Reunion 3/? (VM/SB)
Apr. 24th, 2004 12:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: Reunion (3/?)
Author: thingsunseen
Pairing: VM/SB for now
Rating: NC-17
Warning: WIP. It's taking me forever to get this one finished.
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, more lies.
Archive: Rugbytackling
Prequel: A Thousand Words
Part 1
Part 2
He could stay like this, on his knees, his head resting against Sean’s thigh, but Sean is already pulling him to his feet, hands firm on Viggo’s arms. He’s too content to offer more than token resistance when Sean tucks his cock back inside his jeans and zips him up briskly, then bodily turns him and bundles him back into the car. Within a few minutes, they’re back on the paved road again, and he’s fighting sleep once more.
“Sorry,” Sean mutters after a few miles.
“For what?” Viggo asks, eyes still closed.
“Jumping you like that.”
Viggo opens his eyes. “Did you hear me complaining?”
That earns him a look. “You’re too easy.”
Viggo snorts. “Your point is?” He sits up a little straighter. “Can we stop and get something to drink? I’m parched.” He grins at Sean’s raised eyebrow. “Can’t live on come alone,” he adds, and Sean snorts.
He’s a little nonplussed to find that you can get espresso and panini and petrol all from the same store, but the espresso is surprisingly good. Sean offers him bottled water as a chaser, and his parched throat is finally happy. He’s awake enough now to watch the countryside unravel past the window, but he finds that he’d rather watch Sean.
“What?” Sean asks after a few minutes’ perusal.
“Nothing. Just looking.”
Sean gives him a brief stare over his sunglasses. “Want me to pull over again?” he growls.
Viggo swallows water the wrong way and spends several minutes coughing. Sean grins and pounds him on the back with one hand.
“Good thing you didn’t choke like that earlier,” Sean comments, and Viggo swats his hand away with a wheezy laugh.
“Bastard.”
“Wanker.”
Viggo finds he can’t resist the pull of his camera. He digs it out of his backpack, pushes the button to lower the window so he can snap pictures without the reflection of the safety glass. He snaps pictures of Sean’s profile and gets a mock-snarl in return.
“Stop it,” Sean tells him.
“Grouch.” Viggo snaps a few more pictures, then turns his attention back to the countryside.
“How long can you stay?” Sean asks him.
“Until Wednesday. Henry’s got an art presentation at school the next day. I don’t want to miss it.”
Sean nods. “Is he still sculpting?”
“On and off. He loved that book you sent.” Viggo puts his camera away. “How’s Orlando?”
“You’ll see for yourself. He’s staying at the house with us.”
Viggo feels his eyebrows go up. Sean glances over at him and gives him a slight smirk. “It’s a big house,” Sean assures him. “He won’t hear us.”
Viggo snorts. “I doubt he’d hear anything he hasn’t heard before. He lived with Dom and Billy for a while.”
They talk for a while about the rest of the Fellowship gang. Viggo stays in touch with the ones who live in the US; Sean keeps casual tabs on the UK contingent. They talk about David’s baby, Karl’s new project, Miranda’s new husband.
When Sean guides the car up a long, tree-lined driveway, Viggo stops in mid-sentence and stares at the house looming ahead. He turns his head and eyes Sean. “You said it was a big house,” he comments. “You didn't say it was a freakin' mansion. Is this where you’ve been staying during shooting?”
“Hell, no. The studio borrowed it for the weekend,” Sean replies. “Trust me, they’re not paying us that well.” The green smell of mown grass rushes to meet them when they get out of the car.
“Whose house is it?” Viggo asks as they pull his bags from the trunk.
“Can’t tell you. Sworn to secrecy.”
Viggo flips him off and shoulders his backpack.
It takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the relative dimness inside the house. Sean plays host and leads him through high-ceilinged rooms and patches of buttery sunlight. He points out the gym, the screening room with its solemn semi-circle of seats, the library with its chocolate-colored deep leather chairs. Viggo keeps his hands in his pockets and tries not to jostle any spindly-legged tables that hold many breakable objects.
