No matter how thick the curtains were, sunlight always found a way to break through the cloth. Or at least, the heat and humidity of London’s summer would find its way into the room and give Viggo enough excuse to pretend to wake up. He opened his eyes, pushing himself up on his elbow to look at Sean.
“Did you sleep?” Viggo reached out a hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Sean’s eyes. The question was redundant, really: he knew that Sean hadn’t slept, just as he hadn’t. He just wanted to know if they would be continuing with the masquerade they were putting on throughout the night.
“No,” Sean said, turning around. There were shadows drawn deep underneath his eyes, and the wrinkles at the side of his lips were grooved deeper than ever. “Neither did you, I know that.”
“Yeah,” Viggo said. “What were you thinking?”
“Lots of things.” Sean gave him a brief smile. “What the police said, mostly.”
They went to the station yesterday, right after breakfast. They brought the letters but the police had their hands tied -- they couldn’t do much until the stalker actually made an appearance, and only then would they be able to give a restraining order. They took the letters anyway to try to fingerprint them, though that would take time and the officer said that they might not do anything. Viggo had wanted to rage so badly, but they couldn’t, not if they wanted to keep their cover to being ‘just friends’ and to have the officers believing their lies that there was no truth in what the letters said.
He didn’t want to have to wake up this morning with the tabloids blaring out about a relationship that they had no business knowing. But right now, looking at Sean and knowing that they both hadn’t slept, he wondered if it was worth it.
Sean leaned in and kissed him softly. Viggo made a muffled sound, a routine protest against the morning breath they both had despite still not sleeping, but he wanted the comfort of Sean’s touch more than anything else right now.
“Stop thinking,” Sean murmured against his mouth. “I can hear you.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Viggo said, but he couldn’t help but smile. This, too, was familiar.
“Alright. You tell me what you’re thinking ‘bout all through the night then.”
“Plenty of things,” Viggo said, and he closed his eyes, shifting on the bed to get nearer to Sean until their bodies were plastered together, uncaring about sweat and humidity. “I was just thinking that I’ve imagined doing so many things with you. I wanted to categorise every smile you have, every one you would give me. I wanted to paint in your garden, looking at your work. But now I have no inspiration whatever, and neither of us feel like smiling.”
“I’m sorry.”
Viggo’s eyes snapped open, and he grabbed Sean’s jaw, staring fiercely into green. “No,” he rasped. “No, it’s not your fault. Don’t even start thinking that it’s your fault.”
“It’s hard not to,” Sean turned away, biting his lip. “Maybe we should’ve gone to Idaho.”
“What happened to not giving up?” Viggo asked. He pulled Sean back to face him. “I was also thinking of ways of not letting this bastard ruin everything for us. Things we can do.”
“I want to have you.” Sean kissed him again, a fleeting thing. “But I’m terrified. What if he’s watching? What if he knows and tells everyone? We’ve kept this secret for so long, Vig.”
“Do you want that to change?” Viggo held his breath. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to ask Do you want to come out? instead.
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” Viggo said. “I’m tired as hell so I probably won’t last as long as you’d want me to, but I want to have you too.”
“I didn’t sleep either,” Sean drawled. He pushed himself up and crawled over until he was on top of Viggo, leaning over him with his tangled hair falling down. Viggo reached up and stroked his fingers through the strands, neatening them slightly before Sean leaned in to kiss him. Sex in the morning was always easier, because neither of them wore anything to bed, and when Viggo rocked his hips upwards he felt Sean’s slowly-growing erection slide against his thigh.
“Like this,” Viggo gasped, his voice muffled against Sean’s mouth. “Like this is just fine.”
“Aye,” Sean breathed. He dropped his head onto Viggo’s shoulder, his hand wrapping around both of their erections as they rocked gently against each other. They were both dry still, but it was alright, it was fine, because Viggo could feel his arousal building and soon there would be enough pre-come from the both of them to make this easier.
