Siva

Because yeah, today fucking smells like shit, even with his stuffed nose from the head cold, and why did he have to say yes to this brunch invitation anyway? It's never good for him to go hang with those two right after they've hooked up for the night, yet again. It never fails to make him vaguely sick to his stomach, Dom's cat-like satisfied grin around the straw in his Tom Collins, urgh, how can he; and fuck, could he be any more fake rock star annoying?

Two years ago, hell, even one year ago, Dom sniggered when anybody invited him to 'do lunch', and now he calls up drawling happily to ask if Elijah wants to do brunch with me and lil' sis'. Lij had to clench his jaw to make sure Dom didn't hear the disgusted recoil in his voice when he agreed, hating himself for ever introducing him to Dieselsweeties. Even if it only lasted a second, the feeling left a bad taste in the back of Elijah's throat.

Two years ago, Hannah wouldn't have missed class to spend a long weekend in LA to see him, either, and now she leaves the snow behind for this, this stupid almost heatwave here that makes everything smell like fucking shit, and the dumb palm-trees, and she spends the night with Dom before she even goes to Mom's.

New York doesn't smell like shit, not this shit at least, and Elijah breathes in deep and tries to calm down, seeing in his mind's eye the blank smoothness of freshly fallen snow covering a quiet side street in the Village.

Hannah giggles at some joke Dom makes from behind his latest idiotic sunglasses; she nudges Lij's elbow as he gears up to stab a piece of egg, and when his fork skids across his plate and the ceramic shrieks the calming thought shatters completely. Elijah sighs and fidgets, gulps his coffee down.

It tastes like shit.

Viggo smells like shit too, but it's horseshit-- Saturday afternoon, he's got reasons, and it makes Elijah feel better right away. Steadier. Viggo flings the door wide open and pads back across to his kitchen, barefoot, not waiting to see if Lij will cross the threshold; he doesn't invite him in with words he knows are useless, and that's good, too.

Lij follows him there, sits down at the table while Viggo putters around, water sloshing in a plastic bucket as he finishes cleaning one of the many weird implements he uses to paint, or is it some part of TJ's tack? With Viggo, you never know, esoterism is the rule. And yet it's easy to feel included, with him, to feel like a part of. Of a greater something or of Viggo's something, it doesn't matter, it's something, it's cool.

"I'm sorry I'm just barging in like this, Vig," Lij says, extracting a cigarette from the pack and patting his pocket for a light. "Hope you don't mind."

He plays with his matches, nervousness spiking again until Vig shrugs and grunts, and peace returns. He knows Vig doesn't mind the unprompted visit, he does. Any other day he wouldn't have had to apologize for it, but now things just are.

"It's just shit today, I-- I dunno. How're you?"

Elijah sniffles, takes a drag, looks around for tissues to blow his nose into. It's hopeless, half his head and all of his sinuses full of concrete, but he'll go nuts if he doesn't try.

"Good," a Viggo rumble comes from just behind him, and a warm heavy hand settles on his shoulder. "You sound like you have a cold."

Lij nods. "I do. It sucks."

Viggo nods towards the living-room, living-space rather, with all his art stuff scattered around, the huge bench-like farm table thing he spreads photographs onto, and lifts his hand again, headed for the sink.

"Tissues on the coffee table," he waves the same hand, vaguely. "I had a box out, take some."

The open space is airy and flooded with warm sunlight. Elijah looks around and fails to identify a coffee table; it looks like Vig's rearranged the furniture since last time Lij drove up here to see him.

Finally he spots the cardboard box. He pulls a sheet out and folds it before lifting it to his nose. No dice, it's just the way he thought; his efforts amount to nothing but dislodging his lingering pressure-headache from the right part of his forehead to somewhere middle-ish and in the back.

"Fuck this," he mutters, and sprawls inconsiderately on the low-slung couch, feet dangling and kicking the air. It's not often he feels this petulant, this aimlessly restless. Good thing he came here, best thing he could've done.

