Christian Bale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
canbenothing) wrote2012-01-06 10:40 am
canbenothing) wrote2012-01-06 10:40 am
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Heaven is a place on earth with you, tell me all the things you want to do
He waited two weeks. Two weeks since the fucking farce at the premiere of Sean's The Odyssey, when he has brought his 'boyfriend', both of them with matching rings and holding hands, Sean's head ducked down and Mortensen's eyes flashing, defiant, daring people to comment, to insult. That pictures and the video of their brief kiss was one of the hottest materials in town, simply because they were both actors. Both A-listers, an Oscar winner and a two-time nominee, both married men with children. The uproar was tremendous.
Christian had been watching every single second of it.
And he had been waiting for Sean to call even as the reporters and the tabloids scramble at him to get a comment, a quotable quote- what did he think of the new development, what was his opinion, how should David be watched and looked at given what was now known about Sean Bean? Had his opinion of his costar change? What about the rumours, the jokes they made what seemed eons ago- that he had been sleeping with Bean since 2002, since Equilibrium?
His team had been fending them off so far, because Christian refused to say a single word until Sean decided to talk to him. It's a good thing that he's filming right now, and filming with a director who knew him and was used to him. Christian had been walking around the set with a barely-controlled temper, and it was a damn, damn good thing that Sibi and Emmeline weren't here, because the last thing he ever wanted to do is to fly off the handle at them. Not when they didn't deserve a single whit of it.
No, the anger was all for Sean. Christian hated being replaced; hated being forgotten. And that was what happened to him over the past two years or so, wasn't it? Since the Oscars. Since Viggo goddamn fucking Mortensen had stepped in next to Sean and taken the place that Christian should have. Sean's was Christian's; he owned him, possessed him, claimed him and Sean had wanted it and accepted it- and now this. This, and without a word to him. Not a single word, not even when Sean wouldn't have that Oscar if not for Christian forcing the director to accept him as Lucas Shaw; not even when if not for Christian, Sean wouldn't even have the chance to reconnect with Mortensen because they wouldn't have been at the same place.
Christian's list of grievances were long, and he was so angry that even his team was starting to avoid him. Surely Julie contacted Sibi about it, and Sibi spoke to Sean somehow- why the hell else would Sean contact him? Christian had been forgotten and replaced, hadn't he? Why would Sean even bother with him, nowadays? Why would he want to meet?
It was a good thing they're not meeting anywhere public, instead choosing a hotel room, one of the many anonymous, discreet little places littered around LA. Christian wouldn't like having to restrain himself. He wanted to remind Sean of the claim he made, because even if Sean has forgotten, even if Sean has been completely swept up by Viggo Fucking Mortensen, Christian still remembered .
And it wasn't going to be easy to make him forget.
Christian had been watching every single second of it.
And he had been waiting for Sean to call even as the reporters and the tabloids scramble at him to get a comment, a quotable quote- what did he think of the new development, what was his opinion, how should David be watched and looked at given what was now known about Sean Bean? Had his opinion of his costar change? What about the rumours, the jokes they made what seemed eons ago- that he had been sleeping with Bean since 2002, since Equilibrium?
His team had been fending them off so far, because Christian refused to say a single word until Sean decided to talk to him. It's a good thing that he's filming right now, and filming with a director who knew him and was used to him. Christian had been walking around the set with a barely-controlled temper, and it was a damn, damn good thing that Sibi and Emmeline weren't here, because the last thing he ever wanted to do is to fly off the handle at them. Not when they didn't deserve a single whit of it.
No, the anger was all for Sean. Christian hated being replaced; hated being forgotten. And that was what happened to him over the past two years or so, wasn't it? Since the Oscars. Since Viggo goddamn fucking Mortensen had stepped in next to Sean and taken the place that Christian should have. Sean's was Christian's; he owned him, possessed him, claimed him and Sean had wanted it and accepted it- and now this. This, and without a word to him. Not a single word, not even when Sean wouldn't have that Oscar if not for Christian forcing the director to accept him as Lucas Shaw; not even when if not for Christian, Sean wouldn't even have the chance to reconnect with Mortensen because they wouldn't have been at the same place.
Christian's list of grievances were long, and he was so angry that even his team was starting to avoid him. Surely Julie contacted Sibi about it, and Sibi spoke to Sean somehow- why the hell else would Sean contact him? Christian had been forgotten and replaced, hadn't he? Why would Sean even bother with him, nowadays? Why would he want to meet?
It was a good thing they're not meeting anywhere public, instead choosing a hotel room, one of the many anonymous, discreet little places littered around LA. Christian wouldn't like having to restrain himself. He wanted to remind Sean of the claim he made, because even if Sean has forgotten, even if Sean has been completely swept up by Viggo Fucking Mortensen, Christian still remembered .
And it wasn't going to be easy to make him forget.
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And then it had been too late, and in the haze and the overwhelming press and escaping with Viggo it had all seemed like too much, and time had ticked on, and Sean had avoided seeing Christian some more.
Viggo knew he had to do it, and Sean knew he wasn't going to trust himself over the phone, that he needed to see Christian to know how he was taking it all, and eventually it all led to this, and Sean had no idea where the boundaries were any more.
Could he be Viggo's and Christian's both? Did Christian even want that? With Sean out, it could be dangerous for him to be seen around with Sean, but Christian was married--happily married! And nobody had ever believed the stories until now.
And now they were. Now some people were reviewing old interviews, and trying to put the pieces together, trying to slot them into neat pigeonhole boxes of who's gay and who's straight and who's fucking who when. Sean hated all of that--people would always talk, and he'd always learned to let them, and try to ignore it, because most of the time they were just waiting for you to fuck up anyway, like that bullshit about him saying women should be in the kitchen. Fucking idiots, the press. Fucking idiots with no lives of their own, determined to ruin his.
Going after Christian was unreasonable. Hunting down his girls to get quotes from them and making poor Evie cry was just tacky, and Sean had spent hours to her on the phone making cooing noises and apologising, even when she lost her temper at him and slammed the phone down. She called to apologise less than thirty seconds later, of course. She was a sweet girl.
But that was the point. This was getting out of hand, and the only way to make any of it work was for Sean to use his own hands to bend and mend it, to weld it all back together into something that resembled his life again, and of course he resented having to do it. If he wasn't famous, it wouldn't matter who he slept with, would it? Oh, but then he'd have never have met Christian or Viggo at all. Dilemna.
Still, this was it. He was here, and Christian was here, and Sean let himself in with the key that had been left for him at the front desk and heaved the overnight bag off his shoulder onto the floor beside the door. He closed it, slipped the key into his pocket and took off his coat, hanging it up by the door and stepping quietly toward the main room, anxious about what he might find--or perhaps more accurately who.
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He was more flawed than anyone else than realised, because Christian had always been terribly good at hiding himself away. It wasn't a mask that he put on - he was selfish, rude, uncompromising, a little too intense, and he had a sharp, cruel liking of flouting social conventions to people's faces. He liked it when people disliked him and thought of him as a jerk, and liked it even more when they seemed to fall over themselves liking him because of his horrible behaviour. It was always testing the ground, to see how far he could go. Christian toyed with the press and with people as easily as he could breathe.
