Sean
I step back to have a better look at the painting I’ve just put up on the gallery wall, to see if it’s at the right height. On my first day working here, Ian asked me to put up a few new paintings, while he was in a meeting and I hung them all on one straight line, which made Ian laugh so loud he almost choked. Viggo teased me for days afterwards, saying it had something to do with a conventional streak inside of me, making me fight all this wild, arty stuff.
Now, nearly three months later, I’ve learned a lot and Ian no longer comes after me like a mother hen, checking to see what his little chick has been up to. I like Ian a lot and he’s the most laid back boss anyone could ever wish for. He likes to flirt with me and at first it made me shy, but now it just amuses me and sometimes I reciprocate, just for fun.
When I am certain Ian is not around – laid back he may be, but he’s got pretty sharp eyes – I turn around and go to the other exhibition room to have a look at my paintings. There are five there, three of them with a little red sticker on them and am shamefully proud. Sometimes I still have a hard time believing it, the way my life has changed over the last year. If someone had told me back then I would have another, pretty decently paid job and my artwork displayed in an exhibition I would have thought they were daft.
Of course I know I owe most of it to Viggo, but those paintings wouldn’t be sold if nobody had liked them. That’s what Viggo says and I guess he’s right. It’s a great feeling.
I am more or less used to having fallen in love with Viggo too, another thing that would have been impossible to accept a year ago. We do fight occasionally, but I was never happier in my life. I don’t consider myself gay, it’s just that I love Viggo like I never loved anyone else before and I am pretty sure he feels the same for me. We’ve been living in his loft together for over two months now, even though I still have my own flat. I must admit I rarely go there any more and I am starting to think I should sell it. I know it will make a good price, as I have done a lot of work to improve it and because of its location, I can make a good deal. On the other hand, it means burning my boats behind me.
I know very well it would make Viggo happy if I did sell it, that it would make absolutely clear I’ve made my choice, but that’s not really what’s holding me back.
I’ve lived in London for twenty odd years now, but until I met Viggo, Sheffield still meant ‘home’ for me. From the moment I moved into Viggo’s loft, I’ve only been up north once to visit my parents. On the way there I rehearsed in the train how to break the news to them. My parents are great, but a bit conservative and I know damned well their son being in a homosexual relationship would shock them. I stayed for two agonizing days and then escaped without telling them. Viggo looked at me when I got home and probably guessed, but he didn’t ask and I didn’t tell him. Instead I had the telephone in my flat disconnected and bought a mobile phone, so I wouldn’t have to give my mum Viggo’s number and have him answer when she calls. It doesn’t sit right with me, though and I know I will have to tell them sooner or later. *I will, soon.*
There’s a fairly good connection with the tube from Ian’s gallery to Viggo’s place, but when it doesn’t rain, I prefer to walk and today is a bright, crisp late autumn day. On my way I stop at a bakery and buy a small chocolate cake. Viggo would do just about anything for chocolate as I know from experience and it’s a mighty weapon I love to use. I know he will have to leave directly after dinner, as he has to meet up with someone who ordered a painting, so it will keep him on the edge. Those nights are always the best.
After dinner when Viggo’s gone and I’ve done the dishes I stretch out on the couch and put on the telly. I am just getting into this wildlife documentary, when my phone rings. Grabbing the remote, I mute the TV and answer it.
“Sean? How are you?”
Me mam! I switch off the set, knowing this won’t be over in a few minutes and slump down on the couch, “Hi Mum; I am fine. How are you and Dad?”
‘We’re fine. Your father had the flu last week, but he’s doing well again now. You could call more often, you know.”
I can hear my Dad protesting in the background and I smile, “I know. I am sorry.”
“Anyway, that’s not what I am calling for. It’s nearing December and about time we made plans for Christmas.”
My heart sinks and I sit up straight, “Christmas?”
“Yes. You are planning to come home, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, even though until now the thought never crossed my mind. I take a deep breath and then I ask her, “Would it be okay if I brought someone with me, someone special?”
A short silence and then her voice goes up at least three octaves, “Someone special? At last! Your father and I will love to meet her Sean!”
Viggo
After my meeting with a client, I hurry home to Sean and the chocolate cake he teased me with, before I had to go out. He is certainly aware of all my little weaknesses by now, chocolate being one of them. I am anticipating some fun and games tonight and practically run the last block home.
When I arrive, panting, at our front door, Sean has anticipated me and has it open already.
I am very pleased to see him and as he is totally naked, I can see that he is very pleased to see me too.
