Each little push, every thrust. Viggo was an elegant torturer, his fingers hard and firm, artistic, knowing precisely how to tease him. No, they weren't beautiful hands, but they were visionary, they were overwhelming, making him croon, making him moan and arch.
He coiled in on himself, pushed down again, barely managing to stay upright because his thighs were trembling, his eyelashes fluttering low, each breath husky and heavy, longing.
When Viggo wanted to, he could set him on fire with only a few words. He was - strangely enough - a dirtier talker than both Sean and Christian put together, and it was perecisely because when he said 'fuck', it melted down into your very soul as though you'd been shot in the heart precisely with an arrow, Viggo's aim never faltering. His words, such beautiful words, were always a construct of a talented mind, his actions much the same, planned, even if it was impossible to predict. It came together now, with just words - because he couldn't see - just words that made his breath so heavy that he couldn't hear what Viggo was doing or saying any more, could only feel the touches, and feel the words, and feeling them was more than enough.
Sean groaned, a long, loud, low moan, as Viggo slammed into him. He'd meant to scream, but his open mouth had betrayed him, and now he leant back on Viggo's shoulder, panting, trembling.
Each and every little thrust melted his poor brain, thrusts against his prostrate that even though he opened his mouth to say exactly what Viggo was asking him to say, caused him to falter and fail completely.
"A-ah... Viggo. Jesus, Viggo... Viggo."
The next wail was one of dejection, of emptiness, and he whimpered, rolling his hips back, letting Viggo bury himself slowly, so very slowly all the way to the hilt. It wasn't a screaming angle--it really wasn't, but he wanted it to be, jerked his hips to try and force it, and then let out a characteristic laugh at his own inability.
"Fuck me," he whispered, coming forward onto his hands and knees, his arms shaking, but taking his weight. "Scratch your nails down my back. Pull my hair. Make it hard, and rough. Make me scream, Viggo. I want to, but you have to make it happen."
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He coiled in on himself, pushed down again, barely managing to stay upright because his thighs were trembling, his eyelashes fluttering low, each breath husky and heavy, longing.
When Viggo wanted to, he could set him on fire with only a few words. He was - strangely enough - a dirtier talker than both Sean and Christian put together, and it was perecisely because when he said 'fuck', it melted down into your very soul as though you'd been shot in the heart precisely with an arrow, Viggo's aim never faltering. His words, such beautiful words, were always a construct of a talented mind, his actions much the same, planned, even if it was impossible to predict. It came together now, with just words - because he couldn't see - just words that made his breath so heavy that he couldn't hear what Viggo was doing or saying any more, could only feel the touches, and feel the words, and feeling them was more than enough.
Sean groaned, a long, loud, low moan, as Viggo slammed into him. He'd meant to scream, but his open mouth had betrayed him, and now he leant back on Viggo's shoulder, panting, trembling.
Each and every little thrust melted his poor brain, thrusts against his prostrate that even though he opened his mouth to say exactly what Viggo was asking him to say, caused him to falter and fail completely.
"A-ah... Viggo. Jesus, Viggo... Viggo."
The next wail was one of dejection, of emptiness, and he whimpered, rolling his hips back, letting Viggo bury himself slowly, so very slowly all the way to the hilt. It wasn't a screaming angle--it really wasn't, but he wanted it to be, jerked his hips to try and force it, and then let out a characteristic laugh at his own inability.
"Fuck me," he whispered, coming forward onto his hands and knees, his arms shaking, but taking his weight. "Scratch your nails down my back. Pull my hair. Make it hard, and rough. Make me scream, Viggo. I want to, but you have to make it happen."