Sean reclined lazily under the shelter of the awning, *fuck, "bimini" get it right, Bean*, book forgotten on his lap as he watched Viggo cross the cove with firm, athletic strokes. He supposed he would take a dip later, but for now he was content to watch as the lean, wiry body sliced effortlessly through the turquoise crystal water.
“Poetry in fucking motion,” he chuckled out loud, as the sunlight gilded the rippling water lapping gently against the hull of the boat.
If truth were told, he had not initially been keen on the idea of this sailing trip to Turkey, but Viggo, as usual, had been most persuasive and had been able to get his own way in the face of Sean’s vehement refusals.
As always, Sean had found himself somewhat bemused by the process, but it had definitely involved long and rambling Viggo verbals, as well as the delicious, non-verbal methods of persuasion, which had finally clinched the deal.
“Come on, Sean, you’ll love it. Give us the chance to be free, be on our own, sail where we please, tie up in little, secluded coves. It’ll be great .”
“Ah’m not too sure, Vig. Never been much of a sailor…..”
“But Sean, you’re a Brit ! Seafaring nation and all that. Drake, Raleigh, Nelson……must be in your blood !”
And then the verbal inducements had stopped and Viggo had resorted to what Sean could only consider to be underhand tactics, although he loved being under Viggo’s hands, Viggo’s mouth, Viggo’s body and before long, Sean had lost the argument again.
“Ah’m just too easy,” sighed Sean, as he wondered where Viggo had learnt to sail, yet another practical skill at which he was astonishingly competent and supremely confident. The only boat movie he recalled Viggo having made was “The Crew”, memorable only for its complete pointlessness and the constant whining of “It’s my boat” by the obnoxious character he had played.
With lazy strokes, Viggo returned to the blunt end *shite, “stern”* of the boat and climbed up, shaking droplets of water from his shaggy hair like a dog. Being Vig, there was the usual absence of swimwear, but as there was also an absence of other boats or people, they were hopefully safe from arrest.
Not that Sean was complaining as he took in the tanned and muscular body, with rivulets of water running temptingly down the strong shoulders and muscled chest, little diamonds twinkling in the soft fur and coarser hair around…..
“Well, hello, sailor, how about tossing me a towel ?” The soft drawl roused Sean from his wet dream and he grinned as he reached for the towel, sliding along the bench to wrap it round his lover.
Leaning in, he licked a few droplets of water from the hollow at the base of Viggo’s throat,
“Mmm, salty !”
“Have you never heard of a salty sea-dog ?”
Then the laps became nibbles and the towel slipped to the deck, unheeded, as Sean slid his hands up the muscled back and Viggo’s nimble fingers made short work of the buttons on his denim cut-offs.
Before long, Sean found himself bent over the rail, while Viggo worked him open, his fingers slick with…..what, exactly ?
“Sunscreen,” growled Viggo into his ear, before nipping the lobe and thrusting hard into him, causing a sharp intake of breath, before he relaxed into the familiar feeling of being utterly filled and possessed. Strange how they could almost read each other’s minds now, he thought, gazing down into the depths, as Viggo plumbed his depths, rolling his hips in rhythm with the boat’s rocking motion, as it lay at anchor.
Viggo changed his angle subtly and Sean cried out in pleasure, as his prostate was brushed with every stroke and a warm, calloused hand slid round to encompass his own throbbing erection and firmly bring them into harbour together.
An incoming *gulet, on its way to moor in the cove drove them downstairs *bugger, “below”* in a happy post-coital haze to put on some clothes ready to take the dinghy inshore to eat at the small restaurant on the beach.
They dined on lobster, so fresh that it was picked up from a holding cage under the jetty and carried off to the wood-fire, waving its claws in indignant but futile protest, which made Sean feel slightly guilty, until he savoured the sweet meat on its bed of salad and washed it down with red wine. It was not the best wine, but by the third bottle it had improved considerably.
In these tiny places, they had been able to go unrecognised and in spite of Sean’s apprehension about coming to a country like this, given their relationship, it had turned out that in this culture, men were naturally touchy-feely with each other, so nobody batted an eyelid at an arm round the shoulder or waist, or a hand-clasp.
Sean sat enjoying a cigarette with his Turkish coffee and watching the lights dancing on the indigo water. Viggo’s arm was wrapped loosely round his shoulders, a firm thigh pressed against his and Sean realized that the warm glow he was experiencing was simple happiness. He could get used to this sailing lark.
“Yer know, ah weren’t keen on this trip, but it’s turned out champion. Ah still can’t get me ’ead round these nautical terms, but ah’m learnin’, Skipper.”
“I enjoy teaching you, scurvy crew. You need more rope practice, though. Finish your coffee and we’ll row back to the boat, so I can demonstrate some interesting knots.”
“Aye aye, Captain !”
*gulet – a traditional wooden Turkish sailing boat
Summary: No plot, just a fluffy holiday interlude, written on holiday
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 969 Read: 630
Published: 08 Aug 2009 Updated: 08 Aug 2009