<strong>No Question</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> PG-13
<strong>Summary:</strong> Viggo has a request.
"Aw c'mon," Viggo pleads, "Say it!"
Sean fails at a growl and laughs, "No, it's silly!"
Viggo wriggles enticingly beneath him, fuzzy, warm and more than ready. "But it's fuckin' sexy when you say it the way you say it, pleeeeeez, please please plea — "
Sean jerks Viggo up from the bed, throws him wide-eyed and grinning up against the wall, pins his hands hard above his head and shouts savagely, "WHO'S YER DADDY???"
Viggo yelps happily, "You are! You are! You — !"
Sean cuts him off with a rough kiss, Viggo laughing into it.
"I indulge your weirdness an awful lot," Sean complains against Viggo's bee-stung lips.
Viggo squirms meaningfully in the slick heat between them. "Must be 'cause you love me."
"Aye," Sean presses skin into skin, licks beneath Viggo's ear. "Must be that."
<hr>
<strong>Reality Check</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> R
<strong>Summary:</strong> Viggo and Sean investigate gravity. Comes after filming "A History of Violence."
Thump. Bump. Flail. "Urk. Ow! <em>Shite!</em>"
"Wait. Oof, what're you — hey, I can't — "
"Shove under and quit whinging. Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?"
"Well mine, technically, but see — "
"Yeah, exactly, so you can fuckin' deal with the edges there."
"See, I was just making the point that this whole thing — mmf! Ouch! See, gravity is not our friend here, that's what I've been trying to tell — oh, that's okay. That's good... "
"Yeah, open up, luv. There. Oi, shift just — yeah, like that. If you put your leg round here, then I can get in like this... "
Scrabble. Wedge. Struggle. "Wait, wait, I'm slipping downward!"
"Fuck, you're gonna break me bits in half, like that!" Brake. Lunge. Grab.
"<em>Argh, that's not an emergency handle!</em>"
"Sorry! Whatever possessed Cronenberg to put a nice girl like Maria under a great, daft nutter like you, anyway? Oh Christ, that's gonna leave a mark! Look, if you just hang on there, get your knees up — oh, no, you're <em>not</em>!"
"Come on Sean, I think I've fractured my scapula!"
"I'm not going under you again, my kidneys won't take it!"
"It'll be easier for your knees if you — oh god, that's nice, yeah, okay... Dammit, I think I've got a splinter — no no, keep going — nnnngg. Guh... "
Brace. Wriggle. Shove. "That's it, luv, that's... fuck, yeah, just like that... "
"Jesus... " Writhe. Pant. Gasp.
"Easy... easy... just like that... uunnnn... like that... "
Moan. Clutch. Thump. "I can't... oh. Oh there. Oh fuck... "
"... Jesus... Vig... "
"Uh. Right there, ufff, that hand, please, yes, down there... ohgoodgoodgood... "
"Ack, brace yourself there — shit, wait, yeah, okay... okay-ohhh... " Groan. Clutch. Lick.
Arch. Grunt. Jerk. "Holy... mmmmmmmfuuuuck, Sean... !"
"Vig... hold on, just... oh fuckin' 'ell... .. fuck... ohhh, 'ell... !" Collapse. Burrow. Pet.
Wheeze. Loll. Gulp. "... Sean... "
"Eh?"
"We've slid to the bottom."
"Jehsus, no, really?"
"See, this is the point I was trying to make."
"That insanity is contagious? Shit, me knees will never be the same."
Wriggle. Grin. Nuzzle. "No, that it's impossible to have sex gracefully on a staircase."
"Idiot. I could'a told you that."
Snicker. Hug. Snuggle. "And yet, here you are. Tea?"
"And a bandage, thank you, Mr. bloody Director. Oww... "
<hr>
<strong>Spring Bean</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> G
<strong>Summary:</strong> Vig keeps talking.
Viggo saunters through the French doors onto the back patio, where Sean reclines on what would be, if they were in the States, an Adirondack lounger. He stands peering down at Sean from behind, watching the breeze shift his hair about. It's grown just long enough for the wind to play with, and Viggo hopes Sean won't trim it too soon. "How are the girls?"
An empty beer bottle and Sean's mobile glint in the afternoon sun on the small table near his elbow. "Growin' up far too fast, and one of 'em's considering some young bloke I may have to put the fear o' God into, but otherwise they're all beautiful and gettin' on very well."
"Frodo and the Hobbit posse?"
"Elijah is as usual completely random, and Bills and Dom are rude, vulgar, and annoyin', yet charming in their own peculiarly sincere fashion."
Viggo sniggers. Usually Sean snorts <em>Daft little buggers,</em> and leaves it at that. "So now what are you doing out here?"
"Watchin' the sun shine."
"Your eyes are closed."
"Listenin' to the wind blow, then."
Viggo leans down and rests his nose on the warm crown of Sean's head. "The trance planet thing is supposed to be my gig."
"You're welcome to join me, if you <em>hush.</em>" Sean can feel Viggo inhaling, slowly and deeply, as though savoring the scent of him. Viggo's in-breath tickles his scalp, and his out breath is warm and steamy. Sean grins, but refuses to open his eyes.
Viggo drags the other lounger next to Sean's and settles in. King Alfred daffodils bloom in small yellow drifts here and there, while tiny grape hyacinths and white Sweet William in front peep over the old brick lawn borders. The roses Sean trimmed in February have leafed out and are setting in to bloom. The April breeze gusts over the garden, fluttering the fine copper fans of the once-broken Japanese maple Viggo rescued from a dust bin beside the road last January and Sean planted into a large, heavy pot drip-glazed with a deep indigo and turquoise that sets off the daffodils like topaz.
Sean reaches for Viggo's wrist, tugs at his hand beneath the arm of the lounger, and hooks their pinky-fingers together, crooked there in the space between them.
Viggo closes his eyes, letting the sunlight soak into him. "Happy Birthday, Bean."
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Story notes: Prairie Fire series: Prairie Fire, Anam Cara, Cat-eyes and Steelies, Prairie Fire Christmas 2005, Prairie Fire Shorts: Vol. 1, Sticky II: the Haunting, The Capitulation of Fort Bean.
