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

[cook_the_rude]

The strong, broad back ripples and shifts under Sinric's touch as the dark creature moves and writhes within him.

[thewidewideworld]

"Be." Sinric whispers, arching up to kiss the hollow of Hannibal's throat, tasting blood and sweetness and skin. "See."

[cook_the_rude]

The antlers rise high above as the darkness of their bearer thrusts deep into the fiery gold, melting with abandon where he touches the core.

[thewidewideworld]

The golden one cries out in joy and pleasure as he's breached and entered. Long sharp wing rise to embrace, cutting and burning where they touch, melting into the blackness to spread over the dark one's skin in marbled swirls.

[cook_the_rude]

From where they merge, mingle and move, a glow radiates through the dark one, warming up the midnight of his being.

His breath is warm and strong as it speeds up, the huff of a great beast stalking through the cold under a near-new moon.

[thewidewideworld]

The golden one twists, rolling them over to mount the dark one. Riding the great beast. He leans in, planting passionate hungry kisses and stroking the strong stems of the dark one's horns.

Wingtips red with blood and heat bury themselves in the horned god's shoulder, just below the collarbone. Sharing heat and sensation like a closed loop, growing with the sharing.

There will be a point of ignition. A point when they melt and meld utterly. When sensation becomes too much.

The golden one lunges forward with each thrust, wrists and arm pierced on branches of the dark one's horns.

[cook_the_rude]

The dark one moves within and beneath him, writhing and pumping and spilling, minutely yet; droplet by droplet the lava enters the gold.

[thewidewideworld]

The golden one arches and cries, tearing himself on the dark god's horns, ripping the horned god's flesh with his sharp edged wings. He bites into the kiss, tasting iron and sulphur and sex. Ever movement of their joined body is closer, higher, harder, hotter. The room around them should be burning with the heat they give off. The very air rippling with it.

The golden one throws his head back and sings!

[cook_the_rude]

The dark one, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting, provides rhythm and counterpoint to the song.

[thewidewideworld]

The song becomes brighter, louder. Their skin pulses with the melodies, their hearts beating as one. Echoes come back, strange and otherworldly. Built of more than one voice.

And then stillness, quivering and tight. A precipice. A blade's edge.

[cook_the_rude]

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

The lava erupts, fiery and smoking, sparks settling in the gold.

[thewidewideworld]

The silenced sound became a breathless scream of pleasure, dying into rough pants and the two bodies, now one, burned in a fire of pure elation.

And then the vision broke and they were human again - tangled in torn sheets and slick with sweat. Fingernail scratches adorn Hannibal's chest and Sinric's arms. Both their lips split and wet with blood.

Sinric's eyes, still gold, look down into Hannibal's, laughing and hazy.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal holds his gaze as his hands slowly slide down Sinric's side.

[thewidewideworld]

There's a pleasant ache radiating through Sinric and he sighs warmly under Hanibal's strong hands. He gives a breathless laugh and leans in to kiss him softly, aware of their mutual maiming.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal kisses him back, then licks their mingled blood from his lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gives a soft little keen and kisses back, opening his mouth to give Hannibal greater access.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal keeps kissing him, bloodied tongue licking the inside of Sinric's mouth.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric smiles into the kiss, drawing back to look into Hannibal's eyes. His own are full of energy and wonder. "You saw all of that too, didn't you?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Golden wings and black antlers," he nods. "Yes."

[thewidewideworld]

"I'm amazed the room isn't on fire." He carefully lifts himself off Hannibal to lay at his side. Rather than worn out, he seems bright and energetic. Renewed. "You are exceptional, Hannibal. Truly."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal does not deny it. "And so are you," he says. "As I said before."

[thewidewideworld]

"I don't- no, I know none of my other lovers could share that with me. No-one else could endure it."

He traces the lines of scratches on Hannibal's chest. Most of them haven't broken the skin, just raised red welts. But where they cross or touch there are smeared beads of blood. "We who have no fear of the dangerous parts of each other."

[cook_the_rude]

"We who are equals in danger, and in the way others are wary of us," Hannibal nods.

[thewidewideworld]

That thought saddens Sinric and he kisses Hannibal just to stop the thought from festering.

He draws back to smile into Hannibal's eyes. "The night is beautiful again. And I would like to dance with you."

[cook_the_rude]

"So would I," Hannibal says. "And there are so many places to do so."