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Staking a claim

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He has been nervous for days, if not weeks.  Well, maybe nervous is not the right word, maybe he has simply been excited. It has been a while. Actually, it has been far too long a while, and he has longed to see him, almost since he has left New Zealand, if he is being honest (which he has preferred not to be, until now). He wonders if it is going to be different now, on the other side of the globe, when they have stopped being strangers in a strange country and gone back to their lives. But knowing Viggo, it probably won't be. It was not when he visited him four months ago, the days and weeks spent apart vanished in the blink of an eye when Viggo rested his forehead against his and grinned at him, before he pulled him into a tight embrace and his lips found his temple. And it wasn’t any different when they fell asleep in Viggo’s bed that night, sweaty and sated, wrapped around each other, with Viggo’s arm tucked under his neck and Sean’s palm resting on his chest, counting heart beats until Viggo told him fondly to fucking stop and go to sleep.

Viggo looks pretty much the same when Sean opens the door, except maybe a little more well-groomed and a little less hairy, and when their eyes meet, he is greeted by the familiar toothy grin. But there is a short awkward shuffle when Sean lets him step past himself into the halfway to close the door behind them, for a moment they are looking at each other wordlessly, and when Sean steps towards him to pull him into an embrace, Viggo’s arms close a little less tightly around him, maybe, or maybe Sean’s nervousness is simply getting the better of him.

He takes Viggo into the kitchen and puts on the kettle to make them some tea. And mate. Not that he has ever done so before, but he has watched Viggo a hundred times, and the owner of the little shop where he has bought the gourd has given him instructions. He turns around to discover that Viggo has stopped in the doorway. He looks oddly out of place while he takes in his surroundings.  When he notices that Sean is looking at him, he offers a small smile, but it doesn’t really reach is eyes, and Sean’s heart stumbles when he notices. Maybe they should have been talking about this before meeting up, after all, maybe Viggo has had a different sort of reunion in mind altogether. He watches him cautiously, fiddling with a loose threat of his sweater, and the image is disconcerting, Sean has never seen Viggo fidget ever before. Something is not right. Behind him, the kettle stops heating, and Sean searches for his voice.

“I’m going to have some tea,” he says, gesturing towards the waiting pot. “But I thought you might prefer mate,” he continues, reaching for the gourd.

He looks back at Viggo just in time to see his face light up, and for a split second he seems to want to take a step towards him, before he stops himself halfway. 

"I do,” he says, glancing at Sean. “You didn’t have to, though, you know, I do drink tea.”

Sean finishes pouring the water and puts down the kettle. This is so unlike Viggo, all of it, it is almost a little scary. He turns around to fully face Viggo who stands rooted to the spot, his expression closely guarded. For a moment Sean just looks at him, a sinking feeling in his stomach, before he decides to go all in. Damn the consequence, right now he cannot see how things could possibly get worse.

“I wanted to,” he says quietly, and takes a step towards Viggo.

Viggo appears to want to take a step backwards, but does not. Sean watches him swallow hard and shove his hands into his pockets. His lip is trembling a little and his eyes dart to his feet for a second, before they return to meet Sean’s. And when they do, his expression is suddenly wide-open and so full of hope that it takes Sean’s breath away. The stupid bastard is scared. The realization makes his heart ache and causes him to feel oddly lightheaded. And a little angry, Viggo should not be scared around him.

Instinctively, he reaches for Viggo and pulls him close and into his arms to hold him, reassure him, but it does not seem to be enough, he just keeps trying to pull Sean closer and against his body, his fingernails are digging into Sean’s back. Finally, Sean brings his hands up to cup Viggo’s cheeks in his palms and captures his lips in a kiss, this should be familiar ground, if nothing else, and it sets off an explosion. Viggo springs to life in his arms and sinks his teeth into his lip, claws at his back and tries to drag Sean closer, and closer still, and when Sean complies and backs him into the kitchen counter, pinning him against it, a groan tears from his throat.

"Please, Sean,” he rasps against his lips while his fingers twist into his shirt. “Please, I need-“

Sean takes one look at him, takes in his discomposure and the raw want in his eyes, and knows. Knows exactly what he needs. He nods, breathless, and turns Viggo around, marching him up the stairs, his hand on the small of his back, and into the bedroom. He pushes him down onto the bed and covers his body with his, letting his weight press him into the mattress. His lips find Viggo’s before he proceeds to trail a line of kisses down his neck. He reaches for Viggo’s right arm and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist before he makes him stretch out his arm on the covers, and beckons him to do the same with the left one. “Don’t move,” he whispers, although he knows he does not have to, Viggo knows what is expected of him, he twists his fingers into the sheets reflexively. He looks at Sean, and nods, his eyes pleading, his breathing ragged already, and even if Sean wants nothing more than to draw this out, he knows that it is not the time, now is the time to give Viggo what he needs.

