Give One, Take One

by Vivianedesblanc and Nienor

The subway was jammed, and he had to carry his briefcase on his lap for fear someone would steal it, but his heart was light and his feet tapped to an internal rhythm that didn't match any of the half-dozen blasting from personal radios inside the car. He was aware of eyes on him, and knew he was broadcasting energy like crazy-- well-fucked optimistic take-charge energy that had served him well through the entire interview, and that left the eyes of most of the women in the car and at least two of the men flickering over him with various levels of polite interest.

It hadn't hurt that most of the ad committee was made up of people, men and ladies alike, who had been anything but oblivious to his charms. They'd liked his work, too, and he could look forward to at least a solid month of well-paid photographing, developing, and making layouts.

The subway rattled and wheezed to a stop-- his stop, and he squeezed out the doors and onto the platform, taking the stairs two at a time and whistling tunelessly. The streets were windy and crowded after all, exhaust fumes and human scent and garbage ripe in the last fading days of indian summer, but he hardly noticed the sweat; his feet were eager, moving faster as he entered his apartment building and bounded up the stairs, flinging open the door.

"Sean?"

He flushed, hearing how eager he sounded, but his adrenaline-charged heartbeat was the only sound in the stillness of his apartment. Slowly Viggo deflated, looking around-- the only sign of Sean's habitation was the neatly washed dishes standing in the drainer. He walked slowly back towards his room, tugging the knot out of his tie. Sean wasn't there either, though his thumbprint showed there, too, in the neatly-made bed.

Well, fuck. Nobody to tell about his new job, then, and the images of payback that had played drowsily in the back of his mind all day looked likely to stay just that-- pleasant imaginings.

He hung up his jacket to air and tossed his limp, sweat-soiled shirt into the dirty laundry. A fresh one would feel much better, if he could get himself in the mood for a shower; suddenly he felt a need to get out of the ringing silence of his apartment and be with people.

It had been stupid to expect Sean to be there, anyway. He probably had his own home to go to, his own job, and hell, maybe even his own family. People didn't just follow you home from the bar like lost puppies and stay forever, and when they did, they were bums and freeloaders.

Still, he didn't enjoy his second shower of the day even half as much as he'd thought he would. He dried off haphazardly, struggling to pull a pair of jeans over his still-damp skin and decided a trip to the bar was in order to celebrate his new temporary job. He left his hair loose and barely dry, slipped on a deeply red shirt that he knew looked good on him, and headed off. A beer would taste pretty damned good right now and besides, it was only a dollar a draft tonight.

He gave his empty apartment one last wistful look before he shut the door, and told himself it was for the best. At least Sean hadn't stolen his television.

Loud music was filtering out into the street when he arrived, something appropriately filled with screeching guitars and drum solos. Viggo winced a little and went inside anyway. College night was a little harsh, but there were plenty of warm bodies inside, crowding around the bar and writhing in complex human mating dances out on the small dance floor.

It took him nearly ten minutes to catch the frazzled bartender's attention. He went ahead and just ordered two beers to save time and with one in each hand, he went in search of a table that wasn't cluttered with jackets and purses.

He found one in the furthest corner back. Sitting there, sipping his beer, Viggo quietly scanned the bar. The usual crowd of college students and slightly older artsy-fartsy guys like himself who hadn't dug themselves out enough to go to a better place. No one stood out in the crowd, nothing but blank-faced reruns from person to person, women in slinky shirts that exposed the white line of their bra straps and men in tee shirts blazoned with some band or another.

No one interesting to see, no one who caught his eye, and Viggo was oddly disappointed. The beer was ice-cold and should have been refreshing. He took another sip, methodically ripping a small cocktail napkin into neat strips, but he couldn't shake his melancholy. The interview had gone so well earlier, he'd done so well, and he'd been bursting to tell someone about it, maybe with a little justified bragging. For a few minutes he'd actually fooled himself into thinking he had someone to tell.

Loneliness pricked at him, needle-sharp, and he propped his chin on one hand while he used the other to arrange the napkin strips into an impromptu mosaic. He'd only been back in New York a few months, and somehow it had lost some of its charm without his family here. Maybe he'd call his mother tomorrow-- fuck the long distance charges. At least then he could tell -someone- about his interview. v "This seat taken?"

The feminine voice startled him, and he looked up to see young woman who was probably barely old enough to drink. She was dressed in an oversized pink tee shirt that hung off one shoulder and her hair was fluffed into a dyed blonde halo around her head. She looked rather like a sugar-frosted cupcake, but he smiled at her politely anyway.

Oh, yeah. He could make that. He could probably make it before they ever got out of here-- in the bathroom, in a dark booth-- her eyes offered that and more, and he could practically taste her lip gloss and feel the slick heat of her around him.

"It is now." He smiled at her, perforce, not really into the game somehow. There wasn't any challenge to it.

