Being Viggo

Being Viggo

Posted: July 2005
Title: Being Viggo
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean/Orlando Bloom
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Warnings: Threesome, "panties," cumming in panties, snowballing, one mention of het, and mostly PWP.
Beta: lady_aurora
Summary: A couple hours in the life of Viggo... with many memories and reflections.
Author's Notes: There were 5 bunnies that inspired this. I've put them roughly into their own sections:

I. Dream - a dream I really had
II. Reflections and History - possible backstory, or so I'd like to think.
III. Pervy Panty!fic - OMG!! Inspired by this (the Viggo pic): http://www.heartofslash.net/html/panty_men_20.html Thank you, Haleth!!!
IV. Smut! Smut! Smut! - because Helena can't write fic without it...
V. Reprise... and Being Viggo ... because he is who he is...

*****

I.

Viggo woke up smiling.

Viggo had been dreaming again. In his dream, he was always some fan-person --one that wanted him, wanted him bad. He wasn't sure if he was a fangirl or a fanboy, because, though he was sure he had boy parts for he knew very well the outward itchiness, the hardening and rising and blood pounding, there was something else going on down there. Alive and deliciously tingling, a straight shot up the middle of his lower torso and curling upwards-outwards, it made his legs shaky and his nipples taut and sensitive.

In this self, he could see himself, and Orlando, Orlando as his current identity, the most mature that he'd ever seen him. They were hanging out in an old, crumbling ruin, probably a house from the early thirteenth century, similar to some he'd seen in Spain. The day was hot, summer-hot, and dry. The sky was a cloudless azure blue; the earth, the bricks, even the paints he was using were a deep red-orange, similar to fire.

Then there was Orli, adding in his own umber and sienna self. That's what Viggo was doing, he was painting, mostly seated behind a large canvas tucked away into a corner where the shade would cover him in the late afternoon. Orli, he gathered, was posing, but the portrait was abstract at best. The Brit's bendable frame was perched on a low fragment of the bordering wall, one leg draped down, the other tucked under his butt and the knee under his chin. The third party to this, the one who's bodily sensations Viggo had woken up with earlier, was up on another portion of wall, level with where the roof must have once been, walking slowly back and forth. His/her shadow cast strange shapes across the rocky piles of rubble in the central area.

There had been some kind of question/answer session to start with, in indistinct words. Later, it turned to banter; though not the blatantly obvious kind, it was enough to provoke the tingles he'd recalled. He could tell, looking at himself through the other's eyes, that he was giving in to the same reaction. Oddly, he couldn't actually feel it of himself. His eyes were alight in clear, light-blue interest, and his skin seemed as healthy and glowing as it had ever been at any time in the last five years. What a funny impression of himself! He'd noticed such things of Orlando, maybe even Sean if the mood stuck him right, but not himself.

Eventually, he laughed at something said in the dream; again he was not sure what, exactly. Orlando stepped in verbally with some amused contradiction. Then he was definitely in the body of the other person, the unknown, and he/she said to Orlando, "But you're not even my favorite!" Orlando tilted back his head, the free-flowing curls flying around in the light wind, pretending insult. Viggo heard his own laughter again, watching himself through the other's eyes as molten squee in his midsection grew stronger and stronger. "What about me?" he chortled.

"You're number two."

He'd halfway stood up, perhaps to stretch or reposition Orlando, but when the words registered, he had to sit back down again, to keep himself from falling down. "Number two!" he crowed, seeing through the 'other,' all his laugh lines deepening. "I know who it is then." He meant, who the crowning glory was. "Sean Bean!" And he thought of his golden lover as the world saw him, an unobtainable prize, but the man was his. His and Orlando's. Ah. Life was good.

II.

It'd been the same between them since the day they'd discovered, quite by accident, that there were three of them.

Viggo was not used to practicing subterfuge, so the fact that he'd had two lovers but was deliberately not telling either about the other had been taking a toll, even after just a few short weeks. The thought of either of them walking away, though... He'd had no illusions about Orlando fooling around. A young buck like that, his first time really away from home? If he'd had such an opportunity in his youth, he'd have made the most of it, and not just with an old geezer nearly twice his years.

