Title: Novice Chronicles: 10/15: Hardware
Author: Brigantine
e-mail: gidgetpup@netzero.com
Pairing: Bean/Dave/Vig/Karl
Rating: NC-17
Warnings:  AU.  Happy bondage.  A little CBT.  Threesome.
Disclaimer: Not happening.  Didn't happen.  Won't happen.
Summary:  Dave loves to visit the neighborhood hardware store.  Karl visits.

##################

Thursday evening 7:48:

"Yaagh!"  Viggo jerks in surprise.  If his ankles weren't chained to the headboard he'd be 
headed ceilingward.

"Sorry, sorry!"  Dave apologizes, re-setting the vibrating dildo.  "Silly me," he admits.  
"Had the thing set on 'high'."

Still wide-eyed, Viggo demands, "Jeez Sir, you trying to kill me?"

"Said I'm sorry.  Nobody's perfect."

Viggo sniggers, and Dave reprimands mildly, "Watch it, Mr. Bottom-in-the-air, or I'll 
turn it back up."

"Mean.  Sir."  Viggo gets a thoughtful look, deciding whether or not he likes the feel of 
the dildo vibrating gently inside him.

"Bet your charming backside," Dave warns, "now hush and be a good little submissive."

Viggo waggles his bottom defiantly, and Dave gives him the smart spank he's been 
asking for on one cheeky cheek.

Viggo makes a petulant face and tries to settle down, though he's clearly having difficulty 
for some reason, and it wouldn't surprise Dave at all if he's working out a way to get his 
bottom spanked again without actually asking for it, which rather surprises Dave, given 
Viggo's history.  Still, there's Viggo for you.

"You *are* in a mood," Dave observes.  "What shall we do about that?"

Viggo gives him one of those 'as if we didn't both know' smirks as Dave scrambles off 
the bed and turns to the tea cart.  He opens up what appears to be an ordinary toolbox and 
pulls out a handful of small c-clamps.  He shows them to Viggo, extolling their virtues 
like a new convert.  "Cast iron frame, steel screw-vise.  They come in packages of two in 
the wood working section at the hardware store.  Aren't they neat?"

Viggo winces at the impending probabilities.  "Yes, Sir.  They're very special."

"Kneel up, me lad," Dave chirrups, and happily proceeds to attach one clamp to the soft, 
loose skin at either side of Viggo's smoothly shaven balls, screwing down the steel vise 
grips just to the point where Viggo begins to make a particular facial expression that 
Dave recognizes in a boy as Yes-that's-tight-enough-plenty-tight-no-more-thank-you!

Viggo chews his lower lip thoughtfully.  Dave adds a third clamp, just for good measure, 
just behind the head of Viggo's cock, and stands back to observe his work.  Viggo's skin 
is stretched and pulled, his balls and his cock weighted down by the iron.  "Tell me how 
that feels."

Viggo licks his lip, decides, "Like being grabbed, tweaked and generally molested.  It's 
weird, Sir."  He flushes enough in the room's amber light for Dave to notice, and gets that 
thoughtful smile Dave has come to love.  "Surprisingly, I think I like it."

Of course he does, silly fellow.  "Pump your hips slowly.  Let the weights swing."

Viggo looks skeptical, but obeys.  The hardware between his legs begins to sway slowly 
back and forth, pinching and dragging at his skin, making discreet clanking sounds.  He 
closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensation, and makes a small pleasured noise, then 
frowns as his body's response, the automatic flush of blood filling him, causes the c-
clamp on his cock to bite. 

A new sound Viggo makes, a slow, humming exhalation of breath, and Dave can just 
about read Viggo's mind.  Dave's said it before.  This is not merely about physical 
sensations.  This is about Viggo *recognizing* that he's naked, has a dildo inside him, is 
chained to a bed, has about nine ounces of iron clamped to his dangly bits, and the 
evening is far from over.  These weeks have been all about that sort of idea going around 
inside Viggo's head, and what he will make of it.

Dave tells Viggo to stop moving, noting with interest the expression of regret on Viggo's 
face as he obeys.  Dave cups Viggo's cheek, feels the warmth of it, makes sure Viggo is 
paying attention.  "You ready for what comes next?"

