Sports challenge???
Aug. 11th, 2004 09:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sadness1986.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleI tried to respond to the sports challenge, but I read an article "against homosexuals" maltkate22 found in the internet. It's really nasty one by Robert T. Lee.
It hurts to know, that somehow, we return to a point, I thought we left behind after the second world war.
TITLE: PARANOID EYES
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/ VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: angst, AU
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction. The lyrics are taken from the song "Paranoid eyes", which is not mine.
SUMMARY: Button your lip and don't let the shield slip take a fresh grip
on your bullet proof mask...
NOTES: I love this song. # lyrics # And did I tell you, that I'm an idealist?
Circa 2600 words, that's my personal record for one fic...
Erm..., there is a fighting scene and ... does this count as an answer to the sports-challenge?
#Button your lip
And don't let the shield slip
Take a fresh grip
On your bullet proof mask
And if they try
To break down your disguise
With their questions
You can hide hide hide behind paranoid eyes #
Sean inhales the smoke deeply, feeling it curl in his lunges, leaving traces of decay, dark blooms, in his body. Sometimes he can feel the nicotine sing in his veins, blurring his vision, making his moves slow and drowsy like in the aftermath of a glorious fuck.
Smoking isn't suicide then, it's a brain-fuck in moments like this. He becomes slack, his expression, his whole body. Eyes heavy-lidded, the firm line of his mouth softening, head tilting back and he almost purrs.
But a nicotine-rush just lasts for seconds, vanishing in mocking swirls like the smoke to his greedily clutching fingers.
Clinging to the hollow and quickly fading memory of bliss, Sean sighs and crushes the glow of his cig under the heel of his heavy boot, grinning, his eyes sparkling with unholy fire, when he thinks of the steel cap hidden under the black leather.
His body still tingles with electricity of anticipation, with the need of satisfaction. He needs brawl or a fuck or maybe both.
But first he needs a drink. His face becomes hard and guarded again as he heads for the pub, determined not to discuss, not to answer, when his mates want his opinion about an issue, they have been debating about since weeks.
You put on your brave face
And slip over the road for a jar
Fixing your grin
As you casually lean on the bar
Laughing to loud
At the rest of the world
With the boys in the crowd
You can hide hide hide behind petrified eyes
Light filters through the window in a deformed negative shape of it. He avoids it, disgusted by the creamy colour. Turning around he looks down the street, at all the lights, signs of people in the dark.
Reminding him of what he hates and loves: human beings to touch, taste, worship with words, hands, lips and tongue. He's no religious man, but he seeks God in his creatures, admires their individual beauty, he wants to touch and to posses and at the same time he's repulsed by their falseness, beginning with lies and ending with silicone tits, by their inability to see, to love, to tolerate, how they fuse into a meaningless mass without brain but with power.
Sometimes he admits, it's vanity to think like this, but he needs idol worship like the air to breath and he closes his eyes for not to see their stupidity and meets ignorance with ignorance and when it's all to much with his fist.
Sean steps nearer and already hears the music and the voices, rough with smoke and heavy with alcohol.
He pushes the door open and sets his own mask in place with a fake, broad, toothy grin and settles at the bar, immediately being drawn into idle and meaningless conversations and he laughs his doubts and sorrows away, drowns them with Whiskey, chokes them with smoke, just his emerald eyes betray him, glowing like green flames in the half-dark.
His senses are keen, he hides behind his bloke's bloke attitudes, avoids touching any of his drinking buddies despite a manly pat on the back, are a non too gentle poke with the elbow, even when he wants to reach for the hairline of this blonde next to him, those white-gold soft little hairs, that escaped from the merciless grip of hair-gel and rest now like a shy little whisper on his sweaty pale forehead.
Even if he wants to hear this sultry, dark voice of this big, muscular fireman sitting on the left of him form little needy sounds, raspy in the half dark, wants to feel his strength, his steel-like muscles singing under his fingertips.
Forbidden, forbidden desires.
