Life Is Turning

Life Is Turning

Posted: September 2005
Title: Life Is Turning
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Warnings: Flashbacks, het relationships mentioned, BDSM
Summary: Viggo and Sean work out their current entanglements.
Author's Notes: Flashbacks and translation in italics.
A/N 2: Special thanks to Myr, aka piximyr, for the Danish.
A/N 3: This will be my last vigbean for a while. This kind of dark side has been interesting to explore, but messing with me. Thanks to you all for bearing with me.

*****

They lay entwined in a sweaty cocoon of spent love, sex, and the crazed passionate frenzy for each other that they'd proved to themselves had not faded. Their bodies were muscled, masculine, hard and dangerous. Each with strong chiseled features, two men in their middle years whose magnetism was not dimmed, but strengthened and deepened by what their lives had put them through. They were warriors, once and always. Softened with afterglow and sleep and residual marks on their skin and tear tracks gave evidence of the zeal of their last few hours.

It had been more than half a decade since they'd 'found' each other. Back then, six searingly intense, soul-burning months of sometimes rough, occasionally surprisingly tender intimacy had lead to something that neither had ever wanted or expected. They fell in love. That bond forged, rarely talked about even between themselves, lead them back to each other again and again. It was a renewal, a hiatus from all else. That kind of consummation could never be found in anyone else, despite the fact that they were more faithful to their other partners than they ever would be to each other.

For such was their lot. They couldn't be together for more than little pieces stolen here and there. But rather than wallow in depression over it, they'd determined upon their first separation to always save pieces of their integral selves for... themselves.

The one named Viggo gradually surfaced out of breathless dreams of running, then of flying, from a thick, faceless blackness. A recurring theme, it pushed him to defy it by painting in vibrant colors, and making bright, raucous music to present to the world. And here too, in his transitional moments, was his secret Samadhi. Sean. Just thinking his name made Viggo's breath hitch. The sunlight of mid-morning summer bedazzled their sleeping quarters, burnishing his lover. Sean was a natural blond, but for vanity's sake his hair's shades were chemically lightened and warmed to a definite yellow-gold. Artificial intervention, or no, Viggo couldn't ever get the idea out of his head of Sean's golden allure. That he was bright and shining, vibrant and bedazzling went without question. Amazing at that rate that they could speak to each other, much less be best mates. And bed mates. And life mates. But they were.

They were separated in age by half a year; such things mattered not. Viggo, naturally darker-complexioned and tanned, with light-to-medium brown hair showing heavy silvering at the temples when he let it go, like he did now, never tired of the neatly-formed limbs, slender fingers and toes, and almost hairless, powerful torso possessed by his lover. One of those legs was currently sandwiched between his. One of the arms curled innocently before the man's chest; the other was outstretched as far as Viggo's own chest, fingers paused mid-clench into the dark pelt of hair. Viggo twined his legs more tightly and flexed his hips. Behind, between his cheeks, his hole throbbed in the same rabbity tempo as his morning erection. It served to remind him of how and why he'd ended up here.

Finally, after all these months, he understood. He'd been made to understand. Viggo had been born, raised, and socialized that way... to understand. To feel sympathy and empathy and hate not the sinner but the sin, speaking in lay terms. To minister to the hurting... he wasn't quite as good at that. Had caused his fair amount of chaos. It fell over him like a heavy veil, as he'd spoken into the phone to the far-off British man who loved him in spite of what either of them had ever done or been. But he knew how his words tore the man; he'd had it done to him. He'd provided for Sean's needs, unknowingly teaching him as they went with the flat of a paddle, a snake-lash of belt, and the arrogant flog of whip that cut skin if the receiver really wanted it that badly.

And he, Viggo, had, but first things first.

