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fellowshippers2004-12-03 10:14 pm
blue-debut.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-12-03 10:14 pm
Three
Warning! This is a work in progress!
Title: Contradiction, chapter 3.
Author: blue_debut
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17 eventually, this chapter R.
Beta: Un-beta'ed. (eek)
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.
Feedback: Go crazy.
Archive: Just tell me: icarus@lucidrealms.net
Previous parts on my LJ
The night air is in cool motion against Sean's face, its quite welcome to combat the flames of anger and repressed sexual desires if its feeling up to the task; Sean isn't. Viggo is pawing the ground with a nude toe, offending hands jammed in his back pockets, folds of sun beaten skin overflow the pouches.
"Gunna hit me now?" He's about as dejected as a whipped dog and half as confident.
Three seconds ago he was inches from Sean's crotch, muttering in his ear. Now he's self-conscious and shy, ready to play defense. Christ, this would drive a person insane if Viggo were a simple fraction less charming. But that's not so, and Sean can't call back his snarl after it falls from his face, no matter what he promises it.
"I was thinking of it, maybe you should sock me." He throws his arms wide, relaxing muscles and letting gravity claim them down again, crashing to his sides. "Who the fuck knows at this point?" The brick wall is inviting and farther away from Viggo, so he takes it up on its offer, propping himself against it. This is good, he needs assistance staying vertical.
"You don't have to answer me." Mortensen has reclaimed his fingers and is hugging his arms to his own torso, perhaps looking more vulnerable than he realizes. Sean is not fooled, a tiger lay in wait under that visage; glossy, blackened claws and ivory teeth. Everyone that infringed upon him was a predator and if he allowed it, he knew Viggo would eat his heart.
"Why not? Don't want to be turned down?" Vig is right, Sean is not a liar. In the times of strain and distress where he has tried, it's been weak, unconvincing attempts. He's got to be the world's only actor who can't fib to save his soul. Literally, he feels, in this case. Viggo turns around and shows a hint of teeth in a confident smile.
Sean is made aware in one jolting second that Viggo knows all of it, had most likely known before Sean admitted this to himself.
Too much. He locks his shoulders in, squeezing his eyes shut with so much force that shapes dance inside his eyelids. Better to be blind than to witness this, his emotional horde plundered.
"I would be good for you. I know it." Viggo makes his declaration, chin raised, arms now folded on his chest. Sean's response is instantaneous and much more scathing than they both know he intends.
"Oh that's rich Vig, I'm not even good for me, how can anyone else be?"
"You need a shrink, dear." Bean's eyes fly to Viggo's, they clash in invisible midair skirmishes. "You're got yourself tied in so many knots, you can't see shit." Sean's next words don't even occur to him before he shoots his mouth off like a bottle rocket, there are certainly sparks.
"I don't need a doctor, mate. I need to fuck you so hard you rupture something."
Sean is more taken aback than Viggo, hiding his face in his hands and cracking his skull into the wall behind him. Pain shoots stars across his lids and he does it again, this second time they streak jagged red. He might rip open his head if he puts just a touch more power behind it, but he is not given the chance.
Mortensen's hand catches the base of Sean's neck, flexing him forward to teeter on legs not up to the task of support, then taking Bean's weight upon himself. An arm slips under his shoulder blades and their chests meet, Sean is not exactly arguing, or moving. All too tangible and heated, this embrace. The rasp of Viggo's sideburns, the air flow connecting his nose to Sean's neck. The scent of one, unique human being, never to be duplicated again.
Objects in mirror are certainly closer than they appear.
"I'm trying to fight this, you know." Sean reminds them both. The comment could be off-handed, if they both were not close enough to feel the breakneck pace of Sean's heart. Viggo nods once, nuzzling their heads together.
"I know."
Sean's arms swing limp, refusing to surrender themselves. Viggo is patient, which is wondrously kind of him and decimating for Bean's side of this battle.
"We don't have to fight at all." Sean squints into the collar of Viggo's earthly brown plaid shirt; confusion abounds. "There are so many more appealing options, I wonder why you struggle so hard against the people who want to love you, only to spend time self destructing." Bean holds the answer, and its the truth. He will rarely admit this fact to himself, voicing it is worthy of applause.
"Because it's all I know."
Simple is frequently best, and Viggo seems to concur with this answer, tightening his coils around Sean's back. Bean is panic laden for a nanosecond, but the recovery time is non-existent. His body is giving in, do something and do it now or all is lost to this restless vagabond with a gusto for life that swallows everyone around him whole.
Punch out, Maverick.
"You should let me go." Its delivered colder than Sean wishes it, but he must detach. This fantasy isn't his to enjoy and no amount of hugging and pretending alters that fact.
"I disagree." Viggo has toned himself to match, almost startling Sean, who expected him to back down. They haven't even kissed and already they vie for dominance over one another. Inklings of how rough and athletic their lovemaking would be smash into Sean, fists of lust that batter him senseless.
"Viggo." Sean's mouth doesn't open, the name grinds out through gaps in his teeth. Warning, Bean is about to lose control and either dash him against the concrete or shove him into the nearby alleyway to claim him over a trash bin.
"You don't scare me, so take your best shot."
Challenge accepted.
Like many men, Sean is capable of being wholly devoured by a momentary surge of anger. He curls his fingers at their center knuckle and rams the heel of his palm into Viggo's ribs, adding an upward arc to his thrust that draws the wind from Mortensen.
He gasps, fish-like, fisting his strong hands into Sean's shirt so he can't be dislodged.
"C'mon you girly brit, give me another." He can barely speak but straightens his back through the pain proudly, staggering on his feet. Shock is replacing Sean's red tinged rage vision, he's not capable of much more than a gape. Guilt bears down, a commuter express train riding the rails of his guts. Viggo would take anything he had to give and never stop coming back for more, who the hell decided Sean deserved to be gifted a person like that?
He should not be fucking that kind of thing up the way he is. That's what Sean does, he finds something beautiful and fucks it up. People have been telling him for years, but it never truly sunk in past the his dense surface.
Until this moment.
"God." Bean whispers, gathering Viggo into his arms, twisting his own head so that it may tuck itself beneath his impressive chin. "I just hit you, what the fuck is going on with me?" Viggo is silent, folding his limbs over Sean, fingers trailing his spine. "I'm so sorry."
"You're scared out of your wits, I understand."
That's it exactly, Bean is petrified. Somehow, Viggo putting his finger directly on it makes the fear more manageable, give it a name and he can handle it.
"I've been able to push away every other person in my life when they got too close, why are you different?" The stream of consciousness dam has splintered under the strain and Sean is spilling over, knowing Viggo is ready to soak up the excess.
"I'm really, really fucking stubborn."
Sean's rumbled laugh features a good deal of the strain he is under, it ends up sounding a little insane.
"You didn't meet my last wife." Even the thought of Abby queers his momentary upswing, and Viggo is forced to take more of Sean's weight for him as he slumps.
"Lets go back to my house, Sean. I think you need sleep and I'm not leaving you alone."
Eek. And there it is, the invitation. Bean knew it was coming, Viggo is quite correct. He's swaying on his heels, releasing even the preliminary stress has left him rubbery and stretched. Mortensen disentangles from Sean but one arm remains, draped over his shoulders. Viggo guides them through the deserted parking lot, the ranger once again.
"Is that what I'm going to do at your house, sleep?" He can't let it go, needs a game plan, has to know what he's doing and where its leading at all times. Anything could happen inside hours you didn't account for, and Bean didn't like that brand of uncertainty. Viggo was all twists and turns, flitting from one thing to another as the mood struck him thus, it was beyond reckoning to Sean.
