“Stay still.”
“Fuckin’ easy fer ya ta say,” Sean complained. “Ow.”
“As nice as it is to think of my scars on your face, it’ll impede your job. So stay still, damnit,” Viggo brandished the cotton ball dipped with antiseptic in Sean’s face. “Or I’ll jab this into your eye.”
“Shut up and finish it already.”
Viggo sighed quietly and swiped at Sean’s face a little bit more with the antiseptic. Most of the blood had come off when they shared a shower, but some of the wounds had scabbed over during the night. All of the tiny wounds needed to be cleaned, and he was only damn glad that neither of them had broken bones despite how hard they had literally thrown each other around.
“There, I’m done,” he cleaned the biggest gash, a slice near Sean’s jaw that had nearly taken off part of his earlobe. “Are you done with your whining?”
“I don’t fuckin’ whinge.” Sean tipped his head back and cracked his neck side by side. The livid bite mark at his pulse point stood out, stark red and purple and blue. “Now gimme that; it’s yer turn.”
“Fine, fine,” Viggo tipped his head back and let Sean clean the thin, shallow cut on his neck, from the knife that Sean had first used when he had come through the door. Most of his cuts weren’t that bad; he just had bruises everywhere, and nothing could be done about those. Besides, he had gotten much worse, back when he first started.
Sean’s tongue was poking out of his mouth in concentration, and Viggo wiggled just a little bit. The moment Sean’s hand lowered, he leaned in, pressing their cut lips together in a soft kiss, his tongue licking against Sean’s teeth and palate, exploring his mouth for the umpteenth time this morning.
“We’ve got ta make some calls,” Sean murmured, his breath ghosting against Viggo’s jaw.
Viggo made a small, affirmative sound, his hand slipped down to bury itself into Sean’s hair. There were a couple of small lumps on the skull; he skirted those as he kissed him again.
“Let’s fuck up the bastards worse than they tried to fuck with us,” he said, and his grin was wide and sharp.
***
“Hey, Vincent. No, don’t say anything. Is this call recorded? Good. Just send it to David. I know he’s not going to pick up if I call.
“David. David, David, David. I just killed my lover for you. How’s that for proof of loyalty?
“No newspapers this time, right? No police investigation. No article for the client to cut up and save in their private collection. Private. But I follow the rules. Sometimes. I know you want proof. That’s alright, I’ll give you proof. There’s a cottage at the beach. You know which cottage, which beach. I used to go there. With Sean. It’s a beautiful poetic justice, isn’t it?
“Tomorrow night, 9pm. You owe me as much.”
*
“Don’t bother sendin’ out that dispatch fer a full million fer the two of us, Daragh. Nah, I ain’t been ta the office, but I ain’t stupid either. I know ‘ow the ol’ man works. I know ‘e ain’t awake just yet. That’s okay. Just record the call, put it on ‘is desk. ‘e’ll see it alrigh’.
“Ian, ya old coot. Few years back, when I first met Viggo, ya said yer were ‘appy fer me, that I found someone nice, and ya got me ‘ere, workin’ fer ya. I left Tom back ‘ome. ‘e still wants me back, think I should go? Nah, don’t think so. See, Ian, I killed Viggo. Not just fer ya, no. Been lookin’ fer an excuse anyway, but ya owe me ‘alf a million. At least.
“Now I know ya want somethin’ ta show ‘e’s dead, and I ain’t goin’ ta the office and leavin’ a ‘ead there fer ya ta find. I ain’t some fucking cat and ya ain’t me owner. Come find me at the cottage by the beach. Ya know which one. I bought it fer Vig and meself. Nice touch; think yer drama queen self would appreciate that.
“Tomorrow nigh’, 9pm. Don’t miss it, Ian. I don’t want ta ‘ave ta drag ya outta bed.”
***
Ian leaned back against his chair. He played the recording again before he looked at Daragh, a small smile curling up his lips.
“Sean seems to have forgotten that I taught him most of his tricks,” he said idly, his hands folding in front of him. “Want to come with, Daragh? You might even get a promotion.”
