There was a key in the lock, a click before it opened. Viggo looked up from where he was sitting on the dining table. As usual, Sean was perfectly on time—the clock had struck eight o’clock not five minutes ago.
“Welcome home,” he called.
He moved to stand, but before he could even turn, Sean’s hands were already on his shoulders.
“Up,” Sean’s voice was a harsh thing, rasping against his throat and Viggo’s skin. “Up, Viggo. Get up, get up now.”
Viggo opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, but Sean showed him. He gripped him tightly by the arms, half-lifting him up from the chair. Viggo fought instinctively, struggling against Sean’s fingers, but Sean was strong, even stronger now that he had been working out for his movie. His back slammed hard against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Stars appeared in front of his eyes and Viggo gasped—another mistake. Sean’s mouth crashed against his, teeth knocking together in a hard click that had Viggo thinking of the door again—but only for the briefest moment. There was a hand pressing against his forehead, forcing his head back, making him arch and expose his throat.
“Piece of shit fucking bastards,” Sean’s words were barely audible, so mangled by his accent and further muffled against Viggo’s mouth. “Fucking bastards don’t even know how to make a fucking movie.”
“Sean,” Viggo tried to buck him off, hips throwing themselves upwards. But Sean shoved his legs apart with one knee and shoved him even harder against the wall. His thigh was wedged in between Viggo’s, preventing him from moving even as Sean’s entire body pressed against his, refusing to let him even breathe.
“Sean, stop. Stop—fucking hell, stop, just stop for a moment. What the hell had gotten into you?” He was gasping, from arousal and the slowly-growing rage that was boiling in his chest. And fear, just the smallest hint of it, skating across the edges of his nerves. “Get off me, you bastard.”
“No,” Sean pulled back, just a little—just in time for Viggo to look at his eyes. The green was almost entirely gone, swallowed up by the black of his pupils. There was no gentleness in his smile; it was a grotesque thing, teeth bared and gleaming under the entrance hall lights. “No, I’m not going to stop.”
He leaned in, his teeth scraping against the shell of Viggo’s ear. His breath was hot against his skin. Viggo’s breath shuddered out of him. His fingers sunk into Sean’s arm, trying to tear his white button-down shirt into shreds.
“Be a good little wife and spread your legs for me, won’t you?”
Viggo took a single breath. He swallowed. Slowly, his hands reached up and stroked against Sean’s cheeks before he threw himself forward, smashing his forehead against Sean’s.
“Fuck you, Sean. Get off of me. Off!” His hands shoved against Sean’s shoulders.
But Sean was fast, made even faster by this strange anger. He had a hand around Viggo’s throat, strangling the rest of his voice, choking his breath. Viggo’s eyes widened, and he struggled even harder than ever.
“I don’t think you want me to,” Sean whispered. He leaned up and bestowed a mockingly sweet kiss on Viggo’s forehead, right where Viggo had headbutted him. His knee moved up, up, pressed against Viggo’s crotch, rubbing against his hard cock. Viggo would have moaned if he could breathe.
“C’mon now, Vig. You know you want this.”
His hand let go of Viggo’s throat. There would be bruises there tomorrow morning, Viggo knew. Bruises in the shape of Sean’s hand. It was wrong, utterly wrong, because Viggo hated violence with all of his heart—but he couldn’t help the whisper of pleasure that sunk into his skin at the thought. That Sean had bruised him; marked him on the skin itself.
“No.” His voice was roughened, and the pain speaking caused made him harden even further, and Viggo didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, didn’t know what had gotten into himself—except that he was looking at Sean now. Sean with cropped short hair and his teeth white, exposed by his snarl. Sean with his rough, callused hands and hard body, pressing him into the wall, forcing him to accept this, accept him, without leaving him with any space to refuse.
God.
Sean’s hand hooked around the collar of Viggo’s shirt, dragging down, down, the buttons bursting and scattering all over the floor. Viggo could feel one hitting against his ankle. “Slut,” Sean whispered, his teeth scraping down, down, threatening and dangerous against the thin skin of Viggo’s throat.
“You keep talking to me like that and I’ll knee you in the crotch,” Viggo snarled. He grabbed the back of Sean’s neck, pulling it back; bit down on the juncture between Sean’s neck and shoulder. He wondered why he hadn’t done what he just threatened. He could feel the heat of Sean’s cock against his thigh; he needed to only move a little bit and Sean would have to back off.
But he didn’t. He hadn’t.
Sean laughed again, darkly humoured and mocking, his hands pulling Viggo’s jeans down his hips. Viggo wasn’t wearing any underwear—what was the point when he was at home—and Sean pulled back slightly, his fingers shoving into Viggo’s mouth.
