(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[From here]

Sinric leads Hannibal to his room, to his bed. He kisses Hannibal deeply and gently pushes him onto the bed. He undresses. Slowly.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal slowly helps with undressing him, slipping fingers under clothes and kissing the skin that is exposed in the process.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric revels in the touch, giving himself over to it as utterly as he played in his fury. He pulls Hannibal up into a kiss; rough and hunger. The slowness giving over to need.

[cook_the_rude]

"You want me fast," Hannibal murmurs against his skin, "and deep, and thorough?"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric runs his hands through Hannibal's hair and pulls him up to look into Sinric's eyes. There's a gold sheen to his pupils, dangerous and hot. He licks his lips and nods.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sits up to quickly and roughly divest himself of his clothes. He is already rampant, flushed and set to go.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric licks his lips again and drops to his knees, taking Hannibal into his mouth without warning or preamble. This isn't Sinric's usual slow, skilful fellation but the fastest, dirtiest way to get Hannibal good and wet.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal growls with sudden pleasure, and rips off his shirt the rest of the way in a sudden need to be completely naked.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric reaches up to grip the fold of the fabric, wrapping it around his hands as he drives himself down and down onto Hannibal's cock, drooling messily. He doesn't plan for any preparation behind this.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sinric!" Hannibal gasps, almost in warning. "If you want any use out of me..."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric draws back with a soft, hungry growl. That sheen of gold is a little brighter in his eyes, inhuman over his very human lust. "Take me." It's almost an order, his voice resonating oddly under the curves of the rooms ceiling.

[cook_the_rude]

"Spread yourself for me!"

Hannibal's demand is just as stark.

[thewidewideworld]

The sound that comes from Sinric's throat makes it clear how much he likes the demand. How little gilding he want in this.

He moves onto the bed, crawling up and over Hannibal like some jungle cat, all grace and heat.

He spreads his knees, hands braced on the bedhead, back arched and rear lifted. Open, ready.

[cook_the_rude]

And just like that, with no gilding, Hannibal invades him, strong hands on Sinric's hips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric yowls like a cat too, lifting and pushing back. Tight and unprepared, he crosses the pleasure pain threshold, head thrown back with the force of it. He clenches tighter, determined to feel everything.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal growls, withdraws, and then pushes in very deep once more.

[thewidewideworld]

This time it comes out as a scream, feral and joyous. It hurts, in just the way he wants it to.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gives a few short, shallow thrusts, aiming for the most sensitive spot inside Sinric.

"I want you to come, from no more than this," he growls, "come soon, come hard, let it take over all of you."

[thewidewideworld]

He howls as every thrust hits him just there, slamming a jolt of shocking pleasure into the very core of him. "Yes!" He hiss, as much a demand and a consent. "Yes!"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal grips Sinric's hips, hard, and keeps slamming into him, aiming well and striking true -- most of the time, as he is getting almost erratic with greed himself.

There is something of a fiery energy, a thunderous aura, to their rough coupling.

[thewidewideworld]

That fieriness seems to play over Sinric's skin like St Elmo's fire in gold, brightening in flashes with each thrust. Or so it seems. It could be a trick of the light. Or not.

Sinric rears back, forcing Hannibal deeper as he pushes into the thrust. "Pull my hair." He growls, his little member throbbing sharply. He can't last long now.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal grabs him by the hair and slams into him, letting go utterly as he thrusts and thrusts, as if to stoke the fires into roaring like a devouring monster that eats the world.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric yowls and spits, trashing as each thrust drives him to the crest. He's so close, so achingly close. Words babble off his tongue, half cursing, half begging. Some of them rich with magic judging by the way they echo off the walls in unearthly song.

Sinric could well be that fire. Or that monster. His pleasure and his gifts making him seem preternatural, his flesh bathed in gold.

And then it come, the crescendo. So sudden and powerful he has no air to cry out. The sudden stark silence of it louder than his moans had been. The whole room is alight now, as if Sinric has become the rising sun.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal follows immediately, spilling hotly into that unquenchable fire.

[thewidewideworld]

Somewhat in the breathless moments between ecstasy and exhaustion, the brightness dissipates. Leaving Sinric drained and panting and utterly spent. His sweat slick body falls limply to the furs, his eye heavy. He hasn't the strength to pull Hannibal with him, as much as he wants to.

[cook_the_rude]

But Hannibal follows anyway as gravity claims him, collapsing onto Sinric with a groan, then picking himself off to roll them over and gather Sinric's slight form into his arms.

And then he just stills, sticky and panting and utterly satisfied.