captivation 4: kiss

[helens78]

4: kiss
Arc: Captivation
Authors: dragonkal and helens78
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lessons in trust and thought. Mild warning for knifeplay.
Disclaimer: Fictional. Not real.


Having been given, essentially, carte blanche to work in Viggo's kitchen, and having looked over the general variety of foodstuffs available, Sean gathered strips of steak and pasta and sour cream and mushrooms, and various other ingredients, and decided on beef stroganoff for dinner. There are rolls on the table, which Sean made after discovering whole wheat flour hiding in one of the cupboards -- kneading dough was a wonderfully relaxing way to spend part of his afternoon -- and Sean turned up enough plates and bowls and napkins and various utensils to make for an attractive dinner presentation.

For all of that, Viggo seems to have barely noticed Sean's work; he had almost no reaction whatever to dinner, apart from eating it and asking for occasional items such as salt. Sean doesn't mind. Dinner was, as far as he was concerned, quite satisfactory. If he's going to be given kitchen duty in the future, he'll want to be put in charge of grocery shopping, but that's a discussion they can have at another time. For now, it's enough to know that he's wanted here -- that Viggo didn't take him on simply as a favor to Bale, that Viggo isn't going to spend the rest of their time together completely ignoring Sean's desire to serve.

Sean still can't quite help wishing Viggo had asked for more. But there's time. There's a great deal of time.

Viggo finishes his last bite and washes it down with cold water, sighing, satisfied. "Decaf coffee, I think," he says, eyes flicking up to Sean with the barest hint of a reminder that this, too, is of course Sean's job.

"Yes, Sir." Sean slides out of his chair and makes his way back to the kitchen. He fills the pot with water, arranges filters, looks in the cupboards for beans and pours some of them into a hand grinder, working the crank until the beans are finely ground. When everything's assembled, Sean leans up against the counter, waiting. It's all very different from his life with Bale. Even down to the coffee.

Viggo sighs contentedly again, pushing his chair away from the table a little. Sean is a fantastic cook; Viggo will tell him someday.

After the coffee's been made, Sean adds sugar, finds a mug for it and carries it out to the dining room. He gives Viggo a tiny, ironic little grin, and goes to his knees to present the coffee, just to Viggo's right side.

Viggo returns the small smile, accepting his coffee. "Good guess," he allows. "Get naked."

Sean doesn't even bother with the Yes, Sir, letting actions speak for him this time; he comes up from his knees only long enough to remove his jeans and boxers and pull his shirt over his head, making sure they're folded neatly before going back to his knees, hands behind his back. He's half-hard, from the kneeling, from the order, and it won't take long for him to end up fully aroused and breathless.

"I set up a box in the dungeon," he explains. "Go bring it here."

"Yes, Sir." Sean makes his way carefully down the stairs and finds the box -- it's a wire crate, with a variety of restraints and supplies in it. Dildos, lube, butt plug, gag, blindfold.

Knives.

Sean doesn't blink. Much. By the time he's back upstairs, he's completely hard; he kneels down with the box in his arms, sets it on the floor in front of him, and puts his arms behind his back again.

Wordlessly, Viggo restrains Sean's hands in front of him with butter-soft leather restraints padded with sheepskin, glancing from the cuffs up to Sean's eyes occasionally. "Go in the front room," he orders, and finishes his coffee.

Sean nods. He's unable to form words just yet; he moves into the front room, beginning to feel quite warm indeed, and goes to his knees again in the center of the room, facing away from the doorway to the dining room. His eyes slide closed, and he can hear his own breathing in the quiet of the room.

Viggo takes up the box and brings it with him, setting it on the couch. "Tonight I'm going to test you," he announces, carefully removing the knives from the box and resting them side by side on the arm of the couch.

No response seems adequate; Sean remains still. His eyes come open, but they stay lowered, focused on the floor just in front of his knees.

"Have you been cut before?" Viggo asks quietly, coming forward to place the blindfold over Sean's eyes.

