When he wakes in the morning, it is to an unaccustomed lightness. He can't remember dreaming, can only recall drifting off even while he lay anchored in Sean's arms, but it's like he managed to shed himself of the weight of the past few weeks. A touch to his chin, covered now with only morning stubble, reminds him that they've been given time off, and he doesn't have to be Aragorn for a few days - can, if he wants, spend all his time lying here with Sean pressed, strong, warm, comforting, against his back.
He stretches experimentally, liking the way his body stirs into wakefulness but remains relaxed and lazy, as though movement can always be this smooth, this easy - as though the limping slowness of last night, and the soreness of the past few days has never existed. And even better, he likes what he feels pressed against his lower back, the assertion of Sean's hips, the hard length of him growing in response to Viggo's movements and Sean's own unconscious rocking against Viggo's body.
"G'mornin'," Sean murmurs in his ear, and, oh, the vibration of it low in Sean's chest, syllables reaching like rough, warm fingers to glide over him, in him. Warm breath in his ear, wafting over his neck, followed by hot lips buried in the crease of his shoulder, sucking, drawing back so Sean can nip and tease the skin with his teeth, returning to soothe and knead away nascent pain.
Viggo can only manage an incoherent sound, something like a hum, and shivers as clever hands take advantage of the distraction provided by Sean's mouth to snake across his chest. One tangles in the light mat of hair and the other - Viggo gasps as fingers capture a nipple and roll it, twist it, so Viggo's entire body arches into the sensation, the flash of feeling that's like lightning. The electricity in him is grounding out in his cock, and he doesn't need to look, or to run careful fingers over it (though he does it anyway, liking it) to know he's hard.
"You seem pretty feisty today," Sean remarks, and the tone is maddeningly casual, as though he isn't fondling Viggo's nipples or making teasing, downward swipes in the direction of his cock, as though he himself isn't boring his own erection into Viggo's back.
"Must have been a good night's sleep," Viggo gasps.
Sean's tongue is busy at the tender flesh behind his ear, but he takes a moment from making Viggo shiver to ask, "Is that all?"
Part of Viggo wants to say that maybe being fucked through the mattress had something to do with it, but most of him wants only to sink into the fire Sean is building in him, to exist only in the hard-and-soft pattern of Sean's hands moving over his skin, the thrust of Sean's hips against his, the way his mouth moves across his jaw and his neck. His eyes slide shut and he's about to let himself vanish into sensation when Sean speaks again, and he comes back to himself like a man coming out of drugs or dreams.
"Is that all?" Sean whispers.
"Don't tease," Viggo manages to say, though the words are almost made only of breath whistling desperately through mouth and nostrils.
"But maybe I feel like teasing," Sean says. The hands roaming over Viggo's body still, and one of them is riding low, in the small of Viggo's back, so near the cleft of his ass Viggo can almost feel the bare inches separating him from the hot, painful bliss of penetration. The other - and this is making him shake, and he wants to beg but he knows Sean doesn't listen to that sort of thing - is cupped delicately over the head of his erection, the pads of Sean's fingers hovering butterfly-light on straining flesh.
The hand on his ass slips lower, long middle finger sliding into the crease. Viggo shivers and jerks up, wanting Sean's fingers in his ass and on his cock, but both hands retreat.
"I want to touch you," he murmurs frantically, restless in Sean's embrace, twisting on a hot sword of lust, needing to put his hands on Sean, to find some way to release the desperate energy inside his body. "Let me touch you."
"Later," Sean murmurs, and the voice that should be low and calming instead makes the fire deep in Viggo's belly burn higher. "For now, turn over. I want you on top of me."
They both roll over so Viggo is straddling Sean, ass resting just above the point where Sean's erection lies heavy against his stomach. The light from the window is the lazy gold of late morning, and it tangles in Sean's hair like a confused nimbus, turns the darkening eyes into a banked green fire and the skin is like thick, rich honey. Viggo wants to lean down and taste him, to chase the lines of shadows across the plane of Sean's chest and follow them with his fingers.
But Sean is compelling and inexorable, and the only thing Viggo can hold on to when desire pulls at him like this. He wonders briefly if Sean knows what power he has, to pull him from the strange places his mind takes him, to be his anchor - to be like he's being now, the steady point that keeps him from wandering off into nothingness.
"I was watching you last night," Sean says now, and his gaze bores into Viggo, keen despite the soft-edged heat of the room and the gentleness of the light. "I counted your bruises, and didn't realize you'd had so many... I want you to count them for me now." The words lose their preciseness by the end, thickened as they are with a lust not even Sean's control can keep back. "Touch yourself, Viggo."
Shakily, Viggo nods and glances down at his body, the whole marked and scarred length of it, wondering where to begin.
The skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder is red and moist - not bruised, but certainly discolored by Sean's ministrations. He touches it, sighs as his head lolls automatically to the side to let his fingers explore the full length of neck, the cord of tendon and vein and the smooth transition to muscle.
