canbenothing | Heaven is a place on earth with you, tell me all the things you want to do

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reg: sean bean

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.

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It was just- something about Sean that he couldn't describe. That he had never tried describing or analysing or putting underneath the microscope, simply because to do that would be to destroy it. But Christian knew this: he was constantly surprised that people's eyes didn't automatically go to Sean the moment he entered the room. Sean displayed himself so honestly in an industry full of liars - both onscreen and in reality - with the sharp eyes to cut through the bullshit of so many people Christian wondered why he didn't get more attention that he already was.

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.

Halted from the ability to moan aloud, Sean groaned instead, and barely found breath enough for that with the way that Christian moved inside him. Every tiny little rock of his hips was a horrid stimulation that burst fire and electricity through him, He could see his cock purpling in the mirror, his face red from exertion, his eyes a little too wide to be normal as his ability to take in enough oxygen was cut to almost nothing. Was this how Christian had felt when Sean had pulled the belt tight about his throat, Sean fucking him like a wild creature, overcome by greedy need?

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.

Christian knew that Sean loved it. He could tell from every sound he made, muffled or choked back or screamed to the ceiling. He could tell it from the way Sean trembled underneath his fingers, the way his muscles jumped underneath his touch completely instinctively and unconsciously. Christian knew how much Sean wanted this and was enjoying it from the way his entrance was clenching around him, dragging him back inside every single time he pulled out, trying to keep him inside as he tried to thrust again. It was so startlingly obvious, and Christian bit down on Sean's lip hard enough to leave a trail of blood between them as he pulled back and shoved his hips hard against the mirror, trapped Sean's cock between the cool surface and his own stomach, and claimed him over and over again.

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."

Sean could barely think. Up, down, left, right, they all blurred into each other. When he was pushed into the mirror, he was almost startled to find that it was hard and cold against him, and Christian pressed in closer, drove deeper inside him. Sean sobbed - in pain, in humiliation, in need - twisted his hips and only got the reward of whiplash cool stimulation for the effort. He could feel himself not only blanking everything but going blind, and even the weight of Christian's words was a stimulation he could hardly bear. He heard them, but they didn't make much sense, like the stroking against him that was just wild sensation and could have been from fingers or erection, hot poker or a sharp gouging knife for all he could comprehend the differences.

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."

The words were like ambrosia to him. Ambrosia and an aphrodisiac, because Christian could feel it- blood was rushing downwards, and there was a sharp spike of pain as he tried to get hard again but his body refused to cooperate. He was nearing his forties, for god's sake; he wasn't a teenager anymore. A pity, because he would want to actually fuck Sean into the mirror, and fuck him until he came all over the silvered surface, painting it white and screaming Christian's name.

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.

The world spun sidewards, and at once, from one move to another, he found himself with his back to the glass, and what had been his own desperate wild eyes a moment before was changed to a new focus. He looked down at Christian's desperate, wild eyes, and swore as he understood what the other man was preparing to do, and his own hands struggled to find purchase, any purchase, and eventually wrapped tightly around each other, nails digging into knuckles, hips bucking once desperately, backward, as Christian shoved his fingers back in.

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.

Sean was a magnificent sight.

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."

Sean began to stir only a little way into Christian's words. His eyelids flickered, stayed closed, and he listened. It was visible that he could hear, that he was listening acutely, because Sean shuddered in Christian's grip; he shuddered, and arched just a little under the implication, because there was a filthy part of him that wanted to be owned so visibly, so absolutely, that craved the bonds of a relationship that everyone could see and nobody could question. A wedding ring was no different to a collar in that respect, but the thought of wearing Christian's...

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.

Christian, for his part, felt wide awake and bright-eyed, tipping his head back and watching from underneath hooded eyelids as Sean kissed his way down his own throat. Like this- fucked out, trembling still from continued arousal despite coming so hard, sweaty with his blond hair sticking onto his forehead and fanning out against his eyes, with the lines around his eyes and mouth deepened as he smirked and smiled... Sean was absolutely stunning in a way that Christian would never be able to describe. He wasn't an artist, or a poet. All he could do even marginally well was act.

(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?"

Sean licked his lips, then gave a little nod. He'd never felt so utterly fucked in his life, and his body jumped away from Christian's fingers as the other man slid his hands up, possessed him with kisses and touched and tiny bites. Christian was rough, and that was what he needed right now--not because Viggo couldn't be rough, but because deep inside him he felt guilty, deeply, painfully guilty.

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.

Viggo would be lying if he said that he was completely incapable of jealousy. True, the emotion itself didn't register much with him - when he was with Exene, they practically lived hip-to-hip with her ex-husband, and John Doe was still his friend, even to this day. Viggo knew his daughters, though not very well these days given how much they lived apart, and he and John had an unspoken agreement with Exene, especially with regards to taking care of her when she was ill. Viggo wasn't the kind of person who get overly possessive; if he was loved, then he was, and that was the end of that. He didn't need someone to be completely devoted to him - in fact, he found that a little stifling.

