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On the day before New Year's Eve Sean and Ian are icing gingerbread cookies in Sean and Viggo's kitchen. Ian has taken refuge here from a lonely house temporarily bereft of his partner. Marton has been dragged off in the name of science to Montana to study winter populations of elk. Though Ian adores his Marton, he can't help feeling that there's got to be something just a bit wrong in the brain with someone who would leave the soft grey winter of Saint Arquette and a warm fireside to go tramp about in minus-zero temperatures and sleep in a freezing research station with nine scientists, not one of them nearly as civilized nor inclined to cuddling as Ian.
Just now Ian is adding coat-buttons of currants and white icing to a little gingerbread figure and chuckling at Viggo as he mucks about with the dogs. Viggo has been banished from icing privileges due to a stubborn insistence on making all of his gingerbread people, male and female, anatomically correct. Sean's admonishment that there will be Normal People at Livvie's New Year's Eve party was studiously ignored--a mounting sugar high from devouring rather too many of his progeny not helping matters in the least--and at last Sean took matters into a firm hand.
A thorough wrapping of grease-proof, or as the Americans call it parchment paper rustles and crackles as Viggo shuffles in his bare feet back and forth between the kitchen proper and the eating nook. He does an awkward, rustling, crinkling turnabout in the space where the table normally stands. The noise is irresistible to playful pups, and Ophelia, Mycroft and Jim canter about, yipping and taking the odd bite out of the paper, tearing off bits with a most satisfying shredding sound.
Jim has made up a game for himself, in which he rips off a chunk of paper, spends a few moments grinding it into a gooey mess between his molars, and then when he's satisfied he maneuvers the sticky wad to the front of his teeth, flings it up, over his shoulder and leaps about to bark at the wad of goo with furious joy when it lands on the wood flooring with a sharp splat. The clever collie repeats steps two through four until the spit wad is worn out, and then he begins with a new bit ripped from Viggo's parchment mummy suit.
Ophelia can not hear the ripping nor the splatting noises, but she hears Jim and Mycroft's happy tumult well enough, and easily picks up on the thrill of general mayhem. Shuffle crackle shuffle shuffle goes Viggo, grinning and giggling, and Mycroft darts in, remarkably delicate as his great muzzle tears off a strip of parchment from just above Viggo's thigh. The young mastiff is quickly learning Jim's wonderful new game.
Sean can not quite manage thorough disapproval, though he grumbles, "The whole fuckin' floor will be soon covered in dog spit."
Ian sympathizes, "Out of the frying pan, into the fire."
"Welcome to my world," Sean mutters. He can't stop a sudden grin as Ophelia becomes so excited by the boys' nonsense that she begins chasing her tail, bumps into the arch into the foyer, and staggers back into the breakfast nook in a confused flurry of feet, ears and thrashing tail. Viggo nearly trips over her, and in a couple of uneven heartbeats Sean second-guesses that wrapping of string to hold the parchment paper up. If Viggo falls over, it could be ugly. Viggo pulls one arm loose to steady himself, and Sean relaxes.
"So when does Viggo get his own collar?" Ian wonders, drawing a waistcoat of green icing on a gingerbread man.
"His--what?"
"Oh come now, my dear son. Look at him! Don't tell me you haven't started playing puppy games with him?"
Sean finishes a little smiling face, fashioning the eyes out of blue icing. "Beginning of the month," he confesses, "we visited the pet shop."
Ian beams, "No hiding behind the comfortable anonymity of online shopping, but marched right into Hazelton's Pet Haven and picked out a collar?"
"I don't know as we marched," Sean admits. He grins sheepishly. "We brought Phee as camouflage."
Ian looks up at Sean with a delighted smirk. "Studded or plain?"
"It's got rhinestones on it."
As Ian bursts out laughing Sean complains, "We didn't fool the checkout girl in the least! She stood there gigglin' the whole time. She could have been anybody, Ian--one of Vig's students maybe, for heaven's sake. God, it were embarrassing! I were embarrassed, anyroad. Viggo went and asked her whether she favored the blue or the red. Jesus..."
When Ian has finished spluttering with glee, he prods, "So which was it?"
"Blue, 'cause it looks nice with the way his eyes shift from grey to blue and back."
"She does have a point."
"Gawd," Sean mutters unconvincingly.
"So how are the games going?"
