Title: Novice Chronicles: 15/15: The Ancient Art of Arranging Flowers
Author: Brigantine
e-mail: gidgetpup@netzero.com
Pairing: Vig/Bean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU.  Hardly any bondagey bits, oddly enough.
Disclaimer: Not happening.  Didn't happen.  Won't happen
Summary: Selective mayhem.  Viggo's past and present collide.  Literally.

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

FYI: It's pronounced Tomoeh.  

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

Sunday, 7:20 a.m.:

Dave partially wakes, just enough to not want to wake any further, but he does, in spite of 
insistently shutting his eyes against the morning.  He rolls over, disgruntled, and his hand 
bumps into something warm and yielding.  What... ah, yes.

Karl still sleeps, his back to Dave, dark hair spread over the pillow.  Dave smiles and 
scooches carefully closer, enjoying the shared warmth, the rich smell of first Karl, and 
then the less romantic aftersex mix of various mortal fluids. 

His body wakes to last night's memory of Karl's warm mouth around his cock, and then 
Karl's even warmer arse around his cock, Karl wanting to take it hard and take it on his 
knees, his wrists bound to his ankles and his face shoved into the mattress.  Dave has 
long known that except for Eric, Karl tends to be the big, scary guy in the room.  What 
Dave hadn't realized until very recently is that Karl sometimes gets well and truly tired of 
being the big, scary guy in the room, and he wants nothing more than to be small and 
weak, and not at all frightening, and Dave is foremost of less than a handful of people 
Karl trusts to get him there.  Dave couldn't have been more floored, nor more honored if 
Karl had confessed to love him, which, fairly early on, happened as well.  Karl wasn't 
tied to anything at the time he claimed it, so Dave figures the declaration counts as fair.

He snuggles up against Karl's back, wondering if maybe he can get in a little harmless 
molesting before Karl wakes up.  It's not to be.  Karl twitches, lies still for a moment, and 
Dave waits to see if he's really awake or just shifting about, and then Karl twists and 
pounces, rolling on top of Dave and leering down at him, heavy and predatory.  It's going 
to be quite a morning, Dave can tell.

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

9:13 a.m.:

Sean is annoyed.  He's still faintly hung over from last night's championship post-match 
debauchery, and he still hasn't been able to find Viggo.  He tried calling Ian this morning, 
but the man is apparently never at home, and as Ian has steadfastly refused to buy a 
mobile phone, in a last-ditch effort to find either him or Viggo Sean is on campus--again-
-fairly hopeless, irritated as hell, and failing entirely in his attempt to not glower like a 
mob hard-man. 

On a Sunday morning after the conclusion of summer session final exams,  with the 
exception of a few frazzled graduate students and faculty attempting to finish off their 
grading and get the hell out of here, the campus is quiet and deserted in an almost post-
apocalyptic way.  The hush is eerie, but the unusual silence makes it that much easier for 
Sean to hear the argument.  As he's striding purposefully along the broad sidewalk that 
leads to the humanities building Sean hears angry shouting off to his left.  He needs only 
a moment to recognize the voices, and then he's away, down the stairs and pelting 
bloody-minded toward the courtyard behind the theatre arts building.

Most of the little that Sean will eventually remember from the next few minutes is the 
sight of Viggo, slammed backward into a marquee box at the rear of the theatre, Sean's 
rapidly narrowing vision noting the sharp impact of his shoulders and the back of his 
head making the heavy acrylic shudder and warp, and from there it's a mental jumble of 
black and red, including the sudden, solid feel of a certain bloke's throat, Sean's hands 
crushing into the sweat-damp neck, into the frantic pulse beneath, the man's fingers 
scrabbling up, clawing at Sean's shoulders, at his face, while the heels of his palms sink 
in, and his thumbs press against the hard barrier of cartilage, and there's the sound of 
panicked breath wheezing, high-pitched through the straining airway, ribs laboring to rise 
under the weight of Sean's right knee, and then someone is kissing him--Viggo kisses him 
forcefully, his face held firmly between Viggo's hands, and Viggo breathes hard into his 
mouth and pushes him up and backward, and Sean's hands let go of the warm throat, and 
he rises up off of the laboring chest, and Viggo's kiss--Viggo's kiss tastes a little of blood, 
which makes Sean struggle for a second, aborting an impulse to strike out, but Viggo 
holds on and persistently moves him slowly back, until the big concrete postern next to 
the stairway that leads down to the lagoon stops them, and Viggo quits kissing him and 
slides down to the ground, to his knees, and bites at Sean's crotch through his jeans, and 
Sean's conscious mind surfaces abruptly, but just barely, finding him with one hand 
curved hard around the back of Viggo's head and the other clenched in Viggo's flannel 
shirt at the shoulder, while Viggo's mouth is hot and insistent over his cock through his 
jeans, and Sean's mind finishes making the transition from fighting to fucking, and then 
he struggles against the instinct to tear open his jeans and shove his cock into Viggo's 
mouth and keep ramming himself in until he comes, and this rage is released with the 
flood.  The effort of resistance makes him dizzy.