Sean and him- they had their own spaces. Viggo loved him more than breath itself, and he could see himself spending the rest of his life with one man. But it didn't mean that Sean had to spend it with him alone, never that. It also didn't mean that Viggo meant that he needed to spend every single day with Sean, because he would suffocate and inspiration would dry up because what was new and unique about Sean would turn into something he would've taken for granted. Viggo never ever wanted that to happen. He loved the man too much to ever want to be bored of him.

So it wasn't the fact that Sean had left temporarily. It wasn't even that he was gone for longer than he had said - Viggo expected that. It was the fact that this was Christian Bale. Bale, whom Viggo had never really met, because they had smiled at each other and talked to each other as their characters when they worked together. Bale, who played psychotics with such ease, and which seemed to be addicted to some kind of control complex, throwing himself entirely into his preparations for movies. Bale, whom Viggo had met in Rome and who had spoken with an American accent even though Viggo knew that he was as British as Sean was.

He was a wildcard, that Christian Bale. Someone whom Viggo didn't understand at all, and that was disconcerting. Viggo had reached a part of his life where he was able to start taking the measure of a person with the first glance from their body language and the way they spoke, but all he could see from Bale was the conspicuous lack. Worse than a mirror, for Viggo couldn't even see himself. Bale might as well be a black hole.

But Viggo had promised. He had let Sean go, three weeks after their first announcement. The public had calmed by now, moved on to juicier stories that didn't involve two older-than-middle-aged men who had supposedly pased their physical prime. All he could do now was to stay in his studio, space out, and- and, well, answer phone calls. This was probably not from his agent. Viggo squinted at the number, and picked it up.

"Hello?"

***

There was a particular and perhaps peculiar duality to fucking Sean into the mattress into a vengeance in the morning and then, after breakfast, start calling Sibi. His ears were still ringing from Sean's cries and moans, and he was really glad that he booked one of the isolated suites. (Glad, too, that apparently Sibi didn't mind that he used a bunch of the money he earned from The Dark Knight Returns on a hotel room with discrete hotel staff so he could fuck his lover without being reported in the tabloids.)

Sibi always had the ability to calm him no matter what, and she told him that he had work to do. There were people to call - not to take a break, because that was dealt with already, she did that - but to call his publicist and start issuing out bland little statements about Sean Bean's 'coming out' and how it linked to David. A whole bunch of movie publicity stuff he couldn't escape from. Christian agreed, spoke to Emmeline, and smiled like an idiot until Sibi took the phone back and told him to leave at least a little bit for her, because she wasn't going to have to abstain because he was all fucked out.

He promised, heard her hang up, and hung up the phone on his phone. He had to call his publicist, but first- he tapped the mode to listen in into the line going out from Sean's room.

A voice. Mortensen's.

He knew it.

Sean had been certain that Christian would take a while, long enough for him to pull himself up higher on the pillows and turn onto his side, to rest the creeping soreness that went down his back from Christian's treatment.

But the thing was that when he'd made the agreement with Christian not to phone Viggo, he'd done it in order to be discovered. There was no desire to rush--he wanted to be caught on the phone, a direct challenge to Christian's domination over him, a firm reminder that he wouldn't have it easy, that he'd have to work for it. That and Sean knew he couldn't stay a full week without at least hearing the sound of Viggo's voice, like cool water hissing over hot coals.

So he leant back, and heard Viggo's purring 'Hello', and dropped his head against the pillow as he gasped out a small, contented sigh.

It was a proper sigh, a happy sigh, maybe even a little aroused. Christian didn't always let him come, and his erection had flagged away, now it stirred at the sound of Viggo's voice, and Sean swallowed audibly, shifted his grip on the phone and pulled the blankets a little higher.

"It's good to hear your voice," Sean murmured, a sleepy sound as though he'd just woken up. He had no idea that there was anyone else listening in, but if he'd known he'd have continued on regardless.

"Christian's been doing a great job of trying to make me forget you," he whispered, and it might have been insulting if not for the tenderness with which he purred the words. They were comfortable with their relationship, he hoped, comfortable enough for Viggo to know how Sean felt about him.

"I'm planning to stay 'til the end of the week. You're okay with that, right?"

Trying, huh? Christian's eyes narrowed, and he immediately quietened down his breathing, sliding his fingers over the mouthpiece. He knew that there was a chance that Sean or Mortensen would know anyway that he was listening in, but... but like hell was Christian going to give them the satisfaction of being right until he wanted to.

***

Viggo smiled the moment that he heard that it was Sean. The voice, the accent- he couldn't help it, his lips curving upwards instinctively, and he dragged a hand in his hair. Eyes half-lidded, he wandered over to the couch, listening to Sean's voice and trying to concentrate on the words as he dropped onto it, leaning his head back against the armrest and staring up to the ceiling.

He didn't realise until now how much he had missed him. It was odd - Sean was only apart from him for something close to a full day, or even less than that. Viggo had never been the clingy sort of lover- or any clingy sort of person, really. He had never wanted Sean to stick by his side all the time - he needed his own breathing room too. But it didn't mean that he didn't miss Sean, apparently, because he was grinning like a fool just listening to him.