Sean, he'd become addicted to the first time he met him, an actor his own age that by some cosmic error he'd never worked with before. The man's persona, quietly intense under an outside layer of stand-offish dry humor, smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for, had grabbed him and shaken him hard to the roots of his psyche. Miraculously, their personalities had clicked, too, in addition to the attraction that Sean had revealed to be mutual, not long after, in the earlier days of Lothlorien and Hollin. Sitting in a pub one night, comfortably buzzed, they'd locked eyes and it evidenced, solidified, silent but real between them. They hadn't needed to discuss a standing arrangement. In the early part, both had been too deprived to do more than help each other achieve the release of the body, mindful not to disturb their camaraderie. Things developed though, and calmed somewhat. Things they'd never done before, they did with each other--things with toys and restraints, and an ever-changing dynamic of territorial line-smudging.

Orlando, well... Viggo could probably say he'd been talked into it. The energetic young man needed to talk continually, with verbal affirmations and tanglings, all those intellectual pathways he'd learned to skeeter upon recently as part of his formal education. He brought out something in Viggo that was normally only between Viggo and his notebook, or Viggo and the lens of his camera. With the sleek body and smiling, unfurling lips of the guideless brave, soulfully flailing Orlando as impetus, there were times Viggo could even let go of the fact that his life had given him some pretty unforgiving baggage and revert to a self he'd been years before.

Later, he learned that Sean's interactions with Orli were for much the same reasons.

But then, things went like that to some degree for all of them, maybe even the natives, down in their own personal Neverland.

It had been simply by chance that Orlando had happened upon Sean and himself one hazy afternoon, as they traded seemingly idle kisses behind Pete's canopied, makeshift cutting room. By then, if hearsay was correct, many cast and crew had picked up some degree of skill with oral fucking. Between costumes, schedules, the weather, and the sheer volume of people always and forever present, there were few daylight opportunities for much more than that. So certain skills were perfected in stolen moments. Viggo's back had been against whatever flat, reasonably sturdy surface they could find, Sean plastered against him. He remembered well, for it was always with him, how they'd mock-aggressively sucked and nipped at each other's mouths. Sean had gotten a knee far up between Viggo's thighs, his bum cupped in the ranger's right hand, wiggling suggestively. Tongues soft and slick, extending to pet and poke and worry carefully maintained, scruffy facial hair, they were so busy making love to each other with their mouths that neither noticed the Elf standing there, gracelessly agape.

Some strangled sound had escaped Orlando, whipcord slim in those days, in full Legolas trappings. Sean whipped his head around so fast he'd nearly broken Viggo's nose, and then, both of them stared guiltily into wide eyes full of surprise, a little hurt, but something wicked underneath after the first shocked minute.

Then Sean, to his utter surprise, said the words that had been forming on his own lips: " Orlando... it's not what you... I can explain."

The Elf had approached him in their nearly compromising positions slowly and deliberately, his feet making no noise in his soft boots. The deep blue eyes, too pure to be real, flicked from one co-star to the other. "Please... Orlando..." Viggo inserted, not sure what he was asking.

Orlando got right up to the side of them, Sean's left and Viggo's right. One of his skillful hands fell on each of their shoulders and then he leaned in toward Sean, whose head was still cranked around to the side. Ultra-soft, satin lips brushed eagerly against the larger Brit's. Viggo could feel his jaw drop. Since when did Orlando kiss Sean? At first, Sean seemed too surprised to respond, but soon, Viggo felt a new surge of arousal against him, twitches of hard cock though several layers of material, leather, and chain mail. Orlando pulled back, a tiny thread of saliva stringing between the two men. "Fuck," grunted Sean.

Afterward, Orlando looked at Viggo and demanded, "Since when do you snog Sean?"

"Well, you possessive little..." the Yorkshireman began.