"You can do whatever you feel like."
Run, Bean, run for your life.
He's handing the reigns to this senseless, deluded git who has serious issues even with using the public loo. What is Viggo thinking?
"Though if you want to have sex with me, I'd ask that you don't "rupture" me, that didn't sound like a good time." Viggo holds his passenger side door open as Bean colors a red that, by comparison, turns his hair gold. "Thats a cute look on you, I'll have to make you blush more often." Sean won't stop trying but its damn near impossible to hide his face from Vig under the moonlight. He compromises and slides into the car, least its dark in here.
As Viggo passes behind the automobile Bean realizes he could make it back to his car before the other man could catch up; it was an awful habit of his, planning escape routes. It would come in handy if he ever landed in a prison that didn't happen to reside within his own head.
Viggo is a cautious, safety oriented driver. He won't do more than five miles over the limit and snaps his neck around, a bird of prey, observant. Sean knows it's because he's on watch for photo opportunities, everyone had a Viggo story that involved screeching to a halt in the middle of a conversation and possibly the road as well, so that he could snap a few shots of roadkill, or perhaps plants, rock formations. Who knew how he judged what made a good showpiece once you committed its light to film, but he did, and Sean was impressed most of all of Viggo's work by his camera skills.
"You're quiet." Vig observes as he rounds a cobblestoned corner, his building rises into view before them.
"Makes you nervy does it?" Sean and Viggo have classically not been backward at coming forward with each other. A few, concise words did the trick, and though Vig could chatter with the best of them, it wasn't something they did together. The knowledge that Viggo is nervous soothes Sean's frayed mind like a balm, he coats himself liberally with the idea of effecting the man so.
"You enjoy off balancing me, huh?" Maybe the sly smirk Sean was sporting made it a sliver too obvious, bugger. Bean dons his usual, straighter face and risks a sideways glance to Viggo.
"I'm a trifle sadistic." He confesses, his voice wavering as they slide into Mortensen's driveway, fear claws at his chest. What the hell was he doing allowing this to happen? "I dunno if I should uhm..." Now isn't the time to be having chilled feet.
"You're not going to run away before we even get indoors are you?" It could have easily been said in an exhausted tone, but Viggo's patience for a thing he was working be it canvas, horse or in this case man, was steadfast.
"I'll be honest Vig, I'm going to try but there is a real possibility I'll piss meself." They both laugh, Viggo then Sean in contagious turn. From an outside viewpoint, the car shivers.
"I scare you?" There are times when Viggo's voice climbs far too high for such a radically masculine body, the contrast turns Sean on.
"Lord, yes." They both happen to turn and observe the other at conjoining moments, their eyes catch and hold.
"I know this situation frightens you, but its me specifically?" A Viggo-length pause. You're not sure if he's forgotten your presence. "I wasn't aware of that."
Viggo physically intimidates Sean. His burly, obcenely creative mind, however, could render him a quaking heap. Bean has noted that he can write poetry though a hobbit brawl so boisterious and fucking obnoxious that you cannot restrain the urge to crack their heads against one another.
"You have not been paying attention, lost in yourself as usual." Nothing negative could be discerned in Sean's voice, and his characteristic face wrinkling smile is just a prod away from conquering his features. Viggo doesn't allow it a chance to take hold and, planting a firm hand on the center console he arches his upper body over Sean's. Bean stiffens, merging his torso and his seat about as tightly as the laws of physics will allow; his coveted means of escape suddenly don't seem as appealing, reasonable or hot as Viggo's face is, this insanely close.
"You're serious." Viggo does not a thing to mask the amazement in this statement.
"Most of the time, yes. Right now, very yes."
Viggo still seems to suffer from the need to explore this theory, Sean makes a move to question his motives but paralysis strikes; only his eyes can dart about nervously. A roughened hand that does all its own stunts pads his cheekbone, slicking down the reddish facial hair.
"I'm a nice guy you know." Viggo glances his collarbone with a stray finger. Bean breathes spasmatically, clutching the door handle, grasping it as if it were the idea that he could still run. Not bloody likely. "I wouldn't hurt you." A touch on his shoulder, its not nearly so off-putting with cloth shielding his skin. Note to self: do not allow naked skin to contact this man.
"Though, I have to be honest... the idea of intimidating you is exciting." Viggo doesn't voice this sentence so much as breathe it, Sean's reaction manifests into a violent shiver. Mortensen breaks eye contact and backs down graciously, again serving Bean a feast consisting of all the time he needs to gnaw on.
This type of seduction, forgetting for a moment the added factor of it being Viggo who plays the aggressor, locates Sean's tender and vulnerable spots with a skill that terrifies him. Push, release; squeeze, embrace. Vig taps his boundaries then slinks away, this does not allow Sean to hold his anger and shove back. Instead gently forces him to realize the intensity with which he desires the man who has disembarked from the car and now stands, only his waist visible through Sean's car window, waiting.
Bean pops the door and swings to his feet. They are strikingly solid when compared to his other organs, which seem to writhe, his innards are as serpentine forms. Viggo grants them entrance, deftly tossing his keyring into a ceramic pottery on a high coffee table. Sean doesn't need to ask, he's simply aware Vig crafted that bowl; if he looked closer, he could find his fingerprints baked in the clay. He should write a list, containing the ten things that awe him most about Viggo. His prolific artistry would be in the top three, easily.
"Drink?"
This is not a question Sean has stopped to consider answering negatively in about twenty years, he accepts the offered beer with a soft nod and a lion-esque yawn. When he blinks his foggy vision back into focus Viggo is regarding him, the can that oozes foam over his lengthy fingers is long forgotten. He's not going to stand stock still for it this time, to roll over and let Viggo inspect him.
"What is it you cunt?" Sean has managed their commonplace tone reserved for banter, it could almost be another hazy drunken night at Viggo's, but his sex drive is abnormally opposed to crashing on the lonely couch this time around.
"Defensive." Viggo mutters, slugging back what must certainly be half his can's contents. Sean is pleased that Vig has blinked his blue eyes shut, lest he be named a hypocrite for his own current rash of staring. Bean snorts, the noise reads: Obviously yes, I am defensive.
Viggo pauses his liquid suction to slide past Sean, making a sharp point of bringing their chests into the briefest of contacts. Bean plays it off, refusing to yield any ground. Vig has bypassed his usual favored leather recliner in place of the sprawling couch; convenient. Sean cracks open his own beer and seats himself, one section of furniture separates he and the other man. Enough room to breathe without pulling in any of the stray Viggo-aroma that so muddies his senses. Its a sound plan, keep his distance enough that Sean can't lose his cool and launch himself headlong into something he should devote a weeks worth of thought to.
"What do you think of the new couch?" Viggo lifts himself half a foot upwards then bounces to a sit again, a spring squeaks its agony.
"I didn't realize..." Sean's words wander away from him with not a thought for maintaining appearances, he scowls after them. Its hard to speak when Mortensen is field testing his new purchase, ramming his ass into the cushions. "Could ya stop mate? I'm about to vomit." There is a sudden silence, in retrospect Sean thinks he might have come off like an ogre.
"You are so uptight." Viggo's statement is monotone, as if this were common knowledge he was just mentioning for effect. "Its me, I know its me." Sean could perish, if he is the cause of the melancholy voice he hears, the downturned angle of Viggo's rough mouth. "I don't enjoy seeing you this way, and if my pushing the issue into the open has made it worse, I'll leave it alone." They can't go back now, they both understand this but Vig is allowing Bean yet another chance for a clamoring escape.