She sat down daintily enough, crossing her legs and scrabbling in her purse for a cigarette. She didn't have bad legs. Not bad at all, and he could see almost all the way up.

His body warmed a little, interested. She didn't look like she was hooking-- not enough makeup, and she was relaxed, not pushing to make the best possible use of her time. She was the bona-fide article: guilt-free pussy. She'd leave lipgloss gleaming on his cock before she went; he could picture her bending over where Sean had been this morning, on her knees, like Sean, only her mouth would be a lot more skillful, and she wouldn't be strong; she couldn't push him into the mattress and fuck the breath right out of him; and in turn, he couldn't manhandle her, or she'd probably scream rape and call the cops.

His dick wilted at the barrage of cop images, and he felt his smile freeze.

She was watching him with alert interest, and he hated to burst her bubble, but it was best to do it now. "You keep the table, OK? I've got to get going." He gave her an apologetic smile, withstanding the frustration and annoyance in her pout.

He slipped out, skirting the dance floor, leaving her his untouched second beer. Outside, the sun had begun to set, and only touched the tallest tops of the buildings, turning the smog into a golden halo.

Two strikes. He could go to a movie or something, but he didn't really feel like it; his mood had soured and he decided to go home to sleep it off-- he could turn on the TV and pretend it was company, maybe catch a fuck-flick and jerk off. That'd send him to sleep, at least.

He strolled back towards home, watching the street vendors pack up their wares and close down their carts. It was a forlorn feeling, and even though the wind was still warm, he felt like hunching his shoulders against it. Winter was just around the corner.

The steps up to his apartment felt longer this time, and he was tired by the time he turned his key in the lock. He nabbed another beer out of his fridge and slouched down on his beanbag chair with the remote control, stabbing the power button and flipping through his meager array of channels.

It didn't take long to find a channel with more than the appropriate amount of skin showing. It wasn't a good picture, blurred with static, and there was no color at all, but it would suit his purposes. A too-skinny woman with her hair turned a peculiar shade of white by his television was working furiously on a large cock that filled the screen. Her small, pert breasts bounced lightly along with her head, and Viggo settled back into his chair and rested his hand on the crotch of his pants.

His cock, already thwarted once that evening, stirred lazily as he watched the young woman wriggle her tongue obscenely over the dick on the screen. He wondered briefly what the man attached to it looked like. The coarse tufts of pubic hair that were visible were dark, no blonde man here. He slammed the brakes on that thought before it could fully form. For fuck's sake, he hadn't even SEEN the guy naked. His hair could have been dyed for all he knew.

Viggo unzipped his pants determinedly and took himself in hand. Enough of this sulking. He'd get in a good date with Rosey Palmer tonight and tomorrow he'd go out and find something pretty and female, with dark hair and lipstick and olive skin, and when he woke up the next morning his sheets would smell of pussy and perfume.

His hand felt good, warm and familiar, and he was just getting into the movie when a loud knock at the door scared the bejesus out of him. He jumped hard enough to make himself wince. Wonderful, he could make himself famous by a case of accidental self-castration. Muttering under his breath, Viggo took a deep breath and fastened his pants back up. He flicked off the television before going to the door.

Probably Mrs. Perkins, the elderly lady who lived at the end of the hall, had locked her keys in her apartment again. She did at least twice a week. Viggo had managed to help her once and now every time she did it, she came back to him and pleaded for help. Ordinarily, it didn't bother him. She usually paid him back with something chocolatey and decadent. Tonight, he wasn't prepared to be gracious and he had to steel his nerves before opening the door.

Good thing he was wearing a long shirt.

The moment he opened it, a strong hand pushed it further inward-- and he blinked as Sean breezed past him, his other arm loaded with grease-spotted white sacks and a case of beer. "About time you answered the door. Were you in the loo or something?"

Viggo blinked, trying to translate that into something he understood, and failing. He stood there stupidly for a moment, the doorknob still in his hand, until Sean gave him an impatient look. "Could you at least give me a hand?" he drawled. "You don't keep any decent beer in your fridge, but that's no surprise. Any other beer in there would probably get its arse kicked by the pickles."

Hastily, Viggo closed the door and helped Sean unload his parcels onto the kitchen table. The bags smelled particularly good and Viggo's mouth watered, surprisingly. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was, and he admitted that he hadn't had anything to eat since that morning.

"Hope you like Chinese," Sean said, pulling a half dozen folded cartons from the bags. "I got you chicken and broccoli but if you don't like that, there's sweet and sour pork too."

"That's fine," he replied automatically, still a little dazed to have Sean here in his kitchen. Again. With Chinese food. "Er...you brought dinner?"

The withering look Sean gave him was starting to get familiar. "Of course I brought dinner. I was too tired to cook, and besides, a magician couldn't make a meal with what you keep in your icebox."

