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"Sinric!" Hannibal almost hisses. "This is -- I will want more than sleep!"

Sinric gets to his feet, smiling softly as he places a hand on the crest of Hannibal's chest. "Should I cease, share a swift shower and save such pleasures for morning. Or shall we move to the bed and give in to the inevitable?"

"Inevitable," Hannibal smiles. "It probably is. Don't stop."

Sinric purrs and kisses a trail around his fingers, grazing Hannibal's nipples with soft, warm lips.

"I like the idea that pleasure between us is an inevitability."

He presses up on his toes to press another kiss to the hollow of Hannibal's throat, his smooth skin brushing against Hannibal's jutting manhood.

"Inevitable as the sunset," Hannibal chuckles, tilting back his head with a little gasp.

"Or sunrise." He quips, running a light finger up the underside of Hannibal's manhood, teasing his slit playfully.

He steps back half a pace, fingers still tracing feather touches over Hannibal's chest and crotch. "Come share a shower with me? I'd like to be clean before we fall to our shared pleasure."

A test of control for both of them.

Hannibal takes half a step forwards, as if his manhood was seeking out Sinric's touch, and loathed to let go.

Sinric purrs and shifts his hand down, fingers curling delicately around the base of Hannibal's cock as he rests the other on Hannibal's shoulder.

He steps back again, drawing Hannibal with him. He leads Hannibal towards the bathroom with the lightness of touch dancer might use to lead a partner in a waltz. His curled fingers barely brushing Hannibal's straining desire.

Hannibal follows this sensual dance, step by step, delicately keeping the same distance for all of it: never letting go, but also never pressing in closer.

At the bathroom door, Sinric lets his rhythm shift, stepping in to kiss Hannibal softly.

As he does, his hand slips under to caress Hannibal's stones, Sinric's delicate fingers coming to rest over his opening.

Hannibal takes a step closer yet, tilting his hips towards Sinric's touch.

Sinric traces his rim, feeling the ring of muscles flex and contract to his touch. Before slipping just the tip, gold rim eyes studying Hannibal's reactions.

"Oh yes," Hannibal says, the rim pinching the questing fingertip.

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.

Hannibal tilts his head into the water, droplets beading on his lashes as his hip cants backwards.

Sinric kisses the curve of Hannibal's throat, down the crest of his chest. Slowly, in the rhythm of their dance, Sinric lowers himself to his knees. Finger still working slowly within Hannibal, he coaxes the fluttering muscle to relax.

His hair has returned to it's golden hue, shining as the water beads and glosses it. He kisses the tip of Hannibal's manhood, drinking the water that flows there.

Even kneeling, he doesn't take his eyes from Hannibal, fascinated by the lines and curves of him. The strength and the grace.

Edited 2017-08-01 12:09 (UTC)

Hannibal stands, like a statue in the rain, with just his flesh quivering softly under Sinric's touch.

A sight Sinric can't but admire. He lays Hannibal's manhood on the flat of his tongue, drinking from him as the warm rain covers them both.

He reaches his free hand to Hannibal's, guiding it to his hair as he adds a second finger to his ministrations.

Hannibal sighs Sinric's name has his hand tangles in the wet golden strands.

Feeling that Hannibal is content to let for him to keep the lead, Sinric tilts his head back, accepting Hannibal into his mouth.

He doesn't suck, just enjoying the weight and heft of Hannibal, his tongue caressing the thick vein as his clever long fingers move slowly.

He's in no hurry, building sensation slowly.

Hannibal leans back in the water, legs slightly splayed to allow Sinric access, giving himself over to slow, sweet sensation.

Sinric bobs his head, taking Hannibal deeper. His fingers moving inside Hannibal form the chords as his hollowed cheeks play the melody. Creating a melody of Hannibal's passion.

And indeed, Hannibal can no longer contain giving voice to his passion; he moans and gasps softly as Sinric keeps drawing more and more passion from him.

Sinric watches him, never taking his eyes off Hannibal's face, drinking in his passion. He wants to see it, the moment that Hannibal's passion crests and breaks.

It is going to take a while, as Hannibal isn't going to do anything to speed it on, savouring the process rather than striving towards the end result.