Too Much

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Title: "Too Much"
Pairing: David Wenham/Sean Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dave wonders.
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Notes: Written for the Contrelamontre 'addiction, can't use addiction or any synonyms' challenge. I gave myself the additional challenge of making it exactly 500 words, therefore spending a good deal of my allotted time editing.
Written as a birthday gift for Nance, Dave lover extraordinaire and keeper of the "taught" stomach.


"Too much is not enough...
We're hooked again"

--Gavin Rossdale


You play brothers in the movies, and it should seem incestuous, should seem wrong to have your brother's lips wrapped around your cock, sucking deep, looking up at you like the slip and slide and fullness of you in his mouth is the most sublime feeling he'll ever have in his life. Should seem wrong. Doesn't.

You wonder if Faramir ever felt this way about the brother he worshipped and adored, the brave warrior, loyal friend, Steward to a kingdom. If Faramir had ever inched his hand under the sheets, curled fingers around himself, breathed Boromir's name in shame, in ecstasy, while imagining callused hands running over his body. You wouldn't blame him, can't blame him. Right now, it makes perfect sense.

"Sean..." A whispergroan, a plea.

No answer; you didn't expect it. Don't talk with your mouth full, only polite. And oh, yes, Sean's mouth is full -- full of you, full of your cock, full of your flesh gliding between pink lips, along a soft tongue. The bed sheets bunch in your hands, mute testament to your need. The world has coalesced to this room, this bed, those lips humming along your length. And you wonder how you ever lived without this, why you never sought Sean's company before this, why you waited this long. Professional integrity, probably. You can't remember; it's not important. All that matters is Sean -- Sean's lips, Sean's mouth, the hot, sucking sounds filling the room, obscene and beautiful, blond hair falling in his face, head bobbing up and down, upanddown, the rhythm graceful, practiced. And you wonder who he's practiced with, if it's anyone you know, if Sean found someone while filming the movies, or if it was someone before. And it should have been you, could have been you, if you'd just made the effort. So much time wasted, so much time when he could have been sucking you like this -- cheeks hollowed, nails scraping along your thighs, beard scratching erotically along your balls.

"Sean..." Breathless, a sigh, a warning.

He doesn't stop; you didn't want him to. Please don't stop, don't ever stop, just stay here like this, pleasepleaseplease. Those lips were made for your cock, fashioned to bring you pleasure, make you moan and arch up, back bowing when he takes you deeper than you'd thought possible, head thrashing on the pillow...and why the fuck didn't you say something earlier? When you think about all of the nights you could have had this, instead of going to bed alone and aching, you could weep, you really could, or maybe it's just that his wet finger is pushing inside you now, curling, twisting in time with his lips, and the pleasure is so intense that you feel like you'll fly apart at any second, slingshot into space, into nothingness, into the void and the absence of light. Who the fuck needs light, anyway? All you need is right here in this anonymous hotel room.

"SeanyesGod..."

Too much, but not enough.

Never enough.


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