Viggo stared down at the cartons inside one bag, hesitant. He'd wanted Sean back, sure, but part of him was knocked flat on his ass by the man's presence; by rights, he should never have seen Sean again. "Where you been all afternoon?"

"I went to see a man about a dog," Sean informed him tartly. "How'd your interview go?"

"It went great!" Viggo felt enthusiasm flood back into him; he snagged a fried chicken wing from a bag of appetizers, and gestured happily. "I got the--" but Sean was looking at him very strangely. "What?"

"You started before I got back." Sean's voice was strangely flat. "Look, am I interrupting something?"

Viggo blinked, then felt his ears turn hot; Sean's eyes were nowhere near the level of his face. "Oh. Oh, that. Oh. No, no you're not. I was just," he shrugged, embarrassed. "Watching some TV."

"Well, turn it back on," Sean grinned, the cloud lifting from his face and leaving him beaming as he helped himself to one of Viggo's plates and heaped it with enough food for three men.

Viggo did, then had to turn it down; the yowling and moaning from the set sounded like cats fighting. Sean slumped into his beanbag chair, propping his plate on his knees and plunking his beer on the floor. "Scrawny girl," he commented professionally. "Nice tits. Bony arse."

So he liked tits, which meant he liked girls, too. Viggo filed the information just in case he needed it for future reference. Combined with his inexpert cock-sucking technique, that might mean something.

"Guy's hung like a bull elephant, too." Viggo paused, watching him out of the corner of one eye, just to see his reaction. "I'd like having something like that in me..." he eyed Sean, speculative, "...again tonight. How 'bout you? You ever take a cock that size?"

Sean nearly choked on a piece of pork, and Viggo smiled secretly into his beer. Not half as world-wise as he let on, then.

"Not exactly," Sean temporized when he had his breath back.

"Want to try?" Viggo held his breath. "Maybe not quite that big, but it's not what you've got. It's how you use it."

Sean looked into his plate, studying his fried rice with diligent attention. "Okay, sure..." his voice had lost some of its confidence. "I'm game."

Viggo was aware of his own dick straining against the seam of his jeans, and he shifted his crosslegged stance, trying to give it more room. "Maybe later, then, if you still want to," he said softly. "I won't unless you want it, so don't fret."

Sean looked up at him, eyes unreadable, as though trying to decide whether he'd been patronized or challenged. "I can take anything you can," he said softly, and there was unexpected steel in his tone.

Viggo frowned and shrugged, chopsticking up some noodles. "Yeah, no question about that."

Sean shrugged, and they finished eating in silence; Viggo wondered if he'd queered the deal, pushing too hard. He was gonna regret it if he had. Hell, not every guy you picked up in a bar wound up bringing you Chinese, his tab. When they were done, he levered himself up-- rising from a lotus position without using your hands was difficult, but it impressed a lover with your flexibility-- and took their plates to the sink. He soaped and rinsed quickly, setting the dishes up to drain, and wiped his hands.

"What do you want?" he asked. Sean was looking at him from underneath his lashes; his eyes were a dark glimmer. "Anything you like," Viggo promised, wondering what he'd actually tried and what he hadn't. "Well, most anything."

"Surprise me," Sean decided, and matched Viggo's move, gathering up the bags. By the time they stuffed them in the fridge, Viggo was breathing hard with anticipation; Sean swayed against him, their shoulders brushing.

"How about we start with you fucking my mouth?"

Sean visibly forgot to breathe; his fingers curled into a fist and released. He seemed beyond speech; instead he reached out, those strong fingers curling over Viggo's shoulders, and he pressed down.

Viggo grinned-- now was always a good time when somebody made you an offer like that.

He went to his knees on the stained linoleum, and mouthed at the button fly of Sean's jeans, tugging with his teeth. Sean breathed like a bellows, air rasping in his throat, and leaned a hand against the fridge for balance. Viggo took his time, working the buttons with his teeth, watching Sean's cock push against his underwear as each button let it push further towards his face.

He licked Sean's briefs, trailing his tongue up the ridge, breathing hotly against the fabric, and delicately seized the elastic, tugging out and down, revealing Sean's dark-tipped cock, the loose folds of skin pulled taut around the head.

Sean's hand slid behind his head, fingers knotting in his hair, and Sean dragged him forward. Viggo went eagerly, nuzzling the hot, dry skin of Sean's cock, then letting his tongue pillow the head. Sean made a soft sound, halfway between a sigh and a whimper, and Viggo decided there were lots worse things than giving him an example to strive for in his own next blowjob.

He opened his mouth wide and went all the way down.

"FUCK!" Sean's hand nearly jerked out his hair, then released him; Viggo caught Sean's hips in his hands to steady him and sucked hard, sliding up fluidly to swipe his tongue around the head, then deep-throating Sean again. "My own goddamn wife never did that!"

