Hannibal gathers him into his arms again, and pulls him back into his lap. "Where were we..." he murmurs against Sinric's lips, kissing him.

He puts his hands on Sinric's hips and pulls him closer, so with Sinric straddling him, the little pricklet will rub against the hardness at the apex of Hannibal's trousers, through several layers of fabric -- but there, making itself felt.