The Southerner's next move shattered his illusions. Viggo's kiss with Orlando had begun, and it was full of things it never had been before. Right there, understanding and promises and forgiveness were communicated in sucking lips and darting tongues. The boy always had a little bit of a salty taste, and like anything salty, once started, it was hard to quit. But when Orlando had removed his lips and said, "Now you two..." Viggo couldn't even reply before Sean dived at him. Orlando's lithe limbs wrapped around them like vines. Three tongues shared the tracery of lips and teeth, further explorations into throat hollows and over collarbones and earlobes, till movement very near them warned to break apart or never live it down.

That night, wake-up calls and script changes be damned, they'd found out exactly who was doing who. Viggo learned that way back at the beginning before his arrival, Orlando had coaxed Sean into an uneasy sympathy fuck that had repeated itself several times, till affection was born and sympathy was no longer needed. As it turned out, Sean liked and loved Orlando for all the same reasons he did. To Sean's surprise, his young lover really did have a consistent affinity for older men, evidenced by his choice in Viggo.

Lying sated after being blown and fucked repeatedly into an Orli-shaped puddle, the boy had turned his liquid chocolate eyes on the Dane and shyly asked for his one fantasy to be fulfilled, to watch Sean being taken. Viggo, then on his knees and nearing orgasm with Sean's rampant cock scraping his prostate, had twisted out from under the Brit, who was none too thrilled over the coitus-interruptus. All he'd had to say was, 'For Orli,' and the blond assumed the position. After a lengthy preparation, for in those days, Sean wasn't much apt to switch, Viggo slid into the tight warmth. While Sean moaned helplessly from the pleasure-pain and Orlando from the jolt of watching, Viggo had sped his strokes more and more, till the two older men, so close already, came within seconds of each other. Sean's release splattered all over Orlando's legs and feet. Then Viggo pulled out and shot from underneath Sean's ball's, long jets of long-delayed spunk mixing with Sean's and going further to cover the little belly button and on down as the youngest put his fingers in the warm stickiness and swirled them together.

And so it was that they were three, through the rest of the shoot, and for the months and years following. It wasn't easy and it was always too short, but they'd managed to get together at least every three or four months. Viggo loved watching the continuing growth in Orlando. Every time they met, there was a newness to him, something he'd learned, something he'd seen....

It was always a little overwhelming to wake up with those two beautiful men in his bed. They were still sound asleep; he moved carefully to get up so they wouldn't be disturbed. Just because he needed to get up early today didn't mean they had to. A tangled sprawl of well-muscled limbs lay relaxed as they slept, their chests rising and falling evenly, closed eyes, tousled hair. Orlando was peacefully, trustingly open-faced on his back, with his countenance turned to the side. No longer a gangly boy, his arms were bulked with rounded deltoids and biceps that had shocked the hell out of Viggo the first time he'd seen him like that. Flat but hard muscles defined his pecs, and the abs went without saying. Viggo smiled just a little at the innocently shameless display of his maleness. 'Tackle,' as Sean would say, or 'bits,' as Orlando himself would say. 'Bits,' to Viggo, meant something little. This was not anywhere bordering on little. Though as neat and streamlined as the rest of him, for example, Orlando's sac was the smoothest-skinned of anyone's he'd ever encountered, and even not cut, his cock always showed its rosy tip. It lay unassumingly on Orlando's right thigh, long and slender like the rest of him. It too would bulk up nicely; Viggo would attest to that.

Then there was Sean, lying three-quarters on his stomach, one elegant hand on Orlando's flat belly, ass pushed slightly into the air. When he took the time to contemplate it, Viggo still shook his head at how this bloke, the "bloke's bloke," the object of many a lass's fantasies, who'd tried repeatedly the 'married with kids' lifestyle, was here with him, unrestrainedly sharing his body, his mind, and his sex. The man's potent physique could dish out and accept upon itself round after round of their sometimes-turbulent lovemaking. Last time, he and Sean had shared an ironic but humorous moment indeed when they caught each other popping Viagra to keep up with Orlando.

'God, I'm gettin' old,' Sean had joked, pink-faced, defiantly tipping up his chin.

