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fellowshippers2004-10-18 09:20 pm
blue-debut.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-10-18 09:20 pm
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Warning! This is a work in progress!
Title: Contradiction, chapter 1.
Author: blue_debut
Pairing: SB/VM/Possibly other, if it decides to amble in that direction.
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Notes: train wreck!sean.
Beta: Un-beta'ed. (eek) All errors belong to me, and I love them like offspring.
Disclaimer: These are spare time ramblings that I type up to humor myself, I didn't have designs on sharing them but the fanfic community is so rich I had to give back. Obviously this is not real. I dearly hope Sean isn't this much of a mess, the poor lad. Be warned, this fic was not not not meant to have the 8+ parts it does now, so if it seems like I'm all over the place with no direction, that's probably the case. My bad, at least I wrote some humping into it.
Thank you: To all of you fangirls and boys out there, I so enjoy your work and in the wee hours of the night it surpasses any thick blanket for comfort. Don't stop writing.
Feedback: I've never had it, but I hear its good; knock yourself out.
Archive: Just tell me: icarus@lucidrealms.net
Grab it here:
http://www.lucidrealms.net/chap1.rtf
Chapter One
You only ever really have one solid thing in this world, yourself. These were words Sean had lived by, and life was, so far, a consistent failure. There was possibly a time, surely he had been obscenely young, when refusing to give a solitary yard of yourself to another person seemed reasonable, sensible even. Now, looking at it objectively for what seemed the first time, it had plagued three of his marriages. He had, previous to this moment in time, placed himself in a category that lay directly between dunce and dullard; he might have to consider downgrading. Maybe someone would create a brand new term for a being who is so out of touch with themselves that they float through life unaware they are fucking it up royally. That's where you would go Bean, yes.
There were these spells, not the wiggle fingers Gandalfy kind either, that claimed him utterly and he had not even that one thing he never lost sight of, himself. No one had ever tested that mettle, nor threatened the stronghold and mighty kingdom that Sean ruled, solitary and proud. Guards were posted at every weak point, sarcasm brimmed the moat with its deadly poison, pit traps bristled with sharp as tack wit. Yes sir, make a wrong move here and he would shut you down, keep your distance or there would be blood.
How in the fires of hell he could be bested by a man who did not even wear shoes was simply beyond him, and there was no way to contemplate it while maintaining the kind of anger needed to push the artsy shite out of his affections. Some type of mental pry bar begged for application, and with a frequency that was growing more alarming by the day. Avoid his soft glance here, more distance between us there, refuse to leave the house with him most nights of the week. Then feel like fucking crying when his disappointed "Oh..." travels over phone lines that are certainly not worthy of playing host to the sexist voice Sean had ever heard.
Though some of his previous marital flops would inform you otherwise, Sean was a loving person. One could be so, he reasoned, and maintain one's heart for one's self. That way, when the inevitable occurred, you could avoid dying from the inside out. Love for another person could surely kill you, there was no question. There is another realization, rapid fire, and Bean scratches at his wig, annoyance wafting off him physically. You could see the stink lines, he was sure of it; Pepe le Pew. His feelings for another have never before reached this frenzied pitch, drowning out life altogether. The only audible things are his raging blood pressure and a graveled voice with an American accent.
His squinted green eyes snap from their holding pattern on the ground as a body is roughed into him from behind, sending his right leg flailing out in search of a position to support this unwelcome mystery weight.
"Bloodyfuckingchrist!" Its all one word and Sean spits it, just before his face slams the earth before him. He can't twist his head around from this chest in the ground angle to view his captor, and that might be a good thing as his neck feels quite strained.
"Whoever that is, you had better get off me right quick." The curve of a jaw, just below the ear, presses to the nape of his neck. Its not gentle but doesn't threaten, ample stubble spikes into his soft skin. Sean samples the air, sniffing like a bird dog upwind.
