(no subject)
Jan. 26th, 2004 12:15 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
arden-elear.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleTitle: Speechless
Series: None
Chapter: 1/1
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: SB/VM
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning: None.
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No
Overall Summary: He clenched his fists and released a long, tortured breath. Get a grip, Bean, he told himself roughly. This is off limits. He is off limits!
Chapter Summary: None.
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
Notes: Okay, yes. This is the plot bunny I released last week. It went forth and multiplied, as ordered, but no one bothered to tell me that the little bugger had an effing homing beacon!
The clock chiming the hour woke Sean from his sleep, the pedantic tick, tick, tick reminding him that he was not at home, not in his own bed. He was curled up on the couch in Viggo’s living room, in the dark.
Fortunately, the couch was wide and comfortable, designed for overnight guests or an unplanned snooze, so that when he twisted into an upright position he wasn’t stiff or sore.
Running a hand across his face, he contemplated what to do now. He’d not meant to nod off and now it was . . . he checked the ticking clock, just after midnight and he was wide-a-bloody-wake. Great!
Middle of the night, no television, nothing to do. Bugger! Maybe he could read or something? First, a cup of tea, though.
The white light flicked on above his head when he hit the switch and it traumatized his eyeballs. Squinting against the glare, he found the kettle and set it to bubbling, located the mugs, the tea and the sugar and leaned against the counter to wait.
Hitching his sweatpants a little higher, he idly scratched his chest and listened to the relative silence of the house as it settled down for the night.
Floorboards creaked overhead but he knew the noise was random; Viggo would be firmly asleep upstairs, frailty would see to that.
Stupid bugger, he thought. He’d called to talk to Viggo yesterday . . . No. Day before yesterday, and hearing something that sounded suspiciously like a tremor in his friend’s voice, Sean had listened more closely. Viggo had tried to fob him off with excuses of tiredness, lack of sleep, etc. but that far-away, wobbly, quiet voice was not the Viggo he was accustomed to hearing and the alarm bells started ringing in Sean’s head.
So he paid an unannounced visit and found a very sick and weak looking Viggo flat on his back on the couch. Chiseling the story out of him had been like trying to get blood out of a stone, but Sean was inexorable when needful.
Viggo had recently returned from South America and started to feel a bit . . . off. Yeah. Understatement.
At least he’d had enough sense to go see his doctor. Too late, though. By nightfall, he’d been in hospital, on a drip, battling some virulent, aggressive bug he’d picked up.
Hadn’t told anyone, or had the hospital call anyone, and Henry, being away on a school trip, couldn’t raise any of the usual alarms about his stubborn git of a father.
The bug was nasty but it burned itself out quickly. And, as soon as his temperature dropped, said stubborn git had shot a hefty dose of patented Viggo-esque charm at the nice lady doctor who had been charmed into releasing him.
Far too early in Sean’s view but, having been on the receiving end of Viggo at his most beguiling himself, he couldn’t really blame her.
She’d freed him in the erroneous belief that there’d be someone there to help, of course, and had sent him home with an array of pills and firm instructions, which, being Viggo, he’d ignored.
Enter Sean and all kinds of petulant hell breaks loose.
“Have you taken any of these?” He’d asked, picking up one bottle after another.
“I’m not sure.” Viggo sounded weak and breathy. Not good. Pale and listless, too.
“What do you mean, ‘not sure’?” Sean eyed him skeptically.
“I keep dropping off.” Vig explained. “Then when I wake up, I can’t remember if I took them or not, so I don’t take them. In case.”
Sean had snorted at that, but he knew what Viggo meant. Enquiring about Henry’s due date of return and the availability of friends or family to look in on him had only lead to throaty protests about being a grown man and not needing a babysitter. Yeah, right.
Luckily, Sean didn’t have to be home until the end of the month.
He’d left Viggo sleeping upstairs, rattling merrily away with a bellyful of prescribed medicines, and returned to his hotel to check out.