"No, Sir," Sean murmurs. The blindfold in combination with the possibility of being cut is very unsettling; Sean clenches and unclenches his hands, and breathes out, trying not to let the breath come too quickly.

Viggo plays a hand down Sean's back, fingers teasing at his buttocks, but nothing comes of it; not yet. He withdraws, goes to the box again, knowing every noise must alert Sean's senses; this time, when he approaches, two fingers slick with greasy lube find their way between Sean's cheeks.

Sean tenses, then relaxes; he lets out a long, slow breath, and he tries to ignore the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat. Viggo's fingers feel good, but the distraction of not knowing what comes next is nearly overwhelming. Sean can't quite concentrate on what's happening to him now; he's too busy worrying about what's coming.

Satisfied, Viggo slides the butt plug in easily; it's a hefty one, with some weight to it, enough that Viggo knows Sean won't forget he's wearing it even if he's well accustomed to lighter plugs.

Sean's not terribly accustomed to plugs at all, though, and it takes nearly all his effort to avoid squirming. He tightens his muscles around the plug, then tries, again, to relax. And now he's distracted by the sensation of that, and wondering what comes next, and...

He can feel the moment when his tension falls away, when he lets go of the need to know what comes next and clutches hard at trust. Viggo really hasn't earned it yet, probably won't for a while, but Sean has no choice, and the lack of choice is soothing, in its fashion.

Viggo returns to the box, looking over his remaining choices. It's game time; put up or shut up from the new boy -- or both at the same time, Viggo considers as he takes the gag out of the box. It's not a simple design; it has a semi-soft insert for biting which has a small tube burrowed into its center, allowing its wearer to breathe somewhat as if through a straw. It has two straps -- one for over the ears and one under. It's not the sort of gag to make any boy feel it is at all impermanent.

Smiling to himself, Viggo approaches Sean and places a hand on his cheek to alert him there's more coming; then he presses the insert against Sean's lips.

Sean opens his lips obediently, tongue getting a feel for the tube; he cooperates as Viggo slides the gag into place, biting down gently and then a little more firmly as he gets accustomed to the feel of it.

Viggo adjusts the straps firmly, and what a picture Sean makes now; hands bound before him, gagged and blindfolded, plug tugging at his ass. Good.

Nearly all his senses are confused now. Sean can still breathe, and he's not at all uncomfortable, but God -- this is new. Very new. Viggo is inventive, and Sean thinks he might grow to like that, given time. Whatever comes next, he's ready for it.

Viggo kneels down in front of Sean and slowly, very gently, kisses along the crest of Sean's left shoulder, from Sean's throat outward. No other part of him touches Sean; just his mouth placing very slow, perfectly spaced, irregularly paced kisses along the hot skin.

Sean's throat works; he swallows a few times, the motion a bit interrupted due to the presence of the gag. Viggo's mouth is warm and wet and feels very, very good, and although Sean has suspicions that something sharp and painful is around the corner, he relaxes into the kisses, enjoying them as they come.

Viggo's hands, then; they slide down Sean's chest in long soothing strokes, downward and then upward, covering every inch, then stroking the tops of his thighs in the same slow motions, sensitizing skin.

God, that's nice. Sean relaxes further, until even the thought that something else might be coming dissipates in the wake of feeling Viggo's hands on his skin.

Gently, Viggo's hands come to Sean's cock, cupping it between them, stroking his fingertips slowly up the shaft to cup the head in his palm, stroking the top of the head with two fingers in a motion more suited to soothe than to apply to such an engorged sexual organ.

And the motion is soothing; it doesn't bring Sean right to the edge of orgasm, but it does remind him where he is, what he's doing here, who's kneeling in front of him. Viggo. He tries to let out a breath, and is forced to let it out very slowly; the pace of his breathing is not completely under his control anymore, and that thought, too, has him hard and aching.

Viggo shifts away for a moment, losing touch with Sean's skin for brief seconds; what touches Sean next is the cool metal of the flat of a blade, drawn surely up over the skin just below his right nipple.

