Posted: September 2004
Title: The Woods at Night
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Viggo Mortensen/Everyone (SB, DW, KU, OB, and CP)
Rating: NC-17
WARNING: Wanking. Angst lite. Threesome. Unsafe sex (only thought about)
Beta: none
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Summary: Viggo and his wanking fantasies
Notes: slight TTT spoilers

*****

Chapter 1

Viggo, still dressed as Aragorn, stood directly behind Peter, watching the dailies. The director had taken him in on his nightly editing at times for two reasons. One was Viggo's artistic eye. While Peter was all about every last excruciating, exacting detail, Viggo ran on instinct. He just got an impression, and knew almost immediately what was best. It had saved Peter time, precious hours of time, more than once already. Two, the man was nearly as fanatical and obsessed with his role as Pete was with ‘his' film, and the pure commonality of it put them at ease with each other. However, tonight, Pete began to wonder if this had been a mistake. He hadn't slept in forty-two hours, and Viggo, for whatever reason, was not focusing.

No, Viggo was not focusing. He knew exactly what Pete wanted. Choosing between singular renditions of it was the problem. In this moment, Faramir was going to look up, reveal his identity in a more meaningful way to Frodo and Sam. It was then that everyone would see it, would see that family resemblance. With no spliced in images, nothing but the angle of the lens and the exact way David held his eyes and mouth and flared his nostrils, the audience would be made to see Boromir's face superimposed over Faramir's till their features amalgamated. Then Faramir would re-emerge, and they would say, "Ah, yes, they do look alike. Brothers."

David was a beautiful man in his own right, but Viggo didn't think he looked like Sean. His eyes were too wide, his lips too full, and when he smiled, the difference was even more pronounced. Deep lines bracketed the outside parameters of Sean's killer smile. David, with his wide, smooth face, looked more cherubic than any man had a right to. And here Pete was trying to turn him into a nasty character…

…And succeeding. Besides the eerie face-over, which worked on Viggo at ground zero, there were other little things. For the interim, Pete had accomplished ridding Dave of his clear Aussie lilt. His voice sounded properly Gondorian gruff, edgy, suspicious, and pitched nearly an octave downward. Cosmetically, his heavy dark-blond stubble spoke volumes to Viggo. The wig toned down the red hair and added to the Middle Earth ideal of masculine beauty. Without exception, they all had some degree of long hair, from the unruly hobbit curls to the wavy flaxen tresses of the Roherric tribes, to the variably-colored but always lengthy, elaborate, and perfectly coiffed Elf-do's.

Viggo rubbed his face, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and tried to remember he was in New Zealand at the beginning of the twenty-first century, A.D. It didn't help. So help him, he didn't know how many more times he could watch the subtle face-over following, "He was my brother," without exploding in his pants. What the hell was wrong with him?

"You should go home," Peter sighed after nearly an hour. Viggo had asked him to play all eight takes over twice, and together, they narrowed it down to three. But from there, well, Viggo almost could not bear to see any more footage be tagged to hit the cutting room floor.

"I'm sorry," Viggo murmured. "I'm not being much help. It's just…"

"Sit down, Vig. You're making me nervous." Peter waved his hand vaguely at the second director's chair sitting to his right. "You're gonna whack me in the back of the head with that sword of yours, you keep fidgeting like that."

Viggo wondered if the double entendre was intentional. How could Pete possibly know…what this was doing to him? But he did as requested and plopped down in the chair, quickly crossing his legs.

"Alright, then. These three, one more time." Pete's tone said it was going to be one more time and then he was running Viggo off, whether they decided or not.

Viggo gripped the arms of his chair tightly and gritted his teeth. Four identical faces appeared on the console. He'd never questioned Pete's preference for viewing everything in quadruplicate before. Tonight, it was just too goddamn overpowering. Peter had his set-up such that he could play the remaining takes back to back. There was the anger version; the sadness version, where Faramir nearly cried; and then the quiet angst version. They all had their merits, they all provoked the unearthly Boromir flashback/superimposition, and frankly, they all had Viggo by the balls. That last one though… Viggo would have thought the effect would lessen, after repeated viewings, but no. This time, his heart lurched as well as his libido. The dark-haired man sat back in this chair and swore utter nonsense in his three native languages under his breath, and some good Maori filth to boot. He didn't notice Pete had changed from watching the screens to watching him.

The director was now smirking at him with one eyebrow raised into his bushy hair. "Ah, so it worked?" he asked. Viggo didn't have to wonder in the least what he meant. "That last one, then, eh?"

Viggo let his eyes burn into Peter, as he struggled with his own mess of emotions and a woefully uncooperative bit of manflesh. He couldn't speak. After a minute, he grunted affirmatively and fled.

It was thankfully dark outside, with no moon. Viggo walked purposefully out of the little knot of trailers and productions equipment into some nearby woods. "Woods," he snorted to himself. He was going to fit right in.

No one stopped him. They were used to his idiosyncrasies, especially the nature-communing business. Probably no one even noticd him go; he was getting good enough at this Ranger stuff to move unseen in the shadows when he wanted to. When he was into the tree cover what he considered a safe distance, Viggo leaned back against the rough bark of a tree that had a circumference thicker than the broadest point of his shoulders. Just in case someone managed to surprise him, he could always duck around the tree. He untied the strings of the authentic but annoying lace-up breeches and eased them down far enough to allow his cock to spring free, pushing open the lacings.

The tiny, square bottle of lube he was never without for some ungodly reason escaped his fumbling fingers momentarily. Licking his off hand, Viggo wrapped it around his needy, dripping cock and squeezed. He had not touched another person since Sean had left three months ago, and it was getting to him. As of this instant, it had been nearly one hundred hours since Viggo had last done what he was about to do now, and he needed it badly.

Ah, there was the lube. In his haste, he spilled too much. Rather than get it all over his clothes, or waste it, Viggo greased both hands, slathered the lion's share of the slippery substance over his veined, hot shaft, and rubbed the rest into the wrinkled skin of his tender balls. Already they ached from the need to come. Oiled and ready, the hem of his long shirt gripped between his teeth, Viggo surrendered to his near-painful heat.

On the leafy ground, his feet slid wider till his bootheels dug in, four feet part. A wellspring of red lust rose up. Concentrating, he squeezed his eyes shut. The first face Viggo ‘saw' was Sean's, just his smile, that "Bite me" expression that he often wore when he wasn't being either polite or purely sexual. Switching hands, Viggo struggled to be quiet; he wanted to hiss and growl, wanted to draw this out, to make it good, even just for himself. For some moments, he did nothing but slowly slide his fingers up and down with just enough pressure to pull the foreskin back from the sensitive head of his cock, and push it back to re-cover it, over and over. The other hand cupped his delicate sac, not yet rolling or squeezing. More images poured through his mind and Viggo let them, disregarding the deep, urgent call of his body for the moment.

He would never, ever, as long as he lived, forget the sheer presence and charisma of naked Sean, all bravado and testosterone, actually crying, weeping, with the intensity of their first time together, with all of its awkwardness and false starts. Viggo let it play out to the end, leaning against the tree, his cock hard and heavy within the grip of his sword hand. He remembered the way his lover's shoulders moved as they held each other, touched each other for the first time, when Sean had closed his hand around Viggo and Viggo had done the same and they had kissed clumsily like two virgins, because they were, really, and then they had both come, embarrassed, but not satisfied and finally Sean had said, ‘Oh bloody hell, fuck it… just take me, Vig, please,' and Viggo had done it. Nothing would ever replace that. Nothing.