The kettle whistled and Sean soon had a nice mug of tea in his hand, searching the bookcase for some literary entertainment.
Nothing immediately presented itself so he took a quick sip of the brew and decided to check on Viggo.
Leaving the mug on the coffee table he mounted the stairs, careful of the treads.
Noisy, warped bloody things; could use a little chalk dust in the cracks and a nail here and there. He might do something about it later.
Viggo’s door he’d left open, just in case, as well as leaving the bedside lamp on low, so it was simply a matter of sticking his head around the door.
But then, nothing was simple where Viggo was concerned, was it?
Sean leaned heavily on the doorframe, sucking in a breath. Fucking hell!
Viggo was sprawled across the bed, lying on his back, one knee drawn up beneath the sheet that covered his hips and not much fucking else!
The light from the lamp haloed his hair on the pillow, shining bronze and gold against the stark white of the sheets while the shadows of his lashes flowed across the tender skin beneath his eyes and fanned around the high cheekbones in a muted caress. Lips slightly parted to release each soft breath as his chest quietly rose and fell; his hand clutched at the sheet as if ready to pull it back up . . . or push it further down.
Sean shook his head to clear it and inexplicably found himself standing by the side of the bed.
When had that happened? Fuck! Like iron filings to a magnet!
He clenched his fists and released a long, tortured breath. Get a grip, Bean, he told himself roughly. This is off limits. He is off limits!
How long was it now since he’d recognized and finally accepted these feelings Viggo roused in him? Three years? Four?
This was ridiculous, he was supposed to be over this!
At first just a curl in his gut when he’d see Viggo crossing the lot toward him, a tremor when their hands touched as he handed over a glass, the vague dissatisfaction he couldn’t put a name to whenever Viggo wasn’t around.
Then the shock, the horror when he finally had put a name to it!
All the since-when-are-you-queer-Bean shit that he’d gone through. The guilt that he’d battled for months. Those times he couldn’t bring himself to look Viggo in the eye.
He’d confessed one dark lonely night when Viggo was away on location, talked it through with Ian. Felt reassured afterwards, still a bit uncomfortable, but still . . . better. Not so weird, not so wrong.
Armed with some of Ian’s vast knowledge, he’d become curious about the whole idea. The ‘why’ now became ‘how’ and the mechanics of it had become fascinating in and of themselves.
He’d engaged in seemingly casual conversations with Orli about sex, learned about lube and condoms and ended up hearing more about rimming than he’d ever wanted to know! He even remembered pumping Elijah for information at one point. But, in the end, he’d done nothing. Let it go. Learned to live with it. Gotten over it.
Not! It was back with a vengeance, if indeed it had every truly waned. Dammit!
Viggo murmured something in his sleep and it broke into Sean’s reverie. One hand was curled up beside his face on the pillow and Sean smiled at the child-like gesture.
He’d always been able to appreciate fine things and he didn’t need to be attracted in order to appreciate male beauty. And a fine thing Viggo was.
Relaxed in sleep, the ever-present little frown line was smoothed away, the tension that normally coiled through the slender shoulders during his active waking hours had vanished and that quiet, buzzing energy which seemed to emanate from every pore was missing, folded away by slumber.
Much as he loved the vibrant spirit that drove his friend, this rumpled, silent peace was nice too.
Carefully, Sean sat down on the side of the bed. He shouldn’t, and he knew it. It was far too tempting and he’d already pushed his luck too far. But he did it anyway.
Viggo snuffled in his sleep, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed and he shifted a little before settling back. Sean locked his fingers in his lap and just sat quietly, looking.
“Christ! Whoa! Man, he’s gorgeous!”
Who had said that? Orli? Yeah, Orli. Irrepressible, irreverent Orli. Sewing seeds.
Yeah. Sean’s eyes counted the rise and fall of flesh over each rib, swept over the flat plane of stomach and the achingly delicate arch of each hipbone in turn, before coming to rest on the narrow line of dark hair that trailed downward from his navel.