To Ian's immense delight Sean flushes bright pink. "You mean in general, or the puppy games?"
"Any or all. Give me the juicy details."
"Ian!"
"I'm lonesome and bored, and my snugglebear is far, far away with cold feet and an unloved bum. Throw me something here."
Sean giggles, "Snugglebear?"
"None of your business," Ian defends.
Sean declines to point out his friend's slip into hypocrisy.
"Tell me something I can take home to my large, empty bed with me tonight."
"What, phone sex with Marton not enough?"
Ian makes a face. "Tsk. Impudent boy. It's almost impossible, from where he's stuck--as usual. Even if he is lucky enough to find a reliable phone connection, there are always half a dozen people within earshot. Hardly conducive to creative suggestions about what either of us should be wearing." He sighs. "Or touching."
"Are you flirting," asks a voice, "with my boyfriend?"
"De-papered already?" Sean observes Viggo's happy, if dissheveled state. Behind him, the dogs are chasing tatters of parchment over the floor. Mycroft skids in a puddle of drooly pulp, shakes his paw with a surprised sort of jerk, and looks quickly about him for the culprit.
"I am," Ian corrects, "attempting to find out some of your lurid, naughty secrets, so that I can use them to comfort me when I go home tonight."
"Oh," Viggo says agreeably. "Well, there was that time Sean grabbed me after my shower and wrapped me up in bath towels, except for my backside, and bent me over the side of the bathtub--"
"--and the rest we can leave to Ian's agile imagination," Sean interrupts. While Ian and Viggo cackle and chat conspiratorially behind him, he scoots the newly-dressed gingerbread people away from the edges of the work table, and pushes the other half of the batch still on cookie sheets toward the back of the kitchen counter to let them all rest while the icing hardens. "We need," he says, looking pointedly at Viggo, "to clean up the mess you made all over the floor."
"Me?" Viggo protests, "The dogs did that! And you and your big mummify Viggo idea!" Sean hands him a broom, and Viggo rolls his eyes dramatically as he sets to work, aided by Mycroft and Ophelia.
Viggo growls at Mycroft, "Quit biting the broom, you knucklehead," but is predictably ignored. Ophelia decides it might be fun to chase Mycroft's tail this time, which would be a bit more of a helpful distraction if the pair of them were not creating a tornado of paper shreds. Jim sits in the living room archway, grinning at the proceedings from a safe distance, his lolling pink tongue betraying the beginnings of the need for a nap.
Ian volunteers, "May I help?"
"You're a guest, you don't wipe up dog drool," Sean informs him, sighing as Viggo pouts and takes back the sponge he'd been about to offer their guest.
Just the same, Ian does know how to load a dishwasher, so he manages that, while Sean does a quick wash-up of things that won't fit, and it's hardly any time at all before the place is looking civilized once more.
"Now what do we want to do?" Viggo wonders. Jim has settled on the living room rug, and started a chain reaction of contented yawns amongst his peers.
Sean wanders in, followed by Mycroft and Phee, and with the brass poker rattles at the ebbing fire, causing a swirl of bright sparks to drift up toward the chimney. Marilyn stretches herself on the big leather chair, accepts a welcome scritch of her chin from Sean, and kneads at the old tartan pillow, until it is just so. She settles back squinting, not minding when Ophelia snuffles at her amiably in passing, on her way to flop down before the fire Sean is rebuilding.
"I know you've got some dirty movies around here," Ian points out, peering speculatively about the living room at the voluminous book shelves.
Sean laughs, "You've a one-track mind! And here I expect most folk would believe you're too genteel to be interested in that sort of thing!"
"Good heavens," Ian exclaims, "where on earth would anybody get that idea?"
Viggo scratches at his belly, finds a bit of string dangling from one shirt button. He tucks it into his breast pocket. "You could have your wicked way with me while Sean watches," he suggests. "Or with Sean, while I watch. Or whatever sounds good."
Ian gapes for a moment. "Ehm..." He looks to Sean for a reaction.
"Yeah, we could do that," Sean agrees, shutting the fireplace screen. He stands next to Ian, who glances with a certain bemusement from him to Viggo.
Ian raises an eyebrow. "Have I been played?"
"A little," Viggo grins. "We've been wanting to do something nice for you--"
"--or to you," Sean amends with a smirk.
