OOM: For Sinric on Halloween

[cook_the_rude]

It seems like an invasion, the dirty, scruffy barbarian striding into the clean, civilised room. Kitchen and bed, desk and dining table, book cases and sofa are all still there. The prints on the walls today are vintage 1950s fashion plates and pin-ups, giving the place a touch of playfulness.

The large polished table with six chairs awaits the pleasure of the diners.

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[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps, feeling the power of it wash over him. Hannibal keeps spilling for so long he can feel it fill him, overflowing with those last thrusts.

He puts a gentle hand out to still Hannibal, letting him know it's okay to stop and pulling him close to rest.

[cook_the_rude]

The moment Hannibal slips free, though, he lets go and drops to his knees in front of the table, and puts his mouth the Sinriric's hole, sucking up his own copious seed and starting to spread it with lips and tongue, all over that sweet little prick.

[thewidewideworld]

The suddenness and strangeness of the feeling flips Sinric's stomach, sending a shock through him that triggers his release almost as soon as Hannibal's mouth is in him.

His cry of surprise is almost brittle and alarmed, the air leaving him in a jolt.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gives two or three more languid licks, then slumps forwards, resting his face against Sinric's crotch.

"The taste and scent of your sweet release threading through my intense maleness," he sighs, "is uniquely beautiful."

[thewidewideworld]

The orgasm rip through Sinric so hard and sudden it leaves him shattered and weak, panting roughly. He lifts a hand so, so slowly to rest on Hannibal's head.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal just breathes very slowly and deeply, his face still on Sinric's crotch, as if all energy was finally spent now his partner had peaked as well.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric in content to lay there, chest heaving as he tries to level his breathing. He keep his hand resting in Hannibal's hair.

There is no reason to move, not until they're ready.

[cook_the_rude]

"You are comfortable on the lovely table?" Hannibal murmurs against Sinric's thigh.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric goes to speak but stops, having to clear throat to get his voice working again with an effort. "I could ask you the same of the floor but like me, I suspect you lack the energy to rise."

[cook_the_rude]

"No," Hannibal says. "Nothing rising."

He gently kisses the tired, soft and slickened little snail.

[thewidewideworld]

The soft chuckle turns into a moan and an almost painful shudder of unexpected pleasure at the kiss.

[cook_the_rude]

"I like your sex," Hannibal murmurs, tilting his head just a little to kiss Sinric's soft pubic area, where ordinary men or women have hair, "I feel I could snuggle here forever."

[thewidewideworld]

That draws something between a sigh and a chuckles. "I don't think it has ever been admired quite so worshippingly before."

[cook_the_rude]

"My knees not quite working helps with the worshipping," Hannibal murmurs. "But yes, it is unique and sweet."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles softly and tries, failingly to get to his elbows and sit up. "Perhaps in your time. You would be spoilt for choice in the golden cage."

[cook_the_rude]

"I still like you best," Hannibal says.

[thewidewideworld]

"How would you know?" He sighs, trying again to pull himself up. "You might well fall in love with dark eyed Christophorus and his beautiful curls. Or Kir's perfect olive skin. Or Probus with his voice as sweet as mine."

[cook_the_rude]

"I like your spirit," Hannibal says. "Your resilience. Your bravery in the face of the unknown. Your loyalty, and your pride in exactly who and what you are. Nope, I like you best."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric sits up and last and leans down to kiss Hannibal deeply, tasting both their pleasure on his lips. "Thank you."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal kisses him, then falls backwards, tugging lightly on Sinric's fingers before letting go.

"Please join me on this lovely rug."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric eases himself off the table with something less than his normal grace to sprawl happily at Hannibal's side.

He groans softly, sore in all the good ways as he shifts to settle his skirt a little neater and push the corseted bra into a more comfortable postion. "Would you mind terribly if I got undressed? On the dress is wonderful but half off, it's rather a tangle."

[cook_the_rude]

"Let me help you with it," Hannibal says, trying to sit up with Sinric in his arms. "There was a plaid here somewhere..."

Getting as far as the bed, the sofa or anything is apparently not an option just now.

[thewidewideworld]

"The rug is comfortable enough for now." Sinric purrs, turning his back to Hannibal for help to get out of the tight girdle. His tight victory rolls are starting to fall out onto long curls over his shoulder.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal undoes the zipper, the girdle, and what else needs opening, the reaches over to pull the plaid off the sofa.

"It's a very comfortable rug," he says. "I could tell you about it's provenance and history, but that would probably be boring."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric is much more content to snuggle naked in Hannibal's arms, gently pushing the garments into a pile to tidy up when he can move. "Tell me? I love the way you value not just the object but it's history and origins. You see things as part of a greater whole rather than just something to walk across." He smiles. "Or lay on."