"I just showered." Comes the almost bored monotone reply, fingers toying with his fake hair. "So no complaints." Sean doesn't believe in God but he just damned him, several times over. The body against his shifts but does not release him, knees digging into the backs of his joints are just about setting his thighs on fire.
"You're hurting me legs would you get off you bony yank?" Bean bucks his weight in an attempt to set his arms under himself, but preparations for such an action have already been taken and swift fingers pin his wrists to the dirt. Sean can see those hands and wrenches his vision away, kicking and screaming. Nothing undid him, made him less in control of himself than those cursed instruments of scab and knuckle. "You're fucking up my costume you know."
"You're like a fun vacuum, Beans." Viggo makes a slorping noise, its meant to be comical but Sean is past laughing about anything Viggo does these days, he's tapped out of patience just keeping himself in check.
"Yes, well not everyone can finish a day's hard labor and bounce about like they just got out of the bed can they?" Jealousy indeed has an ugly head, Sean decides. The drain of being near someone so tireless exhausted him back before he wanted to sleep with the man.
Now, it was murder.
The piercing agony in his spine and limbs abates as Viggo eases himself off the prone figure, rolling onto his back next to Bean, shoulder length hair sweeping off his rough face. The man might have been carved from a block of stone, Sean considers it a honest possibility. His elbows are supporting his forearms, straight upwards off the ground, palms dangling over sized on the ends of his wrists. They fall backwards to land noiselessly in the grasses, wind from the motion collides with Sean's face and he holds his breath in a valiant defense against the man's scent.
"You gonna move or did I break you?" Viggo asks casually, staring at the setting sun unblinkingly. Doesn't one go blind doing that type of thing? Perhaps if you were only human. If he were so open with someone about this topic, which is more unlikely than lions and gazelle having a tea party in the middle of the Serengeti, he would freely tell them that the majority of Viggo's actions shocked him, despite how much time they spent together. Sean was not terribly talented but he did like to sketch, and when he drew Viggo he produced watery forms, slippery and ultimately malleable, a change in shape for each moment of life.
Sean Bean was made of wood. Probably one of those dense, sturdy types used for building homes.
"I dunno, figure I'll just stay still for awhile, mate, easier than moving." He's mumbling into a mouthful of short foliage, his mouth tangs of metallic dirt. Viggo's shoot happened to wrap before Sean's, and the other man is already out of costume, his usual flannel and jeans have ensued.
"You know, if you keep momentum you don't have time to get... tired..." He interrupts himself with a huge, mouth-splitting yawn. Sean can see fillings, sharp teeth and a flush tongue, curling just before the jaw closes. How can such commonplace human architecture be downright trace inducing when displayed on the right people? This was the mystery of attraction, the everyday becoming the magical.
"Eh, fuck it, lets take a nap." Bean pushes his arms out straight over his shoulders and stretches, muscles of his back shiver with the effort. When he slits open his eyes Viggo is staring at him, gaze deeply blue and not decipherable. Sean reflexively swallows, a tendon in his calf twitches. He's never prepared for this when it happens, the visual onslaught. It's as if Viggo has decided to commit you to memory, and he'll know every inch of you; Bean would wager it happened about once a week. They never spoke of it, and once the moment breaks Sean will be shaken, as if he had been dreaming wide awake.
He is saved by the elf, so to speak, as Orlando crawls in between them, feline and prowling on all fours. Here is a man Sean has multiple points in common with. Orli is comfortable for him, safe ground. Their country of origin was obviously the same, and the young man was holding into a touch of the shyness Sean shouldered in abundance. They both adored Viggo. For Bloom, a mentor. For Sean... well, it didn't bear thinking about in these hormone crazed times, though its all he seems to be able to do any longer. Wasn't one supposed to sort all this out, this sexual jigsaw puzzle, in their twenties? Here was Sean thinking here knew what went where, for himself at least, when someone turns him on his ear.
