(no subject)
Title: Mastering Passions (or Control and Those Who Wear It)
Author: soleta
Rating: heavy R
Pairing: Sean B/Viggo
Summary: What happens when Viggo is pushed too far?
AN: betaed by the lovely moldava and uppacrick. Anything you spot wrong is my fault for not taking their suggestions, mostly due to stylistic reasons. This will make no sense whatsoever if you haven't at least read the third part, Mastering Passions (Tomorrow But Not Today), which contains links to parts one and two.
Feedback: Feeds the whore who gives me ideas.
Viggo's nostrils flared, and for a moment Sean thought that he was going to literally growl at the reporter. Sean could feel the rumble beginning where his chest was pressed between Viggo's and the wall, but before it came out of his throat, Viggo stopped, and sneered. The reporter slowly, so slowly started to back up, hands out in front of him, and Sean could just hear him thinking about his thousand pound suit, and he'd just gotten it cleaned, and if he backed away quickly enough he might not get his nose broken just before he had to go on the air.
Just then, the reporter broke and ran.
Sean grinned at the vacuum left behind, a quick flash of teeth with contempt lurking in the space behind them. Before he could let it out, though, Viggo dragged his arms down in front of him; Viggo's hands shifted to keep their grasp on his wrists and Sean winced at the rush of heat and pressure that was the blood returning to his lower arms. Then he was yanked away from the wall and propelled down the corridor backwards, away from the loo and even farther away from the crowds. Viggo's face was tight with frustration and anger; he refused to meet Sean's eyes, instead looking over his shoulder at where they were going. They turned around a bend in the hall where the lights were dim and chairs were stacked in piles against the white, tiled walls.
"Vig. What the hell are you doing?" It had taken a bit of effort not to stumble, especially during the turn itself, and Sean was just getting through the shocked rush of blood to the head when Viggo shoved him down into one of the chairs. Sean's head reverberated cracked slammed against the wall and as he swore bloodyfuck you sodding cocksucking shiteating wanker he felt hands fumbling with his zipper.
Hands fumbling with his zipper.
"The fucking shit, Vig?" Sean's voice cracked embarrassingly when he tried to speak. It only made him angrier. "Have you gone bloody fucking mad?"
Viggo finally, finally got the zipper undone. He got his hands in the opening and pulled, and the button flew off, pinged against the wall, and was lost.
"That's it. You're off your nut." Genuinely concerned now, Sean started to slide off the chair, intending to take Viggo back to the party - somewhere other than here, maybe someone outside had their car - but Viggo laid hands on his thighs and forced him back into the chair, tightening his grasp when Sean made to get up again. Sean had somewhat fanciful thoughts about finger-shaped bruises in the morning, but dismissed them. Viggo wasn't holding on that hard.
Yet.
There was something wild in Viggo's eyes when he raised them to meet Sean's, something Sean had only seen there carefully controlled. It was primal and basic and aching, and when Viggo spoke, low and harsh, Sean jumped slightly, his own eyes wide and expectant.
"Don't fucking move."
There was still a wealth of anger and resentment in his voice, and a healthy dose of frustration, but below it all there was a hint of... glee. But all questions went out the window when Viggo lowered his head.
Sean had foregone pants. The cut of this suit demanded the clean line of leg and hip; he'd tried pants and realized that anyone could see everything, and that was Not On. But that also meant one less barrier between his cock and the absolute fucking brilliance of Viggo's mouth and tongue and teeth.
And it was brilliance; Viggo knew just what to do, where to suck, and the small spot just under the head that made Sean fucking weak when teeth were applied. Viggo pulled out all the tricks, even a few he'd never used before - Sean stifled an overriding jealousy when he wondered just who had taught him those - and Sean was very shortly on the edge of the chair, moaning, doing his absolute best to keep from grabbing Viggo's head and holding it still to fuck his mouth.