The man Sean has recently been strangling is coughing and struggling to his elbows, all 
the while Sean watching him, mostly in shades of black and grey and red, and what 
anchors Sean from lunging forward and knocking him back onto the concrete and 
finishing what he started is the warm pressure of Viggo's body pushing at his hips, 
Viggo's face now pressed supplicant against the angry rise and fall of Sean's belly.

Viggo's former lover, wide-eyed and appalled, manages to wheeze out, "Fuck!  Fuck, 
they said *I* needed anger management--"  He coughs, and sits up awkwardly.  "What 
the fuck is your deal, man, look at him, he's just a--"

"Say it, and nothing will stop me," an animal version of Sean's voice promises.  The feel 
of Viggo's hair slipping through his fingers keeps Sean's fists from clenching, soothes his 
hands open, mesmerized by the soft warmth of dark, fawn blond, but that could change in 
a heartbeat.

"*You* are fucking crazy!"  The man who lied to Viggo is backing rapidly away before 
he has entirely risen, a sort of crab-walk in retreat, and not even time will quite restore his 
dignity now.  He spits, his voice edging into shrill, "Goddamned *certifiable!*" 

*Just your average northern bastard,* Sean thinks, which makes him smile darkly, and 
the man who once misused Viggo turns paler yet, and finally regains his feet, all the 
while staring at Sean as though expecting him to shape-shift; but Sean is absorbed now in 
pulling Viggo upward, and then Viggo's arms are around him and he nuzzles into the side 
of Sean's neck, and Sean closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them the man 
he has just attempted to murder is nothing more than the echo of fleeing footsteps.  

Sean leans against Viggo. He's shaking all over, and he closes his eyes again.  "Why'd 
you stop me, Vig?"

Viggo murmurs against the sweating skin of Sean's neck, his hands stroking the long, 
twitching muscles on either side of Sean's spine.  "He's not worth the trouble that always 
follows killing."

*But I wanted to.  I would...*  "Did he hurt you?" 

"Not today."

Sean's arms have gone around Viggo apparently on their own, and he's holding Viggo 
tightly, taking long, comforting breaths of the smell of him. "Been looking for you."

"Wish I'd known."

"If I could've found you, I could've told you."

"If--"  Viggo clucks, a feeble smile against Sean's skin.  "Can we walk off some of this 
adrenaline?  This sort of shit always gives me the shakes."

Sean enjoys the brush of Viggo's hair against his cheek.  He can feel the tremors against 
his chest, in the long bones of his forearms as they lay diagonally across Viggo's back, 
though truthfully it's hard to judge where his own stop and Viggo's begin.  He reluctantly 
lets Viggo loose, and they start down toward the path that leads around the lagoon and 
toward the Pacific.  "I may be walkin' bowlegged for a bit, thanks to you." 

Viggo shrugs.  "Sorry.  It was all I could think of at the time."

"Y'know I weren't right in the head, then.  I might've hurt you."  He pulls out his cigarette 
pack, slightly crushed.  He offers the pack to Viggo, who shakes his head.

"Yeah, well," Viggo explains, "turning the hose on the two of you wasn't really an 
option."

Sean's hands still shiver as he stops briefly to light up, and he takes a long, welcome drag, 
watching the smoke curl, and stepping downwind from Vig.

Sean is suddenly unsure of himself, now that the immediate threat is over, but he realizes 
that he quite likes the sound of Viggo's voice, rough and low, and how it seems to get 
right inside him, and make him listen.  He knows he doesn't regret trying to throttle 
Viggo's former lover.  He wishes in fact that he'd had the sense to give the worthless shit 
a broken nose or a nice scar to take home with him, wherever that lies--something to 
remind the man of where he does not belong, a souvenir of whose ground this is.  Viggo 
has slipped his hand inside Sean's, curling callused fingers together, and it feels good like 
that, warm and strong. Things have changed, though.  Their reality has shifted radically, 
and Sean feels as though he hasn't quite got his sea-legs yet.  They've unfinished business 
between them, things that need saying, but he supposes all of that can wait, while each 
gathers his wits and gets used to the feel of the other at his shoulder.

