Viggo would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about how their first meeting would go.
Heading back to the kitchen to check on the lasagna in the oven – still frozen – Viggo then made his way up the stairs to the second floor. He stopped outside the door to the bedroom, tilting his head and listening for what was going on inside, feeling strangely unwilling to intrude. When he heard the shower running, he decided to slip inside without disturbing Sebastian, heading for the walk-in closet.
Moving on his tip-toes, he grabbed a simple t-shirt, some boxer briefs and socks, and a pair of jeans before he hurried out of the room to get changed in the guest bedroom across the hall.
Once he was in there, Viggo decided he might as well wash up a little in the en-suite bathroom, though he was loath to shower properly and remove the heady scent of Sebastian’s mouth from his cock. He stripped down and cleaned off his pits with a washcloth in the sink, fixing his hair before pulling on the fresh clothes.
The jeans were snug but not too tight, the denim worn soft from repeated use, and the t-shirt hugged his arms and shoulders just right. Checking himself out in the mirror, Viggo was satisfied that he looked both relaxed and smoking hot. The only things missing were his leather jacket and some boots and he would be ready for date night.
Adjusting his bulge, fixing his balls so that they nestled into the pouch of his briefs, he gave himself one last look in the mirror before heading back downstairs to wait for Sebastian and the dinner to be ready.
* * *
Forty minutes and two drinks after taking a seat on the couch, Viggo was still waiting for both the lasagna and Sebastian to be ready. Putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing his ankles, swirling the remainder of his drink and letting out a sigh, he wondered what was taking so long.
The lasagna was expected – he knew that it needed an hour in the oven to be ready – but he was getting a bad feeling about Sebastian.
Taking a shower and changing clothes did not take forty-plus minutes.
Viggo couldn’t decide if he should go and check on the boy and make sure he wasn’t having a silent breakdown in the bathroom, or if the best thing was to give him space, but either way the waiting was driving him crazy.
Springing to his feet, unable to sit and do nothing for another second, Viggo walked over to the bar to get himself another drink. He was halfway to pouring himself a whiskey when he changed his mind. He’d already had three drinks in the past two hours, and he didn’t want to be even a little bit tipsy with Sebastian.
Viggo had a bad habit of making impulsive decisions when he was drunk, and Sebastian didn’t deserve to deal with that on top of everything else Viggo had thrown at him today.
“Fuck,” Viggo muttered, putting down his glass and heading towards the stairs with a determined stride. He’d just pop his head in the door and check that Sebastian was okay, and if he needed some time by himself, he’d let him be.
Taking the steps two at a time, Viggo made his way to the bedroom and knocked firmly on the door. After waiting five seconds without getting an answer, his gut gnawing with worry, he knocked again and walked into the room.
“Hello, are you-” Viggo cut himself off, his tense shoulders relaxing at the sight that greeted him.
Sebastian was curled up on the bed, lying over the covers, absolutely swimming in a pair of Viggo’s sweat pants and one of his t-shirts. He was hugging Bjorn’s pillow, holding it like a teddy bear, sound asleep.
Viggo held still, waiting to see if his entrance would make Sebastian wake up. Ten seconds passed, and Sebastian showed no sign of being any less asleep.
He was drooling, a sizable wet spot on the pillow beneath his mouth, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Taking a step closer, Viggo crouched down next to the bed and resisted the impulse to reach out and stroke his wet hair.
The poor thing must have been exhausted, and no wonder given the day he’d had.
Viggo’s mouth pulled down when an unwelcome tendril of guilt tugged on his stomach. Sebastian had been very clear on the fact that he didn’t want Viggo to claim him, and Viggo had given that wish about the same regard his mother gave the chickens in her chicken coop when they protested her taking their eggs.
Viggo didn’t regret his choice, but he couldn’t help feeling like he might be a bad person.
Unable to resist any longer, he reached out and brushed the back of his fingers over Sebastian’s cheek. The boy stirred, making Viggo freeze, but then he nuzzled into the touch and Viggo’s heart melted.
It should be impossible for one little human to be this adorable.
Gently stroking Sebastian’s cheek, Viggo sat and looked at him for well over twenty minutes, not rising until his thighs started to protest the awkward crouch.
It was just as well. He needed to either wake Sebastian up or leave him in peace.
Rising to his feet, Viggo walked over to the closet and pulled out a blanket, gently draping it over Sebastian’s sleeping form. He tucked him in, stroking his hand down the length of Sebastian’s back over the blanket, all the while his gut tingled with possessive heat.
It felt good to see Sebastian sleeping in the bed he and Bjorn shared.
That was where Sebastian belonged, and though he might be ambivalent – or outright hostile – to the idea, Viggo was sure he would come around in no time. The way Sebastian had gone under when Viggo dominated him, sliding into subspace like he’d jumped off a cliff, gave Viggo confidence that Sebastian would be happy with his place in his pack.
It was like he’d been made to submit.
