Sean knew what he was doing to him, and even though he could barely think himself, he couldn't help but keen with satisfaction; a breath that fell out half a laugh and half a sigh,.
When he tightened his grip on Viggo's back, the other man obeyed his unspoken command. His pupils were blown out, and it seemed to Sean as though Viggo was no longer at home. His lips were parted, his clothes shed as though he were brushing them off carelessly, then all at once he was on his back again, Viggo over him, sliding against him. Not even all the strength in the world could make him lift Viggo off and turn him over, even if he wanted to--even though he was strong enough to do it. Nothing could make him want to.
And when Viggo finally pushed into him, any more words caught in his mouth, and he couldn't speak, Viggo's name or otherwise.
His whole body was trembling now, oversensitised to the extreme, until there was almost nothing more he could possibly feel than what he was already feeling. He arched his hips and pushed up, and the head of Viggo's cock stabbed into his prostrate and rocked with the boat-sway rhythm of Viggo settling inside of him, and his eyelashes fluttered as he fought back the urge to come right then. The sound of his name spoken by that voice almost thre him the rest of the way over the edge, the soft I love yous and the hushed feeling of hot breath and sharp teeth and tongue forming his name against his neck like a mantra.
"Viggo. Fuck--Viggo."
And he began to move deliberately, tightening the muscles of his legs around Viggo's back, clamping him closer, deeper, fucking himself back against the other man until everything began to go white and the sounds they were making became all the less coherent.
And then he was coming--coming--coming. Heat rushed through him, tightness that started in his balls and felt like he was climbing and the cord holding him up had snapped, and it whipped over him through him, faster than thinking. All he felt was sensation and Viggo; he could smell him and feel him and taste him, until there was nothing else.
The world swam up to meet him, and the bed felt like it was swallowing him whole, smothered with Viggo, cushioned by feathers and silk and floating--god he was floating.
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When he tightened his grip on Viggo's back, the other man obeyed his unspoken command. His pupils were blown out, and it seemed to Sean as though Viggo was no longer at home. His lips were parted, his clothes shed as though he were brushing them off carelessly, then all at once he was on his back again, Viggo over him, sliding against him. Not even all the strength in the world could make him lift Viggo off and turn him over, even if he wanted to--even though he was strong enough to do it. Nothing could make him want to.
And when Viggo finally pushed into him, any more words caught in his mouth, and he couldn't speak, Viggo's name or otherwise.
His whole body was trembling now, oversensitised to the extreme, until there was almost nothing more he could possibly feel than what he was already feeling. He arched his hips and pushed up, and the head of Viggo's cock stabbed into his prostrate and rocked with the boat-sway rhythm of Viggo settling inside of him, and his eyelashes fluttered as he fought back the urge to come right then. The sound of his name spoken by that voice almost thre him the rest of the way over the edge, the soft I love yous and the hushed feeling of hot breath and sharp teeth and tongue forming his name against his neck like a mantra.
"Viggo. Fuck--Viggo."
And he began to move deliberately, tightening the muscles of his legs around Viggo's back, clamping him closer, deeper, fucking himself back against the other man until everything began to go white and the sounds they were making became all the less coherent.
And then he was coming--coming--coming. Heat rushed through him, tightness that started in his balls and felt like he was climbing and the cord holding him up had snapped, and it whipped over him through him, faster than thinking. All he felt was sensation and Viggo; he could smell him and feel him and taste him, until there was nothing else.
The world swam up to meet him, and the bed felt like it was swallowing him whole, smothered with Viggo, cushioned by feathers and silk and floating--god he was floating.