So Wrong

So wrong...
By Cruel Illusion

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Pairing: Sean Bean/?

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Sean loves it, even though it should be wrong to feel this way...

Warning: Pwp, bdsm, just don't even read it if you're squicked by things like beatings, biting, or blood.

Feedback: Yes, yes, yes. Makes me giddy.

Archive: Take it and stick it anywhere it gets you off, just let me know so I can watch.

Disclaimer: Mhm.. oh, yeah, if you believe this really happened, I must actually be Sean Bean! Heh, sorry to disappoint. This only passes for reality in my poor perverted imagination. I have only the greatest respect for Mr. Bean and I doubt that he'd submit to this treatment.

Author's Notes: Not beta'd, and I am the queen of verb transgressions, fragmented thoughts, and comma abuse. Oh, and I only pretend to understand the concept of a paragraph. Forgive and forget, or point it out to me and I'll correct it. Originally posted to Fel Fellow_Shippers community on LiveJournal, and begins with a strange and silent nod to the Gardening!Bean challenge from the Sons_Of_Gondor community.

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Sean dug his fingers into the moist sun-heated earth. Morning light had already peaked towards afternoon, and he felt the warm prickle of sunburn creeping across the back of his neck and shoulders. He knew he should go inside, cool off, put on some sunscreen. His ears felt hot and a large trickle of sweat tickled its way down his spine to vanish beneath the waist of faded jeans. His skin jumped beneath the paf thf that slippery droplet. Distracting, yes. Yet, no where near as distracting as what awaited him inside of his house. No, definately not by far. He pressed his long, tapered fingers into the damp soil. He could feel them slip past that unnamed boundary where the sun's warmth gave way to cool darkness, and it reminded him of penetrating tody ody of a lover. To his nose, the earth smelled rich, dark, wet, welcoming, familiar. To his mind, it wasn't dirt he was smelling at all. It was sex and shadows and slippery embraces from the night before. Sean shuddered.

He had always found gardening to be so soothing, so simply comforting -- to cultivate, to coax, to completely care for something and watch it flourish only for your own pleasure. His fingertips sought out hidden stones and old roots and dormant weeds hidden in the dirt, clearing the way for the new flowerbed. Hands moved by memory, instinct, leaving his mind to wonder and worry over just what he had been trying to cultivate last night. Just what trouble had he coaxed into his life? What had he been thinking bringing him home? Or had he even been thinking? He wished he could chalk it all up to too much scotch, too much anything, but his mind failed to grasp an even semi-plausible excuse. In fact, currently, all his mind could grasp was the comparison between the coarse texture of soil in the brightness of daylight to the perfect silky smoothness of flesh in the dark. Groaning, his body twitched in response to the tactile memory.

Another rivulet of sweat snaked its way down his torso. It was really hot out here, or rather he was getting himself hot. He was burning up, the moisture from the ground felt unusually cool against his knees. His mind ceased its ponderings; still sensitive and disturbed in the wake of the previous night's activities, and suddenly focused on the idea of the heat from his body seeping into the ground, pouring from his hands and legs, being absorbed. Pouring forth like he had let himself be poured and absorbed last night. Giving his heat over to something, someone, dark and cool.

Sean shook himself from his reverie, reaching a hand up to push sweat dampened locks off of his forehead, smearing a dark contrast of dirt over golden skin. He needed a shower -- another shower. He'd had one that morning already, but getting clean hadn't scrubbed away the disconcerting memories of last night. Getting dirty had suddenly ceased to work as well. Bloody chriGet Get a grip, Sean! Another shower, needed another shower, then he'd get this over with. Confront him with the obvious mistake they'd made last night and try to set things right. Try to set things normal once more, because as it was Sean seemd to be lacking his center of gravity right now, and he doubted he'd ever regain it again.

He knelt back, resting on his heels to admire the progress he had made on the bed. Not as much as he would have hoped to have accomplished. Sean stared at the wrapped form of rose bushes soaking in buckets, decorative grasses and flowers spread out near them, and bags of mulch and landscaping rocks still awaiting his attention. Well, hell, he couldn't help that he was distracted. He'd get much more accomplished tomorrow when his distraction was no longer sleeping off last night's drunk in his bed. Sean shivered despite the sheen of sweat covering him as he thought of that lean body in his bed, on his w{m%ts, waiting for him. No.. hell, getting off track. No beds, no bodies, no. He scrubbed his filthy hands over the stained jeans gracing his thighs with a sigh and started to get up.