“I ain’t here fer the field work, boss,” Daragh said dryly. “Ye know that.”
“Of course, of course.” Ian swivelled around on his chair, standing up and walking over to his shelf. He picked out ten files before he slid them over to Daragh.
“Give them the address, and tell them to get into positions by eight. Oh, and- tell them to be observant, won’t you? It’ll be terribly embarrassing if they stumble upon David’s men.”
Daragh cocked his head. “Pardon me, sir, but if ye know this is an ambush, why would ye go?”
“Because Sean knows that I know, dear boy, and it’ll be far too boring if I don’t,” Ian smiled, looking like a benevolent grandfather. He reached out and patted the big Irish man on the hand. “Besides, I do want Viggo dead. He’s been stealing some of my favourite clients.”
*
David steepled his hands together.
“It’s a sad day when a child chooses his lover over his father,” he tutted, shaking his head. “A sadder day when that child thinks he can outsmart his father.”
“You know you’re really fucking creepy sometimes, don’t you?” Vincent cocked his head to the side. He was seated on one of the couches in David’s office. “Viggo’s not your kid. You don’t have kids. Thank God, hallelujah.”
Lazily, David opened an eye. “Are you that bored that you’re reduced to baiting me?”
“Maybe,” Vincent shrugged. “You refused to let anyone take the offer of a million for them both, so there goes my entertainment for the day.”
“You can come with me tonight. Ariadna too,” he nodded at the silent woman seated in the corner. “Either of you might earn a promotion. Or even that million dollars.”
Ariadna chuckled. She unfolded her legs, standing up from the chair. “I’ll come,” she said, and flashed David a sharp smile. “For the possibility of seeing you lose. That would be fun.”
Vincent whistled lowly. He jumped out of the door after her, peeking out around the frame to wink at David. “What she said.”
David tutted again. “Children these days,” he sighed. “So disrespectful.”
***
Viggo leaned one elbow out of the car door, the cigarette trailing smoke behind him as he drove. He glanced over to Sean in the passenger seat as he looked at his phone.
“Daragh’s a good man,” Sean said. He leaned back fully on the leather cushion, letting out a sigh. “He ain’t goin’ ta be there, but he tol’ me who is. ‘Cause, Ian probably knows that he’s goin’ ta tell me, so that’s that.”
“He’s a sneaky bastard,” Viggo replied. He tossed the cigarette out of the window before he pulled into the driveway of the cottage. “No wonder David can’t get along with him.”
Sean made an affirmative noise as they both got out of the car.
It was a beautiful place, the beach. Surrounded by woods where plenty of people could hide, and Viggo smiled to himself as Sean narrowed his eyes. Just half a heartbeat later, his lover had a gun in his hand and was firing towards the shadow nearest to the door.
“Hey Vincent!” Viggo called. A shame, really, that one of the people whom he would call a friend—and whom he bothered to introduce to Sean a few months ago—was actually here.
“’ow’s the book goin’?” Sean draped his gun over his shoulder, cocking his head to the side.
“Same as always!” A French-accented voice came floating over. “Nonexistent, as you well know by now!”
“Funny, ya always tol’ me it’s goin’ well.”
“Six of one, half a dozen of the other, like you English bastards always say.”
Vincent walked towards him. He had night-vision goggles on, which he pulled up to rest in his hair. He was grinning already, holding a shotgun at his side. “I’m your welcoming party,” he said, and gave them a theatrical little bow.
“What have we done to warrant such special treatment?” Viggo murmured softly.
Vincent shrugged as he opened the door with a flourish. “When an assassin meets another assassin and didn’t kill me, but instead decided to play house...”
“Ah, so that’s what this is?”
Sean merely snorted as he stepped through the door. Viggo followed him at a more sedate pace, taking in the sight of lit fireplace and the rearranged furniture, with David and Ian sitting at the opposite sides of the room.
“Looks like yer made yerself at ‘ome,” Sean commented. He walked over to the couch, now situated near the door and just two feet away from where their two bosses were sitting. He lit up a cigarette, revolver placed on his lap. Viggo dropped down to sit next to him, making sure to invade into his personal boundaries.