“You heard the elevator?” I puff, leaning against him to get my breath back.
“No, I heard your wheezing, you poor old sod.”
“Sorry, was running to get home. Eager to see you!”
“Eager for chocolate cake!” he laughs, grabbing my fleece and yanking me inside. He holds out the cake tantalizingly,”Now, what would you do for a slice of this?”
In pretty quick time, I have sucked him and he has fucked me, so now I am lying on my back in our bed, a plate balanced on my belly, while he is feeding me the last slice of delicious chocolate fudge cake.
With a contented sigh, I let him clean up the last few crumbs from my chin with his tongue and, tidy as always, he takes the plate and puts it carefully on the nightstand. He props himself on one elbow and looks down at me, almost apprehensively. I wonder what he is going to say, but keep quiet and wait. One of the things I have learned since Sean moved in here is to give him time and space to say what’s on his mind.
After a while he ventures, “Viggo, I was thinking about the holiday season this year. I mean we haven’t talked about what you usually do and I usually go home…to Sheffield, I mean.” He blushes, as if he’s made a faux pas by referring to somewhere other than this as ‘home’.
I stretch up to kiss him and stroke his shoulder reassuringly,
“It’s okay, Sean. I know that Sheffield will always have a special place in your heart. That’s one of the many things I love about you, the way you stay close to your roots. You’re talking about Christmas, of course. I’ve always gone to Christmas Dinner with friends, since I’ve been here. It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday and I was planning on making you a special dinner here, just the two of us. I’m certainly thankful I found you.”
Rather than making a quip about passing the sick bucket, he blushes even more and buries his head in my shoulder. There’s a lot more kissing and when we surface, he starts talking again,
“Viggo, I know it’s our first Christmas together, but as you say, we can have Thanksgiving to ourselves. At Christmas, I need to consider me mam and dad. I’ve been neglecting them lately.”
“Well sure you do. I had kind of noticed you hadn’t been calling them much and you’ve only been home once since we got together.”
“You never said anything.”
“Well, no. I’ve learnt that you’re a big boy now,” (a very big boy actually, since I’d stopped stroking his shoulder and had moved onto his cock) “and it’s not for me to try and tell you what you ought to do.”
“Mebbe you should give me a nudge now and then. Not that kind of nudge, you mucky bugger.”
“Sorry. Chocolate always revives and stimulates me.”
“Aye, well, I need to talk about this, so stop distracting me, please. Mum called tonight and she expects me to be there for Christmas.”
“Of course. I understand that you want to be with them. I’ll be fine here. Ian will invite me to his place, I’m sure.”
“Well, no, I’m not going to leave you. I was going to ask if you’d come with me. I told her I wanted to bring somebody special home to meet them.”
I push myself up into a sitting position, surprised, pleased and a little fearful all at the same time.
“You want me to meet your parents? You told your mom about me?”
“Well, not as such. She jumped to the conclusion that you were…..” he tailed off and blushed again.
“Female!” I finished for him. “Ah.”
“Well I need to tell them, Viggo. You are very special to me and I’ve been such a fucking coward putting it off. I couldn’t even do it, when I went home that weekend.”
I pull him into my arms, “You’re thinking about the reaction you got when the guys at the warehouse found out about us. But you only had the bad reaction from three of them. The others were okay.”
“The others weren’t thugs like Dan and his mates, but just because they didn’t try to thump me, doesn’t mean they accepted me. They were too scared of Big Pete to say a lot.”
“They don’t love you, Sean. Your parents do. It may be a shock to them, but whatever happens, you are their son.”
“It’s just that they are not exactly gay friendly, where I come from. It’s their generation too. Viggo, I’m scared of losing them, but I can’t bear to lose you.”
I squeeze him so tight that he’s having trouble breathing, so I ease off the pressure a little and give him mouth to mouth for a while.
“You have me, Sean and I hope that you’ll still have them too. You talk about their generation, but look how broad minded old Betsy was about us. They might surprise you!”
“I doubt that me mam took the concept of ‘entertaining the troops’ to quite the lengths Betsy seems to have done in wartime.”
“You never know, Sean. Ow, my ass!”
“My mother is a lady, Viggo and I’ll make sure you don’t forget it.”
Sean
I manage to end the phone call swiftly, saying I have to go out and am late already, that way cutting off all possible questions. I shake my head and start to laugh. *Now, that went well.*
I know that I should have told her about Viggo and what’s more, I should have told her about my job at the gallery, even about the paintings. I am a grown up man, old enough to have grown up children myself and I am entitled to live my own life. Still, my parents have always been good to me and even though I don’t see them that often they are important to me. The whole thing will come as a terrible shock.