But he thought that Sean knew him better than that; knew exactly what Christian was like- Christian would never forget that he hadn't asked a single question. For god's sake, Sean should at least realise that Christian wouldn't want to know that Sean didn't belong to him anymore by reading fucking TMZ, for god's sake. That was the way he found out - through gossip, because people on the set just couldn't shut up about it. He had to go online to check up the gossip sites to get all the details, because if he actually asked anyone he would have punched them immediately, no matter what their answer was.
He felt so goddamn stupid about it that he was digging deeper and deeper into his character so he wouldn't have to think about the actual situation. But right now, he didn't even bother - he was Christian through and through, everyone else boxed up and shoved inside his head. There were large parts of him that wanted to just have Bruce deal with Sean, to use Bruce as a screen simply because it was easier and Sean didn't deserve to have him as he really was. But then- Christian would still be angry after tonight. And he didn't want to be.
When Sean came into the hotel room, Christian was in the kitchen, fiddling with the minibar. There was a gigantic bottle of Grey Goose gin and more than a few cans of tonic, so he was making glass after glass after glass of it, stacking them all along the counter. He had asked the staff to send up enough glasses to water an entire army, and he cut a lemon up and dropped it all into the glasses. What he was going to actually do with the huge amount of gin and tonics, he had no idea. He just liked the repetition- and liked to make Sean wait.
He finished the last batch of five before he took two glasses and moved to the main room. For a long moment, he didn't speak, simply putting the glasses down on the table. Then, he looked at Sean- taking in the smile, the air of contentment around him. It was so reminiscent of what he felt around Sibi that Christian couldn't help but growl- and he was moving forward, his hands fisting against Sean's lapels, pushing him back and slamming him against the nearest wall. He plastered himself all over him, pulling him close until their miniscule height difference was emphasised enough that he could look down at Sean.
Christian took a hissing breath before he kissed him hard, punishingly hard, all teeth and lips and barely any tongue, biting against Sean's mouth and his neck, scraping against the skin and tasting salt. Did Sean kiss Mortensen before coming? Did he have sex with him? He tasted the same, but Christian couldn't help but think that there was a difference. There should be. This Sean didn't belong to him anymore.
He yanked himself back, breathing hard, his hands clenched hard at his side. He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
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He found himself staring up, paralysed on the spot, staring into Christian's eyes. There was indeed something manic there--something incredibly dangerous--but Sean didn't push him away like he meant to.
And then Christian was on him, throat first, then his lips, biting and barely kissing, no doubt leaving marks all over his throat and mouth, his shoulders. If he went back to Viggo tomorrow there would be no doubt to him that he'd been with another man. There'd have to be an explanation, and even though right now this was an assault, and Sean could call it that if he was asked, he didn't find that he wanted Christian to move away from him when it stopped.
He stared up at him, breathless, eyes bright, but no words came right away. They stuck in his throat when he tried to speak them.
"Whar... Un..." His brain chugged back to life. "Came to--see you. I came to see you." He pushed his shoulders up, deliberately squaring himself underneath Christian, though he made no effort to take back his advantage of height. He wasn't on even ground with Christian, because right now he needed the other man to feel like he was the one with the power here. Sean had messed up.
"I know you're mad at me, and you have every right to be." He licked his lips, and leant up a little, leant toward Christian's mouth, and knew that was reciprocation and any hope of honestly telling Viggo he hadn't done anything had crashed off a cliff's edge. "I know I'm late--that I should have come to tell you months ago what was happening. I kept expecting it to be taken away, and then it were too late, and everyone wanted a piece of me."
He swallowed, dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
"I didn't set out to hurt you, Christian."
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The realisation hit Christian with all of the force of a bus slamming into his body, and he couldn't help the small, sharp gasp as he stared at Sean. He wondered how it was possible- he had seen the pictures of Sean and Mortensen at the premiere. He had seen exactly how he looked at the other man; saw the love that shone from his eyes. Sean gave Mortensen the tiny little smiles that he had never given Christian; he looked at him with a kind of tenderness that he had never turned to him, and Christian had been filled with such jealousy and rage that he almost destroyed the computer that were playing the images.
But now Sean was looking at him, leaning forward with his lips parted and his fucking beautiful green eyes shining with want and desire and Christian just wanted to slam him against the wall and kiss him again. Kiss him over and over until he forgot who Mortensen was; until he understood that when Christian claimed someone, it was for his entire life. Sean shouldn't love anyone but him. He shouldn't have anything but him.
"Count me one of the masses, then," he spat out, his words poisonous and his voice harsh. "Just one of the many groupies of Sean Bean, all wanting a piece of him."
But even as he spoke he knew that he was being unfair and hypocritical. He was here because, most likely, Sibi had called Sean and told him to do something about Christian's shitty mood. No matter how long he had been with Sean, no matter how intense he dived into him and buried himself in his body- no matter how much he gave into his desire and want for Sean, he would always, always love Sibi more. She wasn't a phantom that hung over them, but she was a presence that would never leave, because Christian loved her, and he would never stop loving her.
It didn't mean that he didn't love Sean. He loved them both- Sibi for her fiery nature, her refusal to take any of Christian's bullshit, her ability to get him to calm down and her sheer acceptance of everything that he was, warts and instability and all; Sean for his unquestioning knowledge of who Christian was, for his willingness to indulge in him, for his ability to push back against him and be any of his characters if that was what Christian required of him.
What claim did Christian have on Sean when he couldn't even claim him publicly? The furthest Christian had gone was to thanking him during his Best Actor Oscar acceptance speech, and he had done that with David O'Russell and fucking Marky Mark and neither of them meant anywhere near the same thing to him.
He knew - he had always known - that Mortensen could give Sean the openness that he deserved. He could give all of himself to Sean, just like Christian had all of Sibi. What he just didn't understand was this- Mortensen should know that Sean was here. He should know what was going to happen, because Christian's urge to throw Sean to the floor and give his back rug burn by fucking him into the carpet hadn't faded whatsoever, realisations or not. So why had Sean come at all?
Christian was tired of having to deal with people who were nothing like the selfish, grasping bastards that he had been dealing with all of his life. They were so goddamn unpredictable that they were making his head spin. He reached out, rubbing against his own eyes.
"Fucking hell," he breathed, quietly. Then he took another deep breath and reached forward, his fingers curling around Sean's jaw. "You still want this," he said, and he kept his voice steady and kept the wonder out of it.
"I've known since the Oscars two years ago, you idiot wanker," the insult was almost affectionate, and his thumb stroked against Sean's chin. "I was waiting, wondering if you fucking noticed that I haven't called you for the whole of the time you're with Mortensen. Wondering when the hell you were going to tell me that you're his now. Wondering when he was going to call me up and tell me to never go near you again. Wondering what the fuck is happening when neither happened."
