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]

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.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal has something else in his medical bag, some other gel, that he puts on his finger without even taking his mouth away from Sinric's breast.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric manages to free the last button of Hannibal's shirt, his hands roaming freely over the doctor's chest as he moans.

The feel of the doctor's generous lips on his breasts sends shudders through him, causing the little snail to unfold and fill as he rocks against him with little involuntary jerks of his hips.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal slips his fingers back into Sinric's cleft, and then breaches his hole, sliding in the middle finger to the second knuckle.

His other hand reaches between them to touch the tip of the little pricklet before opening the buttons on his trousers to free his own cock.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cries out with joyously intensity as Hannibal opens him, almost not feeling the touch on his tiny, useless member for the pleasure of pushing back against that invading finger. He rocks against it, greed for more.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal adds a second finger, and pushes both of them in deeper.

His other hand slides further between Sinric's legs, rubbing the entire length of his member.

His cock is following suit.

[thewidewideworld]

"Please, sir!" He whimpers, rocking against him. "Please, I'm implore you, enter me!" Sinric wriggles in Hannibal's lap, begging to be fucked. He has dreamed too long of having the doctor inside him and now it is all he think of.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal strokes his slick fingers over his own cock once, leaving it smooth and shine.

"Come, sit on me," he says, putting his hands on Sinric's hips to make him rise up. "All yours for the taking."

He pulls him close, and trusts up, towards Sinric's hole.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric sinks down on him with a deep sigh, feeling himself filled and stretched around him. He take Hannibal to the root, sheathing himself utterly.

He rests his hands on Hannibal's shoulders to steady himself. His eyes flutter, gasping as he lifts himself, finding that place inside him as he moves slowly.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal pushes up, aiming at that very point that makes Sinric gasp.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cries out warmly and starts to fuck himself in earnest, impairing himself over and over. His soft, high voice rings out, his eyes half closed as his gives himself over to the sensation.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches out to touch Sinric's breasts, rubbing his thumbs over those sweet, generous pink nipples.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric closes his eyes and lets the sensation pour over him, making no effort to stifle his sounds.

He should feel guilty - to be enjoying the luxuries of the flesh while Athelstan suffers because of his neglect but he cannot bring himself to think on that. Or on anything but the glide of the doctor's prick within him and rub of the doctor's strong thumbs on his breasts. If he lets himself think, for even a moment he will fall apart again and his dispair will consume him.