Fic: Shopping (VigBean) R - 1/2

[lannamichaels]

 
Title: Shopping
Authors: lannamichaels and lunasv, originally created as LJ roleplay.
Pairing: Sean/Viggo,
Rating: R for bdsm play and Viggo going into a panic attack.
Disclaimer: It's fiction. I'm pretty sure they aren't seeing each other, and even if they were, I’d bet they don't do this.
Content: Sean and Viggo go shopping. Written September 2003. Occurs about a month after Interrogation.
Notes on reality of people reading this: Like "Assume the Position", "What’s On The Other Side?", "London Calling", and "Interrogation", the creative process for this was fascinating, and the SeanVig muses led us down expected crevices into their minds. In other words, it kind of just happened. As usual, all our roleplaying in comments can be found here.





Dear Sean,

Once we get over whatever it is we're going through right now with the safewords and the insecurity and things like that, we need to go shopping.

I see a lot of black in your future. *evil plans*


Love,
Viggo


PS: How do you feel about slings?




Sweetest Vig,

Insecurity issues tossed out with yesterday's garbage.

Shopping trip sounds nice. I'll clear the credit card out.


kisses,
Sean

P.S. Uh, never thought about 'em. Always up for a new adventure, though, mate.





Dear Sean,

Good to know. Did you take them out to the corner, or just the dumpster?

Be ready tonight around eight wearing clothes that you can get out of easily.



All my love,
Viggo


P.S. You realize, of course, that you'll be the one in it should I decide to splurge. So give it long, hard thought. feel free to wank.





Vig's note, flowing black ink on vellum-thin paper, rested on sofa arm.

Be ready tonight around eight wearing clothes that you can get out of easily.

Sean sat in loosened drawstring sweats and a T-shirt that should've gone out to the garden shed for rags.

Give it long, hard thought.

He had been for - he glanced at mantle clock - three hours and 22 minutes. Mind made up.

Feel free to wank.

Why argue with your lover? Sean pulled the stiff leather brace off his wrist, flexing his fingers in and out of a fist before wrapping them around his cock.

"Sean?" Viggo calls from his studio. "Are you wearing briefs?" Boxers will show under some of the things Viggo has in mind.

"No." He's wearing sweats and T-shirt. Nothing else.

"Then run back up and put on briefs." Sean'll be trying on clothes. Some of them he may not want, or don't fit properly. Hence, briefs.

"Y'know, Vig, y'could've been more specific in your note. Said we were going shopping," he says as he walks back into the living room a few minutes later. "I'd been ready." He does his best imitation of a model on the runway, or it could just be Orlando preening, and shows off the less tattered sweats and tee with matching jacket. "You like?"

"What part of 'need to go shopping' didn't you understand?" Viggo mutters to himself as he watches Sean preen and do that little spin that always looked over-practiced. "I like."

"I thought it meant tomorrow, not tonight." Sean finishes his spin, deposits a kiss on Viggo's forehead. "Shoulda known though. You're in your own time zone."

"Stores don't close until ten. We have plenty of time." Viggo returns the kiss, aiming for Sean's nose but catching him more on the cheek.

"You're in charge. I'm just along with the money." The smile's genuine even if the words are rather self-deprecating. "And the car keys."

"Speaking of those...," they're so close that it's not difficult for Viggo to reach into Sean's pocket and lift the keys, "you're not doing any driving at all tonight, young man."

"I can, though. Eric cleared it." Sean doesn't resist giving up the keys, though. While he can drive, it's probably not the smartest thing to be doing. "We could always take the tube downtown. Or'd you hire a driver?" Sean's shaking his head, knowing the answer before he gets it.

"Take the tube there, fine. Take it back with all our packages? Or have to pay off the driver to keep quiet after I maul you in the back seat? Sorry, Sean, I'm driving. I know you love your BMW but, I promise, I won't wreck it. Not while you're in it, at least. Okay?"

"Hold on a sec, then." Sean stopped by the coat rack as they were heading out the door, rummaged through the pocket of his leather jacket and retrieved the bottle of Xanax. "I've ridden with you. Don't think I'm doing it completely coherent ever again."

Viggo grins sheepishly. "Good idea. Need water with that or you'll take them dry?"

