(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

[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.

[cook_the_rude]

It takes a while until Hannibal can speak again.

"We need to change the CD," he finally says, "before I do the same to you."

His arms close around Sinric, warm and familiar.

[thewidewideworld]

"As you will." He smiles, turning to steal a kiss. "I will let you choose the music. But don't hurry." This snuggling is lovely.

[cook_the_rude]

"There is not a shred of hurry left in me," Hannibal assures him. "I doubt I could move."

He strokes down Sinric's spine.

[thewidewideworld]

"I take that as the highest compliment." He purrs, his voice still hoarse but regaining strength.

[cook_the_rude]

"Semen salves sore throats," Hannibal muses. "I didn't know that before now, and will commit it to memory."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles warmly and nuzzles Hannibal's neck. "Perhaps it is the salve of your company. And the wonder of your gift."

[cook_the_rude]

"Don't talk too much, too soon," Hannibal says, his hand roaming idly over Sinric's skin. "We don't want your voice to go again. I was wondering whether you'd manage to stay silent while I'd pleasure you, of you'd stay quiet as a snail while yours extended its feelers to the utmost."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs warmly and presses a finger to his lips, hushing himself.

Its the first time anyone has compared his tiny member to a snail aloud and the image makes him smile.

He lays back, offering himself up to Hannibal's pleasure. Hannibal need only choose the music.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sits up, and puts in another CD. The apparatus clicks, but no music starts. This seems to be right, as Hannibal returns to the bed, gives Sinric a pleased look, and then lies beside him to start again gently, by kissing Sinric's lips and stroking his clavicles.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric strains to listen for the music, wondering what song answers his pleasure.

He purrs, tucking his hand behind his head in surrender to Hannibal will.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hand slides further, to touch the tip of one of Sinric's breasts. There may be a low hum now, not quite music yet, and hardly audible.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric arches, his nipples hardening as the soft him builds. Just as his pleasure builds.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is still kissing him, slowly and gently, almost lovingly; a finger wanders around the slightly puckered rim of an Arellano.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric hums warmly, his milky skin warm and silky beneath Hannibal's touch.

And receptive, so receptive. He flexes and arches, moaning softly into the kiss.

[cook_the_rude]

The music is becoming audible now, swelling very slowly as more and more instruments join into the repeating theme; but so, so slowly. Sinric's little hum melts right into it.

Hannibal's finger slides into the dip between Sinric's breasts, and up the other side.