And he can hear them talk of sins and they homosexuality is a sin like murder and should be punished like this, but God, yes, our loving God, already sees for it, sending AIDS to them like the archangel Michael with his fire-sword.
And what of heterosexual victims? What do you call them? Collateral damage? Innocent victims of a God, I was once told of, that he loves all his children unconditionally?
Sean closes his open eyes for them. They see just glimpses of pale-green, empty and a little scared, but they don't recognise.
You believed in their stories
Of fame, fortune and glory
Now you're lost in a haze
Of alcohol soft middle age
The pie in the sky
Turned out to be miles too high
And you hide hide hide behind green and mild eyes
How he had admired the stars. Like their brothers and sisters in the nightly sky, so high above, untouchable.
He'd thought, nothing would be more perfect paradise, than being one of them. Now he's one of thousands, a small light among others, knowing, he'll fade, too, maybe in a supernova, maybe just slowly dimming away.
Time is merciless, stealing beauty and grace from his face and body and soon he wouldn't be able to drink it away, the awareness of his mortality follows him everywhere and he even feels it more keenly, when he steps out of the pub again, not drunk, but slightly disconnected to his body and mind, feels it, as the cold of this late-autumn-night creeps into his joints.
He curses silently, he should have drunk himself into numbness.
Shoving his hands into the pockets he stomps down the street. Home, he thinks and snorts, home into his empty house, pale walls staring at him, soulless like he himself.
It's too late to find a decent fuck, he's in a bad mood, aggressive and tense. Sean decides just to climb into his cold bed alone, when he suddenly hears screams piercing the low voices of the night.
His eyes narrow, as he scans for their source: three guys encircling another one, who protectively curls an arm around his head, the other one around his belly. Errant kicks and punches fly into the middle of the circle, knocking the poor guy around.
Sean hurries nearer and then he can hear their voices clearly: "Goddamn fag! When we are finished with you, your own mother won't recognise you any more!"
"He's far too pretty!" "Mess his face up a bit!" "Cut his balls off, he doesn't deserve to be a man..." The man in the middle just whimpers defeated.
All Sean can see of him are the outlines of his body. Slender and delicate but muscular under his clothes.
"Let him be, you fuckin' wankers...", Sean barks and they turn around to face him.
Even their victim looks at him from behind his arm and tousled strands of long dirty-blond hair.
It's like a haze as the first one approaches Sean, the pretty blonde, opening his mouth to ask him, what the fuck this is about, but he cuts whatever the guy wanted to say into an incoherent sound, when spins and kicks his balls full-force, sending him immediately to his knees, doubling over.
Okay, that was no fair move, but they are three against him and while the two are staring at their companion, Sean darts forward to the other one, jumping and using the force for a kick in the head, that makes him drop unconscious, where he lands on the asphalt.
He growls, feeling like a tiger having the first taste of a blood-rush, he wants more, turning to the fireman, who happens not just to be taller, but also broader then him. He wouldn't even recognise, if Sean kicks him in the stomach.
The big guy shakes his head: "Sean, you shouldn't do this. Why do you project him? This worthless little ass-fucked fag."
A soft sound from the "fag" forces Sean to turn around and study him.
Tall and built like Sean had suspected he stands in the yellowish light of a street-lamp, wide-eyed, fear evident, he reeks of it.
"Because he's cute", Sean says, almost doesn't beliefs it, that he said it.
The fireman looks shocked, shaken to the bones and Sean uses his distraction to place a first blow, right into his face.
The satisfying sound of bones cracking sends shivers down his spine. Sean has put an end to this life hidden in the dark, but some things never change.
The primal excitement for a fight, the pleasure racing through his veins, the arousal just this strange mixture of bloodlust and adrenaline spiking through his system.
But his ex-mate recovers quickly. Sean knows, that he has to be faster then him, he couldn't take more than a few blows from this guy without collapsing.
Heavy muscles make you slow, Sean recognises just moments later, when he ducks as the guy swings at him.