Viggo nods distractedly.  His soft, growly voice has turned breathy. "Yes Sir."  The cool 
grey of Viggo's eyes is deepening rapidly. 

When Karl walks through Dave's studio door, widening hazel eyes take in the sight of a 
candle-lit room with Viggo blindfolded and kneeling upright in the middle of the big 
mattress, each of his wrists chained loosely to one of the posts at the foot of the bed.  
Steel is clamped between Viggo's legs.  He kneels quietly, waiting.  Karl senses the 
stillness of deep sub-space, curses appreciatively under his breath.  Dave shrugs out of his 
bath robe and takes Karl's clothes as he strips off and stands in front of Viggo.

Dave orders Viggo onto his elbows and knees, instructs him to arch downward, push his 
bottom high.  Iron chimes between Viggo's thighs.

As Karl watches, Dave shuts off and gently removes the dildo, and sets it aside.  He 
lubricates himself, and climbs onto the bed behind Viggo.  He warms the lube in his 
hands for a moment, then begins to slick Viggo's entrance, smiling at the slight push back 
into his hands.  He looks up at Karl.

"Ready?"

"You need to ask?" Karl grins.

"Viggo?"

"Yes, Sir."  Viggo's breath ghosts over Karl's bare skin.  

Karl notices the gleam of heavy, colorless balm on Viggo's lips.  It looks decadent, but he 
knows the reason for it is practical, and for Viggo's benefit, not Karl's. 

Viggo is trembling.  Dave knows he is not afraid.  "Open up, Viggo."

Karl and Dave enter Viggo together.  He groans at the double sensation, and they can 
each feel the small vibration of it.  They take him slowly, Karl more gentle than all but a 
precious handful of people would expect of him.  Viggo suckles as Karl allows, while  
Karl revels in the slow, physical pleasure of taking him.  His fingers sift through Viggo's 
hair, curve against his skull, but he does not force. 

Dave watches Karl across the slope of Viggo's back, feels the warmth of Viggo's body 
yielding around him as Dave rocks into him and nearly out of him and into him again, a 
smooth, thorough possession by permission.  The c-clamps attached to Viggo's body 
clink together with the motion Dave and Karl create through him.  Karl's eyelids have 
drifted partly closed as he devotes himself to the pleasure of the moment, and Dave 
watches the controlled sway of his torso as he takes Viggo's mouth, the way the light in 
the room settles over Karl's shoulders and slides down his chest, over his belly and onto 
the fingers loosely threaded in Viggo's hair.

The muscles in Viggo's back and shoulders shift, gleaming with a fresh sheen of sweat.  
Dave caresses Viggo's hips and his upraised bottom affectionately, pulling Viggo toward 
himself.  When Dave gives Karl an encouraging smile he grins fuzzily back, increases his 
pace, Viggo tilting his head a little to keep up, the muscles in his throat working steadily.

Dave can feel the rush, that warm tightening low down, and he's tempted to deny it, try to 
postpone the inevitable, but for Viggo's sake he chooses not to.  He hadn't planned on 
leaving the c-clamps on for too long.  Dave thrusts harder, presses into him, pulls Viggo 
in tight, sees Karl mimic the pace.  Dave shoves into Viggo, the back of his mind 
checking to see if Viggo can keep up with Karl when he matches Dave.  Karl's eyes are 
closed, head tilted back, hips pumping a quick, even rhythm that is about to get away 
from him.  Dave evens himself out, feels Viggo shaking beneath him, but game to 
manage what's asked of him.  Karl is losing himself.  The expression on his face is tight-
jawed, small moans of pleasure rising between his teeth.  When Karl moves hard and fast 
into Viggo's mouth, when his entire expression tenses, when he groans abruptly, slack-
jawed and jerking, Dave is watching, memorizing the sight of him. 