Right now he just wanted to feel Sean’s body pressing down on his own, Sean’s calluses on his cock, and Sean’s breath as it grazed his skin.
Viggo whispered a word, maybe Sean’s name, and he wrapped his arm around Sean’s neck, fingers burrowing inside his hair. He kissed him again as they moved together, minute little movements, and he could feel Sean’s breaths quickening against his skin. Viggo’s exhaustion seemed to fade slowly, like a stone being worn away by the river, and he arched hard, slamming his hips upwards as he felt pre-come finally, finally slicking their cocks.
“Vig,” Sean murmured, and there was nothing that was better than hearing Sean’s voice, thick with arousal, saying his name.
Eyes sliding shut despite his best intentions, Viggo turned his head, brushing his lips against Sean’s hair. “Sean,” he whispered back. “Nngh!”
Sean chuckled, so close to his ear that Viggo shivered all over, gasping hard.
“You close yet?”
“Almost,” Viggo gasped, straining to thrust harder. His hand slipped down to wrap around Sean’s fingers, clenching hard. “Nearly... there.”
“So quick, old man?” Sean laughed again, stroking them together even faster.
Viggo grinned, eyes still closed. Their thighs slid together, slick with sweat. “I warned you,” he said, and his voice quavered nearly enough for the words to be inaudible.
“That you did.”
Sean growled, low and rough. His free hand closed over Viggo’s hip, thrusting forward so hard that Viggo slid up the bed towards the headboard. A small, strangled noise vibrated the air around them, and Viggo wasn’t sure it was he or Sean who made it, because he was shoving his hips up, thrusting up to their joined hands. Reaching out blindly, he closed his other hand around Sean’s wrist, pulling it up, linking their fingers together as they slammed hard onto the bed. Around them, wood and bedsprings creaked, the sound echoing around the silent and dark room. Sean slammed their mouths together, swallowing his cry just as Viggo’s mouth swallowed his as they came together, warm wetness coating both of their skins.
“You’re going to be the death of me, that’s the truth of it,” Sean panted, his words ghosting across Viggo’s skin, painting itself on his flesh.
“It’ll be a mutual death,” Viggo laughed. He brought their linked hands up, kissing the back of Sean’s knuckles. “Even worse, you’ve made me all sticky.”
“Shower then,” Sean decided. He climbed out of bed, but before he could move away, Viggo grabbed him by the wrist. Viggo stood up quickly, sliding his cleaner hand into Sean’s hair, kissing him on his lips, then on both cheeks, and finally on his forehead and temples.
“There,” he grinned. “Now we can go.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “A benediction from my King?”
“Maybe,” Viggo walked off into the bathroom. Then he stepped out again, grabbing two towels. Sean was still standing naked next to the bed, staring at him quizzically.
“I’m thinking it’s more of a keepsafe charm, really,” he admitted.
Sean didn’t laugh, instead nodding, his lips a grim line.
“Let’s hope it works, then.”
*
It didn’t.
“The bastard’s getting bolder,” Sean said. Dressed in only a bathrobe, he stared at the letter on the floor. It was obviously slipped in just underneath the door.
Viggo resisted the urge to pull open the heavy wood and kick the letter outside. Unlike the others, there wasn’t a type-written piece of paper pasted to the front with Sean’s address. The stalker wasn’t even pretending to have used the post anymore. He narrowed his eyes at the letter, and briefly wondered how it was that something so small could cause all much fear.
“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing,” Sean whispered, his breath shaking. “Such a little thing.”
Turning around, Viggo stared, and he didn’t know if he was more surprised that Sean seemed to be able to know his thoughts, or that he could remember his lines from so long ago.
“It’s a pity we’re not in New Zealand right now,” Sean continued, wrapping his arms around himself. “Maybe I’d have turned in a better performance for Boromir, now that I know…”
“Shh,” Viggo hushed him. He walked over, wrapping his arms around Sean and holding him close. “We’re not giving up, remember? We’re not letting him win.”
