<strong>Tinsel</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> PG
<strong>Summary:</strong> Well really, the title sells it.
"Ow ow ow!!" Sean topples sideways onto the old sofa, holding his sides and giggling like a kid.
Viggo watches him bemusedly from the doorway between their sort-of study and the hallway to the living room, where he has spent the morning happily buzzing around playing Christmas Elf — or whatever it might be that Viggo becomes when he buzzes.
Sean stares at his naked friend and splutters, "That is just wrong... so very wrong!"
Viggo fixes him with an affronted glare. "What? It's festive!" He jiggles his bare hips a little, watches the silver tinsel sparkle, and justifies further, "It's not like I'm gonna short something out."
There is a series of dull thuds as Sean finally laughs himself off of the sofa. "Ow... "
<hr>
<strong>Secondary Use for a Garland</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> PG
<strong>Summary:</strong> Sean takes a desperate measure.
"Itchy itchy!" Viggo complains from his prone position on the sofa.
"Oh stop whinging." Sean reminds him from the old writing desk near the window, "If you hadn't been such a torment this mornin' I wouldn't have had to."
Sean has been trying to get his Christmas greetings posted for the last three days, but somehow Viggo, in one fit after another of various enthusiasms has kept him from it.
First they built snowmen, which was great fun, but turned into a major operation that took all day.
Then they had to go for a walk — and it was lovely, it's true, but they were gone all day.
Yesterday they tried to go ice-fishing, for the love of heaven, but the lake isn't frozen deeply enough, and both ended up knee-deep in the icy creek in the back acreage behind the cabin, angling for winter trout. Sean did not find impending frostbite nearly as invigorating as Viggo did. And it took all day.
At 6:25 this morning Viggo began bouncing at Sean relentlessly to help him create — from scratch — a gingerbread imitation of the Tower of Orthanc, and Sean finally put his foot down.
Now Sean rapidly addresses envelopes, attempting to beat the late morning post in the feeble hope that if he can manage it his Christmas greetings might stand a snowball's chance of making it to their destinations before Christmas day.
If Viggo truly wanted to get loose, he could. They both know that. But he won't, because he realizes now that it would tick off Sean something royal, and he's not willing to risk that just at the moment. So he settles for a little judicious squirming, and whining "Itchy itchy itchy!!" into the sofa cushions when his ratty old sweater rides up above the waistband of his equally ratty sweat pants and the expensive green garland Sean has trussed him in like a Sunday roast itches at his belly.
Sean shrugs into his coat, grabs the keys to the truck and bends to kiss Viggo on the cheek. "I'm away to the post office. If you're a very good fellow, when I get back I'll scratch all your itchy places, and then we can play with the gingerbread Orthanc idea."
Viggo raises an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Promise."
As the front door latches shut, Viggo contemplates Sean's promise. All his itchy places, eh? Viggo wriggles thoughtfully. If he's clever, he reckons, he can squirm the waistband of his old sweatpants pretty damn far down there without losing the fancy garland. Itchy indeed.
<hr>
<strong>Snowball Effect</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> R
<strong>Summary:</strong> Viggo makes sure he finishes what he starts.
Sean's life is passing before his eyes. Or more accurately, the last seven minutes of it. Somehow or other he's ended up out in the barn, naked except for Viggo's winter coat, and flat on his back over a bale of hay. What the hell? Ah, yes. The snowball fight.
Sean had just stepped out of the shower, and wandered in his altogether out to the living room, on his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on to boil while he got dressed. As he reveled in the warmth of the going fire, and thought to himself how jolly the Christmas tree looked something cold and hard splattered forcefully into his lower back, scattering icy shards all over the living room and rapidly melting into a shivery trickle down his backside. Sean jumped and yelped, whirled in a fit of outrage and, spotting Viggo grinning manically at him from the cabin doorway, gave immediate chase, boldly, if perhaps unwisely giving no thought whatever to his state of severe undress.
Sean raced out into the snow, warmed by the adrenaline rushing through his blood, packed a large fistful of snow into a quick projectile, and slung it at Viggo's rapidly retreating form, catching him squarely at the back of his head. Viggo squawked and ducked and Sean gave a whoop of victory, and it was just as Viggo disappeared through the barn doors ahead of him that Sean became startlingly aware that he was entirely bare-arsed and fucking freezing. Cursing, Sean followed Viggo into the barn, intent on one more snowball, preferably inside Viggo's jeans, before Sean would turn and high-tail it back into the warmth of the cabin.
It was not to be. Viggo dove at him from the dark interior of the barn, wrestled him to the ground, laughing and swearing, and sat on him until Sean, shivering and stubborn on the barn floor, agreed to give up his melting armament in favor of the modest protection of Viggo's long coat.
So here Sean lies on his back atop a remarkably comfortable and pleasantly aromatic bale of hay. His back and his arms are warm, but his legs are in the air, one draped down Viggo's back, and just about now what Viggo's mouth is doing down there between Sean's thighs is obliterating the last seven minutes from Sean's short-term memory and replacing it all with hot, surging pleasure and the sort of groaning and yelling that makes the horses prick up their ears and wonder what the heck is going on over there, and should they do something?