"C'mere cutie." Viggo rumbles, twining his lengthy arms around Orlando's impossibly narrow waist. Orli squeaks as he's yanked, rather unceremoniously, into the curve of Mortensen's body. Sean is bewildered by this kind of relationship. It isn't the hyper, touchy-feely, bordering on not suitable for being in public type that the hobbits take part in. It was that Viggo, when he knew he was well received by someone else, would push right into physicalities with them. It unnerved some, enticed others, but he usually meant neither disrespect nor sexual advance. Though he and Orlando played at the latter often.
"Cute, am I?" Bloom questions, folding his hands over Viggo's forearms as they cinch his ribcage.
"Well, I think so." Vig's words hedge a slight growl, Bean fists a tuft of grass in his left hand. Steady, lad. "Sean, don't you think the elf is pretty?" Orlando's eyes widen at the end of the sentence, he slides his vision to the snuggling man behind him. Sean isn't given a chance to answer, many thanks to heaven for these small favors.
"I keep telling him I don't want his American arse." Orli is now looking to Bean, shaking his mo hawked head sadly. Viggo is racked with chuckles and it shakes Orlando's body in turn. Sean is blinking too frequently, he does this when he's either terribly embarrassed or confounded. These teasing sexual games call forth both of those reactions.
"I could turn you on to the idea." Viggo lines Bloom's throat with light pecks that linger overlong as he slides his lips over a curve of muscle. The near invisible hairs that pelt Sean's neck are standing at strict attention, grass he is massacring in his hand leaves green stains under his nails. God, that would feel so-fucking-good.
"Pun intended, I'm sure." Orlando drawls, rolling his eyes around in a full circle. "Now please stop, I'm growing a horn." Viggo snorts laughter as his captive wiggles to freedom, twin smirks lighting their faces.
"Where are we going tonight, lady killer?" Sean asks, frightened to remind them of his presence, but hopeful that it might end this faux flirtation.
"Awww I dunno, hobbits can pick." Orlando responds, taking in Sean's rumpled appearance for the first time. "What happened to you anyhow? You look jammed up." Hah, if the boy knew the half of it.
"Your sugar daddy over there knocked me on me face." Orli's eyebrows furrow, pity swims laps in his dark gaze.
"Poor lad, Viggo is a mean one." He thrusts a booted foot into Mortensen's thigh, the man issues a grunt and jerks his appendage out of firing range.
"Ow, please be careful I have a sore spot there." Sean is risking the kind of stiffness in his back that will not allow him movement tomorrow, and he hefts himself to a cross legged sit. This is a minor improvement, though his costume has become uncontrollably itchy, he indulges a spot under his right collarbone.
"What did you do now?" Orlando fits his low, protective tone on snugly and folds his arms, jaw jutting outwards. He reaches for Viggo's upper leg, all business, prodding the sides. Mortensen gasps, teeth driving into each other inside his mouth.
"Ok, don't do that."
"It must be bad for you to be carrying on like that, lets see then." Orli instructs.
"I'd have to remove my pants."
Sean would like a good, lung wrenching cry right now, fists in the air like some awful B-movie actor. Why God, why do you so enjoy a cozy chuckle at my expense? Is there anyone else you might like to target and run through sexual torture devices perhaps? If past lives were something Sean thought about, he might wonder if he was a right cunt in his last one.
"Oh wait, I put underwear on earlier." Not only are such things a choice for Viggo, but he doesn't even recall the decision he made, Bean's mind is awash with other unknown possibilities about the man. Viggo pops his top button and grinds the zipper southwards, the noise is unmistakable and earth shatteringly realistic to the ears on Sean's head. He really, really wants to possess the self control required not to move his eyes towards his left. Just don't do it, you don't have to look.
"Holy hell." Orlando breathes out, whistling. Viggo is showing signs of intense orc weapon impact, stretched across the center to the outside of his thigh, about a foot long. Raw red in the center, spreading to a deep, patchy purple lining.