Viggo's shoulders have bunched to brace himself for Karl's release.  He coughs a little, 
swallowing quickly.  Karl eases himself loose with gentle command, and drops to his 
knees, his face pressed into the curve of Viggo's shoulder and neck while Dave shoves 
hard and deep, pushing Viggo forward into Karl's embrace; throws his head back, arches 
his spine and spends himself inside Viggo, crying out softly.

Karl quickly unsnaps the chains from Viggo's wrist cuffs, while Dave shakes off the 
dizzy parade of tiny stars in his head and nudges Viggo to kneel up.  He unscrews the 
clamps just enough to pull them safely from Viggo's skin while Karl unclips the quick-
snaps on the cuffs that fasten his ankles to the headboard.  Together Karl and Dave turn 
him onto his back, and Karl dives, giving back to Viggo as good as he'd got until Viggo 
is shouting at the ceiling and flailing for contact.

Dave and Karl hold Viggo between them as they lie together on the big bed.  He has been 
freed of his blindfold and his cuffs, and he is lavishly praised and petted.  He smiles 
sleepily.  Dave kisses Viggo's cheek, and Karl does the same.

~~~~~~~

12:23 a.m.:

Viggo sprawls on his battered but forgiving sofa, watching a late-night run of "Captain 
Blood" and rubbing Jim behind the ears as the collie snoozes across his lap.  How that 
position can be comfortable Viggo can't imagine, but he swears the darn dog is purring.

Tonight Viggo has been used.  Tonight Viggo has been given a bit of pain, and found to 
his surprise that he enjoyed it.  Perhaps more accurately he enjoyed it the way Dave 
administered it.  This entire evening was, he reckons, an experience more than 
interesting, and better than nice at the end.  Viggo was made a conduit--close enough to 
becoming a mere thing that now he wonders what *that* would be like.  Would it be 
humiliating?  Frightening?  Would he be angry?  Given that tonight he was used with his 
permission, perhaps the better question might be, would he be willing?  If so, what form 
of 'thing' would he become?  What sort of 'thing' would Viggo *like* to become?  

The series of questions startles him, brings a dark rush of fear.  It's not such an old fear, 
and it's legitimate. He wasn't willing years before, didn't quite understand just how deeply 
and how coldly he'd been dragged under until he was in so deep he couldn't even crawl 
out on his own, yet now he's asking himself such questions, and the answer is not 
automatically an emphatic No.

Would he enjoy being turned temporarily into a voiceless thing to be used--perhaps used 
hard--by someone he can trust?  Could he trust someone now to do that to him? Viggo 
feels butterflies rise in his stomach.  Could he ever trust anyone to do that *for* him, with 
his permission, with his own pleasure in mind?  The fact that he's even thinking of such a 
possibility shocks him; not as much as it might have a few weeks ago, but still, it's a hell 
of a leap.  And perhaps, Viggo realizes, something of a revelation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12:14 a.m.:

Dave is pacing.  He's going surfing with Billy and Eric in the morning, breaking in that 
new longboard he built for Eric, and he should get his rest, but he can't.  He's thinking 
about Karl, and about how very much he would like to quit fucking *watching* Karl.  
Dave slumps in his chair at the kitchen table, listens to the sound of the kettle heating up, 
the slow approach to boiling.  

Tonight was a rip-snorter, true enough.  Karl was gorgeous and generous, and Viggo was 
brilliant.  Too right.  Viggo is miles from where he started… but Dave criticizes himself 
now for never doing what he really wants to do, for himself.  He can share Viggo with 
Karl, watch Karl naked and magnificent, watch him take Viggo's mouth, watch him 
climax beautifully, and talk about it all afterward as easily as you please, but all of that, 
as terrific as it is, is not what Dave really wants.  

Dave turns off the stove, pours out hot water and broods into the darkening cup of tea.  
After all the advice he's given Viggo and Sean, he feels like such a bloody hypocrite.  
One would think, he chides himself, that after everything they've done--and do--with 
each other on a daily basis it wouldn't be so blasted difficult for Dave to tell Karl that he'd 
