Sean shivered, watching Viggo hungrily. No, he wasn't completely beautiful. Not Hollywood beautiful. Almost, of course, but, like a painting the features were slightly offset. He was beautiful, though. Beautiful because of his spirit, beautiful because of his teasing kisses and the little tilt of his head; beautiful because of his smirk, and his confidence, and really that was what mattered most to Sean.
He couldn't move, but he could watch, and he drank Viggo in, watched him move, and felt him too, a weight dragging across him, rising through his belly, the soft peppering of his kisses on his lips, his cheek his jaw. He arched again, but it was more or less useless; a little thrust against the slick nothingness of silk. Viggo's hands at his sides were anything but motionless, seeming to glide against his ribs with every inhale, and Sean had to close his eyes just for a moment because everything was so very overwhelming.
When he opened them again it was to look down, trembling in anticipation as Viggo's lips and tongue wandered down over his sides, wandered over his scar as though fascinated by it, and he stared--stared and stared and strained his arms longing to reach out and down and touch, desperate to drag his fingers through that hair and scratch his shoulders and...
Anything. Everything.
Perfection was a journey. Seemed like a damn lot of effort if you asked him. But then Viggo was asking him if he wanted to be shaped, to be changed, and Sean wasn't really sure. He bit his lip, anxiously, and thought of the women in his life, almost all of which had tried to change him and only been let down and blamed him when they couldn't, or found out that he didn't need to be changed, imagining some bit of rough and only getting an artist; a quiet, gentle man with a man's desires and a man's passions and nothing more.
But if he could trust anyone to shape him, was there anyone in the world better for the job than Viggo? Unlikely. He had shown his patience and dedication already, and Sean knew inherently that he was a good man, trying to do good things, and that he loved him for who he was, and would never seek to harm him, his reputation, or anything else for that matter. If he changed him, it would be an acceptable change. Wouldn't it? Or maybe he was making too much of nothing. He could wait--maybe he could wait until Sean was ready. He hoped so.
He bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder to see what Viggo was doing, then with a shudder did as he was ordered, parting his legs, feet squared on the ground, thighs trembling.
"I haven't done this for a while..." Soft words, a tiny shake in them. "This way round, I mean."
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He couldn't move, but he could watch, and he drank Viggo in, watched him move, and felt him too, a weight dragging across him, rising through his belly, the soft peppering of his kisses on his lips, his cheek his jaw. He arched again, but it was more or less useless; a little thrust against the slick nothingness of silk. Viggo's hands at his sides were anything but motionless, seeming to glide against his ribs with every inhale, and Sean had to close his eyes just for a moment because everything was so very overwhelming.
When he opened them again it was to look down, trembling in anticipation as Viggo's lips and tongue wandered down over his sides, wandered over his scar as though fascinated by it, and he stared--stared and stared and strained his arms longing to reach out and down and touch, desperate to drag his fingers through that hair and scratch his shoulders and...
Anything. Everything.
Perfection was a journey. Seemed like a damn lot of effort if you asked him. But then Viggo was asking him if he wanted to be shaped, to be changed, and Sean wasn't really sure. He bit his lip, anxiously, and thought of the women in his life, almost all of which had tried to change him and only been let down and blamed him when they couldn't, or found out that he didn't need to be changed, imagining some bit of rough and only getting an artist; a quiet, gentle man with a man's desires and a man's passions and nothing more.
But if he could trust anyone to shape him, was there anyone in the world better for the job than Viggo? Unlikely. He had shown his patience and dedication already, and Sean knew inherently that he was a good man, trying to do good things, and that he loved him for who he was, and would never seek to harm him, his reputation, or anything else for that matter. If he changed him, it would be an acceptable change. Wouldn't it? Or maybe he was making too much of nothing. He could wait--maybe he could wait until Sean was ready. He hoped so.
He bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder to see what Viggo was doing, then with a shudder did as he was ordered, parting his legs, feet squared on the ground, thighs trembling.
"I haven't done this for a while..." Soft words, a tiny shake in them. "This way round, I mean."