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Dark Muse, Part IV
Heh. Resolved the repetitive use of the naughty phrase. See! The benefits of a liberal arts education. Go Tarheels!
Hmmm. But is there an accepted spelling for Cuntabago?
Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
uisgich for all her support and encouragement.
Title: Encounters with the Dark Muse 4/5? Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.
Author:muck_a_luck
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sean and Viggo spend an afternoon doing nothing
Content/warnings: Angst? PWP.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's ownporno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: Would be cool to be archived! www.Rugbytackling.com only, though.
Viggo groaned and opened one eye to check the clock. Fuck 8:30! He was bolt upright and halfway out of the bed before he remembered oh yeah day off. Days off. The first days off in almost two weeks. The first days off since... Well, since.
He slumped back down into the bed and was on the edge of sleep again when he heard the doorbell. Probably what woke him up in the first place. Ignore it, they'll go away, he thought. But they didn't. Whoever it was kept ringing the bell, and eventually the bastard leaned on it and didn't let up.
Goddammit, that was Orli's trick! Viggo was out of the bed now, on his way through the house and ripping the door open.
Oh. Not Orli. Sean.
Sean stood there on the stoop, finger on the bell, looking a little startled, then sheepish.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Orli told me it was the only way to get you to answer the door these days." Then Sean gave him the stellar smile, the one that melted hearts everywhere. "But I brought breakfast!" He held up a bag of something that smelled savory and delicious, and Viggo wasn't exactly going to say "No" to Sean. Ever.
So he stepped aside and let him in. And went back to the bedroom to put something on besides boxers.
Viggo made coffee, Sean unloaded the bags, and it was like nothing had happened. Like a dozen weekends when Sean came to his place, or Viggo went to Sean's, and they talked about kids and script changes and set gossip and the Blades and places they'd been and places they wanted to go. And nothing. Easy talk and easy silences.
But there was a surreal edge to this morning. Because they hadn't done this since… Since. They had hardly been alone together. A few minutes occasionally in the Cuntabago, when Viggo's timing was off. They didn't talk about anything that wasn't work related except for passing pleasantries. Viggo had thought that the ease of their friendship was gone. That their friendship was gone. He had resigned himself to it.
But here was Sean, sitting, drinking coffee, nattering on, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. As if those two weeks had never passed by. Nattering on about, what? Viggo had lost track. But it didn't matter. Just nattering on. And Viggo was elated.
They were sitting in front of the TV, watching some local footie match. Had fallen into one of the old easy silences. Viggo was, in fact, too wiped from days of unbroken filming for a peaceful afternoon on the couch and had nearly drifted back to sleep when Sean spoke.
"The thing is," said Sean, as if picking up some conversation they had left off earlier, "It's gone, and I want it back."
Viggo just blinked at him a little stupidly. "Sorry. I zoned out for a minute. What were we talking about?" He could hear the sleep in his own voice, heavy and slurred. Sean was staring at him intently, and then, suddenly, his eyes slipped away. And that woke Viggo up.
But Sean was on his feet now, and Viggo found himself following him across the room. "You're exhausted," said Sean, "I'm keeping you awake." He was reaching for the jacket he had dropped on the back of a kitchen chair.
No, no, no. This was professional, courteous colleague Sean returning. Well, leaving… His friend slipping away.
"No." The sleep was still in Viggo's voice, but he was moving now, and he caught Sean by the wrist before he could pick up his coat. Before his friend could disappear into the cool afternoon sunlight to reappear as a stranger in the Cuntabago two mornings from now.
Viggo was desperate to stop that.
"Wait, please!"
Sean turned to face him, but still wasn't meeting his eyes.
"I miss this, too," Viggo said. "I want it back, too. Look, don't go. It didn't used to matter if one of us fell asleep on the couch. Just… stay?"
Sean stood very still. Then, quietly and calmly, "You misunderstood me. The bruise is gone. The one you made on my back. I want you to do it again." Sean stepped back and Viggo realized he was still holding his arm. Sean tugged away, turned and walked quietly out of the room.
Viggo stared after him. Sean didn't leave. He went back to the living room where they had been sitting, watching the match. When Viggo finally composed himself enough to follow him, he found Sean sprawled across the couch, head resting on his crossed arms, feet dangling over the end. No shirt. Waiting.
