Like an instinctive urge to yawn just because you see someone else do it, Viggo felt the craving kick in. Living with a fellow smoker wasn't such a good idea sometimes, he thought, swiping his cigarette pack off the table from beside Sean's.
"Fuck, I'm all out. Can I have one of yours?" He made a move for Sean's pack. Some pretentious, harsh French brand that Viggo really didn't like, but at this moment even a crappy cigarette was better than the prospect of trudging through the rain to the store.
Sean snatched up the packet before Viggo could get to it and hid it behind his back. "S'pose I could give you one, yeah." He smirked, shifting on the sofa, knees falling open in blatant invitation. "But it's going to cost."
"Again? Why does everything always have a price with you?"
"If you didn't do it so well, I wouldn't ask. You should be flattered." Confidence and mischief flashed in Sean's eyes -- a dangerous combination, as Viggo knew from experience. Sean took a long drag of his cigarette and leaned back, inhaling deeply. "Mmmmmm... smooth. Tasty."
"What, you or the smoke?" Viggo grinned.
"You want one or not? Don't matter to me, really."
Resigned, Viggo sighed and knelt down between Sean's splayed thighs. "You drive a hard bargain, you know that?"
"You love it," chuckled Sean, unzipping his jeans with one hand and in the other waving his cigarette, already a fourth of it burned away. "And you'd better make me come before I finish this, or else forget it."
"Don't worry. Anything to get my fix faster," Viggo muttered, but with a slight smile. Because he was a born cocksucker -- and they both knew it. Just couldn't get enough. And lately Viggo had been spending a lot of time on his knees, so apparently Sean couldn't get enough of it either.
Viggo leaned over and swallowed Sean's cock, warming immediately to its familiar touch and taste, expertly teasing Sean to full hardness in a matter of seconds. He squirmed his tongue across the swollen head, swirling and dipping into the thick bead of moisture already pooling at the tip
... and bit back a laugh as Sean choked for a moment, evidently having inhaled smoke and a gasp at the same time. Serves the bastard right. Viggo began to fist Sean's cock, firm smooth strokes matching the rhythm of his tongue, licking and sucking and gently stroking everywhere at first, then zeroing in with confident purpose as Sean's breathing turned ragged, wheezing out like an exhalation of smoke.
Sean moaned and grabbed a fistful of hair, the burning cigarette forgotten but still lodged between fingers that gripped Viggo's skull like a vise. Viggo wasn't sucking Sean's cock so much now as Sean was fucking his face, spearing in and out in a hot brutal rhythm, panting loudly and practically sliding right off the sofa.
God -- Viggo so loved seeing Sean get to this point, where smug authority dissolved into mindless want and Sean turned from the controller into the controlled. Viggo lived for this moment, adored it, would do (and often did) almost anything for it, craved it more than a fucking fleeting nicotine high or any other addiction he could think of.
Just as he thought he should turn up the heat a bit more, the heat turned on him -- literally -- a column of ash splashed across his shoulder, flaking and burning. Viggo cried out; or, it would have been a cry, had his mouth not been stuffed so full of cock. Instead it came out as a muffled yelp, vibrations trilling in Viggo's throat and wrapping tightly around the flesh that filled it, a sensation so incredible to Sean that it propelled him for a blind second onto the edge of everything and nothing.
Sean gave a final shove and came hard, shaking, with a keening sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Strong fingers still clenched Viggo's hair; the cigarette filter jabbed wet and sticky against his ear as Sean's come flooded his mouth, hot and musky and tasting as sharply-sweet as always.
Four swallows this time. Not bad. He slumped against Sean's thigh, couldn't resist giving it a playful pinch. "Happy? Now can I have a smoke?"
Sean took his time recovering, luxuriously sighing and snuggling into the cushions like a spoiled cat, sated and content. One hand lazily caressed Viggo's hair as the other flicked the burnt-out stub towards an ashtray on the coffee table. It missed the mark by about six inches.
The smirk returned, lips curling up at the corners.
"So sorry, mate," Sean drawled. He pulled the crumpled, empty packet from behind his back and tossed it at Viggo. "Afraid that were my last one."