That was the way people like them spoke to each other. Through actions, hints that were never truly made into words but were understood in full anyway. Viggo had made a statement, and Sean had joined in through his inaction.
Behind the two of them, Vincent closed the door. So it begun, then.
“How sweet,” Ian said. He had a clear-cut, sharp Received Pronunciation accent, Viggo noted. He sounded like a BBC announcer. Though he had never once met this man before today, he couldn’t say that he was terribly surprised.
“Ya should’ve seen us yesterday,” Sean drawled. He drew a drag from his cigarette and handed it over to Viggo. “Ya won’t ‘ave said that then.”
“Oh, we can tell,” David steepled his fingers, leaning forward. He was looking at the two of them like they were particularly interesting specimens that he had just gotten hold of. Viggo wasn’t fazed—it was how David always looked at people, unless he found them boring. Truth to be told, it was a little flattering.
“But you didn’t kill each other.”
“No,” Viggo let the smoke escape from his lips and curl around his face. “We decided that we still liked each other.”
Ian raised an eyebrow, “Despite the lies?”
Sean burst out laughing, a hard-edged chuckle that had a small shiver travel down Viggo’s spine. “Funny fer ya ta speak ‘bout lyin’, Ian. If I dislike people who lie ta me, ya would’ve been me public enemy number one.”
Before Ian could reply, David cut in. “You always like small talk a little too much,” he glanced at Ian, his voice a sharp drawl. “Let’s get down to business. We have twenty people with their rifles aimed at your heads outside, Viggo. Sean.” He made Sean’s name sound like a curse. “Your little trick didn’t work.”
“Oh, but it did,” Viggo said. He smiled slightly. “I figured that out the moment I saw Vincent at the door. But you both seem to have missed something.”
“Oh?” David cocked his head.
Viggo moved, faster than the eye can see. Two knives were suddenly buried in the walls beside David and Ian’s heads, and Viggo stroked along the blade. A window broke, and the sound of the bullet shell hitting the ground was loud in the sudden silence that fell over them.
“Sean and I have decided on something.”
Sean pushed himself out of the couch, reaching back to pull Viggo up beside him.
“See, ya know ‘ow good we are. ‘ow fast we are,” Sean smirked. He levered his pistol up. “Ya want ta gamble yer lives wi’ ‘ow quick the bastards out there can move, versus yer two best killers?”
“See, David. Ian,” Viggo took a single step forward. Another window smashed inwards, but the glass was too far away for even the shards to reach them, though he could feel the burn of the bullet near his neck. “Dying for Sean is passé and old-fashioned; dying by him will probably cause a hell lot of friction in our relationship in the afterlife and cut into the great sex.”
“So dyin’ wi’ ‘im is the only option,” Sean stayed where he was, but the click of the safety going off was statement enough.
Ian hummed under his breath, considering. He slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out his own gun. He placed it on the table in from of him, spinning it around until the muzzle was pointed at Viggo.
“I didn’t realise you believed in the afterlife, Viggo,” David said, his voice casual. But Viggo could hear the tension wound into it; only someone who knew David well would be able to tell.
“We’re willin’ ta take the risk,” Sean answered for him. “Put yer gun back inta yer pockets, Ian. I’m the best. Yer finger won’t even be on the trigger ‘fore me bullet ripped open yer ‘ead.”
“Really, it’s so terribly sweet of the two of you to want to die for each other.” Ian leaned back against the couch. His eyes were narrowed. Viggo left Sean to interpret what that mean, but Sean only grinned. “You have demands, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Viggo nodded. He stroked the hilt of his knife with a thumb, lifting his eyes up to smile at those two. “We want the two of you to play nice with each other when it comes to the two of us. No killing each other. No sending the two of us to kill the same mark either. We want a paid vacation for a month or two, maybe. It’s been a long time since we’ve taken a vacation.”
“On yer private island, Ian,” Sean added.
David sighed, “Loyalty has such little meaning nowadays.”
“And your yacht, David,” Viggo gave him a poisonously sweet smile. “I nearly forgot about that.”