Viggo was kneeling beside him, before him, preparing to worship him, even as he heard himself saying, "This isn't a good idea." Sean's muffled reply, "Probably not," was almost completely lost to Viggo, who was already bending over, bowing his head, laying a long, wet stripe right down the center of his friend's back.
"I thought you were straight." Viggo painted the words onto Sean's skin with his lips and beard. Sean gave a little sigh.
As if from far a great distance, Viggo heard Sean's chuckle, already just slightly breathless. "That's what I tell myself," he said, "But for a couple of weeks now my dick has been suggesting that it's time for a serious reevaluation of my own perception of my sexual identity…" Sean's laugh was self-deprecating, a bit shaky, and suddenly choked off in a groan as Viggo open his jaw wide and bit.
It's hard to bite someone in the middle of their back. The skin is stretched and tight. There's nothing to get a grip on. Viggo pressed his teeth hard into the smooth, saliva slicked flesh; dragged incisors and bicuspids across muscle and vertebrae. Sean shuddered under him. Gasped out a barely-audible curse. And shifted his hips just a little against the cushions of the couch.
Viggo didn't pretend to understand exactly what this was going to mean tomorrow, or even an hour from now, but he was really starting to forget why he should care. Sean Bean, his straight friend, was so turned on by this he was actually dry-humping Viggo's couch.
Who was Viggo to argue?
He laid a firm hand at the nape of Sean's neck and the other in the small of his back and bit and licked and scraped his carefully maintained stubble over increasingly damp, abused skin. Sean was soon squirming under the assault, but not fighting, or asking Viggo to stop. Moving just enough to give Viggo the joy of holding him still. The little moans and breathless curses turning into whimpers until finally Sean was begging, stop, stop, stop and it was more like a mantra than a plea and Viggo just let up on the teeth and beard and pressed his tongue to hot, sweet skin.
"No! Vig… Unggh. Stop it! Stop!" Sean twisted under him in earnest now, struggling to shove him off and Viggo slammed back into reality. He started back, expecting what? Sean to accuse him? Blame him? Punch him? Leave.
But no. Once Viggo stopped, Sean didn't move. Just shivered a bit, shifted on the couch. Pushed himself up onto his elbows and ran shaking hands over his face.
The mark was livid, red and raw. Viggo reached out a finger and ran it through the glistening layer of moisture left by his own mouth and tongue. Sean yelped and twisted under him, so that he was lying on his back, with an arm thrown over his eyes. Sean's face was flushed the most perfect shade of blush. He was panting, just a little. Viggo's eyes drifted. And hard as a rock.
Sean had seemingly melted into Viggo's sofa. And suddenly, the whole thing didn't seem so frightening anymore. Though Viggo did have the horrible, unsettling feeling that he was going to laugh and cry at the same time. When what the moment really called for was a tease.
"So, is that why you woke me at the godawful hour of 8:30 on my day off? To bribe me with breakfast, so I'd give you the world's biggest hickey on your back?"
Sean shifted his arm a little to peer out at his friend. Then, with a quickness belying Sean's relaxed appearance, the man on the couch reached out and hauled Viggo down onto him.
They hadn't kissed before, Viggo dimly thought. And this was a wet, no-holds-barred, almost vicious kiss. Sean's broad palm gripped the back of Viggo's skull, long fingers splayed through his hair. Sean bit him, Viggo gasped, and Sean's tongue was in his mouth, licking, tasting, taking.
The kiss pulled Viggo in. Without thinking clearly about it he climbed up onto the sofa. Sean adjusted a little and Viggo found himself settled snugly between long, strong thighs. Somebody groaned. Possibly himself. But maybe Sean. Who had worn only soft sweats for lazing around on his friend's couch on his day off. Who was shifting around again under him until they were perfectly aligned, and oh, yeah, that was Sean's little whimper.
OK, how was he supposed to hold out against that? Viggo sure as hell hoped that Sean knew what he was doing here, because Viggo was taking whimpering and squirming as an invitation. Viggo gave a little roll of his hips in turn, and, yeah, there it was, the counterthrust…
They began to move in a syncopated rhythm that soon had Sean cursing and groaning under him and Viggo walking the bright edge. But he wanted it to last and he drew it out, using his superior leverage to alter the pace, slow down and stop before either of them could quite make the last leap. Drew it out with a beautiful cruel streak until Sean was begging again and Viggo surrendered and fuck he needed to get more action, because how could he be having one of the best orgasms of his life with all his clothes still on, like a pathetic teenager on his parents' couch?