The lagoon path curves through a part of the estuary that lies between the ocean and the 
foothills.  Little grey wrens dart amongst the branches of sprawling willows to the right, 
and to the left, almost at Viggo's feet, black and grey mudhens make eccentric piping 
noises as they putter in the shallows, while a merganser hunts further out in the lagoon, 
and beyond that canvas backs, mallards, buffleheads, and pintails float and drift in the 
shadow of the peninsula.  A great blue heron launches itself from amongst the cattails and 
swoops across the path, swerving off toward the horsetail grasses on the other side of the 
lagoon.  Sean feels the adrenaline rush finally draining off.

Fine gravel crunches underfoot, and Sean can hear the Pacific ahead.  It's just over that 
small rise, just there, turquoise and gold flickering north, south, and west, far out past the 
curved edge of the world. 

"Um," wonders Viggo quietly, "what do we do now?"

A flight of pelicans glides in low over the swells, disappears past the white spray off the 
rocks at Campus Point, just to the south. 

Sean pulls a thoughtful breath and shrugs. "I'm rather better at fighting than at talkin'."

"Yeah," Viggo agrees, squinting out to sea.  "It's been a busy morning."  He nods toward 
the flight of wooden stairs that leads up into the dormitory complex overlooking the 
ocean.  "I live over this way, in Summerville.  It's not far.  We could go there?"

Sean senses the nervousness in Viggo now, squeezes his hand a little, and allows himself 
to be led.  "You refused him then," Sean guesses, following Viggo up the stairs.  He stubs 
his cigarette out against the railing, drops it in a waste bin along the way.

"I should have expected his reaction.  It was naive of me to think better."  Viggo rubs his 
thumb over the back of Sean's hand.  "I don't mean to whine, but if you could loosen your 
grip there just--"

"Oh, sorry!"  Sean is flustered and embarrassed, and drops Viggo's hand.

Viggo takes hold again, shaking his head.  "You don't need to let go, it's just that the 
knuckles are kind of sore from when I clocked him."

"You hit him?"  Sean grins.  *That's my lad!*

"Hadn't intended to.  I had thought maybe after such a long time we could be civilized 
about this, but then he said some things--things that used to make me cower, used to 
make me--"  Viggo growls, his anger flaring, "--used to make me start *apologizing,* and 
the next thing I knew I'd socked him in the eye."  

*He'll have a nice black eye tomorrow then, the prick.  Good.  I hope it fucking hurts.* 
"And how did that feel, eh?"  

"Ordinarily violence gives me the heebie-jeebies.  But that just..."  Viggo makes a face 
and flails his free hand.

"Was a long time coming," Sean finishes.

Viggo gives him a wry smile.  "I finally got angry enough, because of you."

That makes no sense to Sean at all.  "On my account?"

"I knew I couldn't have you if I didn't deal with all that shit from years ago, and the more 
I thought about all of that, the angrier I became."

"Oh."  Sean blushes at the implication, allows himself to be thrilled.  "So you confronted 
him 'cause, ehm, 'cause you wanted to clear the way for me?"

"I confronted him because he showed up here and gave me little choice.  I told him to 
fuck off because I want you, yeah."

Sean chuckles at the honest answer.  "That's all good, then."

Viggo looks at Sean sideways and says, "When I was with Michael I was young and 
inexperienced, and I thought he loved me.  I believed that whenever things got bad it was 
somehow my fault." 

Sean's hands clench reflexively. *Is that the son of a bitch's name, then?  Michael.* That's 
an easy name for Sean to remember.  Not that he could forget, considering.

"I know better now," Viggo assures him, flexing his fingers.  "Um, look, Sean, I've been 
doing a lot of honest thinking about myself lately.  What sort of man I am, what I want... 
I'm not, um...  Crap.  Look, for the last, I don't know, five, six years I've believed I 
couldn't make it last with anybody because, well, hell, I've lost a dozen watches in the last 
couple of years just 'cause I never look at them.  Maybe I forget to come home from a 
hike in the hills until four in the morning, because the stars are really bright, or I leave art 
books and half-finished projects all over the house.  Stuff like that.  But I understand now 
that that's never been the reason it all turned to nothing.  Michael understood about the 
way I am.  He's always known, I suppose.  Long before I did."

Sean is well aware that Vig's a bit eccentric.  He understands how a person who believes 
he's in love and is loved can be used.  None of this surprises him.  It bothers him that 
Viggo seems ashamed of any of it.  "Viggo,"  Sean says thoughtfully, "you needn't worry 
much over what you think might put me off.  Tell me, when you think about being with 
someone, what do you *need?*"

"What?"  Viggo's hand jerks back a little.

