's thighs spread over him, the flat plane of his stomach, the curve of his ribcage-- his breasts with swollen, erect nipples.

Emcee's hands on his hips now take a firmer hold, and he thrusts harder, wanting to go deeper. Wanting to feel his glorious body all around him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric flexes back up with all the grace and control of a belly dancer. Until he finds that point at which the angle is perfect, at which Emcee's every thrust strikes the his seat of pleasure just so.

He opens his utterly, silken hair brushing Emcee's thighs as he clenches in counterpoint. He can feel crescendo coming for them and wants to feel, to share, every drop of pleasure imaginable.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee's moans are interspersed with grunts in rough German, growing louder and more delirious with each thrust and every tight clench around him.

He's peaking quickly, and can see and feel Sinric is on his way as well. He holds onto his hips, skin hot and slick with sweat. He writhes, grinds, bucks underneath him, reveling in Sinric's body and the way he makes him feel. Unbound. Unraveled. Completely undone.

And he throws his head back with a cry, a shout colored with notes of laughter, his eyes shut so tight that he sees shooting stars.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's high is not as intense as the first, just by the nature of his being but there's no mistaking the pleasure he takes in every rough breath, every quickened heartbeat they share. Or the way he drinking in the joy of Emcee's release.

He leans forward again as they both still, breathlessly happy and taking his time to let the lethargy the little death infuse his body.

[i_am_your_host]

Eyes still closed and panting heavily, he lets out a long, drawn-out purring moan, his lips curled in a dreamy smile. As he stretches like a cat, he lets his hands slide down Sinric's thighs.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans in to kiss the curve of that smile, purring himself.

After a long moment of luxuriating, he lifts himself off Emcee, stretching out beside him, their fingers entwined.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee rests their joined hands on his belly.

"Mmmm, that was utterly marvelous, darling," he sighs, the languid smile still on his lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric rolls onto his side to look at Emcee, his smile soft and deeply content. His fingers move gently against Emcee's inner wrist, drawing soft spiral. "I haven't felt this... right in myself for a long time. Thank you."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Sinric, his remark drawing a faint line between his brows. In reply, he kisses him, almost chastely, but warm and sincere.

"Why was that so?" he then asks in a near whisper.

[thewidewideworld]

The kiss makes his sigh softly. "I think because I haven't been able to do this. Not with anyone who truly sees me for who I am. So much so, I fear I was beginning to forget myself."

[i_am_your_host]

He ponders this and nods, turning to look back up at the ceiling, as he idly traces over the fine bones in Sinric's hand with his fingertips.

"We are placed on pedestals and showered with compliments in one moment, and then in the next, reviled and kicked while we are down. And so we forget who we are, when we constantly see ourselves through the eyes of others, and not from within. Sometimes it takes someone else to remind you-- of yourself."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's head resting beside Emcee's shoulder, his eyes half closed. "Just so." His voice is barely a whispers. "The eyes of others make poor mirrors. They bend and distort, show us ourselves in shapes we begin to to bend to for we think it is our true image."

He sniffs and squeezes Emcee's hand gently. "But in me, you see yourself. So in your eyes, I see me."

[i_am_your_host]

He smiles a little crookedly.

"Funny how that works," he says, gently wry, squeezing Sinric's hand in return.

With a sigh, he tips his head toward him, their foreheads almost touching.

"You said that I would have been your brother at your master's court. I think you would have done well at the Kit Kat Klub. The other boys and girls would adore you."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric closes the gap, rubbing his nose softly against Emcee's in an affectionate little gesture. "Tell me what it's like there?"

[i_am_your_host]

He hums a low chuckle, taking a lock of Sinric's hair and sliding it through his fingers as he speaks.

"Well, imagine a place like the bar downstairs. Make it smaller-- cozier, more intimate-- then dim the lights down, all the way down. Add a stage at the far end of the room, with yellow footlights and well-trodden floorboards. Each numbered table has a little lamp on it with a red shade, decorated with fringe, and a telephone, so that if you see someone sitting across the room that you would like to get to know better, you just dial the number that's on their table to instantly chat with them. The waiters and waitresses are all beautiful and-- mm, friendly. They wear as little as possible, only slightly more than the dancers and musicians, who are also just as beautiful. These are my boys and girls.

"And every night I welcome our audience of revelers, everyone from artists to working men to tourists to politicians. And every night we put on a show for them, to make them laugh, to make them happy, to make them forget all their troubles. The singing and dancing and drinking lasts into the wee hours of the morning. And then? The next night, we do it all again."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric closes his eyes, letting the scene unfold for him. He hums warmly. "Yes, I can see how I would fit in there. But what's it like, for you?" Not the red lamps and the prettiness but the truth, unseen by the guests.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee is quiet for a moment. It's a heavy sort of quiet, pensive, anxious, even sad.

He sighs.

"It used to be better."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric opens his eyes, his expression open and compassionate. "I'm sorry." Both that things aren't as they were, but also that he made Emcee think on it.

[i_am_your_host]

"It's all right," he murmurs, touching his temple to Sinric's brow.

"Things can't be helped. The coming war is a fixed point in several histories, it seems. And it starts with the ascension of a new leader. A megalomaniac. A dictator. A year has passed with him in power and already he's made life difficult for those who do not agree with him or fit his standards. His police are closing down 'unsavory' businesses like the Kit Kat Klub; it's only a matter of time before this haven for our kind gets shuttered. And who knows what will happen to me or my boys and girls if we're in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He sighs again. "We didn't have to live in so much fear before."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric listens with wide eyes. He has fear, under Leo's threat as the others must have under his rule. But nothing like that. Nothing so wide spread.

He doesn't offer to help or make any suggestions, because no doubt Emcee has worried on the problem far harder and deeper than Sinric ever could.

Instead he leans in to kiss Emcee softly, lovingly, giving him this moment safe and warm to hold on to.

[i_am_your_host]

The kiss surprises him. But it's a sweet surprise, and very much appreciated in spite of himself.

When he doesn't know which way to turn, and when he stubbornly clings to the notion that he can weather the storm, a kiss like this is as much help as anyone could give at this point.

He cups Sinric's cheek and lingers in the kiss for a while, just letting things be. No worries. No troubles.