Viggo comes in two minutes later, carrying mugs; steam is wafting from the sloshing liquid and curling up in the air, slashed through by beams of sunlight.

Elijah giggles, "Are you crazy, hot drinks now?" but he doesn't resist, takes his when Vig pushes it into his hands with a purposeful stare and a waggle of his nearly non-existant eyebrows. The left one is smeared with a streak of lime green, small enough that Lij hadn't seen it before. Now Vig's face fills his vision behind swirls of scented fog, Vig's kindness, his focus, and Lij can only smile back. He inhales the new-- strong!-- smell and chokes on heat, splutters.

"Fuck, what d'you put in there?"

Viggo gives an enigmatic smile and a half-shrug, bringing his own mug to his mouth for a quiet sip. Elijah mimics him and drinks. Whiskey, it tastes like, poured in some kind of lemon tea maybe. Fuck, it's really strong.

After a second gulp of the concoction the room is suddenly alive with the smells of paint, photography chemicals, charred firewood and, yes, horse shit.

"Shhh, Elijah," Viggo murmurs in Elijah's hair, against tense skin at the back of his skull. His lips are tender and so is his voice, trying to soothe the increasingly frantic beating of Elijah's heart. "Breathe," Viggo says, but his hand around Elijah's cock and balls is rubbing narrowing circles of heat, a massage more likely to invite all of Lij's blood to pool down there than to calm him down.

Elijah snickers helplessly, strained, thinks of a half-hearted protest and wiggles on Viggo's lap. Viggo's other hand smears up under his t-shirt and Elijah's spine unfurls against Viggo's chest. Elijah wants to say something and can't: his gratitude is a hard lump in his throat that threatens to split into shards, his breath stolen as Viggo's fingers circle his erection to pump up and down in a slow, practiced stroke.

Viggo flips them with a smooth combination of moves, tightening his arm across Elijah's chest and heaving Lij's body with the strength of his thighs. His hand doesn't leave Elijah's dick, gathering precome with the pads of his fingers and spreading it around to moisten the whole head.

Viggo settles, knees between Lij's knees, unable to spread them wide as Elijah's thighs are tethered by his hastily lowered jeans, and he bends over Elijah's back until Lij lowers on his elbows, trembling.

Elijah moans in the leather cushion as Viggo tongues the back of his neck with small licks and a ripple of sensory lightning travels to the tip of his toes. Everything smells earthy and thick now; Elijah's tongue is numb from alcohol and cloves, blindly pushing up the roof of his mouth.

Half-high, drugged up, Elijah hasn't felt this good in ages; he's so very safe in Viggo's arms, every time, like magic. With the building orgasm gathered behind his balls, where Viggo hasn't touched him yet-- not ever-- Lij feels the noose of his bad, petty mood go slack. "Ah," he says, "ah, shit," and Viggo's hand stills on him and then leaves altogether, and Elijah bites back a would-be sob at the loss.

"There, there," Viggo drawls softly. His hand returns, wet and warm with spit, palming Elijah's cock more firmly this time as he thumbs a nipple under the t-shirt with the other, fabric bunching up under Lij's chin. The embrace and the sure caress turn Elijah's insides to lava. His jeans are still holding his legs together, and provide even more friction as the muscles of his ass contract spasmodically in sync with Viggo's rhythm.

Viggo holds fast when Elijah starts bucking and humping his fist; Lij whimpers and drools on the cushion, scrabbling for purchase in the leather. It's useless to resist when he came here to let go but there's always a concern at the back of his mind that he's too quick, pathetically teenage, shooting his load with undignified haste--

All ideas dissolve in a rush of heat as the world blurs; Elijah soars and comes, and comes, months of frustration and days of pettiness and every minute of jealousy melting into pleasure and pulled out of him by Viggo's tender care.

