Fic: DAAF: beginning of the end
Oct. 7th, 2005 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archetWell, here we go, finally closing in on an ending note, and this one is a little different, I do hope you guys enjoy... am going for something a little silly/sappy, a little hot and a little serious, so, *fingers crossed*. Of all the installments this one *isn't* what I consider a stand-alone, and is divided into two parts, so if it seems there's more to come, there is, ;) A big thanks to everyone that's has fun with this and requested more!
Series: Domesticity, After A Fashion (5.1/5.2)
Title: Hanging Gardens
Author: Archet
Pairing: Viggo/Sean
Rating: R
Summary: Sean works on a new project, Viggo nearly has a heart attack, things are shaken loose.
Disclaimer: this is fiction, for entertainment purposes only and in no way implies anything as to the real lives to the lovely men who are inspirations for these characters.
Note: Find parts 1, 2, 3 and 4 here: Scrubbing Bubbles, In Season , Causality of Circumstance and Herbs, Beds and Lovers
Archive: My LJ, Rugbytackle
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated!
Warnings: none really that the rating above doesn’t cover...sap, unbeta’ed attempts at hotness.
~*~
Viggo hitched up the hem of his shirt and swiped it at the sweat running down his forehead. The morning had been warm and the afternoon hot, and Sean and he had been outside during both, working in the garden. To start him off, Sean had put Viggo in charge of plucking weeds from the flower beds as Sean himself worked at an outdoor all-purpose worktable. The old wooden table used to be in Viggo’s studio but he’d long ago moved it outside in favor of a more functional piece, now it worked perfectly as a gardening table for Sean.
Viggo took a deep breath, drawing the warm clean air into his lungs. It’d been a good day... a great day, and Viggo thought he was beginning to understand just why Sean loved working in the garden so. The sky was a deep summer blue, dotted with white clouds and there was a definite sweet scent wafting on the breeze. Viggo took a moment and sniffed. The tea roses... he was smelling Sean’s tea roses. Viggo smiled, and all it took was a glance in Sean’s direction and he was in dereliction of duty.
He abandoned his post and headed straight for his lover who was back in another old paper-thin Sheffield United t-shirt and a pair of those delicious, faded jeans. Viggo made a beeline for Sean, sidled up behind him, not at all surprised when Sean only tossed him a smile over one shoulder, and went right back to work with his potting soil. The dark, rich soil was scattered across the work table and had worked its way underneath Sean’s fingernails. Viggo could see the dark lines of it from where he stood pressed close against Sean’s sun baked back. Viggo could feel his heat through both their thin shirts as he eased closer, peered over Sean’s shoulder. He was close enough that he could observe his lover work and enjoy the curve of Sean’s ass cradled against his hips. His hands came to rest on Sean’s hips, and his fingers slipped of their own accord into the denim belt loops.
Sean was intent on his work as he settled another plant into a self draining pot, then moved the whole kit into a hanging basket. Viggo just watched him silently for long moments. His eyes followed Sean’s hands, studied the long dirty fingers as they better seated the plant into its bed of soil. He took in the sunlight, bright on Sean’s hair, the golden touch of it against the muscles of his neck, the shell of his ear. Soon Viggo wasn’t content just to watch. He pressed a kiss to the side of Sean’s neck, smiled against the warm skin that was just damp with sweat, murmured, “What’s this one again?”
Sean shook his head, “Told you three times, I have. I think you’ve gotten too much sun, Vig.”
Viggo pressed his lips to Sean’s neck again, but this time he lingered, let his tongue take long swipes right up to the line of Sean’s jaw. For a moment Viggo just let the taste of Sean’s sweat rest on his tongue, savored it. “Maybe, but tell me again, anyway.” Another lap of his tongue earned a low noise of appreciation from his lover, followed by a chuckle.
Sean turned in Viggo’s arms, pulled their bodies even tighter together. He brushed his lips once against Viggo’s, but when Viggo leaned in for more Sean drew back, green eyes warm. “Strawberry Begonia,” he said with a grin.
Viggo’s hands tightened on Sean’s hips and his cock twitched. “God, what you do to me.” This time when he leaned close for a kiss he got it. Sean let him in and Viggo crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss, only to let the rough edge of his touch ease after a moment, replaced it with slow, sloppy tenderness. For long moments Viggo stroked deep into Sean’s mouth.
At last Viggo drew back, breathing heavily, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Sean smirked and Viggo wanted to kiss him again. “I’ve a vague notion,” he said as he rocked his hips against Viggo’s, and this time it was Vig who made appreciative noises.