"--for some time now. And we wanted it to, y'know, be *really* personal."
Sean nudges up behind Ian to murmur in one ear, "So what d'you think? We did discuss this with Marton previously."
"And when was this?"
"Before Thanksgiving. Waiting on the timing, is all."
Ian laughs, "How wonderfully devious of you both!"
It's a race up the stairs, Viggo pulling and Sean pushing, and Ian trying to not get tangled in-between. They pass by the master bedroom, a quiet haven of creams and greens and dark wood, and then on to the play room. "We finished it," Viggo explains breathlessly, "just before we bashed out the butler's pantry."
"You two have been very busy," Ian observes, allowing himself to be led into the darkened space.
Sean flicks a switch near the door, lighting all four wall sconces at once.
Ian's eyes widen as he takes in the richly adorned space. He chuckles, "Where has the lovely Sheherazade got herself to then? Hiding in the closet?"
Sean laughs, "Not Arabian Nights--'Firefly.' One o' Vig's kids has got him addicted."
Viggo flings himself onto the red damask comforter, bouncing invitingly on the mattress. "I love the inside of Inara's shuttle," he enthuses, "all those rich colors and warm textiles, and Sean said we would do this room the way I wanted, so I did, with the Moroccan lights, and lookit the rug, it's Iranian!"
As Viggo rambles on excitedly about cut velvet bed curtains and how they painted the off-white walls in a rose gold with an antique finish over the top, Ian has barely the time to appreciate the vast rug that nearly covers the plank flooring; short wool, its nap worn down over years of use--deep brown, blue, cinnamon, camel, red--before he notices that Viggo is busily stripping himself as he's babbling, and though the exotic room is worth Ian's attention, it's awfully hard to concentrate on window treatments when there's a lovely man flinging his clothes about, and rapidly becoming a naked lovely man bouncing on the bed, while that other lovely man has begun insinuating long, clever fingers up the inside of Ian's t-shirt. Awfully distracting, all of that.
Ian manages to gather his wits and ask, "Ehm, so how d'you suppose we should..." He waves his hands ineffectually, having lost track for second. Sean is rubbing slowly at his belly as though he's a right to it. "...you know, fit ourselves together?"
"We have a plan," Sean assures, hiking up Ian's shirt. "Subject to your approval, of course."
Ian laughs, turns, and pulls Sean up sharply against him. "I'll just bet you do."
Ian will pay for tonight on the morrow, no doubt about that, but just at this moment, just as Sean is arching his adorable backside to give--no, demand from--Ian a better, deeper angle, he doesn't give a tinker's damn about how bloody exhausted he'll be come morning.
He has already enjoyed the pleasure of Viggo's mouth, Sean snugged up behind him and purring into his ear the details of a particular game that he and Viggo played last week, while Viggo, naughty young thing that he is, took his time and let Ian suffer until he was joyfully cursing the both of them, turning suddenly speechless with the delicious pressure of Viggo's hands hard on his hips, Viggo's tongue and lips dragging him into the sort of relief that feels a bit like being turned inside out, in the best possible way.
Now the ruby comforter has been pulled back and slumped onto the rug, revealing dusky purple sheets below, and Viggo is crouched on the mattress, a spreader bar between his knees to help him brace himself, spread as wide as he is beneath the weight of first Sean, and then Ian, who obliges Sean's demand for more and revels in the noises Sean and Viggo are each making beneath him. He slides the palms of his hands in the sweat-sheen of Sean's back, senses the muscles rolling beneath his hands, leans forward and stretches his fingertips toward the warm, straining arch of Viggo's right thigh.
"Viggo," Ian had observed earlier, as he recovered on the large mattress while Sean turned to his naked concubine and buckled on the spreader bar, "falls right down into his sub-space, doesn't he?"
Viggo rolled away from Sean, spreader and all, and waved his feet in the air.
"Dives in like a seal," Sean agreed, letting him play.
Viggo whooped happily, grabbing his toes as he rocked on the bed, still full of gingerbread energy and justly proud of himself for his role in having brought Ian to a rousing finish minutes earlier.
"Sometimes I hardly notice him go, he slides down deep so quiet-like, but if he's in a mood... Six... five..." Sean counted down softly, as he threaded his fingers through Viggo's hair and stroked his chest to slow him down, and finally kissed him on the forehead, then gently on the mouth. "Four... Let it go, now."