Small shock-waves of heat ran continuously to the base of his spine and the pit of his belly, as it had that night, where he would have done anything for Sean but he couldn't stop pushing; till tears ran from the corners of those green eyes and Viggo palmed Sean's cock between them, not letting up and making Sean come first and himself two seconds later, their mouths sealed together and the salt of Sean's hot tears on his tongue. For just a moment, he moved his hand from his balls and with that same thumb, swirled through the moisture leaking from the slit. He smeared it back, over the crown of the head; his natural lubrication blended into the oil. He gave a precious few quick jerks, before he had to stop, with an application of direct pressure to the base of his cock. He didn't want to spill yet. It was too soon.

The imagery of Sean faded and was replaced by the man who played his brother. There was this insistent mental picture of him standing, totally nude, his back to Viggo, then looking over one shoulder in a definite come-hither. Viggo shoved that aside. No, anything else. Licking his dry lips, then replacing the hem of his shirt, Viggo cast for a suitable fantasy. His scraped and calloused hands created new patterns of friction as he stroked himself. A twist of the wrist and, Yes! There…

There was one he'd indulged in a few times: Karl. The man was big, his fierce hawk-like glare played down by the blond Roherric locks, but when those came off… A man like that could use Viggo very well, he thought. He'd want to have him in front of a mirror, standing, where he could see the whole abrupt, sweaty business… There was a man who would force him to bend, to take it, who would rut him like a stallion. He could just see violent sex between the two of them. No doubt Karl's cock was as big as the rest of him; it would split him wide and scrape unmercifully against his sweet spot till the hurting and pain of such a rough taking would combine with a certain forced flare of readiness that he could bear down against… Karl would be panting and growling at him to come and he would, watching himself being fucked raw like a whore, slack-mouthed, glazed-eyed and bent over with hard hands clawing at his hips. Glittering dark eyes and those ridiculously perfect lips, so wasted on a man like that he'd never even kiss, they would curl into a snarl as Karl filled Viggo full of lava. Then, Aragorn would be pulled upright by the hair, to watch his own cock surge and bounce obscenely till cream spurted from its untouched, reddened fullness…

The face above or behind his relaxed into a self-satisfied smirk… to be replaced by a keen pair of sparkly blue eyes and a sharp nose that could no doubt smell the scent of arousal all over him. For the third time, Viggo mentally shoved that face away. He found he'd been pulling on himself in long, smooth glides, and was so close to the edge of coming, his whole body was shuddering with it. Viggo forced himself to let go with both hands, so that his palms and fingers cramped with the outward stretch, and his cock ached with rigidity, and his balls swelled with built-up fluids. But no, not yet.

Viggo decided he wanted to come so hard he passed out, if such a thing could even be accomplished solo like this. To calm himself for the next slow build-up, Viggo imagined the look on the face of whatever poor hapless crew member found him out there in the morning, on his face, leaves in his hair and his dick still out. Snort! He conjured up his next fantasy, or it conjured itself…

Two laughing, pliable, long-legged, long-haired Elves… wouldn't he like to chase the pair of them all over the Deeping Wall? Oh, yes… Dragging them… somewhere… didn't matter where, as long as there was a mattress. He could just see the collection of smooth, sinewy, elegant limbs, those narrow little asses… Flash! Their flowing blond tresses curtained the rising and falling bodies. Flash! Like lightening, and they were both au natural now with short dark hair, one pair eyes going blue-brown-blue-brown on him, and the other a steady, electrifying cobalt. Much like he was actually doing now, Viggo would simply stand and wank, watching the giggling, sprightly pair roll around with breathy little kisses and nips and bites… till the duo grappled him as one onto the bed and covered his body with every perfect touch imaginable. One pried Vig's fist from his cock and replaced it with his own. The contact of a foreign hand made Viggo ready to come apart immediately, but the other pulled his testicles oh-so-gently down by the base, rendering him a helpless, squirming, moaning slave for the moment. One mouth latched on to one of his nipples. Teeth pinched the bud just this side of painful. The other mouth licked up his neck to his ear and poked a squiggling tongue inside. Viggo's ears, almost as erogenous as his cock, being licked like that made him arch his back and writhe deliciously, his legs coming apart, thrusting wildly up into whatever hand was gripping him.

"He's more than ready," purred one voice. The Elves shared a meaningful look.

"How do you want us?" invited the other, a cultivated baritone Viggo had once heard say just that; he'd never been able to put it totally from his mind. Viggo groaned, clenching his teeth to catch the tormented sound but it was too late; it has risen up amongst the trees. He forced himself once again to slow the pace of his strokes. The skin on his cock shined with oil and with the degree of blood-induced stretching. Under his hand, Viggo's member had swollen to such stiffness and solidity it almost scared him. Even his foreskin had all but disappeared and melted flat against the rock-hard caveronosa. Viggo shook so hard he could barely stand, even propped against the tree. Beads of sweat trickled down his face and neck. Belatedly, Viggo thought about Orlando's question. How did he want them? Such a pity he couldn't fuck them both at once. So he did the best he could.

"Orlando, on your knees; tuck your legs up under you. Craig, on top of him."

From nowhere, a bottle of lube appeared in his fingers. Craig had straddled Orli, with his long Elvish cock tucked into the crease of Orlando's ass. Even from where he was, Viggo could see how the younger boy's erect member was sandwiched between his thighs. The clear lube went in generous quantities on both their dusky little holes; Viggo used both hands to explore, flick fingers, circle in, out, enter, stretch. Both men under his command whimpered continually for more.

Viggo dropped the bottle. No other accessories appeared but since this was his fantasy, he kept it as he would have it, if only real life would allow. Yes, he would bareback these two willing boys, blend one into the other till not one of them could be anything but part of a big pile of fuck.

Pressing his knees firmly together to be able to reach, the tip of his cock touched Craig's hole and then plundered. The man squealed and jerked. Viggo held still for some moments. He breathed, "Sh…sh…" and lightly massaged the trembling back.

"Okay, good," Craig whispered as last, pushing back. Viggo wiggled around, thrusting slowly, till the dense sweet spot up inside was located. He let his cockhead rub against it a few times, till Craig moaned with it, then he pulled out…

… And spread his knees far apart now to reach Orlando. The boy had been extraordinarily still up till then. When Viggo entered him, he bucked so hard, he nearly dislodged Craig. Knowing without asking that Orlando could take whatever Viggo gave him, the American slammed into him a dozen times, till the brown-eyed Brit was gasping, trying to get his legs apart. He couldn't, though. He was trapped. Viggo loved the feel of his shaft sliding in and out of Orlando's tight heat and his belly slapping against Craig's ass while he did it. Speaking of…

…Viggo slid all the way out of Orlando and pulled Craig back down onto his cock… He was rougher about it now, and Craig begged imprecisely, "Oh, oh, god, oh please, please…" but he didn't say to stop. Underneath them both, Orlando gulped in air. Once more, Viggo slipped out of Craig's hole and went into Orlando, who keened his pleasure. The slightly larger New Zealander was not holding still; he was pushing his cock back and forth in the crack of Orlando's backside.

"You wanna fuck him, don't you?" Viggo growled at Craig. Both Viggo's sac and Orlando's were growing tight and they smacked together as he wallowed in Orlando's warmth. "Don't you?" parodied Orlando, his sexy purr directed at Craig.

"Oh, fuck yeah!"

