Viggo's laugh--that was where the melting in his heart started, and it began to melt out through him, to soak into his every limb, and Viggo kept coming, kept his voice low in that delicious, surly growl, like a breath ghosted against his ear over thousands of miles.

And there was that promise, and it rolled over him too, and claimed its own gasp. It was a devilish promise, and an enshrouding one, because it meant that Viggo was waiting for him, that he'd claim him too, when he returned to his bed, and the thought of it made him shiver through to his fingertips.

"Jesus," he whispered, and knew it was barely loud enough for Viggo to hear him.

Sean closed his eyes.

Another breath, and he shifted on the bed, made himself a little more comfortable, and shifted the phone so it rest on his stomach, clicking on the speakerphone.

"Can you hear me, Viggo?" he murmured. "I moved the phone so you can hear everythin'." He licked his lips, bringing his feet up to rest on the bed, legs apart, and slid the tips of his fingers down his thigh, dipped them gently inside, two at once. There was a wet sound as he pulled out, pushed in again, and then a soft, broken sounding moan followed. He arched on the bed, careful not to dislodge the phone, his eyes closed as ordered.

"You can't imagine how it feels. Christian did it good, Vig. He fucked me wide, an' when he couldn't fuck me any wider he put half his hand in there too and ripped me clean open. I'm so wet it's like he's still there, sticky and slippery. It's dried up on me thighs. Itches like buggery. Viggo..."

He let out a soft sigh, drove his fingers in a little deeper.

"Fuck me, Viggo."