Casual 11-15/?

Fandom: LotRips
Pairing: Marton Csokas/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: R - IF YOU ARE NOT A SLASHER, DO NOT READ
Notes: Hours 11-15 of the drabble marathon.
Disclaimer.

Did I say that loudly enough? This is rated R, and contains description of homosexual relations. Beware, here there be smut. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THAT

The door closed behind them, and Marton thought, this is it, this is that melodramatic cliché. It was supposed to hit him then, he knew. He was supposed to look at Viggo and watch the walls and carpet melt like a candy house, with space-time distortion and two bodies suspended.

Odd, that emotion should be attributed such Einsteinian powers.

The world didn't melt, and Marton had to tell Viggo.

"Hey, did you notice that we didn't destroy the laws of physics, and isn't there something wrong with that?"

It didn't quite ring true, and Marton didn't know what to say.

***

Marton watched Viggo as he deposited his keys in the drawer by the door. Watched him turn, and wondered if it was at all possible that Viggo simply wouldn't see him standing there with his lost opacity.

Viggo could have walked right through him, and he could have changed existentialism instead of physics.

Viggo unbuttoned Marton's shirt, and as he watched the careful fingers at work, Marton was still detachedly wondering whether he really wanted this.

Viggo kissed him, and he was still deciding. Viggo pulled him into a darkened room with Viggo-smelling bed linen, and Marton was still deciding.

***

For some reason it suddenly became ok. Because it was Viggo, maybe, or because it was Tuesday, and rainless. Because of clothes over chairs and familiar caresses newly possessing of want.

Marton kissed and was kissed, moaned and attended, prompted and followed. Knew this body so well already, knew exactly where to press hard, where to stroke soft, which places wanted to give and had been telling him how for weeks.

When he looked back on that night, Marton often wanted to think it was ok because it was Viggo. But mainly it was just ok because it was naked.

***

Their lightly haired middles rubbed, dry with heat but promising sweat transuded as Marton renewed his seize on the sculpted convex round of ass beneath his hands. Lips repeating a locking pattern, upper and lower lip alternated between with rhythmic tongue and taste and oh.

There was no hesitation as Marton rolled them forward, Viggo onto his belly, stretching and spread and hard. Marton looming above, over, forwards, simultaneously collected and awed.

Viggo reached for the bedside table, flicked on the light clumsily, and keen illumination changed nothing.

Lube and preparation and condom. Then tight heat, and an embrace unspeakable.

***

Marton had never seen Viggo naked before. The light streamed in through ineffective blinds, and the glow spread through the room, softly invading corners and hidden shadows.

In curiosity he wanted to see it all. Wanted to move through every angle, and decipher what it was about this man's body that made him feel its movement as if by some cohesion.

Marton wanted to see and know and feel all this. He didn't move, though, he kept still and let Viggo sleep. He pondered the light summer duvet tangled about his feet, and watched and waited as late morning rose.

Posted by Missiedith at February 28, 2004 2:51 AM | TrackBack