'I hear yah, man,' Viggo returned. He put the little blue pill on his tongue and offered it to the Brit; the blond fed him the one in his hand. 'Love yah, y'old coot!' Viggo said as he embraced the other with all his strength.

Sean rarely let himself say it, but he did then, wiggling an arm free and sliding his hand down to play gently with Viggo's soft genitals. 'Love yah more now that I'm not the only one.'

Sometimes Viggo liked to think that in a past life, Sean had been a farmer, someone with a connection to the earth, to dirt, loam and soil. It was true that Sean loved his gardening, but there was more to it. That sturdy back and chest and powerful shoulders would be inherited by someone who had worked in fields, with growing things, with large animals, in situations that required hard manual labor. Sean worked hard in this life, too. Regardless of the success he had made of himself, he was driven to prove himself again and again, always working. Viggo, along with Orlando, had decided to take it upon themselves to see that Sean played hard, too. Between them, they could almost make him lose his mind with the pleasure they inflicted on his skin. Sean loved to be tied and 'forced' to 'work' for his release, to earn it. Viggo made sure he earned it.

III.

After two days, the jetlag was starting to wear off, but they'd had a long night, too. Viggo finally padded into his bathroom for a morning piss and shower, still contemplating his dream and waking thoughts, just as he normally did when he had his devoted friends near. Really, he could've stood there all morning, staring at his lovers. Not only were they nice to view, but their instincts were excellent, as well. Just by seeing a few online pictures of him, Orlando had known he needed them. Sean was not all that difficult to convince. Somehow, he was foundering as he'd never done before, in the last couple of months. He'd become sarcastic and growly, and that, in its genuine form, was just not him. The two had invaded his ranch, determined to shower him with love and cum and whatever else to bring him out of his funk. Still smiling a little at their methods, he set about getting dressed.

And, unthinking of the picture he was presenting, he started just a little when snickering interrupted him.

He was a bit nonplussed, but he shouldn't haven been considering the source. The two Brits in his bed had their messy bed-heads together, giggling. "Look at 'im," rasped the first, voice still thickened with left-over smoke and by his barely-awake state. "Can yeh believe he's gonna wear them knickers?"

Viggo had been holding up just such an item, searching through a decade and a half worth of undergarments in varying stages of degeneration.

"I can't believe he owns..." Viggo turned slightly for a frank side view and stepped in, balancing on one foot, then the other. The second man's voice cut out, replaced by something that sounded suspiciously like a gasp.

The first speaker snorted. "Don' take much for yeh, does it? C'mon, Orli, give a man a break first thing in the morning... Will you just stop it with the leg-humping!"

Trying to get a look at that action, but finding it was obscured by blankets, Viggo quickly pulled the undershorts the rest of the way up his long legs and adjusted things. Apparently, at least one of his lovers wasn't so involved that he couldn't call out, "Nice panties, Viggo!"

"You'd know," he retorted, speaking to both at once. He turned again, this time to face the two very different but equally attractive men dead on. "You've done your time..."

"Yeah..." The older blond sounded defensive, as if the word 'panties' was something he didn't want connected with him, as in, him wearing them. "But ours were part of our costumes... and they were black... lycra... even kinda sexeh, y'know, when our kilts flew up. What you've got is... what's it you Yanks call 'em again?" He looked at the doe-eyed man who was undoubtedly pressing an impressive morning wood against his hip.

"Depending on who you ask... tidy whities..."

"No, that's not right!" But the green-eyed man's thin lips split into another grin.

"... or whitie tighties." More giggling and sniggering.

Was he ever destined to get through a morning without being distracted, oh-so-pleasurably distracted, by his former co-stars and on-again/off-again lovers? When they were "on," it was just one big non-stop sex-fest, with breaks for things like eating, sleeping, showering (with a friend, most likely) and to tend to the daily necessities of whoever was hosting. Vig it was, this time, nice and isolated at his ranch. But today, he had business to attend to in town, and an interview, scheduled weeks ago for this day so he wouldn't have to drive in twice.