“Bedroom,” Sean announces, waving him through a door. The bed is obscenely wide and covered in layers of silk and down and tasseled pillows. Viggo walks over to the bed and trails his fingers down the elaborately carved wood of one poster. He lets his gaze slide over to Sean as he tests the stability of the structure.
“Wanker,” Sean repeats.
Viggo snickers. He wanders towards a closed door and finds a bathroom behind it as big as one of his bedrooms back home. The sunken tub is ringed with clear glass votive holders, and his imagination gives him a picture of Sean bathing by candlelight, water beading on his shoulders and chest. For the space of a few breaths, he doesn’t want to move, to break the picture in his mind.
“Vig?”
“Mmm?”
“You okay, mate?”
“Just wool-gathering.” He walks out of the bathroom. “I need a shower. There’s a shower in there somewhere, right?”
“It’s on the other side of that wall at the end of the tub. Towels are in that cabinet under the sink.”
Within a few minutes, he’s lathered up in something that smells expensive. The shower stall is tiled in pale blue, and he can’t decide if he feels like he’s in the sky or under water. He’s not entirely surprised when the stall door slides open and Sean steps in. He hands Viggo a glass of something pale and bubbly. Viggo tries not to guzzle what tastes like champagne cut with something fruity. He nearly drops the glass when Sean’s palm slides across his stomach and curls around his hip.
“Jesus. Give me that glass.”
“You know damn well I’m ticklish there.” Viggo hands over the empty glass. Sean puts it on the tiled shelf that holds an array of tiny bottles, then bodily turns him so his back is to Sean.
“Soap,” Sean tells him, and Viggo hands it over. At Sean’s touch, Viggo groans loudly and braces his feet, lets his head drop forward. Sean’s long fingers smooth thick lather up and down his back and dislodge airplane seat-induced kinks. He’s nearly cross-eyed and purring by the time Sean begins to massage shampoo into his scalp. The small stall is filled with steam and the scent of limes.
“Rinse,” Sean orders, and Viggo more or less oozes under the spray of water. He steps back and wipes his eyes, trades places with Sean so Sean can rinse away the remnants of their drive. Viggo washes Sean’s back for him, delighting in the feel of muscles moving beneath his soap-slippery palms, admiring the curve of shoulder and neck.
Sean turns to face him, and Viggo can see water beading on his reddish-gold eyelashes. He cups Sean’s face, feels the prickle of wet beard and the warmth of his flesh. Sean’s kiss is slow and sweet. Viggo hums against his lips and welcomes the soft glide of his tongue. For all his teasing and gruffness, Sean likes to be gentle, to cuddle and touch. Viggo slides one arm around Sean’s sturdy neck and leans against his warm, firm body. Sean strokes his hair, presses open-mouthed kisses along Viggo’s jawline, nips gently at his earlobe. Viggo tilts his head, bares his neck, and Sean bites and licks and sucks, barely marking his skin but lighting small fires beneath it just the same. When he tilts his hips, Viggo can feel the heavy weight of Sean’s cock against his own. He moans softly when Sean reaches down and gently squeezes Viggo’s buttocks then slides just the tips of his fingers into the damp cleft between them.
“Bed?” Sean murmurs against his ear, and Viggo nods.
“Hurry,” Viggo adds, and Sean’s white teeth flash in a grin.
They’re too impatient to dry off properly. Sean tsks at him for dropping the towel on the floor.
“I just wanted to watch you bend over,” Viggo tells him after Sean has done just that, and Sean snaps the damp towel at his thigh.
They pull back the bed’s layers of covers, toss the silky pillows onto the floor, and meet in the middle of the wide mattress. “Want you,” Viggo murmurs, draping himself over Sean’s long body.
“Take me,” Sean replies softly, eyes alight with filtered sunlight and desire.
Sean’s torso is deliciously tanned down to his navel, and Viggo spends time licking the line of demarcation between tawny flesh and the paler tender skin. He nuzzles the damp curls around Sean’s cock, works his way over to the sensitive skin between hip and thigh. Sean growls in his throat when Viggo dips his head to lap gently at his balls. Viggo elicits a little yelp of surprise when he tongues the back of Sean’s knee.
“Do NOT do that again,” Sean gasps.
“Why?”
“Because.”