Sean has not asked Viggo what he wants; has not asked what he hopes for, or what seems 
reasonable to expect, but what he needs, and he waits patiently for him to think about it.  
It's the sort of question Dave might have asked, and Sean is a little bit proud of himself 
for perhaps having learned something from him after all.

Viggo finally lets his breath out sharply.  "'Kay.  Okay."  They've passed through the 
dormitory buildings and they're wandering through Summerville, largely deserted at this 
point between summer and fall sessions.  He looks at Sean almost pleadingly.  "This 
could get weird, Sean.  I'm sorry, but I'm a little bit of a freak."

Sean can't help it.  He laughs outright.  "Viggo, could it get any freakier than attempted 
slaughter and you nearly sucking me off in front of your ex?  Not that he didn't deserve 
both, mind you."

Viggo yawps momentarily, then snorts.  "Hum.  Point taken.  Okay, it's like this... 
Sometimes it feels really good, fucking fantastic, actually, if I can be treated… treated as 
though I'm there to be used, entirely for someone else's convenience, and I get no say 
about how it goes.  Certainly not something I'd want all the time of course, and I'd rather 
not be considered inferior, just because I respond to that."  Viggo shakes his head, 
rubbing at the back of his neck.  He grimaces in frustration.  "Fuck, I'm usually good with 
words, but I don't know how to explain this well.  Maybe it's too weird after all."

After everything he's been through himself recently what Viggo describes to him now 
doesn't seem weird to Sean in the least.  Unusual, sure; but weird?  Nah.  "You'd make a 
fine concubine," he deduces practicably.

Viggo comes to a dead stop, and Sean's momentum turns them face to face.  "What?"  
His hair has fallen across his forehead, and the wind lifts it, silent as owl feathers.

"You could be my Tomoe," Sean suggests, and he nearly laughs at Viggo's baffled 
expression, because he doesn't know why he remembers this just now, but it's the best 
way he knows to make Viggo understand what he's offering, and he explains, "Tomoe 
Gozen.  Twelfth century Japan.  She were Lord Yoshinaka's right hand, see.  She was his 
cleverest, fiercest captain in battle, absolutely fearless, she was--though, in the end Lord 
Yoshinaka's army was defeated in spite of all their bravery.  When it comes to their final 
battle, the stories differ.  Some say Yoshinaka ordered Tomoe to flee and live.  Others 
say he ordered her to behead him first, and she escaped with his head, to deny their 
enemy the satisfaction of takin' it.  Mostly they say she died beside him on the battlefield.  
That's what I think, for what it's worth.  But see, Vig..." and Sean steps very close, so that 
he can see the tiny squint-lines around Viggo's grey eyes, the way his upper lip shadows 
the lower, and he says, "...Tomoe was Yoshinaka's concubine."

"He owned her," Viggo breathes, and he's shaking a little, but his eyes meet Sean's 
straight on.

Sean leans in, "She trusted him with her life, and he trusted her with his honor."  He's 
almost kissing Viggo, brushing his lips to the side of Viggo's mouth.  "It's all the same 
thing, really."

"Are you sure of this, what you're suggesting?" Viggo swallows hard, the color high in 
his cheeks.  "I'm asking an awful lot, putting that kind of responsibility on another 
person's shoulders."

"The way I hear it is, 'Vig needs a keeper.'"

Sean feels the warmth of his breath against his cheek when Viggo snickers, "People keep 
telling me that.  Worse, they apparently keep telling other people that."

Sean starts to tug Viggo a little closer, not really thinking about it, mouthing at his lower 
lip.

"We're standing in the middle of a public street, of course," Viggo points out, but he isn't 
going anywhere.

"Fuck it," Sean growls. "Round this town, someone's just as likely to make book on us." 

"Book?"

"Whether or not I'll shove you up against the nearest parked car and ravish you, right in 
front of God and everybody."

"A surprisingly attractive idea," Viggo murmurs.

"Exhibitionist," Sean accuses approvingly.  He pulls Viggo all the way in, kisses him 
long and slow and easy.  He feels awfully good and warm, pressed up close and wrapped 
up tight, Viggo does, and Sean has always figured he'd taste just right, just like this, and 
the way Viggo is curving his free hand around the back of Sean's head is perfect.  Finally 
Sean pulls back, a bit breathless, but happy, and beams at the delighted expression on 
Viggo's face. He traces the smile lines curving down the left side of Viggo's broad grin.  
"D'you suppose there ought to be some sort of paperwork involved here?" 

Viggo suggests, "I could write you a receipt."

Sean laughs.  "Where is your house?"  