Viggo rocked onto Orlando a few more times, savoring the throbbing passage around him. Almost regretfully, he pulled out and assertively said, "Go ahead, Craig; mount him. Front, back, I don't care... Then I'm gonna fuck you into him till you both cum screaming." Back in the forest, Viggo's face turned slightly pink. He normally didn't talk so during sex, but this was his reverie after all.

"Slick me up," commanded Craig's hoarse voice, and Viggo tipped more lube into his hand and reached under Craig's flank to the pulsing member there. He used the exact same movements he'd use on himself, twisting his fist in a 180? rotation one way, then the other, several quick pulls to the shaft and slides of the skin, followed by a few flicks of his thumb over the head and slit. Craig, over-sensitized, and cried, "Stop!" after the first such flick. Viggo grasped Craig's hip with one hand, noticing how his ass is so much paler than the rest of him, and guided Craig by his cock to Orlando's waiting entrance.

"Give him what he wants." Orlando whimpered like an overeager pup.

In an efficient, economic move characteristic of him, Craig did as he was told and pushed through Orlando's guardian ring, sinking himself till his loins touched the boy's raised buttocks. Orlando's hands clenched convulsively in the bedding, and he growled low in his throat, a sound Viggo had never expected to hear from such a laughing, fey creature. It only made him harder. He'd already been inside Craig; the aperture between those slender, rounded cheeks was more than adequately prepared. Viggo touched his cockhead to the opening as a warning, then he was into that sheath, pushing in and out almost full force from the beginning.

Kneeling between one set of splayed legs, and beneath, one pair of upturned feet, Viggo let his instincts take over. He fucked Craig as hard as he dared, pulling at his hips to guide his rhythm in and out of Orlando, till the New Zealander caught the timing and moved between the two on his own. From the bottom of the pile, Orlando's throaty voice chanted, "Oh god, oh Jesus…" and Craig, his hands planted on either side of Orlando's torso to support himself, merely moaned wordlessly.

Viggo wished again he could fuck them both at once. This was too hot. Craig wiggled and writhed like and eel the harder Viggo slammed into him, but he never lost the timing. His short, black hair was shiny with sweat, and his back, dewy with it as well. Before long, Viggo started to loose his grip on both his hands and his orgasm. His body was crying out to come, but his mind wanted the pair of Elves with their long, graceful bodies and their long, comely cocks creaming for their own turns first.

Viggo's pace went from merciless to ruthless. He knew his cockhead was putting enough pressure on Craig's prostate to force him to come any second now, but Orli… he was stubborn and Craig was off in la-la-land… Or so he thought. Just as Viggo made ready to reach around them both, Orlando took as deep a breath as he could from under the other two heaving male bodies on top of him and said clearly, "Help me, Craig… touch me right now, dammit!"

The answer was the man's hand snaking under Orlando's bent waist and somehow finding what had to be a painfully, achingly hard cock. The stream of happy profanity from Orlando's mouth increased exponentially. He managed to pump his hips; Viggo could feel the disturbance in rhythm from the bottom, but he was so close it didn't matter. Orlando suddenly wailed, "Yes! … Now! … Oh fuck… Craig!"

The youngest man came so hard Viggo was positive he could hear the individual spurts of cream pouring out into Craig's hand. The sound death-gripped his mind to meet or best the effort. Craig himself had tensed his whole body against Viggo's pounding and Orlando's inner spasms, but too late--his had already begun. He let out a noise that, though not a scream, was closer to a howl. Tension that had built up from the double dose of sensory excess and frustration had Craig shaking like he'd been chilled to the bone. Tell-tale ripples clenched around Viggo's cock and he too finally let himself go. The final wave of searing pleasure roared through him. He expressed the irrevocability of it with his own explosive short roar and longer orgasm. Jets of cream poured out into Craig's suddenly relaxed body. Viggo hung his head and slumped over the two pretty boys that had taken his utterly forceful fucking so superbly….

… And then they faded, sprawled naked and laughing as they recovered their senses, that silvery Elvish mirth floating just of reach…

… Viggo found himself on his knees in the cool, damp forest, offering himself quietly to the night and the stars. The visions he'd started with earlier returned, and this time he did not shove them away. The eyes went blue-green-blue, the faces superimposed one over the other over the other, the bodies, sometimes fully costumed, sometimes bare, switched minute proportions and postures. In the depths of dire desperation, Viggo's pounding blood and bobbing erection found relief behind his closed eyelids to the words that still burned in his ears and echoed in his head… "He was my brother… my brother… my brother…" Warm semen bathed his hand, and still Viggo continued to stroke himself till he could take no more, till what could be was re-absorbed into his skin, and the rest fell where it would.

When Viggo finally managed to calm his breathing, he gathered his scattered thoughts, still there on his knees. Slowly he tucked himself away and did up the laces. This whole thing was just weird-ing him out. Not that he was out here jacking off… Viggo firmly believed the poisons must leave the building every so often or it was unhealthy for a man. Not really by his choice of masturbatory brain fodder either… He'd probably fantasized over just about every cast and crew member who was anywhere near attractive at some point in time, male and female alike. It was just… was this his way of dealing with the business of moving on? He was seriously tripping over a man with even the slightest connotation to his former lover, and why…because it felt safe? Well, it wasn't. The man was not Sean's brother and didn't know him any more than Viggo had when he'd stepped off a plane and into Aragorn a year ago.

Eventually, Viggo got tiredly to his feet and picked his way back to the encampment. He'd been gone nearly an hour, and it was decidedly cold, making him grateful for all the layers of costume. He hoped he could make it to wardrobe before anyone waylaid him; he could smell his own musk and drying sweat all over himself. Anyone else with any aptitude and an aware libido would be able to scent it too, and he was not in the mood to fight off advances just now.

On his way, he passed a large group of Gondorians in full battle armor, David among them. Viggo quietly greeted the group at large and forced his eyes not to linger. Eyes lingered on him, however. He felt the shock of it, down his spine and into his very soul, and knew it was going to be a long night.

*****

Chapter 2

David, never one to wear costumes longer than absolutely necessary, was a strange cat, as Viggo saw it. He was quick-witted, constantly lying in wait till the opportunity presented itself for some goofball antic or another. Besides that, he was an excellent mimic, so much so that Viggo wondered if the man ever spoke as just himself. He was prone to always and forever be talking under his breath in that odd, nasally always-breaking accent.

Viggo was forcibly reminded of himself, and he knew he wasn't the only one who saw it. Therefore, he made himself more impossible to pin down.

To put it in point blank terms, Viggo wasn't in the mood for another round of casual, get-to-know-you chit-chat and pleasantries, or god forbid, dating. Maybe it was just his temperament. He'd been told many times that he got too intense too fast; but he was rather set in his ways and he wasn't going to change that now. That said, or consciously thought, Viggo wondered how it was that he was being dragged through all the steps anyway.

He could probably blame part of it on Peter. Viggo would have favored the avoidance tactic, and what did Peter do? He edited Faramir every night for the next week, and then he ingenuously called Dave in with himself and Viggo. Anyone could see through that little maneuver. The excessive amount of eye-rolling on the first of those nights by Viggo let Peter know exactly what he thought of it, but the wily director just smiled innocently and got down to business.

After the first half hour, Viggo calmed down enough to make a few honest and helpful suggestions, so he was permitted to stay. He knew he was on thin ice as impromptu assistant editor, and that Pete's stated reason for bringing David in, if pressed, would be that Viggo wasn't working out and he needed a new guinea pig. Well, now he had two, one of whom was having a difficult time thinking with the right head. Sure, but that edge was made to be dulled, and Peter was pretty sure he'd found the necessary instrument, so to speak. The first night he felt quite the chaperone, which was ridiculous considering his ‘children' were his age and older. Honestly… Actors!

