OOM: For Sinric

[capture_eternity]

Dorian's room is of late, late Victorian opulence bordering on Art Nouveau, and encompasses in its small space a little bit of everything that a gentleman of leisure might keep in his home.

The walls are papered in deep jewel-toned hues and covered with paintings -- portraits from all times of history, but no landscapes or still lives -- there is a small writing desk, a book-case filled with books bound in linen, silk, or leather, two chaise-longues arranged around a small table that, at this moment, only holds a potted orchid but has enough room for drinks, even a small repast, and a rococo bed in the corner, head and foot curved gently as if to encompass those that will rest, or play, upon it. There is a fire in the fireplace, a view of the snow-covered greenhouse behind the rich, purple drapes on the window, and chandeliers to light the room.

Dorian holds the door open for Sinric with his free hand, and bows. "Welcome to my home away from home, sweet Sinric!"

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric recognises some of the decorative styles Hannibal favours in the rococo furniture but is drawn to the fire, his fingers and toes starting to get cold, even in his warm woollen robe with its yellow silk lining.

"A very beautiful space indeed." his usually quick tongue fails him with small talk tonight, the works sounding a touch hollow.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian puts the glasses onto the little table, and reaches out for Sinric's shoulder. "We should lie on the rug by the fire," he says, "To be warm by the lovely light of the flames."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric hesitants a moment at the touch, seeming a little uncertain for some reason. But the moment passes and he nods, moving to pray down on the plush rug.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian kneels down beside him, reaching out to touch his cheek, run a finger down his throat, and into the opening of his robe.

[thewidewideworld]

The touch on his thoat makes him tense momentarily but relaxes again, knowing Dorian means him no harm. He reaches over to stroke Dorian's hip, craning up to kiss him. "Forgive me, you're not seeing me at my best tonight."

[capture_eternity]

"I'm here to take you out of yourself," Dorian says.

[thewidewideworld]

That earns Dorian a more fervent kiss, the almost aching need inside him spilling over into the kiss.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian kisses back just as fervently.

"May I look at you?"

[thewidewideworld]

The request brings Sinric back to himself a little and he leans back to untie the belt of the robe, slowly opening it.

Against the yellow silk lining, his skin looks like porcelain, pale and smooth and unblemished but for a square of gauze tapped to the front of his hip.

High, small breast like a young woman's, toned stomach down to lithe dancer's legs. The tiny manhood before his legs lies half hard and hairless on a backdrop of scar tissue.

He's on firmer ground here, showimg himself off like a Roman marble.

[capture_eternity]

"Oh, how lovely!" Dorian breathes, reaching out to touch the tip of one of those breasts.

[thewidewideworld]

Drawn up in his elbows, Sinric lets his head fall back, moaning softly as his nipples harden to the touch. "Please?"

[capture_eternity]

"These are so lovely," Dorian breathes, reverently stroking Sinric's breasts with both his hands.

[thewidewideworld]

"The curse- oh! - and the blessing of the gelded." Sinric moans, arching his back. "So very sensitive."

[capture_eternity]

Dorian bends his head to take a nipple between his lips and suckle lightly.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps sweetly, his arms shaking in the effort of keeping himself up on his elbows.

He lowers himself down to the rug, cupping the back of Dorian's head encouragingly.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian quickly sheds his waistcoat and tie as those seem terribly restrictive all of a sudden, and lies down beside Sinric, stroking one breasts while suckling on the other.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric cries warmly, hands running through Dorian's hair and down his back.

The fine cloth under his hands and the warm skin beneath help to ground him, focusing back in the pleasure rather than his own worries and insecurities.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian runs his hand down Sinric's front, stroking his lower belly.

[thewidewideworld]

His tight muscles flutter under the touch, his breathing quick. He pulls at Dorian's shirt, needing skin, needing to touch in return.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian takes off his shirt, readily enough, then keeps on stroking him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric tries to focus on the smoothness of Dorian's skin, the toned muscles beneath but it's hard to concentrate with Dorian's hands so warm and gentle on his breasts.

[capture_eternity]

"It is lovely to see how fiercely you enjoy this," Dorian says.

One hand wanders down to touch the tip of Sinric's small prick for the very first time.

[thewidewideworld]

"I have- oh! learnt to enjoy... my own pleasure." The tip of his manhood isn't quite as sensitive as his nipples but he still feels the novel joy of being touched there, of anyone taking an interest in more than his hole.

His manhood twitches under the touch, filling slowly.

[capture_eternity]

Dorian strokes it with one finger, transfixed with fascination.

[thewidewideworld]

Small as a boy's and neatly circumcised, Sinric's little prick thickes slowly, spreading his legs to offer himself up.