Rattle and Roll by Brigantine

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Story notes: This is the first of the domestic adventures of Sean and Vig, following "Novice Chronicles." I'm calling this a series, rather than a work in progress, as although they will be definitely related to one another these will be just short one-offs, not chapters. If you haven't read "Novice Chronicles" some of this won't make a lot of sense, but I don't think it's absolutely necessary.

Post Novice Chronicles: Rattle and Roll, Biding Time, If the Dog Doesn't Like You, Modern Alchemy, In the Doghouse, Cascade, Glamour, A Brief History of Bread, Anatomically Correct, Sheffield Roulette, Spur of the Moment.
It's the second Friday after the start of fall quarter and Viggo has already earned the unofficial title of the coolest professor on campus. The Saturday before classes began, while freshmen and returning students were busy moving into their crowded and over-priced apartments in the tiny sub-community of Summerville, Viggo received a $175 citation and a stern warning from the police foot patrol for setting fire to his old sofa on the sidewalk outside his house. Though the charm of this venerable and cherished moving-out tradition among Summerville residents was largely lost on the local constabulary, Viggo's celebration of it met with the enthusiastic approval of the gathered youth. That he was censured by authorities and financially martyred for it only made Viggo more the hero.

Saturday last, as Viggo and several mutual friends awaited Sean's escape from the museum by entertaining themselves down at DeCameron's pub — Dave availing himself of the men's room, Marton fetching a round of very nice locally brewed ales, and Ian watching Viggo in helpless horror — Viggo launched himself fist first at a drunken and astoundingly unpleasant individual who had just kicked out at a befuddled black retriever which had apparently wandered into the pub in search of patronage, and shortly afterward Sean found himself paying out the consequential fine for Viggo's release, while watching similiar fees wincingly forfeited in turn by Ian, David and Marton who, according to a sympathetic police officer who had had the pleasure of responding to the scene, had acquitted themselves admirably when Viggo's impulsive right cross had escalated into the extensive melee that spilled out of DeCameron's and swallowed up fully half a block of Davenport Street with such rapidity that Sean, to his immense dismay, missed out on all but the tail end of the festivities.

The sergeant in charge of the night desk at the Saint Arquette City Police Department informed Sean dourly during release procedures that Viggo was lucky not to have assault charges brought, nor to be charged with inciting a riot. On the other hand, the mortified look on Ian's face when he, Marton, David and Viggo were finally released into Sean's custody was, to Sean's way of thinking, entirely worth the cost of Viggo's $500 fine for disturbing the peace. In a town as small as Saint Arquette, most of the university's wide-eyed student body had heard the entire story before morning, and Viggo's status proceeded to royalty in their estimation.

The black retriever in question has since ended up under the startled but devoted guardianship of Orlando, who has named him Nosey Pete for reasons he is unwilling to disclose.

So now it's Friday, two weeks after school has started. Viggo's black eye is still impressive, but the split lip is healing nicely, and he and Sean are moving Sean's things out of what used to be his study on the north side to the other room across the hall, so that Viggo can have the north light when he's working in his studio. This was an idea of Sean's, offered to Viggo early on in a moment of sweaty afterglow in Viggo's bed, when Viggo was just about certain Sean had fallen asleep; proof, Viggo asserted, that being a man of easy virtue has its benefits, at which point Sean spanked him, just a little, which led to things becoming sweatier, and an entire afternoon happily wasted.

Before Viggo moved in Sean had left two of the upstairs bedrooms standing empty, wondering from time to time over the passing months why he had bought a house with five bedrooms, or, as the real estate agent had put it, three bedrooms plus an office and a family room, when he had no family here. Now he knows. One downstairs bedroom will be for guests. One upstairs bedroom will be his and Viggo's. The bedroom at the far end of the upstairs hallway will be for games—or as Viggo prefers, 'kinky goodness.' Last Sunday, blackened eye and all, Viggo and Sean raided a local antique shop specializing in Craftsman and Mission style furniture, and among other items bought a large, sturdy bed of good English oak for that last bedroom. Today the new mattress, a capacious old chest of drawers, and the spindle headboard with its strong, four-poster frame are scheduled to be delivered to Sean's house.

