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fellowshippers2006-05-06 01:41 am
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-05-06 01:41 am
A Prequel to "Un Cadeau du Roi"
Title: Breaking Your Own Rules
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: Dave/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: This is a prequel to "Un Cadeau du Roi," though it could be read as a standalone. The story of Dave and Viggo's meeting, with enough sex to make up for Cadeau's lack. Written almost entirely on French trains.
It was ten ‘o clock on a Saturday morning, and Viggo Mortensen was late. Samantha, the young assistant in the newsroom, followed him down the corridor with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and notes on the gay rights demonstration and parade he was supposed to be covering in the other, putting up with the journalist’s ranting as she was apt to do.
“Damnit, they’re starting in two hours, and we’ve got to get a good spot on the route, and I need those spare film canisters, and where the fuck is my assistant photographer??”
Viggo was so preoccupied in his crusade against all that was making him late this morning that he barely noticed that, rounding the corner, another man was coming in the exact opposite direction. There was a dull thud as two toned bodies met, papers flying everywhere, the expensive camera around the other man’s neck barely escaping a tragic fate. For a long moment, after he had straightened himself up, Viggo didn’t move, just staring at the taller man, whose face was rosy with a shock of strawberry blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, looking incredulous but at the same time amused by the collision.
“And who the fuck are you?” Viggo growled, upset that this man rattled him so when he was already late to start work.
The man smiled broadly in the sort of slow, unhurried way that is both infuriating and infinitely dangerous, as it is the smile that most often comes before you realize that you’ve fucked shit up royally.
“Your assistant photographer,” he replied in an accent that Viggo didn’t immediately place, the smile not fading. Viggo just stood there, staring into the pair of cheerily bright eyes before him with a feeling of extreme embarrassment.
“Um… right. Well, come along then. Haven’t got all day,” Viggo replied gruffly, continuing on to the elevator bank at the end of the corridor and trusting the other to follow.
“Must be an American thing,” the man commented to Samantha as they rounded the corner. “Where I come from, when you bump into someone the typical response is ‘excuse me,’ or ‘I’m sorry.’ Interesting cultural difference,” he commented absently, as if making a note in his head. Viggo just stared incredulously at him as the elevator doors slid shut on Samantha, who was trying desperately not to laugh. “I’m Dave, by the way. And a jolly good day to you, too.”
The march was fairly typical for a New York protest, and Viggo felt comfortable wandering among the marchers and spectators asking questions and snapping photographs. Of course, most of his comfort stemmed from the fact that he was once again alone, as he had almost immediately sent Dave to get a better angle on the parade from the grandstand that was available for the press while he wove through the crowds. Now, however, there was little left to do on the street, and Viggo grudgingly headed up the aluminium steps to the raised platform, sliding in among the reporters and taking a seat next to Dave, who was dutifully taking pictures of the marchers and some of the anti-gay protestors who were cordoned off behind blue police barricades just across from the grandstand.
“So what do you think of these people?” Viggo asked, vaguely waving at the marchers as Dave composed a shot. His attempt at conversation seemed to be a bad idea, however, when Dave lowered his camera and managed to look both amused and slightly fucked off at the same time.
“I am one of ‘those people,’” he responded, giving Viggo a look of challenge.
“Oh. Um… me too,” Viggo mumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets and sheepishly lowering his gaze. Dave just stared at him in confusion until he finally chose to elaborate. “Yeah, well, you never know. I mean you could be some homophobic bastard,” Viggo reasoned defensively. “I tend to gauge people that way.” Dave raised his eyebrows, but this time his expression was all amusement.
“So let me get this straight. First you run into me and choose to insult me, rather than apologizing like a normal human being. Then, you manage to inadvertently insult my sexuality in an attempt to “gauge” my reaction to your own, which is, by the way, one and the same. Charmed, I’m sure.”
Viggo just stared for a moment, then blurted out the first thing to come to mind, a habit that had admittedly got him into trouble before. “Where do you come from?”
Dave just grinned, extending his hand to shake. “Sydney, Australia. Name’s David Wenham. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but…” Dave grinned and Viggo managed to look even more sheepish.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough week. Let me buy you a coffee after we drop this footage off at the office. I promise I’m normally not quite such an ass.”
Dave grinned maliciously. “Ooh, not quite such an arse. Well now you’ve sold me.” Viggo rolled his eyes, and Dave just grinned and nudged him playfully. “A coffee sounds lovely, mate. I’m just arsing around with you.”
A few hours later, once they had both dropped their things off at the newsroom and clocked out for the day, Viggo led the way to a little coffee shop a few blocks away. It was one of his favourites, nestled between office buildings with big fluffy chairs and a comfortable atmosphere. Leaving David to find them seats, he went to the counter and ordered a couple of strong espresso drinks, then went to join David in a fairly empty corner.
“So. Sydney, then,” Viggo commented as he took his seat. “How long have you lived in New York?”
“Just got here, actually. I was going to do law school, but I guess I didn’t realize quite how much that costs in the states.”
“So you switched to photography? Bit of a stretch…”
“Actually, no… I went to journalism school; I actually just got out of uni, but I was working part time as a staff photographer for National Geographic in Australia to pay for tuition. I still might do some freelance work for them, if I can.”
“You’re just out of college? How old are you, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking…”
“Not at all. I just turned twenty-two. And yourself?”
“Twenty-nine,” Viggo replied. “So why did you want to be a lawyer, if you went to school for journalism?” he asked after a barista set two steaming cups in front of them. “Just couldn’t make up your mind?”
David shrugged and smiled. “I was just a kid. I wanted to change the world.”
“And you’re not a kid anymore?” Viggo asked, smiling teasingly as he sipped at his coffee.
“I don’t feel like one, no. Anyway, if I’m going to change the world I figure I’m more likely to do it through the exposure of a major publication than working for some hot-shot law firm or something.”
“You’re probably right,” Viggo agreed. “So how did you end up working for the magazine, then?”
“Sean was actually one of the first people I spoke to in the city,” Dave explained, referring to the human-interest editor Viggo loosely worked under as a freelance journalist. “We’ve been hanging out at the same pub, and when he found out that I’m a photographer he mentioned that he had an open position on staff, and I jumped at it.”
“And this is your first assignment?”
“Yeah. I thought it would be cool to work with you, actually. I’ve read some of the stuff you’ve done over the past few years.”
“Seriously?”
Dave nodded. “I had mentioned that to Sean, actually, and so he put me on the story when you asked for an assistant. I was kind of surprised, actually; I thought you usually worked alone.”
“I usually do,” Viggo affirmed. “I’m a bit of a loner, but I sometimes need another set of eyes or ears for a story.”
Dave nodded, and took a long draw from his espresso. “Well what’s your story, then? What brought you to New York?”
“Oh, it was sort of the default for me. My family lived upstate when I was in high school, and I went to school in state for tuition reasons… there’s not really any city better for starting a career in the field, so here I am. I can’t stay in the city all the time, but I get to travel a lot and the freelancing keeps me from going stir crazy.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“Denmark, but we left for Argentina when I was still just a kid.”
“Do you still speak Spanish and Danish, then?” Dave asked.
“Yeah. Spanish actually does come in handy a fair amount, as you can imagine, and my whole family is Danish so I still ring them from time to time.”
“Have you been back to visit?”
“A couple of times, when I’ve been on assignment in Europe. I’d really like to find an excuse to go back to South America though. That’s where most of the fond childhood memories are.”
“I would think there would be plenty of human interest stories in that part of the world, though…”
“Yeah, there are, but freelance doesn’t mean absolute freedom. I still have to do what the publication wants.”
“Which is?”
“Lately, gay rights parades and dramatic counter-protests,” Viggo replied with a grin.
Dave grinned back and took a sip of his coffee. “Have you been on the other side of the fence much?”