like to kiss him.  Except, of course, that kissing is so much more dangerous than fucking.

****************

Friday evening 7:34:

Dave and Eric share the large, tan leather ottoman in one corner of Eric's room.  They are 
trying not to laugh.

Sean is holding a green light-up dildo in his hand, and he stands near Dominic's backside 
insisting, "This will *not* make your arse glow from the inside out!  It won't!  Jesus, 
Dom, what d'you think the thing's made of, radioactive rubber?"

Dominic looks back at him as well as he can from over his shoulder and wonders 
hopefully, "D'you suppose maybe?"

"Dom--"  

It's a toss-up, Dave thinks, whether Sean is about to burst into laughter or just gag Dom 
for the sake of convenience.  Possibly both.

Dom kneels on the silver satin duvet of Eric's gigantic bed.  The entire room is 
luxuriously reminiscent of Golden Era Hollywood, and now Dominic is running his own 
drama, and trying Sean's patience.  Sean, Dave considers, needs to get hold of the 
situation.

Sean takes a deep breath, gives a thoughtful and slightly devious half-grin, and reaches 
into Eric's toy box.  Dom's hands are bound to the headboard and his ankles are cuffed to 
a spreader bar.  He has obediently raised his charming bum for Sean's convenience, but 
now his position on the bed makes it difficult for him to see what Sean is up to, and it's 
clear that he is desperate to know.  Sean lets him squirm about for a minute, trying to get 
a look, then decides enough is enough and suddenly jabs his carefully manicured left 
forefinger precisely into Dominic's lubricated bottom.  Dom gives a shocked squeak, 
goes perfectly still, and while Sean never looks up from his one-handed rummaging in 
Eric's toy box, Dave worries that Eric will do himself some sort of internal injury by 
trying not to giggle.  Dave's not much better off, and he leans against Eric's substantial 
shoulder for support.

"Ah," says Sean.  He pulls his finger back, wipes it on a towel, and takes a minute to 
finish his project.  "There we are!"  

Given Eric's tendency to tinker and invent, his toy box is full of unusual but useful items, 
and Sean has managed to find precisely the odd pieces that he needs.  Now he 
triumphantly holds forth the double-headed toy he's just fastened together.  One side is an 
ordinary black silicone butt-plug, but the other has become Dominic's new Amazing 
Nuclear Glow-in-the-dark Dildo, and Dave starts tearing up all over again, guessing 
where this is going.  He can feel Eric's shoulder shaking.

Sean lubes up the black silicone, and pats Dom on the bum.  "Right.  Ready for this, lad?"

"Gah," Dom protests, "I can't see!  What's happenin'?"

"Wait for it.  Trust me."

"Are you kidding?"

"Dom--"

"Tsk.  Very well.  Plunge ahead."

Sean groans at the pun and works the black plug into Dominic's body.  It's not difficult, 
given Dom's impatience, but the toy is rather larger than Sean's finger, so Sean takes care 
anyway, rubbing lightly at Dom's bottom and lower back.  When the plug is securely 
seated, and Sean is satisfied that Dominic is comfortable with it, he pulls over the large 
mirror from the opposite corner of the room, and asks Eric to turn off the lights.

Dominic peers about at the activity, his brows lowered.  "What the hell?"

As the lights go out, Sean trains the mirror past Dom's shoulder toward his bottom and 
shows him the sight of himself with a brightly glowing tail. 

"Oo, er!"  Dom swishes his bottom enthusiastically and watches in the mirror as the neon 
green light-up dildo makes quick arcs in the darkened room.  "I've got a lit-up arse!  Fuck 
but Lij'll be jealous, won't he!  Thanks, Sean!"

Sean's chuckle is low in the darkness.  "Any time, mate.  Any time."

Dave feels the vibrations like a small earthquake when Eric falls off the ottoman onto the 
floor.


8:45 p.m.:

Dave is having a remarkably good day.  He spent the entire morning surfing, most of the 
afternoon napping, arrived at the mansion feeling energized and creative, laughed himself 
sick at Sean and Dominic mucking about, and now he's got Sean, buck thank-you-very-
much naked, on his back on the big bed with his wrists bound snugly to the headboard, 
and his legs in the air.  Life.  Is.  Good.

Sean's ankles, more specifically, have been cuffed and chained up to the canopy rail 