He hits air and Sean's fist already flies forward into his unguarded side.
The man releases a huff of breath and Sean hits him on both of his ears at the same time, forcefully.
With a cry, the fireman sinks to his knees, holding his ears.
Sean needs the time to catch his breath again. His muscles ache of the tenseness just fear and anticipation cause, he's sweating heavily and his breath is steam in the late-autumn night.
Then the fireman pounces at him, knocking him down on the asphalt.
Sean bucks and struggles but he's got no chance against his superior strength and weight.
Again he has to use a dirty trick. He grabs the guy's had and places a big sloppy kiss on his surprisingly soft lips. Using the gasp of irritation, he pushes his tongue in, just a quick flick, tasting beer and smoke, before drawing back and head-butting him forcefully into unconsciousness.
With a groan of pain he emerges from under the heavy limp body and rises shakily. Reaching for a lighter and a cig, his hands still shake with adrenaline. Just the first puffs of smoke bring stop it.
Sean smiles and turns to the stunned looking cute guy, who stares in awe at the three defeated figures.
Sean asks him like if nothing had happened: "What's your name?"
The man shivers and whispers something, that could be "Victor" or even "we go".
As he sees Sean eyebrow lifting, he quickly repeats: "My name is Viggo." Louder but as softly drawling as before. Such an amazing voice: sweet, but raspy at the edges.
"My name's Sean", he says and steps nearer to the trembling man, letting his gaze rake all over him, just checking for injuries, of course, at least, that is, what he's telling himself.
Beautiful, he thinks, but then he sees the dark crimson, the colour just blood at night has. He has a bleeding wound on his forehead, not serious, but injuries in your face always leak.
"Come with me, I take care of your injury", he tells him and boldly takes his hand, dragging the dumbfounded man behind him. And the warm hand in his cold one feels like life and he feels more real, more rooted to this earth, than he ever felt.
No harsh electric light for this man, no, not for him, he thinks and lights another candle.
Viggo sits in his tub, up to his ears in oily bubbles, still looking at him like expecting to be raped and killed or the other way around.
But Sean smiles at him and settles on the edge of the bath tube, cleaning the blood away. He can't withstand the temptation to trace those serene features with his fingertips: high forehead, prominent cheekbones, soft lips, clefted chin... Viggo gasps and leans in his touch like cat seeking affection. Never wanton, never greedy.
"You are beautiful", Sean whispers and leans down to kiss him.
They need no words anymore, they find a way of understanding each other in perfect harmony.
Viggo's amazing body rises from the water, still covered in foam and glistening wet. He steps out of the tub and tangled they stumble through the dark hallway, getting rid of Sean's clothes on the way to the bedroom.
Finally Viggo lies on Sean's white satin sheets, a stranger but so familiar, too, his slender thighs parting for him, leaving him open, exposed, trusting at Sean's mercy.
He kneels on the bed between Viggo's spread legs, leans in, to steel a kiss from his lips, while his hands are busily exploring every inch of skin, they can reach.
Viggo sighs softly into their kiss, embracing Sean, but not holding him down, he feels free in Viggo's arms, safe and doesn't care for anything and anybody else than this gorgeous man anymore.
They are in a haze of feeling, tasting, admiring, worshipping each others bodies, taking in every detail, finding and marking pleasure spots.
He's such a responsive lover, quivering and arching like a bow under Sean's ministrations. And Sean makes sure, that he doesn't leave any square-centimetre of his skin untouched, untasted. Exploring the softness of the skin of the insides of his thighs, where it stretches over hard bone at the junction of thigh and hip or over his clavicles, exploring it, where it's covered just in almost invisible fine hairs, making it velvety, petting his furry belly and chest like if he would be a cat, making him purr, exploring his feet, the perfect shaped toes, the blue veins under the lightly tanned skin, calluses from walking barefoot,
Making sure he doesn't miss anything of the perfect creation of God, while listening to the symphony of sounds Viggo makes.
Moans, groans, whimpers, soft outcries, even screams and incoherent words in three different languages.
