FIC: A l'Improviste (SB/VM, NC-17)

[tryllian.livejournal.com]

This story has been sitting on my harddrive for over a year, unfinished, until the mood finally struck me again, helped along by some very persistent people (hi archet :-) ).
Since this is officially the last day of winter and spring begins tomorrow, consider this as an early spring gift to all avid gardeners and VigBean lovers in the world.


Title: A l'Improviste
Author: Tryllian (tryllian_adams@yahoo.com)
Pairing: SB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Of course this isn't true. This isn't an ideal world.
Archiving: My LJ and Rugbytackle only.
Note: Undying gratitude to archet for providing excellent beta service and making me finally finish this.




Sean is on his knees as he digs into the ground, left hand holding the last of the bedding plants he has bought this morning in the gardening centre, fingernails dirty, palms calloused, the lines of his hand smudged with soil.

Leaning down, Sean digs into the heavy soil with just his fingers, and swears softly under his breath as he fails. Straightening up, turning around he reaches for his garden-trowel, realizes he's left it farther behind him than he thought. His arm stretches, muscles defined more clearly while he does so, a soft sheen of sweat glistening on his sun warmed skin. He doesn't want to get up from his knees and instead bends over backwards, reaching for it, exposing his bare torso to the sun.

"Need something?"

A soft voice, shimmering with suppressed laughter, envelops him and something heavy, metallic, and very dirty is being put in his outstretched hand.

"Fuckin' hell, how did /you/ get here?"

Sean stumbles to his knees, for some reason firmly holding on to the garden trowel, little black spots dancing before his eyes, and there's a lurch in his stomach, which he blames on getting up so quickly and because he's stayed in the sun so very long.

"Rescheduled shooting for Hidalgo and an unexpected stopover in Heathrow. When I found your key in my pocket I thought I'd spend my transfer hours in a bit more pleasurable surroundings than a dreary airport lobby," Viggo says as he takes Sean's hand and pulls him up in a fluid motion flush against him. He bends forwards and whispers in Sean's ear, breath tickling Sean's already burning (sunburn, just sunburn) earlobe.