Sean has taken the day off from work in order to be here to help Viggo move "... all our shite about, like a giant fuckin' puzzle." They have just finished up a well-earned, if rather late lunch, and Sean is putting the dishes in the washer while Viggo rolls on the floor, play-wrestling with Mycroft, as Jim and Ophelia leap about them and bark with manic enthusiasm, apparently in some dog form of cheerleading. Marilyn has disappeared, and given the current noise level Sean doesn't blame her. Roger the tortoise sits in his comfortable terrarium in a temporary spot on the dining room table, and looks generally disapproving. They haven't seen Blinky in several days. Viggo has reassured Sean eleven times that corn snakes are entirely non-venomous.

The door bell chimes, and Sean dries his hands quickly to answer it. When he opens the door he finds not a delivery man from either the mattress shop, nor the antique shop, but a burly young fellow in the brown uniform of United Parcel, accompanied by a square cardboard box which, though very large, is certainly not large enough to contain a full size mattress, nor a headboard.

"Sign here please, sir."

"Er," Sean says, looking bewildered.

The young man in the brown uniform tilts the cardboard box forward helpfully and shows him the address. "Does either of these names belong to you, sir?"

Still puzzled, Sean admits that he is indeed among the persons listed on the address label, and he scrawls his name onto the touch pad.

The UPS delivery man nods, wishes "Have a nice day, sir," and roars away in his big, brown delivery van.

Sean stands in the doorway, staring at the large, square cardboard box until Viggo slips up behind him and comments, "Y'know, usually it's me that stands around daydreaming."

Sean points at the box. "This is for us."

Viggo regards the large, square cardboard box thoughtfully, tugging on Mycroft's collar as the big mastiff leans forward to sniff the strange item. Ophelia squeezes her head between Viggo and Sean, nosing at the mystery. "Um," says Viggo, "we could bring the box into the house and find out who sent it, and what's in it."

Sean accuses, "You just have to be practical, don't you."

"I don't think you've had enough tea today," Viggo suggests. "The lack has affected you."

"I'll put the kettle on, you haul in the whatzit." As he heads toward the kitchen, chirping for the dogs to follow, Sean cautions, "I hope nothin' jumps out of it. I hate it when that happens."

Viggo, wrestling the box into the dining room, grunts, "Hey, it rattles. What rattles?"

"As long as it's not ticking."

Viggo glares into the kitchen. "Thank you."

He searches for his key ring, finds it in the mess on the table, and opens up the blade of the small pocket knife. "The address label has Ian and Marton's address listed as the return," he tells Sean. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"Ian and Marton? Lord, don't tell me they've sent us a set of dishes. Or sixteen pounds of popcorn and a set of erotic films."

"I like popcorn," Viggo protests. "And erotic films. Maybe these will prove instructional." He slices the heavy packing tape, and accompanied by three curious dogs, who have abandoned Sean's vastly less interesting tea-making activities in the kitchen in order to stick their wet noses into Viggo's affair, starts digging into the packing material. He pulls out the first item to hand, gives a snort and a sharp cackle, and holds it up for Sean to see from where he's fussing with the tea pot. "Look what Dave sent!"

Sean starts violently, nearly ending the useful lives of the tea pot, two china mugs, a jar of honey, and a stray set of five volumes on Norse mythology. "Good God, what's that?'

Viggo chortles, "It's a toy we never played with. More of a joke, really."

"Sweet Christ, I hope so!"

Viggo turns the huge, equine speculum in his hands. The heavy steel device glints wickedly in the daylight. "I think you actually levitated for second there, Sean."

"I'm not puttin' that thing in you," Sean vows.

"Lordy, I should hope not." Viggo amends, "At least not until we've had more time to practice together."

"Not going in you," Sean insists, making a fair go at looking dominant.

"Okay, okay," Viggo agrees, but Sean can tell from the sound of his voice that the idea is being stored for future use at the back of Viggo's unique and often baffling brain. He takes a deep breath and decides to let it go for now. Maybe he can hide the damned contraption somewhere, later.

