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fellowshippers2002-12-06 01:57 pm
karelian) wrote in fellowshippers2002-12-06 01:57 pm
Shared Warmth (SB/VM)
I dreamed the basic plot of this from listening to Viggo on the ext-DVD. I would like to thank the evil ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cinzia and the equally evil viva_gloria for feedback. And I would like to thank the evil divineway just because.
Author: Karelian (karelian@diversesouls.com)
Rating: RPS. R. Please do not read this if you are under 18.
Summary: Sean, Viggo and a sleeping bag.
Disclaimer: This story uses the real names of celebrities but is an entirely fictional figment of my imagination. Even the sleeping bag is fictional. No disrespect to the actors is intended.
SHARED WARMTH
by Karelian
The cold made Sean's eyes hurt, his neck cramp and his nails gouge the skin of his palms. Fuck, it was awful. He wondered whether it was after midnight yet, and whether it would be possible to freeze to death despite his sleeping bag and clothing. Nothing was worth this: not getting to see the spectacular falls that were half a morning's hike from the campsite, not getting to spend a weekend with his best friend away from the insanity of the film shoot.
"Your teeth are going to fall out if they keep chattering like that."
Viggo's sleeping bag muffled his voice so much that Sean couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed. How the hell could Viggo hear him through twelve layers of thermal fabric, anyway? "Shut up and go to sleep," he grumbled.
"Told you that bag wasn't going to be warm enough. It gets below 30 when the sun goes down." Yes, Viggo had warned him, but it was the only sleeping bag Sean had, and he hadn't wanted to borrow one from any of the other guys; he didn't even want to think about what they'd probably been doing in their sleeping bags. Viggo, naturally, had tracked down a top-of-the-line cold weather bag rated for high altitudes.
"Bugger off. 'Below 30' means the middle of summer where I come from. Stop speaking American."
"Shitwit," called Viggo cheerfully from the luxury of his bag, in a muffled imitation of one of their younger castmates. "We could put ours together."
"What, our sleeping bags? Mine's wider than yours. They won't zip."
"We could put mine inside yours."
That was a silly enough idea to make Sean smile. "We're not both going to fit inside your sleeping bag."
"It's tight, but possible."
Viggo spoke like he'd done it before. Had Sean's extremities not been numb, that might have made him curious. As it was, it only made him grateful; he'd have done anything to get out of the cold, including sharing a bed with all four hobbits. "You gonna be able to sleep like that?"
"I'm not going to be able to sleep with your teeth chattering all night." Already Viggo was crawling free of his covers, putting his bare feet on the ground as if it were carpet. Sean couldn't make himself move any further than sticking his neck out.
"Come on."
He forced himself to uncurl and push out into the freezing night air, where he danced around yelping while Viggo wrestled his padded sleeping bag inside of Sean's spacious, useless one with the broken zipper. "Help me straighten that end," Viggo demanded, calm and unruffled by the fact that they were probably moments away from frostbite. "Okay. Get in and I'll squeeze next to you."
Sean slid into the thick cocoon, forcing his legs to remain straight despite the urge to curl into a ball. A moment later, Viggo squirmed in alongside him, turning so that his back was against Sean's chest. Because the bag tapered at the bottom, their legs ended up tangled together. That might have been uncomfortable were Sean not frantic for the coziness. "Still frozen," he groaned.
"You'll be warmer if you take your coat off," Viggo suggested. "The vinyl shell isn't going to absorb any body heat."
Grumbling, Sean shucked the jacket, which wasn't easy to do in such a tight space. He shoved it under his head to use as a pillow. Viggo's body seemed impossibly electric -- even his feet were warm, despite having been bare on the ground minutes before. Sean wriggled his arm under Viggo's until his friend took his icy fingers into his hand, rubbing feeling back into them. Viggo chafed him with his legs, too, scissoring back and forth over Sean's deadened feet.
"You owe me for this, Beanie," came a low chuckle.
Agony faded slowly, until Sean might even have been able to loosen up a bit had there been any room to sprawl. They didn't have space to spare and one wrong move might have ripped the stuffing out of the high-end sleep sack. Cold air crept in from the opening at the top, which was probably necessary to stop them from suffocating; the bag wouldn't have closed over both of them anyway. Nudging smoke-scented hair aside with his nose, Sean pressed his chilly forehead against the side of the other man's neck.