 

Viggo tries to will himself open, but he is still tight, too tight around his fingers, the second one has been a struggle already.

“Please, Sean,” he croaks, his voice hoarse, but Sean shakes his head.

“It’s going to hurt,” he says, slowly withdrawing his fingers before sliding them back in, causing Viggo to hiss.

“I don’t care,” he says, but bites his lip to prevent himself from crying out in pain when Sean adds a third finger.

Sean stills his hand and searches his eyes. “But I do,” he says quietly, and after a moment’s hesitation he adds. “It’s been years since I have done this, you know.”

Viggo’s muscles clench around his fingers when his head snaps up. For a long moment he just looks at him, pupils blown wide with want, and Sean feels his breath catch at the sight.

“Pretend I’m your first,” he says, and his voice is trembling. “And your last.” He pauses before adding: “I will.”

Sean’s heart misses a beat and he cannot find words to answer him, only nod.

 

Viggo is tight around him, too tight for him not to be in pain. He can tell from the way his body has gone rigid under his hands when he has entered him, and his lips are tightly pressed together, his eyes squeezed shut. He is not even halfway in, the widest part is yet to come, and although the feeling of Viggo stretched tight around him is almost overwhelming, Sean grinds his teeth and pulls back to give him a moment to breathe. But Viggo will not have it. His eyes fly open when he feels Sean withdraw, and Sean can tell he is struggling to keep his arms spread out and not grab a hold of him.

“Don’t,” he says, his eyes on fire.

Sean stops moving and looks at him. “I’m hurting you,” he answers, and runs his fingers over Viggo’s stomach, but Viggo just shakes his head.

“Please,” he says, and now he sounds almost desperate. “Please,” he repeats. “Please, Sean. I need this.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I need to feel you.” He lies back down without taking his eyes from Sean, and Sean watches a blush paint his cheeks red when he spreads his legs even wider, spreads himself out for Sean to claim.

It would take a stronger man than Sean to resist him, he tightens his grip around Viggo and slowly inches into his warmth. He feels amazing, soft and tight at the same time, and Sean cannot stop, does not want to stop, the thin layer of latex that separates them doing little to bridle his enthusiasm. And even if he wanted to, he doubts that Viggo would let him. He groans in pain but arches his back and pushes against Sean with force, the stubborn bastard, and Sean slides all the way inside, against all resistance. The stretch is enough to make tears well up in Viggo’s eyes, while the feeling of fully being inside him knocks all breath out of Sean. Mine, he thinks. Mine, mine, mine. He digs his fingernails into Viggo’s skin, trying to keep himself still, trying not to just pound into the tightness surrounding him. Viggo’s eyes are bright with pain, and he is trembling under Sean’s hands, looking so damn vulnerable that it makes Sean’s heart ache. And his cock twitch where it is buried inside of Viggo, Sean notices, and blushes, feeling a like a brute.

But a small smile tugs at the corners of Viggo’s mouth and he keeps pushing against him, and clenching around him, and although there are still deep creases in his forehead, bespeaking his pain, he wraps his calves around Sean’s back and tilts his hips, making him slide in even deeper. He hisses at the sensation but his words do not leave any doubt about what he wants: “Move, Sean. Please, just move.”

Sean swallows hard and shifts so that he can grip Viggo’s arms and hold him down when he slowly pulls out a little and sinks back into him a second later. Viggo’s body is still taut beneath him, but becomes more pliant with every time Sean buries himself to the hilt inside of him, and his groans turn into breathy moans when pain transforms into pleasure. He is beautiful, spread out like that, open like that, it makes Sean feel oddly lightheaded. He is barely able to control the force of his thrusts, Viggo’s tightness overwhelms him, and he spears into his warmth over and over again, rocking Viggo’s whole body and knocking the bed’s headboard into the wall- thudthudthudthudthud.

Viggo cries out on a particularly deep stroke and Sean can feel his balls twitch, he is close, too close to be able to keep this up much longer, and he bends down to press a kiss to Viggo’s lips before he lets go of his arms and cradles his cheek in his palms, slowing his thrusts to a gentle roll of his hips for a moment while he searches Viggo’s eyes.

“Let go,” he whispers. “Come with me.”