There is a scuffle brewing in Sean's roiling cauldron of a consciousness, he fucking despises himself for it but all that floods the forefront of his mind is that he has not been touched lovingly by another being in the better part of two years.
"I don't want you to back down, Vig." His throat catches on some of the words but its convincing enough, and he does mean it. "This kind of thing is always turmoil for me, and I'm getting over my latest you know?" Viggo only nods, attention rapt on Sean, its not often he speaks from his wounded heart and Vig isn't about to skip a word. "Don't help much that you're a bloke, that kinda thing is new to me." Bean's ears change color when hes being coy, the ends revealing at least a third of Sean's total blood supply in lipstick red. Viggo traverses the tips of them with his eyes and then a tentative fingertip; the shyness falls from Sean in form of a cartoon anvil, he can hear it impact the floor. Slick, icy fear and its gushing, passionate flame of a counterpart manifest; civil war wages inside Sean, yanking him in distinct and differing directions.
He can only choose one.
"I don't think you're afraid of me because I'm also a man, Beans."
"No, that isn't it. I, uhh don't have much skill with... relationshhh..." Really now, Sean can't be expected to speak when his earlobe is being massaged. He best shut his eyes, because Viggo is leaning in towards him, a stalking cat.
"You're so responsive." The fingers retreat only to renew their assault on Sean's neck, a hot palm rolling the two groups of muscle that connect his shoulders and skull. Bean unwillingly exposes the truth in Viggo's observation by grunting, low and beast-like. "Good boy, relax." There is a famous Mortensen back rub looming on the horizon, Sean has never had the pleasure, but has heard tales from the girls who wield his make-up in the early mornings.
"You just want to take advantage of me." Sean thinks its quite a show of fine mental health that he can joke with Viggo's strong hands, now both of them, pulling the base of his neck in a manner meant to bend the straightest man.
"I'm not going to answer that on the grounds that it certainly will incriminate me." They are both soundlessly chuckling, its a much needed break in the tension and Bean heaves a overweight sigh. "Turn around, your whole back is knotted." Sean lifts up his eyes, managing only a weary glance for Viggo. "I don't expect anything from you Bean, I just want to give you a massage and put you to bed." Both relief and disappointment gather for audience in Sean's chest, he twists his back to Vig, reaching down to his mid spine and wrenching his t-shirt off with one hand. There is a pause lengthy enough that Sean thinks maybe he should check to see if Viggo hasn't dropped off.
A warm drizzle of fluid stripes from one shoulder blade to the other. Sean straightens his posture in response, though the sensation is pleasant enough.
"Wot is that?" When he's apprehensive, Bean's accent flow is a bit heavier.
"Ginseng oil." Viggo mutters, preoccupied with the application.
"Do this often then? Where did you get that so fast?" Mortensen quiets Sean's flapping tongue with only two thumbs, skillfully sliding northwards just left and right of his spine. Bean would relish a good moan, but nips his lower lip under his front teeth and contains it. On Viggo's down stroke to his starting point Sean has given up on sight, eyelids so weighty they have made the decision to shut themselves. One abundant palm, soon joined by its mate, circle into the very middle of Bean's torso, the oil must be heating his skin because he's tingling and the musk tickles his nostrils, a soft feather of scent. Pads of fingers curl around the slopes of his ribcage, a right index invades the personal space of a nipple. He gnashes his teeth into one another and fills his fisting hand with a portion of the couch cushion sure to never appear the same shape again. Viggo realizes his error and falls to Sean's lower back, this improvement could only be measured in a few grams.
Sean has several weak physical points and in very safe, non-threatening sexual situations he might share one with a partner. But he hasn't felt that security in eons and at this point, that information is held in top-secret military installations. His chest in general, specifically his nipples, are hyper actively arousing. The enemy must not gain this information.
"Am I doing OK so far?" Viggo whispers his query through the distorting filter of lust Sean was graced with in the bar, though that time and place seem a universe away.
"Uhhh huh." He would have enjoyed forming more than a few letters, perhaps even a word, but articulation lies somewhere out there beyond his grasp. Bean's back, all of its own accord, he swears, strains and arches into Viggo's persistent undulations. Mortensen's response is fierce pressure, snapping the thin tether Sean has lashed to his vocal cords.
"Uhhhng." He'd be boiling with embarrassment if he wasn't sliding into bliss, living from the moment Viggo rolls one massage into the next. Vig's heavy exhale is not audible but Sean can feel it, traveling down his moistened back. He's mildly aware of moving steadily backward. More. He needs more of that strength that might rip him apart, could justify this loss of himself.
Please Viggo.
Bean now occupies all the space that was previously separating them, and thusly contacts Viggo's chest with his shoulders. The idea that Mortensen is more than a duo of hands that missed their calling as a chiropractor shocks him, until they journey to either bicep, enveloping the round lumps possessively.
"You're too good at this." Viggo hums approvingly at the compliment, efforts expand to include triceps. Sean lets him take his weight and Vig keeps him upright, arching his head over Bean's left shoulder. If he had maybe, eight more balls, this would be the time to kiss Viggo. A devil holds sway over one of Sean's ears, urging release of this pressure that, while Sean has an erection that could drive in a nail, seems idiotic. Why was he fighting this again? It does not seem possible that something this basic and comfortable was in danger of harming him.
You are losing yourself, Sean.
Its not often he disregards his voice of protection and reason, but Viggo beats his apprehension into submission. Again enters the thought, he should not want to run from this, it would wrong both he and Viggo. Arms slow their tense contractions and, angling down, slip beneath Sean's arms and wrap his midsection, gently bonding them. Bean grunts, its a satisfied, physically close noise and Viggo recognizes it as such.
"I would have done more, but you kinda fell over." As they chortle together, Sean realizes that the man makes him laugh, the loose and easy kind that cause the sensation of airy gusts passing through your body. Lightweight at last, for how long has Sean weighed a ton? He doesn't recall. "This is better though." Viggo's tone drops an octave, his forehead butts into Bean's temple.
"Vig..." If Sean is able to summon the gall to ask this question, he will allow himself to go through with it.
"Hmmm?" Featherlight, there is a kiss on his neck, his stomach drops out, falling in a rollarcoaster.
"As much as I adore your new couch, I'd rather stay in your room tonight." Viggo squeezes him just beneath the ribs, breath in his lungs rises up to inflate his chest.
"If I can hold you like this while we sleep, I think we have struck a deal." He reads minds, isn't that a handy trick.
"You might be right, ya know." Sean's pulling threads from earlier conversations, but Viggo will shift gears with him.
"'Bout?"
"Being good for me."
Viggo cranes his neck, his head sliding into view. He's stifling a smile that would light his eyes and come bearing teeth, wrinkles and emphasis on a ludicrous chin. "Go on then." Sean urges, folding his limp arms atop Viggo's. He cracks it, almost shyly, so physically pleased that Sean is helpless, and returns with his own. He's shedding pounds of stress with such ease and racey speed that he can remember who he used to be, before his soul splintered.
"Sean." Mortensen chides in a low, fatherly voice. "Have you mistakenly allowed someone inside the armor?" Bean flushes, part embarrassment and a pinch of regret that the man is quite correct. His fear is still resident, striding the halls of his mind; its battling to take hold but Viggo is draped over him, emanating too much heat and promise.