Sean’s arms came around him, holding him so close that Viggo could barely breathe. He was shaking again, and Viggo hated this, hated that he could spend nearly an entire day calming Sean down and easing his fear, yet another letter would come in and cause Sean to be afraid all over again.
Cause both of them to be afraid again.
“Open the letter, Vig,” Sean said, his voice hoarse against Viggo’s shoulder. “Open it. Me mind’s running all over ‘bout what might be inside this time, and I want it to stop.”
Viggo didn’t want to let go. The stalker came too close this time. He was right outside their door, and he had broken in once before. This time, Viggo wasn’t afraid that he would take more of Sean’s things; he was terrified that he would somehow manage to take Sean himself. He took a deep breath and told himself that he was being stupid and unreasonable, and he stepped back, pulling away from Sean, before he bent down to take the letter.
The smooth, thick paper felt abhorrent to his touch. Viggo wondered if he would be able to choose the paper to use for his Perceval Press publications without thinking of this again, and he gritted his teeth and decided that he wasn’t going to let one bastard ruin his damn life.
He tore open the flap holding the envelope close, standing up and upending the thing over at the coffee table. Flipping the Polaroid up, he made to place it over the note, but the photograph stopped him dead.
The picture was that of Sean’s window. The curtains were closed, but it was unmistakeably Sean’s bedroom window. Beside him, he could hear Sean take a long, shuddering breath. Viggo reached out blindly and grabbed Sean’s hand, pulling him even closer and holding on tight.
Placing the Polaroid gently down onto the table, Viggo turned the note over.
I wish that you'd open the curtains. Sometimes you'll walk around in just a towel and I'll watch you. I've never wanted to be a droplet of water until now.
“I haven’t done that in-” Sean’s breath choked in his throat. Viggo heard him swallow, his own eyes fixed upon the note still.
“Months. I haven’t done that in months.”
Viggo knew what Sean was thinking. He bent down and picked up the Polaroid again, turning it in his hand, looking at it from side to side.
*
“You’re mad,” Sean panted, his strides speeding up as he tried to catch up to Viggo.
“I can’t wait for the police to finish their investigation,” Viggo said, his lips pressed into a line. He was holding onto the latest Polaroid nearly hard enough to crinkle the paper. Turning back, he slowed himself down slightly. “Besides, I’m a photographer, and this is a clue.”
“I still ain’t getting that bit,” Sean fell into step with him, blinking as he gave him a raised eyebrow.
“Angles,” Viggo replied shortly. He turned around, looking at Sean’s house for a long moment.
“He won’t still be there, you know,” Sean said. Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, “’Least, I don’t think he’d be.”
“But we can ask questions and try to figure out where he took it from,” Viggo said -- reasonably, he thought. “I mean, I’m not holding out on the luck that we’ll find the house that he lives in with just one picture, but at least we’ll know where he goes to.”
“And avoid it?” Sean suggested, but he laughed almost immediately. “Of course not. We aren’t going to be running away, aye?”
“Watching the watcher,” Viggo quipped, shaking his head. “Or something of that sort.”
While they walked, Viggo realised that he knew too little about Sean’s neighbourhood. Strange, really; Viggo knew almost all of his own neighbours, back in Idaho. Maybe, he thought, smiling, it was because he spent most of his time in the house instead of out of it, and when they weren’t holed up in Sean’s bedroom or garden, they took the car further out to London, where they would be anonymous.
Sean was quiet next to him, walking with his hands shoved into his pockets and his head down. Like this, he would look like a shy fan trying to look for his idol’s house if not for the fact that he was dressed too casually for it. Viggo had shoved clothes into his hands and barely remembered to change out of the bathrobe himself before he had started on this quest.
