(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 forces himself to relax, to open to Hannibal's probing, overruled his desire to clench, to pull Hannibal in as he would with fingers or a manhood.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal rolls his tongue and pushes, boldly and skilfully.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric has met very few skilled or interested in this sort of pleasure, and even less interested in practicing it on him. He tosses his head, hair falling about his face and lip swelling from biting as he moves with the pleasure Hannibal is igniting in him.

[cook_the_rude]

The tip of Hannibal's tongue bestows some liqght licks to Sinric's perineum next.

[thewidewideworld]

He squirms warmly, keening between the notes of the music. His little member strains, harder than he remembers being for a long time.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal hums against the sensitive skin underneath his lips, as if pondering options; then, he kisses the inside of Sinric's thighs and spreads his legs further, positioning himself between them so Sinric's feet can comfortably lie over his shoulders.

He kisses Sinric's hole, lovingly, as he would a mouth.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric spreads himself wide, his silver ankle bells chiming softly as he rests his feet on Hannibal's shoulders, utterly exposed.

He groans and arches, his tightly hole fluttering and wet under the attention.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal slowly licks his way up Sinric's little prick again while pushing a curious fingertip at his hole.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric flexes open, inviting the touch and pushing onto Hannibal's finger as he arches up towards his mouth.

[cook_the_rude]

A long, skilful finger slides inside just as Hannibal takes the tip of the little snail between his lips, and the soprano starts another long, achingly beautiful warble of incomprehensible words.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric whimpers, unsure whether to push back or forward. But wanting more of both.

He lets the song wash over him, rich and warm and joyous.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal makes the decision for him, both pushing deep inside, and sucking the little snail in deeply, at the same time.

He crooks his fingers; and he suck strongly, using his tongue on the underside of that small, hard pricklet.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric howls joyously, pinned between the duel pleasures.

Hannibal has built this pleasure so well, so slowly, so deeply that Sinric feels the high coming on him too soon and he fights to keep it back.

[cook_the_rude]

As if to give him a little more time with this pleasure, Hannibal stills his mouth, leaving it warm and wet and soft but passive around Simric, and crooks his finger to deliberately rub against his prostate.

[thewidewideworld]

He whimpers richly and clenches around Hannibal's finger, rocking back against the stimulation.

He cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair, crooning almost in time to the singer.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal rubs more deliberately now, stron and rhythmical, while his wet lips around the little cock are slack and slow and passive, cradling more than sucking.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's breathing hitches roughly, his hands tightening in Hannibal's hair. "Please?" He begs, "I want-"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal starts suckling again, lips and tongue greedy on that tiny prick, while his finger is still running inside.

[thewidewideworld]

It isn't long before Sinric is keening, biting his wrist to keep from crying out again. He clenches tight, feeling the wave crest and break over them both.

He falls and falls, his lithe body vibrating like a bow-string as he spills his tiny drops of seed falls into Hannibal's mouth.

[cook_the_rude]

The music warbles in a great crest right along with Sinric's orgasm,and Hannibal keeps suckling him through every last moment of it, saw if savouri g the rare and special taste of his release.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric falls back weakly, his lithe body limp with the shock and joy it it. "Oh Hannibal!" He sighs, his heart still racing.

[cook_the_rude]

The soprano voice has fallen silent, and the melody calms down to the first theme, but now, with each repetition, instruments stop playing, and the music quietens.

Hannibal moves to lie beside Sinric, gather him into his arms, and kiss him deeply, with open lips and playful tongue.

"This is how your pleasure tastes," he whispers, "unique and sweet, like no other. I treasure it as a great privilege, every time you peak for me."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets Hannibal lead the kiss, sighing softly into it. The peak has worn him out and he is soft and sated in Hannibal's arms.

He tucks his head against Hannibal's chest as the kiss breaks, radiating lethargic joy.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal runs his hands through all that blond hair as the music winds down, stroking Sinric gently as he holds him, not marring the lovely lassitude with the need to speak.

[thewidewideworld]

The warmth, the content flow, the safe embrace of Hannibal's arms, the slow unwide of the music. Perfection. Sinric couldn't imagine being happy here than he is at this moment.