(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

{From here}

Sinric leads Hannibal out through a door and out into the garden. He picks a path through the trees to what looks from the outside like small and simple marquee.

But inside it is something very different. Large as any room inside the bar, the floor is covered with richly patterned carpets, as soft underfoot as grass. The walls are draped with the finest silks. Silver lanterns hung from the roof cast geometric patterns from their cut work sides, coloured rainbow hues by glass inserts.

A table is set lavishly to one side with all the finest foods and drinks of Sinric's time.

But at the room's centre is a raised dais spread with silks and furs, cushions and bolsters; a bed worth of a king. Or an emperor.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

"And in this, you recreated the style of one of the tents?" Dr. Lecter says. "Byzantium is so underrated."

[thewidewideworld]

"I asked and the bar gave." He smiles, pouring Hannibal a drink of white wine flavoured with pear and quince sherbet. "I thought it might interest you to see part of my world."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal accepts the drink, and keeps looking around in awe. "It does," he says. "Oh, it does! Those carpets are Persian, aren't they?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Oh course." Sinric smiles, setting the lace mask aside and perching in the end of the bed to give Hannibal room to explore. "From whoever would be buy such fine carpets? No-one in the world can match them."

He moves to kneel at Hannibal's feet, pulling gently at the ties of his shoes. "To feel them properly, you should bare your feet. They are so very soft."

[cook_the_rude]

"You are right, I should," Hannibal says. "Treading on them with shoes is barbaric of me."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs softly as he helps Hannibal out of his shoes and socks. Giving him a very good view down the front of the dresses tight bodice. "Some would see the wearing of shoes as civilised. People have been known to remark in the fact my Emperor rarely wears shoes in the palace. But he points out that the palace is his home and he should be free to wear what he wills in his own home."

[cook_the_rude]

"In many cultures, it is polite to remove one's shoes if entering somebody's home, or a place of worship," the doctor says, flexing his toes luxuriatingly on the carpet.

[thewidewideworld]

"Or to leave one's hair uncovered." Sinric sets the doctor's shoes nearly by the door. "Because many customs and cultures are welcomed in Constantinople, people rarely take offence at honest mistakes in protocols. Unless it is sure someone is intentionally being rude."

[cook_the_rude]

"For intentional rudeness," the doctor says, "people deserve what they get. After all, they are trying to interrupt civilisation in order to parade their self-importance."

[thewidewideworld]

The vehemence tone makes Sinric pause, feeling an intensity behind it the doctor rarely shows.

He turns to take Hannibal's hands very gently. "Then I hope if I am ever carelessly rude, you will correct me. I know so little about your future ways."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal looks at him and squeezes his fingers, gently. "I doubt you'd ever be intentionally rude, my dear boy."

[thewidewideworld]

He smiles and pushes up on to his toes to kiss Hannibal softly.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal bends down to kiss Sinric back, with deep appreciation.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric brushes a gentle hand through Hannibal's hair, curling softly at the back of his neck as he opens himself to the kiss.

"I want to sing for you." He whispers, drawing back from the kiss just far enough for their lips to brush. "I want to play the flute and the Qanún for you. But first I want to share my body and my pleasure with you, here in this place. I want to know your pleasure."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal runs his hands down Sinric's back. "You'll have it," he murmurs. "And I will have yours, tasting you on my tongue."

[thewidewideworld]

He shivers sweetly, his breath catching softly. "You need not... unless you want to. My pleasure is not... not needed, the way other men need it."

[cook_the_rude]

"It's an ambition of mine, to give it to you," the doctor says, smiling. "I take great pleasure in having that sweet little snail get bold at my bidding. Indulge me, unless it causes you pain."

[thewidewideworld]

"It causes me no pain." Sinric smiles, kissing Hannibal again but softly. "Although I cannot say it is a sensation I have grown use to yet."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal returns the kiss. "Never grow used to it," he says. "Always hold it special; savour each time it happens. But learn to trust your feelings."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric smiles and nuzzles down to Hannibal's throat, kissing softly. "And how best should I learn to trust feelings? By sharing them with those I trust most?"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal tilts back his head and sighs at the touch of Sinric's lips.

"I'll make suggestions," he says, "when I can think clearly again."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs, glad to have managed to have clouded the taciturn doctor's mind, even for a moment.

He pulls gently at the top buttons of Hannibal's shirt, freeing them to kiss along the exposed line of his collarbone and hollow of his throat.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal leans into the touch and moans. "You're doing something to me..."

[thewidewideworld]

"I'd like to hope," Sinric purrs between kisses, freeing another buttons to kiss a line down Hannibal's sternum, "I'm fanning the flame of your passion."

[cook_the_rude]

"You're making them roar up, large and devouring," Hannibal moans.