"We need a new television."
"What?" Viggo squeezed his eyes shut as he turned away from the slide in his hand. There were better ways to comb through his collection than holding each one up to the lamp and squinting at the myriad of tiny pictures before sorting them into boxes, but they didn't allow him to sit five feet away from Sean and watch him watch football.
"Television. New one. We need it." Sean gestured at the screen with his half-empty beer bottle.
Eyes open, his long-distance focus returning, Viggo frowned in Sean's direction. "Why? There's nothing wrong with that one, is there?"
Sean appraised the set -- the speakers, the screen, the overlarge multimedia centre he'd insisted on in the store when he'd caught Viggo looking at smaller models -- and shook his head. "...No. Not really."
"We've had it how long? Six months?"
"Five."
"Five months. It's still under warranty." He absentmindedly brushed a few errant strands of hair off his cheek. "Is it not big enough? Is that the problem? I would have thought fifty inches--"
"Fifty-two."
"Fifty-two, then. I'd've thought fifty-two inches would've been enough for you." Viggo managed to keep the smirk off his face, but Sean, who was twelve at heart, did not.
"It's not that."
"What is it, then? The damn speakers are loud enough to blow your ears out, and I still can't figure out why you needed two VCRs and a DV--"
"Shhh. It's back on. Look."
The not-entirely appealing thought that Sean looked as if he was about to start drooling flitted through Viggo's mind. Onscreen, a family was standing around a surprisingly clean kitchen eating and watching a-- A fridge? ...Oh shit. --a disturbingly slick, disturbingly sleek, disturbingly attractive fridge with a television in it. Or was it a television with a fridge attached? Didn't matter, he supposed. Either way, this was going to be a hard one to win; he just knew it, what with the way Sean took to home electronics and that look that he was likely to use on him, the one where–-
Sean's eyes were wide as he watched Viggo, his lips ever so slightly pursed, giving the appearance not of begging, per se, so much as earnestness.
--Crap. Well, best to start out strong. He cleared his throat. "I don't think we need it, do we?" ...Ok, maybe "strong" wasn't quite the right word.
Sean made a face, then turned back to the TV. The commercials were over, the game back on. The Blades were playing ManU, and few things short of a taunting phone call from Dom were important enough to interrupt his focus.
Well that, Viggo thought, was easier than I expected.
***
Christ, I'm not going to walk straight for a week. Viggo chuckled under his breath, stretched languidly, and rolled a bit closer to Sean. A nice, satisfied haze settled over him and he let himself drift in it, sliding down into warmth and sleep and–-
"I could chop onions while watching the telly."
"Mmpf?"
Sean shifted, folded his arms under his head. "I could do stuff in the kitchen. Make dinner. Get a snack. Brew that awful maté for you. All while watching TV."
The haze began to lift. Viggo floundered for a moment, balanced between warm, tempting sleep and the cold stab of the start of a stupid conversation before he gave up and came up for air. He hauled himself up on one elbow with some difficulty and stared down at Sean from his new vantage point. "TV."
Sean grinned. "Aye."
"In the kitchen."
He nodded, and the grin grew wider.
The silence grew as Viggo eyed Sean. Sean, appearing to grow more uncomfortable with Viggo's level stare by the minute, parted his lips slightly, wetting them with his tongue. "I'd be more helpful. Because I'd be in the kitchen, y'see."
"Mmm. Would you?"
"I would." A soft blush began creeping its way up Sean's neck. His eyes slid from side to side as if he was looking for a means of escape. His hands came up from behind his head, and he laced the fingers together. "See, it brings together two of your favourite things. Food," -- here, the hands came apart and boxed off a little cube of air to his right -- "and television," -- a little box to the left.
"Those are your favourite things?" Viggo reached out and brushed his fingers across Sean's forehead. "Food and TV?"
Sean's eyes closed, and his voice wavered ever so slightly as he breathed out, "No."
"Mmm. Didn't think so." He kept up the soft strokes, fingertips sweeping over skin. "Now shut up and go to sleep, Sean."
"But--"
"Yes, I know. But shut the hell up anyway." Viggo smiled as he leaned over and pressed his lips to Sean's.
***
There were few things that were as invigorating as a hot shower. The water coursed down Viggo's aching muscles, his shoulders loosening just enough as he soaped up his body. He didn't have to be anywhere until eleven, which meant a leisurely breakfast with his lover, followed by a bit of scribbling in his notebook, and then–-
"Ees ahh ice ilvhh."
What? Viggo pulled aside the curtain and poked his head into the steam-filled room. "What?"
Sean looked up from the sink into the circle he'd cleared for himself on the foggy mirror. He brushed his teeth contemplatively for another moment or two, then spit a stream of blue foam into the basin. "It's a nice silver."