“There,” Viggo said, squinting as he looked upwards. The sun was almost at its zenith at it point, but he was rather sure that it was right over there -- at the coffee shop a street over Sean’s, hidden neatly behind two great houses.
“This seems all a bit convenient, don’t it?”
Viggo blinked, “What?”
“I mean,” Sean licked his lips, rubbing his neck. Two times his usual nervousness, Viggo noted, but he didn’t say a word, letting Sean continue. “Can’t help but think that- the bastard might be leading us here, you know what I mean? That he’s probably ‘round here somewhere right now, watching us through his camera lenses.”
Viggo reached over, uncaring about his surroundings as he cupped Sean’s jaw with both hands. He gave him a loud, smacking kiss, leaning their foreheads together.
“Are you going to let the fear of what he might be doing stop you -- stop me -- from finding him?” His voice had dropped to a growl, and he shook Sean slightly. “Or do you not remember that it was you who told me that you don’t want to go to Idaho, that you’re not going to give up? We’re going to find him, Sean--”
“And if he’s watching us, all the better,” Sean finished for him. He sighed, pulling away from Viggo’s grip and rubbing his neck again. “Christ, I know. It’s just hard to believe it right now when me skin’s all jittery like I’ve got ants running all over it.”
“Well,” Viggo said reasonably. “If you keep moving, all of the ants will fall off.”
Sean smacked him on the back of the head. “I’m talking metaphorically, you arse.”
Viggo knew that, but he said what he had because of this -- because of the way Sean was laughing now, his head tossed back, blond strands catching the light. There was nothing more he wanted to do right now than to pull Sean into some back alley and fuck him until he screamed; until everyone in Belsize Park realised that he was taken and Viggo wasn’t letting go of him.
Instead, he swung an arm around Sean’s shoulder, pulling him close and brushing a swift kiss into his hair.
“C’mon, then,” he said, smiling against Sean’s skin. “Let’s go into the shop and see where our stalker has been.”
*
Viggo’s instincts were usually dead-on accurate when it came to photography. More than two decades had passed since he had picked up a camera and started taking photographs of everything he saw -- Viggo knew what he was doing. But right now... he wished he was wrong.
He put his hand on the table, looking outwards. The coffee shop was one street back and two houses up the street, and Sean’s house could barely be seen. But here, on the very edge of the terrace and with a camera that could zoom... Viggo looked at the Polaroid, and wondered if it was a Polaroid at all.
“Here, huh?” Sean pulled out a chair, dropping down. His eyes were fixed down the road, to his own house. Viggo glanced at him, and nodded.
“Yeah.”
He dropped down to the other chair. Why hadn’t he noticed this before? His fingers nudged at the side of the photograph part of the Polaroid, and when the edge came off from his light touch, he wished he could say that he was surprised. He felt the white edges of the fake Polaroid.
Heavy white photo paper. The photograph too... Viggo held it to the light.
“What is it?” Sean asked.
“He developed this himself,” Viggo murmured. He turned the photograph over and over in his hand -- there were no identifying markings of any shop used to develop the photograph. “More than that, he’s good at it; good enough to distort the quality of the photograph before he prints them out.”
He could feel Sean’s eyes on his skin. “English, Vig. Not Photo Language.”
“I mean that he owns at least one professional lens,” Viggo said, gritting his teeth as he looked up. “You can’t zoom in with a Polaroid camera, but you can with a professional one. But he’s making us believe that it’s a Polaroid by sticking these two together.” He waved the white paper and the photograph in his hand. “Then he develops the photograph ‘wrong’, so the quality looks as crappy as a Polaroid would.” He took a deep breath.
“But angles don’t lie, Sean,” he continued, quietly. “He was sitting here. He took the photograph here.”
“Think there might be a reason why he chose this spot,” Sean said. He was staring at his hands.
Viggo blinked at him. He dropped the dismantled not-Polaroid onto the table, pulling his chair even closer.
“Yeah?”
