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"Always check your inner state
and the lord of your heart.
Copper doesn't know it's copper
until it's changed to gold."
~~Rumi (The Mouse and the Camel)
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"D'y'know," Sean observes, "I reckon that little bunny's tellin' Ophelia a story." He's watching out of the french doors that lead from the kitchen into the back yard, where Ophelia crouches Sphinx-like on the back lawn in the soft evening. A small brown bunny rests on its haunches just within sniffing distance, and occasionally its front paws flicker or wave, as though the bunny is stressing a point. The young hound appears to be paying careful attention.
Viggo saunters up behind Sean and slips his arms around his waist. He rests his nose on Sean's shoulder, taking in a deep breath of old cotton, expensive cigarettes, and Sean underneath. "Phee is deaf. How can he tell her a story?"
"Rabbit language," Sean declares solidly.
"What's that, some sort of sign language?" Viggo's hands begin to wander, and he rubs his cheek against Sean's neck, snuffles behind his ear.
Sean reaches a hand back to ruffle through Viggo's hair. It's grown long and sleek, streaked butterscotch and pale chestnut by regular walks along the beach below the house, and Sean has confessed to a weakness for it. "Aye, maybe. Or telepathy. More things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio."
Viggo grins. "Speaking of Heaven..."
"You're trying to have your wicked way with me, aren't you."
"Mmmmm..." Viggo kisses at the back of Sean's neck. He smells delicious, makes Viggo want to devour him, not that he didn't want to already. "What gives you that idea?"
"Your hand drifting under me shirt?"
"It's warm under there."
"Your other hand's diggin' toward me crotch."
"Even warmer."
"And you know perfectly well what it does to me when you rub your hair--" Sean has turned to smirk accusingly at Viggo, only to find a soft mop of warm butterscotch satin brushed over his face, and he swallows hard and gulps, "Even when it were shorter, you know what that does to me, you bloody cheat."
Viggo wraps his arms around Sean's waist again and begins to tug him backward. "Come into my parlor," he cajoles. Viggo has had a frustrating day in his studio. He's full of undirected energy, and he knows there's no point in being anything but plain with Sean--Sean's been listening to him swear all day.
"Ian and Marton coming to dinner tonight, I hope you're not forgetting," Sean reminds, though he's already moving backward, away from the doors.
Viggo reassures in his best sultry voice which is, he's been told, pretty damn sultry. "We have plenty of time. The boys are flat out and snoring under the dining room table. Ophelia's busy swapping stories with the bunny. Come with me, my love."
Sean is turned about as neatly as stepping into a ballroom, and the two of them make their way down the hall, Sean in front with Viggo leading him from snug up behind him, pushing a little, but careful not to tread on Sean's heels. He slides his hands into Sean's front jeans pockets, fingers groping, framing Sean's increasingly interested sex. Sean sniggeringly accuses Viggo of being a relentless pervert and a loony, neither of which Viggo denies, merely emphasizing the accusations by twiddling Sean's naughty bits through his pockets and making him laugh outright. Then they're at the doorway to the studio, and Viggo is pulling his hands free and shutting the door behind them, just in case the boys wake up.
"Let me," he suggests, already knowing that Sean will agree.
He kisses Sean easily, unbuttoning the soft old work shirt, warm hands brushing the fabric off of Sean's shoulders, letting the shirt drop to the floor. Viggo's fingers trace deep pink nipples. He leans to nibble and lick, Sean's chest rising and falling against his lips as he enjoys the tender skin. Sean has closed his eyes and he stands quietly, one hand on Viggo's hip and his head tilted back, allowing Viggo access to him as he pleases. Viggo finishes unbuttoning Sean's jeans, revealing the soft knit under shorts. Three little buttons secure the cloth over Sean's cock, the jersey hugging the high, soft parts of his thighs. Ah, he hasn’t entirely succumbed to buttonless under shorts yet. Stubborn. Delightful…
Viggo pushes Sean's old Levi's down, and Sean leans one hand on Viggo's shoulder for balance as he steps out of them. Viggo tosses the jeans onto the old sofa that he didn't burn, and he kneels in front of Sean, nuzzling and mouthing at Sean's cock, warm and firm beneath the grey cotton. He feels Sean sway, hears the softest of moans, knows Sean is watching him now, his free hand loose in Viggo's hair. Musk, heat beneath his lips, and then Viggo undoes the little buttons with remarkable patience, Sean letting him take his time. The studio is Viggo's ground, and Sean stands subject as Viggo frees his cock and fondles it, licking at the silky length and making Sean exhale slowly.
"Hang on to me," Viggo advises, and when both of Sean's hands are on his shoulders he maneuvers the elastic waistband over the slick crown of Sean's cock and down his thighs until Sean can step out of the shorts. Viggo rubs the top of his head against Sean's skin, his hair brushing over Sean's thighs, over the rose heat of him, and he hears Sean groan, his fingers clenching on Viggo's shoulders a little as he tries to keep still. Viggo looks up at him, enjoying as he always does the perspective from down here on his knees. "Lie down on the floor, love."
