thewidewideworld | (no subject)

[From here]

Sinric leads Hannibal up to his room, tiredly shedding his belt and pouches. The ones that contain far more than they should. "Would you care to share a bath with me?"

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From:

cook_the_rude

"I am only hungry for your pleasure," Hannibal says, his eyes roaming Sinric's body.

From:

thewidewideworld

"It's yours to give." He sprawls artfully, "And take."

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal kneels down and runs his hands over Sinric's flat stomach.

From:

thewidewideworld

Soft muscles flutter under Hannibal's touch - a dancer's tone rather than the young man form's hard musculature. He breathes a welcoming sigh, eyes fluttering.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal's hands slide up towards Sinric's breasts, slowly, as if savouring the touch of the smooth golden skin.

From:

thewidewideworld

Little flames of gold light lick Sinric's skin, following the lines of Hannibal's caresses. This not the tired mortal that arrived yesterday. Here and now, Sinric is alive with light and sensation. His otherness bright as the dawn.

His nipples harden, his heart fluttering under Hannibal's hands.

From:

cook_the_rude

"You are so very breathtaking," Hannibal sighs softly; and then his fingers finally touch those nipples.

They both don't have to hold back with each other.

From:

thewidewideworld

Not at all. There is nothing they need to keep back. There is something liberating in that. Neither of them need fear judgement of any part of themselves.

Sinric undulates under that touch, the golden flames lapping onto Hannibal's skin like the caress of sunlight. A feedback loop of sensation.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal bends his head to kiss the middle of Sinric's stomach.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric runs a hand over Hannibal's hair, those golden flames licking the nape of Hannibal's neck, the whorls of his ears. "You ignite me, Hannibal." He whispers, warm and husky.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal kisses his way upwards, towards Sinric's sensitive breasts.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric moans warmly, his nipples tight and hard in anticipation. He whispers soft words of encouragement, of desire.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal reaches the left nipple, and gently suckles.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric arches up, pressing himself against Hannibal's generous lips. He tightens his hand in Hannibal's hair, panting warmly.

Sprawled out and offered up as he may be, he's no passive sacrifice. Taking as much as he gives.

From:

cook_the_rude

As he suckles, Hannibal's hand strays downwards, over Sinric's stomach towards his groin.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric's little snail unfurls slowly, his skin blood hot and smooth. He spreads his legs, inviting the touch, bare thigh brushing against Hannibal's hip.

From:

cook_the_rude

While kissing and suckling and licking Sinric's breasts, Hannibal strokes the inside of his thighs, then finally touches the tip of that little pricklet.

From:

thewidewideworld

The shimmer of flames that surround Sinric leaps at the touch, like a splash of fuel on a fire.

He arches his neck, rubbing against Hannibal. He tighten his grip on Hannibal's hair, needy and demanding.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal lavishes attention on the nipple under his lips while his finger slides along the little snail, all the way down, the back to the tip.

From:

thewidewideworld

The flames rock over his skin, as if brushed by waves, following the stroke of Hannibal's finger over that small but potent length. A length that thickens and fills to his touch, drawn out by Hannibal's attentions.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal lifts his head, looks into Sinric's eyes, then dips his head again to kiss the little snail's tip.

From:

thewidewideworld

His irises are antique gold. The colour of halos on Russian icons, or the tiles in Byzantine mosaics. And smiling.

His little snail jumps in anticipation, drawing a rich moan from Sinric.