It's really too hot to be doing much of anything, except napping.
Viggo loves napping.
He loves napping in this big, comfortable bed, the fan on the ceiling slowly revolving, just enough to keep the stifling air at bay, though not enough to ward off the heat effectively.
He rolls over and the sheets, made damp by humidity, cling to his skin as he moves, sticking to his thighs, his ass; never mind that, it doesn't bother him. He can't sleep just now, so he's set himself a goal to reach.
Sean's watching him, lazily, through half-slitted eyes: light green glittering under lowered eyelids, the shade of a smirk on his lips. A bead of sweat rests in the sweet curve of Sean's upper lip, and Viggo can't help it, lets himself be hijacked, detoured -- just for a little while -- from his intended goal: he leans up to taste it under his tongue, licking slowly over Sean's upper lip, catching Sean's slow moan in his mouth, then licking the bottom lip, nibbling, working it between his own lips, stubble scratching on it, making Sean's mouth that perfect, glistening, debauched red that Viggo so loves.
He licks Sean's tongue, sucking Sean's sigh inside his own mouth, greedy; then he finally gets back to his intended route, sweat-slick skin sliding over sweat-slick skin, travelling a path of ghosting touches and feather-like kisses over Sean's collarbone, his chest... just a little rest stop to taste how saltysweet Sean's nipples are in the overwhelming heat, all puckered and then, under Viggo's eager tongue and teeth, all tight... then Sean's abdomen, stretched taut under Viggo's hands, heaving with short little breaths that should've been too much of an effort in the hot, still air; Sean's belly...
Viggo rubs his cheek in the matting of dark blond curls, made darker by the sweat pooling in the hollow of Sean's lap, and Sean moans again -- a lazy, sleepy, needy sound -- and spreads his legs for him, easily, happy to oblige.
Viggo places a kiss just above the curls, still staying away from Sean's lovely red cock, from where it's resting darkly against Sean's belly, lazily rising by the minute. He moves lower instead, the friction of cotton on his own hardening cock just this side of pleasurable, and cups Sean's ass in his hands, thumbs splaying inward, to caress him just behind his balls, teasing a new moan out of Sean.
He can never get enough of this: so much he could do, so much Sean would let him do. Choosing is difficult. Sean's ass fits perfectly in his hands, as if it's made to be cupped, kneaded, caressed, loved... by Viggo. He lets out a moan of his own, his cock hardening a little more. He loves Sean's ass. Loves what Sean will let him do with it -- and how much Sean'll enjoy what Viggo does.
He squeezes a little, and Sean's eyes grow darker, his breathing more ragged; Viggo smiles -- Oh, yes. Yes, of course -- and decides.
He'll spank Sean. Later -- after dinner, maybe. Sean had been reluctant to do it or have it done, the first few times; and Viggo knows that while Sean still doesn't get the appeal of doing it himself, he'd found that he loves the indignity of crawling over Viggo's lap, of Viggo warming his ass with his bare hand -- it's that, more than the pain, that makes Sean so hot. The shameful, shocking intimacy of it.
Sometimes Sean would go all quiet during his spanking, face hidden in the pillows or in the curve of his arms, his body pliant and almost boneless; and those times he wanted to be fucked, slow and long and gently, and to be held, afterward. Other times it'd make him wild, he'd scream and curse and fight, and then he'd pin Viggo down to the mattress and fuck him raw, hard and rough and fast, until they both screamed from it.
Viggo loves spanking Sean.
Not now, though: it's too hot, and besides, it's better at night, just before bed, so Viggo can go to sleep draped over Sean's back, feel Sean's hot ass cushion his sated cock, feel Sean squirm all night against him, moaning sometimes, never shifting away; and the mornings after a spanking are always good. So incredibly good.
Sean's smirk is still firmly in place, he seems to know perfectly well what Viggo's thinking; Viggo looks at him with a smirk of his own, leans down to place a soft bite on the inside of Sean's thigh, like a promise, and Sean's smirk turns into this happy, contented smile that makes Viggo's heart and stomach flutter, even though it almost feels too damn hot even for that.
Sean reaches down with a hand, tangles his fingers through Viggo's hair. "Look so good down there," he murmurs, voice rough in his throat, vowels rolling out thick and broad on his tongue, and Viggo, not for the first time, wishes he could paint them -- maybe he will, later, Sean's come as his paint and his own body the canvas, something to be drawn on again and again, never finished, always changing, every time something new, something beautiful to be had, to be added to the whole picture...