Viggo's eyes went wide; he stared up-- not the time to mention a wife. He was sort of committed here. Sean blinked, then shook his head with frustration. "Divorced..." he moaned. "Please. Don't stop?"

Oh. Well, that was something else then. Viggo slid down a third time, rumbling low in his throat; his hands sought Sean's and found them, tugging them to his shoulders. He moved his own hands to Sean's ass again, urging him to thrust, and Sean caught on immediately; in an instant, Viggo felt the cold refrigerator against his shoulders and the back of his head, and then Sean was ramming his mouth frantically, grunting and groaning like a dying man.

Viggo swallowed his gag reflex and just let Sean ride his face. Not quite good blowjob etiquette to choke the guy sucking you off, but he was getting the distinct feeling that the only blowjobs Sean'd had before had come from people with no beard stubble. Lucky for them both, Viggo had given more than his fair share, and it wasn't difficult to tilt his head just a fraction and open his throat and just let Sean fuck his mouth.

His hands were sliding warmly in the sweat rising on Sean's hips, the muscles bunching and flexing beneath his fingertips. Slowly, Viggo reached around and rested a hand in the small of Sean's back, letting his fingers drift slowly but deliberately lower.

This was a little unfair, yeah; a guy with his cock buried balls-deep into a hot mouth wasn't up for refusing much but if he really wanted to pull away the best blowjob in the world wouldn't stop him.

He slid a single finger between the firm cheeks of Sean's ass and pressed lightly on the small pucker hidden there. Sean's hips suddenly hitched along with his breath, one stiflingly deep thrust that was briefly suffocating. Maybe Sean even felt it was too much, he pulled back a fraction and Viggo rewarded him with a decadent little swirl of his tongue.

A stunningly loud groan was his reply when he wiggled his finger, pushing inside the tiniest bit, and Sean hunched his hips forward again, hard, shoving in and out like the world would end if he didn't come now, now, right now.

Viggo wished he'd had the sense to wet his finger first, sweat wasn't cutting it very well, but Sean wasn't protesting, not with his thumbs digging bruises into Viggo's shoulders, so he pried his finger inside just a little bit more and felt that little shivery feeling go through Sean again.

He was going to be easy. Viggo smirked mentally, his lips a little occupied at the moment. The little cant of Sean's hips was already begging for it, even dry, and he was making odd, snuffling sounds, almost whimpering, the occasional curse falling from his lips like a miniature explosion.

"Viggo...oh, so FUCKING good, Viggo...I'm gonna...gonna..." He didn't sound nearly as posh now with his pants around his ankles.

Sean started to pull back; maybe he knew a little more blowjob etiquette than Viggo had given him credit for-- even though this, you could learn from a lady. Fair was fair though, and Viggo tightened his arms around Sean's hips, holding him steady. He swallowed deliberately around the head of Sean's cock, and felt him quake in warning.

Sean didn't make a sound when he came, just thrust forward in one inelegant movement and spilled everything he had over Viggo's waiting tongue. He swallowed it hastily, nearly choking on the sudden flood, but he caught up quickly, swabbing away every bit of it with the tip of his tongue, secretly delighted by the way Sean quivered with each light touch.

Viggo drew back, licking his lips and looking up at Sean; Sean was braced against the refrigerator, arms quivering, his eyes closed, and the look on his face-- astonishment, satiation, shock. Viggo smoothed his hands up Sean's thighs, feeling the coarse hair tickling his palms.

"Sean." Very soft. "How long have you been gay?"

That brought him back to himself; his lashes fluttered and his tongue darted out to slick dry lips. He looked down at Viggo, visibly struggling to focus and pull together the scattered shards of his brain through the post-orgasmic haze. "Well," he hesitated, and then spat it out. "Twenty-four hours, more or less."

"Fuck," Viggo breathed, believing the naked honesty in Sean's eyes. "You just...?"

"You looked like a nice fellow." Sean shrugged, averting his eyes with obvious discomfort. "And bloody hell, fucking you felt like, like... like nothing's ever felt." His knees wobbled, and Viggo hastily rose, guiding him back over to plop down in the beanbag.

A thousand things all added up suddenly-- Sean kissing him, like no gay man would've. His failure to lube up. His startled reaction to winding up with a mouthful of Viggo's come. God, what kind of balls did it take to try gay sex for the first time one night and go on your knees the next morning to take a cock in your mouth?

"You crazy bastard," Viggo murmured, hearing the admiration shining in his tone. "You crazy fucking bastard."

"You still haven't fucked me." Sean's voice was low and husky. "I want you to fuck me." v Viggo's cock twitched urgently at the thought. "I might've done it without knowing it was your first," he accused. "Then how would I know I needed to make it as good as I could?"