"Little things. Just dissolve under me tongue." Sean opens the bottle, shakes out a tiny pill and pops it under his tongue. "Works faster, too." He recaps the bottle and pockets it into his sweats. Can't be sure Viggo's shopping adventure won't jack up his anxiety level. Not that it's a bad thing.

That solved, Viggo leads the way to the car, unlocks the passenger door, then opens it up for Sean. He helps Sean into the car and then goes around to the other side. The blue car's black in the night and soon, Viggo thinks, it'll be filled with black from inside to out. It's a good thought. Sean, with his coloring and his scars, will look so tantalizingly delicious in what Viggo has in mind. The only thing better than dressing up Sean is undressing him. Slowly. Layer by layer.

Tight silk boxers, Viggo adds to his growing mental list. Less functional than cotton, but Sean won't be in them long. Viggo's thankful he just came or he'd be ready to go right now.

Sean settles into the seat, leans his head back and closes his eyes, relaxes and essentially ignores Viggo's driving. The Xanax starts to build on the other drugs in his system, making it so he really doesn't care that Viggo takes one corner too quickly or that he doesn't shift into third as smoothly. He wants to ask why they're shopping, but decides against that, too, just letting his mind drift in and out and around fantasies that've been infiltrating his brain. Images of creek and waterfall and a very wet Viggo. He shifts down into the seat, stretching out his legs as much as possible against the floorboard, slides his brace-fitted wrist down his thigh.

Viggo watches Sean out of the corner of his eye. At the next stop sign, Viggo lowers his speed by half and takes the leisurely way to the department store. If Sean's going to wank, let him wank before they arrive. Wouldn't do for the great Sean Bean to walk around Marks and Spencers with an erection.

"You slowed down," Sean says, head still back, eyes still closed, fingertips tracing abstract patterns over the fabric, skimming inner thigh. He'd had his wank before Viggo got home. Didn't mean he still wasn't horny. Probably had something to do with the way Viggo had fondled his ass getting into the car, lingered a second too long finding the seat belt. "You wanting a show?"

"You wanting me to drive right off the road?" Viggo asks, but pulls over onto the shoulder.

Sean senses the car stop. "You know what I was thinking of before you got home?" His hand slips down over cock, still protected by layers of cotton, pause to regain familiarity with tightening balls. "You. Naked. In the garden." Words separated by flicker of fingers. "Overcast day. Shadows painting your body."

Viggo puts the car into park quickly. The last thing he needs is for his foot to jerk onto the acceleration and take them into neverland. "And what are you doing in this fantasy?" Viggo asks.

"Me?" Sean slides his left hand under sweats and briefs, palms his cock and pumps slowly. "I was chasing shadows." Long, exaggerated strokes. "Across your stomach. Down your arm." His breath hitches as his thumb flicks over the head. "Damn near caught one as it swirled your nipple."

Viggo's mouth goes dry. "And how," he does his best to swallow, "were you doing this chasing?" Viggo's willing to bet the farm that Sean's dream included tongues, and open mouths, and kisses. And possibly a blowjob should Sean find a shadow on Viggo's cock.

"That's the funny part." Sean breathes out slowly as he draws closer to climax. Feels it coil, threaten to unleash. "Got me brush and paints out. Swirled and spattered you with a dozen shades of blue. Never quite matched your eyes."

"What sort of base were the paints?" Viggo worries, wondering what Sean covered him with, then remembers that it's a dream, a fantasy, and that if they ever do enact it, Viggo can insist on watercolors.

Sean's breathing becomes more ragged. Then he comes, mostly into his hand, trying to mitigate the inevitable stains, glad for the darkness of the sweats. "Mixed media. Watercolors. Acrylics." He withdraws his hand and pulls his thumb into his mouth, sucking off the saltsweet liquid. "They tasted incredible, though."

Not the only thing. Viggo's hand reaches out to grab Sean's wrist. He brings Sean's hands to his mouth, licking off what's left.

"Remind me to tell you my dreams more often." Viggo's finger licking threatens to unleash a new arousal; Sean mentally tamps it down as Viggo releases his hand. "So, why we shopping anyway? Don't like my wardrobe?"

