Summary: Sean is a window cleaner and is in for a suprise when cleaning Viggo's windows.

Rated: NC-17

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo

Warnings: AU

Challenges:

Series: Confessions of a Window Cleaner

Chapters: 2 Completed: Yes

Word count: 4994 Read: 2926

Published: 05 Aug 2009 Updated: 05 Aug 2009

~Sean~


It’s not a bad day today, a bit chilly, but at least it’s not raining for a change. Only one more house to go and I can go home, have an early dinner and then go to the pub. Life has been a bit tame lately and I would like to get a bit of action.

In my profession – I am a window cleaner – it’s not too hard when you’re not bad looking, to get laid. It sounds like a cliché, but that’s how it is. The thing is it’s usually women making offers, and I kinda prefer blokes nowadays. Less complications, no strings, no tears.

I’ve always been the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ kind and it has got me into trouble once too often. So when Mrs. Bradley winked at me today from behind her shiny clean bedroom window I just smiled politely. She is rather pretty and I wonder what her husband looks like..

The last house I am doing today is the Mortensen house. He‘s only moved here recently and I haven’t met him yet. The arrangement was made by telephone and he made a deposit for the coming three months, but he doesn’t seem to be home much. I like cleaning his windows. One of the benefits of the jobs is looking into other people’s houses. I am a curious guy.

Most people nowadays keep their curtains closed when I come though, especially in bed rooms and so on. This Mortensen bloke doesn’t, I have a free view everywhere. He really knows how to make a perfect mess : there is stuff everywhere, on the floors on the furniture. He must be living alone, I don’t think any woman could live like that.

I fill my bucket from his outside tap and start with the big living room windows. It’s still a mess inside but he must have been home recently, there are glasses on the table and a full ashtray. He could do with some window cleaning inside, but that’s not my concern.

The next room has no wall, it’s all sliding doors, all glass, and he pays extra for it. Some sort of studio he has here : there are easels, paintbrushes and some paintings lying around. An artist he is, and even though most people won’t expect me to, I really like art. I would like to know what this guy is like. I asked Mrs. Bradley, but she just said he was “strange”, meaning probably he didn’t wink back at her either.

Next is the kitchen and I doubt there’s much cooking going on there. It looks like he’s being mixing paint in the sink and there’s quite an expensive looking camera on the stove. A pair of old, battered jeans is hanging over a chair and I wonder what it’s doing there. Sometimes my job is so entertaining !

I go out and pull out the ladder, propping the squeegee and the sponge in my belt. I climb up to the master bedroom, the one with the biggest windows on the first floor. I wet my sponge and start cleaning the window, when I see movement in the bed room.

Fuck ! There’s someone on the bed and he’s definitely naked !


~Viggo~


Shit ! I have been lost in my painting for days, as sometimes happens to me and I can’t remember when I last slept, ate or, come to think of it, showered !

I sniff the air cautiously and realise that even I can smell me and the body odour is enough to overwhelm the turps, paint and oil in here.

Stretching my cramped limbs, I pad through to the kitchen, stomach growling, like a bear just waking from hibernation, to investigate whether there is anything edible around, which isn’t wearing a fur coat yet.

I am in luck, as I must have bought bread just before incarcerating myself, so it’s still within its “won’t quite poison you yet” date and I have jars of stuff to spread. I make myself a doorstep peanut butter sandwich , grab a bottle of water and head for the bathroom.

A shower first, I figure, and then a few hours of well-earned sleep, even though it seems to be the middle of the day.

I will deal with the trail of pain-stained clothes later. I suppose it’s time I fought with the temperamental washing machine, as I ran out of clean underwear about a week ago and have been turning my tee shirts inside out and re-wearing them for a while.

It’s not that I intend to be this scuzzy, just that other things seem to have a higher priority than laundry and I do clean the house. Sometimes. I clean, when I deem it necessary, which unfortunately is not as often as other people would like. Anyway, I am a crazy, bohemian artist type and above these mundane chores. Although my paintings and photographs are actually selling now and I can afford a cleaner, I somehow can’t reconcile myself to having somebody pick up after me either, so the house remains a bit of a compost heap.

The hot shower is nice, though and I stay in there a long time, lathering up my body and shampooing my hair. I have always loved the sensuous feeling of water on my skin and it’s been so long since anyone touched me, that even the touch of my own hands is beginning to arouse me.

Oh, damn water is running cold now ! It’s too cold to stay in here and finish what I have started, so I think I’ll dry myself off and take this into the bedroom.

I towel myself vigorously, working up a nice pink glow and then head into the bedroom and throw myself onto the bed. Now where was I ?

Oh yeah, I think, as I stretch out, flat on my back and take myself in hand, running my other hand across my chest and circling my own nipple, as I slowly stroke my shaft.

Closing my eyes I start to fantasize, focusing on one of my favourite subjects, an actor with dirty blonde hair, green eyes, long sensitive fingers and a nice ass.

I imagine his hands on my body and I arch off the bed, groaning as my hands speed up.


~Sean~


I am quite sure the guy’s totally lost in what he’s doing - obviously wanking - and not aware of me at all. My sight is a bit blurry, because of the soap running over the window and I carefully wipe it clean, keeping my movements deliberately slow.

The guy on the bed – I guess he’s that Mortensen bloke – doesn’t look bad at all. At first I can only see his legs and his moving hand, wrapped around an erect cock, but then he arches from the bed and I get a view of a nice toned chest and a chiselled face. Luckily his eyes are closed.

I know I ought to go away, it will be very embarrassing for both of us if he should see me, but I just can’t seem to tear myself away. Recognizing the signs , been there, done that, when I see his hand speeding up I know it is time to get my arse down.