II.

As a rule, as soon as Peter called it good, Viggo made himself scarce. Three nights later, as he stood to leave, Dave unexpectedly asked him, "Where are you going now?" Viggo looked over at Dave's attempt at casual and dealt him the ‘piss off' stare. If the man wanted him, he was going to have to show some mettle.

"To the woods," he replied shortly.

"Can I go?"

Viggo shrugged. "Suit yourself…" he said, non-committally, and walked off. With a slightly surprised expression, Dave jumped up and caught him up. The two strode off into the forest like they were on a mission.

Wishing he had a good excuse to curse, Viggo bit his tongue. It had been three days since his last visit and ‘things' were building up again. Sure, he could wank at his apartment or even in his trailer; he'd just gotten used to the flavor of the outdoors, the freeness of letting fly into nature's receptive air and earth.

"So, what do you do out here?" Dave inquired.

"I meditate, I guess. It's not any formal technique, it just helps me relax." They were walking at a kind of ambling pace now, toward his usual area. Since he had company, Viggo wasn't in any real hurry. He supposed he'd have to find another location for himself after this, since he wasn't about to show up again in his usual spot, likely as it was that Dave would come back here. Viggo pulled up beside his favorite tree. David took a few more steps before he realized Viggo had stopped. He spun around quickly and looked around.

"This is it," Viggo informed him.

Dave took in the trees, the near-dark sky overhead. He took a deep breath of the clean air into his lungs, closed his eyes and breathed it out. "Aaaahhh."

"So now what?" he asked after a minute.

"Uh, I don't know. You just… feel like you're part of nature, I guess. I like to lean against the trunks…" and he did. Viggo didn't tell Dave about his last tree leaning experience. Dave chose a tree and tried it, too. "Okay, now talk to the tree," Viggo said.

David giggled. "You sure about that?"

"Of course."

"Okay…"

So they stood for some minutes. Viggo shut his eyes and tried to forget about his guest. After a minute, he let his form mould to the tree, and he pushed back from his heels to anchor himself. He'd have to find balance the old-fashioned way, with no help from his hands.

As surely as if the perusals were pokes with sharp sticks, he could feel David staring at him. He wasn't so dense as to not recognize exactly what the Aussie was up to. Viggo forced his jaw to unclench and opened his lids. Dave's eyelids fluttered slightly but were down over his eyes. Even without the stain of pink across his cheeks, it was easy to see he had been looking, but obviously, he did not want Viggo to know. That gave the Dane time to gawk at the other man, live, at semi-close range. This was just awkward. It didn't appear David would either speak his mind or take any action today.

"Well, you get the idea," Viggo said, squinting at the redhead, who looked up at him keenly. "So… I'm going to go now. Enjoy yourself." And he marched off as fast as he could.

III.

No tree-hugging bullshit today. As production rolled on and neared its end, Viggo became edgier and drawn. He refused to show it, though. He'd had some kind of reality challenge, all along. The idea of separating himself back out and just being Viggo again loomed over him. He clung to Aragorn, but in a way, his own unique way, so no one would seriously question his sanity. It was all about timing, keeping people off balance by alternately having them think him off the deep end, versus whatever shock of philosophy he could pull out of his ass for the purpose of counseling others. No one would have been surprised to see VigAragorn sitting at the foot of an old spruce, knees drawn up in front of him against his chest, rolling and then smoking a homemade cigarette. Restless spirit though he was, he was content to stare off into nowhere, thinking, and mechanically smoke.

For three weeks now, David had been retiring to the woods quite often. Viggo was well aware of what the man was up to. That, the staring, the way he held himself during the now–sporadic editing encounters… he wanted to catch Viggo in the woods by himself. The American wasn't giving in to any of it, not so far. He vowed, as he sat, that today would be the last time he frequented this patch of forest till Dave was gone from the set.

Apparently the Aussie's ranger training hadn't fully sunk in. He was just fine with a sword and especially a bow, but Viggo could hear him approach from a mile away, as if David's feet contained their own herd of wild elephants. Usually Viggo would be on his feet and traveling lightly in the opposite direction, before now. But… god, he was tired of the subterfuge. It almost felt like he was running, and Viggo prided himself on not running away from anything. Teetering on the edge of a whim to make like an Elf and fade away in spite of that, he decided to stay put. A couple minutes of bushwhacking later, David appeared.

Viggo's stealth was well-known, and the wind was blowing the smoke away from him. When David found him thus, happening upon him rather suddenly, it was no accident. When his eyes lit upon Viggo, they glittered like the sky on a sunny day, and his smile was nothing short of all-out delight. Viggo internally rolled his eyes. The other man checked the expression on his face till it was only a careful upturning of closed lips, and walked right up to Viggo's spot.

"Hey." Dave had on his Faramir boots, which were nearly as pointed as cowboy boots. With his right foot, he kicked lightly at the toe of Viggo's soft moccasin-like footwear. "What are you doing out here? What are you smoking? It smells good. Can I have a drag?" He shifted back and forth like he was consumed by nerves.

Viggo held up the lit cigarette. Dave took it between his index and middle fingers, his palm brushing the back of the other man's hand as he did do. The redhead took a deep drag and held it in for a minute. "That's good," he said easily, blowing out a cloud of smoke. Viggo looked up at him. Before, he'd determinedly avoided it.

"Have a seat," he finally said. Dave didn't seem inclined to ask. It was starting to make Viggo squirm a bit, not being at least polite.

"Sure! Thanks!" Dave shot back immediately. He flopped down on Viggo's right, putting his back to the tree not quite ninety degrees around from where the Dane sat.

"I never see you out here," Dave commented. It almost sounded like a question. "Don't you come out here any more?"

Now that sounded like a loaded question to Viggo. He could answer that one truthfully. "Not much anymore."

"Why not?"

Honestly was the best policy? Ha. Two could play at, well, whatever he was playing at. "It doesn't work like it used to. The relaxation benefits have been compromised."

"Really? How so? I find it very refreshing."

Viggo shrugged. His right shoulder bumped the Aussie's left and he hitched over a bit. "I don't know… probably nothing would help at this point."

"Feeling the pressure?" Dave asked.

"Not exactly. That came and went months ago."

"Mmph. I know what you mean. And now it's almost over, for me." David sounded a little wistful. He reminded Viggo of nothing so much as a chickadee, one of those little winter birds that hopped around, happy and unknowing, flighty and friendly at the same time. It was mostly his tone. His voice didn't crack exactly. It would break upwards every so often when his curiosity was piqued.

Viggo muttered, "Probably me too." And then he turned his thoughts inward. What was Dave after, anyway? His body, yeah, but that seemed shallow, considering how he'd been carefully pursued for weeks now. Viggo had purposely avoided thinking about the man, except for little blocks of time where he just couldn't help it. Partly it was Dave's role, his character, holding him back. No matter the implications, he was not totally over Sean, and there was nothing for that but time. His relationship with Sean had involved a kaleidoscope of different relational roles, from best mates, to the raunchiest of fuck buddies, to the tenderest of lovers, and sometimes just domestic, all of it. While it lasted, there was never a need to ask anything. It was always just there, and just right. Viggo was sensible enough to know this was a rare gift. Such couldn't happen again in his lifetime. So… his problem boiled down to… Dave was not Sean. That was it, in a nutshell.