Viggo tongues the back of Sean’s knee again. Sean comes up off the mattress, cheeks flushed and teeth bared. Viggo snorts and pins him. “Turn over,” he tells Sean.
“I can’t if you’re sitting on my legs, you daft bugger.”
Viggo shifts his weight back. “Turn over.”
Sean huffs but obeys, and Viggo’s mouth waters at the sight of long muscled back and narrow hips and the solid curve of his ass. “Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, then pinches Sean’s buttock when he gets a grumbly “Bullshit” in reply. “Say thank you,” Viggo teases him.
“Bite me,” Sean replies, so Viggo bends and does just that, sinks his teeth into the deliciously yielding flesh of one buttock, bites and sucks and licks until Sean is squirming and moaning into the pillows. Viggo moves up, kisses the small of Sean’s back, breathes in the scent of his skin, warm and clean and familiar. He slides Sean’s legs apart with his knees, braces himself on his hands, and just hovers there, his cheek flush against Sean’s back.
Sean’s breathing is unsteady. “Vig,” he moans, and Viggo slides down, face pressed against warm flesh, his tongue tracing a wet line down until Sean gasps and raises his hips and cries out. Viggo holds Sean’s hips and sinks his tongue in, finds Sean’s puckered asshole. Another sharp cry reaches his ears, but he knows Sean likes this, loves it, so he works patiently, steadily, until Sean is up on his knees with his ass in the air.
Viggo feels the puckered hole open slightly and wedges in the wet tip of his tongue. Sean howls his name. The first time he’d done this to Sean, he had to talk him into it, promise he’d stop if Sean didn’t like it. Sean had come like a freight train just from the rhythmic movements of Viggo’s tongue, gasped and sobbed and nearly clawed a hole in his sheets.
Viggo feels his own cock ache from the memory of Sean sucking him frantically afterwards, lips and tongue greedy, hands gripping Viggo’s thighs wide apart. He reaches around and grips Sean’s dangling cock, rubs his thumb over and over the slippery head. He thrusts his tongue a little more deeply into Sean’s spasming asshole. Warm liquid spurts across his hand as Sean howls his name again, and Viggo tongues him through the aftershocks, pulling away only when Sean gasps-laughs “Nomorenomorenomore nnnggghhhh!”
Sean falls over on his side, long legs drawn up, his face flushed and gleaming with sweat. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. Viggo rubs his damp face against Sean’s thigh. Sean winds his fingers in Viggo’s hair. “You know how crazy that makes me,” Sean murmurs in a thick, hoarse voice.
“That’s why I do it.”
Sean rolls onto his back. He’s sleepy-eyed now, but he grins and crooks his finger at Viggo. “Come sit on my face, cowboy.”
Viggo laughs. “You lazy sod.”
“Yeah. C’mere.”
Viggo doesn’t want to strain Sean’s neck, but after adjusting the proper amount of pillows beneath Sean’s head, he kneels astride his chest, grips the ornately-carved headboard with one hand, and uses his other hand to carefully guide his cock into Sean’s waiting mouth. “Ohhhh, fuck,” Viggo breathes as he slips into heat and wetness. Sean’s green eyes gleam up at him. His beard is tickling Viggo’s tightened balls, but Viggo is too far gone to do more than register the rasping tickle.
Viggo moves his hips carefully, just barely thrusting, entranced by the sight of his cock sliding sleekly back and forth between Sean’s rosy lips. He feels the pad of Sean’s thumb rub across his asshole, push gently against nerve-rich flesh. Viggo pulls his cock nearly all the way out of Sean’s mouth just to watch his pink tongue flicker around the swollen head, watch the way Sean tongues his weeping slit and licks all along the underside. Sean closes his lips around the head of Viggo’s cock and sucks hard, and this is Viggo’s undoing. He pulls back his hips just as he begins to come. Viggo is aware that he’s shouting gibberish, that he’s spurting all over the pillow and Sean’s chin and cheek, but he can’t stop, can’t move, just shudders and clenches his hand on the headboard. Sean chuckles and guides Viggo’s cock back into his mouth, milks the last few dribbles while Viggo whimpers and shudders and finally sighs.
“Oh God, your beard is all gooey,” is the first thing that pops out of Viggo’s mouth when his speech center comes back online.