Viggo's hoarse cries shatter on the empty walls of Sean's bedroom as Sean rims him, until they aren't empty anymore. Now they are full of memory, colourful and brilliant.
They don't use protection, don't even think about it, just Sean is aware, that this is the very first time, he does a man bareback, as he feels the hot viselike grip of Viggo's inside around his cock, the passage just lubed with Sean's saliva and it's not enough, hot, dry and painful friction.
Sean stops his slow penetration and looks worried down on Viggo's pained expression.
He wants to draw back, but long, stunningly strong legs wrap around his hips and urge him to go on.
Finally Sean gets the right angle, pleasure blinds all hurts away and Viggo weeps with the intensity of it, how he can feel it hum in every fibre of his being, perfect, complete.
Soon Sean's house isn't empty anymore. It's filled with Viggo's maniacal laughter, his awful music, his even more awful singing, his paintings and all his belongings scattered all over the available surface.
It smells like oil-paint and Viggo and himself.
And he loves this silent moments with no words to ruin them, when Viggo lies curled up in his embrace, his restless, paint-splattered artist hands resting on Sean's skin, his even more restless mind settling into peaceful drowsing, just listening to each others heartbeat like if they have all time in this world and they don't have to hide behind paranoid eyes, hiding, what they are.
The End
It hurts to know, that somehow, we return to a point, I thought we left behind after the second world war.
TITLE: PARANOID EYES
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/ VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: angst, AU
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction. The lyrics are taken from the song "Paranoid eyes", which is not mine.
SUMMARY: Button your lip and don't let the shield slip take a fresh grip
on your bullet proof mask...
NOTES: I love this song. # lyrics # And did I tell you, that I'm an idealist?
Circa 2600 words, that's my personal record for one fic...
Erm..., there is a fighting scene and ... does this count as an answer to the sports-challenge?
#Button your lip
And don't let the shield slip
Take a fresh grip
On your bullet proof mask
And if they try
To break down your disguise
With their questions
You can hide hide hide behind paranoid eyes #
Sean inhales the smoke deeply, feeling it curl in his lunges, leaving traces of decay, dark blooms, in his body. Sometimes he can feel the nicotine sing in his veins, blurring his vision, making his moves slow and drowsy like in the aftermath of a glorious fuck.
Smoking isn't suicide then, it's a brain-fuck in moments like this. He becomes slack, his expression, his whole body. Eyes heavy-lidded, the firm line of his mouth softening, head tilting back and he almost purrs.
But a nicotine-rush just lasts for seconds, vanishing in mocking swirls like the smoke to his greedily clutching fingers.
Clinging to the hollow and quickly fading memory of bliss, Sean sighs and crushes the glow of his cig under the heel of his heavy boot, grinning, his eyes sparkling with unholy fire, when he thinks of the steel cap hidden under the black leather.
His body still tingles with electricity of anticipation, with the need of satisfaction. He needs brawl or a fuck or maybe both.
But first he needs a drink. His face becomes hard and guarded again as he heads for the pub, determined not to discuss, not to answer, when his mates want his opinion about an issue, they have been debating about since weeks.
You put on your brave face
And slip over the road for a jar
Fixing your grin
As you casually lean on the bar
Laughing to loud
At the rest of the world
With the boys in the crowd
You can hide hide hide behind petrified eyes
Light filters through the window in a deformed negative shape of it. He avoids it, disgusted by the creamy colour. Turning around he looks down the street, at all the lights, signs of people in the dark.
Reminding him of what he hates and loves: human beings to touch, taste, worship with words, hands, lips and tongue. He's no religious man, but he seeks God in his creatures, admires their individual beauty, he wants to touch and to posses and at the same time he's repulsed by their falseness, beginning with lies and ending with silicone tits, by their inability to see, to love, to tolerate, how they fuse into a meaningless mass without brain but with power.
Sometimes he admits, it's vanity to think like this, but he needs idol worship like the air to breath and he closes his eyes for not to see their stupidity and meets ignorance with ignorance and when it's all to much with his fist.
