Sean was certain there were a few thousand fangirls who'd disagree with that, but then if they actually saw them really going at it, it'd probably not be as sexy as they'd imagined it. Sex was all grunts, and sweat, as much pain as pleasure, and watching two other people at it - Sean thought - was ultimately unsexy. Buttocks squeezing, the stupid expressions people pulled... No, he wouldn't want anyone else seeing this either. And in a way he didn't want to see himself doing it, for fear it might take away from his enjoyment of the moment, even with Viggo. But Viggo was an artist--he was an artist, and Sean knew it, and more importantly he was his lover, and if there was one person Sean would go out of his way to please it would be Viggo. If Viggo wanted it, then Sean would jump to it, no matter what it was. He'd try anything once.
Sean was already on the edge, already groaning, when Viggo turned him over on the floor, rolling him into the wet paint. He hadn't seen it coming, and he made a little oof sound as he went over, arching just a little under the fading sunlight.
God, he was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep; to pull Viggo's head down against his chest - he could, with his superior strength - and hold him there and stroke him through his orgasm and just fall asleep in the process, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to feel Viggo's come inside him, not just his own. Sean squirmed under Viggo's fingers, arched a little back, breathless, and found himself filled up again, Viggo leaning close over him, Viggo's breath on his own, Viggo's hands on his shoulders.
"Fuck." It was all he could breathe out. He was trembling now, a deep ache soaking into his muscles, the sound of every movement totally overwhelming. Viggo sounded like a galloping train, roaring up to catch him, and the blindfold came off. At once, Sean drew his legs up, closed them about Viggo's back and squeezed every muscle in his thighs and legs and arse, snapping shut on him.
He opened his eyes.
There was pain there; pain and determination, but pleasure too, and for the first time since they'd started he could see Viggo above him, wet with sweat and wide eyes, his own spent and limp erection, and beneath it Viggo was shoving into him hard, the whole length of him purple, his own body swallowing him up gratefully. Viggo came, and Sean felt it--felt it all, a hot splash of heat scouring his insides, something that should be uncomfortable and yet was, in fact, so entirely satisfying, a completion.
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Sean was already on the edge, already groaning, when Viggo turned him over on the floor, rolling him into the wet paint. He hadn't seen it coming, and he made a little oof sound as he went over, arching just a little under the fading sunlight.
God, he was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep; to pull Viggo's head down against his chest - he could, with his superior strength - and hold him there and stroke him through his orgasm and just fall asleep in the process, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to feel Viggo's come inside him, not just his own. Sean squirmed under Viggo's fingers, arched a little back, breathless, and found himself filled up again, Viggo leaning close over him, Viggo's breath on his own, Viggo's hands on his shoulders.
"Fuck." It was all he could breathe out. He was trembling now, a deep ache soaking into his muscles, the sound of every movement totally overwhelming. Viggo sounded like a galloping train, roaring up to catch him, and the blindfold came off. At once, Sean drew his legs up, closed them about Viggo's back and squeezed every muscle in his thighs and legs and arse, snapping shut on him.
He opened his eyes.
There was pain there; pain and determination, but pleasure too, and for the first time since they'd started he could see Viggo above him, wet with sweat and wide eyes, his own spent and limp erection, and beneath it Viggo was shoving into him hard, the whole length of him purple, his own body swallowing him up gratefully. Viggo came, and Sean felt it--felt it all, a hot splash of heat scouring his insides, something that should be uncomfortable and yet was, in fact, so entirely satisfying, a completion.
"Jesus, fuck--Viggo."