Title: Proving a Point
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Sean Bean, Harry Sinclair/Karl Urban
Summary: Harry wants to prove a point to Sean.
Notes: For angiepen who gave much latitude in pairing and prompt. She did want something plotty with a hint of BDSM or humor.
Post-reveal Notes: Thanks to caras_galadhon who helped immensely.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
"Doesn't it bother you?"
Sean knocked back the rest of his whiskey before answering Harry. "Doesn't what bother me?"
"That." Harry nodded toward the pool tables where Viggo, Karl, Marton, and Craig were horsing around more than they were shooting pool.
"Pool should bother me? Because...?"
Harry snorted. "I didn't say anything about pool."
"No, you didn't." Even slightly buzzed, Sean knew what Harry was hinting at. Harry barely bothered making eye contact with Sean; he was too busy watching the others. Watching Karl. Because Sean was watching Harry, he saw Harry's eyes narrow, his jaw tense, when Karl jostled Viggo to ruin his shot and Viggo turned to wrap his arms around Karl's waist and lick across his cheek.
Perhaps Harry sensed Sean's gaze on him, because he looked away from the other men. "It doesn't bother you? Even a little?"
There were plenty of things about Viggo that could bother a man, from his questionable habits concerning clutter, expiration dates on food, and the merits of wearing underwear to his overly physical interactions with people he felt comfortable with. If Sean let all (or even most) of Viggo's legion of annoyances bother him, Viggo'd drive him utterly mad in less than a week. If Sean was being totally truthful, Viggo's lax sense of personal boundaries with friends did bother Sean. Some times more than others. However, he'd be damned if he was going to admit that to Harry Fucking Sinclair. Sean shrugged. "It's just how he is."
Harry slammed his glass down on the bar hard enough to make people glance their way, but when he spoke, his voice was low, dark. Dangerous. "And I'm supposed to be okay with that? I'm supposed to be okay that your voyeur has taken a shine to my exhibitionist?"
"Listen. It's not like that." Sean ordered two drinks with the intention of taking one to Viggo and seeking out the company of people who actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. "He's been photographing everyone. That's why he watches." Sean glanced at Viggo, who had an arm draped around Marton as they watched Craig take a shot. It had better not be like that.
"You honestly believe that?" Harry looked trapped somewhere between anger and amazement.
Sean nodded. "I do." He looked away from Harry when the drinks arrived, but before he could leave, Harry took one and effectively cut off Sean's graceful escape route. The fucker. Sean downed his own drink faster than reasonable. If he was going to be stuck with an annoying bugger, he'd at least manage to dull the pain.
"Why don't the two of you come over for dinner?"
"Dinner?" Sean wondered if he'd been ignoring a steady stream of Harry that provided a transition between exhibitionism and dinner.
"You have something against food that doesn't come from catering or carry out?"
Looking back, Sean supposed it was a combination of surprise, slightly impaired sobriety, and desire for a home-cooked dinner that had him agree to dinner. That and the fact that Harry was rumored to be a pretty good cook. And if Harry's smile was a hint too sharp, too self-satisfied, well, that was just how Harry was.
"Did you ask him about it?"
Harry's question came after a firm discussion with Viggo about the fact that cupcake monstrosities with honey, lavender, and parsley (for fuck's sake) were not more appropriate guest gifts than wine, two plates of Harry's spectacular salmon, and one-too-many glasses of wine. Sean shouldn't have been surprised: Harry could be a sneaky bastard, especially when he had a point to prove.
"Ask me what?" Viggo looked between Sean and Harry.
Sean shook his head, trailed his fingers down the back of Viggo's neck. "Nothing." He met Harry's gaze, hoped his expression made it clear a change in topic would be a good idea.
"If you get hard watching Karl."
Viggo blinked, slid a little closer to Sean on the sofa. "What?"
"Fuck's sake, Harry." Why the bastard had to ruin an otherwise nice evening was beyond Sean. "I told you nothing was going on."
"It makes Karl hard. Did you know that, Viggo?"
Sean glanced at Karl, who found his wine glass utterly absorbing. A flush colored his cheeks. He looked like he'd rather be just about anywhere other than this room at this time. That made Sean nervous. It meant Harry was up to something.
"I don't...." Viggo squirmed a little, but his attention wandered to Karl.
"But you do." Harry took the wine from Karl and gave him a nudge. He smiled approvingly when Karl stood and starting shucking his clothes. "And a host makes sure to show his guests a good time, doesn't he?"
Sean wondered if he looked as shocked at Viggo. He hoped he didn't look as...interested as Viggo. Not at the curve of Karl's ass when he bent over the arm of the sofa, not at the sounds he made when Harry's hand came down on his ass over and over again, not at the sheen of sweat that rose on Karl's skin when Harry slipped slick fingers into him. Sean's pants grew uncomfortably tight. His fingers twitched, curled into a loose fist to keep him from reaching for Viggo's fly and checking to see if he was hard too.
"Apparently, Viggo isn't the only one who likes to watch." Harry's laugh was wicked as he curled his fingers, made Karl's body tense.
Fucking hell. Sean cleared his throat. "I think we should be going." He gave Viggo's shoulder a tug. "C'mon, love."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Sit down, Sean." When Sean hesitated but didn't obey, Hary growled softly. "Sit the fuck down."
Later, Sean would tell himself it was because Viggo hadn't moved that he sat back down. It wasn't because Harry was undoing his own pants or because Karl murmured, "Fuck me," as urgently as a man who'd been living too long with blue balls. It certainly wasn't because Sean wanted to watch Harry press into Karl and fuck him until he was shuddering and pleading to come.
Sean started as Viggo pressed even closer, curled into him. He couldn't hold back a groan as Viggo murmured, "Want you," in his ear. He curled an arm possessively around Viggo. Me. Not Karl. Me. Sean hadn't realized how deeply Harry had gotten under his skin until Viggo's words unknotted tension he refused to acknowledge he was carrying. He nuzzled Viggo's cheek.
"You think they're hot?" Sean's voice was pitched low, for Viggo's ears alone. He waited for Viggo to nod before continuing. "That's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you once we get home." He smiled at the flash of satisfaction that shot through him at Viggo's soft moan and the knowledge Viggo responded more strongly to his words than he did to Harry and Karl fucking.
And while Sean more than appreciated the show Harry was gracious enough to provide, he wished the bastard would hurry the fuck up so he could get Viggo home. After all, he had his own point to prove.