Viggo could think about either of them or any number of people to get off, and he did, though with less and less frequency lately, and it just didn't seem right to start something up this late in the game. But… Dave's interest in him…he kept coming back to that. Suddenly Viggo felt warm for the first time in a while. He moved counterclockwise till he was facing Dave's profile. The strawberry blond man turned at his sinuous movement. Viggo stared at him. In fact, he knew how abrupt it was, but he figured he could get away with that due to his ‘crazy artistic bastard' reputation.

"What? What is it? Something I said? Something in my teeth?"

With a slight shake of his head, Viggo sat up straight on his knees and hooked his eyebrows in such a way to make a half dozen tiny dimples appear over the left one. He gave his most wolfish smirk, accentuating the gaps in his teeth. Dave looked disconcerted. "What?" he repeated.

"What? Why? Are you two years old?"

"Mellow out, man," Dave retorted. Now that was unforeseen. Viggo was expecting to render the man speechless. "Thirty-four, actually. And I'm not even going to bother asking your age. Maybe your species..."

Viggo let the leer take over the lower half of his face. If he didn't scare the man off, they might be getting somewhere. And if he did, then there was no point in all this. "What… you don't like ‘animal?'"

David's eyes darted once to the side and then back to Viggo's. He chuckled. "Sure I do. I assume you've had your rabies shots?"

Viggo took that as a sideways reference to biting. "Do I look like I'm foaming at the mouth to you?"

"Up until a second ago, kind of yeah. And, well, not that I've been here the whole time or anything, but you're putting out some kind of vibes… the kind to make people say, ‘what the fuck.'"

"They are? Well, good," Viggo said, as if this news didn't affect him at all. "That's the way I want it." And as an afterthought, "W.T.F., mate," complete with Aussie accent.

"Well, mate," emphasis on mate, "I have something to show you, if you're interested." When Viggo didn't reply, David continued. "I've rather come to like these little forest treks, even all by my lonesome. You want to see my technique?" He didn't wait for an answer at all this time.

Dave moved to the center of the little clearing. He about-faced and laid his jacket on the leafy ground. Already working at his shirt buttons, the redhead dropped to his knees. Viggo wished he'd smile. He looked so serious, intent, way too ‘Steward's son.'

"Dave…" Viggo turned that into at least three syllables.

"What?" Dave's pale skin appeared between the two halves of his shirt.

"This is how you relax? By dropping your drawers or your kit or whatever you call it out here in the cold?"

"Did I say I was going to get naked?"

"Well…uh… no." Viggo was going to be made to squirm soon, if Dave kept this up.

"So you're being presumptuous."

"That's just what it appears."

Dave looked at him directly. "As it happens, you're right, though. So you better run now, if you're going to."

"I don't run," Viggo asserted.

Dave snorted.

Viggo changed his tack. "Aren't you going to freeze your balls off?"

"Oh, I have my ways to stay warm."

Viggo could imagine. "Mind over matter, I suppose…"

"No, not quite. I'm not that evolved yet." He paused. "I guess you could call it the hands on approach."

Oh, for god's sake! Viggo groaned loudly, albeit silently, to himself. For all these weeks now, he'd been mostly successful at repressing thoughts of this most attractive man. He'd done it by allowing the invasion of multiple mental sexual partners. And now, they all faded into shadow as he allowed himself to be spoon-fed the very thing he'd shunned… Dave, naked, hard, doing things to himself, such things, crawling around on the forest floor… already he was getting ahead of himself.

Dave's clever fingers loosened one button after another, his cotton shirt draping back to reveal soft reddish-blond hairs on his chest and stomach. He dropped it backwards from his shoulders, caught it in one hand, and tossed it aside. Moving very slowly, deliberately, Dave brought his hands down to his strained buttons and opened his jeans. Viggo's stomach tied itself in knots. Jesus Christ! The man's pale skin practically glowed in the moonlight. The spikes of his hair, his eyelashes, select strands of the short curls on his chest gilded silver-blue. Viggo smiled wryly. There was nothing particularly sexy about getting out of jeans and tight, molded boots while already kneeling. How would the little exhibitionist pull that off? Apparently Dave didn't care what it looked like. He lowered his jeans and boxers to his knees. Then he rolled himself sideways till he was sitting on his ass and worked off his boots. Once his whole long body was bare, Dave knelt up again, putting his back to Viggo, who took a deep breath in.

Viggo had turned when Dave had walked by to follow his movement, but had not shifted since. No amount of willpower had been able to stave off the need to make an adjustment to his fly. So he did, and disguised the motion with the action of changing into a cross-legged sit. From there, he let his eyes get drunk on Dave. He hoped he looked half that good without his clothes. Even the cookie cutter form his memory got out and tried to stuff this man into every time Viggo looked at him for more than two seconds was having to bend a little. His mind's eye was superimposing layers again. Dave's back was not quite as broad, as befitted the younger brother. He didn't have that slight lean to the right. No, Dave's posture was alert but relaxed, his knees apart and his feet tucked up under his butt. Viggo noticed his high arches, curved and stretched under the pressure and between them, the bottom of the back of his sac, just a small crescent shadow.

Viggo squinted into the moonlight, taking it all in. "The statue of David," he mentally intoned, solemnly. No, not Michelangelo, but… something. The statue of David… Wenham, only David Wenham was no statue, he was a living breathing man, just resting here on his knees, his head half back, breathing steadily through partially open lips. Oh, fuck, those lips… Dave totally broke the mold with those. Even Viggo had to admit that little brother's mouth was a sensual entity all its own….

Oh, not a-fucking-again…. Flashes of nude Sean, kneeling, waiting, seemed like he was always waiting for Viggo to make up his damn mind… but he knew the formula to break down any resistance. Put your naked back and arse to Viggo, and then wait for him to come to you, and he would. And now here was Dave doing exactly the same thing, offering himself really, and why in hell would Viggo say no? His long-suffering cock beat out a steady thump against his laces, in time to his racing heart. He could make out each of the ten crisscross X-es if he really wanted to. He looked back at Dave, at the twin narrow slabs of muscle on either side of his spine, the perfect arch. Images of Sean moaning in abject pleasure filled his brain. This time, he purposefully projected them onto Dave, imagined the man on his back and spread out under him, while Viggo tasted him and fucked him till Dave's come shot up between them and baptized their…. Their what? He hadn't even touched the Aussie yet.

It was at that moment that Viggo knew he was going to. He hopped silently to his feet, his stomach roiling in anticipation, his skin itching in impending contact, and in three long Strider strides, he was directly behind Dave. Before the man could react, Viggo was on his knees. His arms came around swiftly, pinning Dave's to his sides. Viggo almost couldn't decide what to do with his hands. He wanted it all. Now. Right here.

Dave let out a surprised little, "Oh!" He tried to raise his arms and found he couldn't. Viggo kept his grip and ran his half-gloved hands all over the pale skin, seeing how goosebumps rose up in his wake. He carded through the springy hair on Dave's chest and lower. The Aussie hummed, low in his chest. From over his shoulder, Viggo watched his already half-erect member rise in response to the tactile stimulation. Viggo pressed his own hard-on against Dave's low-riding round buttocks. A small gasp in was acknowledgement.

"Touch me," Dave whispered. "Please." Viggo reached for Dave's taut, dark-pink nipples and tapped against them a few times. He drew tiny spirals along the edges of the areolas, circling inward. When the tips of his fingers reached the hard little pebbles in the center, Viggo scraped lightly with the sides of his fingernails over the variable surfaces. Dave shuddered, and dropped his head all the way back so it rested on Viggo's left shoulder. By then, the dark-clad man, still in full costume as always, was breathing so heavily he was certain the whole forest could hear him. His hot breath steamed onto Dave's right shoulder and his neck and into his ear.