Sean stops breathing. He doesn't move; he doesn't know whether to be terrified or electrified. He's both, and the thrill runs up his spine. He's not sure he wants this, but it's here one way or another; this is one of the surest signs of Viggo's ownership, and Sean finally lets his breath out, giving himself over to it.

But the flat of the knife simply strokes his skin, up and then down, up and then down, till the blade warms to Sean's flesh. Then the blade is gone, and Viggo's lips are in its place, careful, gentle, soothing.

The switch in sensations has Sean shivering; he lets himself tremble, just for a moment, before steadying his breathing and his body and forcing himself to relax again.

Viggo's tongue reaches out and laps at Sean's nipple, just a brief, quick lick; he pulls back then and blows softly, watching the nipple tighten even further under his cool breath.

A quiet hum comes out from behind the gag; Sean doesn't even know if Viggo can hear it. He's beginning to think he can accept any kind of sensation from his new owner just now; it's an odd place to be in, mentally, and he thinks he likes it -- he certainly wants more, whatever that may be. He wishes he had some way to signal that urge for more. Then again, if Viggo is even half as observant as Bale was, he'll know already.

Slowly, Viggo's mouth traces a trail to Sean's other nipple; he sucks it gently into his mouth as he brings the blade up to rest its edge against the underside of the other.

Oh, God. Sean bites down on the gag, determined to hold still. Yes, Master, he thinks to himself; even if he can't say it, the words settle him somewhat, and he breathes out, slowly.

As Viggo suckles the left, his blade traces the right, the very edge of it sliding up, over, and back down; he draws the sharp point directly across the tip of Sean's nipple, just hard enough to be felt.

The scratch sends a small whimper out of Sean's mouth; the gag catches that, too, he thinks, and he swallows hard behind it. Acceptance feels good, but it doesn't quite take away the silver-sharp sensation of fear that's underneath his skin; he knows he's probably going to bleed, and he hopes to God Viggo knows what he's doing.

The blade drifts downward, and Viggo's mouth slowly leaves Sean's skin; just the cool metal now, trailing down Sean's chest, down Sean's belly, feather-light.

It is unbelievably difficult to keep from tensing; Sean can only feel the scratch of the knife, and has no way of knowing where it's going or when it's going to draw blood. He keeps his jaw from clenching, but only with a great deal of effort.

And then -- nothing. Viggo pulls the blade away and kneels calmly in front of Sean, watching.

Waiting with no contact at all is harder than waiting with the scratch of the blade on his skin. Sean lets out a shaking breath; he's fairly certain he's not going to get any sudden, unexpected, biting moves now, but that only makes him wonder what comes next.

Viggo gets to his feet, knowing Sean can hear the sound of his footsteps, and walks behind Sean to kneel again. He cups his palm against the base of the butt plug and manipulates it gently, creating a slow, undulating rhythm right where it matters.

This time Sean is fairly certain his moan is audible, even through the gag; the gentle rhythm is beautiful, arousing enough that he could eventually come from it. Or sooner than eventually, if ordered. Part of him is still wondering when pain is going to enter in, when he's going to be faced with conflicting, intense sensations, but for now he concentrates on the plug and Viggo's steady press on it.

Viggo's free hand comes up to card through Sean's hair, a pleasant little move that ends with Viggo's palm flat against Sean's forehead, pulling him backward by the unusual grip, till Sean's head is bent back as far as it will go.

Sean tries to stay upright other than the tilt of his head; it's a dizzying way to be held, and it sends the last of his ability to think away from him. He has to concentrate on breathing, now, and Viggo's hands; when the rest of it comes, he'll react, but for now, there's only this.

"Do you know why I haven't hurt you yet?" Viggo asks softly, mouth moving against Sean's ear.

Sean can barely breathe. He tries to shake his head no, but the movement is barely a whisper of skin against skin. Because I haven't earned it yet, Master? he wonders. He's trying to figure out a way to beg from behind this gag and this blindfold, with Viggo behind him, and he hasn't managed it quite yet. Please, he thinks.

