Right. He had to take something off. Viggo's focus had been so entirely on Sean that he had forgotten about his own clothes- no wonder he felt so uncomfortable. Even silk shirts and slacks became rough and heavy when his skin was oversensitised like this. Viggo sat backwards, shrugging his shoulders to get the jacket off before he started unbuttoning the shirt from bottom up- and he reached halfway before he had an idea, and threw Sean a small, mischievous grin before his hands stopped.
He was probably far too old for these games, and too out of shape for it to have the effect its meant to be. But Viggo smirked to himself and slowed his hands, nonetheless, making the last few buttons a tease, winding slowly upwards to his throat. When the shirt was finally opened, he shrugged it off, and dropped it over to the side of the bed before leaning over Sean again and kissing him, gently.
"Something's off," he teased, and stroked his fingers down one side of Sean's face again, tilting his head up for a kiss.
Viggo had never thought himself as attractive, much less beautiful. All of the women who flung themselves at him either saw him as Aragorn or Walker Jerome or, in a few rare cases, Caspar Goodwood. He was probably dull and plain by Hollywood's standards, or perhaps with features far too sharp to be considered conventionally attractive- features that sharpened ever further with age, and his light hair had lightened even further, turning into grey and silver. Whatever attractiveness he had, in his opinion, had been lost a long time ago.
But he wasn't shy about it, because this wasn't about him. It was about Sean, and he had used enough words to describe Sean's beauty in the past hour and he was starting to run out of them, or sound repetitive. So Viggo didn't say a word, only kissing him on the jaw, then to the side of his neck, nuzzling against his skin and feeling the warmth of his pulse beating against his own cheek. His hands moved, calluses on his fingers tracing down Sean's sides, tracing the lines of his ribs and moving inwards until his hand was flattened against his chest, right above his heart.
His slacks were still on, and Viggo let Sean feel the silk caressing his skin as he moved downwards, kissing against the new scar at his side, his tongue darting out to trace its shape.
"It might be a little silly," he said, words half-muffled against Sean's skin. "But I've always thought that perfection isn't a destination, but a journey. It's something that you have to work towards, and something that can fade just as easily. It's like a painting - and yes, you're right, I do want to paint you - and even a single wrong stroke can ruin it entirely, or make it into something else."
He turned his head, nuzzling against Sean's leg, nipping at the smooth skin at the back of his knees before working up his thighs again. "Whatever that comes before- is raw material, and you have to take it, shape it with your own hands."
Viggo took a deep breath and blew hot air against the tip of his cock. He raised his voice a little so Sean could still hear him even as he moved behind, lips curling against his balls, then pulling back. "Most people don't like it, I think, to have to change, to have to be shaped." He lifted his eyes and caught Sean's again, and the message in them was silent but present between them- he didn't know if Sean wanted to.
"But it's alright. I can still wait." Then he's pulling himself up again, his hand reaching out to the nightstand, rummaging until he could find the lube and the condoms. He dropped the strip on the bed, thumbing open the lube and pouring it over his fingers. Gently, he moved downwards, his lips smoothing against Sean's cheeks and ears.
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He was probably far too old for these games, and too out of shape for it to have the effect its meant to be. But Viggo smirked to himself and slowed his hands, nonetheless, making the last few buttons a tease, winding slowly upwards to his throat. When the shirt was finally opened, he shrugged it off, and dropped it over to the side of the bed before leaning over Sean again and kissing him, gently.
"Something's off," he teased, and stroked his fingers down one side of Sean's face again, tilting his head up for a kiss.
Viggo had never thought himself as attractive, much less beautiful. All of the women who flung themselves at him either saw him as Aragorn or Walker Jerome or, in a few rare cases, Caspar Goodwood. He was probably dull and plain by Hollywood's standards, or perhaps with features far too sharp to be considered conventionally attractive- features that sharpened ever further with age, and his light hair had lightened even further, turning into grey and silver. Whatever attractiveness he had, in his opinion, had been lost a long time ago.
But he wasn't shy about it, because this wasn't about him. It was about Sean, and he had used enough words to describe Sean's beauty in the past hour and he was starting to run out of them, or sound repetitive. So Viggo didn't say a word, only kissing him on the jaw, then to the side of his neck, nuzzling against his skin and feeling the warmth of his pulse beating against his own cheek. His hands moved, calluses on his fingers tracing down Sean's sides, tracing the lines of his ribs and moving inwards until his hand was flattened against his chest, right above his heart.
His slacks were still on, and Viggo let Sean feel the silk caressing his skin as he moved downwards, kissing against the new scar at his side, his tongue darting out to trace its shape.
"It might be a little silly," he said, words half-muffled against Sean's skin. "But I've always thought that perfection isn't a destination, but a journey. It's something that you have to work towards, and something that can fade just as easily. It's like a painting - and yes, you're right, I do want to paint you - and even a single wrong stroke can ruin it entirely, or make it into something else."
He turned his head, nuzzling against Sean's leg, nipping at the smooth skin at the back of his knees before working up his thighs again. "Whatever that comes before- is raw material, and you have to take it, shape it with your own hands."
Viggo took a deep breath and blew hot air against the tip of his cock. He raised his voice a little so Sean could still hear him even as he moved behind, lips curling against his balls, then pulling back. "Most people don't like it, I think, to have to change, to have to be shaped." He lifted his eyes and caught Sean's again, and the message in them was silent but present between them- he didn't know if Sean wanted to.
"But it's alright. I can still wait." Then he's pulling himself up again, his hand reaching out to the nightstand, rummaging until he could find the lube and the condoms. He dropped the strip on the bed, thumbing open the lube and pouring it over his fingers. Gently, he moved downwards, his lips smoothing against Sean's cheeks and ears.
"Spread your legs for me."