“What, protesting?” Dave nodded. “I did in college. It was the late seventies, after all… but I’m much more of a private person now. What about you?”
“The same, essentially. American laws are appalling, but then, not really my problem. I find the photographs I take a more constructive outlet for my passions, in any event.”
Viggo smiled and nodded, draining the last of his cup. “Usually less dangerous, at least. Hey Dave, I’m afraid I have to go now; I have an appointment, but listen… God, I never do this, but, um, do you think I could take you out to dinner sometime? Next Friday, maybe?”
Dave grinned and Viggo could’ve sworn his eyes were actually sparkling. “Is this a date, then, or a ‘gee Dave, I’m supremely sorry that I was a total arsehole’ gesture?”
“I guess both,” Viggo admitted, and Dave smiled.
“Well then I guess yes. Friday night sounds great.”
“Excellent. Hey, I should warn you though. I think the last time I went on a proper date was, oh, 1982…”
Dave laughed aloud and reached out to squeeze Viggo’s shoulder when they stood. “How about this, then? If you make any supremely stupid moves, I promise to be no more harsh on you than you were to me this morning.” Viggo groaned, and Dave just grinned. “Take it or leave it, mate.”
“Fine, fine. Friday night, then. Are you coming in tomorrow?”
“Not bloody likely. You have fun typing all this up, mate. I’m taking the Sunday off.” Viggo rolled his eyes, sometimes hating that his position meant that he was the one coming in on the weekends to get a story out in a timely fashion, but he loved his job nonetheless.
“Well I’ll see you Monday then.”
“Bright and early, mate. Have a good rest of your working weekend,” Dave replied, pulling Viggo close for a friendly hug before they headed out of the shop in opposite directions. As he walked uptown, willing himself not to turn back and be caught looking, Viggo grinned to himself. An honest-to-God date. Well, that was something new.
It was three minutes to seven on Friday night when Viggo showed up on the 15th floor of Dave’s building, and he was mortified to note that his palms were actually sweating as he knocked.
“Hey, uh, sorry I’m early. These are for you, but I wasn’t sure if people did flowers anymore. If it’s too girly, forget I ever brought anything,” Viggo exhaled in a rush, smiling weakly as he held out a white orchid.
There was a brief pregnant pause before Dave simultaneously took the flower, pulled Viggo into a hug, and burst out laughing. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to have more fun at your expense than I have in years?” Dave asked with a grin, pulling away and gesturing for Viggo to follow him into the small kitchen to hunt down a vase.
“I don’t know, but I get the feeling you’re probably right,” Viggo admitted as he followed, glancing at the art on Dave’s walls before stepping into the kitchen. “Fan of abstracts, are you?”
“Guilty, yeah. Though I don’t think you can really get away with sticking a black box on a white sheet of paper and calling it art,” Dave said with a grin, filling a glass vase with water and delicately lowering the orchid into it.
“Yeah, I tend to agree with you. There’s a great exhibition going on now at this gallery I like in TriBeCa, though. I think you might enjoy the work.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Dave offered with a smile as he slid past Viggo and pulled his suit jacket from a tinny hallway closet. “If this evening goes well, then you may take me to said gallery tomorrow afternoon.”
“A challenge, Mr. Wenham?”
“Indeed,” Dave agreed, smiling as Viggo joined him in the small hallway, reaching around to open the front door.
“Well then, I accept.”
After a salad and a truly superb glass of Australian red wine that Dave had chosen, Viggo was feeling considerably more relaxed. Though Dave continued to tease him throughout the meal, it was all in good humour and Viggo couldn’t remember flirting quite this much with a man since he was about Dave’s age.
They talked about everything from football to art to politics, and though Viggo often reserved his opinions for the sake of politesse, he found that Dave encouraged speaking candidly, whether or not the conversation was politically correct, an attitude with which Viggo was quite taken.
Though Viggo had dated intelligent men in the past, he found that many were examples of what he most hated about the seventies—all preached “in vogue” ideals that they probably did believe in, but then spent their time getting high and complaining about the state affairs rather than actually using their talents to effect change. Dave, on the other hand, was not only intelligent but successful, forward thinking, and open-minded. He admitted that he wouldn’t be opposed to supporting a conservative politician if one showed up that had some good ideas; that just hadn’t yet happened in his lifetime. He also admitted his pipe dream of winning a Pulitzer, though he wasn’t sure he would ever make the transition into writing his own stories. He firmly believed in “a picture is worth a thousand words” and found that he was able to capture much more in a good shot than he could explain in writing. However, he also complimented Viggo on his ability to interview subjects and produce a compelling story, mentioning some of the stories he had read in the few publications Viggo wrote for. By the time the main course came, then, Viggo was not only quickly enamoured with the other man but feeling his ego suitably recovered from its earlier blows.
“Beatles or the Stones?” Dave asked as he twirled his pasta onto a fork.
“Oh, damn. Late Beatles or early?”
“Late, of course,” he mumbled in reply around a mouthful of food.
“Um… yeah, Beatles. You?”
“Stones, but by a hair. Did you see the Beatles when they toured in the States?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not that old!”
Dave grinned in response. “Did you cry when Lennon died?”
“No, but when they broke up I bawled like a baby. Missed a day of school, even. I convinced my mom that I was sick.”
“Where were you living then?”
“Argentina. I heard it on BBC world radio.”
“Hey, can you make Argentinean food? Because if so, you are definitely cooking for our next date.” Viggo grinned at the suggestion and nodded.
“I can make a few things. One of the old women in our neighbourhood taught me how to pound out my own corn tortillas when I was a kid, and I still do it sometimes. Kind of meditative. What about you? You cook?”
“Not really. Bachelor’s food, you know?”
“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Viggo joked, and Dave smiled teasingly.
“A bit presumptuous there, mate.”
“Hey, look who’s talking about 2nd and 3rd dates before we even get to dessert. I figured I’d passed the Dave Wenham Dating Eligibility Test already.”
“Bold, aren’t you? I like that,” Dave admitted, nudging Viggo’s calf under the table with his ankle.
“You bring it out in me, I guess,” Viggo admitted, forcing himself to keep Dave’s gaze despite his urge to look away and blush.
“Okay, I have a confession to make,” Dave admitted.
“Yeah? What kind of confession?”
“I’m getting an extreme urge to fuck off dessert and have you instead,” Dave replied in a low tone, his eyes back to that gleeful sparkle. Viggo gulped and uncrossed his legs to accommodate the sudden pressure that accompanied that statement. “Trouble is,” Dave continued, reaching across the table to take Viggo’s hand and idly twining their fingers together, “I kind of have one of those pesky ‘not on the first date’ rules.”
“Yeah, me too,” Viggo admitted, feeling very disappointed nonetheless as Dave’s index finger stroked his palm.
“So… do you think if we’re both breaking our own rule that it would technically cancel out?” Dave mused with a truly evil grin.
“Check, please,” Viggo called to a passing waitress without batting an eyelash or looking away from Dave’s positively impish expression. God help him, the man was just impossible to resist.
“Oh, fuck. You really need to have fewer fucking clothes on, mate,” Dave muttered as he pushed Viggo up against the wall of his own foyer. Viggo laughed and let him, tipping his head back as Dave yanked his tie loose and attacked the collar with deft fingers, attaching his lips to Viggo’s neck.
Viggo had to admit he was pleased to be the one to make Dave lose control so deliciously, even if he typically did save sex for the second or third date. Frankly, it was pretty clear that they were both looking for a relationship beyond a few fucks—even though Dave was a bit young, he seemed to have moved beyond the “experimental” phase—and Viggo was willing to take a risk on him.
“Jesus. You work out?” Dave asked, kissing his way down Viggo’s pectorals as he unbuttoned his dress shirt.