Viggo thought he could happily fall asleep right were he was, but he must be crushing Sean under post-orgasmic dead weight. He moved to get up, but the long arms that had been loosely draped over his back suddenly tightened. Apparently, Viggo wasn't going anywhere.
"What do you want, Sean?" he murmured into the damp skin of his friend's neck.
The man under him laughed weakly. "I want never to cum in my pants again," he said ruefully. Sean's body was limp and pliant under him. Viggo indulged a smug little smirk before pushing up a little onto his forearms and looking down at Sean.
"No. Seriously. Why did you come here today? What do you want from me? this? I don't know…" Because Viggo was confused. He tried to keep his voice light, but he really didn't know what he was supposed to be thinking about this and already, in the afterglow, he was worried and getting nervous.
Sean sighed. "I don't know what I want. I've been trying to figure it out since I woke up in my own bed after. When I came here I knew I wanted you to put your mouth on me. I'm pretty sure I want you to fuck me again. I honestly thought that was the end of it. But this whatever-this-was on the couch seems to be working out…"
Viggo shifted a little, setting off aftershocks for both of them. Sean groaned and Viggo suppressed another smug grin. "Stop it! I'm not gonna be able to think if you do that!" Sean squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and appeared to regroup.
"And at the moment I'm starting to really believe I could fuck you through the mattress as soon as I can get it up again." And Viggo saw his own smug little smirk reflected right back up at him.
He laughed. "Fine. You do that.. But it's a miracle that I'm even conscious at the moment. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I had planned to sleep about 20 hours before I did anything else…"
"OK," said Sean, "So. Why don't we have another 12 or so hours of sleep, then wake up and spend the rest of tomorrow in bed figuring out what it is I want?"
Hello? Acting skills. Viggo's shock must have shown on his face, because Sean, who had been a blissed-out puddle of satisfaction under him, was suddenly tensing, not quite pushing to sit up. His gaze slipping away again. Turning his head and closing his eyes to hide from the coming humiliating rejection.
So Viggo did another thing he had been waiting weeks to do. He leaned down the few inches separating them and set his teeth to the edge of Sean's ear. Licked the shell, savored the lobe, and when he started to feel the fight leave the body under him, Viggo stood and offered Sean his hand.
Part V
Originally posted at Rugbytackle
Hmmm. But is there an accepted spelling for Cuntabago?
Many thanks to
uisgich for all her support and encouragement. Title: Encounters with the Dark Muse 4/5? Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.
Author:
muck_a_luckPairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sean and Viggo spend an afternoon doing nothing
Content/warnings: Angst? PWP.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own
Archive rights: Would be cool to be archived! www.Rugbytackling.com only, though.
Viggo groaned and opened one eye to check the clock. Fuck 8:30! He was bolt upright and halfway out of the bed before he remembered oh yeah day off. Days off. The first days off in almost two weeks. The first days off since... Well, since.
He slumped back down into the bed and was on the edge of sleep again when he heard the doorbell. Probably what woke him up in the first place. Ignore it, they'll go away, he thought. But they didn't. Whoever it was kept ringing the bell, and eventually the bastard leaned on it and didn't let up.
Goddammit, that was Orli's trick! Viggo was out of the bed now, on his way through the house and ripping the door open.
Oh. Not Orli. Sean.
Sean stood there on the stoop, finger on the bell, looking a little startled, then sheepish.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Orli told me it was the only way to get you to answer the door these days." Then Sean gave him the stellar smile, the one that melted hearts everywhere. "But I brought breakfast!" He held up a bag of something that smelled savory and delicious, and Viggo wasn't exactly going to say "No" to Sean. Ever.
So he stepped aside and let him in. And went back to the bedroom to put something on besides boxers.
Viggo made coffee, Sean unloaded the bags, and it was like nothing had happened. Like a dozen weekends when Sean came to his place, or Viggo went to Sean's, and they talked about kids and script changes and set gossip and the Blades and places they'd been and places they wanted to go. And nothing. Easy talk and easy silences.
But there was a surreal edge to this morning. Because they hadn't done this since… Since. They had hardly been alone together. A few minutes occasionally in the Cuntabago, when Viggo's timing was off. They didn't talk about anything that wasn't work related except for passing pleasantries. Viggo had thought that the ease of their friendship was gone. That their friendship was gone. He had resigned himself to it.