"Baby steps, Vig. I'm damaged, and as much as I want this... there is no way to guarantee I won't come flying apart." Realizing his own statement sobers him minutely, drunk on Viggo as he is. His face must broadcast this clearly, because Mortensen's brows have steeped over his vision.
"Don't close up again, please Sean." Bean would place a large bet on Viggo's pleading tone never having failed to achieve its desired effect. Its occurred to him before, as its doing now, that if Vig were a self-centered man to even a marginal degree, he could wield this staggering amount of charm as would a master, heralding the breaking of many a heart. But no-ego-Viggo, as he was gushingly referred to once his back was turned, instead oozed this magnetism; his disregard for his sex appeal multiplied its effect by, at the least, ten.
"Its going ta' come and go, V. I'm uhhh... what do they call it now?"
"Now? I think they've been calling it moody for many years." A smug pause, Sean's thumb and forefinger grasp and roll a section of Vig's forearm skin, eliciting a yelp. "Ow, you slut. I believe you mean manic depression or some such thing?"
"That's the one." Sean wriggles his upper arms and shoulders, scratching himself on the buttons of Viggo's shirt.
"I'm still casting my vote for moody, Dom calls it your 'menstral time'."
"Me boot and his arse will have to spend some quality moments together then, eh?"
Mortensen is chuffing laughter while Sean revisits a yawn, bone weary and slouching under the weight of impending sleep.
"Bed." Viggo chirps as he gathers Sean by the armpits and lifts them both from the couch. Bean feels cool and oddly more naked standing topless, bereft of Viggo's warmth. But he's about to spend the whole night enveloped in it, and tries not to expose his over-eager self, striding purposefully up the stairs. Mortensen has maintained contact through the medium of a finger, hooked into the belt loop of Sean's jeans. Bean glances over his shoulder as he conquers the last step, hanging a left and weaving past three or four new paintings, leaning themselves against a wall.
"Think I might run?" He suggests, touching it with a half smile despite his intention of delivering it straight faced.
"Strong possibility." Viggo answers, flexing his arm and halting Sean's hips. His torso holds its momentum, arching forward while his legs remain planted. He's off balance for a partial second, Vig steadies him with an increase of draw and a seam in his pants rips loudly.
"Aww Vigs, don't tear me clothing off, this is my maiden voyage in your bedroom."
Flirting. Sean has a skill with it when he's properly loose, preferably drunk. He and Viggo used to be guilty of it on many a rowdy occasion, before he made the realization that he wanted to follow it to its sticky conclusion.
"I don't think you've joked with me like that in over a month." Viggo deadpans. "I missed you, wherever you went." Sean needs to shed some tears for those words, but now is not the time and he corks the emotion, saved for solitary release.
"I'm glad to be back, uhh..." Apologies, like throwing up a bowling ball, are dense and challenging for him. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings lately, but... I've got me head in me arse, or something." Pathetic, but at least he got it out his uncooperative mouth.
"I wasn't... hurt. " Viggo guides them to the queen-sized bed, seating himself and claiming one of Sean's wrists, tugging on it once in request; Bean joins him. "I was worried about you, then I figured out what was bothering you, and was seriously worried... for the both of us." Sean must ask the following, its been taking up space in his head all night.
"When did you first, uhm..."
"Realize that you wanted me?" Its plain truth but doubles its daunting power when turned aloud, where they can both acknowledge it was actually said. "Beanie, your eyes tell all. While you were stewing inside your head, thinking you shouldn't need anyone, you never looked away from me."
Busted.
Sean always returns home to stupidity and a lack of insight when faced with himself; welcome back, wipe your feet on the mat.
"I am so very daft." This gives Viggo pause, a playful eyebrow lifts from its position over a deep socket.
"Its alright, you're pretty, intelligence can fall by the wayside."
A streak of impulsiveness that would normally originate from Viggo is born inside Bean. Its difficult to tackle someone when you're both sitting, but there was a time when Sean wasn't a quitter. He touches on those memories, using their subsequent adrenaline rush to muscle a slippery strong Viggo to his back.
"I compliment you once and you jump me, I knew you were easy, Sean." Its quite a comical jest, Bean is never 'easy', even meals and clothing were complex choices for him. Viggo might consume an entire jar of pickles for lunch, or wear something crushed and unwashed, picked off his floor.
Its always a stark contrast Sean finds himself most attracted to.
"Time for bed, my steward." When one spends a good deal of time with Viggo, one marvels at his gentle slopes of mood and ocean swells of character. Aragorn is now gazing up at Sean, knowing nothing of fear.
Bean rolls to the far side of the mattress, when the king of men graces you with an order, you see it obeyed. Viggo swings his legs to a stand and loses the button down, his pants crumple after it; both items are left uncaringly on the floor. Sean isn't capable of allowing things out of their place, but has forgotten where he even put his shirt, he's too tired for this shit, fuck it. Mortensen lays and holds casual observation as Bean sheds his denim skin, thankful he wore boxers with room to hide. He might as well just pitch the shorts for all the cover they are providing. Viggo's somber and uncloaked perusal of his abdomen affords him no measure of comfort, but he manages not to shield his face, laying himself out flat on his oil moist back.
"This is an amazing show of restraint on my part, the not taking advantage of you bit." Viggo bears too great a resemblance to a starving animal for Sean's libido to ignore, gnawing a thumbnail through his sentence. Yeah, Sean wants this too, lash of desire drawn bowstring tight between his legs, but he is not ready to handle it.
"Don't mistake my reluctance for lack of want." Sean is rolling his eyes over Vig's long calves but skips up to his cloudy blue eyes, black pupils already dilating, encroaching into the territory owned by color. "I just... need time."
"Of course, and I was not trying to convince you otherwise." He abandons torturing his thumb, working a few fingers into the blankets and sliding underneath, the epic bruise on his thigh is darkening and his tight stomach muscles show a circle of reddening skin just below a pectoral where Sean placed his impulsive fist. "Just thought I'd make you aware that I was behaving, and you're... unfairly tempting."
Sean is now wearing one pair of boxers, a full body blush and half an erection.
"Lemme under here." Bean fumbles with the covers while his weight rests on them, jostling himself until he's sandwiched in sheets. Viggo is on him in a timespan that's not measurable, insinuating himself between Bean and bed until Sean must flip to his side, bearing his back to Mortensen's shoving. "This is your idea of behaving, Mr. Pushy?"
"If I wasn't, you'd know."
Sean is sure he would. He's also certain Viggo has not a clue how dominant Bean is in bed, but he'll stow that info away, he'd rather observe the loss of control that's sure to be in Mortensen's eyes whenever it is they get around to sex. There is a shift in the mattress and Vig plunges them into cool darkness, slaying the lamp's light. His right arm wraps Sean's waist, slightly possessive. Bean snuggles backwards instinctively, the lowest portion of his back surprises him with its own slight arch, pushing his ass behind him. Before he can reign his body in, Vig is nuzzling all portions of himself into Sean; tight thighs, a blunt chest whose smattering of hair causes unfamiliar friction, and the soft, burning weight of Viggo's cock, nestled into Sean's tailbone.
Did people actually sleep like this without having sex beforehand?
It doesn't seem to matter after about three body heated seconds. Bean's exhaustion has taken residence inside his bones, the top of his face, and his arms, which will not move, though he means to toss one backwards towards Viggo. Its difficult not to recall the last time he was held lovingly by someone he knew meant it, but he manages, being that he can't remember.
