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Viggo loves Slow Days. Slow Days are Saturdays or Sundays, or any day off after he's had a rough week, when he's been running so hard that he can't seem to calm himself back down, even himself out again, though for his own good and Sean's sanity he really needs to.
When Viggo can't manage that himself, Sean manages it for him. Sean gives Viggo that look he gets when he's made up his mind and a backhoe won't shift him, and he declares a day a Slow Day. From that moment of declaration until Sean decides otherwise, Viggo does not speak without Sean's permission. Except to use the loo, Viggo does not get out of bed. He spends his entire day in a shallow sort of sub-space, and it's marvelous.
Today, as Viggo naps contentedly in their bed upstairs, Sean is outside in the garden. He's trimming the hostas at the moment, while the dogs sprawl in the fall sunshine or chase leaves, or each other, or the scent trails of small, wild creatures as they wind invisibly across the lawn. Viggo lies curled on one side, bare-skinned but warm and comfortable, and the bedroom window is open just a little, allowing in the breeze that shuffles at the sheer white curtain. It's strange, how Viggo can feel the tension draining out of him just because Sean has declared that it ought to.
In a little while Sean returns to the house to fix lunch for the two of them. First, he ambles upstairs to see how Viggo is doing. Sean's favored procedure for seeing how Viggo is doing is to take him firmly by the ankles, maneuver him down toward the edge of the bed, and as Viggo yawns and smiles knowingly up at him Sean spreads Viggo's knees, nice and wide. Sean slicks him and teases at him. Sean's in no hurry, and merely smirks at Viggo when he grunts and wriggles, wordlessly urging Sean to get a move on. When Sean is good and ready Viggo's ankles are summarily racked up near Sean's shoulders, and Sean unbuttons, but doesn't bother to remove his ratty, dirty bluejeans when he takes Viggo, just like that, grinning at Viggo's sharp hiss at a swift entry. Sean refuses to be rushed now, pleasing himself, the demand of his body reminding Viggo that he's owned and of who owns him. Viggo's head-space drops another notch, and all his muscles seem to melt.
At last, and largely because his stomach is growling to be fed, Sean bears down hard and gives Viggo that bit of brutalizing he's been squirming after, bringing him at last to a gasping climax. Sean moans his own pleasure into the arch of Viggo's bare foot. After a moment to catch his breath, during which he nibbles on Viggo's little toe and makes him laugh, Sean tucks himself away again. He gives Viggo's belly a quick wash with a warm rag, helps him scoot back up to the middle of the mattress, and kisses him softly. Then Sean wanders back downstairs, humming smugly to himself, to make their lunch.
In the meantime Viggo lies sprawled on their bed, feeling thoroughly claimed and permissibly, safely wanton. Viggo is Sean's concubine. Fought for and won. All of Viggo's parts belong to Sean now, his to do with as he pleases. Viggo closes his eyes and spreads his legs, touches the dampness drying on his belly, runs his fingertips lightly over warm, sated skin. He reaches further down and touches the sensitized skin of his hole, and he moans a little into the quiet room. He bites his lower lip and savors the remembered feel of Sean moments ago; Sean's hands, Sean's hips, his welcome assertion of ownership, the noises Sean makes when he's just about reached his limit. Sean's face changes remarkably when he climaxes; when his eyes turn jade black and his lashes flutter shut, and all of his willfulness is abandoned, leaving his angular face soft and plain but far from ordinary, and the balance tilting even between him and Viggo. Viggo knows that Sean knows he's watching, that Sean lets Viggo see. If Sean could understand how beautiful he is... but Sean doesn't regard himself with the same eyes that Viggo does.
Viggo imagines photographing Sean's face in those seconds, just as he crests and crashes. He could enlarge it a hundred times and hang it alone in a room in the Saint Arquette Museum of Modern Art for strangers to wonder at and fancy they've fallen in love. But he won't do that, because Sean is only his, and with the few exceptions who have earned the right, neither Sean nor Viggo is of a mind to share. There are other parts of Sean, however, either more or less intimate, depending perhaps on one's perspective, and some day... well, that would take a bit of convincing. Viggo grins to himself, and lets himself slip into a brief doze.
