Viggo knows that smell. He knows Sean's arrived from London, taken a cab, and probably arrived at the cabin a good couple of hours ahead of him, and he knows the smell of his own stash; high quality, and being smoked away on the back porch. He walks through the kitchen, quietly stows the groceries, and stealthily exits into his back yard.
Dozing in the afternoon sunshine, Sean is ensconced in a lounger, the long wooden chair still draped in an old tarp to protect it from the late winter weather and the vagaries of spring. By the old leaves scattered in singles and clumps all over the porch, young Bean apparently cleared off the tarp before he settled in. Why he didn't just move the tarp leaves and all is a mystery. Sometimes Bean is the weirdest person Viggo knows. He pats Sean on the head. "Hey."
"Ack!" Sean flails briefly, craning to look at his mate as Viggo stands peering down at him. He beams. "Gor, y'startled me! Where were you hidin'?"
"In town. You been out here the whole time getting fragged?" He eyes the remains of a six-pack of Newcastle and the ravaged packages of various junk foods on the ground next to the lounger.
"I have," Sean admits, "indulged in a fair amount of self-pollution durin' the last... how long have I been out here?"
"When did you get--"
"Tell me something, Vig, what is it about Doritos? They're disgustin' if you read the label--don't read the label Vig, you'll only be depressed--yet I can't seem to get enough. Vig..."
"What are you trying to do, Bean, burn down the forest?" Viggo manages to track Sean's expressive hand mid-air and takes possession of a burnt-down roach that must have initially been the size of a Fiat.
"Wot, with that? Pssh. I were on an airplane, Vig." Sean regards him solemnly and spreads his arms wide. "A big fuckin' airplane. Very noisy. Many humans squished close together. I didn'a like it."
Viggo pulls up a leaf-strewn chair. "Ah, sweet Mary Jane, better than truth serum. What else have you been up to?"
"Ooo." Sean smirks. "We playin' cloak operator then?"
"Cloak--? You mean cloak and dagger? Or CIA Operative?"
Sean thinks it over a moment, and gives him a knowing look. "Quite possibly."
Viggo sniggers, "Brother, you are baked!"
"Am not," Sean sulks, but not really.
"Toasted. Fried. Stoned. Wasted," Viggo insists gleefully. "Pie-eyed."
"Ain't pie-eyed for bein' drunk?"
"Which you are. Squirrel-eyed, then."
"Bollocks," Sean snorts. "You made that up!"
"Not at all. Go look it up. Webster's Dictionary, I swear. Under the heading 'squirrel-eyed' there's a little picture of you, rolling a joint." Viggo rises and heads into the kitchen, instructing, "Don't move."
Sean belches discreetly. "Wouldn't dream of it. I can't feel me ankles. Your porch is wonky, I swear to God."
Viggo, having disposed of the spent recreational herb, returns to settle himself on the lounger with Sean, who inquires, "Wot's that, cookin' oil?"
"Corn oil. Are you aware--"
"Fuckin' great lot of it," Sean observes. He leers at Viggo, "We expectin' company?"
Viggo makes room for himself between Sean's knees. "Did you know that the corn we generalize as maize isn't?"
"What's it, asparagus, then?"
"Lift your hips, love. I am referring--"
"Look, I'm wearin' those nifty shorts you bought me with maple leafs all over 'em."
Viggo pulls Sean's jeans and his maple leaf under shorts off past his right foot and tosses them onto the chair. Sean peers down his chest as Viggo unbuttons his shirt.
"I am referring," Viggo tries again, "to the fact that the corn grown over miles and miles of American heartland is not as high in protein as the old varieties cultivated by the native people."
"Apparently higher in oil, though," Sean deduces.
"Quit wriggling." Viggo plants a denim clad knee between Sean's thighs.
"That," Sean observes, "is a very stern knee. Viggo."
"Yes?"
"Viggo, I have no trousers on. I came out 'ere with trousers."
"I've put your trousers--"
"Bloody pants-thief. You're about to take advantage of me in my lightly inebriated--"
"Squirrel-eyed--"
"--yes, completely--state, aren't you."