Sean steps nearer and already hears the music and the voices, rough with smoke and heavy with alcohol.
He pushes the door open and sets his own mask in place with a fake, broad, toothy grin and settles at the bar, immediately being drawn into idle and meaningless conversations and he laughs his doubts and sorrows away, drowns them with Whiskey, chokes them with smoke, just his emerald eyes betray him, glowing like green flames in the half-dark.
His senses are keen, he hides behind his bloke's bloke attitudes, avoids touching any of his drinking buddies despite a manly pat on the back, are a non too gentle poke with the elbow, even when he wants to reach for the hairline of this blonde next to him, those white-gold soft little hairs, that escaped from the merciless grip of hair-gel and rest now like a shy little whisper on his sweaty pale forehead.
Even if he wants to hear this sultry, dark voice of this big, muscular fireman sitting on the left of him form little needy sounds, raspy in the half dark, wants to feel his strength, his steel-like muscles singing under his fingertips.
Forbidden, forbidden desires.
And he can hear them talk of sins and they homosexuality is a sin like murder and should be punished like this, but God, yes, our loving God, already sees for it, sending AIDS to them like the archangel Michael with his fire-sword.
And what of heterosexual victims? What do you call them? Collateral damage? Innocent victims of a God, I was once told of, that he loves all his children unconditionally?
Sean closes his open eyes for them. They see just glimpses of pale-green, empty and a little scared, but they don't recognise.
You believed in their stories
Of fame, fortune and glory
Now you're lost in a haze
Of alcohol soft middle age
The pie in the sky
Turned out to be miles too high
And you hide hide hide behind green and mild eyes
How he had admired the stars. Like their brothers and sisters in the nightly sky, so high above, untouchable.
He'd thought, nothing would be more perfect paradise, than being one of them. Now he's one of thousands, a small light among others, knowing, he'll fade, too, maybe in a supernova, maybe just slowly dimming away.
Time is merciless, stealing beauty and grace from his face and body and soon he wouldn't be able to drink it away, the awareness of his mortality follows him everywhere and he even feels it more keenly, when he steps out of the pub again, not drunk, but slightly disconnected to his body and mind, feels it, as the cold of this late-autumn-night creeps into his joints.
He curses silently, he should have drunk himself into numbness.
Shoving his hands into the pockets he stomps down the street. Home, he thinks and snorts, home into his empty house, pale walls staring at him, soulless like he himself.
It's too late to find a decent fuck, he's in a bad mood, aggressive and tense. Sean decides just to climb into his cold bed alone, when he suddenly hears screams piercing the low voices of the night.
His eyes narrow, as he scans for their source: three guys encircling another one, who protectively curls an arm around his head, the other one around his belly. Errant kicks and punches fly into the middle of the circle, knocking the poor guy around.
Sean hurries nearer and then he can hear their voices clearly: "Goddamn fag! When we are finished with you, your own mother won't recognise you any more!"
"He's far too pretty!" "Mess his face up a bit!" "Cut his balls off, he doesn't deserve to be a man..." The man in the middle just whimpers defeated.
All Sean can see of him are the outlines of his body. Slender and delicate but muscular under his clothes.
"Let him be, you fuckin' wankers...", Sean barks and they turn around to face him.
Even their victim looks at him from behind his arm and tousled strands of long dirty-blond hair.
It's like a haze as the first one approaches Sean, the pretty blonde, opening his mouth to ask him, what the fuck this is about, but he cuts whatever the guy wanted to say into an incoherent sound, when spins and kicks his balls full-force, sending him immediately to his knees, doubling over.
Okay, that was no fair move, but they are three against him and while the two are staring at their companion, Sean darts forward to the other one, jumping and using the force for a kick in the head, that makes him drop unconscious, where he lands on the asphalt.
He growls, feeling like a tiger having the first taste of a blood-rush, he wants more, turning to the fireman, who happens not just to be taller, but also broader then him. He wouldn't even recognise, if Sean kicks him in the stomach.
