Title: Savor
Author: Elandae
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Marton Csokas
Summary: Viggo likes Marton. *creepy music plays in background*
Beta: Cat *mwah*
Warnings: Crazy!Viggo
Disclaimer: Don’t know them; make no claims to their actual lives, preferences, etc. You know the drill.
Feedback: Always welcome!
Author’s Notes: same thing as before, given a pairing and the sentence: ‘Well, I thought it might….don’t pout, it makes you look cute. You’re not supposed to be cute, you’re Aragorn, you’re supposed to be manly. and this is the result. The sentence was changed though, as it didn’t fit with the rest of the story. For Catarina
Viggo stretched languidly in bed as he eyed the broad planes of Marton’s bare back. Marton was seated on the edge of the bed, his weight making it dip down, his back to Viggo. He stood up as he pulled his pants over his hips, feeling Viggo’s eyes on him the whole time.
‘You do know this isn’t going to work out,’ Marton said, his voice low and husky. ‘I thought it might, but it obviously won’t….we both know it.’ Viggo grinned at the words. The first time he had heard them, he had been shocked, unable to say anything, and then Marton had gone. But he had been back. It had become a ritual now. The words changed slightly, never exactly the same, but always saying the same thing. Viggo just grinned, grabbing Marton’s hand as he was about to leave, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Marton just looked down at Viggo, a quick grin flashing across his face, and then he was gone, and despite his words, they both knew he would be back. He always was.
* * * * *
Viggo watched Marton across the set. The long blonde hair and flowing robes made him look so very different, but there was still something so utterly…Marton about him. The way he stood, the sleek grace of his movements, that was solely Marton. He looked up at that moment to find Viggo’s eyes on him, and their eyes locked for a moment. Marton nodded just the slightest bit, nothing that would be noticeable unless you were looking for it, and Viggo was. He always was, his eyes never leaving Marton except when absolutely necessary. There was something mesmerizing, hypnotizing about the man.
* * * * *
Marton could feel the weight of Viggo’s gaze on him, those eyes, never leaving him, his every movement scrutinized. At first it had been flattering, to have that intensity focused solely on him, this complete focus of attention firmly on him. Then it had been unnerving, alternating between the two. Then, just the second, the pleasure gone. Now it was almost burdensome. The constant attention, the demand for his time…it was all too much. Without a single word, Viggo could so easily make him aware of his presence, it was all too much.
Marton swore, never again. He would not go over to Viggo’s house tonight, he would resist for once. He always meant to, but then Viggo would come up to him, those fingers trailing idly up his arm, sending fire through his veins, straight to his groin. That voice, that quiet, rough tone, wrapping itself around him, insinuating itself within him, intoxicating him. Marton could not resist that voice, that touch. He was helpless against it.
He felt more than saw Viggo get up and approach him, and then those hands, those fucking fingers against his skin.
‘You coming over tonight?’
And that reasonable voice in Marton’s head telling him to say no was drowned out by the soft tones of Viggo’s voice, the silent touch of knowing fingers. All he could do was croak out a pained ‘yes.’ Viggo smiled at him, and without another word, was gone, leaving Marton simultaneously berating himself for his weakness when Viggo was concerned and looking forward to tonight.
* * * * *
The ring of the doorbell sliced through the silence of the house. Viggo hurried to answer it, throwing the door open to reveal Marton standing on the front porch, his hair a little mussed, which made Viggo smile as he imagined how much fun he was going to have messing it up even more. Without a word Viggo pulled Marton into the house, pushing the door closed behind him. The path to his bedroom was so familiar that Viggo made it all the way there, neatly sidestepping several items of furniture, all without taking his mouth off of Marton’s. He bumped into the closed door to his bedroom, Marton reaching around his body to push the door open with a rough shove.
