rugbytackle | Fic: Shopping (VigBean) R

[Part one, along with headers, may be found here]

Viggo closes the door louder than he meant to. "Do you hear me, Sean? They're not necessary. Nothing is. Nothing but you. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry. I'm excruciatingly sorry. It was stupid and callous and idiotic of me. And I'm sorry."

"And I said 'It's fine, Viggo'. Really. I forgive you your," Sean pauses, contemplating the right word, "your indiscretion." He's hurt more than angry, agitated by something he can't change, Viggo's nonchalant bohemian approach to life, something he wouldn't change even if he could. "You wanted to shop. We'll continue shopping." Not cold enough to freeze the moat, but there was a decided chill in Sean's voice.

Viggo wonders if lying to Sean is a viable option right now. He figures a little white lie won't kill anyone. And, if it does, he'll be too numb from Sean's tone to notice. "I forget my list. Let's go home, Sean. Please?"

Sean would smile if he weren't so pissed. Viggo doesn't lie well. The man never makes lists; just keeps it all in his damned head. But it won't hurt to let him have his way, for the moment. "Of course, Viggo." Sean opens his own door and slides into the passenger seat, resisting the urge to just take the keys and drive the damned car himself. He's not so angry as to see he isn't quite back to driving form yet.

Uh oh. Warning bells go off in Viggo's mind. Even in his best of moods, Sean isn't this pliant. Either he's playing the vengeful sub, or there's something else up his sleeve. Nothing less than he's deserved, of course, and he knew punishment would begin immediately, but dammit if it doesn't ache just a little. Viggo sits down in the driver's seat and contemplates the road for a long moment before turning on the ignition.

Sean sits silently through the drive, not moving, staring straight ahead. He's mulling over exactly how he could make Viggo understand how much he hurts, force Viggo to his knees. But that's just the tiny vengeance corner of his brain. The larger portion of gray matter is processing how to do it with someone who won't sub. Then there's the odd-shaped piece floating in the cerebellum, threatening to dive into the medulla oblongata, that wants to leave Viggo completely in the dark, let him figure out how to make Sean happy again.

"Pull into the garage," he says flatly as they near the house. "Not to the front door."

Viggo nods, obeys. He treasures the sound of Sean's voice on the air. He loves the way it sounds, its timbre, its tone. He turns the car off and hands the keys to Sean.

Sean drops the keys in the console before he gets out of the car, knowing he can toggle garage security and not be worried about anyone getting in. His brain cells, those scattered and smattered ones he still has working, haven't reached consensus on what to do with Viggo, but they've come together enough to form at least a sentence or two. He stares across the car, watching Viggo get out, waits till he turns to face him.

"If I asked you why, would you have an answer?" It's no different, in Sean's mind, than the question Viggo has asked him time and time over, forced Sean to reason through, come up with an explanation. For the pain, the betrayal, the love. It's dawned on Sean that he never asked Viggo. And a secret revealed seems a good place to start.

"Why what, Sean?" Viggo answers evenly, if not calmly. "Why I lost it? Shit, I didn't mean to. I didn't wake up one morning and say that today I'm going to set out to lose the one gift Sean's ever given me that meant something. I put it somewhere where I'd never lose it, then forgot where it was. And things got moved around for one reason or another, so when I went back to look where it was, it wasn't there anymore. It wasn't intentional, Sean, I swear."

"I know." That's a perfect answer, Sean thinks, exactly what he expects, rambling and coherent only if you listen between the words. "It was an accident, a poor choice." The tone's slightly softer than before. "Not ever." Words said, emotion out, left to dissipate in the carbon monoxide fumes if they chose. Sean turns slowly to head upstairs into the house. "I never said what you did was intentional, Viggo," the last nearly inaudible.

"I know," Viggo answers softly. "And you know I would never do that to you. Ever."

"No." Sean stops on the first step, spins around on heel. "You would never, ever do that to me." Sean quickly covers the distance between them and shoves Viggo hard back into the wall, not giving him a second to recover before he pushes his braced arm into Viggo's throat, leveraging his body to pin him. "Not like I do to you." Sean leans in, grabs Viggo's wrist as he starts to raise his arm, slams it back into the unyielding plasterboard. "Everything I do that hurts you is intentional." The words are biting, spat out in sharp edges. "If I forget, it's because I set out to hurt you." With each syllable, Sean pushes harder, knowing and not caring for that instant just how much pain he's causing.