"I told you the first day that pain is a reward in this house. You're learning fast, and you're learning to stay by my rules, even the ones that go against your nature. That's good. But you're not quite there yet."

Wherever Viggo wants him to go, Sean is determined to get there. Part of it is probably a stubborn need to prove himself; part of it is definitely an urge to live up to where Bale managed to take him. He remains still, trying to sink into Viggo's touch without moving.

Viggo puts down the knife, resting his hands on Sean's upper arms, and then pushes slightly, indicating that Sean should lean over to one side and that Viggo will help him all the way down to lie on his side on the floor.

Trusting Viggo this far is easy; Sean grunts a little as the movement shifts the plug inside him, but then finds his way onto the floor and rests there.

"Think about it," Viggo murmurs, getting to his feet. "I'll come back."

Think about it. Sean isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to think about; he's still trying to figure out what Viggo's rules are, what Viggo wants from him. He doesn't think he's fucked up too badly yet; he's sure it'll happen eventually, but he isn't worried about it.

What he finds, eventually, is that he wants to get where Viggo wants him. He wants to puzzle Viggo out enough to earn pain, or pleasure, or both. It's the first time it's occurred to him that he, as the submissive, is going to have to work at his role, and the thought is mildly intimidating but very, very pleasant.

Viggo only walks away far enough to observe Sean from the corner of the room; he's done this with several slaves, particularly the ones reluctant to talk, and it's always revealing. Some, left under the intensity of the submissive mindset and the lack of sensory stimuli, quickly begin to cry; others anger. It is, Viggo has decided, a way to get down to the core of a slave in bare minutes and discover what lies beneath the surface.

And Sean...Sean just seems to go resolute. He doesn't fidget or grimace; he's willing to withstand the posture because Viggo told him to. Every indication suggests that Sean is concentrating quietly; Viggo likes that. Very much.

He kneels down in front of Sean and gently rests a hand on his arm to alert Sean to his presence, then helps Sean back up into a kneel. "I won't cut you tonight," he explains quietly. "I want you to understand that you can work toward it. That there are things you can earn here, things you want."

Sean nods as he finds his balance again. He will eventually come up with strategies for working toward things; the time he spends on his forearms and knees in front of Viggo's door in the mornings will be a good opportunity for quiet thought.

Viggo leans Sean forward carefully, leading Sean's forearms down to the carpet to brace himself. "I want you to think," Viggo says as he comes around to Sean's backside again, "about why I'm going to do this. I want you to think about what I said, and later I want you to tell me why you get this." He strikes Sean's left buttock hard with the palm of his hand, then runs it over the base of the butt plug, rocking it again.

Another muffled moan; Sean arches into Viggo's touch, wanting more, willing to accept this if it's all he's given. He has no idea what he's done to earn it, but later he'll think on it. He's beginning to be glad he has those two hours in the morning; he's going to need all the time to think he can spare. And he thinks he likes that.

Viggo strikes Sean's buttock again, still rocking the plug lightly, then abruptly reaches down to grasp Sean's testicles sharply, digging his fingernails in as he shoves the plug in harder.

That draws a groan out of Sean that's definitely audible in the room; he winces behind his blindfold, but doesn't try to move away. It hurts, in a completely different way from anything he's experienced with other owners; it feels good, in a completely different way from anything he's been given by other Masters. There is something breathtakingly, startlingly new about everything here; Viggo is not the only one being presented with novelty, and the thought has Sean's skin feeling warm.

Viggo slides his thumb between Sean's testicles, separating them, and uses the rest of his hand to pull downward slowly but none too gently on the sac, delaying the orgasm he can feel searching for release. Despite that, he works the plug more strongly, and finally pulls it out entirely, replacing it almost immediately with a thick, rigid dildo he brought from the box, its texture smooth, its shape completely unmalleable.