“Aye,” Sean sighed. He rubbed his face rapidly. “Christ. I, uh. Last year- more than a year only, before I left for Malta, I came here for coffee. I lost me keys here, that time.”
Viggo stared at him.
“Sean, a story has a beginning, a middle, and an end,” he said, lips quirking up in involuntary amusement. “
Sean shot him a dirty look and he sighed, rubbing at his mouth. “Alright, let me try again. I come here for coffee and breakfast sometimes - it’s a nice place, and real close by at that, and people here, they leave you alone. I like that. But I don’t come here much anymore, ‘cause... last time I came, I brought me keys with me. I had ‘em on the table, this very table,” he tapped the wood for emphasis, “and I left it there. There ain’t a single person on the whole second level, so I thought, what the hell, and I left ‘em there for a bit while I went to order more food.”
He stopped. Swallowed.
“When I came back, the keys were gone. Just me keys, mind. Me coffee’s fine, and so’s me phone. Everything’s perfect. It’s just the keys.”
Viggo took a long, slow breath. He blinked, and tugged at his ear.
“What did you do next?”
“I thought it odd. I asked the staff and no one saw anything. No one even knew who went up here, you know what I mean? Ground level’s pretty busy at the time with people working normal working hours. No one saw a thing, so I said, what the hell. It gave me a bad feeling, but there ain’t anything I could do. So I went home and I called the locksmith. Changed all the locks. Changed even me locks on the car, even though I didn’t bring that with me.” A small laugh burbled out of him, and Viggo reached out, taking Sean’s hands into his own. He rubbed the fingers gently between his palms, warming them.
“Something else happened?”
“Couple of weeks later, I found me keys.” Sean swallowed. His hands twitched convulsively, wrapping around Viggo’s fingers. “In me mailbox.”
Over a year ago.
“You know what I think?” Viggo said to Sean’s hands.
“Might as well just say it. You always gave your opinion, whether I want them or not.” Sean tried to smile, but even the old joke fell flat between them. He took a shuddering breath. “Hit me with it.”
“I’m just thinking... it’s obvious that he has some money, you know? You need the money for a dark room, for camera lenses... you need money for the kind of envelopes that he uses, because they’re of a damn good quality.” Viggo’s own fingers were trembling by now, but he took a long, deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Plus if they know you come here often, and if the staff didn’t think it’s someone worthy of note, he must be someone who is familiar to them. Who comes here just as often as you do.”
“Don’t say it, Vig,” Sean said, desperately. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it.”
Viggo couldn’t help himself.
“He probably lives here. In Belsize Park.”
“Fuck.” Sean grabbed hold of Viggo’s collar, pulling him forward and shoving his face into his neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck you for saying it, Vig. I can’t--” He was shaking all over, his hands clawing at Viggo’s arms, trying to find a grip even as Viggo grabbed hold of both, holding them tight to his chest.
There were no possible words for him to say. Viggo had -- might have -- narrowed down where he should search, but he wasn’t anywhere close to finding anything. Only possibilities hovered in front of him, and he had managed to terrify both of them. He could barely hear Sean’s short, panting breath over the roaring of his own ears.
“Let’s go home,” Viggo rasped, his hand wrapping around Sean’s shoulders. “Let’s go back.”
Sean pulled away from him. They stared at each other for a long moment before Sean nodded sharply. Viggo grabbed for the Polaroid, and Sean stood up.
His keys jingled where they were shoved into the pocket of his jeans. Sean’s eyes dropped down, staring at the source of the sound before he pulled them out and gripped them tight.
“Once we catch this bastard,” he growled. “I’m going to force him to pay for me therapist fees.”
Viggo didn’t laugh, not even at the idea of Sean visiting a therapist when he had been denying that they did any good. He only grabbed Sean by the arm, pulling him towards the staircase to go down to the first level.
They were going back to where doors could lock.