And he knew- he knew, with that little turn of the phrase (doing a great job of trying) that Mister Christian Bale was probably listening in into this conversation. Viggo laughed quietly to himself, letting Sean hear the sound. letting the sound of his voice roll over Sean's skin, knowing that the man was most likely completely naked at this point. He was fully dressed, and Viggo stroked his hands down, and thumbed open his pants.

"I let you go, Sean," he murmured into the phone, and the rasp of the zip being lowered was loud in his silent studio. "It's up to you whenever you want to come back. Though..."

He chuckled low, under his breath. "I'm imagining that you're naked right now. Naked with your legs spread on the bed, the white sheets against your skin. The sun in your hair. Bruises blooming all over your skin, black and blue and red, because I don't think Mister Bale is going to let all that go without leaving his marks, is he?"

"Sean," he let out the name in a long, soft breath. "I'm not going to ever let you go, you know that." He purred the last two words, curling them around his tongue. "When you come back... mm, I'm thinking that you need a reminder. But for now..." he pretended to be contemplative.

"Spread your legs, Sean, and close your eyes. Two fingers inside yourself- that should be easy, shouldn't it? You're already fucked open and wet. But two fingers first, then we'll see where we go from there."

Oh yes, Viggo knew perfectly well that Christian was listening in.

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."

Closed eyes. Closed eyes. Christian hissed quietly to himself, careful to cover the mouthpiece, and he was inordinately glad that the phone had no cord. He got out of the bed, nearly scrambling, stumbling out to the living room area of the suite to the room that was supposedly Sean's. Supposedly, because it was simply the place where Christian liked fucking him best, and Sean could sleep anywhere he wished. And it was where Sean was now.

And he moved over, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He twisted the knob slowly, pushing it open- and when he saw Sean on the bed, his legs spread, fingers inside himself, eyes closed and lips parted. The sound of Sean's breath rattled softly in the air, caught by Christian's ears and not the phone.

He revelled in it. In this. In being able to see Sean. To hear what Mortensen couldn't. It was a sick kind of victory, one that left him with a bitter taste at the back of his throat, simply because Mortensen more than allowed this. He was acknowledging that Christian had fucked his lover, fucked the man whom he had claimed to love for more than a decade (like Christian couldn't claim that as well), and he was using that to get the both of them hotter.

It wasn't just that he didn't mind. It was that he was getting off on it. Christian could hear it - the heavy breaths on Mortensen's side, the bitten-off growls and moans that came through the line. Mortensen was actually finding the idea of Christian's come inside Sean to be incredibly hot- and Christian bit down on his own lip, his forehead against the doorframe, because-

***

"God," Viggo's breath escaped him in a gust, and he couldn't help that abortive jerk of his hips. He thrust upwards, humping air, his underwear starting to get a wet patch at the tip of its tent. Five minutes on the phone with Sean and he was already hard and leaking. This man was going to be the dead of him.

Viggo closed his eyes as well, and he wondered where Bale was. Wondered if he was standing there and watching Sean as he shoved fingers inside himself, shoving Christian's come inside, over and over again. Wondered if he was watching as Sean moaned for Viggo, but ached because of Christian's cock. Because Viggo's breath hitched further more at that, imagining Bale standing at the door, his hand closing around his cock, slowly stroking with a phone jammed to his ear, and his eyes fixed upon Sean.

"Not yet," he said, and he swallowed tightly. His words curled in the air. "First I'll pinch your nipples. First the left one, then the right. You have such tiny nipples, you know? I'll rolled one in my hand, and you can feel the every single callus on my fingertips. You remember how that feels, don't you? I did it to you just two days ago. Have you forgotten already?"

He tutted quietly. "Sean," Viggo breathed. "Move your hand down. Your thighs are sticky, you say? I want to be there. Maybe you can invite Christian over and ask him to lick them clean of his own come. I'll be sitting there next to you, sliding another finger inside. Just one more, spreading you open, and you're wet and so fucking tight around me, aren't you? You're always so very, very tight."

A small contemplative sound. "Fuck yourself on your fingers for me, Sean. Slowly. I want a moan for every thrust inside, you hear me? Don't try to make yourself come. I'm not inside you yet."

***

Fuck. Fucking hell, Mortensen's voice was sexy. Like this, describing what Christian did. Describing what he wanted to do to Sean. Christian could already see it- himself between Sean's legs, Mortensen leaning over, one finger inside Sean's stretched, wet hole. Stroking him inside out, with fingers and lips and tongues.

He was getting hard again, Christian didn't even understand it. Any of it.

Sean was breathless, and that was only knowing that Viggo was listening to him, aroused at all of what he said; the things that Sean had said about being fucked by Christian, right here in this bed. He gasped again, shaken by the denial, though he could have broken from the role he'd been given and masturbated clean and fiercely and hard until he came without a word more. But that wasn't the point.

At Viggo's words he rose his hand up, brushed his palm against first one nipple, then the other, rolled the nubs against his skin, dragged the calluses of his own fingers delicately across the tip, though they didn't feel anything like Viggo's. Viggo's hands were always so rough, and Sean's were softer - too much softer to feel the same.