That's entrapment. "Let's just say it could use a few improvements." Like a raid on the menswear department. Viggo shifts in the driver's seat and puts the parking break on. "Now, aren't you forgetting something?"

Sean bites back the urge to laugh. "Y'know, we coulda stayed home and done this." His voice is light, slight twist of less-than-innocent play, even as he unfastens the seatbelt and shifts to fully face Viggo. He drops his braced arm over Viggo's leg, intentionally brushing the leather-metal contraption over his lover's groin even as his other hand loosens the jeans. "This one of your fantasies? Blowjob in a car."

God, Sean knows what that does to him. Flashes of their interrogation scene pass before Viggo's eyes as the brace brushes against his cock. "Yeah. Except that in it, we're in the backseat."

"Back seat. Hmmm." Sean pulls Viggo's cock free and dips his head down. "I prefer this, but you driving on the freeway, middle of the night." He slips his fingers along the stiffening flesh, letting the Velcro edges of the brace's straps brush where they may. His tongue ghosts over the weeping slit, teasing rather than touching.

Viggo has a wise-ass reply to that somewhere on his tongue, but for the life of him he can't find it as Sean's tongue licks at him delicately. "Fffffuck," is all he can get out. More.

Sean laughs, the giggled chortle rippling along the underside of Viggo's cock where Sean's tongue is twirling an abstract pattern. I'll take that as a please, more, sir. In the next instant, his mouth settles on the head, burying himself swiftly on Viggo's full length.

Viggo's head crashes against the headrest, his fingers clutch at nothing until they find themselves against Sean's scalp. All he can think of is more, please, god.

Sean bucks his head up just a nudge, pushing into Viggo's hand, silent plea for domination as he licks and sucks, perfectly content in how he can bring Viggo to speechlessness with the proper curling of his tongue.

There's pressure building inside of him and Viggo orders himself not to scream, instead groaning just a little too loudly. Sean, too fucking good at this. Who wants a virgin? Viggo's hand presses down hard, sharply. He knows he can't choke a cocksucker like Sean.

Breathe normally. Through your nose. It's a silent mantra as Sean closes his mouth around Viggo's cock, let it slide to the back of his throat. He'd willingly choke himself for the taste, the sensation of Viggo invading his body. He scrapes the brace over sensitized flesh, forcing prickly Velcro loops to caress Viggo's balls. Sean's mind notes the subtle changes in reaction, the indications Viggo is close.

Viggo's hand simultaneous pushes down, just as his hips jerk upward, pushing, thrusting. Sean's mouth is so fucking hot, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect. Another thrust and Viggo's gone, melting back over the upholstery, becoming one with the leather.

Sean's a happy boy, a very happy boy. He greedily swallows Viggo's offering of body and soul, silently waiting for permission to stop serving his lover.

Viggo comes back to himself slowly, makes a mental note as he returns to try out the sex in public thing more often, and realizes that Sean hasn't let go of his cock. Laughing silently, Viggo pulls Sean's head up by the hair. "Thank you, Sean. Delightful as always. Which way to the store? I seem to have lost my bearings."

Sean slides his tongue out, licks at the stray drop of white on his lips and peers over the dashboard, getting his own bearings. "Uh. left at the next bend. Then a couple miles." He straightens Viggo's jeans and settles back into his own seat. "And you're welcome. Anytime." Not something he had to say, but wanted to.

"Oh, I know I'm welcome," Viggo smirks. "Anytime." He shifts the car back into gear. "In your ass, too, or is my welcome just reserved for your mouth?" He takes a left at the next bend, judges distances, and puts cruise control on.

"That's a given, Vig," Sean says without thinking, then pauses as the car shifts into cruise control. "Course you're not thinking of right now, are you? That's a might more tricky with the gear shift."

"That be more tricky considering the fact that I just came. Unless we're talking about getting the gear shift into you. In that case, I have no objection." Viggo smiles as he says it, knowing the remark will probably get him beaned over the head.

"Nutter. Positively." Sean starts to pop Viggo upside the head, but decides better of it, not wanting to do it with his braced arm. "I might be kinky, but I'd definitely safeword at that." He pauses. "Not sure I can pass it off as a skating accident."