The redhead moaned again, "Please…" Viggo started to slide his hand down Dave's treasure trail, his mind full of conflict. How many times had he done this very thing, but Dave felt different, smelled different, sounded different. In all honestly, those little differences were exciting the hell out of Viggo. He would have to be careful of how he moved or he'd come inside his clothes just from this exploratory touching and then all the wardrobe girls would titter behind their hands for weeks. But finally with a shiver of his own and a deep lurch of his insides and an answering flex of his hips, Viggo skimmed through the blue-limned gingery pubic curls over Dave's steel-hard erect member.

Viggo held his breath. It seemed so long since he'd touched another. It felt so good in his hand. Blood thrummed through interlocking raised veins. Viggo peeled the foreskin back slowly, till the whole neat, roundish head was revealed. With his thumb, he smeared Dave's slowly leaking pearls of precum all around, even while wrapping his fingers around the shaft and tightening his grip.

"Oh, god!" Dave breathed, at the same time jutting his hips forward to slide himself through Viggo's hand.

"Hold still," Viggo said sternly. If the man wiggled too much, he was going to embarrass himself.

"Make me," Dave sassed through slack lips. He arched his back and pulled his cock in the other direction through Viggo's fist. "Or make me come," he finished. Viggo's answer was a quick twist of his hand and then the beginnings of a steady sliding cadence on Dave's fully distended prick. The redhead squirmed within the space of Viggo's arms, but he was mostly held still by one crossing just above his elbow, and then clamping across his chest; the other slid over his right hip, the bulk of the arm holding Dave's lower body still, the hand busy with the all-too-knowing stroking of pent-up need.

Viggo was on familiar terms with ‘pent up.' He swayed in a dissimilar tempo to his strokes, just slightly slower, a gentle almost-dance. Dave choked back his cries and wrapped his free hand over Viggo's, making a slight change to the timing. Viggo's cock twitched in reply again. The small direction, of correcting him, turned him on to no end. One minute went by, two, with Viggo's hand beating in that prescribed time, Dave rolling his head back and forth on his shoulder, moaning, whining, whispering, coaxing, "Make me come…"

It was impossible for Viggo to tune out, though he tried. That voice, the timbre, the accent, disturbed his inner private world, shoved his characters every which way and stood there proudly demanding, "I'm so goddamn hard, Viggo; make me come!" Dave's body temperature rose till his skin steamed in the night air. The mist rose silver-blue, just like the same light that highlighted his features. Every muscle in his body drew tenser and tenser, at the same time he was shaking, pushing against Viggo's restraint. Almost like a cough he barked once, "Oh, fuck!" and then Viggo's fingers were wetted with hot, milky, translucent juice. He pumped, pressing hard with his thumb, till Dave cried out again, wordlessly, dry and oversensitive.

Holding his hand up, Viggo imagined coating himself and Dave with the sticky-silky leavings and plunging in. Yes, there was the ass, the entrance, and there was his dick pressed tight against it, nothing but one pair of authentic costume between them. Dave struggled half-heartedly to move but Viggo held him fast. He didn't know what to do. Yes, he wanted to throw the Aussie down and take him right there on the ground. But he couldn't. He was afraid to move, lest his pressure-cooked sperm boil over and he come in his pants. He wanted to eat the beauty of the sated man with his eyes, and yet he didn't want to look at him at all. So Viggo did the only thing he could to bypass all of these things. He jumped to his feet, turned, and ran. Not entirely blindly, with enough awareness to not crash into trees, but blindly just the same.

IV.

He hightailed it to the edge of the woods and across the encampment to his trailer. His long legs clambered up the steps; clumsily he unlocked the door with shaking hands and stepped inside, slamming the door. He stomped to the tiny bathroom closet and turned the shower on, dropping his gloves on the table. One was still damp and sticky. Viggo swore under his breath. He struggled out of three layers of upper garments at once, threw the whole pile aside, and, barely daring to breathe, untied those goddamn laces on his breeches. Immediately his heavy cock pushed them open and stood straight out from his body. Viggo simultaneously tested the water temperature and kicked his pants off, boots and all. One pants-leg got stuck on his foot, and he shook his leg furiously till it pulled free, not caring how silly it might look. That done, he jumped into the shower stall and banged the door shut.

Not thirty seconds later, a loud pounding was heard on his trailer door. "¡Hostia!" Viggo cursed, his purple monster in hand. He was NOT answering that. Ignoring the banging that continued, both inside and outside the trailer, he reached around behind himself. The outer door flew open. Viggo had forgotten his keys in the lock, he realized sickly as he heard them jangling from the keyhole.

"Dammit, you idiot, you're not fucking running any more," came Dave's Aussie accent at close range, and the outside door slammed shut. He yanked open the bathroom door. There was Viggo displayed full frontal before him, hard, angry-red cock in hand, water streaming down his body, long dark hair dripping everywhere, and most impressively, one foot on the closed lid of the toilet and his other hand behind him, finger inserted to fuck himself upon. Viggo's shoulders were wedged as far as they'd go into the corner nearest the showerhead. His whole body moved in one continuous wave of sexual heat.

One eyelid cracked open enough to glare at Dave. "Get the fuck out of here," he growled but made no move to do anything but continue what he was doing.

Dave only said, "Nope. You're gonna have to make me." Viggo's scowl deepened but all he did was close his eyes and step up the pace. Dave wrenched open the door all the way and simply dropped to his knees. "Let me," he said, in his usual cheerful tone.

"Fuck off!" Viggo barked. "Get out of here!"

"Shut up," Dave told him. He hitched forward till the shower spray was hitting him, too. He'd be drenched within minutes. Then, he placed his open mouth over the tip of Viggo's leaking organ and sucked. Hard. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled that cock and swallowed it, feeling triumphant when Viggo moved his hand to let him do it. It was his sword hand, it was very strong, and it nearly tore Dave's hair out when it landed there next. Viggo, too far gone already to let up, humped against Dave's face like a dog, "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" coming out of him in tortured litany.

He'd dropped all of his washing articles on the floor. Between thrusts, Dave was able to spot a bottle of shampoo. He managed to get a good-sized puddle of it into his hand, and next attempted to pry Viggo's fingers out of his ass. He was having none of it, shoving the digits in deep and swiveling his hips, which forced the head of his cock down Dave's throat. Finally, the kneeling man spat out said appendage and commanded, "Let me, I said!" He coated his fingers again, since much of the shampoo had washed away, and pulled the hand to the side. Quickly he replaced his own fingers, two right away, then a third, in Viggo's tight hole. He sucked down once again on the bobbing member in front of his face. From there, the assault began in earnest. Viggo tried to stop, couldn't quite. Dave removed his mouth one more time, long enough to say, "Go on, use me. I want you to."

Viggo groaned and snapped his hips violently, maybe half a dozen times before Dave felt the rippling begin around his squeezed digits and gouts of bitter semen running down his gullet. So there he was, the both of them rained on and soaked, him fully clothed, Viggo naked above him, thrusting, churning, snarling, and nearly pulling his hair out. Up till then the Dane had been biting his lips to keep from making a sound, but as he came, he cried out, "Årh, det' for lækkert. For fanden hvor er det fedt... bare sut det hele i dig! (rough translation: Oh, it's too delicious. Fuck it's too hot... just suck it all.) …Take it all!"

