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fellowshippers2006-05-11 09:51 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-05-11 09:51 pm
More VigIan
Title: Crowded
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: Viggo/Ian
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't I wish this were true.
Summary: This is sort of a sequel to the Vig/Ian ficlet I posted a couple days ago, "Challenging Assumptions." You don't really have to have read it, though. There should be one or two more after this, depending on my mood. So, the summary: Viggo and Ian get down and (semi) dirty in (semi) public. Enjoy! (Oh, and I just wrote a frottage fic while listening to "Don't Stand So Close To Me." I find that strangely ironic.)
“Well, to be fair, he is rather pretty.”
The party was a formal affair. Some of the Rings people—though not all—were there, and there was a bar and trays of little catered appetizers and somewhat mediocre music. There were other celebrities, as well, but Viggo didn’t really care. Ian certainly didn’t, aside from the occasional comment about how he’d like to take a handful of Johnny Depp’s arse or what have you.
Ian and Viggo were watching the goings-on rather passively from a balcony that wound around the perimeter of the room. There was quite a crowd on the balcony as well, but they could face in towards the room and basically ignore everyone around them. Or, rather, not.
“He’s all right,” Viggo replied with a non-committal shrug. Ian was standing behind him, and a bit to the side, his chin on Viggo’s shoulder and hands grasping the railing to either side of Viggo. It was a bit more intimate a pose than they normally took up, but the balcony was very crowded, and the Fellowship was always friendly. No one looked twice.
“Okay, then if not him, who’s more your cup of tea down there?” They were back on the subject of Elijah, who was laughing raucously with that Pam girl near the bar, his head thrown back so that even fifteen feet up they could clearly see his glee.
“Karl,” Viggo said, after a moment’s consideration. Ian followed his eyes to a more out of the way spot in the corner, just underneath the balcony on the opposite side. The Kiwi was rather attractive in a tux, all muscled lines, poise and that sort of Armani classic look that made him look born for formal wear. The woman he was talking to touched his shoulder, and he laughed politely. Ian felt the muscles in Viggo’s back tense slightly.
“You don’t say?” Ian replied, tone casual but with a distinct undertone of triumph as he inched closer, pressed harder against Viggo’s back. No one would be able to blame this sort of proximity on the crowd, and Viggo was suddenly happy for the solid wooden post in front of him, half a metre wide and stretching from balcony railing to floor, that conveniently hid his front side from any onlookers.
“Not now,” Viggo retorted—soft, warning—but Ian didn’t listen. Ian never listened, and he didn’t have to. Viggo liked that.
“Can’t you just imagine, though? Even I remember how his thighs squeezed that horse’s flank. I’m sure you…”
“Ian…”
“Indulge me.” It was a command, really, and Ian gripped the rail tighter, his hips pushing Viggo into the post. It was almost painful, but Ian’s breath was hot in his ear and his eyes were now unerringly locked on Karl.
“Fuck, Ian.”
“Yeah, that was the idea,” Ian confirmed, shifting just slightly so that the bulge in his trousers dragged up the crack in Viggo’s arse, teasingly, fabric denying the contact that Viggo would have liked. “Can’t you imagine it? What do you think, Vig… top or bottom?”
Viggo clenched his muscles, making every effort to heighten the stimulation of Ian’s mimicking movements, and willed his brain to concentrate on the question. “Um…top, I think. Yeah, top, definitely.” He watched Karl interact with the small crowd around him, all quiet confidence and control. Definitely top.
Ian chuckled warmly in Viggo’s ear, thumb reaching out to just brush Viggo’s hand where it lay, his arms crossed in front of him on the railing in an attempt to look casual. Viggo pushed back against his lover’s erection, and Ian didn’t deny him the contact, still whispering dirtily and just low enough to be private as others milled around them. “I’m not surprised you think that. After all, we both know how you love to be on your back, how you love having your legs spread, opening your arse up for me. My little exhibitionist,” Ian cooed fondly, and Viggo hissed in a breath through his teeth.
“He’d be good at it, too,” Ian mused, his hips making movements that were small but rhythmic, the people constantly moving around behind him keeping his activity disguised from anyone far enough away to be watching. “He’d fuck you like a stallion, Vig. He’s got the muscles for it. The endurance, too. But then, there’s skill… sex isn’t just about strength or speed, after all. It’s about knowing how to bring your lover off, how to tease them up until the point where they’re begging for it, and then you decide whether to give it to them.”