“All your fault,” Sean reminds him as he licks his lips.
Viggo laughs and carefully---if unsteadily---dismounts. His knees feel like spaghetti. He collapses on his side next to Sean. He reaches over and gently wipes Sean’s face with his hand.
“Do not wipe that off on the sheets; they’re just laundered,” Sean rumbles at him.
Viggo wipes his sticky hand on his own leg. He pretends to spit on his palm and reaches over to wipe Sean’s chin again, but Sean guffaws and catches his hand. “Oh, I can come on your face, but you don’t like my spit?” Viggo teases him, still trying to wrestle his hand free.
“Gah!” Sean yelps and rolls over onto his side away from Viggo.
“Mind the sheets,” Viggo teases him.
Sean mutters something rude and British at him, his voice partly muffled by the pillow. Viggo reaches out and trails one finger down the center of Sean’s back, just because he can, just because there are no miles between them. Sean mutters something that doesn’t sound so rude. “Mmm?” Viggo prompts, eyelids heavy and soul and body sated.
“Spoon,” Sean orders over his bare shoulder. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“Crankypants,” Viggo mutters, but he slides over and aligns himself with Sean’s long body. He presses his face against the back of Sean’s head, rubs his forehead against the short, soft hair that smells like limes and freshly-laundered cotton. Sean clasps the hand that Viggo slides around his chest and wiggles backwards until his hips fit snug in the tilt of Viggo’s pelvis. “Better?” Viggo murmurs and gets a sleepy hum in reply.
“Glad you’re here,” Sean sighs just as Viggo reaches the soft edge of sleep. Viggo squeezes the long fingers linked through his and lets himself fall over that edge, Sean’s breathing guiding him down into sleep.
**
He hears voices as he nears what he thinks might be the kitchen. Viggo stops, looks down at his wrinkled t-shirt and fraying, ratty shorts. He’s glad he’d taken enough time to dress, wash his face, and rinse his mouth before coming out. He has no idea what time it is, only that it’s dark and that the lights are on in almost every room.
He rounds the corner and sees Sean at the big stainless steel sink, his head turned just enough that Viggo can see the sharp white crescent of his smile as he laughs. Viggo sees a moving figure out of the corner of his eye and turns in time to be nearly knocked over by what appears to be a large flying object. The UFO in question turns out to be Orlando, who exuberantly bear hugs him and plants a warm kiss on his cheek.
Viggo laughs and wraps his arms around his favorite elf. Orlando is impossibly tanned and fit, all dark flashing eyes and white teeth and wild curls. He smells like cinnamon. He is warm and solid in Viggo’s arms, more beautiful than any of the pictures Viggo has seen splashed across tabloids and magazine pages.
“Look at you!” Orlando yelps, tousling his hair. “You look good as a red-head, old man.”
Sean snickers and keeps working on whatever’s in the sink.
“Good to see you too,” Viggo replies. He rests his forehead gently against Orlando’s so that the younger man blurs into a wash of warm skin and bright smile. “Thanks for the pictures.”
“Pictures?” Sean asks.
“I sent Vig a few Polaroids last month,” Orlando explains, slinging one arm around Viggo’s shoulders. “Including one of you in that dishy short frock.”
“It wasn’t a frock,” Sean grumbles, ears going a bit red. “Just remember I’ve got a knife here.”
Viggo, only three-quarters awake, leans against the counter and listens to their easy banter. Orlando still loves to tease, but Viggo notices that he doesn’t take the piss with Sean the way he would with Dom or Billy. They have an easy camaraderie, left over from the Rings movies and added to by this project. Sean insults Orlando good-naturedly but without heat; there’s affection in his glance, in the way he elbows Orlando out of the way and growls at him to hurry up chopping that pepper. “What can I do?” Viggo asks.
“Dishes in the cupboard there,” Sean answers, pointing with his chin. “Orlando, get the wine, would you?”
(tbc)
Author: thingsunseen
Pairing: VM/SB for now
Rating: NC-17
Warning: WIP. It's taking me forever to get this one finished.
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, more lies.