Yes, they started in Viggo's house, properly in his bed, naked, lubed... "Human scum!" Sean spat, buried deep in Viggo's ass. The blond was too gone to think in anything but bursts of internalized imagery as his oiled shaft pistoned the stretched ring of muscle. He'd have taken Vig dry, on the front step, clothed and standing--he'd been that crazed for it--had not the Dane intervened by tugging him by the front of his shirt the few dozen steps to the bedroom. Not for the sake of convention, but with comfort in mind, because he had no intention of ending what Sean had in mind for hours, if not days. There'd been no kissing, no touching; they both knew to get the inevitable done immediately, without preamble, and the rest would follow.

"Scum!" This was agreement from Viggo. He knew damn well what had set his lover off. It was the very thing he'd found himself crying on his knees about. The call had been made. It was something he had to do, was compelled to do. Strangely shamed and yet, he was somehow willing to stand up to all, even Sean, about it. Things were changing, the wheel of their lives turning, out there in the world.

"This is... worse than... when you did it with him," Sean muttered. Viggo purposefully clenched around him, and his words ended in a throaty moan.

"Aye," Viggo agreed almost mockingly. "I know exactly what you mean." This got him eight fingernail crescents scratched into the soft skin under his hipbones.

Sean shoved into him a final time, his hand running up Viggo's back, forcing his face to the mattress, and released his seed. "Let that... remind yeh..." he rasped afterwards.

"...Lest I remind you." There was a grunt of acknowledgment to Viggo's concluding words, but no more.

Months and months ago, back in late winter, Sean had called him with the same quiet apprehension, then flown overnight to receive his penance. Smirking in a kind of superiority that he had at the time had thought would never unravel, Viggo had happily supplied it. For all that he was a flirt and a tease and the master of earnest sincerity and dedication to his various crafts, Viggo had been very nearly celibate in the last years. Deliberately. Not having that kind of complication in his life felt too good, so Viggo had forsworn the pleasures of the flesh. He could live with the ache between his legs at times, or take care of it with his own hand, rather than suffer the characteristic highs and lows, romance and obsession of 'relationship' upon himself and another, or 'anothers,' depending. Except for Sean, whom he felt would be the only exception

Not so Sean, who had earned himself four hours chained to the wall, his genitals bound together cruelly in a criss-cross of thin cords while Viggo licked every square inch of his body. He endured it all with barely a whimper. It was his creative mind that had come up with it, after all. And then, Viggo had made him scream. A nine-tailed lash cut and welted him too much to lie on his back... so Viggo left him facing the wall and took him right there. Sean couldn't cum, bound as he was. But Viggo drew it out. The cock in his ass abraded his sweet spot for so long, taking him so high he thought he'd pass out or go insane. Later, he weakly laughed about not being entirely certain which of them was wearing restraints.

Viggo made sure he was well-finished, balls drained so completely dry he couldn't even spit, couldn't produce tears, and Sean enraged with the level of frustration he himself had demanded, to release him. When he undid the cords, he'd only needed to run the tip of his finger up and down purpled, swollen, deliciously silky organ twice before Sean lost it and blew his wad all over the ecru wall.

And from there, free and clear he determined himself to be, the blond was taken many times in the next few days, and walked gingerly, with rueful chuckles.

Then, not many weeks later, Sean called again, in even greater distress. Once again, Viggo had found himself on the next red-eye non-stop to where ever they could both get to at approximately the same time. It was with a bit of irritation Viggo went that time, not due to 'having' to see Sean, of course, but because he wondered over unanswered things. Was Sean returning to his older patterns of behaviour, from what conclusions Viggo had drawn from Sean's version it if? Would he go through one woman after another, demanding that elusive defiance/punishment/deliverance each time till eventually their bond lost its potency in repetition and Sean was gone to him forever? Or was it the dynamic they'd explored that Sean craved, enough to make him put aside a potential love and find another all too quickly, to have it again?