"You would have anyway." Sean seemed to be recovering; he pushed himself out of the beanbag chair, pants now sagging nearly at his ankles, and kicked his way out of them. "That's what I saw in you back at the bar."

Viggo absently caught Sean's trousers in mid-arc and straightened them, folding them to keep the crease. Sean was bending to deal with his socks, the sweet curve of his ass almost fully turned to Viggo, and he wanted that ass-- wanted it, wanted to be the first to take it, wanted to just crawl inside it and take up a living much the same way it looked like Sean was doing in his apartment.

Viggo dropped the trousers on the floor, neatly folded, and stepped forward, his hand resting on the arc of Sean's spine. "Sean... stay there, like that," he murmured, and slid to his knees, hands smoothing over the pale skin of Sean's ass. He leaned in, nuzzling at the crease between hip and thigh, hearing Sean take a shuddering breath.

"Relax," he murmured. "Not going to fuck you, not just yet." He kissed Sean's hip, swiping his tongue along the crease for the tingle of salt-sweat that lingered there. "Gonna show you something good." He nuzzled the cleft of Sean's ass, tracing it with nose and lips, and Sean shivered.

"What the bloody hell?" Laughter and startlement in Sean's voice.

"You know, if your wife never did this for you," Viggo paused to let his tongue circle at the dimple just over the soft, dark-furred crevice, "then you're better off without her."

"Did wh--" Sean's voice stuttered as Viggo's hands moved, thumbs pressing the soft flesh and hard muscle to open the cleft and expose what lay inside. "Ah!" Sean whimpered as Viggo breathed cool air over the hot skin, admiring the small, dusky pucker. Sean would be wickedly, sinfully choir-boy tight. It was going to be damned fucking good, for both of them.

A hint of sweaty male musk, but not too heavy; Sean was clean enough, he decided. He licked softly at the cleft, smoothing wiry hair with his tongue, working his way downward. Sean trembled, knees wobbling again, and then steadied. "You're daft!"

"Mmmmmm," Viggo answered ambiguously. He wasn't sure if Sean's knees would take this. "Now," he warned softly, and closed his mouth over the opening, his tongue circling lightly.

Sean made a wild keening cry and staggered, stepping forward, Viggo followed him, holding his hipbones in his palms, never releasing the soft hold of his mouth. Teasing and tickling, soap and sweat, and Sean wailed again, louder, trailing into a desperate curse. Viggo could have smiled, but he was busy; his tongue pushing very softly at the center, nudging at it with slick persistence.

He loved what this did to people-- what it did to Sean; Sean was suddenly slick all over with sweat, quivering wildly; Viggo tightened his hands and pulled as he pushed, breaching the tight muscle with his tonguetip, pushing just a little ways inside and Sean screamed. Just threw back his head and shrieked-- a man's hoarse, guttural scream, and they nearly toppled, but Viggo held him, Sean's body pushing him back out, but he pushed back in again-- deeper, tickling with his tongue-tip.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!"

Not hardly. This time Viggo did smile, then pushed back in-- tongue-fucked him, hot and wet and deep and nasty, feeling the spasming clench of Sean's muscles. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," he purred again, humming against Sean's flesh. So good, this response; his fingers felt Sean's hard cock bob and brush against them; Sean was breathing so loudly he might have just finished a marathon.

All this and he hadn't even touched Sean's prostate yet; he thought they'd best be lying down for that. Sean shook like an overridden mare, long thighs taut against Viggo's chest.

He kept licking, circling the pucker and then stabbing through its center-- slick wet heat, salt, and Sean's gasping breaths, a whimper as each one escaped him. He didn't know how long he knelt there, making love to Sean with his tongue; every moment sweet with hearing how he made Sean feel, heady with the sense of conquest and power.

"Stop," Sean's trembling voice finally resolved into a coherent word. "Fucking God, stop..."

Viggo pulled back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve; Sean straightened carefully, shivering all over. "You didn't like it?" Viggo asked, careful. Fine time for Sean to have a homophobic freakout, if so.

Sean turned to him, eyes dazed. "No, I... no, I liked it. Liked it...." he waved his arm vaguely, a gesture of verbal inadequacy, and Viggo felt his lips curve upward. "Can't stand up much longer," he mumbled, flushing a lovely shade of red from belly to forehead.

"Bed, then." Viggo scrambled to his feet even as Sean took off down the hall, and he followed cautiously, still a little worried about the other man's state of mind, but when he reached the door Sean already lay waiting there, spread over Viggo's futon on his belly, one knee drawn up and his legs spread; he looked over his shoulder, a little shy, but with fire in his eyes. "Please," he murmured. "By all means, pick up where you left off...?"