Sean smirks, as he glances back to find a nest of heavy canvas drop cloths heaped over the hardwood floor. “Convenient.”
"Always thinking, that's me," Viggo grins, guiding Sean back.
Sean chuckles as he goes to his knees, "That concerns me, that does."
Then he's on his back amidst the splattered drop cloths. The cloths tend to be used half-heartedly, that's obvious, as the dark old wood floor is liberally anointed with evidence of Viggo's work. In the deepening ochre of the day Viggo opens Sean's legs a little wider, brushing his hands over the firmness of Sean's thighs, tracing over a purple and green bruise just above one knee, from the rugby match last Sunday. He hums quietly and begins to nudge and lick, nuzzling into the crisp warmth of Sean's pubic hair, licking at his balls, sucking the loose skin into his mouth and worrying at it gently while Sean murmurs Viggo’s name and squirms, his hips beginning to rock. Sean's fingers thread through Viggo's hair as his breath sharpens. Viggo lightly bites his way up Sean's cock, making him swear approvingly, and finally he takes Sean into his mouth as deeply as he can, licking hard at the underside of Sean's length. He feels one of Sean’s heels tapping at the middle of his back, dragging down toward the base of his spine as Sean makes soft, eager sounds and his long fingers stroke the back of Viggo’s neck. It’s surprising how distracting that is, and Viggo tries not to think too much about Sean’s hands.
Viggo's thumbs wander inward, pressing at that sensitive spot just there, and Sean groans, tilting his hips upward. Viggo plucks at the skin of Sean's balls, licks hard into the slit of his cock, and sucks briskly at the head, making Sean jolt and clench his teeth around a raw moan. Fucking gorgeous. Viggo begins to unbutton his shirt, his mouth still working the head of Sean's cock. He inadvertently clips Sean with his teeth, and Sean hisses at that, but doesn't flinch. Viggo has to let go of Sean to get his own jeans off. It doesn’t take him long. He’s not even sure where they land after he rips them off of his body. Gratefully nude at last, he lunges again toward Sean, moaning in satisfaction at the warm taste in his mouth and the increasingly impatient noises Sean is making, at the way he has opened his legs wider for Viggo.
This is a big damn house, and they've got a variety of lubrication pretty much stashed all over, but just now in spite of his original intention to take his time Viggo's hunger is high, and rising as he tries frantically to recall where he put away the lube last time they were in here. It really won't do for him to grab in a blind hurry, and end up with a handful of lime green oil paint. Sean's right leg has become entangled with the legs of the easel holding up today’s frustrating and still-wet canvas. Viggo doesn't waste a lot of worry on whether the whole thing might come crashing down. Sean has started cursing and writhing, hips pumping up into Viggo's mouth. Viggo knows he's getting close, and he's going to be difficult to deal with if Viggo drags this out for too long, not that Viggo's own increasing want for Sean will let him. He lets go of Sean reluctantly and dashes for the lube, where it rests on an empty easel in the corner. Sean is growling and grabbing for him by the time he gets back, and Viggo hopes he is never stupid enough to get used to the way Sean does that. He quickly anoints Sean's cock, enjoys for a moment the warm hardness of it in his hand, then shoves a couple of slick fingers into himself, wincing at the rude intrusion. He flashes a manic grin when Sean exhales, "Jehsus, Vig, be careful with yourself!"
Viggo does take care as he lowers himself onto Sean, Sean's hands firm on his hips, steadying him as he moves. Sean, Viggo reminds himself as his lust makes a go at blotting out most of his conscious thought, is in fact breakable. Watching him with darkened eyes, Sean breathes, "Ah, Christ Vig, so good, so good..."
Viggo grates out, "Wanna ride you hard." He shoves his hair back out of his eyes, a gesture almost of defiance. He looks Sean in the eyes, watches the way he gives himself over, the way his desire shines so clearly in his face. "Ride you well," Viggo promises. Sean's fingers dig into his hips. The palms of Viggo's hands press Sean's shoulders hard back against the floor.
Sean's eyes have closed, but his hips are synchronizing with Viggo. He mutters, "Take what you want, love..."
Viggo nips at Sean's neck, at his collar bones, at his chest, trusting Sean to help him keep their rhythm. He bites one of Sean's nipples, sucks on it hard, makes him yelp and groan for more, even as Viggo rises sharply up and slams himself down again. Sean yells something rapturous in Greek, and then Viggo is riding Sean to sweat and lather, just as he vowed. He begins to babble love poetry in breathless Spanish. Sean growls a warning, and Viggo clenches hard, demanding, swearing and moaning at the feel of Sean beneath him as he bucks desperately into Viggo. Sean lists Viggo's name amongst a range of deities, until at last he can only shout wordlessly and gasp for air, Viggo watching the soft skin of his throat thumping with the hard pulse beneath as he falls.
