FIC
Sean's POV. This was inspired by a 'naughty' T-Shirt reference posted by lannamichaels. This is her bunny. I had to get it out of my head.
On a reread,
(Bloke Sean would probably stand around looking too butch then whisper to Viggo that he'd be across the street at the pub when Viggo was done poncing about)
Title: Arts and Entertainment S/V
Disclaimer: I don't know them, they don't do this stuff yada yada yada. No harm is intended, you know I love these guys!
Sean had a clear view of the whole of the gallery floor. Perched on a wooden bench up on the second, he could look down and watch Viggo work the room.
He'd nothing to eat since breakfast and was drunk on no fizz bad champagne.
Leaning against a nearby wall, two nit-picky queens were arguing the relative dancing abilities of 'Cher' versus 'Madonna' in hushed tones. He could hear every blasted word.
Behind his sunglasses, hands crossed against his black leather jacket, he sent a clear signal 'Don't fuck with me' to anyone who recognized and thought to approach him. One stray and daring little 'Joyboy' had attempted and was turned back by a hard look and a quick 'Please, I need to be alone'. The brazen little sod.
Sean moved to rest his arms on the rails and tilted his head to gaze downwards. Viggo acknowleged him only once, raising a glass high and gesturing to him above. Sean
had pointed to his watch and Viggo just shrugged his shoulders. Viggo, cocky fucker that he is, just went on about the business of selling himself. Viggo, artist, actor, poet, cocksucker, good cocksucker, very good cocksucker, swiveled and suaved his way around the whole of the gallery leaving no one unattended. He supposed that was why he was still here, starving and potted. Those lips were worth waiting for.
Of course it was Viggo eyes, not his lips, that had first attracted him before they had made love for the first time. Twin fires of desperation, to be extraordinary, or to be seen as such, the hunger of an actor madly desirous for
praise and an audience. That he could relate to it, was a given, but it was part of his past feelings, feelings that had driven him into acting to begin with.
Now acting was more of a craft to him, work, a way to earn a living. Somehow Viggo had retained that first innocence; he was still motivated by the thing that drives all new actors, a need to be popular, a need for the applause of 'the audience', the critical recognition, to be seen as special and unique.
'Come on Viggo' he muttered aloud. 'Let's go'. Viggo was going to get a 'shagging' to end all 'shagging's' for this. Of course it was all part of the little sod's master plan. Sean was strongly disliked in this artsy fartsy crowd, this was Viggo's element. Cold stares and strained compliments couched in a backhanded way.
They all wanted Viggo, and Sean was the one who had him.
Even open minded bisexuals, like Viggo, supposedly into anything, had decided preferences.
Just his mere presence made all those admirers too painfully aware of that.
Sean could give two shit's what any of these poncing phonies thought. You couldn't stop people from thinking. Besides, to make a move in defense, would upset Viggo, something he wouldn't risk.
He watched drunk and mesmerized as Viggo greeted friends both 'new' and 'old'. First his eyes caught and held them, seemingly open and without pretense, then a swivel of hips as he would lean into them, whispering into their ears with
familiarity, at that moment they were special, singled out from the adoring herd, graced with a smile. Viggo had an ease and naturalness to his manner that telegraphed 'I like you, you're important to me' and the shit of it was, that he meant it.
Sometimes when he leaned in, his lips would brush against the listener's ear, and then they were caught, rapt and attentive.
Sometimes Viggo would also sidle those hips toward them, to brush, to make the connection more solid, wielding his sexuality like a promise, and like a sword to completely conquer them. Just watching the gorgeous fucker made his cock hard. Of all the many gifts Viggo possessed he most certainly had 'IT'. Whatever 'IT' was. That unusual concoction of charm, sexual allure, and the aura of unresolved need giving the impression that only the person Viggo was talking to could hope to fulfill him.
But, of course, by the end of the evening, their usual ritual would be so lovely and predictable.
Viggo would ascend to the second floor to fetch him, full knowing that Sean had watched him the whole time, irritated, and physically fucked up. Viggo's insatiable need for attention coerced this thrall from his lovers.
Sean snickered. But Viggo knew who was 'Master' in the bedroom. Now sufficiently provoked, Sean would break out the chest tonight, and maybe the sling as well, most definitely the ropes, and then Viggo would be the one forced to watch.
Sean resigned himself and relaxed, lying down on the bench to await Viggo's arrival. He put his feet up.
Maybe a quick stop for Pizza or Chinese, then on to the liquor store for a bottle of something nicer than the crap they served here.
Then, back to his place and 'Let the Fucking Begin'. He remembered suddenly and stroked his surprise T-shirt under the cool leather, tweaking one nipple, and feeling the silk screened letters, he grinned to himself.
Viggo will get a kick out of this 'Fucking' shirt. He will laugh and kiss him and smile.