"Besides, I want to taste those cherries of yours."

~~~~

They are in the dappled shade. The sunlight is playing over their bodies and brings a sheen to the cherries that Viggo feeds Sean as he's standing there against the tree trunk, his arms stretched above him, his hands tied to a thick branch of the cherry tree and the rope around his ankles wrapped around its trunk. Sean has only a hazy idea of how he ended up like this, roped to his own bleedin' cherry tree in his own bleedin' garden, but somehow he no longer really cares.

Sean is blindfolded with Viggo's shirt; it's a sheer shirt so the darkness is not complete, but the only thing he can see are splotches of light and dark.

Light is the sun, and absence of body. Viggo is the dark, and as warm knowing hands sliding over his chest, cupping his hips, Sean prefers the dark.

It gets even darker when he closes his eyes, but there's no extra Viggo. He arches forward, but he can only stretch so far, his legs are spread, cunningly tied around the trunk of the cherry tree, his arms are stretched up and Sean wants. Sean wants to feel Viggo against him, pressing him back against the tree, Viggo's warmth heating him up, melting him like bees' wax, moulding him around the trunk of the tree.

Sean whimpers, softly, so softly, so as the neighbours won't hear it. Probably. But he's past caring, really.

"Vig. Please. Vig." He begs now. But there is no response, no soft breath tickling his throat to let him know that Viggo is still near and just teasing him like the sodding wanker he is. Just for a moment he gets scared, picturing himself helplessly tied forever to a tree in his own garden, and Viggo gone off to catch his plane, but if there's one thing he knows for sure it's that Vig won't leave him behind. Won't leave him, period. The rest of the future, however, is intensely dark and cherry flavored to Sean and he remembers late night conversations with him going on about how anticipation is the best aphrodisiac while Vig lay there moaning beneath him, unable do anything more than writhe breathlessly and beg him for release. Apparently Vig's decided it's payback time. He whimpers softly as he envisions all the things Vig can do to him as he stands here, helplessly. He licks his lips that still taste of ripe cherries and Viggo's kisses and he calls out Viggo's name once more, still receiving no reply.

Sean realizes that Viggo was in fact gone because he hears his footsteps approaching now, his senses heightened because he can't see, only hear, and feel and smell.

He moans. "Vig, /please/. Untie me. Please?"

He hears the soft, gravelly sound of Viggo's voice against his ear, and he's not sure if it's Vig's breath or the hot wind that plays with the leaves of the trees.

It's Vig's breath or else the wind is apparently capable of making him hard beyond limits.

"Do you really want me to untie you?"

"Y-y-yes. N-n-nooooh."

Sean's answer turns into a long low moan as Viggo bends forward and lets his tongue flick over Sean's nipple.

"Just let me know, Sean. You decide."

He flicks his tongue over Sean's other nipple, then slides his tongue upward, over his chest, to the hollow of Sean's throat.

Sean tries to buck, his body searching for Viggo's presence, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans.

"Vig. /Please/! I need... I..."

Vig's tongue slides upward, over his cheek, his lips playing with Sean's earlobe.

"Tell me, Sean, what do you need?"

Sean moans, a long sigh, filled with need and resignation and acceptance.

"I need, I need /you/, Vig."

"Good," is the smug answer that is breathed into his ear. "Very good. Because, you know, Sean, /me/ is exactly what you're going to get."

Sean whimpers softly, feeling his control slip away as he knows with absolute clarity why Viggo went away just now. Viggo's going to have him. In his own garden. While the neighbours can see everything (he sends a silent thank you prayer upwards for the fact that it's the summer holidays and as far as he can tell all his neighbours are on holiday with their kids), and he is blindfolded (with Vig's shirt for chrissakes!) and with his arms and legs tied to a cherry tree.

And Viggo has just returned from the kitchen and has brought the olive oil; the rich scent is wafting in his nostrils. His bleedin' five pounds an ounce Greek virgin cold pressed olive oil that he keeps for special dinners.

He knows there's no escaping, and by now he doesn't even want to try anymore. He is so hard it hurts, and he starts to sag, his knees weak with lust.

"Vig, please..."

"You beg so beautifully," he hears his lover's voice from somewhere down below, and he tries to desperately peek under his makeshift blindfold to see what Viggo is doing.

He can't see anything, though; it's Vig's usual thorough handiwork and he closes his eyes, trying to feel Viggo's body through the air, tries to conjure up the way it feels when it's writhing against him and he moans again.

"Open your mouth, Sean."

And Sean, like the good little boy he has become because he is tied to a tree and dying to do anything to be allowed to come soon, obediently opens his mouth,

"I am going to put another cherry in your mouth, Sean, and I want you to hold it between your teeth and not swallow it, so you can't scream, well, not too loud at least, and after I have made you come I want to eat that cherry out of your mouth. You understand?"

A cherry is put in his mouth and Sean works his tongue around it, moves it so he can grip it between his teeth and he nods, silently, grateful that Vig isn't making more demands of him and finally is going to make him come.

He hears the sound of a cork popping and he suddenly needs to gasp around the cherry in his mouth as he feels cold oil on his cock, massaged in by long supple fingers that still have callus on them from all the horseriding Viggo has done recently. The sensation almost makes him come. He swallows, and suddenly remembers the cherry. He bares his teeth to show it's still there which makes Viggo chortle and Sean starts to realize that keeping his promise may be harder than he anticipated.

Slowly Viggo leans against Sean's body, one hand still stroking Sean's cock, the other one gliding through his hair, over the back of his head, and coming to rest there, forming a softer cushion than the hard bark of the cherry tree. Sean leans gratefully against Vig's hand and then he suddenly senses that warm olive oil and Viggo's caressing fingers are no longer the only thing he feels on his cock, He gasps as he realizes that Viggo has taken them both in his hand, pushing their cocks against each other, Viggo's cock at least as hard as his own.

Sean feels he is starting to faint from the sensation, his nerves already raw with want and he knows he can't hold on for very much longer. He starts to moan Viggo's name but he can't get round the fuckin' cherry in his mouth and he only manages to produce an incoherent moaning. But Viggo knows what he wants to say.

The American accent, tinged with Danish, is getting stronger with Viggo's lust as Viggo whispers something in his ear but Sean barely registers it anymore, trying to take in all the sensations that Viggo is providing him with, the stroking, the oily fingers that slide over both their cocks, Vig's thumb as it pulls down his foreskin and almost sends him over the edge and trying at the same time to distance himself from all that he is feeling because he wants it to last, and last and last. But he knows he can't and he feels he is going to come soon, if not now.

"Looks like you want to pop the cherry, my love," Viggo whispers in his ear and kisses his earlobe. Sean nods, speechless, and he feels Viggo's grip get even firmer and his strokes increasing and then, without warning he tumbles over the edge, while somewhere in his mind a voice screams that he mustn't let the cherry drop. He spurts all over Viggo's hand and cock, spasming violently as he comes, but Viggo holds him, holds on to him and then he feels another spurt of hot fluid splatter against his cock and belly while Viggo grunts in gutturals that Sean has never heard before and falls against him, utterly spent.

But not so spent that Viggo doesn't lift his head and playfully eats the cherry out of Sean's mouth, completely intact and as Viggo unties him,'takes off his blindfold and kisses him again, whispers softly, laughingly : "I'll take your cherries over airport fare anytime, Sean."

The end