OOM: Farewell to Sinric

[cook_the_rude]

 Hannibal leads the way upstairs and to his private room -- which is as it was. Mostly.

"Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" is gone from the walls; instead, there are archaeological drawing of Scythian tattoos, with the merest hint at the bodies they used to be applied to, the stark black art dominating the pencilled outline of a neck, a shoulder, a thigh, a pair of buttocks.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

"Your walls," Sinric smiles, pausing to admire the art, "It seems always to be reading my thoughts."

[cook_the_rude]

"My uncle's Japanese partner," Hannibal says, "taught me to change decorations around, fitting them to seasons and company. So I do it -- and here, the walls themselves seem to do it for me. I can rely on their good taste."

[thewidewideworld]

"You are interested in tattooing?" He asks softly, head tilted to take in the lines of an deer, drawn in but a few lines yet vivid in apparent motion.

[cook_the_rude]

"It' an ancient art that had been underrated for far too long," Hannibal says. "And one of the most personal forms of art there is."

[thewidewideworld]

"In the empire, tattoos are used only to mark out slaves and criminals. Yet in the North men mark each other in honour to their gods, to show bravery or to commemorate some event. They become living works of art, imbued with power through the changing of their skin."

His palm moves to his hip, as if able to feel the heat of his through his clothes.

[cook_the_rude]

"You have one now?" Hannibal says, following the movement with his eyes.

[thewidewideworld]

He ducks his lashes in a small nod. "Ragnar, Athelstan and I. We marked each other. It was... a powerful experience."

[cook_the_rude]

"May I see?"

[thewidewideworld]

"I would have to undress." Sinric points out with a playful smile, hands already in the ties of his tunic.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes, please!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric takes his time, not overtly showing off but enjoying the way the doctor looks at him as he removes one layer at a time.

Last of all are the fine linen pants. Naked beneath them, the fine dark lines of the tattoo on his hip, just above his thigh stand out crisply.

Two stylized birds - the raven and the dove, in flight and flowing over his skin.

[cook_the_rude]

"They are very lovely," Hannibal says, reaching out to touch them.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric steps closer, offering himself up to be touched. "It was painful but I'm glad I did it. It feels...right, to have choosen to change myself. To remake myself."

{ooc: sorry, DW seems to have swallowed my last attempt at tagging!}

[cook_the_rude]

"To have something of theirs on you to carry it out into your world," Hannibal says, touching it, "indelibly drawn into your very skin."

[thewidewideworld]

"Something real, something tangible. So if I'm away too long I have proof this place is real." He lowers his eyes. "I'm afraid it'll become as insubstantial to me as a dream."

[cook_the_rude]

"And more so, the longer you're gone," Hannibal says. "Getting the tattoo was a good decision."

[thewidewideworld]

"I'm glad you approve. The timing is perhaps unwise but it felt right to do."

He inches a little closer to Hannibal, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to his throat.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal leans back his head, gives a pleased sigh.

"You have learned to acknowledge your own needs," he murmurs. "I like that."

[thewidewideworld]

"My needs have... not always been convenient of late." He hums, wrapping his arms around Hannibal's waist, kissing up to the soft skin behind his ear. "I'm not use to being allowed to want."

[cook_the_rude]

"But you are, and you're learning to own your needs" Hannibal says, tilting his head as if to offer himself to Sinric's lips. "I'm all yours for the wanting."

[thewidewideworld]

"I do want you." Sinric sighs, nibbling on the end of Hannibal's earlobe, standing on his tiptoes. "Very much."

He glances over his shoulder towards the bed. "May we-?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Of course," Hannibal says, reaching out to loosen Sinric's clothes.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric strips gladly, pulling at Hannibal's closes in return, wanting skin and touch.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal quickly divests himself of his jacket and tie, and helps Sinric to open his shirt, offering the skin he was wanting.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric kisses Hannibal's chest urgently, pushing his shirt away and fumbling with the openings of his pants. "Please?" He gently pushes Hannibal towards the bed.