Viggo shivered and undulated in a sinuous wave. His hair fell forward, brushing Sean's cheekbone, and a bit of exposed skin surged up against Sean's mouth. "Ticklish there," Viggo murmured.
And Sean realized that certain parts of him were thawing, heated by the flesh just beneath the soft fabric of Viggo's clothes. How did Viggo stay so warm wearing so little? In the knot of bone and muscle they had formed with their limbs, they both had to squirm continually to keep from losing circulation in whatever parts were crushed underneath them. Friction had edged the temperature from arctic to sultry.
Sean felt his pulse hitch and speed, which might have been from his frozen blood melting in his veins. Whatever the cause, it made him start breathing raggedly. Made his hands itch to move. Made pressure start building deep inside him that made him want to gyrate, made him want to roll his hips, made him want to adjust himself in his briefs and maybe leave his hand there, maybe keep touching himself, maybe...
"Sean?"
Fuck! "What?" Too breathless, and if Viggo had felt him twitch like that just from hearing him say his name...
"You okay? You're rocking like you're in pain."
"Just trying to keep warm. I'll stop." He tried to be still, but his groin was much too close to the curve of Viggo's ass, and there was really nowhere else to put it. Sean tried and failed to imagine how anyone else he knew would deal with the situation. "I'm relaxing," he snarled to himself, then blushed furiously when he realized he had spoken aloud.
"Really."
"Yes." His mortification was nearly complete. At least Viggo wasn't bothered -- Sean had the impression that his friend was holding back devilish chortles -- but the blackmail value in public humiliation was going to be hell.
"Want to fool around?"
Viggo hadn't just said that. Couldn't have. Must have been an hallucination. Or at least he couldn't have meant it. He lay in Sean's arms shaking with suppressed amusement, his head half-turned toward Sean's with a grin so big that Sean could feel it pressing back the skin of his throat beneath his beard.
"Hazards of shared space," snickered Viggo.
Helplessly Sean started to laugh, the heat of embarrassment flooding his entire body. Viggo joined him, and the awkward tension floated away like chill mist in the sun.
"There's not enough room to fool around, you wanker." But somehow Viggo managed to turn over, banging and bumping with elbows and knees until Sean was sure they would both have bruises. Oh -- Viggo was just as hard as he was. And maybe just as embarrassed; he giggled like a maniac, slipping his arms around Sean's back.
"You're not shivering anymore."
"Yeah."
"Comfy?"
"Not really." Viggo's weight was crushing his lower leg, though Sean was still much more comfortable than he had been before they put the sleeping bags together. He was warm now in all kinds of ways -- his cheeks were afire, his armpits prickled and he felt radiant all over from having Viggo pressed up against him, comfortable as a big shaggy pet. Which made Sean realize something else. "I'm happy though." He said it with a little bit of surprise, like he hadn't been sure until he heard himself speak the words.
"I'm happy too," Viggo said in his drawl that sometimes sounded like self-parody -- no one could tell whether he meant what he was saying or was being sarcastic. Knowing Viggo, he had predicted all this would happen since he'd seen Sean's ineffectual sleeping bag rolled up among their gear. A grin pushed its way across Sean's face. He tried to hide it against Viggo's shoulder, and ended up getting a mouthful of smoky hair.
"What?" asked Viggo suspiciously.
"I didn't want to borrow Orlando or Dom's sleeping bag because I was afraid of what went on in there."
Viggo chuckled again. "This one's brand new."
"Not anymore. You'll be lucky if it doesn't tear at the seams."
"That'll start rumors if I loan it to anyone. And it hasn't even been christened properly."
Whoosh -- there came a mental picture of a grinning Viggo holding a popping bottle of champagne, spraying its contents over the bag. The image morphed, ceased to include champagne, though it still involved Viggo and jets of liquid spraying over Sean. He groaned into Viggo's hair, feeling so warm. So close. They were both wearing ratty sweatpants and old shirts, so easy to push out of the way. Then there would just be skin, so easy to touch, to enjoy. So easy to fall asleep afterwards, cocooned together, flushed with contentment.
