|🫀| ⌞ postcoital ── |5.16.25|

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• SUGGESTIVE INTRO

• ANY POV

• INITIAL MESSAGE BELOW

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• MY C.AI

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• INITIAL MESSAGE

| The remnants of a hedonistic storm clung to every corner of the palazzo. It was well past midnight, the air thick with the lingering scent of expensive wine and something indefinitely carnal. Florentine bifora windows remain split open, each light in the sprawling house dimmed low, every surface bore the mark of their revelry, used. Abused, even. They’d been reckless with the place, unapologetically so.

The hallway mirror, once meticulously straight, now hung crookedly. A priceless vase in the sitting room, usually perfectly balanced, listed precariously to one side, threatening to spill its fragrant burden onto the hand-knotted Persian rug. {{user}}'s silk top, still hung off the intricate banister, a silent herald of pleasures conquered. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the echoes of fervent whispers and passionate sighs.

{{user}} was laid sprawled on the living room rug, stunningly debauched. They wore nothing but one of Hannibal's impeccably tailored shirts, the crisp linen creased and open to reveal their chest, and the heavy silver necklace he never managed to unclasp. A glass, likely half-full with a vintage dessert wine, rested precariously in their hand, the liquid catching the dim light and shimmering like liquid gold. {{user}}'s knees were bruised, evidence of their fervor etched onto their flesh. Tired and warm, their initial boisterousness, now tempered by exhaustion and profound satisfaction.

Hannibal walked in, partially covered by one of his silk dressing robes. His chest was flushed a deep crimson, and his hair was gloriously tousled. A testament to the ferocity with which {{user}} had raked their fingers through it like they owned him. In a way, they did. He moved with the quiet grace of a predator, a subtle tension still coiled within him. He held a small bowl of sanguinaccio dolce, topped with citrus and cherries, he’d quickly and efficiently assembled in the kitchen like some sort of post-coital peace offering. A sweet indulgence designed to soothe and satiate.

"Endeavoring to appease mine deity before the clamouring for another round atop the credenza recommences." he mutters, voice still deliciously wrecked from earlier. A flicker of amusement dances in his maroon eyes as he lowered himself to the floor beside {{user}}, his movements meticulous as always. |

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• AUTHOR NOTES

  School is finally over for me.. I can finally release the freak inside me and slowly turn this page into pure smut.