The kiss was such a welcome back that Sean just sank into it, knowing that this was a fifty quid shirt and he'd never get the paint out of it--and deciding that that was just fine with him. He already had it in mind to wear the shirt as Viggo painted it, and keep it in his collection of clothes Viggo had ruined. Or maybe he'd gift it to charity...
Sean licked his lips as Viggo drew back: "The name of my boyfriend," he breathed. "I like the sound of that."
There was sun in his eyes, but Sean didn't dodge out of it, even though it stopped him from seeing Viggo's expression, knowing full well from the little casp of breath, the tentative touch, that Viggo was studying him like he'd just found a precious jewel in a pile of dirt.
It wouldn't be the first time that Sean had become the subject of Viggo's paintings and photographs. Sean didn't ask about them--he knew that he inspired people, but he didn't like to see the finished article, just like he didn't like watching himself on the screen. If he didn't see it, then he never acted for it. His smiles were genuine, never put on, and if that wasn't what people wanted they wouldn't be photographing him in the first place. And there were archives of the damn thing all over the internet--people collecting shot after shot of him. He knew it, but he never looked. Hell, there were probably thousands of photographs of him he didn't remember or didn't know about having been taken.
So he leant forward and dotted a kiss on Viggo's chin, and smiled.
"Did I mention how much I enjoyed being your muse?"
His laugh was soft, and deeply affectionate, and Sean moved forward, sliding his hands around Viggo's waist and kissing him again, deep and long and slow, holding the coffee behind him, before slipping back, moving to put it down on the table.
"Can I at least take a shower while you're setting up your equipment, or will that ruin the effect?"
no subject
Sean licked his lips as Viggo drew back: "The name of my boyfriend," he breathed. "I like the sound of that."
There was sun in his eyes, but Sean didn't dodge out of it, even though it stopped him from seeing Viggo's expression, knowing full well from the little casp of breath, the tentative touch, that Viggo was studying him like he'd just found a precious jewel in a pile of dirt.
It wouldn't be the first time that Sean had become the subject of Viggo's paintings and photographs. Sean didn't ask about them--he knew that he inspired people, but he didn't like to see the finished article, just like he didn't like watching himself on the screen. If he didn't see it, then he never acted for it. His smiles were genuine, never put on, and if that wasn't what people wanted they wouldn't be photographing him in the first place. And there were archives of the damn thing all over the internet--people collecting shot after shot of him. He knew it, but he never looked. Hell, there were probably thousands of photographs of him he didn't remember or didn't know about having been taken.
So he leant forward and dotted a kiss on Viggo's chin, and smiled.
"Did I mention how much I enjoyed being your muse?"
His laugh was soft, and deeply affectionate, and Sean moved forward, sliding his hands around Viggo's waist and kissing him again, deep and long and slow, holding the coffee behind him, before slipping back, moving to put it down on the table.
"Can I at least take a shower while you're setting up your equipment, or will that ruin the effect?"