(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[From here]

Sinric sets the plates aside, taking one of the towel and Hannibal's hand. He leads Hannibal a little into the woods, along the shore of the lake. There's another little patch of sand, a beachlet protected from view by the trees.

He spreads the towel and lays down on it, drawing his tunic up his leg. "Just as we were before."

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

"Spread me." Sinric begs, rubbing his leg against Hannibal's thigh. "Enter me. Plough me deep, to the root of pleasure. Bring me moaning to my fall."

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes!" Hannibal moans, his eyes glittering fiercely red in the shameless sunlight. He reaches for his basket -- it seems he came prepared.

[thewidewideworld]

"You always know. That is moment will come." He moans, arching under Hannibal. "That we'll grow so hungry for each other that I will beg you to take me. That I will open to you longingly."

[cook_the_rude]

"And I will dive in with intense greed," Hannibal murmurs in a half-growl.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric arches again, rubbing against Hannibal like a cat. "Would you have be beg?"

[cook_the_rude]

HAnnibal chuckles, pushes Sinric's knees far back, and enters him with slickened fingers.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's cry of joy is sweet and high, his body hot and tight around Hannibal's fingers. He's so open in his pleasure, giving everything to Hannibal and gladly.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal chuckles, driving his fingers deeper.

[thewidewideworld]

It drives a high moan out of Sinric, clenching tightly around him as he surges up to kiss Hannibal passionately.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal kneels up and readies his prick, generously coating it with the oil, showing off for Sinric's sake.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric watches him greedily, lips red and swallow. He arches up, rubbing his slender ankle against Hannibal's hip.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sinric!" Hannibal gasps, smoothly pushing himself inside.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets his head fall back to the blankets, arching his lean body as he takes Hannibal in deep. He feels Hannibal near the root of pleasure, clenching tightly around him, giving himself over to the feeling.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal kisses him, deeply and greedily, and starts thrusting home.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cups Hannibal's rear, strong slights hands massaging him with each thrust. He opens himself - his mouth and his body, drinking in as much of Hannibal as he can. Giving as much as he can in return.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sinric!" Hannibal moans, thrusting g deep and slow and true.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans Hannibal's name, pushing back against each rolling thrust. He takes Hannibal's hands, drawing them up to pin his own against the towel above his head.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal wraps his deft fingers around Sinric's wrists, holding him securely as he rams into the sweet heat.

[thewidewideworld]

"Yes!" Sinric cries, arching as the new angle strikes him just so. He shudders, his voice sweet with joy. His skin glows under sun, gold and warm.

[cook_the_rude]

Holding him securely, Hannibal deliberately slows down.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans, his head tossed back and his hair fanning around his head like a halo. The gold glow flickers, the warmth of it pulsing with the beat of his hears, the race of his breathing.

He looks up at Hannibal, his golden eyes liquid and hazy as he looks deeply into Hannibal's blood warm eyes. Looking so deep.

[cook_the_rude]

The golden flicker is mirrored in the sheen on Hannibal's face, and in his eyes, many images flicker in turn -- an old decrepit castle, the face of Will Graham swallowing a tiny fried bird whole, dogs happily clustering around Hannibal, a black stag with raven feathers, a little girl all forlorn and ragged, a cheap fragrance mixed with motor oil and wet dog into something wholly homely and welcoming, a beautiful young man writhing in bonds like Saint Sebastian, and golden hair spilling over a marble couch.

And blood, blood and blood.

[thewidewideworld]

Blood that shines in the sunlight, thick and red. The fall of it, like hot rain, like the moment of orgasm, splashing across pale skin.

Sinric's body clenches around Hannibal, chasing that moment. Chasing the fall of blood and the brilliance of passion and the moment of fall. The golden youth struggling against the bonds because the touch of them on his skin is ecstasy as deep as agony.

[cook_the_rude]

There is darkness, and antlers; and fire rising in an arc between Hannibal and Sinric.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric is by no means passive in this. The flames arch across golden skin like the light of discovery over a living statue.

He arches to meet the antlers, crying in pleasure as they impale his flesh.

The fire engulfs them both and Sinric shares in return - a crowed hall, men and women bedecked in jewel toned cloth, draped in decadence, the smell of food and wine and sex and perfumed smoke. The pleasure of music, of dancing. The caresses of a hundred eyes, the hunger of lust directed at him. The power of desire at his fingertips.