along either side of the bed, pulling his legs high, wide, and slightly back, tilting his hips 
upward nicely.  The low wedge Dave has considerately shoved beneath Sean's lower 
back helps as well.  

Two thick white candles have spent some time burning on the tea cart.  Given that Dave 
lights his room with candle light as a habit, this would not be particularly notable, except 
that he has never left one burning on the tea cart before.

Dave hums old Beach Boys songs to himself as he works, attaching with a delicate touch 
and a satisfied smirk a row of adjustable-grip pliers along either side of Sean's bollocks, 
letting the weight of the pliers stretch the loose skin out to either side.  They twist a bit as 
they lie awkwardly against Sean's body, or pull down between his thighs, listing against 
his bum, and it stretches and stings, just as it ought to, but it won't damage him, though 
from the scowl Sean's directing at Dave *someone* is contemplating bloodshed.

Dave smiles beatifically, reaches into the chrome ice bucket on the tea cart, and 
withdraws an ice cube just under the diameter of a dime.  He rolls it briefly in his hands, 
blunting the edges, and as Sean watches with increasing wariness and winces at Dave's 
cold fingers, he tugs at Sean's foreskin, gently rolling and stretching it.  Dave senses 
astute commentary queuing up just at the back of Sean's teeth.

Dave hums "Surfin' USA", acknowledges with a certain pride that Sean's got the next 
move figured, bless him, and would likely kick Dave and make his escape given half a 
chance, but of course he hasn't got one, and really he'd regret it in the end if he were to 
miss this.  Certainly he would.  Dave inserts the small ice cube into the folds of Sean's 
skin.  Sean yelps, squirms and mutters curses, including a piquant comment on Dave's 
rumored sexual habits with sheep, but Dave lets it go with a chuckle.  He stretches Sean's 
foreskin over the little ice cube, clamps it firmly shut with another pair of the adjustable 
pliers and lets it all lie on Sean's quivering belly.  He stands back to admire his work 
while Sean grits his teeth and ice water begins to slowly leak onto his stomach.  Nice.

Dave pulls another ice cube from the bucket, warms the corners off, and rubs it lightly 
over the clamped and stretched skin of Sean's balls.  Sean swears and tries to wriggle 
away, but there's nowhere for him to go, so he settles for growling and glaring, while 
Dave hums and smiles.

He couldn't resist playing this scene, honestly. He'd spent a recent afternoon happily 
puttering around the hardware store, and after the fun they'd had with warm rum sauce 
and cold ice cream, during which Sean showed such responsiveness to temperature play, 
how could a fellow not run with that? Dave slides the melting ice up Sean's cringing 
cock, notes the puddle of cold water settling into Sean's bellybutton, little streams starting 
to trickle down the sides of his stomach.  He'd thought about inserting a plug into Sean at 
the beginning of all this, but of course if he'd done that he couldn't do this…  Dave 
swoops the ice between Sean's upraised buttocks.  Sean yips and struggles at the contact 
and Dave grins delightedly, lingering perversely over Sean's quivering hole.  If looks 
could kill, Dave laughs to himself, he'd be a dead man standing.  The way the muscles at 
the base of Sean's cock twitch in sympathy with his hole and in spite of the pliers 
attached to his balls is really rather attractive.

The last of his ice cube fades away against the heat of Sean's left butt-cheek, and Dave 
returns to the ice bucket, rummages a moment, and retrieves a handful of tiny, broken 
pieces of ice.  Perfect.  He scatters these over Sean's delicates, chuckling at Sean 
grimacing and grinding his teeth.  From the darkly intent expression on Sean's face Dave 
imagines he's thinking up clever ways to dispose of a dead body.  Dave dries his hands, 
and gently unclamps all of the pliers from Sean's skin.

He fetches one of the white candles, and without warning pulls back Sean's cold foreskin 
and, lifting the candle high, pours the candle's melted wax over the chilled head of his 
cock.  Sean yowls as though he's been scalded.  Dave chortles sympathetically.  The wax 
isn't hot enough by the time it reaches Sean to do him any harm, but as Dave dribbles 
