(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 thrusts again, almost growling with pleasure.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's nails leave groves in the tree bark. "Yes! Hannibal, yes! I want your desire!"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches around to stroke Sinric's breasts and stomach, keeping up his strong, needy thrusts.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric breathes raggedly, closing his eyes focus on the feeling - Hannibal's strong thrusts, his sure hands moving over Sinric's body.

"Yes!" He moans, followed by Ancient Greek for home. This what home. This was what it felt to be where he belonged. And this felt so perfectly right.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sinric!" Hannibal gasps, speeding up his thrusts. "Yes!"

He seems to be very close.

[thewidewideworld]

"Hannibal!" His own high is close, curling tight in his stomach. The slap of skin, the heat of their bodies and the rich scent of cherries flood his senses.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hand slides down to caress Sinric's little snail.

[thewidewideworld]

It's hard and full and he bucks into Hannibal's touch. The words that tumble over his lips are a jumble of languages - Sinese, Nippon, Greek, Latin. All of them urging more and harder and YES!

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Hannibal murmurs while thrusting and stroking, "like that! Just like that!"

[thewidewideworld]

He's very close, moving between the duel pleasures of Hannibal's hand and manhood.

His fall comes over him fast and hard, stealing the breath from his lungs.

[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 ]]