Archive: Rugbytackling
Prequel: A Thousand Words
Part 1
Part 2
He could stay like this, on his knees, his head resting against Sean’s thigh, but Sean is already pulling him to his feet, hands firm on Viggo’s arms. He’s too content to offer more than token resistance when Sean tucks his cock back inside his jeans and zips him up briskly, then bodily turns him and bundles him back into the car. Within a few minutes, they’re back on the paved road again, and he’s fighting sleep once more.
“Sorry,” Sean mutters after a few miles.
“For what?” Viggo asks, eyes still closed.
“Jumping you like that.”
Viggo opens his eyes. “Did you hear me complaining?”
That earns him a look. “You’re too easy.”
Viggo snorts. “Your point is?” He sits up a little straighter. “Can we stop and get something to drink? I’m parched.” He grins at Sean’s raised eyebrow. “Can’t live on come alone,” he adds, and Sean snorts.
He’s a little nonplussed to find that you can get espresso and panini and petrol all from the same store, but the espresso is surprisingly good. Sean offers him bottled water as a chaser, and his parched throat is finally happy. He’s awake enough now to watch the countryside unravel past the window, but he finds that he’d rather watch Sean.
“What?” Sean asks after a few minutes’ perusal.
“Nothing. Just looking.”
Sean gives him a brief stare over his sunglasses. “Want me to pull over again?” he growls.
Viggo swallows water the wrong way and spends several minutes coughing. Sean grins and pounds him on the back with one hand.
“Good thing you didn’t choke like that earlier,” Sean comments, and Viggo swats his hand away with a wheezy laugh.
“Bastard.”
“Wanker.”
Viggo finds he can’t resist the pull of his camera. He digs it out of his backpack, pushes the button to lower the window so he can snap pictures without the reflection of the safety glass. He snaps pictures of Sean’s profile and gets a mock-snarl in return.
“Stop it,” Sean tells him.
“Grouch.” Viggo snaps a few more pictures, then turns his attention back to the countryside.
“How long can you stay?” Sean asks him.
“Until Wednesday. Henry’s got an art presentation at school the next day. I don’t want to miss it.”
Sean nods. “Is he still sculpting?”
“On and off. He loved that book you sent.” Viggo puts his camera away. “How’s Orlando?”
“You’ll see for yourself. He’s staying at the house with us.”
Viggo feels his eyebrows go up. Sean glances over at him and gives him a slight smirk. “It’s a big house,” Sean assures him. “He won’t hear us.”
Viggo snorts. “I doubt he’d hear anything he hasn’t heard before. He lived with Dom and Billy for a while.”
They talk for a while about the rest of the Fellowship gang. Viggo stays in touch with the ones who live in the US; Sean keeps casual tabs on the UK contingent. They talk about David’s baby, Karl’s new project, Miranda’s new husband.
When Sean guides the car up a long, tree-lined driveway, Viggo stops in mid-sentence and stares at the house looming ahead. He turns his head and eyes Sean. “You said it was a big house,” he comments. “You didn't say it was a freakin' mansion. Is this where you’ve been staying during shooting?”
“Hell, no. The studio borrowed it for the weekend,” Sean replies. “Trust me, they’re not paying us that well.” The green smell of mown grass rushes to meet them when they get out of the car.
“Whose house is it?” Viggo asks as they pull his bags from the trunk.
“Can’t tell you. Sworn to secrecy.”
Viggo flips him off and shoulders his backpack.
It takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the relative dimness inside the house. Sean plays host and leads him through high-ceilinged rooms and patches of buttery sunlight. He points out the gym, the screening room with its solemn semi-circle of seats, the library with its chocolate-colored deep leather chairs. Viggo keeps his hands in his pockets and tries not to jostle any spindly-legged tables that hold many breakable objects.
“Bedroom,” Sean announces, waving him through a door. The bed is obscenely wide and covered in layers of silk and down and tasseled pillows. Viggo walks over to the bed and trails his fingers down the elaborately carved wood of one poster. He lets his gaze slide over to Sean as he tests the stability of the structure.
“Wanker,” Sean repeats.
Viggo snickers. He wanders towards a closed door and finds a bathroom behind it as big as one of his bedrooms back home. The sunken tub is ringed with clear glass votive holders, and his imagination gives him a picture of Sean bathing by candlelight, water beading on his shoulders and chest. For the space of a few breaths, he doesn’t want to move, to break the picture in his mind.
