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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."

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From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

cook_the_rude

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

From:

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.

From:

cook_the_rude

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

From:

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.

From:

cook_the_rude

"Take as much as you need," Hannibal whispers, "because this is beautiful, and I will give it as much as I can!"

He keeps thrusting, smoothly, as pleasure and visions both dance through their minds and souls.

From:

thewidewideworld

"What I take, I give in kind." Sinric whispers, his voice unearthly in the acoustics of the room. "And where nourished, give satisfaction."

Warm licks of golden fire dance off his skin, spreading over Hannibal's where their bodies touch.

His kisses taste like good brandy and that moment before a dish is flambéed. When the potential is there; like a haze, waiting to catch light.

He dances in the halls of Hannibal's memory palace, making the Norman church ring with debauched delight.

The golden godling and the oil-black creature crowned in horns move together, the world resounding with their shared pleasure.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal feels as if he could do this forever, without stopping, world without end.

Alas, he is only human after all, and in the end it will turn out that even this, has an end.

From:

thewidewideworld

All things must end. For without end, they are without value.

He feels Hannibal's peak as keenly as his own. Winding them both together, holding in his core the potential, the moment before, the raw energy pent up within, he lets go, bringing them both over the edge and into the blinding abyss of pure pleasure.

From:

cook_the_rude

It takes Hannibal a while to come out of the abyss again and focus his blood-warm eyes on Sinric's face.

From:

thewidewideworld

When he does, he will find Sinric alert and bright, no sign left of his earlier exhaustion.

Sinric curves a hand around Hannibal's cheek, drawing him into a loving kiss. "Thank you."

From:

cook_the_rude

"Thank you," Hannibal murmurs back. "That was amazing. A free-fall of golden velvet."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric repeat the phrase in Latin, smiling. "I like the way that sounds." he kisses the tip of Hannibal's nose. "I shall have to be careful. I'll ruin you before you can be with Will."