He moaned none the less, and squeezed his eyes a little tighter, obeying the order to send his other hand down.

"I want to be there."

"I want you here," he whispered. "I want you and Christian, both of you inside at once. I want you to watch him kiss me, want you to break me wider than I've ever been. I want you to come together, to fill me up until I burst."

He exhaled, slid his other finger inside, as ordered, the index of his left hand, beside the two from his right, the other fingers curling into his ass, nails digging little marks into the bruises already made there, spreading him wider for his own assault, unknowingly spreading the view out for Christian.

"Christian," he called the invitation out loud, just like he'd been told to, a broken, soft moan, almost a cry.

He fucked himself, steadily, moaned with each movement, but it was slow, one thrust every three seconds or so, each punctuated with a moan. He wasn't trying to make himself come; that wasn't what Viggo had asked of him, and so he was slow, steady, and his eyes closed tighter still, squeezing as he urged himself to hold back, to not fuck himself as fast as he could, like he wanted.

"Christian," he breathed again. "Don't stop. Oh god, Viggo... Please."

Christ. Christ- fucking Christ and all of his goddamn Apostles and Saints and this swear was getting out of control. Christian was getting out of control, his fingers scrabbling suddenly against the doorframe, nails trying to peel off the paint on the wall beside it. Dragging and pulled and trying to slam his fingertips into the ceiling somehow, his breath catching in his throat and he almost dropped the phone. Instead, he held it so tightly that the plastic screeched, just a little.

It was two-fold. He could hear his own name on Sean's lips, echoing around the room. He could hear his own name on Sean's lips, a little distorted by the phone line. He could hear his breaths. He could hear the wet sounds of his fingers- that and knowing that it was Christian's fingers that pressed the lube in. That it was Christian's come that Sean was pushing inside. His eyes were closed, and it took all of his self-control to ignore the siren song. To not drop the phone, shove the door open, and just- shove Sean's legs open and fuck into him until he screamed. Over and over again. Until Mortensen's ears were branded with Christian's name.

The sound of it. That name. A shaky cry, wanting and pleading and oh, God. Christian's cock was so hard that it was brushing against the cloth of his loose pajamas pants, and he reached down. Curled fingers around the top and stroked it hard, over and over again, feeling the sharp smell of his own pre-come staining his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut, darting a tongue out to taste it.

Pretended it was Sean. Pretended that it was Sean's cock that he was licking, instead of his fingers. He didn't know why he didn't just go in- no, no, that was a lie.

He wanted to hear Mortensen- wanted to see how he fitted in into this little game of theirs. He wanted to see how long Mortensen would stand having him in the image. The man couldn't stand this for long. Christian knew- knew that if Sean was his in the way he was Mortensen's, he would have never allowed this.

Fuck.

***

"I like hearing you beg," it was almost an idle admission, the words lascivious. Viggo purred them into the phone, his hand slowly and languidly stroking against his own cock. He shifted on the couch, spreading his legs wider, rocking his hips slowly, slowly upwards, following the beats of Sean's little moans. There was a small smile on his lips- the kind of smile that spoke of sheer satisfaction. Of lust, and desire, and having everything that he ever wanted.

"You always sound so amazing when you beg," he murmured, and Viggo exhaled a soft, shaky little sigh. "It's your voice, and your accent. Please. You make it sound like a dirty word and a prayer all at once. Your tongue wrapping around its edges, tasting the p and e and a and s and every other letter. Pronouncing each other until you can't speak anymore, and it becomes a mantra, every consonant melting into each other. Do you even know how you sound, Sean? Does Christian know? Has he ever made you beg?"

A low, quiet laugh. "Four fingers inside yourself now, Sean. Thrust faster. Faster." Exhale. "Please, Christian," Viggo said suddenly, arching his back, and the note of desire was entirely real. His voice had deepened, roughened, shaped itself into something less nasal than his usual voice. "Please, I need to come. Please. Please. I need to. Please."

His finger twisted against the head of his own cock, and he hissed out a breath. "Come for me, Sean."

***

Christian's knees hit the goddamn floor.

Even those few words knocked the sense out of him. Viggo liked to hear him beg - he believed it. He believed it, even more so when Sean's word was echoed back at him, the 'please', with all its thick description, with its soft growl, spoken quick and harsh and breathless, and Sean knew that Viggo too was stroking himself, finding a steady rhythm that did nothing more or less but deepen the huskiness of Viggo's already overwhelming voice.

Sean didn't push in one more finger - he forced in the two remaining fingers of his right hand, twisted his hand in further, past his knuckles until the full width of his hand was inside, stroking his prostrate steadily. The other hand had slid away, and was creeping up, curling firmly around his erection to stroke in time with each thrust. And he was slow - so steady, slow - taking his time over it, stretching it out.

He moaned, because Viggo was calling Christian's name now, moaning out loud, begging for Christian to make him come, and silencing any sounds of begging that Sean would have made because he didn't have room for them. He listened to Viggo beg, and wailed against the sound, and then there was a heavy crash inside the apartment, and Sean let out a loud yelp.