Viggo took a long breath, let it out in a soft, contented sound.
"Three... two... over you go, love..." And Viggo rolled upright with Sean's help and bent himself obediently forward, stretching low along the mattress toward the headboard and presenting his backside for Sean's pleasure. Or for Ian's pleasure, or for both of them; as long as Sean is here it's all good to Viggo, when he's diving down.
Then Sean reached for the drawer of the bedside table, pulled out a can of Eros, and waved it meaningfully at Ian. "Remember this?"
Ian is entranced now by the feel of Sean's willing body around him, by the sweat trickling down Sean's spine, the way it darkens his hair at the base of his skull, around the backs of his ears, while Ian nuzzles and nibbles at his neck, inhaling the fragrance of Sean's skin. Still, enthusiasm and lust aside, Ian paces himself, driving Sean steadily mad between himself and Viggo, who moans and begs unashamedly for more, and for more.
Sean is shifting his hips again, cursing softly beneath his mentor, "Jesus, Ian, come on..."
Ian chuckles behind Sean's ear, "Come on and do what, my boy, you must ask for it."
"Give it to me hard, come on, please..."
Ian grins like a djinn and licks at Sean's neck. "Your wish, young master..."
Ian's hands take a firm grip, all the warning Sean gets before Ian lets himself go, plunging himself repeatedly into Sean's luscious heat, Sean shoved hard into Viggo, who clutches at the spindles of the headboard and begs for Sean to do it again, which he does, because by now he couldn't stop himself if he wanted to. Ian reaches for Sean's nipples, toying, tempted to pinch and hurt, but reluctant to presume. Even within a sweaty haze of pleasure and desire Ian understands that he does not know Sean that well...
...until Sean grinds out frantically, "Yes, please, Ian, come on, just..."
"Say it, Sean."
"Come on, fuck, hurt me a little here, Christ gimme a push..." Sean writhes beneath Ian, torn between shoving back into his hips, leaning into his hands, and the earnest attempts of his own body to meld itself with Viggo's. "I can't... Ian, please!"
Ian pinches and tugs until Sean shouts with the pleasure of this small pain, all the while Ian aiming himself precisely inside of Sean, his body tuned to the tension in Sean building rapidly along with his own. He hears it in Sean's ragged moans, and then Sean is crying out and falling over the edge right there with Ian and pummeling helplessly into Viggo, one hand pumping hard at Viggo's cock, shoving him over, Viggo yelling and blessing.
Sean shivers beneath Ian, even as he's trying to hold himself up off of Viggo. Ian disentangles himself carefully, rubbing Sean's back, Sean's sweet, pale bum. Rather shaky himself, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, and that certain laziness is rapidly settling in, Ian nuzzles at him, his fingers moving in Sean's sweaty hair, and Sean turns toward him, blinking and grinning, "Jehsus, Ian."
"Indeed," Ian agrees, considerably weak in the elbows, and entirely happy.
Sprawled over the mattress beneath his lover, Viggo makes a small, inquisitive noise, and Sean shakes his head sharply to clear it. "Good lad," he praises, stroking Viggo's back, and kissing his shoulder. "Beautiful, my love," he says, and he kisses Viggo's cheek, and begins to unbuckle the spreader bar.
An hour or so later, Ian is still sweaty and sticky, and in spite of his left knee stuck into the damp spot left even after they'd attempted a sort of washup, he feels marvelous, floating in a sort of half-doze in the warmth between Viggo and Sean.
There is a crash and a clatter from downstairs.
Sean sits upright in the bed, immediately fully awake. More clattering from downstairs, and Sean is out of the bed, dashing toward the racket, swearing loudly and traditionally, a formidable apparition even arse-naked.
Ian is certain he detects the frantic scramble of three dogs fleeing for their lives.
Still snuggled warmly in the purple sheets next to him, Viggo snickers, "Up for making a new batch of gingerbread?"
Sean's tirade as he stomps back upstairs with the bad news is a garble of epic Greek and crude Sheffield.
Ian vows mildly, "We're still not letting you touch the pink icing."
Summary: Marton is away doing research, leaving Ian restless and lonesome. Sean, Viggo and Ian attempt to bake cookies for a New Year's party. (post Novice Chronicles, after A Brief History of Bread)
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AU, KinkChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 3207 Read: 1017
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009