"I want to take pictures. Of you. On your bike." Viggo glances up, almost shy, from his beer.
"Pictures? Of me?" Sean snorts. "I'm hardly the stuff you shoot." He looks over his shoulder at the stack of prints of old farms, mills, leaves in water. Sean is, though, a little flattered. Pictures with his Vincent. Truth be told, the idea makes his cock twitch. Just a bit.
"Can I?" Viggo's eyes dart up to meet Sean's, but look away before Sean answers.
Sean didn't get it. Viggo hadn't been this jittery two days ago, when Sean had saved Viggo's arse and then asked, even begged, Viggo to fuck his. What the hell? "Sure. Here in front of your building good?" Sean stands, reaches for his jacket.
Viggo's eyes widen. "Really? Great. No, actually . . . could we go out of the city? I want grass for this."
"Whatever you like. Sure." Sean tugs on the jacket, smiling with his still somewhat-bruised mouth. "It's been a long enough time since I've been in the country."
"Just let me get my things together." Viggo hurries to the bookshelf, collects his camera, extra film, and his own coat. As they step into the hallway, Sean puts his hand against the small of Viggo's back for a single warm second. They haven't touched, not like, like lovers, Sean thinks, since that night. Neither of them seemed to want to push, to queer the deal, to crack, again, until now. For a moment. Viggo stills for that second of contact, exhaling a long breath with the barest hint of a sigh.
When they reach the bike, Viggo slings his camera around his neck so that it rests against his back, and snugs himself against Sean even before the engine roars to life. Sean leans back into Viggo's chest, not caring who might be watching for the moment, then navigates the Vincent south, towards the hills past Meadowhead.
When they pass the last cluster of houses, Sean slows the bike at the edge of a field, just off the tarmac.
"Keep going." Viggo's voice, his mouth, vibrates against the shell of Sean's ear. He tightens his grip on the throttle again, and they pass two small farms before coming to a side road, hardly more than a dirt track. "Turn here." Sean shivers a bit at the warm breath, wishes they were back at Viggo's flat. Fucking. Or even kissing. Or sharing a cigarette. Anything other than going to take pictures in a field. Viggo had brought several rolls of film; they could be out here for hours. And Sean isn't even sure Viggo wants to fuck again. He suspects he might, but, after two nights ago, he doesn't want to push Viggo. At least until the ache in his arse eases some. But Viggo waves him past a small copse of trees, around a small hill, and speaks a breathy "here" into his ear at the edge of a lush meadow.
When he turns the bike off, Viggo is suddenly shy again. He fiddles with his camera for a bit, stopping often to push his hair back from his face. Strawberry blonde . . .
"Where d'you want me?" Sean feels impatient, eager to move on with the shoot so they can leave sooner.
Viggo looks up, distracted. "A few yards into the grass, so the road won't be in the foreground."
"Want me to do anything?"
"Just get comfortable." Viggo returns to his camera, adjusting and tweaking.
Sean moves the bike, straddles it, and reaches into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. He lights one, sitting eaily on the bike, holding it steady with his legs while he cups a hand around the flickering match.
As he takes his first drag, he hears a soft click. He turns to see Viggo, camera aimed at him, and he smiles hesitantly. It click again.
"What should I do?" Sean calls out.
"Relax," Viggo says. "Do whatever you'd normally do, would like to do."
I'd like to put you on my lap, take you home, and fuck you through the floor, is what I'd like to do. Sean exhales a stream of smoke and leans back, feet on the ground and head on the seat. Click. Sean wonders if he should try putting his feet up, too, rest them on the handlebars, when he feels Viggo beside him.
Viggo's hand reaches slowly for the bottom edge of Sean's shirt, and he pushes it up a few inches, baring Sean's flat stomach, framed by the open sides of his jacket. Viggo's eyes meet his briefly, and Sean blinks, not entirely sure what to do. Then Viggo backs away again, and the camera clicks.
The breeze tickles Sean's stomach, slightly chill, and he slides his hand down to scratch at the line of honey-colored hair. Click. He freezes, unnerved at the sensation of being watched so closely. His cheeks turn red, but he also feels heat pooling in his groin, and he tugs his shirt up higher. Just an inch or two. Click. And Viggo is at his side again. His hands are in Sean's hair, combing out some of the wind-blown knots and smoothing it over Sean's ears.
Sean growls around his cigarette, tilts his head toward Viggo, but the hands disappear from his hair. Sean reaches down to adjust himself in his jeans, hoping at once that he won't and will hear the telltale click. He doesn't. But Viggo's hand meets his on his stomach, and Sean watches, holding his breath, as Viggo opens the buttons on Sean's jeans. Viggo folds the sides of Sean's trousers away from his cock, exposing it to the chill air and the warmth of Viggo's palm, as he stroke it gently, once, twice, before stepping away.
"Viggo," Sean grits out, turning his head toward the camera. Click. "Fuck, Viggo. You just took a picture of m'cock."
"Yeah," Viggo replies thickly, palming himself roughly through his own trousers as he takes a few steps to his right to get a different angle.
Sean's hand drifts down, trying to ease some of the ache before Viggo repositions himself. Click. Sean yanks his hand away, a shaky laugh on his lips. "Bastard."
"Do it again." Viggo's voice came from behind him now, and, cheeks burning, Sean wraps his fingers around his cock, stroking tentatively, then more firmly. Click. He can hear Viggo panting off to his left, but he can't bring himself to look, can't trust what Viggo might see, capture. Sean tightens his fist and can feel the tension coiling in his balls, when his own hand is pulled away and replaced by the startling wet heat of Viggo's mouth.
For Sean, everything is magnified, like he's too close and too sensitive for anything - the bright white-gray where the sun is barely visible through the clouds, the raised lines of stitching on the black leather beneath him, the uneven ground and the rock under his left foot, the scrape of Viggo's stubble on his thigh, the hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the vibrations running through Viggo's body from his own frantic strokes - and then he's a hundred yards back, watching himself arch his hips closer to Viggo's mouth, hears his bitten-back scream. When he comes back to himself, Viggo's head is resting against his stomach, hair splayed out in a tangled fan. Sean lets his fingers tangle in it and pulls Viggo up to kiss him, taste himself on the back of Viggo's tongue.
Viggo mumbles something against Sean's lips, and Sean pulls away. "What's that?"
"I think I got come on your bike."
Sean looks mortified, then laughs. "It probably won't be the last time."
Viggo pillows his head against Sean's shoulder. "Damn right it won't. We have to restage this so I can get the finish this time." He bites softly at Sean's neck, nuzzling close. "You looked so beautiful." The last is said so quietly that Sean almost misses it. And he wants to make a joke, say something horribly lewd, and he will, later, but for the moment he remains silent because he knows it's true, because Viggo put him here, like this. And this, grass and chrome and Viggo's not-red hair and black leather, he knows, is beautiful.
Summary: Photography porn. Part of the Vincent Black Lightning AU
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1387 Read: 843
Published: 16 Aug 2009 Updated: 16 Aug 2009