"But you love me for putting the thought into your head, don't you? Every time you get into the car from now on, you'll stare at the gear shift and wonder if you could contort your body to fit around it. You'll peak into every surprise I bring home, concerned that I might've visited a scrap heap and salvaged a gear shift with the intention of seeing how far inside you could take it." Viggo doesn't say anything at the skating remark. He has his own private list of things to throw into the car when Sean's not looking, and skating gear is certainly on the list. Viggo's always said Sean was sex on two legs. Sex on wheels sounded just plain kinky.

Sean squirms, not sure how much of it's from the discomfort of imagining how the gear shift would feel or from the knowledge that Vig may very well walk in one day from that scrap heap. And then he lets his brain process the idea, wondering just how much pain it'd cause, would it be good and could he take it. "I love you for every thought you put into my head." Not a direct answer, but good enough. And pretty damned truthful.

"Even the ones that have you tied to the bed with clothespins all over you while I jack off onto your chest?" They're almost there, Viggo can afford to be playful. Sean can't give him the silent treatment as they shop or Sean'll get some pretty horrendous and ill-fitting clothing. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

"Love you for 'em," Sean says quickly. "Don't mean I wanna do 'em."

"So you love me for my intellect, that's what you're saying? Come on, I can take it." Viggo turns into the parking lot and starts scanning for spaces. "Any on your side?"

Sean ignores the first question, which has only a "damned if I do, damned if I don't" choice and focuses on finding a parking space. "Uh, two spaces up. Guy just left."

Viggo nods and pulls into it with minimal jerking and backing up. Shan't scratch Sean's car unless he wants a one-way ticket to an eternally cold bed. "First order of business, shirts. Second order of business, cock and chest covers. Third order of business, everything else. Speak now or forever hold your piece."

"Yes, sir." Sean gets himself out of the car with minimal fuss, makes sure everything's straight and tidy. He's not fussing. One, he knows it'll do no good. Viggo's on a tear and there's no putting it down till it's run its course. Second, in some conceited way, he enjoys the pampering. "Lead on."

Viggo leads Sean into the department store and takes a moment to study the store map. First, menswear. They'll work outward from there. "Third floor."

The lift carries them quickly to the third floor. "Vig," Sean says as they step out, "just wondering, do I get a say in what I try on? Or you just gonna stick me in the dressing room and keep feeding me clothes?"

"Preliminary? Yeah. But then you get stuck in the dressing room. You can veto anything, but you gotta give me a reason. A good reason, not just 'already have this' or 'it's too tight'. And I reserve the right to punish you for vetoing."

The smile is soul-breaking, wide with just a hint of tongue. He can't resist the obvious retort. "You realize that gives me more incentive for vetoing than cooperating." He knows, though, and fully understands that punishment has many layers and not all of them he'd enjoy.

"Not really. I haven't told you what I'll do to you once we're past the checkout."

Sean swallows hard, the visuals running rampant about what he may or may not be getting later. "Okay, Vig, pick out the clothes. No vetoing without a good reason."

Viggo's smile reveals nothing. First stop is formalwear. Viggo takes a shirt of the rack. "Here, try this one. You don't have a say in colors, sorry."

Sean takes the shirt and puts it over his arm. "I like the color," he says, as if Viggo had expected a defensive response. "What else with it?"

"Shirts first. We'll do pants later." But something catches Viggo's eye. He walks the short distance and takes the pants from the rack. "These. I can see you in a cockring under these. Or jerking yourself off through the pockets. Have we ever tried that?"

"Not since I was about 17." Sean shakes his head as he drapes the pants over the shirt. "You want me to do this an outfit at a time? Or piling me up with things and then retreating to the fitting room?" Sean's been through this, too many times with the exes, politely smiling as one outfit melded into the next.

"Pile you up with preliminaries. This is when you can choose your own stuff. Then you get locked in the dressing room and I feed you clothes over the door and you get to display them for me. If they look good, we buy them. Simple?"

"Choose me own?" Sean's face lights up as he's distracted by a rack to his left. "Then I like this and this," he says, holding up items for Viggo's inspection before adding them to the growing pile of try-on possibilities. "And I need a new one of these. You ripped me last good one to shreds."

"That one's blue," Viggo points out, but doesn't protest its addition. Fuck it, it's Sean credit card anyway. "But if I may remind you, there's a reason I ripped it. Best get two."