“Three times a week, or at least I try,” Viggo answered as Dave reached the floor. “Hey, wait. Why are you still dressed?” he asked, and Dave just grinned as he unbuttoned Viggo’s trousers.
“This is new, mate. Don’t think I’ve ever had a bloke complain when I’m on my knees in front of him before.”
Viggo grinned, but didn’t concede the point, pulling Dave up by the shoulders and pushing him back towards the bedroom as he loosened Dave’s tie and tried to unbutton his shirt at the same time.
“I want to fuck you,” Viggo admitted in an exhalation against Dave’s lips, causing the other man to suck in a breath as Viggo continued to work his buttons open. “And then, when we’ve recovered, I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled against Dave’s collarbone, sliding the shirt off his shoulders as they reached the foot of the bed. “And I don’t know what you’ve done to me, exactly, because I almost never feel comfortable enough to talk dirty like this the first time I’m with someone,” Viggo admitted with an apologetic smile, feeling strangely vulnerable as Dave sat on the bed and pulled Viggo to straddle his lap.
“Hey, I like it,” Dave whispered in a soothing voice, taking Viggo’s face in his hands in a much gentler grip than their arousal would suggest, and pulling him closer for a deep kiss, at the same time reassuring and gently pushing, his hands twisting lightly in Viggo’s hair and his tongue coaxing Viggo out of sudden shyness. “Don’t stop,” Dave added in a desperate whisper against Viggo’s lips when he pulled away.
“Oh, fuck,” Viggo groaned, pressing down into Dave’s lap and guiding his upper body back with his hands. “I change my mind. God, Dave, you have to fuck me now. Please,” he whimpered, and Dave growled as he flipped them over with unexpected strength.
“My pleasure, babe.”
Viggo growled when Dave held his wrists firmly to his sides, but didn’t struggle as Dave slid down, taking his time kissing and sucking down Viggo’s chest and stomach.
“You really do have an amazing body,” Dave commented, nipping at his abs. “I want to worship it,” he added as he finished opening Viggo’s fly with his teeth, hands still keeping Viggo from touching him. “Your mind, too,” he continued, finally letting go to slide Viggo’s trousers down his legs.
Viggo let Dave do as he wished until he was free of his trousers, but then all bets were off, the older man pouncing to pin Dave again and get him out of his trousers. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” Viggo rasped against Dave’s jaw, biting lightly as he let his hands roam Dave’s chest. “Just be careful, okay? I’m not quite as sluttish as I probably seem tonight.”
Dave laughed and ran his hands up Viggo’s back, arching unconsciously when Viggo scooted to straddle him more firmly. “No worries, babe. I promise to take you just as slowly as you want,” he murmured, scraping his nails down Viggo’s spine and smiling when the other man shivered. “Slower, even. I confess, I’d love to hear you beg,” Dave added with a cheeky little smile, and Viggo just laughed, running his hands through Dave’s hair and trying very hard not to grind down too eagerly with his hips.
“You might have to wait a while, then.”
“That’s fine.” Dave grinned and pulled Viggo down for a long kiss before continuing. “I have a feeling that once I’m inside you I won’t be in much of a hurry to leave.”
Viggo groaned when Dave bit his bottom lip, and then found himself on his back again, Dave looming over him and quickly moving to divest him of his pants.
“Fuck, don’t tease,” Viggo bit out when the back of Dave’s hand brushed his erection.
“I don’t call it teasing, I prefer to think of it as ‘prolonging,’” Dave explained with a wicked grin. “And this…” Viggo gasped as Dave’s hand suddenly took him in a firm grip. “…this is called indulgence.”
“Well then, by all means, please indulge,” Viggo breathed out as Dave began a lazy stroke.
“Just a bit, love,” Dave cautioned as he let go and set to removing his own boxers. “Wouldn’t want you coming before we get to the begging part.”
“Oh, I see no problem with that,” Viggo objected through gritted teeth as their naked erections ground together.
“Yeah, but no one asked you,” Dave pointed out, stilling Viggo with a palm on his chest as he rummaged around in a drawer for lube.
“Been awhile, champ?” Viggo joked with a grin when Dave finally resurfaced with a small tube from the very back of the drawer.
“Hey, no complaints from Mr. 1982.”
“That wasn’t the last time I had sex!” Viggo objected. “Just the last time I went on a real date.”
“So when did you last have sex, then?” Dave asked with a smile as he motioned for Viggo to roll over.
“Eighty… four,” Viggo groaned as he settled on his elbows and a lubed finger began to stroke his hole, just teasing him into relaxation. “I’m over the casual sex thing,” he explained with slight indignation.
“Yeah, me too,” Dave admitted as he pushed harder at Viggo’s entrance, the single finger sinking in easily. “Been a little over a year. Hence the lube,” he explained.
“But don’t you use it to… oh fuck… masturbate?”
Dave grinned at Viggo’s reaction to his curling finger and slipped it out to add a second before continuing. “I like friction,” he explained simply, and Viggo groaned, writhing slightly against the fingers stretching his suddenly very willing body.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Viggo replied, clutching the pillows as Dave worked in a third finger.
“See that you do.”
“You like it rough, then?” Viggo asked, only realizing afterwards that he sounded like a bad porn film as he spread wider to accommodate Dave’s searching fingers.
“Not necessarily. I’m just saying. I can take more than you might think,” Dave clarified, and Viggo growled in protest when all three fingers slid out. “And what about you, love?” Dave rasped against Viggo’s ear, tugging up with an arm under Viggo’s stomach to position him. “What can you take?”
Viggo gasped as he heard a foil packet ripping open, Dave’s teeth pulling slightly at the tender skin of his neck.
“Whatever you can give me,” he growled, and then gasped again when the lubed and latexed tip of Dave’s cock pressed bluntly against his entrance.
“Dangerous,” Dave whispered, tugging at Viggo’s earlobe with his teeth. “I like it.” And with that, Viggo sucked in a breath as Dave penetrated his body with one steady push.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Viggo groaned. And it was, the pressure much more pleasurable than painful with the help of preparation much more meticulous than he was used to. “Feels… God… so full,” he murmured, and Dave groaned as he bit Viggo’s shoulder.
“Fuck, yes. Want to fill you up, babe,” Dave moaned, getting a hold on Viggo’s hips and plunging into him with long, slow strokes designed to make Viggo notice every centimetre without pulling him over the edge too quickly. “Keep talking, babe. God, I love to hear you talk,” Dave murmured, and Viggo was surprised at the relative lack of embarrassment on part. This, he supposed, could be attributed to the fact that his words were genuine, as opposed to past experiences where lovers demanded that he talk during sex and he had to fake it, making his words sound as pornographic (and therefore ridiculous) as possible.
“Jesus fuck, that’s it. Oh God, Dave, please. Right… right there. Fucking hell, that’s good. Never had it so… so slow, so good. Feel every… every inch of you.”
“Oh, fuck. That’s it. Damnit, Vig. You’re just… too good.”
“Fuck,” Viggo gasped, leaning further onto his elbows as he tried to push back. “I can’t… not much longer. Please. Oh goddamnit, please harder.”
“You want it harder?” Dave murmured against Viggo’s ear, one hand reaching around to stroke Viggo’s cock. “You want me to fuck the orgasm right out of you?”
“Yes, yes… God, please.”
“No,” Dave growled. “Just like this, Viggo. You’re going to come exactly like this, and you’re going to feel every little bit of it,” he insisted, his hand speeding up on Viggo’s cock as his own kept up the slow, deep strokes, raking purposefully against Viggo’s prostate. “And then the minute you start to come, I’m going to take you hard and fast, and I’m going to come inside you while your arse is still trembling,” he promised.
And, with a little flick and twist of Dave’s wrist, Viggo gave into the inevitable, his back arching as orgasm took him, a scream still echoing from his lips as Dave’s hand tightened on his hip, his thrusts doubling in speed and bringing him to quick satisfaction, the last drops still trickling onto the sheets as Dave yelped Viggo’s name and rode out his own release.