He swallowed, hard. Consciousness flared and dimmed and the dark room beyond the circle of light began to retract and vanish.
His nostrils flared in awareness of the looming danger as his heart began to beat rapidly in his chest. He could feel his blood pounding, the spicy scent that was uniquely Viggo clouding his mind. The intoxicating pulse of desire blended with other, even more perilous, emotions. A heady but treacherous combination.
He had to get up, to leave, now.
But his legs were leaden, unwilling to lift him, to carry him across the room and down the stairs to safety. He turned back to the bed, trapped. Futile.
A curious detachment overtook him. Almost absently, he watched his hand traverse the space that lay between them. Of its own volition, his index finger dropped down to touch the fine hairs on Viggo’s belly and trace their path.
He took in one quivering breath after another, muscles tensing as he fought, resisting the urge to go further, lower.
Excruciating, it was, forcing his hand back, but he did it, tension draining away as relief washed over him. He rubbed his hand across his face, feeling as wrung out as a wet mop. God . . . damn.
Sean bought his hands to his knees, ready to lever himself up off the bed. His head came up and he froze, stricken.
Viggo’s eyes were open; his face unreadable, watching.
Sean felt as if he’d been gut-punched; all the blood left his face and his heart was pounding rapid little rabbit-thumps against his ribs. No! Not now! Oh, Christ. Not now! After all this time. Jeezus!
He couldn’t think. Panicked. He just had to get away; he’d have more than enough time to condemn himself for his stupidity later.
He almost threw himself off the bed in his haste, letting out a pained gasp when he was wrenched backward as Viggo’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip.
Sean looked up, shocked at how fast Viggo had moved. Then he couldn’t look away. Could no more break eye contact than he could break that grip. Their eyes were locked together; Viggo’s face still impassive.
He held his breath, waiting, as the penetrating blue eyes raked him over. Probed. Assessed. God! What was he thinking? Say something, for Christ’s sake! Sean’s mind screamed. He shook his head in a mute plea, though what he was pleading for he didn’t know. Waiting for the final blow to fall. Jeezus! How could I have been so fucking stupid!
And then Viggo’s other hand moved and Sean almost flinched. But it was too slow to be the expected strike; instead it curved behind Sean’s head, molding itself to the nape of his neck and drew him down until their foreheads almost touched.
Bewildered, Sean froze when he felt the soft pressure of Viggo’s lips against his mouth. It took several precious seconds for the message to sink in and, by that time, the soft kiss had ended.
Sean blinked. Blinked again; his befuddled brain finally reading its own mail.
“Wha . . ?”
Viggo simply looked at him.
“Vig?” He whispered.
A faint curve of a smile and Sean’s heart nearly jumped clean out of his chest! He was pulled forward again, this time he was unresisting, ready.
Warm, chaste pressure, a little uncertain but, fuck it, so was he!
Viggo was all soft and muzzy and tumbled and Sean wondered if perhaps some of those pills might not have messed with his mind. Thinking it, he pulled back.
“Viggo? You . . . okay?” He asked hesitantly.
“Mmm.” Well, that was coherent.
“I mean . . . do you know what you’re doing?” He asked, insistent.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Sean.” Viggo muttered quietly. “Of course I do.” He pressed his mouth against Sean’s again, showing some insistence of his own.
Reason was not entirely lost, but it was taking a beating, especially when Sean felt Viggo’s tongue swipe across his bottom lip in clear invitation.
OhChristandI’mgoingtohellinahandbasket!
Sean kissed him then, kissed him with desire and with affection, moaning softly when Viggo’s mouth opened beneath his, intent on showing what he felt instead of fumbling for useless, inadequate words.
It was still wrong, what he was doing, the poor bastard was sick after all, but he couldn’t stop, not yet.
Just a kiss, just a kiss, just a kiss . . . .
