splix | FIC: What it is, Really

Title: What it is, Really
Author: Alex (

splix)
Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: R.
Archive: Please ask first.
Feedback: Is treasured.
Disclaimer: Unquestionably a pack of lies.
Notes: My first ever RPS fic. I'm a wee bit nervous!

Viggo thinks that maybe it's Sean's obvious glee in victory that's driving him nuts.

Such are the vagaries of employment: they're both in L.A. for ADR work, both with the weekend free. So here they are in Sean's suite, pleasantly squiffed on a couple of Foster's sixpacks, watching Sean's beloved Blades trounce a rival on ESPN Twelve or something. In the spirit of friendly competition, Viggo has agreed to a wager.

But maybe it's Sean's creativity that sends him round the bend. Because he's never heard of strip football before.

Here they sit on the sofa in assorted stages of undress. Sean is in a shirt, tie, boxers, and socks -- no fair that he had a dress-up lunch meeting earlier. Viggo is in jeans, having reluctantly shed his T-shirt moments ago. His attempt to yield up a bracelet as a strip item was met with implacable refusal.

Could be it's Sean's bossiness that really gets him going.

Viggo sneaks a sideways glance at Sean's long fingers wrapped around the moisture-beaded can of beer. He lets his gaze travel upward, to Sean's parted lips, rumpled hair curling around his ears. He shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. How can Sean concentrate on the game?

A faint roar emanates from the television. "Offside," Sean announces.

"Oh, balls."

"You wait."

Viggo waits. The call is made.

"And that's the game!" Sean cackles in triumph. "Come on, mate. Take it off, take it off, take it all off." He lifts his Foster's and begins to sing. "You fill up my senses..."

"Nuts," Viggo mutters. Possibly it's Sean's smugness that makes him crazy. Sighing, he stands and shimmies out of his jeans, kicking them off and spreading his hands. "Happy?"

Sean stares for a moment, then collapses in laughter.

Twin spots of color flare on Viggo's cheeks. "If I'd known we were going to be playing strip football, I wouldn't be bare-assed."

"No, you'd have seven layers of shirt on, wouldn't you? Why, Vig, you're blushing -- everywhere."

"Ha ha. So, game over, yeah?"

"Not quite." Sean eyes Viggo's naked body up and down. "Loser shags the winner."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Viggo croaks as Sean reaches out with one long leg, resting his foot directly above Viggo's hardening cock.

Maybe it's Sean's deliberate sensuality that really pushes Viggo's buttons.

*

Viggo loves Sean arranged like this: face down, ass up, legs spread. Vulnerable, his bottom partly covered by the handmade shirt; collar and cufflinks undone, pale blue stitching against snowy white cotton. Ready to groan and writhe and squirm at Viggo's command, ready to buck against Viggo's probing fingers, to finally yield to the deep, heavy thrusting of Viggo's prick up his ass.

He touches his fingertips to the back of Sean's thigh, watching the faint tremor of Sean's shoulders as he shudders, waiting.

It might be Sean's submissiveness that drives him fucking wild.

*

Afterward, they sleep together in tousled, pungent sheets. Finally Viggo blinks awake, inhaling the perfume of hot coffee, and something else that he can't identify but that smells delectable. His mouth waters as he turns to embrace Sean --

-- and discovers that his wrists are bound to the bedpost with Sean's Hermes tie. He looks around, and sees Sean leaning in the doorway, clad in the hotel bathrobe, glasses perched on his nose, watching him. Sean looks good in white. "You're never going to get that knot out of the tie," he remarks mildly.

Sean shrugs. "I'll buy a new one. You hungry?"

"A little, yeah."

Sean helps him to sit up, feeds him gazpacho and bites of Kobe beef between lingering kisses. Solicitous and gentlemanly, he dabs at Viggo's mouth with the napkin. "Good?" Viggo nods in a happy trance, and accepts icy sips of water. The water trickles into his throat, sparkling downward, irrigating his parched and exhausted body.

Finally, Sean pushes the cart into the living room, comes back, and closes the door behind him. He folds his arms and smiles.

Viggo feels his cock getting hard again. "What now?"

Sean opens the entertainment armoire and fiddles with a few buttons. Once more, the screen is filled with the vast spreading green of a football field, men in red-and-white shirts.

Viggo frowns. "Again? What did you do, record it?"

"Come on, Vig." Sean takes off his glasses and sets them on the table. He climbs atop the bed, straddling Viggo's hips, and unfastens the belt of the robe. "You don't think I was able to concentrate on the fucking game, do you?" He rubs his thumb over Viggo's chin. "Besides, that game's three weeks old -- didn't you notice?"

"Three --"

Sean pushes two fingers into Viggo's mouth, quieting him. "No more talking, Vig. I'm going to fuck you six ways from Sunday."

Viggo nods compliantly and spreads his legs a little wider. No question -- it's Sean's deviousness and utter hedonism that really sends him over the edge.

End.