Viggo Cain

Tea Leaves || Vidris

Heat. Felt through the simple touch of skin against skin, its temperature felt in spite of the fleeting contact. Idris had seen those eyes upclose more times than he could count, and there was a time when those shades of amber would never lose their clarity even when temptation called. But that time had since passed, and in its place was a welcomed change, where while the determination still stood, it gave ways to devotion and love when concerning their Faithful. “Being the Faithful doesn’t mean I’m free of wrongs.” He pressed back slightly, seeking the closeness and warmth. “But I’m a special kind of sinner.” Head tipped back slightly, exposing more of the taut column of the throat, craving the subtle yet tantalizing sensation of the gentle teasing that only Viggo could give. “Whose sins can only be absolved by the Saint to whom he worships.”

Swallowing hard and feeling the way the muscles flexed and constricted with the movement as skin brushed against the lips that Idris was now so familiar with, there was no need for self-control anymore. Physical reaction was of no shame here, even if Idris found himself shivering slightly as his breath hitched against the onslaught of sensations. Fingers that were interlaced with his husband’s tightened momentarily at the graze of the teeth, a soft breathe was let out as eyes fluttered close briefly before sight was allowed again. There would be a mark there, the blessing from a Saint, one that Idris would embrace and accept fully and willingly. There was no deceit or pretense, such were things of the past. Lips parted slightly at the fingers against his skin, each opening of the button was a ritual of its own, a baring of soul, an understanding, a desire to give. The organ beneath slowly increased its efforts, pumping the blood that was coursing through Idris, faster and faster, until he could almost hear it roaring in his ears. Almost. Because regardless of what was happening, it would always be Viggo’s voice that led him home.

Breathing quickened as temperature rose, and at that moment, Idris could understand the verity of the phenomenon that was known as spontaneous combustion; and if that should ever be the way for him to go into the night, there would be no regret. Hand shifted tentatively from where it was placed, almost reluctant in its departure from the safety of his husband’s own, as it moved under the thin fabric of Viggo’s shirt, savoring the heat of the skin below as it traveled upward, counting ribs slightly before the decision was revoked and Idris’s hand found itself at the hips again. “We’ll have to change that, won’t we?” Fingers found the metal and prong that held the leather in place. Slipping the material through the loop and undoing the impediments, Idris’s hand brushed against the button and teeth that kept the remaining barriers in place. “Tell me, my dear Saint.” Hazel orbs gazed up at the now darkened brown ones as Idris breathed out, “Are you at my mercy now?”

The lingering brush of his husband's palm passing across his ribs was felt as strongly in its absence as it was in its presence, burning desire with a stronger flame. The closeness of Idris's hand caused the flesh beneath to twitch instinctively. A worshipped and tempted saint drew closer to temptation at the hand of the faithful, but refrained from letting his hips shift into the touch, to let his fingers graze across him fully, to let him take him mercilessly, but just barely. The voice of the other caused Viggo's chin to press at the center of his abdomen, as compassionate amber eyes reached his gaze. "When am I not?" he asked as his face tipped forward slowly, keeping the hold of the eyes for as long as possible while he let his lips brush across the freckles of his husband's body.

The hand, flattened and flush against Idris's sculpted flesh, dragged down, rising and falling, molding to every muscle it passed. Knuckles snagged lightly against skin while tips stroked, smoothing across the body beneath with the utmost care. There was patience to the movement, attention to detail craved, wanting to trace the smallest outline of a vein or tendon before it was equal to the mouth. Briefly, the motion slowed, almost ceasing altogether, until it crept beneath the side of the open shirt. Fingertips pressed into the flesh as the fabric grazed the top of his hand, separating from one another as they hooked around his side. The back began to bend, shifting delicately, careful not to remove himself from his partner's hand that rested against his zipper.

Plush lips drew kisses as they traveled past the chiseled abdomen, sinking lower. Faintly, the tip of Viggo's nose skimmed across the flesh with the attentive mouth, pressing, as both trailed the beginning of the pelvic bone. There was a time when the skin was unblemished, free from marks that represented the tests of life, but with a gradual swipe of the dark blond's tongue, the scars that scattered him were treasured, twisted from signs of the darkest point into the highest. It had been an arduous journey those three days. Those days of loneliness, desperation, worry and guilt spoke of a hellish set of circumstances that he could never wish on his worst enemy. Idris had been given the brunt of it, his body acting as proof of his strength, determination and faith during the entire ordeal, and he was loved even more because of it.

