The kiss when it came was not entirely unexpected, but more than welcome. Sean smiled into Viggo's mouth, tilted his head up, tasting his lust on the tip of his tongue, the dryness of his lips. When they parted he was still smiling a cat-with-the-cream smile, but Viggo was too close to see it, hovering with their mouths close to each other. He wished he could see him, but he could taste Viggo's smile, feel the shakiness of his breath, and that was more than enough.
"You don't think you deserve me?" he breathed. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
It might have spoiled the mood, but Sean made up for it by leaning forward, flicking his tongue briefly against Viggo's lower lip before he could escape, arching into his touches just briefly--but Viggo was pulling away from him, leaving him alone in his darkness on his knees.
He licked his lips, sitting back on his heels once more, looking over toward the sound of Viggo at his paint table. It didn't seem to take him long, but it felt for forever until the tins were put down in front of him, and just for a moment Sean hoped they were water based rather than oil based, so that he could actually wash them off when this was all done.
He was in no hurry. With his hands on the paints, Sean began to take off the lids, one at a time, dipping his fingers into one at random.
"I can't hear you taking any pictures Viggo," he chided, and he lifted the paint pot up toward his chest at the same time, drawing his fingers out. The paint dropped off the tip of his fingers, spatting against his already ruined trousers, and Sean brought his hand to his ear, circled his wet fingers around the shell, catching his hair, while a thin line of paint ran its way down his arm and dripped from his elbow onto the floor.
The wet hand ran down his throat, painting a line across his collarbone and half way to his nipple before he drew his fingers away. He rubbed his hand carelessly against his trousers, leaving a handshaped mark there, and put the paint down, knocking it over accidentally as he reached blindly for another pot.
The next pot he left where it was, but with his fingers splashed he simply ran his hand all the way up his inside leg, arching his hips slightly as he - shamelessly, and firmly - stroked his arousal, full handed. He tipped his head back and moaned--an illustration for Viggo alone, the paint soaking through, and his lips broke into a laugh afterwards, too pleased with himself.
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"You don't think you deserve me?" he breathed. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
It might have spoiled the mood, but Sean made up for it by leaning forward, flicking his tongue briefly against Viggo's lower lip before he could escape, arching into his touches just briefly--but Viggo was pulling away from him, leaving him alone in his darkness on his knees.
He licked his lips, sitting back on his heels once more, looking over toward the sound of Viggo at his paint table. It didn't seem to take him long, but it felt for forever until the tins were put down in front of him, and just for a moment Sean hoped they were water based rather than oil based, so that he could actually wash them off when this was all done.
He was in no hurry. With his hands on the paints, Sean began to take off the lids, one at a time, dipping his fingers into one at random.
"I can't hear you taking any pictures Viggo," he chided, and he lifted the paint pot up toward his chest at the same time, drawing his fingers out. The paint dropped off the tip of his fingers, spatting against his already ruined trousers, and Sean brought his hand to his ear, circled his wet fingers around the shell, catching his hair, while a thin line of paint ran its way down his arm and dripped from his elbow onto the floor.
The wet hand ran down his throat, painting a line across his collarbone and half way to his nipple before he drew his fingers away. He rubbed his hand carelessly against his trousers, leaving a handshaped mark there, and put the paint down, knocking it over accidentally as he reached blindly for another pot.
The next pot he left where it was, but with his fingers splashed he simply ran his hand all the way up his inside leg, arching his hips slightly as he - shamelessly, and firmly - stroked his arousal, full handed. He tipped his head back and moaned--an illustration for Viggo alone, the paint soaking through, and his lips broke into a laugh afterwards, too pleased with himself.