The phone went off his stomach, his hand ripped out of his ass with enough speed to knock the breath out of him, and his hands flew to the bed, pushing himself up in horror, shoving the pillow down between his legs.

Inherently he knew that Christian was the only one in the apartment, but that didn't stop the shock, taking those preemptive measures. He was for a moment terrified, and pushed his hands down, pushed himself up to sit, and stared at Christian where he knelt in the doorway.

"Jesus fuck."

He pulled himself forward, reaching for the phone with his filthy hand, bringing it up toward his face despite the fact that the speakerphone was still on.

"Jesus. Viggo... Viggo, he's here. Christian..." He lowered his hand a little, because he realised what a fool he was being. The speakerphone was on, and Christian had a phone to his ear, and Sean wet his lips, wiped his hand across them and tasted Christian's come there.

"Viggo. Tell me what to do."

Christian's breathing was- erratic. Tripping over itself. His knees hurt from the impact; his legs had suddenly became jelly and he collapsed over. He dropped backwards, still keeping his eyes down even as he heard Sean beg to Viggo to tell him what to do. He didn't answer- only dropped back. Kicked the door fully open and leaned against the doorframe, shoving down his pants with one hand. His hard, leaking cock was on full display, and Christian let himself breathe out. Into the phone.

A single breath. Not Sean's, but Christian's.

He wanted Mortensen- Viggo to know he was here. Wanted to because he suddenly had an image of the man. Just him, spread over black silk sheets, eyes wild and his voice breaking. Begging for Christian to let him come. Or perhaps he would be on his hands and knees, with Sean fucking into him. His skin- tanned, clutching against the sheets. Begging every single time Christian let his own cock out of Viggo's mouth before he shoved it in again and choked his damn words in his own throat.

He wanted this man. This man with his soft, whispery voice and utterly filthy imagination. This man who could go into a little rant about linguistics and accents in the middle of sex. This man who just begged him to be able to come, in a conversation with the lover that Christian just fucked this morning.

Sean was someone that he had never found before. Someone entirely different. Indescribable. Incomparable. And now- fucking hell, now Christian had found a third one like that.

He lifted his eyes. Caught Sean's gaze. And waited for his move. Waited for Viggo's instructions.

***

Viggo, an ocean away, smiled. Smiled and stroked his cock slowly. He was probably right, then. Christian was just standing outside the door, watching Sean- and Sean had finally found out. He heard that single breath, and he made him hum a little bit. A satisfied little sound, and he laughed quietly. Just a single chuckle.

"Stay there on the bed, Sean. Put the phone down on the sheets," he purred the instructions, and shifted a little on the couch. "Get on your knees. You can see Christian's cock from here, can't you? Does he wear pants to sleep? Is he wearing any right now? It's not important- concentrate on his cock, Sean. Leave the fingers inside, but don't move them."

A dragging inhale. "Tell me. Describe to me how his cock look like, Sean. I want every single detail. I want you to tell me until I can see it in front of me. As if I can lick and suck on it while I fuck you with you on your knees. I want to know how he tastes and how he smells."

***

Christian smiled, slowly. His head was still dazed, but it was a sharp little thing, and he lifted his own hand up. Darted his tongue out, and licked off his own pre-come with tiny, tiny licks.

Tell him, he mouthed to Sean.

***

"Come on now, Sean. I want to know everything."

When Christian exhaled into the phone, Sean heard it breathed loud against his ear, as though Christian were right beside him. There was a thump from a door, a chuckle that set his nerves on fire from Viggo, and then he was looking at Christian again, staring at him where he slumped against the ground with his pants around his knees and his cock shining and erect.

Sean licked his lips, and tasted come, knew it was the taste of Christian that he felt on his mouth, because the taste had come from inside him.

He did as he was told.

First the phone went down onto the bed, carefully placed between his spread knees as he moved up to kneel over it. He spread his legs, and had to bring his hand down and push it back inside, bracing his weight forward with the other hand. The angle was awkward, but he didn't have to fuck himself, he just had to talk.

And that suddenly seemed more than impossible, because where did he start?

Christian was looking back at him with all the passion and fire in his eyes that Sean had ever seen, all the beloved passion that had drawn him to this man in the first place. Christian was beautiful, and Sean heard himself swear again under his breath as Viggo spoke, as he drew out the scenario like a painting in front of the reality that he saw in front of his eyes, the secret in the Mona Lisa's smile.

With permission given, he began, his voice wary, gusting.

"Christian... Christian's got these beautiful eyes. When you suck him off he looks down at you with them, and they're brown like freshly turned dirt, and that's how he smells, how he tastes." He licked his other hand, tasting the same thing that Christian was tasting now, lapping at the heavy, salty seed. "So those beautiful eyes look down at you through his dark lashes, and there's something fucking crazy there, but it could be you being reflected back, cause you gotta be crazy too to be doing this."

He took a shuddering breath, imagining Viggo on his knees in front of Christian, going down on him right there and then as Sean watched, paralysed on the bed with his hand curling, fisting at his ass.