Sean lingers downstairs long enough for Viggo's collie to get in a good investigative 
sniff, given that if the situation were reversed he knows Mycroft and Ophelia--Mycroft 
especially--would want to be properly introduced to a new friend, but then Viggo is 
shoving him upstairs where Jim, standing bemusedly at the foot of the staircase, is not 
allowed.

Laughing, Sean lets himself be pushed, until he turns at the last and pulls Viggo down 
onto the unmade bed with him, then rolls Viggo beneath him and kisses him soundly.  
Sean looks Viggo up and down, and though a small voice in the back of his head is trying 
to remind him of something, he leers, "Naked.  Naked naked naked!"

"Clothes are such a burden," Viggo agrees, and then Sean's sweater and Viggo's shirt, and 
their jeans, and boxers and soft knit under shorts are flung into the four corners of the 
bedroom.  

From where he's sprawled on the bed Viggo stares up at Sean's naked crotch.  "Um... 
pardon if I'm wrong, but after everything we've just talked about, and given that you 
know Ian--"

Sean stares down at Viggo's smooth skin from where he's standing at the foot of the 
mattress.  Good heavens.  "Ehm, yeah... see, I've got his friend--"

"Dave?"  Viggo ventures, fingers tapping nervously on the mattress.

"Aye.  Dave." About a hundred and twelve pornographic memories run luridly through 
Sean's brain, all jockeying for the limited space right there in the middle of his mind's 
eye, but the strange thing is, that while Sean is about *this* close to what he imagines 
might be a stroke, he's not alarmed.  He suspects, instead, that he may be about to laugh 
his arse off.

"Great googily," Viggo observes, slightly slack-jawed. 

Hell with it.  Sean throws himself forward, licks Viggo on the nose and says recklessly, 
"We'll talk about that later, yeah?  Just promise me one thing."

Viggo grins up at him, "Anything!"

"Try not to yell Dave's name at key moments, right?"

Viggo cackles like a lunatic, but manages, "Do we need condoms?"

"Been fucking anybody outside the crew?"

"No.  You?"

"Hell no.  C'mere..."  and he's nipping Viggo on the neck, sharp-toothed and growling.   

Viggo arches up into the warm hand between his legs.  "Ohhh, my..."

"Lube?"

"Nightstand.  I hope.  It's been a while."

A sudden idea nearly floors Sean.  No, it's too odd.  He grins.  Too much fun.  Has to 
happen.  "Hang on."

"Ack!  What?"  Viggo is still paused mid-reach.  "Something possibly quite insane just 
went *zap* behind your eyes.  I saw it."

He gives up on the lubricant for now and watches Sean inquiringly as he rummages in a 
box on one of Viggo's messy book shelves.  There's junk all over Viggo's bedroom, but 
the clear plastic box full of Crayons and felt-tip markers has caught Sean's attention, and 
now he's searching for one thing in particular.

Sean finds what he's after and bounces back onto the bed.  "Reach your arms back," he 
tells Viggo.  

Viggo stretches his arms to press the pads of his fingers against the wall at the head of his 
bed, and Sean takes a deep, slow breath, surveying his new acquisition.  Blessed Christ, 
he's long thought Viggo an attractive bloke, but this is ridiculous.  If he were a Catholic 
he'd be doing Hail Marys.  Instead he just tries not to drool. "You don't have to be naked 
in front of anybody in the next few days, do you?  No nude modeling, or summat?"

One eyebrow rises.  "Er.... no.  Naked for you only, as far as I'm aware"  He grins.  
"C'mon, what are you up to?"

Sean pops the top off of the bright blue felt tip marker.  "Non-toxic.  Machine washable."

Viggo laughs, "Wait --"

"You said I could have a receipt.  Hold still," Sean tells his new concubine, and he leans 
over to clearly print his name on Viggo's collar bone.

Viggo starts to laugh.  Sean shushes him, because the vibration makes his writing 
wobbly, but that only serves to make Viggo bite his lip and snigger, which is just as bad.  
He's trying not to squirm, but Sean can't blame him for spluttering and twitching when 
Sean writes S-E-A-N on the soft skin near Viggo's underarm, as though he's sending him 
off to summer camp.  Sean marks his name on both furry pectorals.  He sucks firmly on 
each of Viggo's dusky pink nipples before inscribing it, just to see what sort of lovely 
little noise Vig makes, so the blue ink smears a bit, but he's already on to ticklish ribs, 
then the slant of Viggo's waist; first one side, then the other, and then he prints his name 
around Viggo's bellybutton as though he's writing the four directions.  He signs for 
Viggo's hip bones, and for each of his ten toes--a messy job, as he signs the little soft 
under-pads, and Viggo can't help squeaking and wriggling.  It's even worse when Sean 
writes up the arches of his feet.  Then ankles are claimed, and calves and bony knees, and 
the fronts of both lean thighs, and at last Sean takes Viggo's balls in one hand and writes 
his own name very clearly on the delicate shaven skin, though it isn't easy, with Vig 
squirming, and his cock twitching like that, and then he writes along the length of the 
underside of Viggo's twitchy cock, which has leaked onto his belly and smudged Sean's 
name there a bit.  Sean leans in very close and in small, careful letters writes his name 
across the smooth curve of the head of Viggo's cock.  Viggo moans and stretches, but 
Sean isn't finished.  