"You're beautiful on your knees.." The voice purred, smoother, sweeter, darker than clover honey, making Sean's insides feel like equally melted sugar. He felt him standing close, so close behind him, his shadow falling coolly over Sean's back. He felt, didn't even have to see, just felt him crouch down. "It suits you." Sean didn't look behind him, couldn't. Knew that all the distancing he had done during the morning, all the logical arguments he had created, would shatter in the dark fathomless gaze that he knew would meet his. A gaze still heavy with sleep, but even heavier with lust, and all the more potent for it.

A long slender finger stroked up Sean's back, making him shudder. A tongue followed behind the finger's path, scalding even over the heat of his sunburn. Quick flicks of that wicked, probing muscle lapping up the salty perfection of the sweat slithering down the bumps of his spine. In and out; tongue pulling the taste of Sean in to be rolled around inside a connoisseur's mouth with a contented sound -- salt and sweat and oil and Sean and ambrosia and beneath that Sean's muscles jumping under the path of that serpentine tongue. Broad back rippling beneath the touch, Sean made to stand, but an insistent hand on his shoulder, slender fingers sharp, held him in place.

The scent of lager overpowered the smell of grass and earth, and Sean hissed as a cold bottle was stroked up his back then tipped to pour the icy liquid down over his skin. Slow, taunting trickles, then a gush of fluid cold. Shivering as his skin felt suddenly cold then suddenly burning, the fluid soaked down into his jeans, molding them wetly where they had already fit snug over the muscles of his arse.

"You're so sexy, kneeling here hot and dirty. My dirty Sean. I'm going to lick you clean."

Oh god, oh god, oh god.. oh maybe one last time.. Sean's hands fell to the ground unbidden and he stretched his back, arched in aching acceptance. This was wrong, so wrong on so many levels, and yet he could do nothing else but let his strings be pulled like a marionette's. His fingers clutched against the moist earth, turning it beneath his hands as broad swipes of that tongue laved away the flavors from his back, leaving a different trail of wetness instead. He gasped, spine sinking low as teeth found his side, scrambled for purchase against his ribs, and found new liquid -- hot and crimson -- beneath his skin. Just a small nibble, but he knew there'd be more. More bites, more bruises, more marks to declare for all to see that he was owned. He knew because he'd been told so last night. Told by that sinuous voice, sibulant a one one too many drinks but still so sure and seductive.

And that was wrong right? Wrong to enjoy this so much. Wrong for his desire to be wrought with dread. Right?

"Inside. We need to talk." The mouth slid away from his skin with a long sucking sound, voice sharp with command. Sean went to stand again, and once again found cruel fingers holding him down. He didn't struggle, immediately and obediantly back in his previous position. He was silently grateful that no one could see into his back yard; see him debasing himself on his hands and knees, fingers covered in dirt, head hung in shame, back arched low in supplication, shivering in delight and disgust. God, he'd die right now if someone saw him like this -- prim, polite, politically-correct Sean Bean gone the way of perversion. Begging for it, arse in the air, crawling across the ground towards the house. This is so wrong.. So wrong, but he couldn't deny the heady pulses of pleasure rippling through his cock as he made his way across the yard.

The bricks of the walkway were rough against his palms and knees, but he crawled like a dying man towards salvation, long limbs graceful even beneath the awkward humiliation. Grass, gravel, and bricks were soon followed by the cool tiles of the kitchen and the polished wood from the living room down the hallway. His knees were aching by the time he reached his bedroom, and he sighed with relief, dropping to his stomach on the rug at the foot of the bed. Sean's green eyes rolled upwards, catching the back of the other man's trim form as he passed by. A pair of Sean's pajama bottoms, too large, hung precariously against slender hips.