Viggo laughed out loud and pounced on him; this time he pushed Sean's hips apart quickly and stabbed his tongue deep, giving it to him as hard as he could, at least this way-- fast and insistent. Sean's hips lifted, little thrusts as he pushed his cock into the mattress; he groaned into Viggo's pillow, whimpering and cursing. His hands knotted to fists in the coverlet, and he squirmed, trying to shove Viggo deeper-- but they couldn't; Viggo had nothing left to give.

Viggo finally drew back, gasping a little himself, trying to breathe. Sean looked positively indecent spread out below him; legs wide, his asshole gleaming with spit. Fingers now. Viggo let him feel them, stroked behind his balls and pressed at his perineum-- yeah, that made Sean jerk and gasp, and just wait till he got a little more of that.

"You're gonna feel so good," Viggo whispered thickly. He put his finger in his mouth, sucking it, slicking it with spit, and stroked Sean with it, teasing him-- he was looser than before, but you didn't want to rush this, not too fast-- push and retreat, careful with the first centimeter, the first inch-- then pause, feel the flutter, make Sean crazy for it. Crazy for more of it, arching and trying to push back. He'd never seen a straight guy this eager for a fucking, and it made something glow in his stomach-- pride and lust and fondness.

Then in to the second knuckle, getting close to where he needed to be; he curled his finger very slightly, turning it inside Sean. Sean clawed the sheets, beside himself, and Viggo laughed, pushing the rest of his finger inside, finding what he wanted and circling there, pressing and stroking, and Sean screamed again, screamed into the pillow and his body bucked hard; Viggo smelled the sour scent of come.

"That was your prostate," Viggo murmured, wondering if Sean was able to hear him. "You're a natural, you know that?" He leaned in and kissed the small of Sean's back without removing his finger, stroking the downy skin with his lips. "You come like that just from a touch on your prostate, then you're gonna love being fucked. Love it." He punctuated his words with a soft lick.

"Nnnnnng," Sean responded, quite intelligently given the circumstances.

Viggo laughed silently, twisting his finger again softly. Sean nearly flinched and he retreated just a little. Still too sensitive, then. Instead, he stroked the back of Sean's thigh with his free hand, soothing him back down to earth.

"Have you been in New York long?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Are you going to ask for my green card?"

If he was back in his head enough to be sarcastic, he was back enough for this, Viggo decided, and he smoothly pushed his finger in again, just to feel Sean twitch. Which he did, beautifully, a full-body shiver and a low moan in his throat.

It made Sean's reaction when he pulled it out completely all the better: a betrayed "Hey!" as Sean twisted to glare over his shoulder at him. Viggo patted his ass indulgently. For a guy who'd already come twice, Sean was certainly eager to try for a third round.

"Easy," Viggo soothed. "Let me show you a nice trick when it comes to gay sex, all right?"

"I'm not sure I can survive any more of your tricks." But Sean settled back on the bed anyway, folding his hands under his chin. Viggo took the opportunity to skin out of his own clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the floor before he leaned over to rummage in the milk crate/nightstand next to the futon.

Somewhere in the jumble of paperbacks with bent covers and a few packages of Lifesavers, one with a wrinkle tail of paper, Viggo found a bottle of lubricant. Sickly pink and strawberry flavored, it would be stickier than KY, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was aching hard, his patience unraveling like a caught sweater sleeve, and it didn't help when he noticed Sean was looking at his ass appreciatively.

"Down, boy," he said dryly, settling on his knees between Sean's legs. Sean laughed a little and waggled his ass with all the knowing seductiveness of a hooker. He was learning way too fast, and Viggo's hands were shaking as he fumbled open the bottle. The lube was cool and silky at the first touch and when he slid his finger in this time it sank in easily, all the way to the knuckles.

Sean made a strangled groan that sounded nothing like a protest and he spread his legs wider, encouragingly, and Viggo could barely stand to keep this up anymore. Sean was eager but still too damned tight, clenched almost painfully around the single finger. Viggo swallowed hard, sliding his finger in and out of that sweet, slick heat. "Relax," he tried to soothe, but Sean was sighing and arching up frantically, and he wasn't helping one fucking bit.

"That feels...ohh, good," Sean groaned. He was trying to get on his knees, pushing down hard and Viggo had to put his free hand in the small of his back to keep him still, the skin beneath his hand steamy and damp. "Viggo, please! Just fucking do it!"

"I don't want to hurt you," he rasped, pushing two fingers in and watching the pink stretch of skin around them raptly. So tight, virginal tightness, and it was incredible to watch Sean's body slowly accept him, relaxing in minute degrees until Viggo could scissor his fingers just a fraction, but Sean yelped when he did it and thrashed clumsily.

"I don't care if you hurt me, just do it!"

"You will tomorrow," Viggo told him, fucking him gently with two fingers. "And for the rest of the week." Sean was so tight, vise-like around his fingers, and Viggo slid them deeper, heard Sean inhale as he struggled to take it.