*
Viggo slammed the gate closed, and Sean’s fingers were steady as he locked it. They exchanged a look again before he picked up the heavy padlock that was almost never used, balancing it on the metal gate, and locked that. Viggo slammed the door shut, turned the knob, and practically threw Sean onto the wood.
“He’s not going to have you,” he breathed, one hand cupping Sean’s jaw, stroking his cheek. “I won’t let him.”
“I won’t let him either,” Sean snapped back. He threw himself forward, their lips crashing together even as Sean’s hands tangled into Viggo’s paint-stained shirt. There was fire here, in each of their touches, a heat that seemed to be anger but with a far colder centre.
It was fear. They were terrified, both of them; fearful and angry at themselves, at each other, for being afraid, because the culprit was far away from them. The watcher who couldn’t be watched. Viggo shivered, shoving forward to press Sean even further into the wall.
“Maybe we should leave the country,” Viggo said, his lips curling up into a small, uncertain smile. “Maybe we should’ve left for Idaho days ago.”
He knew those wasn’t the words he was supposed to say; knew that he should reassure Sean that they would be safe here, in his very own house.
“No shit,” Sean laughed, leaning forward and touches their foreheads together once more. “I think it’s too late, though. We’ll have to stick it out here.”
“Have to?” Viggo raised an eyebrow.
Sean closed his eyes, his sigh heavy enough to blow a few strands of Viggo’s hair into his face. “I want to,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. “I’m not going to be chased out of me own country, me own house.”
Viggo looked at him, and he wondered all over again what he had done in a past life to deserve this man. He stroked Sean’s lips with his thumb, and grinned.
“You want to fuck with him, then? Tell him that he won’t ever have you, no matter how long he follows you, or whatever that he might do?”
Eyes snapping open, Sean stared at him for a moment before he cocked his head to the side. Viggo stroked his cheek gently, leaning in until his teeth grazed the shell of Sean’s ear.
“Let’s go up to the bedroom,” he breathed. “Open up the curtain.” His hand travelled down Sean’s side, mouth moving downwards to Sean’s neck, feeling the heart beating hard and fast beneath his teeth.
“I want you to ride me,” he growled. “Ride me until the bastard can see. Until he knows that you’re mine.”
Sean’s eyes flashed, and it was the only warning Viggo had before he was shoved hard into the door, Sean’s hands squeezing his shoulders nearly hard enough to bruise.
“I don’t belong to you either, Vig,” Sean drew out each and every word, his accent thickening and lengthening the syllables until his voice caressed instead of spoke. “But alright. We’ll do things your way, eh?”
Viggo peeled himself off the wall as Sean stepped backwards. He followed him to the stairs, stopping at the bottom, and raised an eyebrow.
“Because I want you to?”
Sean snorted, not even pausing as he took the stairs two at a time.
“No, because I want you to.”
*
Benefits to having the windows open: the light shining on Sean’s hair as he pushed himself up. The sunlight skimmed over the skin as strong thighs flexed, catching the tiny little golden hairs that would have remained hidden from Viggo’s sight otherwise. His hands flattened out against the muscles, and Viggo moaned quietly as he leaned back against the pillows.
“Thought you wanted him to see this,” Sean grunted as he slowly, slowly guided Viggo’s cock inside him. Hair fell over his eyes as he threw his head back, groaning softly. Heat closed over Viggo, the pleasure so intense and welcome that he almost missed the next words.
“You don’t want him to hear this as well?”
Viggo couldn’t help himself. He gasped sharply, thrusting his hips up, burying himself completely inside Sean, nails digging into skin. It was the sudden shot of fear, right at the base of his spine, at the thought that the stalker was so near that he could hear them if they were just a little bit louder.
He looked at Sean, and wondered if he should have checked for cameras. No, there couldn’t be, but his fingers tightened even further at the thought, holding Sean close, refusing to let him go.
“There you go again,” he smirked, panting out the words. “Thinking of another man when you have my cock up your ass.”
