Bourbon
How well I remember my first encounter with The Devil's Brew. I happened to stumble across a case of bourbon--and went right on stumbling for several days thereafter.
WC Fields
"Vig, why don't you ever tell me that I drink too much?"
Viggo opens one bleary eye and squints sideways along Sean's chest, rubs scratchy stubble on his belly and mumbles,
"Okay. You drink too much."
The eye drops down again like the shutter of a camera and Sean growls in frustration, pushing up on his elbows and leaning forward to plant a resounding slap on the temptingly upturned rump,
"No, you wanker. I'm being serious here."
The slap has caused Viggo's head to raise, both eyes to open wide and the eyebrows to quirk questioningly. The stubble scrapes across Sean's skin, raising goose bumps and a sharply angled chin comes to rest almost painfully on his hipbone. He smiles in the grim satisfaction that he now has Viggo's undivided attention.
"Ow!"
"Made you pay attention, though. Look, Vig, sooner or later, without exception, all me wives and girlfriends have told me that I drink too much. I've had it said to me quietly 'more in sorrow than in anger'. I've had the serious talk. I've had them try to wear me down by constant nagging, shouting, screaming, even throwing things at me. I've had everything from bourbon, Irish whiskey and most sacrilegiously, single malt, poured down the sink."
Sean shudders at the thought and reaches his hands over his head, using the rails on the brass bed head to pull himself into a sitting position, unceremoniously dislodging Viggo in the process.
"They've enlisted the help of me treacherous mother and even played really dirty by getting the girls to tell me they don't want Daddy to die and leave them."
Viggo rolls onto his back and pushes himself up to sit by Sean,
"Ouch, that is sinking low, but I guess they cared about your health and meant well,"
"No, no...well, aye, but you see that's my point."
"Your point?"
"They all said they were acting in me best interests, out of love and...well...why don't you ever tell me I drink too much?"
Viggo ponders the question for long enough that Sean starts to feel a little insecure and begins to fret. He leans over to the bedside cabinet and gets a cigarette.
He's lit it, put down the lighter and taken several drags before Viggo answers,
"Well, first I figure it's because I believe in giving plenty of space in relationships and letting people be as free as possible. It's not down to me to try and dictate your behaviour any more than I would welcome your doing the same to me."
Sean nods and continues puffing anxiously. That sounds reasonable.
Still thinking, Viggo reaches over and takes the cigarette, drawing on it deeply before handing it back.
"Secondly, you're an intelligent adult and perfectly capable of making your own decisions about what you do. You are in possession of all your faculties, fully aware of the risks and it's your call."
Sean stubs out the butt and reaches for his glass and the bottle beside it. He pours in a couple of fingers and offers the bottle to Viggo, who takes it and drinks straight from it, not bothering with a glass. He grins at Sean.
"Thirdly, I like a drink too much myself and I try not to be a hypocrite."
Sean sips his drink and nods again. He would never, ever accuse Viggo of that.
"Finally, it's our weaknesses that make us human, Sean. I guess what I am saying is that I love you just the way you are."
*Finally he's said it*
Sean could weep with relief. He draws Viggo to him and kisses him thoroughly. Viggo responds enthusiastically to the kiss, tasting of smoke and bourbon mingled with a hint of desire.
Viggo decides to keep working on that hint until it becomes an assertion and he puts his mind, mouth and hands to work. Pulling Sean back down to lie flat on the bed, he takes hold of his wrists and raises them above his head, so that he grips the brass bar again with those strong, yet sensitive hands that Viggo loves so much.
He starts right at the top of Sean's head and brushes away shaggy hair, so that he can kiss his forehead and then his closed eyes. Sean wriggles into the bed, making himself more comfortable, but he keeps hold of the brass rail.
It occurs to Viggo that maybe he has never told Sean before that he loves him, never actually said the words. That's because it is just a given to Viggo, in the same way he knows Sean loves him. In Viggo's eyes, they show each other every day.
Processing Sean's question, he decides that maybe it's time to tell him and as he kisses his way down Sean's face and body, he recites like a mantra,
"I love your forehead, I love your eyes, I love your nose and I adore your mouth."
There's a hiatus, while this is demonstrated and then a short detour to nibble the elf-ears, which naturally, Viggo also loves.
"I love your throat, especially this little spot here, where your pulse beats and I love your shoulders. I love your chest and your oh-so-sensitive nipples and I love how you squirm, when I do this to your belly button."