"I think I know how that got there," Sean whispers. He's propped up on his elbows now, watching Viggo intently.
"I think we both know," Viggo says. His right hand journeys downward, brushing across an old bruise on his chest. Memory has faded along with the injury, but as he touches it he relives the moment - a hideously leering face and a cruel sword that lashed out under his guard.
"I got on Lawrence's bad side," he says with a wry grin, and is about to move on when he sees the catch of breath in Sean's chest, and it occurs to him that there are ways to get around Sean's control. He fixes his gaze on Sean, sees the green eyes flicker up and catch on his, and only then does he bring his fingers to his mouth and run his tongue slowly up and down them, slipping them into his mouth to wet them thoroughly.
And when Viggo lowers slick fingers to the bruise once more, Sean lurches beneath him, counterpoint to the flicker of lightning in his own body.
"What else?" Sean asks. The harshness of his breath makes the question a demand.
Obediently, Viggo searches out the next injury, the arc of bruises that juts out of the skin over his lower rib cage.
"I got this when I fell off Brego last week." Wet fingers trace the bruise, running around the crescent-shaped ridge where the flesh is still swollen. Sean's eyes darken, watching Viggo tease the discolored skin, watching it take on the sheen of saliva and sweat. "And this when the pommel of my sword got jammed into my side." The fingers drift down to a mark beneath Viggo's rib cage, where the muscles of flank and abdomen weave together like tapestry, and soon it too is wet.
"Your hands," Sean rasps, when Viggo pauses.
Viggo lifts his hands, studying the cracked and bruised skin. "Too many things to count," he says quietly after a moment. "Swords, stones... This" he points to a reddened patch of skin on his left wrist "I tried to catch myself on a rock, when I tripped." And, looking up at Sean now, he brings his wrist to his mouth and runs his tongue over the raw flesh, shivering at the taste of salt and copper, the hidden tang of blood.
He continues through the catalogue, nearly mindless now with the sensations his fingers can tease from his own body, the way pain blends with pleasure as he touches discolored flesh. Even small things become magnified, so he leans wantonly into his own caress, touches himself as coolly and calculatedly as Sean might, wanting to provoke reaction but not satisfaction. Before long, he is shaking and his entire body is on fire, wet with sweat and all of him is aching with need; his cock throbs with low and insistent thunder, and he wants so badly to touch himself there, but knows Sean won't allow it, wants the hard cock he can feel probing at the slick cleft of his ass to be inside him with a desperation he can taste.
But not yet, because Sean is still staring at him, and though Viggo can feel the taut evidence of his lover's need, there is still control there that has not yet burnt away. He pauses, hands loose at his sides, caught in his own need and confusion.
"You missed one," Sean says into the heavy, expectant silence, but before Viggo can ask what it is, he reaches up and cups Viggo's jaw, thumb tracing over the old scar on his upper lip. "That one."
"Old news," Viggo says, turning his face into Sean's hand. The hairline of his scar is faint, that's how long ago he'd been a crazy and senseless kid, and he knows a touch there shouldn't feel different than it does anywhere else, but with the rough pad of Sean's thumb tracing it, it suddenly feels like a hot wire laid against him, hypersensitive; he is aware of each centimeter of it, the small deviations, the fine path of it down his upper lip. A sob makes his chest hitch, the breath spends itself against the moist flesh of Sean's palm.
"Please, Sean," he murmurs against Sean's palm. "I can't take this..."
"Come on then, Vig." The words are whispered as the hand on Viggo's face turns him, and Sean's fingers lace behind his skull to pull him down, and Viggo goes gladly.
When they kiss, it's wide-eyed and not so much a kiss at first as it is an exchange of surprised breath. As Viggo stretches low over Sean's body, the hands behind his head slip down to travel over the flesh Viggo himself has just explored, and before they kiss for real and true this time, Sean asks Viggo to touch him.
He could spend forever traveling Sean's body, Viggo thinks, as he feels the powerful coil of muscle and firm skin beneath his hands. So many things - the geography of a lover's body, the map he could follow with all his senses, and it was all of it, every time, a rediscovery. Viggo is blinded as Sean works his mouth expertly, but muscle memory guides his hands over the trembling chest, the matted hair pressed against his, and he rolls slightly aside to stroke Sean's nipples, smiling against his lover's mouth as the flesh tightens under his fingertips.
Sean's lower body is tense against him, his hips grinding unconsciously up into Viggo, jerking once in surprise as Viggo reaches behind him to run fingers over the slick length of Sean's cock.
"Fuck, Vig," Sean gasps against Viggo's mouth, tongue tracing his scar, his lips, touching Viggo's tongue once, briefly, before delving back inside. Viggo hums softly, nearly a croon, loving the way Sean kissed - deep, thorough, his tongue exploring the wet inner cheeks, touching the roof of Viggo's mouth, tangling with Viggo's tongue.