The trans-Atlantic flight that second trip, through immeasurably long, provided Viggo with enough time to decide that unlike the first surprising session, he would not only serve but be served. Seemed fitting, as Sean was the one with issues about forgiveness. They'd always known the day would come for one or both of them to find new love interests, lest the media call them what they were. Viggo would never have seen the Brit as the type to feel guilt. The one relationship Sean had been involved in that perhaps could have condemned him to hell was one dealt with most quickly, and the one thing he wouldn't discuss with Viggo, ever.

Once had not been enough, but before he could bring himself off, Sean wandered back in with a beer in his hand, a scowl on his face, and a, "Don't even think about it!" he sat on the bed and flipped channels, fondling Viggo, adding to the need for relief. He liked to tease, though it sounded more like threats in his bad-boy growl. "Yer bollocks is so tight, luv..." he called Viggo that behind closed doors. "They must hurt, eh?" His elegant hands trailed over Viggo's arms and legs where he was still on all fours, seemingly casual, but they both knew better. "Gawd, yer the sexeh one, aren't yeh?" he drawled. "Dunno what it is, but..." he tipped up the bottle. When his arm rose, Viggo saw out of the corner of his eye that the blond's cock was stirring. "Suck me," he ordered.

Squirming around to put his head in Sean's lap, Viggo did as he was told. From the side, he slurped the hardening shaft, swirling his tongue around it while it lengthened to fill up his mouth. His nostrils flared with Sean's musk and the left-over tastes of himself mixed with the Brit's seed. He worked the fat head into his throat, swallowing over and over till that little slit was leaking all over again and the tension in the blond's body told him he was almost ready to fly off the bed. Extracting himself, Sean got up to kneel behind Viggo as he had before. He found lube and applied it to himself and to dusky, tender hole, scissoring his fingers to re-stretch what was beginning to close up again, and then, he plunged, and wallowed in Viggo.

The burn from the too-fast penetration was dying away, replaced by the sensation of Sean's powerful body, wracked with adrenaline and pent up need, behind his, taking him. And that was fine. They were suited in the fact that sometimes Viggo just needed to be fucked--entered, penetrated, plundered, and made to take it face-down on his knees. Sean was reacting to events beyond his control; his fucking was out of rage and the fierce, unspoken jealousy he'd never admit to when even semi-coherent.

But he wasn't anywhere near coherent then. "Fucking... I own your ass... fucking... mine...!" Underneath it all, no matter who they'd shared, or time and distance, it was there. Still. A final growl turned bellow, and Sean's cum boiled into Viggo's insides in hot splashes of love, because, for Sean, this was how you do love.

Viggo could meet him on these terms. While his cock hung heavy and achingly hard from the sharp, quick slides against his prostate, as well as from simply being rutted like that, Viggo allowed Sean to come back to himself, body and mind, before he moved. When hesitant kisses graced the back of his neck, then a bite or two, he extricated himself from his position. Sean rolled over onto his back. Sloe-eyed, the blond blinked at him blearily. His mouth opened wordlessly. Viggo smiled, tight-lipped. "So, I'm scum. What are you, then?"

A hesitation. "The same."

"We're all the same. It's base instinct."

Viggo moved around and knelt between the other man's splayed legs. "Up now. 'S my turn." Grunting in what could only be called rebellious agreement, Sean pulled his knees up and exposed his entrance. It quivered, Vig noticed, from the residual post-orgasmic shock waves. He needed that around him now. There was nothing like having been under that made him so crave taking another. The Brit didn't get off on being fucked the same way that Viggo did, but it would be tolerated; he knew he deserved it.