She had said, "Wear the white suit." Damn reporters. Always knew what they wanted, didn't they? And just as pushy as high fashion photographers. He couldn't wear boxers under that suit—it was too lightweight. He had to have skivvies that would lay smooth, which would keep him nice and secure, made with enough density to the material to not be see-through. Even after Orli had trimmed it, Viggo still had a goodly wealth of unruly pubic hair, but the whole world did not need or want to see that. He was also possessed of a nice, full-size cock with a mind of its own, even in what he considered its aging state, and never so unmanageable as when he was 'on' with his British lust-gluttons. It was lying to the side, and growing, and creating a distinct ridge angling away from his groin toward his hipbone.

"Oh, my god," Orlando said again, removing his mouth from Sean's with a huge slurp. "That is so naughty! Those pure, innocent, white briefs, with an overgrown... it looks like a sausage inside!"

"'Sausage?" Sean laughed, "I say it's a tube steak."

The more they talked about him, the worse Viggo's problem got, which added more fuel to their comments.

Orlando was indignant. "You're so fucking old school, man. And here I'm supposed to be a vegan."

"Yeah, but you're not!"

"Not any more. I like meat too much."

"See...! You started it, wanker!"

"You're the wanker," Orlando retorted. "And anyway, you're supposed to save that for me. And him." He eyed Viggo's snake. "It looks like it needs attention."

Sean didn't answer Orlando per se, but he moved down a few inches and suctioned one brown, pointy nipple into his mouth. Orlando wailed wordlessly, and then blurted, "I wanna suck him off through his panties, Sean.... Wanna see what his bollocks feel like wrapped up in those tight... white..." he was losing it. From where he stood, Viggo could hear the laps of Sean's tongue on Orlando's flesh. The encased cock in its pouch throbbed hard. He gave up trying to keep it down.

"You know what I wanna see?" Sean asked when he came up for air, rhetorical question though it was. "A nice big sticky wet spot." With Sean, it was sure to be squirm-worthy if he offered commentary. "On his panties, I mean."

"... Oh, god, yeah." Orlando threw the blanket off to reveal their sweaty, aroused bodies, legs entwined and hips grinding. Viggo's cock cooperated with Sean's thoughts, it seemed, and leaked sudden moisture into the knitted cotton fabric stretched over the head of his evident erection. He was frozen, except for the twitching between his legs. Orlando had thrown one of his thighs over Sean's hip. Viggo's breathing hitched as he watched that firm little behind thrust and recoil, half of it covered by a large, paler hand that squeezed mercilessly.

While they stroked and petted each other's bodies, the Brits each kept one eye beaded on their third. "Let's get him," Orlando whispered loudly. "I wanna make him cum in those..."

"I am not!" The American was finally able to speak, rather indignantly at that.

"Not yet," Orlando smirked. He bounced up onto his knees and rubbed his cheek against Viggo's cock through the briefs. Sean's blond head appeared beside the dark, glossy-haired one, his tongue flicking out to lick at the spreading wetness Viggo's body betrayed him with. Orlando's fingers were scrabbling up his thighs, tickling the hairs, slipping between to nudge them apart and Viggo's stance wider. There at his hip, Sean was leaving a cluster of stinging bruises, nip by nip. He moved around to the back, and dragged his tongue along the edges of the elastic leg-bands. Viggo heard definite sniffing. "Are you... are you smelling me?" he squawked.

He only got another snigger in return, and then he forgot what was going on behind him in favor of something hot and humid like a small sauna going down on him through the material that was starting to seriously strangle him. It never ceased to amaze Viggo how Orlando could assault one so spectacularly, it seemed that he had grown at least three extra hands. Against his will, his hips started to hitch aback and forth. There were hands under his waistband, hands slipping up into the leg holes to diddle with his balls, hands that clenched around his ass which clenched on its own.

Sean was burrowing, in back, pushing and bunching the fabric into Viggo's cleft with his nose, while lower, his tongue did absolutely filthy things that made Viggo want to bend over, and for sure not want to stand up anymore. Orlando grabbed him roughly, his short fingernails sinking into the flesh of his hip, and drew him down, twisting his body around so that Viggo was on his side. Sean followed up onto the bed, but continued to worry Viggo's ass with teeth and tongue through the thin cloth. Held tight against his body, Viggo's cock pounded, doubly from the strange angle, and because the dark-haired British boy had suctioned his mouth onto it again through the layers of cotton. The next time he even remembered to breathe, he found he was flat on his back, one leg hooked over each of his busy mates.