“I’m never moving…ever,” Viggo moaned into the pillow after a few moments, as Dave gingerly extracted himself and chucked the condom into the bin before snuggling up next to Viggo.
Dave chuckled and pressed a kiss to Viggo’s sweaty shoulder blade. “But what about your turn? Aren’t you going to fuck me next, babe? I was looking forward to it,” Dave pouted, and Viggo groaned.
“Tomorrow. I’ll fuck you tomorrow. When I get my strength back, child.”
Dave snorted and nudged his shoulder. “Whatever you say, paedophile. So should I assume you’re staying the night?”
Dave’s eyes were teasing, but Viggo felt a familiar instinct to back pedal. “Sorry, sorry, um, I mean, I can just…” He moved to sit up, but Dave just laughed and tugged him down onto his back, slinging an arm across his chest to anchor him.
“Shut up, beautiful. You’re staying,” Dave insisted with a kiss to Viggo’s cheek. “And you can fuck me tomorrow, and the next day, and the next… though we do need to get that art exhibition in there somewhere,” he added with a wink.
“So, does that mean I’ve passed your first date test then?” Viggo asked with a grin, and Dave just burst out laughing.
“I’d say so, babe. With flying colours.”
When Viggo awoke the next morning, he was momentarily disoriented by the weight of an arm on his chest and the sensation of moisture on his neck. Blinking, he opened his eyes and started laughing when he turned to his right. Dave was sleeping like a baby, red-blonde hair spiking up every which way and mouth slightly open. One arm was slung across Viggo’s chest and one leg across Viggo’s own, a persistent morning erection nudging Viggo’s hipbone.
“Darling, you’re drooling on me,” Viggo whispered, and laughed even harder at the look on Dave’s face when he reached consciousness, self-consciously wiping Viggo’s shoulder with the corner of the sheet.
“Sorry,” Dave replied with a sheepish grin. “How’d you sleep?”
“Wonderfully,” Viggo admitted, sitting up a bit and placing a kiss to Dave’s forehead. “Come brush your teeth and then I’ll take care of this,” he joked, flicking his eyes downwards towards Dave’s crotch.
“Mmm. I forgot how nice it is to have someone do that for me,” he joked, following Viggo to the bathroom and rummaging around for a spare toothbrush. “Through I don’t quite understand why morning breath is a deterrent. I mean you could always just…” Dave made a sucking gesture with his fist and Viggo laughed as he squirted paste onto the brush.
“Oh, I want to suck you, too. But this morning, it’s my turn to fuck you, and I don’t fuck without kissing,” Viggo explained, taking his turn at the sink.”
“Well hurry up, then,” Dave encouraged with a grin. “I’m quite keen to get fucked this morning.”
Grinning back at Dave in the mirror, Viggo quickly rinsed and spat and then Dave found himself shoved forward against the sink. “Later, I’ll take you in here,” Viggo promised in a whisper against Dave’s neck, manipulating Dave’s forearms to grasp the counter in front of him and pushing against Dave’s naked arse with a quickly awakening erection. “Just like this.” Dave gasped, and Viggo quickly spun him around to shove him backwards against the sink, initiating a long, hungry kiss. “But not this time.”
Half-walking, half-stumbling, Viggo led the way to the bedroom with his lips firmly attached to Dave’s. When they reached the bed, Viggo wasted no time finding the lube they had tossed aside the previous night, but Dave was one step ahead of him. Viggo groaned audibly when he emerged from the side of the bed to find Dave already on his back, legs splayed with his middle finger dipping into the entrance.
“Oh holy fuck,” Viggo breathed, fumbling with the lube in his hurry to slick up his fingers and sliding one in beside Dave’s before he had a chance to remove it. “Not shy at all, are you?” he commented as their fingers slid easily against each other within the warm, tight space.
“Maybe I’m a tad bit of an exhibitionist,” Dave admitted, arching his back when Viggo batted away his hand and slid three of his own fingers in at once. “When I trust someone, you know. I don’t want everyone I sleep with to think I’m a total slut.”
Viggo grinned, arching his fingers hard as he leaned over to suck on Dave’s Adam’s apple, prompting a long moan. “I don’t think you’re a slut. I think you’re gorgeous,” he admitted, and Dave smiled.
“Now, Vig. Please. I can’t wait.”
“Turn over, then.”
“No. Like this. I love the way you kiss me when you’re desperate.”
“Just keep talking like that, then,” Viggo replied, reaching into the drawer for a condom. “Sure you’re ready?” he confirmed as he rolled it on.
“Yeah, God, please. No more lube, it’s fine. Just fuck me, please.”
“Well since you asked so nicely,” Viggo joked before engaging Dave in a deep kiss, folding his legs back and lining up. Dave moaned into the kiss when Viggo slid inside with one long thrust. It was a tight fit, but Dave just moaned encouragingly, pressing down with his hands on Viggo’s back.
“Fuck, yes. God, never so… fuck, Viggo, please. Just like this, oh God.”
“You like that?” Viggo breathed, again reminding himself of a porn star but too caught up in the moment to care.
“Fuck yes, Vig. God, you’re amazing. More, please, I can take it,” Dave begged. Viggo groaned and grabbed Dave’s wrists, pinning them to the pillow behind his head before using his hips to adjust the angle, pushing in deeper as Dave’s knees hooked onto his shoulders. “Oh, God,” Dave moaned, pushing up against Viggo’s hands and gasping with pleasure when he found they wouldn’t move. “Just like that babe, please, God.”
“You…” Viggo gasped, catching his breath between thrusts and leaning onto Dave’s wrists a bit, “…are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I doubt that,” Dave objected with a smile, still arching up in counterpoint to Viggo’s movements.
“Oh no. I’m certain. So fucking… Jesus,” he exclaimed when Dave’s head snapped back on a particularly well-aimed stroke, his mouth falling open as a moan was forced from his lips. “So fucking beautiful, baby.”
“Mmm. Fuck, yeah, that’s good. I like you to call me that.”
“I’ll call you anything you want, baby. Fuck, this is good.”
“God, Vig… I… I’m so close. Could come from this, just this, oh God… please...”
Viggo stared down at the man underneath him, bucking up into Viggo’s thrusts and arching so beautifully, and felt a surge of desire to accept the challenge being offered. Not just this time, but generally. He could do this. He could be what David wanted, and the confidence of this knowledge pushed him that much harder, squeezing Dave’s wrists hard and roughly stroking over Dave’s prostrate with each thrust. He leaned in to kiss the younger man and was surprised when Dave dominated the meeting of their lips despite his position underneath Viggo, pulling at Viggo’s bottom lip with his teeth and generally making the other man hornier than he could ever remember being in recent history.
“Fuck it, Dave, now! Come for me,” Viggo growled, digging his nails into Dave’s wrists as their eyes locked, his hips thrusting hard and at the perfect angle as he was unable to hold his own release back any longer. He was relieved to feel Dave’s come warm and wet against his stomach as his own head snapped back, a long groan signalling his release, and the moment he was able to regain control of his senses he forced his head back to meet Dave’s eyes again.
“Fucking beautiful,” Dave murmured, pulling Viggo down tight to him as they came down together, stroking his hair gently and kissing his sweaty forehead.
“I… my God. Did I hurt you?” Viggo asked, suddenly concerned as he slid back and took hold of one of Dave’s wrists to inspect it. Sure enough, a bruise was beginning to form, but Dave just laughed and shook his head.
“No worries, lover. Bruises heal. And that was fucking amazing. Well worth it. In fact, so amazing that I suggest we clean up and go promptly back to bed,” Dave suggested with a yawn.