Viggo wasn't in the mood for just 'tolerated.' His blood sang for a yielding laced with submission. Sean had taken him fast and hard, and he would do the same. Later, they would reacquaint themselves to measured, concerted hours of lovemaking.... Much later. Already he had two, no three fingers up inside Sean, spreading him, preparing the way. "Wanna feel this..." he said, more to himself. And with as little lube as he could get away with, he sunk home. Sean cried out wordlessly, and tensed. "Relax, relax," Viggo chanted and began to murmur in Danish... "Rolig nu, slap af...Sådan ja, tag min pik, dit afskum... det hele er til dig, hver eneste centimeter den er lang, hver eneste centimeter den er bred... Jeg knepper dig, Sean."//"Relax, relax...That's right take my cock, scum... its all for you, every fucking inch it is long, every inch it is around... I'm fucking you Sean."// His hands would explore later. For now, he held Sean steady while he glided in and out, in and out. Surely, Sean had know that after he'd fucked Viggo twice and tormented him with his clever hands that it would be over all too quickly. It only made Viggo love him more, how his proud, manly lover allowed himself to be used as a hole for Viggo to cum in now, even in the midst of Viggo's "judgment." His climax hit him too hard to keep looking into Sean's eyes as he'd wanted to. Braced on his arms for better leverage as he slammed into the cradle of Sean's spread thighs, Viggo cried out in pained release. Tears dripped from under the corners of his eyelids. Sean licked them away, kissing eyelids and eyelashes, laugh lines, till salt of sweat and tears was cleansed away.

They needed a break, a lull, for things to be said before they both broke, psyche and simply machismo. But at dinner, actually midmorning by Viggo's internal clock, there had been too many distractions. Walking back, Viggo said, "Look, what you've done... was mind-blowing. But now, I think maybe there's something more..." Sean looked at him questioningly. At their door, Viggo opened it, let them in, closed in, and led Sean straight over to his toy box. "I want any and all of this you can stomach. For as long as either of us can take it." He paused. His eyes pleaded understanding. "You know I can't come out of this with a bunch of scars on my back... but... please... Hit me hard. Really fucking hard."

Sean struggled not to let his face register shock, surprise, disgust, all those things roiling for dominance in his brain. "Why?" He was the pain freak. Why did Viggo want it now? Some kind of one-upmanship? 'What was good for the Sean was good for the Viggo?' He could fuck a man hard as "punishment," but he'd never done it to seriously harm anyone. It wasn't in him. This wasn't sex. It was physical force and violence. It had never turned Viggo on to have it done to him. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He didn't know. They'd never done it that way.

He was about to refuse, and Viggo knew it. The Dane put a narrow riding crop in his hands and picked up two pairs of handcuffs and a spreader bar. "Do it now, Sean," he said from between clenched teeth. "I so fucking deserve it. My reason is no different than yours."

It finally clicked. He'd taken it out of Viggo's ass his way, with his cock, but Viggo had to have it his own way, too. Just as Sean took pain as messing about and being under, sexually, as the 'real' punishment, so Viggo took it as the exact opposite. This went way further than submission this time. Shaking his head and wondering, seriously, if his friend was as unhinged as he usually conveyed, Sean dragged the other man in the direction of the bed.

"No, not there," Viggo growled. "Not in our bed." Sean blinked. Fine. Not IN it then... he rapidly clipped one bracelet of a handcuff to one of the bedposts. It was a king-sized monster... He wondered if Viggo's arms would stretch that far, but they did. He was just under six feet tall, after all. Sean had read somewhere that the span of one's outstretched arms was supposed to be approximately the same as their height. Viggo had very little slack, enough to fiddle with the bracelets a little, but not enough to bend his elbows more than ten degrees. Without a word, Sean kicked his feet further apart than the usual cocky wide stance. Viggo huffed. Then he kicked. Viggo's foot struck him on the large muscle on the front of his right thigh. Sean thought he should've seen it coming, but he simply had not. He stumbled backwards and fell on his arse.