They'd shoved him up to the top of the bed, pillows going every which way. The younger Brit opened his pink mouth wide and used it to cover one hefty ridge in dampening underwear. He moved his head side to side, his slender neck speaking sinuous poetry to Viggo's watching eyes, a double stripe of sable lashes like a pair of fanned paintbrushes smudged along his arched upper cheekbones.

Unable to get at his ass anymore with his mouth, Sean moved so his face was very close to Orlando's, stealing looks at Viggo's tense form like he was an animal on the hunt for his next meal. His blond hair touched Viggo's lower abdomen. The soft tickling combined with Orlando's fierce attack on his cock was really making him squirm, and squirm he did. Abandoning any kind of concern for things like lint in his mouth, Orlando's adamant tongue stroked every accessible part of Viggo's organ, right through the fabric. The Dane arched up, spread his legs more to invite Orlando's hands on his shivering thighs. Well, not that they hadn't already invited themselves. Sean, meanwhile, had licked the whole of Viggo's belly, from the navel down to the elastic band encircling his waist. Beyond restraint all of a sudden, Viggo laced his fingers into the strands of flaxen-colored mane and fisted them, meaningfully moving the older man's head closer to the other's.

Sean had his own ideas. After a quick but intense shared kiss with his olive-skinned lover, Sean pulled away and craned his head sideways to poke his tongue under the white elastic. He was burrowing again, leading with his tongue, from time to time glancing at Viggo's face for a split second. "Small furry animal," Viggo's over-stimulated brain made of Sean's actions, though there wasn't much 'small' about Sean, other than maybe his nipples and his hole. Viggo himself fit the first description more in one regard, considering the ribbing Orli had been giving him about "facial rodents." He'd heard the first term applied to a woman's muff before, in a semi-mocking kind of way, although he personally thought that it, along with 'beaver,' was fitting and not insulting if not used as one. There had been times he'd liked that slip-slappy-slide and piece of tail... What the hell was he doing, thinking about women when his beautiful male lovers were here with him, worshipping his body with their teasing attention? When the tip of Sean's tongue found the tip of his prick, Viggo let out a hiss and a groan he didn't know he'd been holding in.

Orlando didn't cease his licking of the white material stretched thin. Sean didn't cease his licking either, of the tip of one oozing cockhead that poked lewdly out toward Viggo's left. He knew he'd hear it from the blond later, about all the hair that he was also having by default, but for the moment he seemed content enough to plow his tongue through whatever it encountered.

"Gawd, he's sweet," the older Brit groaned. Orlando answered with a moan of his own that vibrated Viggo's near-explosion from the contact with his mouth. The hand on his trapped balls was soft, warm, and moist, just like Orli's curlicue lips, but the fingers were strong and deliberate and knew exactly the right amount of squeeze to put on the pressurized glands. Orli mumbled to his co-conspirator, not removing his mouth for this either, "Should we make him cream himself, then, Sean?"

"Nah," snorted Sean, with another wicked flash of his eyes in Viggo's direction. "It's too good t'waste. Bring 'im off, and we'll share."

Viggo tried to sit up, or prop himself up a little more. But no, he was pushed back down, his arms pinned by two pairs of fuzzy legs, muscles straining. Orlando's lips and teeth clamped down around his thumping, constrained erection. He was losing control; they were driving him with sliding hands across his thighs and groin, and Orlando's searing hot breath on him, and he was going to cum, almost but not quite inside his pants, only saved by Sean's furiously darting tongue from that small shivery-delicious shame.