Viggo lunges forward, grinning like a self-satisfied lunatic and warming Sean's belly as he settles on top of him. Sean, flushed and panting a bit, grins up at him and asserts affectionately, "You're a mad bastard, you do realize that."
"Who ran out buck naked into an Idaho winter after me?"
"Not my fault. I were under the influence."
"You been hitting the Dalwhinnie again?"
Sean laughs. "Daft, it were you and your wretched snowball, that's what!"
"Oh, I see," Viggo murmurs, as though it's all a surprise to him. He nibbles at the side of Sean's neck. "Y'know we're letting all the heat out of the cabin while we're out here."
Sean's legs are blessed cold, that's a fact. He suggests, one chilled heel tapping at the back of Viggo's knee, "We could bring the heat back inside the cabin."
"Mmmm, we could. We really could, at that... " Viggo kisses him, sweet and hot as fire-warmed whiskey.
<hr>
<strong>Practical Lingerie</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> R
<strong>Summary:</strong> Viggo gets out his warm undies.
Sean is reading a battered copy of "A Christmas Carol" and drinking a nice cuppa when Viggo saunters in from his studio, where he's been hiding since early this morning.
Sean barks, "Gor!" and nearly drops his tea. "Viggo, what the hell are you wearing?"
Viggo stops mid-kitchen and looks down at himself. "Longjohns," he says, as though anybody ought to know that.
Sean is trying to hold back his laughter, but it's a losing battle. "Are... is that all one piece?"
Viggo reaches into the cupboard for a coffee mug. "Jeez, Sean, don't they wear winter woollies in England?"
"They're bright red. They look like kids' pyjamas. Or something out of an old cowboy film, for heaven's sake. Jesus, did you wear those for 'Hidalgo'?"
Viggo sniffs at his coffee, makes a face and leaves it on the counter. "Don't be such a snob. They're warm, comfortable... " As he ambles out of the kitchen Viggo glances back and gives Sean as saucy a grin as a grown man with three days of beard stubble can manage. "... with a button-up flap in the back."
As Viggo's button-up backside disappears into the other room Sean stops laughing, momentarily stunned speechless by his sudden recognition of the immense practicality of Viggo's comfortable red longjohns.
Halfway through the living room Viggo abruptly finds himself slung forward over the back of the sofa, Sean's clever hands busily unbuttoning, and for some time neither of them can quit laughing, though the laughter thins to more than a bit breathless at the finish.
At last, sweaty and contented, and still grinning, Sean drapes himself over Viggo, who grunts and wriggles beneath him, but doesn't actually try to escape, and Sean declares earnestly into Viggo's ear, "Luv, your red winter woollies are one of the best things <em>ever</em> about Christmas!"
Viggo sniggers meaningfully, "They come in blue, as well."
<hr>
<strong>This New Thing</strong>
<strong>Rating:</strong> R
<strong>Summary:</strong> Viggo's skill at giving a nice foot-rub brings unexpected results.
Sean is lying on the living room sofa, daydreaming and staring contentedly into the flames in the fireplace one moment, the shadow and gleam of the Christmas tree the next. He hasn't bothered to turn on a lamp. He prefers the firelight. The curtains to the front window are open, and though he can't see much past the condensation on the inside of the glass he knows that there's a light snow falling through the darkness and adding to the soft powder over Viggo's acreage. It's New Year's Eve, and he reflects idly that it's been a right good year, overall, this day having been no exception.
A rustle and clatter distracts Sean from his thoughts, and he frowns into the glow of light from the hallway. Then the light's gone, and Viggo saunters into the living room.
Sean smirks, "You look like a demented elf."
Viggo sits down at the end of the sofa, shifting Sean's legs to lie across his lap. Viggo is wearing green sweatpants, a red long-sleeved t-shirt, and a Santa hat, and when he grins at Sean in the dark, he looks a bit wrong in the head. The offbeat grin Sean is accustomed to. The Santa hat is just weird.
Viggo pulls the sheepskin slipper off of Sean's left foot and begins rubbing his toes, nice and hard, the way Sean likes it. Viggo gave Sean this pair of slippers for Christmas this year, claiming that he's finally fed up with the way Sean slides his cold feet into the warm backs of his knees in bed at night, which is partially true. Sean does slide his cold feet into the warm spot Viggo creates under the covers, but Viggo doesn't mind it nearly as much as he gripes about it. Mostly he just thinks it's charmingly domestic, watching Sean pad around the cabin in warm slippers that Viggo has given him, and he enjoys the concept of Sean with warm feet, but he is absolutely not going to say either of those things.
Sean's eyes drift shut at the pleasure of Viggo's hands. Bloody good hands, Viggo's got, they both know it, and that's all right. Strong, warm, they know all the right places around Sean, and he supposes one might get to thinking that's awfully dull, Viggo knowing him the way he does, but there's a level of intimacy there that's exciting, a sort of vulnerability on Sean's part that has taken some growing into, and what with one thought leading into another, he gets to smiling softly to himself in the dark.
