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hannibal

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"This eternal game." He echoes breathlessly as he pulls Hannibal against him to lean into the bark of the cherry tree. "Yes, just so."

He rubs his lean leg against Hannibal's thigh with a soft, needy sigh.

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Sinric shudders softly, but not in a bad way at the kiss over his scars. Up close Hannibal may notice that the twined characters are made of two layers - one cut rough and jagged with a second set of more precise and careful cuts that change the meaning of the kanji into sun born.

Sinric seems to sense what Hannibal has in mind and moans softly, widening his stance.

But at first, Hannibal kisses his way down softly -- appreciating each rib, each scar, each muscle on Sinric's back.

Sinric shivers, his breathing quickening with the touch. There something about Hannibal's touch that makes him feel both precious and adored, and stripped of all masks.

Hannibal has always had that effect on him. Those maroon eyes both gilded him and held him naked.

Hannibal ends up kneeling down behind him.

By now, Sinric is panting hotly, his head hung and his arms high like an icon of Saint Sebastian.

He spreads his legs, lean muscles corded and tense.

Hannibal kisses each of Sinric's buttocks, then finally licks deeply between them.

Sinric swears softly in Nippon, digging his fingernails into the soft bark of the cherry tree. He lifts his rear, opening him to Hannibal's ministrations.

Hannibal chuckles, and licks deeper. And again.

"Oh Hannibal." He pants, his little snail filling slowly, his chest heaving.

One of Hannibal's hands wanders up Sinric's front while he keeps licking.

He mews softly, pressing into Hannibal's touch. He could count the number of times this had been done to him on one hand and less outside Milliways. He fights to keep his knees from shaking as Hannibal's licks open him like a flower.

Hannibal rolls his tongue, and softly pushes inside as his hand finds one of Sinric's breasts.

His nipples are hard, his small breasts warm in Hannibal's hand. He bends forward a little, riding Hannibal's arm as he hardens and trembles.

On occasion, Hannibal's tongue darts deeper, to touch the root of that little snail.

And in each occasion, Sinric moans and writhes, digging to keep his knees from betraying him. "Hannibal, please? I... oh!"

"Yes?" Hannibal says, his lips humming on Sinric's skin.

He laughs, warm and shaky. "You have me begging, Hannibal. Playing me like a fine instrument."

"You want me now?" Hannibal murmurs, not stopping his ministrations.

"Please?" He shivers, softly aching in hardness.

Hannibal stands, kisses the back of Sinric's neck, and positions himself.

He pushes up on his toes, aware of the difference in their height. He rests one hand on the tree bark, reaching back with the other to cup the back of Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal leans in to kiss him, and pushes inside.

"Ah!" He breathes out a sigh into the kiss as Hannibal's manhood fills him. He's tight, for all of Hannibal's ministrations. "Oh yes."

"Yes?" Hannibal says, keeping still inside him.

His hands wander up to Sinric's breasts again.

"Yes!" He answers emphatically, moving on his toes to push himself back into Hannibal, taking him deeper.