Viggo panics, but Sean doesn't brook any struggle. He has scrapes on his arm and he's finding it hard to breathe, whether from the panic or Sean's arm, he doesn't know. He's between a rock and a hard place and fuck it, but Sean's right. "I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I'm so sorry." He doesn't notice the tears falling softly, which is good, because he can't wipe them away. "Fuck it, Sean, I'm sorry."

"Then answer the question, Vig." Pressure firm, not enough to cut off air supply but to make each breath painful. "Why is everything I do so intentional in your eyes?" Leather tight against flesh. "Why was it betrayal instead of a poor choice?" Velcro fasteners abrading skin. "Why won't you touch me like this anymore?" Sean's fingers visegrip Viggo's wrist, rubbing it into the concrete nubs.

Viggo feels it as each hair of his arm is caught and pulled out, as the concrete digs into him. Even if he doesn't bleed, the marks will be there. He's close to hyperventilating, he can't fucking move, and he hasn't felt this boxed in since he almost drowned in Rohan. The world is closing in on him and noise is slowly dimming, drowning out. All there is is Sean's accusing face, and his low growl.

Silence is deafening, they say, especially when you don't want to hear what's not being said. Sean sees in Viggo's eyes an unfamiliar fear. "Nothing I did was intentional," he says, letting go of Viggo's wrist. "Not then. Not now." He pulls off, steps back.

Viggo's legs buckle, bend, and he floats somewhere between flying and falling, the neutral place where fear and euphoria become one.

"You don't get to pass out, Vig." Demons exorcized for the moment, Sean watches as Viggo slips down the wall, catches him just before he falls completely. "Not that lucky."

"I don't pass out," Viggo mumbles, "I just panic. I panic until it's over and then I panic some more. Luck has nothing to do with it."

"Don't stop then." Sean shifts the limp weight, taking most of it on his hip as he straightens Viggo back up. "Cause it ain't over." Not really meant as a threat, but Sean realizes seconds after the words leave his mouth that it probably sounds that way, veiled and couched in snarky delivery.

Viggo nods. Nothing less than he's deserved, really. He's known in the back of his head that he'd pay for losing the sketch. Now the chickens were just coming home to crap all over the shed. "I'm sorry," he repeats. It's his mantra and it's the one thing he won't let go.

"Words, Viggo," Sean says as he walks them toward the steps. Slow, precise movements. "You know the problem with words? They fight the brain to get off the tongue. And there's no way to put them back." Sean's own mind isn't clear on who he's talking about, or which words. He meant the ones he said, pent-up emotions and self-anger needing to be unleashed. "They're left hanging in the air, carrying the weight of the universe."

Viggo lets himself be led. The world is expanding and the grass on Sean's front lawn is a deep purple from the street lights. "Actions speak louder." He's heard it somewhere, can't remember where, but it's good enough to leave hanging in the air.

Sean hears, but says nothing else till they're in the house. In the foyer, he stops, half-props Viggo against the small table just to the right of the large mirror. He stares at Viggo's reflection, studying the marks he left. Leaning in, hands flat on the table, nearly holding Viggo up with the weight of his body pressing forward, Sean rests his chin on Viggo's shoulder. "Actions leave a trail of just how loudly you were speaking." He kisses the bruise welling up on the curve of Viggo's neck. "Do you like that?"

Viggo stares at himself in the mirror, too bright in the poorly lit room. He tries smiling, frowning, wondering how much of who he is depends on what's outside. He isn't sure what Sean's talking about. Did he like the expression, the phrasing, the kiss? Something not even spoken aloud? "I don't like pain," he says instead.

" I know that very well, Viggo. I'm the one who wears black and blue." Words oozed out, tinged with something shy of anger, this side of animosity. Sean slides his fingers up over Viggo's hands, turns the wrist over, traces the blood-lined scratches. "You're mine. I don't get to mark you. But you're mine. As much as I'm yours." Sean lifts Viggo's wrist from the table, bends the arm, pulls the flesh to his mouth. He kisses the wound, then licks it, drying blood giving way under his tongue's pressure. "Tonight, I want it all. I want you to suck me, then fuck me. Pour yourself into me until there's nothing left to give." All the while, he stares at their reflections, not having a clue what he's looking for, hoping to see what he needs. "Then tomorrow morning, we'll discuss penance for a lost portrait."

