Title: The Capitulation of Fort Bean 
Author: Brigantine
e-mail: gidgetpup@netzero.com 
Pairing: Vig/Bean 
Rating: R 
Warning: very silly 
Disclaimer:  If these guys are really having wild frolics together they are certainly not 
inviting me.  Alas. 
Feedback: is like fresh, creamery butter. 
Summary: Viggo shows up a day early for a visit with Bean. (Prairie Fire universe)

A/N: Written for telesilla's International Blanket Fort Day.  
 
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Neither Sean nor Viggo is expecting either Sean or Viggo to be at Sean's place until 
tomorrow, but Viggo's brief holiday has begun a day early due to Cronenberg having 
contracted a loud, wet cold.  As Viggo lowers his duffel bag to the floor and shuts the 
front door behind him, he hears laughter from somewhere within Sean's house.  That is 
definitely Sean's guffaw.  Curiouser, and curiouser. 
 
Viggo moves to investigate, but refrains from calling out.  At last he stands bemused in 
the doorway to the dining room, regarding some sort of remodel project in the middle of 
the room.  Heavy stacks of books secure cream and blue blankets, draped over the table 
and the backs of the chairs, forming a sort of pavilion.  Sofa cushions and the odd 
decorative pillow tucked around the base form a solid foundation, and keep out drafts.  
Of course.  Viggo appraises and approves Sean’s fort-building skills, though his curiosity 
only increases.  Sean cackles from inside his home-made HQ.  He sounds like a twelve 
year old with plans that involve breaking curfew.  Viggo advances, crouches, and pulls 
aside a corner of blue blanket. 
 
Cross-legged on the floor, Sean looks up with a start.  "Ack!  You're not due until 
tomorrow!"  He shuts his laptop hurriedly and clutches at a partly folded piece of paper. 
 
"Neither are you," Viggo reminds.  "What are you doing under here?" 
 
Sean folds the paper into an untidy square and hides it behind his back.  "Hurry up and 
get in, or the dogs will get you!" 
 
"What?" 
 
Sean tugs at his elbow, and Viggo allows himself to be dragged inside, hunching at the 
low ceiling.  "The Gestapo," Sean tells him, as though he ought to know.  "They've got 
attack dogs!" 
 
"What have you been smoking?"  Viggo casts a curious glance about the dim interior, 
checking for the odd bit of ganja.  Nix on the weed, but now Viggo can sniff the 
Glenfiddich.   By the look of the bottle in the corner, Sean’s well within his limit, and 
Viggo lets it ride.  "Are we French Resistance, or escaped p.o.w.'s?" 
 
"Tch, just me in a mood."  Sean grins sideways, looking like that twelve year old Viggo 
heard a moment ago.  "It's me hidey hole."  
 
Viggo chuckles, craning surreptitiously to get a look at what Sean stuffed down his 
shorts.  "Hiding from whom?  No, wait, the Gestapo--Sean, what are you wearing?" 
 
Sean looks down at himself.  "T-shirt.  White.  And knickers," he says, again as though 
Viggo's a tad slow off the mark. 
 
"White silk boxers with little red hearts on them," Viggo observes pointedly.  He tugs at 
an ear lobe, trying to be patient.  "Have you taken to wearing those regularly, or were you 
expecting someone other than me?" 
 
Sean makes a disparaging noise.  "I can wear 'em again tomorrow, if ye like."   
 
"What did you stuff down your waist band, Sean?"   
 
"Nowt," Sean lies, shifting uncomfortably.  He holds out a package of sweets, clearly a 
diversionary tactic.  “Ginger biscuit?” 
 
Viggo leans forward, grinning ferally as Sean scoots backward and bumps into a table 
leg.  "Secret plans?  A map of escape tunnels?  A list of British spies behind enemy 
lines?" 
 
"Aye.  Um, that last bit." Sean grasps at the fantasy, the bright pink blush coloring his 
cheeks entirely blowing his cover. 
 
"Bean..." 
 
"Can't tell you.  Loose lips sink ships." 
 
Viggo crawls close to Sean, who attempts an escape at the right flank, but Viggo 
intercepts and backs him up against the table leg again.  He's close enough to feel the heat 
from Sean's cheeks, scent the whiskey on his breath, sweet and sour.  He intones huskily, 
"I have ways of making you talk..." 
 
Sean gives a nervous little laugh, licks his upper lip.  "Nope.  Can't make me." 
 
Viggo brushes his lips across the stubbled curve of Sean's chin, hears that tiny gulp-and-
hitch he makes when he's trying to play it cool.  "Members of the White Rose resistance," 
Viggo murmurs, running a warm hand under the edge of Sean's shirt.  "Details of the plot 
to murder Goering..." 
 
Sean stutters, "Can't let you h-have it."  He winces and lets out a little "eep" at the feel of 
Viggo's fingers tracing the edges of his belly button. 
 
Viggo kisses Sean's neck, the skin warm and soft, pulse hammering beneath.  "Y'know 
Bean, it's a shame they always make you shave your belly when they want you... 
nekkid..." Viggo breathes, licking delicately.  He feels Sean swallow hard beneath his 
tongue. 
 
"Wax," Sean corrects breathlessly. 
 
"Ouch," Viggo sympathizes.  One hand eases up Sean's left thigh, nudges beneath the 
loose hem of his white silk boxers with the little red hearts.  The other hikes up the front 
of Bean's shirt and begins to wander.  "I wonder why they do that?" 
 
"'Cause I'm darker down there--oh--and they think it'd be inconnnnngru---ous, Jehsus, on 
film, Vig..." 
 