Sean's grin doesn't diminish as he quickly picks up a second shirt. "What you got against blue? I look damned good in that color." He fingers through the next rack, nothing catching his eye.

"Know you do, but I want you in black, not blue." Viggo pauses. "Find something in black and blue. You look good in that."

Sean turns and leans into Viggo's back. "I prefer you dress me personally in those colors," he says in a low voice. He's close enough to steal a kiss, but he doesn't. "You know the exact shades that look good on me."

Uh uh. He's not going to hurt Sean in public. Too many security cameras, for one. "You look good in all of them, especially when they fade to green and yellow."

"I don't like 'em then," Sean says casually, stepping around Viggo to the clothes rack ahead. "Not nearly as pretty as when they're fresh."

"So walk into doors," Viggo replies. "What about this?"

"More partial to button-downs, but I like it." Sean takes the shirt, adds it to the growing pile, wonders why stores don't employ enough clerks to walk around behind customers toting and carrying, then realizes that with him and Vig it probably wouldn't be a good idea to have anyone else too close. "Wanna pick some ties? Or are you happy with what I got?"

"Get all they have in black silk and we'll be set for those. Neckties only. I like being able to pull you around by them. And maybe something green."

"Have you ever seen me in anything else?" Sean asks as he turns and walks the short distance to the tie rack. "Not even gonna ask about belts," he mutters to himself, waving off the salesclerk who asks if he needs help. "Just grabbing a few ties." He leaves off asking if they're knot-worthy. Shortly Sean returns to wear he left Viggo with about half a dozen ties, all silk, a couple patterned and only two of them green.

Viggo takes the green ones and holds them up to Sean's eyes. They'll do. They don't glow like his do while contemplating mischief, or glint like Sean's when ordered to go down, but few things do. "You set, or is there something else you want to try on?"

"I think we've exceeded the fitting room limit, so I'll say no. For now."

Viggo blinks in incomprehension, then looks to the sign. "Think they'll go for bribery?"

"Won't need it. Just watch." Sean walks quickly and resolutely toward the fitting room.

"Sir, you," the clerk starts.

"I have a lot of clothes. I know." Sean smiles, consciously turning up the charm. "You see, I'm very bad at narrowing down my choices. And seeing as I can't try on things in the middle of the floor, and I don't want to bother you having to bring them back and forth, this really is the best solution. Isn't it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but continues walking, disappearing into the dressing area while a 20something clerk stands in confusion, her mouth still open as if she were speaking.

Oh, there are so many reasons he loves Sean. Viggo trots faithfully as his errant lover, nodding his head in acknowledgement to the baffled clerk.

By the time Viggo gets to him, Sean has draped clothes over walls and hooks and is taking off his jacket. "Do you have a preference of where I start, sir?" Sean asks, his eyes meeting Viggo's as he looks.

"Yeah. Strip off except for the socks and briefs, boy. Shirts first, then match them with pants. I hope you don't intend to try on the ties, or I might just have to molest you. And I didn't bring any toys. Fair warning."

Sean follows instructions very well, when he wants to, and he strips down. "No toys? Ever heard of improv?" He's not really wanting to be molested in a public fitting room, but he can't help tempting, or maybe it's just taunting, Viggo. He pulls on one of the dress shirts, having relegated the rugby shirts to a we're-buying-no-need-to-try-on pile. He slowly buttons up the front, doesn't bother with the cuffs. "You like?"

Well, Viggo's has one toy, but he's not going to spoil Sean's surprise. Sean'll get it if he's still being a good boy by the end of the night. Viggo takes Sean's bare wrist in his hand and guesstimates how loose the cuffs could be. "Very much."

"That feels nice." The touch of Viggo's fingers on Sean's wrist isn't enough to excite, well at least not to a point where it'd be a concern, but the tightening motion, nowhere near constricting, is a comfort, a reminder of what caused his other wrist to be bound. "Next shirt?" Sean asks, consciously shifting himself from distracting thoughts. "Or trousers?"

"Shirt." Viggo takes a step backward to give Sean room to strip.

