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

[thewidewideworld]

Building like a storm, he feels himself seize, clench. His head snaps back, his spine tight as a bow strings.

He has no air to cry out, no breath to scream Hannibal's name although hangs on his lips. It's too much. Too much.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal keeps thrusting through most of it, but then it's too much, and he spills into Sinric's body, wrung out to the last drop by those clenching muscles.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric hangs limply in Hannibal's arms, barely conscious and gasping. The height of it was so extreme, it has left him all but senseless.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal holds him close and lets himself fall backwards, taking Sinric with him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric doesn't register their fall, or anything for some minutes.

He comes to resting against Hannibal's chest, aching from the pleasure of it and utterly wrung out. His hand moves tentatively over Hannibal's chest, seeking the reassurance of a heartbeat.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal is alive, and breathing.

[thewidewideworld]

He didn't doubt Hannibal was alive, more that Sinric wanted to feel him.

He turns his head enough to lay a kiss on the curve of Hannibal's chest.

[cook_the_rude]

"Hmmm."

A pleased purr is all Hannibal manages.

[thewidewideworld]

It's a good noise and Sinric likes it. He settles back, head resting on Hannibal's chest to let the feeling wash over him.

His whole body is so sensitive, his skin feeling as if it's glowing. The very tips of his fingers brush over Hannibal's skin, just gently.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's hands wander over his back ever so slightly, just as if looking for the most comfortable place to settle.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's back is hot and damp with sweat. He moves his own hand over Hannibal's chest, half stroking, half softly massaging.

[cook_the_rude]

"We need another shower," Hannibal murmurs. "Later."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric manages a sweet little laugh. "I don't think my knees could bear me just now."

He looks up into Hannibal's eyes. "That was powerful. Frighteningly and wonderfully powerful."

[cook_the_rude]

"Primoedial," Hannibal says. "Sexual energy between us went to critical mass and exploded in uncomtrollable chain reaction, like the sun catching fire."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs softly. "I feel an ignorant fool when you say such beautiful things." Art, music, poetry; yes. But sciences aren't his strong point.

[cook_the_rude]

"It's science from the far future," Hannibal says. "It's not very nice of me to use them for an extended metaphor for the breathtaking explosiveness of the sex we had."

[thewidewideworld]

He smiles up at Hannibal, eyes warm. "Not at all. It sounds very apt, even I don't understand it." He nuzzles Hannibal's chest softly. "And I'm glad it was as explosive for you too."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal smiles back, wordless in utter lassitude.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric curls happily against Hannibal's chest, letting his eyes grow heavy. Not quite asleep, he starts to sing softly, a drowsy lullaby.

[cook_the_rude]

"I need to keep telling you how perfect you are," Hannibal murmurs.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric chuckles softly without breaking his song, stroking Hannibal's chest an appreciation for the sentiment. Even if he doesn't believe it of himself.

{ooc: shall we let them fade soon? Seems like a good spot.}

[cook_the_rude]

[[OOC: It is -- thanks for the thread!!))