That was when Viggo backed off, just stopped, and let the head of Sean's cock lay just on the top of his tongue. Sean moaned; Viggo blew cool air onto his penis and he fucking whimpered. He was so close, so fucking close it was embarrassing, but after a year of memories and his right hand -
"Wha' d'ye want, a fookin' invitation?" Sean's voice had thickened into the dialect he'd left behind long since in his arousal and Viggo shivered almost imperceptivity and dug short nails into Sean's thighs. Sean sucked in a breath and held it, he was so close -
Viggo rolled his eyes up in his head and looked at Sean, looked straight into his eyes, and raised an eyebrow interrogatively. Sean knew what he wanted, recognized control when he saw it, he knew it was a power play -
"Please."
- But didn't care, and when Viggo carefully laved his cock and took him all the way in, nuzzling his nose into Sean's pubic hair, he was fucking glad of it.
Sean knew he couldn't last much longer, and he did his level best to memorize the feeling of Viggo's mouth on him, but he was coming and nothing was important anymore except the feeling, and the feeling being shared - he wasn't alone and that was almost more important than the wet, hot vacuum that was driving him up, and up -
Viggo scrubbed his hand across his mouth and stood. "That was a one night stand, Sean," he said with a voice like ice. His eyes glittered and there was a tell-tale bulge in his trousers, but he was in control right now, and they both knew it. Sean slumped in the chair, panting slightly. "If you want a relationship, you know where to find me."
He pressed something into Sean's hand, smoothed down his suit jacket, and then he was gone around the corner, leaving Sean alone.
Sean gave himself another minute to gather himself and stood unsteadily. The events of the last twenty minutes had shaken him, and he needed some time to think about what had happened; it wouldn't change anything, he assured himself, but the process of letting go would have to be done all over again.
He zipped himself up, ignoring the lost button, and as he turned to leave, he opened his hand to see what Viggo had given him.
It was a hotel key.
Sean stopped dead and stared at the key in his hand. He hadn't truly taken in what Viggo had said until now, and his eyes went wide. Did he dare...
Sean buried the key in his breast pocket, tugged at the hem of his jacket, and stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.
Author: soleta
Rating: heavy R
Pairing: Sean B/Viggo
Summary: What happens when Viggo is pushed too far?
AN: betaed by the lovely moldava and uppacrick. Anything you spot wrong is my fault for not taking their suggestions, mostly due to stylistic reasons. This will make no sense whatsoever if you haven't at least read the third part, Mastering Passions (Tomorrow But Not Today), which contains links to parts one and two.
Feedback: Feeds the whore who gives me ideas.
Viggo's nostrils flared, and for a moment Sean thought that he was going to literally growl at the reporter. Sean could feel the rumble beginning where his chest was pressed between Viggo's and the wall, but before it came out of his throat, Viggo stopped, and sneered. The reporter slowly, so slowly started to back up, hands out in front of him, and Sean could just hear him thinking about his thousand pound suit, and he'd just gotten it cleaned, and if he backed away quickly enough he might not get his nose broken just before he had to go on the air.
Just then, the reporter broke and ran.
Sean grinned at the vacuum left behind, a quick flash of teeth with contempt lurking in the space behind them. Before he could let it out, though, Viggo dragged his arms down in front of him; Viggo's hands shifted to keep their grasp on his wrists and Sean winced at the rush of heat and pressure that was the blood returning to his lower arms. Then he was yanked away from the wall and propelled down the corridor backwards, away from the loo and even farther away from the crowds. Viggo's face was tight with frustration and anger; he refused to meet Sean's eyes, instead looking over his shoulder at where they were going. They turned around a bend in the hall where the lights were dim and chairs were stacked in piles against the white, tiled walls.
"Vig. What the hell are you doing?" It had taken a bit of effort not to stumble, especially during the turn itself, and Sean was just getting through the shocked rush of blood to the head when Viggo shoved him down into one of the chairs. Sean's head reverberated cracked slammed against the wall and as he swore bloodyfuck you sodding cocksucking shiteating wanker he felt hands fumbling with his zipper.