"Hold still," Viggo says, as he unscrews the little white top of the bottle of corn oil and drenches Sean's nude bits.
"Fook 'at's cold!" Sean flinches, glaring at Viggo resentfully.
Viggo grins back, "What did you say?" His fingers start a sort of preliminary exploration into slickened spaces.
"Fook! Ah said Fook, ya wanker! Fook fook fook!"
Viggo shakes his head, "Sorry. I don't speak squir--"
"Tosser."
"Tart."
"Eye-devourin' smut sailor!"
"What??" Viggo cackles softly and begins gently kneading, his hands warm and slippery over Sean's skin, and together with Sean's naughty bits Viggo's hands in the oil make small, pornographic squelchy noises in the afternoon sun.
Sean watches for a moment, then starts giggling. He slides a little further down the chaise and in a remarkably graceful movement for anyone in his condition slings his legs up to catch his heels over Viggo's shoulders. "Oh, there're me ankles! Look Vig, me ankles are back!" He wriggles his toes delightedly and taps the sides of his big toes against Viggo's ears. "Gosh that feels good, Vig."
"Sean--"
"Swordwork," Sean asserts. "You know I've got to be very bendy for the swordwork--damn you've got good hands, mate--or I always pull a muscle." He pulls one knee back nearly to his chin and his big toe taps Viggo on the nose.
Viggo twitches his nose and turns his head to one side, but bumps into Sean's other foot, and Sean starts giggling again. "You're going to molest me man-fashion, aren't you."
"Man-fashion?" Viggo bites at Sean's heel, grinning as Sean yips and pulls back, only to resettle his leg over Viggo's shoulder.
"Yes. All powerful and dominating-like, and--God, that's really good..." Sean closes his eyes and moans a little.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You *will* violate my backside, dammit! Fuck..."
"Righty-o, then," Viggo agrees. He wipes some of the oil off of his hands onto his jeans, unbuttons his fly, shimmies about a little, and gingerly works himself out.
Sean yells "Freedom!" and lunges forward, folding himself nearly in half, grabs Viggo by the back of his head, and pulls him into a fierce kiss.
"Mmmph," Viggo chuckles, trying to maneuver.
Sean grunts, "I may have over-estimated my bendiness."
"Ack, you bit me!" Viggo squeaks, rubbing at his chin.
"Tooth-temptin'," Sean tells him. "I couldn'a help it."
"Nut! C'mere..." and Viggo works himself in, Sean laughing and then groaning a little, accommodating, and he winces, even squirrel-eyed as he is, but it's good, too, and he wraps his legs around Viggo, while the lounger creaks beneath them.
Quickly lost in the center, somewhere around his edges Viggo feels Sean writhing beneath him, all slippery and warm, can hear him breathing hard, the two of them in rhythm together, except that Sean's just a little bit off, and Viggo can hear him gasping things; whatever's flitting from one buzzy synapse to another inside his skull.
As Viggo feels himself crowning, and Sean tightening around him, Sean's fingers crush into his arms, and he's gasping out, "Ah--Vig--fucker--realm-sucking--cold-hammered--wide-expanding stare of a--scarlet--pumpkin, *fuck!*"
Viggo yells and laughs his way through completion and into consciousness of a sort, lying atop Sean's sweaty chest, their legs tangled together, knees and ankles. The lounger seems awfully unyielding all of a sudden. "Wh--what the hell were you yelling about?"
Sean swallows and catches his breath. "Dammit," he complains, "I wish you wouldn't leave your journals lyin' about. They're like pungee traps in the Cambodian jungle. All that random shite you jot down gets stuck in me head."
Viggo snickers, "Sorry."
"Varnish," Sean states.
"What?"
"Nothin'. I think that's the last of it."
Viggo struggles to his elbows and kisses Sean gently on the nose. "Would you like to go to bed for a while?"
"Bloody big plane it were," Sean reminds wearily.
"I know, baby," Viggo soothes, helping him to his feet. "Soft bed," he reassures. "Very quiet. Only two people." He wraps an arm about Sean's waist, leading him into the safe dimness of the cabin.
Summary: Sean needs a little help coming down from his flight.
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1364 Read: 825
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009