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Feb. 6th, 2004 10:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: Good things come to those who wait
Series: Proverbial
Chapter: 4/?
Rated: R
Pairing: SB/VM
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning: S.E.X.
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No.
Overall Summary: A series, based on proverbs and featuring Sean as he goes about getting what he wants and possibly more than he bargained for.
Chapter Summary:
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
Make hay while the sun shines
It’s a bit early and usually, at this time on a Sunday morning, I’d still be asleep. But it’s promising to be a gorgeous day and where else would I want to be on a gorgeous day other than in the company of a gorgeous man?
So, it’s to Viggo’s I’ve come, with the sun only a couple of hours over the horizon and no firm plan in mind other than to just . . . enjoy. Viggo scarcely sleeps more than four hours a night, so I know he’s up and about, it’s just a matter of where he is. He’s not answering the door, but the car’s here. I’ll check around the back.
For a guy who so obviously loves gardens and growing things, his garden, (and I use the term loosely) is an overwhelming mess. How anyone manages to get into the backyard through this overgrown, positively menacing, side path is beyond me. Maybe he uses it as some kind of burglar deterrent? The vines are trying to strangle me and the flagstones are all lifting.
Oh, this is better. The Path of Doom opens onto a nicely kept lawn with neat shrubs and overhanging trees and the flowerbeds down the back are well-tended and a riot of color. Much more like what I expected.
Aha! And . . . wow!
There he is.
I’m not even going to ask myself why Viggo is lying on his stomach on the grass by the flowers wearing only his pajama bottoms.
I think I’ll just stand here for a second and take in the view!
I’ve always been a bit of sucker for blonds and he’s got the whole white-blond streaks thing going on, although I’ve noticed that it’s fading a bit, which is a shame.
Blame Aragorn’s wig, I suppose. This morning, though, it’s blazing in the morning sunshine and the gold-tipped hairs on his arms are gleaming, lighting the warm tones of his skin.
Christ, I’m getting all poetic-like and can blame that on his influence. But still, it’s difficult not to be, with him spread out in front of me like a banquet.
I’ve seen him half-naked before, heaps of times, but he’s never as still as this, never laid out for my eyes to wander so freely over and admire.
Resting his chin on his folded arms and I can’t see his face but I can trace my eyes over the slope of his shoulders where the muscles are taut and have grown more defined from the swordplay and there’s not an ounce of spare fat on his slender frame. I can count ribs if I want to and lick my lips at the sight of the perfect curve of his arse and the strong muscled thighs so well defined by the thin stuff of his pants. Bare feet of course and, when he shifts and readjusts his position, I’m traveling back up his body, drawn by the movement, and staring at the warm, dark flesh of his toned upper arms and at his hands and wondering what they’d feel like wrapped around me. What does he taste like when he’s coated in sunshine, when the warmth of the day heats the gilded flesh? Is it the sharp tang of salt or does he taste of his own sweet musk, does the scent of arousal rising from every pore?
Okay, Sean, enough! I can’t stand here forever, much as I’d like to. I call out a greeting and he half-turns and waves. The grass is still slightly moist from the dew and I’m afraid my brain is conjuring up visions of Viggo rolling onto his back, pajamas damp and clinging with adoration to the outline of his thighs, his groin. Maybe you can even see through them when they’re wet? Yikes, that was adolescent, Sean! Cut it out!
“You’re out and about early.”
He’s not looking at me, his gaze has returned to whatever he was studying before. Damned if I can see what’s so fascinating in amongst the flowers, but then, I’m not Viggo.
“Too good a day to waste.” I tell him.
I think I’m entitled to some small liberties here, so instead of getting my arse wet on the grass, I use him as a cushion, straddling him and kneeling down to sit on his backside. Nice. He doesn’t complain so I lean forward, planting my arms on either side of his head and ask,
“What are you looking at?”
“There was a lizard, earlier.” He tells me. “Sunning itself on this rock. I was waiting to see if it’d come out again. But with you here, making all this noise,” He twists his head and grins at me, just joking. “I think I’m out of luck.”
I can’t help but smile back. My face is right down beside his and I plant a quick peck on his cheek. “You may be and the lizard may be, but I think my luck is holding.” I tell him.