Viggo just giggled, pressing a light kiss to his new lover’s lips. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: Dave/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: This is a prequel to "Un Cadeau du Roi," though it could be read as a standalone. The story of Dave and Viggo's meeting, with enough sex to make up for Cadeau's lack. Written almost entirely on French trains.
It was ten ‘o clock on a Saturday morning, and Viggo Mortensen was late. Samantha, the young assistant in the newsroom, followed him down the corridor with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and notes on the gay rights demonstration and parade he was supposed to be covering in the other, putting up with the journalist’s ranting as she was apt to do.
“Damnit, they’re starting in two hours, and we’ve got to get a good spot on the route, and I need those spare film canisters, and where the fuck is my assistant photographer??”
Viggo was so preoccupied in his crusade against all that was making him late this morning that he barely noticed that, rounding the corner, another man was coming in the exact opposite direction. There was a dull thud as two toned bodies met, papers flying everywhere, the expensive camera around the other man’s neck barely escaping a tragic fate. For a long moment, after he had straightened himself up, Viggo didn’t move, just staring at the taller man, whose face was rosy with a shock of strawberry blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, looking incredulous but at the same time amused by the collision.
“And who the fuck are you?” Viggo growled, upset that this man rattled him so when he was already late to start work.
The man smiled broadly in the sort of slow, unhurried way that is both infuriating and infinitely dangerous, as it is the smile that most often comes before you realize that you’ve fucked shit up royally.
“Your assistant photographer,” he replied in an accent that Viggo didn’t immediately place, the smile not fading. Viggo just stood there, staring into the pair of cheerily bright eyes before him with a feeling of extreme embarrassment.
“Um… right. Well, come along then. Haven’t got all day,” Viggo replied gruffly, continuing on to the elevator bank at the end of the corridor and trusting the other to follow.
“Must be an American thing,” the man commented to Samantha as they rounded the corner. “Where I come from, when you bump into someone the typical response is ‘excuse me,’ or ‘I’m sorry.’ Interesting cultural difference,” he commented absently, as if making a note in his head. Viggo just stared incredulously at him as the elevator doors slid shut on Samantha, who was trying desperately not to laugh. “I’m Dave, by the way. And a jolly good day to you, too.”
The march was fairly typical for a New York protest, and Viggo felt comfortable wandering among the marchers and spectators asking questions and snapping photographs. Of course, most of his comfort stemmed from the fact that he was once again alone, as he had almost immediately sent Dave to get a better angle on the parade from the grandstand that was available for the press while he wove through the crowds. Now, however, there was little left to do on the street, and Viggo grudgingly headed up the aluminium steps to the raised platform, sliding in among the reporters and taking a seat next to Dave, who was dutifully taking pictures of the marchers and some of the anti-gay protestors who were cordoned off behind blue police barricades just across from the grandstand.
“So what do you think of these people?” Viggo asked, vaguely waving at the marchers as Dave composed a shot. His attempt at conversation seemed to be a bad idea, however, when Dave lowered his camera and managed to look both amused and slightly fucked off at the same time.
“I am one of ‘those people,’” he responded, giving Viggo a look of challenge.
“Oh. Um… me too,” Viggo mumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets and sheepishly lowering his gaze. Dave just stared at him in confusion until he finally chose to elaborate. “Yeah, well, you never know. I mean you could be some homophobic bastard,” Viggo reasoned defensively. “I tend to gauge people that way.” Dave raised his eyebrows, but this time his expression was all amusement.
“So let me get this straight. First you run into me and choose to insult me, rather than apologizing like a normal human being. Then, you manage to inadvertently insult my sexuality in an attempt to “gauge” my reaction to your own, which is, by the way, one and the same. Charmed, I’m sure.”
Viggo just stared for a moment, then blurted out the first thing to come to mind, a habit that had admittedly got him into trouble before. “Where do you come from?”
Dave just grinned, extending his hand to shake. “Sydney, Australia. Name’s David Wenham. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but…” Dave grinned and Viggo managed to look even more sheepish.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough week. Let me buy you a coffee after we drop this footage off at the office. I promise I’m normally not quite such an ass.”
Dave grinned maliciously. “Ooh, not quite such an arse. Well now you’ve sold me.” Viggo rolled his eyes, and Dave just grinned and nudged him playfully. “A coffee sounds lovely, mate. I’m just arsing around with you.”
A few hours later, once they had both dropped their things off at the newsroom and clocked out for the day, Viggo led the way to a little coffee shop a few blocks away. It was one of his favourites, nestled between office buildings with big fluffy chairs and a comfortable atmosphere. Leaving David to find them seats, he went to the counter and ordered a couple of strong espresso drinks, then went to join David in a fairly empty corner.
“So. Sydney, then,” Viggo commented as he took his seat. “How long have you lived in New York?”
“Just got here, actually. I was going to do law school, but I guess I didn’t realize quite how much that costs in the states.”
“So you switched to photography? Bit of a stretch…”
“Actually, no… I went to journalism school; I actually just got out of uni, but I was working part time as a staff photographer for National Geographic in Australia to pay for tuition. I still might do some freelance work for them, if I can.”
“You’re just out of college? How old are you, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking…”
“Not at all. I just turned twenty-two. And yourself?”
“Twenty-nine,” Viggo replied. “So why did you want to be a lawyer, if you went to school for journalism?” he asked after a barista set two steaming cups in front of them. “Just couldn’t make up your mind?”
David shrugged and smiled. “I was just a kid. I wanted to change the world.”
“And you’re not a kid anymore?” Viggo asked, smiling teasingly as he sipped at his coffee.
“I don’t feel like one, no. Anyway, if I’m going to change the world I figure I’m more likely to do it through the exposure of a major publication than working for some hot-shot law firm or something.”
“You’re probably right,” Viggo agreed. “So how did you end up working for the magazine, then?”
“Sean was actually one of the first people I spoke to in the city,” Dave explained, referring to the human-interest editor Viggo loosely worked under as a freelance journalist. “We’ve been hanging out at the same pub, and when he found out that I’m a photographer he mentioned that he had an open position on staff, and I jumped at it.”
“And this is your first assignment?”
“Yeah. I thought it would be cool to work with you, actually. I’ve read some of the stuff you’ve done over the past few years.”
“Seriously?”
Dave nodded. “I had mentioned that to Sean, actually, and so he put me on the story when you asked for an assistant. I was kind of surprised, actually; I thought you usually worked alone.”
“I usually do,” Viggo affirmed. “I’m a bit of a loner, but I sometimes need another set of eyes or ears for a story.”
Dave nodded, and took a long draw from his espresso. “Well what’s your story, then? What brought you to New York?”
“Oh, it was sort of the default for me. My family lived upstate when I was in high school, and I went to school in state for tuition reasons… there’s not really any city better for starting a career in the field, so here I am. I can’t stay in the city all the time, but I get to travel a lot and the freelancing keeps me from going stir crazy.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“Denmark, but we left for Argentina when I was still just a kid.”
“Do you still speak Spanish and Danish, then?” Dave asked.
“Yeah. Spanish actually does come in handy a fair amount, as you can imagine, and my whole family is Danish so I still ring them from time to time.”
“Have you been back to visit?”
“A couple of times, when I’ve been on assignment in Europe. I’d really like to find an excuse to go back to South America though. That’s where most of the fond childhood memories are.”
“I would think there would be plenty of human interest stories in that part of the world, though…”
“Yeah, there are, but freelance doesn’t mean absolute freedom. I still have to do what the publication wants.”
“Which is?”
“Lately, gay rights parades and dramatic counter-protests,” Viggo replied with a grin.
Dave grinned back and took a sip of his coffee. “Have you been on the other side of the fence much?”
“What, protesting?” Dave nodded. “I did in college. It was the late seventies, after all… but I’m much more of a private person now. What about you?”