“Vig?”
“Mmm?”
“You okay, mate?”
“Just wool-gathering.” He walks out of the bathroom. “I need a shower. There’s a shower in there somewhere, right?”
“It’s on the other side of that wall at the end of the tub. Towels are in that cabinet under the sink.”
Within a few minutes, he’s lathered up in something that smells expensive. The shower stall is tiled in pale blue, and he can’t decide if he feels like he’s in the sky or under water. He’s not entirely surprised when the stall door slides open and Sean steps in. He hands Viggo a glass of something pale and bubbly. Viggo tries not to guzzle what tastes like champagne cut with something fruity. He nearly drops the glass when Sean’s palm slides across his stomach and curls around his hip.
“Jesus. Give me that glass.”
“You know damn well I’m ticklish there.” Viggo hands over the empty glass. Sean puts it on the tiled shelf that holds an array of tiny bottles, then bodily turns him so his back is to Sean.
“Soap,” Sean tells him, and Viggo hands it over. At Sean’s touch, Viggo groans loudly and braces his feet, lets his head drop forward. Sean’s long fingers smooth thick lather up and down his back and dislodge airplane seat-induced kinks. He’s nearly cross-eyed and purring by the time Sean begins to massage shampoo into his scalp. The small stall is filled with steam and the scent of limes.
“Rinse,” Sean orders, and Viggo more or less oozes under the spray of water. He steps back and wipes his eyes, trades places with Sean so Sean can rinse away the remnants of their drive. Viggo washes Sean’s back for him, delighting in the feel of muscles moving beneath his soap-slippery palms, admiring the curve of shoulder and neck.
Sean turns to face him, and Viggo can see water beading on his reddish-gold eyelashes. He cups Sean’s face, feels the prickle of wet beard and the warmth of his flesh. Sean’s kiss is slow and sweet. Viggo hums against his lips and welcomes the soft glide of his tongue. For all his teasing and gruffness, Sean likes to be gentle, to cuddle and touch. Viggo slides one arm around Sean’s sturdy neck and leans against his warm, firm body. Sean strokes his hair, presses open-mouthed kisses along Viggo’s jawline, nips gently at his earlobe. Viggo tilts his head, bares his neck, and Sean bites and licks and sucks, barely marking his skin but lighting small fires beneath it just the same. When he tilts his hips, Viggo can feel the heavy weight of Sean’s cock against his own. He moans softly when Sean reaches down and gently squeezes Viggo’s buttocks then slides just the tips of his fingers into the damp cleft between them.
“Bed?” Sean murmurs against his ear, and Viggo nods.
“Hurry,” Viggo adds, and Sean’s white teeth flash in a grin.
They’re too impatient to dry off properly. Sean tsks at him for dropping the towel on the floor.
“I just wanted to watch you bend over,” Viggo tells him after Sean has done just that, and Sean snaps the damp towel at his thigh.
They pull back the bed’s layers of covers, toss the silky pillows onto the floor, and meet in the middle of the wide mattress. “Want you,” Viggo murmurs, draping himself over Sean’s long body.
“Take me,” Sean replies softly, eyes alight with filtered sunlight and desire.
Sean’s torso is deliciously tanned down to his navel, and Viggo spends time licking the line of demarcation between tawny flesh and the paler tender skin. He nuzzles the damp curls around Sean’s cock, works his way over to the sensitive skin between hip and thigh. Sean growls in his throat when Viggo dips his head to lap gently at his balls. Viggo elicits a little yelp of surprise when he tongues the back of Sean’s knee.
“Do NOT do that again,” Sean gasps.
“Why?”
“Because.”
Viggo tongues the back of Sean’s knee again. Sean comes up off the mattress, cheeks flushed and teeth bared. Viggo snorts and pins him. “Turn over,” he tells Sean.
“I can’t if you’re sitting on my legs, you daft bugger.”
Viggo shifts his weight back. “Turn over.”
Sean huffs but obeys, and Viggo’s mouth waters at the sight of long muscled back and narrow hips and the solid curve of his ass. “Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, then pinches Sean’s buttock when he gets a grumbly “Bullshit” in reply. “Say thank you,” Viggo teases him.
