thewidewideworld | (no subject)

{from here}

Sinric lead Hannibal out of a doorway and into the warm light of spring afternoon. He cranes to look up, following the line of the wall and the buildings. "We're in the right place. The bath should be just through there."

He points to a alley that leads out the road and the grand entrance to the bath houses. "It is small by some standards. Only large enough for thirty or forty people. Many of the greater baths have closed for the cost to keep them is very high and many wealthy households have smaller bathes of their own."

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From:

thewidewideworld

"You speak with a philosopher's passion, sir."

Sinric comes in to join them, carrying a large jug of sweetened wine and pear juice. Almost as if he anticipated sharing it. He smiles to hear Hannibal preclamed so. "And a seeker after beautiful." He settles in the bench at Hannibal's side. "What are you learned gentlemen discussing?"

From:

cook_the_rude

"The iconoclast movement," Hannibal says. "And yes, as a seeker of the beautiful, I must deplore it. Nothing that is art deserves to be destroyed, for whatever reason. Even if it's lewd, or cruel."

From:

thewidewideworld

"Ah." The tone Sinric puts in that one syllable is enough to make it clear this is a subject he can't speak on.

"At least Constantine isn't destroying it. For the most part, anyway." One man muses. "He's not that sort of brute at least"

Sinric sips his wine to cover his expression.

From:

cook_the_rude

"I don't get the impression he's a brute at all," Hannibal says, mildly.

From:

thewidewideworld

"He keeps the army well stocked and ready." Another man adds, with a note of admiration. "But he doesn't have Leo's youth and spirit. Too cautious, too willing to talk. The young lion will get back the lands Constantine lost."

Sinric squirms a little, clearly uncomfortable but still silent.

From:

cook_the_rude

"Unless he overextends himself beyond his resources," Hannibal says, ponderingly, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

From:

thewidewideworld

"It's possible." One of them other men adds. "He isn't tested in war in the way his father is. And I doubt he will earn their loyalty quite so well."

Sinric does speak at that, his voice soft and a little strained. "Nor, I think, will he be so practised at managing the provisions of the armies. Long marches can be dangerous without the right arrangements for resupply." After all, Sinric has spend many hours at his master's elbow as these things are planned.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal nods. "The boldest army is nothing without sensible supply lines," he says.

From:

thewidewideworld

"Shall we move on to the frigidarium, sir?" Sinric asks softly, trying not to show how much he wants to be away from this conversation.

From:

cook_the_rude

"Oh yes," Hannibal says. "One really shouldn't stay in the heat too long. It was good to meet you," he adds, politely, to the men as he gets up to follow Sinric out.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric bows politely to the men and carries the empty jug out to the all to be collected. He walks in silence to the frigidarium, taking Hannibal's towel and hanging it before stepping into the cold water without hesitation. He dunks himself completely as if the cold water could shock him back out of his turn of mood.

From:

cook_the_rude

"I'm sorry," Hannibal says. "It was rude of me to discuss politics."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric moves to the edge of the cold pool, water streaming down his long, now dark hair, making his large nipples hard as diamonds. "The fault was not yours. Such places are central to such discussions. Where men may talk and debate and better themselves by the application of discourse."

"It is I who should be apologising. It is a weakness in me that I cannot but wish to defend my lord and shudder to hear his son spoken of well, knowing them both as I do."

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal joins him in the cold water, never batting an eyelash.

He touches Sinric's breast, almost soothingly.

"It's very understandable."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric shivers and tilts his head back a little in a subtle gesture of surrender. "The drying room," He stutters softly. "We can be private there."

From:

cook_the_rude

"Before we get too cold, too," Hannibal answers, chuckling as he touches the other nipple.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric hesitates at the touch, unwilling to move away from such exquisite teasing. It has been too long since he was touched with passion and Hannibal ignites that need in him brightly.

But he forces himself to move away, to fetch the towels and to show the way to the laconicum. A large, open area, resplendent with potted plants and long benches but Sinric turns aside to where smaller rooms as screened off from view, the benches padded and at highs somewhat suggestive of being perfect to bend someone over.

From:

cook_the_rude

"This looks perfectly private," Hannibal says, a smile in his voice.

He reaches out for Sinric and strokes his shoulder.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric's large doe eyes close for a moment, sighing as he surrenders himself to the touch. He has been aching for this, bereft. His skin still cool from the water warms under Hannibal's hands.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal's hand slips underneath Sinric now-dark hair as he starts caressing his smooth, pale skin, rapt as if he were admiring precious art.

From:

thewidewideworld

And it is that admiration Sinric craves, that attention from someone who sees more of him than the flesh. He feels his little snail rise already, his nipples still hard from the cold water.

He stand perfectly still, his hands slightly raised like a renaissance model at work.