Sean laughed. His arms slammed onto the headboard besides Viggo’s head as he pushed himself up and sank down again.
“So you say. What are you going to do ‘bout it, eh?”
Viggo’s hands closed around Sean’s hips, nudging him upwards, shifting slightly, and when Sean sank down again he drew in a sharp breath, the sound entirely muffled by Sean’s sudden, pleasured cry.
“This,” he said.
“You gotta try harder than that,” Sean grinned, a vicious little thing. He leaned in close, his mouth brushing against Viggo’s, and it was so easy for Viggo to take it, to kiss him and dart his tongue inside, stroking against his teeth, mapping his mouth all over again.
“You know what I want to do?” Viggo said, his tone conversational if not for the thick strand of arousal and want woven into it. “I want to push you down to the bed and fuck you until you scream so loudly that the walls shake from it.” He rocked his hips upwards, hard. “I want to take you until your entire body shakes and you can’t talk or think except of me, all your smart little remarks gone.”
His mouth moved down, nipped against Sean’s jaw.
“But I can’t, you see,” he continued, thrusting into Sean in short, minute little jerks with every word. “I can’t, because then that bastard won’t be able to see you. He won’t be able to see you while you moan like a whore with your ass split by my cock,” he chuckled, hands tightening against Sean’s hips. They moved together in tandem - Sean up, Viggo back, and together, a hard slam that had their skin slapping obscenely loud in the near-silent house.
“I want him to see it.”
Sean’s eyes were dark again, pupils dilated by desire, his lips wet with their combined spit. Viggo rubbed against the lower one and Sean drew his thumb into his mouth, biting down hard.
“G’on,” he murmured. “Keep going.”
Viggo obeyed. “Maybe we should be nice, considerate souls and put a camera,” he said. “Right there, against your wardrobe. Capturing every sound, every shift of expression you have that he can’t see because the windows are still closed, aren’t they?” Fingers stroked down the arch of Sean’s spine, and their bodies were slapping together faster and faster now, Viggo’s words barely keeping coherence as they were distorted by his panting. “Maybe we should invite him here, let him man the camera. It’ll be the closest he’ll ever get to you, won’t it?”
“That depends.” Sean licked his lips, the gesture made obscene by the look in his eyes. “Touch me, Vig.”
Shifting, Viggo’s hand closed around his cock, stroking him roughly, in perfect tandem to his thrusts upwards.
“I’m not surprised that he wants you,” he hummed. The words were coming from somewhere else now, because his brain was surely not up to the complex tasks of forming them. Maybe it was his heart -- but more likely, it was from further south.
“You’re so beautiful, Sean.” His thumb stroked over the slit of Sean’s cock, gathering the wetness there before he slipped down underneath the foreskin, rubbing against the precise spot underneath it, just like Sean liked it. “So fucking beautiful like this. Should really have a camera, really. One of those retina ones, but then I’ll have to blink, and I don’t want to miss a single second.”
Sean only moaned in reply, arching his back and offering himself so freely to Viggo. No one else would have this, Viggo thought. Not this vulnerability, this trust, and his other hand left Sean’s hip and pinched first one nipple, then the other.
“Are you close?”
“Aye,” Sean whispered. “Aye. Almost--”
Viggo didn’t let him finish. He jerked to the side, shoving Sean down onto the bed. Sean let him, grunting softly, but he spread his legs further and Viggo took it as an invitation, grabbing hold of strong, golden-skinned thighs. He pushed them open and pushed in, his eyes riveted to the spot where they joined and came apart, over and over, as his hips pistoned. Sean arched, his hand moving down, but Viggo batted it away and wrapped his fingers around Sean’s cock, pumping it with his fist.
“Vig,” Sean moaned. “Vig, I’m going to--” He broke off, panting, his hands grabbing Viggo’s jaw and dragging his head up until their eyes locked.
