(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

{From here}

Sinric's room is small and nothing special, a place to sleep when he's alone and little more.

A bed, only just big enough for two. A window looking out on the kitchen garden with a padded window seat wide enough for Sinric's narrow frame. A decently sized wardrobe with a long mirror on one side. A tiny, modern bathroom, no more than a sink and a toilet.

But there are little touches of Sinric's personality too. A pile of books on the window seat, a grey silk kimono painted with misty mountain hanging in fill display on one wall, a box of trinkets and an ornate oil lamp on the little side table.

And now, a harpsichord! Set by the window to get the best light. Sinric regards it with awe, running his hands over the polished surface.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric looks up at him, as if a little surprised to see him there. So lost in the music.

He gets up and dances over to Hannibal, kissing him soundly and with all his joy.

[cook_the_rude]

"Who needs words when there are music and kisses?" Hannibal chuckles, kissing him back.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs warmly and cups Hannibal's cheek to kiss him deeper, his breath scented by the moss lollies.

His kiss deepens, wanting - needing to express his appreciation for this gift.

[cook_the_rude]

"Anything," Hannibal murmurs into the deepening kiss, "that doesn't require you to use your voice."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles softly and pulls Hannibal towards the bed. He's never made love in this bed, only ever in the jointed rooms that belong to Athelstan and Ragnar. This little space was his fall back when he was of no service to his northern lovers.

But now he very much wants to share this with Hannibal now.

[cook_the_rude]

"Another time," Hannibal says, as he follows along quite eagerly, "we must make love with music playing."

[thewidewideworld]

He pauses, smiling at that idea and stops Hannibal with a soft kiss.

He slips off the bed, flicking his hair back as he opens the wardrobe. He lifts out a personal CD player, a small speaker and a pile of CDs like someone carrying a holy relic.

The CDs are mostly classical but with a fair sampling of world music. A gift from Father Harman. He offers the discs to Hannibal while setting up the little player.

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh, that is excellent," Hannibal says, quickly going through the stack. "Whoever picked those for you has quite good taste. Let us stay with the Bach!"

He chooses a CD of the Brandenburg Concertos.

[thewidewideworld]

The music set, Sinric lays down on the bed at Hannibal's side, pulling him into another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, meaningful. His hands move softly over Hannibal's chest and arms.

[cook_the_rude]

The stately, if lively, music seems to encourage the depth and meaningfulness of their touch. Hannibal stretches under Sinric's hands like a great, lazy predator.

[thewidewideworld]

It's a lovely image and Sinric leans over him, gently guiding Hannibal into his back.

He nibbles his way down Hannibal's neck and up to his earlobe, his lithe body warm with the music.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches out to slide his hands along Sinric's side, sighing with pleasure.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs softly, his skin warm through his light tunic.

He pulls lightly at the buttons of Hannibal's shirt, easing them open to nuzzles and kiss the hollow of his throat and clavicle.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal chuckles and stretches himself out, as if opening himself to all and any of Sinric's touches.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric works his way to freeing Hannibal of his shirt, exploring and caressing his chest. He touches Hannibal with the same gentle intensity with which he touched the harpsichord, committed the sensual reality of Hannibal's skin to memory.

[cook_the_rude]

"I may make sounds," Hannibal murmurs, stretching this way and that to allow Sinric to touch at will, "if you hit the right key."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric giggles softly and leans in to seek a particularly sensitive patch on Hannibal's side, brushing soft lips over the skin. He trails kisses to other places; the rim of Hannibal's navel, the hollow of his throat, the outer edge of his nipple, finding the minor chords first.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal hums, moans, chuckles, sighs and, once, yelps, freely to these ministrations.

[thewidewideworld]

The analogy is too sweet not to enjoy, his fingers playing over Hannibal's skin to Bach's rhythms. He steps up his explorations, taking the peak of one nipple between soft lips and teasing it as he reaches down to loosen Hannibal's pants.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gives a long moan, counterpoint to some of the fast trills the music is executing right now, almost a basso continuo.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric is quite fond of such low notes, even if trying to reproduce them is what cost him his voice. He moves to the other nipple, nipping lightly to see what sound that will elicit.

[cook_the_rude]

The sound is lighter, more like a drawn-out gasp ending in a light hiss.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric hums happily, approving of the sound. He kisses down to nibble at the rim of Hannibal's navel again as he helps him out of his pants, seeking more skin to explore.

[cook_the_rude]

With a soft moan, Hannibal spreads himself open, giving him all the skin he wants.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric eases Hannibal's pant and underwear away. He kisses and touches his way up and down Hannibal's legs, particularly infatuated by the turn of Hannibal's ankles.