Sometimes Viggo thinks he can read Sean's mind, or perhaps it's that Sean can read his, and his own instincts are merely picking up on the reflection from Sean's mirror. What happens now surprises him, but a part of him realizes that he should have seen it coming. Maybe not precisely at this moment, but eventually. What Viggo is looking at with raised eyebrows are Sean's hands, drifting down toward the waistband of his rotten old jeans, not worth much more than Viggo's old sweatpants these days, and Sean's hands are popping the top button. Sean's eyes are closed, his face turned slightly toward the back of the sofa. He always does that when Viggo rubs his feet like this. Viggo looks forward to the gesture. What Viggo really doesn't expect to see is that top button flipped open, no fanfare, no teasing, just Sean's hands working while his eyes are closed.
They shed their costumes and re-dressed in front of each other a hundred times on set in New Zealand, stripped each other in a crazed frenzy of lust or with slow anticipation far more often than that since, but for no reason in particular Sean has never done this. He supposes, a bit distractedly, that it just never occurred to him to do it on purpose. Viggo is putting the warm slipper back on Sean's left foot and setting it down across his lap to pick up the right, just as Sean knew he would, and now Viggo's hands are strong and perfect on that foot. Sean smiles a little more and sighs into the darkness. His whole body feels fucking fantastic, and his hands keep working while his brain shuts down.
Viggo rubs slowly and firmly at the heel of Sean's right foot. His hands know their way, understand what Sean likes, what turns him into warm, pliable clay, and Viggo has no need to watch what his own hands are doing. What Viggo is watching is the next, and then the next button on Sean's battered old jeans slipping loose, while Sean sighs and smiles, as though he's half asleep or entranced, except for his hands, which reach the last button and pop that loose with a deft flick of his thumb. He makes a little contented hum, an unconscious noise of satisfaction, and opens the fly of his jeans, and as it becomes apparent to Viggo that Sean is not wearing under shorts and that his own mouth has in fact started to water, Sean finesses his nicest pink parts out from his jeans into the firelight, where Viggo can admire them, and Sean begins to idly stroke and caress himself. Viggo can't be certain whether the little moan Sean makes is because of Viggo massaging his thumbs hard into the backs of Sean's toes, or if it's the result of the pleasure of his own hands. Viggo realizes suddenly that as fascinated as he is by this new thing Sean is doing, he is feeling a bit jealous.
Sean knows, in a vague sense, that Viggo is watching him. Regardless of what people might think, given that he's done it so often, being naked on camera has always made him self-conscious and uncomfortable. But now, alone with Viggo, feeling Viggo's gaze on him while Viggo's hands are doing such nice things to his toes, he feels grand, and sexy in a purely passive fashion, which is quite different from what he's used to, but he decides that he likes it, and he cradles himself in his hands, because it feels good, and because it occurs to him dreamily that Viggo might like to see that. Sean knows Viggo loves his hands, finds them beautiful, though to Sean they're just hands; sometimes callused from sword work, other times stained with a bit of garden soil he can't quite scrub out. Just hands they are to Sean, but Viggo loves them, as he loves Sean's sex, equally described as Sean's most sublime or his most naughty parts, depending on how poetic or prosaic Viggo's feeling, a whim that makes Sean chuckle in his half-dream, and thoughtlessly he cradles his naughtiest, most sublime parts in one of his elegant hands and with the other slowly explores, as if showing himself off for Viggo.
Viggo understands that Sean is only half awake, and that's what's got his heart pounding. Sean's long fingers are tracing the warm velvet skin of his exposed sex as if pointing out to Viggo how very nice that might be to share, as though he wants Viggo to watch him, and knowing that Sean is doing it only half-consciously has set Viggo back on his heels a bit. Sean has never done this before, pleasured himself outright in front of Viggo. It usually makes Sean uncomfortable when people ogle him and make all sorts of fuss over how attractive he is, but tonight he's with just Viggo, which is exactly where both of them want him to be, so it's all right, and really, Viggo thinks, he shouldn't be so surprised that Sean has finally got around to it. Viggo decides it's time for him to quit thinking and he gently rests Sean's bare and thoroughly massaged foot on his lap. He carefully removes the new sheepskin slipper from Sean's other foot, slithers out from beneath so that he can move Sean's legs onto the sofa cushions. Quietly, Viggo adds a few modest logs to the fire, and then he undresses in near silence, kneels on the floor next to Sean, and brushes the palm of his hand over Sean's forehead.
Sean twitches into waking, though even now he's a little bleary, feeling warm and drowsy still. Viggo is kneeling next to him, his hand warm on Sean's face, and Sean remembers quite well what his own hands have got up to while he was dozing, so it's no shock that Vig is starkers, and smirking like that. Sean reaches for Viggo's other hand, and brings it to rest on the warm velvet skin between his legs. Viggo's hand feels good there, especially when Viggo curls his fingers and caresses, accepting the invitation, and Sean moans a little and tilts his face upward into Viggo's kiss, and then he breathes languidly, "If you want to, you can wear the elf hat."
Somehow, Viggo just knew Sean was going to say that.
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Prairie Fire Christmas 2005 by Brigantine
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.