Viggo’s hands were at Marton’s waist, pulling his shirt from his pants. Marton leaned back, raising his arms, allowing his shirt to be pulled over his head. Viggo’s own shirt was quickly unbuttoned, and the raw heat of Viggo’s body that had been previously dimmed through the layers of clothes was now pressed against Marton, the feel of that bare skin making him breathless. It would be so easy to just walk away from all this if only his sense didn’t practically ignite every time the man was near him. Fuck all if Marton wasn’t addicted simply to the taste of the man, the salty tang of Viggo’s skin, the bitter aftertaste after Viggo had come into his mouth. He was a Viggo junkie, the thought almost making him laugh, but Viggo’s hands had traveled farther down his body making any thoughts of laughter dissipate form his mind. Viggo’s fingers trailed over the firm muscles of Marton’s stomach, sliding farther down, pausing to stroke his erection before he popped open the top button on Marton’s, a slow, sensuous dance of fingers over denim. Viggo pushed the pants down over Marton’s hips, letting them slide smoothly to the floor.
Then the insistent heat of Viggo’s mouth was on Marton’s, demanding, marking, claiming. Viggo switched their positions, advancing on Marton, forcing him back until the back of his legs connected with the solid bulk of the bed. He sank down gratefully, pulling Viggo with him; his limbs trembling form the overpowering effects of Viggo’s kiss. Marton knew it was not something that he could ever get used to; the man was so fucking intense. Marton could spend the rest of his life with him and never get accustomed to that mouth. But Marton didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with Viggo. Eternity with that mouth sounded like perfection, but that mouth was part of a package deal. And Marton wasn’t sure he could handle Viggo for the rest of his life. That intensity he had that could make you feel like the only person in the world…or at least in his world overwhelmed Marton sometimes, when you were the only one here was no one else to ask for help, you had only yourself to rely on.
Marton’s mind stopped wondering, stopped functioning altogether as Viggo moved down his body, that mouth fastening onto Marton’s nipple, making his back arch up into Viggo’s mouth. The hot smooth glide of Viggo’s tongue over Marton’s skin making gasp.
Viggo stepped back, leaving Marton desperate for his touch. He pushed his open shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as his eyes locked with Marton’s as the other man moved up until the entire length of his body was sprawled across the bed. Viggo’s hand slid down over the sleek skin of his chest, over the smattering of dark hair to the waistband of his pants, putting on a show for Marton. The material slid down to reveal narrow hips, a crescent moon decorating the right hip bone. The pants slid even lower, dropping unnoticed to the floor, revealing a jutting erection that demanded Marton’s full attention. Marton was powerless to tear his eyes away from that firm piece of flesh that had him achingly hard to feel it in his hands, his mouth, anything, just needed to be in contact with that man.
Then Viggo was crawling back onto the bed, the look in his eyes making Marton’s chest constrict. Viggo leaned down, giving Marton’s erection a quick swipe with his tongue, relishing the low moan coming from the other end of the bed. He leaned lower, running his tongue along the length of the Marton’s cock, making it twitch beneath the wet heat of his mouth. Viggo suckled the head, slow smooth undulations of his tongue against overheated flesh. He continued his unhurried, teasing ministrations, looking up to Marton’s head, noting the way the other man’s head was thrown back, the strong column of his throat exposed, the clean lines begging for attention, but that would come later. His eyes closed, his breathing jagged.
Viggo slowly let the entire length of Marton’s cock slide down his throat, inch by inch, savoring the feel, the taste of Marton on his tongue. Viggo never rushed with Marton, a man like this was meant to be savored, and so Viggo took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of Marton’s body, memorizing the feel of his body. Viggo knew exactly how Marton’s skin felt beneath his hands, could imagine it so clearly. Even when Marton wasn’t there, he was always in Viggo’s mind, always the memory of the smell of his skin, the feel of his body.
Viggo slowly pulled off of Marton’s cock, only to let it slide back in again, working his throat muscles around him, loving him with his mouth. Marton’s fingers were tangled in his hair, his hips coming off the bed, needy, desperate for more, coming apart under Viggo’s touch. That mouth was going to be the end of him, and right now it seemed like a pretty fucking good way to go. And oh, God he was so close, so fucking close, another couple strokes of Viggo’s tongue and he was crying out and coming down Viggo’s throat.
