thewidewideworld | (no subject)

"You aren't wicked," Hannibal chuckles. "I want that, too. In the sunlight, dappled by cherry blossoms."

"There are... other trees, further into the woods." His voice has the breathless air of someone already warm with desire.

"Then let us gather up our things and go there," Hannibal murmurs.

Sinric makes a small dismayed sound as Hannibal's touch withdraws from his skin but he makes himself focus on packing up the basket and folding the rug to carry. "There." He points to a small stand of cherry trees the base of the hill, a few hundred metres away. "That should private enough for us."

"It should be," Hannibal says, taking the rug and the bottle of wine, and holding out his free hand to Sinric.

Sinric takes that hand, his delicate fingers warm and ready as they head to the grove of trees.

It's everything they hoped - private and beautiful, the carpet of petals undisturbed. He turns to Hannibal and pulls him down into a kiss. "Take me here? Bare me to the sun and blossoms and share your passion with me?"

Hannibal pulls him close, and kisses him with a soft abandon probably owed to the cherry blossom, and the lovely fleeting nature of the world.

Sinric melts into the kiss, melting into Hannibal's embrace. He pushes up on his toes, his hands braced against Hannibal's hard chest.

"Nothing like the beauty of nature," Hannibal murmurs, "for letting nature take its course."

His nimble fingers slip into the openings of Sinric's clothes again, finding skin to caress.

"The soul of a poet." Sinric moans, his own fingers seeking the opening of Hannibal's shirt. "Touch of an artist."

Hannibal tilts his head to allow him access, answering with a soft chuckle. "You flatter me so much."

"I admire you greatly. For your many virtues as a man." Sinric confesses, kissing the crest of Hannibal's chest as he pushed back his shirt.

"As I admire you greatly, for your many talents, your resilience, your honesty and your beauty," Hannibal replies, pulling at Sinric's clothes.

Sinric arches up to steal a kiss, the folds of his gown falling back to reveal the silken skin beneath.

Hannibal bends his neck to kiss the skin of Sinric's shoulder, sharp teeth imparting a playful nip, like a cat's love-bite.

Each little nips draws a little gasp from Sinric, a softly and breathless moan as he leans into Hannibal. He slides his hands around Hannibal's waist, gently pushing his trousers down.

"You want me," Hannibal murmurs. "Do you?"

"Very much." Sinric whispers breathlessly, running his hands over the curve of Hannibal's rear.

Hannibal slowly kisses his way down Sinric's chest, towards his breasts.

Sinric whimpers and arches, his slight body swaying softly to the touch. He already aches to have Hannibal's lips on him, his large nipples hard.

Hannibal slowly kisses his way down the valley between those breasts, pretneding to ignore the nipples.

Sinric whimpers softly, his hands flexing on Hannibal's waist. He feels so tender and small under Hannibal's touch. So needy. "Hannibal... please?"

Finally, Hannibal puts his lips on Sinric's nipple, and bites softly.

The bite sends a little jerk through his body, a sharp gasp of pain as much as pleasure. He shivers breathlessly.

"Yes?" Hannibal whispers, lips moving lightly on Sinric's nipple.

He follows it with a little lick.