“That’s a lot to ask for two people who will die the moment we give the word,” Ian leaned forward. His hand splayed over his gun, the thumb slowly pulling back the safety.
“Don’t make us repeat ourselves,” Sean rolled his eyes. “Ya ain’t stupid, the either of ya. The goons outside won’t save yer arses.”
“Vincent is supposed to have taken your weapons,” David remarked.
Viggo grinned, “Vincent likes his entertainment.”
“Ya two underestimated us. Not sayin’ ya underestimated Vig, or me, but us.”
“I would kiss you for that,” he murmured, glancing over to Sean. “But I’m afraid that our brains would be blown up the moment I try.”
“That ain’t a bad way ta go, no,” Sean replied in the same low tone, chuckling. “But I want a fuckn’ vacation more.”
Viggo snorted, turning his eyes back to David just as he felt Sean do the same for Ian.
“So?” Sean asked.
“Go on then,” Ian waved a hand. “Walk out of the door. I’ll give you directions to the island tomorrow, Sean, when you come back to work.”
“Oh, no, we’re not letting you off that easily,” Viggo strode forward. Bullets thudded into the walls of the cottage, but he was too fast for even the snipers, already grabbing Ian’s arm and hauling him to his feet, the knife placed across his throat.
“We ain’t stupid either,” Sean said, and he had moved at the same time Viggo did, his gun shoved against David’s temple. “Ya two will escort us back out ta the car.”
“It’s only polite,” Viggo added.
He almost had to carry to Ian to the door. It was childish for the older man to do that, but Viggo was strong and Ian’s slim build made him an easy hostage—easy enough that he could still be careful to not cut into skin. Out of the corner of his eye, Sean was dragging David towards the same door, and Viggo had only a moment to wonder how they were going to open it with both of their hands full when it opened by himself.
Vincent greeted them with a shit-eating grin. He saluted Sean.
“Nice accessory you’ve got there, Bean. Hey, boss.”
“Hello, Vincent,” David returned, calm as always. But even from here, Viggo could feel the burn of his displeasure emanating from him in waves. People like David—they didn’t like losing. That was fine, Viggo could empathise—he hated losing as well.
“We can always send men to kill you at your homes,” Ian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Viggo grinned; it was always nice to have your target acknowledge the knife at their throats.
“You can, but your men have already watched you lose, Ian. It will never be able the threat we pose to the profession anymore; it will just be about your ego. How hard do you think they’ll try to kill us?” He leaned in closer. “How much money would you lose if Sean completely disappears? You always keep him so terribly busy.”
He shoved Ian away from him and vaulted into the car, immediately shoving the key into the ignition and turning in. Beside him, Sean threw himself into the driver’s seat, slamming down on the accelerator. Viggo pressed hard on a single button, ducking down as the top of the car drew over their heads, barely in time to stop the bullets that followed them.
“We should send ‘em the bill,” Sean said as he made a hairpin turn. Viggo scrabbled for the seatbelt, pulling it over his chest as he tried to stop himself from falling over. Sean was the better and more reckless driver both; that was why he was behind the wheel. “Fer the repairs of the car, the cottage, and the damn ‘ouse!”
“You think they’ll cough up?” He reached over, grabbing Sean’s seatbelt and strapped him in.
“Nah! But it’ll piss ‘em both even more!”
Viggo burst out laughing even as he turned around. There were already cars starting to follow them, but he trusted Sean’s driving; knew that they would never catch up to the two of them. They probably wouldn’t get that paid vacation from David and Ian, but that didn’t matter. They had all their onshore cash in the car, and plenty of weapons.
Switzerland was probably beautiful at this time of the year. Customs wouldn’t be a problem—they were always putty in their hands.
Sean was laughing next to him, and Viggo’s eyes softened slightly before he leaned in. The road was going straight ahead, and Viggo leaned in and stole the kiss he should have taken back in the cottage.
They were powerful alone, definitely—but working together, they were invincible.
Summary: All married couples have at least one or two little secrets they keep from each other, don’t they? A Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 19105 Read: 4114
Published: 09 Nov 2012 Updated: 10 Nov 2012