After that first kick that left Sean skidding an annoying patch of carpet-burn on his left cheek, the man had been no joy to restrain, as wormy as he was, but once one of his ankles was cuffed to the spreader bar, it had been almost fun to wrestle with Viggo about the other leg. Then he'd let the Dane hang there a good while, and just silently admired the view. On several occasions, his guilelessly blue-eyed lover had quietly told him exactly what the sight of Sean's back did to him. It was no hardship to look upon the counterpart. As tense and drawn into an unnatural position was he was, Viggo's full musculature popped out at him in a landscape of hills and curves, even little knots on places under his shoulders and ribs. Especially his deltoids 'talked' to Sean, thick and rounded, disappearing in acute points into smaller, compact arm muscles below. Sometimes Sean wished his artistic talent ran stronger. The desire to draw what he was seeing consumed him, but he couldn't, so he memorized.

But he was also avoiding. Maybe this was something like what a person felt like the first time they jumped out of a plane, skydiving. The closest Sean had come to that was probably the deep end of the pool, as a lad. He stood well back from Viggo, his mind in torment. Unconsciously, he pulled the thin braided leather of the whip through his hands.

"C'mon, Bean," Viggo grumbled at him. "Quit fucking stalling."

Sean was going to stall some more, too. "Don't rush me, or I might just walk away and leave you there like that."

Viggo tossed the hair out of his eyes and said nothing. Sean let his gaze move slowly over one hell of a fine ass for a man their age, hard and tight... small really. Narrow. Like his hips. Then below, hairy legs spread with the silver, metal bar lying on the floor to keep them that way. Just for good measure, Sean crept up behind him and squatted down, clicking the bar open several more inches. While he was down there, he licked the back of Viggo's thigh where it met his buttock, and then under and around, passing his tongue several times along the bottom of the loosely dangling balls. Viggo's scent lived there. For a brief moment, Sean consumed it.

"You gonna snort me...?" Viggo queried.

"Better than cocaine." Then Sean remembered where he'd heard that before. "Can't you do any better than that?"

"No, given the circumstances. You gonna do something this decade?"

"Maybe you want to beg me for it," Sean suggested, in stricter tone of a voice than he'd intended. It seemed to work, though.

"Maybe not," Viggo retorted.

"Fine," countered Sean. "Then you can beg me to stop." Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he drew back his arm, and before he could impede the motion, brought the whip down with a loud crack. Viggo jumped, and hissed. It surprised Sean too, how much noise it made. He'd never been on this end of it. There was a breathless pause... and then, he found it within himself to do it again.

The trepidation fled, and something primal and urgent took over. It reared up and roared in his face. Jealousy, or more accurately, possessiveness. In the early days, he'd stressed himself out over the very tactile antics of 'the Hobbits 'n' Orli,' energy poorly spent. But now, he thought of a pair of feminine hands touching Viggo... that idea made him burn with something close to rage. Slim, pretty hands with carefully done nails, combing through the crisp curls on Viggo's chest... would she have the sense to test how very responsive those little beaded nipples were?

Sean knew. One-handed, he flicked one, then the other, just to see them pull tight. He pinched to tiny buds. The second, he kept between his thumb and forefinger to roll it, tugging a couple times, gathering his nerve. He took a deep breath, hauled back his arm, and cracked the whip across the lowest part of the Dane's back, just above his ass. A muted yelp escaped pressed-together lips. The long, wiry body arched, shoulders and arse pushed backwards, belly protruding a little on the opposite side of his spine. Sean's thoughts brought forth a sickening inward display of those same small, soft hands stroking over his man's bum, up the rippling back—Sean let the whip whistle as it fell there next - and up to Viggo's face.

He was going to be sick. Not that Sean was very into those kinds of touchy-feely affirmations, still, 'seeing' this woman's fingers stroking lightly over the planes of Viggo's angular face... tracing the laugh lines, scritching at the unreachable whiskers in the dimple on his chin, delicately touching the scar on his lip...he channeled all that into an altar of anger. Swinging the riding crop much harder than he should, he saw the tanned skin was gleaming with sweat when Viggo finally lost it and screamed aloud.

