(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[From here}

Sinric leans on Hannibal all the way back to his room. Inside it is warm and dark, a handful of candles burning in a sconce, giving the nook around the bed welcoming air. "Will you undress me? I think I've been in this costume long enough."

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs warmly. "The pleasure you feel, the pleasure I take in giving it. All these things. And yes, that might well revive me. But I have no plans to reshape the world just yet."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal smiles at him. "You might need to, in the end."

[thewidewideworld]

"Do you see my thread, dear one?" Sinric asks, kissing Hannibal's throat, pinching Hannibal's nipples lightly. "Can you tell me what I can't see?"

[cook_the_rude]

"I see the branches of your antlers," Hannibal says, gasping at the touch. "Your Viking friends -- would you let them suffer -- when you can help it?"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric follows his touch with kisses, easing the sting of his pinches with soft licks and cool air.

He leans back to consider his answer. Honestly and deeply rather than answering on instinct. "When I know such suffering is fated, and cannot be prevented with doing harm to more than they can know... yes. I fear I would. And I will. I know that."

[cook_the_rude]

"That will hurt terribly."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans back, pulling Hannibal with him. The weight of him is reassuring. "As it did knowing Constantine would die. But that is the price of the sight. And I have no choice but to pay."

He strokes Hannibal's hair, loving the way the long strands fall through his fingers. "But with that sight, I see you. I see all the beauty of the weave. All the branches. All but my own."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal covers him, warm and heavy, looking deep into his eyes. "But there are branches that we share."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric shifts ever so slightly so his lean thigh fits just right between Hannibal's, rocking against him slowly. He looks up into those blood warm eyes, his own dull gold and glowing in the flickering candle light.

"Hand in hand, we stand outside the collapsing church. With no more or less cruelty in our hearts than the god who let it fall."

[cook_the_rude]

"We exist, and it scares people," Hannibal says. "Me for different reasons than you, but it still scares them."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric kisses him deeply, drinking in the otherness of their coupling. Spreading his legs wide, he welcomes the press of Hannibal's bulge, reaching down to free Hannibal from the last of his costume.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sighs deeply, dragging the round, softly moistened tip of his prick along the furrow between Sinric's legs, from back to front.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets his breath come in little moans, arching into the heat of Hannibal's member. He reaches up behind the pillows for the little bottle of scented oil he keeps stashed there, slicking his palm. He slips a hand between them, oil dripping on his hip as he takes Hannibal's manhood between his fingers, stroking to coat him.

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh yes," Hannibal moans, dragging his slick prick between Sinric's legs again, and getting tangled in the folds of skin by his scar.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans and reaches to grip Hannibal's rear, pulling him closer.

Still slick fingers tease down his crack as Sinric arches against him, angling his sensitive scar just so.

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh yes," Hannibal breathes, opening up to Sinric's touch. "You in me, then I in you!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans his approval, slipping long, clever fingers inside Hannibal. He teases Hannibal's opening, feeling the tight ring of muscle take him in.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal angles himself to push against Sinric's own opening.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric shifts to accommodate him, to welcome and invite him. Sadly his arms aren't so long that he keep pleasuring Hannibal deeply as he tilts his hips up to take Hannibal inside him.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sighs at the loss of that touch, but instead he now is able to pleasure Sinric deeply, thrusting at that place deep inside him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric mutters an apology as he give himself over to the feeling, arching into each thrust to feel Hannibal's length. He sings in pleasure, feeling his seat of pleasure send ripples of sensation through them both.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes!" Hannibal calls out. "Oh yes!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric could no more keep this feeling from Hannibal than he could from himself. His eyes glow warmly as he lets his song flow. All he feels, Hannibal feels too.

The heat of their bodies, the firmness of Hannibal's weight on him, the brush of Hannibal's long hair on the curves of his breasts, the pull and press of each thrust as his body gives over to it.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal closes his eyes and moans deeply as he keeps on moving, slowly and deeply.

[thewidewideworld]

Paedicator and pathicus both in equal measure.

Sinric runs his hands over Hannibal's skin, leaving trails of spreading warmth in the wake of his fingertips. He sings pleasure and trust and gladness, of the golden lark and feathered stag entwined, dancing in both shadow and light. In song and the silence between notes.