Viggo begins to fist himself to completion, but Sean clutches at Viggo's hand. Viggo adjusts his position as Sean struggles to sit up, bracing himself up on one arm and trying to keep himself inside Viggo. The two of them work Viggo's cock, kissing frantically until Viggo is grunting and whimpering and finally crying out into Sean's mouth, his release flung hot over Sean's belly and his chest, slippery between their fingers. Viggo is awkward and trembling, grounded by Sean's warmth beneath him, the sweaty slickness of Sean's skin. Sean winces as Viggo gingerly pulls himself free, and Viggo misses the feel of Sean within him immediately, but Sean wraps his arms around Viggo and they roll over together, their feet tangled in the splattered drop-cloths.
Sean licks at his and Viggo's fingers, kisses him slowly, salty and musky with the taste of him.
"Your loving doesn't know its majesty," Viggo rasps dizzily, "until it knows its helplessness." He doesn't quite mean to say that, but just now those are the only clear words in his head.
Sean pushes damp wisps of hair out of Viggo's face and peers curiously down at him. "Bhagavad Gita?"
Viggo blinks himself to the surface, brushing his thumb across the arch of Sean's left eyebrow. "Rumi. Persian. Sufi."
"Naturally." Sean turns his head and yawns hugely. "I could use five."
"Dinner guests," Viggo warns sleepily. "No napping." He sucks on one of Sean's fingers. "Why can't come taste like cherry cola?"
"Or chocolate," Sean agrees, going along for the ride.
"Yeah. Instead of like seaweed."
Sean gnaws thoughtfully on the hard curve of Viggo's shoulder. "We might never leave the house then. As it is, we need a shower." He licks at the pink tooth-marks where he's chewed.
Viggo could easily be persuaded to just lie here and let Sean devour him, lick all of the salt from the surface of him. Instead he ventures, "One thing first, if you will."
Viggo untangles his feet and hauls himself reluctantly upright. His head swims for a second, and he predicts that his ass is going to be faintly sore all evening. Excellent. He jerks a thumb at the wet canvas on the nearby easel, the one Sean got tangled in. "I've been working on this all frickin' day, and haven't been able to finish it off, but it's just occurred to me what it needs." He rubs at his right ear. "Um, if you're willing to do it."
Sean raises himself up on one elbow, eyeing Viggo and then the canvas, gleaming and thickly abstract with wet red, green and purple oil paint. "And that would be?"
"Would you, ah, would you just kinda hold still there while I smush this up against your dick?"
"You want to make an impression of me weddin' tackle in the paint?" Sean snorts. "Why don't you just use your own manly gear?"
"'Cause I want to know it's you when I look at it."
"You’re barmy."
"It'll wash off with soap."
"Hardly the point," Sean contends, but he's snickering now, and Viggo is hopeful.
"I'll wipe off the lube and the jizz first, of course."
"Ever the romantic." Sean sighs and lies back flat on the floor, "Very well. I'll just lie here and think of England then, shall I?"
Viggo cackles softly, and uses his shirt to carefully clean off Sean's sated and precious tackle.
Sean twitches an eyebrow as Viggo arranges him just so. "Much more handlin', and you'll end up with a completely different impression in that paint." He frowns a little. "Ehm, you're not intending to show this to your students, are you?"
"Possibly."
"Ah, hell," Sean complains, but he makes no attempt to escape.
Viggo takes hold of the wet canvas and plots his trajectory, but becomes distracted by what he sees. One forearm thrown carelessly over his eyes as he waits for Viggo, Sean lies splayed out patiently on the floor amidst the detritus of Viggo's work; half-used tubes of paint, crumpled papers, a dropped and ruined brush. Sean's right foot is still tangled in the stained floor cloths, there’s purple paint streaked on his left elbow, and from his chest to his belly, where he was first splattered and then smeared as they lay together, he is covered in broad, drying swathes of Viggo's come... and content to be so, Viggo realizes. As no other of Viggo's lovers before him, Sean is satisfied to have Viggo whole as he is, without conditions.
As it slants through the window the lowering sun throws broad stripes of bright rust and the narrow, iron shadows of the spindle legs of several easels across Sean's body, highlights the ruby bite mark on his nipple. "Copper doesn't know it's copper," Viggo murmurs thoughtfully as he kneels beside Sean, "until it's changed to gold."
Sean brushes a warm hand over the taut slope of Viggo's left thigh. "What d'you suppose a rabbit and a dog would have to talk about, anyway?"
Summary: Sean contemplates dog/bunny friendships, and Viggo finds that some things change, while others remain the same. (Post-Novice Chronicles, after "If the Dog Doesn't Like You")
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 2746 Read: 736
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009