Viggo keeps his head low, eyes to the side to avoid the mirror, watching Sean's mouth, Sean's lips, Sean's caresses. His wrist stings and Sean's rough tongue only aggravates the feeling. Viggo doesn't like pain. He understands Sean's attraction, but he doesn't share it. And that was always ok, because Sean never wanted to hurt his Vig.

Viggo doesn't have words anymore. He shuffles back slightly from the table and frees his arm from Sean so he can use it to brace himself as he gets to his knees. There's nothing submissive in this, he tells the part of him that's still panicking from not being able to move. This isn't submission, this is keeping Sean happy.

"Not here," Sean says, blocking Viggo's movement. "Upstairs. Our room. After you've cleaned up." He brushes stray wisps of honeygold hair out of Viggo's face. "This isn't submission, Vig. I promised I wouldn't try that again, and I stick by that." Sean slowly steps back, making sure Viggo's steady before he'll move off completely. "This is just me wanting you very badly."

Viggo pauses somewhere between standing and kneeling, then lets himself be raised. A shower sounds nice. Preferably with Sean. "I always want you."

"Think you can climb the stairs?" Sean barely gets the words out before he's laughing. Viggo's usually the one asking that question. "I'd offer to carry you, but not sure that's real smart."

Viggo isn't sure why Sean's laughing, only that he's smiling for the first time since Viggo shot his mouth off, so that's good. "Stairs are fine."

"Good." Sean notes the slightly puzzled look on Viggo's face. "Means you're not hurt that bad." The smile is just barely there, a hint of mischievous amusement. Sean's not at all sure where his head is at the moment. He's still irritated about the sketch, frustrated about the past few months and not feeling nearly as much guilt about going off at Viggo than he thinks he should. Maybe it's the shock that Viggo didn't lash back at him. It'll wear off, he's sure of it, and come morning he'll be tripping through guiltland. But, for now, the uncertain emotions are a warm ember keeping his body on edge. "Shower or bath?" Sean moves two steps ahead.

That one's easy. Viggo's never been one for baths. "Shower. With you?"

"With me?" Sean turns from the top of the stairs. "Trust me enough to get you naked under water on slippery tile?" The smile's downright effusive by this time.

Viggo frowns. "Of course I trust you. Why shouldn't-oh. Sorry." He seems to be doing a lot of that tonight. But how many times will he have to say it before Sean believes him?

"You do realize that's the most overused word in the universe." Sean's talking aloud as he walks through the master bedroom into the oversized bath. "No one really means it when they say it. They think they do." He turns on the water, tests, adjusts, gets to just the right temperature before toggling the shower. "Being sorry has three parts." He's stripping and talking as Viggo makes his way into the room. "You know what you did, you understand why it was wrong and you resolve never to do it again." Sean toes out of his trainers, kicks them into a corner. "First two parts are easy. It's the last one we keep tripping up on."

Viggo gets himself down to skin quickly and quietly. He knows he'll never do it again, if only because he knows Sean will never gift him with another sketch. Sean's like that.

Sean couldn't stop his reaction, even if he wanted to, lust in eyes, tongue sliding over lips and teeth, cock hardening. Viggo's gorgeous. Was the first day he saw him, in that odd halfAragorn-halfViggo state, plainclothes and sword. He pulls the curtain back, lets Viggo take the initiative.

Viggo smiles shyly at Sean and then steps into the tub. He loves the fact that he can always elicit that reaction from Sean. The water streams down over him and he leads into the wall.

Sean steps in behind Viggo, slowly places his hands on Viggo's shoulders, letting them glide down the arms and pulls Viggo's hands up, placing the palms flat against the tile. "You're beautiful this way." Sean easily diverts water over Viggo's wrist with one hand, gently sluicing out the wounds, while the other hand finds its way down Viggo's side to rest on his hip. "But you know that, don't you? You know exactly what you do to me. Why I'm addicted to you."

Viggo allows himself to be positioned against the tiles, enjoying the feeling of Sean taking care of him. He's so rarely seeded control to his lover that he's almost forgotten the way it feels to have someone help you through everything.

Hands glide over wet flesh, fingers tracing muscle and bone. Sean presses gently against Viggo's back. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry for what I did in the garage," he whispers as water caresses them both. "It would be a lie. And that's the last thing we need between us now."