"Oh-- oh, that's-- bloody marvelous," he groaned, and he moved on Viggo's fingers in a way that had to be outlawed in most of the states. Good thing Sean was a Brit, Viggo thought almost giddily, and it was a wonder he could think at all, most of the blood in his body felt like it was puddled in his lap, his cock hard and leaking a thin clear line along the back of Sean's thigh.

"It is pretty marvelous," Viggo murmured, leaning closer to watch his finger slide into Sean's ass again. Skin stretched taut over his knuckles, sucking them in greedily, and Viggo couldn't resist swiping his tongue around his fingers, tasting imitation strawberries and salt and Sean.

Sean wailed, muffling it in the pillow and he nearly bucked Viggo off the futon, his body writhing in blind enthusiasm, and he was cursing pitifully, some words that Viggo didn't even understand, and he couldn't wait one second longer, not with Sean squirming and begging curtly, would you just fuck me you cocksucking bastard, so Viggo shuffled forward on his knees, pulling his fingers out quickly.

The moment they were free Sean lifted his ass, prompting, and it was easy to line up and lean forward, pressing against the clench of Sean's ass hard, harder, until it started to give. Stubborn muscles fought him, and Viggo's hands were trembling as he caught Sean's hips and he couldn't remember wanting anything quite this much before. Sweet holy Christ, Sean was tight, the word virgin echoing in his head, and yeah, he wanted that. Wanted to be Sean's first, wanted it to be so good that Sean would do this again. And again, and oh, god, please again.

Had to get in the first time, though, and Viggo pushed harder, trying to work his way inside. Sean had been so tight around his fingers and his cock was a hell of a lot bigger than that, and Viggo wondered frantically if he'd tried too soon, if Sean just wasn't ready enough, and suddenly Sean took a harsh, shuddery breath and flexed open, so abruptly that Viggo sank inside before he could help it.

"Fuck!" Gritted out between clenched teeth, and Sean was shaking underneath him, damp skin clinging, and Viggo settled on his back as carefully as he could, mouthing gentle kisses against the back of his neck. Sean's ass was flexing against his hips, strong muscles clutching his dick, and blue flame wavered in front of Viggo's eyes.

"Wait...fuck...." Viggo gasped, struggling not to come just from this, volcanic heat and slick and impossibly tight. "Sean..."

Sean shook his head frantically, flinging droplets of sweat from the ends of his hair. "Can't wait, can't, come on, come on, come ON, Viggo!"

It was more than any human could be expected to withstand, a wealth of wet, golden skin writhing beneath him, around him and Viggo gathered Sean's hips in his hands and just thrust, forging his way through any resistance and he thought maybe Sean had screamed again, or maybe he had, but he was caught in the velvet clench of Sean's ass and he could barely think, let alone hear.

Strong muscles bunched beneath him and Sean lifted them both as he shifted on his knees, spreading his legs as wide as he could in an invitation Viggo couldn't hope to resist. He kept thrusting helplessly and probably too hard, but Sean was just beautiful and losing it beneath him, ripping the sheets off the corners of the mattress as he tried to find something to hold.

"God, Viggo..." His voice was so broken, so -needing-, and Viggo moved in a vicious rhythm, so fucking beyond good he couldn't think of a word, and this was like poetry written in skin and sweat, words that were somehow bodies and rutting.

Sean had a hand between his own legs, jerking off frantically, holding them up awkwardly with one hand, and Viggo knew instantly when he came, again, his body clenching so hard Viggo felt it in his toes.

The flush of pleasure he got from that, from making Sean actually come -again-, was almost like an orgasm itself, a certain warm smugness that swelled in his belly and shifted back down to his balls where it changed into something wicked and brilliant, and he shoved in quickly now, Sean collapsing slowly beneath him, unfolding like a dropped deck of cards. So relaxed he slid in easily, and Viggo fucked him mindlessly, heaving and thrusting and just -reaching-.

Dimly, he heard Sean encouraging him with slurred words and sweet, languid rolls of his hips, and it was more than enough, perfect pressure. He knew he screamed that time, muffling it against Sean's neck as he pulsed and shook and shot everything he had into that dark, clenching heat.

His heart was trying to rabbit its way out of his chest, and Viggo wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. When he didn't see a light or a tunnel appear in front of his eyes, Viggo managed to slump down on Sean with faint guilt. He knew he wasn't exactly a lightweight, but Sean just grunted a little and didn't protest.

"That was brilliant," Sean rumbled beneath him, deeply satisfied, and Viggo patted his hip feebly in some sort of agreement. Shifting his hips, Viggo carefully pulled out and slid off to the side, only to have Sean wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close so he could nuzzle lazily at Viggo's throat.

Lord, Sean was insatiable. This was going to kill him.