I can’t really blame them. It’s just that they never get to meet gay people in Sheffield, well not in the circles they move in and the thought of their only son… At least I took the first step by telling them I would bring home someone special. There is some time to go and I can wait for a little while still. That thought cheers me up and I put on the telly again.
About an hour later I hear the lift coming up and I run to the kitchen and snatch the chocolate cake from the fridge. I strip off my clothes knowing all too well the time it takes for that creaky, old mechanism to deliver its passengers here.
I grin when Viggo steps out of the steel cage, panting and sweating and I ponder if it was me or the cake that made him hurry so much. I pull him inside and laugh when he tries to grab both me and the cake, but then he goes to his knees and I laugh no more.
Afterwards, in bed, I hesitantly tell him about us going to Sheffield for Christmas, only now realizing I haven’t even asked him if he wanted to. He seems pleasantly surprised, though, if a little apprehensive. Still, Viggo seems to think I am making too much of it, that my parents probably won’t be that shocked, but I am not so sure. In the end he gets me laughing again, as always and I grab him to wrestle him down and Sheffield seems to dissolve for the moment.
A few days later, it’s Sunday, so we’re having a lazy breakfast, I sip my tea slowly while Viggo munches happily on my leftover toast.
“I really have to call h… my parents today,” I say and try for a smile.
Viggo puts down his piece of toast and looks at me. “What are you going to say?”
‘I will tell them it’s not a girl I am bringing, but a male friend,” I say, trying desperately to come across determined.
“You think they’ll realize what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know Vig, but honestly; I can’t just confront them with you when they expect a busty blond, can I?”
That makes him laugh, but when he grabs for my hand he’s serious again. “Sean, if you’re not ready for this, it’s okay. I can stay here and you can go alone. I mean it.”
I close my other hand over his. “No Vig, not any more. It’s about time I told them the truth. I believe in you, believe in our future. I made a few decisions this week; in January I will put up my house for sale and then we’ll be officially living together and everyone we know – including my family – will have to learn to live with it.”
“That’s wonderful, Sean, and I am so glad you feel that way, but are you really sure?”
I let go of his hand and stand up to get my phone. “I am, let me show you.” While I dial the familiar number my heart beats much faster than usual and for a few moments I hope they are not at home, coward that I am. After the third ring my Mum picks up though and I cough to clear my throat.
“Hi mum, it’s Sean.” Immediately she starts talking without even taking a breath and I listen to her going on about Christmas, how she will clean my room, what she will cook for me and my girlfriend and by the way, what’s her name?
Viggo gives me an encouraging grin and I take a deep breath, the jump right into the middle of her monologue, “It’s not a girlfriend, Mum.”
A brief silence. “What?”
“It’s a man, not a girl. His name is Viggo and I want you and Dad to meet him.”
I can sense her disappointment, but somehow I don’t think she really gets the message. You’re bringing home a friend? Why didn’t you say so Sean? I will make up the guest room for him.”
I roll my eyes at Viggo and again I take a deep breath. “I was in a hurry. Look, I need to go now, but we’ll talk later okay? I have quite a few things I want to tell you and Dad.”
“Okay son,” she agrees, but she sounds puzzled. “I can’t wait for Christmas.”
“Neither can I, bye Mum,” and then I disconnect.
Viggo has picked up his piece of toast and looks at it as if it’s a rare artefact. “I guess she thinks I am a – what do you call it – mate?”
I sigh. “Yes. I just couldn’t tell her it all, not over the phone at least. It felt not like a decent thing to do. At least she and me dad now know you’re not a girl, right?”
Viggo looks up and smiles, “I think you’re right; you should speak to your parents face to face about all this. Maybe it would really be better if I stay here.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” I go down to my knees beside his chair and look up at him. “I don’t want to spend Christmas without you. You’re going with me and I’ll find a moment to be alone with them and tell them. I am sure in the end they’ll love you.”
Viggo
Four days before Thanksgiving, over a leisurely Sunday morning breakfast, Sean bites the bullet and calls his mom again. I know this is real hard for him and I offer to let him go there alone and keep out of the picture until he’s talked to them, kind of give them a chance to process the news. He’s adamant that he won’t leave me here at Christmas and tells me he’s finally decided to sell up and commit to me fully.