Shortly after a rib stretching sigh that causes Mortensen to mutter and jam his nose into Sean's hair, they are both taken by sleep.
Title: Contradiction, chapter 3.
Author: blue_debut
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17 eventually, this chapter R.
Beta: Un-beta'ed. (eek)
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.
Feedback: Go crazy.
Archive: Just tell me: icarus@lucidrealms.net
Previous parts on my LJ
The night air is in cool motion against Sean's face, its quite welcome to combat the flames of anger and repressed sexual desires if its feeling up to the task; Sean isn't. Viggo is pawing the ground with a nude toe, offending hands jammed in his back pockets, folds of sun beaten skin overflow the pouches.
"Gunna hit me now?" He's about as dejected as a whipped dog and half as confident.
Three seconds ago he was inches from Sean's crotch, muttering in his ear. Now he's self-conscious and shy, ready to play defense. Christ, this would drive a person insane if Viggo were a simple fraction less charming. But that's not so, and Sean can't call back his snarl after it falls from his face, no matter what he promises it.
"I was thinking of it, maybe you should sock me." He throws his arms wide, relaxing muscles and letting gravity claim them down again, crashing to his sides. "Who the fuck knows at this point?" The brick wall is inviting and farther away from Viggo, so he takes it up on its offer, propping himself against it. This is good, he needs assistance staying vertical.
"You don't have to answer me." Mortensen has reclaimed his fingers and is hugging his arms to his own torso, perhaps looking more vulnerable than he realizes. Sean is not fooled, a tiger lay in wait under that visage; glossy, blackened claws and ivory teeth. Everyone that infringed upon him was a predator and if he allowed it, he knew Viggo would eat his heart.
"Why not? Don't want to be turned down?" Vig is right, Sean is not a liar. In the times of strain and distress where he has tried, it's been weak, unconvincing attempts. He's got to be the world's only actor who can't fib to save his soul. Literally, he feels, in this case. Viggo turns around and shows a hint of teeth in a confident smile.
Sean is made aware in one jolting second that Viggo knows all of it, had most likely known before Sean admitted this to himself.
Too much. He locks his shoulders in, squeezing his eyes shut with so much force that shapes dance inside his eyelids. Better to be blind than to witness this, his emotional horde plundered.
"I would be good for you. I know it." Viggo makes his declaration, chin raised, arms now folded on his chest. Sean's response is instantaneous and much more scathing than they both know he intends.
"Oh that's rich Vig, I'm not even good for me, how can anyone else be?"
"You need a shrink, dear." Bean's eyes fly to Viggo's, they clash in invisible midair skirmishes. "You're got yourself tied in so many knots, you can't see shit." Sean's next words don't even occur to him before he shoots his mouth off like a bottle rocket, there are certainly sparks.
"I don't need a doctor, mate. I need to fuck you so hard you rupture something."
Sean is more taken aback than Viggo, hiding his face in his hands and cracking his skull into the wall behind him. Pain shoots stars across his lids and he does it again, this second time they streak jagged red. He might rip open his head if he puts just a touch more power behind it, but he is not given the chance.
Mortensen's hand catches the base of Sean's neck, flexing him forward to teeter on legs not up to the task of support, then taking Bean's weight upon himself. An arm slips under his shoulder blades and their chests meet, Sean is not exactly arguing, or moving. All too tangible and heated, this embrace. The rasp of Viggo's sideburns, the air flow connecting his nose to Sean's neck. The scent of one, unique human being, never to be duplicated again.
Objects in mirror are certainly closer than they appear.
"I'm trying to fight this, you know." Sean reminds them both. The comment could be off-handed, if they both were not close enough to feel the breakneck pace of Sean's heart. Viggo nods once, nuzzling their heads together.
"I know."
Sean's arms swing limp, refusing to surrender themselves. Viggo is patient, which is wondrously kind of him and decimating for Bean's side of this battle.
"We don't have to fight at all." Sean squints into the collar of Viggo's earthly brown plaid shirt; confusion abounds. "There are so many more appealing options, I wonder why you struggle so hard against the people who want to love you, only to spend time self destructing." Bean holds the answer, and its the truth. He will rarely admit this fact to himself, voicing it is worthy of applause.
"Because it's all I know."
Simple is frequently best, and Viggo seems to concur with this answer, tightening his coils around Sean's back. Bean is panic laden for a nanosecond, but the recovery time is non-existent. His body is giving in, do something and do it now or all is lost to this restless vagabond with a gusto for life that swallows everyone around him whole.
Punch out, Maverick.
"You should let me go." Its delivered colder than Sean wishes it, but he must detach. This fantasy isn't his to enjoy and no amount of hugging and pretending alters that fact.
"I disagree." Viggo has toned himself to match, almost startling Sean, who expected him to back down. They haven't even kissed and already they vie for dominance over one another. Inklings of how rough and athletic their lovemaking would be smash into Sean, fists of lust that batter him senseless.
"Viggo." Sean's mouth doesn't open, the name grinds out through gaps in his teeth. Warning, Bean is about to lose control and either dash him against the concrete or shove him into the nearby alleyway to claim him over a trash bin.
"You don't scare me, so take your best shot."
Challenge accepted.
Like many men, Sean is capable of being wholly devoured by a momentary surge of anger. He curls his fingers at their center knuckle and rams the heel of his palm into Viggo's ribs, adding an upward arc to his thrust that draws the wind from Mortensen.
He gasps, fish-like, fisting his strong hands into Sean's shirt so he can't be dislodged.
"C'mon you girly brit, give me another." He can barely speak but straightens his back through the pain proudly, staggering on his feet. Shock is replacing Sean's red tinged rage vision, he's not capable of much more than a gape. Guilt bears down, a commuter express train riding the rails of his guts. Viggo would take anything he had to give and never stop coming back for more, who the hell decided Sean deserved to be gifted a person like that?
He should not be fucking that kind of thing up the way he is. That's what Sean does, he finds something beautiful and fucks it up. People have been telling him for years, but it never truly sunk in past the his dense surface.
Until this moment.
"God." Bean whispers, gathering Viggo into his arms, twisting his own head so that it may tuck itself beneath his impressive chin. "I just hit you, what the fuck is going on with me?" Viggo is silent, folding his limbs over Sean, fingers trailing his spine. "I'm so sorry."
"You're scared out of your wits, I understand."
That's it exactly, Bean is petrified. Somehow, Viggo putting his finger directly on it makes the fear more manageable, give it a name and he can handle it.
"I've been able to push away every other person in my life when they got too close, why are you different?" The stream of consciousness dam has splintered under the strain and Sean is spilling over, knowing Viggo is ready to soak up the excess.
"I'm really, really fucking stubborn."
Sean's rumbled laugh features a good deal of the strain he is under, it ends up sounding a little insane.
"You didn't meet my last wife." Even the thought of Abby queers his momentary upswing, and Viggo is forced to take more of Sean's weight for him as he slumps.
"Lets go back to my house, Sean. I think you need sleep and I'm not leaving you alone."
Eek. And there it is, the invitation. Bean knew it was coming, Viggo is quite correct. He's swaying on his heels, releasing even the preliminary stress has left him rubbery and stretched. Mortensen disentangles from Sean but one arm remains, draped over his shoulders. Viggo guides them through the deserted parking lot, the ranger once again.
"Is that what I'm going to do at your house, sleep?" He can't let it go, needs a game plan, has to know what he's doing and where its leading at all times. Anything could happen inside hours you didn't account for, and Bean didn't like that brand of uncertainty. Viggo was all twists and turns, flitting from one thing to another as the mood struck him thus, it was beyond reckoning to Sean.