Viggo wasn’t well enough for anything else. But Viggo, it seemed, had other ideas.
Every time Sean tried to pull away, breaking the kiss in breathless distraction, Viggo pulled him right back down again.
What exactly Viggo wanted or didn’t want, Sean didn’t know and he was incapable of asking. Speech was entirely beyond him at this point. Viggo’s tongue, hot and slick, swiped across his inner cheek and traced the arc of his teeth and his hands were tangled in Sean’s hair, fisting the longer strands at his nape and refusing to let go.
And so Sean kissed him back, delving into the warm cavern with long-suppressed need, tasting him and reveling in it, finding it not so very different after all, not at all what he’d thought and terribly arousing.
Needing a moment and unable to escape Viggo’s clutches, nor truly wanting to, he laid a trail of warm, wet kisses across Viggo’s jaw line, nipping and lightly tugging at the shadow of growth, down the side of his throat to nuzzle fiercely at the tender dent at the base of his throat. Viggo tipped his head back, giving him better access and . . . groaned. Oh Christ!
Oh Christ, indeed. I want this, Sean thought dreamily. So badly. Need him to know . . . to show him . . . love him. But, oh fuck, he couldn’t! The man was sick!
And, Oh God, Viggo’s hand slipped down the back of his shirt, tracing the line of his spine as far as it could reach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Kisses pressed onto Sean’s forehead, to his temple in his hair, every-fucking-where and he could not bear to stop this, not now.
Skin like bloody velvet, a mind-clouding tactile banquet and Sean sat up, his hand stroking from throat to chest, finding the taut tip of a nipple and teasing it with the pad of his thumb.
Viggo arched, panted, drawing in hurried breaths to fill starved lungs and then arched again when Sean did the same to the other nipple. He moaned, muttering Sean’s name distractedly, his head tossing on the pillow and Sean was inspired.
He thumbed a nipple with each hand, pinching them lightly, bending down to lick and suck each in its turn, moving slowly, keeping it gentle, watching Viggo shift beneath his caresses, hips restlessly rocking on the crisp sheets, hands clutching and releasing as each fresh touch bought a new wave of pleasure.
He raked his hands down across Viggo’s belly, skirting his navel and climbing the staircase of his ribs in a circle. Viggo whimpered, his eyes misting over and fluttering as he lost the battle to keep them open.
Sean moved one hand to hold Viggo steady, palm across his hipbone, thumb moving in a slow caress of the tender skin inside the curve. With the other hand, he pulled back the sheet.
Oh, Lord! And . . . Yes. And, why did he ever think he’d not want this! Already his mouth was aching to touch and . . . and his lips were parting and his tongue flicked out to lick and taste. God, it was sweet and beautiful and so incredibly . . . right. Kisses along the shaft and this was velvet and steel and he did not want to gag, did not feel wrong or dirty, wanted only to please, to savor, to give.
And Viggo cried out and his hips rocked and lifted and Sean took him in and sucked, used his tongue, his hands, and coaxed it out of him as he called Sean’s name again and again. Soothed him as he quivered and panted, breathless at the end, his skin slick with perspiration, and his eyes bright with miracles.
And when Sean rejoined him, kissed him and Viggo tried to move, Sean stopped him.
“Later.” He said, stilling Viggo’s hand. “Sleep.”
And much later it was when, bright and warm in the morning sunshine through the open window, Viggo rolled atop him and kissed him squarely on the end of the nose to wake him.
Blue eyes raked over his face, searching again.
“What?” Sean mumbled, his mind awake, his body slower to follow.
Viggo continued his search.
“What?”
“Love you.”
And Sean found himself speechless once more.
Fin.
Series: None
Chapter: 1/1
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: SB/VM
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning: None.
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No
Overall Summary: He clenched his fists and released a long, tortured breath. Get a grip, Bean, he told himself roughly. This is off limits. He is off limits!
Chapter Summary: None.
