(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[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.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Whatever or whoever is in Sinric in that moment drinks it in, sucking it from Hannibal's kiss just as much as it is milked from his manhood.

The moment of peak seems to draw out and out and out, almost past the point of endurance. And then breaks like a craving wave.

Sinric falls back, narrowly missing striking his head. His eyes are rolled back, his skin alive with lines of flickering gold, like a lightening storm under his skin. He twitches, as if caught by a seizure and then goes still, breathing normally again.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal bends over him and reverently kisses the tips of his breasts.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's eye flutter open, sighing a breathless moan. He reaches up to stroke Hannibal's hair, kitten weak and wrung out.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is panting, wordless, out of himself for the moment; he turns his head to look at Sinric, eyes dazed and awed.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's eyes are no less dazed. And perhaps a little bit scared. He manages to pull himself up enough to wrap his arms around Hannibal, needing human contact.

There's gold in his eyes, under his skin, in his breath. Almost too much power, built up like a static charge.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal holds him tight and kisses what skin he can reach.

[thewidewideworld]

It takes quite a while of petting and kisses before Sinric feels calm enough to speak, the jittering gold lines starting to fade. "Did I... they... he... hurt you?"

[cook_the_rude]

"No," Hannibal says; he finds he can't form a whole sentence just yet, and prefers to run his fingertips over the fading magic.

[thewidewideworld]

"Good." Sinric whispers, arching into the touch. Here and there, little sparks ignite under Hannibal's fingers and Sinric has to grip the now blood warm stone for support.

[cook_the_rude]

"I love the scent of immortality," Hannibal whispers.

[thewidewideworld]

"How does it smell?" Sinric asks, leaning in to nuzzle Hannibal's brow and press a kiss to his temple.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sandalwood, roses, copper and fire," Hannibal says. "In a unique combination with something ineffable."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles softly, resting his cheek against Hannibal's. "All I can smell is sex and lightening."

[cook_the_rude]

"Underneath that," Hannibal says.

[thewidewideworld]

"Underneath my skin." Sinric sighs, rubbing his cheek against Hannibal's. "I feel it there. Still there. Like an echo."

[cook_the_rude]

"You will take some of it with you, out there," Hannibal nods. "Invoked into your body, it left a tiny bit behind."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs softly, with an edge of helplessness. He strokes Hannibal's cheek, looking into his eyes. "There are times I'm a little afraid of what you bring out in me. That is so say what you empower me bring out in myself."

[cook_the_rude]

"That is what you might call my speciality," Hannibal says, "and I will be there to see it happen, and hold your hand."

[thewidewideworld]

"Part of me fears it may one day go too far." he whispers, reaching up to caress Hannibal's throat, feeling the echo of bruises under the skin. "I doubt you will fear me, no matter how bright my darkness shines."

[cook_the_rude]

"I don't think I will fear you, either, but I am deeply in awe of your becoming," Hannibal says.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric spreads his small hand over Hannibal's throat, fingers finding the exact spot they resting in before.

There's a flash of light from Sinric's eyes. Not Sinric's antique gold, but sunlight flare. "You have fanned the flame of this becomes from the beginning. Out of a desire to watch it burn." It's not entirely Sinric's voice. "Beware the power of that fire."

[cook_the_rude]

"I know," Hannibal answers. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

[thewidewideworld]

It's not Sinric who shift suddenly, pushing Hannibal back and pinning him to the floor, that hand around his throat squeezing. "You set fire to another for the pleasure of watching the flames. This one will not burn for your entertainment."

[cook_the_rude]

"No, but for his own becoming," Hannibal says.

[thewidewideworld]

"Be warned, twister of threads. Be warned."

Sinric faints, falling into Hannibal's arm like a limp doll.