Viggo means to leave Sean's cock until last and tell him about how much he loves his thighs, knees and feet, but when he seems to be about to pass it by, Sean lets out a strangled little whimper and he takes pity and returns.
He starts to tell Sean how much he loves the proud shaft, standing sharply to attention, the silky skin and the shiny purple head peeping from its hood, but he was well brought up and taught that it's rude to talk with your mouth full.
He brings Sean to a shuddering climax and while he recovers his breath, tells him how he loves to watch Sean unravel like that, so vulnerable and needy.
Viggo encourages Sean to roll over onto his belly and when he does, Viggo kisses each of his fingers separately, telling him how he loves each one and carefully places them back on the brass rail.
Now he can work his way down Sean's well-muscled back, kissing and talking all the way,
"I love your spine and that graceful curve from your broad shoulders to your narrow hips and of course, the piece de resistance; I love your delicious ass."
Sean yelps a little as Viggo can't resist taking a bite at said ass and even more when he raises Sean's hips, parts his cheeks and feasts for a while on the tender flesh within.
As Viggo gets the lube and prepares Sean carefully, he tells him how he loves the hot tightness and initial resistance, followed by the sweet yielding and the long, slow slippery slide until he is sheathed inside Sean.
"I love the feeling of being this close, of being one with you."
Then Viggo can't talk any more, because they are moving together in the dizzying spiral, climbing towards the peak and falling over the cliff together.
Afterwards, as they lie, damply tangled, Sean reaches for another cigarette.
"Sean, has anybody ever told you that you smoke too much?"
King
'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings.'
Lewis Carroll
The argument had been going on for several days and now Sean's jaw was firmly set. His strong vein of stubborn Yorkshireman would be as hard to break through as a fresh coal face.
Viggo, however, had long experience of chipping away and undermining Sean's determination and more than his fair share of animal cunning.
The issue was what they were going to do with the plot of land at the bottom of Sean's back garden, where he had demolished an old greenhouse. Viggo wanted to have it as a natural garden to attract wildlife, but much as he loved nature too, Sean had set his heart on a vegetable patch, so they could eat their own produce, freshly harvested. The competing claims of Viggo's birds, bees and butterflies against Sean's cabbages, carrots and courgettes had been aired, discussed and batted back and forth energetically all week.
Viggo decided that the best plan of action would be to try and lighten things up by joking Sean out of his mood. He had a Plan B up his sleeve for if this failed, but decided to keep it in reserve.
Over dinner, eaten pointedly in silence, he refilled Sean's wine glass twice as often as he topped up his own and when he gauged that the time was right, he teased,
"Come on, Sean. Let's not fight any more. After all, I am King and you surely wouldn't want to make me pull rank, Steward."
"Fuck off!"
"I am outraged and disappointed. Is that any way to talk to your King and Liege Lord?"
"Sorry. Fuck off, Your Highness".
Viggo shook his head sorrowfully and continued in Aragorn's voice,
"Your attitude is unworthy and shameful! 'Tis no wonder you died and left me holding the bag! Faramir would probably have made a more amenable and malleable Steward anyway. Not to mention the advantage of his youth, you being the elder brother!"
"The elder brother? Bloody cheek! Aragorn was positively geriatric! Eighty fucking seven ! I ask you. Like shagging your granddad."
*Got him going.* Viggo managed to keep his face straight, although he wanted to smile smugly. Plan A was working nicely so far. He got up and fetched a second bottle of red wine from the rack, breaking off the wax seal and drawing the cork expertly.
"Of course," he said, returning to the table," being descended from the Numenoreans, I was incredibly virile for my age and Boromir did not have any complaints in that department."
"And that rumbling sound you hear is Professor Tolkien turning in his grave, My Liege."
Viggo temporarily reverted to himself, while pouring more wine,
"Just because the Prof didn't write it explicitly, doesn't mean it didn't happen. You have to read between the lines."
Sean sighed, stood up and picked up his wine glass and cigarettes, heading for the glass doors leading out into the garden.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm off to inspect the Kingdom and make sure everything is in order."
Viggo followed him outside, carrying his own glass and becoming Aragorn again,
"So you acknowledge that it is my Kingdom, which means that I am in total command – an absolute monarch. Gondor was never a democracy, but depended on the benevolence of the King."
"Yeah, a benevolent despot! That would suit you. You reckon to be such a dangerous liberal, but you always have to have your own way!"
"Ow!"
"What?"
"I stubbed my toe on a rock edging your herbaceous border."
"Serves you right. You should try wearing shoes occasionally."