“The same, essentially. American laws are appalling, but then, not really my problem. I find the photographs I take a more constructive outlet for my passions, in any event.”
Viggo smiled and nodded, draining the last of his cup. “Usually less dangerous, at least. Hey Dave, I’m afraid I have to go now; I have an appointment, but listen… God, I never do this, but, um, do you think I could take you out to dinner sometime? Next Friday, maybe?”
Dave grinned and Viggo could’ve sworn his eyes were actually sparkling. “Is this a date, then, or a ‘gee Dave, I’m supremely sorry that I was a total arsehole’ gesture?”
“I guess both,” Viggo admitted, and Dave smiled.
“Well then I guess yes. Friday night sounds great.”
“Excellent. Hey, I should warn you though. I think the last time I went on a proper date was, oh, 1982…”
Dave laughed aloud and reached out to squeeze Viggo’s shoulder when they stood. “How about this, then? If you make any supremely stupid moves, I promise to be no more harsh on you than you were to me this morning.” Viggo groaned, and Dave just grinned. “Take it or leave it, mate.”
“Fine, fine. Friday night, then. Are you coming in tomorrow?”
“Not bloody likely. You have fun typing all this up, mate. I’m taking the Sunday off.” Viggo rolled his eyes, sometimes hating that his position meant that he was the one coming in on the weekends to get a story out in a timely fashion, but he loved his job nonetheless.
“Well I’ll see you Monday then.”
“Bright and early, mate. Have a good rest of your working weekend,” Dave replied, pulling Viggo close for a friendly hug before they headed out of the shop in opposite directions. As he walked uptown, willing himself not to turn back and be caught looking, Viggo grinned to himself. An honest-to-God date. Well, that was something new.
It was three minutes to seven on Friday night when Viggo showed up on the 15th floor of Dave’s building, and he was mortified to note that his palms were actually sweating as he knocked.
“Hey, uh, sorry I’m early. These are for you, but I wasn’t sure if people did flowers anymore. If it’s too girly, forget I ever brought anything,” Viggo exhaled in a rush, smiling weakly as he held out a white orchid.
There was a brief pregnant pause before Dave simultaneously took the flower, pulled Viggo into a hug, and burst out laughing. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to have more fun at your expense than I have in years?” Dave asked with a grin, pulling away and gesturing for Viggo to follow him into the small kitchen to hunt down a vase.
“I don’t know, but I get the feeling you’re probably right,” Viggo admitted as he followed, glancing at the art on Dave’s walls before stepping into the kitchen. “Fan of abstracts, are you?”
“Guilty, yeah. Though I don’t think you can really get away with sticking a black box on a white sheet of paper and calling it art,” Dave said with a grin, filling a glass vase with water and delicately lowering the orchid into it.
“Yeah, I tend to agree with you. There’s a great exhibition going on now at this gallery I like in TriBeCa, though. I think you might enjoy the work.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Dave offered with a smile as he slid past Viggo and pulled his suit jacket from a tinny hallway closet. “If this evening goes well, then you may take me to said gallery tomorrow afternoon.”
“A challenge, Mr. Wenham?”
“Indeed,” Dave agreed, smiling as Viggo joined him in the small hallway, reaching around to open the front door.
“Well then, I accept.”
After a salad and a truly superb glass of Australian red wine that Dave had chosen, Viggo was feeling considerably more relaxed. Though Dave continued to tease him throughout the meal, it was all in good humour and Viggo couldn’t remember flirting quite this much with a man since he was about Dave’s age.
They talked about everything from football to art to politics, and though Viggo often reserved his opinions for the sake of politesse, he found that Dave encouraged speaking candidly, whether or not the conversation was politically correct, an attitude with which Viggo was quite taken.
Though Viggo had dated intelligent men in the past, he found that many were examples of what he most hated about the seventies—all preached “in vogue” ideals that they probably did believe in, but then spent their time getting high and complaining about the state affairs rather than actually using their talents to effect change. Dave, on the other hand, was not only intelligent but successful, forward thinking, and open-minded. He admitted that he wouldn’t be opposed to supporting a conservative politician if one showed up that had some good ideas; that just hadn’t yet happened in his lifetime. He also admitted his pipe dream of winning a Pulitzer, though he wasn’t sure he would ever make the transition into writing his own stories. He firmly believed in “a picture is worth a thousand words” and found that he was able to capture much more in a good shot than he could explain in writing. However, he also complimented Viggo on his ability to interview subjects and produce a compelling story, mentioning some of the stories he had read in the few publications Viggo wrote for. By the time the main course came, then, Viggo was not only quickly enamoured with the other man but feeling his ego suitably recovered from its earlier blows.
“Beatles or the Stones?” Dave asked as he twirled his pasta onto a fork.
“Oh, damn. Late Beatles or early?”
“Late, of course,” he mumbled in reply around a mouthful of food.
“Um… yeah, Beatles. You?”
“Stones, but by a hair. Did you see the Beatles when they toured in the States?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not that old!”
Dave grinned in response. “Did you cry when Lennon died?”
“No, but when they broke up I bawled like a baby. Missed a day of school, even. I convinced my mom that I was sick.”
“Where were you living then?”
“Argentina. I heard it on BBC world radio.”
“Hey, can you make Argentinean food? Because if so, you are definitely cooking for our next date.” Viggo grinned at the suggestion and nodded.
“I can make a few things. One of the old women in our neighbourhood taught me how to pound out my own corn tortillas when I was a kid, and I still do it sometimes. Kind of meditative. What about you? You cook?”
“Not really. Bachelor’s food, you know?”
“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Viggo joked, and Dave smiled teasingly.
“A bit presumptuous there, mate.”
“Hey, look who’s talking about 2nd and 3rd dates before we even get to dessert. I figured I’d passed the Dave Wenham Dating Eligibility Test already.”
“Bold, aren’t you? I like that,” Dave admitted, nudging Viggo’s calf under the table with his ankle.
“You bring it out in me, I guess,” Viggo admitted, forcing himself to keep Dave’s gaze despite his urge to look away and blush.
“Okay, I have a confession to make,” Dave admitted.
“Yeah? What kind of confession?”
“I’m getting an extreme urge to fuck off dessert and have you instead,” Dave replied in a low tone, his eyes back to that gleeful sparkle. Viggo gulped and uncrossed his legs to accommodate the sudden pressure that accompanied that statement. “Trouble is,” Dave continued, reaching across the table to take Viggo’s hand and idly twining their fingers together, “I kind of have one of those pesky ‘not on the first date’ rules.”
“Yeah, me too,” Viggo admitted, feeling very disappointed nonetheless as Dave’s index finger stroked his palm.
“So… do you think if we’re both breaking our own rule that it would technically cancel out?” Dave mused with a truly evil grin.
“Check, please,” Viggo called to a passing waitress without batting an eyelash or looking away from Dave’s positively impish expression. God help him, the man was just impossible to resist.
“Oh, fuck. You really need to have fewer fucking clothes on, mate,” Dave muttered as he pushed Viggo up against the wall of his own foyer. Viggo laughed and let him, tipping his head back as Dave yanked his tie loose and attacked the collar with deft fingers, attaching his lips to Viggo’s neck.
Viggo had to admit he was pleased to be the one to make Dave lose control so deliciously, even if he typically did save sex for the second or third date. Frankly, it was pretty clear that they were both looking for a relationship beyond a few fucks—even though Dave was a bit young, he seemed to have moved beyond the “experimental” phase—and Viggo was willing to take a risk on him.
“Jesus. You work out?” Dave asked, kissing his way down Viggo’s pectorals as he unbuttoned his dress shirt.
“Three times a week, or at least I try,” Viggo answered as Dave reached the floor. “Hey, wait. Why are you still dressed?” he asked, and Dave just grinned as he unbuttoned Viggo’s trousers.