“Come for me, Sean,” Viggo said. He thrust in again, as deep as he could go, before he pulled back out until he was almost entirely bereft of Sean’s heat, and slammed in all the way. His hand, without needing command, twisted the head of Sean’s cock.
Sean arched again, his hands digging into Viggo’s skin, and their lips crashed together. Viggo drank in his shattered cry, felt Sean’s insides clench down hard on him, strangling the breath in his lungs. Come splattered over his hand, over both of their stomachs, and Viggo pushed down Sean down even more as he fucked into him, mindless now, incapable of all sounds except for the minute little grunts that he couldn’t help.
“C’mon, Vig,” Sean’s said, muffled against his jaw. “C’mon now.”
Viggo grunted, his hips thrusting in, shoving inside as much as he could before he came. Came so hard that orgasm was ripped from his insides and he stopped breathing entirely for a few seconds, barely feeling Sean’s hand as it stroked down his back, over and over again.
Moments, maybe minutes, later, when he could breathe again, Viggo looked up from where he was draped over Sean’s body. His hand trembled as he pushed a stubborn, sweat-stroked strand away from Sean’s face.
“If he’s watching, I don’t want him to see you come,” he said, feeling as if he had to explain himself somehow.
Sean only laughed at him, a deep chuckle Viggo could feel reverberating in his chest.
“D’you think he got the message?”
“I don’t know how we can might it clearer,” Viggo said, wry. Levering himself off Sean, he shifted naked over to the nightstand, grabbed a bunch of wet wipes. The curtains caught his eyes, and Viggo stood up, walking over to the window.
He should have brought his camera and lenses instead of his easel and paints this time. Frowning to himself, he yanked the curtains shut, cutting off the sunlight, and turned back to the bed.
Sean looked at him. His legs were still parted, casually lewd with come decorating the inside of his thighs. Viggo nearly tripped over his own feet as he fell back to the bed. Without saying a single word, Sean took his still-sticky hand, lifting it up and drawing the fingers into his mouth, cleaning him off with his lips and tongue.
“Once we find the bastard, I’m going to want to kill him,” Sean said, letting Viggo’s hand drop from his grasp as he reached for the wipes. “Our damned vacation together is ruined, eh?”
Viggo shook his head, “Not quite.” He swiped the wipe down Sean’s torso, cleaning him off, even as Sean did the same to him. “Think of it as a learning experience?”
“You’re mad,” Sean declared, but he was grinning, laughter barely hidden by the corners of his eyes. He dragged Viggo close, kissing him gently before he slumped back down on the bed.
Dropping down beside him, Viggo tucked his head into Sean’s shoulder, fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling his steadying heartbeat. “We should get some food,” he said.
“We can do that later.” Sean stretched, tugging Viggo even closer. “I’m going to sleep, and you’re going to sleep next to me. No arguments.”
“Yes sir.” Viggo tried for a soldier’s salute, but it was ruined by his yawn. Sean laughed next to his ear, his hand trailing through Viggo’s hair.
The door was locked, he thought fuzzily. It would be fine. No one would be stealing Sean from him today.
*
The bed shifted. Viggo immediately swung an arm out blindly over Sean, but Sean was--
“Shhhh,” Sean’s voice whispered in his ear. “Go back to sleep. I’m just going to get something to eat.”
“Hungry at midnight?” Viggo cracked an eye half-open.
Sean chuckled, his green eyes luminous. It was dark -- night must have fallen at some point when they were sleeping. “Aye. Someone forgot to feed me.”
Viggo laughed, grabbing for Sean’s pillow and shoved his face into it. “Come back soon,” he murmured, voice muffled by the pillow.
“I will,” Sean said. His hand stroked through Viggo’s hair, down to his neck, and it was gone.
The door closed.
Summary: Someone is watching Sean, and it’s not Viggo.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 19599 Read: 4575
Published: 02 Feb 2013 Updated: 02 Feb 2013