His hands both reached up now, his fingertips barely touching Sean's face, pressing gently against his jaw. Christian pressed his forehead against Sean's, and his breath shuddered out of him, against Sean's lips. Christian's eyes practically gleamed with want. "I'm going to kiss you, then I'm going to drag you to the bedroom and fuck you until you can't walk. If you don't shove me away in the next five seconds, I'm going to take that as a yes."
He waited.
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But he hadn't thought Christian wanted him back, and he'd been so afraid that Viggo would say no--the only reason he'd said yes this time was because... Well, Sean wasn't even sure, but here he was anyway. Here, with Christian, knowing full well that what he wanted and what Christian wanted were much the same thing.
He didn't know how to respond to anything Christian was saying, not really. He didn't know why he hadn't come back to him, except that he was happy. He'd been so happy, like they were in a honeymoon period, and he was walking on air. And he'd been so afraid of having lost Christian already, and losing Viggo too as a result of his backpedaling.
He wanted them both. He didn't need Christian, no, not the way that Christian needed him, but it was more than wanting him, really. It was... It was that they were a part of each other; that this was as natural to him as breathing.
Seconds had passed, and Sean wasn't counting them - maybe three - but his hands were coming up anyway, and it was better than permission because they moved under Christian's shirt and pulled up, lifted it up over his head, and pushed it down his arms, all in a single, deliberate movement, but before his eyes could open after the shirt was off Sean was already forward, kissing him firmly, biting at his lips and sighing, and talking even with his mouth full of Christian.
"Not if I do it first."
And he hoped Viggo knew. He hoped Viggo could forgive him, because fuck if he wasn't a mess--if this wasn't all a mess, but he did need this as much as Christian did. He loved this man, and had for years, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to make that feeling go away. So he kissed him like he loved him, and spread his hands over Christian's chest and pushed him backward, and felt tears, hot on his rough cheeks, and knew Christian could feel them too.
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There was no denying that Sean loved him and wanted him, but at the moment Christian wished that he didn't. It was so much easier to push this man away if his emotions- whatever they were, because he hated trying to classify them and he was terrified of using heavy words like 'love'- weren't reciprocated. If he couldn't see that whatever-it-was reflected to him in Sean's eyes. If Sean's hands didn't reach out for him, holding him, his fingers hot on his skin. If the two of them didn't understand each other so well, an instinctive, immediate thing that had Christian grasping at a way to try to explain it. Something that spoiled him entirely when it came to meeting new people, because he inevitably compared them all to Sean, and they came up lacking.
He was withdrawn; he had always been withdrawn. Christian was a man of a thousand masks, more comfortable in someone else's skin than his own. Sibi and Sean were the two people who had saw right through his bullshit, and he really needed no one else to understand. And he knew that he was always on the verge of losing them both; that one day he would just go a little too far, be a little bit too much of a selfish bastard, and they would see that his flaws weren't worth his strengths- whatever the latter were.
Christ, he was starting to chase circles in his own head. Christian closed his eyes, stepped backwards even more. His knees hit the bed, and he let himself fall, his back slamming against the mattress. And his hands were tugging on Sean's shirt collar, pulling him down with him, his hands curling in his hair as he tilted his head and kissed him. It was the softest, gentlest kiss they ever had, just pressure on their lips- and the tenderness was entirely undercut by how hard Christian was holding onto Sean's shoulder, the way he was pulling against his hair. Stopping him from deepening the kiss, from making it a prelude to sex.
And he knew it was entirely selfish and more than a little psychotic, but he wanted, in some way, to repeat that kiss Sean had with Mortensen on the red carpet. Just that soft, gentle kiss, captured by so many videos and uploaded on youtube. He had watched it and realised he had never had that with Sean. It was always urgency and need and want, of taking and possessing and Christian realised, right at this moment, that he had never really owned Sean at all.
Sean's mark on him was far sharper and deeper; he had practically carved his name upon Christian's skin, making himself unforgettable, irreplaceable. There was no one else who could stabilise him. But what could Christian give Sean? What could he offer him that he didn't already have? He didn't know- he only had himself to give. Him with his neuroses and needs and insecurities, which had broken open every time he looked at Sean.
How different this was from that first time they had finally confessed something. Sean was the one crying then too, while Christian had remained dry-eyed. But Sean was the one who needed him and wanted him, and right now, the situation was entirely reversed. Christian closed his eyes, killed off that line of thought, his hands clenching against Sean's shirt collar. Then he pushed him off and shoved him to the side as he rolled, pinning him down onto the bed.
His hand stroked down Sean's cheek gently, and it was a sharp contrast to his words: "I said I'm going to fuck you, Sean," he said, and tipped his eyes up. His eyes were veiled, and he rocked back onto his own heels, pulling away from Sean as he went for the nightstand. "And I'm going to."
He took out the supplies, dropping the condoms on the bed and handing the lube to Sean. "Do it," he whispered, leaning in to nip Sean on his ear, his hand going back to the base of his neck. "I want to see you stretch yourself open to prepare for my cock. I want to see take your clothes and shove your own fingers into yourself, Sean." His smile was sharp against his throat. "I'm not going to help."
This was easier. This was sex and desire and need, and Christian wouldn't have to think.
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Sean would say that it was unfair, if Christian had said out loud that he was the only one who needed anything here. It just wasn't true. And they wouldn't have fucked. He would have held him and kissed him and turned on some music and stroked his hair, and maybe come out of it happier.
That wasn't how things were going.
Christian always knew the right words, and even with his lips pressed tight, his smile as sharp as knives, he still found them. They made his breath catch, and his heart skip, and he reached for the supplies and ran them through his fingers thoughtfully... Then pushed them off the bed. A slight of hand concealed one condom in his palm, and Sean ran his hands down over his face, slipped it between his teeth, then under his tongue, and put his hands back on the bed to help pull himself back up, sitting close to Christian, the other man's hand still on his throat.
He couldn't talk with the condom under his tongue, so he spoke without words, closed his eyes and kissed two fingers and touched them to Christian's mouth, deftly undoing his own fly with his other hand. With no lubricant, there really was only one other option--saliva. Christian's.
The wait made him ache, but already his other hand was down between his legs, the heal of his hand rocking steadily against his erection, still hidden in cloth boxers.
God he'd missed this. He hadn't even realised how much he needed it, and he was losing track of everything looking into Christian's eyes, reminding himself of the colour of them, and even his arousal seemed to disappear for a few moments as he sat frozen and realised that he had forgotten, and how could he possibly forgive himself for that?
He spat out the condom.
"I missed you so much." A note higher and it would have sounded hysterical.
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The near-hysterical note in his voice made his breath hitch, and Christian cursed himself for how much he wanted Sean to need him. How much he needed this man to need him back. To grab at him and kiss him as if he would drown if he didn't; to fucking breathe him in with every breath he took while in his presence; to hold him so tightly that he left bruises, and to kiss his skin until there were marks- all those to leave signs that he was here. That he could not be rid off. That he owned Sean.