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
Notes: Okay, yes. This is the plot bunny I released last week. It went forth and multiplied, as ordered, but no one bothered to tell me that the little bugger had an effing homing beacon!
The clock chiming the hour woke Sean from his sleep, the pedantic tick, tick, tick reminding him that he was not at home, not in his own bed. He was curled up on the couch in Viggo’s living room, in the dark.
Fortunately, the couch was wide and comfortable, designed for overnight guests or an unplanned snooze, so that when he twisted into an upright position he wasn’t stiff or sore.
Running a hand across his face, he contemplated what to do now. He’d not meant to nod off and now it was . . . he checked the ticking clock, just after midnight and he was wide-a-bloody-wake. Great!
Middle of the night, no television, nothing to do. Bugger! Maybe he could read or something? First, a cup of tea, though.
The white light flicked on above his head when he hit the switch and it traumatized his eyeballs. Squinting against the glare, he found the kettle and set it to bubbling, located the mugs, the tea and the sugar and leaned against the counter to wait.
Hitching his sweatpants a little higher, he idly scratched his chest and listened to the relative silence of the house as it settled down for the night.
Floorboards creaked overhead but he knew the noise was random; Viggo would be firmly asleep upstairs, frailty would see to that.
Stupid bugger, he thought. He’d called to talk to Viggo yesterday . . . No. Day before yesterday, and hearing something that sounded suspiciously like a tremor in his friend’s voice, Sean had listened more closely. Viggo had tried to fob him off with excuses of tiredness, lack of sleep, etc. but that far-away, wobbly, quiet voice was not the Viggo he was accustomed to hearing and the alarm bells started ringing in Sean’s head.
So he paid an unannounced visit and found a very sick and weak looking Viggo flat on his back on the couch. Chiseling the story out of him had been like trying to get blood out of a stone, but Sean was inexorable when needful.
Viggo had recently returned from South America and started to feel a bit . . . off. Yeah. Understatement.
At least he’d had enough sense to go see his doctor. Too late, though. By nightfall, he’d been in hospital, on a drip, battling some virulent, aggressive bug he’d picked up.
Hadn’t told anyone, or had the hospital call anyone, and Henry, being away on a school trip, couldn’t raise any of the usual alarms about his stubborn git of a father.
The bug was nasty but it burned itself out quickly. And, as soon as his temperature dropped, said stubborn git had shot a hefty dose of patented Viggo-esque charm at the nice lady doctor who had been charmed into releasing him.
Far too early in Sean’s view but, having been on the receiving end of Viggo at his most beguiling himself, he couldn’t really blame her.
She’d freed him in the erroneous belief that there’d be someone there to help, of course, and had sent him home with an array of pills and firm instructions, which, being Viggo, he’d ignored.
Enter Sean and all kinds of petulant hell breaks loose.
“Have you taken any of these?” He’d asked, picking up one bottle after another.
“I’m not sure.” Viggo sounded weak and breathy. Not good. Pale and listless, too.
“What do you mean, ‘not sure’?” Sean eyed him skeptically.
“I keep dropping off.” Vig explained. “Then when I wake up, I can’t remember if I took them or not, so I don’t take them. In case.”
Sean had snorted at that, but he knew what Viggo meant. Enquiring about Henry’s due date of return and the availability of friends or family to look in on him had only lead to throaty protests about being a grown man and not needing a babysitter. Yeah, right.
Luckily, Sean didn’t have to be home until the end of the month.
He’d left Viggo sleeping upstairs, rattling merrily away with a bellyful of prescribed medicines, and returned to his hotel to check out.
The kettle whistled and Sean soon had a nice mug of tea in his hand, searching the bookcase for some literary entertainment.
Nothing immediately presented itself so he took a quick sip of the brew and decided to check on Viggo.
Leaving the mug on the coffee table he mounted the stairs, careful of the treads.
Noisy, warped bloody things; could use a little chalk dust in the cracks and a nail here and there. He might do something about it later.