That wordless yell provoked him; it seemed he couldn't stop. Several more times, reddening lines of hot stain graced Viggo's back: his blood, brought up by violent blows of the skinny lash falling but trapped under his skin. Somehow, that pissed Sean off. With effort, he discontinued. The blond dropped the thin, stiff, leather rod and bent at the waist, out of breath, hands on his knees.

"Give yeh... somethin'... to yell about..." Sean panted.

Viggo spared one glance at Sean, through lowered lashes. A spike of queasy heat-fear gut-punched the blond. This woman... she might not chain Viggo to the bedposts, not literally, but she would surely pick up on the unique little quirks, sexual and otherwise, that made his lover so fucking arresting. Of course she would. And Viggo... Viggo would show her... would share... yes, he would, wouldn't he? Sean held some piece of Viggo, but not exclusive rights, not anymore. Yes, Viggo would give of his body in a manner only fitting of him. Sean did not skimp on giving his gir—

Goddammit! Bloody rotten buggering fuck! He should be the one over there, stretched and welted. He had this small flash of insight, and then the madness loomed up again. In slightly wobbly steps, Sean crossed to the toy box and grabbed the paddle. The handle felt thick and sturdy in his hand, like a disembodied, impossibly hard cock. Strange, how, neither he nor Viggo were at the moment. Standing close behind the chained-up man, he ran a hand over that bum, letting his nerve endings tell his brain exactly how fucking good this felt, that he was touching Viggo, the soft, smooth skin and hard muscle underneath. It was quite fascinating, how a man who routinely rode horses and swam in the ocean could have such a caressable butt; what Sean was reminded of was well-worn, well-oiled old leather. He spent a moment lost in the sensation and the touching, just listening to Viggo's breathing, till that possessive fury hit him all over again.

He could feel his face grow hot. What the fuck was he doing, standing here like a ninny, playing with another bloke's arse? Viggo himself was not complaining. He seemed to forget about his welts long enough to develop a semi-erection. He was pandering to both their sensualities, instead of doing his job. Damn distractions!

One thing Sean was learning perforce that spanking someone with a paddle was a lot more intimate than using a whip. He couldn't stand back coldly and let the long stinging tails do the work for him. Instead, his body was close enough to Viggo's to feel the warmth of it. He put a hand down on Viggo's shoulder to brace himself and swung that wooden plank, over and over. Viggo's ass was bright red, turning white the instant the paddle bounced off like a wave of milk. On and on it went, only their respective grunts heard over the swoosh and slap of paddle on skin.

Finally Sean heard something else. "Stop," Viggo whispered, barely audibly. He hadn't safeworded, no, but Sean ignored that little technicality. He let the handle slide from his white-knuckled grip and fell to his knees. Like a small child, he hugged one of the Dane's legs tightly, and did not move till the other man spoke again. "Will you let me... let me go?"

Slowly, Sean unbuckled the cuff around the ankle nearest him. Viggo's legs were shaking from both the tension of his position and what he'd just experienced, asked for though it was. Once loose, he hopped his foot more underneath himself and brought the other closer, still attached to the bar. Sean removed it, too. Then the handcuffs. Viggo's arms dropped to his sides, useless, and he swayed on his feet. Before he could fall, Sean moved so he was supported the other man entirely, and helped him walk around to the side of the bed. "Ok, I let you go... from your shackles. But I'm never going to let you go from me... unless that's what you want."

"Sean..." He looked into the other man's face at the choked-out recitation of his name, and saw tear-tracks were shimmering again. "No matter what else happens, you're the one I love."

"But not the only one."

Those light eyes speared him where he stood. Sean had to bow his head. "I know..." he whispered, "I know..."

Somehow they got into bed and lay facing, a sheet over their heated bodies. "It was bound to happen," Viggo stated.

"Me, yeah," Sean conceded. "You know I just... don't have the kind of will power you do... about that. But I just thought... I'm sorry... guess I wanted you all for m'self."

