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Feb. 7th, 2004 11:55 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy.
Series: Proverbial
Chapter: 5/?
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/
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/folk/rishalin/
It's the quiet ones you've got to watch.
I don't know what it is. Usually, I either leave afterward or snore me head off if I've had too many beers. But that's not the case here. Dunno. Suppose I feel . . . comfortable. He's restful company, is Vig. Doesn't demand anything of me, ask pointed, personal questions or insist on an intimacy I don't feel.
It's fucking, that's all. That's all it's supposed to be. For the duration, no more.
I choose my bed-partners wisely, but there's still always some little thing that they feel they have to have. Like it's their right. Like a price I'm supposed to pay.
I mean, for fuck's sake, they get something out of it too, and I don't go round asking for bits of them in return. I hate that. I hate having to hand over bits of my soul in exchange for . . . what? A fuck? A temporary partner? Piss off!
But Viggo asks for nothing. If I choose to give, that's different. He welcomes it. He listens and he learns and he doesn't judge me or persist beyond my boundaries. I like that. Staying here is restful. Being with him is restful.
And the view's not fucking bad, either.
Three o'clock in the damned morning and I'm wide awake again, resting on my elbows watching him sleep.
How cock-whipped is that!
I'm only kidding.
I'm just not tired anymore, is all.
We've managed to score three days off and I'm pretty well rested, despite all the boudoir gymnastics.
Funny though, how three o'clock can bring on some strange thoughts, innit? The clock's ticking softly out in the hall, I can hear Viggo breathing beside me and the room is lit by a single globe in that excuse for a light source that he calls a bedside lamp. Horrible thing. I really must remember to 'accidentally' damage it beyond repair one night. Wonder if I'd get away with it?
But I'm sidetracking myself here. I was thinking how cozy and intimate this room is and how the lateness, or earliness, of the hour encourages random musings. The lamp is probably a case in point.
I feel all safe and fuzzy and protected here, which is peculiar. None of this is different to any other time. Not really. Well, we still haven't . . . but mostly it's the same. It's enough I guess. That's what's unusual. I'm not hanging out for the main event. Hell, if I never get to the main event, I don't think it's gonna bother me all that much.
It's so satisfying just as it is. No, that's not right. He's so satisfying. And that should be a scary thought. But it's not.
It's because this situation is unique in a lot of ways. That's the only explanation. It's New Zealand, the isolation, the long shoot, all of that making me feel this way. Sure, Viggo's exceptional too and I really want to keep him as a friend after we're done here, but it's no more than that. I don't get attached and while I love him dearly, and I'm not ashamed to admit it; it's just as a mate, nothing . . .
Look! Movement.
Oh brother and the way he moves. It's positively sinful and altogether unconscious. He's still asleep and he's . . . slithering across the sheets. There is not one single ungraceful movement programmed into this man's genes, I swear it!
I chose well, I really did. Everything I like and nothing to argue with in the temperament department. I'll just do some slithering of my own here and . . .
Damn he feels good. Tastes good. Let's see if a little neck-nuzzling can wake him and . . . Oh, yes. Hello and 'Mmm' to you, too.
All musky and warm with sleep when I kiss him and don't his arms just wrap around me so easily now. My mouth fits in the hollow of his throat perfectly and his hips and mine just fit together so well. Knowing what he likes, what makes him moan and writhe under me and watching his expression as he melts beneath my hands and my tongue. Just like this. . .
Teasing until he's ready to scream, biting his chest, flicking the hard buds and laving my tongue over his navel and around his cock until his hands make fists in my hair and he forces me back up to eye level and he says . . .
"Are you sure?" I have to ask, even though my heart is beating like a hammer against the anvil of my ribcage and my cock jumps and throbs at the thought.
He nods. "Fuck me." His voice is a growl and the need in his eyes is so intense I can hardly look.
And, God, he is ready for this as my finger meets no resistance beyond the ring of muscle and there is no pain as I add more lubricant and a second finger.
He just drives hard up onto it, working it deeper of his own accord, his breath harsh and grating against my ear and he growls when I withdraw it.
His need is violent and almost as soon as my cock is past the entrance, he's thrusting up again and I can't stop him, even though I try.
My hands are slippery with lube and they slide from his hips onto the mattress and he gets past me.
I'm fully sheathed and sweating bullets, terrified that it's hurt him, because this is his first time and if I've fucked this up there may never be another.
But he's ready for it, he's relaxed and it's easy, so-fucking-easy, to just fuck him hard and fast and my head's already about to explode with the trust he has laid on me in opening his body so completely.
His nails rake my back and he spreads his thighs wide in hopes of taking me in even more and it's rough and it's quick and it's nothing at all like I thought it would be.
Sweat drips from my forehead onto his cheek and his mouth is open, gasping for air as he drives me harder. He drives me! His teeth are bared in a snarl and as I grab his cock and fist it, he throws his head back, eyes half-shut and feral in the dim light and comes with a silent scream, his body convulsing around my cock.
He doesn't stop. He works his hips tirelessly and it's curling up out of my scrotum and exploding out of my cock, bolts of pure lightning set my nerves to sizzling and my scream is not silent but he sucks it down into his belly, searing our mouths together in a fierce kiss until I collapse against him, utterly spent.
As my skin cools and my breath becomes my own again, I can't do anything but lie here on top of him, listening to his heart slowing down and to my own thoughts, fracturing in the gloom of three a.m.
I still don't know what it is.
But he is nothing I expected.
Series: Proverbial
Chapter: 5/?
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/
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/folk/rishalin/
It's the quiet ones you've got to watch.