But he didn't. He didn't, before he could see it in the look of Sean's eyes that despite the desire, he had already started to forget Christian. They hadn't seen each other in two years or so - why was Christian surprised? But he was- he was, and it was a bitter pill to swallow, to think that Sean had not been following him in the papers the way that he had been following Sean. That Sean hadn't been so ridiculously obsessive with him. It was one-sided, this need, and Christian wanted to just push off the bed and leave out of the door to keep his pride intact.
He took a breath and stayed where he was. It had been a long time since he could ever convince Sean that he needed him, and it was only by pure luck and Sean's own good nature that he hadn't rubbed it into Christian's face. Christian leaned in, kissing him again, this time gentler, sweeping his tongue over his mouth and removing the taste of plastic from them before pulling back and immediately tugging Sean's hand up again. He sucked them both between his teeth, less to wet them than to see Sean's reaction and to feel him trembling against him, Christian's own hands moving down to smooth over his thighs, barely grazing his cock.
"Show me," he said, the words mangled and a trail of spit joining his teeth and tongue to Sean's fingers. Christian took a breath, closed his mouth, and said it again.
"Show me how much you missed me." His own fingers, smoothing against Sean's throat, pressing against his pulse. "Come on."
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The hand at his throat was almost like a warning, perhaps a reminder of the collar that David had put on him, only a short time ago; the brand of ownership, the mental knot that had coiled in his chest that Sean had forgotten about, but which was no less real now than it had been BV; Before Viggo.
"Y-yes... Yes. Okay."
This felt so delicate, and Sean was aware that he was desperate to please Christian, to make it up for him, and Sean wasn't that kind of man. When he had lost the faith of the women in his life he'd never felt like he should beg their forgiveness and try and win them back, but Christian was furious with him, and this was all very new to Sean. A longing to not lose him, because Christian was a good part of his life, and the way that Christian made his heart ache right now was unreal, making his head spin horribly, making him lose control of vocabulary.
Sean shifted his position, moving to arm's length, straddled across Christian but not touching him at all. The jeans he was wearing - hideously aged by wear rather than a factory - were half down his ass and stretched as far as they could as he kneeled across Christian, and his shirt hung loose over the tent of his arousal, still hidden in boxers. He didn't bother to take them off - it'd mean getting away from Christian to do it, and he couldn't bear it - so instead Sean only arched back, slid his wet fingers down his spine, beneath the waist-band...
It was a tight fit, and he was getting too old for these positions, arched so far back that his back had to strain to hold his weight, his center of gravity all the way back with his shoulders. If Christian supported him it'd be fine, but much more of this and he'd fall over backward, and sexy as that would be, it would get uncomfortable pretty quickly.
He didn't think that far ahead. He thought about his own fingers as he pushed them inside, covered with Christian's spit, pressing as deep as he could get them, crooking them until he gasped, a tremble of pleasure flickering across every tensed muscle in his body. He thought about keeping his eyes open so that he could watch Christian as he fucked himself on them, every part of him still dressed, a half second away from the decent Sean Bean that the whole world saw, and yet depraved just for him, his heartbeat racing, sweat beaded on his brow, new bruises already forming on his neck and back and hips--all invisible for now.
Lifting his other hand up from holding his weight, Sean brought it to his jeans, let his wrist and palm and fingertips slide across the stretched bridge of his jeans, then across the gap his thighs made over Christian's lap - untouched - to push the edge of his shirt up, askew, until his straining erection - also untouched - was visible. He didn't touch himself, but circled his thumb in the dent made between his hips and his thighs, arched back like that, and found that that was more than enough to make him tremble anew.
Nobody had ever seen him quite like this. Not Viggo, not even Christian.
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His breath shook as he inhaled, and he reached out. Ran his hand over the smooth of Sean's thigh, all the way up to his hips. He wanted skin, not denim, so he reached up further, pressing Sean down against the back, until his back was curved up, offering his ass and cock to Christian like an offering. He didn't say a word, only leaned down, his eyes keeping to Sean's and his mouth against the juncture between his hip and thigh. The place that Sean had just touched. His teeth skimmed over the old, thin denim, and if he tried, he could taste Sean's sweat and precome, especially with how wet his boxers must be by now. Christian's hands shook.
He hook his fingers over the waistband of the jeans, slowly pulling them down. Eyes darted away from Sean to watch the way that his movements were revealing Sean's hand- the way he had two fingers pressed inside himself. Christian took another breath, and the tension around them was so taut that he stopped breathing as he lifted first one leg, then the other, straightening them on the mattress before he pulled the jeans away and shoved them to the floor. Folded Sean's legs back until they were underneath him again. He could move Sean like he was a doll, his body tense yet pliable to Christian's hands and cues, and he couldn't help the surge of possessiveness. The almost-overwhelming rush to claim him, all over again.
He wanted to fuck into him so hard that it left a brand there. To touch him until Sean would always remember how his hands felt. Wanted to make him go insane with want and pleasure until Sean begged for release. Begged for him. Until he would never, ever forget today.
Christian's breath was coming ragged now, and he leaned forward and kissed him again. Hard and unyielding, his tongue sweeping against Sean's mouth, less exploration than claiming this time, tasting every single bit, every single corner. Then he pulled away, pressed a finger into his own mouth and wet it thoroughly before moving down, down.
Slipped that finger into Sean, along with his own two. Sean's legs were still trapped by his boxers, and he was so fucking tight that Christian's air went out of his lungs suddenly. Control, damnit.
He had a better angle, and he could press in more until he found that spot until, and stroked against it, just once.
"Tell me," Christian said, and his eyes were almost entirely black and his voice was hoarse. He rubbed slightly against Sean's prostate. "Tell me what you want, Sean."
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It made him hate himself a little, and he wondered if Christian had felt that way every other time they'd come together, if that haunted way he looked at Sean was only half gratitude, being half resentment too, for Christian to Sean represented something he couldn't give up, like cigarettes, and he'd kill anyone who tried to take either his smokes or Christian away from him.
No, really, he'd kill them.
Sean didn't draw out his own hand when Christian shifted his legs out, but he did make himself a little more comfortable, arching his back just enough that his hand was curled underneath one buttock rather than pinioned beneath his weight and Christian's in such a position that the slightest too-hard rock of Christian's hips could snap it. Instantly he felt better, and the jeans came off, and his legs were folded neatly back into place, his back arched again, subdued under Christian's wordless touches.
Sean tried his best to catch his breath only to find Christian's mouth on his, vicious as some of his other kisses, all sharp teeth and plunging tongue, and if Sean had been breathless beforehand, he was dizzy by the time Christian stopped, and utterly unprepared for the addition of another finger beside his own, crooked instantly, almost immediately, into his prostrate.
He still hadn't breathed, but he cried out - loud - and blacked out for a few seconds, and when he gasped back into life there were splotches behind his eyes.
And it was with the burbling honesty of his previous thoughtprocess and the black sway of close-to-unconsciousness dulling his senses that he said:
"I want you," and meant it, and knew Christian wanted more than that but for a moment he couldn't quite phrase it, especially since he was busy getting air back into his lungs and trying ever so hard to focus past the haze in front of his eyes. When he could look into the deep pits of Christian's eyes again, he tried to find breath to speak as well, but it was a special kind of hell, with the fingers inside him, rubbing just right every time he inhaled. It made his voice hitch up and down unnaturally.