Half-kidding, he said, "Let me know if I can help you do the honors." He figured that if Viggo wanted to laugh it off, he could, with a line like that, but Viggo let out a little thoughtful hum and stretched against him as best he could in the cramped sleeping bag, pressing their lower bodies together.
"Think we'll still be able to look each other in the eye tomorrow?"
The future tense, not speculative, told him Viggo would consent if he did. "Sure," he replied, the pitch of his voice betraying his eagerness. No doubt Viggo would be able to look him in the eye, with artless calm and a bit of a smile. Sean couldn't see his friend in the dark but he was sure Viggo wore a similar expression right then. In the future Sean would be able to invoke that look from memory -- the grin that asked a question and told a secret at the same time.
Already he could envision a time when he might look back on this night with cozy nostalgia. He didn't know what to expect with Viggo after the shoot ended; he loved being with him, valued his opinions and couldn't imagine not talking to him, but they had families halfway around the world from each other, so the long-term prospects for staying so close seemed shaky at best. That was the way the cookie crumbled, and it made Sean sad, but not enough to dampen his enthusiasm when Viggo abruptly pulled his shirt up over his head, depositing it somewhere above them.
"You've warmed up nicely," the American observed in a satisfied tone as Sean got his own shirt off and stuffed it near the other one. Suddenly everything was very real, the skin and hands, the anticipation. Sean couldn't remember why he had ever thought he might not want to do this. He started tugging on Viggo's sweatpants and Viggo did the same to him, until they both had their briefs halfway down their legs and their cocks dueled in the middle like swords. Viggo was laughing in little gasps, but Sean couldn't spare the breath for it.
"Reach for it," drawled Viggo in a Western accent, and his fingers closed around Sean, who took hold of him in turn even as his hips thrust forward and a sigh escaped his throat. They both groaned when their hands began to move on each other's cocks. Viggo's strokes were slower and covered more territory than Sean was used to, which left him off-balance in an achingly good way. He tried to imitate Viggo but it wasn't the rhythm he was used to, and he found that his arm kept pumping harder and faster even though he didn't want to rush.
"Firecracker," joked the warm voice in his ear.
Sean focused on the word, the utterance, the idea of what they were doing rather than the feeling, trying to slow the crest rising in him. "Why's it so much better with someone else?" he panted. "It doesn't make sense. You know what you like, you should be your own best friend. But it's like getting tickled -- it has to be another person doing it."
"Do you always talk so much?"
"I don't think so." Distraction, diversion. "I'm not much of a talker. Usually I kiss 'em to shut 'em up."
"Can I kiss you?"
Viggo managed to squeeze a hand around their crushed chests to tilt Sean's face up from the ground. But Viggo didn't kiss like he just wanted to shut Sean up. Viggo kissed like he wanted to know what Sean's lips felt like, and how he tasted, and whether he wanted to kiss Viggo back. Sean did, hesitantly at first because it was overwhelming and he knew he must be revealing as much as Viggo, whose fingers threaded through his hair while his other hand sped up on his cock, its tempo spurred on by the hot urgency of their mouths.
It occurred to Sean that Viggo was awfully good at this -- not only the mechanics but the mood, turning what was supposed to be a token mindless hook-up into an encounter Sean knew he would conjure in private for years to come. Fingers traveled, bodies twisted and he found himself with a handful of his friend's ass, sliding against sweat-slicked skin and matted curly hair, using his legs as pinions. Loud moans burst from both of them as their mouths broke apart while they pumped against each other, pressing and rubbing the ridges and crevices...close, so close.
"Coming," Viggo breathed almost soundlessly, giving Sean enough warning to wrap his hand around his friend's cock and hold it against his own. The jerking pulses and hot, hot flood were more erotic than anything he'd imagined...anything except Viggo gasping his name. Erupting in pleasure, Sean called back to Viggo, feeling hands grip and anchor him as his body shook with tremors too immense for the confined space which dissolved around him in a sudden rippling rush.