"Oh God," he mumbles after a long stretch of white nothing. His cheek is damp, sliding on dribbled saliva; his limbs are lead, his whole body so pleasantly dead that the awkward position only feels natural. "Thank you." Even his headache seems to have cleared, that's how good it was.

Gathering Elijah to himself and rolling them on their sides on the sofa, Viggo chuckles hotly in his neck. "Don't thank me yet," his voice is gravelly and deep, "not for the antipasto." He hums low, fingers trailing lazy on Lij's skin, twisting his nipples one after the other to feast on the breathless whines and squirming action coming as a result. "In two minutes I'll make you another cup; when you're done drinking it I have something else for you. Thank me then, half-love."

The endearment used to not sit well with Elijah, a reminder of his selfishness. Hard to say when it became a, a default, falling back on Viggo to put him right, and Lij didn't like to think of it. But that was before Viggo patiently explained and taught him, along with better techniques for jerking off to make it last and how to build then light a fire, his personal approach to these things.

Now that Elijah gets it, the words please him, fitting comfortably like a pair of well-worn jeans or shoes, smooth and warm. Like Viggo's hands spanning his ribcage.

He's drunk now, mellow and drowsy and mmmm, naked in Viggo's bed. Unresisting, he drank the second mugful of whatever it was, even more loaded this time; he hardly remembers stripping out of his clothes. He drifts off, elated, just savoring the contact of Viggo's coarse hair and slightly sweaty skin against his back, spooned once again in his arms. Something good is coming-- they don't always end up in bed, but Viggo hasn't come yet either, and Elijah guesses it means doubles for him.

"Wake up, sleepy," Viggo lets his hand fall down to nudge at Elijah's softened dick, dropping kisses on his shoulders.

"'M not," Elijah mumbles with a grin, shimmying his ass briefly against Viggo's groin. He's always privately wondered why Viggo won't fuck him, when he knows Elijah's not a virgin anymore-- That Dom has, used to, sometimes.

Elijah made sure Viggo knew a while ago, fumbling with the words like a red-cheeked débutante; he made sure on purpose. It seemed only normal to share the information, when Viggo did so much for his, um, initiation, yeah, the word is right. Dom's casual ease with talking about it all hasn't been contagious though, and despite his profuse use of swearwords in every day conversation Elijah still can't say these things easily. Not when it counts. He hopes in silence, wishing with a kiss or an insistent press of his hips; he tilts his ass upwards wantonly when Viggo's got him horny enough that shame drops away beneath the horizon. Maybe today's the day.

"Good," Viggo rumbles, "you can move then." He rolls them over, plastering his larger body to Elijah's back; Lij spills face down on the mattress, legs parting in invitation. Viggo levers up on elbows and descends, planting tiny kisses on Elijah's shoulder blades at first, changing to fast licks of his tongue across ticklish spots on his flanks.

"Elijah," he whispers, warm breath rasping at the back of Lij's hips. Elijah's skin tingles with muted sparks of pleasure, just enough to make the muscles of his back flex and relax in anticipation. "Shh," Viggo soothes again, tracing the dips in the small of his back with wetness, kneading Elijah's ass gently with his fingers splayed over both cheeks.

Viggo's mouth slides down and Elijah shivers as air insinuates in his cleft, Viggo's thumbs spreading him open. His ass clenches reflexively and there's another shhhh, warm and damp and pervasive and oh-- what's that, no-- an impossible hot wriggling sensation stretches down between Elijah's cheeks and freezes him, breathless.

"Vig, Viggo, don't, what--"

There's a low slow laugh, muffled against the fleshy convex curve of his ass and raising the hair over his back; Viggo's fingers spiderwalk upward to pet Elijah's sides gently. "Quiet, don't worry," he murmurs after a last chuckle, "everything's okay, just let me do this."

Elijah closes his eyes again, shamed to think he'd selfishly stop Viggo doing something he wants-- shamed to want to be touched-- but God, not like this, it's so-- shamed again when the word dirty unfurls behind his eyelids on a red velvet background and his belly twists with untamed want. Elijah starts, then tentatively stills his stupid body, rebelliously trying to rub a newly-sprung hard-on on the sheet below.