Viggo hopped to sit on a garden bench, which Sean had made from a whole fallen tree and tried to inspect his toe by moonlight. Sean sat beside him and lit two cigarettes, handing him one.
"Is this where I blow a smoke ring and you show off by blowing a sailing ship through it?"
"Only wizards can do that sort of thing, My Liege." In spite of the pain, Viggo grinned in the dark, because Sean had started to be Boromir, which meant that he was in a better mood again, although he suspected that this was not unrelated to the stubbed toe.
"I am naught but a plain spoken soldier. 'Tis no wonder I mistrusted all that fancy jiggery-pokery."
"I fear that my toe is broken again, Steward."
"Would it please My Liege to have his Steward kiss it better?"
*A very much better mood.*
"Aye, verily it would."
Sean carefully put down his glass and cigarette and slid to his knees on the paved path. He picked up Viggo's injured foot in both hands and kissed his big toe tenderly, then curled his tongue around it teasingly.
Viggo's jeans became suddenly tighter and he grabbed the bench with both hands.
"After an accident, I believe 'tis customary to loosen the clothing, Steward."
Sean released the foot and slid both hands up the inside of Viggo's thighs, before unbuttoning his jeans and releasing his throbbing member.
"Aye, I can hear that you are having difficulty breathing, Sire."
The Steward proceeded to serve his King with his mouth and in return was generously permitted to lay his grateful Monarch out on the lawn and fill his willing body.
As they lay afterwards on the soft grass, looking up at the stars, Sean marveling at how peaceful and quiet his garden was, even in the centre of London, Viggo broke the silence again,
"This is so good, communing with nature like this isn't it?"
"Mmm!"
"Feeling at one with the earth."
"Mmm. So nice and quiet."
"So now that you're mellow again, you agree to my wild garden?"
"Wait a minute. I never agreed to that."
*Okay, switch to Plan B*
"Come on, Sean. We should encourage wildlife to visit the garden. You like wild animals and birds and they help to pollinate your plants and keep the garden healthy. The good insects eat the bad insects. We need to celebrate the wonders of our planet."
"Fucking hippie!"
"But it is wondrous, Sean. You get fish that produce electricity, insects that live in complex and disciplined colonies, weaver birds that weave nests, tailor birds that stitch their nests together..."
Sean groaned and rolled his eyes in the dark.
"...there are crystal caves eons old in Bermuda, deserts than sing in Kazakhstan and did you know that in the Arctic Circle, they have found vents in the seafloor shooting out water at temperatures that are more than twice the boiling point of water?"
Sean threw up his hands in exasperation,
"That's it. I give in. You've worn me down! If I agree to your wild garden, do you promise to shut the fuck up?"
"Not another word tonight, I promise."
"Yeah and pigs might fly!"
Black Leather
If I had to sum it up
Without sounding too clever
I'd have to say my life has been
A case of bright lights
Black leather
Adam Ant
Sean had returned home from filming in Germany to a gratifyingly warm welcome from Viggo.
It had been great to be pounced upon, kissed senseless and dragged to the couch, caveman fashion, within moments of stepping through his front door, but when he had regained his breath and was finally convinced that he wasn't going to have that heart attack after all, and when he was confident he could manage to string together a couple of coherent words, he ventured to express a little surprise,
"Phew! Well, you were... enthusiastic! What brought that on? I suppose you were just pleased to see me again."
His resident lunatic grinned down at him, unkempt hair now damp and plastered to his forehead. He had shifted to the side and was bracing himself on his arms again to avoid squashing Sean any further, but since he was folded damn near in half already, serious squishing had already taken place,
"Mind-blowing as it was, d'you think you could unbend me a bit? If the wind changes, I might stay like this."
"It suits you," murmured Viggo huskily, but he did push himself into a kneeling position on the couch and take hold of Sean's ankles, lowering his legs to rest either side of Viggo's hips.
"Oof! Thanks. I may be getting too old for this. Not sure if that creaking was me or this poor couch."
Viggo sat back on his heels, his hands still caressing Sean's inner thighs and looked at him with that intensity, which never failed to take Sean's breath away, even after all these years.
"It's a good couch and you look so good spread out on it – the contrast of your pale skin against that black leather. Where did I put my camera?"
"Whoa, mate, just hold your horses a sec. You've got hundreds of pictures of me on this couch already. You haven't answered my question. What brought on the unbridled passion?"
"I am always passionate about you, Sean. You're as sexy as hell. I keep telling you that."