“Get ‘em wet, Vig,” Sean’s knee pushed up, lifting Viggo up to his toes, making him gasp, making him want this when all logic told him he shouldn’t. It wasn’t that the two of them had never done this rough; it was that Sean had come in and just expected him to give in, as if it was his right.
“It’s all you’re going to get.”
“Bastard,” Viggo hissed, but he opened his mouth nonetheless. Sean’s eyes burned on his skin. Fine, if this was the one it was going to be... he licked those fingers as if they were Sean’s cock. It wasn’t difficult; they were shoved in so roughly, the callused tips brushing against his palate and the back of his throat, almost deep enough to make him gag.
“Come on, Sean,” he murmured, lips stretching into a sharp, almost ugly smile. “I don’t give in easily. You know that.”
Sean moaned softly. He pulled his fingers out, streaked Viggo’s saliva around his own cheek, nails scraping against skin.
“Oh, aye, I know that,” Sean leaned forward, shoving those wet fingers into Viggo unceremoniously. Viggo threw his head back, gasping, his legs trembling—but he didn’t push Sean away. He grabbed Sean’s neck again instead, dragging him forward, kissing him hard even as Sean dug even further into him, his fingers like weapons, thrusting in, opening him up.
“It ain’t fun otherwise.”
Viggo’s eyes flashed, and his hands closed around Sean’s belt, pulling leather out of the loops, shoving open black slacks to get to the cock inside. “Yeah?” the word was broken into pieces by his pants, but his voice was as steady as he could make it. “Didn’t realise you haven’t been having fun all these years.”
“Analysing all me words now, aye?” Sean snorted. His fingers slipped out, the last scrape of nails against Viggo’s insides making him swallow back a cry—but only for a moment, because Sean was grabbing him by the hips, his grip tight enough to bruise, and he was lifting Viggo up, shoving him up against the wall. Taking him off of his feet. Grabbing one leg and pushing it aside, bending his knee and spreading him out. Opening him like he was a feast to be devoured.
If he was going to be, then Viggo would make sure to do some devouring of his own.
He spat into his own hand, reaching down and closing his fist around Sean’s cock. He stroked him from base to tip, twisting the head and gathering the slippery drops of precome before he moved down again. Sean’s hand tightened against him; if his nails had been any longer, he would have cut through skin already. Viggo should find this wrong; should find this abhorrent—but he didn’t. He couldn’t, not when he could feel the heat of Sean’s cock against his hand, throbbing with every beat of his own heart. This was a rush, a damn rush, and Viggo slammed their lips together again, groaning into Sean’s mouth.
The groan turned into a stuttering gasp when Sean pushed into him. It burned like nothing else, muscles protesting the stretch and insufficient prep. But Viggo didn’t particularly care, not right now, not when Sean was pulling out and slamming back in, a staccato slide that scraped the head of his cock against Viggo’s prostate. Viggo smacked his own head against the wall, crying out sharply. The sound vibrated through the still air of the house, as slow to fade as the pleasure that rocked down Viggo’s spine.
“Slut,” Sean growled again. He was holding almost the whole of Viggo’s weight against himself—and how did Viggo not notice until now how fucking strong Sean was?—as he shook sweat out of his eyes and slammed in again. Leaning in, he whispered in Viggo’s ear, his voice filthy and accent heavy, “You’re a fucking slut, ain’t you? This is what you want. You keep fighting, but this is what you’re made for.”
Viggo’s fingers clawed at Sean’s shoulder, at his arm, before he moved to his chest. He gripped the hem with both hands and tore upwards, sending more buttons flying around them. A few hit him in chest and stomach, but he barely felt them, more concerned about the heat of Sean’s skin beneath his hands. The quickening beat of Sean’s heart that was roaring in his own ears, in perfect rhythm with his own.
He inhaled, dragging air into his throat as steadily as he could even as Sean thrust in again.
“You keep saying those words,” he gasped out, hands clenching around Sean’s jaw, pulling him in and staring straight into those darkened eyes. “You should say them to yourself. This is what you do best, isn’t it? Just fucking.” He reached down, giving Sean a dark smile before he closed his fingers around swinging, heavy sacs.
“Fuck me, Sean. Fuck me until I come, because I won’t let you have your satisfaction until I do.”
An elbow slammed into the wall, barely an inch away from his ear. Sean grinned, his breath skittering over Viggo’s lips and cheeks. “You’re a damn bastard, that’s what you are,” he said, but there was genuine amusement in his chuckle. “I’m going to fuck you until you come, like you said. I ain’t going to touch you—and if you want to keep your promise, Viggo, you better not touch yourself.”