"Yikes." Sean says flatly, almost distracted enough by the wound that he misses the outline of testicles in the crotch of Viggo's taunt boxer-briefs.
Almost.
"Yeah, it kinda hurts to stand and move."
"Aren't you running in half your scenes tomorrow?" Orlando quips, extending his long neck so that his eyes are roughly two inches from the fiercest portion of discolored leg. "Its like, oozing blood under the skin, I think thats bad."
"Yup." Viggo leans back on his locked elbows, shaking his still drying mane of hair roughly. Sean is taken fully in by a shapely tricep, bulging out from its home on the back of Viggo's arm. One would swear he's lost weight since he arrived in New Zealand. His body is keenly defined, veins clamor to the surface only to be pressed between muscle and skin.
Orli is tentative, running the pads of one youthful hand against the grain of hair, up and over the bruise; Viggo doesn't so much as flinch. Bean moistens his lips slowly, vision chasing Orlando's palm then moving beyond it. Mortensen shifts, only his left leg, and it spreads his lap open enough that his shorts hug him in places Sean's eyes are hopeless to avoid. Damn these ocular pitfalls to the seventh layer of hell, where has Sean's modesty run off to? He needs a hold on himself that allows him to take his eyes off his dick right this second. There, its done. Bean has managed to clamp his rogue vision on Viggo's chest, a note-worthy improvement.
"Swollen." Bloom mutters, shaking his head.
There are moments, and one of them is right now, when Sean can feel naked while fully dressed. Viggo has been watching his perusal, head inclined at a curious angle. Bean's heart slams his chest, a battering ram of organ, but escape from the flesh prison is an impossibility. Sean however can, and does, flee the crime scene, post haste.
"Need to go change." The words tumble over each other awkwardly to be voiced quickly enough. He shoves his legs underneath him and stalks away. The tingling, warm sixth sense crawling his back notifies him Viggo is watching his cowardly retreat.
Good for bloody him.
Title: Contradiction, chapter 1.
Author: blue_debut
Pairing: SB/VM/Possibly other, if it decides to amble in that direction.
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Notes: train wreck!sean.
Beta: Un-beta'ed. (eek) All errors belong to me, and I love them like offspring.
Disclaimer: These are spare time ramblings that I type up to humor myself, I didn't have designs on sharing them but the fanfic community is so rich I had to give back. Obviously this is not real. I dearly hope Sean isn't this much of a mess, the poor lad. Be warned, this fic was not not not meant to have the 8+ parts it does now, so if it seems like I'm all over the place with no direction, that's probably the case. My bad, at least I wrote some humping into it.
Thank you: To all of you fangirls and boys out there, I so enjoy your work and in the wee hours of the night it surpasses any thick blanket for comfort. Don't stop writing.
Feedback: I've never had it, but I hear its good; knock yourself out.
Archive: Just tell me: icarus@lucidrealms.net
Grab it here:
http://www.lucidrealms.net/chap1.rtf
Chapter One
You only ever really have one solid thing in this world, yourself. These were words Sean had lived by, and life was, so far, a consistent failure. There was possibly a time, surely he had been obscenely young, when refusing to give a solitary yard of yourself to another person seemed reasonable, sensible even. Now, looking at it objectively for what seemed the first time, it had plagued three of his marriages. He had, previous to this moment in time, placed himself in a category that lay directly between dunce and dullard; he might have to consider downgrading. Maybe someone would create a brand new term for a being who is so out of touch with themselves that they float through life unaware they are fucking it up royally. That's where you would go Bean, yes.
There were these spells, not the wiggle fingers Gandalfy kind either, that claimed him utterly and he had not even that one thing he never lost sight of, himself. No one had ever tested that mettle, nor threatened the stronghold and mighty kingdom that Sean ruled, solitary and proud. Guards were posted at every weak point, sarcasm brimmed the moat with its deadly poison, pit traps bristled with sharp as tack wit. Yes sir, make a wrong move here and he would shut you down, keep your distance or there would be blood.
