(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

{From here}

Sinric tumbles through a door. Not his own nor Hannibal's but near and open. He pulls Hannibal with him, pushing the door closed without a backwards glance. The room is dark and richly furnished, finished in oxblood and gilt. All of which Sinric ignores as he pulls at Hannibal's clothes, eager for skin between passionate kisses.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches down to undo Sinric's belt while pulling him towards the bed the room provides, without sparing a single obvious glance for the decor.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets it fall without a thought as he frees the last button and pushes Hannibal's shirt back. He tugs at Hannibal's fly, stroking him through the cloth.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is hard and ready, bulging into Sinric's touch with a moan.

[thewidewideworld]

He pulls at Hannibal's belt, hastily pushing his pants away as he tries to shake off his tunic at the same time.

He pushes Hannibal against the bed, dropping to his knees before him. Lips flushed and red from kissing, he licks them hungrily.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal stumbles onto the bed and sits heavily, then kicks away his shoes and trousers.

"Sinric..." he moans, looking into Sinric's eyes past his own rampant prick.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's eyes are wide and blown with lust as he takes Hannibal into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he moans around his manhood. He takes Hannibal's hands and pushes them into his hair. Wanting, needing Hannibal's lust.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sinric!" Hannibal moans again, his prick swelling even more between Sinric's lips as his hands sink deep into the luscious blond hair.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans in return, vibration around him as he takes Hannibal to the root. He rests his hands on Hannibal's knees, letting Hannibal set the rhythm and intensity. He wants to give himself over to this passion.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal tires to go slowly.

"Too fast," he gasps. "You get nothing from this!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric eases back, pressing a kiss to the tip of Hannibal's manhood.

He slides his hands up Hannibal's thigh, rising up to press a kiss to the plane of his stomach.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal moans, and reaches out for him. "Come, let me touch you."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets himself be pulled, straddling Hannibal's lap. "Very gladly."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal dips his head to put his lips to Sinric's breasts, licking and suckling.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric arches, moaning as his nipples harden. He rubs himself against Hannibal's thigh, his little member filling. "Oh Hannibal, yes."

[cook_the_rude]

"You are so wonderfully responsive," Hannibal murmurs, between licks and sucks, "so brimming with sensuality, to one who knows you and bothers to learn."

[thewidewideworld]

"You have made a study of me." He gasps, head thrown back in joy, his lips red and full. "To bring me such pleasure."

[cook_the_rude]

"It is my pleasure," Hannibal says, lifting his head to kiss Sinric's lips. A finger sneaks between Sinric's legs, too.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric returns the kiss as passionately as he did in the bar, burying his hands in Hannibal's hair as he lifts himself to give Hannibal better access to his body.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches around to slip his hand between Sinric's legs from behind, pushing at the root of that little snail while rubbing over his hole.

[thewidewideworld]

He whimpers into the kiss, moving rhythmic and lithe to Hannibal's touch.

Dappled light glints of the gilt of the bedframe, the ivory of his skin and is drunk by the deep red of the bedding. It makes everything seem visceral and surreal.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's other hand lifts to touch Sinric's breasts. "I should have more mouths," he murmurs into the kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

"You have enough hands." Sinric moans, flexing and clenching. "Skilled hands."

[cook_the_rude]

"Mouths are better," Hannibal says, dipping his head again to Sinric's breasts to prove his point with a long and intense suckle.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps brightly, throwing his head back. His movement become frantic and urgent. "Hannibal! Oh yes!"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal intensifies the suckling, and his hand moves faster. His own hips move as if on instinct, seeking friction.