But here was Sean, sitting, drinking coffee, nattering on, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. As if those two weeks had never passed by. Nattering on about, what? Viggo had lost track. But it didn't matter. Just nattering on. And Viggo was elated.
They were sitting in front of the TV, watching some local footie match. Had fallen into one of the old easy silences. Viggo was, in fact, too wiped from days of unbroken filming for a peaceful afternoon on the couch and had nearly drifted back to sleep when Sean spoke.
"The thing is," said Sean, as if picking up some conversation they had left off earlier, "It's gone, and I want it back."
Viggo just blinked at him a little stupidly. "Sorry. I zoned out for a minute. What were we talking about?" He could hear the sleep in his own voice, heavy and slurred. Sean was staring at him intently, and then, suddenly, his eyes slipped away. And that woke Viggo up.
But Sean was on his feet now, and Viggo found himself following him across the room. "You're exhausted," said Sean, "I'm keeping you awake." He was reaching for the jacket he had dropped on the back of a kitchen chair.
No, no, no. This was professional, courteous colleague Sean returning. Well, leaving… His friend slipping away.
"No." The sleep was still in Viggo's voice, but he was moving now, and he caught Sean by the wrist before he could pick up his coat. Before his friend could disappear into the cool afternoon sunlight to reappear as a stranger in the Cuntabago two mornings from now.
Viggo was desperate to stop that.
"Wait, please!"
Sean turned to face him, but still wasn't meeting his eyes.
"I miss this, too," Viggo said. "I want it back, too. Look, don't go. It didn't used to matter if one of us fell asleep on the couch. Just… stay?"
Sean stood very still. Then, quietly and calmly, "You misunderstood me. The bruise is gone. The one you made on my back. I want you to do it again." Sean stepped back and Viggo realized he was still holding his arm. Sean tugged away, turned and walked quietly out of the room.
Viggo stared after him. Sean didn't leave. He went back to the living room where they had been sitting, watching the match. When Viggo finally composed himself enough to follow him, he found Sean sprawled across the couch, head resting on his crossed arms, feet dangling over the end. No shirt. Waiting.
Viggo was kneeling beside him, before him, preparing to worship him, even as he heard himself saying, "This isn't a good idea." Sean's muffled reply, "Probably not," was almost completely lost to Viggo, who was already bending over, bowing his head, laying a long, wet stripe right down the center of his friend's back.
"I thought you were straight." Viggo painted the words onto Sean's skin with his lips and beard. Sean gave a little sigh.
As if from far a great distance, Viggo heard Sean's chuckle, already just slightly breathless. "That's what I tell myself," he said, "But for a couple of weeks now my dick has been suggesting that it's time for a serious reevaluation of my own perception of my sexual identity…" Sean's laugh was self-deprecating, a bit shaky, and suddenly choked off in a groan as Viggo open his jaw wide and bit.
It's hard to bite someone in the middle of their back. The skin is stretched and tight. There's nothing to get a grip on. Viggo pressed his teeth hard into the smooth, saliva slicked flesh; dragged incisors and bicuspids across muscle and vertebrae. Sean shuddered under him. Gasped out a barely-audible curse. And shifted his hips just a little against the cushions of the couch.
Viggo didn't pretend to understand exactly what this was going to mean tomorrow, or even an hour from now, but he was really starting to forget why he should care. Sean Bean, his straight friend, was so turned on by this he was actually dry-humping Viggo's couch.
Who was Viggo to argue?
He laid a firm hand at the nape of Sean's neck and the other in the small of his back and bit and licked and scraped his carefully maintained stubble over increasingly damp, abused skin. Sean was soon squirming under the assault, but not fighting, or asking Viggo to stop. Moving just enough to give Viggo the joy of holding him still. The little moans and breathless curses turning into whimpers until finally Sean was begging, stop, stop, stop and it was more like a mantra than a plea and Viggo just let up on the teeth and beard and pressed his tongue to hot, sweet skin.
"No! Vig… Unggh. Stop it! Stop!" Sean twisted under him in earnest now, struggling to shove him off and Viggo slammed back into reality. He started back, expecting what? Sean to accuse him? Blame him? Punch him? Leave.
But no. Once Viggo stopped, Sean didn't move. Just shivered a bit, shifted on the couch. Pushed himself up onto his elbows and ran shaking hands over his face.