"Jesus," he whispered again, at the cruelty of his own imagination, and he wished Viggo was there. "Tell me you're busy, Viggo. Tell me you've got work." He bit his lip, and prevented him from answering by talking again.

"He's no easy mouthful. Not as wide as me, but long, and dead fucking straight, and he doesn't hold back all conscientious like. He pulls yer hair and shoves it right in, chokes the breath out of you, fucks yer mouth until all you can taste is his come dribbling down yer throat, and yer throat is raw and yer eyes roll back. He curls his hand round yer throat and makes you drink the whole lot down, Viggo, and he can feel his own cock fucking your adam's apple right out of the way. I know he can--I've felt it."

Sean swallowed, and raked his eyes over Christian hungrily.

"He wants it now. That look. I know that look like I know me own name."

Christian hissed out a breath, and he wanted to speak. He wanted to say something, to break the self-imposed silence. He hadn't spoken a single word thus far, and had stayed here, away from Sean. Simply watching, letting Sean's voice and his own eyes to do the touching for him. His fingers had even stalled on his cock- except now. Now, he looked at Sean's lips and imagined them wrapped around his cock. Now, he closed his eyes and imagined Viggo kneeling in front of him. Imagined the warm roughness of his throat as he thrust in. A man with a mouth as filthy as that shouldn't have a gag reflex, and Christian would shove in. Again and again, making Viggo choke, making it hard for him to breathe. Until he was left trembling and choking, his hands scrabbling at Christian's thighs in order to get some air.

He wanted that. Wanted to hear Viggo plead with him to let him come. Wanted that little demonstration to be something real. Christian kept his eyes on Sean, letting those fingers slip fully into his own mouth. Licking against them. Tilted his head and locked his eyes with Sean's before he gradually unfolded his legs. One step, then two, and he walked over to Sean and reached between his legs. Four fingers inside there, and Christian smiled an absolutely dirty smile as he took that wet finger and pressed it inside.

"You're spoiling me, you two," he said, and raised his voice to be just loud enough to be caught by the phone. "You're not going to fuck him, Vee-goh," he drawled out the name. "Because I'm going to. I am. And I'll have you on your knees, waiting for me to finish up with him so I can fuck your mouth."

He reached up and cupped Sean's neck. Just like he said.

"Answer his question, Mortensen. Are you busy?"

***

The suddenness of Christian's voice made Viggo gasp, and he knew that- his sound was completely amplified by the loudspeaker. He groaned quietly, closing his eyes. Imagining Christian on his knees, Sean in front of him. Fucking him slowly while Viggo watched... and waited. Waited with his hand barely stroking against his own cock. Waiting with his mouth open.

He laughed quietly to himself.

"Just because you want it doesn't mean you're going to have it," he murmured quietly, and let his fingers trail a line from the base of his cock up to the very top. He twisted against the head, and made use of the catch on his breath to continue. "Convince me, Christian. Sean. Convince me to come over. To take a plane and to come into your hotel room. To actually let you both touch me instead of simply imagining my hands on you. My hands," he paused. "My mouth. My lips. My ass. My cock."

He chuckled again. "Sean," he whispered, and stroked his cock gently again. "I'm going to fuck you now."

***

Slowly, Christian took Sean's fingers out of him. Slipped in three of his own instead, slipping upwards to stroke hard against his prostate. His eyes stayed fixed on the hone.

***

"Tell Chrstian how it feels. Tell him how fast I go, how slow. Tell him how much I like pinning you down and just rocking until you beg because every single breath I took brushed the spot instead you and you go blind with how good it feels. You've told me about his cock, Sean, so much that I can practically taste his come on my lips.

"Tell him about me, Sean." He purred. "And Christian- stick to fingers. Only fingers. Don't you dare fuck him right now."

He couldn't look away--Christian strode over like a man possesed, and for a moment Sean imagined he'd just push him over on the bed and fuck him, make Viggo listen as he screamed Christian's name, twisted and writhed, the phones clattering to the floor.

Sean let out a staggered breath of a moan as Christian fell onto his knees in front of him, smiling so mischieviously, with his eyes flooded dark with pleasure, thrusting in a finger beside the hands-width he already had inside. He doubled forward, just a little, his head falling toward Christian's shoulder, but Christian's hand found him first, and twisted up, closed tight around his throat, cut off his moan.

God, that smile. That filthy little smile. He loved that smile. Christian and Viggo, they were as bad as each other, and each of them only as bad as he was.

And then Christian was speaking, taunting, menacing, speaking Viggo's name in a way that made Sean's stomach flop over and his cock twitch all the more, and Christian was asking him if he was going to come over. Everything was getting so very out of hand. He imagined Viggo coming, imagined the free for all, the sex, the smell of it so heavy they'd have to burn all the sheets to get rid of the evidence.

Viggo was drawing the lines. Viggo was making the play. It was up to them to find the appropriate defense.