Viggo’s door he’d left open, just in case, as well as leaving the bedside lamp on low, so it was simply a matter of sticking his head around the door.
But then, nothing was simple where Viggo was concerned, was it?
Sean leaned heavily on the doorframe, sucking in a breath. Fucking hell!
Viggo was sprawled across the bed, lying on his back, one knee drawn up beneath the sheet that covered his hips and not much fucking else!
The light from the lamp haloed his hair on the pillow, shining bronze and gold against the stark white of the sheets while the shadows of his lashes flowed across the tender skin beneath his eyes and fanned around the high cheekbones in a muted caress. Lips slightly parted to release each soft breath as his chest quietly rose and fell; his hand clutched at the sheet as if ready to pull it back up . . . or push it further down.
Sean shook his head to clear it and inexplicably found himself standing by the side of the bed.
When had that happened? Fuck! Like iron filings to a magnet!
He clenched his fists and released a long, tortured breath. Get a grip, Bean, he told himself roughly. This is off limits. He is off limits!
How long was it now since he’d recognized and finally accepted these feelings Viggo roused in him? Three years? Four?
This was ridiculous, he was supposed to be over this!
At first just a curl in his gut when he’d see Viggo crossing the lot toward him, a tremor when their hands touched as he handed over a glass, the vague dissatisfaction he couldn’t put a name to whenever Viggo wasn’t around.
Then the shock, the horror when he finally had put a name to it!
All the since-when-are-you-queer-Bean shit that he’d gone through. The guilt that he’d battled for months. Those times he couldn’t bring himself to look Viggo in the eye.
He’d confessed one dark lonely night when Viggo was away on location, talked it through with Ian. Felt reassured afterwards, still a bit uncomfortable, but still . . . better. Not so weird, not so wrong.
Armed with some of Ian’s vast knowledge, he’d become curious about the whole idea. The ‘why’ now became ‘how’ and the mechanics of it had become fascinating in and of themselves.
He’d engaged in seemingly casual conversations with Orli about sex, learned about lube and condoms and ended up hearing more about rimming than he’d ever wanted to know! He even remembered pumping Elijah for information at one point. But, in the end, he’d done nothing. Let it go. Learned to live with it. Gotten over it.
Not! It was back with a vengeance, if indeed it had every truly waned. Dammit!
Viggo murmured something in his sleep and it broke into Sean’s reverie. One hand was curled up beside his face on the pillow and Sean smiled at the child-like gesture.
He’d always been able to appreciate fine things and he didn’t need to be attracted in order to appreciate male beauty. And a fine thing Viggo was.
Relaxed in sleep, the ever-present little frown line was smoothed away, the tension that normally coiled through the slender shoulders during his active waking hours had vanished and that quiet, buzzing energy which seemed to emanate from every pore was missing, folded away by slumber.
Much as he loved the vibrant spirit that drove his friend, this rumpled, silent peace was nice too.
Carefully, Sean sat down on the side of the bed. He shouldn’t, and he knew it. It was far too tempting and he’d already pushed his luck too far. But he did it anyway.
Viggo snuffled in his sleep, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed and he shifted a little before settling back. Sean locked his fingers in his lap and just sat quietly, looking.
“Christ! Whoa! Man, he’s gorgeous!”
Who had said that? Orli? Yeah, Orli. Irrepressible, irreverent Orli. Sewing seeds.
Yeah. Sean’s eyes counted the rise and fall of flesh over each rib, swept over the flat plane of stomach and the achingly delicate arch of each hipbone in turn, before coming to rest on the narrow line of dark hair that trailed downward from his navel.
He swallowed, hard. Consciousness flared and dimmed and the dark room beyond the circle of light began to retract and vanish.
His nostrils flared in awareness of the looming danger as his heart began to beat rapidly in his chest. He could feel his blood pounding, the spicy scent that was uniquely Viggo clouding his mind. The intoxicating pulse of desire blended with other, even more perilous, emotions. A heady but treacherous combination.