That lithe body was too perfect, too innocent, too unbelievable in this role -- this dirty secret between them. Sean knew that this was for him, and him alone. Others got playful flirtation, coy innuendo, laughing glances, but the intensity behind those eyes staring at him now was all for Sean and Sean only. That was wrong, right? Wrong that they inspired these desires in each other, fed from each other's perversions, somehow had known from the moment they first met just where this would end up. That was wrong. Had to be wrong. Wrong to hurt and want to be hurt and never want to come up for air. What kind of twisted adoration was that? And yet, how couldn't it be right? To fit together so seamlessly, Top to bottom, sealed together with secrets and sex?

Sean watched, waited, wanted.. god wanted so fucking much that he could feel the tension trembling down his body, trembling through his cock where it was trapped inside his jeans pressed against the floor. Finally after interminable minutes, he heard what he wanted. The drawer of the bedside table opening, a cigarette being lit and, "Pants off, on the bed," purred through an exhalation of smoke. Sean stood, hair hanging in his eyes as he made quick work of his jeans and crawled to kneel demurely at the foot of the bed, hands clenched on his thighs as he waited. He kept his eyes closed, felt the bed move as tauntingly the other man made his way with leisurely slowness towards him. A fluttery hand stroked over Sean's chest, chasing down damp muscles to his clenched abdomen. Then further, fingers curling tightly around his straining arousal, squeezing until Sean felt the breath squeezed from his chest in a small whimper.

"Like that?" Fingers tightened cruelly for another moment, and Sean almost cried out, wondered just what tormented shade of red his cock was now. The bed dipped again and he was released, Sean knew with a startling clarity that he had been spared only so his back could be inspected. Previous handiwork was being admired. A finger reached out to touch over the swelling bite mark. Sean drew in a breath, waiting for the sting, the bliss that would follow. However, he was surprised when mouth and lips and tongue snaked their way lazily over his back instead. Washing over the wound, then up to his broad shoulders, small kisses bestowed there as well. He was caught off guard, suddenly tense. "Shh.. relax Sean, I told you I was going to lick you clean." That hungry mouth sworled over his ear, tongue pulling it into his mouth, suckling it gently. He couldn't help sighing, eyes fluttering in delight as a steady hand gripped the back of his neck, urging him down.

Sean knew what was wanted and eagerly gave it to him. Dropping forward on his knees, feet hanging off the end of the bed, arms stretched above his head, wrists crossed, face and chest pressed tight to the matress, arse thrust into the air. Wanting and wanton. He didn't look. Felt more than heard silent movements through the room to his side, a drawer slithering open, then movement back to behind him again. The merest whisper of sound and an exhalation of smoke before, "We're going to talk now. You were gone when I woke up." A blatant fact spoken without inflection. Another sound this one a sharp hiss before a thick leather belt smacked Sean sharply across his arse, covering both cheeks in a perfectly straight red welt two inches wide. The next blows fell quickly, continuous, a steady rain across back and arse and thighs, each smack rocking Sean forward until he was panting through the haze. Breath hissed in between clenched teeth as he took everything that was given to him.

"There's no going back, Sean. I know that's what you were thinking about outside, but you're not going to extricate yourself. Not now." That seductive voice held just the barest tinge of threat. Then the pattern changed from the previous methodical rhythm, belt wielded overhead like a whip. It snaked out lengthwise, the whistle of it cutting thh thh the air sounding something like the beating wings of some sinister butterfly. Each stroke catching across muscled back and shoulders, one flicking up to strike the nape of his neck; each strike drawing new sounds, pants exchanged for hisses exchanged for low moans rolling steadily from his throat buried into the bed as Sean began sweating anew, only this time from a far different heat.

And god.. how can anything so wrong be so perfect. Make him feel so perfect, so adored, so utterly cherished. The quick lashes paused again, he could hear the belt being repositioned, hear the step being taken backwards. "I won't let you -- won't let you hide, and won't let you deny me what is mine now." There was definite anger there in that voice, anger and possession. Sean braced himself with a grim grin, mine, bottom lip clenched between his teeth. When the next stroke fell, viper-quick and just as angry, white spots flashed before his eyes as the buckle cut into hisn. Cn. Copper heat spilled into his mouth when he released his lip to scream. Fuck, this was so wrong. Couldn't be right. Three, five, nine more hits of equal voracity ate across already crimson skin. Screams fell to whimpers then soundless mewls from a raw throat. Wrong.. wrong.. fuuuck.. Sean could feel the slow slick seep of blood from where a few of the final blows had cut through his skin, and it was like hot water being turned on already tortured skin. He was shaking, trs rrs running the length of his body, every movement, every breath, every sound grating exquisitely against his enflamed flesh.