I am thrilled to hear it, but still worried that he’s not ready to tell his parents yet. He makes the call and breaks it to his mom that he is bringing me home and not a girlfriend. I can tell that she doesn’t get it and thinks he’s just bringing home a male friend. He cuts the call short, telling her he has a few things to talk to them about and he’ll do it over Christmas.
Again I offer to stay home and let him talk to them alone, but he sets his chin in that delightful, maddeningly stubborn way and tells me that I am going and that’s final.
I like it when he gets masterful and so when he kneels, grabs my face and kisses me forcefully, I go along with it and we end up losing the entire morning.
So it’s settled that I am getting a Sheffield Christmas, but first I am going to treat him to a London Thanksgiving and I spend the next few days in preparation and planning. I can’t banish him from the kitchen, as it’s integral to the loft space, so reluctantly I send him to his apartment the night before, much to his disbelief.
“You’re sending me to my place to sleep alone?”
I harden my heart.
“Sure I am. It’s just for one night and I want everything to be a nice surprise in the morning. Anyhow, looks like we’ll be sleeping apart over Christmas, so it’ll be good practice.”
With muttering and huffing he goes and I roll up my sleeves and get busy. By the time I fall into bed, I am exhausted anyway, so there wouldn’t have been any hanky panky.
When he arrives next day, he presses the buzzer downstairs like a guest and I let him in, lighting the candles, while the elevator clanks and bangs its way up.
I meet him in the doorway and kiss him, then he produces a bunch of red roses and a bottle of the first red wine he bought, when I invited him to dinner. I tear up and he calls me “a soft bugger”, but his green eyes are suspiciously bright too.
He whistles, when he sees the loft, hung with garlands I have made from ivy and laurel leaves, with bronze mums and golden corn cobs. There are candles everywhere and the table gleams with snowy white linen, shining glass and silverware and a pumpkin centrepiece. There is a scent of cinnamon, cloves and Muscovado sugar from the mulled wine I have made and he flares his nostrils and breathes it in appreciatively.
I take his coat and sit him down with some appetizers. In his honour I have made a potted cheddar and beer spread with crackers and when offered a drink, he opts for beer first, promising to taste the mulled wine next. I warn him not to fill up too much on the appetizers and return to the kitchen, while he puts on some music and relaxes with his beer.
He is most impressed, when I serve up apricot glazed turkey with fresh herb gravy, cranberry, Clementine and pumpkin seed conserve, mashed potatoes with garlic and shallots and glazed baby carrots. We sit opposite each other at the table, clink glasses and drink to us and our first holiday celebration together.
When we have done considerable damage to the banquet and are barely able to rise from the table, I mention dessert and ask him whether he wants to wait awhile. He groans and nods, crawling over to his couch. I get a couple of digestifs and join him. We both have to undo the buttons on our jeans, just so as we can breathe.
We spend a couple of hours on the couch, wrapped around each other, too full and contented to do anything and not really feeling like talking either. Eventually, I need to pee and since I have to get up, I revisit the idea of dessert and put on the coffee maker.
“So did you make a pumpkin pie, then? I notice there are a few pumpkins scattered around and you used seeds in that cranberry sauce.”
“No, not pumpkin pie,” I tell him, returning with a dessert and two forks.
“It’s chocolate, you addict! I might have known!”
“It’s * Glazed Chocolate Pumpkin Bundt Cake.”
“Oh God, Viggo, I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll feed you.”
I straddle his lap, careful to sit on his thighs and leave his tender stomach some room for expansion and take a forkful of chocolate dessert, coaxing his mouth open. He closes his eyes and makes appreciative noises, but after another forkful, begs for mercy.
“It’s delicious, Vig, but I’ll explode if I eat another thing and you’ll have to clean up.”
“Okay.” I sit back and eat the rest of the dessert myself. He shakes his head at me incredulously,
“Where the fuck do you put it all, you skinny bugger? You must have hollow legs.”
“I have a special, second stomach for desserts, especially chocolate, “I tell him solemnly, savouring the last delicious forkful. “Is there something traditional and chocolatey about an English Christmas?” I add hopefully.
Sean
I feel quite indignant about being sent to my flat for the evening, to spend the night alone. Sleeping together, and I don’t even mean the sex, but the intimacy of having Viggo’s warm body close, has proved addictive. Viggo is really determined I should and I don’t want to be a girl about it so I go.
The flat looks accusingly deserted and it smells of neglect. Now that I have decided I am going to sell the place I feel I might as well start cleaning up a bit, so I take off my jacket and set to work. I go down to the cellar, which is divided into small cubicles, go into mine and take some cardboard boxes with me upstairs. I start in the kitchen, emptying the cupboards. The things I want to keep I put in one box, but most of it I stow away in the others, as we won’t need things twice. I promise myself I will take those boxes to Oxfam later this week.
