"You know Vigs, it says in my horoscope that 'there's an exceptionally amourous sky ahead, listen to your heart. My speed will be impeccable, superior, and everything will be possible in your behaviour! You will be magnificent on the 7th and 8th!' Do you hear that, you succubus. Admittedly, it's from a French tv magazine, but who knows, they know all about lurv! So. Is it you I am going to pursue with my impeccable speed? Bloody hell... that sounds terrific, could you take me that fast, Vigs, or would you get arse burn? Hey, and 'everything will be possible in your behaviour!' Have you still got that Kama Sutra book handy? I shoved it under the bed last week. Is it still there?"
Viggo waggled his willy at Sean, grinned, "This isn't up for much just now... when do have I to get speed-burn, the 7th and 8th? Hell, that's a week away - can't wait that long! Try a slow warming up this evening eh?"
The same thought hit them both at the same time.
'That bloody 'Do' at the Mansion House!'
Sean leapt out of the mess he was squatting in, throwing the magazine at the wastebin, and galloped, cock and balls bouncing, out into the lounge. He returned slowly, holding the pasteboard with extended finger and thumb, as if it were poisoned or green with slime.
"The idea is great, supporting the film industry in the U.K. and all that.. but not when I have my favourite fucker handy and a whole mad Hallowe'en weekend. The sodding Mayor and all his fancy men will be there! Plastic food, again when I'd rather eat my chinese off your belly, the hairs help the taste!" He laughed, making slurping noises, "Ok, no more Fortune Cookies there, I promise! I'll put them... " he pounced, "There and THERE and... oooh c'm here you impossibly beautiful beggar... Ok. I'm horny again... You ready?"
Later, much later, after meals and shopping, chores finished, two men in extremely well-cut suits, silk shirts and ties, parted company at the door of Sean's house. Two separate taxis waited, and each bore a single occupant to the large building that was the Official Residence of the Lord Mayor of London. Built in the Palladian style, back in 1752, it sat on the remains of a church St Mary's Haw... which struck Viggo as a cause for contemplation, and caused Sean to snigger. On entry, the Footmen footed, the Ushers ushered, the Announcer announced.
Tables were set in regimented rows. Top table with all the Bigwigs, who donated large sums expecting large blessings, and usually receiving them, free of tax. The lesser beings were allocated the right-angled table settings, which made the room look like a skinny barcode.
Sean was placed next to a minor Dowager Duchess, with a multitude of wrinkles and the same amount of imitation diamonds. On his other hand, he had a centre-fold Playmate with bosoms he wanted to lift out with his soupspoon, and sup. This might be a not bad evening, wonder what the legs are like, and if she IS a real blonde.. I might try and find out... There's this amourous sky looming... use my 'superior speed ' and follow me heart...well, not me heart then... me other bit...
Viggo as a foreign guest, had been placed at the table of the American Ambassador, between a soberly dressed matron of indefinable years, and a decidedly well-maintained trollope of some oh, eighty years, the face was running out of parts to lift! He looked around for Sean. His heart sank when he viewed the tossing strands of blonde hair... he hoped it was 'extended' and would come off in Sean's hands... and her scarlet fingernails resting already on Sean's dark blue shoulder
The Butlers buttled, the Waiters waitered, and the meal began with endless speeches, lasting through the first four silver boats of bread rolls under Sean's busy fingers Gotta keep them up, but by golly, they wanna get under this cloth and start yanking up that skirt... He crumbled another roll. Impeccable behaviour was it?
Viggo had launched, from sheer boredom, into one of his joke-telling sessions. The Ambassador had a deep rich laugh, and he employed it to full effect. Heads turned frequently, wondering why the American Table was having such fun and theirs was so interminably dull.
More speeches. The suppressed yawns grew wider. The Master of Ceremonies stepped forward, then back, glanced at his list, then stepped forward and then back, glanced again. His yawn capacity was vast. He had trained his jaw to stay locked.
The Royal Toast to be drunk. To Her Glorious Majesty the Queen Elizabeth the Second, Ruling Monarch of Great Britain.
"Please all stand!" The Master commanded and had to be obeyed.
Always the violent shuffling of chairs, one or two falling, skirts ripping, men's zips being hastily checked, glasses found empty. Hands waving 'for fills please.' Then the M.C. tapped his baton on the table, his voice rang,
"The Queen."
The whole room muttered in many languages, 'Stuff the Queen' "When can I get the hell out of..." "I so need the toilet, I'm bursting." Other voices added, "F----g b----y awful b-----y evening that cost me a thousand nicker," or, Viggo's voice, unaware, within the Ambassador's hearing,
"When the fuck can I get my hands on that big blonde bugger who is doing his best not to tear the clothes offa that blonde bitch..."
Sean found himself being pecked at by hands covered in rolled back purple gloves, so he took a claw, bowed, and in his best Lord Fenton manner, nearly kissed the hand. The Dowager clacked her teeth at him, and thought him perfectly charming, and decidedly bedworthy. The blonde retrieved her booty, and with one arm just about to circle Sean's back beneath his suit jacket, a commotion broke out on the far side of the room.
The American Table had erupted in chaos. Several grabbing hands raided the decorations on nearby tables, knives were wielded in frantic carvings... To the tune of 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic,' the whole American table marched up to the Mayor's Top Table, grabbed a partner, made them join in the March, and proceeded to totally wreck the decorous atmosphere. Viggo made sure his march led him very close to the corner where a couple of blondes were almost ignoring the racket.
He reached out, grabbed the muscular flexing ass, and in tugging hard at the pants, allowed a pair of hands to drop the scrunched-up skirt. Viggo pulled Sean to him, and in full view of the several watchers, kissed him full, hard and long on the mouth. Then he perched his carved-out pumpkin lid on Sean's head, and tied the flower-ribbon beneath his chin. He smiled benignly into Sean's scarlet face, patting his own monstrous headgear. The Ambassador came tottering up, the tablecloth hanging toga-like from his lanky frame, waving a bottle of champagne, "Come on, bring your boyfriend, you mad American, we're going back to my place for a real Party. I insist you wear those horns though... They look really great on you!" he chortled past the neck of the bottle.
Viggo Mortensen, Mad American, adjusted his pair of pumpkin-carved Devil Horns, groped his 'boyfriend's' bum, and followed his Ambassador.
Sean could SWEAR he could see a long red pointy tail sticking out of Viggo's pants, from just where he would be putting a certain part of his own horny anatomy, veryshortly, very impeccably, and with all the superior speed he could muster.
Sunday midday.
Sean kept his head very still, but it was after all, a very good Mansion House Party, what he could remember of it, that is. Viggo blearily agreed over his first mate, on what would be a very quiet Sunday.
Summary: Who really wants to listen to boring speeches....
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1310 Read: 374
Published: 01 Dec 2011 Updated: 01 Dec 2011