The big guy shakes his head: "Sean, you shouldn't do this. Why do you project him? This worthless little ass-fucked fag."
A soft sound from the "fag" forces Sean to turn around and study him.
Tall and built like Sean had suspected he stands in the yellowish light of a street-lamp, wide-eyed, fear evident, he reeks of it.
"Because he's cute", Sean says, almost doesn't beliefs it, that he said it.
The fireman looks shocked, shaken to the bones and Sean uses his distraction to place a first blow, right into his face.
The satisfying sound of bones cracking sends shivers down his spine. Sean has put an end to this life hidden in the dark, but some things never change.
The primal excitement for a fight, the pleasure racing through his veins, the arousal just this strange mixture of bloodlust and adrenaline spiking through his system.
But his ex-mate recovers quickly. Sean knows, that he has to be faster then him, he couldn't take more than a few blows from this guy without collapsing.
Heavy muscles make you slow, Sean recognises just moments later, when he ducks as the guy swings at him.
He hits air and Sean's fist already flies forward into his unguarded side.
The man releases a huff of breath and Sean hits him on both of his ears at the same time, forcefully.
With a cry, the fireman sinks to his knees, holding his ears.
Sean needs the time to catch his breath again. His muscles ache of the tenseness just fear and anticipation cause, he's sweating heavily and his breath is steam in the late-autumn night.
Then the fireman pounces at him, knocking him down on the asphalt.
Sean bucks and struggles but he's got no chance against his superior strength and weight.
Again he has to use a dirty trick. He grabs the guy's had and places a big sloppy kiss on his surprisingly soft lips. Using the gasp of irritation, he pushes his tongue in, just a quick flick, tasting beer and smoke, before drawing back and head-butting him forcefully into unconsciousness.
With a groan of pain he emerges from under the heavy limp body and rises shakily. Reaching for a lighter and a cig, his hands still shake with adrenaline. Just the first puffs of smoke bring stop it.
Sean smiles and turns to the stunned looking cute guy, who stares in awe at the three defeated figures.
Sean asks him like if nothing had happened: "What's your name?"
The man shivers and whispers something, that could be "Victor" or even "we go".
As he sees Sean eyebrow lifting, he quickly repeats: "My name is Viggo." Louder but as softly drawling as before. Such an amazing voice: sweet, but raspy at the edges.
"My name's Sean", he says and steps nearer to the trembling man, letting his gaze rake all over him, just checking for injuries, of course, at least, that is, what he's telling himself.
Beautiful, he thinks, but then he sees the dark crimson, the colour just blood at night has. He has a bleeding wound on his forehead, not serious, but injuries in your face always leak.
"Come with me, I take care of your injury", he tells him and boldly takes his hand, dragging the dumbfounded man behind him. And the warm hand in his cold one feels like life and he feels more real, more rooted to this earth, than he ever felt.
No harsh electric light for this man, no, not for him, he thinks and lights another candle.
Viggo sits in his tub, up to his ears in oily bubbles, still looking at him like expecting to be raped and killed or the other way around.
But Sean smiles at him and settles on the edge of the bath tube, cleaning the blood away. He can't withstand the temptation to trace those serene features with his fingertips: high forehead, prominent cheekbones, soft lips, clefted chin... Viggo gasps and leans in his touch like cat seeking affection. Never wanton, never greedy.
"You are beautiful", Sean whispers and leans down to kiss him.
They need no words anymore, they find a way of understanding each other in perfect harmony.
Viggo's amazing body rises from the water, still covered in foam and glistening wet. He steps out of the tub and tangled they stumble through the dark hallway, getting rid of Sean's clothes on the way to the bedroom.
Finally Viggo lies on Sean's white satin sheets, a stranger but so familiar, too, his slender thighs parting for him, leaving him open, exposed, trusting at Sean's mercy.
He kneels on the bed between Viggo's spread legs, leans in, to steel a kiss from his lips, while his hands are busily exploring every inch of skin, they can reach.