"I know," Viggo whispers, though he'd wished for something more than an acknowledgement that Sean went overboard.

Sean presses his hands into the small of Viggo's back, barely fitting as he moves away just enough, kneading away the kinks. "Vig, what I said about it not being intentional. That was true. Except for then." He drops a light kiss on Viggo's shoulder. "I wanted to hurt you. In the garage, when I went off and at you, I had every intention of pushing it till you gave in."

Viggo's breath catches and he forces himself to keep going. Sean didn't keep going. Sean didn't. "What stopped you?" he whispers. He's not sure if he wants to know the answer, but the question is vital.

"I'm not exactly sure. You didn't fight back. You didn't try to take control." Sean's hands move out, over hips and thighs, pushing soapy water down Viggo's body. "You'd've stood there and taken all my anger." Sean slips his arms around Viggo's waist, presses tightly against his back. "Complete submission, Vig. You were so close and it scared the hell out of me."

The words 'I don't submit' are at the tip of Viggo's tongue, but he closes his mouth firmly. If Sean thinks going into claustrophobic panic is submission, let him think that. Perhaps then he won't do it again.

Sean knows Viggo well enough to know the words he's not saying. "I know. You don't submit," heavy emphasis on the negative, almost too much. "It doesn't matter. Really. I relented." Then he lets actions follow words, releasing his grip on Viggo's body, backing off, turning out of the shower's spray. He steps out, grabs a towel off the pile of freshly laundered ones in the corner. "Take your time, Vig. I'll be in bed when you're ready."

Everything's moving too far, too fast. Viggo isn't sure exactly what's going on, except that he's got an appointment to blow and then fuck Sean and he's not going to miss that. He dries himself off with a few quick motions of the terrycloth towel, and then walks hesitantly out of the bathroom.

Sean pulls the bed's coverlet down, folds it roughly and stretches out on the sheets. Arms out, fingers curving along the ridges of the headboard's iron slats. Eyes closed, mind focusing on where he is and what he wants, pushing aside what he can't have, won't ask for, shouldn't even desire. He hears Viggo's soft padding, tentative and hesitant if footfalls can sound that way.

The war rages within Sean. Explain everything? Leave Vig in doubt, let him unravel the mystery? Sean doesn't like being an open book, just sometimes. He stays silent, sensing the words he'd use would sound like orders to Vig's ears. And that would take him out of role, wouldn't it?

Viggo climbs onto the bed cautiously and slowly makes his way between Sean's legs. "Anything special?" he asks quietly. "Or the usual?"

"Tie my hands," Sean says, matching Viggo's voice level, not wanting to disturb the room's quietness. He keeps his eyes closed, not sure he wants to see Viggo's face, almost afraid of the reaction. "Please, Vig."

Viggo nods, wordless. The 'light' stuff is kept in a couple shoeboxes under the bed. Strips of old undershirts, those worn silk ties, stuff that doesn't hurt. Viggo pulls out the old Adidas box and takes the lid off. He binds Sean's hands quickly and efficiently, leaving the knots loose enough that Sean could free himself easily.

Sean tests the bindings. "Not very tight." Words not malicious, just put out into space. He tries to keep any taunting tone out of them. "Afraid of hurting me?"

"I don't trust myself tonight," Viggo replies.

"I trust you." Sean tilts his head back into the pillows.

That's not the point. Viggo doesn't argue the point. He brushes his hand against the knots and then trails his fingers lower until he finds himself back above Sean's cock.

Damn him. It's not so fucking much to ask. Sean's mind rages while his body resigns itself to Viggo's touch. Need so badly. Too light. He can't force Viggo back to where they were months ago. It has to be Viggo's decision.

Viggo starts with Sean's foreskin, tugging lightly at it with his teeth. He pulls it out slightly and begins to nibble under it.

Sean's body jerks, instinctive at the pressure of teeth on too-sensitive flesh. "Yes," he hisses out on a breath. "Vig, please. Hard. Don't hold back."

Viggo nibbles his way down Sean's cock until he reaches the base. He knows he isn't as good at this as Sean is, but he can do his best. Taking a deep breath, Viggo moves in two quick motions, deepthroating Sean.