Thin strips of uneven tissue, lightly colored to distinguish themselves from the rest, were taken by the mouth. Parting his lips around each one, the very point of his tongue traced the complete length of one of the displays of faith. Reaching the end, the lower lip was slowly brought back to reunite with the top, wiping the moist trail he had just created before the mouth blessed the scar that rested just above the band of his pants. "The sinning faithful," he murmured softly as his hand around the other's side tilted back, fingernails prying between flesh and denim in their descent, "following the tempted saint."

A teasing smile broke against his husband's hip bone before the chin lifted, caressing him in the change while eyes found Idris's instantly, gazing at him beneath thin eyelashes. "You might be leading me astray," he hummed, as the tops of his fingers were scratched by cloth, winding their way from back to front with the slightest touch to the outline of his briefs. "Then again," he continued, arching forward into his partner's hand below and the thighs that surrounded him, "I might not mind that."

#idris

Tea Leaves || Vidris

There had been smiles given in a not so distant past in Virginia Beach, but they were always tinged with a sense of indescribable sadness, a burden that seemed to weigh upon its owner like the sins of the world; but now, all Idris could see were those of hope and joy, heartfelt happiness and adoration that the taller man never thought he would be worthy of deserving. Yet here they were, a few short years later, each having found what they had looked for in the most unlikeliest of all places. The mansion might’ve been Purgatory for some, for Idris it had been the window that God had given when the door was closed; and he had found that light in the form of Viggo Ira Wolfe, burning ever so brightly even in the darkest hours.

Touch of metal against his skin was familiar. Idris had its shape and sensation memorized by now, knowing exactly where the edge ended and the roundness of the band began, and more importantly, its significance to Viggo. He leaned into it unconsciously, seeking the contact and the warmth, memorizing ever touch and movement, knowing fully well that every detail would be replay in his mind for years to come, another memory that was to be treasured, savored, and most certainly relived. One might say it was blasphemy to bestow such a title onto anyone, but Idris had never viewed it that way. Sainthood was earned, and in Idris’s eyes Viggo more than earned the title and there was no one more fitting. Viggo was his Saint, and Idris the ever faithful worshipper.

It mattered little who was watching whom, for the admiration and adoration between them were mutual, and that even the slightest shift in movement he had would be observed and respected. Viggo was soundless even as he stood up and met him half-way, agreeing and compromising in the most delectable ways that reminded Idris of their dynamics and chemistry. It was the right kind of balance, with the most intricate elements and the the most ideal component to bring about the best type of everlasting fireworks that burnt brighter than even the greatest supernova. Love was a word that couldn’t be put into words, but Idris had no doubt that they were the very personification and essence of what that was coveted by all.

A soft smile was given at the laced fingers, the slighest contact sending electric signals through the sensitive nerve endings, allowing Idris to sense, memorize, relish in the simple yet sensual gesture. Saints were known to bless, and if such was the case, then Idris had been blessed many times over with each brush of the lips. The heat of the body was palpable, and the desire to touch was almost insurmountable; but temptation should be stilled, and that with faith, what was sought would be given. It was answered quickly enough, nonetheless. The light graze of the knee against his thigh made Idris shiver slightly, the heat that had crept up his face seemed to increase slightly in intensity. ”I only exalt the good, the worthy, and the loved.” Body pressed against the other, almost molding them into one. Almost, but not quite yet. It was something to be anticipated, because the union would always come, and with that, the heavenly bliss. “And there’s no other Saint I’d rather praise than you.” Legs parted toward the edge of the desk as hazel eyes darkened. ”Will my Saint be merciful and answer the prayer of his Faithful?”

Grinning, he leaned closer, dipping his face towards Idris's, letting his forehead brush across his. The question sent the heart pulsing harder, causing the blood to trickle through the veins before turning to a rushing stream throughout the body. The sweetness of chocolate-brown eyes swept through his lover's gaze, absolute clarity faltering in favor of desire and blinding adoration. "But this is not out of mercy, though," his voice lowered beyond the natural depth as the thighs lightly grazed along the opening legs, closing the newly created gap as he pressed closer. His chin gradually raised against the other's face, nuzzling into the heat of the blush while his soft lips drew up across his mouth, catching the bottom lip with his own in its movement. "If I was acting out of mercy," he murmured, trailing past his chin, reaching beneath his jaw with a light kiss, "that might imply you were a sinner, Idris."

