(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 moan adds to the texture of the melody, sweet and a little roughed. He cards an hand through Hannibal's perfect hair, his lithe little body warming swiftly with passion.

[cook_the_rude]

"Shhh," Hannibal says, lips moving on the sensitive pink skin of the nipple. "Your voice."

He licks over the very tip.

[thewidewideworld]

"Ah!" It's painful hard to rest his voice when Hannibal is teasing his deeply sensitive nipples.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hand is now roaming circles over Sinric's stomach, following the lines of the lean dancer's muscles, while his lips keep paying homage to those beautiful, generous nipples.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric ripples under his touch, his body moving with grace and joy.

His little snail starts to fill, little by little, reacting to the good doctor's ministrations and the sweep of the music.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's fingers are now teasing Sinric's navel, one or two of them straying lower, accidentally on purpose.

[thewidewideworld]

Again Sinric's voice sounds, high and sweet and wondrous. He spreads his legs wider, opening and offering himself. Surrendering without shame or reservation.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is stroking Sinric's lower stomach, and the inside of his thighs, but isn't touching his tiny prick yet.

"Shhhh," he says, still against that thoroughly laved nipple.

He lifts his head, but just to suckle the other one.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric covers his mouth with a soft laugh, finding it hard to quiet himself when Hannibal is doing such a wonderful job of exciting him.

[cook_the_rude]

A casual finger wanders down the inside of Sinric's thigh, from the knee to his groin, as the music swells and changes.

All the instruments have woken up and joined in, and now seem ready to do something.

[thewidewideworld]

The anticipation makes Sinric groan, his body aching and sensitised for more. The swell of the music begs for more too; boighter, stronger.

"Please?" He begs softly.

[cook_the_rude]

"Shhh," Hannibal says, softly, and starts kissing his way downwards just in the moment when a soprano voice starts to sing.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gives a warm little whine of frustration and bites his lower lip.

His stomach muscles jump and dance at Hannibal kiss, his little cock filling out with anticipation.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes his time, breathing deeply and contentedly.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric does his best to curb his impatience, body tight and all but vibrating. It strange to be the one being strung along and edged to desire. Usually he's the one doing it.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is stroking the outside of Sinric's thighs, down to the knees, and kissing his navel.

[thewidewideworld]

He whimpers again, his universe narrowing down to sensation and desire. And trust. He closes his eyes, arching into the slow touches.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal runs his finger down the inside of Sinric's thigh, and kissing his lover belly.

The music soars with plaintive beauty.

[thewidewideworld]

His muscles jump, his voice sounding even as he bites his hand to keep silent. The music only serves to edge his desire on with the swell of it.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hand stills, and his breath ghosts over the sweet, tiny prick.

[thewidewideworld]

Even that soft breath is enough to make him shiver and moan. His skin is so sensitive, so eager. His little prick, now hard, dances with the ache to be touched.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal touches his tongue to the tip.

[thewidewideworld]

He cries out, his slender hips jerking a little in the strain to stay still.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannnibal takes him by the hip-bones and gives one long lick along the small prick, from the rim of Sinric's hole, over the jagged little scar, up to the very tip.

[thewidewideworld]

There is no way for Sinric to still his voice now. His moan, lust roughened, adds to the swell of voices and music.