"I want you...to remind me why I flew all the way out here. Why I'll always come when you call. I want to...to feel you on me even after a thousand showers, to leave marks I won't forget, like scars." He trembled, and opened his eyes. "I want you... I want you to take me in the bathroom, and make me look right in the mirror as you do it. Where I can see everything... Stretched around you, deep scratches down my thighs, making me watch, making me look in your eyes so I can't look in a fucking mirror without thinking of you. I want it... Jesus, Christian. I want it to hurt so I know it's real."
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He could see it, behind his eyelids. Fucking Sean against the mirror, his hand on Sean's flattened against the glass, watching him- watching his eyes and mouth and throat as he fucked into him. Sean's precome leaving streaks of white against the glass, until it was absolutely filthy and the maids would know exactly what had been done here. He wanted to mark him and scratch him like Sean was begging him to; to leave bruises on his hips and his damn neck and fuck him until Christian could disappear into him. Until he owned him entirely.
Until he had to go home to Viggo fucking Mortensen, and Mortensen would have to see the marks that Christian had left on his skin. An ownership that could not be usurped, a claim that he could not erase. Christian was a selfish bastard, and he knew that there was no guarantee that Mortensen was as understanding and sweet as Sibi was. That he could ruin Sean's relationship just like this. That he should stop, because if he loved this man, he would want him to be happy, and apparently Mortensen made him happy.
But Sean had asked for it, and it was less that Christian loved him than he needed him and he was addicted to him. Sean was a drug that he couldn't ever wean himself off of. Every touch, every look, just sealed his addiction further, and David didn't help, either. It only increased his want, and the further Christian was taken away from his addiction, the worse it got. Until it became impossible to be gentle with this man. Until it became a rush to claim, a need to possess, to bury himself completely inside Sean and listen to his voice crying out his name. Begging for him. Showing that Sean was addicted as much as he was.
God. Christian's hands was trembling, and this was a symptom of withdrawal. He leaned back, grabbing Sean's arm and pulling his fingers out before he pulled him to his feet.
"Bathroom," he said, his voice sharp and hoarse. He grabbed the roll of condoms, looking at the bottle of lube before he gave up on it, pressing his hand - with the dirty finger - against Sean's back and steering him towards the bathroom.
There was a full-length mirror there, and Christian shoved Sean towards it even as he dropped the condoms on the sink. He knew he probably didn't need it - he didn't sleep with anyone but Sean and Sibi, and Sean probably slept only with Mortensen nowadays - but he should. But he didn't want to- he wanted to-
"I want to come inside you," he said, his voice almost casual, his hand burying itself in Sean's hair and pulling his head back until his throat was bared, the long, vulnerable column gleaming under the bathroom's light, fully exposed to the mirror. "I want to fuck you bareback, and when I come I want you to feel it. I want you to stand up later and feel my come sliding out of you, and I'll put my fingers inside you and shove it all back in."
His teeth were brilliantly white as he leaned down and scraped his teeth over Sean's shirt, wetting the material and letting it blunt the touch against his shoulder. He looked up, capturing Sean's eyes with his own.
"Tell me you want that, Sean." His fingers caught onto the buttons of Sean's shirt, and he pulled down, hard. The buttons flew off, a few of them hitting the sink, and at least smacking against the mirror. Christian ignored them all. Instead, his fingers went to Sean's nipples, flicking against one, then the other.
"I want to hear you."
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White shirt and white underpants, long, bare legs, his hair sticking to his face and his lips swollen and bruised and cut. There were already bruises forming down his neck and across his thighs, bruises low on his calves where Christian's hands had pulled his legs up and folded them back. A wet spot on his shirttails betrayed that his underwear was just as bad.
There was only a half second to overcome his shock before Christian was pressed up behind him, pulling his head back by his hair to expose his throat, hissing absolutely delicious words into his ear--words he'd spoken before, the unrealised wishes from so long ago, and here Christian was now, murmuring them into his ear like a dirty secret. His dirty secret.
Because he wanted it.
"I want you," he whispered, and Christian seemed to carry on without hearing him, even though he'd seen his own mouth move and knew he hadn't imagined it, echoing those words. Tell me you want that. He did, he did. And he stared into Christian's eyes and watched him rip the buttons off his shirt in one easy, single movement, moving his hands to his quivering chest, his bared nipples, teasing them, teasing him utterly mercilessly. It was exactly what he'd wanted when he'd suggested coming in here in the first place.
"I want you like that. I want you to fuck me. I want... I want hand shaped bruises on my hips, and my blood--I want to taste my blood in your mouth when I kiss you. I want you to... To come, and then even though I'm still not there I want you to lean against the sink and fuck me with your hand while I suck you clean--suck you until you're ready to pin me to the mirror and fuck me again, until we finish, until the glass breaks, and the only thing stopping me from cutting my feet is the fact that you're holding me up, coming again, bleeding out every last squirt."
That word sounded even filthier in that context, the way Sean said it, and he smiled a bloodied smile - the first since he'd got here, the first he felt cocky enough to smile.
"I want to be covered in it. Ruined and filthy, with come in my scratches, drying inside me, sticking my hair down. I want to sleep here, and wake up like that, even after you're gone, and I want to ache so bad it's a trial just to call the staff and extend the stay by a couple more days." A shattered breath. "I wouldn't beg like this if I didn't fucking mean it, Christian."
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He smiled quietly to himself, taking the cloth in his hand and sliding it against Sean's neck. "Fucking slut," he said, and there was amusement woven into his voice along with the heavy tinge of arousal. It was an affectation, a reminder- this was almost Christian's nickname for Sean when shooting David. When Sean would come to him at the end of everywhere, spreading his legs to take or be taken. Begging for sex, for relief, for that satisfaction that Lucas Shaw would never be able to have.
"I'm not going to be so good to you," he continued, voice barely a murmur. His hand reached forward, flattening against the smooth, flat stomach, moving up, up to his nipples and scraping first a thumb against one, then the other. Pressing the right one between thumb and index finger, and he rolled the tiny nub between his fingers. Leaned down, let his teeth nip against the long column of Sean's throat, until the skin began to redden- but he stopped before he broke the skin.
"I'm going to fuck you," he said, almost casually. The cloth went down, and he moved down as well. Falling to his knees like he had done it all of his life, kneeling between Sean's legs. Mouth against his thighs, breathing hot air against the smooth, hairless skin of his leg- and he twisted the white cloth in his hands. He reached forward, looping a single circle around Sean's cock from the top, then dragging the rough cloth downwards until it curled around the base. Another twist, a loop, and the cloth pulled down to press against the balls, separating the two of them before he leaned in and used his teeth to tie a knot. Barely nipped against Sean's cock- at the drawn-back foreskin.
"Then, I'm going to finger-fuck you until you come. With just my fingers inside you, pushing my come inside, over and over again. Your thighs," he licked against them, "will be absolutely filthy, and you'll be begging to come. Just like you asked."