Sean tells Viggo to turn over, and while Viggo lies motionless, his palms pressed to the 
wall, Sean signs his name to each of his fingers, and the backs of his hands.  Viggo 
snorfles his amusement into the pillow when Sean daintily signs the curved shell of each 
of his ears.  He marks the tender nape of Viggo's neck, the muscled slope of each 
shoulder, across the trapezius, and over the scapula.  Sean claims the long muscles on 
either side of Viggo's spine, and the long chain of Viggo's backbone as well, and then the 
twin dimples of his lower back, and he writes his name over the ticklish skin at the backs 
of Viggo's knees, and the flexing curves of the backs of Viggo's thighs.  Then he prints 
his letters of ownership in a clear arch across each cheek of Viggo's backside, and at last, 
he orders Viggo onto his knees, shoulders down, and tells him to spread his cheeks, and 
when Viggo has obeyed, Sean very carefully signs his title to the delicate, dark rose skin 
of Viggo's hole.  It's not as tidy as Sean might have liked, but the skin is puckered and 
terribly ticklish, though the noises Viggo made when he drew not only those four small 
letters of his name, but managed "Property of..." as well were much more like moans than 
any sort of giggle Sean's ever heard, and so he's satisfied, over all.  But there's one more 
signature he needs to make, and one for Viggo to make, as well.

"Turn 'round," Sean orders quietly.  He taps himself on the chest, and he says, "Sign 
here."

Grinning happily, Viggo accepts the blue marker and scrawls his name distinctly over the 
place where Sean's heart beats, and then Sean takes back the marker and signs his name 
boldly over Viggo's heart. 

"It's too bad so much of it will wash off in the shower," Viggo sighs, checking out Sean's 
name as it's been printed all over his body.

Sean chuckles, "I expect the novelty would wear off after a while anyway."  He pulls 
Viggo toward him.  "But I hope the thought behind it won't," and kisses him, and pushes 
him back down onto the mattress, skin to marked skin, and lord, but isn't Vig warm, and 
the way his body yields beneath Sean's could become a drug.  Likely it will, and that's 
fine.

Viggo wraps one leg around Sean's hip and breathes into his ear, "Now, now, now!"

"Demanding," Sean mutters agreeably.  He kisses Viggo's lower jaw, rubs his face 
against the soft fur of Viggo's chest and his belly, then pushes his knees up, licking and 
biting softly at the tender backs of his thighs, tonguing Viggo's balls into his mouth and 
sucking delicately while non-toxic blue ink comes off on his lips and Viggo writhes and 
hums with delight.  Then Sean's kissing Viggo's bellybutton and demanding lube.  Viggo 
rummages in the nightstand, panics momentarily, but comes up triumphant, with a small 
tube of unscented hand lotion.  He squashes ruthlessly at the partly deflated tube as Sean 
holds out one hand and tries very hard not to start laughing again.

When the tube suddenly blurts out a vast puddle of slick goo over Sean's waiting palm 
Viggo gives in to a case of the giggles, but Sean's not to be distracted now.  He kisses at 
Viggo's cock, busying himself while he encourages Viggo's body to relax, to allow him 
access, and then he's sliding slicked fingers inside that tender opening that's got his right 
of ownership written on it, and he's nibbling at Viggo's upraised knee.  Sean nuzzles his 
way up Viggo's chest, and then his cock is pressing, insistent upon entry, and Viggo 
reaches for Sean, draws his knees back, breathing open-mouthed through the welcome 
stretch and burn.  Then Viggo and Sean are learning to match their movements, feeling 
the other's rhythm for the first time. Sean presses his face against the base of Viggo's 
throat, feels the vibrations of the little huffs and growly noises he makes.  Sean works at 
angling just right.  Viggo wraps his legs high around Sean's waist, and god but it's 
glorious, the feel of Viggo's heels tapping lightly against the rise and thrust of his arse.  
Sean's breath is warm against Viggo's neck, and they're each trying to explore the other at 
the same time, hands traveling over warm skin, over elbows and shoulders and 
cheekbones.  Then at last comes the part where hips are pressing hard toward one another 
and hands grip and stroke with something very much like desperation, each trying not to 
lose rhythm with the other, and Viggo is groaning Sean's name and arching into a sweet 
release, and Sean's answer is muffled against Viggo's neck, easing into kisses against his 
chest.