Viggo slid his hands down to Sean’s ass, gripped him through his jeans. “I hope by now it’s a little more than a ‘vague’ notion,” he replied.
“Mmmm, I suppose,” Sean answered, terrifically distracted by the rhythmic kneading the hands on his ass had started.
Viggo grinned broadly. He loved that look of total distraction on his lover’s face. Loved that it was him who put it there. Sean moved restlessly in his hands, and Viggo gripped his ass harder, pressed Sean almost painfully tight against him. “Want to know what I want to do to you?”
“Christ,” Sean blurted. Going to be bruises on his ass, a matched set of Viggo’s fingerprints, and fuck, but he was already aching for what he knew Viggo wanted to give him. “Yeah, tell me,” he managed to get out.
“Want to put you on this,” Viggo pressed Sean back against the wooden worktable, “spread those long legs and fuck you.”
Sean’s hands moved to Viggo’s shoulders and clenched tight. “Christ. Fuck, yeah, want that,”
Viggo wasn’t finished, “Want to ride you until you come, right here on our table, right here in our dirt,” and before Sean could move or speak Viggo tensed, picked him up and set him on the worktable.
“Vig, fuck,” and Sean couldn’t say anymore. He leaned back on the table, swiped his garden tools aside. They clattered to the stone tiled patio nosily. It wasn’t until the worktable shook ominously that he remembered the Begonia. “Put that down,” he said even as Viggo reached for his button fly.
Viggo would’ve laughed if Sean hadn’t looked so goddmaned edible. He reached aside and set the freshly potted Strawberry Begonia in its hanging basket on the patio tiles. It was the last of half a dozen that that Sean had installed in similar baskets, and he’d planned on mounting them on newly installed hooks along the eves of the roof before Viggo had soundly interrupted him-not that it seemed as if he minded. To Viggo he looked perfectly happy to be interrupted, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly ready to get fucked. Viggo moved back between Sean’s legs with a wolfish grin and Sean watched him come, green eyes dark and hungry in the bright afternoon sunlight. Viggo reached for him, gripped his jeans and just as he popped open the topmost button of Sean’s fly, the worktable creaked once, loudly.
Without warning the whole thing collapsed, taking Sean with it. Viggo grabbed for him and went down too, unprepared to support Sean’s weight but equally unprepared to let go. They landed in a heap, Viggo on top of Sean, both dusted liberally by the potting soil that had coated the tabletop.
“What the fuck,” Viggo spat out after everything stopped moving. He levered himself up, looked down at his lover who only groaned. “Dammit, Sean, you ok?”
Beneath him Sean nodded, motioned for Viggo to get off him. Viggo backed out of tangled mess they, and the remains of the worktable, made, set back on his heels. Sean didn’t move for a moment, and then slowly raised himself up one elbow, his other hand going to the back of his head.
Viggo knee-walked toward him, “Hey, you ok? You didn’t get anything stuck in you did you?”
“I don’t know,” Sean replied. Viggo almost smiled, but the confused tone in Sean’s voice had him moving to Sean’s side in an instant.
“Sean?” he asked worriedly as he helped Sean sit up.
“Must’ve hit me head,” Sean mumbled. “Help me out of this shite.”
Viggo stood quickly, grabbed Sean under the armpits and hauled him away from the broken bits of the table. He dropped down at Sean’s side and his heart pounded because Sean was holding the back of his head again, eyes shut tight.
“Sean? Here, lemme see,” Viggo pulled at Sean’s hand, stared when it came away tinged with blood. “Oh, fuck-I’m going to call 911.” Before he could scramble to his feet Sean reached for him and Viggo hesitated, knelt back down. “No, don’t, I’m all right, just a thump on the head is all.”
“Sean, you’re fucking bleeding.”
Sean got his eyes open, blinked, “Shite, I’ve had worse from Sharpe, Vig.”
Viggo put his hand behind Sean’s head, flinched along with Sean as he did. After a moment he pulled away and stared at the smear of blood on his palm. “It’s getting worse-you’re going to the fucking hospital.”
“Vig, for Christ’s sakes,” Sean started but Viggo was already on his feet and halfway to the house. Sean relaxed back on his elbows, head throbbing as if he’d been clubbed, which he guessed he had been when he’d landed on the tiled patio. For the first time he noticed that the begonia he’d asked Vig to move out of harm’s way had been overturned, the freshly budding plant hopelessly cursed.