With those words, Sean shoved his knee even higher, both hands now gripping Viggo’s thighs. He pushed him up even as he thrust in, lifting Viggo completely off his feet. Just a few inches- then he loosened his grip, letting Viggo fall, fall into his cock, impaling him as deep as it was possible to go. Viggo bit off a scream, his hand tightening around Sean’s balls, and in revenge Sean did it again, and again, and again. Each thrust was a lightning bolt, pleasure that coiled in his stomach and knotted it tight. Viggo rocked his hips upwards, thrusting into nothing but air because Sean was an absolute goddamn bastard and was leaning back as much as he could. Until their only points of contact was Sean’s cock inside him and Viggo’s hand on his balls.
Viggo’s fingers dug into Sean’s neck, scrabbling uselessly for something to hold onto as Sean fucked into him like he was trying to win a war, as if Viggo’s body was the last gate he had to pass before he reached victory. He stepped closer, his body crushing Viggo’s, stealing his breath but finally—finally—trapping Viggo’s cock between their stomachs. Viggo slanted his head, crashed their mouths together. Less of a kiss than just another point of contact, breathing in Sean’s exhale and feeling the heat burn his throat like Sean’s cock was burning his insides.
He was close, so damn close, the black stars sparking behind his eyes threatening to take over his entire vision. But Viggo stubbornly kept his eyes open, watching Sean—watching his lover as he gritted his teeth, the tendons on his neck standing out as he strained with every thrust. Watched as sweat dripped off his eyelashes. Watched and leaned in, darting his tongue out to taste the salt collected in the hollow of Sean’s throat, his teeth sinking into skin even as Sean’s thrust sent his entire body backwards, caught between the unyielding wall and Sean’s unyielding body.
“Viggo!” Sean’s strangled moan was absolutely delicious, rumbling against Viggo’s lips. “For fuck’s sake, you bastard—come already! Come for me.” He pulled back, slammed in again. “Come for me!”
He didn’t want to. It would mean Sean winning, though what game they were playing Viggo wasn’t entirely sure—he just knew that Sean would be winning. But he couldn’t control his body’s downward spiral, the electricity that started in his groin and spread throughout his body. Viggo tried to swallow back a scream and it turned into a gasping noise, as if he was dying, and the world went entirely white.
His hand opened. Moved up, clenched around Sean’s hip to slam himself down onto the rigid erection impaling him.
Sean’s hands on his hips were painful now, pressing him into the wall as he thrust into him without any sort of finesse. Just instincts now, pure instinct, rutting into him, treating him like he was just a hole to fuck but Viggo didn’t exactly care. Every scrape of Sean’s cock against that spot inside made him shake, made his orgasm last a little longer, and he moaned in tandem with Sean when he felt him come—felt his heat paint him from the inside.
Viggo’s knees folded beneath him just as Sean’s collapsed, sending the both of them gasping and sweaty to the floor. He buried his face into a tanned shoulder, trying to breathe, smelling sweat and sex like a thick fog around them.
“What,” he tried to speak, but his panting breath made it impossible. Viggo took a long breath, trying to steady himself. “What the fuck was that about?”
Sean’s mouth pressed against his temple, an unexpectedly sweet kiss that dissipated all remnants of Viggo’s anger despite how much he wanted to hold onto them. “Director’s a piece of shite,” Sean panted out. His accent was smoothening, Sheffield slowly bleaching out of his voice even as his teeth nipped at Viggo’s ear. “Dyer’s a bigger piece of shite. The movie’s surely a piece of shite too. I ain’t looking forward to the promotions.”
Viggo snorted quietly. He pulled back, his hands stroking Sean’s face, curling back from his cheekbones to rub at the cropped hair. “So your solution is to come home, throw me into the wall, and fuck me raw?”
Sean ducked his head, and Viggo watched, fascinated, as a pink blush spread upwards from his neck until it was colouring his cheeks. Sean could call him a slut and fuck him so hard that Viggo wouldn’t be able to walk straight for the next week, and he would turn around and blush about it like a naughty schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sighed, reaching out and tipping Sean’s head up.
“You owe me one,” he said dryly. He tried to get up, wincing as muscles protested.
Sean had the gall to raise an eyebrow, following him up and pinning him to the wall again, stealing a kiss.
“Do I still owe you if I made you come harder than you had for a long time?”
Viggo snorted. He pressed two fingers against Sean’s lips, breath hitching as Sean licked them. The sight made his exhausted cock twitch—or try to—and he winced.
“You owe me one because you forgot to ask, you bastard,” he rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me put your over my knee to teach you manners.”
The moment the words escaped from his mouth, Viggo wished he could take them back. Sean’s eyes burned against his skin.
“You promise?” Sean’s fingers stroked down the side of his head, from his temple down to his chest, thumb flicking across a nipple.
Viggo chuckled. He leaned forward, breathing against the shell of Sean’s ear.
“Maybe.”
Summary: Sean comes home angry.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: KinkChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 2898 Read: 981
Published: 10 Nov 2012 Updated: 10 Nov 2012