OOM: With Sinric in a New Orleans hotel

[cook_the_rude]

The hotel room is dark and plush, wood matte and gilt faded, and still it exudes a well-cared-for decadence that is somewhere between antebellum and fin-de-siecle.

Sinric marvels at how Hannibal has a knack for finding such places. "Lovely." he smiles, not expecting something quite so refined.

"Would you unlace me, please?" He unclips the feathered tailpiece and sets it aside, rolling his shoulder to offer Hannibal his back -- a back still slightly red from the wall of the alley.

Hannibal drops a kiss to the nape of Sinric's neck, and begins to undo the corset. Sinric gives a soft, graceful sigh and holds the front of the corset in place as Hannibal unlaces him. Where his lips touched, there's a lingering trace of gold under Sinric's skin.

"It is you who are the loveliest in here," Hannibal says, peering at them both in the age-spotted gilt-framed mirror.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

"High praise from one who sees deeper than my skin." Sinric meets his eyes in the mirror. "Who knows my secrets and has seen my weakest parts."

[cook_the_rude]

"Just so," Hannibal says, holding the gaze. "The magic and the suffering and all the historical crossroads held in one body. You are probably the one most crucial person of your time that history does not remember in books. In the antlers of possibility, you are a strong stem that anybody counting the ends will not notice. That gives you a strength beyond any personal weakness you might deplore."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lowers his eyes, colouring with the praise. "Is that really how you see me?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Beyond the beauty of your form, the familiarity of your presence, and the unique tang of your pleasure?" Hannibal says. "Yes."

[thewidewideworld]

He reaches back to stroke Hannibal's hair, eyes holding Hannibal's. "I would have had you kill that man, if he had not relented. I could not have watched. Not for fear but because he did remind me too much of Yan. But I would have partaken of him with you, if you'd offered."

[cook_the_rude]

"Had he not relented, I would have," Hannibal says. "I still might, should I see him again tonight, and should he be rude."

[thewidewideworld]

He turns and draws Hannibal into a kiss. "I wish I could have introduced you to Yan. You would have liked him."

[cook_the_rude]

"I am sure I would have," Hannibal says. "And I would have loved to see the world you lived in together."

[thewidewideworld]

He turns to look back at the mirror, at the shape he and Hannibal make against the warm red light of the lamp. "He was honest and forthright, measured in thought and swift in action."

He runs his fingers down the centre of his own chest, past the curves of his breasts. "For all I would never have changed him, I still wish he had desired me."

[cook_the_rude]

"We share the fate on not coming first to those that come first for us," Hannibal murmurs.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric sighs sadly, feeling as if his heart is laid open, his chest peeled back along the line he just touched and his innermost parts spread for all to see. He stares at the mirror as if seeing it, his skin flayed back and his still-beating heart the colour of Hannibal's eyes.

"I was Constatine's first. Above his wife, above his sons. That should have been enough for me. Sometimes I feel as if I will never be loved that way again. Never be more than-" He huffs a bitter laugh, looking away from his own dissection, "Sloppy seconds."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal runs his hand down Sinric's chest, as if stroking and soothing the beating, bleeding heart.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cups Hannibal's cheek, kissing the corner of his lips. "You deserve better than my moroseness."

He let his hand slip down to Hannibal's, tangling their fingers. "Share a shower with me?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Hannibal says. "And wash it all away. The man's touch, the pain, his rudeness, the crust of blood memory has left on your skin."

[thewidewideworld]

"There are times in not sure if I'm seeing through my eyes or yours." Sinric comments almost lightly.

The bathroom was simple but big enough for them both. As if in answer to the city's humid heat, Sinric runs the shower a little cooler than normal, feeling his nipples harden and his breath catch as he stepped under it.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal smoothly steps in after him, running his hands over Sinric's nipples as if astonished they had closed again over his heart.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans, arching his back to press into Hannibal's hands and back against his hard body. He reaches up, balanced in his toes to wrap his fingers around the neck of the shower rose. A lithe body in surrender rather than a hung carcass.

[cook_the_rude]

With the flowing, skin-warm water, Hannibal's hands move over Sinric's body, both cleaning and caressing, as he holds him secure.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric lets his head fall back, water flowing down his mane of hair. It feels as if Hannibal is gently slough off his skin. Stripping back the dirt and sweat and blood and weight of humanity. Like a snake shedding its skin to reveal something new and clean. Something golden and other.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's finger runs down the middle of Sinric's body, from his chest to his groin, the golden curls there, the tip of his little snail.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric moans and arches, flexing his toes to keep his balance as Hannibal's touch warms him. The tip of Hannibal's finger sparks a line of gold on Sinric's skin, spreading like dancing flames.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal marvels at the blindness of those rude fools who aren't even able to see a spark, a hint, of what Sinric is and can do, running his flat hands all over Sinric's front, in worship of that shimmer.

[thewidewideworld]

Each touch draws a whimper for Sinric, his skin alight.

Others don't see the light, the gold. Don't want to see it. Nor does Sinric show it, to people unworthy. To those he doesn't trust with the secrets of himself.

But Hannibal brings it out in him, coaxes it to kindle and spread.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal cups and strokes Sinric's breasts, bending his head to Sinric's neck and inhaling the delightful and unique scent of him as he nibbles and kisses.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric closes his eyes and lets the vision overtake him. Overtake them both as he has no fear of letting Hannibal into the heart of him.

His body is no longer flesh and blood but liquid gold, textured like the skin of a snake. Just as Hannibal's is the black of blood in moonlight. He presses his breasts into Hannibal's hands, stretching his back as something swells under his shoulder blades, the skin distorting.