The devil's pain is in your eyes. He saw the face of God, and then he fell... blood and soft grey feathers tumbling in the air, your body falling all wrong, shoulders toward the earth, and no one near enough to keep you from a hard landing in dark water.
Sean blinks himself awake, and Viggo rests his hand gently against his cheek, speaking quietly. "Hey."
Sean frowns a little, thinking for a moment. Something shifts behind his eyes, and Viggo is afraid he knows what it is, but he can't be sure, and now is not the time to ask.
Sean rakes a hand through his own hair and asks, "Tea?"
The tightness in Viggo's chest loosens a bit. "I have tea."
Green eyes squint warily. "Not that compost you drink."
Viggo chuckles, "Orli and Ian badgered me into keeping a stash of honest British tea. Earl Grey?"
"At'll do. Shove over now, I need to hit the loo."
Viggo rolls away and sits up in a nest of abused bed coverings, watching Sean rise and stretch as though he's spent the night alone on the sofa. At least Sean hasn't grabbed his clothes and run out the door. That's something.
Sean stops halfway down the bed and gives Vig's bare foot a friendly swipe.
"What?"
Sean grins over his shoulder. "You have cute toes."
In the back of his mind Viggo imagines he can hear Ian laughing his ass off.
Somewhere after toast and eggs, after the wind has come up outside and blown the rain over the face of the sun, their easy morning banter slackens and withers, and things become terribly quiet in Viggo's kitchen. Viggo waits for disaster, trying not to breathe too loudly, but feeling his heartbeat in his throat. Sean looks up hesitantly from his second cup of tea and asks, "Vig, are we alright?"
Viggo breathes and reaches across the table to twine his fingers with Sean's. "Don't go home just yet. If you need a change of clothes you can borrow some of mine."
"That's so twee."
"Weather's gone foul. It's raining like hell outside. Stay for a while." Viggo is stalling. He has no illusions there. As long as Sean is safely here, with Viggo, perhaps he won't think too much about what they did last night, won't second-guess, won't wonder what the fuck he could have been thinking.
Truth be told, Viggo's arms have very quickly gotten used to the feel of Sean in them, but he doesn't dare say that here and now.
They drag the battered sofa from the living room, Sean making amused comments on the collection of dusty pretzels, cheese puffs, and other things less easily identified discovered beneath it. They set it down to face the sliders leading out to the back deck and sit together quietly, watching the rain sheet down and slash against the glass, while the grey-green storm tide eats at the beach. At some point Viggo dozes off, leaning into the warmth of Sean's shoulder, and natural forces accomplish the rest, pulling them sideways into a comfortable twist of legs and elbows arranged along the sofa, Viggo's head resting beneath Sean's chin. They warm one another here until eventually someone's lips get lonely, or maybe it's fingers, but the point is that somebody reaches for somebody else, and kissing gets involved. Earnest negotiations over territory begin between hands and clothing, the discussion becomes heated. Clothing catches the bad end of the argument, leaving a trail of wounded as it retreats across the living room, up the stairs and into the bedroom.
Sean opens the curtains and pulls up the mini blinds to let the rain shadow in so that he can watch it swirl and shimmy over Vig's face and naked shoulders, watch it morph his eyes into a deeper grey, just before Viggo gently shoves him backward onto the bed, Sean's legs dangling off the edge. Vig pounces and kisses him thoroughly, then slides down through the loose circle of his arms, tracking progress with licks and kisses down Sean's center to find what he's really after. Viggo kneels on the floor between Sean's knees, hands roaming over as much of Sean's skin as he can reach while tongue and lips focus on tender flesh. Sean curses mildly and squirms, braces his calves against Viggo's back and sits up to curve his body over Viggo, brushing his hands across the smooth skin of Viggo's back while Vig wraps his arms about Sean's narrow hips and pulls him in close, licking, nuzzling and sucking lazily. Sean groans, one hand curling up to cradle the back of Viggo's head, long fingers threading softly through his hair.
Then he says, "Stop..." Sean's voice is breathy and strained, and Viggo almost doesn't hear him.
"Make love to me."
Viggo hears that. He pulls gently away, sits back on his heels and looks up at Sean, his voice rough with lust and uncertainty. "What?"
Sean leans further forward, rumbles without shame or hesitation into the side of Vig's neck, "Make love to me." The words vibrate against Viggo's jugular.
His heart skips a beat or two. All of his wildest dreams, everything Ian has warned him he really shouldn't be thinking about just yet... "You know what that--I mean, you're asking me to..."