Oh, for–- "Our appliances are black."
"It comes in black, too."
Viggo violently jerked the shower curtain back across the tub. There was a small "pop" as one of the rings gave way, but instead of tending to it, he thrust his head directly under the stream of water.
***
"We could put it in here."
I'm not discussing this, I'm not discussing this, I'm not-- Viggo put down his pencil, the wood making a satisfying click as it hit the desktop. "There is nothing wrong with our fridge. There is no reason to get another." The safety of his darkroom (or maybe even his studio across town) was starting to look better and better.
Sean propped his feet up on the coffee table and sighed mournfully in the direction of his empty glass. "I know that. But here's what I was thinking--" he ignored the long-suffering sigh to his right, "if we put it in here, then I wouldn't have to go all the way to the kitchen to get another beer."
"Two TVs in the same goddamn room. No. Just. No."
"We could move this one into the bedroom!"
"You want to keep me awake all night?" Viggo was suddenly seized by the desire to marry Sean just so he could divorce him. He laughed nervously; yes indeed, a little voice noted, Sean was driving him right 'round the bend.
Seemingly oblivious to the edge in Viggo's voice, Sean arched an eyebrow, licked his lips. "Depends what you're doing up."
The chair screeched across the floor as Viggo stood. He knocked against the desk, accidentally brushing papers across the floor. "Right now," he laughed again, and that same detached part of him began worrying, "I'm going to get a drink. From the kitchen. The one without a television in the fucking fridge."
"Great," Sean said, "while you're up, could you get me a beer?"
***
"It's cable ready!"
Clink. Viggo tried hard not to slam the glass down on the counter.
"Or satellite, whichever you prefer!"
The ice rattled against the sides of the glass.
"Did I mention it comes in black?"
Christ, but his voice can carry. Viggo wished, very suddenly, for his own high-tech toy: a soundproof barrier between the kitchen and living room. Sean's warm, smooth voice -- usually so very capable of making Viggo shudder in need -- was inspiring him to something, he surmised, that approximated both a fit of madness and a surprisingly strong urge to climb the walls.
He yanked open the door to their non-cable-ready fridge and grabbed the nearest long-necked bottle. Once the beer was clear, he gave the door a good shove and was minorly appeased when it smacked firmly back into place. The force of the shove was enough to cause a few of the magnets to drop to the floor, and with them a picture Sean's youngest had drawn him.
Viggo set the bottle on the kitchen island and bent down to pick up the white paper, turning it over and carefully running his hand over the colourful streaks of posterpaint before tacking it back on the door. He stood back, admiring the bold greens and purples swirled together under a blindingly blue sky.
The bottle was invitingly cool against his palm as his fingers crooked around it. The bottlecap clattered against the tiles under his feet, but he paid it no heed as his tongue snuck out to catch those first drops of liquid, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile around the neck.
***
"It's VCR ready."
"Mm."
"And DVD ready."
"Mmhmm."
"And web ready." A finger jabbed Viggo in the ribs. "Vig? Are you listening to me?"
"'M sleepin'."
"No, you're not. I can hear you. I said it's web ready. Isn't that great? You could... look up recipes online while cooking!"
Viggo rolled over, wrapping the blankets around himself.
"And it comes with a remote. And a radio. You like listening to the radio, don't you?"
He cracked open one eye and looked at his assaulter. "Y'ever gonna shut up 'bout this?"
Sean's grin put Viggo in mind of a kid on Christmas morning. "No."
He sighed. "Figured as much. Fuck off, would you? Go get yourself some fucking breakfast or something and let an old man sleep."
Silence, blessed silence reigned for a few precious minutes before Viggo gave in. "Go. There's something in the kitchen for you. Knew you'd never shut up until you got your way."
The bed dipped, then sprang back rather alarmingly as Sean shot out of the room.
Viggo smiled serenely into his pillow and welcomed what was left of his dream back with open arms. Ah, right. There was the field, and the big stump, and just over the hill--
Deep, throaty laughter wiped the field and all its promises from Viggo's head. He yawned and sat up, ready to face the inevitable. And he waited.
And waited.
Finally, his knees popping in protest, a sheet draped across his midsection, he stumbled out into the kitchen. There at the table sat Sean, naked as a jaybird, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of toast as he stared at the television -- knobs and all -- that Viggo had so carefully chalked on a piece of white paper and stuck to the front of the fridge. Viggo grinned as he leaned against the doorframe. He cleared his throat. "So--"
"Shh," said Sean, bubbles of laughter bursting in the air, "game's on."
Summary: Sean needs a new television.
Rated: PG-13
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1839 Read: 835
Published: 18 Aug 2009 Updated: 18 Aug 2009