He's heard of it of course, Dom, that one time he'd listed everything he learned from watching amateur gay porn. Elijah had made a shocked and disbelieving ewface, and Dom had laughed, and that was that. He knows the name for this, somehow stuck in his brain; rimming, firmly wedged next to its brother felching-- another bit of unwanted knowledge dispensed by Dom-- in the mental drawer for Weird and Kinda Gross. Elijah doesn't like gay porn, anyway.

"But Vig--" he tries to say, interrupted when Viggo's stubborn tongue sweeps down there again, a blissfully slick hot thing, finishing right over the ring of tense muscle with a circling flourish. "Oh God."

His head swims; Viggo's hand rubs wide slow patterns on his back, the other sneaking under Elijah's hip to hold him and lift him up minimally.

"Fuck, fuck," he's thisclose to begging Viggo to fuck him just to make him stop, one type of shame eclipsing the other-- But he can't even speak anymore as Viggo keeps on licking luxuriously, drawing what Lij's intoxicated brain interprets through the haze as paisley shapes, or maybe the Elvish alphabet, Jesus, so warm.

Elijah gasps, his brows knotting up tight; the wet artistry has given way to something even weirder, a repeated sweet stabbing of Viggo's tongue against his hole, is that it, is that for real-- "Viggo?" he asks, hearing the plaintive troubled note in his voice and resenting the helplessness. His hands are fisted in the sheets.

It's good though, the part of him drunk enough to admit whispers, so good, relax, and Viggo says much the same thing with his mouth open wide on Elijah's flesh, breathing pleasure into him in tiny quiet increments. Elijah lets go, opening his hands, flattening his palms on the bed and forcing his eyebrows down, taking a deep stuttering breath.

Yeah.

Viggo must have felt him relax. There's a swift shifting of his weight dipping the mattress, then a spread and a gust of air cooling the stripes of spit in Elijah's-- a shove, oh God, Viggo's shoving his whole face in his crack and Lij arches and tenses but Viggo's tongue stabs forward again and gets in, it's in and too late and so wrong, soso--

He cries out, "Vig," but Viggo only moves his hands to cover Elijahs' on the sheet and smooth them down with warmth, his nose bumping against Lij's tailbone, his tongue busily turning inside, deeper, and the whole of Elijah quivers and crawls in his skin, sinfully good, making his cock jerk between his legs.

Elijah's dizzy, "Nngh," his nose mashed against the pillow and full of the overpowering smell of sweat and whiskey on his own exhalation. Viggo keeps up the assault, but he eases away a little and somehow his tongue turns gentle and soft, more slick, soothing over Elijah's hole in small strokes, dipping back in easily when Lij stopped expecting it. Elijah finds his breath again; he hears himself begging incoherently, "Don't stop, oh," his voice all thin and reedy with something, dismay, desperation, then shimmering acceptance as his thighs go gradually slack with bliss and he moans in the cotton. Nothing that feels this good can truly be wrong, and why didn't he know, why didn't anyone tell him?

Viggo lets out a rumbling laugh that shoots shivers straight down from Elijah's asshole to his balls, and Lij opens his eyes wide when he understands that he's asked out loud. Drunken, incredulous laughter bubbles up in his throat; he clamps down on it with a renewed sense of mortified confusion, pushing weakly despite himself on his elbows and knees to arch back into the feel of it.

"Perfect," Viggo says, the sound muffled by Elijah's flesh. He moves a hand to curl around Lij's hip again, and helps him lift up closer.

He dives in, insistent tongue and clever fingers parting Elijah wider wetter hotter, and Lij sighs unconsciously, "Aah," letting his eyes fall close again. Viggo's hand moves to find his erection, heavy and swaying with blood, gives it a brief squeeze that fills Elijah's vision with bright sparks.