Something that sounds a bit like hhhnngghhh works its way out from behind the gag; Sean winces at the tug on his balls, pushes back against the dildo, and wishes he could imagine it's Viggo inside him. The shape is wrong, the texture is wrong, but God, someday he's going to earn having Viggo behind him, fucking him into the floor, and whatever it takes to earn that, Sean is going to do it and do it very fucking well.

Viggo likes watching Sean push back against the dildo, and deliberately shallows the strokes to see more of it. Paradoxically, despite the gag, he wants to hear Sean, wants to know he's found his way through Sean's defenses far enough to make him plead for it, if only with wordless cries.

Sean isn't being corrected for his movement, so he goes further, fucking himself on the dildo, back arching a bit, throat arching, soft, muffled grunts and harsh, forceful breaths coming in rapid succession now. It's good -- amazingly good, and it gets better the longer Viggo allows him motion. Sean wonders whether it's the mild degradation of being brought this far, made this hungry, just with teasing light touches and that fucking rigid dildo, or whether it's simply the sensation of being filled, stroked, used, and the hope that he's pleasing Viggo with his reactions -- either way, he wants this, and is damn well enjoying it.

Viggo watches, dark-eyed, as Sean's motions turn from hesitant to confident. God, so fucking beautiful, with a long road to go before he's the kind of boy Viggo knows he can be, but much further along than most.

He gives the dildo a nasty little twist the next time Sean comes down on it and asks, "Do you want to come?"

Sean hesitates, just for a moment, then nods; he doesn't want to seem too eager for this, as if the orgasm is the only part of the experience that means anything to him. The nod is solid when it comes, though; he does want it, does want to come.

Viggo catches his free arm around the front of Sean's hips, stilling him. "Do you?" he asks again, holding the dildo still.

Another nod, this time with no hesitation.

"Do you?" A hard, vicious thrust with the dildo.

A nod, and a sharp moan, muffled by the gag; Sean's head falls forward, and he nods again.

Another rough, deep thrust with the dildo, just the beginning of a long succession of them in fast rhythm. "Stroke yourself," Viggo orders, leaning around Sean's shoulder to watch him accomplish this with the cuffs on.

Sean half-twists, half-crouches, dropping his left shoulder to the ground and balancing on that shoulder and his upper arm, dropping his head to the ground to help steady himself. His hands move between his legs, and his right hand reaches for his cock, his left hand going out almost uselessly, the back of it resting against his right thigh. It takes several moments for Sean to figure out how to stroke himself from such a curled-up position, but once he does, ah God, it's good, and he's moaning softly into his gag again.

Viggo shifts his grip to clutch at Sean's shoulder, positioned almost as if he were fucking Sean himself, driving the dildo in hard with a ruthless twist when it's in as deep as it can go. "Do it," Viggo growls.

The order, that tone of voice -- Sean couldn't hold back even if he wanted to. He lets go with a sharp cry, still muffled behind the gag, and the shock of the orgasm rolls through his entire body. He squeezes his cock hard, feeling jets fall over his fingers, over his left forearm, and then keeps going, past the orgasm, past the point where he's drawing up the last of his come, past the point where it hurts.

Viggo continues to work the dildo slowly as long as Sean strokes himself, sighing lightly at the pleasure of watching Sean come so fully bound. Slowly, he pulls the dildo out and places a hand under Sean's chest, gently tipping him back up to his knees, letting him catch his breath.

Catching his breath isn't easy, but it's satisfying; what has Sean's full attention, though, is Viggo's hand on his chest. He stays arched against it to the best of his ability, wanting the contact badly.

Viggo recognizes the need, and strokes both hands over Sean's arms gently, soothingly; he strokes one over Sean's back lightly, then slowly brings it up to the fastenings of the gag.

Humming softly at the tough of Viggo's hands on his skin, Sean goes still again. It's not the nervous stillness that met Viggo's blade; it's a contented absence of movement, implying the absence of the need for that movement now. He's settled, at least for now.

