"Yep... Bean, you are not escaping any more... come here darling, and bend over... spread your cheeks, love, yes, that's right, I love your scarlet nails doing that.... "
Viggo's mind was roiling and boiling in his sleep. What bedclothes had started reasonably tidy were flung wildly across the foot, the bedhead, the pillows were leaking feathers. Viggo chewed at the corner of the sheet unknowingly as his voice keened into the night.
There were thumps on the walls between his room and the next. A deep bad-tempered tone indicated that Viggo should wake up and stop screaming in his sleep, as he came all over the expensive percale sheets.
~~~~~
Viggo was deep in exhaustion. Flying half around the world stopping off in weird time-zones which played havoc with even his own non-existent clock, and eventually arriving back in Buenos Aires last night, had taken its toll. He'd stopped off to see Sean several times whilst on his European exploits, making all his changes of planes happen at Heathrow. Then he'd always urge the taxi driver to hasten - hasten - to the address, over-tipping in his eagerness to run up the white steps and insert his key.
The sights he had been greeted with lately were wondrous. His camera had become almost hysterical in the number of memory sticks he'd inserted, or added the filters, and the lenses... Viggo had stayed awake for days and nights, until Sean had fallen asleep, tipping off his velvet chair and thumping his shoulder so hard into the floor that his hair had slipped off.
~~~~~
Viggo had been glad of the last flight, as he'd had a First Class Cabin, privately closed from all eyes, and even the stewardess had to knock before entering cautiously. He'd put his computer on, and reviewed his filming.
Viggo knew his eyes were red raw from being forced open when they should have been mercifully closed in rest. He couldn't let them close - he had to watch, discover, deny and delight in the shots. For half the six hours he had watched, then - his computer had suddenly died! He'd never felt such a panic as he had then. He'd lost all his Beanshots! Then he'd remembered to find his cable, the lifeline to the electricity from the guts of the plane. He'd restored the pictures, and found he had sweated as if he'd showered when they flared at him again.
There they were. His pictures of that extraordinarily beautifully exposed soul. The deep crease-surrounded eyes that gave all, gave Sean's life and love to the cameraman, gave Sean's hopes and dreams flickering to him with the artificially stiff eyelashes reaching to the pencilled eyebrows. The kneeback shadows with a scarlet-nailed finger and thumb stroking the crease. The push of a bony, man's foot into the slipper. The way Sean's muscles flexed and pulled as he turned to adjust the brassiere, tightening the belly muscles beneath the pad of soft fat.
There were eyes, more eyes, endless eyes, madeup and closed, awake, staring, glinting, hinting.... Mouths smiling, rouged, demanding, desiring; wet offerings behind the white teeth, tongues licking, luring, laving....
The legs, calves, and ankles; naked; darkly painted toes pressed to Viggo's own penis, gripping the ballskin behind. Painted whore's fingernails pulling deeply down backskin, making grey shadows in their passing, leaving a white starved line before the blood leapt to freedom.
Viggo had been a man demented.
Sean's voice had come dully into his perception at the odd time, complaining of thirst, hunger, lack of sex,
'Why can't I have a fuck now?'
But still the deep chuckle as his lover understood the passion, the bladder-tightening-delight, at being given such a model.
~~~~~
Viggo had been to the toilet on that flight to relieve the pressure on his balls. Short sharp hand-strokes pulling himself hard off in his haste to return to the PC humming quietly on his seat in sleep mode. He was so concerned to get back to his photos he even avoided making any of his usual growl as he shot his buttermilky cum into the flat-grey-steel of the toilet bowl.
~~~~~~
Now, in the physical corruption of utter exhaustion, Viggo was still struggling to return to his pictures that were engraved in his mind, his heart, branded hot into his soul.
Sean Bean, fully made up, wearing the new real-hair wig, a moduled brassiere clinging to his chest, and his arms encased in silver sparkling long gloves, his tattoos glaring obscenely above the green clasps.
Sean Bean, enjoyably alias Tracie, lay on the white fur rug, exposed. Sean had spread his black embroidered legs apart, the scarlet and black suspender belt emphasising the maleness of his pale golden pubic hairs and the deep clashing purple-red of the weeping rigid head. He'd touched his silver-gloved fingers to his mouth, licking with that erotic mind-shattering tongue that wove icecold fiery brands down into Viggo's groin, and then brought his hands explicity down over his body, to spread his balls like a woman spreading her vulva in invitation.
He'd smiled, and Viggo had never seen anyone paint an Eve so titillatingly arousing in all the art rooms he had ever visited.
Bean was pure evil beauty.
Summary: Read on, it is just fevered imagination....
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 870 Read: 1439
Published: 23 Aug 2012 Updated: 23 Aug 2012