Sean divests himself carefully, rolls the two of them over and Viggo makes a contented 
rumble, murmuring amusedly, "Squish," as he drapes himself over Sean and the mess 
they've made broadens to include hips and bellies and Viggo's back, there below his 
shoulder blades, where Sean's gooey hand rests.

"We're disgustin'," Sean observes happily.  He yawns cavernously.

"Need to change the sheets," Viggo mumbles.  "Shower.  Later. Y'know, I would've let 
you write your name on my face.  I would."

Sean's chin nudges the top of his head.  "Aye, I believe that."  He runs a light finger over 
Viggo's lower lip, thinks about how it's his now.  His to kiss.

"Dave made you shave."

Sean takes a second to catch up.  "What?  Yeah.  Both of us, then. Going to itch like hell 
growin' back.  Y'know, we should do something nice for Dave."

Viggo snickers.  "Or to Dave."

"I like that," Sean agrees.  He wonders if Dave and Karl will ever find each other out, if 
they'll ever be as happy as he is right now.  He hopes very much that they will.

"I'm sorry your team didn't take the league championship."

Sean peers down at the top of Viggo's head, as if he might discover a clue as to what's 
going on in there.  "Nah, that's all right.  It were a good game.  We made 'em earn it... 
wait, how'd you know?"

"I was there," Viggo confesses.  "I've been watching your games every Saturday since 
that one you played against Collinwood."  He runs the flat of his hand across the slope of 
Sean's flank.

Sean does the math, finally makes a bewildered face.  "That's the day I ran into you and 
Ian outside Dooley's.  If you'd watched the game, why'd you ask who had won?"

"I'm not sure, exactly.  I guess I just wanted to have something to say to you.  Let you 
know I was interested, without giving myself away."

"And you've been lurking at me football matches each Saturday since?"

"You're quite a dish on the field, I must say."

Sean regards him quizzically.  "So basically, you've been stalking me for the last month."

"Um... is that an issue?"

"You're a strange man, Viggo."

"Me?  You wrote your name on my ass.  Anyway, you like me this way."

"Aye," Sean chuckles ruefully.  "That I do."  He runs his thumb lightly across the sharp 
angle of Viggo's cheekbone.  "Heaven help me, that's the truth."

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

6:13 p.m.:

Viggo's bed has become a welter of jizz, sweat, and blue stains, but he doesn't mind.  
Sean's skin is marked almost as thoroughly as Viggo's by now, though mostly on his 
front.  Viggo yawns, stretches a little, winces happily at the soreness of his body, and 
watches the orange light of the lowering sun lance across his ceiling from behind him.  If 
he were to scramble to his knees and turn, he could rest his elbows on the deep window 
sill and watch the sun lower.  Instead, he carefully raises himself onto one elbow, and 
peers down affectionately at Sean's sleeping face.  So much has happened this summer... 
so much today.  He could easily be overwhelmed by it all, but he's not.  Sure, it's a lot to 
think about, but he's got time.  They've got time, he and Sean.  He nudges a stray lock of 
sweat-darkened blond hair across Sean's forehead, memorizing this, just now, the way the 
deepening light picks out the angles of Sean's face, rolls over his shoulder, coppers his 
chest.

Sean might have killed Michael today.  Likely, somewhere not so deep down, he still 
considers vigorous bloodshed a missed opportunity.  Reckless, his Sean. Viggo 
contemplates the smudges of blue ink their sweat has transferred onto Sean's skin in 
random swirls and blurred geometric shapes, and he can't help imagining what Sean 
would look like if some day he were to allow Viggo free rein to really mark him, all over 
his pale skin, and he fantasizes briefly about how beautiful Sean would be.  Viggo could 
maybe photograph him, clothed only in the copper wash of a setting sun, and those bold, 
writhing, dark blue designs.  Viggo smiles, stifling a chuckle.  Sean would probably take 
some talking into it, but as he was game for playing with Dave and the guys at the 
mansion, Viggo imagines Sean can likely be negotiated into all sorts of interesting things, 
if Viggo works it right.