They lay panting like runners in summer heat, drenched and slippery, hearts pounding. Distantly Sean remembered that he had been cold once, but he couldn't recall how it had felt. Viggo reached over their heads and tugged until a sudden breeze wafted over their faces. Trailing his hand over Sean's cheekbone, he wiped away moisture with a smile.
"You should come with a warning label. 'Flammable.'"
"Good thing your sleeping bag isn't."
"My sleeping bag..." Viggo felt around with his feet. "There's a big rip behind your leg, here. And another one all the way up the side."
"Fuck. I'm sorry..."
"Don't be. I've gotten my money's worth out of it." So much warmth in the laughter and the soft sloppy kiss that landed against the side of Sean's mouth. He turned to catch it, realizing as he did so that his ankles were free to twine around Viggo's legs.
"I think I might have ripped my pants, too."
"Actually I think you kicked them off. They're under me." Viggo made moves like a football player bouncing a ball on alternate feet until Sean felt soft material rub his calf. "Might not be worth putting them back on, they'll just get wet. And then when you get up, you'll be cold again." His hip shifted as he spoke, making a squelching noise in the wetness underneath him, which made them both laugh. "Damn lining's supposed to be moisture-proof."
"Maybe it's got a guarantee. You could take it back."
"Will you come with me and help explain what happened?"
"I think I'd rather buy you a new one." Still chuckling, Sean stuck his foot into the hole at the side of the bag, bringing his skin in contact with the cooler material of his own sleeping bag outside it. Instantly he jerked back. They might have been slightly less cramped in the bigger bag, but Sean concluded that sometimes personal space was overrated. "Are we going to sleep like this, then?"
"Can you think of a better way?"
"No." He tugged down his rumpled shirt, shoving it between his head and his jacket. Viggo scrunched down so that his head was right under Sean's chin, one arm folded between their chests, the other thrown over his ribs. They were still sweating and sticky, but it was bitterly cold outside, and Sean had no doubt that before morning they would need all the shared heat they could get.
Hours till sunrise, and even longer till the icy air began to thaw. Not much point in going to see a waterfall when it was freezing, anyway, thought Sean. Maybe they'd sleep late. Maybe they'd wake up like this, and smile and stretch against one another, and keep each other warm.
cinzia and the equally evil viva_gloria for feedback. And I would like to thank the evil divineway just because.Author: Karelian (karelian@diversesouls.com)
Rating: RPS. R. Please do not read this if you are under 18.
Summary: Sean, Viggo and a sleeping bag.
Disclaimer: This story uses the real names of celebrities but is an entirely fictional figment of my imagination. Even the sleeping bag is fictional. No disrespect to the actors is intended.
SHARED WARMTH
by Karelian
The cold made Sean's eyes hurt, his neck cramp and his nails gouge the skin of his palms. Fuck, it was awful. He wondered whether it was after midnight yet, and whether it would be possible to freeze to death despite his sleeping bag and clothing. Nothing was worth this: not getting to see the spectacular falls that were half a morning's hike from the campsite, not getting to spend a weekend with his best friend away from the insanity of the film shoot.
"Your teeth are going to fall out if they keep chattering like that."
Viggo's sleeping bag muffled his voice so much that Sean couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed. How the hell could Viggo hear him through twelve layers of thermal fabric, anyway? "Shut up and go to sleep," he grumbled.
"Told you that bag wasn't going to be warm enough. It gets below 30 when the sun goes down." Yes, Viggo had warned him, but it was the only sleeping bag Sean had, and he hadn't wanted to borrow one from any of the other guys; he didn't even want to think about what they'd probably been doing in their sleeping bags. Viggo, naturally, had tracked down a top-of-the-line cold weather bag rated for high altitudes.
"Bugger off. 'Below 30' means the middle of summer where I come from. Stop speaking American."
"Shitwit," called Viggo cheerfully from the luxury of his bag, in a muffled imitation of one of their younger castmates. "We could put ours together."
"What, our sleeping bags? Mine's wider than yours. They won't zip."
"We could put mine inside yours."
That was a silly enough idea to make Sean smile. "We're not both going to fit inside your sleeping bag."
"It's tight, but possible."