"You just like watching me change clothes," Sean says, lilt in his voice. He shrugs into another shirt, this one slightly less ebon, its darkness muted by a thin silver patterning, sighing not with exasperation but amusement that his lover is determined to dress him as entirely in black as possible. "You know, Vig, we could take the coach to Italy. Shop for clothes." He's concentrating, unconsciously sliding his tongue out as the thought develops. "There's this little shop in Florence that has the best," tongue slides over his lips, "leather. Jackets, trousers, belts."

Viggo's nodding in agreement at Sean's suspicious tone, then he freezes. The play of Sean's tongue over his lips does not go unnoticed, but Viggo can't move for the life of him. "Leather," he croaks. "Leather's good."

"Good, cause you know that belt you really like, the one with the inlaid spiral design," Sean says as he continues trying on shirts, each seeming to meet with Viggo's approval, his voice nonchalant and low, as if he were reading Arthurian tales instead of seducing a lover, "it came from Florence. Handmade. Custom job." He pauses, wondering for a moment whether or not to add the final detail. Decides they've come far enough in the past few weeks to blur the lines again. "Had a matching collar. Once upon a time."

Had. Insinuates that it was lost. Or taken away. Privilege revoked upon termination of relationship. Viggo hadn't known Sean liked collars. Or if he wanted one. "Oh? What happened to it?" And was he wearing the belt or getting beaten with it?

"Vig, you want to button that. See if it's okay?" Sean asks as he pulls on one of the more formal shirts, a greyblack with double cuffs before picking up on the ongoing conversation. "Daragh got it in the breakup."

Viggo takes Sean's offered hand and slides the buttons in smoothly. "Any of these need cufflinks?"

"I think there's at least one." Sean looks at the hanging clothes. "Maybe two."

Viggo makes a mental note to investigate the London fetish wear stores. There's got to be something suggestive that can be done with cufflinks. For the moment, however, he makes a noncommittal noise and investigates the various piles of clothing. "Anything needing a different size?"

"No. Everything's fine. You know me pretty well." Sean's voice fades at the last words. It's true. Viggo knows him better than any lover ever has, understands how he works. Accepts he has a past, lovers good and bad. Isn't frightened away by it. "What's next on your list?"

"Well, if you remember your instructions, boy, once we finish with shirts, it's on to intimate apparel. We can switch stores if you want."

"That'd be good. There's a shop down the way where I've bought stuff before."

Viggo nods, surveys the wreckage of the dressing room. "Let's make this simple. Anything you're vetoing?"

"Not a thing, sir," Sean snaps out.

Viggo's posture straitens slightly. "Then gather up the clothes, boy, and we'll pay for your new wardrobe."

Sean quickly pulls back on his sweats, then gathers up the shirts, trousers and ties and deposits them with the clerk, who's seemingly over her confusion and positively beaming at the sales she's getting ready to ring up. Sean doesn't even look at the receipt. Doesn't want to know the total. Just signs the paper and pockets the credit card. As they're taking the packages to the car, he explains that the intimates shop is just a couple blocks down the way, and there are several other good shops in the same stretch.

The silence is companionable as they walk along the street, not an awkwardness to be filled with patter, although Sean has questions he might ask, comments he could follow up on. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, suddenly very self-conscious of the brace. The physical therapy was going well, feeling and movement coming back easily, fast enough that he nearly forgot how he'd hurt it in the first place and found himself craving Viggo's more painful touches.

Viggo has a set agenda and he mentally reviews it as they walk through the electric doors into the store. He's going to be dressing Sean in gray as well as black here and making sure to get as many of each purchase as possible. Viggo hates having to scrounge around for things to rip off Sean. There is much that could be said for unwrapping gifts.

A young man looks up from folding t-shirts as the door buzzer sounds. "Hi, Mr. B. Doing alright?"

"Fine, Bobby." Sean walks in, notices there only a couple other customers in the middle-sized shop, which looks like an International Male catalog explosion. "This is me friend, Vig. Gotta restock."

"Sure thing." Bobby nods. "There's some new stuff in the back, not even outta the boxes, if you wanna look."

Viggo picks up a package of briefs from the display while Sean looks around. Making sure that Sean isn't looking at him, Viggo stuffs a pair of boxers under the package.