A click of the tongue was faintly heard against the cheek as the lips parted further. A damp breath drew down on his husband's throat while the tip of his chin skimmed beneath the Adam's apple, only moments before the mouth enclosed around his flesh. With the taken skin, the tip of the tongue traced its captive, breathing in to bring it nearer until it slipped between the rows of the gentle teeth. His back began to curve, making room for his hand that was reaching for the buttons of Idris's shirt. Nails barely dragged down across his chest, beginning below the collarbone, taking their time as the fingers unfastened the hold of the cloth that shielded him from his saint. For every button that was undone, the tips spread apart, flattening his palm against him, witness to the heartbeat beneath the muscles and taut exterior with delight.

As the neck was released, the plush lips pressed one final time, kissing the tender mark he had created before they traipsed downward, leaving a trail of passing kisses in their wake as they searched for a spot that was too bare for their liking. "There'll never be a need for me to be merciful here," he soothed, letting his thumb hook around his partner's in their embrace to the side, rising and guiding them to rest at his hip, "especially when it's the saint that's at the mercy of the faithful."

Tea Leaves || Vidris

"Then I say in the name of all things good, the analytics should go on the backburner." Idris did not mean it, of course; although he had a feeling that this was probably yet another bizarre test or twistedbet of some kind between Steele and Light. "So it’s neither then, since miraculous would be a better description based on what you said to them about me." Idris let out a soft laugh. "You’re a charmer, Viggo. Always know the right words to say to make a guy feel special." The smile lingered, as was the warmth in his heart. He could feel Viggo’s eyes on him, and he knew at such close proximity, there was no way that the blush would go unnoticed. It was one of those physical reactions that Idris had continuously failed in being able to control. Even now, the thought and implication of anything personally intimate tend to send blood rushing to his face, making him at times the target of teasing. Idris didn’t mind it so much nowadays anymore, having accepted that this was an aspect of him that wouldn’t change any time soon; and as long as Viggo didn’t mind, neither would he. The hitch and slight change in his partner’s breathing were all the clues Idris needed to know he was doing all the right things. The slight shift in skin and muscles under his lips indicated an ingestion of the tea that Viggo loved so much, although Idris knew that it was only momentary. "I wouldn’t call it a respite." Smiling against his husband’s skin at the soft snap of the laptop, Idris brushed his lips against the bare skin once more, tongue darting out and swiped against the surface. "I’d say it’s more a show of appreciation." Fingers gliding along the sensitive skin of his throat, the tips tracing along lightly until they reach his ear, sending a small shiver through Idris. Viggo knew his body almost better than his own these days, and sometimes even the lightest touch from the man was enough to set Idris’s senses aflame. "Perhaps you’re correct in that observation after all." He murmured. "But there’s really only one saint who is worthy of both." Turning his head slightly to the side to lay a kiss on those fingers, Idris stood up once more, his hand remained linked to his husband’s as he made his way around Viggo’s chair. Moving the laptop gently to the side, he half leaned against and half sat on the desk. The afternoon sun had painted everything in the study in a hue of bronze, giving an almost halo-effect around Viggo’s dark blond locks, delineating his beauty in a way that was almost celestial. "Definitely only one." His other hand brushed against the defined jawline, tracing along the edge and gently tipping his husand’s chin up as he drew Viggo toward him. Those amber eyes were almost golden in this light, complementing the complexion that almost seem to glow from within. An eternal light, one that would always lead Idris home. "And he’s right here with me." With those words, Idris leaned in and closed the distance between them.

Another grin broke across Viggo's face at Idris's pitch to push his work aside, turning his eyes downward before they faintly closed. A focused mind could only concentrate on one thing for so long before breaking to the whims of the heart. Hearing his laugh was a sensation in its own right, flickering inside of him with a tender touch. It felt as though his happiness was his own. What one experienced, the other was sure to feel just as much, a strong thread of empathy connecting the two without sign of being cut.