God. Yes. Perfect. Sean clutches the iron slats, his bindings shredding with the abrasion. He knows he can rip through them. Doesn't want to. Even though free hands would mean he could clutch Viggo's head instead, lace fingers in finehair strands and hold him down. Sean bites his lips against the urge. That would be controlling him. "That's right, Vig. God, you do that," ragged breath, "so well. More."

Viggo bites down lightly in a half-hearted attempt to remind Sean who was supposed to be in charge. Sean smelled nice down here and Viggo inhaled Sean's curls deeply.

"Damn," Sean yelps at the bite. Can you tease him into taking control? How far can you go, Sean? "That's right. So good." He licks drying lips, swallows hard. "You should do this more often."

Viggo growls around Sean's cock and pulls himself off until only half of Sean's cock is in his mouth. Viggo's hands reach around and tighten around Sean's balls.

Response. "Oh, shite, that's good." Sean smiles, makes a lateral switch in tactics. "Sure you don't sub, Vig?" Sean says just within hearing level.

Oh, you are so dead, pet. The job is to bring Sean off with his mouth, not to put up with this. Viggo pulls away completely and looks up with all seriousness into Sean's eyes. "It is generally not a good idea to piss off the guy with the family jewels between his teeth."

"It's not? I hadn't that." Sean raises his head, smile broad. "Take me down, Vig. Put me in my place."

So that's what the little slut was up to. Viggo might've known. Viggo slaps Sean's cock roughly and digs his fingernails into Sean's hips. "Don't tempt me, boy."

There's an audible gasp at the strike, a jerk as the nails bite into flesh. And a small sigh of familiar desire. "Tempt you? Into doing what you really want to do. Is that so bad?"

"For you?" Viggo pauses and takes the alligator clips from the bed pockets. He fastens them to Sean's nipples without hesitation. "Yes."

The pain is excruciating, moreso than usual because it's been so long since Sean's had the clips on, but so welcomed since it's a step in the right direction. "Yes," Sean hisses out, "sir."

Viggo tugs on them, stretching Sean's nipples obscenely. They'll keep, Viggo notes with approval. "Now, behave."

"And what if I don't," Sean grates out between hitched breaths. It's taking a few minutes to adjust to the burning sensation.

"Don't ask questions," Viggo growls and then swallows Sean again.

"Don't ask questions." Sean shiftsquirms as his cock slides down Viggo's throat. So fucking wonderful. "Don't give orders." He twists his wrists, trying to tighten the too-loose knots, grasping cool iron. "What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?"

'Shut up and get sucked,' but Viggo isn't relinquishing his hold that easily. He hollows his cheeks, tightens his throat around Sean, and swallows hard.

"closesofuckingcloseyesmorehardervigneed." Words slammed together in Sean's brain, tripping out of his mouth. His fingers are routing out new grooves in the headboard's iron rails. "nottightdamn." He curses Viggo for not making the knots tighter. But it's so good, so right, so much of what he's been missing. His body spasms under him, coils. So close. "nowvigplease."

To let him come or not let him come, that is the question. On the one hand, he was a naughty boy before. On the other hand, Viggo has a lot to make up for, and Sean did shock him out of his melancholy. Viggo places a hand behind Sean's knee and squeezes, letting Sean know he can come.

There's a sigh of, Sean isn't sure what it is. Relief? That Viggo's letting him come. Regret? That Viggo didn't make him wait, hold him back. Both. Neither. It doesn't really matter as the release comes. Sweet and swift and more intense than anything Sean has felt in weeks. His body convulses, arches, holds onto the contact till the last second.

Sean bites, sucks in his upper lip, bites harder against the scream swelling inside, conscious it takes a great deal more effort to bring blood than most people realize.

Viggo swallows, careful to get all of it down. There's something powerful about having a man's cock in your mouth and something even more powerful about knowing you've given him enough pleasure for him to come.

"Vig, want you." Sean thinks he says the words aloud. Or maybe it's just the echo in his brain, which is exhausted from processing the evening's overload and thankful that orgasm is physical and not mental. He knows he had fucking on his list somewhere after sucking. "More. Please."

Never let it be said that Viggo turns down an offer like that. "You need time to recuperate," Viggo asks softly, "or should I sink into right here, right now?"

Raising his head is an impossibility, Sean notes as he consciously considers the smirk he'd like to give Viggo. "nowhardfastwhatever." Short breath. "justfuckme."