I don't know what it is. Usually, I either leave afterward or snore me head off if I've had too many beers. But that's not the case here. Dunno. Suppose I feel . . . comfortable. He's restful company, is Vig. Doesn't demand anything of me, ask pointed, personal questions or insist on an intimacy I don't feel.
It's fucking, that's all. That's all it's supposed to be. For the duration, no more.
I choose my bed-partners wisely, but there's still always some little thing that they feel they have to have. Like it's their right. Like a price I'm supposed to pay.
I mean, for fuck's sake, they get something out of it too, and I don't go round asking for bits of them in return. I hate that. I hate having to hand over bits of my soul in exchange for . . . what? A fuck? A temporary partner? Piss off!
But Viggo asks for nothing. If I choose to give, that's different. He welcomes it. He listens and he learns and he doesn't judge me or persist beyond my boundaries. I like that. Staying here is restful. Being with him is restful.
And the view's not fucking bad, either.
Three o'clock in the damned morning and I'm wide awake again, resting on my elbows watching him sleep.
How cock-whipped is that!
I'm only kidding.
I'm just not tired anymore, is all.
We've managed to score three days off and I'm pretty well rested, despite all the boudoir gymnastics.
Funny though, how three o'clock can bring on some strange thoughts, innit? The clock's ticking softly out in the hall, I can hear Viggo breathing beside me and the room is lit by a single globe in that excuse for a light source that he calls a bedside lamp. Horrible thing. I really must remember to 'accidentally' damage it beyond repair one night. Wonder if I'd get away with it?
But I'm sidetracking myself here. I was thinking how cozy and intimate this room is and how the lateness, or earliness, of the hour encourages random musings. The lamp is probably a case in point.
I feel all safe and fuzzy and protected here, which is peculiar. None of this is different to any other time. Not really. Well, we still haven't . . . but mostly it's the same. It's enough I guess. That's what's unusual. I'm not hanging out for the main event. Hell, if I never get to the main event, I don't think it's gonna bother me all that much.
It's so satisfying just as it is. No, that's not right. He's so satisfying. And that should be a scary thought. But it's not.
It's because this situation is unique in a lot of ways. That's the only explanation. It's New Zealand, the isolation, the long shoot, all of that making me feel this way. Sure, Viggo's exceptional too and I really want to keep him as a friend after we're done here, but it's no more than that. I don't get attached and while I love him dearly, and I'm not ashamed to admit it; it's just as a mate, nothing . . .
Look! Movement.
Oh brother and the way he moves. It's positively sinful and altogether unconscious. He's still asleep and he's . . . slithering across the sheets. There is not one single ungraceful movement programmed into this man's genes, I swear it!
I chose well, I really did. Everything I like and nothing to argue with in the temperament department. I'll just do some slithering of my own here and . . .
Damn he feels good. Tastes good. Let's see if a little neck-nuzzling can wake him and . . . Oh, yes. Hello and 'Mmm' to you, too.
All musky and warm with sleep when I kiss him and don't his arms just wrap around me so easily now. My mouth fits in the hollow of his throat perfectly and his hips and mine just fit together so well. Knowing what he likes, what makes him moan and writhe under me and watching his expression as he melts beneath my hands and my tongue. Just like this. . .
Teasing until he's ready to scream, biting his chest, flicking the hard buds and laving my tongue over his navel and around his cock until his hands make fists in my hair and he forces me back up to eye level and he says . . .
"Are you sure?" I have to ask, even though my heart is beating like a hammer against the anvil of my ribcage and my cock jumps and throbs at the thought.
He nods. "Fuck me." His voice is a growl and the need in his eyes is so intense I can hardly look.
And, God, he is ready for this as my finger meets no resistance beyond the ring of muscle and there is no pain as I add more lubricant and a second finger.
He just drives hard up onto it, working it deeper of his own accord, his breath harsh and grating against my ear and he growls when I withdraw it.
His need is violent and almost as soon as my cock is past the entrance, he's thrusting up again and I can't stop him, even though I try.
My hands are slippery with lube and they slide from his hips onto the mattress and he gets past me.
I'm fully sheathed and sweating bullets, terrified that it's hurt him, because this is his first time and if I've fucked this up there may never be another.
But he's ready for it, he's relaxed and it's easy, so-fucking-easy, to just fuck him hard and fast and my head's already about to explode with the trust he has laid on me in opening his body so completely.
His nails rake my back and he spreads his thighs wide in hopes of taking me in even more and it's rough and it's quick and it's nothing at all like I thought it would be.
Sweat drips from my forehead onto his cheek and his mouth is open, gasping for air as he drives me harder. He drives me! His teeth are bared in a snarl and as I grab his cock and fist it, he throws his head back, eyes half-shut and feral in the dim light and comes with a silent scream, his body convulsing around my cock.
He doesn't stop. He works his hips tirelessly and it's curling up out of my scrotum and exploding out of my cock, bolts of pure lightning set my nerves to sizzling and my scream is not silent but he sucks it down into his belly, searing our mouths together in a fierce kiss until I collapse against him, utterly spent.
As my skin cools and my breath becomes my own again, I can't do anything but lie here on top of him, listening to his heart slowing down and to my own thoughts, fracturing in the gloom of three a.m.
I still don't know what it is.
But he is nothing I expected.
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-07 01:37 pm (UTC)an interesting, contemplative piece. very nice.
oh, and loved this line:
"There is not one single ungraceful movement programmed into this man's genes, I swear it!" :)
no subject
Date: 2004-02-07 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-08 01:10 am (UTC)hmm seems to me that Sean is getting in over his head :) which is entirely a GOOD thing ;) Can't wait to see where it goes from here!