Masquerade...pretty pretentious name for a club. And this section, "Hell", was the sort of gothic cool chic that Viggo normally hated. Still hated, for that matter. The only thing really keeping him here was his promise to Sean. Next time, Viggo was choosing the club. He sank into one of the pews that passed for benches, took another long pull of vodka, watched the crowd. The air was heavy, tangible with sex, seduction, sin. The music pounding out of the speakers coiling through the room, twisting in Viggo's brain. And the sight of Sean moving on the dance floor, all sinuous grace wrapped in velvet, blond hair sticking to his forehead, eyes closed, body swaying and turning, had Viggo thinking. Dangerous thoughts. Perhaps another drink would be best. He was just about to get up to achieve that goal when Sean came up to him, sweating from his exertions, and flung himself down next to him. "Tired yet?" Viggo asked, not much bothering to hide the edge of annoyance in his voice. Hell, his idea of a way to spend an evening with a friend had involved Japanese food and maybe a few rounds of billiards. Not hurriedly eaten Krystal burgers (nasty things, Viggo decided) and flashy clubs. "You're kidding, right?" Sean's amused voice cut through the pulsating screams still echoing in the room. He brushed back a lock of damp hair from his forehead, stole the drink in Viggo's hand with an unrepentant grin. "You should get out there." "What, and look like an idiot? No, thanks," Viggo said. "You know this isn't my kind of music." Sean smiled, unfazed at Viggo's lack of enthusiasm. "Perhaps you'll come around to it," he offered. Realizing belatedly that Sean had stolen the last bits of that drink, Viggo resumed his mission to get another. Fuck...Sean watched Viggo's retreating back, narrowed his eyes. He was getting Viggo naked and panting under him, and he was getting it tonight. He'd wanted Vig from the very first, wanted to watch ice blue eyes cloud over in desire, wanted that tanned body flushed with pleasure. He'd just have to redouble his efforts, since the dancing hadn't worked. On his way back from the bar, two Stoli-rocks in hand, Viggo nearly collided with a tall woman with inky spikes of hair; the near-miss sent chilled vodka sloshing over onto his right hand. It began to evaporate almost instantly, and in the sweltering heat of the club felt blissfully cool against his sticky skin. When he reached Sean, he sat down and handed him one of the vodkas, his eyes lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary on the sweat beading up on Sean's neck. "You might want to try a little of this," Viggo said, dipping two fingers into his drink and dragging them across Sean's neck, blowing air against the wetness. Sean blinked, and looked at him with a strange expression on his face. Only then did it occur to Viggo that the gesture might be misinterpreted. Might, in fact, be a bit odd and not quite the sort of thing good mates did. But it was too late. It was then that Viggo noticed that the song had changed...no longer primal screaming, in-your-face, harshness. This song was tainted, wicked, slow. Viggo's cock throbbed, his body hummed. Was held, transfixed by the look in predatory green eyes as Sean dipped a finger in the icy swirl of vodka, ran it over Viggo's lower lip. Breath hissed between Viggo's teeth; the club, people, noise...all of it faded away to nothingness. All that was left was the heavy pulse of grinding guitar and his good friend Sean shifting, straddling his lap, velvet sliding over leather pants, cotton shirt. Yes, definite misinterpretation in progress, Viggo decided. He hadn't meant it that way...had he? Sean was silkily grinding against him, and the shocking hardness he felt beneath the velvet seemed to unlatch all the floodgates leading directly to his own cock. And that...well...that was confusing. "Sean," he began, his voice partially drowned out by the waves of music, "I don't..." Oh, but he did. He just needed a push in the right direction. Sean cut off Viggo's weak protest with a soft slide of his tongue across Viggo's ear, felt the shudder in the tight body beneath him. Trent Reznor was still imploring, in a raspy voice, for everyone to 'get down make love', and Sean was all about following the gospel of Nine Inch Nails. "Relax," he whispered, twisted his hips, brought his crotch in tantalizing proximity to Viggo's. Followed the fine sheen of sweat that covered the side of Viggo's neck with hungry eyes. And bent his head to taste salty flesh. Sean's lips against his throat stopped the rest of the words from coming. Viggo felt slightly dizzy from the vodka, the heat, and the heaviness of Sean straddling him. Just slightly, yes...although the swirls of Sean's tongue up his neck and around his earlobe were threatening to crank up the vertigo to earth-tilting. A couple of vague thoughts were still swirling in his brain -- tomorrow, what then; and fuck, we're in a club -- but then Sean's lips came around to capture his in a slow, sensuous kiss, and other considerations ceased. Viggo automatically closed his eyes and parted his lips, accepting the gliding invasion of tongue, tasting vodka heated by Sean's breath, and he gave in to the sudden rush of frenzied desire, sliding his hands up underneath the back of Sean's shirt. Supple skin rippled under his questing fingers, taut muscle beckoned him to investigate. Heat...so much of it, an ocean sucking him in infinite depth, surrounded him, shrouded his brain. Viggo slid his hand along the baby-fine hairs marking Sean's abdomen, swallowed Sean's groan with another voluptuous kiss. The heady taste of vodka and cinnamon flooded his tongue, tantalized his senses. "Tell me if you don't want this." Don't want...oh. Oh God. Viggo blinked, unsure of what to say, do -- if he was even capable of doing anything. Could