Viggo swallowed, the familiar taste heavy on his tongue, he craved that taste. Viggo moved up Marton’s body, sliding his mouth along that throat, his own cock so fucking hard that he ached. His mouth was on Marton’s, plundering, his tongue tangling with Marton’s one moment, sliding along his lip the next. Viggo reached out, his hand fumbling around to find the bedside table, his mouth never leaving Marton’s, finally finding what he was looking for; pulling the drawer open and drawing out a tube, cool under his finger tips. The drawer banged shut, but neither man noticed, too wrapped up in each other.
Viggo’s mouth slid along the strong line of Marton’s jaw now, down over the firm skin on his throat before reluctantly pulling his mouth away from the other man. Viggo settled himself between Marton’s legs, flicking the cap up, noting with satisfaction that Marton’s eyes were very much open now, dark depths that Viggo could get lost in, would willingly drown in. Viggo squirted the lube into the palm of his hand, slowly stroking his cock, his hand glistening with moisture slowly sliding up and down the length of his erection, a slow, slick caress that was getting Marton hard again already.
Viggo grabbed hold of Marton’s hips, angling them up. He positioned his cock at the entrance to Marton’s body, pausing a moment before pressing slowly, so fucking slowly into Marton’s body. Savoring the feel of the hot clasp around first the head, his hips shifting slightly, he pushed forward a little more, feeling the tight heat sliding slowly up the length of his shaft. His eyes closed at finally feeling Marton around him, but his eyes opened again quickly, looking down, watching his own hips swivel just the slightest bit, his cock making tiny circles inside of Marton, the shaft just brushing against that spot that had Marton arching off the bed below him, making Viggo smile in satisfaction. He pulled out, almost all the way out, until just the head of his erection remained still sheathed inside Marton’s body, before pressing inexorably forward again, watching with avid interest as his shaft slid home, never taking his eyes off the striking sight of the tan of his skin against the darkness of Marton’s own skin.
Viggo gritted his teeth against the beautiful agony of keeping his strokes slow, until he could no longer hold back, the sight of his own cock inside of Marton unbearably arousing as it always was. It was a sight he could never get enough of, a feeling that never failed to leave him breathless. His rhythm increased, no longer controlled, no longer slow, overcome by the feeling of Marton surrounding him. He finally moved one hand from its bruising grip on Marton’s hip, wrapping it around the erection before him, his grip firm, his strokes unconsciously timed with his thrusts. The dual assault soon had Marton crying out again, the jagged moan torn from his throat as he came in uneven spurts over Viggo’s hand. Viggo bit his lip, trying to hang on as Marton’s body convulsed around him, the exquisite pressure overwhelming him as he came in warm liquid spurts inside of Marton.
Viggo gasped, slowing licking Marton’s come from his hand, before he pulled out and dropped, breathlessly, down beside onto the bed, the quick rise and fall of his chest imitating Marton’s.
* * * * *
Marton lay there next to Viggo for some time, attempting to gather his thoughts. Or more accurately, waiting for his brain to start functioning again. It was unbelievable the effect that this man had on him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had had this breathless, dizzying, brain shutting down effect on him. It was long after his breathing had returned to a normal pace that he finally managed to push himself up and onto the edge of the bed, reaching for his pants, and pulling them on quickly. He searched the room for his shirt, not seeing it anywhere. Viggo watched from his position on the bed, rather enjoying this whole event. Marton cast him a frustrated look as he scanned the room quickly again. It had to be here somewhere.
‘Where the hell is my goddamn shirt?’
Viggo just smiled complacently up at him, and shrugged. ‘You can always borrow one of mine, if you want.’
Marton sighed in frustration, that was his favorite shirt, too. ‘Where do you keep your shirts?’
Viggo gestured idly across the room at his dresser. Yeah, that was a load of help. Marton crossed the room in four strides, opening drawers at random until he found one with Viggo’s shirts in it. He pulled out the top one, holding it up for Viggo’s inspection. Viggo nodded and Marton pulled it over his head, ruffling his hair up even more.