“Bite me,” Sean replies, so Viggo bends and does just that, sinks his teeth into the deliciously yielding flesh of one buttock, bites and sucks and licks until Sean is squirming and moaning into the pillows. Viggo moves up, kisses the small of Sean’s back, breathes in the scent of his skin, warm and clean and familiar. He slides Sean’s legs apart with his knees, braces himself on his hands, and just hovers there, his cheek flush against Sean’s back.
Sean’s breathing is unsteady. “Vig,” he moans, and Viggo slides down, face pressed against warm flesh, his tongue tracing a wet line down until Sean gasps and raises his hips and cries out. Viggo holds Sean’s hips and sinks his tongue in, finds Sean’s puckered asshole. Another sharp cry reaches his ears, but he knows Sean likes this, loves it, so he works patiently, steadily, until Sean is up on his knees with his ass in the air.
Viggo feels the puckered hole open slightly and wedges in the wet tip of his tongue. Sean howls his name. The first time he’d done this to Sean, he had to talk him into it, promise he’d stop if Sean didn’t like it. Sean had come like a freight train just from the rhythmic movements of Viggo’s tongue, gasped and sobbed and nearly clawed a hole in his sheets.
Viggo feels his own cock ache from the memory of Sean sucking him frantically afterwards, lips and tongue greedy, hands gripping Viggo’s thighs wide apart. He reaches around and grips Sean’s dangling cock, rubs his thumb over and over the slippery head. He thrusts his tongue a little more deeply into Sean’s spasming asshole. Warm liquid spurts across his hand as Sean howls his name again, and Viggo tongues him through the aftershocks, pulling away only when Sean gasps-laughs “Nomorenomorenomore nnnggghhhh!”
Sean falls over on his side, long legs drawn up, his face flushed and gleaming with sweat. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. Viggo rubs his damp face against Sean’s thigh. Sean winds his fingers in Viggo’s hair. “You know how crazy that makes me,” Sean murmurs in a thick, hoarse voice.
“That’s why I do it.”
Sean rolls onto his back. He’s sleepy-eyed now, but he grins and crooks his finger at Viggo. “Come sit on my face, cowboy.”
Viggo laughs. “You lazy sod.”
“Yeah. C’mere.”
Viggo doesn’t want to strain Sean’s neck, but after adjusting the proper amount of pillows beneath Sean’s head, he kneels astride his chest, grips the ornately-carved headboard with one hand, and uses his other hand to carefully guide his cock into Sean’s waiting mouth. “Ohhhh, fuck,” Viggo breathes as he slips into heat and wetness. Sean’s green eyes gleam up at him. His beard is tickling Viggo’s tightened balls, but Viggo is too far gone to do more than register the rasping tickle.
Viggo moves his hips carefully, just barely thrusting, entranced by the sight of his cock sliding sleekly back and forth between Sean’s rosy lips. He feels the pad of Sean’s thumb rub across his asshole, push gently against nerve-rich flesh. Viggo pulls his cock nearly all the way out of Sean’s mouth just to watch his pink tongue flicker around the swollen head, watch the way Sean tongues his weeping slit and licks all along the underside. Sean closes his lips around the head of Viggo’s cock and sucks hard, and this is Viggo’s undoing. He pulls back his hips just as he begins to come. Viggo is aware that he’s shouting gibberish, that he’s spurting all over the pillow and Sean’s chin and cheek, but he can’t stop, can’t move, just shudders and clenches his hand on the headboard. Sean chuckles and guides Viggo’s cock back into his mouth, milks the last few dribbles while Viggo whimpers and shudders and finally sighs.
“Oh God, your beard is all gooey,” is the first thing that pops out of Viggo’s mouth when his speech center comes back online.
“All your fault,” Sean reminds him as he licks his lips.
Viggo laughs and carefully---if unsteadily---dismounts. His knees feel like spaghetti. He collapses on his side next to Sean. He reaches over and gently wipes Sean’s face with his hand.
“Do not wipe that off on the sheets; they’re just laundered,” Sean rumbles at him.