And he’s trying to turn over and I’m not about to stop him, so I lift up onto all fours while he twists beneath me and try not to think about damp pajamas and our relative positions on the grass.
My luck is definitely holding here, he’s just lying under me, not scurrying away, so I suspect a kiss is in order.
Definitely. Definitely more comfortable, more relaxed than the other night, as his mouth parts easily when my tongue asks for entrance and his hands rise up to lightly grasp my waist. Soft, pleased sounds in the back of his throat and the kisses are returned and his tongue follows mine back, tracing the inside of my cheek with liquid swoops. I can hear the bees beginning their morning routine and the sun is warm and weighty on my back, almost as heavy as the dull pulsing that’s started in my groin. He smells of salt as the sun bakes it dry on his skin and one of my hands has his hair sliding across it, so I lift it, balancing on the other, and card my fingers through the soft strands.
This wasn’t what I intended but it is what’s happening, so I’m just going with it until he tells me to stop. I nibble his bottom lip because he seems to like that and I know I do and then I trace the curve of his jaw, flicking my tongue out to dip into the tiny depression on his chin and then flow on down his throat, kissing and licking with nips of flesh in-between. And he tilts his head back and sucks in a sharp breath of air.
He’s so quiet. I noticed it the other night, how he hardly makes a sound. Like he’s internalizing every sensation, keeping it for himself. It’s a powerfully erotic thought, that he so jealously guards every touch of mine. That my tongue and my mouth and my hands can move him to covet what I arouse.
I follow the curve of his collarbone, mouth open over it and I nuzzle the hair on his chest, tugging a little, straining to hear the hiss of breath before he swallows it. The dark swell of his nipple is in sight and I rest back on my heels, move my hips back for balance and slip a hand beneath him, lifting him toward my lips instead of lowering my head all the way.
And he comes willingly, arching his spine, feeding the tightening bud to my waiting mouth and I suck it gently, suckling, worry it with my teeth and nip, soothing the hurt away with a swipe of tongue.
I’m still crouched over him, his hands are tangled in my hair and I can feel his eyes watching me. So I look up. “Want me to stop?” It’s just a whisper, not a plea. Not a plea. But his eyes are warm and shimmering with lust and his mouth is half open as he shakes his head, wordless. Seeing him, seeing his face softened by desire, I have to go back for another kiss and my tongue slides across his. Can he taste the salt from his own flesh on me?
He murmurs and moans, so maybe he can, and he arches his spine, wanting my mouth again, my tongue. Thumb his nipples, pinch and twist lightly and . . . Oh, he likes that, the brief pain of it, followed by the healing touch of my lips.
I rock back, slide down, hands playing across his ribs, his stomach as I trail the kisses down the arrow of hair to his navel and I taste and dip in there, too.
The pajamas are damp and they are revealing and I tug them down and reach behind me to slide them off. Rocking back onto my heels and my mouth comes down on him as his hips shift beneath me and he sucks in a harsh breath as I close my lips around the straining head.
And the almost-sound that emerges when he exhales is one of wonder and when I look up; he is watching me, captivated.
Here too, he tastes of salt and musk and as I swipe my tongue around the fullness of his shaft, the velvet skin is hot and he quivers, shivers and thrusts against it.
I love that he watches, shameless and fascinated; ever Viggo, even in this. Through half-lidded sweeping lashes, his eyes blaze and he licks his lips to moisten them.
I swallow him down and he is lost, his head falls back, curiosity swamped by need and I hold his hips to steady him as he fucks my mouth.
His body tightens beneath me, muscles tensing under the golden skin and his hands drop to the grass, tearing and ripping as he is overcome and I swallow it all, feeding on his orgasm, starved of it for too long.
This is the part I love best; the gasping for air, the trembling that leaves a strong man weak in my arms and I rise up to be by his side, to soothe with calming hands and soft kisses and watch as the patina of desire fades from his eyes in the bright sunlight.
I fill his gaze so that he sees only me.
Series: Proverbial
Chapter: 4/?
Rated: R
Pairing: SB/VM
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning: S.E.X.
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No.
Overall Summary: A series, based on proverbs and featuring Sean as he goes about getting what he wants and possibly more than he bargained for.