“Fuck, Ian. Fuck.”
Ian laughed again, but his breath was hitched, and Viggo knew he was enjoying this. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, precious?” One slow, calculated drag up Viggo’s arse, a quick bite to his earlobe that no one would detect.
“Yes.” It was true. Both knew it.
“Spread your legs for me, right here? Drop your trousers and let me bend you over this railing, open yourself for all to see? For Karl?” From anyone else, that might sound jealous or bitter, but this was Ian. He wasn’t petty. “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you Viggo? Wouldn’t you?”
“Yesss,” he hissed, knuckles white on his own elbows, every muscle taut with want and anticipation and the imagery spinning around in his brain.
“Slut.” Ian’s rebuke was affectionate, and his hips crushed Viggo against the post, readying him to beg for it, making him want more than anything. All these people didn’t matter. Karl, Elijah, nothing mattered but the power Ian held over him and the web of fantasy he was spinning with that sexy voice of the devil’s own creation.
“Fuck, Ian…”
“Come for me,” he whispered, tilting his hips hard against the other man's arse, and Viggo did. He bit his lip so hard he tasted copper, the resulting noise between a hum and a whinge, trapped against the wall as his boxers became damp, and it was only Ian’s presence that kept him from slumping down to the floor when it was through.
“Fuck.”
“You keep saying that.” Viggo turned, slightly, met Ian’s eyes, and they were dark with lust. “Go to the room. Wait for me, fifteen minutes. Be ready,” Ian commanded, and Viggo nodded and was gone.
Smiling to himself, Ian took one last look down on the dance floor. He caught Karl’s eye, Karl’s broad smile, and winked.
Fifteen minutes.
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: Viggo/Ian
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't I wish this were true.
Summary: This is sort of a sequel to the Vig/Ian ficlet I posted a couple days ago, "Challenging Assumptions." You don't really have to have read it, though. There should be one or two more after this, depending on my mood. So, the summary: Viggo and Ian get down and (semi) dirty in (semi) public. Enjoy! (Oh, and I just wrote a frottage fic while listening to "Don't Stand So Close To Me." I find that strangely ironic.)
“Well, to be fair, he is rather pretty.”
The party was a formal affair. Some of the Rings people—though not all—were there, and there was a bar and trays of little catered appetizers and somewhat mediocre music. There were other celebrities, as well, but Viggo didn’t really care. Ian certainly didn’t, aside from the occasional comment about how he’d like to take a handful of Johnny Depp’s arse or what have you.
Ian and Viggo were watching the goings-on rather passively from a balcony that wound around the perimeter of the room. There was quite a crowd on the balcony as well, but they could face in towards the room and basically ignore everyone around them. Or, rather, not.
“He’s all right,” Viggo replied with a non-committal shrug. Ian was standing behind him, and a bit to the side, his chin on Viggo’s shoulder and hands grasping the railing to either side of Viggo. It was a bit more intimate a pose than they normally took up, but the balcony was very crowded, and the Fellowship was always friendly. No one looked twice.
“Okay, then if not him, who’s more your cup of tea down there?” They were back on the subject of Elijah, who was laughing raucously with that Pam girl near the bar, his head thrown back so that even fifteen feet up they could clearly see his glee.
“Karl,” Viggo said, after a moment’s consideration. Ian followed his eyes to a more out of the way spot in the corner, just underneath the balcony on the opposite side. The Kiwi was rather attractive in a tux, all muscled lines, poise and that sort of Armani classic look that made him look born for formal wear. The woman he was talking to touched his shoulder, and he laughed politely. Ian felt the muscles in Viggo’s back tense slightly.
“You don’t say?” Ian replied, tone casual but with a distinct undertone of triumph as he inched closer, pressed harder against Viggo’s back. No one would be able to blame this sort of proximity on the crowd, and Viggo was suddenly happy for the solid wooden post in front of him, half a metre wide and stretching from balcony railing to floor, that conveniently hid his front side from any onlookers.
“Not now,” Viggo retorted—soft, warning—but Ian didn’t listen. Ian never listened, and he didn’t have to. Viggo liked that.
“Can’t you just imagine, though? Even I remember how his thighs squeezed that horse’s flank. I’m sure you…”
“Ian…”
“Indulge me.” It was a command, really, and Ian gripped the rail tighter, his hips pushing Viggo into the post. It was almost painful, but Ian’s breath was hot in his ear and his eyes were now unerringly locked on Karl.