He stood up again, moving behind Sean. Nuzzling against his shoulder, nudging at his arms. His own hands tightened around Sean's hips, and he lined himself up. Rocked his hips forward, the wet head of his own cock sliding against Sean's entrance, then up against his cleft. Then down, up.
"I'm still thinking about the rest," his words were almost an afterthought as he slammed into Sean, hard, one hand shoving Sean's hips back against his cock, the other reaching up to cover his face and nose as the first thrust shoved his face against the mirror. Then Christian pulled out almost entirely, his hand moving to Sean's nipples, and he did it again.
And again.
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The dirty talk was a highlight. When he'd tested it out with Viggo it had been scary--it belonged to Christian. Christian with his filthy fucking Californian mouth. Christian who was only ever English when he was with Sean, because he soaked up accents like he was breathing them in. What the fuck was it with him, surrounded by such talented people? Talented people who revolved around him, idolised him, when he couldn't even catch a fucking break all on his own? And yet he was pretty sure if he put Viggo and Christian in a cage together they'd fight each other to the death to keep him. Yeah--that wasn't ever going to be a good idea.
His mind was whirring away, but even he couldn't maintain such complicated personal thoughts at the same time as Christian was growling 'Fucking slut' in his ear, as Christian was kneeling between his legs, as Christian fucking Bale was tying the miserable strips of cotton that was all that was left of his shirt around his fucking balls and playbiting at his fucking cock.
Any ability to process thought temporarily hiatused, leaving only white noise and a growling thankful possessiveness that flipped about in his stomach like a slinky on speed.
After a moment he was able to see again, which was good because he saw himself in the mirror, with Christian up behind him, and saw a brief flicker of flistening erection before Christian slid it against him. Full, beautiful sensation, bare skin like velvet against his trembling ass, saliva dripping down his thighs - and that was all - the wetness of precome that slipped against him before suddenly Christian was shoving into him in one smooth moment.
No protection, no real preperation, just Christian's erection like a hot steel rod dressed in silk slammed up into him, and his face found Christian's hand and not hard glass, and he cried out so hard into Christian's palm the first time that he was relieved it was there to muffle his scream, because fuck it if the whole damn city wouldn't have heard him otherwise. As Christian withdrew there was a gasp almost as loud, and then his second moan was a little more subdued, but only just, Christian's hand on his nipples, his neck arched, head all the way back but eyes open, a slither of green that watched their reflection, watched Christian's fingers, watched Christian's cock as it drew back again, still bare, still naked, glistening and wet, watched it disappear back inside and felt it at once.
He didn't dare blink. Couldn't blink. Had to watch--he had to see.
"Christian." In his next gasp. He was losing his mind, and they'd barely started, but god-- "Don't ever stop."
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He always wondered why he even bothered being on the camera during Equilibrium when Sean was there, because he had always felt it- that magnetic pull, that draw, that presence of Sean constantly near him. Tugging at his attention and his eyes, whether he was John Preston or Christian Bale. A siren's song that he couldn't disobey; a song that he was so irritated-relieved that no one else seemed to notice. Sean was quiet and reserved, but his silence was something that Christian had always wanted to reach forward into, drag out, and completely shatter until Sean fully exposed himself. Showed his weaknesses.
He would do anything to keep this man. It was entirely selfish and possessive and he knew that they would both be healthier if he backed off and left Sean to be, but if Christian had always gone for the healthier route of living he wouldn't have a goddamn career nowadays. He wasn't going to let go of Sean, ever- especially not after that time when Sean had probably saved his career, appearing on the Batman set just went he stepped a little too close to Batman's mind and nearly took Anne Hathaway to bed (or wall, or floor, or anywhere, really- Bruce wasn't particular picky).
Christian needed him in much of the same degree as he needed Sibi; needed Sean to be his drug, so he would never turn to anyone else.
It didn't hurt that he looked so gorgeous when being fucked. Christian's hand had moved up to his throat, and he had felt that moan against his own fingers, the skin trembling against beneath him. Almost idly, he tightened his grip, pressing against Sean's windpipe.
"I'm not going to," he said gently, rocking his hips forward and aiming unerringly at Sean's prostate, practically massaging the spot. Surprisingly gentle and shallow after the sharp, hard thrusts. "But you can't come yet, Sean. Not until I say so."
He tipped his head back, and took a sharp breath. Pulled himself out, and his hand left Sean's hip, moving down the cleft of his ass until he was rubbing slightly against the swollen hole. "Do you know what you look like from here?" He keep his voice steady, raising his eyes to meet Sean's at the mirror. His fingers dipped inside, two of them, before slipping out and tracing the edges. "You're twitching around me, so eager for my cock. So eager to be fucked that you can't wait for it. You're trying to suck my cock back in, aren't you?"
He didn't pull his fingers out. Instead, he eased his cock back in alongside them, stretching Sean open even further, his fingers deep inside until the knuckle, cock buried to the hilt. Rolled his hips and rubbed his thumb against Sean's entrance, right where it was stretched.
Then he pulled out his fingers and reached for Sean's balls, letting the slight wetness streak against the tight heaviness. At the same time, he pulled out-
"Fucking slut."
When he thrust in again, he didn't stop. He kept going, fucking Sean against the mirror, his hand shifting from his throat to his hair, pulling Sean's head back until he could kiss him- kiss him, and swallow every single noise he made, because Christian owned those too, and he wasn't even willing to share with the bathroom.
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He felt wild. Christian did too. He felt like he was on the very edge, somewhere between sanity and losing it - losing everything - like that fucking nutter Jim--another of Christian's repertoire of complete lunatics.
Words were replaced by only sounds. He couldn't even think of talking, because words were a foreign thing to him now. It was by instinct alone that he could even understand Christian's words enough to actually look at himself in the mirror, to look at Christian's erection as it slid free, catching glimpses of it there, between his own legs, watching as his hand slid all the way down and probed inside. He pushed back, desperate for cock, and heard Christian's words mock him for it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted it, and he didn't make a sound of complaint as Christian spread him wide and drove in again, filling him with hands and cock both. As far as Sean knew right now, Christian could shove both fucking fists up there as well as his cock, and all Sean would know was that he wanted more.
The threads of unconsciousness began to tug at him, a blackness curling in, twisting with the white lines of blinding pleasure that was twinged ever more with the pain of being held by rough silk to the edges of orgasm, clutched on the edge as he strained to come. The pain was as delightful as the deleriousness of semi-consciousness, and he wanted that too. Wanted to feel everything. Just for a second, he knew, he had too much in common with his hitchhiker than should be acceptable, because if this was what dying felt like...
Jesus.
Breath rushed back in with colour, but it still wasn't enough. His head fell back, which gave Christian the angle he needed to kiss and bite the hell out of his mouth, hand twisted roughly - painfully, fuck yes - in his hair as he fucked the hell out of him. If the glass mirror was a hard place, then Christian was a rock, and Sean keened and moaned and whimpered, utterly incomprehensible, against that ruthless mouth, under the pounding assault, and loved every single damn second.
If he was going to die, then he wanted to fucking die like this.