But he needed more - oh, God, he needed it, and would he ever stop needing, or want to stop? - and broke the kiss to lean back, poised above Sean's erection, one hand gripping the base of it.
"I want you in me," he tells Sean in as steady a tone as he can manage. "Open me up for you... I'll.. I'll fuck myself on your fingers and then your dick." A thread of desperation breaks into the command.
Sean nods, wordless, and with shaking hands fumbles in the still-open drawer for the lube. He misses on the first attempt, coating his belly with the lubricant, and on the second try manages to coat his fingers. Viggo hitches his hips forward, crying out as Sean's fingers open him, moving inside with shaking, frantic efficiency. They curl and stroke against him, pressing, and Viggo feels his body take over from his mind, moving with single-minded purpose against the questing fingers, seeking to push them deeper until they were buried as deep as they could go.
"Not enough," Viggo grates, pulling himself up off Sean's fingers and renewing his grip on Sean's cock, holding him at the base and pressing in the space above the soft skin . Sean jerks upward at the contact, a curse startled from his lips, and his hands got reflexively to Viggo's hips to steady him. They know Viggo's not ready, but Viggo doesn't care, and he's so far gone that it doesn't matter, and Sean's control has vanished, so with a single determined motion, Viggo lowers himself slowly onto Sean's erection.
He gasps as Sean enters him, the thick head stretching him as Sean's fingers had not been able to do - they're not kids anymore, and though last night was restful, what had come before sleep was anything but restrained, and his body reminds him of that with a wave of protest. Viggo drinks it in, because pain is in its own way a reminder of life, as pleasure is, rocking his hips up to help Sean's length slide in deeper, sighing as his body slowly stretches to accommodate his lover and Sean, who cannot wait, pushes up into him with a strangled sound that still manages to be beautiful.
And, just like that, his entire body opens, a sublime expansion that takes in everything: all of Sean's cock inside him, the electric hum of blood and the slickness of sweat, and he can hear Sean breathe and taste his breath and the tang of the come leaking from his own cock. He can feel the sheets rumpled against his calves, the exhalation of air from the air conditioner, the lazy warmth of the sun on his back, a trickle of sweat running down his ass and over Sean's balls.
He stretches once because he loves doing that, laughing softly, tenses as the laughter makes Sean vibrate inside him and thrust beneath him.
And now Sean is moving, hands steady on Viggo's hips, the length of his erection sliding sweetly within him. Viggo rocks back a bit and the angle changes abruptly, and with a swiftness that leaves them gasping and tense the head of his cock strikes a place deeper inside Viggo.
"Oh, Christ," Sean moans, the curse strangled in his throat. His head is tipped back, the muscles of his chest stretched, tendons distended, and his hand tightens its grip convulsively on Viggo's cock, a hot and fierce application of pressure. "Oh, Vig."
Viggo can't manage words - he can hear soft sounds coming from his throat, but he can't control them, a quiet, nonsense tumble of cries and whispers, nothing that belongs to any language in the world. His eyes are open, and hallucinations dance in front of them; the ceiling is painted with colors and light, and they swim together like oils, and Sean's face is transfigured, but that, as the hot thrust of his body against Viggo's says, is real enough.
Something breaks in him, shattering like glass - maybe it's his control, or the last bit of sanity, or something deeper than that - and ecstasy stretches him out along one infinite moment, and he's pulled taut along it, his entire body tense and singing with energy, with Sean hot and deep inside him, and then there's heat sweeping through him and then, finally, the searing heat of his own release.
For a moment there is nothing, only the hum of blood in his ears and his heart's own thunder. He can't feel his body shaking with the aftershock of his climax, or Sean's strong arms pulling him down, gathering Viggo against his body. And then, through the haze that always comes over him after sex, he can hear Sean's voice calling him softly, bringing him back to himself - Hey, mate, c'mon... come on back now, and obediently he comes.
Sean is sated and relaxed against him, green eyes sleepy and happy. Viggo offers him a smile, and it is accepted with a kiss. They lie together in silence, draped around each other, sticky and sweaty, but comfortable.
"We're goin' to have to do something other than fuck on our break, y'know," Sean reminds him quietly. "Go to the beach, go walking, do touristy things..."
"I've got plenty to explore here," Viggo murmurs, burrowing against Sean's neck.
"You've already got me damn near memorized," Sean says, amused.
Viggo looks up, into the familiar and beloved face that is always the same and always different, both at once. "No," he whispers, liking the way confusion washes across Sean's face before being replaced by a certain embarrassed pleasure.
"No, I don't."
Big Country by Isern
Summary: Viggo can't remember dreaming.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 2997 Read: 847
Published: 06 Aug 2009 Updated: 06 Aug 2009