(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

{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."

Comments

[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.

[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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

[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."

[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."

[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."

[cook_the_rude]

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

[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.

[cook_the_rude]

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

He reaches out for Sinric and strokes his shoulder.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal touches the cool tip of one nipple with the light touch of a single finger.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric sighs sweetly, breathlessly, lifting his breast into the touch. "Sir-" he whispers.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gently tweaks the other nipple while running his hand down Sinric's side.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's eyes fall closed again, his hands reaching back to steady himself on the high-ended bench. He arches his torso as if offering himself up.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal closes in, bends his head and accepts the offering by taking one nipple between his lips, and suckling.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric is trained as a singer, trained to make his voice carry so it's an effort to keep his moan soft and private as warm lips envelope his cool sensitive.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal cups Sinric's other breast with his hand as he keeps kissing, sucking and nipping.

[thewidewideworld]

Making it harder and harder to curtail his sweet voice. His snail fills further, peeking out from between his creamy thighs.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal slides down his hand to touch its peak with a curious finger.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps softly as his snail lifts its head to Hannibal's attention. "Few men make me rise as you do." He whispers.

[cook_the_rude]

"That is their loss," Hannibal says, running his finger along its underside.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric keens softly and spreads his legs a little further in utter surrender. Hannibal has such power over him in this moment. Sinric bites his lip, trying to keep his voice from travelling.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal keeps kissing Sinric's breasts while his hand slides deeper between Sinric's legs, teasing the rim of his hole.