He had to get up, to leave, now.
But his legs were leaden, unwilling to lift him, to carry him across the room and down the stairs to safety. He turned back to the bed, trapped. Futile.
A curious detachment overtook him. Almost absently, he watched his hand traverse the space that lay between them. Of its own volition, his index finger dropped down to touch the fine hairs on Viggo’s belly and trace their path.
He took in one quivering breath after another, muscles tensing as he fought, resisting the urge to go further, lower.
Excruciating, it was, forcing his hand back, but he did it, tension draining away as relief washed over him. He rubbed his hand across his face, feeling as wrung out as a wet mop. God . . . damn.
Sean bought his hands to his knees, ready to lever himself up off the bed. His head came up and he froze, stricken.
Viggo’s eyes were open; his face unreadable, watching.
Sean felt as if he’d been gut-punched; all the blood left his face and his heart was pounding rapid little rabbit-thumps against his ribs. No! Not now! Oh, Christ. Not now! After all this time. Jeezus!
He couldn’t think. Panicked. He just had to get away; he’d have more than enough time to condemn himself for his stupidity later.
He almost threw himself off the bed in his haste, letting out a pained gasp when he was wrenched backward as Viggo’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip.
Sean looked up, shocked at how fast Viggo had moved. Then he couldn’t look away. Could no more break eye contact than he could break that grip. Their eyes were locked together; Viggo’s face still impassive.
He held his breath, waiting, as the penetrating blue eyes raked him over. Probed. Assessed. God! What was he thinking? Say something, for Christ’s sake! Sean’s mind screamed. He shook his head in a mute plea, though what he was pleading for he didn’t know. Waiting for the final blow to fall. Jeezus! How could I have been so fucking stupid!
And then Viggo’s other hand moved and Sean almost flinched. But it was too slow to be the expected strike; instead it curved behind Sean’s head, molding itself to the nape of his neck and drew him down until their foreheads almost touched.
Bewildered, Sean froze when he felt the soft pressure of Viggo’s lips against his mouth. It took several precious seconds for the message to sink in and, by that time, the soft kiss had ended.
Sean blinked. Blinked again; his befuddled brain finally reading its own mail.
“Wha . . ?”
Viggo simply looked at him.
“Vig?” He whispered.
A faint curve of a smile and Sean’s heart nearly jumped clean out of his chest! He was pulled forward again, this time he was unresisting, ready.
Warm, chaste pressure, a little uncertain but, fuck it, so was he!
Viggo was all soft and muzzy and tumbled and Sean wondered if perhaps some of those pills might not have messed with his mind. Thinking it, he pulled back.
“Viggo? You . . . okay?” He asked hesitantly.
“Mmm.” Well, that was coherent.
“I mean . . . do you know what you’re doing?” He asked, insistent.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Sean.” Viggo muttered quietly. “Of course I do.” He pressed his mouth against Sean’s again, showing some insistence of his own.
Reason was not entirely lost, but it was taking a beating, especially when Sean felt Viggo’s tongue swipe across his bottom lip in clear invitation.
OhChristandI’mgoingtohellinahandbasket!
Sean kissed him then, kissed him with desire and with affection, moaning softly when Viggo’s mouth opened beneath his, intent on showing what he felt instead of fumbling for useless, inadequate words.
It was still wrong, what he was doing, the poor bastard was sick after all, but he couldn’t stop, not yet.
Just a kiss, just a kiss, just a kiss . . . .
Viggo wasn’t well enough for anything else. But Viggo, it seemed, had other ideas.
Every time Sean tried to pull away, breaking the kiss in breathless distraction, Viggo pulled him right back down again.
What exactly Viggo wanted or didn’t want, Sean didn’t know and he was incapable of asking. Speech was entirely beyond him at this point. Viggo’s tongue, hot and slick, swiped across his inner cheek and traced the arc of his teeth and his hands were tangled in Sean’s hair, fisting the longer strands at his nape and refusing to let go.
