Antony’s cheek rested on Hannibal’s hip, his face giving a wide, toothy grin. He looked upon the other with adoration, and how could one not? This evening was of fine food and fine company and fine sheets that stuck to his skin with every little shift of muscle.“It is a shame the missus couldn’t join us.” He teased, lips grazing across the crease of hip and leg, tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweat. They would need to shower soon, lest they deemed it necessary to sit in their own stench. And Dimmond wasn’t too keen on the seed that was leaking down his leg either.“Should we move ourselves to the bath, Doctor?” A suggestion that he hoped would be taken upon. His face turned, lips parting to place an opened mouth kiss on the muscle of Hannibal’s leg, suggestive and encouraging. If he played his cards right, and he always did, he would have his face between the man’s legs.