more paraffin down Sean's recently clamped and iced family jewels he is well aware that 
the initial temperature contrast is a killer.

Sean wriggles uselessly, glaring and muttering what sounds like some sort of ancient 
Egyptian curse as Dave tilts the candle to encourage it to melt more quickly, and now 
hovers it over the sweet pucker of Sean's bottom.  He turns it sideways and lets the wax 
run.  Sean bucks and growls initially, but the sound turns to a soft moan, voicing the 
edge, just there, between pain and pleasure, where Sean's body has come to terms with 
the idea in Sean's head that someone has just poured melted wax over his cock and his 
hole, and that it feels irrationally good.  Dave could read it all in Sean's face, but his body 
makes it plainer, blush and taut, and Dave congratulates himself again for not putting in 
that plug.

Dave lets the paraffin pool and trickle down past Sean's tailbone.  He sets aside the 
candle, grabs a new ice cube, rolls it quickly in one hand, and runs it over Sean's balls, 
making him yell and swear, but there's a plaintive note beneath, a yearning for the heat, 
and Dave discards the ice and reaches for the second, waiting candle, and spatters the 
warm liquid, listening to the startled quickness of Sean's breath as the heat strikes fresh, 
chill skin, shifting to a low groan as Sean's body welcomes the warmth.  Sean 
thoughtlessly tries to open his legs wider yet, and the sight goes straight to the center of 
first Dave's brain and then his sex, and that succession is something he looks forward to 
every time.  He lifts Sean's cock, dripping more of the paraffin down from the already 
covered and cooling head, moving the candle slowly back and forth between cock and 
balls until Sean is well splattered in warm, cooling wax.

Dave blots the ice water from Sean's navel with his own t-shirt, fills the tiny bowl with 
warm paraffin, runs a trail up to Sean's chest, covers Sean's nipples, pools paraffin in the 
soft base of his throat where his pulse beats hard, and Sean is squirming and moaning, 
low sounds of pleasure and protest because, Dave knows perfectly well, Sean's body 
wants nothing more than to express its appreciation, but the hardening paraffin grips and 
pulls at sensitive skin.  Sean writhes and curses softly.  Dave takes pity. 

He blows out the candles, leaves them cooling on the cart, and turns to Sean.  He caresses 
his backside, playfully taps at the still warm paraffin plug that seals him, looks up to find 
Sean watching him with glittering eyes, parted lips.  Sean flickers his tongue over his 
lower lip.  Oh, yes.  They're riding the same wave, here.

Dave's jeans disappear, flung into a corner of the room.  Dave isn't sure which corner, 
doesn't care.  Sean gleams in the firelight of the room, arms bound to the headboard, legs 
racked up high and wide, and he's *waiting* for Dave.  Too good.  Dave pulls his t-shirt 
off over his head, folds it lengthwise, and lays it across Sean's eyes.

He carefully peels away the cooled wax from Sean's entrance, ghosting his fingers over 
the sensitized skin and checking for stray dabs and runnels of wax.  His body hurts from 
wanting, making its demands clear, and Dave snatches the bottle of almond oil from the 
cart, slathers first Sean, then himself, crawls up onto the bed between Sean's raised legs 
and begins to tease, stroking the backs of Sean's thighs, nuzzling at his calves.  He makes 
tiny circles, pressing the slick head of his cock against Sean, tormenting them both, his 
own body gradually adding to the slickness of the oil.  Sean's breathing is shallow, quick, 
and he's licking his lips, but not speaking, not begging, not even aware, thank the 
bondage gods, of what that gesture does to Dave's patience.

Dave presses inward, his hands on Sean's hips.  Sean's teeth clench.  The heavy splatters 
of wax have become a prison, and he rolls his hips as well as he can in protest, trying to 
get Dave's attention without asking.  Dave sees, but he waits.  He slides in, and oh Sean is 
so warm and fine, just like that, and like this... Sean makes a frustrated noise.  No 
complaint, but the sound is too close to non-erotic pain now for Dave's taste, and he 
begins to strategically crack off thick scales of paraffin as he moves inside Sean.  He 