And so Sean kissed him back, delving into the warm cavern with long-suppressed need, tasting him and reveling in it, finding it not so very different after all, not at all what he’d thought and terribly arousing.
Needing a moment and unable to escape Viggo’s clutches, nor truly wanting to, he laid a trail of warm, wet kisses across Viggo’s jaw line, nipping and lightly tugging at the shadow of growth, down the side of his throat to nuzzle fiercely at the tender dent at the base of his throat. Viggo tipped his head back, giving him better access and . . . groaned. Oh Christ!
Oh Christ, indeed. I want this, Sean thought dreamily. So badly. Need him to know . . . to show him . . . love him. But, oh fuck, he couldn’t! The man was sick!
And, Oh God, Viggo’s hand slipped down the back of his shirt, tracing the line of his spine as far as it could reach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Kisses pressed onto Sean’s forehead, to his temple in his hair, every-fucking-where and he could not bear to stop this, not now.
Skin like bloody velvet, a mind-clouding tactile banquet and Sean sat up, his hand stroking from throat to chest, finding the taut tip of a nipple and teasing it with the pad of his thumb.
Viggo arched, panted, drawing in hurried breaths to fill starved lungs and then arched again when Sean did the same to the other nipple. He moaned, muttering Sean’s name distractedly, his head tossing on the pillow and Sean was inspired.
He thumbed a nipple with each hand, pinching them lightly, bending down to lick and suck each in its turn, moving slowly, keeping it gentle, watching Viggo shift beneath his caresses, hips restlessly rocking on the crisp sheets, hands clutching and releasing as each fresh touch bought a new wave of pleasure.
He raked his hands down across Viggo’s belly, skirting his navel and climbing the staircase of his ribs in a circle. Viggo whimpered, his eyes misting over and fluttering as he lost the battle to keep them open.
Sean moved one hand to hold Viggo steady, palm across his hipbone, thumb moving in a slow caress of the tender skin inside the curve. With the other hand, he pulled back the sheet.
Oh, Lord! And . . . Yes. And, why did he ever think he’d not want this! Already his mouth was aching to touch and . . . and his lips were parting and his tongue flicked out to lick and taste. God, it was sweet and beautiful and so incredibly . . . right. Kisses along the shaft and this was velvet and steel and he did not want to gag, did not feel wrong or dirty, wanted only to please, to savor, to give.
And Viggo cried out and his hips rocked and lifted and Sean took him in and sucked, used his tongue, his hands, and coaxed it out of him as he called Sean’s name again and again. Soothed him as he quivered and panted, breathless at the end, his skin slick with perspiration, and his eyes bright with miracles.
And when Sean rejoined him, kissed him and Viggo tried to move, Sean stopped him.
“Later.” He said, stilling Viggo’s hand. “Sleep.”
And much later it was when, bright and warm in the morning sunshine through the open window, Viggo rolled atop him and kissed him squarely on the end of the nose to wake him.
Blue eyes raked over his face, searching again.
“What?” Sean mumbled, his mind awake, his body slower to follow.
Viggo continued his search.
“What?”
“Love you.”
And Sean found himself speechless once more.
Fin.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 01:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 04:35 pm (UTC)You did a wonderful job! Oh I loved this truly! And the fact Sean wanted to fix Viggo's creaky steps! That was just such a sweet detail.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 07:40 pm (UTC)Viggo’s eyes were open; his face unreadable, watching.
*guh* that feeling of being caught redhanded when it's for something dirtygood like that! again - *guh*
oh i loved this! the uncertainty sean was laboring under... so very sweet...
this bunny of urs is a muse godess in disguise.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 04:21 am (UTC)Beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 04:22 am (UTC)Beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 04:30 am (UTC)Reason was not entirely lost, but it was taking a beating...
Great line. Great story.
Thanks for sharing it.
Amentiii