With Idris's tongue drifting across the back of his neck, the nerves of the body flooded the spine, sparking it alive. He could feel the heat of the tip dipping to the nape of the neck, a breath tangling with his short strands, prickling the scalp, and from what warmth was delivered, the damp trail brought a slight chill, causing the skin to seek the mouth's return. The presence of his husband was heavily felt, even without the need for a single touch and the eyes unable to see his face or the motions of his body. As Viggo's fingers trailed around the other's ear, they slowly slipped from his sensitive flesh, one at a time, until there was only one that remained. Beneath the knuckle was his ring, and where metal was usually cold and unforgiving, the one that never left his finger was warm and kind to the touch. The band grazed across Idris's temple, brushing the outline of his cheekbone as he spoke, displaying a certain pleasure that was found with every word. No matter how many times he would bestow the saintly title, he could remember each account of its usage, and always looked forward to the next moment that could be added to the collection he held dearly in his mind. Years ago, a promise had been made: to never take advantage. It was a promise Viggo stayed as faithful towards as Idris did in almost everything he did, causing snapshots of time that would soon be just memories, to be treated as his first, but never his last.

Winding his way around him, brown eyes caught the rays of the sun, tinting their amber color to that of honey as they looked up towards his equal. Even the shadows that were drawn across the other's face were light, more shading than that of darkness, acting as if he was inviolate towards the slightest hints of macabre. His hazel eyes drew in the light as much as Viggo's, brightening them and showing their sincere intent towards the man that sat in front of him. His breathing was silent, steady but swelling to his chest in response to Idris's voice washing over him. The fingertips were light across him, and beneath his jaw, there was a gentle rise of the head, fulfilling what was sweetly requested of him. Gradually, his feet rested back against the hardwood floor, leaving the padding of the chair as he slowly drifted away from his seat in favor of meeting his husband's lips. There was no need to be guided closer, though, finding the way towards his mouth with a familiar sense he never wanted to lose.

Together, their hands rested to their sides, Viggo lacing his fingers between the other's as his lips banded with the known touch of the faithful's. Smiling against the kiss, his face tilted lightly, as the darkened blond softly reached his chest with the remaining hand. Against the sternum, a step was taken, easing his body to his partner's frame before his lips drew back just a breath away from touching. "I don't think I'm a very good saint," he spoke quietly, almost mouthing the words across Idris's parted lips as another step sent his knee brushing across his inner thigh. With a subtle change in pressure to the chest, he began to lean the man's back against the top of the table, following him with another stroke of his mouth against the other's before murmuring a final line. "Because I know I only want your praise."

Tea Leaves || Vidris

It was the epitome of blessing, to see how both of them had evolved and grew over time. They had thrived under pressure where others would have fallen, become closer over hardships where others would have separated. It hadn’t been an easy journey, but they had succeeded together, with each other; and the radiant smile Idris saw on Viggo’s face was testament enough. ”I thought being a saint means you lead by example and do benevalent things to further a benevolent cause?” The Viggo he had met back in the mansion days wouldn’t have had the more carefree demeanor that this one had now. ”Pretty sure that doesn’t constitute saying yes all the time, especially when I can bet you your next cup of tea that these guys are probably up to no good again.” Referring to his husband as a saint was something that Idris had done since their earler days, and that nickname still held true even today. ”I’m having trouble deciding whether I should find that sacrilegious or flattering.” Idris couldn’t help but smile at the grin on Viggo’s face. ”I think I’m going to go with insulting. I respect saints.” He chewed on his lower lip briefly and released it. The touch on his skin was gentle and comforting, anchoring Idris in more ways than he could ever count. It wasn’t that Idris wanted to disturb Viggo in his work, but sometimes in moments like this one, everything else was secondary. ”But I’m not tempting the Saint.” The tell-tale heat of a blush was already creeping up his face. “I’m worshipping him.” The lips that were on Viggo’s throat inched their way around. ”Viggo?” Kisses were laid where fingers previously brushed against the nape. ”Put down your teacup.”