The kettle whistles, and Sean pours the boiling water into the china pot, peering through the column of steam at Viggo sitting cross-legged on the floor, shooing Jim away from what looks like an old, black, physician's bag.

Viggo unbuckles the black leather bag and hoots, "I think it's a starter bondage kit!"

Sean grins at him, ''What does Ian consider a 'starter kit', I wonder."

Viggo wriggles and laughs, "What did I tell you?" He waves a handful of dvds at Sean. "'Bound to Please,' 'Slings and Things,' and 'Basic Training.'"

Sean grins as he moves carefully into the dining room with the tea things, maneuvering gracefully around the three dogs weaving under foot. "Any popcorn?"

"Three bottles of 'Eros.' Among other things... "

"Oh, that's a lovely blindfold. What else — "

"What I want to know," Viggo declares, "is what's rattling." He takes a careful sip of hot tea, sets his mug on a nearby chair, and sticks his head back into the box.

Sean watches with some amusement as Viggo is joined again by all three dogs, making the box suddenly a very crowded space. Viggo's yelp of discovery is muffled by cardboard and bubble wrap, and by the squinchy expression he makes when Mycroft licks the side of his face. He surfaces, bats half-heartedly at the slurping mastiff, and holds up his prize while the dogs begin to gnaw on the corners of the box.

"It's another box," Sean observes, stating the obvious. Somehow the last week or so of his life has become entirely ruled by boxes.

"A rattly box," Viggo points out, rattling the hefty item. The box is about twice the size of the average shoe box, and it is covered in thick leather, darkened and sheened with age and apparent use. The edges of the lid are lined with rounded brass nails. Horses run over the top and sides, carved into the leather. Viggo caresses the designs, his fingertips tracing the workmanship. Sean watches him breathe in the scent of the leather before flipping the brass catch on the box.

Sean leans forward. "Well?" His eyes widen, and things start happening to his blood flow that distract him rather suddenly from his tea. He looks at Viggo.

Viggo grins back enthusiastically.

Sean recalls the imminent arrival of the delivery men from the mattress store and the antique shop, and he nearly starts to cry.


By eleven thirteen in the evening, the new furniture has arrived, been sorted and set up properly, the dogs are safely abed downstairs, and Viggo and Sean, after a day as busy as this one, ought to be snuggled beneath their covers and sound asleep, but they're not. They're in their new 'kinky goodness room' trying out the sturdy, Mission style bed. The heavy, rattly box sits on the solid old oak chest of drawers, its carved lid flung wide. Candles burn on china plates set on the chest of drawers and on the floor in each corner of the room.

A new leather lead is wrapped around several spindles in the bed's oak headboard. It is attached to the handsome new saddle leather cuffs around Viggo's wrists as he kneels, his weight on his forearms, his shoulders lowered toward the mattress and his backside raised high, while Sean rocks into him slowly, but firmly. Sean's movements are calculated in time with Viggo's to make the light steel chains running loosely from the leather cuffs on Viggo's ankles to the iron twitch clamped between his legs rattle and jingle. The iron is heavy, and at first Sean worried about hurting Viggo, but Viggo lay back on their new bed, spread his bare legs and growled, "Vise. Me. Now," and Sean fell in love with that look in his eyes all over again. The chains jingled and glittered beautifully in Sean's hands.

Sean skates his palms over the long, slick line of Viggo's spine, strokes and holds his hips, rolls his pelvis hard against Viggo's backward press. He feels the heavy twitch swing back into his thighs, cool iron and chain links tapping against his skin, and he watches Viggo in the warm light, eyes closed in concentration as he pushes rhythmically back into Sean. Over the sound of his own quickening breath Sean can just hear Viggo humming, low and tuneless, the hum more often now sliding into soft moans. He leans forward to wrap one arm around Viggo's waist and he kisses the middle of his sweating back, the two of them moving and breathing together here in this warm, amber darkness between heaven and earth. In a fleeting moment of clarity Sean figures his life has turned out better than he deserves. He tries not to lose their rhythm. He feels Viggo pushing harder. Rattle and roll. Jingle and hum.
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