"But you usually manage to contain yourself enough not to practically ravish me on the doorstep in broad daylight. Have you been taking Viagra, while I've been away or what?"
"I'll ignore the hurtful implication that I need chemical assistance to get it up, while being too much of a gentleman to mention a couple of times, when you've been drinking heavily and..."
"Okay, okay," Sean intervened hurriedly and cursed silently as he felt himself blush." I take that back. Now tell me, before I find I'm permanently glued to this fucking sofa."
"You could become a permanent art exhibit in a gallery. Imagine how good you'd look. That's really an idea, Sean. You could be admired during the day and I could come around to feed you and fuck you after hours."
Sean sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes heavenward, "Oh why oh why don't I learn to keep my big mouth shut and not give you daft ideas?"
"Actually, I have plenty of ideas. Let's go shower and I'll tell you about my inspiration."
He sprang nimbly from the couch and offered a hand to help Sean up, sniggering annoyingly, at the resistance from damp skin stuck to leather and the squelching noise of a man rising from a fresh cowpat, which accompanied his rescue.
Sean muttered under his breath, threatening all manner of reprisals, but was mollified by a Viggo special blow job in the shower, clean clothes, a beer and a cigarette.
He was comfortably back in the living room, once again in possession of the couch, when Viggo joined him, carrying a set of pictures, which he spread out on the floor, kneeling beside them.
They were pictures of Sean in costume as Ulric, the knight in the movie he had just wrapped. The pictures were clearly printed off the internet and very poor quality, allowing Sean to score a point by quipping,
"Christ! That photographer must have been paying homage to you! There's not a clear one among them!"
Ignoring the crack, Viggo ran a finger over the nearest photograph.
"It's the costume, Sean! Apart from the fact that you look like a reincarnation of Boromir, it's that black leather breast plate. It's so goddam hot, that look on you. You remember how I got when you had that Robert Aske costume? Same thing. You and black leather is a lethal combination."
Sean did remember how Viggo had reacted to that costume, which had tapped into a slightly kinky vein and now all was clear about his welcome home.
"So while I've been away, you've been trawling the net for pictures of me in the black leather?"
Viggo nodded eagerly.
"And the idea of playing like that again has got you all worked up?"
Another nod and Sean's mouth curved in a wicked smile. "I wish I'd thought to ask for the costume. Oh well, never mind. I'll see what I can do with my contacts."
"Er, I already did pull in a couple of favours."
Viggo darted into the hall cupboard and returned with a hanging, zippered suit bag and a holdall. Sean lowered the zip and grinned again, when he saw what was inside. He looked into the bag and the grin became predatory.
Later, after a light meal, they retired to Viggo's studio, where Sean found that he had prepared a set with powerful photographic lights and a painted rocky backdrop with shingle underfoot.
Sean was wearing the black leather knight's costume from the bag, complete with boots and a prop sword. Viggo was wearing rougher clothes, more akin to the Ranger's, but he too had a sword and they circled each other, before Sean's Black Knight made the first thrust and the Ranger parried.
They fenced for a while, neither giving way until the Ranger made an apparent mistake and the Knight sent his sword spinning in an arc across the stage. As the Ranger bent and scooted across the shingle, his arm stretched out to retrieve his weapon, a leather boot trod down firmly on his hand, while a sword-point pricked his neck, nicking it enough to draw blood.
The Ranger bent his head in surrender, touching his forehead to the boot, which had just trapped his hand. He was ordered to stand and remove his clothing under the hungry gaze of the victor.
Once naked, he was roughly forced again to his knees and his hands were bound behind him with black thongs. He was dragged up and bent over a footstool disguised as a boulder, which trapped his erect and throbbing cock painfully, while the knight moved over and flicked a switch to turn on the automatic camera Viggo had prepared earlier.
The Black Knight unlaced his leggings and released his own rigid cock, before striding forward to enjoy the spoils of victory. The Ranger felt the trickle of sweat, part anticipation, part hot, bright lights, run down his back, as black leather gloved hands seized his hips and he was impaled without mercy.
Off stage, the camera whirred and clicked.
Time
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
John Donne
No sooner was Sean back from filming in Germany than he was scheduled to be on the move again to Vancouver. Viggo, who had himself just returned from Paraguay and Argentina had to be back in LA and they got out their diaries to try and plan their next meeting, probably at Viggo's house later in the summer. By September, Viggo would need to be on the road, promoting The Road and in October, rehearsals would begin in Madrid for Purgatorio, the stage play.