In his head he apologised to Viggo for the thought, but it was merely glancing. Christian felt like he was fucking Viggo out of him, tearing him wider than Viggo ever had, as though to inflict new claims, ripping at his hair, cutting at his skin, bruising and biting and marking him. No sex would ever feel the same after this, and he should feel sorry, yes, grievously apologetic, but wasn't this why he was here? There was something ironic about that. Sean the sex fiend. The roles he'd played should have given his villainy away.
His mind was blurring, and all he could think about was coming. He wanted to, needed to, desperately begged to, into the recesses of Christian's mouth, without knowing what he was actually saying. His tethers - literal and metaphorical - strained with his need to come, but it was Christian's decision and Christian's alone.
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He wanted Sean to stop thinking about Viggo; to erase every single mark that bastard had made on what was his and to replace them with his own. Christian's teeth were sharp and harsh on Sean's neck, nipping and biting hard against skin, and his nails were scraping their ways up Sean's ribs, creating little pink rivers where the blood had risen to the skin. He stared at it in the mirror. Stared at Sean. Reached up and pulled his head back again, until Sean was leaning fully against him, his ass swallowing Christian's cock entirely- except when Christian shifted backwards and slammed in again.
"Look at yourself," he murmured, and he licked against Sean's ear. Utterly filthy and hot, tasting sweat and smelling shampoo and he scraped his teeth against the shell. His eyes remained on Sean's inside the mirror. "Look at you, Sean. Look at how much you want this. Look at how easily you give in to me. It's not just wanting, is it?" His hand slipped down, curled around the base of Sean's cock. Fingers curled around his balls, cupping them, his nails against his perineum- then he shoved back even as he thrust forward, using that momentum to drive himself even deeper inside.
"You need this. You need someone to fuck you so hard that your mind go blank and you want for nothing else but you come." Christian's voice was barely above a whisper, but it was rough and sharp, each word like a whip against Sean's skin. "You need to be here, looking at yourself like this, your cock hard and balls aching and keeping yourself back from coming. If I ask you what your name is right now, would you remember it, Sean? Do you even know what it is?"
His orgasm slammed into him, almost belated. Like an afterthought, really, and Christian buried his face into Sean's neck as he came into that heat and tightness, his fingers curling against Sean's hip. "Mine," he growled, the words mangled by his own need. He pulled Sean's hair back even further, until his neck was a long curve backwards, exposing his windpipe to the ceiling. To Christian, who licked against it.
"Beg," he commanded, and he was pulling out. Pulling out, and immediately shoving his fingers inside, pressing his come in. In all the way. His fingers scraped lightly against Sean's prostate, feeling the passage around him clench periodically with Sean's urgent need to come. Christian smiled to himself, and his other hand went around Sean's waist, flattening against his stomach- and letting the back of his hand gently brush against the head of Sean's cock with every tiny thrust he made with the fingers inside him.
"Beg me for the privilege to come."
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He felt every word, but couldn't understand what they were, and only a few scant words made sense in his head right now: 'Christian', 'Please' and 'Fuck.' He spoke them all eagerly and profusely, under his breath and inside them, stumbling over each other as he stared at himself with wild eyes, stared at Christian where the other man leant over his shoulder with his sly dark eyes and his hair wet, clinging to his forehead, sweat dripping off the tip of his long nose.
And then Christian came, and it may have been belated to him, but to Sean it was an explosion of heat and pressure inside, hot and wet and slick, Christian's come painting his insides with a hot spurting brush that seemed to go deeper than anything else ever had. Sean bucked back, rolled his head over Christian's shoulder and wailed, low and loud, and Christian pulled his hair back the rest of the way, so that he couldn't see himself any more, and that was fine because his eyes were closed and everything was blindingly white. He whimpered.
Sean began to crumble, but the weight of Christian was against him, holding him up, and he was holding Christian up too, and his eyes were wide and sightless. Christian filled him up again with his rough, hard hand, and despite his efforts to keep everything in fine, a fine line of come, turned cold, ran down the inside of his thigh. Sean shivered at the feeling, Christian's fingers twisting inside him, seeming to push through him and against the palm of the hand that flattened against his stomach.
There were tears rolling down his face now, and he tried to speak, only to be too clogged up with his sobbing to speak out loud. He moaned, long and low, and his head kept spinning, and the words began to tumble out, breaths of words, words he couldn't understand. His mouth was like dust and his head was clogged with wet sponge and his face burned and his cock stung, and Sean cried as the words fell out.
"Please Christian. Please, I need to come. Please. Oh god. Don't. Please let me come. If you love me let me come. Oh god, oh god."
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He just had to take the best two out of three. Christian smirked against Sean's shoulder, his fingers dancing down his ribs, scraping his nails against his skin. Another point of pain, and he was clenching Sean by the hips. He leaned up and nipped Sean by the ear.
"You asked."
It was almost amused, though words. Christian shoved Sean back against the mirror before pulling him forward, and shifting him around and slamming him back against the mirror again. At the same time, he slipped down to his knees, looking up with brown eyes staring straight into Sean's eyes. Forcing him to look at him as he trailed his blunt nails down the insides of Sean's thighs. Then, he curled his fingers, pressed them inside.
He stroked against Sean's prostate just as he pulled the knot loose, letting the pieces of silk drop to the ground. Then, before Sean could react, Christian took him immediately into his mouth. Ignored his gag reflex and let Sean slide down his throat, and swallowed around him. He thrust his fingers, hard, pressing against that spot inside.
It wasn't permission to come. It was an order.
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Everything was black with a whirling whiteness that wasn't visible but was in fact a sound made solid, the sound of whirring orgasm like a thousand waves crushing against a shore, seizing up a little boat - and he was the boat - and promising it twisted, ruination as it was crushed into oblivion. He rose on those waves, and was enshrouded in their blinding, wet heat as Christian's mouth slammed home around him, as his cock brushed the back of the other man's mouth and those hard fingers drove up with blinding accuracy not to brush but to stab at his sensitive prostrate.
And he rose high on those waves--
His orgasm was agony and pleasure at once. His tortured balls constricted hard, like the fist of a strongman knotting in his gut, forcing everything out of him, and the space through which it all tried to pass at once was so narrow, and so blindingly sensitive that Sean let out a savage roar in its passing--nothing, not even a gag, could have kept him quiet then. The whole damn hotel would shake, but nobody would make much of it because this place was popular with honeymooners, and wasn't that why Christian had slipped away here? He wailed, and twisted up, and shot seed like he was shooting a damn pistol down Christian's throat, hard enough, he felt, to blow his damn head off.
He'd never felt so good, and so dreadful, and there wasn't even a moment of satisfaction because the moment he'd come like that the world tilted sidewards and Sean crumpled, slid down the mirror, and the last thing he remembered was the floor coming up to meet him.
