The Stairs

The Stairs

Posted: October 2005
Title: The Stairs
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Warnings: The usual
Beta: None, any mistakes are mine.
Summary: TIFF, 2005. What should have happened, if it didn't.
Author's Notes: bijouatweb for the photo via email, and rotpunkt for the interview in which Sean said...

*****

Today he wrote in his journal, "It truly doesn't seem like six years. It could have been yesterday. Well, it was. Both. It's all right there, before my eyes, whenever I conjure it. And I do."

~ ~~~ ~ ~~~ ~

Yesterday, he had gotten a call, an invitation, and an explanation. They would meet. For old times sake, auld lang syne. Sean wanted to be with him for his new film's premier...That was how he put it. There were other things that didn't need to be said out loud. Either way, Viggo would not refuse. Never. Because they'd never shed that layer, could ease into it at will.

~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~

"A year and a half," was the innocuous but meaningful answer to the reporter's question. 'A yeer ahnd a hahlf...' The accent, still that Midlands that time and money couldn't remove from Sean... Sean's voice was manly-gruff with drinking and hand-rolled cigarette smoke and suppressed raw craving. Just the low scratch of it hit Viggo hard. Right between the legs. He bounced and weaved and made ridiculous faces at any camera operator who cared to capture it.

~ ~~ ~

"Stop this fookin' lift, I'm gonna fuck yeh now!" Long-familiar hands fumbled for the 'stop' button, then for the front of Viggo's pants. There was groping and kissing, strong, well-matched bodies straining for the upper hand, for position, for friction. "You and that sodding white suit!" Sean gritted.

"And you with the fucking Armani," was the groaned return. Skin had barely been accessed when their car jolted and began to crawl upwards again.

"What floor you on?"

"Twenty."

A quick glance up. Fourteen. "I say we run for it."

"Race you!"

~ ~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~~ ~

Four floors up, Viggo lagged to allow Sean to get three steps in front of him. He grabbed the man's ankle.

Tripping, catching himself on his hands, when Sean turned his head he was nearly burned by what he'd seen more than once already that night--that look reserved only for him, but now there was more fire, heat, passion.

"You were right, but you're wrong, too, Seanie. This was my premier; I'm pulling rank on you... And I..." Viggo pulled himself up Sean's body hand over hand. "Am gonna have you, right here..." he flipped the blond man over, nearly insane with lust over pink, swollen lips, shaggy hair, glowing green eyes with deepening lines flying up and out. "Right now," he finished.

"You gonna rip my panties off?" The British voice had dropped another half an octave, clotted with arousal but precise at the same time as he used the American word for 'knickers.' He snarled, but assisted rather than resisted this second attempt at loosening clothes. His trousers and boxers were yanked smoothly downwards to his ankles.

Sean could not stop himself. "You're naughty!" He reached between his body and Viggo's and freed the other man's stiff cock. "How's this gonna work?" he asked, more to himself than anything.

In answer, hands slid under his knees and pulled them up, then out, till his ankles were right under his arse where it was perched on the edge of a carpeted step. Viggo looked down; his mate's eyes traced a meandering pathway over his splayed thighs, his shuddering abs where his shirt was pushed up, his substantial, hurting prick leaking silvery fluid onto the hairs of his belly, and his bollocks so sensitive in their filled state.

"Oh, god, Sean..." The Dane's voice did the opposite of the blond's when he was excited—it grew high and constrained. He had his cock in hand, the weeping tip between Sean's cheeks, nudging his hole. Belated, he asked, "You got anything? I don't want to hurt you..."

Sean blushed, but met Viggo's flashing, dilated eyes. "You're that turned on... yer runnin' with it... I can feel how wet y'are. Once yer in, y'll see." One hand fisted in the hair on the back of Viggo's head. "...I prepped m'self earlier." Red stained his cheekbones. "Just in case..."

Comprehension hit Viggo's brain. He drove his hips forward. Pure animal instinct overtook them both. Their powerful bodies writhed in search of critical pleasure. Words and feelings were beyond them; they expressed every nuance in their shared physical connection, convulsing, thrusting, and clenching, fingers that grasped and pulled and yanked. "Dammit, Sean," Viggo swore. "Goddammit... missed you so much..."