"You can do whatever you feel like."
Run, Bean, run for your life.
He's handing the reigns to this senseless, deluded git who has serious issues even with using the public loo. What is Viggo thinking?
"Though if you want to have sex with me, I'd ask that you don't "rupture" me, that didn't sound like a good time." Viggo holds his passenger side door open as Bean colors a red that, by comparison, turns his hair gold. "Thats a cute look on you, I'll have to make you blush more often." Sean won't stop trying but its damn near impossible to hide his face from Vig under the moonlight. He compromises and slides into the car, least its dark in here.
As Viggo passes behind the automobile Bean realizes he could make it back to his car before the other man could catch up; it was an awful habit of his, planning escape routes. It would come in handy if he ever landed in a prison that didn't happen to reside within his own head.
Viggo is a cautious, safety oriented driver. He won't do more than five miles over the limit and snaps his neck around, a bird of prey, observant. Sean knows it's because he's on watch for photo opportunities, everyone had a Viggo story that involved screeching to a halt in the middle of a conversation and possibly the road as well, so that he could snap a few shots of roadkill, or perhaps plants, rock formations. Who knew how he judged what made a good showpiece once you committed its light to film, but he did, and Sean was impressed most of all of Viggo's work by his camera skills.
"You're quiet." Vig observes as he rounds a cobblestoned corner, his building rises into view before them.
"Makes you nervy does it?" Sean and Viggo have classically not been backward at coming forward with each other. A few, concise words did the trick, and though Vig could chatter with the best of them, it wasn't something they did together. The knowledge that Viggo is nervous soothes Sean's frayed mind like a balm, he coats himself liberally with the idea of effecting the man so.
"You enjoy off balancing me, huh?" Maybe the sly smirk Sean was sporting made it a sliver too obvious, bugger. Bean dons his usual, straighter face and risks a sideways glance to Viggo.
"I'm a trifle sadistic." He confesses, his voice wavering as they slide into Mortensen's driveway, fear claws at his chest. What the hell was he doing allowing this to happen? "I dunno if I should uhm..." Now isn't the time to be having chilled feet.
"You're not going to run away before we even get indoors are you?" It could have easily been said in an exhausted tone, but Viggo's patience for a thing he was working be it canvas, horse or in this case man, was steadfast.
"I'll be honest Vig, I'm going to try but there is a real possibility I'll piss meself." They both laugh, Viggo then Sean in contagious turn. From an outside viewpoint, the car shivers.
"I scare you?" There are times when Viggo's voice climbs far too high for such a radically masculine body, the contrast turns Sean on.
"Lord, yes." They both happen to turn and observe the other at conjoining moments, their eyes catch and hold.
"I know this situation frightens you, but its me specifically?" A Viggo-length pause. You're not sure if he's forgotten your presence. "I wasn't aware of that."
Viggo physically intimidates Sean. His burly, obcenely creative mind, however, could render him a quaking heap. Bean has noted that he can write poetry though a hobbit brawl so boisterious and fucking obnoxious that you cannot restrain the urge to crack their heads against one another.
"You have not been paying attention, lost in yourself as usual." Nothing negative could be discerned in Sean's voice, and his characteristic face wrinkling smile is just a prod away from conquering his features. Viggo doesn't allow it a chance to take hold and, planting a firm hand on the center console he arches his upper body over Sean's. Bean stiffens, merging his torso and his seat about as tightly as the laws of physics will allow; his coveted means of escape suddenly don't seem as appealing, reasonable or hot as Viggo's face is, this insanely close.
"You're serious." Viggo does not a thing to mask the amazement in this statement.
"Most of the time, yes. Right now, very yes."
Viggo still seems to suffer from the need to explore this theory, Sean makes a move to question his motives but paralysis strikes; only his eyes can dart about nervously. A roughened hand that does all its own stunts pads his cheekbone, slicking down the reddish facial hair.
"I'm a nice guy you know." Viggo glances his collarbone with a stray finger. Bean breathes spasmatically, clutching the door handle, grasping it as if it were the idea that he could still run. Not bloody likely. "I wouldn't hurt you." A touch on his shoulder, its not nearly so off-putting with cloth shielding his skin. Note to self: do not allow naked skin to contact this man.
"Though, I have to be honest... the idea of intimidating you is exciting." Viggo doesn't voice this sentence so much as breathe it, Sean's reaction manifests into a violent shiver. Mortensen breaks eye contact and backs down graciously, again serving Bean a feast consisting of all the time he needs to gnaw on.
This type of seduction, forgetting for a moment the added factor of it being Viggo who plays the aggressor, locates Sean's tender and vulnerable spots with a skill that terrifies him. Push, release; squeeze, embrace. Vig taps his boundaries then slinks away, this does not allow Sean to hold his anger and shove back. Instead gently forces him to realize the intensity with which he desires the man who has disembarked from the car and now stands, only his waist visible through Sean's car window, waiting.
Bean pops the door and swings to his feet. They are strikingly solid when compared to his other organs, which seem to writhe, his innards are as serpentine forms. Viggo grants them entrance, deftly tossing his keyring into a ceramic pottery on a high coffee table. Sean doesn't need to ask, he's simply aware Vig crafted that bowl; if he looked closer, he could find his fingerprints baked in the clay. He should write a list, containing the ten things that awe him most about Viggo. His prolific artistry would be in the top three, easily.
"Drink?"
This is not a question Sean has stopped to consider answering negatively in about twenty years, he accepts the offered beer with a soft nod and a lion-esque yawn. When he blinks his foggy vision back into focus Viggo is regarding him, the can that oozes foam over his lengthy fingers is long forgotten. He's not going to stand stock still for it this time, to roll over and let Viggo inspect him.
"What is it you cunt?" Sean has managed their commonplace tone reserved for banter, it could almost be another hazy drunken night at Viggo's, but his sex drive is abnormally opposed to crashing on the lonely couch this time around.
"Defensive." Viggo mutters, slugging back what must certainly be half his can's contents. Sean is pleased that Vig has blinked his blue eyes shut, lest he be named a hypocrite for his own current rash of staring. Bean snorts, the noise reads: Obviously yes, I am defensive.
Viggo pauses his liquid suction to slide past Sean, making a sharp point of bringing their chests into the briefest of contacts. Bean plays it off, refusing to yield any ground. Vig has bypassed his usual favored leather recliner in place of the sprawling couch; convenient. Sean cracks open his own beer and seats himself, one section of furniture separates he and the other man. Enough room to breathe without pulling in any of the stray Viggo-aroma that so muddies his senses. Its a sound plan, keep his distance enough that Sean can't lose his cool and launch himself headlong into something he should devote a weeks worth of thought to.
"What do you think of the new couch?" Viggo lifts himself half a foot upwards then bounces to a sit again, a spring squeaks its agony.
"I didn't realize..." Sean's words wander away from him with not a thought for maintaining appearances, he scowls after them. Its hard to speak when Mortensen is field testing his new purchase, ramming his ass into the cushions. "Could ya stop mate? I'm about to vomit." There is a sudden silence, in retrospect Sean thinks he might have come off like an ogre.
"You are so uptight." Viggo's statement is monotone, as if this were common knowledge he was just mentioning for effect. "Its me, I know its me." Sean could perish, if he is the cause of the melancholy voice he hears, the downturned angle of Viggo's rough mouth. "I don't enjoy seeing you this way, and if my pushing the issue into the open has made it worse, I'll leave it alone." They can't go back now, they both understand this but Vig is allowing Bean yet another chance for a clamoring escape.