Chapter Summary:
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
Make hay while the sun shines
It’s a bit early and usually, at this time on a Sunday morning, I’d still be asleep. But it’s promising to be a gorgeous day and where else would I want to be on a gorgeous day other than in the company of a gorgeous man?
So, it’s to Viggo’s I’ve come, with the sun only a couple of hours over the horizon and no firm plan in mind other than to just . . . enjoy. Viggo scarcely sleeps more than four hours a night, so I know he’s up and about, it’s just a matter of where he is. He’s not answering the door, but the car’s here. I’ll check around the back.
For a guy who so obviously loves gardens and growing things, his garden, (and I use the term loosely) is an overwhelming mess. How anyone manages to get into the backyard through this overgrown, positively menacing, side path is beyond me. Maybe he uses it as some kind of burglar deterrent? The vines are trying to strangle me and the flagstones are all lifting.
Oh, this is better. The Path of Doom opens onto a nicely kept lawn with neat shrubs and overhanging trees and the flowerbeds down the back are well-tended and a riot of color. Much more like what I expected.
Aha! And . . . wow!
There he is.
I’m not even going to ask myself why Viggo is lying on his stomach on the grass by the flowers wearing only his pajama bottoms.
I think I’ll just stand here for a second and take in the view!
I’ve always been a bit of sucker for blonds and he’s got the whole white-blond streaks thing going on, although I’ve noticed that it’s fading a bit, which is a shame.
Blame Aragorn’s wig, I suppose. This morning, though, it’s blazing in the morning sunshine and the gold-tipped hairs on his arms are gleaming, lighting the warm tones of his skin.
Christ, I’m getting all poetic-like and can blame that on his influence. But still, it’s difficult not to be, with him spread out in front of me like a banquet.
I’ve seen him half-naked before, heaps of times, but he’s never as still as this, never laid out for my eyes to wander so freely over and admire.
Resting his chin on his folded arms and I can’t see his face but I can trace my eyes over the slope of his shoulders where the muscles are taut and have grown more defined from the swordplay and there’s not an ounce of spare fat on his slender frame. I can count ribs if I want to and lick my lips at the sight of the perfect curve of his arse and the strong muscled thighs so well defined by the thin stuff of his pants. Bare feet of course and, when he shifts and readjusts his position, I’m traveling back up his body, drawn by the movement, and staring at the warm, dark flesh of his toned upper arms and at his hands and wondering what they’d feel like wrapped around me. What does he taste like when he’s coated in sunshine, when the warmth of the day heats the gilded flesh? Is it the sharp tang of salt or does he taste of his own sweet musk, does the scent of arousal rising from every pore?
Okay, Sean, enough! I can’t stand here forever, much as I’d like to. I call out a greeting and he half-turns and waves. The grass is still slightly moist from the dew and I’m afraid my brain is conjuring up visions of Viggo rolling onto his back, pajamas damp and clinging with adoration to the outline of his thighs, his groin. Maybe you can even see through them when they’re wet? Yikes, that was adolescent, Sean! Cut it out!
“You’re out and about early.”
He’s not looking at me, his gaze has returned to whatever he was studying before. Damned if I can see what’s so fascinating in amongst the flowers, but then, I’m not Viggo.
“Too good a day to waste.” I tell him.
I think I’m entitled to some small liberties here, so instead of getting my arse wet on the grass, I use him as a cushion, straddling him and kneeling down to sit on his backside. Nice. He doesn’t complain so I lean forward, planting my arms on either side of his head and ask,
“What are you looking at?”
“There was a lizard, earlier.” He tells me. “Sunning itself on this rock. I was waiting to see if it’d come out again. But with you here, making all this noise,” He twists his head and grins at me, just joking. “I think I’m out of luck.”
I can’t help but smile back. My face is right down beside his and I plant a quick peck on his cheek. “You may be and the lizard may be, but I think my luck is holding.” I tell him.
And he’s trying to turn over and I’m not about to stop him, so I lift up onto all fours while he twists beneath me and try not to think about damp pajamas and our relative positions on the grass.
My luck is definitely holding here, he’s just lying under me, not scurrying away, so I suspect a kiss is in order.