He pounded that muscular, willing/resisting body with all his considerable strength. Sean always looked good to him, but this was better than he remembered. The warm golden tones of the man's skin sang into his mind--his little innie-outie navel, those beefy thighs stretched wide for him, the way Sean was all hands. It was out of need, nostalgia, brotherhood, the loneliness that never being left alone brought, but finally, for a moment, it boiled down to the physical release...

Once again, Viggo's lips claimed Sean's. Calloused hands plied responses in twisting writhes from whatever bare flesh could be found, the ratchet and piston of cock in arse the driving force. Sean, below, pushed at Viggo's trousers till they slid halfway down his ass. God knew why, but he needed to get his hands on those furry balls. The sharp intake of breath then he rolled the stones inside tightened everything on his body that could tighten; in turn, Viggo pushed into him all the more aggressively.

There would be bruises on him, between his shoulder blades and on the lower part of his back, but he didn't give a damn. How had he gone so long without his crazy lover who didn't care about things like if they'd be caught buggering each other in public, or ripped designer clothes, or cum coating them...? As absolutely orgasm-inducing as it was to imagine them soiled in each other's juices, one could just not appear in public so, on the small outside chance someone cornered them before they made it to Viggo's room. He had to hold on.

The Dane rolled the two of them to their sides, Sean's back protectively against the wall. His scarred lip curled back, his tongue lolling out like a miniature pink carpet. But his breathing labored and his thrusting was becoming erratic. "Close, Sean, close..." That hefty rod went so deep in his ass, and it jumped within him when Viggo's silky cream poured forth. He was holding onto Sean's arms tightly, probably leaving finger marks from the feel of it.

They sealed their mouths tighter in an attempt to dampen the sounds of their full-throated moans. Intense sex combined with the feel and knowledge of Viggo's release filling him up inside. Undone, Sean could no longer control himself. Forcing both of his hands between their sweaty bodies, he used them to cover the tip of his erection. He was gonna blow, he couldn't help it, but he could at least catch it.

But the Dane noticed his frenzied actions. His softening cock slid free, and in the next instant he was arched over Sean's exposed groin, enclosing the tip then more of him in his hot, moist mouth. Sean, already just on the verge of his peak, felt his cum burst forth till his balls emptied completely. He rasped, "Oh fuck yeah, feels so good, you're so fucking good..." and Viggo sucked more and more from him, greedy for the taste. As he worked the full length into his mouth and down into his throat, swallowing repeatedly just for the sake of milking the blond, Viggo stared fixedly, deep into his eyes.

"What?" Sean finally asked, easing Viggo's covetous mouth from him.

"I am so not done with you."

Breathing heavily, Sean retorted. "The same for me, mate. I came for me film, sure, but I came for you more." He looked away. It was unlike him to just spit it out, like that.

Viggo chuckled. "You sure did." He waited till Sean looked at him and licked his lips.

The Brit shook his head, stood up carefully, and began to quickly do up his clothes. "What made yeh...?" He raised his fine blond brows.

"Well..." Viggo glanced at him, secretive, like he was considering if he should say something, or not. "So much was made of that scene... the stairs. I nearly laughed when I saw it tonight."

"Why? It gave me a wood," Sean told him.

"Apparently," the blue-eyed man laughed. "Or maybe I should say, 'obviously.'" He grinned like a loony. "I spent half the time wishing it was you I was doing that scene with, and the other half immensely thankful I wasn't. Could've gotten mighty embarrassing..." Almost as if he'd timed it that way, he zipped his pants, and let Sean have a big sloppy grin.

"Don't think yer Cronenberg woulda minded. He wanted yah," Sean teased.

"...Er... If things were different... maybe some year he'll take us on..." He was going to finish, "on film," but he was cut short. The stairwell door opened two floors below them, and a second later, there were footsteps. "Go!" Viggo said in a low voice. Sean turned and bounded up the stairs. He followed, wishing Sean's jacket wasn't so long, so he could watch the world-class ass he'd recently plundered.

But there were things to consider now besides perving. Getting them both to his room undetected, for example, so the real encounter could begin. His body was still tingling from the aftermath, both mental and physical. The anticipation... well... he knew what he needed, and Sean was just the man for it. And for him. Always had been.

They'd been right, that time and distance only made things sweeter.

*****

THE END

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