Gutteral, aching, almost inhuman, Sean would have denied the sound that fell from his lips when that tongue stroked sensuous agony over his broken flesh. Would have denied it that is, had he even been aware he had made it. This was how Sean wanted to be, deserved to be, driven mindless, beautiful, full of lust and pain. He felt gentle hands spread his cheeks slowly, that tongue lashing out against puckered pink skin, lapping away the taste of soapy musk and sweaty lager. Stabbing against the tight orifice until Sean was keening. Oh, god, yes, god, right, no no can't be wrong, that's right. "Nnnnngg." The rake of nails over his abused skin made him arch up, thrusting back against the wet heat even as fire licked over him, through him, sparking beneath the ragged scratches. Groaning as he was sed oed over with spit, opened on that relentless tongue and fingers thrusting sharply into him. Two then three long digits effortlessly scraped inside finding that knot of nerves with an uncanny skill. Sean started thrashing, the motions repeated; jabs against his prostate sent sharp spirals of pleasure through him until he was babbling screaming begging crying dying for release. Yours yours yoursyoursyours..

"You taste like secrets.." Sean bucked his body backwards, against the lithe man who curled above him tonguing his ear. "..and sunshine." That mouth trailed down his neck, biting at the straining tendon there, tongue worshipful against the indentions left behind. Lips flickered tenderly over the welt across the back of his neck, breath a hot breeze over sensitized skin. He felt fingers play over his back, admiring the maze of marks left behind, and any thoughts that Sean had earlier of this being wrong were gone driven away with the first sharp thrust inside of him; cock filling him, making his insides burn as much as his beaten skin. Touch. So much touch. Pulsing nerves transmitted even the briefest glancing brush against one welt down the entire red mark. Fucking, yes, perfect, so perfect, and shamefully right.

Thrusting hard, the snap of hips brutal, Sean thought that the slighter man might have been trying to slide his entire body up inside of him. And, fuck, that thought was heaven, being filled, possessed. The loud smack of skin on skin echoed through the room, a sharp insistent primitive rhythm, counterpointed by the rising harmony of gasps grunts and groans exchanged between them. Fuck wrong and right, Sean's thoughts became only about want and need. "Give it to me, Sean."

Sean would give him his very soul, so long as he asked for it in that same achingly desperate tone that drew shivers down Sean's spine and made every mark on his body thrum deliciously. Would give it to him on a silver plate, so long as he continued to grind his cock against the gland that sent white hot sensation ripping through Sean with each torturous thrust. Long fingers circled Sean's throbbing shaft, and he didn't have to ask a second time because two strong strokes later Seas bus bucking and screaming as he orgasmed, powerful spurts pouring himself out in long pearlescent white strands. While his muscles clenched and pulsed around the intruding cock, those thrusts became frantic, frenzied. Fingers dug bruisingly into his hips, impaling him deeply, coming, coming inside of him with a sound that was a sigh and a growl.

He collapsed onto the bed, aftershocks pillaging his body with shivers until he felt like he was shimmering. Shimmering, shining, basking in what they had just shared. It was wrong, wrong to want this. To want him. But he couldn't help it. Didn't want to help it, not when he felt hands stroking his sides, soothing him; Sean felt lips pressed against his shoulder blades, gentling his body with tender ministrations now. "Mine.." The murmur was buried amidst the blood and sweat and heat of his back.

"Yours.." Seans's voice was a rough croak as he shifted slightly, a deep echo of pleasure washing through his body as the other man pulled out and curved his whip-lean body against Sean's side. Gentle hands turned his face with a sigh to lap salty tears from flushed cheeks then feeding those tears back into Sean through a lingering kiss. "Always yours." Sean yawned, sighed, squirmed until he was comfortable. An arm wapped over his shoulders, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck gingerly. Then Sean drifted off, lost to languid sensations filling him in the aftermath of sex, lost to the warmth spreading still from the marks bright against his skin, and lost to the perfection of Orlando Bloom wrapped possessively around him.

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