Sinric drinks in the beauty of Hannibal. The strength and passion, the control and the willingness to surrender it.

Sinric draws him towards the shower, never removing his hand. But like before, never staining the perfect distance between them. A duet of flesh.

He runs the shower warmly hot, drawing Hannibal under the flow. Water is the universal lubricant; flowing down Hannibal's chest, his abdomen, his groin, pooling in Sinric's hand to ease the way as he starts to stroke Hannibal deeper. Keeping the pace of their dance, unhurried and shared.