(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

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric hums contentedly gently petting at Hannibal's arm in encouragement.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's other hand slides under Sinric's skirts and starts finding its way around there.

[thewidewideworld]

He wears nothing beneath the folds of silk but his own soft skin. His little snail is still only half hard, poking out a little to the touch. Sinric moans softly and reaches out to pull Hannibal into a slow, lazy kiss.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal kisses him back, deeply and with feeling, and teases the little snail with a playful finger.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs and moves under his touch, his hips rolling up minutely to rock into the teasing. He buries his hands in Hannibal's hair, lifting a knee to brush against Hannibal's hip.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hand slides deeper between Sinirc's legs as he has better access now.

[thewidewideworld]

His voice catches in a soft moan, lifting his hips to offer himself up to Hannibal's explorations. His hole is slick with Hannibal's seed and his skin hot with use.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal dips his fingers into the slickness and then slides them smoothly between Sinric's legs.

[thewidewideworld]

The texture of the scar gives some indication of the skill, or lack there of with which he was cut - thick and ropey, widest where the stitches pulled and left him with an infection that nearly killed him.

And sensitive along it's length, especially at the very base of his tiny manhood.

[cook_the_rude]

So at that very base is where the doctor keeps rubbing, insistent despite his own lingering lassitude.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans softly, sprawling prettily over the pillows. He arches up into the insistent movement of the good doctor's fingers. His snail thickens slowly, reacting to the pleasure.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hands fondle, rub and stroke underneath Sinric's clothes while he keeps kissing him, slow and lingeringly.

[thewidewideworld]

There's something powerful about Hannibal's slow, determined touch. Something inexorable that draws moans from Sinric. He eases to full hardness, such as it is, straining for more.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sighs, relaxed with pleasure as he is, almost casually playing Sinric's body with expert skill.

"It is lovely to feel you rise to the occasion and harden against my fingers."

[thewidewideworld]

"As it it wonderful to rise for you, sir." Sinric moans, biting his reddened lip. "You play me with the skill you show in music."

[cook_the_rude]

"Your body is much more than a lovely instrument," Hannibal says, running his finger around Sinric's slickened hole, "but it's that as well."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric arches and moan, letting his voice sound soft and musical. He likes the idea of the good doctor playing him.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal plays a pizzicato between Sinric's legs.

[thewidewideworld]

The sensation is wonderfully strange and sets Sinric to laughing. He hums a tune along with the rhythm of Hannibal's movements, playful and light.

[cook_the_rude]

It is, in fact, Britten's 'Playful Pizzicato', a sweet, fast, complicated rhythm that sets Hannibal's fingers drumming and teasing all over the length of Sinric's little snail.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric doesn't know it but he sings along with a tune of his own, set to the rhythms and punctuated by moans.

[cook_the_rude]

"I'd like to taste you?" Hannibal says, in the tone of somebody asking permission.

[thewidewideworld]

There is so much in that tone that Sinric is grateful for, even if it's only the illusion he can say no.

He smiles richly and gathers up the folds of his skirts, exposing himself to Hannibal with a nod.

[cook_the_rude]

"Crawling under your skirts..." Hannibal muses, his voice a bit roughened with the renewed pleasure at the view.

He moves on the bed to do just that -- crawl between Sinric's legs towards his exposed sex, and then lick firmly along the length of it.

[thewidewideworld]

"You may strip me if you-" His voice breaks in a moan as Hannibal's tongue cuts him off.