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]

"Sinric," Hannibal says, softly.

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

[thewidewideworld]

His head falls back to Hannibal knee, sighing warmly. "I'm here." He breathes. The words are a truth, a revelation. No drug could make him this much a part of all things in this moment.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal kisses him deeply, and starts stroking that tiny prick, much as if he were petting a small animal.

[thewidewideworld]

It doesn't take much the rouse the little snail. After all, Hannibal has worked Sinric into such a perfect headspace for this. He moans warmly, making no effort to hush or curtail his pleasure. He lifts his hips a little, clenching and relaxing to the rhythm of Hannibal's strokes.

[cook_the_rude]

This allows Hannibal to stroke more deeply, rubbing the snail-tail, so to speak.

At the same time, he leans forward to kiss Sinric's exposed nipple.

[thewidewideworld]

"Yes. Oh Hannibal, yes." Sinric murmurs, shifting up the couch a little to make his torso easier to reach, and so also his snail.

He lifts his arms to the arm of the couch, keeping them out of Hannibal's way. The effect is rather one of serving himself up across Hannibal's lap on a bed of green silk and fine leather.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal chuckles gently, suckling on that nipple, and rubbing a little faster.

[thewidewideworld]

His breath comes in little bursts of Greek and moans. His little snail hard and leaking against Hannibal's fingers, straining wonderfully. His nipples harden under Hannibal's lips, his torso arched.

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh yes," Hannibal whispers, "just like that!"

[thewidewideworld]

Hannibal's voice, so richly full only adds to the complex pattern of his joy. He strains, arching to thrust into Hannibal's stoking hand. "I.. oh Hannibal, I will fall from this alone!"

[cook_the_rude]

"Good."

Hannibal keeps doing it.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs warmly, a happy, relaxed sound and arches up to kiss Hannibal's cheek. "Undo me." He whispers, nuzzling Hannibal's ear.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal strokes the little snail faster, harder, and his lips suckle with much more insistence.

"Come," he whispers. "Show me. Spill for me!"

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps and lets his head falling back, letting his growing passion run riot over his senses. His voice builds, a crescendo in counterpoint to the soft, smooth music playing. With utter abandonment, he gives himself over to the feeling, falling apart under Hannibal's hands.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal strokes him through it, murmuring encouragement against the swollen nipple.

[thewidewideworld]

He spills over Hannibal's fingers with a high, sweet cry. His body tightening, arching then falling boneless over Hannibal's lap. Limp and panting, sinric looks wonderfuly debouched and extremely happy.

[cook_the_rude]

Looking at him, Hannibal gives a deep, long sigh of appreciation.

[thewidewideworld]

"I feel like a work of art," Sinric smiles, eyes half closed as little tremors dance though the muscles of his stomach. "When you look at me like that. It makes me feel prized."

[cook_the_rude]

"But you are," Hannibal says. "Both -- a prized work of art, as well as a uniquely gifted person."

[thewidewideworld]

He reaches up to stroke Hannibal's cheek. "I'm not so beautiful as I was but you make me feel as if I am." He leans up to steal a kiss. "Thank you."

[cook_the_rude]

"You are just as striking, if older by four years and a long desert," Hannibal says. "I wouldn't call it less beautiful."

[thewidewideworld]

He smiles a little grimly, as if appreciating a flattering lie. He traces the curves of Hannibal's jaw, his high cheekbones. "Where you are just as I remember you in my mind's eye."

[cook_the_rude]

"Well, I did change in the three years I didn't come here," Hannibal points out.

[thewidewideworld]

"You did, that's true." He still brushes his fingers over Hannibal's cheek, tracing up to the curve of his ear. "But your smile never changes. When it reaches your eyes, it's like a sunrise that warms everything."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal just smiles at him.