Sean was busy glowering when Viggo practically erupted from the house, kitchen towel in one hand, car keys in the other and an almost scarily intent look on his face. He knelt beside Sean, pressed the towel gently against the still bleeding wound, pronounced, “Hospital.”
Sean sighed, nodded, defeated. “Bloody hell.”
TBC...
Series: Domesticity, After A Fashion (5.1/5.2)
Title: Hanging Gardens
Author: Archet
Pairing: Viggo/Sean
Rating: R
Summary: Sean works on a new project, Viggo nearly has a heart attack, things are shaken loose.
Disclaimer: this is fiction, for entertainment purposes only and in no way implies anything as to the real lives to the lovely men who are inspirations for these characters.
Note: Find parts 1, 2, 3 and 4 here: Scrubbing Bubbles, In Season , Causality of Circumstance and Herbs, Beds and Lovers
Archive: My LJ, Rugbytackle
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated!
Warnings: none really that the rating above doesn’t cover...sap, unbeta’ed attempts at hotness.
~*~
Viggo hitched up the hem of his shirt and swiped it at the sweat running down his forehead. The morning had been warm and the afternoon hot, and Sean and he had been outside during both, working in the garden. To start him off, Sean had put Viggo in charge of plucking weeds from the flower beds as Sean himself worked at an outdoor all-purpose worktable. The old wooden table used to be in Viggo’s studio but he’d long ago moved it outside in favor of a more functional piece, now it worked perfectly as a gardening table for Sean.
Viggo took a deep breath, drawing the warm clean air into his lungs. It’d been a good day... a great day, and Viggo thought he was beginning to understand just why Sean loved working in the garden so. The sky was a deep summer blue, dotted with white clouds and there was a definite sweet scent wafting on the breeze. Viggo took a moment and sniffed. The tea roses... he was smelling Sean’s tea roses. Viggo smiled, and all it took was a glance in Sean’s direction and he was in dereliction of duty.
He abandoned his post and headed straight for his lover who was back in another old paper-thin Sheffield United t-shirt and a pair of those delicious, faded jeans. Viggo made a beeline for Sean, sidled up behind him, not at all surprised when Sean only tossed him a smile over one shoulder, and went right back to work with his potting soil. The dark, rich soil was scattered across the work table and had worked its way underneath Sean’s fingernails. Viggo could see the dark lines of it from where he stood pressed close against Sean’s sun baked back. Viggo could feel his heat through both their thin shirts as he eased closer, peered over Sean’s shoulder. He was close enough that he could observe his lover work and enjoy the curve of Sean’s ass cradled against his hips. His hands came to rest on Sean’s hips, and his fingers slipped of their own accord into the denim belt loops.
Sean was intent on his work as he settled another plant into a self draining pot, then moved the whole kit into a hanging basket. Viggo just watched him silently for long moments. His eyes followed Sean’s hands, studied the long dirty fingers as they better seated the plant into its bed of soil. He took in the sunlight, bright on Sean’s hair, the golden touch of it against the muscles of his neck, the shell of his ear. Soon Viggo wasn’t content just to watch. He pressed a kiss to the side of Sean’s neck, smiled against the warm skin that was just damp with sweat, murmured, “What’s this one again?”
Sean shook his head, “Told you three times, I have. I think you’ve gotten too much sun, Vig.”
Viggo pressed his lips to Sean’s neck again, but this time he lingered, let his tongue take long swipes right up to the line of Sean’s jaw. For a moment Viggo just let the taste of Sean’s sweat rest on his tongue, savored it. “Maybe, but tell me again, anyway.” Another lap of his tongue earned a low noise of appreciation from his lover, followed by a chuckle.
Sean turned in Viggo’s arms, pulled their bodies even tighter together. He brushed his lips once against Viggo’s, but when Viggo leaned in for more Sean drew back, green eyes warm. “Strawberry Begonia,” he said with a grin.
Viggo’s hands tightened on Sean’s hips and his cock twitched. “God, what you do to me.” This time when he leaned close for a kiss he got it. Sean let him in and Viggo crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss, only to let the rough edge of his touch ease after a moment, replaced it with slow, sloppy tenderness. For long moments Viggo stroked deep into Sean’s mouth.
At last Viggo drew back, breathing heavily, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Sean smirked and Viggo wanted to kiss him again. “I’ve a vague notion,” he said as he rocked his hips against Viggo’s, and this time it was Vig who made appreciative noises.
Viggo slid his hands down to Sean’s ass, gripped him through his jeans. “I hope by now it’s a little more than a ‘vague’ notion,” he replied.
