(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

{From here}

"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.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal follows quickly, spilling into Sinric as his muscles clench around him.

His fingers slicken with the few drops that Sinric can spill each time, and when his thrusts finally slow down, he brings his hand to his lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric huffs an exhausted little laugh, a snatch of poetry rising in his mind. "With salt spray blood and spice in my hair, the smoke of hearth fires long burnt to ash." He whispers, his orator's voice shaky with breathlessness.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sighs in deep appreciation, and licks his fingers as if they were covered in the holy nectar of the gods.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric reaches back to cup the back of Hannibal's head, turning to kiss his cheek. "You honour me."

[cook_the_rude]

"You are rare and precious," Hannibal murmurs against Sinric's lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's first instinct is to make some self-deprecating joke and shake it off but he knows, deeply, that Hannibal means it. "Thank you." He kisses Hannibal slowly, savouring the kiss just as Hannibal savoured his taste.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's generous lips will taste faintly of Sinric -- a taste that is, in fact, like nothing else on earth. Any earth.

[thewidewideworld]

It isn't his own taste Sinric relished but Hannibal's warm mouth, the sweat on the bow of his lips. Familiar and right and wonderful.

{ooc: wrap here?}

[cook_the_rude]

Eventually, Hannibal sits at the roots of the cherry tree and pulls Sinric into his arms, wrapping himself around him for a moment's rest.


[[OOC: Yes -- thanks for the thread! <3 ]]