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His head thrown backwards to expose his throat, smacking the back of it against the mirror. The sound of the impact was entirely drowned out by Sean's voice. The roar-scream resounded in Christian's head, nearly knocking it back, and Christian savoured it. Savoured it as much as he savoured the taste of Sean's come in his mouth, pulling back until it landed in his tongue rather than the back of his throat so he wouldn't choke. Sean came hard, and Christian felt it splattering all over his mouth, covering every single corner until he felt like he had made his mark. Covered his territory until Christian's mouth would remain completely his, because no matter how much he tried to clean or rinse his mouth, it would never get rid of this feeling. This taste.
It was bitter and hot and he swallowed it down, over and over, feeling it slide down his throat even as Sean clamped down hard on his fingers, so hard that it was practically impossible to pull them out so he could curl them around Sean's cock, stroking the base gently to tease out every single drop of his come. Sean's thigh was trembling beneath his other hand, his hips shoved forward as Christian continued to suck and swallow, draining every single damn drop out of him until it dropped. Until he could feel Sean's muscle start to crumple beneath his own hand, and Christian pulled back a little.
He didn't have the leisure to savour the literal taste of victory in his mouth, because Sean seemed to have been knocked out entirely, and he was sliding down the mirror. Christian hissed under his breath, reaching out and catching him, sliding a hand underneath Sean's arm and pulling him close before his head hit the floor. Pulled him even closer until Sean was leaning against him, his head on Christian's shoulder, Christian's hand against his hip. His grip was still a little too hard. Hard enough to leave finger marks.
"You should stop leaving me alone for so long," he murmured, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Sean's temple. "Whenever I see you again I won't be able to control myself. I would want to take you, own you, have you in every way I can even if it's just within these doors. I want you to be mine in every way. If I have my way completely, I'll have you in my house. Wearing my collar."
He traced his fingers against Sean's throat, moving from side to side. "Whenever I come home I'll see you kneeling in front of me. I'll even have a garden in the middle of Los Fucking Angeles so you can grow whatever you like. I'll have you as my mistress, my kept man, and I'll fuck your brains out every night as a different man, and you'll be mine."
Oh, he knew exactly what he was saying. He knew how dangerous his words were; how close they edged towards sheer psychosis. Christian had always known, and that was what kept him a level higher than the very psychosis itself. He couldn't be insane if he knew exactly how insane he was and kept himself back. Christian had wanted to play Patrick Bateman so badly because he knew he could do it; he knew he could live and breathe that damn role. He knew exactly what Bateman's eyes looked like, because he saw them every day in his own mirror.
Who Bateman was outwardly was all Tom Cruise. Who he was inwardly- the man carrying the chainsaw and feeding cats into machines- that was Christian entirely. That was the person he could have been, if he wasn't careful.
He kissed Sean lightly, on the lips.
"But I won't. I won't, because if you are truly mine in that way, I would've been bored of you within the week." A sharp smile, his teeth scraping against Sean's jaw.
"I like it better this way."
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God, the knowledge that he was on the edge of that; that crazy need, a power and a drive so out of control and yet so carefully checked. It was the excitement he'd always craved; it was why Sean was with him.
He opened his eyes, saw the wildness - saw Bateman, in Christian's eyes - and let out a shattered, wondering breath.
"Christian," and he licked his lips, leant up into the kiss, and just for a moment he imagined it, and a fresh shiver rolled through him, from Christian's biting kiss all the way down to the tips of his toes. His poor cock twitched, and it hurt like hell, but Sean smiled a blood-lined smile, and stared up at the other man, and then arched back over his knee, gathering the strength he needed to pull himself up. He came up with a heave, and a deep groan, and twisted, curling his arms around Christian's shoulders, draping across him.
He kissed his jaw, leant down to his neck, little soft kisses that purred down Christian's jaw and down his throat. Sean took in a breath that filled him, but his head was still spinning. He'd damn well fainted. Come and fainted, like a blushing virgin.
This man drove him fucking crazy.
"Then you'd better not stay longer than six days," he murmured, with a little purr. "Six days," he whispered, again. "Longer than we've ever had together, but not so long that you get bored." His smirk lacked a lot of energy--he was exhausted.
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(And kill people on Metal Gear Solid. And, sometimes, to design planes that would never be made because they were all stuffs of fantasies and Christian had never been formally trained about that. All he had was an high school education of physics and thermodynamics, and a whole shelf of books on planes. He picked up the habit as a kid, and dropped it when he came to Los Angeles. Picked it up again after his father died.
Only Sibi knew about it. It wasn't something that concerned anyone else. It didn't matter, because it wasn't as if he was actually going to ever do anything about them. He was an actor, and actors didn't try to do silly things like become engineers, much less aerospace engineers.)
His fingers danced down Sean's back, feeling the knobs of his spine. They curved around his ass, darting inside the crease and slipping the very tips of his fingers inside. Just circling around the edge of Sean's entrance, knowing that he was all the more oversensitive now; knowing that every single move would be felt. That Sean might even be able to feel Christian's fingerprints from the way he was touching him. It was a nice thought.
"Six days with me," he said, and he leaned forward, nipping against the edges of Sean's jaw. He sounded almost contemplative. As if he was considering it, weighing his options- when in fact his mind had been made up even before Sean had stepped into the room.
"I think I can spare that, just for you," his free hand reached up, stroked against the curve of Sean's cheekbones. His skin was getting rougher, Christian thought. Not merely from the stubble poking through, but from the sun and winds and smoke and drink. From age. And somehow- somehow, it made Sean all the more attractive to him. Christian had never really liked people of his own generation; he was already supporting his family when they were stumbling along, listening to pop music and having their first crushes.
He darted his tongue out and licked against Sean's lips, taking the time to stall. While he considered his next words carefully, and stroked his hand through Sean's hair. Cupped his skull, then moved down to draw little circles over the base of it.
"Won't your boyfriend be worried?"
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His relationship with Viggo was now well known, but had Christian been single, like him, Sean would have been with him in a heartbeat--open, and years ago, and maybe it would have ended in a blizzard and a disaster, like Sean's other marriages. Maybe Christian would have gotten bored with him. Sean couldn't have given him a lovely daughter, and he wouldn't have had his own beautiful daughter either. Would his life have been better? He didn't know.
Sean raised his head quietly, and made a soft promise.
"He can worry all he likes. I won't phone him 'less I have yer permission to. Alright? I'm all fer you, Christian, and Viggo can wait."
He took a deep breath, and knew it was a lie; of course he'd phone Viggo. In fact, an idea was beginning to form in his head now, and his lips curled a little as he thought about it. He looked up, smiled, and lay his head quietly against Christian's shoulder.
"All yours."
So was it any surprise, really, when Sean took the first opportunity he could to phone Viggo?
Christian was on the phone to his wife, and Sean picked up the phone as gently as he could, dialling out. He lay back in bed, exhausted from a long morning, come dried and sticky on his stomach, stinking of sweat and sex and strawberry, from the squirty, sticky food paint they'd found in the bedside cabinet.
Sean tilted his head back and listened to the phone ring. Quietly he hoped Viggo wasn't in, or had his head buried in a painting or behind a camera and wouldn't come to the phone, that his answering machine would pick up and he could leave a brief message to stop him from worrying.
Because if Viggo picked up, the explanation would be a bitch.
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