Viggo wipes his sticky hand on his own leg. He pretends to spit on his palm and reaches over to wipe Sean’s chin again, but Sean guffaws and catches his hand. “Oh, I can come on your face, but you don’t like my spit?” Viggo teases him, still trying to wrestle his hand free.
“Gah!” Sean yelps and rolls over onto his side away from Viggo.
“Mind the sheets,” Viggo teases him.
Sean mutters something rude and British at him, his voice partly muffled by the pillow. Viggo reaches out and trails one finger down the center of Sean’s back, just because he can, just because there are no miles between them. Sean mutters something that doesn’t sound so rude. “Mmm?” Viggo prompts, eyelids heavy and soul and body sated.
“Spoon,” Sean orders over his bare shoulder. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“Crankypants,” Viggo mutters, but he slides over and aligns himself with Sean’s long body. He presses his face against the back of Sean’s head, rubs his forehead against the short, soft hair that smells like limes and freshly-laundered cotton. Sean clasps the hand that Viggo slides around his chest and wiggles backwards until his hips fit snug in the tilt of Viggo’s pelvis. “Better?” Viggo murmurs and gets a sleepy hum in reply.
“Glad you’re here,” Sean sighs just as Viggo reaches the soft edge of sleep. Viggo squeezes the long fingers linked through his and lets himself fall over that edge, Sean’s breathing guiding him down into sleep.
**
He hears voices as he nears what he thinks might be the kitchen. Viggo stops, looks down at his wrinkled t-shirt and fraying, ratty shorts. He’s glad he’d taken enough time to dress, wash his face, and rinse his mouth before coming out. He has no idea what time it is, only that it’s dark and that the lights are on in almost every room.
He rounds the corner and sees Sean at the big stainless steel sink, his head turned just enough that Viggo can see the sharp white crescent of his smile as he laughs. Viggo sees a moving figure out of the corner of his eye and turns in time to be nearly knocked over by what appears to be a large flying object. The UFO in question turns out to be Orlando, who exuberantly bear hugs him and plants a warm kiss on his cheek.
Viggo laughs and wraps his arms around his favorite elf. Orlando is impossibly tanned and fit, all dark flashing eyes and white teeth and wild curls. He smells like cinnamon. He is warm and solid in Viggo’s arms, more beautiful than any of the pictures Viggo has seen splashed across tabloids and magazine pages.
“Look at you!” Orlando yelps, tousling his hair. “You look good as a red-head, old man.”
Sean snickers and keeps working on whatever’s in the sink.
“Good to see you too,” Viggo replies. He rests his forehead gently against Orlando’s so that the younger man blurs into a wash of warm skin and bright smile. “Thanks for the pictures.”
“Pictures?” Sean asks.
“I sent Vig a few Polaroids last month,” Orlando explains, slinging one arm around Viggo’s shoulders. “Including one of you in that dishy short frock.”
“It wasn’t a frock,” Sean grumbles, ears going a bit red. “Just remember I’ve got a knife here.”
Viggo, only three-quarters awake, leans against the counter and listens to their easy banter. Orlando still loves to tease, but Viggo notices that he doesn’t take the piss with Sean the way he would with Dom or Billy. They have an easy camaraderie, left over from the Rings movies and added to by this project. Sean insults Orlando good-naturedly but without heat; there’s affection in his glance, in the way he elbows Orlando out of the way and growls at him to hurry up chopping that pepper. “What can I do?” Viggo asks.
“Dishes in the cupboard there,” Sean answers, pointing with his chin. “Orlando, get the wine, would you?”
(tbc)
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no subject
Date: 2004-04-24 09:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-25 09:11 am (UTC)Thank you!
Date: 2004-04-24 09:39 am (UTC)Re: Thank you!
Date: 2004-04-25 09:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-24 01:03 pm (UTC)This is great!
no subject
Date: 2004-04-25 09:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-24 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-25 09:13 am (UTC)WOW!
Date: 2004-04-24 07:51 pm (UTC)Re: WOW!
Date: 2004-04-25 09:13 am (UTC)Thanks for reading! :)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-24 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-25 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-25 02:59 pm (UTC)Now THAT'S the kind of thanks I like to get! ;-)