“Fuck, Ian.”
“Yeah, that was the idea,” Ian confirmed, shifting just slightly so that the bulge in his trousers dragged up the crack in Viggo’s arse, teasingly, fabric denying the contact that Viggo would have liked. “Can’t you imagine it? What do you think, Vig… top or bottom?”
Viggo clenched his muscles, making every effort to heighten the stimulation of Ian’s mimicking movements, and willed his brain to concentrate on the question. “Um…top, I think. Yeah, top, definitely.” He watched Karl interact with the small crowd around him, all quiet confidence and control. Definitely top.
Ian chuckled warmly in Viggo’s ear, thumb reaching out to just brush Viggo’s hand where it lay, his arms crossed in front of him on the railing in an attempt to look casual. Viggo pushed back against his lover’s erection, and Ian didn’t deny him the contact, still whispering dirtily and just low enough to be private as others milled around them. “I’m not surprised you think that. After all, we both know how you love to be on your back, how you love having your legs spread, opening your arse up for me. My little exhibitionist,” Ian cooed fondly, and Viggo hissed in a breath through his teeth.
“He’d be good at it, too,” Ian mused, his hips making movements that were small but rhythmic, the people constantly moving around behind him keeping his activity disguised from anyone far enough away to be watching. “He’d fuck you like a stallion, Vig. He’s got the muscles for it. The endurance, too. But then, there’s skill… sex isn’t just about strength or speed, after all. It’s about knowing how to bring your lover off, how to tease them up until the point where they’re begging for it, and then you decide whether to give it to them.”
“Fuck, Ian. Fuck.”
Ian laughed again, but his breath was hitched, and Viggo knew he was enjoying this. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, precious?” One slow, calculated drag up Viggo’s arse, a quick bite to his earlobe that no one would detect.
“Yes.” It was true. Both knew it.
“Spread your legs for me, right here? Drop your trousers and let me bend you over this railing, open yourself for all to see? For Karl?” From anyone else, that might sound jealous or bitter, but this was Ian. He wasn’t petty. “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you Viggo? Wouldn’t you?”
“Yesss,” he hissed, knuckles white on his own elbows, every muscle taut with want and anticipation and the imagery spinning around in his brain.
“Slut.” Ian’s rebuke was affectionate, and his hips crushed Viggo against the post, readying him to beg for it, making him want more than anything. All these people didn’t matter. Karl, Elijah, nothing mattered but the power Ian held over him and the web of fantasy he was spinning with that sexy voice of the devil’s own creation.
“Fuck, Ian…”
“Come for me,” he whispered, tilting his hips hard against the other man's arse, and Viggo did. He bit his lip so hard he tasted copper, the resulting noise between a hum and a whinge, trapped against the wall as his boxers became damp, and it was only Ian’s presence that kept him from slumping down to the floor when it was through.
“Fuck.”
“You keep saying that.” Viggo turned, slightly, met Ian’s eyes, and they were dark with lust. “Go to the room. Wait for me, fifteen minutes. Be ready,” Ian commanded, and Viggo nodded and was gone.
Smiling to himself, Ian took one last look down on the dance floor. He caught Karl’s eye, Karl’s broad smile, and winked.
Fifteen minutes.
no subject
Yes...there's more?
*taps harder*
With Karl? (not that there's anything less than stellar between Ian and Viggo, humma humma!)
no subject
Know the feeling right now!!
And is that a promise of Karl making more than just an appearance . . .?????
*sighs in anticipation*
no subject
no subject
No?
*scribbles it in along the border*
aside from the occasional comment about how he’d like to take a handful of Johnny Depp’s arse or what have you. Guffaw! liek, TOTally! Ian has such excellent taste. *purrs*
I so enjoyed the imagery of them standing up there on the deck and how you gave us exactly where their hands were, where the post was, the way Viggo had his arms crossed and Ian had him trapped between his own---splendid!
“Spread your legs for me, right here? Drop your trousers and let me bend you over this railing, open yourself for all to see? For Karl?” From anyone else, that might sound jealous or bitter, but this was Ian. He wasn’t petty. “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you Viggo? Wouldn’t you?” Wikkid, wikkid, wikkid golden-tongued Ian!
*slobbers all over the journal*
oops?
MORE!