"Yeah. I know what I'm asking." There is heat in Sean's voice, and his hands seal the deal, caressing up the sides of Viggo's neck to curl about the base of his skull, pulling him up from his heels and over on top of Sean.
Sean is sweat-slick already beneath Viggo. In the rush of his own blood Viggo feels Sean's heart beating hard and fast. He exults in Sean's skin on his; belly, chest, mouth, hips, hard flesh against hard flesh, Sean's hands in his hair, kisses thrusting deep. Viggo's front tooth nicks Sean's lip, Viggo tastes blood, and he would apologize, but he's not given the opportunity, and the thought disintegrates. He feels the tap of Sean's heels against his backside. Reality skews, tilts back again, and Viggo pulls away, trying to say, "Hang on a sec," but the words squeak out as though from some demented mime.
He gestures with one shaking hand for Sean to stay put, then leaps up with a wild look in his eyes and lunges into the bathroom, then returns to dive back into the tormented sheets with his prizes, and Sean is laughing, because any naked man making a mad dash anywhere appears frankly ridiculous, and because the jar of Wet and the little unopened box of condoms completely give Viggo away. Sean's grin makes him look like it always does; like a careless teenager, eager for adventure and vulnerable to all sorts of damage. Viggo needs to put his hands on Sean, as much of Sean as possible.
Viggo confesses suddenly, mid-grope, "I'm a little rusty," hoping for forbearance and feeling rather an idiot, having, against Ian's sensible advice, put something in motion which he now realizes he may not be able to finish with quite the grace and panache he had envisioned twelve hours ago.
Sean smirks, one hand pausing on Viggo's left butt-cheek, "That's two of us then, in'nit." Viggo's relief at that is a visible thing.
When Viggo nudges and play-swats Sean to turn over onto his belly, Sean does not question, except to peer curiously over his shoulder, one eyebrow rising as Viggo grins maniacally and scoots down the bed.
"You get the crazies same as a cat," Sean observes dryly.
"What?"
"Nutter."
"Ah. I have something I want to share with you."
"Of course you do."
Viggo takes a thoughtful breath and calms himself down a few notches. "I believe you'll like it. Here, put this pillow under your hips."
"Is there something I should be warned about here? You've been *thinking* again, haven't you."
"No. Yes. You need to spread your legs. I mean, I need some working room." Vig winces, "That didn't sound right. Just..."
Sean sighs and rests his head on crossed forearms. "Romance is dead. I've long suspected it." He moves his knees apart to give Vig the space he requires.
Viggo runs his hands up Sean's thighs and smoothly onto his backside, crooning, "Relax," though what he is about to do makes Viggo feel positively electric.
"Easy for you to saAY-YY---" Sean twitches broadly, wide-eyed and gasping at the feel of Viggo's tongue in a place Sean has honestly never imagined it. Viggo's short beard tickles, sending all sorts of curious signals to strategic and ever so receptive places on Sean's body.
"Y'alright?" Viggo's hands are warm on Sean's skin, his breath soft at the base of Sean's backbone.
Sean wheezes, "Sweet Jesus."
Viggo takes that as a 'Yes,' and his tongue flickers out again, eager and relentless. The feel of his beard pressed against Sean's tender skin compounds the outrageous sensations of Viggo's exploratory tongue into a whole new galaxy of undiscovered country. Viggo wraps one arm around Sean's thigh to keep him from wriggling across the mattress. His other hand enjoys the delicious curve of Sean's twitching backside, keeping Sean open, giving himself working room. When Sean is finally quivering helplessly, grasping at the sheets and muttering a steady stream of appreciative curses, Viggo runs his tongue up Sean's long spine, bites him gently on the back of the neck, and with a hand on his shoulder urges him to turn over.
Sean twists like a cobra and pulls Vig into a kiss, deep, desperate and not caring a damn where his mouth has just been. It isn't far from that to Viggo sucking on Sean's fingers, licking the soft skin at the hollow of Sean's hip--to kneeling between Sean's legs, gently opening Sean's thighs to slow coaxing with warm hands and slicked fingers. Not far from here to Viggo carefully entering him. Viggo braces himself above Sean, watching his face, leaning down to kiss his neck, Sean breathing slow and even, relaxing himself to bring Viggo in.
Viggo murmurs below Sean's ear, "This feels strange to you..." He is searching for a particular place in Sean's body, knows he's found it when Sean jolts and gasps, surprise and pleasure clear in his face.
"Vig, you have no idea," and the arch of Sean's foot curves down the back of Viggo's thigh.
Viggo smiles into the intimate warmth below Sean's left ear, the softness of his hair. "What...you think my fanny was never a blushing virgin?" He thinks that the sound of Sean's low chuckle while Viggo loves him must be the finest sound in the world.