Hands fumbling with his zipper.
"The fucking shit, Vig?" Sean's voice cracked embarrassingly when he tried to speak. It only made him angrier. "Have you gone bloody fucking mad?"
Viggo finally, finally got the zipper undone. He got his hands in the opening and pulled, and the button flew off, pinged against the wall, and was lost.
"That's it. You're off your nut." Genuinely concerned now, Sean started to slide off the chair, intending to take Viggo back to the party - somewhere other than here, maybe someone outside had their car - but Viggo laid hands on his thighs and forced him back into the chair, tightening his grasp when Sean made to get up again. Sean had somewhat fanciful thoughts about finger-shaped bruises in the morning, but dismissed them. Viggo wasn't holding on that hard.
Yet.
There was something wild in Viggo's eyes when he raised them to meet Sean's, something Sean had only seen there carefully controlled. It was primal and basic and aching, and when Viggo spoke, low and harsh, Sean jumped slightly, his own eyes wide and expectant.
"Don't fucking move."
There was still a wealth of anger and resentment in his voice, and a healthy dose of frustration, but below it all there was a hint of... glee. But all questions went out the window when Viggo lowered his head.
Sean had foregone pants. The cut of this suit demanded the clean line of leg and hip; he'd tried pants and realized that anyone could see everything, and that was Not On. But that also meant one less barrier between his cock and the absolute fucking brilliance of Viggo's mouth and tongue and teeth.
And it was brilliance; Viggo knew just what to do, where to suck, and the small spot just under the head that made Sean fucking weak when teeth were applied. Viggo pulled out all the tricks, even a few he'd never used before - Sean stifled an overriding jealousy when he wondered just who had taught him those - and Sean was very shortly on the edge of the chair, moaning, doing his absolute best to keep from grabbing Viggo's head and holding it still to fuck his mouth.
That was when Viggo backed off, just stopped, and let the head of Sean's cock lay just on the top of his tongue. Sean moaned; Viggo blew cool air onto his penis and he fucking whimpered. He was so close, so fucking close it was embarrassing, but after a year of memories and his right hand -
"Wha' d'ye want, a fookin' invitation?" Sean's voice had thickened into the dialect he'd left behind long since in his arousal and Viggo shivered almost imperceptivity and dug short nails into Sean's thighs. Sean sucked in a breath and held it, he was so close -
Viggo rolled his eyes up in his head and looked at Sean, looked straight into his eyes, and raised an eyebrow interrogatively. Sean knew what he wanted, recognized control when he saw it, he knew it was a power play -
"Please."
- But didn't care, and when Viggo carefully laved his cock and took him all the way in, nuzzling his nose into Sean's pubic hair, he was fucking glad of it.
Sean knew he couldn't last much longer, and he did his level best to memorize the feeling of Viggo's mouth on him, but he was coming and nothing was important anymore except the feeling, and the feeling being shared - he wasn't alone and that was almost more important than the wet, hot vacuum that was driving him up, and up -
Viggo scrubbed his hand across his mouth and stood. "That was a one night stand, Sean," he said with a voice like ice. His eyes glittered and there was a tell-tale bulge in his trousers, but he was in control right now, and they both knew it. Sean slumped in the chair, panting slightly. "If you want a relationship, you know where to find me."
He pressed something into Sean's hand, smoothed down his suit jacket, and then he was gone around the corner, leaving Sean alone.
Sean gave himself another minute to gather himself and stood unsteadily. The events of the last twenty minutes had shaken him, and he needed some time to think about what had happened; it wouldn't change anything, he assured himself, but the process of letting go would have to be done all over again.
He zipped himself up, ignoring the lost button, and as he turned to leave, he opened his hand to see what Viggo had given him.
It was a hotel key.
Sean stopped dead and stared at the key in his hand. He hadn't truly taken in what Viggo had said until now, and his eyes went wide. Did he dare...
Sean buried the key in his breast pocket, tugged at the hem of his jacket, and stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.