"No, I'm sure they're not," he sighed, before taking in a deep breath to make up for the void in his lungs. In the breathing, the tail end simmered in a kind of laugh, very faint, but adding a lightness towards his lover's reply to the cross. "I think I said that you must have resurrected me, if it makes the decision any easier." There was a tightness in the chest from Idris's words, not from ache, but from pleasure. Viggo's stare to the computer finally faltered, letting his eyes graze against his husband's jawline, smiling not only from his kisses but the blush he could see forming against his cheeks. It was always his favorite to see from him, loving the fluster and sincerity it brought with it. The heat from his face ran around his neck, though, causing him to lose sight of the flushed complexion, but in exchange for the loss, he was rewarded with his lips. Gentle kisses covered his skin, hoping that they would feel the heartbeat grow faster beneath their touch. At his name, the neck craned forward slightly, allowing Idris's mouth any part of the exposed flesh he desired. Sensing it would be his last for some time, Viggo allowed the cold tea to meet his warming lips, offering a vague hum as his answer before the drink was swallowed. He could feel the liquid shift the muscles of his throat, the bones to form around the movement, wondering if his partner could feel the same. "Are you planning on offering me a respite?" he asked with a lingering grin while he followed the request, silently placing the cup next to the laptop. The slight sound of the screen folding down against the keyboard was heard before his arm reached back. His fingers molded around the back of Idris's neck, letting the tips slide up beneath his ear with a gradual pace. "You're doing both," he murmured, as his touch traced the outline of the ear, "worshiping and tempting."

#idris

Tea Leaves || Vidris

There was slight ease in tension from Viggo’s posture from the contact, and there was an inexplicable sense of relief and joy to know that he could at least be of some assistance. They were both dedicated individuals, and that carried over to their professional lives as well. Most of time it had worked in their favor, but then there were times like this one, where the temptation to send Steele and Light an email to tell them to ease off was almost too great to resist. ”You’re way too nice, Viggo.” Idris commented, though not unkindly. ”Next time, just say no. Knowing how strange those two are, they may actually get a kick out of it.” The hint of a smile that he saw warmed Idris’s heart. While his husband had come a long way from the reserved, soft-spoken, and melancholy man that Idris had first met at Bellona Mansion, he still valued every smile that Viggo had for him. Idris remembered having once read the story of a general who had committed treason by opening up the gates of the Great Wall of China to let in the invading Huns; all just to see a smile on the face of the woman he loved. It was a both a true story as well a tale of caution, and as reckless and selfish as the act might be in others’ eyes, Idris knew that would be something he was more than willing to do. ”Four’s a lot, Viggo.” Idris allowed his fingers to stroke against the skin for a moment longer, before leaning forward a bit to wrap one arm around Viggo’s shoulder and rest his chin on the other side. ”Good.” Idris pressed a kiss to the side of Viggo’s throat. ”Ditto.”

After all these years, it still brought a smile to Viggo's face whenever Idris gave his compliments. Right now, there was a softness to the cheeks that was sprinkled in the eyes, warming his expression. "I have to be if I want to be called a saint," he teased. "I think your name has found popularity at work, by the way. Sebastian wondered why I didn't have holes in my hands from being nailed against a cross. Truthfully," he paused, knitting his eyebrows with a light pursing of the lips, "I'm not entirely sure how I was supposed to take that." The mouth gave a wiry type of grin that smoothed as he took in a breath, leaning his back into the chair, focus resurfacing on the task at hand, at least for a moment longer. His hand squeezed around Idris's, the thumb slowly running back and forth against the wrist while his neck greeted another brush. Against his shoulders, weight rested on them, but he was not weighed down. If anything, he felt lighter from the warmth that heated the flesh, causing it to melt into the loose hold. "It should be done, though," he continued, resting his temple against his husband's before he could feel him shift down to his neck. "The faster I get done, the more we can be alone." The press of his lips against his throat made the eyes gradually close, while his own lips drew together, swallowing back just the flavor of tea that lingered heavily in his mouth. "You should know it's not nice to tempt saints, Idris."

Saturday Afternoon || Vidris

viggocain:

idriswolfe:

Spring time in Chicago was one of Idris’s favorite seasons. In spite of having spent a good part of his life accustoming to climates and braving the harsher elements of the wilderness and extreme environments, Idris had found the milder seasons to be more of his liking. While Chicago was not what one would call a place with good weather year round, Idris found the Spring and Fall season to be relatively pleasant. And spending the day off with his spouse was most certainly one of his favorite past times. It was not difficult to find Viggo in the house they resided in. It was by no means a large house, but it was comfortable and more than enough for the two of them. Idris followed the distinct scent of Viggo’s tea and walked up the steps, arriving at the door way of his husband’s study. Knocking on the door gently, Idris walked inside and found the other man seated at his desk, with the teapot and tea cup resting next to his laptop. ”Running analytics again?” Idris peered over Viggo’s shoulder. ”Those bosses of ours should really be paying you for over-time.”