Viggo carefully removes the gag but doesn't move toward the blindfold for now, instead cupping Sean's jaws in his hands and rubbing his thumbs deeply into the spot where they join, relaxing them. He doesn't often do this unless he's had a boy in a bite gag for a good bit longer than this, but he's seen how Sean clenches; he knows Sean needs it.

The massage feels amazing; Sean's jaw relaxes slowly, and he hums, very softly, appreciative little moans that feel good and sound even better, as far as Sean's concerned; it's good hearing his own pleasure again.

Satisfied, Viggo then unbuckles the cuffs, giving each of Sean's wrists a quick, gentle chafe; also unnecessary -- the cuffs are premium, and weren't used for anything stressful -- but just part of the aftercare Viggo enjoys offering.

The movements are at once delicious and surprising, and though Sean doesn't make any overt attempts at taking more from Viggo, he files these gentle touches away in his thoughts as things he's going to work toward earning.

Finally, Viggo gently pulls the blindfold off, simply watching Sean now, kneeling in front of him, curious to see Sean come back completely.

Sean blinks several times, adjusting to the light; he looks up at Viggo, catching his eyes, simply holding them. It seems like something he's allowed, really, though he hasn't been told so. Looking Viggo in the eyes is comfortable. Sean doesn't feel nervous or cowed or intimidated; he simply feels present, as if the moment belongs to both of them, and not just to one as a gift from the other.

This is very different, he thinks, wondering if he should say it aloud.

"You're welcome to use the rest of the night as you like," Viggo murmurs, though there is a quiet stillness in his tone that says Yes, I understand.

What Sean would like is to reach out and thread fingers through Viggo's hair; pull him close; kiss him. He suspects that Viggo's offer doesn't extend that far, though, and so he doesn't move, doesn't blink, barely breathes.

Quietly, Viggo gets to his feet, taking up the various objects and placing them back in the box carefully. It requires him to turn his back to Sean, and he does so without concern; they're done, and it's up to Sean to show him whether he needs this kind of detachment or something deeper.

There's a pang of regret that comes over Sean for the lost opportunity; he should have asked, at least, even to find out the answer was no or you haven't earned that yet. With the desire never even stated, he doesn't know if he can figure out why it came to him so strongly; maybe it was nothing more than a passing urge, something that came on him once, owing to the newness of the situation, the intensity of the orgasm.

He puts it out of his thoughts for the time being, and he looks down at himself, at the floor; he made rather a mess of himself, and he finds himself wondering what Viggo would do if he turned to find his slave casually licking his come off his arm and then off the floor. And so it's only curiosity that has him crawling back, licking spots of come off his hand first, and then his forearm, and then leaning over to take small laps off the carpet, licking up his stains.

The soft sound makes Viggo turn; he stands motionless and stares for several moments, struck not for the first time at the depth of Sean's need to serve. He gave Sean free reign for the next several hours; this is how he chose to spend it, licking Viggo's carpet for the privilege of cleaning up after himself.

"Boy," Viggo murmurs softly. "Why are you doing that?"

Sean's face heats slightly, and he kneels up, turning to Viggo, not allowing himself to hide his eyes. "Because you gave me leave, Sir. And because the taste, and the activity, pleases me. Because it's a reminder of your favor to me -- that you allowed me to come for you. Because I wondered what you'd think if I did it." His expression is only very mildly embarrassed from having to give an explanation; mostly, Sean is content, and settled, and serene. And the rolling nervousness in his stomach is not unpleasant at all.

Viggo nods slowly, coming close enough to card his fingers through Sean's hair. "What I think of it? I'm reminded of why I took you. Your level of commitment."

Sean leans into the touch; there are so many things he could say, and he doesn't know why he wants to say any of them. He nods against Viggo's hand, exhaling softly, letting his eyes close.

Viggo continues to stroke Sean's hair, allowing him the small comfort. "Do you remember what I asked you? About why you received what you did?"

"I remember, Sir," Sean murmurs, though he can't really say he's come up with an answer for Viggo.

"How did you earn it?" Viggo asks softly, his fingers smoothing a strand of hair back behind Sean's ear.

