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]

Hannibal hums in pleasure and tilts his rear towards Sinric.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric purrs and starts to work the conditioner into Hannibal's hair, leaning in so his front presses warmly against Hannibal's back.

There are few times he mourns being so poorly endowed but it would be nice to slip between Hannibal's thighs like this. Or to be felt at all beyond the brush of blonde curls against the curves of Hannibal's behind.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal seems happy enough to be touched like this, submitting smilingly to Sinric's closeness and ministrations.

[thewidewideworld]

He works the conditioner into Hannibal's hair, his slender fingers combing though to spread it evenly. He presses kisses to Hannibal's neck as he does, his breasts warm against Hannibal's upper back.

[cook_the_rude]

"You're getting me hard again," Hannibal murmurs.

[thewidewideworld]

"Truly? How rude of me." Sinric purrs, running one hand down Hannibal's chest, casually brushing a nipple as he reaches down to gently cup Hannibal's hardening member.

"I shall have to offer myself up to slake your growing desires." He strokes slowly, teasingly; hands still slick with conditioner.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal pushes forward into the touch, moaning under the water.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nuzzles his neck, keeping his grip light and teasing. "I would have you inside me?" He whispers, breathless at the thought. "I have missed how it feels to be filled by you."

There's a stronger edge to his voice now, a confidence returning.

[cook_the_rude]

"I should sit on something," Hannibal gasps, "and you could sit on me."

[thewidewideworld]

"I like the sound of that." Sinric sighs, letting go with a little squeeze and stepping back to rinse the conditioner from Hannibal's hair.

However hot he feels at the prospect of riding Hannibal, making sure he finished his task of washing Hannibal's hair is more important. "Your couch perhaps?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Couch sounds good," Hannibal says, closing his eEs once more.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gives him one last rinse and turns off the taps, running his hands through Hannibal's hair to squeeze out the water, a habit of having much longer hair.

Nimble on light feet, he offers Hannibal a towel before seeing to the weight of his own long mane.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes the towel and starts drying himself off briskly.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric starts to dry himself too, stealing a kiss. "Will you go to the couch and wait for me, please? I have something I'd like to do for you that will require a moments preparation."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal hangs up his towel, nods, and walks over into the office, sitting on the couch again.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric comes out from the bathroom, dressed in the green silk once more. He moves to the stereo and selects a more classicaly Turkish piece he recognises. He closes his eyes and lets it soak into him before beginning to dance.

Somewhere between freeform ballet and something more primitive, he moves gracefully. The full skirt twirls with him, the split revealing flashes of pale thigh.

He moves towards Hannibal, dark eyes flashing and warm, dancing for Hannibal alone.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal follows his every move with his eyes, quite visibly liking what he sees.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric dance moves closer, fingertips brushing Hannibal's jaw and chest, resting one knee on the couch as he moves.

He steps back again to twist and twirl, letting loose the laces of his bodice, revealing his breasts little by little.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal cranes his neck to kiss them.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric smiles and moves back, letting the dress fall to his waist as before. He raises his hand and dances in a style that one day might be called belly dancing, only that Sinric lacks the curves for it.

He flexes and bends, his skirts brushing Hannibal's legs and he bends back far enough for hair to touch the rug behind him.

This is usually the point at which men grab him but he knows Hannibal is a different breed to his master's drunken guests.

[cook_the_rude]

Indeed, Hannibal just watches him with those calm, maroon eyes of his.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moves to straddle Hannibal, skirts pooling around them as he spreads himself over Hannibal's knees, still moving.

His smooth skin runs against Hannibal's manhood as he lifts and lowers himself, teasing with taut muscles. His hole, when he does allow Hannibal's prick to brush it, is slick and ready and wet as any woman.

In fact, with the skirts covering him from the waist down, there is nothing to call him out as male at all.

Arms raises and wrists held in a classic belly dancers click, he lowers himself on to Hannibal, taking just the head of him.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal moans, leaning forwards to bring his sharp teeth to Sinric's breasts, and nip one nipple oh-so-softly.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cries out in a mix of suprised pain/pleasure and shock, his control slipping so he falls a little, taking Hannibal deep into him.

He gasps, moving his hands behind him, wrists crossed as he starts to move again, trying to regain his centre.

[cook_the_rude]

As if to compensate, Hannibal suckles the startled nipple with soft, generous lips.