I look around in the living room, deciding to leave the furniture, including Viggo’s horrible couch, because it will be easier to sell when it’s not empty. I never was much of a homemaker, so there’s only half a box filled with personal belongings, like my Blades memorabilia, which will go with me wherever ever I go.
I decide on cleaning the flat when I am back from Sheffield and then making an appointment with an estate agent. For now I settle down on Viggo’s couch – *I wonder what the daft bugger is doing now?* - and watch telly for a while. I guess I could take the set with me and put it up in our bedroom, but I don’t think that it would serve any use; we would never have it on anyway. I think how maybe old Betsy would like to have it, as I did notice hers seemed to be ancient.
When it’s time I go to bed, I am not sleepy at all, which I blame on Viggo’s absence, but finally I manage to fall asleep.
The next day I am really anxious to go home, but I take the time to buy Viggo roses and the same bottle of wine we had that very first evening together. That’s the least I can do. I don’t want to spoil anything, so instead of using my key, I press the buzzer and it’s almost like when I came here just as an innocent visitor, until Viggo kisses me and there’s nothing innocent about that kiss.
I am impressed by what he’s done with the loft, everything looks beautiful and the food is delicious. Dessert is – well, what did I expect – some chocolate delight, but it’s too much for me. Viggo doesn’t seem to have a problem with it at all and I watch incredulously as he damned near licks the plate and still is able to talk about food.
“Is there something traditional and chocolatey about an English Christmas?” he asks and I laugh.
“Not really Vig, unless you want to unwrap chocolate coins, like a five-year old. No, our Christmas tradition doesn’t include chocolate, but you won’t miss it. Me mam will be in the kitchen for days.” I feel determined to give Viggo a wonderful Christmas and let nothing get in the way of that, not even my parents.
“Now,” I say while I take Viggo’s empty plate and put it on the side table “I think I should thank you properly, but I am afraid it will have to wait till tomorrow; I don’t think I could get down on my knees right now. Maybe.” I add hopefully,” the chocolate has made you horny enough to get down on your knees.”
Viggo tries to scowl at me unsuccessfully. “I’ve decorated the loft, cooked you a delicious meal, fed you chocolate while I sat in your lap and now you want me to suck you?”
“Well, it really is your fault I am stuffed...”
“I guess it is.”
“You have chocolate all over you, let’s shower first.”
“Afraid I will smudge you, Sean?”
“Not me, but the clean sheets, you bugger.”
Rolling his eyes at me Viggo climbs from my lap, starts unbuttoning his shirt and drops it while he starts walking towards the bathroom, then his jeans follow. Forgetting about my full belly I get up and strip off myself.
In the shower I push Viggo against the wall and wash him thoroughly, even in places where chocolate normally wouldn’t go. He just smiles wolfishly at me, as my dick decides not to give a damn about too heavy meals and jumps up at the sight of gloriously naked and slippery Viggo.
“It looks like you’re hungry again, Sean.”
I lean in and kiss him, tasting soapy water and Viggo in equal parts. Sliding down to my knees, I take him into my mouth, a hand on his hips to steady him and start sucking him, for the moment ignoring my own straining cock. Soon enough I have him into that nice, almost begging state that I rarely get to see him in, but I really like. I look up at him as he leans against the wall with his head thrown backwards, eyes closed and I take him even deeper. His hand goes to my head, fingers tangling in my hair, while the other holds on to the vanity unit and he comes.
His feet threaten to slip underneath him, but I hold him up until he’s recovered and then grin at him.
“You’re right Vig; I was hungry again.”
Later in bed I tell him about the flat and how I bumped into my neighbour this morning and how he told me about the flat three doors away that was sold for a very good price last week.
“We’ll be rich,” I say, and Viggo laughs.
“I feel rich already.”
“So do I, but still. What would you say if I installed a big bath tub? There’s plenty of space in the bathroom. One of these Jacuzzi things.”
“That’s a great idea Sean; let’s do it.”
I look down at him while he nuzzles my belly and sigh happily.
*All will be well; my parents will get used to it and love him in the end. Who wouldn’t?*
Summary: Sean wants to take Viggo home for Christmas
Rated: G
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 15692 Read: 3505
Published: 03 Jan 2011 Updated: 03 Jan 2011
Story Notes:
This is a sequel to A Kiss from a Rose and Bed of Thorns