OOM: For Sinric

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's office is brightly lit today, the windows open to let in grey wintery light which washes palely over the furniture and art.

The pictures are Tang dynasty landscape paintings today, interspersed with court scenes of officials wearing complex hats.

Hannibal politely gestures at the couch, then goes to fetch the wine glasses.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Another sip is heard as Hannibal curls a strand of Sinric's hair around his finger, rolls it up all the way, then lets go in a silky motion.

[thewidewideworld]

The reaction is an undoubtedly purr and Sinric stokes down Hannibal's shin, sipping his own wine without lifting his head.

[cook_the_rude]

Underneath Sinric's hair, Hannibal's finger follows the complex shell-shape of his ear.

[thewidewideworld]

The purr becomes something more of a sigh, almost but not quite a moan. Sinric's eyelids flutter as his lips curl in a contented smile.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal bends to kiss his cheek.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric eyes flutter open and he smiles, reaching up to cup Hannibal's cheek. He gently pulls Hannibal into a proper kiss, slow and lingering if still a little chaste.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal puts his wine aside and bends over Sinric, putting his hands on Sinric's cheeks as he returns the kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lingers over the kiss, deepening it slowly. His eyes flutter closed again, drinking in the added sensational of Hannibal's kiss, the feel of his strong, sure hands.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's tongue almost tentatively licks at Sinric's lips. It tastes of the wine.

[thewidewideworld]

Wine and that taste that is unmistakably Hannibal. Sinric opens his mouth to the little licks, his own tongue moving to meet it.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's tongue flicks to tease the tip of Sinric's.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric groans, playfully drawing Hannibal in.

Now that he's opened himself to the kiss and despite his earlier reluctance, he's swiftly growing warm with wanting.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hands wander down Sinric's chest while he deepens the kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

The green silk of his dress falls and folds around his chest like sea foam, moving smoothly under Hannibal's hand.

Sinric moans into the kiss, his hand restlessly stroking Hannibal's calf, the other cupping the back of his head, buried in his hair.

[cook_the_rude]

"Would you like me to touch your skin?" Hannibal asks, lips moving against Sinric's.

[thewidewideworld]

"Yes." Sinric breathes, his chest rising and falling rapidly under Hannibal's hands. "Please?"

The front of the dress is laced and opens easily.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal opens it, and starts stroking Sinric's breasts, just the way he used to like.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric keens softly, large nipples hardening swiftly. His breasts are no longer quite as firm as they were, a legacy of past illness and rapid weight loss but they are every bit as sensitive.

He moans, pulling one knee up as he kisses Hannibal deeply, the split of the skirt falling open over his thigh.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes away one of his hands to stroke the inside of Sinric's thigh.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric breaks the kiss, breathless and rough. "Hannibal." He whispers, unsure what he's begging for. Only that this feels good and he doesn't want it to stop.

There's something about being touched under one's clothes, fondling half dressed that has always been a turn on for him and the swish of silk around Hannibal's hands only adds to his desire.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is caressing one breast, and he opposite knee, still kissing Sinric.

"Yes?" he whispers against Sinric's lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans his leg against the back on the couch, inviting Hannibal's touch higher on his thigh. "Please don't stop?"

[cook_the_rude]

"I won't," Hannibal promises, his hand slowly wandering down Sinric's thigh.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets his eyes slip closed again, letting his senses open to each and every sensations.

The music, the taste of Hannibal's kisses, the slide of skin on skin. The fire of want building inside him. His own moans, soft and breathless.

[cook_the_rude]

"Sinric," Hannibal says, softly.

His hand slides all the way down the inside of that thigh, and a fingertip touches the little snail.