After lunch, after Viggo has used the bathroom and settled back into his nest Sean is ready to go back outside and kisses him, but then changes his mind about just kissing him, and has him again, this time lying heavily atop Viggo and holding him tight behind his shoulders, the open fly of Sean's jeans rough against Viggo's skin, and it hurts a little, enough to be interesting. Sean mis-times by a beat and ends up with proof of Viggo's enthusiasm all over the front of his old grey t-shirt which, he admits with an unrepentant grin, only serves him right.
Left alone to nap again, Viggo's backside is sore, but the burn will fade by morning. Viggo touches himself there again. He's slick with lube and Sean's seed. Viggo rubs at the swollen skin. It stings. It's good. Viggo wipes the stickiness from his fingers onto his thigh and stretches pleasurably, wriggling his toes and brushing his fingertips against the dark rosewood of the curved Edwardian headboard. This headboard is broad and smooth, ornamented with simple wood inlays. There are no slats, nor spindles. There are no leather cuffs, nor other sorts of toys anywhere in their bedroom, though in Viggo's night stand there is a can of "Eros" that Ian sent them, and on Sean’s side of the bed rests a copy of "Bulfinch's Mythology," with a Georgette Heyer novel stashed in the drawer.
Viggo can hear the dogs playing down in the yard and the quick, sharp sounds of the engineless push mower Sean uses to trim the lawn. Viggo chuckles at Sean's caution to Jim to quit being daft. He assumes that the energetic collie is chasing the mower again. Missing a foreleg doesn't seem to keep Jim out of any trouble he wants to get into. Sean could of course simply lock all of the dogs in the house to keep them out of his way, but where's the fun in that?
Sean was still adapting to that constant undercurrent of mayhem that had moved in with Viggo and his menagerie, when The Incident occurred. Sean's precipitous discovery of the errant Blinky nestled comfortably amongst his freshly laundered under shorts early one Monday morning as he was hurriedly dressing for work inspired a brief but intense period of shouting and jumping around, during which Viggo teased that if he were a lady corn snake of refined tastes, he would have chosen precisely the same spot for a hideout. Sean cursing in tart Sumerian was not the soothed and amused reaction Viggo had hoped for. They can laugh about it now, but just the same, these days Viggo's got a small, plaster bust of Da Vinci weighting down the lid of Blinky's terrarium.
Viggo's got both hands between his legs, caressing himself gently. He rolls the soft weight between his hands and makes little pleased noises, anticipating. Before dinner Sean will come upstairs again. He might order Viggo onto all fours, tell him to stretch his arms out in front of him. In that case Sean will run a firm hand down the curve of Viggo’s spine from his tailbone to his neck to push his shoulders down low, and while Sean busies himself briefly otherwise, make Viggo wait there with his forehead against the mattress and his ass in the air. Viggo will slip a little further under while he waits in this way for Sean to return to him. In his own time Sean will take him, and then swiftly, Viggo moaning and grasping at the sheets because Sean burns inside him; because Sean's hands are strong on his hips; because Sean has made Viggo wait, his body open and entreating use.
Sean might toy with Viggo instead of making him wait alone on the bed. He might undress slowly, let Viggo watch, give him time to desire Sean that much more in the fading light. Then he might tease Viggo, do that wonderful thing he does with his fingers and his mouth, and since Viggo has already been pushed over the edge twice today Sean will be able to take his sweet time about it. Viggo will be loose from two takings and from sleeping all day, and Sean will just relax and torment him until he's writhing, his body begging shamelessly, and shortly thereafter Viggo, Sean and the sheets will be very messy, and it will be ever, ever so good.
Regardless of how Sean chooses to have Viggo this time, afterward there will be snuggling, and murmuring, and finally talking. The talking part is when Sean will gradually bring Viggo's brain back up to the surface. Sean will assure Viggo that he is perfect and beautiful and Sean will suggest a hot bath for two, but for now Viggo is happy to remain a fathom or so below his usual reality. Down here his world centers entirely around his body and what Sean chooses to do with it. His only responsibilities here are to be naked and willing; to sleep and daydream, and accept Sean’s will. Viggo is Sean's fine concubine all day every day, but on Slow Days that is everything he is, nothing more. Viggo loves Slow Days.
Summary: Viggo takes a nap. Sort of. (post-Novice Chronicles, after "Rattle and Roll")
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1705 Read: 1037
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009