Sean must be desperate. Viggo's never heard him slur so badly before. It's endearing as hell. Now, just where did he put the lube?

Air in, air out. Sean forces his breathing to a slower pace, tries to concentrate. Viggo's searching bedpockets. Must be looking for lube. Resisting the urge to tell Vig to just forget the lube and fuck him, he centers himself enough to offer a bit of guidance. "Not ina pocket. Floor." Enough knowledge. Doesn't need to explain that it's there because Sean didn't bother to put it back where it belonged.

Viggo's already figured out that it's not in any of the black bedpockets that they had bought for such purposes. The lube lies between the bed and the nightstand and Viggo gets enough on his fingers so he can start prepping Sean.

"Damn ties," Sean mutters. "Fucking hate 'em." If he pulls too hard, he'll snap 'em or loosen the knots even more. And his fingers by now have creases from the wrought ironwork. He shiftsquirms, realigning his body, his head fighting with the pillows for leverage to push.

Viggo gets two fingers in, scissors them. He wants Sean to stretch around him and he wants it to hurt, but not that much. Viggo slicks himself and wipes his hand off on Sean's stomach. It takes him a moment to position himself and Sean and to line himself up. Sean wanted a hard fucking. He'll get one.

Tongue sneaks out to swipe at bite-swollen lips, just long enough for Viggo's fingers to slide in and out of Sean. So quick. Almost no prep. Exactly what Sean wants. "Do't, Vig. No mercy." Permission given not that Viggo needs it.

Encouragement is nice, Viggo thinks fuzzily as he slams into Sean in one harsh motion. From zero to sixty. Viggo has to wait a moment to catch his breath before he can move.

Sean's had the wind knocked out of him on numerous occasions, but never quite like when Viggo fucks it out of him. His head bangs against the iron slats, pillows no cushion as they've slid too much, as his body is literally slammed up the bed. Fuckin' great. And when Viggo momentarily pauses, Sean pushes his hips down, ignoring the pain of harsh penetration, or rather, savoring it, willing his body not to accommodate too quickly to the bittersweet sensation.

Viggo catches his breath just in time to feel Sean fuck himself on him. The man's going to drive me right out of my fucking mind. Viggo meets Sean's pushing with a thrust of his own, burying himself deep as he can in Sean's warm tightness.

By this time, the usually cool wrought iron is heating under Sean's clutching grip. "fuckhelldamn," he hiss-slurs as he releases his hands, wraps them in the slack of the ties and repositions on the slats, wedging his wrists into the space between the carved railings for a better hold. better. just barely.

Viggo pulls himself out completely and then, not giving Sean a chance to adjust to the absence, pushes himself balls-deep inside Sean.

Sean jerks at the invasion, the oh-so-welcomed assault, not loose enough that it doesn't hurt a bit, and coupled with the slow, steady burn of the clips, he's sinking deeper into that headspace he relishes.

Viggo repeats the motion a few more times then pauses, just enjoying the feel of Sean all around him. So fucking great, this.

Sean's tugging and twisting finally proves too much and the worn bindings on his right hand fray and pull apart. "Damn." He sighs as he rests the arm between the slats just barely wide enough apart to support his wrist without pushing it. "Don't stop now, Vig. Please. It's so good."

Viggo wasn't intending to stop. He savors the feeling for one more moment before pulling out halfway and then slamming in so hard that he has to grit his teeth.

Sean's head hits the iron railings again from the force Viggo uses, but he's not complaining. He's reveling in it, grinding against the assault, forcing as much contact as he can. It's damn near perfection..

Sean's head thumps against the bed and Viggo really should back off, go slower, but he's not in the mood. He wants to fuck Sean through the bed, off the bed, remind him just who is in charge in their relationship. Remind him just who he loves, who he wants, who he wakes up next to. Remind him who he belongs to. And that's Viggo.

"Harder," Sean grunts on a quick breath. "Please. Vig." He's panting harder as the intensity of Viggo's thrusts increases. He bangs his wrist against the headboard, fighting with himself to keep the hand wrapped in silk and around wrought instead of grasping at Viggo.

Harder? Viggo is doubtful that he can, but he tries. He slams so hard into Sean that it hurts him, that there's a pleasant burn in his cock, and Viggo whimpers.

Sean aches through and through, and it feels so damned good, better than the broken wrist. He's riding the crest of a hurricane swell of painarousal and it's what he has been missing.

