It happens one night, after the hobbits have gone home; after Karl has called Sean "old fashioned" and Orli has joked and said Viggo has no sense of adventure; after Sean has laughed and said he likes his life just the way it is, and Viggo has flicked Orli's nose and said that he's happy even without jumping off a bridge, safety measures or not; after Karl has said, “But sex afterwards feels perfect"; after Orli has wrapped himself all over Karl and growled in his ear and Karl has taken that as a clue that Orli wants to go home.
After they're gone, Sean and Viggo stay for a while on the futon Viggo has placed in the middle of his living room, too comfortable and cozy to move. Until Sean says, "Fuck, need me coat to go home. Can't leave without, can I?"
Viggo recalls having draped it over the back of a chair when he went to put all his guests' coats in his bedroom. Since he's a thoughtful host, he gets up to find it; but he's also drunk a little more than he thought, so he falls back on the futon and ends up in a sprawl over Sean's lap, and they start giggling--until Sean's hand comes down on Viggo's upturned ass.
A joke, a laugh between mates; but the laughter turns to breathlessness in Viggo's throat, and the world, for a second, freezes.
And it happens.
There's a moment of perfect, absolute stillness--a moment of stunned, realising silence, when Sean's laughter too falters and dies away--and then Sean's hand hits him again, heavier this time, firmer. Like a question.
Viggo gasps, hands closing into tight fists. He tries to stay still--or to move and get up--and he only manages to squirm. He squirms over his friend's knees, and Sean says, so quietly Viggo could almost think he's just imagined it, just dreamed Sean's voice so soft, so rough--Sean says, "Tell me to stop," not a question any more now, not really a plea. Not even close, perhaps.
Viggo takes a shallow, shaky breath: his head feels so light, all of a sudden. He hides his burning face in the futon, and squirms again, pushing his ass up. Just a little.
He can't really speak, right now.
So it happens like that, with Sean's hand coming down on his ass in a steady rhythm, uncertain and wary at first, then firm and sure; and the room seems so bright and clear before Viggo's eyes, all the alcohol evaporated from him: his own furniture and clutter look so strange from that angle--the sofa where Sean has tickled Elijah until Billy and Dom have pushed him away, the empty beer bottles on the coffee table, Viggo's shoes near the doorway, where he's left them upon walking in, when Elijah and Dom pushed him aside to get to the
Playstation games that Henry had left from his last visit; and that's Orli's script on the floor, the silly kid forgot it behind--and, oh...
Sean changes rhythm, faster now, harder... Viggo blinks, his breathing quickening, loud under the louder, resounding slaps that fill the silence of the room--or maybe just the silence in his head--and Viggo feels the need to laugh, except not really, because the laughter is trapped in his throat and is coming out only in short, explosive bursts of air with each new slap against his ass, and doesn't feel like laughter at all.
The burning in his backside is growing steadily, until he has to close his eyes and let it all go, let his own moans come out to counterpoint the slaps, let his hips move, jerking up, to find Sean's hand--until it's too much--too much.
"Stop," he whispers, just a cut-off breath, but enough to make everything stop at once.
The silence seems even louder, all he can hear is his own breathing, Sean's breathing, harsh and panting. There's just the heat now, his ass feels on fire, and his face, too. He feels hot all over, raw. His clothes are suffocating him. Maybe he's going to throw up.
Then Sean's arms are around his shoulders, trembling, pushing him upright, turning him around to look at Sean, to be looked by Sean--and God, he wishes he were still drunk--Sean's eyes, burning green, shining and wet in Sean's flushed face.
Sean's trembling fingers, the fingers of his right hand, hot and red and burning, brushing so lightly against Viggo's cheek, fire touching fire, so much wonder...
And before Viggo can be afraid, before he can fear Sean's voice coming out as shaking as Sean's fingers, asking what the hell they've just done, Sean's lips feel cool and smooth against his cheekbone, Sean's tongue is rough and hot, licking away Viggo's tears, a sigh against Viggo's closing eyelids; and Sean's hands, less and less shaky by the minute, are working Viggo's zipper down, closing around him, pulling him out--another kind of burning--and Sean's voice is filled with wonder and urgency, begging in his ear, raw and needy as if
they've just jumped off a bridge and everything suddenly feels so new, new boundaries, a new intensity, "Fuck me, Jesus God, Viggo, fuck me...!"
Over and over and over.
And it happens like that.
They've never been in a place quite like this before, and they never thought it would happen, not to them--or if they thought about it, they never thought they'd want it, that they could want for it to happen.
But it does, and it's perfect.
They've never jumped off a bridge that high before, and there's no safety net waiting for them at the bottom, and it makes perfect sense.
Summary: Viggo and Sean would never jump off a bridge.
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: KinkChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 948 Read: 1047
Published: 01 Aug 2009 Updated: 01 Aug 2009
Story Notes:
Kink