thewidewideworld | (no subject)

[from here}

Sinric comes down from his room, still dressed his furs and heavily embroiled tunic but looking fresh and scrubbed.

He smiles brightly to see Hannibal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal pushes up Sinric's tunic, and inhales deeply.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric smells of desire and Milliways soap and that particular scent that is his own.

One hand resting in Hannibal's hair, he leans back, arching his body. The thought and sight of Hannibal in his knees, ready to worship at this most pagan altar is enough to make his little snail stir and swell.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal drops a kiss onto its very tip before licking a long stripe all along the underside of it, his hands on Sinric's knees to spread his legs a little further.

From:

thewidewideworld

The acoustics of the little chapel are perfect and Sinric's muffled moan resound perfectly.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal savours them like the finest music as he licks that way yet again.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric gives himself over to the feeling utterly, in joyful abandonment. Singing his pleasure in moans and sighs as he hardens fully.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal takes the little snail between his soft and articulate lips, and suckles.

From:

thewidewideworld

It doesn't take long to draw Sinric into wildness. He has been on a knife's edge of desire, if rather confused desire, all day. But here, with Hannibal, his need is simple. And Hannibal knows how well how to stoke that fire.

He lifts his hips, tilting back. "Ready me? So I may beg you to take me after I fall." he fumbled in his pouch with the hand not woven in Hannibal's hair for the very 21st century tube of lube.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal takes it, all words silenced by Sinric as he licks and suckles, coats his fingers, and slips the first slowly inside.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric cries out, clenching tight around Hannibal's fingers. He clenches a hand in Hannibal's hair, trying to rein his magic in. He wants to let it fly free but the risk of having anyone walk in on them is too high. Which gives their pleasure an edge of danger.

From:

cook_the_rude

Rather than speeding up, Hannibal slows down, wanting to hear Sinric keen and moan and beg.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric's moans turn into a laugh, throaty and warm and joyful. "Testing me, lovely Hannibal?"

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal hums around Sinric, and slips in another finger.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric's laugh is as warm and bright as his moan, clenching and flexing around Hannibal's fingers. "So near." He whispers hoarsely. "The thought of you taking me, here, in this place." He whines softly, on edge and leaking. "The devilment of it."

From:

cook_the_rude

"I will," Hannibal promises, Sinric still on his tongue.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric pulls him in, lifting his hips against Hannibal's mouth, on the brink of falling on those words.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal suckles deeply.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric throws his head back and sings, letting the song fill up the room as he spills over onto Hannibal's lips. He does his best to keep his magic in check but there's a moment, like an after-image of lighting, where his arched back is framed by golden wings.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal laps it all up, suckling even stronger with every delightful drop hitting his tongue, and reaches up as if to touch the wings.

From:

thewidewideworld

The second touch, the caress of fingers over golden wings, makes Sinric shudder and cry out, pulsing again.

He falls back, elbows braced on the stone altar as he breathes hard, stroking Hannibal's hair.