"Shite!"
Sean hurled his planner across the living room in a fit of pique.
"This is no fucking way to conduct a relationship. We've had nearly ten years of this crap. When are we going to get a really good stretch of time together?"
"Um, probably never," mumbled Viggo, stroking Sean's knee as he sat on the floor at his feet. He moved his hand up to stroke a flat palm over Sean's flank and murmured soothingly.
"Viggo, you've gone into 'horse whisperer' mode. I am not a fucking horse!"
Viggo grinned at his indignant expression,
"You never say that, when I offer to ride you!"
Sean felt the corners of his mouth twitch, trying to smile, but he was still in pissed off and indignant mode, so he sternly froze them in place.
"It's no good trying to distract me, placate me or laugh me out of it. The fact is that over ten years, if you pieced together every scrap of time we've spent together, you wouldn't have enough to make a French tart a pair of drawers."
Viggo struggled to straighten his face and solemnly replied,
"I defer to your superior knowledge of French knickers, of course, but what could we have done about it? We are actors and we've both been lucky to be able to work consistently. Goes with the territory."
Finally losing the battle, he smirked and added,
"But we've managed to make the most of those times – plenty of frills and ooh la la!" before cackling and skillfully ducking the cushion Sean aimed at his head.
"I'm serious, Vig. This really bothers me. I can't understand why it doesn't bother you!"
"Well it does bother me, but I channel my disappointments, frustration, loneliness and longing into my other creative stuff. I'm the angsty, bohemian artist/poet, remember?"
"So you reckon that if we were ever able to spend more than a month together it would stifle your creativity?"
"Now that's not what I said, but it's a distinct possibility, I suppose."
Sean snorted and got up to stalk over and retrieve the innocent victim of his temper.
"Come on, Sean," Viggo addressed the tense back, but couldn't resist allowing his eyes to pass down to the swell of the buttocks, still jaunty at 50, and lick his lips. "It's a chance I'd be willing to take if we could be together all the time and I hate the separations as much as you do, but right now neither of us is ready to give it all up and go raise horses and potatoes in Idaho."
Sean bent over to pick up his filofax and heard Viggo's breath hitch, so took his time about standing up and turning slowly to face him,
"Aren't you the one who keeps telling impressionable young journalists that you'd just as soon never make another film?"
"Sure and when I say it it's true, but then I get sent something as good as The Road, or something I feel a superstitious need to do, like Good, or David calls me and off we go again."
"Of course, David! Irresistible."
"I love it when you're jealous, Green Eyes. Me and David, we're good together in a cinematic environment. We click."
"So I gather," (tersely.)
Viggo sidestepped niftily to avoid a potential offside trap and dribbled the ball back to Sean,
"But even if I agreed I'd never make another movie, there are so many other things I want to do and there's so little time. I wish we'd met twenty years ago, thirty years ago even, but we didn't. Would you want me just to drop everything that makes me 'me' and follow you around like a squaw?"
"Don't be daft. I know that you need to be on the go all the time and of course I wouldn't want to stop you writing, publishing, photographing, and painting. Singing though, that's a different matter. I might want to stop that."
This time Viggo heaved the cushion at Sean, who caught it deftly and headed it back.
"And you like to keep working as long as you are being offered parts, Sean. You still love your craft and you are good at it. You'd make a fucking ugly squaw too."
"Cheeky bugger! I do hate these constant partings, though. Rips the heart out of me every time."
"Me too, but think of all the passionate farewells we've had. Not to mention the mind-blowing reunions. It hasn't hurt our relationship has it? Our love never has time to get stale."
Sean felt his stomach flutter and his cock respond to Viggo's terminology. It still got to him every time, when the word 'love' was mentioned between them.
"I would also point out that we are wasting our precious time here. Did I ever tell you how sexy you look, naked but for your glasses on a cord?"
"Many times, but I like you telling me over again." Sean said, perching the glasses on his nose and looking over them at Viggo for maximum effect, as he returned to the couch.
Viggo reached up eagerly and took Sean's hands in his,
"So we have a few hours before we have to be at the airport. Let's make the most of them. Where? Here? Kitchen table? Garden? Shower? Bed?
"Yes."
"Yes to which?"
"Yes to all of 'em, Pocahontas."
"Well, okay, if you think we'll have time."
Summary: The prompts inspired four vignettes giving a peek into an established relationship
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 4634 Read: 939
Published: 20 Aug 2009 Updated: 20 Aug 2009