Viggo sighs softly into their kiss, embracing Sean, but not holding him down, he feels free in Viggo's arms, safe and doesn't care for anything and anybody else than this gorgeous man anymore.
They are in a haze of feeling, tasting, admiring, worshipping each others bodies, taking in every detail, finding and marking pleasure spots.
He's such a responsive lover, quivering and arching like a bow under Sean's ministrations. And Sean makes sure, that he doesn't leave any square-centimetre of his skin untouched, untasted. Exploring the softness of the skin of the insides of his thighs, where it stretches over hard bone at the junction of thigh and hip or over his clavicles, exploring it, where it's covered just in almost invisible fine hairs, making it velvety, petting his furry belly and chest like if he would be a cat, making him purr, exploring his feet, the perfect shaped toes, the blue veins under the lightly tanned skin, calluses from walking barefoot,
Making sure he doesn't miss anything of the perfect creation of God, while listening to the symphony of sounds Viggo makes.
Moans, groans, whimpers, soft outcries, even screams and incoherent words in three different languages.
Viggo's hoarse cries shatter on the empty walls of Sean's bedroom as Sean rims him, until they aren't empty anymore. Now they are full of memory, colourful and brilliant.
They don't use protection, don't even think about it, just Sean is aware, that this is the very first time, he does a man bareback, as he feels the hot viselike grip of Viggo's inside around his cock, the passage just lubed with Sean's saliva and it's not enough, hot, dry and painful friction.
Sean stops his slow penetration and looks worried down on Viggo's pained expression.
He wants to draw back, but long, stunningly strong legs wrap around his hips and urge him to go on.
Finally Sean gets the right angle, pleasure blinds all hurts away and Viggo weeps with the intensity of it, how he can feel it hum in every fibre of his being, perfect, complete.
Soon Sean's house isn't empty anymore. It's filled with Viggo's maniacal laughter, his awful music, his even more awful singing, his paintings and all his belongings scattered all over the available surface.
It smells like oil-paint and Viggo and himself.
And he loves this silent moments with no words to ruin them, when Viggo lies curled up in his embrace, his restless, paint-splattered artist hands resting on Sean's skin, his even more restless mind settling into peaceful drowsing, just listening to each others heartbeat like if they have all time in this world and they don't have to hide behind paranoid eyes, hiding, what they are.
The End
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no subject
Date: 2004-08-11 03:00 pm (UTC)I dunno what to say actually! That was beautiful, poignant, soooo sad and utterly wonderful,
And he loves this silent moments with no words to ruin them, when Viggo lies curled up in his embrace, his restless, paint-splattered artist hands resting on Sean's skin, his even more restless mind settling into peaceful drowsing, just listening to each others heartbeat like if they have all time in this world and they don't have to hide behind paranoid eyes, hiding, what they are.
That was so wonderfully phrased that I am lost for words...
*blushes*
Date: 2004-08-12 02:33 am (UTC)trying again on comment
Date: 2004-08-11 06:43 pm (UTC)Homophobes ...ugh. They are still with us. Alas.
Re: trying again on comment
Date: 2004-08-12 02:36 am (UTC)He's so afraid and frustrated and I can't help him. when I say: "You know, I like girls, too." He just says: "You are bi and you can't understand this." And I know, he is right.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-11 08:59 pm (UTC)Melancholy and hot and hopeful and I'm glad that saving Viggo gave Sean the courage to come out.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-12 02:37 am (UTC)And about the ending: i'm an idealist and hopelessly optimistic, I think, that explains everything.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-14 03:37 am (UTC)This was such a wonderful and elegant way of discussing this topic.
As for your ending... I am also an eternal optimist when it comes to love and the last paragraph was perfect!
{hugs you}
*purrs*
Date: 2004-08-14 03:59 pm (UTC)*hugs you back*
no subject
Date: 2004-08-19 09:17 am (UTC)i'm kind of sniffling. go you.