There is a scuffle brewing in Sean's roiling cauldron of a consciousness, he fucking despises himself for it but all that floods the forefront of his mind is that he has not been touched lovingly by another being in the better part of two years.
"I don't want you to back down, Vig." His throat catches on some of the words but its convincing enough, and he does mean it. "This kind of thing is always turmoil for me, and I'm getting over my latest you know?" Viggo only nods, attention rapt on Sean, its not often he speaks from his wounded heart and Vig isn't about to skip a word. "Don't help much that you're a bloke, that kinda thing is new to me." Bean's ears change color when hes being coy, the ends revealing at least a third of Sean's total blood supply in lipstick red. Viggo traverses the tips of them with his eyes and then a tentative fingertip; the shyness falls from Sean in form of a cartoon anvil, he can hear it impact the floor. Slick, icy fear and its gushing, passionate flame of a counterpart manifest; civil war wages inside Sean, yanking him in distinct and differing directions.
He can only choose one.
"I don't think you're afraid of me because I'm also a man, Beans."
"No, that isn't it. I, uhh don't have much skill with... relationshhh..." Really now, Sean can't be expected to speak when his earlobe is being massaged. He best shut his eyes, because Viggo is leaning in towards him, a stalking cat.
"You're so responsive." The fingers retreat only to renew their assault on Sean's neck, a hot palm rolling the two groups of muscle that connect his shoulders and skull. Bean unwillingly exposes the truth in Viggo's observation by grunting, low and beast-like. "Good boy, relax." There is a famous Mortensen back rub looming on the horizon, Sean has never had the pleasure, but has heard tales from the girls who wield his make-up in the early mornings.
"You just want to take advantage of me." Sean thinks its quite a show of fine mental health that he can joke with Viggo's strong hands, now both of them, pulling the base of his neck in a manner meant to bend the straightest man.
"I'm not going to answer that on the grounds that it certainly will incriminate me." They are both soundlessly chuckling, its a much needed break in the tension and Bean heaves a overweight sigh. "Turn around, your whole back is knotted." Sean lifts up his eyes, managing only a weary glance for Viggo. "I don't expect anything from you Bean, I just want to give you a massage and put you to bed." Both relief and disappointment gather for audience in Sean's chest, he twists his back to Vig, reaching down to his mid spine and wrenching his t-shirt off with one hand. There is a pause lengthy enough that Sean thinks maybe he should check to see if Viggo hasn't dropped off.
A warm drizzle of fluid stripes from one shoulder blade to the other. Sean straightens his posture in response, though the sensation is pleasant enough.
"Wot is that?" When he's apprehensive, Bean's accent flow is a bit heavier.
"Ginseng oil." Viggo mutters, preoccupied with the application.
"Do this often then? Where did you get that so fast?" Mortensen quiets Sean's flapping tongue with only two thumbs, skillfully sliding northwards just left and right of his spine. Bean would relish a good moan, but nips his lower lip under his front teeth and contains it. On Viggo's down stroke to his starting point Sean has given up on sight, eyelids so weighty they have made the decision to shut themselves. One abundant palm, soon joined by its mate, circle into the very middle of Bean's torso, the oil must be heating his skin because he's tingling and the musk tickles his nostrils, a soft feather of scent. Pads of fingers curl around the slopes of his ribcage, a right index invades the personal space of a nipple. He gnashes his teeth into one another and fills his fisting hand with a portion of the couch cushion sure to never appear the same shape again. Viggo realizes his error and falls to Sean's lower back, this improvement could only be measured in a few grams.
Sean has several weak physical points and in very safe, non-threatening sexual situations he might share one with a partner. But he hasn't felt that security in eons and at this point, that information is held in top-secret military installations. His chest in general, specifically his nipples, are hyper actively arousing. The enemy must not gain this information.
"Am I doing OK so far?" Viggo whispers his query through the distorting filter of lust Sean was graced with in the bar, though that time and place seem a universe away.
"Uhhh huh." He would have enjoyed forming more than a few letters, perhaps even a word, but articulation lies somewhere out there beyond his grasp. Bean's back, all of its own accord, he swears, strains and arches into Viggo's persistent undulations. Mortensen's response is fierce pressure, snapping the thin tether Sean has lashed to his vocal cords.
"Uhhhng." He'd be boiling with embarrassment if he wasn't sliding into bliss, living from the moment Viggo rolls one massage into the next. Vig's heavy exhale is not audible but Sean can feel it, traveling down his moistened back. He's mildly aware of moving steadily backward. More. He needs more of that strength that might rip him apart, could justify this loss of himself.
Please Viggo.
Bean now occupies all the space that was previously separating them, and thusly contacts Viggo's chest with his shoulders. The idea that Mortensen is more than a duo of hands that missed their calling as a chiropractor shocks him, until they journey to either bicep, enveloping the round lumps possessively.
"You're too good at this." Viggo hums approvingly at the compliment, efforts expand to include triceps. Sean lets him take his weight and Vig keeps him upright, arching his head over Bean's left shoulder. If he had maybe, eight more balls, this would be the time to kiss Viggo. A devil holds sway over one of Sean's ears, urging release of this pressure that, while Sean has an erection that could drive in a nail, seems idiotic. Why was he fighting this again? It does not seem possible that something this basic and comfortable was in danger of harming him.
You are losing yourself, Sean.
Its not often he disregards his voice of protection and reason, but Viggo beats his apprehension into submission. Again enters the thought, he should not want to run from this, it would wrong both he and Viggo. Arms slow their tense contractions and, angling down, slip beneath Sean's arms and wrap his midsection, gently bonding them. Bean grunts, its a satisfied, physically close noise and Viggo recognizes it as such.
"I would have done more, but you kinda fell over." As they chortle together, Sean realizes that the man makes him laugh, the loose and easy kind that cause the sensation of airy gusts passing through your body. Lightweight at last, for how long has Sean weighed a ton? He doesn't recall. "This is better though." Viggo's tone drops an octave, his forehead butts into Bean's temple.
"Vig..." If Sean is able to summon the gall to ask this question, he will allow himself to go through with it.
"Hmmm?" Featherlight, there is a kiss on his neck, his stomach drops out, falling in a rollarcoaster.
"As much as I adore your new couch, I'd rather stay in your room tonight." Viggo squeezes him just beneath the ribs, breath in his lungs rises up to inflate his chest.
"If I can hold you like this while we sleep, I think we have struck a deal." He reads minds, isn't that a handy trick.
"You might be right, ya know." Sean's pulling threads from earlier conversations, but Viggo will shift gears with him.
"'Bout?"
"Being good for me."
Viggo cranes his neck, his head sliding into view. He's stifling a smile that would light his eyes and come bearing teeth, wrinkles and emphasis on a ludicrous chin. "Go on then." Sean urges, folding his limp arms atop Viggo's. He cracks it, almost shyly, so physically pleased that Sean is helpless, and returns with his own. He's shedding pounds of stress with such ease and racey speed that he can remember who he used to be, before his soul splintered.
"Sean." Mortensen chides in a low, fatherly voice. "Have you mistakenly allowed someone inside the armor?" Bean flushes, part embarrassment and a pinch of regret that the man is quite correct. His fear is still resident, striding the halls of his mind; its battling to take hold but Viggo is draped over him, emanating too much heat and promise.