Viggo understands that he is one of the very few people in the world that Sean is entirely 
incapable of hurting.  That's a big thing to recognize, and it leaves him a bit awestruck.  
Sean is, however, quite capable of making Viggo scream; of having turned him onto all 
fours and thumb-fucked him, gently massaging that sweet spot, while long fingers 
pleasured his balls and Sean's other hand circled the dripping crown of Viggo's straining 
cock and stroked him, teasing and relentless, all the while Sean's voice, low and even, 
coaching him to hold back, and to keep holding himself back, until Sean should tell him 
otherwise; until Viggo was shaking and sweating, trying to hang on, desperate and 
begging, and Sean's permission, Yes, Viggo, sent him screaming over the edge, and there 
was another mess added to the sheets, and Sean was petting and kissing him in the middle 
of the gory mess they'd made, and assuring him that he was beautiful and wonderful...

... and then this afternoon Sean, replete with strong tea and brown bread and avocado 
sandwiches, wandered out of the bathroom after a piss and a quick washup, when really 
what they both needed was a proper shower, and Viggo was waiting for him, to gleefully 
tackle him sideways onto the bed, and before Sean could splutter What the f--? Viggo 
wriggled downward and wrapped his mouth around Sean's cock.  Finally, Viggo got to do 
what he had desperately wanted to do back there when he was, regrettably, preventing 
Sean from ending Michael, and the breathless way Sean repeated Viggo's name while 
Viggo's arms were wrapped around his thighs and his hips and Viggo's whole mouth was 
happily very, very busy, and then when Sean thrashed and shouted and nearly fell off the 
bed from the way Viggo was sucking him dry, that was fucking *perfect.*  Until the next 
time Sean pounced on Viggo, and then that was perfect, too.

Even so, today wasn't and isn't finished, and there will be more such days to come, he 
knows.  Viggo figures there's a yin and yang thing here between himself and Sean.  He 
hasn't worked it out yet, which is all right, as he expects Sean is pretty much winging it at 
this point as well, the two of them running on enthusiasm and lust, and a fair amount of 
relief.  Eventually they'll reach a sort of balance of power that suits them, based largely 
on the fact that Viggo is unreservedly head over heels for Sean, and he's been given 
reason to believe Sean thinks pretty highly of him, as well.  The one thing he is certain of 
is that the friendship and affection between them rests on an already sturdy foundation of 
trust, and really, you can't beat that.  Viggo brushes his lips over Sean's cheekbone, 
noticing with a pang of worry how vulnerable Sean seems lying there, naked and 
exhausted, and he considers what Sean told him--that, regardless of who owns whom, 
even Yoshinaka needed someone to watch his back.  Viggo doesn't expect it will ever 
come down to him escaping into the night with Sean's head in his saddle bags, but the 
overall condition still applies.  Viggo smiles protectively at the drowsy, inquisitive noise 
that Sean makes, and snuggles down next to him again, one finger lightly tracing the 
blurred lines of his signature over Sean's heart.

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

Sunday, 10:04 a.m.:

"Marton," Ian smiles, feeling himself melt a bit at the rich voice on the other end of the 
telephone connection.  "Where are you?"  He puts his feet up on his desk, turning his 
back against the rather remarkable view his fifth floor office affords of the theatre arts 
building courtyard.

"At the airport," Marton tells him.  "I just have to find my car in the long-term parking 
lot, and then I'm coming straight home.  How have things been while I was away?  
Interesting news?  Are you at home?"

"I'm at school at the moment.  I've got a few things to clear up before summer session is 
officially over, and everyone can relax for a few weeks.  I'll tell you all about the doings 
here when you get home. Then you must regale me with tales of your adventures in wild 
Alaska--the lovely people at the research facility, and all the wonderful bears and caribou 
and things."

Marton chuckles.  "What have you been up to, Ian?"

"What makes you think I've been up to anything?"  Ian scowls at the telephone.  How the 
hell does he do that?

"The tone of your voice, my friend.  And I know you."  

The playful Kiwi charm is impossible to resist.  "Oh, very well.  While you were away 
young David and I have been rather busy on a project dear to my heart--and to yours."

"Mine as well?" Ian can hear Marton opening a car door and sliding in, can hear the smile 
in his voice.

"Though we nearly suffered a disaster.  You know-who-showed up, curse him.  Came 
looking for Viggo.  Must have felt a disturbance in the Force, or something. "  

"'You-know-who'--?  Good lord, Ian!  What happened?"

"Never fear.  Our happy ending has come about quite amusingly, really.  All this time I've 
been maneuvering for the knight to have his chance, and the youth to find his rescue, but 
the knight went errant while I wasn't looking, and the youth has turned paladin."  Ian 
allows himself a smug chortle.  "Drive safely, my love, and I'll tell you all the juicy 
details when you get home."  He really is immensely satisfied with the entire operation, 
and he doesn't mind saying so. 


--end--