But Viggo shakes his head, almost furiously, and his arms fly up to grip Sean’s shoulders. His fingernails dig into his skin, hard, and there is desperation in his voice when he says: “I can’t, Sean, I need-“

He is far beyond coherence, trembling underneath him, and there are tears pooling in his eyes while he tries to find words to make Sean understand, but cannot. He sighs in frustration, and shakes his head, before he squeezes his eyes shut with his hand, but Sean gently pulls it away and presses a kiss to its back. It takes all his strength to stop moving, but he manages to.

“What do you need, Viggo?” he asks quietly, nudging his cheek with his nose.

Viggo opens his eyes to look at him, and his voice is barely a whisper when he replies: “You.”

Sean feels a smile curl around his lips when he nods and wipes away the tear that trickles down Viggo’s cheek with the pad of his thumb before he thrusts deep. He catches the next one, and the next, and the one after it, while he listens to Viggo’s ragged breathing and feels his body slide up the bed with the force of his thrusts. He bends down and presses his lips to Viggo’s to muffle his little sobs, before he grabs his hips, tightly, and pins him down with the whole weight of his body when he sets a hard pace.

"I'm right here,” he murmurs against Viggo’s lips, and feels him nod in response, feels him move with his thrusts. He wraps his arms around Sean’s shoulders and holds on tight when Sean pushes into him again and again and again, more urgently each time. Viggo’s eyes never leave Sean’s and he spreads his legs wide again, a keening, wounded sound tearing from his throat when Sean drives deep. His back arches beautifully when he strains up and into Sean’s next thrust, leaving no doubt about what he wants, and Sean has to hold back not to just rut into him mindlessly. He curls one hand around Viggo’s neck to keep him close, and slips the other one underneath his back for leverage so that he can push even deeper. Viggo cries out in pleasure at his next stroke, and he picks up speed, more desperate for relief with every second, every nerve ending in his skin on fire, his balls heavy.

"Let go, Viggo,” he repeats, all but pounding into him now. And now Viggo does. His breathing is irregular and shallow, and he clings to Sean, pushing himself into every single one of his thrusts, his body tight as a bow string, every muscle trembling. Sean does not take his eyes off him when he slides his hand between their bodies and wraps it around Viggo’s cock. He only gets to stroke him a couple of times before he sees him bite his lip, and then his eyes suddenly flutter shut and he arches off the bed, a roar tearing from his throat when he spills over Sean’s hand.

Sean holds him when his body convulses uncontrollably, but keeps thrusting into him, unable to stop for even a second, chasing his own orgasm. Quick, shallow stabs of his hips, until Viggo stops shaking and opens his eyes to look at Sean. He takes a deep breath and smiles at Sean before reaches for his thighs and spreads his legs as far as they will go, offering himself to Sean. Sean’s breath catches at the feeling of his muscles tightening around him, but what makes him lose it are Viggo’s next words: “Take me.”

Viggo never talks dirty, never ever, and Sean cannot hold back any longer. He bucks himself into Viggo’s willing body over and over again until he is trembling with the effort. Pleasure and pain mingle in Viggo’s expression, but he keeps looking straight at him, cataloguing, Sean realizes, and the little smile never leaves his face. Sean shifts his weight and hoists Viggo’s ankles onto his shoulders, bending forwards as much as Viggo’s body will allow, pushing impossibly deep. His balls are slapping against Viggo’s skin, loud and fast, and when he looks down he can see his cock enter and leave Viggo’s body, his muscles stretched tight around him, still tight, so tight. Sean once more changes the angle of his thrusts and Viggo throws his head back with a moan when he hits his prostate. Sean wants this to last forever, wants Viggo spread out like that beneath him, open, and vulnerable, and entirely his, his to take, his to claim, but when Viggo reaches up with a shaking hand and trails his fingers over Sean’s cheek, over his lips, while his whole body rocks with Sean’s fierce thrusts, when he pushes himself up into a stretch that should be impossible and sinks his teeth into Sean’s lip he cannot hold on any longer, his balls draw up, and he comes with a muffled cry, spilling deep inside of Viggo, thrusting into him over and over again.

He is sweaty and breathless, and every muscle in his body is trembling when he pulls out and drops down next to Viggo, his pulse racing in his throat, the taste of iron on his lips. When he dabs at them with his fingers, there is blood there, shockingly red against his fingertips. Next to him, he can hear Viggo draw in a sharp breath, and when he turns to look at him, he sees him bring up a finger to wipe at his own lip. It comes away just as red, and Viggo rolls onto his side and pushes himself up onto his elbow. A small, satisfied smile flits over his face when he slowly traces Sean’s lips with his finger, painting them with his blood, and Sean hears him murmur one word before he leans down and presses his lips to Sean’s: “Mine.”