OOM: Treating Sinric's ankle

[cook_the_rude]

 Hannibal's office is dimmer today, the windows largely covered by dark grey blackout blinds to keep out the summer sun, while two lamps, one by the couch, the other stooped over the drawing table, provide islands in the soft gloom.

The prints on the wall, still mostly Istanbul, and harem scenes, have now been joined by a series from the 18th century depicting Farinelli in different operatic costumes that all have ridiculously huge and long plumes on the helmet or hats in common.

Hannibal puts down the exhausted Sinric on the couch and then fetches his medical bag from the closed bottom part of the book case.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric shifts to kiss his lips, somewhat fervently. He needs- something, someone to distract him from the pain in his heart, the fear that he has killed Athelstan with his neglect, the fear Ragnar will hate him which would be far, far worse than the Viking beating him. He kisses Hannibal even as he cries.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes Sinric's face between both his hands and kisses him, deeply and tenderly, as if trying to smother all Sinric's worries with his generous lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's kisses are desperate and breathless and he whines softly, trying to pull Hannibal closer to him.

[cook_the_rude]

"You are safe with me," Hannibal murmurs into their increasingly intense kisses, letting Sinric come as close as he wants.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric presses bodily against him, wrapping his arms around the doctor. "Please?" He's not even sure what it is he's begging for, only that he needs something.

[cook_the_rude]

"A therapist doesn't usually do this," the doctor chuckles, but he complies for the moment: he pulls Sinric close and puts his hands on his buttocks, encouraging him to straddle his lap.

He doesn't stop kissing him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric straddles Hannibal's lap, giving a small and soft groan as he shifts his swollen ankle and bruised hand. A dark bruise is forming on his cheek from where he tumbled on the stairs but he doesn't notice it.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, resting his head on Hannibal's shoulder. "Forgive me, I have no right to ask this of you."

[cook_the_rude]

"But I'll be glad to give it to you, lovely Sinric," Hannibal says, leaning his cheek against Sinric's hair while stroking his back. "I'll just have to treat the ankle first, and then you can have anything you want from me -- comfort, kisses, or pleasure."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nods like an obedient child and leans into the embrace. "Yes, of course. Thank you for taking such good care of me."

[cook_the_rude]

"I care about you, Sinric," the doctor says. "So I'll take care of you. Sit on the couch again for a moment so I an do what I have to, and then we can do what we want to."

He follows this with another kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

He moves to the couch and stops to push his golden hair back from his face, his expression soft and warm. He sets his ankle at an easy angle to access. "I care for you too, sir. Your kindness and care of me moves my heart."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal smiles into Sinric's eyes, and then bends over to take out some things from his medical bag.

He spreads a cloth in his lap, sets the injured foot on it, and then liberally slathers the ankle with the pleasant-smelling gel he had used on Sinric the other time. The scent might remind him of last time; on the other hand, it has been a long while.

[thewidewideworld]

Not long enough. It triggers the memory of being bent over this very couch, in both pain and trust in Hannibal's ministrations. Desire confused with pain.

But he closes his eyes and clears his mind, as Hannibal taught him to do, focusing not on the smell of the gel but on the scent of Hannibal's kiss, still lingering on his lips.

[cook_the_rude]

When he finishes with the gel, Hannibal lifts the injured foot gently by the heel, playfully kisses the big toe, covers the gel-daubed ankle with gauze and then starts to tightly bandage the foot in place, tightly, with an elastic bandage.

"This would hurt a lot without the anaesthetic," the doctor says, "and even so, it might feel quite unpleasant -- please tell me if it gets too bad."

[thewidewideworld]

"I will." He promises softly. "Thank you for looking after me so well."

The kisses on his foot make him smile. He has the feet of a dancer; small and nimble, his ankles slender. It's easy to see how he turned it so easily.

[cook_the_rude]

After the foot is securely wrapped and fastened with some sort of furry fabric from the future that sticks, the doctor turns his attention to Sinric's hand and cheek, but does nothing excep thinly spread some of the gel.

"It will look nasty for a while," he says, "but it'll heal easily."

He kisses Sinric's other cheek.

"All done!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric turns into the kiss and returns it. The edge of urgency is gone but the passion is still there, needy but not straining as he was.

[cook_the_rude]

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.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric can't help but moan as their bodies meet, rubbing his tiny cock against Hannibal's staining one through their clothes. "Sir, I desire-" he breaks off in another soft moan.

[cook_the_rude]

"Less fabric, to start with," Hannibal murmurs, his hands encouraging Sinric to move. "And perhaps you'd enjoy to keep straddling me, impaling yourself on me to ride me?"

[thewidewideworld]

Hannibal's words go directly to Sinric's groin and he groans softly. "Yes! Please, sir. I'd like that very much."

He pulls the long skirts of his stola over his head, naked beneath. There are more bruises on his side, arm and hip but he pays them no mind, reaching for the buttons of Hannibal's shirt.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal hums appreciatively, his hands gliding over the other bruises. "We'll put heparin gel on those later," he promises.

And then, he puts both his hands on Sinric's breasts, thumbs teasing the pink, perky nubs on top of them.

[thewidewideworld]

The bruises aren't sore enough to hurt yet, just colouring on his milky skin.

His hands shake to a stop on Hannibal's shirt as the doctor teases his breasts. The overlarge nipples harden swiftly under his touch. He arches his back, feeling his worries pushed by by the flood of sensation.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal dips his head and puts his lips to one of those nipples while his hands slide between Sinric's buttocks.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric whimpers and spreads his legs wider, inviting more. He should be pleasuring Hannibal, giving as he has been trained to do but tonight he wants and needs to be overwhelmed, to be taken.

His hands clench around the cloth of Hannibal's shirt, whimpering richly.