"Baby steps, Vig. I'm damaged, and as much as I want this... there is no way to guarantee I won't come flying apart." Realizing his own statement sobers him minutely, drunk on Viggo as he is. His face must broadcast this clearly, because Mortensen's brows have steeped over his vision.
"Don't close up again, please Sean." Bean would place a large bet on Viggo's pleading tone never having failed to achieve its desired effect. Its occurred to him before, as its doing now, that if Vig were a self-centered man to even a marginal degree, he could wield this staggering amount of charm as would a master, heralding the breaking of many a heart. But no-ego-Viggo, as he was gushingly referred to once his back was turned, instead oozed this magnetism; his disregard for his sex appeal multiplied its effect by, at the least, ten.
"Its going ta' come and go, V. I'm uhhh... what do they call it now?"
"Now? I think they've been calling it moody for many years." A smug pause, Sean's thumb and forefinger grasp and roll a section of Vig's forearm skin, eliciting a yelp. "Ow, you slut. I believe you mean manic depression or some such thing?"
"That's the one." Sean wriggles his upper arms and shoulders, scratching himself on the buttons of Viggo's shirt.
"I'm still casting my vote for moody, Dom calls it your 'menstral time'."
"Me boot and his arse will have to spend some quality moments together then, eh?"
Mortensen is chuffing laughter while Sean revisits a yawn, bone weary and slouching under the weight of impending sleep.
"Bed." Viggo chirps as he gathers Sean by the armpits and lifts them both from the couch. Bean feels cool and oddly more naked standing topless, bereft of Viggo's warmth. But he's about to spend the whole night enveloped in it, and tries not to expose his over-eager self, striding purposefully up the stairs. Mortensen has maintained contact through the medium of a finger, hooked into the belt loop of Sean's jeans. Bean glances over his shoulder as he conquers the last step, hanging a left and weaving past three or four new paintings, leaning themselves against a wall.
"Think I might run?" He suggests, touching it with a half smile despite his intention of delivering it straight faced.
"Strong possibility." Viggo answers, flexing his arm and halting Sean's hips. His torso holds its momentum, arching forward while his legs remain planted. He's off balance for a partial second, Vig steadies him with an increase of draw and a seam in his pants rips loudly.
"Aww Vigs, don't tear me clothing off, this is my maiden voyage in your bedroom."
Flirting. Sean has a skill with it when he's properly loose, preferably drunk. He and Viggo used to be guilty of it on many a rowdy occasion, before he made the realization that he wanted to follow it to its sticky conclusion.
"I don't think you've joked with me like that in over a month." Viggo deadpans. "I missed you, wherever you went." Sean needs to shed some tears for those words, but now is not the time and he corks the emotion, saved for solitary release.
"I'm glad to be back, uhh..." Apologies, like throwing up a bowling ball, are dense and challenging for him. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings lately, but... I've got me head in me arse, or something." Pathetic, but at least he got it out his uncooperative mouth.
"I wasn't... hurt. " Viggo guides them to the queen-sized bed, seating himself and claiming one of Sean's wrists, tugging on it once in request; Bean joins him. "I was worried about you, then I figured out what was bothering you, and was seriously worried... for the both of us." Sean must ask the following, its been taking up space in his head all night.
"When did you first, uhm..."
"Realize that you wanted me?" Its plain truth but doubles its daunting power when turned aloud, where they can both acknowledge it was actually said. "Beanie, your eyes tell all. While you were stewing inside your head, thinking you shouldn't need anyone, you never looked away from me."
Busted.
Sean always returns home to stupidity and a lack of insight when faced with himself; welcome back, wipe your feet on the mat.
"I am so very daft." This gives Viggo pause, a playful eyebrow lifts from its position over a deep socket.
"Its alright, you're pretty, intelligence can fall by the wayside."
A streak of impulsiveness that would normally originate from Viggo is born inside Bean. Its difficult to tackle someone when you're both sitting, but there was a time when Sean wasn't a quitter. He touches on those memories, using their subsequent adrenaline rush to muscle a slippery strong Viggo to his back.
"I compliment you once and you jump me, I knew you were easy, Sean." Its quite a comical jest, Bean is never 'easy', even meals and clothing were complex choices for him. Viggo might consume an entire jar of pickles for lunch, or wear something crushed and unwashed, picked off his floor.
Its always a stark contrast Sean finds himself most attracted to.
"Time for bed, my steward." When one spends a good deal of time with Viggo, one marvels at his gentle slopes of mood and ocean swells of character. Aragorn is now gazing up at Sean, knowing nothing of fear.
Bean rolls to the far side of the mattress, when the king of men graces you with an order, you see it obeyed. Viggo swings his legs to a stand and loses the button down, his pants crumple after it; both items are left uncaringly on the floor. Sean isn't capable of allowing things out of their place, but has forgotten where he even put his shirt, he's too tired for this shit, fuck it. Mortensen lays and holds casual observation as Bean sheds his denim skin, thankful he wore boxers with room to hide. He might as well just pitch the shorts for all the cover they are providing. Viggo's somber and uncloaked perusal of his abdomen affords him no measure of comfort, but he manages not to shield his face, laying himself out flat on his oil moist back.
"This is an amazing show of restraint on my part, the not taking advantage of you bit." Viggo bears too great a resemblance to a starving animal for Sean's libido to ignore, gnawing a thumbnail through his sentence. Yeah, Sean wants this too, lash of desire drawn bowstring tight between his legs, but he is not ready to handle it.
"Don't mistake my reluctance for lack of want." Sean is rolling his eyes over Vig's long calves but skips up to his cloudy blue eyes, black pupils already dilating, encroaching into the territory owned by color. "I just... need time."
"Of course, and I was not trying to convince you otherwise." He abandons torturing his thumb, working a few fingers into the blankets and sliding underneath, the epic bruise on his thigh is darkening and his tight stomach muscles show a circle of reddening skin just below a pectoral where Sean placed his impulsive fist. "Just thought I'd make you aware that I was behaving, and you're... unfairly tempting."
Sean is now wearing one pair of boxers, a full body blush and half an erection.
"Lemme under here." Bean fumbles with the covers while his weight rests on them, jostling himself until he's sandwiched in sheets. Viggo is on him in a timespan that's not measurable, insinuating himself between Bean and bed until Sean must flip to his side, bearing his back to Mortensen's shoving. "This is your idea of behaving, Mr. Pushy?"
"If I wasn't, you'd know."
Sean is sure he would. He's also certain Viggo has not a clue how dominant Bean is in bed, but he'll stow that info away, he'd rather observe the loss of control that's sure to be in Mortensen's eyes whenever it is they get around to sex. There is a shift in the mattress and Vig plunges them into cool darkness, slaying the lamp's light. His right arm wraps Sean's waist, slightly possessive. Bean snuggles backwards instinctively, the lowest portion of his back surprises him with its own slight arch, pushing his ass behind him. Before he can reign his body in, Vig is nuzzling all portions of himself into Sean; tight thighs, a blunt chest whose smattering of hair causes unfamiliar friction, and the soft, burning weight of Viggo's cock, nestled into Sean's tailbone.
Did people actually sleep like this without having sex beforehand?
It doesn't seem to matter after about three body heated seconds. Bean's exhaustion has taken residence inside his bones, the top of his face, and his arms, which will not move, though he means to toss one backwards towards Viggo. Its difficult not to recall the last time he was held lovingly by someone he knew meant it, but he manages, being that he can't remember.
Shortly after a rib stretching sigh that causes Mortensen to mutter and jam his nose into Sean's hair, they are both taken by sleep.