(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[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?"

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

"I would love to," Hannibal says, taking off his jacket and tie.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric undresses slowly, not showing off, just... moving slow. Enjoying the ritual of undressing. Of being free of the weight of those travel-heavy clothes.

He holds a hand out to Hannibal, unbuttoning his waistcoat. Enjoying the feel of the fabric under his hands.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal half-closes his eyes, as if simply enjoying the feeling of Sinric's hands on him.

[thewidewideworld]

Tonight is a night for simple pleasures. For gentle touches. He moves the the buttons of Hannibal's shirt, opening them one by one.

He pushes the shirt slowly off Hannibal's shoulders, folding them rather than letting them fall, placing them with Hannibal's jacket and tie.

He runs a slow hand down Hannibal's chest, brushing the warm thatch of hair.

[cook_the_rude]

"All there for your pleasure," Hannibal murmurs.

[thewidewideworld]

"As I am for yours." Sinric echoes, slipping to his knees with perhaps a shade less of his normal grace.

He removes Hannibal's shoes and socks, hands moving elegantly over Hannibal's fly to remove his trousers and undergarments. His fingers brush the inner curve of Hannibal's ankle, the swell of his thigh, almost by accident. Warm, fleeting touches.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gives an almost feline little sound of pleasure. He knows by know that he can let some of his control slip around Sinric, something between a relief and a deliberate offering.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric runs his hands more deliberately over Hannibal's legs, caressing the lines of muscle as one would brush over the strings of a harp. He dips his head as he runs a thumb down the turn of one ankle, his golden hair brushing lightly against Hannibal's groin.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

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?"

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

"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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

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.

[thewidewideworld]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[thewidewideworld]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

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