"Coming..." Viggo grunted but it was no warning at all. He was already coming before the word left his lips. All the juice in his spasming balls was spurting out onto Sean's tongue and the lower part of his face. Orlando shifted slightly. He shared the musky fluids with Sean, starting with licking it off dark blond stubble and ending with twining his long tongue around Sean's and catching the last drops of spunk collectively. The two Brits turned their heads together for a passionate kiss. Viggo could see the white cream being passed back and forth between them. His cock somehow pumped a couple more weak spurts, adding to the existing mess of precome and Orli-spit.

Viggo would have been content to lay there and loll redolently for a good long time, but no, urgent hands were rolling him over, grasping him around the middle to raise his ass in the air, peeling the underwear down over his cheeks. "Yeh liked that, did yeh?" The growl of full-fledged sex god drilled into Viggo's endorphin-saturated brain. "I gotta have yeh now... can't wait... yer so fucking sweet, yah know tha' Viggo? I could eat yer cum all day, 'cept watchin' that..." he groaned, "wanna fuck yeh so bad..." Slippery fingers slid down his crack and circled his hole, then pushed in.

"But I want him," Orlando protested.

"Then yah gotta move faster than an old man," Sean retorted. "And you had him last."

"Yes, but he was... I was... That's not fair!"

"It's not my fault you bottom all the time," Sean said distractedly. He had two fingers into a writhing Viggo now, the other hand splayed over the Dane's lower spine to guard against the bucking that would surely start when his sweet spot was touched.

"Someone's got to," Orlando pouted.

Throwing one quick flash of grin over his shoulder, the blond only said, "Oh, you'll think of somethin'." He waggled his fine, muscular ass in Orli's general direction.

IV.

Orlando gritted his teeth at the sight before him, trying to think of unsexy things: his mum's collection of feline-themed bric-a-brac, or some of the grotesque diseased organs they'd seen slides of back in the upper forms, while being warned of the dangers of drinking, smoking, unprotected sex. Orlando did all of these things, the latter only with the two actively humping 'old geezers,' as they liked to call themselves with matching crooked smiles, and matching hard...

Dammit! Sean's all-too-tempting bum was rolling and thrusting in faster movements than his patented trademark for-films-only version. Oh god! Uh... Dead... baby... animals! Yes, from third world countries; that was no joking matter, but maybe it would help for two seconds. Gods! Why couldn't they hurry up? The pair of them took as much pleasure from the act itself as the climax. When he was not present, Orlando was sure, they probably went for hours. Viggo was like that; no doubt the man knew all about Tantric practices... and Sean could no more say 'no' to him than Orlando could. Viggo at least was also smart enough to know Orlando had not the patience for such things.

Right now, Viggo didn't either. His underwear had been scraped down to the bottoms of his firm cheeks and bunched there, but underneath him, the front still held his fully recovered erection. Sean ground away at him. Viggo was wallowing in his own pre-orgasmic head-space, not even caring he was going to make a bigger mess in his panties. All the defined muscles of his torso rippled and bunched. A strangled cry escaped him; he was obviously cumming. Orlando had to get down and watch... had to... even if it made him go off himself, he had to see it again. Viggo's cock was pulsing hard, pumping hot loads of sperm, and now a huge wet patch spread thickly into the white woven cotton, turning it nearly opaque. Inside, Viggo's sated organ lay, sticky and still chubby.

The Dane turned his head around and grinned wryly at Orlando. "Ew!" he snorted. "Hope you enjoyed that."

Orlando couldn't even speak.

"Take him, Orli," Viggo continued in a very low voice, jerking his head back at the blond Brit. A surprised, "Mmmph!" was heard from Sean but he did not change his jostling pace. The idea ran through Orlando's thoughts again. He shared a meaningful kiss with his mustachioed boyfriend...

Before he could be sidetracked by the wily Northerner, Orlando filled his hand with lube, dipped his quivering, aroused dick into it, and smeared the rest into Sean's cleft. The blond hissed and tensed. Orlando was strong, stronger than ever now after his knight training, but he still didn't want to have to make a fight of this. Instead, he used something he'd discovered he could subdue even the grouchiest and most skittish of animals—even human animals—with: his voice. From somewhere he'd inherited, in his speaking voice, the husky bravado of a torch singer. He used it now to lull the golden dominant.