“This is new, mate. Don’t think I’ve ever had a bloke complain when I’m on my knees in front of him before.”
Viggo grinned, but didn’t concede the point, pulling Dave up by the shoulders and pushing him back towards the bedroom as he loosened Dave’s tie and tried to unbutton his shirt at the same time.
“I want to fuck you,” Viggo admitted in an exhalation against Dave’s lips, causing the other man to suck in a breath as Viggo continued to work his buttons open. “And then, when we’ve recovered, I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled against Dave’s collarbone, sliding the shirt off his shoulders as they reached the foot of the bed. “And I don’t know what you’ve done to me, exactly, because I almost never feel comfortable enough to talk dirty like this the first time I’m with someone,” Viggo admitted with an apologetic smile, feeling strangely vulnerable as Dave sat on the bed and pulled Viggo to straddle his lap.
“Hey, I like it,” Dave whispered in a soothing voice, taking Viggo’s face in his hands in a much gentler grip than their arousal would suggest, and pulling him closer for a deep kiss, at the same time reassuring and gently pushing, his hands twisting lightly in Viggo’s hair and his tongue coaxing Viggo out of sudden shyness. “Don’t stop,” Dave added in a desperate whisper against Viggo’s lips when he pulled away.
“Oh, fuck,” Viggo groaned, pressing down into Dave’s lap and guiding his upper body back with his hands. “I change my mind. God, Dave, you have to fuck me now. Please,” he whimpered, and Dave growled as he flipped them over with unexpected strength.
“My pleasure, babe.”
Viggo growled when Dave held his wrists firmly to his sides, but didn’t struggle as Dave slid down, taking his time kissing and sucking down Viggo’s chest and stomach.
“You really do have an amazing body,” Dave commented, nipping at his abs. “I want to worship it,” he added as he finished opening Viggo’s fly with his teeth, hands still keeping Viggo from touching him. “Your mind, too,” he continued, finally letting go to slide Viggo’s trousers down his legs.
Viggo let Dave do as he wished until he was free of his trousers, but then all bets were off, the older man pouncing to pin Dave again and get him out of his trousers. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” Viggo rasped against Dave’s jaw, biting lightly as he let his hands roam Dave’s chest. “Just be careful, okay? I’m not quite as sluttish as I probably seem tonight.”
Dave laughed and ran his hands up Viggo’s back, arching unconsciously when Viggo scooted to straddle him more firmly. “No worries, babe. I promise to take you just as slowly as you want,” he murmured, scraping his nails down Viggo’s spine and smiling when the other man shivered. “Slower, even. I confess, I’d love to hear you beg,” Dave added with a cheeky little smile, and Viggo just laughed, running his hands through Dave’s hair and trying very hard not to grind down too eagerly with his hips.
“You might have to wait a while, then.”
“That’s fine.” Dave grinned and pulled Viggo down for a long kiss before continuing. “I have a feeling that once I’m inside you I won’t be in much of a hurry to leave.”
Viggo groaned when Dave bit his bottom lip, and then found himself on his back again, Dave looming over him and quickly moving to divest him of his pants.
“Fuck, don’t tease,” Viggo bit out when the back of Dave’s hand brushed his erection.
“I don’t call it teasing, I prefer to think of it as ‘prolonging,’” Dave explained with a wicked grin. “And this…” Viggo gasped as Dave’s hand suddenly took him in a firm grip. “…this is called indulgence.”
“Well then, by all means, please indulge,” Viggo breathed out as Dave began a lazy stroke.
“Just a bit, love,” Dave cautioned as he let go and set to removing his own boxers. “Wouldn’t want you coming before we get to the begging part.”
“Oh, I see no problem with that,” Viggo objected through gritted teeth as their naked erections ground together.
“Yeah, but no one asked you,” Dave pointed out, stilling Viggo with a palm on his chest as he rummaged around in a drawer for lube.
“Been awhile, champ?” Viggo joked with a grin when Dave finally resurfaced with a small tube from the very back of the drawer.
“Hey, no complaints from Mr. 1982.”
“That wasn’t the last time I had sex!” Viggo objected. “Just the last time I went on a real date.”
“So when did you last have sex, then?” Dave asked with a smile as he motioned for Viggo to roll over.
“Eighty… four,” Viggo groaned as he settled on his elbows and a lubed finger began to stroke his hole, just teasing him into relaxation. “I’m over the casual sex thing,” he explained with slight indignation.
“Yeah, me too,” Dave admitted as he pushed harder at Viggo’s entrance, the single finger sinking in easily. “Been a little over a year. Hence the lube,” he explained.
“But don’t you use it to… oh fuck… masturbate?”
Dave grinned at Viggo’s reaction to his curling finger and slipped it out to add a second before continuing. “I like friction,” he explained simply, and Viggo groaned, writhing slightly against the fingers stretching his suddenly very willing body.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Viggo replied, clutching the pillows as Dave worked in a third finger.
“See that you do.”
“You like it rough, then?” Viggo asked, only realizing afterwards that he sounded like a bad porn film as he spread wider to accommodate Dave’s searching fingers.
“Not necessarily. I’m just saying. I can take more than you might think,” Dave clarified, and Viggo growled in protest when all three fingers slid out. “And what about you, love?” Dave rasped against Viggo’s ear, tugging up with an arm under Viggo’s stomach to position him. “What can you take?”
Viggo gasped as he heard a foil packet ripping open, Dave’s teeth pulling slightly at the tender skin of his neck.
“Whatever you can give me,” he growled, and then gasped again when the lubed and latexed tip of Dave’s cock pressed bluntly against his entrance.
“Dangerous,” Dave whispered, tugging at Viggo’s earlobe with his teeth. “I like it.” And with that, Viggo sucked in a breath as Dave penetrated his body with one steady push.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Viggo groaned. And it was, the pressure much more pleasurable than painful with the help of preparation much more meticulous than he was used to. “Feels… God… so full,” he murmured, and Dave groaned as he bit Viggo’s shoulder.
“Fuck, yes. Want to fill you up, babe,” Dave moaned, getting a hold on Viggo’s hips and plunging into him with long, slow strokes designed to make Viggo notice every centimetre without pulling him over the edge too quickly. “Keep talking, babe. God, I love to hear you talk,” Dave murmured, and Viggo was surprised at the relative lack of embarrassment on part. This, he supposed, could be attributed to the fact that his words were genuine, as opposed to past experiences where lovers demanded that he talk during sex and he had to fake it, making his words sound as pornographic (and therefore ridiculous) as possible.
“Jesus fuck, that’s it. Oh God, Dave, please. Right… right there. Fucking hell, that’s good. Never had it so… so slow, so good. Feel every… every inch of you.”
“Oh, fuck. That’s it. Damnit, Vig. You’re just… too good.”
“Fuck,” Viggo gasped, leaning further onto his elbows as he tried to push back. “I can’t… not much longer. Please. Oh goddamnit, please harder.”
“You want it harder?” Dave murmured against Viggo’s ear, one hand reaching around to stroke Viggo’s cock. “You want me to fuck the orgasm right out of you?”
“Yes, yes… God, please.”
“No,” Dave growled. “Just like this, Viggo. You’re going to come exactly like this, and you’re going to feel every little bit of it,” he insisted, his hand speeding up on Viggo’s cock as his own kept up the slow, deep strokes, raking purposefully against Viggo’s prostate. “And then the minute you start to come, I’m going to take you hard and fast, and I’m going to come inside you while your arse is still trembling,” he promised.
And, with a little flick and twist of Dave’s wrist, Viggo gave into the inevitable, his back arching as orgasm took him, a scream still echoing from his lips as Dave’s hand tightened on his hip, his thrusts doubling in speed and bringing him to quick satisfaction, the last drops still trickling onto the sheets as Dave yelped Viggo’s name and rode out his own release.