Sean swallowed hard, and raised his head just a little bit, met Christian's eyes as the other man shifted, pulled his own hand free and replaced it with his own fingers. Immediately he imagined it was Viggo's cock inside of him, and his eyes glazed over just a little. He could only half see Christian, even though the man was only inches in front of him.

His tongue felt heavy.

"Viggo..." He rocked his hips down, addressed Viggo personally, as though he were speaking to the man over his shoulder, when in fact Christian was playing that part.

"You've got this little bend to the left, when you fuck me you always seem to do it just right--you find the mark and you push in, and there's this wee flourish right at the end, and I can feel your foreskin when you draw back, it's like the ridges on a condom only... Only it feels so good, grating back with every little thrust."

He exhaled, closed his eyes.

"Y'don't pull out, not all that far, and you pin me down so I can barely move, and just rock, and it's like you've got your hand about me and yer wringing me prostrate right out, squeezing the life out of it. It's slow, and it's torturous. It makes me so hot, blind hot, so I can't see an' I can't breathe, and you're never totally still. You wriggle around like you don't sodding know how to stay put, touching me, tasting me, kissing the bloody life out of me lips."

He opened his eyes again, leant up to brush his mouth against Christian's, sighed against his lips.

"When you fuck me I feel like it might kill me. And you make me want it t'kill me. And then you breathe thank-yous at me, and you tell me that you love me as you come. You never stop, as though I didn't bloody hear you the first time."

Sean rocked down against Viggo's cock - Christian's hand - again.

"You know I love Christian, don't you? Don't you Viggo?"

"I know," Viggo said, and the affectionate and sheer adoration in his voice he didn't even bother to hide. It was just two words, but within those two words - breathed out through barely-parted lips - were a world of sheer love. An entire lifetime of looking at Sean and finding him to be someone who couldn't live without. Whom he found incredibly amazing. "I know," he drawled, and Christian couldn't help but be caught by it. By the voice. The tone. The affection.

"You can't refuse him, can you," Viggo said softly, and- more than when he first picked up the phone, more than when he was discovered, Christian felt like an intruder into this conversation. Even though they were talking about him, and Sean's love for him, he felt like he shouldn't be listening to this.

"He had the guts to reach you long before I ever had, and I think- I have you to thank, don't I, Christian, that Sean is even interested? I watched him for so long in New Zealand, and it's only after he met you that something changed."

The scrape of nails against cloth. Barely audible through the phone line. Christian hissed out a breath slowly, and he lifted his eyes to look at Sean. Leaned forward, and pressed their mouths together, very, very gently. Still listening. Both of them riveted to a voice that came from the phone.

Christian understood perfectly now why Sean had chosen to endanger his career when it came to this man. There was just- something incredibly special about Viggo Mortensen- something about the sheer unconditional nature of his love for Sean, a complete lack of ego that Christian knew that he himself could never accomplished. Distantly, he wondered what on Earth Sibi would make of this man- this man, who reminded him so incredibly much of her.

"Kiss him- no, you're already doing that, aren't you?" A shuddering inhale. Christian closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, licking against Sean's teeth, finding all the angles and corners of his mouth again. "Kiss him, Christian. Taste all those words from his mouth." Another ragged breath. Christian found that his breathing was starting to match Viggo's-

"Fuck him like I would, Mister Bale," Viggo said, and the sudden formality made Christian jerk. Made him shove his fingers even deeper inside Sean, rubbing against his prostate. A moment, two, and he drew his hands out. Viggo continued: "Fuck him like he had described. And Sean- your memory." A small sigh. "Tell him if he's doing it wrong."

"I already know, Mortensen," Christian said, through gritted teeth even though he was slowly, slowly pushing Sean back against the mattress, leaning over him. His mouth against Sean's skin, licking against the sweat that had pooled in the curves of his body. He lifted a thigh, and found himself obeying Mortensen's every single word even though his words contradicted him. Even as he spoke what he knew was false. "I know that he's only here because you allow him to be. I only have him because of your permission."

"No," Viggo said, sudden and sharp and oddly amused. "No, that's not true. Right, Sean?"

Christian bit down on Sean's skin, and pushed in.

***

A mile away, Viggo threw his head back, arched his back. He couldn't hear it, but he knew- knew perfectly well from the way he was playing Christian, that he had just made his first thrust inside. He curled his fist even tighter around himself, stroking slowly from the tip downwards. Conjuring up every single memory of thrusting inside Sean; of fucking into him while he was wet and just tight enough to drive Viggo's breath out of his lungs. Sean's legs around his own waist.

And Viggo knew that he might be thousands of miles away from the two of them, but this situation- in this situation, he was the one in complete control.

It was utterly enthralling.

The kiss--Sean was listening to Viggo's voice, but he was kissing Christian's lips, tasting Christian's mouth on his own, his come, his hunger. Sean shivered, raised his hand up into Christian's hair and stroked back through it, curled his nails against the other man's neck. Christian's hair was different to Viggo's; it was feathered, not long and fine.

He loved them both.

