(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]

"In any way you want," Hannibal says. "Take me as you want me."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric shakes his head. "I want you to take me, any way you want. Even rough if you wish. I trust you."

[cook_the_rude]

"Would you like me inside you, seeking my pleasure in your tight hole?" Hannibal whispers.

[thewidewideworld]

"Yes!" Sinric gasps. "Please, sir? I want you inside me."

[cook_the_rude]

"Do we still have the oil from earlier?" Hannibal asks, looking at the very few things they were bringing with them.

[thewidewideworld]

"On the shelf, just outside the alcove. You will find some there." He doesn't trust his knees to fetch it himself.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal goes, and soon returns with the vial. "Everything ready for patrons' convenience," he says, smiling. "What a considerate place."

He unstoppers the vial -- the oil is very lightly scented -- and slathers some over himself before pouring it over his fingers and starting to work it into Sinric.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric begins to answer but his words are lost in a moan as Hannibal's slick fingers enter him, still sensitive and trembling. It is an effort to stand, his hand braced on the top of the bench at his back.

With only a moments hesitation, he gently draws Hannibal's fingers from him and turns around, bending over the benches perfectly curved armrest. It is no small thing, even after all this time, to offer someone his back but he trusts Hannibal utterly.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal grips him by the hips, positions the tip of his cock right at Sinric's hole, and then slowly pushes himself inside.

[thewidewideworld]

Slick as they both are and as careful as Hannibal was, Sinric is still tight. The slow push burns inside him, just right. Just so. Pushing the air out of him in a moan.

[cook_the_rude]

"Good?" Hannibal asks, pushing forward a little more. "You haven't had this in a while, have you?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Yes," Sinric whimpers and shakes his head. "Not for some time. Not for a very long time." Except for that time on the bathroom floor with Ragnar, no-one has entered him so since- well, since Leo's men. But Sinric is trying very hard not to think about that.

[cook_the_rude]

"Tell me to stop if I hurt you," Hannibal says and pushes right inside.

Then, he slowly starts thrusting.

[thewidewideworld]

"I trust-" But the rest is lost in a cry as Hannibal fills him. That is what he as missed about this - being filled so deep, feeling himself stretch as he is taken.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gives a little moan as he thrusts again, his voice low, probably for the sake of sparing the other patrons.

Who probably can tell what is going on here by now, anyway.

[thewidewideworld]

If they don't know by now, they're fools. But more likely very jealous. Because Sinric isn't able to keep his voice so low, each thrust filling him in ways he had almost forgotten.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal speeds up his thrusts, just a little, tilting his hip so he will brush Sinric's sweet spot every time, if at all possible.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric reveals in being taken like this, knowing Hannibal's desire will set the rhythm. He gasps as each thrust makes him ache inside with the fierce, bright pleasure. "Yes! Oh sir. yes!"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal thrusts faster, and doesn't keep back his moans any more. By this point, he might not even mind if any of the jealous co-patrons peer in on them.

[thewidewideworld]

That would be a distinct breech of protocol. Even if several patrons just beyond are very interested by the sounds.

Sinric can't climax, or even get hard again so soon but that doesn't stop him from enjoying every ounce of pleasure, every bright spark of joy. His voice joins Hannibal's almost in harmony.

[cook_the_rude]

And a breach of protocol would be just rude. We can't have that! So it is probably good for those patrons to keep to it.

Hannibal's voice is far rougher and less harmonic than Sinric's, but yes, the way their moans intertwine is almost musical, and certainly very rhythmical.

[thewidewideworld]

It feels so good, so right. The echo of their voices, the slap of skin and the burn and flash of pleasure. Sinric sinks into it, letting the feeling overwhelm and overtake him, pushing out all other thoughts but the here and now.

[cook_the_rude]

It is a time of timelessness, pleasure enveloping like the warm steam of the caldarium, until finally Hannibal speeds up more and more, and then spills deep into Sinric, with the deepest moan yet.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric whimpers with joy, feeling the flood of heat fill him. He leans onto the bench arm, reaching back to cup Hannibal's hip, squeezing in thanks. He is in no great hurry to move.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sinks down over him, holding himself up with his elbows on the arm-rest of that bench as not to crush Sinric.

His breathing slows down, gradually.