When it was over, Viggo slowly relaxed and pushed his way out of the shower, past Dave. Dave took it upon himself to turn the water off and find towels for them both. He too was hard again, but ignored it for the moment.

"Not so bad, was it?" he asked lightly.

Viggo's whole face twitched. "You give mean head," he replied. His blue eyes were unreadable.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you, very much… and not to throw you out on your ass, dripping wet, but you need to go now."

"But, but… why?" Dave sputtered. He might as well just say it. "Viggo, I have wanted you from the minute I laid eyes on you, or on Aragorn, or… however you think of yourself. It's not like we don't know each other, we've worked together for almost four months now. Why do you avoid me? You won't even look at me normally. Even I can tell when a man is, um, when he finds me attractive. So, what is the problem? You're not religious or something, are you?" Dave heard the beginnings of pleading in his voice and shut it off.

Viggo rolled his eyes at that. "No, not hardly. My last lover was a man." Dave nodded understanding. "And that's the ‘problem,' if you must call it that. So is your character."

"Faramir? What about him?"

"Well, Aragorn and Boromir were lovers…"

Now Dave looked up at the ceiling for an extended study. "Do you really belief that? Tolkien was a devout Catholic."

Viggo just looked at him.

"Look, I'm not stupid. I am who I am. I can't help who I was cast as, at this point in time. Shit, I sure as hell can't help a bit of a family resemblance, now can I? Thought that would be a point in my favor, if you want to know the truth."

"It doesn't help…" Viggo began. He stopped, and his lips tightened.

"Doesn't help what?"

"Doesn't help me turn you down."

"What's gone on tonight so far is turning me down?" Dave's voice reflected his position that Viggo was full of shit, even if he didn't realize it himself yet.

Viggo said nothing. He stood, wrapped his towel around his waist, and moved away, disconcerted at how very riveting Dave's eyes could be when he wanted them to be. "You want something to drink?" he asked.

"No."

"Well, I'm having some tea. Want some?"

"All right, if its tea leaves and not that stuff made out of twigs you drink."

"Yeah, I have some left over…" Viggo's voice hitched and he dropped his sentence.

So they waited for the water to boil, and for their respective tea to steep, for the water to cool enough to drink.

After a time, Dave began to speak and he fell into a rhythm familiar to him since childhood, telling humorous little anecdotes and observations he'd made, both here and throughout the years. It had started as a way for him to get attention in a large family, then to attract an agent, now apparently to calm a skittish… whatever. They weren't lovers yet, not really friends, no moreso than everyone on the set was friends. Eventually, Viggo started to reply and add comments for Dave's monologue, even telling a couple of his own little memories.

They'd each had two cups of tea and the water had gone tepid. The moon had set; it was nearly pitch-black outside. Dave was not looking forward to going outside. Even now, his clothes were wetter than damp. But he'd decided, somewhere, that the next move was Viggo's. One could be pushy to a point, but after that it could turn annoying and get nasty. This was a man Dave did not want pissed off at him.

"Well, I getter go. That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Dave let the playful into his voice, and hoped it would be remembered favorably.

Viggo raised his eyebrows just a little. "Well, is it?"

Dave laughed. "Yeah, it is, as a matter of fact. You certainly do ‘wet and wild'… interestingly."

"In one of my last movies, I had to have sex under a waterfall. Faked, of course."

"Right," Dave agreed. "I would think so, unless you're secretly a porn star."

"No… not in this lifetime."

"Yeah." Dave stretched. "I'll be going, then." His erection had not gone away, even encased in wet denim, but at least his shirt was long enough to cover it.

"Good night," Viggo said quietly, staying where he was. His mouth said one thing. His whole bearing said another.

Dave opened the door and let himself out. Down the three metal steps, and then, as he turned to pull the door shut, he noticed the keys still dangling from the lock. He pulled them out, passed them from hand to hand, back and forth, small clanks each time the bunch hit either palm. He began to throw them into the air, catching them unerringly even in the dark. His brain raced. What to do, what to do…?

Inside, Viggo sat motionless, listening to the small chings of his keys being tossed hand to hand. It didn't stop, and it didn't fade.

David whirled when the door latch clicked and a sliver of weak light appeared. "Come in," Viggo said, absolutely no expression in his voice.

Once back inside, Dave pushed the door shut. The keys he set deliberately on the shallow countertop next to the door. And then he did lock the door. Then the two men faced off. "Now what?" Dave asked.

"Dunno," was all the answer he got. After another couple moments of just staring, Dave, unable to remove his eyes from the scar on Viggo's sensual upper lip, said, "You know what I think? You need to get laid. And you know what else? You need to be fucked; you're just too proud to say so."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Viggo sidestepped, rekindled lust in his shadowy eyes.

"No, not always. In fact," Dave finally cut it to the chase, "I think you need a good hard rooting, and I think you want me to give it to you."

"Maybe I want to fuck you."

"And you can. But you're needing that, first, aren't you?" Dave whipped out a hand, spun Viggo around, and plastered himself to the man's naked back. Viggo hissed. "Jesus, take those wet clothes off!"

Dave dropped his cloths in five seconds flat. Viggo allowed himself to be herded along the narrow little walkway to his sleeping area. Rather than wait for more prompting, he crawled onto the bed, onto hands and knees. Dave was right behind him. His skin quickly warmed from Viggo's heat and his own. Wishing he had at least two of himself right now to better touch this man all at once, Dave settled for pushing Viggo down onto his side and straddling his tanned body like that. Settling himself and pressing his dick against a hairy thigh, Dave lowered his head and bit Viggo's shoulder. He didn't know what possessed him but he licked it. Viggo's first drops of precum painted the inside of his knee, so he did it again, over the triceps. The next attack was on the outer part of the right pec, near the underarm, where Dave left a particularly stunning set of ringed toothmarks. With no further dallying, he caught Viggo's tight nipple and bit as hard as he dared without severing the nub.

"Ow, dammit!" Viggo yelped, but grabbed Dave's knee and pushed it hard into his groin. Dave let the man beneath him rub the length of his long and heavy cock on his leg. He too pressed his needy organ down into the meat of Viggo's thigh.

Dave needed to distract Viggo, because, he, Dave, needed so badly to kiss him he was going to explode from it. Not like a small child, can't-wait, dreams-come-true kind of thing. A craving consumed him, worse than chocolate, caffeine, nicotine. He wasn't sure if it would be allowed, though.

Sure enough, when David brought his face close, Viggo turned his head. So Dave took what was given and licked into all the swirls and whorls of Viggo's ear, poking lightly at the canal, sucking the lobe. With his left hand, Dave petted the mat of fur on Viggo's chest; with the other, he snaked fingers into long, dark strands at his nape to hold the Dane's head still. His hips rocked steadily; Viggo matched him, finding the crack behind Dave's knee a perfect friction-sliding place.

Dave made his play. Lapping furiously at Viggo's ear canal till the man was squirming and trying to get his legs apart under Dave's weight, the Aussie flicked his tongue down to the stubbled jaw, drawing a wet line from there to the corner of Viggo's mouth. The Dane tried to pull away and only succeeding in yanking his own hair.

"Ssh," Dave muttered. "You're alright…" Viggo made a noise of dissent, but held still. "C'mon, babe, ‘s alright; you're fine…" And Dave, knowing damn well what to do in this arena, let his most animal nature loose into that kiss. He sunk in it, in the reluctant capitulation turning to a hot sliding of finely molded lips. Viggo's high cheekbones flushed; even in the darkness he could sense it. Dave threw himself to his side so they could face each other momentarily. The kiss turned dirty with clashing teeth and twisting, seeking tongues; they were breathing in each other's air, and drinking saliva from shared open mouths.