Viggo's lower hand has found its way to a very warm, and nicely furry place between 
Sean's legs, and he smiles against Sean's partly bared chest as the hand insinuates itself 
into dark curls.  "A little too real, yeah," he agrees, breath warm against a rapidly rising 
and falling pectoral.  "But I like your... incongruities," Viggo says, as his fingers ply the 
unguarded fly of Sean's knickers, and then his four fingers and thumb do something firm 
and possessive with Sean's newly exposed lower anatomy. 
 
Sean gives a soft yelp when Viggo's mouth joins his hand, gently biting and licking, and 
then that thumb and those fingers are rolling him and rubbing him in the nicest ways and 
in the most distracting places Viggo can think of.  Viggo's mouth descends in earnest.  
Sean unbalances backward and clutches at Viggo for anchorage.  The dining room table 
screeks across the floor a few inches when the weight of Sean's shoulders hits that one 
leg rather suddenly.  Viggo reaches blindly, finds Sean's wrist and holds on, his other 
hand busy assisting his mouth. 
 
Sean writhes, stuttering curses and praise.  One heel kicks out a sofa cushion, nearly 
sends the laptop sliding out into attack dog territory.  Viggo can feel surrender in the 
rhythm of Sean's hips, hear it in his breath, and soon Sean is groaning sharply and 
grasping at Viggo's hair, petting awkwardly as he thrashes, briefly out of sync with 
himself while Viggo sucks hard.  Viggo laps at his lover’s softening flesh.  He takes his 
time soothing, humming and nuzzling at Sean through the silk. 
 
Ordinarily this is where Viggo would kiss his way up Sean's belly, licking at the warm 
salt of love-sweat, 'til he reaches Sean's face, where he’d take a moment to appreciate that 
expression of satisfaction and bewilderment in Sean’s eyes.  Instead Viggo remains, 
studying the softness yielding here beneath Viggo's hands, beneath his mouth.  He 
mouths at the sullied silk knickers, rubs his cheek against Sean's sex, sated and lying soft 
and vulnerable against the silk.  Sean hisses at the roughness of Viggo's beard stubble on 
sensitized skin, but doesn't protest.  It's too soon for him to respond to fresh stimulation, 
and Viggo knows it.  He toys with Sean's foreskin, exploring with gentle fingers, with his 
tongue. 
 
Sean moans a little, squirming, but makes no attempt at escape.  His voice is smoothed by 
amusement.  "You should be certain by now I didn't hide anything in there." 
 
Viggo grins.  "So I should stop searching?"  In the dim light filtering in through the 
blankets Sean looks like a debauched daydream. 
 
"Daft," Sean chuckles.  "It don't feel half bad, though, you nice and gentle-like." 
 
"That's not usually the first thing people think of when they think of you, is it?" 
 
Sean snorts and rubs the arch of his foot along Viggo's ribcage.  "What, you playin' with 
me willy?" 
 
"You, nice and gentle."  Viggo kneads lightly at the warmth beneath the red and white 
silk, enjoying the feel of Sean lax in his hand. 
 
"Aye.  I suppose.”  Sean shifts a bit, bites his lip in pleasure as Viggo pushes the heel of 
his hand over his skin.  “Maybe I should take on a romantic comedy.  Steal a role from 
Hugh Grant." 
 
Viggo laughs and crawls up Sean's body, into the circle of his arms.  "If he can do it, you 
can do it better." 
 
"Och, me own cheerin' section." 
 
"What's on the paper, Bean?" 
 
Sean's eyebrows flicker upward, and then he laughs aloud and wriggles enough beneath 
Viggo to find what he'd hidden.  It's fallen out next to a chair, but he acquires it at last.  
He hands over the secret plans to his captor. 
 
Viggo sits up, spreads the secret open across Sean's belly.  The mysterious paper proves 
to be, after all, a map of sorts.  It is a brief letter from Elijah, including detailed step-by-
step instructions on how Sean might access and locate a certain fan site on the Internet, 
and then find a specific entry on that site. 
 
"Pictures of me?"  Viggo reiterates.  He eyes the closed laptop. 
 
"One in particular," Sean chortles.   
 
Viggo pulls the laptop to him, Sean following and propping himself up on one elbow, 
half draped over Viggo’s lap.   When Viggo opens the computer the screen takes up 
where Sean had left off in his moment of surprise.  Viggo blinks, "That's from 'The 
Indian Runner.'" 
 
"Speakin' of shaving," Sean teases. 
 
"Okay, I'm nude.  It's not a big deal.  It was an important scene in the film, I knew a lot of 
people would see it, so it's no big deal that it's made its way onto the Intern---hey, what 
the fuck, I'm moving!" 
 
Sean sniggers gleefully into Viggo's knee. "Only part of you, mate." 
 
"How the hell did they do that?  How did they make me--it--wave like that?" 
 
Sean rolls backward onto the floor of his fort, giggling like a kid.  
 
"I may have to beat young Elijah." 
 
"What for?  He didn't put it there." 
 
"Yes," Viggo agrees darkly, "but he led you to it, and now we both know I'll never hear 
the end of it!  Gah.  Brat.  I'm gonna make us some coffee and then give the goggle-eyed 
little shit a call." 
 
"Don't go," Sean cautions, clinging to his friend.  "The guard dogs will get you!" 
 
Viggo shakes his head. "Bean, c'mon..."  But then Sean's nosing up behind his left ear, all 
warm and slightly steamy, one hand heading south and plainly intending turnabout.  
Viggo pulls away just far enough to focus on the off-side gleam of Sean’s grin, the way 
his pupils have become huge in the almost-dark.  Hell with it.  Viggo closes off the 
brightness and whir of the laptop, slides it under a chair.  He smiles into Sean’s insistent 
kisses, and surrenders himself to the intimate security within the dim light and fuzzy 
walls of Fort Bean. 


 
--end--