(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]

Hannibal moans much louder, thrusting up while submitting completely to Sinric's plans.

They are good plans.

[thewidewideworld]

He purrs and kisses Hannibal again, moving with him deeper and faster now. He keeps their fingers entwined and pinned to the bed, in so much as anyone as small as Sinric can keep anyone pinned.

[cook_the_rude]

If somebody wants to be pinned, as Hannibal quite apparently does? Well, then it works very well.

The actual pin, though, is Hannibal's.

[thewidewideworld]

He moans into Hannibal's neck, the silk of his gown rustling against Hannibal's chest as Sinric impales himself over and over, driving himself onto Hannibal.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal throws back his head and moans, further and further gone with every thrust.

"Not - long," he moans.

[thewidewideworld]

"Then don't hold back." Sinric whispers, half begging. "Don't keep your passion from me when it is your fire I crave."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hips jerk up; he thrashes and moans.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric rides him, hard and deep, making the most of Hannibal's needy rhythm. He moans roughly, shifting to take every thrust to the point of pleasure within himself.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Hannibal moans. "Do that!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric can't help but laugh at the rich demanding in the good doctor's voice. He sits up, his hands resting on Hannibal's chest as he drives himself hard. Even with this stimulation, he won't cum, not before Hannibal does but that doesn't mean it doesn't feel wonderful.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal moves his hips, as if trying to angle himself better, but Sinric probably has this well in hand.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric has things well in hand, leaning in a little as he pinches Hannibal's nipples lightly. "Let go," He whispers in soft promise. "You don't need to hold back any more."

[cook_the_rude]

Sinric knows very well what he is doing: - that little pinch is just the right piece of extra stimulation to send Hannibal over the edge.

He spills himself inside Sinric, arching, thrashing, and moaning with copious, drawn-out pleasure.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric rides out his pleasure, making the most of it to the very last.

When Hannibal stills, Sinric leans in to kiss his neck again, nuzzling Hannibal's throat. "Beautiful."

[cook_the_rude]

"... you are, yes."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs and shakes his head, stealing a kiss from Hannibal's breathless lips.

He's content to rest on Hannibal's chest till the good doctor wants him to move.

[cook_the_rude]

He doesn't, for the moment.

He weakly kisses SInric back.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric smiles and curls his light little form on Hannibal's chest, keeping the doctor in him as he brushes a gentle hand through Hannibal's hair, singing softly to him.

[cook_the_rude]

"There'll be more," the doctor promises, in a murmur, "in a minute."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles warmly and presses a finger to Hannibal's lips, following it with a kiss. "There is no need for hurry. Enjoy, I know I am." He feels so deliciously filled, the muscles of his thighs aching wonderfully from the strain.

[cook_the_rude]

"hmm-mm."

Incoherent Hannibal is incoherent.

[thewidewideworld]

And snuggly Sinric is snuggly, his head resting on Hannibal's chest as he strokes the doctor's shoulder. He's enjoying the pleasant warmth of it.

More can wait till the good doctor is ready.

[cook_the_rude]

After a few minutes of basking, the doctor opens his eyes more purposefully and tilts his head at Sinric.

"Come," he says, "you've got some catching up to do."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles and moves to remove himself from Hannibal, moving to stretch out on the bed in a pool of silk skirts. "What would you have of me, sir?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Your pleasure, as you had mine," Hannibal says.