How in the fires of hell he could be bested by a man who did not even wear shoes was simply beyond him, and there was no way to contemplate it while maintaining the kind of anger needed to push the artsy shite out of his affections. Some type of mental pry bar begged for application, and with a frequency that was growing more alarming by the day. Avoid his soft glance here, more distance between us there, refuse to leave the house with him most nights of the week. Then feel like fucking crying when his disappointed "Oh..." travels over phone lines that are certainly not worthy of playing host to the sexist voice Sean had ever heard.
Though some of his previous marital flops would inform you otherwise, Sean was a loving person. One could be so, he reasoned, and maintain one's heart for one's self. That way, when the inevitable occurred, you could avoid dying from the inside out. Love for another person could surely kill you, there was no question. There is another realization, rapid fire, and Bean scratches at his wig, annoyance wafting off him physically. You could see the stink lines, he was sure of it; Pepe le Pew. His feelings for another have never before reached this frenzied pitch, drowning out life altogether. The only audible things are his raging blood pressure and a graveled voice with an American accent.
His squinted green eyes snap from their holding pattern on the ground as a body is roughed into him from behind, sending his right leg flailing out in search of a position to support this unwelcome mystery weight.
"Bloodyfuckingchrist!" Its all one word and Sean spits it, just before his face slams the earth before him. He can't twist his head around from this chest in the ground angle to view his captor, and that might be a good thing as his neck feels quite strained.
"Whoever that is, you had better get off me right quick." The curve of a jaw, just below the ear, presses to the nape of his neck. Its not gentle but doesn't threaten, ample stubble spikes into his soft skin. Sean samples the air, sniffing like a bird dog upwind.
"I just showered." Comes the almost bored monotone reply, fingers toying with his fake hair. "So no complaints." Sean doesn't believe in God but he just damned him, several times over. The body against his shifts but does not release him, knees digging into the backs of his joints are just about setting his thighs on fire.
"You're hurting me legs would you get off you bony yank?" Bean bucks his weight in an attempt to set his arms under himself, but preparations for such an action have already been taken and swift fingers pin his wrists to the dirt. Sean can see those hands and wrenches his vision away, kicking and screaming. Nothing undid him, made him less in control of himself than those cursed instruments of scab and knuckle. "You're fucking up my costume you know."
"You're like a fun vacuum, Beans." Viggo makes a slorping noise, its meant to be comical but Sean is past laughing about anything Viggo does these days, he's tapped out of patience just keeping himself in check.
"Yes, well not everyone can finish a day's hard labor and bounce about like they just got out of the bed can they?" Jealousy indeed has an ugly head, Sean decides. The drain of being near someone so tireless exhausted him back before he wanted to sleep with the man.
Now, it was murder.
The piercing agony in his spine and limbs abates as Viggo eases himself off the prone figure, rolling onto his back next to Bean, shoulder length hair sweeping off his rough face. The man might have been carved from a block of stone, Sean considers it a honest possibility. His elbows are supporting his forearms, straight upwards off the ground, palms dangling over sized on the ends of his wrists. They fall backwards to land noiselessly in the grasses, wind from the motion collides with Sean's face and he holds his breath in a valiant defense against the man's scent.
"You gonna move or did I break you?" Viggo asks casually, staring at the setting sun unblinkingly. Doesn't one go blind doing that type of thing? Perhaps if you were only human. If he were so open with someone about this topic, which is more unlikely than lions and gazelle having a tea party in the middle of the Serengeti, he would freely tell them that the majority of Viggo's actions shocked him, despite how much time they spent together. Sean was not terribly talented but he did like to sketch, and when he drew Viggo he produced watery forms, slippery and ultimately malleable, a change in shape for each moment of life.