leaves behind the white paraffin that encases the head of Sean's cock.

Sean's sigh of relief goes straight to Dave's belly and he pulls sharply at Sean's upraised 
thighs, making him grunt and hiss.  The sounds are intoxicating, and Dave shoves in 
hard, wanting to hear them again.  Harder.  Sean is cursing and demanding, that close to 
begging, and Dave holds himself back just until Sean crosses the line to breathless 
pleading, and then he gives Sean what he wants and gives it to him earnestly, until they're 
both sweating and Sean's rhythmic groans are that close to yells, and then Dave shoves in 
and pulls hard back at Sean's thighs and enjoys that extra moment of Sean screaming for 
Dave to *fucking please let him loose,* and then Dave tweaks the thick covering of 
paraffin from the crown of Sean's cock, and Sean is going loudly and messily over the 
edge, with Dave following quite happily close behind.

He flops forward with a contented grunt.

"Oof," Sean wheezes.  "Fuck…"

Dave chuckles, his cheek pressed against Sean's chest.  In a minute the shattered wax he's 
lying on between Sean's legs will start to annoy them both.  "For the record, mate, you're 
amazing."  He twists and nibbles at Sean's right nipple, spits out the wax.

"Thanks," Sean replies, catching his breath.  "But you're startin' to spook me, Dave."

There's no particular alarm in Sean's voice, and Dave raises himself up to slide the t-shirt 
from Sean's eyes.  "How's that?"

Sean gives him a lopsided smile.  "You're gettin' to understand me awfully well."

Dave beams and kisses Sean's wax-encrusted chest.

"Just tell me one thing," Sean asks, squirming contentedly.

"What's that?"  Dave struggles upright and begins to unclip the cuffs at Sean's ankles.

"Why do you so often blindfold me?"

It's a legitimate question.  "There's a reason," Dave admits, "but it's an idiosyncracy of 
mine, that's all."  Close to the truth.  Still a lie.

Sean gives him an evaluating smirk.  "So you're telling me you're eccentric, as though I 
didn't know, and leaving it at that."

Dave leans between Sean's relaxed thighs and bites his sensitized foreskin, and Sean 
grunts, his hips bucking up automatically, though it's too early for anything new to start 
happening, and that's quite all right.  Dave tugs Sean's cock tautly upright by its skin.  
"Only a little," Dave murmurs, licking at the skin clenched between his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~

12:16 a.m.:

Clearing up the room, and especially cleaning up Sean, might have been quite the chore 
had it not been for the giggling, and Dave's deft hand with a razor.  Sean has lost some 
more body hair thanks to the wax, but he doesn't mind.  There was a hot bath shared 
afterward, which included a fair amount of cheerful groping, and it has finally occurred to 
Sean that Dave seems to be collecting bath tub toys.  The latest is a purple hippo floating 
in a pink inner tube, which Dave refuses to either excuse or explain.

Now Sean slouches comfortably in the big, squashy chair in front of his television, 
sipping at a small glass of Bailey's and watching a late-night run of "The Thief of 
Baghdad," starring Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Maureen O'Hara.  While Mycroft sprawls 
on his back all over the floor of Sean's study, his fuzzy lips flopping open as he snores 
like an old steam engine, Ophelia dozes in a tidy fawn curl on the other chair.  From time 
to time she opens one amber eye to peek at the television.  Sean wonders if she entertains 
daydreams, and if so, what are they like?  He's been told that dogs are color-blind, but 
one of the many things he's learned from his experiences at the mansion these past weeks 
is that you never really know until you get there.

Just a couple of months ago he could not have imagined himself wondering whether, if it 
were with the right person… say perhaps Sean… if Sean could let Viggo know somehow 
that he could trust him like that… well, if Viggo might enjoy being comfortably 
manacled to Sean's headboard and teased until he begs.  There, Sean's thought it.  Hasn't 
said it out loud, not even to himself, and he's blushing where he sits to even think it, but 
he's put it into words.  He has acknowledged the question.  And Jesus, but he'd really like 
to know the answer. 


--tbc--