"I have no idea, Sir," Sean whispers. He's overcome with the urge to turn his face away, and close his eyes; he does neither.

"You cook an excellent meal," Viggo murmurs, so softly that it's almost a whisper, still petting Sean's hair.

That makes Sean smile; Viggo's fingers gliding through his hair are even better. "Thank you, Sir," Sean whispers back.

"You're welcome." Viggo pats Sean's head fondly and steps back.

"Sir..." He can't not ask. He's going to blush red, and he's going to feel humiliation in the pit of his stomach all night from letting the question out, but he needs to ask. "Would you... your slave would like to ask a favor, if he may."

"You can always ask," Viggo nods. "Go ahead."

"I would very much like for you to kiss me," Sean whispers.

A little grin forms on Viggo's face at that; he's enjoying the process of finding Sean's parameters when it comes to "emotional attachment." "What kind of kiss?" he asks, seating himself on the couch.

"The sort where lips meet lips and tongues dance and explore one another's taste," Sean murmurs, quite certain he's red nearly to his waist now.

Viggo blinks; he had expected something like "on the lips" or "with tongue." "Come here," Viggo beckons, pointing to the floor between his feet.

Sean crawls over, on forearms and knees, leaving his head down at the floor, waiting with his breath held.

"Kneel up," Viggo urges, tugging lightly at Sean's shoulder.

Sean comes up into a kneel, putting his hands behind his back; meeting Viggo's eyes is, again, difficult, but he does it anyway. He's starting to ache with arousal again, and that feeling is itself worth the humiliation of having asked for this; whether he gets the kiss or not, he's gotten something.

Viggo takes Sean's face in his hands, gently tilting his face up a little, and presses his lips to Sean's, his tongue sliding deeply into Sean's mouth with slow, easy grace.

Moaning softly, Sean responds in kind, his tongue rubbing gently against Viggo's, deferent but certainly not hesitant. The soft strokes of his tongue are meant to let Sean learn Viggo's taste, very slowly, but it's more than that; he can feel a spark, a chemistry, something that's happening because he's allowing it to happen. He doesn't know if he wants it, precisely, but he knows he's not going to fight it. And oh, God, Viggo can kiss; Sean is glad beyond words that he put pride aside and asked for this.

Viggo hums softly, intrigued by how he can nearly taste Sean's uncertainty and how badly he wanted this. Again, Sean's reaction pleases Viggo; he's not overeager, nor is he determined to take the kiss impassively. It's an honest reaction, and Viggo likes those the most.

The hum passes from Viggo to Sean, and Sean matches that, too; his hum is not born from intrigue, though -- it's a hum that means this interest me, I like this, more, please. He keeps kissing Viggo, determined to let the kiss go on until Viggo ends it.

Viggo's hands slide to cup the back of Sean's neck, and slowly he pulls back, giving Sean a few gentle kisses on the lips as he does so, watching Sean's eyes when he's back enough to see them.

Sean's eyes must be glowing. This was worth everything it's taken to get here. This one kiss, and the complete certainty that there's more to come -- that this is only the beginning -- is worth the four deathly boring years with Pierce, the agonizing month with Bale. Sean is quite certain now that he made the right decision in coming here, and for now, while Viggo is looking into his eyes, he's not going to wince about thinking this way. He'll have time to regret it later, if he needs to.

"Was that what you wanted?" Viggo asks quietly.

"Yes, Sir," Sean says, tone hushed and serious. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome." Viggo smiles, a soft, satisfied smile.

That smile -- God. Sean smiles back, a little more openly than he's done before, and then unfolds himself from his knees, standing. "Unless there's anything else you'd like, Sir, I think I'm going to retire to bed for the night."

Viggo shakes his head. "That's fine." He adds, though it seems unnecessary given how well the evening has gone, "Good boy."

The praise takes Sean's breath away; he nods, unable to even contemplate forming a response, and heads up the stairs. He thinks he'll probably sleep in the bed tonight.