Marton turned to look at Viggo, feeling his eyes watching him yet again. Shit, this was getting to be too much. It was the most uncanny feeling to have someone’s eyes on you at all times. To know that whenever they were around you, your every move, your every breath was scrutinized, dissected until it was no longer yours. Marton knew he shouldn’t have given in and come here tonight; he had argued back and forth with himself all afternoon, but it had all been in vain. He simply could not resist this man, the minute he touched him, all of Marton’s defenses fell away. Marton felt…trapped. The weight of Viggo’s need was almost suffocating. Marton mumbled the usual, this was the last time to Viggo, the words slightly different, but the message the same, always the same. Before he left, he turned around, he always fucking turned around, and once he met that gaze, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time. It was never the last time, because he was so fucking weak. So completely unable to stand up to this man, to end things once and for all. One glance into those infuriatingly knowing eyes, that smug smile, and even thought it annoyed him, he still knew, he *knew* that this would not be the last time. He was weak, and disgusted with himself over that fact, but the truth was, Marton simply couldn’t resist the electricity between the two of them. He had never stood a chance.
* * * * *
Marton hesitantly pushed the door open. He had come over to Viggo’s to bring him back his shirt, but obviously Viggo wasn’t at home. The door had been unlocked though, so Marton had pushed it slowly open, calling out to Viggo, but he could tell by the feel that no one was there except for him. He walked into the dim hallway, the air cool against his skin after the afternoon heat. He pushed the door shit behind him, walking slowly down towards Viggo’s bedroom, moving slowly, on edge though he didn’t know why. He would just put the shirt back, leave a note for Viggo and then he’d leave, and that would be it.
Viggo’s windows were open, so his bedroom was much brighter and also much warmer than the rest of the house. Marton walked quickly over to the dresser, pulling open the drawer that Viggo kept his shirts in. Nope, wrong drawer. A flash of yellow caught Marton’s eye, and even though he knew he shouldn’t, he pulled the envelope out of the drawer, noting the bulging contents, the weight of it in his hand. Pictures, it must be photos. Without knowing why, Marton moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge, knowing he shouldn’t but suddenly so eager to see the contents of this envelope, wondering why Viggo kept it in his drawer. Artists had such odd habits he thought with a small smile.
Marton pulled the flap open; the envelope wasn’t sealed, and drew out the thick stack of pictures. He glanced at the first one, feeling his blood run cold in his veins. He flipped quickly through the stack, different times, different places, but the subject was the same in all of them. All clearly taken with a telephoto lens, some of the pictures were fuzzy, others significantly more clear. The photos toward the end must have been taken from outside this person’s house, the light spilling brightly out from the house, a quick flash of the darkness outside. Marton felt his stomach clench, his breath quicken as he stared at himself in his kitchen, his living room, all throughout his house.
Suddenly Marton couldn’t breathe, the air in the room had become unbearably close, pressing in on him, suffocating him, just the way he had felt that time with Viggo. Fuck, Viggo. How could he have done this, Marton’s hands scrambled in the sheets, trying to get enough purchase to push himself to his feet, his legs suddenly seemed to be made of rubber, lacking the strength to push him off the soft surface of the bed. The photos lay across his lap, Marton felt like they were burning him, through the material of his pants, burning into sensitive skin, tainting him. His entire body felt dirty at the memory of Viggo’s hands on them. His hand encountered a difference in the material, a worn smoothness that contrasted sharply with the crisp sheets, this felt…familiar. Marton pulled it out from beneath Viggo’s pillow; cursing as he recognized his shirt that he had been unable to find last time he had been here. Fuck the man slept with it beneath his pillow.
Marton suddenly had to get out of there, had to get as far away from this whole thing as he possibly could. With determination strengthening his previously useless limbs, Marton got quickly to his feet, ignoring the pictures as they fell the floor, cascading across the wooden surface in a disconcerting panorama of perversion. He felt like he was being watched this moment, felt like his every fucking move was scrutinized, bare and helpless. So fucking helpless it was infuriating. Marton spun quickly on his feet, jumping violently as he saw Viggo leaning against the doorjamb, his complete ease striking against the frantic panicked state that Marton was in. Viggo smiled slowly, a hard, sadistic smile spreading slowly across his face like oil on water. He pulled his hand out from behind his back, the cold, dark gleam there making Marton’s freeze in his steps, his eyes wide with panic, his heart thundering in his chest.