That sound, and this... Sean cries out softly, offers his throat. Viggo understands his way now, gently strikes his target again, and watches the effect of it in Sean's face, feels the tremors through Sean's body. If there is a heaven...
But Sean is hiding something, holding something back. Viggo senses it. Something behind Sean's eyes.
Viggo leans back onto his knees, pulling Sean's hips tightly against his own, intensifying their rhythm of penetration and forcing an arc of pelvis, backbone, shoulders resting on the mattress. Sean's hands reach below to grasp the backs of Viggo's knees, a solid foundation that steadies Viggo as he moves. He watches the storm light slide over Sean's chest, pectoral muscles stretching and tensing beneath gleaming skin, Sean's deltoids and biceps straining, outlined by the rain-glow. He feels the strength of Sean's legs around his waist, one calf crossing just under his shoulders. Sean and Viggo balance one another, each increasing the strength of the other, becoming some variant of cathedral architecture, warm flesh turned cool stone grey by the storm light through the windows, though no medieval congregation ever moved with this kind of synchronicity.
Sean's hands grip Viggo's knees hard, his back arching, small, animal noises rising as Viggo strokes him from within. Sean turns his face to the side and closes his eyes.
Viggo begs, "Sean, please," every other rough breath, "...please..." until Sean relents and meets Viggo's gaze, and Viggo sees it--the honest want, the final surrender, just as he'd seen it so beautifully last night, before Sean realized, sometime between then and now, that he had given away too much of himself.
Viggo unfurls and leans forward to bury his face in the curve of Sean's neck. He feels Sean's pulse hammering just under his skin, while his own breathing has become ragged and harsh. Sean's hands slick down into the straining curve of Viggo's lower back, pressing, urging. Viggo grips Sean beneath his shoulders for leverage, and bears down hard, hears a deep, snarling noise from between Sean's clenched teeth, and Sean writhes and twines fiercely around Viggo, strong arms and legs holding Viggo tightly as Sean's body clenches and convulses, Sean's groan turning to a yell against Viggo's shoulder. Viggo moves hard into him, and again, and cries out into the warmth of Sean's skin.
Viggo and Sean stare at each other as though neither of them can quite believe it, while the rain lashes at the windows. Viggo reaches to caress Sean's face, and Sean pulls him gently down and rolls the two of them over, brushing Viggo's hair out of his eyes. Lying quietly beneath Sean, hearing the rain on the roof, Viggo has the oddest vision of Chinese sky dragons tossing pearls at his house. He kisses Sean softly. There are things he would say to Sean, small endearments he would whisper when he brushes his lips against the fine smile lines at the corners of Sean's eyes. He dares not--not today--instead he just watches Sean smile, holds him close.
Minutes later Sean lies in exhausted sleep, but Viggo's mind will not let go of the day. He can't keep Sean safely here forever. Sean has to go home. Tonight. Early. Aragorn and Boromir have a long day ahead of them tomorrow. When Sean arrives home this evening, alone in his familiar silence, he will finally have time to do all that thinking and reconsidering and regretting that Viggo dreads. All of this will finally have time to sink in. Now there is even more for Sean to regret than there was this morning, and Viggo is terrified.
Sean rests beside him, snugged up close with one arm thrown over Viggo's chest, one leg across Viggo's. That means something, doesn't it? That Sean hasn't bolted, but has remained with him, warm and possessive and peacefully asleep.
The human heart is resilient and stubborn. Viggo rests his hopes on this--this and the memory, the low embers still bright in his blood and in his skin, of the way Sean reached for him, held him so tightly, in spite of the fear that forces him to hide his heart behind his eyes.
Viggo takes a deep, slow breath, brushes his fingers over the lean forearm draped across his chest, gently traces the fingers, knuckles of Sean's hand, comparing the fresh marks they have earned together with the older scars scattered across his own hand, and he finally drifts sleepily into the comfort of Sean's arms.
...the devil's pain is in your eyes. He saw the face of God, and then he fell... blood and soft grey feathers tumbling in the air, your body falling all wrong, shoulders toward the earth, and no one near enough to keep you from a hard landing in dark water.
My hands are not like yours, not long and elegant, but scarred--steel, stone, words. I am not that mythic king whose hands are gifted with elvish healing, I don't know where athelas grows... but my hands are strong, a fisherman's hands to pull you from the sea, and now your skin is warm where it touches me, all along the length of us.
Summary: Sean and Viggo have got some rough ground to cover, but first things first. (Follows "Prairie Fire".)
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 2640 Read: 837
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009