"We stink," Viggo announced, wrinkling his nose and hoping it would be a bit of a distraction. It was true, anyway; the room was muzzy with the smell of sweat and come and whatever other humors came with sex. Both of them were sticky with lube and semen, and it was starting to cling in some truly uncomfortable ways.

"We could take a shower." Warm and suggestive, and Viggo groaned aloud.

"My shower doesn't have much in the way of hot water, " Viggo warned.

"An even better reason to make it mutual."

Viggo groaned as Sean enthusiastically wriggled out of the bed, wondering where the fucking hell all that energy came from. Stark naked, Sean padded out and Viggo could hear water running.

The bed was a swamp, twisted and tangled sheets and cooling semen, and he didn't have another set. Viggo struggled to his feet and stripped the mattress, including the mattress pad. They were going to have to sleep on the mattress, under just the coverlet.

He was stuffing the sheets into the dirty laundry when Sean reappeared. "Come on," he urged, and Viggo let his hand be taken and let Sean drag him into the bathroom, bullying him cordially into the shower and stepping in after him.

The hot water felt like heaven, gushing over his face and chest; it wet Sean's hair and made the harsh, masculine planes of his face stand out in a way that Viggo desperately and dreamily wanted to photograph.

"Do you always come so often?" he murmured, his mind drifting, its internal censor obviously on vacation.

Sean laughed softly, and smacked one wet hand on his ass. "Not before tonight. But I'm starting to believe it's just because I never had the right lover."

Viggo blushed, and Sean caught the back of his neck, leaning in to kiss him, and pushing them so that the shower streamed over their faces. His cock stirred, feeling the sleek wet soapy heat of Sean's body against it.

"You're no slouch yourself." Sean let water stream over his face, basking, his hand curling around Viggo's shaft.

"I haven't come three times in an hour since I was sixteen."

"Would you like to try?" Sean's hand, soap-slick, moved on him. "I would."

Viggo groaned, laughing. "Three's too many for this old man. I--" words tangled in his mouth and faded as Sean's thumb swiped cleverly around the head.

"Two, then." Patient and tight and slow, Sean jacked him, his other hand wandering, washing Viggo softly. He leaned in and fastened his mouth just under Viggo's ear, suckling and nipping; his free hand found Viggo's nipple and tweaked it with a stinging pinch.

Viggo moaned, his cock jerking in Sean's hand. "Fuck..." he tasted shampoo and tinny city water and didn't care. Sean tightened his fist, speeding up a little, and Viggo thrust his hips in spite of himself, sliding against the sliver of soap Sean had hidden in his palm. Sean bit his way down the tendon in Viggo's neck and Viggo tilted his head to let him-- soft sucking bites, and maybe they would show, faintly, tomorrow.

He moved to take Viggo's mouth, licking water off his cheek, leaning in with lazy predatory grace. "Gay men don't kiss," Viggo babbled, half-unaware of what he was saying. Anyway, he'd been rimming Sean, and surely Sean wasn't going to--

"This one does," Sean told him implacably, and caught his mouth, pushing him up against the cool tiles, tongue sweeping inside and curling over his.

And who was Viggo to argue? Sean's hand was speeding up and Viggo's balls felt hot and tight, gathering like a coiling spring. Then Sean's fingertips slid swiftly into the cleft of Viggo's ass, and fuck but Sean was a fast learner, sliding a soapy fingertip right inside Viggo and seeking till he found just the spot Viggo needed.

Viggo gasped, cursing, and buried his head on Sean's shoulder, quivering as orgasm tore through him, seizing him and shaking him like a rag doll, harsh spasms over too soon. He slumped against Sean, ignoring the cooling shower spray.

"You could do it again," Sean laughed. "That was fast. You'd come again if I sucked you. You'd come again if I could get it up to fuck you. You'd come if I did to you what you did to me with your tongue."

"Sean!" he bleated, piteous, his cock struggling to twitch just at the sound of it.

Sean's eyes were heavy, though, his movements languid as he reached and shut off the shower spray. "You have another set of sheets?"

Viggo shook his head helplessly, and Sean tsked, ushering them both out of the stall and tossing Viggo the single towel. He took a piss without waiting for Viggo to dry off and leave, calm and unconcerned as he pointed into the bowl, and Viggo sighed and stepped up for his own turn. He felt insanely good, languor and weariness spread through him.

Sean flipped himself dry and took the towel, wiping his body hastily, then padded out; Viggo heard him flop onto the futon.

He covered a yawn with the back of his hand, vaguely pleased that his lover meant to stay. He thought of brushing his teeth, decided the hell with it, and slipped in to join Sean, who was already snoring on the one good pillow.

Viggo chuckled ruefully and slipped under the coverlet-- Sean's chest made enough pillow, heartbeat warm and strong beneath his ear, and he let himself slide away from the world. This time, he didn't even bother worrying about his television.

-finis-

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