“Mmmm, I suppose,” Sean answered, terrifically distracted by the rhythmic kneading the hands on his ass had started.
Viggo grinned broadly. He loved that look of total distraction on his lover’s face. Loved that it was him who put it there. Sean moved restlessly in his hands, and Viggo gripped his ass harder, pressed Sean almost painfully tight against him. “Want to know what I want to do to you?”
“Christ,” Sean blurted. Going to be bruises on his ass, a matched set of Viggo’s fingerprints, and fuck, but he was already aching for what he knew Viggo wanted to give him. “Yeah, tell me,” he managed to get out.
“Want to put you on this,” Viggo pressed Sean back against the wooden worktable, “spread those long legs and fuck you.”
Sean’s hands moved to Viggo’s shoulders and clenched tight. “Christ. Fuck, yeah, want that,”
Viggo wasn’t finished, “Want to ride you until you come, right here on our table, right here in our dirt,” and before Sean could move or speak Viggo tensed, picked him up and set him on the worktable.
“Vig, fuck,” and Sean couldn’t say anymore. He leaned back on the table, swiped his garden tools aside. They clattered to the stone tiled patio nosily. It wasn’t until the worktable shook ominously that he remembered the Begonia. “Put that down,” he said even as Viggo reached for his button fly.
Viggo would’ve laughed if Sean hadn’t looked so goddmaned edible. He reached aside and set the freshly potted Strawberry Begonia in its hanging basket on the patio tiles. It was the last of half a dozen that that Sean had installed in similar baskets, and he’d planned on mounting them on newly installed hooks along the eves of the roof before Viggo had soundly interrupted him-not that it seemed as if he minded. To Viggo he looked perfectly happy to be interrupted, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly ready to get fucked. Viggo moved back between Sean’s legs with a wolfish grin and Sean watched him come, green eyes dark and hungry in the bright afternoon sunlight. Viggo reached for him, gripped his jeans and just as he popped open the topmost button of Sean’s fly, the worktable creaked once, loudly.
Without warning the whole thing collapsed, taking Sean with it. Viggo grabbed for him and went down too, unprepared to support Sean’s weight but equally unprepared to let go. They landed in a heap, Viggo on top of Sean, both dusted liberally by the potting soil that had coated the tabletop.
“What the fuck,” Viggo spat out after everything stopped moving. He levered himself up, looked down at his lover who only groaned. “Dammit, Sean, you ok?”
Beneath him Sean nodded, motioned for Viggo to get off him. Viggo backed out of tangled mess they, and the remains of the worktable, made, set back on his heels. Sean didn’t move for a moment, and then slowly raised himself up one elbow, his other hand going to the back of his head.
Viggo knee-walked toward him, “Hey, you ok? You didn’t get anything stuck in you did you?”
“I don’t know,” Sean replied. Viggo almost smiled, but the confused tone in Sean’s voice had him moving to Sean’s side in an instant.
“Sean?” he asked worriedly as he helped Sean sit up.
“Must’ve hit me head,” Sean mumbled. “Help me out of this shite.”
Viggo stood quickly, grabbed Sean under the armpits and hauled him away from the broken bits of the table. He dropped down at Sean’s side and his heart pounded because Sean was holding the back of his head again, eyes shut tight.
“Sean? Here, lemme see,” Viggo pulled at Sean’s hand, stared when it came away tinged with blood. “Oh, fuck-I’m going to call 911.” Before he could scramble to his feet Sean reached for him and Viggo hesitated, knelt back down. “No, don’t, I’m all right, just a thump on the head is all.”
“Sean, you’re fucking bleeding.”
Sean got his eyes open, blinked, “Shite, I’ve had worse from Sharpe, Vig.”
Viggo put his hand behind Sean’s head, flinched along with Sean as he did. After a moment he pulled away and stared at the smear of blood on his palm. “It’s getting worse-you’re going to the fucking hospital.”
“Vig, for Christ’s sakes,” Sean started but Viggo was already on his feet and halfway to the house. Sean relaxed back on his elbows, head throbbing as if he’d been clubbed, which he guessed he had been when he’d landed on the tiled patio. For the first time he noticed that the begonia he’d asked Vig to move out of harm’s way had been overturned, the freshly budding plant hopelessly cursed.
Sean was busy glowering when Viggo practically erupted from the house, kitchen towel in one hand, car keys in the other and an almost scarily intent look on his face. He knelt beside Sean, pressed the towel gently against the still bleeding wound, pronounced, “Hospital.”
Sean sighed, nodded, defeated. “Bloody hell.”
TBC...