Viggo spoke like he'd done it before. Had Sean's extremities not been numb, that might have made him curious. As it was, it only made him grateful; he'd have done anything to get out of the cold, including sharing a bed with all four hobbits. "You gonna be able to sleep like that?"
"I'm not going to be able to sleep with your teeth chattering all night." Already Viggo was crawling free of his covers, putting his bare feet on the ground as if it were carpet. Sean couldn't make himself move any further than sticking his neck out.
"Come on."
He forced himself to uncurl and push out into the freezing night air, where he danced around yelping while Viggo wrestled his padded sleeping bag inside of Sean's spacious, useless one with the broken zipper. "Help me straighten that end," Viggo demanded, calm and unruffled by the fact that they were probably moments away from frostbite. "Okay. Get in and I'll squeeze next to you."
Sean slid into the thick cocoon, forcing his legs to remain straight despite the urge to curl into a ball. A moment later, Viggo squirmed in alongside him, turning so that his back was against Sean's chest. Because the bag tapered at the bottom, their legs ended up tangled together. That might have been uncomfortable were Sean not frantic for the coziness. "Still frozen," he groaned.
"You'll be warmer if you take your coat off," Viggo suggested. "The vinyl shell isn't going to absorb any body heat."
Grumbling, Sean shucked the jacket, which wasn't easy to do in such a tight space. He shoved it under his head to use as a pillow. Viggo's body seemed impossibly electric -- even his feet were warm, despite having been bare on the ground minutes before. Sean wriggled his arm under Viggo's until his friend took his icy fingers into his hand, rubbing feeling back into them. Viggo chafed him with his legs, too, scissoring back and forth over Sean's deadened feet.
"You owe me for this, Beanie," came a low chuckle.
Agony faded slowly, until Sean might even have been able to loosen up a bit had there been any room to sprawl. They didn't have space to spare and one wrong move might have ripped the stuffing out of the high-end sleep sack. Cold air crept in from the opening at the top, which was probably necessary to stop them from suffocating; the bag wouldn't have closed over both of them anyway. Nudging smoke-scented hair aside with his nose, Sean pressed his chilly forehead against the side of the other man's neck.
Viggo shivered and undulated in a sinuous wave. His hair fell forward, brushing Sean's cheekbone, and a bit of exposed skin surged up against Sean's mouth. "Ticklish there," Viggo murmured.
And Sean realized that certain parts of him were thawing, heated by the flesh just beneath the soft fabric of Viggo's clothes. How did Viggo stay so warm wearing so little? In the knot of bone and muscle they had formed with their limbs, they both had to squirm continually to keep from losing circulation in whatever parts were crushed underneath them. Friction had edged the temperature from arctic to sultry.
Sean felt his pulse hitch and speed, which might have been from his frozen blood melting in his veins. Whatever the cause, it made him start breathing raggedly. Made his hands itch to move. Made pressure start building deep inside him that made him want to gyrate, made him want to roll his hips, made him want to adjust himself in his briefs and maybe leave his hand there, maybe keep touching himself, maybe...
"Sean?"
Fuck! "What?" Too breathless, and if Viggo had felt him twitch like that just from hearing him say his name...
"You okay? You're rocking like you're in pain."
"Just trying to keep warm. I'll stop." He tried to be still, but his groin was much too close to the curve of Viggo's ass, and there was really nowhere else to put it. Sean tried and failed to imagine how anyone else he knew would deal with the situation. "I'm relaxing," he snarled to himself, then blushed furiously when he realized he had spoken aloud.
"Really."
"Yes." His mortification was nearly complete. At least Viggo wasn't bothered -- Sean had the impression that his friend was holding back devilish chortles -- but the blackmail value in public humiliation was going to be hell.
"Want to fool around?"
Viggo hadn't just said that. Couldn't have. Must have been an hallucination. Or at least he couldn't have meant it. He lay in Sean's arms shaking with suppressed amusement, his head half-turned toward Sean's with a grin so big that Sean could feel it pressing back the skin of his throat beneath his beard.
"Hazards of shared space," snickered Viggo.