My eyes still fixed on the hot scene inside, I step down and miss a rung. Desperately clinging to the window sill I yelp, catching a glimpse of Mortensen getting off the bed and running to the window, but it’s too late and I am already falling. For a moment I am flying and then I hit the ground and I am out.

Through a haze I hear someone talking urgently to me, and I shake my head, trying to clear up the fog there. I open my eyes to stare into the worried face of Mortensen, and I remember what happened. I try to sit up, but I feel dizzy and nauseous, so I lie back again.

“Are you okay ?” he asks.

He still looks very worried, and long strong fingers are tracing my skull, looking for injuries. The fog is clearing up a little and I realize I am lying flat on the grass and he’s still bloody naked. I must have scared him to death and made him run outside.

“I think I am, “ I say and try to smile reassuringly. When I sit up again, this time without getting sick, I try to move every limb carefully until I am sure there’s nothing broken apart from my pride. My body does ache all over though and I can’t help but wince when he helps me up.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says and wraps his arm around my waist.


~Viggo~


I am just nicely worked up and on the verge of coming, when I am rudely distracted by a kind of slithering noise outside the window, and a strangled yelp.

My eyes fly open and I sit up, just in time to see the window cleaner lose his precarious grip on my window sill. I am up and off the bed in a second, but too late and with horror, I hear the scrape of the falling ladder and a sickening thud as he makes the acquaintance of my driveway !

Fuck ! Poor guy. I run downstairs, and outside, heart hammering, bracing myself for the sight of blood.

He is sprawled unconscious on his back on the lawn, thankfully having missed the concrete, but I can’t help thinking that had to hurt and I am afraid he may have a head injury.

I kneel by his side and talk to him urgently and to my relief, he opens his eyes, but is clearly dazed. It seems, though that he is lucky and hasn’t actually broken anything, so I help him up and into the house and sweep some papers and photos off the couch, easing him down gently.

He winces at every step we take and in lying on the couch and I figure that he is probably in shock, so arrange a pillow under his head, get a car rug to cover him over and go in the kitchen to make some hot, sweet tea.

As I wait for the kettle to boil, I look down and realize that I am still naked. Well, I don’t care, but it ‘s a good thing the street is very quiet at this time of day, ‘cause I am fairly new here and wouldn’t want to startle the natives.

That Mrs Bradley is already very wary of me, maybe ‘cause I don’t wear a suit and go into town on the 7.35 and maybe ‘cause I wander around barefoot in ragged jeans, muttering to myself and maybe ‘cause I didn’t fall for her femme fatale, eyelash fluttering, desperate, bored housewife act. Sorry, sweetheart, but I play for the other team !

I suppose I should put something on, now I have a guest, but I figure that as a window cleaner, he’s probably seen worse, so I just pour two mugs of tea and take them back into the living room.

He is lying back with his eyes closed and I have the chance to really look at him for the first time. It strikes me that he is actually very attractive, and somehow puts me in mind of that actor I was happily picturing as I jerked off.

Oops, down boy ! I hurriedly drop to my knees by the couch, so that when he opens his eyes he won’t notice my interest. Well, my cock thinks that he has unfinished business and I can’t blame him, when I look at this guy.

“Tea,” I say, and my voice sounds a little husky, so I clear my throat.

Green eyes open and focus on me, then he smiles and his face lights up, as he pushes himself into a sitting position and accepts the mug.

“Ta, mate, “ he says, “Ah’m Sean, by the way.”

“Viggo,” I reply, my mouth suddenly very dry.


~Sean~


I must say he’s really nice, getting me in the house, sweeping away some stuff from the couch and helping me to lie down on it. He even throws some kind of blanket over me and then he walks away, giving me the opportunity to watch his naked backside. ‘That’s a glorious body’ I think, closing my eyes, my thoughts still dwelling on the curves of that fantastic arse.

When I open them again, he’s crouching next to me, offering me a mug of tea. He didn’t bother to put something on, and it strikes me as rather odd. I wonder if he did it on purpose, and I can’t help hoping he did : despite of my still aching body, some parts of me are aching for a totally different reason.

I thank him and tell him my name. “Viggo, ” he says, and I like the sound of that name as I like his voice. He’s still crouching, so he’s close enough for me to pick up the message in those amazing eyes. I manage to sit up without hurting too much, and I am really beginning to feel myself again.

“So Veegoh, are you always walking around naked or what ?”

He chuckles a little.

“Does it disturb you ? Do you want me to put some clothes on ?”

“No mate, I am not disturbed at all.”

“Do you want me to call a doctor ?”

“Nah, no need. It’s probably just the muscles that took the force of the fall and are a bit sore now.”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching my face.

“Do you want me to help you with that ? I mean I can give a real good massage.”

I am not sure what he’s offering exactly, but I sure am game.

“That would be grand, if I am not keeping you from anything,” I say, grinning to myself.

“Do you think you can make it upstairs ? I mean, I can’t do it here properly, we will have to get you on a bed.”

“I am quite sure I can if you give me a little hand.”

Once again he wraps his arm around my waist and I let him lead me upstairs, straight to the master bedroom. The bed is still crumpled and he smoothes it up a little.

“Do you mind taking your shirt off ? It’s easier for me and it’ll feel better for you.”

I don’t even try to hide my grin this time.

“I am sure it will,” I say and I start unbuttoning my shirt.

He helps me to lie down on my belly, and then the bed dips with his weight as he climbs on and straddles me. He hasn't lied : he does know how to give a back rub. Strong hands he has and pretty soon I am purring like a kitten, while his hands glide over my back.