Oak Park did afford one the luxury of a private-sense. For business and personal affairs, this was taken advantage of in the Cain-Wolfe household. SLLLP demanded discretion, in particular, and to have a setting where the two could work in peace as much as be with each other without paperwork hanging over their heads was appreciated. In the study, the sunshine poured in from the bay windows, reaching across the rectangular table and highlighting the golden hues of the stain and varnish. Resting on top of the surface, the porcelain cup grew empty from the final sip while Viggo stared intently on the computer screen, only to reach out for it again as if it was full. His bare feet were positioned on the seat, knees bent to his chest while his chin hovered lightly over them if only to drink. It was only until his tongue brushed the smooth texture that he realized there was nothing left, though. There was a quiet sigh, the trance-like stare broken as he set it back while his hand gripped the silver teapot. It had been hours since he had left the room, but he retained his focus up until the knock against the door was heard, making his amber eyes swim over to meet Idris with a smile. “Experimental weapon statistics,” he answered with a trail of irony in his tone. The voice washed over the sound of the tea splashing in the cup, swirling before its owner pulled back, setting the container back. “If it makes me cringe, they know they’ve succeeded.” The lightness in his eyes sparked as they reflected his partner’s image before they reluctantly reverted back to the screen, one hand over Idris’s while the other brought the porcelain rim to his lips. “Mm,” he responded before swallowing, “or more days alone. I think I’d prefer that more, really.”

Viggo was a sight to behold when he was preoccupied with something. Even without having to stand in front of the other man, Idris could already picture the way Viggo’s brows would knit together slightly while in concentration, the mesmerizing way in which those soulful amber eyes would almost be unblinking as they stared at the computer screen, the interesting way in which he sat - something that Idris had tried to get him to change time and again for the sake of his posture, and of course, all the while accompanied by the tea - or as Idris sometimes called it, Viggo’s greatest love - that was always by his side. ”Lovely. What kind of twisted ideas have they come up with now?” Idris let out a sigh. ”On second thought, maybe I don’t want know what’s going to bring about the Armageddon.” While Idris held multiple roles and functions at SLLLP, analytics was something that he didn’t have to do often. In some ways, Idris had considered himself lucky in that respect, seeing that statistical analysis had never been held much interest for him; but seeing his husband burdened with the work made him ache. One hand reached over to feel the teapot - it was cold. ”You’ve been at this for hours.” Idris’s lips curled up in a soft smile as he looked down their joined hands, the metal bands juxtaposed next to each other. ”More days alone?” The other hand brushed against the nape of Viggo’s neck, fingers tracing against the skin gently. ”Alone as in you alone, or alone as in we alone?”

Hours in front of the computer with a relentless concentration had caused the eyes to strain, the mind to ache, but with one touch of Idris's hand and the press of their rings, the body eased. There was relaxation, breaking the strong attention he held for the screen in favor of him. Tiredness from the work melted from his gaze, lips turning to a simple smile at the question and teasing remark. "As much as I've looked at this," he sighed, "the feeling is mutual." The corners of his mouth tugged with a kind of exasperated expression, tinged only with a lightened humor for the sake of Idris. Reluctantly, his face turned back to the computer, calculations and diagrams burning brightly in the dim glow, awaiting his expertise. Another sip, quiet, while the peripheral vision caught sight of his equal's hand against the silver kettle. It was strange how suddenly he became aware of the temperature of the tea now as it slipped down his throat. "That's my third brew, actually," Viggo almost spoke as if he was remembering how many pots of tea equaled in relation to time, "so closer to... four." The last word was a murmur, caused by two things--the first being that he didn't want to turn away from the project before finishing and the second being that, at the touch of Idris's fingers, the first reason seemed very tempting to yield to. "The latter," he answered, silently letting his neck bend back against the tips before another sip was swallowed out of routine than need. "Always."