And then Ole Seaney Boy will cuff him, roughly tie both him and his cock up, and bugger him senseless.
On a reread,
(Bloke Sean would probably stand around looking too butch then whisper to Viggo that he'd be across the street at the pub when Viggo was done poncing about)
Title: Arts and Entertainment S/V
Disclaimer: I don't know them, they don't do this stuff yada yada yada. No harm is intended, you know I love these guys!
Sean had a clear view of the whole of the gallery floor. Perched on a wooden bench up on the second, he could look down and watch Viggo work the room.
He'd nothing to eat since breakfast and was drunk on no fizz bad champagne.
Leaning against a nearby wall, two nit-picky queens were arguing the relative dancing abilities of 'Cher' versus 'Madonna' in hushed tones. He could hear every blasted word.
Behind his sunglasses, hands crossed against his black leather jacket, he sent a clear signal 'Don't fuck with me' to anyone who recognized and thought to approach him. One stray and daring little 'Joyboy' had attempted and was turned back by a hard look and a quick 'Please, I need to be alone'. The brazen little sod.
Sean moved to rest his arms on the rails and tilted his head to gaze downwards. Viggo acknowleged him only once, raising a glass high and gesturing to him above. Sean
had pointed to his watch and Viggo just shrugged his shoulders. Viggo, cocky fucker that he is, just went on about the business of selling himself. Viggo, artist, actor, poet, cocksucker, good cocksucker, very good cocksucker, swiveled and suaved his way around the whole of the gallery leaving no one unattended. He supposed that was why he was still here, starving and potted. Those lips were worth waiting for.
Of course it was Viggo eyes, not his lips, that had first attracted him before they had made love for the first time. Twin fires of desperation, to be extraordinary, or to be seen as such, the hunger of an actor madly desirous for
praise and an audience. That he could relate to it, was a given, but it was part of his past feelings, feelings that had driven him into acting to begin with.
Now acting was more of a craft to him, work, a way to earn a living. Somehow Viggo had retained that first innocence; he was still motivated by the thing that drives all new actors, a need to be popular, a need for the applause of 'the audience', the critical recognition, to be seen as special and unique.
'Come on Viggo' he muttered aloud. 'Let's go'. Viggo was going to get a 'shagging' to end all 'shagging's' for this. Of course it was all part of the little sod's master plan. Sean was strongly disliked in this artsy fartsy crowd, this was Viggo's element. Cold stares and strained compliments couched in a backhanded way.
They all wanted Viggo, and Sean was the one who had him.
Even open minded bisexuals, like Viggo, supposedly into anything, had decided preferences.
Just his mere presence made all those admirers too painfully aware of that.
Sean could give two shit's what any of these poncing phonies thought. You couldn't stop people from thinking. Besides, to make a move in defense, would upset Viggo, something he wouldn't risk.
He watched drunk and mesmerized as Viggo greeted friends both 'new' and 'old'. First his eyes caught and held them, seemingly open and without pretense, then a swivel of hips as he would lean into them, whispering into their ears with
familiarity, at that moment they were special, singled out from the adoring herd, graced with a smile. Viggo had an ease and naturalness to his manner that telegraphed 'I like you, you're important to me' and the shit of it was, that he meant it.
Sometimes when he leaned in, his lips would brush against the listener's ear, and then they were caught, rapt and attentive.
Sometimes Viggo would also sidle those hips toward them, to brush, to make the connection more solid, wielding his sexuality like a promise, and like a sword to completely conquer them. Just watching the gorgeous fucker made his cock hard. Of all the many gifts Viggo possessed he most certainly had 'IT'. Whatever 'IT' was. That unusual concoction of charm, sexual allure, and the aura of unresolved need giving the impression that only the person Viggo was talking to could hope to fulfill him.
But, of course, by the end of the evening, their usual ritual would be so lovely and predictable.
Viggo would ascend to the second floor to fetch him, full knowing that Sean had watched him the whole time, irritated, and physically fucked up. Viggo's insatiable need for attention coerced this thrall from his lovers.
Sean snickered. But Viggo knew who was 'Master' in the bedroom. Now sufficiently provoked, Sean would break out the chest tonight, and maybe the sling as well, most definitely the ropes, and then Viggo would be the one forced to watch.
Sean resigned himself and relaxed, lying down on the bench to await Viggo's arrival. He put his feet up.
Maybe a quick stop for Pizza or Chinese, then on to the liquor store for a bottle of something nicer than the crap they served here.
Then, back to his place and 'Let the Fucking Begin'. He remembered suddenly and stroked his surprise T-shirt under the cool leather, tweaking one nipple, and feeling the silk screened letters, he grinned to himself.
Viggo will get a kick out of this 'Fucking' shirt. He will laugh and kiss him and smile.
And then Ole Seaney Boy will cuff him, roughly tie both him and his cock up, and bugger him senseless.