"Oh, god, Seanie... Seanie, you should see yourself... you should see whatcha look like, topping Viggo..." Sean still kneeled, hands and knees, absolutely motionless. He knew what it looked like, actually, thanks to an instance in front of a mirror. Orlando let his fingers glide firmly over the sweaty expanse of skin. Minute shifts of muscles trailed in their wake. "I'm gonna do yah, Sean... You're gonna be my little boy..." Orlando heard how his natural baritone kept deepening, getting raspier and quieter. He kneed Sean's thighs far apart, snugged himself right up behind.

Mindful of Viggo's eyes all over him, no doubt judging the aesthetic value of this moment as well the sexual feverishness, Orlando pressed forward, as gently as he could manage and still be breeching his partner. He looked down, delicious shivers creeping through his midsection. Full and almost hurting from how much he wanted this, his cock slid little by little through Sean's rose pucker.

Sean was shaking, both from the burn and from his need to have the fine young cock inside. "Dammit, Orli, just do it!"

Orlando gathered himself. Clenching his own semi-relaxed opening and his buttcheeks, he buried himself to the root; below, his balls nestled against the hardened ones between Sean's legs. Grasping above the blond's hipbones, Orlando quickly found his rhythm. He shoved and pulled, losing himself in the narrowed microcosm of skintight ring around his rigid flesh, of nerves zinging and singing with the joy of possessing another's body like so. All the while, helpless little gasps fell from Orlando's swollen mouth. He sped into a gallop that had his long thighs smacking against the backs of Sean's. Those green eyes turned on him, urging him on, faster, harder, no words needed.

"Seeeaaaaaaaannnnnn," Orlando moaned, his dark eyes boring holes in the other Brit's. Briefly, he glanced at Viggo; the Dane was sitting on the crosslegged on the dresser, fresh panties on him, bent over a sketchpad. Charcoal already smudged across one cheek like a native warrior. Even in the near-comical situation, he was exuded the renewed fervor of his life force. Orli's eyes shut tight as he let it go and filled the passage with his streaming essences. Below, Sean bellowed; the contractions and rising heat let Orlando know that he was cumming as well.

From his position, Viggo commented, "You two... what would I do with out you?" As soon as either of the men on the bed were able to put two thoughts together, Viggo showed them his sketch. It was them, in the very act they'd just completed. The Dane's characterizations were right on, as if he'd drawn them a hundred times. Maybe he had. Orlando saw himself in ecstasy, holding on to Sean's waist with his head tipped back, his lips curled into a silky snarling half-smile. And Sean, he saw himself too, as Viggo saw him. It was enough to say that. He understood, for if he'd been able to create art like that, he'd have done the same.

"For my own collection," Viggo said, grinning.

"I should hope so!" both the Brits responded simultaneously. They'd have fallen upon themselves once again, but Viggo pulled himself away. He'd accidentally lost nearly two hours to his little distractions, and he could've cared less, but life being what it was, he'd better make his appearance in town...

V.

He was going to be late—very, very late. Ah, well. He could drive like a bat out of hell on the back roads to cut down some of the travel time. They could wait for him, and they would, too. Of course they would. Sometimes it was nice, at this late date, to be Viggo Mortensen, even if it did mean he had to stay way out in the middle of nowhere half the time to get any peace. It was a price he would pay. Did pay. For what he'd paid, he had his ranch, his choice of schedule (to some degree), and the love and friendship of two men that meant so much. He'd never have met them, loved them, had them, without being Viggo.

With any luck, he wouldn't go in the ditch on the way. Visions of Orlando and Sean, and of himself with them, were still potent before his eyes. Left to their own devices, god knew what they'd get up to while he was gone. The thought of it was going to keep his panties busy for the afternoon, certainly. Already he wished he was done and back, to share more of their love and regard and all the manifestations of it. Perhaps someday any or all of them would move on, or, heaven forbid marry again. It would have to be to some pretty special women, ones who understood that such things as they had could never be broken from without. From within, he was whole again.

*****

THE END

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