Sean stands at a robes rack, looking at the outfit and then at Vig, pondering the possibilities. Definitely would look like crap on me, but it might work on him. He moves past it to the black silk pajamas, which he quickly finds in his size. "Haven't had a pair in years," he says as Viggo walks up beside him. "They alright?"

Viggo can see what Sean's thinking and the 'no' is almost out before he sees the silk. Just visualizing his Sean wrapped up in that is enough to get some stirrings where none have the right to be. "Yeah," Viggo says. "They're alright." Matching sheets are firmly tacked onto Viggo's shopping list.

"Thanks, luv. You find everything you want me to have? Anything special we getting?"

"Just some more stuff." Viggo piles some extra boxers and undershirts in the basket. "As for special, you'll have to excuse me for a moment."

"Why does that worry me?" Sean sighs as Viggo turns away. "You and special always ends up with me in compromising positions."

Viggo snickers. 'Compromising' means something a little different this time. Viggo grabs some pads from a display near the back of the store and saunters back to Sean, keeping the package behind his back.

"You're not gonna let me see, are you?" Sean tries to sneak a peek behind Viggo's back. "Keeping secrets?"

"Keeping many secrets," Viggo replies. "Least of which is what I have. Besides, I have no doubt you'll take them the wrong way." Though kneeling pads might be a good idea. Linoleum can hurt after twenty minutes.

Sean's genuinely puzzled, wondering what he could take the wrong way about anything from this store. But he lets it go. "I'm partial to secret number 21," he says cryptically as he turns toward the counter. "We finished here?" He lays down his selections, pulls out his credit card and hands it to Bobby.

"That Orlando wanted to buy you a catfish for Christmas? Or that I lost the portrait you drew of me?" Viggo pauses. "Yeah, we're done here."

Sean ignores the catfish comment. Chalks it up to Orlando's insanity levels, which are higher than all the Fellowship put together. "You lost it?" He turns his head. "First thing I've drawn in years that wasn't for some charity. And you lost it?"

Oh, shit. "Didn't lose it, Sean, so much as misplace it. It's somewhere back in LA. I think in the bathroom?" Or in the kitchen. Or in the bedroom. Or in the studio, under a pile of half-finished canvases. Or anywhere.

"Here's the card, Mr. B."

Sean's happy for the momentary distraction. It keeps him from erupting. "Uh, thanks." He's not happy about Viggo's answer. The sketch meant a lot to him. He thought it did to Viggo, too. As tempted as Sean is to storm out of the store, he's not going to. He just stands staring into space as the rest of the items are rung up, not even caring to peek at the extras Viggo bought. For the moment, they don't matter much.

"Sean," Viggo says as they walk back to the car, mood of the evening broken. "Sean, please. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forgotten where it is. I should have mentioned it before. I'm sorry. Sean, please. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Viggo," Sean says coolly, biting off the syllables of Vig's name rather than slurring them out like he normally does. "You had other things on your list."

Viggo pops the trunk and loads the bags in. "It doesn't matter. We can get them another time, or not at all. They're not necessary." Sean's necessary, what they have is necessary. Everything else can be replaced.

Viggo closes the door louder than he meant to. "Do you hear me, Sean? They're not necessary. Nothing is. Nothing but you. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry. I'm excruciatingly sorry. It was stupid and callous and idiotic of me. And I'm sorry."

"And I said 'It's fine, Viggo'. Really. I forgive you your," Sean pauses, contemplating the right word, "your indiscretion." He's hurt more than angry, agitated by something he can't change, Viggo's nonchalant bohemian approach to life, something he wouldn't change even if he could. "You wanted to shop. We'll continue shopping." Not cold enough to freeze the moat, but there was a decided chill in Sean's voice.



On to part two.

 
 

Comments

[frickabrandis.livejournal.com]

That´s a good one.
Your shopping- tour should be rewarded by Marks&Spencer, I think, because they must have gotten some earnings. All items were out of stock when I wanted to watch them.
Thank you for the story!

[lannamichaels]

Eep. They're all gone? I didn't check when I posted and I don't have any of the pics saved on my computer. Mea culpa.

Thanks for reading!

[frickabrandis.livejournal.com]

Only temporariliy. So there will be a chance to try again. No need to put ashes on you (grins)