"Fuck, ohfuck," Elijah whines, unable to believe what his senses tell him. It seems to go on forever, the hand around his cock stroking him so slowly he can hardly be sure of it, half-out of his mind from the overload as Viggo goes on and on, his tongue burrowing deeper in an ever-changing flow of pointed curled up digs and broader flat sweeps.

Lij writhes, rumpling the sheets beneath his chest, sweating like mad, equally wishing for it to end right now in a glorious blaze and for it to never, ever stop. Elijah's never been under the delusion that he's that good in bed-- maybe average, sometimes carried away all the way to good in the moment but oh, if he'd known that this kind of erotic madness was possible, if he'd known this much pleasure could be inflicted on someone, that it could last like this, go on for fucking ever... It's better than a blow-job somehow, or it's because he's drunk, there's got to be an explanation but he can't find it now when he's about to die, his whole body over sensitized, swept into this storm of lust and pierced ceaselessly by lightning.

Viggo speeds up his pumping strokes and brings his free hand to rub Elijah's balls, humming a tuneless, broken song of gratified relish. It's all so much, Lij's bones turned to jelly, his muscles uselessly liquid and suddenly-- there, ah, everything gathers and burns up and Elijah sees spots as he comes again, hard and still unspeakably sweet, mouth opening on a keening cry.

It takes him a while to come back into his intoxicated, exhausted body. Breathless with disbelief and shaken with shudders, Elijah lets Viggo roll him on his side. Trailing the back of his hand on Lij's sweaty forehead, Viggo smiles. "Told you you'd like it," he settles down, lying face to face with him.

Elijah croaks, "You said no such thing," unable to help his wide smile back. "Damn, Viggo," he starts to say, battling with a shyness he thinks is misplaced now; with a start he realizes he's done nothing for Viggo, shame returning with a vengeance and reddening his cheeks. He rushes a murmur, "I'm sorry, you--" but when he tries to grasp Viggo's hard-on his hand is swatted away as Viggo moves closer to slide between Elijah's thighs.

"Let me do this too, won't take long."

His cock glides easily forward in a wet mess that Lij identifies with another flash of embarrassment as a mix of semen and spit, and weirdly enough both the thought and the sensation lend strength to the last of the ripples coursing under his skin. Elijah looks at Viggo's face, his eyes half closed, his small secret smile in this obscenely intimate moment, and is overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Sure," he breathes on Viggo's mouth, "yeah, go ahead," winding a trembling hand in the grey-blond strands of his hair; he tugs gently to pull Viggo's forehead against his own, hesitating to kiss him.

He's been there, his mind provides, unclean, don't, but then Viggo's eyes open and fix on his as Vig starts rocking his hips with a sigh and Elijah's lips part, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, entranced.

Viggo moans and hitches in a stammering breath, looking Elijah deep in the eye; his smile widens and widens madly, his hand on Elijah's thigh digs deeper grooves... and then the smile changes into an O and Viggo goes briefly rigid, and then slack, all without one more sound.

"Oh," Elijah whispers, surprised that it's so soon over, so anti-climatic in a way. There's no time to think or say anything else as Viggo's head turns the crucial quarter inch necessary not to bump their noses and kisses him deep.

Lij clutches at him, unconsciously pulling on his hair, starting to kiss back before the hesitation can return-- there's nothing to fear, though, it's a fucking great kiss, nothing more than the faint remains of the taste of lemon and alcohol and maybe, maybe, pungent soap and a little something else, something that could be him or could be Viggo, utterly unrecognizable to Elijah.

"Thank you," he says when Viggo pulls away, chuckling a bit at his own solemnity, his head full with light, "thank you, really."

Viggo only smiles and kisses him again; it feels like the world has been remade just for Elijah to enjoy, his sinuses clear, his tongue nimble again in Viggo's mouth, all of him buzzed and sleepy and alive all at once.

That's the shit, man, he thinks with stupid awe, and Viggo pinches him when his drunken giggles spill in their kiss.

*