(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

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs and runs his nails lightly over Hannibal's chest. "Are you content with memories. Or is there some fantasy you crave in those moments?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Aren't fantasies a non-memories of a potential or desirable future, and memories fantasies of an actual past?" Hannibal says. "But the memory of you I most like to fantasise about at such times is pleasuring you with my lips, and the taste of your fulfilment on my tongue, the heady knowledge that I can cause such a miracle enough to speed up my own pleasure."

[thewidewideworld]

"Just so." He leans in to nip the curve of Hannibal's throat.

"I could demand that of you now, but that the fierceness of our coupling has left me so utterly sated I doubt I could bring either of us joy of it."

"But of desirable futures, is there anything you have itched for furfil?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Something of yours inside me," Hannibal purrs, closing his eyes.

[thewidewideworld]

"My fingers?" He kisses Hannibal's throat, brushing his nails over his chest. "My tongue? My phallus?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Any of these," Hannibal says, "or the fabled jade thing."

[thewidewideworld]

"Would you like to see it? My jade phallus?" He purrs, stoking his hands over Hannibal's hips.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Hannibal breathes, eyes wide and glowing.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric pins Hannibal's hips, in so much as anyone as light as him can, and kisses him roughly.

He makes the kiss long, deep and breathless before slipping off the bed to fetch the delicately lacquered box.

He places it where Hannibal can see, kneeling to make a ritual of unpacking and examining it.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is just watching him, in breathless fascination.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cleans and inspects it with the grace and ritual of a tea ceremony, but the sensuality and eroticism of an undressing.

Once he's sure it's ready, he presents it to Hannibal, letting him admire the artistry of it.

[cook_the_rude]

"It is lovely, and unique," Hannibal breathes, his excitement rising again.

[thewidewideworld]

"The power of manhood, carved of the seed of the dragon." He removes a fine leather belt, glided to echo the fine scale designs and lotus leaves of the phallus.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal leans back his head, and opens his knees in welcome.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric secures the phallus on the belt, fitting it over his own little snail so it rises proudly. It sits well on him, looking like a part of him, as much as his golden hair and his silver bells.

He reaches for a vial of oil, the scent richly oriental. He moves between Hannibal's thighs, coating his fingers and beginning to prepare him with sure strokes.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal tilts his hip forwards, spreading his thigh to let him reach deep, as deep as he needs to go.

His face is already ecstatic.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans forward, working his long fingers as he looks into Hannibal's eyes. He loves seeing Hannibal like this, almost wishing he could paint just to capture this moment. This look.

He moves forward, insinuating himself between Hannibal's thighs to finger him deeper, looming over Hannibal a little.

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh yes," Hannibal moans, "please!"

[thewidewideworld]

He rests a hand on Hannibal's shoulder, pushing him back and pinning him there as he withdraws his fingers. There's a calmness in his expression, a control - not quite dominance but command certainly.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes."

Hardly more than a whisper.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric enters him slowly, as if measuring out each textured design as it fills Hannibal. Keeping that firm hand on Hannibal's shoulder, he seats himself inside Hannibal, as deep as the phallus will go.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal throws back his head and gives a long moan, he entire time while the oil-warmed jade slides inside him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric drinks in Hannibal's moans, drawing back to thrust deep again. He doesn't have Hannibal's strength but he has his dancer's grace, and his determination to bring Hannibal pleasure.

[cook_the_rude]

He is already doing that, from the way Hannibal's eyes roll sightlessly sideways, and his legs open even further as his hips roll up to meet Sinric's thrust.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric thrusts and thrust again, his hand moving from Hannibal's shoulder to his breastbone. His long fingers rest on the lower hollow of Hannibal's collarbone, not his throat. But close. As if he could move it closer if he wished. As much to see how Hannibal reacts as any act of dominance.