Helplessly Sean started to laugh, the heat of embarrassment flooding his entire body. Viggo joined him, and the awkward tension floated away like chill mist in the sun.
"There's not enough room to fool around, you wanker." But somehow Viggo managed to turn over, banging and bumping with elbows and knees until Sean was sure they would both have bruises. Oh -- Viggo was just as hard as he was. And maybe just as embarrassed; he giggled like a maniac, slipping his arms around Sean's back.
"You're not shivering anymore."
"Yeah."
"Comfy?"
"Not really." Viggo's weight was crushing his lower leg, though Sean was still much more comfortable than he had been before they put the sleeping bags together. He was warm now in all kinds of ways -- his cheeks were afire, his armpits prickled and he felt radiant all over from having Viggo pressed up against him, comfortable as a big shaggy pet. Which made Sean realize something else. "I'm happy though." He said it with a little bit of surprise, like he hadn't been sure until he heard himself speak the words.
"I'm happy too," Viggo said in his drawl that sometimes sounded like self-parody -- no one could tell whether he meant what he was saying or was being sarcastic. Knowing Viggo, he had predicted all this would happen since he'd seen Sean's ineffectual sleeping bag rolled up among their gear. A grin pushed its way across Sean's face. He tried to hide it against Viggo's shoulder, and ended up getting a mouthful of smoky hair.
"What?" asked Viggo suspiciously.
"I didn't want to borrow Orlando or Dom's sleeping bag because I was afraid of what went on in there."
Viggo chuckled again. "This one's brand new."
"Not anymore. You'll be lucky if it doesn't tear at the seams."
"That'll start rumors if I loan it to anyone. And it hasn't even been christened properly."
Whoosh -- there came a mental picture of a grinning Viggo holding a popping bottle of champagne, spraying its contents over the bag. The image morphed, ceased to include champagne, though it still involved Viggo and jets of liquid spraying over Sean. He groaned into Viggo's hair, feeling so warm. So close. They were both wearing ratty sweatpants and old shirts, so easy to push out of the way. Then there would just be skin, so easy to touch, to enjoy. So easy to fall asleep afterwards, cocooned together, flushed with contentment.
Half-kidding, he said, "Let me know if I can help you do the honors." He figured that if Viggo wanted to laugh it off, he could, with a line like that, but Viggo let out a little thoughtful hum and stretched against him as best he could in the cramped sleeping bag, pressing their lower bodies together.
"Think we'll still be able to look each other in the eye tomorrow?"
The future tense, not speculative, told him Viggo would consent if he did. "Sure," he replied, the pitch of his voice betraying his eagerness. No doubt Viggo would be able to look him in the eye, with artless calm and a bit of a smile. Sean couldn't see his friend in the dark but he was sure Viggo wore a similar expression right then. In the future Sean would be able to invoke that look from memory -- the grin that asked a question and told a secret at the same time.
Already he could envision a time when he might look back on this night with cozy nostalgia. He didn't know what to expect with Viggo after the shoot ended; he loved being with him, valued his opinions and couldn't imagine not talking to him, but they had families halfway around the world from each other, so the long-term prospects for staying so close seemed shaky at best. That was the way the cookie crumbled, and it made Sean sad, but not enough to dampen his enthusiasm when Viggo abruptly pulled his shirt up over his head, depositing it somewhere above them.
"You've warmed up nicely," the American observed in a satisfied tone as Sean got his own shirt off and stuffed it near the other one. Suddenly everything was very real, the skin and hands, the anticipation. Sean couldn't remember why he had ever thought he might not want to do this. He started tugging on Viggo's sweatpants and Viggo did the same to him, until they both had their briefs halfway down their legs and their cocks dueled in the middle like swords. Viggo was laughing in little gasps, but Sean couldn't spare the breath for it.
"Reach for it," drawled Viggo in a Western accent, and his fingers closed around Sean, who took hold of him in turn even as his hips thrust forward and a sigh escaped his throat. They both groaned when their hands began to move on each other's cocks. Viggo's strokes were slower and covered more territory than Sean was used to, which left him off-balance in an achingly good way. He tried to imitate Viggo but it wasn't the rhythm he was used to, and he found that his arm kept pumping harder and faster even though he didn't want to rush.