“I’m never moving…ever,” Viggo moaned into the pillow after a few moments, as Dave gingerly extracted himself and chucked the condom into the bin before snuggling up next to Viggo.
Dave chuckled and pressed a kiss to Viggo’s sweaty shoulder blade. “But what about your turn? Aren’t you going to fuck me next, babe? I was looking forward to it,” Dave pouted, and Viggo groaned.
“Tomorrow. I’ll fuck you tomorrow. When I get my strength back, child.”
Dave snorted and nudged his shoulder. “Whatever you say, paedophile. So should I assume you’re staying the night?”
Dave’s eyes were teasing, but Viggo felt a familiar instinct to back pedal. “Sorry, sorry, um, I mean, I can just…” He moved to sit up, but Dave just laughed and tugged him down onto his back, slinging an arm across his chest to anchor him.
“Shut up, beautiful. You’re staying,” Dave insisted with a kiss to Viggo’s cheek. “And you can fuck me tomorrow, and the next day, and the next… though we do need to get that art exhibition in there somewhere,” he added with a wink.
“So, does that mean I’ve passed your first date test then?” Viggo asked with a grin, and Dave just burst out laughing.
“I’d say so, babe. With flying colours.”
When Viggo awoke the next morning, he was momentarily disoriented by the weight of an arm on his chest and the sensation of moisture on his neck. Blinking, he opened his eyes and started laughing when he turned to his right. Dave was sleeping like a baby, red-blonde hair spiking up every which way and mouth slightly open. One arm was slung across Viggo’s chest and one leg across Viggo’s own, a persistent morning erection nudging Viggo’s hipbone.
“Darling, you’re drooling on me,” Viggo whispered, and laughed even harder at the look on Dave’s face when he reached consciousness, self-consciously wiping Viggo’s shoulder with the corner of the sheet.
“Sorry,” Dave replied with a sheepish grin. “How’d you sleep?”
“Wonderfully,” Viggo admitted, sitting up a bit and placing a kiss to Dave’s forehead. “Come brush your teeth and then I’ll take care of this,” he joked, flicking his eyes downwards towards Dave’s crotch.
“Mmm. I forgot how nice it is to have someone do that for me,” he joked, following Viggo to the bathroom and rummaging around for a spare toothbrush. “Through I don’t quite understand why morning breath is a deterrent. I mean you could always just…” Dave made a sucking gesture with his fist and Viggo laughed as he squirted paste onto the brush.
“Oh, I want to suck you, too. But this morning, it’s my turn to fuck you, and I don’t fuck without kissing,” Viggo explained, taking his turn at the sink.”
“Well hurry up, then,” Dave encouraged with a grin. “I’m quite keen to get fucked this morning.”
Grinning back at Dave in the mirror, Viggo quickly rinsed and spat and then Dave found himself shoved forward against the sink. “Later, I’ll take you in here,” Viggo promised in a whisper against Dave’s neck, manipulating Dave’s forearms to grasp the counter in front of him and pushing against Dave’s naked arse with a quickly awakening erection. “Just like this.” Dave gasped, and Viggo quickly spun him around to shove him backwards against the sink, initiating a long, hungry kiss. “But not this time.”
Half-walking, half-stumbling, Viggo led the way to the bedroom with his lips firmly attached to Dave’s. When they reached the bed, Viggo wasted no time finding the lube they had tossed aside the previous night, but Dave was one step ahead of him. Viggo groaned audibly when he emerged from the side of the bed to find Dave already on his back, legs splayed with his middle finger dipping into the entrance.
“Oh holy fuck,” Viggo breathed, fumbling with the lube in his hurry to slick up his fingers and sliding one in beside Dave’s before he had a chance to remove it. “Not shy at all, are you?” he commented as their fingers slid easily against each other within the warm, tight space.
“Maybe I’m a tad bit of an exhibitionist,” Dave admitted, arching his back when Viggo batted away his hand and slid three of his own fingers in at once. “When I trust someone, you know. I don’t want everyone I sleep with to think I’m a total slut.”
Viggo grinned, arching his fingers hard as he leaned over to suck on Dave’s Adam’s apple, prompting a long moan. “I don’t think you’re a slut. I think you’re gorgeous,” he admitted, and Dave smiled.
“Now, Vig. Please. I can’t wait.”
“Turn over, then.”
“No. Like this. I love the way you kiss me when you’re desperate.”
“Just keep talking like that, then,” Viggo replied, reaching into the drawer for a condom. “Sure you’re ready?” he confirmed as he rolled it on.
“Yeah, God, please. No more lube, it’s fine. Just fuck me, please.”
“Well since you asked so nicely,” Viggo joked before engaging Dave in a deep kiss, folding his legs back and lining up. Dave moaned into the kiss when Viggo slid inside with one long thrust. It was a tight fit, but Dave just moaned encouragingly, pressing down with his hands on Viggo’s back.
“Fuck, yes. God, never so… fuck, Viggo, please. Just like this, oh God.”
“You like that?” Viggo breathed, again reminding himself of a porn star but too caught up in the moment to care.
“Fuck yes, Vig. God, you’re amazing. More, please, I can take it,” Dave begged. Viggo groaned and grabbed Dave’s wrists, pinning them to the pillow behind his head before using his hips to adjust the angle, pushing in deeper as Dave’s knees hooked onto his shoulders. “Oh, God,” Dave moaned, pushing up against Viggo’s hands and gasping with pleasure when he found they wouldn’t move. “Just like that babe, please, God.”
“You…” Viggo gasped, catching his breath between thrusts and leaning onto Dave’s wrists a bit, “…are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I doubt that,” Dave objected with a smile, still arching up in counterpoint to Viggo’s movements.
“Oh no. I’m certain. So fucking… Jesus,” he exclaimed when Dave’s head snapped back on a particularly well-aimed stroke, his mouth falling open as a moan was forced from his lips. “So fucking beautiful, baby.”
“Mmm. Fuck, yeah, that’s good. I like you to call me that.”
“I’ll call you anything you want, baby. Fuck, this is good.”
“God, Vig… I… I’m so close. Could come from this, just this, oh God… please...”
Viggo stared down at the man underneath him, bucking up into Viggo’s thrusts and arching so beautifully, and felt a surge of desire to accept the challenge being offered. Not just this time, but generally. He could do this. He could be what David wanted, and the confidence of this knowledge pushed him that much harder, squeezing Dave’s wrists hard and roughly stroking over Dave’s prostrate with each thrust. He leaned in to kiss the younger man and was surprised when Dave dominated the meeting of their lips despite his position underneath Viggo, pulling at Viggo’s bottom lip with his teeth and generally making the other man hornier than he could ever remember being in recent history.
“Fuck it, Dave, now! Come for me,” Viggo growled, digging his nails into Dave’s wrists as their eyes locked, his hips thrusting hard and at the perfect angle as he was unable to hold his own release back any longer. He was relieved to feel Dave’s come warm and wet against his stomach as his own head snapped back, a long groan signalling his release, and the moment he was able to regain control of his senses he forced his head back to meet Dave’s eyes again.
“Fucking beautiful,” Dave murmured, pulling Viggo down tight to him as they came down together, stroking his hair gently and kissing his sweaty forehead.
“I… my God. Did I hurt you?” Viggo asked, suddenly concerned as he slid back and took hold of one of Dave’s wrists to inspect it. Sure enough, a bruise was beginning to form, but Dave just laughed and shook his head.
“No worries, lover. Bruises heal. And that was fucking amazing. Well worth it. In fact, so amazing that I suggest we clean up and go promptly back to bed,” Dave suggested with a yawn.
Viggo just giggled, pressing a light kiss to his new lover’s lips. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
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Here's the picture that gave me a small David Wenham fetish.
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And that could almost be a New York apartment, if it weren't for all the free floorspace!