(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]

A pleasure then, rather than a particular fetish. Good to know.

He works his way patiently over all of Hannibal's feet and smoothly into his ankles and calves, kissing and caressing between firmer massaging touches.

[cook_the_rude]

"Most studies claim that reflexology has no measurable therapeutic effect at all," Hannibal says, conversationally, into the small room at large. "But I find that the mere knowledge of its existence has an effect on one's well-being. Mind over matter, as so often."

Beat.

"Ohh yes, ahh, that!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles and arches back a moment, shedding his light tunic as he works his way slowly up Hannibal's legs.

He rocks with the music, his small tight breasts brushing against the skin of Hannibal's foot.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal allows his knees to fall apart, opening more skin to Sinric's touch; his toes curl against Sinric's nipples in a quite intentional, almost prehensile, movement.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs; a rough, warm sound as he kisses and caresses the soft skin of Hannibal's inner thigh. His nipples hardening as he brushed them up Hannibal's legs.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal moans, spreading his legs wider to allow Sinric access.

The music is dancing around them, still, like a ballet of invisible imps.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's hands move in slow, easy rhythms over the long tight muscles of Hannibal's thighs, his kisses moving with the beat of the dance.

He smiles and nuzzles the soft fur of the underside of Hannibal's balls.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal spreads his legs wide with a long, harsh moan.

[thewidewideworld]

Now that's a good note to hit. Sinric purrs again and nuzzles, sucking lightly on his sack as his hands slide up to Hannibal's hips.

[cook_the_rude]

The moan gets deeper, longer, as if the vocalisation was part of the pleasure itself.

[thewidewideworld]

His hands continue to massage and seeking out knots and tight spots, even as he runs the flat of his nimble little tongue up the length of Hannibal's shaft.

[cook_the_rude]

The moan is long and clear now, and Hannibal bends his knees, to bend them apart and slightly lift them.

The music has become slower, more stately, in this part.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric answers the stately tone with due deference, taking his time to touch, kissing, caress Hannibal's manhood, making a study of it in minute detail.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's manhood stretches, fills to its utmost, and a tiny bead of clear liquid blooms from the minute slit at the tip.

He sighs in pleasure.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans in, looking up at Hannibal as he licks it away, his deep brown eyes dance with playful joy. He teases Hannibal's slit, letting his soft lips encase his tip.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal moans more loudly, his hip thrusting up towards Sinric's lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs and welcomes the thrusts, letting Hannibal slip between his lips and into the warm hollow of his mouth. He runs his hands over Hannibal's legs and up his stomach, moaning softly under his breath as he take him deeper.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's moan briefly turns into something of a keen as he eagerly thrusts forward into Sinric's mouth.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moves with thrusts, moves with the music to take Hannibal to the hilt. He draws back, rocking with Bach's flowing sound, his eyes closed as he gives himself over to music and pleasure.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's sighs speed up and come in time with the music.

[thewidewideworld]

It's right with them - the music, the dance, moans syncopated to the rhythm of beautiful sounds. Sinric doubts he will ever hear this concerto again without his heart quickening.

[cook_the_rude]

"Not long," Hannibal gasps in warning, as the music rises to a stately crescendo.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric takes Hannibal deep into his throat and purrs an encouragement, making it clear he approves of the coming crescendo. Then draws back, eager to taste, to feel Hannibal's passion.

[cook_the_rude]

And the flood of passion breaks free, unstoppable, flooding Sinric's mouth with rich fountains.

And then, the concerto ends. Only Hannibal's ragged breathing remains.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric swallows and swallows, moaning softly. He draws back to breathe, wiping the last of Hannibal's release from his lips and licking his fingers clean.

He moves up to rest his head in Hannibal's chest, stoking his stomach and enjoying the ragged joy of his lover's breathing.