Sean curled around him, brought his legs up and wrapped them round the back of Christian's legs, embraced the other man closer to him, even though there was no sex yet, just the feel of Christian's weight, his heat, the sound of Viggo's voice in his ear. They had permission, and Christian's soft voice wrapped about his spine, and disbelief dawned on him. Christian's lack of ego, his self-awareness. He'd known about it of course, but the way he displayed it now, laid it all out where they could both see it. Laid it before Viggo and Sean both.

Before he could answer, Christian drew his hand out and pushed inside, and it was easy as breathing. A gentle rock of his hips, and he filled him. Sean tightened his legs around him.

"It were a precondition," he whispered, when his moan had subsided. "Viggo always knew about you. He had to understand. This were a package deal, like. Me and you."

Sean dropped his head back the rest of the way and rolled his hips gently against Christian's, dropping his hands down onto the other man's shoulders. He stroked in gentle circles, closed his eyes, opened them again. The love in them was undeniable.

"Gently," he ordered, and his voice was deeper, his accent taking it over. "Don't thrust. It's not about how much you can move, it's like... Roll." His hands moved further down, guiding Christian's hips in a circular rock. The head barely left his prostrate throughout the motion, and it made his eyelashes flutter, a moan interrupting him. "Like that."

Sean swallowed, and without taking his eyes off Christian he addressed Viggo again.

"Viggo," he murmured. "Recite something."

Viggo's hand slammed down on the couch as his hips lifted off the leather, thrusting up into the air. His hand tightened around the phone just as the fingers of the other hand dug hard into the upholstery underneath him, nearly hard enough to tear the leather into piece. He breathed hard, shuddering out the exhale, listening in to Sean's voice. Sean's damn voice with his accent, so distinct and so incredibly addictive, speaking instructions. Teaching Christian how to fuck. How to fuck him like Viggo did. Telling Viggo, inadvertently, every single detail.

Recite something. A poem. Viggo's eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled again. Left his hand off of his cock so he could think, and he bit down on a single finger. Just one, letting the pain wake him up from the haze of lust.

He had it. Viggo took a breath-

***

And Christian let out one, shaky against Sean's skin. His head was bowed, eyes cast downwards and wide, pupils blown to full darkness, nearly swallowing up his eyes whole. His hands clenched against the bedsheets at the feel of Sean's hands- calluses around the skin of his own ass. At Sean's entrance clenching around him, hot and wet and still tight despite this morning, despite all that they had done. His fingers made little rivers down the bed as he tried to grab hold of something, and he let out a soft moan as Sean directed his hips.

Goddamn. Goddamn, this man. Christian leaned forward, crashing their mouths together, stealing his breath from him to be able to breathe.

***

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds," Viggo started, and his voice had changed. Deepened, though it was still a whispery half-murmur. He raised it enough for it to be heard above the sounds of sex that he was hearing through the speaker.

"Admit impediments. Love is not love--"

***

Shakespeare. Fucking Shakespeare. Christian's back arched, and he pulled out enough before sinking back in. Viggo's voice was a soundtrack to their fucking, the little pauses and stops and intakes of breaths the beat that Christian followed as he fucked Sean.

"God," he whispered, eyes closing as his head dropped, leaning his forehead against Sean's collarbone. "God."

***

"Which alters when it alteration finds," the poem was one he had memorised a long time ago, and Viggo felt the words lay themselves out in front of him. Every single one that he pronounced was full of desire, and want, and sheer need. He placed his hand on the couch still, now for fear that if he touched himself, he'll squeeze his own cock right off.

"Or bends with the remover to remove--"

***

"O no!" Christian blurted out, and his next breath was a sharp pant, the air knocked out of his lungs with one thrust. He wasn't even aware of what he was saying anymore.

He knew this sonnet. Had it read at his own damn wedding, in fact. "It is an ever-fixed mark--"

***

Viggo hissed, curling his hand into a fist. Opened it back up, and used it to stroke his own cock. His hand holding the phone to his ear started trembling, but he continued. Kept his voice steady.

"That looks on tempests and is never shaken." He bit down on his own lip. Released it. "It is-"

***

"The star to every wandering bark," God, god, god. His hips pulled out slowly still, and sank back in. Let himself be swallowed by Sean's heat. Christian swallowed. Kept going.

"Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken." He was starting to move faster. Losing control. The sounds of their flesh slapping together became the bass note of the poem.

***

"Love's-" a ragged breath in, nearly cutting off the recitation. Viggo swallowed, and continued, "Not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks / Within his bending sickle's compass come."

Sean. Sean, damnit, Sean. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that his head was starting to throb, and with every single word he said he could imagine Sean. His legs around Viggo's waist. Crying out softly, moaning at every wet thrust.

Christian.

***

"Love alters," Christian's breath tripped over himself. Just- hearing Viggo lose his control like that. To hear him lose control with his voice, with the poetry. Fuck. He continued, shakily- "N- not with his brief hours and weeks, but-"

***

"But!" Viggo's hips practically threw him into the air. He gritted his teeth. "Bears it out- even- God- to the edge of doom-

"Sean," he half-shouted. So close, so close, so very, very close. He needed- needed Sean.

"Finish it. Finish the poem."

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