He should want angelic Elijah. He should want mischievous Dominic. He should want ebullient Billy. Hell, for that matter, he should want beautiful Orlando or delectable Bean or sexy Karl or playful Dave or even devastating Ian. But, no -- true to form, Viggo had to be contrary. He had to fall for cuddly Sean Astin. The cuddly, straight, very married Sean Astin. Even for Viggo, this was a doozy. A fucked up crush of the worst magnitude. But, oh well, what can you do. It's not like he chose to lust after Astin. If it had been a matter of choice, he probably wouldn't have chosen to be gay either, but there you were. Viggo was gay. Sean Astin wasn't. End of story. Except... Sean Astin was attracted to him. Straight or not -- and Viggo had no doubt in his mind that Sean was as straight as they came, that he loved Christine with everything in him, loved his life, his family. But, still, Viggo was old enough, had been around enough, that he knew when someone wanted him. And Sean Astin wanted him. Or, at the very least, was curious about him. Which was natural. Here they were, all of the actors, stuck on some remote island in the middle of nowhere, and it was just all of the guys for weeks at a time, just the actors and the crew and these long-ass hours and bad weather and re-shoots and camaraderie and playing chess between takes and wrestling and being buddy-buddy and sharing deep secrets and, after awhile, why not, you started looking around and thinking of the men beside you in an entirely new light. So, Sean had looked around and his mind had settled on Viggo. Again, only natural. Viggo was the leader of their little group, the King, so to speak, the one everybody looked up to in the books and the movies. Plus (although this was pure ego and not something Viggo thought about a lot), Viggo had that whole intense, artistic thing going for him. People wanted to get inside that, be a part of it. Would be weird if Sean wasn't curious. And there it was...Sean was curious, Viggo was in lust, but that was okay. Sean wasn't that curious (after all he had the wife and kid and straightness to think about), and Viggo wasn't so far gone that he would make a move where the move would be wasted. Or, at least, unreciprocated. So, no harm, no foul, Viggo would lust and get over it as soon as Astin passed out of his direct path of thought. He'd be fine as soon as filming ended. Except... There Sean was, passed out on Viggo's sofa. Just lying there on his side, one hand cradling a kissable cheek, eyes closed, lashes framing that open, sweet face, cuddly body all warm and curled up on its side, blond hair tousled, full lips slightly open. Just lying there like the perfect temptation. Viggo had never been any good with temptation. It was why he didn't keep chocolate in the house...and why he'd never invited Sean over for dinner. But, the other Hobbits had brought him over for drinks, then left him sleeping on the couch, to go and continue drinking elsewhere. They thought he'd be safe at Viggo's. Shows what they knew. So, Viggo sat there on the floor beside the sofa, twirling a few strands of Sean's baby-fine hair in his fingers, watching that lovely chest rise and fall with each breath...and tried not to think. Tried not to think of those eyes opening slowly to fix on Viggo. Tried not to think about those sweet lips curving in a small, intimate smile. Tried not to think about Sean scooting closer to him, tried not to think about moving his hand to curve around Sean's head, to bring their lips together in a sweet, simple kiss. Except, of course, it wouldn't stay a simple kiss. Viggo didn't do simple. It would turn needy, intense. Viggo would coax forth whimpered moans from Sean and be fiercely glad of the sounds. He'd kiss Sean until they both couldn't see straight, until stars exploded behind their eyes, until all the colors of the world started to run together in a pattern only they could see. He'd kiss Sean until his lips were numb and Sean's were bruised, until the only taste he could remember would be Sean's, until need overtook them both. He'd kiss Sean until Sean rolled off the sofa and into Viggo's waiting arms. And neither one would be able to say who would be surprised more. And neither one would speak, neither one would mention Sean's straightness, Viggo's lust issues, Sean's wife, the thirteen year age difference...because it just wouldn't matter. Speaking would ruin the moment, and, if this moment would be all they had, they wouldn't spend it talking. They'd spend it doing. Viggo was all about action. And so Viggo would act upon the trillion and one fantasies he'd had about Sean. He'd draw Sean down to him and start kissing him again, kissing those lovely lips, and, all the while he was drowning in that taste, he'd be unbuttoning Sean's shirt. Naked played a big part in all of Viggo's fantasies. So, the shirt would have to go. And it wouldn't matter to Viggo that Sean was still carrying around those extra 30 pounds to play Sam, wouldn't care that the stomach wasn't rock hard or the chest sculpted, because this was Sean, this was the man he'd wanted for months, and it didn't really matter what Sean looked like naked, just as long as he was. Just as long as Sean trembled under Viggo's hands. And Sean would tremble. Viggo would see to that. He'd have Sean out of all his clothes, because he wouldn't need them where Viggo was taking him. Viggo would be able to finally run his hands over all that bare skin, to explore, to elicit moans of contentment and growls of impatience when he took too long to get to a needed spot. He'd be able to see the light hazel of Sean's eyes turn emerald with desire as Sean initiated the kiss this time, and the kiss would bring Viggo to his knees, except he'd already be on his back, under Sean and all that skin, all that lovely, bare flesh. He'd be able to kiss his way down the slope of Sean's shoulder to his arms, chest, paying close attention to flat nipples and lightly furred pecs. He'd be able to roll Sean over, to slide down that now needy body, trace the trail of blond hair from Sean's stomach to his groin with his tongue. He'd make Sean tremble. Then he'd make Sean beg. He'd take off his own clothes, eager for that feel of bare flesh on bare flesh, and yes, they'd both moan when Viggo was finally naked and pressed over him. And then Viggo would begin his downward path again, this time going slowly, using his mouth and his hands to drive Sean so crazy with need that, by the time Viggo made his way down to Sean's erection, Sean would be aching to be taken. So, Viggo would take him. He'd take Sean in his mouth, finally have that ultimate taste rolling over his tongue. He'd lave his tongue over every inch of Sean's cock, use his mouth to drive Sean crazy. He'd take Sean in his mouth, memorize the feel, brand the taste on his tongue. He'd use all of his skill and love to drive Sean to the brink again and again, make Sean sweat, make him need. He'd have Sean's fingers wrapped in his hair, guiding him, pumping into him, choking him on the taste, the feel. He'd make Sean come so hard that he'd have the taste for days in his mouth. And, while Viggo was thinking all of these lovely thoughts, while one hand was absent-mindedly stroking Sean's hair and the other was gliding on his own painfully erect cock, Sean woke up. And looked up, with those lovely, sleepy, light hazel eyes smiling at him in perfect temptation. And Viggo was only a man. And Sean was open to possibilities. And so, when Viggo bent his head's toward Sean's, Sean didn't look away. And he didn't move.
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