Sean Bean was made of wood. Probably one of those dense, sturdy types used for building homes.
"I dunno, figure I'll just stay still for awhile, mate, easier than moving." He's mumbling into a mouthful of short foliage, his mouth tangs of metallic dirt. Viggo's shoot happened to wrap before Sean's, and the other man is already out of costume, his usual flannel and jeans have ensued.
"You know, if you keep momentum you don't have time to get... tired..." He interrupts himself with a huge, mouth-splitting yawn. Sean can see fillings, sharp teeth and a flush tongue, curling just before the jaw closes. How can such commonplace human architecture be downright trace inducing when displayed on the right people? This was the mystery of attraction, the everyday becoming the magical.
"Eh, fuck it, lets take a nap." Bean pushes his arms out straight over his shoulders and stretches, muscles of his back shiver with the effort. When he slits open his eyes Viggo is staring at him, gaze deeply blue and not decipherable. Sean reflexively swallows, a tendon in his calf twitches. He's never prepared for this when it happens, the visual onslaught. It's as if Viggo has decided to commit you to memory, and he'll know every inch of you; Bean would wager it happened about once a week. They never spoke of it, and once the moment breaks Sean will be shaken, as if he had been dreaming wide awake.
He is saved by the elf, so to speak, as Orlando crawls in between them, feline and prowling on all fours. Here is a man Sean has multiple points in common with. Orli is comfortable for him, safe ground. Their country of origin was obviously the same, and the young man was holding into a touch of the shyness Sean shouldered in abundance. They both adored Viggo. For Bloom, a mentor. For Sean... well, it didn't bear thinking about in these hormone crazed times, though its all he seems to be able to do any longer. Wasn't one supposed to sort all this out, this sexual jigsaw puzzle, in their twenties? Here was Sean thinking here knew what went where, for himself at least, when someone turns him on his ear.
"C'mere cutie." Viggo rumbles, twining his lengthy arms around Orlando's impossibly narrow waist. Orli squeaks as he's yanked, rather unceremoniously, into the curve of Mortensen's body. Sean is bewildered by this kind of relationship. It isn't the hyper, touchy-feely, bordering on not suitable for being in public type that the hobbits take part in. It was that Viggo, when he knew he was well received by someone else, would push right into physicalities with them. It unnerved some, enticed others, but he usually meant neither disrespect nor sexual advance. Though he and Orlando played at the latter often.
"Cute, am I?" Bloom questions, folding his hands over Viggo's forearms as they cinch his ribcage.
"Well, I think so." Vig's words hedge a slight growl, Bean fists a tuft of grass in his left hand. Steady, lad. "Sean, don't you think the elf is pretty?" Orlando's eyes widen at the end of the sentence, he slides his vision to the snuggling man behind him. Sean isn't given a chance to answer, many thanks to heaven for these small favors.
"I keep telling him I don't want his American arse." Orli is now looking to Bean, shaking his mo hawked head sadly. Viggo is racked with chuckles and it shakes Orlando's body in turn. Sean is blinking too frequently, he does this when he's either terribly embarrassed or confounded. These teasing sexual games call forth both of those reactions.
"I could turn you on to the idea." Viggo lines Bloom's throat with light pecks that linger overlong as he slides his lips over a curve of muscle. The near invisible hairs that pelt Sean's neck are standing at strict attention, grass he is massacring in his hand leaves green stains under his nails. God, that would feel so-fucking-good.
"Pun intended, I'm sure." Orlando drawls, rolling his eyes around in a full circle. "Now please stop, I'm growing a horn." Viggo snorts laughter as his captive wiggles to freedom, twin smirks lighting their faces.
"Where are we going tonight, lady killer?" Sean asks, frightened to remind them of his presence, but hopeful that it might end this faux flirtation.