Sean clenches around him and it's just enough to send Viggo over the edge. He lies panting on top of Sean, hoping it was enough, that he was good enough.

Sean tugs quickly on the bindings at his left hand, rips the silk and jerks his hand free. Not that he necessarily wants to be free. It's more like it's coming loose anyway and his movement finishes the shredding. Viggo's weight presses into the nipple clips, sending a spiral of new pain through Sean's chest. So fucking good.

Viggo groans at the clips dig into his skin a little. He'd move, but he doesn't have the will power.

Minutes pass, Sean slowly moves his hands down, brushes them across Viggo's shoulders. "Welcome back, lover," he whispers.

Viggo lifts his head up and smiles into Sean's eyes. "Morning yet, or do you need to clean off?"

Sean's comfort level of the nipple clips dissolves with Viggo's last move. "Being clean's highly overrated," Sean says, "but I wouldn't mind you shifting enough to get the clips."

Viggo's tempted to leave them in, just because, but in the morning Sean's going to want revenge for a sketch and, besides, it's not all that safe to keep them on that long. Viggo pushes himself up slightly and positions his fingers. A quick squeeze and lift and the first one's off.

Sean winces at the pain of removal. "Fuck't. Something coming off shouldn't hurt that good."

Viggo repeats the actions on Sean's other nipple, and tries for his lover's trademark evil grin. "Want me to kiss and make better?"

Small stab of pain, then warmth. "Only if you're gonna bite." Sean does the grin so much better. "What I want is you toss out those damned ties. Don't do fuck for holding me down."

"They're there to test your control. To see if you don't move even if you can," Viggo reminds him gently before biting down around Sean's left nipple.

"Fuck control. You know I ... ow," Sean responds to the bite. "Damn, that's good." He wonders if Viggo's finally getting back to his old self. "You think," he has to brave the question, no matter the answer, "you might want to hurt me more?" Sean leaves it open-ended. He knows it's something they have to talk about.

Hmmm...no truthful answer to that. Then there's the way Sean responds when Viggo does something so little and easy. Viggo works the nub between his teeth and sucks roughly on it.

Sean can take that as a yes, but he doesn't. Maybe he's pushing. "Vig. Please. Talk." Or maybe he's just unsure of where they are. He swipes silk-bound wrists across Viggo's cheeks. "Could you do more if I wanted it?" Can you go back to hurting me without feeling guilty? is what Sean leaves unspoken.

With a lingering regret, Viggo pulls himself off Sean's nipple. "Depends on what more is." He'd be content to just eat Sean all night.

"Well, I'm not asking you to break my wrist again. Not anytime soon." Sean's intent on spilling out what he's been holding in, not sure when he'll have the chance again. "I want it like it was. You forcing me to my knees. Pulling out every emotion I don't want to feel. Giving my body pain it doesn't understand or think it can take. Making me take it." Quick breath. "I want you, Vig, completely."

Viggo turns that over in his mind. Sean's been fixated on his wrist and, yeah, Viggo knows he's been obsessing over it, but he broke it because Sean wanted him to break it. He thought he was just giving Sean time to rest and recover from an extremely painful scene. Apparently Sean had taken his distance to mean disinterest. "Right now," he says clearly, "I'm going to chew on your nipples. After that, I might have some fun with your belly button. Feel free to fall asleep any time. I'm not getting out of bed to get a paddle, or anything like that. Plugs are in the nightstand, I think."

"But if I got outta bed and got 'em," Sean starts, willingly digging the hole he's jumped into deeper, "you'd use 'em?" Viggo's attention to that one nipple causes Sean to shift, whimper just a smidge. "Wouldn't want to distract you from your mission. Nipples and navel and all."

"You, Sean Bean, are not moving. If you can somehow magic up extra long arms, yeah, I'll use 'em on you. Otherwise, you'll just have to be content with my teeth."

Exactly what he wants. Command. Specific and direct. "Yes, sir," Sean snaps out, settling in under the weight of Viggo's body. "Whatever master wants."

He never gets tired of hearing Sean call him 'sir'. It's the reason why Sean locked away all the Sharpe movies and refused to tell him where they were. But being called master is something different. Sean's never bandied that title about, and Viggo's strangely touched. "Good boy, Sean," Viggo smiles.