Sean knelt, keeping as still as he could, trembling where he knelt as he listened to Viggo putting his camera down, as he listened to him shuffling over to his drawers - beside the easel, he remembered, from his mental picture of the studio - and then Viggo was at his side again, wrapping his wrists in one long fingered strong hand. Sean had frail enough wrists, for a man, that it was easy for Viggo, and then one handed he was pulling off Sean's trousers, holding him tight, ripping clean through his underwear.
He was panting by the time the lube bottle snapped, arched up against Viggo's chest, the effort of staying knelt in place nearly overwhelming. Licking his lips, he caught his breath, but it was more a gasp of shock than anything else, as cold fingers suddenly caught him underneath, making him buck away from them. Insistent, Viggo followed through, slick fingers pressing inside him, and Sean moaned, closing his eyes under the blindfold, arching into Viggo's shoulder.
"No one else," he agreed, in a breath, rolling his shoulders back, then shifting forward, a knee crawl that was almost impossible with Viggo's hand inside because it sent shivers of pleasure arcing through him like electric shocks. He crawled into Viggo's lap, ruining him with paint but caring very little, his hands still bound behind him, his knees to either side of Viggo's ass as he knelt over him, rocking down hard against the other man's arousal--the arousal he knew was there but couldn't see. Paint from his own clothes was probably going everywhere, but he was doing this all blind, and it made the thrill of it even more brilliant. Every touch - every touch - was felt in a way that he never had before.
He licked his lips again, but this time it was as though he was tasting the air, finding Viggo's face from where he was, in the darkness, then leaning down, slightly to the right, kissing the other man's throat, then back, his nose in Viggo's hair, kissing higher, kissing to his ear, grazing it with his teeth. Another moan.
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He was panting by the time the lube bottle snapped, arched up against Viggo's chest, the effort of staying knelt in place nearly overwhelming. Licking his lips, he caught his breath, but it was more a gasp of shock than anything else, as cold fingers suddenly caught him underneath, making him buck away from them. Insistent, Viggo followed through, slick fingers pressing inside him, and Sean moaned, closing his eyes under the blindfold, arching into Viggo's shoulder.
"No one else," he agreed, in a breath, rolling his shoulders back, then shifting forward, a knee crawl that was almost impossible with Viggo's hand inside because it sent shivers of pleasure arcing through him like electric shocks. He crawled into Viggo's lap, ruining him with paint but caring very little, his hands still bound behind him, his knees to either side of Viggo's ass as he knelt over him, rocking down hard against the other man's arousal--the arousal he knew was there but couldn't see. Paint from his own clothes was probably going everywhere, but he was doing this all blind, and it made the thrill of it even more brilliant. Every touch - every touch - was felt in a way that he never had before.
He licked his lips again, but this time it was as though he was tasting the air, finding Viggo's face from where he was, in the darkness, then leaning down, slightly to the right, kissing the other man's throat, then back, his nose in Viggo's hair, kissing higher, kissing to his ear, grazing it with his teeth. Another moan.
"What are you waiting for, Vig?"