Viggo spoke then, and his voice matched the gun in his hand, hard and foreign, completely unnerving, and just so fucking wrong, ‘You didn’t think you would get away from me that easy, did you?’
* * * * *
Marton sat straight up in his bed, his chest heaving, his body covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat. Oh shit, it had been a dream. It had been so fucking vivid that Marton could still feel the sharp edges of the pictures, his heart still pounding in terror, the image of Viggo with a gun in his hand engrained into his mind; he reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp, needing the comfort of light. He didn’t move, waiting for his breathing to slow, his heartbeat to return to normal.
Viggo’s behavior this week had been unnerving, it seemed that everywhere Marton went, Viggo was there, waiting for him. Marton had gone into his trailer during lunch break today to find Viggo reclining there, completely at ease. Marton had been grateful for Craig’s presence, making the scene tolerable. After work, Viggo had been waiting for Marton at his car, just standing there for who knows how long, *waiting* for him.
Marton was grateful that it hadn’t gone as far as it had in his dream, but the thought that it might made his chest clench again. This was crazy.
* * * * *
The next night Marton went out with some of his friends, decided he needed a good time to make him forget about the whole Viggo thing. He had been waiting for Marton again that day, and Marton had just hurried away, the memory of the dream still clear in his mind. He had a lot of fun, a good laugh with his mates, but always in the back of his mind, he simply could not rid himself of the last vestiges of fear left from that dream. Eventually he excised himself, and decided to head for home.
There was an unfamiliar car parked in Marton’s driveway. He pulled up nest to it, studying it quizzically. It looked vaguely familiar, but for the life of him he could not remember where he had seen it before. For a fleeting moment Marton wondered if it was Viggo’s, but he remembered that he had never had Viggo over to his house before, Viggo had no idea where he actually lived, and that was reassuring.
Marton stepped into the shadows on his porch, looking around curiously for any sign of the owner of the car. Viggo suddenly stepped in front of him, seeming to materialize suddenly in front of him, when in reality he was merely illuminated by the light of the streetlamp. Marton jumped back.
‘Fuck, Viggo! What the hell are you doing here? How the fuck do you know where I live?’ Marton gasped.
Viggo looked at him, and simply shrugged, ‘I just wanted to surprise you.’
‘Surprise me? You scared the hell out of me!’
Viggo just looked at him again, intensity fairly radiating from him.
‘Viggo, go home. Don’t come back.’
Viggo smiled at the familiarity of the words. ‘Shouldn’t that come a little later?’ he joked with a cocky grin.
But Marton didn’t smile back this time, his features hard. ‘I mean it this time. Get off my porch, drive yourself home, and don’t *ever* come back to my house again,’ His voice was hard, surprising even himself. Viggo didn’t truly seem to notice.
‘Shit, you’re in a bad mood.’
‘Viggo.’ The single word was hard, final.
Viggo looked hard at Marton, his features cast in shadows, making it impossible to read his expression very accurately. With a shrug and rolling his eyes, Viggo stepped off the porch. He knew Marton, he would change his mind. He always did. really, Viggo didn’t know why he bothered with that whole ‘this isn’t going to work routine’.
He stepped off the porch, looking back at Marton every couple of steps, but something was different this time. No matter how many times Viggo checked, how his eyes stayed on the hard lines of Marton’s back, he never moved. No matter how Viggo’s eyes lingered on the firm lines of Marton’s back, it never changed.
Marton stepped forward, sliding his key into the lock, and pushed the door open, disappearing into the darkness within the house. Viggo watched him, before finally getting into his car and driving off. Marton closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Finally. He has finally done what he should have done a long time ago; he had walked away from Viggo. And this time he hadn’t looked back.
The End.