(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]

"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.

[cook_the_rude]

Gasping, Hannibal nods.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's eyes flash gold. Not the bright fiery gold of their earlier coupling but a dark gold. Like the warmth of an ancient coin.

He slides his hand up, his hips still steady in their deep thrusts as his fingers close around the base of Hannibal's throat. A caress; those clever, agile fingers stroking the hard muscles of Hannibal's powerful neck.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal tilts his head back, invitingly.

[thewidewideworld]

There's an edge of raggedness bleeding into his breathing, his composure. But his golden eyes remain steadfast and warm as he thrusts harder. He reaches down with his free hand, his fingers brushing the head of Hannibal's manhood.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes!" Hannibal gasps. "Have me! All yours for the taking!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric breathes a warm curse, leaning in to kiss Hannibal savagely, adding a little weight to the hand at Hannibal's throat. When he leans back, his lips red from the kiss as he tightens his other hand around the base of Hannibal's cock.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is all wordless moans and utter ecstasy in the present moment.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans in, whispering breathless words in Hannibal's ear in Latin. "Mine. Powerful blood drinker, soul eater. Mine for the taking."

He tilts his hips, seeking the seat of Hannibal's pleasure. Seeking to break him apart to the core.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal shouts with pleasure and desire, struck as a stone needs to be struck just right to eventually fall apart and reveal the artwork inside.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric drinks in the beauty of Hannibal's collapse, the savage joy of the release.

He waits till Hannibal is breathless, boneless and sated before leaning in to kiss his lips softly, lifting his hand away from Hannibal's throat.

His eyes catch the light warmly as he draws back. "This is my design."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal looks at him, wordless and satiated; still, somebody who knows him well can see the well-oiled mechanism of his mind coming into fierce motion again.

[thewidewideworld]

He knows the words weren't his own. But in the moment, they felt right, rising to his tongue almost without his consent.

He looks into Hannibal's eyes, his own still golden, watching the gears turn. He touches Hannibal's face softly, almost questioningly.