"Look good from here," Viggo says, quietly, his thumbs nudging Sean's cheeks apart, his nose nuzzling playfully the side of Sean's dark, fat cock, tongue darting out to lick his sac lazily, teasingly, then moves lower, a broad swipe from Sean's balls to his hole, and back again.
"Fuck," Sean says, the syllable no more than an explosive exhalation, his thigh trembling against the side of Viggo's head. "Too hot to fuck around," he pleads, and Viggo smiles against Sean's cock, one of his thumb massaging just the right spot behind Sean's balls, the other pressing upon Sean's opening, not entering. Sean's cock twitches against Viggo's closed lips.
Sean moans again, manages to nudge Viggo's head with his thigh. "Vi-ggo," he drawls, shortening the second syllable of the name as he always does when close to impatience; there's no real urgency, though: Viggo's still pleasantly sore from earlier, and possibly Sean's throat still is, too. Viggo's cock stiffens a little more at the still-vivid memory: how Sean had pushed him back onto the bed, still half-clothed, and how carefully he'd prepared him; how hard he'd taken him, devouring Viggo's whimpers and cries with his mouth.
And how blissfully happy Sean had looked afterward, kneeling at the foot of the bed for Viggo, swallowing him whole as though he could never get enough, his long fingers pressing hard into Viggo's hips, bruising, possessive...
Viggo exhales softly, shivering. Bliss, yes: and they have time for everything. This, right now, is just the time for playing, growling at each other, building things up for later.
Time for napping.
"I'm gonna take you out for dinner this evening," Viggo says, lips still resting over Sean's cock, licking a little between one word and the other, inhaling, breathing Sean in. "Later, when it's cooler."
"Mm," Sean says, closing his eyes, resting his head back on the pillows. His hand's still on Viggo's head, caressing it -- broad, slow, loving motions of his fingers through Viggo's sweaty hair. "Sounds nice," he murmurs, and Viggo knows Sean could go back to sleep like this, these simple stimulations just enough to make everything better.
"And then I'll take you home," Viggo says, fingers moving lightly over Sean's opening, "undress you bit by bit," he brushes a kiss on the underside of Sean's cock, "let you get all nice and comfy over my lap," he hums softly against it, "and spank you for a while."
Sean's cock jumps at that, and Viggo kisses it again. "For as long as you can take it," he adds, and smiles, smugly, when he feels Sean's cheeks flex under his hands, Sean's hips rocking upward, just a little. "What do you say?"
"Sounds... brilliant," Sean breathes. "Wicked," he says, and he's suddenly breathless, his eyes dark and wide, fixed on Viggo's, and he licks his lips. Viggo obediently goes up when Sean tugs gently at his hair; he travels back over Sean's hips, belly, chest, until he's chest to chest with Sean, his hips cradled between Sean's legs, their half-hard, sleepy cocks pressing lazily together, the back of his neck safely held in the crook of Sean's elbow while his breath is sucked into Sean's mouth, his soul devoured right out of him in a messy death made of stubbles, lips, tongues, teeth, saliva. No better way to go.
He feels like he's gone liquid; he couldn't move for the world.
"Mmmnap?" he pants, when at last he's allowed to come up for air.
"Daft bastard," Sean chuckles, and nibbles his ear, his jaw. Then, "Who's gonna pay for dinner?"
"Cheap bastard," Viggo counters, licks all around Sean's chin, his tongue relishing the scratchiness. He blows a raspberry right where Sean's jaw meets the neck. "I'm gonna pay," and smiles with his teeth around a mouthful of Sean's skin at the light, gentle swat landing on his ass. "Nap now," he yawns, wiggling happily.
"Yeah, all right." Sean's arms close around Viggo's shoulders, wandering drowsily along his back; they're both sweating profusely by now, the heat sticking them together. "Too fuckin' hot to fuck," Sean mumbles, pressing lazy kisses over Viggo's temple, his hair. He doesn't sound too disgruntled. "Too fuckin' hot t' sleep t'gether," he adds, his eyes already closing, his lips still glued to Viggo's skin.
"Yeah, fuck," Viggo agrees, squirming around a little to get comfortable, until he feels the hot weight of Sean's hands over his ass -- just the right size to cup it perfectly -- keeping him close, and the familiar feeling of Sean's cock sleeping alongside his own; he throws an arm and a leg over him, and rests his head on Sean's chest, under his chin; he thinks he might be purring. Sean's heartbeat is slow, strong. It's a familiar, beautiful sound.
After a few moments they're both asleep, the faint, slow whirring noise of the ceiling fan drowned out by two sets of snoring breathing.