only watch, skin stretched so tight it was painful, as Sean slid off his lap to his knees, inhaled the sharp, musky tang of leather at Viggo's crotch. Full lips traced the bulge; Viggo dug shaking fingers into the scratchy wood. And waited. When it became apparent that Sean wasn't going to move until he said something, Viggo struggled for words. "I, ah...here?" Viggo managed in a strangled gasp. The sight of Sean's lips brushing against his erection had completely blown his mind, but some tiny, annoying corner of rationality persisted. His body had other ideas, however, hips straining up in a silent plea, seeking contact with those lips. Friend-lips, yes, but right now they were sex embodied, too, and Viggo hazily realized that he didn't want to decide. He wanted Sean to decide for him, wanted to be utterly at the mercy of those lips. At Sean's mercy. "Right here." Sean nuzzled the juncture of Viggo's thighs, tasted leather and sweat. "Right now." Heavy-lidded eyes blinked, peered up, filled themselves with the erotic sight of Viggo, flustered and aroused, staring back down at him. "I want you." Soft words breathed across Viggo's inseam. A furtive glance around told him that the dark corner they were in was secure for the moment; the song was popular and the dance floor packed. "Oh --" Viggo breathed, and get down, the music insisted, make love, and who the fuck was he to argue? He threaded his fingers through Sean's sweat-damp hair and pulled Sean's head down to his crotch. Clever, clever fingers tugged and pulled until Viggo's thick, hard cock was exposed to the smoky room. But only for the briefest instant as Sean's lips closed over, sank down and... Oh fuck. Just...fingers gripped, tightened, and breath hitched. Swallowed, consumed, taken. Soft tongue swirling around the slick head of his cock, lapping moisture. Softer lips pushing down on his length. Blunt nails raking through the scratch of hairs on his stomach. Incomparable...and completely insane. They were in a public place while his best friend was giving him the mother of all blowjobs...and Viggo no longer cared. As long as Sean continued to do...yes. That. And that. And... "Oh God, yes!" ...that. The bass thrumming of the music was ebbing through Viggo's blood, pooling and surging in time with the rapid bobbing of Sean's head; he was clearly skipping the pleasantries and opting to make this quick. Safer, yes, and Viggo could hardly argue. With the glorious heat and suction and the swirl of tongue -- oh, there, dipping and pulling back -- Viggo knew he wasn't going to last in any case. Then Sean did something, some... "Jesus fucking..." ...thing with his tongue over the head of Viggo's cock at the same instant a callused finger and thumb circled the base. And all thought, and thinking of thought...everything fell, plummeted, was dragged into glorious heat and want and now, yesGodnow. So hot, unbearable rush, and Viggo came hard, fountaining into Sean's throat as the music shattered through his ears and his very skin, a scream tearing raw and unbidden from his throat. Sean didn't let go right away, held him through his shudders, until he started to soften, body pliant, sliding down the wooden bench in boneless bliss. Viggo could only watch through dazed eyes as Sean zipped and straightened, glanced up at him, a small smile crinkling the corners of remarkable eyes. "It was alright, then?" Viggo had moved beyond his usual taciturn ways into utter incoherence, so he settled for a nod, his dazed slack face eliciting a laugh from Sean. "God, you're gorgeous." Sean hopped up, sat next to Viggo, brushing a damp strand of hair from his eyes with gentle fingers. "I've been wanting to do that." Viggo looked at him, no longer surprised, but still somewhat bemused. "I had no idea," he said slowly, voice raised to combat the music, which seemed to have ratcheted up to deafening. "So," Viggo began loudly, only to have the music fall abruptly away, so that his "now what?" practically echoed throughout the club, turning numerous heads their way. Sean's smile was brilliant in its totality. "Come on." He tugged an unresisting Viggo out of the club, paused when they were at the sidewalk. Cold air slapped Viggo's neck, hands, face, and he shivered. Sean's eyes glowed in the light refracting from the streetlamp, and they reminded Viggo of uncut peridot. "What next is up to you," Sean stated on a shrug, breath puffing in short coils. Viggo bit his lip, unconsciously mirroring his gaze, which was drawn to the slight swelling of Sean's lips. "I think," he said, "that more of those terrible Krystal burgers are next. I'm hungry. And then --" Viggo paused and watched as disappointment flashed subtly across Sean's face -- "and then I think perhaps back to your place. For dessert." Viggo's face broke into a wide swath of grin. Sean's answering grin was everything Viggo wanted. "Well..." Sean stepped closer, and Viggo could feel the heat spiraling through him again, wondered why he'd ever thought it was cold. "In that case, we have an extra stop to make." Softly spoken words along the line of Viggo's jaw. Viggo laughed at the same time a shiver ran down his spine, tracing out from Sean's lips on his skin. "You mean you didn't have all this planned?" "Oh, I'm not talking about that," Sean remarked, breath warm against Viggo's mouth. "I've got those." "So...what, then?" Another shiver, not so small, as Sean slowly kissed him there on the sidewalk in front of whoever cared to be watching. "Syrup." At Viggo's raised eyebrow, Sean leaned up, traced the whorls of Viggo's ear with a soft tongue. "Because I fully intend to have you for breakfast, as well." "Mmm. Sounds messy," Viggo said as he pulled Sean towards the car. Sean's answer was instantaneous, heartfelt. "God, I certainly hope so."
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