(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]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

No stripping, just gentle licking and insistent suckling, skilful and dedicated.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's hands move restlessly - now stroking Hannibal's hair, now seeking his own breasts under the bodice to pinch the dusky nipples into hardness. He sings in moans, in sighs, in whispers of soft adoration.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches up, groping for Sinric's breasts while sucking more strongly on the little snail.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps sweetly, guiding Hannibal's fingers to pinch a little at the peaks of his nipples. Each sharp little joy makes him cry out, his little snail twitching in Hannibal's mouth.

Soon, very soon.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal complies, and brings up his other hand to pinch the other nipple-tip. This gives him an oddly worshipful position of proskynesis, kneeling between Sinric's legs, his head down and partly underneath the skirts, arms flung open and bare bottom up.

[thewidewideworld]

Significance of the position is not lost on Sinric, nor is the feeling of being the object of worship. The sense of power in adoration beyond the common desire for his body.

It's enough to undo him, send him spirally over the edge and into the heights of pleasure.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hips are undulating slowly, like a dog wagging its tail in utter submission, and while Sinric is in the throes of pleasure, he is lapping up every last little drop of the clear liquid that the little snail is bringing forth, moaning with pleasure.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric falls back, as always shattered by the feeling of being so overcome by pleasure. He reaches down to stroke Hannibal's hair with a weak and shaky hand, smiling warmly.

[cook_the_rude]

Slowly, Hannibal drops languid kisses along the exhausted little snail, then around it -- the inside of Sinric's thighs, and the very lowest part of his belly.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric hums happily, his thighs still shaking a little. "Hannibal." He whispers warmly, so rarely saying the good doctor's name.

[cook_the_rude]

"Here!" Hannibal says, stopping with the kisses and smiling up at Sinric.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs warmly and reaches down to pull him up into a kiss, letting Hannibal tower over him. "You really are very wonderful."

[cook_the_rude]

"I do my best," Hannibal says, kissing him back.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs and wraps his arms around Hannibal as they kiss. It has been such a wonderful night and he's in such high spirits he seems to glow.

[cook_the_rude]

"So," Hannibal says, "what would you like next? More wine? Perhaps some refreshments?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Mmm! Food!" Sinric hums happily at the idea. "Pomegranates perhaps." Not that he wants to give up snuggling or kissing just yet. "Then I will play for you."

[cook_the_rude]

"I love pomegranates," the doctor says. "Let's just get our breaths back, then I'll put together some plates. And after that, music!"


[[OOC: This feels like a fade, maybe?]]

[thewidewideworld]

{ooc: perfect, that was wonderful. These two are weird as hell and I love them!}