Definitely. Definitely more comfortable, more relaxed than the other night, as his mouth parts easily when my tongue asks for entrance and his hands rise up to lightly grasp my waist. Soft, pleased sounds in the back of his throat and the kisses are returned and his tongue follows mine back, tracing the inside of my cheek with liquid swoops. I can hear the bees beginning their morning routine and the sun is warm and weighty on my back, almost as heavy as the dull pulsing that’s started in my groin. He smells of salt as the sun bakes it dry on his skin and one of my hands has his hair sliding across it, so I lift it, balancing on the other, and card my fingers through the soft strands.
This wasn’t what I intended but it is what’s happening, so I’m just going with it until he tells me to stop. I nibble his bottom lip because he seems to like that and I know I do and then I trace the curve of his jaw, flicking my tongue out to dip into the tiny depression on his chin and then flow on down his throat, kissing and licking with nips of flesh in-between. And he tilts his head back and sucks in a sharp breath of air.
He’s so quiet. I noticed it the other night, how he hardly makes a sound. Like he’s internalizing every sensation, keeping it for himself. It’s a powerfully erotic thought, that he so jealously guards every touch of mine. That my tongue and my mouth and my hands can move him to covet what I arouse.
I follow the curve of his collarbone, mouth open over it and I nuzzle the hair on his chest, tugging a little, straining to hear the hiss of breath before he swallows it. The dark swell of his nipple is in sight and I rest back on my heels, move my hips back for balance and slip a hand beneath him, lifting him toward my lips instead of lowering my head all the way.
And he comes willingly, arching his spine, feeding the tightening bud to my waiting mouth and I suck it gently, suckling, worry it with my teeth and nip, soothing the hurt away with a swipe of tongue.
I’m still crouched over him, his hands are tangled in my hair and I can feel his eyes watching me. So I look up. “Want me to stop?” It’s just a whisper, not a plea. Not a plea. But his eyes are warm and shimmering with lust and his mouth is half open as he shakes his head, wordless. Seeing him, seeing his face softened by desire, I have to go back for another kiss and my tongue slides across his. Can he taste the salt from his own flesh on me?
He murmurs and moans, so maybe he can, and he arches his spine, wanting my mouth again, my tongue. Thumb his nipples, pinch and twist lightly and . . . Oh, he likes that, the brief pain of it, followed by the healing touch of my lips.
I rock back, slide down, hands playing across his ribs, his stomach as I trail the kisses down the arrow of hair to his navel and I taste and dip in there, too.
The pajamas are damp and they are revealing and I tug them down and reach behind me to slide them off. Rocking back onto my heels and my mouth comes down on him as his hips shift beneath me and he sucks in a harsh breath as I close my lips around the straining head.
And the almost-sound that emerges when he exhales is one of wonder and when I look up; he is watching me, captivated.
Here too, he tastes of salt and musk and as I swipe my tongue around the fullness of his shaft, the velvet skin is hot and he quivers, shivers and thrusts against it.
I love that he watches, shameless and fascinated; ever Viggo, even in this. Through half-lidded sweeping lashes, his eyes blaze and he licks his lips to moisten them.
I swallow him down and he is lost, his head falls back, curiosity swamped by need and I hold his hips to steady him as he fucks my mouth.
His body tightens beneath me, muscles tensing under the golden skin and his hands drop to the grass, tearing and ripping as he is overcome and I swallow it all, feeding on his orgasm, starved of it for too long.
This is the part I love best; the gasping for air, the trembling that leaves a strong man weak in my arms and I rise up to be by his side, to soothe with calming hands and soft kisses and watch as the patina of desire fades from his eyes in the bright sunlight.
I fill his gaze so that he sees only me.
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 01:12 pm (UTC)Keep going, please, and thank you for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-07 04:20 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-08 01:18 pm (UTC)Try being me! I've had nekkid Viggo fermenting in my widdle brain for a week now. I'm mush! :)
no subject
Date: 2004-02-08 01:01 am (UTC)What does he taste like when he’s coated in sunshine, when the warmth of the day heats the gilded flesh?
That sentence is absolutely gorgeous! There were many more as well that caught me but that was just gorgeous! And then the last line...beautiful!