Hands moved across skin downwards till fists of crossed arms grasped each other's aching cocks. Dave couldn't believe the strength of Viggo's hands; he could probably rip his organ right off his body, if he wanted. That steady pressure was rough; the tempo, perfect. Dave's hand was happy, overjoyed to stroke the final pleasure place of this elusive man. Fast, like a lightning storm, they rose upwards, but Dave had made a promise of sorts and he meant to see it through.

"Not like this, Viggo." The name felt new and unbroken-in on his tongue. "Roll over."

Viggo reached overhead and pulled necessary items from a cupboard with a flip-up lid. He rolled three-quarters and landed on his knees and elbows.

And that's when the music started. Based on past actions, Dave had imagined Viggo would be rather quiet throughout. How wrong he was. Once the man made up his mind, the dam burst and it suddenly got very loud inside the close confines of the trailer. Apparently, a surprised Dave thought to himself, when Mr. Viggo Mortensen gets laid, he wants the whole world to hear about it.

Dave put his hands on the other man's back, reveling in the skin texture. Viggo whipped his hair back, and looked over his shoulder, a challenging stare like, "Do you think you can handle me?" He moaned, long and loud, smirking while he did it. Dave couldn't resist slapping that tightly muscled ass.

Viggo said, "Ooh!" in a very queenish voice, and waggled his backside at Dave. By now, Dave had given over to snickering through the whole proceedings. Just giving in to it helped break some tension. Not all of it, though. No, the sexual tension was stronger than ever. Dave grabbed supplies, rolled on a condom, slicked himself and then leaned toward Viggo from behind. Since the man seemed determined to have monkey-in-the-zoo sex, Dave upended the bottle of lube and let the clear fluid dribble onto Viggo's ass, then down into the valley between his cheeks and as he poured, he reached into the slickness to the hot skin below. Viggo's entrance still seemed tight, so Dave concentrated the lube there.

Dave had considered all the things he might do if he found himself in this situation. Now he couldn't think at all, really. Just act. They'd already been through two little warm-ups, one in the forest and the other in the shower. Viggo had accepted him, miracle of all miracles. Somehow, Dave's patience had persevered through some serious emotional baggage and a mental block of sorts. And while Viggo still wasn't talking to him, exactly, his actions were speaking loud and clear. Dave had felt like a case study in suspended disbelief up till now. But when his fingers went in and Viggo's hoarse almost-howl rang out, it became really intensely real, and all his little wisps of plans evaporated.

Viggo pushed back against his hand, alternately hunching and arching his back. "Push, dammit!" he growled.

That growl went to straight to the Aussie's dick. David forced himself to closer attention and rapidly added a third finger, a twist, and enough leverage to match Viggo's forceful back-thrusts. He quickly had the man opened enough to think about replacing his three fingers with his cock, but he held on for a long moment, letting Viggo get himself worked up to a primal ferocity.

"Goddamnit," Viggo said again. "Are you gonna do it, or do I have to flip you over and do all the work?"

Dave yanked his fingers out, wiped them on Viggo's sheet, and paused for one second to admire the open hole between hard, straining mounds of ass. Then he plunged. He gritted his teeth as his tip went in and the heat sucked the rest of him in and in and in, and next thing he realized was that he was fucking Mr. Wild Man like he was on speed, ramming him with a ferocity he didn't know he possessed.

Viggo let loose a full-blown werewolf howl, followed by shrill, bitten-off sounding yips. Beneath David, tanned sweaty skin slid in rapid little swipes against various parts of him as Viggo whisked around, shaking, tossing his hair. What Dave could see of his face was set on something between snarl and lunatic grin. Dave slid his hands down the damp skin to Viggo's hips and held on, losing himself in the dizzy push-pull around his cock. That much lube made it everything so nice and slippery, and the inside of Viggo was like tight velvet. Needing even more contact, David leaned forward and licked. He flicked his tongue a few times, savoring the salt and butter taste of Viggo's back. Oh, he tasted so good, and Dave let him know.

"'Bout time you talked," Viggo said between moans. The play of fine muscles under Dave's tongue showed how very much he liked it.

"You're so fuckin' sexy," the redhead gasped, accurately if not all that articulately. Putting his tongue out as far as he could, and widening it, Dave lapped Viggo's spinal bumps, curling his tongue around each. He took his time, even while gripping the sinewy hips tightly and surging in time to his body's calling. A tightening, contracting feeling enveloped his lower belly and his balls. "Oh! Oh!" he gasped. Viggo answered with a low groan so deep in his chest, Dave could feel the vibrations all along his front, even in his cock as it filled Viggo's passage again and again. Lowering himself to his elbows, Viggo reached under himself for his needy organ.

"Don't," Dave said. He reached around and knocked Viggo's hand aside. The cock he wrapped slender fingers around pulsed like a beating heart against his hand, heavy, silky-hard. Dave hissed and hunched himself around the back of his lover, and he pushed for all he was worth, spasming and letting go his seed, reveling in that erupting, slightly stinging sensation as his love sprang forth from his loins. He didn't realize how convulsively his hand gripped as he orgasmed, how his speed jumped, but Viggo did and it pushed him over the edge. He didn't howl this time. He reached his climax with something like a roar that escaped through the walls and windows of his trailer.

Nocturnal creature that he was, fifty feet away, Peter paused for a second, breaking his concentration between two near-identical takes. "About damn time," he muttered.

Viggo shook, every muscle in this body deliberately flexed to increase his pleasure as his creamy essence spilt into Dave's hand. Then, spent, the two men landed wherever they would, panting heavily. Viggo turned on his side, facing the Aussie, staring him down again, but also with something like affection in his previously wary eyes.

"So, you gonna be able to handle this?" he asked, cryptically.

"What, exactly?" Dave wondered if he had to analyze every little thing about every little thing. Hadn't he already made himself plain enough?

"The time is short. What are you hoping for?"

Dave already knew the answer. "Absolutely nothing. You know? No pressure, no expectations. No entanglements, if you don't want them. Just some of your time. And lots of your cock."

"Earlier you said…" Viggo began. Dave cut him off.

"I know what I said. And I hold by that. But I'll not ask for more than what you would willingly offer."

"Even if you have to drag me out into the woods and strip," Viggo tilted his head to the side, "and follow me home and surprise me in the shower," his head went the other way, and his hair in his eyes, so he flicked it back.

Dave smiled, "And you were already wanking and fucking yourself over me when I did it."

"Conceited!"

"But it's true."

"Aye," Viggo said, almost automatically, like he always had when he was teasing, on this set. He stopped himself. His lips turned up sardonically.

Dave got that, too. "And that… I'm not concerned," he told the darker-haired man. "In fact, it may come in handy."

Viggo doubted it but let it go. "Okay. I can live with that."

"I suppose we're going to be unbearable to the rest for a while, eh?"

"I will warn you," Viggo said, and his tone held such an edge Dave believed it instantly, "I don't play that way. Yeah, I know I just made enough noise to wake the dead, but on the job, no one need be the wiser. Cool?"

"Fine. I'll only molest you after hours. But I will be… molesting you." Dave's light brown eyebrows quirked. "So be prepared."

"Likewise."

"I can't wait."

"Me neither." And that said, Viggo slithered southward. "So I won't."

*****

THE END

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