"I still am..." Warm, calloused hands were placed around the sides of his face. Viggo's thumb ran over the seam of his mouth. A minute later, brash and mobile lips replaced the digit, and a slick tongue slid forward to tease Sean's into motion. It was so strange, like the first time they'd touched each other in a manner more personal than just friends. Viggo's midsection lurched and dived hotly; blood thundered down to his groin. He couldn't quite forget the painful mess that was his backside, but could ignore it for the time being. "Sean... remember when we..." Viggo whispered against Sean's seeking mouth. The depth of those green eyes told him he knew exactly what the Dane was referring to. His hand moved down the path of fuzzy treasure trail and into the little bush of pubic curls, and then down to encircle the soft-over-hard organ. There was an answering rush of blood to his own, and soon strong fingers closed around him, stroking in perfect timing. Their kisses met and clung, sucked and nipped, while fists worked erections. Understated writhes marked their progress... Clear, sticky fluid started to run, slicking the way. Sean was very conscious of Viggo's raw backside and tried not to move him around much.

"You know you're more than this, right?" Viggo remarked breathlessly while his thumb teased foreskin back and forth over turgid flesh.

"Oh, gawd... can't think right now..." the blond groaned.

"You're more than just a body to play with... you're my lover... love you so much."

"Aye... show meh... jes' like yeh did that night..." Rolling to his back and pulling the brunette on top of him, Sean reached to embrace him, then stopped. "Oy... can' even touch yeh now. Yer poor back, luv!"

Viggo ground down. "Don't need my back for this." Their hips moved together, trapping their cocks together between them. "Sure y'want it this way?" Viggo asked. "You can have me..."

"No... had 'nough of yer bullshit... 'punishment.' Jesus, Viggo, if you find someone t'make yeh happy..." he took a very deep breath and looked away. "Don't let my jealous ass stop yeh."

"I'm just as much of a jealous ass as you, you know." Viggo flexed his hips and bit down on the cords in Sean's neck. His thighs parted and came down beside the other man's hips, straddling him. It didn't take long for Sean to match his rhythm in counter arches. "You know you can't stop me... and I can't stop you, either. Let's just let it be what it is, alright, brother?"

"That's disgusting..." Disgoosting.

"Yeah, and you liked it..." The cock sliding faster and faster against his had swollen thicker yet.

Sean moaned, "Please..." it was an unformed whine, a plea. Then Dane attached his mouth to his lover's and brought them both to the edge of climax, with the repetitive rub of their cocks, bodies, and tongues in his own special rhythm. Caught up in their memories of the first time they'd experienced each other thusly along with the newfound freedom, even in possession, the men writhed in ecstatic frottage till first one then the other spurted thick cream up between their damp abdomens.

As they came back down, Viggo took the blond's flushed face in his hands once more and kissed his forehead.

"I was scared," Sean blurted. "Thought it was over."

Sliding off and to his side, Viggo replied, "No... not hardly. If it ever is... I promise, I'll tell you straight out. And you would do likewise, right?"

"Right. But..."

"You just never know what life brings. Who'd have thought 'this'?" He raised his eyebrows. "I want you to always remember this. I know we just don't talk about it much but maybe this time, it needs to be said. When you said you own my ass...Yes. And it's mutual." He reached over and pulled the heavily relaxed, lighter-skinned man onto his side so he could caress that round behind. "And when I told you you're more to me than just a toy with a cock, I meant it. I love you so much... so much, Seanie... think about you all the time, every time I write, or paint... We have something that goes behind the world's conventions... its 'other.' And... that's the only way I'd have it."

"Thank you," Sean said. "Just... thank you." He struggled to find words. "Nothing can tear it apart."

"Never."

They lay entwined, nearly asleep now, in a sweaty cocoon of spent love, sex, and the crazed passionate frenzy for each other that they'd proved to themselves had never faded.

"Never."

*****

THE END

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