"Awww I dunno, hobbits can pick." Orlando responds, taking in Sean's rumpled appearance for the first time. "What happened to you anyhow? You look jammed up." Hah, if the boy knew the half of it.
"Your sugar daddy over there knocked me on me face." Orli's eyebrows furrow, pity swims laps in his dark gaze.
"Poor lad, Viggo is a mean one." He thrusts a booted foot into Mortensen's thigh, the man issues a grunt and jerks his appendage out of firing range.
"Ow, please be careful I have a sore spot there." Sean is risking the kind of stiffness in his back that will not allow him movement tomorrow, and he hefts himself to a cross legged sit. This is a minor improvement, though his costume has become uncontrollably itchy, he indulges a spot under his right collarbone.
"What did you do now?" Orlando fits his low, protective tone on snugly and folds his arms, jaw jutting outwards. He reaches for Viggo's upper leg, all business, prodding the sides. Mortensen gasps, teeth driving into each other inside his mouth.
"Ok, don't do that."
"It must be bad for you to be carrying on like that, lets see then." Orli instructs.
"I'd have to remove my pants."
Sean would like a good, lung wrenching cry right now, fists in the air like some awful B-movie actor. Why God, why do you so enjoy a cozy chuckle at my expense? Is there anyone else you might like to target and run through sexual torture devices perhaps? If past lives were something Sean thought about, he might wonder if he was a right cunt in his last one.
"Oh wait, I put underwear on earlier." Not only are such things a choice for Viggo, but he doesn't even recall the decision he made, Bean's mind is awash with other unknown possibilities about the man. Viggo pops his top button and grinds the zipper southwards, the noise is unmistakable and earth shatteringly realistic to the ears on Sean's head. He really, really wants to possess the self control required not to move his eyes towards his left. Just don't do it, you don't have to look.
"Holy hell." Orlando breathes out, whistling. Viggo is showing signs of intense orc weapon impact, stretched across the center to the outside of his thigh, about a foot long. Raw red in the center, spreading to a deep, patchy purple lining.
"Yikes." Sean says flatly, almost distracted enough by the wound that he misses the outline of testicles in the crotch of Viggo's taunt boxer-briefs.
Almost.
"Yeah, it kinda hurts to stand and move."
"Aren't you running in half your scenes tomorrow?" Orlando quips, extending his long neck so that his eyes are roughly two inches from the fiercest portion of discolored leg. "Its like, oozing blood under the skin, I think thats bad."
"Yup." Viggo leans back on his locked elbows, shaking his still drying mane of hair roughly. Sean is taken fully in by a shapely tricep, bulging out from its home on the back of Viggo's arm. One would swear he's lost weight since he arrived in New Zealand. His body is keenly defined, veins clamor to the surface only to be pressed between muscle and skin.
Orli is tentative, running the pads of one youthful hand against the grain of hair, up and over the bruise; Viggo doesn't so much as flinch. Bean moistens his lips slowly, vision chasing Orlando's palm then moving beyond it. Mortensen shifts, only his left leg, and it spreads his lap open enough that his shorts hug him in places Sean's eyes are hopeless to avoid. Damn these ocular pitfalls to the seventh layer of hell, where has Sean's modesty run off to? He needs a hold on himself that allows him to take his eyes off his dick right this second. There, its done. Bean has managed to clamp his rogue vision on Viggo's chest, a note-worthy improvement.
"Swollen." Bloom mutters, shaking his head.
There are moments, and one of them is right now, when Sean can feel naked while fully dressed. Viggo has been watching his perusal, head inclined at a curious angle. Bean's heart slams his chest, a battering ram of organ, but escape from the flesh prison is an impossibility. Sean however can, and does, flee the crime scene, post haste.
"Need to go change." The words tumble over each other awkwardly to be voiced quickly enough. He shoves his legs underneath him and stalks away. The tingling, warm sixth sense crawling his back notifies him Viggo is watching his cowardly retreat.
Good for bloody him.
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