"Firecracker," joked the warm voice in his ear.
Sean focused on the word, the utterance, the idea of what they were doing rather than the feeling, trying to slow the crest rising in him. "Why's it so much better with someone else?" he panted. "It doesn't make sense. You know what you like, you should be your own best friend. But it's like getting tickled -- it has to be another person doing it."
"Do you always talk so much?"
"I don't think so." Distraction, diversion. "I'm not much of a talker. Usually I kiss 'em to shut 'em up."
"Can I kiss you?"
Viggo managed to squeeze a hand around their crushed chests to tilt Sean's face up from the ground. But Viggo didn't kiss like he just wanted to shut Sean up. Viggo kissed like he wanted to know what Sean's lips felt like, and how he tasted, and whether he wanted to kiss Viggo back. Sean did, hesitantly at first because it was overwhelming and he knew he must be revealing as much as Viggo, whose fingers threaded through his hair while his other hand sped up on his cock, its tempo spurred on by the hot urgency of their mouths.
It occurred to Sean that Viggo was awfully good at this -- not only the mechanics but the mood, turning what was supposed to be a token mindless hook-up into an encounter Sean knew he would conjure in private for years to come. Fingers traveled, bodies twisted and he found himself with a handful of his friend's ass, sliding against sweat-slicked skin and matted curly hair, using his legs as pinions. Loud moans burst from both of them as their mouths broke apart while they pumped against each other, pressing and rubbing the ridges and crevices...close, so close.
"Coming," Viggo breathed almost soundlessly, giving Sean enough warning to wrap his hand around his friend's cock and hold it against his own. The jerking pulses and hot, hot flood were more erotic than anything he'd imagined...anything except Viggo gasping his name. Erupting in pleasure, Sean called back to Viggo, feeling hands grip and anchor him as his body shook with tremors too immense for the confined space which dissolved around him in a sudden rippling rush.
They lay panting like runners in summer heat, drenched and slippery, hearts pounding. Distantly Sean remembered that he had been cold once, but he couldn't recall how it had felt. Viggo reached over their heads and tugged until a sudden breeze wafted over their faces. Trailing his hand over Sean's cheekbone, he wiped away moisture with a smile.
"You should come with a warning label. 'Flammable.'"
"Good thing your sleeping bag isn't."
"My sleeping bag..." Viggo felt around with his feet. "There's a big rip behind your leg, here. And another one all the way up the side."
"Fuck. I'm sorry..."
"Don't be. I've gotten my money's worth out of it." So much warmth in the laughter and the soft sloppy kiss that landed against the side of Sean's mouth. He turned to catch it, realizing as he did so that his ankles were free to twine around Viggo's legs.
"I think I might have ripped my pants, too."
"Actually I think you kicked them off. They're under me." Viggo made moves like a football player bouncing a ball on alternate feet until Sean felt soft material rub his calf. "Might not be worth putting them back on, they'll just get wet. And then when you get up, you'll be cold again." His hip shifted as he spoke, making a squelching noise in the wetness underneath him, which made them both laugh. "Damn lining's supposed to be moisture-proof."
"Maybe it's got a guarantee. You could take it back."
"Will you come with me and help explain what happened?"
"I think I'd rather buy you a new one." Still chuckling, Sean stuck his foot into the hole at the side of the bag, bringing his skin in contact with the cooler material of his own sleeping bag outside it. Instantly he jerked back. They might have been slightly less cramped in the bigger bag, but Sean concluded that sometimes personal space was overrated. "Are we going to sleep like this, then?"
"Can you think of a better way?"
"No." He tugged down his rumpled shirt, shoving it between his head and his jacket. Viggo scrunched down so that his head was right under Sean's chin, one arm folded between their chests, the other thrown over his ribs. They were still sweating and sticky, but it was bitterly cold outside, and Sean had no doubt that before morning they would need all the shared heat they could get.
Hours till sunrise, and even longer till the icy air began to thaw. Not much point in going to see a waterfall when it was freezing, anyway, thought Sean. Maybe they'd sleep late. Maybe they'd wake up like this, and smile and stretch against one another, and keep each other warm.
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