The mark was livid, red and raw. Viggo reached out a finger and ran it through the glistening layer of moisture left by his own mouth and tongue. Sean yelped and twisted under him, so that he was lying on his back, with an arm thrown over his eyes. Sean's face was flushed the most perfect shade of blush. He was panting, just a little. Viggo's eyes drifted. And hard as a rock.
Sean had seemingly melted into Viggo's sofa. And suddenly, the whole thing didn't seem so frightening anymore. Though Viggo did have the horrible, unsettling feeling that he was going to laugh and cry at the same time. When what the moment really called for was a tease.
"So, is that why you woke me at the godawful hour of 8:30 on my day off? To bribe me with breakfast, so I'd give you the world's biggest hickey on your back?"
Sean shifted his arm a little to peer out at his friend. Then, with a quickness belying Sean's relaxed appearance, the man on the couch reached out and hauled Viggo down onto him.
They hadn't kissed before, Viggo dimly thought. And this was a wet, no-holds-barred, almost vicious kiss. Sean's broad palm gripped the back of Viggo's skull, long fingers splayed through his hair. Sean bit him, Viggo gasped, and Sean's tongue was in his mouth, licking, tasting, taking.
The kiss pulled Viggo in. Without thinking clearly about it he climbed up onto the sofa. Sean adjusted a little and Viggo found himself settled snugly between long, strong thighs. Somebody groaned. Possibly himself. But maybe Sean. Who had worn only soft sweats for lazing around on his friend's couch on his day off. Who was shifting around again under him until they were perfectly aligned, and oh, yeah, that was Sean's little whimper.
OK, how was he supposed to hold out against that? Viggo sure as hell hoped that Sean knew what he was doing here, because Viggo was taking whimpering and squirming as an invitation. Viggo gave a little roll of his hips in turn, and, yeah, there it was, the counterthrust…
They began to move in a syncopated rhythm that soon had Sean cursing and groaning under him and Viggo walking the bright edge. But he wanted it to last and he drew it out, using his superior leverage to alter the pace, slow down and stop before either of them could quite make the last leap. Drew it out with a beautiful cruel streak until Sean was begging again and Viggo surrendered and fuck he needed to get more action, because how could he be having one of the best orgasms of his life with all his clothes still on, like a pathetic teenager on his parents' couch?
Viggo thought he could happily fall asleep right were he was, but he must be crushing Sean under post-orgasmic dead weight. He moved to get up, but the long arms that had been loosely draped over his back suddenly tightened. Apparently, Viggo wasn't going anywhere.
"What do you want, Sean?" he murmured into the damp skin of his friend's neck.
The man under him laughed weakly. "I want never to cum in my pants again," he said ruefully. Sean's body was limp and pliant under him. Viggo indulged a smug little smirk before pushing up a little onto his forearms and looking down at Sean.
"No. Seriously. Why did you come here today? What do you want from me? this? I don't know…" Because Viggo was confused. He tried to keep his voice light, but he really didn't know what he was supposed to be thinking about this and already, in the afterglow, he was worried and getting nervous.
Sean sighed. "I don't know what I want. I've been trying to figure it out since I woke up in my own bed after. When I came here I knew I wanted you to put your mouth on me. I'm pretty sure I want you to fuck me again. I honestly thought that was the end of it. But this whatever-this-was on the couch seems to be working out…"
Viggo shifted a little, setting off aftershocks for both of them. Sean groaned and Viggo suppressed another smug grin. "Stop it! I'm not gonna be able to think if you do that!" Sean squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and appeared to regroup.
"And at the moment I'm starting to really believe I could fuck you through the mattress as soon as I can get it up again." And Viggo saw his own smug little smirk reflected right back up at him.
He laughed. "Fine. You do that.. But it's a miracle that I'm even conscious at the moment. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I had planned to sleep about 20 hours before I did anything else…"
"OK," said Sean, "So. Why don't we have another 12 or so hours of sleep, then wake up and spend the rest of tomorrow in bed figuring out what it is I want?"
Hello? Acting skills. Viggo's shock must have shown on his face, because Sean, who had been a blissed-out puddle of satisfaction under him, was suddenly tensing, not quite pushing to sit up. His gaze slipping away again. Turning his head and closing his eyes to hide from the coming humiliating rejection.
So Viggo did another thing he had been waiting weeks to do. He leaned down the few inches separating them and set his teeth to the edge of Sean's ear. Licked the shell, savored the lobe, and when he started to feel the fight leave the body under him, Viggo stood and offered Sean his hand.
Part V
Originally posted at Rugbytackle