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Bean’s team was losing. They’d been drinking all afternoon, laid up on the couch in just jeans – Viggo’s flip-flops akimbo under the coffee table. As the last play was made – a fruitless attempt at scoring one last goal – they raised their bottles and toasted in solidarity – swallowing down the last of their beers.
Bean flipped the television off and stretched, arching his body off the couch for a moment. Recklessly, an arm came down to fall over Viggo’s thigh as he resettled himself. He turned, smiling, and looked at his friend.
After all this time, they still had it. The spark. The ceaseless energy that powered their friendship through projects and films and the stuff that fills up each ordinary in between. Sean could feel whatever it was in the air surrounding them. He inhaled a deep breath; slowly inviting it inside of him.
Viggo sat watching him, a quirkish grin on his face. Something was up. Bean had been melancholy since the morning. He’d noticed the difference and, while he wasn’t concerned, he was curious. It’s not like Sean had never been melancholy – he usually just hid it better. And actually, that particular emotion was more Viggo’s gig, anyway.
For no reason, Viggo moved his hand and covered Sean’s on his leg, entwining their fingers. It had been odd at first. The extras that had come from being friends like this. Or maybe what was odd was that it wasn’t. He could just as soon reach over and shove Sean off the couch as he could haul him up onto himself and kiss him senseless. Either would come as no surprise to his best friend and so he’d decided on the latter.
He squeezed Sean’s hand first before sliding it upward, twisting to bring his other hand up under his other arm. And then he pulled. Hard, too, forcing the solid body onto his own. He let one of his knees settle in between Sean’s thighs.
“Too far away, was I?” he asked, smiling. Settling. Sinking.
Viggo didn’t respond. He simply held Sean’s face in his hands before kissing him.
Slow. Deep. Immediate and electric. Turning his head slightly to make a better fit. Sean wasn’t having any of it, though. He kissed harder, demanding his taste. His tongue. With the top of Viggo’s thigh, he nudged Sean’s legs further apart, his hands tugging hard on the dirty blond hair.
Pulling away from the kiss, Sean looked hard into Viggo’s eyes. He saw what he always saw. Raw need. Love. Lust. Complete trust. Everything was there that should be and had always been there. And yet he still felt like things were off.
Because he doubted himself so much more than he ever would Viggo, he dove in again. Ravishing Viggo’s mouth in a searchful, heated kiss that weakened his mind as well as his body.
He sunk deeper into Viggo, moaning as he raised his hips long enough for Viggo to undo and push away their jeans. The heat radiated up his spine as he lowered himself back down, pushing into and writhing against Viggo’s strong, sturdy frame.
“Fuck,” Viggo growled. Bean could see him smirking between kisses in the way that he always did. Summing up all his emotions with that one word – capturing how much he felt he was getting away with.
For Bean, the act of sex between them felt so explosive as it crescendos through him that he can’t bear it. The world shifts beneath him as Viggo’s legs rumble against his before they wrap around his calves.
“Harder, Sean.”
His voice is barely recognizable as it resounds in the thick air surrounding them.
Rocking his hips, bumping and rubbing against slickery flesh, Bean moans as the sensitive head of his dick buries itself in wiry softness. That sensation alone is what breaks him. His body wracks against Viggo’s, whose echoes in kind. Blood pulses through him, forcing what feels like everything he has inside into the space between.
By the way Viggo grips his arms, he knows it’s all over for both of them and he collapses, his face burrowed in the crook of Viggo’s neck. The aftershocks – like silent sobs – press him closer still to the damp, cooling body beneath him and Sean kisses whatever he can reach, too overwhelmed to speak just yet.
The moment pays homage to his past lives. If he thought about it, he could stop it, but… Stopping it isn’t what he wants. Gently, he pushes himself up to look into mild, hazed-blue eyes and risks it all.
“Who is he?”
Viggo’s expression doesn’t crumble. If anything, he opens himself even more to Sean. Cupping his face once again, he brings their mouths together for another kiss. Different this time. Full of heat. Lust. Love. All these things.
And then he pulls away.
And with all the honesty he owns, he speaks the truth before pulling Sean back down to lay against him.
“He isn’t you.”